by D A Godwin
Do not judge me too harshly.
In response, she allowed her mind to brush tenderly against his. The wall that kept his past from her melted ever so slightly, and together they sank into memory.
Nowhere to Run
Tormjere stood silently on the rocky ridge, watching the Ceringions push their way up the side of the mountain towards him. There had not been a trail for Edward and Birion’s men to follow, but hundreds of feet had trampled leaves and broken branches to the point that a blind man could have followed them up the mountain. Behind him, the last of the survivors who had fled Tiridon following Actondel’s capitulation struggled down the opposite side. The treacherous terrain and steep descent had forced them to walk single file and had sent more than one horse plummeting to its death. The front of the column, led by Edward and Shalindra, was now at the bottom of the valley some two miles below. The tail of the column was only a quarter of the way down and would likely not finish their descent before dark.
They had no option but to press onward and hope the Ceringions tired of the chase. There were too many people to simply disappear into the woods and too few to stand their ground against what was coming.
The front of the Ceringion line came to a stop a hundred yards below Tormjere’s vantage point. Their trailbreakers had probably seen him—he wasn’t making any effort to hide.
They’re getting close.
There is a small river in the bottom of the valley. Edward is taking us to that outcropping on the far side. He thinks we will all fit.
I see it. It’s a good choice, but only defensible from two sides. We need to move faster.
The ridge on the far side of this valley looks lower than what we have already crossed over. If we can regroup near the river tonight, then make it over the next ridge tomorrow, we might—
A familiar sensation carried to him like a flash of heat from a fire, interrupting their thoughts. Tormjere’s attention shifted back to the Ceringions. He still couldn’t see anything through the trees, but that feeling was unmistakable.
Demon.
Here? I cannot get to you before it does. You must flee.
It will catch our tail if I do, and then we’ll be fighting it uphill.
He cast about for anything that might give him some advantage, but there was nothing about the terrain that would help against a creature that size. There might be a way for him to distract it or to gain control of…
He froze. Could it be that simple? Honarch had said that a summoning talisman and a name were all that was required to control a demon. He had no magical necklace, but there had to be a wizard nearby who did. As for the name…
I know what you intend, and it frightens me. Should it not work…
If it does, we’ll gain the time we need.
Trees snapped and toppled as the demon forced its way towards him at an unhurried pace, yet one that left the Ceringions around it running to keep up. It was difficult to get a clear view through the branches, but this creature was easily the equal of the largest demon they had faced. Those bits of the dull, reddish skin he could see were heavily muscled, and the rumble of its steps could be felt through the stone.
If you were to lead it down here, we might be able to—
There isn’t time. Just keep them moving.
He stepped into the middle of the pass and waited.
Demons were not the mindless creatures everyone assumed them to be. Whether the visions he had seen were memories from the demons he had killed or simply dreams, he knew that they could talk. He had also seen their cunning and travelled through a portal wrought by their magic—one that had taken him instantly from one end of the battlefield to the other. That required intelligence, and intelligent beings did not enjoy forced servitude.
He rested a hand on his sword, hoping that the name he had been given belonged to this creature. If either demon or Ceringions made it past him, there would be no escape for anyone below. It was so desperate an idea that it could not fairly be called a gamble, but it was all he had left.
Moments later the first Ceringions arrived and began warily encircling him. Tormjere ignored them as the distraction they were. His indifference to their actions gave them far more caution than if he had brandished his sword, and many glanced nervously about as if expecting some trick or ambush. He continued waiting until the demon broke through the trees.
This one was man-shaped yet nearly the size of the wolf creature they had faced atop the walls at Tiridon, towering over the soldiers. A thick, squarish head sat atop massive shoulders, and its chest was broad and deep. Coarse brown hair wrapped its waist like a loincloth, while legs as thick as a horse’s girth ended in dark hooves. It paused to evaluate the pass, then took a step towards him with a sneer.
“Greetings, Mataasrhu,” Tormjere said with a half bow.
The Ceringions stopped and looked at each other in astonishment, then burst out in laughter, unaware of the creature’s shocked reaction behind them.
An elegantly armored soldier with a plume in his helm strode to the front. “If you believe this creature can speak, it explains why you’re foolish enough to think a mountain would stop us.” He raised his sword. “For the amusement you have given me, I shall offer you one chance to surrender.”
The soldiers crowded eagerly closer. The demon’s massive hands clenched into fists, and it glared at Tormjere with hatred as it took a step closer.
Tormjere kept his eyes locked on the creature. “It must be difficult having to obey two masters.”
Mataasrhu’s advance paused once more.
“Between this wizard who treats you like a slave and the other demon who forced you to—”
“Enough!” Mataasrhu commanded, his deep voice echoing in the deathly quiet that settled over the pass. He stepped closer, ignoring the Ceringion soldiers as they scrambled aside. “I do not know how you came to this knowledge, but it is forbidden to speak of it.”
“What do I have to fear by speaking truth?”
“Your abilities are feeble. Do you think to contest against the one who binds me?” He bent down, close enough that Tormjere could feel his breath. “Do you think,” he said slowly, biting off each word, “you can control me?”
It was all Tormjere could do to keep from drawing his sword. “Why would I want to do that?”
“There is no reason but to disrupt my master’s influence over me,” the demon said with a contemptuous toss of its head. “And you are making a poor attempt.”
Mataasrhu was correct in that observation, and Tormjere’s mind churned as he sought any solution that did not involve fighting everyone around him. Perhaps he could divert the creature’s attention.
Tormjere waved at the still speechless Ceringion soldiers. “You know that your friends here will lose, as have all the others. They have no power.”
“They have already heard too much and will spread that knowledge to those with greater talent.”
Tormjere’s lip curled into a humorless grin. “You could prevent that easily enough.”
The Ceringions, still uncertain as to what was happening, began to back away as Mataasrhu’s gaze shifted to them. Those at the back turned to flee, but there was no escape. The demon’s claws tore men in two, and his immense hooves stomped and ground others messily into the stone. Mataasrhu was thorough.
Once satisfied that there was no one left alive, Mataasrhu stalked back to Tormjere.
“You toy with forces you cannot comprehend, and doing so has delayed your fate by only a little. Where is your shield maiden?”
“Oh, cooking, cleaning, whatever it is women do.”
Mataasrhu snorted dismissively, sending a blast of hot, sulfurous air towards Tormjere. “You are attempting to stall.”
“I’m attempting to achieve a favorable outcome for us both. Why speak to me if you did not want the same?”
“What I want matters little. What you want matters not at all.” Mataasrhu took a step closer.
“We both want to be
free of the one who has imprisoned you.”
“An arrogant presumption on your part, but…” Mataasrhu paused. “He is aware that something is amiss, and approaches with haste.”
“Then time is short.” Tormjere drew his sword. “Help me kill him, and I will free you to return to your home.”
The demon’s voice dropped to a hiss. “I am forbidden to move against him, as you are aware.”
“Why? Others of your kind have.”
It was a half-truth mixed with an assumption, as he had observed only one demon even remotely contest its master’s control, but Mataasrhu reared back in anger and surprise.
“Just take care of any soldiers he brings with him,” Tormjere said, wondering what part of his statement had caused such a strong reaction. “I will kill the wizard for you.”
A calculating look came over the demon’s face, followed by a satisfied nod of his head. That left Tormjere unsure as to which of them was being used the most by the other.
“It is bargained,” Mataasrhu whispered.
The thud of boots running up the side of the mountain heralded the arrival of more soldiers. Their commander shouted an order, and they came to an abrupt halt as they looked upon the carnage surrounding Mataasrhu. Another command sent them fanning out to block the narrow pass, unknowingly leaving their backs to Tormjere.
A dark-robed wizard pushed his way forward, and his eyes narrowed as they focused on the demon.
“What happened here?” the wizard demanded.
Mataasrhu shook his head sullenly.
“You will show me,” the wizard said forcefully, mouthing an incantation as he took hold of the cage-like pendant that dangled from around his neck.
Mataasrhu did not wait for the wizard to finish. As promised, the demon sprang at the unsuspecting soldiers. The Ceringions were as woefully unprepared to face his wrath as their dead comrades, and fared no better.
The wizard, however, was not taken by surprise. As the unprepared soldiers were savaged by the demon he raised a hand, and energies pulsed on his fingertips. With a flick he sent them lancing into Mataasrhu. The demon flinched, but did not slow his attack, grabbing two soldiers and smashing them together.
Tormjere rushed from his hiding place as the wizard drew back for another strike. Too late, the magician realized the danger, and whatever defense he might have conjured was cut short by Tormjere’s sword slicing across his back.
Tormjere snatched the necklace from the sorcerer even as he lay gurgling his final breaths. The sight of it filled him with satisfaction. More than just killing an enemy, the man’s death had stolen away a demon.
Mataasrhu disposed of the final soldier and rushed towards him, then stopped short, his chest expanding as he drew a deep breath. Tormjere let his perception shift and saw the demon absorb the lingering flickers of power that rose from the dying wizard. It was a discovery that was both surprising and somehow familiar. He had little time to wonder at it, as he stood alone with the demon once more.
“It was bargained. Give it to me,” Mataasrhu demanded.
Tormjere looked at the pendant in his hand. It was a victory, but what he needed was a way to strike at the Conclave directly. To hurt them enough that they would be left alone. “I have a question.”
“How dare you renege!” Mataasrhu bellowed. “You are a liar and a coward, and I will roast your bones on a spit for eons!”
Tormjere sighed to mask his relief that the creature did not immediately carry through on his threats. “I am none of those things, and if you would cease frothing at the mouth for a moment and listen—”
“You may not bargain again with one unfulfilled! Give it to me, or I shall end you regardless of the consequences!”
“I do not offer you another bargain!” Tormjere shouted, holding out the necklace. “I offer you a choice. If you have indeed satisfied your thirst for vengeance then you may have this now. You will depart in freedom, as we agreed.”
Mataasrhu grasped for it, then stopped. “Or?”
“Take me to the Conclave, and we shall both have revenge for what has been done to us.”
“The cursed wizards are everywhere. You may as well ask to be taken to the stars.”
“Then to their seat of power.”
Mataasrhu’s fists clenched. He began to speak, then held his tongue as an altogether too satisfied look came over his face.
Tormjere considered that the demon was giving in far too quickly to his demands, but he was beyond the point their course could be altered. He felt Shalindra’s awareness press into his mind, forcing her way past the blocks he had erected.
Do not!
There’s no other way. Trust Honarch. I’ll find you.
“Very well,” Mataasrhu agreed. “I shall take you to where they are strongest.” He gestured, and a swirling void of blackish mist appeared beside him. “Know that your fate is not my concern. I will have what is promised, and in exchange—”
Tormjere dashed into the mists before the demon could finish.
Mataasrhu threw back his head and sent a bellow of rage echoing through the mountains. Tormjere did not slow, sprinting through the darkened, mist-wrapped tunnel towards the light in front of him. He emerged ready for anything, but found himself alone in a circular room without windows.
Bookshelves lined the walls, and tables covered with glass bottles and other assorted implements. The floor surrounding him was inscribed with symbols and circles, but the candles about the circumference were unlit.
Mataasrhu shuffled from the mists beside him, hunched over to keep from banging his head even though the ceiling was more than double a normal height.
“Where are we?” Tormjere asked.
“The tower of my former master,” Mataasrhu replied as he held his clawed fingers uncomfortably close to Tormjere’s face.
Tormjere dropped the necklace into the demon’s palm, unwilling to push his luck any further. Mataasrhu squeezed his powerful hand around it, shattering the device. Tendrils of black mist leaked from between his fingers and shrieked angrily as they shot throughout the room before dissipating.
“For that favor, you have earned my temporary benevolence,” Mataasrhu said. “What do you now intend?”
Tormjere grinned without humor. “I’m going to make a mess. Enjoy taking your vengeance.”
Mataasrhu’s grin was unsettling in how closely it matched his own. The demon gathered his legs beneath him, then thrust himself upwards. The ceiling exploded in a cloud of dust and shattered stone as he forced his way through the hole. There were cries of terror from above.
Tormjere ran from the room. His desired direction had been up as well, but he considered it ill-advised to follow a vengeful demon. With a muttered curse he rushed down the stairs.
If he was in a tower, it must have been massive, for the steps that wound around its circumference were easily three paces across and curved gently. He flew down them two at a time, searching for the wizards that should be here. He tried the first door but found it locked tight, as was the next. Tormjere was preparing to force his way inside when a pair of wizards came hustling up the stairs. They stopped when they saw him, and one raised a threatening hand that crackled and swirled with fire.
“Demon!” Tormjere shouted in what he hoped was wild-eyed panic. “Demon on the loose!”
The wizard lowered his hand and looked at him as if he was deranged. “Calm yourself, and remember the protocol. Now stand aside and allow us to deal with it.”
Tormjere flattened himself against the wall as the wizards hurried past. His sword took them both from behind before they had gone two steps.
He turned to leave, then stopped and allowed his vision to shift. Flickers of energy rose from the bodies, just as they had with the demons he had slain. He hesitated, unsure if it was wise to consume such powers from his own species, then took the gamble and drew the embers towards himself. They proved as uncomfortable to swallow as those of any demon he had taken, but rather than burn in h
is stomach they set his head throbbing with equal intensity. The tower shuddered under some mighty impact from above, reminding him that he had to hurry. He shook his head clear before continuing down the stairs.
He managed only a short distance further before encountering a wall of shimmering energy blocking his way from floor to ceiling. Beyond the distorted field the stairwell was crammed full of armed men. Spying the blood on his naked blade, they shouted demands and beat helplessly against the barrier.
With that direction blocked, Tormjere turned and charged back up the steps, jumping over the bodies of the two wizards. An explosion rocked the tower, then another. Somewhere above him Mataasrhu roared in pain.
He was running out of time and had accomplished nothing beyond the death of two wizards. If there was to be any opportunity to salvage this insane gambit, he would have to create it himself. He put his shoulder to the next locked door he encountered and forced his way through into a room filled with row upon row of bookshelves.
He immediately dove to the side as a bolt of energy sizzled past to explode against the wall behind him, sending chunks of masonry flying. Before he could regain his feet, a glowing serpent came slithering around the end of a bookshelf and launched itself at him. The impact bowled him over, but he caught it by the neck with its fangs only a finger’s span from his face. It coiled tight around his arm and began to squeeze.
He drew his sword across its neck, and it dissolved into greenish smoke. Without rising, Tormjere kicked the closest bookshelf hard with both legs, sending it and the dozens of books upon it crashing over onto the next. Somewhere in the deafening racket of collapsing bookshelves came a sharp cry of pain, and Tormjere hurdled the fallen shelves to find a wizard pinned to the floor.
His sword cleaved the wizard’s head off before the man could muster a defense, and Tormjere absorbed his energies without hesitation this time.
Seeing no other exit, he turned for the door, but the sight of all the books was simply too much of a temptation. He grabbed the first sack he could find and shoved a pair of books into it. Surprisingly, the bag did not feel any heavier or appear larger. There was no time for amazement. He stuffed a few more books into it, then stowed it inside his shirt and hurried back up the steps. None of this was working as he had envisioned it. He needed to find a way out.