17. Malorg
seventeen
Malorg
Malorg took his seat in the conference room, ignoring the questioning glances from Sajix and Wiriv. Let Pelorak's spies stew. Malorg's business with Sarilian was no one's but his own.
He watched the Dawn Emissary navigate his way around the table toward the rest of the Celestial delegation, ignoring the sudden tightness in his chest. That had gone well—better than he'd expected when he pulled Sarilian aside. A reluctant apology had turned into revisiting their past. And while it had been Pelorak's intervention that forced Malorg's hand, now that it had happened, he had to admit it felt good to have cleared the air and established where they stood.
Destined to fail or not, I want you to know that I don't regret a single moment we shared. Even now.
Malorg shoved Sarilian's whispered words out of mind even as an unfamiliar warmth pulsed in his breast. What had happened between them in the past was better off buried. They both had a job to do…and an Immortal Covenant to revise.
Clearing his throat, Malorg said, "Shall we begin?"
Sarilian gave him a small, private smile that sent another jolt of warmth racing through him. "Proceed, Emissary. Let's hear what you have to say."
The meeting went…better. By unspoken agreement, they avoided discussing patrol patterns or other details that had proven contentious in previous meetings. Instead, they kept the conversation relatively light, reaffirming commitments to cooperation and restating their key goals for the Accords.
Other than the occasional stilted response or awkward silence, Malorg found it far easier to talk to Sarilian now that his agitated emotions had finally settled. And though they'd accomplished little in the way of concrete negotiations by the end of their allotted time, he considered it a tentative success nonetheless.
We might actually be able to do this—to rewrite the Covenant and unite our peoples.
After the meeting, Malorg waited while the Celestial delegation filed out with Sarilian at their head. Their eyes met, their gazes lingering as another of those secret smiles graced Sarilian's lips, meant for Malorg alone. Then, they were past.
Malorg exhaled, tension he hadn't realized he was carrying easing. He'd made it through a meeting with Sarilian unscathed. Now, they just needed to advance to actual progress.
"You did better today," Wiriv said, stepping up beside him. "Whatever you said to that Celestial mongrel must have worked. They seemed properly pacified today."
Sajix nodded. "The Dusk Council will be pleased to hear of your efforts. Shall we pass along anything on your behalf?"
Alarm spiked through Malorg at the thought of drawing unnecessary attention to his connection with Sarilian. Asking them to leave out that detail, however, would only elicit more suspicion. Best to pass it off as nothing out of the ordinary.
"Tell Pelorak whatever you wish. I was simply following his instructions."
Sajix frowned. "Like we've said before, we're here representing the united interests of—"
"I know exactly whom you serve. Now, if you'll excuse me."
Ignoring their squawks of protest, Malorg shoved past the pair and strode quickly down the hall. He'd intended to return home after the meeting like he always did. But as he walked by the looming columns in the Dusk Citadel's antechamber and exited onto the gray steps outside, restlessness gripped him.
He couldn't tell if it came from his brief conversation with Sajix and Wiriv or the fleeting image of Sarilian's parting smile that he couldn't seem to shake out of his head. Either way, he craved some form of release.
Perhaps it's time I return to the field.
It had been over a month since Malorg last ventured forth to hunt voidspawn—not since Pelorak found him nearly passed out on his apartment floor. Perhaps going a few rounds with the enemy would help remind him why these Accords were so critical. If nothing else, it would offer an outlet for his agitation.
Dissolving into shadow, he sank into the permanent darkness enveloping Twilight and zipped down the labyrinthine city streets. It didn't take him long to exit the city, and soon enough, he was duskwalking past gnarled trees on his way toward the outskirts.
He spotted his first prey nestled in the hollow of a tree. It barely had time to react, the violet eyes sprinkled across its muscular back fastening on him as he rammed twin duskflame daggers into its scaly flesh. The voidspawn burst apart in a cloud of purple ash, and he scowled.
Too easy.
His next target proved more satisfying. While his ambush left embedded blades spreading a duskflame curse in blackening lines across the voidspawn's hide, it hardly seemed to notice. Thousands of tiny tendrils propelled its sinuous, undulating body across the forest floor, clacking mandibles jutting from it at odd angles like spikes.
Not quite strong enough to be considered a void lord, the grotesque mockery of a centipede nevertheless put up a decent fight. Its segmented body was surprisingly agile, and the spaced mandibles made it difficult to get close without risking a counterattack.
He settled for dancing around it with his duskflame, relying on his duskwalking to keep him out of harm's way while he peppered the voidspawn with daggers from afar. Over a dozen prickled along its chitinous skin before it finally succumbed to the duskflame curse weakening it and collapsed.
Malorg had just finished a coup de grace on the fallen beast when distant shouts echoed through the trees. He hesitated, glancing in the direction of the cries. They hadn't sounded panicked, but that didn't mean that whoever it was couldn't use help.
Usually, he'd ignore the distraction. He preferred to hunt alone. Yet, this time something drove him to check it out. Against his better judgment, he sank into the shadows and zipped toward the noise. Sounds of battle grew around him, and he emerged from a copse of trees to find a trio of Infernals battling against at least twice that many voidspawn.
While these voidspawn resembled tentacled wasps rather than gliding squirrels, Malorg couldn't help but flash back to his and Sarilian's own botched ambush against a voidspawn nest. The three Infernals here seemed to be faring even worse. Their bumbling attacks and clumsy use of duskflame marked them as fresh recruits.
As Malorg watched, one of them hurled a dagger at a buzzing voidspawn only for the blade's duskflame to crumble apart in mid-air. Another dodged a foe's diving stinger and tripped over a tree root, barely evading a voidspawn's follow-up strike with a hasty burst of duskflame.
He briefly considered leaving them be. It was unlikely any of them would perish here, and a tough fight might serve as the wake-up call they needed to take their training more seriously. Then, an image of Sarilian's disapproval flashed before his eyes, and he sighed. So be it.
His arrival elicited a fresh wave of shouts from the other Infernals as he darted into the clearing. A pair of tossed daggers felled a diving voidspawn before it could reach its target, and he flickered back into the shadows just long enough to reposition beside the Infernal who'd tripped and gut another of the beasts. Two bursts of voidflame announced their demise.
"Eternal Dark…" the fallen Infernal murmured, staring up at Malorg with wide-eyed awe.
Malorg grabbed his arm and jerked him to his feet. "Watch your surroundings and never let down your guard. Better yet, keep your duskflame close at hand so that you can use it when needed to bolster your movements."
The Infernal gave him a dazed nod, but Malorg was already moving again, seeking out his next victim. To the credit of the recruits, they rallied around Malorg once they realized what was happening, and though they ended up in his way more often than not, at least they didn't give up. Their skills might be lacking, but their spirit wasn't.
Within moments, the final voidspawn disintegrated, leaving Malorg and the three Infernals standing amid the flickering grays of the clearing. Malorg started toward the trees, readying his duskflame to slip into the shadows.
"Next time, make sure you're prepared before you go hunting on your own," he said. "Practice maintaining your duskflame and strengthening your reserves. Once you can keep concentration on a conjured blade or soften a blow without conscious effort, you'll be ready."
"Hold on," one of the Infernals called after him, his voice tinged with excitement. "You're Malorg, aren't you?"
Malorg froze, his back stiffening. "How do you know who I am?" he asked without turning.
"Everyone knows who you are," the excited Infernal replied. "You're a legend! Is it true you once defeated a void god singlehandedly?"
An image of Uryqh's charred, screaming face stole Malorg's breath. He closed his eyes. "I had help."
More excited murmurs echoed behind him.
"Do you want to join us?" another Infernal called. "We've obviously got a lot to learn."
No hovered on the tip of Malorg's tongue. Any other time, he'd snort and march off, leaving them to their hunt. He was no babysitter, nor was he a team player. There was a reason he generally did his hunting as far away from Twilight as he could get. Yet, for whatever reason, the idea of some companionship didn't sound so bad today.
"Very well," he found himself saying. "Lead the way."
The Infernals turned out to be just as incompetent as he'd expected. Larx was less than a year old while Qurth and Hiliaj had arrived together about two years prior. None had received any formal training beyond the bare minimum required to conjure duskflame, and though they'd participated in closing several gates, they'd served as little more than fodder to distract the voidspawn while more experienced warriors did the real fighting.
That admission stoked a cold anger in Malorg. Perhaps he should have taken Pelorak up on his previous offer to oversee the new arrivals after all. No Immortal should be left so ill-prepared to uphold the Covenant, regardless of how pointless such duty turned out to be.
As it was, Malorg offered what advice he could, correcting their poor form and pointing out the (many) areas in which they needed improvement. The experience stuck with him, dogging his mind even after they'd parted ways and he'd returned alone to Twilight. Those thoughts bled into his earlier preoccupation with Sarilian and the Accords until he could think of little else.
For centuries now, Malorg had accepted the fundamental truth that the Covenant was pointless, the Void's eventual victory all but assured. After today, however, he discovered a faint glimmer of hope coruscating in his chest. Maybe Sarilian had been right—maybe they really could accomplish the impossible after all.