XXXV. END OF THE LINE

  Alden stepped through the shattered gates to Marquez and shuddered involuntarily. Though he had been to the majestic city during his time on Silex before, the city now served as a haunting reminder to the folly of mankind. He could recall towering structures of glass and steel, now it looked like nothing more than a well off countryside town. Alden struck the corpse of a horse with his boot, scattering the jackal like wraiths that fed upon it. Alden’s rage began to fuel his resolve, flooding him with memories of the path first followed all those centuries before. Duvachellé had betrayed and turned on him in the final days of the war so long ago. That wasn’t saying much, everyone was against everyone and Agrardya especially, but that didn’t change the bitterness he felt.

  He looked up towards the palace situated at the top of the hill, smoke billowed from somewhere behind it, it was by no means the chaos Morana had assured him. He swore under his breath and lit a cigarette. He had insisted in taking only the creatures that bore human likeness, in his experience people fear that which moves like they do but is profoundly different from themselves. In his day they had even managed to teach the lizard men to speak, it was a shame to see they reverted to hisses and snapping at one another again. The faceless and Dagger jaws didn’t need speech however; they were mindless and primal, seeking only to feed.

  “YOU!”

  Alden spun around to see a young woman aiming a glowing index finger at him. He nonchalantly pointed to himself as he surreptitiously unstrapped his pistol.

  “That Emblem, where did you find it?” the young mage demanded.

  “This?” Alden pointed to the flag bearing blue stars, red bars and gold stripes on his shoulder. “And what would you know of this?”

  “I know its ancient history.” The woman replied in Agrardyan. “The mark of a failed empire. Where did you get it?”

  Alden paused as he looked the woman over. “Who are you?”

  “Cheryl Funder of Saragdahl, and that mark is a cancer that should not be resurrected.”

  Alden rolled his eyes and chuckled humorlessly to himself. “Saragdahl, that’s in the east isn’t it?”

  Cheryl briefly lowered her arm. “Who are you?”

  Alden held out his arms so she could see his insignia. On his left breast was his surname, Nelson, on his right was the branch; GARA, standing for The Grand Agrardyan Republic Army. On the center of his chest was the emblem of his rank, a double headed eagle, identifying him as the Commander in Chief, if she recognized the flag, surely the rest would fall into place. As expected, Cheryl blanched and took a step back, dropping her casting.

  “Impossible….”

  “In the flesh, more or less.” Alden chuckled. “Tell me, Does Dell Tor Mon still stand?”

  Cheryl nodded slowly. “It’s the capitol, as it was of old, but how…?”

  “So you know me then?” Alden asked, oddly hopeful.

  Cheryl’s shock quickly turned to disgust and anger. “Only of the atrocities you’ve committed, but you’re dead, remanded to the Beast for your sins.”

   “I got paroled early.” Alden shrugged. “As for atrocities, they had it coming.”

  “Had it coming?” Cheryl demanded disbelievingly. “You single handedly caused the collapse! We still only speak of you in hushed whispers, you’re evil incarnate!”

  Alden laughed aloud as he retrieved a cigarette. “Evil exists only in fairy tales, kid. The ‘collapse’ was inevitable.”

  “We still bear the scars of your campaign built upon hate and bigotry! To say nothing of the genocide! I don’t know why you have returned, but I will take it upon myself to end you once and for all!”

  A flash of acrid smoke and light signaled Morana’s return. Alden turned to inquire why the palace was not in flames as she had promised only to find her bleeding and nearly collapsed. He rushed to her side to prop her up as she muttered something under her breath over and over. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Cheryl unleashed her spell, and a thorny vine shot up from the cobblestone to ensnare the pair. Morana huffed in exasperation and the vines immediately disintegrated.

  “I don’t have time for this.” Morana rumbled.

  “No! Don’t!” Alden screamed as he forcibly lowered her hand. “She’s one of mine, in a sense.”

  Morana dropped her spell with a colorful flourish and gust of malefic energy. Cheryl took a hesitant step back and weaved another spell in her hands, though kept her lips pursed tightly. Morana stumbled a step and collapsed into Alden’s arms, and the young mage took the opportunity to flee. Alden cursed and debated on giving chase, but found himself unable to leave Morana. Instead, he keyed his radio as he watched her flee down the lane.

  “Be advised of friendlies in the area, white female Agrardyan, black dress, dirty blonde hair age sixteen to twenty. Last seen headed towards the city center. Do not engage, and report any more Agrardyan nationals. Nelson out.”

  “So that’s why,” Morana laughed weakly. “you’re softer than Ozzy.”

  Alden smirked. “I got where I am by vowing to put Agrardya first in all things.”

  Morana pushed Alden away as she attempted to stand on her own. “You got where you are by being a fascist.”

  Alden ignored the barb as he held her arm to steady her. She must have gotten overconfident at some point, as far as he knew no weapon could touch Morana, her proficiency with the dark arts made her near invincible. Plus the whole ancient deity angle meant she was immortal as well. Yet here she was in his arms, bleeding from a stab wound in her abdomen.

  “Just, let go Alden. I can close it, I just need to collect myself first…”

  Alden obliged, and Morana sank to the ground, as she attempted to steady her breathing. She ripped open her dress, revealing a gaping hole and pulsating organs within. She clamped her hand over the wound and it slowly shrank, closing without a scar. Alden suddenly became worried, not only was she taken down by mortals with mortal weapons, the wound was not self-healing. It seemed that they were mere humans in this city, but would death give release or only return them to the hell they only recently escaped? He snapped back from his thoughts as Morana stood and mended the dress in the same fashion as she had mended her flesh.

  “That idiot gave his sister the means to slay a god. I can’t tell if it was out of arrogance and over estimation of his own power, or if he is more cunning than I originally gave him credit for.”

  “…So it wasn’t him?”

  “No, no.” Morana cackled as she pulled herself to her feet. “He showed up and issued a couple of threats, there is nothing that creature can do. To me at least.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Alden demanded. “We’re in the same fucking sinking vessel.”

  Morana turned a gaze upon him that could wither steel. Alden shrank back and felt the full fear of the gods pounding in his chest, a fear he’d not felt since he had been a child.

  “Knowing what you know, you still presume to claim yourself my equal?”

  Alden bowed his head. “Never, I merely meant to ask what will become of me and my men.”

  He felt his skin crawl as she continued to bore into him with her eyes, now red like embers. Every story he had heard as a child flooded his mind, and despite how foolish he knew it to be, she terrified him. Even when all the gods of Silex had been slain or banished, Morana had remained. Death was mankind’s only constant, they could never purge themselves of it, only provoke. He doubted she even grasped the truth of her moniker, she was more or less just a copy. Or a reawakened demon.

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  “You could end up right back in that bastard beast’s clutches. And I sincerely doubt little Ozzy will be coming to rescue any of you, so don’t fucking die.” Morana spat. “I want the king and to be done with this place. We can let Osric go to the blasted mountaintop.”

  Alden summoned one of his soldiers, who jogged over and kneeled before them. “Find the King, let none escape. I want this city purged of all life.”

  The soldier nodded and melted into a pool of black sludge, seeping through the cracks to carry out his task. Morana drew a silver circle in the air to create a mirror, she angrily fixed her hair and cleaned the blood from her hands and face with snow. Alden lit another cigarette and took two drags before he tossed it into the snow bank as he regarded the city. The streets in this area were deserted save the corpses strewn about the gutters; no doubt some evacuation was in effect. Hopefully they would flee to the frozen lake as Morana assured him they would, but she had assured him the palace would burn as well.

  “What happened up there? If I may ask.”

  Morana smirked and tossed her hair in his face as she turned away. “Don’t be so formal, it doesn’t suit you.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Met my old nemesis and Osric’s bitch sister. Seems the fool gave the wench some negation amulet, that’s the only reason she managed to--”

  “Gore you?” Alden finished.

  Morana growled as she dismissed the mirror. “If you must call it that. But I believe it was given as a failsafe if he were to actually attempt to kill her.”

  “The big softie.” Alden mocked, concern still upon his face.

  “Yes, he really is. It was from your time, one of those little trinkets used to bind the goddess Zara.”

  “I thought you were the sole survivor, did they all pass to mortals?”

  Morana tossed her hair and turned her back to Alden. “Mortals? Not anymore. I told you the fool would accomplish something.”

  Alden drew his sword and started the long trek to the palace. “Let us hope so, for your sake.”

* * *

  Aichlan skidded to a stop on the frozen street, before him Eth readied Enyo’s soldiers for battle. Unlike the others in the Colby-Nau army, hers wore light mail and wielded beautifully crafted swords of silver and longbows that fired arrows of pure magical energy. Aichlan looked around for Séverin and the others, but could find no one. Eth waved over to Aichlan as he approached, careful not to slip again on the slick stones. From their vantage in the saddle of the hills Marquez was built upon, they could see nothing. Despite their lack of view, the sounds of battle grew ever near from every direction.

  “Where is Séverin?” he exclaimed without preamble.

  “Glad ye got yer voice back.” Eth said with a grin. “As fer him? He took off with some o’ Madden’s boys to find the brute and the huntress. No word from Enyo and Donough either. Seems some o’ the king’s men already came this way and conscripted Fiora and her souljars, Rowena went with ‘er.”

  “What of Órfhlaith? Where are hers and Donough’s men?”

  Eth pointed in the direction of the palace. “They went up after word came we were under attack.”

  “Damn it…” This was the exact opposite of what Aichlan told them to do.

  Aichlan rubbed his still sore throat to no avail. Now his army was divided and without leadership, with half going in search of missing commanders and the other half marching blindly to the frontlines that may not even be there by the time they arrive. Aichlan wanted to pin the blame on Laelianus, but in all actuality it most likely lay on some inexperienced lord who forced a charge and botched a retreat. As Garrick often told him growing up, ‘Title does not make one a soldier.’ He turned around just as Ashe and Maleah jogged over, and Eth led the battalion on their march.

   “Maleah, where are your riders?”

  “They followed Fiora to the front.” Aichlan couldn’t help but sense she was offended by this. “And no one even bothered to get Cookie out of the stables for me when I arrived.”

  “Perhaps you should have stayed here where you were told then.”

  “Then who would have stabbed that witch and saved all of your asses?”

  Aichlan was beginning to wonder why he even bothered with her anymore. It seemed that no matter what, she was right, and there was little you could logically argue against her. Perhaps this is how she got away with her behaviors in the past; she just wore down her Commanding officers until they gave up and let her do as she pleased. The tactic was probably so ingrained in her by this point she had no idea she was even doing it.

  “Where is your horse Maleah?” Aichlan sighed; in retrospect his familiar relationship with his officers did little to thwart these behaviors.

  “There is no time, I can fight just fine on foot. Now, to which battle am I going?”

  “To neither. You are to protect Ashe.” Aichlan stifled Ashe’s protests with a kiss, shocking both her and Maleah. “You’re pregnant as all hell and don’t have a weapon, please just go with her.”

  “Fine.” Ashe relented, still reeling from the randomness of his kiss.

  “Also,” Aichlan turned back to Maleah, who seemed to be taking things in stride. “Lead Alice’s little project to her at the palace and hide out somewhere.”

  “Why not have that freaky chick do it?”

  “Because you know what Alice looks like. I’m certain only a handful of them have actually met her. You know how she gets…”

  “You coddle her more than Séverin does me.” Maleah teased.

  “Hardly…” Aichlan ignored the two women and hurried after Eth and the army.

* * *

  Enyo stirred as light filtered in from her previously drawn drapes. She groaned and covered her face with pillows and the comforter. Donough grunted as he peered out the window to the destruction in the gardens below. Enyo shifted angrily as she tried to slip back into a blissful sleep. Donough yanked open the drapes fully, filling the suite with bright morning sunlight reflected from last night’s snowfall.

  “Enyo,” he rumbled in elvish. “Enyo, battle is upon us.”

  “Do not jest uncle…” Enyo replied sleepily. “It is far too early and I was up far too late last night.”

  Donough fiddled with the window latch, finally busting the pane with his fist in frustration. The sounds of fleeing staff and confusion filled her suite. Screams of the dying and howls of their Dusk spawned attackers roused her from her half sleep. The chaotic footsteps outside the door also made themselves known as she sat up, clutching her blanket to her bare chest. She yawned inadvertently and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

  “What the devil is going on oot there?”

  “Eth is gone, as are Ashe and Aichlan. I heard them leave earlier, but knew not why, and assumed it was regarding something nae warranting my attention. I feel I may have assumed wrong.”

  “Well, where did they go?” Enyo ran her hands through her bed hair, attempting to untangle it.

  “I daen’t know. Where is Órfhlaith? She was nae in her room.”

  Enyo shrugged and wrapped herself in the blanket. Donough turned away, finding her clothes strewn upon the recliner. He was about to turn around and hand them to her, but stopped upon hearing her get out of bed. He was slightly disappointed to see several bags full of civilian and human garb near the dresser. It seemed she had abandoned her warrior’s attire, no doubt as a result of associating with that woman, Clarissa.

  Donough could not help but feel ashamed at his displeasure, especially given the hypocrisy of his own indulgence’s last night. He surreptitiously scratched off some of the paint his date had used on herself to mimic Colby-Nau body art. Last night had been a disappointment on many levels, Lady Cendrillion had proven herself a very selfish and unenthusiastic lover, but then again, perhaps it was custom for human women to just lay there and do nothing.

  Enyo pulled on her trousers, cursing under her breath as she bound cuffs with linen wraps. Someone in the palace had gifted her a breastplate, an item more for form than function, covered in gold and too many embellishments, it did not even cover all of her breast, let alone her stomach. The young woman was always so eager to please him; she had taken over her father’s men at the young age of forty-five, gaining a seat upon the council before her first century was through. If only he had been more caring, if only he saw that she did these things not for herself, but for him sooner. He was no parent, he was a man shaped by the battlefield and a fierce inner turmoil. His brother was the jovial sensitive one; hopefully Enyo would forgive him…

  Enyo glanced around the room with increasing panic as she adjusted the manica on her sword arm. “Do not be cross with me, but I have—”

  “Your sword is here Enyo.” Donough handed over her blade, hiding a belch tasting of alcohol and threatened to bring bile with his fist.

  “So now what?”

  Enyo hefted her blade and placed it in its sheath at her back. The blade was nearly as long as she was tall, though more slender than his own or that of Eth’s. It was curved, both the hilt and blade, possessing a single edge. Made of silver, it was an heirloom from her mother’s house, inscribed with runes of the forest and capable of slicing the very air.

  Donough grabbed Enyo by the hand and pulled her outside, pausing as several startled and bloodied staff ran by. “We need to rouse our soldiers; I fear this may not be an isolated occurrence.”

  The hall corridor was in complete chaos, survivors running through in a panic, carnage littering the floor and splattered against the walls. It was as if a pack of mastiffs were set upon the walls and furniture. There were at least two dead from what Donough could see, though possibly more. He motioned for Enyo to stop; something in the air was bothering him.

  “What’s this then? Why is there nae soldiers?”

  “Enyo, be oon guard. Somethin’ is here.”

  A door exploded outwards, spraying splinters and wrought iron hinges across the floor. Donough calmly drew his blade as the towering figure of a man entered the hall. His skin was as leathery as his black executioner’s apron, stained with blood and tissue. He wore a hooded mask and shackles at his wrists and ankles; he lumbered forward, dragging a massive axe behind him.

  “Uncle, ye woke me fer this?”

  The figure vanished in a lazy wisp of grey smoke, reappearing behind Enyo before her sentence was even finished. Enyo dropped to the floor as the demon swung his axe with such speed and strength, a vacuum was created when the air was so rapidly displaced. The ensuing sonic boom shattered glass and blew a hole in the wall. Enyo swept the monster’s legs with a flaming foot, but he leapt back with impossible agility for someone of his size and stature. She somersaulted forward and away from him, and sprung to her feet as she drew her sword.

  “I am still hung over from last night.” Enyo mumbled, irritated.

  Donough groaned and rolled his shoulders, the creature now standing between them. “Ye and me both.”