Priestess of War (The Bowl of Souls Book 10), page 37
Fist pushed himself up, His mouth opened into a gasp. A chunk of sludge fell into his mouth. Larvae were on his tongue, burrowing into his gums.
Sorry, Fist! Squirrel said, landing on the still-clean back of his head.
Zap!
All the larvae in a ten foot radius around Fist burst into ash. The black sludge sizzled as it was eaten back from the shoreline in a circular line around him. The edges glowed red with coals.
Fist spat ashes out of his mouth. “Thank you, Squirrel.”
He rose to his feet with a groan. He hurt all over. He could barely move his left arm. He turned to look back up the slope.
The battle was going poorly. Another storm of air blades darted into the academy ranks. Several ogres and two wizards collapsed. Swen fell. Fist couldn’t see Hugh the Shadow.
Then Mistress Dianne arrived. She strode down the slope towards them, winded, but resplendent in her war wizard garb.
“Heal the fallen and take cover!” Darlan commanded to the wizards still standing.
Immediately, a tumbling of fireballs fell from the sky over Cassandra’s head. The priestess’ shield caught most of them, but a few exploded onto the ground around her, spattering her with molten bits of rock. Once again, the runes on her arms flashed and the flames fell away, their only lasting damage being smoldering patches on her cloak.
Cassandra smirked. “A dark wizard hunter?”
Darlan continued to stride forward. She held out her hand and the rock around her began to redden and smoke. Cassandra sent a lightning bolt down at her, but it scattered in the air above her head,
A large beast emerged from behind a rock and crept towards her. With its red fur and black stripe, Fist recognized it as the alpha lupero
“Darlan!” Fist shouted.
The lupero darted towards her. Darlan turned and pointed at it and the rock that had glowed around her turned molten and rose up. The lupero tried to change course, but it was too late. The beast was covered in molten lava.
“Raj!” Cassandra screamed. A volley of air blades arced through the air towards Darlan. Boulders uprooted themselves and began rolling towards her.
Uh, Fist! warned Squirrel.
Fist turned as a large form rose slowly from the lake. As the sludge fell from it, its form was revealed. It was a giant snake, a dead thing, and the anger of the wraith burned in its cold eyes.
Fist realized he didn’t have his mace with him. He backed up slowly as the thing reared back.
Shock shock shock! Squirrel reminded him.
“Right,” he said, hurriedly bringing up threads of air and earth. Electricity built around him. The snake struck.
The weight of its attack bore Fist back to the ground. Electricity arced through the length of the thing, extending into the Black Lake, destroying lava and burning sludge. The snake collapsed.
Fist lay there for a moment, not sure at first if the snake’s teeth had pierced him or not. Then he remembered the breastplate he was wearing. He let out a sigh of relief. “Squirrel, are you okay?”
Yes, Squirrel said, standing on the ground not too far from him. Hurry. Get up.
Fist pushed the heavy weight of the thing to the side and rolled slowly to his knees. Everything hurt. He looked up the slope to see that Darlan’s battle had reached near incomprehensible intensity.
Air blades shattered to sparkles above her head. Boulders that rolled towards her melted to slag before they reached her. She was standing on a pool of molten rock.
The Priestess of War deflected a constant barrage of fireballs. Her black lips were pulled back from her teeth in a snarl. Her cloak caught on fire. Finally, she let it fall from her shoulders and Fist saw that the rest of her was untouched.
He tried to climb back to his feet. Maybe he could help. He put one foot up.
Darlan gestured and her pool of lava rose up in the form of a large wave. It cascaded down the hill towards the Priestess.
With a groan, Fist climbed to his feet. He took a step. Everything hurt.
Cassandra made a large sweeping gesture with both hands and an intense gust of wind blew at the wave of molten rock. It reversed its course, bubbling back up the slope towards Darlan.
The lava surged high over her head. Darlan raised her arms defensively. The wave engulfed her. The priestess let out a shout of triumph and the rock cooled instantly. A lump in the cracked blackened rock was the only sign that Darlan had been there.
“No,” Fist said. He stumbled forward. “Darlan!”
The priestess’ opened her mouth in a laugh. Maryanne shot an arrow, intending to put it down the witch’s throat. The priestess caught the arrow at the last moment.
“You again?” Cassandra snapped. She sent the arrow back at Maryanne. The gnome turned her head to dodge, but the arrow pierced her cheek, penetrating through her mouth to stick out the other side.
“Maryanne!” Fist said, his voice a panic. He tried to run, but his limbs wouldn’t behave. “No-no-no.”
The priestess sent another volley of air blades towards the huddled survivors.
He was too slow. They were all going to die.
“Too slow,” he said numbly.
He watched Stout Harley charge the priestess. Her mace crumpled his shield as easily as it had crumpled Fist’s.
“Too slow.”
Rufus’s voice entered his mind from somewhere far away. No! You’re not slow. You’re Fist!
He blinked, unsure what the rogue horse meant.
Squirrel explained. Justan is Edge. You are Fist.
Fist looked down on the ground at his feet and saw his mace. He bent and picked it up. He saw the rune on its handle and thought back to the things Justan had recently learned about his swords. A smile broadened his face. “I am Fist.”
He was named now. Fist reached through his new bond with the mace. He latched onto its magic and bolstered it. Increased it.
He was no longer slow.
Harley knelt on the ground in front of the priestess, his shield arm broken, his breastplate dented. Blood streamed from his lips as he watched her fatal blow descend. It never connected.
Fist’s mace struck the side of her head.
Cassandra jerked to the side, her helmet’s magic absorbing most of the impact. She spun around sending her mace in a quick backhand swing. Fist stepped back and it missed by inches.
“Who are you?” she asked.
His mace connected with the side of her head again. The jade stone on her forehead cracked. She stumbled again, catching herself on the stone wall in front of her house. “But you’re just an o-.”
He did not want to talk. His mace rebounded off the side of her head once more, slamming it against the wall of her stone building. The jade stone shattered.
“Stop!” she shouted, swinging her mace in a vicious backhand.
Fist leaned back, letting it pass in front of his face.
“You cannot do this!” Her scarred face was twisted into a snarl. “I am the Priestess of W-!”
He struck her again and again. There was nothing she could do. He was too fast. Her runes flared less and less as her protections continued to fail. She slid to the ground.
“David . . .” she whispered through bloodied lips.
Fist’s mace rained down blows. He did not stop until he was certain that there was no way she’d be able to come back.
Epilogue
It was over.
Fist let go of the magic and his shoulders slumped. The euphoria that had come from discovering his newfound power faded and the pain of his injuries returned. Wincing, he turned to see several of his friends standing and staring at him.
“Maryanne!” he shouted.
To his relief, she seemed to be fine. The gnome warrior was standing there, watching him in wonder, a bloody arrow held loosely in one hand while a wizard looked at her torn cheeks.
Stout Harley wheezed as he tried to reach the latch to remove his breastplate. Fist quickly helped him. The defensive master, though perhaps suffering from a few broken ribs to go along with his shattered arm, appeared that he would survive. He asked two ogres to help the man over to the wizards.
Fist stumbled up the slope to the field of blackened lava where Darlan had been overwhelmed. Tears welled in his eyes. How was he going to tell Justan?
Faldon the Fierce came up next to him. The tall warrior was suffering from a few nasty gashes, but his armor seemed to have protected him from the worst of the priestess’ aerial attacks. “It’s okay, Fist. I think she’s fine under there. She’s just trapped.”
“Are you sure?” Fist asked, hope rising in his chest.
Faldon sighed and walked up to the lump where she lay. “Yes. I’ve seen this happen once before. She was quite embarrassed by it. Trapped by her own spell.”
Fist lifted his mace. “Do we dare break it up?”
“We just need to be careful,” he said with a nod. “I think she’s got a protective layer around her, but she can’t heat up the rock around her hot enough to melt it without burning herself.”
Fist tapped the rock a few times with his mace and Faldon let out a surprised chuckle. “Is that where she was taking you?”
Fist saw that the warrior was looking at the rune on his mace. “Oh yeah. We both got named.”
Faldon’s eyes widened. “Darlan stood before the Bowl?”
“She said she had put it off too long,” Fist said.
He reached his magic into the crust of rock and came upon the protective barrier that Faldon had been talking about. He could see why she couldn’t get out. The barrier was extremely dense to keep out the heat. It would probably be brittle though. He gave it a solid whack.
The rock burst apart throwing Fist and Faldon back. Darlan stood in the midst of the broken rock, her hands clenched, her hair singed. She looked around. “Where is she?”
“Fist killed her,” Faldon said, climbing quickly to his feet. “You were named today?”
“We’ll talk about that in a minute.” She glanced over his injuries quickly and then looked to Fist who was grimacing while trying to climb to his feet. He was stuck on his knees.
Darlan reached out and placed a hand on either side of his face. “You got her, Fist? You killed the Priestess of War?”
“Yes, Mistress. I used my bond with my mace to-.”
She bent down and kissed him full on the lips. To Fist’s astonishment, a tingle shot through his body. His aches and pains eased. He could move his left arm again.
Darlan pulled back and smoothed back his hair. “You did a good job, Fist. Thank you for protecting everyone when I couldn’t.”
Fist blinked back at her, not knowing what to say.
“Hey, I thought you saved those for me,” Faldon complained.
“I made a one-time exception,” she replied and just to prove it, she kissed him too.
“Hey!” snapped Maryanne, storming up to them, fully healed. “What was that.”
Fist scrambled to his feet. “Oh, she-uh. She healed me.”
The gnome warrior frowned and glanced back at Darlan thoughtfully. The wizardess was still kissing her husband, putting the finishing touches on his healing. She looked back at him. “Can you do that too?”
“No, but I sure could kiss you,” he said, pulling her in close to him. “You scared me. When I saw you get shot, I-.”
“How do you think I felt?” she retorted. “You got knocked all the way to the blasted lake!”
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Fist said.
Maryanne cocked her head at him. “When you beat that witch, the way you were moving . . . How did you do that?”
“Oh,” Fist said. He held up his left hand. “I got named today.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. She grasped his hand, feeling the thickness of the rune and a smile curled her lips. Then she looked back into his eyes and frowned slightly. “A big named wizard. So what do I call you now? Master something?”
He smiled. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”
She looked at him expectantly. “Well? It’s not something stupid sounding is it?”
“No, it’s still Fist,” he assured her.
Maryanne blinked. “Is that allowed?”
“Hey you two,” said Darlan. “Let’s see who else needs healing.”
They rushed over to the site where the wizards were gathered. Along the way, they passed a crew of ogre clubbers that were still beating at the infested dead to make sure they couldn’t be a threat. Charz was helping them, having been freed from under the rock.
Expressions were grim. All told, there were twelve Academy soldiers dead, seven wizards and forty ogres. Among those who were too far gone for healing, were Wild Dinnis and Wizard Windle of the High Council. Swen, Hugh the Shadow, and Crag were gravely wounded, but ultimately healable.
The combined Academy and Mage School army that had been battling far below had proven victorious. The moment Cassandra had died, the dead stopped working in concert, but just started attacking everyone. The Academy army had withdrawn awhile and let the goblinoids wear themselves down before charging back in to finish things up.
Two more sad discoveries soon followed. Not only did Qenzic find Lyramoor’s body inside Cassandras house, but was discovered that Master Porthos had not made it either. His naming dagger, which Old Bill had been carrying, had cracked down the middle.
There was one last issue to deal with. They stood out on the slope overlooking the immensity of the Black Lake and wondered how best to destroy it. The important part was getting to the two moonrat eyes somewhere at the center of the thing. They needed to do it soon. They could feel the wraith’s hunger and anger reaching for them even now.
Fist was about to suggest an idea when there was a sudden great thud from somewhere below them. The impact of it ran from Fist’s toes up to his chest and he grew very worried. Was this some other part of the Dark Prophet’s plan?
Dust began to fall from the canyon walls. There was a great creak. A two-hundred-foot wide section of the canyon’s western wall fell outward. Many hundreds of tons of rock crashed into the valley beyond.
The Black Lake poured out of the great open hole, emptying its filth and the strange twisted beasts within its depths down the mountainside in a great slow moving flood. The ogres let out a triumphant roar.
Locksher grunted uncomfortably. “That was a larger result than I had planned.”
“Holee cat on a cracker! That coulda been us!” Shouted Lenny from the cliff top high above. He and Rufus were standing not twenty yards from where the canyon wall fell away.
“That should make things easier,” Darlan said.
“Isn’t this a bad thing? Like a terrible thing?” Maryanne said. “Didn’t we just spread the evil all down the blasted mountainside?”
“It’s definitely a mess,” Locksher admitted. “But once we destroy the source of the evil all of this mess will die. Who knows? It might even be good for the trees. Fresh decayed matter means happy vegetation.”
Somehow Fist doubted it would end up that way. He couldn’t imagine any type of good coming out of this evil.
The Wizards lined up on the shoreline and sent lightning bolts and streams of fire into the lakebed where the sludge still clung to the rock like a bad disease. Strangely-shaped toothy creatures and many tentacled monstrosities clung and floundered in remaining pools of the sludge. The wizards burned them with fire.
It took a full day of burning and cleaning before they found the spot where it all originated. Qenzic and Faldon where very helpful here, but even then it was difficult because of how immensely the landscape had changed. It was a blackened spot of earth with a single hole two feet in diameter at its center.
The stench of death and the feeling of overwhelming rage was strong here. Together, Darlan and Fist reached into the earth and forced the evil’s source to the surface. Somewhat disappointingly, it was just as everyone had supposed. Two small orange moonrat eyes, only they has grown partially together in a goopy mass.
They let Crag have the honor. Fist’s father swung his club, bursting the eyes to pulp.
Their mission finally done, Maryanne wrapped her arm around Fist’s waist and placed her head on his shoulder. “What is your plan now, Big Guy?”
“Rufus and Squirrel and I need go to Malarro and help Justan,” Fist replied. “Do you want to come with us?”
* * *
He awakened in a dark and wet place. It was moist and full of the Mother’s scent. He didn’t know much at the moment, but he recognized that. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark a new kind of sight came to him, a different way of looking at things.
Instead of using light as a source for his vision, he was able to see things in shades of heat. To this new way of looking, the place he sat in was full of life and movement in shades of reds and pinks and oranges.
There were many other people in this place. Most of them were hanging upside down. Some were fully formed. Others were mutated and strange. All of them in some way were his kin. These were his people. They belonged to the Mother.
He smiled. Soon enough he would get to leave this place. Then he could serve the mother. Excited, he shouted, “Serve the Mother!”
“Serve the Mother!” was the echoed cry of hundreds, some of them still sleeping, not ready for birth.
There was a great shifting in the Mother’s flesh around him. Something was happening. Eagerly, he stood.
He looked at his body, ran curious hands over it. It was a good body, he thought. And strong with well-developed muscles. His hands were wide and powerful with stout claws, good for digging, perhaps. Whatever the Mother wanted. And the King. That’s right. He had a King too. That was a good thought.
There was a great shifting in the Mother’s flesh again. It felt as though he were rising into the air. What a strange sensation.
Then the light changed. He switched back to using light as his source of vision. This was nice. He could see so much more detail. He could see his fellow brothers and sisters waiting with him.
The Mother wanted him to leave now. Somehow he knew it. He began walking forward and many of the others, the ones fully formed, came with him. Outside of this pink place was a land of vibrant green. Such beauty.
