“Thomas, strike with the General’s sword. Clear the way to the door and we shall barricade it. Zacharias…”
“Zach.”
“ZACHARIAS you will protect the child with Morando. I will draw their fire until Thomas gets the door open.”
Thomas nodded. They were only twenty feet from the door. How hard could it be?
As soon as the thought left his brain he wished he could have it back. Now his job was going to be a thousand times more difficult.
He dashed forward anyway, swinging the General’s sword in a controlled frenzy, just as the Keeper had instructed. As before, the spots he struck burned with a glowing flame, but they were incapable of doing real harm. All they did was buy him so time, but that was enough.
Thomas knocked two to the ground, and turned to see that they had been replaced by three more. Those three descended on him, but he held his ground. The other sword was next to useless against the Inanis, as they were made of wood and it would take a very long time for him to chop them all down. It was only effective in blocking their flailing arms, and the General’s blade wrenched more time from the Inanis.
He heard a shout from in front of him, and looked up just in time to take a boot to his left cheek. Fire exploded beneath his skin as stars popped in his head and he tumbled to the ground. When he looked up, he saw what could have been an Inanis save for its clear personality.
His assailant was as tall as he was, and better built. He wielded a curved sword in his right hand with a mace in his left. He was dressed in dark clothing that resembled wood, but upon closer examination Thomas saw that it was merely designed to look that way.
Which meant this man was a living person.
“Well howdy,” Thomas said, wiping a trickle of blood from his cheek, “fancy meeting you here.”
His opponent had no response but to point his blade at Thomas’ heart. Thomas took a deep, steadying breath before knocking it aside with the General’s sword. He backed up two steps, mirrored by the Inanis commander. Thomas sheathed the General’s sword and replaced it with the shield, which would be more effective to block the mace with. He was as ready as he was going to be.
Thomas had a brief moment of doubt where he wondered if one lesson with a sword was enough to challenge a living foe. The next moment stole that doubt away because he no longer had the luxury for it.
They moved forward as one, Thomas raising his shield to absorb the blow from the mace. The shock of it traveled straight down his arm, rattling him to the point where he almost was unable to parry the sword aiming to gut him. The blades clashed in a shout of metal on metal, sending a shock all the way to his elbow. If he survived this battle his arms were going to be so very sore.
The mace swung at his head, but Thomas was able to duck the blow completely. He jammed his blade forward, but it was knocked aside and almost out of his hand by the commander’s parry.
Again, they separated and stared at each other.
“I am sorry about this,” the commander said with a voice that seemed to carry an eon of sadness.
“Well, you don’t have to. You can just walk away,” Thomas said. That would be about the best thing that could possibly happen today.
“I’m afraid that isn’t an option. I am a soldier, and I must fight for my king. Even if it involves such dishonorable tactics.”
Thomas’ eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what the man was referring to. “What tactics?”
“Attacking a city under the cover of nightfall, using these damned puppets as soldiers… such things are unfit for a soldier of honor. But my king commands it, and so I must follow.”
“Who is your king?” Thomas asked. Neither the elves or the dwarves had a king, so the only land remaining would have to be Ludicra. But that was silly to even think about. The Capital had fallen, there was no way…
“You’ve heard his name in the darkness between the stars, and seen him in the corner of the places you don’t want to look.”
Thomas’ eyes widened. It couldn’t be, he had been defeated… the pretend Priest was proof that the original had gone and hadn’t returned.
“I serve King Ofan,” the commander said, tightening his grip on his weapons. “And it is for him that I end your lives and all of Verdonti.”
Thomas gulped, but he wouldn’t be deterred. “I’m not goin’ to make it easy for ya, sir.”
“Come then, and let us test our mettle.”
Thomas twirled the sword in his hand, making sure his fingers were loose. If there were ever a time for him to fight, this was it. He didn’t believe for a second that the Dark Priest – the real one – had returned, but that was so far down on his list of important things that it was barely even on there. All that mattered was that this commander was trying to lay waste to Verdonti, and he wouldn’t have it.
They met again, mace to shield and blade to blade. Thomas’ meager experience with his sword was put to the test as he parried blows mostly on instinct and ducked or overleapt attacks from the mace. For every jab, there was a slash to knock it aside. For every swipe, there was three feet of steel to intercept it.
For the little amount of training Thomas had, he actually held his own for a surprising amount of time. He forced the commander to give ground, blocking every strike and delivering a return with increasing fervor. He pushed the commander up the stairs that led to the temple, closing him in with nowhere to run. Thomas felt sure he was on the verge of improbable victory.
Then his inexperience caught up with him.
He learned a moment too late that the commander had been feigning, leading Thomas up the stairs. The moment Thomas leaned in too far for an attack, his blade crashing down in a vertical slash while the commander crossed his weapons to black it, the commander kicked him in the gut. Winded, Thomas could to nothing as the commander kicked him again, sending him tumbling back down the stairs he had just climbed. Finally, he came to a halt at the bottom, completely out of breath and unable to rise to his feet.
“You did well,” the commander said, walking down the steps to Thomas’ prone body. Thomas tried to rise, but the commander put a foot on his back and forced him back into the dirt.
“But you need a little more seasoning before you’ll make an actual warrior.”
The foot was lifted from Thomas’ back, and Thomas looked up to see the commander walking away from him.
“Yer not… going to… finish me off?”
“It would be dishonorable to kill a foe with such great potential but so little skill. I am here for the head of the Chancellor, not to slaughter the defenseless.”
Thomas might have been offended if it weren’t for the fact that what the commander said was completely true. The Inanis joined the commander and they marched away from him as feeling finally returned to his body.
Zach was at his side, a little bloody but otherwise unhurt. The Keeper was there too, though his greatest wound seemed to be his pride. It was only the absence of Morando that gave Thomas the strength to stand.
The elf was over twenty feet away, crouched over what Thomas had to assume was Etante. But why weren’t they moving?
It was only when he heard the tall elf sobbing that the blood ran cold in his bones. He was next to the elf in a heartbeat, trying to convince himself that what he suspected couldn’t possibly have happened.
“No…” was all Thomas could say as he stared at the pair. What he had suspected was the child’s death. What he found was something impossibly worse.
She was lying on the ground, staring up at a sky she could no longer see. She looked unharmed save for her left arm. From a spot just beneath her elbow there was a brown splotch that looked like someone had flicked paint on the girl.
It was spreading.
“No,” Thomas said, losing the air that had just returned to his lungs, “Gods, no.”
“I don’t understand…” Morando said through his sobs, “it reached out and just clawed at her. There were so many, I didn’t even see it c
oming. But it just cut her once… just one time…”
Thomas stroked the girl’s hair, hoping against reason, against logic, that the curse would just turn around and leave her body. As fate would have it, that is not what happened.
“None of my healing abilities are making any difference,” Morando said brokenly.
“Must be the dark magic,” Thomas said before thinking about how very unimportant that really was right now.
Zach and the Keeper joined them, and Zach put a hand on the poor father’s arm. The Keeper said nothing, and for the first time an emotion other than anger passed his features. It was sadness on a scale that Thomas couldn’t have dreamed of in his darkest nightmares, like someone had torn out the Keeper’s happiest memory and burned it to ash.
Don’t let this happen, Thomas begged anyone, anything. Anything that would listen and save the little girl. I couldn’t save the farm. I couldn’t save the Capital. I can’t save Verdonti. But please… PLEASE… don’t let this little girl die…
Thomas wasn’t sure if his prayer was being answered, but all he knew for sure was that the brown mark on her arm wasn’t spreading.
“I’m not bein’ funny,” Thomas said, moving closer to her arm, “but it don’t look like it’s spreadin’.”
Only the Keeper seemed to heed what he said, and bent to examine the wound. Thomas moved away to provide him more room, but the moment he did the wound started to spread again. Aghast, Thomas did the only thing that made sense and again put his hand on her head. The moment his flesh made contact with hers, the disease halted again.
“How are you doing that?” the Keeper asked, looking up at Thomas. Thomas could only shrug a response.
“Well, if you can keep the poison from spreading, there may be something we can do,” the Keeper said, looking at Morando with something that greatly resembled pity.
“What’s that?” Zach said thickly. It sounded as he was resisting crying.
“We… oh Gods, I’m sorry Morando… but we can cut out the poison by… removing the arm.”
Morando looked mutinous, savage. Thomas’ jaw dropped at the impossible suggestion. Remove the arm of a little girl? That wasn’t an option.
“It is better than her dying, my old friend,” the Keeper said. Thomas lowered his gaze to the girl’s face, his stomach dropping in uncertain horror. Was there no other way to save her?
Thomas closed his eyes, struggling with the weight of it all. He couldn’t just kneel there forever, keeping the poison at bay. Their time was stretched thin enough as it was. But he couldn’t bring himself to just cut off a little girl’s arm, either.
“If we cut off her arm, won’t she bleed to death?” he heard Zach say.
“We can cut off the blood flow, seal the wound shut,” the Keeper replied.
“No.”
The latest denial came from Morando himself, who gathered his little girl to his chest. No one else spoke, waiting for Morando to wrestle with his emotions and come to whatever conclusion he thought was best.
“This is but a poison, the same as any bite from a slitherer. We remove it the same way.”
“That poison can’t just be spit out, boy,” the Keeper said, “it’ll infect us next.”
“It’s better than taking a little girl’s limb from her,” Zach said, “let her be young and whole while she still can be.”
The Keeper made to argue back when Thomas ceased the discussion. He crossed over to the arm and told Morando, “make the cut right on the poison. I’ll do it.”
Morando immediately shook his head. “I am her father, it is my responsibility.”
“I can keep the poison at bay. Maybe – just maybe – I’m immune to it. I stand the best chance. Now make the cut.”
“I-…”
“Do it.”
The order carried with it the gravity of a commander. It stopped all the discussion and even the wind seemed to cease for the moment out of respect.
Morando made a small cut right where the poison was, and Thomas lowered his head without hesitation.
Her skin was impossibly cold, and as his mouth connected with her arm he felt the poison jump from her arm to his mouth. It was warm yet more solid than fluid, like dried grease. Thomas spat it out, then leaned down again for another. He repeated this process six times before the world started to spin and he had to fight just to stay upright.
“Almost there,” Morando said, “it’s almost all gone.”
Spurred on, Thomas drained the poison three more times before he felt like he was going to black out.
“Don’t stop now, boy,” he heard the Keeper command. Following the now familiar path down, he drained the last bit of poison and spat it at the ground, finally falling over to lie on the cold stone.
Then he heard the cough of a little girl, and he was able to smile.
“Daddy, what happened?” Etanta asked. Thomas looked over at the little girl, seeing her rubbing her eyes as if she had simply been roused from a nap.
“It doesn’t matter, you’re safe now,” her father said with tears in his eyes.
“C’mon, Thomas, lean forward here,” Thomas heard as he felt a hand under his head. He had no power to move, so he let Zach pull him upright. He felt the cool trickle of water on his chin, and realized Zach had brought some for him. He took three sips, spitting them all out to clear away the remaining poison. Only when he was sure he was free of it did he actually drink some of the water.
“How’s…” he forced out as his head started to clear, “how’s she feeling?”
“Much better,” Etanta herself answered, “thank you sir.”
Thomas would have chuckled save for the physical pain returning to his body. It took more strength than he knew he had to stand, and more after that to start walking.
“Morando, take you daughter home, to your house. Pack whatever you’re going to need for a long journey and then leave. Take her and just run.”
“No.”
The refusal, just as before, carried with it a weight that left no room for negotiation. Thomas looked at the tall elf, who simply stared at him without emotion.
“We go together, or not at all,” Morando said.
“Please, think of your daughter…” Thomas said.
“She will accompany us. I will not abandon her, and I will not abandon you. The choice here is clear.”
Thomas’ fists shook in rage as angry tears burst to his eyes. “I ain’t gonna have your daughter’s death on my conscience.”
“Her life is due to your conscience. We stand together.”
“Hey,” Zach said, placing a hand on Thomas’ arm, “we can do this. It’ll be alright.”
Thomas sighed, but he eventually nodded. Morando walked forward and placed his hand on Thomas’ arm, and Thomas found some of his strength returning. Evidently, the healer was, indeed, healing him.
“Well, we spent enough time outside,” the Keeper said, taking the stairs to the top, “what say we repay our attackers in kind?”
Drawing their weapons, the three of them stood side by side by side at the foot of the temple. Sneaking around the back went Morando and Etanta, to find a different way in and, hopefully, to keep them out of the thick of the action.
With a shared nod, they pushed open the doors and headed into the temple of Verdonti.
Chapter 12: Flight to the Flame
The moment the door opened, Thomas wanted to run the other way. Inanis were everywhere, overpowering the elven guards with sheer numbers. Thomas briefly wondered where they had all come from before deciding he really didn’t want to know, and the three of them dived into the melee. The General’s sword cut into legs, knocking Inanis to the ground one by one as Thomas aimed for more surgical strikes.
Zach was to his left, wielding his blade like a club and bashing over Inanis left and right. The ones that refused to be knocked over he pushed or punched, channeling his fury into a force nature.
The Keeper was almost his exact opposite. He moved with
grace and speed, jumping and pivoting and never remaining in the same spot for more than a second at a time. His blade he used more as an extension of his fist, battering Inanis on all sides.
But their opponents couldn’t be hurt, and they couldn’t be killed. The best they could do was knock them aside for now, and get whoever was inside the temple out of temple. For Thomas, that list began and ended with Cynthia. On a separate, less important list, was the Chancellor’s name.
They fought their way to the front of the temple, which found one name on Thomas’ list. It just wasn’t the one he wanted. The Chancellor was fighting with the same commander who had bested Thomas. Swords flashed back and forth, with the occasional swing of the mace joining the fray.
The Chancellor’s courage seemed to be elsewhere, or else it was his skill that had eluded him, because he didn’t last very much longer. His blade was blocked by the mace, and the commander’s blade shot forward. Only a timely fall, saved the Chancellor from death, but his weapon remaining lodged in the mace and was torn from his grasp.
Falling to his knees, the Chancellor held up his hands, clearly begging to live. The commander raised his mace in a clear response of, “no.”
The mace fell, blurring to a streak of red and silver as it hungered to cave in the Chancellor’s skull.
It bounced off of the General’s shield.
The reverberation was so loud it could be heard from anywhere in the temple, and the fighting stopped for a moment as Thomas and the commander sized each other up, each preparing for the next round of the battle.
“You couldn’t best me before,” the commander said.
“No,” Thomas replied, “I couldn’t.”
“What makes you think you will meet with success now?”
“Nothing,” Thomas said, “I just can’t let you kill him. Not until I know something.”
“I’m sorry, but nothing must get in the way of my mission.”
“This time, I’m afraid to get past me you’re gonna have to kill me.”
The commander nodded, though he didn’t seem very pleased by the announcement. Thomas wasn’t exactly pleased by it either, but he had to make his stand here, before Verdonti fell.
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