Sanctuary 5.5 - Fated in Darkness

by Robert J. Crane

  J’anda seized on what he had left and grabbed firmly onto more. I doubt this will last once Malpravus realizes that someone is taking hold of his prizes; it is unlikely an enchanter can hold the minds of the dead better than a necromancer, after all, but for now … His small undead army raised their swords and hacked into the second row along with a few of their fellows that J’anda had seized in the second row, ripping into the third—

  “J’anda,” Malpravus hissed as he discovered the treachery, “I offered you a vision of power, of freedom from the fear that haunted you for so long. Now you throw my decency back in my face, I see.”

  “There are many words I would use to describe you, Malpravus,” J’anda said, moving to stand next to Terian. He nearly did a double take at the knight, now clad head to toe in Alaric’s armor. “You look good,” he said, meeting Terian’s eyes, and the knight held out a flaming axe in salute. Is that Noctus …? He shook the thought away for later. “‘Decent’ is not one of the one of them.”

  “Once again, you Sanctuary fools prove yourselves unable to change,” Malpravus hissed from the front row of the army that stretched off around the corner behind him. Up the slope, J’anda could see movement as officers of Goliath fought their way through. The helm of Orion was obvious to him as he shouldered past undead legions, a bow in hand, and Sareea Scyros stood a few steps in front of Malpravus and to his right. “More the fools, you are, for your lack of vision.”

  “I think we see just fine,” Terian said, “and that includes seeing you for what you are—a charlatan who would do anything, say anything, kill anyone and sacrifice an entire people in order to get what he wants.”

  Malpravus stood carefully, his fingers templed in front of him, but there was no mistaking the cold fury in his eyes of a man denied what he’d sought. “It is convenient that these cities are built into tunnels and caverns,” he said, taking a step forward, something rattling as he did so, “for the work of digging the grave is essentially already done.”

  “Shit,” Terian said and brought his axe high. “He’s going to—”

  But there was no time for him to finish before the red power of spell magic shot forth from Malpravus’s hands and flew through the army behind J’anda, aimed at the dead that he knew were waiting at their backs, behind them at the site of the battle between Saekaj and Sovar. “He’s going to flank us!” J’anda cried, “he’s going to raise the dead and bring them sweeping in to crush us—!”

  The moan and cry of dead rising at their rear rattled its way up the tunnel to reach J’anda’s ears, and he felt a horrible sense of defeat twisting down upon him. He inched closer to Terian as the guardsmen behind him seemed caught in a circle of fear, looking from the army before them to the unseen but loud threat behind them, as though the jaws of a great beast were prepared to swallow them whole.

  90.

  Aisling

  “Shit,” she breathed as the dead began to rise from the battle down the tunnel. She could see them a little from where she stood, but not too much—tops of the heads, mostly, as they threw themselves into the ranks of the guardsmen who had been on the leading edge of the battle between Saekaj and Sovar.

  She spun her head around and looked straight up the tunnel slope. It was all bad news that direction, too, from Malpravus on back, into ranks of the undead that probably stretched to the surface and beyond.

  She blinked as she found the obvious answer, obvious as hell, really—

  She moved without thought, creeping forward in the way that only she knew how to do, more careful now than she might have been otherwise, legs bent and steps light, trying to keep from betraying her intentions. She moved up the tunnel at speed as the undead army surged down in a charge, and she was almost to Malpravus with her dagger drawn when his head snapped around to look directly at her, as though somehow he could see through the effect of the blade, could see her—

  “KILL HER!” Malpravus screamed, louder than even his order to annihilate the city, and she heard the note of panic in his voice. Cares nothing for his army, only for his own self, she realized for certain as the undead came at her. She fell back unashamed, using her dagger to cleave head from neck, spine from body. It was the only way to be sure to finish the dead, and it was clumsy work with such a short blade, but she was proficient and fast, and her speed kept her alive long enough to retreat behind the swinging blade of Terian’s axe, which brought holy fire to every undead creature it touched, as though it were literally burning the evil out of them.

  “Nice of you to join us, Aisling,” Terian said, his weapon moving in a fast circle, cautious of his swing within the arc of J’anda’s safety on his left.

  “Damn, you can see me, too?” Aisling asked, stabbing an undead human in the faceplate and breaking through. “I thought this dagger made me invisible.”

  “You’re wispy and shadowed,” Terian said, driving his fiery weapon across the middle of eight undead soldiers in a line, “but I suspect my axe gives me license to see through whatever illusion you’re hiding behind.”

  “I see you much the same,” J’anda said, swinging his long staff into the head of an undead, knocking it clean off as purple spell magic spun from it and washed over the undead in front of him in a wave. They paused, some sixteen of them, simply stopped, clotting the forward flow of the attack on that entire side of the tunnel as the waves behind them slammed against their waiting fellows and crashed into chaos. “And I agree, it is good to see you—however lightly we might be doing it at the moment.”

  Never thought I’d hear them say that, Aisling thought as she spun to evade a thrown axe. “We’re going to get overwhelmed here, you realize that, right?”

  “Against an infinite legion of the dead?” Terian shot a force spell from his axe that broke the line of attack. “Can’t imagine how that could happen.”

  “Because the enemy is surging behind us?” J’anda asked, blasting out another round of spell magic that resulted in undead soldiers up the slope turning against those around them.

  Aisling kicked an approaching foe that tried to attack Terian from the side, sending him shattering to pieces through the air. “That’s what I was thinking of, yes.”

  Another sound of dark doom rolled over them, then, and red magics shot past once more. Dead started to rise at their feet, and Aisling stomped hard on a skull, smashing it to dust as it tried to bite her. She could hear it taking effect down the slope, though, down among the dying guardsmen that were already besieged by undead and were now facing a second wave of their fellows rising against them. There was movement far down there, a writhing, almost living, soulless army of the undead throwing themselves into the shrinking force of guards and defenders of Saekaj.

  “This may end up being a short battle,” Terian said and brought his axe down again, sending bones flying in a hard arc in front of them. “You two should get out if you can.”

  “I am not leaving,” J’anda said, and with his staff he broke cleanly a skeleton, shattering it to pieces. “I will not flee this place in fear. Not again.”

  Aisling felt her jaw tighten. I could leave. I could slip quietly right into Saekaj and hide, or cross into the tunnel up the way and out one of the secret entrances to the surface. I could leave this place behind and the undead wouldn’t follow me, Goliath wouldn’t follow me, no one would.

  I’d finally be free.

  But she felt the abyss within, looked down in it, and found some cold anger, some hot fire still burning unsoothed. Malpravus. He’s like Shrawn. He’s like Norenn—what Norenn became.

  Norenn.

  Whatever she felt, she pushed back into that abyss, knowing that the time she’d have to deal with it, to feel any of what she’d long held back, was drawing quickly to a close.

  This is it. This could be the end.

  “I’m not leaving,” she announced, cutting the head off another undead, watching six more coming running up to replace it. She dealt with them swiftly, and the ones that followed, and still
there was no end in sight.

  This is it.

  Never have to feel again. Never have to hide it again.

  This could finally be the end.

  At last.

  91.

  Terian

  “So this is what it felt like on that bridge in Termina,” Terian muttered to himself as he caught a glimpse of his father’s empty, burned-out shell of armor. The smell of death and fire hung in the air as he struck another undead and sent it aflame, running up the slope into its brethren. The fire spread to a few others, and the rest gave it a wide berth, afraid to join their fellows in final death, apparently. “Now I know, Cyrus.” He felt a strange sense of relief at that, like all the weight that he’d carried for so many years was gone from his back.

  “Jeesh,” Aisling said, spinning into an attack against an undead soldier that separated his head from his body, “J’anda and I were both there, we could have told you what it was like if you were that keen to know, spare you having to fight an undead army like this—”

  “I don’t think that would have spared us from this moment,” Terian said, feeling the sadness close in on him. This is a matter of time and numbers; we have only so much time, and they have all the numbers.

  As if to punctuate the point, J’anda cried out and stumbled, and Terian turned his head to see the enchanter with an arrow sticking from his shoulder. He grimaced as another shot past, just barely, as J’anda dodged. He pointed up the slope with his staff. “Orion.”

  Terian spun and pointed his axe at Orion, who stood with bow drawn and arrow nocked, ready to deliver another point of death to J’anda. Terian let fly another burst, feeling the magical energy drain him dry and take a trace of life as it did so. This time the burst was different, carrying an edge of flame at its tip, like a cone of fire shooting up the slope. It consumed the dead in front of it as it went, and hit Orion squarely, knocking him into a hard flip that turned him over for a rough landing.

  “You all right?” Terian asked as he spun to check on J’anda.

  The enchanter wore a pained expression, a peculiar sight on a man he’d always known to wear illusions, at least until Luukessia. “Not really. I’m bleeding quite severely.”

  “And us without a healer,” Aisling muttered.

  “Not without,” came a sharp voice. Terian raised his head to see Dahveed striding forth, Grinnd and Bowe at each side. Dahveed’s fingers twinkled in the tunnel’s dark, casting everything around him in a soft, white light.

  “Good to see you, I think,” Terian said as Grinnd strode forth to stand next to him, massive swords out and hacking away at the dead. Bowe unleashed a burst of spell fire and lit up six of the undead, giving Terian a subtle look as he did so. “Okay, I know it’s good to see you.”

  “Damned right,” Dahveed said with an easy grin.

  “What, were you waiting until the situation was at its grimmest before casting your lot with me?” Terian asked, bringing his axe around again and again, hacking his way through the never-ending attack of the undead army.

  “Not exactly,” Grinnd shouted. “We were fighting against the undead down the slope, but it wasn’t going anywhere very fast. Decided grouping together might be a safer course, especially if we can fight our way to Malpravus.”

  “He’s warned when we come at him,” Aisling shouted. “Like the dead whisper it in his ear. Saw me sneaking toward him from a mile off. He’ll just retreat up the tunnel.”

  “We can fly,” Bowe offered in his quiet voice.

  Terian looked at the druid and felt a smile crease his lips. “That might work …”

  “And then what?” another voice, more commanding than Dahveed’s, shouted across at them from just outside the gate to Saekaj. Terian whipped his head around to look at who spoke, trying to penetrate the veil of their cowl, pulled low around their face. “Even without a leader, an undead army continues to survive, to pillage, to burn and destroy—you should well know that from Reikonos, Terian.”

  “Who the hells is that?” Terian asked, squinting to see through the darkness of the cloak. There was a second figure behind the first, triangular cowl pulled down even farther, and a third beyond that.

  “I am astounded at your unfamiliarity and ingratitude,” the first cloaked figure said, sliding back his cowl to reveal pointed ears and a face both serene and amused, as well as ageless.

  Curatio, Terian thought with a smile. Then that means the other two are … “Nice to have your help, Vara and—”

  The second figure pulled back her cowl, revealing female features and the pointed ears of an elf, but that was where any resemblance to Vara ended. This woman’s hair was dark and lustrous, and her skin looked pulled slightly taut, as though she were somewhat aged. Dark circles hung beneath her bright green eyes, and she wore a circlet of withered greenery around the crown of her head. She looked serious and angry, and Terian got the very distinct feeling that he did not want to stand in the direction of that anger. “Not Vara,” he said quickly.

  “Vidara, actually,” Curatio said as he brought something gleaming out of his sleeve, something red that glistened in the light of Terian’s axe. “So not terribly far off, as these things go—”

  Without a word of warning, Curatio turned the giant, shining gem—the Red Destiny of Saekaj—that was cradled in his hands toward the army of the undead. A light shone from within as the healer’s hands glowed brightly, like daylight bursting into the cave, and red energy burned spots in Terian’s vision both in front of him and behind as the undead howled loud enough to drown out almost all other sound in the tunnel.

  “No!” Malpravus screamed, barely audible over the cries of the dead. “NOOOOOOOOO!” The necromancer’s high voice was absolutely panicked in a way that Terian had never heard from the Guildmaster of Goliath before. There was a smell of something akin to rain drying off the cobblestones of a street, and a sizzling sound ripped through the air. Terian forced his eyes open, forced himself to look as red spell magic burned through the undead legion, souls torn from their vessels and channeled into the giant ruby in Curatio’s hands.

  The magic pitched, reaching a fantastic glow, the most powerful spell Terian could recall seeing, and the energy drew to its close and stopped, the Red Destiny shining like an orb of crimson in the darkness. Curatio’s anger was stark in the light of the massive gem, and he handed the stone to Vidara behind him, her face glowing in the light of the souls ripped straight from her flesh.

  She drew it in like a breath, the magic coursing up her hands to be absorbed within. The Red Destiny glowed bright and then guttered out, empty of its power. In its place, the Goddess of Life glowed, her face brought back to youth, flawless skin agleam with something like daylight, her hair shining with inner light like the rest of her.

  “Perhaps you should not gawk,” J’anda said, rapping gently on Terian’s helm with the end of his staff, “you are married, after all.”

  “You’re not even interested in women,” Terian replied, not daring to take his eyes off the goddess.

  “Neither am I,” Aisling said, low and amazed, “but for her I might make an exception.”

  “Might I remind you,” Dahveed said with the air of someone only mildly amused and very tired, “we are in the middle of a battle here.”

  “Right,” Terian said, ripping his eyes off the Goddess of Life and looking back up the bone-strewn slope to where Malpravus stood next to Orion and Sareea, and no one else. “Well, Malpravus … looks like your army’s gone to pieces.”

  “There are other, living bodies up the tunnel,” Malpravus said, his voice a furious hush. “Wizards, enchanters, healers, druids. I have warriors and rangers aplenty as well, numbering in the tens of thousands, and ready to march down here to battle you few—”

  “I dare you,” Terian said, and took a step forward. “I dare you to come and face us, Malpravus, because all I see in this moment is you, a scared-ass ranger, and a dark knight who’s been too afraid to attack me for the entirety of thi
s battle.” Sareea bristled at his insult, but did not move to strike at him. “What’s the matter, Malpravus? Can’t find your courage?” He hefted the still-burning axe. “Care to try to re-power those rubies of yours with my soul?”

  “I think I would find your soul … unpalatable at this point,” Malpravus said, thin face etched with a silent fury. “As for courage … yes, you have it, of course. All of you fools do, you fools of Sanctuary—”

  “We take none but the brave,” Curatio said, sweeping his way over to stand next to Terian. “But you already knew that.”

  “And at some point very soon,” Malpravus said, waving his thin hands as he gathered a spell before him, “you will learn—bravery is irrelevant; only power matters.” The light of a return spell glowed around him and Sareea seized one of his arms as Orion grabbed hold of the other, the three of them disappearing. A cry from up the slope followed behind the retreat of the necromancer; shouts of Goliath members to follow his lead echoed as wizard magic flashed up the twisting slope of the tunnel to the surface.

  “Courage always matters,” Terian said, almost more to himself than anything. “Though you’ll never see it that way, Malpravus.”

  Curatio slumped as the light of teleportation magic lit the tunnel ahead like lightning, receding as it signaled the retreat of Goliath. “No. No, he won’t.” Terian moved to catch the healer, who looked desperately weak, his normally smooth skin showing signs of creases, his eyes wearier than the knight could ever recall seeing him. “But that won’t stop him from being dangerous … and from seeking revenge for what has happened this day.”