51. Convergence

“Though I should have heeded Agrak’s advice and abandoned him, as I was of no particular use in a fight, I found myself unable to leave him again. The last time I had lost sight of The Small King, I had found myself adrift and suffering for unending moons.

And if he were to die here, of all places, then I wanted to witness his death. Even if my own death would likely follow shortly thereafter.

The Small King waited for the gargantuan to regenerate, and regain its wits, and then leapt forth as he had before. Though this time he twisted to divert the intercepting blow, and though he was crunched once more into a distant wall, he was able to readily free himself. The gargantuan goblin grew impatient with repeat attacks, swinging out and smashing down, while I decided it was indeed time to leave.

Debris tumbling overhead, and nearly all of the seven walls smashed to pieces, I rushed as fast as I could out of the cavern and into the neighboring tunnel. I had not gotten far when a raucous, earth shaking collapse began from behind.

Gladness washed over me that I was not buried, though dirt still sifted down from the tunnel roof overhead. And a sense of relief and pride as well that The Small King had survived and had seemingly succeeded. There was just the problem of how I would recruit a team of diggers to retrieve Agrak, and then the further complication of if that might incur the wrath of the now buried gargantuan.

But then a figure slashed forth in a dusty blur, sending out a blinding cloud, and I found The Small King standing beside me once more.

‘Come,’ he instructed. ‘There is work to be done. And explanations to be given.’”

Great Chief Harak towered ahead of his crude hut of interlaced branches and dried leaves. He had let his great club of bone drop to his side, watching the huge troll thunder off beyond the village and further into the Midderlands Pass.

“I told you,” chided Dargo from behind, “he was not coming here to fight. He is just very large and the valley becomes quite narrow.”

“Well… I would have fought.”

“Of course,” agreed the much smaller shaman. “And you would have died.”

Harak disagreeably grunted. “You say we will die no matter what happens.”

“That is true, my Chief,” conceded Dargo. “But I think there are better deaths than being ground to pieces in the maw of an enormous troll.”

Harak grunted once more, though this time without inclination. He sniffed, shrugged his shoulders, then lifted his great club above his head to stretch. “You are sure that we buried the box in the right place, shaman?”

“I am sure as I can be.”

“Encouraging,” Harak mocked.

“I am encouraging as I can be,” said the small shaman. He stepped forward from the hut, not taller than the Great Chief’s hips, and swung his own club of gnarled wood through the air. It had a short handle, and the wooden head was roughly carved. “You were a strong leader, Harak. A true Great Chief.”

Harak let out a sharp laugh. “What did I do, shaman? Sat here watching over a meager clan. We should have gone with the Moonbear and died with all the rest of them. Now we get to face manlings with powerful magic instead. To fight with no honour or hope.”

Dargo winced, closing his large eyes, but he did not speak.

“Better yet,” mused Harak, “I should have challenged the Moonbear and led the clans myself. But now there is nothing to do. We made our choices. I hope one day Gahr’rul can return and avenge us all. The manlings are a vicious people. Stealing land, slaying younglings. They would end us all and take the whole Quiet Isles for themselves.”

Dargo simply quietly nodded beside him.

“We will die to strangers, Dargo. The clan will forget us. We will not be remembered.”

“I will remember you, should I survive.”

“What good is that to me, shaman? Other goblins will eat you before they realize you have magic. And you are too weak to hunt and survive on your own.” Great Chief Harak scowled down, but he saw what looked like discomfit in the small shaman. “Still…” he added, more kindly. “I hope that you survive. Maybe you are stronger than I think.”

Dargo considered the words for a long moment. “I am strong as I can be,” he said.

Great Chief Harak laughed. “Fool,” he said. “Now when will the manlings come?”

***

“How long?” asked High Wizard Lara of the younger woman, Kyra. They all now wore their silver masks, hoods up, so their faces could not be seen. Kyra’s mask bore the visage of a soft smile, while Lara’s was a cruel, mocking grin.

“They want us to go as soon as we can,” she answered, her voice soft and trembling. “But—”

“Don’t worry,” Lara dismissed. “We will not be going in first. I’m not going to end up like the last High Wizard that tried that.”

“We cannot ignore orders,” insisted Frederick. His mask bore a proud, resolute look.

“You cannot,” Lara corrected. “But I am the one who gives the orders. If we are late, then we are late. I do not expect that anyone is going to be eager to volunteer to lure The Void Walker out. Though there is no guarantee that he has any intention of protecting the mundane. This whole plan could be for nothing,” she added. “So we need not rush at all.”

The High Wizard knew all that was true, but she knew in her heart of hearts that The Void Walker would be coming. The other powerful wizard was nowhere to be seen, while The Void Walker had been keeping his eye on the girl. Which was strange because as a mundane she had no magical talent, and served no useful purpose which Lara could see. And she did not want to face off against The Void Walker at all.

Least of all when he was at his most powerful, with all the awful magics in the world to dispense against the first waves of wizard that came to defeat him.

Though rumor was that The Void Walker had not had time to recover, and he would not have much fight left in him at all. Even so, Lara much preferred others to gamble their lives on her behalf. She would arrive as late as she could, but avoid being last.

“You are a coward,” hissed Frederick. “Open the portal,” he instructed to Kyra.

The masked woman looked between them both.

“Gainsay me again and I will kill you, Frederick,” declared the High Wizard without any emotion at all. “The same goes for all of you.” She raised a hand to stay any further protest. “Say another word, and I will kill you as well. And do not think that a silver mask will stop me from boiling the blood in your skull until your brain cooks through.”

The taller wizards looked to the other four, but they all turned their masked faces. He swallowed audibly, and cleared his throat. Then he offered a stiff nod.

“Good,” said Lara. “Kyra, let me know when the first High Wizard arrives.”

***

The sun had brightened in the sky, and Astrid had begun to sweat under her mildewed cloak. Though feeling warm was a welcome novelty after so long, the uncomfortable itching was far less pleasant. But she supposed that she would likely be dead soon, so it was best to enjoy any sensations while she still could.

She hardly realized when she drew close to the village of Great Chief Harak. The huts were made of the roots and branches of the boggy valley, and grasses and leaves covered the roofs, so each of the modest structures could barely be seen apart from a distance.

Eventually though, she crossed into an open stretch of cracked mud, amid which squatted a crude well of mossy rocks. The foremost structure, a crude hut thrice the size of the others, stood atop an earthen rise with two opposing ramps of slight incline.

So soon as Astrid stepped into the village, figures emerged all along the ramp, appearing one or two at a time, until nearly a score of them were arrayed ahead.

The figures, varied in height in build, all wore dark hooded robes and gleaming silver masks. She could not see the designs, because the sunlight reflected keenly from each.

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“Stay where you are, mundane!” a stentorian voice demanded of Astrid. This man stood foremost on the rise, his posture proud and unwavering.

“The goblins are gone,” said a wizard beside him, after having checked the now abandoned hut of the Great Chief.

“You know it doesn’t work,” said Astrid, stepping towards the stone well. Hundreds of thin seeds had been scattered all along the dry earth, which cracked underfoot.

The strangers regarded her in silence, though a few shuffled their feet.

“Avenpark’s plan,” she explained, more loudly. “It never works. Chaos and Order walk the winding road of time in lockstep, hands linked, one growing as the other shrinks. Do you fools really think that a magic tyrant can impose his own will on existence itself?”

Hushed whispers met the words with confusion.

“Ignore the mundane,” the lead man suggested. “Do you any of you sense him?”

“No sign of The Void Walker,” a woman’s voice answered.

“Nor the other one,” offered a younger man.

“Fine,” said the lead man. “Kill the mundane. I’m not waiting—”

“Easy, brother,” came drawling words in answer. Standing ahead of the rock well, the dark skinned figure of The Void Walker stretched his neck, and brushed dust from his straw skirts. His crude club hung loosely at the fibrous belt along his lean hips.

The tall robed figure hesitated, and seemed to take a step back. “Void Walker.”

“High Wizard,” the shaman lazily greeted. “You’ve been looking for me, eh?”

“Yes,” the High Wizard answered, his tone regaining confidence. “I bring a message on behalf of The Wizard of Avenpark. A final entreaty. Join us now and your resistance will be forgiven and forgotten.”

The Void Walker’s wry chuckle was so quiet that Astrid barely heard his mirth. “Forgiven and forgotten, eh? If only it were so. But in this life, brother, the only one who can forgive us is ourselves. And I am not so inclined.” He stretched once more, lifting the bloodied club of gnarled wood from his belt. “Now,” he added, in an altogether different, darker tone. “If you leave here, Avenpark will hunt you. And you will likely die. But if you stay here, I will kill you, and your death is a certainty. So make your own decisions—all of you! Die today, or live to the morrow. I promise you when the time comes that you will wish you bargained for just one more second. And I can promise you—as well—that there is no besting me. Not for you. Not for him,” he assured of the lead wizard. He cast his harsh gaze along all those robed figures arrayed along the earthen slope. “They call me The Void Walker. Because I walk the Ether like you cross a street of stone. And I have seen what awaits you. Run with breath in your lungs, or rot with worms in your eyes. This is my entreaty. And it is final. And is terrible. But it is the best that any of you will get.”

The black man’s words faded into the breeze, and the score of wizards stood silent. Astrid watched as pair reached for each other’s hands. But none of them fled.

“Are you finished?” asked the tall wizard atop the rise.

The Void Walker quietly laughed, and shrugged. “I haven’t even started.”

“Do not attempt to bring him in alive,” instructed the High Wizard. “I will pay whatever cost is owed for returning his corpse.” He glanced towards the distant surround of huts, and Astrid watched as more and more robed figures appeared on the periphery of her vision, until the entire village was full of masked wizards. Then he dipped his head.

Astrid looked forward to find The Void Walker looking back at her, bitterly smiling. She nodded, and crunched her heel into the seeds beneath her feet.

The shaman took in a deep breath, his skinny chest rising and falling, and he whispered to himself, “They die, or everyone dies.”

The conjurations of great magics—fire, earth, water—began on all sides, ripping power from the Ether and into the hands of dozens of wizards.

The Void Walker swept up a single lazy hand, and magic swept out from him in a wave, like dropping a stone in a pond, and as the ripples went, so too did the seeds scattered along the village tremble. The gathered wizards, initially fearful, had hesitated, but then answered his magic with their own conjurations of flames and hurled rocks.

But those projectiles were answered in kind by the sudden eruption of huge blades of grass, blocking fire and stopping stones. The foliage grew so tall that it reared over Astrid’ slight shoulders, and blocked all sight of those around her. Behind her, where she had had tread, a messy path cut through the living maze.

As quickly as the plants had surged to life they began to wither, fading from lush yellow to a brittle brown, which soon began to catch alight all around her. She ran back the way she had come, reaching a crossroads, and turned to her right.

Screams sounded out while bitter smoke filled the air.

“Hunt him in the Ether,” ordered the High Wizard from atop the rise, surveying the chaos below as dozens of wizards stumbled into one another, or tripped and fell into the thick grass while flames danced from the tips of each tall blade.

“Populate waiting!” warned another voice, filled with panic.

“Get out of the village!” the High Wizard demanded in answer. “Then burn it down!”

Thunderous footfalls then began, amid a great crunching and rustling, and Astrid feared that Fragor had not listened and had come back to help her instead.

But then she spotted the newcomer up ahead, towering far above the walls of grass, and saw that it was not a huge troll but a giant goblin, with a great muscled frame. The brittle tips barely reached his waist, and he was surging straight towards the rise.

“Kill the goblin!” The High Wizard conjured a great ball of flames in his hands, swiftly and expertly, which he unleashed towards the Great Chief. But Harak barely staggered in his charge, and swung down his great bone club in answer, which struck the High Wizard in his hips, nearly breaking him in two, hurling him from the rise and through a wall.

***

“Seven Wizards,” Kyra cursed in disbelief.

“What is it?” High Wizard Lara demanded. “The fight is going poorly?”

“They’ve lost track of The Void Walker and the girl, and a huge goblin killed Byron.”

“Open the portal,” demanded Frederick. “We need to go and help them.”

“No,” ordered Lara. “We will go last at this rate. I—”

“I’m opening the portal, High Wizard,” said another wizard. “Kill me if you must.”

Lara’s mind flitted towards outrage and violence, but she wasn’t hopeful she could kill her entire group, and even if she did The Wizard of Avenpark would have her hunted. “Wait,” she said. “Find the girl. He came here to protect her. We need to capture her. Open the portal to the village’s periphery and we will track her down.”

The other masked wizards looked to one another in consideration, and eventually Frederick gave a swift nod. “Do it,” he instructed.

“Don’t reach too deep into the Ether,” said Kyra. “The Populate have at least a dozen lizards waiting.”

“That’s an act of war,” said Frederick in disbelief.

“It doesn’t matter,” assured Lara. “Avenpark doesn’t want to fight them. No one does. Once their pet human is dead then they will go back to leaving us alone.”

“Open the portal,” repeated Kyra to the other wizard, and all of them stood up to face the now rippling rectangle of air which gave view of a chaotic village choked by smoke and pocked with flames. Shouts of warning and agonized wails quietly issued forth.

“Stay together,” instructed High Wizard Lara. “The Void Walker ready for us. He wants us to come for him. The girl is the only person he has ever tried to protect since we pursued him. Capture or kill her, it matters not. We will ruin whatever plans he has.”

***

Great Chief Harak snarled, dark blood dribbling from his lips. Pain radiated from his great frame, though not badly enough to worry him. Stone projectiles thudded into the flesh of his back, and he turned to kill his attacker, but the coward ducked into the grass, impossible to see through the growing haze of flames and smoke.

He had feared the outworlders at first, but once the first he died he realized that no matter what magics they possessed, they were still just manlings with brittle bones and weak flesh. They were not were not worth fearing.

They were not the Blackheart, or the Wolf, or the One Swing. They would be nothing without their powers.

Flames burgeoned, searing the flesh of his shoulder, while a great rock soared towards him and narrowly missed his head.

“It’s wounded,” a womanling shouted. “Keep going. Stay low! We—” A crunch ended her words, and Harak spotted the dark one running through the grass, sending up a spray of broken teeth and blood with his gnarled club. It reminded Harak of the small weapon that Dargo wielded. Then he remembered his goal. He wanted to scythe through the grass and destroy everyone around him, but he swore not to hurt the girl and he had no great urging to wound the dark one, either. He was fighting outnumbered already, after all.

He spotted a small figure, clad in a grey cloak instead of black, by the edge of the village. “Shaman!” he roared. “Where you lost your first fight!”

This he said because the small goblin had nearly been beaten to death near that hut, but the shaman who reared Harak had asked the then huge youngling to watch out for the smallest of their litter, because he believed Dargo would one day be a great seer.

The dark one had been running away from the grass as well, so the Great Chief hoisted up his great club and began to swing and tear through the grass, sending broken bodies flying through the air amid fiery debris, which landed and danced across the rooftops.

Flames raged all around the giant goblin. ‘The whole village burns,’ Harak realized. ‘I have destroyed everything that I was given. I failed the clan. I am not a Great Chief. I should not have been a Chief at all.’

He paused then amid the stone well which he had helped to repair so many times, and which appeared insignificant squatting beside his burnt, bleeding legs.

A soft susurration began, and welcome cold spread across Harak’s aching shoulders. The sky darkened overhead, making the village appear even greyer and bleaker. Before a great thunderous downpour began, soon smothering the flames and extinguishing them with such ferocity that all the burned and broken grass was flattened and trampled.

Dark cloaked figures, robes sodden, masks glistening, were revealed around the Great Chief. But Harak and the others were all turned to a grey cloaked figure standing atop the rise instead. His mask was carved with three straight lines for a closed eyes and mouth.

“Stormcaller!” a voice called with evident relief.

“Bring the goblin down!” another suggested.

The Stormcaller raised one gloved hand towards the sky, and stormclouds rumbled overhead. Chief Harak bared his teeth, surging forward, as the man’s arm came down.

Lightning splintered earthwards with blinding speed.

Harak barely glimpsed the spear of vengeful radiance.