Michael Mathias - The Wizard and the Warlord

The seemingly solid sphere settled half in and half out of the water. It appeared to be floating, but it wasn’t. Hyden sat down and leaned against it, so that only his head and shoulders were above the surface. The water was cold but not frigid. Apparently, the ground or maybe the Wardstone kept it tepid.

A long, black-and-gray-flecked beard trailed away from his chin and floated on the surface. Hyden tried to laugh, but then his eyes settled on Mikahl. Across the way, his best friend was lying dead in the snowy cobbles. Hyden was too tired to stand, but not too tired to cry. The tears blurred his eyes so that he didn’t see Phen hurriedly wading through the water waving Ironspike and screaming at him.

Behind Hyden, the Dark Lord had found the power of the Wardstone again. He had wiggled room to move here and there and was now thrashing frantically to get through the prison’s walls. Sensing the movement, Hyden turned. Already the Warlord was wearing through the globe. Hyden’s head dropped in defeat. He had failed. His fear of death, and love for his brother, had doomed them all. He should have just killed Gerard when he had the chance, but now it was too late.

More tears streaked down his face as he called to Talon. To his surprise he found that the familiar link between them had been broken.

He heard Talon’s screeching call from afar just then. He was sure it was a triggered memory from somewhere in his weary mind. He glanced up as Phen closed in on him and the failing imprisonment and realized that the sky had cleared a little bit. The purple smog and the swarms of hellspawn were thin to the point that the two dragons he could see up there held reign. He heard the hawkling again, but didn’t see him. His attention was now drawn to the boy.

Phen, with Ironspike’s wildly glowing blade held out before him as if it were a spear, charged right up to the magical prison and ran the sword right into it. When Ironspike’s blade pierced through the barrier and buried itself to the hilt in the Warlord’s chest, the explosion of blackness that engulfed him was no surprise at all. What was a surprise was that Hyden could hear the old cackling fortune teller saying, “Some day, you will watch helplessly as one you love dearly attempts to destroy what the one that sits beside you is to become.”

The concussion did surprise Phen. It sent him flipping backward head over heels. The force of the impact blew the breath from his lungs, and the sudden loss of Ironspike’s glorious symphony in his head left him empty and lost. When he hit the ground, he landed in a painful tangle of limbs.

Dostin raced to Corva’s side. He had been sitting with the three queens, waiting and watching patiently as they fussed over the balcony rail. He’d started to wallop the guard who pulled Queen Rosa back into the chamber in such a bodily fashion, but Queen Willa had called the soldier off of her in time to save him from Dostin’s staff.

The simple-minded monk had known many friends in his sheltered life, but most of them had treated him like a parent treats a child. Telgra had become dear to him during her stay at Salaya, but he and Corva had shared an adventure. Dostin loved the elf beyond measure and it showed as he urged the Queen Mother aside and began to pray fiercely over his friend’s torn and broken body.

Telgra gave him room, but she didn’t give up her place over the fallen hero completely. She, too, had grown fond of Corva. He was a proud young elf and loyal to a fault. She called upon the Heart of Arbor, hoping that the great guiding force of the elven people would lend strength to her healing magic. The first part of the response she received caused her to pull away sobbing and put her head in her hands. There’s nothing you can do for Corva, the Arbor Heart’s deep voice spoke into her mind. But you can use your restorative powers elsewhere, if you act swiftly.

No sooner did the words finish resounding than Phen ran Ironspike’s blade into the Warlord. The whole palace shook with the force of the explosion. Queen Willa and Queen Rosa screamed out in fright, but Telgra felt the poison absorbing into the roots of the Arbor suddenly diluted. She knew where she was needed and without further hesitation she ordered her soldiers to come with her. After a quick glance at the High Queen, then at Queen Willa, she climbed over the rail and gracefully made for the courtyard below.

Dostin stayed behind, still chanting and praying with fevered intensity over Corva’s body. Queen Willa would have stopped him, but it was clear that the man was either too simple, or too stubborn, to give up.

Dieter Willowbrow and a handful of elves had grouped outside the palace walls in the street. They had lost most of their fellows out beyond the outer wall, but now that the demon horde was fleeing, they worked their way toward their Queen Mother. They took the time to end the lives of the mortally wounded and heal those they could as they went.

When turning a corner, trying to locate the palace gate, the battle-weary group came upon a horrid creature. It was twice the size of a wolf and its fur was saturated with matted blood and gore. The beast stood over another just like it that lay still. At first, the savage thing snarled and growled angrily. It circled its fallen companion and settled into a defensive position with its blood-soaked hackles trying to rise. Dieter looked around him. The beast was walled in on three sides, and now his group of elves was blocking its only chance of escaping. A trio of dark, hulking bodies lay around the savage creature.

One of the elves drew his bow string back and started to loose at it, but Dieter’s quick reflexes stopped the arrow from hitting its target.

“What gives, Dieter?” the angry archer said as his arrow bounced harmlessly off the cobbles and skittered into a drift of snow against a broken store front.

“Look at those creatures lying dead around them,” Dieter said. “Those are dead hellcats.”

“Two of them are,” an elf said from behind them. “One is a Choska, or what’s left of it.”

“That isn’t our enemy,” Dieter said. “I think it’s a great wolf. My brother wrote about them in his journal.”

Yip barked and wagged his tail, slinging blood as he did. The movement aggravated a wound on the great wolf’s back and caused him to yelp sharply, as if he had been kicked.

“Whatever it is, it’s injured. And by the looks of those teeth marks on that hellcat’s neck and throat, that wolf is what killed it.” It was an older elf, one of Dieter’s uncles speaking. His voice held enough confident authority that Dieter handed away his bow and started down the alley to see if he could help the wounded creature.

Yip responded by limping a few steps toward the elf and wagging his tail as slightly as he could.

“May Arbor forgive my hastiness,” the archer who’d almost fired an arrow at the creature said as he started after Dieter.

Dieter put his hand out and let the huge wolf sniff it. Yip licked it immediately. As Dieter began healing Yip with his elven magic, the other elf called out to the group what the scene told him.

“This wolf was killed after it mortally wounded the first hellcat here.” He pointed first at a wolf’s corpse, then at one of the dead hellcats. “It looks like one of the cats tried to eat him. This one fought off the hellcat and then killed the Choska.” He pointed at Yip, who was fidgeting nervously as the yellow glow of Dieter’s healing power swept over his matted fur.

The other elf spoke on reverently. “He killed them both with no help at all, just to protect his fallen pack mate’s body.” He shook his head in wonder and strode over to Yip. When he stood face to face with the sitting wolf, he found that he had to look up to see in its eyes. “I apologize for almost loosing on you, my friend.” The elf’s tone showed the sincerity of his words. “Defending your fallen friend was honorable.”