Heirs of the Demon King: Uprising

by Sarah Cawkwell

  He can still feel an unwelcome presence nearby, riding close to his own. He tries to shake free, but the grip is like a vice. Resigning himself to it, and to the problem it will very shortly pose, Mathias lets the spell embrace him and carry him onwards.

  ‘STEP INTO THE circle.’

  King Richard shook off the creeping horror of the whispers in his thoughts and smiled in what he sincerely hoped was an encouraging and winning manner at his son. ‘Don’t be afraid. You need to feel the taint of magic’s power so that you may fully understand why we must do... what we must do.’

  ‘Father, I...’ Prince Richard’s handsome young face was a knot of conflicting emotions. The last sliver of daylight marked the skies above the ancient ritual site. In a few short minutes, the moment would be nigh. Sunset on the shortest day. An hour and moment ordained by a man long dead.

  With a fierce, sudden passion, Richard Plantagenet loathed his ancestor. Had the snivelling coward given any real thought to what he was doing when he had succumbed to Melusine’s wiles all those years before? Had he even cared that one hundred and more years later, a father was being forced to part with a much-loved son for the sake of the throne of a country that they might no longer control? Richard doubted it very much. Richard the Third’s only interest had been in glory. He had been victorious at Bosworth. The Plantagenets had won the throne, but they had bartered away their freedom. He could waste no further time. He took the prince by the arm and pushed him forward until his feet were inside the circle.

  The last of the light fell beneath the horizon. The stones around the circle, the vast and silent monoliths that had been there since the land was young, gave off that same faint amber glow, but this time, there was something else. At the far end of the henge, opposite the confused Prince Richard, a figure shimmered into being.

  There came a low thrumming sound, an insistent buzz, as though the night had suddenly filled with noisy insects. The King put a hand to the closest stone and this time it was warm to the touch. It vibrated with powerful, ancient magic that would not be denied. He felt his heart begin to pound; heard its incessant beat in his ears, a counterpoint to the pulse of magic that throbbed deep in the earth beneath his feet.

  The hazy, indistinct figure began to take on a frighteningly familiar shape. Unquestionably female, it took three sure strides toward the prince. Prince Richard, his eyes locked on the shape, took three decidedly faltering steps of his own. His eyes took on a faraway look as a will much greater than his own seized hold of him.

  There was a crack in the song of the stones, a discordant note like tearing fabric. The air within the circle shivered in anticipation and King Richard’s heart stopped for a moment or two. When it began again, it pounded in a staccato rhythm of fear and hope.

  Not now .

  His thoughts were wild. Perhaps the demon had been wrong? Perhaps his son was not the one she had been waiting for? He stared in abject disbelief as reality bent in the most peculiar way within the circle, and six figures were disgorged to join the ethereal form of Melusine and the mesmerised prince.

  THE FALLING STOPPED as abruptly as it had started, and Mathias staggered forwards, dropping to his knees as his feet hit solid ground. The hand clutching the back of his neck released him as Charles Weaver, the Lord Inquisitor, also tumbled to the ground. His four friends, Mathias could see as he raised his head, scrambling to his feet, had not fallen. They landed lightly, with dark, ominous expressions.

  The contrast between the heat of the desert and the winter chill of England made Mathias gasp, and he sucked in a deep breath, grateful for the cool, sharp air of his homeland. He tried to orientate himself, muddled by the effects of the spell. The towering slabs of Stonehenge were completely unmistakable and it was dusk. The sun had not long gone down and the sky was a deep, rich blue, speckled with the first suggestion of stars. But darkness would come soon; literally, from what he had come to understand.

  The figure of Melusine took on a more solid form as she continued to walk towards the now utterly captivated Prince Richard, but now her way was blocked by the new arrivals. The ragged form of the Lord Inquisitor staggered to his feet and went for one of his guns, still intent on bringing justice to the magi. Without thinking, Mathias threw himself bodily at the man.

  The Royal Guard looked uncertainly from the scene unfolding within the henge to the King, who was backing away toward the hulking sides of the Lionheart. Richard had no idea what was happening, but the serpentine hiss that issued from the circle as Melusine was denied her prize filled him with dread. The circle was a door, but she was empowered by blood; and right now, there was none to be had.

  Mathias swatted Weaver’s hand away from the gun at his belt, but the Lord Inquisitor was quicker by far. His other hand smoothly plucked a knife from beneath his cloak. The blade licked out and Mathias twisted away, but not before the razor edge nicked him. It slashed through the fabric of his shirt, piercing the skin beneath, and spattered crimson drops across the dry floor of the henge.

  Richard cringed and fled back to the cannonade. The blood soaked into the ground and, feeding from the gift, Melusine took solid form.

  The world held its breath.

  MATHIAS’S FOCUS WAS very much on dealing with the wild attacks of the Inquisitor. Until recently, he had never even seen an Inquisitor; now, it seemed, he could not be rid of them. Even masked and with his attire tattered and worn he still recognised the man from the lake. It was the same man who had killed Wyn, and of the same Order who had put his father to death. He jumped back as the masked Inquisitor slashed for him again, the blade passing within an inch of his face. He wondered, wildly, why it was that none of his companions was helping him. From the corner of his eye he could see the four of them standing very close together, heads bowed so that they were all but touching each other and a fey light building around them. Tagan did not even seem to notice his struggle.

  It was like walking through a nightmare. The distraction nearly killed him. The Inquisitor lunged and it was only Giraldo’s lessons that saved him. Mathias twisted and the dagger slid past his chest, opening another wound. He grabbed the bigger man’s arm before he could withdraw and hauled with every ounce of strength he could muster. Weaver let go of the knife, which tumbled to the ground. The Inquisitor rolled smoothly and came up with another short blade between his fingers, which he flipped at Mathias with a flick of his wrist.

  Mathias threw up his hands, willing the blade away, and the expected pain of the weapon never came. The throwing knife bounced harmlessly from the craggy stone that suddenly sheathed his arms. Mathias stared in wonder at the sudden manifestation of his magic and turned to confront the Inquisitor once again. The brute was already moving, sword in hand, and Mathias once again had to defend himself, fending off a flurry of blows with his stony arms. On the third strike he was able to turn and deliver a clumsy punch directly into the man’s masked face.

  The Inquisitor rocked back under the blow and staggered. Mathias was shocked by his own success and failed to follow up on his assault. The masked man cast his gaze around the circle and it fell upon the Royal Guard, who were caught between the desire to flee and their duty to their King.

  ‘Open fire!’ Weaver roared. ‘Kill them all!’

  Obedience was immediate.

  The air filled with the bark of gunfire and the gathering gloom

  lit up with muzzle flashes. The shots passed around the magi and seemed not to touch the demon at all. The air around her was filled with a shimmering haze, as if it were repulsed by her presence. She could no longer reach the prince, but she beckoned to him, and he staggered toward her once again. A stray shot from one of the Royal Guard clipped the young man’s thigh, but he did not notice.

  Weaver snarled in rage and snatched one of the remaining phials he wore at his waist. He flung it between the prince and the demon with a bellow of fury. A gout of alchemical fire halted the prince in his tracks, the demon obviously unwilling to risk her prize, and Me
lusine hissed again before she retreated from the flames. Evidently, the alchemical fire was a threat to her.

  The air was still filled with gunshots and the bright flash of weapons discharge, but they paled into insignificance beside the roar of the Lionheart as one of her fore cannons spat flame. Fire belched in a spreading cloud toward the demon and the magi. Mathias felt the tremendous wash of heat roll over him, singeing the hairs on the back of his arm. He ducked and rolled just as Tagan turned from the group. With a simple wave she turned the flames aside and the cannon guttered and died.

  Mathias looked to the woman he loved and did not recognise her. A corona of yellow and orange light was boiling off her and her eyes had become smouldering pits, bright with power.

  There was a clank from the Lionheart as a different cannon was engaged and a deafening boom thundered from its maw. The cannonball sped across the circle directly at the demon. Melusine snapped her fingers with apparent disdain and the projectile shattered into shards of spinning iron. She finally turned her attention from the prince, whirling to face the Lionheart. King Richard’s pale face was just barely visible through the aperture that looked out from the vehicle’s prow.

  ‘You dare defy me now, worm?’ The liquid allure of her voice was gone, replaced with an awful, echoing roar. The Royal Guard stopped shooting and screamed, some of them turning their guns on themselves. With a screeching noise of buckling metal, the cannon that had just fired on her crumpled in on itself.

  The true voice of the demon scrabbled at Mathias’s mind and he felt blood drip from his nose, but something warded him from its full horror, allowing him to stagger drunkenly to his feet. He turned in time to see the Inquisitor’s gun coming up, and for a second he imagined this must have been what it was like for Wyn.

  Time stood still.

  ‘You must release us,’ four very different voices said in unison. The sudden silence was shockingly loud. Mathias looked into the fatal darkness of the Inquisitor’s pistol, but nothing happened. ‘There is no time left,’ the voices said again. ‘You must release us, Mathias Eynon.’

  Mathias turned away from the Inquisitor to see Tagan and the magi looking at him. They were all haloed with light, their eyes burning with barely contained power. Eyja took a single step forward. Her white gown billowed in a nonexistent breeze, and Mathias felt cool air wash over him. A tumble of thoughts and sensations rushed through him; the sirocco that races across the desert, the gale that drives the snow around high peaks, the fury of the storm at sea. It was like standing in a silent hurricane.

  ‘I am Nimbus,’ Eyja declared, in a voice most decidedly not her own. Snow gusted from her mouth and lightning crackled at her fingertips. ‘And this magic will not last long. You must unbind us, so that we may drive out the evil that threatens the world.’ ‘I don’t understand.’ Mathias stared at the magi. ‘You... you are all like her, aren’t you?’

  Giraldo came forward, though he did not step, but glided. The smell of brine and the crash of waves rolled from him and water bubbled up from the earth beneath his feet. ‘I am Lunus. And you are right, Mathias, but we are also nothing like her.’ A translucent finger jabbed towards Melusine. ‘Have you ever thought us evil?’ Mathias shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the perfect visage of the demon twitch in fury. Whatever enchantment Eyja had woven, the creature was fighting it. ‘No,’ he said, and he did not feel any malevolence in the entities before him, simply a wild energy struggling to be free. ‘But... why didn’t you tell me?’ Warin approached and his tread was like boulders falling from a mountain. He reeked of rock dust, and when he spoke it was like the grinding of millstones. ‘Would you have listened to a demon, boy?’

  There was still something of the Shapeshifter in that voice, but it was hard to make out. ‘I am Dolus. While we are very different in nature, we are kin to the creature you call Melusine.’

  Mathias didn’t want to accept what that meant. He didn’t want to see the fourth figure that approached and all that it meant to him. His very existence was in pieces, and all he knew was gone. Despite his agony, both physical and mental, he turned to Tagan. She was looking back at him, but not with the eyes that he knew and loved. She looked at him through the smoking orbs of something otherworldly. Heat poured from her flesh and blackened the ground beneath her feet. The ethereal magic did not touch Mathias. ‘I am Ignus,’ she said. ‘The living flame. Tagan has become my vessel. I am sorry, Mathias Eynon. I am sorry there was not more time to prepare you for this.’

  Mathias shook his head, tears forming in his eyes. ‘Why her?’ he croaked weakly. ‘Why would you take her from me?’

  ‘There is no time,’ Lunus said urgently. Melusine twitched again, and her form shivered unnaturally.

  ‘I have not taken her. That is not what we are, or what we do.

  Tagan understood the nature of what we must do and she gave her body to me, but only you can unbind us to fight the evil of the sixth.’

  ‘The sixth?’

  Sound began to intrude on the silence once again. The echoes of screams as the Royal Guard lost their minds. The groan of metal from the Lionheart. The crack of a gunshot.

  ‘The creature you call Melusine is only sixth among eight great powers that seek dominion. But we cannot explain now. You must release us, quickly!’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean. What do you want me to do?’

  Tears streaked Mathias’s face as he looked at the woman he loved.

  She was still as he had always known her, but she was no longer Tagan.

  ‘Tagan is still here,’ the crackling voice declared. ‘She always will be. But a part of her still clings to you, to the life you wanted, and I cannot force her to let that go. Only you can do that.’

  Mathias nodded slowly, and then again more firmly. There was every chance that he would die within the next few minutes; the pain of loss would be fleeting. Suddenly, he welcomed death. The hereafter would be free from this terrible agony.

  He raised Tagan’s hand to his lips and gave it a last, gentle kiss. ‘I understand,’ he said sadly. ‘I release you from your promise to me, Tagan. We are no longer betrothed, you and I. You are bound to another now, more surely than you could ever be to me. Do what you must do.’

  Tagan smiled at him gently and reached out a hand to stroke his cheek. His heart felt as though it were tearing itself apart with the pain and knowledge of what he had done. She was no longer his. But then, a voice in his mind asked, was she ever yours to begin with?

  Mathias closed his eyes and reality snapped back into place.

  There was a shot, but no stab of pain, no sudden oblivion. Mathias opened his eyes to see a fist clenched in front of his face: Tagan’s hand. As he watched, it opened, to reveal a small, lead ball. The metal hissed and spat and ran between her fingers, and the woman he knew became something else entirely. She doubled in size and her reddish skin cracked to reveal molten veins webbing her entire body. Her legs became back-jointed and cloven, and a crown of horns sprouted from her brow. Her dark hair became a mane of fire that spilled down her broad back and Mathias, for all his grief, found the creature oddly beautiful.

  Warin was gone and in his place stood a wolf larger than any bear.

  Its flesh was stone that flexed and bulged as it moved, and its fur was slivers of shining crystal. A pair of yellow gemstones served as eyes, and obsidian fangs filled its cavernous maw. The wolf of the earth snarled, a sound like an avalanche, and sprang toward the demon.

  ‘Don’t look at her,’ the voice of Eyja said in his mind. She was now an avatar of living lightning. A gale whipped around her, and a skin of ice formed on the ground beneath her as she followed the others toward the swelling form of Melusine. The lower half of Giraldo had become a raging tidal vortex and what could be seen of him was blue-skinned and fluid. ‘We can ward you from her presence and her voice, but the sight of her can shatter even the strongest mind.’

  Mathias turned away and caught only a glimpse of somethi
ng both serpentine and chiropteran. It was enough to freeze the blood in his veins The terrible sounds of battle thundering from behind him were unlike anything he had ever heard, but he had no time to dwell upon them. Weaver had cast aside his pistol and, heedless of the chaos unfolding nearby, lunged for Mathias. The Inquisitor’s meaty fist sent Mathias sprawling into the prince, who was still dreamily shuffling toward the conflict, oblivious to the danger around him, and knocked them both to the ground.

  Mathias shook his head to clear the ringing and looked up to see the Inquisitor towering over him, yet another blade in his hands.

  Then there was a crack of displaced air and Weaver was flung across the circle to smash into one of the standing stones. He hit it with such force that Mathias was briefly sure the impact must have killed him, but the masked man groaned and struggled to rise. Mathias didn’t know whether one of his former companions had just saved him or whether it was a happy accident, but the fury of the conflict that he could not see continued to escalate. The scorch of fire from Ignus’s flames, the gust of ice winds from Nimbus as she passed... the scents of the sea and the forests... every sense was being assailed by the mighty battle occurring. He concentrated on keeping the young prince pinned beneath him, conscious that he was Melusine’s prize and that she could not be allowed to take him. Beneath his weight, Prince Richard squirmed and twisted, trying to break free from Mathias, but to no avail. Everything was so frenetic that Mathias’s head was spinning. Something huge rushed past and went sprawling into the stones. Dolus got to his feet and shook himself from head to tail, then, with a howl of fury, the wolf of the earth bounded back towards Melusine.

  Weaver struggled to his feet and retrieved his sword. It seemed to Mathias that nothing could stop the Inquisitor. He seemed invincible, implacable, something more than human. Not for the first time, Mathias wondered how it was that he had managed to hunt them so relentlessly and so successfully. The Inquisition was said to have spies everywhere, but it had to be something more than that.