Devil's Night Dawning: The First Book of the Broken Stone Series

by Damien Black

  Horskram placed a hand on the innkeeper’s shoulder. ‘Vagan, you’ve excelled yourself this evening,’ he said. ‘You have my thanks, and the gratitude of the Order.’

  Vagan shook his head. ‘Anything to help an Argolian friar. There are few enough good men in the world as it is. But if you don’t mind my asking – is there anything I should know?’

  The innkeeper was looking at Horskram keenly now.

  ‘Vagan, you’ve already deduced enough I think, but there are good reasons why I can’t tell you everything,’ replied the adept. ‘We are being pursued – I have a good inkling as to why but I don’t know who is behind it yet. I can’t tell you any more except that we have to get south – as far away from here as possible, and right soon. Our steeds were taken from us several nights ago, hence my asking you about the horse markets just now. We’ll go and visit the fellow you recommended tomorrow at first light and make a trade, after that we’ll be gone from Kaupstad. But Vagan – and this is very important – you must not breathe a word of our coming or going to anyone. Not a soul, do you understand?’

  Vagan nodded, his face stoically neutral. ‘As you wish, master monk, I’ll not say a word – though Reus knows what kind of a pickle you’ve got yourselves into.’ Glancing over at Adelko he added: ‘This lad seems tender of years to be in such danger.’

  Horskram allowed himself a slight smile. ‘Don’t you worry about young Adelko. Though he be a novice, he’s already tried his mettle on more than one occasion. And I do believe that underneath all that youthful foolishness he has a sharp mind in that head of his too.’

  ‘Well, very good then,’ replied the innkeeper. ‘I should know well enough to trust the Argolians to weather stormy tides, after all. Now if you’ll excuse me I’d better get back to work. There’s candles on yonder table should you need a light. I’ll wake you for breakfast just before dawn – if you need anything else in the meantime I’ll be downstairs until drinking-up time.’

  Bidding Vagan goodnight, the monks barred the door behind him before fumbling around in the darkness for the candles and tinder. Once they had these lit they took off their knapsacks and quarterstaves and sat down on their beds.

  Presently there was a knock at their door. That had them reaching for their quarterstaves, but to their relief – and Adelko’s delight – it was only Rudi with a tray bearing bread, two more flagons of ale and bowls of goat stew.

  Thanking the boy they sat down to eat, first making sure the door was bolted again. The stew was a little on the gristly side, but tasty all the same, and mopping up the sauce with his chunk of bread Adelko could almost fancy himself back in the refectory at Ulfang, listening to Yalba hold forth in his boisterous voice. When they were done they sat back to enjoy the rest of their ale.

  But Horskram clearly had more serious matters on his mind. Presently he said: ‘Well, Adelko, I think now is as good a time as any to take stock of events of the past week. I have been doing much thinking on the matter, and I believe I have arrived at several conclusions, although in truth many questions linger that need to be answered.’

  Taking another sip of his ale Adelko leaned forward nodding. Though he felt an incipient fear dampening his natural curiosity, he thought it best he know more about the pickle they were in, as Vagan had put it.

  ‘It is by now obvious, I’m sure you will agree, that we are being pursued by agents that intend us harm. By night we are stalked by a demon of the netherworld – and now it would appear that brigands from a foreign land are hunting us by day. The first salient question is why – and I think there can be only one feasible answer to that. Whoever was responsible for the theft of the Headstone fragment has learned that we know of it, and is trying to eliminate us before we can warn anyone about it.’

  Adelko felt a shiver run down his spine. His master’s euphemistic language did nothing to make the prospect of being murdered in the wilderness less frightening. One question did occur to him though.

  ‘But... whoever they are, how would they know that we know?’

  ‘A good question,’ replied Horskram. ‘But one that can be answered easily enough, I think. You will recall the half-melted casket in the uppermost chamber of the Abbot’s inner sanctum. Only a demon of the netherworld could command such flame – and only a powerful Left-Handed sorcerer would know how to summon such an entity and bind it to his will. I propose that whoever did such a thing also has the powers of Scrying, another of the Seven Disciplines of Magick. This would allow our putative culprit to observe things from afar – and therefore to have seen us poking around in the top chamber of the inner sanctum at Ulfang.’

  Horskram paused to take another sip of his ale. ‘So, to return to my theory, I propose that our unknown adversary sent his blasphemous servant to steal the fragment, knowing that the only person at the monastery who would learn of its theft would be impelled to keep it secret.’

  ‘But why is Sacristen so afraid of others finding out? After all, it’s hardly his fault the thing was taken!’

  ‘Adelko, I’m afraid to say that the world is a more complicated place than you yet fathom,’ sighed Horskram, looking down at his ale. ‘Though venerated throughout the Free Kingdoms and beyond, our Order has not always been... popular with the mainstream Temple.’

  ‘Is this something to do with the purging that... that I overheard you and the Abbot talking about?’

  Horskram fixed Adelko again with keen eyes. ‘You are indeed shrewd. Not for nothing do I praise your faculties! Yes, it is indeed to do with the Purge. But I will not speak of that now except to say that unfortunately its repercussions are far too widely known, and an enemy of the Almighty might easily use such knowledge to his own benefit.

  ‘But to return to my hypothesis. Our unknown enemy despatches his infernal servant, which makes off with the fragment in the dead of night. He perceives all is well, until something he has not foreseen takes place: we arrive at the monastery to report on our unusually trying demonic encounter at Rykken. Of course in hindsight it’s obvious why poor Gizel was so foully possessed: our Left-Handed practitioner, in summoning up devils to do his work, has widened the rent between worlds – thus allowing a greater entity to cross over and possess a girl pure of heart.

  ‘Ironically, this is the very reason that impels me to go to the Abbot, which prompts him to risk breaking his silence and tell me of the theft. In his headlong dash for power, our cunning mage has failed to predict the consequences of his diabolical actions, and chance has put us in the way of his schemes. Had we not turned up when we did I can well believe Sacristen would have kept the theft secret for far longer.

  ‘Upon learning of his mistake, and our plans to journey south and alert the head of our Order, our adversary immediately conjures up another servant to pursue us. However, knowing full well that a creature that can only emerge on to the material plane at night may not suffice to despatch two resourceful Argolians, he – or she for that matter – commissions a band of mercenaries from abroad to seek us during the day. And so we are pursued relentlessly, from one hour to the next.’

  The adept paused to take another draught of ale. Adelko’s mind was racing.

  ‘But, just a second...’ he began falteringly. ‘The stone trapdoor at the top of the Abbot’s sanctum was smashed to pieces. I suppose that’s how it entered in the first place. If this wizard is powerful enough to send something like that to steal the fragment, why not just send... well, another one just like it to do for us? The thing that tried to attack us in Landebert’s hut wasn’t strong enough to claw through his stone roof.’

  ‘Excellent!’ exclaimed Horskram, his eyes lighting up. ‘You do me proud, Adelko! I was myself wondering the same thing for a day or two, and the answer only just occurred to me in the common room this evening. Our knowledge of wizards from testimonies at witch trials leads us to believe that any sorcerer, no matter how powerful, can only control a certain number of entities at any one time. You see, when a devil is conjured up from the Othe
r Side, it instantly longs to be free, so it can wreak havoc on its new surroundings at leisure – it doesn’t want to serve the wizard who has summoned it. Therefore, to keep it in his thrall, a black magician must continually strive in a battle of wills.’

  The adept paused to make the sign. ‘A fiendish contest if ever there was one! As such I can only conjecture that our warlock still needed to retain the services of his first demon – presumably to transport the stolen fragment back to his lair, or some other appointed place. Therefore his will would still be partially diverted to keep it in check, meaning he would be forced to content himself with summoning up a lesser being of the lowest Tier to pursue us. This would also explain his resorting to more earthly means of having us killed. Do you follow?’

  Adelko nodded eagerly, by now too caught up in the fascinating puzzle to register that someone he had never met wanted him dead.

  ‘So what about the brigands? Where are they from? They’re definitely not Northlendings – they look similar to clansmen but they’re not quite the same.’

  ‘No,’ Horskram shook his head. ‘Most probably they are Northlanders – from the Frozen Principalities across the Sea of Valhalla, whence our ancestors came. Even today they are a barbaric folk, who repudiate the Redeemer and cling to the pagan gods of old. They certainly care nothing for the niceties of chivalry, but they are a fierce and warlike people – many of them take service as freeswords, guarding trade ships laden with goods from the Empire. My guess is that they were commissioned in Port Cravern, less than a week’s hard ride north-east of here.’

  ‘So, is that where our bad wizard is then?’

  ‘Possibly, but we can’t be certain of that. Some wizards have the power to communicate with each other across space and even time... but that hypothesis assumes that we have more than one enemy, perhaps an apprentice who serves the master. At this point, we cannot be sure of that either.’

  ‘So, what do we do? I don’t fancy our chances, Master Horskram, travelling hundreds of miles to get to Pangonia with a band of ruthless swordsmen and a devil on our trail!’

  ‘Neither do I,’ replied Horskram, frowning. ‘But what choice do we really have? At least we know the demon can be turned by such prayers as we two can muster – and there are places of holy sanctuary that will increase our chances of a night. But what concerns me is what happens when our adversary has dispensed with the services of his first demon – he might then choose to divert all his will into summoning up a more powerful entity to chase us. If such a thing were to find us alone, I doubt even our combined efforts could save us then.’

  Adelko took a nervous gulp on his beer. He did not like his mentor’s pessimistic tone.

  ‘Now then, lad, be of some cheer,’ said the adept. ‘I did not say all was lost. At any rate, if we do manage to reach the Grand High Monastery in Pangonia we shall be safe – the prayers of the Order’s most powerful chapter should be enough to protect us from whatever our unknown villain throws at us!’

  Another question occurred to Adelko. ‘Do you have any idea who he is?’

  Horskram’s face darkened again. ‘I have one or two ideas, but again none of them are certain. The most likely guess is Andragorix – whom you heard me speak of when you eavesdropped.’

  Despite everything that had happened, Adelko still couldn’t help blushing as he remembered his transgression. ‘I was going to ask... but you didn’t seem to like talking about him.’

  ‘I don’t. He is a black magician of no small repute, the worst and most dastardly that these lands have seen for generations. I sought him out several years ago, myself and one other – Sir Belinos of Runcymede, a pious knight from Thraxia. Together we bearded him in his lair in Roarkil, a haunted fortress surrounded by dense woodlands on the eastern edge of that kingdom. Poor Belinos did not survive, but before he perished by Andragorix’s potent sorceries he managed to cut off his hand. As he lay writhing in pain on the floor of his cursed tower I had the chance to slay him... ah, but mercy stayed my hand! Foolish notion! It would have been far better to commit an ill stroke then, to preserve the world from his evil! My moment of doubt allowed him to transform himself into a raven and escape. And thus was the turning of my victory to ashes symbolised.’

  Horskram paused to take another pull at his ale, staring down into the half-empty tankard with regretful eyes. Adelko wanted to offer him words of comfort, but found none forthcoming.

  At length the old monk looked up and continued: ‘It was not until last year that I heard rumours he had resurfaced, travelling incognito from village to village, bringing ruin on the unsuspecting peasantry with his poisonous words and stealing their children for his ghastly rituals. In vain I tried to seek him, so I could confront him again and finish what I should have when I had the chance, but he has learned from his mistakes and never stays in one place for too long.

  ‘The last I heard he was somewhere in Vorstlund – so we may even encounter him on our journey. There are several chapters belonging to our Order in that realm, I sent word to the priors there to keep a close watch. I always knew he could not run and hide forever, for his lust for power will always get the better of him – eventually he’ll seek another stronghold in which to settle. But – if it really is him behind all this – it seems that his warped ambitions have outstripped even my darkest expectations, and now he has us on the back foot.’

  ‘But how can we know for sure? I mean, this is all just speculation isn’t it, Master Horskram?’

  ‘Aye, it is. But there are thankfully few who can wield such powers, which is why Andragorix is the most likely suspect. You are right however – we can only be sure when we get to the Grand High Monastery. No doubt Hannequin will call for a divination. That should reveal who’s really behind this – assuming we don’t meet them first! In truth I would sooner have held one straight away at Ulfang, but as you saw the Abbot would not hear of it, and in this I must defer to him. So we must endure prolonged danger thanks to Temple politics.’

  The two monks finished the rest of their ale in silence before going to bed. The cots were small but comfortable, the blankets thick and warm. But even so they were denied a good night’s rest.

  Less than an hour after putting the candles out they were awoken by the sound of their demonic pursuer. Though mercifully far away this time, its awful voice seemed to fill the dark wilderness about them, pronouncing their doom in a language unfit for mortal ears.

  CHAPTER XIV

  An Ambush in the Night

  The common room was already a bustle of activity when they descended to take their breakfast. Outside in the courtyard the freeswords could be heard noisily taking their horses from the stables as they prepared to leave the inn. Their fork-bearded employers were in the taproom, finishing a gluttonous breakfast of chopped liver, roast lamb, bacon and bread washed down with watered wine. Scattered around the rest of the room were the same motley crew of pilgrims and artisans, struggling with their hangovers as they tucked into humbler fare.

  Most of the inn’s patrons had been woken in the night by the frightful noises. Several whispered fearfully among themselves, making the sign and exchanging scared looks. During breakfast Adelko noticed a few people looking over at their table, perhaps hoping to hear some words of reassurance from an Argolian friar. But Horskram said nothing, and did not raise his eyes from the table until Vagan approached them to settle up the bill.

  The adept insisted on pressing an extra silver mark into the innkeeper’s hand to pay for the drinks consumed by the brigands the night before. Vagan protested that it was far too much, but Horskram shook his head and waved him away kindly.

  Bidding Vagan farewell they were just taking their leave of the Crossroads when Adelko noticed the old knight and his squire sitting down to a late breakfast at a corner table. The wiry youth caught his eye, as he had done the previous night. He looked proud and sure of himself – perhaps too sure of himself, although his upright bearing and athletic figure suggested a young man wel
l trained to arms.

  They stepped out into a cold grey morning. The market square was a short distance from the inn. They found it already crowded with stalls, and Adelko’s eyes feasted on an abundance of fruit, vegetables and other victuals, crafted goods of leather and wood, cooking utensils and other household items.

  He had never seen a market as large as this one. Not even the monthly fair at Rykelling, a day’s journey from his village, was as big. Competing for space among the stalls were several wooden stockades where dozens of horses of various ages and quality whinnied and stamped.

  Already there were well over two hundred townsfolk in the square, haggling with the merchants and artisans. Adelko recognised several from the inn, and off to one side he saw the freeswords slouching idly by their horses while the merchants from Ulfang began their morning’s work.

  ‘Follow me, and stay close,’ instructed Horskram, as though they were about to navigate another difficult stretch of wilderness. ‘These scoundrels would sell you the sky if they thought they could get away with it. And watch out for pickpockets!’

  ‘But I don’t have anything worth stealing,’ Adelko pointed out.

  ‘Well, just watch out anyway!’

  It took them a while to make their way through the crowds to the horse stall recommended by Vagan. During that time Adelko found himself obliged to follow his master’s suit and use his quarterstaff to wave away the vendors, who weren’t shy about grabbing his habit and proclaiming their wares in loud voices from mouths that reeked of rotten teeth: ‘Eggs, my lord? Got the best eggs in the province! Only sixpence a dozen – giving them away!...’ ‘How about a nice cooking pot, sirrah? Made of solid iron too – half a sovereign! Not heavy at all – you can carry it back to your monastery! You monks love a good feed, doncha?...’ ‘My good friars, how are your holinesses this day? Sharpest sickles in Kaupstad, for tending your gardens – buy two and I’ll do you a special price...’