Defiler

by Isaac Hooke

  “Remind me not to piss her off,” Gwenfrieda commented.

  Malem and the others rushed to free the next dragon, and were joined by the fire elementals.

  White mist sourced from Weyanna knit the gash in Sylfi’s neck, and Malem restored both of their stamina when the healing took.

  Meanwhile, his birds swarmed behind the different burning tree trunks, like one big, swirling entity, and ripped the flesh from elves that were in hiding. He spotted one of those elves trying to run, its body covered in a seething mass of robins. The elf collapsed a moment later, and when the birds ripped away, they left behind a body stripped of all clothes and skin, whose bones were partially exposed through the ripped red of the muscles.

  Vines emerged en masse from one of the trees as the robins approached, and looped around the swarm in an attempt to crumple the constituent avians. The robins simply separated, and the vines crushed empty air.

  Elves fired arrows at the mass of birds, and slowly eliminated them. The boomerang effect that came with the loss of each bird was minimal, and the attacks mostly served to inform the birds where their next target awaited.

  In her bloodlust, Sylfi breathed fire upon his avian swarm as she ravaged the surrounding forest.

  Watch out! he told her over their mental link.

  Sorry, she replied.

  The birds all fell to the ground, burning, and he felt the strain as they died, their connections severing. He quickly crushed the stamina from the survivors before they all died, and made up for the overall loss by taking endurance from Vorgon.

  A bright, iridescent object hurtled into the clearing, arcing from the forest. It was about the size of an Iguanid’s egg, and about the same shape. It landed in the center of the clearing, and upon impact, the ground around it seemed to melt away so that in moments it had vanished, absorbed by the soil.

  “What was that?” Malem asked.

  “Trouble!” Mauritania replied.

  A thick beanstalk thrust forth from the ground, growing at an incredible speed. The trio of freed dragons concentrated their fire on the stalk, and burned it, but the blackened regions simply pushed upward as the plant continued to grow. It expanded outward, too, becoming thicker and thicker.

  Branches from the surrounding forest attempted to wrap onto the freed dragons, but they used their flames to burn them, and pulled away before those limbs enwrapped them entirely. Abigail, Weyanna, and Sylfi leaped onto the stalk in turn, wrapping their jaws around it, and it carried them upward as it grew.

  I’m here, the Broken elf notified him.

  Finally.

  Malem took personal control of the elf so that he operated the creature from its direct viewpoint. The elf crouched behind a tree, next to another elf dressed in a green robe. The latter male was concentrating, his eyes glazed over, obviously in the middle of some spell.

  Malem glanced down at his person, and realized the elf he controlled lacked a sword. It did have a belt, however, and there was a hilt sticking out from a small sheath.

  Malem smiled, withdrew the dagger, and proceeded to rip the mage open. The surprised magic user glanced at his attacker, and Malem’s link with the creature abruptly severed. Malem wasn’t sure what the mage had done, but the elf was obviously dead: he experienced the boomerang effect that always came with such a death, and it weakened him, but he merely drew stamina from Vorgon.

  When he was back at his full strength, he reached out once more with his beast sense.

  He was worried he wouldn’t sense the stricken mage… but then he found him.

  Malem wrapped his will around the elf’s mind and squeezed. The mage fought him. For a moment, Malem worried that he hadn’t done enough damage, but as the mage bled out, the creature weakened. Malem remained the same strength through it all, of course, thanks to his link with Vorgon.

  And then it was done: the mage was his.

  What’s your name, asshole? he asked.

  Fentalis, came the reply.

  The man was quickly weakening from his mortal wound. Malem wanted to call Weyanna down to heal him, but when he glanced upward, he saw she was occupied: overhead, the dragons circled the huge stalk, dive-bombing to release waves of debilitating flames. The upper section of the plant had formed boughs of sort, which had split into long limbs, each of them tipped with sharp, spear-like points, which it thrust at the dragons in an attempt to bring them down. The dragons dodged them nimbly by shifting their weight, and drawing in their wings as necessary. On the bright side, at least the plant had stopped growing, as far as Malem could tell.

  Get rid of that thing, Malem told the mage.

  I can’t, the mage replied. I share control with another.

  Then interfere with his control, Malem sent.

  Okay.

  Where is this ‘other’ by the way? Malem pressed.

  I’m not sure, Fentalis said. Hiding here, somewhere.

  Brita broke free then, and leaped into the air to join the others in the attack against the giant plant. Abigail must have noticed that her fire elementals were free, because the latter creatures began fanning out to search behind the other trees that surrounded the clearing.

  Malem and the others who remained on the ground moved closer to the center of the clearing, near the stalk, to get away from the branches that continued to assault Ziatrice’s magic shield. As they moved away from the tree line, the attacks dropped in frequency, eventually subsiding entirely.

  The giant limbs at the top of the stalk began to attack one another. An appendage would strike out at Weyanna, for example, but before it could reach her, another branch would wrap around that one, and pull it away. Because the attacks had suddenly ceased, with the plant being occupied with itself, the four dragons were free to unleash hell upon it, and they flew past in scorching waves, burning branches away by the score.

  But then the attacks resumed, and the limbs shot out once more. Sylfi, passing too close, was caught by several branches, and they drew her into the core, firmly wrapping her up.

  What are you doing? Malem sent Fentalis.

  But he realized the elf had collapsed. From the energy bundle, he knew Fentalis was close to death. There was no time for Weyanna to come down and heal him, so Malem decided to crush the elf’s will entirely, taking his stamina before he died.

  Those giant limbs found the other three dragons in turn, and wrapped them up, pulling them into the core of the stalk.

  I’m changing back, Abigail sent. Let’s see how well this stalk likes holding a human torch!

  But before she could make good on her threat, the energy from her bundle in his head shifted. Defiance and rage had been replaced with… peace? It was a similar energy he felt from her when she slept.

  Shit.

  The ground beneath him abruptly opened up, and limbs wrapped around him, Mauritania, Ziatrice, and Gwenfrieda.

  “How the hell did they get through the shield?” Gwenfrieda asked.

  “The shield doesn’t protect against ground attacks,” Ziatrice replied.

  Mauritania chuckled. “Took them long enough to figure that out.”

  “I think the mage was just occupied,” Malem said, his gaze on the trapped dragons.

  A mage emerged from the treeline. He was dressed in green robes, and had long, silvery hair that reached to his hips.

  Malem reached out with his mind, and found that mage, but was unable to Break him.

  The limbs that bound him sprouted small, puffy, ovules, which promptly burst, releasing spores of some kind. They descended like scintillating dust around him.

  Malem suddenly felt very, very sleepy.

  Before his eyes closed, he called out to Vorgon.

  Master, where are you? I—

  14

  The corpses hung from the trees by the necks, swaying in the breeze. They were fresh, Xaxia thought. All men. Young. Wearing only loincloths. Probably killed by bandits for their belongings.

  Xaxia was no stranger to banditry herself of course,
but she never killed those she robbed. She often teased those she robbed, true, telling them she was going to slay them, but she never followed through, not unless there was a price on their head. But there was no point to these deaths. If there were a price, the heads would have been collected, not left to rot in the sun like this. Whoever did this had killed out of sport. It took a certain low class of bandit to do that.

  Xaxia wrinkled her nose at the thought, and pressed Vesuvius forward.

  “Poor lads.” Goldenthall clung to her waist, seated behind her in the too-small saddle.

  She had ridden Vesuvius hard the past few days, riding around the southern edge of the Midweald on her way back to the former front lines where the sword of the Balor lay. Not hard enough to run the animal to its death, but the steed was definitely showing signs of fatigue, such as its flanks becoming slathered in perspiration when the animal was only moving at a canter. It didn’t help that the horse had to carry two riders now.

  Vesuvius had also lost a horseshoe and partially cracked the hoof en route, and Xaxia had to stop at one of the villages that were still standing to get a new horseshoe applied. She was lucky to find that village so quickly, because most of the other cities and towns had succumbed to the monsters that had been flowing out of the Midweald en masse of late. She learned in the village that those monsters had emerged tentatively at first, forced out by the remnants of the Alliance army that fled east through their territory. When the monsters realized that the soldiers of men no longer patrolled the countryside—all of the able-bodied youth had been conscripted to join the Alliance months before—it was like a tap had opened, and out they flowed.

  Because there were so many monsters roaming the plains, she almost thought it might be safer to simply enter the forest itself and take her chances with the monsters inside, but there were too many places to get caught up and trapped in the Midweald, so she decided it was best to stick to the savanna.

  That was another reason she knew the hanging corpses were fresh: no monsters had gotten to them. Hopefully, the bandits who had done the deed would soon find themselves devoured by ghrips.

  Speaking of ghrips, the citizens of the village where she’d taken Vesuvius, a place called Farkander, had taken up arms to defend their territory from that particular tentacled menace, which seemed prevalent in this area. It helped that they already had a reinforced wall in place, so when the ghrips came, it was not so easy for them to get at the populace.

  Shortly after arriving in Farkander, she had gotten into a fight with a few locals at the bar, and the guards had tried to conscript her on the spot when they saw her fighting prowess. She chose arrest instead, escaping at night with Goldenthall’s help. The man had been dead drunk from the earlier bar visit, and had nearly bungled the rescue, but somehow he’d completed the task and here she was.

  The plight of those villagers reminded her of what awaited across the rest of the realm. Already more than a quarter of the countryside had fallen to Vorgon: the demon claimed all land west and north of the Midweald, up to the mountain ranges in the north just before the territory of the Metals. In fact, when she arrived in Farkander, the latest rumor was that the Metals had fallen as well, with King Agantas himself slain on the field of battle. She was shocked by the news, since she had met the king several times, and even flown on his back into battle. The messenger pigeons had flown fast and furious across the sky that day.

  If Vorgon isn’t stopped, the entire world will fall.

  Except it didn’t seem possible that anyone could stop Vorgon. Banvil had been their only hope, but the demon was a remnant of its former self, barely able to possess the broken man behind her, and when it did, even then for only short stints.

  Vesuvius slowed, wheezing hard, and Xaxia allowed the animal to switch to a trot.

  “You’re pushing the fucker too hard,” Goldenthall said.

  Xaxia ignored the man. No matter how many times she had told him not to call Vesuvius that, he persisted. She even slapped him once, but still he kept it up. He simply hated horses, and there was nothing she could do to change his mind.

  In half an hour, the no man’s land of the former front lines in the war against Vorgon came into view. She could see the weathered trenches on both sides, partially filled in from the rains and winds that had transpired in the six months since the place had been abandoned. Small shrubs and grasses had begun to sprout up along the edges of some of those trenches, as life returned to a place that once knew only death.

  Along the flat plain of the no man’s land itself, no plants grew. There, she saw the half buried, scattered bones of man, monster, and beast. She noted with macabre fascination that some of the human-shaped skulls sported horns—those would be Eldritch. Other skulls were smaller, almost childlike, with wide, thick foreheads—dwarves. She forced herself to stop categorizing those bones.

  I’m not here to forensically analyze the dead.

  She had to keep her gaze on the ground to guide Vesuvius through the bones, but she glanced up occasionally to ensure she remained on course: she headed toward the northern portion of the no man’s land, where, upon the distant horizon, a cross-like structure jutted well above the landscape. That was where Vorgon had planted Banvil’s sword into the ground after taking the opposing Balor’s head. A grave marker.

  “I died here,” Goldenthall hissed. “Died. Died.”

  “Wasn’t you,” Xaxia commented.

  Goldenthall hugged her tightly, rested his head on her shoulder, and wept loudly.

  Xaxia shook her head, and pressed Vesuvius onward across the former no man’s land, weaving between the bones of the dead.

  When the Alliance broke, Vorgon’s troops had chased the forces of “good” all the way to the Midweald. None among Vorgon’s host had stopped to collect their dead. The Balor wouldn’t allow them to, probably. Then again, night elves and mountain dwarves likely had different rituals when it came to the dead. Perhaps their cultures required them to leave the bodies where they fell, not to be touched, like fallen birds and deer in the woods.

  Leaving them to be fed upon by the carrion eaters of the world. The crows had certainly dined well that day.

  She shuddered and shook her head, trying to douse her dark thoughts, but couldn’t. The site of a mass open grave would have that effect on anyone…

  Vesuvius tripped on a small thigh bone, and momentarily increased its gait, snapping Xaxia back to the present. She focused on her destination, trying to forget where she was, and the terrible memories she had of this place.

  The sword grew in size until it towered over her. Finally, she reached it, and dismounted to approach. The blade was about twice the width of her body when she stood with her arms at her side. It had a thickness similar to her thighs.

  She gazed up at the pommel of the hilt far above. She squinted, and could see the small, circular region where the Dark Eye resided.

  “Where’s a dragon when you need one?” she muttered.

  “That’s a long way to climb,” Goldenthall agreed. The bearded man had dismounted to stand at her side.

  She studied the black blade. The edge was somewhat blunt, and probably derived most of its cutting power from the force with which a Balor swung it. That and the fact it was extremely hot when wielded by a demon.

  There were nicks along the edges where the sword had perhaps struck other, similarly-sized blades over the years, or mowed down armored foes. Those nicks afforded her fingerholds.

  She wasn’t a big fan of free climbing, however. She did it when she had to, for example scaling the wall outside the home of an assassination target, but she much preferred having at least some support. Free climbing a height of this scale was suicide.

  From her saddlebags, Xaxia retrieved the ropes she had stolen from the camp of a traveling merchant who sold climbing gear among other things—a difficult task in and of itself, given how many hired swords the merchant had with him to protect against monsters. She also grabbed the pitons and carabine
rs she’d stolen from that same merchant, along with a small mallet, and shoved both into a small backpack. Then she secured her belt, replete with Biter, to Vesuvius.

  “Don’t let him touch my stuff,” she told the horse, giving Goldenthall a warning look.

  “I have no use for your sword,” the former king said.

  She secured the rope around her waist, and then reached up along the edge of the sword and found a groove for her fingers.

  “Aren’t you worried you’re going to cut yourself?” Goldenthall asked.

  “I’m worried about a lot of things,” she replied as she pulled herself up. She planted one of her boot tips into another small dent below, and placed her weight upon it. She reached for the next fingerhold, but as she felt along the edges, she realized that one was a little too sharp. She found a different, duller fingerhold, and used that for purchase.

  And so she continued upward in that manner. She paused occasionally to hammer a piton into a suitably sized dent, attached a carabiner, and threaded the rope through, updating her lifeline as the assassins she had once lived with had taught her. She tested the pitons with her body weight, and they held; still, she was afraid they’d be ripped away if she fell.

  All the more reason why I have to be very, very careful.

  She proceeded upward, not daring to look down, her lifeline hanging down beneath her. Thankfully she didn’t fall, not once, and thus never had to test the true strength of her lifeline and the pitons that held it.

  She reached the hilt section at the top, and climbed over the horizontal guard, which protruded, requiring her to slide her feet away from the blade and rely entirely upon the strength of her upper body to pull herself over. On the plus side, the guard and hilt were wrapped in a rope-like material that allowed for a better grip, and soon she had surmounted it. She planted her feet firmly on top of the guard, and then pulled herself up along the hilt toward the pommel at its tip.

  But when she reached that pommel, the Dark Eye wasn’t there. Instead, she saw only an empty hollow where the eye had been plucked free. From the ground, that hollow had given the illusion that the artifact was still in place.