Demon Games [4]

by Steve Feasey

  ‘Helde –’ Lucien said– ‘we have a little more information, but nothing much.’

  ‘Share it, share it,’ the old woman said, going to sit in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. She motioned with her hand for them to join her, and Lucien sat while the battle-angel remained standing, her huge wings folded behind her.

  ‘We found out that Caliban met with a Pit-Shedim that claimed to know the whereabouts of Helde.’

  ‘A Pit-Shedim?’ Hag leaned forward in her chair, cocking her head as though she had not heard the vampire correctly. ‘A Pit-Shedim, you say? You’re sure of this?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ said Moriel. ‘I acquired the information myself, and the creature that gave it to me was in no position to lie to me.’

  ‘I’m guessing that this Pit-Shedim has disappeared.’

  ‘It has not been seen since its meeting with the vampire.’

  The old woman nodded. ‘Then it’s true.’ She looked up at them both, a strange expression on her face. ‘I too have been asking around for information about Helde. It pays to be careful when asking such things, but one rumour caught my attention.’ She paused, looking at each of them in turn. ‘A rumour that suggested a demon – a Pit-Shedim, no less – has been nosing around the ancient library in Balezum, looking for information on the sorceress. It was also suggested to me that this particular Pit-Shedim might be a lot more adept in dark magic than his kind usually are, and that it was asking some rather interesting questions about resurrection rituals.’

  ‘What would something like that involve?’ Lucien asked.

  ‘A huge amount of preparation and skill. I am surprised that a lowly Pit-Shedim believed itself capable of such a thing. Most demons and djinn do not have the mental capacity to take on serious magic; their brains are wired all wrong. Ha!’ She cackled to herself, her shoulders hunching. ‘With any luck the stupid creature has killed itself trying. I remember once watching a Baegrol attempting to perform a firescreen spell. Well, you should have seen the state of—’

  ‘It’s not impossible though?’ Moriel said, cutting across the old woman’s rambling. ‘A Pit-Shedim might be versed enough in dark magic to perform the ritual?’

  ‘Mmm?’ Hag looked up at the battle-angel. ‘Oh, well, it’s possible.’ She frowned, thinking out loud now. ‘It’s the medium to house the heart that has got me thinking.’

  ‘Medium?’

  ‘Something organic that can house the organ and act as a body. Or possibly … ’ she paused, giving her two guests an odd look, ‘a large enough collection of things that could combine to form a body.’

  ‘What do you know, Hag?’

  ‘Most of it is guesswork, but … ’

  ‘Out with it,’ Lucien hissed.

  ‘Look around you. I keep a large number of animals and plants here for my magic. I use some more than others, and I always like a good stock of those that I use most. One of these is a particular beetle whose shell can be ground up and the resulting mixture used in all manner of interesting spells.’ The old woman nodded to herself, sucking her gums.

  Lucien was having a tough time controlling the frustration that was growing by the second inside him. He clamped his lips together, nodding impatiently, and silently urged the old woman to get to the point.

  ‘These beetles are only found in one area of the Netherworld, and the demon that I employ to go and forage for them tells me that there is no sign of them there.’ Hag leaned forward again in her seat. ‘Nor are there many other insects at all in that area. Which is odd when you consider where it is and how many you’d normally expect to find there. It really is most inconvenient. I was hoping to make a potion for treating—’

  ‘Will you get on with it and tell us what you know?!’ Lucien shouted. He stood up, knocking his chair over noisily.

  From the back of the room came a loud roar, and the mandragore, thinking its mistress-mother was in danger, came charging out of the shadows towards the vampire.

  For its size, the creature moved with incredible speed. It ran on great tree-trunk legs straight through everything in its path to the vampire, smashing cages and jars, ripping the door off a cupboard that had been left open and knocking over a glass case containing dozens of hairy, frog-like creatures that all scampered off into the dark recesses of the room as soon as they were free. If Hag had not stood up and shouted for the creature to stop, it might have crushed the vampire’s skull with one of its great wooden arms. Moriel already had her sword in her hand, and Lucien had turned to defend himself against the attack.

  A small groan escaped the mandragore, and its shoulders slumped as if it was sorry to be denied the opportunity to smash something into small pieces. At the behest of its mistress it slowly lumbered its way back to its dark corner, crushing and breaking more of the spilled items underfoot as it went.

  When Lucien picked the chair up and turned back to face Hag, she was sitting again, her head cocked to one side, eyebrows raised expectantly.

  ‘My apologies,’ Lucien said. ‘I did not mean to shout at you like that, Hag. It is just that the quicker we move, the greater the chance we have of thwarting my brother’s attempts to reawaken the sorceress. Please just tell us where you think she and my brother might be.’

  Hag nodded her acceptance of his apology. ‘The grave pit at Naramcasson. There are no insects there.’

  ‘And?’ Moriel had resheathed her sword and was standing with her arms folded once again.

  ‘There are none. Or almost none. There are the decaying bodies of demons and djinn and who knows what else in that pit, and it is usually awash with insects. The rot-beetle, which I was talking about earlier, before I was so rudely interrupted –’ she glowered at Lucien – ‘is found there. Or was found there. Now there are none.’

  ‘You think Helde’s been turned into an insect?’

  ‘No! But I think that she might be being returned in a body made of insects. They would perfectly fit the medium I described to you. And if that is the case, she must be somewhere near Naramcasson.’

  Lucien looked up at Moriel. ‘I don’t know that area. Do you?’

  ‘Well enough. We can get some more of the Arel and search it properly. It is not an area that I would choose to go to. It is a foul place, used as Hag says to dispose of the bodies of dead nether-creatures.’

  Lucien and Moriel shared a look. ‘We should get started as soon as possible,’ the vampire said.

  23

  Caliban heaved the unconscious body of a Maug over to the dais, cursing at the effort that it took for even a creature of his immense strength to shift the demon’s limp body. He propped it up against the edge of the sarcophagus, cursing again as it slipped out of his grasp and almost fell to the floor. The vampire shook his head and looked down at himself. He was covered in filth. The mud and muck from the marshy area outside had stuck to his clothes, and his feet were also caked in the stuff.

  The vampire scowled in the direction of the stone coffin, wishing he had never undertaken this venture. He had a suspicion that the thing inside the sarcophagus was toying with him, that Helde was already strong enough to rise again and was enjoying his struggles to bring more demon blood out to this forsaken place every day. Well, he would not play her game much longer.

  The Maug stirred: a low groan came from the creature’s mouth. The vampire rolled his eyes and hoisted the creature closer to the edge again.

  The last thing Caliban needed was a struggle like the last time.

  On that occasion he’d managed to hire two demons to accompany him to the crypt to clear out some of the bodies that had started to mount up down there, claiming that the carcasses were the result of an attack by Moriel’s Arel. The hired help were Uhzols: twin demons that were big on brawn and short on brain. They were not usually in his employ – Caliban had already killed at least half a dozen demons that worked for him, and some of the vampire’s advisors had begun to ask questions about the disappearances. No, these two were eminently expendable.
They were stupid creatures, but strong and well-built for what he would have them do. Caliban had stood and watched as they dragged the demon carcasses up the stairs, lifting them up on to their broad shoulders at the top to carry them off for disposal in a large open pit that the vampire had located far away from the crypt. He had been careful to place the lid back on Helde’s coffin throughout, not wanting the nether-creatures to see the glistening black body lying inside, but when they came down for the last two bodies, the infernal thing inside the stone tomb had let out a low groan. The Uhzol had stopped at the sound, looking towards the coffin.

  ‘You said this place was empty,’ one said.

  Its twin looked at the remaining bodies in the corner. ‘Are you sure that these were killed by Arel?’ it asked.

  ‘Quite sure,’ Caliban said, standing by the sarcophagus and placing his hand upon the lid.

  The Uhzol looked at the stone coffin, back at each other, and then at Caliban, grins slowly starting to spread across their faces.

  ‘What are you keeping in there?’ They nudged each other as if they had worked out some naughty secret.

  ‘One of your vampire floozies? Is that it? Have you got some bloodsucking beauty hidden down here?’ The demon nearest to Caliban stepped forward.

  ‘I suggest you get back to your work,’ the vampire said coldly.

  The heavy stone lid moved a fraction beneath the vampire’s hand, and Caliban glanced down to see it shift to one side, revealing a strip of the dark interior. There was a long sigh from inside, and when the thing spoke its eerie voice could be clearly heard.

  ‘Feed me,’ it said.

  The creature nearest the coffin looked back at its twin. ‘What the—’ it began.

  The demon didn’t say any more. Caliban’s talons saw to that – its throat was slashed before it ever got a chance to discover the vampire’s secret. The dying Uhzol stared at its killer with bulging eyes, its mouth opening and closing like a fish’s as its hands sought to stop the flow of spewing black gore. The other twin paused for a moment, looking down at its dying partner in shock, before letting out a loud roar and throwing itself forward to attack the murderous vampire. But Caliban was too fast. He misted, disappearing an instant before the demon could get its hands on him and reappearing again behind it. The Uhzol, realizing what had happened, began to turn round, and would have done so in time to witness the vampire slash its flesh apart, had Caliban not had his ankle grabbed by the dying Uhzol and been momentarily caught off guard. The distraction was enough. The second demon was upon him, tearing at the vampire’s face with its own claws, and Caliban was forced to mist again. This time he reappeared directly on the Uhzol’s back, pulling the creature’s head back and tearing its throat out with his fangs.

  Then Caliban slowly got to his feet, exhausted by the fight with the two huge demons. As he did so, Helde spoke again, her voice more demanding now that she could smell the demon blood.

  ‘Feed me, Caliban.’

  The vampire closed his eyes and fought the anger that raged inside him. He spat on the ground, grimacing at the taste of the demon blood. He would have to feed himself soon, feast on blood of another tincture to restore his strength. He removed the stone lid and glared down at the creature inside.

  ‘Feed me,’ Helde had said, looking up at him.

  She lay on her back with her arms folded over her chest. When she opened her eyes too look at him, they were the same inky black colour as the demon blood she craved.

  ‘If I didn’t know better,’ the vampire spat, ‘I would say that you are not as weak as you claim, sorceress!’

  ‘I am getting stronger. But I am not yet strong enough, Caliban.’

  ‘You seemed to shift that heavy stone lid without too much trouble.’

  The thing in the coffin closed its eyes. ‘I am not strong enough. Feed me.’

  Caliban stood, glaring down at the thing, trying to control himself. Eventually he cursed under his breath and bent down to pick up the nearest body, heaving it up the side of the coffin so that the blood could flow down into it.

  That had been two days ago. And now he was back in this stinking crypt, having carried the body of yet another demon through the nightmare landscape outside.

  He stepped forward and pushed at the coffin lid. Helde was in the same pose as when he’d last left. There appeared to be a smile on her lips.

  ‘If you are playing games with me, Helde, I will make you regret it. I don’t care how useful you might be to me, I will make you sorry that you ever heard the name of Caliban Charron.’

  He bent down to hoist up the Maug.

  ‘Feed me,’ came the familiar voice.

  24

  Molok looked down from a raised platform at the members of the gladiator school. The platform had been placed at one end of a large square, around which the various school buildings were arranged. A series of fixed benches lined the perimeter of the square and these were occupied on three sides so that the students could all see the demon lord for whom they were to compete. Trey stood to one side of the platform as he’d been directed to, feeling like a prize cut of meat in a butcher-shop window.

  Trey was wearing a short tunic the guards had given to him to replace the ruined one he’d worn in the cells, but he felt naked standing in front of the host of nether-creatures in the square. There were demons and djinn of every sort, some of which he recognized: Maug, Shadow Demons, a few Nargwan and a huge Bone Grell, but the vast majority were creatures he had never encountered before. They all had one thing in common: every one of the gladiators, as Molok insisted on calling them, eyed the human boy hungrily, many snapping their teeth in his direction, some waggling a long black tongue at him while drawing their finger across their throat in a cutting gesture. Others sat glaring at him in silence. Whatever they did or didn’t do, Trey was certain of one thing: they would all happily kill him in the blink of an eye.

  The fighters seemed to be arranged into three groups. The rowdiest group, to Trey’s left, all wore manacles or chains, and Trey guessed that these might be criminal elements who had been offered the chance to escape punishment by joining the school and fighting for their freedom. They were the most excitable group, jumping up, whooping and shouting about what terrible acts they were going to perform on their opponents at the Games. Moments before Molok had climbed the podium, one of this group had launched an attack on another demon sitting on the bench two or three seats away, jumping across to take a huge bite out of its victim’s face and spitting the severed flesh on to the ground at its feet. The entire group roared in approval at this, clapping and cheering even more when the assailant was dragged by guards towards one of the buildings, being cruelly kicked and whipped the entire way.

  The group to Trey’s right was not quite so rowdy. There were fewer of them and they wore no chains. Even so, they called out to Trey, threatening him with all manner of terrible deaths and disfigurements. It was one of this group that had stood up and pointed at him, demanding to know what Molok had brought the human along for. The look the demon lord gave the loud-mouthed gladiator was enough to make the nether-creature turn a strange shade of green and sit back down with its eyes fixed on the ground.

  The last group of gladiators numbered only five. They sat on a bench directly in front of the demon lord. Most of them were far bigger than the demons in the other groups, and all of them eyed the teenage human with a cold appraisal that was somehow more chilling than the direct threats of the other groups. These demons wore heavier-looking armour than the others, and in the centre of their breastplates was an emblem that Trey had noticed at various points inside the fortress walls and on pennants and flags about the place – Molok’s symbol.

  ‘Quiet now,’ Molok said, raising his arms.

  A hush descended over the school’s participants as they waited for their leader to address them.

  ‘These forthcoming Demon Games are to be the biggest yet.’

  The gladiators all shouted their approval, so
me pumping their fists in the air.

  ‘And we have revenge on our minds, do we not? Revenge for the defeat we suffered at the hands of Orfus the Vile in the last Games!’ The onlookers erupted into a cacophony of noise again. ‘Not only did this gladiator school come second to Orfus’s, but we lost many fighters to his.’ The demon lord looked about him. ‘But perhaps the greatest humiliation that we suffered was the treacherous move of our former champion, Abaddon the Destroyer, from this school to that. And for that alone, I say to you, we must seek revenge of the most terrible kind!’

  Molok waited for the noise to die down again before carrying on.

  ‘Now you don’t need me to tell you that the spineless Orfus has surrendered to Caliban, and that he is now little more than a lackey to the vampire aggressor. So we are in effect competing against Caliban’s fighting school.’

  Molok turned and nodded at the boos that rang out across the open space.

  ‘It would appear the vampire has disappeared at the moment,’ the demon lord continued in a loud voice. ‘No doubt he heard of the might and power of this fighting school and decided to turn tail and run!’

  There were more cheers. Trey couldn’t help but be impressed by the way that Molok was working the crowd, whipping them up into a frenzy.

  ‘But we will give him something to think about upon his return. We will defeat his greatest gladiators, and he will know not to trifle with Molok!’

  The crowd erupted again, cheers and shouts coming from all sides, and Molok basked in the praise being heaped upon him. When the noise died down a little, the demon lord spoke again, this time in a lower voice. ‘When I was last here I told you that I would be announcing my new champion – my new primus palus – for the Games.’ The onlookers roared again. Trey’s head was in a spin, but he still noted how the fighters on the bench directly ahead of him were leaning in to one of their number, patting the huge demon on the back and shoulders. ‘Many of you will know the high esteem in which I hold our gladiator Kronok.’ He gestured at the demon being congratulated by the other four. ‘But –’ Molok raised his voice at the word, waiting for the inevitable hush that followed – ‘the champion of this school will almost certainly face the traitor Abaddon in the final of the Games, and we all know that Kronok has never beaten our erstwhile colleague.’