Slowly Klystra awoke into drowsiness from her strange deathlike sleep. It was the dead hour of the night between sunset and moonrise. Stars sparkled frostily in the sky. The hearthfire had almost died. The dampened sound of a couple making love filled her ears through strange mists. “Bloody bitch,” the woman muttered and tried to rise, but her body refused to obey. Klystra was a tall and strong woman, her body steeled by years of toiling in the fields. Slowly her mind cleared. There was no feeling of pain. The other woman had obviously not hit her physically.
A strange feeling of unease filled Klystra. What sinister necromancy had her rival used to knock her into senseless rigor? The impossibly hushed sounds radiating from the closed bedroom door suggested the orgiastic climax of love-making. Klystra finally managed to rise, still feeling unsteady on her legs. She had a beautiful hourglass shape with full breasts, striking dark eyes, full red lips and raven hair in spite of her heavy build. A simple dress pronouncing her figure and solid working boots were her raiment. Gently a door creaked, but Klystra did not hear footfalls.
Suddenly a small blonde woman entered the kitchen, nude as the day she was made and perfectly shaped. She was lissome and beautiful, showing her firm breasts, long mane of tawny hair, full red lips and grey eyes shining with a strange inner fire, but there was an unpleasant suggestion of hardness in the small body. The stranger moved with predatory grace. Jealousy burned in Klystra's heart and she quickly closed the distance and hit the other woman with her fist. The larger woman grunted, feeling she had hit an immobile stone statue and punched again.
The result was the same, angering her even more. Klystra picked up a heavy club and hit the other without thinking. The blonde had moved with blinding speed, avoiding the attack and catching the weapon as it lost its momentum. The club was wrenched from Klystra's hands with brutal force. The blonde retreated a step and held the weapon in her left hand, squeezing it brutally. Beneath her iron grip, the wood crumbled and the two remaining pieces of the weapon dropped to the floor unheeded. “I could tear out your spine with my bare hands,” the blonde said.
More quickly than it had come, the fire of rage faded from Klystra, as though it had been doused by cold water. “I am Ilanora Deathcry,” the small woman continued. Dim memories of ancient folk tales and sinister conjectures filled the mind of the farmer. “I am also known as Ilanora the Cursed, for I am neither alive nor dead, but caught in the dim shadow world between live and death since ages immemorial. Had you destroyed me, I would rise again in the dead hour of the next night, vengeance on my mind. Go to your husband and please him. Trouble your mind with me no more."
A sliver of moonlight appeared in the window. Ilanora seemed to loose her substance when hit by its frosty rays. Utterly silent the blonde walked away, passing through the wall, as though it was not there. Klystra moved into the bedroom, where she was caught in the arms of her husband and kissed. After a moment of surprise, she returned the kiss and embrace, crushing the man against her strong body. She cast off her dress and boots to enjoy the unbridled, wild and fulfilling passion that, perhaps, only simple people can enjoy.
The next morning dawned on a beautiful day, birds singing to greet the sun, its light mirrored by thousands of tiny sparks on the water of the stream running along the village. Ilanora Deathcry, dressed in a revealing green silk dress and Elle Helldancer, dressed in leather pants, white blouse, sturdy boots and carrying a sword at her belt looked at a man in the river. He did not move, but his limbs and body exhibited neither rigor mortis nor the bloated look of the drowned. “He is not dead,” Ilanora said. “I know,” spoke Elle. “I have seen his chest move. There is a straw in his mouth, allowing him to breathe.”
She walked to the bank of the stream. The water was strangely cold to the touch, even on this warm day in late summer, grabbed the collar of the man's robes and pulled him out of the water. She put him on his feet. The man shook himself. “Thank the gods for the sun,” he said. He was dressed in a heavy vermilion velvet road-worn robe, soft but sturdy traveller's boots and carrying a staff of dark wood inlaid with a spiral of silvery wire. Branches like claws at the upper end held a small ball of green crystal. A black leather belt with a silver clasp shaped to resemble a miniature tornado completed his raiment.
“I am hunted,” the man said. Elle shrugged. She was a tall and powerfully built woman, lean and hard as steel. “I had business concerning Nightstone Keep, but unable to complete my task, I had to flee. Three days and nights without rest I evaded pursuit in the mountains, until I achieved sufficient distance from my hunters to hide myself in the river. Strange minerals washed out of its subterranean sections render the water impregnable by all magic, but it is only a question of time, until they pick up my trail again.” Ilanora asked: “Why did you fail to complete your task?”
“A central element was missing,” the wizard replied. “I sensed it was downstream, before the river bereft me of any interaction with the outside world.” He looked at Ilanora strangely and the woman began to understand. “I am Ianar Weaver,” the man said. Elle realised he was handsome. “I want you,” she said. “I hope you know what you are doing,” the wizard spoke. “We are two weeks of riding from the castle,” Ilanora suddenly said after ignoring most of the previous dialogue. “The stream carried me more swiftly than I thought,” quoth the wizard.
“We should leave, before his pursuers arrive and burn the village and worse,” Elle said. Ilanora spoke: “He needs to rest first. A wizard without spells is only so much baggage. It is obvious that he is at the utter end of his endurance. If he speaks the truth, he is an extraordinary man to have survived this ordeal.” Elle turned to the other woman, jealousy in her eyes. “Did I hear desire in your voice?” she asked angrily. “Lusting after all men I meet is part of my curse,” Ilanora said evenly. Anger flashed in Elle's striking grey eyes.
The relation between Ilanora and Elle was a complex one. They were each others best friends, but they also hated each other with passion. Elle punched the blonde, hitting her chin from below. Either she was far stronger than Klystra, or the sunlight weakened the blonde, for the blow connected with a solid thud, kicking Ilanora off her feet. She circled away from Elle gracefully, her eyes glowing with eldritch fire. Elle reached for her sword. “You cannot defeat me,” Ilanora said. “I was the greatest champion of my age.”
“It was my quest to prevent the breaking of the world, but I fell in love with the villain I was supposed to destroy. The earth shook and cracked, lava burst out of the cracks. Then the floating pieces where locked together with clasps of indestructible metal, but the world was never the same again. It was no longer possible to mine deeply, for the lava was in the way. Iron became rare and coveted. I was killed by the fire, but reborn in the dead of the night. I have lived for ages immemorial, seeing the rise and fall of kingdoms and cultures in incessant warfare across the world.”
“I always thought the clasps were the result of the world's creators using more landscape than the world's surface was capable of carrying,” Elle spoke. “This is the common belief today and I did not bother to spread the truth. It will only make people come up with dangerous magic to restore the former state of the world, which was essentially not much different, except for cleaner air,” Ilanora said. “I will get my armour and then we will go,” Elle said. She left the other two, knowing what would happen. Ilanora hugged the wizard and kissed him, crushing his body against hers.
Gently she seduced the exhausted man, knowing he could not resist. When Elle returned, Ilanora was still nude. Her dress was nowhere to be found. The wizard seemed strangely refreshed. “I need eight hours of rest before I can cast my spells again,” he said. The three crossed the river and left the village following little used ways, hoping to meet no-one, so that the villagers could truthfully claim not to know about the stranger, when the hunters of Nightstone came.
The path leading from Elle's home village to the walled town of Nirgar skirted the dusky border of the ill-reputed Iarknar Woods. Preternatural silence radiated between thick boles standing at the forest's edge like timeless sentinels in eternal vigilance. On the road itself the sounds of birds, beasts, insects and the wind in the bushes of the verdant hills was strangely dimmed, making live and hope appear far away. Ilanora left the companions and disappeared into the shadowy forest without warning or noise. Elle smiled grimly, not knowing if she should be happy or sad to be rid of the irksome blonde. Ianar seemed lost in thought.
Finally the path led away from the oppressive silence of the forest and crossed the hills. The growths were thick as underbrush, offering ample concealment for bandits. “Draw your sword,” the sorcerer said quietly. Elle did so, taking a bit longer to recognise the unnatural movement of the bushes and the glint of copper and bronze in the sun. A single man blocked the way. “You must be wealthy to carry a sword of steel,” he said. “Give me all your valuables.” Elle shook her head. ldquo;You will kill me anyway,” she said. The man sighed and signalled with his hand.
Almost two dozen bandits leapt from the bushes and stood in each other's way trying to attack the travellers. Ianar held a restraining hand on the shoulder of Elle. He spoke the words of magic and lighting leapt from his hand, incinerating more than half of the Bandits. "Now," he said. The eager warriro did not need a second invitation and charged the remaining bandits. Elle cut them down with amazing ease, decapitating the first, stabbing the heart of a seconds, sutting into half a third and splitting the skull of a forth. Blood drenched the earth and turned it into dangerous mud.
Ianar stayed behind the furious warrior and stabbed one bandit, who managed to avoid her and tried to get behind her with the sharp end of his staff, that was like a spear. He crushed the skull of another with blunt end of his weapon. One came from the other side. Ianar parried his attack with surprising speed and touched him with a hand crackling with electricity, which lept on the body of the bandit and killed him. Elle had dealt with the others and was facing the leader. He wore leather armour cut into several pieces strapped together to allow for his vast bulk. The man wielded a heavy bronze sword.
He was a capable fighter in spite of his considerable girth. Steel and bronze flashed in the moon, as the two circled each other, weapons moving with a blur, missing their marks by breathless margins. Only years of experience allowed the bandit to stay alive. Suddenly the man's movements ceased. He gasped out his last breath and looked dumbly at his torso. The woman's sword was embedded deep in his breast, pierced through his heart. The tip of the blade burst out of his back like a tongue of cold flame. Elle withdrew the weapon and the man dropped like a felled ox.
Elle decapitated the body cleaned her blade and pantingly crushed the sorcerer against her mailed breast. She kissed him hard, until he returned embrace and kiss. She left him and picked up the bandit's head. White lines of crackling energy moved over the staff of the Ianar, cleaning it. The companions continued their way among the sweet scent of colourful fruit, some edible, others poisonous, until they reached the gates of Nirgar with the coming of dusk. The setting sun painted the sky in an unnatural rosy grey colour, as the two approached the Sheriff's office to collect the bounty for the death of the bandit.
A lithe nude woman was running through the woods, her soft steps unpleasantly loud against the silent background. Hosts of incorporeal dead thronged around her, but she did not seem to notice. Ilanora's movements were graceful and quick. She never stumbled on her way through the dense foliage. The light of the sun filtered sparsely through the thick canopy, making the forest feel like a shadowy cave. The lithe warrior knew the Iarknar of old. She had hidden here with a small elite force, preparing to save the world, before everything went wrong. She sighed.
Nightstone Keep had been home of many lords seeking seclusion from the world, some just tired of incessant warfare, others to plot vengeance or flee their past. After the breaking of the world, but before the return of her Nemesis, another force had built another keep in the forest as a base to attack the living dead of Nightstone, but magic was not blocked by walls and the forces of light had been turned into that which they had hoped to destroy.
It took Ilanora three nights and two days of running to reach the overgrown ruins of the ancient broken keep. Idly she wondered, how many millenia ago the tragedy had taken place. She shrugged off the thought and approached the crypt. It had been built into the rocky hills long before the ill-fated fortress, allowing the dead to surprise those believing themselves to be save. Strength surged through Ilanora, as she approached the gates. Undead guardians blocked her way, a ghost and a thick-boned skeleton, sparks of light dancing in its eyes. “Touch the sword,” the ghost said.
Slowly Ilanora approached the steel weapon. It was stuck in a rock, most of its steel blade hidden. One moment her resolve wavered. If she touched her old sword, there was no going back. Ancient love stirred in her heart to turn into bitter hatred. She closed her hand around the hilt, pulling the sword out easily. The undead sentinels stared at her in surprise. The doors of the tomb creaked, slowly opening to reveal a great warrior of the dead, his skin wrapping his bones like dry parchment, still wearing steel chain mail and a long sword. “You will follow me,” Ilanora said, her voice allowing no contradiction. "What will you do, if I refuse?” the other asked.
“I will destroy you,” the woman said icily. “The time has come to take Nightstone Keep. Your choice is to come with me or be utterly annihilated.” She knew the answer, before the skeleton warrior said with a hollow sepulchral voice: “You betrayed us.” He attacked, but his movement seemed strangely clumsy compared to the graceful combat style of the woman. Quickly she split him in half, the bones crumbling to dust before they hit the ground. “I will find your phylactery, before you can form a new body. Then I will collect my armour,” she proclaimed as a challenge, but there was only silence.
The meal in the towns inn was surprisingly tasty, but its delivery took a long time due to the crowded day. Elle and Ianar retreated early, the warrior knowing the mage needed his rest. They undressed and she said: “I am a violent bloodthirsty psychopath.” Ianar shrugged and smiled at her. “I am a madman from the other end of the world, meddling in most dangerous affairs,” he spoke. Ianar was seduced surprisingly gently be Elle, who was clearly stronger than him, almost belying her harsh words.
“Why do you think the inn was almost deserted?” Elle asked the next morning. “Most people were probably locals, who prefer to breakfast at home,” Ianar replied. He had slept late, but Elle did not press him. She knew that the recovery of magic was essential, when she wanted him to help her. He obviously needed to rest longer to recover his strength after the ordeals he had been through. Later Elle wondered, he was still able to cast a spell as powerful as chain lightning the day before.
They had purchased horses and were riding on their way to Nightstone Keep, the castle hidden deep in the Mountains. Ianar turned out to be a surprisingly good rider. “Do you think we will see Ilanora again?” Elle asked. “Yes,” the mage replied. “She should be within Iarknar Forest, gathering an army of the dead. Most likely we will see her in full plate next time.” Elle did not entirely believe the words of her partner, but she did not press the matter.
Several hours later, they left the road and began to travel through the wilderness. Elle marvelled at her partner's ability to find the way through the trackless landscape of hills covered by dense bushes of wild roses, raspberry, hurtleberry, heather and and juniper. Occasionally there were stands of basswood, birch, beech and yew, among which the two adventurers hid from some of the larger predators and monsters, preserving their strength for the battle ahead. “I was a ranger, trained in the wild, before my talent for magic was discovered and I became a sorcerer,” Ianar explained one night.
After the unease of all used to walk alone suddenly having a partner faded, Elle and Ianar became companions quickly, but there was alway a little more between them, which both felt, but neither was ready to admit. Elle said one day: “I was trained by the Order of the Stone Fist. Among the tales they told was the legend of Nightstone, near the Pass of Broken Spires.” Ianar chuckled and said: “The pass is two days from the Castle. Only Ilanora, myself and its current occupants know the exact location of the Keep. It has an ominous reputation.”
Elle had her first glimpse at the dreaded castle several days later. It was made from stone black as the darkness between the stars. It seemed to radiate fear and hinted at horrors from ages immemorial. No road led to its gates, few maps marked its position, for it was shunned by all people, even the most daring thieves. “I sense the presence of Ilanora,” Ianar said. “I am sure this time she will tell the full tale of her failure and curse.” Elle looked hit him dubiously, but even she understood that there was more to the blonde than she knew.
Actually they did not meet her until they reached the foot of the narrow winding path leading to the castle gates. Elle barely recognised the other woman, resplendent in steel plate armour, armed with a great bastard sword of the same material, riding on a large black horse with fiery hooves and diabolic intelligence in its eyes. Arrayed behind her were the ranks of the dead, row after row of skeletons, zombies, ghosts and wraiths and other creatures Elle was unable to identify. “Surprised?” Ilanora asked. Elle did not bother to answer.
“I infiltrated Nightstone Keep to prepare the way for a small elite force supporting my quest, but instead I found Lord Vidar and fell in love with him. He was no villain, except for his strange idea of tapping into the power contained within the molten heart of the world to strengthen his magic. He did not build the castle. It was ancient even in my age. Perhaps it has been moved here from another world, or it is coeval with the creation of Reavia. While I was the lover of Vidar, he cast his final spell in a great ritual with his apprentices. Lava burst out of the ground, rushing through the castle and killing us all.
“Nightstone still stands, unharmed and strong. I suspect the keep is indestructible by virtue of the same magic allowing the bridge-clasps to join the broken fragments of the world. I will send the zombies first. They are expendable and should trigger most of the traps on the way,” Ilanora said. “I guess I already activated most of the traps when I was here a month ago,” the wizard spoke. “They have probably been rearmed," Elle said. “I wonder who would have been left to do so,” quoth Ianar.
Ilanora had been right. Most of the Zombies had been pierced, mangled, hit with hammers and been subsequently destroyed, when they made the castle gate, which was open much to the surprise of the three companions and the more intelligent undead. The heavy gates and the portcullis, its iron staves a foot thick, slammed shut behind them. “It seems someone was seriously angered by my escape,” the mage said. Ilanora split her army into several groups to efficiently clean all areas of the castle from opposition.
The three companions waited for a surprisingly long time until a spectral commander reported doors his unit was unable to pass. Ilanora asked for the area of the castle and the other two followed her, until they stood in front of heavy locked double doors. Ianar touched the doors with the head of his staff and spoke a word of command. Both doors burst inwards, torn from their hinges by the force of the magic. They flew through the room beyond the sill, squishing several guards, before they knew what hit them. Elle and Ilanora fought their way through the remains of the unit, bursting through them like whirlwinds of death, competing for the larger number of kills.
“They are indeed undead creatures,” Ianar said. “They have been resurrected by strange necromancy unable to return them to true live, as the magic of priests can.” Ilanora spoke: “I thought I recgonised a few faces of the palace guards from the time before my curse.” The mage followed the mighty women deeper into the mountain, smelling brimstone and embalming spices. He stopped in front of another door similar to the one he had recently broken, but it was not locked. “I sense the presence of an enemy wizard,” the sorcerer said. “I will deal with him, while you two do away with any fighting creatures trying to interrupt my concentration.”
Elle pushed open the heavy door. The three entered a large cavernous room, in the center of which a magic circle was engraved into the very rock itself. Twisted spidery runes adorned it, making Elle wonder, what it was supposed to protect against. Nervously she glanced at the many shadowy corners and alcoves, which could hide a considerable armed force. Most of the room was blackened by obsidian, left there by a lava burst out of the insufficient circle of protection Ilanora remembered only all too well. Near the circle stood a man looking at a open tome on a pedestal of black gneiss.
A black robe embroidered with golden runes, soft boots and a headband of silver were his raiment. He picked up an ebony staff, turning to face the three adventurers daring to interrupt his studies. A triangular beard and horns from his headband, continued by grey streaks in his dark hair made him appear like a devil. He smiled wickedly at the two warrior women, not seeing the sorcerer in their shadow. Recognising Ilanora, his smile suddenly, impossibly changed to a friendly softness. “I have been expecting you, my love,” he lied.
“Which demon demands me as a sacrifice?” the blonde asked. “There is only one reason for me to come here,” she said without waiting for an answer. “Today I will finally destroy you.” Lord Vidar said with a hurt voice: “You do me injustice my love. I am not capable of any of the diabolic deeds you blame on me. Please accept my apologies for the failed magic and take my hand again.” Ilanora was almost inclined to believe him, but she knew her former lover too well. “I know you tricked and cheated me, with or without magic, and you always intended to sacrifice me to your ambition. I will have my vengeance.” She raised her sword.
His face showing anguish first, then anger, Lord Vidar cast a killing spell at the blonde with hatred in his eyes. Ianar stepped forward between the two warriors, letting his staff absorb the spell. Only mighty mages wielded staves capable of this, the dark lord knew. The sorcerer was already speaking his incantation and the villain was barely able to raise his defences. The tome next to him began to burn unheeded. The women stepped away from their companion and stared in disbelief as two antagonists hurled acid, fire, ice and lightening at each other, circling the summoning circle.
The air was supercharged with magical energy, as killing spells hit defensive barriers, clashed with each other, ice extinguishing fire and melting into harmless water, acid dispersed by lightening and death prevented by arcane shields. Several palace guards burst from the shaded areas and two doors of the room. Many perished in the maelstrom of lethal magic, but the remaining warriors slowly made their way to attack the hostile sorcerer. The infernal light and the flashes of battle magic made more obvious that they were living dead with sallow skin and dull lifeless eyes.
Ilanora commanded the undead cotrolled by her to hold them back. Rank by rank they burst into the room and closed their ranks on command, but not even Ilanora could keep them safe from the terrible magic unleashed by the two sorceres. Slowly the killing spells and the endless stream of enemies began to wear down the army of Ilanora. She joined the battle herself, fighting with terrible strength, shattering the will of many enemies with her terrible battle cry. Elle soon moved into the other direction to support the troops there.
Fortunately the dead were slowed and dumbened by the unnatural resurrection, allowing both Elle and Ilanora to slay many of them easily, but even they would tire sooner or later, while the dead kept on rising and flooding into the room. Even worse, another group of undead broke down a wall, making a third entrence to the wall. Elle saw first that there was no way she could keep them from reaching and killing Ianar, but she had to fight for her own life with all skill, strength and endurance she had.
Dancing, whirling and slaying the two woman fought. The nature of the fight had changed. They twisted our of the way of attacks dodged and struck with the slowly fading strength of tiring limbs. Slowly the dead moved towards their wizard companion, whom they could not help. Ianar realised this more quickly than Lord Vidar had anticipated. He finally cast his most powerful killing spell, directing two meteors of the swarm towards the guards and the other two at his primary target. The flaming balls burst through the dense ranks and the villain's defences with devastating impact, exploding into fireballs.
Lord Vidar finally stumbled, his strength drained by the merciless onslaught of the implacable sorcerer. The advance of the living dead halted. Ilanora chopped an enemy in half, his torso falling in one direction, legs in another and charged her hated former lover, her sword covered with bone dust and embaling spices. Several of the dead tried to attack her, but their driving force was gone. The attacks bounced off her armour harmlessly. She stabbed the wizard through the heart, the sword driven through him to the hilt by hatred, almost half of the blade sticking out of his breast. She spoke an incantation uselessly stored in her mind since she had died in his lava burst many long ages ago.
Ianar realised what she was doing and ran towards Elle. He cracked the skull of an undead guard with his staff, kicked another in the belly, making him stumble backwards, grabbed the waist of his partner and ran towards the door. Furiously the warrior almost attacked him, but then she put her own arm around him and together they ran. The room grew hot, making the companions sweat. Slowly the obsidian was melting, turning into lava again. As they approached the door, searing heat made it nigh impossible to breathe. Drops of molten lava began to rain from the ceiling.
Banishing the pain with inhuman wills, Elle and Ianar managed to leap past the sill, rolling to the side, trying to hide from the heat and the lava. Within the room, the yellow hot glowing molten rock gathered into a pillar centred on Lord Vidar and Ilanora, obscuring them from sight. Heat knocked the two companions unconscious in the middle of a fierce kiss, which might have been the last of their lives.
When they awoke, they were lying nude in a soft bed, entangled as though they had made love. “I feared you would never awaken,” Ilanora said. “I thought you had died in that lava pillar,” Elle said with a groan. “Lord Vidar is gone, and all wrought by his magic, including the undead guards,” Ilanora spoke. “The undead I led here found their peace, but I did not. It seems my curse will only break when the world is made whole again or utterly destroyed.” She shrugged and smiled sadly. “The destruction of that accursed creature lifted a great weight from me. I am still lustrous, but no longer forced to have sex with every man I meet.”
Ianar nodded and said: “You are the ghost of Nightstone. While your crypt is beneath the broken keep of Iarknar, you are tied to this place. Even I cannot say what will bring you peace, but my task was to destroy Lord Vidar.” Ilanora nodded. “You are the head of the Spellweaver Guild,” she said. “No more, I suspect,” quoth the mage. “I have pursued this quest for many long years. Information on your era is hard to find. They probably believe me to be dead and have nominated someone else as head of my order. I think this is a duel I can do without. I will stay with Elle.”
Slowly the warrior turned her gaze from the handsome man to the staff leaning near his side of the bed, where he could easily reach it. The weapon was made from mithral, the legendary metal harder and lighter than steel, and the crystal seemed to be a globe of pure emerald. Ianar spoke a word of command and the staff assumed its usual wooden shape. “Travelling with a large amount visible silver steel is not a good idea,” he said. “I have done mercenary work before.” Elle realised her life was going to be far more exciting and dangerous from now on. She smiled fiercely and kissed her partner hard. Nothing was restraining the feelings the two had developed for each other now. “I love you,” she said with passion and seduced him.
Ilanora left the lovers and walked to the top of one of the towers, surveying the landscape broken by glowing chasms in the distance. She envied Elle and Ianar their simple life as mercenaries, which she had enjoyed herself in times immemorial. She had never asked to be a champion of a dozen lost causes, but odds had never bothered her. At least Lord Vidar had finally passed from this world, his soul banished to suffer infernal domains eternally, but there was no way to make the world whole again. Every chasm and bridge-clasp would remind her of her failure for all time.