Rodo, with his feral nature, was the first to rush in, but the bolt from Taltil's crossbow that raced past him.
With a casual flick of his wrist, the Cambion Warlord swiped the bolt, and with a backhanded slap, shoved Rodo aside.
"Please, I am compelled to plea, to put aside our differences for a civil conversation." His voice, still calm, tempered and controlled. No sign of aggression. The gracious manner in which he stood his ground, neither agitated nor aggravated, spoke volumes.
Only the howl of Rodo answered. The painful sound of bones creaking, realigning and mending followed. A gruesome sight indeed, but paled before the presence of the One-Horned Warlord. Even motionless, his aura carried the latent prowess suppressed beneath.
If he attacked, all will fall.
If he wanted a quick resolution, now would be the time to unleash his fury.
Bereft of my Urumi, my mind, a blubbering thrall to the unexplainable, the Cambion-Warlord had his victory, for easy plucking right before his eyes.
The clear and imminent danger was palpable.
The Cambion Warlord, clad in a non-descriptive travelling cloak, twisted his mauled forehead, sending a cold tingle of terror raze through my spine. He chuckled. "Let us talk about what is important. What do you have such a burning desire to stop me?
Again, the way he spoke did not reflect the savagery or the ferociousness of one wielding a dreaded moniker. There was something very wrong with the entire situation.
"Is it because of her? I would be considerate to make amends, to make her see the plight of this world."
Without preamble, the demon lord lifted both arms to spread open. Flipped wide his cloak, revealing the garish vest and a kilt of dull brown hide leather beneath. "Please convince her in my name."
Whatever answer I could muster was drowned in the stone-ravaging roar of Rodo. No lingering evidence of his human form remained. A hybrid, with the massive bulk of a dire bear and the ferocious features of a dire wolf, and colossal even by werewolf standard, Rodo towered over the surroundings. His nostrils flare, tiny flames dancing within, a faint roiling mist formed where his maw ended.
A chilling glare pinned the One-Horned Warlord as savage eyes, dark and focused, burned with brutality.
A roar. An earth-shattering challenge issued.
Then his how came, rising with every moment to a deafening crescendo of an onslaught. Rodo exploded in rage with a tremendous force, powerful swipes cleaving through solid rocks. Claws, like keen-edged silver daggers, glistened in the star-lit night. With heavy pounding thuds of his limbs, a spiderweb of cracks ran from beneath Rodo and he charged.
Taltil, as if waiting for the appropriate moment, let loose another bolt.
With a casual swipe of his palm, the Cambion Warlord, swatted the bolt and following with a forward twist of his torso, he met the slam of Rodo and shoved the beast aside.
Yet, Rodo would not relent. An alpha of a pack cannot fail to protect the one he has sworn to defend. Rodo would bleed out than abort.
Rodo gave another fierce roar and crashed into Lyle's side. He let a low growl, jaws bared open, ready to rip into flesh, muscles, and bones. Fangs, long as daggers, sought the flesh of the Warlord's shoulders.
Shudders wracked Rodo's hulking body as the One-Horned Warlord's iron grip tightened around the maw, holding them from closing. One short spin later, the demon-blooded warrior tossed the alpha werewolf Lord, in his transformed form, like a hapless newborn kitten.
"Come," said the Cambion Warlord, "I must insist, grow tired of his farce."
Two bolts stuck the ground where he stood, a fleeting moment ago.
"What should I do to convince you of my intentions?" he asked. "I am inclined to peace as a resolution for our conflict."
Sweat dripped from Rodo's forehead, beads of perspiration coating his face, smudging his glowing black and silver fur. Then, blood slowly trickled down his muzzle and dripped across his chest. Despite the huge size disparity, his rock-crushing strength barely managed to hold against the prowess of his foe. He pushed himself back to his feet, facing the Cambion Warlord, staring with the primal stare of an untamed animal. No trace of ferocity left in his appearance. Only sheer determination.
The One-Horned Warlord raised a brow. Mild curiosity was his response.
And a well-timed explosion from Taltil followed. Black pellets of smoke powder flung at the Warlord's location, covering the space with blinding darkness.
Yet, the smoke posed negligible challenged the battle-honed senses of the Cambion. Neither blinded nor devoid of his combat prowess, the One-Horned Warlord spun, holding the charging Rodo with a single thrust of his palm. He raised his other hand, and with a quick snap of his fingers, set three successive explosions in the air, flinging Rodo.
The terrible and clearly audble sounds of bones snapping echoed across the desolate landscape.
With another snap of his fingers, the warlord set another turbulent wave, dispersing the smoke.
"I think I am unimpressed by the antics of your companions." The Cambion Warlord spoke. "Could we please focus on settling the issue between us?"
Rodo still stood, despite his internal wounds. To his credit, there was no wavering in his stance. Yet, underneath, pain seethed, and with each struggling breath, Rodo bit harder. The feral growl of challenge still escaped his maw. When he turned my direction, his strained eyes conveyed what words could not. "Escape. Escape while I buy time."
With an impatient huff, the One-Horned Warlord struck, slapping another quick-swung blow to Rodo's head, throwing the massive beast an appreciable distance away.
"Now, that I presume the distraction is taken care of. Let us talk."
Still clutching Adjuration... No... the wreath of flowers that was Adjuration -- more as a sign of comfort and force of habit --, I stood on uncertain limbs. "You slaughtered millions."
"So did you, Scarlet Masquerade," he whispered with a sibilant hiss. "In the end, what does it matter? We can hardly point fingers when our current predicament is equally not of our own volition."
My blood pounded in my ears, drowning out any coherent thought. First the Circle Prince, then The Walled City, and Rhea with an uncanny connection to Lyria and now this Cambion Warlord.
After a brief pause, he added, "Wretched creatures are we both. We have committed grave crimes by the standards of others. Yet, all we can do is to continue our attempts to make things better, for the ones who matter."
His words almost mirrored the same ideology of Zelaphiel, when he approached Lyria with a promise of building a better feature, to bridge the wide chasms between their races.
"It is my own belief to make a place where my people could live in harmony with others," said the One-Horned Warlord.
"Why do they both keep claiming about bridging differences and coexisting mutually while when the opportunity presents, either would willingly unsheathe their blade?"
When he took a step further, a bolt from Taltil snapped his attention. She was prudent enough, not to challenge him directly like Rodo. She moved. Kept moving. Hoping from rock outcrops to the safety behind the boulders.
"You are committed to your cause," he addressed Taltil, not bothering to seek her direction. "I applaud your loyalty, and I sincerely, wish that we do not find each other on opposing sides."
Taltil remained silent. She would not fall for such a simple warrior's cantrip by responding.
"Can I convince you? I would rather that I am not ambushed when attempted to parley," asked the Warlord.
Only refusal in the form of silence greeted his offer.
"Then, perhaps, I am tempted to show the futility of your ways. Your bolts are a distraction at best." As if proving a point, the One-Horned Warlord stood stil. An invitation for Taltil to try her best.
The bolt stuck the Cambion Warlord on his shoulder. Effortlessly, he yanked the bolt and threw it to shatter. No pain. Not even a twitching of a nerve or a flicker in his eyes.
"Now that I have satisfied your curiosity, leave us," demanded the One-Horned Warlord. More pellets of smoke powder showered the spot where he stood. When the dreaded Cambion Warlord huffed in contempt, he stepped out of the smoke, to be greeted by the twin slashes of Merowyn.
In a precariously fleeting instance, Merowyn's twin elven longswords, slashed twenty times, from all impossible to dodge angles, but it was the heavy final blow from the bladed staff of Theko that forced the unrelenting One-Horned Warlord to his knee.
"Good timing that we sensed something was amiss during the patrol. Careful Theko," shouted Merowyn while his blades continued painting lucent arcs. "If he could reduce Rodo to a fur rag, he must be a formidable opponent."
Yet, no signs of shock crossed the unperturbed face of the One-Horned Warlord. He raised a languid eyebrow at Theko's direction, ignoring the repeated slashes from Merowyn, gaze following the twin-bladed staff of Theko.
Merowyn's repeated hits, like million leaves dancing in gust of wind, only added more cuts to the One-Horned Warlord's scar defined frame, and was soon forgotten in the canvas of million deep gorges of cut on his body. The Warlord's eyes remained fixated on Theko and the weapon he wielded.
"So, that is the weapon that forced me to drop," commented the One-Horned Warlord to no one in particular.
Theko glanced briefly at the fallen Rodo before returning to meet the Warlord's gaze. "A gift. Bestowed to me."
"Lyria, huh," said the One-Horned Warlord, pushing her name with familiarity. Then he rose. "Let me test the prowess of the one she acknowledged, then."
The Cambion Warlord ignored the threat of Merowyn like the barking of a chained hunting hound and rushed towards Theko.
Theko brought the staff with barely a moment to spare, blocking the thunderous kick of the Warlord, but was still powerless against the impact. The force sent the bugbear warrior sailing a great distance, until his back connected with a huge boulder and the distinct crack of a spine reverberated across.
"Why does she waste..." The Cambion Warlord's words were cut short by Merowyn's dance of hamstring weave. The famed sword dance of the wood-elves combined with the strength of Merowyn's birthright, a brilliant fighting style only mastered by Merowyn.
Deep precise cuts, aimed at tendon and joints to cripple an opponent, were unleashed. Hundreds of thousands of small cuts covered the entire upper half of the One-Horned Warlord. However, the brutal barrage of attacks, while momentarily staggering him, had not damaged his battle-readiness. Nor, was he distracted by the open wounds. His only reaction to Merowyn's assault was simply to side-step.
As expected, Merowyn's assault continued, forcing the One-Horned Warlord to veer. Fully extended and ready to unleash another volley of lacerating strikes, Merowyn's blades were a faint glow, cutting through air, leaving only a trace of whisper behind. The sound of each blade slicing through the air signalled his increasing control over the flow of his assault. Even without witnessing them, following them with bare eyes, the mystifying characteristic of Merowyn's blades was self-evident. A flawless mastery of the craft taught since his childhood and enhanced through his own improvisation.
The One-Horned Warlord let a low grunt. "Enough," he said, making a circular motion with his hands, then with a fresh flourish his eyes shifted in my direction. "I assume, if we cannot reason with each other, then resorting to crude violence will solve nothing."
Though unremarkable and unnoticeable at first glance, the cut from Merowyn did very little to hamper the One-horned Warlord. It only earned Merowyn a scornful stare. A clear declaration of annoyance.
A long weary sigh escaped the throat of the One-Horned Warlord and then, without preamble, he suddenly charged forward, employing a devastating circular kick around Merowyn. It was utter grace married with sheer strength, a sight to behold and a terrifying view to receive.
Merowyn's response to his assailant's attack came too late. Not even the cleverly placed shot from Taltil could deter the thunderous impact. The sound of bones shattering, the gurgling sound of a mortal at death's door, the puncture of a lung and the struggle to expunge blood followed. His feet dangled and the One-Horned Warlord's iron grasp around his neck tightened, lifting him up. Two of him limbs dangled, palms still clutching his praised twin blades.
Only a timely intervention from an impactful arrow, staggered the One-Horned Warlord. A few more, equally devastating arrows followed, each finding their precise mark, forcing the Cambion Warlord to release his death hold on Merowyn as he was pushed a few steps back.
"Strange times indeed," said Arlene, "Never have I thought that I would rush in to protect your sorry delicate rear hide."
The barrage of arrows slamming into the One-Horned Warlord continued. Compared to the penetrating bolt of Taltil, Arlene's longbow was lethal, only confined by the half-elven ranger's own strength and guile.
"You have accumulated an annoying collection of pests," spat the One-Horned Warlord as he pulled the arrow from his body, "But what would wooden arrows do where metal failed?"
Arlene ignored his question, and continued walking from her vantage position. One hand held a slender elven longsword, while her utility ranger knife was clenched tight in her other hand. "As soon as I reached, I came to find you," said Arlene with a quick glance in my direction, "But who is this sod?"
"Keep your distance," I screamed at her foolishness.
"You look rather dishevelled," replied Arlene, still oblivious to the wide open maw of the abyss before her. "Guess, I will have to show him the unerring blade of Arlene."
"Ah, a potential hero," responded the One-Horned Warlord, "so that is how you planned it? A hero to demon lord? Or rather, a potential hero to stop my ascendancy."
"Arlene, that is the One-Horned Warlord, walk away now." My shouts were drowned in a wild cackle, like the rumbling of boulders downhill, came from the One-Horned Warlord.
"The rest, I could be convinced to ignore, but she..." His cold dull eyes, otherwise devoid of any emotion, now sparked with rage, "her blood will anoint the ground of my ascendancy."
For a sickening moment, a devious smirk flashed across Arlene's face, then vanished as quickly as it appeared. "At last, someone takes me seriously. I will make sure to keep you entertained before loping your head."
"This ends now," roared the One-Horned Warlord and, with a barely perceptible move, covered the distance between them. Fists, that would make battering rams a children's toy, knocked Arlene, but the consummate ranger was quick on the uptake. Even aerial borne, she twisted her limbs, somersaulting mid-air to land on her own feet.
"I see I am facing a true adept at combat, henceforth, I will go with no holds!" A second fist slammed into Arlene's chest, yet it was effortlessly dodged with a backward leap.
"It was good knowing you. Too bad, I would have wished for a grand audience to witness your defeat," smiled Arlene, flipping her longsword with grace.
Then, she leapt into the air, kicking out both legs, backflipping into a spin and delivered a directed spinning kick, aiming for the jaw of the One-Horned Warlord. The force from the attack staggered the One-Horned Warlord, but only for a narrow, fleeting instant. Then, he stood his ground. But the young half-elf was already high in the sky, rotating her wrist, aiming for his exposed neck.
The swift slice of Arlene's longsword passed harmless through the space where the One-Horned Warlord's neck was a moment ago.
When Arlene landed, there was a moment of silence. Both acknowledging each other's celerity. Then, with more speed than ever, she launched into a series of front snap kicks aimed at his vulnerable spots. The strikes went wide, missing their target. When Arlene landed again, she saw his grin and taunt.
"A true archer has to be accurate to their target," said the One-Horned Warlord, rolling his shoulders. Sinews moved like blood-starved vipers beneath them.
Arlene was too late to react when his right fist impacted her forehead, sending her flying. Even as she fell limp to the ground, her combat memory acted, forcing her to roll away from his successive slam. The second punch of her assailant met the empty ground, shattering rocks, sending shockwaves, spreading cracks and lifting debris.
Back on her feet, Arlene retorted. "No need to tell me that, for I never miss." With a quick leg sweeps, Arlene tried to trip the One-Horned Warlord, but he boasted the celerity to match a phasing Astral spider. Arlene's sweep cut through the empty air.
"Ah, the foolish bravado of the youth," taunted the One-Horned Warlord. "To place blind faith in your own abilities." With a blinding speed, he lashed out with his palm, slamming his right fist into her stomach. More flurry of blows, each one more vicious than before, followed. Almost effortlessly. The One-Horned Warlord was in complete control of the fight.
Every blow was calculated, but rarely intended to be lethal. Instead, they sought to keep Arlene occupied, get on the defensive, test her level of endurance and finally force her to despair. One of his blows aimed for a vital spot. More akin to a cat toying with its prey. Instead of knocking her out, his strike dug deeper and deeper, slowly mangling her internal organs.
"I heard the healing arts of the wood elves can heal many wounds," explained the One-Horned Warlord, displaying more restraint than his fearful moniker proclaimed, "Yet, your soul will be scarred for eternity."
"Do you know light travels faster than sound?" snarled Arlene, swallowing the bitter blood in her mouth. "That is why you appear wise until you start talking." With that, Arlene managed to avoid his next strike, letting it connect with a boulder behind.
The half-elf spun into a tight circle, and twirled into an elegant pose worth of a royal ballroom. When the stalwart ranger extracted herself, there was a victorious smirk on her face, and her hunting knife embedded in the Cambion Warlord's ribs.
The glistening steel dug hilt-deep into the flesh, severing arteries and blood vessels. She swiped her longsword in a fashion of cleaning it from sticky viscera, more as a show to tease him. Her attacks always had some hidden trick. Some bait that lured her adversary to their demise. Tremendous discipline and mental acuity enhanced her lethal attacks.
With a wet popping sound, the One-Horned Warlord pushed the dagger out of his body. He paid very little heed to the voluminous rivulets of blood flowing from the open wound.
In a loud voice, befitting his title, he roared at a bewildered Arlene. "Do you know the Storm Lord was an Ascendant and yet, he bent knees before me."
Arlene raised her longsword, waist lowered, shoulders broad and the tip of her blade directed at him, ready to strike in one decisive blow.
"Such feigned tricks might get you through the wilderness, a tavern brawl or a tourney, but have you not realised? You are in a different league now. Only mastery of raw strength will test your mettle."
Arlene struck, with blinding agility.
Not a flicker of fear manifested on the One-Horned Warlord's face as the blade stopped, dangerously close to his face, arrested with a single clap of his palms.
With all the might, the ranger could muster, the blade, caught between the palms of her adversary, refused to budge.
A smile, dark and ruthless, briefly crossed the demon-blooded assailant's face before the blade shattered, robbing Arlene of her advantage.
The indomitable battlemind that drove Arlene gave away to confusion. Every skill she mastered had a lesson behind it. A sense of meaning to fulfil a destiny, and they all failed.
"Do not bother to resist. You cannot win against me." And with that proclamation, the One-Horned Warlord ripped the broke pommel off her hands and flung it to the side.
Like a consummate ranger that Arlene was, she dodged backwards, slithering away from her monstrous opponent's reach. Yet, her body and her stamina, exhausted from the multiple blows, failed her. She fell on her back, sputtering blood from wreaking coughs.
"That's enough," I screamed, drawing his attention back. "You will advance no further."
"And how do you intend to continue?" spat the One-Horned Warlord. "You are unarmed, battered from the inside, from the looks of it."
I have to stall him.
War and diplomacy are just two facets of the same concept. He came seeking something. Provide him. Keep him away from Arlene. Give him what he seeks.
My thoughts were a jumbled mess. A maelstrom of chaotic suggestions. Each warring over another.
But yielding High-Crag Hold meant no sanctuary for Delyn. Not that the hold will protect her. Not since she assassinated Sanguinaris.
One fact stood out. In my present state, the One-Horned Warlord is not an opponent I can defeat. Perhaps, another time, with careful planning, but not now. Crossing blades would lead to a fairly futile death.
As if tired of my delay, the One-Horned Warlord, stomped on Arlene, breaking her leg.
The screams of pain from Arlene pierced my ears like glass shards. It even drove Taltil from her camouflaged spot.
"They say the worth of a ranger is assessed in their left arm. Something to do with wielding the longbow." A host of all things malicious and vindictive glittered in the dark depths of the One-Horned Warrior's eyes.
Then, he shattered her left arm, crushing it like a dried twig.
Arlene shrieked louder, screaming at her tormentor, tears flooding from her swollen eyes, and streaming down her pale cheeks. She thrashed, in her battered mess of crushed bones, spilled blood and ravaged body.
A sense of helplessness, of watching her life ebb, the horror of how I failed, even as he stood over her, ignoring her cries, made my skin crawl.
Taltil looked around, searching for anything. Anything that might help. Her quest failed. Not presented itself.
Everything depended on my action.
"There are no easy choices," said the Warlord, giving birth to words that mirrored my thoughts.
Arlene was reduced to a quivering mass, her eyes vacant and dull. And then something glinted in her vacant gaze. I blinked. Twice.
With utter disregard to her tortured form at his feet, the One-Horned Warlord turned towards me. And he stood arrested. A coagulated amalgam of horror, befuddlement, betrayal and finally frustration painted on his face.
"This is how it is, huh," he said in resentment, still glaring at the wreath of flowers clutched in my hands. "Is this how we are both played?"
Then, he laughed. Not the laughter of a terrible warlord with a blood seeking horde under his command, but of a mortal facing their last moments, and willingly accepting death.
"What are we but mere putty to be toyed around by other immortal hands!" He tore his eyes away from the wreath of flowers. "Out of compassion, from one piece of transient piece to another on an ever-changing playing board, take his as my act of charity. Two months time. I give you two months time, before I rally my forces to the hold."
I met him with cold defiance.
"Stay well within the Hold, and I could be convinced to leave you unharmed. Stand in my path and face the consequences."
When Talus finally arrived, the One-Horned Warlord was long gone.
