Matt Forbeck - Marked for Death

Sallah knocked the warforged in front of her flat with her pommel, then stabbed it through the chest with her blade. The creature screamed as it expired, and in spite of herself Sallah whispered, “May the Silver Light guide your final journey.”

Levritt found himself facing one of the last warforged. It circled around him, putting his body between itself and Burch. The young knight lunged at the creature with his sword, but it parried the blow. Its riposte tore open a gash in Levritt’s cheek.

The young knight fell over in pain and shock, clutching his face. As he tipped over, he left the warforged standing over him exposed. A bolt from Burch’s crossbow punched through the creature’s obsidian eye and buried itself in its fibrous brain.

“Cursed breathers!” a warforged fighting Kandler said. “The Lord of Blades rules this realm. Leave or be killed!”

Kandler removed the warforged’s sword hand at the wrist. He’d heard rumors of the Lord of Blades from the infrequent visitors to Mardakine, people passing through on their way out of the Mournland or in. The most revered of the warforged, this creature hoped to establish a homeland for its kind in this most desolate land.

Few but the orphaned offspring of Cyre would envy the Lord of Blades’ choice. The unforgiving Mournland suited the warforged, who could go without food, water, or even sleep. Most people were happy to leave the creatures to their own devices in this blasted land. Others, though, feared what the Lord of Blades might do with an army of dispossessed ex-soldiers who were literally created to kill.

At that moment, none of that mattered to Kandler. These creatures were just another obstacle standing between himself and his adopted daughter. Standing here on the site of his wife’s grave, Kandler’s recalled what Esprina had said to him the last time he’d seen her. She said the same thing every time they parted.

“Take care of Esprл,” Esprina whispered as she caressed the curve of his face. “She had nothing else in the world but me.”

“And me,” Kandler said, just like always.

Esprina smiled, and the sight caused Kandler’s breath to catch in his chest. “You are more of a father to her than any other has been,” she said.

“And I always will be,” Kandler said, taking her hands in his. “I promise.”

“I know, my love.” Her smile turned wistful here, as if she somehow knew the fate that would befall her soon after. “I know.”

Brendis collapsed against Kandler, nearly knocking the justicar from his feet. He had to leap forward to avoid falling. As he did, the warforged before him lashed out with its remaining hand and caught Kandler around the throat. It pounded him in the face with the severed stump at the end of its other arm.

Kandler tried to pull the warforged’s grasp from his throat, but the creature’s thick three fingers held him like a vise. He brought up his knee into the warforged’s groin but only bruised his knee on thing’s metal codpiece.

“Your time on this world is over, breather!” the warforged said as it squeezed Kandler’s throat. The justicar felt his world begin to go black.

Seeing Kandler’s plight, Deothen forced his aging muscles into action. He had not seen this much action since the final days of the Last War, and his body had grown soft in the intervening years. He ignored its pleas to sit, to rest, to slow down. There was no time for such things now.

The knight leaped forward and slashed across the back of the warforged’s knees with his flaming sword, slicing through the fibers there. Unable to support its own weight, the creature fell to its knees, dragging Kandler down with him it.

Deothen shoved his sword through the warforged’s back. Dark fluid flowed from the wound, and the shock of seeing it almost made Deothen lose his grip on his hilt. He pushed the blade in harder, and it jammed against the inside of the creature’s chestplate.

Deothen twisted the sword furiously, trying to slash through something vital inside. He didn’t know if the war-forged had organs like a man, but if it did he was determined to find them. The sweat running down his brow stung his icy eyes and he fought with the creature for its life. After a moment, the creature let go of Kandler’s throat and fell forward onto its face, wrenching Deothen’s blade from his hands as it went.

Kandler rubbed his throat and croaked out a word of thanks to Deothen. The knight nodded a response at the justicar as he scanned the battlefield for more of the warforged. All of the ambushers lay dead or downed around them. No one besides the hunters stirred.

Burch clambered down from atop the broken monument and dashed to one of the warforged with a bolt in its neck. He turned the creature over, and it snarled. “Thought so,” the shifter said. He smacked the warforged with an open hand. “This one’s still alive, boss!”

Kandler strode over to Burch and leaned over the fallen warforged. Deothen followed close behind. The warforged that lay before them growled and snapped its head about like a mad dog as it tried to bite them, but it couldn’t seem to move anything below its neck.

“Stinking breathers!” the warforged said. “One day, the Lord of Blades will turn you all into meat.”

“I thought your kind didn’t eat,” said Kandler.

“We’ll feed you to animals. Your time is over!”

Burch kicked the creature in the ear. It snapped back at him, but its teeth found only air. “Did someone else come this way?” the shifter asked. Burch was still sweating from the exertion of the battle, and to Deothen’s nose he smelled like a wet dog. The knight did his best to ignore it.

“Do you plan to kill them?” the warforged asked. The hopeful tone made Deothen uncomfortable.

Kandler looked at Deothen, and the knight nodded. As a matter of honor, he didn’t care to lie to the creature, but he was ready to let Kandler say whatever he liked.

“They have my daughter,” Kandler said through gritted teeth. Deothen admired the depth of the justicar’s emotion for a child not even of his own blood.

The warforged pulled the edges of its mouth apart in what Deothen could only guess was a smile. “Two breathers on a horse came through earlier today.”

“Did you hurt them?” Kandler asked.

“They galloped straight through.”

“Which way?”

“ If I tell you, will you kill me?”

Before Kandler could respond, Deothen spoke up. “I sense no evil in this one’s soul,” he said, pointing down at the war-forged, “although he is clearly misguided.”

“Does he have a soul?” Kandler chucked the warforged under its jaw with his boot. “Do you have a soul?”

“More precious than yours.”

Kandler shrugged. “Soul or not, makes no difference to me. Which way did the others go?”

The warforged narrowed its obsidian eyes at Kandler. It surprised Deothen to see such a human expression on the creature’s face as it sized up Kandler’s intent. “North,” it finally said.

Burch reached down and picked up a nearby helmet. “Thanks, and good night,” the shifter said. He jammed the helmet down backward on the warforged’s head and strapped it on tight. The creature cursed as loudly as it could, but the helmet muffled the words enough to make them unintelligible.

“Do you have to do that?” Deothen asked the shifter.

Burch shrugged. “You’d rather have him screaming for help? Take the helmet off yourself then-once we’re gone.”

Kandler, Burch, and Deothen walked over to where Sallah and Levritt were looking after Brendis. “How are you?” the senior knight asked the injured young man.

“It hurts, sir,” Brendis said, “but I’ll live.” Deothen could see that the knight was putting on a game face for his leader, and he appreciated the effort.