Michael Mathias - The Sword and the Dragon

When the other half of Shokin slammed into Gerard’s elongated skull, his head filled with visions of chaotic destruction, of undead armies, and falling castles. Had the yolk he had eaten not hardened his mind and body so well, he might have died on the spot, from pure shock. As it was, he relished the distraction from the emptiness around him. He somehow isolated the two halves of Shokin in his brain, and he observed them curiously, as they carried on a psychotic single-voiced argument, that was as entertaining as it was disturbing.

The two halves of the once mighty demon eventually began trying to rejoin, trying to become one again, but Gerard wouldn’t let them. He would permit them to confer and conspire, but he would never let them combine back into one.

Instinctually, he knew that if he did, he would lose any part of him that was still his. Somewhere in his mind, he knew he was still Gerard Skyler. He might be covered in spikes, hard bony platelets, and greasy slick skin. He might have nearly tripled his body mass, and formed into some sort of monster, but he was still somewhat Gerard. His brain told him that even though he was trapped on the seemingly endless stairway, that he would find the power to lead legions once he reached the bottom.

The old crone had told him so. Sometimes, he heard her old cackling voice, cutting over the demon’s chatter, to remind him. He began to leech bits, and nuggets of knowledge, and power, from the two halves of the demon, and use them to his advantage. Already, he knew that there were other ways out of this place. Part of Shokin had seen them described through Pael’s eyes, in the texts the fool wizard had kept in his tower. It was Shaella’s tower now, and since he could talk to her sometimes, ideas were already forming.

Gerard nearly stumbled, and fell, as the stairway abruptly ended on a smooth hard surface. The floor was cool on his clawed feet, and all around him, he felt the presence of dark things. Some were alive and hungry, some were merely spirits, and some were just evil intentions. Everything else was prey.

As he stood there, on the strange level plain, he felt them cringe away from him, and withdraw. They were afraid of him, of what he had become. He knew that they had no reason to fear him. He was barely alive, so very weak, and hungry. He was glad they were cautious, because he needed to rest. As he settled, he felt something out there, in the empty space, something darker, and more intense than the other things. This form didn’t know fear. It was a hunter searching for prey, but it moved away, to chase after something else, and left Gerard to his rest.

He sat on the bottom step, and closed his eyes. The back of his lids were far brighter than the Nethers around him. He hoped Shaella would come to him soon. He loved her. He did his best to picture her in his mind, and fell into a deep slumber, dreaming about her.

The dream was ruined though, when the two halves of Shokin suddenly stopped squabbling. When Gerard woke, he was famished. He needed sustenance. Oddly enough, it was part of Shokin that whispered to him where and how to safely feed.

Both parts of Shokin knew that Gerard wouldn’t survive this dark place unless he grew stronger, and if Gerard didn’t survive, neither did they. They needed his consciousness, because it was the only place that they still existed. Even though they were back in the Nethers, Pael’s powerful binding spell still coupled them to Gerard completely, and thoroughly, for all eternity. After gathering that Gerard had access to the world of men, through Shaella, and the Spectral Orb, neither part of Shokin did anything other than scheme.

General Spyra himself rode out with an attachment of honor guard to retrieve Mikahl. They had to sit on their mounts patiently, and wait until he stirred though, before they could actually give him a hand. Talon wouldn’t let them near him. The hawkling stood vigilant guard, with his chest swelled out proudly, and a fierce look in his eyes. None of the men, or even the General, dared to test the bird.

It was well past dawn, when Mikahl finally managed to sit up. Only then, did Talon take to the air, and wing his way back towards the castle. They wrapped Mikahl in a cloak of purple and gold, and helped him to his sword, but once it was in his grasp, it charged away all of his pain.

With a barefoot placed squarely at the back of the stump where Pael’s head had once rested, Mikahl pulled Ironspike out of the earth. The sword’s comforting blue glow resonated and pulsed in time with the angelic symphony of its power. He held the blade up, as they rode back through the scattering of soldiers who were piling up the rotting corpses, so that they could be carted out of the wasted city.

Some men cheered his passing. Others fell to the ground in supplication. A few, even broke into tears, and thanked the gods for sending Pavreal’s heir to save them. Mikahl smiled at them, hoping to lift their spirits, but the expression was forced. There was far too much death and destruction around them for more than a glimmer of hope to reveal itself.

“A spark is all it takes to start a forest fire,” General Spyra said, reading Mikahl’s expression.

His words had been spoken clearly, but so softly, that only Mikahl could hear them over the din.

“You must be that spark for the people who survived this. If you’re patient, and help to lift Xwarda above all of this,” he gestured at the ruin around them with a broad sweep of his arm, “then I swear by all the gods of heaven and earth, that I’ll do everything that is in my power, to help you take back Westland when the time comes.”

Mikahl gave the man a curt nod, and stood high in his saddle, raising Ironspike up into the air. It was a small gesture, and one that served to bring another cheer from the soldiers in the streets.

Once the refugees returned from wherever they were holed up or hiding, Mikahl didn’t think there would be much joy in this costly victory. The city had a putrid stench to it. He would have heaved and retched up bile had the sword’s magic not been in him.

The wails and cries of wives and mothers would soon fill the air. The confusion of fatherless children, and the despair of the grieving, would permeate the area far worse than the rank smell of death that coated it now. He couldn’t muster more than a forced smile, but he kept it in place, and tried to carry himself as King Balton would have in the same situation.

When they passed through what was left of the castle gates, Mikahl saw the headless bulk of the Choska laying at the edge of the fountain lake, in front of the palace. He cringed, and wondered if Willa the Witch Queen would punish him for destroying her fountain display.

He had heard, through countless stories told around the hearth fires of his youth, that Willa was a horrible and mean old woman. She supposedly had killed her father and mother to take the throne, and had lived for hundreds of years longer than any normal woman should have. She was said to feed her Blacksword soldiers the flesh of their enemies in a stew each year on Yule Day.

An elderly Duchess once told Mikahl, that Willa the Witch had turned Duke Ramsis into a suckling pig, just for being rude. Mikahl didn’t believe much of what he heard, but Duke Ramsis sure did resemble an old hog the last time he had seen him back at Lakeside Castle.

If the Queen of Highwander really was an old witch, Mikahl thought that she sure lived well. Even surrounded by ruin, the palace was spectacular; far nicer than the thatched roof huts the witches in the stories preferred. Still, he was nervous. Lord Gregory had explained that Queen Willa wasn’t all that different from King Balton. It was only rumor, distance, fear, and a few embellishing generations of exaggeration that had turned her into something so exotic and sinister. But the Lion Lord had added that most fables, no matter how absurd, contained a bit of truth to them. Mikahl had no idea what or who to expect. He had been on the edge of death the last time he came into the palace. He only hoped that he would find Hyden Hawk and the Great Wolves amongst the living.