James Maxey - Greatshadow

A huge stalagmite grew beside him; he placed his hand upon it to try to rise. The stone fell away just as quickly revealing Zetetic, his hands behind his back, looking amused.

“You’ll find it difficult to fly. If you’re not in contact with a surface, up and down don’t really exist. The Gloryhammer has no objective gravity to resist.”

The steel spikes in Tower’s boots sprung out and dug into the rock. He rose to his full height, using the Gloryhammer as an impromptu cane. He sounded nervous as he asked, “This cursed landscape is where we fight the dragon?”

“Not exactly,” said Zetetic. “This is where I send the Truthspeaker into the spirit world, and open a tunnel for you to launch a sneak attack.”

“When?” asked Tower.

“I can cast the spells at any time, but I assume you wish to pray or meditate or drink some holy water. Whatever it is the righteous do to prepare themselves for battle.”

Tower looked toward Infidel. With his faceplate down, there was no way to tell what he was thinking. After a gaze that lingered long enough to make everyone uncomfortable, the knight said, “I’m as righteous at this moment as I will ever be. Let’s do this.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

Zetetic crossed his arms. “Is there some reason to rush? Maybe you feel ready to fight, but the rest of us are hot, tired, and hungry. Let’s set up camp, rest a little, get some food in our bellies.”

“Let’s not talk about food right now,” said Menagerie.

“Agreed,” said Tower. “This is no fit place to make camp. The less time we linger, the better. Open the portal.”

Zetetic grumbled something beneath his breath, then reached out to grab Tower’s gauntlet. He turned toward the calm stone island where the Father Ver stood and towed the knight over the shifting stone to join the others.

“Maybe I’m not hungry,” said Menagerie, “but I wouldn’t mind a little rest before we face the dragon. What’s the hurry?”

“Zetetic is no doubt gambling that more of you will die if we delay our mission,” said Father Ver.

Zetetic pursed his lips tightly together.

Father Ver continued, “His powers draw on the beliefs of others. Tower and I offer him no fuel for his corrupt arts. If only the three of us had made it this far, he’d be powerless, since the Deceiver doesn’t truly believe his own lies. And, if he were powerless, we’d be unable to open the doorways to the dragon. He imagines this would save his life.”

“That’s a pretty elaborate theory,” said Zetetic.

“We both know it’s the truth,” said Father Ver.

“Whatever,” said Zetetic, with a dismissive wave. He faced the monkeys and No-Face. “I want the two of you to give me your full attention.”

The mercenaries turned their heads toward him with weary stares.

“I have… I have the power to open gateways that lead from this chamber to anywhere I wish, even other dimensions.”

The monkeys nodded simultaneously. No-Face, in his expressionless stare, also seemed convinced.

The only one who looked doubtful was Zetetic. He studied the ground at his feet, taking a deep breath, before stepping up to Tower. His face was mirrored in the knight’s gleaming faceplate as he said, “I’m going to send you to Greatshadow’s lair. So far, my mental shields haven’t detected any of his telepathic probes. He won’t know you’re coming, but you only get one shot. Make it count. If you merely wound the dragon, you might condemn the entire world to burn.”

Tower nodded. “I’ve prepared for this moment my whole life. Though some among us may doubt the purity of my intentions, I will not shirk from my duty… or my destiny!”

Tower opened the compartment on his hip and pulled out his magic book, swapping the Gloryhammer for the Jagged Heart. The searing heat of the chamber instantly cooled from hellish to merely unbearable.

“Ready?” Zetetic asked again.

“Do it,” said Tower.

Zetetic grabbed the knight by his biceps and suddenly jerked him from his feet, holding him overhead. He looked like he was getting ready to throw the knight, and, as it turned out, that was exactly the plan. With a grunt he hurled Lord Tower at the nearest wall. The stone swirled as Tower approached, forming a vortex, like the cone of air that forms when water drains from a tub. Tower shot down this ever-lengthening vortex, until he became little more than a speck, flying toward a pinpoint of bright white light.

“Your turn,” said Zetetic, grabbing Father Ver by the arms. Their gazes met. The Deceiver’s voice was little more than a whisper as he said, “You heard the speech. For the sake of mankind, do not fuck this up!”

He snatched the holy man from his feet, holding him overhead for a few seconds as his eyes studied the swirling stone, searching for the exact spot where the barrier between dimensions was at its weakest. Suddenly, his eyes brightened. He could see it. I could as well. At the edge of the platform, at a ninety-degree angle from the direction he’d tossed Lord Tower, a vortex of brilliant white light began to spin. I raised my hand to shield my eyes from the radiance, but no one else on the platform save for the Deceiver seemed aware of the light show. The vortex quickly grew, becoming a hole in the air several yards across. From the other side of the hole, I could hear the wail of a terrible wind, a sound that sent shudders through my soul, though, again, the others remained oblivious.

With all his muscles straining, Zetetic tossed the holy man toward the spirit door.

The Truthspeaker never reached the portal. Instead, in mid-flight, he was struck by a flying body that shot out from the vortex Tower had flown down. Father Ver landed on the stone platform face first, then flopped to his back unconscious, revealing a huge gash along his left eyebrow. His twitching legs kicked Zetetic in the ankle and the Deceiver went down as well, cursing as he landed on his butt.

At the far end of the platform, Lord Tower, or something that looked a lot like him, slid to a halt near Infidel’s feet. She jumped back, landing on the shifting false matter, spreading her arms to keep her balance. The figure before Infidel wasn’t Tower, but instead a statue of the knight carved from dull gray stone. The Jagged Heart was nowhere to be seen. Infidel stared at the statue with a confusion that rivaled my own as the fluid stone beneath her carried her away. She jumped to return to the island, but wound up even further away, thwarted by the room’s meandering geometry.

Meanwhile, I heard the rattle of No-Face’s chain, the familiar sound that always rang out when he readied himself for a fight. The twin monkeys were suddenly replaced by a pair of snarling wolverines. I looked to the stone vortex, squinting to make out the shadowy figure approaching.

The thing that stalked toward us was human in form, mostly. It was transparent, but not invisible, more like murky water than air, so that anything beyond appeared distorted. The fluid it was composed of had a slight brownish hue, like sewer water. It was carrying the Jagged Heart, but showed no signs of freezing.

As it walked toward us, it shouted, “O stone! Be not so!” It then shrieked with laughter, a high-pitched, slurred barking that reminded me of the forced, empty cackle of a drunken whore who hadn’t truly understood her client’s joke.

The unpleasant sounds of the liquid man before us were matched by a shrieking behind us. It was the Deceiver, looking at the approaching figure, crying out with terror until his lungs were emptied of the last drop of air.

Just as the Deceiver’s voice faded out, the liquid man stepped from the vortex and placed his feet on the stable stone island. Now that he was closer, I recognized he was formed not of water, but of booze — whiskey judging from the smell. He was an impressive figure, as tall and muscular as Aurora had been.