Apocalypse Rising (14 page)

I turn the corner, and walk into a small side tunnel in time to see my guide pull back a worn blue tarp. "What's this?" I ask.

She exhales loudly, and says, "I always forget you people are blind." She snaps her fingers and a globe of light pops into existence above her head. It dances about as if alive, even dodging my outstretched fingers when I reach for it. "This is all old, human, armor and weapons. The Queen insisted we keep them, in case we ever became allied with humans again." She shrugs her shoulders. "I thought it was a waste, but I guess she may have been right."

There, on the dingy, concrete, floor of the elf tunnels, lies a treasure that could make a man a king. Ancient armor and weapons of intricate, and beautiful, design, that no mortal artisan could replicate, lay discarded, and unused, for ages. "They're beautiful," I whisper in awe.

"Yes they are," she says. "They were good times when your kind and ours fought the darkness side by side." She sniffs, and wipes away a tear before reaching into the pile and pulling out a long sword of shimmering steel decorated with golden ivy vines about the cross-guard and pommel. "Try this one out. I made it myself."

It has been centuries since I used a sword, but a few experimental swings of that near perfect blade, and reflexes come flooding back. "It is wonderful," I say as I practice a few quick combinations.

"Thank you," she says, "though I would say wonderful is an understatement if it weren't so unbecoming." She watches me for a moment or two longer. "I'm glad you haven’t cut off your own foot already, but I suppose there will be time for that later. Now let's see if we can find you some armor."

“Nothing too heavy if you don’t mind,” I say as I slip the blade into the sheath she hands me. “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“My name is Accantha, and if weight is your concern, then you know little about elf artistry,” she says. She pushes aside a couple of selections before she finds what she is looking for. “Yes, this will be perfect for you.” She hands me a body suit of delicately woven golden links covered in small plates of carefully etched steel. I take it, and I am surprised to find that it weighs no more than the sword and scabbard.

I slip into the armor with ease. It fits perfectly, as if it were made solely for me. “Incredible,” I whisper.

Accantha pulls one last item from the pile, and returns the tarp to its original place. “It’s made to expand or contract to fit the wearer.” She holds up a steel helm inlaid with gold filigree. “Put this on and we’ll get going. I don’t know if this wizard knows what he is in for, but we’ll make sure to teach him that his kind are not welcome here unless invited.”

I place the helm upon my head, and she nods. "Good, let's go," she says as she pushes her way past me.

"Won't you need a weapon and armor?" I ask.

"Not against a wizard," she says. "We worry more about the spells he may be slinging around than any minions he may bring with him. Creatures of the dark or summoned beasts will fall to our steal easily enough, but too much magic in the air can cause all kinds of problems."

"So you're vulnerable to magic?"

"Not so much vulnerable, as we are distracted by it," she says while leading me back into the village proper. "You see the effects of magic, but we see the flow of power, and it fascinates us like little else."

"How do you fight against magic then?" I ask. I am resistant by nature, and can use my own powers to fight back if needed. It has been centuries since I fought a wizard with enough skill that it required much more than a strong slap to quell him.

"Concentration, mostly," Accantha says, "but that only works for the eldest, and the strongest. Most are forced to shield their vision, or fight blind, so we try to hold them in reserve." She laughs, and says, "When a wizard shows up, the generals go to the front line to protect the soldiers."

"It sounds difficult," I say as we head down the same tunnel that Julius had brought me to the village through.

"It is, but that's why having you around will be useful. Humans are natural magical voids. Magic is drawn to you like flies to honey," she says as we jog down the tunnel. "The wizard's attention will focus on you, whether he likes it or not, and that will make it easier for us to cut him off from the source."

"The source?" I ask. I hate to say it, but my understanding of magical theory is lacking. My power does not come from any mortal source, but from the Throne of Heaven itself.

Accantha sighs, and says, “The source is where all earthly magic flows from. Wizards draw their power from it in equal measure, but training and experience allows for efficiency and greater feats of skill. Some wizards try to shortcut the system, and turn to the dark arts, effectively hijacking other people’s connection. Particularly bad ones will take it a step further, and make a pact with the dark forces. If this wizard is one of those, then this will get very messy, and I would suggest you run.” She points a finger at me. “I mean it. You run like the wind, and don’t stop.”

We turn the corner, and the tunnel opens into a vast space with a long graceful arch overhead that no mortal engineer could have accomplished. “This wasn’t here when we came through yesterday,” I say.

“It wouldn’t have been,” Accantha says. “The shapers changed the tunnel when they detected the wizard’s approach. The more room we have to spread out, the better our odds of getting to him before he kills too many of us.”

“Sounds like a pretty bad plan to me,” I say as I peer about the room. I cringe at the sight of so many filthy, little elves standing in the open.

“I suppose you have a better plan, oh great, and powerful, human warlord?”

“I may have an idea or two,” I say. I dig through my memories, and find a workable plan. “Ask the shapers to create barriers for the elves to hide behind. I will take the center and face the wizard, and his minions.”

“And how, exactly, do you plan on fighting them?” Accantha asks. “I know the sword and armor are good, but don’t get carried away.”

“Don’t worry about me. I have a few tricks up my sleeve.” I draw my sword, and jog ahead. “Besides, I don’t have to kill him right? I just have to keep him distracted.”

I reach the far end of the cavern created by the shapers. I am pleased to see the room changing yet again, as the elves heed my advice. I duck behind a short wall near the entrance, and kneel. “Father, I can’t pretend to understand your plan. My faith is shaken, but I still believe in you. Please, Father, find me worthy, and help me defend these elves against predation. If my life is required in exchange for theirs, then so be it. May Your will be done.” I end my prayer and stand, ready to face the wizard who would assault the home of the elves.

Claws on concrete are coming closer. Darkness and fog shroud the tunnel, hiding what approaches. The noise grows louder until the roar of clicking and scratching threatens to overwhelm me. I stay loose, ready to lunge the moment the enemy makes an appearance. I had not planned to face more than a handful of conjured creatures. Thoughts of being overwhelmed flash through my mind, and I banish them as fast as they arrive. I will survive this, or I will not. Worrying only assists my enemies, and I will give them nothing but death.

A horde of short, grey-skinned humanoids explodes from the tunnel with a chorus of shrieks and screams. Goblins. I detest the foul things. Gone are the traditional leather armor and the jagged black iron swords of the ancient goblin hordes. This band carries machetes, long bladed hunting knives and handguns while wearing the ragged clothing of human beggars.

I step from behind the wall and swing the elf-forged blade with ease. It slices clean through the goblin closest to me, leaving his bifurcated corpse twitching at my feet. I have no time to be pleased with my work, or the brilliance of the blade. I duck behind cover as a barrage of bullets come my way. Fending off goblin arrows was tricky enough, but bullets present a completely new problem. I am sure that my armor would keep the bullets from killing me outright, but I would probably end up on my back anyway.

I did not come to the battle to hide, so I pop out from behind the wall and charge into the closest group and go on the offensive. I strike down three or four more before I am shot the first time. The bullet hits the armor and ricochets into another goblin warrior, knocking the air out of me, but killing it. I struggle through the hit and kill a couple more. My blade cuts through the fabric far easier than if they had worn armor, but all it does is make the killing more efficient. More bullets hit me, but the results are the same, so the gunfire ceases around me.

Goblins charge and crowd around me, their blades slashing at me, seeking out the exposed parts of my body. I focus my thought and effort on the fight, and the tunnel around me becomes a killing floor. The more goblins I butcher, the more my past returns to me. Long forgotten skills awaken, and goblins die by the score for it. Soon I am turning the clumsy, fearful attacks of the goblins into offensive momentum that reminds me of something in my past, a name I cannot remember.

The corpses of goblins pile up around me, yet they continue to come. I am a boulder in the middle of a river, and I do little more than disrupt the flow of enemies as they rush past. I had not expected so many, and I hope the elves are able to hold their own. I have never fought beside, or against, an elf before, but I remember tales of their fierceness. I say a prayer, asking that it be true.

Filthy goblin blades nick and cut me, slowly sapping my strength as I fight the endless mass. I dispatch another pair before I step on a blood slick arm, and stumble backwards into the mound of corpses. There is a brief pause before the others pounce on me.

"Apage!" The shout from behind me breaks through the cacophony as an arrow through the air. The word is laced with power: ancient magic that has an immediate effect. It flings the goblins surrounding me, both dead and alive, back toward the tunnel. The pause in the onslaught is brief, but long enough for me to regain my footing. "Be careful, Justin," Julius says as he steps over the head of a fallen goblin, "the blood is impossible to get out of your clothes."

"I thought you were still in bed," I say as I decapitate the first goblin brave enough to charge again.

"Well, I wasn't going to miss out on all of this fun," he says as he stabs a goblin in the stomach.

"I'm glad you're okay," I say.

"I don't know about okay, but I am well enough to handle these vermin." His daggers are a whirlwind of death to his enemies. He stabs and cuts at will, nimbly dancing away from the longer blades and cudgels of the goblin horde. "There seems to be a lot of them."

"Yes, I didn't expect the wizard to summon so many." I continue to butcher the goblins, re-energized by the appearance of Julius.

“I don’t think he summoned these,” Julius says between slashes. “These are locals, and they would have to have some serious incentive to bring them here.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” I move through a series of thrusts and slashes that push the tide of goblins back.

Julius uses his magic to kill a dozen more in a burst of purple lightning. “I think we’ll find out who is behind this soon. I sense the wizard getting closer.” As he finishes speaking the wall of goblins thins. I look to Julius who stands transfixed, his eyes locked on the tunnel entrance. “It is so beautiful,” he whispers.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Static electricity fills the room sending sparks racing across the links of my armor. “Julius, wake up,” I say as I push on his shoulder.

“I can’t,” he whispers. “I haven’t seen anything like it in so long.” His arms drop and his blades fall from his fingers.

“Julius?”

“It is no use.” The new voice is a whisper, but it booms through cavern like a cannon shot. “He is enthralled by the magic, as are all of the rest of your little friends. The goblins are a nice distraction, but not a necessity.” A tall man with long blonde hair and a short beard walks into the cavern, carefully stepping over goblin corpses. He is dressed like a member of the S.W.A.T. team who had a Hot Topic throw up on him. He would be laughable if not for the danger he represents. Though I am not as in tune with magic as the elves, I can still sense the waves of power rolling off him. I faced more powerful wizards in the days when magic was plentiful, but I was much stronger then. The silence of the elves makes me wonder if I am strong enough now to face this man.

"Since you are not an elf, I'll assume you are the one I am looking for," he says as he stops well out of reach of my blade. "I know you are one of the Blessed, but you are well shielded, so I am unsure what order you belong to." He runs his fingers through his beard and stares at me. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to just tell me would you?"

"You'll get nothing from me, wizard," I say before I return to a fighting stance, my sword held before me.

"Oh come now," he says, "if you were anything all that impressive you would have dealt with the goblins, and most likely me, by now. So why don't you come with me nice and easy, so that no more of your elf friends have to die." The goblins growl and level their guns in the direction of the elves near them. They are horrible shots, but even they should be able to hit the semi-paralyzed elves.

"How do I know you won't kill them anyway?" I ask. I have no intention of being taken, but I will do what I can to buy time while I figure a way out of this.