Wolves of the Northern Rift (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 1)

by Jon Messenger

  No longer seeing the need to hide, Luthor rose from his position on the stairs, cursing both himself and Simon as he walked toward the ballroom’s entrance.

  Luthor clenched his blade tightly as he stepped onto the landing before the ballroom. Gideon sensed his hesitation and slowly walked backward, granting ample space for Luthor to enter the large room. The apothecary descended the few stairs into the ballroom proper, keeping his blade pointed at the demon’s heart.

  The apothecary stole a glance over his shoulder again, almost expecting Simon to materialize, though the stairs and the second-floor landing were all still empty. A litany of profanity rolled through Luthor’s mind as he turned his attention back to the demon.

  For a moment, it was easy to forget that he was staring into the face of evil, that the man before him wasn’t a human of flesh and blood, but a demon lord of bile and effluence. Gideon exuded charisma in abundance and even his smile was disarming. Only the rapier bouncing carefree on his hip held any semblance of danger.

  Luthor noticed the tip of his sword dipping and quickly raised it again, keeping it pointed at the demon.

  “There’s no need for such hostilities,” Gideon said, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’ve merely come to talk, have we not?”

  Luthor shook his head. “We most certainly have not. I’ve come here to put an end to your dark magic.”

  Gideon’s smile faltered for the briefest of moments before the warming smile reasserted itself.

  “Put down your sword,” Gideon said, his tone suddenly inhuman.

  His words carried weight, as though they were living constructs that attempted to infiltrate his mind like a parasite.

  Pain lanced through Luthor’s arm as his ward protected him. He flinched from the discomfort, but was otherwise unaffected by Gideon’s charismatic words.

  Luthor shook his head. “I think not. Your powers have no effect on me, monster.”

  Gideon frowned deeply as he stared at the apothecary, any semblance to the friendly human moments before were erased. “So they don’t.”

  “I know what you are, demon,” Luthor said, holding his blade aloft.

  Gideon sniffed the air, his nose wrinkling with disgust. “Of course you do. You have the stain on you; you stink of magic. I can smell it on you like a perfume. You absolutely reek of it.”

  Gideon uncrossed his arms and clenched his hands into fists. “Clearly, I underestimated you, apothecary, though clearly we both know that’s not what you truly are. Had I realized sooner, I wouldn’t have wasted so much of my energies on the Royal Inquisitor, when I should have been focusing solely on destroying you.”

  “You’ll never destroy me, nor will you ever stop the Cabal.”

  Gideon snarled and drew his rapier. “I should have known the Cabal would come for me in due time. I will enjoy flaying your flesh from your bones. I will savor your screams of anguish.”

  “You’ll never have the chance, demon,” Luthor replied, crouching into a fighting stance. “Even now, the werewolves are destroying your meager armies. Soon, you’ll have nothing left except your life, which I fully intend to take from you as well.”

  Gideon stepped forward and halfheartedly swung his blade. Luthor easily parried it aside and both men returned their swords to the defensive position. Luthor jabbed immediately afterward, but Gideon turned the blade aside.

  “This is nonsense,” Gideon mocked. “We have such greater abilities than to resort to fighting one another with mundane blades. Come, wizard, use your magic.”

  Luthor clenched his teeth and swung his sword toward Gideon’s head. Gideon’s rapier appeared quicker than Luthor could follow, blocking the cane sword a mere inch from the side of his head.

  The apothecary stepped back, granting some distance between the two duelists. He wanted nothing more than to heed Gideon’s advice and use his magic. Though Gideon certainly had protective spells of his own, Luthor stood a far better chance of defeating the demon with magic than he did with the sword. Of his many skills, he never mastered the skill half as well as Simon. Simon, however, was the sole reason he didn’t release his magical prowess. Luthor had spent over a year concealing his abilities from the Inquisitor. Though as Simon had found, the ends sometimes did justify the means, he wasn’t yet ready to expose himself to the Inquisitor if at all avoidable.

  “You can’t defeat me with the sword,” Gideon mocked as Luthor circled, taking the fight further away from the doorway. “If you insist on maintaining this façade of being a mere apothecary, I most certainly will destroy you.”

  Gideon swung his blade, and Luthor parried. The parry reverberated through Luthor’s arm, leaving the muscles aching from the impact. It was evident that Gideon was using his own magic to amplify his strength. The demon swung again and Luthor parried once more, but the impact left his hand aching. He wasn’t sure how much more he could manage without accessing his reserve of magical abilities.

  “Fight me,” Gideon demanded. “No more of these falsehoods. No more of this mockery of your true abilities. Fight me as you were meant to or I will shatter every bone in your body with strike after strike.”

  Luthor smiled mockingly. “I would tell you to go to hell, but I fear you wouldn’t take it as the insult it was meant—”

  He was interrupted as Gideon swung his blade overhead. The rapier, a weapon normally used for finessed strikes, became a brutal club in the demon’s hands. Luthor raised his narrow blade to block, and the force nearly drove him to his knees. He heard metal ricochet off the ground, and he looked up to see a sliver missing from his blade.

  Gideon breathed heavily, though Luthor doubted it was from exertion. “Fine, you fool! If you want to play the role of the mundane, even unto your death, then so be it.”

  Gideon grasped his sword’s hilt in both hands and drew it over his head. Luthor’s arm ached even as he started raising his blade above him in anticipation. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to stop another swing, and he flinched even as Gideon began his brutal downward strike.

  A howl split the tension in the ballroom and a werewolf slammed into Gideon, knocking him from his feet. The two figures struck the floor and tumbled apart from one another, both scrambling quickly to regain their feet.

  Gideon stood and brushed wayward strands of hair that had cascaded over his face. His well-kempt visage was ruined, as was his well-maintained demeanor. He looked enraged as he stared at the wolf.

  The werewolf rolled gracefully, coming up on all fours in a low crouch. It emitted a low growl that rolled over the marble and hardwood floor. Though the werewolves were fairly indiscernible from one another when they were transformed, there was little doubt in Luthor’s mind as to the identity of his savior.

  “Mattie,” he said appreciatively. Previous thoughts of telling her to stay behind flew from his mind as he realized she had just saved his life.

  Gideon glanced back and forth between the two adversaries as he bent low and retrieved his rapier. Mattie shifted forward as he reached for the blade but Gideon was far quicker, standing once more and pointing its tip at the werewolf.

  “You and your motley crew are certainly full of surprises,” Gideon said as he regained his composure. “Does your Inquisitor know that you’re cavorting with such monstrosities?”

  Mattie snarled in response.

  “He’s willing to turn a blind eye so long as we bring back your head,” Luthor threatened.

  Gideon pointed threateningly toward the werewolf. “It’s good to release your inner monster,” he said. “I have one of those, too. Would you like to see it?”

  The veins on his neck bulged as he tilted his head backward. Dark splotches formed on his skin like liver spots, though the blackness spread quickly. Smaller spots were consumed by the larger spread until all his exposed flesh was the inky blackness of a moonless night. The color of his hair faded to stark white while his fingers stretched to elongated claws. Spikes ruptured from the skin on the outsides of his arms and leg
s, leaving open sores that wept viscous, black blood. The skin on his forehead bulged, straining to hold back the horns that threatened to tear through. As the tips lengthened, the skin split apart in a spray of gore. The horns grew from his forehead, curling into a spiral that ended beside his ears.

  The demon lord who had once appeared as Gideon Dosett glared at Mattie and Luthor with eyes that smoldered with an internal fire.

  “Now, mortals,” the demon lord growled, his voice rumbling like an erupting volcano. “Come and meet your doom.”

  Mattie snarled and charged the demon on all fours. As she neared him, she leapt, stretching clawed fingers toward his exposed face. Gideon moved blindingly quick, dodged her outstretched hands, and countered by slamming his forearm into her shoulder as she soared overhead. The spikes protruding from his limb tore into her flesh, and the impact sent her body twisting.

  Mattie let out a yelp of pain before crashing heavily to the marbled ballroom floor. Bright red blood oozed from the wounds on her upper arm, soaking and staining the white fur. She whimpered as she tried to stand again, but the shoulder refused to support her weight.

  A sizzling filled the air. The fur around the wound smoldered, and wisps of smoke rose from the injury. She looked down at the gash in horror. As the sound intensified, Mattie threw her head backward and howled in pain before her body began to convulse.

  White foam formed at the corners of her snout and spilled onto the floor as her tongue lolled from her open mouth.

  “Mattie,” Luthor cried in horror. He leapt to his feet but Gideon’s blade appeared before him, blocking his way.

  “Not yet, wizard,” the demon threatened. “We’ve not yet finished our duel.”

  Luthor clenched his blade even as his eyes drifted again to the werewolf as she was consumed by another seizure. The entirety of her body convulsed awkwardly, and her head slammed into the floor.

  “Defeat me and you can save her,” Gideon mocked.

  Luthor turned his attention to the demon and raised his blade. “I’ll kill you for this, monster.”

  Gideon smiled wickedly. “You’ll try.”

  Luthor swung his blade. Gideon didn’t bother blocking, instead merely leaning backward until he was outside the range of the sword. The blade passed within inches of the demon’s black throat but failed to connect.

  Gideon laughed maliciously before swinging his rapier. Luthor knew the risk he took in parrying the blow, but it came too quickly for him to duck the swing. He raised his sword into the path of the rapier. The two crashed together. Luthor’s blade was driven backward until it slammed into the apothecary’s shoulder. The sharpened edge of Gideon’s rapier quickly followed, slicing into Luthor’s jacket and drawing blood.

  Luthor hissed in pain and stumbled away from Gideon’s onslaught. The demon pressed his advantage, giving chase. Luthor switched his blade to his off hand and swung feebly at Gideon’s assaults. Gideon’s strikes were deliberate, pushing each of Luthor’s respective blocks wider and wider, exposing more and more of the apothecary’s torso.

  “Enough!” Luthor yelled as the magic poured through him. The blast struck Gideon in the chest and hurtled him through the air. He crashed through one of the round ballroom tables and slid across the floor.

  Luthor breathed deeply as he leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. A commotion drew his attention to where the demon had come to rest. A black hand emerged from the debris and fallen chairs. It grasped the nearest heavy, wooden chair and threw it aside as though it weighed nothing at all. Soon, the air was filled with flying debris as the demon unburied itself.

  Standing, it bellowed with rage and stared at the apothecary. “I’m going to kill you slowly for that.”

  Gideon charged across the room, kicking aside a table as though it were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Luthor channeled his magic and swung his arms in an arc. The demon was thrown from his feet once more, rolling to a stop near the wall.

  Luthor began another blast as the demon stood, but it charged far faster than Luthor could have believed possible. There was little more than a dark blur as the demon covered the distance, slamming his hands into the apothecary’s chest. Luthor flew backward before collapsing onto the ground in a heap.

  He scrambled to his knees before the demon reached him once more. As Luthor started to summon another blast of magic, Gideon swung his rapier and Luthor had to hastily block the attack. As he tried again, the cycle repeated itself. Every time Luthor tried to summon magic, Gideon brought his sword to bear, leaving Luthor’s arms aching with fatigue.

  “I’m glad to see you finally revealing yourself to me, wizard, but you’re a fool,” Gideon mocked, thrusting his blade toward Luthor’s chest. The apothecary was barely able to parry it aside before it pierced his chest. “You can’t cast if you can’t concentrate. Even the lowliest apprentice knows that. I have no intention of giving you another chance.”

  The demon reared back and swung his rapier toward Luthor’s exposed hip. Luthor shifted his weight and brought his sword to bear with as much strength as he could muster. The two blades connected in an explosion of metal fragments. Luthor’s blade shattered from the impact and the demon’s momentum brought his forearm around, where it struck Luthor in his shoulder. The apothecary was thrown from his feet, where he collapsed heavily onto the floor.

  Though the magic in his body counteracted the toxin coursing through him, every nerve in his body felt as though it were ablaze. His gaze shifted to Mattie, as he understood the anguish she was in. Her concentration broken, she had reverted to her human form. Her naked body was curled into a ball to protect against the pain that ravaged her. He longed to crawl to her side, knowing his own magic could help relieve her misery.

  Instead, a dark shadow fell over him and Gideon straddled his prostrate form, lifting his sword high above his head.

  Luthor raised his hand weakly, hoping to summon magic to his defense, but his mind refused to focus on anything other than the pain.

  “This ends now,” Gideon said.

  His blade started descending, but a figure suddenly appeared by the demon’s side. A saber flashed outward, turning the rapier aside.

  Gideon howled and stepped back as he turned to face the Inquisitor.

  “Sorry for my tardiness,” Simon apologized. “Have I missed anything important?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you, Inquisitor,” the demon hissed as it withdrew its blade.

  “I’m sorry to have kept you,” Simon replied.

  Gideon swung at Simon, which he easily parried. Luthor knew the pain he must have felt from its impact, but Simon showed no signs of discomfort. Instead, he rolled the saber in his hand, driving Gideon’s rapier wide before going on the offensive. He slashed, parried, and reposted with incredible precision.

  “I’ve longed to taste your blood,” Gideon said.

  The demon swung his rapier at Simon’s neck, but the Inquisitor quickly blocked the strike.

  “You’ll be waiting for some time, hell spawn,” Simon replied. “I was always the far better swordsman.”

  Gideon howled angrily and attacked again. After a volley of parried strikes, the two warriors separated. The Inquisitor looked over his shoulder to where Luthor lay, fighting through the poison coursing through his system. From his periphery, he saw Mattie shivering on the floor, her convulsions significantly weaker than they had been minutes before.

  “Are you well, Luthor?” he asked.

  Luthor nodded as he rolled onto his belly and began dragging himself toward Mattie. “I’ve certainly felt better, sir. Be careful. Gideon is deceptively faster and stronger than he was during your last encounter.”

  As Simon turned back toward the demon, Gideon reached out with his free hand and grasped Simon’s wrist. With a powerful jerk, he lifted Simon from his feet. The Inquisitor flew through the air, landing awkwardly on the top of a table. Unlike the heavier demon lord, Simon bounced off its surface rather than smash through. He slid of
f the other side, tangling with a series of chairs as he fell.

  “Duly noted,” Simon replied as he pushed the chairs aside.

  He could feel an angry welt forming across his shoulder from his landing, but he miraculously maintained a grip on his sword without accidentally injuring himself during his landing.

  Simon looked around the room, taking note of the layout of the furniture, the open spaces around the dance floor, and his fallen associates. He worried most of all for Luthor and Mattie, who were clearly weak and exposed. Should the demon choose to turn his attention back to the pair, there would be little anyone could do to stop him.

  He bit his lip as he glanced across the room toward the large, closed double doors that led onto the ballroom’s balcony. It hadn’t been so long ago that he had followed Mattie onto that balcony, though it seemed like a lifetime ago. At the time, he would have never expected a camaraderie to exist between himself—an Inquisitor—and a werewolf, much less their entire pack. The idea was preposterous, yet there he was, risking himself to protect a wounded werewolf.

  Gideon stalked the Inquisitor. As he reached the table behind which Simon was kneeling, the demon simply grabbed the wooden top and tossed it aside. It crashed into the wall, splintering and shattering into pieces.

  Simon knew he was the better swordsman, but skill would matter little in this encounter. He needed to find a way to exploit Gideon’s burgeoning confidence.

  The Inquisitor tried to stand, but his foot slipped on a splintered piece of wood. Rather than cursing, he smiled and turned, grasping the wooden chair beside him. As Gideon strode toward him, he threw it at the demon. It shattered against Gideon, who growled as he staggered backward. Finding a splintered piece of wood beside him, he hurtled it like a spear at the monster. The fractured table leg struck one of Gideon’s curled horns, forcing his head to the side.

  With the demon distracted, Simon leapt to his feet and rushed across the room, weaving carefully around the jumble of furniture, leaping nimbly across tables when the way was impassible.