by Nick McNeil
“Precisely,” the giant responded. Bertly was concerned by the lack of concern in Alestar’s voice.
“Why are you so calm about this, sir?” the young human couldn’t help but ask.
Alestar smirked. “That is a fair question.” He looked back at Bertly. “Because, even if the Blight has returned, it will take decades before any sizable army could be constructed. We have time. Plus, you and Polly are here now.” He looked back ahead. “The last human who possessed magic, as we all know, was Cordelia. Therefore, I find it hard to believe that you two won’t surpass even the most experienced wizarding families.”
Constructed? Bertly pondered. Why would Alestar choose this word?
Clia descended until she hovered just above the tree line. “Look just ahead. You can see the Remnant Forest.” A dense forest compiled of dead trees filled the horizon. The leaves were black and dehydrated. “Thank Cordelia for Clia here; we can soar right over it.” Alestar scratched her behind the ear, and the beast’s sides rumbled as she purred. “Listen to me very closely, Bertly.” Alestar’s voice went dull. “Under no circumstance should you ever pass through there. Not even I would subject myself to the evils that lurk in that forest.”
“Understood, sir. May I ask what there is to fear?”
“Hunters. They will track you down and slaughter you for sport…or worse, they’ll sell you to the Zoo.”
“The Zoo?” Bertly asked.
Alestar took a deep breath. “It’s a massive colosseum where they force rare species to fight to the death. The Zoo is the hub of the Decomposite.”
Bertly was astounded. He’d not heard of such horrors before and had certainly not been taught of them in any of his classes. “But we have nothing to worry about, right, sir? We aren’t a rare species.” Bertly’s question was more of a reassurance to himself than a plea for an actual response. To his dismay, Alestar replied anyway.
“That does not matter, small human. They will think you’re a chameleon, only disguising yourself as human. Not to mention, I do believe that a red-eyed human classifies as a rare species.” Alestar nudged Bertly and gave him a half smile.
Clia let out a soft caw. Bertly looked to the horizon, where he could see that they were approaching the edge of the forest.
“My old friend Therron lives north of here in a small village. We will land just beyond the forest and walk into town. We don’t want to draw too much attention with Clia here.” Alestar gave her another friendly pat.
Bertly spotted movement on the horizon. “Sir, what is that? Just northeast.” He pointed to indicate the movement.
Alestar peered into the distance. He let go of Clia’s reins and made a diamond shape with his fingers. He closed one eye and looked through the diamond. Bertly had seen this behavior before and had once attempted to convince Alestar to get fitted for spectacles for his myopia, but the old man claimed he could see just fine, so Bertly dropped the issue. He wished now that he hadn’t. “It’s smoke.” Alestar grabbed the reins and snapped for Clia to fly faster.
They landed just beyond the forest. “Clia, you stay here and listen for my call. You know where the village is.” Alestar grabbed the two swords from his travel sack and handed one to Bertly. “Do you have that stealth elixir?”
“Yes, sir.” Bertly patted the inner pocket of his cloak.
“Keep it close. The village is just half a league ahead.” Alestar led Bertly at a steady pace. The air gradually became heavy and thick with the scent of smoke. A vile scent traveled through the wind.
The quaint village was littered with devastation and gore. Red was the new color of what was once a peaceful community. Heads and limbs were left scattered throughout the dirt roads; not a single body was fully intact. Blood dripped through the cracks of floorboards inside cottages. The smell was unbearable. Bertly looked around the village and observed that every structure was left undamaged by whoever had committed the slaughter and started the fire. Alestar and Bertly navigated through the town, seeking the source of the smoke—and doing their best to avoid the human organs that were spread almost meticulously across the ground.
“I see flames. Just beyond that small tower,” Alestar said. Bertly couldn’t see more than a few paces through the smoke and wondered if his eyes truly were in better shape than those of the old man.
Despite the thick fumes, the raging fire peeked through the haze in the distance. The smell grew worse. Bertly could feel the heat from the flames. Alestar clenched his sword with both hands as he rounded the tower, with Bertly only a few steps behind. Alestar came to a sudden halt. He loosened his grip and let the tip of his blade hit the ground. Bertly was overcome with a wave of nausea.
Dismantled and mangled, random limbs filled the cracks between torsos. The townspeople were being used as kindling.
VII
Bertly sat on the steps of a nearby stoop as he watched Alestar extinguish the fire. Bertly had heard horror stories of the Decomposite, but never thought he’d live one of them. Alestar stood with his arms extended and his eyes closed, his body completely still while he concentrated on his task. Bertly could not tell how he was doing it, but the fire began receding. There was no visible lake, river, or even a pond—so he couldn’t be using water to put the fire out. Bertly had learned many of his spells from observing his master, so he assumed that Alestar must be pulling the oxygen from the surrounding air to smother the fire. Bertly stood up and extended his arm. He slowly curled his fingers into the shape of a claw, feeling the connection he had with the fire. The flames shrank with it.
“Your intuition surprises me no more, little human.” Alestar put his arms down. “I will let you take it from here.” He plopped on the steps next to Bertly. “It won’t be long before you surpass me, my apprentice. Knowledge is the only advantage I have on you these days.”
“How sure of that are you, sir?” Bertly snickered.
Alestar gave Bertly a small nudge. “Last I heard, you need your master’s signature to get into the Mastery program, is that still true?” Alestar tried not to laugh as Bertly shot him a menacing stare.
A crackling could be heard to the left of Bertly, and he peered in the direction of the noise. A slightly decayed elf, who wore tattered clothing, was wandering about the area surrounding them. Its motor skills were stiff, but it still managed to cover ground efficiently. It had patches of skin missing over its entire body, along with broken-off fingers. The creature’s mostly detached jaw was hanging from its face by only a few tendons.
Alestar placed his hand on Bertly’s shoulder and put his finger over his lips as he drew his sword. Bertly followed, pulling his sword out from his travel sack.
“Should we take the stealth elixir, sir?” Bertly whispered.
“Not yet. If there is one foul creature, there are two. And those elixirs only work for a short time,” Alestar replied.
“Sir, have you seen one before?”
“No, but I know what it is.”
“What exactly is it, sir?”
The rotting elf jerked its head and looked straight at Bertly, as if it knew he had been there the entire time—as if it were almost sentient and could detect the intentions of humans. The elf let out a series of painful screeches before it burst into a sprint, heading straight for Alestar and Bertly. Its arms flailed and its jaw flapped side to side as it charged them head-on. Bertly grasped his sword with both hands and dug his feet into the ground, his face burning. Before it was in range, Alestar stepped in front of Bertly and drove his sword between its eyes. He ripped his sword out and delivered a powerful kick to the elf’s chest, sending its body summersaulting across the ground.
“That was a Rotter.” Alestar removed a rag from his pocket and used it to wipe the leftover blood from his blade. “And more are coming. That screech was a rally cry.”
“Sir, this doesn’t mean…” Bertly’s voice trembled.
“No, Bertly, your instinct is correct. The second Blight has commen
ced.” Alestar turned and faced Bertly. “I came here because I feared someone sought what this village was meant to protect—Cordelia’s warblade.”
“Cordelia’s warblade still exists?” Bertly asked in astonishment.
“Yes, and by the looks of it, they haven’t found it yet.” Alestar pointed to a small well next to the burnt pile of corpses.
Alestar walked up to the well and clasped his hands. A soft yellow light emerged, its glow intensifying around him. Small pieces of rubble and ash levitated off the ground, hovering just a hair above the surface. A spiral staircase emerged. “I hope you are ready, tiny human. Only the dead know what evils Cordelia left to guard this place.”
At the bottom of a long stairway rested a dark cave. Beyond the entrance to that cave lay a narrow room that was completely covered in bat droppings and bones—it appeared to have been abandoned for centuries, but that was not the case. An eerie howl came from inside the cave.
“How welcoming,” Alestar cracked.
Farther ahead lay two paths, both too dark to see down.
“Well, I suppose this is where we split up. I will take the left, and you can take the right.” Alestar indicated for Bertly to press forward.
“Sir, are you serious?” Bertly shouted, his voice echoing in the cave. He didn’t like how shrill those echoes were.
“Okay, settle down. You can take the left, and I will take the right.”
Bertly rolled his eyes. Alestar laughed and gave Bertly a pat on the back. “A fork in the road, which direction does your intuition tell you, my apprentice?”
Bertly looked as far down both pathways as he could. “Why do I have to choose?”
“Because…Cordelia was a tiny human, and you are a tiny human. What other connection do you need?” Alestar put his hands out, mocking Bertly’s confusion.
“Good logic, sir.” Bertly shook his head. “And just so you know, I am actually pretty tall for my species.”
“Huh, is that so? Nonetheless, you still seem quite miniature to me. When you are at least this tall, I will stop referring to you as ‘tiny.’” Alestar held his hand up to the top of his rib cage.
Bertly snapped his fingers, and the ground beneath his feet rose, bringing him up to eye level with Alestar. “There, now I am at least this tall.”
Alestar kicked the dirt step out from beneath Bertly’s feet. “You are a clever one. Once you pick yourself up, please choose a direction.”
Bertly guided Alestar down a twisted trail that led through several lost rooms, and the two came to a stop when they entered a particularly ghastly room.
“It smells awful in here. More Rotters, sir?” Bertly asked.
Alestar’s nostrils flared. “No. This time we have ghouls.” Alestar drew his sword. “Press forward.”
Bertly pulled out his blade and treaded onward, traveling deeper into the dungeon’s depths. Unfamiliar footsteps echoed from within the dungeon. Step by step the footfalls grew louder. The sound was deep and rhythmic, like that of an army marching forward.
Alestar grabbed Bertly. “Stay close.”
Bertly could hear the rustling of cloth and the jingling of armor. The sounds came to an abrupt stop.
“Lightus,” Bertly whispered, and instantly the room was illuminated by the dim light he had called forth. Loud screams came from every direction. The ground rumbled from the small army of ghouls circling them.
Two sunken eyeballs sitting within large sockets stared directly at Bertly, and the wide smile of the ghoul revealed several fangs as long as fingers. Bertly stepped forward and dug his sword through the chin and out the back of the ghoul’s head. He stepped back, pulling his sword free from the creature’s skull, and the ghoul dropped lifelessly to the floor.
Bertly expected to feel more from his first kill—sympathy, remorse. Anything. Instead, there was an odd numbness to the act.
He stepped back and swung his blade, slitting the throats of numerous ghouls in a single swipe, after which a red mist of blood filled the air. Bertly swung his torso in a semicircle, gutting another handful of ghouls. Blood dripped from his face like the sweat from a hard day’s labor. Slicing his blade right through the ghouls’ rotten flesh satisfied Bertly. He jammed the butt of his sword into the skull of another before piercing the jugular of a ghoul who struggled, writhing about on the ground. Bertly quickly glanced back to check on Alestar. He had already exterminated the majority of the ghouls. Before Bertly could press on, the half-dozen ghouls still standing scurried off into the shadows.
“I’m not sure what to be more afraid of, you or the ghouls.” Alestar had a smile plastered on his face.
“Believe it or not, sir, I am actually a bit rusty.” Bertly massaged the back of his shoulder. “It’s been a few years.”
“Regardless, remind me not to get on your bad side.” Alestar chuckled.
“I don’t mean to nag, but we should press on.” Alestar gestured for Bertly to lead the way. Bertly did as his master suggested and had started to walk ahead when Alestar placed his hand on Bertly’s shoulder. “On second thought, maybe I should lead us this time. You ran us into a pack of ghouls.”
They proceeded with caution deeper into the dungeon, passing through every ominous room. Alestar assumed that Cordelia must have hidden her warblade somewhere that was nearly impossible to find.
“What exactly makes Cordelia’s warblade so special, sir?” Bertly asked.
“Fair question, human. Her blade itself possesses magical abilities, though to what extent, no one knows. But what we do know is that her blade was essential for her success on the battlefield,” Alestar said.
“Do we know any of the magical attributes, sir? I heard her blade can grow?” Bertly gave a half shrug.
“You are partly right, tiny human. Her blade has the ability to extend and retract of its own will. And no matter how long it grows, it does not become any heavier for the wielder.” Alestar looked at Bertly and arched his eyebrows. Bertly could tell he was supposed to be impressed, so that was exactly the way he responded.
“Impressive, sir. But how does one work it? Seems a bit dangerous if it randomly extends and withdraws.” Bertly tied his blood-drenched hair into a ponytail.
“We don’t know for certain. Some say that the blade has a mind of its own, while others suggest that Cordelia somehow soul-bonded with it in order to control it,” Alestar responded.
Bertly took a moment to think. “I feel like it must have a mind of its own, sir. I doubt even Cordelia could soul-bond with two things. Not to mention, if she did soul-bond with it, doesn’t that imply it has a soul? Meaning it most likely has a mind of its own?”
Alestar stopped walking. “You are sharp, my young apprentice. It took me years before I came to that conclusion.” Alestar picked up his pace once again. “I really have taught you well.”
Bertly spotted a dull glow toward the end of the path. When he looked closely, he could see a small flickering light.
“Do you see that, sir? In the distance?” Bertly asked.
Alestar gave an agreeing nod and drew his sword. They continued down the dark tunnel until they arrived at a large golden door, which bore countless symbols written across its surface. The door was clean and shiny, like it had been untouched by time. Alestar put his sword away and straightened his posture. He cracked his knuckles and studied the door. “This is it. It is identical to the one in my readings.”
“Sir, you mean to say you’ve never been down here?” Bertly asked.
“Sweet Cordelia, no! Why would I ever come down here alone? Do you know what they say lurks in these shadows?” Alestar squealed.
Bertly gulped. “No, sir. What lurks in these shadows?” Whatever courage he had was lost.
“Oh, it’s…nothing…” Alestar’s skin went pale. “Just ghouls. Lots of ghouls.”
Bertly failed to understand how his master could possibly be so terrified of ghouls. After all, Alestar had recently slaughtere
d a small army of them. It made little sense at all. Alestar stepped up to the door and shouted commands in a language Bertly did not recognize. The door emitted a flash of bright light, but it did not open. Alestar repeated the spell in a different tone. The door again shined brightly but still did not open. He shouted the words louder and slower. Another flash, but the door remained closed.
“Huh. According to my studies, that was supposed to work.” Alestar placed his hands on his hips and glared at the door. He tapped his foot against the floor.
“What language was that, sir?” Bertly’s curiosity got the better of him.
“It is the language of my people.” Alestar crossed his arms and plopped on the ground. He continued to analyze the door.
Bertly was impressed that Alestar spoke the forgotten language. He wondered what else he knew simply by virtue of being a giant. They seemed so wise—especially the elder ones. “Sir, is it true that only giants know how to find Eskos?” Bertly inquired.
“No. All species native to Eskos know how to find the motherland. Bertly, is now really the time for this?” Alestar rubbed his chin.
“Sorry, sir. You’re right. It can wait.” Bertly sat on the soft dirt and directed his attention toward the door.
Alestar rose back to his feet and let out a frightening yell. He said the command over and over. “Stand back, tiny human.” Alestar dug his foot into the ground and bent his knees. His arms were postured as though he were about to take off from the starting line of a footrace.
The stone around the door started to crack. Bats scurried as debris fell from the roof. Alestar extended his arms. “If the door won’t open…then I will rip it out.” Alestar pulled his arms back in toward his chest. Bertly could feel the energy radiating from his master. The golden door started to slide forward.
Out of nowhere, a bolt of red light shot out from the door and through Alestar’s chest. The impact sent him soaring over Bertly’s head.
“The door cannot be ripped out…noted,” Alestar said through hefty breaths as he lay motionless on his back.
