B2 – Chapter 39: Summoned

Tristan got atop the wall and gently stepped down onto the parapet. There were only a few soldiers here, conversing about how lucky they were to be on duty in the main keep. They didn’t give even a second glance towards Tristan, and he descended the steps to the small courtyard. Preparations had already been completed, it seemed as no one was outside.

The main doors were shut, and Tristan lightly tugged on them. Locked tight, he thought. “Felicity,” he whispered. “Any ideas?”

She flapped down to his feet and shifted shapes into a mouse, darting into a hole that Tristan had not noticed; a small gap between the stones that was partially obscured by the slight growth along the base of the building. A few seconds passed and the door swung inward ever-so-slightly. Tristan slipped inside and shut it, and Felicity landed atop his head in her fairy dragon form once more. “I am quite handy,” she said. “Praise me.”

“You’re the best fairy dragon,” Tristan whispered. The hallway before him was not lit, but thanks to his heritage he could make out the interior space easily enough. A long, stone corridor with wooden support beams overhead, from which lanterns that were unlit dangled. Where are they, Tristan thought as he drew his sword and slowly went forward.

He stopped and closed his eyes at an intersection of hallways, shutting out his other senses as he focused on his hearing. Far forward, he heard the sound of chanting in the guttural speech of Death’s Breath – the language brought by the Vantir when they entered the Mortal Realm. The cadence led Tristan to believe that it was some type of essence-weaver, and he focused on the here-and-now, anticipating a conflict.

The passageway ahead turned sharply to the left and following it along Tristan saw two guards standing at attention in the hallway. I can’t just slip past them, he thought.

Felicity leaned her head down next to his ear, “Just let me. Hug the wall back a little bit.”

Tristan moved back and did so, as Felicity flew off, back down the entrance corridor, and was silent.

For all of about two seconds, as a raucous noise from the Resonance Bangle using the artifice-stored spell of Discordant Melody crashed out. Tristan had to cover his ears as the metallic ringing echoed through the hallways.

The guards glanced at each other and tramped their heavy armored selves down the hall, past the intersection Tristan had ducked into, and towards the clanging noise. It gave him the chance to move forward, and he did so – with Felicity landing atop his head a few moments later. “I love that thing,” she said softly. “So much fun for making a distraction!”

Tristan nodded his head and followed the passage past a few locked doors, and it curved to the right. He saw the enormous doors that were twins to the one that Prince Merrill’s throne room had been behind, and the chanting here was much louder. He could see flashes of green light from underneath the door. “Felicity, can you slip under the gap?”

“Too small,” she replied. She scrabbled off his head and flopped onto the ground, shoving her head sideways against the floor. Pulling her head back up, she had a grimace on her face and her tone was deathly serious. “Essence-weaver of some type. They look like they’re doing a big spell. Tons of weird marks on the walls and odd symbols.”

“We have to bust in and stop it,” Tristan replied, trying to steel his resolve. But he was nervous. He had not actually fought an essence-weaver before. Sure, practice against The Matriarch as she used spellweaving just as he had during their bouts…but practice was a far cry from the real thing. His heart was racing, and he felt his pulse pound in his temples.

Felicity must have picked up on it, as she flew up and flapped in front of his face. She had a calm, but stern expression. “Hey. Listen. You are going to be fine. You’re a Winterbloom Elf. Strongest of them all.” She slapped his cheek lightly, “Let’s stop whatever it is they are doing. I’ll mess up the symbols.”

Tristan felt the trepidation fill him, and he could feel the sweat slowly saturating his gloves inside the armored gauntlets. I’ve got essence weaving of my own, he thought. I can handle this. Take the prince out, get his head, stop this battle in its tracks and save lives. He used his free hand to grip the door’s handle, and he pushed.

The door was locked. Tristan cursed under his breath before stepping back and delivering a savage kick to the center, splintering the wood as the door blasted inward.

The room behind was a long, narrow chamber. At the far end was a chair with an imposing figure seated upon it. A near-identical twin to Prince Merrill, save for the eyes – those were deep brown. The room was illuminated by a pale, grey light with intermittent flashes. Fifteen feet in front of him, between Tristan and the throne, a woman stood, chanting in Death’s Breath.

“A nyní tě konečně vyzýváme, strašlivý pane. Přijď do naší říše a zachraň nás před našimi nepřáteli! Hoduj na jejich mrtvolách!”

Tristan had no clue what she was saying, but she must have come to the end of her spell phrase as the symbols pulsed with a sickly, green light and the woman glanced back at him. The two of their gazes met, and she began to open her mouth – but Tristan didn’t let her act. He ran forward and slammed his fist into her head, sending her reeling backward.

Into the circle of runes; sentences written in Death’s Breath in concentric circles and squares. The woman screamed and was turned to green mist. Prince Roland stood up, “No!” he shouted. “The spell must finish!”

Tristan couldn’t see a way past the runes and sigils that covered the width of the room. “Felicity, voitko sammuttaa riimut?” (Felicity, can you disable the runes?).

She shook her head and hopped off to his side, growing in size until she came up to his hips, and her body shifted to the form of a dragon.

The sigils vanished, and a green, spectral form began to slowly phase into existence. It took solid form and stood upon the ground. A huge, armored figure that barely fit into the room. Masculine, with shoulder pauldrons that were as big as Tristan’s torso, legs the size of tree trunks, and carrying a massive sword on his hip. No features were discernable aside from the black metallic shell, covered with embossed skulls. The figure turned around to face Prince Roland, and it spoke in that guttural speech. “Kde jsou ti lidé, na kterých budu hodovat?”

The prince didn’t seem to understand, and Tristan watched a morbid scene unfold as the armored figure from another Realm moved to the throne, grabbed the prince, and snapped him in half with a single squeeze of his hand. He tossed the corpse back towards Tristan, and the prince’s body slid to a halt just in front of him.

Thinking quickly, he cut off the head and Felicity put the object into her storage dimension. Then, he turned tail and ran. Still invisible. Not seen by the creature – or at least he hoped he was unnoticed.

It’s too small of a space to maneuver, he thought. And it is so strong, I don’t think I can fight it on my own. There’s a whole army outside. He glanced down and saw Felicity running alongside him; still sparkling demonstrating her invisibility as being active. But he also heard the enormous, armored footsteps of the thing that had been summoned from another Realm of existence, and then a horrific metal-on-stone screeching that pierced his ears. It must be squeezing through the halls.

Tristan saw the guards looking in his direction, and he ran through the gap between them as he blitzed by. Reaching the door to the outside, he heard the shouts, screams, and panic of the two guards behind him as they were slain. Tristan threw the door open and ran up the stairs to the walls.

The sudden commotion and screaming from inside caused those on the walls to face the opening door, bows at the ready as they shouted out warnings to each other. The armored figure burst through the doorway, shattering some of the stonework. The soldiers let loose, and their arrows either bounced off the metal carapace of the giant figure or missed entirely.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know! Keep shooting!”

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“Gods save us…”

The men began to fall to disarray; some shooting more arrows to no avail, some fleeing towards the stairs to try and drop the drawbridge, and a few standing still in shock at the invincible juggernaut The creature drew its sword – easily the size of a great sword – and held the weapon in one hand. “Ach, to zvládnete. Jak asi bude chutnat tvoje duše?” It’s rattling, deep voice caused fear to pulse through Tristan’s mind, and he felt his body lock up in place for a brief instant.

His essence crucible, almost on its own, spun and flooded his body with essence. It filled his body fully, and the surge of cool, gentle energy caused his fluttering heart to still and his fear to wash away. He pushed the essence into his armor and the protective encasement grew over him. Running to the farthest edge of the parapet, he watched with a grim fascination and dread as the figure raised its hand and shouted out, “Volá tě síla neumírajícího – odevzdej mi svou vitalitu!”