26 Uninvited Guests

HIDING IN THE MOUTH of the tunnel, a massive iron grill barring their way, Threadfin watched the moles turn wearily down a side passage, their movements slow, almost dragging. He’d been shocked at how fast they could move, powerful forelegs widening the older tunnel as they went. They’d managed at least ten miles per hour through the tunnels, stopping only for a few hours of rest each day. It was now three days since they’d left Asher and Desool behind. They’d made good time, but would it be good enough?

It had been an effort not to glance up at the roof for fear of collapse. The passage of the moles had resulted in a constant shower of dirt and small stones leaving everyone mud spattered. It had been an excruciating journey in darkness. At least with the wargs, there had been something to see as they’d crossed the landscape.

The way they had come led through abandoned dungeons, which had then emerged into a secret tunnel whose entrance was hidden behind a false wall. It had been smothered in cobwebs, convincing them they had managed to arrive undetected.

The metal grill at the mouth of this final tunnel wasn’t much of an obstruction to this small clot of undead mages. However, the large sprawling and well-lit cellar beyond was intense with activity. For the time being, they were stuck.

Threadfin had never seen a cellar so grand and huge; it was the size of a throne room. Its ceiling was held up by dozens of extra thick sandstone columns. Volar whispered that they were beneath the Nephilim Acropolis in Bashan, which had been Og’s home. The late king had been known for both a ferocious temper and an horrendous appetite. Of course, there were also the appetites of all the other Nephilim above their heads too.

Droop nudged him in the back with a bony elbow as he shoved his way forward. ‘Any change?’ he whispered.

Threadfin shook his head, though Droop could see as well as the rest of them that the situation remained the same. There was nothing to do but wait in the shadow of the tunnel, and ask pointless questions.

There was enough room at the mouth for five or six of the mages, but only two if one shared the space with Volar. Currently, he had retreated to the back, and was sharpening his knives. The sound was far from reassuring.

‘I count two dozen guards,’ whispered Volar in the darkness, ‘and a score of servants, both male and female and at least half a dozen imps. The Horim servants may not look much, but each carries a long dagger they know how to use. When there’s less than half that number, we move.’

Threadfin glanced at the huge face in the near-gloom. ‘You let your servants go about armed?’

Volar smiled. ‘All Nephilim go armed, but the Horim have always known their place. They could never overthrow their masters with a few daggers, but they can still take a life.’

Threadfin glanced at Oracle, but she shook her head. ‘I can’t,’ she said, voice barely audible. ‘Too many innocents among them.’ She still looked drained from her recent efforts, but Threadfin wasn’t sure. Sometimes she appeared genuine, but he couldn’t shake the feeling she was up to something.

‘I can do it,’ said Lip, ‘If you let me out, and I can get close enough. Between me and Forge, we can clear the entire place.’

Threadfin shook his head. ‘No, they’re breathers too, and we protect the living, remember? We kill only those who give us no choice. We just need to bide our time.’ He stared out through the massive iron grill at the hive of activity. ‘What in the name of the Spectrum above is going on anyway?’

‘I think perhaps,’ Volar suggested, ‘it’s a party.’

‘Sure,’ said Threadfin, ‘but a party for who?’ After all, the former king wasn’t exactly home, being dead and all. He’d left the new king behind in Magog. Somebody’s birthday? No, he doubted it could be anything as mundane.

Another hour ticked by and Volar began to snore, until Threadfin kicked him. He awoke with a snort, and the viral mage jerked his thumb at the cellar. It was much quieter, and though some guards remained, there were no servants in sight. There had, however, been faint echoes coming from above, almost like screaming.

Forge used his talent to cut through the iron grill. Volar took its weight, removing it slowly and allowing them to exit.

With a long dagger in his fist, Volar moved silently, in a manner Threadfin found incongruous with his size. He dispatched the first guard without a sound, and then the second, but the third reacted and confronted him with a snarl before he could get close.

Threadfin let Lip and Droop slip ahead. The former killed two of the guards with those needles of his, and Droop slipped up behind another, using a blade of his own. The remaining four guards attacked, but Threadfin spotted a fifth fleeing.

Despite what he’d said about they’re being breathers, he couldn’t let Nanel or Astra learn of their presence until it was too late. He drew on the Nephilim’s life force, feeling the blisters on his own body bloat until they were pink, round, and healthy. It didn’t help that it felt good. The guard collapsed onto the steps, sliding back down, the body a shrivelled husk.

Volar growled as he killed his third opponent, but it looked like he’d been wounded in the process, blood leaking from his side.

Lip fired his needles again, and Forge lit them aflame while in flight. An impressive display, but one of the surviving guards reacted fast, bringing up his armoured forearm to block the attack. He didn’t manage to stop all of them and staggered backwards, but he prevented his comrades from being hit.

A hurled spear struck Lip dead centre in the face, the point bursting out the back of his head. The viral fell backwards, full dead, and Forge cried out.

Threadfin partly revealed his draconic form. He still retained his human one for the most part, but his horned face developed savage jaws and his hands became talons. Rushing at the enemy, he savaged the first two. Before he had a chance to finish it, the final guards burst apart in a welter of gore.

Threadfin allowed his body to return to its ordinary self, and turned to glance at Oracle. ‘Thought you didn’t want to kill any of them?’

She certainly didn’t look happy about it as she saw Lip’s body lying across the legs of one of the dead guards. ‘Thought you didn’t either.’

Volar marched ahead, dagger in hand, before stooping to retrieve a spear. ‘We must move quickly before anyone learns we’re here.’

‘I think they already know,’ muttered Threadfin. His draconic form wasn’t exactly quiet and subtle, even when he only transformed part way.

Oracle hurried to Volar’s side. ‘You’re wounded.’

The Anakim shoved her away. ‘No. There is no time. We must move.’

Still, she insisted, staunching the blood with her magic. ‘I don’t have the strength to fully heal it, but you won’t die.’

The fact these guards hadn’t been revenants worried Threadfin, which no doubt was an odd worry to have, all said. He had not planned on facing ordinary Nephilim never mind killing them. After all, they were Desool’s subjects, and they were supposed to be allies.

They hurried through the vast cellar chamber, and the double set of doors beyond. Threadfin glanced back. ‘Forge!’

The mage was stood staring at Lip’s body, but after a moment he joined them. It took him a moment with a thin weave between the cracks to sever the bar someone had dropped in place. Yes, they knew.

Beyond were stairs leading up, but there was no sign of resistance.

‘It’s too quiet,’ Threadfin muttered. Wasn’t there supposed to be a party or something? Though maybe their noisy arrival had disturbed the guests. The giant was already taking the steps three at a time; being steps designed for Nephilim meant the others had to struggle with one at a time. All except Lip of course, whose body lay in the cellar behind them. They would return for him later, if any of us are still around to do so.

‡

A party was indeed in full swing within the Acropolis as Volar rushed along the corridors and through a double set of the largest doors Threadfin had ever seen. Daylight shone through high windows to dapple the Acropolis floor in pools of golden light.

The Anakim warrior halted, staring as the virals gathered around him, their magic ready. Everywhere they looked were robed Nephilim and humans, mingling. A discordant musical note played over and over.

Oracle gripped her head, and fell to her knees with a cry. Threadfin knelt at her side trying to help her while keeping an eye out for danger. The viral female shook, unable to speak, and it was clear she couldn’t remain. He gestured for Droop to take her out. The viral, with his arm around her, led her back down the way they’d come.

Now, we’re down two virals and we’ve hardly had any trouble yet, he thought. A niggling worry suggested they were being separated.

For his part, Volar appeared transfixed. He dropped his dagger and the spear, staggering towards the mingling guests. All of them wore the same white robes, and appeared to glide across the floor of the massive hall in an eerie fashion.

Too late, he cried out, but Volar didn’t hear him or perhaps couldn’t.

‘The music,’ said Forge. ‘Where’s it coming from?’ There was no sign of any instruments let alone anyone to play them. It seemed to be coming from everywhere, and nowhere.

Threadfin decided to act and rushed to grab Volar and yank him back, not an easy feat with someone that size, but as he grabbed the giant’s hand, the Anakim turned and glared down at him. Volar’s eyes had turned up in his head with only the whites showing. Then the other guests turned to face him too, staring at the intruders. All lowered their hoods to reveal the same white eyes. Not exactly revenants, but these weren’t normal either.

Now Threadfin Todder was as brave as they came, just ask anyone, though preferably no one who knew him. Seeing those eyes and feeling those stares, he knew they’d made a horrible mistake. They needed to get out of there, and every mage for himself.

He backed away and turned to order his companions to run when he spotted more of the white-eyes approaching from the opposite side.

Uh oh.

Threadfin touched his magic, wishing it were otherwise. He had hoped not to kill innocents, although he supposed innocence depended on perspective. Funny, once he would have seen all Nephilim as barbaric monsters deserving of what they got, but a lot had happened since. These people didn’t deserve to die, but there it was.

As he was about to let loose his power, the walls at the far end of the hall shuddered and cracks appeared. A column split, masonry tumbling. Forge turned to face the danger, and Threadfin again realised he was too late.

Always too bloody late.

‡

The monster emerging through the tumble of rock and dust at the far end of the massive chamber, was one he’d encountered before.

Gressil managed to get its front legs and its twin elongated heads through the hole, but its body was too large. Forge tried attacking it with a burst of dark flame, but with no effect. Threadfin wondered where Droop had gotten to. He should have returned by now.

Gressil transformed into human form and stepped through, then reformed as the two-headed monster again. The crowd of party guests parted, leaving nothing between Threadfin and his opponent.

Oozing from its bulbous body and sliding down its legs were scores of smaller creatures — each an imitation of Gressil, just like the one that had attacked them when they’d tried to open a portal. They skittered across the floor, headed straight for him. The viral mage sent a wave of magic through the floor, stone buckling and cracking, tossing several of the creatures, and clearing a path straight for Gressil.

Time to go on the offensive. Crystal Sword in hand, Threadfin rushed at the creature with a yell. There was no point trying to drain it of life. He knew it had none. No point trying to use viralic magic on it. It had no effect.

The white-eyed Nephilim reacted too. The sockets in their skulls blazed with light, blood trickling down their faces. A few appeared to keel over dead, while others staggered about like some ancient zombies. The Crystal Sword blazed brighter than the sun in response, blinding him, and the hilt scorched Threadfin’s hand. He kept running.

Gressil lashed at him with its limbs as he neared, but Threadfin ducked with his magic flaring as he countered with several feints. His magic let him see what his eyes couldn’t, and he drove the crystal blade into the creature’s gut, eliciting an horrendous shrieking roar.

Withdrawing the blade, Threadfin stepped back, the hilt burning hotter, watching in fascination as the blade devoured Gressil’s soul. The monster transformed into its more human-like shape, before shrivelling to nothing, leaving a pile of dust. The smaller creatures followed suit.

Honestly, he thought, it should have put up more of a fight. I’m a bit disappointed.

Some of the white-eyes combusted, flames erupted from their eyes as they were burnt down to ashes in moments. The light from the others grew more intense. The Crystal Sword also grew hotter as it also became blindingly bright.

Now, Threadfin had a tolerance to pain, but there were limits. In the end, blinded and his hand burning, he had no choice but to drop the weapon. When he could see again, the Crystal Sword was gone, taken by one of the white-eyes. They gathered to advance on him.

Threadfin dove deep inside himself and found that dragon, always with one eye open, watching. The creature that was his power, one he could never tame, but one he’d managed to leash and mount nonetheless like that warg he’d ridden. The bones of his undead form cracked and split, reforming, and reshaping, all in a matter of a few breather’s heartbeats.

Forge tried to distract the white-eyes to give him a few extra moments, and it worked as they turned on him instead. Thankfully that discordant music had ceased.

The undead dragon then began its slaughter, tearing into the white-eyes with a din of growls and screams. Talons horns and teeth were Threadfin’s magic now, ripping, biting, tearing, and clawing, as his massive tail swept through the room to smash bodies against the walls.

A weave of black fire emerged from his jaws, devouring a dozen enemies in an instant. Still, several had gotten close and they stabbed at him with blades. Jabbing quick and fast, he felt their bites, and knew what they were.

Soul shards.

Threadfin retreated to the other side of the cavernous room, wounded, and reverted to his undead human state. He was losing, and they now had the most powerful soul shard of all. What if they used it on him? Despite his attacks, their numbers increased with more entering the chamber.

He noticed Forge, and realised that the viral had fallen and wasn’t getting up. His body was aflame. At least, he had managed to set dozens of the white-eyes alight too. It was clear now that it had all been a trap, to get the Sword and kill Threadfin Todder. Gressil had been a distraction, nothing more.

It was then they decided to appear, and Threadfin was surprised to see Oracle held upright between them. The music also resumed. Manic and Mania must have been responsible for it, he realised, a musical note that somehow affected Oracle.

Threadfin glared at the infamous twins. ‘Well, look who it is. You two fancy mucking in a bit more then?’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, my dear,’ replied Mania in a voice dripping with sweet venom. ‘We’ve played our part.’

‘Anyway, it’s not our business,’ said Manic.

‘Not our war.’

I swear, I’ll eat those two once I’m done with this. Bloody shraeds. What had they come for anyway? Just to watch him get torn apart?

Both Lip and Forge were gone. He guessed Droop too or he would have returned. Oracle was presently slumped unconscious at the twin’s feet, and Threadfin spotted Volar with his white eyes staring right at him, the Crystal Sword in hand. They appeared to be waiting for something. I’ve managed to lose both Sword and Stone, he thought, not to mention my friends. So much for plan A.

‘What are you doing here?’ he snapped at the shraeds. ‘I will know your purpose, right now.’

Manic looked a little insulted, but that wasn’t unusual for him. His sister took a few steps toward him, but kept her distance as though she could sense the violence within him. ‘Protecting our investment,’ she said. Then she turned as though sensing something, and added, ‘but for now, we’ve done all we can. She’s coming.’

A shimmer of air, the Nephilim white-eyes parting around it and there she was. Smiling, familiar, and yet a stranger.

A flash of bright light stunned him, and he heard Manic and Mania screech before they vanished in a welter of black fog, leaving a groaning Oracle behind.

Before him stood the sorceress, Astra Dar.