The woman danced out of reach and then charged. She swung her hammer upward and then flipped it over, the shaft striking Bartoth in the chin. The blow rocked his head backwards, and would have killed a human. But the troll recovered and swung his sword, cutting a chip from the bone on her thigh.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“One who breaks bones,” she said.
She feinted, and took advantage of Tardoq’s swing, which forced the general up a slope. He bared a savage smile as she reversed her motion and stepped on a fallen log, leaping high. Her hammer came down on Bartoth’s arm, the weapon striking so hard that even nearby fiends flinched. Bartoth bellowed in pain, the arm twisted at an awkward angle, obviously broken.
“You’ll pay for that,” Bartoth hissed.
“How many more bones can I break?”
Tardoq grinned and leapt at the rock troll’s unprotected flank. He swung his sword in an overhand blow, but even wounded, War managed to deflect the attack. Then Tardoq lightened the weapon, allowing him to spin at impossible speed. At the last moment, he raised the weight again, driving the sword into War’s waist. The armor split, and the sword cut into flesh. Bartoth snarled and kicked Tardoq in the chest, forcing him back.
Bartoth raised his good hand and clenched a fist, and fiends charged their position. Belrisa withdrew pulsing orbs and tossed them into a ring around them. The orbs detonated in plumes of fire, earth, and broken bodies. Other fiends rushed into the breach, but the orbs pulsed again, the explosions turning into fountains of fire.
“You are alone,” Tardoq said, ignoring the sting from his own wounds. “And your fiends cannot help you.”
“You think you are great warriors?” Bartoth snarled. “Victory of two against one is no victory, it is cowardice. If you are truly great, fight me alone, and prove your might.”
Belrisa laughed and darted in, driving Bartoth towards the fallen Titan. “My proof is victory.”
Tardoq attacked the other flank, lightening the sword and allowing him to unleash a blistering volley of blows. Bartoth growled as he fought to keep him at bay, but with one arm broken he could not withstand the assault. Belrisa attacked the opposite side, and together, the two dakorians battered the general of War.
Tardoq grimaced as a wave of weakness washed over him, and noticed a matching look on Belrisa. She fought through the attack, but the weakness mounted. Tardoq spun, and then spotted a figure striding into one of the gaps between the pulsing explosions.
Plague.
Tardoq’s perfect body could not suffer disease, but Mimic’s power was no normal illness. She advanced, her hands outstretched towards Belrisa and Tardoq. He sucked in his breath, willing himself to stand even as spots appeared in his vision.
“You think yourself so perfect,” Mimic said mildly. “But your body is still made of flesh, and all flesh can wither.”
Nearby fiends groaned and collapsed, but Tardoq and Belrisa kept their feet. The weakness was strong but not overpowering, and Tardoq focused on breathing. He turned away from Bartoth to face Plague.
“You were right about magic,” Belrisa said, her voice strained. “It is more powerful than I thought.”
Bartoth tried to attack Belrisa when she was distracted, but she ducked and spun, and used her hammer on War’s knee. He cried out when his knee buckled, and Tardoq bared a savage smile. He spun his sword and advanced on Plague. The woman reached a hand outward, and yellow liquid flowed from within her flesh. Shimmering green and black, it shaped into curved blades that extended from her fingernails.
He swung his sword, carving a deep line across her chest. She did not flinch or retreat, and the mottled flesh began to reknit. She swung her arm, the tip of the poisoned nails grazing his waist as he retreated.
The cuts were hardly a scratch, but they quickly turned red and infected. A fever spread through his body. He had not felt physical weakness since becoming a Bloodwall, and he stumbled back, snarling at his foe.
“Weapons do not harm one like me,” she said, stalking forward. “And there is nothing you can do to stop me.”
She slashed again, the attack almost lazy. Normally he would have evaded with ease, but in his weakened state he only managed to prevent the worst of the damage. His fever mounted, and it was all he could do to keep his stomach from ejecting its contents. He shivered and retreated, his vision cloudy, his body spiking aches from within his organs.
“You’re going to die here,” Mimic said softly. “Alone and far from home.”
“I’m not alone,” he said as he caught a glimpse of a swirl of green smoke rising at his side . . .
***
Elenyr burst from the ground and turned to flesh long enough to slash her sword across Mimic’s body. The impact drove her back, forcing her away from Tardoq. It also exposed her to Plague’s magic. She grimaced and returned to ethereal.
Flickering to flesh and back, she attacked Mimic with a flurry of blows. Each time she turned corporeal she felt the sting of the disease magic, but Elenyr succeeded in pushing her back to the edge of the clearing, granting Tardoq space. As she did, Light, Willow and Shadow leapt over the fallen Titan and charged, sending bursts of magic at Mimic.
She growled as beams of light plunged into her body, followed by a knife hurled by Water. Shadow then conjured a bow that looked remarkably like Rynda’s splinter bow, the haze and smoke granting him enough power to craft the weapon. He fired, the splinters parting and then plunging into Mimic’s body like a thousand needles. Willow pulled a whip from her waist and attached the ink from a dagger. She snapped it, slicing deep across Plague’s forearm. Mind appeared last and joined Elenyr, the two striking on both sides.
Pride filled Elenyr’s chest as she fought beside her sons. They fought together, battering Plague and driving her back. Even her vaunted magic could not stand against the bond of brotherhood. But before they could press the assault, the ring of explosive geysers died, the flames extinguishing and crumbling. In the ensuing haze and smoke, Elenyr braced for a new fiend charge, but only one figure appeared.
Draeken.
The fragment of Power advanced into the group, and Elenyr called an order. Her sons retreated, joining Belrisa and Tardoq against the Titan’s side. War and Plague stumbled to Draeken’s flanks.
Fiends appeared and formed a new circle, krakas at the front. A hundred soldiers deep, their obsidian swords held high, they stood ready to descend upon Elenyr and her family. Gendor glided at Draeken’s side, his scythe low, his burning eyes glowing. Elenyr retreated from the wounded Mimic and Mind followed, the two retreating to join the others.
Draeken chuckled as he advanced. “You think your defiance is honorable?” He swept a hand to the city, where fiends flooded through several breaches. The allied races had retreated to the upper boughs, and shouts came for a retreat. Thousands fled into the fortress, but the mother tree was on fire, and a deep keening came from the other trees.
“You could end this,” Elenyr said. “You know you could.”
“I could,” Draeken held her gaze. “But why would I? I stand on the verge of victory, and the world will be reshaped into my realm. Magic—and all it possesses—will belong to me.”
“It’s not yours yet,” Mind said, advancing to stand behind Elenyr.
Elenyr snorted at Mind’s brash statement. Shadow actually laughed, as did Belrisa. Draeken merely stared at Mind like he’d gone mad. Disbelief washed across his features and then hardened to anger.
“Do you not understand?” Draeken spit the words at them. “You cannot stop me! You cannot kill me! You cannot defeat me! All of you live at my will, and if I desire, I could slay you all!”
He raised his hands and hundreds of spears appeared. Some rose in lengths of fire, others in light, all hovered around Elenyr, her sons, and the dakorians. Too many to evade. Too many to block.
