(16)

Saurus approached the tall wooden doors with deep reverence, knowing full well the creature inside was responsible for more evils than he had ever previously encountered. She had, after all, placed this town to the mercy of spiders. Inside the hall, a black void stretched out eternally, so thick he doubted even a torch would repress it. He couldn’t smell much, but on the air, something rode with the scent of smoke.

Saurus looked over at his son who leaned to peer inside with glowing eyes. Saurus wondered just how much Sphene Dust his son had absorbed, given the faint mist that now ran over Alaric’s hands and feet like steam. Channeling this much Sphene Dust was dangerous, deadly even; but his son was far more adept than he had previously imagined.

“Stay behind me,” Saurus whispered, raising his blade to drink the last of the moonlight. He walked inside, Alaric closely following him. The darkness was inconceivable, like stepping into a deep hole underground. The ground felt soft, sticky even…was this webbing?

A noise erupted somewhere deep within the hall, like a sudden hiss. Saurus halted, awaiting to embrace some attack…but nothing happened. Alaric’s hands illuminated with light, but despite the intensity of the light, it only extended as far as the few feet in front of them. The hiss permeated the room again causing them both to freeze once more, then Saurus realized it was sobbing. He continued to move forward into the darkness, guided weakly by the light his son produced.

“You’ve come to kill me,” a sobbing voice expelled from the darkness, followed by a sniffle. Saurus paced forward, using the voice as a guide; she was close, so he gripped his sword tightly.

“I deny you the right to speak,” Saurus commanded, “Come forth and die, spider spawn.”

The voice began to laugh drunkenly and Saurus noticed a sparkle of blue light glitter, like a running wave of electricity. He heard Alaric gasp behind. A figure stirred; her silhouette only visible because of the glittering sand at her feet…no…not sand…Sphene Dust.

“Father!” cried Alaric as the room erupted into life.

“My name is Morana Black!” the spider queen roared, “And I do this act freely…for him!”

A stream of blue light channeled into the woman, illuminating the surrounding hall in hot light. Saurus’ heart stopped in his chest when he saw the mounds of Sphene Dust that surrounded them, all trailing to Morana who stood barefooted on a small hillock of the stuff. A sound like a cat hissing exploded in each of Saurus’ ears and he was hit by an immense force that caused him to stagger backward a step. Hot light exploded against him and burned like a jet of flame, Saurus had closed his eyes a moment before opening them again, believing he was dead.

In front of him, he saw Morana, her face a canvas of ravenous hate. Her black hair swirled around as if caught in a tempest, her black robes that were laced at joints, spun like living obsidian snakes. Saurus turned his head to check on his son and found the action almost impossible. His ears were deafened by the sound of roaring wind, so powerful he couldn’t take a breath.

Alaric stepped past him, his own robes a dancing streak of cloth caught in a storm. His son placed a foot forward and Saurus realized what was happening. His son was warding off the attack with all his infused strength, around Morana the Sphene dust depleted, turning to hot ash where she stood. The doors they had entered the hall from were gone, blown outwards and Saurus discovered with horror that this death storm was spreading outside.

The walls crumbled under the immense force of magic, Saurus heard his armour screech over the tempest of wind, and lines of silver cracked across his breastplate. Morana screamed, channeling her fury into the continuous stream of violet storm. Alaric moved past his father, holding his hands high to shield the two of them, then moved left.

Saurus wondered where his son was going. His mind was completely enveloped in the scenario that was playing out, then he realized: his son was almost out of power, the Dust in his veins depleted. He was moving towards one of the trailing mounds of Sphene Dust to his left. Saurus followed his son, constantly feeling as if he was walking towards a powerful gust of wind.

“Father quick!” Alaric exclaimed turning his body into the storm of magic. Saurus moved forward towards Morana, one step at a time. Left foot, then right foot. Alaric pushed him a path but Saurus could see his ward beginning to fail, weakening. The hissing got louder, and his armour began to vibrate…Left…Right.

Morana did not move or even try to retreat when Saurus and Alaric got close. She lowered a hand to stroke her stomach, and Saurus saw a single tear run down her cheek to pool into her gritted teeth. Saurus stabbed with mortal intent, feeling his blade pierce the flesh with ease; he fell forward. The windstorm ended immediately causing him to land on Morana. Ash puffed out under their weight from expended Sphene Dust and Saurus recovered himself. Looking down at Morana it would have been hard to consider her anything but a woman. Her black hair spilled into the ash-like streams of pitch, her face was relaxed in sorrow and defeat.

She went to touch Saurus’ face but he slapped it aside, driving his sword deeper into her abdomen. ‘It was over’ he thought when Morana let out one last breath of air, then died. The hall fell silent but for the couple of rocks that fell from the walls and ceiling. Saurus turned abruptly pulling his sword free.

“Son, are you—”

Alaric was standing there, swaying slightly, his eyes no longer glowed brightly from the infused dust, but looked like pits of darkness.

“Son?” Saurus said, dashing forward and catching Alaric before he fell. Saurus cradled him and knelt, looking into his son’s eyes that look vacant and distant.

“Talk to me,” he said watching his son’s eyes gaze into his forehead. Saurus could hear his son whisper under his breath, then a line of drool pooled from the corner of his mouth.

“Alaric, speak to me, please.”

Saurus shook his son forcefully, trying desperately to revive him, but his son’s body was a rag doll. Saurus wept, letting his tears run down onto his son’s breastplate. All the while Alaric lay there, mumbling incoherently to the ceiling above.

Saurus was not sure how much time had passed kneeling there. The tears on his face were dried and crusty. He looked down at his son again and felt the pain ripple through him. The sorrow was like a liquid fire that pulsed around his body, causing his heart to flutter and beat hard. Alaric’s eyes were still staring vacantly at the ceiling, the eyes now crossing slightly. His son’s right cheek was slick with saliva and his mumbling had stopped.

Saurus checked for a pulse: still alive. He lifted his son up into his arms like he had when Alaric was just a child and carried him outside. The town was deathly silent with only the wind to accompany him. Black ash coated everything in the town and Saurus called out for aid, but none came. He staggered forward, struggling to bear the weight of his son, then saw a figure, two figures, many figures. All statues looking at him, their forms were black against the pale moonlight.

“Help!” Saurus called out fruitlessly.

But the figures only stood, watched him eerily. Some stood in postures of movement, others Saurus noticed were raising their hands as if to wave at him. He dropped Alaric softly on the ground, his son’s breastplate clattering as it hit the stone.

“Wait here son,” he said absently, then approached one of the dark figures, sword brandished.

The closer he got to a statue, the more he felt the eeriness grow. The figure had no eyes or mouth; in fact, it seemed completely featureless except for the human physical shape. Saurus poked the black statue with the tip of his sword and ash began to crust away. When his sword pierced an inch of the statue, blood began to stream down his steel.

‘These were his soldiers…the storm had cremated them.’

Saurus span in a complete circle, his heart now beating so fast he almost feinted. They were all dead, every one of them; he stood in a town of ghosts, a town of black death, his soldiers stood all around him, trophies for him to admire, a reminder of his failure.

‘Why must I survive to witness this,’

Saurus froze in fear when he saw movement among the statues of the dead. Something big and monstrous approached. It stood at least ten feet tall and had horns that curved upwards to meet the moons. ‘A demon.’ Saurus thought.

As one of its horns connected with the head of a statue, the head crumpled off to explode on the ground, bits of ash and blood washed to Saurus’ feet. It wasn’t a demon though but an elk of immense proportion. Its brown fir was smooth against the moonlight; it bowed its head and knelt. Saurus stretched out a hand and stroked the top of the beast's head.

“Thank you, for not forsaking me O’ wise one,” Saurus whispered closing his eyes, “Shepherd me now and grant me wisdom.” he squeezed a tuff of brown hair.

Saurus went back to recover his son and approached the great elk. The elk lowered its front legs to aid their mount.

“Leeside, my friend,” he said, and the great elk rotated eastward, pacing between the statued dead carefully.