War of the Wisps

Peter and Andrew stood to the side as Anna worked her magic. Her anchor shimmered with a dim white light on the back of her hand. The other gem, the one with the Wisps, glowed blue, and Halcyon hovered at her shoulder.

The Wisp cast their shadows far in both directions, fading into the underground blackness. Sure, Peter could see a little pinprick of light marking the entrance some ways back, but there was a sea of shadow between that and the little island the Wisp was making. And it was even darker when he looked in the other direction.

“Think we could take one of the Wisps and go exploring a little more?” Peter whispered to his brother.

Andrew shrugged. “Probably should have asked that before she started her spell. Unless you think you can get the Wisps to listen to you.” Peter grinned, then Andrew added, hastily, “Without distracting her, I mean.”

Peter looked at Anna. Here eyes were closed, her breath slow as she pressed her hand against the door. His grin broadened. “Bet I could,” he said.

“I can still hear you, you know,” Anna muttered. “The Wisps are helping me with this.”

“Really?” Andrew asked. “How?”

“It’s complicated,” Anna said.

“Guess that means we’ll just wait right here until-“ a distant roar cut him off. He looked to the entrance of the tunnel.

“What is it?” Andrew asked.

“Nothing good,” Peter said. Jarnvaror called again. He wasn’t calling for the three of them. It was a challenge.

“Do we need to go?” Andrew asked.

“I don’t know,” Peter said. “We could go and check.”

“I don’t think we should leave Anna,” Andrew said.

“Go and check,” Anna muttered. “Halcyon should be able to take care of me.”

Peter nodded his thanks to Anna, not realizing she couldn’t see it, and started jogging back down the corridor. He heard Andrew following behind. As they left Halcyon’s light, Peter found that that he could still see well enough to move. At least, he could so long as he was moving toward the exit. The empty rooms off to the side were just deep black. The walls, though, and the ruble on the floor, was still visible.

Just before they got to the exit, Peter felt his heart thud as Jarnvaror roared in pain. He hadn’t heard a sound like that from the dragon in a long time, and it sent shivers down his spine. They burst out of the underground hallway, to find Jarnvaror perched on the ruined walls of the citadel. His jaws were bloody, and smoke drifted about new scorch marks in the rubble.

Peter was so busy looking for a wound on the dragon that Andrew had to yank him out of the way of a spear that seemed to appear out of nowhere. It scrapped against the wall as the brothers stumbled out of its reach, spinning to see the monster.

Peter couldn’t help but think that it looked like a horribly mutated Half Elf. It’s ears were pointed, but not as long as the Elves’. It was taller than Andrew, and broader, with muscles stretching the hide vest that it wore. Its face was twisted, with tiny red eyes and fangs too big for its mouth. Matted, chalky white hair dangled in an uneven braid down its back. But it’s skin was what gave it its name. It was a mix of coal black and bone white, alternating as random splotches that made it look diseased. Smelled like it too.

Like lightning, the monster pulled its spear back for another thrust, snarling at the boys. Peter found himself moving without thought. He ripped his sword from its scabbard and batted away the spearpoint. His left hand twitched. His instinct was to strike right away. But before he could move again, the monster was thrusting. It was all he could do to keep defending.

Andrew slipping to the side, gave him the opening he needed. The monster turned to follow, and Peter managed to slip inside the range of the spear, stabbing the monster in the belly. The creature squealed, making a noise that sounded like a mix of reptile and pig, then stumbled back.

It looked at Peter, almost in shock that such a small human had defied it so well. And again, Peter felt his instincts screaming at him to move, to keep striking. The monsters face twisted into a deeper snarl, and just in time, Peter managed to deflect another thrust of the spear. Now that it was wounded, the creature almost seemed stronger.

But it was slower now. Peter was able to strike at it a few more times while defending. But he felt horribly slow. Each wound seemed like it did little more than enrage the creature. Even when it was bleeding from deep cuts and punctures all over its belly and limbs, it still struck with the force of a charging horse.

Again, it was Andrew who saved him. His brother drew a knife, a tool, not a weapon, and tried stabbing the monster from behind. Hee did barely any damage at all, but the monster whirled around, backhanding Andrew into the ground. Peter lunged. Taking the monster between the shoulder blades. It finally collapsed, its vitality seeming to leave it all at once with the final blow.

“Andrew, are you alright?” Peter asked.

“Focus!” Andrew barked, but he accepted Peter’s help to his feet and pointed.

Peter turned. Jarnvaror was fighting nearly a dozen of the monsters. He’d lunge and rip one apart with his teeth, only for the others to batter at his face. He’d spray them with fire. The Mottled didn’t seem to like that, but it didn’t kill any of them. They just howled at him, raising old and improvised weapons in greater challenge. Jarnvaror roared back.

“So much for them avoiding the Citadel,” Andrew muttered.

“They probably followed us,” Peter said. As he watched, more Mottled appeared around the walls of the ruins. And while most were focused on the dragon, a few noticed the brothers.

Andrew drew his bow. “We can’t let them into the hall,” he said.

Peter nodded. “You shoot at them. I’ll cut up any that get past Jarnvaror. Hey Jarn!” he added at the end. “You doing alright?”

Jarnvaror hissed, telling Peter not to distract him while he tore the little spotted things to bits. He proceeded to roar fire across the ruins into one of the other groups of mottled, which howled and retreated. The brothers got into position, just as another monster slipped through and charged them.

It was bigger than the last one, and just as brutish. But instead of a crude spear, it held a curved broadsword that seemed a little too small for it. Andrew managed to hit it with an arrow, which stuck out of its chest like a tree branch and did nothing to slow it down. In fact, its gaze switched from Peter to Andrew, eyes seeming to glow red with absolute rage.

No, Peter realized, they were actually glowing red. And smoky.

The monster sprinted faster than any human could run, and Peter was very happy he didn’t have as much distance to cross. Also that it wasn’t focused on him. The monster didn’t even seem to notice him until he’d thrust half the length of his sword up into its chest. It just looked down at him and roared. Peter ripped his sword out, ready to duel again. Then he ducked.

He felt the wind rush over him, and knew the beast would have cut him in two and not even slowed down. He jumped back, just as the blade bit through the air where he’d been again. It crashed into the stone. But instead of the blade chipping, the stone burst as though it were struck by a hammer. Peter caught the flicker of red light glowing in the pommel of the sword.

“It has a Wisp?” Peter burst. “That is not fair!”

“Just kill it!” Andrew shouted back, losing another arrow at the monster. It tore almost all the way through the monster’s stomach, in one end and out the other. The monster grunted and turned to Andrew.

Peter lashed out, but not at the monster. He caught the pommel of the blade with the tip of his sword and twisted. Strong as the monster was, the blade was still ripped from its grasp. The red light faded from its eyes, and it seemed to deflate a little as it reached for the blade that tumbled away.

Peter swung once more, nearly taking the monster’s head off. The beast stumbled back, clutching the wound in its throat. Then it fell. “There’s more coming!” Andrew said, a note of panic in his voice. Peter looked. Jarn had definitely managed to kill a lot of the monsters. They were retreating from him now, and he was on the offence. But plenty had noticed the two humans fighting at the bottom of the ruin, and some were bold enough to try making their way down past the dragon.

Andrew shot at them of course. Most of his shots hit, and they slowed down, trying to dodge the onslaught. One took an arrow in the eye. It paused, took another step or two, then collapsed. “Keep shooting,” Peter said. He dashed to the side and picked up the sword the last mottled had dropped.

“What are you doing?” Andrew asked.

“Seems like as good a time as any to try two weapon fighting,” Peter replied.

Even as he touched the sword. He felt the Wisp inside it. It was a little whirlwind of fury, and Peter felt it trying to crowd out his mind. After the events in the Green Vale, though, a single Wisp trying to do anything like that was more laughable than anything else. His amusement seemed to only make the Wisp angrier.

“That’s okay right now, little buddy,” Peter whispered. “But we’ll need to work on your temper for later.” It’s rage flared, and there was no more time to try interacting with the Wisp. The Mottled were on him.

Just as before, they were focused on Andrew as he kept peppering them with arrows. He managed to bring a second down just before the small group reached Peter. Peter listened to his instincts, dashing in for the offence. He raked the blades across their bellies, then he would leap back to defend against their retaliation. Any time he could, he would block and strike in the same motion.

He fell into a rhythm of block, swing, and thrust as the Mottled pressed on him. No matter what wound he dealt them, even when he managed to remove the hand of one, they didn’t stop coming until they were fully dead. Heat suffused him as he fought, and he barely felt it himself when he took cuts on his ribs and arms. He felt faster than he had before, able to act on his instincts as they warned him of danger or told him where to strike.

But he was still slower and weaker than the monsters themselves. There were two left. They’d seen him cutting up the others, and they must have decided he was more annoying than the archer, because they were focused on him now. They ignored the arrows whizzing over their heads, and one even managed to keep its focus on Peter after an arrow slammed into its shoulder.

They charged Peter and it was all he could do to keep himself from getting crushed. They managed to force him to the ground.

Then there was a great shadow, and spray of blood. Jarnvaror was over them, ripping into them with fang and talon. Peter got to his feet and raised his blade, ready to fight more, even the dragon if he had to.

Peter panted. His blood still boiled. Surely that wasn’t all. There needed to be more. He spun between the dragon and his brother, looking for a target. His brother was saying something, but, but he couldn’t listen. There needed to be something else to fight.

“Drop the sword!” Andrew shouted.

As the words finally got through, Peter dropped both weapons. He felt the influence of the Wisp leave him. His blood was still pumping hard, and his adrenaline was still raging through him. But even that was beginning to slow. He looked at his brother again. “We made it?”

“Yeah,” Andrew said. “You almost gave me a heart attack. You raised that sword at Jarnvaror. And you didn’t listen when he growled.”

Peter looked over his shoulder. The dragon was mostly fine, save for a little cut under his right eye and a few other minor wounds on his face. Probably the only part of him the Mottled had been able to reach as he bit them. But his expression was worried. “Sorry,” he said. “I think I must have slipped up and let the Wisp start taking control.”

Jarnvaror’s expression changed to one of frustration, and he rumbled his displeasure at the Wisp. Andrew stepped over to the sword. “Right… But how did a Mottled get ahold of a Wisp?”

“Maybe the same way Ironhill did? Or the Pirates,” Peter suggested.

“No one would trade with monsters though,” Andrew objected. “Surely,” he added, sounding, Peter thought, much less sure.

Peter shrugged and looked back at Jarnvaror. “Are there any more mottled nearby?” The dragon described several groups that he’d seen in the city. Most, though, hadn’t come after them. Only the two or three dozen that were now corpses had seen fit to track him while he was flying. When Peter told this to Andrew, Andrew nodded.

“Makes sense… Still, after a fight like that, the others might come any time. We should get Anna and leave.”

“I just opened the room!” Came Anna’s voice. She emerged from the tunnel looking around. “I was worried… but… you fought them off.”

“Mostly Jarn,” Peter said. Anna looked at him. Noticed the wounds, and gasped.

“I wish I knew some healing,” she said.

“I’ll be fine,” Peter insisted, though, now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he was starting to wince at the wounds.

“Either way, we need to get out of here,” Andrew said.

“But, the room!” Anna said.

“It’s too dangerous to spend time lifting the spell,” Andrew replied.

“But I did lift it,” Anna said. “I think. You were gone, though so I came to make sure you were alright.”

“That’s great, then,” Peter said. “We just run down and take a peek inside the room. Think you can keep watch for us for another five minutes?” he asked Jarnvaror.