Into the Madness

by Richard H. Stephens

  “Take as many demons as you see fit and lead them to Treacher’s Gorge. Have them scour the area. If Phazarus and his pathetic companions haven’t gotten there yet, have them wait on the eastern slope until Phazarus’ group crosses. Do not allow them to let the wizard slip back toward the Gulch. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, m’lord. I will take his staff myself.”

  “No, Surgat. I want you to get the minions to the mountain path so that they don’t get lost. Once they are on their way to Treacher’s Gorge, I want you back here. You and I have a date with destiny.”

  Surgat didn’t question the ominous statement. “Yes, m’lord.” Without another word, he slipped through the door and disappeared down the spiral stairwell of the Wizard’s Spike.

  Helleden stared after him for a few moments, his mind coming to terms with what he’d read in another tome. He walked over to the table nearest the brass bowl and reread the obscure text mentioning the location of what might provide him with the very weapon he needed to rid himself of the tiresome wizards. A creature more powerful than the Sentinel. One that hadn’t shown its head in these parts for over four centuries. According to the runic text, this creature could be called forth if one were well-versed in the magical arts and knew where to perform the ritual laid out in the book.

  Without Barong and the Sentinel, his ability to control his expansive army of Under Realm minions and Kraidic warriors had become a growing concern. The troops were spread across the land. Should Karvus Kraken survive and decide he no longer wished to remain under his command, the sorcerer’s minions would be forced into a fight they would have trouble winning.

  To add to Helleden’s troubles after the Chamber of the Wise debacle, he feared the power the northern wizard may have drawn from the earth blood fount. If the wizard joined Phazarus, he would require something special to eliminate them and assume his role as the rightful ruler of the Great Kingdom.

  He walked to the western window and gazed at the black ridge of mountains lining the distant horizon. Toward the fishing village of Fishmonger Bay and the Summoning Stone.

  He wasn’t certain of his ability to control what he had in mind, but if he was successful, the world would have no choice but to bow down to him.

  Far below, a great fire flickered in the castle bailey. His master crafters were feeding vast amounts of metal into the conflagration, mixing it with the special potions he had concocted to forge a magically enhanced rope.

  He nodded. If all went well, tomorrow would mark the beginning of the end for those meddlesome wizards.

  Battle of the Gorge

  Olmar couldn’t believe his hammering heart hadn’t burst. They were several days out of the Crypt and he was positive his pulse had only just settled down. There was no way anyone, not even Larina, could drag him back there again.

  Olmar glanced around the crackling campfire, high upon one of The Spine’s countless peaks. Rook sat in conversation with Alhena. The old wizard had informed them they now travelled along the mountainside housing the western span of Treacher’s Gorge, saying they wouldn’t reach the crossing before midday tomorrow.

  He located Pollard sitting cross-legged against the trunk of a lofty pine. Sadyra sat in his lap facing him, her hands stroking his reddish-brown beard; the two of them much more open with their relationship since winning free of the Crypt.

  He envied Pollard. His own relationship with Larina wasn’t as obvious. He blamed himself. He’d never been with a woman before—had never kissed a girl romantically. He never thought he was good enough to be loved like that. He was big and dumb and ugly. That’s what people told him over and over and that was how he saw himself.

  Up until that wonderful day Larina had kissed him and snuggled close after he opened up to the group about his abusive past. The only girl he ever loved before Larina had been Gerrymander.

  He smiled. He missed his first love. Swallowing a growing lump in his throat, his eyes welled up. She was in good hands, but they weren’t his hands.

  Larina entered the fire’s glow. She’d been off relieving herself and returned with wood for the fire. She gave him an odd look. “What’s the matter with you?”

  He sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Och, tis nothin’ lassie. I’s just be missin’ ‘er?”

  Larina tossed the branches on the pile they had built and put her hands on her hips, her voice dangerous. “Her?”

  He smiled sadly. “Me ship.”

  “Ah, that termite infested death trap.”

  She must’ve seen his face drop, as her own softened. She held his chubby cheeks between cold palms and looked him in the eye, her nose touching his. “The love of your life will be fine; don’t you worry your fool head off. When this is over, I look forward to getting seasick with you.”

  Dimples lifted his cheeks under her touch. “Och lassie. Ain’t never been sick in me life. Least, not by the sea.”

  “Well, you can hold me over the railing then. I’m not much for sailing but I’ll be damned if I’ll let that pile of driftwood have you all to herself.” She kissed his forehead and strode away.

  He blushed, worried everyone else saw Larina kiss him, and then felt foolish. No one paid him any attention. Rook and Alhena carried on like nothing had happened, and Sadyra and Pollard were busy doing whatever couples did. He blushed thinking about what they might be talking about.

  Larina had disappeared again. That was odd. Where’d she gotten to?

  An owl hooted somewhere behind his left shoulder. He thought nothing of it. He tried to keep his eyes on the fire but Sadyra’s giggling and Pollard’s throaty laugh kept him peeking at the two as they kissed and fondled each other.

  Olmar’s eyes went wide at the sight until he caught himself staring and looked away in shame.

  The owl hooted again—almost insistently. He frowned and searched the shadows beyond the fire’s glow. At first, he saw nothing, but Larina’s harsh whisper directed his gaze to the trunk of a large pine.

  “Over here, Lunkhead,” she seemed to be indicating something with an outstretched hand.

  What was she doing? Waving?

  He waved back.

  Judging by the disgusted look on her face, that wasn’t the appropriate response. She shook her pretty head.

  Even as perturbed as she appeared, just the sight of her made his heart flutter. He smiled. He’d just gotten it to settle down.

  Larina stepped closer, the flickering flames lit up her piercing eyes as she rolled them skyward and said through gritted teeth, “Well, are you coming to join me, or what?”

  He tilted his head sideways.

  Join her? For what?

  He shrugged his shoulders to ask her what she meant.

  She glared at him. “To catch a troll, what else?”

  To catch a troll? He searched the area behind her, worried, until it dawned on him she was being sarcastic.

  He couldn’t help thinking she looked pretty with a scowl on her face. And then it hit him. He blushed. She couldn’t mean what he thought she meant.

  Could she?

  He swallowed hard, suddenly nervous. His heart threatened to pound its way out of his chest. A cold sweat broke across his brow.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  Olmar looked around. Rook and Alhena had their heads together while Pollard and Sadyra were oblivious to the world.

  He rose hesitantly to his feet, not trusting himself to speak. A great smile lifted his pudgy cheeks but he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to go to Larina or run the other way.

  Larina’s scowl softened to a demure smile. She held a hand out, wrapped her delicate fingers around two of his own, and gently pulled him away from the fire’s light and into the heather beyond.

  Olmar’s heart nearly stopped when his foot snapped a large branch on the ground. He glanced at the others but they hadn’t noticed.

  He swallowed again. The taunts he’d received over and over throughout his lifetime reverberated through hi
s skull, making him believe this couldn’t be actually happening. Who could love an oaf like him?

  Larina wrapped her slender arms around his massive forearm and rubbed her face against his clammy flesh.

  The rest of the night passed in a blur.

  When the sun came up, Larina was nestled contently in the crook of his arm softly snoring, a warm smile on her face.

  He never slept a wink, nor was he tired. As long as he held her, sleep was the farthest thing from his mind. It would kill him to miss even one heartbeat of her tender touch.

  He was deathly afraid that if he fell asleep, he’d wake to discover it had only been a dream.

  Sadyra and Larina walked together, their heads so close, Olmar thought they must be knocking together as they giggled and carried on at the rear of the procession. Every time he looked back to see what they were whispering about, they caught sight of him and giggled even more.

  He didn’t think his cheeks were capable of reddening any further but they felt like they were on fire.

  Pollard walked beside him, alert and ready for any danger on the thin, mountain trail. The man had obviously done this coupling thing before.

  To Olmar, the memory dominated his every thought. If he never experienced it again, he was content to have been loved at least one night. Despite the mountain heights, he didn’t feel the cold.

  An icy wind blasted them from over the peak on their left and whistled into the depths falling away on their right. The snow clinging to the mountains shone brightly in the early afternoon sun, doing little to drive away the chill seeping into everyone else’s bones.

  They took turns walking beside Alhena, sharing the scant warmth his staff offered. Rook resumed his usual place on Alhena’s right as the often-precarious trail rose over a hump and rounded a sharp bend to the left.

  Everyone stopped to stare, even Olmar—his reverie interrupted by the breathtaking sight.

  Swaying in the face of the relentless winds, a derelict rope and wooden catwalk stretched away from a pile of rocks, shooting out over a drop of incredible proportions. The bridge span nearest them dropped toward the centre of the gap between four separate mountain peaks where it rose again to connect to a central platform. From there, two more spans led away; one straight east, while the other bridge deck led to the northern summit.

  As wondrous as the sight was, Olmar couldn’t take his eyes off the southern end of the central platform. A length of bridge had broken away from the southern peak. The ragged remains swirled freely below the platform. How it hadn’t dragged the rest of the rickety structure down with it, he had no idea.

  Rook raised his voice above the wind. “We’ll cross one at a time. When you reach the central platform, take the northern span. That way lies Madrigail Bay and The Forke. We have a long way to travel through these mountains so let’s not tarry here, enjoying the view of the fourteen-thousand-foot drop.”

  Olmar felt faint. Even though Rook and Alhena had spoken of Treacher’s Gorge many times in the last couple of days, their stories had done little to prepare him for the reality. He gaped at the sight. There was no way. He’d rather crawl back through the Crypt.

  Sadyra and Larina skipped by the group and disappeared behind the rock formation housing the westerly bridge entrance.

  Pollard, Rook and Alhena walked carefully across the last thin stretch of trail and slipped out of sight, but Olmar couldn’t convince his legs to move another step.

  Pollard leaned out from behind the rock enclosure. “You coming?”

  Olmar shook his head rapidly.

  Pollard looked on the verge of saying something, but didn’t. Instead, he crossed the narrow ledge like it wasn’t there and stood in front of Olmar. “Come on. I’m not big on heights either but we have no choice. We’ll go together, you and I.”

  Olmar’s gaze drifted to where the bridge appeared from behind the rock formation over the gap. He caught his breath and shook his head.

  “Take a moment. I’ll wait for you at the entrance.” Pollard crossed back over the thin stretch, quickly disappearing from view.

  Olmar had already forgotten about his giant friend—his attention solely on the bridge.

  He gasped at the sight of Larina bounding carelessly across the rickety span, her light weight barely influencing the structure’s sagging deck. Catlike, she hurried out over Treacher’s Gorge.

  Halfway across the western span she stopped and looked his way. She yelled something but the wind stole her words away. She skipped to the central platform and turned to face everyone, jumping up and down with her hands in the air.

  Olmar winced with every jump. What a silly woman. He’d have to talk with her when…when what? There was no way he was crossing that. He was content to sit and grow old before he took another step.

  Larina stopped jumping and started along the northern section, her tiny form getting smaller with every step.

  A movement caught Olmar’s eye from the eastern end of the span. It was so far away that he wasn’t sure he saw anything at all.

  He tried to locate Larina again and almost choked when he couldn’t. He stared at the northern span, unable to breathe, but then he saw movement along the bottom of the northern span’s sag where she had vanished behind the bow in the bridge decking.

  He hazarded a quick breath before it caught in his throat again.

  There! His eyes bulged. A steady stream of creatures entered the eastern section of the structure. He couldn’t tell what they were but they appeared big. All he could think of was Larina crossing the northern span oblivious to the threat.

  He crossed the narrow ledge in two great strides and rounded the rock pile securing this end of the bridge. He realized why the others hadn’t responded to the danger. From this vantage point, the eastern span was virtually invisible.

  The group jumped with surprise as he burst by and charged onto the bridge. “Rina’s in trouble! Creatures be enterin’ from the east.”

  The bridge deck bucked under his weight and he almost went down. He grabbed onto the rope railing hawsers and righted himself, his bowed legs eating up the span in great chunks.

  He bellowed, “Rina! Rina! Watch yourself, lassie!” But it was no use. She would never hear him in the wind.

  The bridge deck tightened under his feet—his companions had joined the chase.

  As fast as he reached the central platform, several of Helleden’s minions had gotten there before him and dozens more were coming hard. He roared at the sight of two demons scrambling along the northern span after Larina.

  His attention was drawn to the red demons confronting him on the platform. Almost as large as himself, they came at him, jabbing their huge tridents.

  Olmar pulled his warhammer over his shoulder and smashed the closest trident to the deck. The force knocked the weapon from the horned demon’s hands and cracked a plank. Olmar stepped inside the next trident bearer’s reach and grabbed the weapon near its head, holding it at bay.

  He never stopped his forward progress, smashing his forehead into the slavering beast’s nose. Staggering backward, the demon didn’t see Olmar’s warhammer fly up to smash it under the chin.

  Bone cracked and blood spurted in Olmar’s face but he never lost focus. The second demon fell back into a third who was forced to struggle with the sudden weight thrown at it. Together they stumbled on the moving platform, lost their balance, and toppled over the low handrail.

  Olmar’s fist drove into the side of the first demon’s head as it spun around to intercept him.

  Not waiting to see the damage he inflicted, Olmar swung his warhammer out wide.

  Two demons entering the platform jumped clear of the mighty swing.

  Olmar stepped forward under the pull of the flailing hammerhead, using its momentum to keep the rotation going. Big and clumsy in everyday life, Olmar was a killing machine on the battlefield. Larina’s danger only served to heighten his brutality.

  He directed the spinning hammer upward, catching the
closest demon under the ribcage—shattering bone as it lifted the creature off the ground.

  The next demon stepped around its brethren, reaching out with clawed hands. Olmar’s dagger appeared in his dominant hand, driving it through the demon’s exposed neck as he ran beyond the dying creature and entered the sagging expanse of the northern span. “Rina!”

  Larina was halfway up the northern slope of the bridge. She turned—whether due to his warning or because she heard the commotion behind her, Olmar didn’t care. If she could hold her pursuers off until he reached them, he’d smash them.

  Larina dropped to a knee, grabbed her bow with one hand and an arrow with the other in one fluid movement. Her first arrow missed but the second one, released before its predecessor was lost to view, pierced the lead demon’s chest. The creature howled and fell to the bridge deck before rolling off the edge, clutching at the offending arrow.

  The sound of battle behind him meant the others had reached the platform.

  The remaining demon chasing Larina dropped to all fours to avoid her next arrow. The missile impacted the downward sloping bridge deck in front of Olmar and skipped away. The beast bounded forward, just as fast as it had while upright.

  Larina reloaded as it closed on her.

  Olmar watched in horror. The demon scampered to one side of the bridge deck, clinging to the surface like a spider as it moved.

  Larina’s arrow soared into the abyss and the demon leapt for her. She threw up her hands to fend it off but its bulk was too much for her thin arms to repel.

  “Nooo!” Olmar thundered.

  A plank broke beneath his foot. He tripped but kept his feet moving, his awkward forward-sideways gait helping him remain stable.

  The creature bucked and howled on top of the bridge deck. Olmar feared Larina was being torn apart in front of his eyes, but as he fell on the beast and stabbed at its head, he heard Larina groan from beneath the pile.

  “Get off, Lunkhead. You’re flattening me.”

  Dazed, Olmar grasped the handrails to keep from pitching over the edge and got to his knees. He watched in utter amazement as Larina pushed the deadweight off her and saw it fall away.