Oblivion: Part Five of the Redemption Cycle

by J. R. Lawrence

  “So be it,” said Neth’tek, “We go into the pit of darkness...” and he went after the others, Dril now leading the way, following Minarch black bow into the valley of Black Water.

  *****

  “You will wait here,” said Minarch, stopping and turning around to face them. “The champion of Muari will continue forward, but the remainder of you will wait here.”

  They looked around at one another, uncertain who the “champion of Muari” was. And then Minarch looked at Neth’tek, nodding toward him as if indicating who he referred to.

  “No,” said Dril’ead, “he doesn’t go alone. I go with him.”

  “The Shadow Queen has asked only for the champion,” said Minarch, “so the champion alone will meet her.”

  “No,” Dril said again, teeth gritted, “he doesn’t.”

  A shadow emerged from the darkness encompassing them, striking Dril’ead in the stomach and forcing them backwards. There were three of them, dark rangers dressed exactly as Minarch, their faces seeming void of feeling or emotion. It was clear that the nearer they came to Black Water, the darker it became. Not only that the sun had gone down, but a sheet of mist, black as midnight, filled the valley to blind those who traveled through.

  “Leave him alone!” Neth’tek cried, trying to get to his brother, but was held back by the other rangers emerging from the darkness.

  Dril’ead tried to fight back, but he was hit again in the stomach, his swords forced from his hands and thrown into the blackness. It was clear how the shadows in this valley overpowered even his strength.

  “You will do as the Shadow Queen demands, or you will be punished further,” said Minarch.

  Dril looked up at him, blood trickling down his face from his nose. He snarled at the ranger, getting to his feet as if to charge. But something caught his eye off to one side, something no one else but he could discern from the rest of the world, and he slowly calmed and backed up.

  “It’ll be fine, Dril’ead,” said Neth’tek in his ear. “Trust me. Please.” He looked over at Helen, trembling where she was held with the hunters by the other rangers, unable to move or speak. “Keep an eye on Helen, will you?”

  Dril’ead nodded, breathing heavily and wiping the blood from his face.

  Neth’tek was grabbed by one of the rangers and pushed away from Dril’ead. He looked over his shoulder, back at Dril as he was steered into the shadows, the fighter standing alone in the void of emptiness that was the valley of Black Water. He raised his hand and looked as if he were speaking something, but the words could not be heard amid the silence of the shadows, and he faded into blackness.

  “What does your queen want with me?” Neth’tek demanded, pulling free from the hold of the ranger behind him.

  “Never has light graced this land nor given life to any that are born here,” said Minarch in reply. “In shadows we remain, our secrets and our knowledge kept from the outside world. The Shadow Queen has prepared a champion of her own to challenge that of Muari, a way to prove her strength to him and her power in this dark land. Welcome to Black Water.”

  They walked through the endless darkness for several minutes longer, time that seemed lost to Neth’tek. It was strange being trapped in darkness and unable to see, his infrared vision useless in this place of shadows, and he began to feel claustrophobic. But there was suddenly a streak of blood red light reflecting off of a glassy surface in front of them, and looking up he saw an orb of crimson that he could only guess was the moon.

  He was brought to stand at the edge of the streak of crimson light from the blood moon, his body shivering although he felt no wind. “What is this place?” he asked in a hoarse whisper, his voice shaking, “Where am I?”

  “Welcome to Black Water, Neth’tek Vulzdagg!” a voice answered out of the shadows, but it was not Minarch black bow. It was female, and sounded pleasant, although he couldn’t help but feel the cold bite that it gave him as she spoke.

  The light of the blood moon brightened at her words, revealing what was hidden by the shadows. The glassy surface was not glass at all, but a lake of pure black. He saw creatures, disfigured humanoid monsters crawling from its depths and stalking away into the trees that surrounded it. Houses, ancient and abandoned, lay along its shore. But the most terrible thing of all was what stood upon a platform above the lake, splendid and beautiful and awful, her arms outstretched as if showing her world to him with pride.

  “Alastra Swildagg,” Neth’tek whispered, the name coming to his mind from his discussion with Dril. That felt like an eternity ago.

  “Oh, so you know who I am, do you?” she asked. “I assume your brother may have made mention of me. Am I correct? Well, it doesn’t matter now. Come closer so that we may talk face to face, young Vulzdagg.”

  He was led around the side of the lake and to the platform, brought up the steps by Minarch and the nameless ranger who accompanied him, and forced down onto his knees. His legs made no effort to resist. His whole body felt cold, and trembled immensely.

  Alastra walked around and sat in a large throne cut out of pure stone, her dress splayed out in front of her. “You did not come alone, I see,” she said. “You’ve brought you friends, have you? This is a good thing. We will all be friends hereafter, allies to the cause of bringing deliverance and justice to the people of Aldabaar.”

  “What do you mean, deliverance and justice?” Neth’tek asked, the rangers standing on either side of him.

  Alastra laughed pleasantly. “Why, I mean the deliverance of Aldabaar from the cruel hands of the false gods that they worship! The First Born, thinking themselves above the ones who fought and died to obtain this land. They do not deserve any glory for our efforts. We take it all for ourselves, don’t we Neth’tek?”

  Neth’tek shivered against his will, his eyes wandering across the surface of the black water and the blood moon shining off of it. “You do evil... against this... world,” he replied.

  “You doubt the power that drives us forward?” Alastra asked musingly, her arms resting casually on the arms of her throne. “Here I sit, upon a throne cut out of the earth of this unholy place, a legion of chaos minions and demons waiting at my command, using my very will to give them orders. And there you kneel before me, doubting the abilities at my command? Do you really think you can challenge me?”

  Neth’tek, realizing he was on his knees, suddenly moved. He brought his leg up and underneath him, setting his trembling foot on the ground, and slowly rose onto the other. As he did so, he felt the chills in his body melt away, the strength in his heart returning unto him as before. He faced the priestess of the Shadow Queen, defiant, her smile mocking him.

  “I do not doubt your abilities,” he said evenly, his voice strong and firm, “But I challenge them against that of the First Born, even Muari the Beloved, whom I follow.”

  Alastra’s smile faded, her face going dark and her eyes narrowing. “Do not say I didn’t warn you, Fallen.”

  Right then, something slammed into him. He rolled backwards off of the platform and came onto his hands and knees at the bottom of the steps, one sword already in his hand. Looking up, though, he met the yellow eyes of the demon.

  “I’ve waited a long time for this,” Gorroth growled through his wolfish maw, “I’ve thirsted for Vulzdagg blood long enough!”

  “Prepare to drink your own!” Neth’tek cried, and leaped forward with both swords in hand.

  25

  Battle at Black Water

  When the shadows were lifted just enough for the blood moon to give them sight, Dril’ead was shocked to see the familiar sight of his old woodland companion standing before him. Eladrid made no move, however, to greet or help free them from the hold of their shadowy captures. He stood, hood cast over his face, holding his bow knocked with an arrow in his hands. The arrow was black, belonging to the dark rangers, and that gave Dril’ead an uncomfortable feeling.

  Slowly, Eladrid raised his bow toward them, fixing the point thereof on Dril’
ead’s chest. “First you,” he said in a voice that did not sound like his own, “and then your brother.”

  Dril’s eyes narrowed as he recognized Eladrid as what he was. “Shadow,” he said, “to the Lesser Realm with you all!”

  The arrow was released with a muffled twang, speeding toward him. However, the agile fighter kicked upwards, flipping over the head of the ranger who held him, and landed behind it, the arrow streaking into its chest. He grabbed the sword of the dark ranger as it fell to the black earth, and stabbed the one that held Jakal beside him.

  Now free, Jakal reached into a bag at his side and produced a small pouch. He tossed it at the ground in front of the three others, and the small sack exploded into a bright orange light, blinding the dark rangers and stunning them just long enough for Hakal and Mope to break free and fall upon them with their weapons.

  Dril’ead rolled under the next arrow, ducking to the side and then slamming into Eladrid. He tackled the woodlander to the ground and they rolled for a moment, trying to get atop the other. Eladrid whipped his dagger out and slashed Dril across the face, cutting a line down his cheek.

  He rolled out of Eladrid’s reach and came up on one knee, one hand feeling the cut on his face. “I thought you were my friend, Eladrid Woodhaven,” he said.

  Eladrid said nothing, but unsheathed his second dagger and tossed it on the ground between them.

  Dril looked from the dagger and back at the woodlander, understanding. “You and me, then,” he said. “Blade against blade, skill against skill alone.”

  The woodlander dropped into a stance, as if in response to him, and Dril’ead picked up the dagger and started pacing around him. Eladrid moved to keep him in front, and they circled one another for a moment.

  *****

  Neth’tek’s foot hit the jaw of the demon, throwing it off of him just long enough to roll back onto his feet. Blood trickled down his face where he had been slashed by its claws, his arm stinging where the monster had grabbed him and thrown him down. But he was on his feet again, his weapons shining crimson in the moonlight where blood stained their edge, having slashed viciously at the demon.

  “Well fought,” said Gorroth. “You fight like your brother... a dead man!”

  Gorroth dropped onto all fours and charged, Neth’tek leaping into the air and cutting down as he spun over him. He landed behind the demon, doubling back and swinging his scimitars round in harmonious precision. Gorroth snapped at him, growling and pawing at the earth impatiently.

  Jabbing at its face, Neth’tek spun to the side and around him, bringing his other scimitar around to slice its leg. The demon growled in response, recoiling but appearing undamaged nonetheless.

  He regenerates, Neth’tek realized with alarm. How can I beat a thing that remains unharmed?

  “Did your brother ever tell you what happened to your sister?” Gorroth said, a wicked smile curling his maw as he saw the doubt in the fighters eyes, “Did he ever tell you how she died?”

  Neth’tek exploded, his movements and swords unreadable in the blur that he became. Gorroth tried to evade the attack but was caught in the middle of the tornado of blades, slicing up and down his arms and legs, leaving streaks of blood in place of stinging wounds along its body.

  The demon turned, though, and grabbed Neth’tek by the arm and pulled him to the side, throwing him off balance. Gorroth dove for his legs, maw open with dripping fangs ready to bite a deadly wound into him. But Neth’tek used the momentum of his fall to roll onto his back and spring onto his legs again, both swords swiping outwards and catching the open mouth of the demon.

  “I don’t care for what you have to say!” Neth’tek growled as the demon recoiled again, giving its mouth a few seconds to heal. “I will run my blade down your throat, whatever it was you did to my family. I don’t care!”

  He charged again, ducking to bring one sword down for the demons legs while whipping his other overhead to slash at him if he attempted to leap out of the way. Gorroth charged him anyway, ignoring the metal ripping through his arms, and tackled Neth’tek.

  He drove his claws through his side, tearing the flesh and spilling blood. Neth’tek screamed in agony, punching the hilt of his sword against the demons skull. Gorroth knocked the weapon from his hand and bit his arm at the elbow, and Neth’tek could feel the awful venom take over his limb and kill the nerves.

  He tucked his legs under him and kicked up as before, knocking the demon off of him and rolling to get back onto his feet. He put his arm out to brace himself, the one that the demon had bitten, but the limb refused to move and he just fell onto his side like a limp doll.

  “The name of Vulzdagg died without hope in the Shadow Realms,” said Gorroth, and he stalked toward Neth’tek, “just as it will die without light on the surface.”

  Neth’tek swung his remaining sword up to hit the demon in the face, but Gorroth knocked it casually out of his hand as he lifted it. His arm dropped back to the earth, and he looked at the scimitar as it lay just out of reach. He could feel the hot breath of the demon on his face as it bent over him.

  “This is how the basilisk dies,” the demon said.

  *****

  Using the element of surprise, Helen and the huntsmen took down the dark rangers. They turned, though, and watched as The Fallen and the Woodlander engaged in furious combat. Jakal tugged on Hakal’s arm, crying that they should make their escape, but the man was too entranced by the majesty of their skill that he did not seem to notice him.

  Their daggers clashed and missed just inches from the others’ throat, each ducking and dodging, dancing around one another with perfect form. Dril ducked and spun, swiping at the legs of the woodlander. Eladrid jumped and spun in the air, cutting downward with his dagger. Dril spun out of the way, bringing his dagger up and around to cut his throat.

  Helen stood there, not entranced as the huntsmen were, but horrified. She had seen these two work together as companions in her rescue, had saw the friendship that had been built between them. And now here they fought, battling over one another’s life without care.

  What had happened to them?

  Eladrid caught Dril’s wrist in his hands, stopping the blade just inches from his throat, and twisted his arm and drove his own dagger toward Dril’ead’s heart. But The Fallen caught his hand just as the woodlander had caught his, and held the dagger there, just inches from his chest, and they stared into one another’s eyes with fury blazing inside of them.

  And then something out of the corner of his eye caught Dril’s attention, just over the woodlanders shoulder. He looked, still holding the woodlanders hand from driving that blade into his heart, and saw Vaknorbond standing there. His hood was cast over his face, and his hands were folded before him as if in reverence.

  ‘Two more will die,’ he heard Rorxal’s voice say, his eyes burning with a light that was not his own. ‘Two more...’ Two have died already, and now one more must die before the Shadow Queens return. So I must ask myself: will it be Eladrid, Neth’tek... Or me?

  Vaknorbond nodded, and Dril heard his voice in his head say, He will need the push!

  With tears now in his eyes, Dril looked back into Eladrid’s. “I’m sorry, old friend,” he said. “Tell Neth’tek... I’m sorry!”

  And then he let the dagger drive into his heart, and immediately he felt his soul escape through the blade, a breath of hot air blowing in the woodlanders face. Eladrid blinked, his eyes refocusing and becoming his own again, and he looked first at Dril’ead with surprise and then horror as he saw the dagger in his hand driven through his heart.

  “No,” he whispered, and then he screamed it. “No! Dril’ead, what is this? What have I done?”

  He held his body as it slowly shrank to the earth, his eyes open but lightless and lifeless as they stared at the blood moon. “It’s not your fault,” said Dril, “you don’t have to blame yourself... it’s not...”

  His words faded, and he fell limp in Eladrid’s arms.

  *****


  A commotion behind them caught Gorroth’s attention, and he turned his head completely to see what it was. That gave Neth’tek just enough time. He spoke the incantation words of a spell, and his sword was pulled by some magical force into his hand. Neth’tek drove his sword upward, through the bottom of the demons jaw and through the top of its skull. He whipped it out and slashed the monster across the throat, and then climbed onto his knees.

  Gorroth struggled in the black earth below him, blood pooling out under his split jaw as it began to heal. He grabbed his head and lifted it by the ears, ramming the blade through his neck and twisting it around until it snapped horridly.

  “You bite the basilisk,” he said breathlessly, “the basilisk bites back!”

  He whipped his sword out of Gorroth’s head and the whole body of the demon evaporated into steam.

  He heard clapping from atop the platform, and saw Alastra standing at the top of the steps with Minarch and another ranger on either side of her. “Well fought, Vulzdagg,” she said, “you impress me! But I’m afraid your efforts here are in vain. The deed has already been done, and now my queen awaits me in the fortress under the mountains, and I must not keep her waiting. It has, as you could say, been a pleasure meeting you.”

  He saw her smile before vanishing, her and the rangers disappearing into the black air. Neth’tek was alone, then. He knew not what to do or which way he might go to return to the others. But for some reason, he felt a horrible feeling deep down in the pit of his stomach.

  ‘The deed has already been done,’ he heard her words repeat in his mind. What deed, I wonder?

  He felt his arm sting, but it did not distract him from the pain in his heart. Something had happened to the others, he knew, but he couldn’t know what. “Ezila,” he said to his satchel, “I know you are hurt, and you need all the rest you can get, but I need you now.”