by M. D. Massey
“I dunno,” the first dwarf said in a near whisper. “If the mistress finds out we snuck one—”
“She won’t find out, not if you keep your mouth shut and hide the evidence. Corpse’ll be nice and ripe by the time she’s gone. Trust me, we got nothing to fear.”
The first dwarf licked his lips as he eyed the haunch of meat over the fire. “Alright, if you say so—”
He was cut off mid-sentence as I drove long, sharp spikes of solidified shadow through his chest, lifting him off the ground and turning him to face me. The shade was close to the surface, and for the first time I let it emerge without hesitation or regret. I didn’t need a mirror to know that my eyes swirled with blackness, or that the shadow wraith’s features lay over my own, a translucent mask that transformed me into a dark phantasm, a gothic horror come to life.
“You have everything to fear,” I rasped in a voice that wasn’t my own. “Me most of all.”
23
Before the other dwarf could open his mouth to raise an alarm, I whipped a shadow tentacle around his throat, squeezing just enough to silence him. I didn’t want them dead, not yet. They needed to feel the life force being siphoned from their bodies and know the fear and pain they’d caused others. I intended to make the process last, so they experienced every single tortuous moment of it.
As the shade turned the two dwarves into dry, empty husks, the children whimpered and sobbed in their cages, wondering if they were next. Hemi calmed them with reassurances that we were here to help. Unfortunately, until we cleared the keep, the safest place for them was in the cage. After telling the children that we’d return for them, I headed for the interior of the fortress with Hemi on my heels and retribution on my mind.
Hemi and I slunk down dark, narrow hallways, stopping to check each door we passed. Along the way we took turns executing the fae and other creatures that inhabited this fortress. As far as I was concerned, all were working for my mother and therefore complicit in the dark acts being committed in this place. Some fought; others begged for mercy. We left nothing but death in our wake.
Soon we reached the inner chambers, entering into a modest throne room where my adoptive mother would hold court when present. Beyond that were the royal living quarters, and several ducal suites reserved for guests of note. I assumed this would be where Griff was living, and quite probably where he maintained his mage’s laboratory.
All magic-users had workshops or laboratories where they practiced and plied their trade. This would be his inner sanctum, the place where he felt most comfortable and safe. If we could catch him there unawares, perhaps the fight would be brief. Yet I doubted it, as waylaying a magic-user in their own lair was always a difficult task.
As we passed through the throne room, I heard a familiar sound coming from a stairwell that led to the dungeons below. Mother always designed her fortresses and keeps in a similar manner, placing an access corridor to her dungeons just off the throne room. The layout of this place was no different, and it was only a slight detour to investigate and determine if I was right about the source of the noise.
Hemi stood guard in the stairwell while I headed down to the dungeons. On reaching the bottom, I came upon a high-ceilinged, pillared stone vault, perhaps thirty feet from top to bottom and three-hundred feet from side to side. Again, Mother was known to install facilities such as these beneath her keeps and castles, to facilitate experimentation on the larger denizens of Underhill. As I exited the stairwell, my eyes were immediately drawn to the center of the room, where my dearest childhood friend was chained neck, body, and foot to the nearby pillars and floor.
Ollie was an Oilliphéist, a type of amphibious wyvern native to Underhill. He was still a youth by his species’ long-lived standards and had been with me through many of the years I’d spent working for my mother in this accursed realm. I had to leave him behind when I traveled to Earth to do Mother’s bidding, and I am not ashamed to say that it broke my heart to do so. I was able to visit with him briefly on my last visit here, but again I was forced to leave him behind on my return. Earth was simply not a suitable place to hide a creature of his size.
My wyvern was not in good shape at all. He had been tortured, perhaps as punishment for helping me on my previous visit. Apparently, Mother’s thugs had quite a bit of entertainment at poor Ollie’s expense.
The wyvern had open, weeping sores where he’d been stabbed and cut, and it seemed someone had reopened the wounds before they had a chance to heal, causing them to fester. The manacles and collar that restrained him had rubbed his scales and skin raw where he had fought to escape his captivity. He was also thin and emaciated, and his normally lustrous green and azure complexion had faded to a pale, sickly, and almost grayish hue. He lay prone with his head resting on his forepaws, moaning and sighing at turns as he fought to find a comfortable position in which to lay.
“Ollie,” I cried as I crossed the flagstone floor. “Oh, my poor Ollie.”
His ears perked up at the sound of my voice, but he skittered back as I approached, snarling as if unsure it was really me. I should’ve expected as much, as Mother was quite fond of using illusions to torture those who ended up in her dungeons. It was quite possible she did the same with Ollie, teasing him with illusory images of me, getting his hopes up only to dash them for her own amusement.
“Ollie, it’s really me—it’s Crowley, your old friend. Don’t fret, boy, I’m getting you out of here.”
As I cooed and whispered to him, he slowly relaxed his stance, cocking his head slightly and craning his long, slender neck as best he could within his restraints. When I neared the limits of his collar and chain, I paused so he could get my scent. Soon the wyvern’s eyes lit up and he let out a low woof as he nuzzled me hard enough to knock me off balance.
I’d have laughed if it wasn’t so tragic, seeing this magnificent creature suffer as he had. For the next several moments I stroked his cheek and neck, careful to avoid irritating any of the wounds that were present in those areas. Then I called on my magic, grabbing the manacles that restrained him in an attempt to break Ollie free. Some links were rusted through, sitting as they’d been in Ollie’s own filth. Those easily gave way, while others required additional spells to weaken them before they broke.
But break they did, and soon Ollie was free. He stood, first shakily and then more steadily, stretching his muscles and testing himself to ascertain the limits of his injuries. Finally, he craned his neck and let out a triumphant roar, announcing to all and sundry that a fifty-foot wyvern was on the loose.
“Well, that certainly gave us away,” I said matter-of-factly. He hung his head, abashed, but instead of chiding him I spoke in reassuring tones. “It’s okay. We’ve killed most of the garrison, and to my knowledge, there’s only a single, pesky wizard left to deal with.”
Ollie growled at that, indicating he’d had a run-in with Grythelias already. Then he stretched, uncoiling himself to his full length, preening and posing for my benefit.
“Yes, I can see you’ve grown since I saw you last. I don’t doubt that someday you’ll be as big as Nessie, or even the Caoránach herself.”
Ollie snorted enthusiastically, nodding as if to say he agreed. He continued his side of the conversation with barks, clicks, and grunts that few humans could understand. While he didn’t speak with words per se, I understood his meaning perfectly—he was telling me he wanted to come along to fight Griff.
“Thanks, but you’re in no shape for battle right now. I need you to stay here until I come back. I can handle a single upstart wizard on my own, so there’s no need to endanger you in your current condition.” The wyvern responded in protest with a series of short, sharp whuffles and grunts. “No, my friend, not this time. You’ve suffered enough on my account, and I’d not have you suffer more for my sake. Besides, this will be a wizard’s battle, one I must fight alone. As they say, this is the way.”
Ollie snorted and hung his head, not in defeat, but in acquiescence to my wishes. I scratc
hed him between his eyebrows as he so loved for me to do, then I made sure he had water close at hand. Before I headed back upstairs, I left him with my final instructions.
“If I should not make it back to you within the hour, I want you to break free from here. Tear down the walls if you have to, and then run, Ollie—go far away from Mother’s domain, and never come back this way again.”
Ollie let out a soft, low whine, then he lay down with his head on his forepaws to watch me go. Saying no more, I headed up the steps two at a time, eager to face the one who was ultimately responsible for all the misery I’d found in this despicable place.
I was halfway up the stairwell when Hemi met me on his way down, moving with a pep in his step I’d rarely seen the Maori warrior display.
“Go, go, go!” he exclaimed as he grabbed my arm and pulled me down the stairwell after him.
“What in the world is the matter?” I asked as I stumbled down after him.
“They have a giant,” he said, eyes wide as he ducked around the corner at the bottom of the stairs. Before continuing, he spared a moment to greet my wyvern. “Oh, hey, Ollie. Anyway, there’s this fifteen-foot-tall bloke up there, swinging a wrecking ball round. Ugly bugger, too. Monopod.”
“That would be a fachan, fiercest among all the giants who live in Underhill. Mother is quite fond of them, and I suspect she had a hand in their creation. I had one myself, actually, until the druid killed it. Damned good guardians, but very bloodthirsty. And also very hard to kill.”
“He didn’t look like much at first, what with the one arm and leg thing and all.” Hemi scratched his head and looked back up the stairs with concern. “But when he started hopping around and swinging that wrecking ball, I changed me tune.”
“It’s probably best you did. As I said, they are very hard to kill.”
“So, what should we do?”
“Well, if they let out a fachan, they probably know we’re here. Ollie’s roar could’ve tipped them off. Or, Griff sent the fachan to handle Ollie, on the odd chance he got loose.”
“You mean that thing’s headed down here?”
“Well, not unless Griff opens a portal—”
At that very moment, a twenty-foot diameter hole appeared in the ceiling above us, and a one-armed and one-legged man jumped through the hole to the dungeon floor below. The thing was uglier than perhaps any humanoid creature I had ever seen, more homely even than the pet fachan my adoptive parents had gifted to me.
This one was pale-skinned, incredibly muscular, and covered in patchy spots of curly red hair that stuck out in tufts all over its body. It wore a loincloth made from the fur of some large animal, likely one of the woolly mastodons that still grazed on the northernmost planes of Underhill. And as Hemi had claimed, it held a massive chain that was attached to an enormous iron ball.
The chain looked to be nautical in nature, perhaps the anchor chain from a large cruise liner or ship. The ball at the end was obviously a wrecking ball of the type used by demolition companies to tear down old buildings. It was easily six feet in diameter, and it cracked the stones when the fachan dropped it on the flagstone floor, forming a crater six inches deep.
The creature swiveled its head around to get its bearings, first glancing at Ollie, and then spotting us. It decided that Ollie was the greater threat and began hopping toward him, dragging the ball and chain behind it.
“Dammit, Ollie is in no shape to fight that thing off,” I said as I wrapped myself in shadow. “If we don’t help him, he’ll not last thirty seconds against it.”
“Give me a minute, mate, and I’ll be ready to assist,” the Maori said apologetically. “Takes some time to charge up the batteries for serious work.”
“Then join me as quickly as you can,” I said as I strode on my shadow tentacles toward the great, one-armed giant.
A final glance over my shoulder told me that Hemi was already engaged in the intricate, dynamic dance of his people known as a haka. The warrior used the dance as a ritual to trigger the protective magic that resided in the tattoos that decorated his body and face. Those tattoos were apparently the key to much of his power, as they held within them wards, glyphs, and symbols that somehow enhanced his strength and durability. And he would need them, as this giant would be no pushover in a physical fight.
Propelling myself forward with long strides of my shadow tentacles, I gathered fire in one hand and electricity in the other, throwing them both at the fachan’s back to draw his attention. Meanwhile, Ollie was backing up with his back arched, reluctantly preparing to meet this new threat. My wyvern was no walkover either, but he was sick, wounded, and likely exhausted from his ordeal in this dungeon. It would have to be a group effort to take down the fachan.
My spells struck the giant between its shoulder blades, searing its skin and charring the hair from its back. It roared and spun to face me, hopping on its lone, oversized foot and shaking the ground with each step. As the fachan roared its defiance, great gobs of spittle flew from its mouth, peppering the ground around me and sullying my clothes.
“Ugh,” I groaned as I wiped the creature’s phlegm off of my shirt, slinging it on the ground. “This is a Dolce and Gabbana, I’ll have you know. You will pay dearly for that.”
The giant ignored my threats, instead hopping toward me in a huge leaping bound. Using its single, muscular arm, it yanked on the chain and sent the wrecking ball swinging in an arc toward me. By the time the ball reached me, I was already gone, clinging to the ceiling of the room as I wove a spell to hinder the giant.
Undeterred by the miss, the giant merely made another revolution, using the momentum from the first swing to strike at me again. The wrecking ball struck the ceiling and rolled across it in a gravity-defying arc that brought it hurtling straight toward me. I immediately dropped from the ceiling, landing like a spider as the wrecking ball passed mere feet above my head.
My wyvern was no coward, but he was no fool either, and he’d positioned himself for a sneak attack. Ollie reared his serpentine neck and head back, snapping forward and striking the giant’s neck and shoulder like a cobra striking its prey. The giant roared with fury, swinging his huge fist back and striking Ollie on his already injured left shoulder. I knew it must’ve caused the poor wyvern a great deal of pain, but to my companion’s credit, he did not release his grip on the fachan.
This gave me enough time to complete my casting, and I wasted not a moment, flinging a huge cloud of shadow magic at the creature’s head. As my spell wrapped itself around the fachan’s skull, it solidified into a mass of sticky, stretchy tar made from shadow. When cast in such a manner, the tar-like substance was almost impossible to remove, and the more you fought it, the more you became entangled.
My plan was to suffocate the giant—but how long would it take for the beast to succumb to oxygen deprivation? Realizing my intent, Ollie wrapped his body around the giant, both to constrict him further and to allow him to bite deeper into the fachan’s neck. In return, the giant alternated between striking at my wyvern with the chain and clawing at its own face in an attempt to remove the tar.
I had hoped that the fachan’s hand would become stuck to its face as it attempted to remove the tar, thus leaving it helpless so we could finish it off. However, I had underestimated the giant’s strength, and instead of becoming entangled, it tore bits of shadow tar away with each effort. If it kept this up, soon it would remove enough to allow it to breathe.
Considering that I only had so much shadow energy to work with at once, I’d need to reabsorb the tar before I could cast another such spell—a difficult task when dealing with an enraged giant. Ollie was also already flagging, his weakened muscles and reduced stamina playing a critical role in his inability to completely overwhelm the smaller, but more ferocious, creature.
I hammered the giant with elemental spells, aiming with care to ensure that I did not accidentally hit Ollie. My attacks were certainly having an effect, but the problem with this approach was my limi
ted magic reserves. Eventually, I would deplete my internal resources of magic, and at that point I would have to rely on my shade for any further combative efforts.
That was the limit to virtually all magic, in that without an external power source, one could only cast so many spells before collapsing of sheer exhaustion. This is what had given the fae such an advantage over humans when it came to magical dominance. The aes sídhe’s connection to Underhill allowed them to have access to almost unlimited amounts of magic.
Being human, I unfortunately was not able to tap into the great reservoir of energy around me. Moreover, if Mother should show her face here it would be game over for us all. With the exception of the more powerful gods, none could stand against her in her own demesne in Underhill.
I put those thoughts aside, focusing instead on doing my part to destroy the fachan. Already my spells had blasted and burned away great chunks of the creature’s hide, as well as the flesh underneath. But despite being suffocated, charred, and bleeding, the fachan would not relent, and it continued to fight against my wyvern and the shadow magic I had cast around its head.
I was nearly spent when I heard a battle cry from behind me. Hemi came bounding past me, his tattoos glowing bright blue with magic. In his hands he held a long, spear-like weapon, carved from some exotic hardwood and etched in intricate patterns. I noted that the carvings also glowed blue, and they matched the tattoos on Hemi’s arms, torso, and face.
“Eat this, giant!” Hemi cried as he leapt from the flagstone floor in a long arc that brought him level with the giant’s head.
As neared his target, he thrust the wooden spear forward so the impetus of his parabolic flight was focused at the weapon’s point. When the spear pierced the giant’s skull, there was a blinding flash of blue light followed by a loud crash, like the sound of a tree falling. When I finally blinked the spots from my eyes, the fachan lay twitching on the floor, with Hemi hopelessly entangled in the gooey mess that covered its head.
