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

by John Mangold

  With a savage jerk, Maluem dug in her heels and wrenched her arm free, only to go sprawling to the unforgiving ice. She barely had time to acknowledge this new influx of pain before Cruentus’s voice flooded her ears and mind as one with exhaustion, rage, and frantic giggles.

  “Get up!”

  Gathering her feet beneath her, Maluem did precisely that, but her thoughts were not on following Cruentus but on getting back to the island of death to retrieve her staff. Her efforts were a blind, clumsy scampering as her pain addled mind tried valiantly to deal with vertigo and ice at once, but at last, her hand grasped around the familiar surface of her partial Focus. Turning back to where she had come, Maluem could not help but smile with satisfaction. Once more, she had been right. The water had frozen, locking the rising skeleton horde in place. Unable to move or break the bonds of their icy prison, the hideous creatures could do little but sit, immobile until the waters thawed. Maluem planned to be long gone before that happened.

  With her senses still operating at half capacity, Maluem moved as quickly as possible to rejoin Cruentus. With all else that battered her mind, she could feel Cruentus’s emotions flooding in as she approached, corrupting her own thoughts with those of the other woman’s coarse mind. What shocked Maluem most about this was the immense feeling of disappointment she felt flowing in. It was almost as if, despite the hopeless odds they faced, Cruentus longed to rejoin the fight. Between this and the constant laughter emanating from Cruentus, Maluem began to wonder if Thayne’s assessment of Cruentus Sanity had been more accurate than she had thought.

  Maluem had little time to ponder this, however, as the roof that had threatened collapse before began to make good on its promise. Large chunks of metal and masonry began to tumble from the crumbling structure above, exploding into shards of hurtling shrapnel as they impacted the solidified surface of the subterranean lake. Once more, a mystical show of force had proven too much for the structure she was in.

  “Come, Cruentus,” Maluem struggled to say as she rejoined the woman’s side. “We need to find a way out of here before Azbel finishes what these rotting corpses could not. And for the love of my sanity, would you kindly stop laughing!”

  Making their way across the frozen expanse as quickly as such a surface would allow, Maluem searched her memories for some clue as to an exit. However, she could not recall any moment where her visions had shown an entrance of any kind. As they made their way through the darkness, the ceiling behind them collapsed ever faster, the distinct sound of shattering ice joining the roar of impacting steel and rock. They would have to find an escape route quickly, or neither of them would ever see the light of day again.

  Looking upwards, Maluem could perceive a crack opening in the rock above them, shooting like a lightning bolt to the far wall. Yet when it arched down to the frozen water surface, a sizeable portion of the wall collapsed, leaving a gaping hole behind. It was here that they directed their movements. As they drew closer, Maluem could see a cavernous expanse beyond. This was their only hope. Breaching the edge of the ragged portal, Maluem cast a simple glow spell within, knowing that it would fail once Cruentus drew near. Still, it might be enough for them to navigate beyond.

  In one glimpse, Maluem’s eye lit on several details. One was that the walls of this hidden chambered were far too regular to be a cave; this room had been created by the hands of mortals. The second was the glint of glass embedded in a strange device lying on the floor, and third, that same device rested at the foot of what could only be a ladder.

  What surrounded all of this was far too grisly for her mind to even acknowledge. From the briefest glimpses her overtaxed senses would allow, it appeared that humans had at one time been ritually sacrificed and nailed to the walls, their remains mummified by the abandoned chamber’s peculiar atmosphere. But considering the inevitable death which swarmed up behind them, this hideous display was not nearly as daunting as it might have otherwise been.

  As Cruentus closed in behind her and the glow spell failed, Maluem launched herself towards that ladder, grasping desperately in the dark to feel its cold metal surface in her hand. The sounds of collapse behind them were now far more than deafening, and with it came the rush of air and dust that screamed their inescapable doom. With a final lunge, Maluem’s hand struck home. With a fluid motion, Maluem grasped once more in the dark, found the odd object on the floor, tucked it into her blouse, and launched herself up the ladder.

  The climb seemed to take an eternity, Maluem’s already overstrained muscles barely able to match the pace her mind demanded. As they climbed, she could feel the rush of air from below, along with the kiss of frigid water. She knew the rising deluge had to be just behind Cruentus, who was but a rung below her as they ascended. With a sudden thud and a lance of pain, Maluem struck something substantial above her, bringing their climb to a sudden halt. Before she even was aware of what was happening, Cruentus shoved her aside as she moved up the ladder, sharing the rung with her. It took no time to answer what had driven such urgency. Water surged up to engulf her boots, quickly swarming up her legs.

  Using all the considerable strength in her arm, Cruentus swung her fist upward, narrowly missing Maluem’s face in the cramped space, slamming her knuckles against the blockage above. The air rang with the cracking of steel as the barrier’s latch gave way, releasing a beam of brilliant sunlight, along with a torrent of cold ocean water. Before either woman could gasp or blink, the force from below pushed them up and out, flinging them into a vast expanse of water just off the Tear of Azeza’s shore. They were free, now all they had to worry about was drowning.

  Maluem’s blood froze as she turned to Cruentus, only to glimpse her white hair vanishing below the surging ocean’s waves. In blind desperation, Maluem grasped the metal lip of the hatch they had been thrown from with her right hand while stabbing down into the ocean’s depths with her left. Panic seized Maluem as her arm flailed fruitlessly in the murky brine. As fast as Cruentus was sinking, how could she possibly reach her in time?

  Maluem stabbed deeper towards Cruentus’s last position, taking a deep breath and submerging her own head in the effort. With a wave of relief, Maluem brushed Cruentus’s outspread fingers and grabbed at them, feeling the woman grab hers with all the delicacy of a vice. The pain was intense beyond imagining, nausea unbearably overwhelming, but Maluem was not going to let go, even if Cruentus threatened to drag them both down. Maluem was going to keep this woman alive, even if it killed her.

  With a titanic effort, Maluem dragged Cruentus up to the surface, guiding her hand to the same metal and stone outcropping she now clung to. Once Cruentus had a solid hold and was spluttering for air, Maluem gladly let go and began searching the sky above her in desperation. The clouds were swirling in a furious tempest, tossing lightning back and forth with joyful abandon. Perhaps this cyclone was yet another effect of removing the cell? Maluem’s thoughts immediately turned to Torrez and his flying contraption. In this storm, would he see her flare? Could he even keep that contrivance in the air in such winds?

  Gale driven waves battered the pair, incessantly threatening to wrench them from their precarious perch. Maluem closed her eyes, concentrating as hard as she could, mumbling a simple incantation she had learned as a child. Pointing her left finger skyward, Maluem released her spell, hurtling a small fireball upwards to pierce the clouds. Watching the arc of its smoke trail, Maluem followed her casting with a silent prayer that the right eyes would be watching and react quickly.

  The pulses seemed to drag into hours as Maluem heard nothing but the relentless pounding of the waves, the incessant thunder far above, and the labored breathing of the woman beside her. She could feel her grip loosening as wounds and exhaustion threatened to pull her down to the inky blackness they had so narrowly escaped. But then she heard that familiar scream of the propulsion units, the intense blast of their exhaust on their heads, and she knew salvation was at hand.

  Torrez set the giant beast down in the
water and lowered the front ramp. As water flowed into the craft, Cruentus and Maluem released their hold and allowed the current to pull them into the belly of the Gorgon. Within a pulse, they felt the floor lift from below them as the beast leaped into the air, draining the ocean’s water out the tail ramp, leaving the pair of them sprawled out like fish in a net.

  Maluem took a brief account of the situation. Across her back was her staff, with Volo safely inside. At her side was Cruentus, battered but still breathing, with the satchel containing Dorjakt’s cell hanging on her hip. Finally, a quick inventory of her own limbs confirmed all were intact. She had survived. They all had survived, with another piece of Dorjakt’s staff in the bargain.

  Mission successful, Maluem thought with a sigh as she collapsed onto the metal deck, allowing exhaustion to swarm up to claim her. There were wounds to heal and the next leg in the journey to plan, but these tasks could wait. For now, all Maluem wanted to do was sleep, and the way her body felt, there was not a force on Azbel that could stop her. As the blackness swarmed in, Maluem welcomed it openly and hoped, just this one time, she would not dream.

  The End

  Epilogue

  With silence and a puff of ash as his only heralds, Lord Daimos arrived on the shores of the island quaintly labeled The Tear of Azeza. It never ceased to amuse him that the populace of Santilis had chosen to hang that label on this spit of land. If they knew but a fraction of what happened here, of how Azbel was changed by those long-forgotten moments… But then again, who would tell them?

  Gazing across the ruins, Daimos could envision what once was, the grandeur of the edifice that was now scattered rubble. Here lay the ruins of an empire long gone, an island to mark the position of a continent long destroyed, memories of a Lord whose name was never to be spoken again. Such was the legacy of the true father of this island. Such was the legacy of Dorjakt.

  But these memories were not what Lord Daimos had returned for. He had come to safeguard the one item that made his rule over two nations possible, the manifold for all his bindings holding the populace in his sway, the Cell of the Scythe of Dorjakt. Yet, even as he flowed up the shores of the island, he could feel that its presence had been shifted, moved from the altar he had created so long ago.

  At that moment, he could feel the control over his minions crumbling. If he did not return that device to its proper place, reinstating the delicate web of mechanisms he had crafted, all he had worked for these last millennia would be lost. But the Cell was still close; he could feel its presence. All he need do was track down the would-be thieves and exact his vengeance upon them.

  Casting his senses outward, Daimos looked to the sky above him. It was only then that he noticed the dark clouds beginning to fill the sky. This sparked a pang of alarm, as he knew of no such storms approaching his borders. The tempest appeared to be artificially generated, possibly through sorcery. Yet, only a Sorcerer Lord could manage such mass manipulation, and, of all the Lords, only one drew his power from the elemental forces of the atmosphere.

  “Daimos,” a gravelly voice croaked out from behind him.

  Half turning, Daimos looked down the path towards the coastline. There Izzagu stood, his perverse experiments flanking him, a spiteful smile radiating from beneath his angelic mask. As the tainted wind caught the remnants of Izzagu’s tattered robes. Daimos mused that the wasted surroundings matched Izzagu’s ruined form perfectly.

  “What brings you to the Tear, Daimos?” Izzagu asked, his words dripping haltingly from the ragged lips of Iblis. “Come to view the carcass of an empire long forgotten? You had a hand in that cataclysm, did you not?”

  Daimos said nothing, his eyes boring holes into the wretch and his companions.

  “You did not expect to find me here,” Izzagu continued. “Two ruined souls locked inside a walking corpse of your making. How strangely fitting that you should encounter evidence of your most heinous work amid the ruins of your greatest folly. Almost as though fate had guided you here at this precise moment.”

  Daimos remained silent, watching as saliva dribbled from the lips of Iblis, the grotesque struggling to pronounce mortal words its mouth was not created for. Clearly, Izzagu had granted his monstrosity the gift of speech, not considering the thirst such knowledge might kindle within the creature. The fool never was capable of thinking beyond his most immediate passions.

  “No response from the great Daimos?” Iblis asked as Izzagu shifted in obvious annoyance. “I am sure you are aware that, as we speak, your intricate machinations are being undone. All brought about by these two hands, the very ones you cursed me with so many years ago. Ruination from your past delivering ruination to your future. Fittingly ironic, wouldn’t you agree?”

  The silence dragged out as Daimos regarded Izzagu with open disgust. At last, Daimos quickly raised his finger to point at Iblis, causing Izzagu to flinch. Daimos let out a soft, sardonic chuckle. Izzagu had been straining so hard to prove he was in control of the situation, but that one flinch betrayed who truly inspired fear here.

  “Izzagu, did you teach that thing to speak?” Daimos asked. “You always were an incompetent fool. Wyverns are one of the most insidiously clever, most prolifically replicating vermin ever summoned. And yet, you choose that species for experimentation stock. You do realize that concoction will outlive its summoner, correct? That you could release a plague of Wyvern on Azbel? Or, are you simply too dim to realize what you have done?”

  “Dim, am I?” Iblis chortled. “I was able to lure the shadow ruler of two nations here, to the Tear, to face my retribution, and you call me dim? Oh, I know exactly what I have done, and I have only begun to reveal it to you.”

  “I have wasted enough time with you, Izzagu,” Daimos said, rage flaring in his eyes. “Your little pawn is currently scampering away with my property, and I will squash her. Get out of my way, or I shall crush the three of you as well.”

  “You are not going anywhere,” Iblis said, punctuating Izzagu’s projected threat with a snarl.

  “So be it,” Daimos said, his wings spreading out ominously behind him. “Your bones will join the rest of the forgotten refuse on this cursed island. The warped creator slaughtered with his perverse progeny. As you said, ironically fitting indeed.”

  Daimos waved his hand, sending forward a crushing force blow towards all three of his targets, aiming to pulverize all with a single strike. However, just as his spell drew close, the ash and bone covering the soil drew up into a rock-solid wall, blocking all sight of Izzagu or his minions. The blast struck with Azbel shattering strength, causing the island itself to shudder from the blow as the mystical forces exploded on impact. Nothing could stand before the will of Daimos.

  As Daimos expected, the wall of ruination exploded, turning momentarily into a dense cloud of shattered fragments before congealing into the shape of an immense projectile, hurtling back towards Daimos. With a flick of his wrist, the massive missile exploded spectacularly, peppering the remaining ash around him with debris and filling the air with suffocating silt. As the dust cleared, a lone figure remained on the path ahead, its ragged clothing swaying in the destruction’s breeze. Izzagu.

  Daimos had little time to ponder Izzagu’s companions' whereabouts before he was struck in the chest by an airborne assailant. The attacker’s claws dug deep within his rib cage, lifting him up from the ground and then releasing him to plummet back down. Daimos cursed himself for losing sight of Izzagu’s flunkies.

  Momentarily flustered, Daimos flapped his own wings to halt his descent, but there simply was not enough time. The ground caught up with him before his wings could find enough purchase in the air around him. Being cast flat on his back was not a sensation Lord Daimos was accustom to, and it drove his fury to new heights.

  When I gain my feet, Daimos fumed. I will teach the pile of rags and bile the true meaning of agony.

  Daimos pulled himself up into a crouching position, mustering his power for a devastating assault, when a second mass
struck him full in the chest, driving him back and pinning him against an outcropping of ruined masonry. Daimos had enough time to recognize his attacker as the one called ‘Fortis’ before a fist like a mining machine plowed into his armored chest. The blow was not quite enough to collapse his carapace, but it was enough to shatter the dark gem set into his breastplate, the heart of his Focus. As cracks coursed through his source of power, Daimos felt his mystical cistern swiftly run dry.

  The monstrosity which held him fast wasted no time to marvel at its handiwork. Even as Daimos struggled to pull what power he could from his surroundings, he could perceive the fiend drawing its other fist back to deliver a killing strike. This would not be allowed. With a thought, Daimos released the spell he had held back for Izzagu, unleashing its fury on this mechanical demon. The effect was devastating.

  The blast lifted the monstrous fiend high into the air, throwing it back from its victim. Simultaneously, the incantation destroyed the bindings Izzagu had placed, stripping every piece of metal down to its core anchorage. The body that struck the ground some twenty feet away was that of a man once known as Dooley. His mortal body returned to its original state, with not a bit of armor remaining, not even the blindfold over its eyes. His face revealed, the dying man stared up into the clouds above with empty sockets, an unbroken ring of runes circling their ragged rims.

  Daimos had no time to enjoy his opponent’s demise as the first fiend was on him instantaneously, plowing with ballistic force into his chest once more, driving him against the outcropping like a hammer on an anvil. The masonry behind shattered from the titanic blow, sending both combatants backward into the ash and bone. When Daimos regained consciousness, he found Iblis perched on his chest, its claws wrapped tightly around his neck. It was a crushing grip, to be sure, but against the armor of his mechanized body, it had all the force of an infant.