The Titan's Tome

by M. B. Schroeder

  Armagon shut the door after she entered, cutting out the feeble light from outside. “Too much like your father.”

  She kept a hand against the wall to keep her bearings, a tinge of alcohol hinted sharply over the weapon oil. He was shuffling away, but with the gentle rocking of the ship and the complete blackness, she didn’t know how he could see. “Are you drinking?”

  “Too much like Selien.”

  She felt along the wall near the door, until she found a lamp in a set of gimbals to light. A little flair of her power was enough to set fire to the wick. She couldn’t craft spells, but when she used magic, it produced heat.

  His armor was on the table, he’d been trying to repair the hole punched in the shoulder from the bolt. Dozens of throwing knives, daggers, and his swords were spread out on the bunk, freshly oiled. He sat back in a corner on the floor, his head resting in the crook of his elbow atop his knee, as though he was hiding from the light. There was a thick clay jug beside him. He wore a gray vest and leather breaches that tied off at his knees.

  “You’re right, I shouldn’t be drinking. If anything happened, if the ship were attacked, I would be slow.”

  Camry chose to ignore his martyring statement. “What happened to you, after the oath?” She shied back from him when he looked at her. Any hint of the yellow irises was gone, drowned in the ebony pools of his eyes.

  Armagon turned away from Camry. With some concentration, through the muddle of drink, he pushed the darkness from his eyes. She’d earned the explanation after following him to the church in Log Port.

  “We were supposed to die. DraKar and I both knew that when we swore our oaths, but Golas thought he would outsmart the archdevil by making us useless to him. He regressed us to eggs. That’s why Golas and I are not on the same terms as when your father knew us. We were given, still as eggs, to Mammon, ruler of the Third plane. He hatched and raised us, and trained us to be his perfect warriors. We remembered nothing of our lives before the hatching, for nearly a hundred millennium. I was trained in weapons, poisons, and stealth, all the crafts of an assassin. DraKar was given the same weapons training as I was, but he had a gift for magic, and so that was given precedence for him. Our father, as the archdevil had us call him, declared our formal training complete when we had conspired together and killed our teachers and presented their heads to him.

  “We were rewarded with a great banquet. Mammon knew we would become rebellious, but he had spent a great many resources on making us what we were, so he did not try to have us killed. Instead, he decided to try and further bind us to the Hells service, by augmenting us like the more powerful devils.

  “There are many gorges and pits in the Hells, where fire runs like water and flame covers the walls. One among them is different, it’s a pool of molten black stone with black and blue flames that spray out of it. Demons can force a change to their bodies, enhance strength, add abilities only powerful devils possess, and join the ranks of the devils if they manage to survive a year in the pit. DraKar and I were suspended by hooks through our wings and shoulders in that pit for over a decade.”

  Nothing about Armagon’s demeanor changed, he hadn’t moved from where he sat in the corner, and he continued to stare at the wall of the cabin, unmoving. Camry shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, her fingers pressed hard to keep from shaking as he continued to explain the torture in a dull tone.

  “We were changed when they drug us out of the pit,” Armagon continued, seeming not to notice Camry’s discomfort. “But we were not devils, bound like Mammon had hoped. I don’t know how long I took to recover, DraKar healed much faster and cared for me for many days and nights. When we were strong enough, Father sent us out to capture Log Port, to craft the portal from his realm to the Mortal plane.”

  “I don’t understand, why would he send the two of you here, if he knew neither of you were bound to the Hells?” Camry asked.

  “Because we’re still alive, child.” Armagon frowned and ran a hand over his eyes.

  “Demons are not made in the same way as us. They are either the souls of followers of dark gods or devils unlucky enough to be tied to the Hells, or they are the dreams of the Shadow itself. Some new souls are tempered, put through excruciating tortures that would, or should, destroy a living creature, and the fires they’re kept in are infused within them. The Hells become a part of them, and they become demons or devils if they last long enough in the flames. Those demons and devils are the ones the archdevils can control, and command their armies. The Shadow Dreamt are demons born from the landscape of the Hells themselves. The archdevils and Shadow Dreamt are bound to their plane.

  “DraKar and I, by all accounts I’ve uncovered, are quite possibly the only mortals who’ve been tempered alive and survived the process. We’re not demons. We’re not held by the boundaries of the Hells, so we can enter a holy shrine a demon would be unable to go near, and we could open gates from our home realm to the Hells.”

  “How did you escape? If the two of you are unique, why would Mammon let you run around loose.”

  The question brought up thoughts of Sahra and Khain, the two beings the brothers came closest to trusting in the Hells. Armagon didn’t suppress the small grin that pulled his lips back from his fangs. “DraKar and I developed our own network of associates. If we were captured, they would try and free us. If we were sent out on a mission, we tried to break away to escape to this plane.”

  “Why do you need Golas and me?”

  Armagon looked up at Camry, a little confused by the question. “In truth, child, I don’t need you. That’s why I told you to leave in the beginning. I need Golas to open the portal. I know of no other mage on this plane capable of powering a portal who would open it at my command.”

  The phrase that he didn’t need her, struck Camry harder than she thought it would. She hadn’t expected to become a great confidant to him, but she’d thought the fight through Log Port had secured his respect for her.

  Armagon noted the rebuffed look in her violet eyes. “Just be more careful.”

  ***

  The next day, Camry sat with Golas in his cabin. The older elf was skimming through one of the last books he’d kept, while she told him about her conversation with Armagon. Golas lay on his bunk, occasionally looking over the top of his book to give her a chastising, disbelieving look. While she sipped at some wine as she relayed the story, seated at the small table provided in the cabin.

  “You can’t believe everything he tells you,” Golas muttered as he lazily turned a page. “He seems half crazed as it is, demanding we go to the Hells.”

  Camry rolled her eyes at her mentor. “I don’t understand why you can’t believe him.”

  “Because I’ve been alive far longer than him. I’ve seen more of the world. I know many more things.”

  “But you saw the Hells!”

  Golas closed the book and gave her his full attention. “And lost half my students. What we encountered there couldn’t be survived for long. I know your father told you about Armagon and DraKar, but they were just hired thugs I employed for the trip.”

  “You mean, you can’t see anyone besides elves as intelligent.”

  Golas sat up. “That’s not true! I just know what those two were before.”

  “Before you left them.”

  “They offered themselves up! I had no say once the blood was spilled.”

  “But you never went back for them. You never tried to save them. My father said he tried to get you to help mount a rescue, to try and reach what remained of his sister, but you wouldn’t hear of it.”

  Golas stood and pointed at her. “Your father was despondent with grief. He didn’t know what he was asking for. I would not risk anyone else trying to go back there!”

  A gentle knock on the door broke into their argument and Camry paused to open it. Armagon waited outside, leaning against the door frame and looked between the two.

  “You’re loud.” He left the doorway, walking o
ut to the deck of the ship.

  Camry made a frustrated noise as she cast an irritated glare at Golas, and rushed out to follow Armagon. She jogged to catch up with the black sarpand and fell into step next to him as he walked along the open deck.

  “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Camry said.

  Armagon chuckled and shook his head, amused she thought Golas’s tirade would hurt his feelings. “My hearing it wasn’t my concern. I don’t want the crew or officers of the ship getting spooked and wanting more pay.”

  He stopped at the railing near the ship’s figurehead. Camry leaned on it beside him, watching the endless water skim past, as the bow of the ship cut a frothy path through it. Her hair whipped around, threatening to get into her eyes as she looked up at the black, scaled creature beside her.

  “Tell me about my aunt. My father told me only a little. He never liked talking about her or the trip, it was… difficult for him.”

  At first, Camry wasn’t sure Armagon was going to answer, he didn’t move. She wasn’t sure he even took a breath. Then his bright eyes, brilliant against the dark scales, shifted from staring at the ocean to focus on her.

  “Selien was smart, funny, caring, gentle,” he spoke quickly like he was pulling a scab from a wound. “She could be stubborn, and I see that in you also.” Armagon’s words slowed and became more thoughtful. “She loved to sing, her voice was silk, like a flower petal in your hand.” His focus returned to the ocean, and beyond it, to the memory of his love. “She could dance like a bird can fly, all grace and rhythm, never a misplaced step. She was brave to a fault, fearing nothing that crossed her path. Perhaps that is what took her so far from us when we first entered the Hells. Maybe that was why she went so close to the demons.”

  Armagon closed his eyes a moment, not liking that memory. He now knew the true reason why she’d gotten so close to the danger, but his memories of the event would be a better story for Camry. He continued, letting the images from his mind tickle words from his tongue. “Her eyes were like the night sky, dark and deep, and sparkled with starlight. Raven black hair that could drown sunlight. Pale skin, soft and smooth, too delicate for these hands.” Armagon looked down at his leathery calloused palms, the scar where he had sliced his hand to pledge his oath stood out like a mountain line. Claws, jagged and sharp, tipped each finger. He closed his hands into fists, as though to hide the roughness from the delicate picture of Selien in his mind.

  Camry touched at his arm, pulling him away from the raw emotions that still clung to any thought of Selien. “Why did you work for Golas?”

  Armagon shrugged, his wings shifting with the movement. “It was a job. We had worked for him before. He was always good for the money.” A frown tugged at the corner of his lips. “Our relationship wasn’t close, just employer and employee.”

  “Then why did DraKar offer himself?”

  “It wasn’t just for Golas. We both knew Golas’s students were innocent. They hadn’t opened the gateway, and if there were a way to get the rest of them out, DraKar would do it. Especially after I’d already given myself over.”

  “Thank you,” Camry offered.

  Armagon looked at her fully. “For?”

  “For loving my aunt enough to save her soul.” Camry smiled up at him, squinting in the sunlight. “And when we free DraKar, I’ll thank him for saving my father.”

  Armagon smiled fully at her, exposing sharp teeth. “You’re welcome, child.”

  Chapter 26

  317 Br. summer

  “The flying humanoid species don’t often take to the air outside of cities and towns. Although it is a faster way of travel, they tire quickly, and anyone can aim a bow or crossbow into the sky and hit them.”

  -A Dissertation of the Northern Continent and the Species of the Peoples

  “T his would be easier if I understood which god you followed,” Morkleb said as he sat with Armagon on the gently rocking deck.

  “Even if I told you, you wouldn’t understand,” Armagon said.

  Morkleb heaved a sigh and tried to ignore Seal’s flinty stare and crossed arm presence, though her attention was focused on Armagon. “At least you know how to channel the power into healing. From what I read, and if your god condones the act, you can manifest their power into a weapon or attack.”

  “Yes, but how?” Armagon asked through gritted teeth.

  “The same way you direct the power to heal. Your intention is the driving force. Your will.

  “It’s a matter of trust between you and your deity. You trust that the power is granted, and the deity trusts you will use it in a manner they wish. That is why not every mortal who worships the god is granted the power. They can’t influence freewill.”

  “I’ve only healed a few times. It seemed more instinctual than directed.”

  “Because I implanted the knowledge. If I do more, then the Dark One will be able to do the same.”

  Armagon was getting better at accepting Selien’s voice in his mind, but he still gave a startled blink when she spoke. Morkleb didn’t notice.

  “So the wounds were dire? You didn’t have time to think on what you were doing?” When Armagon nodded, Morkleb stood and beckoned him to follow. “Let’s check on Madger.”

  Armagon tilted his head but followed to the rear of the deck. Madger was alone; Kharick had gotten over the more violent stage of his sea sickness and gone below to sleep. Seal followed the pair, her hands hovering near her throwing knives.

  Madger looked up, her gray skin pale, and her eyes half-lidded.

  “Mind if I use you as a teaching instrument?” Morkleb asked with a half-hearted grin.

  “You can cure sea sickness?”

  “No. There isn’t anything to cure, just your body getting used to the motion.”

  “Oh.” Madger let her chin rest on her chest again. “So long as I don’t have to move.”

  Morkleb knelt beside her and directed Armagon to do the same opposite him. “She has a recurring wound. Touch her, and see if you can sense it.”

  Armagon waited until she gave a meager nod before he touched her. His clawed finger barely pressed at her stomach as Morkleb had directed him. Nothing happened.

  “Think of the power as water within you. You can’t force it, but you can direct it.”

  Armagon gave a little frown, sailors and their talk of water. It would be more like his wings shifting over wind currents, keeping him aloft. His fingers warmed and the power dipped into Madger’s flesh. He caught a hint of something wrong in her stomach but didn’t know what it was. His confusion distracted him and the power faded. “Damn.”

  “It takes practice.”

  “What is it?” Armagon asked.

  Madger gave a bitter smile. “An ulcer.”

  “I heal it, and it returns,” Morkleb said with a hint of chastisement. “I think it has to do with her nightmares.” Madger glared at him and he ducked his head, his ears laid out to either side. Armagon didn’t question her about them. “Uh… Anyway. If she allows… That is, if you’re all right with it…”

  Madger took pity on him. “You can practice on me.”

  ***

  Within a few days, Madger got over her sea sickness and Armagon managed to heal her ulcer. He practiced on a few of the sailors, a rope burn, a jammed finger, bruised ribs, slowly getting used to the feel of the power and how to wield it. Pushing beyond healing was proving difficult; he felt like a hatchling trying to learn to fly, floundering without coordination. No matter how Morkleb tried to explain it, even writing out some of the incantations he’d read, Armagon couldn’t grasp how to push the power into a deadly direction.

  “You could make this easier,” Armagon complained, knowing Selien heard his thoughts.

  “I’ve given you access to the power, the same as any god would for a cleric. You have thousands of years of habits to break. You’ve only had your own strength and skill to depend on, and the shadows to hide in.”

  Seal continued her disgruntled vigil of
him and Morkleb. Golas had fallen into his old role of teacher with Madger, both speaking animatedly about magic. Even Camry was working with Kharick on her sword work.

  “Ya have a weak wrist, lass,” Kharick said.

  “I usually use magic,” Camry grumbled. She’d avoided telling anyone on the ship she was a channeler. They’d throw her overboard rather than risk keeping her aboard.

  “Not all problems be solved with magic.”

  Camry pressed her lips into a determined line and lifted her sparring stick. “Again.”

  “Even I used runes, hand gestures, or even spoke spells when I first learned magic,” Golas said. “It helps train the mind to weave the magic. Like muscle memory for a musician learning a new instrument or song.”

  “Trying to remember the gestures or the words is distracting,” Madger said. She tapped her head. “Better to just remember the weaving.”

  “What about conjuring things? If you’re pulling in the magic to make a physical form…”

  “Just pull in the magic. Why mutter about it?”

  Golas scowled at her. “It isn’t muttering. You need to focus the magic.”

  “I focus it with my mind. Words have nothing to do with it.”

  Golas’s frustration with her unstructured ways mounted. “You need formal training.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  ***

  Armagon paced in the dark hold of the ship, away from the crewmen who slept on the open deck trying to catch a breeze in the summer night. In the morning, when the tide was high, the ship would be able to dock at the small harbor of the island with the dormant volcano and portal. He had only the night left to manifest his clerical abilities into an offensive weapon, and he hadn’t been able to make a spark.

  He stopped pacing when a light brightened the stairs to the hold, Madger was hunched over, making her way down them.

  “I’ve been looking for you. Never got an answer about our deal.”