That One Time I Went on a Quest

Iborus (2/2)

The fire departs abruptly, and suddenly my insides are empty. Falling...legs can't hold on...

But that's alright. The job's done.

Kaishen sails through the air. Talu raises his sabre in an attempt to intercept but Kathanhiel's pick is in the way, latching onto its hilt and refusing to let go. In doing so, she has left her body exposed. With terrifying speed Talu sends his dagger flying over her outstretched arm and that insidious, puny blade, unfit for even the dirtiest of deeds, eviscerates her from shoulder to waist.

A horrific tearing, of flesh parting bone.

Talu's cry is one of ecstasy.

'I WIN!!'

As the pick falls from her hand, Kaishen takes its place.

A ring of fire. Soldiers and cultists alike scatter every which way, their struggles utterly dwarfed before the fiery cataclysm of Kaishen's light. Before the torrent of dragon fire fountaining from her wound there remains only Talukiel and I, one unable to move, the other...looks to be unwilling to.

'Yes, yes! Lose yourself!' Raising his dark sabre in defiance, Talu yells with glee. 'Too bad the Scouring doesn't make you forget – if only it did!'

Fire drips from the gash on her chest like molten metal. Her eyes are golden, her words droplets of magma:

'Your judgement is nigh.'

She lunges. In a blistering tornado the air spirals in her wake, the blasted dust cooked to a solid shell before they could begin to fall. Steam shrouds her no longer; rain is vaporising five feet above her head and trailing in a wispy cloud.

Cackling, without hesitation, Talu dashes forward to meet her. Ten thousand sparks fly as the dark sabre strikes solid fire and yields not an inch. Kathanhiel's momentum shoves them both twenty feet along the ground, a scorching fissure marking their wake.

Cross-cut – left, then right. The earth erupts in two blistering lines as Kaishen's blast turns rock into lava. Molten chunks rain upon Talu, charring his skin, yet still he laughs, his dark sabre deflecting her sundering strikes with inhuman dexterity.

'Slow! Weak! Is this the best you can do?!'

An underhand sweep sends him flying. Kathanhiel turns her sword like a key, and a phantom dragon spawns from its tip, jaws and all, devouring him from head to tall. Talu disappears under the fiery torrent, but as soon as he hits the ground he's up again, on fire yet seemingly unhurt. That should have incinerated him a hundred times over and yet –

'Now you've done it!' Talukiel screams. 'They heard you! Your fire has drawn the flock!'

As Kathanhiel readies another lunge, bells – great bronze ones, installed in all the towers and cliff-side lookouts – begin to clamour. Those only ring for one reason.

The winged horde turns storm clouds to shreds in their approach. At the fore, three Apex candidates descend like living meteors upon the battlements, their throats filled with fire beaten back by the merciless wind. Behind them dragons of all sizes swarm like a great locust, screeching, tearing at each other to get to the front.

'To the Mirrors! Raise the engines!'

Arkai's commands thin into nothing as the first great dragon crashes into the outer gatehouse, shattering five feet of masonry with sheer momentum. Bodies and mortar alike rain onto the courtyard as the Apex candidate lets out a painful roar. Its forelegs are all mangled and broken by the impact yet still it thrashes with obsessive violence, tearing at the wall until its bloated torso carved out a gaping hole fit for a stampede.

Outside, on the plains, shadows writhe like the coming tide.

'Fly!' shouts a hundred voices on the outer wall, and a volley of serrated bolts whistle through the air, tearing the wings of the Apex candidate to shreds and yanking back its neck until it fell face-frst into the rubble.

Then the second and the third land beside it, and the soldiers could not withstand them. They leap from the battlements screaming as molten death inundates the outer ramparts.

The cultists are screaming with glee.

A loud bang. The portcullis over the inner gate tumbles twenty feet into the courtyard as a column of little giants come charging out, each of them carrying baskets of what looks like balls of glass and huge slingshots made out of steel chains. The leading giant, holding a massive hammer with a crooked haft, shoves them into position along the inner wall and starts waving a pair of black flags. A volley of glass balls soar into the night sky.

From the squat towers, the cliffs, and the bastions by the waterfall, the Mirrors come to life, beaming lances of yellow light. They turn upon the sky and Apex candidates perched on the outer wall, and it's as if the night is unravelling at the seams. Streaks of white light pierce through the oncoming horde, diffusing out in every direction like setting off chains of firework. A great hiss, like the boiling of the world's biggest kettle, and every shadow between heaven and earth disappear.

Cold. So very cold. How long have I been lying here, unable to move?

My hand finally does what it had been told to do for the last two minutes and reaches out to touch the gaping hole on my throat, if only to make sure that I'm really dying...but there's no hole, only a wriggling puddle, like...like jelly that refuses to come out of a cup. That's the closest thing to how it feels.

What did Kaishen do?

As the white light recedes, a shadow falls over Iborus...but if it's just the night coming out of hiding after its good whipping at the hands of dry powder, the soldiers of the Phalanx wouldn't be shouting at each other with such urgency. Must be bad, since they didn't shout like this even when Kathanhiel's Thralls broke their heads.

I look up. Doesn't take much effort, since I'm already on the ground.

Ah, yep. Pretty bad.

Dipping out of the clouds, in the clutches of hundreds of little dragons like a juicy worm ferried by an army of ants, is the ironclad that had set off from Iborus not a week ago, its great paddle-wheels are all blasted and broken, its invincible hull riddled with jagged holes. Me, Talukiel, Kathanhiel, the inner gate, and a couple thousand soldiers – the ironclad's shadow falls upon us all. Kathanhiel, caught up in her fight, has to have noticed it by now, but she's still immersed in the duel. Talukiel too.

Another barrage of white light, burning a hole in the sky...but it's not stopping the ironclad; a rain of little dragons fall burning from its hull only for another flock to take their place. It's close now. Wind from its lumbering descent cuts into my face like hundreds of little knives.

Can I move yet? The leaden ache in all over my body gives a surly response: no.

Well, this sucks.