Chapter 16

16.
         The air sucked at his ears, pulling at his face, making it nearly impossible to breath. Too much of a good thing, worse than drowning. He must have blacked out at some point because time seemed to be moving in spurts. In jumps. In stuttering steps. He was spinning, in the air, around and around. Michelle, still tightly in his grasp, lay limply against him. Unconscious. Probably best. At least she won't know. She won't know when it happens. The fall.
         I doubt you'll survive the fall. That's what the bastard said but he probably didn't mean this. The Shadow can't tell the future, he can just make it. Evil. Everything in the goddamned castle was evil. And yet it was still winning. That's not the way the world worked. Not the way it was supposed to work. Fight the fight, stand on the side of right, you had to win every time. Evil had to turn tail and run. Not appear in front of you and calmly lay down the death sentence.
         Like floating now. The endless sky, the puffy whiteness of clouds. Close up, it all seems normal. The ground so far away. Everything is different here. He was rotating, bursts of air slashing at him on either side, making him dizzy. He could see the castle, see it receding. Like a dream. Falling away. It made a phrase come to mind but nothing was in his head anymore. Blackess and redness gnawed at the edges of his vision. His head was in a vice.
         Tristian forced himself to stay conscious. He wanted to see every moment, he wanted death to know that he had stared it right in the face the entire way down and didn't flinch. That he didn't allow himself the luxury of oblivion before the final curtain fell. No getting up early. He wanted to think that there was still hope, that life still existed and that last minute saves were pulled out of the strangest places. Part of him had gotten so used to the Agents saving him. Maybe that was why he left. He didn't want to rely on people, didn't want to think that he might fail one day because he was hoping someone else would pick the slack up. No room for that.
         Or maybe there was a different reason. In the delirious pause that preceded death, his mind cleared and found that maybe, just maybe there was a different reason for all of this. Maybe he didn't want people to rely on him, in case he failed and someone died just when he was needed. He was tired of death. But death wasn't weary of him. It was there now, on the ground, ready to greet him with open arms and smashed bones. He knew how he would die, his head would pulverize itself into his chest and his entire body would become little more than pulp. Perhaps he would bounce on the way down. The absurd image of his broken and smashed corpse bouncing like a ball as it slammed into the ground would have brought a chuckle to his ears, if there was air or time left to laugh.
         He glanced down at the head of air that was what he could see of the women pressed against him. She might wake up before they hit, might see and realize. He could kill her now, a simple snap of the neck would render her unable to know anything ever again. All the satisifaction death would get would be an empty shell shattered, little better than breaking a vase. But he couldn't do it, it went against everything he knew. There was always hope, there had to be. Tristian could never resign himself to anything, never let himself believe fully. In his own life, in his own death. There was never time.
         And then time stopped.
         Splat.
         But that's not what happened.
         His head nearly bent backwards suddenly and the world went black as everything seemed to shift into a halt.
         When he came to himself a second later, willpowering keeping the darkness at bay, the world was ringed in green.
         Startled, he stared around half of him thinking this was just part of the dream, the other half realizing what had just happened.
         They were saved.
         Above, he could see a figure hovering above them, green flickering from them to him. He was surrounded in a nimbus of green. Slowly, ever so slowly, agonizingly slow, they were drawn up to him, even as the figure was drawn back towards the forboding fortress that was the castle.
         Still locked in his grip, Michelle stirred. She turned slightly and Tristian could see that her forehead was caked in streaks of blood that had come from her wound. But she had stopped bleeding at least.
         "What are . . . what . . ." was all she said, blurring vision and impacted mind not allowing her to fully appreciate or realize the rapidly changing situation.
         "Last minute save," was all Tristian said to her and her eyelids fluttered again. He couldn't even tell if she was conscious any longer.
         As they grew closer to the floating green, Tristian found he could make out features better and as he did he wondered if he was still dreaming.
         "Johan," was all he said, feeling like his voice was coming from someone else. It was dry, cracked, hoarse, like he had been screaming for hours. Perhaps he had been, the air rush had been so loud that bombs could have gone off in his face with the effect of having been in a vacuum.
         Whether the other man heard him or not wasn't clear. His arms were outstreched, forehead knotted in concentration, eyes nearly closed, thin lipped with tension. Sweat was literally streaking its way down his body.
         The hole that they had flown out of came into view slowly. Tristian had seen ships dock before, both on Earth with the ocean and in space and right now he felt like one of those ships himself. Everything was so slow, they were so close and yet anything could happen. It made him want to scream.
         But they made it in, the castle closing around them again like a cocoon, air and warmth and life once again. The green twinkled around them for a second more, Johan floating near them. Then he touched down and the green vanished. Still a few inches from the floor, Tristian fell the rest of the way, realizing that the small bruises he would get from that are far less than what would have happened had he finished his fall outside.
         Gently laying Michelle down, seeing that she was already regaining consciousness, he went over to Johan. The man looked positively sick, he was leaning heavily against the wall clutching his stomach, trembling enough that Tristian could see it from a distance.
         "Couldn't let you . . . I just . . . owed it to Mari, to not . . . to just . . . argh, the pain . . ." he closed his eyes and shook violently.
         "Johan, what did you do?" Tristian asked, putting an arm out to steady the man.
         The constant pressure and reassurance from a friend seemed to focus Johan's thoughts. Glancing back at Tristian he said in a quivering voice, "Everyone can . . . use magic Tristian, it's just a matter of . . . of focusing and thinking and . . . I saw you falling and I couldn't . . . I just couldn't let you . . . ah!" The effort must have nearly drained him, Tristian realized, not sure he could fully comprehend how much Johan had pushed himself to save them. He didn't seem to have especially powerful magical abilities, yet he pushed them to the limit to save them.
         Patting the man on the shoulder, not sure if the gesture even touched on how he felt, he turned to survey the rest of the area. The thing they had fought might still be around and he wanted to be better prepared. It seemed to be some sort of demon, or a ghost, walking through walls. He examined the corridor, seeing the two Dark Riders bodies thrown around, just the way he had left them.
         And then he saw it. A cloak, burned and charred almost beyond recognition. It was laying on the floor in a heap, obviously empty, right near the wall where the being had stepped through. He remembered its taunts, the voice of crushed glass. What had done this?
         "I . . . got it, Tristian . . . I . . . it took everything I had and . . . then . . . then I had to save you . . ." Johan gasped, shaking his head to regain a sense of himself. Silently, Tristian bent down to finger the burnt cloth. It was still hot. And then staring up, he took another look at the wall. What he thought had just been their shadows thrown on the wall by the light source wasn't. There was a patch of darkness on the wall, one that didn't flicker or change shape. A single blot, man shaped and sized.
         He let the cloth drop from his numb fingers and just stood up. A groan from the side alerted him to Michelle coming to. Moving over, he went to help her sit up.
         "Please tell me that we won while I was out," she said weakly, though otherwise seeming none the worse for wear.
         "We almost lost for good, if not for Johan," Tristian told her and then quickly explained what had happened. Her eyes widened when she heard and after Tristian had finished relating the story, she got shakily to her feet, waving off Tristian's help.
         "We have to get to the crystal," she said firmly, "who knows how much time we lost while we were falling. They could be there already."
         "If they were there, then I think we'd all know about it by now," Tristian noted. "Which means we still have time but not much. Do you think you can still get there from here?"
         She nodded and started to move down the corridor. Tristian turned to Johan and said, "Johan, you don't have to come. If you make it back to the throne room, you'll be safe there . . ." he didn't want to add, and if we fail it won't matter otherwise.
         Johan seemed to shake himself, pushing off from the wall. A speckle of green seemed to flicker in his eye as he stared at Tristian. "I'm ready," was all he said. "Let's go."
         The walk turned out not to be much farther, though every second that passed pulsed through their veins. Every step they felt they wondered if they would feel the last grinding shudder of the castle before it started its final plummet. As they walked they passed through remains of battles, through bodies of friend and foe. Glass crunched underfoot and the reek of smoke, made worse by the close confines was everywhere.
         Eventually they came before a set of wooded doors. There was no one else around, which was good because the group was in little shape for a fight. Michelle was still pale from blood loss and she moved slowly, while Johan just seemed overall fatigued, his exertion of magical energy having worn him out completely. If they had to protect the crystal then they might not be much use. Tristian himself felt fine but he didn't know how much his conditioning was blocking the feeling from his nerves. Perhaps it was even causing him to regenerate. Anything to make him feel less than human.
         "These are the royal chambers," Michelle announced in a hushed voice. "None are allowed here normally but this is where the crystal lies, where the king can defend it himself if necessary."
         "Can you open the doors?" Tristian asked.
         Her brow was furrowed in concentration and azure danced on her fingertips. "There are some wards but nothing too complicated, especially for someone well versed in the defenses around the castle. Ah." And with an anticlimatic click the doors swung open.
         The room was dark, almost pitch black since there were no windows to be seen. "Can you get the lights on?" Tristian asked Michelle.
         "Don't think so," Michelle replied, "I'm testing it and they seem to be keyed to the king himself." Her entire body was softly glimmering blue.
         "Tristian," Johan said from the other end of the room. They went over to see what he had called them for, and then they saw it too. Set in the wall was a glowing multifaceted rock, almost seeming to pulsate with its own light. It threw harsh contrasts on everyone's features. Tristian almost thought he could see a face pressed up against the crystal, though it might have been his own reflection. Or not.
         "This is it," Michelle whispered. "I can feel its power from here."
         "Okay, now what are we going to do?" Tristian wondered outloud. "Maybe we should start by blocking those doors with something heavy, it might not stop the Dark Riders but it might slow them down." He squinted into the darkness. "And I wish someone could find a light switch."
         Over by Johan there was a rustling and then he heard the man shout. "No, keep away!" just as the entire room flared green. Tristian caught the afterimages of two shadows throwing their hands up to protect themselves before they dissolved into nothing.
         Then Tristian felt strong arms encircling him. Instinctively he went to struggle but they were too fast, pinning and holding him before he could do anything else. Something oppressive entered the air. Near him he could see Michelle flash blue briefly and then flicker out, followed by a muffled shout from her voice.
         "Interesting," said a voice from the darkness. Two glowing points appeared, like they were floating. "The relatively weakest member among you reacted the fastest. He managed to dispatch two of us before we could even reach him. Mark that well, Tristian. He did what you could not."
         Tristian knew the voice instantly, he had heard it not that long before. "Then you'd better kill me now, Dark Lord, or else you'll see what I can do. And you've seen that before."
         "Oh yes, your lauded fighting prowess," came the mocking reply. "I've seen it up close, Tristian, we've sparred none too many times. I've been rarely impressed. But this conversation is wearying and this darkness useless. There's no need to hide when your goals have been accomplished. Lights, please."
         The light flamed on, causing everyone to blink and turn their heads away. Tristian could see Michelle sagging between two Dark Riders, as well as the two holding him. Johan was standing near the two shadows on the walls, his entire body green. His look was hounded, his eyes haunted.
         "You won't get the crystal, you'll have to get past me first . . ." he panted, nearly breathless with exertion. Tristian continued to strain against his captors, searching for some way out. He could find none.
         "How . . . melodramatic," the Dark Lord stated calmly. "So, little man, you seek to do battle with me? Instead of surrending?" The eyes seemed to flicker evilly. "That could result in some . . . sport."
         "Don't come near me. I'll blast you to ashes," Johan nearly screeched. "I mean it."
         "Oh, I have no doubt you do," the Dark Lord replied quite calmly, as he took a step forward. And then another. His hand was going to his belt, to the sword resting there. Tristian fought harder to get away from his captors. "But you've expended most of your magical abilities saving your friends, saving yourself. Frankly, I doubt you have anything left."
         And then at his last words a red blur erupted from his belt, into his hand and slashed downn, meeting, intersecting and biting through the green of Johan's shield, slicing down his arm. Blood spurted and hit the wall with a thud, eager to be freed. Johan screamed and lunged back a step, clutching his arm. His shield faded out.
         "Seems I was right," the Dark Lord added, holding his glowing sword. The blade was a single shaft of red. Tristian knew the weapon all too well, he had wielded one of its type all too often. He wished for it now.
         Johan, panicked but not backing down, drew his own sword, holding it out before him in his good hand. The Dark Lord glanced down at him calmly.
         "Your continued efforts only prolong the inevitable," he said smugly, slicing the sword up and cutting the blade off Johan's sword. "But then even if your surrender it will only mean death for you anyway. Given the same choice, I would not lay down and die either. However," he continued, stepping forward and cutting against, opening a laceration on Johan's chest, causing the other man to gasp and shrink back, "my resistance would be glorious. Yours is merely . . . pathetic." And then he cut across Johan's leg. Tristian could see that he was just toying with the man, bleeding him to death. Figuring he had all the time in the world. Michelle would probably be next and her death would be quick. He wondered why she wasn't using her magic. Perhaps she had nothing left either. Or perhaps they were masking her abilities. There was no telling what the Dark Riders could do.
         But for him, the Dark Lord would think of torments that would end in his death only after an infinite amount of suffering. Tristian kept fighting against the implacable grip of the Dark Riders. He didn't see anything else he could do. Already the Dark Rider was raising his sword again to strike.
         Just then, the wall exploded.
         It was just like that, no warning. The solid wood and stone of the wall buckled outward, flaming with a thundrous explosion. Smoke and debris filled the room, even the Dark Lord stepped back, his cape unfurling and flapping in the sudden rank breeze.
         "I hear you're looking for a worthy opponent," came a hoarse voice. Tristian could see someone framed in the darkness, someone wearing tattered robes. Silently he stepped forward and in the half darkness his eyes were glowing ominiously. His voice deadly serious, Agent Two said, "Well, so I am, but I guess you'll do until I find him." His hands were glimmering blood red.
         The Dark Lord held his sword before him. "You are still weak, Magent, there's nothing you can do. Admit your defeat."
         Agent Two gave a barking laugh. "How about instead of that, I tell you what I'd like to do. Your master put me through a lot of crap, and if I thought you'd last that long, I'd give you a small taste." His eyes narrowed, still glowing. "But you can't, so I'll just . . . improvise."
         "Save yourself and withdraw, Dark Lord," came another more cultured voice. The wall on the other side rippled and Agent One stepped through. "Or I'll let my brother have you. I might even help."
         The Dark Lord's gaze flickered to either Agent. "Always the same, Magents. You think by surrounding me, showing off your vaunted powers, you force me into checkmate. That I will back down as a sign of acknowledgement of your greatness."
         Energy was starting to float in the air from Agent Two to the Dark Lord. "Frankly," Agent Two said, "I don't really care what you tell yourself after this is over. But I think you should do so before I get impatient." He gave a grim smile. "We're thirty thousand feet up, Dark Lord, and I'm feeling really creative today. Please don't surrender."
         "Very well, then, Magent, I shall not," the Dark Lord said evenly. "In fact, I think I shall remain," and then his sword flickered out again, slashing as Johan one last time, cutting at his head, at his throat, "defiant!" and even Tristian saw the arc of blood spurting into the air even as Johan's head snapped back, exposing the grisly red line that occupied most of his neck.
         He was starting to sag even as Tristian and the Agents both screamed "No!" almost at the same exact moment. Initial goal forgotten, both Agents dove at the falling Johan.
         Meanwhile, the Dark Lord didn't even pause in his motion, saying as he brought his sword up and around and straight, "Victory remains mine," even as the sword dove right into the heart of the crystal itself, shattering it, causing fragments to go flying all around the room.
         The room was filled with a rushing sound of wind. There was a pause that lasted for a silent eternity even as the castle groaned one last time.
         And then the lights went out, even as a ever present and final whistling replaced all other sounds in Tristian's mind.