Silent Requiem (Tales of Ashkar Book 3) Read online

  What the hell just happened?

  He waited for something else to happen. Nothing did. He looked around, but was alone again. Slowly and cautiously he made his way over to the ledge. So cautiously, in fact, that he stopped every few steps expecting those same tendrils to attack him. They never did. He reached the edge of the steep ledge and peered below—

  A black arm reached out onto the top of the ledge.

  Gilbel toppled onto his rear and scrambled backward several feet away. He remained frozen as a cloaked figure pulled itself up from the depths below. The same black arm was where Quinn's severed arm had been, and as Gilbel peered into the depths of the human's hood his eyes grew even wider.

  Wherever the human had sustained an injury, whether it be from demon magic or hellish atmosphere, the area was now covered entirely by that same black sludge from below. Where the substance was viscous and bubbling below, it appeared to be shiny and taut on Quinn. It was like the sludge was a skintight suit that protected the human.

  A good portion of Quinn's face was covered like a mask with a curious purple glow in the shape of a large eye. A portion of his mouth was also purple with rows of sharp teeth. The other half of his face appeared normal, and his brown eye looked down upon Gilbel. The appearance was striking, and disturbingly familiar.

  It looks like… Shushana the Shadow? No, how can it be?

  Not a single demon had ever been able to emerge from those black depths alive, but there were a few mortals who had been able to take from Vaikar's Heartrend without being consumed. How could Quinn be capable of such a feat?

  Who was this human?

  “Uh, hey!” exclaimed Gilbel as he did his best attempt at smiling.

  Quinn merely stood there, first inspecting the area around them, and then looking down at his own dark arm. He then touched his face where it was covered, and after he was finished marveling at himself his eyes found Gilbel once more. “What… is this?”

  “Beats me,” answered the demon. “But hey, you're alive!” Gilbel's heart lifted. Quinn was alive, which meant that his plan still had life to it. He just needed to make sure that nothing else happened to the human.

  The human turned his head to the path that lay before them. He stood idle for a moment, contemplating something. He then looked back at Gilbel. “We should continue, I guess. Aren't I supposed to be dead?”

  Gilbel shrugged. “I'm just as surprised as you are, but I wouldn't worry about it. Let's just go find your friends.” The demon then stabbed the air with his fingers repeatedly. “If anymore demons try to get spicy dicey with us, just do that thing again that you did.”

  “That… thing, huh,” muttered Quinn as he opened and closed his right hand. “It was like the darkness answered to my will. The liquid hardened and shot out from my arm…” His voice trailed off as Gilbel's gaze lingered on the human's arm. “Is something the matter?”

  Gilbel's eyes darted up to Quinn's. “Oh, no. Nope. Not worried about a thing. Definitely not.” He pointed at Quinn's arm and face. “Say, how does it feel?”

  “What do you mean?” Quinn asked.

  “Do you feel different?” elaborated the demon. “Feeling funny, maybe?”

  Quinn shrugged. “I do feel a stronger tug toward the pools below than before, mostly in my arm and face. It feels like this black stuff, whatever it is, has some sort of mind? I'm really not sure how to explain it.”

  Gilbel nodded slowly. “Well then, I suppose that there's no need to think about it too much. Let's be on our way” He turned toward the northwest and began marching.

  Quinn eagerly followed, and the two of them set out to continue their journey. With such a power, they would have no problems traversing the lands of Hell. Gilbel had thought his tongue of persuasion enough to get them by, but now it made no difference.

  Any other pesky demons who they would encounter would no longer be much more than a nuisance. But there was still the chance that they would come across the Shadow, and that chance was even more amplified now.

  “So, you know nothing of what happened to me?” asked Quinn after a bout of silence. They had not traveled very far, and it would seem that the human's thoughts lingered on the events that had just transpired.

  That wasn't particularly surprising. How could a lone human—a human who had hardly an inkling of what he was doing—even comprehend a realm such as this without being well-versed with the knowledge of Hell from the most obscure and ancient, albeit still lacking, Ashkarian texts?

  “I really have no information that's useful for you,” Gilbel lied. “Everyone who I've ever seen fall into those dark depths has never come out.”

  “So I'm the only one who has ever done such a thing?” continued the human. There was a hint of pride in his voice. A hubris not uncommon in the mortal races of Ashkar. Gilbel chuckled to himself at the thought.

  How similar they are to us… Was it subconscious, or did we do it intentionally?

  “Gilbel?” Quinn asked, snapping the demon out of his thoughts.

  “Wha—? As far as I know, yes,” answered Gilbel hurriedly after realizing that he had not answered the human's question.

  Quinn smiled, the first time Gilbel saw the human do so since meeting him.

  _ _ _

  Kalic watched the battle unfolding before him with forlorn eyes. He continued to sit next to the dying, pale tree as steel flashed and blood spilled not too far away. The occasional sound of cracking thunder, whistling wind, and rumbling earth, among other elements, entered his ears. Siege weaponry, which were strategically placed at both ends of the opposing armies, launched heavy attacks from a long range and ushered in death and destruction where the attacks landed.

  While the sound of clashing was distant and muffled, it still shook Kalic to his core. It was not fear that touched him, for he had abandoned its cold grasp long ago. It was not disdain, or rage. He had shed such misguiding forces long ago.

  It was remorse. How many times had he seen such processions unfolding before him? He had lost count, or perhaps he had just stopped remembering. They were all the same, and they were always of the same pursuit no matter how different they appeared to be.

  Thousands had already died on this day, and there were still hundreds of thousands more lives to be lost before the war ended. It would only end when one side did not have anyone left to fight, Kalic knew that firsthand. All those lives—the potential of good will, warm memories, and bright dreams—burned to naught but ash.

  The breath of a dragon did not care how innocent or how tainted the soul was. It did not care if it was a child, a mother, a friend, or a foe. Flame expelled, and flesh scorched. And so, on this day, Kalic hoped that he did not have to end the potential of another. He sat far from the battle, but no matter how far he traveled it always found him again.

  He could not let Arcadia fall. Whereas some would protect their kingdom by the edge of a sharp sword, Kalic would do so by the bulwark of his shield. He just hoped that it would be enough, and if not…

  Kalic sighed. His gaze lifted upward and turned to the left where a host of armed soldiers on horseback were galloping his way. A few of them waved banners back-and-forth. On the banners was the Order of the Faith's emblem, and Kalic's heart sank. He turned to the right, noting that this fast-moving force was aiming to flank Arcadia's main body from the north. If they succeeded, then the rear would be exposed.

  Arcadia would suffer a deep blow if this attack was successful, and judging by the fact that the kingdom seemed to be having a tough time handling Liberty's forward charge, all that stood in between was Kalic. This force was not too large, most likely so that their attack had the lowest chance of being detected until it was too late.

  The man in red and gold stood up, his heavy plate clinking as he did so. He reached down, picking up his shield and slinging it on his back. His blade remained sheathed as he slowly began walking toward the rushing cavalry. They numbered in the dozens, with one person at the helm leading the charge. That perso
n must have been the one leading the attack, and that person was the one who Kalic set his eyes on.

  Kalic's slow walk turned into a sprint as he rushed straight for the leader, and when they were close enough so that he could see their surprised expressions at his stoic defiance, he pushed off the ground with his legs and tackled the soldier of rank onto the ground. Kalic immediately loosed his grip and rolled away as the two tumbled onto the patchy ground. The sound of hooves thudding the ground came and went as the horses galloped past the two armored knights, though were soon followed by whinnying as the riders tugged on reigns to turn around.

  “What in God's name?” asked the forcefully dismounted warrior as both of them stood to face each other. Under his helm, Kalic noted the features of a man who seemed to be in his forties. Perhaps then, Kalic's words would reach his ears. “Who are you? I don't recognize that armor. Are you an ally of Arcadia?”

  “Stay thy hand, brave Knight of the Faith,” Kalic said as he held out his hand. While his hands were still empty, the other armored warrior's gripped a sharp blade tightly. “I do not stand before thou to engage in combat. My name is Kalic. May I have thine?”

  The other warrior scratched his head and looked back. By now, his men had halted their charge and instead stood behind their leader. Much like him, they wore confused expressions.

  “Captain Hev, shall we continue our advance?” asked one of the men.

  “In a moment, private,” answered Captain Hev swiftly. He turned his attention to Kalic. “I don't quite understand your dialect. Are you an ally of Arcadia or not? Why did you attack me?”

  “Please, listen,” urged Kalic as he stepped forward. “Doth thou know why thou fights this war?”

  Looks of uncertainty appeared on the soldiers' faces as they looked at each other. Even the leader appeared hesitant, and Kalic knew that thoughts of doubt had entered their minds before about their actions today.

  “Arcadia has kept the Child of Light from us,” said the captain. “Liberty leads us to reclaim him. God has decreed it.”

  Kalic looked around at dozens of faces. Many of them were full of youth, at a point in their lives when the mind was easily persuaded. He knew, he had been there as well. He did not know how powerful their conviction to this war was, but it was clear that many of these people blindly followed this path.

  While he was not wholly familiar of the Order of the Faith's scripture, Kalic had walked Ashkar for long enough to understand many of its tenets despite living his early years under a different one in a land and time that was far away. At the same time, he knew that they were one and the same. They all were.

  “Did God's words fall upon thine ears specifically?” asked Kalic, not just to the captain, but to everyone.

  “Through Liberty the word of God is spoken,” claimed Captain Hev, and it was clear that he spoke for the others as well whether they wanted him to or not.

  Kalic continued to make his way over to the other man slowly. “And the doctrines? Do they agree with Liberty? Ask thyself if God would want this bloo—”

  He felt a sharp pain in his stomach as the captain's sharp blade pierced his armor. Crimson flowed from the chest plate onto the sword and down Kalic's faulds. To the captain's surprise, and the other soldiers' as well, Kalic did not keel from the supposedly grievous wound. In fact, he was not fazed in the slightest.

  Kalic looked down at his wound, shook his head, and sighed. He wrapped a hand over the blade and grunted in pain as he withdrew the sharp steel from his abdomen. As he did so, the captain stumbled backward in trepidation.

  “Demon…” muttered the captain. “Monster! Take down this fiend from Hell!” Immediately, several other soldiers came forth with weapons at the ready. They approached Kalic cautiously, and they were right to do so. One of them waved his hand in Kalic's direction and lobbed a fireball at him.

  Kalic brought up his hand and brushed it aside before it could reach his chest—not that it would have done much even if it had.

  Worried shouts and gasps rose from the collection of warriors, and several of them muttered incantations. Their weapons transformed from simple steel to elegant edges. Together, they lunged at Kalic. Dozens and dozens of foolish men sought his demise, but he did not brandish his own steel.

  Instead, Kalic lifted his hand once more and gestured for them to cease. “Please, listen to me. Thine lives may be spared, so that thou may pursue truly divine purpose.” It was all in vain. Weapons of all kinds pierced, smashed, and slashed Kalic's body. Several blades, half-buried in his flesh, protruded outward from many angles. And still, Kalic stood tall, like an indomitable mountain that could not—would not—crumble.

  No matter what they did, their attacks had no effect on Kalic other than to deepen his remorse. He looked upon their faces, outright terrified at his mere presence. He had yet to even reach for his sword and shield, nor had he made any aggressive actions except for knocking down the captain off his horse.

  They were terrified of a man standing before them who could not die. And so he was no longer a man, but a demon. A monster. A fiend. They were right.

  “Will thou not concede?” asked Kalic as he looked around.

  “Captain, what about the flank?” asked one of the soldiers again.

  The captain's shocked expression became resolute. “Take your weapons and mount, Knights of the Faith! Liberty requires our assistance, and he will smite down this demon through the light of God!” Immediately, dozens of bodies scrambled for their weapons then headed for the horses.

  Kalic could not allow it, no matter how heavy his heart. He unsheathed his blade and charged toward where the horses were congregated. In quick succession he ran his blade through those who he came across, and effectively blocked the path of anyone who sought to mount their horse.

  A handful were able to mount their steeds, while a few others fled into the trees on foot. The ones who did not stray, including Captain Hev, met an untimely end by Kalic's half-severed edge. Some still tried to fight back, but he was too quick, too strong, and too immortal for their futile attempts to impede him.

  One-by-one they were cut down, and he lamented each time his blade whistled through the air. It was not long before he was the only one left standing. Sometimes he wished for it to be the other way around.

  How much death must I deal to feel thine embrace, Vanessa? Can I even look upon thine eyes without shame anymore? Could I ever, after that night?

  By now, Kalic's blood had grown considerably hotter than it normally was—an occurrence that coincided with the regeneration of his wounds. He had never reached a point where he felt too hot, and he always wondered if there even was a threshold.

  Kalic’s eyes turned southward to where the battle still raged. The blood had already been shed, but he hoped that he would not have to shed any more. He placed a hand on the pale tree’s bark, but he withdrew it as soon as he realized what he had done.

  It was too late. Kalic looked to where his hand had been, discovering the smear of blood across the tree’s bark. His heart suddenly felt even heavier.

  _ _ _

  “What the hell were you thinking?!” blasted Graeme, though his mind was already on other thoughts. Namely, how to deal with a man who seemed to be immortal.

  Cad smiled faintly. “Isn't that… something that I'm usually… the one to say to you?” Cad’s breaths were quick and raspy, and he coughed several times before he could finish his sentence.

  The Grand Arcanist stood in one of the medical rooms set up inside Fort Bellford. Many had already been admitted, suffering injuries ranging from debilitating to fatal. Some had been maimed, others ran through the chest. Cad, on the other hand, was both missing an entire left arm and had suffered a fatal wound.

  No matter how hard Graeme wanted to deny it, he was witnessing Cad’s final moments.

  The leader of the Avanos sector had been rushed in and treated by the most senior of elementalists specializing in healing, but the only thing that could have bee
n done was delay Cad’s death; he had been admitted too late, losing too much blood on the way from the front lines to the fort.

  “So he is also impervious to close attacks?” Graeme continued after calming himself. They all knew that these were Cad’s last moments on Ashkar, and the priority now was figuring out how to deal with Liberty.

  Even so, it was rare for Graeme to become so perturbed. The death surrounding him made him more than uneasy. To see Cad in such shape, and to think that he had fallen so soon…

  They had survived two full-scale wars without the loss of any of the four leaders. Was Cad but the first to fall? In the pit of his stomach, Graeme had the fear that this war was already lost.

  Cad nodded weakly from his bed. He was propped up slightly, and wrapped heavily in gauze. Rarely did Graeme see him without armor, if ever.

  “If Ohrl'han does not find a way, then we will have to regroup and consider a strategy,” Graeme said.

  “There isn’t a way…” Cad began, but stopped and groaned in pain. “Your ranged attacks… could not reach, and neither could… my blade.”

  Graeme crossed his arms and furrowed brows. “Liberty must have some weakness.”

  Cad opened his mouth to speak but ended up coughing violently. One of the healers rushed to him to ensure that he was stabilized, then moved to continue the triage. “His blade countered… my attack. He made no advancement of… of his own until I was disabled. That's the key.”

  “Then I must find Wu,” Graeme stated as he rushed toward the exit of the tent. In the midst of brushing aside the flaps he turned back to Cad. “Goodbye, Cad.”

  “I’ve one last thing to say,” Cad said.

  Graeme nodded.

  “When you see my daughter… tell her that I’m sorry,” Cad said.

  “I will,” Graeme replied. He did not wait for a response, nor did he have to; Cad leaned back, a feeling of relief washing over his face. Even his coughing fits subsided as the burden was lifted. Graeme knew that the second that he left Cad’s presence, the leader of Avanos would breathe his last.

  And leave Graeme did, closing his eyes briefly and steeling himself before rushing across Fort Bellford to the gates. Officers, soldiers, and healers whizzed by in all directions. Those tasked with arming and firing the siege weapons rushed about while supplies of all kinds were brought in from the kingdom and redistributed. Some of the Order of the Faith's attacks reached this far back, and those that slipped through their elemental defenses shook the earth where the blasts landed. The Bellford Plains outside the fort were awash with body and blood, and its previously green fields were now charred or disturbed in many places. It truly was a battlefield.