Chapter 65. Last Stand

endaran cornered the demon with a wall of flaring chaos and steel, driving him back to allow Brigit a chance to flee.  His finely honed senses told him Ashekoroth was fading.  Whatever had held him on this plane was gone and all that remained was the accumulated rage and will of his stolen energies.  With a bold chant, Pendaran renewed the blade’s enchantment, sweeping it back in a flare of magenta fire.  No, the demon could not be attacked head on, but it was as nothing before Pendaran’s mighty illusion.

How sweet it was to read Ashekoroth’s rage and dismay that Pendaran was not dead.  Twice more the vile abomination screamed in pain as the sword failed to strike him and a cruel grin rose to Pendaran’s lips.  He punished the demon for the men and women he had selfishly claimed in his rise to power. 

“Be banished forever from this plane,” Pendaran snarled with another errant jab, “Let awareness fall away, let your bindings be undone.  Return to the nameless void from which you came, Ashekoroth!”

And the demon stumbled on its midnight talons, its depthless eyes shimmering with confusion as it fell before the tiny man.  Dropping amid a pool of its own steaming ichor, it crashed to the flagstones.

“I will have my revenge upon you, Pendaran Caradec, if not now, then in the afterlife.  The greatest of the gods shall reward me with your soul!”

“You are defeated,” Pendaran replied coldly, and with a final thrust, he shoved the dull blade of the rapier into the demon’s deathly eye, withdrawing it sharply to a vivid cascade of steaming ichor.  Frowning, he wiped the worst of the gore off of the blade on the demon’s heaving flank before shoving it back under his belt.

Moving away as quickly as his feet would carry him, he collected Layla’s unconscious form and carried her from the building.  The ground trembled menacingly as centuries of gathered power tensed around the shattered corpse of the vile demon.  Pendaran feared he would not find shelter in time.  Already the world was shifting and twisting around him as unleashed chaos tore into the fabric of reality.

The woman’s light form bounced unceremoniously over his shoulder as he ran toward the familiar shape of the house.  Its thick stone walls and roof slates were a welcome sight amid the flare of lightning and the sleeting sky.  The initial blast might not reach them here and the stone walls might absorb some of the expended energies.  He fumbled with the latch and flung the door open, gasping and trembling.  Brigit came to him, crying out his name in her excitement.

“No time,” he gasped, “Move to the back of the building.”

He pushed past her, leading the way, choosing the farthest bedroom and insisting she stay there before going back to retrieve the unconscious elementalist.  And then, closing the door, they waited in the darkness.

“Pen, what’s going on?” Brigit asked.  The five of them now lay huddled in a knot in the farthest corner of the room.

“Something bad.”

“You don’t know, do you?”

“Not really, no.”

“I’ve never been so glad to see you, Pen.”

“Thank me later if we get out of this alive.”

“That bad?”

“I think so.”

If Brigit said anything further, it was stolen by the blast.  He flung himself over them, praying his enchantment might somehow shield them.  A shrieking sound rose above the low roar of tormented stone and he heard Brigit cry out in fear as the ground bucked and shuddered beneath them.  Rain slashed down on them as the roof and rafters streamed away with a ragged crash.  The little house rocked and tumbled, its closely mortared stones collapsing into rubble around them.

He winced as stones and fallen plaster pounded him, praying he would stay conscious and that the enchantment would hold true.  Brigit cried out as a beam fell across his shoulders.  But he held, the mantra making his flesh as hard and unyielding as stone.  Rolling out from under it, he rose trembling to his feet, aware that the enchantment had released and restored him.  He dare not invoke it again.

He gazed in horror upon the rended gouge in the earth where Ashekoroth had fallen.  A swirling pool of nothingness ringed with chaotic energies drew a funnel of storm clouds toward it, tearing at the sky.  From its vile throat crawled dark figures, terrible faceless monstrosities drawn to the savor of the physical world.  Entropy and greed embodied, they clawed and swarmed over the sundered remnants of the buildings, snuffling and seeking, hungering for life that they might feast upon it and grow strong.

“I found my axe in the closet,” Brigit said quietly.  Pendaran rose without a word, drawing the sword from his belt.  His spells were potent, but there were too many of them, an endless supply issuing from the opening between the worlds.  He grimly invoked the enchantment that wrapped the blade in chaotic energy and prepared for battle.

“Pen?”

“Yes?”

“A warrior should die on their feet with a weapon in hand.  Thank you for that.”

“This is not really the way I planned to die,” he replied bitterly, “I was rather fancying a warm bed and family gathered around.  Silly, really, since this is the one part of your life you have no control over.”

“Nah, you always have control, right up to the end.  I’m going to crush a lot of demon heads before I’m done tonight.  The gods will know I am coming.”

“Here’s to demon crushing, then,” Pendaran laughed darkly, “To the end of us all.”

Brigit mouthed the refrain, but the words sounded bitter and hollow as she stood poised for battle beside him.  They held their breaths as the first of the demons scurried toward them, its hideous wedge-shaped head a mass of snarling mouths and insectoid eyes.  It lurched forth on four splayed legs, faintly reminiscent of a slavering hound.  Brigit cleaved it with an angry shout and it writhed before the chaotic stroke of his enchanted blade.  Amid splatters of nacreous black ichor it crackled and collapsed but they had little time to celebrate their victory.

Drawn to the sound of battle, the tide of seething creatures turned and curled past the ruins to drive down upon them.  Pendaran cursed involuntarily, fear threatening to unhinge his composure.  Brigit stiffened at his side, her pale eyes rolling with fear as she steadied herself for their final battle.  There was nothing left to say, nothing to do but fight against despair and fear.

“I am human, and I know what it is to feel love and joy and sorrow.  You cannot take that away from me.  Not even in death.”

He slashed at the seething wave of darkness, calling upon his energies to tear them asunder with Lyssa’s sweet lies.  He filled their empty minds with nightmares and anguish, unleashed the full spectrum of his rage upon their shattered spirits.  And the blade in his hand burned with chaos.  Chittering jaws and chitinous mandibles ripped at his ill-fitting clothes, finding his flesh and bone.  Yet he felt nothing for he was beyond pain now, a being of pure vengeance striking and striking again.  He felt only the euphoria of battle, the cold victory of crushed carapaces and shrieking foe.

When flame rained down from the heavens, he did not look up from the fight, did not see the creatures twist and turn to cinder.  He knew only the thrust and stab of his gleaming blade, the ragged panting of Brigit beside him, the smell of blood, the ragged hammering of his heart, and the low rasp of his own breath.  It was only the roar of the protesting earth that drew his awareness from the kill.  He and Brigit staggered as the ground rippled and bucked.   He fell into her and she braced him.  Panting, they stood exhausted before the mounded bodies of their foes dripping with ichor and their own blood.

No more demons came before them and they saw at last the reason why.  A mighty dragon swooped and circled the island, gouts of purifying flame bursting from its long graceful jaws.  The two of them stood transfixed at the sight of it curled against the heavens, its body forged of fiery scales limned with molten gold.  It was at once beautiful and terrible, a creature of power form the world’s beginnings.  He fell to his knees in awe with Brigit beside him.

The portal was gone.  Where it had stood, a ghostly creature forged of sea foam and moonlight curled and shimmered, her animal dark eyes watching as the dragon blazed against the starry sky.  Threnody restored, her jade prison gone and her jailor destroyed, took the form of a sea born drake, a pale shadow of the one that curled above them.

For the dragon had chased away the storm, laying ruin to the Queen of the Sea.  It had come from another realm, perhaps one blessed by the gods themselves.  Making a final blazing circuit around the island, it drifted lightly toward them, landing soundlessly amid the ruins to turn is black-lined eyes upon Pendaran and Brigit.  Sulphurous smoke curled from its flared nostrils.

Pendaran hesitated, for as his mind opened to the creature, he recognized its gentle soul. He was confused.  He had never met a dragon, few ever did.  The mighty creatures had fled before the approach of men.  Some believed they had left the physical plane.  He bowed to the creature, awed by its sheer size and majesty.

“Thank you for saving our lives,” he said humbly.

Threnody drifted toward them, her form shifting now to that of a beautiful woman, translucent and frail.

“You have freed me, my Love, and now we might dwell together.’

Fire licked the dragon’s jaws as it turned is black-rimmed gaze upon Threnody.  Its immense golden eyes churned with flecks of crimson and Pendaran felt its rage, deep and deadly.

 “What is freely given cannot be reclaimed,” the dragon said, its voice both potent and gentle.  Pendaran felt it tremble through his body like a hammering of a great drum, “What is taken by deceit does not bind.”

Threnody quailed, backing away as if she feared the dragon might destroy her.  Her long pale fingers tugged at the necklaces at her throat until one came free.  As she tossed it to Pendaran’s feet he saw the familiar shape of a key nestled above the curl of her breasts.

“Take that as a gift, my Love.  They are my tears.”

He opened his mouth to protest but not before she rose softly skyward, transforming into a pearlescent dragon that difted away like a shred of cloud upon the evening breeze.  He felt her sadness, unhomed as she was from her frozen sea. 

“Take them, Master Pendaran,” the dragon thundered, “Few have earned tears from the servants of gods.”

His hand trembled as they closed over the glistening jewels.  It shimmered with diamonds pouring like rain from a net of translucent jade.

“Come, let me bear you home,” the dragon said, “My time in this realm is limited.”

The fiery creature lowered its sinuous form to the earth, outstretching its ebon talons that he and Brigit might easily climb amid the black silky mane that flowed upon its serpentine back.  They carefully drew Armand and the two servants of the demon lord onto the dragon’s patient back before sitting astride it and clutching its midnight fur.

Sitting just forward of its wings with the others at his back, Pendaran clung tightly, anxious for the first surge of flight as the dragon took gracefully the sky, coiling and sliding upward without effort.

“I know you,” Pendaran said, seeking the puzzling immensity of the creature’s mind.

“Yes,” the dragon replied silently, “The one you know is but a mortal reflection of my true form.”

“Then who…”

“A magician may bind by many means, but no spell surpasses the bonds of love.”

The dragon closed its mind to him, telling him by this gesture that it was done speaking.  Who was he to argue with a creature of power, let alone one that had just saved his life?  He vaguely wondered if this would later come back to haunt him.  The favor of such beings was not lightly given.

The effortless swooping flight of the dragon carried them swiftly across the open sea and soon brought them spiraling softly over Kaineng and the yard outside the main hall of Crystal Palm’s compound.  The dragon landed lightly upon the shattered paving stones inside the gate, its serpentine form curled tightly to fit within a space that was almost too small for it.  How had the dragon known to come here?

And how had Zhou known they were coming?

Yet his master was there, standing back with a faint smile upon his face as the dragon lowered its belly to the ground.  He rushed up to help Pendaran down, his hands shaking with eagerness or emotion.

“My friend, welcome home,” he breathed as he braced Pendaran.  The moment his feet hit the ground he swayed and nearly fell over.  The adrenalin of the fight was long gone and he was exhausted and aching.  Zhou pulled him toward the door and urged him to go inside, “I’ll come to you soon.”

The door closed, leaving him in the midst of chattering servants within the warmth and safety of the entry hall.  His first instinct was to go back outside and help Brigit with the wounded, but Xiang Yi tugged his wrist and drew him back.

“Kai Peng Ren is wounded.  The servants will take you to the infirmary now.  We can take care of the others.”

Of course they were right.  He sagged in their grasp, stumbling wearily in the midst of three happily chattering servants as they urged him gently along.  They wanted to carry him but he merely laughed at them.  He had his legs again and he had every intention of using them.