A Spark in the Wind

Chapter 17: Terrors from the Great Beyond

Like a bolt of lightning Vil and Mey sprinted across the sullen halls, dodging the many spears and stones of the moon-elves behind them. For what felt like an eternity the chase continued, but the foes, fuelled by the unholy touch of chaos, showed no signs of tiredness.

Once more a javelin was lobbed, and this time Vil was struck on his thigh. Like an unstable cart he tumbled and fell, hitting his head on the ground. Mey's breath was taken away; he looked back in horror, his heart skipping a beat. "Vil!"

Another of the moon-elves lobbed a javelin, but Vil warped away ere it hit him, and was back by Meneldir's side. "I'm alright, continue running," Vil said, pulling the javelin out of his muscles, bent and bloodstained. He tried to take a stand, but could not.

"Come on," Mey wound Vil's hands around his shoulders in an attempt to carry him, but Vil was too heavy for him to bear.

"Let it be," Vil said to him, "curl up closer, it'll save some mana."

Mey curled up under Vil's figure as he cast another warp. The very next moment he was on the other side of the room, in a dark chamber flanked by reptilian statues.

"Are we safe?"

"Not yet," Vil replied, pointing outside the halls: the moon-elves were still after them, spear in hand and gluttony in head, charging up the hallway like maddened undead bulls. Mey embraced Vil, closing his eyes in horror, tears rolling down his cheek.

And there was an explosion, the sound of stone breaking and reptilian gurgling, accompanied by the shrieks of death and despair. But wait, Vil was alive, and so was he.

He looked at the door with awe: the statues had come to life, blocking the path with their shields and spears, shedding the dust and cobwebs off their bodies with sullen vibrations.

The rest of the moon-elves looked on in fear, they couldn't even realise the statues they had been passing under for so many millennia were living beings, and that too one of the most threatening things they had ever seen.

Feral squabbling issued forth amongst the moon-elves, their eyes glowing red with fire and fear.

At last they assembled into a rank, issuing forth a rain of javelins at the lizardmen, but like strands of husk the sullen sticks snapped in two and fell aside as they struck the shields of the Guardians of the Arcaneum.

And the lizardmen charged back, spear and shield in hand, wild snarls lining their faces, like a tide of horror untold, chasing them off and pursuing behind.

...

"What was that?"

"Remember those statues you saw outside the council chambers in Ostithil?" smiled Vil, "here's the truth: they weren't statues, they were the pyramid-guards of the Southern Jungles, hired by my uncle to do mercenary work."

"But . . . these guardians must be at least three thousand years old," Mey gawked in awe, "are you saying they remained still like this for three thousand years without food or water?"

"Yes," Vil laughed, "they are the Defenders of Ardion, they can feast upon the minutest bits of arcane energy flying around."

"Wondrous," Mey nodded, "and what of your leg?"

Vil pressed into the wound, yet felt naught but regular skin. "Ah well, looks like the healing energies are doing their job."

"They are?" Mey leaned in, feeling his fingers slide across a closed wound, much to his awe. At last Vil stood up, walking around painlessly as if nothing had ever happened.

"Let us continue," Vil suggested, "this should be the end of-"

Suddenly he hushed, his eyes widening: something of terrible power was nearing them. Though at first he mistook it to be a mere greater daemon, he knew now that no daemon – greater or lordly, could ever muster as much power as the radiations beckoned to him.