by Isaac Hooke
Malem said nothing.
“Choose,” Vorgon said. “Or I will choose for you.” The Balor leaned down, bringing its head close to him. The acrid scent of brimstone filled his nostrils. “Perhaps I will make you kill them with your own blade.”
Unexpected anger boiled inside Malem, but he managed to tamp it down.
“Ah, yes,” Vorgon said. “I feel the rage welling inside of you. These playthings mean more to you than you let on.”
“They serve only to enhance my power,” Malem tried.
Vorgon grinned. “And the anger you feel is only because of the potential loss of this power?”
“Correct,” Malem said.
Vorgon stood up, returning to its full height. “Your feelings for these playthings must never get in the way of your loyalty to me, do you understand? I have allowed you to spare one of them already, and now I must tolerate the escape of the Metal king, too, at your hands. I give you lenience I would show no other general. But it will not last, I assure you. Do not test my patience further, Slave, or I will begin taking the lives of your playthings, if not your own. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Master,” Malem said.
“Do not ‘yes Master’ me,” Vorgon intoned. “Your devotion to these playthings is truly dangerous. It will be your downfall. This I foretell. Like the young girl who cares for the broken swallow, when the bird dies, so does her own will to live. If one of your playthings falls on the field of battle, you, too, will be vanquished, either from anger, or sorrow. You will not see for the hatred that boils in your eyes, and the hot blood that sears through your veins, and you will be struck down.”
A part of Malem denied that this was true, refused to believe that he felt anything for these women other than sheer lust, and swore complete and utter devotion to Vorgon. Yet another part believed the Balor to be right, completely. He remembered what he had done when the Blue had slain Jaasorn. How he had struck out at the creature, killing it, along with another Black before Vorgon cut off his supply of stamina. And what about the Eldritch soldiers who had brought the half dragon sisters to him, intending to give them to him as a prize? Their heads hadn’t remained long on their shoulders…
“I—” Malem closed his eyes. He sighed, looking up at the great Balor. “You’re right. They are dangerous.”
“Of course I’m right,” Vorgon said. “But tell me, if you had to choose between saving me, or one of your playthings, who would you pick?”
When Malem didn’t answer immediately, those eyes flared with an unexpected rage.
I’ve pissed him off.
Oh yes, came Vorgon’s voice in his head. Your hesitation tells me everything.
Malem’s legs suddenly gave out from under him and he dropped to his knees. He became weaker still, and it was all he could do to hold himself up.
“You are not worthy of the position of top lieutenant,” Vorgon said. “I am stripping you of that title, effective immediately, and demoting you to the rank of ordinary Black Sword. King Durabane of the dwarves will take your place, becoming dragon master and lord of my armies. He will ride Nemertes into battle in your stead.”
Malem bowed his head, saying nothing
“I could end your life with a mere thought,” Vorgon said. “Crush your mind to a pulp. And yet, you are still useful to me. For now. But there will come a time when that usefulness ends. Now then. Accept your punishment.”
Malem crumpled entirely as pain filled his body. As the agony spiked, he curled into the fetal position. His screams echoed throughout the cavern. It felt like a dragon had stabbed a sharp claw into his skull and was tearing it slowly down his back, splitting open his spinal column and the surrounding tissues. The claw expanded outward, as if opening into multiple talons, and shredded his internal organs before continuing into his arms and legs.
“Father!” Malem shouted.
The pain suddenly stopped. “Father?” Vorgon asked.
Malem said nothing.
“Yes, I suppose I am your father now,” Vorgon said. The great Balor retreated, the flames limning its form going out. Nearby torches flickered and extinguished under a sudden breeze, shrouding the demon in darkness.
Malem thought their meeting was done, but then those eyes glowed a fiery blue in the murk.
“Now that you are no longer my top general, I do have a mission for you,” Vorgon said. “One suited to your particular set of skills. Think of it as a way for you to redeem yourself.”
Malem forced himself to his feet. “Tell me this mission, Master.”
“I want you to take your playthings with you,” Vorgon said. “And fly northeast, over the mountains. Enter Dothweald Forest and Break Wendolin Lasalan, queen of the tree elves.”
Malem stared at Vorgon uncertainly. “Enter the Dothweald with only those I have Broken? No others? And Break Wendolin?”
“That’s right,” the Balor replied.
“I have heard the tree elves keep an army in that forest,” Malem said. “And that the entrance to their realm isn’t even known. Some say only those of the elves’ choosing may find it. All others pass through the forest without encountering a soul.”
Vorgon raised a fiery eyebrow. “Are you refusing the mission?”
“No, I accept, of course,” Malem said hastily.
“Good,” Vorgon said.
“By the way, Wendolin is a half elf,” Vorgon said.
Malem straightened
The Balor grinned. “I thought that would pique your interest. However, you are not to add her to your little harem of playthings. She is to be my betrothed.”
Malem cocked his head slightly. “You want to marry an elf?”
“She is no ordinary elf,” Vorgon said. “Because she is half human, she has unique powers that not even she truly understands. The power to transcend realms. Only by mating with her will my presence in this world truly solidify. Until then, I must always return to the nether realm to regenerate. But once I have Broken her, and joined with her, I will be able to recuperate entirely in this land. I will truly become invincible.”
“How can you even mate with her?” Malem said. “You’re a little large down there, aren’t you?”
“There are other ways to join with a female of this realm,” Vorgon said. Dark streams erupted from its chest, forming grotesque phallic shapes.
“I see,” Malem said, shuddering slightly.
“Once you have Broken her, use her to take control of the tree elves,” Vorgon said. “Return with an army of elves at your back.”
“You make it sound easy,” Malem said. “By the way, haven’t the tree elves declared neutrality in this war?”
“They have,” Vorgon said. “But like the Metals, who once claimed neutrality as well, eventually the tree elves will join the war on the side of men. Even now, the envoys of the shattered Alliance court them.”
“All right,” Malem said. Being courted wasn’t the same as actually declaring war, but Malem wasn’t going to press the matter. He understood well enough why Vorgon wanted her, if it meant he could enter this world fully.
“Do this, return with Wendolin and her elven army, and I will welcome you back into the fold with open arms,” Vorgon said. “I will make you my top general once more. Fail, and I’ll very likely kill you. From afar.”
Malem couldn’t help but swallow nervously. “I assume you’ll want to keep some of my women here, as a surety against my return?” From his point of view, it would be safer for the women to leave some of them behind, considering where he was headed. Gwenfrieda for example was relatively weak compared to the others.
But Vorgon saw right through him. “You hope to shield your playthings from this task? Alas, there is no protection here, my servant. Without you to ward them, any women you leave behind will be pillaged by my remaining Black Swords.”
“I think you underestimate those I have Broken,” Malem said. “Any man or beast that tried to touch them against their wishes would regret the act. At least for as long
as they lived after having their genitalia extracted.”
Vorgon smirked at the words. “Nonetheless, I need no such surety against your return. I own you thoroughly. I know you will come back to me, success or failure, assuming I allow it. The very fact that you mentioned such a surety indicates as much.”
Malem bowed his head. He could do nothing but cede to the wishes of his master. Vorgon was right, anyway: it probably wasn’t a good idea to leave behind any of those he had Broken, not in this den of vipers. Besides, given how Gwenfrieda had nearly escaped when she’d traveled over five kilometers away from him, parting with any of the women definitely wasn’t wise. Not if he wanted to continue his mastery over them and maintain his current slot count.
I forgot about that little distance problem.
But had he truly? Not really. Gwenfrieda’s escape was always at the back of his mind, and he knew quite well he couldn’t move too far away without risking their loss. So why had he even considered the idea? He wasn’t completely sure. Perhaps a part of him wanted to let the women go, at least some of them, to give them a chance to escape the darkness his life had become.
No, my life is not dark. I’m freer now than ever before.
“I expect you to leave immediately.” Vorgon began to vanish, returning to that nether realm the Balor favored.
“Yes, Master,” Malem said.
If he was so free, then why did it feel like he had the weight of a thousand worlds resting upon his shoulders?
Malem turned around amid all that gold and glitter, and began the long march back to the surface.
8
Xaxia rode Vesuvius through the ruins of the city. The nimble steed navigated the bricks of the broken buildings that fanned out across the cobblestone with ease. Xaxia wasn’t sure why she had come here, to Tartan, capital city of Mulhadden. It had been the site of one of Malem’s greatest battles, the very site where he had tamed the Black Sword Mauritania, and then the Darkness that hunted him shortly thereafter. Yes, he had conquered a Balor here.
Yet it was also a place of great sorrow. The citizens of Tartan had died to the last man, woman and child, slain by the Eldritch, who showed no quarter under Mauritania.
The city was ruled now only by beasts, and a select few monsters that hunted them. She had spotted a hill giant hiding amid the ruins of one building, and more than a few spiders. She wasn’t sure how long she intended to stay here. Enough to gather whatever few trinkets hadn’t been looted since the day of the city’s fall, and hopefully she’d be gone before dark.
There was no indication that General Rashan had returned with the Mulhadden army here. When Banvil fell and Malem joined Vorgon, Rashan’s army, like all the armies of the Alliance, had fled the field of battle, routed and overwhelmed. They had headed east, toward the cover provided by the Midweald forest, harried across the bloodied plains by Vorgon’s dark host.
Maybe they’d all been slain? Or perhaps she’d merely beaten the army to this place, though that seemed unlikely, considering she had detoured southeast, taking the long way around the Midweald to avoid the monsters that riddled the forest.
She decided that Rashan must have decided not to return, with the general instead electing to pledge his allegiance and that of Mulhadden’s army to another monarch, one who still had a realm worth protecting. Given what remained of this city, she didn’t blame him.
Vesuvius nickered gently.
“What is it, boy?” she asked softly. She glanced around nervously, wondering what the horse sensed.
She thought she caught a glimpse of a figure behind her, at the periphery of her vision, but when she turned the horse around fully, the shadow had vanished.
Imagining things.
She swung her steed around and continued forward at a canter, and then turned down a relatively intact side alley. She rode a good distance down that ally, letting her horse’s hooves echo from the cobblestone, and then she came to a halt and dismounted. She hitched Vesuvius to a post outside an abandoned tavern, appropriately labeled “The Abandoned Brig” in big white letters, and then drew Biter. The blade fed her a small amount of vitality through the hilt. It wasn’t much—the true stamina boost would come when she killed an actual monster with the Drainer, preferably an orak, but it did dispel the weariness she was feeling after hours of riding.
Blade in hand, she silently retreated to the opening at the far end of the alley.
She waited next to the edge with her sword. Five minutes must have passed. Ten. But no one traveled through the opening in all that time.
She slowly peered past, but the street was empty beyond.
She stepped back inside the ally and sheathed Biter.
Definitely imagined it.
Before she could turn away, something promptly entered.
Xaxia nearly leaped out of her boots.
The intruder, a large black panther, also jumped straight up. When it landed, the panther turned around, and its claws momentarily scrabbled across the cobblestones as it struggled to find traction, comically running in place, and then it was off, racing back through the city.
She peered past the edge of the alley, watching it retreat. Its tail had become so fluffy thanks to its fright that Xaxia couldn’t help but giggle. Soon, it vanished into a side street and was gone.
If I were a Breaker, that’s the kind of animal I’d want as a pet.
She smiled sadly, thinking of Malem.
What had happened to him was a tragedy. All his life he’d run from the Darkness, and the day he finally beat it, he fell to another form of the dark.
She loved him, she thought. But he was so wrong for her. Unattainable even, given how desired he was by other women. She hated having to share any man. She much preferred it the other way around, with multiple suitors chasing her. Though that rarely happened these days. In fact, it had only really happened once, when she had played a princess to get close to a target.
She shook her head.
Sometimes I wish I was a princess for real.
The thought made her laugh.
Soft like a princess? I don’t think so.
She’d fallen for another man like Malem before. An actor who starred in dramas that played in the amphitheater of her hometown. All the women had swooned over him. She’d managed to sneak into his dressing room one time, and she hid in the closet, waiting for him to arrive. When he came, shutting the door on his adoring fans, she spent many long minutes debating on whether she should reveal herself. When she finally decided to just go for it, a knock came at the door. What she saw next could not be unseen. The man was quite literally an actor: he was very much into other men. Very young ones, at that.
She sighed. At least Malem liked women. But he was still wrong for her.
Why do I always fall for the wrong guys?
Especially now, after what happened to him. His eyes had glowed red after Vorgon took control of him. Black mist had flowed from them, along with his fingernails. She knew he was lost in that moment. Lost forever.
So she ran away. Ran and ran.
Now she understood what it had been like for him his entire life, running from something you couldn’t understand. Something that could kill you, if you let it in.
She smiled sadly.
She thought often of their short time together. Be it fighting in the woods, or drinking in a tavern. Strangely, she missed the other women as well. She thought she should hate them, but that wasn’t the case. They were her friends. It had taken the loss of those women, and Malem, for her to realize that.
She often dreamed of Malem and the others at night. Together again, riding side by side on their horses through the forest. Or battling the minions of Vorgon.
Is that all I’ll ever have left of him, and the others? Only memories, and distant dreams?
She forced herself not to dwell upon the past. In it lay only unmitigated pain.
I’m haunted by my own Darkness, now.
She had fallen back into her own banditry w
ays. Stealing food in the night from the rare merchant she spotted on the road. Or robbing shops in the different cities and villages she passed through. In two of the bigger cities, she’d sent out feelers to her contacts shortly after arriving, but no one ever had any jobs for her. The demand for assassins and problem solvers such as herself had dropped precipitously; which made sense, considering an army the size of Vorgon’s would soon be on the doorsteps of said cities. One would think the demand would go up, as nobles schemed against one another to jockey for position in the coming world order, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Most nobles, the smarter ones anyway, were simply packing their bags and fleeing East, away from Vorgon’s black hosts.
Just as she had done.
She returned to Vesuvius and remounted the trusty animal. “I only have you now, my friend,” she said, patting the animal’s withers.
She approached the castle where Malem had taken Mauritania. The crenellations and towers of the outer wall loomed over her in splendor, still a chalky white even after months of neglect. Though she did spot vines growing in places across the surface, dark veins that marred the otherwise pristine facade. A hint of the emptiness to come.
She passed through the main entrance—the gates sat askew, hanging by their upper hinges alone. She crossed the courtyard to the inner wall, where a lowered drawbridge provided passage over a moat. Its waters had turned a stark black since the last time she had come this way. The surface was very still. Perhaps a little too inanimate. She wondered if any monsters had taken up residence since her last visit.
She shuddered at the thought, drawing Biter, and kept Vesuvius very close to the center of the drawbridge as she pressed the animal to a canter. The clip-clop of her mount’s hooves seemed so very loud in her ears.
When she reached the other side and entered the castle courtyard, she slouched slightly in relief, but still kept Biter in hand.
She crossed the flagstones of the yard, steering Vesuvius alongside a row of potted plants that had probably once contained topiary, but now sported unrecognizable bushy masses. Next, she circumnavigated dry fountains that had long since ceased pumping water, their basins cracked, their statuary broken.
