Stone Rising (The Graeme Stone Saga)

by Gareth K Pengelly

  And yes, he was right; there was water nearby, an ocean of it, in fact. With islands, just off the coast of the city.

  Ideal.

  He made to move, made to turn, but a noise caused him to pause, quiet, yet there, coming from a room just off the aisle. He squinted into the gloom, but though the door was ajar, it was dark, too dark to see. It was a storeroom. There was the noise again, a shuffling, moving noise. Perhaps it was a rat, or feral dog, rummaging for scraps to eat?

  Or perhaps not…

  He raised a hand to his comrades.

  “Stay here,” he whispered. “I’ll check it out.”

  The Tulador folded the map back up and tucked it into his belt, hefting his cannon, feeling the reassuring warmth of its muted power, before walking forwards, slowly, cautiously. His heart cried at him not to bother; why invite danger? Whatever was in the room might not even be aware of them. Yet his head knew that to leave a potential foe behind them where it make sneak up unawares would be foolishness in the extreme.

  He walked forwards, reaching the door. Slowly, his heart beating loud in his chest, his breathing shallow, he gently prodded the half-open door with the barrel of his weapon, pushing it open. To his relief, the hinges made no creak as they eased open.

  He was right, it was a storeroom. Pallets full of boxes filled the space, full of trinkets and souvenirs that would never be displayed, never bought, never brought home to waiting families and gifted to excited children. He scanned the gloom. There, the noise again. It was around the corner, hidden out of sight by a large pallet of goods. Marlyn held his breath, gripped tight the handle of his cannon, finger brushing against the trigger, then whirled around the corner, weapon poised to unleash its destructive power.

  His jaw dropped.

  The figure stood there, staring at him. Yet no ravaged and grimacing face did this one wear. No hideous wounds of battle, nor tell-tale signs of rot and decay.

  No. This figure wore instead a face at once intensely familiar and terrifyingly out of place. It was a face that belonged in the past, not here and now. The young Tulador could not believe his eyes, but the proof was there before him. From the shining silver plate, to the cocky and self-sure grin, he knew it to be true yet could not bring himself to believe.

  “Hello, Marlyn,” the figure spoke, the voice exactly as he remembered. “Long time, no see.”

  For long moments, the guard merely stood and gawped, unable to frame a response. Then finally.

  “H…how?”

  Daveth smiled, his face exactly the same as it had been all that time ago, bringing with it a disarming rush of memories and feelings, visions of carefree days spent adventuring together in the forests and fields under Tulador’s lush summer sun.

  “How? Why? Is that all you have to greet me with, questions?” He laughed, his voice sounded sing-song, playful, each word as if just on the edge of being mockery but not quite. There was a humour to his eyes that had always been there, yet also a glint of something more.

  “I saw you die…”

  “You saw me fall.” There, again, that glint, yet the familiarity was winning through, each word a torrent of emotion that threaten to bowl the Tulador over in a tide of grief and relief. “I came to after the Khrdas had left the walls. Their poison wasn’t as strong as they had thought, it appears.” He smiled. “I laid low for a while, then made my way to Merethia, where I mingled with the crowds for many months, making a living begging on the streets of the market square. When the once-men began to appear and battle came to the gates, I snuck out, finding myself on the bridge to the Beacon Tower. Somehow, through luck or skill, I made my way to the Portal. I cast myself in it rather than face the hordes that had begun to appear. I found myself here. I thought I was the only one left alive in this land. I can’t believe you found me…”

  Marlyn couldn’t believe it either. Something didn’t add up, didn’t seem right. As much as he wanted to believe that the impossible had happened, he couldn’t bring himself to. As much as he wanted to simply be glad and grateful that his childhood friend was alive and well, his reasoning argued against the evidence before his eyes.

  Once-men, he had said. That was term they hadn’t adopted till they had been translocated to the Retreat. How could he know that phrase? And how could he have made it to the tower by himself, unscathed? How could the portal have led him here, when it was only Stone’s power which had kept them on their path through dimensions? Without the guiding influence of their lord, they would have merely vanished into the ether, sucked in and spat out into who knows what hellish realm…

  He could tell by Daveth’s face that the other youth was aware of his suspicions. His friend raised his hands, a smile on his face, honesty and trustworthiness dripping from his words like honey as he spoke.

  “I know this is a lot to take in, Marlyn, my old friend. I know. I was as confused as you, at first. But now’s not the time or the place for such talk. Let’s join your men; I heard Arbistrath’s voice outside. Let’s flee here, to somewhere safe, then I will explain everything you want to know at our leisure. Promise.”

  His eyes, those intensely familiar eyes, bored into Marlyn’s and he could feel his resolve weakening. Slowly, slowly, he lowered his cannon. The smile on Daveth’s face broadened. He took a step forward.

  The earth-shattering boom of Cannon-fire leapt out, the dim room erupting in a golden flash as twin balls of plasma raced past Marlyn on either side. They smashed Daveth twenty feet backwards to impact against the far wall, silver armour buckled and melted as he slowly slid in a lifeless heap to the floor.

  Marlyn’s ears rang to the cacophony, mouth dropping once more in stunned disbelief as he rounded on the two guards behind him.

  “That was Daveth, you fools!” He roared out in rage as he charged the stunned Thom, the other guard completely bewildered and unsure how to react as Marlyn tackled him, forcing them both into a pallet of boxes with a clang of metal on metal. Cannon dangling by its harness, Marlyn’s hands found their way to Thom’s neck, fingers trying desperately to throttle as Reno in turn wrapped his own arm about Marlyn’s neck, struggling to pull the two apart.

  “That wasn’t him, man!” hissed Thom through gritted teeth. “You were being deceived!”

  “Liar!”

  The sounds of struggle continued as the two sought to overcome the enraged Marlyn, but then a fresh sound rose up, quiet at first, but then growing, insistent and pervading. Otherworldly, inhuman.

  Laughter. Dark and brimming with malice.

  The smell of brimstone and fire began to permeate the air and the three shook their heads, as if awakening from a dream, before turning to gaze down to the far end of the storeroom, to the source of the deep and bellowing laughter.

  The mangled and scorched corpse of Daveth had risen, pulled upright onto tip-toes as though by the invisible strings of some master puppeteer. The head snapped up, but where before there were human eyes, now there were but pools of gleaming blood-red, filled which an ancient hatred that was at once alien yet hauntingly familiar.

  “Children! Fools!” The voice boomed out from Daveth’s mouth, even as his ruined form began to twist and swell, metal armour and leather, flesh and bone all flowing as liquid as this form was shed to be replaced by the true figure that spoke to them. “Such is the folly of mankind to always fall upon each other in times of fear, eyes blinded to the world outside by their own petty bickering.”

  Dark laughter again, the form now fully coalesced, revealing an inhumanly tall being of black muscle, horns and infernal, hate-filled eyes of red fire. The shadows of the room swept forth to shroud the beast in a raiment of darkness, a cloak of night-grey and gleaming armour of dark bronze that seemed to solidify into existence as though from smoke. The creature exuded an air of knowledge and hunger and had an aura of stupefying terror that rendered the three unable to do ought but stand and listen as it continued to berate them.

  “Such was the fate here, outlanders. Invasion was easy, wit
h mankind’s disparate tribes and nations forever at one another’s throats. Our armies and ships fell upon this world like comets from the burning blue. The skies burned. The seas boiled.” The figure closed its eyes, sucking air through its fangs as though savouring a delicate treat. “And the souls we reaped. They tasted of innocence.” Its eyes snapped open, gleaming red with hunger. “And this world was just the start. This whole galaxy so ripe for the picking. Oh, how long we had waited, children, thanks to the efforts of your cursed lord. But, what meaning a hundred years, a thousand years to such as us?”

  It fixed them with its glare, a stare that would have frozen the hearts of lesser men, then took a step forwards, one hooved foot leaving a flaming print on the smouldering tiles of the floor.

  “But I knew that some of you might one day appear here in this world after going through that portal. And I was never one who could resist a snack…”

  It licked its lips, then tensed as though to pounce, but Marlyn was the quicker. His cannon swept up, delicate lever pulled back to unleash full power once more, before his finger found the trigger. In the confines of the room, the blast caused the three to wince in pain as the plasma leapt out to smite its target. Thom and Reno, too, joined in the assault, weapons unleashing their full destructive force on their taunting foe.

  At last, the golden glare receded, the noise abating, their vision at last returning to their stinging eyes as the air filled with the multi-layered hum of recharging weapons.

  A collective gasp of fear and horror. The beast yet stood, exactly where it had been, obsidian fangs bared in a savage grin of mirth, its darkly muscled form blissfully free from injury or hurt. Behind it, the walls and stock of the room twisted and glowing from the heat of the onslaught, save the patch directly behind its figure that remained untouched, unmarked. The ceiling, the walls, all about the room, cracking, splintering, as the intense heat of the energies unleashed began to take their toll on the structure.

  “Fools!” The creature snarled as it took a thudding step forwards on its cloven hooves. “You really believe that such simple sorceries can harm a being such as - ”

  A cloud of dust billowed forth, cutting off the beast’s words and choking the three humans. As the dust dissipated, the air cleared to reveal a huge mound of shifting, settling concrete where the demon had been standing. Tons upon tons collapsed down from the floors above; the steel joists of the ceiling having finally given way under the heat.

  Silence, then Reno ventured: “Is it…?”

  A bellowing roar, the concrete beginning to shift in answer to his question. The two turned to Marlyn, horror in their eyes as they looked to him for guidance.

  “Fucking run!”

  They did.

  On wings of fear they flew, launching their way through the cluttered debris of the shop, bursting out into sunlight to the startled surprise of the guards without. Seeing the look of alarm on their faces, Arbistrath turned, eyes questioning.

  “What happened?” he enquired. “What was all that noise?”

  It was Marlyn that answered, his chest huffing and puffing as he strove to catch his breath.

  “Demon, sire… A bloody big bastard, too. Like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

  Arbistrath snarled, anger welling up as he thought back to encounters with demons in the past. Brutal foes, vicious and other-worldly, with powers that defied the laws of reality and made them hard to kill. He looked up, staring at the building within which the Gift Shop was set, multiple stories of bricks, mortar and steel. He nodded, raising his voice that all might hear his command.

  “Level it.”

  A chorus of cataclysmic roars. Golden orbs of plasma smashing into the base of the building, rending stonework and melting steel. A great groan, then the entire structure collapsed in an avalanche of dust and debris, hundreds of tons of rubble settling in a vast and disorganised heap to crush anything within.

  Only briefly did the young Lord’s face show any hint of pleasure, for as soon as the rumbling of the collapsed building faded away, it was replaced with another noise. The men of the Tulador Guard turned, as one, to stare down the length of the avenue.

  The horde had arrived. A sea, a torrent, a tidal wave of possessed former-humans, racing as fast as their ragged bodies could take them.

  Arbistrath shuddered inwardly as he watched the mass draw nearer. They were outnumbered a hundred-to-one. Maybe more. They had no chance; at full-power, their cannons would die of overheating. At lower power, they could not hope to kill enough of the foe before they reached them. He didn’t let his men see his fear, instead, turning to Marlyn.

  “If you’ve got any of those genius ideas brewing in there, now’d be a rather splendid time…”

  The youth was staring at the large, windowed vehicle that lay abandoned in the square, a look of thoughtful concentration mixed with hope on his face.

  “Yes. I think I just might…”

  ***

  The horde raced on, eager, desperate, driven by the mental whips of invisible masters, but their prey had eluded them, at least for now. The dense exhaust fumes of the until now long-abandoned bus choked the square, the vehicle itself and its cargo of Tulador Guards slowly disappearing into the distance, weaving as it went to avoid crashing into the other rusted vehicles and debris that littered the street.

  Prey now out of reach, the horde began to slow, then mill around, as though waiting for instruction. Perhaps those few lost souls that had not yet succumbed to madness, trapped within their own hijacked bodies, might have rejoiced at the getaway of their fellow humans.

  The silence of the street was shattered as the collapsed building that once housed the Gift Shop exploded with the force of a dozen bombs, chunks of masonry and dust erupting outwards to sweep away a hundred once-men in its fury. As the dust blew away on the morning breeze, the air was filled with the acrid, cloying stench of sulphur.

  The beast strode forth from his would-be prison, hooves leaving prints of orange flame as he marched imperiously into the centre of the horde, taloned fingers brushing debris from his cloaked shoulders. As he stared down the street, gazing with infernal eyes into the distance at the retreating bus, he snarled, the rumbling growl of a dozen frustrated tigers.

  The crowd of tortured souls milled about, but kept their distance, whatever spirits that possessed the bodies obviously wary of the great power and authority of the horned beast. One such human, however, moved closer. It was a child, a boy of no more than eight years old, blond hair unruly, cheeks besmirched with soot and dust. It approached him, drawing near, the top of its head barely reaching the giant’s knee.

  As the child stood there, an arm’s length away, the demon looked down, face a mixture of curiosity and annoyance, taloned right hand flexing as though ready to smash the wretch to ruins with a single swipe. But then before it could, a rushing, rustling gale of whispers began to rise up from all about; quiet yet insistent. The man-child’s head snapped up, gazing up to fix the demon’s red stare. Its eyes opened; within, inky wells of infinite blackness.

  Once more, the demon snarled, the corner of one lip rising to reveal its pointed teeth.

  You disappoint us once again, Asmodeus. Your penchant for theatrics grows wearisome.

  “I fear you’re too pessimistic,” the demon called Asmodeus growled in reply. “The mortals cannot get far. This island is surrounded by ocean. They extend their pathetic lives by mere heartbeats. Their souls shall taste all the sweeter for these brief moments of vain hope.” Its words rumbled like distant thunder, but despite the inhuman tones, the restraint was easy to hear. Whatever this creature was, whatever its rank in the infernal order, it knew to respect its masters. At least outwardly.

  You are a fool, Baron. You do not understand what is at stake, here.

  “At stake?” Asmodeus sounded puzzled, his black, scaly eyebrows furrowed in sincere confusion. “This world is long-taken, the schemes of Stone long-since proven to be nought but vainglorious dreams. What could p
ossibly be at stake? We have victory here!”

  The whispers rose in volume, countless overlaid voices that spoke different words but with the same meaning. And this meaning was urgent and mocking.

  Nay, Asmodeus. And nay again. The threads of fate fray. Our situation, precarious. In the ether, we found betrayal in our ranks. Rebellion amongst our bound slaves. Stone freed himself an ally, one of those that soars upon the winds of time.

  Gleaming red eyes widened in apprehension. There was only one thing that this could mean.

  Correct. Stone possesses such knowledge now, and the power, too, to wield it. This world, this future, all our accomplishments will be for nought if he returns in time to claim his men. So, we say to you, crush these mortals and crush them quick. Without those few to which the threads of destiny are bound, even Stone is powerless to change things. But go, lest this reality crumble and we can do nought but begin anew. Go, we say!

  Baron Asmodeus growled, flexing his mighty taloned hands, eyes narrowing and glowing an infernal hue. He knew now his task. He did not relish the thought of being swept away on the tidal wave of temporal change, nor indeed the thought of rebuilding all his hard work.

  “It shall be done.” He glanced about him at the sea of once-men and women. “But these flesh puppets are weak and the humans resourceful. I shall need new troops to command.”

  They are yours. Now, go!

  With that, the human child exploded, its limbs and organs erupting in a violent spray of gore and blood, to be replaced by a burning, ragged hole in space and time. Though the portal, a gangly and behorned creature strode forth, with obsidian blade, long claws and dully glowing eyes of fire. The effect began to ripple throughout the horde, human shells exploding to be replaced by demonic warriors, smaller caricatures of the Baron himself, cruel and bloodthirsty, eager for the hunt, until at last, Asmodeus found himself at the head of an army of demonkind.