NiDemon

by Cormier, Shawn P.

  The images changed once more. No longer were there words or meaning, only feeling: longing, fear, bewilderment.

  A face came into view. Her mind reached out, struggled to return, to find herself again. The face drew near. Warm, hazel eyes came into focus, beckoning her back.

  Windy? Where are you?

  "Windy."

  She jolted from her stupor and cried out in surprise. Bulcrist held the reins to her horse. They had stopped in a small glade surrounded by thick pines. Bulcrist's horse was tethered nearby, grazing contentedly.

  "Princess." Bulcrist reached up and shook her arm. "Wake up."

  Windy stared at him blankly, then pulled away. "I'm not asleep," she said, trying to recover her wits. "Where are we?"

  "We are there. The tunnel entrance lies just beyond the trees."

  There already? She had fallen asleep after all. She shivered in the cold night air. The Nihilic sword glinted in her hand. She waited for the voices to come, for the madness to begin again.

  "Are you ready?" asked Bulcrist.

  Windy dropped wearily to the ground. She gripped the sword, but no voices came.

  "Did I really kill that monster?" she asked, her confusion evident in her voice.

  Bulcrist busied himself with her mount. "Of course you did," he answered. He relieved the horse of saddle and bridle. He did likewise with his own.

  "Was it me? Or was it the sword?"

  "It was both, princess." He slapped his mount on the rump and it galloped off into the trees. Windy's horse followed.

  "What are you doing?" asked Windy. "We may need them."

  "Keep your voice down!" said Bulcrist. "We can't leave the horses here. There may be spirits about."

  Windy peered into the thicket. "How far are we from Asheverry?"

  "Less than a mile." Bulcrist voice was hushed. "I'll feel better underground."

  Bulcrist led the way through the pines. Windy followed, pushing aside the needled branches that crowded together to block her way. The wind hissed around them, laced with the pungent spice of sap. The trees grew smaller, and they emerged from the grove into a starlit field. The tall grass bowed wearily in the cold night breeze. A pile of boulders loomed as a tumble of shadows against the flat, dim landscape.

  Bulcrist hastened ahead. He circled the rocks, stooping to inspect the ground. He cursed as he looked nervously about.

  "This is where the exit was, but it's blocked now." He paced as he pondered the situation. "I can possibly move the rocks with magic, but it would drain me of strength. What we need is a Giant."

  Windy looked skyward. "How about a Gorgul?"

  A patch of blackness moved amid the stars above. Pedustil sailed overhead on silent wings, his familiar outline framed against the nighttime sky. Bulcrist waved for him to land, but the Gorgul sailed by, skimming quickly above them.

  "Get down here!" grumbled the NiDemon under his breath. "I need you."

  Pedustil banked and circled around. Within moments, he landed before Bulcrist, his green eyes shining in the dark.

  "Where have you been?" asked Bulcrist, annoyed.

  "I was keeping out of sight," said Pedustil, "like you wanted."

  Bulcrist motioned to the piled boulders. "I need you to move these rocks. The entrance to the tunnel is underneath!"

  Pedustil's eyes dimmed. He snorted wet steam at Bulcrist.

  "Just do it!" demanded Bulcrist. "We haven't much time."

  Pedustil turned to Windy. "He gets this way every time his plans go awry. He's such a perfectionist." He flicked his tail, sending several small boulders rolling across the field. Soon he had pushed and prodded them all aside. A darkened stairway opened into the earth.

  "Wait for us here," said Bulcrist. "Try to keep out of sight."

  Bulcrist drew the Light rune and descended the stairs. Windy hesitated.

  "Princess? Are you alright?" asked Pedustil.

  Windy hovered on the top steps. The voices whispered to her. The sword glittered faintly in the darkness. She met Pedustil's worried gaze. "In case I don't return, I want to thank you," she said, "for looking for Ilien."

  Pedustil lowered his head. "Do not lose hope, young Windy. Nothing ever turns out quite as we expect."

  Windy smiled weakly, then followed after Bulcrist.

  The air grew stale and musty as she descended. Bulcrist waited for her at the bottom, his light shining up to her as a dim beacon. She joined him and looked around, surprised at the sheer size of the tunnel. She peered into the absolute blackness beyond Bulcrist's light. To her right lay Ledge Hall, miles away. To her left, the end was near. The voices in her head whispered constant warnings. They frightened her, yet somehow filled her with a strange, reckless courage. This was what she had come for. She would face what Ilien had been determined to face. She gripped her sword and felt its urging, its desire to command her as it had when she killed the winged spirit. She resisted its dark pull, hesitant to lose control again. If she succumbed, would she ever regain herself? If she didn't, would it matter? The fate of Nadae hung in the balance. Not only would the Eastland be destroyed, but her father's kingdom would fall as well. If only her father knew what was happening, he would send troops. If Thessien would return to lead his kingdom, perhaps they would stand a chance against the unthinkable nightmare the Witch Queen had unleashed.

  But it came down to her and Bulcrist: a child princess who wielded a sword beyond her control, and a NiDemon she didn't fully trust. She couldn't possibly succeed without help from the sword. Alone, she would fail. Without the sword, without Bulcrist, she was nothing.

  The voices grew louder at her dismay. There was no sense in resisting. When the task was done, she would leave the sword behind. And if she survived, she would return home to her father. If she died, perhaps then she would see Ilien again.

  "Come," said Bulcrist. "Stay close. Keep your sword at the ready."

  Windy nodded. "I will," she whispered as the voices overwhelmed her. Her eyes kindled in the darkness, and she followed Bulcrist down the tunnel.

  The dank air was still. Their footfalls echoed around them. Bulcrist's light cast their wavering shadows like phantoms on the walls and along the cold, stone floor. It seemed they had only just started walking when they came to an ornate iron gate set into the tunnel's end. Bulcrist stopped and motioned for silence.

  Windy saw footprints in the thick dust. Someone had been there recently. This puzzled her since she hadn't seen any footprints in the tunnel.

  "Beyond this gate, there is a door," said Bulcrist, his voice low and cautious. "Beyond the door are the castle cellars. The Crossing lies within. Wait for me outside the door."

  "No!" said Windy. "I'm going with you."

  Bulcrist grabbed her arm and pulled her close. "I can conceal myself with magic. You cannot. We can't rush in. We don't know what's in there. I will locate the Crossing and find Amandalia. I'll come back for you then."

  Windy nodded reluctantly and followed him through the gate. They stopped at a broad wooden door studded with iron rivets. There were more footprints on the ground, and paw prints as well—large paw prints.

  "I'll be back. Do not follow me," bade Bulcrist. He eased the door open and slipped through, closing it behind him.

  Windy shrank against the wall in the blackness. She tried not to dwell on it too much, but the paw prints disturbed her. Did the Witch Queen keep wolves for body guards? The Nihilic sword glowed faintly. The voices in her head were quiet whispers in her mind. She thought of Ilien, and of home. Painful memories assailed her in the dark. She shut her eyes and felt the comforting weight of the sword in her hand.

  A jolt ran up her arm as the voices rang out. Awake! Awake! She snapped her eyes open. Her sword blazed fiercely, shining its red light upon the wall and door.

  Two yellow eyes sprang up in the darkness. Windy pressed herself against the wall. A low, guttural growl broke the heavy silence. The burning eyes advanced. From out of the gloom emerged the shaggy head and bristling neck
of an enormous wolf. Windy swung her flaming sword through the air. Undeterred, the wolf padded forward.

  Windy gasped and stepped back from the animal. Her fingers fell numb around the pommel of her blade. In the glow of the sword, the Groll revealed its scorpion tail.

  Windy raced to the door, yanked on the handle. It was locked. Her body stiffened as the sword took control.

  She turned to face the Groll, her eyes like burning caldrons. She dodged the tail's first strike. Its black barb thudded into the door, splintering the wood. She spun and swept her blade upward. The bulbous tail fell severed to the ground, convulsing like a dangerously wounded snake.

  The Groll howled and reared. Windy struck again, cutting short its wail of agony. It fell back and crashed headless to the tunnel floor.

  Windy turned to the iron-studded door. She aimed a powerful blow that hacked the lock apart. She pushed through and ran up the corridor. She came to another locked door. She made short work of it with the Nihilic blade, and raced into a large, brightly lit chamber. She stopped and stood blinking in the dazzling light of many torches.

  "Well done! Well done, indeed!" came a cackling cry.

  In the center of the circular chamber, like a roiling black hole hanging in the empty air, loomed the Crossing. Before it stood Bulcrist. Beside him, a wizened hag of a woman leaned on a crooked wooden staff. Her white robes hung on her tall, gaunt frame like cobwebs on a skeleton.

  "Well done!" she shrieked. "She is powerful, Bulcrist. Very powerful. But the deal was not for her."

  Windy swayed on her feet, unsure what was happening. Bulcrist raised a finger. The door behind her closed with a bang.

  "You needn't worry, Amandalia" said the NiDemon. "I've brought you the next best thing."

  "You call the prophesied child the next best thing to the Creator itself?" She turned a hot gaze on Windy. The old woman disappeared. In her place stood an image of Ilien.

  Windy cried out. He was hideously disfigured, his face bruised and bloated! Dead! Ilien was dead!

  Then she remembered what Bulcrist had said. The Witch Queen took on the form of whatever frightened one most. It was a trick. She glared at the image of her dead friend, unafraid now that she knew this could not possibly be Ilien.

  The image of the old woman returned. She turned to Bulcrist. "The boy is the only thing standing in the way of all my plans. You were to bring him to me!"

  Bulcrist smiled his lazy smile. "The boy is nothing without this girl. If she dies before she releases him, he will remain just that—a boy. Until she fulfills the prophesy, he is powerless. Our deal still holds. Besides, if it weren't for that ignorant Nephalim of yours. . ."

  "Yes," said the Witch Queen, her ire suddenly gone, "that one is often more trouble than it's worth. But it is faithful, and that is a rare thing these days."

  The Witch Queen pondered Bulcrist's words. Her shape changed several times, from armored warrior, to Groll, to old woman again.

  The voices in Windy's head shouted in protest. It couldn't be. After all that had happened, Bulcrist had betrayed her. Ilien had been right all along. No one was to be trusted.

  The NiDemon frowned and shook his head. "Don't look so sad, princess. Nothing turns out quite as we expect." He admired the circular, black hole of the Crossing. "You came here to avenge Ilien, and you will. Only, Amandalia will complete your training now."

  The Witch Queen raised her hands and drew a rune in the air. The blackness of the Crossing paled. A grey pall spread from its center, pressing back the emptiness. Something moved within, a shadow inside a shadow. When the image became clearer, Bulcrist stepped back.

  "You were to summon a Nephalim," he said, turning in alarm, "not a Gog."

  "One Nephalim is enough," said Amandalia. "This should be more sporting. Do you have a problem with my teaching methods?"

  "Not at all," said Bulcrist uneasily as he retreated from the Crossing. "I'll take my leave." He held a hand out toward the Witch Queen. "Give me the map, and I'll be on my way."

  "You don't want to see how it turns out?" Amandalia bent an appraising look upon Windy. "She dispatched the Groll with such ease. This should prove to be a bit more challenging."

  Windy watched in horror as the Gog took shape in the Crossing. Three human heads, each horribly misshapen and crowned with crooked horns, turned in different directions to regard their surroundings. Its naked torso rippled with sinewy muscles. Six arms reached forward and gripped the edge of the Crossing, pulling its lumbering form up and out of the void. It crept forward on three disjointed legs, the lead appendage groping out to test the ground with clawed toes.

  Windy fell back, her sword forgotten.

  Amandalia traced another rune in the air, a rune of binding. The Gog rushed at her, its hands gnashing the air. The Witch Queen met its advance with raised arms. The Gog halted, and then pawed at the stone floor with its clawed leg.

  "The map," said Bulcrist, eyeing the Gog in fear.

  Amandalia stepped back, as if to put the Gog on display. "I don't have the map," she said.

  "We had a deal!" exploded Bulcrist, anger replacing fear.

  "Yes, yes. You will get your precious map soon enough,' she said. "The Nomadin has it, but do not worry. My Nephalim is hunting him as we speak."

  "Gallund has escaped?" asked Bulcrist. "The agreement was that you would keep the child, I would get the map, and the Nomadin would be taken care of!"

  Amandalia glared at the NiDemon. The Gog shuffled toward him. "Do you wish to renegotiate the terms of our bargain?" she asked.

  Bulcrist tensed and drew his black robes tightly around him. "Not at all. But I will take my leave, nonetheless." He glanced at Windy. "I'm sorry, my dear." He turned to go.

  The voices murmured in Windy's head. Murder. Vengeance. Death. They rose to a crescendo with her fear. A sudden rage swelled within her, an overwhelming fury at the NiDemon's betrayal.

  "When I'm through here, I will deal with you myself!" she shouted. Her sword quivered in her hand.

  Bulcrist strode from the chamber and left the way he came in without looking back.

  "Now, my young warrior," said the Witch Queen, "let's see how powerful you really are."

  Chapter XVI

  Prophesy Fulfilled

  Ilien stirred and opened his eyes to absolute darkness. He lay on his back. He felt no pain, but dared not move. The memory of the snake's piercing fangs filtered through his foggy thoughts. Was he dead? He scrawled the Light rune in the sand with a finger, and the space around him brightened.

  The jagged rock ceiling came into focus, and he slowly realized that he was still in the tunnel. He reached up and felt his chest, fearful of the wounds he knew were there. His shirt hung in tatters, the fabric torn open, exposing his bare skin. He slid his hand over his body.

  Had it all been a dream?

  He'd been impaled! His fingers groped for the puncture wounds that had to be there, searched for the blood that had to be pouring from him even then.

  Nothing. No wounds. No blood.

  He sat up.

  The snake lay dead in front of him, its gigantic jaws spread open, revealing charred and broken fangs. Gutted eye sockets gaped in its massive head like pots of dried blood. The scales of its snout were peeled and blackened. The snake's mangled head filled the passageway. There was no going that way.

  Ilien again searched his body for wounds. Unbelievably, he was unhurt. He slid his hands down his legs. A hole had been burned through his pants.

  The grovelstone!

  He frantically groped in his empty pocket, then scoured the sandy ground. The stone was nowhere to be found.

  What if the Evil returned?

  Something caught his eye—a yellow glint from inside the snake's open jaws. His heart leapt with relief. He reached into the gaping mouth, pushed aside the charred, forked tongue and gingerly lifted out the stone.

  He marveled at it in the pale light of his spell. He turned it over in his hand. It had saved him again.
It had slain the snake and healed his wounds! But why? He silently thanked it, patting it gently.

  He looked about, wondering which way to go. He sat in the middle of a four-way intersection with the dead snake blocking the way forward. He climbed to his feet.

  "How about showing me the way out of here?" he muttered to the stone.

  The grovelstone flared like a struck match. Ilien dropped it in surprise. He jumped back and shielded his eyes as a brilliant, yellow beam shot from the stone and blasted past him, kicking up sand in its wake.

  "Okay! Okay!" he cried. "It was only a suggestion!"

  The magic dissipated, and the stone lay dark and lifeless again. Ilien eyed it warily, half-expecting it to shoot at him again. He picked it up and brushed it off.

  "I had a wand like you, once," he said. "Thank God you can't talk."

  Ilien considered the three tunnels before him. Time was running out. He needed to find his way back to the Long Dark Road. He had to reach the Crossing before Windy. His stomach tied itself in knots as he realized that he might already be too late. He stared at the ground in thought, trying to recall all the branching tunnels he'd taken, all the various intersections he'd passed. He squeezed the grovelstone in frustration.

  His eyes went wide. Could it be? He dropped to his knees. The beam from the stone had cut a clear line into the sandy floor. The line extended up the tunnel and into the darkness.

  He jumped to his feet and brightened his magical light. He followed the line until it reached the next four-way intersection. The line turned left.

  Yes! The stone had blazed a path for him to follow! He turned to follow it, and froze.

  The Evil barred his way.

  "You will never leave here!" it screamed. Its blackness filled the tunnel. Ilien staggered back, eyes burning and blinded. He held up the Dorundum, and it flared with light. His vision returned. Like a rising sun, the stone's pure rays caused the Evil to shudder and draw back.

  Ilien advanced. "You cannot harm me! I killed your snake! You cannot harm me!"

  The nothingness convulsed with horrid laughter. "I have foreseen your end, and it is near. You cannot escape the plans I have laid from the very beginning."