The Battle of Ebulon (16 page)

Andrew saw his opportunity; he leapt towards
the priest as it thrust one hand towards him, the fire jetting
forward from the palm and toward the place Andrew had been a moment
before. Andrew felt the burst of flame singe him as he jumped; in
response he flicked out with the razor, severing the priest’s still
upraised other hand and snatching it from the air.

Twisting as he fell, having
executed a tidy somersault over the priest’s head and now standing
before the idol, Andrew dropped another wink and executed a mock
bow. As the priest’s scream of pain and indignation began to rise
to the rafters, Andrew hooked a finger into the exposed tendons of
the severed hand, placed it around the centipede statue and pulled
the tendon, forcing the dying fingers to grasp it. Andrew wanted
it, wanted it desperately, but didn’t want to touch it
himself.

The response was immediate; even with the
intermediary of the priest’s flesh, burning pain burrowed into
Andrew’s mind, creating hissing sibilants that were almost words,
almost demands. Hefting the thing into the air, he was gratified to
see them all backing away from him even as the priest fell to its
knees, arms upraised and stump dripping ichor to the floor,
wailing.

“No! Galluk’ur will not serve such as
you!”

Andrew’s heavy brows arched
upwards. “You think not? Your false god whispers to me. Tells me
that you’re washed up, a failure.” His grin widened further,
looking as though it sought to wrap around the back of his head by
this point. “It knows that
we
are the gods here. Too bad you forgot that,
fomori.” Diverting part of his mind to converse with the spirit
inhabiting the idol, Andrew gave his commands... and was instantly
gratified as all six of the guardian Orcs burst into flame,
screeching of their burning demise not in pain or fear, but
ecstatic exaltation.

Andrew knelt before the priest, setting the
idol in front of him with the hand still attached to it — fused to
it, Andrew saw, the fingers having run like wax and sealed
themselves to the curves of the centipede — before placing the
straight razor against the priest’s thick, jowly cheek.

“Now, false priest and fallen god. It’s
playtime. I want you to scream for me.”

The priest made a gargling sound in
its throat, pursed its putrid lips and hawked a hard knot of slime
at Andrew’s face. Andrew, with the priest’s ill-minded gift
dripping down his pallid features, appeared unperturbed as he drug
the blade down the Orc’s cheek, leaving it hanging in a bloody
flap.

He was rewarded with precisely what he’d hoped
for, feeling his strength return and his connection to the thing
within the idol grow stronger still as he savored the hatred and
terror in the priest’s scream.

“Yes. You’ll scream for me. And every scream,
every sob, every single drip or drab of fear that you express...
only adds to my strength. You and yours are finished.”

Andrew raised the straight razor again... and
went to work.

*****

Hours later, the Rose Guard
of Morrigan stood watch over the stone slab that marked passage
from the Overhollow to the depths of the Underhollow. They had
remained since the Orc’s incursion, having followed the beasts as
they fled with their captives — the supposed hero, one of Lady
Falloth’s handmaidens, several members of the guard and other staff
— but none having been willing to pursue into the haunted halls
below. It had remained quiet since then, though all of them worried
that another assault could come —
must
come — and some were even
advocating bringing the fight to the beasts.

When they heard the sounds — as though a large
number of men were marching in full battle gear — they lowered
their shields and crouched behind them, sweaty hands tightening on
sword hilts and spear shafts. Those grips loosened only slightly as
they saw the supposed hero, now clothed in little more than rags
but otherwise apparently none the worse for wear, practically
skipping through the gate. He was carrying a large stone figure of
some kind. As the guard captain titled his head and started to cry
the other man to a halt, he saw what lay behind Andrew and could do
nothing but gape.

Coming up the stairwell and filing
out into rows behind the Tuatha, spectral Orcs were taking up
military formations... and kneeling. Andrew, his flesh now barely
able to contain the bloated power of his dreamself, was flickering
in appearance between the two as he smiled.

“I bring an army, and the god of your enemy.
Now I wish to speak to Lady Falloth regarding my...
rew—”

He stopped, eyes fixing on something behind the
guardsmen. After a moment, he shook his head, titling it to one
side. “Mother?”

The guard captain looked over his
shoulder to see what Andrew was looking at and saw nothing but the
cellar hallway, plain, dusty and damaged from the Orc’s incursion
and subsequent retreat. Andrew certainly appeared to see something
else, as he began to shriek.

“No! No, I won’t go back! I
could be a king! A god! No, mother!
No!
”

The man was shrinking, almost appearing to melt
into the floor. His screams were likewise diminishing, as though
someone was adjusting his internal volume. After a moment, the
guard captain was staring at a spot of empty floor where Andrew had
stood.

The idol remained, however; as did
the legion of ghostly Orcs, still bowing their head in
submission.

The guard captain took a tentative
step forward, holding one hand up to signal to his men to stay put.
When no violence erupted, he took another step and then another.
Going to one knee, he hefted the statue by the apparent handle, a
bony protrusion that looked almost like a hand. As he did, a
hissing voice echoed in his mind, and the eyes of the dead Orcish
legion fell squarely on him.

“
We
die to serve. Command us, master.
”

The guard captain smiled. The Rose Quarter had
been delivered its salvation.

This Entry Point features
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WOKEN by Kaine Andrews

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Entry Point
7- by
 
Brandon Ellis.

A snow leopard sits atop a
large boulder surveying a rushing river below. She takes a deep
breath. The day has been long for her tribe. A skirmish with the
Dims has prevented them from getting any training done, injuring
and killing a few individuals. And keeping everyone alive isn't the
worst of her thoughts. Crepus Dim, a past friend and ally, has been
wreaking havoc across her once peaceful land.

Knowing that such thoughts
will twirl in her mind all night long, she pushes them aside and
moves to leave the boulder. But, while standing up, she suddenly
pauses. A soft whisper interrupts her concentration. She can't
quite discern what it says, nor can she sense its meaning, but she
knows it comes from afar.

She hops to the ground
below, feeling the soft meadow grasses under her paws. Up ahead is
the large mouth of Marble Burrow, a place where tunnels go deep
underground. It houses a giant crystal, in addition to a dorm full
of students who come from all over the land to study and train the
Sacred Art of Defense under her tutelage.

Padding over to the
cavern, she stops abruptly. The whisper switches to images of snow
falling on a mountain city with people in fur clothing busying
themselves in its marketplace. Then a voice clearly states, “Nova,
the fall of Ebulon is near. Please help. Humanity is near its
end.”

Violet crystals that had
grown from her chest and forehead long ago glow brightly as her
heart pulses with fear, a sensation almost foreign to her. It isn’t
fear for herself; it’s for the many inhabitants of the city. It’s a
place she's yet to place a paw, but she feels connected to it in
some mystical way and knows that she must help in order for the
inhabitants to survive.

Realizing that she has
been holding her breath, she forces an exhale and then eyes her
destination. There stands Honani, caretaker of the Marble Burrow,
and a badger she trusts above most others. When he sees her
approach, his indigo colored crystals on his chest and forehead
begin to shine.

It won't be
long until your crystals evolve into violet,
thinks Nova.

Honani dips his head
toward her. “Greetings, Nova.” His voice is calm but firm, holding
the utmost respect for his leader and wise counselor.

Nova blinks. “I have a
mission. I must leave here and enter another world, one in more
turmoil than our own.”

Honani's eyes widen
slightly, but he holds his composure. “I understand. How long will
you be gone?”

“Many moons, I
fear.”

“Shall I gather a troop
for you?” offers Honani.

“They're needed here. I
can't thin our tribe any more than it is already. There are enough
soldiers where I’m going to stop the onslaught, but they'll need
others like me.”

Honani’s posture
straightens and he lifts his chest high. “Then I'll
come.”

Nova slowly shakes her
head. “No. You're needed here. Keep the tribe prepared for the next
Dim attack.”

The badger nods as his
crystals emit a slight glow. He smiles. “We'll be more than
prepared.”

Nova presses her cheek
against his, a sign of respect and love, and then pads off to the
north to a place where a way point will transport her to the
beckoning city.

* * *

Heavy snow crunches
beneath her feet as she runs at full speed. Her destination is
ahead, a city in the mountains in much need of assistance. Reaching
a precipice, she starts to quickly climb, digging her claws into
rocks and crevasses, each step strategically placed with ease and
grace. There were roads, several in fact, leading to the city, but
Nova's way was much faster—straight up.

As she climbs, she notices
the grayness of the morning. The sky, rocks, and the tall buildings
she could see looming above the city walls are all the same pallid
color. Turning her eyes away, she digs her claws deeper into the
rocky terrain as a harsh wind buffets against her fur. She closes
her eyes, willing the wind to slow itself, which it respectfully
does.

She comes to a halt at a
large outcrop. She sees that her elevation is hundreds of leopard
lengths high, but she is accustomed to that. It makes her feel safe
and comfortable. Inhaling the clean mountain air, she absorbs the
richness of this foreign land.

Then she glimpses
something out of the corner of her eye. A torch bearing army, the
largest she’s ever seen, is far off in the distance and marching
toward her. Her keen eyes narrow as she observes the one who leads
them. He is large, muscular, has green skin and wears a coat of
silver armor. He carries a large spear with a sword sheathed at his
side. He wears a silver helmet that stops at his forehead, going no
further to shield his face. A pig like nose protrudes from human
like features and a thick rug of black hair hangs in disarray from
under the back of his helmet to his shoulders. The energy around
him seemed to squelch any light in his vicinity as he marches,
sending out only darkness with each step.

This was the reason she
had come, to stop this arriving catastrophe. She needs to get to
the city and get to it now; to light the way through the coming
darkness.

Speeding up the process,
she takes giant leaps from one large rock outcropping to another,
until she finds herself at the foot of a large ashlar wall—blocks
of squared stone interlocking block on top of block. The finished
product looks to be about thirty leopard lengths tall and it is
more than just a wall. At the top of it is a parapet protecting a
walkway with soldiers standing guard.

Nova leans on her hind
legs and leaps again, silently landing on top of the parapet. Two
guards standing watch are holding crossbows, watching the
advancement of the oncoming enemies below. She hops to the solid
stone flooring between them to speak, but before she can open her
mouth she hears a startled yell from the guard on her left, then
the thud and zip of a crossbow releasing its arrow. With a reaction
faster than any the guard has ever seen, Nova spins around the
flying arrow, slaps her tail against it, throwing it off course and
away from the other guard, harming no one.

“Hey!” yells the other
guard, startled by his friend's sudden action, but then he realizes
that an intruder has just arrived, so he aims and fires,
also.

Watching the arrow as
though it’s moving in slow motion, Nova simply moves out of its way
as she swipes downward with her paw and pins it to the ground. She
closes her eyes, twitches her tail and concentrates, and then opens
her eyes. Looking left and right, she sees that her magic has
worked. Both men are suspended in the air with their swords drawn
to attack. Though both guards are still conscious, they can’t move,
as if frozen by some unseen force.