Arutha said, ‘Madam, if what you say is true’ – she seemed to tense at the implication of a possible falsehood – ‘then what is occurring concerns your temple as much as it concerns me. Jimmy, speak what you know of the Nighthawks.’
Jimmy, obviously uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the Death Goddess’s High Priestess, spoke quickly and forwent his usual embellishments. When he finished, the High Priestess said, ‘Highness, what you say is a deed foul in the nostrils of our goddess.’ Her voice was cold rage. ‘In times past, certain of the faithful sought sacrifices, but those practices are long abandoned. Death is a patient goddess; all will come to know her in time. We need no black murders. I would speak to this man.’ She indicated the prisoner.
Arutha hesitated and noticed Father Nathan shaking his head slightly. ‘He is close to death, less than hours without any additional stress upon him. Should the questioning prove rigorous, he might die before we can plumb the depths of these dark waters.’
The High Priestess said, ‘What cause for concern, priest? Even dead, he is still my subject. I am Lims-Kragma’s ephemeral hand. In her manor I will find truths no living man can obtain.’
Father Nathan bowed, in the realm of death, so you are supreme.’ To Arutha he said, ‘May my brothers and I withdraw, Highness? My order finds these practices offensive.’
The Prince nodded, and the High Priestess said, ‘Before you go, remove the prayer of slowness you have called down upon him. It will cause less difficulty than should I do it.’
Nathan quickly complied and the man on the bed began to groan feverishly. The priest and acolytes of Sung hurriedly left the room, and when they were gone, the High Priestess said, ‘This pentagram will aid in keeping outside forces from interfering with this act. I would ask all to remain outside, for within its bounds each person creates ripples in the fabric of magic. This is a most holy rite, for whatever the outcome, our lady will most surely claim this man.’
Arutha and the others waited outside the pentagram and the priestess said, ‘Speak only when I have given permission, and ensure the candles do not burn out, or forces may be loosed that would prove … troublesome to recall.’ The High Priestess drew back her black veil, and Arutha was almost shocked at her appearance. She looked barely more than a girl, and a lovely one at that, with blue eyes and skin the colour of dawn’s blush. Her eyebrows promised her hair would be the palest gold. She raised her hands overhead and began to pray. Her voice was soft, musical, but the words were strange and fearful to hear.
The man on the bed squirmed as she continued her incantation. Suddenly his eyes opened and he stared upwards. He seemed to convulse, straining at the bonds that restrained him. He relaxed, then turned to face the High Priestess. A distant look crossed his face, as his eyes seemed to focus and unfocus in turn. After a moment a strange, sinister smile formed on his lips, an expression of mocking cruelty. His mouth opened and the voice that issued forth was deep and hollow. ‘What service, mistress?’
The High Priestess’s brow furrowed slightly as if there was something askew in his manner, but she maintained her poise and said in commanding tones, ‘You wear the mantle of the Order of the Silver Net, yet you practise in the temple. Explain this falsehood.’
The man laughed, a high shrieking cackle that trailed off. ‘I am he who serves.’
She stopped, for the answer was not to her liking. ‘Answer then, who do you serve?’
There came another laugh and the man’s body tensed once more, pulling against the restraining ropes. Beads of sweat popped out upon his brow, and the muscles of his arms corded as he drew himself against the ropes. Then he relaxed and laughed again. ‘I am he who is caught.’
‘Who do you serve?’
‘I am he who is a fish. I am in a net.’ Again came the mad laughter and the near-convulsive straining at the ropes. As the man strained, sweat poured off his face in rivulets. Shrieking, he pulled again and again at the restraints. As it seemed he would break his own bones with exertion, the man screamed, ‘Murmandamus! Aid your servant!’
Abruptly one of the candles blew out as a wind from some unknown place swept across the room. The man reacted with a single convulsive spasm, bowing his body in a high arch, with only his feet and head touching the bed, pulling against the ropes with such force that his skin tore and bled. Suddenly he collapsed upon the bed. The High Priestess fell back a step, then crossed to look down on the man. Softly she said, ‘He is dead. Relight the candle.’
Arutha motioned and a guard lit a taper from another candle and relit the extinguished one. The priestess began another incantation. While the first had been mildly discomforting, this one carried a feeling of dread, a chill from the farthest corner of some lost and frozen land of wretchedness. It carried the echo of the cries of those without comfort or hope. Yet within it was another quality, powerful and attractive, an almost seductive feeling that it would somehow be wonderful to lay aside all burdens and rest. As the spell continued, the feelings of foreboding increased, and those who waited fought against the desire to run far from the sound of the High Priestess’s spell casting.
Suddenly the spell was over, and the room lay as quiet as a tomb. The High Priestess spoke in the King’s Tongue. ‘You who are with us in body but are now subject to the will of our mistress, Lims-Kragma, hearken to me. As our Lady of Death commands all things in the end, so do I now command you in her name. Return!’
The form on the bed stirred but lay silent once more. The High Priestess shouted, ‘Return!’ and the figure moved again. With a sudden movement the dead man’s head came up and his eyes opened. He seemed to be looking around the room, but while his eyes were open, they remained rolled back up in his head, only the whites showing. Still there was some feeling that the corpse could yet see, for his head stopped moving as if he was looking at the High Priestess. His mouth opened and a distant, hollow laugh issued from it.
The High Priestess stepped forward. ‘Silence!’
The dead man quieted, but then the face grinned, a slowly broadening, terrible, and evil expression. The features began to twitch, moving as if the man’s face were subject to some strange palsy. The very flesh shivered, then sagged, as if turned to heated wax. The skin colour subtly shifted, becoming fairer, almost pale white. The forehead became higher and the chin more delicate, the nose more arched and the ears pointed. The hair darkened to black. Within moments the man they had questioned was gone and in his place lay a form no longer human.
Softly Laurie spoke. ‘By the gods! A Brother of the Dark Path!’
Jimmy shifted his weight uncomfortably. ‘Your Brother Morgan is from a lot farther north than Yabon city, lady,’ he whispered. There was no humour in his tone, only fear.
Again came the chill wind from some unknown quarter, and the High Priestess turned towards Arutha. Her eyes were wide with fear and she seemed to speak, but none could hear her words.
The creature on the bed, one of the hated dark cousins to the elves, shrieked in maniacal glee. With a shocking and sudden display of strength, the moredhel ripped one arm free of its bond, then the other. Before the guards could react, it tore free the bonds holding its legs. Instantly the dead thing was on its feet, leaping towards the High Priestess.
The woman stood resolute, a feeling of power radiating from her. She pointed her hand at the creature. ‘Halt!’ The moredhel obeyed. ‘By my mistress’s power, I command obedience from you who are called. In her domain do you dwell and subject you are to her laws and ministers. By her power do I order you back!’
The moredhel faltered a moment, then with startling quickness reached out and with one hand seized the High Priestess by the throat. In that hollow, distant voice it screamed, ‘Trouble not my servant, lady. If you love your mistress so dearly, then to her go!’
The High Priestess gripped its wrist, and blue fire sprang to life along the creature’s arm. With a howl of pain it picked her up as if she weighed nothing and hurled her against the wall near Arutha, wh
ere she crashed and slid to the floor.
All stood motionless. The transformation of this creature and its unexpected attack upon the High Priestess robbed all in the room of volition. The temple guards were rooted by the sight of their priestess humbled by some dark, otherworld power. Gardan and his men were equally stunned.
With another booming howl of laughter the creature turned towards Arutha. ‘Now, Lord of the West, we are met, and it is your hour!’
The moredhel swayed upon its feet a moment, then stepped towards Arutha. The temple guards recovered an instant before Gardan’s men. The two black-and-silver-clad soldiers leapt forward, one interposing himself between the advancing moredhel and the stunned priestess, the other attacking the creature. Arutha’s soldiers were only a step behind in preventing the creature from reaching Arutha. Laurie sprang for the door, shouting for the guards without.
The temple guard thrust with his scimitar and impaled the moredhel. Sightless eyes widened, showing red rims, as the creature grinned, a horrid expression of glee. In an instant its hands shot forward and were around the guard’s throat. With a twisting motion it broke the guard’s neck, then tossed him aside. The first of Arutha’s guards to reach the creature struck from the side, a blow that gouged a bloody furrow along its back. With a backhand slap it knocked the guard down. It reached down and pulled the scimitar out of its own chest and with a snarl tossed it aside. As it turned away, Gardan hit it low and from behind. The huge captain encircled the creature with his powerful arms, lifting it from the ground. The creature’s claws raked Gardan’s arms, but still he held it high, preventing its progress towards Arutha. Then the creature kicked backwards, its heel striking Gardan in the leg, causing both to fall. The creature rose. As Gardan tried to reach it again, he stumbled over the body of the fallen temple guard.
The door flew open as Laurie tossed aside the inner bar, and palace and temple guards raced past the singer. The creature was within a sword’s thrust of Arutha when the first guard tackled it from behind, followed an instant later by two more. The temple guards joined their lone fellow in forming a defence around the unconscious High Priestess. Arutha’s guards joined in the assault upon the moredhel. Gardan recovered from his fall and rushed to Arutha’s side. ‘Leave, Highness. We can hold it here by weight of numbers.’
Arutha, with sword ready, said, ‘How long, Gardan? How can you stop a creature already dead?’
Jimmy the Hand backed away from Arutha’s side, edging towards the door. He couldn’t take his eyes from the knot of writhing bodies. Guards hammered at the creature with hilts and fists, seeking to bludgeon it into submission. Hands and faces were sticky red as the creature’s claws raked out again and again.
Laurie circled around the mêlée, looking for an opening, his sword pointed like a dagger. Catching sight of Jimmy as the thief bolted towards the door, Laurie shouted, ‘Arutha! Jimmy shows uncommon good sense. Leave!’ Then he thrust with his sword and a low, chilling moan came from within the jumble of bodies.
Arutha was gripped by indecision. The mass seemed to be inching towards him, as if the weight of the guards served only to slow the creature’s progress. The creature’s voice rang out. ‘Flee, if you will, Lord of the West, but you shall never find refuge from my servants.’ As if gifted by some additional surge of power, the moredhel heaved mightily and the guards were cast aside. They crashed into those standing before the High Priestess, and for a moment the creature was free to stand upright. Now it was covered in blood, its face a mask of bleeding wounds. Torn flesh hung from one cheek, transforming the moredhel’s face into a permanent, baleful grin. One guard managed to rise and shatter the creature’s right arm with a sword blow. It spun and tore the man’s throat out with a single rake of its hand. With its right arm dangling uselessly at its side, the moredhel spoke through loose, rubbery lips, its voice a bubbling, wet noise, I feed on death! Come! I shall feed on yours!’
Two soldiers jumped upon the moredhel from behind, driving it to the floor once more, before Arutha. Ignoring the guards, the creature clawed towards the Prince, its good arm outstretched, fingers hooked like a claw. More guards leapt upon it, and Arutha darted forward, driving his sword through the creature’s shoulder, deep into its back. The monstrous figure shuddered briefly, then resumed its forward motion.
Like some giant, obscene crab, the mass of bodies inched slowly towards the Prince. The activities of the guards increased, as if they would protect Arutha by literally tearing the creature to shreds. Arutha took a step back, his reluctance to flee slowly overbalanced by the refusal of the moredhel to be stopped. With a cry, a soldier was tossed away, to land hard, his head striking the stone floor with an audible crack. Another shouted, ‘Highness, it grows in strength!’ A third screamed as he had an eye clawed out by the frantic creature. With a titanic heave, it tossed the remaining soldiers away and rose, with no one between itself and Arutha.
Laurie tugged at Arutha’s left sleeve, leading the Prince slowly towards the door. They walked sideways, never taking their eyes from the loathsome creature, while it stood swaying upon its feet. Its sightless eyes followed the two men, glaring from a skull rendered a pulpy red mask devoid of recognizable features. One of the High Priestess’s guards charged the creature from behind, and without looking, the moredhel lashed backwards with its right hand and crushed the man’s skull with a single blow.
Laurie cried, ‘It has the use of its arm once more! It’s healing itself!’ The creature was upon them in a leap. Suddenly Arutha felt himself going down as someone shoved him aside. In a blur of images, Arutha saw Laurie ducking away from the blow that would have torn Arutha’s head from his shoulders. Arutha rolled away and came to his feet beside Jimmy the Hand. The boy had knocked him out of harm’s way. Beyond Jimmy, Arutha could see Father Nathan.
The bull-necked priest approached the monster, his left hand held upright, palm forward. The creature somehow sensed the priest’s approach, for it turned its attention from Arutha and spun to face Nathan.
The centre of Nathan’s hand began to glow, then shine with a fierce white light that cast a visible beam upon the moredhel, which stood transfixed. From its torn lips a low moan was emitted. Then Nathan began to chant.
A high shriek erupted from the moredhel, and it cowered, covering sightless eyes from the glare of Nathan’s mystic light. Its voice could be heard, low and bubbling. ‘It burns … it burns!’ The stocky cleric took a step forward, forcing the creature to shamble backwards. The thing looked nothing mortal, bleeding thick, nearly coagulated blood from a hundred wounds, large pieces of flesh and clothing dangling from its form. It hunkered lower and cried out, ‘I burn!’
Then a cold wind blew in the room and the creature shrieked, loud enough to startle even seasoned, battle-ready soldiers. Guards looked furiously about, seeking the source of some nameless horror that could be felt on every side.
The creature suddenly rose up, as if new power had come into it. Its right hand shot out, grabbing at the source of the burning light, Nathan’s left hand. Fingers and talon-like fingers interlaced, and with a searing sound the creature’s hand began to smoke. The moredhel drew back its left hand to strike a blow at the cleric, but as it uncoiled to strike, Nathan shouted a word unknown to the others in the room, and the creature faltered and groaned. Nathan’s voice rang out, filling the room with the sounds of mystic prayer and holy magic. The creature froze for an instant, then trembled in place. Nathan stepped up the urgency of his incantation and the creature reeled as if being struck a mighty blow, and smoke rose from its body. Nathan called down the power of his goddess, Sung the White, the deity of purity, his voice hoarse and strained. A loud moaning, seeming to come from a great distance, escaped from the moredhel’s mouth and it shuddered again. Locked in this mystic battle, Nathan lifted his shoulders as if he were struggling to move away a great weight, and the moredhel fell to its knees. Its right hand bent backwards as Nathan’s voice droned on. Beads of sweat rolled down the priest’s fo
rehead and the cords on his neck stood out. Blisters rose on the creature’s ragged flesh and exposed muscle and it began an ululating cry. A sizzling sound and the smell of cooking meat filled the room. Thick oily smoke poured off its body, and one guard turned his head and vomited. Nathan’s eyes grew wide as he exerted the force of his will upon this creature. Slowly they swayed, the creature’s flesh cracking as it blackened and crisped from Nathan’s magic. The moredhel bent backwards under the force of the priest’s grip, and suddenly blue energy coursed over its blackening body. Nathan released his hold and the creature toppled sideways, flames erupting from its eyes, mouth, and ears. Soon flames engulfed the body and reduced it quickly to ashes, choking the room with a foul, greasy odour.
Nathan slowly turned to face Arutha, and the Prince saw a man suddenly aged. The cleric’s eyes were wide and sweat poured down his face. In a dry croak he said, ‘Highness, it is done.’ Taking one slow step, then another, towards the Prince, Nathan smiled weakly. Then he fell forward, to be caught by Arutha before he struck the floor.
• Chapter Four •
Revelations
Birds sang to welcome the new dawn.
Arutha, Laurie, Jimmy, Volney, and Gardan sat in the Prince’s private audience chamber awaiting word of Nathan and the High Priestess. The temple guards had carried the priestess to a guest chamber and stood guard while healers summoned from her temple attended her. They had been with her all night, while members of Nathan’s order tended him in his quarters.
Everyone in the room had been rendered silent by the horrors of the night, and all were reluctant to speak of it. Laurie stirred first from the numbness, leaving his chair to move to a window.
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