Spirit Past (Book 8)

by Jeff Inlo

  Hoping to remain somewhat in control, Neltus decided to teleport to a place of relative safety. He focused on a short trip near the western sea. As long as he was quick, he could return to Burbon in a mere instant.

  With a destination in mind, Neltus called on the crimson magic. The energy crackled about him, but he remained where he stood.

  "There," Klusac offered. "Now you know."

  Neltus was almost speechless. He could not imagine how the spirit of a dead captain managed to keep him tied to one spot. It was as if he was chained to Burbon. After shaking off the initial shock, he could not help but question the length of his captivity.

  "So I'm stuck here forever?"

  "Just as long as the conflict with Reiculf continues. I told you it would end. When it does, you can leave. For now, stay here... and stay out of trouble."

  #

  The delver unsheathed the Sword of Decree. Even in the darkness created by demons of smoke flying over Connel, the weapon enhanced the meager ambient light, and the blade radiated with brilliance. As he lifted the sword high, he wondered if he would receive inspiration on what to do... or even what not to do.

  The sword offered nothing. It shined as a beacon of hope to everyone that witnessed its splendor, even as they were surrounded by demons bent on overwhelming the entire city with their spiteful gloom. It glistened like the first bright star that appears just after sunset, but it gave no further direction to the delver.

  Believing in the simple logic of his plan, Ryson went to work. He rushed to the nearest wave of smoke demons, bore into them without regard for his own well-being. The foundation of his attack was simple, pour light upon the darowks and force them from the city.

  He did not have to stab or make contact with the creatures. The brilliant light from his enchanted blade scorched the demons. Pointing the tip of the sword forward, a thin yet intense beam cut through the dark packs, sent the demons into a frenzied retreat.

  The darowks could not counter the attack. They could not swarm over the delver and engulf him with their vaporous bodies to cut off his air. His speed would not allow it. They could not even form a sufficient barrier to obstruct the surrounding light and force the sword to go dark. Even with bodies of thick smoke, they were not of adequate substance to block out every glint of light. A simple glimmer was all the Sword of Decree required to glow majestically and scatter the shadowy creatures.

  Knowing his assault would hamper the efforts of the demons, Ryson sprinted to the center of the city and began to work his way outward. With all the speed he could muster, he rushed down every road and alley, breaking up the swarms of the corrupt creatures as they hoped to smother the human residents of Connel.

  The demons shrieked as they scattered. They did not simply back away or seek a moments reprieve from the burning radiance. They fled wildly from the sword's light and revealed great reluctance to face the beam a second time. Most flew back into the sky and joined the dark mass that hung over the city. A few broke in a mad dash to the borders of Connel.

  Ryson freed hundreds upon hundreds from the choking clouds that poured through the streets. He never stopped moving, never paused to accept thanks or praise. He ran, jumped and climbed from one block to the next. He never had to halt for an extended battle, never had to slow to encourage more resilient darowks to flee. The intense light of his sword guaranteed immediate victory over every demon.

  As Ryson hounded the darowks, Jure continued to battle the serp. Unfortunately, the wizard could not claim equal success. Every spell failed to fracture Macheve's defenses.

  The remainder of the group watched the conflict with growing uncertainty. They did not wish to stand idly by, but Ansas offered nothing in the way of direction. Confusion quickly turned to frustration and desperation.

  Holli remained magically exhausted from her last spell, and she knew there was little she could do against Reiculf's pawn. If she was going to serve in battle, she would have to rely on her other abilities.

  From her position, the elf could only obtain short glimpses of the delver. She tried to gauge his movements by following the unmistakable glow of his sword. She understood the delver's plan, but also recognized an error in his strategy.

  "He will not be able to move them out of the city entirely," she called out to Enin. "They are fleeing from his sword, but they will never leave Connel completely. They chose to leave Demonspawn to punish the humans, and they are now bound to that decision. As fast as Ryson is, the darowks will eventually push back into the center of the city when he strays out too far. We need to advise all the people of Connel to take shelter in an area Ryson can protect. I will help in that regard."

  "I can help as well," Haven offered. "The light of my magic can increase the power of his sword. He can clear larger areas."

  Until the elf sorceress spoke, Ansas remained engrossed with the continuing conflict between Macheve and Jure. He watched the wizard pour out spell after spell against the serp only to have each assault cast aside with the wave of a hand or the flick of a finger. The sorcerer tried to estimate the outflow of magical energy from each combatant, and the casual regard in which the serp deflected each attack left him with little hope that Macheve was exhausting her energy. Still, he would not simply surrender, and he searched painstakingly for a weakness he could exploit.

  With his survival at stake, he did not care about Ryson, or his plans to save the people of Connel from darowks. The city and its residents were not his concern, not in any fashion. The war with Reiculf would have collateral casualties. He accepted that without regret or remorse.

  He would not, however, allow the elf sorceress to squander her energy on frivolous whims.

  "You will do no such thing!" Ansas shouted.

  "But I can disperse the darowks."

  "And that is exactly what Reiculf wants... for you to waste your magic! When Jure falls, you will be needed."

  Haven stared at the sorcerer in disbelief. Whether by design or by accident, the sorcerer revealed his intentions as well as his understanding of the escalating conflict. His choice of words were clear. Ansas expected Jure to fail—he was sacrificing the wizard—and when Jure was spent, the sorcerer would expect Haven to heave herself into a hopeless fight; not for the greater good, but so that Ansas could claim victory... for his own glory.

  Haven wanted to unveil Ansas' plans for all to see, but she didn't have to say a word. It was the serp who responded, and Macheve posed a question to the wizard with whom she battled.

  "Did you hear the sorcerer?" the serp asked of Jure. "He knows you will fall. It is inevitable."

  The revelation did not surprise the wizard, but he would not completely accept the premise.

  "Nothing you can do is inevitable," Jure disputed. "You are not the final word. You never have been, and you never will be."

  The serp sneered at such an idea.

  "Your misguided convictions do not alter the facts. You are being used. Ansas is hoping that your attack will weaken me. He knows you will die, then he will have the elf sorceress attack. It won't work, and you'll both die for nothing."

  "I don't care what he wants," Jure shouted. "This is what I want to do... what I choose to do. To blazes with Ansas. I would fight you whether he was here or not. That's what you need to understand."

  "Very noble... or selfish. Are you hoping to be the hero?"

  "No, just doing what I'm supposed to."

  "So you think you're supposed to die?"

  "We all die, Macheve. It's only a matter of when. I don't have any control over that. That was already proven to me... twice."

  "Maybe you were just lucky."

  Lucky.

  Jure couldn't deny he considered the possibility. Was he really blessed or was it all just luck? Whether it was the blinding explosion in Dark Spruce or the sergeant's spear in Connel, he had escaped death with little in the way of explanation. He could spend a lifetime searching for absolute facts, or he could continue to hold to beliefs that were bas
ed on something beyond the absolutes and certainties of sense and reason.

  "And what is luck?" the wizard dared. "Just another attempt to explain away things you'd rather not face. You couldn't kill me in Dark Spruce. Was that luck? Or did something else keep me from dying, something you're afraid of?"

  The question agitated the serp, and Macheve answered it with a grand display. When she spoke, it was the vile voice of Reiculf, and it boomed across the city streets.

  "You want to know what luck is? It's what happens when you play a game, but I'm tired of playing, and your luck has just run out."

  Macheve grinned widely as she pointed further down the street. When Gnafil suddenly appeared, she cast a spell that would control the battlefield. Three colorless rings rotated off her arm. Each circle broke in half and then extended upward. The lines of magic grew and then linked to form a chain.

  Gnafil cast a similar spell. His rings of energy completed the same maneuver and the two lines of magic connected to form an arc over them all.

  "We have you trapped between us," Macheve stated the obvious. "None of you will escape."

  Jure could not help himself. He didn't wish to, but he looked to the sorcerer for guidance.

  Ansas ignored the wizard. Gnafil had finally appeared, and Macheve was correct. They were caught between Reiculf's pawns. With the daokiln's power arced over them, there was no way to flee, and none of them would be able to withstand the coming attack. Even Enin would fall.

  Macheve cackled and then continued speaking in the deep-toned voice of boiling hate. Reiculf spoke to them all through the serp, but he directed the bulk of his wrath at Jure for grasping at the ridiculous notion that the daokiln's power could be overcome.

  "No games, wizard. No luck. Just overwhelming power, power that is beyond anything you have ever imagined. Look around at this pathetic city. Consider every occupant and consider every twisted misdeed and every craven thought. Think of the anger, guilt and sorrow conjured by such a mass of evil. That is but a dust speck of what I am because I encompass not just this city, but every city, every land, throughout all of history. That is what you are up against."

  The concept overwhelmed the wizard. If Reiculf was the embodiment of every evil impulse, his power would be immeasurable, and such an entity would be unbound.

  "No," Jure rejected, refusing to believe the monster's assertion. "If you were that powerful, you would have already destroyed us all. I'm still standing and you could have destroyed me with the blink of an eye."

  "Who says I can't?"

  "I do," Jure responded defiantly." I've seen what's happened. We freed Scheff from your control. Even now, Ryson is forcing your darowks out of the city. We've all been able to fight against you."

  "You call this a fight? Everything you have done has been a wasted effort, even the delver's antics. What has he accomplished? The darowks remain. He can disrupt them, but he can't defeat them. They are here to destroy the city, and once I take what I want, I will let them race wild through all of Uton. This is a game to me, just as it is a game to the sorcerer."

  Jure wanted to glance back at Ansas one last time, give the sorcerer a look of contempt that was richly deserved, but he kept his gaze locked upon the serp.

  "That doesn't surprise me—not about you, and not about Ansas—but it doesn't end with him."

  "No, it doesn't," Reiculf snarled. "It ends with me, and it ends now. Let me show you just how little you have accomplished."

  Macheve remained still, but Gnafil raised his hand to the skies. The half-demon called to the darowks still up in the clouds. He then waved to the outer edges of the city. He summoned them all, every demon of smoke.

  They came to him in one massive wave, not one disobeyed. It was not an infern that called to them, but the master of demons. Even though they had left Demonspawn, they would still heed Reiculf's call. They knew he would extinguish the delver's fiery blade. The daokiln would deliver the city unto them and they would swarm over the humans like a plague. Their rage would be satisfied over and over again. How could they refuse?

  The creatures flooded the street, engulfed all of Reiculf's foes. The darowks brought darkness to their eyes and filled their lungs with the smoky substance of their own bodies.

  The assault was so sudden, none of the spell casters had time to react. The arc of Reiculf's magic held them in place as their vision went dark. Even Enin with all his energy and Haven with her natural radiance were overwhelmed by the curtain of gray that swallowed them. It was as if they had been thrown into a sea of ink and were being pulled below the surface. As they fought to breathe, there was nothing to focus on, no enemy they could see. There was only choking smoke, and it inundated them all, save one.

  Scheff had not yet grown accustomed to his blindness. He still longed for sight, still tried to process events and circumstances as if he might yet open his eyes and view them as he once had. He felt lost in the darkness, and while the darowks could fill his lungs with the depravity of their substance, they had no effect on his already darkened vision.

  Sensing the attack, Scheff allowed his aura of magic to create an image in his mind of what was happening around him. He allowed the energy to fill his consciousness and the waves of his own magic protected his mind from the manipulations of evil.

  He noted the wave of darowks and the magical arc which connected Gnafil and Macheve. He could not actually see his comrades, but he knew they were overcome by the invading demons.

  They were all lost in the haze, blinded and choking from the hateful soot that surrounded them. They were unable to defend themselves, disoriented by the thick cloud of gray rage. The enemy was all about them, and yet they could not isolate the darowks in order to target them with any spell. Worse, they could not clear their minds, as rage and fury infected their thoughts.

  Through his own impairment, Scheff understood their dilemma and foresaw the inevitable consequences. Reiculf's magic would hold them in place, and the darowks would extinguish their spirit. They would not perish completely, but they would soon succumb to the assault. The demon lord would take those he wanted for his own twisted purposes. The others would be slaughtered violently.

  He recalled what it was like to be a slave to the daokiln's tortured desires. The anguish of servitude to hate was far worse than plunging into the darkness of his blindness. It was torment beyond pain, suffering greater than sorrow. He would not allow it to happen again.

  He let the violet aura of his magic reach out even further. Through the magic, he could feel the entire human city, sense the influence of the dwarves in the buildings they constructed. He could feel their strength even as it defied the very magic he used to replace his vision.

  With his magic spreading across the city, Scheff felt the overwhelming presence of the delver. Even as the enchanted sword—crafted long ago by elves to defy shadow—blazed through his blindness and took shape in his mind, Scheff could not ignore Ryson's own overpowering spirit.

  The power within Ryson, the very essence of a purebred delver, seemed to question the approach of Scheff's magical awareness. It did not recoil from the probing energy, but instead, reached out with its own inquisitive nature.

  Scheff found the experience beyond intriguing, and for a brief moment, he probed deeper into the delver's essence.

  The magic of the delver reached out in much the same way. While it allowed Scheff's aura to examine its own properties, it utilized the waves of energy to explore the city in ways it could not accomplish on its own. It rode the breath of the wind and it soared into the clouds. It encompassed the entire city at once and conveyed all of the knowledge it gained immediately into Ryson's consciousness.

  The delver had seen the darowks descend from the skies and fall upon the location of his friends. With the smoke demons no longer a threat to the citizens of Connel, he knew he had to return to their side. He still didn't know what he could do against Reiculf's magic, but he knew he could effectively battle the darowks.

  As
he sprinted through the streets of Connel, Ryson suddenly gained a staggering vision of the city as a whole. He saw it as a link between the past and the present, a city with a history tied to the legends as well as a monument to all that had been achieved since the return of magic. He felt the history of past conflict, but also the restoration of hope. He sensed mistrust turning into acceptance, and a bond between humans and other races based on forgiveness and respect.

  With his magic flowing through the currents of Scheff's energy, he also sensed the intentions of the darowks. He understood why the smoke demons abandoned their chase and heeded Gnafil's call. They were pulled to the half-demon through the despotic anger of their master. They could feel Reiculf's fury within the infern.

  Unfortunately, Ryson also saw the darowks choking the life out of his friends. He knew they were not dead, but they were unable to defend themselves. He realized if he did not save them, Reiculf would take everything. The daokiln would steal the power of those he could possess and destroy those he couldn't. Ryson could not allow that, even if it would cost him his life.

  Scheff experienced the same sensation, but as his magic mingled with the essence of the delver, he saw a way to fight back. The delver's curious nature allowed the elf to question the magic in ways he had not done before. He followed the currents of energy from the darowks to Gnafil, and ultimately all the way to Reiculf in Demonspawn.

  He gained a greater understanding of his own connection to them all. The remnants of Reiculf's rage were still deep within him. It was why he remained vulnerable, why the daokiln still wanted him. It also paved a way to save the city, save his friends, maybe even save himself.

  Seizing upon his expanded comprehension, he cast the spell that would end his existence in Uton. Calling upon winds beyond the natural breezes of the land, Scheff created a tempest from the swirling echoes of the past. He used the remnants of Reiculf's grasp which remained dormant within him to conjure a tornado with the strength to swallow the darowks.