Shadow of the Exile (The Infernal Guardian Book 1)

by Mitchell Hogan

  Tarrik gestured to the side street. “We’ll pick her up over there.”

  Inside the carriage, he tried to push thoughts of lying with Aimy from his mind. She was only bait, after all, and the worst thing he could do was to become attached, though that was unlikely from a simple dalliance.

  “Does she hold something over you?” Aimy asked him.

  “In a manner of speaking. I have to see this through with her.” One way or another.

  “Well, if you need any help extricating yourself, let me know.” She flashed him a smile, the tip of her pink tongue protruding between her teeth.

  The carriage jerked to a halt, and Ren boarded, followed by Gaukur, who sat beside Aimy. Ren handed the driver another silver through the opening. “The Temple of Nanshey, please.”

  “Right you are, ma’am.”

  They sat in silence during the journey, Tarrik aware of Aimy’s eyes on him and Ren’s presence by his side.

  A short time later, they disembarked onto a paved main street next to a high wall. Presumably the temple was on the other side. Gaukur, who hadn’t said a word yet, shifted the axe handles in his belt to loosen them. Aimy went through what looked to be a prefight ritual, touching each of her weapons and also the small of her back, where she must have a concealed blade.

  “Are we going in through the front?” she asked Ren. “Or through the catacombs? And what resistance do you expect?”

  Ren narrowed her eyes at the woman. “Having you with us has paid off already. We’ll take the underground entrance.”

  “There’s a way into the catacombs from the graveyard at the rear,” Aimy said. “We use it sometimes to hide from the Watch. It’s locked, but it’s a simple mechanism.”

  “Take us there,” said Ren. “As for resistance, the larmarsh is the worst you’ll have to deal with. Tarrik, do you agree?”

  Their three pairs of eyes regarded him: two bait, one slaver.

  “The larmarsh would kill any ordinary humans,” he said. “So we’re unlikely to face any other attackers.”

  “If we’re here for the larmarsh, what are you here for?” Aimy asked Ren.

  “Sorcery,” said Gaukur gruffly. He turned his head to spit onto the cobbles.

  Ren eyed him. “As I said: You deal with the larmarsh, and your task is done. You’ve been well paid. No more questions.”

  Aimy nodded to Ren, and without another word she strode off down a side alley. Ren waved at Gaukur to follow, and she and Tarrik trailed behind. Aimy led them along the high brick wall to an iron gate, which she pushed open. Tarrik was surprised the rusty-looking hinges didn’t squeak, then realized the mercenaries probably kept them well-oiled. Inside was a graveyard stretching fifty yards to a side. Long grasses and weeds grew beside carved-stone tombs and headstones, and only a few had fresh flowers laid in front of them.

  They followed Aimy and Gaukur to the back wall of the temple. Remnants of whitewashed plaster, now turned gray, stuck in small patches to the brick underneath. Most of it looked to have crumbled away years ago. The narrow windows were covered in dirt and impossible to see through.

  They stopped at a thick timber door with an iron lock. Aimy removed a set of picks from beneath her shirt. “This won’t take long.”

  Ren uttered a cant, and the lock clicked open. “Allow me.”

  Aimy stared at her, then put her picks away. “This way then. It’s a bit of a maze down here, and we haven’t explored the lower levels, so stay close to me. Especially you, Tarrik.”

  “He’ll stay with me,” said Ren curtly.

  Aimy raised her eyebrows and led them through the door to a brick corridor. From her pocket she produced an egg-size globe attached to a metal rod and shook it to agitate the alchemicals within. A soft glow sprang forth and steadily grew until it was as bright as several candles.

  Footprints scuffed the dirty floor, and a web hung above the door. A black spider peered balefully at their intrusion but didn’t move.

  “Wait,” commanded Ren. She closed her eyes, lips moving in a cant, and Tarrik felt dusk-tide sorcery emanate from her. Her eyes snapped open. “We need to go down.”

  Aimy exchanged a nervous glance with Gaukur.

  “Something wrong?” asked Tarrik.

  “We lost a few people several years ago. Found their bodies torn apart at the bottom of the stairs a couple of levels down. It looked like ghouls from the teeth marks on their bones. It’s why we never venture down there.”

  “I’ll protect you,” said Tarrik. A goad and a lie.

  Gaukur chuckled, and Aimy shot him an annoyed look. “The stairs are this way,” she said.

  The dirt on the floor cleared up a short way along the corridor, but mortar crumbled from the brick walls, and every surface was covered in thick dust and cobwebs. The stale air was redolent with decay. Horizontal niches punctuated the walls, filled with wooden coffins that had disintegrated with dry rot to reveal yellowed bones, many of them gnawed at. Scraps of cloth and leather were scattered among the remains, but no jewelry or trinkets. Thieves would have long ago made off with whatever was valuable, surmised Tarrik. Broken bricks and dirt were piled against walls, creating a trail along the corridors. They reached a stone spiral staircase leading down. Someone had placed broken crates across the opening.

  “No one’s disturbed this,” Aimy said. “Are you sure we should be going down?”

  “Very sure. There’ll be more than one way into the lower levels.” Ren smiled at Aimy and Gaukur. “We’ll go first if you’re scared.”

  Aimy stepped back. “After you.”

  Tarrik suppressed his laugh with a cough. Aimy was no fool.

  Gaukur tugged his axes from his belt. Aimy followed his lead and drew her rapier; she also held a slender dagger in her left hand.

  Ren spoke a cant, and a globe of brilliance fizzed above her head, illuminating the murk that pooled farther down the steps. With whispered words, she sent the light ahead to banish the darkness.

  “Won’t the larmarsh see us coming?” asked Aimy.

  “Yes,” said Tarrik. “But they’re creatures of darkness, and the light will be painful to its eyes. It’ll want to stay away from illumination. Which means we’ll need to leave the light’s protection if we’re to kill it.”

  “Great,” muttered Aimy under her breath.

  Tarrik angled the blade of his spear so it led him down the stairs after Ren’s light. A corridor turned off the first landing.

  “Go down farther,” said Ren behind him.

  Tarrik continued to descend, wondering how he’d ended up at the front instead of the two he’d brought as bait. The creature wouldn’t come near with Ren’s light bleaching the catacombs, so there was still time to send Aimy and Gaukur into its clutches. His innate talent for concealment should keep him safe until the larmarsh struck, after which it would be too busy feeding to pay attention to Tarrik. At least, that was the plan. As he knew all too well, in the heat of confrontation most plans disintegrated like smoke in a wind.

  They reached another landing. The staircase continued to spiral downward, but when Tarrik jerked his head in its direction, Ren shook hers.

  “It’s on this level,” she said. “I sense faint emanations of vitality. Farther down is only decay and deadness.”

  Tarrik had no idea what she was talking about, but he took a deep lungful of the air coming from the corridor. Damp soil and fur. This was the place, all right.

  He led them along another crumbling corridor until they reached a square room. There wasn’t much to it: a square eight yards wide with a gray stone plinth in its center that supported a man’s carved stone torso and head. His face was chipped and scarred where most of his facial features had been hammered off, along with his fingers. Three more corridors exited the space, one from each wall. Ren’s arcane light floated up to brush the ceiling and revealed bones piled in one corner and covered with a gray-green mold. The remains smelled wet and earthy. Tarrik probed the debris beneath the plinth and found
one of the man’s fingers.

  He dredged up almost-forgotten cants, sending dark-tide scrying tendrils out in front of him. One returned almost immediately, bringing the information he needed: the larmarsh was to their right, fifty paces distant. With a slice of luck he could avoid the creature until it attacked Aimy or Gaukur.

  “Is Lischen on this level too?” Tarrik asked, leaning close to Ren and pitching his voice low.

  Ren glanced back at Aimy and Gaukur, who were only just entering the room. “I’m not sure.”

  Tarrik nodded. “One thing at a time then.” He turned to Aimy and Gaukur, their faces half-lit by Ren’s globe. “Here’s where you earn those gold coins. Gaukur, you take that corridor. Aimy, that one. I’ll take the third.”

  Aimy frowned but didn’t seem suspicious, which was good. “We’re separating? Wouldn’t it be best to stay together?”

  “Then the larmarsh will never come for us. We need to lure it into attacking. Once a feeding frenzy comes over it, it’ll pay little heed to anything else. If it comes at you, run—lead it back to this room and the sorcerous light. That’s the only thing that’ll make the beast hesitate. When one of us encounters the creature, you’ll know it. It’ll wail something terrible. Try not to piss yourself when it does—you don’t want to meet the same fate as the sorcerer you found earlier. Don’t worry about anyone else; just look after yourself. Once we’ve lured the thing back here, we’ll kill it together.”

  Gaukur snorted. “If we ain’t killed first.”

  Tarrik looked at Aimy. “I thought you said no pants pissers?”

  Polished steel sparkled as Gaukur brandished an axe in Tarrik’s direction. “I ain’t no pants pisser.”

  “Then shut your hole.”

  “Settle down, both of you,” snapped Aimy. “Gaukur, this job’s paying enough to keep you for years. Let’s just get it done and let this sorcerer do her sorcerizing. Tarrik’s buying the drinks all night after we’re done, aren’t you?”

  Tarrik knew that Aimy wanted a lot more than just drinks. And if he weren’t bound by Ren, he might have taken her up on her offer. That is, if she was still alive after they’d taken care of the larmarsh.

  Aimy’s attempt to lessen the tension seemed to work. Gaukur stopped glaring at Tarrik and moved to assess the other three corridors.

  “Watch out,” Ren told Aimy. “He’ll drink you both under the table.”

  If he weren’t sure she was heartless, Tarrik would have thought Ren was trying to be funny. And if Aimy was amused, she didn’t show it.

  “We’ll see,” she said.

  Tarrik had had enough of this. Humans might joke to keep their fear at bay, but a demon faced trouble head-on.

  “You all know the plan,” he said. “Aimy, you take the left passage, Gaukur the middle, and I’ll take the right.” There was more of a chance the larmarsh would take out the two mercenaries if they were closer together. “Enough talking. It’s time we put this creature down.”

  He readied his spear and entered the right-hand passage. His boots shuffled across decades of detritus fallen from the funerary niches. As he moved aside a skull, he heard Aimy and Gaukur cautiously creeping along their tunnels. Idiots. Thirty paces along, he stopped before an intersection and pressed his back into a shallow alcove. The larmarsh wouldn’t come for Ren while her eldritch light shone brightly, but the smell of the other humans would draw it like iron to a lodestone. All he had to do was stay out of its way for the time being.

  He calmed his breathing and concentrated on disappearing into the crumbling brick wall. The shadows wouldn’t obey him, as much as he’d tried over the centuries, but at least he could become unnoticeable. Unless he made any sudden moves, his innate talent of concealment would serve him well. He’d only just settled himself when he sensed something moving through the intersection nearby. He heard cloth rustle and saw a patch of deeper blackness, but it was gone before he could blink. A draft washed over him, redolent with the stench of wet fur and earth.

  Tarrik gave the creature a head start before following. Around the corner, away from the harsh glare of Ren’s globe, darkness enfolded him. He welcomed it, had an affinity with it, as did all higher demons. He could sense the walls to either side without seeing or touching them—another inborn talent that served demons well during the moonless nights in the abyssal realms, when prey tried to remain hidden and the predators roamed.

  The larmarsh was between Tarrik and Gaukur now. He moved along the passage, careful not to lift his feet too high and crunch on bone. A low keening moan came from the blackness ten yards in front of him.

  “Gaukur!” It was Aimy’s urgent voice. Tarrik was unable to pinpoint her location.

  “I’m alive,” came the axeman’s gruff reply. “I think it came from . . . wait . . . feck!”

  The larmarsh’s screeching wail drowned out anything else Gaukur shouted.

  Tarrik raced toward the commotion, all attempts at secrecy abandoned. He paused at another intersection, then ran to the sounds of a scuffle. Gaukur screamed in defiance. Thuds sounded from his axes’ heavy blows. Sparks skittered in the pitch-black as metal hit stone.

  Midnight brightened as Ren’s sorcerous globe neared. Tarrik could see Gaukur’s huddled form lying in the dust, splashed with gore. His arms and back were a mess of shredded cloth and flesh. One hand was pressed to his ravaged neck, and scarlet leaked from between his fingers. His axes were a few feet away, both their blades covered with crimson. He looked up at Tarrik accusingly before falling limp. Gaukur was no use to them now.

  Aimy bolted out of a side passage and rushed to Gaukur’s side. She dropped her weapons and placed one hand on his shoulder, the other on his head. Her jaw clenched, lips drawing into a grim line.

  Tarrik kept his spear up, searching the darkness for signs of movement. Ren’s eldritch globe faded to a lesser illumination. Good. He needed the larmarsh in a feeding frenzy, not scared away.

  “We have to get Gaukur out of here,” Aimy said. “A healer can save him.”

  “None of us will make it out if we don’t kill the larmarsh first.”

  “Damn the creature to the abyss! I’ll not let one of my own die here in this old tomb.” She grabbed her blades and stood, glaring at Tarrik. He saw a tear roll down her cheek. “You killed him. You and your sorcerer,” she spat. Her rapier blade trembled with suppressed rage.

  A shadow rose behind her, almost touching the ceiling. Eyes of cobalt glowed in Ren’s reflected sorcerous light.

  Keep her talking.

  “He killed himself by not being skilled enough,” Tarrik told Aimy.

  “You fecking bastard,” she sobbed.

  The black form that was the larmarsh remained still, as if assessing the situation. Tarrik retreated a step to present less of a threat. From the look of Gaukur, the beast had begun to feed but had left him when it heard Tarrik approach. The creature had a taste for blood now and wouldn’t want to leave without finishing its meal. All that was left to do was kill the other human blocking its prey. Then the larmarsh would have two bodies to feast upon.

  Tarrik flicked a glance behind him, as if checking the creature wasn’t sneaking up on him. “Stick with the plan,” he said to Aimy.

  “Don’t you fecking back away from me. You can carry Gaukur. Shit, look at him.”

  Aimy dropped her rapier and used her dagger to cut strips from her shirt hem to use as bandages. While she busied herself, Tarrik retreated a few more steps.

  Darkness exploded as the larmarsh struck, turning into razor claws and a wailing fanged mouth, twisted horns, and a cobalt mane. Aimy only had time to gasp as it fell upon her. Scarlet sprayed from her flesh, and she flew through the air and slammed into the wall. Dust and fragments of brick rained down as she slumped to the floor, a bloodied wreck of torn flesh.

  The larmarsh let out an eerie wail that assaulted Tarrik’s ears. He lunged with his spear. The larmarsh spun away, and he missed its heart, slicing instead along the blue-gray skin over its
ribs. The creature hissed and batted the shaft into the wall with such force it vibrated in Tarrik’s hands. He leaped backward and brandished his spear again, keeping the tip aimed at the larmarsh’s chest. It was female, with humanlike breasts that were small and flat. Aimy’s and Gaukur’s blood flecked its face and dripped from its lips.

  Tarrik thrust at it again and again to keep its clawed hands away. The beast managed to grasp the shaft of his spear and yanked him forward, but he twisted with all his might and wrenched his weapon free.

  Blood and fire! Is Ren expecting me to kill it alone?

  He realized he’d retreated a good ten or so paces from where he’d been standing when Aimy was attacked. The larmarsh was too quick, too strong for him to do much more than keep it at bay. Again his thrusts were turned aside or dodged, the larmarsh striking the spear with such strength Tarrik feared the blade would shatter or the shaft splinter.

  Where is Ren?

  A terrible thought came to him: Perhaps he was also bait. Had she left him to die while she scurried away to deal with Lischen?

  A sharp jerk pulled him forward, and he cursed his inattention. The larmarsh now held his spear in both its clawed hands. Tarrik twisted and jerked with all his strength but couldn’t loosen the creature’s grip. Its fanged mouth widened in a grin.

  When it tugged at the spear again, Tarrik let go, and the creature stumbled backward. He thought about bringing forth his shadow-blade, but if Ren saw the weapon, his secret would be exposed. Besides, he had more than one trick. The fight wasn’t over yet.

  Wood clattered on stone as the larmarsh cast his spear to the ground. It advanced steadily, confident it had him, forcing Tarrik to retreat. He tripped over a skull, which broke into fragments under his weight. Darkness surrounded him as he moved farther and farther from the gloom Ren’s distant globe provided. He glanced back at his spear, discarded in the dust, then at Aimy’s rapier and dagger and Gaukur’s axes. Which should he go for? The spear hadn’t worked very well in these narrow passages.