“Not to worry, doctor. Such fell abilities are precisely why I seek your counsel.”
“Of course,” said Dee, leaning back in his ornate chair. “Oh, before I forget, Her Majesty has asked me to convey her gratitude concerning your recent maritime exploits. The Spanish gold you seized has bolstered the security of the realm immeasurably.”
“You can tell the queen that I’m at her disposal,” Blackthorne replied. “If I can serve her in any way, she has but to ask.”
Doctor Dee nodded. “I’m sure she will be delighted to hear it. The privateers have grown more bold of late, prowling the waves and posing a great threat to our merchant vessels. Mayhap that’s something you can offer assistance with?”
“Buccaneers and pirate sloops are no match for my sea-wolves,” Blackthorne said. “The bellies of sharks from Gibraltar to Tortuga are swollen with the ravaged flesh of all who’ve sailed against me.”
“So I’ve heard, captain. Yours is a formidable ship, if the tales are true.”
“Indeed she is,” Blackthorne rumbled. “The Starfire has consigned many a vessel to the fathomless depths, and she has the battle scars to prove it.”
“And long may she sail in England’s service,” Dee said. “Which reminds me, our mutual acquaintance, the venerable Captain Drake, sends his regards.”
A humourless smile curled Blackthorne’s thin lips. “I’m sure he does. I’ll be raising another flagon with that wily old pirate soon enough, I’ll wager.”
“Of that I’m sure,” smiled Dee. “Now, on to the matter that brought you here to my sanctum.”
Blackthorne’s brow furrowed as Dee lifted a small obsidian mirror from the desk top and proceeded to gaze into its darkling surface. Then he suddenly fixed the captain with an almost fever-bright glare.
“Long have I peered into the scrying mirror, Caleb Blackthorne. Much have I seen. We are dealing with powerful magic, and baleful gods who were ancient long before the Antediluvian Scrolls were ever committed to crumbling parchment. A terrible curse has befallen the immortal soul of a man, a tortured soul to which the whims of fate have bound you inextricably. Black vengeance spawned this curse, and the path to breaking it will be a perilous one indeed.”
“What more?” Blackthorne breathed. “What must I do? The dreams are becoming more vivid with each passing night.”
Dee sighed. “All in good time, Captain. But first, I require your thoughts. I must experience these dreams through your own mind’s eye.”
“And how precisely will you achieve this?” Blackthorne asked guardedly.
The doctor extended his hand to position the obsidian mirror directly before Blackthorne’s eyes. In the eldritch depths of the polished glass, a panoply of hues seethed and roiled, swirling like mist upon a midnight sea. Blackthorne drew back in apprehension.
“Pray relax, captain,” Dee said. “This will not be painful. Not for you, at any rate. Gaze into the deeps of the crystal. Concentrate on the vista before you. We will walk the dreamscape together, and its secrets will be divulged.”
Blackthorne stared at the lucent glass, the dancing colours seemingly reaching out from the glimmering portal to encompass his field of vision. Pulsing tendrils of light writhed before his eyes, and he felt a great weariness descend, enveloping him in a mantle of opiate bliss. Then, the trappings of reality melted away like hoarfrost before the rising sun, and the radiant maelstrom of colours engulfed him.
Two moons glowered like the eyes of a great silver serpent, gazing balefully down upon the battlefield. Scores of slain auric-armoured paladins were strewn across the frosty plain, their riven corpses surrounded by the shattered remains of countless marginally human creatures. Spatters of blood stained the coruscant snow like crimson blossoms; a mosaic of vivid red agleam in the lambent moonlight. At the centre of the battle’s ruinous aftermath, near a circle of brooding trilithons, towered a fearsome figure clad in black chitinous armour, a huge horned helm concealing his visage, a twisted and bloodied black great-sword in his fist. Twin red orbs burned behind the eye-slit of his helm like ireful embers.
“Ah, the raw scent of carnage and still warm blood,” the dark warrior rasped, his voice at once sepulchral and sibilant. “Soon the worms shall gorge themselves upon the flesh of the slain. A grand tapestry of slaughter has been woven this night. ’Tis a pity that none survive to tell their tale in my wake.”
“You have not yet won this battle, arch-fiend!” came a resounding voice. From the deep shadows strode a lone paladin, his silvern armour spattered with viscid black ichor, his once bright sword now dark with impure blood. “Your time has come. Prepare to die, spawn of the Z’xulth!”
Pitiless laughter welled in the dark giant’s throat. “Do you truly aspire to thwart me, godling?” he seethed. “You are but a mote of dust in the Great Eye of the Universe! You are nothing!”
The knight stopped some ten yards from his foe, levelling the tip of his star-forged blade towards the fuliginous figure. “We shall see.”
“I have shattered the gleaming citadels of Lemuria, and have given ancient Atland to the sea,” the dark warrior hissed, hefting his cruelly serrated sword. “Ere long, I shall raze the lofty spires of the Serpent Kings to the tundra and grind the bastions of the First Ones to dust! The world shall tremble at my tread. The Star-gods themselves shall fear my name!”
The knight snapped shut the visor of his crested helm and started forward. “You talk too much, devil. Tonight, the crows pick your bones clean!”
Their blades met with a juddering impact, blue sparks blossoming from the clash of steel. The weapons sang with a martial howl of battle, each razor-edged blow ravening for blood. The dark giant parried the paladin’s blows with disdainful ease, pushing his foe back with each brutal riposte. With a guttural snarl, the towering fiend swept his black sword at the knight’s head, but the warrior’s blade blocked the deadly arc and their searing steel became locked in a grinding cacophony of pattern-welded death.
The stygian fiend suddenly drove his gauntleted fist into the knight’s helm, staggering his valiant foe. The ebon blade arced down again, but was thwarted once more by the paladin’s sword. A pitiless storm of thunderous strokes rained down upon the knight, each blow driving him inexorably back, each bone-jarring strike taking its terrible toll. Then, with one final dire and deadly flurry, the black demon hammered the knight to his knees, and at last the warrior’s sword shattered into countless silvern shards. The great black blade hissed down unchecked, biting into the knight’s pauldron, rending the armour and sundering the flesh and bone beneath. Blood erupted from the terrible wound in a crimson fountain, and the knight’s ruined sword arm fell limply to his side. The malefic warrior laughed, the sound vile and cold.
“And so it ends, wormcast,” he growled, his reddened sword poised for the death-blow. “Your crusade ends here. Your realm falls tonight.”
“Mayhap,” the knight rasped. “But I’ll not travel the dark road alone!”
From the ornate hilt of his broken sword, the paladin swiftly pulled a slender dagger of lambent blue steel. With the last vestiges of his fading strength, he drove the blade into the armoured abdomen of his nemesis. With a resonant crack and a gout of green ichor, the steel bit deep into the darksome giant, striking true to embed itself to the shining hilt. The fiendish warrior bellowed a bestial cry and fell back, thick black smoke billowing from the wound.
“Sorcery!” he seethed. “Treacherous cur!” The demon sank to his knees, dropping his serrated sword. Green flames now leapt from his riven armour, and black blood pulsed from the wound in viscid gouts.
The knight pushed himself to his feet with great effort, taking up his foe’s twisted blade. The terrible weapon was heavy in his grasp, and a fell radiance seemed to emanate from the sword, as if the dark steel crackled in protest at being wielded by the knight. Summoning all his remaining might, the paladin drove the vile blade into his adversary and swept the black giant’s head from his shoulders. A searing fla
sh of green light and a deafening sound like a thunderclap accompanied the blow, and the armoured head toppled to the earth and rolled to a stop at the knight’s feet. The fiend’s body slumped prone to the ground and lay still, save for the tendrils of black smoke issuing from the corpse’s cloven neck. The paladin threw the unclean blade to the earth and kicked the severed head away, staggering several steps before he himself sank to the frosty earth of the battlefield. Slowly, he removed his helm and wiped the sweat and blood from his azure eyes. Darkness clouded his vision and a great weariness enshrouded him. A vista born of nightmare roiled before his mind’s eye; an endless realm of slime-flecked cyclopean temples, and the malefic fiends which dwelt within those hoary stone vaults. He saw the freezing black reaches between the stars, and the vile grotesqueries which bred and blasphemed within their ultra-stellar tombs, their aberrant minds ever astir with thoughts of vengeance and diabolic hatred. And burning above that charnel-world of chaos and lunacy, a sinister black sun pulsed and thrummed its siren-call of terror to the desolate void.
“Death comes for you, my love,” came a cold, seductive voice from the massing dark. “You have bested my war-hound, but you have not saved your son.”
The knight peered into the gathering gloom to see the sinuous form of a slender woman approaching him, traversing the frozen earth like a gossamer ghost. Her flesh was snow-pale, her lips full and blood-red, and her raven-black hair fell unadorned to her waist. He gazed into her midnight eyes, and saw the glimmer of ophidian malice that dwelt there.
“Why won’t you lift the curse, witch?” the knight whispered. “I’ve done all you’ve asked.”
“This is only the beginning,” she purred, kneeling before him and gazing into his grim eyes. “The endless cycle of death and rebirth. Can you summon the strength to return from the void? Will you conquer death to save your son?”
She pressed her lips to his, a loveless kiss, cold as the grave.
“Damn you!” the knight rasped. “May your maleficent soul walk only in dark places!”
“Alongside yours, for all eternity,” the woman laughed, the sound melodious but more chilling than the song of the north wind. And then she was gone, disappearing into the night like a serpentine spirit.
Then, the knight closed his eyes, his head sagging forward. And darkness engulfed him.
Blackthorne awoke with a jolt, the vortex of colours swiftly dissipating before his eyes. Dee lowered the obsidian mirror, his face ashen pale, a sheen of sweat upon his furrowed brow.
“Yes, that was most enlightening, captain,” he said quietly, rubbing at his temples. “I see now the full severity of your plight.”
“Then tell me how I may rid myself of these visions,” Blackthorne said. “I’ll pit my blade against man or devil to break this curse, and find out why I’m embroiled in such a web of black sorcery!”
Dee’s expression darkened. “It’s sorcery, to be sure. Hoary spellcraft of such power that this world hasn’t seen its like since twin moons spun coruscant around our tellurian sphere.”
“I’ve been slain by gladius, scramasax, longbow shaft, claymore, and countless other weapons which in truth are beyond my ken,” Blackthorne growled. “I remember every blow, every mortal wound, every death. Why, doctor? What fell forces are at work here?”
Dee interlaced his slender fingers and nodded. “A dangerous voyage lies before you, captain. The answers you seek are not far from England’s shores, but many are the foes ranged against you, and they will not give up their secrets easily.”
“Cold steel and cannon fire have a way of persuading even the most reticent of people to divulge information, doctor,” said Blackthorne, the traces of a smile touching his lips.
“True enough, mariner. But steel and shot alone may not avail you against the fiends you will face. This evil is born of the chaosphere, and you will need all the preternatural assistance you can muster to overcome it.”
With that, Dee produced a small ebony box from a compartment in his desk. Almost reverently, he removed a wedge-shaped crimson crystal from its velvet-lined interior. The precious stone had been affixed to a slender golden chain and the gem glimmered seductively in the candlelight, its multifaceted depths ablaze with a rutilant glow.
“This is a key. Guard it well. You will know the door which it opens when you find it.”
Blackthorne took the crystal, his cold eyes reflecting its blood red radiance. Swiftly, he looped the chain around his neck and tucked the amulet out of sight behind his shirt. “Where do I begin?”
Dee took up a leather cylinder from the desktop and handed it to Blackthorne. “Within is a chart which will guide your vessel, and a map once you make landfall. Follow it carefully, and you will find that which you seek.”
Blackthorne opened the cylinder and removed a stained, tattered scroll from within. He carefully unfurled the scroll and studied the chart etched upon its yellowed surface. Then he smiled and returned the scroll to the cylinder, tucking into his broad belt. “Anything else, doctor?”
“Just a warning, captain,” Dee whispered. “Go with care. Trust no one. I fear I can tell you no more.”
Blackthorne rose from the chair. “Then you have my thanks, doctor. I hope we meet again.”
“We may, Caleb Blackthorne. The scrying mirror does not yield its cryptic secrets lightly. But before you depart, tell me… are you a religious man?”
“I hail to the gods of the sea,” Blackthorne replied grimly. “Whichever ones bring my ship and my crew safely home.”
“Of course you do,” Dee said. “A most prudent theological stance, given your line of work. I hope those gods protect you. Farewell.”
Blackthorne nodded and turned to leave. Then he stopped and pointed to a large map which hung on the chamber wall, partially concealed in shadow.
“One last thing, doctor, if you will. I’m curious. That chart depicts a shore I’ve never seen, and I’ve sailed farther than most.”
Dee smiled. “No man has seen that shore in ten times a thousand years, captain. ’Tis fabled Atlantis, a realm long since devoured by the pitiless seas.”
Blackthorne laughed, the sound devoid of humour. “Ah yes. Atlantis. A legend known by every mariner.”
“More than a mere legend, captain. Mayhap I shall show you the splendour of the Atlantean realm, if you return.”
Blackthorne moved to the chamber door. Before stepping across the threshold, he turned once more to face John Dee. “I look forward to that, doctor. Farewell.”
Then, he disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel beyond.
* * *
The inn was almost empty when Caleb Blackthorne stepped through its wide doorway. Several sailors were seated at the bar and a serving maid was tending the guttering fire in the large stone hearth. Three unconscious bodies were sprawled upon the filthy, straw covered floor.
A huge, heavily muscled man suddenly appeared before the captain, thrusting a jug of ale unceremoniously into his hand. The man’s ruddy face was harshly weathered and he sported a braided red beard and close-cropped hair. Hoops of gold adorned his ears, and his green eyes gleamed with the joviality of intoxication.
“Is the word given, cap’n?” the man thundered.
“Aye, Drustan, it is given,” Blackthorne said, taking a long swig of the ale. “We have our destination. We’ll return to the Starfire with the dawn, and sail before the week is out. There’s much I have to tell you, when my deck is beneath my feet once more.”
The red-bearded man lifted his own flagon and drained its contents in a single swallow. “Then may the gods smile on us. Time yet for another round!”
Blackthorne’s attention suddenly turned to the inn’s entrance as a swarthy, hook-nosed man staggered through the door. The man’s right hand was missing, and a filthy blood-stained bandage covered the stump of his wrist. Five men followed him into the building, all of them armed with daggers, rapiers and falchions.
“There’s the whoreson!” the hook-nosed
man bellowed as he spied Blackthorne. “The one who took my hand and butchered poor Albert! Gut him boys!”
The men advanced, weapons ready.
Drustan threw aside his flagon and hefted his notched cutlass. “A friend of yours?”
Captain Caleb Blackthorne smiled as his fingers curled around the hilt of his sword. “An acquaintance from earlier this evening. Time to take the rest of him. Piecemeal, if needs must!”
Blackthorne’s steel hissed from its scabbard, and the battle was joined.
The raven-haired woman watched the brawl in the tavern from afar, the images shifting and shimmering in the great obsidian mirror before her. She studied the graceful, martial movements of the grey-haired swordsman as he engaged his foes, admiring his skill with the slender blade, marvelling at the deadly economy of his fighting style. In an instant, two of the assailants were down, their blood staining the filthy floor of the inn. The swordsman’s towering companion clove the third brigand with his cutlass, the force of the blow almost shearing the man’s head from his shoulders. The grey man disarmed the fourth warrior and sent a pitiless thrust into the buccaneer’s belly, the tip of his steel emerging from the spine in a red arterial spray. The giant red-bearded fighter parried a blow from the fifth warrior with contemptuous ease and hammered his notched blade down through the man’s shoulder. The steel swept down into the man’s ribs before it was dragged free amidst a shower of dark blood and shards of bone. Finally, the grey-haired swordsman faced the one-handed man alone. Naked fear illumined the swarthy brigand’s eyes, and the grey man’s steel flashed cruelly in the torchlight, instantly opening a gaping furrow in his neck. The grey man moved in close to the dying thief and spoke to him as he sank to the bloodied floor, but the woman could not discern the words he uttered. Abruptly, she waved her hand and the image in the glass swiftly faded, swallowed by a deep, swirling shadow. She turned to the imposing figure that loomed behind her, gazing up into the man’s crimson eyes. The woman smiled as she reached out to stroke the man’s azure flesh, her slender fingers tracing the contours of his sculpted musculature, lingering over the hard lines of his broad chest. A web of veins pulsed beneath the man’s blue flesh, agleam with a faint cerulean luminescence.
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