25th Day of Goodmonth, 565 CY
Far side of the Aerie Lake, The Pomarj
Darkness spilled forth from Blackthorn.
Nesco gasped as the very air around the ogre mage went cold and faint. She could feel as much as see everything around her growing dimmer and dimmer.
Like a candle about to die.
But the ranger of the Azure Order didn't wait for it.
Even as the indistinct shape that was the giant oni swung its great spear, now a shaft of near-blackness, down towards Yanigasawa Tojo's supine form, Nesco swung her sword horizontally in an intercept arc. The two weapons met, and the spear's trajectory was altered just enough so that the end slammed into the bloody grass just inches from the samurai's head.
Nesco, still crouched down by Tojo, stared up at the giant's head, where two ragged circles of blackness marked the place where Blackthorn's eyes were gazing back down at her. She could hear the ogre mage's ragged breathing- as heavy as her own- and still just make out wisps of steam coming the oni's open mouth.
And then Nesco Cynewine took as deep a breath as she possibly could and shouted out at him with all of her might.
"Oni wa sato!"
For a moment, there was no speech from anyone. Nesco's pounding heart eclipsed even her own continued heavy breathing until she thought her eardrums must break from the noise. From beyond, somewhere beyond the darkness that spread out from the monster twenty feet in all directions, there were shouts. There were screams.
The two stared at each other. Ogre and human.
And then Blackthorn threw back his head and roared with laughter.
"What is this?" the creature shouted, his torso actually trembling on his trunk from his merriment. "Oni begone? You would scare me off by shouting at me, Lady Cynewine, as if I were a blight upon your harvest or a curse upon your village?"
Blackthorn choked up, momentarily unable to continue. The ogre mage's free hand clutched his stomach to keep from literally doubling over in laughter.
Beneath him, Nesco just stared at him.
Nesco felt disappointment. She had hoped against hope that those three words might constitute some kind of powerful Nipponese charm.
Nesco felt embarrassment. She had indeed been reduced to shouting at her foe because she could not hurt him otherwise.
And worse of all, Nesco Cynewine felt betrayed. She had given Tojo those few precious seconds to explain himself- explain the mystery; this riddle that inexplicably seemed to hold to her the secret of their very survival. A way to drive off, or even kill, the ogre mage warrior that called himself Blackthorn.
But he had given her nothing. Nothing she could understand.
You must speak mine.
She glanced back at Tojo, but the samurai still lay on his back, as mortally wounded as he had been before. His eyes were closed, and his head hung limply to one side. His skin that was not covered in dark blood was so ghastly white that it almost seemed to emit a faint glow, even within Blackthorn's darkness. His breathing was ragged, shallow and fading. The spear which had impaled him lay beside him, the wooden shaft and metal point both drenched in dark blood.
Blackthorn's voice snapped Nesco back to her horrible reality.
"And now Lady Cynewine," the oni announced as he spun his greatspear in a circle, rapidly passing it from one hand to the other, "if you are quite finished relying on childish rituals…"
The large spear came flying down and forward.
"Say goodbye to hope!"
Nesco jumped up to her feet and backwards at the same time, so that the attacking greatspear slammed into the earth in front of her.
The ranger backed off. She swung her sword occasionally, but it was difficult enough darting within the ogre mage's massive reach and Blackthorn's magical darkness was making him hard enough to even see, let alone to strike a telling blow.
She was able to see however, that the wounds she had inflicted earlier on the oni; on his right thigh, his right arm, his stomach.
They were no longer bothering him.
He was forcing her backwards now. Away from any possible protection her friends might be able to offer her.
Even if any of them were still alive.
They passed close by Arwald, where the fighter still lay on the ground, blood still seeping from his chest. He wasn't dead- yet. Nesco could see him slowly writhing on the grass, knees bent inward in an almost fetal position, trying to staunch the wound with hands barely weak enough to still move.
Nesco desperately hoped Arwald would at least survive until the end of the battle, when she or someone else might stabilize him. Then she realized that even that hope was dependent on her side prevailing in the battle.
And that didn't look like it was going to happen.
Again and again she leapt out of the way of Blackthorn's spear. Again and again her attempts at a counterattack were thwarted by the difficulty of ducking under the ogre mage's weapon and landing a telling blow. Further and further he forced her back. It was too dark; she was too tired; she was hurting too badly to continue; she knew that at any moment-
Nesco looked up. The darkness had gone, and it was evident by the shocked look on Blackthorn's face that it had not been of his doing.
The oni swiveled his head, staring about.
"Well, well," he rumbled. "One of your mages apparently still survives, Lady Cynewine, even if he chooses to hide himself."
Blackthorn seemed to peer for another moment, not back towards the Water Dragon, but towards the forest, some fifty feet away from this point. Then he turned his massive head back towards Nesco, but his eyes did not light upon her. The creature instead stared over her head, back towards the area where their boat had run aground near the shore.
"And who is this who approaches, Lady Cynewine? Armed and armored; no mage, surely. Apparently, you have no shortage of suicidal companions."
Nesco turned to look. Her head had only completed half the turn before she realized her mistake.
The shaft of Blackthorn's spear passed from the very periphery of the ranger's vision to inches from her eyes in less than an instant. She was not able to block or parry in time. Only an instinctive jerking of her head back and to the right saved her. As it was, the spear's point drew a long gash alongside Nesco's left cheek.
Her face seemed to explode in agony and setting her lungs to scream merely re-triggered the pain in her chest from the ogre mage's earlier attack. Nesco could not stand the pain. She staggered backwards and bent double, her sword dropping from her hand.
The ranger took a few steps in a clumsy, sideways fashion to her right. Bright lights exploded intermittently in front of her face, and what little she could still make out of the outside world through the lights and the blood and the hurt spun around in a terrible, dizzying arc.
Nesco tripped and went down.
This was it. She knew it was over. Knew Blackthorn was still with her, no doubt readying his death stroke. She, a member of the famed Azure Order of Furyondy, had fallen for a beginner's trick, a simple diversion. There was no one approaching. No unseen savior.
She, Nesco Cynewine, had been not only beaten, but outsmarted by an ogre.
And that ogre would taunt her until the last moment of her life.
"Poor Lady Cynewine," Blackthorn crooned, the oni's deep voice surprisingly smooth as the creature bent over Nesco.
"Don't berate yourself so," she heard him say. "You had no chance of defeating me, even had you all been healthy and fully equipped. It is true there was one individual who might have triumphed over me, but sadly, that one is no longer among us."
Blackthorn broke into a chuckle, which quickly became a deep belly laugh.
Nesco looked up. Through the blood and the twilight she could just make out the large mass above her. She tried again to stand, but her muscles no longer wanted to listen to her mind.
The ogre mage continued to laugh, but he was now once again bringing his spear into attack position.
"And do you know what is the greatest irony of all, Lady Cynewine?" Blackthorn jeered. "You simply must know before you die, for it is so wonderful as to be simply delicious!"
The great head came closer. Tears of pain welled from Nesco's eyes. She was still trying to stand but could only make it to her knees. Her body was going to split open from the agony. She was going to die from the pain before Blackthorn even struck her again. The world was starting to spin again.
"The most beautiful thing of all," Blackthorn continued, "is that the one person who ever had a chance of slaying me has been dead for months, but I never killed him!"
The ogre mage's free hand shot out to point somewhere behind him.
"HE DID!"
The oni's roaring laughter filled Nesco's ears. She couldn't hear anything else, couldn't see anything clearly. Blackthorn's outstretched arm was only a blurry line as it pointed towards a dark shape lying motionless on the ground some forty feet or so away.
Was it Arwald? No, he was only about half that far off, and slightly to the left. It was…
It was Tojo.
Something clicked in Nesco Cynewine's brain.
And then something else. And then again, and again. Like one stone triggering an avalanche, thoughts, concepts and ideas poured into Nesco's mind so fast she couldn't examine them. It was almost like when she had been born again.
Tojo. Samurai. Weapons. Daisho. Oni wa sato. Speak my language. Stockade. Honor. Aslan. Fly. Spying. Hearing. Markessa. Not trusting Blackthorn. For samurai only. Die with honor. Tojo bending down. Listening. Listening. Icar...
And Nesco Cynewine finally, finally, got it.
But then the death stroke came down.
Nesco screamed and fell back onto the grass. She was dead. Too late, she had been too late.
But the spear never reached her.
With a cracking sound, the wooden shaft of the greatspear bent around in a circle even as the weapon descended towards Nesco.
Nesco stopped screaming. Blackthorn stopped his mingled laughs and roars of triumph.
Both of them stared at the ogre mage's weapon.
It wasn't cracked or splintered in any way. The spear had stopped warping and now looked as if it had simply been fashioned that way, curving around with its metal shaft pointing almost straight back at Blackthorn.
The oni whipped his head around to stare back at the forest.
"You!" he bellowed! "I see you!"
Nesco couldn't see anyone, but then she heard footsteps; the footfalls of someone running. The sound came not from the forest, but from behind her. Blackthorn turned back just as a dark blur sped right by Nesco and with a yell launched itself directly at the ogre mage, forcing it back.
It was several seconds before Nesco could regain her knees. Still gritting her teeth against the searing pain, the ranger finally managed to peek between her eyelids that wanted so desperately to close from the agony of the wounds still threatening to overwhelm her.
His shouts as loud as those of the much larger Blackthorn, Sir Selzen Murtano, Knight of the Azure Order, was attacking the ogre mage with his sword as fast and as hard as he possibly could, with little regard for any kind of defense. The oni tried to counterattack, but his greatspear was useless now and with a roar of frustration he threw it away.
Selzen continued to slowly force Blackthorn back. His sword stabbed again and again into the ogre mage's chain shirt. Some of his thrusts, slashes and lunges drew blood, but Nesco knew it wouldn't be enough- not against the oni's ability to regenerate. She could see Blackthorn angle his retreat slightly, and she knew he was heading back towards where Arwald- and more importantly, his sword- still lay on the ground.
Her legs shaking so badly she couldn't believe she'd last more than a minute on them, Nesco regained her footing, although she still swayed dangerously. What she had to do seemed impossible. In fact, it probably was. She'd never be able to accomplish it.
But Lady Cynewine found that she had already taken one step forward.
She decided that she might as well take a few more.
For the first time since this battle had begun, Blackthorn was angry.
He wasn't afraid, though. There was no reason for fear. What he had told the Cynewine woman was quite true. He had no reason to dread these pitiful humans, all wounded to death or close. His ability to heal his wounds would protect him long enough for him to finish them off.
Blackthorn no longer had cause for any real concern. He had not now for months and doubted he ever would again.
The ogre mage had little idea how the rest of the battle was going, but that did not overly concern him. If the surviving Slave Lords had thrashed their opponents soundly, which he considered the most likely possibility, then Blackthorn would in all likelihood stay with them, at least for a while. He was sure to be promoted back to a high position after this was all over and the Nine had reestablished themselves somewhere else; at Highport, most likely.
But for now, Blackthorn would be here to take full advantage of the post-battle situation. He would demand the choicest magic items and treasure from the chest containing the possessions of the Furyondans, and no one would be in any shape to refuse him.
Of course, if the Slave Lords had been so weakened by their victory over these pathetic do-gooders that Blackthorn no longer deemed them worthy employers, why then he might wind up with a very large pile of corpses to sift through indeed before he set off on his own.
There might even be time for a quick meal first.
And if the Furyondans somehow managed to triumph? Even that unlikely scenario was no cause for alarm. While Blackthorn would not be able to assume his gaseous form until tomorrow, he could still fly and become invisible at will. He could not be caught. Not without powerful magic that he knew no one here currently possessed.
He saw Arwald's sword by his foot now. He snatched it up even as his opponent's sword took the opportunity of his lowered posture to jab itself into his right shoulder.
Blackthorn roared with pain and then turned back to face his attacker. While this sword was smaller than idea for his current size, Blackthorn was skilled at fighting in his polymorphed form as well as his own, so he had no trouble wielding the weapon. Now armed on a par with his foe, the oni eyed him as he attempted to regain the initiative.
It was then that he noticed the "9" symbol on the front of the man's chainmail. He'd seen this man before, although he couldn't remember his name.
"Traitor!" Blackthorn bellowed.
The man forced a grim smile. "Can't trust anyone these days," he muttered before resuming the attack.
Their swords clashed. Blackthorn shifted to a defensive posture. He could already feel his wounds closing up, and once they had, he would launch into a counterattack that would slay this annoying human once and for all.
To Blackthorn's curiosity however, his opponent did not attempt to keep inflicting injury and instead sidled around to Blackthorn's right, forcing the oni to turn to the right as well in order to keep him in front. The ogre mage could have maneuvered himself to the left, but he saw no reason to. In fact, Blackthorn had now turned completely around and was now facing back towards the Water Dragon and the battle raging on and near the ship.
He actually found this a tactically better situation. There was no one behind him now except Lady Cynewine.
And she had already proven herself to be of no consequence at all.
Blackthorn went on the offensive. Now it was his weapon that penetrated chain links; once, and then again. The Slave Lord lieutenant began to give ground, and Blackthorn kept up, using his superior size to best advantage now, attacking his quarry while still keeping the human out of his attacking range.
There was a sudden scrabbling by Blackthorn's left hip.
Catching just a glimpse of the top of Lady Cynewine's head out of the corner of his eye, the ogre mage swung his left hand, now clutched into a fist, directly at it. At the same instant, the human fighter lunged forward, but Blackthorn had been prepared for exactly that. He knew Nesco was simply making a feeble attempt to distract him.
An attempt that had not worked.
The oni felt a satisfying crack and knew that he had broken Nesco's nose. He felt rather than saw the human female fall away from his side even as the ogre mage's sword parried the male's attack. Concentrating all his attention on the fighter now, Blackthorn attacked again and again. More and more of the oni's slashes drew blood.
Then Blackthorn feinted to the left, and the human fell for it. As fast as he could, the ogre mage sliced his sword through the air, curving underneath and coming back from his opponent's left side. His sword dug deeply into the man's sword arm.
The man cried out in pain and dropped his weapon. He staggered back, but Blackthorn was already on him, his own sword- made of metal and impervious to warping- coming down in an arc that the oni knew no spell could disrupt.
He had won.
He had won!
He roared in triumph.
"ONI WA SATO!"
And then the worst pain Blackthorn had ever experienced in his entire life erupted in his side.
Wide-eyed, the ogre mage spun around and gaped.
What he saw was impossible.
It couldn't be true. Not the Cynewine woman. It couldn't have been her. She couldn't have, she couldn't have-
"It can't be," Blackthorn whispered, The oni's eyes traveled down to his left side, but his mind still refused to accept what they were telling him.
What he saw was a bloody wound. A wound that Blackthorn knew instinctively would not heal.
But it was what he did not see that confirmed that this nightmare was real.
"It can't be," the ogre mage repeated, but his head turned again; involuntarily, it seemed, to look over at the still supine form of the Yanigasawa samurai, now only about ten feet away from his current position.
By the time his black eyes locked with the samurai's violet ones, they were already on him.
"It be," Tojo said simply. "It be."
Fear swelled up in the oni's breast. Within seconds, it had exploded into a white-hot terror.
He turned away from Nesco Cynewine, who was now charging at him.
Even as the unfamiliar feeling of panic surged through him, Blackthorn tried to clamp down on it. He would flee. That was certain. She still couldn't catch him. No one could catch him.
Blackthorn turned invisible and leapt into the air.
There was a loud bang and a rippling in the air came up from behind Blackthorn and overtook him.
Blackthorn watched in disbelief as his form shimmered back into visibility.
This can't be! His mind screamed at him yet again. How did he know? How did the samurai know?
Still, he was in the air, if only slightly, and starting to pull up and away. He had Nesco in his sights now. She would pull off no more surprises.
Someone grabbed Blackthorn's right foot.
He looked down and gasped. The Slave Lord lieutenant he had just been fighting had grabbed hold and was hanging on.
Blackthorn snarled at him. The fool! He'd just fly over the lake and peel him off there. He'd make a nice snack for the lacedons.
Then he felt another weight on his foot, and once again could no longer believe what he was seeing. It was as if his entire world had turned upside-down in the last thirty seconds.
Another man was hanging onto the first man's waist. This man carried no weapons and wore no armor; in fact, he was clad in the sopping wet simple garments of a Suderham citizen. Even as he began to pull away, it took a moment for Blackthorn to realize that this was exactly who it was; one of the wretched specimens of humanity that the Furyondans had wasted time saving from the waters of the lake.
Then a woman grabbed hold of the man, and another man grabbed hold of her.
Like a great worm, all the people that Elrohir and his friends had saved were now piling on, forming a human chain.
It was then that Blackthorn noticed he was slowing down.
He wasn't gaining any more altitude.
There were too many of them.
"Get off!" he screamed at them. "Get off!"
There had to be a dozen people hanging off of him now. Blackthorn felt himself dropping back towards the ground.
He wasn't finished yet. Not by a long shot. The oni, always cautious, still carried his greatest weapon in reserve. He wouldn't need it for these vermin, however. He could break each one of them in half with no effort at all. In mid-air, he twisted around and his long, muscular arm reached out to grab the man hanging onto his ankle.
Flame exploded in Blackthorn's eyes.
The ogre mage screamed. Fire burned him as it did any humanoid. He could not heal from it. The pain was as much from surprise as from any physical injury. He rubbed his eyes clear, wincing at the small patch of seared flesh around his brow.
Another flame slammed into him, but this dissipated upon impact without harming the oni.
Blackthorn looked back towards the forest. His keen eyes showed him a sight that for once, was exactly what he had expected to see.
The man who had ruined his spear stood there, walking forward from the very edge of the forest, conjuring small flames in the palm of his hand and then flinging them at Blackthorn. Unlike the first, these either missed the ogre mage entirely or failed to penetrate his spell resistance.
Then Blackthorn saw he was about to hit the ground.
A guttural snarl of rage erupted from his throat. He'd use his last weapon. Then, there would be no one to stop him escaping.
"Run! All of you, run! We'll take him!"
A human voice. Familiar.
Blackthorn crashed to the ground on his side, like a wounded bird trying to fly on one wing. The wretched refuse of Suderham natives were already fleeing, except for the traitorous lieutenant.
But now others were arriving on the scene. The paladin- it had been he who shouted. Others in armor. It seemed as if half a dozen of the Furyondans converged at once on his position.
And that was exactly what Blackthorn had been waiting for.
The oni opened his mouth and exhaled.
A great cone of white shot out and enveloped each and every one of them in an arc of frozen death.
For a moment, there was silence.
The humans lay underneath a thick coating of hoarfrost. None of them moved.
Blackthorn had won.
The ogre mage took deep, gulping breaths of the cold air.
He smiled. He had survived, as he always did. He was about to rise to his feet when he heard the whisper nearby.
"Oni wa sato."
Something sliced so deep into Blackthorn's right leg, he felt it strike bone.
There were no words, either in his own tongue or that of humankind, to describe it. It was as if the heavens themselves had decided to strike the oni down.
Falling back onto his side amid his own wails and cries of torment, Blackthorn began to drag himself away from the scene. He didn't even realize he had dropped the sword. Both of his arms were exerting themselves to their upmost limits to drag his gigantic body away from this impossible attack.
For a moment, Blackthorn thought that his darkness had returned all on its own, but then he realized that a shadow had fallen over him. The oni looked up.
Standing over him was Nesco Cynewine.
Much as she had last time Blackthorn's cone of cold had struck her, the ranger's entire upper body was coating with ice. Beneath the whiteness, her skin had turned blue, and parts were now turning black and hardening. She swayed uncertainly on her feet.
But unlike last time, Nesco's green eyes looked as sharp as ever. They stared down at the ogre mage. Her arms were raised above her head.
And in her hands, she grasped the impossible.
Emerald energy cracking around the blade like jade lightning, Icar's katana glowed a brilliant green in her hands. Nesco's hands, unlike the rest of her, were not trembling at all. It was if the sword itself were steadying her limbs.
"No," whispered Blackthorn in horror.
When Nesco Cynewine opened her mouth, her teeth started chattering so hard, she could hardly get the words out.
But she did.
"Say… goodbye… to you!" she hissed.
The katana, aimed directly at the oni's neck, came down.
Blackthorn's scream was cut short only by his decapitation.