“You cannot escape this without me.”
“I’m good at escaping mazes,” said Urk.
“It is not these walls you need to worry about,” said the baron as he came to his feet at last. “It is the monsters beyond these walls. The things born of the darkness.”
The two shared another look of consideration, and the minotaur lowered his ax. “Go on.”
“You call this place the Fairy Realm. It is a simple way for mortals to describe it. And my kingdom is just a small piece of it. But it is really the Bounds Reverie, the border between your world and that of dreams. And some dreams are quite dark.”
Realization seemed to wash through them, enough that they no longer seemed ready to kill him. He gestured for them to follow as he proceeded deeper into the Old Aerie. “Before my ascension, this was a land filled with the worst things to crawl from the realm of dreams. I brought light, order, and peace.”
“Or tyranny,” said Al.
“Better the devil you know.” He pressed his hand to a door and opened the armory. “Even if you have no consideration for me, think of all the mortal things that have come to live in my Twilight Kingdom. Only one such as I can bring light to the sky and drive away the things that have come, and the worse things to follow.”
The armory was as he had left it, untouched by time save a thin layer of dust and glowing particulates from the luminescent fungus that had crawled across the ceiling. The minotaur and centaur were already perusing the equipment. Most of it was too small or delicate for their use: bows made for pixies; swords weighted for sprites. When he had first freed the land, there had been few things as large as a man, let alone a centaur, in his army. He found the sterling-silver gauntlet that had been used by Myphentus, his troll bodyguard, the original leader of the Iron Guard, and offered it to Urk.
The minotaur took the gauntlet and slid it over his left hand, flexing his fingers to test the fit. “Only a left hand?”
“Close your fist and think ‘Wall’ at it.”
The minotaur closed his fist, and a shimmering disk of light appeared over his arm. He nodded.
Al’rashal was admiring an iron claymore. “And these will be enough to get us through monsters so you can get your strength back?”
The baron considered as he lifted a glaive whose golden blade shone as though under the noon sun. The centaur took it and considered its balance as he answered. “Maybe. Black-Hand will be waiting, and anyone waiting with him will be fearless and ruthless. Only things worse than nightmares can live with them.”
He picked up his old breastplate, admiring the fine detail work but decided against it. He was too weak to fight in such a heavy thing and felt maneuverability would serve him better. Instead, he looked for the rainbow blades. “Unless …”
“Unless what?” asked Urk, inspecting a few silver javelins.
“Unless you release me from our pact.”
“What?”
“The power I have stored for your reward would be more than enough to—”
Urkjorman’s laughter filled the room and trampled his words. “No, my lord. If you die with the power to save yourself and the inability to use it, because you tried to betray us, then so be it. Either you will live to reward us, or you will die an honest man.”
Chapter Six
“Forward the Light Brigade!”
Al’rashal took a few test swings with the glaive. It was a bit shorter than her average weapon, but the balance was amazing, and it felt light as a feather. Finding equipment they could use had been difficult, but she was now wrapped in a collision of plates both gold and steel blue. She kept her sword sheathed at her hip, as there was no reason to leave it down here and would trust her shield to see her through the next battle as it had for years. Her husband traded the ax for a massive silver sword, more concerned with killing the lykin than the fairies, and wore a shimmering golden mantle. It might have been a cape for a smaller person, but on the minotaur, it barely hung to the small of his back. Only the baron was wearing a complete set of armor and equipment.
The Baron of Wings’ armor looked more suggestive of something worn for a parade than proper armor, but the baron had ensured it would do the job. It was a sheer white material that clung to his body like a glove, with plates the hue of fuchsia protecting his chest, forearms, and shins. Gleaming blades the color of a blue sky were sheathed at his hips and affixed to the edges of his five largest wings.
Urkjorman released a derisive snort as he examined the baron. “You going to fight in that or have sex?”
The baron smiled as he drew both blades. “I’ve done both. I don’t see why that should change today.”
Al rolled her eyes. “Minotaur or fairy, men are men.”
Urk and the baron looked to each other and burst into laughter. It was so stupid; Al couldn’t help but join in. Slowly they regained their composure, and Al closed the visor on her helmet. “You think Black-Hand is still there? Not that he would leave, but you don’t think he’s dead or something?”
The baron shook his head. “No. He is there, and anyone brave enough to stand the darkness is with him. Things as evil as Black-Hand do not fear nightmares; they create them. There is only one place I can recover, so he shall be between me and it.”
Al’rashal aimed her glaive forward at the wall of stone. Her husband did the same, the edges of the weapons touching. After a moment, the baron lifted one blade and joined the two.
Silence.
The baron pressed his palm to the wall, and the stone pulled away to reveal a short hall, and Al’rashal charged. The darkness was oppressive but not complete. The sprites and pixies generated light, as well as the torches scattered on the floor or lodged into sconces. It seemed Black-Hand’s mercenaries needed light to see as much as they did. A brownie rounded the corner, drawn by the sound of her stamping hooves, and she cut his head from his body.
“They’re here!” shouted someone as a tiny arrow deflected off Al’s shoulder.
A redcap charged the centaur, keeping low to stay beneath the sweep of her glaive. The centaur thought fire as the creature neared, and kicked him with one of her forelegs, striking him with a burning kick. The redcap crashed to the ground, clutching at his smoldering face, and Al’rashal finished the creature by crushing his skull with a burning hoof.
Thunder boomed as Urk dragged a bolt of lightning out of the darkness and turned one of the lykin into charred bone and cooked meat.
“Such heroic nonsense,” laughed Black-Hand from the room’s center. He seemed utterly uninterested in dealing with them personally. Instead, he just pointed, and something that looked vaguely like a snake with mouths where its eyes should have been and fingers instead of scales charged them.
Then the Baron of Wings lifted into the air and shouted, “Light!”
Light poured from the baron’s body, blasting away the darkness and dissolving the charging thing like a wax candle hurled into a forge. “Light!” repeated Al’rashal and Urkjorman. Their weapons seemed to reflect and magnify the light streaming from the baron’s armor to push the darkness further away and send more of the nightmare things fleeing or receding into the shadows.
“Fine.” Black-Hand grasped one of the fleeing nightmare things and dragged a sickle through its body, leaving it a bleeding mess on the ground. He dipped his cap into the dissolving darkness that passed for the creature’s blood and set it back on his head. Lines of shadow poured down his face and into his eyes before pouring from his hands to wreathe his weapons in smoke. “I’ll do it myself!”
Black-Hand launched himself at the baron. The two collided in the air. The baron spun, hurled Black-Hand into a near wall, and then cut a pixie in half with one of his wings.
Al couldn’t spare any more time to consider the baron’s fight as one of the two remaining assassins jabbed at her with his staff. She backed up, using her glaive to keep him from advancing, and blocked his next thrust with her shield. Pain washed through her lower back as something c
ollided with it. Looking to her right, she saw the other assassin dipping his staff into the blood of some dead creature. She charged the first assassin and the two mercenaries with him, using their bodies as cover against the second assassin. One of her attackers jabbed at her with a spear, punching through the armor on her side before she cut his head in half. The other assassin tried to use the moment to stab her again, but she deflected the strike with her shield and cut his staff in two with her return stroke.
Competing roars filled the air as Urkjorman locked into a test of strength against what looked like a grizzly bear. A panther leaped on the minotaur’s back, but before Al could do something about it, an arrow crashed into her head.
The world spun as her ears rang. Instinctively she slashed before her to ward off any incoming attacks, but the swings were poorly aimed, and soon the assassin was hammering her with the two halves of his broken staff. Pain seared into her flank, just ahead of her rear leg, and almost brought her down. She pushed through the pain and drove her shield forward, knocking the assassin before her back, and thrust forward with her glaive but skewered a pixie instead of the assassin. She twisted and kicked, knocking the second assassin away, but he recovered quickly. A cry of pain lanced through the air, drawing all eyes to the baron.
The Baron of Wings was pinned to a wall by one of Black-Hand’s smoldering sickles. The redcap laughed and drove his skull into the baron’s head, cackling. Black-Hand pulled the sickle out of the baron’s side and simply watched as the baron fell on his face. The baron’s wings dimmed, and the light issuing from Al’s and Urk’s weapons began to dim as well.
Black-Hand stepped on one of the baron’s wings to prevent him from crawling away. “Now. Do I kill you first so they can see it? Or do I kill them first so you can watch them die? Choices, choices.”
“Kill him and leave us,” shouted Al’rashal.
“What?” shouted Urk, pulling a wolf from his arm and casting it against a near wall.
“It’s not worth it, Urk. Black-Hand has all the power here.”
“And why would I let you live?”
“We’ve already killed half of your men. You’ll need people like us to help rule this kingdom of darkness.”
Black-Hand chuckled. “Kingdom of Darkness. I like the ring of that. Drop ya weapons and I’ll let you live.”
Urk looked to her, and she nodded in response. “I break my oath to the Baron of Wings and will no longer protect him.” With that, she dropped the glaive.
“I break my oath to the Baron of Wings and will no longer protect him,” repeated Urkjorman, dropping his sword to the earth.
Black-Hand laughed as he kicked the baron over onto his back and lifted both sickles into the air. “And comes darkness.” With that, he plunged both blades into the baron’s chest.
Chapter Seven
Let There Be
Light exploded from the Baron of Wings, blasting back the shadows and sending the darkness fleeing the Old Aerie. Black-Hand grasped his eyes and howled in agony as the baron rose.
Al’rashal acted first, drawing her sword and cutting one of the assassins in half. Urkjorman was a fraction slower but still fast enough to shoulder past the bear to the man adorned with bone. The shaman lashed out, stabbing him in the side with a short sword, but Urk still managed to grasp the staff and wrench it from his hand. Closing his fist, he snapped the staff in half, cutting the current of energy flowing to the moonstone. Immediately the lykin reverted, as if falling from their animal forms into their natural states. Urk hurled the remains of the staff across the room.
“No!” shouted Black-Hand. “How?”
The baron pulled the iron sickles from his body, but now it was as if the weapons were boiling at the touch of his flesh and blood, instead of the opposite. “Never break a pact with Auvithia.”
Black-Hand rushed the baron, who casually kicked the redcap in the face and sent him crashing into the far wall.
The air was driven from Urk’s lungs as a hammer collided with his side. Though returned to his natural state as a human, the lykin that had been a bear was still monstrously strong. The man swung again, and this time Urk blocked with the glowing shield. A kick to the man’s leg sent him to his knees, and a fist to the skull sent him down. The shaman was running toward the remains of the staff. “Al!” he shouted, but she was being driven into cover by arrows and bolts of blood.
He found the silver sword he’d cast aside and lifted it in time to deflect a hatchet hurled at his skull. The ax thrower threw another one, which bounced of Urk’s shield, and closed on him with another warrior, both drawing swords. The blade of the first one bounced off his shield. The second was parried by his blade, but he knew they were just playing for time. The shaman had reached the remains of the staff and was trying to pry the moonstone from it. The next time Urk swung, he wrapped the blade in lightning, and when the warrior blocked, electricity surged into him to cook his flesh and boil his blood. The other warrior sprang back, trying to avoid a similar fate, and lost his head as the Baron of Wings swept by and destroyed his neck with a sweep of his wing. Urk and the baron shared a nod of understanding before he flew across the room to help Al’rashal.
The shaman grasped the stone, and light began to pour from between his fingers as he grew. Urkjorman drew the silver-tipped javelins from his back and launched them one after the other into the shaman as he charged. The first two sank into the growing creature’s flesh, the third was deflected, and the fourth went wide. Urk bought his sword down as the creature, which looked like a cross between a bear and a tiger, lifted his arm to block. The blade sank deep, but the shaman countered by driving his glowing fist into Urk’s face, sending the minotaur stumbling backward. The creature hammered another massive fist into his face, a third punch to his stomach, and the fourth Urk blocked with his shield. He grasped the creature’s right arm before he could strike again, and headbutted him, then followed by punching him in the face with his silver gauntlet, sending the thing reeling. Before the shaman could fully recover, Urk grasped his right wrist and twisted, snapping the wrist and sending his fingers spasming in pain.
“No,” cried the shaman as the glowing orb fell from his grasp.
Urk capitalized by lifting his knee into the creature’s side as he shrank. Grasping the javelins still lodged in the creature’s chest, Urk drove him backward into the near wall, fracturing the stone with the impact. The creature raked him with his claws, carving long lines into Urk’s chest even as the thing continued to shrink. Urk pushed forward, driving the javelins deeper until the tips pushed out of his back and into the wall. With the creature pinned there, Urkjorman headbutted him again, and again blanketed his face in blood and fragments of bone.
Urk released a weary sigh as he turned about, ready to face the remaining two lykin, but the fight seemed to have fled them. The minotaur picked up the moonstone to be sure and watched as Al’rashal pulled her sword out of the last of her attackers. All that was left now was Black-Hand.
Perhaps if the baron were at his weakest, or Black-Hand at his strongest, it would have been a contest, but now, with his power restored, the Baron of Wings was unstoppable. What few fairies remained were already bowing in supplication as the baron held Black-Hand aloft by the throat. The redcap was reduced to little more than screaming incoherently as the baron looked on with amusement.
“Want us to execute this one too?” asked Al.
“No. This pleasure I take for myself,” said the baron. His wings fanned out and shone with blinding light. When it was gone, there was nothing of Black-Hand but ash and a few strands of blood-soaked fabric. Then he looked to the two. “Thank you, for betraying me.”
Al’rashal curtsied. “You said if we broke the pact, the power you were storing would be yours.”
“So, you have power enough to set things right?” asked Urkjorman.
The baron looked up at the sky, and the darkness peeled back. Stars appeared in the firmament, the broken moon shone through the cl
ouds, and slowly the sun pulled back up from the west to sit on the horizon, bathing the land in twilight once more. “Yes.”
“And for us?” asked Al.
The baron shook his head. “Restoring myself does not leave me enough power to pay you what you are owed.”
Urk sucked his teeth.
“However,” said the baron, placing his hand on Urk’s fist, “this bit of moonstone is full of power, and maybe I can do something with that.”
The baron took one of Al’s hands and placed it on top of the stone, then placed his hands so that one was atop both of theirs and the other beneath. The world filled with light again.
The light seemed to fade, or his eyes adjusted, and Urk could see everything washed in a thin silvery radiance. Sound felt muted; time seemed to crawl. And then, in the way one knows when a predator is stalking one from a distance, Urk became aware of a presence. His eyes were pulled to the east, to the low valley, and then, as though rising from the ocean, it appeared. She appeared, he corrected, somehow understanding without knowing why. The thing that rose into view was too large to be here; she was too large to be anywhere. Her breasts were larger than mountains. Her swollen belly could span the ocean. Arms that could reach the moon swayed at her side, and somewhere atop it all was a face that was every face he had ever known or could imagine. He wanted to ask what was happening, but he barely had the presence of mind to think, let alone speak. The baron, however, did not seem as overwhelmed as he and his wife.
The Baron of Wings spoke with words that tasted like honey and smelled like wildflowers. The thing, the impossible thing, responded with a voice that sounded like the birth wail of every child that had ever drawn breath. Urk’s ears burned, or his mind did—he found it hard to keep track of what he was in the presence of such a being.
The baron bowed. The thing seemed to curtsy, and then everything was back to normal.
Wayward Magic (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 2) Page 24
