Corthain saw more Urvuulfs emerging from hiding in the slave pens. The Swords had withstood the ambush from above, but it had disrupted their formation and left them vulnerable to attack from the flanks.
Which the Urvuulfs would do, unless Corthain took action.
He sprinted forward, killing another Urvuulf, and raced to the center of the warehouse. The blood sigil burned before his boots, a twisting maze of jagged lines written in crimson fire. He lifted his sword. The blade was ancient, older than Callia, even older than the Conclave itself. The master smiths of the Old Empire had made it stronger and sharper and lighter than normal steel.
And, Corthain suspected, more resistant to sorcery.
He raked the blade through the blood seal, carving a cold line through the heart of the sigil. A keening scream rose from the symbol, like steel cables snapping, and the entire seal flared and went dark.
The blood seal had collapsed.
A growl filled Corthain's ears, and he dodged as a dark blur shot past him, so close the Urvuulf’s fur rasped against his armor. It whirled to face him, its misshapen muzzle pulled back in a snarl to reveal yellowed fangs. Corthain performed The Wasp's Fury, his sword turning the creature's face to bloody ruin. The Urvuulf bellowed, black blood flying from its fangs, and Corthain's next slash tore open its throat.
He ducked as another Urvuulf reached for him. His sword came down in The Rushing Waterfall and took the Urvuulf's right hand. The beast screamed, its hand withering to human form as it struck the floor, and Corthain drove his sword through its chest. More Urvuulfs charged through the warehouse, making for the Swords, and one dashed at him, snarling...
A silver flash appeared over the ruined blood seal.
When it cleared, Rachaelis stood beside him, her face tight with concentration. Rachaelis lifted her hand, and a blast of white fire burst from her fingers and slammed into the Urvuulf's face. The beast fell backward with a scream, the white fire quenching the crimson light in its eyes, and a gaunt Jurgur slave crumpled motionless to the ground. More beams of white astralfire crisscrossed through the warehouse, so bright Corthain had to squint against the glare.
Then the light faded. Corthain saw dozens of Jurgur slaves lying unconscious upon the rubble, the demons driven from their flesh. Yet the expulsion of the demons had damaged their minds, leaving them unconscious and comatose until they died of thirst.
Perhaps one in a dozen might wake up again.
"It's over," said Rachaelis, breathing hard.
"No."
Magister Arthain strode towards them, flanked by Aramane, Jonas, Nazim, and Orain.
"No," send Arthain. He pointed to a set of wooden stairs climbing to the warehouse’s second floor. "This isn't over until we find Thurvalda and Maerwulf's son."
Chapter 5 - Duel
Aramane shook his head. "There is an additional blood seal upon the second floor. We cannot astraljump there."
Rachaelis stared at the solid steel door atop the wood stairs. No doubt it led to the quarters of the warehouse's former owner, and had been constructed to block a potential slave revolt. Now a dozen separate blood sigils blazed on the door, wards to turn aside both physical attacks and magical assaults.
Thurvalda had been busy.
Magister Jonas snorted. "Then we burn the building down around them."
"No!" said Orain. "We dare not. If we kill the child with the demon still inside his body, the demon can escape in his corpse."
Rachaelis scowled at the thought of killing a child. But if Thurvalda’s child was really Maerwulf’s son, then perhaps the boy had taken the demon voluntarily. Eagerly, even.
“Then we will storm the door,” said Arthain.
“Our losses will be heavy,” said Jonas. “We may even lose Adepts in the attack.”
Corthain laughed.
"Do you find the death of Adepts amusing, Lord Corthain?" said Arthain, his tone frosty.
"No," said Corthain. "Why are you planning to assault this door when you blasted a large hole in the upper-story wall?"
The Magisters shared a chagrined look, and Rachaelis stifled a grin. Corthain might have been uncomfortable with the legend that had grown up around the Hammer of Dark River, but he had earned it. Even a man as relentless as First Magister Arthain Kalarien gave way to Corthain’s judgment in matters of war.
“Magisters, I suggest you think of this as an assault upon a fortified stronghold,” said Corthain. “You’ve blown a hole in the enemy’s walls. Now build ladders and climb to the upper level of the warehouse. We will lose a few men, aye. But we can storm the upper floor, disable the blood seal…and you can then deal with Thurvalda.”
“It is,” said Jonas, “a solid plan. A pity you did not become an Adept, Lord Corthain. You would be welcome in the ranks of the College Bellaca.”
“It is well he did not, Magister,” said Rachaelis. “If he had, Lord Corthain would not have been in command at the Battle of Dark River, and the Jurgurs would have overrun every nation in the west. Then the Conclave would face hundreds of blood shamans, not just Maerwulf’s remaining disciples.”
“Lady Rachaelis is too kind,” said Corthain. “But a plan of battle is often useless once the fighting begins. This door is too heavily defended, but the breaches in the walls are a weak point. If we strike there, we have a better chance of a swift victory.”
“Very well,” said Arthain. “You have guided us well so far, Lord Corthain. We shall continue to follow your counsel.”
He commanded for a guard of Swords and Adepts to stand watch over the stairs, lest Thurvalda try to escape, and marched from the ruined warehouse. Corthain and the other Magisters walked at Arthain’s side, going over their battle plans.
Rachaelis followed as slaves hurried into the warehouse, dragging the bodies of the Jurgurs for the crematoriums.
And as she did, an idea came to her.
###
“Father,” said Rachaelis. “I can astraljump into the warehouse.”
The sound of hammers and saws rang over the market as the Conclave’s skilled slaves went to work, constructing wide ladders with heavy planks for steps, broad enough that the Swords could climb while keeping their shields raised. Rachaelis was pleased to see that the slaves had demolished some of the pens to provide lumber.
She only wished they could permanently tear down those slave pens.
Aramane frowned. “You can? You’re strong, daughter, but not strong enough to punch through a blood seal.”
“No,” said Rachaelis, “but the seal has gotten ragged.” She worked the spell to sense magic, probing the wards on damaged warehouse. “I can probably astraljump three or four yards into the second floor. The remaining blood sigils upon the walls will block us from throwing any spells into the warehouse. But once I’m inside the walls, I can use my spells to aid the Swords.”
“And,” said Aramane, voice quiet, “to aid Corthain.”
Her eyes strayed to where he stood directing the Swords as they prepared.
“He’s survived so much,” said Rachaelis. “It would be tragic if he died now. And he’s a strong leader, but a principled one. He has done much good, and could do much more.”
“And you have no other reasons?” said Aramane.
Rachaelis blinked. “What other reasons would I have?”
A smile flickered over her father’s lean face. “If you want to aid the attack, I will not gainsay it.” He took a deep breath. “But, if you do, I will accompany you.” She started to protest, but he kept talking. “You are a strong Adept, but I am stronger and more skilled. Two will have better odds than one. I lost you for twelve years, Rachaelis. I will not see you die in front of me.”
“I don’t want to see you die, either,” said Rachaelis. “I visited your bed every day for years, not knowing if you were dead or alive…”
“Then we will go together,” said Aramane, “and guard each other.”
Rachaelis nodded and watched the slaves work.
##
#
An hour later the attack began.
The Swords threw a dozen ladders against the warehouse’s damaged wall and began to climb. The men kept their shields raised, ready to ward off any arrows or spears. Corthain climbed the leftmost ladder, Rachaelis’s sicarr ready in his left hand. Rachaelis wished he had remained behind the barricade to oversee the attack.
But the soldiers met no resistance.
A dozen Swords gained the warehouse’s second floor, climbing over the scattered bricks and broken timbers. Rachaelis craned her neck, trying to get a better view. The second floor was mostly empty space, save for scattered stacks of crates and barrels, terminating in a wooden wall halfway across the building. Had they already destroyed all of Thurvalda’s fighting force? Had she been mad enough to challenge the might of the Conclave with so few…
An earsplitting roar rang out, and a dozen Urvuulfs burst from concealment behind the crates. The Swords had not yet formed up, and the Urvuulfs slammed into them. Two men went screaming over the edge of the broken floor, crashing against the ground. Three more men went down beneath the Urvuulfs’ fangs and talons.
She saw Corthain dodge an Urvuulf’s attack, his dark sword cutting a bloody line across its flank.
“Father!” said Rachaelis. “Now!”
Aramane gripped her shoulder, and Rachaelis cast the spell to astraljump.
A silver flash devoured the world, and when it cleared, Rachaelis heard dusty boards creaking beneath her boots. The Swords struggled around her, and an Urvuulf reached for her with its black talons…
Rachaelis reacted on instinct.
A bar of white astralfire erupted from her fingers and slammed into the Urvuulf’s deformed muzzle. The beast stumbled back with a howling scream, the crimson glow of its eyes fading. A heartbeat later a Jurgur slave collapsed to the floor, twitching and trembling, and more Urvuulfs turned to face Rachaelis.
Then Aramane lifted his hand from Rachaelis’s shoulder and loosed his magic.
Blast after blast of white astralfire drilled into the Urvuulfs. One by one the creatures collapsed to the floor, reverting to their human forms as Aramane’s power destroyed their demons. One Urvuulf dodged Aramane’s fire, and Rachaelis lashed out with a spell of her own, her magic turning her thoughts into fists. Her will seized the Urvuulf and slammed it into the floor. An instant later a Sword killed the creature with a single stab.
A few heartbeats the white fire faded. The Urvuulfs had either been slain or dispossessed of their demons. Rachaelis looked around, breathing hard.
Was that really all Thurvalda had?
“Magister, Lady Rachaelis,” said Corthain. “Your assistance was most timely."
“I wish we had arrived sooner,” said Aramane.
“There were not many Urvuulfs left,” said Corthain. “Thurvalda may have no others to throw at us.”
“Though we do not know the extent of the greater demon’s powers,” said Aramane. “We must be wary.”
“I agree,” said Corthain. “Can you locate the blood seal?”
Rachaelis muttered a spell to sense the presence of magic.
“It’s somewhere in there,” she said, pointing at the far wall. A single wooden door stood in the wall. Unlike the door leading to the main floor, this one had not been warded. “Somewhere in the overseer’s private apartments.”
“Where Thurvalda waits with her demon-possessed son, I assume,” said Aramane. “I urge caution. The woman may be a mad wolf…but she will be at her most dangerous when cornered.”
“Agreed,” said Corthain. He raised his voice. “Proceed! Shield formation. Be on your guard.”
The Swords raised their shields and followed Corthain, Rachaelis and Aramane walking at his side. Rachaelis extended her arcane senses, working the spell to detect the presence of magic. She sensed the remaining blood sigils upon the warehouse’s walls. But no other spells, save for the wards of the Adepts waiting outside, touched Rachaelis’s senses.
She took another step forward, and felt a sudden surge of power.
Blood sorcery.
But where? She could not pinpoint the source.
“Brace yourself!” said Aramane.
“I feel it,” said Rachaelis, voice tight. Thurvalda must be preparing a spell. But…
Rachaelis looked down, saw lines of brownish-black powder on the floor, perfectly camouflaged against the rough planks.
Dried blood, marking out the lines of a blood sigil.
“Get back!” shouted Rachaelis. “A trap! It’s…”
The lines of dried blood flared with crimson fire, and a row of blood sigils blazed to life from wall to wall. Corthain, Aramane, and the Swords were just out of reach, but the full force of the crimson light struck Rachaelis. Agony flooded her, and she fell to one knee with a scream.
“Rachaelis!” said Corthain, and Aramane began a spell.
The pain burned through Rachaelis…but she could still think. Her mother’s brooch pinned her cloak in place, and it had been enchanted to protect its bearer from mind-affecting spells. Once the physical agony would have been enough to overwhelm Rachaelis, but she had endured a lot in the last few months.
She summoned power, forcing out a spell, and the silver light of a ward against magic appeared around her. At once the agony vanished. Yet her ward strained against the fire of the blood sigils, and the backlash forced her backwards, knocking her to the floor.
After a moment she cleared her head and stood. A wall of crimson light divided the warehouse, separating her from the Swords, Corthain, and her father.
“Are you all right?” said Corthain.
Rachaelis nodded. “I think so.”
“This is my fault,” said Aramane. “If I had been more vigilant, then…”
“I’m fine,” said Rachaelis. “I should have seen it coming.” She scowled. “I’ve walked into a trap like this before.”
Aramane sent a burst of silver astralfire at the wall of blood sigils. A few of the sigils flickered for a moment, but did not go out.
“This is too powerful for me to dispel alone,” said Aramane. “I did not think Thurvalda had that kind of power.”
“She doesn’t,” said Corthain, “or else she would have put up a sharper fight. Maerwulf himself must have prepared this trap. Perhaps when he first came to Araspan, before he created his astral sanctuary.”
“I’ll need assistance to dispel it,” said Aramane.
Corthain nodded. “I’ll send a Sword to fetch the other Magisters. They can’t astraljump in here, but a climb up a siege ladder might do them some good.”
He gave the order, and the door in the wooden wall banged open.
Rachaelis whirled as Thurvalda stepped into sight.
For a moment the blood shaman froze in surprise. Up close she was beautiful, despite her shaved head and disfiguring scars. It was not hard to see how she had drawn Maerwulf’s eye. Yet she stank of drying blood and rotting meat, and the muscles around her eyes never stopped twitching.
She looked at Rachaelis and the Swords, and an expression of delighted hunger came over her face.
“The woman who slew the Master,” said Thurvalda, “come to my grasp.”
Rachaelis poured more power into her ward, the silver glow shining brighter. Aramane loosed burst after burst of astralfire at the wall of blood sigils, but the crimson glow did not abate.
“If I slew Maerwulf,” said Rachaelis, “I can defeat you.”
Thurvalda laughed, long and loud, her blue eyes widening with pleasure. “You cannot! Foolish Adept! For I have bound a greater demon into the flesh of my son, and the demon’s power shall destroy you. It shall destroy the Conclave, and the world shall kneel before the Jurgur nation!”
Aramane sent a steady stream of silver flame into the blood sigils, and Rachaelis glimpsed red robes as more Adepts climbed the siege ladders.
“You will not,” said Rachaelis. “One greater demon cannot oppose the Conclave. Stop this madness before you destroy yours
elf.”
"Foolish girl," said Thurvalda. "The greater demon's power is mine to command. I will destroy the Conclave, I will burn Araspan to the ground, and I shall fill the kingdoms of the west with skulls!"
"That seems unlikely," said Rachaelis, "as you cannot even keep control of one warehouse. It's over, Thurvalda. Your Urvuulfs are dead and their demons banished. Surrender now while you still can."
A second blast of astralfire slammed into the barrier of crimson light, and then a third. Rachaelis saw Thalia hurrying towards the Swords, saw Arthain and Jonas preparing to cast a spell. Thurvalda's lips rolled back from her teeth in a terrible snarl. Coupled with her scars, it made her look demonic.
"Perhaps I will not destroy Araspan," said Thurvalda, "but I shall watch you burn!"
She lifted her hand, and Rachaelis saw an empty vial in her fingers, dried blood crumbling over her palm. A blood sigil burned upon her hand, the crimson light falling upon Rachaelis. Her silver ward flared brighter, shuddering beneath the strain, but remained intact. Thurvalda was strong, but not nearly as strong as Maerwulf had been.
And Rachaelis had withstood Maerwulf's wrath.
She cast a spell of her own and sent a bar of blue astralfire at Thurvalda. The blood shaman crossed her arms over her chest, and the fire struggled against the crimson sigils on her arms. The astralfire sputtered and went out, dispelled by Thurvalda's protective spells.
But the glowing lines upon Thurvalda's arms had dimmed.
"How many more spells can you withstand?" said Rachaelis.
Another volley of silver astralfire slammed into the blood sigils.
Thurvalda looked back and forth, still snarling, and for the first time Rachaelis saw a hint of fear in the other woman's face.
"Perish!" shrieked Thurvalda, snatching another vial of dried blood from her belt. A fiery symbol bloomed upon her hand, the crimson light falling over Rachaelis like a dark sunrise. Her ward turned aside the light, but the boards of the floor and wall began to crumble into sawdust and mold. The floor started to crack and splinter beneath Rachaelis's boots, and she threw herself forward.
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