Warmoon [ONC 2020]•[Shortlisted]•[Honorable Mention List, Stunning Worlds]

17. The Diviner

Total Word Count: 26,629

Rhoa peered through the archer's crenel, jaw tight as she willed the Rotmen to stay on the other side.

They milled around for a moment, as if unsure what to do next. Then one of them lifted his head like a hound scenting the wind, and began climbing onto the log.

Muttering a few choice words under her breath, Rhoa homed her sights in on the Rotman. He was walking along the log on all fours, his dark eyes weeping thick black tears. She steeled herself, took the shot, then wheeled to her left and strode into the gatehouse on the other side of the parapet walk.

She yanked the mechanized crossbows up several clicks, bringing their crosshairs to a point halfway up the length of the log. Then she ran back across the top of the gate to the other tower and began arming her windlass again, keeping an eye on the progress of the other Rotmen while praying like mad that the Vanguard wasn't lying dead in the bailey.

One by one the other villagers began climbing the log.

Rhoa gave up hoping one of them would stay behind. None of them did, even though each one had to climb over the bodies of the ones Rhoa had already picked off with the mechanized bows. Longstruik – or whatever was left of him – was the last, wandering almost aimlessly up the log, teetering close to falling several times before he lurched into the killsquare.

Rhoa bit her lower lip, hating herself, hating what she had to do even as she pulled on the handle at the end of the wire above her head, and a stream of bolts flew from the loophole in the other gatehouse.

Longstruik went down on his thick knees, then crumpled slowly forward, facedown. It was almost ridiculously easy. Too easy.

Taking a deep breath, Rhoa armed two crossbows, then ran back out onto the portcullis walk in time to watch the Vanguard fell the last of the Rotmen under Rokstag's control.

But the fight seemed to have taken its toll. The scarlet Magefire had dwindled to a mere suggestion in places, and the Vanguard stood there, head bowed, his tattoos smoldering a dull brick red.

For several seconds, silence reigned in the courtyard, broken only by the sigh of a breeze.

Then, finally, the Diviner stepped out of the stables, a pale, silvery-blue flame wreathing his head. His voice drifted eerily, singsong and multi-toned, rising on a wind of its own making. "I have come to take you away from here, Rhoa Strongcastle!"

Rhoa closed her eyes tight against the sudden throb of pain in her temples.

"I will give you whatever you want, whatever you need," Rokstag crooned. "Come away with me. I have waited so long."

Shaking her head to clear it, Rhoa bared her teeth and hefted one of the crossbows to her shoulder.

Below her, the Vanguard still hadn't moved. What was he doing? 

High, sweet laughter rang out. "Rhoa... I would never lie to you Rhoa... We can take the children and your Gran with us. You will all be safe."

Rhoa took aim at the center of the Diviner's parchment-white forehead. Her vision blurred and she blinked, taking aim again.

"You will come away with me, Rhoa." That unearthly voice was beginning to worm into her, working its way into her skull, down her spine and through her muscles. Her arms trembled and the crossbow wobbled.

Rokstag took another step, his robes flaring with tongues of blue fire that stifled the Vanguard red, leaving a swath of black behind him. He walked slowly, deliberately, heading straight for the Vanguard.

With a hiss, Rhoa forced her hands to bring the nose of the crossbow up again. Focusing hard, she took aim. This time she squeezed the trigger.

Rokstag turned to look up at her, a freakish smile curling his lips, the dark four-pointed star of the bolt's iron fletching sticking out an inch above his brow. Then he stepped forward again.

Rhoa's throat went dry. This was not happening.

"You cannot hurt me, Rhoa. I am strong. Stronger than any Keeper." He took another step. "Do not resist me. You will come away, and you will be mine —"

The Vanguard's arms suddenly flared scarlet, flames racing down the blade of his sword again. He said something in a foreign language, raised his hand, and engulfed the Diviner in a burning pillar of brilliant red.

Rokstag didn't scream and go down, wallowing like the others. He grinned, and crossed his arms over his chest, first two fingers pointing to his shoulders. Then he brought them slashing down again, twin arcs of blue spinning away from his wrists, slicing through the air. "Is that the best you can do?"

The Vanguard ducked and lifted his left arm, and the blue flames broke as if deflected by an invisible shield.

The voice that tore from Rokstag's throat was no longer his own. "You do not know what you face, Zachradias! This world is mine! You and all of your kind will fall!"

Dragging in a breath, Rhoa tilted her head, not quite sure she understood what she was seeing. As the Vanguard dodged, the Diviner opened his jaw wide in a shrill scream and began disintegrating, his form shifting, flowing away into an ink-black river that poured from his mouth. His face was the last thing to go, his lips still curled in a smile before they melted away, stolen by the darkness inside him.

"Rhoa! Get to the Keep!"

The Vanguard's shout broke through the daze holding her rooted. She looked down. He was racing toward the gatehouse, mere feet ahead of an oncoming tide of Rot.

Rhoa turned and ran, pelting through the gatehouse and along the top of the wall to the south Keep tower.

She waited, holding the door open, breathing "come-on-come-on-come-on" as the Vanguard tore out of the gatehouse, scorching Mage lines on the wall behind him.

He pounded past her into the tower stairwell, and she slammed the door shut, coppery lines already etching the inside of the door frame.

"That should hold it out for a few minutes," he rasped. "I can ward the sickroom."

Rhoa nodded, following him down the stairs and into the Armory, dodging past armor dummies and weapon racks.

Her footsteps slowed, and she came to a halt in the exit to the back stairs, a new, impossible, insane thought taking shape as the Vanguard kept going, yanking open the sickroom door and barreling inside.

He whirled, red fire twining up his arms, crackling in the air between them.

He stared at her, brows lowering. "What are you doing?"

"Keep them safe," she gasped, then whirled and darted back into the Armory.

"I can't keep that ward up for much longer, it's too far away!" He shouted after her. "Rhoa!"

"I have to get to the tower," she called, hoping he could hear her. "I need you to stay with them... Please just stay with them," she added the last as a prayer under her breath as she sprinted for the Robiary door.

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