39 The Shadow Stone

ADAL RAGED IN battle, ripping into the shraeds with his twin swords of light, gaining ground, ever closer to the Grim. Threadfin guessed the Grim had broken whatever agreement those two had made. For his part, Nalrost was alive with spectralic power.

Most of the denizens of the Styx, Nalrost’s failed experiments, had fallen to the angels. Their corpses lay in rotten piles left and right, but the shraeds were a different matter. They kept coming, thinning the angelic ranks.

Astra was out of this fight, for without the Stone she knew she could not succeed. However, the Grim held on. The undead dragon flew nearer, a silent shadow above the battle.

The dragon reached out with his talons to snatch the Grim, to end this fight, but a two-headed monster leapt to intercept him. Threadfin’s talons closed on its hide instead, as it collided with him. At first, he thought it was Cerberus, but this creature looked different. Its hide was darker, and one of its heads was smaller than the other, with one eye.

Two sets of teeth sank into Threadfin’s underbelly. The momentum and speed of its attack had flung it past him ripping chunks of undead flesh from Threadfin’s dragon hide as it went.

Threadfin collided with the earth in a cascade of snow and ice. He tumbled for several moments before coming to a halt. His body reverted to the human form of an undead man, if a damaged one.

The beast was Orthrus, also known as the Librarian. His thoughts had blended with the Watcher’s, providing him with surprising insights.

Orthrus was a true abomination, a parody of Cerberus. The stories told that Cerberus was the guardian of Hell’s Teeth, but it was a lie. The Watcher knew better. Orthrus was the guardian, created by the Grim for protection against Cerberus. The Librarian had wanted Threadfin to discover the Tower, because Nalrost had wanted it. It did the Grim’s bidding in all things and lied as easily.

Rising to his knees, Threadfin looked at his hands and concentrated. A ball of shadow swirling with ribbons of darkness formed between them. An echo of the Shathra Stone. Though there was distance between them, the Key and the Stone held a connection. If not for the Grim he wouldn’t have known. He didn’t need to hold it to exert power through it. A small amount, but maybe enough to do what needed doing.

He heard growls as Orthrus padded closer. Threadfin got to his feet, groaning with his wounds.

Lorn was dead.

Aiyana was dead.

Soon, if he did nothing, the world would be dead too.

He opened himself up to the Shadow Stone, holding nothing back. This would not have worked if Astra had maintained her control over the real thing. He acknowledged that viralic magic was Tartaros, or at least its essence. He was a servant of Darkness, although one who refused to serve.

Orthrus halted, sensing something had changed. Both heads erupted in howls, as the battle turned though the smaller head sounded like a strangled crow. At Threadfin’s command through the Stone’s shadow, the last of the shraeds abandoned the fight. The Titans also ceased their attack while the dragons circled in the sky above. Had he possessed the real thing, perhaps he could’ve destroyed them, but alas it was a dark reflection. The best he could do was put them to flight.

Adal appeared at his side, as they turned to face a lone Astra. The Grim had succumbed to the angelic horde and was now a prisoner.

Shadow against the Darkness.

Poetic? Well, maybe not, but it would have to do.

‡

THE FORMER IMPERIAL marshal surged to her feet. Sarscha felt a vitality in her she’d never known even when young. Whatever the girl-mage had done, she’d warned it wouldn’t last. Better make use of it then, she thought. Gripping the soul shard, she rushed back into the fight.

Raziel was no longer on his feet. A combination of vicious magical blows, and the defensive wards of the vanth had forced him into retreat. Still, the angel continued to hold the vanth’s attention. Azrael was enraged beyond reason by his resistance, and Sarscha saw her chance.

Azrael had his back to her, but he twisted around as she reached him. A blow sent her reeling. She’d managed to grab hold of Cipius’ tattered tunic with a tight fist. She fell, and pulled the vanth down with her. As Azrael landed on top of her, she stabbed him in the heart. The vanth let loose a roar, which brought spots to her eyes and left a ringing in her ears. Azrael staggered back upright, and then collapsed to his knees. He grabbed the hilt, drawing the shard out, and with it came a coil of twisted light shot through with flecks of darkness. The vanth stared down at the blade as it devoured his soul.

Sarscha rose, gripping her wounded side, as the magic holding her together weakened. Raziel sent a final spurt of magic at the vanth’s body, consuming it in a gout of flame. It was soon a smouldering blackened ruin.

Sarscha prayed Cipius had died long before the vanth had taken possession, and that he hadn’t suffered. She still didn’t understand such things, and didn’t want to. Not long ago her enemies had all been human. She didn’t think she’d ever see war, or the world, in the same manner again.

She doubled over, the wound reopening. Tezcat’s healing had been a temporary intervention. A horrible ache of sorrow rose with the pain, as the faces of Markus and her sister, Tame and Pittle, all those men and women, rose in her mind. For the revenants too she realised. They had all once been living, breathing people.

Tezcat came to her aid, helping to hold her up. Raziel was on his knees, but he gave them both a bloody smile.

The battle across the river was at an end. The revenants had become lost and leaderless, and easier to dispatch. A short time later, Beezer and Lyrin arrived at the camp.

The last thing Sarscha saw was all of them stood over her. She must have fallen, but couldn’t remember. There was wonderment and gratitude in their faces, but she couldn’t understand why. The world had all gone to shit, but then what was new?

She thought she heard laughter, and felt like joining in.

‡

THE FALLEN HAD FLED the plains, spreading out across Zalanthya. The power Threadfin wielded was of Tartaros, albeit a pale comparison. He felt its pleasure at having discovered him. It sought to use him, as it did Astra and the Grim.

I can resist it, he thought, but a niggling fear tickled his gut, like worms. The Darkness never cared for motives or whom it used. All it sought was oblivion. In the end, it would win.

Entangled in a prism of light, the Grim was snarling obscenities at his angelic guards. Astra stood untouched; a small host of shraeds gathered around her. The shadow stone fell apart in his hands, evaporating, and Astra smiled at him. It was too difficult to maintain for long.

‘It’s over,’ announced the viral mage. ‘You’ve lost, Astra.’

Podral Pole, Striga, and Grudge joined him. All with wounds, though none grievous. Apparently, they had not kept out of it, as he’d hoped. Pole stumbled over and nudged his friend. ‘From the look on her face, lad, I’m not so sure.’

Astra walked closer ignoring the angelic ranks, as though they were beneath her. The flock of dark wings enveloped her, so she became a fountain of swirling night.

The sorceress stared at Threadfin with an air of compassion, which he found unnerving.

‘Conjure back the Shadow Stone,’ Adal implored him, eyeing Threadfin’s empty hands. ‘Now. Do it before she gets away!’

The undead mage turned to regard him for a moment. ‘Does it look like she’s trying to escape? She’s lost. The invasion is over.’ Besides, I don’t know if I have the strength to do that again.

The ancient being frowned in disapproval. ‘If you don’t capture her now, she will return with the real thing. Lucifer will soon have control of her and the artefacts.’

‘Who?’

‘A manifestation of Tartaros, somewhat like a shraed but a lot worse. A prince of the Darkness, if you like.’

‘Nope, I don’t like.’

‘Astra is a doorway, and he will come through her.’

Threadfin sighed, as he fought to form an echo of the Shathra Stone again, but it resisted his efforts. His skin blackened as he forced it into being. He realised Astra was thwarting him somehow. He was weakened enough for her to manage it. With a much-fainter ball of shadow in his hands, he sent his magic into it, and a web of darkness shot with colour lashed out at the sorceress.

It snapped with an explosive burst, flinging Threadfin several feet backwards. A stray thought occurred as he flew, one fraught with hysterical laughter, that this was becoming a bad habit.

Astra uttered a laugh of pure delight, as he sat up shaking his head. She held up a finger. ‘We will fight again, Threadfin Todder, but I warn you, this is not your day.’

‘The battle is ended!’ Adal snapped, as Threadfin was getting to his feet. ‘You’ve lost, but if you do not cease now, you will become lost. Forever. Let us help you.’

‘I am the power chosen by Tartaros,’ she cried as the winged shraeds became a funnel of wind whipping around her, ‘to wield both Stone and Crystal. It seems I must wait a little longer, but no matter. Your power is impressive, Fin Todder, but so limited without someone to wield you. You are a weapon of Tartaros, and a weapon needs a warrior. It needs me.’

The dark funnel scudded across the ground to within inches of the viral mage. With a long finger, she traced the edges of his face. ‘She loved you. Not for this face or body, but for you. She still does. Little Astra also came to love you, like an older brother. For these reasons I cannot harm you, and have no desire to.’

‘Don’t listen to her,’ said Adal. ‘Tartaros speaks through her. She seeks to twist your mind.’

Astra ignored him. ‘You have unlocked the Stone’s power, and now all I need is the artefact itself.’ This time her laugh held genuine humour. ‘Don’t you understand, Fin, it is all as it is meant to be. You and I are not enemies. We’re allies, and we will rule the Spectrum you and I. Now, I must leave, but we have a lot to do together. Soon.’

The funnel became a storm which blasted across the plains from sight.

Within moments, there was just the sound of an icy wind across the wastelands of Zalanthya, and Grudge muttering something about his bloody Ma.