Onslaught

CHAPTER TWENTY: WHO'S WHO

Braids loved her job. It was like playing with toys.

Across the wetlands poled festival barges, their particolored flags snapping in the wind. A few had reached shore and offloaded their patrons onto fringe-covered palanquins. They stood on a path that led up the escarpment to brightly painted caravans. All were toys. So too were the slaves who bore them forward and the rich folk who rode within. Fun, fanciful, expendable toys.

"Welcome, all," Braids shouted to them from atop the Corian Escarpment. "Journey from the wonders of the wetlands to the delights of the desert. You've seen crocodiles and piranhas, now prepare for jackals and buzzards. Beyond lie unimaginable nightmares!"

Barge crews served drinks and shrimp pastries while litter bearers struggled to keep palanquins upright on the switchback path. Before the waiting caravans, escorts danced, promising to help weary patrons "settle in." AH of it delighted Braids. She loved to listen to the rich folk complain, sheep bleating among dogs. How they would bleat when only wolves remained!

"Avail yourselves of every amenity! Where else can you lie at ease, alone or in company, and watch warriors fight and die? Who else can lounge like a god and witness mortal wars? Feast upon red meat and blood wine, upon sweetbreads and marrow! The finest beasts have been slain for your bellies, and the finest warriors will be slain for your eyes."

Braids glanced out toward the army. It rode on grim barges and marched on dusty feet and bore blades instead of flags. How dull-until the killing started, of course. But all this travel… well, it would have been just plain dull if not for the entertainments. It was Braids's job to make the trip fun, and she was very good at her job.

A couple of slaves caused trouble below. Not really. All they did was struggle under a weighty dowager as they climbed the hills. Their motion, though, drew Braids's eye, and she could use them. It was time for a little show starring those fun, fanciful, expendable toys.

"Watch this now, folks!" she shouted as she leaped down the escarpment toward the troublesome slaves. "Where else do you get to witness a summary execution?" Even as she said the words, her mouth was beginning to distend. Something was forcing its way out, being birthed from her teeth, something that would eat the slaves alive. As she vaulted down, Braids smiled, and the thing came into being.

Braids loved her job.

Side by side, Kamahl and Phage rode across the wasteland. They were not brother and sister, not even comrades, but only commanders. To one side, General Stonebrow stomped stolidly, and to the other, Zagorka rode aback Chester. The allied army, twelve thousand strong, followed.

The commanders straddled a pair of gigantic serpents. Kamahl rode Roth, whose rubious scales had been scratched to a dull gray by ever-present sand. Phage's beast had no such difficulty. Its belly had long since worn away, and it wriggled along on rib tips like the white legs of an enormous millipede. Only an undead beast could bear Phage's corrupting touch.

"We'll destroy Akroma," Kamahl blurted, his thoughts suddenly spilling forth, "and the external threat to you will be gone. Then we'll deal with the internal threat."

Phage did not look at him. She only stared toward the gray hills on the extreme horizon. "What internal threat?"

Kamahl barked a laugh and threw her an incredulous grin. When he saw the flat line of her mouth, he grew serious. "This… infection, for lack of a better word. The poison in you that bleeds out of your skin. If it can kill anyone you touch, imagine what it is doing to your insides "The poison is my insides," she growled. "There's nothing but poison."

"I don't believe that-'

"Obviously." At last, she turned to look at him. "Your sister is gone, Kamahl. I am the wolf who ate her."

He fixed her with a level stare. "If you ate her, she is inside you."

Phage's face was dispassionate. "I bit through her neck, crunched her skull, chewed her flesh, and worried her bones. My teeth murdered her, my gullet swallowed her, my gut digested her. She's gone. You look at me and see her, but you don't know who I am."

Turning his face back toward the trackless waste, Kamahl said, "We shall see."

Shaking her head, Phage said, 'Tor all your transformations, you're still the same smug bastard."

Kamahl laughed again. "You see? I knew my sister was alive in you."

That ended the exchange. They were utter opposites, bound together only by a wager. Even so, when Phage's hate grew too strong or Kamahl's love grew too deep, they seemed somehow to feel the same thing.

In silence, they rode. Behind them marched a strange menagerie. Zombies shuffled mindlessly beside ranks of elf infantry. Goblins dodged among fiery tumbleweeds. Gigantipithicus apes knuckle-walked amid dryads. Shorn rhinos, giant squirrels, dementia horrors, great cats, doughty dwarfs, and enormous serpents all made their way toward a distant foe.

Strangest of all, though, were the fat merchants and indolent princes who rode in the sightseeing caravan nearby. Their feet were brushed with water and their lips with wine.

Soon the armies would be killing and the spectators applauding.

"Beware!" Stonebrow barked. "Something comes."

A light appeared above the gray rill on the horizon. It seemed a star, but no star could outshine that desert sky. It came toward them, not moving, but only growing larger and more intense.

"Full halt!" Kamahl called, lifting his hand to stop the army.

Something was wrong with that blazing figure. It was lopsided. Its radiance beamed to the right but not to the left. As it neared, the reason was clear. It was a man, with one arm sticking out and the other missing entirely. The man's eyes shone like mirrors, and his hair stood in flames from his head. He jutted his jaw toward Phage.

Out of the corner of his mouth, Kamahl asked, "A friend of yours?"

"I don't know his name," Phage replied flatly, "but I know who he was. He was the partner of a woman I killed, a woman who looked like Akroma."

The glowing man arrived. He hovered above that great company, casting their twisted shadows across the sands. Hundreds of glowing motes spun in a nimbus around him. Orbs occasionally peeled from the cyclone of energy and circled Phage and Kamahl.

The man in their midst said simply, 'Turn back. Enter here and you will die."

Ignoring the motes that probed his armor, Kamahl sat up straight aback the great red wurm. "We wish you no harm. We seek only Akroma, the vengeful angel."

The man's face pivoted toward Kamahl, and his fiery eyes were terrible to behold. "If you wish her harm, you wish me harm."

"Who are you?" Kamahl asked.

"I am Ixidor. This is my land. You are not welcome here."

One of the motes struck Kamahl between the eyes. A spark flashed through his mind. Kamahl tried to shake away the sensation. "What connection have you to Akroma Anathema?" As he spoke, the spark tumbled away between his lips.

"I created her," said the floating man, and he swung his arm to point at Phage. "I created her to destroy this one."

Growling, Kamahl reached to his belt and drew the axe that glinted eagerly there. He lifted it and said in a low voice, "If you made Akroma, you can unmake her. Do so, and we will turn back this army. Your land and you will be spared."

"I cannot," said Ixidor, a spark striking him in the forehead.

Kamahl's brows knitted. "You would sacrifice your land and all your people to protect one monstrous creature?"

"I am my land," Ixidor said placidly. "I am my people. I am every monstrous creature. Yes, I would sacrifice all of these for Akroma. You and I are the same, Kamahl. You cling to this thing that is not your sister in hopes of having her back. I cling to a thing that isn't my beloved for the same reason."

Gaping, Kamahl said, "How did you know-?"

"I cannot slay Akroma anymore than you can slay Phage."

Steely-eyed, Kamahl stared at Ixidor. They -were the same. Somehow he sensed it. Neither was a villain, but both were poised to commit villainous acts. Neither could give up the woman he championed; neither could back down from defending her to the death. War was inevitable. Perhaps it was always so when two men were the same.

"What is this?" asked a new voice. Kamahl had been so entranced by the eyes of Ixidor that he had not seen Braids charge up the line. She stood with a hand on her hip, her scarred face squinting impatiently. "The audience is getting restless. They've paid for a war. Let's get to it."

Kamahl ground his teeth. Of course he could not fight this man. The madness of it was only too obvious in Braids's face. Without intending to, she had saved them all. "Yes, Ixidor. You and I are the same. That is why "Why we will destroy Akroma," interrupted Phage, "and pursue you to the ends of your land and kill you as I should have done in the pits."

Astonished, Kamahl tried to gabble out a rebuke. He was too late.

A fading star, Ixidor retreated across the wastelands. Beneath him, the ground riled like the belly of a giant awakening from sleep.

Braids clapped madly and grinned. "Great speech, Phage. They heard it all!" She went from clapping to rubbing her hands. "Let's get to it then. The war must go on!" She skipped away, leaving tan ghosts of sand in a line behind her.

"What did you do?" Kamahl asked Phage.

"He was twisting your mind. That's what that spark was. It read your mind and planted thoughts in you. He made you pliant. He almost made you surrender."

Kamahl blinked, unsure what to think. "Why didn't he send a spark to you?"

"He did," she replied, "and it died in me."

Shaking his head to clear it, Kamahl said, "If it's going to be war, then let's fight it." He glanced to General Stonebrow, who gave a brooding nod. Signaling over his shoulder, Kamahl shouted. "Ahead at double-time!" He dug his heels into the sides of the great red serpent, and Roth slithered forward.

Phage did not deign to convey the command to her own troops. She let Zagorka clamber atop Chester and give the order. Already Phage advanced. Her undead snake ambled forward on its rib tips. Rags of flesh dragged across the sand. Phage rode easily, her eyes on the wasteland ahead.

General Stonebrow rumbled, "That isn't a ridge." He pointed to the gray rill on the horizon. "It's moving. It's coming toward us."

Regaining her seat on Chester, Zagorka stared at the wall. "What is it?"

"I don't know," Kamahl said. He squinted. "What are those? Those folds in the air?"

Kamahl hadn't noticed them a moment before-definite contours, as if the air had turned to warped glass. Some spots gathered and folded. Others formed tubes, or walls, or valleys. Kamahl was struggling to make out the patterns when Roth's jowl struck one slanting portion. He continued forward, channeled by transparent forces toward a whirling tube in the air ahead.

"Do we dare continue?" asked General Stonebrow. His hooves struggled against a strange slope in the air.

Phage's face was set, though her serpent also followed a groove. "We will not turn back."

Invisible walls closed in. They clamped around Roth's sides and tightened their hold. Though he could still slither forward, his skin grew taut around him. It was as if the wurm swelled within.

Kamahl said, "What's happening?"

"The space is bent," Stonebrow growled, "the dimensions distorted. Your serpent is too big for its own skin."

Already, Roth's scales were beginning to pop loose. They shot from stretched follicles, the skin beneath as tight as the casing of a sausage. A terrible and manifold ripping sound began. Roth shrieked in agony.

The invisible force tighten around Kamahl's legs. He clambered up the serpent's back and leaped away, tumbling over a rift in space. Kamahl sprawled in the dust.

The serpent lashed his head, eyes rolling in their sockets. His skin split open, and muscle spurted out. Another hernia appeared, gushing meat, and a third and fourth. All the while, the wurm's skin shrank in upon his body, ever tightening as if crushed in a giant fist. Soon ribs cascaded in a gory fountain.

Kamahl staggered up and stared, disbelieving. He took an unsteady step but felt a wall of magic hold him back. "He's twisting space itself!" he shouted. His words were lost in the explosion of the serpent's body. Only the spine remained, with ribs cracked away and meat in a red well around it. The vacant spine settled down upon the gore.

Just beyond the carnage, Phage yet rode her undead mount. Without skin and flesh, the creature seemed immune to the compression of space.

The folds in air relented. Ixidor was shifting his assault, warping a different vector. Energies coalesced in front of the undead serpent and formed into a looming wall.

Kamahl scrambled to his feet and shouted, "No!"

He was too late. The undead serpent lurched into that scintillating wall. Its head broke through, and it slithered on. Just beyond the disturbance, flesh and bone dissolved. Still, the body of the snake wound forward, as if its head remained.

"A temporal wall," Kamahl muttered in realization. Ixidor could fold not just space but also time. The temporal loop had rotted the snake's head in moments. Its body crawled on because the temporal wall still conveyed the signals from its missing head.

Kamahl rushed up beside the serpent. There was no time for delicacy. With the flat of his axe, Kamahl struck Phage and knocked her from the creature's scabrous back.

Phage rolled in the sand, came to a halt, and looked back.

The snake slithered on through the wall and dissolved to nothing at all.

The commanders stared, amazed.

They weren't the only ones who had witnessed the power of Ixidor's nightmare lands. The army shuffled to a stop.

The safari patrons let out a surreal cheer.

"Idiots," Phage growled, spitting into the dust "They'll be reamed as well."

Kamahl shook his head. "This is his worst. He wants us to stay out and so throws his worst at us first. I doubt he can sustain such powerful effects for long." He gestured toward the scintillating wall, which was already fading. Kamahl rose and dusted off his clothes. "You are right about one thing."

Phage climbed to her feet and snapped. "What?"

"The safari patrons are idiots."

Kamahl and his sister shared a rare smile. Together, they bowed low, both mocking the spectators and heartening their own armies. The roar of the caravan doubled, and the army shouted in cocky fury.

Between gritted teeth, Kamahl said, "There isn't only darkness in you."

"Or lightness in you."

Together, they raised their hands in the gesture for march. Turning, they strode deeper into the nightmare lands. The armies shoved up toward their commanders. They were ready to fight. Dwarves, goblins, dryads, centaurs, rhinos, and spinefolk all spread out in a wide line of advance that reached from the caravan on one side to the horizon on the other.

Still Kamahl and Phage were ten strides ahead of them.

Phage eyed the gray ridge. It seemed a great worm, rolling across the hills. "You think he has thrown his worst at us?"

Kamahl nodded, his axe gripped tightly in both hands.

"We're about to find out."

No longer a worm, the roiling line ahead resolved into an army. The soldiers were gray skinned and naked, human in shape but hairless and half-formed, like hunks of clay. They strode with staring eyes toward Kamahl, Phage, and their army.

"What do you think they are?" Kamahl wondered aloud. "Zombies?"

Phage shook her head. "He wouldn't dare throw undead at the Cabal."

Kamahl scowled. "Whatever they are, they have no weapons."

"Maybe they themselves are the weapons."

The commanders grew silent as the land between them and the gray men vanished. An anticipatory cheer arose from the spectators. It goaded the army to raise its own battle cry. Only the gray men marched in silence.

Kamahl raised his axe overhead, ready to split one of these beasts from brow to belly. It seemed almost slaughter, and something in him quailed at the thought. He glanced to Phage, whose hands were at the ready. She had no such reservations.

With a roar, the lines converged. The hairless creatures reached toward Kamahl, almost like beseeching children. His axe descended but then caught short. They laid hands on him-as gentle and soft as putty.

How could he slay such helpless things?

Those fingers hardened and strengthened. Kamahl stared down to where a dozen gray men grappled him. Their hands became callused replicas of his own. In a rapid wave, transformation swept up the arms of the beasts, making them brawny and tan. Shoulders bulked and neck muscles snapped, chests grew broad, and armor and clothes took shape. Strangest of all, though, the crowd of heads around him transformed to bear his own face.

In a moment, every last bit of gray was gone, and Kamahl was surrounded by duplicates of himself. From their hands jutted axes like his own.

He took a staggering step back, but his doubles advanced. He glanced sideways, seeing a score of Phages battling each other. Another step back, and Kamahl ran into the tide of his own warriors. As each creature crashed against the gray men, more transformations took place. Dozens of Stonebrows took shape. Multiples of Zagorka and her mule came into being. In moments, none of them would be able to tell friend from foe.

With a furious roar, Kamahl brought his axe shrieking down upon one of his doubles. It was caught unawares, its own axe half raised. Kamahl chopped the thing's arm off.

It fell, turning gray before it hit ground. Black blood oozed from the severed limb. From the thing's shoulder, though, the blood was as red as wine.

Kamahl swung the axe again, this time cleaving the monster's brain. Its false image bled away from the blade, and the beast was gray again as it struck the ground.

Even as one of the gray men fell, two more hands reached in to trigger the transformation.

Kamahl lopped them off and whirled his axe in a path around him to keep them at bay. At all cost, he must avoid being touched, then he must kill until every last one was dead. His axe chucked into the forehead of another simulacrum. When metal met brain, the visage peeled away.

At least fighting his own semblance, he knew which one to kill. The only way he could know a true Phage from a false one was to sever a limb and watch for red blood.

With a growl of frustration, Kamahl bashed back another axe and sliced open the guts of its wielder. It felt strangely satisfying to kill himself again and again and again.

Phage was laughing. She never laughed, especially not when she fought, but to fight herself and find herself so weak was laughable.

She slapped one of her assailants, leaving an indentation on the creature's cheek. The impression quickly turned black and ate away the face. These gray men could withstand a fleeting contact, flesh to clothes, but anything more made them fall apart like old cheese.

Phage's laughter turned to a shout as she grabbed the necks of two nearby simulacra. Squeezing, she removed her likeness from their shoulders forever.

These monsters couldn't stand before her. They bore no weapons and did not wield the power of rot. They weren't even convincing actors, for all crowded together to attack her.

Kamahl also was surrounded by lookalikes, all swinging their axes at him.

Phage plunged toward him, dragging the gray men down with her fists. She dismantled flesh and strode full-out toward Kamahl. "You were right about these. They aren't Ixidor's worst." Tightening a fist, she smashed another of her doubles in the face, cracking her nose and making all turn to black.

She had run through most of her own duplicates and now came upon the back of a Kamahl-a rather inferior Kamahl. She grabbed the arm of the hulking barbarian, twisted it off, and hurled it away. The gray man spun in surprise and got a face full of fingers. He fell like a bag of bones.

Phage kicked out, clearing her way through the crowd of barbarians. They fell easily, mud to mud. Soon only one more remained between her and Kamahl. His back was turned, his axe lifted overhead to fall upon the true Kamahl. Phage merely reached up, grasped the shaft of the axe, and yanked backward. The imposter-nowhere near the mass of the barbarian-toppled back. Phage leaped onto his chest.

As rot spread through the simulacrum, Phage grinned at Kamahl. "A few more of these monsters, and we'll see what else Ixidor has."

Kamahl nodded his thanks and then kicked her hard in the stomach.

Air rushed from Phage's lungs, and she tumbled backward. It had not been Kamahl, but one of his doubles. Phage cursed herself as she rolled to a stop.

The towering simulacrum raised its axe and advanced to finish her off. Its foot, though, had turned to putrescence. A jagged end of bone rammed into the ground, and the thing toppled.

Phage rolled out from under the falling man, but not in time to avoid the bite of his blade. It sank into her leg, laying it open to the bone.

The simulacrum crashed down nearby, gangrene racing up his body.

Phage was in no better shape. Yes, her inner power would heal the wound, if she lasted long enough. Perhaps the true Kamahl would fight off the others.

Again Phage laughed, this time bitterly. It was the old story. How could Kamahl save her when he didn't even know who she was?

Kamahl had killed all his own replicas, but now he faced a dozen Phages. They all fought each other, all fought without weapons. How could he find his sister in this?

The whole army was beset. Not a single gray man remained untransformed. All seemed to be part of the great army. Only the blood told the difference, and by then it was too late.

"Help me!" called Phage, grasping his free hand.

Kamahl clutched the woman's hand and swung his axe. It struck her waist, just where he had struck before, and sliced her in two. The pieces fell away, turning gray of flesh and black of blood.

This was agony. He could not touch the hand of his true sister, but he could the hands of all these, and to win, he had to slay Phage over and over.

"Jeska!" he called out, desperately reaching to one of the many Phages, "come here!"

A nearby creature took his hand. He yanked it forward onto his broad blade.

Twelve times he called them, twelve times they touched him, twelve times he slew them. Here was the penance for an old, old sin. When the final Phage grasped his hand and awoke no rot, Kamahl had to strike her twice, so blurred was his vision with tears.

Where is she? This is all for her. If she is dead now, all of this was in vain…

The last body he had slain shifted on the ground. Kamahl looked down to see the pieces of gray flesh decay. Beneath them lay his sister-wounded but alive.

"Jeska! Come to me!" he called extending his hand.

She did not take it and shook her head ruefully. "Quite a test you developed. The only Phage who would not come to you is the true Phage."

"Can you stand?"

"In a few more moments, yes," she replied heavily.

He wiped his sweaty brow. "I hope that was Ixidor's worst."

"I'm sure the worst is yet to come."