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

Tymothe Vabarn watched the bridge over Gelevan Gorge burn. In the long run – particularly when it came to the war his actions were sure to incite – the burning of the bridge would mean very little. That bridge, however, had spanned Gelevan Gorge for more than three hundred years, providing travelers the most direct route between the Duchy of Telvany and the Barony of Blanchart. Over the centuries, it had grown into a symbol of cooperation between the two most powerful parts of the kingdom, but now, as the flames ate at its wood, it would become a symbol, again – the era of cooperation was over. The time had come to rule, or be ruled, in turn. And not by some arrogant fool who claimed a title that hadn’t been used in five hundred years.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” the Hidden King asked. He was currently invisible, and only Tymothe could hear his voice. “To finally embrace the power that was always meant for you?”

It did feel good, even if Tymothe still found the depth and breadth of his new powers a bit overwhelming. Overwhelming or not, though, they were his, and, through them, he would never again allow himself to be underestimated or dismissed. Why his mother had decided to keep his true powers hidden from him for so long – it may have had to do something with her being a hedge witch and unaware of her own strength – was beyond him, but, with the Hidden King’s help, he’d now become a mage of incredible power. And he wasn’t just a mage, either – Tymothe was a Necromancer, which meant that he now had all but absolute power over life and death, itself.

“It feels incredible,” Tymothe said. “I still don’t understand how unleashing my powers kept the sun from rising, however.”

The Hidden King didn’t say anything right away, and Tymothe had the sudden impression that even the most powerful of the Demon Lords was uncertain about what had kept the sun from rising. “We are sure to witness many wonders in the days to come,” the Hidden King finally said.

“Are you saying that it wasn’t me that caused it, then?” Tymothe asked.

Suddenly, the Hidden King’s eyes blazed out of the night. Tymothe had to force himself to keep from taking a step back, but was sure the Hidden King sensed how startled he was, anyway. “What I am saying, Baron, is that there is no point in asking useless questions,” the Hidden King said, his voice a low, threatening growl. “In any case, the darkness is a gift. Our forces will be able to move much more freely under its cover.”

That much was true. Any Abominations Tymothe raised would move better in darkness, as would anyone whose soul he was able to Twist. But, if the darkness hadn’t come from him, and also hadn’t come because of the presence of the Demon Lords, then where had it come from? Not knowing the answer to that, Tymothe thought, could potentially become a problem. What if someone found a way to turn the darkness against them? What kind of creature could do that, I wonder?

Tymothe turned, sensing the approach of the guards. Before them, the guards led a pair of prisoners, two Catharzen acolytes Tymothe had had seized from the crypt at Valewind. Each of the prisoners, Tymothe sensed, had been acolytes for years, neither of them realizing their magical potential. Not that the Order of Catharzen ever bothered itself with training people who were gifted in Arcane magic, as these two were. Arcane magic was for mages, not for clerics and monks.

Tymothe smiled at the two prisoners. “Do either of you know why I had you brought here?” he asked.

Neither of the prisoners spoke, their expressions stony. Tymothe could sense their fear, however. “You didn’t have to allow yourself to be captured, you know,” he said. “You could have fought.” He leaned toward the prisoners and lowered his voice. “And you might even have escaped.” He nudged them with a small compulsion spell, just enough to get them to talk to him. “What are your names?”

“Daveth,” the prisoner on the left said.

“Harald,” the prisoner on the right said.

“Daveth and Harald! Excellent! Well met. Tell me, Daveth and Harald, have you ever wondered what true power would feel like?”

Neither prisoner spoke, but, as Tymothe watched, he saw something in their eyes that told him he had their attention, and that it had nothing to do with his magic. These two men might not have been in touch with their magical abilities, yet, but, on some level, Tymothe was sure they were aware of them. All they needed, now, was the proper coaxing for those abilities to come out. And for those abilities to be turned toward the purposes Tymothe needed them to be.

“I can show you what it feels like,” Tymothe said. “I can open doors for both of you that you never even knew existed. All you need do is pledge yourself to me and my cause. Can you do that?”

“What if . . . what if we don’t?” the prisoner named Daveth asked.

Tymothe smiled at him. “You die, of course. But why choose that fate when you could stand at my side as we conquer this world together? You can’t tell me that doesn’t tempt you. I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t be at least tempted by such a possibility.”

“We’ve sworn oaths,” the prisoner named Harald said. There was a quaver in his voice that made Tymothe want to grin. “What of those? Oathbreakers are of no use to anyone.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my friend,” Tymothe said. “You see, neither of you has sworn any oaths to me. Not yet. Swear loyalty to me, to the one who will give you the power both of you has always wanted, and leave your worthless oaths to the Order of Catharzen behind. What could they have ever given you, anyway? Why do they deserve your allegiance?”

“You’ll teach us magic?” Daveth asked.

“I’ll show you how to use it, yes. And I’ll make sure you aren’t limited by something as foolish as spoken spells.” Tymothe looked Daveth in the eye, then added just a bit more to the compulsion spell. If Daveth said anything other than what Tymothe wanted to hear, the man would feel excruciating pain. “Will you swear to me, Daveth?”

Sweat stood out on Daveth’s brow, and he shook as he answered. “Y-yes, my Lord.”

Tymothe grinned. “Excellent.” He looked at Harald. “And what of you, boy? Will you swear to me?”

“I-I can’t!” Harald said. Then he screamed and dropped to his knees, clutching at his head.

“Swear to me, and the pain will stop.”

Harald screamed, again.

“If you do not swear to me, the pain will only grow worse. And I will make it last a long time before I allow you to die.”

“I-I swear!” Harald said. He looked up at Tymothe with pleading eyes. “I swear! Please, my Lord, make it stop!”

Tymothe released the compulsion spell. Harald crumpled to the ground, whimpering. Harald would remember that pain for a long, long time, and that memory would go on to solidify the Twisting of his soul. Daveth, it seemed, would need no such memory, a thing that pleased Tymothe greatly. “Take these men away,” Tymothe told the guards. “Make sure they are given food and a place to sleep.”

Daveth went with the guards without having to be prodded. Harald had to be pulled to his feet. As Tymothe watched them be led away, he wondered if either of them would cause a problem. After all, they were the first souls he had ever Twisted, and how could he be sure he’d done a thorough enough job? So what if I didn’t? I will learn from my mistakes and do better, and those men will be dead when I do. And the dead can’t resist me.

“You handled that well, Baron,” the Hidden King said, making himself visible. “I have to wonder, though. Is it wise to allow them to use magic without spells?”

“They will be severely limited if I don’t,” Tymothe said. “If they are to be the first of my new Sword Priests, they must be taught to use magic like I do. And they must be taught that magic is just as much of a weapon as the steel in their hands. You told me what happened to the Sword Priest Atraxos sent to deal with Garrold. His own ignorance nearly got him killed, and it would have if Garrold hadn’t wanted to send King Lyrian a message.”

Tymothe had the sense the Hidden King was smiling. “I take it, then, that this is your way of letting Garrold know his message has been received?”

“It is indeed, Great One.”

The Hidden King laughed. “Excellent, Baron! Excellent!”