The Demon's Blade

by Steven Drake

  The Master had already raised his black spiked morning star and blocked the blade as easily as if it were a wooden stick swung by an impudent child. The Master looked straight at his traitorous servant through his pale, orange, half demonic eyes, and spoke, "Really, Darien? So it was you sneaking into my secret chamber? I suppose this means Kirin told you the truth before he died." Darien said nothing; there was no meaning in words. It was not over. He still had the sword. He could yet draw upon its dark energies. The Master rose from his iron throne. The three remaining ogres stood in front of the Master. The alarm bells sounded. The sound of running feet and commotion grew into a din. They were all coming for him. All around the hall, soldiers began to swarm in around him.

  "Back!" the Master bellowed, "He is MINE! He has doomed himself already. Let him see how futile his efforts have been first. Let him see that he has no hope of besting me. Then, once his hope and his will is broken, his life is mine to take." At the Master’s command, the three remaining ogres moved aside, leaving Darien to face the Master alone.

  There was no more point in talking. Instead, the desperate young man lunged at the Master. He swung the sword faster and harder than he had ever imagined possible. The power of the dark sword allowed him to far surpass his normal limitations, and with its power in him, he felt he could do anything. He continued the assault for several minutes, launching overhand strikes, lunges, wide slashes, and every attack he could imagine, but they were all blocked as easily as his initial swing. The Master simply stood there, an immovable, impenetrable, unbreakable mountain of malice, too large, too strong, and too fast to be beaten. Darien began to tire. He could feel his chest heaving as he gasped for breath. If force would not bring down the Master, perhaps magic would. The Executioner focused the power of the blade into a dark vortex. He channeled the energy into a shadow void, a churning, crushing, consuming, ball of pure nothingness, and his most powerful technique, amplified further by the energy of the Demon Sword. He hurled the black void of emptiness towards the Master, but the monstrous man raised a hand, producing his own vortex which absorbed and cancelled Darien's. It was no use. Mental and physical exhaustion were overtaking the Executioner, after only a few minutes. The Demon Sword granted him enhanced power, but it was also taxing, an unforeseen difficulty. The Master made no move to attack.

  "See, you impudent traitor?" the Master taunted. "You cannot even touch me. For centuries I have drained the power of that weapon, becoming the god among men you now see before you. It is now nothing but a husk of what it once was. Still, even such little must have made a tiny little mortal such as you feel as though you had the power to move the world itself." The Master laughed, and the gathered onlookers in the hall laughed along with him. "How foolish. Such is the infinite arrogance of man. You have learned nothing. Think of all I have given you. I have made you more than you were before. When you came here you were only an angry, wayward child, cast out by those who hated you for your blood, cursing your birth for no reason but their own prejudice. I have given you a home. I have given you law, order, and a purpose. I have even given you vengeance upon those who once hurt you. Now you betray me, and for what, for a false friend who turned you against me? Such a waste.” The Master turned his back and shook his head, clearly daring his former student to attack, and that student seized the opportunity, throwing all his force into a single lunge towards the gap in the Master’s armor between his breastplate and left shoulder plate. The Master turned quickly, avoided the blow, and struck Darien’s head above his right eye, stopping his assault and driving him back several yards, as though he had swatted a fly. “Once I thought you might be the greatest student I ever had. Now you are nothing but a worthless traitor. Your death will not be quick. You will know the meaning of suffering, and then, when you are utterly broken and defeated, and I become bored with inflicting pain upon you, only then will you die."

  It was over now. Darien had failed, and there was now only one more thing to be done. ‘I will wait for you beyond the doors of death’, the words of his mother echoed in his mind. He thought of his mother’s face, smiling down at him, and prepared himself for the end. He took the blade and put it against his chest. "Ha, so you will choose the coward's path then." The Master sneered. "How disappointing. I had hoped you might be better entertainment." The Master burst again into laughter and continued. "Go on, you change nothing, whether you die by my hand or yours is meaningless. The truth is that your life is mine, as it always has been. Mine to give and mine to take. I have made you, and without me, you are nothing, so finish it then. Take it as the final order you will receive, and the last mercy I shall grant you." The Master grinned wickedly, and waited.

  Darien struggled a moment, on the edge of death by his own hand, but no matter how hard he willed himself, he could not finish the deed. Panic began to take hold of his mind, and he thought to throw himself into one final desperate attack, but in that dark moment, the light of an idea came to him, something he hadn’t thought of for a long time. A simple trick which might fare better than his most powerful spells. He held himself steady, and instead of pushing the blade into his chest, began to pull all the light in the room into the blade. The torches went out. "What now?" the Master chided. "Do you really think the darkness will save you? As one of my students, you should know better." Then, as the darkness filled the room, his mind went back to something he had learned as a child, something that he had forgotten for a long time, but now, at this moment, he remembered. He lifted his hand, remembering the technique his mother had taught him so long ago. He hoped his elven blood would avail him where the sword and its power could not. As he channeled the magic, a dazzling light suddenly filled the room. Darien had shut his eyes tight, but everyone else around the room was utterly unprepared for the assault upon their eyes. To creatures of the darkness, the light was painful, especially when so bright and so close. Many of them cried in pain, and many fell in shock or blindly crashed into one another, but they were all dazed and distracted for a moment, and a moment was all he needed. Darien ran.

  Chapter 3: The Flight

  Confusion and desperation filled Darien’s mind, as he had never planned for an escape. He ran out of the main hall and down the spiral staircase that led to the stables, where his horse, Darkstar, was kept. Already the alarm had gone out and soldiers swarmed about. He pushed past several confused orcs he encountered, who hadn’t yet realized he was a traitor and fugitive. Fortunately, he encountered none of his fellow mages in the stairwell. He had chosen a time for his attack when Shade Castle was all but deserted.

  Darien reached the stables in mere minutes, slew the two orc handlers, and saddled his horse as quickly as he could manage. He urged Darkstar forward and the black stallion thundered out the gates of the stables into the courtyard. Some two hundred yards lay between the Executioner and the main gate. He steered his mount among the smithies, armories, and barracks that were scattered inside the walls. The keep loomed behind him, casting its menacing, many spired shadow onto the courtyard.

  A handful of goblin archers had taken positions atop the high black stone walls, and were firing inward upon him. Against the arrows, he raised a shadow void upon the end of his sword, smaller and less destructive than the earlier one, but one which he could hold steady as he rode. The arrows twisted and snapped as they were drawn to the power of the void. Here and there, dark shapes of orcs began to emerge from the ground, swarming the courtyard from the multitude of hidden tunnels and stairs that led to the massive underground complex beneath Shade Castle. He avoided as many as he could, and rode down the rest.

  Finally, the main gate lay directly ahead, across perhaps fifty yards of open ground. Only an iron portcullis barred the arched passage. Shade Castle had not been built for sieges, for no army had come within a hundred leagues for centuries. A regiment of guards was forming at the gate to block the Executioner’s escape. Perhaps two dozen orcs, two great minotaurs, and the guardian of the gate, Gorlak stood against him. Gorlak
was a chimera, a warped amalgam of beast and man created by placing enchantments directly upon living creatures, one of many grotesque monstrosities the Master had created. Gorlak had the legs and lower body of a massive lion with an apelike torso jutting upwards where a head ought to be, complete with two oversized black and hairy arms. Atop the massive ten-foot-tall creature was a fanged snakelike head. Somewhere inside the terrible beast was the twisted, warped mind of some poor soul who had been unfortunate enough to end up in the Master’s dungeon. The chimera wielded a long staff with a half-moon shaped blade at each end.

  Darien slowed Darkstar's pace, letting go of the reins and balancing upon the horse's back. In his right hand he held out the dark sword. He held his left hand out straight in front of him and razors of ice flew from his fingertips. The hail of frozen arrows tore through the defenders, felling many and wounding more. When he had drawn within a dozen yards, he formed a second shadow void in his left hand. Once he had drawn near enough, he hurled the void from his left hand into the blockade. The remaining orcs were torn into pieces by the power of the magic. The minotaurs were thrown forward onto the ground. One was impaled upon its own spear, and the other was knocked unconscious. Only Gorlak managed to stand his ground. Darien gripped the reins again with his left hand. He rode straight at the chimera, gaining speed. It was slow and witless creature, with a mind just intelligent enough to allow it to be useful. It only knew its task, to hold the gate. The monster raised its staff, preparing to swing, but the Executioner anticipated the strike, and urged Darkstar to even more terrifying speeds as he leaned forward, using the Demon Sword as a lance. Gorlak swung in a wide sweeping arc, right to left, but too slowly. The Demon Sword impaled the beast straight through the chest and the chimera was pushed back suddenly and swiftly into the gate. Gorlak dropped his staff almost instantly, and the staff’s enormous weight fell to the ground before it could complete its sweeping attack. The iron portcullis creaked and bent as the monster’s bulk crashed against it. Then Darien released the shadow void still churning upon the end of his sword. Metal twisted and broke, groaning and crunching as the heavy portcullis crumpled and burst in several places at once, leaving a gaping hole in the middle. Nothing remained of Gorlak. Either the void had consumed it, or the force had rent its body into tiny bits. Darkstar stepped through the hole in the gate, and they were off.

  The escape, however, was just beginning. Escaping the castle was one thing, but outrunning the pursuers who would follow was another. Darien, now a fugitive, headed west, the one direction that made sense, westward toward the river Saldean. That river marked the western border of the Master's domain. The water itself had powerful magics upon it. The waters of the river were fatal to the orcs, ogres, trolls, and other evil minions that made up the bulk of the Master's armies. Powerful magics of wind and water made crossing almost impossible. The wind blew perpetually to the east across the waters, and the waters pushed all boats towards the shore. The magical barrier had stood over eight hundred years against the Master's power, ever since the Order of the Golden Shield had been formed to oppose the Order of the Shade and the Master. Were it not for this barrier, the Master would have ruled all the lands between the Endless Forest in the west and the Sundering Mountains in the east.

  There was only one place where a crossing was possible, Lake Kalena. The water and wind were calm there, and while the enchantments upon the water would not be fatal to human or elf, the crossing would still be difficult. A thick, perpetual fog covered the water, and a spell of confusion, something older and more powerful than the magics of the Golden Shield, lurked within the fog. Boats that sailed into the fog would sail straight on for hours only to emerge in the same spot where they had first entered the fog. Darien planned instead to swim, just beneath the water's surface where hopefully he might avoid the magic of confusion. Somewhere in the fog lay a hidden island. The Master's winged spies had seen dark shapes of ruined buildings and scraggly trees through the fog from above. Darien had never heard of anyone reaching it, yet in the desperation of this flight, there seemed to be no other choice. There was no other way across the river except to go thousands of miles north, or cross the seas in the south, and he would be easily caught long before he could make such a journey. Ordinarily, traveling to the lake took two days, but he would have to cover the distance far more quickly. He would ride his horse until the beast could go no further, and then continue on foot.

  Outside the front gate, Darien met no more resistance. There were no fortifications here, no enemies that would attack from this way. The forest, however, grew wild and thick. The dark woods were gnarled, twisted, overgrown and filled with horrid creatures, the product of centuries under the influence of the Master's foul enchantments. An army of orcs could scarcely serve as a better defense than the forest itself, and this fact was very much to the Executioner's advantage, for aside from those going to and from the castle, the road was mostly deserted. The Black Forest was old and overgrown, made of thick oaks, elms, and thorny locusts, gnarled and twisted by centuries of struggling against each other for every scrap of water and sunlight. The old trees wrapped over the road in most places, allowing little light through to the surface, and coloring the world beneath in putrid shades of brown and green. Vines clung to the trees, grasping and choking the smaller saplings, and reaching even to the canopy. Here and there the vines crept into the road, tendrils of the forest forever searching for sustenance, and devouring all that they found. The morning was still new, but under the tangled trees and clinging vines which hung from them, it was scarcely brighter than a moonlit night.

  Darkstar charged forward along the road. Behind him, Darien heard the sound of hoof beats. He coaxed the horse to the very edge of the road, and slowed his pace. He raised his sword again, waiting and watching. As he passed a gnarled oak tree, he swung the blade, cutting the thick trunk as easily as a blade of grass. The tree fell tumbling and crashing across the road. A handful of caltrops, thrown just beyond where the tree fell, completed the simple, but effective, trap. With luck, the pursuers would jump the tree and injure their horses. Darien then rode on, stopping twice more to set similar traps. After the last, he could distantly hear the sounds of chaotic stamping and whinnying on the road behind him. No doubt his traps had been sprung. Then he thought of one final trick to play. Even exhausted as he was, the Executioner somehow found the will to channel another shadow void. When he came to a narrow point in the road, he turned his horse, and hurled his magic into the dust of the road behind him. The earth shook and groaned and a great pit was opened, several yards wide and perhaps ten feet deep. Two small elm trees on either side of the road were pulled down, falling partly into the pit. He threw out the last of his caltrops, and rode on.

  Darien then pushed Darkstar to full speed again, hoping to gain distance as his pursuers were slowed by his traps. Once he could no longer here any sound of pursuit, he slowed the horse's pace to a trot. He took note of his surroundings. He had already covered several miles, but much more remained. The most difficult part would be the last leg. He would have to leave the road and cut across the forest, but that point was yet far away. Until then, there was nothing to do but ride on, vigilant for pursuers.

  The silence of the forest disturbed his restless mind. The quiet was not unusual, but he had never paid much attention to it. Now, that silence oppressed him, as if the forest itself were waiting for him to lower his guard, waiting for the proper moment to strike. He had ridden this road many times, on missions for the Master, each time with a clear purpose in mind, many times in the command of an army. Now he was a fugitive, fleeing with no certain purpose in mind. He turned every so often, expecting each moment to see one of the Master’s assassins behind him, but each time, there was nothing.

  After several hours, Darien began to feel Darkstar slowing beneath him. The horse had ridden to exhaustion, as its training demanded. If he continued to push the beast, it would certainly die. At another time, he might have pushed the horse a
s far as it would go, urging it to speed onward and sacrifice its own life to preserve its rider. Now, however, he was struck by the animal's plight. Besides that, he had covered half the distance in less than half a day, excellent progress, past the point where the road turned southwards and parallel to the Saldean River. This was as good a point to leave the road as any, and little would be gained by remaining upon it longer. He climbed down off his horse, and looked back down the road as far as his magically enhanced vision would allow. Nothing. "Home," he commanded his horse. Darkstar looked at him strangely, as if confused by the command to return without a rider. Then he repeated the command more sternly, and Darkstar walked slowly back down the road.

  He looked off into the tangled mess of the forest, an almost solid wall of dull brown and green, made up of the variously sized trees, bushes, and vines. He stepped off the road between two large willows, careful to disturb the brush as little as possible, hoping his pursuers would lose time trying to figure out exactly where he turned into the forest. Though he managed to conceal the point where he left the road, progress quickly became difficult only a short way into the forest. The vines proved the worst problem. He tried to avoid having to cut them, but it soon became necessary. Unfortunately, the cut vines and hacked trees left an unmistakable trail for pursuers to follow, but there was no point worrying about it now. There was nothing to do but push forward.