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

 “The darkness is beautiful, isn’t it?” Aylander suddenly asked.
    Thaddeus looked at him, at first wanting to ask him why he would say such a thing, but then realizing that there was, indeed, a hint of beauty in the darkness that had fallen over the land while they’d been gone.  “I suppose it is,” Thaddeus said, turning his gaze back to the view ahead.  “At least in part, anyway.”
    “It gives me the creeps,” Zoe said from her place on Thaddeus’s right.  “It’s evil, and it shouldn’t be there.  Who knows what kinds of things it’s hiding.”
    “It hides nothing from me, Lady Zoe,” Aylander said, a hint of wistfulness in his voice.
    Thaddeus frowned and cast a sideways glance at Aylander.  Was that a smile he saw on his brother’s face?  Not that there was any real reason he shouldn’t be smiling.  Despite how perceptive she was, and no matter what powers she had at her command, Zoe couldn’t always be right about everything, and Thaddeus was fairly sure, just then, that her judgement of the darkness was more than a little hasty.  Thaddeus’s frown deepened.  Why, he wondered, was he so sure about that?  And when was the last time Zoe had been wrong about anything?  Thaddeus shook his head and refocused his attention on what was before him.
      They had emerged from the Abyss somewhere in the northern part of the Royal District.  Somewhere ahead of them–Thaddeus thought it might have been in the vicinity of the Gelevan Gorge–magical forces were gathering, surely marking a place where a battle was about to begin.  Reaching the battlefield would be easy–riding the darkness would, Thaddeus sensed, be almost as simple as riding the light–but, even if they did that, they would get there too late.  Thaddeus was sure a Demon Lord was present on the battlefield, and, if they rode the darkness–just as if they rode the light, or the wind–the battle would be all but over once they arrived.  Without the trio of he, Zoe, and Aylander, the battle would be lost, and Thaddeus had no idea how to get them there sooner.  Surely, they hadn’t emerged from the Abyss just so they could be late to the battle that might decide the fate of their world?  How, in any possible way, could that be right?  Unless we were never meant to win the in first place, Thaddeus thought, wondering immediately where such a fatalistic notion had come from.
    “Is there any way we can reach them in time?” Zoe asked.
    Thaddeus looked at her.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “If we ride any of the elements–even the darkness–we’ll get there too late.”
    “Do you know of any way to travel faster?”
    “No,” Thaddeus said, feeling the helplessness of their situation clutch at him.  
    “I might be able to do it,” Aylander said.
    Thaddeus looked at him.  “How?” he asked.
    Aylander looked back at him.  “Don’t you know?” he said.  “Can’t you feel it?  It’s the darkness.  It’s awakening something in me.  Something more powerful than I’ve ever known.”
    Thaddeus thought he could feel something.  He didn’t know what it was, or where it came from, but it made his magic swell, made him feel stronger than he had since his powers had awoken.  It called out to him, wanting him to seize it, wanting him to use it in any way he saw fit.  But what would happen to him if he did?  Could Thaddeus stay true to himself if he gave in to what he felt?  Thinking about it, Thaddeus realized that, back in the Abyss, he had felt something similar, something that called to him, imploring him to seize it and do with it whatever he felt he should.  Back then, he’d been able to resist it, but now, Thaddeus found himself having to exert a great deal of will to do so–a great deal of will he wasn’t sure how long he could expect himself to exert.  And would it really be so bad if he gave in?  Who would it hurt if he did?  And wouldn’t it help him?
    “I can feel it, Thaddeus,” Zoe said.  “You can’t give in to it.  Not fully.  It will corrupt you if you do.”
    Thaddeus looked at her.  “But it will allow me to do so much,” he said.  “I can save us all, and more besides.  No one will have to suffer.”
    “No, Thaddeus,” Aylander said.  “She’s right.  This power can help you–it can make you stronger than you ever imagined–but it isn’t for you.  Your path and mine might be similiar, but you have to make a different choice.  All will be lost if you don’t.”
    “But I’m the Nightslayer!” Thaddeus said.  “By rights, the power should be mine!”
    Zoe put her hand on Thaddeus’s shoulder.  Thaddeus tried to pull away, but Zoe’s grip tightened, strengthened by a sudden, white-hot rush of Life Magic.  “Thaddeus,” Zoe said.  He looked at her, but had to look away from her eyes, which glowed with dazzling, amber light.  “Do you trust me?”  
    Zoe was Thaddeus’s wife.  He loved her more than life itself, and had for more than twenty years.  How could he not trust her?  “I-I don’t know,” he said.
    “I would never do anything to hurt you,” Zoe said, the grip on Thaddeus’s arm shifting from white-hot to soothing, comforting.  “I only want to help you become what it is you need to be.  You can’t let the power that’s been unleashed corrupt you, Thaddeus.  You can’t.”
    “But who will wield it if I don’t?” Thaddeus asked.
    “I will,” Aylander said.
    Thaddeus looked at him.  “Won’t it corrupt you, too?”
    Aylander smiled and shook his head.  “No,” he said.  “I gave in to it already, Thaddeus.  Back in the Abyss.  It didn’t corrupt me there, and it won’t corrupt me here.  And do you know why?”
    Thaddeus stared at his brother with wide eyes, but said nothing.
    “Because you forgave me, Brother,” Aylander said.  “You and Zoe both.”
    “It’s stronger, here, though,” Thaddeus said.
    “I know.  But that hardly matters.”
    The relative calm and quiet that had surrounded them since their return from the Abyss was broken by a sudden gust of wind.  It came from the north, and, when it struck, the strength of it rocked Thaddeus back on his heels.  On the wind were carried two distinct smells, neither of them pleasant–sulphur, and the stench of decay.  That wasn’t what prompted Thaddeus to seize hold of his magic, however.  It was the chorus of unearthly howls and wails that followed in the wind’s wake.  As soon as he heard it, Thaddeus’s eyes flared blue, and his sword all but leapt into his hands.
    “What is it?” Zoe asked.  Thaddeus glanced at her long enough to see her hands had begun to glow.
    “Monsters, my Lady,” Aylander said.  A wickedly curved, black sword–did Thaddeus think it might have shared kinship with a sickle?–wreathed in flame had appeared in his hands.  “Sent by the Mother, herself.”
    Light suddenly exploded all around them, Thaddeus not needing to look to know Zoe was the one who cast it.  Once cast, it didn’t waver, some of it shining out a bit into the darkness.  Shapes began to appear as they entered the limits of its glow, shapes which ran, loped, and crawled across the ground.  The light reflected off what must have served the shapes for eyes, showing up in shades of green, red, and gold.  The light didn’t deter the shapes’ approach in the slightest–not that Thaddeus had expected it to–and, the closer they came, the more monstrous they grew.
    “Sent by the Mother, herself, huh?”  The wryness of Zoe’s tone caused Thaddeus’s lips to curve upward in amusement.  “Sounds like fun.”
    And then the monsters were upon them.

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

The Baron stared at the Sword Priest named Edrend in disbelief.  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” he asked.  “That we should retreat before battle, here, has even begun?”
    “Not retreat, my Lord,” Edrend said.  “Redeploy.  Our power base is much more consolidated closer to the Royal District, and troop movement will be easier.  It will also take our enemy’s forces longer to reach us, seeing as how the bridge over the Gorge has been destroyed.  We will have more time to prepare.”
    “I see,” the Baron said.  “And are you taking magic into account at all in regards to these concerns?  I burnt that bridge as a symbol, knowing full well that Garrold would be able to replace it with little effort.  And he’s not alone, anymore.  There are at least two other mages in his camp, now, and, once the battle starts, even more may be revealed.  If we withdraw, no matter how well consolidated things are closer to the Royal District, it will give Garrold’s forces that much more time to prepare.  We need to strike them now, Edrend, while they are still comparatively weak.  Can’t you understand that?”  He narrowed his eyes.  “Or is there something you aren’t telling me?  Some other concern that is, shall we say, more personal in nature?”
    Something flickered in the Sword Priest’s otherwise dead eyes.  “I don’t know what you mean, my Lord.”
    “Oh, don’t you?  Were you not the one who led the last, abortive strike on Telvany?  Were you not the one who was bested by a mage who had only just come into his power?  Tell me, Edrend, does the prospect of facing Garrold a second time really fill you with so much dread?”
    The Sword Priest said nothing.
    “Silence won’t save you, my friend,” the Baron said.  “After all, you already know I can sense your fear.”  The Baron stood and moved to the table beside his chair, taking the pitcher that sat on it and pouring himself a cup of brandy.  “That fear disgusts me, Edrend,” he said as he took a sip.  “And it disgusts me even more that you’re allowing yourself to feel it.  What does someone like you, one of the most senior members of the Order of the Crimson Serpent, have to fear from a boy like Garrold Hilstren?  Tell me, do you know why it was that Garrold bested you the last time you faced him?”
    The Sword Priest still refused to speak.
    The Baron took another sip of brandy, then set his cup very deliberately down on the table.  “It’s because you forgot what you were,” he said.  “You’re a mage, Edrend, and all you could think of using against Garrold was your sword.  A sword he took from you and snapped over his leg like it was a twig.  Do you know what Atraxos would have done to you if he’d returned and learned of your humiliation?”  He stepped from behind the table and moved to stand directly in front of Edrend, using his magic to make himself appear taller than he actually was.  “Do you?”
    “He would have killed me, my Lord,” the Sword Priest answered.
    “Indeed,” the Baron said, “and you know what that means for someone who is already undead.  The suffering would have been an exquisite thing to witness.”
    “Do you intend to kill me, my Lord?” Edrend asked.
    “I should, but I want to give you another chance, instead.”  The Baron grinned, still using his magic so that he could look down at the Sword Priest.  “Besides, killing you wouldn’t allow you to continue wallowing in your humiliation.  I want you to use the memory of that humiliation as your incentive, as the force that will drive you to do better.  And let your fellows share in that memory.  For, if any of you fail me, I promise to make what Atraxos would have done to you look light in comparison.  Do you understand me?”
    “I understand, my Lord.”
    “Excellent.”  The Baron returned to his normal height.  “You may go, now.  We attack in two hours.”
    “Very well, my Lord.”  The Sword Priest saluted and left the Baron’s tent.  
    “Pity,” a sultry, feminine voice suddenly said.  “I was hoping I’d get to see him suffer.”
    The Baron turned.  Standing behind the table where the pitcher of brandy sat was one of the most disturbingly beautiful women the Baron had ever seen.  She was clothed sparingly, with lush, distracting curves, and pale skin.  Hair the same shade of black as the darkness outside hung to her shoulders, and her green eyes glittered under heavy lids.  When the Baron first saw her, he was sure she was shorter than him, but that impression vanished so quickly, with the woman suddenly seeming to match his height, that he wouldn’t have been able to swear to it.  The woman smiled at him–a smile that, at the same time, made his heart skip a beat, and cold sweat to stand out on his forehead–stepping around the table and walking up to him.  As she approached, the Baron saw the reason her eyes glittered–flames danced in each of the woman’s pupils, marking her for the Demon Lord that she was.
    “Edrend may still prove himself a useful tool, Mistress,” the Baron said, his voice suddenly hoarse.  “Only fools discard the tools they might need.”
    “And you’re no fool,” the woman said, still smiling her unnerving smile.  Had she somehow grown taller?  She must have, as the Baron found himself having to look up at her.  “Isn’t that so, Baron?”
    The Baron was too afraid to answer.  The woman’s smile grew teasing, and she reached out to trace a finger down the side of the Baron’s face.  It was all the Baron could do to keep from shivering at her touch, and his trousers had suddenly grown uncomfortably tight.
    “Wise of you not to answer,” the woman said.  “Though you need have no fear of me.  So long as you don’t . . . disappoint me.”
    “As I swore to the Great One, so I swear to you, Mistress.”
    “Of course,” the woman–who had to have been Hel, the Queen of Demons and ruler of the Underworld–said.  She stroked the Baron’s face, again.  “Of course.”  She turned away from him and sauntered back to the table, pouring herself some of the brandy.  Facing the Baron, again, she took a sip and said, “You’ll be pleased to know I’ve come to help you.  And to know you need not worry about the Nightslayer appearing to spoil things.”
    The Baron was relieved by the news.  A part of him had been afraid that, for his first battle as their new Necromancer, the Demon Lords would leave him to carry the fight on his own, a test to see how well he would do, and whether or not he would survive.  And then there had been the problem of the Nightslayer, who the Baron well knew had returned from wherever he had gone to.  The Nightslayer–who, until the Baron had been approached by the Hidden King, had been nothing more to him than the subject of a children’s game–frightened him, and seemed to have no small effect on the Demon Lords, either.  To hear the that the Nightslayer wouldn’t be coming for this particular battle made the Baron feel a little better, though it did leave him curious.  “How did you accomplish that?” he asked Hel.
    Hel smiled again, taking another sip of brandy.  “I’ve sent some of my children to waylay him.  It’s likely they won’t survive the effort, but that hardly matters if it keeps the Nightslayer from getting here and having an effect on a battle that will be largely one-sided without him.”  She sipped, again, then raised her cup a second time and downed the rest of her brandy in a large gulp.  Replacing the cup on the table, she went on.  “Oh, and about the help I promised you.  It’s already been deployed.  Which, I’m afraid, moves the time-table for your attack up a bit.”  Her smile turned teasing, again.  “Sorry about that.  I abhor waiting unnecessarily, though.”
    The Baron thought he had a good idea what sort of “help” Hel had deployed.  More of her children–monsters she could summon at will from some shadow realm only she seemed to know about, and that only she had any sort of control over.  Legend said Hel’s children could only be destroyed by the most powerful of magics, and that, in only the span of minutes, they could rip a small army to shreds.  The Baron returned Hel’s smile, his previous unease at her presence now all but forgotten about.  “As do I, Mistress,” he said.  “As do I.”