The Order of the Pawn - Chapter 12

Read Chapter 11

Far in the future, Sir Alistair stood at the control panel, his eyes still adjusting from the blinding flash of light. Yeldarb and Sarai were gone, along with the Chronoscepter.

“Did it work?” Elara asked.

Sir Alistair looked over to her. She met his gaze with tear-filled eyes. The loss of Jameson was still fresh. He shared her pain.

“Yes, I believe it worked.”

The beginnings of a smile grew on Elara’s face. A sign of hope, but it didn’t reach her eyes. A bittersweet victory left her heart conflicted.

“What now?” she asked.

Before he could answer her, an impact above them sent dust falling in streams from the ceiling. The metal arms of the machine shook in place. The Chronospheres dangled like fruit.

“We rejoin the fight against Blackheart,” Sir Alistair replied. “We stop him from reaching this place at all costs.”

Elara squinted, her eyes following the shelves of tomes until they reached the dormant machine.

“Why does it matter if Blackheart reaches this place now? Can he even use the machine?”

Sir Alistair’s analytical mind sorted through all possible scenarios in the blink of an eye. “No, not without the Chronoscepter. If he destroys the machine, though, I don’t know how Yeldarb and Sarai will be able to get back. To say nothing of the priceless knowledge that surrounds us in these tomes.”

“Very well. Then it’s settled. Lead the way, Sir Alistair.”

The pair made their way back up the stone steps to the tomb’s entrance. Where once they had numbered five, now only two remained. They hoped those fighting outside had fared better.

When the stone door of the tomb slid open, it quickly became clear that was not the case. The bodies of fae and rot-infected alike littered the battlefield.

The hulking mountain of flesh known as Blackheart had made significant progress toward the tomb, trampling swathes of marigold flowers with each shuffling step.

Melissari and Solara emerged from the chaos, rushing toward Sir Alistair and Elara. Both of them were shouting, but their cries were drowned out by the sounds of battle.

Sir Alistair looked up as a writhing black mass soared through the air. A rot seed.

“Elara, we need a shield!” Sir Alstair shouted.

Elara was frozen in place. Her mind struggled to comprehend Blackheart’s imposing form.

It had somehow become a worse sight to behold in the time since she’d last seen him. The undulating folds of flesh were pale and gray, littered with holes where maggots traveled freely. He was rotting alongside his soldiers.

Sir Alistair grabbed Elara by the shoulders and shook her. “Elara, look away. I need your help!”

He cursed under his breath, rapidly tapping the control panel on his forearm. An electric hum filled the air.

“Melissari, Solara, to me!” he shouted.

The two dove toward the Venamancer as he deployed a shield above them. The solid blue dome appeared just in time. The Rot Seed ricocheted off its surface and rolled to the side. The dome flickered.

“It’s not going to hold!” Sir Alistair said, “Where is Isara?”

Melissari took a moment to catch her breath. “The rage demon retreated moments before you arrived. We have not seen her since. What happened down there?”

Sir Alistair sighed. “We found a machine. Ancient Titan technology. We used it to send Yeldarb and Sarai back in time.”

Melissari nodded. “How far back?”

“Far enough.”

Melissari looked around, counting those who were present. “Where is Jameson?”

Sir Alistair lowered his head. Elara did as well.

“He sacrificed himself to power the machine,” Sir Alistair said. “He’s gone.”

Before Meslisari could question him further, Sir Alistair’s eyes went wide. He tapped furiously at the screen on his gauntlet. The dome above them flickered once more.

“We’re out of time,” he said.

“What’s the plan?” Solara asked.

All eyes rested on Sir Alistair.

“Blackheart must not enter the tomb. We hold the line here. This is our final stand,” Sir Alistair said.

Elara’s eyes flashed a brilliant shade of violet as she prepared a spell. Melissari prepared an arrow. Sir Alistair gripped his sword as blue lightning crackled across the surface. Thorny vines emerged from Solara’s arms, curling around her body like living armor.

“It has been an honor to fight alongside you all,” Sir Alistair said.

“If this is where we fall, then so be it. We’ll die fighting for D’veen,” Melissari added.

“Blackheart is slow in this wretched form. We’ll use that to our advantage,” Solara said.

Sir Alistair nodded. “We’ll attack him with everything we’ve got. Everyone ready?”

He looked to Elara as she formed an orb of crackling energy that matched the color of her eyes.

“Melisarri, let me see your arrow,” she said.

Melissari tilted her bow toward the young Magiri. A smile crossed her lips as Elara attached the orb of magic to the arrowhead.

“For Finton, and all of D’veen,” Solara whispered.

Everyone nodded in agreement. Sir Alistair tapped the screen on his gauntlet and the shield dropped.

“ATTACK!”

The group darted off in separate directions, weaving through the slow and sparse infected that remained. They were of no consequence. Blackheart was the Order’s primary target.

Sir Alistair charged straight toward the mass of rotting flesh, channeling all of his remaining power into his sword.

“I’ll SHOW THEM! I”LL SHOW THEM ALL! D’VEEN WILL BE MINE!” Blackheart screamed, his voice wet and booming.

Sir Alistair stopped to catch his breath. His eyes scanned the battlefield as he watched the energy on his sword build to a fever-pitch.

“D’veen is not yours to take,” Sir Alistair said, raising his sword into the sky. A bolt of pure energy shot from it, soaring into the clouds. Within seconds, the sky darkened, and a roll of thunder echoed across the fields outside Giant’s bane.

Sir Alistair smiled as a drop of rain landed on his cheek. “It’s working.”

A blinding flash filled the sky as a bolt of lightning shot downward. It struck Blackheart as a peal of thunder followed behind it.

Electricity crawled across Blackheart’s skin, leaving feathered red scars and scorched flesh in its wake. He roared in pain.

“Melissari, now!” he shouted.

The elven warrior let her arrow fly. It sailed like a star in the night sky, disappearing into the folds of flesh that made up Blackheart’s body. A brief moment of silence preceded massive rays of violet light as the magic detonated within his towering form.

The beams tore through Blackheart like ethereal blades. Vast swathes of flesh separated and fell to the ground, joined by a torrent of thick, abyssal ichor.

Sir Alistair looked to Solara, clad in her vine armor.

“Solara, now’s your chance. Deal the killing blow!”

The faerie nodded from behind the vines woven across her face.

“With pleasure.”

She shot forward, her wings beating too fast to see. With her hands outstretched, she flew into one of the open wounds covering Blackheart’s gargantuan body.

The creature shrieked in pain as she burst out the other side. The thorns covering her body dripped with velvet blood.

“We’re just getting started!” Solara cried, turning back for another attack.

She darted forward again, tearing through rotten flesh like an arrow of vengeance. Blackheart’s form slouched, succumbing to the wounds all over his body.

“It’s working, Solara! Everyone, press the attack!” Sir Alistair shouted.

The group pushed ahead, cutting down infected as Solara continued her assault on their main target. Sir Alistair paused as he felt the ground shake beneath his feet.

The hair on his arms stood on end as static filled the space around him. The smell of ozone was sudden and pungent.

“No…” he whispered, spinning around.

Behind him, far in the distance, the Verack cannon atop the castle of Giant’s Bane was preparing to fire another volley. Sir Alistair couldn’t believe his eyes. He thought it had been destroyed.

“Neara, what are you doing?” he asked.

Even if the cannon was still functional, firing it would be incredibly dangerous. He worried about the queen’s safety, pausing only to realize that he and the others were also in grave danger.

“We need to get back underground,” Sir Alistair whispered. He spun back around to the fighting behind him.

“EVERYONE, BACK INTO THE TOMB, NOW!” he screamed.

Sir Alistair broke into a full sprint toward the tomb where marigolds grow. As he reached the entrance and opened the door, he looked back and saw the others approaching.

“What’s going on?” Solara asked.

“Queen Neara is firing the Verack cannon. We won’t survive the blast unless we get underground, now!”

Solara fled into the tomb, followed by Melissari, Elara, and finally, Sir Alistair. He shut the massive stone door behind them.

“Keep going. All the way to the bottom, and hurry!” Sir Alistair said.

The group made their way down the stairs into the room with the tomes and the time machine used to send Yeldarb and Sarai back.

Just as Sir Alistair emerged from the stairwell, the entire realm shook around them. Sir Alistair braced himself against one of the nearby shelves as tomes fell all around him. Thick streams of dust fell from the ceiling as he climbed to his feet.

“Is everyone okay?” he asked.

“I’m still in one piece,” Melissari said.

“I’m fine as well,” Solara added.

Sir Alistair looked over to Elara who made eye contact with him and nodded. He stood up, slowly letting the breath out of his lungs.

“It seems the cannon still works,” he said.

“Will it be enough to kill Blackheart?” Solara asked.

Her answer came in the form of a sharp crack, followed by the sound of tumbling stone. Thick, ragged breaths echoed downward from the stairwell.

“YOU CANNOT STOP ME, ORDER OF THE PAWN!” Blackheart roared.

Sir Alistair pointed to the back of the room. The machine was useless without the Chronoscepter, but he needed space if he was going to duel Blackheart upon his arrival.

Everyone held their collective breaths as Blackheart’s iron footsteps marked his pending arrival.

“He’s abandoned his monstrous form,” Solara whispered, “Together, we can finish him off.”

Sir Alistair nodded slowly, his knuckled white around the hilt of his blade.

“Wait for my signal,” he whispered.

Melissari prepared an arrow. Elara’s eye pulsed a deep violet as she readied her magic.

Blackheart’s steps were slow. Each one louder than the last.

His pale face emerged from the shadows of the stairwell. His skin was filled with cracks from which wisps of pure, black decay oozed forth. He was nothing more than a walking corpse, the embodiment of The Rot.

He smiled, revealing gray teeth that writhed with insects. “Well, well, well. Isn’t this an admirable display of bravery? You truly believe you can defeat me, don’t you?”

“This ends here, Blackheart,” Sir Alistair said. “ATTACK!”

Before anyone could move or take a step, thick black tendrils shot out from Blackheart’s hands at impossible speed. They ensnared everyone, including Sir Alistair, and lifted them high into the air.

The tendrils moved like snakes, slowly compressing their prey. Forcing the air out of their lungs.

“Admirable, but foolish,” Blackheart said. “You wage war with the inevitable. That was something Finton Merrybrook never understood. I am a force of nature. My arrival is unquestionable. My victory is as assured as the sunrise.”

Blackheart looked around at his prey. His blackened eyes reflected pure nothingness. His gaze settled on Sir Alistair. The tendrils pulled back from the Venamancer’s face so he could speak. He took a deep, wheezing breath.

“You, Venamancer,” Blackheart said, “How does this machine work? Have you already used it?”

Sir Alistair smiled. “We have. You’re too late!”

Blackheart clenched a fist. In response, the tendrils holding Sir Alistair slammed him into the ground. He cried out in pain as they pulled him back into the air.

“I don’t have time for your petty attempts at superiority! Can you, or can you not, use the machine to send me back in time as well?” Blackheart asked. “Choose your next words carefully, Venamancer.”

Sir Alistair couldn’t help but smile, despite blood gushing from his nose. “It does not work without the Chronoscepter. Sarai Rashan took it with her into the past.”

Blackheart sighed. “Well, then it seems I have no use for any of you. Goodbye.”

All at once, the tendrils began to crush their prey. Sir Alistair, Melissari, Solara, and Elara all screamed in pain. Blackheart simply watched, taking satisfaction in his victory.

“WAIT!” Sir Alistair cried, his voice barely above a whisper.

Blackheart ceased the execution for a brief moment. “What is it? Speak quickly!”

Sir Alistair coughed. “I can make you another one…”

Blackheart took a step closer and leaned in. “Another what?”

Sir Alistair spat a glob of blood from his glistening lips. “Another Chronoscepter.”

Blackheart laughed as he stood up. “You offer empty promises, Venamancer! Even if you possessed such skill, you would need wood from the World Tree itself!”

Sir Alistair nodded. “Spare the others, and I’ll go with you. Take me to Avondale, and I will build you a new Chronoscepter.”

Blackheart’s eyes went wide. He stroked his pale chin as he considered the offer.

“Very tempting! And what proof do I have that you can deliver?” he asked.

“You have seen my weapons. You know I’ve used this machine. I even repaired the cannon that once more fired upon you moments ago. I am the strongest Venamancer in all of D’veen. The Blackened Knight of Giant’s Bane. The destroyer of the Verack Horde. There is none in all the realm who knows more about Verack and Aluthian technology than I. In short, Blackheart, I am your only hope.”

Blackheart snapped his fingers. The tendrils all retreated at once, dropping their prey to the floor.

He laughed. “I like you, Venamancer. I accept your terms.”

Sir Alistair stood up and looked back to the others. He was met with gazes of confusion, horror, and fear.

“Sir Alistair, you cannot do this!” Solara cried.

“It’s the only way. I cannot lose all of you.”

Elara stifled a sob. Melissari held her close. Sir Alistair looked back at Blackheart.

“Shall we depart?” he asked.

Blackheart nodded. “To Avondale, then.”

The other three watched Sir Alistair and Blackheart depart back up the steps to the surface. None of them said a word, but all of them wondered if this was a victory or defeat.

None of them were certain of the answer.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Listen to this after reading, like pairing a glass of wine with dinner.