The Ever Fiend (Talon Stormbringer Book 1)

by Randy Ellefson

  Talon recognized the symbol as one associated with the gods. Was the Black Tower a doorway to their realm? The key to this place? A meeting spot? Or a place where horrible people were banished instead of tortured forever in Lochiare, damned to eternal boredom in Maeryndor, or their soul ripped apart in E’Kainum? Some had wondered if Everland was yet another afterlife for the evil, but the gods would confirm nothing.

  “I’m surprised it’s that easy to enter such a formidable place,” said Noren.

  Jenar smiled wanly. “It only works because I drank from the Poison Pond and have the elixir in my system. That, and I have some magic talent.”

  “Interesting, albeit a steep price to pay.”

  “Hopefully there’s no other price,” remarked Talon, concerned for Jenar. Her skin seemed darker than before, but then that could’ve just been the lighting conditions. He spoke the word of magic which triggered the Ball of Light valender and a fist-sized orb appeared, bobbing in the air a few feet above and in front of his head. He had no doubt about it now—Jenar’s skin had darkened as if she had gotten tanned by the sun in the last hour. He moved toward the opening as the light kept ahead of him, the others following.

  As light filled the interior, Talon scanned for indications of danger that didn’t appear. The smell of decay seemed to permeate the dank air, the source undetected. No sound came from anywhere. To the left and right stood hallways and before them descended a wide staircase. Another rose beside it into blackness.

  “Where are these items we’re risking our lives for?” he asked with disdain. He had made a living as a thief of late, but there was a limit to how much risk he took for that, and they’d far exceeded it.

  “This way.” Jenar brushed by him.

  Talon had expected them to go up, but instead they descended deeper and deeper, through empty corridors and abandoned rooms. Nothing seemed to have been there in forever, thick cobwebs in corners and undisturbed dust everywhere. One large room bore a huge table with the symbol Jenar had traced earlier carved into its surface. Twenty-eight chairs surrounded it. The furniture looked as if it had not been used in eons and had been styled in ways he found bizarre and unsettling, though he couldn’t pinpoint why.

  They reached a set of closed but unlocked double doors, both carved with a scene of wizards and warriors who bore features unlike any they’d seen. But then perhaps they were from other continents on Llurien. Jenar grinned at him before shoving open the doors. Beyond lay a room large enough to obscure the far side. Close to them, down a short flight of steps, were piles of weapons, organized by type. Swords, knives, and daggers lay in one, axes in another, hammers, flails, and maces farther away, spears and lances elsewhere, and great piles of arrows, crossbows, and both long and short bows. Along the walls stood suits of armor, and above the armor, more weapons occupied all the available wall space.

  With a word, Noren took command of Talon’s ball of light and split it into a dozen orbs that flew outward to positions near and far in the hall, illuminating its entirety. A murmur of appreciation escaped Mikolyn’s lips, for the piles nearest them were duplicated several times across the vast sweep of the room, in the center of which stood a large dais as if a speaker would address a crowd from there. A Moon Gate stood at its center, the lack of a shimmering vista through its frame indicating it was off. Talon sighed in relief at its presence, wanting to head straight for it and find Dal.

  The group descended to the weapon-strewn floor. Talon continued to the gate, though Noren was the only one who could cast the spell to activate it. With the tower deserted, they could have the time to get Dal and return, and then be done with this place.

  Jenar joined him, as did Noren, each looking around and enjoying the vantage point. Nightwish roamed among the piles, pawing at odd items, while Mikolyn went to a pile of jhaikan-staffs, which he began looking through.

  “I guess there’s no way to tell,” he began, “what any of these items do.”

  “Not until you use it, no,” agreed the sorelia, who dropped the sack he had been carrying, eyes on the treasures before them.

  The kryll asked, “Any chance that this Moon Gate is the kind that can be made to go to any other Moon Gate? Imagine taking all of this to Llurien.”

  Noren put his hands on the metal gate’s rectangular frame and began examining it. Talon hoped the answer was no. The last thing Llurien needed was such a treasure trove of cursed items being let loose, and the sorelia had already admitted that was exactly what he wanted. Noren indicated the gate only went to one place, as far as he knew, so Talon suggested activating it so they could go find the knight. The sorelia frowned, Jenar seemed indifferent, but the kryll nodded his agreement, so Noren cast the spell and the gate shimmered to life, a glistening wall of silver offering an occasional glimpse of the destination—another room devoid of significance to them.

  They gathered on the dais, calling Nightwish over, and were about to step through when the room lights dimmed. The mynx growled and backed away from the room’s entrance, where a black robed and cowled figure drifted down the stairs. It looked just like the limbless Ever Fiend that Talon had killed at the Poison Pond, though it seemed somehow bigger, more intimidating. Only darkness filled the hood, but Talon could sense when their eyes met, a jolt of menace striking him.

  “We killed you!” said Mikolyn, reaching for his jhaikan-staff. One hand went to the wound in his side, where the silver light began to grow brighter while he gasped in pain.

  The figure glided to a stop not far from the dais, surrounded by weapons, the deadliest of which was itself. “No,” it said, his hollow voice echoing whereas theirs did not, “you killed Aeonyn, an apprentice.”

  A murmur escaped the sorelia. “More than one Ever Fiend? By the gods. We must tell Llurien.”

  Talon agreed but doubted they’d get the chance unless they went through the Moon Gate and somehow destroyed it so they couldn’t be followed. Stalling, he asked the Fiend, “How many of you?”

  “You will learn soon enough when you join them. All but you.” The Ever Fiend raised a ghostly hand at the kryll. Mikolyn lifted from the floor with the motion, a burst of light erupting from his wound as he screamed in agony. Then the Fiend jerked its wrist and Mikolyn flew off the dais and into a suit of plate armor on a stand, which fell atop him, pinning him to the floor. When he lost consciousness, the wound’s light began to fade and Talon feared he was dead.

  “Why not the kryll?” Talon asked, one hand discreetly drawing the Chaos Blade at his waist.

  “He had no magic talent,” came the answer. “I can sense magic in all of you. One drink from the—”

  Talon didn’t wait for him to finish, hurling the enchanted blade. The Ever Fiend let the blade slam into its heart. It remained standing, calmly, and didn’t even glance down while the weapon slowly exited the wound as if pulled out by an invisible hand. It clattered to the floor, steaming black ichor covering its length. Thinking like Noren for a moment, Talon briefly wondered what the stuff would be worth to a wizard, but as he watched, it boiled off the dagger and dissipated. From the hole in the Ever Fiend’s chest, silver light gleamed until the wound closed as if it had never been there, even the robe mending itself.

  Behind him, the Nyborian noticed Nightwish dragging Mikolyn from under the armor. The cat had little trouble, strong as he was, and the kryll began to stir. Jenar hadn’t even drawn a sword; her lips were moving silently as if praying to some god. Beside the Moon Gate, Noren began to quietly speak strange words in karelian, the lorenia lines on his face glowing brighter.

  Hoping to distract the Ever Fiend from Noren’s actions, Talon descended the dais to a pile of spears and took one. “Something in here must kill you.”

  The Fiend laughed. “You are welcome to try, Stormbringer. Nothing in here has ever worked.”

  Talon arched an eyebrow. The Fiend sounded disappointed. Perhaps he could lend assistance. “Maybe the right person hasn’t attacked you.”

  The Ever Fiend ges
tured at the piles. “Every weapon is different. Perhaps I’ll let you try them all.”

  Talon hurled the weapon with all his might. The Fiend never moved as the spear struck it full in the face, the momentum throwing it backward to the floor.

  Chapter 7 – An Old Talent

  Jenar gasped, and when Talon looked at her, she seemed aghast. Had she wanted to strike the Ever Fiend down? He ascended the dais again to speak to her when movement brought his gaze back to the Ever Fiend. The spear pushed up by itself and fell to one side. Then the Fiend silently rose to its previous position, seemingly unharmed. Talon felt that the only smart move was to rush through the Moon Gate and run for their lives. But Noren had another idea.

  “You must go while I delay the Fiend,” said the sorelia to him, the lorenia lines on his face and neck glowing so intensely that Talon almost couldn’t see his eyes. “Take Nightwish. The world must learn there’s more than one Fiend.”

  “You can tell just as well as I,” responded Talon, surprised the karelia was willing to sacrifice himself, especially to such a fate. Who knew for how many eons Noren would be the Ever Fiend’s slave?

  Noren smiled without humor. “Who would believe a sorelia? Take my sword. You will need it more than I.”

  “The Fiend will destroy your soul.” Talon reluctantly took the offered blade.

  “You forget I’m karelian. I have already separated it. My body will battle the Fiend, and when it falls, my soul shall escape.”

  Talon remembered the words of magic the karelia had spoken. Karelia could willfully separate their souls from their bodies and still control both, a feat usually done when death is certain and there’s some chance the soul won’t reach an afterlife if it’s still in the body at death. As gods-appointed caretakers of all spiritual matters on Llurien, the karelia tracked down ghosts and sent them to the afterlife. They blasted undead back to the grave. They communicated with the dead when necessary. Noren had done the dreaded spell—his spirit hovered nearby, ready to flee from the Ever Fiend’s grasp the moment his body died.

  Talon hesitated to leave him behind, but as Mikolyn staggered to the top of the dais beside the still open Moon Gate, Noren gave a sharply spoken command to Nightwish and the big cat reared up, pushing the kryll through the gate’s opening with both paws before leaping into Talon and Jenar, propelling all three of them through and leaving Noren behind. Just before they vanished from one tower to arrive in the other, words of magic from both sorelia and Ever Fiend filled the air, accompanied by a whoosh, a boom of thunder, and a scream. The sound cut off as they left the treasure room into what looked like a throne room. Three gilded chairs stood at one end, faded banners and tapestries hanging from the gray limestone walls. Talon stopped himself from stumbling to the floor, one hand in Nightwish’s dark fur and the other around Jenar’s arm. Behind them, the Moon Gate remained on.

  “We must go back,” said Jenar, turning toward it. Talon shoved her forward and away.

  “No. We must honor Noren’s sacrifice. Hurry, away from this gate and out of this tower.”

  “But we are far from Talendor,” Mikolyn protested weakly, rising to his feet with a grimace.

  Talon helped him up. “It doesn’t matter. The first chance to escape to Llurien, we take it, wrong Ever Gate or not.”

  With the cat and the kryll following, he forced Jenar from the room. The Moon Gate continued shimmering as they escaped into a hall with a stairway curling down the tower. The Nyborian peered through a window on their way and saw the familiar stone wall around the Vanishing Tower, confirming their location. That meant Dal was around here somewhere, if he yet lived, and Talon felt eager to find and save the knight.

  As they descended from the building’s pinnacle, Jenar’s resistance faded and she began to lead the way, remarking that there was a way to know their whereabouts. On reaching the second floor, having passed all other rooms and doorways without stopping, she pushed into a central, circular room where a glowing orb four feet in diameter had been set into a circular, waist-high table of obsidian, where it floated. An image of blue covered much of the orb’s surface, but a number of large, irregular shapes of brown and green did, too, and only on nearing it did Talon recognize one as the continent Antaria, from whence they’d come.

  “A map,” he said, watching in fascination as the orb suddenly swirled several seconds before stopping.

  “The tower just changed locations,” observed Jenar. “That’s what the Orb of Vessyn does.”

  “It shows where on Llurien we are near?”

  “It’s actually what’s causing the tower to change locations. It’s supposed to stay in one place unless someone makes it move, but this place corrupts everything magical, so it does whatever it wants now. It has for centuries.”

  “Fascinating,” Mikolyn said, sounding weak and clutching his side. “I’ve heard of the orb. It’s legendary. No one’s known what happened to it.”

  Talon didn’t share his amazement. He gazed at it and didn’t recognize the continent they were on now, but Jenar touched the shining surface and the word “Llorus” appeared in white letters. She pressed a small mountain range and the words “Tissan Peaks” shown atop them. She placed both hands on it and spread them, causing the view to get much closer so that a walled town appeared, the word “Nieve” above it when she touched it. Letting her hand linger, the orb emitted a short burst of light.

  “We just moved to there, in the Kingdom of Baeshor,” Jenar remarked.

  “We can control it?” Talon asked, excited by the chance to go where they needed so quickly.

  “Seems like it.”

  “Good. Back to Talendor!”

  So engrossed in the display was Talon that he didn’t hear a metal-shod foot strike the stone floor behind them until nearly too late, a growl from Nightwish confirming that an enemy approached. Two more steps sounded, nearing him, as he turned and began to raise Noren’s sword to ward off the gleaming long sword that slashed down at him. Mikolyn was faster, or had heard the knight sooner, for the jhaikan-staff flashed upward to block the blade and turn it aside.

  “Dal!” Talon yelled, relieved but confused by the attack—until he saw the silver light shining from the man’s eyes and a look of wrath twisting his features. The knight wasted no time, sword swinging again, but this time for Mikolyn, who’d seemingly spent his last bit of strength in saving the Nyborian. The blade sheared through the kryll’s shoulder and halfway through his torso, killing him. Dal tried to pull the blade free but it was stuck in bone and sinew. Talon hesitated, remembering his vow to decapitate the now undead knight rather than leave him to this fate.

  Jenar leapt forward, twin swords ripping through Dal’s armor like it was no more than cloth. Both weapons now revealed the awful power granted by the Poison Pond: one left a trail of sizzling silver liquid in its wake, flesh charring at the touch, while the other caused everything within six inches of the wound it left to freeze solid. Nightwish bore the knight to the stone floor only to have the frozen half of Dal’s torso shatter on impact, the eerie light quickly fading from his staring eyes.

  For a moment no one moved, as Talon stood wondering what had happened to the knight and the woman he had come to rescue. Then a voice spoke near the door.

  “Stormbringer, you must escape the tower now!”

  Talon’s eyes scanned for the source, which began to coalesce before him as Nightwish rose to all fours alertly but not indicating danger. The familiar sight of Noren materialized, but only as a ghostly phantasm, a soft white glow surrounding him.

  “You are dead?” Talon asked in concern.

  “No, but I am defeated and held in thrall so he can take me to the Poison Pond. He comes here now for you. Flee the tower before he reaches this room and sees where you - ”

  Suddenly Noren let out a shriek, his face and body contorting in pain, eyes bulging in horror. The screaming continued as his spirit flew backwards from the room as if hauled away by an invisible force. They could hear
the sound of his fast passage up and away to the tower’s top before the anguished cries abruptly cut off.

  Talon turned back to the orb and Jenar said, “We’re on Namaera now, on the other side of the world.”

  “Not for long.” He moved the orb until it showed the southern edge of Antaria, then zoomed in near Talendor, but he didn’t have Jenar’s expertise with the device and accidentally made the tower stop near, but not near enough, to their target. The orb gave a flash.

  Jenar glanced upward. “He’s here. I can sense him.”

  Talon grabbed her arm and fled with Nightwish from the room, down a flight of stairs, and out into the grass surrounding the Vanishing Tower. He had never thought to be happy to see the landscape of Everland. They ran through the broken wooden gate and escaped into an open field, sprinting for some distance before stopping. When they looked behind, the tower was gone again. There was no sign of the Ever Fiend.

  “Which way?” Talon asked.

  Jenar pointed and the three survivors began a fast walk, having a few hours to go, and only now did Talon begin to realize his fatigue, having lost all sense of time and space. As before, the landscape sometimes changed without warning, making Talon swear he would never enter this place again. He hadn’t realized how much comfort there lay in a mountain that stayed put, or a forest that didn’t come alive, or even a river of thirst-quenching water instead of black ichor.

  Nightwish suddenly went alert beside them and they moved behind a bush to peer over the crest of a hill. Before them were the Shadow Riders who’d left the bridge before their fight. Only six of them remained and they no longer moved in a tight formation. Instead they milled about, as if uncertain of what to do or where to go. Their leader, he with the Shadow Horn and lance with pennant, sat still atop his steed, eyes staring vacantly, but at times he seemed to perk up as if hearing something in the distance, his black horse moving restlessly beneath him.