by Hugo Huesca
Another Endurance rank lost. Ed stumbled his way to the floating pair—Katalyn wasn’t fighting back anymore; her face was gaining a shade of purple, and her parted lips were dried and cracking.
I still have one spell left. Ed’s only hope was to reach Kaga’s dagger and activate his eldritch edge. The fact that he was completely drained of stamina made no difference in his plan—either he’d do it, or she would die, and he wasn’t about to stand and watch it happen.
“So I asked Murmur to protect you until the time came when I was to be resurrected. The Hungry One can be generous, when he wants to,” Torst went on, although it seemed to Ed that Katalyn wasn’t in any shape to listen. “He agreed happily, only asking another, final murder… that of Duke Fynnal of Galtia, who was already near the Heiligians. It wasn’t even hard to bypass the Duke’s defenses, empowered as I was with Murmur’s incredible magic… and now, his part of the deal is fulfilled. My legend begins, and it will never end, as long as the stars burn in the sky!”
“Stupid.” To Ed’s surprise, Katalyn stirred in Torst’s grasp. She gave a wet cough and gasped for air. “Stupid… can’t you see… how Murmur played you…”
She’s right. How could Torst, back when he was alive, have been so blind? Murmur had used him to kickstart the war between Starevos and Heiliges.
Realization after realization followed like a domino effect.
The war with Starevos had weakened Heiliges and forced it to issue a ceasefire with Lotia for a couple of years… which was enough for the Lotian Dungeon Lords to rebuild their strength.
What had Kharon told Ed when the Boatman threw him into those catacombs to save Katalyn? “Murmur owes her father a personal favor. The Dark One promised to keep her safe… isn’t that endearing, the love a father can have for his daughter?”
“He fucking knew this would happen…” Ed whispered. The humming of the necromantic emanations from the wraith almost sounded like a distant laughter. Distant, and cold, and mocking… You’re all tools, the laughter seemed to say. Monkeys dancing in the palms of uncaring gods. And among those, I am the most uncaring of them all…
“Silly girl,” the wraith laughed and laughed as her Endurance went down more and more. “Murmur always fulfills his promises. Everyone knows it. And now, you’ll join me in the ranks of his lieutenants. In truth—” the wraith’s single remaining green eye shone with triumph “—you should thank me…”
I can’t reach her in time, Ed realized. He could count her remaining Endurance ranks on one hand. Blood was running like tears from her eyes, ears, and nose. Torst’s aura was more powerful than ever. Ed could already feel the waves of fear reaching his chest—he wouldn’t make the jump, it was physically impossible… I’m about to watch her die…
“No,” a familiar voice came from behind Ed. It was Alder, out of breath, covered in sweat, arms scratched to all hell by his sprint through the forest. There was a tray filled with broken potions at his feet, and he was clutching a small, smoking sphere in one hand. “She should thank me.” He threw the sphere with all his might at the floating wraith, who hadn’t even acknowledged the Bard’s presence.
The sphere exploded well before reaching its target, but the cloud of smoke that followed engulfed Katalyn and the wraith immediately. Ed could see specks of silver flashing here and there inside the cloud. He realized it was one of Heorghe’s altered smoke bombs. Infused with silver…
Sparks of necromantic feedback surged through the cloud like snakes lurking under the surface of a lake. The constant throbbing of the undead became an ear-splitting screech. Ed saw the figures of Katalyn and Torst plummet to the ground—Katalyn held Kaga’s dagger, and she drove it into the wraith’s skull.
They hit the ground with a dull thud, and she rolled, stunned, away from her father. She barely had any Endurance left, and Ed had no idea how long the silver could hold back the wraith’s aura.
He gritted his teeth, forced himself to run out of sheer determination, and waded into the smoke.
“Ed!” Alder was next to him. The Bard handed him a flask. Ed didn’t need an explanation to know what it was filled with—the ominous sense of doom he got while holding it was clue enough.
Ed nodded, gripped the flask tightly, and reached Torst as the wraith was beginning to stand.
“Who are you people?” the wraith rasped, its unnatural voice now raspy, as if the silver dust had shredded its invisible vocal chords. “I just want what’s rightfully mine!”
“Oh, trust me,” Ed said as he uncorked the horn. “That’s exactly what I’m going to give you.”
“The ancient laws—” the wraith babbled. Except, Ed wasn’t in the mood for ancient laws. He drew closer to the wraith while the smoke slowly cleared around them. The wraith threw a weak swipe that missed its mark by several feet.
Katalyn shuffled toward Ed and the wraith. “That’s the Dungeon Lord I’m sleeping with, Father.”
Torst faced her, its skull clattering with rage. Its lipless mouth opened—
Ed rushed in, roaring with murderous rage. Before the wraith could react, the Dungeon Lord grabbed the dagger Katalyn had stabbed into the wraith’s eye socket, and pushed it down, hard. The wraith fell to its knees, its skull facing upward, at the night sky, at Ed’s face, and at the flask he had raised right above Torst.
The wraith screeched, its arms trying to reach Ed and push him away—but Katalyn reached the wraith’s arms, caught them with her own, and used her own weight to buy Ed the second he needed…
He emptied all the holy water into Torst’s eye sockets, a crystalline stream glistening in the moonlight.
“Katalyn!” the monster whispered with its broken voice.
Torst’s skull erupted into white, blinding flames, powerful enough that it was as if daytime in Hoia had already arrived.
The heat was incredible. Ed had been sure his gauntlet would withstand the flames for the second he held on to the now burning hilt of the dagger, but it wasn’t so. The leather cracked, his skin blistered, and a searing pain traveled through his hand and up his arm, roaring toward his heart as the sensation of doom reached an irresistible crescendo…
An invisible force threw Ed several meters away from the burning wraith as the white fire spread all over its body without mercy or respite.
Ed hit the ground hard, all the dredges of his strength rushing out of him as fast as they had arrived. Past the blackened lump of his left hand, he saw the fire engulf the wraith in a column of white—the black silhouette of the bones against the unmerciful holy light. The clouded night sky above the column parted in a perfect circle, revealing a sea of stars surrounding the huge Ivalian full moon, with the red and blue shimmers of the other planets of Ivalis’ solar system glinting at Ed across impossibly vast distances.
The column of white fire died out in a silent roar, leaving behind it only a small pile of ash atop perfectly preserved grass. A soft winter breeze swept across the clearing and blew the ash away.
26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MURMUR'S REACH
Without the interference of the wraith’s aura, snow slowly began to accumulate again in the clearing. Ed felt the flakes melting on his nose, sparks of coldness that evaporated quickly under the winter breeze.
He stood up, grunting like an old man. Everything is going to hurt tomorrow morning. He cleaned blood out of his mouth with a dirty sleeve.
Kaga was stirring, already trying to stand up—and failing so far. Judging from his pained expression, the kaftar had at least a couple of broken bones.
“Are you okay?” Ed asked him.
Kaga winced. “Are you kidding? We’re wraith-slayers now. Best day of my fucking life, I tell you.” He coughed specks of blood over his fur. “I’m going to lie here for a bit, you know? I feel like we kinda deserve it.”
“Ed!” Alder’s worried expression appeared in Ed’s field of vision. “Are you alive? I thought the Light was about to purge you too!”
Ed flash
ed Alder a weak smile. “Who knew?” he whispered. “Alita does not fuck around.” He knew he should be elated at their victory, but he was only tired and cold… unlike the two spider corpses, still steaming, lying in the grass.
“What happened there?” Alder asked. “I’d never seen holy water do anything remotely like that—it was like the work of an Arch-Inquisitor.”
“Perhaps Alita really doesn’t like wraiths,” Ed shrugged.
Together, they scanned the battlefield. The third spider, the one who had lost her front legs, had died from the Endurance drain during the fight. Not long ago, the sight of three dead spiders wouldn’t even have fazed Ed, but these creatures had fought with him; they had died protecting him. I don’t even know their names, he thought. When all this is over, at least I’ll give them a proper burial.
Katalyn shambled her way to them, looking exactly like Ed felt. Every bit of uncovered skin was painted with darkening bruises, and she had a nasty red ring around her neck, where Torst had almost choked her to death. “So,” she rasped, forcing her broken lips to form a smile. “All in all, the family reunion went well, wouldn’t you say?”
Ed barked a laugh that sounded suspiciously like a kaftar’s. “If that’s what you call well, I don’t want to find out what your dad did to your first boyfriends.”
Katalyn chuckled, dropped to the grass next to Ed and Alder, and discreetly wiped a tear from her face. “On the bright side… I’m finally fucking free of him. It’s over.”
Alder’s relieved expression darkened again. “Not yet,” he said. “Not for us, at least.”
“The Haunt,” Ed said, apprehension bubbling in his chest. Was he about to hear that everyone he knew was dead? Was Alder the only survivor? “What happened?”
The Bard quickly told him the abridged version. Kes was badly hurt, and everyone else was hiding throughout the Haunt, with cultists hunting them down. Nicolai had been slowed, but only temporarily, and Kes suspected the rebel had infected his arm on purpose with a mindbrood. “We need our Dungeon Lord,” Alder said.
With each second of Alder’s tale, Ed had grown more and more quiet. The fight wasn’t over. If he took even a second to rest, he’d be gambling with the lives of Lavy, and Kes, and Klek, and Heorghe, and everyone else.
“No way,” Katalyn said. “Look at him, Alder. We can barely stand, much less fight!” She gestured at Ed’s chest. “You see how few Endurance points he has left? That’s going to take weeks to recover from—it’s well beyond what you can fix with a potion. And his hand…”
Ed had forgotten all about his own exposure to Torst’s drain. But he wore the effects of the fight all over his body. He glanced at the blackened lump of his hand.
“It doesn’t look so bad,” he muttered. He had never seen anything quite like it. Alita’s holy fire had burnt away all the skin and muscles a bit past the wrist, leaving only black bones. On a whim, he tried to clench his hand into a fist, and almost fainted from the pain—but the skeletal hand reacted. “See? It’s just a flesh wound.”
Neither of his friends laughed. It says something about my mental state that my sense of humor resembles Lavy’s.
“You need to get to a Cleric,” Katalyn told him.
Ed shook his head. “There’s no other option. I’m not going to let my friends die just because I’m a bit worse for the wear. Wouldn’t you do the same in my place?”
Katalyn’s eyes darted at the jagged rock where Ed had found her facing the wraith. “Maybe not. But do you actually think you can do anything to Nicolai in your condition? He’s not fully human.”
It was true. If Ed had been at his hundred percent… maybe. With the help of all his minions and his spells. Currently…
“There may be a way,” Ed said slowly. “I still have one spell left.”
“I think,” Katalyn said softly, “that you may be overestimating what basic-level spellcasting can do…”
Alder scowled and bit his lower lip. “That spell? You said you’d never use it.”
“To be honest, I’m one wraith and one murderous cultist asshole past caring about what I said I’d never do.” Ed realized he was gritting his teeth.
“Alita’s tits, Ed, you know what?” Alder’s face had lost its boyish charm. The man in front of Ed was very different. Older. Grim. Resolute. “I know exactly how you feel. Do whatever you have to do.”
The Dungeon Lord nodded, drawing strength from his friend’s newfound determination. If I’m not going to risk my soul for my loved ones, then what purpose do I even serve. Let the gods above play their games. He refused to risk his friends’ lives to prove a point.
“Guys, you’re worrying me,” said Katalyn. “What spell are you talking about? We’re in the middle of the forest, how do you intend to reach the dungeon with basic magic?”
“Not exactly true,” Ed said. “We’re still in the Haunt’s territory.” He gestured at the trees, at the jagged hills, and at the snow-covered treetops of Hoia’s heart. “As long as I’m here, the possession spell can reach any minion inside my domain.”
“The possession spell?” Katalyn asked, her eyes wide with worry.
“Murmur’s reach,” Ed explained, and then he activated his last spell slot. And a river of Dark energy swept his soul out of his body.
THE ELF’S rapier was covered in a strange, shadowy magic that made it hard to “see” the blade, even with Klek’s echolocation. “Sneak attack!” the Thief roared. “Sneak attack, gods damn you!” He drove the sword with magical precision through Dotux’s neck before the poor batblin had time to react. The two cultists that Dotux had been busy smashing around with his mace fumbled blindly.
While the other cultists couldn’t keep up with the batblins in the dark, the elf had no such trouble, and he was strong enough to kill any batblin who dared get near. Klek tried to encircle him and rush him from behind, but the elf tracked his movements—his hearing was good enough to track the batblin. Talent-enhanced, Klek realized.
Drusb dashed past Klek, screeching with anger and fear. Klek opened his mouth to warn the cloudmaster, but he was too slow.
“Take this, scum!” the elf roared, and kicked Drusb in the ribs, sending the batblin soaring through the air and into the straw bunks behind Klek. Drusb didn’t come back out.
Tulip, the spider, tried to nail him with a web shot, but the Thief dodged easily.
“Nice try!” The elf threw a pair of knives at her. The blades left long blue gashes on her chitin, causing the spider to hiss in pain.
One of the few remaining human cultists turned to the source of the noise and raised a hand, aiming blindly. “Daze spray!” A ray of light streamed out of his hand and struck against Tulip’s eyes. The spider clicked her mandibles in confusion, stumbled sideways, and fell away from the wall.
The cultist headed blindly in her direction.
“Asshole, cast a lighting spell!” the Thief told the man.
“I don’t know any, Brondan!” the cultist snapped back, his voice shaky with fear.
At that moment, Sas, the batblin that led the brewing team, rushed against the cultist and threw a heavy pot at his head. The pot hit him on the forehead, and the cultist dropped. “Yes!” Sas smacked the fallen cultist some more, using a long broom. “Sas is a warrior now!”
“Sas, watch out!” Klek exclaimed, an instant before Brondan vaulted over the fallen cultist and swiped at Sas with his rapier, missing her by an inch. The batblin screamed and fell on her ass. She tried to get away, but Brondan followed after her, his face transfixed with murderous rage.
“Damn pests!” he exclaimed, striking at the air right in front of Sas’ terrified face. “How is it that I’m the one left to deal with the fucking forest critters!” He was frothing at the mouth, his eyes bulging and the veins of his neck taut with tension. “I just want to go back to my city!”
Klek charged the elf. “Leave her alone!” Klek screamed. Then he instantly reprimanded himself. He was supposed to move quietly—
&
nbsp; Brondan jumped to his left and stabbed at Klek with inhuman precision. “Sneak attack!” Klek felt a rake of burning pain slash down his leg. Warm blood wet his fur.
“Now the pests are begging for each other’s lives,” Brondan muttered as Klek crawled away.
“Screw you!” another batblin said, one among the many who had kept their distance from the elf.
A small clay pot hit Brondan in the shoulder and smashed on the floor. “What?” Many more similar projectiles followed. Bins, rotten fruit, small rocks, a candle… “Enough!” Brondan tried to parry the attacks using his rapier, but there were too many. “You think this is a joke? Is this fun to you, pests?” The Thief headed for the batblins, homing in on their screams and curses.
He’s going to kill them all, thought Klek, feeling more impotent than ever in his entire life. He had faced Brondan and had been defeated in a second, despite all the training with Kes and the others.
He hit the hard floor with a fist. No. I’m the Ranger Slayer. He doesn’t get to walk away from me. Slowly, he crawled in Brondan’s direction. He heard a faint whine nearby. Tulip.
Klek headed to her; every inch he covered sent waves of pain through his wounded leg. At any second he may faint. But the batblins were running out of things to throw. They couldn’t run out of the chamber now—the Thief had them cornered.
“What? Stay away!” Tulip’s legs stabbed blindly in Klek’s direction, and almost impaled him right then and there. “Stay away!”
“Wait!” Klek said. “I need your help!”
Tulip’s mandibles clicked with confusion, her legs frozen in midair. “A batblin? By my Queen, how low I’ve fallen… I’ve never been much of a fighter, but now? Now my former prey needs my help. Stare into my eyes, I’m blind! Useless!”
“It’s just a spell, it’ll fade!” Klek snapped at her. Slowly, as not to startle her, he placed a hand above her mandibles. “Look, I’m hurt too. I can’t walk… But I can see. Together, we may have a chance.”
