Into the Abyss (The Nightslayer Trilogy, Part 2) - Chapter Twelve

The sun hadn’t come up, yet. As he returned to his chambers, Garrold knew that that couldn’t be a good sign. What he wasn’t sure of was if the lack of a sunrise had to do with anything the Baron had done, or with the event Garrold sensed had happened while he slept. It probably had a little to do with both, he reasoned, which meant that the time for preparation and planning had passed. It was time to do something, to move against the dark forces that had taken hold of the land. It may already be too late, though, Garrold thought. And I can’t do it alone. Where is Thaddeus?

When Garrold reached the door to his chambers, he found it open. Hadn’t he closed it when he’d left? And then he sensed the magic. Something – something foul and rotten, an Abomination raised by necromancy – had come to Garrold’s chambers while he was gone, and was now waiting for him. Garrold wondered who the Abomination could be. Not one of the gate guards, of course – they were being taken care of outside, and neither of them had seemed to have any spells on them besides the one that had erased their minds. Could it have been someone from the crypts? Not Therese, Garrold thought. Gods Above, please don’t let it be her. Garrold took a deep breath and walked through the open door.

“Hello, boy.”

Sitting in one of the two chairs on either side of the hearth was a withered figure dressed in tattered clothing. Its eyes glowed like coals, and the hollow voice it spoke in was both familiar, and totally unrecognizable. Garrold knew who the figure was at once, of course. It was his father. And his father had only ever called him “boy” when he was displeased with something Garrold had done.

“Hello, Father,” Garrold said.

“Look at you,” the Abomination said. “Strutting around here like someone important. Plotting the overthrow of your rightful king. And reeking of magic, besides. I thought I raised you better than this, boy.”

“You raised me to always do what was right,” Garrold said. “And that’s what I’m doing.”

The Abomination laughed derisively. “You think treason is right, do you? Do you know where you’ll wind up if you stay on this path? With the headsman’s sword at your neck! I can’t let that happen, Garrold.” It fixed its burning stare on Garrold. “I won’t.”

“You have no say over my actions, anymore, Father.”

“Oh, don’t I?” The Abomination rose and started walking toward Garrold, its hands outstretched. A growl – like that of some vicious, wild animal – rose in its throat, and when next it spoke, its voice had turned raspy and inhuman. “Do you know what will happen if I touch you, boy? Do you?”

The Abomination lunged. Garrold leaped into the air and somersaulted over the Abomination’s head. Reaching his hand out, he called the sword that hung over the mantle – the sword that, as Duke of Telvany, was Garrold’s birthright, but which he had never chosen to wear – into it, blue fire running up its length as he poured some of his magic into the blade. Swinging the sword, Garrold found there was a shield surrounding the Abomination. However, even though the swing did not connect, the magic he’d infused the sword with chipped at the shield, and so he swung again and again, the blows ringing off the shield just as if it were made of metal.

The Abomination was shrieking, now, darting and ducking to avoid the blows of Garrold’s sword, lunging with its claw-like hands as it tried to grab a hold of him. The magic that had raised the Abomination made it fast, but Garrold kept up with it, though more than once he escaped its touch by only a hairsbreadth. Garrold, though he didn’t know enough of the lore to be sure, had a nasty suspicion of what would happen to him if the Abomination – which no longer even came close to resembling his father – touched him, and he used the fear that suspicion gave him to fuel his magic, his attacks becoming more furious as he battered at the Abomination’s shield. Can’t keep this up much longer, he thought, starting to feel the first hints of fatigue begin to settle in.

Taking his sword in one hand, Garrold used his free hand to unleash a blast of blue fire at the Abomination. The Abomination’s shrieks turned into a screech, and its shield splintered. Garrold swung his sword in an arc, beheading the Abomination before it had a chance to react to the loss of its shield. The Abomination continued to screech for a moment, then the sound faded away as if falling down a very deep well. The Abomination’s body crumpled to the floor, and when it hit, it exploded into a cloud of dust.

The door to Garrold’s chambers – which had slammed closed the instant the Abomination had risen and started coming toward him – burst open, then, and Garrold turned to see Wilem, Robert, Stevan, and Sister Niela standing there. Wilem’s staff – glowing faintly – was in his hand, but it was clear from the way she stood that it had been Sister Niela who had blown the door open. “We heard the shrieks,” Wilem said. “Are you all right, Brother?”

Garrold had just beheaded his father’s corpse. He wasn’t sure if he was all right, or not. “I will be,” he said.

“Who was the Abomination?”

“Father.” Garrold went over to the hearth and pulled his sword’s scabbard off of the mantle. “The Baron must have visited the crypts before he left.” He looked at Wilem as he sheathed his sword. “He did it to taunt me, Wilem. Either that, or he greatly underestimated how powerful I am, which, considering how strong it seems he is, I find hard to believe.”

“Why hasn’t the sun come up?” Robert asked from where he stood in the doorway. “Did the Baron do that, too?”

Garrold shook his head. “I don’t think so. Something else happened during the night. Whatever it was, though, it’s going to make our enemies stronger. Are the troops you and Stevan have been helping to train ready to move?”

“As ready as they’ll ever be, Your Grace,” Stevan said.

“Good.” Garrold finished strapping the sword to his waist, then took the Shining Circlet and put it on. “Assemble them in the courtyard.” He looked at Wilem and Niela. “How many of your Brothers and Sisters will be joining us?”

“As many as can be spared,” Wilem said. “Brother, are you sure you’re ready?”

“I have to be, Brother. Time’s running out. If we delay any longer, there will be no stopping the horrors that are coming.”

“What of this person Thaddeus you spoke of? Where is he?”

Garrold reached out with his magic, trying to see if he could sense where Thaddeus – the man who had appeared in Garrold’s study all those weeks ago, claiming to be the Nightslayer – might be. Garrold sensed nothing. “I don’t know, Wilem,” he said quietly. “I just don’t know.”

Into the Abyss (The Nightslayer Trilogy, Part 2) - Chapter Eleven

Wilem watched Robert and Stevan take the two dead guards out of the gate house. Once they were gone, he headed for the chapel to rouse Sister Niela, the castle’s cleric. Normally, Niela wouldn’t have been needed to preside over the guards’ burials – commoner burials typically needed neither monk nor cleric, as no special rituals were required – but Wilem feared that, in this case, Niela’s more particular talents might need to be called upon. If that turned out to be the case – if the Baron did already possess the power to raise Abominations – Niela, and all of the other Sisters, besides, would soon become an invaluable asset. But not even they will be enough to turn the tide, he thought.

Wilem found Niela asleep in the small room just off the chapel’s main hall. She awoke as soon as he entered the room, sitting up and turning a troubled look in Wilem’s direction. “What’s happened?” she asked.

“Two of the gate guards are dead,” Wilem said. “They need to be buried, and I want you to be there when it’s done.”

Niela – who had been Valewind’s cleric since before Wilem and Garrold were born, but didn’t look a day over forty – frowned. “Why?”

“Their minds were wiped by a Necromantic spell before they died. I fear there may be others on them that we missed.”

Niela’s eyes widened. “You’re worried they could be raised, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

Niela got out of bed, and Wilem had to hurriedly turn his back to avoid seeing her change out of her shift and into her cleric’s robes. Hearing the rustle of cloth behind him, Wilem was reminded of how beautiful he’d always thought Sister Niela was, and how wrong it would be for him to admit that to someone who’d known him – and ministered to his various injuries and illnesses – since he was a boy. Not to mention to fact that, while it hadn’t been required, Wilem had taken an oath of chastity on becoming a monk, meaning that, no matter how long he’d known Sister Niela, he could never be more to her than just a friend. Purity. Why in Hel’s name did I have to choose purity?

“Done ruminating?” Niela asked. “Or do you want to waste more time standing there looking at your feet?”

Wilem gave her a sheepish smile and led the way out of the chapel. The commoners’ graveyard was behind the main castle, an unadorned patch of earth covered in numerous rounded humps. Each hump represented the grave of a commoner. There were fresh flowers on some – evidence of recent visitation – but most were bare. None of them was marked with a name. At the end of the row of graves nearest the yard’s entrance, Robert and Stevan were busying themselves digging, the bodies of the two gate guards lying on the unbroken ground beside them.

“Brother Wilem!” Robert said, looking up as Wilem and Niela came over. “Sister Niela! We weren’t expecting the two of you.”

“I wanted Sister Niela to examine the bodies before you buried them,” Wilem said. “I need to be sure nothing was missed.”

“Missed?” Stevan asked. “Like what?”

Wilem didn’t answer right away, but did take note that Robert and Stevan each still had their swords. That was good. He watched Niela as she knelt over the bodies of the guards. “Hopefully nothing,” he said at last.

Suddenly, Niela gasped, and Wilem watched in horror as one of the dead guards reached up and grabbed her by the throat. Niela’s hands started to glow with radiant energy, but, before she could cast it, the Abomination threw her back with inhuman force, sending her flying halfway across the graveyard. Wilem vaulted back, holding his hand out to the side as he summoned his staff, which glowed with radiant energy of its own. The staff would protect him from the Abomination’s touch – and would do damage of its own as it did – but, until, and unless, Niela could get back in the fight, Wilem would have to rely on his martial skills, alone.

The Abomination – both guards were Abominations, now, Robert and Stevan drawing their swords to deal with the second one as it came to its feet – rose and charged at Wilem, growling like a feral animal. Wilem dodged and rolled, swinging at the undead horror with his staff. The staff struck, causing the Abomination to screech and steam to rise from its skin, but it kept coming, its eyes glowing in their sockets like a pair of burning coals. Wilem struck. There were more screeches, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air.

“Don’t let it touch you!” Wilem shouted, whirling just out of the Abomination’s touch, then knocking it back with two wicked strikes from his staff. If either of the Abominations touched any of them, its corruption would spread, turning whoever it touched into another Abomination. And something far worse if it touches me, Wilem thought.

A sudden blast of amber radiance struck the Abomination in front of Wilem and sent it flying. Niela! He looked at her, seeing that, though she looked a little shaken, seemed no worse for wear. Wilem offered her a quick smile, and got one back in return before Niela unleashed another torrent of radiance on the Abomination Robert and Stevan were fighting. Neither Abomination stirred, but Niela hit them both, again, incinerating each with balls of light almost as bright as the sun. Which, once their light faded, Wilem realized had not yet begun to rise. No sunrise. Gods Above, things are worse than I thought.

“Are you two all right?” Wilem asked, looking at Robert and Stevan.

The two Silver Shields sheathed their swords. Amazingly, neither of them looked as shaken as they should have. “We’re all right,” Robert said. He looked at Wilem. “What would have happened if one of those things touched us?”

“You don’t really want an answer to that question,” Niela said.

“Just be thankful it didn’t happen,” Wilem said, dismissing his staff. “The only one of us, here, immune to the touch of one of those horrors is Niela.”

“Almost got me, though,” Niela said, rubbing absently at both her throat and her backside. “Wilem?”

“Yes?”

“If we survive this, would you care to have a drink with me, sometime?”

“I thought you didn’t drink.”

Niela smiled. “I think a lot of old, stuffy oaths just went out the window.” She raised her eyebrows. “Don’t you?”

Wilem smiled back. How much did it really matter that Niela had known him since he was a child? “Maybe so.”

Into the Abyss (The Nightslayer Trilogy, Part 2) - Chapter Ten

Garrold sat up in bed, every part of himself instantly awake. Waking up like this, without any trace of drowsiness of grogginess, had become commonplace for him since discovering his magical talents, but it had never been so sudden, so driven by such an overwhelming sense of immediacy. Something had happened while he slept – something that had shaken the very foundations of reality, itself – but, Garrold found, that wasn’t really what mattered, right now. What did matter was that he had overlooked something during his audience with the Baron, something that, for a mage more experienced than Garrold was, should have been as plain as day. Seizing hold of the sense of urgency that had awoken him, Garrold got out of bed and hurried for the door to his chambers, summoning clothes to himself as he went.

Once he reached the hallway outside, Garrold wasn’t at all surprised to find his brother waiting for him. They shared a look, then started down the hallway together. “We have a problem,” Garrold said, looking at Wilem.

“What, only one, Brother?” Wilem asked, smirking.

Garrold’s lips twisted sourly. “The Baron deceived us.” They passed a window, and Garrold saw that it was still dark outside. It wouldn’t be for much longer, though – since becoming aware of his magical abilities, Garrold had always known exactly what time it was – and there was no telling what the Baron would do once day broke. “I should have realized something was off about him the moment I saw him. If I were more experienced at being a mage, I probably would have, but, as it is, I didn’t, and, now, I’ve gone and underestimated him. I let an enemy inside our walls, Wilem. An enemy!”

“So, what do you intend to do, now?”

Garrold shook his head. “I’m not sure.” His anger – and his magic – flared. His magic caused his eyes to flash blue. “Destroy him, perhaps.”

“You can’t do that, Brother.”

Garrold stopped and whirled to face Wilem. “And why is that?” he asked. “I’m the Magister of the Torvaran Empire. I can do what I like!”

“The Torvaran Empire? Garrold, do you know how big this ‘empire’ of yours is? One duchy. Oh, you’ve received oaths and pledges from others, but none of them has actually fought for you, yet. None of their people have died for you. If you kill the Baron, now, inside these walls, Blanchart will never swear itself to you, no matter who it is they wind up fighting for. You gave him your hospitality, Garrold, and you know how sacrosanct that is.”

Garrold thought on that for a moment. Wilem was right, of course. Just like he always was. “What would you suggest, then, Brother?” he asked.

“Confront the Baron if you must, but let him leave unscathed. Let him leave with the understanding that you know his secret. He will tread lightly in the days to come if you do that. I’m certain of it.”

Garrold looked at Wilem for a moment, then nodded. The two of them started walking, again. There was a commotion from up ahead, then the sound of armored boots ringing against stone. Robert and Stevan, wearing the full regalia of the newly reformed Silver Shields, came into view, hurrying down the hall toward Garrold’s chambers. When they saw Garrold and Wilem heading toward them, they stopped, both of them taking a moment to catch their breath.

“Your Grace,” Robert said at last, saluting. “Baron Vabarn and his company are no longer here. No one recalls seeing them leave.”

Garrold frowned. Damnation. “What about the gate guards?”

“They claim to have seen nothing, either, Your Grace,” Stevan said. “Though you may want to talk to them, yourself.”

“Why is that?”

“They don’t seem to be . . . themselves, Your Grace,” Robert said.

“Show me.”

Robert and Stevan led the way out of the main castle and to the gate house. Inside, the two guards were sitting on the floor, their backs propped against the wall and their legs splayed out in front of them. Both of them were awake – their eyes were open, anyway – but neither of them seemed fully aware of their surroundings. Garrold could sense the magic on them, at once, and it was clear from Wilem’s reaction that his brother could, as well. “Can you identify the spell?” he asked Wilem.

“It’s a form of compulsion,” Wilem said. “Whatever you ask these two, they’ll tell you exactly what whoever put it on them will want them to.”

“Can it be undone?”

“Only by a Spellbreaker.” Wilem looked at Garrold. “And breaking it will kill the guards.”

Garrold knelt down in front of one of the guards and peered into his eyes. They were glassy, vacant, and when Garrold waved a hand in front of them, the guard did not blink. “What will happen to these men if it isn’t broken?” he asked.

“They’ll stay like this until they die,” Wilem said.

Garrold looked up at his brother. “This was necromancy, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes. Garrold, can you tell who cast it?”

Garrold looked at the guards for a moment, then closed his eyes, focusing on the magic that made up the spell which had stolen their minds from them. While it was largely the same Arcane magic Garrold felt coming from himself, there was a darkness to it, a cold, twisted cruelty. That cold, twisted cruelty was the hallmark of the Necromantic Arts, but, as Garrold probed at it, he found that it went beyond that, that it was, in fact, the signature of the caster, himself. Garrold opened his eyes. “It was the Baron,” he said quietly. Then, quieter still, “This was my fault.”

“You didn’t know what he was, Garrold,” Wilem said. “Neither of us did. That was part of his deception.”

Garrold rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving the now mindless guards. “Was it?” he asked. “If I am to be Magister, if I truly am as powerful as you think I am, I should have been able to see the spells he was wrapped in. I should have been able to sense his talent. I was blind, though. And now, my blindness has cost these two men their lives.”

For a time, the only sound in the gate house was the crackle of fire in the braziers. And then Garrold reached his hand out the guards, holding it still for a moment before slowly closing his fist. The guards’ eyes closed and they slumped over, looking for all the world like they had fallen into a peaceful sleep. I am sorry, my friends, Garrold thought. Rest well.

“What are your orders, Your Grace?” Robert asked.

“See these men get a proper burial,” Garrold said. “Then, tomorrow, we march.”

“Are you all right, Brother?” Wilem asked.

Garrold looked at him, then turned and left the gate house.

Into the Abyss (The Nightslayer Trilogy, Part 2) - Chapter Nine

It felt good for all of them to be together, again, especially considering that Thaddeus had been afraid that, the next time he saw Aylander, he would have to kill him. At first, right after they’d witnessed Aylander’s killing of the dragon, Father Alvarem – it was still impossible for Thaddeus to think of him as Horace – had been convinced that they would have no other choice. According to him, once someone gave into the temptations of the Abyss as Aylander had done, there was no turning back. The Demon Lords had given in to those temptations, after all, and it had corrupted them utterly, their corruption spreading to Atraxos the Black and all of his followers. But what if, Thaddeus had asked then, one of those followers had had his soul cleansed by a Scourger, as had happened to Aylander when Thaddeus had killed his original body?

Father Alvarem had admitted, then, that he hadn’t considered that possibility. Because the majority of souls cleansed by Scourgers were never given the chance to inhabit a new body – Aylander’s soul had been the first soul that Father Alvarem could remember such a chance being given to, and, Thaddeus knew, there was no one with a better knowledge of lore than Horace Alvarem – there had been very little to indicate what might happen to Aylander once he gave in to the Abyss’s temptations. There had, of course, still been a high likelihood he would become corrupted, but Father Alvarem had also felt that, because of his all but unique situation, there was a chance Aylander might turn out differently, that giving in to the powers the Abyss offered him might turn him in to something new. Or, as Father Alvarem had said, then, something that hadn’t been seen in millennia.

Thaddeus glanced over at Aylander, eyeing, again, the sigil that had appeared on his tabard. Of course, it reminded him of the staff Adarion had been carrying when they’d faced the Demon Lords, which, he figured, was the point. Why would Adarion’s sign be anything else? Thaddeus was also familiar with the myths about the Sign Unknowable – the part of him that had been the Wanderer had learned a lot of lore, himself, during the twenty years of his existence – and knew that the Sign Unknowable was supposed to have a companion sign, the Sign Universal. Like the Sign Unknowable, none of the myths described the Sign Universal, but they did say it would appear as a rune, and that that rune would be inscribed on a powerful weapon. There are runes on my sword, Thaddeus thought. Adarion recognized them. Could one of them be the Sign Universal?

If Aylander had been marked with the Sign Unknowable, and Thaddeus carried the Sign Universal on his sword, what did that mean? Were they to become the forces that reshaped creation? Were they to become gods? Thaddeus was still trying to get used to be the Nightslayer. He wasn’t sure if he was ready, yet, to take up the mantle of a god. And, besides, the trinity was still incomplete. The Eltaran myths also spoke of the Nurturer, someone – presumably female, but the myths were vague on that point – who carried no sign of their own, but who provided the spark that made the other two signs work together. Unless . . .

“You’re brooding, again,” Zoe said.

Thaddeus looked at her. Could she be the Nurturer? “Sorry,” he said, then smirked. “We are in the middle of something serious, however.”

“True,” she said, then matched his smirk with one of her own. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, though.”

Thaddeus chuckled. “That sounds like some kind of proverb. Where’d you hear it?”

“Indeed,” Father Alvarem said, appearing as a ball of light hovering between them. “I’d like to know that, too.”

Zoe frowned, then shook her head. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard it, before. It just seemed like the right thing to say.”

“Fascinating,” Father Alvarem said, then winked out, only to appear, again, in the air in front of them, leading the way to the ruined city that, it seemed, only he was capable of leading them to.

“Reality is very thin, here,” Aylander said.

“Do you think things are bleeding through?” Zoe asked him.

“It’s possible. Though where they’re bleeding through from is anyone’s guess.”

“The Abyss lies between all the different planes of reality,” Thaddeus said. “It’s everywhere and nowhere all at once. There’s something, though – just a sense I have, really – that, once, eons ago, it was the only plane of reality, and that something fractured it.”

“I get that sense, too,” Aylander said. “I think the city we’re headed to used to belong to the people who used to live here.”

“The people who used to live here?” Zoe asked. “Who do you think they were?”

“I don’t know,” Thaddeus said. “They’re the ones who made the Creatures of the Abyss, though. They were their constructs.”

“The Gods Beyond the Gods,” Aylander said. “That’s what my people called them. That, or the Old Ones. The stories we used to tell of them were mainly just used to frighten unruly children, however. No one actually believed they existed.”

“I don’t think any of us would be here if they didn’t,” Thaddeus said. “I think we’re their descendants.”

“That isn’t exactly a comforting thought, brother. The Old Ones were supposed to be unimaginably powerful and cruel.”

“Of course they were. Why would they be frightening, otherwise?”

“Well, it sure seems the unimaginably powerful part was true,” Zoe said. “You only need to look at this place if you want proof of that.” She looked at Thaddeus. “What do you think happened?”

Thaddeus shook his head. “I don’t know. Whatever it was, though, I think they caused it. I also get the impression that it was an accident.”

“They overextended themselves,” Aylander said. “Just as my people did.”

“The only difference was,” Father Alvarem said from in front of them, “they did it on their own, without any kind of outside influence. Makes me feel sad for them, in a way.”

“My people did it to themselves, too,” Aylander said. “We just refused to acknowledge it.”

“Pride has a tendency to be blinding, sometimes,” Father Alvarem said.

Aylander’s voice dropped until it was almost a whisper. “Indeed.”

“We’re such a cheerful bunch,” Zoe said after a few moments of silence.

“We sure are,” Thaddeus agreed with her, keeping his voice flat and deadpan. That caused them all – even Father Alvarem – to laugh.

It didn’t take them much longer – so it seemed – to reach the ruined city. The light began to fade from the sky as soon as they did – night fell even here, in the Abyss – and they decided to make camp just inside one of the ruined buildings. Aylander conjured a fire and they all sat around it, staring into the flames silently, Zoe scooting close to Thaddeus so that the could put his arm around her, which he did. Having her beside him made Thaddeus realize how much he’d missed her, and he hugged her tight – which, without warning, made him see and feel what she’d gone through since arriving in the Abyss. He gasped, but Zoe didn’t say anything, and just snuggled closer, hugging him as tight as he hugged her.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to find you,” Thaddeus whispered into her hair.

“Don’t be, my love,” Zoe murmured into his neck. “You’re here, now, and that’s all that matters.”

A short time later, just as Thaddeus was about to drift off to sleep – Zoe had already fallen asleep, Thaddeus laying her down gently beside him – something stirred from deeper inside the building. Standing slowly and pulling his sword out of its scabbard, Thaddeus faced the direction the sound had come from. Aylander came up beside him, his own sword – no longer inky black, as it had been before, but now a silver blade that glowed with a faint, blue light – in his hand.

“You heard it, too?” Aylander asked, keeping his voice low.

Thaddeus nodded. “Can you see anything?”

Aylander stared into the dark depths of the building for a moment, then shook his head. “No. There is something there, however.” He looked at Thaddeus. “And, whatever it is, it’s scared.”

“You can show yourself,” Thaddeus said, lowering his sword. “We won’t harm you.”

“Who – or what – are you talking to, Thaddeus?”

Father Alvarem had assumed human form and come up to stand with them. Thaddeus looked at him. “You mean you can’t sense it?” he asked.

“I don’t sense anything. I didn’t hear anything, either.” Father Alvarem looked back at Thaddeus. “Are you sure there’s something there?”

“There is,” Aylander said. Then he frowned, and looked once again into the darkness. “Or, at least, there was.”

“You can’t sense it, anymore?” Thaddeus asked.

“No. Whatever it was, it’s gone, now.”

Thaddeus continued to look into the building’s darkness for a moment, then turned back to the fire and sat, putting his sword back in its scabbard. Zoe still slept peacefully beside him – like Father Alvarem, it seemed she had neither heard, nor sensed anything. Thaddeus looked across the fire at Aylander. “Do you think we’re being watched?” he asked.

“I’m certain of it,” Aylander said. He looked at Father Alvarem. “And you have no idea what it could be?”

“None, though, in a place like this, I’m sure there are still things even I don’t know about. You said it was afraid?”

“Yes.” Aylander paused for a moment, staring thoughtfully into the flames. “But I don’t think it was afraid of us.”

“What, then?” Thaddeus asked.

Aylander looked at him. “I think it was afraid of whoever sent it,” he said. “Terrified of them, even.”

A spy more afraid of its masters than it was of the people it had been sent to spy on. And, whatever it was, Father Alvarem and Zoe seemed completely blind to it. What kind of creatures, he wondered, were they about to face? It was a long time after Thaddeus settled down before he was able to get to sleep.

Into the Abyss (The Nightslayer Trilogy, Part 2) - Chapter Eight

Thaddeus would reach them soon. Aylander could sense his approach, and could also tell that he wasn’t alone. Whatever accompanied him – though it seemed to have no physical form, Aylander could tell it was an entity of some sort, and also that there was something vaguely familiar about it – was powerful, and made Aylander uneasy. Now that Aylander had allowed himself to give in to the temptation of the Abyss, he felt dealing with Thaddeus would be simple – after all, hadn’t seizing the power the Abyss offered him made him, if not a god, then something very close to it? – but the entity that accompanied him, despite its vague familiarity, was an unknown quantity, and Aylander wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with it. But why wouldn’t I be? If I can handle Thaddeus, surely I can handle anything.

Aylander glanced back over his shoulder at Zoe. The expression on her face was stony and unreadable. Despite that, however, the bond Aylander had created between them allowed him to read her emotions, which, right now, were comprised of equal parts fear, desperate hope, and pity. The pity she felt angered him – it was for him, for what he’d allowed himself to give in to, and for what consequences she was sure it would bring to him. Aylander didn’t want Zoe’s pity. He wanted her to fear him. He wanted her to worship him. The fear she felt, however, wasn’t of him – it was for Thaddeus, fear that he was dead, fear that he wouldn’t be able to face what Aylander had become, and fear of how he would react once he learned what Aylander had done. She still thinks I can be saved, Aylander thought. How can she possibly still be so naive?

An indeterminate distance ahead – all distances in the Abyss were indeterminate, no matter how close you thought you were to what you saw – Aylander saw a dark, man-shaped figure appear seemingly out of nothingness. As he watched, the figure drew a heavy, two-handed sword from a scabbard on its back and brought it around to rest, point down, on the ground. An ethereal shape appeared over the figure’s left shoulder, its form flickering rapidly back and forth between something that might have been human, and a ball of brilliant, white light. A Sprite? Aylander wondered, frowning.

Of course, Aylander knew that the figure the thing that might have been a Sprite hovered over was Thaddeus. He also knew that Thaddeus was aware of what Aylander had done, of what he’d become. When Aylander had first envisioned this confrontation with Thaddeus – with his brother – he’d pictured Thaddeus charging in, sword raised, blazing with magic and full of wrath. That Thaddeus had chosen, instead, to await their approach, standing still as a statue with his sword drawn, looking for all the world like a sentinel that, when pushed, would be roughly as easy to move aside as a mountain, gave Aylander his second moment of unease. It also made him think – really think – for the first time about what he’d done, about what he’d allowed himself to be seduced by. Hadn’t Atraxos seduced him like the Abyss had? By promising him powers that would make him like one of the Divine Council, themselves? The only difference was that the powers the Abyss promised were real, and had been given to him willingly. But did that make what it offered better?

“Is that Thaddeus?” Zoe asked.

Aylander looked at her. “It is,” he said.

“He will kill you, Aylander. And there won’t be any coming back, this time.”

“There should never have been any coming back for me!” Aylander snarled.

“Why?”

“You know the answer to that.” Aylander took a step back from her and spread his arms wide. “Look at me, Zoe! Look at what I’ve become. This, this was always to be my fate, to become something Twisted and evil.”

“I don’t believe that,” Zoe said. She nodded toward where Thaddeus stood in the distance. “And I don’t think he does, either. Aylander, listen to me. I’ve been thinking. Maybe you were supposed to give in to the temptations of this place, but not for the reasons you think.”

Aylander frowned at her. “What do you mean? There was only one reason to give in to the powers of this place. Those powers are meant for someone like me – someone who’s felt weak and inadequate all his life. Don’t you see? It’s that weakness that made them so tempting. It was that same weakness that made me fall under Atraxos’s spell. I won’t be weak any longer, however. Never again!”

“You were never weak, brother.”

Aylander whirled around. Thaddeus no longer stood so far away – if he ever had, in the first place – though he still had his sword out, resting point down on the ground in front of him. The expression on his face was stern, but not angry – it was full of pity, the same pity Aylander had felt coming from Zoe. “I don’t need your pity!” he spat.

“What do you need, then, Aylander?”

The entity that reminded Aylander of a Sprite had stopped flickering and settled into the shape of the man who now stood beside Thaddeus. The man wore clothes similar to Zoe’s, and was balding. As he looked at Aylander, there was no pity in his expression. There was compassion, though, along with a promise that said, should Aylander decide to lash out, there would be consequences harsher than Aylander was prepared for.

“I know you, don’t I?” Aylander asked.

“You knew me as a man much older than this,” the entity said. “And I knew you as someone better than you seem to think you’ve become.”

“Father Alvarem?” Zoe asked.

The man smiled over at her. “Just Horace, now, my dear,” he said. His smile grew into a grin. “Or should I address you as Mother, now?”

“You have a choice to make, brother,” Thaddeus said. “This place hasn’t taken you as far as you think it has. Not yet. You don’t have to let it take you the rest of the way. You can still fight at my side.”

“What makes you think I still want to?” Aylander asked.

Thaddeus smiled. “Because I know you,” he said. “You did spend quite a bit of time in my head, remember?”

“Your sword was supposed to cleanse me!”

“It did.”

“Then . . . then why am I like this? If my soul wasn’t still Twisted, why would I use my powers to do what I did to Zoe? Why would I be filled with so much hatred for you?”

“Are you filled with hatred for him, though?” Horace asked. “Or has it gone?”

“I . . . I don’t know.”

“A clean soul is still one that can make mistakes,” Thaddeus said. “Now, why don’t you take off the bond you put on Zoe?”

Aylander did it without even thinking about it. He also made the black clothes he’d fashioned for himself disappear, turning them, instead, into prisoner’s rags. Looking down at his feet, he realized he’d never felt so small. Oh, he’d become powerful, but that no longer meant anything. And then, suddenly, he felt Zoe’s arms around him, he felt Thaddeus’s hand on his shoulder, and he knew that, despite what he’d done, everything was going to be all right. And why was it going to be all right? Because he was with his family.

“Thank you for not making me kill you, brother,” Thaddeus said.

“We should all be grateful for that,” Horace said. “Losing him would have been a terrible waste.”

Aylander blinked his eyes a couple of times – had he been crying? – then looked up at Horace. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

“I think Zoe was right in what she said, about you giving into the powers of this place. You were meant to, but not for the reasons you thought. You see, the powers of the Abyss are not intrinsically evil. Nothing is, really.” Horace – who Aylander understood, now, was a Sprite, despite him not having any Eltaran blood while still alive – paused. “You’re going to do great things before this over, Aylander. I’m sure of it.”

“Although,” Thaddeus said with a smirk, “I’m not sure what could be greater than what you did to that dragon. Because of that, I don’t think we’re going to have to worry about any Creatures of the Abyss bothering us for a while.”

“You felt what I did?” Aylander asked.

Thaddeus laughed. “Felt it? I saw it. The drakes that were chasing us ran away like scared chickens once it was over.”

Aylander chuckled. The image of a pack of drakes fleeing like chickens was more than a little amusing. He looked at Zoe.

“I am truly sorry about what I did to you,” Aylander said.

Zoe smiled. “I know. But you could have done worse, and you didn’t. Thaddeus and I – along with Father Alvarem – “

“Horace,” the Sprite interjected.

“Yes, Horace. Aylander, the three of us will help you to not make a mistake like that, again. I swear it.”

Aylander smiled back. “I know you will,” he said. “Thank you.” He looked at Thaddeus, again. “You arrived here at a city of some sort, didn’t you?”

Thaddeus sheathed his sword. “A ruined city,” he said. “It’s an important place, isn’t it?”

“I think it might be. I know we have to go there if we want to get out of here.”

“So do I. Ready to go, then?”

Aylander got rid of his prisoner’s rags, replacing them with the clothes he’d had on before killing the dragon. “I am, now,” he said.

“Aylander, what’s that design on your tabard?” Zoe asked.

Aylander looked down. Instead of the tree that symbolized the True, the design on the front of his tabard had changed to a stylized representation of what looked like a golden scythe. He’d never seen anything like it before, but, almost at once, he knew the sigil was ancient, a symbol of something that had existed long before the Eltarans had come to Eltara.

“Adarion’s sign,” Horace said, the awe in his voice unmistakable.

“What?” Thaddeus asked. “How can that be?”

“I don’t know, but there can be no doubt that’s what it is.”

Adarion’s sign. The sign of the God of Death, who had sacrificed himself to make Thaddeus the Nightslayer. There were Eltaran myths about this sign, myths which identified it as the Sign Unknowable. Those myths said that, were anyone blessed to wear the Sign Unknowable – to make it once again Known – that person would go on to reshape all of creation. That can’t be me, Aylander thought. It can’t!

They all shared a look, but nothing more was said. Not, then, anyway.