Queen of the Pale Ch. 04

They didn't have to wait long. The door splintered open a fraction of a second later, and a trio of gangly, albino creatures burst inside the chapel. From a distance, the Chol might have been mistaken for elves or possibly even humans—they wore armor, carried weapons, and moved like any other soldiers—but a single glimpse of their gaunt faces was more than enough to betray their otherworldly corruption. Their flesh was as slimy and pallid as a water-gorged corpse, and their sunken, luminescent green eyes burned in their skulls like tiny molten emeralds. They reeked of death and despair, but they weren't undead. They were very, very much alive.

Not for long.

Delaryn's terrified shriek finally snapped Rohen into action. He leapt onto the elevated platform with the altar, placing himself between her and the Chol. The first monster lunged right at him, its rusty, battered sword chopping straight down in a reckless attempt to split the naked human like a log. Rohen's Templar training immediately kicked in: he drew his left foot behind him, sidestepping the wild strike, then counterattacked just like his instructors had taught him. He slashed his wraithblade across the Chol's throat, liberating its head from its shoulders in a single clean swipe. A fountain of black blood erupted from the corpse, splattering Rohen's chin and chest, but he didn't have time to be disgusted. The Chol kept coming.

"Get back!" he cried out as he parried the second Godcursed elf blade to blade. The two Chol cared nothing for their lost companion; they were fueled by an ancient, bitter rage that drove them to mindless slaughter. Even orcs and gnolls and Roskarim barbarians could eventually be reasoned with, but not the Chol. Only death could halt their rampage.

And that was precisely what the Guardian's Templar were trained to deliver.

Rohen parried two more wild strikes, one from each Chol, but even though the deflections were clean, he could already feel himself falling behind. Their attacks were uncoordinated but relentless—he parried and dodged and rolled, but he never had a single instant to retaliate. The Lord Protector's words suddenly flashed through his head: the Chol will always swarm you if you let them. They will never tire or relent. You have to be clever—you have to control the battlefield.

Gritting his teeth, Rohen retreated to the back of the elevated platform to buy himself a split second of reprieve. "Hathal niveh!"

Varlothin's runes flared even brighter than before, but this time they didn't merely glow—the entire blade shimmered until Rohen was holding a sword-shaped beam of blue spectral flame. In their purest form, wraithblades could partially disperse into the Pale itself, allowing them to pass through flesh, steel, and even stone as easily as the hand of a spirit. It was the perfect counter to otherwise impenetrable Aetheric barriers—and to the monsters it had been forged to destroy.

Both Chol shrieked as they lunged for him, but Rohen was ready. He prepared to copy his first maneuver of the fight, knowing full well they would anticipate it. Their minds may have been addled by rage and twisted by torment, but some part of their ancient elven heritage still lingered in their memories. Even these Dretches, the simplest and most feral of the Godcursed, seemed to have an instinctive understanding of the basics of swordplay.

But this time, that knowledge worked against them. The first Chol slashed across his body rather than straight down, expecting the Templar to pull back his left leg and sidestep a wild chop. Rohen did exactly that...but a split second later, he also ducked beneath the swipe, then thrust out with his wraithblade. Normally, such an awkward crouch would have prevented him from mustering enough force to pierce the creature's armor, but a Pale-shifted wraithblade could cut through almost anything. The glowing blue sword burned through the Chol's chest like a hot poker, searing its albino flesh and boiling its innards in spectral flame. The monster was dead before it crumpled to the floor.

Its sole remaining partner was still undeterred; it thrust wildly at the crouching Templar. Normally, Rohen could have easily turned aside the attack and countered with a crisp and deadly riposte, but the drawback to Pale-shifting his blade was that it lost nearly all its defensive ability. Varlothin could pass through almost anything, but that also meant almost anything could pass through it—parrying the incoming strike might damage the Chol's blade, but it wouldn't halt its deadly momentum.

Mercifully, Rohen wasn't as flatfooted as he seemed. With a combination of youth, training, and flexibility inherited from his elven blood, he managed to throw himself backward and out of range of the Chol's mad thrust. The monster stumbled and lost its balance for a fraction of a second, but that was all the time Rohen needed. He reared back and threw his sword, eschewing finesse for surprise. Varlothin seared through the hapless Dretch, carving the creature in half while cauterizing what should have been a river of blood.

"Hathal niveh!"

The wraithblade shifted back into the physical world an instant before it clattered to the floor, and Rohen stepped over the two charred halves of Godcursed elf to retrieve his sword. He stood over the bodies, his arms trembling even as his hands closed around the hilt of his weapon. The wraithblade may have been solid metal again, but its runes were still glowing. There had to be more Chol here somewhere...

Gulping down a deep, steadying breath, Rohen spun on a heel and dashed back to Delaryn in the nook behind the statues. Her eyes gaped in horror at the monstrous bodies of the Chol, and she was still clutching at the sides of her head.

"Are you all right?"

She continued staring at the gore for several long, breathless seconds, before she finally nodded. "Y-yes."

Rohen knelt beside her. "What about your head?"

"It's..." She looked down and closed her eyes. "It's like someone is screaming right into my skull. I don't understand..."

I do. By the Watcher, I wish I didn't...

Rohen swallowed heavily as he looked upon her face as if for the first time. Only those with the Aether in their blood could hear the Wailing, the Chol's eternal cry for vengeance. If Delaryn was affected, it meant that all the rumors and fears surrounding the daughter of the Winter Witch had been true.

She was a sorceress after all.

Rohen swore under his breath. As much as he wanted to freeze this moment in time and figure out what the hell was going on, he knew they couldn't afford to delay. If more Chol had breached the castle, then survival was now the only thing that mattered. Everything else—the questions, the dread, the doubt—would have to wait.

"Get dressed," he said, lunging for his clothes and armor. "They're coming."