The Archbishop's Amulet (The Windhaven Chronicles Book 2)

by Watson Davis

  A key fit the shackles on my ankles, and I freed myself, kicking the damned things off. The monk charged forward but stopped, dropping the candelabra, the bony spike protruding from the middle of his back.

  “Oh, yeah,” I whispered. “Forgot to mention the tail.”

  The devil laughed, lifting the monk into the air, slow and steady, carrying the body back into the shadows.

  Keeping my eyes toward the devil and his tail, I backed away from him, crouching, my side hurting, every bit of my body stinging and aching, my feet flinching away from sharp shards of tile on the floor, the floor growing warm beneath my feet, putting one of the altar stones between us.

  “Cal…Caldane?” a voice said from my left, soft and weak.

  I jumped, body tensing, the pain receding with the quickening of my heart, with the strength of battle. My eyes straining, I peered through the dust and smoke for the source. Aissal hung from her altar stone, her arms suspended, her once white hair now dark with soot and dangling across her bloody face.

  “Help me,” she said, her voice so pitiful.

  I stared into her eyes for an eternity. I shook my head. “Inare, aid me.” My collar crackled and popped.

  I took a deep breath and crept back around to my altar stone, eyes scanning the shadows, knowing a devil hid there, but unable to see it. My head twisting and turning trying to find the thing, scurrying forward, I snatched up the keys, taking a step back toward where I’d come from, where I’d seen Aissal, but I hesitated. I inched to the side, my hand darting out and grabbing the candelabra.

  The skin between my shoulder blades tingling, I scurried back around the debris now filling the center of the pentacle, to where Aissal waited, stopping when something moved behind her stone, a hint of bone in the moonlight.

  “Caldane?” she said, rising up, her legs shaking beneath her. “I thought you’d left us.”

  “Why would you think that?” I kept my eyes on her, but my concentration on the movement in the shadows, holding the candelabra in my right hand, walking forward relaxed, loose, my nerves jangling, my wounds forgotten.

  Her delicate brow furrowing, leaning forward, squinting her eyes, moving back as I approached, she said, “Is something wrong?”

  “Have you looked around?” I reached up with my left hand, placing the keys in her hand, staring into her eyes, seeing a dawning fear there.

  The devil moved, a whisper, something sliding through the rubble, a pebble bouncing. I spun, swinging the candelabra, sparks flying where the candelabra struck the tail, deflecting it, knocking it to the side and down. The spiked end of his tail struck me in the side, gashing through me, ripping me open, the devil shrieking, me screaming, my knees weakening. The candelabra falling from my fingertips, lacking the strength to hold it, I fell to my hands and knees, my arms shaking, struggling to hold up my body, the candelabra bouncing on the stone floor.

  I gasped there like a fish pulled out of a clear river and flopping on the shoreline, streamers of pain running up and down from the gash in my side, through my arms, my legs.

  A bony hoof stepped out of the murk and set itself down before me. Aissal wailed. I forced my head to tilt back, to look up, and wished I had not. The devil crouched over me, snarling at me, an emaciated devil, a devil of hunger and pestilence, the goat-like head mangy, the stretched and misshapen body merely cracked skin wrapped around bones, every one of its ribs visible, the tail whipping back and forth, the bony spike at the tip of the tail canting to the side with a notch cut out of the tail where I’d struck it.

  A notch? Cut out?

  The devil placed its clawed hand on my shoulder, lifting me, digging those claws into my shoulder, inserting them underneath my collarbone, into my shoulder blade. I screamed, my numb fingers grabbing the candelabra, ripping the candelabra up through the crotch of the devil, my arm weak, but I willed it to move.

  The devil screeched, releasing me, trying to escape, falling backward, writhing on the ground, its tail thrashing—the point, having been detached, lay on the ground. I leaped on its chest, driving the candelabra into its head, caving it in, the whole creature evaporating into a cloud of dust beneath me.

  Holding my breath, covering my eyes in the crook of my arm, I stumbled out of the expanding cloud of dust, falling to my knees by a pile of rubble, my hand touching something, something cold, metallic, the metal tingling against my skin, sticking to me, pulling at me, at something deep in me. Gray dust covered the amulet, that damned amulet, the eye closed, the surface smooth. A limp hand hung over the amulet, the arm leading back to a body, a dark splotch of congealing blood under his head, Archbishop Diyune.

  My heart almost stopped.

  “Caldane?” Aissal said. “Come help me.”

  Staring at Diyune, I darted forward, sure Diyune would wake up and grab me, and I snatched the amulet, drawing back, hand shaking, heart pounding.

  The Amulet

  I crept toward Cole, kneeling beside him, glancing across to Aissal on his other side, her hand massaging his back, Rucker beyond her, eyes wide with fear. Afraid to touch Cole, afraid to interrupt his grief, afraid not to, I whispered, “We have got to go.”

  His hands on his brother’s torn, soggy tunic, bits of flesh and bone hanging out, Cole’s shoulders quivering, he glared up at me, eyelids twitching, eyes red, lips pulling away from his clenched teeth, his breath coming from deep in his throat, a nascent growl without any shred of logic or reason.

  Our eyes locking, I stopped, drawing my hand back, trying to still my breath, tilting my hand back, showing him my palm. Our chance to escape passing with each beat of our hearts, I backed away, only a few steps, leaving Cole to his grief.

  “He would want us to live,” Aissal said, her voice pitched low, breathy. “To honor his memory.”

  My back to them, I pulled a cloth from the pile of debris, and wrapped it around the amulet, not wanting the thing to continue to touch my skin, slipping it into the back of my pants.

  Rucker inched forward, rubbing Cole’s arm. Shiny tears rolled down Aissal’s blue cheeks, sparkling in the moonlight. She reached her hand toward Lord Silmon’s tunic, but Cole slapped her hand away. Her fingers curling, the pained expression on her face growing more worried, she withdrew her hand.

  I stepped away from them, looking for a passage through the rubble out to the monastery grounds.

  The whole floor of the pentacle shifted beneath us, twisting to the side, cackling laughter rising up from below our feet. Cole, Rucker, and Aissal raised their heads.

  “Really. We should go,” I said, gesturing for them to hurry, reaching down to pick up the candelabra, and not waiting to see if they followed, I stumbled through the shifting stone and wood of the remnants of the altar room, the crescent moon shining down with silvery light, my breath coming out in misty puffs in the cool night air, amulet pressing against the small of my back, reminding me of its presence with every step.

  Outside the crushed remains of the temple, everything burned, like our departure from the nether world had brought part of that particular hell with us, the cries of agony, screams of rage, of battle, of despair, the flames running up the trees, the bushes, the roof of the alchemy building across the walkway.

  A devil, the size of a short human, red-skinned, black-haired, stood laughing, the firelight glinting off his fangs, his bat-like wings folded, his oversized penis in his hands directing a stream of steaming urine into the face of a sputtering monk trapped under a beam and some stone, still wearing the robes of one of the twelve cardinal points. The monk squirmed, eyes squeezed shut, his arms waving before his face but failing to keep that vile fluid from touching him.

  My eyes not leaving the foul creature, holding my breath to not draw his attentions to me, I slid crouching to the side away from the devil, tiptoeing through the broken stones and shattered tiles, every intention to slip away undetected, candelabra at the ready.

  A rock flew through the air, its arc deflected as it grazed the devil’s wing.r />
  “Stop it!” Rushing forward, Aissal screamed, “You leave him alone.”

  I stopped, my mind not comprehending what she was doing, why she was doing it.

  The devil, the stream of its urine dribbling to a stop, stared at Aissal as she rushed toward him, her fists raised. She threw an awkward punch at the creature, her fist glancing off its temple, her body off-balance. The devil sidestepped, catching Aissal with his left arm as she careened past. He grabbed the hair on the back of her head, yanking her head back, exposing her neck. His mouth opened, impossibly wide, revealing his fangs, all his teeth pointed and sharp.

  I took a step toward her, knowing I had waited too late, knowing she was as good as gone, knowing there was nothing I could do. Cole and Rucker emerged from the shadows of the wreckage of the hallway into the altar. Rucker sprinted forward, screaming, “Aissal, no!”

  A shadow loomed up behind the devil and Aissal, roaring with fury. A gigantic club, encircled with iron spikes, struck the side of the devil’s head caving it in with a wet smack. The devil’s body stiffened and toppled aside, letting Aissal tumble to the ground at the booted feet of a monstrous orc.

  The devil’s body trembled, its arms flailing, wings flapping uselessly, goat-like legs kicking. Aissal scrambled behind the orc, who stared down at the devil.

  “Which Hell are these things from?” the orc asked. “What does it take to slay one of them?”

  I leaped forward, swinging the candelabra down with both hands, striking the devil in the head. I stepped back, breathing hard, clutching my side, blood pouring out of my wound, an uncomfortable warmth rising up into my face. I looked up into the orc’s beady eyes. “Magic and iron.”

  The orc’s lips pulled back from its teeth and the tusks on its lower jaw in a frightening grimace. I stepped back into a defensive position, amulet working its way out of the back of my pants. He barked, nodding, “I thank you, brave little slave person. Always good to know how to kill the enemy. I’ll pass the word.”

  I relaxed, and pushed the amulet back into place.

  The monk moaned. “Help me.”

  Aissal crawled to the monk, wiping at his face with the dust-caked hem of her skirts. She looked at me, pleading, “We have to get him out of here. He won’t last much longer.”

  I wanted to say nothing more than “So?” Why would I care about the life of a damned monk, my supposed master, a representative of the empire killing my kind, destroying my life, hunting my clan to extinction? Or maybe “Good”, let the bastard die with devil urine coating his slant-eyed face, burning his nostrils, filling his mouth. He deserves it.

  But a gigantic orc stood across from me, a gigantic orc with a gigantic club, a gigantic club still dripping with the gooey residue of a devil’s brain, the orc another representative of that same Nayen Empire.

  I licked my lips, looking up into a face I detested, bending my neck in submission like the slave I was, gesturing to the moaning monk and Aissal, and asked, “Could you help us lift these rocks and timbers from him?”

  “Of course!” He tossed his club aside, laughing, and slapped me on the back, making me stumble several steps toward the monk. “But I’ll take that bit of iron off your hands.”

  # # #

  Placing my feet one before the other, over and over, I kept my head down, concentrating on moving faster, step by step, fighting back the wooziness creeping in from the edge of my consciousness, ignoring the heat and the flames consuming the kitchen and the library buildings next to the walking path and the agonized screams coming from within them, ignoring the ache throbbing in my side, wrapping my hands around the rough handles of the cart, fingers numb, magic whizzing by, devils and orcs and monks battling around me.

  Aissal knelt in the cart between the monk and Rucker, tending to them, ducking the flashing bolts of magic the monks tossed about at whatever moved, the flapping wings and slashing talons of the devils, the swords and clubs of the orcs, her movements shifting the handles in my hands, making my hands slip, making me readjust my grip, with Cole pushing from the rear, but not helping much.

  “Iron and magic!” The orc who’d helped us bounded away, wading into the battle on the main courtyard, swinging the candelabra, crushing the back of a devil. He placed his foot on the devil’s twitching back, swinging the candelabra, screaming, “Anyone have a stash of magical weapons anywhere?”

  The cart rocking and pitching, its rough-hewn wooden wheels grinding against the uneven gravel of the walkway, sometimes sticking, sometimes rolling, I struggled with the cart, dragging it along behind me, until a sizzling bolt of magic passed over my head, burning my hair.

  “What?” I stopped, bringing myself up short, ducking, pressing back against the cart. Something swished above my head, a flying devil of some sort, banking in the air. I hunkered down but the cart pressed forward, pushing me when that was the last thing I wanted to do. I shouted back to Cole, “Stop pushing.”

  The devil dropped to the ground before me, one of the insect ones, a head like a mantis, its mandibles clicking and popping, with a shiny, brown shell with yellowed knobs like leprous patches of mold, four diaphanous wings tucking into its carapace somehow, six legs and two arms, and in those disgustingly man-like arms, it held a halberd, pointing the gleaming point at me.

  “Stop.” Aissal shrieked behind me.

  The cart forcing me on, the rough wood of the crossbar thrusting me forward though I set my feet in the gravel, mashing my back against the front of the cart bed, the long wooden handles trapping me between them. My right hand went to the amulet cutting into my back, the orb in the middle smashing up against my spine. I clutched it, wrapping my fingers around it, pulling it out of my pants.

  The devil reared, raising his weapon.

  “Out of the way, slave.” A raw blast of magical energy crackled past me, striking the devil in the side, the shimmering bolt of energy exploding into a cascade of sparkling embers, the power of the blast toppling the beast to my right, its legs scrambling beneath it, kicking up stones from the gravel as it tried to maintain its balance, an angry chitter coming from its gruesome mouth.

  An orc I recognized, the one who’d captured me, Lieutenant Arcled, charged in from the other side, throwing himself at the thing, bowling it over, the two crashing to the ground.

  I seized the opportunity to duck under the handle, spinning out to the left from the front of the cart, dodging out of the way of the monk standing there. He ignored me, concentrating on Arcled fighting the devil, a spinning vortex of magical energy swirling between his hands, his left hand over his right.

  I stumbled to the rear of the cart where Cole continued to shove, teeth gritting, grunting, and I yelled at him, “Stop.”

  Cole, his shoulders up against the back of the cart, looked up at me, his eyes unfocused, sweat pouring down his face. “What?”

  “Stop pushing already.”

  He collapsed to his hands and knees panting for breath. I dropped to my knees beside him.

  “Agholor!” Lieutenant Arcled crouched over the remains of the insectoid devil, bits and gooey pieces, most of which continued their quivering and shaking. He glared into the battle to his left, holding out his hand, waving someone to come to him. “I need another sword, a magic one this time!”

  A human soldier, a longsword in either hand, jogged up, his swords twirling and spinning, flinging blood and ichor from them. “Do I look like your armory?”

  Arcled reached his hand toward the human, shaking it, “Just give me a damned sword.”

  “Watch your mouth.” Agholor tossed a sword to the lieutenant, the lieutenant snatching it out of the air. Agholor said, “A careless word around these devils could create a pact and cost you your soul.”

  “We eat these assholes for breakfast in my realm.” Arcled held the sword up at the shoulder level with both hands, his eyes surveying the undulating bits of devil at his feet. “Does this thing even have a damned heart?”

  “Caldane.” Aissal screamed fr
om the bed of the cart, pointing toward something behind me, eyes wide.

  I ducked and rolled, grabbing Cole, tossing him aside.

  The monk spun, discharging a bolt from his focused energy, striking a giant, floating eyeball dead center. The eye exploded, releasing a greenish gas. The monk shifted his feet, angling toward me, firing another bolt over my head. He glared at me like I was a cockroach crawling across his supper, a sneer on his lips. “Get out of my…” His eyes narrowing, he slid toward me, bending to examine the package in my hand, the torn strips of monk’s robes wrapped around Diyune’s amulet.

  He recognized it.

  His eyes widening, he jumped back, preparing himself to blast me. I scrabbled backwards.

  From my left, one of the insectoid devils flew, halberd held before him like a knight’s lance, and he drove the halberd through the vortex in the monk’s hands, ramming it into the monk’s chest. The vortex exploded, releasing its energy, disintegrating the monk and the devil down to the thorax between the first and second pair of legs, the force knocking me back.

  I climbed back to my feet, ears ringing, and staggered forward, grabbing the amulet, scooping up Cole’s limp body. I lumbered to the cart. The injured monk moaned in the cart’s bed. Rucker curled up with his hands over his ears at the rear of the cart, squeezing his eyes shut. I lifted Cole, rolling him over the side, into the cart beside the monk.

  Aissal popped up from in front of the cart, swaying, eyes blinking. “Is everyone well?”

  A chuckle started from somewhere deep within me and I couldn’t stop it. I began to laugh, shaking my head. “No. Everyone is not well.”

  She clambered into the cart and reached toward Cole. “The explosion?”

  “Yes.” I hugged my sides, wiping my eyes, fighting the laughter down but hearing it inside, wanting to bubble back up.

  “This is no place for non-combatants.” Arcled stomped up beside us, head swiveling, studying the air and the skies, his ichor-drenched sword at the ready, his armor ripped, torn, and pieces missing, bleeding from uncountable gashes and slashes.