Mike Wild - The Clockwork King of Orl

"I'm not leaving her down here."

"You won't get near her, either, you fool — those things will tear you apart."

"I'll find a way."

Again, Makennon grabbed him, but this time by both arms and more forcefully, spinning him to face her. Her gaze — her intense gaze — was for a second no longer that of the Anointed Lord, aloof and ruthless, but that of a professional warrior, the general she used to be. In it was the sadness of one who had lost one of their own together with the harsh pragmatism that acknowledged that in what they did someone had to fall in battle. It was inevitable.

"She's dead, Lieutenant. The battle is lost. Anything else is suicide. Retreat with me. Now."

Slowhand was suddenly furious. "And where the hells do you suggest we retreat to, General? Have you any idea what your religious scheming has unleashed here? How many people on the peninsula are going to die?"

"I don't know! But there must be something that can be done to stop this. But first we need to retreat, regroup. You know that."

Slowhand swallowed. "There is something we can do," he said, suddenly. He unslung his bow, quickly strung an arrow and aimed it at Munch's head, squinting to get a bead through the clockwork warriors. "I might not be able to get near him but I can finish that bastard from right here."

But he didn't loose the arrow. Because what he had just noticed was that in all the confusion the ogur had escaped its cage.

And it, and Kali's body, were gone.

The storm outside Martak had worsened dramatically since Kali and the others had entered the sub-aquatic complex, and was now in stark contrast to its shelter, making it seem almost welcoming despite the nightmare the place had been. Forks of lightning split a night sky blackened by the eclipse, the flashes of light so severe it seemed the universe was, with homicidal slashes, slicing itself apart. A freezing wind caught and flung back to the cliffs by the Stormwall chilled and cut straight to the bone. The wind did not prevent the heavy rain from hammering straight down, however, and it was the wet, cold crashes of the raindrops on her flesh that kept Kali from fading into the oblivion she knew was very close.

She wasn't dead, that much was clear, but neither did she have long to live — she could feel it in every fibre of her fading being. Her body had been battered too much, pierced too many times, and she had lost too much blood to hope — even with her newly discovered powers of recovery — to survive. The fact made her feel immensely sad. She had hoped to live long enough to make a difference, but she hadn't. She had come so far, done so much, and yet she had failed.

Failed herself. Failed Slowhand. Failed Twilight.

Most of all, she had failed Merrit Moon.

Her regret and diminishing consciousness was so debilitating that for a while it did not occur to her to question where she was. But then even she couldn't ignore the violent shaking of her head any longer.

She groaned, eyes attempting to take in her situation, but her view bouncing everywhere. Then, what vestige of fear of death remained in her already dying form cut through her much more sharply than any bolt or knife, including Munch's, could ever have done. Because she saw that she was slung in the massive, green-tinted arms of a beast that was pounding up the cliff steps outside Martak, a beast that she dimly recognised — but mainly smelled — to be an ogur. What was more, the ogur was roaring, again and again and again.

This was it, then. The moment.

Her vision come true.

It was too much for her. Finally, too much. She hadn't asked for any of this, and she was no longer strong enough to fight the inevitable. With a great weariness and a long, drawn-out sigh that became hopelessly lost in the stormy night, Kali Hooper felt her body relax and then felt herself die.

I'm sorry, old man…

"There!" Killiam Slowhand shouted as he saw her slump in the ogur's grip. "She's there!"

"Slowhand, keep back!" Makennon warned.

Not a chance, Slowhand thought. The disappearance of Kali's body had been the catalyst he'd needed to flee Martak, his desire to rid Twilight of Konstantin Munch overwhelmed by his concern for his ex. He and Makennon had made for the exit just before Munch's army had begun their slow march through it and, frankly, he had all but forgotten about the dwarf and didn't much care. But if there was anything he could do to stop Kali suffering at the hands of this thing that, for whatever reason, had taken her, then he would do it.

He flung himself over riser after riser, pursuing the ogur all the way to the top of the cliffs, and there stood panting heavily, watching in disbelief as the ogur laid Kali's body gently down onto the rocky ground. Nevertheless, he ran forwards, attempting to shield her from whatever was the beast's intent, but the hulking creature batted him away like some buzzing insect, sending him smashing into nearby rocks. Slowhand picked himself up, wiped blood from his mouth and, roaring, went for the ogur a second time, but a loud roar from the beast that was much, much louder than his own — not to mention a steely grip on his arm from the now caught-up Makennon — held him back.

Panting even more heavily, Slowhand unslung his bow and aimed an arrow directly between the ogur's eyes, impossible to miss even though his grip wavered uncharacteristically with grief and fury. The pouring rain slicking down his hair, running in rivulets down his face and reminding him so much of the walkway on Scholten Cathedral. He addressed the beast through clenched teeth.

"Leave — her — alone."

The ogur stared directly at him, an unexpectedly sad and thoughtful expression in its eyes making him falter in his intent. And then, while the still-wavering Slowhand shook his head to shake the water from his eyes, the ogur did something he hadn't expected at all. It pulled the crossbow bolts and the gutting knife from Kali's body, tossed them aside and then removed a strange blue amulet from around its neck and instead strung it about hers. It deliberately let go of the amulet — almost as if it were giving it to her — and then, after a few seconds, touched it again.

Again, the ogur stared at him, and somehow Slowhand knew it was asking him to wait.

Somewhere behind those primal eyes, Merrit Moon saw the desperate figure of Killiam Slowhand, continued to struggle for dominance of his transformed body and prayed the archer would give him time. He had no idea whether what he was about to try would work — as far as he knew scythe-stones had never been used twice, or in such a way — but if it did then Kali Hooper would live again.

His action would come at a price, though. The transference of his own life essence to Kali would likely kill him in turn, but even if it did not — if Thrutt had made him strong enough — then it would leave him so weak that he would no longer be able to fight the assertion of the ogur within, and he could be trapped within its form for the rest of his life. But it seemed a fair and just trade — after all, it was he who was responsible for her being here in the first place, was it not? Besides, she was his Kali — the closest thing to a daughter he had — so what choice was there, really?

He actually willed his life away.

A blue wisp appeared between ogur and corpse, and, feeling its hungry tug like a meathook through his heart, Merrit Moon had to struggle against his own instinct to survive, forcing himself to remain where he was as the process continued. The wisp became a snake, and then a cloud that filled the air between them, and then Kali's body took on a blue glow as it became suffused with the stuff of himself. Moon felt suddenly as if he had been folded inside out and pulled away, and then the cloud was snatched into Kali, and then it became a snake and a wisp once more, and then it was gone. The sound of the amulet doing what it did — a long sigh — was echoed by one of his own, and then his body slumped to the ground with a thud, breathing shallowly.