by Nick McNeil
A quiet thud followed by a soft tremor filled the room. Every few seconds another thud sounded off, followed by a stronger vibration. Rocks and dirt rained from the ceiling. Soon, the throbs and pulses became like earthquakes. Bertly realized the enchantment had worked and the detonations had commenced. He exhaled in relief.
“We should get out of here before we become rubble,” Ayce asserted. The agile elf sprinted out the door and ran in the direction they had come from. No one hesitated to follow. As Bertly ran through the tunnels, the walls started to crack and cave in. The group made it up the ladder and back into the cottage—the passageways had remained intact just long enough.
Waiting inside the wooden shack with a look of angst was the wizard’s furry companion. Bear’s eyes held a touch of concern, or sadness, as though she knew something dreadful had just occurred.
Feelings of wrath sank and lodged themselves deep within Bertly’s heart once again. What had happened to Alestar was only the start. Bertly was remembering now that they had no clue what Bishop’s potential was. Even if they won this one battle, if Bishop survived again, the Blight would not be over. The elves of Eplium would not be the only creatures in danger of his wrath; the whole world would be at risk.
“Clia!” Bertly’s body stopped working and his heart stopped beating. “I just killed her.”
The group looked puzzled. “Sir?” Roderick voiced.
“I should have known Alestar was still alive. Don’t you remember Master Thel’s teachings.” Bertly was short of breath, he sounded as though he had just come back from a long run. “The fate of the bonder is the same as the bonded. If Master Alestar was actually killed all that time ago, then Clia would have died too.”
“But, sir, how could we have known,” Roderick replied. “We just learned of Master Alestar’s death.”
“I should have known. I am going to end this,” the Winter Wizard said fiercely, clenching his fists. Without Bertly uttering a word of command, Bear shuffled over and bent down for the wizard to climb aboard. Bertly saddled up, grabbing two handfuls of fur and squeezing tightly with his legs.
“Sir, what are you doing?” Roderick questioned.
Bertly’s cloak emitted a slight glow. “What Cordelia couldn’t do three thousand years ago.”
“We should wait to see if he retreats, sir. Eplium should be sending its second wave of soldiers right now to clear the battlefield,” Ayce said in a hurry. “I advise we stick to the plan.”
“The plan has changed.” With no exchange made, Bear read Bertly’s mind and darted for the open field. The Winter Wizard glared into the open field before them, holding on tight.
Bertly could hear Roderick yell to his father as he took off. “Aren’t you going to stop him?”
“How?” Edfrid responded. “He could take all three of us.”
Bear dashed across the open field, ripping apart the grass with every step she took. She leaped with every jolt, digging her front paws into the ground and propelling herself forward. Bear could have given a Bablancan cheetah a run for its money.
They joined the heaps of Eplium soldiers spilling through the few openings of the stone wall. The fighters rushed, headstrong, into the devastation—weapons in hand.
Smoke billows rose from the ground and cast a black cloud over the city. The dark haze made it dim outside, although it was the time just before sunset, when there was light enough to see by, but it was dark enough to head in for the night. The air smelled foul from the burning Rotters. Limbs and innards squished and cracked beneath Bear’s hefty paws. The dusk made it difficult to assess the full damage of the situation. The chants and drums of the Rotters were silenced. Bertly couldn’t see a moving, rotting elf anywhere. Some were still intact, but most were motionless and dismembered.
Bertly searched that murky sky for Clia and Polly. Despite the distorted atmosphere, the wizard managed to spot his companions skirmishing overhead. His friends were on the defensive, barrel rolling and dodging the fiery breath of Bishop’s dragon. The firestorms that roared from the dragon’s jaws were almost the size of its body—if one were to catch Bertly’s friends, they would be done for. Clia appeared sluggish, she was slowly falling closer to the ground, and her feathers were shedding as though she was losing her winter coat. She didn’t have much time left.
Bear advanced through the dismembered pieces of soldiers and Rotters.
“I’m down here!” the Winter Wizard blared at Bishop. “I’m right here. Come and get me!” The Rotter leader couldn’t—or chose not to—hear him.
Bertly knew no spell that could dispatch anything into the air. But a long-pondered idea returned to him, and there was no better time than the present to test it. Bertly pulled back his elbow, the tip of his warblade pointed at Bishop, and, gripping the hilt so he wouldn’t drop the weapon, he thrust the blade upward with all his strength. Cordelia’s warblade jutted out and ripped through the air. With Bear charging and Bertly’s sword extending, the pair closed in on their main threat. Cordelia’s warblade was as long as fifty swords and it still grew, though the weight of it never shifted.
The dragon momentarily stopped breathing fire, and Bishop turned toward the Winter Wizard. The dragon discharged a sphere of fire that slid down Cordelia’s blade. The dragon followed it in pursuit of Bertly. The young human had no time to act; the flame charged until it hit Bertly and it exploded on impact. The blast sent the wizard flying off Bear and tumbling into the cratered ground. Bertly’s head throbbed in addition to the already-present pain from when Alestar bashed him into the ceiling.
Bertly got to his feet and watched as Bishop’s dragon swiftly landed. The crash from the massive weight of the dragon rattled the demolished ground. Bertly was confused; the creature had moved so slowly while in flight. The dragon extended its long neck and came so close Bertly could feel its breath on his face. The beast opened its mouth and lunged forward. Bear wedged herself between Bertly and the creature. She ran her claws through the inside of its cheek, tearing a hole straight through. Bertly could see its teeth even with its mouth closed.
Bear’s head was smaller, but her body was muscular and much heavier than the head and neck of the dragon. Bear leaped on top of the creature’s skull and pressed it into the ground. She bit into the back of its neck and tore at it ravenously.
Bertly seized the distraction. His warblade was retracted, so he leaped forward again. Bishop was within striking distance—a distance he had managed to close before with Alestar in the Decomposite. The blade slashed through the chest of the Rotter king. Thoughts of the Winter Wizard finally ending the Blight once and for all flooded Bertly’s mind as he twisted and turned the blade inside Bishop.
The dragon whipped its head back, shaking off Bear. Bertly turned his attention from Bishop. The furred beast rolled and tumbled onto her side. The dragon reared its head back again, a flame roiling in the back of its throat as it started to open its mouth. Bear quickly found her footing and pounced on the dragon’s cranium, closing its jaw just as the flames were about to discharge. Fire shot out from the hole of the dragon’s missing cheek.
Bertly regained his focus. Bishop had slid all the way down his warblade, with the mammoth ice still through his chest when his feet touched the ground. Even up close, Bertly could not see the details of Bishop’s face through the shadow cast by his hood. The being stood nearly as tall as a giant and smelled like rust.
Bishop grabbed Bertly by the neck and squeezed until his airways were blocked. Cordelia’s warblade retracted. Death’s grip tightened, and Bertly felt fingernails pierce his skin.
Bertly’s eyes lost focus. Everything surrounding Bishop blurred. The wizard tensed his body; a final adrenaline rush forced him to twist and jerk about, trying to jar himself loose from the grasp of the creature. Bertly’s limbs grew tired of flailing as the wind left his lungs. His lids grew weighted, and the urge to close them overwhelmed him.
The nails scratched and dragged across hi
s neck as Bertly’s throat was suddenly freed from Bishop’s grip. Bertly fell to the ground, gasping for breath in the horrid air. When his vision returned, he saw that Bear had tackled Bishop to the ground. Bear had Bishop’s body clamped between her jaws, and she whipped him around like a chew toy. Clasped between her teeth, the overlord grabbed her nose and bottom teeth and pried them apart. He slipped her grip and punched her in the temple. Bertly wanted to charge them, to save his friend, but he still couldn’t breathe. He was locked to the spot he’d been dropped in. Bishop repeatedly bashed the side of Bear’s face until she hit the ground.
“Please.” Bertly pushed the word out with the little breath he had. “Stop.”
I’ll stop when she gives me what I want. A raspy and deep voice infiltrated the Winter Wizard’s head; its register was the lowest he’d ever heard.
Bishop raised his arm. The Rotter horde’s armor shuffled, and objects on the ground shifted. The overlord walked to the young wizard and grabbed him by the top of his head. He lifted him off the ground and turned him around, forcing him to overlook the cataclysm. He looked on as the ground shook, though he wasn’t aware of another explosion and couldn’t fathom the cause. Pushing themselves off the ground were the intact Rotters. Across the entire combat zone, heads of dead elves sprang up like weeds.
The city horn sounded, and the soldiers again retreated from the battlefield. A substantial number of Rotters were defeated, but enough still stood to kill a majority of the remaining soldiers. The dead elves ignored the city guards and surrounded their master.
Bishop loosened his grip and let Bertly drop to the ground. Bertly scurried away on his hands and knees, his heart throbbing and bones shaking. He scuttled to his feet and faced the demon once again.
Rotters filled the space between him and Bishop. There weren’t many yet, and he understood this was his brief opening before their numbers multiplied. Bertly grabbed a shield off the ground.
The Winter Wizard was going to fight to the death. He had already lost his master; he wasn’t going to lose Polly.
He charged forward.
Shields collided with flesh as the crack of bone and wood echoed through the field. Bertly held steady as he absorbed the shock of a Rotter crashing into his wooden shield. The enemy fell as the impact of the blow sent sharp pain through Bertly’s shoulder. There was an opening to the right, and Bertly gripped the hilt of his sword. With the point of the sword, he stabbed and connected with the rib cage of a Rotter, and the impact sprayed a mist of blood through the air. With his vision impaired, Bertly ripped the sword free, releasing a second gush of blood from the Rotter. The Rotter fell to the ground and dematerialized into dust. The wind washed away the powdered corpse.
It was the first time since the Eternal Cave that Bertly could feel the air move.
Bertly cleared his way through the dead elves and smiled; a moment of hope had presented itself. Talons latched onto the shoulders of Bishop and took him high into the air. Polly leaped off Clia. Bertly tried to run toward the gryphon, but she rocketed upward like a firework, carrying the Rotter king into the heavens. Her wings flapped clunkily and her eyes were bloodshot red. The coloring in her beak was turning gray, and her body showed signs of cramping. As she flew into the sky, a trail of feathers flew off and trailed behind her. Polly raced and jumped on top of Bear while the ground rose and encompassed them in a stonelike barrier.
Bishop was in the air, but there was still a dragon. Bertly was terrified, but he understood he had to be brave. The young wizard remembered that Alestar had forced him to memorize the chemicals of the human body. The wizard dug his feet into the ground as the dragon flapped its wings and took flight. Bertly extracted magnesium from the millions of exposed body parts and countless pounds of innards. The Winter Wizard obtained a larger amount than expected—the Rotters must have contained higher levels than humans. Bertly arranged the magnesium around Bishop, and he spread it out enough that he could not see it. This was his chance to also wipe out a number of Rotters.
Bishop squirmed and slashed at Clia as she carried him high into the air. She could barely flap her wings, yet she waved them relentlessly. Bertly squinted and saw the demon conjuring some sort of white energy in one of his hands. The white light extended and formed into the shape of a spear.
The gryphon looked down, but Bishop was midstride and had plunged the spear through her chest. Clia’s body plummeted from the skies, but she managed to keep her grip around the demon overlord.
Bertly wanted to rush to Clia’s aid, but Bishop’s dragon was building up a flame burst once more, and it was aimed straight for the Winter Wizard. The moment the dragon opened its mouth, the wizard frantically forced the magnesium powder down the creature’s throat, and in an attempt to shield himself from the chemical explosion, he wrapped Cordelia’s cloak around his body. He could feel the force of the detonation but not the heat. Chunks of dragon intestines hurled in all directions, and scales fluttered down like snowflakes.
Bertly uncovered himself, eager to check on Bear. But looking him dead in the eyes, with nothing but the hunger of revenge, was Bishop’s dragon. It was mostly skeletal, with some meat still left on the bones, but it appeared alive as ever. The Winter Wizard glanced at his furry counterpart. She was covered; Polly’s stone shell appeared to have protected them from the blast.
Bishop walked back to the fight, seemingly untouched from his drop. As Bishop approached the Winter Wizard, Bertly could see strands of gray hair peeking out from under his hood. Surely no mortal could survive such a fall. Bertly panicked. How could he kill something that could bring the dead back to life?
The boney animal nose-dived and took a snap at Bertly. The wizard rolled to the side, but the dragon grabbed hold of his cloak. It tossed him into the air and snatched him like a seal catching a fish. Bertly’s lower half was midway down the dragon’s esophagus. He stabbed and sliced the dragon continuously, yet his warblade didn’t leave a scratch on the dragon’s bones. Its teeth dug into him, and Bertly could felt them sink beneath his skin. He imagined a dozen knives being rammed through his back and stomach.
The wizard felt the warmth of rivulets of his own blood as they ran down his body. Cordelia’s warblade felt heavy, much too heavy to hold. Bertly dropped it on the ground. He was tired and ready to sleep. The Winter Wizard had never felt so alone and whole at the same time. He imagined his life was fading, although it wasn’t how he had imagined it would feel. His physical body was dying, but his soul felt stronger and his mind healthier. A piece of him he never knew was missing had returned. Maybe death isn’t so bad, he thought.
A beam of light broke through the black skies and shined down on the Winter Wizard. The warmth from the sun was comforting. A bolt of lightning tore downward through the air and impaled Bishop’s dragon—snapping its neck in half. The skeleton’s head detached from the monster’s body and the wizard was freed from its grip. The creature tumbled to the ground. Regardless of being released, Bertly was much too weak to move.
A glowing figure stood between Bertly and Bishop. The Rotter king screeched, and his minions surrounded him. The glowing figure raised its arm to the sky, and hundreds of lightning strikes pierced the heads of the Rotter army. Bishop screeched once more, and the dead elves encompassed him. Bertly could not believe it, but the backs of the Rotters were to him—they were retreating.
The glowing faded. The figure turned and looked at Bertly. It was a woman with umber brown skin and braided black hair. She bent down in front of the young wizard and picked up his weapon. “I see you have found my warblade.”
XXVI
Bertly was looking at the soul of the world. It was her. Before him stood Cordelia herself. He could hardly fathom how she could be alive and before him. Her energy radiated from her body, giving off a presence that Bertly could almost touch and feel. The young wizard had slayed and seen the undead before, but this, this was incomprehensible.
“B-but you d-died,” Bertly
stuttered. “Three thousand years ago.” So many questions rushed through his mind he didn’t know which to ask first.
Cordelia ignored Bertly’s comment and placed her hand over his wounds and looked him over as he lay lifelessly on the ground. Her eyes were gentle but telling. The woman’s frame was that of an experienced warrior. She was tall with a layer of muscle. Bertly assumed she was not only strong but could also move with great speed.
The wizard’s cuts felt strange, as though a spider were stringing its web between the gashes in his body. Before long, his energy returned.
Cordelia helped Bertly to his feet and brushed the dirt off his shoulders. “Bertly, I do not mean to be rude, but I’d like my items back now.” She reached out her hand and raised her eyebrows.
Bertly choked on his own spit. “Pardon?”
She slipped her warblade into its sheath. “My cloak?” Cordelia tightened the lapels on her armor and adjusted her boots. She seemed more interested in suiting up than conversing with Bertly.
The Winter Wizard’s jaw dropped. Without a word he removed his cloak and handed it over. Cordelia shrugged into the cloak, and it shined much more radiantly on Cordelia than it ever had when he’d worn it. Bertly had never imagined meeting Pangea’s savior in the flesh, and if he had pictured it, he certainly hadn’t thought it would play out like this—even in his dreams.
Cordelia tied the cloak around herself and held the fur hood up to her nose and took a big whiff. She closed her eyes and looked up to the sky—Bertly could tell a rush of memories was coming back to her. “And my shield?” she asked abruptly.
“Shield?” The only shield Bertly had was the one he had picked off a Rotter.
Cordelia punched Bertly in the shoulder. “Yes, surely you must have my shield.”
She thinks I’m joking, Bertly thought. He shook his head.
“That’s impossible.” Cordelia’s tone quickly changed from playful to skeptical and slightly annoyed. “I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have my shield.” She stood tall and rested her hand on the hilt of her warblade. Her body language was much closer to that of a soldier than a sorcerer.
