Stone Rising (29 page)

Behind them, the whining of the three overloading cannons within the structure rose to a piercing crescendo that threatened to burst the eardrums.

The final, posthumous vengeance of the victims of the Iron Centaur.

Detonation. A blinding flash of gold that scoured the eyeballs, despite the fact that they were facing away from the source. Then a shockwave. Like the hand of an invisible giant, it picked them up, hurling them forwards like autumn leaves in a gale, before gravity caught up and slammed them hard into the ground.

Moments passed, though it could have been minutes, for who could tell through the haze of semi-consciousness. Was he alive? Was he dead? Marlyn smiled; the fact he could even think the question was its own answer. He tried to rise, wincing as pain flared through his side. He looked down; some of his armour plate had buckled upon impact, digging painfully into his ribs. Gingerly, he turned, till the metal no longer impeded him and he could rise to his knees.

Smoke, dust, though less than he would have expected. The shockwave had no doubt carried a lot of the fallout with it, out into the sea. All about him, scattered on the grass that had cushioned their fall, the other Tuladors stirred, rolling, laying on their backs, slowly rising and checking themselves for injuries.

Arbistrath was already on his feet. He was looking at Marlyn. His mouth was moving, but no words were coming out. Marlyn frowned, but then laughed; words were indeed coming out of his leader’s mouth, but he couldn’t hear them. Couldn’t hear anything, the ringing of the blast still loud in his ears. Instead, he allowed his eyes to follow Arbistrath’s pointing finger.

Where once the titanic statue, the watchful guardian, the copper and steel testament to man’s ingenuity and artistry had stood, there was now empty space, the stonework of the base glowing with fiery heat in the aftermath of the explosion.

A surge of joy in his breast that took his breath away, leaving tears to sting his eyes, as he glanced to the huge pile of twisted wreckage that had fallen at the front of the structure. There, laying trapped and impaled, amidst hundreds of tons of glowing copper and steel, the prone form of the Beast. It stirred weakly, growling in thunderous yet faltering tones as its form began to smoke and smoulder, its earthly body beginning to lose its coherence at the extent of its wounds.

“We’ve done it…” Reno was by his side now, his scorched face alight with the same joy that Marlyn himself felt. “We’ve only gone and done it!”

Marlyn clapped his fellow guardsman on his shoulder, the ringing of metal on metal as gauntlet met epaulet. But then he saw his leader, walking slowly forwards, face serious as his eyes scanned the scene of destruction.

At last, it clicked.

“The Three…”

A tide of sorrow passed through the ranks of the Tulador Guard now, as they staggered forwards, gazing deep into the smouldering mass of statue and demon that lay before them. Nothing that had been beneath that impact could have survived.

Nothing.

“Turn around, you fools…”

It was the stoic voice of the Farmer.

Startled, the guardsmen spun as one on the spot. There, behind them, three wet and bedraggled figures climbed wearily up the steps that led from the water at the edge of the island. Gasps of delight and astonishment and Marlyn’s face broke into a huge beaming grin as he took in the sight.

The Three were in a bad way, each of them a mess of bruises and blood. Following his words, Elerik coughed, a thin dribble of blood that trailed from his mouth speaking of great injury within. Naresh held one hand away from his side, lest he bump it by mistake, his hand crushed and mangled, fingers at unnatural angles. And Narlen bled copiously upon the grass as he walked, lifeblood trickling from a hundred cuts that shredded the skin of his torso.

And yet, despite all this, they lived. That was all that mattered.

They
all
lived.

The Plainsman approached him, face pale from loss of blood, yet noble, proud.

“You could have warned us, Marlyn,” the youth berated him. “A little bang, you said.”

The Tulador Guard went to open his mouth, to retort, then stopped himself, smiling, as he saw the humour in the other man’s eyes. As guardsmen and the Woodsman’s Three began to chat, began to mill and sit down upon the grass, eyes still taking in the scene of destruction that lay
sprawled before them, a sudden surge of relief passed through Marlyn, bringing with it a wave of weariness.

He sat down upon the grass, relishing the coolness of the blades between his fingers. He smiled. This world had been through a lot. Yet even now it still strove to grow. He set his cannon down by his side on the moist earth, then lay back, resting. The weak sun shone as best it could through the clouds and for a moment he forgot the violence of but moments before. Forced from his senses the acrid smell of burning metal and stone. Instead, allowing himself the simple pleasure of feeling the sun’s rays on his skin.

A shadow over him, then the feeling of someone sitting beside him. Wearily, he opened his eyes and looked to his side.

It was Arbistrath. Marlyn looked upon his lord, noting the same tiredness in his features as he felt himself. Yet also the same look of hopeful relief. The same look that said, yes, this might be it.

Things might be getting better from here on out.

“Do you think it’s over?” he asked his leader. “Do you think we’ve finally done enough?”

Arbistrath turned his head, looking down upon his loyal soldier, eyes glistening in the weak sunlight as he opened his mouth to reply.

Behind them, a great splash in the water of the bay, as though a depth charge had gone off below the surface.

Then a shadow fell over them all.

***

Asmodeus landed hard, feet gouging a deep crater in the earth with the fury of his fall as mortals scattered in all directions like so much chaff. He rose, slowly, painfully. One of his horns was chipped at the end. Here and there, great gashes in his black muscled form, from supersonic shrapnel that had clipped him. His skin still smouldered from the flash of superheated radiation. The trick of his enemy had been an impressive one; the power unleashed, devastating, his minion crushed and sent back to its hellish slumber by the blast. He, himself, had only lived, thanks to the shockwave blasting him clean from the island and out of the path of the falling Beast.

             
Yet live he did. And his foes would soon learn to regret that fact.

             
The Woodsman’s Three were the first to recover from the shock of his landing, launching to the attack. Yet the weapons that had channelled their might had been scattered and a blur of black-taloned fists sent the mortal champions flying in different directions.

             
The Baron paused, for an instant, to consider his course of action. He was weakened by the explosion; the onslaught of stored shamanic power having overridden the infernal runes of warding tattooed deep into his flesh, scorching and melting his armour of dark brass and iron. The cannons which the Tuladors carried might now harm him. Might even destroy his corporeal form, hurling him back beyond the veil till he could gather the energy to recover.

             
No, he would have to act fast if his vengeance was not to be denied.

             
Gleaming red eyes scanned the crowd before him that moved, as if in slow motion, in reaction to his threat. He grinned, lips drawing back to reveal black, sharp fangs, streaked with burning, ethereal blood.

             
Yes, there he was; the architect of this disaster. The one that had cost Asmodeus this victory.

             
Arbistrath rose up, bravely, before the infernal creature, but a mighty backhand sent the human lord skidding across the grass, unconscious. The demon spared him but a single glance, for it was not the human leader that he was after.

             
The Tulador, the mortal youth named Marlyn, lay upon the grass, eyes wide in fear at the terrible apparition before him. The Baron scrutinised the man-child. How could such a pathetic creature have cost him so dear? If only he had destroyed him within the Gift Shop, crushing him to paste with a single lightning blow, rather than playing games.

             
Never mind. He would have his vengeance now.

             
The human reached for the weapon by his side, raising the cannon, finger tightening on the trigger, but to the demon’s supernatural speed, the movement was languid, slow, as though the youth moved through treacle.

             
With a thought, his axe of dark flame erupted to hand. A single sweep, faster than the human eye could follow, and the threat was ended; the mortal youth’s eyes widening now, in horror, pain and disbelief, as his arm detached itself at the elbow with the smell of scorched meat. It flew away through the air on a trail of blood and sinew, cannon still clasped in his hand, even as it landed ten feet away.

             
As the pitiful creature screamed in agony, gazing down in shock at the burning remnants of his arm below the shoulder, the Baron smiled. Behind him, he could hear the whining surge as multiple Tulador cannons began to power up. They would end him, he knew, casting him from this plain. He was too weary, too weak to withstand such concentrated power at such close range.

             
But it mattered not; he would have had his revenge.

             
Snarling his rage, he raised his axe, ready to end this mortal’s suffering with a single, inevitable, blow.

***

The Baron staggered, blinking away the blinding whiteness that had flooded the world about him. On his tongue, a strange, metallic taste, like tin. Finally, after long moments, the whiteness began to fade away, till his eyes could at last see the world about him.

             
Directly before him, a mountain rose up; huge, majestic, its angular flanks of stone grey rising near vertical to dizzying heights. Hearing the gentle caw of birds, he turned. A valley of grassy plains as far as his red eyes could see, fields lit gold by the rising sun on the horizon. Down through the middle of the plains, a winding river gently snaked its way across, glittering serenely in the morning light. The beautiful landscape bustled with tiny dots of life; families of rabbits; herds of deer; lazing crocodiles sunning themselves on rocks by the bank of the river.

             
And, to his demonic senses, the world reeked of invisible life, too; the spirits of the elements, the spawn of the Avatars. This was a world that thronged with life of all kinds.

             
Yet something didn’t sit right. There was something…
familiar
about this place. He had been here before, he was sure. Yet the last time he had been here, there had been no tall, rustling grass; no gambolling deer or calling birds in the heavens.

             
There had been only flame. There had been only death.

             
Yes, he had been here before. Of that, he was sure.

             
Frowning now in confusion and slowly mounting rage, the demon lord turned his head, looking this way and that, searching for answers. Why was he here? How did he get here?

There, a little way off; a small copse of trees, by the river, a trail of smoke rising up. He made his way towards it, great strides bringing him near in short order.  As he drew closer, he could smell the rich and gamey aroma of roasting meat.

He brushed his way past the green trees that barred his way, juicy fruits and olives dangling from their branches, making his way for the small clearing. As he passed the last tree, a scene before him; a campfire, across which was a spit, three rabbits cooking there and next to the fire, a human youth, sitting, clad in furs and leather, tending it. Beside him, a hunting bow and a small hide quiver of arrows. On his lips, a long, curved pipe, from which the aromatic smell of scented tobaccos drifted out in long, lazy curls of smoke.

             
The human closed his eyes in pleasure as he exhaled the blend, then opened them, glistening green orbs that caused the Baron to shudder, almost in recognition, before the youth noticed the demon, smiling, and gesturing for him to take a seat by the fire.

             
The Baron merely took a thunderous step forward, his confusion threatening to overspill into anger at any moment as he examined the puny mortal before him. The youth was lean, athletic, with a full head of thick, brown hair that came down past his shoulders. His skin was tanned from the summer sun, yet not olive-skinned, not like those in Asmodeus’ memory that should live in a place such as this.

             
The boy reached to the fire, carefully tugging free a leg from one of the rabbits that cooked there, biting into it with great relish.

             
“Where am I?” the demon growled, his voice rumbling, unnatural, not suited to a peaceful place such as this. “And what am I doing here?”

             
The youth smiled up at him as he chewed, green eyes amused, not answering till he had swallowed the meat.

             
“This is my home, friend,” he answered, no trace of fear in his voice at the sight of the beast before him. “These are the Plains of my people,” he gestured with the rabbit leg through the trees. “And that is the Yow.”

             
The Yow? The demon’s brow furrowed. No, impossible. He had seen this land burn, seen that river run red with blood then dry up to nothing in the heat. This was some kind of trick. Some kind of hallucination. An aftereffect, maybe, of his destruction at the hands of the massed Tulador Cannon.

             
“You lie, man-child,” the demon spat, taking another threatening step forwards. “Tell me the truth or I shall crush you like the insect you are.”

             
The youth merely continued smiling, then took another rabbit leg from the spit, offering it out to the demon.

             
“Sit. Eat. And we shall discuss the nature of this ‘truth.’”

             
A sweep, an axe of flame carving a horizontal trail of smoke, and the human was left with only half a rabbit leg now, the other half incinerated by the pass. The youth raised an eyebrow, the look of mild amusement never leaving his lips, then shrugged.

             
“Stand, sit, eat, go hungry; your choice.” He discarded the ruined rabbit leg, throwing it into the blaze, before taking another bite from his own. “Tell me,” he asked the demon through a mouthful of meat, “if you think I lie, then where do you think we are?”

             
The demon gazed about, red-eyes squinting in the bright sun, as though unused to such vibrant and life-giving light.

             
“It looks like the Plains north of Merethia, on a far-flung world within the galaxy known to man as the Small Magellanic Cloud. Yet it isn’t.”

             
“Aye? Why so?”

             
The demon narrowed his eyes.

             
“Because I watched this world burn with my very own eyes,” he rumbled. “We waited a hundred years after our defeat, cultivating the sheep-like population of this world until the time came that we could use the Portal again. Then we sacrificed the entire life of this world, reaping their souls and using the life-force to open the bridge between worlds. These are facts. This land all about me now,” he snarled, “is nothing more than an illusion.”

             
The youth smiled, and something in those green eyes caused the Baron to shiver.

             
“What if I told you,” the human stated, slowly, clearly, “that none of that ever happened?”

             
The demon shivered again. There was something in that voice that spoke of confidence, of hidden knowledge. A sureness in those amused eyes that caused the Baron to begin doubting himself.

             
“Then I would call you either a liar or a madman,” he snarled. “And I have no patience for either.”

             
His mighty, muscled arm swung, bringing his axe of dark flame down in a smoking arc to split this impudent youth in twain. But the lad’s free hand shot up, catching the ethereal blade twixt finger and thumb. And there it was held, the sorcerous flames stuttering and halting, wedged fast and immovable.

             
The Baron’s mouth opened and closed in astonishment, even as the youth took another slow and savouring bite from the leg of meat.

             
“H… how?” Stuttered the demon, his mind reeling, already knowing the answers to his questions, even as he voiced them. “What are you?”

             
The human youth continued his speech, as if the demon had never spoken, had never attacked.

             
“And what if I told you,” he asked the Baron, as a deep rumbling, subtle yet building, began to move the very earth all around them, “that that was no mountain behind you…?”

             
Red eyes widened in fear, the flames of the infernal axe fading out of existence in a puff of smoke as the Baron stumbled backwards away from the youth. Slowly, reluctantly, yet inevitably, irresistibly, Asmodeus turned, gazing upwards above the trees to the mountain behind him.

             
It loomed, higher now even than before and he could see now that it was standing atop clawed legs the size of cathedral spires. Six huge, bat-like wings spread out from its back at angles, blocking out the bright sun and casting a shadow across the land. From a long, reptilian neck, the stone-grey dragon stared down at him with blue eyes, glowing with an immeasurable power and an ancient knowledge that far surpassed even his own.

             
Where there once should have been a collar of dark iron and bronze about its neck, forged by Those Beyond the Veil themselves to limit the dragon’s power and bring its indomitable will under their control, there was none…

             
The mighty Baron of Hell stumbled backwards in shock at the sight, shaking his horned head in disbelief.

             
“You… you haven’t a clue what kind of power you’ve unleashed.”

“Oh, but I do, Baron.”
             

             
The demon lord turned, knowing already what he was about to see. Where the youth had been sitting, there now stood a titan of a man, in gleaming white robes that swathed rippling limbs and a lean, chiselled torso. By his feet, where once had lain his bow and arrows, now rested two heavy shards of crystal, sharp points embedded in the earth, ornate handles sticking into the air.

             
“Stone…”