A Manifold of Bindings (The Scrolls of Azbel Book 2)

by John Mangold

  A Manifold of Bindings

  Copyright © 2021 J.B. Mangold

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

  Cover art and title page by Biserka Design

  This book is dedicated to my father, who made me who I am today. He was the constant, grounded rock in the storm, ever my most trusted council. Although it often went unspoken, I never need doubt his love. I will miss you, Dad, but I know you will stay with me, in my heart.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Acolyte

  A Rude Awakening

  Solace in the Storm

  Kindred Spirit

  A Ravenous Oddity

  A Minor Inquisition

  A Disturbing Visitation

  A Fantastic Trespass

  Revelations

  The Shadowy Path Ahead

  Traveling the Rails

  A Change of Conveyance

  Perceived Theft

  A Mortog on Two Feet

  A Parley of Souls

  A Musical Escape

  Reunion Interrupted

  Taelir

  To Heal and Create

  Salvation Arrives

  Awkward Transitions

  A Meeting of Minds

  A Royal Welcome

  Fire and Gorgons

  Masters and Servants

  Assistance from Beyond

  Cruentus

  Death’s Spectacle

  Macabre Ambassador

  A Moment to Practice

  Infiltration

  An Escape Interrupted

  Betrayal Revealed

  Well Matched Foes

  Command Appearance

  Interrogating the Dead

  Negotiating a Course Forward

  Death’s Tear

  Epilogue

  PROLOGUE

  Dark clouds swarmed the night sky over the river town of Estel, smothering the moons and stars in the span of a breath, an odd scene for this time of year. Alas, there were few awake to witness the unnatural phenomena at this late hour of the night. The only sound echoing through the empty streets and alleyways was the sharp crunch of stones under armored feet. In the stillness of the night, their grinding echoed loudly off limestone walls, marking the passage of a loathsome figure as he strolled towards the center of town. The tattered robes draped about him spoke of grandeur long past, as though they might once have befitted a noble or a king, yet ages of lackluster care had worn them to the state of rags.

  Yet, just as the one-time origins of the stranger's dress might inspire curiosity, his visage inspired revulsion. His gold helm was fashioned to the likeness of a handsome angel from the cheeks up, masterfully crafted with a silver halo hovering over wondrously replicated hair. However, where the mask ended, mutilated flesh began. His skin, which seemed to be stretched across his face and neck like leather, had a cadaverous look about it, his nose atrophied down to the bone. Ulcerous lips curled back to reveal hideous teeth that had no place in a human skull, creating a smile that could instill fear in the dead.

  To either side of this being known to a few as Izzagu, strode two men who seemed as ill-favored as their Master. One, a large brutish lout, wore armor that was crafted for a much smaller man. The other, a wiry soul, wore a military uniform that appeared better suited to another time and place. Both had their arms bare to the shoulders revealing the most amazing tattoos, designs so intricate that human hands could never have traced them. What's more, these tattoos slowly writhed like snakes on their bearer's skins, displaying a life of their own. Both had rags bound tightly around their eyes to blind them completely. However, even with this impediment placed upon them, neither one missed a single step as they accompanied their leader on his mission.

  As they reached the center of Estel, they entered a large town square lined on all sides with oil-burning lanterns. At the center stood a magnificent statue of the town's founder, 'Horatio Figeroa,' heroically posed, holding a lantern forth to guide the way. As Izzagu approached, the lantern's flame changed from a cheery red to a brilliant blue. With each step he made closer, the fire within grew in intensity, quickly filling its small glass chamber. It burned hotter and hotter until the glass cracked from the intense internal pressures, and the metal framing bowed outwards.

  With a thunderous explosion, the lantern's structure finally succumbed to the immense pressure building within, spewing blue flame high into the air like a fountain. As the spout reached its peak, it split to rain goblets of nether born plasma that arced, falling to the courtyard below. As each massive drop fell, it shifted in form, taking on a humanoid appearance. By the time they neared the ground, they had become angels wrought in fire, crowned with flowing hair of flame. Each tucked and tumbled, gaining their feet, but a pulse after flame met stone. Their attention immediately turned to the center of their crude ring, all blazing eyes upon Izzagu.

  An armored gauntlet extended from the tattered robes, pointing to the sky and then arcing around to complete a broad circle above his head. Izzagu then lowered his arm to make a slow, deliberate slashing motion across his own neck. A nod from their Master was all the flame golems needed to set Izzagu's implied orders into motion. In the span of a breath, they were gone, sprinting towards the town's borders, each in a different direction. They moved with such blinding speed that blinking an eye would have masked their passing. Only thin lines of mystic flame burning on the cobblestone streets betrayed the paths they had trod.

  As each approached the outermost ring of buildings, they selected their first victim. With the lightest bound, they sprang into the air in near unison movement, spiraling in their flight with such grace as to make the most studied acrobat green with envy. When they struck their targeted building, their bodies dissolved into the walls, like a diver piercing the surface of a lake. Massive waves of blue flame splashed from their point of impact like water, washing over the entire face of the wall. In an instant, the buildings were engulfed. Anyone within had no hope of escape. Thatch, wood, and flesh were consumed before a hand could be lifted to aid the trapped.

  With the first building engulfed, the golem's bodies reformed once more on the crumbling peaks, dancing across them with depraved grace and joy. As they reached the ends of the inferno, they dove, tumbling down to splash into the wall of the neighboring building. In this manner, they proceeded, one by one, to engulf each home or store until the whole of the town was surrounded by a sorcerous wall of fire. All within the struck buildings were beyond aid. Those who awoke to the terrifying spectacle soon found themselves just as trapped behind the newly formed inferno barrier. As the certainty of their doom began to set in, the town populace could not help but wonder if the dead were the fortunate ones.

  In the center of town, Izzagu stood bemused as the local guards rushed to surround his odd party. One, who the soldiery called Captain Sutton, valiantly rallied his troops into combat formations. Musketeers took a knee, aligning their aim as swordsmen fell into ranks behind them. Izzagu could not help but nod in approval. With all the chaos breaking loose around them, these mere mortals showed the calm composure of gods. It seemed a shame to shatter the illusion, but there was still so
much more work to complete this night. Izzagu slowly bowed his head. His two companions perceived his order even behind blinded eyes, responding without question.

  The thin, wiry one looked slowly about, as though he could see each soldier and citizen forming the ring about the small group despite the rag across his eyes. A rogue hound, driven mad with panic, scurried through the crowd. With a sudden lunge, the stranger was upon it, grasping about its neck in a fierce headlock. The tattoos on his arms began to squirm wildly like serpents, overflowing brightly with an ominous green glow. Though the blinded man made no apparent attempt to hurt the animal, the dog yowled with terrible pain before it fell to the ground, never to rise again.

  As the stranger straightened up, his form began to change. Thick black hair flowed across the surface of his skin, covering him in a full, dark coat. His ears elongated to sharp points, and his face narrowed to form a great snout. With a fearsome growl, his lips curled back to reveal a hideous array of serrated fangs. The fingers of each hand split at the tips as long talons sprang forth from the bone beneath, far crueler than any hound had ever possessed. Before any could react, the stranger used his newly reformed legs to leap high into the air above the crowd. Some of the musketeers made to shoot, but his movements were like a blur, easily avoiding their shots. In a pulse, he landed amongst the crowd, setting upon all within reach with horrific accuracy despite the blind still affixed across his eyes. Tortured screams split the air as victims began to fall.

  With a thunderous command, Sutton directed the remaining guards to turn their attentions back to the lead villain standing in the center of the square. Surely, this fiend had to be the cause of this devilry. If he fell, the rest would follow him down. They had to; it was the town's only hope. Directing his saber, Sutton gave the order to ready their arms. The Musketeers moved obediently to follow his commands through, despite the growing terror so evident in their eyes. As the Captain opened his mouth to give the order to fire, his words stuck in his throat.

  The massive brute had surged suddenly forward, grasping the iron statue of Figeroa as though for support. Like his vile partner, his tattoos began to squirm and glow. To the horror of all who watched, the surface of the ironwork appeared to flow willingly into his skin. The cloth of his garments and blind were utterly untouched. However, the ill-fitted armor began to liquefy, bonding itself to his changing form as though an unseen armorer remolded the metal to the brute's body. Within a short moment, the statue's iron had covered him entirely, so that man and metal were one. The tattoos on his arms, once ink on skin, were now skillfully worked into his iron hide, losing none of their incredible intricacies.

  The transformation complete; the giant beast pulled his hand free from the statue with the screech of tortured iron. Turning his still blinded eyes to confront the defending troops, he opened his mouth in a silent scream. The horrible blue flame that had once burned so brightly in the statue's uplifted torch now spewed from his metal wrought lips, engulfing the front rank of troops. Those struck were but charred bones and scorched armor before they hit the ground, Captain Sutton among the first to fall. Those that remained needed no further orders to act. A full volley of shot struck the iron clad fiend solidly in the chest. But it had all the effect of raindrops on a hot stove, the bullets issuing hisses and sparks as they struck his impenetrable hide. With that, the composure of the troop's ranks dissolved utterly. All hope was lost in a mad dash as soldiers and civilians alike made for the only possible sanctuary left to them, the river Aragina.

  Izzagu let forth an evil peel of laughter as he slowly followed in the dissolving mobs' wake. They dared not run past him, but it would have done them little good if they had. All the structures behind him were now fully ablaze. Those who chose such a route would have met a fiery end at the hands of his fire golems, dancing and multiplying with each new blaze. There was no escape, a fact these poor fools were only beginning to realize.

  Izzagu raised his hand into the air, and the storm clouds above answered. A single finger of lightning struck down to caress his uplifted palm. For a moment, Izzagu stood stark still, his robes flared up around him by the force of nature's raw power. Izzagu's form was silhouetted by the lightning's brilliance like some Hade's born angel, his silver Halo wreathing his head with a blinding glow. As his robes settled back down to hang once more from his shoulders, smoldering slightly from the lightning's charring effects, Izzagu looked ahead towards the river with eyes of azure fire.

  He suddenly dropped to one knee, driving his fist hard into the street below. With the impact, the ground heaved up before him, charged with electricity the likes none in Camilos had ever seen. A stream of energy coursed down the street in a terrible torrent, shredding the cobblestone surface as it roared unerringly to the river. As the electric bolt struck the water, the river illuminated the night with a blinding blue glow, the water instantly supercharged with the mystically born energy. The very same water that had been filled with hundreds of fleeing villagers desperately trying to swim the great river to safety. They never had a chance to scream. In an instant, the evacuee crowded waters became choked with their charred, floating corpses, a haze of burnt ozone hanging above the morbid scene.

  Izzagu regained his feet to continue his slow trek down to the river. His steps seemed a little quicker than before, as though the brief caress of energy had reinvigorated him significantly. He could hear the screams of those who had been unwilling to take the plunge into the river, now falling victim to his two hounds instead. Whether by iron, claw, or the powers of Azbel herself, both these towns would be cleansed this night. Leprous lips curled back to once again reveal his demonic smile. The stench of burning meat that filled the air flowed smoothly into his lungs. A part of him found it most entrancing to his senses, but he could not be distracted by this twisted pleasure. His work was but half done; another town awaited his arrival. Another populace awaited their blessings.

  1:

  Acolyte

  "Step lively, girl, we have many feats to accomplish this day and a precious few moments to achieve them!"

  Sator Valde swept along the metal catwalk that ran the circumference of his study. As he moved, his hand absentmindedly caressed the books filling the ornately carved bookshelves, blanketing the curving walls from the base of the first floor to the ceiling of the second. As he moved, a slight dark-haired girl, barely fifteen, struggled mightily to match his gait. As they walked, Sator called out an elaborate list of spells, pronouncing each slowly and clearly so that the young girl could check them off a long scroll she cradled in her arms.

  "How are we proceeding? Have you collected all that I have requested for today's project?" Sator asked as they reached the top of the wrought iron stairs leading down to the laboratory floor below.

  The young girl furrowed her brow, so intent on her list that she almost walked into him, not noticing that he had come to an abrupt stop.

  "I believe so, Master Valde…but," The young girl adopted a rather sheepish look. "Master, I have had some trouble finding the Electro-Elemental spells you required. Would it be possible to substitute-?"

  "Now, Maluem, what did I tell you earlier today?" Sator interrupted.

  "That I need not remind you that you are my master every five pulses?" She replied.

  Sator's face warmed with an amused grin.

  "Yes, I did say that. However, I was referring to the act of substituting spells…?"

  Maluem's face reddened slightly from embarrassment.

  "Oh yes," She closed her eyes for a moment as she struggled to recall his exact words. "We must use precisely the right spells, at exactly the proper time, or dire consequences will result."

  "Correct to the word. For the work we must accomplish today, precision is of the essence. We are about to attempt something few Sorcerers have ever dared. I will need to rely heavily upon you if we are to succeed. Are you ready, my Acolyte?"

  Maluem caressed the pendant hanging around her neck. It was a simple triangle wi
th a small, blue jewel set in its center. Its monetary value was insignificant, but its worth to Maluem was beyond measure. It marked her for all to see as a Sorcerer's Acolyte, Master Valde's Acolyte, to be more precise. She had achieved that title but two weeks before, yet it still sent a shiver down her spine whenever she thought of it. She looked up to meet the steady gaze of her Master with a look of earnest confidence. She knew the answer as surely as she knew her own name.

  "I am."

  Sator smiled in response.

  "I know you are. You are proving to be an adept pupil in a short time! I am impressed. However, right now, I need those Electro incantations. They will be extremely critical. Go, I will prepare while you retrieve the final tomes."

  Maluem spun on the spot, darting off around the curving catwalk, her attention locked upon the spines of the books filling the massive bookshelves as she ran. Urgency filled her every step. She had not been with her mentor long, but in that short time, her admiration for him had grown swiftly. But then how could it not? After what she had been through so recently, the betrayal, the mock trial, her father's decisions…her father.

  Maluem came to a stuttering stop as the sore spot in her memory was stroked once more. Her eyes clenched shut to stem the flow of tears that threatened to issue forth. How could he have been so cruel, so cold? What had she done to deserve banishment? To be cast out from the only home she had ever known by her own family. These questions flowed readily to her mind, though she knew she could find no answers. With a shake of her head, Maluem pushed the unwanted thoughts to the back of her mind.

  "It does not matter," She muttered to herself. "They do not matter now. I was a fool to trust them. I will learn, I will be stronger, I will be better than them. I will rise above all of it. Then they will see…"

  With a jolt, she began her search anew. She had no time for such thoughts now, no time for useless musings. Master Valde was waiting for her. She would not let him down, not after all he had done for her. Somehow, he had found her, lost in the streets of Antures. With no shelter and little food for three weeks, she must have looked like a half-drowned Mortog. Yet, he must have seen something in her, something worth salvaging, for he took her into his home as though she were his long-lost child. As though she were a treasure he had been seeking for a long time. But how could he have been? She knew she had never seen him before that night-