Rhunal sat motionless on the ground, still wrapped around the now separated cylinder of the golem's head and both hands still on the sword. Her sword was buried to the hilt beside where the plate covering the crystal had been, with the tip penetrating into the crystal from the side.
She looked up suddenly, startling him, as he thought her unconscious. “I missed.” she stated regretfully.
He grinned, “Well it worked didn’t it?”
She looked up, her eyes having trouble focusing on him, “It did? It did! I didn’t doubt it for a second!” She tried to stand and collapsed back down just as quickly.
“You alright?” he asked.
“No, but give me a minute and I will be.”
The thrashing of stone on stone resumed. But in the dark, it was impossible to make it out. Certainly a remnant of the golem, but what form? Bron lifted his last weapon, his flint dagger, towards the rumbling. He approached to see the stone arm, still lit with its amethyst crystal in its fist and covered with amethyst runes. He raised his dagger over the thrashing hand.
“Wait.” Rhunal’s footsteps rapidly approached. “I think nothing has control over it anymore. It’s just twitching like a headless chicken.”
Bron raised his dagger once more, “Well lets not take that chance.”
A small rock on a jet of wind shot out from Rhunal’s palm and smashed the dagger out of his hand. It missed his fingers, but that didn’t make him less angry. “Are you out of your mind?”
She stepped towards him in kind, her golden eyes glaring up into his steel-blue ones. “We came all this way and fought an army of constructs hoping to find something valuable. There is nothing else in this tomb but that!” She jabbed her arm towards an empty glass sarcophagus leaning upright against the center of the far wall.
“I think a giant golem arm qualifies.” The hand lashed out once more, nearly striking her leg. She pounced on the arm with all the ferociousness of a tiger, pressing her hand against the protective glass around the crystal and prying around the edge of the transparent plate with her rock knife. The arm thrashed around, making her job much more difficult than it had to be.
She threw Bron, who was still standing there watching, a dirty look.
“Fine.” He sighed and sat down over the back of the bucking arm.
With its movement suppressed, she popped the cover free at last. Rhun reached her hand towards the bare crystal, but hesitated. The similar crystal in Frank’s head had burned her to the bone. This one was much bigger. It pulsed at her menacingly, flush with power.
“BAH!” She gritted her teeth and grabbed the gem in both hands. The smell of burning flesh was overpowering. Bron leaned forward to push her away, but before he could, she fixed him with a glare that could melt ice and shook her head. She held onto the gem and her gaze towards Bron until the twitching of the arm finally slowed.
When she released the gem, she had a hole all the way through both her palms, bones and all. Painful as it was she smiled, with a wince, as the gem blazed golden light. However, amethyst runes and power conduits were sparking all along the arm.
“Did something go wrong?” Asked Bron with concern, staring at the charred hole through her hands.
Rhunal shook her head slowly, looking towards the stone hand, which twitched as it was dying, “It was ... too powerful to ... control.” Her words came in gasps. “A stronger ... mage could ... do more. But ... I saved what I needed.” A little smile crossed her face.
The arm flopped lifeless to the ground and separated into its component rocks, which were mostly inert. But here and there certain smaller rocks, with glowing golden runes, rolled free with a mind of their own. These rolled towards a spot near Rhunal until they came to a stop as if magnetically clustered together. She placed the transparent cover over the brilliant gold gem of the central stone and lifted it towards them. They flew upwards off the ground and built a rough sphere around it about the size of Bron’s head.
Bron sniffed the air, “Rhun, what is that smell?”
She wearily stood up with the remnants of the golem in her hand, wrapped the loose ball in deer-hide, and hooked it to her belt. “Oh, nothing to worry about.”
He couldn’t help staring at the hole through both palms, “Are you going to be able to properly heal that?”
She looked down at her quivering hands. “Yes. The hole goes cleanly through the middle of the long bones of the palm. I can extend the bone from both sides until it reconnects. But I can’t do it right now. I’ve sapped everything I’ve got.”
“Did you plan for that?” he asked.
“Absolutely not. I just knew I could control the gem by touching it,” she answered.
Bron whistled, “Dangerous. I hope its worth it.”
She shrugged, “I knew I could do it, so I had to do it.”
Rhunal approached the sarcophagus. It was not open as it appeared from a distance, but clear, covered in the same transparent material. But it was just a lid and could be removed without too much trouble. Inside it was empty, but in front of it was a dark, irregular stain. Scattered around the floor were deep parallel scratches in groups of four.
A low table sat near the sarcophagus, with a pair of notes, one bloody and handwritten and the other created with thick paper and official writing. Rhun picked up a short, bloody note from the short table. When the words rearranged in her mind, she read aloud for Bron’s benefit.
I go to my end as a monster. Most of my servants have fled. The ones who wouldn’t flee, though I emphasized the danger of remaining, are dead, turned by my own hand. I should have emphasized that I was the most dangerous one, not some invading horde of barbarians. And now these humans themselves will come to fear me. As they enter this place, they will meet my servants, raised to defend this place from all invaders.
I won’t be around to see it, I can already see my blood pooling on the ground. It took even my own blood to raise the guardian of stone.
“He was a monstrous lord. Sacrificing his own people!” Bron scowled.
Rhun nodded, “He wanted the end of his life and everyone around him to suffer. Centuries in the future, we have felt his wrath. But I want to know why.”
She looked to the second note, which was longer, on official looking paper with a gilded border, and written in thick, proper handwriting.
To my friend,
Lord Sanndur
I can scarcely muster the strength to lift the pen to write you this. I will say the hardest thing first so that I may get through the rest. Your daughter, my student, Zenaida is dead. I sit here covered in wounds and not in a grave on a bloody battlefield because of her. I would go back and trade her for me if I could.
You taught her well. When the crush of battle was at its fiercest, all the other rookies had either routed or been killed where they stood. My handpicked companions fell one by one. I, the general of the army, was forced to fight for my life.
When it seemed like the surge of the human assault was lessening, three fighters carved through our faltering lines towards me. They were young themselves, but tall, strong, and fearless. The trio worked together as though they’d fought together all their lives. Though I was more skilled than any of them by far, they protected each other well, guarding each other’s blind spots.
The four of us were greatly wounded by the end, but they would not relent and had the better of it. As they closed in to finish me, and with me the First Army, Zenaida hurled herself at them from the flank. One was down before they could react. The second she bested in a vicious exchange. And the third was enraged at seeing them fall. He struck out like a man possessed, she stood tall and matched his onslaught. Even for an Alfar she moved with more coordination and grace than I could have believed, especially in a fight to the death.
In the end she was the victor, but at such a cost. At the death of their champions the human barbarians routed at last, leaving my First Army nothing but a shell of itself. Most of our warlocks dead and all of our healers. I treated her wounds as best I could, but they were far too deep.
Zenaida sat with me till the end. She talked with me of her travels throughout the world before joining the army. She talked of the battles she had fought and the friends she had lost today. And last she talked of returning home to you. At the end of the battle when I looked to her, I realized that she was already gone.
I would trade her for me if I could.
With Shame,
General Araldur,
Former General of the First Army of the Alfar Empire
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