*

My campfire has gone out. Nobody is tending it, for fear of catching whatever I have. I’m plenty warm anyways. My nose is bleeding – not a lot, just a slow trickle. My clothing and armor are saturated, either with my sweat or my blood or a combination of both. I barely feel them. I’m beginning to become numb to the pain. My eyes close again.

*

The tower raid starts well. Balthudar, Kurse, and Galtholnicus fall early, but each take two or three magi with them. As we move up the narrow, winding staircase, we come across alcoves opening here and there. One of our number peels off from the main group each time, entering the dark opening in the rough stone central pillar.

Occasionally we hear a muffled scream before they return, but more often there is nothing to be found. We move ever upward.

The tower is dark, with illumination provided by swirling blue-white mystical energy that obscures the roof of the tower – if indeed there is a roof. The central pillar keeps winding upward. The closer we get to the top, the greater the frequency of the screams. There is a rhythmic chanting from the magi. We need to catch them by surprise, end them swiftly, before they can turn whatever magical energy they’ve conjured for this ritual on our group.

As we creep closer to the top, we reach a nexus of sorts. There are four stone walkways away from the central pillar to the external walls, one in each cardinal direction. The Commander points to four pairs of us, points to his eyes, and then points in the four directions. Right. Check out the walkways, scout, and return.

I find myself paired with Rakegowl as we move across the eastern walkway. I’m wishing I was with Maclochlan. Or even Harad. I motion the new guy forward, not feeling comfortable with him behind me. He obliges, and his grin shows large incisor teeth. I think he’s trying to reassure me, but it’s frankly disturbing.

We ease our way across, slipping from shadow to shadow. We’re just past the halfway point when all of the Nine Hells break loose.

I glance back toward the party, and my vantage point away from the central pillar lets me see what they cannot – elementals. Dozens of them. Fire, water, earth, air, even some of those nasty acid ones. And above them? Demons. It’s a trap. I call the warning to the Commander and the rest of the main force.

That’s when I feel something slam into me from the side. Only my years of training in the dojo allows me to avoid being knocked over the railing to my death. I spin instead, turning the momentum into a crescent kick, starting low and ending high.

Rakegowl looks surprised that his attack has failed, but he recovers quickly. My kick glances off his staff, throwing him a bit off balance. I move in quickly, getting inside the range of that staff. I’ve seen how deadly it makes him.

He is still recovering, and that is all that keeps me from being disemboweled. I’d forgotten his claws. He swipes at me with one paw while holding the staff with the other. I step back, barely avoiding the strike, but that puts me back where I began, and now he brings the staff to bear.

I draw my dagger – it is a simple thing, not much to look at, but I’ve coated it with poison. It won’t be much use against the staff’s longer reach, but it’s better than nothing.

We feint back and forth, circling a bit. He is wary of the dagger – he clearly knows I’ve poisoned it. I’m wary of the staff, but I’m also in a hurry. I’ve no idea if my shouted warning was enough for my compatriots. They might need me in the fray. I need to dispatch this betrayer. Think. Throw him off balance somehow.

“Why, Rakegowl? Why did you betray us?”

“Mrr, iss command! Musst sserve the misstresss. Musst prot-.”

“I don’t really care.” I interrupt. He scowls confusedly. It’s the opening I need.

Feinting high with the dagger in a loose grip, I allow him to disarm me with a quick move of his staff. As he brings it back, he strikes for my skull. The blow never lands. I have closed enough that I can grab the staff, pivot, and twist my hips. A blood-curdling snarl erupts from his fanged mouth as his wrist breaks.

I’m not finished. I gather his good arm as he moves to cradle the broken wrist, step forward and apply leverage, hyper-extending the elbow. He’s done fighting. I pivot one final time, moving into the rising phoenix kick, driving him over the railing and off the walkway. His scream reverberates off the harsh stone for a moment, then is silenced.

My hand stings a bit from his disarming strike, but I’m in good shape otherwise. I turn to run back to the central pillar. I can see that the battle is fierce and hot. My warning was barely enough – my friends were able to set themselves in a defensive position – and it forced the elementals and demon to spring their attack disjointedly.

Still, things could go either way. I need to get in there. I gather my dagger, and begin to trot toward the battle.

“Relon!?”

The call comes from behind. It hits me harder than any strike from my dead foe’s staff could have. I turn toward the voice with anticipation – and a measure of dread. It can’t be.

“Relon, it is you! I thought you were dead!”

Melinda. My eyes drink her in like an oasis in the desert. She’s even paler than before, and her wonderful long red hair has been shaved in a close-cropped cut. Her lips are blood red. Something seems wrong with her eyes. Her face is still beautiful, though it is harsh, lean, and angular. She wears mage robes, and a necklace of some sort. Her skin is yellowing where the necklace touches it. I attempt to speak, but it comes out something like “Guh.”

She giggles. It’s just like it was that day by the stream, but right at the end it turns throaty and deep. I find my wits and try again.

“Melinda…I buried you. How can this be?”

“Oh, that was you? Foolish boy! I wasn’t dead! A nice traveling priest of the Lady came across where you left me, sensed life still within me, and got me out! He nursed me back to health! I’ve been trying to discover what happened to you, but I feared you were dead. Like the others.”

I move closer, forgetting the din of the battle behind me. This is far more important.

“Melinda. I love you.”

She draws close to me, closes her eyes, and puckers her lips. Just like that day by the stream. I imagine her in her feast day best. Me, holding a ring in front of her face.

Then I plunge my dagger into her left eye.

She screams. It is not Melinda’s scream. Whatever this monstrosity is, it is not Melinda. I had knelt by her grave for days. There was no miraculous traveling priest.

She backs away, clawing at the dagger, pulling it out. She drops it, still screaming, but the blood flow has slowed already. One hand wrapped around the necklace, she begins to hiss. The wound has almost closed.

The necklace. I lurch forward, just as her other hand shoots forward, coating me with…something. I scream, but I do not stop moving. In one fluid motion I’ve gathered the dagger and stand directly in front of her. Rather than another stab, I slice through the necklace, flicking it off the walkway. It seems to float for a moment, then falls.

A keening wail issues from the Melinda-shaped abomination. She/it begins to turn black, starting where the necklace had been. Before I can do more than take a breath, the black has spread over the entire body and begun to flake away.

The pain is overwhelming. Whatever the creature did to me, it is powerful magic. As I sink into unconsciousness, I hear booted footsteps rushing toward me. I guess we won.