The Melaki Chronicle Volume II

by William Thrash

  He would hold Goroth here in the spirit – who had no remaining strength anyway – and clean up the mess in the Galvirian throne room in the flesh. Doing both was taxing, but well within his power. The blood sacrifices had given him more than he could hope for.

  “You are defeated,” he said. “When I return, I will erase your name from the rolls of the Fallen.”

  The look in Goroth's eyes told Lagash the fat demon knew it was true.

  With a chuckle, he focused back towards his fleshly body. In the spirit, his essence continued to battle Goroth, but with less effect. Even then, he was still winning.

  The Atlantean demon has truly overextended himself.

  He awakened his flesh in Galvir. The palace ceiling loomed above him. He began to rise.

  * * *

  Melaki had never seen the like. Mokura's throne room seemed normal, almost, compared to the horror within the walls of the Galvirian palace.

  The palace itself was beautiful in its structure. A dusty-colored purple marble made up the columns and floors. Inlaid in the center was gray marble in the design of the Vattonses anvil – the symbol of their nation. Rich velvet drapes adorned the walls, opened here and there to show the marble wall behind, festooned with shields and trophies. The throne was iron, inset with amethysts.

  On one side of the great room, a group of men huddled, faces down.

  But these things were nothing to what drew their attention.

  A large altar had been erected before the throne. Struggling Vattonses citizens were shoved into place on the altar and a priest slashed their throats using a ritual knife. Their blood flowed in strong rivers down the sloped surface. The red streams fed into a shallow pool.

  Horrifying as it was, Melaki was not prepared for what he was about to see.

  Tolos and his soldiers spread out on either side of him. Eliam stood at his side, Bellina on the other. Adaris was moving from column to column, forward. Galli readied his bow from the door, hesitant to come inside.

  Bubbling at first, but then breaking the surface of the pool of blood was a horned figure exceedingly ugly. Its eyes were enraged under heavy brows. Its horns were curved forward, aiming with accusation. Its skin was a deep red, as of brick. Its face was that of a jackal. Blood flowed from it as it rose. Wings twitched behind it, flexing, spattering blood nearby.

  The head of the demon turned towards Melaki and his group. The voice was gravelly, inexorable. “You will die.”

  Eliam spat.

  Lagash rose, fast, still dripping, and took three mighty steps forward.

  Melaki patterned his defenses as fast as he could.

  He was too late.

  Eliam went flying backward from a swiped backhand from the demon.

  Bellina disappeared as he ducked to the side.

  Tolos and his soldiers backed away – not afraid, not cowardly, but knowing this thing was far beyond their swords.

  Melaki flung fire, but almost done with the pattern he knew it would do no good. Talin had told him in the Northlands that fire did not work against demons.

  He cursed, knowing he had wasted power in a gesture without thought that accomplished nothing.

  But it did accomplish something. Lagash turned to him. “A wizard?” it said. Oddly to Melaki, the demon looked distracted in some way.

  He took a deep breath and patterned a shield. Then he patterned a strike against the silvery cord of...

  Lagash laughed. It did not even strike - it lifted its head and laughed to the ceiling, to the heavens. The humans in the throne room off to the side cowered. “You know nothing, human. You can not sever me.”

  With a sinking feeling, Melaki struck at the silver... it was not even a cord. No, nothing like the silvery cord in the lesser summonings he had faced in the Northlands. Nothing like the silver cord of spirit control in a man. This was more like a solid column of silver, wide, thick, and unyielding. Lagash was spirit, even if in the flesh. Thus his connection to the spirit far stronger than that of one who controlled or a summoned lesser.

  What was he to do here?

  He ducked a swipe of the demon's fist but was not ready for the spin that battered his shield with wings. He was forced back.

  The messenger in his visions had said he needed to confront this monstrosity. But how?

  Tolos gave a wordless yell and charged forward. The veterans followed, ranging to the sides.

  But Melaki knew they would fail.

  Lagash spun faster, reaching out and battering away the veterans with claw-swipes. Blood flew and men cursed.

  The demon laughed.

  Melaki sought to sever or force the silvery column within Lagash. He scrambled away from the demon's swings, his shield keeping him on his feet and from being hit. He frantically sought a weakness.

  Bellina was running from soldier to soldier among the fallen.

  Tolos took a tail to his midsection and went flying backwards, skidding along the ground.

  “More blood!” the demon yelled.

  Melaki followed its gaze and realized the demon was drawing power from the ongoing blood ritual. “Eliam!” He pointed to the altar. “Stop those priests!”

  Adaris was already there. Eliam ran to join him.

  With dual daggers, Adaris began taking down the priests. They did not turn or defend themselves. They died where they stood.

  Eliam's sword clove the heads from the last two. The few citizens still alive were ringed by several guards who made no move to intercept Eliam or Adaris or otherwise acknowledge any other presence in the throne room. Eliam cut into them without mercy.

  Freed, the citizens ran.

  The demon howled in anger. “I will still kill you all.” One arrow stuck in his neck. Others had bounced off and Galli had stopped firing.

  Melaki tested the silver connection again. It was as strong as before. How was he supposed to sever it? He had battered at it with all the force he had. He threw a bolt at Lagash of pure magic, not fire. The demon did nothing but turn and look at him.

  “You know nothing,” Lagash said.

  Melaki was eerily reminded of Mokura. And then he remembered how he hid his magic. Hiding would do nothing here...

  Yes! That was it.

  The messenger had said that he liked doing things backwards – an odd statement from the messenger who had usually just repeated himself.

  Inversion.

  He could not cut or batter the column of spiritual connection. Would doing it in reverse work? Not very many veterans were still standing. Finli had left the palace. He would try or die. Perhaps both.

  He patterned backwards a cut to the column. The magic skittered away from the essence of the demon like a rat from light. But it... shook.

  Lagash turned and regarded him again, still swiping at the veterans who got too close. None of their blades did more than score scratches. They would run out of men long before even wounding the demon.

  Tolos was back on his feet. “Melaki, do you have anything?” His voice was desperate. Half their men were down, though Bellina did her best.

  Eliam came charging the demon from the altar.

  Adaris was moving forward towards it, daggers low and still dripping.

  His friends were going to die if he did not do something.

  The demon roared in anger, louder than before, all the while taking two gigantic steps towards Melaki. There was a frenzied look about him.

  He ran, ducking between columns. The demon chased him moving slower around the columns.

  “Melaki!” Tolos called again.

  Turning, Melaki composed himself at the foot of the altar in the center of the throne room.

  Lagash bore down on the wizard.

  * * *

  Lagash sneered and charged forward. The wizard had touched him inside in a way that sent tremors through his flesh and through his spirit link. He could not afford to allow the wizard to interrupt his ongoing spiritual fight with Goroth.

  Victory was close.

  He
spread his arms, talons pointing inward.

  The wizard spread his arms.

  He mimics me? The mockery will not survive the next second.

  He felt himself scoring blows on Goroth. The demon was almost defeated. Another few seconds and he would rout the forces of Goroth and his Atlanteans. He would push them into the sea.

  Something happened that caused his eyes to bulge.

  * * *

  Ignoring the pounding of the demon's feet as it charged him, Melaki sought that odd detachment. He patterned a simple spell. He did not bother with a shield. He did not bother with force to deflect blows.

  If this did not work, he would be dead, his friends dead, and the foray a failure.

  He worked his hands in reverse, patterning force from within and as soon as he began, he felt the insides of that strong spiritual column of connection. He slowly brought his hands towards each other, throwing all the magic he had within himself into the reversed pattern.

  The column of spirit shook, trembling. Dimly, he was aware Lagash had stopped, frozen in the act of swiping his hands towards Melaki's head. Both stood there frozen, in similar poses.

  But Melaki could feel that his magic would not be enough. He would not be able to sever or cause that column to fracture and explode even though he had worked his best pattern for it in reverse. He was effecting the demon, but only just. The demon would eventually win when Melaki tired.

  He tried pouring more force, trying to reach an even more efficient usage and application of his power.

  But it was not there to be had. Sweat began to trickle down Melaki's face.

  * * *

  Lagash was stunned. What human had the power to withstand him? What human could? And what human could do so using his own powers within?

  No one can withstand a demon in the flesh.

  He strained, feeling pressure along the connection from his body to his spirit. He could not suffer that connection broken. It would mean banishment from Earth. A failure such as that never went unpunished. Hell held many demons prisoner who had vainly sought to be gods on Earth and ended up dying in their fleshly form.

  Lucifer had won the world in a fair contest of will. He needed man to exist. Gods in the flesh, vainglorious and obvious, created chaos. Lucifer wanted evil and suffering, applied without fleshly symbols. Taking the flesh gave man a symbol against which to wage war – to wage a battle against evil. Man accepted evil if there was no visible symbol of it. Man embraced evil when the application was spiritual.

  However, a physical symbol of evil bred chaos and man fought chaos.

  Lucifer would not be happy if Lagash did not win. Only if he won could he escape the prison for taking the flesh. His victory must be complete.

  He felt the wizard weakening.

  Goroth was reeling, his Atlantean forces routed and in full retreat. Goroth spent his last power in staving off Lagash on the spiritual level – his Atlantean forces abandoned to their own human abilities.

  He needed a few more seconds, at most. Withdrawing his expenditure of power over the people of the city, he threw everything he had into shoving the wizard's magic out of him.

  * * *

  Melaki felt the surge of power from the demon. His magical grip was slipping. If he lost it, he would have nothing left with which to fight. The drain was rapid, alarming, and he was nearing exhaustion.

  He shook his head. “I... can... not...”

  Eliam roared. “Hack it apart!”

  The remaining veterans rushed the demon, stabbing with swords. Adaris drove double-fisted daggers over and over into the thing's back. Robed men of Vattonses, many old, clawed at the demon with their fingernails, fury and rage in their faces.

  Melaki felt his power draining away, faster, faster. He trembled with the exertion, sweat and tears of effort pouring off of him. He had given up trying to finish the pattern. It was all he could do now just to hold the demon and he had no power to overcome the demon's strength.

  * * *

  Lagash groaned. He poured more of his power into his flesh. He withdrew more and more from his spiritual battle against an almost-defeated Goroth. He could feel the wizard at the end of his strength.

  Then the other men had charged him, swords hacking, slashing, daggers driving deep.

  A bald man shot his last few arrows into his chest and they sank very deep. Too deep.

  Lagash's eyes opened in panic as he realized the cessation of the blood rituals and the fight against this puny wizard had used far more of his power than he had suspected.

  Even the Vattonses council members were attacking him.

  He stumbled. His spiritual connection vibrated in a painful way.

  It was impossible. No man had the power to withstand him. Yet this wizard was. He knew he had to do something fast. But to let go would be to let the wizard win. To divert his power from his physical form to finish his battle with the wizard would leave his physical form very vulnerable to the swords stabbing it now.

  With a silent roar of rage heard only by himself and Goroth, he felt his physical form begin bleeding.

  This can not be happening!

  * * *

  Melaki fell to his knees, arms still stretched in front of him, straining, trembling, in the act of clapping shut but never reaching there.

  Lagash bled from dozens of wounds, but the demon still struggled against him.

  Melaki whipped his head back and forth. “I can no longer hold him.”

  There was a panic in the eyes of the demon. It moved its head, breaking its gaze with Melaki. It looked down at its wounded body.

  He felt the attempt by the demon to shift some of its effort.

  In that instant was victory.

  * * *

  Lagash felt it suddenly slip away from him. Grasping and trying to do too much, everything flew out of his grasp.

  * * *

  The swords sank deep.

  Melaki felt the sudden lack of struggle from the demon. Whimpering in relief, he felt he could proceed to finish the pattern. And so he did, his hands coming together faster, until they clapped shut and finished the spell.

  His magic had begun from within the spiritual, silvery column as nothing but a speck, then forming with the pattern into a seed of force. As he had brought his hands together, the force in reverse had grown. Instead of striking as a spear of force to shatter, it was expanding from a central shatter point to push outwards, forcing an explosion from within.

  Lagash exploded with a loud booming echo into a spray of gore and flesh. The soldiers hacking at him and the counselors clawing at him were thrown, covered in wet filth and blood. Melaki fell over, wetness all over him.

  A swirl of darkness where Lagash had stood was all that remained. It dissipated, sinking slowly into the floor.

  Silence reigned in the throne room that day.

  * * *

  Eliam wiped bloody muck from his eyes. Around him, people were starting to get up.

  Bellina, sweaty, her hair matted down from the effort at all the healing, looked with worried eyes over Melaki's body.

  “Is he...?”

  She glanced at Eliam. Tears were in her eyes. She was remarkably clean. She cradled the wizard's head, rocking back and forth, and trying to wipe gore from his face.

  * * *

  Melaki tried to breathe. There was a glob of gore in his throat and he coughed, hacking it up. Then he rolled off of Bellina's lap and retched.

  He kept retching; the taste would not come out of his mouth.

  “Ugh. Water, wine, whisky, anything!”

  * * *

  Galli laughed, also remarkably clean. “Yes, he is quite alright.”

  * * *

  Melaki tried wiping his tongue with his hand. But there was gore on his hand and he went into dry heaves.

  An old counselor was there, covered in the demon's filth. His voice was quavering, but deep. “Are we to be Euskaldani, now?”

  Melaki, coughing, looked at the old man. He tried t
o talk, but could not.

  Adaris was looking at his clothes in horror. He said, “No. We came to destroy the demon.”

  Eliam glared at Melaki. “You did that on purpose, did you not? You waited until we all were close and then you made it explode.”

  Melaki coughed, half heave, half laughter. What good would it do to tell him they had weakened it to the point he could finish his spell?

  The old counselor stood straighter. “But he is Atlantean and he destroyed the demon. Has he not come to conquer?”

  “I did not bring an army, except those of your own peoples. And I am not Altanlean.”

  The man shook his head. “He even speaks like one.”

  Melaki rose to his feet, leaning just a little on Bellina. When he stood straight, she left him to go tend the wounded. He said, “I destroyed the thing. Let your king resume his rule.”

  The man's mouth dropped open, partly in wonder and partly in sadness.

  Adaris eyed the man. “You are Rolovos? First Counselor?”

  The man turned old eyes to the spy and nodded.

  “And what of the king?”

  “Dead. All dead.” Tears formed in his eyes. “Impaled on that stake over there. While we were forced to watch; our wills bent to that of the wicked thing.”

  “The entire royal family?”

  “All of them.”

  Melaki said, “Then your country is a ship without a rudder. That makes you king, does it not?”

  Rolovos shook his head. “I am too old for it. We will need to select one without the taint of having spent time under the demon's thrall.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I imagine the people will not trust us.”

  Melaki thought of the thousands outside the palace. He nodded in thought. “We brought many with us of the Vattonses who desired to remove Lagash.”