by Isaac Hooke
Where are we headed? Nemertes asked.
Redbridge, he replied.
She turned to the northeast, and shouted the directional change to the dragon army.
The buildings below were mostly complete. It was interesting, seeing how the architecture varied from neighborhood to neighborhood. The men with their gable-roofed, stone-walled rectangles. The night elves, with their towers. The Eldritch had built similar towers, though theirs were arranged to form courtyards accessible only by the residents. The dwarves had made rock mounds that reminded him of barrows. The oraks and goblings meanwhile lived in huts, essentially.
The city receded beneath him. On its outskirts, the branches of the surrounding trees had been completely cleared of leaves, leaving only the naked wood. The dragons used those trees as perches; each one was claimed by a different dragon so that those bare trees were essentially their homes. All of them were currently unoccupied of course.
The leafless trees gave way to the greenery of the Midweald, whose trees canopied the horizon ahead for as far as the eye could see.
He gave the order to travel high above the treetops, not wanting to be struck by the magic of any creatures that might be hiding beneath the canopy. Nemertes spread the word, and the dragon company rose into the air.
As her height stabilized, he looked to the south, and saw a small group of dragons in the distance, circling above the trees. They seemed oblivious, their gazes downward, intent upon whatever it was they were hunting.
He flew for only a few minutes before he sensed Abigail approaching, along with the other Metals.
In moments, she and the five others were flying at his side.
“What’s going on?” she asked in her thundering voice. “You weren’t answering my mental requests.”
He ignored her. She wouldn’t like it.
“Where are we going?” she pressed.
“To Redbridge!” Nemertes shouted in response.
Don’t tell her! Malem sent.
Sorry, Nemertes replied.
“I see,” Abigail said. “And what, perchance, is a war party of fifty armed dragons doing flying to Redbridge, when their mayor is in our city?”
“Maybe he pissed off the Breaker?” Solan suggested, the voice of the Bronze thundering in and of itself.
“That would seem to be the case,” Abigail said. “I suggest turning back. Let your anger subside. You’re making a rash decision, one that you will regret, later.”
I didn’t speak to the mayor, Malem sent her. I’m fighting, because I want to fight. Because I want to conquer them.
This is Ziatrice’s doing, isn’t it? Abigail replied. She’s wormed her way into your good graces, and into your very morals. Or perhaps the Defiler has returned.
That angered him. The fucking Defiler is long gone. Now stop harassing me. Either turn back, or join me in this fight. I don’t care what choice you make. But just shut up.
She flew in silence at his side for several moments. And then she swooped toward him, a talon reaching for the saddle.
He forced Nemertes to dive out of the way, and narrowly avoided those claws.
The hell are you doing? he asked her.
Can’t let you do this, Abigail replied. The citizens of Redbridge deserve better.
You all feel the same way? Malem sent, glancing at the Metals.
I do, Sylfi sent.
And I, Weyanna said. We’re going to fight you on this.
The others didn’t answer. They didn’t have to.
You want a fight? Malem said. Then I’ll give you a fight.
He turned Nemertes toward Abigail, and had the dragon clamp its jaws around her throat in midair.
2
Don’t hurt her, Malem told Nemertes. I just want her out of the battle.
That’s kind of hard, Nemertes said. Considering that at this point, hurting her is the only way to stop her!
Then do so gently, Malem said.
But Nemertes was being too gentle already, apparently, because Abigail was able to slide her neck free, and she raked a talon across the big blue’s flank as she did so.
Gah! Nemertes said. That bitch!
The other Metals intervened, coming in at Nemertes as well, all trying to haul him from the saddle.
Dive! Malem sent.
The great blue obeyed. The Metals followed him down toward the forest.
Summon the others! Malem said. It’s time for the Metals to learn the cost of disobedience.
Nemertes stabilized her altitude just above the forest, and skimmed the treetops just below. As the Metals approached, Malem drained them of stamina so steeply that all six fell from the air, and crashed into the forest immediately below. He felt full of energy—he had taken so much endurance at once, that it almost seemed like he was glowing inside. He felt like he could do anything in that moment.
Blues and Blacks landed on top of the fallen Metals and pinned them to the broken trees underneath.
Land on Abigail, Malem instructed Nemertes.
The great blue did so, knocking aside the Black that had pinned Abigail, and taking its place. Nemertes wrapped its jaws around her neck, and began to squeeze. At the same time, the blue worried its teeth back and forth, so that Abigail’s entire head wobbled. She was too weak to resist. Overhead, the other dragons circled impatiently, waiting to continue the planned raid.
He sensed concern from Ziatrice.
Maybe we should leave them, Ziatrice sent. They’re down. We should go to the city.
Not until they learn a proper lesson. Malem switched to Nemertes’ viewpoint, so he could watch the blue work on Abigail firsthand.
It was strangely satisfying to observe the silver dragon struggle beneath the ancient Blue that. It was…
Something snapped inside of him.
What am I doing?
He released the viewpoint of Nemertes, and gazed at the other Metals, currently pinned beneath Blues and Blacks.
He loved Abigail and the others.
This wasn’t right.
What had come over him?
He focused on Nemertes. Release her, now.
Nemertes obeyed immediately.
Give the word, he continued. Release the Metals. We return home. Now!
“Let them go!” Nemertes roared, rising from Abigail. “We go home!”
The disappointment was almost palpable among the dragons as they released the other Metals, and the company turned back.
Malem returned all the stamina he had taken from Abigail and the others. He unmuted them all, including the women he had left behind in his city. Though he was far from the city, he wasn’t so far that he couldn’t communicate mentally with those he had left behind.
I’m sorry, Abigail, he sent. I don’t know what came over me.
So it wasn’t Ziatrice? Abigail asked.
I didn’t tell him a thing, Ziatrice replied. He made up his mind to attack Redbridge, so I told him I’d join him. I still think it’s a good idea.
No, Malem said. It’s not. And I thank you, Abigail, for turning me around. If you hadn’t come, Redbridge might be under siege right now.
When you saw the death and destruction you were causing, you would have stopped, Weyanna said.
I’m not so sure, Malem said. It was only the sight of seeing you, the most important people to me in the world, subdued by my own hands, that caused me to realize what I was doing. It was like some demon had seized me, or the Defiler had returned. And yet, that can’t be possible.
You still have a demon in your head… Wendolin sent.
You think this is Banvil’s doing? Mauritania asked.
Who else could it be? Wendolin replied. Malem always knew that one day Banvil would assert control. It was the price Malem paid to free himself from Vorgon, by allowing Banvil inside once again.
But Banvil is supposed to be too weak to assert himself for years, yet, Malem said.
Yes, but you forget, we recently banished two Balors to the Black Realm, Wendo
lin said. When Denfidal and Vorgon fell, the remaining nine Balors shared in the essence that was released from the pool. Including Banvil.
So I inadvertently strengthened the demon in my head, you’re saying? Malem told her.
That’s right, Wendolin said.
The Paragon Corinne had reduced Vorgon and Denfidal to mere shadows of their former selves—they existed as mist somewhere in the Black Realm, supposedly so weak at the moment that they didn’t even possess consciousness.
Banvil, while weak and recovering himself, had attained consciousness, and it was very likely the demon was strong enough to seize some of this extra essence Wendolin spoke of. Oh, the other Balors would have taken the lion’s share, no doubt, but Banvil, he was a crafty one: he would have lurked in the shadows, taking the scraps.
So Malem had inadvertently strengthened Banvil by killing Denfidal and Vorgon. Suddenly, he understood the keenness Goldenthall had shown when it came to defeating the two Balors—Goldenthall served as the demon’s vessel, more-so than Malem, and hinted at the future that awaited the Breaker. Goldenthall was the former king of Mulhadden, whose capital, Tartan, had fallen at the hands of Mauritania.
My realm will fall at the hands of some usurper, too, and I will become Darkness.
No.
I thought Corinne closed the doors the Balors were using to enter this realm? Gwen asked.
Banvil circumvents those doors through his links with Goldenthall and Malem, Wendolin replied.
Damn it, Malem said. Why can’t anything be easy? I just want to be left alone.
Actions always have consequences, Wendolin said.
He gazed at the treetops in the distance, waiting for the city to appear. All right, well, as soon as we get back, I want Goldenthall brought into my presence immediately.
I’ll arrange it, Ziatrice said.
But, to Malem’s dismay, Goldenthall was nowhere to be found in the palace, nor any of the guest quarters.
“Have the guards search the city,” Malem said from his throne.
“It will be done!” Rathamias replied. The orak dispatched a messenger, and stepped back to join the remaining guards.
“We probably won’t find him,” Wendolin said. “If I were him, I’d be long gone.” The tree elf sat beside him on the throne; his other companions also lingered around him, convened for an emergency meeting. The scar above her brow seemed particular purple and ragged today, the only imperfection on that beautiful face. She wore a slightly diaphanous white dress, which revealed the silver tassels of the bra underneath, and her waist was belted by a silver band shaped like interlocking vines.
“Why?” Malem asked.
“If Banvil has grown in power, as we suspect, then Goldenthall is probably completely in the demon’s control,” Wendolin said. “The demon will want to enact its own agenda, whatever that is. Ever since we defeated the two Balors, the demon has stayed here, biding its time, lurking in the shadows. Perhaps it was merely gathering its strength. Or perhaps it was making plans to further accelerate its return. But whatever the case, there isn’t really any advantage in staying here, not anymore, now that you know Banvil is growing in power. It was a gamble on its part, to test its control over you so early. Though the demon probably figured that since it was leaving anyway, it might as well try to see how far it could push you.”
“It could also be that Banvil is vulnerable in some way, through Goldenthall,” Gwen said.
Wendolin nodded. “It’s possible. Killing Goldenthall might weaken the demon severely, depending on how much Banvil is relying upon the man to serve as his anchor in this realm. His death could bring you a few more years of peace, with Banvil mostly banished to the Black Realm.”
“But eventually the demon would return again to take my mind,” Malem said. “I’m going to become the Defiler all over again. Worse than the Defiler. After what happened this morning, after just one small taste of what that’s going to be like, I have no intention of ever letting that happen again. No, Banvil must be stopped now, while I still have some control. And I don’t want merely a few more years: I want to be rid of the demon entirely.”
“So you want to lose your powers, then?” Ziatrice asked.
“No,” he said. “Let me rephrase that: I want to be free of the demon, but keep my powers.”
Wendolin nodded. “I’m not sure that’s possible. You need the demon for your powers.”
“Yes,” Malem said. “But it wasn’t always like this. Before I allowed Banvil to return to my mind, I had Broken the demon, and conquered it entirely. But something changed when I let it take Vorgon’s place in my head. The demon somehow got the upper hand, as part of the so-called price I promised to pay in order to get my powers back. But I was cheated, because Banvil also hinted Vorgon would try to take my mind back, and that Banvil would protect me if that happened. But Vorgon never did. Anyway, I want to go back to the way things were before, when I was the master.” He glanced at Grendel, who stood apart from the others. “Is there a way to end the demon’s influence over me, while still keeping it in my head?”
Grendel wore thick white robes that concealed her figure, with the hood raised to hide most of her face in shadow. When he addressed her, she lowered the hood to reveal the two small buns she wore her hair in, and the youthful, pretty face below. Despite the young appearance, those haunted eyes belied an age well beyond most of those present.
“I don’t know,” Grendel said. “We’d have to capture Goldenthall, I believe, and interrogate the Balor inside of him.”
“But Banvil will lie,” Ziatrice said. “The demon won’t speak the truth.”
“Let me do the interrogating then,” Grendel said, her voice cold, emotionless. “When light meets dark, the agony is not something to be trifled with. I will get the truth out of him.”
“I’m not so sure,” Wendolin said. “When under extreme duress, most creatures will say anything to stop the pain. I can’t imagine Balors will be any different.”
“Well, finding Goldenthall is the first step,” Malem said. “After that, we’ll have to contain him, which I suspect won’t be easy. And then we can try to interrogate the creature within.”
Abigail stepped forward. She wore her favorite style of dress: a red gown with a gold-trimmed bodice. Her hair was in a regal ponytail, and her face was made up so she looked very much like the half dragon princess she was.
“Your random memory lapses make some sense, now,” Abigail said.
He frowned. “Why?”
“This is speculation on my part,” she continued. “But if Banvil has been testing its control over you, those times the creature took your mind, it’s possible your own would lose the ability to form memories.”
“But I was in full control of my body during such times,” Malem said. “And I completely remember leading the attack on Redbridge earlier, for example.”
“Do you?” she asked. “Then describe it to me.”
And so he did.
She nodded. “All right, you remember. The demon may have been merely observing through your eyes when you experienced the memory loss, and somehow that interfered with the formation of new memories. When Banvil took over entirely, however, your mind moved to the passenger seat, and was able to record memories.”
“Or he’s just becoming forgetful!” Gwen quipped.
“No, she might be on to something,” Malem said. “Banvil was experimenting inside my head, that much is certain. I could definitely tell something was wrong. I just didn’t know what.”
They continued to discuss the ramifications of what had happened well into the next hour.
And then a courier appeared at the entrance to the throne room.
“Come in,” Malem told the orak.
The soldier rushed inside. “Emperor! I have an update.”
“Let’s hear it,” Malem said.
“The soldiers and dragons sent to scour the outlying forest still haven’t found the man,” the orak said. “Nor have the
troops who are conducting the building to building searches in our city.”
“Goldenthall is long gone,” Wendolin said.
The soldier glanced at her, before returning his attention to Malem. “I did hear something of interest, however. One of the human soldiers told me of a traveler he found wandering in the forest close to the road to Redbridge. This traveler spoke of a man with streams of darkness coming from his eyes, a man who turned an entire merchant caravan ahead of him into dust with those eyes, and took their horses. The traveler told the soldier he survived only because he hid behind the trees.”
Malem pursed his lips. “If true, it means Goldenthall heads to Redbridge, which would make some sense: it’s the fastest way out of the forest. He won’t be difficult to track. Not if he’s leaving a trail of death and destruction in his wake.”
“Or scaring everyone off with those black eyes of his,” Xaxia commented. She wore her usual magic corset, which had the flexibility of a tunic and the durability of plate mail. It also highlighted her hourglass figure.
“But we have to assume that he can turn those eyes off and appear completely normal, just like he used to do,” Gwen said.
“I suppose so,” Xaxia commented. “That makes things a little harder.”
“Well, at least we have somewhere to start,” Malem said. “We’ll fly to Redbridge with the mayor, and see what his network of eyes and ears can tell us. We’ll ask him to inquire about a lone man, traveling with a bunch of spare horses.”
“It’ll be good to hit the road again,” Mauritania said. “I’ve acquired somewhat of a taste for adventuring, since joining up with you.”
The tall, pale-skinned Queen of the Eldritch towered above everyone else. She wore a stunning black satin gown that had silky blue swathes wrapping the ribs and shoulders. The two blunted horns on her temples carried a tiara of gold, silver, and emeralds. Her eyes shone bright green, a testament to the Eldritch magic within her.
“Not you,” Malem told her. “You won’t be coming.”
