Tower Of The Forgotten

by Mitchell Hogan

  “I’ll settle for just surviving,” Sly said softly. “I think you’re lying about the Tainted Cabal. You tried to scare me away. But I don’t scare easily. I was raised in the Shallows. That’s the baddest of the slums here in—”

  “Spare me your life story, Sly.”

  There were three openings from the basement. One, a narrow passageway, had to lead to the servants’ quarters, and the larger corridor with ascending stairs at the end would lead to the kitchen and dining rooms. A small wooden door with a shiny lock was set into the wall beside the alchemical wines. Niklaus grunted at the sight of the obviously sorcerous lock, and one of Yolandi’s amulets around his neck began to give off warmth, confirming the matriarch’s assertion the sorcerer was Tainted Cabal.

  Only Rakine would have a key and be able to breach the sorcerous ward, and he’d visit only when he was sure he’d be undisturbed.

  “If we’re in business together, then—”

  Niklaus rounded on the thief and poked a finger into his chest. “This is the first and only time we’ll work together, got that? This isn’t a normal break and enter, where you can brag to your friends about your rich score. You keep your mouth shut about this, or you’ll end up dead.”

  “I’m not scared.”

  “You should be.”

  “Why don’t you worry about your own business,” Sly said curtly. “I’ll go about mine and leave when I want to.”

  Niklaus grabbed Sly by the arm and dragged him across the room to the small door. The thief struggled but couldn’t break his grip. Niklaus shoved him to the side.

  “Watch,” he said, and drew out the wooden amulet. He held it by its chain and dangled it close to the lock. There was a crack like a log splitting in a fire and a flash of red light. The lock then glowed green for an instant, and the amulet crumbled to ash, leaving Niklaus holding an empty chain.

  “Sorcery,” whispered Sly.

  “If you’d tried to pick the lock, you’d be dead. It’s disarmed now, so go ahead.”

  “I’m not touching it.”

  “Do it. It’s harmless.” Niklaus poked his finger into the keyhole in demonstration. “Pick the lock.”

  Rubbing his arm, Sly frowned then set to the task. In moments, the door opened onto darkness.

  “Go inside,” Niklaus said.

  “So you can lock me in? No, I won’t do it.”

  “You don’t believe me about the Tainted Cabal, that you’ll be in danger. This will change your mind.”

  Sly gave him an incredulous look, glanced at the door, then shrugged. “You first.” He brought out an alchemical globe and shook it. Its dim light spread across his face.

  Niklaus rolled his shoulders and considered grabbing Sly and shoving him inside. But the youth would then be too focused on him and not what was inside. He pushed the door open and strode in, then waited. Sly didn’t move for a few moments; then with a frown he entered. When his alchemical globe illuminated the interior, his eyes widened.

  A burly man hung upside down from iron hooks set into the ceiling. Rusty iron stuck through his ankles, and his limp hands dangled just above a large porcelain bowl filled with congealed blood. His throat had been cut, and his insides removed through a long incision that ran from his groin to his ribs. In the pale light of the globe, his skin sparkled from a salt rub.

  A retching sound came from Sly.

  “Don’t you puke,” Niklaus said. “This is what we’re dealing with. The Tainted Cabal eat human flesh, and that’s not the worst of their atrocities.”

  Sly rushed from the room, breathing heavily. He leaned both hands on a table, body trembling. “Why?” he said shakily. “Why would anyone do this?” He grabbed a bottle of the alchemical spirits with trembling hands and broke the wax seal. Sly gulped a mouthful, coughed, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

  “Those that are seduced by the lure of infernal power mimic their masters, the demons. But some, the leaders of the Tainted Cabal, have demon blood themselves. And eventually their demonic desires overcome their human sensibilities. To them, we are only meat.”

  “We shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be here.”

  “Then go,” Niklaus whispered. “I warned you, but you wouldn’t listen.” Most people never did, until evidence was rammed down their throats. There was so little trust these days.

  With the back of his hand, Sly wiped spit from his mouth. He hadn’t thrown up, but it had been a close thing. With a horrified glance at the small door, he strode over and clicked it shut. But he was made of sterner stuff than Niklaus had given him credit for, as he squared his shoulders and set his mouth in a determined grimace.

  “I’ll show you Rakine, as agreed,” Sly said. He left the bottle atop a crate.

  Niklaus nodded, then followed Sly down the servants’ corridor. They soon came to a flight of stairs leading up and ascended as quietly as they could. Even so, one tread creaked under Niklaus’s foot and he froze, listening for any sign someone had heard and was coming to investigate. Sly kept moving, as silent as a mouse. The thief scurried along, one shadow among many. He motioned for Niklaus to continue when they reached the ground floor. At the first-floor landing, Sly pointed down the carpeted hallway at the top of the stairs and mouthed, “This way.”

  Niklaus followed until they reached a set of double doors, which Sly set to picking. When the thief was done, he nodded to Niklaus then moved to another door across the hallway and disappeared inside. Niklaus caught a glimpse of stuffed bookshelves and a large desk piled with papers. Rakine’s study, then, and a likely place to find some valuables. Niklaus left Sly to his business and set about his own.

  He slipped through the double doors and clicked them shut behind him. Inside, a small room contained two chairs with a round table between them, upon which sat a crystal decanter half-filled with an amber liquid. Two glasses rested next to it, along with a bowl of dried fruit and nuts. Drapes covered an opening, and Niklaus slipped through into the bedroom proper.

  An enormous four-poster bed dominated the space, carved with hundreds of human figures in all manner of compromising positions. Chains and whips hung on one wall, along with a number of shiny, sharp instruments.

  It seemed Rakine’s demonic lusts informed his taste in furnishings and decorations.

  Alchemical globes were set into the walls, ensconced in metal clockwork devices that periodically shook them to reactivate their contents.

  Rakine himself was fast asleep, snoring like a drunk. And alone, which was a surprise to Niklaus. Perhaps he’d been too exhausted from casting sorceries to sate his lusts tonight. It was then he noticed a brass incense burner on a bedside table, and a familiar scent in the room: the soporific herb he’d been subjected to at the card game. Niklaus backed up a step, found his replenished antidote, and dosed himself, grimacing at the overly sweet taste.

  Someone coughed. Not Rakine. Blood and damnation.

  Niklaus slipped into a shadowy corner just as a curtain moved aside and a naked woman emerged from the privy room. Long blonde hair fell down to the small of her back, while her white skin glistened with oils. She was probably Rakine’s latest diversion, but when he tired of her, she’d end up hanging upside down next to the man in his larder.

  Niklaus might be able to leave her alive . . . If she’d been glamoured, though, she’d be a handful to deal with. Humans with a taint of demon blood had diverse powers that came with it, if they learned to control them. The more attractive demons were able to take their natural beauty and spin it into an arcane enchantment that could be used to incite fascination and attraction in their chosen victims. Once, Niklaus himself had almost been killed by one. It was one of the few experiences that had stuck in his memory, though he had no idea when or where it had happened.

  She padded across the room, and when she glanced at Rakine, her expression twisted into a sneer. She quickly hid it, though, smoothing her face to an emotionless blank slate.

  That answers that . . .

  As quie
tly as he could, Niklaus moved from the shadows and into the dim light. The woman’s breath caught in her throat, and she put one hand to her throat in fright. Niklaus placed a finger against his lips then pointed to a silk robe lying on the floor. She edged toward it, eyes constantly flicking to Rakine and back to Niklaus. Bending over, she slowly picked the robe up and slipped it on, tying the sash around her waist. She stared at him the entire time she covered her nakedness, probably wondering if she’d make it through this night alive. When she finished, she crossed her arms tightly around her, teeth worrying her bottom lip.

  Niklaus drew his short sword then pointed the blade toward a large window consisting of tiny panes in a diamond crisscross pattern. She jerked her head in a nod, then moved across the room to the window.

  Satisfied she was out of the way and he’d have time if she suddenly decided to attack him, Niklaus padded over to the enormous bed. It sat on a thin rug, which looked cheap compared to the rest of the furnishings in the house.

  Rakine snored softly, his chest rising and falling regularly. Niklaus was beginning to think this was all too easy. But sometimes everything just fell into place without hard work or surprises. It happened.

  The woman cleared her throat, and when Niklaus glanced at her, she pointed to a spot between him and the bed. A trap, was it? He nodded his thanks, then brought out another artifact Yolandi had given him: a small bag of arcane-infused dust. He tipped the open bag and poured the sparkling yellow powder into his hand. Then with a flick of his wrist he scattered it out over the floor.

  It drifted in the air as if swirled around by an unseen wind. Then it sprinkled downward slowly until it revealed a sorcerous emanation, settling into the outline of a square filled with runes. At the base of the bed, right where Niklaus would have to tread to approach Rakine.

  Niklaus skirted the glowing dust, sparing the woman a brief smile. She jerked her head in a nod, arms held tight across her chest.

  Mouthing a prayer to his goddess, Niklaus climbed onto the bed. His knees sank into the soft mattress. In only a few heartbeats he was poised next to Rakine, blade raised high.

  Niklaus plunged it deep into Rakine’s chest, piercing his heart.

  The sorcerer’s eyes opened instantly. One hand twitched. But he died, a soft exhalation leaving his lips before he even recognized what was happening. Niklaus grabbed a handful of silk sheet and wiped his sword clean.

  The woman darted for the door, mouthing the word sorry just before a metallic click told Niklaus that he was trapped inside. She was either running scared or attempting to alert any guards. No matter, he was confident he’d be able to fight his way through to the street, and from there he’d be able to lose himself in the darkness.

  A tingle passed over him, and Niklaus froze in place. Marked. He’d been marked with sorcery somehow. But the sorcerer was dead . . .

  It was then he realized the room had grown perceptibly brighter. Niklaus looked around and saw a glow coming from under the rug.

  He sheathed his sword and leaped off the bed, then pulled a section of rug up by a corner. A circle had been carved into the wooden floor, with an inner and outer layer of Skanuric writing.

  Blood and damnation. A summoning circle. But he’d checked!

  The fact that the summoning circle had been masked by sorcery stronger than what his own senses and Yolandi’s artifacts could detect suggested Rakine had access to powers far greater than Niklaus had previously encountered.

  Rakine’s death had triggered it. No wonder the woman fled from whatever infernal creature was being dragged from the depths of the hells.

  The air crackled as the temperature plummeted. Ice crystals formed on the bedposts and atop the carpet covering the summoning circle. A sulfurous stench underlaid with rot invaded Niklaus’s nostrils, so strong he almost gagged.

  He’d been careless. Too confident in his own abilities to take the proper precautions. Now he’d been marked, and a demon had been set upon him.

  He’d probably pay for his cavalier attitude with his own life. Lower level demons weren’t hard to kill, but if this was a higher order creature, and it likely was, then he was in deep, deep trouble.

  Quickly, Niklaus examined his options. Door or window? Through the door he might have to fight his way past guards and overzealous servants. And although he could, his progress would be delayed and the demon would easily catch him. That wouldn’t do. He needed time to think, to assess its abilities, and come up with a plan to defeat it.

  Window, then.

  He rushed over to it, boots crunching across ice. Unlatched and ajar, it opened onto a fifteen-foot drop down to a flat tiled roof. Beyond that was another drop, the ground obscured by the mist. Niklaus grimaced. It was a good distance to fall without injury, but then it was all in how you landed.

  As swiftly as he could, Niklaus rebuckled his sword belt across his back. He couldn’t afford for both blades to get in the way, not with a demon after him. As he did, his shadow was thrown into sharp relief when the glow from the circle exploded into brilliance.

  With a final quick glance behind him, Niklaus leaped onto the windowsill and jumped.

  His stomach rose into his throat—he hated the sensation of falling—then he landed heavily, tiles cracking under his feet. He rolled as best he could with his swords strapped to his back, twisting to his left to avoid breaking the two vials of alchemicals in his pocket that Yolandi had given him. If one broke and its contents reacted with the air, he’d be burned to a crisp.

  The slope of the roof was greater than he’d anticipated, and he began sliding toward the edge. He scrambled for purchase, pressing his boots and hands down as hard as he could. One foot jammed against something just over the edge, twisting him to the side. His legs drifted out over open space. He grabbed for something, anything, and his fingers latched onto a section of gutter. Niklaus held on for dear life as first his stomach and then his chest slid off the roof.

  With an audible creak, the gutter held.

  A crack split the air as the window above him exploded outward. Shards of glass rained down on him, and he averted his eyes. Below, another fifteen-foot drop beckoned. Something keened from inside Rakine’s bedroom, a screeching wail that pierced his eardrums.

  Without another thought, Niklaus let go. He landed better this time, executing another roll, then sprinted across a courtyard in the blink of an eye.

  The sound of breaking tiles came from behind him as something large landed on the roof.

  Niklaus ran. He didn’t look back; he just ran. He leaped over a low hedge, trampled through a flower bed, and then dashed across manicured lawn toward the estate wall.

  Blood and damnation, guards. He zigged to his left just as three arrows flew through the fog and struck the ground around him. One more buzzed past Niklaus’s head, and he changed direction again. He hoped they would lose sight of him in the darkness. There was no sign of Sly, and he assumed the boy had already run for his life.

  The estate wall loomed large, and Niklaus didn’t pause. He jumped at the wall and used one foot upon it and his momentum to leap upward. He clutched the brickwork at the top, and jagged spikes set into it pierced his flesh, sending burning pain through his hands. Ignoring the agony, he hauled himself up and threw himself over the other side.

  The cobblestones hammered into him, forcing the breath from his body. Niklaus lay there, gasping for a few moments, blood dribbling from his fingers, sweat trickling down his brow. The ground underneath him vibrated in a thudding rhythm . . . the demon.

  Niklaus struggled to his feet, wiped his bloody hands on his pants, and took off running.

  Judging from the exploding window and the mass of the fell creature as it ran, it was obviously a greater demon.

  A low roar sounded behind him, followed by the crash of falling masonry. A moment later a woman’s terrified scream pierced the night. A man shouted something and was abruptly cut off by a wet tearing sound.

  Niklaus ducked down a narrow all
ey, hoping the demon’s bulk would force it to take another route, which would slow it down. With the sorcerous tingle he’d felt, the marking, it would always know where he was, so he had no hope of losing the creature in the dark streets.

  Water. He needed to find water, and a lot of it. Or a cliff. Demons couldn’t swim, as there was no water in their infernal realm, and the impact from a big enough drop would kill all but the greatest of demons.

  The harbor was a long way off, and Niklaus wasn’t sure he’d make it there before the demon caught him. Yet there was no other choice.

  He careened off a wall as he took a corner too fast. His boots splashed through muddy puddles. Rats scampered out of his way. He passed an old man sitting on a step, smoking a pipe, but there was no time or breath to utter a warning.

  Sounds of shouting reached him. Then the clang of steel and cries of pain and anguish.

  Niklaus drove himself to greater speed, lungs burning in his chest. He abandoned any attempt at stealth, trusting the mental map he’d built up of the city since he’d arrived, choosing the least populated streets and those most difficult for a large creature.

  As he did, he ran through his options. All demons were vulnerable to star-metal, but he didn’t have a weapon made from it. They could be poisoned, cut, crushed, burned, decapitated . . . but this one seemed different. He didn’t like his chances if he confronted it head-on. He desperately hoped he’d be able to escape the demon’s foul lusts, but his prospects weren’t good.

  Moments after hearing thick timbers cracking like twigs and a rumble from a throat too big to be anything but the demon, Niklaus tripped over an abandoned broken crate in the street. He threw his hands out and a sharp jolt coursed through him as he landed heavily. Dirt and street slime soiled his pants and shirt and left a trail on one side of his face. It stank appallingly, as if the night-soil bearers had dribbled their load onto the cobblestones. If any got into the wounds on his hands, he’d be in trouble. If he survived.

  Another shadow in the night joined him: Sly Diamond. “This way!” he hissed.

  “Stay away from me!” Niklaus stumbled to his feet and kept running. Sly scurried alongside him.