Some pain was hot. Other types ran cold. Lady Kyla's particular persuasion was just annoying.
With four nightlings circling her, just waiting for an opening, pain became an overly indulgent luxury. It clogged her mind and made it impossible to wrangle her unruly lifelight. She had several cracked ribs, each one protesting with angry vigor at every move she made. Her left knee wouldn't bend properly and had already begun to swell, the blood beating against the skin in a blistering tempo. Despite all that, she kept her seax in constant motion inflicting what small damage she could to the nightlings now harassing her. The creatures never stilled long enough to do more. Her mindeye danced and reeled from the constant motion of her attackers popping in and out of corporeal existence. One instant their ugly scar pervaded her Sight and the next it blinked out, only to reappear again a second later in a new location, like a swarm of dark fireflies blinking in and out of view.
As much as she had berated the Domrae boy for his imperfections in combat, from her current state she fell far afield of that same mark. Only deity could hope to come close to what she expected.
Oh, Wilo and Werold help us now!
Seax slashing out, a slight tug of contact and a faint trickle of smoke kindled a faint glow of satisfaction in Kyla's chest.
The triumph was short lived.
A vicious blow took Kyla in the arm. Numbing tingles coursed from her elbow to her fingertips, as she gritted her teeth holding back a torrent of profanity. Paralyzed, hanging limply at her side, Kyla's arm refused to respond. Luckily, it wasn't her weapon wielding limb.
Another searing blow took her in the shoulder from behind. She lost her footing, stumbling to her hands and knees.
The pain clouded her senses, especially her hearing for some odd reason. Noise became muted and flat, as though cotton had been shoved into her ears.
So, this is how I end, she thought, closing her eyes.
Someone screamed but it sounded far distant, muffled and unimportant.
She breathed in. Her breath built within her lungs for a moment. It seeped back out her nose. Intuition tingled along her neck. The killing stroke descended.
The world erupted into light, blazing through her eyelids.
************
The Domrae pup lay at Charlan's feet. The voice in her head did not utter so much as a peep. The bombardment from the soldiers continued to decline as their numbers dwindled in shrieking falls.
This night was hers.
A quick motion off to one side drew her attention.
Kyla, in the midst of a handful of her wights, staggered, obviously struggling against the overwhelming odds. One knee had already taken damage evidenced by how she favored her other leg. Several ribs must have taken a blow or two by the way she hesitated, hiccupping ever so slightly, when needing to shift in a certain direction.
She doesn't have much longer. A slow, unfurling smile sharpened Charlan's features. I've won.
Stooping in front of Masis, she offered a few sentiments meant to smother every last lingering tendril of hope. Mindeye ignored, as the last syllable barely left her lips the world detonated with harsh, stinging brilliance.
************
Master Elwith gasped. Every particle in his body singed, as though set afire and immediately quenched in near freezing water. He only remained standing because his knees had locked in place.
Freedom from the mesmer was both at once an exhilaration and a horror. His mind unshackled reached for his lifelight, but his memories made him stutter and hesitate. Memories suppressed deep within his mind boiled up from those infected parts, bursting through like pus from a festering wound.
The night in his cell detonated back into his memory. Lady Telias—no, the night queen—stooping over him, gloating, triumphant, whispering words laced with cloying sentiment. Her mesmer forced into him, violating his lifelight, corralling it, compelling submission with terrible strength. His stomach lurched at the memory, threatening to empty what little it had in it onto the stone floor.
Words battered at the back of his mind. A request, urgent and pleading. They sounded annoyingly like that Domrae boy. He pushed them away, or the shock of the moment did, or the sudden expurgation of those dark filaments about his lifelight might have. Thoughts, emotions, his entire being jumbled, as he sought to draw a complete breath, not these short little hiccups that only made his chest constrict more and more and his heart thrum at greater and greater speeds.
How could I have not seen it? he wondered. Idiot. Fool!
The shift in sympathies. The subtle change in tolerances. The sudden and inexplicable dizzy spells. All of it pointed to some sort of manipulation. Others had wondered. Others had questioned his rapid shift.
Why hadn't he?
A violent storm gained in strength within his body, swirling, angry, tempestuous. It lanced out in violent, stinging strikes. Thunderous words followed in each poignant thought and memory.
He covered his face with his hands. Fool. Imbecile. Arrogant old man.
But with every storm, the bright agonizing flashes were accompanied by rain. Tears spilled down Master Elwith's cheeks as the horror of his freedom broke upon him.
Limbs suddenly released from their temporary petrification, the High Mage crumpled in on himself, slumping into an incoherent heap, legs splayed, arms any which way.
How could I have missed it? How could I have missed it? How could I have missed it?
No answer came.
This whole situation, this whole awful debacle, revealed his worst failing: his arrogance. It would be not only his undoing, but all Haimlant as well. His arrogance would be the tool of everyone's destruction.
Oh, what a fool I've been.
A shock went through him.
He shook his head, stirring from his stupor.
Words that were not words, feelings that were not his own—warm and overpoweringly effulgent—filled him, banishing his despair, clearing his mind, bringing back into crisp exactness the words the Domrae boy had forced on him.
"Light?" wondered Master Elwith out loud.
Screams drew his attention to the world around him and up into the heights of the conical structure he now found himself in. Soldiers fell from a ledge above, twisting and writhing in the air in some futile attempt to suspend their fall. Their screams cut short with a fleshy crunch as they collided with the ground. He winced at the sight and sound.
He cast about, finding to his shock that Lady Kyla and Masis were on the ground, both apparently in bad shape. A killing stroke from one of the many milling wighties would soon come and claim Kyla. Master Elwith recalled enough to know what awaited the Domrae boy.
He seized his lifelight, the source of his sudden clarity retreating as his own will surged to fill the breach.
If the Domrae lad wants light, thought Master Elwith, well, let there be light.
************
Everything had gone unnaturally silent. The sound of battle, the screams of dying flailing men snapped out. The passing of sprinting nightlings ceased as well. Everything lay in a white stillness. Masis' eyes could not make out form or figure in the pure white brilliance that had instantly bloomed into being, the source somewhere high in the space's heights.
Eyes adjusting, shaded by an upraised hand, Masis directed his gaze to the blazing figure in his mindeye. First the edges of the person resolved into existence, dark and wavering, then clothing and features revealed the still heaving Master Elwith.
The mage caught Masis staring and scowled. "I can't keep this up for long, so I suggest you start killing wighties. Now."
Masis sprang to his feet, seax in hand. The blade keened through the air, shrieking in its arc of death, but found nothing. The night queen had staggered back blending in with the other nightlings who hissed and stumbled about. Once the very substance of nightmares, every wight now hunched into pathetic forms—blind, muling, infant-like.
With no other course to follow, Masis sprinted toward Lady Kyla, his weapon flashing out as he went, reducing wighties to nothing more than oily puffs. He reached her and dispatched the nightlings that had been near to killing her, spinning about, never stilling, heads separating from bodies as the length of steel in his hand cleaved living shadows. The bleeding remains, more liquid than vapor, pooled about Kyla, concealing her in their murky depths. Sluffing away, Masis found Kyla's eyes waiting for his, hard and humorless.
"What in Manu's name took you so long?" She thrust her hand up toward him. Taking it, Masis eased her up as she winced, her other hand wrapping around to clutch at her ribs.
In his mindeye, while he held her hand, Masis Saw Kyla's lifelight fluttering hot with stinging, spicy notes and sharp green bitter spikes.
She never changes, thought Masis, pursing his lips, even when she almost dies.
"May I?" he asked, nodding toward Kyla's injuries.
He didn't wait for permission.
His lifelight scorched through her hand into her ribs, shoulder, and knee. Bones reknit. Ligaments reattached. Bruises faded. In an instant, every injury Masis' mindeye could detect had been wiped away as though they never existed.
Yowling, Kyla yanked her hand back. Lashing out, she smacked Masis in the arm hard enough to sting.
"What in Manu's name..." Her eyes, hot, pierced at him. She hit him again, like a hen pecking a chick back into line. "Get to work." She turned, spinning her seax testily. "This isn't over yet."
She dashed off, her feet prancing as though in a dance, eager, even hungry. Within three strides she had already dispatched three nightlings. A whirlwind of death, fluid, never pausing, Kyla wove between the still recovering creatures.
Masis grinned at her back. And I hope she never changes.
Seax swinging, he followed Kyla's order with a passion.
At this point, some of the nightlings had started to shake off their initial shock. But still they wagged their heads, rubbing the palms of their hands into their eyes. With the shadows banished, their movements lacked something, became less sinister. That deficit seemed to disorient them in its own way, making them hesitate in their steps. Their slow recovery made them easy prey.
Masis dispatched four more as the air-bows began to again shower down their whizzing munitions. Not as concentrated or as rapid as its beginning, still the enfilade downed more than a few of the creatures. Others grunted and snarled, jerking as the volleys tore at arms, legs, and shoulders, slowing them even further.
Swinging at another, Masis' seax sheared through a nightling's arm just below its shoulder. A high-pitched wail tore from its throat. It lashed out at Masis' face. He ducked under the blow, knocking the arm forward before burying his blade in the creatures back, its tip bursting through the nightling's chest.
Before it fell still, evaporating into smoke, Masis flung the twitching wretch into another of its kind that had been sneaking up on Kyla. The impact took the creeping wightie from its feet. It landed tangled in the leaking corpses limbs. Masis covered the distance in a blink, lopping off the struggling he-wight's head.
By now the wights' numbers had been reduced to below a score. Still a number not to be overlooked or underestimated but certainly more manageable, even defeatable. The remaining wights must have perceived that reality as well, for some few broke away, fleeing Masis and Lady Kyla and the buzzing rounds from the marksmen above. They sprinted toward the dark passages, their very feet obscured by the smoky remains of their fallen comrades. Some made it and vanished into the shadows as soon as they entered their embrace. Others fell to air-bow rounds, adding their heavy musk to the already oppressive atmosphere.
Suddenly, Kyla was at Masis' side. "We can't let them leave." She turned her gaze to assess the remaining wights. "By Manu!"
Masis directed his gaze at the source of Kyla's curse.
Three wights, instead of retreating, had turned their attention to Master Elwith. The High Mage stood alone, his lifelight strained, a taut gold, radiant but flickering. He held a single flaming whip in his hand, its braids pure lifelight. It snaked and swung about him, cracking but not connecting as the wights danced beyond its reach. Shoulders sagging, chest heaving, it was obvious that the mage flagged in his efforts. One mistake would see him extinguished along with the miniature sun still beaming from the zenith of the space.
Kyla skipped forward, breaking into a dash. "You stop them," she called over her shoulder. "I'll save the mageling."
Not hesitating to look how she fared—there really was no killing that woman—Masis took off after the nearest retreating she-wight. Fairly matched for speed, Masis watched as his opportunity to overtake the creature grew smaller and smaller. He could throw his weapon but Kyla's training screamed at him.
Don't throw away your weapon if you don't have something to replace it with! She would have slapped him on his large wolvan snout just for the thought. Use your environment. You'll be surprised what can be used as a weapon in a pinch.
One of the soldier's mangled and twisted corpses caught his eye. Blood, metallic in Masis' nose, pooled about her, while her limbs jutted out at inhuman angles. A bola hung at her belt.
A grim grin spurred Masis forward and he snatched the implement as he passed. He set it to whirling above his head with a twist and flick. Releasing, the triple weighted lasso flew away faster than a blur. It took the she-wight about the neck, toppling her head over toes.
A perfect wrap, thought Masis, clenching his fist. Five points to me!
The recovering she-wight had no reprieve from the assault as Masis descended, snuffing out her existence with a neat slash of his blade. Putting his back toward the three tunnels, Masis, tracking a black stain with his mindeye, pivoted about and relieved the offending he-wight of a leg. It fell away, unraveling like vaporous yarn. Leaving the writhing nightling, Masis stepped into another's course of escape, forcing a wightie to jump back as his keening blade nearly cleaved it asunder. Its eyes barely stayed on Masis flickering back towards the tunnels and its escape. It danced to one side. Masis blocked its way, slashing downward. The blade cut only open air. Having spun back as Masis committed in his action, the he-wight tore past the wolvan Warden.
Masis snarled. Oh, no you don't!
His foot shot to the side, clipping the he-wight's ankle, forcing him to dance forward on a single foot, seeking to find his pace again. It was all the opening Masis needed. Three slashes ended the wight's dancing days completely.
He cursed, looking outward with both eye and mindeye as a nightling disappeared down one of the tunnels he was supposed to be defending. Kyla would have his hide for this. But then again other wighties had already made it into the tunnels before she had set him to his task. She could not fault him too harshly for one slipping by.
Of course, she could, thought Masis, shaking his head. And will.
The skirmish at the center of the room had all but died away, literally and figuratively. Just under a handful of nightlings remained. One by one they realized how forlorn their hope had become. One by one they fled. One by one they were cut down either by Kyla's avenging blade or the sharpness of the soldiers' aim.
With a shriek, the final she-wight disintegrated into a murky fog.
Masis sighed, casting his eyes over the now nearly empty space. Is it possible? Truly possible?
They had won. For now.
In spite of everything, they had come out alive. He and Kyla. General Biligrim and Calla.
Masis turned about seeking the latter pair, with a squint and a frown.
Where were they?
The conjured sun faded away, plunging the room back into a more somber air.
Kyla stood before Master Elwith, barely breathing hard. But General Biligrim and Calla were nowhere to be seen. They should have been in the center of the space, Calla on the ground, General Biligrim standing at forced attention.
Neither were where they should have been.
Masis' breath caught. His chest clamped with sinewy bands. His heart cantered apace as if by cue.
The cheer from the soldiers, now appearing in the alcoves, reverberated throughout the space, but for Masis it was muted as though his head was submerged in water. Loud, boisterous, deep with bravado, the yell rattled about the walls, accompanied by raised fists and hoisted air-bows.
Masis, his breathing quickening, pushed his awareness outward, but found no lifelight. No speck of lifelight, except Master Elwith's, existed in the black void that constituted his mindeye. Not on the level he now stood. Not a trace. Not a glimmer. Blackness reigned.
Sweat, near freezing, cut through his pores, condensing on his furrowed brow. His entire body purged its heat, and his stomach imploded in on itself. The strain shook Masis' very frame.
"My dear Masis," came a shout from above. "Oh, Masis! Up here!"
Masis' senses flew upward.
At the top most level nearest the room's peak, the night queen stood in one of the many openings, her pale skin luminescent in the moonlight. To one side stood General Biligrim, to the other Calla. Both were still. Not a fidget. Not a blink.
All the cheers and their residual echoes withered away. The room itself held its breath, air falling motionless, its temperature tepid but rising, its pressure building.
Masis Saw the mesmer twined about Calla's lifelight, a snake coiled about its ever-struggling prey. The Sight of it twitched his eyelids as his heart nearly twisted from its moorings, a heat surging up from his belly to engulf his lungs and heart. His entire stomach nearly heaved into his mouth at the perversion of it all.
Air-bows, clicking to readiness, were leveled at the night queen.
Before triggers could be pulled, the she-wight yanked Calla's pliant form in front of her, holding both arms as she shielded herself with the housekeeper's body.
"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Masis bellowed, his voice ricocheting faster than any volley could.
Barrels reluctantly sank back down.
"Oh, my dear Warden," came the night queen's voice, "it's so nice to know you care."
"What do you want, witch?" yelled Master Elwith before Masis could reply.
Masis' mouth snapped shut twisting into a scowl. She's mine, High Mage.
"Master Elwith," said the night queen. "I'm glad to see you so fully recovered. It's unfortunate that Masis' ministrations didn't improve your character as well. Ah well, I suppose anything more would have been hoping for too much. Pity though."
Each word wafted down, hanging in the air with confident tones. They did not hesitate. Masis detected not a tremor. Pure, strong, and arrogant. The she-wight's voice betrayed no faltering assurance, even after all her fellow wights had either fled or fallen.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" screamed Masis.
"Yes, yes, of course," said the wight, her tone self-chastising. "My demands. They're quite singular. You. I just want you. I've known it since the first time I saw you. It was meant to be."
"That won't happen!" Master Elwith yelled.
"Now, now, Elly," said the night queen, tutting. "You're not part of this discussion. Let us talk without interrupting, like a good little boy." She turned her attention back to Masis. "Now, my Lord, are you going to come or..."
She pushed Calla closer to the edge. The housekeeper's toes hung over the empty drop.
"Shall I send her back to you the quickest way I know how?"
Again, the she-wight coaxed the catatonic woman closer to the edge. Emphasizing her threat with sinister action.
Every inch Calla came to falling tore the constricting air from Masis' lungs. They ignited, scraping, tearing at his throat. His chest nearly collapsed, the vacuum becoming stronger and stronger.
No, not her. Masis' thoughts hardly had force enough to cohere. Not her. Not her! NOT HER!
"You know," said the she-wight, her words hardening along with her features, "empty threats grow tiresome very quickly. I've found that they eventually have to be reinforced with action."
She snatched the back of Calla's neck. Hoisting the still unresponsive housekeeper from her feet, the night queen dangled her over the emptiness, each limb limp and swinging like the dead arms and legs of a doll.
Masis' thoughts died. His mouth dangled open. No words rushed in to fill the desperate space. Not a sound. Not a scream. Not a squeak. Every faculty fell dormant. Even his identity seemed to fade.
Who was he?
A Forest Lord?
The Warden?
A Shadow?
Or some scared little boy that could not do anything but stand there and tremble, waiting to wet himself?
Staring up at the dangling figure, Danya, her small, bright form, hands clawing at her captor's, replaced Calla's own figure. Those innocent pleadings, gasping, urgent, again seared Masis mind.
Masis. Save me.
Those eyes wide with fear, glinting with hope, screaming the words, while her mouth could only manage a gasp.
"Stop!" Masis yelled, pouring what little air his searing lungs still held into that single word. He tried to heave in more but his throat had swollen into a tight knot.
The she-wight hesitated, pulling Calla toward her ever so slightly. "So, you're going to come with me then?"
Peering up into the moon lit cone, Masis' lips parted to allow his words passage. But none came. His jaw hung loose, waiting for a command, wobbling with indecision.
How can I give her what she wants? he asked himself. He knew her plan. She would rebuild. And he would be her key to ultimate success. I can't give her that even for Calla's life.
Masis closed his mouth, a slow and deliberate sealing. Each tooth clicked together in their assigned order, turning his lips into a grim line.
Eyes locked on him, the night queen mirrored his shift in attitude. Her open expression closed. The muscles in her jaw bulged as she worked her teeth back and forth. Each eye narrowed, darkening even beyond anything previously displayed.
"I see," she said, her tone flat. Her arm extended out fully once again. Calla's feet swayed limply with the shift. "This doesn't change anything though. It simply puts a hiccup in the inevitable. And so, I return your beloved nursemaid to you."
The she-wight's grasp opened. Each digit released, a knuckle at a time. Gravity, ever anxious, tugged Calla downward as the support was withdrawn. Her hair, suspended in air, hesitated, as though debating whether to follow.
A single heartbeat exploded in Masis chest. It contracted, preparing for another prolonged constriction.
NO!
Masis beat on the veil, separating him from heofon, demanding entry.
I demand entry!
And who are you?
The words manifested in his mind, not so much words but rather feelings that his soul could readily translate.
His heart beat again, scorching and painful.
The question stunned him. Each muscle in his heart became a painful awareness in his mind, seizing in an impossibly lengthy contraction.
Who am I? He had been so many things over the past months no definitive answer came readily to mind. Who am I?
He no longer was a son or brother. The wighties had taken those titles from him. He had washed the Shadow mark from his skin, so that title had gone as well. He could not claim the title of Forest Lord, Duke of Asthurn. His former steward had seen to that. So many of the things he had formerly been had been taken from him—snatched away.
Some called him the Warden. His new abilities certainly indicated that he now was that mythological being. But did he accept it fully? Did he claim the title, the persona, as his own or simply a means to an end? And if he did accept it, embrace it fully, would he have to abandon all ties to his former life?
His heart squeezed, tight and agonizing, in his chest.
But then again, he would give all to save even a single part or person of his former life. He would give all to save one person from the pain he had gone through. He would give all for Calla.
I am Masis Domrae, he proclaimed. I am the Warden.
Those once unyielding, impenetrable curtains melted into pliability, a silky gauze parted by the smallest breath. He stepped through and time stopped. The world became muted. All sound faded into an echoing hum. It was neither light nor dark. It simply was, a monochrome plane of black and white. Masis dared not shout or make too much noise, though no one would hear it. This place had stood vacant for centuries, soulless, a dwelling left without occupants, but still sacred, set apart.
Turning about, Masis found a reflection of the world he had left behind. Master Elwith's expression, stance, and outrage frozen into place. Kyla's muscles, tensed and ready, locked and unable to respond. He pivoted in wonder, his face rising to Calla and the night queen.
Calla hung suspended in midair, as though in amber, her head only having just dropped beneath the she-wight's outspread fingers. Then his gaze rose to the nightling, the source of all his agony. His heart ignited with a snarling heat, pumping that searing energy into every portion of his body. It pushed him to move, raging in his veins. He took a step. Then another. And another. Steps turned into strides. Strides became bounds. In seconds, legs afire with tingling energy, Masis exited the large room and began to climb up into the very top of the structure, sprinting through the passageways. Up and up he climbed, his rage never flagging, but his body numbing and heaving from the exertion of being in a place mortal beings were never meant to exist. A burning cold bit at his limbs, sapping his energy at an alarming rate. He could not stay much longer.
Up and up, he went. His speed slowed. His breath labored.
She was right, thought Masis, panting as he recalled Kyla's brief explanation of the place.
As he reached the top most level, he slowed to a jog. Then a walk. Gritting his teeth, Masis braced himself against a roughhewn wall, pausing in his step only for a moment. He had only run for minutes, but his legs trembled as though it had been hours. He kept on, passing through a threshold, gasping, his heart protesting.
There she was. The night queen, frozen in timelessness, stood there with her back to him. The sight of her sent a new burst of energy thrumming throughout his body.
Sweat running down his face, his energy to remain in heofon nearly gone, Masis forced his wolvan body forward, each muscle shaking with the effort. He very nearly stumbled, his vision swimming. Shuffling around the nightling, Masis glared into those immobile black eyes, grasping his hand around her throat, while securing Calla with his other hand.
He shook. Every inch of his body screamed with the effort. "Good bye. Queen of the Night."
He stepped back through the veil into the normal world.
Sound popped back into being. Color snapped back into existence. The she-wight's eyes widened as Masis shoved her roughly into the wall, while tossing Calla back up onto the ledge.
"You've become a true Warden I see," said the she-wight, finding her voice through the surprise. She did not struggle.
Masis just snarled, baring his gleaming teeth.
"Well, now what, Warden mine?" she asked, her attitude nonchalant. "Will you rip my head from my body? Or tear my limbs from me one by one? Maybe you'll skin me alive? So many options, however will you choose?"
A memory struck Masis and he squeezed harder, cutting off her words. "Do you remember how you tested my lifelight? Do you remember enjoying it? Why don't you have another sip?"
He locked his eyes with hers, pouring his lifelight into her hungry void. The night queen gobbled it up greedily, her great emptiness unable to resist the offering. By the time she tried, it was too late.
Masis never relinquished control, never let that great emptiness swallow up his lifelight but kept forcing it in, increasing the volume until the she-wight began to choke. She shook and sputtered, but nothing she did stopped or even slowed the lifelight's flow. Masis watched it build inside of her, a glowing mass in an infinitude of shadow. Still, he let it build. Growing brighter. Banishing more and more darkness. The night queen stood there shaking, rattling, convulsing, eyes wide, limbs taut, mouth stretched in a soundless scream. Still Masis poured in more until cracks began to show in her skin, cracks that glowed and released rays of pure incandescence. They marbled up and down her arms, curling up her neck and onto her face, enlarging, revealing more and more light.
Her whole frame shattered in a swirl of light and shadows. Nothing remained of the former night queen.
It is done. Masis allowed himself a small smile before collapsing.
*DON'T FORGET TO VOTE*