by Hooke, Isaac
The piles of bodies collapsed as the oraks separated, the burning creatures screaming as they ran mindlessly through the surrounding streets, slowly basting in the ovens their armor had become. They struck other oraks as they milled about, and spread the flames onto their armor as well, causing more pandemonium.
He felt pleasure oozing from Gwen’s energy bundle. She was enjoying the sight greatly.
Malem heard an explosion behind him, and glanced over his shoulder.
The burning trees were all airborne above the command square; they formed a rapidly expanding half dome, flying outward in all directions. Several struck the surrounding buildings and broke apart from the force.
In the center of the square, where the command tent had resided, there was now only a blast crater. At the bottom of it stood a lone woman.
Her skin was hued blue. He couldn’t make out if her ears had pointy tips or not at his current height, but that skin color alone gave her away. It had to be Ziatrice, the elf.
Ziatrice.
“Yes.” Abigail had turned her slender neck around to look at the square as well.
She’s a night elf.
“Unfortunately.”
He realized he could sense her.
That meant she could be Broken.
On a whim he tried to wrap his will around the Black Sword. It evaporated on contact, of course.
But the attempt drew the distant woman’s gaze toward the sky. From her purple eyes, black mists of smoke swirled about. She threw out both hands, and with that gesture, two long chains of mist appeared, expanding toward the Metals.
Abigail dodged out of the way but Smite, just behind her, didn’t move fast enough and was struck by those chains, which wrapped around his body, crushing his wings to his flanks.
Ziatrice swung her arms down, and the black chains followed, pulling Smite toward the earth. The poor Metal slammed into several buildings, crushing them. The chains dissipated, but Smite didn’t get up.
Ziatrice, grinning malevolently, turned her attention back to the sky. She thrust out her arms again.
“Dive!” Abigail shouted.
The dragons dove down into the city proper as the chains missed and snapped at the air above them.
Some of the Metals landed on the street, squeezing between the buildings, while the others took to the rooftops, and crouched low. The keep was two streets away, while the command square—and Ziatrice—was about four.
Caliban issued a stream of flame at the oraks that were fleeing from the Metals.
“I’d suggest staying low, for now,” Jayden said. “Until we eliminate the Black Sword.”
Malem recalled Hastor. The dragon was located some distance outside the city, where it had drawn the two blacks.
I’m somewhat occupied at the moment.
He switched to Hastor’s perspective and realized the dragon was wrestling with a black in the air, while another was trying to breathe acid into its wounds.
Come when you can.
Shadows blotted out the sun as more black dragons came in from above.
A rock elemental began to form from the cobblestone on the ground beside Abigail. She promptly bit down on it with her jaws before it was fully formed, and squeezed, breaking it apart.
Malem glanced about, searching for the mage. There, he spotted an orak in a gray robe, peering out from the second floor window of a house nearby. He considered trying to take control, but first he would have to injure it. Plus, he’d also have to release Hastor, since the mage would take up four slots, and he only had two free.
So instead he relayed the target to Gwen, who was still on Jayden’s back nearby, and in moments the gray robe was littered with arrows and dropped from view.
Acid streamed across the rooftops as a passing black dragon unleashed its deadly breath. Malem grabbed the shield from his back with his free arm, and held it above him as the caustic liquid cut across Abigail and himself. He had elected to keep the visor open, since he could see better without it, and preferred not to rely upon Abigail or Gwen to operate from a third person perspective. But even with the visor closed, there were openings the acid could use to seep onto his face. Hence the shield.
His leg assemblies were struck, but the dragon scale armor protected him. Abigail wasn’t hurt either—the liquid sloughed off her dorsal scales harmlessly.
All of a sudden he was hurled from Abigail’s back as a large form struck her.
39
Malem landed, and looked up in time to see her wrestling with a black. Other blacks had landed nearby, and were similarly occupying the other Metals. Some grappled, while others stalked forward on foot, usually in pairs, toward isolated Metal targets.
Balethorn had fallen from his grip, but he picked it up from the broken cobblestone and rushed Abigail. The blade hummed eagerly.
The black was larger than usual, coming in at about the same size as Abigail. It had her pinned to the ground with its hind legs, and was trying to get a good grip on the base of her neck, which was slick with blood. Abigail had her forearms lodged between its jaws, keeping them open, barely. She had her neck turned back, and snapped helplessly at its head with her maw, but couldn’t quite reach it.
She summoned a fire elemental and sent it to assail the eyes of her enemy. But the black dragon refused to let go, and simply bit down with its eyes closed.
Malem took a running leap and vaulted through the fire elemental to land on the black dragon’s muzzle. He struck at the closed eyelid, and the magic blade easily pierced the thick scales. It sunk deep through the eye, passing all the way into the dragon’s skull.
Balethorn hummed gloriously, and Malem felt an incredible surge of vitality as the Drainer stole all the dying beast’s energy. That vitality helped him stave off the sudden debilitating heat he felt from his proximity to the fire elemental.
With a final sigh, the dragon released Abigail and fell away. Malem leaped to the ground beside Abigail, who was just getting up. She directed the fire elemental away momentarily, to spare him from the heat.
The blade was sated. For now. It whirred with contentment in his grasp. He had so much energy thanks to that sword, he almost couldn’t believe it.
If only I had more mental slots… I could have myself a troop of black dragons right now.
He considered Breaking one of the oraks that he sensed hidden nearby, but didn’t see the point. That was a waste of his energy, at least at the moment, given how little a single orak could offer.
He bestowed some of his overflowing stamina to Abigail, and she stood up with an angry roar and leaped onto another black dragon that was just coming down. Malem also gave some to Gwen, and she attacked the other dragons with renewed vigor from Jayden’s back, launching an endless barrage of arrows with Wasp and her Infitas quiver.
He closed with Abigail, who was mounted on top of her new opponent and gnawing at its neck while the fire elemental blinded it.
Her tail abruptly thrashed to the right, toward Malem, and he narrowly leaped out of the way, tripping on a broken cart in the process. He hit the ground but the armor absorbed much of the impact, luckily. If she had hit him, even with the armor, very likely every bone in his body would be broken right now.
He rose, keeping an eye on that tail as he backed away. It continued to thrash about as she fought. He doubted she was even aware of it.
It was probably a good idea to stay back for now. She had the situation firmly under control anyway, at least for the time being: she had chewed halfway through her opponent’s neck.
He considered helping the other Metals grappling nearby, but it wasn’t just their tails he had to watch out for: their gargantuan bodies shifted and rolled randomly as they strove to gain dominance against their foes. He decided he would only help those Metals that were obviously in trouble. But to do that, he’d need to climb to a better vantage point first, as there were no birds in the area he could Break for their vision—they’d all been spooked. Gwen and Abigail were usele
ss to him as far as sight went, focused as they were on their current foes, and Hastor was too far outside the city to be of any help.
Malem leaped onto a barrel next to a house, and hauled himself onto the rooftop as the dragons fought around him. That was better, but he still couldn’t see all the dragons. Some of them fought in side streets, and he only caught glimpses of them as wing, tail or head momentarily swung past the rooftops. It looked like there were five or six black dragons facing three Metals in the adjacent street, so helping them would probably be his first priority. But first…
Keeping low, he strode to the opposite side of the tile roof, and nervously gazed toward the command square, wondering where the Black Sword lurked. He saw no sign of her, at least for the moment.
He turned his eyes on the keep next. The oraks had cleared from the walls entirely, and were racing en masse through the streets toward the dueling dragons, no doubt at Ziatrice’s urging—he doubted oraks would involve themselves in a dragon fight under ordinary circumstances.
No black dragons assaulted the towers anymore, either—they had all diverted to engage the Metals. The keep was thus free of attack, and yet its soldiers and mages remained huddled behind the walls, content to let the dragons fight alone.
They’re not sallying forth, like you hoped, he sent Abigail.
We can’t always predict what goes on in the minds of men, she replied.
He shook his head.
We’re going to lose.
That last thought was for himself alone.
He felt that buzzing at the back of his head, like a nest of disturbed bees, that told him the Darkness would come soon. But when, precisely?
He was startled slightly when Gwen climbed up beside him. Apparently she had been thrown free of Jayden. She no longer had her helmet: either she’d torn it off to improve her aim, or she’d lost it in the fall.
He nodded toward the street beyond, which was teeming with black shapes. “Got some oraks for you.”
Gwen grinned, baring her teeth. She nocked an arrow and fired. The arrow embedded deep into the skull of one of the incoming beasts. Its head jerked back, and its body toppled. More arrows struck as she fired in rapid succession; mostly she aimed for their centers of mass, Wasp imparted the arrows with enough force to penetrate that bronze armor.
The oraks flowed around the buildings and into the street behind him and swarmed the occupied Metals. The creatures tried to hack at their thick scales but were either swatted aside, lit aflame, or crushed as the dragons rolled about with their opponents. Not the most brilliant strategy on the part of the smaller creatures; seeing them fall only proved to Malem that he had been right to keep his distance from the dueling dragons.
Some of the oraks spotted Malem and Gwen as they rushed past below, and they pointed up at the pair, shouting wildly. The closer oraks began climbing the house.
Gwen merely shifted her aim downward and loaded and unleashed in rapid succession.
Motion drew his gaze to an adjacent rooftop, where an orak crossbowman had taken up a position. Malem raised his shield and took the incoming shot meant for Gwen just in time. The bolt bounced away harmlessly from his dragon scale buckler.
“Roof to the left,” he told her.
She spun her aim to the left, acquired the crossbowman, and released. The orak took the arrow in the eye.
Three more crossbowmen appeared on the roof to his right; a bolt hit him in the chest but bounced away. The other two were taking time to line up their shots, no doubt targeting Gwen’s exposed face.
Malem quickly repositioned beside her to protect the half gobling from the shots. After the bolts bounced away, she leaned past him and fired three more arrows, taking out each of the oraks before they could even reload.
A dragon head reared above the edge of the rooftop behind them, and issued a stream of acid before a Metal tackled it from view. Malem leaped at Gwen and deflected that stream before it hit her unprotected head.
One of the metals unleashed a stream of liquid fire over the edge of the rooftops, targeting the incoming masses, and set them aflame.
From those flames, a fire elemental was birthed. It floated up toward Malem and Gwen.
“Damn it, there’s a fireworker somewhere among them!” he said.
The creature rapidly closed with him. Malem flung his sword at it, but the blade had no effect. Gwen’s arrows passed right through it.
He retreated as it swiped, the fire feeling hot even through his armor. The fire creature forced them to the far side of the rooftop…
A stream of flame struck the elemental, forcing it back. Abigail’s silvery head protruded from the edge of the rooftop beside him. She must have sensed his angst through the link and come to his aid.
She kept up the flames until the elemental disintegrated entirely beneath them.
“Fight fire with fire,” Abigail said before ducking.
He returned to the far edge of the rooftop to meet the oraks that had successfully scaled the wall of the house. Meanwhile Gwen shot at orak archers on the adjacent roofs.
He hewed the oraks down, but the sword gave him no vitality.
He spotted a glimpse of orange in the crowd below, and whistled at Gwen. “Mage!”
Several oraks below were still on fire from the previous breath attack, and those flames began to join and combine. The fireworker was preparing his next attack.
Gwen dashed to the edge of the rooftop and unleashed several arrows. The stricken fireworker looked like a porcupine before it dropped. The gathering flames dispersed with its death.
But then a fireball came hurtling at them from a nearby rooftop.
It was fairly big—while the armor might hold up against the heat, the force of the impact would probably throw him right off the roof. And so he dodged out of the way, as did Gwen; he caught sight of the red-robed orak on the other roof a moment before the sphere of flame struck the tiles behind him; the resultant explosion knocked him over the edge. Good thing he had moved.
Then again, he was falling directly into the seething mass below…
Two oraks broke his fall, and when he scrambled to his feet, the surrounding oraks closed on him.
The sword hummed.
KILL, KILL, KILL.
And he did so, moving almost mechanically. Block a blow with his shield, return it with his sword. Dodge to the side, slice. Duck, stab.
Perhaps if the humans in the keep saw a lone man fighting against these twisted beasts, dealing death as he waded through their midst, it might inspire them to join the fray.
And if not, fuck them.
According to his beast sense, Gwen had landed on the other side of the building, where the dragons fought. She was hauling herself back to her former position atop the rooftop even now.
As he fought, he reached for the mind of the orak fire mage on the rooftop. He grappled it with his will, but knew without injuring it he’d never seize control. And of course he didn’t have the free slots even if he was successful. But that wasn’t his intent, which was only to distract.
The creature suddenly vanished from his mental sense—Gwen had taken it down.
He continued his assault on the enemies around him. He used his shield to shove away any oraks that got to close. The humming blade passed through the bronze armor of his enemies with ease, and sprayed him with blood, so that soon he was coated in crimson. But Balethorn refused to grant him vitality from slaying those lesser oraks, and he was slowly wearying from this grim role of butcher he now played.
He needed to kill a dragon.
He smiled bleakly, remembering the abilities his joining with Abigail had brought him.
No I don’t.
He reached out, searching for a weak-minded orak. There. He wrapped his will around it, and made the creature his, using up his last two slots. Then he crushed his will into a fist, quenching the orak’s life force, and sucked it into himself, restoring his stamina and freeing those slots once again.
An
d so he continued to reach out among the enemy as he fought, Breaking the weaker oraks and draining them of their vitality as needed. He shared some with Gwen and Abigail to keep them in the game, as their strength was flagging, too.
He realized there was a price. The more weak oraks he drained, the less vitality they gave him. It seemed his ability to absorb stamina diminished when he used that power without pause, so he had to destroy even more oraks simply to keep his strength up—not that he was complaining, as it helped thin out the crowd.
Still, soon he had weeded out all of the weak-willed oraks immediately around him, leaving only the stronger whom he would have to injure first, and thus gain even less vitality from, once he broke them. Which meant the stamina he got in return barely made up for the effort expended.
A building collapsed as a platinum—he thought it was Fortus—broke though and into the street. It raked its claws over the host of oraks and breathed flames into their ranks. It struck down whole groups of them with its tail.
The sword hummed hungrily at the sight, urging Malem to take the Metal.
He slammed down on Balethorn with his will.
No.
A black landed in front of Fortus, hissing, sending out a stream of acid that caused smoke to rise from the platinum’s wounds. The black was apparently also a fire mage, because fireballs materialized in front of its body and hurtled into Fortus, striking him in the eyes.
The platinum shrieked and leaped onto its enemy. Fire elementals appeared, blinding the black in turn. Fortus and his foe grappled one another, crushing the oraks around them, and breaking through a building before rolling out of view into a side street.
Malem continued to fight. The dragons had proved a good distraction, allowing him to score several quick blows against his attackers.
Hastor landed on a rooftop bordering the crowded street. The creature had several painful-looking wounds on its flanks where the scales had been ripped clean away to reveal the raw muscles within.
Hastor breathed acid into the oraks below. They screamed as the caustic green fluid melted through their flesh and armor.
