“Why are my brothers different from me?”
“They are not your brothers.”
“But they said she is their creator mother too.”
“They are lying. Have nothing to do with them.” He made to thrust him out of the chamber into the passageway.
But the young alfar ducked under his arm and would not yield. “Take these plates off me,” he demanded harshly. “They hurt. I can’t take them off by myself.”
“No. You will need them. They will protect you in battle.”
“Your armor goes on top, not right inside you. Why can’t I have armor like that?” the young alfar argued stubbornly, his black gaze unwavering.
The unslayable hated such confrontations. “It is special metal that gets the powers working in you.”
“But I still don’t want it.”
“I am supremely indifferent as to whether you want it or not. You are my son and you will do what I say.”
“I…”
The unslayable one grabbed him by the throat. “Hold your tongue! We don’t have time to argue about this nonsense. The safety of your creator mother is more important than any petty wish of yours. Have you understood?”
The black eye sockets of the young alfar sparked with anger. “But it hurts so much!”
“Deal with it!” The unslayable hurled him brutally out of the chamber. “You know where you’re supposed to be.” He wanted to waste no more time.
The alfar stumbled against the wall, growled and lifted his spear; immediately the runes on it blazed up, giving out a dark green light. “Take the metal out. I’m not asking, I’m telling you.”
The unslayable stopped in his tracks. “Put down your weapon this instant!” he menaced, drawing his own two swords. “You do not threaten your father.”
“You don’t do this to me, either!” the alfar accused in reply, looking down at the black trickles of blood on the armor plating.
The unslayable one narrowed his eyes. “Did you go back to the island?”
“I wanted them to take the plates off, but the human wasn’t there and the groundlings refused to help. All I could do was take some more of the power to make the pain less.” He was watching the other’s movements carefully. “I don’t want to hurt you, creator father. Just let me be like you.”
They stood wordlessly glaring at each other.
From nearby the clank of weapons could be heard. One of the bastards was screaming and bellowing amongst an uproar of dwarf yells.
“The enemy has found Nagsar Inaste’s cavern. Happy now?” shouted the unslayable. “It was your task to guard that passage.” He lifted his foot, but the spear was already leveled at his throat. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I’ve told you. You shall not leave until you have done what I want.”
The creator father considered his handiwork: beauty and perfection on the outside, disappointing failure within. How had his sister borne him progeny such as this? Perhaps the fault could be traced back to the orcish violations she had been subjected to. His offspring’s fine looks were no use to him at all. There was no place for a son who challenged him and made demands instead of obeying. The swords flashed swifter than arrows to find the gaps in the armor plating and pierce the breast and throat of the stupefied young alfar. “You are no longer any son of mine,” declared the unslayable, with a sidestep deftly avoiding the leveled spear, behind which there was little force now. “Better ones will follow: sons who know how to obey their originator. Even if I and the creator mother have to wait another thousand cycles.” He kicked his son in the belly, felling him; the swords slid back out of the torso, black blood spurting out of the wounds. “You wanted me to take the pain away?” He stabbed again with both swords.
The alfar reared up, then shrank down, attempting to ward off the slashing blades with his metal gauntlets. It was hopeless. The runes on his armor flickered and died as the slim body fell slack to the floor.
The unslayable wasted no more time. His beloved sister was in terrible danger and the bastards were not able to protect her.
As he drew nearer to her cavern the sounds of fighting ceased abruptly. It was not a good sign.
He entered at the rear of the cave and suppressed a cry of horror when he saw what had happened.
Elves. Elves in the white armor worn by the eoil’s followers had taken over the cave. One of their archers was finishing off the last of the groundlings with a shot through the eye as he reached the group. One bastard lay dead, surrounded by the ruins of his machine over by the wall, and the cave floor was littered with dwarf corpses.
No! Don’t let them have taken you, beloved sister! He saw her beheaded torso lying on the altar. Her sacred black blood streamed down the sides, down the steps, and onto the floor of the cave. An elf woman held Nagsar Inaste’s head in her hands and an elf was reverently holding out the diamond to her. The stone had ceased to shine.
Despair overwhelmed the unslayable. My fault! It is my fault! If I had not failed she would be living still. He leaned against the wall, feeling his strength ebb away, his limbs frozen.
The sight burned itself into his brain. He could smell her blood, see it still trickling still from the stump of her neck.
Images of the past rose up in his mind. Wonderful images. The time they had looked out from the highest window in the Dson tower to survey their realm in delighted pride; when they had celebrated their victories over the elves of the Golden Plain and Lesenteil’s followers; when they had made love-the pain and deep devotion-a passion that was never-ending…
Such memories were drowning in his sister’s blood and being washed away. An elf strode up to the altar and prodded the corpse with a spear. It dropped down on the far side of the altar, rolled down the steps and came to rest awkwardly, like so much rubbish.
I shall avenge your death, my beloved Nagsar Inaste, as never a true wife was avenged by a loving spouse. Blind anger forced strength back into his muscles. Slowly he raised his swords. The elves by the altar were congratulating themselves on a presumed victory, praising the eoil. I shall leave Girdlegard. I shall take the diamond with me and decipher its secrets. And when I return nothing shall withstand my fury. He circled slowly toward the elves. Everything will perish in my storm. Like these elves.
The unslayable one came up behind the first of them unobserved, their bloody destruction thus assured.
Those who had stowed their weapons fell first, with nothing to hand to fend off the attacker’s double blades. Those still holding them were quickly overwhelmed. Finally, with less than a third of their number still standing, outright slaughter turned into battle.
“The princess! Guard her!” echoed the cry. The elves put up tough resistance but were no match for the unslayable, powered as he was by his fury. Any injuries he took hardly slowed him. His whirring blades sliced at throats and arms, severing wrists and legs, plunging through skulls and chests. The old orc skeletons underfoot drank up the blood of new victims.
The unslayable lashed out furiously until only three warriors and the elf princess remained.
He fended off the first assault, spinning his assailant round so that the offending blade pierced the belly of the next foe. Swiftly he shattered the elf sword with his own; and with his other weapon he batted a sharp fragment into the third attacker’s face.
He parried a thrust from the last elf coming at him with a jagged blade, severing the elf’s arm below the elbow. Using his swords like scissors, he cut off the soldier’s head, sending it flying through the air. Then he plunged his two blades with massive force right and left of the neck stump straight down into the warrior’s body. Arms, shoulders and upper body parts were sliced off to fall on the heap of orc bones.