The Keep

[Ghidoran]

The first thing the Magebane heard was the whistle of arrows through the air. Around him, several soldiers instinctively raised their shields for protection. Others were not so lucky, and cries of agony could be heard interspersed with the cries of the Legion’s warriors charging to battle. Ahead, the amassed forces of the Hellbourne stood, waiting. In an unprecedented move, the Legion were laying siege to a Hellbourne stronghold.

The Magebane thought that, only a few short months ago, such an attack would never have been sanctioned by Jeraziah. But their mighty King was dead, fallen in a battle that his own folly had engendered. Now only the grieving Ophelia was left to lead their armies.

The Magebane was not surprised at her decision to attack the Hellbourne Keep. Ophelia had always shown a grace and compassion that her brother had lacked, and her desire to risk a battle simply for the rescue of a single warrior of the Legion was not uncharacteristic. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that, with or without consent, the Magebane and perhaps a few others would have risked their lives to rescue that particular warrior.

His thoughts returned to the battle; the two sides had finally collapsed upon each other, thousands of humans, beasts, and demons fighting with a pent-up fury that they had not released in weeks. The Magebane thought, Anger fuels these warriors, anger at the enemy, at the war, at the need for the war.

He attacked effortlessly alongside his less impressive allies. Unlike them, he did not fight with rage: he had learned mastery over his emotions many years ago, for insanity had awaited him if he had failed. Neither did he fight out of a sense of duty to protect his home; the Magebane was an outlander among the Legion. No, a higher sense of purpose pushes me, he believed, though he had always failed when attempting to figure out exactly what that purpose was.

His magic and his double-bladed staff put down any demon that was unlucky enough to come across him. The Hellbourne mages cried in exasperation as their magicks refused to work in his presence. After dispatching dozens of Hellbourne warriors, a stronger threat faced him. A gargantuan demon, covered in menacing spikes, faced him, growling. The Magebane prepared to dispatch his newest foe; he raised his staff, then suddenly stopped.

A spectre seemed to appear a few metres away; it was ghostly, white, yet its identity was unmistakable. The mane of fur, the forked tail, the leonine gait, all reminded the Magebane of his old friend, the Night Hound, who had fallen in battle alongside their king. The Night Hound walked, slowly, across the battlefield, looking back at the Magebane once in a while.

The Magebane stared, stupefied, for several seconds. His foe wasted no time; roaring, the demon swung its muscular arm towards the Magebane, knocking him to the ground. The Magebane raised his throbbing head; the demon had drawn a colossal blade, raising it in the air in preparation for the killing blow. This would be a stupid death, thought the Magebane, yet he felt no fear nor any desire to stop the demon. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the ghost had vanished.
The demon never managed to strike; he found an arrow sprouting from his forehead mere seconds later. He stared at it, bemused. The Magebane got up and, with two swift strokes, gutted the demon.

He turned. Another old friend had come. It’s funny, the Magebane thought, how I think of them as old friends, yet I have known them less than a year.

A cloaked, lightly armored figure approached. “What in Sol’s name were you doing?” he asked the Magebane incredulously. The Magebane did not respond; he knew that his friend, the leader of the Scouts, was apt to be dramatic. “You’re lucky I was there to save your hide,” the Scout continued to mutter. “What’s the situation, anyway?”
The Magebane turned to survey the battlefield. The Legion’s soldiers had pushed quite far into the Hellbourne territory. “It appears we have the upper hand. The demons were not expecting an assault.”

A loud rumble suddenly erupted, and cries were heard from far off. The Scout cringed. “Seems you spoke too soon.” Through the issuing smoke, they could see a dark, shadowy figure lashing out at the Legion’s soldiers. Black, purplish energy seemed to erupt from him, cutting swathes through the warriors that were brave enough to face him. “Uh oh,” said the Scout. “I don’t know what that thing is, but its trouble.”

“Perhaps we should assist in its defeat,” suggest the Magebane.

The Scout shook his head. “We’re gonna have to let our boys take care of it for now. I need you to help me with something else.” The Scout pointed towards the Keep. “It’ll take us ages to get to that, at this rate, and who knows how many soldiers we’ll lose along the way? Listen. My Scouts have found a passage that they think will get us safely into the Keep. If it really can, then we can sneak in, rescue her, and leave quietly. After that, our soldiers can retreat, and we’ll have wasted little time and manpower. But I need you to help. I can’t take out whatever guards they’ll have by myself.”

The Magebane pondered the plan. He had noticed that the Legion relied quite heavily on subterfuge and craftiness to outmanoeuvre the Hellbourne. It was not his preferred style of conduct, but it had proven useful in the last few months.

“Alright,” he replied after some deliberation. “I will help you fight the demons off. Make sure her escape is your first priority.”

The Scout nodded, and led the way to the secret passage. The Legion’s soldiers were still pushed quite far, but they slowly retreated as the formidable demon continued to mow them down. The duo manoeuvred among the corpse-strewn battlefield, not pausing to assist the wounded men and beasts that cried out to them weakly; they could waste no time. The Magebane surmised the entrance to the secret passage even before the Scout had pointed it out; the distinct burrow sprouting from under an overhang was unmistakeable.

“How did your Scouts manage to find this passage?” asked the Magebane. “I would think that they wouldn’t have been able to get within five kilometres of the place.”

“Not sure,” his partner muttered. “But the information came from by best Scout, so maybe he held true to his status.”

The Magebane nodded, but unease crawled at his heart.

The passage was surprisingly short; it had looked to be several kilometres long, but it only took the pair a quarter of an hour to reach the end. The Scout crouched low, and motioned for the Magebane to do the same. They snuck through the exit, into what appeared to be the Keep’s basement.

There was no sign of any life; it seemed all the guards were either stationed in the upper floors, or were outside fighting the Legion. The two of them continued to sneak upstairs, passing through several floors. They were guided by a magical aura emanating from a locket that their target wore; the Legion’s Magi had fashioned them for several of the Legion’s most important members, and the Scout carried another magical device that tracked each unique signal.

They reached the floor, a little below the roof, where their target was located. To their utter surprise, this floor, too, was deserted. “This is wrong,” said the Magebane.

“There is reason for them to leave her completely unprotected.”He did not give speech to the darker possibility that had crossed his mind.

“Look, I’m nervous enough as it is,” the Scout said. “Let’s … let’s just get her out and leave quickly.”

They followed the signal to the end of a long corridor, passing through many barred rooms that appeared to be prison cells. As they progressed, the rooms appeared to get bigger and more furnished. All of them were empty.

They finally reached the end of the long hallway. Two giant cells rested on either side. One was empty; the other contained a solitary figure, who stood waiting. The figure was slender, clothed in relatively well crafted garments; her golden hair was not strewn, but looked as if it had been well cared for. The edges of her white, feathered wings could be seen behind her shoulders.

The Valkyrie stared at her visitors, but her expression was one of alarm, not relief. “You need to get out!” she whispered. “I think they set a trap. They-“

Her voice was cut off by a harsh, cackling laugh. The duo turned suddenly. Two figures had appeared on the other side of the hallway. One was a brutish, beastlike humanoid with brown skin and spikes sprouting from his body. He was the one laughing, revealing sharp teeth, and carried a large war axe.

The other figure was less bizarre, but far more frightening. His dark, grey skin was covered in gold and black armor, and in his hand he carried a huge, daemonic blade. His white beard flowed menacingly from under his dark, ruby eyes.

The Scout dropped the dagger he had drawn out of instinct. “K-k-king M-Maliken,” he stuttered.

The dark king laughed, and his lupine partner grinned. “Would your masters appreciate you calling me King, little Scout?” asked Maliken.

The Magebane wasted no time; he drew his staff, to the shock of the Scout, preparing for a fight.

“You think you can outmatch us, warrior?” roared the horned demon. “I alone can take on the two of you without breaking a sweat.”

The Magebane raised his weapon, as if he were preparing to strike. Then, in a swift motion, he swung his blade to the right. The Scout yelped and jumped backward, but the Magebane’s staff struck the bars of the Valkyrie’s cell and cut through them with ease. He swung again, lower, cut a hole through the barrier.

The horned demon growled. “Take care of them, will you?” said Maliken. The demon nodded and, raising his axe, charged.

The Magebane turned to face his foe. “Stop snivelling,” he ordered the Scout, “and fight. Remember why we’re here.” The Scout gulped, but nodded. Together, the two of them prepared to fight off the charging demon. The Valkyrie stood, waiting.

The Magebane met him head on, blocking his axe with his staff. The Scout manoeuvred around to strike at the demon’s back. It turned with unexpected speed and knocked him back, at the same time pushing the Magebane away.

“Fools,” he said. “I am the War Beast the captain of the Hellbourne army. Even your pathetic King, were you alive, could not match me.”

The insult at Jeraziah seemed to enrage the Scout. Roaring, he slammed into the War Beast, knocking him into Magebane’s strike. The War Beast fell to the ground, growling, but before he could get up an explosion rocked the tower, blasting a hole in the wall.

The entire battlefield was visible to them. It seemed a stray magical spell had caused the blast. The Valkyrie wasted no time. She ran forward leapt through the hole; for a second it seemed as if she would fall crashing down to the ground, but her wings unfurled in mid air and she glided down to safety. She ran, consumed with an inexplicable desire to escape.

“Bah!” cried Maliken, and jumped down as well. He hit the ground, unshaken, and ran after the Valkyrie.

“Stop him!” cried the Magebane. He was struggling with the War Beast. “I’ll hold this demon off. Stop Maliken!”

The Scout gulped; he could never match the dark king’s speed. Instead, he drew his crossbow, the same one with which he had felled the Hellbringer. He hoped the same strength would allow him to stop Maliken.

He strung his crossbow. One shot. He raised his crossbow. One kill.

He drew, aimed – and fired.