The Third Soul Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Rachaelis!” shouted Corthain. “Here! Quickly!”

  All of the Urthaags had been either killed or knocked from the roof. But Maerwulf undoubtedly had more. And she saw ghouls, dozens of them, clawing their way up the side of the building. They might not have the supernatural climbing ability of an Urthaag, but they were strong enough to drive their fingers into the wood, and sooner or later they would reach the roof.

  Rachaelis and the others were surrounded.

  “Go!” said Corthain, as Luthair jumped across the gap to the next building, followed by Thalia.

  Thalia took three steps on the next roof, and her eyes widened.

  “Rachaelis!” she shouted. “We’re clear of the seal here!”

  Maria jumped across the gap.

  “Take Luthair and the Sister!” said Corthain. “I’ll go with Rachaelis.”

  Thalia nodded, put one hand on Luthair’s shoulder and the other on Maria’s. Then all three of them vanished in the silver flash of an astraljump.

  “After you,” said Corthain.

  Rachaelis nodded, braced herself to jump…

  Maerwulf’s voice boomed out, she felt the surge of power, and fiery light bathed the building beneath her feet. The shingles cracked and splintered and disintegrated. The wooden beams turned black with rot and decay, and the bricks crumbled into dust and powder.

  Corthain staggered, arms flailing for balance.

  Maerwulf’s spell was going to make the building collapse beneath them, she realized.

  She just had time to work a spell of her own, transforming her thoughts into fists, and catching both herself and Corthain in the grip of her will as the building collapsed beneath them with a roar. Gravity took over, and her teeth gritted with strain as she fought to keep them from plummeting to their deaths. She felt her will slip, fought to slow their descent.

  Then her boots touched the pile of rubble that had once been the building, and she staggered, and would have fallen, had Corthain not seized her elbow. She saw an Urthaag trapped beneath a shattered beam, trying to claw free, and wondered how many Jurgurs had just been killed in the collapse.

  How many of his own people would Maerwulf slaughter to get his hands on her?

  “Let’s move,” said Corthain, half-dragging her as they scrambled down the rubble. Dust choked the air, painted the color of blood by the shamans’ spells. The seal still pressed against Rachaelis’s senses, but it was thinner here. They were almost past its reach. Another few steps…

  Maerwulf strode out of the billowing dust, and his scarred face twisted into a delighted smile. Sigils of blood-colored fire burned on his chest and arms. Wards, Rachaelis realized, designed to defend him from both magical and physical attacks.

  “Run!” shouted Corthain, shoving her behind him. “Run, damn it!”

  Rachaelis hesitated. If she left, Maerwulf would kill Corthain. Or worse.

  “Do not bother,” said Maerwulf in accented Callian.

  Rachaelis turned. Dozens of ghouls stood behind them, faces slack, eyes burning. They were trapped.

  “Well?” said Corthain, lifting his sword. “Who wants to die first?”

  “Why do you struggle?” said Maerwulf, his dark eyes on Rachaelis. More apprentice blood shamans strode out of the dust, vials of dried blood ready in their hands.

  “I’d prefer not have your pet demon jammed into my head,” said Rachaelis, thinking hard. Could she strike at Maerwulf? He had enough power in those wards to dissipate any attack she flung at him. Silver astralfire might shatter his wards, of course. But as the ghouls edged into a circle around her, she doubted she could get off more than one strike.

  “Azaramath itself has chosen you to be its host. You shall be our goddess, once you join with great Azaramath,” said Maerwulf, shaking his head. “Your very word shall be as law. You shall have power beyond kings, beyond armies. You will lead the Jurgur people to new glories. All the world shall lie beaten and prostrate at your feet.”

  “No,” said Rachaelis.

  Maerwulf burst out laughing. “You do not have a choice, Rachaelis Morulan! Azaramath has chosen you. It would be better if you came of your own will. But instead you have chosen a baptism of pain and torture. So be it! After you are broken and reshaped in Azaramath’s own image, you shall be our goddess.”

  “Come a little closer and say that,” said Corthain.

  Maerwulf grinned. Between his scars and tattoos, it made him look like a demon himself. “And you, Corthain Kalarien. The Hammer of Dark River, the bane of our people! When I heard that you were guarding Rachaelis Morulan, I could scarcely believe it! And now you are in my power.” He laughed. “You would not be so defiant, if you knew what I had planned for you. How you will scream and beg for me to kill you. How you will crawl in the dirt like a broken animal.” His laughter grew louder. “And it will be doubly sweet, I see. For this woman…means something to you, no? She herself will torture you, once she becomes the host of mighty Azaramath. I am a master of inflicting pain, Corthain Kalarien. I once kept a man alive for a year and a day as he screamed and sobbed and begged for his gods to save him. Yet I am but a child next to Azaramath…and once it takes Rachaelis Morulan as its host, I will give you to her.”

  “Bold words,” said Corthain. “Yet I notice you remain well away from my blade.”

  Maerwulf’s eyes narrowed, and Rachaelis his power rise.

  He’s going to get himself killed protecting you, Luthair had said.

  She saw what Corthain was doing. He was stalling for time. So much blood sorcery had been used that the Magisters would notice. And Thalia and the others had gotten away. Surely they would bring help soon.

  But not soon enough. Maerwulf would kill Corthain, and take Rachaelis. And she might soon wish that she had died alongside Corthain.

  They had to get away. But the seal prevented astraljumping. Yet it was weak at its edge. Rachaelis doubted that she could summon enough silver astralfire to dispel it.

  But if she could disrupt it, if only for a few heartbeats…

  “Enough,” said Maerwulf, voice soft. “Take them both, now.”

  The ghouls rushed them.

  And Rachaelis flung silver astralfire, every scrap of her power behind it. Silver flame blasted in all directions. It passed harmlessly through the ghouls, and made the burning sigils upon Maerwulf’s chest flicker and dance.

  It did not dispel the seal.

  But the seal, like Maerwulf’s wards, began to flicker.

  Rachaelis grabbed Corthain and summoned more power.

  “No!” roared Maerwulf, lifting a hand, crimson flames bursting to life. “Stop them, stop them now!”

  Rachaelis cast the astraljump spell.

  Pain exploded through her head, and she felt her power strain against Maerwulf’s seal. But the seal had been weakened, and silver light rose up to swallow her.

  The astraljump deposited them in her father’s tower room. Corthain lost his balance and fell backwards, and Rachaelis landed on top of him. For a moment she lay there, too tired to move or think, her head spinning.

  “Excellent,” coughed Corthain.

  Rachaelis blinked, looked at him. His face was uncomfortably close. “What?”

  “Your timing,” said Corthain. “Another few seconds and we’d have been dead.”

  “He’s so powerful,” muttered Rachaelis. “Those things he did…I didn’t think it was possible to do that with blood sorcery.”

  “Maerwulf’s been around for two hundred years,” said Corthain. “He’s had a lot of time to practice. Ah. You should probably get off me now.”

  “Oh,” said Rachaelis. Despite her exhaustion, she could still feel embarrassment. She scrambled to her feet, and Corthain followed.

  “But this turned out well,” said Corthain.

  Rachaelis blinked. “How?”

  “Maerwulf will flee back to his sanctum now, until he has another chance to grab you,” said Corthain. “But he doesn’t know that you’ve been there.
He doesn’t know that you know how to get there.”

  Rachaelis felt the cold weight of the amulet against her chest. “Which means…we can attack him and he’ll never see it coming.”

  Corthain grinned a wolfish, hard grin. “I think it’s time we spoke with the First Magister.”

  Rachaelis smiled a hard smile of her own. “I think you’re right.”

  Chapter 4 - Battle Plan

  Once again, First Magister Talvin’s study was crowded.

  The First Magister himself sat at his desk, his eyes bloodshot, his face unshaven. He looked as if he had missed quite a lot of sleep. The two glowing crystals Corthain remembered from his last visit sat on Talvin’s desk, besides the gray, lightless crystal. Every so often Talvin touched the dark crystal, as if reassuring himself of its presence.

  He looked…shocked. But, then, Corthain had told him some shocking things.

  Magister Nazim stood to Talvin’s left. His face looked a little grayer than Corthain remembered, and he leaned more heavily upon his cane, but otherwise he had recovered from Anna Marinius’s trap, much to Rachaelis's relief.

  Magister Jonas stood against one wall, near Talvin’s shelves of fossils and stones. With him stood the senior captains of the Swords, men grim and battle-hardened. Corthain’s father stood at Talvin’s right.

  Arthain glared the entire time, his eyes like twin chips of green ice.

  “And that was it,” said Corthain. “Rachaelis managed to weaken the blood seal, and she astraljumped us both here before Maerwulf could kill me and capture her.”

  Talvin sat in silence for a moment, fingering that gray crystal.

  “An incredible tale,” he said at last. “I can scarce credit it.”

  “It happened,” said Rachaelis. “Every word is true. I wish it were not, First Magister, but I saw it with my own eyes.”

  “As did I,” said Thalia.

  “My Swords reported a riot in the docks,” said Jonas. “The Red Water Inn was destroyed. We also found dead Jurgurs, dozens of them.”

  “But no sign of Maerwulf?” said Corthain.

  Jonas shook his head.

  “He probably retreated through that rift of his, once he realized that we had gotten away,” said Rachaelis.

  “A blood shaman powerful enough to create an astral sanctum?” said Talvin. He rose from his desk, still holding the gray crystal, and crossed to his windows. “The Conclave’s records speak of such things, in the days after the fall of the Old Empire. Blood sorcerers who ruled kingdoms, and who lived for centuries, terrorizing the innocent. Until the Conclave,” he glanced at Maria, standing in the corner, “and, yes, the Temple, stamped them out. I had thought such blood sorcery extinct.”

  “Evil is never extinct, First Magister,” said Sister Maria. “It merely becomes dormant, and lies in wait until men grow complacent, and then it may grow again.”

  “We need not an Inquisitor to lecture us upon the finer points of morality,” said Arthain.

  “Without her aid, Father, we might not have been able to find Maerwulf’s sanctum,” said Thalia.

  Arthain seemed not to hear. “An Araspani noblewoman practicing blood sorcery was bad enough. But an elder blood shaman of the Jurgurs loose in our own city? This is intolerable. Utterly intolerable. We must act decisively, First Magister, and destroy this…this infection without mercy.”

  “Without mercy?” said Maria. “Yes, that is like the Conclave. Perhaps if you showed a little more mercy to your slaves, Maerwulf would not have so many willing followers.”

  “Or perhaps we have not been harsh enough with them,” said Arthain, striding around the desk. “Perhaps we have been too lenient, and given them idle time to plot against their betters.”

  “She has a point,” said Corthain. “Were this city not filled with men like Harrow, Maerwulf’s words would not have found so many eager ears.”

  “Silence!” said Arthain, leveling a finger. “You are an exile and an outcast. Do not presume to instruct Adepts!”

  “Don't talk to him like that!” said Rachaelis. “He’s saved my life. And without his knowledge of the Jurgurs, I most likely would have fallen into Maerwulf’s hands already.”

  “You are young, so I will excuse that,” said Arthain, voice icy, “but this was a matter for the Conclave. For Adepts, for men and women sober and responsible in their duty to the High Art.” His hard eyes returned to Corthain. “Not to cowards and exiles.”

  “A matter for Adepts?” said Corthain, his temper starting to sleep. He had vowed to control himself in his father’s presence, but… “The Adepts did a fine jobs of keeping murderous slaves from Rachaelis, did they not?”

  Spots of color appeared in Arthain’s gaunt cheeks. “Do not presume to…”

  “Magister Arthain, Lord Corthain,” said Talvin, his voice weary. “Enough. Please.”

  Corthain fell silent, as did his father.

  “The truth is, Arthain, that they are right,” said Talvin. He sighed. “This…abomination is the fault of the Conclave. We have been complacent and careless. Too many Adepts have turned from their proper concerns to idle luxury, or wanton decadence. It is our task to stop blood sorcerers and demons. And we have failed, manifestly.”

  “First Magister,” said Arthain, turning to the older man. “We spoken of this before, have we not? But before outsiders,” he cast a glance at Maria and at Corthain, “is not the place for this discussion.”

  “Why not?” said Talvin. “Everyone knows that it is true.” He sighed again and returned to his desk chair, the gray crystal still in hand. “In the days of the Old Empire, the mages were a force for order. Demons were kept at bay, and blood sorcery was unknown. They had wonders and marvels beyond compare.” He gestured at Corthain. “That sword your son bears is perhaps the best blade in all of Araspan. We have master smiths and expert enchanters in the Ring, and yet even we cannot create a blade to compete with your son's weapon.” He placed the crystal back upon the desk. “The Conclave bears responsibility for the peace, security, and safety of the world. And we have failed. We have been too corrupt, too ignorant, and too weak.”

  “First Magister,” repeated Arthain, but Talvin ignored him.

  “And you, Lord Corthain,” said the First Magister, his blue eyes on Corthain. “You ferreted out the truth. You succeeded where the Adepts failed.”

  Corthain shrugged. “I was lucky. Or perhaps I had the grace of the Divine upon me.” Arthain scowled at that. “Yet it had help from Adept Thalia and Magister Nazim. And Rachaelis herself is most formidable. The Conclave is fortunate to have her.”

  She smiled at him.

  “First Magister,” said Nazim, his cane scraping against the floor. “The failings of our Conclave are indeed great, and we will need to change many things in the future. Slavery foremost among them.”

  Arthain turned to face Nazim. “This is hardly the time…”

  Nazim raised his hand. “I quite agree. This is not the time or the place. We must take immediate action against Maerwulf. At first we only thought this was a threat against Rachaelis, which is bad enough. But if Maerwulf succeeds in transforming her into an Urmaaghsk, thousands will die, and perhaps the entire city shall be destroyed. And even if he fails, he will continue his plots, and more will die. We must kill him, and quickly.”

  “I agree,” said Arthain. “Such an affront to the Conclave’s authority cannot stand. We must exterminate Maerwulf, and all his followers.”

  Talvin closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded. “You are right. So. How do you suggest we go about this?”

  “We know where his sanctum is,” said Corthain.

  Arthain snorted. “It’s in the astral realm.”

  “Rather, we know where the entrance to his sanctum is,” said Corthain, refusing to respond to the bait, “and we have a key to it.” He gestured at the amulet still hanging against Rachaelis’s chest. “And Maerwulf doesn’t know that we know. If we act swiftly, we can bring overwhelming force to bear and
catch him off guard.”

  “There is a difficulty,” said Nazim. “From what you’ve describe, the amulet permits only one to enter the sanctum, and only then at twilight. Even the most powerful Adept would have difficulty facing Maerwulf and his disciples all at once.”

  “There may be a better way,” said Thalia. “I saw the gateway Maerwulf summoned. He created it with a blood spell, but I think there may be a way to replicate it with the High Art.”

  “How?” said Arthain.

  “The amulet is a key,” said Thalia. “But with the proper spells...I think we can turn it into a lever. We can use it to pry open the entrance at Paulus’s tower, create a rift large enough for a force of Swords and Adepts to storm the sanctum.”

  Talvin frowned. “Such an action would…destabilize the spells binding the sanctum. It would collapse in a matter of hours, would it not?”

  Thalia smiled. “And what a tragedy that would be.”

  “That would take a lot of power,” said Rachaelis. “I don’t think I would have the raw strength to pull it off.”

  “None of us would,” said Thalia. “It would take several Adepts working in concert.”

  “You shall have them,” said Talvin. He returned his gaze to Corthain. “And once the rift is open? What then?”

  “We attack,” said Corthain. “As I’ve said before, you must take the battle to the enemy, and you must hit him so hard and so decisively that he cannot strike back. A force of Swords, to begin. At least five hundred strong.” Jonas’s eyes widened a bit. “Ones who have seen combat, preferably against ghouls, blood sorcerers, or practitioners of forbidden arts. If any veterans from Dark River are still in service of the Swords, that would be ideal. Maerwulf has several hundred ghouls under his control, and we’ll need steady men with experience to face them.”

  “Very well,” said Talvin, looking at Jonas. “Can it be done?”

  “It can,” said Jonas. “It will take every veteran man we have in the city, but it can be done. I dislike leaving the Ring and the watch towers in the hands of green men…”

  “Do it,” said Talvin, blue eyes shifting back to Corthain. “The Swords can handle Maerwulf’s ghouls and mortal followers. But what about his Urthaags? Or his blood shaman disciples? Or even Maerwulf himself?”