When he made it to the plateau, he almost ran straight into Blur coming the other way. She stared at him in confusion and horror. "Shit, you're already back here? How bad is it?"
"I could not hold them back. Nor can I say with confidence how many there may be. Perhaps there is no end to the monsters that our foe may summon from the abyss."
"So: bad." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Right. Come on, strategy meeting." Her hand grabbed his arm, and once again he was stumbling and running to try and keep up with her effortless speed. Fortunately, she wasn't taking him far - only a little nearer to the cave entrance, outside which the Archer and Tempest were preparing themselves. She was sitting cross-legged, eyes closed, apparently deep in thought, while whatever he was engaged in was interrupted by his turning to greet Chronoist. He looked as though he'd been lost in thought, only now returning to the present, but as Chronoist approached that expression hardened into grim focus.
"You're here already?"
He would have responded, but Blur cut across him: "Yeah, infinite ghost army, worse than anything we've faced before, blah blah. What's the plan?"
He nodded sharply, and a little of that distraction crept back into his eyes. "Of course. I have prepared the ground as much as I may, while Tempest is preparing her powers. Her work in our earlier skirmish taxed them a great deal, but she says that she may be able to bring them forth again and provide us some support in that way. With this, and you both fighting, we may have a chance against the army. A chance." He shook his head. "But of course they are not the true threat. We must try and locate their leader, and subdue him. Everything else will be for nothing if we cannot."
Chronoist had his doubts, but once again Blur voiced them more sharply than he might have. "Subdue? Okay, look, I know you don't want to hear it, but we're not out to subdue anyone. I know he's your brother and that sucks, okay, but he's too dangerous for us to take it easy on him. If we don't go into this expecting to kill him, we might not get the chance."
"How dare you." Hugh's voice was trembling icy. "How dare you speak to me that way!"
"Pff, 'how dare I.' I dare because you're being an idiot and you're pretending that we can get through this just by hoping really hard and believing in ourselves! Show me that you're taking this seriously, or I'm out, and I'm taking Portja with me!"
Brygos had almost forgotten that the alien woman was there, but hearing her name, she turned her head to face the conversation - though she stayed sitting, and her eyes stayed closed.
"I will not be going."
Krystal flinched, and darted to her girlfriend's side, crouching low. "But babe, he's not going to take this fight seriously. And I don't want you getting hurt because of him!"
"I am knowing he will fight as hard as you. And you do not want to leave our friends to fight this by their selfs. Do you?"
Krystal frowned, glared up at Hugh, and said "No. Argh, fine!" She stood, zipped up to him and waved a finger under his nose. "Alright, I'm staying, but you'd better do this for real! If someone gets hurt because you don't want to fight properly, I am never going to forgive you. Never!"
Without waiting for an answer, she dashed off, taking a point nearer to the forest and pacing back and forth. Hugh looked at her for a long, quiet moment, and then glanced at Brygos. "I am sorry you had to see that."
He didn't know quite how to answer that. "There is no need for an apology."
"Well," Hugh shrugged. "I must confess, this is not the first time she and I have had this disagreement. She feels that, given the danger of my brother's powers, we cannot take any risks. Even the risk of letting him live."
"And I see that you feel differently."
"Perhaps." He stared into the night, and Brygos wondered if he was imagining the hordes of monsters that were, even now, making their inexorable way closer. "Even with everything I have seen, I cannot shake the fact that somewhere behind all of this," and he waved an arm out at the night, "he is still my brother. To kill my own brother out of fear..."
"It would be tragic indeed. But tell me: how would you feel if your merciful act caused harm or death to come to your dear friends?"
Hugh looked at him, miserable, and he instantly regretted his words. "So you think as she does. You think I should kill him."
"I am not saying that. All I will say is that you should consider all the risks. You worry about facing your regret if you kill him without giving the chance for repentance. Blur wonders what he might do if you treat him in this honourable manner. Neither perspective is wrong, and it speaks well of your character that you would wish to show him mercy if you can. I will respect you whatever you choose. But I would beg you, when you make that choice, to think of your friends here, as much as of the brother you may already have lost."
Hugh was still staring into the darkness, and his expression was full of inexpressible sadness. He ran his hand underneath his eye, wiping away an invisible tear. But when he spoke, his voice was once again level.
"You are right, of course. If I had my choice, I would risk nobody at all. But it seems that choice is denied me. I must risk harm to someone, and since I must, I ought to choose with care..."
There was a sudden flash from the other side of the plateau, hemispheres of silver light clashing with deep green as the defences which the Archer had laid down began to activate. He and Chronoist shared a glance, but there was no more that needed to be said - so without a word, they advanced to join the fight.
Each time one of the shades crossed into the silver glow it burst into flame and collapsed, and even the stronger spirits seemed to find it difficult or painful to push through. One of the axemonsters reached the other side, and was instantly hurled backwards by one of Blur's duplicates, a final blow which was more than it could handle - like so many of its companions, it turned to dust.
Blur glanced back over her shoulder as Chronoist approached, with the Archer trailing some distance behind him, and smiled. "Nice of you boys to join the party!"
"I'm sure you never thought we'd leave all this glorious battle for your fists alone?" And he swept his sword through another monster, despite its attempt to block with its scythe. This new sword was wonderful - lighter than the xiphos he was familiar with, but certainly no less powerful for that. He whirled it around, and it cut easily into the next, and the next after that, splitting their spectral skulls and letting their dust drift away on the breeze. They were as endless as they had been, but the defences were keeping them controlled, as the weaker ones were still being destroyed and the stronger were slowed enough to be manageable. A glowing arrow sliced through a monster's skull, and Chronoist grinned, feeling confident again that they might win this.
Then the glowing hemisphere flickered, shone brighter than ever - and faded, died.
The spirits reacted immediately to the removal of the barrier, surging forwards over the open ground. Chronoist brought up his shield, deflecting an axe strike and then severing a grasping hand, but backing away against the tide of enemies, and from the corner of his eye he could see Blur doing the same, striking again and again, splitting off duplicate after duplicate, but inexorably falling back. Arrows streaked over his shoulder, spearing a few monsters, and then one of them burst again into a silvery orb, and the Archer shouted: "That will hold them, but not for long! Back, towards the cave!"
The three of them fell into a fighting retreat, with the Archer in front, Chronoist guarding his back every time something got too close, and Blur defending both of them with her greater speed. He risked a look over his shoulder, immediately wished he hadn't. All across the edge of the plateau the glow of their defences was flaring and fading out. The approaching army made no sound, they couldn't be seen against the night, but he could imagine them out there. Drifting inexorably through whatever was put in their way. Unstoppable. Irresistible. An endless horde.
He turned back, gritting his teeth. If he had to die today, it would not be as a coward. It would be the death of a warrior.
By the time they made it back to Tempest, the Argent Archer was breathing hard, great heavy breaths tearing up from his lungs, while Chronoist and Blur were doing only a little better. Tempest, of course, looked as well as she had when they'd left her, still sitting cross-legged, meditating and focusing her mind.
Blur crouched beside her. "Babe? Tempest? The bad guys are coming. If you can do anything, now's the time."
She didn't open her eyes, just nodded, and somewhere out in the dark sky, thunder rolled. Her eyes opened and she smiled, almost without a care, as soft rain started to fall. It fell on the stones and on the grass, and a scent started to rise. The smell of earth. Life. Brygos wondered, faintly, what season it was here - it smelled as if it might be spring.
Well, if Tempest did nothing else, she'd raised his spirits, and he smiled as he watched Blur heave her to her feet. Then he turned, to face the approaching darkness.
There was very little light, most of it cast by a few arrows which the Archer had set around them, but it was enough to illuminate their enemies. There was no formation that Chronoist could discern - the ordinary shades were dominant, but the axemonsters and reapers were scattered through in no discernible order, along with a few stranger creatures he hadn't noticed before - a number of large, crawling, misshapen things, and eyes that hovered above, silently watching the scene unfold. They all moved together now, even the quicker monsters among them keeping an even pace with the rest as they approached the little group, and the cave they guarded.
They came closer and closer, and Chronoist hefted his weapons, but the Archer held up a hand - not yet. So he held himself there, ready, waiting.
They got nearer. Still nothing.
They got nearer. He could have seen the whites of their eyes, if they had had eyeballs.
They got nearer. The Archer's hand was still up.
They seemed so close.
"Tempest?" said the Archer. "Once again, if you please."
The sky tore apart, blazing blue-white tendrils of lightning reaching down, flickering across the ground, digging furrows into the earth and tearing countless monsters apart. There was explosion after explosion as the shades were hit, their red flame a sharp contrast against the pounding electrical discharges that rumbled and roared through them, cutting their army into pieces, shredding them. The noise and light seemed to go on forever, and Chronoist turned away and shut his eyes against it, unable to bear the brightness, and even then he could almost see it through his eyelids. He almost thought he heard shrieking from the ghostly things as the incredible power tore them apart.
There was one last rumble, and finally the noise and light came to an end, and he turned back to face the enemy.
What little was left of them.
Gutted by the shields and the lightning, the infinite army had become just a few, scattered remnants, disconnected and drifting around a scarred landscape. A couple of the closer reapers made a dash for them, and Blur sprinted towards them, smashing them to pieces with a laugh. She split again and again, and each version of her showed obvious delight in finding groups of shades and tearing them apart, fists and feet shattering ghostly essence. At last she bounced back, and Chronoist could see the joyful, savage smile on her face. "Nice work, babe! You got them!" And Tempest collapsed, her stamina exhausted and purpose fulfilled, into her grateful arms.
But the Archer shook his head, and he wasn't smiling. "It's not over yet. Not nearly." He raised a hand. "Look, out there."
Chronoist stared into the darkness, and when he realised what he was looking at he almost recoiled. The army had been made to overwhelm with numbers, and it had been a threat like he'd never seen. But this...
It was one single warrior. Yet the danger he felt, the evil and passion for death that emanated from this figure, was more intense than ever. This, then, was the Dread Knight - a man wrapped in armour the colour of night, with an enormous black claymore gripped in his left hand. He glanced back at the Archer, and even in this strange half-light, he could see the colour had drained out of his face.
"Hugh? Archer?" he said, but there was no answer. "Please. This man is our true foe. Do not surrender now because you loved the person he once was. You have to fight!"
The Archer blinked, and nodded, a little too sharply. "Yes. Of course." He pulled himself up, and prepared a shot. "Be ready, when I fire."
When the arrow was released, Chronoist was only a step behind it, racing towards the dark, imposing figure. The distance closed fast, and he was near enough to see the intricacy of his breastplate and the designs of his helmet when he the arrow reached its target.
He'd been expecting some show of the Archer's magic, something to harm or delay the monstrous man. And perhaps that would have happened - if it had hit. Instead, the man simply reached up, and took the arrow from the air as easily as if it were a pomegranate he were pulling from a branch. He regarded it through his mask, and then effortlessly snapped it in half and threw the broken pieces aside.
Chronoist was too close now to change course or his mind, his headlong charge was taking him towards the armoured man over the stony ground. His sword came up, forwards, striking to the heart, and suddenly that black claymore met it and knocked it aside. His momentum carried him past, his speed kept him just out of the returning sweep of that sword, and he turned fast, skidding a little on the damp earth and raising his shield just in time to catch a heavy blow from that sword. The weight of it bent him down, one knee hit the dirt, but he swept his own blade up to hold it with his shield, wrenched it aside and rose sharply, one metal foot snapping out towards that dark helmet. The Knight weaved aside, inhumanly quick, pulled his sword away with the left hand and jabbed out with the right. For a moment, Chronoist thought that he'd dodged the blow.
The next moment something dark and indistinct hit him hard and hurled him up and back, tumbling and crashing against what felt like every rock on the plateau. He stopped finally, lying on his back, coughed once, and spat blood on the ground. Everything hurt except his legs - and those he only hoped were undamaged. He tried to look, but when he moved his vision went red.
He turned his head as much as he could bear, trying to see what was going on. The Knight was walking forwards, ignoring him, heading straight towards the cave. Arrows came streaming towards him, and he knocked each one aside with that sword, a flurry of movement that Chronoist could barely follow with his eyes. But he did manage to see the arrow that was fired straight up, overhead, to burst into a second moon. The Knight shielded his eyes against the sudden light, and Blur struck. Four of her darted in from all sides, one striking at his eyeslits while another rammed both feet into his knee. Again and again she hit, pummelling weak point after weak point, and incredibly, it looked as though she might drive him back. An arrow even made it past her assault, hitting that dark armour, scarring a line into its surface. He stumbled one step, then another, he was off-balance, he looked as if he might fall-
Chronoist tried to yell when he saw the danger, to warn her, but all that came out was a croak. One of the duplicates moved in to strike at the Knight's side and suddenly he shifted his weight, gripped his sword tightly, and as she jabbed another punch at his face - he caught her fist. That gauntlet gripped tightly and hauled her around in front of him, pulled her up as though she were weightless, as though her struggles against his strength meant nothing. He raised his sword, readied it, and thrust.
There was an agonised scream, and then she and the other duplicates crumbled away, leaving only the real Blur remaining - and even she was half-collapsed, clutching a hand to her chest where the sword had cut through her double. The Dread Knight advanced on her slowly, swinging his sword once again up to the ready.
A silver arrow streaked in, and the sword flicked again, batting it back at the Archer before it burst into stunning light, making him stagger back and cover his eyes.
He couldn't just lie here. Not when someone was in danger. He clenched a fist, and that small movement gave him the strength of will that he needed. Rolling onto his front he pushed himself up - it was agonisingly slow, but he got his feet under him, and he still had his weapons, and he was moving again. The monstrous man was standing over her now, too close. Would he make it in time? The sword came up, he was too far away - then Tempest, almost immobile and half-collapsed on the ground herself, cried out and blasted one last spark of lightning. Nothing like the immense show from earlier, this was a tiny shock that nevertheless hit the man's armour and made his body twist, stunning him for just long enough that Chronoist could make it to him, finally close enough to lash out with his energy sword. That weapon, which had so easily torn through ghostly armour, only slashed across the surface of the dark metal, leaving a long furrow but drawing no blood. It did, however, call the man's attention, and once again his hand came up, snapped out.
He'd expected to feel another crashing blow, so he was surprised when the attack came from behind. He tried to twist and face it - and found that he couldn't. Already, something was locking around his wrists, his ankles, and growing heavier, while another heavy metallic band wrapped around his mouth, and in his moment of shock he saw the same was happening to Tempest and Blur, dark chains forming around their limbs and bearing them down, immobile.
Helpless.
The Knight loomed over him, saw his weakness - and the man laughed. And for the first time, he spoke.
"Your allies are useless to you, brother. Face me yourself. Or are you too afraid?"
The Archer stepped forwards, eyes clear again, his bow raised and ready. "Never afraid of you. But I know what you've given your soul to, and I cannot let you through. Surrender. Please."
That laugh, again. It was a rich, warm laugh. In another life, perhaps another world, Brygos could imagine that this man might have turned out very differently. A gentler sort of man - perhaps he could even have been as noble as Hugh. But whatever he could have been, he had turned away from that, and so Chronoist tried to turn his head, to catch the Archer's gaze, to warn him not to let his guard down.
"I will never surrender. But perhaps, if you get out of my way, I would have no reason to kill you and your friends." The sword came up, pointing lazily towards Chronoist. "This one, for example. He seems important to you." He saw the Archer's eyes flick towards him, and the depth of emotion that flickered across it made him thrill with a strange joy for a moment, before terror and dread drowned it. This wasn't the time for the Archer to let fear rule him, for him or anyone else.
But agonisingly, his bow began to lower, aim dropping towards the ground, and that dark figure stepped forwards. "Come, then. This way."
Chronoist wanted to shout, to say anything, to tell him not to give in, but his voice wasn't any more free than his limbs were. In mad frustration his eyes flicked back and forth, looking for anything that might free him, and from the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of something incongruous - an arrow, almost completely hidden in the grass, lying there with its point in the air. The tip was very faintly glowing. He flicked his eyes to the right, and there was another, and another. A set of hidden markers, describing a small circle which, lured by his brother's apparent surrender, the Knight was stepping towards.
He took the final step, over that invisible line, and instantly the trap closed. The circle came to life as a silver line snapped around its edge, and suddenly the Knight screamed and fell to one knee. He tried to rise, pull himself forward, but his darkness was boiling off him - that armour, that had moments ago seemed so impenetrable, was boiling. It bubbled away, bursting into smoke that flooded into the air, a pillar that poured into the sky, a cloud that spread and joined into those swirling above.
Finally the noise stopped, the smoke cleared, and where the Dread Knight had stood, there was a man. Rising from the ground, naked but unafraid, a strong and handsome man with some of Hugh's appearance, but darker hair and perhaps a little more height. He stood there, chest heaving, staring out at the Archer, who was looking back almost stunned, seeing his brother's real face for the first time in years.
"Nigel?"
"Of course." His voice was rich and calm, even soothing. Hugh's, by contrast, was barely holding back a tide of emotion, and shaking with the effort:
"It's so good to see you. To really see you, without your armour."
"And you, brother. Now tell me, what is this you've done?"
Hugh nodded. "Ah, yes. I'm sorry, Nigel, I set up a trap for you. This circle cuts you off from your powers. I thought it might be the only way that we could have a proper conversation."
"A conversation." That smooth voice was flat and nearly expressionless.
"Uhm, yes, exactly. Because I think your powers may have been affecting you. You were always such a good man, Nigel, but when you started looking into this magic, you changed. It changed you. Now look at what you've done!" He gestured at Tempest, Blur, Chronoist, all still restrained, barely even able to struggle against their chains. "Is this who you wanted to be? Some monstrous warlord?"
"Is that what you think of me?"
Hugh almost flinched. "What do you mean?"
"Oh come now, little brother. You know me, you know who I am. I don't believe I have ever been a rash person. Do you really think I would make such a mess without a reason?"
"Reason? What reason could possibly justify all you've done! You've attacked the world again and again just to find this place!"
"Exactly. This place. You know what is in that cave, don't you?" He gestured behind Hugh, at the dark mouth that, once again, seemed like it was swelling and rising over everything before it. "Not some little artifact. Not a source of spells for second-rate magic-workers," and the words were barbed as he spat them, "but real, limitless power. Power that is ripe to be taken."
"It has to be protected! Nigel, please, humanity is not meant to take something like this for themselves!"
"Oh, grow up, brother." He stood strong, hands clasped behind his back, confident and commanding. "It doesn't matter what we're meant to do. All that matters is what we are able to do. And if we don't take this, then our enemies will." The voice dropped lower, almost gloating. "Do you know what's out there, Hugh? The things that want this world? I do. I've seen them. There are infinite horrors out there, waiting to swarm our world, and if I don't take this power from you then one of them will do it." Hugh had flinched back, horrified, and in that moment Chronoist glanced back at Nigel - and saw what he was hiding. Behind his back, concealed against his arm, something dark was growing. Somehow, he'd regained a shred of his power, and it was forming into a long, black-bladed dagger that came to a wicked point. And the man was stepping forwards.
The chains were sapping his strength and blocking his mouth, but they hadn't taken away his will. He thrashed against them, and when Hugh glanced his way, he flicked his eyes at Nigel's back. Don't trust him, look out!
Perhaps it could have worked. If he'd noticed sooner, if he'd been able to speak, if, if, if. Instead, Nigel took one last step - and lunged. That knife whipped out, his unnatural speed returned, and he slashed out at his brother, one single stroke. There was a grunt of pain.
Then Nigel dropped to his knees again, and the chains holding Chronoist down were gone. He rushed over, and saw the arrow that was lodged deep in the former Knight's chest. He was holding it with one hand, his expression one of confusion as he let the dagger drop and disappear. He looked up at Hugh, and his mouth opened, but whatever he might have said was swallowed up as the arrow began to burn. The flame burned all the way along the shaft, and cracks of that fire spread all across his body. He didn't cry out, didn't even show any pain. His face dulled and smoothed into something like peace. Then the fire spread, consumed, and his body turned to ash, crumbled, collapsed.
Brygos looked to Hugh, and was just in time to catch him as he, too, began to fall. He cradled him, lay him back, and suddenly found himself staring in horror as a growing redness spread itself across his silver doublet.
"Ladies!" he shouted. "He's hurt! Please, come, give me your aid!"
Portja was the first there, Krystal turning up moments later, both poised at Hugh's side, both seeming just as confused as Brygos about what could be done. He looked at Hugh's face, which was growing paler by the second. "Come, Hugh, you healed me the first time we met. Don't tell me that you cannot do that now?"
Hugh lifted a hand, a silver glow gathered, and Brygos dared to hope. For a second. Then the glow vanished as Hugh coughed, a deep, painful noise. "I cannot. My power is too spent, and I am too weak to force it any further. I fear this may be my final hour."
Krystal slapped him across the face, hard enough to leave red marks. "Don't you say that! After all that we've been through, you're going to give up like this? Pathetic! Pull yourself together!"
His head had been rocked a little aside, but he turned it towards her again. "Krystal. I'm sorry to leave you without a guide in this world. I know that's terribly rude of me. But I've seen the way you and Portja rely on each other, and I believe-" another cough cut him off. He grimaced, painfully, tearing into Brygos' heart.
"Don't - gorgeous man, your life is not yet done. You cannot die, not now, not when there's so much left to do. You've a life to live, and foes to slay - please, I beg you. Don't leave me."
Hugh smiled up, faintly. "Poetic. But I've done what I had to. My brother is...gone. The world is safe from his greed for power. If I have to die..." he coughed, and a little red stained his lips, "then it was worth it."
He closed his eyes, and his chest was barely moving with each slight breath. But Brygos wasn't done. His lips were in a firm line, his eyes were hard, and when he spoke it was shockingly smooth, despite the feeling of trembling under his throat that threatened to rise and overwhelm him.
"Machine. CHE, did you hear?"
A light hum, and then: "I did."
"I owe this man my life - you owe him, too. We cannot let him die here, after all that he has done."
"You know I can't do anything! It's too dangerous. If I were to bring him through time, the risks...not even I can tell what would happen with any real confidence."
CHE's words were reasonable. And unacceptable. "If you refuse to help him, be aware: I'll fight for you no longer, nevermore. I'll cease to be your loyal soldier, and the future that you fear will come to pass."
CHE was silent for a long moment.
"Brygos. Please. You have to realise how dangerous it could be. If I pull him through my doorway, with power like he has, it could endanger all that we've worked for. We've come so far, built so much! You have to leave him. Brygos, you have to let him die."
Brygos stood still, felt wet tears flowing over his cheeks. He didn't dare speak, just shook his head. Wind blew over the trees, and the smells of the island drifted past, the rich scent of living wood blending with distant snow and ash, all mixed with the scent of the rain that was still softly falling. He crouched down at Hugh's side. The man's chest was almost still, now, the beautiful soft breeze barely making a difference, and the blood that flowed there seemed to be slowing.
He raised a hand to Hugh's face, gentle as he could be.
"I cannot. CHE, I cannot. I would give all that I am, all that I've done, if it might save him from this fate. I would risk that to give him even but a single day."
CHE's metallic voice sounded again in his ear, softer now.
"You really care about him that much?"
"I do," his voice caught, "I love him more than anything. I cannot bear to lose him in this way."
A door opened, a metal pathway into the future. "Then bring him. Quickly."
Brygos picked up the fallen archer, carefully, gently, and carried him into the doorway as it smoothly closed behind. In the last second, he looked over his shoulder, to see Portja and Krystal standing together, watching them disappear, their faces full of sorrow and hope.