Pain became my constant companion as I swept the streets, searching for the Saremon who kept the Vortex down. I hit heavy resistance in the Mhizul quarter and I ducked low against the Gorder’s neck as a fireball exploded on the stones in front of me. The Swordwraith screamed and charged; it was all I could to aim it at the mage instead of the helpless mob fleeing before her.
Its long, bladed arms lashed out, severing the Saremon at the waist. The upper half of the body tilted and fell over while the legs took two more steps before buckling. Blood fountained up, slicking the streets, and the terrified cries increased until the citizens realized the Swordwraith wasn’t attacking them. The monsters trembled, tugging fiercely against my mental leash, but I held firm.
“Find shelter!” I called.
As one, the crowd dropped to its knees amid the carnage and bowed their heads. “Yes, my queen.”
“Now!”
They did as I bade them, running away toward the city center. The worst of the damage lay closer to the walls, where more monsters gathered. By dawn, I had quieted the last city block and turned toward the broken gates. There, a monstrous army gathered, but they were so wild with hunger and rage that they fought among themselves, just inside the city. My vision turned spotty from the effort of holding my three pets, and I could only send them all a vague order to attack.
The Swordwraith hurled itself into the fray, slicing limbs and veins and keening its vicious delight. The Wailer fluttered over the mass of beasts and aimed a shout that liquefied half their brains. A mob of monsters fell over, all wings and fangs and razor-sharp claws. The Gorder lashed and ate and smashed with its tail while I held on with the last of my last strength.
I must not falter. I must end this. For my people. My city.
The man I love.
Just when I thought blackness would overtake me, the battle ended. There remained only my three monsters and an endless corpse pile. The burning would take days without magickal assistance.
Only one more step. Almost there.
“Find magick for me,” I whispered to my mount. “Strong magick.”
It stood to reason that the joint casting the Saremon had performed left a powerful trail. The Gorder was blind, but it had other senses. This might not work—
Then it fixed. A shudder ran along its awful length and it leveled two buildings, taking the most direct path. Its speed left the Swordwraith howling with rage, but the wailer kept pace above us, broad wings flapping lazily.
The Saremon mages heard us coming. They scrambled from their hiding place like rats, and once they moved, the Vortex snapped back into place, a swirling maelstrom of unthinkable power. There were twelve of them, fleeing before me in desperate terror. The wailer stunned them, unable to kill through their magickal protections, and I rode them down. My Gorder swallowed two in a delighted dip of its head, while the others trembled and begged. Their words fell like stones on my ears.
I slew them all.
Afterward, I ordered the wailer and the Swordwraith to fight to the death.
Their destruction eased my mental burden and kept me conscious, barely, as the Gorder carried me through the ruined city. As dawn broke, casting golden light over the shattered buildings, sorrow weighed on me. Though I’d slaughtered monsters and killed a number of Saremon, I hadn’t seen Oz anywhere.
Which meant he was still out there. Plotting.
He must own a particular madness, one such that he didn’t care what he destroyed if it wasn’t his. If I can’t possess it, then no one will. It was a brand of evil that troubled even me, who had once killed lovers as a precaution. I trembled with weariness. Nothing left to give. But at least I’d kept my word, protected the city to the best of my ability. We’d rebuild. Hunt down Oz and his few remaining rebels.
So tired.
“What am I going to do with you?” I whispered to the Gorder.
There could be no return to its life outside the walls, but the city was no place for such a huge beast. It had given up its home and hoard for me when I called, fought bravely, and I had no suitable reward. The monster whirred in its throat, delighted with my attention. It destroyed three more half-burned homes on the way back to the palace, and I closed my eyes against the dizziness. It got harder to stay on its shoulders, harder to keep the darkness at bay.
At last the crenellated walls rose in the distance before me, dark stone shining with silver streaks in the morning sun. It seemed quiet, despite the bodies piled outside. Citizens had thrown themselves at the walls in hope of finding sanctuary, but I was the only one who could have let them in; they’d fried on my protections. That was when I noticed the awful truth: No shimmering field prevented our entry.
At some point in the night, the wards had fallen.
The Running Game
The gates stood wide open. Not broken. As if someone had unbolted them from the inside. They were broad enough for me to pass through, riding, so I nudged the Gorder forward. The giant lizard-worm proceeded with caution, its blind face turning constantly toward a threat I couldn’t see.
I sensed it, though. Currents of distant magick warned of imminent danger. With my last burst of energy, I opened to the astral and saw smears of old spells all over the ether. In the courtyard, bodies lay everywhere, but the fighting wasn’t over. I charged into the melee—or rather, the Gorder did. These invaders had to be Xaraz; they reflected all demon castes and abilities, and only a handful of defenders remained, most bloody beyond belief, faces blackened with dirt.
The Saremon must have promised the Xaraz amnesty. They fought as if they had nothing to lose. Two Hazo went down the Gorder’s throat, but an Imaron slid under its guard. It slapped long-fingered hands onto the monster’s belly and began the drain. A shudder went through the enormous creature. Dying, I thought.
I had no magick left. As the Gorder shook, I vaulted down. My knees nearly buckled, and my head spun. I ran at the Imaron with only my athame, not because I thought I could defeat it in single combat, but because I couldn’t surrender. My one advantage was that the Gorder would recover if the demon broke physical contact, which meant it had to fight me one-handed.
Other monsters slunk closer. By their ragged clothes and shocking stench, they were all outcast. Noit, Mhizul, Luren, Hazo. There were just too many. Without the Gorder, I had no chance to defend the courtyard. If this Imaron turned into a Gorder once it completed the drain, then it was over. I struck from the side, but even in a weak, starving state, the Imaron knocked me away in a fierce blow. I was too tired. The other Xaraz pressed, encircling me. Tremors rocked my limbs, so powerful I could scarcely keep hold of my knife.
At least I die on my feet.
Beside me, the Gorder churred in a mournful dying song and its enormous body fell, crushing a couple of Noit. The Imaron’s skin rippled; that marked a transformation in progress. I should have charged then, but there were too many demons between us. Right then, they seemed to be assessing the threat I presented; if I took a single step, they’d attack.