by David Combs
Then, to Tyrell’s horror, he watched as the vampire lord lifted the barbarian from the floor, and hurled Nestor over the edge of the balcony railing.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
“NOOOO!” Tyrell fired a blast of magical force at Kellen as he watched his friend disappear into the night sky. The vampire staggered under the blow but whirled around with a snarl on his lips.
“So, the final thorn in my side appears at last,” he growled. “Your friends are finished, and now only the weakling mage remains to face me.” Kellen spat on the floor. “Do you still cling so dearly to that delusion, fool? Do you truly believe that you pose any threat to me alone?”
“Why don’t we find out together,” said Tyrell with deadly malice in his voice. All of his fatigue and pain were forgotten as he glared at the master vampire before him. “I’ve learned a few tricks since we first met, you son of a bitch.” Tyrell opened himself to the flow of magic, and his hands began to glow with growing power.
“Come and die, mage,” growled Kellen. He raised his own hands into the night sky, dark power swirling around them as he drew upon his own villainous sorcery.
***
Nestor roared in anger as the wind rushed by him. He would not end like this. Too many things remained unfinished. Kellen had to be stopped, and he knew he had seen Tyrell just before being thrown off the balcony.
Nestor saw something against the wall fluttering in the breeze from the corner of his eye. Frantically, he reached out and caught hold of a silken rope that was tied to a grappling hook secured to the balcony he had just fallen from. Desperately, he clutched at the rope and held with all of his might. His descent stopped abruptly, and the barbarian screamed in pain as the sudden stop nearly pulled his shoulders from the sockets. He slammed face first into the stone wall of the tower, but his grip held. The warrior could feel the burns on his hands from where the rope had cut through his leather gloves, but he was alive.
The barbarian warrior looked down and saw that he was only about fifty feet from the courtyard below. It took him only a moment to deduce that this must have been how Galen had gained entrance to the keep. Gritting his teeth against the pain that screamed through his battered body, Nestor Canaith, with a strength denied most men, began to pull himself back up the rope.
“Hear me now, all you gods, above and below. I swear that if I survive this night I shall never again do anything that requires climbing so long as I live and breathe,” he muttered.
***
“Do you believe that just because you found some moldy old book of spells that you are now a match for someone who has practiced magic for centuries? My very existence is one of necromancy!”
“You’ve done nothing but lie to us from the beginning, Ambrose,” said Tyrell. “I can sense that your powers aren’t as formidable as you claim.” Tyrell kept his voice level despite the nervousness he felt. He had to stall for as long as possible to regain some of his strength back. He knew from his brief contact with Kellen’s mind that the vampire lord truly did have wickedly powerful magic at his disposal. In a toe to toe fight, Kellen would prove to be a truly fearsome opponent.
“Does this seem as though I am lying, wizard,” Kellen hissed with sarcasm dripping from the last word. A bolt of inky black force lashed out towards Tyrell, but he threw up a shield that redirected the energy blast harmlessly into the stone wall. Tyrell quickly countered with a blast of fire, but Kellen threw up a shield of his own that sapped the flames of their heat, forcing them to wink out of existence.
“There is nothing you can hurl at me that I can’t counter, Tyrell. Nothing you can do to affect me.” Kellen and Tyrell slowly circled each other around the room. “Just lay down and die like your friends, and we can end this ridiculous charade.” Kellen’s eyes bore into Tyrell’s own, and the vampire grinned to himself as the wizard’s eyes began to go dull and glassy as Ambrose exerted his hypnotic gaze over the mage. Kellen chuckled to himself as he slowly advanced on his opponent. “I must confess that I am disappointed to defeat you so easily, Amalcheal.” He grabbed Tyrell by the front of his shirt, still gazing into the wizard’s blank stare. “You never struck me as foolish enough to fall for such a meager trick.”
Suddenly, Tyrell grinned ear to ear and winked. A blast of fire slammed into Kellen’s chest, hurling the undead fiend across the room.
“I am no fool, Kellen. I am here for one reason only. I have come to see you die for all the injustice, injuries, and atrocities that you have caused. Tonight you meet your end.”
“A bit melodramatic, don’t you think?” Kellen waved his hands and a spray of black missiles burst forth from his fingertips. Tyrell again tried to throw up a shield, but so fast did the magical bolts strike that he only managed to deflect a few of them. The mage was slammed back against the wall, his chest burning as if venom coursed through his body. He summoned his magic, using the wall behind him to steady himself, as he purged the poison from his system. Too late, though he sensed another surge of power as Kellen cast again. The stone wall that Tyrell leaned against suddenly bubbled and flowed around his body, grasping him in an unyielding grip of granite.
“All too easy,” said Kellen with a wicked grin as he stepped closer to the trapped mage. “Where is your bravado now, little mage? Have you yet realized that I am not so easily vanquished as my minions?”
“I’ve realized that you talk too damn much,” growled Tyrell. Planes of power answered his call, and with a shattering crack, the stone imprisoning him exploded outward in a spray of granite shards. Kellen staggered back as a hundred tiny daggers of rock dotted his skin.
“So the devil bleeds after all,” said Tyrell as stepped free of the debris. He dusted off his sleeves. “Very similar to what I did to that desk of yours in Tarnath.” He smiled. “Much easier this time around, though.”
“You will pay a thousand times over for every indignity that you inflict upon me, Amalcheal!”
Tyrell’s anger surged. “As I intend to pay you for every innocent life that you have taken. Shall I start with Lorelei, Tessarin, or the nameless wretches of the streets who had nowhere to run from you?”
Kellen’s lips pulled back in a wicked, fang-baring grin. “Perhaps you should start with your own friends,” he hissed as we waved one hand towards Galen’s broken form, and his other hand towards the open balcony.
Tyrell’s gut wrenched in cold fury. “For them, you shall pay most dearly of all. You’ll beg me to end your torment when I start taking vengeance for Galen and Nestor.” Tyrell threw a bolt of lightning at Kellen, but the vampire’s magic deflected it enough so that it was but a glancing blow. The vampire reeled back against the balcony rail, then threw his hand towards Tyrell. A billowing cloud of black mist roiled forth and enshrouded Tyrell. The mage immediately dropped to his knees as he felt his strength drained away by the devilish fog.
“A special enchantment of my own device,” spat Kellen. “I’ve always called it simply a death shroud. Much like a vampire,” he chuckled, “it drains your strength away little by little, but leaves you in a state of torment just shy of the release of death. It takes about a week to finally finish a man off, depending on how strong he is.” He grabbed Tyrell by the hair and yanked his head back. “You are about to learn the true nature of begging to end one’s torment. I suspect that you shall last somewhat longer than the average victim.” Ambrose put his lips right against Tyrell’s ear as he whispered, “And I shall enjoy every delicious second of your suffering.” Tyrell clawed feebly at Kellen’s wrist. “Save your strength, little mage. You are going to need it.” Kellen threw his head back, bellowing a loud howling laugh.
“That wasn’t very sportsmanlike to just toss a man from the balcony like that, Ambrose.” Kellen whirled around in amazement to see Nestor standing on the balcony. Battered and bloody, the barbarian looked like something from a child’s nightmare made flesh, but his stance spoke of raw strength, confident and powerful, and more than eager to continue the brawl.
> “Will you three never die,” screamed Kellen. He jumped to his feet and squared off against Nestor who casually sauntered towards the vampire lord.
“Oh, it was sheer luck that saved me, for sure. But as you spoke of the night we met, the three of us together would be required to defeat the vampire. Had Galen chosen any other route into your keep, that circle would have broken, and I’d be a messy spot on the cobblestones below.”
“And now you can become a messy spot in here with your friends.”
“It’s well past time that we settled up all accounts.” Nestor held up his hands to show the torn leather gloves, and the bleeding palms beneath. “You owe me a new pair of gloves, Ambrose.” Kellen rolled his eyes but realized too late that even that momentary distraction was enough for the warrior reflexes of the man before him.
“And I owe you this,” snarled Nestor, as he launched a vicious punch at Kellen’s jaw. The vampire felt a crunch of bone and spit blood and teeth under the punishing hammer-like blow of the enraged warrior. Kellen felt his feet lift from the floor as he twirled in the air under the ferocity of the strike. With a crash, he collapsed on the tower floor.
“Gods above, that felt good,” said Nestor. His eyes quickly glanced over to Tyrell. He saw his friend spasming in painful convulsions under the effects of Kellen’s dark magic. “Fight the bastard off, Tyrell. We’ve got him where we…”
Nestor’s words were cut off as Kellen moved with the speed of a panther, and slammed his shoulder into the barbarian’s stomach. Together they fell into a pile of tangled limbs on the floor, kicking and punching with furious abandon. Blood flew from each combatant as they thrashed around on the stone.
Tyrell was barely aware of the ferocious slugfest going on around him. The mage turned his full magical focus into his own body, placing himself into a magical coma. His awareness raced through his cells finding and destroying the dark tendrils of Kellen’s magic that ate away at his flesh. A war of magic was being fought within his body, and Tyrell was determined to be the victor. Drawing in power from those highest planes of magic to which he had only recently become attuned, Tyrell drew a cleansing fire throughout his body. He screamed in agony as the flames coursed through his being, but slowly, Kellen’s magic was driven out.
“Is that the best you’ve got, Ambrose,” taunted Nestor as he splattered Kellen’s nose across the vampire’s face. Kellen didn’t hear him though. So furious was the undead beast that he had shred all trace of humanity, attacking Nestor in his most feral, primal rage. He rained blows down across Nestor’s head, neck, and shoulders.
Nestor knew that he couldn’t keep this kind of fighting up for much longer. Ambrose healed from his blows far too quickly, whereas every blow the vampire landed felt like a sledgehammer pounding into his already battered body. Nestor knew he had to hold on though, and hope that either of his friends could join the fray, or, at the very least, find a way to get Shadow Reaver back into his hands.
Kellen hit Nestor with a hard backhand that rocked the warrior’s head against the floor. Nestor felt the room start to spin, and his vision clouded. He knew his jaw was broken, and his mouth was full of blood. Never did the thought of surrender cross his mind. Rather, his thoughts filled with the dark and terrifying images of the city of Tarnath as it burned.
Children and their mothers fled into the streets as cruel monsters bellowed out of the homes they came from. Nestor saw valiant men of the city watch mercilessly slaughtered as they tried to protect the citizens in their care. Nestor could feel the heat of the fires on his face and was deafened by the screams of the dying all around him. The terrors his mind brought before him fueled the barbarian’s rage, and with a mighty heave, he threw Kellen to one side. Shakily he regained his footing, glaring at his adversary.
“Whenever you’re ready for another bout,” slurred the barbarian through his broken jaw. “If you need a moment to catch your breath, say the word. Want to make this a sporting chance for you.”
Kellen’s eyes widened in complete shock. “What in Alhambra’s Hell is holding you up, Canaith? Tenacity? Pride? Stupidity?”
“One or more of the above. You can be the judge.” Hurry up Tyrell, he thought to himself. I can’t finish this alone. Nestor’s eyes darted momentarily over to Galen. The young thief was motionless in a pool of his own blood. His eyes stared blankly at the barbarian. Nestor quickly said a silent prayer for the boy’s soul and squared off again against Kellen.
“You’d have been wiser to let the fall take you, Canaith, for now, you will die slowly and excruciatingly.” Kellen moved towards Nestor with inhuman speed, his clawed hands reaching for the warrior’s throat.
Suddenly, a searing blast of magical force slammed into Kellen from the side. As Nestor toppled over from the backlash of power, he saw Tyrell standing with his hand outstretched towards the downed vampire.
Tyrell strode towards Nestor, offering his hand down to the warrior. So powerful was the magical curing that Tyrell had swept through his body, that not only had he purged his body of Kellen’s poisonous mist, but he had reinvigorated himself so that he was as fresh for the fight as if he had just arrived.
“About time you showed up,” growled Nestor.
“You look like hell,” replied Tyrell.
“Been a rough night. I’ll tell you about it later over an ale.”
“First round’s on me,” quipped the mage.
Kellen regained his feet yet again, staring in awe at the two men. “You two are the two most unlikely allies that I’ve ever had the pleasure to kill.”
“We’re not dead yet,” said Nestor. The barbarian’s eyes quickly surveyed the tower floor for the elvensteel blade, Shadow Reaver, but saw no sign of it. Perhaps it had been kicked out of the room during the scuffle.
Kellen arrogantly stretched up to his full height. “For all your struggle and sacrifice, I hope that you find it somewhat frustrating at least that your attacks have done so little damage. It won’t take long for all of the minor stings that I’ve suffered at your hands tonight to heal and be gone.”
“The fun is just beginning,” said Tyrell. The wizard’s mismatched eyes suddenly blazed with magical energy. He held Nestor back with his hand as a noxious green raincloud suddenly materialized above Kellen’s head. Ambrose dove forward just as a deluge of sizzling acid burst from the cloud.
Ambrose drew a great wind from the depths of the gorge outside and directed the elemental fury towards the two men. Tyrell, however, was no longer the fledgling wizard who had arrived at Cliffside Keep. The man before Kellen Ambrose now commanded the forces of a master spell thrower. As the gale blew in, Tyrell grabbed the air currents with his own magic, ripping them apart.
“You can’t win, Ambrose. I’ve beaten everything that you have thrown against me. Your reign of darkness is over.” Nestor clapped his friend on the shoulder and circled around the vampire. Kellen crouched like a caged animal, looking for somewhere to retreat, but he was given no exit. He knew that he had to fight or die, for there was no prayer for escape.
“To the end, then, gentlemen,” the vampire lord hissed.
Nestor charged in, knocking Kellen’s head back with a ferocious punch. Tyrell loosed a bolt of white-hot fire that struck Kellen squarely in the center of his chest. Ambrose screamed in agony as he was hammered by both flame and fist. He drew upon his magic to boost his own regenerative powers so that the terrible punishment he suffered was at least held to a stalemate. He would not fall so easily.
“For all the innocent people you’ve hurt…,” growled Nestor.
“For all the suffering and misery you have left in your path…,” yelled Tyrell.
“We sentence you to death.” Shadow Reaver suddenly punched through Kellen’s breast. Tyrell and Nestor looked on in surprise to see Galen standing behind the vampire lord. The young thief was broken and bloody, but his eyes burned with the determination to stand here for the end of the task that the three men had set out upon together. Galen collapsed
back to the floor as Kellen thrashed around, screaming in mortal agony.
The vampire’s defenses were completely shattered as the elvensteel blade burned through his very core. The sword itself began to shriek in triumph as it tore Kellen’s life force from his body. As Kellen’s magical shields fell, Tyrell’s column of fire engulfed Ambrose as well, exploiting with ruthless efficiency the weakness of vampires to flame.
Ambrose collapsed to the floor, ablaze and with the mighty weapon piercing his body. The companions watched as Kellen’s skin turned papery like parchment and burned away. Ash filled the room as the vampire’s flesh peeled away. Kellen’s charred skeleton thrashed weakly on the floor until soon only a fanged skull, obscenely grinning at the three men remained. With a loud clatter, Shadow Reaver fell to the floor, and Kellen Ambrose’s ashes scattered into the night air.
Warrior and wizard dashed over to the fallen thief. Tyrell quickly assessed Galen’s injuries, but what he found was not comforting. Galen suffered terribly from the wounds he had sustained during his solo battle with Kellen. Truly it was a miracle that the thief wasn’t already dead, thought Tyrell. The wizard tried to direct his magic into healing his friend but found the boy’s life force spilling out faster than any magic could try to contain it. No matter what he tried, Tyrell knew that there was no way to save Galen’s life. Sadly, he looked up at Nestor and shook his head.
“We did it, lad,” said the warrior, his voice choked and husky. “You, me, and Tyrell pulled it off. Just like the bastard said we could do. It truly took the three of us to bring the vampire down.”
Galen looked first at the warrior then at Tyrell with glassy eyes. “You two look terrible,” he gasped. The other men couldn’t help but laugh, while tears streamed down their cheeks.
“It’s been one of those days, my young friend,” said Tyrell. The mage wiped away some of the blood spilling from Galen’s mouth away with the edge of his cloak. Galen coughed, and a fresh gout simply restained the space which Tyrell had just cleaned.
