NiDemon

by Cormier, Shawn P.

  Ilien hung his head. His shoulders sagged. "I thought I could help her. I thought it would work."

  Anselm let out a heavy sigh. "You tried, Ilien. You did your best." He regarded the Swan solemnly.

  Ilien pulled away. "Are you happy now? I can't use Nihilic. I'm not a NiDemon."

  I can't help her, he thought. Now we'll have to leave her here and hope she doesn't die. His hands clenched into fists. "I won't leave her here," he whispered fiercely.

  Anselm knelt, and stroked the Swan's feathered head.

  "I won't," repeated Ilien. He looked at Anselm, a sudden hope in his eyes. "You can carry her."

  "Carry her where, Ilien? All the way to the tunnel's end, to the cellars of the castle at Asheverry? Into more danger than she's already in right now? No. She's safer here. We'll come back for her."

  "Come back for her? She could be dead by then!"

  "Or she could be well enough by then," replied Anselm in a low voice. "Listen, Ilien. There is no other choice. We must go on without her. There is too much at stake."

  "Too much at stake, indeed," came a familiar voice, and both Ilien and Anselm jumped. Up rose the Swan, climbing steadily to her webbed feet, her graceful wings held out in a wary stance. "NiDemon you are, Ilien," she said.

  "Penelope!" shouted Anselm. He leapt forward to wrap his bearish arms around her, but stopped. "Are you alright?"

  Ilien approached the Swan with wonder in his eyes. "Are you hurt?"

  "I'm not hurt," she replied. "In fact, I feel downright well. Whatever you did worked wonders." She flexed her left wing, dust rising from the tunnel floor in the process, and inspected it. "I broke it trying to open the doors, I think. But it's mended." She turned to Ilien. "You mended it."

  "Open the doors?" said Ilien. "What happened? How did you get here?"

  Anselm could contain himself no longer. He seized the Swan in a crushing hug.

  "Easy, Anselm. Easy," she cried. "Before Ilien has to fix me again!"

  The Giant released her with a grin. The Swan settled her ruffled feathers back into place. "To answer your first question Ilien, yes, open the doors back in Ledge Hall. Actually, trying to stop them from being shut is more accurate."

  "What happened?" asked Ilien.

  "Ah, yes. Your second question." The Swan's eyes held a distant, sorrowful look as she stared forward into the darkness. "Bad judgment, that's what happened." Her gaze bent upon Ilien. "I'm sorry for that. I should never have brought you to Bulcrist. I didn't know that he had wandered so far down the NiDemon path."

  Ilien inwardly winced. If she knew just how far down that path he himself had traveled.

  "When I last saw Bulcrist, he was just a boy like you," she continued, "hiding from the Nomadin who had branded him NiDemon."

  "Bulcrist is Nomadin-born?"

  The Swan sat down, her webbed feet disappearing beneath her feathery body. "Yes. He was one of many Nomadin-born children, as you now know. His lot was unusually hard, for even his parents desired him dead. They threw him into the Midland River when he was born, so fearful were they that he would fulfill the Necromancer's prophesy. But it is very hard to kill a Nomadin, even a newborn, and he survived. He was discovered by fishermen, washed upon the banks of the river, and was raised in their village by an especially cruel and hard man, and his even more cruel wife."

  "Gallund found him and brought him to me when he was not yet sixteen. I brought him to another sympathetic Nomadin who watched over him for a time. After that, he took up living in Ledge Hall, hidden from the rest of the Nomadin who feared the prophesy and wanted him killed. Now I see that Bulcrist has changed. I had no idea that his hatred of the Nomadin would drive him to use you to retrieve the map of the Crossings for himself, and make him try to murder me."

  Ilien looked at Anselm. "So he did send the wolves to kill you."

  "Yes," said the Swan. "They nearly succeeded, too. But we birds are mostly feathers, and thankfully so. When the wolves attacked me, all they managed to do was tear out a fair number of feathers and bite me here and there. But wolves are mostly flesh and blood, and I did worse to them."

  She snapped her beak for effect, and the sharp crack echoed loudly around them. "I bit off an ear and clipped away the end of a tail or two before I fled. I knew then that Bulcrist had sent them to kill me so that he could have his way with you and the princess. Escape was my only hope. The wolves gave chase, and I led them to the cellars. There was no way out for me because Bulcrist himself was waiting for me. Caught between him and his watchdogs, I fled down the only passage open to me, and through a great set of stone doors. There the chase ended, for neither Bulcrist nor his wolves would follow. They simply shut the stone doors behind me. It was a trap! They were sealing me in to my doom. I rushed to stop the doors from closing but was too late. That's when I broke my wing. After a while, I ventured down the passageway and into this tunnel. I walked for days, it seemed, before collapsing from exhaustion. I'm just glad that you and the princess are alright."

  The Swan whirled around. "The princess? Where is she?"

  "She's with Bulcrist," replied Ilien. He quickly told all that had happened to them. As he spoke, the Swan's eyes grew sharp, reflecting the magical light around them like polished black marbles. When Ilien came to the part about the Nephalim and the fight at the river, the Swan slowly stood. At the telling of the grovelstone, the Dorundum as Anselm had called it, her beak dropped open. When Ilien finally concluded by telling her that he and Anselm were rushing to confront the Witch Queen to save Windy from being consumed by the Nihilic sword, and prevent the forbidden Crossing from being opened, the Swan plopped to the ground and fainted.

  Ilien looked at Anselm. "I didn't even tell her about the foul black creature from the Land of the Dead."

  They quickly roused the Swan. Anselm fanned her face with his broad hand.

  "Let me up!" she shouted. "Let me up at once!" She scrambled to her feet. "Ilien, it all makes sense now. My dream. It was a vision. I know for certain it was a vision."

  "Calm down Penelope," said Anselm. "What dream?"

  "My dream! While laying in the tunnel a vision came to me, a vision of all this. You cannot go to Asheverry, Ilien. We must turn back and warn the Nomadin."

  Ilien retreated a pace. "No, I'm not turning back. Windy is in danger. Gallund needs our help. The Witch Queen will force him to open the forbidden Crossing again, permanently. She already freed a Nephalim. We have to stop her."

  The Swan craned her neck toward Ilien. "We cannot. Don't you see? She is too powerful. If she has freed one Nephalim, then she has freed others by now. Only the Nomadin can stop them. They must be warned."

  "Listen to what you're saying," said Ilien, backing further away. "I can't go to the Nomadin. They'll kill me."

  "The Witch Queen will kill you, Ilien."

  Ilien looked to Anselm, but the Giant stood speechless, his eyes filled with doubt.

  "I will not leave Windy to die!" shouted Ilien.

  "You cannot help her," said the Swan. "The Nomadin must be warned."

  "Then you go warn them." Ilien turned to leave.

  The Swan stepped before him. "I cannot let you go."

  Ilien pushed past her. "Then you'll have to stop me because I'm not turning back."

  "Ilien, you don't understand." She raised her wing. He darted beneath it and ran down the tunnel.

  "If you go, she will die!" Her shout echoed in the darkness, and Ilien froze. "I have foreseen it!"

  Ilien stared unblinking into the blackness. "And if I don't, will she be saved?"

  "Ilien," pleaded the Swan. "Things are not that simple."

  He spun on her. "Will she be saved?"

  The Swan's silence drove the air from Ilien's lungs. He turned and staggered forward, his Nihilic light blazing with his anger.

  "You will die too!" shouted the Swan. "And any who go with you! The quest is doomed. The Witch Queen will win. She will open the forbidden Crossing completely. The spirits under her c
ontrol will pour into the world and murder all who stand before them. I have foreseen it. We must warn the Nomadin."

  Anselm leapt forward. "Ilien. Wait for me!"

  Ilien turned, and a spark of hope flared in his heart. He would not go alone. He glared at the Swan as Anselm joined him. "Warn the Nomadin, for all I care."

  Ilien spun on his heel, but Anselm seized him by the arm. "I'm sorry, Ilien."

  Ilien cried out. He struggled to pull free, but the Giant's grip was absolute.

  "She has foreseen the outcome. I can't let you go if you're going to die."

  "We all know how useful her visions are," gasped Ilien. "Did she foresee who sent the Groll to kill me? Did she foresee Bulcrist's betrayal, or the Nephalim?" He spun on the Swan and shouted, "Keep your visions to yourself!" He yanked Anselm's hand to his mouth and bit it as hard as he could.

  Anselm bellowed in pain. Ilien pulled free, and sprinted away.

  "Ilien, stop!" cried the Giant as he chased after him.

  Ilien dimmed his magical light. The tunnel was too straight and too large. Anselm would catch him! He heard the Giant's footfalls pounding like drumbeats behind him. He doused his light and ran on in the blackness.

  "Ilien, come back!" shouted the Giant.

  Ilien ran on, his hands held before him, hoping the tunnel didn't suddenly change direction. Anselm's footfalls stopped. Let them warn the Nomadin, he thought. I won't leave Windy to die. He slowed to a jog. He didn't dare draw the Light rune again, not yet, not until he was certain the others weren't following. He would travel a little longer in the dark. Just a little longer. Thump. Thump. Thump. His footfalls echoed around him. He slowed to a walk. Wump . . . Wump . . .

  His foot met empty air. He tumbled forward with a cry, and fell into blackness.

  Chapter XIII

  Lies

  Windy paced the length of the crudely built tent in an attempt to burn off her restlessness, and as an excuse not to have to talk to Bulcrist. Her mind raced. After Fikus had told them the dire news concerning Thessien's family, he forbade them to travel onward, suggesting none-too-kindly that they were to camp with them that night. "As guests," he had said. As prisoners was more like it, thought Windy. She wanted to leave. They needed to leave. She had barely resisted her sword's urging to draw it forth and make known her intentions. But Bulcrist had merely nodded politely, and had agreed to abide by Fikus's wishes. So Fikus had left pleased, and she had sheathed her Nihilic sword and awaited the arrival of the remainder of the Eastland army.

  Nearly a thousand men strong, the troops under Fikus's control were a ragtag group at best. They were an army nonetheless, and now she and Bulcrist were going nowhere fast. So ragtag were they that only two meager tents were raised, one for the old men, and one for her and Bulcrist. The rest of the Eastland army simply made camp under the stars.

  Bulcrist cleared his throat. Windy squeezed the pommel of her sword in irritation and tried to ignore him. Why were they still here? They needed to move on. The Witch Queen held Gallund prisoner. At that very moment she was trying to force him to open the forbidden Crossing. And here they were, held prisoners themselves by an old man and his misfit army. As her anger rose, her Nihilic sword thrummed with a power of its own. She again repressed the urge to draw it forth and march out of camp. Let them try to stop me!

  Bulcrist cleared his throat again.

  "What is it?" she shouted, spinning on him.

  Bulcrist smiled, undisturbed by her outburst. "I sense you are upset."

  She turned and snorted.

  "We are here for a reason, princess. These ragtag soldiers can help us."

  Windy frowned. She had forgotten that Bulcrist could read her mind. "Help us? They're holding us prisoner. They would sooner help the Nomadin."

  "Often men know not their path until shown it," said Bulcrist.

  "Will you stop speaking in riddles? What is it with all you people? If you just spoke so people could understand you, things would get done at a much faster pace. And we probably wouldn't be in this mess right now."

  Bulcrist laughed. "They only need to be convinced."

  Windy fell silent. Fikus entered the tent, and Bulcrist flashed a knowing smile in her direction.

  "My men will bring you food and bedding," said Fikus as the tent flap closed behind him. "Is there anything else you need?"

  "We need to leave," said Windy, her hand upon her sword hilt.

  Fikus's eyes narrowed, but Bulcrist stepped forward and raised a hand. "We require nothing else."

  Fikus fixed his gaze on Windy. "You cannot leave until I know more about you. Tell me the full tale of where you are going and why and I might let you go then." He paused just long enough to frown. "The king is dead, and the new king is not yet arrived. Until then it falls to me to determine your worth. You may claim to know Thessien Atenmian, but that does not give you his grace to roam his kingdom at will during a time of war. I need to know why a NiDemon and his apprentice wish to enter the Eastland. If you were Nomadin I might guess you were out to aid the Witch Queen or meddle to make more trouble than you've caused already."

  "What trouble have the Nomadin ever caused?" asked Windy. She knew it was the wrong thing to say.

  Bulcrist raised an eyebrow at her. "My apprentice has forgotten her lessons," he said. "The Nomadin have long been too tolerant of the evil that thrives in the world."

  Fikus grunted in agreement. "Yet they fail to keep their prying wands out of the affairs of men who keep it safe." He regarded Bulcrist with a frown. "I've never heard that the NiDemon sought parlay with witches. Tell me your intentions for entering our kingdom, or you must stay with us until you do."

  Bulcrist smiled and asked, "How is it that the Witch Queen succeeded in winning the East? She has no armies. How could King Bragg's forces fall to a few dozen old ladies with pointed hats and whiskered chins?"

  If Bulcrist had wanted to irk Fikus, he succeeded.

  "A few dozen old ladies!" roared Fikus, his face reddening. "Try a thousand demon-spawn!"

  Windy gasped. A thousand demon-spawn? Then the forbidden Crossing was open. They were too late!

  Bulcrist weighed Fikus's words without flinching. "Spirit creatures? What sort of spirit creatures?"

  Fikus paled. "Every sort imaginable. They assailed us in the night without warning." He straightened and sniffed. "The castle was overrun before I could muster a defense. It was as if the foul creatures had sprung forth from the very walls. The king and queen died in their beds. Prince Drayas fell defending the throne room. Half the men in the king's army perished before sunrise. That was two nights ago. A thousand of us escaped and fled into the mountains." He stared at the entrance to the tent. "Half these men are merchants and mill workers, unarmed, untrained." He turned to face Bulcrist. "Not a woman or child made it out with us. The onslaught was too fierce. It was as if the gates of Hell had opened beneath us."

  The gates of Hell had opened beneath them, thought Windy. When the forbidden Crossing beneath the castle was opened, it would have only been a matter of hours before all was lost. She trembled. The Crossing was open. The Witch Queen had forced Gallund to open it, which meant that Gallund was dead. Tears rushed to her eyes. Her hand unconsciously fell to her sword. She felt an uncontrollable anger rise up to snuff out her sorrow. A jolt of power surged through her, and she released the sword in surprise.

  What is happening to me? Ilien, I'm sorry.

  "Will you give me no answer?" said Fikus, pulling Windy out of her thoughts. His arms were crossed. A resolute look returned to his eyes.

  Bulcrist stood beside her, his own arms folded. "My business is my own," he replied, "but we may be of help to each other, for we now have a common enemy."

  Fikus sneered. "A NiDemon, offering help to those who once aided his enemies? How strange. You are in no position to bargain."

  The corner of Bulcrist's mouth lifted. "Indeed. Neither are you. The Witch Queen has already proved herself the better of you and your king. As I see
it, I am the one who has yet a home to return to."

  Fikus visibly stiffened.

  "But we have something in common," continued Bulcrist. "A mutual enemy. My task I will keep to myself, but aid we can bring to each other. If we work together, we can all return home with what we desire."

  Fikus fingered his sword. "Death to the Witch Queen and those who follow her, that is what I desire. Can you give me that?"

  "Yes," replied Bulcrist. "And more. For when you say that the demon-spawn seemed to spring from your very walls, you are not far from the truth. Beneath your castle lies the door through which they came. A forbidden Crossing hidden for many long centuries." He gauged Fikus's reaction. "Yes, hidden even from you, Fikus, Captain of the Guard of Asheverry. Hidden from all but the king himself."

  Fikus's eyes hardened. "I've heard tell of that myth. It is a rumor only, an unbelievable tale."

  "It is there," said Bulcrist. "Hidden and thought safe, for who would have thought to put it there to begin with? But put there it wasn't. The Castle and your very city were put there instead, built around it to protect it. No one could possibly breach the defenses of the fortress city of Asheverry. But the unthinkable has happened. The forbidden Crossing has been opened."

  "It is told that only the Nomadin can open the Crossings," said Fikus.

  Bulcrist nodded. "That is true."

  Fikus drew his sword and stabbed it into the ground. "Curse those meddlers!" he raged. He turned a hot gaze on Bulcrist. "How? We would have known if a Nomadin had entered our gates. We would have known! If you speak the truth, tell me how?"

  "A Nomadin did enter the city, but not through its gates. And not alone. The Witch Queen was no doubt with him." He paused, and Fikus waited for the answer he sought. "Do you know so little about the city you profess to protect?" asked Bulcrist. "Is there no other entrance?"

  Fikus pulled his sword from the ground and sheathed it. "There is no other way into the city except through its gates. Asheverry is . . ." He trailed off, and his hand clenched around the pommel. His eyes grew wide with recognition. "The Long Dark Road," he breathed.