Nightslayer - Interlude Two

 He awoke from the dream knowing that, this time, the dream would be a reality.  Once before, ages ago, he’d awoken only to be confronted with the bitter reality that, aside from the death of the man who, in the eons since the beginning of their self-imposed exile in the Void, he had come to realize was just as much of a brother as the one he had lost so long ago, nothing had changed.  Oh, it nearly had–the Power had been mere moments from being conferred–but, in the end, the one to whom the Power could have been given to had turned away, condemning the cosmos once again to another cycle of pain and suffering.  Surely it had been that refusal which had killed the Bespectacled Man’s friend–why it hadn’t done the same to him was just another of the mysteries that had, over the course of his very long life, been lain at his feet–and, though his friend’s body had appeared peaceful when the Bespectacled Man had found it, he had a very real suspicion that the actual death had been anything but.

The Bespectacled Man sat up and swung his legs off of the bed, resting his feet on the floor.  Taking his spectacles off of the bedside table, he put them on and looked across to the other bed, where the perfectly preserved body of his friend still lay.  His friend–the Bespectacled Man couldn’t remember what the man’s name had been, just as he could no longer remember his own–appeared to be peacefully asleep, his eyes closed, his hands folded together on his chest.  That chest did not rise and fall, however, and, for a brief moment, the Bespectacled Man allowed himself to mourn for his friend, who hadn’t been allowed to live long enough to see the day they had waited for come to pass at last.  I am sorry you aren’t here, Brother.  We could have rejoiced together.  For a time, at least.

The Bespectacled Man left the bedroom and went downstairs to the kitchen, where he put a pot of coffee on to brew.  The house he lived in wasn’t real, of course–not in any truly physical sense–but it was still a comfort to go through the motions as if it were.  Why dwell on the fact that what surrounded him was nothing but a mental construct when he already had enough to think about?  The coffee finished brewing.  The Bespectacled Man took the pot and filled his favorite mug–it had the design of a horse’s head on either side, an emblem of a sports team that had existed before the Cataclysm–then went over to the kitchen counter and sat down at one of the stools.

The coffee was good–just bitter enough without being acrid, and just the right temperature–and, as he drank it, the Bespectacled Man began to realize that he’d never had a cup quite like it, before.  With each sip, the coffee awoke things within him, memories he had long thought lost forever.  In a startling moment of clarity which actually made him laugh out loud, he remembered both his own name, and his friend’s.  His friend had been named Aaron, and his name had been Geoffrey.  Aaron had been fond of a particular kind of music–What had it been called?  Heavy metal?–and it had been over that music that he and Geoffrey had first bonded.  Gods, that was so long ago.

And then Geoffrey remembered the name of his brother–the true brother–he had never known, but still lost.  His name had been Kevin, and he had died the same day he had been born.  Geoffrey suddenly knew that, in the days to come, he would get the chance to finally meet his brother.  But not because he, himself, would soon join him in death.  No, there would be another kind of meeting for them, one that directly concerned the person who had been conferred the Power.

Did that mean what Geoffrey thought it might?  That, this time, the one who held the Power was the one it had been destined for?  Since Geoffrey was awake, and even had some inkling of what events the days ahead held, it was a definite possibility.  The holder of the Power would need to be tested, of course–as would any who accompanied him.  But, even as Geoffrey finished off the last of his coffee, he somehow knew that, regardless of what the tests revealed, this would be the end of the cycle.  Never again would he go to sleep only to be awoken after millennia had passed to go through it all, again.  For good or ill, this would, at long last, be the end.

But what about the Key? Geoffrey wondered.  If this Nightslayer passes the tests, will he be able to find it in time when, even now, I still have no memory of where it is hidden?

Only time–and there wasn’t much left of that–would tell.

Nightslayer Prelude

 There were only two of them left, now.  Two, when once, long, long ago, there had been billions.  Luckily, even with their numbers reduced to so little, they still had been able to do what needed to be done.  But had what they’d done been enough?  Would the cosmos survive the eons to come–the eons where there would be no one powerful enough to keep the Prison guarded?  The hope was that it would, provided that the Key stayed hidden–or that it had already been destroyed, altogether.

Knowing the status of the Key, however, had become a problem.  The efforts to hide it from those who would use it–and there was at least still one of those, may her name be forever cursed–had made it all but impossible to detect.  Touching it with so much Obliviation–which had seemed a wise precaution at the time the plans were made–now seemed foolish.  Why keep the location of the Key from those who wanted it hidden, and who had gone to all the trouble of hiding it in the first place?  Surely they–of which there were now only two–would know better than to use something so dangerous, wouldn’t they?

Perhaps, thought the bespectacled man who stood at the doorway of what had come to be called the Void.  But, if we’re so trustworthy, how could we ever have done the things we have?  How could we have left so much devastation and suffering for those who will come after us?

You linger too long, Brother.  The voice in his head spoke to him from the other side of the doorway, and, though the person to whom it belonged was very much like him, that person was not his brother.  No, his true brother was long dead, one of the lucky ones who had never lived to see the Cataclysm.  What’s done is done.  It’s time for you to join me.

And so it was.  The bespectacled man opened the door to the Void and stepped through, thinking as he did so that he, as well as the one who waited for him, the one who called him Brother, were no better than the monsters they left behind.

Book Announcement!

 My friends,

As of a couple of weeks ago, all of the chapters I have thus far posted here for both books have been combined into one book.  It is called Nightslayer.  It has a new prelude, will be divided into three parts, and there will be interludes between the parts.  The first interlude is already posted here, in the form of the final chapter of The Divided Knight (which is now the title of the first part of Nightslayer, the second part being titled Into the Abyss).  I will now post the new material I've written, starting with the prelude.  I hope you all continue to enjoy, and thank you all for reading!

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

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

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

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

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

    Wilem returned to his tent not long before what would normally have been sunrise.  Just as there hadn’t been for the last five days, there would be no sunrise, today, however–a fact that, with each passing day, made Wilem more and more uneasy.  Wilem’s unease wasn’t just caused by the unnaturally persistent darkness–which was bad enough by itself–but also by what suspicions he had about it.  Some of those suspicions had already been confirmed by the spontaneous magical awakenings of Stevan and Robert, which, though they would have eventually happened, anyway, seemed to have been hastened by some external force.  Was that external force what Wilem thought it was?  A sudden heightening of the world’s natural magical field?  If it was, and if that heightening coincided with the advent of the endless night which had taken hold, the implications were disturbing, indeed.

Sister Niela was waiting for Wilem when he reached his tent.  She was sitting on one of his folding camp chairs, and had brought an earthenware jug and two wooden cups with her.  She smiled at Wilem as he stepped inside and settled onto the only other available seat–his cot.  “Time for that drink, already?” Wilem asked.

“A lot of people are going to die, tomorrow,” Niela said.  “Maybe even us.  I didn’t want to waste any more time.”  She popped the cork from the jug and filled the two cups, handing one to Wilem.

Wilem looked at the cup, and was surprised to see that what Niela had filled it with was what the country folk called liquid lightning.  “Where in Hel’s name did you get this?” he asked.

“Now, now, Wilem,” Niela scolded playfully, “let’s not swear.  I bought it off one of the soldiers.”

“Have you ever had any of this before?”

“No, but I’ve heard amazing things about it.  And don’t worry.  If it makes us too drunk, I can heal both of us.”  She took a swallow from her cup, then coughed.  “I think.”

Wilem took a drink of his own.  The liquor was harsh, but also surprisingly good.  He looked at Niela and shook his head.  “You really go all out when you decide to break an oath, don’t you?”

“And why shouldn’t I?  This could be our last night this side of the grave.”  Her smile grew more mischievous, and, even in the darkness, her eyes seemed to twinkle.  “I intend to enjoy it to the fullest.”

Wilem cleared his throat and looked away, his cheeks growing hot.  Niela chuckled and reached out to him, placing her hand over his.  “Don’t be shy, Wilem,” she said.  “No one but us will care what happens here, tonight.  Not even the Gods Above.”  Wilem looked back up at her, and when he did, her brow creased in a slight frown.  “You’re not afraid you’ll regret breaking your oath with me, are you?”

Wilem smiled.  “Not at all, Niela,” he said.  “It’s just that, well, you’ll be the first woman I’ve ever been with, and that makes me a little nervous.”

Niela looked at him for a moment, then laughed.  “That’s all right,” she said.  “You’ll be the first man I’ve ever been with!”

“And you don’t think it’s weird, sleeping with someone you’ve known since he was a boy?”

“You aren’t a boy anymore, Wilem.  You’re a man.  And a very handsome one at that.”

Wilem smirked.  “Even though I’m bald?”

Niela grinned.  “That’s the best part,” she said, taking another drink.  She didn’t cough as hard, this time, and the twinkle in her eyes seemed to grow brighter.

Both of them were on the cot not long after, their drinks forgotten as they discovered other, more pleasant things.  Afterward, as they held each other, enjoying the feeling of being in each other’s arms, Wilem said, “I’m afraid, Niela.”

“I know,” Niela said.  “So am I.  This darkness is stirring forces the world hasn’t seen in a very long time.  That’s why so few of the Order are here.  Those who didn’t come are waiting and watching, hoping against hope that, whatever the night brings, they’ll be able to contain it.”

“The Nightslayer will come,” Wilem said.  “I’ve sensed his return to the world.  Surely he will be able to do something.”

“He’ll be able to do much.  There’s no doubting that.  But will he do enough?”

“What do you mean?” Wilem asked, though he was sure he already knew.

“The Unnamed Prophecy,” Niela said.  “You know it as well as I do.  You know it mentions the darkness, and the return of the gods.  You know it speaks of the growing chaos we both feel, and how only the one who holds the Seven Points of Night can bring rein to it.  Is the Nightslayer the one who holds the Seven Points?”

“I don’t know,” Wilem said.

“Neither do I.  No one does.  No one even knows what the Seven Points of Night are.”  She was quiet for a time, then said, “Wilem, why haven’t we ever shared the Unnamed Prophecy with anyone?  Maybe, if we had, one of them could have given us the answers about its meaning.  Were we that afraid of admitting our own ignorance?”

“I don’t know, Niela,” Wilem said.  “The Unnamed Prophecy has always been the most unsettling piece of lore known to us, and not just because of our lack of understanding.  After all, its fulfillment could mean the end of the world.”

“Of all worlds,” Niela said.

“Yes.”

“Hold me, Wilem.”

Wilem pulled her in closer, and he felt her own embrace grow tighter in return.  Niela felt good in his arms, and he never wanted her anywhere else.  A sudden stab of anger passed through him.  Was this the gift the Gods Above had given him?  The chance to sleep with the woman of his dreams on the eve of his own death?  None of this is their fault, Wilem thought.  Not even if they actually exist.

“Are you all right?” Niela asked.

Wilem met her eyes with his.  “As long as you’re with me, I will be,” he said.

“I’ll never leave your side,” Niela said.  “Not if we die, tomorrow, or a hundred years from now.”

They kissed.  “Thank you for coming to my tent to share a drink with me,” Wilem said when their lips finally parted.

Niela smiled, her eyes once again twinkling.  “Thank you for letting me share the comfort of your bed.”

Wilem chuckled.  “It’s not a bed, silly woman,” he said.  “It’s a cot, and it’s not very comfortable at all.”

Niela giggled.  “Silly, am I?” she asked.

Wilem grinned.  “Only in the best possible way.”

They made love, again–to Wilem’s surprise, it was better the second time, even if they were confined to his less than comfortable cot–then fell asleep in each other’s arms.  Outside, the new day–such as it was–had dawned, and both of them knew that the battle would break soon.  Until it did, however, nothing mattered but the time they had, and in his sleep, Wilem smiled. 

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

 

Garrold had gathered the darkness around himself to keep from being seen. He knew this wouldn’t keep his magic from being detected – meaning that, even while he was hidden from sight, he could still wind up as a target for the Baron, or for one of his ever-growing number of magical lackeys – but it did give him the freedom to move among his own troops without disturbing them. Aside from the members of the King’s Guard who had defected to Garrold’s side the night he had proclaimed himself Magister, his army was a pretty ragtag bunch, but, based on what he saw, they had taken to what training they’d had in the last few weeks well, and Garrold had no doubt that, when the battle with the Baron finally broke, they would not fail him. That still meant that most of them were likely going to die, though, and for a man – and a cause – they, as yet, had little reason to believe in.

Oh, Garrold was certain the unnatural darkness that had fallen frightened them – it scared even him, and he was a mage – but was that darkness enough for them to believe Garrold was the right man to fight and die for? And what of the growing number of magic users Garrold sensed in the Baron’s ranks? Some of those, he was sure, were Twisted Eltarans like he’d faced, before, but what about the others? Where had they come from? And why hadn’t Garrold’s forces gotten more of their own? While Garrold was sure he could do much to hold back the magical torrent that was sure to come when battle broke – particularly with the help of the clerics and monks who had accompanied the army, here – he knew he couldn’t face it alone. Without at least another mage or two to back Garrold up, his army would be annihilated. Or worse, if one, or more, of the Demon Lords happened to show up. The Gods Above only knew what would happen, then.

Garrold came to a sudden halt. Three new magical presences – one of them familiar, yet far away – had entered his awareness. The two closest ones were right here in his camp, and, though he had never sensed them magically, before, Garrold even thought he knew who they might have been. He laughed at the thought – and then again when a group of soldiers standing near him jumped at the sound of laughter coming out of nowhere – then dashed toward where the presences were, his magic allowing him to cover the distance in a matter of seconds. When Garrold arrived at where Stevan, Robert, and Wilem stood, he had all but forgotten the cloak of darkness surrounding him. He remembered it very quickly, though, when Robert looked right at him, grinned, and said, “Evenin’, Your Grace! Burn your shoes in any fires on the way here?”

Garrold’s cloak of darkness – through no will of his own – suddenly collapsed. It was only after it was gone that he realized it had fallen due to what, had it come from an enemy, had been a magical attack. A magical attack from Robert! “Robert?” Garrold said. “How did you do that?”

“He’s a mage, Your Grace,” Stevan said, then conjured a fireball in the air above his hand. “And so am I. Your brother says I’m a Pyromancer.”

“Indeed,” Wilem said, his grin larger – if that was possible – than either Stevan’s or Robert’s. “And Robert’s a Farseer. Only the best disguises will work on him, and darkness is no obstacle, whatsoever.”

“Wilem says I can also do things with people’s minds,” Robert said. He looked at Garrold and frowned. “It must have been someone like me who wiped your memory.”

“Wiped my memory?” Garrold said. “What in Hel’s name are you talking about?”

“It’s all right, Your Grace,” Robert said, his frown deepening. He raised one of his hands. “I think I can restore it.”

“Robert!” Wilem said. “Stop! You don’t-”

Wilem’s warning came too late. All at once, intense pain – worse than he could ever remember feeling, before – filled Garrold’s skull. He couldn’t scream, though, or do anything else but stand there, his eyes bulging, his mouth hanging open, certain that, any second, his head would burst like a melon. Strangely, even as much in the grip of pain as he was, a part of Garrold’s mind was aware that, had he been paying better attention, he could have stopped whatever was happening. The consequences of stopping it might have been disastrous for Robert – in fact, Garrold was all but certain they would have been – but it could have been done. If I survive this, he thought, amazed that he could still think about anything other than the pain he was in, I have to start being more observant.

Abruptly, and without Garrold’s head bursting, the pain ended. Garrold still couldn’t move – he was still very much in the grip of whatever spell Robert was using – but the pain was gone, replaced, instead, by a sudden, uncontrollable rush of what Garrold slowly came to realize were memories. The memories would have driven him to his knees if he’d been able to move – how could he have ever forgotten Stevan and Robert, two of the finest, if still flawed, people Garrold had ever known? – and then the anger came. Anger at his father. At the mage who had been tasked to erase his memory – and who had, unknowingly, instilled in Garrold the inherent fear and distrust of magic he’d been forced to overcome in order to become Magister. Magic should never have been used on Garrold they way it had been, then, and, at that moment, Garrold resolved that it never would be, again. No longer could magic be used to alter someone’s mind – not even if that mind belonged to an enemy – without at least their knowledge, if not their expressed permission, as well.

The rush of memories began to slow, and Garrold felt Robert’s spell start to relax. He relaxed it more gradually than he had implemented it, and, as it faded, Garrold thought he could sense a bit of the other man’s chagrin at his impulsiveness. Using that same conduit, Garrold sent Robert a pulse of reassurance, and of gratitude. The smile that appeared on Robert’s face was all Garrold needed to know that the pulse had been received.

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

Garrold looked at him. “Not really,” he said, referring mainly to the anger he still felt at what had been done to him, and what Robert had been forced to undo. “But I’m getting better.”

“Do you remember us, now?” Stevan asked.

“I do,” Garrold said. “And I swear to both of you, I will never forget you, again.”

“That’s good,” Robert said. There was a touch of wry amusement in his voice. “I’m pretty sure a person’s mind can only stand so much scrambling and unscrambling, Your Grace. I’d hate to make you a vegetable by having to do that, again.”

Garrold chuckled. “So would I, Robert. So would I.” He looked at Wilem, again. “So, since it seems Stevan and Robert have specialized magical talents, I have to ask. Why don’t I?”

“That’s because you are an Archmage,” Wilem said. “You can do a little bit of what every other mage can do, and more, as your Spellbinding abilities have already shown. Archmages have always been very rare – not so much as Battlemages, but almost. If things hadn’t turned out the way they have, there is almost no doubt that, one day, you would have led the Conclave. Now, however, you will lead something greater.”

“Provided we survive the battle that’s coming.” Garrold looked at Robert and Stevan, then smiled, again. “Which, now that I know what you two can do, is a little more likely.”

“Haven’t you always known what we could do, though?” Robert asked.

“I didn’t for a long time.” Garrold grinned. “And, now, I know you can do more than drink like a fish and cheat at cards!”

Robert looked stricken. “Your Grace!” he said. “I never cheated!”

“Sure you didn’t, boyo,” Stevan said.

“Shut up, you!”

Garrold laughed. As he laughed, though, his thoughts turned to the other magical presence he’d felt, the one that was still so far way. He’d felt that presence, before, of course. It was Thaddeus, returned from wherever it was he’d disappeared to. Thaddeus was coming this way, and quickly, but Garrold still feared that the man who called himself the Nightslayer would not get here in time. And what if something waylaid him to make sure that he didn’t? Don’t let it keep you long, my friend. I fear my men and I will need you before all of this is over.