“I agree. This looks to be the same, so at least we have a name.” Zarenya’s voice was satisfied, but slightly subdued. “The problem is that she’s a demon lord. Irethiel, Demon Queen of Corruption, Lust, and Slavery.”
The name was like a spike that stabbed into Sistina’s mind, and her hand involuntarily clenched, a page of text crumpling in her left hand, while the inkpen snapped in her right hand, the ink dribbling over the page slightly as it bounced on the sheet. The sharp report made all of the others jump, and Phynis in particular spun, staring at Sistina.
“Sistina? Is something wrong?” Phynis asked nervously.
“The name. I… remember it,” Sistina spoke slowly, and stood up, pulling the fragments of the inkpen from where they’d embedded in her skin. “No details. Have to look.”
“What? That doesn’t explain much,” Phynis murmured, but stepped out of the way. Desa got her clothing in order, and Sistina stepped past them, idly healing the injury to her hand as she looked at the book.
The symbol was quite familiar, and they were right—it was at the core of every brand Sistina had claimed so far. But it was the name that bothered her, so she read the passage, and her mind rocked.
Irethiel, Demon Queen of Corruption, Lust, and Slavery. She is also sometimes given other portfolios, such as domination, sex, tyranny, and others, but such are often common to demon lords known to be succubi or to control others. Irethiel claimed her position from her predecessor, Kathyria, in the year -1409 ED. More ruthless than Kathyria, Irethiel is considered one of the more deadly and dangerous demon lords of the age.
“Kathyria…” Sistina murmured softly, her memories shuddering. And all of a sudden, she lost her grip on her body, receding as it began to fall backward.
Sistina murmured something, and then abruptly began to fall backward as her consciousness receded. And as it did, Phynis’ eyes went wide as she suddenly felt rage, confusion, and sorrow, all mixed together and oddly distant as she felt Sistina almost collapse into herself.
“Sistina!” Phynis yelped, quickly catching her and blinking in surprise as Desa groaned.
“What is that?” Desa asked, clutching at her head as she squinted, obviously uncomfortable. “I feel like… like someone’s in my head.”
“It’s Sistina. She’s upset about something. But what, I don’t know,” Phynis replied, looking nervously at the dryad’s body, abandoned and mostly stiff.
“Could it be something to do with the demon lord? I heard her mention the name of the demon lord who Irethiel replaced, Kathyria,” Ellis offered, looking worried himself.
“I don’t know. She’s angry and confused,” Phynis replied slowly, shaking her head as the sorrow deepened. “And she’s sad about something. I’m not sure what, though.”
“Hopefully she snaps out of it soon. This is disturbing,” Desa added, wincing again.
“You aren’t the only one,” Phynis told her friend, watching Sistina and wondering what was happening to her.
Sistina was drowning in memories. But in the memories, she wasn’t Sistina. She was Marin, Archangel of Balvess. Wielder of the Sword of the Golden Moon. She didn’t remember much more than that, or how the battle had gone, but she remembered the moment that she had failed. The moment when her strength had left her body after the trap closed around her, and she had barely managed to open the portal and return her holy blade to her God’s side lest the demons around her blaspheme it. Only to find out that the sword had never been Kathyria’s target.
Marin had fought against the ebon chains, struggling feebly as their unholy magic drained the strength from her body. Kathyria, the succubus queen, had laughed as she approached her, her teeth the only hint of light from the being of darkness as she leaned in and stroked one of Marin’s cheeks, murmuring in delight. “Oh, I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you, Marin. I’ve needed a champion I could trust, and raising one from nothing is just so hard. Much easier to steal one, don’t you think?”
As Marin tried to speak, the demon queen had kissed her, drowning any protests as she sucked energy out of the angel and poured dark magic into her to twist, corrupt, and render her unable to resist. Slowly, the dark magic had forced Marin unconscious, even as her body heated. And then all was darkness.
The next fragment of memories was Marin being pulled from a steaming vat by another set of chains, the container filled with some viscous liquid that she couldn’t quite place. Her body was practically on fire, blazing with lust and literal heat, as her skin cooled from an unearthly temperature that had changed it. The alien sensation of a tail swayed behind her, her wings were more like those of a bat or dragon’s, and literally no part of her body remained unchanged.
Kathyria stood before her, in her glorious, crimson-skinned form, much like most other succubi, but so much more. And as she did, Marin shivered, whimpering as she looked downward to see the slave crest that adorned her body. And then Kathyria spoke, her voice a gentle caress almost as good as the actual touch as she stroked Marin’s cheek. “There we are… you resisted long and hard, but look at you now. Such a beautiful succubus, remade in my image. But tell me, how do you feel now? Are you ready to serve me, my dear? To be my right hand and protector?”
“I… I…” Marin’s voice had almost broken, but her mind already had, corrupted and changed, so she nodded and spoke reverently. “Yes, Mistress. I’m yours now.”
“Of course you are. But forget that silly name of yours. It has no meaning for you, not for my champion.” Kathyria’s voice was pleasant as she grinned. “Your Name is now Avendrial.”
“Avendrial…” The memory spun in her mind, and she shuddered onward, to another scene, centuries later.
She took a new succubus under her wing, to show her how things were done in Kathyria’s court. Avendrial had shown young Irethiel how to brand other demons and hold them in the endless chains of dominance and submission from the most powerful to least powerful of the court. The ambition in the young demon’s eyes had burned brightly, as it did in most, but there was nothing unusual in that. So Avendrial had gone on with her duties, tutoring her young lieutenant as she protected Kathyria from those who would overthrow her.
It was when she had been sent to aid one of Kathyria’s servants in a minor task, something that should have taken no more than a few days’ time, that everything began to go wrong again. In the man’s rage about her perceived failure, he had trapped her in a gemstone. In Avendrial’s absence, Kathyria had been overthrown. And it was then that Sistina began to suspect what might have happened.
She suspected that Irethiel had arranged for her imprisonment, and then had overthrown Kathyria somehow. There was no way to know for certain, but Sistina believed it anyway. And as she realized it, she instinctively looked at herself. She’d been branded, much as Desa, Farris, and Phynis had been, so if Kathyria still lived, it would be engraved into her very spirit. Not a hint of a marking was there, though. There was no sign of a brand ever existing.
Kathyria may have kidnapped her and remade Avendrial, but Avendrial was one of Sistina’s previous lives, and she had loved her Mistress with all her corrupted heart. It explained to Sistina why she had felt so sympathetic to the Jewels and Phynis, with how their minds had been altered. And it explained the incredible grief nearly overwhelming her as she realized that Kathyria was gone eternally.
Phynis felt the moment that Sistina returned to her body. They had gently positioned the dryad in a chair and waited. It had been half an hour, but the sensation of Sistina’s anger and grief receding to manageable levels had been palpable. Desa had managed to acclimate to the sensations after a few minutes, but none of them were certain what had happened. When Sistina returned, though, Phynis instantly looked at her, as tears began to slowly flow down the dryad’s face.
“Sistina? What’s wrong?” Phynis asked, standing up and approaching the dryad, concern flooding her. She’d never seen such an intense reaction from the dryad before.
“Remembered. K
athyria was mistress,” Sistina murmured, her eyes distant as the thick tears slowly coursed down her face. “So old. Am a failure. She died.”
“You’re that old? I didn’t realize that you were… no, never mind that. Why are you a failure? It shouldn’t be your fault that she died,” Phynis protested, exchanging a worried glance with Desa, but at the same time the idea that Sistina was that old startled her. “Talk to me, Sistina?”
“I was champion,” Sistina replied simply, turning those age-old, tired eyes on Phynis. “Was sealed. Kathyria slain. Is… distressing.”
“You were what?” Desa yelped, her eyes going huge, and she stammered. “I mean, you said you were a demon, but that’s insane! Why are you so… so helpful?”
“Not always demon. Was captured. Turned,” Sistina replied, shrugging as she looked down, her eyes on Phynis’ chest, her tears slowing at last as she took a deep breath.
“You were turned into her servant? What were you before?” Phynis asked softly, feeling utterly stunned.
“Angel. Mortal before. Am old,” Sistina stressed, looking at Phynis and giving a gentle smile. “Still Sistina. Still myself. Just memories.”
“Perhaps so, but I still worry about you, Sistina. You’ve never reacted like that before,” Phynis told her, pulling the dryad into a hug. “I don’t care who you were. I care about who you are now.”
“Past shapes us. Will adjust. Good to know.” The dryad sighed, closing her eyes and hugging Phynis tight. She was just a hair short of hugging too tightly, but Phynis didn’t mind. Sistina obviously had been more upset than Phynis had been able to tell.
“I, uh, hesitate to interrupt, but I have a question for you, Sistina,” Ellis interrupted hesitantly. He paused before adding, “It’s since you said you served Kathyria.”
“Yes,” Sistina acknowledged, nodding as she hugged Phynis, her eyes closed as she simply held the elf, which made Phynis blush slightly. After a moment, Sistina asked, “Question?”
“Well, it’s about the brands. Since you served Irethiel’s predecessor, I assume that they were used then, too,” Ellis explained, licking his lips before asking, “Do you know how to break them?”
“Brands not same.” Sistina’s voice was slow as if she were thinking of how to explain. “Normally, demon must place. Must place in domain. These, wrong world. Placed by mortals. Adapted, changed. Core still same. Three ways to break.”
Detaching from Phynis, she reached down and placed a hand against where the brand was, prompting a blush from Phynis at the intimate, public action. Sistina smiled gently, then spoke. “A demon claims. Cannot bear same brand. Difficult to perform. I must still count.” Pulling her hand away, she added, “Second option. Holy water, holy ground. Must happen quickly. Easy. Last, easy and difficult.” Sistina smiled sadly, shaking her head. “Must kill owner. Demon lord difficult. Breaks all bonds.”
“I see. That means that we have to kill Irethiel? I don’t think that’s possible.” Ellis seemed to deflate slightly at the thought. “I’d hoped…”
“Not hopeless. She betrayed Kathyria. Will consider methods,” Sistina replied firmly, and smiled at Phynis. “First finish project.”
“What project? You keep talking about it!” Phynis asked, growing exasperated. First Sistina had almost drowned in grief, and now she was teasing her with some unknown project that she was keeping secret.
“Will see.” Sistina smiled, tilting her head as she considered, then nodded. “After spring equinox. First new moon.”
“Fine, but I’m holding you to that,” Phynis growled, her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare forget!”
Sistina simply smiled, and reached up to brush away the last remnants of her tears.
Chapter 49
As a half-dozen orcs broke and ran from the burning walls of the outpost, Captain Vendis snapped out. “Archers!”
Three dozen archers, each of them among the best available to Sifaren, instantly reacted, sending a fusillade of arrows at the fleeing orcs. It was no surprise that all but one of the orcs fell under the arrows, and the last only managed to get a hundred yards before being brought down.
Kelvanis’ border outpost wasn’t large, with only a handful of buildings surrounded by a palisade, and only three dozen soldiers stationed there to begin with. It was little wonder that it had hardly been able to resist when five companies of soldiers, as well as three platoons of mages, had descended on them. Now the outpost was in flames, most of its defenders dead or dying.
Glancing back at Sir Lucien, Vendis smiled thinly and gave him a nod. He nodded in return and called out, his voice projecting clearly, “Scouts, make a last sweep for survivors! Prepare to move out!”
Crossing the border into Kelvanis hadn’t been hard, and they’d only suffered a single injury in destroying the outpost in their path. The situation was looking brighter than it had been, but Reva was still concerned.
His soldiers were the best that Sifaren was able to spare, and all of them were equipped for the snow they were traveling through, trying to get the jump on Kelvanis. Reva’s task had turned from an attempt at retrieving vital information and Princess Phynis into something even more important. If he could do enough damage, it might disrupt Kelvanis’ plans for an assault on Sifaren in the spring and buy vital time for them to gather more allies.
“Captain Vendis! Any sign of enemy scouts?” Reva called out, and the other captain nudged her horse over toward him, following the trail the vanguard was making.
“None yet, Sir. It’s entirely likely that they didn’t have any soldiers in place to intercept us just yet,” Vendis replied clearly, a hard glint in her eyes. “None of the guards escaped the outpost, but I suspect they sent a message to their neighboring outposts before they fell.”
“We have to assume so. Still, every moment we have to get ahead of them is a blessing from the gods,” Reva replied, grinning slightly. “Let’s make Kelvanis panic for once, shall we?”
“Sir, we just got an emergency dispatch from Grayhold.” The messenger opened the door somewhat nervously.
Justicar Hall looked up, frowning deeply as he saw the young man, his sandy brown hair disheveled and his breathing hard, as if he had chosen to run all the way here. He couldn’t have been more than twelve years old. Ivan’s frown softened slightly as he ordered. “What message?”
“Lord Devan reports that he received word that a Sifaren force of no less than four companies destroyed border post Stonecrag three days ago, leaving no survivors,” the young man reported, swallowing hard. “He dispatched the information immediately after sending patrols to locate them for interception.”
“Shit,” Ivan growled, instantly remembering the location of the fort in question. It was too far to easily get reinforcements to, and he frowned before ordering, “Go get me a dozen messengers, and tell them to prep for travel.”
“Yes, sir!” the boy replied, saluting, then dashing off.
Pulling out paper, the Justicar began to write messages to different outposts and villages to warn them. It would wreak havoc on his plans to pull the soldiers away to hunt down the attackers, but it had to be done.
Chapter 50
“What do you mean the dungeon’s closed tomorrow?” Daniel asked, blinking in surprise.
“Shh!” Sina hissed, looking at the door to make sure no one else was nearby. Once she was certain, she spoke softly. “I’m not sure exactly what Sistina has planned, save that she’s planning to redo a lot of the dungeon all at once. It’s something big, I know that much, but I’m not sure of all she has in mind. She had something she wanted me to tell you, though. Obviously she knew we got along well, which is why she chose us.”
“And what’s that?” Daniel asked, frowning. “I’ve noticed that the dungeon hasn’t changed much, and the Guildmaster has been getting a little antsy about the mana concentration, but I thought it was fairly normal.”
“I have no idea about that. What I can tell you is that she asked that you quietly let the slaves
in town know that if they can get into the dungeon, she can free them. But they can only enter after tomorrow,” Sina explained, and frowned slightly. “I’m not sure why it’s after tomorrow, but she wanted me to ask you to tell them.”
“Huh. Well, I’m willing to tell them. I’m not sure how much good it’ll do, but I’ll let them know,” Daniel replied, shrugging as he added, grinning a little. “I just hope it doesn’t get me enslaved. That would definitely wreck my position.”
“So be careful. I don’t want you in the same position as me, unable to leave the dungeon,” Sina told him, her eyes filled with worry.
Grinning, Daniel nodded and leaned forward to kiss her, before breaking off and murmuring softly, “I promise, I’ll be careful.”
“Thank you,” Sina replied, smiling brightly at him.
Word spread quickly through the town after Daniel quietly told one of the prostitutes. From one slave to another, word slowly spread that there was a possibility of freedom. Only a handful weren’t told, those who others believed might snitch, or have their owners tell on them. But at last, it worked its way to the Evansly manor.
“Is this true, Sora?” Isana asked softly, looking out the window, over the snow-covered buildings to where the dungeon waited.
“Word was passed by one of the adventurers, Daniel Fisher. He was in love with one of the slaves who served the army, from what we’ve heard, and she’s a dungeon servant. I don’t know for certain, but I don’t see any reason for us to doubt him,” Sora replied, the dusk elf maid keeping her pale eyes lowered. “I’ll admit to barely daring to hope.”
“For good reason. We have had our hopes dashed a great many times since we were enslaved,” Isana replied, turning to look at her maid and friend. For a moment she didn’t say anything, but finally she let out a soft sigh, her voice hesitant. “I worry that it’s a trap, but I don’t see much choice if we want a chance of escape. Quietly inform the others to be ready, but not to move until we’re certain. And no matter what, don’t let Aric have the slightest hint.”
Spells of Old (Ancient Dreams Book 2) Page 34