Faerunners

A Final Meeting

Tallis soared out over the battlefield, beating his wings furiously towards the tower of bone at the city center. The tower was a grisly monument to horrors long past. Horrors the world had forgotten for good reason. It was several stories of sun bleached skulls and femurs piled high and lashed together with rawhide and sinew. He flew in through the gaping maw at the top of the tower, the yawning mouth into darkness was ringed with upturned ribs set into the wall like teeth. He perched on one of the teeth and stared into the black.

Terror held him frozen for a moment.

But only a moment.

With one final breath, he folded his wings tight, leaned forwards and plunged headlong into the black. He fell and the lives lost in the war flashed before him, scores of Cold Iron Agents, hundreds of Faerunners, the entire city of San Tempes, his horse, and for all he knew all his friends were dead too.

He flared his wings and pulled up, slowing and circling down towards the bottom of the tower like water running down a drain. He let his spell slip free and landed in a crouch. The heart of the tower swallowed the few scraps of light that drifted down from the ceiling. Eyes closed, or open made no difference. Drawing his pistol in one hand and the redstone in the other, Tallis took a step forward. The darkness beckoned and showed him the way through the black.

It was time to end this and he stepped forward without any hesitation or fear.

His feet found the edge of a staircase and he hesitated. Did he really have it in him to drop further into the darkness?

Callan’s last words echoed in his mind “let me do this for you.”

“Let me do the same for you,” said Tallis, thinking back to the laughter they shared, their time together, the time he’d spent with all of them, his days in the Faelands, his time in Tuath Den, those happy days home on the farm. A bright wave of love and hope welled up from within him and the darkness recoiled.

The tower was a monument to death. To war. It had never known laughter or love or life. Those things were alien to it. It could not understand them and so for the first time since it’s construction, the Tower and the spirits within were afraid.

He took a step forward, descending into a darkness so thick you could cut it with a knife, a hate so cold it would freeze your soul and he brought light into that dark place. He held the warmth of Tuath Den close, tasted the spicy sweet taste of Fae whiskey on his tongue, heard the ring of laughter in his ears, and the darkness recoiled further. He could see the edges of the path now.

And onwards he dove.

The memory of a shared meal with friends made the darkness fade to a wan grey light. The memory of friends telling him he could go on, that he was special and needed made the darkness writhe and flee. The memory of a father’s warm embrace made it scream.

And onwards he dove.

With the teeth of a thousand bitter winters the dark roared down, battering him with icy winds. Tallis grit his teeth and held firm. He thought of all the souls in Tuath Den who could not or would not fight, the summer Fae who abstained from the conflict, the humans who had come seeking refuge. If they could not protect themselves, then he would be their shield.

He would be their guardian.

The darkness cried out and shuddered around him, fleeing back towards the mouth of the tower and leaving him bathed in a soft, sourceless light. The stairs ended and he found himself in a wide, circular chamber with matted pelts and old bones hung from black iron chains. An unfinished Pinebarren Devil stood suspended above a pit, waiting to be dropped below and to have horrid un-life breathed into it. He gripped the redstone tight and fed it all of his happy memories. Every laugh, every joyful tear, every embrace. The stone glowed in his fist.

A metallic click drifted out of the shadows in front of him. “What are you fixing to do there, boy?”

Tallis cringed, he’d recognize that voice anywhere. Before he could answer a gunshot hammered out of the dark and slapped into his shields. He staggered back.

Allistair stepped into the light and pulled the hammer back on his revolver. “No comeback this time?”

He fired again.

Tallis’ shields roared to life with a deafening crack and a blinding flare. He fell to one knee reeling. With a howl of fury, he pushed himself to his feet and fired. Allistair jerked to his left, and the shot missed. They circled the pit sniping at each other, running and dodging in a tornado of fire and gunshots. Shields crackled and spells died. Tallis fired his final round and fell to one knee, panting.

Allistair cackled and that scornful sound echoed up the tower, grating on Tallis' last nerve.

“Only eight rounds, huh?” asked the detective. “That’s too bad.” He pulled back the hammer. “Mine holds nine.”

The gun roared and the shot struck Tallis square in the chest. His Faemetal breastplate rang like a church bell and he fell backwards, breathless. Stars burst in front of his eyes. Sharp white pain lanced through his core. The pain was terrible but beautiful all at the same time.

Pain meant he wasn’t dead yet.

He stood with a grim smile, pouring more love and hope into the redstone. If he had to trade his life for the lives of his family, for the lives of everyone in the Faelands, then that was a worthwhile trade in his books.

“You son of a bitch,” said Allistair. “Die!” he flicked the switch on the butt of the pistol and pulled the trigger.

The gun howled and a red tide of buckshot hammered Tallis in the gut. He staggered back three steps. Allistair leaned over the pit, and dropped his gun, groping for the second pistol he always kept tucked into his belt.

Tallis threw the redstone. The crystal floated down into the pit, like a falling star blazing a trail against the night sky. Allistair freed his pistol and pulled back the hammer. The redstone met the bottom of the demon forge. The lieutenant grinned and took a steadying breath. The redstone burst. A column of white flame howled up from the pit and shot out of the Tower’s mouth, lancing up into the sky.

Allistair was thrown clear by the blast and landed in a tangled heap. Tallis limped over to him. The detective rolled to his back and lifted his gun with a trembling hand.

“Tallis bent down and took the weapon from him. “It’s over, sir.”

“Go ahead then,” said Allistair. He pulled a gemstone necklace over his head and shook off his shield bracelets. “Finish it.” 

Tallis spun the revolver on the end of his finger and slipped it into his holster. “It’s already over. Nothing else we can do.”

“You’re really just going to leave me here?”

“Your demons are done for. Our warriors are taking your leaders apart. The Faelands are safe. I don’t have anything to gain from killing you.”

“A real man would have the stones to put a bullet through my brain.”

“A real man would know when to walk away.” Tallis channeled the last of his energy and slipped shapes, soaring out of the darkness and into the light. He flew to the ruined street and faltered. His little wings could’t take him any further. 

He let the spell fall away and crashed to the ground. Standing with a groan, he walked up to the ruined house. Scores of agents lay dead on front steps. The machine gun sat in the doorway in a pool of blood. Tallis stumbled through the doorway, clutching his side. A thick stream of blood ran between his fingers.

Callan and Aragam crouched in front of Valerie and Setia. All of them were holding stolen Cold Iron weapons and doing their best to aim towards the door. Their hands shook and their weapons wavered. A growing pool of blood sat beneath the four of them.

“Tallis?” said Callan, his voice was thin and weak. “Did we do it? Did we win?”

Tallis fell to the floor, more tired than he’d ever been. “Yeah. We won.” He let out a long breath and closed his eyes, letting the darkness take him.