Chapter 452: The herald

Ayet screamed and closed her eyes.

“Stop that nonsense,” Dariya snapped, flashing with another torrent of light so bright it was clearly visible through Ayet’s eyelids. “You’ll embarrass me in front of the humans.”

“I’m sorry.” Ayet swallowed bile and forced her eyes open. The demonic hound that had charged them was entirely gone—obliterated by the seer’s incredible magic. The next portal was close, and Ayet had words to say, a spell to invoke. But what were the words? Why couldn’t she remember any of the words?

But she knew why. She had lived nearly her whole life in the capital. The few times she’d been in the prime or the outskirts of the fey, she’d been well protected by warriors and wizards. She’d never seen violence or danger so…close. She’d never been so afraid.

She flinched and almost screamed again as a whirling, snarling blur of grey and brown fur rushed past her. Mason’s wolves launched themselves behind their giant leader, ripping another demon to the ground.

Their faces were already covered in demonic ichor, their fierce eyes not so different than the infernals themselves. They had seemed afraid of the demons at first, but their monstrous alpha attacked with glee, and the rest had quickly come around. Ayet knew she would see them all in her nightmares.

“Close it, girl. Quickly now. The wave is over.”

Ayet tried and failed to swallow, clutching her book for courage. She knew every word by heart and only used it as a Focus. Elven magic was always made more powerful by meaningful charms or objects. A childhood toy. A family weapon. An old book from the academy, gifted by a friend.

She stepped again into the kind of portal she’d only read about until today. Her fingers were shaking as she held one out, palm downward and burning as her detection flared. She’d thought she knew everything about infernal magic. All the runes, where and when and how they could be triggered and what could pull them apart. But the teachers at the academy had never told her how much it stunk.

The creatures themselves were bad enough. They reeked like dried blood and old sweat, like the abandoned basement of some failing butcher shop. But the magic was worse. And the only thing keeping Ayet from emptying her stomach was actively not thinking about any comparisons.

“Hurry, girl. There’s more opening.”

Ayet closed her eyes and just started muttering anything, and to her surprise the correct words came out. The second they did her hand stopped shaking, her mind lighting with the familiar fire of arcane power. She almost smiled when she felt the infernal magic recoil and try to slither away. But it had nowhere to go.

The Rune of Unbinding latched onto the shadows and pulled them apart with glee. A few demons spawned from their portals in a panicked rush, staggering forward half formed towards Ayet with horrific, melting faces. Ayet was channeling, and she couldn’t move.

She assumed the seer would save her, but realized there was more white light illuminating somewhere behind. The wolves were busy. She stared at the closest demon with a kind of numb comprehension that there was no one to stop it before the ground erupted.

Mason’s mini devourer thrashed and smashed the thing off its feet, raking it apart with its maw razors and swinging out at the last few stragglers. Ayet’s spell finished, and the demons all screeched in terror and rage as the portal above tried to suck every ounce of infernal energy to sustain itself.

In seconds, with a liquidy gurgle, and a soft, almost pleasant pop, the thing and all its creatures were gone.

“Well done, girl. Another to the east. Follow me. Quickly now, Ayet, you must move.”

Ayet realized she was just standing there again. She tried not to think. She truly did. But her heart was pounding and every moment of this was some insane nightmare she couldn’t believe was real. She was an academic. A councilwoman. The widowed matron of a noble house. Not some…war wizard.

But your noble house is gone, said an unwelcome piece of her mind. Terrible things happen, Ayet. They have happened to you. Your husband is gone. Your son is gone. Everything you ever knew is gone.

‘But I have new things!’ she almost shouted. She had her daughter, and the remnants of the house that had embraced her. She had a place amongst the humans. And she had Mason…dear God, whatever exactly that meant.

She was out here to protect them. That’s why she had left the walls. Her new life. For the prophecy that had destroyed her old life but was maybe real, after everything. Yes, maybe it was. She whispered a broken apology for the thousandth time to the fallen lord of House Anshan—a man she had maybe never quite loved, but had always respected.

She should have helped him. Should have believed him. But she hadn’t, and she would have to live with that for the rest of her long life. But by the goddess she would live. She had sworn the day she left Shariss she wouldn’t just fade away like another half-dead thing in the elven city of broken dreams.

And here she was, now, alive and still young, exactly what was needed to help these humans, to help her daughter. To help her new patron. And her lover…

“My lady, please. We must keep moving or…”

“I’m ready,” Ayet said, clenching her jaw and gripping her book, feeling the words finally break through as she accepted the possibility of her own death. “I’m sorry, Oracle. But I’m ready now. Let’s go.”

The old seer gave her a nod and a small smile, then walked to the east with her staff like she was out for a stroll. Even amongst all this insanity, with demons prowling and looking to kill the moon priestess as the ancient rival she was, she held her head high with stooped shoulders.

Ayet could only hope, one day, she had a tenth of the woman’s courage.

**

Dariya, grand-daughter of the Moon Prophet, did her best not to piss or shit herself. Like pretty much every other part of her body, her bits just weren’t what they once were. She had to pee a good three times a night, and she didn’t even sleep that long.

“I should have peed before the epic demon battle,” she muttered, blinking and trying to see if there were any demons close.

“What’s that, Oracle?” said the far younger, still beautiful Lady Anshan at her side. Dariya tried not to be jealous. She shook her head like it didn’t matter, and the enchantress returned inward, desperately battling her nerves as she stared at her next portal target.

Dariya was running lower and lower on mana. But she thought it best not to tell the poor girl. Better to die suddenly, she decided, like it was some tragic accident. Better to think everything was well in hand.

Because this was the worst demonic invasion Dariya had ever seen—and she’d seen a few. There was nothing to be done now but close portals, banishing the creatures back to their plane one at a time until the true summoner gave up or risked it all and entered the prime itself.

Dariya desperately hoped it would be the former. And as Ayet closed another portal, and gave a confident, encouraging smile, she truly hoped she didn’t have to abandon the girl.

But it was the daughter who truly mattered. She was the one marked by prophecy, and Dariya needed to be alive to guide her, to protect her, to convert her to the true goddess. And the things Dariya knew couldn’t be lost before being passed on.

If things got bad enough, she would be forced to flee to the fey, and to abandon the older lady of Anshan.

“Another to the south,” Ayet said, getting more confident now. “Come!” she shouted at the wolves as if they’d listen. Dariya did her best to follow. But her feet hurt. Her hips hurt. Her back hurt. And she really had to pee.

As she walked she glanced at the humans and saw with some relief they were doing shockingly well. The young baron’s warriors were few in number but incredibly powerful. Some seemed to be destroying the infernals with an almost casual disregard.

But they’d learn soon enough.

Dariya blasted apart a handful more demons, doing her best to let the wolves and the…worm, do their share. She preserved her mana. She was tiring in body and spirit now, the moon darkening to her eyes as she drew more and more of its light.

Ayet closed another portal and turned towards the next with a growing confidence.

“Well done, girl,” Dariya muttered. “We must be nearly there. And you shouldn’t over-extend yourself. One more portal and we should consider…”

“No, I’m alright,” Ayet said.

The silly girl. Why didn’t she understand? Why didn’t any of the younger elves understand? Death couldn’t be stopped. Couldn’t be beaten. It could only ever be delayed. And the planar destroyers were always weakest before they truly struck. Life was only ever a wave moved by the moon, then a receding tide. Death’s power was endless, always gathering, always ready to wash you away.

“Even so,” she said, feeling the danger growing now. Her old heart fluttered and she gripped her ancient staff. “We have to run now, child. Back to the walls. We’ve done enough. Go now.”

Ayet must have seen the change in her eyes, or heard it in her voice. She said nothing, nodding as she took her arm to help her back towards the gate.

But like most foolish living things, they were too late. The final portal opened with a howling wind. Even to Dariya’s rheumy eyes it scorched the heavens and ripped apart the forest canopy, a violent scar across the sky. It wasn’t close, at least, though that made its size even more horrifying.

As Dariya stared in growing terror, she knew without a doubt they were in a time of prophecy. The Doom was coming again. This time it wouldn’t put its faith in ‘Makers’ to widen a path, in mortal servants to do what it had waited for so long, and worked so hard, to be able to do itself.

What Dariya knew, and what few living creatures remembered, was that ‘The Doom’ was not an event, nor an accident. It wasn’t some spell or incantation gone awry. The Doom was a God.

Death’s avatar—tricked and delayed, then forgotten. It existed only to return to the prime, to take its vengeance upon its kin and destroy all their playthings. To wash away life with a final great wave.

This monstrosity growing before them, as horrifying as it seemed, was but a servant of that terrible force.

“Oracle,” Ayet whispered. “What is that thing?”

Death’s herald, Dariya thought, but didn’t have the heart to say. The first messenger of Doom.

“Doesn’t matter now,” she said, “come.” She grabbed the young woman’s hand, pulling her toward the temporary safety of the great tree.