Bringers of Doom

by Blake Arthur Peel

  I look around, stunned at what I have just done. If not for the adrenaline, I would likely be reeling from exhaustion right now, barely able remain standing.

  All around me bodies burn, igniting the wooden contraptions and odd bits of furniture filling the room, turning the chamber into a magical conflagration. The smell of smoke and burning flesh fills my nose, nearly gagging me, and I can't help but begin to shake considering what might have become of me had I not chosen to act.

  As I stand there, processing the events that just occurred, the words of the torturer come echoing into my mind. The prophet has already begun to move against the Conclave. In the morning, your High Magus will be discovered in her chambers, slain by an assassin's blade...

  High Magus Holdyn is in danger.

  "I have to warn her," I mutter to myself breathlessly.

  Bending down, I reach for Morthal's closed fist where it lays on the floor beside me. The torturer is now dead from the magical flames, his skin torched and blackened beyond recognition, but within his hand is a tool that I require. Cracking open his fingers, I reach in and pull out his talisman, blue light now faded, and wrap its silvery chain around my wrist.

  I cough and stand up, bringing a hand to cover my mouth as thick, black smoke now fills the room, and make for the exit, stepping over the bodies of the men I have slain.

  Pushing open the door, I rush over to the staircase without looking back.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Owyn

  Tamara rolls the corpse of the Master Warden over with her boot.

  "He's really dead, then," Talon says quietly, his usually lighthearted tone subdued. "Light almighty... what are we going to do now?"

  "We move forward, apprentice," Tamara replies simply, wiping the blood from her sword with a cloth before sliding it back into its sheath. Her face is grim, but she might as well be discussing bad weather for the amount of emotion she shows. "Our solemn oath is to protect the realms of men. This changes nothing."

  "We are still in danger," I say hoarsely, rubbing a hand on my tender neck. The pain is almost as bad as my side, which is bleeding again from the strain of fighting. "I got a good look at him while he was choking me. Thorne was never blind... he was a mind slave the entire time."

  Tamara, Carr and Talon all look at me questioningly, though thankfully none of them seem to think I am crazy.

  "It was his eyes," I explain, looking down at his body. A puddle has begun to form on the ground beneath him and his eyes stare sightlessly up at the ceiling. "He could see me, looked right at me when he was trying to kill me. I've seen those eyes before. Somewhere nearby, there is a demon that was controlling his actions."

  "That would certainly explain a lot," Tamara says thoughtfully. She crouches down and begins to inspect the corpse more closely. "He's been increasingly erratic these last few months. When his sight failed, we all assumed it was because of his age. But there does seem to be a connection between him going blind and his strange behavior."

  She plucks something from the hem of the old man's breeches, pinching it between her fingers and bringing it up to eyelevel.

  "A sprig of rashweed," she mutters, leaning in to give the small bit of plant a sniff.

  "Rashweed?" Talon asks, crinkling his nose. "What's that?"

  "It's a weed that typically grows around Loch Morlach to the west," she reveals, dropping the plant to the ground. "It's not native to the Ashwood, though, oddly, there is one place nearby where it can be found in abundance."

  "The Shattered Tower," Carr says, stepping in. He's been quiet ever since killing the Master Warden.

  Tamara stands up and nods.

  "The Shattered Tower?" I ask looking first at Carr, then at Tamara.

  "They are these old ruins in the foothills not far from here," Talon replies somberly. "Rickard and I have ridden past there loads of times." He is silent for a moment, then his eyebrows knit together in a frown. "What would a blind old man be doing in a place like that?"

  "That must be where the demon is hiding," I reply, starting to get excited. Finally, we can put an end to all of this madness. "We have to go there and kill it before it can cause more trouble!"

  "We need to speak with the rangers, first," Tamara says, putting a hand on her sword. "They need to know what has happened, and what we are up against."

  "What about Creed?" Carr asks, his deep voice sounding troubled. "What about justice for the murdered villagers?"

  "We will deal with him later," Tamara replies, jaw set. "He will not likely return with the war band until tomorrow. In the meantime, this demon, or whatever has been manipulating us, has to be dealt with."

  He nods, apparently satisfied with the logic.

  "Come," she says, gesturing for us to follow her outside. "It's time to inform our brothers and sisters."

  The two remaining rangers who had been in Thorne's honor guard stand awkwardly off to the side. They had thrown down their swords when Carr had killed the Master Warden, surrendering to him and Tamara, but had seemed unsure about what to do next. At a gesture from Carr, the two of them step outside.

  Following them, we exit the Main Hall and step out into the sunlight, the remaining rangers of the Grand Lodge gathered in the courtyard facing us. In total, it appears to be about a hundred people, including rangers, apprentices, builders, cooks and surgeons, all standing uncertainly in front of us. As we walk out of the front doors, everyone falls silent, looking expectantly to the First Warden to tell them what is going on.

  Looking out over the gathered people, Tamara takes a deep breath before speaking.

  "Master Warden Thorne is dead," she proclaims, prompting many in the crowd to gasp in surprise. She waits a moment for the noise to die down before continuing. "Warden Gareth Carr and I have taken matters in our own hands, and it is because of us that he is dead." This causes more gasps and whispers.

  "She certainly doesn't beat around the bush, does she?" Talon mutters in my ear.

  "The Master Warden was not in his right mind," she says, voice carrying out across the courtyard. "He was being manipulated by forces that seek the destruction of the rangers. He knowingly ordered an attack on innocent civilians, commanding our rangers to slaughter them like sheep who were powerless to defend themselves. His actions have done much to soil the legacy of our great Order, and he has broken the sacred oath that we all have taken."

  She pauses, the crowd silent as they hang on her words.

  "There is still much work to do. We will need to choose a new Master Warden to lead us, but not before we eradicate the true threat that is still out there. Now, who will go with me?"

  For a moment, nobody speaks up, the silence hanging heavy in the air. Then, one of the rangers steps forward from the crowd, a slender woman with jet black hair pulled back into a ponytail. "I will fight, First Warden," she declares, unslinging her bow and thrusting it into the air.

  "And I as well!" Says another, a burly man holding a two-handed battle axe.

  More begin to step forward, hoisting their weapons and shouting their intentions to fight, until almost the entire host has spoken, stepping forward with earnestness in their eyes.

  "Very well," Tamara says, lifting up a hand to quiet them. "Prepare yourselves. We leave within the hour. May the Light guide you all."

  IT TAKES SURPRISINGLY little time for the rangers to prepare themselves to depart, and so many volunteer that Tamara is forced to turn some of them away, tasking them instead with the defense of the Grand Lodge while we are away.

  I spend the time before departure by once again patching up my side, then eating a decent meal to recover my strength. There's no telling what we will find in these ruins, and I want to make sure that I have the energy to face it.

  Soon, we are leading fifty armed rangers into the forest, the midday sun beating down on us as we walk.

  Talon made sure to bring along his short swords, claiming that he is finished getting into fights with inferior weapons. I cannot help but la
ugh at his statement.

  He assures me that it should not take more than two hours to get there on foot, but I still find myself wishing that we are mounted. The war band had taken most of the Lodge's horses, leaving us with no other choice but to walk.

  It is a grim, quiet journey to the ruins, without much in the way of conversation or discussion. Most of us walk the rugged trails silently, with our hands straying close to our weapons.

  I find it strange how quickly the rangers seem to accept the death of their Master Warden, especially had the hands of his subordinates, but I gather from snippets of whispered conversations that the man was not very well-liked. And judging by the way the others look at Tamara and Carr, they seem to respect the Wardens much more than they had the old man.

  Eventually, we make it to the place where the demon must be hiding, nestled in the foothills at the base of one of the ranges that make up the Southwall Mountains.

  The Shattered Tower rises before us like a pillar of broken stones, hollowed out and overgrown with different shades of moss and lichen. It sits perched upon an outcropping of rock at the base of a sloping hill, surrounded by gnarled trees that reach toward the sky with finger-like branches, twisted and white as bone. The area surrounding the tower is littered with weathered stones and weeds, and I begin to think that this must have been some sort of fortification, built by settlers long ago.

  "There it is," Tamara says quietly, stepping up beside me and peering through the brush. "How do you think we should proceed?"

  "Me?" I ask, amazed that the First Warden would defer to me.

  She nods. "You're the only one here who has any experience fighting these things. That makes you the best person to lead the assault."

  "I suppose," I mutter, looking back up at the ruins in front of us. There does not appear to be any movement ahead, but that does not mean that it is abandoned. Even from here, I can see that the ruins go deep, the mounds of broken stones providing ample places to hide.

  "We'll need archers to watch our flanks," I say after a moment, pointing to a low ridge off to the side. "That way, they can ensure we don't get ambushed from the side. If this demon is anything like the ones I fought at Forest Hill, it will have more mind slaves as guards. They seem to like gathering them into hordes around themselves to use as arrow fodder. It may even have shadowlings to support it."

  Carr steps up beside me, apparently listening in. "What about killing it?" He asks, face grim. "Do you have a plan?"

  I grimace. "Magic works best," I admit. "But conventional weapons work as well. We'll have to weaken it with archer fire before going in with swords. A few fighters should be able to bring it down, assuming we can get close enough."

  Tamara nods at my words. "Then that is what we will do."

  She divides the rangers in half, commanding one group to set up on the ridge watching the ruins, and the other to follow us with melee weapons drawn. It is all done quietly, using nothing but whispers and hand signals, and before long the archers are moving toward the ridge, bows out and arrows nocked.

  The rest regard me silently, swords drawn.

  After the archers are in position, I cautiously lead the way out of the brush and toward the Shattered Tower, father's hatchet gripped firmly in my hand. The sun is high overhead, and yet I can't help but shiver at the thought of facing another demon. What would I find up there - a gorgon, darkhounds or perhaps some other monstrosity?

  Maybe all three, I think to myself nervously, stepping over a toppled column covered with vines.

  I've seen what these creatures can do. The thought of facing them again fills me with apprehension.

  The others move forward silently with their weapons out, creeping like a pride of lions moving in for the kill. Tamara's golden braid is pulled over her shoulder, sword gleaming in the sunlight as more than two dozen rangers walk behind her. The sight of them fills me with confidence, making me grateful that I do not have to go in there alone.

  We make it to the top of the rocky outcropping without incident, not seeing anything out of the ordinary as we make our ascent. By all appearances, the hollowed-out tower is empty, save for tall growths of rashweed and moss growing on the stones.

  "There's nothing here," Talon says after a few minutes of searching, gesturing around with his short swords. "This whole place is abandoned."

  "This can't be all there is," I say, mostly to myself, as I survey the ruins. It certainly does seem like there is nothing here but rubble and decay.

  Then, when I am beginning to feel like a fool leading everyone here, the shouts of one of the rangers causes me to look up.

  "Over here!" The man shouts, waving his quarterstaff high in the air. "I think I've found something!"

  We hurry over to his position, going to the far side of the tower where a dark cave descends into the hillside. It appears to be some sort of abandoned mine shaft.

  "There are tracks leading in," he says, pointing to depressions on the ground. "Human tracks, by the looks of them."

  "This must be it," Tamara says, fearlessly stepping up to the mouth of the cave. Looking over her shoulder, she glances at me, Talon and Carr. "Coming?"

  Taking a deep breath, I begin to follow her along with the other rangers in our vicinity.

  No sooner than we have taken a few steps into the cave that a massive whooshing noise fills the air behind us, scalding my neck and my back with a wave of heat. I spin to see that a massive wall of green fire has just formed at the mouth of the cave, igniting a handful of rangers and cutting off our escape. The burning men, both inside and outside the cave, scream in agony as they attempt to put out the magical flames.

  Through the translucent wall, I can see that those outside the cave are being assaulted by a hailstorm of arrows, with figures emerging from the woods around the ruins, weapons drawn.

  Damn, I think, gripping my hatchet tightly. We've fallen into a trap!

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Zara

  I reach the top of the stairs, still reeling from the exertion of channeling so much source energy. Panting, I force myself onward, willing my legs to move and ignoring my growing sense of fatigue.

  Aside from the dead men below, the building seems to be abandoned.

  I cast my eyes about as I exit the stairwell, searching for signs of any cultists prowling about but I find no one. I am completely alone in what appears to be an abandoned warehouse.

  For the first time in who knows how long I allow myself to take a deep breath, grateful that I am no longer in any immediate danger.

  This must not be their main base, I realize, looking at the dusty shelves lining the walls. They probably have places like this all over the city, never staying in one place for long.

  Looking out one of the grime covered windows, I notice that it is mostly dark outside. The sun must have just gone down, casting the world in a deep purple light. I have to make it to the Conclave, I think to myself, locating the door on the far side of the room. The High Magus needs to be warned that she is in danger!

  Smoke has already begun to boil up from cracks in the floorboards. Soon, the whole building will catch fire. When that happens, the rest of the Harbingers will know that something went wrong and come looking for me.

  Clutching my new talisman, I rush over to the front door and push it open, stepping outside into the cool night air. The breeze feels good on my sweat-covered face, but I do not stop to enjoy the temperature. I spin around, locating the Pillar of Radiance by the beam of light shooting into the sky, and begin running toward it, my robes rustling softly around my legs.

  Like the warehouse, the streets are mostly abandoned. This section of the city consists mostly of tenement buildings and storage facilities, with limited foot traffic even during the daytime.

  I am thankful that I do not have to fight through crowds.

  Before long, my weakened state begins to take its toll. My blood pulses loudly in my ears, thundering with every step, and my breath comes to me in painful g
asps, reminding me of just how weak and tired I feel.

  I shove those feelings aside, trying to stay focused on my task. If I fail, then the High Magus dies, leaving the R’Laar one step closer to destroying us all.

  To distract myself, I begin to think about everything I have learned since putting myself in this mad situation. I think about the prophet and the things he had told me down in that cell. I think of the meeting in the tavern, and the things I had overheard while hiding beneath the floorboards. The Harbingers are actively working to bring down the Arc of Radiance. By the sounds of it, they have apparently figured out a way to communicate with them directly, and are working together to destroy the Conclave.

  Everything seems to hinge on whether or not the Harbingers will be successful in their goals. They are, by all appearances, an important piece of the demon's plot to crush the last remnants of humanity.

  And right now, they are winning.

  Light almighty, I think as I run. Things are bad... much worse than any of the other mages thought! I need to get to the Pillar... now!

  I catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye, and find myself skidding to a stop to look over at it. A squat stone building stands next to a large intersection, lit with lamplight from inside the windows. A sign out front carries the words, "Fine horses, finer prices".

  A stable, I realize, an idea forming in my mind.

  Taking a deep breath, sweat running down the sides of my face despite the chill air, I jog over to the stable and peek inside, trying to determine who is in charge. A gruff-looking man with a scraggly beard sits inside a small room, eating a meal beside a roaring fire. He appears to be alone. To the side of the building, rows of wooden stalls stand behind closed doors, obscured from view of the stable man but locked tight to prevent the horses from getting out.

  I reach into the pockets of my robes, cursing quietly to myself. No money, I think, looking back inside. The man now has his back to the window, pouring himself a drink out of a clay pitcher.