Chapter Thirty-Two
Utter darkness surrounded her. There was no light, not even the faintest of glimmerings. In the depths of the guild house, Korina found the silence ominous and foreboding. Here, in the furthest reaches of the long-abandoned catacombs she felt cut off and alone, isolated from the world above. She had come here many times before and had long since put the path to memory, but that did not dispel the uneasy feeling that somehow she was being watched. She had no need of a light—especially since one would announce her presence and make her that much easier to follow—but ever since the vampire had seemingly stalked her to her room, she had become quite ill-at-ease when alone in the dark. It wasn’t fear, precisely, it was just a strong sense of discomfort and a disquieting realization of her own vulnerability. She was being foolish, of course. The wizards had set sigils around the guild to keep the creature out and so far they seemed to have been successful. It had set off one of the sigils two nights ago, and killed a fire mage in a brief scuffle, but since then it had yet to make another try to penetrate the defenses of the guild. A guardsman had spotted it last night scurrying across the outside of the guild house wall, but it had made no attempt to gain entry. The wizards were keeping it at bay.
Sighing, Korina tried to put thoughts of the vampire out of her mind, resolved herself to her task, and pressed on. She walked, for a time that seemed like eons, until she finally came to the door she sought. Reaching out to stroke its time-worn surface, Korina breathed a sudden sigh of relief. The vampire could not touch her here; it was her secret place, her private altar. Gathering herself, she uttered the unlocking spell, and smiled in satisfaction as the wooden frame swung inward. Its oiled hinges emitted no sound and from the room beyond a light sprang forth. As the brilliance flooded the tunnel, Korina’s vision fled and she squinted in pain. Although once again vulnerable, this time she felt no fear.
The disorientation passed and her vision cleared.
Just inside the room, a figure to the left moved toward her. It stopped by the doorway, then bent down in a sweeping bow. The man, Jornon by name, stood covered from head to toe in a long, flowing, ceremonial black robe, unadorned save the belt holding the sheathed sword at his side. Once, he had been a guardsman looking to join the guild. He had been a man searching for a cause, hoping he could wield his sword as a servant of magic. Then he met Korina. The man, hopefully the first of many, served her now; he had been entranced by the young sorceress’s beauty. His weakness had allowed Korina to manipulate him and exploit his feelings until he was at his most vulnerable. She had seduced him with empty promises at first, then lured him into service, coerced, actually, when the man showed doubts. With her guidance, he became a servant of Lubrochius bound forever by magic and the skillful manipulations of the evil young woman. Indeed, one might even dare to say he was one of the Children; but not one who would ever acquire any meaningful rank. Korina’s hold over him tended to prevent his full supplication to the Soul-Eater. Only those who came to Lubrochius of their own free will would ever rise high in his eyes. Those who had to be bound were, more often than not, very much expendable.
Jornon straightened from his bow. “Greetings, Mistress. Are you prepared?”
Korina nodded.
The man glanced back over his shoulder. “Our guest is terribly frightened; she has not stopped bawling since I brought her here. Shall I remove the hood?” He motioned to a bundle in the corner, propped up against a thick obsidian slab of stone.
Korina stepped forward and closed the door. Once inside the room, she could hear the young woman’s sobs and whimpering cries. They did nothing to stir her heart. “No, not yet.”
The bundle shifted. “Is that you, Korina?” Marissa’s voice called to her from the bundle. “Help me. I’ve been captured.”
Korina ignored her, then moved toward a small stone table lying near the opposite wall. Several of the gruesome paraphernalia that marked her craft lay spread across the smooth surface: a human skull affixed with a black candle atop its cranium sat in one corner, a large black book on demonic rituals sat in another, while a scarlet altar cloth tightly rolled and bound, an obsidian dagger with a curving blade, and an iron brazier filled with unholy ashes specially prepared for burning rested in a neat arrangement around the center.
Stepping forward, Korina reached out and picked up the black dagger. She pulled it from its sheath and examined its blade in the torchlight. She took a long, deep breath, reveling in the exhilaration that always accompanied the inception of her rituals, then sheathed the weapon, and strapped it to her side. “Let us begin,” she said, turning to Jornon. “Spread out the cloth and bind her. Quickly.”
Jornon strode toward the table and grabbed the scarlet altar cloth. With rapid motions he unbound the cords on the cloth, then spread it out over the slab of obsidian. He grabbed the trembling figure obscured by the black hood and lifted her to her feet. “Now?” he asked.
Again, Korina nodded.
Jornon pulled the hood from Marissa’s face, revealing a countenance streaked by bitter tears of dread. Blinking in the sudden brilliance of the torchlight, the young woman did not at first notice Korina standing a short distance away. When she did, she brightened. “Korina! Help me ...” She trailed off staring from Jornon to Korina, then back again. No one moved. Marissa let out a sob. “You’re with him. Aren’t you?”
Korina saw no reason to hide the truth. “Yes.”
Marissa straightened, trying to look brave and defiant. “What are you going to do to me?” Her eyes quivered and her lips trembled.
Korina nodded to Jornon, and the man shoved the young woman on to her back on the scarlet cloth of the altar. She landed uncomfortably on her corded wrists, pinning both her arms behind her with her weight. Frantically, she tried to wriggle into a better position and squirm away, but Jornan pulled forth an iron manacle and secured it to her foot. Thus bound, the impossibility of escape became apparent and the fear Marissa had been holding back let loose. “Help! Somebody help me!”
Korina picked up the skull and brazier, then stepped forward. “Scream all you want, my dear. I warded this room in every corner. A thief listening at the door couldn’t hear your cries.” She moved deliberately around the altar, studying the terrified woman’s face. On the upper corner of the altar closest to the young woman’s head, Korina placed the skull and candle. At the corner by her foot, she placed the brazier. A single word and gesture sent a spark of flame drifting through the air to light each one. Turning, Korina drew a pouch from her side and emptied a small portion of grey powder in the cup of her hand. She murmured a few soft words, then sprinkled the grey dust over Marissa in a pattern of widening circles. Marissa sneezed and snorted, and vainly tried to blow the powder away.
Chuckling as her prisoner continued to struggle, Korina began walking in a circle and trailing the powder behind her as she went. When finished, a circle of grey, as far across as her outstretched hands, rested on the floor behind the altar, its perfection only interrupted by two stone fire sconces strategically placed on the floor. The sconces were set in a line parallel to the altar on the further half of the sorcerer’s ring. With a word, Korina set both alight.
She needed one final element to make the preparation complete. Reaching into another pouch, Korina drew forth a small brown rodent apparently fast asleep. Another murmured word woke the creature and it began to squirm desperately in her hand. Korina smiled, then silenced the creature forever with a sudden motion from the dagger. Moments later, the young woman set herself to work using the creature’s blood to draw sigils around the ring.
When finished, Korina stood and wiped off her hands. She glanced at Marissa. “It’s your turn, now,” she said, then moved around to the other side of the altar with the dagger in her hand.
“Korina, please! Don’t do this.” Tears streamed down Marissa’s face, yet she remained surprisingly articulate. “I’m begging you!”
“Really, Marissa. I would think you would be happy to join Durek. After a
ll, he is your eternal love. Is he not?”
“I don’t want to die! Korina ... why are you doing this?”
It would be a waste to kill the woman too soon; it would be far more enjoyable to prolong her suffering and give her time to see Death coming for her. Korina gestured meaningfully with her hand. “Life is filled with these wonderful things called opportunities. When one comes along, one must be sure to seize it and take advantage of it as fast as one can. One such opportunity has presented itself to me ... In fact, I would have overlooked it if not for a book I have been reading—Taladirion and the Twelve Genies. Have you ever read it?”
A look of confusion came over Marissa’s face and the young woman shook her head.
“Really? It seemed to be the type of tale a woman of your character would like. If you’re interested, it’s about the young prince Taladirion and his quest for true love. It starts rather simply: the young prince falls in love with a princess, but she rejects him. He goes on a quest to find a genie to grant him a wish so he can woo the princess and gain her hand in marriage. Unfortunately, the genie tells him that true love is beyond his powers so he sends Taladirion on a quest to a second, more powerful genie who might be able to help.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Marissa asked. “Please, Korina…”
“Just listen, Marissa,” Korina said. “The second genie is not strong enough and he sends Taladirion on a quest to find the third, and so on, and so on. In the end, he finds the twelfth genie, the King of Genies, the most powerful genie of all. Unfortunately, the King of Genies tells him that true love is beyond the powers of all the djinn and offers his own humble service instead. Heartbroken, Taladirion takes the genie and his mystical lamp, then starts on his journey home. He cannot have his love, but he has the King of Genies bound to a bottle to grant him wishes until he dies. A more than fair trade one would be inclined to say; unless one were as hopelessly romantic as you are, Marissa.”
Marissa stared at her without saying anything, her pale face numb with horror and fear.
“Anyway,” Korina continued, “when he gets home, Taladirion finds that the princess he loved has grown to miss him and fallen in love with him anyway. They get married and live happily ever after with a genie in a lamp as a servant—a perfect fairy-tale ending for a perfect fairy-tale world.”
Marissa shook her head, completely confused. “Why are you telling me this?”
The sorceress smiled coldly. “Don’t you find it ironic that an overly romantic sod such as yourself is going to lose her life because of a fairy tale?’
“What ... what? I don’t understand.”
Korina’s words turned acid. “No, I don’t suppose you do.”
Stepping back, the dark-haired sorceress spread her arms and intoned her voice in a demonic chant. She spoke slowly, swaying her arms with the undulations of the rhythm. The black dagger in her right hand drew a small circle with its tip, then pointed toward the ceiling. Thick black smoke began issuing forth from the iron brazier and it hung heavily in the air, obliterating all sight of the burning sconces.
Korina descended to her knees, and pulled forth a pair of small earthen jars just recently constructed. An intricate design decorated each dish covering it with a variety of sparkling gemstones—rubies, sapphires, emeralds and others—arranged in parallel lines rising from bottom to top. Each jar mirrored the other exactly. They seemed oddly beautiful in that place full of horrors, and they captured Korina’s stare for a remarkably long time. Finally, the sorceress placed both jars to the side and supplicated herself in homage before the altar. In a loud voice, she cried out.
“Lubrochius, I call to thee, beyond the Veil of Shadows.
“Lubrochius, I call to thee, Ruler of the Deepest Hell.
“Lubrochius, I call to thee, beyond the Infernal Darkness.
“Lubrochius, I call to thee, Master of All that Is, All that Was, and All that Shall ever Be.
“Devourer.
“Consumer.
“Destroyer.
“I beseech with thee, grant me audience. Show unto me, thy chosen daughter, the almighty fury of thy face. Grant unto me, one boon, one gift, one honor that I might bring thee glory. I must bind what I cannot bind, and I need thy unholy aid. I am thy most accomplished daughter, thy truest servant, thy most devout and loyal slave. Come unto me, Lubrochius. Come unto me, O Eternal Eater of Fallen Souls!”
Korina rose to her knees, lifted the inverted dagger in her hands, and pointed the weapon at Marissa’s breast. She stared across the altar at the cloud of roiling black smoke. Strange fires and alien lights started to burn within its depths. It hummed and vibrated, forming a cloak of darkness that drew in all the radiance about it and consumed it within. Like a hole in reality it pulled at her with a palpable force, bridging a dark pit of nothingness that spanned a chasm between two distant worlds. The air, the altar, the room itself began to bend toward that hole, warping and twisting in its blasphemous presence. She felt fear rising in her breast and panic reaching out to grasp her. If she lost control, if the spell slipped, or if the fragile circle of powder were somehow broken, she would be hurled into that darkness and the world beyond. In the deepest pit of Hell, the demesne of Lubrochius, she and all she had worked for would be consumed at the arch-demon’s leisure.
Without warning, the hole of darkness grew still, and the room silent. For a moment, Korina felt a chill of uneasy dread work its way up her spine. What if Lubrochius did not show? It was the demon’s choice, not hers; she could only open the gate that allowed the audience to take place. Everything after that was up to the demon and his own personal whims. Her eyes flicked to the pair of jeweled jars at her side. He had to show! Her plan was brilliant! More than brilliant! It would give her power beyond her wildest imaginings; enough power that the retrieval of the Sceptre of Morgulan would become a laughably easy task. And with the Sceptre of Morgulan would come even more power.
Power. That’s what mattered. Power to set herself up as a god, like Morgulan before. Worshipped and feared by all, she would become Queen of the Realms and master over the inhabitants of the world.
But first, Lubrochius had to show.
She felt a tremor in the darkness, then saw a purplish flash of light. Suddenly, Marissa screamed. She didn’t have to see The Face to sense that something was coming. A presence filled the air, like the calm before the storm, but far more menacing, and far more evil. Korina’s heart began to pound in fear and elation. He was coming. He was actually coming! O power, sweet, decadent power.
There was just one final step to secure the bridge.
Looking down, Korina met Marissa’s stare, saw the terror locked behind the young woman’s eyes. The young demonologist spoke in a flat, dead voice, her eyes never wavering. “Master, accept this offering. I give unto thee, this woman. Consume her soul as is your way.”
Marissa screamed.
The obsidian dagger plunged downward.
Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin) Page 65
