Mystery of the Deep Fog, page 20
“I need help!” Gregog called out. She turned and saw him fall back and nearly stumble. He regained his posture just in time to block another attack. She could tell he was out of breath. On the ground in front of her was Thargeron’s broken staff. She looked at Thargeron, and he nodded, knowing what she planned to do. She stood up, picking up one end of the broken staff. It was the part with a sharp, splintered end. She charged at the tall warrior, drove the splintered staff between the belt and the chest plate, and sank it into the warrior. He cried out and backhanded her, knocking her several feet away. She unsheathed her sword and stood back up. The tall warrior headed for her and then abruptly turned to Thargeron. It was going to kill Thargeron. Gregog ran over to her, and before he could ask if she was hurt, she grabbed his warhammer and charged. She struck the broadsword of the tall warrior just in time to block his downward strike to execute Thargeron. The warrior faced her, and with a swing from his farthest reach, he struck as she blocked, and she went soaring through the air, landing at the edge of the swirl. She tried to lift her head, but it fell back on the ground, and her world went dark.
◆◆◆
Despite the distant sound of the clang of swords and armor, Bradden’s throbbing shoulder pain was all too present and overwhelming. He could not focus on the fight he was engaged in with Roman. He felt dazed, confused, and desperately wanted to rest. Despite the pain, he reasoned that if he could just close his eyes briefly, everything would be better when he woke up. But that thought was cut short when a searing pain shot through his face.
He struggled to open his eyes, everything was a blur, but he knew something was wrong. He felt something metallic in his mouth, and the pain intensified as it seemed to pull on his flesh. It was then he realized he had been stabbed through both cheeks with a blade, and whoever did it was attempting to slice his face in two. The only thing keeping the blade in place was the ground beneath him.
There was nothing he could do. Suddenly, the blade was yanked out, and as soon as it cleared his cheek, he rolled over and managed to get back on his feet. His tongue tasted of steel, blood, and dirt. Before him stood Roman, brandishing a long dagger in his hand.
“It’s over,” Roman declared. “Drop to your knees, and I'll spare you.” Bradden looked past Roman, trying to determine which side was winning the battle. However, the excruciating pain in his shoulder made his vision blurred. Despite his inability to see, it did not matter; he refused to kneel before his opponent. Instead, he took a step forward, preparing to tackle Roman. “You're a fool!” Roman shouted, lunging forward with his dagger. Bradden managed to block Roman’s arm with his own, but when he tried to throw a punch with his right arm, it would not cooperate. It was then he realized his sword arm had dislocated when he fell through the window.
Bradden staggered back, lifting his left arm to make a defensive stance. He knew he had more strength in his arm than Roman and hoped he could block the dagger and injure Roman in the process. He spat dirt from his mouth and waited for the next move. Bradden was surprised when Roman did not lunge forward but instead hurled the dagger at him, piercing his upper leg. He pulled the blade out with his left hand and used it to arm himself. But Bradden was unaware that Roman had tossed the dagger because he had spotted Bradden's sword beside him. Now, Bradden faced Roman with only a dagger, while Roman had a well-made broadsword and a clear advantage.
"I will not kneel for you," Bradden said, gripping the dagger tighter. "You took everything from me, and I’m going to take everything from you." He pushed the pain in his shoulder to the back of his mind; this was his final stand.
"I’m a man of wealth," Roman replied. "I can get you the most beautiful woman in the world. All you have to do is yield to me and be my swordsman."
"Are you insane?" Bradden scoffed. Were men truly this foolish? Did Roman really believe that Bradden would just let it all go for a strange woman? Bradden had had enough. It was time to do or die.
"She’s my daughter," Roman continued. "I’ll give you my daughter."
"Once I’m done with you," Bradden said, "she’ll join you in death." He immediately regretted his words; he was not a murderer and knew he had overstepped his bounds. He was not going to kill the man's daughter. He was sure another soldier would do far worse if not stopped. He told Roman his daughter would die mainly to provoke him to fight. It worked.
Roman raised Bradden’s sword and charged at him. Instantly, Bradden realized his defensive stance was not enough. He dropped to his knees and rolled to the side, dropping the dagger. He landed on his right shoulder, and pain shot through him, causing him to cry out. He jumped back on his feet just in time to dodge another attack. Roman knew how to handle a sword, and it was all Bradden could do not to get hit. He dodged another strike and knew time was not on his side. After avoiding another strike, he charged at Roman, and the two fell to the ground. Bradden instinctively reached for the dropped sword with his right arm, but that was a mistake. He tried again with his left arm, but it was too late. Roman picked up the sword and held it at Bradden’s neck.
"All that strength," Roman said. "Forever lost."
26
Nightmare
KRYS OPENED HER EYES, and confused, she briefly wondered where she was. Suddenly Krys realized she was still in a fight. She was still alive, and as far as she could tell, the others were too. She looked around for Gregog's war hammer but did not see it. Had he picked it up? She searched for him and found him dodging attacks, holding only a short sword. It must have been the sword she had gotten from Vel's shop. She turned and saw the war hammer outside the circling mist. According to Joada, she would not be able to retrieve it. She got up and headed for the hammer, but when she reached the edge of the mist, she was knocked down in the direction the mist was moving. Joada was right, she could not leave the circling mist.
Joada was injured, holding his leg, and Thargeron barely held on to his life. Gregog was the last one standing; she could tell he was exhausted. She glanced at the temple entrance, hoping to see the priests, but they were nowhere to be seen. The mist had engulfed the entrance, and she presumed the priests were dead.
Suddenly an idea came to her. Inside the foyer were the weapons of former warriors and priests. But how could she reach them? She looked in Thargeron's direction and spotted the other end of the broken staff. Maybe she could reach weapons with the staff. She ran over to Thargeron to make sure he was still alive. He slowly turned his head and looked at her. She nodded at him, picked up the staff, and returned to the temple. About a third of the weapons, including Skylar's broadsword, were inside the mist. The rest were out of reach outside the mist. Skylar’s sword was up high, but she was confident she could reach it. Stretching as far as she could and standing on her toes, the staff barely reached. She pushed the staff to her fingertips, and, to her relief, it loosened the handle from the hook, and the sword fell just inside the mist. She picked it up and ran outside.
"Gregog!" she yelled. He ignored her as he dodged another strike. He must have known he was the last one standing and continued to taunt the tall warrior to keep its attention away from the others. "GREGOG!" she bellowed, which caught his attention. He ran over to her, surprised she could bellow within the mist. He took the sword from her and charged at the warrior without saying a word. She ran back to the foyer and looked for another weapon. She loosened a battle axe and returned outside. Now she could help Gregog and maybe end this fight.
She watched as Gregog attempted to strike the warrior, then, as if on cue, she stepped up and attacked. Gregog followed behind her, and she attacked again. The tall warrior had to block and dodge two at a time. Why did they not do this before when Thargeron and Joada could fight? Maybe they thought they could take on the warrior alone. Krys was not present when the fight started, so she had no idea what had happened.
“One of us has to hit him,” Gregog said as he swung at the warrior. “Or we’re just going to get weak.”
“Why doesn’t Metz help?” Krys asked. She looked toward Metz and saw he was still there, watching the fight outside the mist. Did he think he would not be attacked once she and Gregog were down?
“Krysta!” Gregog shouted. She had taken her eyes off her opponent, and the warrior took advantage. She brought up the axe to block, and the warrior’s sword hooked under the axe's blade, sending her and the axe into the air. She hit the temple wall, feeling like her whole body had broken. The pain was intense. She was out of the fight, and now all that stood between the warrior and their deaths was Gregog. She let loose the axe and fought back tears. Then it came to her how she could heal Joada and Thargeron.
She turned her palms toward her body and began to will herself healed. Nothing seemed to be happening. If she could heal them, then why could she not heal herself? She sighed as she remembered Nrothgare had no power within the mist. Yet she could heal Joada and Thargeron within the mist. Not only that, she could bellow at Gregog using the mighty voice of a Nrothgare. It had been made clear to her that the bellow was also a power granted to the warriors. Could it be that the mist did not affect her? She never tried using any powers when lost in the Deep Fog. Maybe she could use them. There was only one way to find out.
Krys forced herself onto her feet despite the intense pain. She did not bother to pick up the axe. She put one foot ahead of the other, hoping not to lose her balance. The pain was beyond anything she had ever felt. With each step, she grew more confident. As she neared the tall warrior, she saw Gregog stumble and lose Skylar’s sword. The warrior moved in for the kill.
“AAAAHHHHH!” she bellowed with a force she never knew she had in her. The tall warrior turned to face her and raised its sword as it prepared to charge.
“What are you doing?” Gregog called out. “You have no weapon.”
She was standing near Thargeron when she stopped. “Girl,” Thargeron started to say but did not finish. He must have been too exhausted to speak further, but she knew he was concerned for her. It seemed ironic that the man who had sent her to die by this very shadow figure was now trying to warn her about it.
“Krysta!” Joada cried out. The three of them showed their concern. The only one who said nothing was Metz. As far as she was concerned, Metz was a coward.
“I WILL END YOU!” she bellowed once more, her voice visibly moving any mist around her.
The tall warrior stopped and laughed. “I am Malumbra, the god of shadow and death. You will never end me. Once you and your friends die, I will bring my realm onto this one and be the final god of all creation. All will bow to me!”
“Bow to this,” Krys raised her arms, and, to the surprise of all, including Malumbra, a bolt of lightning left her hand and hit the tall warrior in the chest. He stumbled back, but it was not enough.
“Little girl has a little power,” Malumbra chuckled.
“My name is Krys, and I have more,” she released another bolt and then another. She tried to ignore the pain the lightning had caused her, but it was becoming too much. Each time she hit Malumbra, he stumbled but progressed closer to her. She let out a bolt twice as large and powerful, and he moved back several steps. She cried out from the pain and looked at him, hoping he was beaten. But no, what she saw was the warrior leaning forward and about to charge.
◆◆◆
The blood was distracting, as Bradden had to spit it out several times since the dagger had pierced his cheeks. His face hurt, and it was exhausting trying not to move his mouth. When he spoke with Roman immediately after getting the wound, he must have been in shock. Now that he had dodged Roman’s strikes several times, all of the pain in his body seemed to be amplified. His legs were sore, and his right shoulder was nothing more than a pain conduit. His left arm and shoulder were now also in pain. His back ached, and his knees felt like two solid stones each time he had to drop down to roll away from Roman. He was not in the mood to give up this fight, but he was not too foolish to believe he could do this forever. He spent more energy dodging Roman’s attacks than Roman spent attacking him.
With a heavy breath, Bradden waited for the next strike, but before it came, he collapsed on his knees and cried out in pain. “Now you see,” Roman said as he drew near. “I have won.”
Bradden looked past Roman and saw several soldiers walking toward him. He tried to hide his relief when he realized they were soldiers from Ulderyn. From their casual walk, he was confident they had defeated Roman’s army. A renewed strength welled up inside Bradden.
As Roman raised his sword, Bradden noticed the soldiers began to run toward them. “No,” Bradden called out to them. This was his fight. He mustered the strength for one more roll, and as he began to push forward, a glint of light hit his eye from something on the ground a few feet behind Roman. It had to be Roman’s sword. Bradden shouted as he rolled past Roman, barely dodging the blade as it came down. He grunted and rolled again until he was on top of the sword. Roman turned to face him as Bradden slid forward slightly and reached behind him with his left hand.
“Just die!” Roman shouted.
“Stop! Roman is mine!” Bradden shouted and watched as the approaching soldiers came to a halt. “He’s mine!” He looked at Roman and saw the fear on Roman’s face as Roman realized his soldiers had lost. Roman turned his attention back to Bradden, and with determination, he stepped forward.
“Did you live a life worth remembering?” Bradden asked with pain in every word. “Will your daughter be proud of you? Is this the moment you dreamt of when you dreamt of your death?”
“Who dreams of their own death?” Roman asked, clearly defeated. “We’re nothing more than flesh and blood. What does it matter who’s remembered?”
“We’re spiritual beings who’ll stand before a God of judgment one day,” Bradden countered. “Will you be able to explain away all of this?” Roman did not answer as he eyed the surrounding soldiers once more. Bradden was unsure if Roman seriously cared about his spiritual side. But as Roman returned his gaze to Bradden, one thing he was sure of was that Roman intended to kill him even if it was his last act alive.
“Did you, Bradden, live a life worth remembering?” Roman tossed the question back at him. “Will your mother be proud of you? Is this how you dreamed you would die?”
“I saved a village from a beast of another world,” Bradden replied. “I was sought after by the most elite warriors alive. I was engaged to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And yes, my mother is already proud of me.” Bradden spat blood from his mouth. “As for the dream, the moment you killed my Prypia, I have dreamed of this moment.”
Roman shrugged his shoulders. “This is what you dreamed? You’re defeated.” Roman laughed. “Seems more like a nightmare.” Roman raised his sword and looked at the soldiers nearby. Bradden noticed they began to step forward.
“Halt!” Bradden commanded. “He’s mine!”
“You are truly one delusional kid,” Roman said as he lifted the sword over his head. “Goodbye.”
The sword began its descent toward Bradden’s body, and at the same time, Bradden, using his left arm, brought up Roman’s sword, and before Roman knew what was happening, he thrust it into the middle of Roman’s chest. The blade cut deep, and with his mouth agape, Roman dropped Bradden’s sword and fell forward on his own sword, making it slide further into his body. He looked at Bradden with eyes as wide, shocked, and confused.
“You never saw it coming,” Bradden said. He reached down, picked up his own sword, and held it in his left hand as he stood up. “Welcome to your nightmare,” Bradden said as he swung the sword and removed Roman’s head.
27
Take a Seat
WHEN HE FIRST BECAME Nrothgare, he was young and naive. Metz had only been twenty-four years old the day he drank the potion, and Thargeron, Joada, Gregog, and Darbin were there to witness his initiation into the order. Darbin, the warrior who had found Metz and introduced him to the other members, was the only person Metz considered his friend among the group. The other two warriors, Jackson and Culmar, were on assignment when Metz joined, and although he eventually met them, he never really got to know them. When other warriors joined later, such as Skylar, Bren, and Te’Kay, among others, Metz avoided getting too close to them. He found the other warriors annoying.
Metz respected Thargeron's take-charge attitude, even when he was out of line, and admired Gregog's hard work and willingness to help others. He enjoyed conversing with Joada, who was always a great listener. However, he never truly became friends with any of them, except for Darbin.
Unfortunately, Darbin had to make the ultimate sacrifice to save the same three men that Metz respected. This event left Metz bitter. Although he was not there, he felt responsible for Darbin’s death. Metz felt the mission he had been assigned was a waste of time, so Darbin went in his place. Metz sometimes wondered if he would have done the same and died to save the other three. Other times, he knew he would not have. He valued his life above all others. Metz figured he would be useless if he were not alive. It would have been a waste of a life.
Metz never admitted it to any of the other warriors, but there were some missions that he was given that he walked away from. Those missions seemed too dangerous, and he ignored them, knowing that one of the others would eventually get the mission and do what was needed. Unfortunately, Jackson took on one such task that Metz had ignored. Jackson died fighting a demon more powerful than a single warrior. Jackson thought he was invincible and lost his life because of it. Metz never felt invincible; if he were truly honest with himself, there would be times when he felt like a coward. This moment with the shadow god was one of those times.
Joada lay still against a tree, and Metz suspected he had a broken leg as he had not moved since he was thrown. Gregog was fighting with a small sword, his exhaustion evident in his trembling hands. Meanwhile, Thargeron lay motionless in a pool of his own blood. These were the three men that Metz respected the most, and they were near death. He was their only hope, but he could see no chance of victory. All he saw was death. The girl who had been accepted into the Order of the Nrothgare was also in danger. She had just been thrown down and ran inside the temple, presumably to hide. However, if what Joada had said was true, that no one could escape the circling mist conjured by the shadow god Malumbra, then she had nowhere to hide.
