Band of Demons (The Sanheim Chronicles Book 2)

by Rob Blackwell

  “He doesn’t make it easy, does he?” Kate asked.

  “Who?” Quinn called out. His voice echoed off the cave walls and bounced back to him. The effect was deeply creepy.

  “Sanheim,” she said. “Who else would bring us here?”

  Kate and Quinn walked into the darkness. The sound of the water crashing in through the cave opening continued to reverberate. But here, in the shallows, the sound was disturbing, like some giant grinding his teeth. Quinn shuddered.

  He had thought the dark wouldn’t disturb him like it once did, but this felt different than at home. This darkness felt complete, enveloping—like they were being smothered by it.

  “You still there?” Kate asked, and he could hear the anxiety in her voice.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  Disturbingly, what he couldn’t hear were her thoughts. It was as if that power had been suddenly turned off. They were sharing the same dream, but that had happened often enough before. In those dreams, however, he had been able to hear what she was thinking and vice versa. Now there was only silence in his mind.

  Quinn moved toward her.

  “Take my hand,” he said, and he couldn’t mask the near desperation in his voice.

  The whole experience inside the cave—the sound of gnashing teeth, walking forward into the thick gloom—gave him the sense of being swallowed by some great beast.

  He fumbled in the darkness until he found her.

  “That you?” he asked. For just a moment, he had to shake off the thought that it wasn’t her. That someone else—something else—had found them.

  “It’s me,” she said, and she kissed his hand. Even within inches of his face, however, he could barely make her out.

  “I think I see light up ahead,” he said.

  It was thin—a small flicker which felt miles away—but distinct. They walked towards it.

  They were out of the water now. The sound of the surf was receding but was replaced with a different noise. They couldn’t see anything, but he had the sense of things scurrying around in the pitch black.

  “You hear that?” he asked as they walked forward.

  “I was really hoping that was my imagination,” she said.

  The sound grew louder as they kept walking. Quinn couldn’t make out what it was, but he had the image of a thousand beetles—or worse, spiders—crawling around on the rocks nearby. In his mind’s eye, he saw them parting like a black wave, and then closing up behind them.

  “Holy shit,” he said.

  “Just keep going,” Kate said.

  They walked toward the light.

  The scuttling sounds were joined by something else then, a soft hiss. It sounded like…

  “Snakes,” Kate said. She couldn’t read his mind, but she was having the same thought. “He’s really putting on a show.”

  “Trying to intimidate us?” Quinn asked. “I’d say it’s working.”

  The light grew closer. He had thought it was a torch, a small lone flame in a black cave. But he was relieved to see it was an opening instead. Moonlight streamed through. Quinn only hoped when they got there, it would be a way out.

  Kate suddenly cried out.

  “Something just touched my hand,” she said and leaned into him.

  Quinn thought he heard other noises now, the sound of something larger in the darkness with them. Whatever it was, he thought he could smell it too. It smelled like a wet blanket with a pungent odor of mold.

  “Dear God,” Quinn said.

  He heard a thump in the dark and sensed something large moving toward him.

  “Run!” he said, and pushed Kate forward.

  He didn’t see what hit him, but whatever it was had fur and a tail. It didn’t hurt him, but he recoiled anyway. Whatever it was just felt wrong somehow.

  Instead of running, Kate kept hold of his hand and practically pulled him forward.

  “Not leaving without you,” she said. “So spare me the chivalry crap and let’s just run.”

  Quinn heard the sound of something big heading their way again. He needed no more encouragement than that. Kate and he ran through the cave and Quinn heard a rustling behind him and a breath of stinking, fetid air. Whatever it was, it was literally breathing down their necks.

  It’s just a dream, he tried to tell himself. It doesn’t matter.

  But it did and he knew it. Whatever power Sanheim had, he seemed to rule dreams. Quinn didn’t think he had a reason to want them dead, but he was more than capable of hurting them.

  The thing was gaining on them. Quinn couldn’t breathe for the sheer stench of it. Even with no shoes, Kate was running fast, practically dragging Quinn behind her.

  Quinn felt something hit his leg and he almost fell. The thing was trying to grab his feet to slow him down.

  They were five feet from the opening, and then they were through. For one brief moment, Quinn worried that the thing—whatever it was—would follow them out. But as they stepped out into the moonlight, the thing screamed a loud, piercing wail. Quinn turned to look and saw something with a large snout, red eyes—and teeth. It seemed to have hundreds of sharp teeth. It was no animal Quinn knew. He felt sure it did not exist in the real world, but was something mankind had dreamed up and had nightmares about. It screamed again and then disappeared again into the darkness.

  Quinn and Kate fell down on a short, grassy hill. They were out of breath.

  When Quinn finally looked around, he realized the cave sat underneath a huge structure. What stood before them, framed in the moonlight, was a vast castle—or, more precisely, what was left of one.

  In the pale light, the castle itself looked like the remains of a monster. Its walls stood out like old bones, some crumbled to dust, others still jutting to the sky. To the left, Quinn could see what had been a massive gate. What it was guarding was nothing more than a ruin.

  Quinn nodded in that direction. He could see a small path leading directly from the cave below to the gate.

  “Follow the creepy brick road,” he said to Kate.

  She didn’t smile. Instead, she stood, brushed herself off, and extended a hand to Quinn.

  “It’s now or never,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  *****

  They took the path up the hill and stood at the ruined gates. Kate could imagine what it used to look like hundreds of years ago. After her mother’s death, her father had done anything to distract her, including taking her on several trips. She loved those trips because they helped her feel almost normal again, at least for a little while. She remembered one trip to Wales when she was fifteen. Her father had driven all over the small country, which was roughly the size of Connecticut, and Kate had been amazed how many castles there were. She couldn’t remember their names—the Welsh language had so many consonants—but she could recall how amazing they must have looked before time and disinterest wore them down. Even as ruins, though, they had been remarkable.

  But they were nothing compared to what must have stood here. The setting itself was impressive—a castle sitting on top of a rocky coastline, the waves pounding below. The remains of at least four, and possibly six, massive towers looked like they must have once reached the clouds. What remained of the walls showed a castle that must have seemed impregnable at the height of its power.

  Yet something had destroyed it. She could pretend it was just decay and erosion, but somehow she knew better, or sensed a different history. She could almost see the ghosts of dead men still lining the castle walls, reenacting a battle they had fought and lost. Something stirred in her then, the faint whisper of an idea. But it was gone and forgotten after a moment.

  Kate and Quinn walked through the gates. Even though it was a dream, she wanted a jacket. The wind whipped through her thin nightgown and she shivered. She reached out and took Quinn’s hand. She had the vague feeling that the two of them looked more like Hansel and Gretel, lost in the woods, than the powerful Prince of Sanheim. She thought that might have been the point of thi
s exercise.

  They walked through the ruins and Kate could simultaneously see what it looked like now and how it once looked. The castle was like a small town. They passed a small chapel, an open courtyard which once held a spectacular garden and then finally walked into the main building.

  This had once been a throne room. It was a long, high edifice that forced visitors to walk a long way under the eyes of whoever sat on the throne. During that time, a person would have had plenty of time to know how insignificant they were in his eyes.

  The building now had lost its entire right wall, somewhat diminishing the effect. Still, at the far end of the room, there was a dais and Kate could see a solitary figure sitting there, waiting.

  They didn’t rush, but instead proceeded slowly, carefully, as if they had all the time in the world. The man at the front watched them the entire way, his intense blue eyes visible as they got closer. When Kate and Quinn stood before him, they stopped holding hands and, without consulting each other, both bowed. It was just an instinct, but Kate knew it was right. The man they were facing—if he was a man—was extremely dangerous. A little respect might go a long way.

  “Quinn!” the man said, and he stood up. “So good to see you again. And Trina, how lovely to finally meet you.”

  Kate had only seen him in Quinn’s memory—and even that had come from his dreams prior to becoming the Prince of Sanheim. In person, he seemed more substantial and taller.

  Similar to when Quinn first saw him, the man was dressed in a black suit, as if he had recently been to a formal event. Up close, Quinn noticed a small scar across his face.

  “I prefer Kate, if you don’t mind,” Kate said evenly. Trina was her mother’s pet name for her—and it had been yet another thing stolen by Lord Halloween.

  “Of course,” the man said, and smiled. “Silly of me to forget.”

  Kate knew it had been no error. There was a message in his greeting—I know your secrets. The man stood on the dais and watched them both carefully.

  “Well,” he said. “I imagine you have questions. You are reporters, after all.”

  “Why are we here?” Quinn asked.

  The man looked disappointed.

  “You always start with the worst questions,” he said. “That’s not what you really want to know.”

  “What do you want?” Kate asked.

  The man smiled again, looking somewhat mischievous as he did so.

  “Much better,” he said. “You and I are going to get on very well. Quinn chose brilliantly.”

  The man stepped down off the dais and toward them. There was no one else in the room, but Kate had the distinct impression of people moving out of his way as he came forward. Indeed, even though they stood in an empty ruin, Kate had the sense of many people watching them. It was more than a little spooky.

  “Shall we walk?” he asked.

  He gestured grandly toward the rest of the castle and the three of them started walking. The man leaned in conversationally.

  “What I want is for you to understand who you are dealing with,” the man said. “Sawyer and Elyssa are extremely dangerous foes. I know he has made you an offer. In the interest of fairness, I wish to make a counter-proposal.”

  “He wants to overthrow you,” Quinn said.

  “Yes,” the man said. “He wants to kill me and take my place, the same thing they always want. But in his case, his motivation isn’t just power.”

  “It’s about revenge,” Kate said.

  The man lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

  “You’re good,” he said. “Did he say something or are you playing a hunch?”

  “Instinct,” she replied. “On the whole, he seemed… angry. It didn’t feel directed at us, or at least not entirely at us.”

  They walked past the ruins of one of the mighty towers. Only the bottom of it now remained.

  “You have the gift of insight,” the man said. “You are exactly correct. He blames me for something. Most want to overthrow me just because I’m here. They have no personal grudge. Sawyer… he’s different. He thinks I killed someone.”

  “Who?” Quinn asked.

  “He thinks I killed his wife,” the man responded.

  Now it was Kate who seemed surprised.

  “His wife?” she said. “But Elyssa…”

  “She is his consort,” the man said, “not his wife.”

  “I don’t understand,” Quinn said.

  The man laughed at that.

  “No,” he said. “You really don’t, do you? You and Kate, it seems, were made for each other. But not everyone who becomes the Prince of Sanheim is so fortunate. And not everyone that a potential Prince sleeps with has the requisite gifts to become his consort. When Sawyer met Elyssa, he was already married. Although their attraction was undeniable—and eventually overwhelming—his heart already belonged to another.

  “When Sawyer and Elyssa slept together, it joined them in body and soul. They had to face his cennad, which, as you will find out, is devious and powerful and they barely survived. How much he told his wife, I don’t know. He loved her still, of that I am certain. Elyssa had other feelings toward her—she was never one to share—but she was willing to tolerate the arrangement. Anne, Sawyer’s wife, was not. One day, Sawyer returned to his home after a night with Elyssa to find Anne dead in a bathtub. She slit her wrists.”

  They had walked to an outer wall at the edge of the cliff. They looked out on a deep, black ocean through what had once been a window, but now was only the bare remainder of one.

  “Why does he blame you for this?” Kate asked.

  “Well, for one, he blames me for the entire event,” the man replied. “He never wanted to be the Prince of Sanheim, you see. Not unlike Quinn, he was reluctant at first. He thinks it’s all my fault. But more importantly, he thinks I talked with her, showed her something.”

  “Now why on earth would he think that?” Quinn asked sarcastically.

  The man turned toward him and looked mock-offended.

  “And here I thought we were such friends,” the man said. “His only reason was what Anne had written on the side of the tub as she lay dying.”

  Somehow Kate knew what it was.

  “Sanheim,” Kate said. “She wrote ‘Sanheim.’”

  “Yes,” the man said, once again sounding impressed. “She did. And Sawyer has been driven by hatred and rage ever since. He has defeated two other Princes of Sanheim and thinks that eliminating you will bring him that final step closer to taking me on—and having his revenge.”

  “Does killing other Princes make you more powerful?” Quinn asked.

  “Yes, at least that’s the theory,” he nodded. “Sawyer thinks Crowley failed to defeat me because he didn’t wait long enough. He had moidin, but had only killed one Prince of Sanheim.”

  “Roahen,” Kate said.

  “Right,” the man said. “To Sawyer’s mind, each Prince of Sanheim he defeats makes him stronger, more powerful. All of those moidin he has? That’s an insurance policy. He aims to succeed where Crowley failed. If he kills you two, he will have defeated three Princes and attracted dozens of followers. By next Halloween, the wall that divides my world from yours will be thin, and he will be more than powerful enough to make an assault.”

  “You’re worried he’ll succeed,” Quinn said.

  The man stared at Quinn with his intense, blue eyes.

  “He will fail,” the man said, “like all the rest.”

  “You aren’t sure,” Quinn replied, staring right back at him. “That’s why you encouraged me to become the Prince of Sanheim last year. I wondered why you were helping me. You wanted a foil for Sawyer—someone with a fighting chance of stopping him.”

  “And what makes you think you have that chance?” the man asked. “Sawyer killed his first challenger within ten minutes. The man never knew what hit him. He defeated the next one in even less time. What makes you think you can succeed where those two failed?”

  Quinn looked
deep into the man’s eyes. One thing was certain—Sanheim was playing a game, moving chess pieces around a board—and Quinn was just another pawn to him. He didn’t dare trust him.

  “I don’t know,” Quinn said finally. “But I know we can. And, if I have to, I know we will.”

  “Not in your current state, you won’t,” Sanheim said. “You wanted to know why you’re here—what I want? Right now, our interests are aligned. I have no concerns about beating Sawyer in a fight, but I would prefer it didn’t come to that. I would like you to take him out. But if you go into this fight the way you are now, you two will lose. It won’t even be close.”

  “What do you mean?” Kate asked.

  The man turned to her in a quick movement that startled her. His expression was one of distaste, maybe even disgust.

  “You know exactly what I mean, Katrina,” the man said. “You’ve been holding back.”

  “Listen, I…” Quinn started.

  The man ignored him with a wave of his hand.

  “Oh, this isn’t about you, Quinn,” he said. “For all your ridiculous notions of surrender, the very idea is laughable. When push comes to shove, you won’t even consider surrendering to Sawyer. Besides, I’ve seen you. You are the Headless Horseman, whether you want to be or not. You are fully committed. Strangely, for all her talk, it’s Katrina here who is on the fence.”

  “What are you talking about?” she said defensively. “I’ve done nothing but try to tap into my powers since…”

  “Oh yes,” Sanheim said, and laughed. “Lurking in graveyards. Digging up old bones. Talking to a few wraiths. I’ve seen all this, my dear—cemeteries are my domain, don’t forget—but it’s been Quinn fighting all your battles. Halloween is nearly here and yet you refuse to really embrace what you are.”

  “Which is what?” Kate asked. “I’ve been trying to figure that out.”

  “Oh please,” he said. “You already know. You just don’t want to accept it.”

  “What?” she said. “That’s not true.”

  “Then you’re deeply stupid,” Sanheim spat at her.

  Quinn put a hand on his arm and the man grabbed it and shoved Quinn back with barely a glance in his direction.