Category Archives: The River That was Red

The River That was Red

Chapter Nineteen – Winter Fades, Spring Returns

Valkrill’s spear had held a deadly poison. Jandar had done all in his power to heal Raelin, to draw the poison from her beaten body, but it had already gone too far. The most he was able to do was repair her injuries, and buy her a little time. She was expected to die within three months’ time.

Almost every last soldier and beast that had taken part in the Final Battle was dead. The final death count was too large and too gruesome to recount. The survivors, of which there were few, were all severely injured. Over half died within a week, unable to be fully healed.

Utgar and Jandar, determined that their legacy should not be one of annihilation, put their armies to good use repairing the damage that had been wrought on Valhalla. Villages were rebuilt, and families reunited. Those that wished to be returned to their worlds were sent back, and then Utgar and Jandar personally saw that every last wellspring was sealed, until a way could be found to destroy them. No more wars would be fought over them.

Winter turned to spring. The fallen were buried. They were all laid to rest with honor, but none was more highly respected than Drake. After attending his funeral, Raelin returned to Jandar’s rebuilt castle. Her time was almost up. She was ready to die. If by her death she could finally achieve peace, a world without pain, then she considered that something well worth dying for. She was a little late, but soon the war would claim its final victim.

Soon the poison took her legs and wings. Unable to move, Jandar fashioned her a chair that used magic to float just above the ground. Confined to this, knowing that the end was near, Raelin requested that Mallidon take her to one final place, before she left Valhalla forever.

They arrived at their old village just as the apple trees were coming into blossom. It was one of the first that had been rebuilt, with the result that the families Raelin had grown up with had already returned. Children ran through the long grass, laughing as they chased the pink blossoms that floated so gaily through the air. Kyrie flew gently through the skies, drinking in the beauty of the restored world. The sky looked brighter, the grass greener, and the world richer, than Raelin had ever seen it.

Mallidon took her down to the river she had played in as a child. It had been named the White River for the clearness of its waters. Raelin remembered, on the night the village was attacked, how she had looked at the river in the dawn, and seen that it was red, red with blood.

But as she looked at the river now, she saw that it was clear once again, white and shining with the new day. She slipped from her chair onto the bank, and gently dipped her fingers into the water. It seemed warm to her touch, gentle and comforting.

“The war is gone,” she said softly. “Peace runs in the waters once more. Peace and forgiveness.”

As she knelt there, her hand in the water, something happened that she could never have expected. It was gentle, slow, almost a caress. She felt something within her pulling, breaking, drawing away. A faint cloud of blackness exited into the water from her hand, and was swept away.

“What was that?” asked Mallidon.

Raelin smiled. She knew what it was. She could feel that the poison within her had been drawn out, cleansed.

By the River that was Red.

The End

Chapter Eighteen – Fate of the Innocent

Raelin woke from blissful sleep to an agony of pain. At first the pain of her injuries overpowered her, and she could not breathe or move. But after a few moments of lying still, though the pain did not lessen, she was able to force herself to open her eyes.

It had been dark with twilight when the battle ended. Raelin was confused therefore, for she found herself staring into a vast blue sky. A small cloud, moving quickly, passed across her field of vision, and then left. Raelin blinked. The sight remained. Could it possibly be the next day? Had she been knocked out for that long?

Blood leaked from her wounds as Raelin struggled to sit up. She failed, but did manage to prop herself up on one elbow. It was enough to see the pile of bodies about her. It stretched for a sickening distance. So it was real then.

Raelin heard a faint sound, as of gently trickling water. She wondered what it could be, since there was no river nearby. And then she saw that the sound was made by a river: a river of blood, weaving through the desolated army, and passing on to the south.

Two figures rose from the piles of corpses. One gripped a crushed and bent axe. The other held a shattered hammer. Both were blackened, as if they had been at the epicenter of an explosion.

Jandar and Utgar staggered towards each other, and met half way. For nearly a full minute, they stood still, staring at each other. And then Jandar knelt. Raelin saw that his pride was gone. “If you will accept my hammer, Utgar,” he said, “I will surrender to you.”

Utgar looked at the hammer, and then at Jandar. After a moment, he pushed Jandar’s hammer away. “There is no need for surrender. This is not victory, for there can be no victor after such carnage. Let it be known that the war of the wellsprings is at an end. It ended not through defeat, not through victory, but through peace.”

Raelin smiled. Utgar held out his hand, and helped Jandar to his feet. “Let us rebuild this world together,” he said.

Jandar stared at Utgar in disbelief for a moment. But then he put his hands on Utgar’s shoulders. “I would like that,” he said.

“NO!” Not far away, a ruined frame of a kyrie burst from beneath a pile of corpses. The kyrie held a spear in his hands, and raced towards Utgar and Jandar.

“Valkrill!” Utgar commanded. “Stop! The war is at an end!”

“No!” Valkrill screamed, launching himself at the two Valkyrie. “The war cannot end! Revenge is stronger than peace, and always shall be!” he landed in front of Jandar, and thrust his spear at him.

Raelin didn’t think. She wasn’t even aware of moving. She launched herself from the ground, forcing her tattered wings to fly with her one last time. She sailed neatly between Jandar and Valkrill, taking the spear destined for her Valkyrie. The tip cut deep into her chest, and she fell to the ground.

Utgar and Jandar pounced on Valkrill. Raelin never saw what happened to him, however. The only thing she saw was the body she had landed next to. It was Drake’s, his eyes staring into the blue sky, his body horribly cut by Cyprien’s swords. She heard a cry she recognized as Mallidon’s, and turning her head painfully, saw him rushing towards her from Kelda’s broken corpse, her blood on his remaining hand. She felt her own blood pooling beneath her, and knew that she had already lost too much. Blackness threatened to envelop her.

This is enough blood, she thought. Enough blood for my father. Enough pain. More than enough. The blackness closed in, and Raelin left the world of conscious thought. Only one sentence continued to echo in her mind:

Never again… will I seek revenge on another.

Chapter Seventeen – The Path Chosen

“Soldiers of Valhalla! Defenders of freedom! Knights of righteousness! Hear my voice! I call to you now, not as your general, not as your king, but as your friend. Long have we fought against the evil horde that now stands before us. Long have we held the monsters at our doorstep at bay. But now the time has come for us to fight them one last time.

“I will not lie to you. This will be the end. There is little chance that we will win this fight. But we will prevail. We will give those that follow us something to fight for. When they look back on history, they will not see that we turned and ran. They will not see that we cowered with fear before our foes. No. No, they will see that we stood straight. They will see that we faced the devils arrayed against us, and drew our swords as one. They will see that we fought with a conviction undampened by fear!

“If you are still willing to fight for what you believe in, draw your swords. If you are still willing to follow me to the depths of the underworld, draw your swords. If you are ready, ready to face your enemy one last time, draw your swords! Let me hear your voices!”

On that day, a shout went up as had never been heard in Valhalla. Its equal had never existed, and never would again. On that day, the last of the alliance drew their weapons, and charged, as one foe, towards the overwhelming mass that opposed them. On that day, the final battle of Valhalla was fought.

Raelin had seen ferocity before. She had witnessed murder, and beheld pain. But nothing, nothing she had ever seen, could compare to what now unfolded about her. Every last soldier knew this was the end. Nothing was held back. Order was gone. Ranks were gone. It seemed that the caring soldiers Raelin had once known were gone as well, replaced by terrible bloodthirsty warriors.

There was no front line. The armies mixed, warriors cutting through foes until they were cut down in turn. All semblance of order disappeared. This was no battle. This was not even a war. This was a mindless killing, a chaotic self-destruction that could never be stopped. It sickened Raelin to be in the midst of it.

It did not take long for Jandar and Utgar to find each other. They saw each other from opposite sides of the battle, and both strode forward, batting enemies out of the way. All attacks against them withered, all defenses against them were insubstantial. They approached with a determined step, and as Raelin watched, she knew that Valhalla’s fate was about to be decided before her very eyes.

At that moment, however, something happened that distracted Raelin. Two individuals clashed in front of her, ruthlessly slashing with their swords. Those two individuals were directly in the way of Jandar and Utgar. They were Drake Alexander and Cyprien Esenwein.

Raelin smote the ground with her spear, protecting Drake. Cyprien lunged at her, but Drake pulled him back in with his grapple arm. Cyprien brought his blades down, but Drake deflected them with his sword. The two warriors moved almost too fast for Raelin to follow. Their faces were masks of concentration, coupled with fury.

A flicker of blue caught Raelin’s eye. She turned just in time to see Mallidon, her own brother, diving at Utgar. Unfortunately, Utgar saw him at the same moment, and raised his axe, ready to strike Mallidon from the sky. With a sudden jolt of fear, Raelin realized that she was too far away to protect Mallidon with her spear. It was at that point that several things happened at once.

With an unearthly scream, a band of black orcs burst through the chaos, charging straight for Raelin. Their weapons were jagged and covered with blood, their fur dirty and matted. They screeched and howled, baring their sharp teeth as they ran at her. At the same moment, Utgar swung his axe at Mallidon, who was going too fast to dodge the blow. Raelin didn’t waste another moment.

She threw her spear, with all of her might, at Utgar’s axe. It struck the axe, bounced off, and landed point-down, quivering in the ground. And then a blue force field burst from its tip, just barely encasing Mallidon. Utgar’s blow was deflected, and the force of the shield cast by the spear slammed into Mallidon, flinging him away from Utgar.

And then the orcs arrived.

Raelin received so many blows at once that she was instantly overwhelmed. Blades rebounded off the entirety of her armor. Those that made it through sank into her stomach, shoulders, arms, legs, chest, and face. She went down in a spray of blood, trying desperately to shield her head with her arms.

The orcs were relentless. She managed to kick a few, and one she impaled on a jagged piece of her armor, but they shrugged off her attacks and continued to beat her. The ordeal lasted for a full ten seconds. In those ten seconds, Raelin was fully conscious while the orcs continued to hack her body into an unrecognizable form.

And then Mallidon arrived. He crashed into the orcs with such a scream of rage that Raelin was temporarily afraid he had come for her, rather than them. The orcs immediately turned on him, but Mallidon welcomed them. He swung his hammer in wide arcs, not caring how many blows the orcs struck him with. One sword went straight through his armor and ripped through his chest. Mallidon yanked it back out, flipped it around, and plunged it through its owner.

However, there were at least twenty orcs, and Mallidon could not kill them all. They eventually overpowered him simply by mobbing him, and he quickly went down in a mass of black fur and swords. Raelin could no longer see Mallidon beneath the pile. And then, one hand, grasping a war-hammer, emerged from the pile, swinging the weapon furiously. An orc saw it, and promptly cut it off.

Raelin screamed. It was a mixture of shock, fear, and fury, and it was a scream she instantly knew she never wanted to make again. That scream, however, proved to save Mallidon.

Something very large and metallic slammed into the ground beside the orcs. A moment later, Drake flew into the pile, reeled in by his own grapple arm.

Now the orcs had met their match. They scattered in true panic as Drake leapt from one to the other, slashing, stabbing, killing without mercy. His face was red with blood, and his mouth seemed to be locked in a silent yell of rage. His eyes burned with bloodlust as he slew orc after orc.

Raelin watched him as if she were not a part of the battle. Her Drake, the Drake she had come to love. His uniform, once green, was now ripped and torn, splashed with mud, burnt with smoke, and steeped in gore. His skin seemed to run with blood. His sword dripped with it.

Raelin’s gaze shifted to Mallidon. He lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm. He lay in a pool of his own blood, and the red liquid had totally saturated his clothes. Blood seemed to leak from beneath his armor, and his face was unrecognizable beneath the orc gore that covered it.

Raelin then looked at herself. Her armor was all but gone, slashed and crushed so cruelly that it couldn’t have stopped a wooden dart. Her entire body was smeared with her own red blood, and much of the orcs’ black blood as well. Her hands shook as she stared at them, steady streams of blood running from the fingertips.

Raelin looked back at Drake. He was viciously dueling the last of the orcs. So this is the price of peace, she thought.

From nowhere, Cyprien flew at Drake. Raelin cried a warning, but she was far too late. Drake turned to face Cyprien, and the vampire triumphantly plunged both of his swords, to the hilt, into Drake’s heart.

Drake’s sword fell to the ground. He staggered backwards, and glanced at Raelin. Her shock was mirrored in his eyes, along with something else: fear. Just a hint of fear, that this was the true end.

Drake sank to both knees, and then fell face-first into the mud. Cyprien kicked him onto his back, and wrenched out his swords. In that moment, Raelin saw Drake’s still face. It was calm now, calm like it had been the first time she had seen it. The only difference was that the eyes were open, staring, lifeless.

Raelin could not scream. She could not cry. She could not even breathe. She could only stare, unbelieving, at Drake’s body.

Mallidon, despite his injuries, surged to his feet, wrenched his war-hammer from his severed hand, and wielding it in his remaining one, flew at Cyprien. Cyprien dueled him lazily at first, and then with more concentration. Mallidon landed one blow, and then another. He blocked Cyprien’s swords again and again, always answering with an attack of his own. It was then that Jandar joined in the fight.

Pointing his hammer menacingly at the two combatants, Jandar fired a lightning bolt of pure white at Mallidon’s hammer. The bolt struck, the hammer glowed and vibrated with heat, and Mallidon swung it directly at Cyprien’s head, knocking aside his swords with ease.

The blow struck. Cyprien let loose one unearthly scream, and then exploded into shards of the darkest smoke. At the same moment, Mallidon collapsed on the ground, all of his strength gone.

And with that, Utgar and Jandar finally met on the field of battle. Power blasted outwards from the two Valkyrie as their weapons met again and again. Soldiers who came near, either to aid or to injure, fell to the ground, senseless. Magic seethed about the two foes, battling back and forth as they dueled. Sparks flew from their weapons, illuminating their bloodstained faces with flickering lights.

But the battle could not last. Jandar was younger, despite his appearance, and Utgar was more experienced. In the end, Jandar made a mistake, and Utgar drove his axe into his side, opening up a deadly wound. Jandar crashed to the ground, blood soaking his armor in seconds.

Only as Utgar raised his axe to deliver the final blow, did Raelin notice Kelda. She was injured. Her face was white with loss of blood, and her armor was tattered nearly as badly as Raelin’s was. She had darted forward behind Jandar, and now laid her hand upon his shoulder. A blue spark leapt from her fingers, quickly followed by a tide of blinding magic. Jandar leapt to his feet, fully healed.

Her job done, Kelda smiled briefly. She then fell sideways, and lay still upon the ground, affording Raelin a clear view of the arrow in her back.

For the second time that day, Raelin let loose a terrible scream she never wanted to hear again.

His face livid with rage, Jandar punched Utgar in the stomach. The red Valkyrie stumbled backwards, and Jandar kicked him. This time, however, Utgar blocked the blow and brought his axe down against Jandar. Jandar locked the weapon with his own, and they struggled against each other. They were equally strong however, and the same idea seemed to occur to them both at once. They drew back, and their weapons began to glow. Their faces, masks of terrible hatred, were revealed in the arcane light as they poured every ounce of magic they possessed into their weapons.

Raelin knew what they were about to do. They were about to destroy each other. Both would die. As the weapons of the Valkyrie began to shake with ill suppressed power, she crawled forwards, her eyes bent on only one thing. A few moments later, she wrapped her fingers around the shaft of a spear – the Spear of Gerda.

And then, ignoring the terrible pain it caused her, Raelin stood, and flung the spear straight at the two Valkyrie. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to accomplish. She wasn’t sure if anything could be accomplished. But she had to try.

Three weapons struck. Jandar and Utgar plunged their weapons towards each other. The tips met, just as the point of the spear struck them.

The Spear of Gerda exploded. Both Valkyrie were flung backwards, as was Raelin. Blue magic raced from the spear in a shockwave of force, knocking anyone who was still standing down. It spread over the entire army, and then continued on, exploding over the hills to the north and south, felling trees to the west and east. And then a second, more powerful burst of magic blasted from the shattered spear, erupting over the toppled warriors. It struck Raelin hard, flung her to the ground, and she knew no more.

The battle had ended.

Chapter Sixteen – The Counsel of Enemies

“My lord Jandar! Utgar requests a meeting upon the field of battle.”

“For what purpose?”

“He said… He said he wishes to avoid this battle. He said he wishes to end the war with no further bloodshed.”

Jandar stood. His armor flashed in the brilliant sunlight, the air clean after the recent winter rain. “Utgar once told me he wished to avoid bloodshed. Do you know what he really wanted?”

The sentinel looked down. “No, sire… I can’t say that I do.”

“He wanted to distract me, for at that very moment, some of his kyrie were positioning themselves above me. If it weren’t for Drake, I would have been dead long ago.” Jandar’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Go back to Utgar. Tell him that we both know perfectly well how he avoids bloodshed. Tell him that if he wants to end this now, he can march over here himself and hand in his surrender.”

The sentinel turned to leave.

“Wait,” said Raelin. She had been standing beside Jandar, and had heard everything. She now turned to face her general.

“What, Raelin?” Jandar asked. “You think I should delay to hear Utgar’s false claims?”

“I… don’t think they are false anymore, Jandar,” Raelin said slowly. “He knows what Valkrill did. He knows how… how the castle fell.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jandar muttered to himself.

“Utgar knows how many men we lost when that happened. And it’s obvious that his army outnumbers us at least five to one, if not more.”

“You’re point, Raelin?”

“My point,” said Raelin, “is that there is no logic in this. Utgar always loved war and bloodshed. Everyone in Valhalla knows that. There is virtually no chance that he will be defeated. So why would he call for a meeting?”

“As a diversion?” Jandar suggested with dry sarcasm. “Maybe he wants to kill me again.”

“But why would he want to do that, instead of a full battle?”

“I don’t know, Raelin,” Jandar said, finally losing patience. “Maybe… Maybe he doesn’t want to lose as many men. Maybe he thinks if he kills me first, my men will break and run.”

“You know Utgar thinks nothing of the lives he wastes.”

“Yes, I know, but—”

“I think Raelin is right,” Drake interrupted, who had been standing on Jandar’s other side. “I think Utgar may actually want to talk. Think about it, Jandar. You’d be meeting in the middle of an open field, where both armies can see you clearly. There’s no way he could try anything underhanded with that many people watching.

Jandar looked from Drake to Raelin. “Very well,” he finally relented. “But I want you two with me. Raelin, keep your spear ready and keep behind me at all times. Drake, stay alert for threats from any angle. You,” he shot at the sentinel, who snapped to attention, “I expect Utgar will bring aids?”

“Yes, sire,” the sentinel promptly replied. “He said each side could bring two aids. In addition he said that he would leave his weapon behind, as a sign of good faith, and requested that you do the same.”

Jandar frowned, fingering the handle of his massive war-hammer. “I expected as much,” he muttered. “Very well. Return to Utgar and tell him that I will hear what he has to say. But tell him also,” he added, “that this is to be a peaceful conference. If he attempts to use it as a cover for anything, I will not hesitate to kill him then and there, weapon or no.”

The sentinel nodded once and took to the air, winging his way towards where Utgar’s army lay.

A large portion of Jandar’s army had been lost when his castle was destroyed by Valkrill’s magic. It had been a terrible blow. Victory had been unlikely before, but now it was next to impossible.

Utgar had promptly invaded Nastralund, joining his forces with Valkrill, and proceeded to march north. He had left a large contingent behind to guard the rest of Valhalla, and still his army was far larger than the remnants of the alliance.

Having no castle to retreat to, Jandar had made a final decision. An encounter was inevitable. They were hemmed in and surrounded, with the sea at their backs. Since they had nowhere to go, they would turn around, and attack Utgar. Now, at long last, the two forces faced each other across a wide plain, white with winter snow. This would be the final battle. After today, either the alliance would die, or Utgar would. There was little doubt about what the outcome would be.

A pavilion was erected in the middle of the field, between the two armies. Presently, two figures separated themselves from Utgar’s horde and approached with unhurried steps. Drake, Raelin, and Jandar advanced from the other army. They met at the pavilion, and for the second time in her life, Raelin saw the mighty Utgar, the kyrie who had caused all this misery.

The last time she had seen him, Utgar had worn a fur cloak and a confident air. He had laughed at threats and had matched his cunning wits with those of Jandar. If anything, he was now larger than he had been. He was shorter than Jandar, but not by much, and he was a good head and a half taller than Raelin. There was something about him, though, that was different. His eyes were downcast, and a frown was upon his face. Jandar approached him with a grim smile set in place. “Utgar,” he said, holding out his hand stiffly. “How terrible to see you.”

A smile flickered across Utgar’s face as he grasped Jandar’s hand, but it faded quickly. “I know you think this to be a ploy, Jandar,” he said, “so let me put your heart at ease.”

“I doubt there is anything you can do to put my heart at ease, Utgar,” Jandar said bitterly.

Utgar sighed. “I fear you may be right.”

A pause followed.

“Why have you brought only one aid?” Jandar asked, nodding to the red kyrie that stood behind Utgar.

“Taelord was the only one I required. He’s the only one that would understand.”

“Understand?” repeated Jandar. “You speak in riddles, Utgar. And where is your mockery of our last meeting? Has all of your arrogance left you?” Jandar looked the Valkyrie up and down. “Why the change, Utgar?” he asked snidely.

Utgar looked up. “Why the change, Jandar?” he repeated. “I’ll tell you why I’ve changed. I pray only that you’ll understand when I’ve finished.

“I had a secret. A secret I kept from nearly all, and especially from the alliance. I had a wife, once; a wife I loved more than anything else. In a time before the war, we were happy together. She blessed me with a daughter. I was content with my lot in life.

“And then you came, Jandar. Doubtless you do not remember – you were but a young captain at the time. Our home in the Volcarren was raided, attacked by kyrie from the North. You were the one that entered our home, searching for I know not what. You found our daughter, still in the cradle. I don’t know what you would have done. You might have done nothing. You might have let her live. But my wife snatched her from where she slept, and tried to defend her as only a mother could. I arrived too late. It may have been self-defense; I would not know, for I was blinded with shock and rage at the time; but in an instant, my beloved wife lay dead upon the floor, her blood dripping from your hammer.

“Every morning I have woken since that day, I have sworn to myself that you would pay. I rose in rank until I commanded the whole army, even as you did. Driven by my hatred, I invaded Bleakwood, where my sources told me your family lived. I need not tell you what transpired once I found them.” Utgar looked into Jandar’s burning eyes. “For that,” he whispered, “I am eternally sorry.”

Jandar appeared incapable of speech, so Utgar continued.

“The pain of my loss lessened, but did not go away. I sought your life as well. However, my attention was soon diverted to my daughter. She had grown in beauty and will far surpassing any other. I had her trained as a soldier, and she bested any that fought her. I had turned my daughter into a weapon, something to carry out my insatiable thirst for revenge. My pride in her had no equal.

I sent her into battle. She was successful. I sent her to carry out a mission. She was—” Utgar glanced at Drake, “— foiled. But she did not let that defeat stand in her way. She continued to make a name for herself, until she was known all throughout Valhalla.”

“I never heard of a daughter of yours,” Jandar interrupted roughly.

Utgar glanced at him. “No. You didn’t, because I didn’t want her harmed. You knew her by name only, for she was Runa.”

Jandar stared at Utgar blankly. Raelin saw something else in his look. Could it be fear?

Utgar stared right back. “Not that long ago,” he said quietly, with deliberate slowness, “you summoned your entire army back to your castle. You received word that your presence was required at the back of your retreating army. You came, bringing Drake with you, and you saw the problem. Runa was attacking the rear guard. Her Helm of Mitonsoul was felling warrior after warrior, while my kyrie minions protected her from attack.”

Utgar did not take his eyes from Jandar’s face as he continued. “You broke their ranks easily. Runa engaged you. The reports said she fought eagerly, never backing down. But she was no match for your skill, and you struck her down. Then, as she struggled to get up, you landed before her, and… killed her. You killed my only daughter, Jandar. You killed my family, even as I slew yours.”

Dead silence. In the shocked stillness, Raelin saw a single tear fall from Utgar’s eye and strike the grass.

“And I suppose,” Jandar said, his voice suspiciously hoarse, “that you now mean to swear your vengeance on me to all the gods of Valhalla and beyond?”

Utgar shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “I have lost the last remnant of family I had left, the last part of my heart not tainted by grief and revenge. All that is left now is a terrible wound, something I will never be able to heal, because I know I caused it. You may have struck the blow, Jandar, but it was I that truly killed my beloved Runa. I have caused this war, and all the death and pain it brings with it. And now I am reaping what I have sown. I have finally seen the war for what it is, Jandar. I have finally realized what it has wrought on this land, and on its people. And I ask you again: end it now. End this war, before we seal our fate forever in blood.”

Utgar suddenly knelt before Jandar. “I do not ask this of you. I beg this of you: surrender, please. Let this conflict end.”

Raelin held her breath. After all this time, here, finally, was the chance she had been searching for the entire war… She watched Jandar in the sudden silence, her heart pounding loudly enough for both of them.

Jandar looked down on Utgar. At first he seemed surprised, but then his face hardened. An insane smile crept onto it, a smile that struck fear to Raelin’s heart.

“Surrender?” he repeated, in a deadly whisper. “Surrender, Utgar? I think not. You killed my family. I killed yours. Consider us even if you will, but you still have to answer for the crimes you have committed through this war.” Jandar’s voice was steadily rising. “Consider the villages burned. Consider the commoners slain. Consider the damage done to the hearts of men. You think this can be wiped clean with an apology, Utgar? Think again! This war is no longer about Valhalla. It stopped being about Valhalla when the wellsprings opened up. It stopped being about any of us when we summoned soldiers from other worlds to fight our wars. Consider what you have done, Utgar, and know that no remorse can undo this. You want me to end this war before we seal our fate? You sealed it for us long ago! You began something you knew perfectly well would end only one way. Do not try to escape the fate that you have been charging towards all your life! There is no easy way out! There is no surrender! No, you have woven this end for all of us, and now, like it or not, you will face what you have created.

“You want me to surrender, Utgar? You want me to bow my knee to you and crave your pardon? You think that will end the war? You are WRONG! Wrong, Utgar! I will never surrender to one with so much blood on his hands, and you know it!”

A very tense silence followed. Utgar slowly stood, watching Jandar.

“Prepare your army,” Jandar spat, turning on his heel. “If you think, at the end, that I have been too harsh, remember that this was an apocalypse of your own making.”

Raelin couldn’t believe it. After everything she had said, everything Jandar had agreed with, he had just flung the offer they had been looking for in Utgar’s face. Why? Because of pride. Jandar would never admit it, but Raelin knew his weakness. He wouldn’t have surrendered had Odin himself asked him to.

“Stop!” Raelin cried, stepping between Jandar and Utgar as they turned away from each other.

“Raelin!” Jandar ordered. “Get away from that dog!”

Utgar looked for a moment like he was about to punch Jandar, but did not move.

“Please,” Raelin said, looking at Utgar. “This cannot end the war. It never will!”

Utgar glanced between her and Jandar. “Raelin?” he repeated. “You are Raelin?”

Raelin nodded, confused by the question.

Utgar took a step closer to her. “I owe you an apology then,” he said, his voice heavy.

“For what?”

“For the way you were treated. I only learned recently that you had been a prisoner of mine. Sullivan believed that if I knew you were in one of my dungeons, I would have tortured you for information, so he did not inform me of his plan. Had I known… I would have used you to guarantee Jandar’s surrender.”

“Utgar,” Raelin said quietly, “please, just leave. Return to the Volcarren, and leave us in peace.” She felt tears stinging her eyes. “Please,” she whispered.

Utgar looked at her silently. “Against such an opponent as your Jandar,” he said slowly, “there can be no peace. He will pursue me until one of us lies dead upon the face of the earth. I do not intend for it to be me.”

“Then we shall fight for all eternity,” interjected Jandar, “for neither shall I go down to you!” With this, he grabbed Raelin by the arm, and pulled her away. Raelin struggled, but Jandar would not let go. He was far stronger than she was, and she eventually was forced to give up and watch as Utgar retreated back to his army.

Drake pried Raelin free of Jandar’s grasp. The Valkyrie stormed ahead, leaving them to bring up the rear. As they walked, Raelin stooped and picked a flower. Winter was barely over; it was the first she had seen in full bloom. She looked at it mournfully as they trudged back to their army.

“My dying hope,” she sighed, “was that I might see Valhalla green and alive one last time. Now I know that will never happen.”

She dropped her hand, and slowly let the flower fall to the earth.

Chapter Fifteen – The Last Blow

A week later, the door to the infirmary opened, and Jandar entered. Raelin had not seen him for over three months, and so could barely contain her shock at his appearance. His hair was all gray by now, and wrinkles lined his once young face. He walked with a slight limp, and much of the fire had gone out of his eyes. However, he was still Jandar. He was still ruler of Nastralund, and no amount of anxiety could rob him of the regal air that followed in his wake.

“Raelin,” he said, approaching her bedside, “I’m glad to see that you are recovering.” His voice was weaker than Raelin had remembered it, and he spoke with a weariness that she had not heard before. “I’m sorry to say that Sullivan escaped. We thought he had been captured, but it is evident now that he merely joined his true allies.”

“Sorry?” repeated Raelin. “Don’t be sorry, Jandar. It’s easier this way. If he had not escaped, you would have had to hold him, and question him.”

Jandar looked at her curiously. “Why, Raelin? Why are you so determined to let people go unpunished?”

Raelin sighed. She was tired. She had been sleeping and recovering for much of the past days, but her weariness was of a different sort. “Pain,” she said. “It’s not something I wish on others.”

Jandar sighed and sat at the foot of her bed. “I came to bring you ill news. While you were captured, Drake came up with a plan for our survival. We no longer had the forces to guard our borders. So, while Utgar waited for the inevitable, we harvested all we could from the land, burned the rest, and retreated to Nastralund. Everyone retreated to Nastralund. This is now the only territory still controlled by the alliance. The other Valkyrie barricaded and hid their wellsprings, and set traps in place to kill anyone who finds them. It was risky, but our entire army was now focused on defending a much smaller boundary. The result was that while our food stores rapidly dwindled, we were at least able to beat back Utgar’s every assault.”

Jandar sighed. “That state… just ended a few hours ago. Omnicrons have reported to me that Valkrill undermined their positions, and then decimated them from behind. Apparently a portal to the Underdark has just opened up inside our borders. The entire army has been caught off guard. As we speak, legions upon legions of the enemy are pouring into Nastralund. I’ve ordered a full retreat. This will be our final stand, Raelin. This castle will be our last stronghold.”

Raelin was speechless. After all this time, after all the false hopes and dreams, the true end had finally come. Jandar’s castle had never fallen to an enemy, but she didn’t see how they could survive. All of Utgar’s might would be focused at it, and his army was big enough to cover the whole of Nastralund from end to end.

Jandar buried his face in his hands. “I don’t see how I can go on, Raelin. I know you said to never give up, to never lose hope… but how can I ask my men to fight? They know as well as you and I that they stand no chance. They know this is the end. Maybe… Maybe I should surrender to Utgar, and trust to his mercy that he will spare our lives.”

Raelin looked at him. “Utgar has no mercy, Jandar. I felt his mercy, I know.”

Jandar gave a forced smile. “Then it’s a fight to the death,” he said shakily.

Raelin sat up and laid a hand on Jandar’s shoulder. “No,” she said firmly. “It will be a fight, but it will be a fight for something.”

Jandar let out a short bark of laughter. “For what, Raelin? The chance to die honorably? Some false feeling of a higher cause? No, we are alone and deserted, and we will die that way. What would you have us fight for?”

“Fight for faith,” said Raelin. “Faith that things can get better. That this is not the end. Whether we die or not, Valhalla will continue. We stopped fighting for ourselves long ago. If for nothing else, fight for those that will come after us. Fight, so that they may look back on us, and our determination may become theirs. Yes, Jandar, we may die. But we will not fail. Someday, somewhere, this war will end. Not in victory. Not in defeat. But in peace. Fight for that.”


A few days later, the bulk of the alliance forces arrived at Jandar’s castle, having been routed by Valkrill. They were tired, beaten, and injured. But remarkably, they were hopeful. They knew they had lost Nastralund. They knew Utgar could win by simply starving them out. But as regiment after regiment approached, and looked up to see Jandar’s mighty castle still standing, the colors of the alliance waving defiantly over its walls, they could not despair. In their own way, each and every one of them knew that this was it, the last fight, and they all resolved in their hearts, that Utgar would have to try his utmost to take Valhalla’s freedom.

In the course of the war, Mallidon had been made a captain, and Raelin, Drake, and Jandar met him at the gates of the castle as his company, which included Kelda, reported in. There were many hugs, and many tears were shed at the reunion. However, Jandar eventually had to fly to the back of the incoming army, where it was said his presence was urgently required. Drake went with him, leaving Raelin with Kelda and Mallidon.

As the day came to a close, and twilight slowly descended over the castle, those three did something they hadn’t done since they were little. They played together. For a brief time, they allowed themselves to forget about the war, about the pain, and about the misery. They played and laughed, running up and down soft green hills, flying in the clean November air, hiding in the long grass. Behind them, the army continued to pour into the castle, but the tramp of feet was dulled by the friends’ laughter.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, and darkness began to spread in earnest, they were rejoined by Drake and Jandar. For a time, as they laughed together, the lines on Jandar’s face faded, and Raelin thought he looked far younger than she had ever seen him. At last, exhausted but happy, they lay on a wonderfully green hill, watching as the silhouette of the castle faded into the night sky.

Jandar’s castle was indeed a sight to behold. It had been constructed upon finding the wellspring, partly to defend it, partly to provide a resting place for those that were summoned. The wellspring had been found high atop a mountain, in a shallow cave. Therefore, the castle had been built about it. The mountaintop was isolated, though there was a steep cliff nearby. Jandar had stretched a causeway from the cliff to the mountain, thus making the castle accessible from the ground, but also ensuring that his archers had plenty of time to pick off anyone who sought to assault the castle’s doors. This was a large part of the reason the castle had never been taken.

Now, as Raelin and the others sat admiring the castle in the growing darkness, it struck Raelin just how beautiful it was. It stood lone and proud, removed from the rest of Valhalla. Its shadow stretched over them all, as if it was watching over its land. It was the vigilant protector, the undying sentinel.

Drake let out a sigh of satisfaction. “Utgar won’t win,” he said with confidence. “We’ll never be defeated. Not as long as that castle stands, defiant against Utgar’s hordes.”

Jandar stood up, scrutinizing the castle in the distance.

“What is it?” Raelin asked. She was contented and comfortable, and had been on the verge of falling asleep.

“There is an ill cloud about the mountain,” Jandar said after a moment. “A cloud… with light.”

They all stood up. Raelin could see it now. They were near the edge of the cliff, and looking down, they could see a strange fog obscuring the base of the mountain upon which the castle sat.

The cloud was unmoving – which by itself was unnatural. But it also possessed a dim glow, almost as if a very weak light was being shone through it from the ground far below. Whatever it was, it was obvious it was magical. And that rarely meant anything good.

“It seems… familiar, somehow,” Jandar mused. “A spell… I think I’ve read of it…” His face suddenly took on a horror-struck look. “No!” he shouted. He leapt for the causeway. “Get everyone out! Evacuate the castle!”

It was too late. The sinister cloud suddenly brightened, its eerie yellow glow illuminating the mountain from beneath. There was an ear-shattering crack, a terrible report, and lightning shot through the mountain. Literally through it. Deep cracks appeared. Chunks and slabs of rock snapped off to fall far below. The castle above shook and trembled. And then, slowly, so infinitely slowly, the entire mountain cracked, and then crumbled, falling to pieces. It took the castle with it, and everything – rock, army, and wellspring – fell beneath the cloud and was lost from sight.

There was nothing left but an expanse of dark and silent sky.

Chapter Fourteen – Where the Tunnel Ends

The next days passed in a blur for Raelin. Each held as little meaning as the last. She had always held onto hope, clinging to it fiercely, but it seemed to her at last that all hope had fled. She knew she was never going to get out of this prison. The alliance had managed to hold on for three months, but she knew they couldn’t last much longer.

Seeing Raknar again had awoken old memories, and losing him again had torn them apart with cruelty. The pain she now felt showed no sign of lessening. It only remained, threatening to engulf her entirely. Part of her resolutely struggled to survive… to endure. Part of her simply wanted to give up. Neither part seemed to be winning over the other.

It was nearly a week later that the orcs came again, emptying the dungeon entirely. They piled all of the prisoners into a cart and drove south. Raelin didn’t care where they were going. She didn’t care, and she hated that fact. She had always cared. She had always had hope. She desperately wanted that hope to return. She needed it now, more than ever.

The cart came to a stop outside a strange building. It was small, most resembling the concrete bunkers Drake had told her of once. A collection of tubes, pipes, and gauges were set into one side. There was nothing on the other side but a single, heavy, thick metal door. The door was open, and looking at it gave Raelin a strange feeling. It took her a moment to recognize it as fear. She was afraid of what might be within that bunker. There was only one door, only one way in or out. It was not another cell. Without being told, Raelin somehow knew that it was the end of the tunnel she had been in for so long. Just not the end she had wished for.

The prisoners were lined up in front of the bunker, and a marro stepped into view, his yellow skin oddly tinged with green. He licked his lips before speaking.

“This is the day many of you have been waiting for. Today, your troubles will end, and you will be returned to those you love.”

Many of the prisoners lifted their heads at these words. A few even looked hopeful, but there was something Raelin found sinister in the way the marro spoke, something wrong with the way he said returned. A cold dread began to grow in her heart.

The marro grinned. “Yes, soon your trials will be over. All you need do is step into this building. In a few moments, all your deepest wishes will be granted, and you will see those precious to you again.”

A few of the smiles faltered. Some of the prisoners seemed to sense something wasn’t quite right either. However, the orcs closed in, and they had no choice but to march single-file into the thick-walled building. The door clanged shut behind them, and Raelin could hear a bolt being drawn across it.

The bunker contained only one room: four walls, a floor, and a ceiling. No benches, no windows, nothing. It was one solid block of chiseled gray. The only marks in the entire room, aside from the door, were four sinister-looking holes set in the opposite wall.

The holes were about three feet above the floor, and nearly as big around as a child’s head. The pipes that led from them curved out of sight beyond the wall, so that their mouths were pitch black.

The marro’s voice echoed within the room, coming from the holes themselves. “Very good. Now that you are all in here, it is time to deliver on my promise. For some time now, Utgar’s resources have not been spent on summoning. They have been spent on research, and deep within the Ticalla, that research has paid off.

“Some of you may be aware of the existence of Marrden Hounds. These hounds carry a plague, a plague so powerful, it can rip through entire armies given enough time. The alliance has no cure for this sickness. After nearly a month, we do.

“We have extracted this plague from the Marrden Hounds, and weaponized it. You have the honor of being some of the last subjects to test its effectiveness. Breathe deeply, and your worries will end. Very soon now, you will be with your friends once more.

“Breathe deeply. The end has come.”

Dead silence. Raelin looked at her fellow prisoners, and they looked at her. A few shrank against the far wall. After a moment, some ran towards the holes, welcoming the end. One prisoner, a young kyrie woman, turned half way there. “Come on,” she said to the other prisoners who still hung back. “They’re going to kill us anyway, no matter what we do. I’d rather die quickly than in agony. This is the end. Our fight is over.”

“No,” said Raelin, quite suddenly. The passive despair that had weighed down her heart for so long had lifted. It was now replaced with a different sensation, one that Raelin found familiar, and comforting.  

“What?” asked the woman. “Why prolong your agony? Give up.”

“Give up?” repeated Raelin, a hint of anger in her voice now. “When I was seven, my father was claimed by the war. My mother followed a month later. I know what it is like to grow up without your true parents. I know the pain you have to live with. If there is the slightest chance that I can prevent that, I will not have anyone else suffer that pain because I gave up.”

A terrible hissing sounded from the pipes. Smoke, sickly green, began pouring out of them, into the room.

“Keep your hope,” the woman said. “We all end up dead one way or another.” With that, she ran towards the pipes, falling to her knees before one, and breathing deeply.

It was then that the screaming began. Those that had breathed in the plague began twitching, thrashing about on the floor, screaming in pain. Blood leaked from their mouths, mixed with foam. Their eyes rolled back in their heads, and they all shuttered to a stop, still and lifeless, their muscles tense, frozen forever more. The rest of the prisoners shrank back against the wall.

The green smoke slowly slithered forwards, hiding the bodies it had already claimed. It filled the room, and then languidly advanced, covering the floor, inch by steady inch.

A few more prisoners dived into it. They screamed, convulsed, and then were still. After a moment, they were followed by the rest, save for Raelin. She alone watched the last of them die, and then be hidden by the smoke. It then reached for her. There was naught but two feet separating her from death.

Raelin knelt. She would not succumb and throw herself to the smoke. Hope flared within her, a steady defiance. There was no logic behind it, no reasoning, just calmness. That same calmness she had always admired in Drake. She looked at the smoke, and felt no fear. Soon, very soon now, she would see her father and mother again.

There was a resounding clang on the door. Raelin jumped up. A terrible dent was in the door. The shape was strange, almost as if a three-toed foot had struck the metal. The dent widened, accompanied by a terrible screeching of metal on metal. Raelin could hear hinges tearing, slowly, metal grinding. She looked uncertainly at the smoke. It was inches from her skin. She inched along the wall to the door. She had mere seconds to live.

With a terrible scream of disintegrating metal, the door flew outwards. It did not merely open. It was flung from the doorway by several meters. And there, standing where not but solid metal had been but moments before, was Drake.

Without a word, Drake grabbed Raelin by the arm, and pulled her from the building, even as the plague reached her. She stumbled to the grass, coughing up blood violently, feeling the plague burn through her body. Fortunately, it seemed she had not inhaled enough. Her muscles contracted painfully, but then relaxed. Eyes streaming from the pain, Raelin staggered to her feet, and looked upon a scene of havoc.

There was a hill nearby, and upon this hill stood Zetacron and nine Omnicron Snipers. They were all firing down on the orcs below, who were running about without order. In front of the bunker, Drake was locked in a vicious duel with the marro.

Raelin staggered backwards when she saw Drake’s face. It was not calm. It was not reassuring. It was full of only one thing: terrible, consuming, unyielding wrath.

The marro seemed to realize this as well. He broke and tried to run. Without a moment’s hesitation, Drake fired his grapple arm directly into the marro’s shoulder, and viciously yanked him back. The marro tried to defend himself, but Drake threw aside his meager defense as if it were paper. He swung again and again, dealing wound after wound. The marro’s green blood soon stained Drake’s sword, and still he continued to hack away.

Finally Raelin, regaining her senses, ran to Drake. “Stop!” she cried. “Stop it!”

Drake paid her no heed, and raised his sword for the final stroke. Without quite thinking, Raelin pulled it from his grasp.

Drake turned on her so fast that Raelin took a few staggering steps away from him. For a split second, the anger on his face was all directed at her. But only for a moment. His eyes flicked to her face, and he saw her through the veil of rage. The terrible light in his eyes died almost instantly. He was Drake once more.

“Are you all right?” he asked, approaching her. His voice was soft, calm.

Raelin relaxed. “Not really,” she said, “but I’ll be fine.”

Drake gently pulled his sword from her grasp. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’ve been looking for you for three months, and after all this time… I couldn’t hold it in.”

Zetacron arrived. “Jandar has been notified of your success, Drake,” he said. “There will be a ship waiting for you at the hidden port within three days.”

“Thank you, Zetacron,” Drake said. “Make sure every last store of this plague is destroyed. Then send the Omnicrons out on wide patrol. I am getting Raelin home, and I’d prefer not to have to kill anyone else in my way.”

Chapter Thirteen – Resistance

“On your feet, worms!” The door to the dungeon banged open and a massive orc stormed inside. Raelin knew instantly something was different. This orc wore armor, and carried a tangled whip. Besides, it was far too soon. The orcs only came for them once a day.

A few of the prisoners staggered to their feet, but most could do little more than lift their heads.

“Up!” the orc bellowed. He kicked one nearby prisoner in the side.

Those that stood helped their neighbors up, but a good number of prisoners remained on the floor. The orc cracked his whip.

That served to jolt some strength into the remaining prisoners. Nearly all staggered to their feet, save for a small boy that shivered in a corner, paralyzed with fear, and an old woman. The woman was so wrinkled and thin that she looked half dead already. She tried to support herself with her arms, but her feeble strength gave out after only a few attempts. The orc approached her and raised the whip.

It was fortunate that Raelin happened to be behind the orc at that moment, rather than in front of him. In an instant, she reached out, grabbed the whip as the orc raised it, and wrenched it from his grasp.

Raelin did not know what she had planned to do. She was far from using the whip herself, that much she was sure of. She had no time to decide, though, for two orcs rushed her from the door.

A well-aimed kick to her stomach was all it took to bring Raelin down. The whip fell from her grasp, her head hit the burning flagstones of the dungeon floor, there was a moment of pain, and then everything faded to blackness. Blissful blackness.

Raelin came to a few minutes later. She was no longer in the dungeon. That became apparent the moment she opened her eyes. Everything was still black, but she could see pinpricks of light above her. Stars, she realized a moment later. It had been so long since she had seen any. She could feel earth beneath her hands. Dirt. Actual grass. Could she possibly be outside?

Raelin rolled over, burying her face in the grass. It was charred, burnt, and brittle, but it was grass. It had once been alive. She could smell a cold trace of autumn in the air.

“And what is this?” said a voice above Raelin. The voice was smooth and rich… almost kind. It definitely did not belong to an orc.

Raelin rolled back over, and found herself staring into a pale face, a face so pale it could belong to only one creature.

The vampire smiled, showing pointed teeth. Her black eyes sparkled as she watched Raelin. “She lives yet,” she said quietly.

“Get up,” said an orc behind Raelin, kicking her in the side. “You’re to stand at attention when Sonya inspects you!” Raelin got to her feet slowly.

The vampire frowned at the orc. “I prefer to keep my name unknown,” she said coldly. “Even amongst prisoners.”

The entire demeanor of the orc changed instantly. “Yes – Yes my lady, of course, anything—” He backed away, mumbling incoherently.

“Now then,” said Sonya, raising her voice slightly, “most of you are surely wondering why you are here.”

Only then did Raelin notice that she was part of a line. Prisoners extended down in a line from her left side; only the old woman was not among them.

“The war has reached a lull,” Sonya said drily.

Hope flared within Raelin. Then Jandar had not yet surrendered! However, that hope did not last long, for it meant the war still existed, and with it, the pain.

“We vampires,” Sonya continued, “do not… require blood, but it is a delicacy we crave, and our cravings rarely go unsatisfied.” Raelin didn’t like where this was going. “Since the war has reached a low point, we have of late had less blood than we are accustomed to.

“You are all here because Utgar has no use for you. You have been sent here to die. How you die is of no concern to him. Therefore, he has allowed me to select certain of you for our own… purposes.”

Sonya began examining the prisoners. Raelin felt the blood drain from her face. So this was how it would end. Eaten by vampires. Not the best of ways to go.

However, Sonya passed the first prisoner by. And then the second. And then the third. Her frown increased with each passing minute. Finally, she reached the end of the line, where Raelin stood, and looked her up and down.

“Every one of you is thinner than your skeletons should permit,” she remarked drily. “But you… you seem to have some spirit left in you at least.” She stepped back approvingly. “Yes. Captain!” she called to the orc. “I will take this one.”

“No!” There was a scuffle somewhere down the line, a grunt of pain, and then a dark shape came flying towards Sonya. It appeared that Raknar had caught one of the orc guards by surprise, knocked him out, and was now charging the vampire with the orc’s sword.

Raelin rushed forward, crying out a warning, but it was too late. Sonya whipped out a sword from her cloak, whirled around in a flash of steel, and beheaded Raknar in an instant. Blood soaked the blade and splashed onto Sonya’s face, where she licked at it eagerly.

Raknar’s head fell against Raelin, and she reeled back in horror. The headless body dropped to its knees, and then fell flat, blood still spouting generously from the severed neck.

Raelin dropped to her knees as well, eyes fixed unwillingly at the head before her. Denial was all she felt. Pure disbelief. This… couldn’t happen. She had just found her father, and now she had lost him once more.

Sonya spat. “The blood is thin. I should have known malnourished weaklings were no substitute for the soldiers of battle.” She stormed away, kicking Raknar’s head out of her way as she passed. It rolled pathetically, and came to a rest, its unseeing eyes fixed on Raelin.

Raelin gazed into those lifeless eyes for a full second. Then, with no warning, she toppled over backwards and fell into unconsciousness once more.

Chapter Twelve – Joy in the Dark Shadows

The smell was terrible. Raelin tried to shift her position, turning her head to escape the fumes, but the stench only intensified. She genuinely believed Sullivan had been sorry. He had thought – and still did, for all she knew – that she would be treated well during her time as a prisoner. How little he knew of Utgar.

The vampires had delivered her to a castle deep within the Volcarren, just as Sullivan had said they would. They had then stuffed her into a cramped cell with at least thirty other prisoners. Raelin had been there ever since. Time had faded away in the constant dark of the dungeon, but Raelin knew she had been there for more than the prophesied two months. It felt like more than three. Was the war over? Would she ever be released?

Metal scraped against stone, and the massively thick cell door was creaked open. An orc stepped in.

There was no light in the dungeon, and the only light in the hall beyond the door was a guttering torch. That feeble flicker now flooded the cell, and Raelin felt her stomach tighten as she saw again the conditions that surrounded her.

The dungeon was small; likely designed for only one person with plenty of room to walk. Over thirty prisoners were packed into the tiny space, most jammed up against the hard unforgiving wall. The situation was made even worse by the fact that over half of them were kyrie, their wings taking up extra room. Since they were in the Volcarren, heat radiated from the stones, washing over the prisoners without relief, drenching them in sweat. Since Raelin had arrived, many of the kyrie had died of dehydration.

After the first few deaths, the orcs had made sure the prisoners had plenty of water, but it was always green with slime, and tasted of mold. The food was no better: the bread they ate was either stale or crawling with worms.

There was no air. Nothing was sanitary. Raelin had been breathing air choked with sweat, blood, heat, and mold for the entire time she had been down here. And there was no sign that the confinement would ever end. Only that it would get worse.

The orc stepped into the dungeon, and as one, the mass of prisoners stumbled away from him. Raelin was among them. She knew, along with everyone else, what happened to those that were chosen.

The orc marched forward, pointing at random prisoners. More orcs came through the door, peeled the selected prisoners from their neighbors, and shuffled them out the door. Finally, the orc stopped in front of Raelin.

Unlike the rest of the prisoners, Raelin did not try to make herself as small as possible. She stood as best she could in her starved state, and stared the orc full in the face, glaring. The orc merely leered at her.

Chok ah, Raelin. You only make your life harder.” He pushed her to the ground hard, and moved on. Two more prisoners were selected, marched out through the door, and then the remaining prisoners were once again confined to the absolute darkness.

A few cried softly. One pounded desperately on the door. Most simply sagged to the burning floor, subdued and defeated. As close as Raelin could tell, the orcs selected some of them every day. It was the only measurement of time they had. No one knew what happened beyond the dungeon, but the faint screams that reached them gave them a good idea.

Raelin couldn’t stand. She remained where the orc had thrown her, too weak to even sit up. The heat radiating from the floor boiled over her, drenching her in sweat. She was thirsty enough even for the terrible water the orcs brought, but she lacked the strength to even crawl across the floor to it. It had taken everything she had to simply stand and face the orc.

Someone coughed, and uttered a cracked word. Most of the prisoners hadn’t spoken for weeks; there was no reason to. They were never questioned. The orcs simply came in, took them, and left. The kyrie tried again. The word sounded a little more familiar this time, rasping over dry and cracked lips. The speaker tried again.

“R – Ra – Rae – aelin?”

Raelin looked up.

“The – orc call – called you Rae –aelin.”

Raelin could see nothing in the darkness, but she could hear one of the prisoners dragging himself closer. A hand touched her face, quickly followed by an intake of breath. “It – is you!”

Raelin knew that voice. But it was impossible. He had died long ago. She reached out a trembling hand. A long beard met her fingers. A familiar face, once powerful, now shrunken. It was him.

“Father!” she cried, launching herself at the kyrie. Tears burst from her eyes, and she fell on Raknar’s shoulder, weeping and laughing at the same time. “I thought you had died,” she whispered through the tears. “We all thought you had died.”

Raknar patted her weakly on the head as she wept. “I’m alive,” he said grimly. “The minions – captured me. I’ve been here – for so long. I’m – I’m sorry you had to join me here.”

Raelin continued to sob. She couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. The reality of her situation came crashing back on her all at once. “Kelda,” she finally choked out, “Kelda is alive and well. And Mallidon too.”

“When did you see them last?” Raknar asked, new strength entering his voice.

“More than two months ago,” Raelin admitted.

“And the war?”

“The war,” Raelin faltered. “I don’t know.”

Raknar sighed. “With any luck, this fighting will soon end, and we will be free. Jandar will win, I know it, and he himself will liberate us.”

Raelin didn’t have the heart to tell Raknar that the alliance was probably gone by now, or that Utgar probably ruled all of Valhalla, entirely unaware and uncaring of their existence. Besides, she had no way of knowing. And as long as she didn’t know, why should she crush hope? Drake had been right. Hope is what keeps us going against all odds. It’s what lets us see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Most of the prisoners had given up hope long ago. But Raknar hadn’t, and neither had Raelin. She had little hope that she would ever escape this dungeon, but she had hope that someday, somehow, the pain would end. And if she could end it, she would. As long as she could see the light at the end of the tunnel, she would pursue it. It was a long tunnel, the longest tunnel of her life.

But all tunnels have an end, no matter how dark.

Chapter Eleven – The Price of Faith

Raelin coughed. She had been in dark places before. More since the start of the war. But not like this. This was a blackness she had never felt. Sight could not penetrate it. The only thing left to suggest the rest of the world still existed was sound. Sound, and the overpowering smell.


As Zetacron had promised, Drake had soon regained the use of his arm. Needing something to correctly align the metal, Zetacron had used the wire from Drake’s grapple gun, threading it through the armor. With a few altercations, Jandar had turned the metal arm into a grappling device all its own, attaching a formidable steel claw to cover Drake’s hand.

Zetacron had identified the fiend that had attacked Drake. He was a new recruit, a deadly enemy called a vampire. Drake had seemed to understand the name, though it was foreign to Raelin. Zetacron had said the vampire was called Cyprien, and that he was lord of all vampires. Drake had been lucky to escape with only injuries.

Raelin had not been punished for disobeying orders. Everyone knew Drake was a soldier Jandar could not afford to lose, most of all Jandar himself.

The war had at last swung around in Jandar’s favor. Utgar’s defeat at Stechavan had crippled his northern forces. Unable to reinforce their numbers, his garrisons throughout Bleakwood rapidly fell to the alliance.

Winter faded to spring, which yielded a fresh bloodbath as Utgar tried to reclaim his lost territory. But his forces, so large, were still scattered, and he was driven back. Summer passed, and in the autumn, a new Valkyrie – Aquilla by name – had emerged and joined Jandar. Little was known of her, save that she and her forces were in the unexplored Ticalla Jungle. Though her army was pitifully small, it had carried out a number of successful surprise attacks against Utgar’s fortresses in the Volcarren, weakening his forces there as well. Jandar had been quick to reinforce her via the Bitter Sea, and Utgar was now caught between two imposing armies, one of which threatened his wellspring.

Utgar’s army was still larger than the other two combined. He could still destroy the alliance. But for the moment, he was disorganized, his legions spread too thin. He would regroup and attack again, and probably finally destroy the alliance… unless something was done.

That something proved to be a daring plan to attack Utgar at his wellspring. Every general had contributed, and Jandar had launched a coalition army through the Bitter Sea. Two months after Utgar’s defeat at Stechavan, it had landed.

The army was larger than any the alliance had ever commanded before. It swept the first few outposts before it, and then surged forwards, aiming for Utgar’s impregnable fortress, and the wellspring that lay beneath it. Unfortunately, the alliance’s luck had run out.

From the Underdark – ancient ruins far beneath Valhalla – came a new Valkyrie: Valkrill. His presence had been kept a secret, but now he emerged with his deadly army, arrayed against the alliance. Utgar’s forces met the alliance from the West, Valkrill from the East. Raelin, who had been wounded and so left at a captured fortress at the time, had heard of the wholesale slaughter that had taken place.

The greatest army the alliance had ever formed was utterly destroyed in just a little over five hours. It was a blow none of them would ever fully recover from.

Mallidon had been in the army. Soon after the defeat, Raelin and Kelda had descended on the blood-soaked rocks and begun their search. Kelda was the one to finally find him, wounded and weak with loss of blood, but somehow still alive. Raelin had watched Kelda heal as she had never seen before. Blue magic blossomed from Kelda’s palms. Sometimes it waned, sometimes it faded, but it always returned with a mighty flash, and Mallidon would take a shuttering breath.

Kelda had driven herself to the point of exhaustion, finally collapsing on Mallidon and breaking down into sobs. Only then had she permitted other kyrie to take Mallidon to the fallback position, where his healing was completed. They had been assured he would make a full recovery.

Kelda herself had needed medical attention, for she was extremely weak after expending everything she had on Mallidon. Drake had arrived while Raelin watched her sleep, his good arm bandaged. He was lucky to have survived at all.

While Raelin had watched Kelda sleep, she had seen again that same peaceful face, the same face that had so often been Kelda’s. She had not seen that expression since before the war, and the sight of it had made her cry. Drake had asked her why.

“This war, this pain… I abhor it. I know it needs to end, to go away, but everything around me says the only way to do that is through more of the same. Even you, Drake; even you said that you can only protect people by killing other people. You said there was no other choice, but I couldn’t believe you then. I don’t want to believe you now. I want to believe that there is another way, a way without pain, a way without suffering. But how can there be? How can there be such a way, when Mallidon—” Raelin broke down and could not finish.

She leaned against Drake as the tears flowed, and he held her comfortingly. Something of his calmness spread to her, and she eventually subsided into silence.

“Do you remember the Great War I told you about once, Raelin,” Drake said, “the one back on my home?”

Raelin nodded.

“That war lasted too long. Most of the soldiers, myself included, felt we were fighting against something. It just took us several years to figure out it wasn’t the enemy. We were fighting against ideas, principles, and the soldiers we killed every day were just in the way, just as determined as we were. We finally figured out that our argument wasn’t with them.

“I could tell you of at least a dozen times a white flag was flown above the enemy trenches. A plane would have gone down, or a dead soldier was caught in the barbed wire and we needed to retrieve his body. Men from both sides would jump the trenches, and we’d work together. We’d thank each other, wave farewell… and the next day go back to killing each other. But every time that happened, everyone knew the war was dead. It’s a good thing the war ended when it did, because I think a lot of the soldiers – most of them, actually – were tired of it. They were about to quit. They didn’t want to kill us, and we didn’t want to kill them.”

Raelin looked up at Drake.

“Don’t give up hope, Raelin,” he whispered to her. “Hope is what keeps us going against all odds. It’s what lets us see the light at the end of the tunnel.”


It was a slow journey back to Nastralund. Everyone knew they had lost. Nearly half of their forces had been in the army that had just been obliterated. Utgar’s forces had rallied, and with Valkrill’s legions swelling his ranks, he would march on the alliance within two months. If not sooner.

Though they knew they were defeated, surrender was on no one’s lips. Each survivor knew what they fought for, and they were determined to fight for it to the end. It had always been inevitable that Utgar would win. It seemed now that the war had never been about winning. It had been about making a stand for what was right.

For a few weeks, all was quiet on the battlefields of Valhalla. Each side knew what was coming, and each side gathered its strength, not wasting it on pointless forays into enemy territory. The halls of Jandar’s castles were silent, but not with despair. They were still with calm, the calm of one who knows his fate, and has accepted it with hope that someday, he will yet triumph.

It was the night after one of these silent days that Raelin was abruptly woken by someone shaking her.

“Raelin!” a voice hissed close to her ear.

She jumped at first, but then relaxed. A full moon shone through the window, and by its faint light, she could see Sullivan standing over her. She was surprised to see that he carried his shotgun, slung over his back.

“Quickly,” he whispered, “you have to come with me.”

Raelin could sense the urgency in his voice and got out of bed quickly. “Why?” she asked, pulling on something warmer. “What’s happened?”

Sullivan grimaced. “There’s no time to explain. You’ll see soon enough anyway. Just keep your voice down and follow me. We can’t be overheard.”

Apprehensive, Raelin followed Sullivan out of her bedroom and down the steps. They crept silently out of the tower, across the main road, and finally halted at the massive gate to Jandar’s castle. Here, Sullivan fumbled briefly with the lock on the wicket gate, opened it, and motioned Raelin through. Raelin ducked, and emerged outside Jandar’s fortress.

She had two seconds. Two seconds in which to see the two hooded figures waiting for her. Two seconds in which to realize that Sullivan had stepped out with her, quickly closing the gate behind them. Two seconds, and then everything changed.

The two vampires threw back their hoods. Before Raelin could turn, fly, even scream, white hands shot out and smote her. Coldness clamped down on her lungs like Drake’s grappling arm, and her scream died in her throat. Warmth and energy deserted her, and she toppled to the stone causeway. The only comforting thought was that these vampires did not possess the chill touch of Cyprien. Either that, or they were aiming to paralyze rather than kill. A moment later, Raelin realized that thought was not comforting at all. They wanted her alive.

Sullivan stepped around her. “Remember,” he said to one of the vampires, “there’s no need to harm her. She is no ordinary prisoner.”

Disbelief flooded Raelin’s mind. Not this. Not now. Not after everything that had happened. She looked at Sullivan, trying to ask the question with her eyes. He looked at her and knelt beside her.

No grin was on his face. No confident air, or smug self-satisfaction. “I’m sorry, Raelin,” he said. She could see he meant it. “You and I want the same thing. I want this war to end just as you do. I’ve had enough of bloodshed, of pain. It’s time for it all to stop. Many of the men feel the same way, and from what I’ve heard, a lot of Utgar’s legions do too. We’ve all realized there’s only one way this is going to end. The problem is you.”

Raelin stared at Sullivan for a moment, not comprehending.

“You’re hope, Raelin,” Sullivan said. “Everyone sees it. You’re determined that there is a way this war can be won peaceably. Your confidence spreads to everyone else, and they go off to another battle. And another. And another. Jandar would have quit long ago if it weren’t for you. You want the war to end, Raelin, but you can’t just let it end. You have to end it the way you want it to end.

“That’s where I’m different. This war has gone on too long. I don’t care how it ends anymore. I just want it over. And you, unfortunately, are in the way of that.” Sullivan stood up. “Your capture will be a great blow to Jandar. The alliance might struggle on for a few more months, but without you, Jandar will ultimately surrender. That’s what Utgar wants: surrender. He doesn’t want a final battle. He doesn’t want to destroy the alliance. He wants the war over, just like you, just like me.”

Sullivan glanced at the vampires. “Don’t worry, Raelin. You won’t be harmed. You’ll be held in a castle far within Utgar’s lands. You’ll be free to do as you please, save for leaving the castle. Once Jandar surrenders, the war will be over, and you can go.”

Sullivan looked down at her. “I’m sorry about this, Raelin. I really am. It may seem extreme, but I knew you would never back down if I tried to talk to you about it. Anyone could see that. You’ll be held two months at the most, and then this will all be over.”

“We need to move quickly,” one of the vampires hissed. “If we’re seen, we’re dead.”

“Be gentle,” Sullivan whispered, unlatching the gate. He stepped back inside, closed the door, and was gone.

The vampires were indeed gentle. They picked Raelin up, and flew her southwards between them. But there was something in their grip Raelin didn’t like. Something that suggested she was more than a mere prisoner.

Chapter Ten – The Precision of Chaos

Raelin crouched against the wall, eyes watering, breath coming in gasps, her blood pounding in her ears. She could see nothing. Hearing had long since faded into a continuous scream of jumbled sounds. Feeling had descended into numbness. All sense of reality had crashed to pieces long ago.

An Omnicron soulborg materialized from the smoke before her. The black gun it held leaked smoke, and its blue and white armor was dented and scratched. It held out a hand to help her up. “Raelin,” it said tonelessly, “are you injured?”

Raelin coughed on the thick gray smoke as she took the Omnicron’s metallic hand. “No,” she gasped, eyes watering. “Is Drake back yet?”

The Omnicron stared at her unblinkingly for a split second. “No,” it replied. “Drake has gone beyond our sensor range. His last contact was twenty-three minutes forty—”

The Omnicron abruptly swiveled to the right, raised its gun, and fired three shots in quick succession. A red kyrie fell from the smoke, three holes situated perfectly over his heart. He came to rest at Raelin’s feet, his eyes glazed and staring at her with the uncaring gaze of death. Raelin turned her head away.

“—Forty-three seconds ago,” the Omnicron concluded, as if nothing had happened.

Raelin coughed feebly on the smoke. It stung her eyes horribly. “Where am I needed?” she asked, the familiar words flowing from her with no conscious thought. She had been saying them ever since the battle started, three long hours ago.

The Omnicron paused, staring into space. “Zetacron requires your presence forty-seven meters to the right. I will lead the way.”

Forty-seven. It sounded so short. Keeping her eyes averted from the dead minion, and unfurling her wings halfway, in case she had to take to the air, Raelin stepped out from behind the wall.

Sound returned in a consuming blast of violence. Omnicron blasters fired from every point imaginable. Metal screamed against axes. Warriors unleashed terrible yells as they ripped through each other, killing indiscriminately.

Raelin stumbled. The ground was littered with swords, guns, axes… all manner of weaponry. But most of all, it held corpses. Minions lay tangled with Vikings. Vipers – gigantic snakes recruited by Ullar – were strewn across orcs. Blood ran everywhere, carving rivulets in the already sodden ground. Wherever Raelin stepped, blood pooled into her footprint. Raelin felt an unpleasant sensation in her stomach, and forced herself to focus on the Omnicron leading her.

All the while she walked, Raelin’s staff shuddered and jerked in her hands. She could see nothing, due to the thick smoke about her, but she knew that somewhere, not far away, a soldier of Jandar was being saved. The Spear of Gerda flamed with a blue light that neither flickered nor dimmed. It simply shone, a constant force in the chaos about it.

With no warning, a high-pitched whistle sounded in Raelin’s ears. The Omnicron leading her was knocked to the side as a bullet exploded on its armor. One of its arms flew apart. The Omnicron scrambled to its feet, supporting itself with its remaining arm. “Deathwalker,” it said blankly. “Eight meters to the wind.”

Raelin had quickly agreed that soulborgs were not robots. They were the feelings of a human with the calculation of a machine. The Omnicron knew that direction would have no meaning to Raelin, as she could see nothing. Therefore, it based its information on the only thing she could see, the direction the smoke was being blown.

An explosion threw Raelin to the ground.

“Its targeting system has been compromised,” the Omnicron remarked. “It is reloading. Raelin, fly perpendicular to the wind in the direction we were going. Maintain altitude for five seconds, and then drop. I am relaying your situation to Zetacron.”

“What about you?” Raelin asked.

The Omnicron’s blue eyes flicked to hers. “I will be fine,” it said in a surprisingly soft voice. “Now go. The Deathwalker will reload in six seconds.”

Raelin hesitated no longer, but leapt to the air. She turned until the smoke was being blown against her left side, and then thrust her wings behind her, shooting forward with all the speed she could muster. It wasn’t much.

Smoke clung to her. Thick clouds loomed before her, choking her when she flew through them. All she could see beyond the smoke was a terrible red blur beneath her: the blood of the battlefield.

She had once thought flight was the most precious gift in the world. It had once stripped away her fears and worries. When she had flown, she had known everything would be all right. Now, smoke surrounded her, and all that Raelin knew was fear. Senseless fear, but fear all the same.

Raelin counted to five in her head, and then dropped. She could not see the ground. It appeared before her suddenly, and she slammed into it, splashing into the wet earth and spraying blood and dark mud all over herself.

Instantly, a gigantic metal foot sank into the ground directly before her. Looking up, she saw Zetacron towering through the smoke, his massive blue metal plates gleaming in the eerie light of a thousand soulborg blasters.

“Unit M55/987.3 has been terminated,” he said by way of greeting. His voice conveyed nothing.

Raelin assumed that meant the Omnicron had died. He had been the last of her guards. It now fell to Zetacron to make sure no enemies found her.

Since Zetacron lacked arms, Raelin took advantage of his sturdy metal frame and hauled herself up out of the mud. Somehow, her spear still stood upright, glowing despite the darkness. She rested for a moment against Zetacron. “Is… Is Drake back yet?” she gasped.

“No,” replied Zetacron. “I am monitoring all Omnicron wave—”

Zetacron turned abruptly and shot down a trio of red kyrie.

“—Omnicron wavelengths. I will alert you when he makes contact.”

Raelin shuttered at the smoking corpses of the minions. “Please do,” she said. One of the minions had been shot squarely through the center of his head, leaving a gaping hole. “He needs to make it back,” she whispered, half to herself.

“He will,” said Zetacron softly. “Do not worry, Raelin. Hope.”

Raelin glanced up. Zetacron was looking down at her, all metal and circuits, but there was something in his eyes, something besides the steady blue light that made them up.

“Thank you, Zetacron,” Raelin said.

Zetacron suddenly looked up, leveled both blasters just above Raelin’s head, and fired. The dual cannons roared, and all sound ceased for Raelin. She dropped instinctively, and a moment later the ground beneath her jolted as something heavy struck it. Squirming around and glancing behind her, she saw the smoking hulk of a massive Deathwalker burning barely three meters from her.

“Registration: unit 9000/M4.” Zetacron paused, staring at the smoking remain. “Another of my kin falls.” He detached one of his gun barrels, releasing his arm, and helped Raelin to her feet.

Raelin sagged against Zetacron as he reattached his cannon. Her legs felt unsteady.

“Keep the spear up, Raelin,” Zetacron murmured, still watching Deathwalker 9000’s shell.

Raelin glanced to her right and saw that she had let her spear dip. She thrust it back upwards, and the blue light flared to life once again, forcing the darkness of the smoke back.

Zetacron fired in a seemingly random direction. A minion fell dead. A Viking appeared briefly in the smoke, and then charged back out of sight. The chaotic noise of the battle lessened for a moment.

“What’s going on?” Raelin asked in the comparable stillness.

Zetacron looked to the right. “The Vipers have decimated Utgar’s right flank. They have reached the mountain pass. I am redirecting all Omnicron units to advance at forty-five degrees right.” There was a pause. “The enemy is being routed.”

“Drake?” asked Raelin hopefully.

Zetacron only shook his head, keeping his gaze fixed on the swirling smoke.

“How long has he been gone?” Raelin whispered.

“Twenty-five minutes six seconds,” replied Zetacron promptly.

“He should have made contact by now,” Raelin whispered to herself. “He would if he was all right. Something must have gone wrong.”

“Killing Utgar may take longer than originally anticipated,” said Zetacron logically. “There is no reason to assume—”

“I don’t need a reason,” Raelin said briefly. “Utgar’s force has been routed. If Drake is in trouble, I need to help him.”

“Your orders are to stay here and protect the soldiers.”

Raelin wavered on indecision for only a moment. “Then I’m disobeying orders,” she said.

“Noted,” replied Zetacron placidly. “My duty is to protect you. I will take you to Drake’s last known position. Follow me.” Soulborgs were logical soldiers. Perhaps a bit too logical.

They weaved their way through isolated battles, Zetacron’s double cannons turning the tide wherever he looked. The number of bodies on the battlefield was almost beyond comprehension. Blood was everywhere. Death festered in the shadows.

Before long, they came upon a more chaotic scene. A tide of Templar knights, mostly on foot, was pressing valiantly against an unyielding horde of red kyrie. While the knights fought with valor, the kyrie were simply too many. They cut down the knights as fast as they approached.

Zetacron planted his feet, leveled his blasters, and obliterated the first minion that saw him. Raelin raised her spear above her head, and a shimmering blue force field enveloped the knights nearest her. A cheer went up from them, and they surged forwards, hacking apart kyrie with renewed vigor.

Raelin’s grip on her staff slackened at what she saw. Was she enabling the very pain which she fought? The tip of her spear fell, and the magical shield evaporated. The knights instantly fell back as the minions decimated them.

Almost without thinking, Raelin jerked her spear back into place. Maybe, she thought. Maybe I am enabling pain. But Drake was right. I don’t have a choice. It’s either them or me. She gripped her spear harder. But I will not, cannot, let that mean there is no other way to end this war. Never.

It didn’t take long for Zetacron to annihilate the kyrie. The Templars charged forwards, making for the mountain pass that Raelin could now see through the fading smoke. She could see a host of Utgar’s forces there, but they seemed to be in full retreat, perused relentlessly by a tide of Ullar’s Vipers.

“I have located Drake,” Zetacron announced unexpectedly. Before Raelin could say a word, he continued. “My scanners are picking up him and Sullivan on the other side of the pass, both injured. Sullivan appears to be unconscious. Drake is moving quickly – possibly caught in a duel—”

Raelin waited to hear no more. Her wings plunged downwards of their own accord, and she rocketed for the mountain pass, ignoring the blur of soldiers below her. She heard pounding footsteps, but was only barely aware of Zetacron racing along the ground behind her, nearly matching her pace.

Once she crested the pass, it didn’t take long for Raelin to find Drake. He was in front of the largest tent, beating back the ferocious attacks of his opponent. At first Raelin thought it was Utgar he fought. But the figure had no wings, and attacked with two swords, not an axe. Was Utgar already dead then? Or had he escaped?

Raelin plummeted to the ground and landed crouched, her spear upright. It exploded into a shower of blue light, enveloping Drake instantly. Drake’s enemy let out a hiss of surprise as his blades glanced off of the shield, and leapt away from Drake’s counter-attack, giving Raelin a good view of his face. She felt her blood run cold.

It was not Utgar. The creature seemed human, except for the fact that his face was so pallid that it was nearly white. In contrast, his eyes were vividly red, almost shining with a light of their own. Raelin instantly knew this creature was no natural warrior. He was a fiend of the otherworld, some demon recruited by Utgar. She realized that Utgar must have known their plans somehow, and left this creature behind to deal with Drake.

“Raelin!” Drake yelled, glancing back and seeing her, “get back!”

There was something in his voice that frightened Raelin, something she had not heard before. It took her a moment to realize that it was fear. No, that couldn’t be right. Drake was never afraid. He always had a plan. He always knew what to do.

The fiend glanced between the two of them, and then did something Raelin could never have expected. Leaping to the air, the creature flew, literally flew, right at her.

She stumbled backwards as he closed in, her mind not quite processing what she saw. The fiend had no wings. How could he fly? Before she could do a thing, the creature landed, and smote her on the arm with the back of his hand.

The blow was disproportionately powerful. Raelin was flung to the ground. She struggled to get up, but her arm felt oddly heavy. Tremendous cold suddenly overpowered her nerves, causing her to gasp in pain. She curled up as the cold intensified, the rest of the world being slowly blotted out. Her muscles tensed. Her chest constricted. Air halted in her lungs. She struggled for breath, but nothing worked. Her ribcage was locked, her stomach clenched painfully. She needed air. She tried to calm herself, but she couldn’t. The cold remained, slowly freezing her to death.

And then the ground shook, and something tremendously hot washed over Raelin. Her head hit the ground, her vision flickered, and she finally drew a single deep breath. Her muscles all relaxed at once, leaving her feeling weak.

It took Raelin a few moments to realize what had happened. Zetacron had arrived, and had emptied the exhaust port from his guns over her. While not the cleanest of remedies, the exhaust had been extremely hot, and had so counteracted the cold.

Meanwhile, Drake had tackled the fiend to the ground. They were now rolling about a little ways from Raelin, doing everything they could to get the upper hand. Neither seemed to be prevailing.

Zetacron took careful aim. Before Raelin could stop him, he fired twice, landing two precise shots into the fiend. The creature recoiled in pain, disengaging from Drake, and took to the sky again. Drake seemed slow to get up, and Raelin realized that he must be experiencing the same cold she had.

The fiend, apparently realizing the same thing, dropped towards Drake like three anvils. He landed with his blades outstretched, and plunged them into Drake’s shoulder, running them all the way down his arm, tearing the flesh away and opening a terrible wound. The flesh separated, and nearly a third of Drake’s arm lay on the ground.

Raelin screamed. Blood jetted upwards. Drake fell to the ground, where he was quickly covered with his own blood. Zetacron fired rapidly. The fiend hissed, and rocketed skywards, quickly flying out of Zetacron’s range.

Raelin ran forward and slumped to her knees in Drake’s blood. Her mind saw nothing but red. She knelt, feeling for the wound, recoiling when she found it. Drake cried out in pain. Something else Raelin had never known of him. She didn’t know what to do. A small part of her mind knew he had lost far too much blood, that he had barely a minute to live, but she shoved that piece of her mind far away. Drake wouldn’t die. He wouldn’t, because… because… he couldn’t. He just… couldn’t.

Rough hands tore Raelin from Drake. She landed on the ground hard, already struggling to get back, but found her way blocked by Zetacron. Not thinking, she blindly pounded on the soulborg’s back, trying to get back to Drake. Didn’t Zetacron understand? She had to be there!

“Still.” Zetacron’s single command cut through the scene like an inescapably large boulder. Raelin fell limply to the ground. Drake’s legs, the only part of him she could see, stopped twitching. She felt the tears coming. But then Zetacron stood.

Drake lay before them, covered in blood, shivering with cold, gasping for breath… but somehow still alive. Raelin hardly processed the fact that his arm seemed to be encased in metal. She lurched towards him at once, only to be stopped in midair by the barrel of one of Zetacron’s cannons.

“Stay still,” the soulborg repeated, forcing her back to a sitting position. Something of the tone penetrated into Raelin’s mind. She needed to remain where she was. Zetacron knelt before Drake again, attaching something to his arm. There was a click, then the whir of something being withdrawn. Drake gave a small cry of pain, and then Zetacron stood once more.

This time he did not stop Raelin as she knelt beside Drake. Instead he took a step back, and assumed the stance Raelin had come to associate with wavelength communication.

Raelin gingerly touched Drake’s arm. Metal braces surrounded it, connected to a metallic replica of the arm, stretching from Drake’s shoulder to his hand. The metal entirely covered the wound the fiend had created, though the flesh about it still looked a bit red.

Raelin looked closer. Something was different about the metal. It wasn’t the cold lifeless stuff swords were made of. It was… alive.

“Soulborg armor,” Zetacron said, having approached from behind her. “Many of his nerves were severed. It will reestablish the connections and learn his neural patterns. It may take a week, but in time, that metal arm will be a part of him. He will be able to use it as if it was not even there.”

Compassion towards Zetacron welled up inside of Raelin, but it found a second place as Drake breathed deeply and opened his eyes.

“Are you all right?” Raelin asked, hardly daring to hope.

Drake blinked and felt himself, as if checking his pockets. He looked at the metal arm, and felt it tentatively. After a moment, he glanced up at Raelin. “It appears that I will live,” he said, a trace of surprise in his voice.

Something inside of Raelin seemed to explode. All of her emotions came rushing out in one uncontrolled impulse, and holding Drake’s head in her hands, she kissed him.

It took her a few seconds to recall herself. She forced herself back into a more proper kneeling position, wiping tears from her eyes. She knew they were from the smoke that still hung over the area, but they were also tears of happiness.