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

The Sprite had never been Horace Alvarem, of course. While it had been expedient to make the intruders think he was – and child’s play to reconstruct a younger version of the man they had called the Abbot out of the images stored in their memories – the time had come, at last, for his true nature to be revealed. Though he knew the intruders couldn’t harm him, it still wasn’t something he looked forward to revealing. The probability that their reactions would be negative was quite high – none of these three people liked being lied to, which was entirely as it should have been – and negative reactions, no matter what form they took, were never a pleasant thing when they came from people you had begun to grow fond of.

Some Sprites – particularly those birthed from the souls of dead Eltarans – had more free will than others, but the Sprite who watched over the three intruders as their minds were returned to their bodies was not one of those. Oh, he had enough free will to understand that, despite what the Masters had told him, the intruders weren’t really intruders, and had also been able to intuit on his own that this wasn’t the first time a Sprite had been given a duty similar to his. In fact, he suspected he was just the latest in a very long line, and hoped that, once his task was completed – a task he had no other choice but to complete – he would be given freedom. But what if he wasn’t? What if, as a part of him was beginning to suspect, there had never been any other Sprites who had been given this particular task, and that, each time, it had been him who’d carried it out, only to have his memories wiped afterwards so he could do it all over again? Again, though, given his nature as a Sprite, he had no other option but to do what the Masters told him to do, consequences be damned.

“You needn’t trouble yourself, young one,” a voice – the voice of one of the Masters, themselves – suddenly said. “This time will be the last.”

The Sprite looked at the Master who had spoken. It was the first time in a long time he had seen one of the Masters in person, and it took him a moment to realize that the person who had appeared beside him was not, despite his outward appearance, human. The Master smiled at him, then reached up to push the spectacles he wore back up his nose – a gesture so human that it made it even harder for the Sprite to remember how powerful of a being the Master actually was.

“Have I done this before, then, Master?” the Sprite asked.

“Many times, child,” the Master said, “and always well. We are sorry we had to erase your memories each time, but you would never have been able to fulfill your duty if we hadn’t. Your mind would have been too full of distracting questions and doubts, and you also would more than likely have chafed under the knowledge of how we had used you. That couldn’t have been allowed.”

“But why?” the Sprite asked. “I am a Sprite. I live to serve you. Any questions or doubts I may have had would never have stopped me from doing what needed to be done.”

The Master chuckled. “Don’t be so sure about that. You have as much free will as any Sprite. How could you be useful to us if you didn’t? We don’t want mindless slaves, after all. We had enough of that when we created the Dragonkin.”

“What happened to the Dragonkin, Master?” the Sprite asked.

“The same thing that happened to everything in this place. The Cataclysm was worse with them, though, and mainly because of how mindless we made them.” The Master was silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “We could have killed them, of course, instead of letting them roam the wasteland we left behind. In fact, we probably should have, given their propensity for being able to escape. They were our children, though, a part of us, and we couldn’t handle the pain of knowing we wiped them out.”

“What will happen to me once my task is complete?”

The Master looked at the Sprite. “You’ll be freed, of course. Back to becoming one with the power of this place. Never again will anyone conjure you, or anything like you, into existence. Your time will be over.”

“I’ll be dead, then?”

“Nothing ever truly dies, child. All energy is eternal, never being created, never being destroyed. In that way, you will still exist, just as everything does once it’s passed beyond the veil of perception. Now, will you be aware of all of that, living on as a spirit or ghost like people have told stories about almost since time began? I can’t say. You might. Personally, I’d like to hope that you do.”

“The magic Lady Zoe uses,” the Sprite said, “Life magic. It says that I will live on.”

“Indeed it does,” the Master said. “But that is also a reflection of her belief, which, for someone like her, is a powerful thing. In her world, the afterlife is a very real thing, and is even a place where people can be brought back from against their will. You, however, are not necessarily a part of her world. Her rules may not apply to you, to what will happen to you. They could, of course – her beliefs may be, in some form or another, the truth – but it’s equally likely that they don’t. Either way, though, once your task here is complete, you will be free.”

“I’m not sure I want the kind of freedom that makes me forget who I am,” the Sprite said after a few moments of silence.

“And who are you, then, child?” the Master asked. It wasn’t a spiteful question. There was genuine curiosity in it.

“I am me,” the Sprite said. Whatever that meant. “And I don’t want to be forgotten.”

The Master took his spectacles off for a moment, rubbing his eyes. Then he put them back on. “I’ll make sure you won’t be,” he said.

“Is that a promise?” the Sprite asked.

“It is. No matter what happens, once your duty has been fulfilled, I will make sure you are not forgotten.” The Master looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. “No other Sprite has ever asked for something like that before,” he finally said. “Are you sure you don’t have a name?”

“If I did, wouldn’t one of you have given it to me?”

“We never named any of our creations. Not even the ones we gave free will to. Only Eltaran Sprites had names, and there were never very many of them.”

“Then why would I have a name?”

“Because we didn’t make you. After the Cataclysm, we found you here. And you volunteered for the task that’s been yours ever since.”

“That’s impossible.” The Sprite tried to sound more sure of that than he felt. The Master’s words had disturbed him, and he could feel thoughts – memories – that couldn’t have been his own stirring at the edges of his consciousness.

“That’s what we thought, too.” The Master took his spectacles off and placed them in the breast pocket of the jacket he wore. Looking at him without the spectacles, the Sprite was struck by how familiar he seemed. By how much his face looked like that of someone he not only knew, but knew well. And then the Master smiled. “Tell me your name,” he said.

“Kevin,” the Sprite suddenly blurted, and knew that it was true. “I think my name is – was – Kevin.”

“I had a brother named Kevin, once,” the Master said. His smile turned sad, his gaze growing unfocused. “Or would have, had things turned out differently.” He refocused his gaze on the Sprite. “Goodbye, my friend,” the Master said, and then vanished.

“Were you just talking to someone?”

The Sprite looked at Thaddeus, who had just come up to stand by him. “What? Oh, no. Of course not.”

Thaddeus looked at the Sprite for a moment, the expression on his face saying that he wasn’t convinced. He didn’t say anything, though, and turned away as both Zoe and Aylander returned to consciousness. Though they all seemed to share the disorientation that came from waking from a deep and restful sleep – something that they still should have found unusual, given the nature of their magical abilities – none of the three seemed to be surprised that they were still in the ruined building they had fallen asleep in the night before. After a time, Aylander turned his attention to the Sprite and, with a thoughtful frown, said, “You’re different, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?” the Sprite asked, trying to feign innocence.

“What he means,” Thaddeus said, “is that you aren’t the same as you were before we went to sleep, last night. And there’s no point in denying it. Even I can see he’s right, and my abilities aren’t the same as his. What happened?”

The Sprite didn’t answer right away. What would they do when they found out the truth? I’ll never know until I tell them. “Very well,” the Sprite said, sighing. “First of all, I need to tell you that, even though I look like him, I am not, and never was, Horace Alvarem. I needed all of you to trust me without divulging my true intentions too early, so I created an approximation of how Father Alvarem looked as a young man from the impressions of him I read inside your memories. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

“That depends,” Thaddeus said. “What were your true intentions?”

“To bring you all back here, to this city,” the Sprite said. “We are very close to the Void, here – I know you all understand what I mean – and my Masters needed to be sure about you. And, since you’re all still here talking to me, it can be safely assumed that you passed their test.”

“So you were a lure,” Aylander said. It wasn’t a question. “Bait for a trap.”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“It would only have been a trap, though, if we’d failed,” Zoe said. “Am I right?”

“Yes, my Lady. I am very pleased to see that you all passed.”

“We haven’t necessarily passed, yet,” Thaddeus said. “We need to get back to our world before the Demon Lords amass too much power.”

“Their power has already grown in your absence,” the Sprite said. “I fear they’ve found someone to take Atraxos the Black’s place.”

“Another Necromancer?”

“Yes, and a powerful one, at that. Even now, the forces of the newly reforged Torvaran Empire march out to do battle with him, but, without the three of you, their fight will be for naught.”

The three of them shared a look. Zoe said, “We were told that we would know the way back and wouldn’t need any help. But I have no idea what we’re supposed to do.”

“Neither do I,” Thaddeus said.

“I might,” Aylander said. He addressed the Sprite. “You’re the way out, aren’t you?”

“As long as we’re here, in these ruins, I am,” the Sprite said.

“Whatever you have to do to get us back,” Zoe said. “You won’t survive it, will you?”

“No, my Lady. I was told, though, that I wouldn’t be forgotten.”

“If you can get us back,” Thaddeus said, “I promise you that you won’t be.”

“And I will ease your passage to the afterlife as much as I can,” Zoe said.

“Is there an afterlife for me, then?” the Sprite asked.

“My friend, if Lady Zoe says she can ease your passage to it, you can trust that there is,” Aylander said.

The Sprite looked at the three of them for a moment, then focused his attention on Zoe. Had he been in the presence of a Sorceress before? He was sure he had been, but, as Zoe suddenly smiled at him, he realized that, never before, had he been in the presence of someone like her. Zoe cared about protecting life above all else, which also meant shepherding it through the sometimes painful transition that was death. Her magic, which, as the Master had told the Sprite, was shaped partially by her beliefs in how it worked, told her that there was an afterlife for all creatures – even those that were not necessarily a part of her world. In order for Zoe to be able to help him, all the Sprite had to do was make a leap of faith and believe in her magic as she did. It shouldn’t have been easy for him. And yet, it was.

“Are you ready?” Zoe asked.

“Yes, my Lady,” the Sprite said.

“Then let’s go,” Thaddeus said, and drew his sword – the runes on its surface glowing blue – from its scabbard.

The Sprite looked at Thaddeus, looked at the sword – the Sign Universal was unmistakable – then nodded.

“Look at me,” Zoe said.

The Sprite looked at her. There was a flash of amber light, followed in quick succession by one of blue. And then Kevin was looking into the smiling faces of his parents, who reached out and gathered him into their arms. Thank you, Lady Zoe, Kevin thought, no longer even sure he remembered who it was he was thanking. Thank you.

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

Lighting flashed in the distance, throwing a line of craggy mountains into silhouette. Aylander sat on the ground beside a fire burning inside of a ring of stones. Two rabbits on skewers sizzled above the fire, but, somehow, Aylander understood that they would never be done cooking. Not that he was hungry. In fact, after all the time he’d spent in the Abyss – which might have only been a few days, or could have been years – Aylander wasn’t sure he even remembered what hunger felt like.

“You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to,” the man who sat across the fire from Aylander said. Though he looked human, there was a feral, almost wolfish quality to his features, and the faded blue clothes he wore were of a style Aylander had never seen, before. The man smiled just as there was another flash of lighting, his lips pulling back to reveal unnaturally sharpened incisors. “Me, on the other hand? I’m starving.”

“Where am I?” Aylander asked.

The man chuckled. “Oh, come on. That doesn’t matter, does it? What you really want to know is who I am. Isn’t it?”

“You’re one of the Old Ones,” Aylander said.

The man threw back his head and laughed. When he brought his gaze back down, Aylander saw that the fire was reflected perfectly in his otherwise featureless black eyes. “Excellent guess, Aylander! Truly excellent!” He reached over and took one of the skewers, biting into the underdone rabbit that Aylander. “Did you know, though?” the man said as he chewed, juice – and blood – dripping down his chin. “I’ve got a name. Would you like to know it?”

“What is it?”

“I’ve got lots of names, actually. Nyarlathotep. Maerlyn. Flagg. Walter.” The man laughed, again. “You can call me The Walkin’ Dude. Or the Hard Case, if you like.”

Aylander had heard one of those names, before – Nyarlathotep. Nyarlathotep was a trickster demon from Eltaran mythology, a creature that took great pleasure in causing as much chaos as it could. That it also happened to be the name of one of the Old Ones – Aylander refused to think of them as the Gods Beyond the Gods, as true gods wouldn’t abuse their power as much as the stories said the Old Ones did – didn’t surprise him in the least. “What do you want?” Aylander asked.

The Hard Case had finished his rabbit, and all trace of juice and blood on his chin had vanished. Then he reached for the second skewer. He didn’t take a bite of the second rabbit right away, however. Instead, he studied the skewer thoughtfully for a moment, then said, “I want to know what makes you so special.”

“What do you mean?”

The skewer in the Hard Case’s hand suddenly vanished, and he was now dressed in a hooded black robe. The glitter of reflected firelight stared out at Aylander from under the man’s hood for a long time before he answered. “You didn’t give in,” he said at last. “Why?”

Aylander knew what the man meant. “I almost did. My friends pulled me back. They showed me why it was wrong.”

“Your friends? Don’t you mean your family? That’s what they think of you, anyway. And why did what they did matter? You’re Eltaran. Not only that, your soul is Twisted. Or was, at any rate. There is no way you should have been able to avoid the temptation of power.”

“Who says I avoided the temptation?” Aylander asked. “Maybe I simply decided to use the power in a way no one ever had, before.”

“Maybe,” the Hard Case said, “but how long can you keep it up? That power can make you all but a god. You know that. And it won’t leave you once you escape from the Abyss. If anything, once you take it back to your own world, it will be even stronger.”

Aylander smiled. “I think I can handle it.”

“Do you? Once upon a time, my people thought they could, as well. We almost destroyed the entire cosmos as a result.”

“Only almost, though. What kept you from finishing the job?”

It was a long moment before the Hard Case answered. “I don’t really know,” he said at last. “Cooler heads must have prevailed, I suppose.”

“Cooler heads,” Aylander said. “Cooler heads who still had all that power. They saw what they were doing, though, and stopped themselves. They even tried to stabilize what was left, didn’t they?”

“You already know the answer to that. You wouldn’t be here talking to me if they hadn’t.”

“The sign on my tabard. Adarion’s Sign. The Sign Unknowable. You gave it to me, didn’t you?”

“We did.”

“Have you ever given it to anyone, before?”

“No. Though the one who preceded you could have been given it. He was worthy enough. The time, however, was not yet right.”

“Why is the time right, now?”

“Because the end is finally coming. Because, one way or the other, once this is all over, there will once again be balance.”

“Whether the Demon Lords are defeated or not, right?”

The Hard Case poked at the fire with a stick that had suddenly appeared in his hand. “Yes,” he said.

“And what if they win?” Aylander asked. “Will that matter to you? Since you gave me the Sign, I have to think that it will.”

“We’re not sure,” the Hard Case said. He looked at Aylander. “And that frightens us.”

“You trust me to wield my powers, don’t you?”

The Hard Case laughed. “Trust you? I wouldn’t go quite that far. However, because you didn’t give in, and because you believe that you won’t, we decided to take a leap of faith. Please don’t prove us wrong.”

“You do know that Thaddeus was tempted by these powers, too, don’t you?”

“Of course. You are with him, though. As is Zoe. You balance each other. You make each other complete. This we’ve already seen. Our leap of faith wasn’t just for you, Aylander. It was for all of you.”

Aylander was silent for a time, staring into the fire. In the distance, lighting flashed again. There was no thunder. “I will do what I can to make sure your faith in us is not misplaced,” he finally said. He looked across the fire. “I swear it.”

“Don’t lose faith in yourself in the process,” the Hard Case said. “Or in your family. Though you have more tools than you did, before, the road ahead of you will not be an easy one.”

“Can you tell me what the Sign Unknowable does?”

The Hard Case – who, again, looked like he had when their talk first began – smiled. “Many things,” he said. “I could tell you what, and how many, but those are things you’ll have to learn for yourself. I will tell you, though, that it is the perfect counterpart to the magical arts you call Necromancy.”

That sounded intriguing. “How perfect?”

“In every way. Farewell, now, Aylander. And good luck.” The Hard Case grinned. “Eat something good for me when you get back.”

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

The landscape Zoe looked out across was an unfamiliar one. At some time in the not too distant past, a tremendous battle had raged here, the earth looking scorched in places, while in others appearing as if it had been rent from beneath and hurled into the air. There were no bodies that Zoe could see, but there were numerous burnt out wagon hulks, and the stench of smoke hung heavily in the air. Suddenly, Zoe became aware of someone else standing next to her. She turned to see who it was.

The young woman had dark hair and tanned skin, a portion of her hair hanging down over one shoulder in a long braid. She wore a fairly plain green dress, and, draped over her shoulders, was a long, multi-colored stole. Each color of the woman’s stole had been woven into a single stripe, and Zoe saw there were seven of them – blue, green, yellow, red, white, gray, and brown. Zoe knew at once that the woman’s stole was a badge of office of some kind, and thought that, though the woman looked almost painfully young, it suited her. Whatever office this woman held, it almost seemed as if she’d been made for it, as if she’d never been destined for anything else.

“It is good to meet you, at last, Sister Zoe,” the young woman said, looking at Zoe and smiling. Despite how young the woman looked, her smile was surprisingly motherly. “I’ve been looking forward to this for some time, now.”

“Who are you?” Zoe asked. “What is this place?”

“This place is somewhere that never existed, save inside the pages of a book,” the young woman said. “As for me, the woman I’ve chosen to speak to you as also never existed. You may call me Mother.”

Mother, if Zoe had been back at the abbey, would have been her title, as well. Whoever this young woman was, though, she seemed to be deliberately refusing to acknowledge that fact. Why else would she have addressed Zoe as Sister, as if Zoe were still nothing more than just a common cleric? Zoe found herself reaching for her magic, and was startled when she touched nothing. Somehow, she’d been cut off, which only served to increase her anger. And then she paused. Why was she so angry? That wasn’t like her. Not at all.

“You have reason to be angry,” the woman called Mother said. “But not at me. Tell me, Sister, are you truly ready for the role that has been laid before you? Or do you only think that you are? You might be three hundred years old, you might be heir to the powers of a Sorceress, but, to me, you are still only a child, still unfit to be a true Mother, a true Nurturer.”

“And who are you to say these things?” Zoe asked. “One of those Aylander called the God Beyond the Gods? If that’s the case, what gives you the right to pass judgement on me? You have no say about my destiny, or about anyone else’s.”

The woman called Mother gave her a sharp look. “Oh, don’t I?”

Zoe smiled. “No. You see, I’m familiar with the Eltaran legends about you. I know how cruel your kind is, how cold and removed from everything else. Sure, you might have played some role in the creation of the universe – probably a minor one, but I could be wrong – but you haven’t done much since then, aside from treating people like me as playthings. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a pale shadow to the picture the legends paint of you, and, as such, have no room to judge.”

“And yet you do? You, a mortal woman, whom I could destroy with nothing more than a fleck of my power?”

“Threats won’t get very far with me, I’m afraid,” Zoe said. “A person has to be afraid in order for a threat to work, and you don’t frighten me, at all.”

“Not even if I threaten the life of the man you love? I can destroy him just as easily as I can destroy you.”

“That’s true, but you won’t. You need us.”

“I need nothing of the kind. No matter who lives or dies, there will be balance, and, this time, that balance will endure.”

“Is a Demon Lord victory truly what you want?”

Mother laughed and looked away. “As I said, it doesn’t matter. Regardless of who wins, nothing can harm us, here.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

Mother didn’t look back at her. “Think what you like, child. The truth is the truth.”

Zoe was quiet for a time, looking out at the battlefield that had never been. “So,” she said at last, “what’s keeping you?”

Mother looked at her, her brow creased in confusion. “What’s keeping me from what?”

“Destroying me,” Zoe said. She met Mother’s gaze. “Or, if you like, destroying Thaddeus. We obviously don’t meet up to your standards, and, on top of that, we’re insolent. So why keep us alive? There’ll be a balance, anyway, right?”

“You don’t understand.”

“I probably don’t. However, Mother, I think I do. You need Thaddeus and I – and Aylander, too – to do the things you won’t. To do the things you’re too afraid to. Because you’re not sure the Demon Lords can’t harm you, here. Well, I will tell you this much – and I think you’ve probably already heard the same from Thaddeus. No matter who the Demon Lords threaten, I swear I will do all that I can to protect them. And that includes you.”

“How very noble,” Mother said, seemingly unfazed by Zoe’s words. “Do you understand, though, what the cost of that protection will be? Are you ready to accept the deaths of those that you love?”

Zoe wasn’t, of course. How could she be ready to accept something like that? That was why she was going to do everything in her power – and, just then, she felt like that her power might be much more vast than even she had yet discovered – to keep that from happening. Protect, she thought. And then, not even knowing why, Nurture. Like any good Mother would. “They don’t have to die,” she said.

“My dear, everyone has to die, sometime,” the woman called Mother said.

Zoe smiled. “But not before they’re supposed to.”

The woman called Mother raised her eyebrows. “And you have the power to decide when that will be?”

“I don’t think anyone does,” Zoe said, still smiling. “Not even you. But I am a guardian of life, and, as such, it’s my duty to make sure it lasts as long as it can.”

“Like any good Mother would.”

“Exactly.”

“Then, perhaps, you are ready. Maybe even more ready than any other who has come before you.”

“How many have come before me?”

“Many. But, no matter what happens this time, you will be the last.”

“Send me back, then,” Zoe said. “I already know I can find my way out of the Abyss on my own.”

“Indeed.” Mother paused, a thoughtful, almost mournful expression on her face. “It wasn’t always the Abyss, you know? It was our home once. And we destroyed it.”

“I know.”

“Goodbye, Sister Zoe.” The woman smiled. “Mother Zoe.”

Zoe smiled back. “Goodbye.”

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

The room – he thought it was a room, anyway, though he had the impression of something much more vast than that – Thaddeus found himself standing in was pitch black. He had no memory of how he’d gotten here, and though he wondered if he might be dreaming, he was almost certain that he wasn’t. So, if he wasn’t dreaming, but he also had no memory of how he’d arrived in this room, that meant the most likely conclusion was that he’d been brought here. But who, or what, had brought him? And was that really a question he wanted an answer to? What I want doesn’t matter. If I don’t get an answer, I’ll be stuck here.

Suddenly, Thaddeus heard the sound of approaching footsteps. At first, the sound came from a distance, but, as Thaddeus listened, it grew closer, the steps even, measured, accompanied by the click of what must have been the tip of a cane. The footsteps and click of the cane echoed, confirming that Thaddeus was in a room of some sort, though, given how long it was taking for whoever was walking toward him to arrive, it must have been immense. All at once, a circle of light appeared in front of Thaddeus, and the person who approached stepped into it, the sound of his footsteps and clicking cane coming to an abrupt, echoless stop.

The man who stood in the circle of light looked ordinary enough, though the dark clothes he wore seemed a bit odd. His cane was odd, as well, almost seeming more like a staff, and looking as if it had been carved from ebony. The cane was topped by a piece of metal that had been shaped to resemble the head of an animal Thaddeus had never seen before, but which he thought might have been a cat of some kind. As Thaddeus watched, the man took off his hat – which had a tall, flat crown and wide brim – and bowed.

“A pleasure to meet you, at last, Thaddeus Alvarem,” the man said, straightening and putting his hat back on. He smiled, though the smile failed to reach his eyes, which seemed less like eyes and more like deep pools of blackness. “I must say, the exploits of you and your companions have been, to date, most entertaining to behold.”

“Who are you?” Thaddeus asked. “What is this place?”

The man sighed and closed his eyes, shaking his head. Both of his hands rested on the top of his cane. “Why must everyone I meet always ask the same questions? Why can’t there ever be something more original? Something more pertinent?” He opened his eyes. “Where you are is nowhere, the Void, the place no rational mind would seek out on its own. As for who I am, for the time being, friend Thaddeus, you can call me Jack.”

When he heard the man say Jack, Thaddeus had a sudden, mental image of a woman being brutally murdered in what looked like a darkened alley. It lasted for only a fleeting moment, but it was enough to make him flinch backwards. Flinching backwards did no good, however, as the circle of light the man stood in – as well as the man, himself – moved with him. The man grinned, and Thaddeus shivered. “Jack isn’t your real name,” Thaddeus said.

“No, it isn’t,” the man said. “Nor was it the name of the man in the image you saw in your head. But, for the purposes of this discussion, it’s what you can call me.”

“Why?”

“Because it amuses me. And because it disturbs you.”

Thaddeus studied the man for a moment. He tried to probe him with his magic, but found that, wherever he was, his magic had been cut off from him. The man – Jack – seemed to realize what Thaddeus had tried to do, because he grinned, again, and put his finger against the side of his nose. “No magic here, my friend,” the man called Jack said. “Not for you, anyway.”

“But you can use all you want, I suppose?” Thaddeus asked.

“Of course. After all, what else is a living personification of the force you call magic supposed to do?”

“You’re one of them, aren’t you? The ones Aylander called the Gods Beyond the Gods?”

Jack chuckled. “Such a quaint term. The Gods Beyond the Gods. So full of drama and gravitas. But that’s Eltarans for you. If anyone has mastered the art of being pretentious, it’s them.” He looked at Thaddeus. “The answer to your question, though, is yes. Oh, I wasn’t always as I am, now – once, I was rather like you, in fact – but, for longer than you can imagine, I have been what used to be known as an Ascendant. Ascendants, like myself, once thought we knew all there was to know about the universe. We were sure we understood all the forces that drove it, and it even seemed we had learned how to shape and mold them to our will. And then came the Cataclysm. Those of us who survived tried to stabilize what was left, and then we came here, to the Void, where never again would we be tempted to give in to the delusion that we were gods.”

“You left a lot of nasty things behind when you came here,” Thaddeus said.

“Indeed, though they were never supposed to be able to escape from the place you call the Abyss – the place that was once our home. Little did we think that our descendants would be stupid enough to try mastering the forces that not even we could control, ourselves. But they did, and so here you are, groping about for answers while, at the same time, looking for a way back home that shouldn’t exist. It does exist, however – to our shame – and you will not be the first I’ve helped return over the millennia. It is my sincerest hope, though, Thaddeus Alvarem, that you will be the last.”

“I find that hard to believe. You just told me you that you find our exploits entertaining. Won’t us being the last people you help bring an end to that entertainment?”

“Oh, it will. It will. But there are some things that should end, and I know you – you and the people you so righteously call your family – will be the last of your kind I ever interact with. For good or ill, you will be the last.”

“And what if I fail?” Thaddeus asked. “What if, even with the help of my family, I am unable to defeat the Demon Lords?”

“Then that is the way it shall be,” Jack said. “Even a victory by the Demon Lords brings balance.”

“Won’t a Demon Lord victory affect you?”

Jack grinned, again. “Not in the slightest. Here in the Void, nothing can touch us. Nothing.”

Thaddeus didn’t respond to that right away. “How certain are you of that?” he said at last. “Surely more certain than you were of the knowledge and power you had before the Cataclysm, am I right? Otherwise why say it? Unless you’re still blinded by the same pride. You aren’t, are you?”

Jack gave a dismissive laugh, brushing at a nonexistent speck of dust on the lapel of his jacket. “Of course not. We know better.”

“I don’t think you do,” Thaddeus said.

Jack gave him a sharp look. “Oh, is that so?”

“It is.”

“And what makes you think that, Nightslayer?” The last word came out of Jack’s mouth in a hiss.

“You wouldn’t be willing to help me get back, otherwise.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. I mean, isn’t watching something be destroyed more entertaining than watching that same something be saved?”

“You’re so sure you can save it, then?”

“Not at all.” Thaddeus offered Jack a grin of his own. “But, if I don’t get back, and my family doesn’t make it back with me, then its destruction is a surety. And that’s something that frightens you, isn’t it?”

“Nothing frightens me, mortal!”

“Except two humans, an Eltaran, and a Sprite. That was you skulking about just before we fell asleep, wasn’t it? Tell me, Jack. What would have happened if we’d faced you there, instead of here, in your precious Void?”

“I don’t have to help you, you know,” Jack said, suddenly not sounding so sure of himself despite still trying to maintain his bluster. “I could kill you where you stand. I could turn your precious little family into specks of dust.”

“So why don’t you do it?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m not temping you at all! You’re afraid. But you don’t have to be. Help me get back, and I’ll do what I can to protect you, too. It may all be for nothing, but I swear to you, I will do what I can.”

For a long time, the man who called himself Jack said nothing. Then he said, “The Sign Universal is indeed engraved on your sword. It, and the Sign Unknown, are remnants of the power of the Ascendants. None who has come before you has ever been granted their use. Don’t make us regret giving them to you.”

Jack turned to go, but, before he could step out of the circle of light, Thaddeus said, “How do we get back?”

Jack turned back. “You’ve never needed my help for that, Thaddeus,” he said. “You’ve always known the way.”

“Why bring me here, then?”

“To see if we were right about you.” Jack smiled. “The jury’s still out on that, by the way. But no one before you has ever sworn to protect us, and that goes a long way toward helping your case.”

Jack turned, again, and stepped out of the light, his footsteps, and the clicking of his cane, slowly fading away.

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!”

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.”