Blackest Spells

by Phipps, C. T.

  “Fuck the bastard!” swore Tyrone . “Eberlan!”

  “Who’s Eberlan?” said Aron.

  “The shorter man there, “ said Tyrone. “He’s Duke Falis’ cousin. He tried to overthrow Falis fifteen years back. The revolt was broken, but Eberlan got away. I think the big bearded man in white with the golden belt is Arathaxis, the death cult high priest. He matches the description I’ve heard. He’s under a death sentence from the High King.”

  “There must be two hundred of them,” said Colam.

  Aron spat a whispered curse in reply. “Well done, Master Alberic.”

  They retreated to the bottom of the hill where they had left the ponies.

  “Does anyone have any ideas?” said Tyrone.

  “The white markings on the rock before the cave look like a conjuring circle,” said Aron. “I fear they have seized Ghislaine as an offering.”

  “They’re going to sacrifice her?” gasped Colam, clenching his fists. “Why?”

  “Because that’s how you bind a demon,” said Aron.

  “Can you really do that?” said Nicoll.

  “I’m afraid so,” said Aron. “You summon a demon, offer it a sacrifice and if it accepts it, then it is bound to serve you.”

  “Why her?” said Colam.

  “Who knows?” said Aron. “I’ve heard it said the stronger demons can be very specific in what they will accept. Perhaps there’s something about her that fits the requirement.”

  “How can we fight a demon?” asked Brin.

  “We can’t without a couple of strong wizards,” said Aron.

  “With two hundred men and a bound demon there’s nothing to stop them between here and the Holy City,” said Tyrone. “They’ll overrun Laranda in no time.”

  “What are we to do then?” said Colam, his voice breaking. “We can’t just leave her.”

  “I can take down that priest anytime you want,” said Brin.

  “How many arrows do you have with you?” asked Tyrone.

  “Twenty five,” replied the archer.

  “Then that would leave us with at least one hundred and seventy five enemies between us and Ghislaine. I do not like those odds,” said Tyrone grimly. “But we cannot return without her. I could not face Theodis.”

  There was silence for a while as they all considered the situation. Then Aron spoke. “We have rope do we not? Brin, you have spare bowstrings.” Brin nodded.

  “What’s your idea Aron?” asked Tyrone.

  “The timing is all important, but I think we can cause enough distraction to give us a chance to rescue Ghislaine. I’m guessing that they will wait for moonrise before beginning whatever their ritual is. It’s a full moon tonight.”

  “Then we have while to wait,” said Tyrone. “What are we to do?”

  “My poor Ghislaine,” whispered Colam. “I cannot live if we don’t rescue her.” Nicoll and Tyrone shared a knowing glance at these words.

  They filled all the waterskins they had brought, lugged them up to the top of the hill and made ready as the dusk deepened into night then sat down to wait for the moon.

  Far into the night, the cultists fired the stack of wood which roared up to a fine blaze sending leaping shadows through the little valley. The rescuers then got their first sight of Ghislaine as she was dragged cursing and screaming from the cave and tied to the stake a few paces from the fire. She was attired in a long flowing white gown secured with a silver belt and her hair fell loose about her shoulders. Her screams were drowned by the voices of the cultists chanting in unison as the full moon rose through a gap in the hills then Arathaxis stepped forward from the cave to begin his ritual. Tyrone, Colam and Nicoll each silently embraced Aron and Brin before they slipped away down into the valley to get into position.

  Aron watched from the hill as Arathaxis stepped forward to the edge of the chalk circle and raised his hands. His followers stopped their chant and even Ghislaine fell silent. He threw a handful of powder into the fire which burst into blinding white flame for a moment and then he began to declaim in a harsh tongue that Aron did not recognise. The breeze dropped and the air in the valley grew very still as if everything was holding its breath. The knot of tension in Aron’s stomach tightened even further.

  At first Aron thought it was a trick of the firelight, a twist of smoke caught in an eddy perhaps, but as he watched something began to take shape within the circle. Ghislaine saw it too and screamed again, but her shrill cries made no difference to the priest who carried on the spell without faltering.

  “Iduna, help me,” whispered Aron, even though no-one would have heard him at this distance. “Guide our hands tonight.”

  In the circle the twist of smoke thickened and began to glow orange-red like the heart of the fire. The glow expanded until it filled the cylinder defined by the drawn circle, then it darkened abruptly as if something had stepped into the light. The priest opened his arms wide in welcome, and his congregation let out an awed sigh of triumph as a huge figure materialised. Three times the height of the priest, it stood within the confines of the circle, its skin glowing as if it burned from within with the fires of its home. From within the great horned skull red eyes fixed upon Arathaxis as its lips drew back in a snarl of greeting and a forked tongue flicked out to taste the air. Its impressively muscled body writhed as it sought to burst the spells that bound it to Arathaxis’ will.

  “Now, Brin,” called Aron.

  Aron cut the restraining ropes and with a creak and rustle of leaves, the tied-back saplings launched the waterskins into the night sky. Brin’s longbow sang softly as he sent his first arrow on its way.

  From their position in the bushes beyond the firelight, Tyrone, Colam and Nicoll had a good view of the events. Firstly Brin’s arrow took the priest in the centre of his broad chest; moments later the waterskins landed on the area between the fire and the circle. The skins burst on impact spilling water across the stone, some splashed into the fire, hissing away instantly into steam. More flowed into the circle, washing away the chalk line and wetting the clawed feet of the demon. A gasp of dismay rose from the cultists.

  The moment the circle was broken the demon was free. With a howl of triumph it surged forward, seizing the stricken Arathaxis as he stood transfixed by Brin’s arrow. One great arm lifted him from his feet and delivered him to the beast’s many-fanged mouth. Tyrone, Colam and Nicoll watched in horror as the demon flourished the headless body at the crowd then bounded forward howling and slavering. The cultists broke and ran in panic, scattering into the night. The demon gave chase, splattering Tyrone, Colam and Nicoll with the Arathaxis’ blood as it passed by their hiding place.

  Ghislaine had fainted in terror. Tyrone’s battle-axe made short work of the ropes that bound her to the stake. Colam lifted her free of her bonds and carried her to the mouth of the cave where he cradled her limp body in his arms sobbing her name over and over.

  Up on the hill, Aron and Brin watched the chaos unfold as the cultists fled from the demon. Most headed down the valley but a handful started to climb the hill. Brin picked them off and Aron did not even need to draw his sword. The demon stormed off down the valley in pursuit of the cultists and, as the noise faded into the distance, Aron relaxed.

  “I think it’s safe to rejoin the others now,” Aron said. Brin grunted his assent and they began to pick their way down the hill. The cultists’ fire had burnt down and, in the depths of the valley hidden from the moon, the night was now very dark. The sharp thorns exacted a high price from Aron and Brin for their passage through the dense undergrowth.

  Tyrone met them at the stream.

  “How is Ghislaine?” asked Aron.

  “Tearful and very shaken,” said Tyrone. “She’ll survive, and time will blur the horror of it. Colam is sitting with her.”

  “Is she fit to be moved?” asked Aron.

  “She is. I think we should get away from here in case the cultists come back,” said Tyrone looking around. “Or the demon.” As he spoke
the silence of the night was broken by a huge roar and the ground shook as if pounded by a gigantic hammer.

  “Too late,” shouted Tyrone. “Into the cave.”

  They scrambled up to the cave as a dark-robed man burst through the undergrowth pursued by the demon. Halfway up the slope the beast caught the cultist, casually scooping him up with one paw before ripping his head off with the other.

  “What’s happening?” squeaked Ghislaine, looking up from Colam’s embrace.

  “Get as far into the cave as you can go,” ordered Tyrone. “The demon’s back.”

  Colam picked up Ghislaine and carried her into the dark interior followed swiftly by Nicoll, Aron and Brin. There was another bellow, much louder than the first, and Tyrone scrambled into the cave.

  “It’s right outside,” he gasped. Then, with a dreadful snarl, the demon filled the entrance of the cave. It stretched out a huge arm and reached for Tyrone with a clawed paw that carved grooves in the rock floor of the cave as Tyrone leapt back. The demon screeched in frustration as the narrow entrance prevented it reaching its prey who cowered as far back as possible, gagging as the demon’s foul breath washed over them. Brin’s bow sang as he loosed arrow after arrow at the beast, each one finding its target, but seeming only to provoke it more. The demon threw itself at the rocks around the entrance, dust and pebbles fell from the roof but the rocks held.

  “What do we do now?” gasped Nicoll.

  “Pray, if you have a god,” said Aron. “And wait for dawn. Some demons can’t stand sunlight.”

  “Is there any chance it’ll just of this and go away?” said Nicoll.

  “Not really,” replied Aron. “Without that priest’s control, it’s simply a random destroyer. It doesn’t possess the intelligence to get bored. It’ll attack anything that catches its attention.”

  “So that’s why it didn’t attack Ghislaine, she wasn’t moving,” said Tyrone. “How do you come to know so much of demons?”

  “Mastery of weapons isn’t the only thing taught at the Academy,” replied Aron.

  They huddled together for warmth in the darkness with the beast’s claws relentlessly seeking them. After a while no-one seemed to have anything to say, so they sat in silence; each busy with their own thoughts or prayers. Some may have slept, Aron did not.

  Grey morning light showed around the massive form of the demon as it continued sweeping its claws across the rocky floor an arm’s length short of the prisoners. Aron watched the sky behind the demon lighten in hope, but the demon stayed right where it was completely focused on its prey; dawn brought no change. The only thing that had changed was that they now had enough light to see the walls of their prison.

  “Like a cat before a mouse hole,” said Aron. “It has fed too well here to return to its own world yet.”

  “And we’re as helpless as mice,” replied Tyrone. “There’s no way we can fight this thing is there? Yet we can’t let it run loose to ravage to countryside.” He turned to the others. One by one they shrugged and shook their heads.

  At the far end of the deep cave, where the roof descended to less than waist high, the wan light revealed a cleft with a rough blanket stretched over a rough wooden frame.

  “What’s behind that screen?” asked Nicoll.

  “I don’t know, but there’s a draught that comes through there sometimes,” said Ghislaine. “That’s why they put the screen up; to keep them warm.”

  “That sounds promising,” said Tyrone. “Tear it down and let’s see if there’s a way out through there.”

  Colam and Nicoll pulled down the screen revealing a narrow passage. Nicoll threw the screen at the demon which seized it eagerly. It bit into the wood and old cloth and then screamed in frustration. Colam crawled forward into the narrow space. “I can feel a breeze on my face,” he called back over his shoulder. For a short while the others could discern the sounds of Colam’s progress over the noise of the demon but, after that, they sat in a huddle watching the demon, silently praying Colam hadn’t got stuck in some narrow place.

  A nailbiting eternity later a rattle of stones announced Colam’s return. He scrambled into view, face scratched and hair full of dust.

  “There’s a way out,” he called, as he crawled the last few feet to them. “It comes out on the top of the hill. It’s narrow, but passable.”

  “Right, let’s get out of here. You lead Colam. Nicoll, you look after Ghislaine,” ordered Tyrone.

  “But,” said Colam.

  Tyrone cut him off in mid complaint. “Colam. Go. You know the way.”

  “What about that?” Aron pointed at the demon which still clawed the cave floor in vain attempts to reach them. “What’s to stop it coming after us once we’re outside?”

  “We’ll be far enough away that it won’t see us,” said Colam. “It comes out right on top of the hill.”

  “That’s not certain,” said Tyrone. “And it leaves the demon loose in the countryside.”

  “The slope above the cave has got plenty of loose rocks,” said Colam. “It’ll be easy to start a landslide. We can wall the thing up in here.”

  “That should do,” said Tyrone. “But we have to keep it by the cave entrance while we get out.”

  “Then someone has to stay here to keep its attention until we can bring the rocks down,” said Aron.

  “But they may get trapped,” said Nicoll.

  “I know,” said Aron.

  One by one, the others slipped past Aron down the passageway. Each one stopped for a moment as they came by him. Tyrone grasped his hand firmly. “See you up top, lad,” he said gruffly. Colam and Nicoll took his hand similarly and wished him the Gods’ protection, Brin embraced him and said something in the hillmen’s tongue that Aron took to be a blessing. Ghislaine kissed him and then snuffled tears down his neck before Nicoll took her hand and led her after Colam

  The demon still scrabbled its claws mindlessly on the cave floor and walls trying to grasp the man who sat just beyond its reach. Aron needed to keep in its sight so could not retreat to the back of the cave. He had faced danger and death many times before, but always the outcome had turned upon his own resources. Whether facing a swordsman in single combat, or climbing a sheer rockface, his fate was in his hands; sitting shivering in a cold gloomy cave waiting for the roof to fall in tested his nerves in an utterly different way. Cold fingers of fear gripped his stomach and refused to be dislodged as he thought about how much damage the rockslide would do. Would bring down the roof of the cave? Would he be able to get out, or would he share his last hours with an entombed demon?

  Rather than dwell on his situation, Aron focused on keeping the demon within the cave mouth where the rockslide would trap it. To hold its interest he cut at its paws with his sword from time to time. This caused no more damage than Brin’s arrows, but kept the demon’s attention.

  Aron felt the rockslide before he heard it. The rock trembled around him and the demon howled in response; the rumble drowned the howl and ended in a crashing roar. Then there was silence broken by a couple of small stone slides. Dust filled the cave but the roof held. Aron whispered a prayer of thanks to Iduna as he fumbled with his flint and steel to light the makeshift torch he’d prepared. As the torch lit, the demon burst out in an ear-splitting fury and attacked the rocks that imprisoned it against the cave mouth. Aron crawled away down the passageway, which appeared undamaged, and breathed a sigh of relief as he began to climb up into the hill leaving the trapped beast to its fate.

  “So what’ll happen to it?” asked Ghislaine. She’d been the first to hug Aron when he emerged from the cavern, and now walked beside him as they found their way back to where they had left the ponies, Colam just a step behind her.

  “When it weakens it’ll dematerialise and return to wherever it came from,” said Aron.

  “Are you sure it can’t get out?” Ghislaine said, turning to look back .

  “Who knows what a demon can do, but I think we’ve walled it up pretty good,” said
Colam. “Once we reach the ponies we’ll get you right away.”

  “What do you suppose happened to all those men?” asked Ghislaine.

  “Scattered to the four winds and still running,” laughed Aron. “Those that the demon didn’t catch. I hope they didn’t find our ponies, or we’ve a long walk ahead of us.”

  “I hope the demon ate every last one of them,” said Ghislaine fiercely.

  They saw no sign of the cultists as they made their way back over the hill to the ponies. Aron presumed that they had all taken the fastest route away from the demon up the valley, which made it easy for the beast to hunt them down. The ponies were in the thicket where they had left them and, after they had been fed and watered, the party loaded up and rode out.

  The sun was sinking into the west as they left the hills behind. Nicoll lead the small procession as they rode in single file. No-one talked much as they rode along, each tired and busy with their thoughts of the days’ happenings. There was one thing that still stirred Aron’s curiosity; he moved his pony forward past Colam to ride beside Ghislaine.

  “Have you any idea why they picked you out?” Aron asked Ghislaine. “Did they say anything that would give us some clue?”

  “It was my hair,” said Ghislaine. “They said they took me because I was the first girl they saw with red hair.”

  Colam reached over and lifted up her heavy tresses, pointing to the blonde roots and laughed. “I’ll wager that’ll be the last time you dye it red.”

  “I thought you liked redheads,” said Ghislaine with a toss of her locks. “I know Nicoll does.”

  The Loincloth Massacre

  By Christopher Keene

  Kessler breathed in the bitter air and imagined the symbol for enhanced sight. His vision changed so he could see every detail of the city of Tyria spread out below him, allowing him to survey the dark, mortared towers looming over thatched slums. Squat buildings were crammed between towers tall enough that the splash from an emptied chamber pot could still hit the bottom windows. It was a fly-ridden corpse of a city, dead but not yet buried.