The slave said nothing, but some of the rage faded from her face.
“They abandoned you,” said Aramane. “Would it not be better to turn from them? Come with me to the Temple of the Divine, and you can free yourself from worship of demons forever.”
Rachaelis smiled at her father. He had always been ready to find common ground with his foes and turn enemies into friends. Little wonder he had been so respected among the Adepts, even though so few of them agreed with him. She hoped the woman would take his offer. There had been too much killing already.
Then the woman howled with laughter, and Rachaelis’s hope vanished like a curl of smoke.
“Fool!” shouted the slave woman. “Your weakling god is no match for the wrath of the demons!”
Rachaelis heard a distant scream and the sudden sound of running footsteps.
“You slew the Master,” said the woman, “but the Master’s son lives! You shall perish. You all shall perish!”
Another scream echoed over the rooftops, followed by a peculiar growling noise.
“Father,” said Rachaelis.
Corthain drew his sword, the dark steel glimmering. “Something’s amiss. We had best find out what is happening and …”
The woman changed.
Her orange tunic ripped to shreds as her body reformed itself, her thin limbs swelling with muscle, bristling black fur sprouting from her skin. Jagged black fangs filled her mouth, long black talons erupting from her fingers and toes. Her eyes blazed with crimson flame, the same red light Rachaelis had seen in the eyes of the Urthaags, the Jurgurs who had voluntarily taken demons into their bodies.
But the Urthaags had kept their human forms. They hadn’t transformed into misshapen hybrids of wolf and human.
“Damn it!” said Luthair. “An Urvuulf!”
Rachaelis raised her palm, summoning white astralfire, and her father did the same.
But the Urvuulf was far too fast. It sprang to the side with a bellow, and its claws plunged into the warehouse’s brick wall like knives sinking into cheese. The twin blasts of white astralfire splashed off the cobblestones of the alley. The Urvuulf shoved off the wall, so fast it seemed a black blur.
It slammed into Aramane, driving him to the ground.
“Father!” shouted Rachaelis. She began another spell, but the Urvuulf drew back its clawed hand. The thing was hideously fast, and it would tear out Aramane’s throat before she could strike.
All those years trying to learn what had happened to her father, only to see him die like this.
Rachaelis screamed, summoning power.
Corthain’s sword flashed in a dark blur, and the blade forged by the ancient smiths of the Old Empire sheared through the hide and muscle and bone of the Urvuulf’s neck. The creature’s head jumped off its shoulders and rolled across the alley. The Urvuulf’s body swayed for a moment, and then toppled off Aramane.
As it fell, it changed. When it struck the ground, it was again the body of the gaunt Jurgur slave woman. The severed head struck the wall, shrinking to a human shape once more, dead eyes glaring from the motionless face.
Rachaelis rushed to Aramane’s side.
“Father,” she said. “Are you all right?”
Aramane sat up, rubbing his chest. “I believe so. That…creature, whatever it was, caught me off guard.” Another scream rang out, louder than before. “What was that thing, Corthain? A demon?”
“I’ll explain in a moment,” said Corthain. His voice was calm, but his green eyes were hard and wary. “First hit that corpse with white astralfire. Else the demon inside will raise it as a ghoul in a few moments.”
“Of course,” said Rachaelis, chagrined that she had forgotten. She unleashed the power she had summoned, and a lance of white astralfire burst from her fingers and struck the corpse. For a moment it seemed as if a hooded wraith of crimson light writhed over the body, straining against white flame, and then Rachaelis’s astralfire devoured it.
“You called that thing an Urvuulf,” said Aramane as Luthair helped him to his feet. “What is it?”
Rachaelis heard more screams.
“A breed of demon,” said Luthair. “A lesser demon, true, but still strong. A Jurgur takes a normal demon into himself, you get an Urthaag, which is bad enough. But if a Jurgur takes a demon of fury into his body, you wind up with an Urvuulf. When they draw on their demon, they get…furry.”
Corthain crossed to the mouth of the alley. “The Jurgur horde used them as scouts. They’re stronger and much faster than normal men, and have sharper senses. But they’re dangerous and unreliable. Urthaags are mad, but can draw on the cunning of their demon. When an Urvuulf gives himself over to his demon, he tries to kill everything in sight.”
Rachaelis saw a dozen men sprint past the alley, terror on their faces.
A moment later a pair of Urvuulfs raced after them, snarling.
“And there are Urvuulfs,” said Corthain, “loose in Araspan.”
Chapter 2 – The Hammer of Dark River
“What are we going to do?” said Rachaelis.
Plans flashed through Corthain’s mind. Maerwulf's cult had kept to the shadows and operated in secret. For the Urvuulfs to show themselves openly meant they were strong enough to discard secrecy...or insane enough that they did not care.
Either way made them terrible enemies.
"I suggest," said Luthair, "that the honored Magister and his daughter astraljump us to the Ring before the Urvuulfs eat us."
"No!" said Aramane. "We are Adepts of the Conclave. It is our duty to defend the people from the demons of the astral world."
Rachaelis nodded. "We’ll need to get word to the Ring. The other Adepts must be warned about this."
"Aye," said Corthain. "There will be patrols of Swords scattered throughout the docks. They don’t know how to fight the Urvuulfs, and it will be a slaughter unless we aid them."
"How do you suggest we do that?" said Aramane.
"Simple," said Corthain. "We hunt the Urvuulfs ourselves. With your white astralfire, we can destroy the demons in their flesh. As we find groups of Swords, we'll take command of them. When more Adepts arrive from the Ring, we can overwhelm whoever is behind this."
"A sound plan," said Aramane.
"Come," said Corthain.
Luthair sighed. "To think I was planning to take a nap in my cabin."
Corthain stepped into the street, chaos reigning around him.
Men and women fled in all directions, dodging abandoned carts. A pair of Urvuulfs raced past, their long black talons clicking against the cobblestones. A woman in an orange slave's tunic stumbled with a cry, and the Urvuulfs swiveled to face her, growling in pleasure.
"Daughter," said Aramane, "now."
Rachaelis and Aramane lifted their hands and unleashed white astralfire at the crouching Urvuulfs. The beasts stumbled, the crimson glow in their eyes flickering. Both Urvuulfs faced the Adepts with a roar, springing forward with terrifying speed.
Again Rachaelis and Aramane loosed white fire. One of the Urvuulfs collapsed, reverting to human form as the astralfire consumed the demon. The second stumbled, but kept coming, snarling with fury.
Corthain moved to meet it.
His hands and wrists moved in the familiar patterns of the Forms of the Sword, the school of fighting taught by the swordmasters of the Orlanish court. He performed The Sweeping Scythe, and his ancient sword carved a bloody gash across the Urvuulf's chest. The creature turned with a bellow, but Corthain was ready for it. His arms moved through The Avalanche In The Mountains, and his blade slammed into the Urvuulf's neck.
And through its neck.
Its head rolled towards the harbor, and its body slumped to the ground, shifting into human form. Corthain turned, looking for the first Urvuulf. A Jurgur man lay upon the ground, drooling. The white astralfire had destroyed the demon, ripping it from his flesh...and leaving his mind a shattered ruin. He would die in a few hours, once his broken mind forgot to breathe.
Aramane swept a column of white astralfire over the dead Jurgur, destroying the demon within before it could raise the corpse as a ghoul.
"This way," said Corthain, striding towards the docks’ main street. It led in a straight line from the stone piers to the gates of the Ring itself. From there he could determine how many Urvuulfs were rampaging through the city, and send word to the Ring for assistance...
Corthain reached the main street and looked upon a battlefield.
A score of Swords, the soldiers of the Conclave, battled back to back, shields raised, black armor scarred and dented. A dozen Urvuulfs menaced them, snarling and snapping. Even as Corthain watched, one of the Urvuulfs dragged down a Sword, ripping away the man's helm to tear at his throat.
"Aramane! Rachaelis!" shouted Corthain. "Strike!"
The two Adepts unleashed a sheet of white astralfire. It struck the Swords, and passed through them without leaving a mark. White astralfire could only harm creatures of the astral world. The flames hit the Urvuulfs, and the creatures bellowed. The fire was not enough to destroy the demons, not so many at once. Yet it still filled them with agony, and they staggered in disorientation.
"Swords!" said Corthain, running at the Urthaags, sword raised. "Strike! Strike now!"
The Swords attacked with a yell, blades rising and falling. Four Urvuulfs fell before the creatures could recover. An Urvuulf faced Corthain, growling, and he stabbed, catching the creature in the belly. It lunged for him, and Corthain jerked back, just avoiding the creature's razor-edged talons.
By the Divine, he wished he had armor!
A knife whirled past his head and thudded into the Urvuulf's shoulder. Luthair circled to Corthain's side and sent two more throwing knives into the demon-infested flesh. The Urvuulf bellowed in fury, looking back and forth between Corthain and Luthair.
Then one of the Swords stepped up behind the creature and took off its head with a massive two-handed blow.
Another sheet of white astralfire lashed from the Adepts, and the remaining Urvuulfs staggered.
The fight was over a few moments later, with five Swords dead and all the Urvuulfs slain. Aramane moved among the dead, destroying the demons before they could control the corpses. Corthain wiped his blade clean on the tunic of a slain Jurgur slave and looked at Rachaelis. She stood at the mouth of the alley, face hard, her gray eyes narrowed. She was the image of the stern Adept, but he knew her well enough to see the fear in her eyes.
He had hoped to never take her into battle again. And he had hoped to be free of the high demon's insidious reach. The creature had captured his brother's soul, slaughtered countless innocent men and women, commanded Maerwulf to invade the nations of the west, and almost possessed Rachaelis.
Would he ever be free of its baleful influence?
He pushed aside the musings and turned to face the Swords.
"Who is in command here?" he said.
"I suppose I am, Lord Corthain," said a young Sword, his face streaked with blood. "Those...those things tore off our Sword-Captain’s head."
"Your name?" said Corthain.
"Morin, my lord."
"What happened here?" said Corthain. The men were shaken, and needed a firm hand at once. They would look to Magister Aramane to command them, but Aramane had no experience commanding men in battle. "Tell me at once."
"We...we were on patrol, my lord," said Morin. "A show of force to keep the rabble in line, that's what the Sword-Captain said. Then those devils sprang out of the alleys. They took down a dozen men before we could blink." He looked at Aramane and Rachaelis. "If the Adepts had not come along, we would have been finished. What are those things, my lord?”
“They’re called Urvuulfs,” said Corthain. “Demon-possessed, and their demon gives them the strength and power of a wild beast.”
Morin paled. “How can we fight such things?”
“As we would fight anything else,” said Aramane, stepping to Corthain’s side. “I am a Magister of the Conclave, and you are sworn Swords. Together we shall sweep these creatures from our city.” He looked at Corthain. “Lord Corthain, how do you suggest we proceed?”
Corthain nodded. He was the domn of Moiria and the famed commander of the great Battle of Dark River, but he had no formal authority here. Yet he knew how to fight the Urvuulfs. No matter what he did, a lot of men were going to die in the next hour.
Hopefully, he could save some of them.
“Listen to me!” said Corthain, raising his voice. “The Urvuulfs are strong and fast, but they have the intellect of animals. They hunt in packs, and they do not fight as a disciplined unit. Inflict enough pain, stand fast against their attacks, and they will panic and flee. Those of you who are veterans know that strength and speed cannot combat discipline and training.”
Some of the Swords nodded.
“We shall sweep the streets,” said Corthain. “Undoubtedly we will find other patrols of Swords, and they will join our force. Do you know where the attacks started?”
“No, my lord,” said Morin. “We were north of here, towards the slave market, when the Urvuulfs came at us. The Sword-Captain ordered us to retreat towards the barracks, and the larger group of Urvuulfs found us.”
Corthain nodded. “Get your men in line. We’re heading for the slave market.”
Morin swallowed and faced the Swords. A few moments later the remaining men marched behind Corthain, shields raised, swords ready in their armored fists. Corthain walked at their head, sword ready in his right hand.
Rachaelis came to his side.
“That was clever,” she said in a low voice.
“What was?” said Corthain.
“Getting them to follow you,” said Rachaelis. “I couldn’t have done it.”
“You can summon white astralfire,” said Corthain. “If they’re smart, they’ll stay near you.”
Rachaelis shook her head. “But you just…talked to them. That’s all. And now they’re ready to follow you.”
“Their Sword-Captain is dead,” said Corthain. “Men want to be led, especially in a crisis.” He sighed. “Why not me?”
“That was what happened at Dark River,” said Rachaelis, “wasn’t it? All the kings and lords were dead, so you told the men what to do.”
Corthain remembered that terrible day on the banks of the Dark River, the day the Jurgur horde had almost destroyed the combined armies of the kingdoms of the west. But Corthain had taken command of the shattered hosts and turned the tables of the Jurgur horde, smashing them utterly.
Thousands upon thousands of men had died…and the singers called him the Hammer of Dark River for it.
But after seeing what Maerwulf had done in Araspan, he did not regret it so much. Had the Jurgurs triumphed at Dark River, Maerwulf would have done the same on a vast scale throughout all the western kingdoms.
“I was,” said Corthain, “in the right place at the right time.”
“Perhaps,” said Rachaelis, “but that only works if the right man is in the right place at the right time.”
She had faith in him. The thought both cheered him and made him uneasy. Rachaelis Morulan was one of the bravest women he had ever met…and now they were going into battle together yet again.
He vowed to keep her alive, if he could.
“Come,” said Corthain. “We can talk more of this later.”
Rachaelis nodded and followed him.
###
They spotted corpses here and there in the street, but less than Corthain had feared. The residents and slaves of the dockside districts had barricaded themselves in their homes and warehouses, and the Urvuulfs had not tried to break into any buildings. For now the beasts seemed content to hunt the streets. But eventually their rational minds would reassert themselves, and they would take human form to break into houses and start the killing anew.
Unless the Swords
and the Conclave stopped them.
Corthain found two more groups of Swords struggling against packs of Urvuulfs. Both times Rachaelis and Aramane unleashed white astralfire, staggering the creatures. And both times the Swords regained heart and charged the stunned Urvuulfs, cutting them down right and left. Once the battle turned against them, the Urvuulfs proved quick to flee.
They always fled towards the slave market.
“Why withdraw there?” said Rachaelis. “It’s an open space with nowhere to hide. If the Urvuulfs are thinking like predators, wouldn’t they find someplace to hide? Or try an ambush?”
Corthain shared a look with Luthair. A normal predator would flee and hide from danger, but the Urvuulfs were demons of fury. They would flee, but only in search of weaker victims.
And Araspan’s slave market held countless helpless and chained victims.
He suspected a scene of horror awaited them at the slave market.
“We’ll find out,” said Corthain.
The Swords marched on, and they soon reached Araspan’s slave market.
It looked a like a cattle market, complete with an auction block, high walled pens, and fortified warehouses. Except the pens did not hold cattle. Dozens of corpses, both in the orange tunics of slaves and the fine robes of slave traders, lay scattered across the square. A great mass of Urvuulfs, fifty or sixty strong, clustered at the far end of the market. Hundreds of terrified slaves cowered in one of the pens, and the Urvuulfs threw themselves at it, snarling and clawing. The pen’s walls were holding, but Corthain saw the boards start to give way.
One the Urvuulfs got inside it would be a slaughter.
Rachaelis stepped to Corthain’s side, gray eyes wide with anger. She hated slavery, and the sight of those Urvuulfs terrorizing the helpless slaves would fill her with rage.
She stepped past him, hands raised to cast a spell…
“Wait,” said Corthain, gripping her arm. “We need a better plan.”
She looked at him, and managed a curt nod.
“Swords!” said Corthain. “Shield wall, blocking the street! Crossbows behind! Now!”
Many of the Swords of the Conclave had not seen combat until today, but the men did not lack for discipline. The black-armored soldiers spread across the street leading, forming a wall of steel-studded shields. Men equipped with crossbows formed a second line, loading and cranking their weapons.
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