Bastion of Darkness

Chapter 23
The Last Battle

“I AM NO enemy,” the ghost said, trying hard to let his sincerity shine through. But he was distracted-so overwhelmed!-at the sight of the pair standing cautiously in the corridor before him, at the sight of his daughter.

Rhiannon and Bryan held their defensive posture, the half-elf standing with sword drawn, tip tilted toward Del.

“Rhiannon,” the spirit said softly, letting the name roll off his tongue like sweet music. “Rhiannon.”

She looked at him without understanding.

“Do you not know me?” the ghost asked. “Can you not look into your heart and see the truth?”

“Enough wasted time!” Bryan growled and advanced.

“Hold,” Rhiannon bade him, grabbing his shoulder. Then to the ghost, she said, “State it plainly, for me friend speaks the truth. We’ve not the time for wasting, and’re not about to fall for any o’ Thalasi’s tricks.”

“DelGiudice,” Del said immediately. “I am… I was… Jeffrey DelGiudice. I am your father.”

“What foolishness is this?” Bryan began, but Rhiannon’s gasp and the way she clutched his shoulder made him pause and glance back at her. Her expression, the blood drained from her fair face, told him that she harbored more than a little doubt.

“You know,” Del said, “though you cannot admit it, cannot take such a risk when your friend’s safety is also at stake. So hold your thoughts and questions, accept your doubts and let them keep you on your guard, until we are out of this hellish place and somewhere safe.”

“We must move along,” Bryan said to the young witch.

“The courtyard is guarded by talons,” Del offered. “And so are the passages along the way you are headed. Better that, I suppose, than what stalks the chambers that way,” he added, pointing down a side passage to the left.

“You know the place well for one who claims to be no friend to Morgan Thalasi,” Bryan said suspiciously.

“I have been searching for you,” Del explained. “I can move quite fast, and through most walls. I’ve seen nearly all of this level of the fortress, and most of the next higher level. Except down there and up,” he added, pointing again to the left. “Morgan Thalasi is up there, I believe, and so are many of his dead minions.”

Bryan and Rhiannon looked to each other anxiously.

“Rhiannon?” the half-elf asked.

“I’m trusting him,” she answered. “I’m thinking he’s who he’s saying he is, or at least, that he’s no friend o’ Thalasi’s. I see no evil upon him, and that’s a mark the Black Warlock could’no’ hide.”

“He said that Thalasi was there,” Bryan remarked.

“That’s where we’re going, then,” Rhiannon said flatly.

“I came… he came… we came… to get you out,” the spirit of DelGiudice protested, his eyes wide with surprise.

“When I’m done and not before,” Rhiannon answered, and started away, down the passage to the ghost’s left. She eyed Del curiously as she passed close by him, the first obvious sign that she found the mystery of his identity intriguing. But again, with the determination and stoicism that had marked the last months of her previously carefree life, the young witch would not be deterred in the least, and on she went, boldly.

Bryan scrambled to catch up; the ghost, with a mere thought, zipped in front of both of them. “You cannot do this,” Del said determinedly.

Rhiannon moved right to him, thinking to push past, and of course, only slipped right through the insubstantial spirit, drawing a gasp from Bryan. Still, the young witch shook the unsettling experience away and continued on.

And again, the spirit appeared before her. “How can I let you?” Del asked.

“How can ye stop me?” Rhiannon’s curt answer came.

And there it was, plain and simple, the truth of it all that only added to Del’s frustration. Once again, it seemed to him as if he could do little to protect his daughter, and now, of all the horrors, it seemed as if he had steered her right toward the one above all others he wanted her to avoid!

And she was right, for there was nothing he could do to stop her, even to slow her.

“I will stay ahead of you,” Del offered. “And guide your path.”

Bryan and Rhiannon didn’t know whether or not to trust the spirit; it occurred to both of them yet again that Del might be no more than a manifestation created by Thalasi to lure them into some trap. Still, they could not ignore the benefits of having so mobile and secretive a spy to lead their way. If it came to a pitched battle within this stronghold, the pair, for all Bryan’s skill and all Rhiannon’s powers, would have little chance of ever finding the Black Warlock. Rhiannon’s heart decided the matter, for the young witch, deep inside, found that she believed the tale of the ghost. She remembered the tales her mother had told her of her father; Brielle’s description of the man, both physical and in demeanor, seemed to fit the ghost.

On they went, and it didn’t take long for Bryan and Rhiannon to realize the benefits of having Del along. They passed by several zombie-filled chambers, slipped through other empty rooms, took a roundabout course through seemingly off-direction corridors, and even crawled through one window in a wall, designed for passing food trays from cook to waiter. The course meandered, but following the ghost’s instructions, the pair wound up at a set of wide, decorated stairs without a single fight.

“I can find no other way up,” the ghost explained, returning to them as they began their ascent. “These stairs pause at a landing around the bend, and there are a few undead talons standing ready in there, I’m afraid. You’ll have to fight them.”

That thought didn’t seem to bother either of the companions, Bryan even picking up his pace to get a couple of strides ahead of Rhiannon. As the ghost had said, they went around a bend to a landing, wherein stood four animated talon corpses. Following Thalasi’s instructions, the zombies moved to block the stairs in a shoulder-to-shoulder line.

Bryan charged ahead, but not before Rhiannon managed to pull a couple of arrows out of the quiver on his back. She lifted one to her lips, kissed it and whispered words of encouragement, then threw it at the zombies.

The arrow, gaining speed with every passing inch, split into two, then into four, and blasted, two bolts each, through the two zombies holding the left of the defensive line. Bryan’s sword took out the next in line, a clean slash that severed the creature’s head, so by the time the remaining zombie even moved to the attack, it fought all alone.

And the lumbering, unthinking thing proved no match for Bryan of Corning. The half-elf’s sword slashed across and back, taking fingers from the zombie’s reaching hands, then again, nearly severing one bloated arm at the elbow. In rushed Bryan, sword thrusting at an up angle, catching the monster under the chin and splitting wide its face. Still the zombie fought on, getting one filthy hand on Bryan’s shield, but the half-elf pushed that gruesome appendage away and slashed again.

A second zombie head fell to the floor.

“Not much of a defense,” the half-elf muttered.

“Slow to react,” the ghost of Del agreed. “They are not independent-thinking things, but mere animations, tools for Thalasi.”

“Talons would serve as better guards,” the half-elf remarked.

“Most people-and most talons-would more likely be frightened off by the zombies,” Del explained.

It took Bryan a few seconds to understand that as a compliment.

A few seconds that he didn’t have, for he and Rhiannon set off at once, past the landing and up the next set of stairs. The ghost, soaring ahead of them with ease, came back to them before they were halfway up, informing them that these stairs ended at a solid oaken door.

“You’ll be fighting again when you go though,” Del explained. “Just a pair of zombies this time. And then you’ll see a corridor lined on both sides by three doors, and with one door at the end.”

“And that’s where we’ll find Thalasi,” Rhiannon reasoned.

“I don’t know,” the ghost admitted, seeming shaken for the first time. “He has something, or there is something, warding the place,” he stammered. “I cannot approach!”

Rhiannon and Bryan exchanged glances. “Not the time for a mix-up,” the witch said to Del.

“On the right,” the ghost tried to explain. “There is something through the first door on the right which I cannot approach, nor did I dare even try to pass it by. Something powerful, something wicked.”

Bryan’s face screwed up with anger and confusion, and he started to berate the ghost, but Rhiannon, who had witnessed the awful specter of the Staff of Death, understood-and understood, too, that Del should not go anywhere near that vile weapon.

“Ye stay here,” she instructed the spirit. “Yer job’s done now.”

“I cannot let you-” the ghost started to protest.

“Ye cannot stop me,” Rhiannon interrupted. “Nor can ye help. I seen Thalasi’s staff, seen the Black Warlock use it to control Mitchell, a thinking spirit, like yerself. We’re not needing ye to turn against us.”

“I would never!”

“So ye’re saying, but ye’ve no place in the coming fight, not with the staff in Thalasi’s hands,” Rhiannon said firmly.

Del couldn’t argue, and Rhiannon and Bryan weren’t waiting to hear his protests anyway. The ghost watched them go, up the stairs, swift and silent, and again he felt so very impotent. He had been helpful these last weeks, in retrieving the diamond sword, in aiding Belexus’ spying, and now, in getting Rhiannon and Bryan through the maze that was Talas-dun, but again, his ability to help was limited, frustratingly so.

He watched the pair go through the door, then heard the fighting beyond-a battle that lasted but half the time of the slaughter on the lower landing-and then he heard them crash through the next door.

He knew that his daughter was in trouble then, and knew that he could do nothing to help her.

Belexus skidded to an abrupt stop, shifted direction, and threw himself to the side as a wall of black flakes filled the air before him. He glanced at Mitchell, then to the spot before the wraith, the stones smoking wherever the deadly flakes had touched.

“How easy your mortal skin shall burn,” the wraith taunted.

Belexus’ first thought was to rush right in again and score a hit. The time for talking was ended, his rage told him. But his rationale told him otherwise. He saw the eyes upon him-dozens of talons crouched nearby, watching the fight-and understood that even if Pouilla Camby did her work and he was victorious over Mitchell, spears would come at him from every angle.

“Bah, ye’re fearing me!” the ranger shot back, and Mitchell laughed all the louder.

“So ye’re keeping yer talon dogs about,” the ranger went on, managing a laugh of his own. “Ye’re needing them in case ye’re losing.”

With a glare and a word, the supremely confident wraith dismissed those talons nearby, who were all too happy to run away from these two!

Now Belexus was satisfied; now he let his anger take over, fury driving his sword arm. The wraith was still laughing when he charged, and kept laughing, putting up little defense against the ranger’s first swing.

Mitchell’s smile quickly disappeared. Always before the wraith had counted on its magical nature, an empowerment that prevented weapons from hurting it. But the ranger’s slash, a downward cut from shoulder to belly, stung profoundly.

Belexus, hopping back out of range of the wicked mace, stared hopefully at the wound: a line of white across the darkness that was Mitchell, as if the diamond-edged sword had left behind some of its enchanted light. So, the sword was indeed effective, he thought, silently congratulating Brielle, but he had hit Mitchell solidly and apparently done only a bit of damage. How many hits would it take, then?

And how many clean strikes would he get? he wondered, for now Mitchell was on his guard, now outrage replaced the smile on his horrid features. He came on roaring, swinging his mace.

Belexus dove and rolled to the side, came up in a short run, then dove again, changing his angle so that he was going behind the slower-turning Mitchell. He came up gracefully to his feet once more and reversed momentum, hopping in and stabbing hard, then rushing away. He was the strongest man in all Aielle, a warrior who could bash through the defenses of any talon with the sheer power of his strokes, but he needed speed now, and agility, and cunning.

The wraith pursued, and Belexus squared against him. Mitchell’s attack came straightforward and predictable, an angled downward chop. Belexus stepped his right foot ahead and swiped across with his sword, hooking the mace under its bulky head before it could gain any momentum, before it could throw forth the deadly flakes.

Powerful Mitchell was quick to improvise, coming forward as well and grabbing the man by the shoulder.

Belexus ignored the coldness of that grip, the permeating iciness that chilled to the bone. He dropped Pouilla Camby, and Mitchell howled, thinking his grip had forced that. Belexus caught the sword in his left hand, though, before it had fallen far, as he was stepping ahead, and a quick turn of his wrist changed the angle and stabbed the weapon’s point right into Mitchell’s face. Belexus turned and slashed the holding arm next, then scrambled out of the tangle as the mace whipped in a flurry, black flakes filling the air. For all his speed and agility, though, the ranger didn’t quite make it out; several of the flakes caught him on the back and hip, and he rushed away, grimacing against the burning pain.

The pair squared off once more. Mitchell was hurt, clearly so, with white lines creasing his chest and arm, a blotch of white marring his gray face, and another on his back. But Belexus was hurt, too, with several blistering burns on his back.

Mitchell narrowed his flaming eyes; he had no more taunts for the ranger, no more games. Just hatred, and a bit of respect.

For Belexus, there was only hatred.

They circled and stalked for a long while, each showing caution now.

A catapult shot broke the tension, a ball of pitch slamming into a boulder tumble not so far away, followed by the screams of burning talons.

“They’re getting closer, Mitchell,” the ranger said. “King Benador and Lord Arien. Yer army’s to fall this day, along with their dead leader.”

Mitchell glanced far and wide from the high rock. In the minutes he and Belexus had been fighting, battle had begun in full all about the rocky arm. He heard the twang of bows, the rush of horses, the swoosh of catapults, the cries of man and talon. This was the moment Mitchell had craved, the moment of his glory, and he was stuck up here with the ranger, fighting a personal battle. Anger welled within him and drove him to the attack once more.

Belexus, understanding the wraith’s urgency, understanding the frustration this delay would bring to Mitchell, was more than ready. Deceivingly, he stared at the spot where the catapult shot had struck, his smile wide as he watched one talon, engulfed in flames, thrashing about futilely. But it was all a ruse, and the ranger really watched the wraith’s approach, and as the mace went high for a strike, Belexus exploded into motion, diving ahead and down, passing right by the surprised Mitchell and coming up a full stride away, but close enough so that he could hit home with a mighty backhand slash.

The wraith howled in pain and frustration and was quick to pursue.

The specter of Morgan Thalasi, that bone-skinny, hollowed creature, stole Bryan’s breath. Rhiannon had faced him before, though, in magical combat, and she was not deterred.

“How dare you?” the Black Warlock cried.

A lightning bolt slammed him in response, throwing him back against the wall of his throne room. It hadn’t really hurt him, but it gave Bryan’s wits the time to recover. Rhiannon began her charge immediately, thinking it wise to get the Black Warlock in close, that she might disrupt his powerful magics, yet Bryan, so quick of foot, beat her to the spot, his sword slashing hard at the Black Warlock’s arm, trying to cut loose the mighty staff.

Thalasi accepted the blow with hardly a flinch, and his backhand slap sent poor Bryan flying head over heels across the room. He landed hard, groaning, dazed, and by the time he looked up again, Rhiannon and the Black Warlock were in a desperate clinch, sparks of power arcing all about their mortal forms.

The young witch howled in pain as she grabbed hard at the staff, for merely touching the perverted weapon wounded her to her soul. Grab it she did, though, and she held it with all her strength and stubbornness even as Thalasi began raining powerful blows all about her. Then they were wrestling, each holding tight the staff, all energy, magical and physical, bursting out about their twined forms, the cloud of Thalasi’s blackness matching the white shine of Rhiannon’s diamond wizard mark.

Bryan understood that the young witch could not win, not while the Black Warlock held that terrible staff. He forced himself to his feet, forced the dizziness from his head. And then he charged, headlong, hurling himself through the air to crash hard against Thalasi, twisting and pushing so that he was in between the Black Warlock and Rhiannon, facing Thalasi and with the staff behind him. Desperately, Bryan pulled the amulet from his neck and hooked it over Rhiannon’s arm, and then he twisted and turned again, trying to find leverage to weaken Thalasi’s grasp on the staff.

Rhiannon pulled it from Thalasi’s hands.

Bryan tried to hold on a bit longer, to delay the Black Warlock’s pursuit, but Thalasi slapped him aside once more, as easily as if he were some young child, and this time, crumpled against the wall, he could not muster the strength to regain his feet.

Lying twisted on the floor, he watched Rhiannon flee the room, the Black Warlock close behind. He saw the ghost of Rhiannon’s father stand to block Thalasi, but the Black Warlock ran right through the apparition, apparently too consumed in his chase with Rhiannon even to notice Del.