A Manifold of Bindings (The Scrolls of Azbel Book 2)

by John Mangold

  “Is that a confession then? Because I can easily whistle up transport to take the two of you back to Venustus for trial,” Mitchell shot back.

  “Kym, this is not helping,” Nia broke in.

  “Nia, your intuition aside, Maluem and this man are our two best suspects. Now, I was willing to let Maluem slip, as I trust in your arts. However, you know nothing of this ‘Volo’ character-”

  “Do I look foolish enough to keep company with a mass murderer?” Maluem interjected.

  “Well, you did seem to know that Delilah character well enough,” Torrez muttered, earning him a scathing glare from Maluem.

  “Why don’t you ask me? I am standing right here,” Volo demanded.

  “Volo, please, let me handle this,” Nia replied, turning once again to Sergeant Mitchell. “Kym, we have worked together long enough that you know my mind pretty well, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes, Nia, but-” Kym began.

  “Don’t you ‘yes, Nia’ me,” The doctor interrupted. “You know my heart, just as surely as I know yours. As such, do you really think I am daft enough to let a killer walk away from such a heinous crime? If Maluem had even had dealings with someone capable of such a work as that, I would have sensed it. I would have felt the stain on her soul. I tell you, Kym, she is clean.”

  “Yes, but we are not talking about Maluem, are we?” Kym shot back. “Maybe she just wasn’t present when he did the deed. Maybe he remained behind while she crossed the river. Do you see what I am driving at? We don’t know the full circumstances of all that transpired. I must be certain that I am not allowing a mass murderer to walk away with blood still wet on his hands. If you can assure me that this ‘Volo’ could not have destroyed those two towns, then I will drop my protest.”

  Nia opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Kym’s logic was solid, and she knew it. Turning to Volo, Maluem could see the desperation in Nia’s eyes. She wanted to believe in his innocence, but she honestly had no hard facts to base that assumption on except Maluem’s apparent trust. That was not going to be enough to convince the Sergeant.

  “I can vouch for him,” Maluem said. “I know, without a sliver of doubt, that Volo could not have brought any harm to those people.”

  “How would that be?” Kym demanded.

  “Because, at the time that massive storm struck the border cities, Volo was dead,” Maluem replied.

  “Excuse me?” Kym replied.

  A stunned silence settled over the clearing. Every member of the group, except Volo, stared at Maluem as though she had just spoken in tongues. Volo’s gaze, however, was far closer to rage than amazement.

  “Maluem, are you going to start that all over again?” Volo nearly shouted.

  “That particular part of the Aragina River was being dominated by a Leviathan,” Maluem began to explain. “That fiend was the reason no traffic had made it through that crossing in a great while-“

  “We know all this from our reports,” Kym interrupted.

  “Did your reports inform you that it was Volo and I who destroyed that beast, in service to the town of Estel?” Maluem demanded. “We were the ones who freed those two towns from their tormentor, at great personal cost, for Volo in particular.”

  “I really don’t see how it was any harder on me-” Volo began before Maluem interrupted him.

  “Volo, would you be so kind as to tell the good Sergeant where your body was at the time I crossed the border?” Maluem interrupted.

  “Well, I suppose it was with me, in a manner of speaking,” Volo explained.

  “Then you suppose wrong,” Maluem interrupted once more. “Skagit, Volo, we do not have time for this. There is only one way to resolve the issue before us, and to do that, you have to own up to a painful truth. Now, where was your physical body?”

  Volo stared at Maluem, his expression fluttering between terror and rage. On the other hand, Kym looked just as confident as before that he was staring at a murderer. Maluem began to wonder how they would get out of this if Volo refused to admit the obvious. Thankfully, Volo’s reluctance to accept his own demise did not outlast Kym’s patience.

  “With the remains of the Leviathan,” Volo muttered at last.

  “Your body was within the remains of the Leviathan, to be absolutely precise,” Maluem corrected as she turned back to the group. “The Half-Demon’s last act on Azbel was to devour Volo. With the power my Acolyte gifted me before he died, I was able to exact the Leviathan’s destruction.”

  “Well then, how is he standing before us now?” Kym inquired, still looking at Maluem as though she might foam at the mouth at any tick.

  “In the effort to slay the beast, Volo overcharged a Mystic Crystal, causing the device to explode,” Maluem responded. “That catastrophic failure destroyed Volo’s body, releasing his soul along with his stored mystical energy. The collar at my side simultaneously absorbed a portion of that mystical deluge along with Volo’s essence, trapping both within.”

  “That’s how the collar got him,” Torrez chimed in.

  It was now his turn to become the subject of disbelieving stares. Unfazed, Torrez described how he had borrowed the collar from Maluem when they were on the train. His observations had led him to conclude that the device captured something massive, destroying its innards.

  “She never told me exactly what the collar had absorbed or how it got there. I only knew that the core of the collar was fused solid, rendering it inoperable. Maluem had asked me what would happen if she crossed the border with it, and I told her I didn’t know. As complex as it was and with all the damage it had received-”

  “So, I decided it would be best if I released his spirit before we crossed,” Maluem cut in. “I could not abide the idea of Volo imprisoned within that broken artifact for all eternity. So, I chose to mercifully release him. However, someone had other ideas-”

  “When the collar released me, I bound myself to her staff,” Volo put in. “I just couldn’t see Maluem making it on her own. The woman is a bit thick-headed, not to mention somewhat belligerent. She needs someone to keep her on a straight path if you take my meaning.”

  “When this business is complete, you and I are going to have a long discussion on the proper definitions for Master and Acolyte,” Maluem said.

  “So, I am to believe that Volo could not commit the crime in question because he was dead at the time,” Kym summarized.

  “Technically, yes,” Volo replied. “But, in another sense, I was never actually dead. You see, my spirit-”

  “Give it a rest Volo,” Maluem cut him off. “We can debate the nature of death and its connections to the physical form some other time. Right now, we are simply trying to explain that you were, by all mortal definitions, deceased at the time of the destruction of those two towns. Have we made this clear, Sergeant?”

  “Made what clear?” Kym asked. “I’ve heard more coherent ramblings from a toddler. I don’t suppose I could look at this Collar of yours?”

  Maluem opened her mouth to protest, catching herself mid-way. She really did not wish to lose such a fascinating artifact, even if it was now rendered nonfunctional. She considered telling him she had thrown it into the ravine. However, in the end, she simply held it out for Kym to inspect.

  “Of course, as you have explained, it no longer works, so there is no way for me to verify the bulk of your tale,” Kym said as he eyed each of them in turn.

  Nia began to protest the conclusion she was certain Kym was reaching, but he stopped her before she could start.

  “Very well,” Kym said after loudly clearing his throat. “You have provided little to guide me save two facts, of which I am sure. Firstly, the lot of you are far too intelligent to have cobbled together this bizarre farce as Volo’s only alibi. Innocent due to temporary death? That was really the best you could come up with? I know this was short notice, but more effort would have been appreciated!

  “Still, I suppose Nia’s endorsement covers both Maluem and Volo.
The two of us have been through more than a few tight spots together, Nia and me. Her word has never failed me before. Therefore, I will not hinder your crossing into Santilis. However, I will leave you with this warning. If I should discover that either of you played even the slightest role in the Slaughter of Ortus, I will make it my mission in life to bring you two to justice. Is that clear?”

  “I am sure that leaves little to the imagination, Kym,” Nia replied in Maluem’s stead. “To that, I would like to add a warning of my own. Maluem, be very careful in the land you are entering. Follow Shelia and Torrez’s advice explicitly. They know how to avoid the ‘Eyes of the Lords.’ You do not want to catch their attention, not if you wish to survive your little adventure.

  “Lastly, no matter what you are told, even if they say your life depends on it, do not accept any modifications to your body. Not one enhancement must intrude itself upon your flesh. Do you understand me? The consequences of ignoring this advice would be far worse than death.”

  “Well, with that knowledge under my belt, I hardly see how we have anything to fear,” Maluem replied after clearing her throat. “It will not be long before the sun is on the rise, and I think it would be best if we were on our way before the Sergeant’s friends find us still standing here on the border.”

  This was easy for all to agree with, and, after a few more heartfelt goodbyes, the party started out across the bridge riding the same Bounce Buggy they had acquired from the train. As they crossed, Maluem’s attention flowed back and forth between her newly minted staff and Volo, fearing the crystals might react poorly to the new realm. When they reached the middle of the bridge, the B.B. made a few ominous stalls and stutters, but it quickly picked up its rhythm once more. In fact, it seemed to run a bit more smoothly than Maluem recalled it doing in the days before. She could only hope that this was a good omen as to what lay before them.

  22.

  A Meeting of Minds

  A cold wind swept across the water of Nufax Sound, bringing a chill to the shores of the small port city. The winter had been hard on the southern parts of Santilis, and the bitter weather showed no signs of easing. There were few life signs in the chill night air, save the scattered bits of light emanating from the moored fishing scows' lower portholes. Other than the clanging of rigging against various masts, all was quiet.

  The placid tranquility was suddenly split by a harsh rasping, sounding like cloth being ripped along a seam. This noise grew steadily louder until it reached such a pitch to cause physical pain, then vanished. All was silent once more. The only alteration to the serene setting was the sudden appearance of three figures on the brink of the water’s edge.

  One, a giant man of metal and machinery, staggered forward as though nursing a series of deep wounds along his side. The second, a winged gargoyle with a wolf's face and the horns of a ram, moved quickly to aid the first man. Yet, once there, the beast clearly did not know what to do. It merely stood by him, nose sniffing and tail thrashing irritably as though the creature was trying to retrieve some lost memory. Both beings wore thick blindfolds across their eyes, yet their vision remained sharp. All they needed to see was provided through the arts of another.

  That benefactor, the third figure in the group, stood watching the pair intently. He was wrapped in layers of careworn robes that seemed about to slough off his odd form. A hood as tattered as the robes themselves hid his face from view, yet even though his outward appearance seemed placid, there was a tempest raging within his head. Inside his brain, two minds wrestled with the fate of the two minions before them.

  They are weak. We are better off without these two ferds, Izzagu the Sorcerer observed.

  They fought well, Izzagu, the mortal, argued. They can hardly be blamed for their wounds. Their opponent proved much more potent than we anticipated.

  I can blame them, and I shall. Your minions’ failure nearly cost us our subject’s life. What if that skrite had managed to deliver yet another blow? Years of careful schemes would have been for naught. Take that Metal Golem for starters-

  Fortis.

  What?

  His name is Fortis. I felt it suited him in his new role.

  Fortis, is it? Very well, Fortis managed to get himself so badly wounded that the lummox can barely walk. He is of little use to us now. A small child could best him in his current condition.

  But he can heal. We need only find him some metal-

  Yes, he can, but to what end? To blunder his way into another vicious beating, I suppose. It took a mere girl to prove his match, one barely a fifth his size!

  She was a Sorcerer bound to a Soul Leech! His metal skin was no protection from her powers. Besides, Iblis managed to deal her some severe blows.

  Iblis? Who, or what is this Iblis of which you speak, our Gargoyle?

  Yes, I thought it suited him, considering his dire appearance.

  I obviously have been very lax in assigning your duties. Your habit of naming these little pets is most annoying. So, your pawns fought well, did they? Rubbish! Even if they had battled with the rage of pure demons, it still would not have made up for their most damning sin, allowing that Soul Leech to escape! No, such incompetence will not be allowed to stand.

  But we failed to inform them of what they faced. Shouldn’t we be the ones to bear the blame for the battle’s results?

  This is one of many instances where your application of the word ‘we’ is ill-advised. I allowed you access to my vast knowledge. If you neglected to make the best use of it, that is your failure. Should I inflict your pawns’ punishments upon you in their stead?

  You would threaten me? Izzagu, the mortal, answered. He felt a bit bold as the dark soul that shared his body had not yet exerted its full influence over him. Is there some pain you can visit upon me that we have not already shared? Is there some way that you can wound me without wounding yourself? We are bound too tightly to waste our time attacking each other like this. It would be wiser to find aid for these two before their services are required again.

  That is another point of failure, my supplicant. Where would you find the resources to do so? We are nowhere near our intended goal of NuSam. From what I can tell, this is but a small fishing village on the shore of the Santilis mainland. Did you misunderstand my simple instructions?

  Scanning the area, Izzagu realized his sorcerous half was correct. They had not managed to come anywhere near their destination. Had they been successful, they should be surrounded by the loud bustling of a capital city’s suburbs, preferably in some darkened ally or abandoned lot. Instead, a quiet fishing village surrounded them. Taking this in, Izzagu realized their unexpected detour was only the beginning of their problems. Something was terribly wrong.

  In a settlement like this, atmospheric noises should fill their air, even on the quietest nights. The insects in the grass, the night birds calling, the sound of the ships’ rigging striking the masts, all should be weaving a constant tapestry in the night air. Yet there was nothing. Only an oppressive silence remained, leaving a vacuum so complete one could easily hear each beat of one’s heart. For a thousand yards, nothing moved, not the breeze in the air, not the waves on the shore. It was as if, in that small parcel of Azbel, time had seized upon itself. But what power could possibly do such a thing?

  “Izzagu,” A voice spoke, shattering the silence.

  Izzagu slowly turned to face the new arrival, standing on the inexplicably frozen waves, some six feet out from the shore. Even from the one word uttered, Izzagu knew his visitor immediately. It was the one person he sought more than any but did not want to meet, not now, not yet. It was Lord Daimos.

  The lower body of Daimos was wrapped in a black sarong, hinting at whatever provided his mobility. His upper body was encased in a Cuirass that was draped in tubes and wires, artfully routed to resemble a stylized ribcage. His shoulders were heavily laden with sturdy metal pauldrons, linked by armor plate around his neck. From these sprouted two long arms of synthetic flesh and steel, ea
ch leading down to an armored gauntlet that held a mechanically complex scythe between them. His face was half masked from his emerald eyes up, revealing sharp, weathered nose, cheeks, and chin to the world. From the apex of his head, a spout of red hair sprung up, tumbling down the middle of his back in a long ponytail that separated two immense wings springing from his back.

  As Izzagu, the mortal, laid eyes upon the Sorcerer Lord Daimos, the dark presence within him swarmed over his consciousness. There was no struggle; no resistance was possible. The foul being took control of his body through sheer brute force. His mind reeled as he was forced into the background of his own perceptions. For the rest of the conversation, he would be but a spectator.

  “Izzagu, you are inside that pile of rags, are you not?” Daimos demanded. “Explain your presence.”

  Izzagu pulled back his hood, revealing the ornate mask which lent the upper part of his face an angelic beauty but did nothing for the cadaverous half it crowned. Ragged lips twisted into the form of a nasty sneer. Though his eyes were partially obscured by his own mask, the contempt in their depths was easy to read. He gave no response to Daimos’ repeated question, preferring to look pointedly at his wounded minion. The silence dragged out between them before Daimos spoke at last.

  “Hiding behind your wounds again, I see,” Daimos remarked as he gave Izzagu’s minions an appraising glare. “Well, if I wish to hear your pathetic excuses, I suppose I must provide you the means.”

  A dark gem set deep in the center of Daimos’ chest glowed with vile menace as he raised his left hand in the air and snapped his armor-clad fingers. At this metallic click, a longshoreman popped into existence between the two. It was apparent the man had no idea where he was, looking as though he had been disturbed from a deep sleep. As he turned to face Lord Daimos, his eyes spread wide in dawning terror, his legs failing to carry his body from what his mind could not accept. With a wave of the Sorcerer Lord’s hand, all expression left the terrified man’s face, his body assuming the position of a soldier at attention, his eyes locked on the distant horizon. Turning his head from his handiwork, Daimos granted Izzagu a slight nod.