Song Of Mornius

by Diane E Steinbach

  “Erebos wants this,” said Felrina. “He wanted us in this tunnel, and he wants me by my pool. Blood feeds the wizard Arawn’s spirit; this time we’re to be the sacrifice.”

  Avalar lowered her oversized pack from her shoulders. “Leader Terrek, I shall go first.”

  “You will not!” Terrek said. “We go as a team and we fight together. That’s it. Remember what you are, Giant. For the sake of your world, you must survive this. Felrina’s no warrior. She’ll need you guarding her back. Stay clear of any magic—even Gaelin’s, at this point. I guarantee you, Holram will not be thinking about your safety if he’s fighting for his life.”

  Avalar sniffed. Lifting her sword, she swung it, the massive blade whistling through the air.

  Terrek knelt beside Gaelin, his eyes softening as he saw the resignation on the staff-wielder’s face.

  “If I fail,” Gaelin said, “think well of me, won’t you? I’m not a wizard. I’m not important like Avalar is. I never even went—”

  “Enough!” Terrek reached to clasp his arm. “You’ve not failed at anything since we met. Nor are you what you were. You wanted to save Silva. It was you who went first with your staff to defend him, not Holram. You held out your arm to keep us back, and I saw your expression. That is not what the warder looks like when he’s angry.”

  Gaelin fought not to shy away. In his soft brown eyes, Felrina glimpsed the child he used to be, a boy who remembered pain—abuse which so often accompanied a male’s touch. Yet now his jaw hardened; he was a man overcoming his fear.

  She drew a deep breath. Her pulse was steadier, for the blade in her grasp gave her strength. Closing her eyes, she fingered its leather hilt, enjoying the feel of it against her hand.

  A sharp hissing sound jolted her. She glanced down as an inky shadow darted from the wall to form a puddle around her feet, the black substance thickening like tar.

  “Terrek!” Felrina gasped. She struggled to jump away, but suction held her to the stone. Fiery needles stabbed through the tough hide of her boots and then her flesh, burning tentacles slicing into her calves, twining around her bones.

  Groaning, she clutched her legs, rubbing at the pain burrowing swiftly into her thighs.

  Terrek was by her side, helping her stand. “Felrina?” What is it?”

  “It’s Erebos,” said Gaelin. Sitting up straight, he braced his staff on the floor.

  Felrina bit her lip, her shoulders shaking as she yanked up the front of her tunic. Purplish lines climbed into view between her hips and below her belly, worming under her pale skin. Before her eyes, her stomach darkened as bruises appeared.

  Spangles, bursting from Mornius’s gem, descended from the ceiling like flakes of sapphire snow. Trembling, Felrina sank into Terrek’s strong arms.

  As the sparkling fragments covered her lower torso, the iron grip of Erebos weakened within her. Faster the healing flakes flew, their tiny lights skittering toward her. Felrina sobbed in relief as the marks faded beneath her skin, the pressure retreating back into her legs and feet. The pool of inky shadow reappeared briefly around her and then vanished.

  “Someone’s unhappy,” Terrek observed. “We’re not keeping to his schedule.”

  Felrina turned to Gaelin. The staff-wielder was lying exhausted on the steps, his arms hugging Mornius to his chest. “You had to use your power to fight him off,” she said. “That’s the last thing you needed.”

  Abruptly Gaelin jerked to his feet to stand on the bottom stair, his dark eyes glinting silver as he stared down at her. He was Holram, and yet still a human on the verge of failure, accepting that weakness as his own.

  Raising Mornius, Holram stooped to snatch Gaelin’s bag from the pile of gear. He paused, his expression puzzled as he fought with the straps. Then he wheeled smartly on his heel and marched up the steps.

  “I thought you said no packs,” Roth muttered.

  Felrina squeezed Terrek’s shoulder “We can’t let the warders fight. If they do battle—”

  “I know,” he said. “And we won’t.”

  Nodding to the others, Terrek set off in pursuit of his friend.

  Chapter 60

  GAELIN, HIS BODY caught firmly in Holram’s mental grasp, watched himself hesitate. From somewhere beyond the stairwell, he heard a faint gurgle, a listless lapping of waves. As the steps curved upward, Argus’s green illumination stretched along the ceiling overhead, the ghostly flickers merging with Mornius’s light.

  A hand touched his elbow, and he was comforted. “We’re with you," Terrek said softly at his back.

  Gaelin nodded as Holram lifted his foot. His lungs kept working despite the tightness in his chest, the painful knot at the base of his throat. The walls brightened as he climbed, the granite near the top of the stairs glowing red. He paused again at a murmur of distant voices, something scraping along the stone.

  “No,” Felrina groaned under her breath.

  Gaelin sighed shakily as Holram released him. He stood on the uppermost step with his face revealed, staring into a sunken chamber, its rounded walls lined with torches. This time he had no refuge, no wolf-mother to come to his aid. With a shrug, he repositioned his pack, wincing when its straps pinched his neck.

  A wave of power struck him as he straightened, a stinging heat, intense to the point of burning. He gazed down at a black circle of water in a rock-rimmed hollow. Felrina’s pool, he thought, recognizing the basin from her description of its surrounding ledges of stone, the rear platform where she had stood.

  As he peered at the tarn’s greasy surface, smelling its reek of death, his stomach heaved.

  “Holram?” Terrek prodded him. “Keep going!”

  Gaelin shook his head. “It’s me,” he whispered. “Holram’s waiting to see if we fail.”

  “What?” Roth’s mouth dropped open. “We don’t have magic?”

  “And no time to discuss it, either,” Terrek said. “Keep close to me, Roth. Remember, we’ve come to fight! Avalar, hide here until I call.”

  “Leader Terrek, I—”

  “Hush, Giant. You heard me!”

  Gaelin faced the vaulted chamber. No one stood in front to shield him from attack, and his free hand itched for a weapon. Licking his lips, he edged out, creeping through the shadow under the flaming sconces. He looked intently at a crimson orb left beside the pool below, the fist-sized gem casting fiery reflections on the water.

  He spied movement in the gloom, in a shadowy gap between the ledges. For a flicker of a moment, struggling bodies were discernable behind a low obsidian wall, eight figures striking at someone on the ground.

  A gaunt, beady-eyed man darted from the darkness to snatch the gem. As he turned toward Gaelin, he raised his arm, the carnelian’s light crackling between his fingers.

  Gaelin stiffened when the other black-robes appeared, a cluster of wizards dragging a body. The sight of their broken and battered victim—a youth dressed in gray and barely recognizable as human—took his breath away. The man with the stone gestured, and the boy was flung to the floor, flinching weakly while his assailants tore off his clothes.

  “Terrek Florne!” the head mage called, staring up. “Your winged elf ally rescued our captives, did you know? His actions force our hand; now we must slay our faithful to feed our god!” He grimaced, leering through the bloody radiance of his gem. “Priestess Vlyn, my dear! Back for more?”

  Gaelin glanced at Felrina. Allastor Mens, he thought.

  “Great Erebos, no!” She pointed, and Gaelin saw it—a winged apparition solidifying behind Mens and his companions. The Destroyer’s dragon shape, midnight black with its eye glinting red, crouched in the shadow, its neck folded against the barbed length of its tail.

  “How dare you speak his name?” Mens shouted. “Oh, but you’ve always been an insolent bitch. Wait until we’re done here today, Felrina! I have so many new things to try with you!”

  The memories of his mother’s death seared Gaelin’s mind as the captive sobbed and fought, flaili
ng while his attackers arched his body over the makeshift altar. Gaelin shuddered, remembering his mother on the table and Seth Lavahl with his knife. And just as in his dreams, Allastor Mens braced his legs for the leverage he would need, the curved blade of the dagger gleaming in the torchlight.

  “We’re not finished with our ritual, Gaelin Lavahl,” Mens said. “I’m afraid you must wait your turn!”

  Gaelin gasped when the cavern tilted abruptly. He lifted his gaze to the ceiling, fixing his attention on the roof’s two remaining stalactites until his vertigo stopped.

  Terrek, with Roth fast on his heels, lunged toward the ledges surrounding the pond. “Bastard!” he yelled, drawing Argus’s sword. “Come and fight a grown man, coward! Leave the boy alone!”

  The dragon extended its neck, the thunder of its roar reverberating through the floor, a fretwork of cracks splintering the granite behind Gaelin’s head. In Mens’s grasp, the Blazenstone erupted, its blast melting the rock nearby.

  The black-robes charged from the opposite side of the tarn, and as they brandished their bloodstone staves, the gems magnified Erebos’s fire. Gaelin reeled as the combined sheets of flame leapt at Terrek and Roth, slamming them into the wall and pinning them flat.

  Mens smiled through the shimmer of his magic. He bent to his prisoner, cutting precisely with his knife below the youth’s ribs, and with the same calm expression, continued to slice through the boy’s navel.

  Blood poured down the stone as Gaelin stared transfixed. He was helpless, hindered by memories of his mother’s slaughter. The heat of Mens’s power burned his face; the vapor from the water scalded him. Yet still he glared through the brightness holding Terrek, Holram’s anger and frustration writhing in his gut.

  Mens transferred his knife to his mouth, biting on its hilt as he leaned over the sacrifice.

  “Blazes!” snarled Vyergin.

  As the entrails emerged encased in membrane, Mens held them against his victim and cut them free, then tossed them into the pool.

  “Did you tell them Arawn’s magic requires blood to work?” Mens asked Felrina. “And Erebos needs Arawn for his skill!” Above him the dragon snapped its jaws, its long sinewy neck flexing as it prepared to strike.

  Gaelin lifted his staff. Stepping to block Felrina’s view, he risked a glance at Terrek and Roth immobilized by the wall.

  “Sick bastard!” Roth cried, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  The dragon was silent, its chest swelling as a green smoking liquid dripped from the corners of its mouth.

  “Feast, great Arawn!” Mens, positioned in front of the warder, motioned to the stalactites overhead. “Wake now to help us slay our foes!”

  “Grakan’s teeth, I hate religion,” muttered Vyergin.

  The black-robes lowered their sacrifice to the floor. The youth lay staring, pale with shock, and still horribly alive. Mens straddled the boy and squatted, the blade of his knife vanishing below the ribcage to sever the heart. Laughing, Mens stood and flipped the corpse onto its stomach, then kicked it into the water.

  “Slaver!”

  Gaelin whirled as Avalar burst from the stairwell. Her strong hands seized Wren Neche, throwing him aside and out of her way. Sobbing with rage, she charged, taking two ledges at a time as she threw herself toward Mens. At the base of the chamber, she sprang, the sweep of her blade cleaving the fire from Mens’s gem—to free her leader and Roth.

  “Avalar, no!” Terrek howled, and his command brought her up short, the remnants of Mens’s magic sluicing down her legs. Trembling, she gasped for breath near the tarn’s bloody edge.

  Mens stepped close to the water opposite her, the carnelian flashing in his hand. The black-robes arranged themselves at his back, their bloodstone staves raised high, the teardrop crystals pulsing as the wizards labored again to expand Erebos’s power.

  Mens grinned at Terrek. “Why, thank you, Terrek Florne, for bringing us a giant to kill! That’s all it would take to create our world! Thanks to you, it’ll be born today!”

  “Slay her and you’ll die, too!” Terrek gritted in disgust. “We all will. Your delusions will kill us all!”

  “You removed the stone?”

  Felrina stumbled forward, revulsion replacing her fear as she gripped Vyergin’s knife. “Erebos needed the Blazenstone in its staff!”

  Mens’s grin stretched taut. “Erebos wanted it removed! It works better this way, having direct contact with human flesh. You should have figured it out yourself! You can add that to your list of failures!”

  “Well, you couldn’t make dachs and she could!” Vyergin countered. “You made me so flawed I still had the presence of mind to escape you! But only after you destroyed how many good men?”

  Eyeing him, Mens snorted. “One old man? How is that a loss?”

  “I have at least twenty years on you,” said Vyergin. “And still I beat you.”

  Mens turned away, his face going pale as the dragon above him swiveled its head to follow his stare. Avalar stalked him along the rim of the pool, her features rigid with hate, her shoulders hunched, her sword whistling as she swung it.

  “Giant!” Terrek snapped. “What did I say?”

  “Call off your pet, Terrek Florne.” Mens held up his fist, drawing streaks of fire through the air before him with the stone. “Or I promise you, I’ll kill her!”

  Gaelin cocked his head at the quaver in the man’s nasally voice. He’s afraid! he realized.

  An emerald glow skimmed over the pool. Argus, his phantom-gray face impassive, floated to a stop in front of Mens.

  “I’m tired of you,” the ghost said. “All this drama, and there’s nothing original about you. Your kind has been feeding off people as long as there have been people. You’re all the same—mentally stunted children. But, you!” Flitting to the center of the tarn, Argus pointed an accusing finger at the water. “Today, my slayer, you’ll learn you cannot cheat death forever! And I, Sir Nathaniel Argus, am here to teach you! You only get to endure as long as the curse you put on me does, isn’t that right? Well!”

  Spiraling up toward the stalactites, Argus shouted, “Throw my sword into the pool, Terrek Florne! Let its blade put an end to my slayer!”

  “One move, Florne,” snarled Mens, “and I’ll fry you where you stand!”

  Gaelin leveled Mornius at Mens’s chest. “Try it!” he yelled, and spread his arms, releasing Holram’s fire to protect Terrek.

  Glaring back, Mens straddled the rock still damp with gore from his latest victim. He slapped his palm over the blood, the Blazenstone tilted in his outstretched hand toward the pool. Flames exploded from the crimson gem, striking the tarn’s warped heart.

  Gaelin staggered as the chamber rocked. Terrek, standing within Holram’s defenses, lifted Argus’s snake-handled sword. With a fierce cry, he hurled it.

  Water spouted from the pond, incited by the power of Mens’s stone, splashing high in all directions. Gaelin cringed as it doused his shield to nothingness, the oily fluid soaking his hair and skin. Yet he fixed his gaze on the ancient sword arcing high and spinning free. It struck a stalactite with a clang. Then it dropped with its point straight down, flashing through Argus—to vanish beneath the tarn’s flat surface.

  Chapter 61

  AT THE TOUCH of the ghost knight’s sword, the pool erupted, the water tossing in a frenzy of foam and human blood. Argus, laughing, bowed in triumph to the warder inside of Gaelin as the blade flashed beneath the waves. Grinning, he whirled above the tarn to confront Mens. “Arawn’s spell is broken! His spirit has reunited with the weapon he cursed. You’ve lost him, slaver! You’ll never make dachs again!”

  “What?” Mens stumbled as he approached the rim of the turbulent pool, his eyes wide. “What are you saying, Ghost?”

  “Oh, but Arawn’s fighting it!” Argus observed, glancing down. He rose to the ceiling and turned. For a moment, Gaelin met his stare through Holram’s sight, seeing the brief look of pain the warder knew so well. Yet relief was flooding the
Thalian Knight’s face, his bitterness replaced with joy.

  Argus dove toward the pool’s churning surface, his enemy’s desperate efforts to remain among the living. The dead knight opened his arms as he entered the water, spreading them to embrace his slayer.

  In the green glimmer of his wake, his minions appeared, a silver bolt of lightning, a host of pearl-white bodies entwined. Gaelin glimpsed women and men, children and infants, fused together for one purpose: to form a lance of spectral wrath to follow their leader and purge the tarn.

  “No!” Mens blasted the pool with the gem he held, the Destroyer’s magic freezing the water solid.

  “I have trapped our wizard’s spirit on this world where he belongs!” Mens cried. “He will stay. And, you, Ghost, you’ll stay also and there’s nothing you can do!”

  With a furious howl, Avalar sprang over the ice. In three enormous leaps, she crashed into Mens, hurling him back, slamming him against the wall. “Govorian take you!” Raising her sword, she scrambled after him.

  Two figures cut her off, black-robes wielding their staves, the bloodstones at their crowns engorged with power, throbbing with Erebos’s magic. The explosion from the stones sent her reeling, melting the mail across her chest and searing her long blond braid. In agony, she fell onto her stomach, her body rigid as she convulsed.

  Gaelin sank to his knees, aiming his staff at the dragon shadow swelling above Mens, the restless ebon wings of Holram’s foe. Erebos’s roar shattered the chamber, the Destroyer’s crimson glare shifting toward him.

  You don’t scare me! Gaelin thought. A power seized his heart, Holram’s mental hands reaching to possess him. Sweat was streaming from his hair. He weakened, tumbling down on all fours, only to groan and clamber upright.

  Forward he strode, the gray rock softening, sinking beneath him as he descended the ledges. The wizards were jumping to dodge his fire, throwing aside their staves as the metal holding the bloodstones melted under his attack. The teardrop gems, released from their crowns, rolled across the floor, then flattened abruptly into puddles.