by Mel Odom
“Then why go through all this subterfuge?”
“So that I could convince you of my cause,” Taramis said softly, “and perhaps your destiny.”
“What destiny?” Darrick immediately felt trapped.
“You’re tied to this thing somehow,” the sage said. “You lost blood to Kabraxis, so perhaps that’s it. Or maybe there is something more that binds you to the demon.”
“I want nothing more to do with that demon,” Darrick said. But even as he said it, he felt uncertain, and with that uncertainty came a harsh wave of fear.
“Really? Then how is it you’ve ended up here? Where the weapon that will cut Kabraxis down is?”
“I’ve been drunk most of the past year,” Darrick said. “I lost my post in the Westmarch Navy. Drunk and destitute most of the time, I only drifted from town to town, finding enough work to keep myself alive and away from Westmarch. I didn’t know I was here till I woke up damn near freezing to death. I knew nothing of that sword until you told me just now. I haven’t been following a demon’s trail.”
“No?” Taramis glanced at the elliptical symbol drawn in gravy on the tabletop. “Then what are you doing here now? Unless you’ve only come for a free meal.”
“I don’t know,” Darrick admitted.
“You already knew who that symbol belonged to before you spoke to me,” Taramis said. “Now that you know the demon is in Bramwell, hiding behind the mystical auguries of the Church of the Prophet of the Light, can you truly walk away from this? From any of this?”
Unbidden, the memory of Mat plunging over the cliffside to his doom trickled through Darrick’s mind in slow motion again. The pain, once blinded and muffled by drink for the past year, twisted within him again as if it were new and fresh. Anger raged within him, but somehow he managed to keep it under control.
“The Light has guided you here, Darrick,” the sage said in his quiet voice. “It has guided you here to this place and at this time, and made it possible for us to meet, because you have a stake in this. Because you can make a difference. My question is whether you’re ready to take up the battle that awaits you.”
Darrick hesitated, knowing that either answer he gave—and, perhaps, even giving no answer at all—would doom him.
“You believe the sword can kill Kabraxis?” Darrick asked in a hoarse whisper.
“Yes,” Taramis answered. “But only here in the final layer.” He tapped the elliptical symbol again. “Two layers yet remain that we’ve not spoken of. The outermost is where Kabraxis takes initiates to forge them into something more than mere men. Here they must face the fears of a demon world, walk the Twisted Path of Dreams and Shadows. The Black Road.”
“The Black Road?” Darrick asked.
“As Kabraxis calls it. He’s had several names for it during his campaigns here in the world of men, but its true and proper name is the Twisted Path of Dreams and Shadows. Once facing the demonic world, Kabraxis’s chosen must give themselves to him, mind and body and soul, for now and forever. Many fail, and they are cast into the Burning Hells to die and die again for all eternity.”
“How are the men changed?”
“They become faster and stronger than normal men,” the sage replied. “Harder to kill. And some of them are given an understanding of demonic magic.”
“You make getting to Kabraxis sound impossible.”
“Not with Stormfury,” Taramis said. “And I’m not without magic of my own.”
“What if I chose not to go?”
“Then I would go alone.” The sage smiled. “But you can’t deny this, can you, Darrick? This has become too much a part of you. Perhaps a year ago you would have been able to turn your back on me and walk away. But not now. You’ve tried to live around what happened to your friend and what happened to you. It’s nearly destroyed you.” He paused. “Now you must find the strength to live through this.”
Darrick looked at the elliptical drawing. “What lies in the final layer?”
Hesitating, Taramis shook his head. “I don’t know. The texts that I’ve read regarding Kabraxis have no answer. It has been referred to as the layer of the greatest fear, but I have no idea what that is.”
“It might be good to know what is there.”
“Perhaps we can find out together,” the sage suggested.
Darrick locked eyes with the man, wishing he were strong enough to say no, that he wouldn’t go. But he couldn’t do that because he was tired of trying to live half a life and avoid the guilt. He should have died with Mat. Perhaps the only way to escape was to die now.
“Aye,” Darrick whispered. “I’ll go with you.”
EIGHTEEN
Buyard Cholik stood on the platform above the snake’s head and awaited the arrival of his guest. Anticipation filled Cholik as he surveyed the empty pews around him. That morning, he had been enthused to see the large room overflowing with people. Every day the service was larger than the day before. There was no longer seating for all those in attendance. Even building as quickly as they were able, the construction crews weren’t able to keep pace with the growth. Yet tonight there was only one person in attendance, and Cholik’s elation soared even higher. He remained silent as Lord Darkulan paused at the great central entrance.
Around the lord, a score of armored guards held lanterns and bared weapons. The lantern light glinted from scale mail and keen-edged steel. Voices whispered, and in their barely heard words Cholik detected fear and hostility.
Lord Darkulan was a young man of thirty. His regal bearing showed the regimen he used to stay in shape as a warrior as well as a leader of men. An open-faced helmet with fierce curved horns framed his lean, hawklike features. A mustache followed the sneering curve up his mouth. He wore a dark green cloak that blended with his black breeches and tunic over a dark green shirt. Although it was hidden, Cholik was certain the lord wore the mystical chainmail armor beneath the tunic.
Impatiently, Lord Darkulan waved to one of his warriors.
The man nodded and stepped into the main area of the cathedral. His metal-shod boots clanked as he crossed the stone floor into the cathedral proper.
Cholik raised his voice, knowing from the way the room was constructed that it would be easily heard. “Lord Darkulan, this meeting time was set aside for you. No one else may enter this part of the church.”
The warriors swung their lanterns in Cholik’s direction. Some of the lanterns had bull’s-eye construction and lit on Cholik directly.
Cholik squinted against the blinding light but did not raise his hand to shield his eyes.
“These are only my personal bodyguards,” Lord Darkulan responded. “They will offer you no harm. In fact, after the episode today, I thought you would appreciate their presence.”
“No,” Cholik said. “You requested this meeting, and I acceded to it. We will keep it like that.”
“And if I insist?” Lord Darkulan asked.
Cholik spoke words of power and thrust his hands straight out. Flames leapt from his fingertips and ignited the oil-filled channels around the snake’s head. Alive once more, the snake’s head leapt from the stone wall toward the guard.
Unnerved, the guard threw himself backward. His metal-shod boots scraped sparks from the stone floor as he hurried to rejoin the other guards. The warriors clustered around Lord Darkulan, trying to draw him back to safety. Lanterns swirled like a cloud of fireflies in the main entrance.
“Would you have your mistress die?” Cholik asked as he rode the swaying snake’s head. “Would you have your lady hung by the neck? Would you have your own good name dragged through the mud and dung of this city? Especially when I can change all that?”
Lord Darkulan cursed his men and fought them off him. Reluctantly, the warriors stepped away from him. Their leaders talked quickly to their lord, trying to get him to listen to their reason.
The lord paused at the mouth of the entrance and stared at Cholik atop the stone snake’s head. Below Cholik, fire clung to the
snake’s jaws, and he knew it must be a horrific sight in the middle of the dark cathedral.
“They said you were killed this morning,” Lord Darkulan said.
Cholik spread his arms, enjoying the role he played. “Do I look like a dead man, Lord Darkulan?”
“More like he’s a zombie,” one of the guards muttered.
“I’m no zombie,” Cholik said. “Come closer, Lord Darkulan, that you may hear my heartbeat. Perhaps, should you truly not believe, I’ll let you bleed me. Zombies and dead things don’t bleed as the living do.”
“Why can’t my men accompany me?” Lord Darkulan asked.
“Because if I am to save the people in your life whom you wish saved—if I am to save you, Lord Darkulan—you must trust me.” Cholik waited, trying not to act as though he had as much depending on the lord’s decision as he did. He wondered if Kabraxis were watching, then realized that wasn’t the proper question. The proper question was from where the demon watched.
Lord Darkulan took a lantern from one of his men, steeled himself for a moment, then strode into the cathedral. “How is it that you know so much about my business and the affairs of state?” he demanded.
“I am the Wayfinder,” Cholik declared. “Chosen of Dien-Ap-Sten himself. How could I not know?”
“A few among those who counsel me suggest that somehow you and this church are behind the troubles that plague me.”
“Do you believe that, Lord Darkulan?” Cholik asked.
The lord hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“This morning you saw me dead, slain by a quarrel from the hand of a treacherous assassin. Yet here I stand. I am whole and alive and ready to help you in your hour of need, my lord. Or perhaps I should turn from you as you have turned from Dien-Ap-Sten and this church since we first began our sojourn among you.” Cholik paused. “I could do that, you know. There are some among my own counsel who believe the assassin who tried to kill me today was hired by you and that you are jealous of my own rise to power within your community.”
“Those are lies,” Lord Darkulan responded. “I have never been one to skulk around.”
“And does Lady Darkulan still feel that is a fair assessment of you?” Cholik asked softly.
Lord Darkulan’s hand dropped to the hilt of his saber. His voice turned gruff and hard. “Don’t press your luck, priest.”
“I stared death in the eye today, Lord Darkulan. Your threats won’t carry much weight with me. I know that I walk hand-in-hand with Dien-Ap-Sten.”
“I could have you driven from this church,” Lord Darkulan said angrily.
“There are more citizens and visitors here who wouldn’t allow that to happen than you have army or navy to get it done.”
“You don’t know—”
“No,” Cholik interrupted, causing the stone snake’s head to rear up above the lord. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
The snake opened its fanged jaws and spewed fire against the stone floor in front of the guards and drove them back.
“You need me,” Cholik told Lord Darkulan. “And you need the salvation that Dien-Ap-Sten can offer. If your mistress is saved, your wife will be saved. If both women are saved, your power will be saved.”
“Letting you stay here was a mistake,” Lord Darkulan said. “I should have had you banished from the city.”
“After the first night of miracles here,” Cholik said, “you wouldn’t have been able to do that. Dien-Ap-Sten and the Way of Dreams bring power to people. Wealth and privilege. Both are for the taking. Health for the sick and infirm and dying.” He silently commanded the snake’s head to the ground where it lay prone.
Lord Darkulan stepped backward, but the flame still roiled where it had struck the stone floor. He was separated from his men, but Cholik was also grimly aware that some of the guards had bows, and even knives could be thrown that distance.
“You did the only thing you could in coming here tonight,” Cholik said. He walked down the platform circling the stone snake’s neck.
The snake lay quiet and still, but the fiery eyes darted and watched. Its tongue, smoldering and steaming, flicked out rapidly, scenting the air. Deep orange embers swirled through the still air inside the dark cathedral, turning to black ash shortly before reaching the ceiling. Waves of heat rolled off the stone snake.
Cholik stopped in front of the snake, knowing the animated creature outlined him, making him seem like a dark shadow in front of a dreadful beast.
“Perhaps you think you have sealed your doom by coming here tonight, Lord Darkulan,” Cholik said softly.
The lord said nothing. Fear etched deep shadows into his face despite the light given off by his lantern and the snake.
“I assure you,” Cholik said, “that the opposite is true: you have sealed your future.” He gestured at the snake, feeling the furnace blast of heat as the creature opened its jaws. “Walk with me, Lord Darkulan. Give your worries and fears over to Dien-Ap-Sten that he may make them go away.”
Lord Darkulan stood his ground.
“You were here today,” Cholik said. “You witnessed the miracle that Dien-Ap-Sten performed on the Black Road by separating the two boys locked in each other’s flesh. Have you ever seen such a thing done before?”
“No,” the lord replied in a quaking voice.
“Have you even heard of such a thing?”
“Never.”
“With Dien-Ap-Sten at his side,” Cholik promised, “a man who ventures down the Way of Dreams may do anything.” He held out his hand. “Come with me that I may show you even more miracles.”
Hesitation showed on Lord Darkulan’s face.
“By morning,” Cholik said, “it will be too late. The poison will have claimed the life of your mistress. Her father will demand the life of your wife in return.”
“How am I supposed to save them by going with you?”
“On the Way of Dreams,” Cholik said, “all things are made possible. Come.”
Trying not to show his fear, Lord Darkulan stepped forward and allowed Cholik to take his arm and guide him.
“Be brave, Lord Darkulan,” Cholik advised. “You are going to see wonders seldom seen by human eyes. Step into the snake’s mouth, and all your fear will be taken from you if you but believe.”
Lord Darkulan followed a half-step behind Cholik. They stepped over the stone snake’s sharp teeth and followed the black, smoldering ribbon of tongue down into the snake’s throat, where it became a black road that wound down into a long hallway.
“Where are we?” Lord Darkulan asked.
“On the Way of Dreams,” Cholik replied. “We’re going to find your destiny. It takes a strong man to follow the teachings of Dien-Ap-Sten. You will become an even stronger man.”
The hallway widened and changed a number of times, but the Black Road remained constant beneath Cholik’s feet. He’d talked to several parishioners who had ventured along the Black Road to be healed or receive a blessing, and all of them had described the path differently. Some had said they’d journeyed down familiar hallways, while others were taken through places they’d never seen and hoped they would never see.
A green sun dawned in the hallway before them, and suddenly they were no longer in a hallway. Now the Black Road clung to a cliffside. The path they followed was so high that clouds obscured the view below. Still, the harsh mountain range towered above. Ice glinted on the peaks only a little farther up.
Lord Darkulan stopped. “I want to go back.”
“You can’t,” Cholik replied. “Look.” He turned and pointed back along the way they had come.
Flames clung to the Black Road, twisting and curling three times the height of a man.
“The only way open to you is forward,” Cholik said.
“I’ve made a mistake,” Lord Darkulan announced.
“This was not the first,” Cholik replied.
Spinning abruptly, Lord Darkulan raised his sword, bringing it to within inches of Chol
ik’s unprotected throat. “You will let me out of here now, or I’ll have your head from your shoulders!”
Secure in the knowledge that Kabraxis watched over him, Cholik grasped the sword. The sharp edges cut into the flesh of his hand. Blood trickled down the blade and dripped to the Black Road, giving birth to fist-sized fires at their feet.
“No,” Cholik said, “you won’t.” Power coursed through him, turning the sword red-hot in a heartbeat.
Screaming in pain, Lord Darkulan released his weapon and stumbled back. He held his burned hand in disbelief.
Cholik ignored the sizzling pain of his own burning hand, ignored the stink of scorched flesh and the smoke that curled up. Much worse things had happened to him during the trips down the Black Road that Kabraxis had led him on. He could still occasionally feel the demon’s talons rooting around inside his brain, scraping against his skull.
Swiveling, Cholik flung the lord’s sword over the cliff’s edge. He held out his burned and bleeding hand for inspection.
“You’re insane,” Lord Darkulan said in disbelief.
“No,” Cholik stated calmly. “I believe in Dien-Ap-Sten and the power of the Way of Dreams.” He held his hand up. Even as he watched, the cuts knitted together, and the burns healed and went away. In less than a moment, his hand was completely healed. “You can believe, too. Hold out your hand, and accept what I am telling you.”
Trembling, afraid, and hurting, Lord Darkulan held his hand up.
“Believe,” Cholik said softly. “Believe, and you will be given the power to heal yourself and end your misery.”
Lord Darkulan concentrated. Sweat popped out on his brow. “I can’t,” he whispered hoarsely. “Please, I beg you. Make the pain go away.”
“I can’t,” Cholik said. “That is for you to do. Just come to Dien-Ap-Sten willingly. Only a little faith is needed. Trust that.”
Slowly, then, Lord Darkulan’s hand began to heal. The burns scabbed over, and only a moment or two after that, smooth flesh remained where the horrible burns had been.
