Anti-light filled the basement. Not simply extinguishing but absorbing the scant sunlight filtering through the trapdoor. The vile energy coursing from the altar pushed back against Echo’s dispelling magic. She strained to maintain focus as necrotic bolts lanced towards her. The wards protecting the demonic shrine were beyond her, but she couldn’t stop.
For the children, for the village, for herself, for… for her knight, she could not yield.
Gritting her teeth, she focused through the flashes of pain erupting across her petite form. The acrid stench of her own seared flesh burnt her nose as the altar’s protection tore through her, shaking her knees.
Defiance alone kept her feet beneath her. She channeled even more of herself into her spell. A scream most unbecoming a lady of her station boiled up from her center. She stepped forward as if fighting against a gale as she pressed against the altar’s wards.
She could feel it. It was weakening. She could feel the cracks forming.
Look at me, father! she mentally spat. See your failure daughter! Your bloody sorcerers would have fallen already. “Come on, lads!” she snarled. “Don’t quit on me now!”
Norm growled throatily. “Somebody owes me a drink.”
“Keep it up, and I’ll buy the damned bar!”
“Steady on,” Healer said resolutely. “Don’t let the infernal energy get to you.”
“Abyssal,” Norm corrected him. “This is demonic magic, not diabolical.”
“Semantics!” Echo snapped back.
Evil energy pulsed from the altar as the cracks in its wards grew. Echo’s feet began to slip. The damned torrent was pushing her back.
“Healer!” she shrieked.
The demigiant stood hard against the mystic storm. Built for the harsh Narron Mountains, there was little that could move him if he didn’t want to be. Planting an immense hand on Echo’s back, he braced her against the currents blowing her back.
“Almost there!” Norm bellowed. “Get ready, big guy!”
“You’ll only have seconds!” Echo confirmed.
Healer nodded. “If that’s all I’ll get, that’s all I’ll need. My Lady’d not put me here otherwise!”
Vivveen’s beaten image flashed through Echo’s mind. Crying, broken, everything she’d ever known stolen from her. Her tiny life ruined by the curse before them. Yet she smiled. For a simple sweet roll, for a pair of feathers, for the safety of a bed cradled in the wings of a beautiful knight, she smiled.
They deserve the stars! Echo grunted as more bolts tore through her. Not scars!
Fury fueling her, Echo drove everything she had into her magic. Baleful howls wailed from Norm’s wedding ring as the wrath of his mystical pact joined her.
And it happened.
Light shattered the anti-light barrier as their conjoined spells blew it apart.
There was no hesitation from Healer. Mace in hand, he flew at the demonic sigil.
“In the name and by the name of the Holy Lady, Estoria,” he roared. “I banish you back to the depths from which you came!”
Light whiter than virgin snow blazed from the bludgeon as it came down. A crack, louder than thunder at the heart of a storm, blasted the three away like leaves before the gale as the blasphemous ring shattered into dust.
Wind driven from her, silent laughter filled Echo at their victory. The corrupted words, those hideous runes carving the walls blackened. Their power gone with the disk. The air lightened as its evil was taken from the world, but her triumph was short lived.
Disjointed images of Mira tearing through the sky filled Echo’s mind. Not creations of her own imagination. They were panicked thoughts transmitted directly into her head.
“Orbish! Orbish, settle!” she commanded her familiar. “I can’t understand you when you get like this!”
“Monster man!” the spirit thought back. “Monster man no marsh! Monster man take boy big fan! Pretty lady alone! Pretty lady need help!”
“Where? A big fan? What big—?” The breath caught in her lungs as she put the familiar’s thoughts together. “Up!” she shouted at the men. “Mira needs us!”
***
Mira power dived at the windmill, straining against the wind sheering her wings. Silent curses filled her mind as she scanned for the fratricidal butcher.
Romiér stood in the open, sadistic glee filling him. Head bowed, his attention was fixed upon the boy’s form before him.
Caleb lay motionless upon a crudely constructed stone altar. The horrible runes and script from the basement covered the child, pulsing with terrible red light that pricked Mira’s eyes like needles. Next to his head, a knife with a wicked, curved blade the color of a jackal’s fangs, inlaid with obsidian and garnets, stood at the ready. Its purpose was clear as Romiér tore open his nephew’s shirt.
Dozens, closer to hundreds, dead. She wouldn’t let him add another.
Angle sharpening, the wind snarled in her ears. Mira’s eyes locked as her peripheral vision shutoff from G-lock. Though he deserved to suffer, to writhe for weeks, wasting away like all his victims, she couldn’t risk Caleb. Shutting out all distractions, she readied the halberd to deliver instant death.
Awful, guttural words came from the man. The sound of his blaspheming burned Mira’s senses like fire. The too familiar pressure was like a wall as she neared him. It was as if her skull was being stripped from her head, splinter-by-splinter.
Seconds. It would be over in seconds. Her muscles tensed, readied to deliver the blow.
A hard jerk tore her from her descent. Something had grabbed her backplate. She looked over her shoulder to see an immense eagle staring back at her. An eagle with a slightly blue tinge to his feathers.
“Orbish?” she thought aloud.
The word barely left her lips before a vicious hiss rang off her armor. Turning back, she found Romiér watching the familiar force her to bank. Horrible, black tentacles, imperceptible before that exact moment, whipped around him like some sort of landed anemone. If not for Orbish, she’d have been caught.
Cool air filled her armor. Her hand flew to her breastplate. A gash. Her eyes widened. There was a hole, several inches long through solid steel. Whatever foul magic protected the man had torn through it. Another foot and…
“Good familiar,” she breathed.
Mira climbed out of range to reassess her target. The tendrils completely surrounded Romiér in a bubble of magical death. She tried to count. Eight, ten, a dozen, less, more, it was impossible! They roiled in and out, coming together, splitting apart; there was no way to keep track of them. No way to account for every angle they could possibly strike from. There was no approach path.
Caleb’s chest rose and fell steadily. He lived. But not for long if his uncle completed his vile spell.
Romiér took up the dagger. His blaspheme wilted the grass around him as he raised it to the sky.
Captain Theris’s voice filled her head. “A knight’s duty is to protect those who cannot protect themselves.”
Closing her eyes for the briefest second, Mira drew a calming breath, conjuring Echo’s image in her mind as she resigned herself to what must be done. Forgive me, my lady. I pray you find another champion to restore your birthright. She swallowed hard. Take care of Vivvy for me.
Swooping in low to the ground, she poured everything into her wings. Streaking towards her target, she raised the halberd before her. As long as she buried it in his chest, that was all that mattered.
Orbish shrieked at her clear intentions, but there was nothing more the spirit could do.
The horrible pressure crushed in on the knight’s head. She clenched her jaw to soldier through.
Tendrils streaked towards her. They’d hit, there was no debate, but so would her blade find purchase.
Dagger reached its peak. Romiér bellowed demonic words. Time slowed as he began the downward thrust. The tentacles were nearly upon her.
“Aagh!” Romiér cried out.
Staggered, he fell over backwards, sending Mira rocketing through empty space. A tendril managed to wrap around the halberd’s shaft. Crack! The shaft splintered like kindling.
Rolling midair, Mira slammed feet first into the windmill. Jagged pain coursed through her legs, but her attention was fixed on the fallen man before her as he reeled on the ground.
Crimson gushed from his shoulder, a throwing dagger protruding from it. Her eyes narrowed. She knew that dagger. But how? Its owner was too sick to stand let alone make it all the way to the windmill.
Mira tore her eyes away in search for whoever threw it. The air caught in her chest as the illusion cloaking the nu-duwar failed.
Zhel knelt on one knee, throwing arm still extended. Every breath was a herculean task. Though his elven nature had slowed the wasting curse of the Hunger, there wasn’t much of him to consume. His already sharp, angular features were skeletal. Worse even than last she saw him just hours earlier. At the rate it was progressing, his hours had dwindled to minutes.
Movement upon the altar drew her attention. The spell holding Caleb was broken by Zhel’s surprise attack. She had to get to the boy before his uncle.
White hot pain howled from her leg at the first step, but she couldn’t heed its warnings. He needed her.
Wings taking up her weight, she flew to him. No ethereal tendrils chased after her. It seemed the night elf disrupted more than the ritual.
“Caleb!” she urged him. “Caleb, come on kid, wake up!”
Bleary eyes struggled open. “Mir… a?”
She glanced back to see Romiér righting himself. “Run Caleb! You’ve gotta run!”
His gaze drifted past her. He gasped. A shadow passed over his face. Reflexes wheeled the knight. Her sword sprang from its scabbard. Metal shrieked off metal as she parried the crazed man’s blade.
“Go!” she shrilled.
There was a heavy thud and grunt as the boy rolled off the table, but Mira couldn’t afford to look away. Romiér wore the face of a wounded animal. Cornered. Desperate. Resolved to take her with him.
Her parry staggered him, but not for long. Whipping his arm in a massive arc, she barely had a chance to take in the long, curved blade of inky darkness slashing at her face. A sword composed of raw, vile magic. Powerful, though it was, his strike was wild and formless, a simple matter for the disciplined woman to intercept and counter with a heel to his chest to create space.
His blow rang her elbow. It’d been ages since anyone attacked her with such abandon. Even the goblins at the edge of the marsh retained some semblance of self-preservation. Romiér, however, showed none.
He wanted to die.
Zephyra instinct spread her wings. He launched at her. Mira pivoted away. A half second slower and she’d have been clipped.
The wild slash completely overextended him. Off balanced and exposed, the knight struck. A howl of pain went up as her sword sliced through his flesh.
Before he could move again, Mira pressed the offensive. Without wasting a moment, she back slashed into his side. Ramming her forearm into his gashed shoulder, she slammed him face first into the altar, and drew back to thrust into his heart.
Agony exploded through Mira’s head. She barely perceived the blasphemous words he spoke, but it was enough to send her reeling. Not that the bolts of darkness ripping through her would’ve given her much choice.
Romiér spun, sword whipping at her head. Throwing her gauntleted arm in the way, she screamed as the weight of his blow dented the steel and snapped her forearm.
Mira’s teeth threatened to shatter as she clenched down hard as she could. He was open. No matter how her body anguished, she couldn’t waste the opportunity.
Rigid training drove her through the pain barrier. Driving her sword home, she buried the blade to the cross guard in a rising thrust through his belly and out his collarbone. Mouth gaping, no sound came from the mortally wounded madman. Every drop of breath was driven from him.
Gurgles filled him as his eyes drifted from her to the steel jutting from his neck. His arms went lax. The strange saber fell from his hand, puffing away like smoke as it met the earth.
Hatred twisted his face into a sadistic grin as his eyes returned to hers, but as their gazes locked, Mira’s heart quickened. That look. She’d seen it so many times, but never in the waking world. Charek. It was Charek’s visage he wore.
Shoving her shoulder into his chest, her sword slid free as she turned and let him fall to the ground. Crimson expanded around him. Strangled, mewling sounds leapt from her throat as she backpedalled.
Blood, she mentally muttered, no longer the knight she’d become, but the child in that alley so long ago. So much blood. Charek? Charek, why? Why did you make me—?
“Mira!”
Echo’s scream wrenched the knight back to the present. How Mira wished it hadn’t. Waves of pain cascaded from her broken arm. She lost her grip on her sword. Her knees buckled, a scream unbefitting a warrior erupting from her.
“Hold on!” Echo said as she landed and took the woman in her arms. “Healer’s on his way! What the devil is Zhel doing he—?” A gasp took the last of her thought.
The sound of shuffling boots grinding on earth drew the duchess’s attention. Wincing, Mira followed her gaze and froze. Romiér was on his feet.
Teeth gritting, Mira searched for her fallen blade. Orbish, in his preferred border collie form, threw himself between Romiér and the women, barking and growling for all he was worth.
Romiér made a dismissive motion. The horrible black tendrils sprang from the ground, silencing the familiar as they lashed his muzzle shut. Sizzling and steam rose from the spirit where he’d been caught. He managed a single, muffled yelp as a second set snared his body and tore him in half. A puff of blue smoke all that remained of the loyal creature.
“Orb—?” Rage and sorrow shrieked from the center of Echo’s being.
Silver-white energy crackled down her arms. Thrusting her hand at the man, she loosed a gout of mystic fury. Heat like a thousand suns scorched the earth setting the dead grass ablaze. Nothing could possibly survive such onslaught, yet Romiér stood firm, his hair barely singed.
Wings snapping open, Echo leapt backwards, hurtling magical bolts at him from all directions. He staggered, but otherwise seemed unfazed.
“Myria’s feathers,” Echo muttered.
His head turned to Caleb. “Come… here… boy,” he wheezed. “Master… must… feed.”
“Go,” Zhel strained to the boy as he forced himself to his feet, drawing his arming sword. His eyes hardened on the man. “You’ll not steal another life.”
Rising to join him, Mira assumed a one handed guard. “Hurry!” she screamed at the fear struck child.
“We’ll catch you up!” Echo added as she channeled more magic.
The yipping of puppies drew near, followed close by the gallop of hooves, and thundering of massive boots. Healer’s enormous figure bounded towards them in pursuit of Norm riding bareback upon a glorious, golden mare.
Norm didn’t wait for the horse to stop before dropping off her back. A moment later, she shrank into her familiar Yesha form.
“Is everyone alright?” Rosalie called.
“Mira’s hurt and I can’t faze this bastard!” Echo shouted back.
“Looks like we got here just in time then,” Healer grunted as he readied his mace.
“Caleb,” Norm began in a firm, paternal tone, “head back to town. Tell Armand to get dinner ready.”
“But—.”
“Now!” His eyes flashed green, silencing the boy.
Caleb gave him a shaky nod and looked to Zhel. Offering him a reassuring pat, the nu-duwar readied himself. Whimpers croaked from the child’s throat as he ran, hard as his legs could carry him. The moment he was beyond bowshot, Norm raised a hand and with it, a wall of hellish flames rose, cutting Romiér from pursuit.
All three pups gathered before their master. Hackles raised, they yipped and snarled, growling as if they were three times their size.
“Sir, Bur, Us.” Norm’s eyes narrowed as they fell upon Romiér. “Sic.”
At once, the trio moved towards him as one unit. Only they were not three. With each step they, grew. Slowly, shoulders merged. Smoke issued from their nostrils. Tiny growls became so deep they shook the ground, and as they finally came together in their three-headed form, larger than an ox, the center head issued a howl like the wails of the damned.
“Sir, Bur—?” Echo gulped. “Cerberus.”
The infernal hound bounded towards Romiér. Viscous slobber flew from his gnashing mouths, smoke rising from the ground where it landed. But none would find their mark.
Despite his injuries, Romiér moved like lightning. Snatching the dagger where it fell, he turned it upon himself.
“My master will feed!” he shrieked. “Take me, my lord! Eat of my flesh! Drink of my blood! Devour my soul to restore yourself, oh great Ebon Maw!”
Mad laughter filled him as he plunged the curved blade into his heart again-and-again until there was nothing left of his chest. Falling upon the altar, twisted smile cutting his face, he looked to Mira, and a voice… that voice, the one that gurgled from Charek all those years ago, spoke.
“We meet again… champion.”
Light fled the world. Silence fell across the marsh. The earth shook. Even the fiendish dog paused. And in Mira’s head, a bomb detonated.
About the Author
A. S. Raithe is a fantasy author living near Pittsburgh with his wife and children. Always the creative type, it wasn’t until high school and being introduced to a local bestselling author that he found his passion for writing. He took time away from writing to attend college before being convinced by his wife to pick it up again shortly after their wedding. Outside of writing he enjoys exercise, baking, gardening, folklore, music, and hiking.
