Firebrand

The battle had ended, but not all was well. The undead remained, bereft of purpose, but still filled with malice towards the living where they found them. And of the living, all had terrible injuries and wounds. As the undead filled the western streets, the defenders moved along the fortifications until they could assemble near the eastern gate.

Eleanor, being positioned close, found Martel as the first and fell into his arms. Her presence soothed him briefly, though the discomfort of the curse returned a moment later. “Are you hurt?” she asked.

“Nothing that requires immediate concern,” he replied. “Nor you, though I never doubted that.”

“What a day!” Nebo, the mage of Phoenik, strolled towards them. “I gave Melkarth a few memories to remember for an eternity!”

Looking bruised but still in better condition than nearly every other, Atreus stumbled in through the gate. “I wasn’t expecting to be tossed like that. Then again, I wasn’t expecting to survive.”

“It’s not over yet,” Martel told them. “They’ll have fled to the portal, but that doesn’t mean the danger is gone. Does it?” He looked at Nebo.

“If I were them, I’d retreat to the Beyond to heal and restore before returning,” the mage confirmed with an eager nod.

“We must finish this. If we go to the portal underneath Archen, can you take us to the valley? There is a portal nearby also made by Karolos, the one he used when he fled to your city,” Martel explained.

“Ah yes, I remember. Sure. No trouble now that I’m more familiar with the places. Come along.” Smiling, the old mage walked west, casually destroying undead on his way. Less unburdened in their gait, the Triumvirate of Archen followed to end the threat to their city.

In a flash, four wizards appeared in the foothills. All the others of Archen’s defenders had severe wounds, those lucky enough to have survived, and none were in any condition to aid the Triumvirate other than Nebo. Looking around the valley, Martel considered how not two days ago, they had chased Karolos to this place and pursued him through the portal from where they had just emerged; a lifetime of events had taken place since then. But reminiscence would have to wait; more urgent matters awaited them.

The signs of battle could still be seen; they stayed along the northern ridge in the foothills, hiding their progress, but each time they could look down into the valley, Martel noticed broken bones and corpses. The remains of Karolos’s army with the occasional defender of Archen; everyone beyond even Moloch’s ability to raise from the dead for her assault on the city.

Making their way west, they finally spotted the fiends, including their leader. At the location of the battle against the undead, a large ring glowed softly with magic. Although defeated at Archen, most of the fiends remained alive and undoubtedly still dangerous, none more so than Moloch. Her head was covered in skin again along with hair, though she looked worn and weak.

In fact, she looked how Martel felt, with the curse hanging on him like a wet blanket. It was a strange sensation. Every breath came to him like he had been running and was deprived of air. His joints ached as from a fever. And he knew there was no reprieve.

Unless, perhaps, if Moloch died. “I’m surprised they haven’t fled straight back to the Nether to recover,” Martel mumbled.

“As there’s no time in the Beyond, it’s unpredictable in their current state. They might go in, come back, and a year has passed, letting you regain your strength,” Nebo explained. “Moloch’s probably contemplating whether to return for another assault, considering you’re also weakened.”

Martel considered the situation. Their enemy was close to the breaking point; hopefully, at the risk of confrontation, Moloch and her minions would flee, they could close the portal, and the danger was at an end. Follow current novels on novel⚑fire.net

But to kill her, to save himself, they would have to disrupt the portal and thereby prevent any chance of escape. This would turn it into a fight to the death. The fiends would undoubtedly become desperate, like a cornered and wounded animal. That greatly increased the risk of someone on his own side dying, or worse, they might lose, in which case, Archen would be lost.

The decision was easy. “How do we best drive them back? We don’t want a prolonged fight, we just want them to flee,” the Sage spoke.

Nebo patted him on the shoulder. “I’ve had such a grand time, this one’s on me. Don’t you worry.” As the others looked at him bewildered, the mage of Phoenik sauntered over the hill and down towards the portal. “Moloch!”

She faced him, and her expression turned from angry to furious. “Traitor!”

Nebo sighed. “See, that’s so tiresome. I never joined you, I owe you no fealty. And honestly, I never liked you that much.” He stretched out his arms, and tendrils of lightning shot out from his fingertips to envelop her, lifting her into the air and backwards until she hovered over the portal.

Whether Nebo’s doing or her own, Moloch disappeared in a flash of light. Seeing their leader gone, the other fiends followed immediately. As absurd as it felt considering the harrowing hours they had suffered, the danger had passed, just like that; the night was peaceful and the valley empty of enemies.

“That was a lot easier than I thought,” Atreus mumbled as the trio joined Nebo.

The elderly mage shrugged. “You had already sent her off-balance. She just needed a final little push. When you’re used to being immortal, any risk to your life seems immense. Same goes for her craven followers.” He rubbed his stomach. “Funny, I forgot how hunger felt. Do you have food back in the city?”

“Perhaps we should deal with the portal first,” Eleanor suggested.

Behind Nebo, the symbols continued to glow in a circle large enough to surround a house. “Ah, right.” He walked over and placed one hand on the nearest glyph. Their magic being drained or absorbed by him, the glow disappeared until entirely gone.

Martel reached out with his supernatural sense and felt nothing but ordinary dirt amidst the remnants of the fallen from the other night’s battle.

As for Nebo, he bent over and vomited black bile. Standing up again, he scraped his nails against his tongue with a disgusted expression. “Forget I asked about food. Gross.”

“I imagine there would be dangers involved in using the other portal back to Archen? Now that our enemies are in the Nether,” Martel considered.

“The Beyond, yes. There’s a chance they’ll notice us blinking through and jump along, as I did,” Nebo admitted.

The Sage exhaled. “Best not risk it. We’ll have to walk back.”