Her face twisted with glee, her eyes alight with maniacal emotion.
Whatever powers the she might possess, whatever demons she could command, Rachaelis was certain of one thing.
Thurvalda was insane.
“You,” said Arthain, “are one ragged Jurgur priestess commanding a band of demon-possessed slaves. I highly doubt that you will overthrow the kingdoms of the west. Or that you will outlive the hour.”
“The Master is slain,” said Thurvalda, “but his blood, the fruit of my womb, yet lives. And into his blood I have forced a demon of tremendous might. It summoned the Urvuulfs, binding them to the flesh of my followers. It enhanced my powers, giving me blood sorcery to equal the might of the Master himself.” She pointed at Arthain. “And it has the power to destroy the Conclave and turn your precious Ring to dust.”
“In fifteen centuries,” said Arthain, “the Ring of the Conclave has never fallen. You, madam, shall not be the first to take it.”
“Fool!” shrieked Thurvalda. “Yield, or…”
“Enough!” said Arthain. “Surrender yourself or perish.”
Thurvalda’s lips peeled back from her teeth in a snarl, making her look almost as bestial as the Urvuulfs themselves.
“Then die!” screamed Thurvalda, and Rachaelis saw the glint of a glass vial in her left hand.
The sort of vial Maerwulf had used to carry dried blood for his spells.
“Magister!” shouted Rachaelis, but it was too late.
Thurvalda gestured, a rune of crimson fire blazing upon her palm. The fiery light fell upon Arthain in a hazy cone. Rachaelis had seen that spell before. The light caused excruciating pain, and could rip all the blood from a victim’s body.
But silver light flared around Arthain as his wards turned aside the blood spell.
“Is that all you can do?” said Arthain. “Contemptible. Now you will see why the Adepts are the true overseers of magic.”
A blast of blue astralfire erupted from his hand, shooting towards Thurvalda. The blood shaman flinched away, and the blue fire exploded a few feet from her head. The thunderclap echoed over the market, the blood sigils on the walls flaring with greater power as they absorbed the force of Arthain’s strike.
Thurvalda laughed. “Is that the best the mighty First Magister can do?”
“Perhaps you will laugh,” said Arthain, “once you see the joined might of the Conclave. But not for very long, I suspect.”
He strode back to the barricade without another word.
“Well, Aramane,” said Arthain, “it will come down to force after all.”
Aramane shook his head. “It was nonetheless worth the effort.”
“Not really,” said Arthain, looking at Corthain, “but we learned something valuable nonetheless. One of Maerwulf’s concubines has dreams of following her master’s path to destruction. We shall teach her the folly of that.”
“I urge a strike at once, First Magister,” said Jonas. “This Thurvalda clearly has no wish to surrender, nor do any of her followers. It is therefore necessary to kill them all.”
“And,” said Orain, “we may have more urgent reasons to attack.”
“Beyond the obvious?” said Arthain.
“Yes.” Orain took a deep breath. “I think I know how the Urvuulfs came to our world.”
Arthain shrugged. “Maerwulf summoned them into the bodies of his followers, and some of his followers escaped. They gathered here and launched an attack of desperation against the Conclave. Simple enough.”
“I fear it is much worse than that,” said Orain. “I believe this Thurvalda woman bound a greater demon into the flesh of her child, a greater demon strong enough to pull additional demons into this world.”
“Which means the Urvuulfs were only created within the last few days,” said Rachaelis.
“Precisely,” said Orain. “The greater demon is in control of the child, and has summoned additional demons into Thurvalda’s followers. The Urvuulfs were deadly, but I doubt we faced more than a hundred. Even as we speak, Thurvalda is likely binding additional demons into her followers. If we do not act quickly, we may well face an army of Urvuulfs and Urthaags.”
For a moment no one spoke.
“Then our course is clear,” said Arthain. “We will strike at once and purge this cancer of blood sorcery and demon-worship from our city.” He shook his head. “Talvin was a fool, but he was right about one thing. The Conclave has become complacent and corrupt. First Maerwulf operated under our very noses for years, and now his disciple runs amok through the docks! No more. There will be a reckoning, once we settle with Thurvalda.”
“The Conclave’s structure encourages this,” said Aramane. “The harshness of our discipline, combined with the arrogance we show to all other men…little wonder the Jurgurs turn to blood sorcery and demons. Were we not so harsh, perhaps they would not find Maerwulf and Thurvalda such compelling leaders.”
Rachaelis had seen how the commoners feared and loathed the Conclave, and she imagined that many of the nobles of the mainland kingdoms would feel the same way.
Though after seeing the Urvuulfs rampage through the docks, perhaps the people of Araspan would see the Conclave as a protector after all.
“This is not the time for a philosophical dispute. Magister Jonas, prepare the Swords for an immediate assault,” said Arthain. “Magister Aramane, take command of the Adepts gathered here. We shall need to dispel the blood sigils surrounding the warehouse and counter any spells that Thurvalda and her followers cast. You shall act under my direction.” Both Jonas and Aramane nodded. “Lord Corthain! I request that you take overall command of the attack.”
Corthain’s green eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because you know more about the Jurgurs than we do,” said Arthain. “Without your aid, we would still be blindly seeking Maerwulf. Or perhaps he would have already claimed Rachaelis and transformed her into an Urmaaghsk.” His tone softened, just a bit. “And you understand why we must act harshly. You’ve seen the chaos and bloodshed just one demon can cause. If we do not stop Thurvalda at once, many more innocents shall perish.”
This was not Corthain’s fight. But he had told his sister he would try to save Rachaelis from the Jurgurs, and Rachaelis knew he would see this through to the end. She knew what kind of man he was. He was driven to save people, as he had failed to save his brother Solthain and Rachaelis’s father from Paulus and Talvin.
He saw her staring at him, and nodded in her direction.
“Very well,” said Corthain, “though I’d like some damned armor.”
Chapter 4 – Wolves in Shadow
“I really think, my lord domn,” said Luthair, handing over a pair of gauntlets, “that you ought to charge the Conclave for your services.”
Corthain pulled on the gauntlets. He wore the armor of the Swords, black steel plate over leather and chain. The College Artifica had forged the plate in their foundries below the Ring, and their magic made the armor lighter and harder than ordinary steel. Corthain doubted it would stop the crushing jaws of an Urvuulf…but it would slow them down.
“I am a Callian domn,” said Corthain. “I do not charge.”
Silver light flashed as more Adepts astraljumped from the Ring, and armor clanked as more Swords assembled in the slave market. Arthain wanted every Sword and every Adept capable of combat gathered for the attack.
The warehouse stood silent, save for the hissing crackle of the blood sigils burning upon its walls.
“You used to be a mercenary captain,” said Luthair. “Money must come from somewhere. I sure I could negotiate a very reasonable contract for…”
“Money will come,” said Corthain, donning a Sword’s black helmet, “from the wine trading rights First Magister Arthain gave me. Besides, this is my duty. You were at Dark River, Luthair. And after, when the dead rose. You know what demons will do if we do not stop them.”
“Aye,” sighed Luthair, “but it would be nice if someone else could do the
stopping for once.” He grinned. “You don’t have to do this. No need to impress her further. She already likes you. So does her father. Which makes things simpler. He won’t be chasing you away with a pitchfork. Though I suppose he would use astralfire instead.”
“Who are you talking about?” said Corthain, but he already knew.
He looked at Rachaelis, who stood some distance away with her father and Magister Nazim. Most of the Adepts still wore their robes, trusting in their powers to protect them. Rachaelis was wiser, and had donned studded leather armor, gauntlets, and bracers. She was not strong enough to carry chain or plate, but the leather armor offered some protection.
He would have sent her to safety. But she was one of the strongest Adepts in the Conclave, and they needed her help. Besides, she would not flinch from this fight.
“Sweet on an Adept,” said Luthair, still grinning. “You’ve braver than me, my lord domn. I wouldn’t want anything to do with a woman that shoots fire from her hands. Imagine what she’s like during her time of the month.”
“That insolent tongue of yours,” said Corthain, checking his armor one last time, “is going to get you hanged one day.”
“Oh, certainly,” said Luthair, his grin never wavering, “but not today, I think.”
“No,” said Corthain. More people were going to die today, and not from a hangman’s noose.
Best to get it on with it.
He strode to the barricade’s gate, where his father waited with Magister Aramane, Orain, and Jonas. Rachaelis joined them with Magister Nazim, an overweight, dark-skinned man leaning heavily upon a cane. He looked harmless, but Nazim was one of the Conclave’s most skilled wielders of mind magic. Thalia, Corthain’s younger sister, waited with Rachaelis, likewise clad in leather armor, her black hair pulled back. She winked when she saw Corthain, and he smiled back.
“The Swords stand ready, First Magister,” said Jonas.
“The Adepts are ready to strike,” said Aramane. “They shall join their powers to mine, and I will direct their strength.”
“And I,” said Nazim, “shall join the Adepts together in a thoughtmeld. That will give us the ability to coordinate in a way the blood shamans cannot match.”
“Good,” said Arthain. He turned to Corthain. “You are ready?”
“Yes,” said Corthain. He took a deep breath and looked at Aramane and Nazim. “Magisters, please begin.”
Nazim began muttered a spell, as did Aramane. A heartbeat later every one of the hundred Magisters and Adepts gathered behind the barricade did the same. The Adepts joined their power to Aramane’s, permitting the Magister to wield their strength with his skill and precision. And Nazim’s magic would link the Adepts in a thoughtmeld, allowing them to communicate instantly.
Corthain had seen firsthand how deadly a linked group of Adepts was on the battlefield.
“We are ready,” said Nazim, eyes darting back and forth behind closed lids as he maintained the thoughtmeld.
“Test their defenses,” said Corthain.
“As you wish,” said Nazim.
Aramane lifted his hand. A screaming bar of silver astralfire, almost as bright as the noon sun, ripped from his fingers and slashed across the warehouse’s wall. The blood sigils flickered and danced, howling like metal under stress.
“Well?” said Corthain as the silver astralfire winked out.
“We can collapse their defenses,” said Nazim. “But…not the blood seal. Something within the warehouse is maintaining it. Probably on the center of the main floor. Until it is destroyed, we cannot astraljump into the warehouse.”
“Damn,” said Corthain. That would have made things simpler. “Then we will proceed to the second plan. Blue astralfire and psychokinetic force, centered upon the doors.”
“As you command,” said Nazim. “Though I warn you the results will be…explosive.”
“That,” said Corthain, “is precisely what I want.”
He drew his sword in his right hand and Rachaelis’s sicarr in his left.
Nazim nodded, and every single Adept cast a spell at once. Again Aramane stepped forward, both his hands raised. Strain flickered over the Adepts’ faces, and Corthain wondered just how much raw power they had summoned.
Then Aramane struck.
A shaft of dazzling blue fire erupted from his right palm and hammered into the warehouse’s iron doors. The doors, their wooden frame, and most of the surrounding wall exploded inward with a mighty roar. Corthain caught a brief glimpse of a dozen Urvuulfs, surprise on their misshapen faces, and then the door’s molten shards ripped through them.
Aramane gestured with his left hand.
Most of the warehouse’s wall exploded inward with a rain of shattered brick. The blast tore into the warehouse’s interior, and Corthain saw a score of wooden slave pens shattered by the rain of debris.
He also saw dozens of Urvuulfs, some injured by the explosion.
“Swords!” bellowed Corthain, lifting his weapons. “Advance!”
The Swords struck the flats of their blades against their shields with a mighty clang and started forward. Corthain walked at their head, keeping a loose grip on his sword and dagger. The explosion had killed numerous Urvuulfs, but he doubted it had killed all of them. When confronted with a loud noise and bright light, most predators fled to regroup. But the Urvuulfs were trapped within the ruined warehouse.
They would try to fight their way out.
“Shield wall!” called Corthain.
The Swords formed themselves into a shield wall, and an instant later a mob of Urvuulfs boiled out of the wreckage.
The beasts slammed into the shield wall, clawing and biting, and three Swords fell, blood streaming from their wounds. A half-dozen Urvuulfs fell, pierced by wounds, and Corthain shouted another command. The shield wall shoved forward, driving the Urvuulfs back, even as more raced out of the warehouse.
Then Arthain’s voice rang over the melee, and a blazing beam of white fire slammed into the nearest Urvuulf. Corthain seized the opportunity, his sword a dark blur, and the demon-possessed beast fell. The beam swept through the battle, the white astralfire passing harmlessly through the Swords, but sending the Urvuulfs into convulsive spasms. The Swords struck, and the Urvuulfs fell dead to the ground. Their corpses shrank back to human form, and Corthain wondered what lies Thurvalda had told them. Had she claimed the demons would make them invincible? That her powers would ensure victory over the Conclave?
No further Urvuulfs emerged from the wreckage. If they couldn’t flee, they would fight. They would lurk in the ruins and ambush anyone foolish enough to enter.
Like Corthain and his men.
He took a deep breath. “Advance! Maintain formation, and watch your footing!” It would be easy to trip on the shattered bricks, and any man who fell would find an Urvuulf's jaws around his throat.
He started forward, sword and sicarr ready. Around him the shield wall of the Swords advanced, a tide of black steel flowing into the warehouse. Broken bricks and shattered beams lay in heaps around the floor. A score of dead Jurgurs lay near the door, their bodies ripped and torn by the iron shards. They had been lying in wait, preparing to ambush anyone coming through the door.
The rest of the warehouse stood empty, the slave pens deserted. Dozens of thick wooden pillars supported the ceiling overhead, which explained why the explosion hadn’t collapsed the entire building into a pile of smoking rubble. A pity it hadn't, but Corthain supposed that if the building had collapsed, the dead Urvuulfs would only have become demon-possessed ghouls.
A flicker of motion caught his eye, and a ripple of fear went through the Swords.
Corthain shot a quick look at the ceiling.
"Keep formation!" said Corthain. The first man to step away from the safety of shield wall would get run down by the Urvuulfs.
A flare of blood colored light shimmered in the center of the warehouse.
Corthain peered past an empty stall and saw a blood sigil inscribed up
on the floor thirty yards away. It was a blood seal, designed to keep Adepts from astraljumping in and out of a particular area. Thurvalda's plan was plain - she would force the Swords and the Adepts to enter the warehouse on foot, and use her Urvuulfs and her blood sorcery to destroy them one by one.
Corthain had a better plan.
"On my command," said Corthain, "raise your swords and cover your heads with your shields."
"My lord?" said a Sword-Captain, scowling behind his helm. "Raise our swords? Why..."
"Don't look up," said Corthain.
The Sword-Captain glanced up, and his face went pale.
A flash of brown fur crawled over the ceiling. Corthain risked a look over the lip of his helmet and saw a dozen Urvuulfs crawling over the ceiling like giant spiders. His hunch had been correct. The Urthaags’ demons gave them the power to climb walls and ceilings like insects. Why should the demons of the Urvuulfs not have the same power?
Though Corthain supposed the Urvuulfs could simply sink their massive claws into the wood.
The beasts stopped, and Corthain braced himself.
"Now!" he shouted.
A dozen Urvuulfs fell from the ceiling like misshapen thunderbolts, and the Swords raised their shields and stabbed with their blades. The Urvuulfs slammed into the shields, driving the Swords to the ground, but also forcing the soldiers' weapons into their flesh. The Urvuulfs bellowed in pain, thrashing as they tried to slash through the heavy wooden shields.
But they had not knocked all the Swords to the ground, and the men who had kept their feet struck back. Four Urvuulfs died in half as many heartbeats. Corthain spun, driving his sicarr through the neck of an Urvuulf. The Urvuulf died, its blood splashing across the ground as its body collapsed back into human form. Corthain turned, his ancient sword a blur in his hand, and took the head from another Urvuulf.
A roar rang through the warehouse.
The Third Soul Omnibus One Page 35