Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

For a long time, Brinn slumped against the sword in his belly; white-hot agony burned in the center of his mind. Finally, slowly, the pain diminished, coalescing into two concentrated spots of pain; one running through his stomach, the other radiating outward from his left breast. When he found the strength to open his eyes, Brinn saw only the blackened and blistering scar on his chest and the trickling of blood from his belly. A dark red line of caked fluid ran down his breeches and into a dark red pool at his feet. He felt light-headed. The pain from the branding upon his chest was excruciating. He tried to clear his head. His ears still rang from the echoes of tramping iron shoes. He remembered now the whips the passing trolls had used on him, cutting his battered body even more. Those hurts ached dully behind the greater pain from his belly and chest, but he lacked the power to even heal those smaller welts.

Suddenly an image formed in Brinn’s mind. He saw his beloved R’ille again, and heard the words she spoke as she gave up her soul in the attempt to save his life. That memory brought new strength to his battered form. He could not let her sacrifice be in vain.

With tremendous effort, he raised his head and looked through sweaty blonde locks to see the end of the enemy line marching up the span. Legion was last, bringing up the rear. Seeing his mortal enemy brought more strength to Brinn’s limbs. He raised his arms behind him until his wrists rubbed against the protruding tip of Yllirin. He rubbed the chains that bound him against the blade, but the iron links would not yield. He knew only one choice remained. He moved his left wrist to the blade’s edge and began a sawing motion against it. He slammed his head back against the wooden stake; eyes closed tightly, tears running from their pinched lids. He cried out as he continued rubbing his wrist against the blade.

Moments later, the Nyakil severed his hand at the wrist. It and the chain fell to the ground behind the stake. Brinn brought his right hand forward, along with the bloody stump of his left and found the hilt of the Nyakil against his belly. He pushed against the pommel with his palm and the stump of his other arm. He cried out from the pain, but felt Yllirin begin to move backward. Inch by inch, be pushed the sword away, using thrusting the weight of his body, he lunged away from the stake and all the way to the hilt of the sword. After several more tries, at last, sword and body fell free of the post.

As Brinn lay in the dirt, he grasped his blade and withdrew it from his body. He crawled to the back of the post and retrieved his hand and held it to his bloody stump. Closing his eyes, he willed the healing power within to ignite. Now that the Nyakil was no longer in him, his healing power rose up and flooded his stomach and limbs with a healing force. Bone and muscle, sinew and skin began growing together, and in a moment his body was whole again. A white scar ran the circumference of his left wrist, but his hand worked. His stomach wound closed, and no scar could be seen. Only the pentagram brand remained. The skin was healed, but in an ugly scar, and the pain of that wound radiated still. No healing power could quench that fire or cover that scar.

Brinn staggered to his feet, the world around him swimming. He tried to focus on the departing image of the Nil'Ganash, and he stumbled toward it, finding himself stepping up on to the crystal span. Something against his right leg burned. His strength was giving out, screaming for sleep; for rest. He fell once more to his knees. His adversary was getting away. He screamed at the departing form.

Legion turned at the sound and saw that the Illuminar prisoner was somehow free from the stake and had reached the beginning of the crystal bridge. He couldn’t help but smile malevolently as he imagined the unbearable pain of that feat. He watched the Immortal stumble and fall to his knees, relishing for a moment that the Illuminar was too weak to do anything to stop the enemy marching toward Illianor. Still, Legion was torn. He wanted to be there when his master began the slaughter of the Gathâni, but he didn’t want to leave the prisoner loose. He paused, watching the Immortal and considering his options.

The burning at Brinn’s right leg was worse. He tried to stay focused on the Nil'Ganash at the top of the span but the pain at his right leg commanded all his attention. “What in curses is that?” he muttered aloud. The pain was nothing compared to what he had endured in the last hour, but like the buzzing of a sand-biter fly, Brinn couldn’t ignore it. He reached down to the source of the pain, and was shocked at what he felt. Tucked down inside of his right boot was some kind of stick. The Zor! The wand of Fire! His mind grew clear with the revelation.

Brinn was instantly lucid. Arazor, the wand of Fire was still tucked in his hip boot, where he placed it after R’ille gave it to him. How had his captors missed it? They had relieved him of his Nyakil immediately upon capture, but had never bothered to check for anything smaller than a dagger. It was a tragic mistake that Brinn sought to use to his advantage. He drew out the wand and pointed it at Legion. The surge of power in his hand was electrifying. His alertness was fading again and he couldn’t stay focused. He fell forward on his face, unable to stay upright.

Legion scowled when he saw the wand.

“Ach sada ara’i la Shaitan!”

By the fires of Lucifer!

Legion couldn’t believe it. He never thought to look for a wand on the prisoner, assuming the Illuminar would have used had he possessed it. Now the Nil’Ganash’s next move was plain: Retrieve the wand.

“Uzzan!” Legion said, mastering himself.

Fool!

The Gathân was obviously too weak to use it, and powerless to harm him with it anyway. The Nil'Ganash walked back toward the downed Immortal. Pleased with the thought of recovering another of the master’s wands.

Brinn lay upon his side, the wand in his outstretched hand. He found he didn’t have the strength to rise. He tried to remember how R’ille had called forth the power of the wand, but the answer was lost to him.

“Ár-Ádun, help me!”

His sight was beginning to fade. He was losing consciousness. Now all he could see was the wand in his hand, just a few feet in front of his eyes. What was that, he wondered? Something was happening where his hand lay. He shook his head and focused, and saw that where the wand touched the crystal bridge, a small liquid pool was forming. Of course! Brinn remembered Lorelai’s words to R’ille:

“… only one who has given his soul to the Demon Lord can wield a wand of the elements. Anyone else would fail, because the wand would simply use its power to seek out and subdue the power of the other wands!”

That was it! The wand was reacting to the object created by another of its kind. The wand was melting the bridge! It was subduing the magic that had created the bridge, subduing the magic of the wand of Earth.

With almost the last of his strength, Brinn raised the red wand and stabbed it down into the crystal span. Instantly, it reacted against the magic of its sister wand, and started turning the crystal span to liquefied glass. The wand erupted into flame and fed upon the crystal, melting it. The fire spread instantly, and there was nothing that could halt the cancelling effect of the red magic. Brinn turned and rolled off the span onto the edge of the cliff just before the space beneath him melted away, falling in diamond-like drops into the void below.

He raised his head and saw the Nil'Ganash running toward him. He saw him flap upward on giant black wings as the span beneath his feet melted away. Beyond the violet fiend, the first of the Demon Lord’s troops began plummeting along with the molten glass, their screams fading as the fell into the abyss. Brinn saw the Nil'Ganash turn in horror to see his army plummeting to their deaths. He heard the Nil'Ganash scream in horror at the loss. He was too weak to feel elation, too weak to even care. He felt his life slipping away.

On the opposite side of the chasm, R’ille and the rest of the Illuminar prepared for the assault by the Demon Lord. Just before the black figure stepped off the bridge, a rumbling began. R’ille thought it was some other arcane magic being thrown at them, but then she heard the screams. They were faint at first, but rose in intensity like a tidal wave reaching its crest. She realized that the screaming was coming from behind the Demon Lord; from his own troops. R’ille watched the advancing transformation of the bridge. It was changing from a solid to a liquid. Something was melting the bridge, turning it to molten glass.

“What—” the Demon Lord cried as he looked behind, and then the moving wave of molten glass reached him. The Demon Lord seldom assumed solid form, for he was vulnerable in that guise. Today, It proved to be his undoing. The crystal span dissolved from under his feet. The Demon Lord fell into the chasm.

The wail froze the hearts of all who heard it, as Lucifer and his horde fell into the depths. The cry faded into the gloom below. In seconds, it was over. Only the gargoyles remained, and they turned in horror and flapped off to the east, no longer thinking of battle but only running from what they guessed was certain death. In an instant all sign of the enemy was gone.

R’ille was speechless, while the Illuminar rejoiced. After a few moments, she felt an arm around her. It was wild-haired Dártan.

“I’m sorry, R’ille, for Brinn’s loss. He was your husband and my friend. I pray that in time, your pain will be less. But for now, take heart: Because of your sacrifice and his, we are free of the Demon Lord!” He gathered her hands in glad triumph.

“No,” R’ille said with tears as she pulled away. “Not free; just spared for a time.”

Dártan was puzzled. “How can you know this?”

R’ille wiped away the tears that fell in memory of her lost husband. “I have lost the voice of the Kalláh, but I remember its words.”

“Yes,” Dártan acknowledged. “Because of your Kalláh we were led here and saved.”

“But my Kalláh said other things, too. There was one thing it spoke to me over and over again these last days; something that I have kept to myself.”

“What did it say?”

“It said, ‘Await the Messiah, who will deliver you!’”

Dártan pondered her words for a moment. “Methinks we have just witnessed that, R’ille! I believe it was the work of the Messiah that caused the crystal span to fail. The Messiah must be here, in Illianor! We must search Him out!”

“No, He is not here. Not yet. I know this because of what else the Kalláh said. ‘Await the Messiah,’ it said, ‘who will be proclaimed by the Seer, who is of the Avanyar.’”

Dártan stood next to R’ille and was quiet for a moment. Around them, crowds were dancing and singing. Finally, he spoke.

“The Messiah will be proclaimed by an Avanyar?”

R’ille nodded. “Though we now lie upon Illianor, safe from all harm by the Demon Lord, our fate lies still entwined with those we left on the far side. Our fate lies with the Avanyar, our mortal allies and friends, who lie, now unreachable, in the land we have abandoned.”

R’ille looked out across the vast chasm, and thought of the mortal Avanyar and of her husband Brinn, both now beyond her aid. She searched within for her Kalláh, for the voice that could have told her that Brinn still lived. The voice was silent. Gone. Only the wailing of demons whispered in the depths of her mind, mourning their master’s passing.

Far across the chasm, the object of R’ille’s thoughts lay at the edge of the cliff. The screams in Brinn’s ears had subsided. His vision was almost gone, but he could still see the sun shining on the tallest of peaks of the land on the far side of the chasm. All else was quiet; just the wind whistling at the edge of the chasm, as it ever did. It was as if nothing evil had ever disturbed this quiet part of the world.

Brinn thought of R’ille, and wondered if she and the Illuminar had made it across before the collapse of the span. He lay there, trying to stay focused on the far away peaks, but the world around him faded to black, and he remembered no more.

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

“Look!”

The call was laced with fear. R’ille turned to see that something was coming over the crest of the crystal span. The Demon Lord’s army was following them. In the forefront of that ugly horde was a massive figure dressed in black armor and wearing a black hood and cloak. Behind him, swarms of goblins and wolf-riders marched down the span in an endless line toward Illianor.

R’ille shouted orders to Brinn’s troops, nearest at hand. “Take up your bows! Do not let them set foot upon Illianor! Hold for my command!”

The Demon Lord continued advancing until he reached the end of the span. He did not yet set foot upon Illianor. He lowered his hood, revealing the headless crown. Speaking in the common tongue, he addressed R’ille directly. “Gathân, do not hinder me. You have already lost that which is worth most, for I possess your soul. Surrender quickly, and all will receive a quick and merciful death.” His red eyes told of other plans.

“You cannot pass here,” R’ille answered in defiance. “This is the sanctuary of Illianor, the land of Ár-Ádun.”

Lucifer laughed, and the sound was cruel and filled with venom. Both sides of the battle grew silent. “Oh, but I can pass here,” he said at the last. “You have given me passage, Gathân, when you conjured this crystal span!”

The revelation made R’ille feel sick. In that moment she fully realized the futility of her earlier choice. She realized that, in trying to save her people, she had condemned the sanctuary of Illianor itself. In that moment, she realized with horror that, giving up her soul, she had made herself just another tool for the Demon Lord; a vessel through which he could wreak his destruction. Her ability to wield the wand of Earth was what felt wrong in this place. She was the blight that marred the virgin landscape.

R’ille’s soul was lost, but she was still an Illuminar, an Immortal. She refused to give in. She resigned herself to at least go down fighting, attempting to thwart the evil that she had brought upon the sanctuary and upon herself.

“Prepare to fire!” she ordered, trying to shake off a feeling of dread.

The Demon Lord just laughed louder.

“Fire!”

The arrows flew in a black wave, but the Demon Lord simply raised a gloved hand and the arrows burst into flames as they came. Nothing reached the Demon Lord but ashes on the wind.

“Your weapons are useless against me. Prepare to meet your doom!”

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Legion watched from afar as the afternoon waned and the last of the Illuminar enemy disappeared westward over the peak of the crystal bridge that spanned the strait of Illianor. Emerald banners in the last group had cautiously paused at the span’s crest, puzzled by the lack of pursuit. Then they faded from sight behind the crest of the arch. Legion knew it was time.

“Bring me the Gathân captive,” he ordered a gargoyle. “I have need of his blood.”

Moments later, troops brought Brinn, still bound, before Legion.

“Remove his blindfold and gag.”

The gargoyles slapped Brinn about as they took the dirty cloth strips from his eyes and mouth, obviously enjoyed roughing up their prisoner. Brinn absorbed their blows and struggled mightily against his bonds, but it was useless. His arms and legs were tied fast. Blinking in the sudden brightness of the afternoon sun as his eyes were unbound, Brinn looked out and was dismayed. Beyond his gargoyle captors a massive army of goblins and wolf-riders were gathered, their numbers stretching away as far as he could see. He saw no sign of R’ille or the Illuminar host. Only the dirty, tattered goblin banners waved in the breeze. Above him, Brinn saw more of the few gargoyles that had not fallen from the arrows of the Illuminar. They hovered alongside several Nil'Ganash. He lowered his eyes and settled his Nil'Ganash captor. He remained silent.

Legion spoke in the Immortal’s tongue. “Ni amán nor sa’ar.”

I have need of your blood.

Brinn spit at Legion in answer.

“I thought you might feel that way, Gathân. No matter. You’ll be happy to know I have devised a cruel end for you.” He laughed a hideous laugh, and the surrounding troops rose up in a raucous roar.

Legion pointed at the crystal span. “In a few moments we will march over this bridge and finish your wretched race. I shall force you to watch your kin perish, their souls offered up as food for my master.”

Brinn just glared at Legion and said nothing.

“Enough of this drivel. It is time to call forth the Lord of this world. For that, as I said a moment ago, I need your blood.”

At Legion’s command, several lumbering trolls brought up a large wooden stake and pounded it deep into the ground at the edge of the cliff near the start of the crystal span. The goblins placed Brinn’s back to the stake so that he stood looking out over the great chasm. They cut the cords to his hands and arms and drew his limbs back behind the stake. Legion produced a black iron chain, and the goblins bound his hands behind the stake with it. While he was being bound, Brinn took a moment to study the strange span of crystal near him. He saw how it grew out from the edge of the cliff towards Illianor, disappearing in the haze beyond. He raised an eyebrow and guessed that he was looking at his people’s escape route. He wondered how R’ille had managed it.

“Your mate created this bridge with the wand of Earth,” Legion explained gleefully, as if reading his very thoughts. “She discovered the power of the wand and, with it, created this span. She thought she was creating an escape route for your wretched kind. She does not understand that, having lost her soul to Shaitan, everything she does turns to my master’s gain.” Legion sneered. His face grew close to Brinn, his fetid breath washing over the Immortal. “By creating this bridge, she has given access to the one place we were unable to go. Your mate has given us a way to reach Illianor, where we will slaughter your people and end your race forever!”

Brinn winced at the awful news. His heart ached for R’ille. In order to save him, she had sworn allegiance to the Demon Lord. That act had apparently given her the power to wield Illinzor, and with it she had created the crystal bridge. Her act had given her the means to deliver the Illuminar to the safety of Illianor, but what a cruel irony fate had delivered: Her action to save her people was going to doom them all.

Legion took great pleasure in seeing his captive realize the horror of his mate’s mistake. He confirmed Brinn’s fears. “Your mate has doomed her race. Prepare to watch as my master leads us to their slaughter!” Legion turned to his massed army.

“Ilnu turana Shaitan sada!“

Let us bring forth the Demon Lord!

The goblins and trolls screamed with bloodthirsty glee, joined by the howls of the wolves.

Legion turned back to Brinn, drawing a sword. It was Brinn’s own Nyakil. With its tip he drew a large pentagram in the earth with Brinn positioned in the middle of the symbol.

“Your blood will bring forth our Lord and Master,” Legion said as his eyes narrowed. “Let us see how your gift of healing handles a Nyakil blade!” He took the Nyakil blade in both hands and, without warning, thrust it deep into Brinn’s belly. Brinn cried out. The enemy roared.

Legion’s thrust was so vicious that the Nyakil blade passed completely through Brinn, and through the post behind him, its bloody tip extending a foot out the back of the stake. A searing burn ran through Brinn’s stomach. Bright red blood poured from the wound and pooled at his feet, directly in the center of the pentagram.

Legion released his grip on the blade and put his fingers to the gushing liquid. Licking them, he savored the Immortal’s blood for a moment. Then he raised his arms skyward and cried to the heavens. “Shaitan, neg Lach, Ni halla nil Lazn ach cor panazh!”

Lucifer, Lord of Darkness, I call upon my master with an offering of blood!

The pain in Brinn’s stomach burned like a fire he’d never felt before. He tried to bend his will to close up the wound around the sword, but he failed. He managed to slow the blood flow to a trickle, but he couldn’t completely stop the bleeding. The unearthly magic of the Nyakil was opposing his power to heal. Blood continued to drain from his body; he was powerless to stop it. He cursed at Legion. “May the wrath of Ár-Ádun strike you where you stand!”

The gargoyles quickly gagged him.

Legion and his underlings watched something forming above their captive. Brinn followed their eyes up to see a black mist forming over his head.

“Turana, Lazn. Udo za erechag,” Legion spoke to the swirling blackness.

Welcome, master. All is prepared.

The dark mist responded with its own question, red eyes burning from within. “Ash panazh ne hu na, izzal?”

What do you offer me, slave?

Legion bowed his head, palms held outward, and then answered the cloud. “We drove the enemy to the edge of the chasm, and they opened a way to cross into the sacred land. That path lies open to us now, Lord. I have summoned you knowing you would desire to lead us across this span to complete the slaughter of the Gathâni!”

The eyes in the mist turned westward and looked across to Illianor in the distance. It spoke as if to itself. “Ah, the forbidden land. There I could not go until a bridge was made. Now I can claim for my own the one place in the world that was kept from me!”

The mist coalesced until it stood as a giant figure dressed in black armor wearing a black cloak and hood. “Well done, Legion. Well done.”

The Demon Lord turned from his chief servant and noticed Brinn pinned to the stake.

“And what of this insolent one?”

“He is to be a last sacrifice to you, master, after the other Gathâni are dead. Until that time, he is placed here to watch the horror of his people’s annihilation, knowing he was the bait that lured them to their ultimate doom!”

The Demon Lord lowered his hood. There was no head; only an iron crown suspended above two glowing red eyes. The hot crown smoldered. “Excellent work, Legion,” the Demon Lord twittered. “You shall occupy a lofty seat in my new kingdom!”

He stepped toward the Illuminar captive.

Brinn met the Demon Lord’s hellish gaze with blue eyes that were unafraid. He had never before seen the Demon Lord in his material form, but he had battled his presence for years uncounted. He had witnessed both the blessings of life, given to the world by the Creator, and the curse of death, spread by the Demon Lord. Death was something that Brinn did not fear. Long ago he had been given a choice, and he had chosen the side of good, to follow the Creator. For that, he had been given the gift of immortality. Brinn knew that, after bestowing such a gift, the Creator would not abandon him now. He spoke not a word as the Demon Lord approached, but his eyes revealed he had no fear, and that made the Demon Lord furious.

“You will learn to fear me, immortal one.” Lightning flashed from the sky, and the thunder that followed was the Demon Lord’s voice, filled with anger and vitriol. “I will make you rue the day you were given this gift of immortality. I will give you, instead, a more dreadful gift: I will spare your pitiful life and leave you alone in this world, separated from your kin forever.” The black giant continued its vehemence towards Brinn. “Do you enjoy this gift of immortality? I will make you loathe it. I will leave you pinned to this stake for all eternity. Your loneliness will drive you mad and you will beg for death. You will seek for ways to take your own life, but you will fail. In the end, Gathân, you will beg me to take your life from you. You will see, Illuminar,” the Demon Lord said, spitting out ‘Illuminar’ like it was bile in his throat. “You will see. The day will come when you will gladly give me your soul!”

Brinn answered the Demon Lord. “I name you Kirin Sa’an; soul stealer. I will never give my soul to you, Lucifer. I will fight you for all eternity, yea until the stars fall from the heavens, even if I am the last of my kind.”

“Ah, but you are not the last.” The Demon Lord laughed a hideous laugh. “You say now that you will never yield your soul, but that will change. One day you will beg me to release you. One day you will beg me to take your soul. And though you will perish that day as your kin across this span are about to, on that day you will not die as the last of your kind. Upon your death, yet one other will remain. One who serves me; one whose soul I already own.”

There is another? Brinn didn’t understand the Demon Lord’s words. Was he speaking of R’ille? Was she the one who would remain? She had given away her soul in an attempt to save him. Was she the one of whom he spoke?

“No! R’ille will never serve you!”

Brinn grew silent, his blue eyes radiating defiance.

The Demon Lord laughed, and thunder rolled across the void of the chasm. “Do you hear me, Illuminar? Your soul is mine. You belong to me. To prove it, I will mark your flesh as my property!” And with that, the Demon Lord removed a medallion from around his neck and held it up for the slavering armies around him to see. The medallion was a pentagram. “This symbol marks those who belong to me!” he cried, and the armies chanted their master’s name in response.

“Shaitan. Shaitan.”

The black-robed giant turned to Brinn, catching sight of the Nyakil that pierced his abdomen. His eyes flared with intensity as he took pleasure in the pain inflicted upon the captive. As he came closer, Lucifer shifted his gaze from the blade in Brinn’s belly to the center of Brinn’s chest, and with scarcely more than a wave of his gloved hand, tore open Brinn’s leather armor. The Demon Lord took the pentagram medallion and pressed it against the exposed skin of Brinn’s chest. That medallion had rested upon the Demon Lord’s chest from time immemorial, heated by the hellish fire within the beast to a white-hot glow. It burned Brinn’s flesh like a brand, leaving a blackened, blistering pentagram-shaped scar. Smoke and the smell of charred flesh rose from the searing wound. Brinn slumped forward screaming as the pain overwhelmed him. .

The Demon Lord placed the medallion back around its neck, and let out another booming laugh as he mocked the immortal. The sound of that laugh struck fear in the hearts of both Brinn and the evil army around him. The black-robed lord turned away from his sagging prisoner and strode over to the crystal span. He stepped up onto its beginning lengths. Holding aloft an iron scepter, he motioned his forces to advance. They responded by shouting his name, and their trampling feet upon the crystal bridge drowned out the sound of all other things.