Chapter 73. Rescue

rescent Blade stirred to the blare of trumpets marshalling the Margonites and their demonic servants.  She rose stiffly from her corner and gazed past the fang-like bars of her cage, noting that nothing had changed for Pendaran and that she was alone but for the scuttling vermin that rooted around on the fleshy floor.  She shadow stepped to one of the insectoid creatures as she had before and sneaked silently toward the top of the tower, grateful to find it empty.

The Margonites gathered in the courtyard, filing in from the plain as their commanders harried them into place.  She wondered what they fled from and gazed out over the plain.  Something approached the fortress, impossibly small at first as she peered at it, struggling to see for herself.  Gradually the ant-like figures resolved into humanoid shapes with a pale army of skeletal minions.  Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the flash of an elementalist’s focus and the black flutter of guild capes.  Pendaran’s friends had come for him after all.

But they were so few.  The milling courtyard was choked with Margonites filing down from the towers and up from the workshops.  Bowmen stood poised at the battlements and above the gatehouse, the molten brew was being prepared.  The small party could not hope to overcome these odds.  The Margonites chanted morbid songs in praise of their fallen god.  They relished the cruelty of crushing the pitiful gathering of humans with overwhelming force. One of the archers on the parapet shot down upon them in its excitement and the party halted outside of bow range to survey the massive fortress.

She had to act. Now. If there was to be any hope for Pendaran, if she were to redeem herself for all the foolish and evil things that had resulted from her actions, she must help them.  Gazing along the length of the high parapet that stretched between the tower and the gatehouse, she calculated her moves.  Possibly she would be skewered with arrows before she reached her destination, but it was her best hope.  A cruel smile twisted her lips as she gave herself to the shadows, seeking the dark beacon of the nearest Margonite archer.

In a flare of shadow she appeared beside the startled bowman and whirled, catching his chin with a swift leap and kick of her heel.  The creature reeled in bewilderment and pain as she timed her next jump, flinging herself onto its breast and sending it careering into empty space through the crenellated gap.  She rode its flailing form down, smashing its face with her fists before entering the shadows again and appearing beside one of the warriors atop the gatehouse.

The heat and stench of the molten sludge in the enormous cauldron caused her to reel backwards.  Four masked figures raised their heads and stared at her in alarm.  Before they gathered their wits, she leapt upward, mounting the battlements and pounding swiftly toward the lever.  They would kill her, of course, but not before she had taken a few with her.  Shouts of alarm erupted from their throats as she threw her body at the device, riding it downward, laughing harshly as the gears of the mechanism titled the flaring bowl and its flaming effluent cascaded down into the milling courtyard full of Margonites.  Their screams were music to her ears as she slid toward the base of the lever and dangled over the rising plumes of sulfur; gazing down to watch them flare and explode as the superheated substance struck their frail flesh. 

The lever started upward now as the immense basin righted itself.  Four vivid masks full of malice and alarm gazed down at her, hammers clutched in their luminous hands.  She saw the bowmen rushing toward the gatehouse and let go, falling toward the steaming heat of the courtyard only to reappear in a clot of shadows at the back of a fleeing bowman. The demonic figure hesitated when it felt her at its back.  The gatehouse above them resounded with angry shouts and she heard the pounding of heavy boots over stone steps as they came for her on the battlements.  She ran back toward the tower, to her prison, looking for the small party of rescuers.  They were so far below, too far away to hear her shouts.  She bounded onto the crenellations, knowing it made her an easier target for the archer, but also hoping Pendaran’s saviors would see her.

The immense drop caused her stomach to flip as she leaped between the gaps, not daring to stop until his friends were directly below her.  Clenching her teeth against an overwhelming urge to scream, she propelled herself out into the open air and plummeted toward the valley floor, the wind rising up to catch her.  It screamed in her ears and burned her staring eyes, the sharp rocks below drawing into view, her flesh moments from being shattered upon them.  Panic threatened to overwhelm her but she was determined to hold on, hold on until she felt the closeness of their bodies, the pull of living things across the void.

And the shadows consumed her again as she tumbled mid-flight only to re-emerge a moment later on her back beside a scrambling tangle of boots and cloaks and staves and clacking minions.  Startled shouts went up among them as she lay gasping on her back, laughing again in relief that the gods had been with her, even in that horrible place.

“Go,” she gasped, “I have slain them by the score in the courtyard.  Pendaran needs you.  Go before they refill the pot.  They are few now.”

They hesitated, the grim ranger among them not lowering his bow while the warrioress approached with axe drawn. 

“She does not deceive,” said a golden-haired figure, stepping forward, “It is the opportunity we have prayed for, let us make haste.”

They moved past her swiftly, mounting the winding ramp of stone that issued into the grim gatehouse. One of the monks lagged behind to help her to her feet, urging her to follow.  She thanked the small woman, rising though her legs quivered in the aftermath of her adrenaline rush.  To her dismay, she saw that there was a child in their midst.  What in the name of the Five had driven them to bring a little boy with them?

“I will protect him,” she thought, heartened to see that the boy clutched the hands of the two men.  Mesmers, she decided, judging by their sleek, deceptively defenseless appearance.  It seemed the entire party had taken it upon themselves to surround the child and they moved no faster than his small legs could manage.

Arrows zinged down from the battlements.  The tall Canthan monk called upon Dwayna and an enchantment fell over them.  Pressing instinctively against the flank of the wall, they were unharmed.  The shadow of the gatehouse fell over them and they shoved into its crooked maw, brought up short by the stench of incinerated Margonites and still steaming ashes.  The molten vitriol that had destroyed them was gone now and the warriors atop the gatehouse had already rushed down to meet them, pinning them in the shadows of the gate as the portcullis roared shut at their backs.  The warrioress cursed loudly, startled by the sound and hemmed in by their approaching foes.

“T’is goin’ t’ get messy,” murmured the towering mesmer, “I pity ‘em.”

The clacking army of minions surged out of the shadowed throat of the archway into the faces of the warriors without a word from their mistress.  With blind ferocity, they rained a hail of bone fragments upon the roaring warriors, goading them to tear into the undead horde.  The dusky elementalist rose chanting, borne upward as she offered her body as a conduit to the plane of fire.  The livid focus upon her brow flared and a wreath of arcane magics blazed around her delicate form.  Already the mesmers had punished their foes with hexes and one warrior died amid the rattling minions, his body barely having collapsed before a new bone fiend erupted from its foul flesh to join its brothers. In an instant the Margonites were ablaze, shrieking in agony as axe and arrow cut them down.

“Nice work,” Mog chuckled as they gazed upon the ashen courtyard and the remains of the Margonite host.  Then, proffering a low bow, the mesmer introduced himself, “Mog Ruith at yer service.”

This triggered the others to offer their names and gratitude. Only the little boy said nothing, his frightened blue eyes looking away from her as he pressed into Armand’s side. She realized then that he must have arrived there by some accident or they had found him along the way.  Poor child.

“Do you know where Pendaran is being held?” asked Brigit.

“There is a tower this way,” Crescent Blade said, starting toward it but pulled back abruptly by the gangly ranger.

“Hold, I will scout ahead.”

The others nodded and the man moved swiftly around the edge of the gate past the steaming courtyard and out of sight.

“Did you come here with Pendaran?” asked Armand, “How did you escape?”

She sensed his suspicion and she wondered to what extent he might be reacting to her own sense of responsibility and horror for what had befallen the poor man.

“You’re Keisha Lhan, the orphan Zhou saved from the summoner,” Lemony said quietly, “I remember you in the infirmary.  Everyone assumed you had died in the fire.”

“Amazingly good at shadow stepping for a lowly orphan,” Armand muttered, “And what would such a pitiful girl be doing in a place like this?”

The others stared at Armand.

“She is hiding something and she is an assassin.  She has helped us thus far, but how far can we trust her?”

“I swear before Lyssa and the Five I mean only to help you rescue Pendaran.  Please, I would not have risked myself to kill those Margonites if I meant ill.”

“The truth will have its day if we get out of this mess,” Armand replied and he nodded to the others as if to say she was trustworthy for now.

“She’s an assassin without daggers,” Brigit said by way of trying to soothe the mesmer, “dirty and bruised, no less.  I would guess she succeeded in escaping where Pendaran failed.”

The woman reached to her belt and drew a long gutting knife from a leather sheathe.

“It is no doubt a poor replacement for the weapons you favor, but perhaps it is better than nothing.”

“Thank you, I will put it to good use before I return it to you,” Crescent Blade said.  It was a clumsy tool, but it had a good edge and was well cared for.  Warriors tended to be fastidious about such things.  Brigit no doubt sensed she felt naked without a weapon.  Morisedd’s lean silhouette appeared at the far end of the arch.  As he approached, his face was grim.

“There is a large guardian demon near the tower.  I saw six bowmen, but they had little desire to fight and fled to the parapet on the other side of the guardian creature.  No doubt they hope it will weaken us before they mount a counter attack.”

“How is the creature contained?” Ebony asked.

“It sensed me, but it would come no closer than the first archway leading to the entrance of the towers. It may be chained or perhaps there is a ward,” he paused, his intense gray eyes falling upon Crescent Blade, “Did you know of this creature?”

“I knew of no such guardian,” Crescent Blade replied truthfully, “I used the shadows to escape. Originally, I was escorted by the Margonites to the prison near the top of the tower where Pendaran is held. No doubt they kept it at bay.”

“I will go see what manner of demon this is,” Ebony said, “Lead me to it.”

Morisedd nodded and the two of them departed.  The little boy cried out in alarm when the elderly necromancer departed, her minions blindly clacking after her.  Armand reflexively placed his arm around the stricken child and a faint magenta aura shimmered around the two of them.

“Is Pen alright?” the boy murmured.

Crescent Blade hesitated, aware of their eyes upon her.

“I don’t know,” she replied, “He was still alive when I left him.”

“What do you mean?” Armand asked, sensing her horror.

“I do not wish to speak of it before the child,” she replied, sensing it would overwhelm the boy if he knew the whole truth.  It was hard enough for her to take as an adult.

“He’s trapped,” the boy whispered, “He can’t get out.”

She nodded, hoping the adults would understand.  The rustle of minions alerted them to Ebony’s return.  Morisedd stood grimly beside her.

“The demon guards the tower,” she said simply, “but the remaining Margonites are seeking to release the spell that binds it there and set it loose.  It is a made thing and I fear there may be little our weapons and spells can do to destroy it.  Morisedd was able to make them retreat, but we cannot strike them down without coming into the creature’s range.”

“I could bear you one at a time to the parapet via the shadows,” said Crescent Blade, “At least I was able to do so with Pendaran.”

“Or you could step up there and cast down a rope,” said Armand, “I know what you suggest is possible, but it is also needlessly dangerous.”

“Agreed,” Morisedd replied, detaching a coil of rope from his pack and handing it to her, “Go quickly, we do not know for how long the beast will be contained.”

Crescent Blade moved quickly, seeking the bright flare of life that could anchor her between leaps through the shadow realm.  She followed the long line of the rugged wall until she came to the base of another corner tower.  There.  The slow animal intellect of vermin high above.  She sought for it across the chasm of darkness, her body stiffening as the chill of the shadows received her, pulling, grasping and then, at the far end of its range, emerging gasping into the dimness of the tower.  The remains of some tormented creature were scattered around the broken stones and the insectoid scavengers scattered at her arrival.  She paused only to ensure she was alone before moving instinctively down the curl of the stairs and finding the open arch onto the parapet.  She rushed back toward her new allies and saw them far below, faces upturned and watching for her as she passed through the gloom of the gatehouse and emerged above them.  Moving quickly, she looped the heavy cord around the base of one of the crenellations and tested her knots, tossing the loose end down to them only when she was certain it would hold fast.

Armand arrived first with the little boy clinging to his back as he moved with practiced grace over the stonework, his lean form swift and strong.  He was panting as she gave him a hand up onto the wide parapet.  He urged the child down only for the child move around to his front and cleave to him like a burr, pale with fright.  Meanwhile, Brigit crawled swiftly upward with powerful movements of her arms.  She hauled herself up with a grunt and called down for Ebony.  Crescent Blade helped Brigit haul the rope up quickly as Ebony clung to it, her old legs kicking outward against the rough stones to steady herself.  Now came Lemony followed by agile Yiang Xi, each rising more quickly than the last with all of them helping to haul the others up.

Mog was next, still grumbling about ladies not going first when he looped his long legs over the edge of the wall and stood beside Armand.  Crescent Blade watched as Uriel took the rope at Morisedd’s urging while the ranger held his bow at the ready, his keen gaze scanning the yard.  They began hauling her upward when Morisedd made a cry of dismay.  He released his arrow and reached for a second when a towering creature made of some hideous black metallic substance swiftly grated toward him.  The demon lunged through open air, its immense articulated talons outstretched.  The arrows zinged off its midnight plating harmlessly as it hit the ashen cobbles of the yard with Uriel shrieking in its iron grasp.  With one massive limb it crushed Uriel like a doll to its sooty breast and its great triple-hinged maw opened, emitting a primeval bellow of victory from its molten throat.  Crescent Blade looked away as blood splattered the stones beneath it.

The small army of undead that Ebony had left behind charged toward the beast, pelting it with shards of bone and tearing at it with misshapen claws.  Its forked tail lashed at them with a grinding roar of tormented metal, crushing them against the wall as it fixed its merciless eyes upon the ranger, sweeping at him with its scything talons as Uriel screamed in its grasp.  Desperation blazed in Morisedd’s eyes as he ducked and backed away, each time narrowly avoiding death only to thrust another arrow to his bowstring to pound the creature with another harmless arrow.  Ebony and the two mesmers lashed it with curses, but it swept after the ranger undaunted, never loosening its grasp upon the struggling elementalist.  Brigit grasped the rope and prepared to rappel back to the yard to help her friends only to be hauled back by Armand.

“No! You won’t sacrifice yourself!” he shouted at her.

“She needs me!” Brigit cried, “I have to help them!”

Armand would not release her and he stamped down the rope, forcing her to let it go. Her face filled with malice and his knuckles turned white as he refused to release her arm.

“Don’t you try to stop me!” she roared into his face, finally tearing loose from his grasp.

“I will not let you throw your life away!”

“It’s my choice,” the woman sobbed, “We have to try.”

Crescent Blade looked on in silence.  The little boy curled against Mog now, the tensions between the man and woman and Uriel’s terrible cries overwhelming.  The big mesmer had paused in his spell casting to comfort the boy, urging him to look away from the courtyard.  Ebony ceased her efforts, her magic having no effect upon the beast.  She prayed softly to the gods, her horrified face stained with tears.  Only the monks still summoned the power of their healing spells, fighting to keep Uriel and Morisedd alive far below.  It was a losing battle.

Holding her breath, Crescent Blade sought the malice of the vile demon, felt its cold essence warping the fabric of reality.  As she found its vile form in the shadows, she sensed that it could not be destroyed in this realm.  No doubt the Margonites knew the means of its animation and held the keys to its control.  Those who had released it must have known this and were simply waiting for the beast to dispatch them.

Down she cast herself across the tenuous bridge of shadow, emerging half a breath later at the flank of the beast, dwarfed by a metallic talon.  She dashed across the stones to grasp Morisedd around the waist.  The ranger cried out in dismay as she focused once more, reaching upward toward the golden warmth of Lemony, a beacon amid the horror of the courtyard.

Silence greeted her as she stood trembling upon the parapet, Morisedd on his hands and knees beside her calling out the name of his beloved.  Her cries no longer rent the air and the monks were no longer calling upon the compassion of their goddess.  She was gone.

Insensible with grief, the ranger collapsed into a ball, sobbing bitterly.  Brigit moved to his side and pressed her body over him, soothing him with soft words until he curled against her mailed breast.  No one else moved or said a word, their faces betraying shock and mute distress.  Finally Ebony stirred, breaking the spell.

“We have to finish what we came here to do.  It is only a matter of time before that creature discovers a means of reaching us and we have no means of fighting it.  Keisha, please, take us to Pendaran.”

Crescent Blade nodded, daring to gaze down on the demon as it dined upon their fallen comrade.  Brigit and Mog helped prop Morisedd to his feet urging him gently forward only to be pushed away, an animal sound emerging from his throat.  He would not look at them now, but he tailed them, his grief spilling over into wounded cries.

“Please, do not let the boy go into the place where Pendaran lies,” Crescent Blade told Ebony, falling back to walk abreast of the elder, “I do not think he should be burdened with more heart break.  I am not even certain we can deliver him from his prison alive.”

“Very well,” the necromancer said as they entered the tower and moved up the steps to the landing.

“He is in there,” Crescent Blade told her, gesturing through the puckered opening of the fleshy door, “I will show you.”

“Xiang Yi and Armand, come. Lemony, please take care of Mabane.  Mog and Brigit, ward Morisedd, I fear for him.”

With that, Crescent Blade led them to the place where Pendaran laid imprisoned.  The fleshy pustule stirred as they approached, as if he sensed salvation might be at hand.  Armand and Xiang Yi blanched with disgust as the realization of what must lie within the hideous thing dawned upon them.  Ebony scowled darkly.

“Are you ready?” she asked Xiang Yi.  The monk nodded, gathering himself, his dark eyes hardening with determination.

“He is a mesmer,” she told Armand, “If you are able, calm him.”

Armand opened his mouth as if to protest, then nodded swallowing.  Crescent Blade pulled Brigit’s gutting knife from her tattered belt and offered it to the necromancer.

“I’ll sever the neck, I think,” Ebony muttered, “At least that way we won’t cut him accidentally. If you could brace him when he falls…”

She nodded, noticing how pale Armand seemed as he stepped back while she knelt beneath the thing, her shoulder placed here Pendaran’s back curled against the wall of the sack.  Ebony’s jaw hardened as she took the sharp edge to the narrow stem of the vessel.  A sound of disgust emanated from Armand’s throat and Crescent Blade held her breath as something hot ran down its sides and spilled over onto her shoulders.  Pendaran began to struggle, his trapped form writhing within the horrible prison.  Foul smelling fluid poured out over her as his full weight came down on her and a noisome fold of fleshy skin slapped against her flank.

“Put him down on his back, quickly,” Ebony cried.  Someone helped her as she crawled out from under the disgusting slime.  Xiang Yi knelt at Pendaran’s side as the poor man flailed helplessly, unable to breathe through the bundles of membranes and tubes that had grown into his nose and gaping jaws.  His ribs strained as the monk chanted prayers and hauled on the disgusting things, drawing them free at last as Pendaran lay gasping fruitlessly like a fish cast out of the sea.  Ebony rolled the poor man onto his side as the monk continued to probe around in his mouth with his fingers.  All the while Pendaran’s struggles grew weaker until at last he heaved and choked up the rest of the foul growths that had thrust down into his lungs and belly.

He panted now, curling into a ball and moaning softly in pain as Xiang Yi worked quickly to place enchantments upon him.  Armand merely looked on in mute disgust.  If he was helping Pendaran, it was not readily apparent.  Ebony rubbed the poor man’s back, urging him to continue breathing as he choked and retched.

“He’s stable,” Xiang Yi murmured, “We need to get him home now.  Help me carry him.”

Ebony and Crescent Blade stood aside as Armand helped the monk take Pendaran into his arms.  The elderly necromancer removed her outer mantle, revealing a bright floral pattern gown beneath her workaday habit.  She laid it gently over Pendaran’s trembling form, granting him warmth and dignity for he had lain naked within his prison.

“Come,” she said to Crescent Blade as they followed Armand and Xiang Yi back onto the landing where the others were gathered around Morisedd’s quietly sobbing form, “We must gather now and prepare to take the two of you back home with us.  Do not be afraid, I will vouch for you.”

Crescent Blade thanked her quietly, tears of relief and sadness gathering in her eyes.  If only she could turn back time and undo the chain of events that had led to this terrible moment.