“Damned, idiot, slaver…” Ilmas muttered under his breath, pounding in the nail for the counter he was assembling, fuming internally.
How dare the bastard actually ask about Sina after they’d been left to die? The fake concern on Daniel’s face just pissed Ilmas off, especially considering that the man hadn’t lifted a finger to stop the abuse of Ilmas and the other slaves when they’d been attached to his squad.
Ilmas was tempted to tell Sina about the encounter for a moment, but as he aligned another panel, he murmured, “No. She’d just be annoyed. No reason to bother her because of him.”
“Hey Darak, look at this!” Eileen’s voice drew Darak’s attention away from polishing his axe blade.
The group had just completed the third room they encountered in the dungeon. The room had been fairly typical, with a few of the thorn shamblers, a couple of traps, and two of the vine pods as well. It’d been a bit difficult for the newbies, but they’d managed without any help, impressing Darak somewhat. Now they’d been collecting their rewards, and Eileen’s comment seemed surprisingly excited.
“What is it?” Darak asked, raising his eyebrows at the taller human.
“I found a coin over in the corner. It isn’t minted in any kingdom I recognize, though,” Eileen explained, offering the coin to him. “Do you think it’s fake?”
“Let me take a look.” Darak took the coin and examined it with Shale’s assistance. The elemental made it much easier to appraise metal and stone, helping him spot flaws and impurities.
The copper coin was obviously recently minted, as it wasn’t even slightly tarnished. It wasn’t pure copper either, but it was about as close as any other coin he’d seen before. Unlike many coins, though, the edges had been formed cleanly and given a ridge pattern to them, making it much harder to shave without being obvious. The front face was that of a female elf, while the back had the symbol of a tree with dangling branches.
“Huh. This looks to be about your average copper, even if I don’t recognize the mint,” Darak replied after a moment, nodding as he offered it back. “It can’t be terribly old, either. Not a hint of green to it. Should be useable at most stores, especially if they show up in the dungeon frequently.”
“Great! I was hoping, but fake coins are dangerous to own.” Eileen looked relieved, smiling at the others. “It might not be much, but it’s money, right?”
“Very true!” Eric replied, grinning. “So, do we keep going or not?”
“We probably should stop here for the day. You four are looking somewhat worn out,” Joseph interjected.
“As much as I want to keep going, I think you’re right,” Daniel replied, and Darak frowned as he saw a hint of tension between the soldier and Sayla.
“Well, let’s get going then,” Darak told them, hefting his axe. Whether they were having relationship difficulties or not, they needed to figure it out for themselves. Either way, they’d done pretty damned well even with the tension, so he wasn’t too worried.
Chapter 9
Ulvian ignored the whimpers of the young woman chained down in the center of the circle, instead checking the sigils one last time. The circle was immensely complex, and of such dark magic that if the other authorities in Kelvanis saw it they would immediately rise up in revolt against him. Slavery or summoning succubi was well within what they were willing to tolerate, but contracts with demon lords were an entirely different matter. More than a few kingdoms that had openly turned to demon worship had been destroyed when their enemies rallied against them. That was why Ulvian was taking a much more cautious approach.
Finally satisfied that the sigils were all correct, Ulvian nodded and smiled, kneeling within the circle as well as he began channeling mana into the array. One by one, the symbols lit up with deep crimson light, shimmering through the room and across the offerings that he’d brought with him. There were no chants, no words to this ritual. Simply a circle and risking himself.
With a faint pop, the air changed from the slight chill of the underground chamber to a warm, humid heat. The atmosphere smelled of nectar and flowers with the faint underlying scent of sulfur, and he was kneeling on a long carpet in a vast throne room.
Ulvian raised his eyes ever so slightly, just enough that he could see up the two dozen steps of the dais to the perfect, booted feet of His Lady.
Irethiel looked down in amusement as her mortal puppet appeared, on his knees as was his place. Beside him was an elaborate coffer that she knew was filled with precious jewels, and beside that was the young human maiden he’d prepared for her, unblemished and without the slightest brand. The heady scent of the young woman’s terror almost tickled Irethiel’s nose, and she breathed it in, smiling as he spoke.
“Ulvian Sorvos brings gifts for thy pleasure, and seeks the guidance of the Demon Queen of Chains.” The man most knew as the Archon spoke humbly, but Irethiel could see the adoration in his eyes even when he only looked at her boots.
The attractive man had fallen for her utterly even with just the descriptions written in tomes, and had slavishly worked until he’d found a way to bring himself here, to her palace. And before her guards could destroy the impertinent mortal and his companions, he’d desperately explained what he was offering Irethiel. Ulvian had offered her legions of souls, using her own demonic rituals adapted so that he could bind other mortals to her even when they were unwilling. The magical brands could only truly be placed by mortals and would enslave the bearers, but that was well within her purview of power, and none of the other gods could directly intervene. All he’d asked in exchange was for a tithe of power and the opportunity, the merest chance, to court her.
Irethiel had agreed, and Ulvian had performed well beyond her modest expectations. The thousands of souls he’d bound to her had already swelled her power greatly, and the binding of Medaea was simply delicious. Her millennia-old rival was in his hands, and slowly being corrupted to her own service with the aid of Irethiel’s succubi. It was only that he had successfully captured Medaea that had convinced Irethiel to send Ulvian five of her most faithful succubi. Oh, Ulvian would command Medaea in her stead, but Medaea would be hers. And within a decade or two, Irethiel would ascend from the rank of a mere demon lord and become a true god. Perhaps not a primal god, but no one could ascend to that height. At least not yet.
Irethiel was pleasantly surprised with how her gamble had played out, and inclined to give Ulvian his chance. Not that she would let him realize that, of course. She couldn’t let him grow complacent.
“And what guidance is it that you seek, to bribe me with such… trifles?” Irethiel asked in a voice that echoed with power, standing from her throne and stretching her wings behind her, setting her flaming halo alight. “Why do you dare stand before me, Ulvian Sorvos?”
Irethiel held back a smile as he shivered in ecstatic fear.
His Lady’s voice was like nothing else in the world, and Ulvian shivered at the sound of it. That throaty, sultry voice spoke of every promised desire in all the world, and the fire within it reminded him of passion that he couldn’t possibly imagine. And at her inquiry his eyes rose slightly, causing him to quiver again, all but swallowing his tongue.
Medaea might have been among the most beautiful beings others could imagine, but her beauty was almost like that of a statue. It was the beauty of a goddess who was out of reach, disdaining of those who might reach for her. Irethiel was something far different from Medaea. She was a demon lord of lust and succubi, and she was made for temptation. The deep crimson skin almost the color of blood stood out against the black leather of her boots, and her corset was made of the same black leather, fitted with gold trim and strategic cutouts. The prehensile tail behind her swayed with a hypnotic rhythm, and her bat-like wings were dark as they extended behind her. Ulvian didn’t dare look at her face, though, knowing that looking on her beauty would strike him dumb for hours. Even the memory of her black lips, flame-like eyes, and gold-streaked black hair was enough to cause his p
ulse to race.
It took him a moment to gather himself, licking his lips. Finally, he spoke softly, humble before her. “These are merely tokens of my esteem for you, My Lady. While they may be almost of no value to one such as yourself, they are the best I was able to gather unnoticed. I beg your pardon for their worthlessness, My Lady, and will bear any punishment you so desire.”
The long silence of Irethiel was deafening to Ulvian. The hall had other demons present, but he didn’t dare look at them, fixing his eyes on the floor. A few moments later, the panicked whimpers of the girl vanished, and he realized she and the other offerings had vanished without a trace. It was then that the demon lord spoke again, her power thrumming in the chamber and echoing in his very bones, restrained just enough to not harm him.
“They will suffice, due to your supplications,” she replied slowly, taking a seat in her throne once more. “Why have you come here?”
“A situation came to my attention which disturbed me, My Lady, and I cannot answer the truth of it without your aid,” Ulvian explained, swallowing hard. “A dungeon was found on the edge of the Godsrage Mountains, which would not normally worry me. However, my spies have word that it is protecting and communicating with some of the elves of Sifaren, including their former Crown Princess, Phynis Constella. Princess Phynis was branded with a royal crest before she escaped, and thus I had been unconcerned with her escape. The spies report that the royalty has spoken of the dungeon somehow breaking the power of the crests. I believed such to be impossible, but believed it best to approach you to see if there was any truth to the matter.”
“That is quite a disturbing claim, for there is no way to my knowledge to break such bindings either,” Irethiel spoke slowly, then paused for a long moment. A hint of anger filled her voice, and he shuddered as the vibration of her power sent pain through his body as she spoke again. “But she is not in my domain, nor can I sense her brand. I know that she was mine, yet now she is not. Either there is some way of breaking your bindings, which would quite incense me, Sorvos, or another demon lord who can bind others is stealing that which belongs to me. You will find out how this is happening. No mere dungeon could steal a soul-binding crest. And if you find those who have been stolen, simply brand them once more to return them to me.”
“As you command, My Lady,” Ulvian agreed, smiling as he bowed deeply in supplication. Hesitating a moment, he asked cautiously, “If I may make another request, My Lady? One of my Adjudicators vanished in the dungeon, Jared Falgrave. He bore one of the crests of command, also binding him to you. May I ask if he still lives, that I might contact him for further information?”
“Impertinent!” Irethiel’s voice thundered in the chamber, and Ulvian gasped, his bones almost shattering at the word. But fortunately, she did not speak more for another long moment, and her voice was seething with anger but harmless as she answered his question. “He still lives. Now go back to your kingdom, Ulvian Sorvos, and do not contact me again with ill news, lest I harvest your own soul early!”
With the sound of a thunderclap, Ulvian reeled, then found himself back in the middle of his ritual circle once more. Blinking several times to let the residual pain of the shout subside, Ulvian finally smiled and bowed his head, murmuring softly, “As you command, My Lady.”
Jared watched the others exercise from his cave, sitting against the wall as comfortably as he was able. His ribs were feeling slightly better, but his arm was splinted and would take quite some time to heal. Still, it was better than being dead, he supposed. Every couple of days, one of the elven soldiers would come check on them, and they’d brought the bandages and such as well, even if the women had been rather frosty and distant so far.
“Ah, there you are, Jared!” Jared nearly jumped out of his skin when the Archon’s voice resounded in his head, causing a spike of pain to lance out from his arm.
“Argh! W-what? Archon? How are you talking to me?” Jared asked, shocked as he looked around. Mental communication was generally only available over relatively short distances, so it was surprising.
“Via magic, my boy. I’ve got a lot of tricks up my sleeve that you don’t know about,” the Archon replied in a friendly tone. “Do keep your voice down, though. It wasn’t easy piercing the wards around you. Now, why don’t you tell me what happened to you, and where you are now?”
“Umm, yes, sir,” Jared replied, gulping hard as he resisted the urge to rise to attention, which would only aggravate his arm. “I’m inside the dungeon. I think she put those of us she captured into a safe zone, since it doesn’t seem to have elevated ambient mana. We—”
“She? What do you mean by that?” Ulvian interrupted, his tone betraying surprise.
“The dungeon, they called her Sistina. She looked like a dryad, sir. I had the priestesses I’d enslaved melt a hole in the rear side of the mountain, thinking it wasn’t part of the dungeon since the princess was inside, and we invaded. When we got inside, the dungeon dropped the priestesses down pit traps to get rid of our magical support, right as she sent a war golem after us,” Jared explained, wincing in pain at the memory. “Without them, we didn’t have shields that could stop it, and its attacks were enchanted with fire. We fought as best we could, but I was crippled at the end, and the dryad gave me the choice of death or surrendering. I chose to surrender.”
“I see. That is most interesting,” Ulvian replied contemplatively. After a moment, he explained, “I had Justicar Hall see to Westgate after your disappearance, and he found some interesting information in the spy reports from Sifaren’s court. It claimed that there was a dryad in the dungeon that could break the brands. I didn’t expect it to be somewhat true. What about the latter aspect? Can it truly break the magic of the brands?”
“Damn, I wish I’d known about that before I invaded. It would’ve changed my plans a lot, sir.” Jared’s slight elation dimmed at the news, shaking his head again. “But no, she can’t. One of the priestesses, the first one I caught, came and taunted me, saying that the dungeon claimed her brand somehow. It cut her off from my commands, which I admit I found quite disturbing.”
“That is certainly troubling, but much less than if the dungeon could break the brands somehow. I’m glad that you’re alive, Jared, and I hope you can gather more information for me,” Ulvian spoke after a moment, obviously considering the situation.
“There isn’t much else I can do, sir. My arm’s broken, I’ve got cracked ribs, and we’re stuck in a side cavern guarded by the golem,” Jared explained respectfully. “They barely even visit us, leaving us trapped down here.”
“Then when they visit, capture one of them and interrogate them,” Ulvian replied mildly, as if he was smiling congenially. “I need information, Jared, and you’re the only one in a position to give it to me.”
“But that would just get us killed, sir! I don’t see how that would help at all,” Jared protested, starting to grow worried. “I couldn’t get you the information if I was dead!”
“Ah, but that’s where you are wrong, Jared. And that wasn’t a request, Jared. This is an order.” The Archon’s voice grew firm in Jared’s head. “You will capture and interrogate one of your captors, killing if necessary. And you will kill yourself rather than let yourself be questioned again. You also may not divulge that this was by my orders under any circumstances.”
“That—” Jared began to reply, shock going through him, when he suddenly felt his command crest flare to life. The brand on his arm normally seemed like a simple tattoo, but he knew its magic was what allowed him to command Kelvanis’ slaves. It was only as a compulsion to obey flooded through his veins that he realized, to his horror, that it was a slave brand as well. And it was a moment before he spoke, his voice unsteady, “A-as you command, Lord Archon.”
“Good man, Jared. I just wish you hadn’t gotten yourself captured,” Ulvian replied cheerfully, and then the connection cut off.
Jared slumped back against the stone wall in the aftermath, mentally r
eeling at what had just happened. Slowly, his eyes lowered to his arm, and he murmured softly, “What… what are these? What are they really? They can’t be just slave brands, not if they can be used against us. Can they?”
That unanswered question haunted him, and he looked up with haunted eyes to his soldiers, who were almost blissfully cracking jokes with one another while they tended to the rows of carrots.
Chapter 10
Diamond nearly lost control of her shield as the high-pitched scream washed over her, the sound piercing deep into her head and almost bursting her eardrums. The shield muted the worst of the audible assault, but the stone shattering beyond the sphere-shaped area of the shield was a sobering reminder of what would happen to Diamond if she didn’t keep the shield up. A cry of pain to the left drew Diamond’s attention, just as the earth-shattering scream came to an end.
Ruby had fallen to the ground, groaning as she bled from where it looked like a rock had struck her in the head. Diamond could see she was mostly uninjured, and let out a breath of relief that the woman’s spell had failed toward the end of the attack. She turned her attention back to the monster attacking them.
The creature looked like nothing less than a gigantic, crystalline worm nearly four feet in diameter and a dozen yards long. The creature’s tooth-lined maw was enormous, and the resonating scream it’d unleashed as it ripped out of the ground had been devastating, nearly killing half their number before they’d managed to cast their shielding spells. Now Topaz, Emerald, Ruby, and Sapphire were all out of the fight, and the monster hadn’t even been touched after unleashing two of its stone-rending roars.
At least this time the creature didn’t let out another scream, and Diamond dropped her shield as it began to slither ominously toward Ruby’s prone form, the sound of grating stone against stone resounding from its movements.
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