How can I describe the thing that had attacked the giant? It resembled the wraiths in its roiling, chaotic form, but it was clearly guided by a single intellect rather than hundreds of competing spirits. Vaguely man-shaped and head-and-shoulders taller than Ljubo, it seemed to have an indeterminate number of arms and legs. At first it had stood still, and I thought it a monopod, but then it moved toward Ljubo and another leg appeared. It was the same with the arms: at first I saw two, and only faintly, but then these seemed to separate into four as it moved. I watched in awe as it strode toward Ljubo (it no longer seemed fitting to think of him as a giant!), sometimes having no arms at all, sometimes as many as four, walking on one leg or three. Indeed, the parts that weren’t in motion seemed hardly to exist at all, as if the creature called its various parts into being as it needed them. The active parts burned with red fire that produced the glow I had first noticed. The brightest features were its eyes, numbering between one and a dozen, appearing like will-o’-the-wisps in the spherical void that served as the thing’s head. So Radovan had been successful after all, though at the cost of his own life: there could be no doubt that this was the shadow beast, Voros Korom.
The chaotic movements of its eyes made it impossible to determine whether it had seen me. Was it oblivious to my presence, or had it attacked Ljubo to protect me, thinking I was its master? Had enough of my blood flowed to the dais to give me dominion over Voros Korom? If so, would control of the demon default to me now that Radovan was dead, or was some other ritual required to complete the process?
For now, Voros Korom seemed occupied only with Ljubo. Ljubo, amazingly, had gotten to his feet and was standing defiant, staring down the beast. No doubt Ljubo was not accustomed to being bested in battle; I doubt it occurred to him to flee.
I had no such liability. Vili, appearing out of the darkness, helped me to my feet and led me toward the exit. I considered stopping to try giving Voros Korom a command but decided it would be foolhardy. If Voros Korom didn’t recognize me as his master, I’d have squandered our chance to escape. And even if he did, I didn’t have a clue what to do with him. I’d heard once of a janissary colonel who had supposedly tamed a tiger. For ten months, the tiger slept next to him in his tent. Then one day the colonel overslept, causing the tiger to miss his breakfast. The tiger made do, and the colonel made no more mistakes. I supposed a demon was considerably more dangerous than a tiger, whether I held his reins or not.
I doubt Ljubo lasted more than a minute in his struggle with Voros Korom, unless demons are in the habit of playing with their prey the way cats do. I was barely sensate at this point, and Vili and I didn’t look back. Somehow, with Vili’s help, I made it out of the dungeon. We fled through the ruins to the foot of the ravine, where I could go no farther without rest. It was almost as dark aboveground as below; the moon was only the slightest crescent. I must have fallen asleep, for I was awoken by Vili tugging on my sleeve. He pointed toward the ruins, where the shadowy, sinister form of Voros Korom could be seen towering over the slabs. I wondered what was going through his mind, if such a creature can be said to have a mind. He must know he’d been summoned. Did he know by whom? Did he know Radovan was dead? Was he bound by Radovan’s designs for him, or was he now free to do as he pleased? What would such a creature choose to do? Would he still lay waste to Nagyvaros?
Again I thought of facing the demon and attempting to exert my will over him. Perhaps I could save Nagyvaros. Or maybe the demon, motivated by spite, would do precisely what I forbade him to do. No, it was no good. I had much to learn before I could try commanding a demon. Besides, I could barely stand, much less face down a beast from the shadow world.
At last Voros Korom seemed to make a decision. Countless arms moved as if beckoning, and suddenly the ruins were once again alive with scores of wraiths. When the full host had gathered, Voros Korom strode through the ruins, in the direction of Nagyvaros. The wraiths followed.
Vili and I sat perhaps twenty paces south of the demon’s path, but we didn’t dare move for fear of drawing its attention. We sat dead still, holding our breath as several of the wraiths passed within a few feet. They showed no interest in us, though, and soon they were gone. We rested a bit longer and then made our way up the ravine, thinking that if we could reach the carriage, I might be able to make it back to Nagyvaros.
We found the two horses dead and unnaturally cold, having had the misfortune of being in the wraiths’ path. I sank to the ground, defeated.
“Look,” said Vili, pointing to the east.
I followed his gesture and saw a distant flickering of red light in the east.
“Where is it going?” Vili asked.
I shook my head weakly. Voros Korom had been heading toward Nagyvaros but had evidently changed his mind. Whatever the reason, for now at least, Nagyvaros was saved. With our horses dead, I would not be so lucky.
“I will go for help,” Vili said. “Some shepherds live not far from here.”
I smiled at this. The shepherds would not be eager to help if they knew who had been stealing their sheep, but we weren’t in a position to be picky. Vili got me some food and water from the carriage, put one blanket under my head and lay another over top of me. Then he was gone.
Chapter Twenty
I do not know how long I lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness. Several times I found myself in the shadow world and thought myself dead, but with some effort, drawn by a nagging feeling of a task not yet complete, I was able to force my awareness back to my physical form. Each visit to the shadow world was a little longer than the one before it, and each time it took more effort to bring myself back. I was on the verge of submitting when I saw her face, illuminated by a small lantern that had been set on the ground next to me. My lovely Beata, come to bid me farewell.
In my addled state I allowed myself to believe for a moment it was really her, but the illusion was broken the moment she spoke. Suddenly I was wide awake and, though I was still weak, in full possession of my faculties.
“You utter fool,” Beata said, kneeling over me. “Do you have any idea what you have allowed to be loosed upon the world? Voros Korom will destroy Nagyvaros, and he will not stop there. I was able to buy the city some time, but he will return, and with even more power.” I saw that Beata’s hands shook. From fear? Exertion? Had Eben faced Voros Korom and his horde of wraiths alone? What had he done or said to cause the beast to turn aside from the city?
“I can only hope,” Beata’s voice went on, “that your survival means that Radovan is dead. Not that it matters much now; the damage has been done. The chances of stopping Voros Korom are slim, but I shall try. If you do not fight me, the brand will come away easily and you will feel no pain. Will you cooperate, or do you intend to be a fool to the end?”
Managing to sit up, I considered the warlock’s words. He was right, of course: Voros Korom had been unleashed because of me. If I’d allowed Eben to take the brand, he might have stopped Radovan. For that matter, if I’d simply stayed away from the ruins, Radovan would have been frustrated in his attempt to summon Voros Korom—or at least delayed until he found another sorcerer to sacrifice. But even if I could forgive Eben for what he had done to me, I could not forgive what he had done to Beata. Any man who would sentence an innocent to a thousand years in the shadow world was not to be trusted with the power to thwart demons. Eben’s desire to save Nagyvaros was sincere; of that I was certain. But I was equally certain that his underlying motivations were sinister. He had his own designs on that ancient city.
“I suppose I will die either way,” I said, “but I would not willingly give you the brand even if it were to save my own life. You do not deserve even the life you have stolen, and I would not have you mar that face with a warlock’s brand.”
Eben sighed. “I could perhaps forgive your selfishness in wishing to preserve your life when you were ignorant of Radovan’s intentions. But you have seen Voros Korom! You know of his designs for Nagyvaros. You are pow
erless to keep me from taking the brand, and you will be dead in an hour in any case. Such stubborn spitefulness is the mark of a fool. Very well then, I shall take the brand by force.” He pulled off the bandage on Beata’s left hand and pulled at the wound to reopen it, causing her face to grimace in pain.
An idea occurred to me. “You are the fool,” I said. “Did you really believe that this was all an accident? Did you think I just happened to be at the inn the night you were caught by the acolyte?”
Eben regarded me curiously, surprised by my reply—or at least the vehemence of it. He had been certain I would put up minimal resistance, but that certainty had vanished. I think it occurred to him in that moment for the first time that I might know something he did not. With a flash of renewed vigor, I pressed the attack:
“Did you not think it strange that a man completely ignorant of the workings of sorcery could take your brand from you? There are forces at work here that you could not possibly comprehend. Do you fear Voros Korom? Voros Korom is but a pawn in my master’s plan. Before this is over, you will know true fear. You think you have delayed the doom of Nagyvaros? You have been deceived. Look to the east and you will see the demon approach with his retinue.”
I do not know if Eben was truly fooled or if he simply decided there was no harm in looking, given my debilitated state. My diatribe was gibberish, of course, but it sufficed: Eben the Warlock fell for a ruse that was already old when Turelem walked the earth. He got to his feet and peered toward the east.
As he did so, I tore off my bandage and then forced my mind to the shadow world. Suddenly I stood again on the desolate, dimly lit plain. To my left and right were the distant mountains. Ahead of me was the dark castle. I smiled grimly, for I did indeed know something Eben didn’t: I had figured out how to use the power of the shadow world.
I had noticed when Eben summoned the demon in the garden that his blood seemed to vanish before it hit the ground. That could only mean the blood was somehow physically transported to the shadow world by the will of the sorcerer, just as demons are physically summoned to our world. This, I now realized, was the key to the warlock’s power. The brand had given me the ability to experience the shadow world, but until now I’d been powerless to have any effect on it.
Allowing some of my awareness to pass back to the material world, I held out my wounded arm. The wound had begun to clot, but blood ran down my little finger and a single drop welled up and fell. Standing on the desolate plain in the shadow world, I mimicked the action, moving with deliberate slowness to synchronize my shadow self with its lethargic twin. My shadow self was unwounded, and no blood dripped from my finger. Yet a crimson globule appeared in mid-air just as it disappeared from the material world. The globule fell with incredible slowness, taking nearly a minute to reach the ground. I forced myself to be patient, remembering that this was all happening in a wink of an eye; I probably had a few minutes in the shadow world before Eben realized I’d tricked him.
Where the droplet hit the ground, ripples spread outward like a pebble landing in a pond. But the ripples were not disturbances of the surface but rather variations in its vibrancy. It was as if some of the “realness” of our world was transferred to that place, so that what had been little more than a shadowy idea of a plain became nearly as real as the actual plain where even now I sat on the ground next to Eben. The effect lessened with the distance from the point of impact, so that beyond fifty paces or so, the plain was as shadowy as before. I sensed too that the effect was temporary; even now the vibrancy of the plain had begun to fade.
The effect was not confined to appearances. I could now feel the air around me in a way that I could not before, and even my shadow self seemed more real than it had. Indeed, it was as if I had woken from a dream—or rather, that the dream world itself had awoken. Willing myself to take a step, I found that my shadow self could now move as freely as my material body did.
By the time I’d taken a few more steps, I could feel resistance developing. Soon I’d be frozen in place again. Another drop of blood had fallen from my hand and was hanging in the air behind me, falling at an unbearably slow rate. I trudged along until the drop struck, and suddenly the resistance vanished as the ripples flowed across the ground under my feet. This time, I ran.
I realized I’d decided to make for the castle, and this decision was reinforced by a chorus of howls from the mountains on either side of me. It seemed the creatures of the shadow world were no longer oblivious to me. Had they smelled my blood or sensed the ripples of realness spreading across the terrain? Either way, I did not want to tarry on the plain.
If I ran too fast, I would outpace the spread of the ripples, so I forced myself to keep to a moderate pace. To my left and right, hordes of twisted creatures raced toward me across the plain. If I tore open the wound, blood would fall more quickly, but I didn’t want to bleed to death before I’d reached my goal.
My goal, I thought. What was my goal? I’d been running toward the castle, but I knew not why. What would I find there? What did I hope to find?
Beata, I thought. Beata is in the castle. Somehow I knew this, but I did not know how. Perhaps it was only a vain hope: the idea of her being in the mountains with those things was intolerable, although the thought of her imprisoned in the castle was not much better. No, she was not in the mountains. She had been brought here as part of a bargain with the dark powers of this world, and those powers were centered on the castle. Somehow I would find her and free her. And then? I did not know.
But first I had to reach the castle. It was still nearly a quarter mile off. The hordes were not much farther, and they moved faster than I. I pressed my shadow self against the resistance. It was like running into an icy wind, and the faster I ran, the harder and colder it blew. I didn’t dare shift my awareness back to my material self, but I knew from the slow drip of my blood that only a few seconds had passed. Hopefully Eben would be distracted for a little longer.
At last I reached the guard tower, which was a squat, cylindrical stone structure about thirty feet high and crenelated at the top. Facing me was a heavy arched wooden door, reinforced by steel bands. A few feet from the top of the tower was a series of angled slots, spaced about five feet apart, so that a man stationed there could look across the plain and see any approaching threats. I had tried in the past to peer through the slot facing my vantage point on the plain, but it was too dark inside to make anything out.
I still did not know whether a bridge lay beyond the guard tower, nor even whether I’d be able to get into the tower itself. I suppose I assumed that there was some reason I’d been transported to that plain; that some intelligence—malevolent or benign—had meant for me to make my way to the castle. I couldn’t allow myself to consider the possibility of being torn apart by the shadow beasts at the threshold of the tower. But as I stood there, pounding with all my strength on that massive door, with the demonic hordes converging on me, I began to think I’d fallen victim to hubris again. I was no sorcerer; I’d been given the warlock’s brand by accident. The vision of the castle had been meant for someone else.
I stepped away from the door and reached for my rapier, thinking that I would at least go down with a fight. I found the scabbard was empty. Had I forgotten to put it back in its sheath? I reached for the dagger I’d taken from Vili and found it missing as well. The weapons had not been transported with me to the shadow world. Strangely, though, my clothing was intact. Perhaps metal could not be brought to the shadow world?
So be it, I thought. I would face the hordes with my bare hands. But as I turned to face them, now only a stone’s throw away, something caught my eye: carved into the stone just to the right of the door was the form of a man’s palm. I pressed my right hand to it and heard something clank on the other side of the door. The door began to swing slowly inward. I threw my shoulder into it, pushing with all my strength. At last the door opened enough for me to slip through. Once on the other side, I threw my shoulder against the d
oor again, trying to push it shut, but to my horror I found that the door continued to open wider. The door shuddered as several of the beasts slammed into it. Arms and tentacles reached through the opening toward me. For the moment I was saved only because the larger creatures had reached the door first and were unable to squeeze through the opening. In a few seconds they would be inside.
But although a dozen of the beasts must have been pushing on the door, it moved no faster. It occurred to me that I’d been foolish to try to push the door; it was controlled by some mechanism that exerted a thousand times as much force as I was capable of producing. I could not say whether the mechanism was powered by magic or some kind of engine; the physics of the shadow world were foreign to me. What I did know was that brute force would not serve me here. I could see almost nothing, as the only light inside the building came from the ever-widening crack in the door, but I felt along the wall opposite the palm print on the other side. Finding the impression’s mirror opposite, I pressed my left hand to it. The door halted instantly and began to close. One of the smaller creatures—a creature something like a land-dwelling octopus, with tentacles radiating from an amorphous scaly body dominated by a circular maw ringed with razor sharp teeth—thrust its way through, and I fell to the stone floor, defenseless, waiting for the thing to devour me. One of its fellows must have been jealous, though: just as it was about to engulf me, something pulled at one of the tentacles still extending outside and pulled it back. By this time, though, the opening was too small to allow the creature to pass, and it perished with a shriek as the door crushed its body. The door slowed not at all; it closed completely a moment later, severing the arms of several other beasts. For a few seconds, the beasts howled and clawed at the door, and then suddenly the tower was eerily quiet. I was alone.
The Brand of the Warlock Page 18