by James Wisher
“Focalor will circle above to avoid drawing unnecessary attention.”
Connor nodded. The demon lashed its wings and soared into the air. More likely it wanted to make sure Connor didn’t try to escape without keeping his end of the deal. He’d do his best to follow through. The last thing Connor wanted was to have the powerful demon as an enemy.
He put Focalor out of his mind and turned to face the palace. The barrier extended ten feet from the outer walls so Connor only had to take a few steps to pass through an open gate and into the first courtyard, a square area open to the sky. He suspected it had been a garden. A pair of eroded stone benches gave mute testimony that once upon a time people had lived here, children had played while parents sat on the benches and chatted. Connor could almost imagine the scene and the power that had ended them forever.
Such power.
He breathed out a sigh. He would have that power for himself. If not identical then equal. A covered walkway led from the square to the keep. Connor followed it to a closed door of petrified wood. The door didn’t budge when he pushed it. Nothing supernatural protected the entrance, at least nothing visible. He drew a bit of power and blasted the door. It exploded inward showering the empty room beyond with splinters.
Connor stepped through the ruined portal into a foyer decorated with intricately carved chairs and tables. Faded banners hung on each wall. Aside from a thick layer of dust it looked no different than it might have when people still occupied the palace. The perfect condition of the interior room clashed horribly with the ruined courtyard.
As he had no interest in physically searching the whole palace, Connor sat in one of the chairs and conjured a scout sphere. The sphere zipped through halls, past perfectly preserved bedrooms, store rooms, a huge kitchen. He reached a set of double doors intricately carved with abstract shapes and gilded with gold. When Connor tried to send his sphere under the door it bounced off another barrier, similar to the one surrounding the palace, but more powerful and focused.
Connor left the sealed doors for the moment. His sphere continued up to the second level, then the third, revealing nothing but ordinary living spaces. On the top floor the sphere slipped under a door and Connor’s jaw dropped. A library that made the one at The Tower look like the collection in some backwater village stretched out before his disbelieving eyes. Connor could spend a mortal lifetime there and not read every book.
He didn’t have a lifetime. If the other portions of his plan were on schedule he needed to find the artifact and return to his base in weeks, not months or years. Connor slammed his fist on the arm of the chair, shattering the wood. He guided the sphere slowly through the library. Maybe there was a section of more important books he could focus on.
Row upon row of packed bookcases filled the viewing rectangle, none looking more or less important than another. In the center of the library he found an open area with chairs and small tables where people could read in comfort. A dark carpet covered the floor. It had some sort of design woven into it.
Connor guided the sphere higher so he could look down on the carpet. He blinked, certain his eyes were playing tricks. Laid out in white thread was an image of a horned skull. It couldn’t be a coincidence. The Horned One’s symbol had to indicate something.
Chapter 25
Connor stood in the library surrounded by musty parchment, looking down at the carpet. Dim light filtered in from windows built into the ceiling. Occasionally Focalor’s shadow would pass overhead. Could the demon see Connor standing in the library watching him fly by?
Up close the carpet design looked less distinct. Whoever made it had woven the skull in as part of a larger design. If a person wasn’t expecting to find the marker they might look right past it. Hiding things in plain sight was a trick used by the Horned One’s cult and over the years Connor had gotten used to finding hidden symbols. Tentacles of soul force pushed the tables and chairs off the carpet then yanked it to the side. Underneath was an oval depression, a twin to the one in the pyramid.
Connor took his amulet off and with trembling hands fit it into the oval. The floor vibrated then black flames spurted up between the cracks. Connor leapt back an instant before the stone sank down, forming a spiral staircase. He hadn’t seen any sign of it when his scout sphere searched the palace. The staircase had to run between the walls. There was certainly enough room that no one would ever notice if a wall was thicker than it needed to be. For all Connor knew hidden passages might have been the rage when the palace was built.
He conjured a light and started walking. He had no idea how long he walked or how deep he went, but finally the enclosed stairs opened up into a dark, empty room. Connor frowned. Where were the artifacts?
Light spheres streaked to the far corners of the room. He left the staircase and walked around the empty space, his footsteps echoing around the chamber. Was this some sort of joke? Was King Alexious having a final laugh at his expense?
The room shook, a violent shudder that brought dust raining down on Connor’s head. Now what was happening? He spun, looking for the source of the tremor.
Movement caught his eye. When Connor turned, a giant of black flame separated itself from the far wall. The construct—Connor had no doubt the giant was a soul force construct—lumbered closer. It was built like a man, with massive shoulders and long arms ending in three-fingered hands. It stood on legs as big around as full grown oaks. Its head was nothing but an oblong lump sitting on its trunk. Power surged down its arm and formed a flickering blade of black flame longer than Connor was tall.
The construct strode toward him, raising its weapon as it came. Connor took to the air. The giant swung its blade.
Connor darted aside. The passing of the blade raised a breeze. Before the giant halted its momentum Connor blasted it with a stream of hellfire.
The construct absorbed the energy and grew taller. The sword whistled at Connor, faster this time. He just managed to avoid getting cut in half.
Connor zipped around the giant like a bug, annoying but harmless.
He avoided three more swipes. Though faster, the construct still failed to keep pace with him. Unfortunately, since it could absorb his attacks, Connor had no idea how to defeat it. They were at a standoff. That didn’t work for him at all.
He flew around the construct, dodging its ineffective attacks, and studying it from every angle. There had to be a way to deal with it. Everything had a weakness, he just needed to figure out what the construct’s was.
Connor squinted and peered closer. Something floated, just visible, inside the construct’s chest. The black sword swished past his head, only missing by inches. Connor snarled away his frustration. He had to focus.
He was almost certain whatever floated in the giant’s chest was the key to stopping it. He took a breath, fortified his shield, and plunged toward the giant.
The black sword came up.
Connor ducked under it a moment before he struck the construct. His shield was stripped away in an instant. Cold and heat warred in their efforts to kill him.
Connor fought the darkness. His skin melted and healed one second to the next.
Even when the Horned One ripped his soul out and replaced it with a fragment of his own the pain didn’t come close to what Connor experienced as he fought through the construct’s body.
A flicker of movement to his left. He flailed, hit something hard, and grabbed on.
More pain as whatever he grabbed attempted to burn his hand off. Teeth clenched, Connor forced his way out the back of the construct. He fell twelve feet to the floor.
Every inch of his body was screaming. He would welcome the giant’s sword if only it would end the agony.
Seconds passed. Connor uncurled his pain-wracked body and looked up. The giant had vanished.
Connor sent healing energy through his body, soothing his pain. Skin reformed and in minutes Connor had recovered. He loved many things about his new abilities, but the thing he loved most was that his
demonic soul force worked as internal or external power, just like a true demon.
He sat up and brushed dead skin off his arm. The battle and healing had drained him. He didn’t dare try to move on before he’d recovered. Connor opened his left hand. Almost imbedded in the flesh was a flat, rune-covered stone maybe three inches around. He probed it with a little tendril of soul force.
The token had served as an energy storage device. Whoever created the giant had filled the token with sustaining energy then stuck it in the construct’s chest. Connor frowned. No way the little artifact had held enough power to sustain the construct for centuries. Whoever put it here had done so more recently. A few months ago perhaps. Certainly not more than a year. That begged another question. Who had set the trap?
Chapter 26
When Connor’s wounds had fully healed and his soul force recovered he scrambled up from the floor and walked over to the wall where the construct had first appeared. He conjured more lights and in the bright glow spotted a circle on the floor engraved with faded runes. An outer ring filled with small runes surrounded a central circle filled with dozens more, all intertwined into a single pattern. Some of them he recognized from books he’d read about Alexious’s kingdom, others looked like runes used in summoning and binding demons, and still others—the majority, Connor reluctantly admitted to himself—he’d never laid eyes on before.
He shook his head, crouched down, and traced a rune that resembled a thorny vine twisted into a spiral. What did that one mean? Connor had believed himself knowledgeable when he set out on this quest, but every day he learned just how deep his ignorance and arrogance ran. He felt like a child playing at being a warlock when he studied Alexious’s mastery. How much more had the warlock king known than Connor and how much had he learned at the Horned One’s right hand? Whatever his deficiencies, Connor’s commitment to his path remained unwavering. He would succeed, whatever it took.
He paused in his tracing. A rune featuring a circle inside another circle connected by straight lines. He knew that one. It was a rune of opening. Connor bit his lip, then poured a wisp of energy into the rune, careful not to let any of his power spill over into the other markings.
The rune of opening drank in his power like a dry sponge. He kept the flow going until the rune would accept no more. The now-familiar vibration ran through the room. Black flames outlined a door in the wall which swung open at Connor’s approach. He sent his lights through the opening and followed behind.
His breath caught when he entered the room. The left- and right-hand walls were filled with niches, each of which held an artifact behind rune-etched glass. On the wall directly ahead hung a floor-length mirror of black glass. Connor’s distorted image stared back at him. In the center of the room a stone table sat empty.
This had to be the vault mentioned in the book he’d found in the pyramid. Connor’s impatient gaze flew around the room. The crystal had to be here somewhere. He passed over tomes of power that crackled with corrupt energy, rune-marked gems so sodden with power they made his little black diamond back home seem a pale thing. Skulls seemed to form the bulk of the collection, inhuman, warped things with overlong jaws, too many teeth, horns and bone spurs.
Connor had never understood the warlock fascination with collecting skulls. He had several of his own of course, but he’d never found any particular use for them, beyond decoration. He glanced over yet another skull, this one resembling a cross between a crocodile and a cobra.
The next niche held a midnight-blue crystal the size of his fist. It looked like such a mundane thing compared to the more exotic artifacts filling the vault. Connor ran a hand over the glass protecting the crystal.
After all his years of searching he’d found it at last, the soul bleed crystal, the key to his ascension. Connor slammed his fist into the glass. It didn’t so much as flex. He should have known it wouldn’t be so simple. He sent a focused blast of hellfire into the barrier.
The glass turned inky black then spat his power back at him magnified tenfold. Connor flew across the vault and slammed into the wall. The room spun and when he reached around and touched his head Connor found thick, black blood. He scrambled to his feet, healing the minor injury as he went.
Connor hadn’t come this far just to let a sheet of glass stand between him and his prize. He considered blasting it again, then rubbed the healed wound. Maybe a more subtle approach. He studied the runes cut into the glass. It seemed runes were always the key. Maybe he could find another rune of opening.
Five minutes of searching later Connor found it, or rather he found a perfectly round opening in the pattern where the rune should have been. He punched the glass with no more success than the first time. There had to be a secret, something he’d missed.
Connor abandoned the sealed niche and paced the room as he thought. What was it? What wasn’t he seeing? He paused when he passed in front of the mirror for the twentieth time. His reflection looked strange. He raised his hand and the reflection followed, but with a lag.
Frowning, Connor moved closer to the mirror. The closer he got the more distorted his reflection became. When he met his reflected gaze the eyes in the mirror were black and hollow instead of red and glowing.
“Who are you?”
His reflection smiled even though Connor’s expression hadn’t changed. “Took you long enough to notice. Even the paladin noticed me faster than you.”
The spirit shook its head. “Sad what’s become of the new generation of warlocks. In King Alexious’s day you wouldn’t have even qualified to serve as his court jester.”
Connor clenched his fist and glared at the spirit.
“What, are you going to try punching the mirror? That worked out so well for you the first two times you tried it with the barrier glass.”
Connor took a breath and found his center. His shoulders relaxed and he unclenched his fist. “Tell me, spirit, how do I open the niches and retrieve the item I desire?”
The spirit shook its head again. “You really are an idiot. You need the key.”
“Where might I find the key?” Connor asked with exaggerated patience.
“That bitch took it with her when she forced her way past the guardian. She’s hiding out up in the throne room. Hey, how did you get past her barrier?”
“It only keeps out demons. I’ve still got enough mortal in me to slip through.”
“Tell you what. You kill the paladin and fetch the key back here and I’ll let you talk to the master.”
“The Horned One?” Connor hardly believed his good fortune. The demon lord hadn’t spoken to Connor since he made his pact twelve years ago.
“No, stupid, not The Master. Master Alexious.”
Connor slumped for a moment then brightened. It would still be a great honor to speak with King Alexious. “Very well. I’ll return with the key and the paladin’s head.”
Chapter 27
Connor stood staring at the shimmering barrier between him and the throne room doors. The paladin had to be the source of the energy wall. He just needed to figure out how to bypass it. The warlock conjured a dart of hellfire and flung it at the barrier. The tiny speck of energy he used fizzled the moment it hit.
So the paladin intended to keep corrupt energy out. That made sense considering everything in the haunted lands was brimming with the stuff, just like Connor himself. If he couldn’t burn his way through maybe he could sneak through. Connor extended his index finger and pulled all the corrupt energy out of it, no shield, no physical enhancements, just flesh and blood.
He reached for the barrier again, embarrassed to notice his hand shook. The tip of his finger touched the wall and after a moment of resistance pushed through. The sensation wasn’t pleasant; it reminded Connor of washing in too-hot water, but he could bear it. The trick was going to be holding all his power as deep inside as possible, long enough to slip through the barrier. The only way to do it was to do it.
Connor directed all his energy flows int
o his core. His shield faded away, his enhanced senses dulled down to those of a mere mortal. When he finally had his power as contained as he could get it Connor clenched his jaw and stepped through the barrier.
The resistance was worse this time, like walking upstream in a swollen river, and the temperature had risen as well. His flesh turned red and blistered. Pain, raw and undiminished by any soul force techniques, assailed him.
Connor took another step and reached for the doors.
The temperature rose another fifty degrees. It took everything he had not to cry out. As bad as it was, the pain paled compared to diving through the black construct. While heavenly soul force had its uses, when it came to dishing out damage nothing beat corrupt energy.
He shoved the doors open and staggered through. The pain and resistance vanished. Seated on the white marble floor in the lotus position, surrounded by a bright white aura, was a stunning woman in silver mail. White hair swirled around her and a great sword more suited to a northern warrior than a slender young woman sat on the floor beside her.
Connor restored all his protections and enhancements then healed the minor damage caused by the barrier. Did she even know he was there? Maybe he could kill her quickly and finish his business downstairs.
Crackling black hellfire appeared around his hands. The instant it did the woman’s eyes popped open then narrowed. White light shone from them.
Connor hurled a ball of hellfire. The paladin snatched up her sword and cut the attack out of the air, negating it before it hit. She wielded the massive sword with one hand like it weighed no more than a dagger. Which angel had she struck her bargain with? A powerful one for certain, perhaps even one of the archangels.
He drew more power. This should be a worthy battle indeed. Connor conjured a black dragon and sent it flying toward the paladin. Claws slashed and fangs snapped.
None of them even came close. Her sword a blur, the paladin carved his dragon up. In moments the construct collapsed.