by David Adams
They entered a small chamber, the former duty room for the guards. Like the rest of Old Bern it had been transformed, and here by the light of slow-burning torches they could see that the walls were the color of raw meat, and that a small pile of human bones sat in one corner. There was a heavy, noxious smell in the room that stifled their willingness to draw sufficient air into their lungs. Three other passages led from the room, and Uesra picked one quickly and took the lead, hoping to throw off possible pursuit. Behind them an ominous silence continued.
The new tunnel had a slight downward slope and snaked left and right as it progressed. They would have soon been in total darkness, except that Gabriel continued to give off a white light, softened somewhat now that they had put some distance between themselves and the demons, but still present. After they had gone on for some time, Uesra stopped. “We might take a moment here to speak,” she said quietly. “Best guess on where Kaelesh might be?”
“The tallest tower appeared to be where the castle was before,” Darius said. “No guarantees, but if we can reach it, that’s where I’d try first.”
“Any knowledge about these tunnels?”
“Not really, though I’d guess we could get to the sewers. We’d still need to come to ground to get our bearings, I’m afraid.”
“We do know the general direction,” Silas said, “if we can avoid getting too turned around down here. The city roads were laid out much like a wheel. There was a rough ring just inside the wall, and spoke roads if you will off the main road down the city’s center. If these sewers or lower passages follow the roads, we might be able to get close to the tall tower.”
They continued on, steadily going down, and were rewarded when the tunnel bisected another, this one larger. The smell here was no better than the reek above, but it was different. They had reached the sewers.
“Left?” Uesra asked.
“Hard to say,” Darius replied. “If this is under the main road, we should go right. If it’s the spoke road to the west of the main road, then left.”
They decided to go right, more on the hope that they had reached the main road than on any knowledge or sense of where they were. After a time they found that enough smaller openings lined its walls that they came to believe they had chosen well, but they were soon met with the quandary of where to turn aside. If they followed this path to its conclusion they’d likely reach the south gate of the city, and would be no closer to where they wanted to be than when they entered Old Bern to the north.
Darius’ sword continued to dim, and they wondered if they might use it as a sort of guide, probing likely side passages to see if it would gain in intensity, indicating they neared some foe from the pit. More pressing was the encroaching darkness. They feared they’d soon be in utter blackness.
“We may soon need your skills again,” Silas said to Adrianna.
“That might be a problem,” she said, and nearly swooned.
Silas supported her, then studied her face in the fading light. Even here he could see she had aged, her face wrinkled, her hair gone grey. He was so taken aback by the change in her appearance that he struggled to speak.
“I did what I had to,” she said, trying to smile but looking all the more tired for the effort. “But I need to save what energy I have left for what might await us at the end of our road.”
“What did you do?” he finally managed to stammer.
“The mind and body can accomplish great things, when pressed into service. Without the gem to focus and amplify my power, I chose another source.”
“Yourself.”
She nodded.
“Why would you do that? There were other ways for us to accomplish our goals.”
“We each give as we can. I’d like to think I have helped as my skills allowed. Do not deny me my right to make a personal sacrifice at need. Others have done so, to the fullest extent, and we all know our lives might be forfeit at any time. We all take the same risks.”
“I guess it’s useless to argue further at this point,” he said. “You were always stubborn.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
The light from Darius’ sword continued to hold steady, the evil that inhabited the city above powering it. After what they deemed to be a sufficient period of time, they began looking for a wider passage to their left, and after a few false starts finally found one that allowed them to pass and ascended at an angle they could traverse. Unlike the one they descended, this tunnel was straight, and it ended abruptly. A rotting ladder went up the wall to what appeared to be a trap door above.
Darius went to the ladder and put his foot on the lowest rung.
“Wait,” Uesra said.
“I’ll be both careful and quiet,” he told her.
“I know. It is the sword that concerns me. The light will give you away, even if sound does not.”
Darius looked at Gabriel and knew she was probably right, but rather than moving out of the way, he felt an odd stirring inside. “Be still,” he said to the sword.
Gabriel winked out, leaving them in total darkness.
“I’m going up,” he whispered.
“How did you do that?” Xanar asked.
“I have no idea,” Darius replied honestly.
He found the trap door heavy but not barred or blocked. He lifted it a few inches, wincing as it creaked once, a single soft squeak that seemed far louder than it was. The room above was lit by torches or candles he could not see. He heard no sound and saw no movement, so he pushed the door further open, thrust Gabriel through before him, and ascended the rest of the way up the ladder. He looked about as swiftly as he could, and finding the place abandoned sighed with relief. He opened the trap door fully and called for the others to join him.
The room they had entered was actually only a small chamber off a larger hall, possibly a banquet room in happier times. At first the hall was dark, the light from the small chamber that spilled into it only hinting at its larger size. But as they reached the open door that connected the rooms, the torches that lined the hall sprang to life. It gave them pause, but they felt they could only go forward now. They entered the hall with their weapons and minds fully prepared for a confrontation of some sort.
The hall was long and narrow, with a raised dais at the far end. Upon the walls hung tapestries of black and red, with unintelligible symbols that hinted at some evil origin printed upon them. The remains of a long stone table were crumbled upon the floor. Odd chairs were scattered about the room, their supports of curved bone and a fabric of some unknown source stretched taut between them. The chairs had been toppled or tossed aside, and were strewn randomly about the hall. Upon the dais stood a man in a hooded black robe. His shadowed eyes glinted brightly as he gazed upon the companions. He did not move as they filed into the room, their drawn weapons apparently of no concern to him.
The companions fanned out in a tight arc and faced the hooded figure. For a frozen moment they only stared at one another, the tension in the air palpable. Finally Silas raised an eyebrow and said, “Kaelesh.”
The hooded figure laughed. “No, only his servant. But I will take you to him. Or should I say, take what’s left of you.”
“Say what you will,” Darius replied. “If words could cut us down we’d have died many times over.”
“Then you’ve yet to meet a worthy foe.”
“You deem yourself greater than Praad or Orgoth? I wonder what Kaelesh would think of your self-assessment?”
The man tossed back his hood. His smile was lupine, but there was the slightest hint of doubt in his eyes. “He will not hear it. He will only see the proof of it. He is intelligent enough to then reach the correct conclusions.” The man held his hands out, and as he did so the sleeves of his robe slid back, exposing his arms. Upon his flesh were engraved symbols like those on the tapestries. He lifted his arms and held his hands out with his palms upward. There sprang into each hand a ball of flame, which spit and crackled but did not devour
his flesh.
“Good trick, that,” said Adrianna with a smirk. “It’s taught to the young mages before they’ve been weaned.”
“Then no doubt you can counter it,” he said, and thrusting his hands forward sent a jet of flame toward Adrianna.
She stepped aside, and the flame flew past, licking the far wall and setting one of the tapestries ablaze. “No need to,” she said. “You’ll have to do better.”
Silas could see the façade Adrianna was putting up. She would have countered had she been whole and strong, but now she dodged and put on an air of nonchalance. Had this been a one-on-one battle of magic, he doubted she would have survived. But he didn’t think this man’s magic was anything like Adrianna’s, knew the source of his power was the same as that which was corrupting and ruining their world. If anyone was to master him, it should be Silas. He stepped forward until he had drawn the man’s gaze, then stood at attention with his staff held out to the side, an open invitation to attack.
Now it was the dark priest that smirked. “Oh, a holy man. The guilt bearers, dogs of a fallen god. You wish to die first?”
“I am coming for you,” Silas said, and something in the steel of his voice caused even his companions to pause. He started a slow walk toward the man in the black robe.
“Fool,” the man spit out. “Welcome to oblivion.”
The man shot a jet of flame out, broader than the one he had sent at Adrianna. It swirled about Silas and engulfed him, roaring up until it touched the hall’s high ceiling. His friends gasped in horror, at first stunned by the suddenness of the attack, and then more so by Silas’ lack of reaction to it. They reflexively covered their faces, warding off the searing heat.
Xanar had had an arrow ready since he had entered the room, but something had caused him to stay his hand, and now, even as part of his mind cried out in anguish at what his lack of action had wrought, he still hesitated. He stepped to the left to be able to see the robed man without the flames interposing, and to get a clearer shot. As he did so he noticed movement in the fire, thought distantly of Silas struggling to stay upright, couldn’t imagine the pain…
Silas moved out of the flames and walked with the same steady pace toward the dark priest. A subtle radiance emanated from him, a white glow reminiscent of Gabriel. His eyes never left the dark priest, whose jaw now dropped in shock. “You are only a man, just as I am,” Silas told him. “But I serve the greater power.”
“No!” the man screamed. “I am the strongest and bravest of the New Order! I alone remained behind to serve my master after he revealed his true self. ‘Fearless’ he called me.”
“Foolish,” Silas corrected. The clack of his staff on the stone floor with every other step was like a death knell to the dark priest.
“No!” he screamed again, launching anew his fiery assault. Even as the flames engulfed Silas the dark priest backed away, his power no different but suddenly feeling empty and impotent.
Silas emerged from the flames and started up the steps of the dais. His clothes had not even been singed.
The dark priest scrambled back, lost his footing, fell hard to the ground. He found his feet and pulled out a small, sharp blade.
“Repent,” Silas said. “Denounce your foul master, deceiver of men that he is. It is never too late.”
The dark priest hesitated, if only for an instant. He had the look of trapped animal, one that would take any way out. But he was a man, not an animal, and he mastered his fear or else his pride mastered him. He spit toward Silas’ feet and growled, “Come, let us embrace.” He lunged forward, leading with the knife.
Silas blocked the attack easily with his staff, then gripped the wrist of the man’s knife hand and squeezed, slowly increasing the pressure.
With a shout of pain the man let the knife fall. He looked into Silas’ eyes, saw only peace and calm there, and his rage boiled over. He screamed again, the cry of a madman, or perhaps one of a man realizing at the end that his choices had been poor ones, and that the penalty he would pay would be eternal. His hands were still held at bay by the cleric, but his open palms were pointed right at Silas’ head and were only inches away. This close he couldn’t believe he could fail. He called upon the dark flames once more.
Silas was indeed swallowed up by the firestorm, but so was the dark priest. While Silas stepped back, still unharmed, the black robe swiftly caught fire and was consumed, and the dark priest’s skin blackened and charred. He lurched at Silas even as his sight failed, thinking that with an embrace he might force the cleric to share his fate, but his body betrayed him, and he slumped to his knees. He cried out in agony as the skin started to slough off his bones.
Xanar, finally released by his own mind to act, fired. It was purely an act of mercy.
After the flames had died the smoldering corpse remained. This had been a man, and unlike the demons they had slain, the dark priest’s remains did not vanish into a mist as they were banished from the mortal plain. The smoke and stink of his burned flesh hung heavy in the room.
“Let’s go,” Silas said, his voice flat and cheerless. He felt no sense of victory, could not feel any joy at seeing a lost soul’s final fall.
The hall’s outer doors opened on one of the city’s streets, and as Silas peered out he could see no sign of movement. He nodded to tell the others the way appeared clear for now, then slid out of the door, hugging the outside wall of the building as best he could. Once everyone was outside he motioned further down the road with a tip of his head. “That looks like the tower,” he said.
They agreed that it was. It was at least a quarter-mile away, and the road curved so that they could not see the tower’s base from where they stood. The tower reached toward the red sky, the four upward arcing horns that adorned its highest point almost like a claw trying to close on the heavens. The few windows that the tower bore were lit from within, and seemed like eyes gazing down at them with ill intent.
“Stay near the buildings and keep low,” Uesra said. “And remember the enemy could come at us from any direction.”
“Kind of hard to forget that in a place like this, sister,” Xanar replied.
They started down the road as quickly as they dared, moving from door-to-door and shadow-to-shadow, while the great tower continued to frown down upon them
* * *
The small demon ran into the room so quickly upon being called that it skidded into Kaelesh’s throne, its claws failing to find purchase on the smooth stone floor. Luckily Kaelesh was pacing about, so the demon did not actually touch the demon-lord himself, but it still rose up half-expecting to be blasted back into the pit.
“What is it, Grosk?” Kaelesh asked evenly.
“The interlopers have left the sewers and are moving toward your eminence’s grand tower,” it replied, keeping its eyes averted as it spoke.
“And why does Jazred not give me this report? He was tasked with marking their progress.”
“Jazred is dead, my lord.” The demon flinched as it said these words, preparing to be struck.
Kaelesh scowled slightly, but made no move toward the demon. “How did this come about?”
“He decided to challenge them, to gain his lordship’s favor. I begged him not to do so, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“Did you see how he fell?”
“No, my lord, although it might be guessed at. His charred body lies in the old merchant hall.”
Kaelesh pondered this for a time, then sighed. “I had such high hopes for him. He even might have ruled in my stead once I finish my business here and return to our realm. Now he will only know the dark torment of a lost soul in the abyss. Ironic how those who do my will come to the same bitter end.”
“Yes, lord,” the demon said with a nervous smile.
“Well, no matter. Mortals are mere fodder for us, even those such as Jazred.”
“Of course, your eminence. But several demons were slain at the gate, and before that the bridge guardian, and –”
&
nbsp; Kaelesh had fixed the small demon with an icy stare. “What is that to me?”
“Nothing, of course, your grace.”
“Then why do you bore me by speaking of it?”
The little demon simply bowed its head and cringed.
“So they draw near…”
“Yes, lord. Should we stop them?”
“No, let them come. It is time for the final confrontation. They have proved themselves worthy of death by my hand, have they not?”
“Of course, lord.”
“Have the signal given, and then have them brought inside the tower.”
The demon’s eyes grew large and it stammered, lost for words.
“Greet them yourself, Grosk, and escort them here.”
“What…what if they refuse?”
“They will not.”
The little demon bowed three times, and as soon as it saw Kaelesh’s gaze alight elsewhere it left the room as fast as its legs could manage.
After it had left a much larger, ferocious-looking demon stepped out of the shadows behind the throne. It came up behind Kaelesh, towering over him, a scimitar gilt with sparkling gems clenched tightly in its powerful fist. “I sense no deceit in your order,” it said.
“You’ve always been able to read my intent,” Kaelesh said. “It’s why you are so good at what you do.”
The demon nodded its head once in acknowledgement of the compliment, but remained silent.
“Let them come, Fratel. Take my guard and see that none bar the way. Any who act now do so against my wishes, and will be made to suffer for it.”
“As you will, my lord. And once they arrive?”
“Leave them to me. If any try to flee after they’ve been admitted, then they are fair game for your minions.”
The demon bowed once and marched from the room, intent on carrying out its orders.
Chapter 19: Kaelesh, Lord of Hate
“Listen to that,” Uesra said.
Everyone paused and cocked an ear. “I don’t hear anything,” Darius told her.
