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.

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

The dragon had begun to play with them, deliberately slowing its pursuit so that, as long as they kept running, Zoe and Aylander remained just ahead of it. No doubt the dragon knew that the two of them couldn't keep up this pace forever, that soon, exhaustion would overtake them and force them to slow. And, once they did slow, Zoe was certain the beast would continue to torment them, finding some other way to keep them entertaining before, at last, deciding to feed on their souls. That moment, when the dragon finally decided to dine, would be agonizing in a way that Zoe understood she had no way of preparing for – based on what she knew, a person in the clutches of a Creature of the Abyss remained alive right up until the moment the last portion of their soul was taken from them – but she thought it would also be mercifully liberating. The Gods Above only knew what the dragon would do to her – and to Aylander – beforehand.

Look at me, Sorceress, the voice of the dragon – an oily, insidious thing that was equal parts attractive and repulsive – whispered inside Zoe’s head, just as it had so many times since the chase had begun. Look!

Zoe had to physically struggle to keep herself from looking at the dragon. If she stopped and turned to look, the chase would be over, as the beauty of what she would see would dazzle her so much that any further thoughts of continuing to flee would be driven from her mind. Such a thing had almost happened when Zoe had gotten her first look at the dragon – which, in this place, wasn’t a creature of darkness, but, instead, glowed and pulsed with a kaleidoscope of alternating, hypnotic colors – and it had taken Aylander grasping her hand and pulling her along behind him to tear her attention away from it. The dragon’s beauty didn’t mean it was less dangerous – it just meant that it had one extra tool to aid it in capturing its prey.

Zoe glanced over at Aylander as she ran. Though the look of fear on Aylander’s face was unmistakable, Zoe couldn’t help but think that he didn’t seem as affected by the dragon as she was. Somehow, Zoe knew that Aylander wasn’t hearing the dragon’s voice in his head, and his being able to pull her away from the dragon while she stood, transfixed, by its colors told her all she needed to know about his apparent immunity to that particular display. Was it because Aylander was Eltaran? Possibly, but Zoe had a darker suspicion – two darker suspicions, in fact. Both had to do with Aylander’s soul, which had, at one time, been Twisted, meaning that it had been tainted by the touch of the Abyss. Despite what Thaddeus’s sword had done, a portion of that taint might still remain, which might also explain why Aylander was so tempted by the expanded powers the Abyss seemed to have granted him. Could he use those extended powers to save us from the dragon? Zoe wondered, which was followed by an even more disturbing thought. Could he use them to take control of it?

“ENOUGH!” Aylander suddenly bellowed.

Aylander stopped and whirled around. The black sword he had conjured, before, was back in his hand, and he brandished it at the dragon. Zoe – who had stopped and turned, as well, the force of Aylander’s voice acting on her almost like a spell – watched as, from above, red lightning struck down from the gray sky. The lightning hit Aylander’s sword and it seemed to catch fire, burning with a heatless flame that, the instant she saw it, caused Zoe to heave up the contents of her stomach. The wrongness of that flame went beyond the wrongness of anything else in this place, and Zoe knew that, if she stayed in its presence for too long, the fate it would bring to her would be far worse than death – or than having her soul devoured by a dragon. She could no longer run, however. She could no longer move, at all.

The dragon stopped in midair, its wings flapping a couple of times in what Zoe thought might have been confusion, or surprise. Then it turned and started flying back the way it had come, its colors no longer flashing – it was a dark thing, now, appearing as it would have back in Eltara, and, somehow, it no longer seemed as large as it had. Zoe realized that she could feel the dragon’s fear – no, its terror – and she also understood that, even flying as fast as it was, it had no chance of escaping what as about to come. Nothing – not the dragon, not her, not even Thaddeus, if he still happened to live – could escape what was about to come.

With another bellow – this one wordless – Aylander leaped into the sky and shot after the dragon, his flaming sword opening a dark, jagged crack in the sky as he flew. Thunder rumbled and cracked in his wake, and, before long, he was surrounded by a nimbus of red lightning. Zoe could do nothing but watch, and watch she did as Aylander reached the dragon, climbed onto its back, and hacked its head off at the shoulders with his sword. A horrendous scream split the air, followed by a tremendous clap of thunder and a furious torrent of wind. Zoe couldn’t see everything – she was too busy shielding her eyes from the worst of the wind – but it seemed that, as it died, the dragon shriveled into a tiny, black ball and was then carried up into the crack Aylander had cut in the sky with his sword. And then the silence returned, just as absolute as it had been before, with nothing left behind to mark the awesome, terrifying thing that had just happened.

“Nothing shall ever threaten us, again, Sorceress.”

Finding that she could once again move, Zoe turned and looked at Aylander. The flaming sword was gone, but other changes had been wrought to him that were just as wrong, just as sickening and mind-twisting. Aylander’s clothes weren’t the same – he was now clad from head to toe in black, with a cape of the same color draped across his shoulders, a cape that fluttered slightly in the nonexistent breeze – and his eyes had become red-flecked chunks of obsidian. His voice wasn’t the same, either – it was deeper and raspier, now, full of a cool malevolence that, Zoe knew, could turn red hot at any time. He’s more than Twisted, now, Zoe thought, and found that, instead of feeling afraid of what Aylander had become, she felt sad for him.

“Why did you do it?” Zoe asked.

“To save us.” Aylander looked at her unblinkingly. “To save you.”

“There may not be any reversing this, Aylander,” Zoe said. “Not this time.”

“Reverse it? Why would I want to reverse it? Can’t you see how powerful I’ve become? I might even be more powerful than Thaddeus, now.” Aylander paused. “Does that trouble you, Lady Zoe?”

“Yes. It isn’t right, Aylander.”

“Only by your definition. I saved us, Zoe, and that, my dear, was a very right thing to do.”

“Maybe so,” Zoe said. “But at what cost?”

“Cost?” Aylander scoffed. “Gods have no need of worrying about things like cost.”

So, Aylander now thought of himself as a god. Zoe knew that meant she should leave, that she should strike out and try to find Thaddeus on her own. When she thought about doing it, though, a sudden, sharp pain stabbed through her head, and she found her legs wouldn’t move. Zoe tried forcing them to move – she even started to call on her magic – but this only made the pain come back, worse than before, causing her to cry out and fall to her knees. Aylander had put some kind of spell on her, it seemed – a spell Zoe couldn’t detect, and therefore, couldn’t break. She looked up at him. “What have you done to me?”

“You are bound to me, now, Sorceress,” Aylander said. “You are mine. Do anything to resist that, and there will be pain. Continue to resist, and the pain will kill. You needn’t fear, however. I promise to be a benevolent master, and, perhaps, given time, you will come to feel for me as you do for Thaddeus.”

“Thaddeus will kill you for this, Aylander,” Zoe said.

Aylander smiled. “He already kill me once, my Lady. He should have had the sense to leave me dead. Now, come. We have much to do, here, before we leave.”

Zoe stood – not because she wanted to, but because she had no other choice – and followed along behind Aylander as they once again set out across the gray flatness of the Abyss. I wonder what else he intends to do? Zoe thought. Then, more urgently than before, Please, Thaddeus! Please be alive, my love! Please!

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

Thaddeus found himself in the ruins of a city. Based on what he could see, the city had once been magnificent, with many buildings that, when new, would have rivaled, and, perhaps, even surpassed, the Royal Palace of Voranar. Now, though, most of those buildings had been reduced to crumbling shadows of their former glory, with gaping, empty maws where doors and windows should have been. No wind whistled through the ruined city's streets – the silence, in fact, was so absolute that Thaddeus found he could hear the sound of his own heart beating in his chest – and there were no discernible scents of any kind in the air.

Looking up, Thaddeus saw nothing but gray, and somehow understood that, once he left the ruined city, that gray would be all he saw, stretching away from him endlessly in every direction. Gray nothingness was the natural state of the Abyss – which, it seemed, wasn't really an abyss, at all, and not just because it contained the ruins of a city – and, unless Thaddeus wanted to stay where he was, he would have to come to terms with that. Of course, Thaddeus couldn't stay where he was – he had to find Zoe and Aylander, provided they were still alive – so coming to terms with the grayness of Abyss was something there was no question about doing. But what about the feeling of wrongness he now sensed, radiating off of everything – including the empty grayness above – like some rank miasma? Because of where he was, that feeling would never get any better, and Thaddeus knew that prolonged exposure to it could have a serious impact on his sanity, and on many other things besides. There's power in that feeling. A very attractive kind of power.

“Hello, Thaddeus.”

Startled, Thaddeus turned in the direction the voice had come from, raising his hand to draw his sword. When he saw who had spoken, however – a man of about his own age, with a head of sandy, receding hair, and dressed in traveler's clothes that immediately reminded him of what Zoe had left the abby wearing – Thaddeus brought his hand back down to his side and relaxed. This man was obviously one of the Catharzen monks, and, though there was no good reason for him to be here, he posed no threat. In fact, didn't he even seem a little familiar, somehow? And then the man smiled.

The last time Thaddeus had seen that smile, it had been on a face so wizened with age that most of its distinguishing features had been lost. To see it, now, on a face that had either been spared the ravages of time, or had yet to face them, struck Thaddeus like a physical blow. Could the man who stood before him now actually be the Abbot? Thaddeus didn't see how any other explanation was possible. “Father Alvarem?” he asked.

The man's smile broadened, and he chuckled. “Yes, Thaddeus,” he said, “though that title doesn't fit me, any longer. Here, you may simply call me Horace.”

Horace. Thaddeus wasn't sure he'd ever be able to address the man who stood before him so informally. For sixteen years, he'd called him nothing but Father Alvarem, and addressing him in any other way just didn't seem appropriate. However, dealing with the proper way to address Horace Alvarem was, right now, hardly the most pressing thing on Thaddeus's mind. “Zoe said you were dead,” he said. “How is it you come to be here?”

“Oh, I am dead, Thaddeus. Zoe wouldn't have gained the powers she did if I weren't. However, when I died, my spirit didn't pass on in the same manner as others normally do. I can't explain how, or why, but I no longer seem to be tied to a single plane of existence. And that's not all. I've gained abilities, Thaddeus. Abilities I never had while I was alive. I can see things no one – not even someone with the gift of prescience, of which there has only ever been a very few – can see. Whole realms have been opened to me I never even knew existed. And, though I no longer have physical form, I can manipulate things, Thaddeus. Change them into something new, or unmake them entirely.” He paused. “I don't know what to make of any of it, but I can say discovering these things has been a truly exhilarating experience. And also a bit of a frightening one, as well.”

Thaddeus reached out with his magic – the power of which, he found, seemed to have been amplified by the nature of the Abyss – and wasn't as surprised as he felt he should have been about what it told him about Horace Alvarem. He'd become what the Eltarans called a Sprite – the magically charged spirit essences of their deceased ancestors. How he'd become such a creature – something that shouldn't have been possible for pure-blood human – was a question not even Thaddeus's magic could answer, though Thaddeus suspected it had something to do with his having been the Abbot, and with his passing having been mediated by the Touch of a cleric.

“What does your magic tell you about me, Thaddeus? Does it reveal to you what I've become?”

“I think so,” Thaddeus said. “The Eltarans would have called you a Sprite.”

“A Sprite? But I have no Eltaran blood!”

“I know. I think Zoe Touching you when you died may have had something to do with it.” Thaddeus paused. “You're aware of what she's become?”

“You mean the first Sorceress since Mother Catharzen?” Horace smiled. “Yes. I always knew she was destined for greatness. I'm glad that greatness has extended beyond being my successor.”

“You say you can see things, Father? Can you tell me if Zoe and Aylander are still alive?”

Horace's eyes unfocused for a moment. “They are,” he said at last. He looked at Thaddeus. “But I'm afraid all is not well with them. Aylander is in danger of succumbing to the temptations of this place. And something is hunting them.”

“What?” Thaddeus asked.

“Only one of the foulest, and most powerful, of the creatures that call this place their home.”

“A dragon?”

“Yes.”

“How far away are they?”

“I'm sorry, Thaddeus, but distance has no meaning, here. Not even for a being like me. All I can say is that they aren't far away, but they also aren't very near.”

Reaching out with his magic, Thaddeus tried to see if he could detect them. He sensed nothing, however – nothing except a slight pulse from the Abyss, itself, like a sympathetic echo of his own power. That pulse confused him for a moment, and then he remembered – the use of magic was like a beacon for Creatures of the Abyss. By using his magic, Thaddeus had done more than simply announce his presence in this place – he'd marked himself, which meant that any drake, wyvern, or dragon in the immediate vicinity would be drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Thaddeus looked at Horace, and was surprised to see a sheepish expression on his face. “You forgot, too, didn't you?”

“No,” Horace said, the sheepish expression deepening. “At least, not about what using your magic would cause. I did forget, however, that, because you still have physical form, and because you don't have the same abilities that I now do, you are still vulnerable to the creatures that live here. Forgive me, Thaddeus.”

Thaddeus glowered, but, before he could say anything, a chorus of shrieks filled the air. It was a pack of drakes, and they were coming. Thaddeus ran.

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

Tymothe Vabarn, Baron of Blanchart, stood at the window of his chamber in the castle of Valewind and watched the men train in the courtyard. Not all of the men he saw were Telvan – some bore the almost ghostly pallor that marked the people of Orogrod, while others had the slanted eyes of Velestar, or the darker skin tones of lands further to the south – but they all seemed to be doing a remarkable job of working together, of putting aside any differences they may have once had and recognizing each other as people striving toward the same goal. Tymothe found the sight of such union disturbing – no duke, baron, or king in the last five hundred years had ever succeeded at inspiring such a thing, but now, after only a few short weeks, Garrold Hilstren, a man who wouldn't be in the position he was except through unhappy chance, had. His lands should be mine! Those troops should be mine!

Fifty years ago, Duke Paulus Vilar had, along with almost half the population of Telvany, succumbed to the plague known as the Red Death. At the time, there had been no one of direct lineage to take his place, and it had seemed that Telvany – which, even then, had been the largest and most prosperous duchy in the kingdom – would become a part of the Barony of Blanchart, with Tymothe's father as its new lord. But then the monks of Catharzen – who had always been almost as meddlesome as they were useful, but never enough to be considered a threat – had announced that House Vilar did have an heir. The heir – Garrold's father – hadn't been of direct lineage, which meant that, traditionally, he shouldn't have been allowed to become duke. The monks, however, made such an impassioned petition to the king that the king had acquiesced, naming Garrold's father Duke of Telvany and preventing Tymothe's father from nearly tripling the amount of land he held. The decision had sent Tymothe's father into such a fit of rage that his heart had given out, meaning that Tymothe had been named Baron of Blanchart the same day that Jasen Hilstren – a man whose friendship Tymothe still sometimes missed, despite everything that had eventually come between them – had been given his ducal coronet by the king.

If none of that had happened, however – if Jason Hilstren had never become Duke of Telvany, and Tymothe now held the lands that were Garrold's – would Tymothe be the one building an army, now? Would he be planning a war against the king – a king who, despite his oaths, he'd never really felt any sense of loyalty toward? Tymothe didn't know, and, because he didn't, the scene taking place outside his window became all the more galling. And wouldn't it gall him even more if he decided to swear fealty to Garrold – to the whelp who reminded Tymothe so much of how his father had been at that age that standing in the same room with him was almost more painful than he could bear? Standing there, looking out the window of a castle that, had things gone just a little differently, would have belonged to him, Tymothe found himself wishing he had died years ago, and that all these questions – all these problems – would have been those of his heir.

“That's quite a set of spells that have been placed on you, Baron. And cast by your mother, no less. She must have been a very impressive woman.”

Somehow, the voice didn't surprise Tymothe like he thought it should have. Had he been expecting it, then? It was possible – no one had ever been able to tell him all of the things the spells his mother had put on him before she died were meant to do. Turning away from the window, Tymothe looked at the person who had spoken – if a shadowy figure wreathed in a halo of flame warranted the title of person. Tymothe, despite understanding who – and what – it was that had joined him, found that he wasn't frightened. If anything, he felt resigned. It was almost like he'd been waiting for this meeting for a very long time, and that, now that it had come, he just wanted to get it over and done with.

“Has my time finally come, then?” Tymothe asked.

“That depends,” the Demon Lord said. “If you are wondering if the time has come for you to die, I'm sorry to disappoint you by saying that it hasn't. However, if you are wondering if the moment has come for you to finally seize the glory that has always been denied to you, I can say that, as long as you make the proper choice, it has.”

“The proper choice? And what would that be? All I want, my Lord, is to be free of the concerns of this life, and if you are not here to grant me that, then I ask you to be gone.”

“Do you, now? Baron, do you know how dangerous it is for you to ask that of me? To ask that of your king?”

So he wasn't speaking to just any of the Demon Lords – he was speaking to the Hidden King, himself. Of course, that didn't actually matter, as, when it came to the subject of a person's soul, all of the Demon Lords were said to be equally dangerous. Tymothe found he still didn't care, however – being a thrall to the Hidden King would still mean that the concerns of his mortal life would be behind him. “I understand what could happen, and what probably will,” he said. “It doesn't matter.”

“It should. You see, my Lord, if I decide to make a thrall of your soul, you will never know any rest. Your whole existence will become nothing but pain and suffering. Is that what you truly want, Tymothe? Is it?”

“Perhaps it's what I deserve.”

“And what of your people when you are gone? They will have no one to lead them. Your barony will be no more. When your mother placed those spells on you – particularly the one that has maintained your health and vitality – do you think that's what she wanted? For her son to simply give up, for him to abandon both himself and his people? She wanted glory for you, Tymothe. Glory that can still be yours, should you choose to join me.”

“Join you? As what?”

“It seems that, after a few recent events, my forces in this world need someone to lead them. I want that someone to be you, Tymothe.”

Tymothe frowned. “What of King Lyrian?”

The Hidden King snorted in derision. “Lyrian,” he said. “Why Atraxos ever thought he could be useful is beyond me. Devin Lyrian, Baron, is quite dead, and so are all his heirs. His throne, and all that comes with it, can be yours. And then, together, you and I can unlock everything your mother gave to you before she died.”

“What did she give to me?” Tymothe asked. “All I know is that she cursed me with an unnaturally long life and the inability to produce an heir.”

“Oh, Baron, she gave you more than you can imagine,” the Hidden King said. “Much, much more. Will you join me?”

An image suddenly flashed through Tymothe's mind, an image of him standing before the kneeling form of Garrold Hilstren and looking into his eyes in the moments before beheading him with his sword. Those eyes were the eyes of a broken, fearful man, and Tymothe found himself wanting very much to see them in the flesh. Perhaps, when the time came, he could even make Garrold beg for his life.

Tymothe dropped to one knee before the Hidden King and bowed his head. “My sword and my life are yours, Great One,” he said.

The Hidden King's laughter filled the room.

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

The Baron was late. Sitting on his throne in Valewind's great hall, Garrold stared across the room at the doors that should have opened fifteen minutes earlier to permit the Baron's entry, unaware that, as he stared, the index finger of his right hand had begun to tap an impatient rhythm on the arm of the chair. Why was the Baron – who had arrived at Valewind the previous evening – forcing him to wait like this? After all, didn't the man have a reputation throughout the kingdom for an almost absurd dedication to punctuality? Did he intend for his lateness to be a show of defiance? If so, Garrold couldn't help but think how childish such a show would be, especially since, so far, Garrold had given the Barron nothing to be defiant about. I could have the men bring him here, Garrold thought. Despite giving Garrold a measure of satisfaction, doing that wouldn't help anything, however, and, right now, Garrold needed all the help he could get.

At last, the doors at the other end of the hall opened, a herald – one of the Baron's, as Garrold only ever used the monks as court heralds – announcing the Baron's presence as the short, round, bearded man stepped through them. Garrold – who had never met the Baron, before, and only knew him by what he had heard of him – disliked him on sight, as he carried himself with an air of such overblown pomposity that, to Garrold, he resembled nothing less than a strutting, preening peacock. If the Baron hadn't been so overweight – even to the point of growing short of breath as he approached the throne – he might have been able to pull off the act, but, right now, he wasn't fooling anyone. Which, Garrold found, made him feel a twinge of pity for the Baron, who obviously wanted so very much for everyone to see him as something he probably hadn't been in a very long time.

“Greetings, my Lord Baron,” Garrold said once the Baron had come to a stop at a somewhat less that respectable distance from the throne. “You honor us with your presence.”

The Baron gave a slight bow. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he said. “Though I must say, were it not for the disturbing reports I've heard coming from Telvany, I would not be here, at all.”

“Oh?” Garrold said. “And what reports would those be?”

“That you've done no less than take up arms against your king. That you've proclaimed yourself Magister of an empire that no longer exists. In short, Your Grace, I've heard things that would make any rational man think you've taken leave of your senses and gone mad.”

“I see. And is that, Baron, what you believe?”

The Baron didn't answer right away. “I don't know what I believe, yet,” he said at last. “But I can say that, from where I stand, I see things that make me uneasy. Not the least of which is the crown you're wearing. Not the coronet of a duke. A crown. Can you tell me the meaning of that, Your Grace? And of the troops I saw training outside?”

“Before I do,” Garrold said, “let me ask you a question of my own. When was the last time you heard from the king? Was it, perhaps, when he issued the decree against the Order of Catharzen?”

“It may have been.”

“I see. Did you follow that decree, my Lord?”

There was a rustling of feet against stone as a number of monks emerged from the shadows of the great hall. The Baron glanced nervously to each side, and sweat appeared on his brow. Garrold had to force himself to keep from smiling. “There's no need for alarm,” he said. “They're simply as eager to hear your answer as I am.”

“N-no, Your Grace,” the Baron said. He licked his lips. “Following the king's decree would have meant the loss of the realm's greatest loremasters and healers. Such an evil would be unconscionable.”

Garrold did smile, this time. “I'm pleased you and I were in agreement on that point. However, since you did not follow the king's decree, doesn't that make you as much of a traitor as you seem to think I am? The last I understood, failing to follow a king's decree was as much a capital offense as raising an army against him.”

“So you are raising an army!”

“Of course I am! And, yes, I've declared myself Magister of the Torvaran Empire. You see, my Lord Baron, King Lyrian's done something far worse than just go mad. He's allowed himself to be influenced, and perhaps even corrupted, by the Order of the Crimson Serpent, one of the most evil forces ever known. And I have to stop him.”

“You have to stop him?”

“Yes,” Garrold said. “But it would be better if I could have your forces on my side to help.”

The Baron's eyes narrowed. “But, if I pledge my forces to your cause, wouldn't that mean swearing fealty to you?”

“For the time being, yes, but, once everything is settled, we might be able to make other arrangements.”

“And what about the others who've sworn to you? Are you prepared to make other arrangements with them, as well? Once, as you say, everything is settled?”

Two other duchies – Orogrod and Velestar – had sworn fealty to Garrold over the course of the last two weeks. That wasn't supposed to have been made public, however, and Garrold wondered who the Baron's sources were. “Once King Lyrian and his benefactors have been defeated,” Garrold said, “I will consider anything up for consideration. Even freeing people from any oaths they may have made.”

“Difficult to hold power that way, son,” the Baron said.

“Perhaps, but maybe it isn't power than I'm after, either.”

“What else is there?”

“Peace. Prosperity. Perhaps, even, an end to suffering.”

“Noble ideals, Your Grace. But noble ideals hardly ever last for very long.”

“They lasted for more than two thousand years, once.”

“And even then crumbled to dust. Your Grace, I find that, as of now, I cannot yet give you an answer to your request. I must think on this discussion and confer with my people. Give me two days, and then we shall meet, again.” The Baron glanced around, again. “But, maybe, in a more private setting?”

Garrold nodded. “Very well, my Lord. In the meantime, the hospitality of Valewind is yours.”

“My thanks, Your Grace.” The Baron bowed – a little more deeply, this time – then turned and walked out of the great hall. Garrold noted with distaste that, as the Baron departed, he still carried himself in the same self-important manner as he had when he'd arrived.

“That went well,” Wilem said, stepping out of the shadows behind the throne.

Garrold snorted. “It could have gone better,” he said.

“True, but at least he's willing to think about it. Baron Tymothe of Blanchart isn't known for taking the time to think about things he isn't already at least partly ready to agree to.”

“I suppose.” Garrold looked at his brother. “Did Father ever have any dealings with him?”

“Yes. They used to be the greatest of friends, in fact.”

Garrold frowned. “Used to be? What happened?”

“The Baron loaned Father some money, once. It was right after Mother died, and, at the time, Father hadn't understood it was a loan. When Father made no effort to repay the Baron, Telvany and Blanchart very nearly went to war.”

“Did Father ever repay him?”

“Not to my knowledge.” Wilem looked at him. “Not that he ever really had a reason to. You see, I saw the letter he wrote Father when the money was given. It was never intended as a loan.”

“I knew he seemed like a petty little man,” Garrold said. He looked at the doors of the hall. “If only we didn't need him.”

“Yes,” Wilem said. “But we do. We need them all.”