Dawnbringer Page 26

  Men were falling back around them as greater fiends joined the field of battle. A hulking vezarun, twelve feet tall with mighty horns atop a skull helm strode through the battle, carving men in two as it wielded a greatsword in each hand with ease. It roared a challenge in their direction, and Nera shuddered from the sheer hatred in the beast’s red-eyed glare.

  “Come, lass, we’d better fall back.” Wyat put an arm around Nera and helped her as they broke into an awkward run.

  She realized with alarm that the defenders had already begun to fall back—they were among the last out of rank.

  What must I do to aid them? Sabyl, I accept my destiny! she thought desperately, projecting her thoughts to her mother if she was listening.

  A darkness suddenly bloomed in Nera’s eyes. She gasped as it surrounded her, much like her own innate ability to cast darkness. The shadow was comforting as it wrapped her up, blotting out the sights and sounds of battle. Wyat’s startled curse was the last thing she heard before she was enveloped in darkness.

  ***

  Waresh was holding the line nearly singlehandedly among the conscripts, volunteer adventurers, and unaffiliated mercenaries. Endira and Yosrick had fought with him for a time, but he quickly lost track of them in the battle. The gnome held his own, but the elf’s skills were less suited to mass combat, so she kept to the back, aiding where she could.

  Heartsbane cleaved through the chitinous armor of the krabuk with ease. Stringy ichor coated Waresh from head to toe, but he didn’t notice, nor did he notice the rents in his mail from claws and mandibles.

  Somewhere, he was screaming deep inside the fortress of his mind. The red storm raged with a fury he’d not felt for some time, sweeping away his defenses until his inner sanctuary was reduced to a small stone room. Heartsbane’s demands boomed in his head like war drums, pounding his temples until it was a thrumming headache that only eased the harder he fought.

  “Tarni! Come back—help me!” that isolated portion of himself cried out pitifully but received no answer. His childhood friend was gone once again. There was no help for him—nothing but Heartsbane and its demands to slay his enemies.

  A pair of krabuk attacked him from either side. He whirled around in a circle, axe extended. Pincered legs flew off like broken twigs, and carapaces split apart. Something that looked suspiciously like a gauntleted hand spewing blood flew in front of his face. Distantly, he thought that shouldn’t have been there, as it looked like one of the defenders’ limbs, but the thought troubled him for merely an instant.

  A thick tree-trunk-sized leg loomed in front of him, appearing through the red mist. Heartsbane cleaved into it, right above the knee. A roar of rage hammered his eardrums, then Waresh was upended and thrown away, tumbling across the ground like a dry leaf caught in a stiff gust of wind.

  He skidded to a stop, the ground and sky still swirling around him. Clumps of gooey ash filled his mouth, likely soaked with blood and excrement. He spat them out in fury, fighting to get back to his feet. For a moment, his limbs wouldn’t obey him, and he nearly collapsed again. Heartsbane was gone from his hand, he realized in rising panic.

  “Waresh! Are you well?” A familiar voice—Yosrick’s—briefly broke through the haze. The gnome was helping him to his feet. “We must fall back. We’re overwhelmed.” Yosrick’s helm and breastplate were dented, and he was breathing harshly. Ichor dripped down from his visor.

  Waresh staggered a moment before he was steady on his feet once again. “Where’s me axe?” he growled. He turned, wobbling slightly, and saw it on the ground a few paces away. The axe lay halfway between him and a huge, lumbering fiend of a type he’d not seen before. It was similar to a vezarun, with a scaly ruddy-hued hide, but had two heads atop its broad shoulders, one lizardlike, the other humanoid. The eyes were glaring at him with hatred as it limped toward the two of them. One of its powerful legs had been nearly cut in half—green ichor spurted from the wound with each step it took. A morning star twice Waresh’s height was clutched in a fist nearly as big as the dwarf. Like a giant with a cane, the demon limped along, propping its weight on the weapon.

  Oddly, the other defenders seemed to have abandoned them.

  “Where did those bloody cowards go?” He blinked, looking around and trying to gauge the progress of the battle. A half ring of krabuk and drolnac held back, likely at the command of the greater fiend.

  “The order was given to fall back. Let us go!” Yosrick pleaded, tugging on his arm.

  Waresh thrust him away. All he could think of was Heartsbane lying in the dirt.

  “Wield me—together we will destroy our enemies,” it called.

  Waresh bolted toward the axe. The fiend looked surprised, but it quickly increased its limping pace. Even with its injured leg, its huge strides would reach him before he reached the axe. Time seemed to slow as his gaze darted between the fiend and Heartsbane.

  “Damn it!” he roared in frustration, arms pumping as he ran for all he was worth.

  Someone cried his name, but he barely heard it. Clods of soft ash flew up as his iron-shod boots strove for purchase. A moment later, steel glinted in his peripheral vision as swords flashed. He raised his arms to shield himself, but they weren’t aimed at him. Peculiarly, they weren’t wielded by any hand, either.

  Two swords and an axe rose from the ground, once held by fallen defenders. They flew at the giant fiend, slashing and hacking. The demon threw up its morning star in defense, its faces puzzled. The weapons flew about it, slipping around its parrying attempts and carving shallow wounds in its hide. It wasn’t greatly injured, but it was slowed and furious, forced to defend itself.

  Heartsbane was within reach. Waresh slid to one knee in the ash, a spray kicking up and momentarily obscuring the fiend. The haft snapped into his hand. His confusion was gone, blotted out by the red haze.

  The towering fiend was the center of his focus, swatting at the attacking weapons as if they were pesky mosquitos. It didn’t see Waresh, to its detriment.

  With a mighty roar, Waresh raced between its legs, axe swinging overhead in a mighty chop. The powerfully enchanted blade hacked through the monster’s lower belly and genitals. Ichor spewed, spraying across his face. He came out behind the beast as it fell forward. After a quick spin, Heartsbane cleaved into its lower back, cracking through its spine. The morning star tumbled from senseless fingers.

  Waresh leapt onto its back, axe slamming downward repeatedly as if he was striving to split a great log.

  Within moments, the fiend was reduced to a pulpy mess of gore. Waresh slipped and fell off, landing on his backside in the ash.

  The haze parted, and two figures stood before him. He blinked in confusion. An elven maid, her head haloed in a yellow nimbus, and a gnome in plate mail regarded him.

  They didn’t look like the enemy, but he could never be too sure. His knuckles tightened on the haft of the axe.

  “Waresh!” Endira’s cool voice slipped through the haze of his mind. “You’ve defeated it—come with us now. You’re wounded.”

  The haze slowly dissipated, and he recognized his friends. “Huh?” He looked around in confusion. A large unrecognizable mass of butchered flesh lay beside him, covered in dark-green ichor. An enormous morning star, coated in crimson, lay in the dirt, its wicked spikes as long as dagger blades.

  “Come, Waresh,” Yosrick said. “There’s been a lull in the offensive—the defenders are regrouping.”

  He saw they told the truth. The ring of fiends had fallen back, as had the defenders. The three of them were alone on the battlefield, save for a few clumps of soldiers helping wounded off the field.

  A throbbing pain in his back demanded his attention. His cuirass had been punctured, he suspected. That bastard musta got me with that morning star. Struck me pretty good, he realized when he tried to regain his feet but fell back from a wicked stab of pain.

  Yosrick and Endira helped him up and back toward the lines. The walls seemed a mile away, and every painfu
l step made them feel that far.

  How in the Abyss did I get way out here?

  “I’ll see if Idrimel is about—saw her earlier with the Solites,” Yosrick said.

  Waresh could barely walk, from the pain. He gritted his teeth and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. “Aye, that might be a bit o’ help,” he admitted.

  ***

  Idrimel looked up from tending the wound of a paladin of Sol. With dismay, her eyes traced the line of wounded, numbering in the dozens, lined up for the makeshift field hospital behind the ranks of defenders. Blessed Sol, there are so many already!

  “Sol guide your blade, Brother,” she said to the paladin.

  The warrior tested the mobility of his shoulder and stood back up. He gave her a courteous bow of his head. “Thank you, Sister.” He noticed Redeemer slung across her back once again since Wyat had returned it, and he looked puzzled. “Is Athyzon about? I had hoped to stand shoulder to shoulder with him as we destroy the lower-planar filth.”

  Idrimel became uncomfortable under the paladin’s stare. “No, it saddens me to say he didn’t survive our recent… excursion. He is basking in Sol’s glory now, watching over us.”

  The paladin sighed heavily. “I’m saddened to hear that! He was a paragon of virtue—a shining example for all of us to look up to. May Sol watch over you, Sister Idrimel.” He strode back toward the front lines.

  “Idrimel!” Yosrick was waving his hands over his head, trying to get her attention from a dozen paces away.

  She waved, thankful for the distraction and heartened to see her friend well, although his armor was dented and chinked and ichor coated him.

  The gnome turned back and helped Endira guide a wounded dwarf toward her. Waresh’s face was twisted in pain, and his feet were dragging by the time he made it to her, the others forced to nearly carry him.

  “Hello, Idrimel,” Waresh said, his face pale and sweaty. He was covered head to toe in ichor.

  “Waresh.” She gestured for him to lie down on a sheet laid out upon the ground. He collapsed, lying on his belly.

  “That bastard nicked me in the back,” he said with a wince, appearing on the verge of passing out from blood loss.

  That’s an understatement. The dwarf’s backplate was crushed in, and a large hole pierced it, likely perforating his liver. Blood was flowing in a steady stream from the wound.

  “He slew a dreelahrnu!” Yosrick crowed, obviously impressed.

  Idrimel’s brows rose in surprise. Dreelahrnu were demon lords, cousins to the vezarun. Whereas vezarun were cunning and often relied on their magic to aid them, dreelahrnu weren’t known for their intelligence, preferring to rely on their physical prowess in combat.

  “Impressive, Waresh. Yet you would’ve bled out soon had they not helped you,” she said. Despite the fact that she had once regarded the dwarf with loathing after his betrayal, she admitted he had been a steadfast companion for the duration of their quest and even now stood valiantly to protect the city.

  I can’t hold any ill will in my heart for him any longer—he’s making amends for past transgressions as best he can.

  Athyzon’s holy symbol was already in her hand. She called upon Sol to grant her healing. Warmth filled her as her god granted his healing power, undiminished by the Abyss any longer. Her hand glowed golden as she placed it in Waresh’s wound. Blood vessels closed, flesh was knit, and the gaping wound sealed back up. The dwarf’s breathing returned to a healthy state.

  “Sol granted you his blessing, Waresh.” She gave him a warm smile.

  “I thank ye, lady.” He got back to his feet and grinned. “I’ll try not to do that again. Did anyone think to bring any ale kegs out here? I’ve worked up a wicked thirst!”

  Chapter 29

  Nera stood in the temple of the night for what she knew would be the final time. An infinite field of stars stretched overhead, bright pinpoints of light sparkling in the vastness of the void. Reflections of the sky shone in the mirrorlike sheen of the onyx floor and columns. Dense shadows cloaked the edges of the temple, yet they felt strangely comforting, as if they were thick blankets she could wrap herself in and drown out the horrors of the battlefield she had left behind.

  Despite Nera’s trepidation and fear of what was to come, the temple held the comfort of a home she had never known. Nexus seemed worlds away after the mere moment it had taken her to be transported there.

  Gone were the desperate violence, the cries of wounded and dying, and the stench of burning flesh and homes. Somewhere, far away, the Engineer and the Architect were fighting their desperate battle for control over Nexus.

  The pain of Nera’s wounds seemed to ease, easily ignored for the moment. She briefly considered what was at stake.

  Arron, Wyat, Endira, Idrimel, Yosrick, Waresh, and thousands of others were fighting to save Nexus against the Abyssal legions and the warring brothers.

  And Malek, Lumley, Jannik, and the other men of the Steel Rage had given their lives to allow Nera to carry out her destiny, leading her to that very moment.

  Tears tried to escape as she considered the enormity of what had been both wagered and lost. Lives would be snuffed out by the thousands in the battle for Nexus. If she and her friends failed and the Engineer succeeded in his mad schemes, the entire multiverse would be engulfed in war. Countless lives would be lost then—as many as there were stars flickering in the heavens.

  Duty—something she had always shirked and avoided—was threatening to crush her beneath its ponderous weight. No longer could she allow Arron, Wyat, Idrimel, or another to make the hard choices, the sacrifices, while she eschewed them.

  “I will not turn back from here. Gone is Nera the Rogue, plane-cursed orphan of Nexus. Sabyl, guide my hands and grant me the wisdom and courage to do what is necessary.” With a deep breath, Nera steeled her resolve and took the first step forward.

  Her boot heels rang on the stone as she apprehensively approached the altar. Voices seemed to whisper from the shadowy edges of the temple, and she sensed movement from the corners of her vision, yet when she looked, all was calm. She remained alone in the temple.

  The sharp edges of the altar rose before her. Atop the altar was a vessel glowing with a faint, silvery light. She stared enraptured at the beautiful chalice, ebon inscribed with platinum runes.

  “Take the chalice, godling. Embrace your destiny. Save Nexus and your companions,” a voice seemed to say. “You will possess the power to protect and defend the city, to drive out and destroy those that oppose you and threaten the Balance.”

  Another voice whispered, “Turn aside, plane-cursed, before it is too late. It will tear you apart, strip you of your mortality. You will be a tool of the gods, a pawn in their games, unable to be yourself ever again, for all eternity. You will be bound to Nexus as surely as if by shackles, never able to leave!”

  Nera hesitated, resting her palms against the smooth top of the altar, eyes locked on the chalice. The voices warred in her head. Whether they were real or simply her own thoughts, she could not say.

  “I know you have the strength of heart to do this, Nera.” The familiar voice came from the darkness, making Nera gasp. The appearance of Malek’s shade in the shadows tore her gaze from the chalice. His body was whole again, his handsome face grave as he regarded her, but his blue eyes shone with pride.

  “Malek? I would save you if there was but a way…” Her heart lurched painfully as she again saw the sickness, the corruption poisoning him, tearing him apart before he perished. She took a step toward him.

  Malek smiled gently and shook his head. “My role is fulfilled. You have the opportunity to make things right and end this now.”

  A portal opened behind him, and the shadows around him were driven away. Golden rays leaked out and pierced his translucent form, wrapping around him and gently tugging at him to step into the light. He looked over his shoulder for a moment before returning his gaze to Nera.

  Malek nodded at the chali
ce. “We all have sacrificed in our own ways, and yours will be no easier than any of them. Perhaps in a way, yours will be the gravest.”

  Nera fought back the tears. “With this power, can I make you whole again? Can I bring you back?” Even as she said the words, she realized that the choice shouldn’t be hers. Malek’s shade appeared to be at peace. Who was she to deny him the peace he sought?

  Malek seemed to retreat, to become less substantial as the light drew him away from her, forever. “I cannot say—I haven’t the knowledge. Many things are possible with divinity, Nera. You must do as you see fit.”

  He hadn’t answered the question either way. She did not know whether she could restore the dead to life with the power in the chalice, but she did know that if she could, she would. They could be together again, as they were meant to be.

  A sudden presence drew her attention. The woman with the ivory skin and thick black mane stood to Nera’s left, opposite Malek. Her mother’s deep eyes seemed to draw her in as she watched the exchange silently.

  “Can I bring him back? Restore him to life?” she asked Sabyl.

  The goddess watched her a moment then nodded slowly. “If you accept your birthright, you will have that ability—to a degree. You can summon his shade, bind it to remain in the material plane, even order it to possess another vessel. But the Malek you know and love is gone. He has fulfilled his destiny, giving you the opportunity to live… and defeat our enemies.”

  Nera glanced back at Malek only to see that he was further diminished. He wouldn’t be able to withstand the call of the grave for much longer.

  “I would give anything to see him whole again. To be with him.” She glared at Sabyl. “It is not right that people—lives—are used as pieces in a game of tiles between the gods! I will put an end to that if I accept what you want of me.”