There seemed to be no way up but the staircase, so we made our way toward it. We made no effort at stealth; undoubtedly we’d been seen from miles away. With even a minimal force defending Magas Komaron, it would be virtually impregnable to any ordinary attack. I wondered, as I began the climb up that long stone staircase, how long it would stand against Voros Korom and his spectral horde.
Somewhat to my surprise, Ilona proceeded up the staircase after me with no comment or protest. I had half-expected her to bolt once the way to Magas Komaron was clear, as her intention was presumably to deliver this information to Delivaros, not to confront Varastis on her own. But evidently either curiosity had gotten the better of her or I was mistaken about her mission.
It took us nearly two hours to reach the eastern side of the mountain. The view was much like that from the western side: the mountain on which Magas Komaron perched arose from a plateau roughly in the center of the range. Beyond the peaks to the west lay the plains of the Barbaroki. The sun was already low in the sky, illuminating the rock face with an orange glow. We rounded the northern side of the mountain with only the dim light of dusk to guide us and then plunged into darkness as we rounded a corner back toward the side facing west. A cold western wind had picked up, and we were grateful to be in the lee of the mountain. We’d lost our torches in the cave, but the stone steps were so precisely hewn that by keeping one hand on the rock wall to our left we had little trouble making our way in the near-total darkness. I marveled at the symmetry of the mountain itself; it was as if it had been formed with the idea of Magas Komaron in mind. I reflected, with a chill, that perhaps it had.
As we rounded the south side of the mountain again, the wind tore at our clothes and threatened to hurl us off the staircase. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the clouds to the west flickered with lightning. We kept on, pressing our bodies flat against the rock face. At last we came again to the east side, and while the wind continued to buffet and howl, the gusts only pushed us against the mountain. So intent was I on fighting the wind’s attempts to bash my head against the rock that when the wall abruptly ended, I nearly fell.
I found myself in a broad, flat courtyard surrounded by a low stone wall. In the near-darkness, I could just make out the silhouettes of several trees, as well as shrubs and beds of various other plants. The courtyard was a rough semicircle that seemed to take up half of the summit of the curiously conical mountain. The other half was dominated by the foreboding silhouette of a great castle, its spires and crenels making a jagged black line against a canopy of stars: Magas Komaron. In the highest tower blazed the beacon that had so befuddled travelers through these mountains.
The rest of the party came up alongside me. None of us spoke; we were numb with cold and exhaustion. Drops of rain began to pelt us. There was nothing to do but continue to the castle. I led the way across the courtyard to the massive door. Feeling a fool, I lifted my hand to knock, but the door began to open on its own. I put my hand on my rapier. The door creaked slowly inward and then stopped, leaving an opening just large enough for a man to slip through. I glanced back at Rodric, who nodded. I drew my rapier and went inside. The others followed, and we found ourselves in another, smaller, courtyard, within the castle walls. At first it seemed we were alone, but shortly I saw the glow of a lantern moving toward us across the courtyard. The lantern’s flame flickered against the wind, and the rain began to fall in earnest. A man, hunched over and wearing a hooded cloak, approached. He stopped a few paces in front of us, holding up the lantern to examine our faces.
“Have you come to murder me?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“What about this one?” he asked, waving the lantern toward Ilona.
“I mean you no harm,” Ilona said. “Are you Varastis?”
The man chuckled bitterly. “I am Domokos. You seek Varastis?”
“Yes,” I said. “On a matter of great urgency. Are you one of his followers?”
Domokos nodded. “I will take you to him.” Having evidently decided we were not a threat, the man turned and walked back the way he had come. Anxious to get out of the rain and wind, we followed.
We went into the castle, down a dark hallway, and down a steep flight of stone stairs. The howl of the wind diminished as we descended. After passing several storerooms, we came to a vast room lined with catacombs. Many of the catacombs were still open (and unoccupied), but several scores of them had been sealed with the rock-hard aggregate material used by the Builders. Farther in were a dozen that appeared to have been sealed more recently, with brick and mortar. Domokos led us to these.
“This one is Varastis, as you can see,” he said, holding the lantern up to a crudely carved wooden plaques. “His followers sleep nearby. Except for me, of course. I was left alive to continue the important work of maintaining a sanctuary where no one is actually safe. If you’ve seen enough, I can take you back upstairs. I can’t promise it’s much more comfortable than this crypt, but there is soup and ale.”
Thunder rumbled outside. I stared at the plaques. On them were written the names of thirteen men who represented my only hope to stop Voros Korom. Ilona came up beside me and put her hand on the plaque that read Varastis, feeling the grooves with her fingers. If she was pleased to see that Varastis and his followers were dead, she did not look it.
“They are all dead?” Rodric asked.
“I haven’t checked recently,” said Domokos, “but they were when I put them in there.”
“What happened?” Ilona asked.
“You are an acolyte of Turelem?”
“I am.”
“Then what happened is that someone did your work for you.”
“The acolytes don’t murder—”
“You are welcome to take shelter here for the night,” Domokos snapped, “but please do not attempt to educate me regarding what the acolytes do and don’t do. I fled my home to escape the wrath of the Cult of Turelem before you were born.” Regaining his equanimity, he said, “This way, please.”
He led us back upstairs to a dining hall that was dominated by a long oak table flanked by benches. The rain was now coming down in torrents, and the distant rumble of thunder had given way to deafening booms. Domokos doused the lantern as we entered, so the only light—other than flashes of lightning from under the door of the windowless room—came from a fire that blazed in a massive stone fireplace at the far end of the room. The air smelled of garlic and onions.
“You’ll have to make do with everything soup,” Domokos said, walking to a pot hanging over the fire. He threw back his hood to reveal a bald head and a thick gray beard. The dim, flickering light made it difficult to discern his age; one moment he seemed a young man, prematurely gray, and the next he seemed ancient. He took a ladle from a hook and began scooping stew into a large ceramic bowl. “Everything goes in the soup. Mostly onions and leeks, I’m afraid, but there is a little chicken. Salt is in short supply, so you may find it bland.”
We had formed a semicircle around the fireplace, drawn by the heat and the scent of the stew. Domokos handed me the bowl and stood watching expectantly. There seemed to be no other bowls and no spoons. I thanked him and handed the bowl to Ilona, prompted by equal parts caution and chivalry. She accepted it suspiciously. Thunder boomed outside so loudly that I thought the castle itself must have been struck by lightning.
“What is your name?” Domokos said, turning to me.
“I am Konrad,” I said.
“You bear the brand of a warlock,” Domokos said, “but you travel with an acolyte?”
“I had little choice. Without her, we could not have found the way in time.”
“You are a sorcerer?”
“No. I was given this brand against my will.”
Domokos made no discernible reaction. “And these others?”
“Rodric and Vili. They are my companions and friends. What happened to Varastis and the others?”
Domokos motioned to the table. “Come, let u
s sit.”
We went to the table and sat. Vili and Ilona took the two seats closest to the fire. Rodric sat to Ilona’s left; Domokos sat between me and Vili. Ilona had tried the stew and apparently not found it objectionable; she passed the bowl to Vili.
“Why do you seek Varastis?” Domokos asked.
“I had wished to warn him. And to get his help.”
“Warn him of what?”
“Voros Korom is on his way to Magas Komaron. He will likely attack tomorrow, during the full moon.”
“Voros Korom! The demon still wanders the mountains of Veszedelem.”
“You are mistaken. A sorcerer named Radovan brought him to our world.”
Domokos frowned, evidently recognizing the name. “What of Radovan?”
“Radovan is dead.”
“You are certain of this?”
“I claim to be certain of very little anymore, but I left him bleeding to death below the ruins of Romok. It was his blood that brought forth Voros Korom.”
“Why would Voros Korom come here rather than seek his birthright in Nagyvaros?”
“He was persuaded by another sorcerer, a man named Eben, that only Varastis could prevent him from conquering Nagyvaros.”
“Then Eben still lives?”
“He is exiled to the shadow world. The place called Veszedelem.”
“It was he who gave you the brand?”
“Yes.”
“But you are not a sorcerer. Why would he give up his power in that way?”
I was obliged to tell my story once again, starting with how I’d run into Eben at the Lazy Crow and ending with Voros Korom turning away from Nagyvaros toward Magas Komaron. Domokos seemed relieved to hear that I had allied with Eben only out of necessity.
“A clever trick, that,” Domokos said. His demeanor had softened. “Sending the demon and his horde to Magas Komaron. Not that it will do any good.”
“Do you think Eben knew Varastis was dead?”
Domokos shook his head. “I do not know. He may have assumed, as do most, that the beacon signifies that Varastis still lives.”
“What happened to them? Varastis and his followers.”
“Before I tell you how Varastis and the others were killed,” Domokos said, “I should like to know what business the acolyte has here.”
Ilona, who had been strangely silent since we left the catacombs, started. “I… I was given a message to deliver to Varastis.”
“I am the closest thing Varastis has to a successor,” Domokos said. “You can give the message to me.”
Ilona shook her head. “If Varastis is dead, the matter is of little importance.”
“Then you will return to Delivaros tomorrow?”
“I… do not know. I had not expected to be allowed to leave at all.”
Domokos shrugged. “When I saw your party coming across the plain, I knew that you were either my salvation or my doom. Perhaps you are both. I decided at that moment that this was the last night the beacon would burn. I have spent seven years here alone. I consider my debt to Varastis paid. If I survive the full moon, I will leave this place.”
“And go where?” I asked.
Domokos smiled. “That I will not tell you, in case the acolyte returns to report to her superiors.”
“Then tell us of Varastis.”
Domokos nodded. “Varastis and his followers were killed seven years ago by a man I had never seen before, and whom I’ve not seen since. The moon was full, as it will be tomorrow night. The stranger commanded a horde of spidery creatures the size of dogs that moved like shadows along the ground. All of our defenses were for naught. The shadow spiders slipped under the door and let the man in. Half of our number were dead before we even knew we were under attack. We’d become complacent, trusting in the inaccessibility of Magas Komaron to protect us, although I’m not certain what difference it would have made had we been on guard.
“I was with Varastis in a room overlooking the inner courtyard when we heard the screams. When Varastis saw the man in the courtyard, he seized me by the shoulders and said, ‘Domokos, whatever happens, do not let the beacon die.’ Before I could say a word, he had fled the room to face the intruder.
“Varastis and a few of the others seemed to understand what the shadow spiders were and were able to ward them off for a time, but they just kept coming. I survived only by luck: not knowing what else to do, I fled to the eastern tower. One of the creatures eventually found me, but as it was about to envelop me, sucking my life out as I had seen the things do to several of my comrades, the first rays of dawn peeked over the horizon. The light seemed to weaken the thing, and I managed to catch hold of one of its legs and hurl it from the tower. It dissipated in the shadows below.
“Ashamed of my cowardice, I ran back down the stairs to see if there was something I could do to aid Varastis and the others, but it was too late: all were dead, save Varastis himself, who was in the clutches of one of the spider-things. It pinned him to the ground, its tentacle-like legs wrapped around his body. Keeping myself hidden, I watched in horror as the unknown sorcerer approached Varastis. There was a brief exchange of words between the two, but I could not make out what was said. The man looked up, and for a moment I thought he had seen me, but he was only looking at the lightening sky. Realizing the shadow-spiders were weakening, he made a gesture with his hand and the one that had been holding Varastis suddenly released him. Before Varastis could react, one of the creature’s legs had slipped into his mouth. Then another, and another. Before I could even gasp in horror, the thing had folded up on itself and begun to slide into Varastis’s body. A second later, it had disappeared completely.
“I watched Varastis’s body get up, but Varastis no longer controlled it. I will never forget the look of terror on his face as he lurched toward the gate, fighting the creature’s hold on him with all his strength. The sorcerer followed him out, and I skulked along behind. I reached the gate just in time to see Varastis hurl himself off the mountain.
“That was the end of it. The spider-things faded and then disappeared, as shadows do. The sorcerer started back down the stairs, without even a glance back. I considered creeping up behind him to push him off the mountain, but I was haunted by Varastis’s last words to me. Whatever happens, do not let the beacon die. At that moment, it occurred to me that perhaps this was the reason I had been spared. Someone needed to make sure the beacon kept burning. I had just seen the sorcerer murder twelve men; surely he would not be so foolish as to allow me simply to push him off the stairs. It must be a trick! By the time I regained my nerve, the man was gone. I ran after him, but when I reached the place where the steps can be seen for nearly a mile, I saw nothing. It was as if he’d jumped off the edge of his own volition, or simply vanished. I returned to the castle and spent the next three days disposing of the dead.
“I have kept the beacon burning every night since then, for all the good it has done. For the first few nights, I was certain that the murderer, alerted by the beacon that his work was not finished, would return to kill me as well. Many times since then I wished he had. I wonder if I am truly doing the bidding of Varastis, or of the mysterious sorcerer who wishes the beacon to remain lit. Sometimes at night I think I hear him singing, but it is only the wind.”
“Singing?” I asked.
Domokos nodded. “As he walked away, I heard him singing. I could not make out the words, but I remember the tune. A simple melody, like a child’s song.” He hummed a bit of the tune. I suppressed a shudder: I was certain it was one of Bolond’s songs.
It could not be a coincidence: the man who had led me here was the same man who had murdered Varastis and his followers. Had Bolond brought me here only to kill me? The idea seemed far-fetched. Surely, if Bolond still lived and he wished to kill me, there were easier ways. In any case, he would have to hurry if he wished to kill me before Voros Korom did.
“Do you know the name Bolond?” I asked.
“Of course,” Domokos said.
It was he who first opened the gateway to Veszedelem, over a thousand years ago.”
“Is it possible Bolond is still alive?”
“It is unlikely, but with sorcerers one never knows for certain. Bolond was said to have sought the gift of immortality. Why do you inquire about Bolond?”
I decided I had little choice but to trust Domokos. If he could not be trusted, we were already dead. “I believe it was Bolond who sent me here,” I said. “That is, he told me the way. Whether he actually intended for me to come here I cannot say. I am still not certain whether he was—or is—insane.” I told Domokos of the singing I’d overhead in Nincs Varazslat and how one of the songs I’d inadvertently memorized had guided us here. “When you spoke of the murderer singing as he left, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was the same man.”
Domokos nodded thoughtfully. “It is a strange coincidence indeed. But if it truly was Bolond who came to you in the dungeon—and if it was also he who killed Varastis—then we have an even greater enemy than Voros Korom. One who is evidently immortal, at that.”
“It does no good to worry about Bolond,” I said. “He is either insane, in which case his actions are impossible to predict, or he is manipulating us toward some end that is beyond our comprehension. We have little choice but to face the more immediate threat. What do you know of Voros Korom? You spoke earlier of his ‘birthright.’ What did you mean? Why does he wish the destruction of Nagyvaros?”
“You must understand,” said Domokos, “that even when Varastis was alive, I was not one of his inner circle of confidants. I was a middling practitioner of arcane arts who had the good fortune to learn of Varastis’s midnight flight to Magas Komaron before your companion’s kind could lay their hands on me. I learned a great deal from Varastis and the others, but it was quite clear that Varastis was very guarded in his dissemination of knowledge. Even those closest to him complained that he kept the greatest secrets to himself. It was, in fact, this very reticence that prompted Radovan to leave Magas Komaron.”
The Rise of the Demon Prince Page 6