WARLORDS IV – STORY

Chapter Eight: The Final Betrayal

In the heart of Aceldama, surrounded by the bloody marshes and by the corpses of Orc and Goblin, deep in the heart of Kor, two tiny mortals stood for a moment tall against the great shadow of the Daemon Eligos. Nothing stirred in the still silence; not a mote of dust dared float, nor a single insect chirp, nor warrior move his weapon.

And then in a streak of darkness, the deathknight attacked. Kurgen's axe flashed up just in time to block the Daemon's downward stroke, but Eligos absorbed the force of the parry and swept his sword upward at Daerec. Daerec only barely leapt back to avoid the blow. The Daemon moved faster than anything Daerec had ever faced, and he knew that a single touch of that sword would mean death.

As Daerec fell back, Eligos pressed his attack on Kurgen, swinging now left, down right, stabbing, thrusting, each attack barely parried, barely dodged, barely survived. And with each attack, the Dwarf was driven back, stumbling, frantic in his parries and counters. Just as his back was nearly to the mossy wall, Daerec ran forward and swung down at the Daemon's back.

But before he came close, Eligos spun and hooked Daerec's sword on one of his own blade's ridges. The Daemon twisted and sent Daerec staggering back, trying to regain his balance as Eligos pressed his attack. The black sword moved like a blur -- Daerec defended himself not with thought but with reflex. Only years of training, of aching muscles and purple bruises and faint praise, kept him alive, and then only barely. All the murderous skill that he had shown on the Goblins and Orcs was pathetic before the deathknight. It was as Eligos had warned: casting pebbles at a mountain. He felt his strength slipping away, his courage, his hopes.

"Come back here, Daemon! I'm not through with you yet!"

Eligos laughed as now Kurgen charged at him. He shoved Daerec back and then spun. As Daerec recovered himself, he saw Kurgen bounding forward, his crescent axe held high. The Dwarf's gray-streaked hair flew wildly behind him, and his age-worn face was pulled back in fury. His one eye seemed clearer than Daerec had known, but yet also far away, as if the Dwarf-lord were reliving old victories in the tunnels against Gnoll and Orc and other foe.

As Kurgen brought down his axe in great, sweeping blow, the Daemon simply stepped to the side, pulled back his sword, and stabbed forward.

"No!" cried Daerec, attacking once more.

Through the Dwarf's chest, and out his back, thrust the Daemon's sword. Blood gushed from the wound, from Kurgen's mouth, blood everywhere, as if all the long life the Dwarf had lived were spilling out in that one moment. Without a pause for the Dwarf's death, Eligos moved to pull his sword free and turn it upon Daerec once more.

But the sword did not come free. Eligos glanced back, and saw Kurgen's hands, raw and torn, wrapped around one of the many ridges along the blade. The Dwarf's mouth frothed blood, but it was turned up in a dying smile. And in those moments of struggle, Daerec struck, swinging his sword two-handed into the deathknight's head, giving meaning to Kurgen's death and voice to Daerec's rage and grief.

The blow shattered Eligos's black helmet, just as he pulled his sword free of Kurgen's dead hands. The Daemon fell back and seemed dazed. His face, shaped by millennia of spite and evil, was twisted and grotesque -- skin hung in strange places, teeth thrust unevenly up from a distended jaw, and his flesh rotted and stank. "So," he growled, his voice the more foul without the helmet's distortion. "Even the weak get lucky."

And then they fought in earnest. This time, the Daemon held nothing back, and had no distractions. There was no mockery from him, no grin upon his deformed lips. No, his sport was over. Now the immortal's fierce pride had been stirred, and before that all the courage a mortal could muster was nothing. Every swing came with redoubled force, and every clanging blow sent bolts of agony coursing down Daerec's tired arms.

Yet still he fought on, refusing to relent to pain or to weakness. Let lungs burn, let muscles scream, still he would parry and riposte, jump back and then lunge in, duck and spin and slash. For naught, of course, for naught but the fight itself, and everything it meant. This was the battle he had seen in his dreams, again and again, man fighting against the unquenchable darkness, surely losing, losing first strength, then dignity, then freedom, then life.

His strength had failed him, and with spittle flecked lips, with animal grunts and groans, and savage howls, so too was his dignity gone. Yet he would not go willingly to slavery. He would die, sword in hand, upraised, eyes clear and mind unclouded -- let death come. For this death, this hero's death fought defending his love, of humanity, of dignity, of . . . of Terrwyn, yes, fighting for all that, would not be a lonely death. No, if there was any justice in this world or the next, then there would be some happiness in the end.

But what justice was there? The black-armored Daemon's sword slammed again and again, and Eligos showed no sign of tiring or relenting. His confidence grew with every stroke, his pride repaired. Now the smirk reappeared on his lips. "I won't kill you, boy. I will beat you, then I will break you, and then you shall be Her slave. And I will make sure that at the end," here he slammed his blade down again, driving Daerec back against the wall, "you will lead the hordes that destroy your people."

Daerec. His hold on me is slipping.

The voice in his mind startled Daerec so much that he nearly failed to deflect Eligos's thrust.

Do not speak, Terrwyn continued. Only feel.

She was with him. Her thoughts filled him, her feelings, and the two were one, spirits mixing without the weight of clumsy bodies and unsure hearts. His will was fortified with hers, and her abilities filled the gaps in his. Every hesitation he had known vanished, and even the pain in his limbs seemed quieted. The music that had guided Terrwyn when she had fought the Orkish band now sang in his limbs with her voice.

He knocked aside a blow aimed at his heart and saw, for the first time, an opening in the Daemon's guard, a hesitation as Eligos pulled his blade back to stab again. Now it was Daerec who attacked, and it was Eligos who parried, his glowing eyes suddenly widening. And again Daerec attacked, and then again, each thrust come faster, more easily, each slash flowing to the next.

But the Daemon fought with a cunning that had festered for centuries, and with the strength of the abyss. As stunned as he had been by Daerec's renewed assault, he quickly regained his composure, and began his deliberate advance once more. Every opening that Daerec saw began to narrow, every hesitation to vanish. Now he and Terrwyn fought simply to forestall the Daemon, praying with one heart that the deathknight would make some mistake.

Back Daerec went once more, retreating step by step toward the wall. Twice before Eligos had pushed him back; once Kurgen had saved him, and once Terrwyn. But now Kurgen was dead, and Terrwyn's skill had but bought him time. Is there hope? he asked.

It is all we have, she answered.

The Daemon's determination grew. His eyes narrowed, and so too did his focus. All his infernal will was bent on but one thing now -- not elegant victory, nor disgracing his foe, but simply defeating Daerec, however necessary. Even with Terrwyn's help, Daerec could now feel the exhaustion of his body. His movements were growing slower, and attacks that had once been dodged were now blocked, and that only barely.

And then, Daerec heard Terrwyn's voice once more, and not in his mind. "Your spell is broken, spawn of Hell." The paladin had risen from the altar, and stood firm, with no sign of weakness or doubt.

But Eligos was not to be distracted this time, and with Terrwyn gone from him, Daerec had not the strength to resist. With a twist of his sword, the Daemon knocked Daerec's sword from him. The Daemon reversed his stroke and swept downward, his sword sweeping toward Daerec's throat.

Death, once more, was to be denied. For just as the sword was about to cleave Daerec's head from his shoulders, a bolt of pure light streaked from Terrwyn's hands and exploded against the Daemon's side. Eligos staggered forward, just as another bolt struck him. Now he fell, his armor melted and his red flesh smoldering under Terrwyn's attack.
Terror filled the Daemon's eyes, and he tried desperately to shield himself.

"Enough!" snapped a new voice, and suddenly the paladin's magical assault ceased.

Daerec looked weakly up, and saw two newcomers -- the wizard Arvad, and an elf of striking beauty. Her hair was long and black as death, her skin as pale as that of the dead. Her eyes, too, were black, and her thin lips held no joy.

"Arvad?" Daerec gasped. "You're free?"

The Elf looked at the wizard and a slight smile crept onto her lips. "Arvad? 'The wanderer.' How apt." She chuckled. "Averdan is no more or less free than he was when you met him in Duernoth. He is a slave to Mordaine's legacy, and thus is my servant." She laughed again.

Daerec opened his mouth to speak, but the Elf snapped, "Be silent," and Daerec felt his lips seal shut.

The sorceress turned toward the Daemon, whose fear seemed increased, not diminished, by her presence. "You were given a simple task, Eligos, and you have in turn given me a charnel house. Between the Gnolls and the Orcs, you have lost more than half the forces you were given. The Dwarf-lord is dead."

In a subservient whisper, his face pressed against the ground, the Daemon answered: "Mistress, the Dwarf's work was done. Such a one was unfit for your service. I deliver to you the paladin unharmed -- is she not a fine catch? And here is this one, whose skill is more than we expected."

The Elf sighed and spoke a string of harsh words. The wounds on Eligos's side healed, and his armor, including his helmet, reformed. "Go and attend to the Orcs. I will deal with these."

Eligos bowed and scurried from the building.

Daerec found his mouth free from the spell, and quickly blurted, "Arvad, what is going on?"

But the wizard would not answer, nor even meet his eyes.

"I am Aravein," the Elf answered instead. "I am the Mistress of whom you have heard. Let us talk a moment." She pointed at Kurgen's corpse, and strange, wormlike creatures began to writhe about in it. Within moments, the body and skeleton were devoured, and the worms vanished.

"I allowed the Dwarf-lord to learn of my actions to stir his fears. I knew that he would seek out like-minded souls to face me. Yet I did not seek enemies, but allies. If you have come here, then you must love your homelands, Etheria itself, enough to risk everything. So, too, have I risked everything, and lost everything -- my home, my friends, my soul -- to protect our world. You know the truth. We are all of us dying. Bane or Antharg, Sartek or Acteus, one of them will eventually destroy us all -- unless, somehow, we gain the power to overcome them. I have found that power. I will summon an army of Daemons that even the Harbingers cannot resist." She reached out her hands, one toward Daerec and one toward Terrwyn. "Join me."

Terrwyn slowly shook her head. "No, Aravein. Whatever good intentions you once had, they have become twisted by the Daemons with whom you consort. Look around you! The Altelani sought the same dream, and look where it brought them. Listen to your own schemes: you would bring Daemons to this world in the name of peace, and wage war on the civilized names so as to save them. You are mad, Aravein."

Aravein turned to Daerec. "And you, brave warrior? I know your heart. I know how you long to see Lysea restored. Close your eyes and open your mind."

Images of a new Lysea flooded into Daerec's head, of towers vaulting to the heavens, such towers as even the elves of Lunariel never built. Banners fluttered from the towers, adorned with the burning sword of Grovium. And through streets filled with people -- healthy, proud people -- a great cheer went up. For at the head of a great procession of the Lysean legions was their beloved emperor, Daereus I, the rebuilder of the Empire and renewer of dreams.

"All that could be, Daerec. All that you have fought for. Bring the suffering of your people to an end."

But Daerec shook his head sadly. "I dream that someday I will live to see my people stand proud, but I seek no crown, and I would not have the towers of Lysea built by Daemonic hand. I have seen what becomes of such works."

Aravein shrugged her slender shoulders. "Very well. Daemons can take your place easily enough." She turned to Arvad. "Averdan, you may destroy them. Spare them whatever pain you may."

Daerec could see the wizard's shoulders shake slightly. "Arvad!" he pleaded. "When we talked that night, you said we were all Etherian. How can you do this to our world? To your friends? You are not a traitor!"

The wizard laughed bitterly, but again it was the sorceress who answered. "Not a traitor? Oh, you small-minded fool. Who led you to the Orc camp? Who convinced Kurgen to open the sealed gates? Who failed to warn you of the Gnolls' approach?" She smiled. "No, Averdan has been loyal -- loyal to his rightful Mistress, not to his false friends. Now kill them. And if they speak more, then make it painful."

"Arvad!" Daerec shouted again. "You swore in Duernoth that you meant to fight evil, not serve it. Whatever you have done in the past, whatever sins, redeem them now. You claim no home, and tell of no history -- write your history now, and claim Etheria as your home --"

But the sorceress silenced him with a spell. "Kill them," she ordered a third time.

Arvad raised his head and looked at his companions for a long, silent moment. Then he turned to Aravein and said softly, "I cannot. Please, my lady, turn aside now. Banished the Daemons. Go to the people of Etheria, gather them, lead them against the darkness. You cannot defeat evil with evil. . ." He reached out and grabbed Aravein's hand. "You have all Mordaine's strength and decency, Aravein, but you do not yet have his sins. Do not repeat his error."

She jerked away from him, her face contorted in rage. "Do not dare to question me, slave!" she yelled. "You betrayed your oaths long ago, wanderer. You have no home but what I give you, and no rest save that which I allow. If I am bound for hell, then you shall be my fellow traveler." She paused, and returned her face to its cool certainty. "I will ask you a final time, and then I will compel you, and take what little freedom you have been allowed. Kill them. Burn them slowly and fill all of Aceldama with the sound of the agony."

The wizard lowered his head and took a ragged breath. He ran his long, thin fingers through his hair and sighed. At last, he looked up. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

He began to chant. Each syllable deliberate, certain, full of power, one word coming after the next with order and precision. But no flames burst from the ground, and no pain exploded in Daerec. As the incantation continued, Aravein suddenly turned to Arvad, her eyes wide and deadly.

"You dare?"

But Arvad did not slow or stop, even as Aravein began chanting her own spell. With a final word, the old wizard raised his hands to the air, a sad smile his only farewell.

And then the world disappeared, and Daerec felt himself carried away at such a speed as he had never known .

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