by William King
“Just like people apparently.”
“Quite so.”
“It sounds like he’s another power-mad tosser.”
”If you really believe that, you should keep your thoughts to yourself when you’re outside this room. The black and scarlet are powerful now. Informers everywhere. Monitoring spells too. Demons hide in shadows.”
“Sounds like things have changed.”
“It’s never been like this before, Ulrik. Even captains have vanished recently; the ones who spoke out against Molok and his plans. It’s not healthy to do that anymore. People are afraid. Anyone who talks out of turn ends up in the citadel and no one knows what happens to them. That’s one reason people are so afraid.”
“That so?” Ulrik considered this. Was it possible that Molok’s spy network was so extensive? If it was so, it explained why Karnak’s spies had not traced anything back to Hydra yet. “How did this happen? He seems to have come a long way in a very short time.”
“To the young it always looks that way. If, like me, you had spent years of training to get to the extremely lowly position I occupy today you would probably appreciate him more. His success now is the result of long preparation, excellent groundwork and, more to the point, a great deal of money.”
“I’ve always found the latter to be an excellent tool for achieving goals. It’s a pity I never had enough of it.” The booze was starting to bite a little now. His tongue felt a little numb. His words were a little slurred. Still he felt assured that in general he was making excellent sense.
“My sentiments exactly. In any case, if you would be so good as to allow me to continue, I shall proceed to explicate on the main reason for his success.”
“Pray proceed.”
“It’s economics, Ulrik, my boy. He has developed superior techniques for commercial sorcery and used them to acquire a personal fortune which he bolsters all his political ambitions with. Now he has so much money that he can virtually give grafts away, to buy popularity with the crowds and the captains. The Council is in his pocket. He had provided the weapons, the ships and the intelligence that have made it so successful recently.”
“Go on,” Ulrik said.
“You have a very calculating look in your eye,” said the wizard. “Allow me to aid your cogitations with some more alcohol. The potion of levitation appears to have floated away, but I believe I have a very fine embalming fluid around here somewhere.”
“I don’t mind if I do.”
“I have always admired your good taste and discernment about the finer things in life.”
Marius finished rummaging about through his stock of chemicals. Ulrik hoped he was not so pickled that he had mistaken acid or something worse for the embalming fluid. There were more perils than he would have imagined in getting drunk with a practitioner of alchemical lore. The old man gave a shout of triumph and held up a flask of some clear liquid marked with a skull rune. His face took on a look of worry, as if he expected his wife to overhear him and then he raised a finger to his lips in a warning gesture as if it had been Ulrik and not he who had made the noise. He refilled their beakers. Ulrik sniffed it. It did not smell like acid. It smelled like booze.
“I think you would find, if you talked to enough wizards,” Marius said, “that we all have our little weaknesses. Mine is that I indulge my wife in her peculiar prejudice against alcohol.”
Ulrik had heard it said, mostly by that self-same wife, that Marius’s real weakness was for alcohol, but personally he reckoned that was a vile slur. He had never seen a man with a better attitude to hard liquor and he decided that he must share this information with his good friend immediately.
“Very good of you to say so,” said Marius. “For myself I have always found you among the best of drinking companions, with the sort of cosmopolitan, relaxed and tolerant attitude that is all too rare in these benighted times.” He aimed a dagger-like stare at the doorway which made it all too clear who he had in mind.
“You were telling me about Molok.”
“A genius, my boy. A genius, if a very wicked one. He traffics with the subworlds, makes pacts with demon lords, practises human sacrifice and worst of all, he dabbles in that blackest of arts: politics.”
“An ambitious man then?”
“There are those who say he’s only half that. One part man and one part demon. Then, of course, they say it of any wizard who is successful. Behind their backs of course, because they don’t dare say it to our faces.”
There was a tone of belligerence in Marius’s voice that had not been there a few moments ago. Ulrik was hard-pressed to work out where it had come from. He had been in such a good mood.
“I hope you don’t think that I talk behind your back,” Ulrik said. “If I have anything to say about a man I say it to his face.”
“Ah, but you are the most honest and straightforward of men, Ulrik. A rough diamond, a gem all too rare in these degenerate times. To be honest, such men as yourself are probably rare in any age.”
Ulrik nodded his head in acknowledgement of this generous tribute. “I think we have drifted from the subject, old friend. You were talking about Molok.”
“Why have you developed a sudden obsession with Molok?” asked Marius belligerently. His large hands closed into fists which he placed on his hips as he glared up at Ulrik. The pirate could see his own features reflected in the wizard’s glasses.
“Because you told me that he was the only man in the city who might be able to help me with my problem.”
Marius looked down at his feet sheepishly. “Oh yes, you’re right. I doubt that he would help you though. He’s too busy plotting and casting gigantic ancient spells to pay much attention to little problems like yours.”
“It’s not a little problem to me.”
“I understand that. You understand that. But will Molok understand that? No! He’ll be too busy looking at the bigger picture. He’ll be planning how to found his empire and get us all worshipping his demon gods.” The wizard started to giggle which Ulrik thought a trifle undignified for a man of his age and profession.
“You’re drunk,” he said.
“I’m inspired. Alcohol does not dim my wits as it does some others. It hones them to an incomparable sharpness. It enhances my powers of reasoning and sorcery. In fact, I believe I see a solution to your problem. I know how to get rid of that implant. Just let me get my scalpel and I’ll dig it out. No. There’s no need to pay me. I will do this free, gratis, for nothing. Out of friendship and because of my high regard for the quality of your company.”
Ulrik foresaw a few problems with the magician’s plan. “I thought you said that tampering with the implant would alert Valerius or trigger it.”
“Only if I used magic. The genius of this plan is that no sorcery is involved. Only my scalpel and my steady hand,” Marius said, dropping his beaker on the floor with a crash. “The damn thing was slippery. Just let me fill another and unload my bladder and find my scalpel and we’ll get started.”
If Ulrik had thought there was any chance of success he would have risked it. Without anaesthetic if need be. It would be worth it to get rid of the infernal creature buried in his chest. But he suspected that the wizard’s plan was simply the portion of levitation talking and the vague idea of doing a favour for a friend. He looked up at the ceiling and thought about it very seriously though.
An image of the drunken Marius hacking at his chest with a scalpel sprang into his mind. It was not very reassuring. He pictured the wizards hands covered in blood once more as he dragged forth the half-spider, half-demon creature that Valerius had showed him back in Typhon. He pictured himself lying on the laboratory floor amid the alcohol and broken glass with blood spurting from a severed artery while Marius lay on the floor and giggled like a drunken idiot, which was in fact what he was doing at this very moment.
He decided that while it was not without merits, this was not the time to take Marius up on his idea. There would be time enough for t
hat when he was sober, when they were both sober, for it came to Ulrik then with dreadful clarity that he might just be a little drunk himself. Unlikely as it seemed, the possibility was there. It seemed he had consumed enough alcohol to overload even the demon-parasite’s powers of metabolising the stuff.
He rose to his feet and only swayed a little. His movement seemed a little out of control and he was a little tired. Fortunately, the wizard had a cot in one corner of his room. Ulrik decided that he would take a little rest, have a lie down before he went on his way. Marius had stopped giggling now and was snoring loudly. Ulrik stepped over him on his way to the cot. It creaked under his weight as he lay down and it was not really big enough for him. His feet protruded over the edge. He would just close his eyes and rest them for a few moments before he went about his business.
Just as he slipped over the edge of slumber, a thought occurred to him. What if Marius woke up and decided to perform a little impromptu surgery while he was asleep?
Chapter Nineteen
Ulrik knew he was dreaming. He stood in a vast chamber that looked as if it had been created by sorcery. Overhead in the heart of a huge floating gem, colours swirled and pulsed, sometimes congealing into the face of a trapped demon. The air smelled of blood. Screams of terror filled the air. Valerius was there once again, confronting a towering figure robed in scarlet and black and wearing a breastplate that showed a black moon surrounded by corona of fire. A bronze mask moulded to resemble the face of a snarling demon hid the features of the man beneath, just as quartz crystal lenses masked the eyes.
“What is it you want, Lord Molok?” Valerius asked the sorcerer.
“I want to know what you know,” said Molok. His voice was deep and resonant. Ulrik moved closer but neither figure seemed to notice him. He was like an outsider watching a play, an invisible ghost observing the scene. Was he watching something that was happening now, or something that had already happened, he wondered? He moved closer to get a better view of events.
As Ulrik approached Molok he caught another scent. At first it did not seem unpleasant, merely a hint of cinnamon and some other spice but underneath there was the hint of something else, something old and dead. He had smelled something similar when investigating mummified corpses from the abandoned crypts of the Cobalt Wastes. “I wanted to gaze upon you and see what my enemy looked like,” said Molok.
“There is no need for us to be enemies. We are both reasonable men.”
“We have been enemies since before you were born, Valerius. The fact that we were going to be enemies was written in the stars. I am going to destroy your House, your city and you.”
“Why? What have we done to you?”
“You stand in my way.”
“I, for one, am willing to step out of it, although I can’t speak for the Emperor or my family. I am a peace-loving man when all is said and done.”
“You are the enemy of the Powers with which I am allied.”
“The Demon Princes?”
“Yes.”
“I have never heard of any man being the ally of those powers, merely their servant,” said Valerius apologetically, a merchant bringing up a difficult matter with a favoured client.
“Ah, but you see I am not entirely a man,” said Molok. “My father was a demon of the Ninth Circle. My mother was a priestess-dancer. She performed the orgiastic rites in their temples in the Blights. I was born after one of those rituals.”
Many dark sorcerers had made such claims to enhance their reputation and the aura of horror that clung to them but there was something about Molok that suggested he was telling the truth.
“I suppose that would give you a good start in the Dark Arts,” said Valerius.
“By the time I was ten I had performed my first virgin sacrifice and drank her blood and her soul. At the age of twelve I bound the djinns of the wasteland to my service and made war on rival sorcerers. At the age of fifteen I was a Prince of the Blights.”
“I was discovering girls and alcohol,” said Valerius. “I think I got the best of the deal.”
“I know who you are and I know what you are, and I know it is no accident that Lord Karnak’s agent was sniffing along the trail left by the Black Blades. I don’t think it’s an accident that you’re investigating this as my plans have almost reached fruition.”
“You have spies in House Karnak. If you are trying to frighten me, you have succeeded.”
“I am not trying to do anything, Valerius. I am merely getting the measure of the man. I find the only way to do that is to look him in the eye and listen to his voice and hear what he has to say.”
“You will find that I am more than willing to tell you anything,” said Valerius. “Pray ask away. There is no need for any nonsense about torture. We are both civilised men. I will be happy to share my knowledge with you. I know what you are doing here. I can see it now.”
“What do you see?”
“You are summoning a Demon Prince. You are going to bring him through a subworld gate and unleash him on the world.”
“Only partially correct. I am bringing the Demon Prince Jolgotha into our world but I am not going to unleash him. I am going to bind him.”
Valerius looked shocked. “That is not possible.”
“This entire palace is a huge trap. It’s every corridor forms part of an Elder Sign of binding. The soul gem above you is capable of holding the essence of even a Demon Prince.”
“What would you do with such a thing?”
“I will use it to power the mightiest weapon the world has ever seen. And I will use that weapon to reduce Typhon to rubble.”
“An interesting plan. Why am I still alive?”
“I know you have been working on projects connected with demon binding. I know that you are practised in secret knowledge and I will have it. You will tell me what you know. Without reservation. Without withholding anything. Without restraint. I have the means of making sure of that.”
Molok gestured and the huge floating gem lowered itself towards them. Something floated out of it, a shimmering ectoplasmic tentacular thing. It looked like a black moon surrounded by a halo of polychromatic fire. It came to rest in front of Valerius. Its surface swirled and a jewelled eye became visible.
“The Eye can see into your very soul. It can plumb all your secrets. It can pluck knowledge from your mind.”
“It would be easier just to ask the questions and have me answer,” said Valerius. “I am not fond of pain. I prefer alcohol and food.”
“I am sure you would. And you will have it. Eventually. When the Eye has eaten your soul and broken your will and you are prepared to swear allegiance to me and the Powers I represent.”
“I am sure you mean the powers that you serve,” said Valerius. “If we are being honest, why not admit that?”
“The Demon realm serves me.”
“So all the sorcerers who have served the powers down the ages have thought. In the end though there was only one master and it was not them.”
“You cannot delay your time of questioning by luring me into a futile debate,” said Molok. “I will have what you know and I will have it soon.”
The sphere floated closer and its burning eye, turned on Valerius. A shaft of light leapt between them. Valerius’s muscles spasmed. Ulrik felt reality begin to warp and bend, and the scene shimmered and vanished before his gaze.
Ulrik stood beneath the all-too-familiar sky of the demon world. It was hot. He could taste the spore-laden breeze. At least this time he knew he was dreaming. There was an oddness about this dream though, for he had the sensation that he was being watched, that there was someone else present and that that person was a human and not the alien entities that he always felt were hunting him.
He looked down at his hands and he could see that his fingers were chitinous talons and that his skin was a gleaming armoured black. This time, he felt no sense of wrongness about this and that worried him. Odd presences flitted about at the edge of his percept
ion and when he looked up he saw creatures that seemed as much spider as human crawling along the walls of the curved buildings.
When he looked back a ghostly presence stood in front of him, a translucent outline that looked like Valerius. The wizard’s face was drawn and there were scars on his hands and cheeks. He stretched out his hands imploringly and his lips moved but Ulrik could hear no words. He knew that he was missing something important and that it was essential that he make out what it was that the wizard was saying but in this nightmare, he could not no matter how much he strained.
He reached out to touch the wizard’s hand, half expecting his own claw to go through it and was surprised when there was the faintest, fleeting sense of having made contact with something, as thin and fragile as a spider web or a thing made of gossamer. At that moment, he himself seemed to take on something of a ghostly quality and Valerius became more solid as if somehow it was feeding on Ulrik’s lack of presence.
“Are you dead?” Ulrik asked. “Is that why I’m becoming a demon?”
Much to Ulrik surprise, the wizard’s voice held a hint of its old acerbity. “No, I’m not dead and the demon is not free, not yet.”
The wizard seemed real, much more so than their surroundings and it came to Ulrik then that this was not a dream of the usual sort but something else, something touched by magic and willed by the wizard. The realisation must have shown on his face for Valerius nodded and said, “Yes, you’re right, this is not a dream. I am talking to you as you sleep.”
“What did I just see?”
“You saw a warped version of my first and only interview with the great and powerful Molok. It is not one of my fonder memories.”
“Then what I saw did not happen?”
“Not quite as you saw it. You were getting my deductions, intuitions and fears in a materialised form. I hope you enjoyed it.”