by David Benem
Fire snapped and cracked and heat seared Lannick’s lungs. The floor groaned and a corner of it fell away and into the fire below.
“Hurry, Lannick!” cried Ogrund.
“Try your axe, lad!” Kaldare said, taking a stride back. Lannick retreated as well.
Yurick swept his axe round then brought it forth. He cleaved the heavy planks and the whole of them shook. He struck again and the wood gave way.
But more planks had been nailed in place beyond.
Yurick turned to Kaldare, his youthful face puzzled and his red eyebrows knitting.
“Dead gods, boy!” shouted Kaldare. “Keep at it!”
Lannick looked behind. Arleigh and Cudgen pressed close. Ogrund, though, stood at the room’s far end, his Coda shining green. He stood near where the floorboards had collapsed, staring to the fire and the level below. Boards began giving way beneath him and he danced back.
Flames erupted through the breach and the planks beside it glowed like cinders.
“Ogrund!” Lannick screamed.
“I see them,” he grated. “There, on the first floor. The Necrists and General Fane.”
Fane.
Lannick slipped across the groaning boards to stand beside the Variden. His skin burned beneath his chainmail and sweat dripped from his brow. But his eyes widened and he dared not move away from the fires sweeping near.
There, through gaping, fiery maws in the mansion’s floors, he stood. He stood in his red surcoat with gilded rapier in hand. He stood immobile, staring upward to them.
And his scarred face stretched with a smile.
“Fane!” Lannick screamed over the inferno’s roar. Hate filled his heart and he glowered at the man. “It ends this day!”
General Fane remained still, smiling. Almost serene. Then he beckoned with a gloved hand. “It does indeed,” he called, his voice rising just above the sound of the snapping flames. His smile widened, then he strode from view. At least a half-dozen robed Necrists shuffled in his wake.
Lannick whirled about. Flames engulfed the room. Arleigh and Cudgen pressed against the far wall as Yurick worked his axe and Kaldare barked desperate orders.
More gaps opened in the floor between them and the rafters had caught fire as well.
Lannick knew they were trapped. All of them were doomed if he didn’t do something. He gnashed his teeth and squeezed the hilt of his sword. “Ogrund!”
Ogrund looked downward. “Remove your armor. That will lighten you, and then we can use Valis’s power to get you below. I’ll remain here to help your friends.”
Lannick glanced to his companions squeezed against the room’s edges, to Arleigh and Cudgen most of all. “N-no,” he coughed, throat raw from the smoke. “I should—”
“Get below, Lannick!” urged Ogrund. “We need to get you below or we’ll lose him!”
Lannick drew aside his green cloak then pulled away his heavy coat of mail. His padded shirt beneath was sticky with sweat but far less stifling than the armor. He returned his cloak to his shoulders and focused on the power of his Coda. “Ready.”
“There,” Ogrund said, pointing to a span of floorboards twenty or so feet down a corridor on the level beneath them. “That wood will hold. From there, find your way to the ground floor and to the general.”
Lannick held his Coda and understood.
“We’ll find you, Lannick. Just keep your Coda upon your arm.”
Lannick moved back a few soft steps then charged toward the widening, fiery hole, clasping Ogrund’s hand as he did. He felt Ogrund tug then release him, altering his trajectory just enough as he dove toward the floor below.
Through smoke and fire he fell. With his Coda’s divine gifts he found the edge of a doorframe and shoved hands against it, propelling himself farther along the hallway and toward its opposite side. He angled in midair so that his boots pressed against the far wall. He leapt onward, just enough to propel himself to the square of planks untouched by the flames.
“Go!” Ogrund shouted from above.
Lannick looked to his old comrade.
“Do this, Lannick,” Ogrund said. “Do this for all of Rune.”
Lannick nodded then dashed down the hall.
Lannick darted onward, feet finding the firm wood between the flames. Those spaces were few, though, and the whole house snapped and shook and seemed ready to collapse. Fires blazed all about, hungrily consuming floorboards and walls. The crackle and roar deafened him.
Most of the stairwell from the second floor to the first remained intact. Lannick danced downward, hand balancing upon the railing and steps nimble with the power of his Coda.
The flames hadn’t yet devastated this level of the home, but smoke swelled throughout. Lannick’s eyes burned and he blinked away tears. After a moment he studied what remained of the mansion, seeing only dark silhouettes of fineries and furnishings and a thin, vertical thread of light ahead of him.
Despite the heat he felt again the chill of the Necrists. They weren’t far. Possibly somewhere within the mansion, possibly somewhere just without.
He drew his sword and looked again to the light, to the mansion’s main entry.
He reckoned the front door stood ajar, something he’d not seen when they’d entered the place. He crept forward, eyes darting about the dark but finding nothing. The fire’s fury sounded loudly but there were harsh sounds from outside as well.
He clenched his jaw and came to the door. Drawing a breath of the cleaner air, he peeked through the crack.
Beyond, a battle raged, the writhing edges of it not more than a few blocks distant. What seemed more than a thousand soldiers crowded wide streets and tight bridges, steel clashing and shining beneath the afternoon sun. Many soldiers with red sashes fought alongside many more wearing the black stripe, all pressing against a diminishing force of Scarlet Swords and soldiers in their charge.
Black Jon’s done it…
He smiled crookedly.
But he knew there was still the matter of the man.
Still the matter of vengeance.
He chanced opening the door just wider. He looked about the mansion’s manicured gardens for some sign of the general but could see none.
“Where are you?” he whispered. He suspected once the general caught sight of the battle he’d plan to get far away, perhaps on a fast ship waiting in Riverweave’s harbor.
He eased the door wider, wondering if Fane and his Necrists stood in stunned silence just outside his narrow view.
The cold feel of the Necrists’ presence slithered down his spine.
They are very close…
Then came a cold, crushing sensation around his chest.
Icy coils seized him. The darkness wrapped about his arms and legs and torso. The tendrils bit and squeezed his flesh. They ripped him from the doorway and back to the room’s black interior.
“No!” Lannick screamed, struggling against the shadowy bonds. The tendrils spun him about and held him before his foes.
In the swirling smoke six Necrists grinned at him, their pale, patchwork faces writhing against gnarled stitches of black. Among them hunched a misshapen Shodafayn dwarf, and just behind stood General Fane. Fane wore a smug, sick look upon his scarred face, black eyes twitching madly.
“It ends this day,” Fane said. “Just as you said, Captain deVeers.”
The tendrils wound tighter and Lannick felt his bones creak and crack. He winced, he wheezed, but tore his thoughts from the pain to the power of his Coda.
“No!” he roared again.
Six Necrists was a fearsome number for one Variden to handle—but Necric powers were weakest when the sun wound overhead. Lannick worked his will with his Coda and forced away the black tendrils just enough to free his sword-arm.
His sword dripped now with green fire and Lannick hacked against the cold bindings that seized him. It felt as though the shadows had physical form, resisting the blade. He cleaved again and again, his sword slowly carving through those swir
ls of deepest darkness.
At last the black tentacles twitched and wheeled away. They retreated and diminished and Lannick fell to the mansion’s floor.
He smacked against the hilt of his sword—just enough to tweak the old wound to his ribs—but quickly regained his footing.
“Seize him!” shrieked Fane.
Lannick darted back several strides, Coda aglow and eyes straining to find the Necrists. The fires flared about the room, licking the walls and roiling against the ceiling. The thick smoke made it difficult to see much of anything and the Necrists’ chittering grew ever louder. Lannick rubbed at his eyes but could discern little of his foes.
A whip of shadow lashed at him from the darkness, searing his side. He buckled for an instant only to be thrashed by another. He buckled again, dropping to a knee as he flailed his sword and blindly tried to strike his enemies in the smoke-filled blackness.
Fane laughed, somewhere. Lannick’s eyes darted toward the sound, but so much smoke and shadow choked the room it was impossible to locate anything.
The shadows seized him once more. Their cold forms wrapped about his chest and held him down, keeping him upon his knees and against the floorboards. He worked against the bonds but could not stand or break loose.
There came the sound of boots upon wood. Click, click, click. Lannick clutched his sword with white knuckles, hoping to free himself for the briefest of moments. Just long enough to kill the man who tormented him still.
“You humiliated me at Pryam’s Bay,” Fane scolded. “You humiliated me and I broke you. I did break you. I ordered my men to kill your family. And then? Then your arrogance and your betrayal of the High King’s banishment were grounds for execution. But he pardoned you. I honored that pardon, Lannick. You were a broken man, and for years I respected the High King’s edict, permitting you to wallow in your grief.” Fane sucked in a breath. “But then you defiled my daughter…”
Lannick turned his head upward to the general with a scowl. “I saved her life, Fane.”
General Fane smiled. “Did you? She’s dead, now. Dead and in many pieces. When they failed to capture you at Vandyl’s keep, the Necrists came for her after all. Her and her sister.”
Lannick struggled against the tendrils of shadow but could move little. “You sick bastard…”
Fane laughed, a clipped, rapid laugh that grated against the ears. He caressed a rounded object in his hand. “Power has a price, Lannick.”
“Y-your Auruch,” Lannick coughed from the smoke. “You traded her for an Auruch.”
Fane looked away. “Her, and much, much more…. But as I said, power has a price.” He drew his rapier, steel sliding from the scabbard with a hiss. “I listened to you, you know. I listened to you work to defeat me. I listened to you plead to Thane Vandyl, which is why I have assassins disposing of the man even now.”
“You bastard,” Lannick cursed.
Fane sniffed. “I listened to your talk at the deserters’ encampment and I listened as loyal Harl encased you in a coffin and I heard you cry out in agony. Through the ears of my Auruch I’ve listened to many voices, Lannick—I’ve listened to whatever voices in this realm I desired to hear, and I’ve learned much. Your death, however, is something I’ll gladly witness with my eyes.”
More tendrils wound about Lannick, frigid and painful. They pulled him from the floor and dragged him upward. He twisted and fought against the grasp but his efforts were in vain.
Fane pressed his rapier forward, forcing Lannick’s chin upward with the blade. “Keep your edges sharp, lad,” he grinned. “Your dear friend said that, yes? The one the Necrists butchered?”
Lannick snarled. “You coward! You won’t face me without your Necrists or Scarlet Swords. Too much a coward to face me alone!”
“I’d wanted you to die in the fire, and you will. It seems fitting. I’d intended you to burn in the attic, but this will prove all the more satisfying. This way you can bleed upon my blade before the fires consume you.”
Lannick struggled, jerking and kicking. But his sword-arm remained pinned to his side and in the pain and confusion he found it difficult to narrow his thoughts to his Coda. Worse, the whole mansion seemed on the verge of collapse, flames devouring wood that groaned and bent and burned.
Horrid screams came from above.
Fane smirked. “I fear the fire is taking your friends.”
Lannick growled, then spat in Fane’s face.
Fane swiped away the spittle with a gloved hand then sniffed sharply. In an instant his steel whistled as he whipped back then jabbed his rapier into Lannick’s gut. He withdrew the blade as quickly as he’d thrust it, then regarded Lannick with black, twitching eyes.
Lannick gasped, wanting to slump to the floor but the shadowy bindings held him fast. An awful pressure filled his abdomen, a great, pulsing pain. Hot blood pumped from the wound and soaked his shirt. He tried to cry out but his voice emerged soft and pathetic.
Fane’s eyes narrowed and he came closer. “It hurts? Just wait for the flames.”
Something snapped overhead. Fane looked about and seemed to study the blaze. He turned to the Necrists. “It’s time we leave. Create your path.”
Lannick felt the icy bonds slip away and he flopped to the floor.
The pain was terrible.
His sword fell from his hand. He ignored the clatter, though, clutching the welling wound in his gut. He sucked in a breath then twisted to see the silhouette of the stunted Shodafayn waddling toward a far corner of the room and the Necrists following it.
Fane, though, remained. “Bleed, Lannick,” he laughed, nudging Lannick’s forehead with the toe of his boot. “Once again, you are left with only that.” He spun on a heel and took a step toward the room’s opposite end. “Bleed, for it’s all you’ve done for a decade now, all you’ve done since you dared challenge me. And now you will bleed and then burn.” He walked on.
Lannick drew a trembling, bloody hand from his wound and clutched his Coda. He swooned and hurt profoundly but with what was left of him he willed his mind to the instrument. He could not allow this moment—this moment—to escape him.
After an instant a surge, a divine surge, filled him. He reached for his prized sword and pushed himself to a knee.
“Fane!” he spat through a cough. He drew deep upon the power of his Coda, his mind finding potencies he’d all but forgotten. He struggled then rose to stand and steadied his sword before him. “Fane! The same coward who would’ve lost the battle of Pryam’s Bay but for me and my men, who then tried to destroy all those who outshone him! You are the worst and weakest of all.”
Fane whirled about, rapier in hand. “You’d like to bleed more, Lannick? You’d like to bleed more before you burn?” He snorted then strode back toward Lannick, twirling his blade before assuming a precise fencing stance. “Very well.”
Lannick focused all he could upon the Coda, knowing he’d not be able to stand without it. He absorbed its power and his limbs tingled. Green flames again poured across his sword.
Fane lunged. Lannick swiftly parried, sending the strike wide. He winced, though, as the pounding pain seared his guts anew with the movement. Worse, the pain pulled his thoughts from his Coda.
The general whipped his blade about and lunged again. Lannick dodged but the sharp steel pierced flesh near his hip. The blade whipped about once more and Lannick felt the weapon slice his cheek.
Fane laughed his staccato laugh.
The sound of it burned Lannick—burned him more than all the blazes about them. Rage erupted within and he swung his blade toward the general with all the fury he possessed.
Fane, though, seemed to expect it. He clipped the blade just enough with his rapier, warding it harmlessly away. The effort left Lannick twisted about and Fane drove the point of his sword into the meat of Lannick’s shoulder.
Lannick staggered back but Fane closed in, swiping and darting and feinting with confounding speed and precision.
Lannick chanced
a glance behind, seeing the mansion’s front door only a few yards away. If I could just draw the general outside, if I could just have him witness his defeat…
Just then the ceiling cracked. The floors above groaned and the wood snapped and shattered. Fiery timbers tumbled into the room, forming many blazing barricades. Lannick turned to see the door blocked now by a wall of wood and flame.
Heavy thuds sounded at the far end of the room. “Fuck!” came a shout.
Lannick peered through the smoke and flame before feeling a hard smack against his already bloodied shoulder—a burning floorboard from the ceiling. He staggered and fell to his knees, reckoning the whole house was coming down upon them.
Fane paused his assault, turning to stare about the chaos. Then he returned his black eyes to Lannick. He thrust his rapier forward, just beneath Lannick’s chin.
Lannick had not the strength to repel it, instead looking to the general and feeling any chance of revenge and redemption bleed away.
The fires roared and the wood cracked and snapped and groaned. Screams from elsewhere in the house.
Fane sniffed. “In no arena could you best me,” he crowed over the din. “I will always be your better, and today I will be your end. I took your fame, your family, and your hope. Now, we finish this sad dance.”
Lannick’s hands shook and his heart stuttered. He coughed and dropped his sword and clasped his Coda once more. “Ogrund?” he voiced within, stretching thoughts through the dull iron’s divine gifts.
No answer came.
But as Lannick grasped the Coda he beheld a muddled vision: a shifting, obscure view through Ogrund’s eyes. He could see his Variden companion’s blade thrashing against retreating Necrists in some corner of the mansion. Arleigh Lay and Kaldare battled beside him, swinging shafts of flaming timber toward the enemy. And there, beneath them, the gutted corpse of the Shodafayn.
Lannick released the Coda and found his blade once more. He smiled. “Your Necrists are being slaughtered, Fane. Their Shodafayn is dead. The fire will take us both.”
“No,” said Fane, blinking.
