He stood in the middle of a long tunnel, much like the one in his vision, and found to his relief that he carried his scimitars in his hands. But with nowhere else to go, Neth’tek began walking down the tunnel.
*****
“You left us,” he heard Gefiny say, her voice hoarse as she looked at him with bloodshot eyes and blistered skin, “You left us to die, Dril’ead.”
Dril stood there for a moment, looking at her in the darkness of that corridor, uncertain what to do or say. Finally he said, “But you died, dear Gefiny.”
“We could have lived!” she cried, her voice echoing in the dungeon, forcing him to look away from her. “You could have saved us! All of us! It was you, Dril’ead, all your fault because of what you did not do! When our enemies came in about us you fled into the shadows, escaping them and leaving us to perish. You left us, and now we are dead. And you will betray Neth’tek too... He will also die because of you.”
Tears in his eyes, Dril looked at her, raising his hand up to touch her cheek. His hand felt nothing, though. “Oh Gefiny, I wish you were real,” he said, “But you are not real. You are gone.”
At that moment, she vanished. He was alone in the corridor, and leaned against the wall to sob into his hand.
*****
Neth’tek came into a circular corridor, the ceiling high above and hidden in darkness, the walls covered in a liar of moss. But what caught his attention first was the boy kneeling in the middle of the chamber, silent with his head bowed. He cautiously approached him, sheathing one of his scimitars as he put out his hand to touch the child.
“It’s okay,” he said as he went down on one knee, placing a hand on the boys shoulder, “I’m going to get you out of here. It’s okay.”
The boy looked up at him, and the sight of his face made Neth’tek withdraw his hand. It was his eyes, pale white and glowing in the darkness. “One more day!” cried the boy, his voice a shrill cry that was not his own, “Two more deaths before the blood moon rises!”
The light in his eyes flickered and went out, the body falling sideways into the muck they knelt in. Neth’tek watched him fall, his eyes wide with horror. To the side something stirred in the darkness, a shadow taking shape in the corner of his eye. He looked, saw the two eyes flash open with a yellow light, and then the third above and between the two, red with a black pupil.
“Neth’tek Vulzdagg,” he heard a voice speak from all directions at once, almost as if it were in his head, “we meet at last! Prepare to meet your demise, child of the basilisk!”
Neth’tek rolled to the side just as a beam of light struck the ground where he had knelt, a vapor of steam spiraling upwards from the damp moss. The eye turned to follow him, light tearing through the darkness. He heard screams, not his own or anyone that he knew, but screams that he recalled hearing over a decade ago. They were the screams of the men and women of Heinsfar, people he had slaughtered.
He was hit by the beam. Not directly, but enough to feel its power. It launched him into the air, tossing him into the far wall. He collapsed into a steaming heap at the base of the wall, the demon rushing toward him to look down at him with its three eyes, the red one flashing angrily as the voice sounded inside of his mind again, beating him mentally.
“You fail, Vulzdagg!” it cried. “You fail to save these people, and you fail to please the desires of the Shadow Queen. She requires the strongest of The Fallen to be her servants. You fail to meet such requirements.”
Neth’tek rolled over, looking up into the third eye of the demon as it glared down upon him. “Than at least I shall die with peace in my heart!” he coughed back at it.
The eye narrowed angrily. “Fool!” it hissed, “you don’t know the pain and suffering that awaits your immortal soul!”
A slash of emerald light filled the space between them before the eye could enact any further pain upon The Fallen, and Ezila stood there, sword in hand, cutting at the face of the demonic being. “Stand back, lesser creature of the Lesser Realm!” Ezila said with a commanding tone.
Ulchar retreated to the shadows again, but Neth’tek could see the pleased smile on its horrid face. “Well,” said the eye, “this is a pleasant surprise.”
“Perhaps for you,” said Ezila, eyes narrowed and blade held at the ready, “but we are ready!”
Just then, Dril’ead came running into the room from another passageway, scimitars in hand as he rushed toward them. Ezila leaped at the demon, its eye distracted by Dril’s sudden approach. It scurried away, swiping with one arm to strike the druidic spirit. She rolled beneath the blow, slashing at the arm as she came up. It screamed as a green light streaked through the air, slicing the leathery scales of its arm. Spinning round and under another blow from the demon, Ezila stabbed it in the center of its abdomen, and then drawing back she cut at its outstretched hand.
The red eye blazed with fury from the middle of its forehead.
Dril’ead knelt beside Neth’tek, lifting his head from the mucky water that he lay in, and examined him thoroughly. “Are you hurt?” he asked.
“The boy...” Neth’tek said, gasping for air as his breath returned to his lungs, and looked to where the child lay on his side. “The boy is dead, Dril’ead! We failed.”
Dril looked to where he indicated and saw him, motionless in the mud of the sewer. He felt heat pulse through his body, from his heart to the tips of his fingers, and Neth’tek saw the fighters’ eyes flash in the darkness.
The demon slayer had awakened.
21
The Demon Slayer Awakens
Baron Guldar had always felt as if he were living in the shadow of his father, unable to rise to be the great leader that Baldor had been to the people of Evenstar. And now, even as he looked out of his window from the upper story of the barons keep, the rooftops of the many settlements shining in the moonlight, he felt completely at a loss. How, with all that was against him, was he supposed to save his people?
The door behind him opened, and a servant came inside the room to set a tray of tea and sweet bread on a table beside his armchair. He did not turn around to see who it was, having expected it to be that time of the morning again, and waited for the door to close in indication that the servant had left.
He left the window, crossing over to the small table, and picked up the cup of steaming tea. Holding it in front of his face as he stared at the wall above the empty hearth, the portrait of his father and mother hanging there, he waited.
“To you, father, and all that you fought to defend,” he said. And then closing his eyes, he sipped from the glass.
As soon as it was done, he sat in his chair and closed his eyes, a deep sleep coming upon him. Only he didn’t realize it, it was a sleep he would not awaken from.
Outside the servant entrance, Rollon waited. He held a pouch of coins in his hands, eagerly tossing it to himself. When finally the servant came out to toss the leftovers to the dogs chained at the door, he removed himself from the shadows and came near.
“Is it done?” he asked the manservant.
“It is,” he replied, and held out his hand.
Rollon dropped the pouch of gold into his open palm. “The people will be thankful when The Fallen are revealed as their true selves,” he said.
Without a word to the man, the servant merely stuffed the pouch into his pocket beneath his apron and turned to go back inside, shutting the door behind him. Rollon smiled to himself as he walked home. Later that morning, the manservant awakened the guards to the news that Baron Guldar had passed away in his sleep. The town would never know the truth of the matter, that Rollon himself was plotting against The Fallen, framing them and condemning them before the people on their return.
That is, if they returned.
*****
Ezila’s scream filled the corridor as the Ulchar rammed its claws through her, lifting her into the air and then tossing her against the far wall. She faded into a cloud of green smoke in the air before she could hit the wall, howev
er, and was gone. Neth’tek only watched in horror, his own pains leaving him as he beheld his old companion disappear into what he suspected to be her doom. But she had only retreated to her own plain of existence, resting herself to heal from the dire wounds.
Dril’ead was already charging the demon, however, both scimitars in either hand. Ulchar turned its eye upon him, and it blazed once before blasting him with a ray of energy that slammed into him head-on. He slid back on his heels, his swords crossed in front of him as if to block the beam of light, but stopped in the center of the corridor next to the body of the boy. He looked down at the corpse, his rage filling to its brim inside of him.
What the demon Ulchar did not understand was how resistant to magic the warrior spirit of Dril’ead was.
He took a step forward, pressing against its attack, and slowly began stalking toward the monstrous demon. He broke into a sprint, dodging under a swing of its clawed arm and hitting the wall behind it. Dril bounced off, tucking his legs under him as he flipped through the air over its head and landed directly in front of it, punching upward with one of his scimitars, driving the adamant steel into the red globe of its third eye.
Ulchar screamed, trying to pull free of his blade, but he had grabbed onto one its horns with his other hand and held its head in place, even driving his sword deeper into its skull. The light in its eye blazed furiously, its others rolling back in its head. He held it there for a moment longer, until its screaming died, and he snapped his sword from its eye and let the head hit the stones, blood pooling under its face.
Dril’ead stepped back, breathing heavily. He looked up from his kill and roared, releasing his rage into the damp air.
Neth’tek only watched from where he lay on his back, the corridor around them melting away until they stood alone in the middle of a glade of trees, the dim grey light of dawn slowly beginning to give light to the world. But there the child lay, motionless, the only sign that what they had seen and done was all real. The body of Ulchar, however, had disappeared. Its illusion broken and its magic gone from the world of the surface, banished back to the Lesser Realm below.
He saw the woman kneeling over the body of her child, crying out loud. So we’re back at the homestead, then? Neth’tek thought, looking around. Strange.
Dril’ead came over to Neth’tek, helping him onto his feet. “Check your pouch,” he said, “is the spirit still with us?”
Neth’tek looked down at the bag, recalling how Ezila had been run through by the claws of the demon and vanished. “Ezila,” he said, voice trembling nervously, “come to me, if you are there.”
Slowly, a green smoke began to billow up from the grass in front of them. Ezila appeared, her form shifting in and out of the smoke, but enough for them to tell it was her. She lay on her side, eyes shut, blood underneath her body though there were no visible wounds. “Neth’tek Vulzdagg,” she said as if she were speaking from her dreams, “I am with you. But I cannot be at your side this time. This time I must use to rest, or else you will be outmatched when the fighting begins.”
And then she began to fade back into smoke, drifting away on a breeze neither of them could feel.
Dril’ead looked at the woman cradling the body of her son, frowning. “When the fighting begins,” he repeated. “But, hasn’t it already begun?”
They had only to find out.
22
Betrayal of Faith
They found the inhabitants of Evenstar gathered in the street before the barons keep, but the man speaking to them from the threshold of the keep was not Guldar. It was Rollon, and both Neth’tek and Dril tensed visibly at the sight of the man addressing them all. Those in the back who saw The Fallen approach, looked upon them in fear, and made way for them to walk up to the steps of the keep. Helen came out of the crowd, though, and stopped them before they could reach Rollon.
“Wait,” she said in a whisper, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was coming their way.
“What is this?” Neth’tek demanded, “What’s going on?”
“Nothing good,” she replied.
“Hardly ever when Rollon is speaking,” Dril remarked, and Neth’tek nodded in agreement.
“You don’t understand,” said Helen, shaking her head and looking them in their eyes, “Something awful has happened, and Rollon has put the blame on you. And, from what I’m able to make out, they’re siding with Rollon.”
“What are you saying?” Neth’tek asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“Here they are – The Fallen!” cried one man, grabbing Dril’ead by the arm and attempting to pull him before Rollon. But Dril did not move the slightest under the mans pull, and he looked up at him with distain in his eyes.
“Hands off!” Dril growled, his hand touching the hilt of his sword, “Or shall I remove them myself?”
The man let go and took a cautious step backwards. “He threatens me!” he cried.
“Peace!” Rollon said aloud, a hand raised overhead to capture their attention. “Let The Fallen come forward and be judged by the people, and then condemned according to their crime.”
“What is the meaning of this, Rollon?” Neth’tek demanded form where he stood, making no sign to do as the man suggested.
“I was hoping you’d tell us, Fallen,” he said, gesturing to the people gathered round them. “Ever since you and your brother came to dwell in this valley, we have been plagued by fear and death! And now a demon comes to haunt us in our sleep? It has been naught but madness for us men and women, and even children, to live in these times.”
“We have done away with the awful demon,” Neth’tek replied, looking around at the faces turned toward him. Many of them looked away from his gaze. “I do not understand what we have done wrong!”
“What have you done wrong?” Rollon reiterated, “Where shall I begin? Perhaps with the burning of Heinsfar and the deaths of those thousands of souls living there! For years we have suffered the loss of our loved ones, and now we welcome you to our village and suffer the horrors that you bring upon us. I say we shall not suffer any more!”
Dril’ead nudged Neth’tek with his elbow, and looking up at his brother Neth’tek saw the anger in his eyes, and how he gripped his swords with whitening knuckles. “No Dril’ead,” he said softly, shaking his head. “The time for battle may come, but I do not think it is now. Stay your swords and let me speak to them.”
Dril’ead nodded, releasing his hold on his weapons.
“Where is the baron, and why isn’t he speaking on matters of the people?” Neth’tek demanded, standing firm and resolute.
“The baron, as we are all grieved to say, has passed away this terrible night,” said Rollon, and Neth’tek looked at Helen for clarification. The girl, though, looked at her feet, refusing to meet his gaze.
“How can this be?” he demanded, his voice loud but trembling in fear of the truth.
“We believe it was the awful spirit that has come to dwell in this valley,” said Rollon. “There was no indication of how he was killed, but was found sitting in his chair with the life gone from his veins. The people believe it is time that you leave before further death and punishment come upon us.”
Neth’tek did not respond immediately. He felt pained to speak, the news hitting him hard and in a rather odd situation. But he looked at Rollon and saw the greed in his eyes, the desire to be rid of him and Dril’ead burning like bonfire in his face. But why? What had they done to upset him so? Or was this truly all about the war with the Urden’Dagg long ago, cursing him just as he had predicted when walking from that battlefield to find acceptance among the people he had killed? They were now rejecting him. The only person to have stood between him and the people was Skifel, and after Skifel was Guldar. Both men, however, had been taken from before him.
So I am to suffer after all, he conceded in his mind.
“If this is about the needs of people, then let the people decide!” said Neth’tek, and he stepped forward and drew a
line in the mud with the toe of his boot. “Whoever is on our side, let them come. And whoever is against us may stand with you.”
For a moment everyone stood where they were, afraid to move or make a decision. And then Helen took a step over the line and stood beside Dril’ead, looking up at Rollon with determination in her eyes. Neth’tek saw Rollon’s expression as she came to his side, angry and frustrated.
A man Neth’tek did not recognize stepped over next, but he grinned at Dril’ead as he stood between him and Neth’tek. “Hakal,” he said, putting his hand out to Neth’tek. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Neth’tek looked at the red bearded man for a moment, judging him and examining his green eyes. He shook his hand and then looked at the crowd of people again. Two others had followed Hakal over, dressed as huntsmen and obviously part of some party together. “Is this it?” Neth’tek yelled at the people, “Is this how we will be run out of this fair settlement after fighting for so long and so hard to defend it for you? Have you forgotten to what god you owe your allegiance? Muari the Beloved is indeed beloved before the eyes of the men of Evenstar, and though his star may shine it will not shine with the same glory as I had once beheld.”
He turned about and began walking back the way they had come, out of the northern gates. Dril’ead, Helen and Hakal and his two companion followed him. However, Dril stopped midway down the street and turned around, looking back at Rollon and the people gathered there. None of the faces that he saw looked happy or relieved at their going, but neither did they dare to join them.
“They are lost in their own faith,” he said, “and it is a betrayal of their faith that we must depart this place.”
“Never mind it,” said Neth’tek, his eyes focused on the path through the dimly lit trees before them, “We have one day until the blood moon rises. One day to find Black Water and make all of this right again. They may have betrayed us, but I will not stop fighting for what Skifel believed so much in.”
Oblivion: Part Five of the Redemption Cycle Page 12
