NIGHTSEED [14]
By "HECK"

Comments to heck@heckster.co.uk

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  She came to with a throbbing head. She squeezed her lids tight 
shut against the stabbing pain behind her eyes, and tried to raise a 
hand to her knitted brow.
  Her elbow bumped against an unyielding, metallic surface. She 
opened an eye just a crack, and saw that she was enclosed in a cage 
that, given her height and stature, allowed her almost no room to 
move. Constructed of iron bars about half an inch thick, with a mesh 
floor, it was obviously built for someone much shorter, and followed 
the contours of her body so closely that it actually held her 
upright. 
  Her pauldron and, of course, her weapons, were gone. As she moved, 
the cage swung slightly and the chain creaked in its ceiling hook. 
The floor was about twenty-five feet below and, although the atrium 
was shrouded in darkness, she could tell that the room was empty.
  Calling upon techniques she had learned from bitter experience as 
a child. Brenhya focussed on the pain in her head. In her mind, she 
visualised herself taking the pain in both of her hands and 
compressing it, squeezing and forming it into a hard ball, and 
pushing it down deep into her subconscious until it became merely a 
dull ache, more of an inconvenience than a hindrance. 
  Mind cleansed and able to think clearly, she began to look around. 
To her left, hunched in his cage like a despondent lost soul, Fool 
rocked slowly. In the cage to her right, Brannagh still lay 
unconscious, his small body curled up on the mesh floor, and beyond 
him, just discernible in the gloom, Lon was just coming round. He 
shook his head, and grabbed on to the bars as he realised the gap 
that separated him from the ground.
  "Brenhya? Are you all right?"
  "Mmm. You?"
  "I think so. How long have we been up here".
  "Not long". The clock in her head gave her an accurate estimate of 
the passage of time. "A couple of hours". 
  She turned to look at the Fool. He appeared to have been further 
traumatised by earlier events. His glassy stare, unblinking and 
fixed on a distant point over her left shoulder, failed to recognise 
her presence. She called to him once, twice, and again, with no 
response. She chewed on her lower lip, trying to think of something 
to recall him from wherever his tortured brain had taken him. An 
idea occurred to her.
  "Laydeez an' Gennelmen!", she called in a resonant voice. 
"Squires, Goodwives, and Children of All Ages!"
  The bedraggled figure seemed to bring itself more erect. A light 
stirred in the dull eyes, and his gaze seemed to find her face and 
focus a little.
  "Brenhya?" His voice was a strangled croak. "Is that you?" He 
seemed to come back to the present, but there was a wild look in his 
eyes that Brenhya did not like.
  "Yes it is", she answered, keeping her voice as calm as possible. 
"Hang on. We're going to get you out of here".
  His mouth moved slightly in what might have been an attempt at a 
smile, and she was sure he nodded.
  "And just how are we going to do that?" Lon spoke from the dark, 
trying to keep the rising panic he felt from showing in his voice. 
"I mean, I can't think of anyone I'd rather have at my side in a 
tight spot, but face facts. We're trussed up like chickens, here".
  "Even a trussed chicken has a chance to survive until the axe hits 
its neck", Brenhya reassured. "Let me see what I can do".
  The only action available to her was a lateral movement of her 
arms. She braced her hands and forearms against the bars and pushed 
outward, testing the strength of her prison. The bars did not move, 
but did not seem to her to be immoveable. She sucked in two or three 
deep breaths, and poured all of her power into her efforts.
  The sinewy, strap-like muscles of her forearms tensed into cords 
of steel, and her triceps and deltoids sprang into deep relief as 
she braced her feet and forced strength into her arms. Her lips drew 
back, exposing her clenched white teeth in a grimace of effort, and 
the tendons in her neck stood out like wire hawsers as she 
maintained a supreme effort, pitted against the implacable metal 
bars.
  "Brenhya!", Lon hissed. "They're coming back!"
  She risked a brief glance downward. Led by Amillie in a candlelit 
procession, the Nightseed began to file back into the chamber and 
take up their places again. At the end of the line, still fascinated 
by the ring on its hated master's finger, the Dragonkind itself 
entered, and V'Daa led it to stand behind the altar.
  A deep growl rumbled in her chest and beads of sweat began to form 
on her brow and knotted shoulders as she poured ever greater power 
into her task. At last, the bars began to give, submitting finally 
to the incredible strength of the warrior woman. With a metallic 
groan, they began to expand outward, putting inexorable pressure on 
the sturdy padlock.
  Fool watched her tremendous display of strength with a detached 
interest, at least part of his mind still out of touch with reality. 
For his part, Lon breathed words of encouragement under his breath, 
willing her on to even greater efforts.
  Down below, Amillie began to lead the ceremony, chanting arcane 
mantras and eliciting learned responses from the congregation. All 
eyes were on her and the beast that stood entranced under a halo of 
candle light.
  One great effort, accompanied by a throaty yell of triumph, and 
the lock gave up the unequal struggle against the mighty strength of 
the woman. The cage door burst open, and she hurled herself through, 
heedless of the drop below.
  Five unfortunate members of the Nightseed broke her fall, and went 
down under her. Her flashing legs and scything hands took out 
several more as she fought her way toward the robed figure behind 
the altar.
  With a gesture, V'Daa directed the daemon's attention to the 
woman, and set it upon her. It was on her in a flash, and its horny 
hands closed about her hard, full biceps.
  Brenhya struggled against it, and her strength was sufficient to 
cause it to expend some effort. But she knew a brief feeling of 
uncertainty as she realised that, for the first time in her adult 
life, she was in combat with an opponent that was her superior in 
strength.
  The beast pulled her close in an effort to hug her to its scaly 
chest and begin to feed. She braced her hands against it, and 
managed to slow it somewhat, the slavering jaws snapping close to 
her face, enveloping her with its foul breath. Already, she could 
feel her strength beginning to wane as it slowly overpowered her.
  Frantic in his cage, Lon almost screamed as he watched his beloved 
friend begin to lose power. He threw himself against the bars, 
causing his cage to rock violently as he yelled her name over and 
over. If only he had been more adept at magic! If only there was 
something he could do! Something to turn the Dragonkind's power 
against it!
  And even as the thought crossed his mind, an ancient verse sprang 
to his lips. Almost unknowingly, hardly aware of what he was doing, 
he began to chant. His hands began to describe complicated patterns, 
directing some strange power toward the struggling woman, and in the 
back of his mind he was nearly sure he could hear the voice of 
Ralagant, his old master, urging him on and directing his efforts.
  Brenhya frowned as she felt the stirrings of a strange tingling in 
her trapped arms. Around her, several of the Nightseed fell to thier 
knees as if suddenly drained of all strength. Others began to 
display signs of growing weakness, and even the expressionless 
features of the daemon seemed puzzled as it, too, felt power seeping 
from its body.
  The tingling grew, and became a sensation of  exhilaration and 
power. She felt her muscles gain in strength and actually began to 
make some progress against the inhuman force that held her.
  Above, teeth gritted with concentration but still largely unaware 
of what he was doing, Lon continued his chanting and gesturing with 
a feverish urgency. He was dimly aware that what he was performing 
was a mirroring spell, reflecting the energy of the Dragonkind, and 
everyone within a few yards, back into the woman, and the voice of 
Ralagant still echoed in his mind, directing his endeavour from 
beyond the grave.
  Now the energy of the beast and the Nightseed began to flow into 
her body. She felt her already immensely powerful muscles grow huge 
and diamond hard, bursting out of her leather halter to expose her 
magnificent breasts. Her legs became as solid and unmoving as tree 
trunks. Her arms expanded to become jointed bars of immutable steel. 
Her entire body grew monstrous and unstoppable, and her head was now 
higher than that of the beast that continued to strive against her.
  Now she was of equal strength with the monster. Unable to 
comprehend anything other than its own needs and drives, it 
continued to fight, constantly trying to feed from this growing 
feast in its grasp. But now she had grown so huge that she was more 
than two feet taller than the daemon, and its long fingers were no 
longer able to encircle her titanic biceps.
  A long cry of anguish escaped the throat of V'Daa. "Nooooooooo!". 
He threw himself forward, hoping to assist his pet, but a casual 
flick of Brenhya's foot sent him sprawling to huddle against the 
base of the altar.
  "All right", Brenhya said, her voice resonant and echoing. Her 
muscularity was now beyond the bounds of anything human, and her 
strength more than double that of the monster. "I've had just about 
enough of you".
  She grasped the Dragonkind by its leg and hoisted it high in the 
air. With superhuman force, she slammed it against one of the great 
pillars that supported the ceiling. The force of the blow dislodged 
one of the massive columnar stones of which it was made, and the 
entire pillar came crashing down in a cloud of debris. It was only 
the cunning of the artificers who had constructed it that prevented 
the whole ceiling from collapsing after it.
  But daemons were made of stern stuff. Shaken by the blow but 
otherwise unharmed, the Dragonkind shook itself as it climbed to its 
feet. It approached Brenhya warily, still driven by its instincts, 
but now tempered by a vague sense of caution.
  The giant Brenhya, irritated by her failure to kill the beast, 
lashed out a foot with the power of a thunderclap. It connected 
squarely in the chest of the daemon, sending it flying backwards. 
Lumbering because of her enormous size, she ran after it, her 
footfalls cracking the tiles in the mosaic'd floor.  
  Stunned, the beast lay in a heap against the wall. Brenhya laid 
hold of its neck in one huge hand, and hauled it to its feet. She 
laid her other hand on its shoulder, and with a mighty wrench, tore 
its head from its body. An seething gout of thick, greenish-black 
ichor oozed from the ragged stump of its neck.
  She let the limp body fall in a lifeless heap and tossed the head, 
jaws still snapping, across the room. It rolled among the feet of 
the Nightseed and, with a last defiant snarl, bit deep into the calf 
of one of the watching throng. Its jaws locked as it died, and the 
man screamed as he hopped about with the grotesque obscenity 
clinging to his limb.
  With the fall of the daemon, the voice of Ralagant in his head 
ceased abruptly, and Lon collapsed in the cage, spent and exhausted.
  The instant his chanting stopped, Brenhya began to revert to 
normal. Her muscles started to diminish, and her overall body size 
slowly returned to its former stature. Amillie flung a spell of some 
sort, but she was still very  much imbued with borrowed power and it 
sputtered harmlessly against her skin. She casually backhanded the 
Wicca, sending her flying to land flat on her back. She did not 
stir.
  V'Daa was now seriously afraid and confused. The voices in his 
head seemed to split into two factions; one set urging him to flee 
and save himself, the other telling him that he was invincible and 
to continue without the daemon. He needed no supernatural help. He 
was, after all, a god.
  Undecided, he backed into a corner, the terrible woman bearing 
down upon him, her body returning to normal all the while. To his 
crazed senses, it seemed that she was walking toward him but staying 
in the same spot, as she advanced and became smaller at the same 
time.
    Now fully back to normal, but still a terrifically impressive 
figure, Brenhya reached out a hand to grab the cowering madman. He 
found his voice, and called upon the Nightseed to attack. So 
conditioned were they to obeying him without question, that the 
remnants of the cult piled in to attack her. She whirled to face 
this new threat, and was immediately borne down by sheer weight of 
numbers.
  From his cage Lon called out as he watched her engulfed by a tide 
of humanity. There was nothing he could do to help. He was totally 
spent by his earlier efforts. All he could do was watch, and observe 
as V'Daa picked his way past the crowd to disappear behind a heavy 
drape on one wall.
  The pile of bodies assaulting the warrior woman seemed to explode 
upward and outward. Brenhya rose from its centre, thrusting bodies 
from her and dropping attackers left and right with whirling hands 
and feet. Her reactions were far too quick for Lon to follow, so it 
seemed to him that she simply stood there while people threw 
themselves onto her feet and fists.
  She could afford to pull no punches. Each blow she delivered had 
her full strength behind it, and was calculated to kill or maim. A 
pile of inert bodies grew around her, until finally, there were no 
attackers left. Lon whistled through his teeth as he realised that 
she had, single-handedly, disposed of more than thirty assailants in 
as many seconds. And as he watched she began to search for the 
leader of all these misguided people.
  "Brenhya!", he called from his pendulous cage. "Behind the 
curtain!"
  Fist cocked in readiness, she cautiously approached the ornate 
drape. She twitched it aside, ready to deck the man she hoped to 
find there. Nothing. She looked up at Lon and shrugged her majestic 
shoulders.
  "He was there", Lon called. "I saw him go behind, and he never 
came out".
  Has to be a secret doorway,  Brenhya thought to herself. She ran 
her questing fingers over the stones, looking for a trigger or a 
gap. There was none that she could find. The stones fit together 
neatly, and nothing distinguished the false wall from the real one 
that surrounded it.
  But a secret door was the only logical explanation. She applied 
her shoulder to the wall, and pushed. Something gave a little. She 
leaned into it, and pushed harder and harder. 
  After a long minute of sustained effort, deep within the wall, 
there was a loud crack as part of some mechanism broke. The door 
began to swing open, revealing a dark corridor beyond.
  Understandably cautious, Brenhya entered the passage and edged 
along one wall. She did not fear anything, but was anxious not to be 
taken by surprise. Gradually, her eyes adjusted to the near total 
dark, and felt her way along the wall.
  Several yards in, the tunnel veered right and began to slope 
downwards. She was wary of booby traps, and tested every step before 
putting any weight upon it. She placed a foot on one flag, which 
gave slightly under the pressure.
  Brenhya threw herself flat as a wicked spike shot out of the wall, 
just where her head would have been. She rolled forward, and had to 
brace her feet to stop her forward momentum.
  When she stood upright, she could see a faint glow from the left, 
a few yards ahead. Carefully, she approached the junction, and edged 
her head around the corner to see....
  ...and whipped it back again as the cruel blade of a headsman's 
axe swept downwards. The blade struck sparks from the floor and the 
handle snapped with the force of the blow.
  The sound of rapidly repeating footsteps came from the adjoining 
passage. Brenhya stepped around the corner to see the fleeing back 
of V'Daa as he sprinted away.
  One of Brenhya's talents was that she could throw any missile with 
deadly accuracy. She picked up the heavy axe head by what remained 
of its handle, and hurled it after the retreating figure. The 
whirring blade flashed as it reflected the dim light. 
  When the axe left her hand, V'Daa was already several dozen yards 
away. But such was the power of her arm and the accuracy of her 
throw, that the weapon soon caught him up, and lodged itself in his 
back, neatly bisecting his spine and continuing on to cleave through 
his lungs. He fell bonelessly to the floor. 
  By the time Brenhya reached him, he was exhaling his last breath 
in a froth of red bubbles. She nudged the inert figure 
contemptuously with one sandalled foot, but its life had departed.

  A spasm of cramp stabbed through Lon's thigh as he hung in his 
cage, watching the surviving Nightseed limp and drag their way our 
of the atrium. He managed a weak smile as he rubbed away the pain. 
He knew he had been instrumental in the defeat of the Dragonkind, 
but for the life of him, he could not remember what it was he had 
done.
  He had seen Brenhya step through into the secret passageway, and 
she had been gone several minutes. He was just beginning to feel a 
twinge of anxiety, when she emerged from the dark tunnel, the 
lifeless body of V'Daa slung over one shoulder. Without ceremony, 
she dumped the carcase on the velvet covered altar, and bent 
forward, resting her hands on her knees. From his high vantage point 
she looked exhausted, and he allowed her a few minutes to let the 
strong emotions of the last few hours wash through her.
  "Ahem". Lon cleared his throat eventually, hoping to attract her 
attention.
  "Ahem!" She remained still, seeming not to hear.
  "Brenhya? I said 'Ahem!'"
  The warrior woman stood erect, arching her back and stretching 
long and hard like a cat. "Sorry, Lon. I'll get you down, now".
  It was the work of but a few minutes to lower the three cages with 
their human and dwarvish occupants to the floor, and only a few more 
to spring the locks and release the captives. Brannagh remained 
unconscious. As Lon commented, not unkindly but merely stating a 
truth, he must have received a tremendous blow to his thick skull to 
cause such prolonged unconsciousness, and in fact a large, egg 
shaped swelling surrounded by dried and caked blood, decorated the 
back of his head.
 The Fool was conscious, but lost somewhere in a world of his own 
making, and unable to stand due to weeks of malnutrition and 
enforced idleness. Lon was still dizzy and weak, but was able to 
help the woman by collecting her weapons and laying them at her 
feet. Then he dragged the dwarf from his cage and examined his 
wounds.
  "Will he be all right?" Concern was in Brenhya's voice.
  "I think so. There doesn't seem to be any major damage. He just 
needs to sleep it off. And, before you ask", he continued, looking 
at the Fool and wrinkling his nose. "Your smelly friend here will be 
OK, too. He needs some good food inside him and, yeuch, a hot bath, 
but he'll eventually come back to the real world".
  "That's good to know". She bent to pick up her sword and bow.
  "Look out!"
  Before the young wizard's warning had fully registered on her 
brain, Brenhya had dropped to her hands and drove both feet out 
backwards in a vicious mule kick. Behind her, Amillie, raised knife 
in hand, took the full force of the blow, powered by Brenhya's 
incredibly strong thigh muscles, in the centre of her chest. The 
assault stove in her sternum and several of her ribs, and the jagged 
end of one smashed bone punctured her heart. She was dead before she 
hit the ground.
  Brenhya tossed her sword, bow, and quiver to Lon. She slung the 
gently drooling Fool over her shoulder, and tucked the inert dwarf 
under one brawny arm.
  "C'mon, Lon. We've seen enough death for one day. Time to get out 
of here".

EPILOGUE

  The sun was rising, and an early dew had settled on the grass, 
glistening like jewelled necklaces on the hundreds of cobwebs that 
bedecked the tufty sward. A low mist swirled among the spinifexes, 
giving the whole landscape an eerie, ghostly atmosphere. The only 
sounds in the grey dawn was the steady rhythm of twelve hooves and 
one pair of sandalled feet.
  Brenhya let her mind wander as she walked beside Maakar, going 
over the events of the last few weeks in her mind. On the big mare's 
back, bound securely into the high-pommelled saddle to prevent him 
falling, Fool rode silently. Who knew what was going on in his 
assaulted psyche?
  A few yards behind, Lon sat wearily on his own horse, still 
drained from the expenditure of more magic than his untrained 
abilities could safely handle. On his little fat pony, holding a 
hand to his head and groaning softly from time to time, Brannagh 
Ironheart brought up the rear.
  The pale yellow orb of the sun was fully above the horizon when 
Brenhya broke the silence.
  "You really came through, back there, young Lon. That ...thing 
would have finished me if you hadn't stepped in. I don't know how 
you did it, but thank you, all the same".
  "You're welcome", the young man replied. He scratched his head, a 
puzzled look on his face. "But to tell the truth, I don't know how I 
did it, either. I'm not even sure what I did. But, you remember 
Ralagant?" Brenhya nodded. She had been present when Lon's old 
mentor and teacher had died, and had helped to bury him. Lon urged 
his horse alongside her. "Well, I'm certain his spirit was with me 
today. While I was doing ...whatever it was I was doing, I was sure 
I could feel him, even hear him. I think he was guiding me".
  Brenhya flashed one of her rare, dazzling smiles. "After what 
we've seen these past weeks, that wouldn't surprise me in the 
least". She cast a glance over her shoulder at the Dwarf behind. 
Concern crossed her lovely face. "Are you sure Brannagh will be all 
right? He's awfully quiet".
  "Yes. All he needs is rest and time to heal"
  "What about Fool? I'm worried about him".
  "Ah". A frown creased Lon's forehead. "That may be different. Oh, 
his body will heal quickly enough, but he's been abused and 
traumatised over a long period. It might take him a long time to get 
back to normal".
  "Marry, nuncle!" The voice was thready, but level. "Thou hast but 
little trust in mine recuperative powers, i'faith! Prithee, but I 
shall be back behind the bladder before thou knows't!"
  Brenhya turned and flung her arms about her old friend's waist. 
"Fool! You're back with us!"
  "So it seems". He patted her hair with a weak hand. "It's good to 
see you. It would be better if you didn't hug me quite so hard, 
though".
  Apologetically, Brenhya released his waist immediately. He laid a 
hand on her shoulder and looked earnestly into her eyes. "I can't 
thank you enough", he told her. "Many a time I thought I'd die in 
there, and many a time I wished I would. But I should have known, if 
anyone could rescue me, it'd be you".
  Brenhya indicated her two companions. "It wasn't all me", she 
explained modestly. "In fact, if it wasn't for Lon, here, we would 
all have died, fed to the daemon as part of a ritual".
  "Well, thanks to him, then, too". He extended a hand to Lon, who 
shook it gently. "I thank thee, nuncle", Fool went on, slipping 
automatically into his clown patter. "If ever thou needs't mine own 
help [although hopefully not just yet], prithee hesitate not an 
instant".
  "Listens to th' bloody prattlin' idiots", came a gruff voice from 
behind. Fool looked around, and a weak grin crossed his face as he 
recognised his lifelong friend. "Nary a words o' thank'ee to I".
  "Back with us, then?" Fool quipped. "As I recall, you spent most 
of the rescue asleep!"
  "Asleeps! Asleeps, is it? Garn, yer gert long string o' nuffin'!"
  "Shortarse!"
  "Gobshite!"
  Brenhya laughed. Everything was going to be all right.

  In a shadowy corner of a dimly lit atrium, dark turned in on 
itself, became light, and dissipated through the citadel walls. The 
stored energy of countless lives, great and small, flowed and spread 
across the barren wasteland surrounding the edifice and seeped into 
the soil, revitalising and nurturing, nourishing and replenishing. 
And in years to come, the flat, featureless plain would become a 
green, fertile grassland, interspersed with fruiting trees and 
populated by wildlife. The vegetation would encroach upon and 
swallow up the site of such great evil, leaving no trace.

THE END
Copyright "Heck" 2000