Sons of Evil: Book 1 Book of Dread

by Adams, David

  He was at least a foot taller than the other demons, and his legs and lower torso resembled those of a goat rather than a man. The horns on his head were long with age, curling around to frame his face on both sides. His eyes, rather than seeming to be ablaze, were solid black, a promise of endless night and despair. He said a few words in some harsh tongue and gave a nonchalant wave of a hand, upon which all the horses, save his own, disappeared.

  “You fight well, paladin,” he said, his voice hard and sharp like broken glass. “You have earned your life. Give me your sword and the book, and I will spare you and your allies.”

  Barlow drew himself up to his full height, Gabriel held in front of him. His muscles were already aching, and his heart was racing recklessly, but he was able to muster the calm he wanted in his voice. “We both know none of those things is going to happen.”

  The demon shrugged. “I will have what I want regardless. Will you tell me the name of the sword, so that I may know what it is called when I wield it?”

  Barlow forced a laugh, an uncertain, nervous sound he regretted immediately. He pushed on. “The sword is Gabriel, but you will never wield it, even if you slay me.”

  “I intend to find out,” the demon said with a gruesome smile. He drew his own sword, which blazed brightly with fire once unsheathed. “This is Deathbringer, as am I. My name is Ondrel. Know the one who brings your doom.”

  Barlow hoped—prayed—that Ondrel was not this demon’s formal name. If it was, the fact the demon would reveal it meant he had no fear whatsoever of Barlow and his friends. Barlow readied himself as the demon approached.

  Silas rose and moved to the left while Darius pulled Luke away from the impending battle. Seeing the movement, the demon again spoke words in his native language and motioned with his hand. Walls of flame sprang up, the intense heat forcing Silas and Darius back. The demon turned and walled off Adrianna as well, ending her hope that she had gone unnoticed and might be able to strike Ondrel when he was unaware. “I will attend first to the paladin,” Ondrel told them. “But do not worry. You will each have the chance to test your skills against mine.”

  Ondrel had been steadily moving toward Barlow, an easy, confident stalk. But now that the battle was joined, he closed the remaining gap with surprising speed, and as his first blow fell, the paladin was stepping backward, unable to overcome the instinct to back away from his larger opponent. Deathbringer arced forward, the flames struggling to keep up with the blade, trailing behind like a fiery tail.

  Barlow managed to plant his feet and put both hands on Gabriel’s hilt. The two swords met with an explosion of light and sound, the clang of metal almost swallowed by the unearthly blaze of fire and white light as the swords touched. Barlow had to squint against the brightness, but worse was the shock of the blow. It made both his shoulders feel like they were being driven out of place, and his hands were suddenly holding a swarm of bees. He hopped back a step, to regroup and regain his balance.

  “Impressive,” the demon said. “But not nearly good enough.”

  Ondrel pressed the attack, showering blow after blow at Barlow, each driven by such power that Gabriel was clearly the only thing standing between the paladin and instant death. Ondrel could feel Barlow weakening, could feel the subtle give of each parried strike growing as his opponent tired.

  Barlow sensed the same thing. He had no doubts about the strength of his weapon—never did—but his own strength was suspect. If he had been thirty years younger… He shook the thought away, knowing it wouldn’t help him, and that it might get him killed. He needed to turn the tide, to take away the demon’s momentum, but Ondrel seemed tireless, and it was all he could do to hang onto Gabriel and keep it between the demon’s fiery sword and his own hide. Out of desperation he tried another kind of attack.

  “I thought you’d be stronger,” he said.

  Ondrel pulled back as if slapped. He stared at the man before him, at his thin frame and the gray in his hair that indicated his youth was far in the past. Ondrel’s face pinched into a scowl. This weakling human was actually daring to taunt him. Ondrel let out a deep scream, a primal roar, and felt the hate and rage welling up inside him. Those emotions drove Deathbringer with even greater strength.

  Barlow again had to parry one strike after another, these more powerful but also wilder. His muscles were being drained as he absorbed each blow, but his mind stayed sharp. He knew he couldn’t hold out much longer, and that brought some relief. Win or lose, he would soon know rest. If his companions could see the battle through the flames that held them at bay, they would surely think he could not hold the demon off much longer, but they might not perceive that despite the purely defensive nature of Barlow’s stance, he was attacking at the same time, driving the demon to leave just one opening, to make a fatal mistake. Even though he fought for breath, he found his voice again, knowing he had to keep the demon off balance.

  “You must not have had much training with that weapon,” Barlow taunted, hoping Ondrel didn’t hear the gasps for air between the words.

  Ondrel roared and tried to take Barlow’s head off with one massive swing.

  Barlow ducked the sword, but Ondrel was ready again before he could counter. Barlow spoke once more. “Not good enough. Try again.”

  Ondrel did, a low slash. Gabriel was there, deflecting the blow.

  “Too slow.”

  Ondrel flew into a rage, his swings so furious that Barlow started to think they might knock Gabriel out of his hands. Barlow’s aching arms pleaded for rest, and Gabriel seemed to be gaining weight. If Ondrel calmed himself and controlled his aggression, Barlow doubted he could keep his defenses up much longer.

  A three-part attack finally edged through. A swing at the head had been ducked, a follow-up at the knees parried, and a high, arcing chop down at Barlow’s left side was parried as well, but not completely. This time Gabriel was a fraction of a second slow, and rather than a clean block, the result was only a deflection, one whose angle wasn’t quite severe enough. Deathbringer’s follow-through managed to cut a small gash on Barlow’s upper arm.

  Barlow felt the cut, but didn’t react to it. He wasn’t sure if the source of the burning he felt was just the normal pain of the injury, the flames from the sword, or some dark magic or poison that might eventually bring him down, but he had no time to worry about that now. Unless he put Ondrel down soon, it wouldn’t matter.

  Despite Barlow’s façade, Ondrel knew he had finally struck a successful blow, glancing though it was. He paused to smile, to return the taunts that had so enraged him. It would not be enough now to simply kill Barlow. The paladin must be made to know his death was coming, must be made to understand that Ondrel had defeated him. Then he would be allowed to die. “Your sword has failed you and your strength wanes. Lay down your weapon and I will be swift and merciful.”

  Barlow laughed, a scornful, mocking noise. “You must be more afraid of me than I thought. If you really thought you had the advantage, you would finish this, not ask me to yield.” He met Ondrel’s eyes fully and added, “Of course, your kind has never been anything but cowardly.” Barlow could actually see Ondrel’s jaw tighten at this final insult. The demon sprang to the attack once more.

  Ondrel hammered away, one overhead blow after another, pouring all his strength and anger into each, trying to smash Deathbringer straight through Gabriel and into the smug face of the spiteful, arrogant old man.

  Barlow fell to one knee, a sign that he was faltering. Ondrel only smashed away all the harder, his attack brutal and straightforward, a test of strength both combatants knew the demon was bound to win. It was just what Barlow wanted. Part of him marveled at the way the demon could swing his weapon with such tireless ease, knowing any man would have had to stop for rest, even if just for a second, long ago. But Ondrel’s rage and his bottomless well of strength had allowed his assault to fall into a rhythm, one that could be used against him by a wily opponent. Ondrel was clearly the stronger, but blinded by h
is own anger, he was now an inferior swordsman. Barlow counted in his mind, one, two…as the third blow fell, he rolled aside.

  Ondrel had too much momentum behind the sword strokes to stop one in mid-flight. Deathbringer flew past the suddenly rolling paladin and drove into the ground. It didn’t take much effort or time for the demon to pull the sword free, just a fraction of a second, but it left the opening Barlow was seeking.

  Barlow finished his roll and brought Gabriel up in a quick arc. He wanted to hit the lower torso, but his aim was off, and the sword hit the demon in the ribs, and with far less strength than Barlow would have wanted. His tiredness was beyond anything he had ever known. A normal sword would have made a nasty cut, perhaps lodging in the demon’s rib bones, but Gabriel, when facing such an opponent, was no normal sword. The white glow blazed agonizingly bright as it passed through Ondrel’s flesh and bone, and perhaps it was this light rather than the metal of the blade that did the work. Gabriel passed through the demon as easily as it would have through paper, and Ondrel was cleaved in half. Barlow just saw the surprise register on his face before he vanished, returned from whence he came.

  Deathbringer fell to the ground, its flames guttering and finally dying out. It turned to smoke and ash as the walls of flame Ondrel had called into being winked out. Of the attacking party only Ondrel’s horse remained, and sensing its master’s death, it reared and gave out a shrill scream. It paused for a moment, its fiery head turned toward Barlow, as if marking him, then it turned with another scream and raced off into the night.

  The danger past, the adrenaline that had been propping Barlow up abandoned him. He fell on all fours, Gabriel dropping beside him. He closed his eyes and tried to will his heart to slow. It was racing much faster than he had thought possible, and it felt like it wanted to leap up his throat and try to make good its escape. He realized with grim amusement that he was more scared now than when he had fought Ondrel. His sword would do him no good in this battle…

  Silas was moving before the flaming horse issued its first scream. He dropped to the ground beside Barlow and put a comforting hand on his back.

  “I’m okay,” Barlow said, although the way he gasped for air made it apparent he wasn’t. He turned to look at his old friend, his hair matted with sweat, his face pale and waxy. He forced a smile. “Just need a few minutes to collect myself and get some air.” He gestured with his chin toward Luke. “See to the boy.”

  “I’ll do what I can, but he may need your skills as well. That arrow was not of this world.”

  Barlow nodded, thinking of his own wound but not mentioning it. He was grateful Silas apparently hadn’t noticed it. “Give me a moment and I’ll be over.”

  Silas and Adrianna both made their way toward Darius and his injured brother. Before Silas bent to work on Luke, Adrianna whispered, “Is Barlow all right?”

  Silas bit his lip nervously and sighed. “I hope so.”

  Adrianna seemed to want to say more but caught herself. “Go on. See what you can do for Luke.”

  One other pair of eyes had watched the battle unfold, first with excitement and then with growing horror. When Ondrel fell the little hunter looked around with wild-eyed dismay, as if hoping a second attack might then commence. As it realized the group it was following had won, its heart started to race and its throat to tighten as it considered its master’s reaction to such news. And it was news that only it could now deliver. Fearing pain and punishment, its brain unable to work out that it would not be blamed for the failure of Ondrel and the other demon riders, the hunter grasped onto the one thing that might be its salvation: the Blood Book. If it could get the book and return it to its master…

  The group’s packs were bunched together near one of the trees, some thirty feet from where four of the five travelers were gathered. Barlow was further away, and the hunter was closer than any of them, and quicker. It dropped from the tree and flew at the packs, sacrificing stealth for speed.

  Adrianna spotted it as it tore open Darius’ pack. She started toward it, yelling, “Hey!”

  The hunter turned at the shout, its eyes going wide at the sight of the sorceress running toward it, the cleric close behind.. It went back to its work, finally managing to get the book free. Its clawed fingers wrapped gratefully around the tome while a contented smile creased its face. It tossed the closing enemies one last look, then started off.

  Adrianna realized a soon as she saw the tiny demon lift the book from the pack that it would flee before she could reach it. She stopped, gathered herself, and cast a quick spell while extending her left arm and index finger. A bolt of purple lightning lanced out.

  The hunter realized the one mistake in its plan too late. Once it had the book, it could no longer move with the speed and agility it was used to. The tome seemed to weigh almost as much as the hunter, and the book was unwieldy for it to hold. On its own it might have dodged the purple bolt that was tossed its way, but with the book in its clutches it had no chance. Once struck, it felt an odd ecstasy of pain, fell with the book beneath it, and then was no more.

  Adrianna let out a relieved sigh and retrieved the book, a shiver going through her as if the book were alive with dark energy. As she lifted it, something rolled off and fell to the ground. She bent over and found it was a small stone, one with a golden band running through it. Thinking it odd but not sure why, she pocketed the rock and returned to her companions.

  “Same thing we dealt with before,” she reported. She waved the book and added, “We’ve got to keep an eye on this at all times, apparently.”

  “We should have been doing that already,” Silas said. “It’s easy to be lulled into thinking our enemies will line up their attacks one at a time.”

  “Any more happy news,” Luke asked, trying to be glib, but jostling his shoulder as he spoke. He winced against the pain.

  “Good to see that arrow didn’t steal your spirit.” Silas said, resuming his ministrations, “but how about you keep still until we can look after this wound.”

  Luke, abashed, nodded his obedience.

  Barlow managed to find his feet and make his way over to the others while they were working up a makeshift sling for Luke’s arm. “Everything looks as good as can be hoped for,” Silas announced when he saw Barlow had joined them. “The wound’s clean. The fire saw to that. Some blistering of the skin, but that’ll heal up okay. Mostly just need to keep from straining the shoulder until it has a chance to heal.

  “How long will that be?” Adrianna asked.

  Silas shrugged. “Who can tell? Depends how careful the patient is.”

  Luke waved his free hand. “I’ll be good.”

  Adrianna turned to Barlow. “Are you okay to travel?”

  He nodded. “Although I’d like Silas to take a look at this little cut Ondrel’s sword gave me. Just to be safe.” As Silas did so, Barlow said to Adrianna, “I assume that was one of your spells that knocked me off my feet, and Gabriel out of my hands.”

  Adrianna scowled. “The demons were—”

  Barlow stopped her with an open hand and a tired smile. “All around me, I know. Wish you could have just taken them out, but I suppose you didn’t have a lot of time to aim. I’m just trying to say thanks. You saved my life. Nearly killed me doing it, but it worked out for the best.”

  Adrianna was so stunned she couldn’t find her voice to respond. Luckily Barlow seemed to enjoy her bewildered expression almost as much as a compliment in kind.

  Silas declared Barlow’s wound to be minor and patched it with bands of cloth and words of prayer. “All-in-all we were very lucky,” he said, “but we’ll need to keep an eye on how the healing process goes, in case those foul weapons have some long-term impact that only time will reveal.”

  Darius helped his brother to his feet and motioned at the Blood Book, which Adrianna still grasped with both hands. “Guess we were lucky with that, too.”

  “That reminds me,” said Adrianna, shifting the book to one hand and fishing in h
er pocket. As she pulled out the small stone and held it forth in her palm for the others to see. “This rock mean anything to any of you? I think that little demon must have been carrying it.”

  Everyone indicated the negative after a quick glance. Barlow took it and studied it for a moment.

  “Just a shiny rock,” he said. “Doesn’t appear to be a talisman or symbol of any sort.”

  “Wait a minute,” Darius said. He held his hand out and said politely, “Do you mind?” After Barlow handed him the rock he turned it over a few times, then nodded with some finality. “This is mine.”

  “He took it from your pack?” Adrianna asked.

  “No. It’s something I found when I was much younger. I liked the way it looked, thought it was full of gold and would make me rich. My mother patted me on the head and told me to hang onto it, that it’d be worth even more when I was older. Eventually I understood she was humoring me, but I never could bring myself to throw it out.”

  Luke, already pale from his injury, looked stricken. “Then that thing was in our house.”

  The words struck Darius like a punch to the gut. “We’ve got to do something.”

  Silas put a hand on his arm. “You are. You’ve taken the book away from your home. You already knew Landri would be looking for it, that’s why you fled with it.”

  “But my parents—”

  “Don’t have the book.”

  “They may be in danger.”

  Silas sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them he affixed Darius with a look both understanding and stern. “They may be. No reason to lie to you about that. But the most trouble will follow the book. If you want to leave it with us and go home, do so. But the last thing you want to do is go back with the Book of Dread in your possession, unless you intend to give it to Landri and beg for his mercy.”

  “Such as it is,” Adrianna added.

  “They’re right,” Luke told his brother. “I’d like to go home too, just to know what’s happening, to know they’re okay. But we can do more good here.”