Victor smiled coldly. “Not a chance,” he said.
“Victor, we could be swarming in manes any minute. We can’t fight them all. We’ll die. You’ll die.”
“You’ve destroyed everything I have worked years for. At least I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing I had my vengeance on you, bitch.”
Alias shook with fury. She drew her sword and took a step in his direction. “You can give me that key, or I can slice you in half and loot it from your body.”
Victor pulled the feather brooch from the pocket of his robe and held it up. Alias reached her hand out. The nobleman laughed, and flung the brooch away. The piece of jewelry arced over Dragonbait and Thistle and disappeared into the mists. It made a tiny clatter when it hit the floor.
“You’ve gone mad,” Alias growled. To Dragonbait and Thistle she said, “You’d better start looking for it. Hurry. I’ll keep Dhostar still.” She raised the tip of her sword to the nobleman’s throat.
Dragonbait took Thistle’s hand and led her in the direction Victor had thrown the brooch.
“Maybe you should give them a hand,” Victor joked.
Alias kept her sword leveled at the villain’s throat.
“Then again,” the nobleman said with a smirk, “I don’t suppose that will be necessary anymore.”
Behind her Alias heard a hiss, then a growl. Alias whirled around and backed up quickly so that Victor would be at her left hand instead of her back. Advancing toward her was a halfling-sized creature with pale white skin, a bloated torso, and razor-sharp claws and teeth. Pus dripped from its mindless white eyes.
Alias waited until the mane was just within reach of her sword. With a single stroke, she cleaved the Abyssal creature in two, and it dissipated back into a stinking mist. Alias gagged from the stench.
“My, how valorous,” Victor taunted.
Alias did not reply. Her attention was focused on the hoard of creatures rising from the mists, all as disgusting as the first. Ten, twenty, thirty, she counted to herself, knowing there would be more.
“Too bad it’s vaporized,” the noble continued. “You could have had it mounted—show off your—” Victor went silent.
Alias sensed the nobleman backing away.
“Dhostar, stay at my back,” she barked. “It’s our only chance.”
Whether Victor chose to abandon the swordswoman or simply panicked, Alias would never know. Whichever it was, the nobleman turned and ran. Alias glanced over her shoulder and saw him trip and fall into the mist.
More manes rose up, surrounding the downed noble, then leaped upon him, rending his flesh with their claws and teeth. Alias had turned away to keep her eyes on the larger hoard of manes approaching her, but Victor’s screams filled the air all around the swordswoman. The nobleman’s death gave her no satisfaction, but neither did she feel any regret.
With ice in her heart, she charged a flank of the manes, swinging her sword fast and hard, felling instantly each creature she struck. They were not tremendously powerful monsters, but Alias knew better than to be heartened by her victories. They could reform again within a day. The real strength of manes, however, lay in their numbers and their mindless compulsion to attack regardless of any danger to themselves. It was only a matter of time before enough manes formed to overwhelm her. She could choke on the poisonous vapors of their dissipating corpses, or slip on a patch of their slick blood and find herself beneath a mound of their bodies, or just grow exhausted and fall unconscious.
The longer she kept the monsters interested in herself, though, the longer Dragonbait and Thistle would have to find the feather brooch so they could escape.
As the manes closed in on her, Alias worked at felling their flanks so that she could not be surrounded. She was beginning to regret that they did not remain corporeal. She could have used their bodies to make a defensive wall.
In the nightmare of endless slaughter Alias began to lose track of time. A few of the beasts had managed to evade her sword long enough to slash at her back and arms or sink their teeth into her legs. The wounds were all minor, but they burned like fire. She tried not to think about how much she was bleeding.
Then came the moment she knew she was doomed. Her legs would not move—something held them frozen. She slashed downward with her sword, but the blade thunked against something hard at her hips. She looked down to find herself encased, just as the shard of Verovan’s soul had been, by the mist of unformed manes, which had hardened into a pearl-like shell.
The swordswoman switched her weapon from hand to hand, trying to keep the manes from reaching either side of her body, but she was blind at her back. One of the monsters sunk its teeth into the back of her neck, and it took her several awkward stabs before she managed to dislodge it.
“Alias!” Dragonbait shouted.
Alias twisted her head, her heart pounding with hope at the sound of the paladin’s call.
The paladin came rushing toward her, his sword blazing with fire, cutting down manes like a farmer scything hay. Once at her side, he wheeled to protect her back. “We found the key and opened the portal. I sent Thistle out. I think the sooner we leave, the better.”
“I’m stuck,” Alias explained, “like the piece of Verovan’s soul.”
Dragonbait tapped on the casing about the swordswoman’s legs.
“I didn’t know manes could go hard like this,” Alias said.
“The manes that make up this mist are not like ordinary manes. This planar pocket, or the years they spent trapped in here away from the Abyss, has altered them,” Dragonbait said. He smashed his sword against the casing, without effect. The scent of violets wafted from the saurial’s throat—the scent of his fear.
“Alias, listen carefully,” the paladin ordered. “These manes are hungry for more than your flesh. They want to devour your essence—your spirit and your soul. But they can only do that if they can find a weakness—” The paladin paused to slash through another wave of manes, then continued. “They look for open wounds on your soul and spirit and drink from them like flies. You have to rid yourself of those things that make you bleed inside—”
“What’s going on?” Mintassan’s voice called out. The sage was drifting across the mists, flying just high enough to remain out of reach of the manes. “Lady Thistle’s outside, holding the portal open. She said you might need some help.”
“Can you teleport us out of here?” Alias asked.
“Afraid not—something in the makeup of this plane resists alteration magic,” the sage explained. Upon spying the shell surrounding Alias’s legs, he gave a low whistle. “That looks bad. Perhaps it can be dispelled,” he suggested.
Dragonbait shook his head. “It’s not magical. It would be more use if you could circle us with protection from evil,” he said.
The sage must have already cast a spell to understand Saurial, for he immediately began circling the warriors, casting the protection spell Dragonbait had asked for. When he’d finished, the manes all began moving away. They lingered at the edge of Mintassan’s magic boundary, waiting for it to dissipate. The mist, too, flowed out of the circle of protection. The shell about Alias’s legs, however, remained.
Trying desperately to conceal his own anxiety, Dragonbait spoke as calmly as he could. “Concentrate on your feelings,” he instructed Alias. “Clear your heart of everything that poisons it. Verovan’s soul was cut by his greed, Victor’s by his lust for power.”
“Victor’s dead,” Alias said softly. “The manes got him.”
“I know,” the paladin replied. He did not mention that he could feel the man’s evil spirit hovering nearby, no doubt waiting to witness the swordswoman’s death. “You have to let go of your anger and hatred for Victor Dhostar.”
Alias did not reply immediately. She didn’t know how to tell the paladin that she didn’t wish to do as he bid her. She cherished her anger and hatred of the nobleman. Victor had deceived her in the worst way. She had every right to be angry, to hate him.