Elizabeth, briefly frozen by the sight of her stunned girlfriend, found the wind driven out of her as the king stomped on her foot and hit her on the back. Her armor took the blow, the clangor ringing her ears as she instinctively counterattacked, hitting Thorgoth’s dented arm where Frances had hit him.
The king howled as the armor caved again and he stepped back, dropping his sword. Yet his wand glowed as he channeled his agony into a spell.
At the same time, Berengaria was taking her moment of freedom to swoop toward Thorgoth.
Elizabeth twisted, trying to dodge. She was too close to the king and she was certain her foot was broken. She was going to get hit by his spell. Her only comfort was that from the corner of her eye, she could see that Leila had caught Ayax just before she could hit the ground head first.
Only, except the king didn’t loose his magic. Bright emerald lances drove Thorgoth back a step and turned his attention to Tarquin.
That meant he couldn’t see Katia turn to Ginger. “Pistol!”
The queen yanked her sidearm out, and Katia ripped it from her hands. Breaking into a run, she aimed the gun high. “Featherbitch!”
Berengaria looked over her head, saw the gun aimed and dropped down as Katia fired, but the pistol was aimed high on purpose. With the grace of someone who’d done it a thousand times, Katia switched her sword to a javelin-like grip and threw it.
It was the last thing she did before Berengaria’s counterspell punched a hole through her midsection. The noblewoman tripped, her head slamming into the ground.
Yet her blade was true. It shot through the air, slamming into Berengaria’s right wing. Wailing, the harpy continued to flap to stay airborn.
“Thorgoth help!”
“Berengaria!” The king roared a Word of Power with such redolent force, Elizabeth could see Tarquin’s shoulders sag with resignation before the earth below him erupted in a hail of stone and dirt. It threw the mage high into the air so quickly and so violently he was there and then he wasn’t.
Thorgoth had not, however, saved his wife. Berengaria had lost too much height. Martin and Ginger leapt, just high enough for them to grab into her claws. One moment, she was in the air and the next she was on the ground.
“Don’t you—” Berengaria screamed as Martin stabbed his dagger into her wing, pinning her into the ground. Meanwhile, Ginger slammed the pommel of her blade into the harpy’s head to knock her out. For good measure, the king stepped on Berengaria’s wand, snapping it.
The king and queen of Erisdale exchanged a glance, smiling behind their visors.
“Martin, Ginger, get down!”
The shrill alarm in Timur’s voice was like a shot of adrenaline into Martin and Ginger. They dropped for the ground. Timur’s violet magic shield just managed to block his father’s dark purple beam, but the resultant explosion hurled the pair into one of the earthen walls.
“I think we pissed him off!” Ginger stammered.
“Get Katia! I’ll keep him away from Bereng—oh shit!” Martin and Ginger ran for the limp Katia, feeling the scorching heat of a fireball impact behind where they’d been.
“Pick on someone your own size—blood—fuckit.” Timur took a breath and sang a song that he was rather familiar with. Lightning, fuschia colored rather than Frances’s blue, crackled around his wand, before let rip with the spell.
Thorgoth, stomping forward towards his queen, ducked, and tried to shield against the spell. The impact of the lightning staggered the king.
“Timur, you little shit! You want my attention this badly?”
The prince responded by flipping his father the finger and sticking out his tongue. To his surprise, and to anybody conscious enough to see it, Thorgoth actually chuckled.
Shaking his head, Timur made sure he was holding onto his wand tight. “I did, now I don’t fucking need it!”
“Well, too bad!” Thorgoth weaved his wand in a jerking, erratic fashion that somehow still seemed to form a pattern.
Timur responded by crying out a note and waving his wand, duplicating himself again. The three identical clones scattered.
They did not get far enough out from a massive flaming boot that fell from the sky. Wreathed in the flames of the Demon King’s magic, the physical manifestation of Thorgoth’s ire crashed down on the prince.
The clones vanished as the real Timur screamed as many Words of Power as he managed, forming several layers of shields around himself before the boot came slamming down.
Spiderweb cracks ripped through the shields with the sound of ripping paper, followed by a popping sound as the shields shattered, one by one.
“Hang on!” Leila leapt in beside Timur, a jet of flame emanating from her staff to push the boot back.
The two mages held out against Thorgoths onslaught for a brief moment until their magic abruptly gave way. The boot washed over them, knocking the pair to the ground and leaving a giant imprint. At its center was a grimacing Timur, back flat against the ground. He staggered to his feet, managing to raise his wand with shivering hands.
Beside him, coughing, Leila tried to stand up but found herself only able to drag herself into cover behind a dirt wall.
“I’m out. Sorry,” Leila gasped.
“It’s alright. Thanks for saving me,” said Timur, flashing a smile.
Taking a breath the prince stepped in front of the spent mage.
“Shit dad, no wonder mom got the hell away from you!”
Thorgoth rolled his eyes. “I’m going to feed your tongue to you,” he said, so casually that nobody could mistake his malice.
Timur took a step back, and almost stumbled. His ears were still ringing from the Demon King’s last attack.
A four-fingered hand steadied him.
“Help Katia. We’ll take care of this,” said Ayax. She’d had to pull her helmet off. Blood ran down the side of her cheek from a cut above her brow.
“We’ll? Wait, but—” Timur’s voice trailed off as Ginger, Martin and a limping Elizabeth marched toward Thorgoth. They formed a grim, tightening circle with Ayax, who was already singing notes.
Swallowing his hesitation, the prince ran to the fallen human noblewoman. There was a lot of blood, but the wound was not as bad as he expected. In fact…
The prince narrowed his eyes at the wound. It’d been sealed. Hold on, where was—
Katia groaned, shaking his head, Timur began a healing spell. That would have to wait. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his fiance’s best friends stand silently around his father.
“You have but one Otherworlder among you. Go fetch some of the others I’ve scattered and come back. Or perhaps you should fetch your friend, Frances. Not that she’ll do much,” said Thorgoth.
“No can do,” said Martin, raising his sword to adopt a low guard.
Ginger switched the grip on her sword to a one-handed grip and drew her dagger in her free hand. “From the looks of it, she’s done plenty.”
“Besides, cuz is busy,” said Ayax, glancing over her shoulder.
Thorgoth was also watching where Frances and Morgan were. Whatever spell they were casting had created a brilliant lavender glow. A soothing color that was starting to play over the uniforms and armor of the combatants.
They all moved at once. Thorgoth pointed his wand at Frances. Elizabeth stepped forward with a wide swing to the back of the king’s leg. Thorgoth stepped away, his boots twisting and digging against the dirt to support his move as he slashed his wand at Elizabeth.
Ayax’s black magic coalesced around the spell, directing it away but Elizabeth couldn’t take much advantage of it. The king kicked the Otherworlder’s good leg, sending her almost to the ground. That meant that Ayax managed to hit the king with her glowing staff.
Thorgoth’s armor glowed, the enchantments activating to deaden the strike and he only shuddered, even as the force of Ayax’s strike rang the very air like a bell. The shockwave made Martin wince, slowing his follow up cut just enough for Thorgoth to move his body out of the way. Dodging Martin meant Ginger managed to get in a glancing hit at his shoulder. She was aiming for his head, but Thorgoth had deflected her blade with his own. He now countered, the tip of his sword clanging off of the side of Ginger’s helmet, nearly cutting her neck.
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“Crap!”
Elizabeth grabbed Ginger before she fell. Ayax blocked Thorgoth’s spell, whilst Martin swung again at the king’s back. Thorgoth blocked the blow with his sword, fired another spell to keep Ayax shielding her friends, whilst Elizabeth and Ginger circled around and struck together from different angles. Thorgoth dodged one blow, blocked the other, shot another spell back. On and on the deadly dance continued. Frances’s friends keeping themselves alive and from being just blasted away by Thorgoth by sticking as close to him as possible.
Their time and effort was not being wasted.
Morgan had taken Frances’s hand and focusing on the warmth of her touch, she felt for the keystones inside of her. The keystones she’d awoken gave her their power with ease, and a floodtide of magic cascaded out from her. This power took the form of flickering purple flames that covered her arms and seeped from them into Frances’s hands.
Yet, even as she kept the stream of magic flowing, she couldn’t help but watch the deadly battle going on against her grandfather. Thorgoth’s brutal strikes and spells, and their effects on those fighting to protect them seared into her mind, even as she did her best to turn her gaze away.
Frances could sense something wasn’t right before she could see it in her daughter’s expression. The flow of magic and the warmth that was spreading through her body had flickered, almost like a candle about to be blown off.
“Morgan? What’s wrong?”
Thin fingers squeezed tight around Frances’s hands. “Nothing!”
“It’s alright to be scared,” said Frances.
Morgan swallowed. “I know, but…”
“But?”
“Mom, what’s your plan?”
Frances took a breath. “I’m going to use True Song Magic.”
The princess blinked. “I thought you didn’t know how to use it?”
“I believe I know now. Morgan, what are the components of magic?” Frances asked.
“Power, understanding, and visualization, which is tied to our imagination and emotions,” said Morgan.
Her daughter’s magic had resumed “Alan’s journal mentioned no secret technique. If true song magic isn’t brought about by some understanding of our world, or power, then it has to be tied to visualization and emotion.”
Morgan frowned. “Alright, but what emotion could possibly be the key?”
“It’s not just one emotion. I believe that when Alan, Yalisa, Moragon, and Amura and Rathon cast their spells they achieved something remarkable. They’d accepted who they were, what had happened to them, and were at peace with themselves.”
“Wait, is that even possible? And what if they were in peace? And even if you are happy with yourself, how could you beat Thorgoth?”
“I’m not going to beat him. I’m just going to make it possible. As for how? Trust me, Morgan.” Leaning forward, Frances gently kissed the harpy-orc’s forehead. “Don’t think about your grandfather or what might happen, just remember the people that love you.”
“Wait mom—”
Morgan blinked. She wasn’t sure how but Frances was singing again. She and Ivy’s Sting shone, wreathed by the colors of the clear sky. The harpy-orc had been certain of her mother’s lack of magic. Yet now, she felt like she was bathed in the warm sunlight that only existed high above the clouds.
“Together, Morgan, my beloved daughter.” Frances smiled. Took a breath and sang a lower note. The harpy-orc matched the pitch and together their voices mingled. Their song grew in intensity, like the light that bathed them and the battlefield.
The battle with Thorgoth was now cast in stark, lavendar-tinged shadows. It gave the fight an almost graphic-novel quality. The brief and violent exchanges of flashing magic helped to accentuate this aspect, with Elizabeth finding her companions and the king at times looking frozen in frame as their weapons clashed. Scratches and scrapes accumulated on her and her friends’ armor like an artist adding more detail to the paintings.
Thorgoth was winning. His magic was too strong. Half the time he would block or twist their strikes away. Only the cavalcade of attacks from the three warriors kept him from using a more potent spell. Every time Ayax prepared a spell to hit the king, he would target Martin, or Elizabeth and force her to shield her friends.
Ayax still darted, a whirling dark form striking and casting shield spells to protect her human companions. Martin was still moving quickly, his longsword struck like a steel snake seeking its prey. Yet, every step Elizabeth took was marred by the pain from her wounded foot. It was worse than she had thought, or perhaps enough blood had trickled out because she sometimes found herself seeing nothing but blackness.
That wasn’t anything compared to Ginger. The queen hadn’t been wounded like Elizabeth, but directing the army in the fiercest fighting of the battle and leading charge after charge had taken its toll. She lagged behind the trio, only managing sudden strikes with her fading energy. Her crimson hair stuck to her scalp, a fire that had consumed all its fuel and was driven on only by sheer will.
Will was no substitute for the callous calculus that determined how much energy the human body had consumed. Ginger lunged, a wild unfocused strike that clanged off of Thorgoth’s thick shoulder pauldron. In return, she ate the full brunt of the king’s sword on her cuirass.
Knocked back, she crashed down into the dirt. Martin twisted to step in front of his beloved. With a sudden burst of acrobatic grace inherent to a troll, Thorgoth kicked him and fired a spell to keep Ayax shielding. The side-kick connected with Martin’s knee and the human howled, going down hard.
Ayax and Elizabeth struck together, hoping beyond hope. Warhammer and glowing staff scything high and low.
They were too slow. Thorgoth had knocked away enough of his attackers to go back to his preferred method of fighting.
A sudden Word of Power, Elizabeth was picked up and thrown into Ayax. Metal scraped metal as the pair tumbled through the air and hit the ground in a tangle of limbs. Adrenaline made them scramble to their feet, close to where Martin and Ginger were both trying to lever themselves up on their weapons.
Thorgoth stood over them, grinning.
“Goodbye-HURK!”
Ginger gawked. Martin stared. Elizabeth and Ayax sought and found each other’s hands. A sword wreathed in grey magic appeared out from Thorgoth’s side. Helias stood behind the Demon King, an expression of intense concentration gritting his teeth as he hummed.
Straining at the effort, the tauroll twisted his fanghorn out of Thorgoth and raised it to swing again, this time at Thorgoth’s head.
“You Clodthrog**!”**
The roar, if something so savage and blood-curdling could be called that, made Helias flinched right before the king screamed a Word of Power. Helias was thrown backward. The general landed on his feet as the king fell to one knee, a stream of Words of Power falling from lips.
“Oh shit—” Helias got a grey shield up, a futile attempt to block the torrent of violet fire that rained down on him from all directions. Even as the attacks cracked and dented the shield, all could see the blood trickling from Thorgoth’s wound stopping. The armor and resultant wound vanished as the king sealed the wound and healed himself while casting.
“Why Helias? Why?”
The answer came easily, and so did the realization he could not fend off Thorgoth’s attacks. That left only one option. “For my family!”
The general dropped his shield and bellowed a Word of Power. His final spell, a brutal bolt of force that took the somehow apropos form of a bull, tore through the flames toward the king.
Even as the general was blasted backwards, Thorgoth had to shield himself. Yet the grey bull gored the shield with its horns, shattering it, but dissipating some of the impact as it threw the king into the air.
Thorgoth’s feet slammed into the ground, with the king upright. Still, the general’s final assault had hurt. The king was not so fast to stagger out of the dust, still clutching his wand.
All around him, the recovered fighters and mages of the allied army formed a wide ring around the demon king.
“Berengaria and I are served by idiots! Worthless wretches and fucking useless clodthrogs! They can’t even betray properly!”
Thorgoth raised his blade and wand as he turned around. He watched, his lips warping up in a sneer as the circle of trolls, orcs, ogres, goblins, centaurs, harpies and humans shivered. Even the two dragons circling overhead kept a wide berth.
“Outnumbered, one against your best, and you still can’t fucking kill me! But maybe you lot will have better luck against me. Come on! Who is game enough to try to take on Thorgoth, the Demon King of Alavaria and my two blessings? Not one, two blessings!”
Silence met the Demon King and his cackling challenge.
It was not quiet, however, there was still a song in the air.
All while Frances sang, she was remembering how her biological mother burning her with the iron. She recalled her step-father Dan kicking her.
The pain hurt, it was agonizing, and with that pain came the shame and guilt that sat like a ice cold stone in her chest. She felt that pain before it passed to her doubts. Her failings. The rage that she had to hold back.
They were all part of her, along with her triumphs, her successes, the compassion and love that supported her through it all. Wrapping around her like a hug and helping to cradle that pain were her new memories.
The cottage with Edana.
Saving Timur.
Meeting Elizabeth and Martin and going on missions together.
Being adopted by Edana.
Bonding with Ayax and her extended family in Erlenberg.
Talking around the camp fires with her friends, and their newest addition, a smirking Ginger.
All the moments she shared with Timur, culminating with them lying in bed together, just side by side.
Teaching Hattie and watching the smile return to the half-troll’s face.
Morgan, her daughter, telling her that she loved her.
Perhaps she would forever carry the scars of her abuse, but they were also part of who she was, along with the friendship and love that she had for her friends, her family, and the world that she now called home.
Letting go of Morgan, Frances stepped toward the Demon King. Ivy’s Sting held almost daintily in her hand like a conductor’s baton.
“I will not take the Demon King on.
I will only undo what he builds his strength upon.
Blessings gifted from love, I will unmake.
So that my friends, my family, and my home will live on, for Alavari and human to remake.”
The words, in English, fell from Frances’s lips, redolent with magic, without any magical backlash or explosion so easily that she didn’t realize she was rhyming. Instinctively, she raised Ivy’s Sting as if conducting an orchestra, and almost daintily, drew a simple circle as she sang the final lyric to her spell.
As she held the highest note to her song, Frances watched as sparkling notes of lavender glistened into existence around the Demon King. Like the jeweled stars set in the night sky, they transfixed the onlookers, including Thorgoth. Shoulders relaxed and the tips of weapons touched the ground.
The stars surrounded Thorgoth, growing in brightness and intensity. The Demon King, snapping out of his trance, tried to bat them away with his wand. He even tried to drive them from him with a bolt of magic. The stars just let the spell pass, dodging him effortlessly.
Frances sang the final note to her song, shifting down to end on a strong chord. The stars responded by sinking into Thorgoth and vanishing. Dropping his sword, the Demon King clawed at his own armor and skin as he glowed.
A bright red thread of magic, almost scarlet in color seemed to slither out onto the ground. It was followed by an aquamarine thread the color of the deep sea. Thorogth tried to clutch at them with grasping hands. His eyes had a wild-eyed look that twisted into wide-eyed shock as his hands just passed through the threads. Knees hitting the ground, the Demon King scrabbled at the last vestiges of his wife and his mother’s crimson and aquamarine magics, but they unraveled and disappeared, like they were never there as Frances finished her song.
Well and truly out of magic, the Otherworlder still managed to keep Ivy’s Sting raised at the now kneeling Demon King.
“Thorgoth, it’s over."