J. King - Onslaught

"I am not. I am your new creation. I am the Protector."

Ixidor blinked. "New creation?"

"Your dream was the medium."

He shook his head. "My dream?"

"All of this is a dream. It began when you thought you had startled awake. It ends now…"

Ixidor sat bolt upright in bed, breath raking into and out of him. He was covered with sweat. He dragged back the silk curtains and swung his legs down, seeing the unmen crowd nervously up around his bed.

A dream. The whole thing had been a dream.

Except that something beamed brightly-powerful, feminine, floating above the floor. The angel drifted beyond the circle of unmen, who cast watery shadows across their master.

"You are real," Ixidor said breathlessly.

"You created me out of your dream. I am your Protector. I will keep you safe from all foes."

Ixidor averted his eyes to the marble floor. "You will avenge Nivea. You will kill Phage."

The angel nodded with Nivea's own likeness. "I will kill Phage."

Ixidor smiled for the first time in days. At last, he had created something beautiful. He stood and held out his hands toward the angel.

Only one arm rose. His right arm was gone.

He gasped, prodding the stump of his shoulder. It was not gory as it had been in the dream, but still the limb had vanished.

"I am your Protector, your strong right arm," said the angel. "You made me out of dream and out of your own body. I am bone of your bone and flesh of your flesh. I will defend you."

Unbelieving, Ixidor probed the stump of his shoulder.

The angel held her arms open. "Come, my master. I will protect you."

Tears streamed down his face. Could he refuse? What would she do if he spurned her?

Ixidor staggered into those brutally pure robes. Radiance scorched his skin and prickled his hair. He was unworthy, yet he was her creator. "You are pure of every stain, and so I shall call you Akroma."

Commander Kamahl rode his red battle snake Roth out of the forest. The wood had spread across hundreds of miles of sand and stopped in sight of the Corian Escarpment. Beside the commander, General Stonebrow trudged toward the granite ridge. In time, commander and general reached the height of the escarpment and signaled a halt. Behind them, with fist or claw or bough, the vast army of forest folk passed on the signal. They shuffled to stillness.

Standing there, they did not seem so much an army-two miles long and half a mile wide. They seemed the forest itself. Dryads had come in marching groves; spinefolk like fiery tumble-weeds formed ubiquitous hedges; brownies herded thistle stalks; and these were only the flora. Among them slithered giant serpents and enormous slugs. Toad men stood with legs akimbo beside elves in watchful rows. Giant centaurs and giant squirrels, bear warriors and mantis warriors-the great army of Krosan was, in fact, Krosan.

Sitting astride Roth, Kamahl got his first glimpse of enemy territory.

"It is like a great spider web," rumbled General Stonebrow beside him. The huge centaur's eyes flitted in their deep sockets.

Kamahl took a fortifying breath. "It is. My sister spun it."

Below their rocky vantage, the ground fell away to a wide black swamp. Brackish water reached to the horizons. Small islets rose here and there from the muck, piles of offal in a latrine, and from peak to peak ran a network of bridges. Here was a pestilent land with its borders wide open. It beckoned visitors as any snare beckons prey.

"There is her lair," Kamahl said, pointing to a huge ring of stone far away. Even from this distance, the coliseum was impressive. Tall, broad, perfectly proportioned, it was the only solid thing in that place of mud. More amazing still were the throngs that filled the distant roadways and bridges and the folk who blackened the stands. "She has already caught tens of thousands."

Stonebrow brooded a moment, his gaze shifting to the bridge that descended nearby. 'Tens of thousands in the stands, and tens of thousands in the swamps. Look." The islets below were not empty, each garrisoned with a small contingent. Other things patrolled the waters. Thousands of eyes peered up at the army. There would be no way to bypass Jeska's minions.

One minion particularly promised great difficulties. Kamahl growled low as he recognized a manic figure that bounded up the nearest bridge. "Braids."

Though the suspension bridge was sharply pitched from the swamp to the escarpment, Braids climbed as if racing across flat ground. Her feet made hollow sounds on the planks, a counterpoint to her giggles. This woman was lethal. She was not so much small but stunted, not so much capricious but chaotic, and her giggles were utterly mad.

With a final cartwheel, Braids planted her feet on the ground and her hands on her hips. She smiled toothily at Kamahl, her skin like sun-stretched leather.

"Welcome, Kamahl, to the lands of the Great Coliseum,"

Kamahl's hand tightened on his staff. "I have come for Jeska."

"Same old Kamahl." Braids flicked a hand in annoyance. "She's dead. You killed her. Don't you remember?" She yawned and turned back toward the bridge. "This conversation bored me the first time. No sense even mentioning the proposition…"

"I have a proposition for you. Turn her over, or I march my army to take her."

Peering back over her shoulder, Braids nodded disinterestedly and yawned again. "Your army. Yeah. Gator food."

Only then did Kamahl recognize the huge, swimming forms beneath the waters.

General Stonebrow clutched his great axe. "Some of us will reach the coliseum. Some will be enough!"

"Suit yourself," Braids said, starting back down the bridge. "We don't mind a bit of carnage. More carnage, more coinage."

"Wait," called Kamahl. "You know my proposition. What about yours?"

Braids paused, gripping the rope rail and lifting her nose into the air. She sniffed dramatically. "What is that wonderful smell? Is it desperation I smell? Surely not. It smells like desperation, but why would a man with an army be desperate?" Shaking her head, she continued down the bridge.

"I will fight her! That's what you want, isn't it?" Kamahl roared.

Braids stopped. Without looking back, she asked, 'To the death?"

'To my death. If she wins, she can kill me. If I win, she comes back with me-she submits, and all the folk of the Cabal let her go."

Sniffing again, Braids pivoted slowly. "It wasn't desperation I smelled. It was the sweet smell of a deal."

"Part of the deal is that my army accompanies me. They will cause no trouble, even at my death, if the terms of this deal are kept. I need them for security, in case you plan a double-cross."

Braids shook her head, climbing slowly. "Not in the arena. We don't have seats for trees."

Kamahl snorted. "All right, but any creatures that can sit comes into the coliseum."

"Your command team-no more than fifty-will be admitted free. The rest can enter for a gold piece each." Braids stopped at the top of the bridge. She smiled and shrugged. "It's the standard entry fee."

"Since when do forest creatures carry gold?" Kamahl said.

Braids lifted her hands. "All right. Deal's off. Phage stays with us. Feel free to attack if you'd like to be decimated. Otherwise, go back and hold a bake sale. Once you gather a few thousand gold, we'll talk."

Kamahl barked. "You let them on the coliseum island, and they wait outside, but my command team gets to come in. Then I'll fight my sister."

"What are you doing-?" Stonebrow began.

Braids panted, sniffing eagerly. She reached up the flank of Roth, grasped Kamahl's hand, and shook. "Yes. I smell a deal."

Kamahl had wanted this to be a triumphal entry-he and his armies sweeping in to save his sister. It was not to be. Kamahl was no conquering hero but a lamb led to the slaughter.