The Titan's Tome

by M. B. Schroeder

  It was dark before Armagon returned, the shadows slipping away from him as he was forced to stop just outside of Golas’s shield. Seal had come back long before the sun had set. Camry gave a surprised cry as the black sarpand came into view and grabbed at Golas’s sleeve. He’d fallen asleep after exhausting himself, calculating how the weaving of the spell worked in the portal.

  Golas woke with a jerk and looked to where she was pointing. “Wind and Sun,” he cursed and let the shield dissipate.

  “We have three hours. Do you know how to open it and close it?” Armagon asked, not bothering to keep his voice lowered.

  “It’s amazingly intricate, but I think I understand it. It will require blood.”

  Armagon nodded. “Mortal blood. Not much, just enough to key it.”

  Golas frowned in distaste but stood and brushed himself off. “I’d hate to meet the devil that made it.”

  Armagon kept himself from fully vocalizing the snarl. “You haven’t been listening.”

  Golas turned to him, surprised at the anger that rose in Armagon’s voice. “What?”

  “DraKar crafted this portal,” Armagon snapped with a sharp wave of his hand at the dark structure. “And we aren’t devils.”

  Golas shook his head. “DraKar had a flicker of potential power. I had offered to train him to use it, but when he refused, I wasn’t worried he would accidentally hurt himself or anyone with his magic, that is how little he could tap. It would be impossible for him to control the amount of magic to make the weaving of that spell.”

  “That little flicker,” Armagon sneered at Golas, “was built to an inferno by the devils in the Hells.”

  “Impossible! A mage’s powers can’t be expanded beyond what he was born with!”

  Armagon restrained himself from striking the arrogant elf. “Tell that to DraKar.” He stalked away, not trusting his control anymore. They needed to get through the portal.

  “I’ve seen DraKar’s aura,” Madger said as they shouldered their packs. “He’s more powerful than me.”

  Golas gave a scowl of disbelief, but it was pointless to press the argument now. He joined the others as they jogged across the hard, empty ground to the portal.

  They stopped next to the closer of the two monstrous pillars, and Armagon turned to them. “I’ll go through first, then the rest of you, Golas last. Once you’re through, close it. I don’t know how many demons might be waiting for us if my contacts haven’t made it to the Fourth plane.”

  Golas frowned at the prospect but nodded. “I need a knife.”

  Armagon made a sound of distaste in the back of his throat. He pulled a small dark blade from a forearm sheath, lifted a scale at his wrist and nicked a vein. He wiped the beading blood on the dark stone. “Begin.”

  “Will that work?” Golas asked.

  Armagon wanted to strike him. “I’m a mortal, from this plane. It will work.” He edged closer to the elf and his lips slid back from his fangs. “Begin.” The word barely more than an expulsion of hot breath with a promise of violence if not followed.

  Golas shuddered away from Armagon, stepped up to the stone, and placed his palm on it, avoiding the sarpand’s blood. He was startled by how cold it was and nearly snatched his hand away. Settling his mind, he pushed his magic into the stone, the feel of the grotesque spell that tied it to the Hells made him want to recoil. Slowly, he managed to force power into each of the runes. Armagon’s blood was drawn into the stone like parched earth taking in rain. Bright red fluid oozed from the stone, filling the engravings. As more runes came alive, the spell within the pillars pulled at Golas’s magic, drawing more from him, faster than he was prepared for. His knees weakened from the drain, but he remained standing, desperately trying to control how much of his magic fed the portal.

  Madger studied his magic, doing her best to commit how it worked to memory. If something happened to him before they reached DraKar and they needed to use another portal, it would come down to her to perform the task. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She’d read enough about the Hells to know if they died on that plane, their souls would be caught there. It was a dangerous step toward the death she sought, like a wobbly stone in a creek crossing.

  Flashes of green sparked across the span on the stones. A roar of wind swirled around it, pulling at their clothes and hair, kicking up dust and pebbles. Golas clenched his jaw, his eyes shut tightly as the last rune flared and the gateway snapped to life, a swirl of green and black contained within the three blocks lit the ring of dead ground. The tree caught the emerald hue and seemed coated in rot as it stretched to the stars above.

  Golas pulled away from the stone. “It’s done.” Most of his power was still intact but the strain from trying to control the portals draw made his legs shake. It hadn’t been like that the last time he’d open a portal. The portal in the southern continent hadn’t needed mortal blood. It hadn’t had the same tainted magic connecting it to the Hells like this one.

  “Now,” Armagon ordered as he drew his sword and stepped through the blazing creation.

  Camry hesitated a moment, fear tightening her throat, but she followed him with a little lunge forward, as though afraid if she took too small a step, she might not make it through. Madger and Kharick followed her example. Seal rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet before giving a strangled cry and jumping through. Morkleb’s ears laid back as his friends disappeared into the portal. A pitiful whine crawled up his throat as he followed on shaky legs.

  Golas looked over what he’d powered, and swallowed. The memories of the horrors he’d seen the last time hammered at him. A small thought of closing the gateway and leaving the island, avoiding the Hells, tickled the back of his mind. But, he couldn’t leave Camry to that fate, and he’d promised to help Armagon. With a resolving breath, he stepped through, dreading what might wait on the other side.

  Golas stumbled and gagged on the air, as though he would suffocate from it. Everyone but Armagon was retching. The stench of demon was worse than Camry had experienced while following Armagon through Log Port.

  Madger covered her mouth, her eyes wide, this was only the third time she’d encountered it, but each time was a firm memory. The first was shortly after she’d chased the thief who’d taken the Titan’s Tome. It wasn’t the thief’s scent though. A group of creatures had passed her during the night and had filled her with so much fear that she’d given up the chase and hurried home. Home to her clan’s dead bodies.

  Morkleb’s eyes watered from the pungent air. He’d never ventured outside during the night while living in Log Port. Most nights, he’d stayed in his room, with wads of cloth in his ears so he could sleep. He clung to Kharick, the dwarf being the least affected of their crew, but even he was looking around nervously with his weapons drawn, coughing in the foul air.

  Seal had her daggers out, her wings spread, but the points of her weapons wavered as her hands shook. She muttered to herself in her native language, trying to look all around them while still keeping an eye on Armagon. It was forbidden for a kadmon to go to the Hells. If her people found out, she’d be executed.

  Armagon kicked a dead demon from the pale hill and jagged steps the portal stood on, giving him more room to fight if needed. Dozens of other bodies were scattered around them. A low moan sounded, vibrating the ground.

  Camry gagged and stepped back, realizing they were standing on something alive. The flesh twitched under her, pallid and slick, but she couldn’t tell what they stood on because it was too large. She realized, with another heave of her stomach, that the strange stairs were the backbone, pressing up against the slimy skin. The ground below them, beyond the thing they stood on, looked alive too, hard packed dirt mixed with pockets of raw flesh, rising and falling like it was breathing. Some of the ground was covered with scales; some with red skin, but all of the areas that were not simple rock and dirt rose and fell with silent breaths.

  “Close it!” Armagon ordered as the beast beneath them groaned a
gain, shifting, as though trying to make them fall.

  Golas turned back to the portal. The veins from the creature twined around the stones, pumping, feeding the spell to keep the gateway open. With a grimace, he reached out with his magic to manipulate the spell, like turning tumblers in a lock, ending the flow of blood to each of the runes mirrored on this side of the portal. He choked on the air, trying to focus on the spell tainted by the Hells.

  A black, viscous slime climbed the side of the portal demon, a sharp contrast to the sickly white skin. Camry backpedaled to Armagon, choking on a warning that wouldn’t leave her throat, on the verge of striking with her power. The dark liquid formed into a pillar, but before they could react or see what it was becoming, another voice drew their attention.

  “Lord Armagon.” The group spun to face a woman, weapons ready. A pale elf with blonde hair stood in front of Armagon, her green eyes shifted to the people behind the sarpand. “We should leave.”

  “You brought new friends. They are friends, yes?” A new voice, with an odd resonance, came from behind them.

  Camry staggered as she turned back to where the fluid had been. A skeletal black man now stood, grinning at her. Even his teeth were made from the black substance.

  “It’s closed.” Golas leaned forward with a shudder, bracing himself with his hands on his knees. Touching the foul enchantment with his magic made his stomach twist and heave.

  “Khain,” Armagon said as an introduction, gesturing to the black figure. “Sahra,” he motioned to the elf with the myriad of weapons strapped to her clothing. He gave quick introductions of the group to the two. Without further comment, he descended from their perch.

  Khain winked at Seal as she frowned at him.

  “He doesn’t have an aura,” Morkleb squeaked.

  “I don’t have a soul, kid,” Khain answered.

  “He’s a creation. Something we salvaged from Arkhed’s labs,” Armagon said.

  “Salvaged,” Khain scoffed. “I came to you.”

  They descended the boney stairs, and had to make a small leap off the last nub of flesh from the portal creature. It was nothing more than a torso, the flesh tapered to an end at the waist, almost slug-like. There was no head or neck, and the arms were thin with hardly any muscle visible under the slack skin. As it reached forward and dragged itself across the ground, it uttered an odd groaning sound and began to reach forward again.

  “I need to rest,” Golas wheezed, still unable to draw a full breath of the wretched air. He wasn’t sure if emptying his stomach would help.

  “No time,” Sahra said. “The ruling devil will know you opened the portal to his realm.”

  As if in answer, a blast of black smoke rose in the distance, forcefully shooting into the pale orange sky. A sense of fury carried with it and rolled across the barren landscape. The flesh infested ground strained upward to meet the virtually palpable emotion.

  Morkleb nearly dropped to his knees.

  “Help him,” Armagon said and lead them away from the path left by the demon carrying the portal.

  Camry’s feet were dragging when they reached a cave. She hesitated to walk into the cavern of pulsing flesh. When everyone else had disappeared into the shadows within it, she gathered up her remaining courage and followed them.

  Inside, there was a pile of supplies, food, drink, bedding, and Golas collapsed onto some bedding, his eyes fluttering closed. Seal and Morkleb sat shoulder to shoulder, the young cleric rocked back and forth and she wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Kharick sat and took several long pulls from his flask, his beard twitching as his jaw worked between each drink. Camry gratefully slumped onto a bedroll that had been laid out. Madger shoved her bedding further away from everyone and laid down with her back to them.

  “You have the dagger?” Armagon asked.

  Sahra handed the dagger to Armagon. The red crystal of the blade distinguished it as the one she and Golas had sworn their oaths on, and the one Armagon had plunged into the priest’s shoulder before throwing him through the portal to the Third plane.

  Armagon examined the remaining blood on it. “I burned off everything else, only the steward’s blood remains. I need a messenger, preferably a well-known one from the Seventh plane. This dagger needs to be presented to my father, with a message from the king of the Hells for him to come to the Seventh plane, to discuss his sons.”

  ***

  Aerdoan clenched his fists; the NecroKwar was beyond his sight. He shouldn’t have allowed it to be taken through the portal. Trusting that Death knew what She was doing was the only thing that had stopped him. The sword had severed the devil-son’s soul from the Hells, but he still went back there. If the blade was lost, the Fallen might be able to reach it, or one of the archdevils. If the Dark One could give it to His Champion, Aerdoan wasn’t sure if anyone would be able to stand up against that power.

  How could Death trust the devil-son to carry it into the pit?

  He would have to keep a closer watch over the Alisande. Now that Death had chosen her Champion, Life would follow suit. The Dark One would begin to stir. The chains in Aerdoan’s ears jingled softly as his ears shifted. The Fallen had forced all of them to move faster, by pulling the NecroKwar from its haven.

  If the NecroKwar were given over to one of the archdevils or the Fallen, Aerdoan would have to retrieve it. The Balance had to be maintained. He wouldn’t let his people’s sacrifice be in vain.

  ***

  When the group woke, Khain and Sahra were gone. “They’re getting my father away from the Third plane and distracting the archdevil of this plane. We don’t have much time to get to the river. They’ll meet us there.”

  “River?” Madger grumbled.

  “It connects all the planes of the Hells,” Armagon answered. “If Charon’s boat sinks, we’ll have larger problems than drowning.”

  As they walked to the river Morkleb continued his work with Armagon. “So you were angry when the power manifested?”

  “It isn’t uncommon for mages to experience something similar,” Golas said and gave a pointed look to Madger. “Especially untrained ones.” He sniffed, finally used to the air in the Hells, and lifted his chin. “That’s why we have to have disciplined minds. Elves and humans are the best adapted to that.”

  Camry glanced nervously at their company. “Perhaps now isn’t the time for one of your ‘elves are superior’ speeches.”

  Armagon ignored Golas’s comments, he hadn’t changed. “I’ll be more careful now.”

  “Not too careful,” Morkleb said. “Thesda teaches that we cannot reach our goals if we do not stretch ourselves.”

  Armagon tilted his head with a grin tugging at his lips. “A lot of gods say that. They’ll claim having a hand or that their teachings are part of the reason you reached a goal. Often they never take a direct hand in anything beyond what their clerics do, but it’s a good way to keep their faithful in line.”

  Morkleb’s ears swiveled and laid back. “Thesda helps.”

  Armagon’s grin spread fully, but he let Morkleb have the last word.

  The River Styx came into view on the horizon. Seal shifted her wings, wishing to fly, wishing she wasn’t in the Hells at all. She caught sight of winged specs in the swirling dark clouds, silhouetted when green lightning flashed. “Demons.”

  Armagon took a moment to study them. “Pit fiends. More than I want to fight. Must have gotten past the assassins Khain sent.”

  “Assassins?” Camry asked.

  “There are some souls who haven’t fully become demons and aren’t in the thrall of the archdevils. To retain some of their freewill, they come to me and DraKar. Similar to Sahra.”

  “You have the sword, do something,” Golas demanded, though his voice shook.

  Armagon looked to Seal. “Get them to the river. I’ll slow the fiends down.”

  Seal snatched up Morkleb’s hand and dragged him at a full run. For a moment he protested leaving Armagon behind, something about they were
supposed to help him, but it was lost to the roars and screeches of the demons barreling down toward them. Golas grabbed Camry and Kharick dashed after them.

  Madger took a step to stand beside Armagon. “Seems a waste to have mages with you and not employ them.”

  Armagon gave her a sidelong look and drew the NecroKwar.

  Six demons raced toward them, big, armored beasts that would have dwarfed DraKar. They carried black hell-forged spears and swords, these were special guards. Armagon’s tail snaked back and forth; they’d been outfitted especially for him.

  The instinctual fear clawing at Madger since entering the Hells, at all of them but Armagon, bit hard. For a moment, all thought of magic fled, and she was nothing more than a scared rabbit caught in the open.

  “Don’t use fire. It heals them.”

  Armagon’s voice broke through her terror and she swallowed. “No fire.” She flexed her fingers. “I don’t know many spells, but I can get them on the ground for you.”

  “Not gently,” he suggested.

  Madger quirked a grin. “Not gently.” She wove the shield spell around the approaching demons, confusing them as the protective spell completed around them. Their rabid cries of the hunt turned to screeches as they smashed into the barrier and flopped inside the orb of magic. She gave a jerk and the spell careened toward the ground. Before it impacted, she dispersed the magic, leaving nothing between the falling demons and the ground. The fleshy ground erupted in pus, blood, and clods of dirt as the demons crashed into it.

  Armagon spread his wings. “Catch up with the others. This won’t take long.”

  This time, she did as he said.

  He flew the short distance to the fallen demons, rolling in the broken pustule of the ground. Snapped bones and shredded wings were covered in the rotting fluids that pulsed beneath the surface of the Fourth plane. Two tried to crawl away, those he cut quickly, letting the NecroKwar kill them with a knick. The last four were barely conscious and he took his time, trying to summon up some of the clerical power that had sunk the High Moon. There was a spark and they smoldered, howling, but it wasn’t enough to destroy them. It seemed little more than a snap of static shock and the effort left a blazing pain behind Armagon’s eyes and dazed him. If the demons had been able to fight back he might have fallen to them. He killed the four with the sword and flew after the group.