Dreaming in the Dark_Chains of the Fallen Volume 1

by James E. Wisher

  It might also be someone that needs our help.

  He acknowledged Lizzy’s point with a mental nod. Nevertheless, until they knew more he intended to stay on guard. Speaking of which, he shifted his focus and let his senses spread out. Still nothing living within his reach.

  Damien nearly walked right over Dorius when the professor stopped dead in front of him. “Give a guy a little warning next time.”

  “Sorry, but we’re here.”

  Damien looked around, but the area resembled every other part of the city they’d traipsed through. “Where?”

  Dorius pointed and Damien sent his glowing globes floating in the indicated direction. When the light flooded in he spotted the entrance at once. The left side street was blocked by what looked like a pair of guard towers with a closed gate hanging between them.

  After taking a moment to drop off most of the supplies in one of the guard buildings, they walked over and Dorius shoved the gate open. Beyond it waited a twenty-foot-wide staircase descending into the darkness. Damien sent the light down, but the stairs continued out of sight. He extended his senses. The second level felt as devoid of life as the first. The complete emptiness worried him more than running a gauntlet of traps would have.

  “What’s the second level like?” Damien asked.

  “The buildings are fewer and larger with more decorations, and wider streets with what I’d call parks if they were on the surface. No grass of course.”

  “Sounds like the wealthy district.”

  Dorius smiled. “That or the nobility was my theory too. Well reasoned, Damien.”

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the rich and powerful lived in the nice houses. They set out down the steps. Halfway to the bottom they found a flat area several strides wide. Dorius paused to adjust his boot. Damien hiked his pack higher on his back and took a step onto the platform.

  A jolt ran through him an instant before a trapdoor opened under his boots. He fell two feet before flying up and out.

  Damien glared at the professor who held up both hands. “I swear I didn’t know that was there. I’ve passed through here scores of times with no trouble. What did you do?”

  “I took a step and might’ve fallen.” Damien sent a light down the hole revealing dozens of crystal spikes at the bottom. “Impaling myself on those. Is there anything else you forgot to mention?”

  “I didn’t forget to mention the trap, I didn’t know about it myself. On my honor, I swear I’ve never seen anything like this in all the time I’ve been exploring this ruin.”

  Damien sensed no lie in his words which made this situation even stranger. If the professor had been trying to kill him, it would have made for a simple explanation and Damien would’ve felt free to throw him down the pit. As it was, he needed to figure out what triggered the trap.

  A vibration ran through the floor and a moment later the steps folded up, turning the path into a slide, a slide that tried to dump Dorius down onto the spikes.

  Damien wrapped him in a soul force bubble and lifted him to safety. They floated there for a moment in silence.

  “My thanks,” Dorius said. “I trust you believe me now?”

  “I believed you before. You’re the expert, what’s causing this?”

  “I wish I had a clue. I didn’t expect a moment’s trouble until we reached the sealed door.”

  Hundreds of holes opened in the walls lining the second set of steps. A moment later crystal spears shot out, filling the passage with lethal shafts. The crystal sparkled in his light. The spears appeared to be made of the same stuff as the pit spikes.

  Damien pointed at one of the spears and blasted it with a focused beam of soul force. Instead of exploding instantly like he expected, the crystal absorbed the energy. It glowed brighter and brighter as he applied more energy before finally exploding in a shower of shards.

  “Interesting,” Damien said. “I’ve never encountered anything that absorbed soul force like that.”

  “Perhaps the presence of a sorcerer is what triggered the traps.” Dorius’s expression turned glum. “That would explain why it didn’t react to me. But assuming the Builders created these traps specifically to stop sorcerers, that would argue they weren’t sorcerers themselves, which destroys most of my theories.”

  “Not necessarily. There are different types of soul force.” Damien pulled Lizzy from the sheath on his back. “Let’s try an experiment.”

  At his mental request, Lizzy charged her blade with divine soul force. He swung and the edge sliced the crystals like they were made of cheese. A few more swipes and the passage was clear of spears.

  “The crystal doesn’t react at all to divine soul force. Clearly the inhabitants were trying to keep out mortal sorcerers only.”

  Damien flew to the bottom of the steps and set Dorius down beside him. The now-grinning professor practically danced in place. “The Builders must have used divine soul force. Isn’t that exciting?”

  Damien nodded and the professor started out toward the city. He didn’t want to discourage Dorius, but there was more than one type of divine soul force. Maybe the Builders were on the side of the angels, but Damien intended to keep his senses peeled for any sign of corruption. If this was a city of demon worshippers, he didn’t intend to be taken by surprise.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The wine served by Baroness Trasker’s butler tasted wonderful. Not that Jen was any expert on wines, but she knew the good stuff when she drank it. The guys seemed to enjoy it as well, judging from the three empty bottles on the sitting room table, an elaborate thing inlaid with hounds and hunters. Amazing how much luxury you could drag out to the edge of the kingdom. Fine tapestries covered the wall and a thick carpet softened the stone floor.

  Jen finished the last of her ham sandwich and sighed. “That was delightful, Baroness, thank you.”

  The older woman smiled and waved a hand. “Not at all. I’m sorry my husband wasn’t here to greet you, but there was a minor dispute between the farmers in the northeast and he felt the need to address it himself.”

  “Our task isn’t a diplomatic one,” Jen said. “In fact, if possible we’d like to see Captain Weld sooner rather than later.”

  “Of course. I don’t imagine you’re the squeamish type. I’ll have someone show you to the cells.”

  Jen eased herself out of the soft leather chair and the others joined her. While the baroness shuffled out to find them a guide, Lane said, “Will we speak again before you leave?”

  “Absolutely,” Jen said. “Assuming we get some useful information from Captain Weld, I’ll want your opinion about it. I’ve never visited the baronies, so this is all new to me. Shall we meet at the stables?”

  Lane nodded. “That might be best. Good luck.”

  The baroness returned with a young man in a blue uniform who looked decidedly nervous walking at her elbow. “Anton here will show you the way. Should you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  They all bowed and followed the guard out. When they left the living area behind, the castle went from soft and feminine to hard and practical. The decorations were minimal and tended to swords and armor. It felt like home.

  Ten minutes later they reached a closed door. Anton knocked and shouted, “Visitors from the baroness, Captain.”

  A muffled voice replied, “Send them on down.”

  Anton pushed the door open, revealing a set of steps lit by an occasional torch. “Go ahead, ma’am. Captain’s in the final room at the end of the passage.”

  “Thanks.” Jen led the way down.

  At the bottom of the stairs waited a long, door-lined hall. An occasional soft moan emerged from behind the small windows along with the stink of buckets that didn’t get emptied often enough. The baron’s dungeon wasn’t nearly as nice as the king’s.

  They strode down the passage and Jen did her best to ignore everything but their objective. At the end of the hall was a partially open door.

  When Jen he
sitated, a good-natured voice said, “Come on in.”

  She pulled the door open and in the reddish glow of a pair of charcoal braziers stood a man in a blue uniform, bald-headed save for a ring of short white hair running around the base of his skull. He offered them a friendly smile in complete contrast to the glowing iron he held in his right hand.

  On a stone table in front of him, a single prisoner, his bare chest covered in burns and singed hair, had his arms and legs bound by leather straps. Sweat dripped from his body and the whole room smelled of fear.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Weld said. “My companion is proving reluctant to talk. I figured I’d give him a couple more pokes with the iron and if that doesn’t work we’ll get the rat cage.”

  The prisoner whimpered, drawing a chuckle from Weld. Jen kept her face impassive. She had no clue what the prisoner had done. He may well deserve everything he was getting. It was none of her business either way.

  “If you could spare ten minutes we’d be grateful,” she said. “Our mission is of considerable importance.”

  “Certainly, no problem.” Weld jammed his prod back into a brazier. “Not like this idiot’s going anywhere. Let’s talk outside.”

  He motioned them out then closed the door. Jen let out a little sigh of relief to escape the torture chamber.

  “So what brings warlords all the way from the capital to my neck of the woods?” Weld asked.

  “A mass murder.” Jen dug one of the papers the archmage had given her out of her satchel and handed it to him. Someone had made a copy of the killer’s tattoo for her. “The man responsible bore that mark.”

  Weld’s cheerful smile vanished. “Red Dragons. We get a lot of bad ones around here, but this lot is the worst. They’ve been killing their way up the food chain for the past four months. Don’t know where they came from, but one day they were here and, in a few weeks, made a name for themselves as one of the most ruthless gangs in the borderland.”

  “What are they into?” Edward asked.

  “You name it. Mostly they’re murderers for hire and extortionists. The worst part is, their actions push the other gangs to act more ruthless which means I end up with more bodies on my hands. You say one of these monsters killed a bunch of people and I don’t doubt it. What surprises me is that one of their members made it as far north as the capital. They’re still getting established down here after all. I guarantee you in another year, they’ll be one of the three strongest organizations.”

  “How many members are there?” Jen asked.

  “Total? No idea. Maybe a few hundred lower-ranking members. It’s their leadership that’s the real mystery. We’ve captured two of their goons and they both managed to kill themselves before I had a chance to question them. That says to me that they’re more afraid of their bosses than me. And I can be a pretty scary guy when I try.”

  Jen had no doubt of that. “So where can we find them? My orders are to learn why they killed all those people.”

  Weld scratched the back of his neck. “Like I said, the bosses are a mystery. You can find their thugs in the rough part of any town in the area. They all have the same tattoos. You can start in the town of Drevlin. It’s a day’s ride south of here. The legitimate business is timber harvesting and milling. That leaves a lot of loggers with money to spend and the gangs provide the whores and drugs. You should find at least a handful of Dragons there. Maybe you’ll have better luck getting them to talk than I’ve had.”

  “Maybe.” Jen flashed a razor-sharp smile. “You’re not the only one that can be scary.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The cave oozed evil. Even with her senses pulled back, the noxious aura nearly sent Marie-Bell to her knees. Beside her, Imogen trembled as she stared at the dark opening. There was nothing visible in any direction. Apparently even demons didn’t want anything to do with the place. She never imagined agreeing with a demon about anything, but here they were.

  The top of the mountain had been blown off during Damien’s battle, leaving the peak a stubby remnant compared to its jagged neighbors. How much power had it taken to do that to the mountain? She didn’t have to imagine. He’d done the same thing to the pass and fortress. As Jen liked to say, subtlety wasn’t Damien’s area of expertise.

  “I’m not sure I can do this,” Imogen said. “I can’t even remember my time here yet just being in the presence of this place freezes me to the core.”

  “I’ve never been here at all and it chills me. There’s so much darkness I can’t even tell if the armor’s in there. For all I know the puppet master might have sent us here as a final insult.”

  “But you’re going in anyway?”

  Marie-Bell nodded. “I have to be sure. My angel has trusted me with this task and I refuse to fail him. Why don’t you wait here and make sure nothing sneaks up on me?”

  Imogen’s throat worked as she tried to swallow. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. I’m trained to deal with demons and undead. Killing them is my job. Whatever’s in there, I’ll handle it and reclaim the armor.” That sounded pretty confident. If only she felt as confident as she sounded, she’d be in great shape.

  “Good luck,” Imogen said.

  Marie-Bell nodded and summoned divine light into the head of her war hammer. One step across the cave threshold and it dimmed to little brighter than a guttering torch. Was Grimgar responsible for weakening her divine light, or was it a remnant of what Connor summoned? She dearly wished she knew the answer.

  Huge chunks of broken stone cluttered the entrance, forcing her to pick her way deeper underground. If she had to fight in this cramped space her hammer would be more hindrance than help.

  She expanded her awareness as much as she dared in an attempt to hone in on either the armor or Grimgar. Everything was darkness. Strain as she might she couldn’t separate anything out. She withdrew her probe. No sense wallowing in evil if it wasn’t doing her any good.

  Finally, the tunnel exited into a wide-open cavern. Light shone down from the hole in the mountain. Even dim, filtered, Haunted Lands light seemed bright in this hole.

  On the far side of the cavern, at the edge of the light, something shifted. Burning red eyes bored into her. A demon, but was it Grimgar? The puppet master hadn’t offered a description.

  Marie-Bell stepped into the light. “Hand over the holy armor and I will let you live in peace.”

  The demon shifted so its eyes vanished then something clattered into the light. A corpse. The head and legs were gone, but enough of the tabard remained for her to recognize the order’s shield. It might be the commander’s body or some other poor devil’s. The only thing certain was the lack of armor.

  The red eyes rose so they looked down at her. A scrape like claws on stone preceded the demon stepping into the light. It towered four feet above Marie-Bell. She’d expected a massive, stocky body, but this demon was slender, like a weasel, with two sets of arms. The first set poked through the arms of a suit of blackened armor. Even with its appearance changed, she recognized her objective.

  How could a demon wear it? The armor’s presence alone should pain the creature. She looked closer. The armor had lost its divine aura.

  One of Grimgar’s lower arms fingered the mail sleeve. “Is this what you want? I’ve become quite attached to it now that it no longer gives off that obnoxious energy.”

  “Hand it over.” Marie-Bell drew her hammer back.

  “It will do you no good. I’ve tainted it beyond repair. I am Grimgar the Corrupter and this is my master work. Imagine my delight at finding the paladins’ precious holy armor just lying in the dirt waiting for me. And this wonderful font of darkness so handy nearby. It was too delicious an opportunity to forgo.”

  “Ahhh!” Marie-Bell charged.

  Her hammer bore in.

  An instant before it struck, the demon bent its body out of the way. It was like the thing had no bones.

  Before she could recover, its lower right arm lashed out
and sent her flying.

  She grunted when her back slammed into a boulder. Her protective barrier absorbed the worst of the impact.

  The demon laughed as she regained her feet. “You’ll have to do better than that, little paladin.”

  She grimaced but refused to let its mocking goad her into a fatal mistake. At her mental command, divine soul force gathered around her free hand. The energy formed into a spear which she hurled at the demon.

  It bent out of the way again, but her will controlled the spear and it curved back to strike once more. Grimgar avoided it a second time. And a third.

  The demon danced around her attack effortlessly, an ugly, toothsome smile splitting its face.

  Keeping her calm, Marie-Bell sent the spear in for another attempt. This time when the demon bent out of the way she changed the spear’s shape to follow.

  The tip slammed into the corrupted armor and shattered into shards of energy. In that instant she learned everything she needed to know. The demon hadn’t truly corrupted the armor, just sealed its holy might behind a dark barrier.

  All she had to do was set it free.

  Marie-Bell clasped her hands and murmured a prayer to Heaven.

  “So you’ve accepted your death,” the demon said. “Pathetic.”

  She ignored Grimgar’s taunts and reached with all her might to the armor’s buried power. Burn away the darkness. Don’t let the demon beat you. Please!

  Grimgar hissed as a shaft of light burst through the dark barrier containing the armor’s divine strength. She’d reached it at last.

  More! Burn the monster to ash.

  A beam of black energy lashed out and sent Marie-Bell flying, breaking her connection to the armor. The instant her concentration snapped, the light vanished.