“Your son is over there, Howlen. I can see him with Elisor. They’re safe.” Alexander pointed to a hill across a small inlet. Howlen didn’t bother looking. He knew it was too far to see and the Druid was just using more of his wretched magic. He kept his burning gaze on the Old God stepping out of the sea.
Since he had taken the knife, Hagsbane, nightmares terrorized Howlen every time he wanted to sleep. By the second night he did not sleep more than twenty minutes. He made no attempt to sleep the third night and now his eyes showed it. They were blood red and his temper was short. Sleep, he knew, would not have helped that.
Fenian had said nothing since the loss of his sister and friend in the cave. Howlen felt no sympathy for him. Alexander had tried to explain things to Howlen but the more he spoke, the more Howlen became enraged.
Vespasian did not speak much either, though when he did Howlen at least tried to hold back his anger. He still snapped more than he intended.
Howlen just wanted to be back with his son, and had rushed the others every morning and kept them moving later into the night. Now, at the edge of the tree line, seeing the Old God walking from the water and the countless horsemen fleeing the city of Joan, Howlen could feel a new, stronger calling. It’s what Alexander had tried to tell him. It's this cursed knife, Hagsbane.
“Howlen, I’ll carry you up to him. When we get there, stab him in the throat or face. Anywhere he isn’t armored.” Fenian spoke his first words since the cave. The words were cold and dry as Howlen's.
Howlen shook his head at the Druid. “No. I want nothing to do with any of you anymore.”
Alexander tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but Howlen would not allow it. “Howlen, I understand how you feel, but we need you. Please work with us. It’s the end of the world, the end of all of us if we fail.”
“I’ll help however I can.” Vespasian's words were clear, but for some reason Howlen felt they did not fit. Howlen looked back at him, interested at first but the feeling dissipated. Vespasian was still mounted on his horse.
Howlen began to form a plan for a moment, then cast it aside. “No, you should go. Whatever happens next, I want you to leave. Go do something good with your life. If what you’ve said is true,” Howlen turned to Alexander, “none of them can hurt me. I’ll just go kill the thing then find my son.”
“There’s hundreds of them. They’ll snatch the knife from your hands and leave you to suffer while they destroy everything.” Alexander said.
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“There is no other option!” Fenian shouted and transformed into a giant hawk. He snatched Howlen in his talons. They flew with incredible speed toward the Old God. Howlen could hardly breathe in the rush of air. He wrapped an arm around his mouth to try and shield the wind, but it didn't help.
The two were struck by the Old God's massive hand, easier than it would have been to swat a fly. Fenian, still in the form of the hawk, fell to the ground, dead and with Howlen still in his clutches. Howlen felt all the pain from the fall. The protection of the knife’s power flowed through his bones. He knew he was fine.
He lifted himself from Fenian’s cold, dead grip. As he stood he saw the countless dead thralls of the Old God closing in on him. As the closest one raised a sword and prepared to strike, three arrows knocked it to the ground. One, two, three; faster than they should have been. Howlen looked to find their source. Vespasian rode at full gallop atop his horse, coming closer and readying more arrows.
Another sea monster grabbed Howlen’s shoulder with cold wet hands. He spun and sunk Hagsbane into its unarmored gut. The gray-blue skin of the monster was replaced with the person’s original pale pink tone and it gave a horrific final scream, then fell, dead. Just a person.
He looked up to Que Vitae as Vespasian came beside him. Veslasian kicked a few of the dead away and shot more arrows into them. In a flash, Howlen leaped on the back of the horse and the two rode for the massive Old God.
Its feet, legs and body, all the way up to its neck were covered in a strange black armor, seemingly the same material as Hagsbane. Howlen looked further up to the Old God's face.
How can I get up there? No sooner had Howlen thought it, than a sudden flash of a massive lightning bolt shot from the hill across the inlet and struck Que Vitae. Vespasian turned the horse out of the falling Old God's path as it crashed to its knees and rolled to its back. Another bolt struck the Old God. Howlen knew its source. He also saw his chance.
Howlen swung off the horse, ran to Que Vitae and climbed up his shoulder. He stood near the Old God's gray neck. A third bolt struck, but it was far less powerful and stopped almost as soon as it had started. The Old God began to rise.
Howlen sunk the short, twisted black blade of Hagsbane into Que Vitae’s stone-gray skin.
There was something in that last lighting bolt that filled him with an impossible dread, even as he held the knife in the Old God. Somehow, he knew that last bolt, cut short, was the life of his son ending. It was a strange knowledge, not just a feeling that it might be so, but a truth given to him through the knife. He felt the loss as if it happened in front of him.
Que Vitae fell on his face in the sand.
As had happened with the first dead monster Howlen stabbed on the beach, with the death of Que Vitae, the others turned to their natural colors. The dogs and horses, the legion soldiers and the townspeople taken by the Old God screamed and whinnied and whimpered until they all lay dead on the beach.
Hagsbane’s purpose served, Howlen pulled it from the neck of the Old God and tucked it into the inner pocket of his coat. He left without a word. Vespasian was the only one to see his path, but did not follow.