Defiler

by Isaac Hooke

  Ziatrice stared at the dwarf, and threads of dark magic wafted from her eyes until they wrapped around the dwarf’s chest. They gingerly caressed the vein tips, and with each touch, those tips subsided slightly.

  Slowly, steadily, those veins retracted across the torso, returning toward the dark wound that had created them.

  As the veins approached their source, Malem sensed exhaustion creeping into Ziatrice, and she began to visibly flag from the effort. The black tendrils coming from her eyes decreased in width and intensity.

  Malem fed her stamina, drawing from Gwenfrieda and Mauritania. He detected no complaint from either of their energy bundles, in fact they seemed happy to contribute.

  When the veins reached the source of the wound, Ziatrice narrowed her eyes, and streams of dark magic shot out from her in harsh waves, pouring into the wound. The festering mass resisted her efforts, and did not shrink.

  She began chanting the words of some guttural tongue that reminded him of the native language of the oraks. The mass pulsed in time to her words, giving off a weak reddish glow. And then, just like that, the wound imploded, folding in upon itself, so that only scarred skin remained.

  Ziatrice slumped, and once more Malem fed her stamina, drawing liberally from the other women. He’d need her well stocked for what came next.

  “It’s done,” Ziatrice said. She looked down at the dwarf. “I’d advise not exerting yourself for a good while.”

  “Not exerting myself?” the one named Timlir said. “Nonsense!” He sat up, grabbed his tunic, and slid it on.

  Gwenfrieda wrinkled her nose. “You’re not going to clean the tunic first? It’s filthy.”

  Timlir shrugged. “That’s how we dwarves like it. Besides, who has time to clean clothes? We all lead busy lives. The smell of clean clothes is a stench to dwarven noses.” He slid on his chainmail next.

  “I’d recommend you avoid standing, at least for a little while,” Ziatrice said.

  “We dwarves are resilient.” Timlir abruptly stood, but then staggered.

  Xaxia caught him.

  He shoved away her arm to stand on his own. “I’m all right. I’m all right.” He was still a bit wobbly, and leaned on the tree for support.

  “I admire the little one’s heart,” Malem said.

  “Little one?” Timlir said. He gave Malem a dark look. “Don’t call me ‘little one.’”

  Malem smiled in amusement, but then turned to Xaxia. “So then, now I’d like to see the proof you promised me. That Banvil lives.”

  Xaxia glanced at Goldenthall.

  The man’s eyes rolled up inside his head, and he shut his eyelids.

  When he reopened them, they had turned black. Dark mist flowed from them, more profusely, and blacker than anything that had ever come from Ziatrice, as if Malem was looking at the true source of all dark magic.

  “Breaker,” a deep, familiar voice intoned.

  Malem drew Balethorn instantly, and lifted the blade as if to strike the man.

  “Wait!” Xaxia said. “You kill him, you kill only Banvil’s vessel! The Balor will yet live!”

  “Banvil,” Malem said between gritted teeth. “Why do you forever plague me?”

  With his free hand, he fingered the sack tied to his waist.

  The former king’s gaze dropped to that sack, and the man smirked. Did he know what it contained?

  Malem withdrew his fingers.

  Now was not the time.

  The demon can only die in the Black Realm.

  “I plague you because you are yet useful to me,” Banvil said through his vessel. “This land can be saved, yet.”

  “So that you can take it instead?” Gwenfrieda said. “Can’t have Vorgon stealing what is rightfully yours, huh?”

  “I have my reason,” Banvil admitted. “Come to me, Breaker, in the Black Realm. Bind with me. I will protect you from Vorgon when you free yourself of him. And ensure your powers of Breaking remain intact.”

  Malem clenched his fingers tightly around his blade, wanting nothing more than to strike down the vessel harboring Banvil, but instead he slammed the blade home in its scabbard.

  “I will come to you,” Malem said. “Don’t you worry about that.”

  “There is a price for the protection you offer,” Xaxia said, glancing at the possessed former king. “When will you tell him what it is?”

  “When he comes to me,” Banvil said.

  “How do we open the portal to your realm?” Malem said.

  The shell that Banvil was using to interface with this world beckoned toward Xaxia. “The Dark Eye.”

  The bandit approached, and retrieved a head-sized sphere from the bags of the larger horse. It reminded Malem of the pearl he carried at his hips, except instead of a bright opalescent, it was pitch black.

  He glanced at Banvil, but the creature was gone: Goldenthall’s eyes returned to normal.

  He returned his attention to the artifact, which Xaxia held out to him. The darkness within seemed to call out to him, at a frequency that resonated with that of Vorgon at his core.

  He quickly looked away, not wanting to alert Vorgon to what he had found, not yet.

  I must kill Banvil. I won’t allow even Vorgon to deny me!

  He glanced at Ziatrice. “Can you access its powers? Open a portal to the Black Realm?”

  The night elf shrugged. “If it’s activated like other artifacts of dark magic, it should be straightforward enough.”

  Malem nodded. “Give her the object, Xaxia.”

  Ziatrice accepted the object, then sat, cross-legged, on the ground. She set the sphere down in front of her, and gazed into its darkness.

  “Not yet, Ziatrice,” Malem said.

  She nodded, not breaking her gaze from the sphere.

  He glanced at Goldenthall. “How many of us can pass through?”

  “All that you want,” the former king said. “Well, except her.” He nodded at Ziatrice. “She must stay here to maintain the gate. If we hope to return that is.” He grinned wildly. “Or we can stay there forever, I’m fine with that!”

  Malem glowered at the man, and then asked: “Where will I find Banvil on the other side?”

  “The Black Realm mirrors our world, location for location,” Goldenthall said. “When we pass through, we will reside in the same spot we do now in that mirror world.”

  “Okay, but where will I find Banvil?” Malem pressed.

  “He has fled to where Tartan exists in our world,” Goldenthall replied. “That place was once part of his domain, before he fell from power. He resides there now in secret, regenerating under the very nose of the Balor that has taken over his territory.”

  “That makes sense,” Xaxia said. “Because I saw the first evidence of Banvil on the rooftop where you first stepped through to the Black Realm to challenge him. A black mist, rising from the flagstones.”

  Malem considered that for a moment. “So we have to go to Tartan… there’s no way we can open a portal directly there?”

  Goldenthall shook his head. “The Dark Eye does not work that way. It opens to the same spot in the mirror world where it exists in this one. We could fly to Tartan first if you prefer?”

  Malem glanced at Abigail. “Could we get there before morning?”

  She shook her head. “If we leave now, it’ll take at least until noon.”

  “That won’t work,” he said. “I have to be back before morning.” If he wasn’t, Vorgon would likely exert mental influence to force Malem to abandon his task.

  “Time travels more slowly in the Black Realm,” Goldenthall said. “If we enter here, we could most certainly travel to Tartan and return before dawn. Though I’d recommend bringing along those horses of yours as well, because eventually we’ll need to land and continue on foot when we close with Banvil’s location.”

  Malem regarded the man suspiciously. “You know an awful lot about the Black Realm, even when Banvil isn’t in possession of you. Where does Goldenthall end and Banvil b
egin?”

  “Sometimes I think we’ve become one and the same,” Goldenthall said quietly.

  Malem glanced at his companions. “I can’t ask any of you to go with me. In the Black Realm, there are many creatures that do not exist here. Evil beings that don’t care for human life.”

  “We’re all going,” Gwenfrieda said.

  “She’s right about that,” Mauritania said. “We wouldn’t let you embark upon such a dangerous undertaking alone.”

  He ran his gaze across Abigail and the others. They all gave their assent in one form or another, be it a nod, or a feral smile.

  His gaze ended on Xaxia and her companions.

  “You two may come as well,” Malem told Xaxia and Goldenthall,

  “Well, I’m certainly coming,” Timlir said.

  “No,” Malem said. “No dwarves.”

  Timlir ground his teeth, and his fingers caressed the hilt of the ax whose haft was looped at his hips.

  “I promised him he could come,” Xaxia said. “He wants to stay in the Black Realm, to search for his wife.”

  “You say he is a good fighter?” Malem asked.

  She nodded. “I can vouch for his fighting skills.”

  “All right, I suppose he can come,” Malem said.

  “I don’t need you permission!” the dwarf sniffed.

  Malem felt a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to slay the dwarf. He managed to restrain that impulse. Barely. He might need Timlir’s fighting arm yet, where he was going.

  He considered summoning Solan and Gannet as well, to add to his offensive punch, but didn’t want to wait the twenty minutes or longer it would take for their arrival. He’d wasted enough time already.

  Should have summoned them from the start. Not that they would have listened.

  He turned to regard his companions. “Gwenfrieda, I want you to stay here. Stand guard, and protect Ziatrice. If an orak war band or other patrol from Vorgon’s army arrives, tell them the Defiler has authorized this expedition to the Black Realm. Tell them that if they interfere, they risk not only my wrath, but that of Vorgon’s.”

  Gwenfrieda hesitated. “But I want to go with you.”

  “I want you along, too, but someone needs to watch her back,” Malem said.

  “Then leave one of the dragons or something,” Gwenfrieda said.

  Malem shook his head. “They are among the most powerful members of my team. I want them at my side.”

  “Ziatrice doesn’t need anyone’s help,” Gwenfrieda said.

  Malem glanced at Goldenthall. “I assume she’ll be entirely occupied, holding open that gate?”

  Goldenthall nodded. “She won’t have the strength to do much more. By the way, if I were you, I’d be less worried about my own army discovering your night elf, and more concerned about something emerging from the Black Realm and slaying her.”

  “Mm, that’s a good point,” Malem said.

  “I can fend off whatever comes through,” Gwenfrieda said, caressing her bow.

  “Not if you’re overwhelmed,” Malem said. “You know what, you can come.”

  She clapped her hands together excitedly.

  Malem reached out, and found Nemertes.

  I need you to do something for me, he sent.

  No answer.

  Nemertes, he pressed.

  What do you want me to do, pray tell? the big blue asked.

  You’ll see, he replied. Come here.

  He heard a long sigh pass over their connection. Very well. I was in the middle of my repose.

  “Let’s say something happens to Ziatrice,” Gwenfrieda said. “And she loses the portal. Can’t she just re-open it?”

  Malem glanced at Goldenthall.

  The man shrugged. “Yes. But while the portal can remain open indefinitely while dark magic feeds it, the moment that portal closes, your night elf will have to wait a full day for the Dark Eye to recharge before she can create a new one. That day will be a full week for us. Remember: time passes differently in the Black Realm.”

  “Not sure I want to stay there for a week,” Mauritania grumbled.

  “Then we’ll just have to make sure Ziatrice doesn’t close the portal,” Weyanna said.

  The horses suddenly began rearing, neighing loudly, and tugging at their reins, trying to break free of the hitching post.

  Malem heard the rush of air produced by the flap of great wings, and he quickly sent out tranquil vibes to the animals. It didn’t help, so he Broke the pair and commanded them to calm down.

  Nemertes landed a moment later. The great dragon gave the two horses a contemptuous sneer reserved for lesser animals, as if angry at them for not displaying the proper fear before her might and majesty.

  Finally she turned her glaring eyes upon Malem.

  “Well, here I am!” the great blue dragon boomed. “What do you want, you maggots growing inside the festering pustule of an orak’s behind?”

  “Watch yourself, Dragon…” Malem warned.

  “Yes, yes, you’re the greatest Black Sword of them all,” Nemertes said, sounding bored. “Vorgon’s top lieutenant. And you wield a sword that drinks dragon blood. Well, little human, maybe I want you to feast your sword upon me! Do it! Put me out of my misery once and for all. I dare you.”

  Malem resisted the urge to do just that. He didn’t have time to summon another dragon. He considered Breaking Nemertes to prove a point, but he’d probably lose his control over her once he passed through the portal, so it wasn’t really worth it.

  “Watch Ziatrice’s back,” he intoned coldly. “And don’t let anything emerge from the portal.”

  “What portal?” the ancient dragon asked, a touch of boredom still mixed in with her annoyance.

  Malem turned toward Ziatrice. “The portal?”

  The night elf didn’t answer.

  He glanced at her.

  All this time, she had remained quietly in front of the Dark Eye, saying nothing, staring into its black depths.

  “Ziatrice?” he repeated, louder.

  The night elf shook herself, as if breaking from a trance. “Sorry. This thing can get in your head if you’re not careful.”

  “That is a Tarnenauge!” Nemertes said, noticing the black sphere for the first time. “Where did you get this? It must be destroyed!”

  And she reared her head as if to do just that.

  Malem stepped between her and the sphere. “We’re on a very important mission, so unless you want to suffer Vorgon’s wrath, you will do as I say. Watch Ziatrice, and protect her from anything that enters though the portal created by this artifact before we return.”

  “As you wish,” Nemertes said, standing down. “But beware. The entity at the core of the Tarnenauge can devour minds. If she stares into it too long, she will go mad.”

  “You hear that?” Malem told Ziatrice. “Don’t stare at the sphere.”

  “Got it,” the night elf said. “Once I set up the magic, I won’t have to look at it to maintain my link.”

  Malem nodded. “Good. Now open the portal.”

  Ziatrice gazed into the sphere and black mist flowed from her eyes, twirling into the Dark Eye. Several seconds passed and then a tear in reality opened. It was roughly the size of a door, and pitch black, offering no hint of what resided on the other side. It reminded Malem of the portal the Darkness had used in the past to hunt him, before Vorgon had freed him of Banvil.

  Malem approached that dark portal, and hesitated only a moment. Then he said: “Through!”

  He stepped inside.

  The Darkness enveloped him, becoming a buzzing that filled his head, and it was all he knew.

  32

  The Darkness left Malem, and the droning in his head faded. He stood in a desert of bleak, black dunes, with a sky of utter darkness overhead. Despite the lack of sun or stars, a strange twilight lit the land. It looked nothing like the world he had just left, and was very much like his last visit to this realm.

  “Mirror world, my ass,” h
e muttered. “Where are the trees?”

  In his head, the men and women bound to him felt distant. But so did Vorgon, the Balor feeling even farther away.

  Master, are you there?

  No reply. As a test, he tried to leech a small amount of stamina from the Balor’s energy bundle, but received nothing.

  Malem noticed he didn’t feel the usual undying devotion that overcame him when he thought of his master’s name. Still, while he almost felt free, he wasn’t—he still felt the urge to return before morning so that he could die by the demon’s hand.

  Still, Xaxia was right about Vorgon’s control being at its weakest, owing to the separation of realms.

  He turned around and saw the portal remained just behind him, a black, door-sized stain on the land, waiting to bring him back. He stepped away and waited for his companions to follow.

  But no one came.

  As the seconds passed he began to wonder if any of his companions would in fact join him. What if this was all some trick to trap him here in the Black Realm? He kept expecting the portal to close as the moments dragged out.

  He reminded himself that time passed more slowly here. That it would take the women longer to follow him through, at least from his point of view.

  Finally he couldn’t take it anymore. They weren’t coming. He wasn’t going to do this alone. He had no way to fly to Tartan, not before morning. Banvil would just have to live. It was too bad. He had looked forward to killing the demon once and for all.

  He approached the portal, wanting to return before the others could shut the gate, but as he was about to pass through, Gwenfrieda entered.

  He had no way to avoid her and she plowed right into him, head-butting him.

  Malem staggered backward, as did she; he had the presence of mind through the pain to wrap an arm around her wrist, yanking Gwenfrieda away from the portal so that she wouldn’t tumble back through.

  But she pulled free of him after only half a pace, and cursed. “What the hell were you doing loitering in front of the black door? You know I can’t see anything from the other side, right?”

  “I thought you were going to abandon me,” he told her. “I was about to return.”