The Tears of Kas̆dael

“Kruvas̆.” With a hasty curse, S̆ams̆ādur stumbled backward as the Atrometos swung its comically large halberd in a 180-degree arc. Most Atrometos seemed perfectly content to rely on the many, bountiful blessings nature had imbued them with. their dagger-sized claws, razor-sharp teeth, massive horns, and aura of fear already granted them a place near the top of the food chain, and to add anything else on top of that was, in S̆ams̆ādur’s mind, just unfair.

Unfortunately, the armor-plated Atrometos wielding a halberd longer than two oxen and a cart didn’t agree with him.

A scream filled the air as the glaive caught one of his men, and the prince’s heart quickened with anger. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the slender Corsyth run forward, her hands glowing with healing magic, but he’d seen the man fall - his body was split in two. “Stay back, Asâta, he’s already dead,” he thundered as he threw himself beneath the long shaft of the glaive.

The Atrometos tried to swing it down toward him, but the weapon’s size and momentum betrayed it. In a flash, the smaller durgu had closed the space between them and slammed his axe into the corner of his greave.

He danced out of the way as the creature’s foot lashed toward him, each claw of its foot long enough to impale him, and slashed again, at the small open wound he’d created. As he did, he channeled every shred of essence he had into the axe, causing the dulled edge to suddenly burst into light.

The blow missed, and the momentum of the axe dragged him to the ground. A shadow flashed on the dirt in front of him, and he rolled to the side as the glaive dissected the earth where he’d been.

There was a flash of light in the corner of his eyes, and he cursed as he bolted to his feet. He knew the source of the light all to well - the healer was trying to help. It was true that healing magic could wreak as much destruction as it could help, but she was too valuable to risk in a fight like this. “I’ve got this Asâta,” he roared, channeling the essence into his axe again.

Angered by the spell, the Atrometos had turned its attention to the healer, and it didn’t see him coming.

“Ana nūr S̆ams̆a!” He screamed as he slammed the axe into the broken flesh, forcing every scrap of essence he had left into his foe.

The Atrometos took a drunken step forward, blood pouring from every orifice as the spell took hold, and caught itself with the shaft of its halberd.

It was the best blow S̆ams̆ādur could deliver, but he doubted it was enough. He raised his axe again, screaming for his men to join him, to pounce on the mighty creature before it could recover. “Irḫu! Irḫu!”

The durgu surged forward at their prince’s command, axes and spears tearing at the Atrometos’ weeping wounds. Flashes of light accompanied them as the healer disregarded his command, but he ignored it. The monster rallied one more time, raking its clawed hands through gathered masses, but it was a wounded bear beset by a pack of starving wolves - its doom was assured.

Slowly but surely it crumbled, its armor mangled beyond recognition, and its leathery skin torn asunder. With a victorious cry, S̆ams̆ādur mounted the beast, shaking his axe in the air. “Ana nūr S̆ams̆a!” he repeated.

For a brief moment, he basked in the adulation of his men, but the joy of victory faded as he took in the ruined village around them.

They’d seen the smoke on the horizon before they’d even reached the village. The durgu rarely used mounts, opting for heavily armored merkabtū instead, but his rag-tag band had none of those. All they could do was run. They weren’t fast enough.

The air was choked with thick black smoke that rose from nearly every building. Bodies littered the streets torn by the claws of the three Atrometos they’d found attacking. Two had fallen, and the third had fled, but S̆ams̆ādur knew they couldn’t afford to pursue it.

“Spread out and search for any survivors,” he commanded, leaping off the broken monster. “Asâta stick with me.”

The mage hurried to his side as he began the grim task of clawing through the bodies, looking for any who might have survived their grave wounds. The first four were cold and clammy, but heat still lingered in the fourth. He carefully pulled it free from the others, his blood boiling with anger as he stared at the face of a young boy who couldn’t have been more than ten. His stomach had been torn open by the Atrometos claws, intestines spilling out on the ground, but a faint pulse still beat.

“Asâta.” He didn’t even need to speak her name, for the mage had already knelt beside him. Her hands wrapped around the child’s hand, pumping healing essence into him. His innards pulled back in, the skin growing around the open wound, and he opened his eyes with a gasp.

“AHHH!” He tore free from the mage’s grasp, his eyes widened and frightened, and stilled as he saw the bodies. “Momma? MOMMA!” The boy threw himself on one of the bodies, weeping as he tried to pull her up, to shake her awake from a sleep that would never end.

The boy didn’t notice as S̆ams̆ādur placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. The prince couldn’t - wouldn’t - take away the boy’s pain, but he could ease it for a time. A pulse of essence entered the child, and he crumbled on top of his fallen mother, overtaken by a sleep. S̆ams̆ādur waved one of his men over to secure the child and returned to Asâta. With any luck, there were more people to save.

More of the villagers had survived than he’d expected. While they’d only found a few still breathing among those lying in the streets, others had managed to hide. One family had locked themselves in their root cellar and had nearly died of smoke inhalation as their burning collapsed on top of the only exit. Others had escaped into the nearby thickets and eventually mustered the courage to return when they saw the soldiers rooting through the ruins.

By the time the day was waning, they’d managed to gather nearly half of the villagers together. And then the unexpected happened - the Atrometos who’d fled returned, with another friend in tow.

Despite their massive size and monstrous appearance, Atrometos were no unthinking beasts. They were every bit as intelligent as a Corsyth, troll, or a durgu, but, thanks to their overwhelming power, rarely felt the need for a more subtle attack. The one who’d fled, though, was as unusual as the one who’d worn armor.

With a stealth no creature its size should be able to manage, it stuck to the shadows of the dying day, sneaking past the line of soldiers keeping watch, and targeted the man who had killed its mate.

A stray thought was all that warned S̆ams̆ādur - a brief surge of alien, incandescent rage that his mind picked up as the Atrometos struck from behind. He spun to the side, dancing across the fallen timbers as the beast whipped its claws through the place he’d just been standing. Bright light flared against the approaching night as Asâta attacked, but the Atrometos was focused on wreaking its vengeance against the durgu prince. Leaving its backup to deal with the other forces, it charged after S̆ams̆ādur.

With a frenzied curse, the prince did the only thing he could think of to help - S̆ams̆ādur turned and ran, leading the Atrometos away from the village and praying that his men could handle the second one. His essence was only partially recovered from the first fight, and he knew he didn’t have enough to repeat the killing blow.

When he’d drawn the Atrometos far enough away, he spun around and darted straight toward it. He had some familiarity with their instincts by now, and he ducked almost casually below the windmilling strike it launched at him. Sliding beneath its deadly claws, he targeted the creature's knees with his axe. The first blow bounced off the being’s tough skin, and he was forced to leap out of range as it spun to face him, moving with considerably more agility than its armored mate.

Its aura of fear washed over him, telling him to drop his axe, to run, to flee, to never look back, but S̆ams̆ādur was accustomed to that by now. He barely flinched as the aura activated, and with a cry of defiance, charged back in.

He slid beneath the expected strike, but he’d underestimated the Atrometos. Its blow was merely a feint, and its left hand plunged straight toward his chest. A metallic shriek filled the air as the claws met his cuirass, but durgu metal was as tough as its people. It buckled beneath the weight of the blow, but the claws did not pierce through. But that didn’t stop the beast from pinning him to the ground.

He slammed his axe against the Atrometos’ arm in a flurry of frantic blows, trying to get it to release him, but he had no leverage to deliver a solid strike. The Atrometos loomed over him, and its mouth opened wide, revealing the rows of razor-sharp teeth that had feasted on so many mortals.

“Taksip-ma dâku ḫāwirī u balātu?” It asked, anger burning in its eyes.

“Didn’t know it was your mate,” he spat out, as he concentrated what essence he had remaining in one final attempt to knock the beast unconscious.

Its eyes turned milky as the spell hit, and with a heroic effort, he shoved the massive claws pinning him down a few inches above his chest. With a frantic scramble, he pulled himself free just as the Atrometos’ mind recovered. Its claw hammered into the ground as he ran, giving a moment of respite, but S̆ams̆ādur was all out of tricks. His vision swam from essence deprivation, and he staggered like a drunk man as the beast chased after him.

But then the creature behind him bellowed in pain. Glancing over his shoulder, he nearly fell as he saw the massive iron chain had sprung out of the ground and wrapped itself around the creature’s ankles, each link glowing with the dull red of superheated metal.

“I got this one,” an unfamiliar voice thundered. “Help the others.” He whipped his head around to see a handful of people emerge from the gloom of the darkening forest. Three took off toward the village, while the fourth took a step forward and his head began to glow. “Duck!”

It took S̆ams̆ādur a second to realize the stranger was talking to him - half a second too long. A flurry of glowing orbs shot straight out of the man’s hands and toward the Atrometos. Which also happened to be straight towards him. He dove to the ground slightly too late, grunting in pain as one of the orbs caught him on the edge of his shoulder, and sent him flying to the left.

He rolled to his feet, hissing with pain as the fire scorched his skin, but it was a glancing blow. The Atrometos took the worst of it. The night sky lit up as the orbs exploded against its body, staggering it back a step - but only a step.

With a renewed cry of rage, the beast snapped the chains binding its legs and charged toward the new threat. Deprived of all essence, S̆ams̆ādur could do little but hack at the creature with his axe, so he ran toward the stranger, praying the strange mage had something stronger in his repertoire.

He’d only made it a few steps when the stranger blurred past him, billowing with eerie white flames and wielding a glaive seeping with ice. The mage hit the Atrometos dead center, scoring a deep cut with its glaive, but was tossed aside by the beast’s great strength. He bounced back up, apparently unharmed, and the prince noticed that tendrils of flame were slowly creeping across the Atrometos’ torso.

The Atrometos charged after him, its deadly claws slashing through the space the squishy mage should have been, but the stranger was suddenly floating above its head, born aloft by shadowy wings the prince had missed in the darkness of the night. “You know, I remembered you guys as being way scarier,” the stranger said. With a flick of his wrist, a long silvery whip extended from his hand, and lashed out toward the wound he’d previously inflicted. It sunk deep into the bloody wound and as it did, unearthly wails rent the air.

A ring of specters manifested around the Atrometos, and in a second the hunter had become prey. S̆ams̆ādur watched in fascinated horror as the specters tore the fell beast to shreds, barely even noticing as the winged mage flew over and sat down beside him.

“Well, would you look at that - it seems like my luck has finally changed.” He jumped as the mage spoke to him, and eyed him warily. Just because he’d attacked the Atrometos didn’t mean he was a friend.

“I’m Jasper,” the mage continued, seemingly unaware of the prince’s caution, “and I’m guessing you’re S̆ams̆ādur.”