He’d watched through his scrying pool as the wraith had handed over the NecroKwar to the black devil-son. The blade would have killed the devil-son if Death hadn’t wanted him to have it. Still, it disturbed him such a powerful relic would be turned over to one who’d been so corrupted by the Hells. Death had severed his binding to the Hells, but She couldn’t erase what thousands of years in them had done to her Champion.
Aerdoan stood; his massive thirteen-foot height was robed in black, names of gods and goddesses were stitched in the robes with black silk, the thread catching and reflecting the light his robes shunned. His dark wings draped over his shoulders like a cape. His bat-like ears twitched, the silver chains looped in them chimed softly; one chain for his dead mate and one for his extinct people. Reminders of when the swords of Death and Life had been created. So much was sacrificed for those two blades.
Aerdoan paced across the cold stone floor of his home. The room was dimly illuminated with his power. A power he drew from the gods that feared him. Gods that knew he could traverse the planes with a thought, and served him because of it. All the clerical powers of the deities were at his call and yet he hesitated in his self-appointed duty to protect the Balance.
Aerdoan went into the circular, white marble room where his scrying pool was, and watched, curious why Death would choose the dark devil-son.
Chapter 24
317 Br. summer
“The worshippers of Thesda are renowned for their healing arts. The acolytes and priests are taught to stitch, set bones, and make poultices. Many townships and larger cities seek to have at least one of their order take up residence within their boundaries. Often those who are healed, and those close to the healed, take up the worship of Thesda.”
-A Study of the Major Religions
“E very summer?” Seal asked.
Morkleb grinned widely with his canine snout. “Every summer.”
The scent of the ocean and the sound of the rocking ships at the docks were a reminder of Madger’s enslavement, but she didn’t begrudge Morkleb coming to Log Port to meet his family. Kharick had opted to remain at the inn, enjoying his ale and keeping an ear out for possible jobs. Though, they wouldn’t need one until Morkleb had met with his family.
“They all look the same,” Madger said.
Morkleb’s ears twisted back in offense. “None of these ships look like Nightbane! That’s a sloop, and there’s a brig, and look, a big frigate,” he said, pointing to each.
Madger shook her head, they were all big wooden ships with big masts, creaking and bumping against the docks; the large sails rolled tight behind a web of ropes.
“Maybe I can find you a galleon so you know what she looks like,” Morkleb said and walked further down the long line of docks.
Madger waved off a fly from her sweaty face but followed.
They’d only been in Log Port for the day and Morkleb hadn’t even stopped at the temple yet. They opted to go back to the inn before the evening rush of workers heading home.
“We can stay in Log Port for a few weeks,” Seal said. “We have enough money and taking a break from the road will be good for all of us.”
Madger harrumphed at the mention of staying in a city for more than a week.
“We can check the docks again in the morning,” Morkleb said in agreement. “I’d like to take all of you to the temple to meet the Master Cleric who trained me.”
Madger rubbed at the bridge of her nose.
Seal laughed. “We aren’t going to convert.”
Morkleb’s ears pricked toward her. “No, no. I don’t mean it like that. I just wanted to introduce Master Len to all of you.”
Seal settled to mild chuckles. “All right, you can drag us all over the city tomorrow.”
Madger bit her tongue.
***
Golas knew of a clear place to teleport to that would get them closer to Log Port. Otherwise, it would have taken a little less than a year to cross the continent, from the western free-state Fenex to eastern Brenack. Summer had settled into the ocean-side city with a stout mugginess.
Armagon, Camry, and Golas mingled into the traffic crowding Log Port’s streets, although most gave the black sarpand a wide berth. He led the two elves to an inn on the southern side of the city, The Speckled Dog, and they rented two rooms. Armagon declined to rent one, saying he wouldn’t need it since he would be outside during the night. After unloading the donkey, Golas took her to a livery stable and returned for a meal with his companions.
Golas found the pair in a shaded corner of the inn, their seats arranged so that both of their backs were to a wall. He was used to the paranoid arrangement from Camry. Her mixed heritage could draw anger from people, and Golas could only guess Armagon had experienced much of the same. He ordered a strong drink, determined to pass the night in a drunken stupor. If he were lucky, he wouldn’t remember anything until the morning, after Armagon sent his message.
“Really, you don’t seem to have changed much,” Golas muttered. “You’re going to get yourself killed trying to get to that portal.”
Armagon was caught amongst emotions, amusement at Golas’s naiveté, derision at his insult, and annoyed the elf caused the tumble of confused feelings. He opted to simply take a long drink before answering.
“After you had regressed me to an egg,” he began, the accusation heavy in his voice. “I was raised among demons. I know how to fight them.”
Golas frowned as he looked across the table at the sarpand. “You may have some sort of magic sword, but don’t think I will follow you out there. If we’re lucky, you’ll realize this trip is foolhardy and we can all go home.”
Camry heard the growl building in Armagon’s chest. She could feel the vibration from it, not only through the air and the table, but in her bones. “Why not just use this portal? Go through this one?”
Armagon focused his yellow eyes on her. “Log Port is a city under siege every night. It is an open door to the Hells. I won’t risk your lives with the crowd of demons that try to come through every night. On the Hell’s side of the portal, we would be caught in a fort filled with hundreds of them. Mammon—”
Golas cursed at the sarpand, “Are you mad? Using his name?”
Armagon gave Golas a mocking look. “He has no power to detect the use of his name on this plane.”
Golas settled back, but still cringed as Armagon continued.
“Mammon built it when he got tired of DraKar and me using it as an easy way to escape his realm.” Armagon pulled off a strip of meat from the leg of lamb in front of him. “A less active portal will be better.”
Camry frowned, not only because they would have to travel further for another portal, but also because of the way Armagon ripped at the meat.
Golas groaned. “Where will that be?”
“The Icren Isles, Hullala, I think they call them now. On the southern island, there is a portal to the Fourth plane.”
“Why is that portal less active?” Camry asked.
Armagon picked at a sliver of meat stuck between his sharp teeth. “Because it doesn’t open every night. And the icren have cordoned off the island. Whatever demons come through, they try to kill before they can leave the island. The icren’s natural immunity to magic gives them a more even fighting field, however meager.”
Golas picked at his food, the talk of the portals was ruining his appetite. “Will the icren let us pass?”
“I hope to not to ask them,” Armagon answered and dropped another strip of meat into his maw.
***
By the time the setting sun had painted the sky a ruddy red, Golas was nearing unconsciousness, and the tavern of The Speckled Dog was filled with patrons. A minstrel idly sang near the hearth about the coming dark, and burly dock workers eyed the half-darkling and sarpand in the corner.
A woman’s scream shattered the drone of conversation, descending the customers into silence. Most turned to look out the curtained windows, where a woman was being dragge
d out by a man wielding a knife.
“Come demons!” The muffled voice of the man crept into the inn, invading the quivering silence. “Have a virgin’s blood.”
“Idiot,” Armagon growled and stood.
Camry followed him, curious what he planned to do. She glanced back at Golas, but he remained slumped on the table.
The crowd of people parted for the armored sarpand, but when he reached the door, the barman shouted at them. “Hey! I’m locking it!”
“I suggest you do,” Armagon snapped back and left.
Camry hesitated only a moment before following him into the night.
“You shouldn’t be out here, child.”
Camry gave his winged back a cross look. “And you should?”
Armagon paused and looked back at her. “I know what I’m fighting.” He turned back to the woman struggling to free herself from the man’s grip. Her brown hair was pulled taut as the man waved the knife in the air. “Virgin blood means nothing,” he explained as he continued his advance on the man. “It’s innocent blood that sates a demon’s thirst.”
The man caught sight of Armagon advancing, his eyes wide with fright, and possibly drink or a hallucinogenic drug. “I give you her blood!” His hand rose, the knife glinted in the light from the windows of the inn.
Armagon cursed and reached for a throwing knife. He wouldn’t be able to cross the distance to the man before the woman’s throat was cut. A flare of yellow energy streaked over his left shoulder and made him dodge to the right, as he spun to the new danger. His eyes focused on Camry, and he stopped the motion of throwing the knife he had pulled before releasing it toward her.
“Hells!” he cursed and eased up from his fighting stance.
Camry’s eyes regained their mundane appearance, the yellow glow fading much like the sun setting. “You weren’t going to reach them in time.”
Armagon gave her one last baleful look, and turned back to the man and woman. The woman was sobbing and tried to scoot away from Armagon as he advanced. Her dress was getting caught under her feet as she tried to slide backward on her rear, across the cobblestones. Her face was streaked with tears, and her eyes silently pleaded for mercy as she couldn’t bring herself to speak.
Armagon ignored the woman and looked past her to the man rolling on the ground, clutching his chest. Camry’s blunt use of magic had knocked him down and away from the woman. He gasped and groaned in his agony; eyes squeezed shut as he sought relief from the wide burn. Armagon reached down and ripped off the remains of the man’s shirt, pieces of charred flesh pulled free with it, and the man howled. Camry hadn’t channeled enough raw magic at him to do more damage.
“He might live,” Armagon muttered. He grabbed the man by the arm and dragged him to the door of the inn. “Bring him in if you want!”
Camry was kneeling next to the woman, trying to comfort her as the sound of demons echoed down the streets. “Come with me.”
The woman stood on wobbly legs and clung to Camry as the half-darkling led her past Armagon and to the door of the inn where the man was being dragged inside.
“There’s still time for you to go with them,” Armagon said with a mild gesture toward the inn.
Camry gave him a defiant look. “I swore an oath to help you.”
Armagon bowed his head in an acquiescent nod, noting how much she looked like Selien when challenged. He turned from her to face the screeching howls and roars rumbling down the street and pulled out his hell-forged sword and the NecroKwar.
“Stay out of the range of my swords.”
“Understood,” Camry said as she followed the sarpand down the street.
Camry followed him as he began turning down narrower streets, slipping through alleys just wide enough for her to stretch her arms out, and finally, he paused as the thundering drum of demons’ feet came closer. She had never smelled something so vile before, as though evil had suffused the air and wanted to attack her with it. The scent made her eyes water, and she had to cover her nose and mouth with her sleeve.
Fear of what was coming down the crossroad assaulted her, and a choked sound clawed its way past her lips while the smell riled against her. She couldn’t stop her body’s instinctual reaction, her muscles quivered, eager to flee.
Armagon cast a warning glance over his shoulder, wanting her to be silent, but his gaze softened when he saw her anxiety. Camry’s eyes were wide, her dusky skin was pale under the meager moonlight, and sweat beaded on her brow. It was rare for him to work with anyone who wasn’t used to a demon’s aura.
He edged back from the street, sheathing the NecroKwar as he stepped back into the narrow alley where Camry stood trembling. Silently, he pulled her against him and wrapped his wings around her, bathing them both in shadows.
Camry startled as complete darkness enveloped her; this was a deeper blackness than simply being drawn awkwardly into the sarpand’s embrace. She couldn’t see her feet, or even the hand she had been covering her mouth with, the blackness seemed palpable. The scent of him, leather and weapon oil, and a hint of something dark, like a fall night, beat back the aroma of the demons.
“Shh,” Armagon whispered to her. “We’ll let this group pass.”
Before she could respond, the thunder of the demons’ footfalls cascaded over them. She trembled violently, on the verge of trying to escape, but Armagon’s hold kept her in place. She bit her finger to keep the fear-laced whimper from sounding past her lips.
Slowly the rumble of the footsteps faded and Armagon’s wings pulled back. The shadows released her, letting in the moonlight. He kept ahold of her arms and forced her to look up at him.
“I can’t waste time taking you back to the inn.” His tone low but urgent. “You have to control yourself.”
Camry nodded, not trusting her voice yet. She hadn’t imagined the demons would have such an effect on her; she had been in fights before, killed men, but none of it prepared her for what had just crossed their path. She took a deep breath, grateful the smell of the demons was fading.
“Is there a trick to it? To not be scared of them?” she asked. At least her voice didn’t shake.
“Each person is different.”
“What helps you?”
“I know I can kill them.”
Camry nodded and flexed her fingers; if a sword could kill demons, then so could she.
Armagon studied her for a moment, and seeing the new determined look in her eyes, turned away. He drew Death’s blade again and hurried into the empty street. Beyond their corner of the city, the gurgling roars of demons were spouting all around them.
Camry followed him, her body no longer shaking, but she couldn’t be sure if she would continue to have that control when they crossed the next group of creatures.
A series of screeches overhead made Armagon dash for the cover of a shop’s green awnings. If he’d been alone, he could have drawn the shadows around himself, escaped notice, and continued toward the portal, but it was impossible to shade Camry too while moving. She swiftly joined him under the awning, her breath coming in quick little gasps as the cries sounded again.
“How do the city walls contain them?” she whispered. The more knowledge she had, the better she would feel.
“The same protection that saves the buildings and a closed door or window offers, keeps the flyers from leaving the city’s borders,” Armagon explained. He tried looking past the awnings edge, but jerked back as a glob of slimy, fetid material dropped inches from it.
Camry stared in horror at what looked like entrails and darkened blood, steamed on the street. The cobblestones hissed beneath it and the horrid stench of demon assaulted her again.
“They’ve seen us,” Armagon grumbled, “and are calling the others to join them.” He looked at Camry, considering the options of staying with her and try to make it to the portal without further detection, or if she would be safe alone while he flew up to deal with the demons above them. Flying to the portal wasn’t an option he would
consider. Even hiding himself, there was a chance he would be found by the flying demons. If discovered in the open air, there would be nothing he could do to hide from bolts, arrows, or magic fired up at him.
Camry’s eyes flared yellow with her power. “I can deal with them.”
Armagon let a grin expose his fangs, the ivory a stark contrast against his ebony scales. “I’ll get their attention,” he said, hesitating. “Try not to hit me.”
“I’m precise,” Camry assured him.
Armagon turned from her, leaped out from the awning, and took to the sky. Two more globs were spat from the demons flying above, but only hit the cobblestones. He spiraled into the air, rushing to gain altitude to meet the three above him. Normally he could kill them, but if it meant Camry broke through the instinctual fear of the demons by dealing with them herself, he would play at being the distraction for a short time.
The imps were small fliers, their bodies skeletal, with smooth, dark skin on their faces. Tiny dark eyes and a mouth rimmed with rows of teeth, were their only features. They had no power of coherent speech, but they shrieked again and flew in haphazard circles when they saw Armagon in the sky. He flew higher, wanting more distance between him and the ground, in case other demons answered the call of the imps and tried to reach him with missile weapons.
Camry crept from the awning, keeping the building against her back, and saw the three circling madly above her. She lifted her hands and let the magic pour from them, the yellow light from her eyes flared brightly, and the three imps were enveloped in the powerful stream. She wanted to make sure they were killed, unlike the man, and poured more of the raw magic she could channel into the blast. It only took an instant for the blast to shred the demons’ bodies, and the charred remains fell heavily to the ground. Like the spit that had hit the street before, the vestiges sizzled and hissed as they slowly disappeared.
Armagon landed next to her. “Good.”
Camry followed him down the wide street, feeling more confident. Their path brought them to one of the wider streets that cut near the center of the city. She stumbled to a stop and gasped at the crowd of demons spilling from the broken walls of a church.
The Titan's Tome (The Mortal Balance Book 1) Page 26