by Plum Pascal
In my head, I feel an anxious excitement. It makes my palms sweat and makes focusing on the drama unfolding before me almost impossible.
###
Dragan
Baron looks at us curiously, but there’s no sense of recognition in his eyes.
“Who are you?” he asks, eyeing me cautiously.
“Who are we?” I repeat, but Cambion interrupts.
“You were dead!” he says, shaking his head. “We watched—”
“You’re speaking too loudly,” interjects the vampire in a hushed tone. “It’s not safe for you here, so this discussion will have to wait.”
But he’s not looking at Cambion and he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at Eilish, and something about the intensity of his gaze unsettles me even more than his presence in the first place.
“Fuck speaking too loud,” I growl.
Baron turns on me and gives me the same expression of pure impatience he’s given me hundreds of times… well, before he died, that is. “Your bravado will not serve you here.”
“You have explaining to do,” I inform him.
He simply nods, but I doubt it’s because he’s agreeing with me. Instead, he looks over each shoulder. “We need to get out of here, and fast. Ferchad is merely an insect and you’re in the realm of monsters.”
I feel Eilish move closer to me once more and I reach out, draping her with my arm, pulling her into me. I don’t miss the expression of surprise that flashes across Cambion’s face before it is quickly eclipsed with shock and disbelief when he looks back at our former friend.
I, too, am still completely shocked, but Baron is right. Coming here was a mistake.
“There’s an inn close by called “The Lion’s Claw”. I know the owner; you’ll be safe there,” Baron suggests.
“What about Ferchad?” I ask. “He may be an insect among monsters, but he likely knows some of them.”
“Exactly,” says Baron. “Which is why we must move. Now.”
We file out of the tavern through a back door that leads into a dark alley, fast on Baron’s tail. But as we exit the low stooped door, I see Ferchad waiting for us—this time, with company. Standing behind him is a troll, ten feet tall. Its egg-shaped head is covered with sun spots and the creature is naked except for a too-small loin cloth. In its hand is a club covered with rusted nails.
“I told you you was makin’ a mistake, Revenant,” says Ferchad triumphantly.
Baron looks from him to the troll and then back to us. Even on a good day, we’d have a difficult time beating a fully-grown troll, but our group is bone tired.
I crouch low, my wings extending behind me as I prepare for a fight. I won’t let Ferchad touch a hair on Eilish’s head. And I’m more than sure she’s the first thing on his mind, owing to the way he keeps looking at her.
I’m surprised when Baron suddenly vanishes into a puff of shadow. He’s there one second and the next, he’s not.
Ferchad laughs. “It appears your knight’s abandoned you. Shame. I was lookin’ forward to seein’ that son of a bitch finally dead.”
I can’t dwell on Baron’s disappearance for long. Instead, I turn to face Thoradin. It’s two half-strength gargoyles against an armored troll, a blood elf, and whatever the fuck Hendor is. I steady myself for the attack and watch as the troll raises the club high above its head.
“And what of Revenant’s threats?” I ask, trying to keep Ferchad talking if only to figure out a plan. I look around myself for a weapon—something I can use to defend us.
Ferchad laughs, shaking his head. “He’s obviously a coward. His threats mean nothin’.”
Hendor laughs alongside him, a thunderous, belly-deep rumbling sound that is cut off by a violent screech so loud, it sounds like it’s tearing the air between us in two.
My wings extended, I grab hold of Eilish just in time to dodge out of the path of an adult manticore. I haven’t seen one in years. They’re pure beasts of shadow, with the face and body of a tiger and the large, arching tail of a scorpion. But this one is nearly hairless. Its skin drapes loosely on its skinny frame, festering with sores from mange. Its scorpion tail hangs limp and broken at its side, rather than poised and deadly above it. Still, even without that fatal tail, the manticore is an intimidating enemy.
And an enemy it is: it thirsts for death and shows no preferential treatment toward those it chooses to devour. Its fangs are more than six inches long, and its back talons carve deep rivets into the earth as it lunges toward our attacker. Ferchad looks shaken and he yells an order at his troll. While trolls are enormous and powerful, they’re also unbelievably stupid.
The troll is too slow, and before it can bring the club down on the manticore, the manticore is already at Ferchad’s throat. The troll’s club hits bare ground and dust circles around it, temporarily obscuring everything. When the dust begins to settle, I see the manticore taking Ferchad’s head between its massive jaws and ripping it clear off his shoulders.
Eilish makes a little, scared whimper and I thrust her behind me. She wraps her arms around my waist, as if she’s afraid to be separated from me. I continue to retreat, pushing the group back against the stone wall. The manticore won’t be satisfied with Ferchad—it will be eagerly searching for its next target, and four bone-weary travelers will make a perfect snack.
“Curse Baron back to his fucking grave for running away like a coward!” Cambion shouts, and I have to agree with him.
But just then, as if in response to Cambion’s statement, Baron returns. And he’s not alone. He’s gripping an Atacomite addict around the arm and dragging the man against his will.
Baron doesn’t look at us, or his captive. Instead, he keeps his gaze fixed on the fast, lunging motions of the manticore as it chews Ferchad’s head into a bloody pulp.
The troll lifts its club once again and finally makes contact, bludgeoning the manticore over the head. The beast lets out a scream so wretched, its echo fills the dark sky. It stumbles, its single, still-functioning eye bloodied.
The greasy addict, whom Baron still clutches around the arm, turns to face him. “You promised,” he says.
“Give it to me.”
“First the powder,” the man insists.
Inexplicably, Baron releases him and then tosses something—a small pouch—to him.
“Now, hand it over,” orders Baron, his words urgent and angry.
But the man doesn’t make a move to comply. Instead, he stares at the pouch with wide eyes, his hands shaking with excitement. In his haste to open the pouch, the man doesn’t acknowledge Baron’s demands.
Baron, meanwhile, stares impatiently between the manticore—which is still thrashing against the ground, trying to right itself—and the addict.
“Do not fuck me over,” Baron nearly whispers to the man, and his words are as cold as ice. But the addict doesn’t notice; he’s too busy trying to open the pouch Baron gave him.
He licks his finger and hurriedly dips its wetted end into the bag. When he removes the finger, it’s coated in a fine layer of white and yellow powder. He smears the substance along his gums as his feet wobble from the relief of getting his fix.
Finally, the manticore rears up as the troll approaches it, eager to hit it with the club again but the beast has other plans. It dodges the blow and attacks the troll, who begins screaming in a horrible, deep voice. Once the manticore incapacitates the troll, it begins searching for a new target. Turning to face what I can only assume is its former master, it crouches low into a stalking position and creeps toward the man who’s still distracted by the Atacomite. When he finally does look up, it’s too late.
The manticore is nearly on him. His eyes grow wide in horror and he drops the remaining Atacomite to the ground, his hands jumping to the pocket in his shirt. He frantically grabs for an object inside (something I can’t see, just a glint of light as he brings the object to his mouth). Before he can complete his task, however, the beast lunges. Its fierce claws slice through t
he man’s rancid flesh like a knife through butter.
I turn to Thoradin, knowing we’re next, then quickly glance over at Cambion and Eilish. “Take them back inside the tavern. Keep them safe,” I order.
“I can get her back to the tavern myself,” Cambion announces.
“You can’t leave her there alone,” I tell him.
“I’m aware,” Cambion replies. Then he turns around with Eilish, who looks over her shoulder at me, clearly worried.
###
Eilish
Cambion forces me back into the tavern, even though I’m nervous to leave Dragan’s side. While I know there’s nothing I can do to help him, I’m worried for him all the same. If something happens to Dragan, I don’t know what will happen to me. He’s truly my only ally and protector; the only person who cares what happens to me. And we have a connection. I don’t understand it and I don’t think he understands it, either. But there’s something between us, and it’s something strong.
Cambion and I stand at the entrance of the tavern and watch as Baron, Thoradin, and Dragan face down a manticore. I’m so frightened for Dragan, I can barely handle the feeling. My heart is pounding and I feel light-headed, like I’m going to pass out any second.
Apparently, Cambion senses this because he wraps his arm around me and helps me stand. I glance up at him in surprise, but he just smiles down at me as if to say he knows I’m scared. Truth is, I’m beyond scared.
This town is the embodiment of darkness. There’s no humanity here, no goodness. From the moment we arrived, a tight web of anxiety wrapped its way around my chest, squeezing until my breath felt labored. The longer we stay, the worse that feeling grows. Regardless of the trust I feel for Dragan—and even Cambion, to an extent—I know nothing can guarantee our safety in a place like this.
###
Dragan
The alley has all but cleared. I swallow audibly, hoping with diminishing confidence that I possess enough power to kill this fucker. I’m questioning Baron’s logic. A troll is a difficult creature to defeat, no doubt, but a manticore is much more dangerous. If Baron’s aim was to save us, there were several other avenues he could have taken that would have made a lot more sense.
The addict unleashes horrible, curdled screams as the creature clamps its jaws around his mid-section and starts to violently shake him back and forth. It’s a wonder he isn’t dead yet.
“Whatever you do, don’t turn your back to it,” yells Baron over the addict’s screams. “Stand your ground, no matter what.”
I steady myself, readying whatever Arcane Magic I’ll need to harness. Thoradin is right beside me.
The manticore continues to growl and roar as it whips its master back and forth. He yells in protest, but it’s not long before the cries are silenced by the sound of the creature gorging itself on his flesh. I watch the man’s hand open and the thing he was fumbling for moments before comes loose. It drops, small and silver, from his hand, rolling to the wall with a small plink sound. It’s a whistle. Baron is after it so quickly, he appears as a mere blur.
But the beast senses or sees him all the same. It tosses the addict’s lifeless body aside and searches for Baron. Not able to place him, it turns its attention to Thoradin and me. Its face is scarred and bloodied from where the troll bludgeoned its head, but the wound appears to have done little to slow the creature down.
The manticore is truly massive. The pupil of its remaining eye is so narrowed, it’s hard to see the line of black against the emerald green of its iris. Its mouth, coated in blood, is raised in a fierce snarl. Beside the beast drags its broken tail. The venom of a manticore’s tail could kill a hundred men. What’s more, the limp tail could be nothing more than an act. Manticores are extremely intelligent creatures, often feigning injury to gain the element of surprise over their prey.
It begins to pace back and forth, coming closer. I follow Baron’s advice and fight the instinct to flee. Keeping my body squared toward the creature, I begin to back up until I feel the stone wall behind me, never taking my eyes away from the beast. It continues to approach, its tail trailing behind it. Little by little, it’s trapping me against the wall and once that happens, it will go in for the kill. Extending my wings, I push off the ground. I flap them as hard as I can and shoot into the air. Just as I do, a massive paw reaches after me and sinks its claws into my thigh, yanking me back down before releasing me.
The pain is quick and searing. A manticore’s claws are laced with venom. While the venom won’t kill me, it will slow me down and it stings like a son of a bitch. I land hard, the wind vacating my lungs. I can see Baron to my left, holding the whistle. I face forward again and see the creature coming for me. My only defense left to me now is to take my stone form. I close my eyes and call my shadows forth, feeling them swirl around and through me.
Take True Form, I think the incantation to myself and instantly feel my shadows grow cold as the warmth of my flesh and blood gives way to stone. Even though I’m immobile in my gargoyle form, my senses still operate properly. If the manticore attacks me now, I won’t sustain any damage to my live form.
I watch as Baron raises the metal to his lips just as the monster crouches forward, its face low and hind legs high.
Then, it’s coming for me, a ferocious growl escaping from beyond the cage of its massive teeth. Just before it reaches me, Baron blows hard. A single note, high and shrill, rises above the tall stone walls of the alley—stopping the creature in its tracks. Baron blows the whistle again, the shrill note filling the chasm between us. The manticore’s ears flatten against its head. It growls murderously, a violent hiss seeming to rip its chest in two. Mercifully, even amid its terrifying warnings, it begins retreating.
Baron takes a confident step forward and blows the whistle again. The creature swipes at him, but it’s out of range. Another low moan followed by a guttural growl, but the manticore retreats further. Laying into the whistle, Baron continues moving toward the monster. Its tail twitches beside him, but it doesn’t seem as though it intends to attack.
Finally, after a fourth extended blow of the whistle, the beast turns and runs down the now empty alley, its tail dragging behind it and obscuring its body in clouds of dust. I wonder where it will go and how many other creatures will become its victims. I don’t ponder the thought for long, though, as I have more important subjects to think about.
Rescind stone, I think the words and feel the stone of my skin begin cracking. Once I move, the stone falls away entirely.
“Baron, what the hell was tha—” I begin.
His eyebrows rise at the sound of his name, but he stops me before I can finish my question. “We need to move,” he instructs. “Get the angel and go.”
I don’t question how he knows what she is; Baron has always been more perceptive than most. I’m not usually one to take orders, but a few brave Grimreap dwellers are beginning to poke their heads out from behind their doorways. He’s right. We need to get out of here.
Baron shuffles through the dusty alley with both of us on his tail, heading for the tavern. I’m limping, owing to the wound on my thigh. Taking my stone form doesn’t affect flesh and blood ailments. The venom is spreading through me, slowing me down.
For the first time since passing through the gates of the city, we’re no longer surrounded by people. The manticore and troll have completely cleared this section of town, and the fight hangs in the air, electric with energy and fear. Ferchad, the troll, and the addict, lie in pools of their own blood. Now they’re someone else’s problem.
We extract our party from the tavern (half of the patrons didn’t even seem to register the commotion outside). News is traveling quickly, though. I usher Thoradin, Cambion, and Eilish away from the door to the sounds of excited voices.
“… An escaped manticore…”
“… Ferchad torn in half…”
Baron barely waits for us to collect ourselves before he turns and sets off at a clipped pace down the rapidly filling
alley. It’s difficult to keep sight of him in the crowd. His head bobs as he weaves between the masses, and the shadows seem to swirl in and around him, obscuring him completely at times. It’s not surprising since he’s a vampire and, thus, basically one with shadow.
I turn to see Eilish and Cambion close behind us, their knees wobbly and their eyes tired. This realm is taking its toll on them. Yes, Grimreap is the exception to the rule, but they were weak before they ever arrived here and they are becoming weak again. I pause until Eilish reaches me and then I lift her into my arms. There’s no reason for her to exhaust herself when she weighs next to nothing and won’t slow me down any more than the manticore’s venom already is.
“Are you going to carry me, Thoradin?” Cambion asks with a raspy laugh.
“Fuck you, faerie,” Thoradin responds.
Baron ducks into an empty side alley and follows a dark, covered stairway that has no apparent end—it merely fades into blackness. Employing Devil’s Sight, I’m able to extend my vision into the darkness one hundred twenty feet in front of me. It’s still not enough; all I can see are more steps.
“Where is he taking us?” Eilish whispers.
I don’t respond other than with a nod to let her know I trust Baron but I don’t have an answer. Well. I trust Baron as much as you can trust a man who should be dead but clearly isn’t.
We continue downward into the increasing darkness, and the sound of running water follows us as we go. Finally, torches along the wall illuminate our path and we turn to enter a small wooden door that, even crouched, Thoradin and I struggle to pass through.
TWENTY
Eilish
Grimreap
Shadow Realm
Inside, there are several cots and a small, robed man sitting beside a burning fire. His face is turned away from us; all I can see is the shine of his bald head in the low light of the flame. After my eyes adjust, I notice several other details about the room—the most alarming of which is the man lying on a bunk in the darkest corner of the room. He’s still, as if asleep, but his arms and legs are bound to the cot beneath him.
