BlackThorn's Doom (27 page)

The Ma’ul swung an immense blade of flame downward seeking to cleave him in twain. The air screeched and a thick oily smoke marked its passage.

Casius dove forward and rolled beneath the behemoth. Jumping quickly to his feet he swung Aethir and delivered a deep gash across its hindquarters.

Flames shot from the wound as if driven by a harsh wind. The Ma’ul cried out in pain and staggered backwards, the flaming sword carving a deep trench in the frozen ground.

Casius leapt to the side, barely avoiding a backward swipe of the blade. “I have stood before your ilk before, spawn of hell.” He said in a calm voice filled with confidence. “I have felt the touch of fire and the fear you exude has no hold on me.”

A look that may have passed for fear crossed the beasts flaming features. But only for an instant it was replaced with a burning hatred that defied imagining.

Raising itself to its full height, it towered thirty feet into the air. A cry of pure bestial rage shook the air and jets of thick flame and smoke raced skyward. The flames along its back grew in intensity until the frozen grass began to burn. A wave of fire raced outward engulfing the entire hillside.

Burcott watched in disbelief, through the searing heat he could see Casius ducking below the monster and striking it upon its foreleg.

The Ma’ul fell forward driving its fist deep into the earth. The ground shook and a wave of sheer terror blasted outward.

The Morne and Men alike fell to the ground, paralyzed by fear.

The beast lowered its head and glared at the puny human before it. Never before in its long existence had it been wounded by a sword in the hands of a man. A twinge of fear stirred within its primal mind. The Ma’ul was a force of pure destruction, with no concept of death. But it could feel the faintest touch of a kindred spirit in this man, he had slain a Ma’ul and somehow he took from it some small part of its power. The Ma’ul raised its sword and attacked.

The speed at which the giant moved shocked Casius. Before he could blink the flaming sword was well on its way towards him. He had no time to evade the blow; he instinctively raised Aethir to parry. Given the strength of the Ma’ul he doubted the blade would even slow.

The blades met edge on; Aethir was dwarfed by the flaming blade crashing into it. With a howling screech that nearly deafened him the Ma’ul’s sword exploded into a shower of a thousand sparks.

The Ma’ul’s empty fist struck the earth beside Casius. The beast was stunned and off balance. Casius stepped forward and with both hands he plunged Aethir deep into its chest. The Ma’ul screamed as Casius forced the blade deeper.

The Ma’ul fell onto its side, the bull like legs kicking in violent spasms. Casius jerked the weapon free. A blazing fountain of fire sprayed outward enveloping him. The heat must have been intense but Casius felt nothing, a faint halo of argent light surrounding him.

The wound expanded, the fire growing in size. Within moments the entire body of the Ma’ul burned. The fire turned the night into day and a second conflagration engulfed the hillside.

Sur’kar watched the battle unfold, in his arrogance he had never thought it possible for his servant to fail. The blast of fire caught him by surprise, he was forced to step back and use his power to stave off the searing heat.

Casius took a step towards the last Tal’shear when he felt the spirit of the Ma’ul rush into his mind. He fell to his knees dropping Aethir; he grasped his head and screamed in agony. The Ma’ul was tearing at his psyche seeking to burn his consciousness away.

Casius could feel himself falling into the dark recesses of his mind. As he faded a faint argent spark reached out to him. His mind embraced it and power flooded into him.

Within that silvery glow lay the strength of Marcos, buttressed by the raw energy of his earlier possessor. Casius rushed upward his spirit a blazing fire that drove away the darkness.

He drove through the Ma’ul and tore its spirit apart as if it were nothing more than smoke. He cast it out in a corona of fire and light.

Sur’kar recovered quickly and brushed the soot from his striking armor. He was amazed that this puny human, barely a man at that, had killed his Ma’ul servant. He could feel the workings of his brother here, but he knew Marcos was gone, the trap at V’rag having destroyed him.

The loss of his tower did not bother him. After his conquest he will order a new one raised, an edifice far larger and more terrible to behold, a fitting abode for a God.

Casius became aware of his surroundings once more. He reached out and took Aethir in hand, the pommel was hot and the blade thrummed with power. He looked up and into the face of Sur’kar.

The evil being resembled Marcos so closely that for the briefest moment Casius thought that his friend had survived the fall of V’rag. Then he saw the eyes. Where Marcos’s had been filled with compassion and wisdom, the ones he stared into were full of hate and a malevolence that made the primal fury of the Ma’ul seem a petty thing in comparison. A sense of cold fear settled in his stomach.

Over the fire scorched earth he walked, stepping through pockets of lingering flame without hesitation. His face broke into a broad smile that did not reach his eyes.

“I sense my brother’s touch upon you.” He said in a voice dripping with evil. “Are you the best champion he could find?” He laughed, a soft chuckle filled with disdain. “You are strong, and I have need of new servants. I shall make you the first of my new Balhain.”

“Never,” Casius said rising to his feet.

Sur’kar shrugged off the comment as if it meant nothing. “Gre’Doth, and his twin refused me as well. In the end you will serve me, and dark will be the deeds you shall do in my name.” Sur’kar raised his hand. “But first,” The ring flared to life with a corona of green fire. “Let me free you of my brothers corruption.”

The argent glow about Casius disappeared with a loud popping sound. The extreme heat radiating from the ground struck him like a hammer. He staggered a few steps back and then suddenly he could no longer lift his feet. They were planted firmly on the ground and would not budge. It was as if they were boulders, a great weight attached to his legs.

Casius’s eyes watered and pain roiled through him, the agony was so intense he nearly lost consciousness.

Sur’kar smiled, this time it reached his eyes. “What you feel now is nothing.” He said coldly. “Soon I will teach you the true meaning of agony.” Sur’kar turned his back to him. “But I will allow you to watch the death of the last few men who dare to oppose me.” He raised his hand and again the ring flared to life. In a voice filled with might he shouted over the stunned combatants. “Destroy them!” He commanded.

The surviving Morne rushed up the slope once more. Outnumbering the men ten to one their victory was all but assured.

The men stood defiantly but the were close to exhaustion and their line was collapsing. They were cut to ribbons the Morne swords hacking apart their bodies as they fell.

Casius watched in horror, he knew the defenders had minutes left to live. Anger built within him but try as he may his feet and legs refused to obey him. Taking Aethir into his left hand he drew the long knife from his belt.

The heat blurred his eyesight and each breath pulled fiery hot air into his lungs. He no longer hoped to survive, his doom weighed heavily upon his heart, but he would do what he could to save the brave men from total annihilation.

He groaned in despair and Sur’kar spun about, his eyes alight with perverse joy. He opened his mouth to taunt his captive and gazed in amazement at the grime-smudged hilt of the long knife that suddenly appeared in his arm.

Sur’kar threw up a wave of shear force seeking to drive Casius back. The hilltop rocked with its power, the ground cracking beneath their feet.

Casius felt the wave wash over him; it did nothing to slow his attack. Aethir screamed with power as Casius drove it through Sur’kar’s armor and into his chest.

Sur’kar’s eyes widened as he felt the bite of the ensorcelled blade. Emerald fire fought to drive out Aethir. The metal rang with might and Sur’kar’s strength was absorbed into the sword.

“This is for my father!” Casius shouted into his face. “For Marcos, Suni, and all the others who have died because of you!” He threw his full weight against the pommel, driving the sword completely through Sur’kar’s body until its point erupted from his back in a spray of blood.

Sur’kar reeled, dark blood running from his mouth. He fell to one knee and feebly tried to pull the blade free. “What have you done?” He cried out in a wet cough.

“Justice,” Casius said. The heat of his anger fading from his eyes as he watched Sur’kar’s face age until it was a withered gray husk. The emerald fire of his power pulsing weakly as the heart within him slowed as he died.

Sur’kar’s eyes grew distant and he collapsed in a heap. His body becoming little more than bones enwrapped in leathery skin.

Darkness seemed to grow in the air upon the hilltop. A whirling mist that smelled of freshly turned earth and green grass. Within it stood a wraithlike presence vaguely human in shape. It moved slowly forward coming to stand over Sur’kar’s corpse.

Casius could feel the coldness emanating from the shade. He knew that he looked upon Thoron’Gil, the legendary hero. He had returned to witness the fulfillment of the destiny denied him.

Casius withdrew Aethir and the grim shade vanished in a blast of cold wind. He fell to his knees, weakness suddenly overtaking him. He could hear the battle continuing and gasping hard he gathered what strength remained and pulled himself erect, using the sword for support.

Anger fueled him as he watched the men dying in a futile attempt to hold the Morne back.

“Enough!” He shouted in a voice barely above a whisper. He closed his eyes and searched once more for the argent light within him.

Connell worked along the outer ranks of their dwindling line. His sword was a whirlwind of destruction slaying wherever it struck. He was beyond weary and it was only the strength of desperation that allowed him to continue. But he was slowing and he bled from half a dozen superficial cuts, it was only a matter of time until a mortal blow would get through his weakening guard.

A terrifying scream cut across the sounds of combat. From atop the hill a brilliant emerald light flared. So bright did it shine that no one could look at it for long.

“Demon Sur’kar!” D’Yana cursed fending off a Morne attacker. “What is he up to now?”

“We’re lost anyways,” Yoladt replied. “What does it matter?”

D’Yana could not reply, suddenly before her loomed a Morne whose skill vastly surpassed his brethren. He had slain men by the thousands and was much renowned among his kind.

But in challenging D’Yana he had met his match. Although her skills were meager compared to Connell, she was a master of the blade; the man hunter quickly dispatched him.

D’Yana pulled her sword from the stunned Morne’s chest and kicked his body aside. Two Morne leapt for her and drove her back. Her foot slipped into a crack within the rubble and she fell.

Casius found the glimmer he sought and power filled him, terrifying in its strength. He felt as if he could tear the mountains down and set the very sky on fire. “Enough!” He shouted once more, his voice driving forth as if it were powered by a gale.

The combatants fell before it fury, weapons clattering to the ground forgotten.

Ablaze in silver light atop the hill stood Casius, the sword Aethir in hand. The ring upon his finger burning as if it were a newborn star. With his free hand he lifted Sur’kar by his collar and hurled the corpse down the hillside. The body rolled until it came to a rest among his slain servants.

The Morne fell to their knees tearing at their cloaks in grief. A few hundred of the more fanatical threw themselves down upon their blades.

“Your false God is dead.” Casius said in a voice that rebounded from the plateau like a thunderclap. “Return to your lands and seek not to take up arms against the east again.” He commanded in a voice resonating with power. As he spoke his eyes burned with scarlet fire and the ground quivered underfoot. “Warn your brethren, I will be waiting should you ever return, and nothing will spare your people from my wrath.”

The Morne recoiled from the force of his words and they left the field of battle, their weapons forgotten amid the dead. Of the mighty host fewer than six thousand remained.

The beleaguered men cheered, tears of relief and joy flowing from their eyes.

Jehnom placed his fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. From the darkness the great stags that had survived the avalanche appeared. They numbered several hundred, but only ninety Taur Di yet lived. Jehnom found Burcott and shook the burly man’s hand.

“We will follow the Morne and ensure that they leave.” He said. “Should you have the desire, please come to the forest and we will honor you. There are many wonders I would show you.”

Burcott smiled. “I just may do that Jehnom.”

Gaelan shook the forest warriors hand. “Safe journey,” He said to the man he had never met. “Know that the people of Trondhiem owe you a great debt.”

Jehnom mounted and looked about at the multitude of dead upon the field. “Lord Burcott,” He said in a grave voice. “Tend my people well.”

Burcott bowed his head. “They will be honored in the fashion of the Taur’ Di”

Jehnom ducked his head in response and led his small band after the Morne. They gave the hillside a wide berth, bowing as they passed below the brilliant figure burning brightly on its crest.