The Starlight Lancer

Chapter Fifteen: Battle in the Hollow

"Of the oldest and most dangerous forms of magick still practiced today, little is to be said—the power words of command are given more strength the fewer are said, after all."

—Former High Scholar Trubius Moray, in On Magick, Part III: The Magick of Heretics

"Beni," Zaina said. "I had a feeling we'd find you down here."

He chuckled—multiple voices echoed with every sound he made. His voice was darker and raspier. His physiology was still changing, with a bony crest on his head sprouting short spikes. "And we knew you'd come."

Zaina took a step forward. Gir glanced toward her.

In a low voice, she said, "I'll talk to him." Then she turned to Beni and said, "What are you hoping to get out of this?"

He smiled. "We will witness the rise of the Shining Will's new prophet. The Altar's Beacon will bind all who bear the mark, and the Shining Will shall be unsealed, all its faithful united in body and spirit to reclaim existence."

Zaina shook her head. "Don't you remember who you are? At all?"

"It doesn't matter—"

"It does matter," Zaina hollered, taking another step forward. "Your name is Beni Gardol. Your wife's name is Orna. Your daughter is Eniri. They had the same color hair—you used to talk about them constantly. Don't you remember any of that? Don't you miss it?"

For a moment, a glimpse of humanity returned to his eyes. Beni's smile faded. "There are things that cannot be undone. It is far too late to stop the Deluge. Now, come—"

"No! It's never too late to come back," Zaina pleaded. "This isn't you! None of this makes sense, Beni! There's no reason for you to be this way!"

Beni sneered. Then, in his normal voice, he said, "I know it's frightening at first, Zaina, but you have to give in. Once you do—the power, the rush—there's nothing else like it. Once you let it in you'll understand. Organic constructs, planets, even the Nova Rim itself—all things are temporary. Only the ancients are eternal."

With growing unease and outrage, Zaina balled her hands into fists and studied the man before her. Beni Gardol—the friendly mayor of Ildegor who never forgot a name—was gone.

Beni's eyes widened in bewilderment. "Don't tell us you still plan on opposing the great work? Even with all the knowledge of creation at your fingertips, you still choose to stand against us? The knowledge is yours, Zaina—why do you refuse to open your eyes? To imprison yourself to this mortal shackle? There must be a part of yourself crying out."

She shook her head, averting her gaze. The whole time Beni had been chasing her, a small part of her held out some hope for him. Zaina's hands clenched into fists, shaking.

Gir gently touched her shoulder. "He's lost, Zaina. There's nothing you can do."

Her chest tightened. Beni was corrupted beyond salvation. Maybe the same was true for Demelia.

Zaina touched the mark. What does that mean for me?

Beni pointed his black sword. The echo in his voice returned as he said, "Well—if we have to do this the hard way, it's only right to kill the lancer first. Then we can subdue the host."

All the blood drained from Zaina's face, and chills danced along her spine. "H—host? Wh-what—"

Gir stepped in front of Zaina. "You seem confident for someone who barely knows how to hold a sword."

Beni smiled. "We've gained the power we need to defeat you. Why not ask your benefactor for more—see if Riiva is as generous as the Shining Will?"

The Raolgrian replied, "Come now, friend—"