Joining Nyx among the rubble, the adventurers look out at the vast, rectangular room before them. The back wall is nothing more than a pane of enchanted glass, giving people a view of the bubbling magma below. Gold chandeliers with unlit candles hang from the polished ceiling where the depiction of a great caster battle can be seen shifting in the stone. Basalt furniture with damaged cushions are strewn across the room, most of them shattered into barely recognizable pieces. The walls are covered in sculpted masks, each face with steaming tears dripping down their cheeks. Built into the middle of the floor is a wide pit with a large stack of wood rising from its center.
“You really should redecorate, Nyxie,” Sari suggests as they enter the room. She spins around and hurls a dagger at the sound of shifting stone, the weapon getting stuck in the reforming wall. “At least if this place lets you.”
“Anybody see any doors?” Luke asks while taking a closer look at the rebuilt wall. He leaps away when one of the masks grows eyes, their light revealing a real skull within the stone. “I just realized that none of those corpses had heads. Something put the skulls of the former champions into the wall. I’m liking this place even less now that I know I could become one of the gaudy decorations.”
“The test of the champions,” Dariana whispers to herself, a flickering memory making her eyes twitch. “I don’t know why, but that phrase keeps coming to my mind. Helgard is very important to the champion prophecy. More so than any other temple.”
“It appears I have to explain things to you again,” a deep, male voice says from the far side of the room. “Again we play the roles set out before us, near goddess. Such boredom and . . . is that the Scepter of Nuerin?”
The glass wall ripples as an eleven foot tall figure steps through, steam drifting off his crimson skin. The hulking being stretches his arms and scratches his white claws down the glass, filling the room with an ugly screech. Burning footprints are left on the floor as he approaches the adventurers, his leonine head peering at them with yellow eyes. With a yawn, the beast exposes his sharp teeth and reveals the light of an internal fire that spits lava onto his moist tongue. A thick layer of ebony fur is on its muscular chest, the matted hair showing signs of having been singed. The creature’s black mane and the tuft of hair on his thin tail bristle with excitement as he bends down to get a closer look at the scepter. He takes a deep whiff of the familiar scent, which stirs memories he has not recalled in well over a century.
“It appears this will be more interesting than the previous times,” the creature declares in a whimsical voice. He turns to Nyx and licks his lips at her scent. “A channeler returns the lost relic of Helgard. So delicious, but not as surprising as I thought it would be. Gabriel does have a sense of humor at times.”
“What’s an Ifrit doing here?” Nyx asks, keeping the scepter away from the beast.
“I’m the guardian of Helgard. My name is Sutter and I have been ensl . . . entrusted to protect this temple,” he replies with a bow. His head comes close to Sari and he pulls away at the brief taste of her scent. “Who let the dead fish in here? Don’t tell me one of the new champions comes from one of those vapid, selfish water whores.”
“No. I’m part naiad, you ash sucking piece of lava vomit,” the gypsy replies, blushing at her words. “I’ve no idea where that came from. All I know is that I really don’t like this mass of overheated dragon dung.”
“Naiads and Ifrit don’t get along because of their opposing elements,” Nyx explains while easing her friend back. Out the corner of her eye, she sees Sutter reach for the scepter so she yanks it out of reach. “This stays with me because there’s a dangerous beast inside. If I let go then it will escape and destroy the desert or set it on fire or something like that. Now what’s this test of champions and how do I purify this place?”
“You assume it’s corrupted, but agents of the Baron have never stepped within these hallowed walls,” Sutter proudly declares while he gets a closer look at the other champions. He grins at Timoran and gingerly strokes the barbarian’s red hair. “I love this one. I might have him stuffed and put in my personal collection when you fail. The griffin too if he dies in that form. The warrior and the rancid whale guts can rot in the hallway. Not sure what to do about the former servant and the tiny dragon. Maybe I’ll let them go if they outlive the rest of you. That is all of you except for Dariana here. Mind wiped yourself again, huh?”
“I’m sorry, but it’s required.”
Sutter sneers at the silver-haired woman before walking over to the pile of wood. He spins one of the chandeliers as he climbs atop the beams and makes himself comfortable, the tips of the logs turning black at his touch. He watches the adventurers move into a circle, Sharne crouching in the middle. It is an amusing sight to the lesser demon and he licks his lips with a tongue that is rough enough to draw blood.
“Helgard was supposed to be the opening challenge for the champions,” Sutter explains in a booming voice. He folds his legs beneath him, his powerful body balanced on the tip of the wood pile. “The overall system has been destroyed thanks to the Baron and his son, so now your kind start wherever you want. The corpses are still transported here since we act as a crypt. Though, I only ever see victims come in from Pallice and the Garden. Rarely do I ever get one from the other temples that I’ve been told you have yet to visit. I’ve been very curious about that, but my job is to stay here and dec . . . obey the orders of Gabriel. To be honest, I miss the simpler days of champions being summoned, dying in Helgard, and there not being bodies appearing on the floor without warning.”
“What do we do here?” Delvin asks while he watches the Ifrit. A chill runs up his spine when the creature meets his gaze. “I was only thinking that there’s no point in wasting too much of your time. If we’re going to be killed then it’s best that we get it over with, so you can get back to whatever it is you do.”
“I do absolutely nothing, but you have a point. Though I question why you would bring a wooden shield into a volcano,” Sutter states, flicking a spark of flame at Delvin. The warrior steps away from the tiny fire, which bursts with a pop at his feet. “Good reflexes. Now the first test is to light this bonfire-”
Nyx ignites the pile of wood before the Ifrit can finish talking, the lesser demon engulfed by the crackling flames. He steps out of the bonfire and wipes the fire off his shoulders, an evil grin on his face. The glass wall turns a sickly shade of green as a symphony of howls rise from the stretching shadows. One by one the stone masks light up to reveal their skulls and blobs of orange aura seep from their eye sockets. The specters grow into hazy silhouettes of their former selves, but their faces are vivid and contorted by agony.
“Without waking the spirits of the fallen,” Sutter finishes, taking a seat in front of the bonfire. He gazes at the ceiling and sighs, laying down so his head is in the flames. “Why is it that when a caster is the champion of Helgard, they set fire to the wood before I tell them everything? I’d start with the angry spirits, but that would only lead to a boring discussion and questions. Are you dead yet?”
The specters dive at the adventurers, but they are met by Luke whose sabers are glowing with pink energy. Several of them are turned to orange powder by the forest tracker’s slashes, which forces the rest to retreat to the ceiling. Using bursts of wind beneath his feet, Luke repeatedly leaps into the air and destroys the squirming mass of undead. The half-elf bounds around the room, flipping over attacks and slashing at the rapidly shrinking swarm. He throws in a few acrobatic spins to avoid the tedium of the easy fight. Their panicked screeches cause Sutter to take his head out of the bonfire, the lesser demon smirking as the last of the angry spirits explodes.
The glass wall hums and shakes as the powdered specters are absorbed into the murky surface. Sensing a malevolent presence, Nyx and Sari sprint across the room. The half-elf is faster with her spell and her hand is bathed in yellow aura, which she presses against the murky wall. The dark magic coils around her wrist and start
s to drag her through the glass, the laughing of hundreds of spirits ringing in her ears. Feeling the heat of the volcano on her hand, Nyx unleashes a burst of lightning from her fingers and yanks her arm free. With her friend out of the way, Sari chants in a bubbling language that makes Sutter’s eyes burn. She blows a kiss at the wall and casts a spray of white sparks that sink into the smooth surface. The churning green dissipates, allowing the light of the bonfire to pass through the glass and bounce off an arrangement of mirrors. Echoing clunks and slams can be heard from all over Helgard as doors unlock and staircases erupt from the walls.
“I can see you’re going to be more interesting than your predecessors,” the Ifrit says, his eyes glinting with a burning interest. The lesser demon watches as a stone door slides open on the floor and a stairwell descends from the opening. “Only twenty other groups made it beyond this test and they always had at least one casualty. You’re the first to make it through with a caster champion.”
“That was surprisingly easy,” Luke admits as he walks toward the stairs. When he steps within reach of Sutter, the Ifrit grabs his arm and plucks the Ring of Uli off his finger. “What are you doing? We beat your test!”
“I have a love of rings,” he replies, tucking the item into his pocket. He sniffs at the dormant feast ring and spits in disgust at the weak magic. “I should have mentioned that a previous champion had an intense hatred of enchanted jewelry. So I have orders to confiscate any that get used within the temple. I promise you will get it back if you survive. Come to think of it, my potential vic . . . mistress has an item that falls into this category. Probably best to hand it over now.”
Nyx covers her body in blue flames as she glares at the Ifrit. “Try to take my mother’s bracelet and you won’t be alive to see us pass the next test. Now where do we go and what must we do?”
“As if your mortal fire intimidates me,” Sutter whispers, absorbing Nyx’s flames through his palms. A groan of ecstasy escapes his lips and his body turns light blue to match the powerful fire he ingested. “I like your fire, so you may retain your keepsake. I have some errands to attend to. Go down the stairs and tell Cudgel I say hello. Hopefully, we’ll meet again.”
The Ifrit’s body turns into a cloud of ashes and rises through the ceiling, leaving a layer of soot on the stone. Nyx is already heading down the stairs by the time the others stop staring at the lesser demon’s departure. Timoran is the last to enter the narrow stairwell, his massive frame cramped between the warm walls. Once his head is clear of the entrance, a slab of basalt slides out of the floor and seals the champions inside.
*****
“Let me in!” Stephen screams at the front door of Helgard. Eyes twitching and foam at the corners of his mouth, he beats on the solid stone. “Those champions are mine! I want them! I deserve them! Give them to me!”
Unleashing a feral shriek, he slams his head against the entrance and stumbles back with blood seeping from his forehead. The clunk of a lock can be heard and the doorway opens, prompting Stephen to proudly walk toward the opening. He stops when the towering form of Sutter steps out of the darkness. The Ifrit raises his hands and geysers of lava erupt from the basalt field, the molten rock flowing into his body. With an intimidating roar, the creature doubles in size and grows a pair of curved horns that end in heated tips.
“Leave this place and wait to see if they survive,” Sutter says, cautiously eyeing the smaller being. When Stephen appears in front of his face, he drives the man to the ground with quick puff of air from his nostrils. “You know the rules, little Kernaghan. Do what you want to the other temples, but Helgard is not to be touched. That was the deal your father and I made centuries ago.”
“I don’t care,” Stephen growls, crouching like a cornered animal. “They’ve wronged me too many times. I need to remove them and get my . . . my . . . Dariana took something from me. I don’t know what it is, but I want it back.”
Sutter bends down to sniff at the tiny man, the creature’s face wrinkling in disgust. “You reek of darkness. You were always a being of evil, but it was never this potent. I’m curious as to what she did to you.”
“Then send her out to face me!” the crazed man roars, tearing chunks of black hair out of his head. The clumps reappear immediately, but there is blood on their tips. “I feel wrong. My confidence, my pride, and everything that I cherished is locked away. All I know is that I want to be fixed and . . . I want the channeler. I need the channeler. She will be mine and we will breed a new race of immortals.”
“Now you truly overstep your bounds,” the Ifrit declares, his skin crackling as it grows a covering of solid basalt. “The channeler is mine. Leave our doorstep of your own power or I will force you out.”
“You know what happens to you if she conquers Helgard.”
“I will see how things play out, but without your intrusion.”
“Don’t make me kill you, you overgrown fire sprite.”
Sutter shrinks to his normal size, but his left arm is still massive and covered with fiery stone. He shatters the limb’s coating when he punches Stephen, sending the man flying onto the path. With a powerful stomp, the Ifrit sends a quake through the ground that shatters the protective shell around the walkway. The broken arches crackle to life and batter Stephen with a barrage of combat spells. He is driven back by the fireballs, lightning bolts, and heat bursts as the doors of Helgard close in front of Sutter. Five spells converge on the enraged man and explode, launching him into the dunes. He gets to his feet, smoke drifting off his damaged body that immediately heals.
“I’m not done with you,” Stephen hisses while wiping sand off his clothes.
“Stop causing trouble and come back to Shayd,” Trinity requests as she appears from over the dune. The chaos elf nimbly slides down the slippery glass and lands next to her ally, her black clothes releasing a spray of cooling mist. “You need to see your father and get help. So calm down and I’ll call Yola for a portal. She’s watching us now, but we want you to regain some control before we bring you back.”
“Leave me alone, you worthless whore,” Stephen snaps, grabbing the woman by the neck and hurling her to the ground. A predatory glint is in his eyes as he watches the chaos elf stand and rub her throat. “Maybe I’ve spoken too soon. You’re a channeler like Nyx. Not to the same degree of power, but having a child with you would be useful. I don’t even have to wait for the proper amount of time. I can impregnate you and speed up your body to get the baby in a matter of hours. Not sure what it would do to you, but it’s better to test this idea on someone expendable.”
“Your father told you to be nice,” Trinity states, backing away from the leering man. Her pulse is pounding with fear and she transforms her clothing into a tight suit of leather that locks around her neck. “I don’t want to do anything if you’re like this. Not that I get any real pleasure from being with you, but you’re too dangerous to indulge. Just come back to Shayd with me and I’ll do what you want when you’re better.”
“You’re lying.”
“Only one way to find out.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you this scared.”
“I’ve never been this close to a true monster before.”
“I’m not a monster!”
“Your aura says differently.”
Stephen pounces on Trinity and covers her mouth with his hand, tightening his grip when she bites his palm. She repeatedly slaps at his face, but her blows are ignored even when her palm gems leave cuts on his cheeks. Kicking at his stomach, she manages to flip him over her head, but the hold he has on her face puts her straddling his stomach. He lets go of her mouth to violently smack her in the head, dazing the young woman enough for him to slam her onto the ground. When he hooks the collar of her shirt and starts to tear it down the middle, Trinity’s body locks up and she closes her tear-filled eyes.
“That’s more like it,” Stephen whispers into her ear. His voice drips with venom and he grins down at the shivering chaos
elf. “Do your people proud and continue sacrificing your dignity. I’m sure they appreciate all that you do for them, great Queen Trinity.”
“I have had enough!”
Trinity melts into the sand to escape Stephen’s grasp, but she rises in the same spot, her hands against his chest. The burst of magic sends him flying onto the basalt field where he hits with enough force to crack the surface. An explosion of lava hurls him into the air and he lands behind the aura-covered caster. She gets a shield up in time to cushion the backhand to her side, but she is still sent tumbling into the dunes. Fueled by years of pent up fury, the chaos elf sends a wave of sand toward Stephen, which she dives into. When he refuses to move, she transforms the sand into a wall of acid that engulfs him. Melted nearly to the bone, the madman stares at the painful damage in disbelief. As the wave comes around for another pass, he dissipates the spell and throws a punch at where he expects Trinity to be. Nothing is there and he is defenseless when she bursts from the nearby dune, her fist covered in violet glass. The strike hits his face and the makeshift glove shatters, sending painful shards into his raw skin.
Stephen laughs at the pain and picks the biggest piece of glass out of his flesh. He waits for Trinity to attack again and disappears when she is an inch away. The clean snap of her leg and her scream echo off the mountain as Stephen reappears behind her. A violent punch to her stomach knocks the caster into the dunes so that only her face and hands are left above the surface. Grabbing Trinity by the throat, he yanks her out of the desert tomb and breaks her jaw with flick of his thumb.
“Maybe I underestimated your power,” he says as he crushes her right hand. The whimpering scream she releases makes him lick his lips. “I always caught a stronger scent from Nyx, but perhaps I’ve simply grown accustomed to you. There is immense power within your body, so I should take some time to investigate it further. I can nurture your brutality and rage until I have another worthy queen. Still you have that irritating love of your people, which prevents you from doing great things. I think it’s time I stopped pampering you and removed your greatest weakness. The world won’t mourn the loss of the chaos elves and we’ll create a new, better version of your people.”
Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) Page 34
