The Third Soul Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  “We will need every Magister and every Adept with experience in battle,” said Corthain. “Overwhelming force is necessary. Maerwulf is at least as dangerous as Paulus, and our failure to appreciate how dangerous Paulus had become cost many lives.”

  “Yes,” spat Arthain, “you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

  “It was my fault,” said Corthain.

  Arthain blinked. Rachaelis looked at him, sudden concern in her face.

  “I knew that attacking Paulus was suicide,” said Corthain. “I knew that Solthain didn’t have sufficient forces under his command. And I tried to talk him out of it. I failed to do so. Had I managed to convince him…many good men might still be alive today. My brother among them. Aramane Morulan might not lie half-dead. Do not make the same mistake with Maerwulf, I beg. Do not underestimate him.”

  Talvin frowned, and picked up one of the two glowing crystals from his desk. Corthain idly wondered why the crystals glowed the way they did. An enchantment, no doubt, perhaps the same one that the Adepts used to create spelllamps.

  “So you blame yourself for your brother’s death,” said Talvin, “after all these years.”

  Arthain said nothing.

  “Solthain’s death…was his own doing,” said Corthain. “But my men…they were my responsibility. I wish I could have saved them. I wish I could have saved Solthain.”

  “Regret,” said Talvin, voice quiet, “often cuts deeper than any blade.”

  Corthain pushed aside the memories. His father was still staring at him. “Regardless, the past is gone. We must decide what to do now.”

  “You are correct,” said Talvin, putting the shining crystal back on his desk. “The future is upon us, and we must act to seize it at once. We shall follow your recommendations to the letter, Lord Corthain. Arthain. Gather what Magisters and Adepts you think best, the strongest and the most experienced, and join the Swords in the courtyard. I want you ready to strike by noon.”

  “It shall be done,” said Arthain. “But who shall have command of the force?”

  Talvin said nothing for a moment. “If you would take command of the force, Lord Corthain, I should be grateful.”

  Corthain blinked. He expected his father to protest.

  But Arthain said nothing.

  “Me?” said Corthain. “Why? I am not an Adept. Technically, I am not even an Araspani nobleman.” He glanced at Arthain. “Surely there are more…politically palatable choices.”

  “We are Adepts,” said Talvin. “We are supposed to be above mere politics.” A brief smile flickered over his thin face. “And we shall be above politics, whether we like it or not. You are the only man in the city who has any experience fighting the Jurgurs. And as you have said, we cannot afford to underestimate Maerwulf. Simply put, you are the best man for the job.”

  Despite himself, Corthain looked at Arthain.

  His father’s mouth twisted. “I am not pleased with the thought of this…this exile commanding both Swords and Adepts. But the First Adept is correct. Such an abomination of blood sorcery cannot stand. If I must put aside my personal preferences to stamp out Maerwulf, so be it.”

  Corthain blinked. For much of his life, he had listened to Arthain Kalarien lecture endlessly about the perils of blood sorcery and demons, and how the Conclave must stand ever vigilant against the threat. He had seen Arthain do brutal and cruel things, seen him order the execution of slaves and blood sorcerers.

  He had seen his father do terrible things, but he had never once considered that perhaps Arthain Kalarien did such things because he thought it necessary for the greater good.

  Corthain had killed tens of thousands at Dark River. For the greater good.

  How different was he from his father, in the end?

  “Very well,” said Corthain. “I accept. Then my first command is that we get moving. Maerwulf will still be reeling from last night’s battle. The sooner we can hit him, the better.”

  Thalia smiled. “Well put, brother.”

  ###

  Corthain stood on the Ring’s outer wall, watching the Swords marshal in the courtyard, and shifted the unfamiliar weight on his shoulders.

  Or, rather, a long-forgotten weight.

  They had given him armor.

  It felt strange to wear the black armor of a Sword again, but Corthain wore it anyway. The enchanters and master smiths of the Ring produced plate that was lighter and stronger than normal steel, and he would take all the protection he could get. He kept his own sword, though. Even the smiths of the Ring could not match the work of the Old Empire. He also kept the sicarr Rachaelis had given him, as well, riding in a sheath on his right hip.

  Luthair trailed after him, smirking. No doubt he appreciated the irony. Rachaelis and Thalia kept the studded leather armor of their disguises. He would have preferred if they had worn the black armor of the Swords, but neither woman was used to wearing armor, and he doubted the Swords had any armor small enough to fit Rachaelis. Thalia had retrieved her cortana, her hand resting on the hilt. Rachaelis had retrieved hers, as well, though Corthain knew she had no idea how to use it.

  Corthain's father stood nearby.

  Arthain Kalarien wore black armor with red trim, and a red Adept’s cloak with the black border of a Magister. Cortana and sicarr rested ready in his belt, and the armor made him look grim, implacable. It suited him well.

  “I would appreciate it,” said Corthain, “if you would secure the cooperation of the Magisters and the Adepts. You Adepts are…a fractious lot.”

  “Yes,” said Arthain. “I know it well.”

  “The Swords might listen to me, but the Adepts will not,” said Corthain. “The Adepts, however, will listen to you.”

  “They shall,” said Arthain. There was not the slightest doubt in his voice. “You have a plan, I assume? I have no wish to rush in blindly and get slaughtered.”

  Had his father just made a joke? Corthain decided not to think about it. “Yes. Maerwulf always preferred to loose his ghouls in battle first. They were expendable, and wore down his enemies. With Adepts, we can deal with them quickly. Then the Swords can engage the Urthaags and the mortal followers while you and the Adepts deal with Maerwulf and his disciples. I suggest killing Maerwulf as quickly as possible.”

  Rachaelis frowned.

  "Or at least overpowering him," said Corthain, looking at Rachaelis. "It may be useful to interrogate him, before you execute him."

  Arthain shrugged. “We can overcome him. His powers are limited by the amount of blood he can use.”

  “But he’s been here for at least a year,” said Corthain. “He’ll have had ample time to build up a reserve of blood, dried and otherwise.”

  “Very well,” said Arthain. “Come, Thalia. Let use secure the cooperation of our brothers and sisters.”

  He beckoned, and both he and Thalia vanished in a flash of silver light.

  Corthain let out a long breath.

  “What is it?” said Rachaelis.

  Corthain shook his head. “It is…strange to talk to him. I haven’t had a civil conversation with him for at least fifteen years.”

  “You were banished twelve years ago,” said Luthair.

  “Exactly,” said Corthain. “Luthair. Go speak to the Sword-Captains. Make sure every man has a crossbow and a supply of quarrels. They’ll complain about the weight, but the bows will come in handy.”

  He had something in mind.

  “Of course, my lord,” said Luthair, and he hurried away.

  “I want to come,” said Rachaelis.

  “I know,” said Corthain. “And it would be best if you did so. If you stay at the Ring, any Urthaags Maerwulf has in the city might try to snatch you once they realize what is happening. And if you come with us, you’ll be surrounded by some of the strongest Adepts in the Conclave. So long as you stay with them, it’s the safest you’re likely to be.”

  “I want to fight,” said Rachaelis.

  “You’ll get your chance,”
said Corthain, voice quiet. “There’s going to be a lot of killing before this is over.”

  “Maerwulf,” said Rachaelis. She hesitated. “Will…you tell Arthain to take him alive?”

  “If I can,” said Corthain. “If it is at all possible.” She was looking at the tower that held her father, he saw. “But I should warn you. He might be too dangerous to take alive. If it seems like that he is winning, or if it seems like he’s going to escape…then I will order him killed.”

  Rachaelis nodded. “I understand.”

  “You should go with Thalia and my father, with the other Adepts,” said Corthain.

  She nodded again. “Corthain…if anything should happen. Thank you. For everything.”

  “It was my pleasure,” said Corthain. “I did this because Thalia asked it of me. But I’m glad I had the chance to know you. I’ve…never quite met an Adept like you. Or anyone, for that matter.”

  She hesitated, and then to his surprise leaned up and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth.

  “For luck,” she said, smiling. "It worked the last time, didn't it?"

  She vanished in a silver flash.

  Corthain stared at the space she had occupied.

  He was going to keep her alive.

  If he could.

  Chapter 5 - Duel of Mages

  Armored boots clacked against the street.

  The sun set as five hundred Swords and fifty Adepts arrived at the shattered hulk of Paulus’s tower. Every Sword wore black armor, and bore a sword, a shield, a crossbow, and a quiver of bolts. They marched with precision, faces grim and stern beneath the guards of their black helm. Corthain walked at their head, giving orders to the Sword-Captains.

  Rachaelis watched Corthain with growing admiration. She had been sure, so sure, that Arthain would refuse to have anything to do with the attack. Yet in the end Arthain had bowed to his son’s will. And none of the Swords or their captains knew Corthain, and yet already they listened to his every word, took his suggestions as commands.

  Corthain knew how to lead men.

  Little wonder he had rallied a shattered army to victory at Dark River. Perhaps it was just as well he had been banished. He would have been wasted as a Sword.

  His voice cut into her musings.

  “Magister,” said Corthain. “If you’re ready.”

  Magister Nazim nodded, took a deep breath, and began a spell. Blue light danced around his fingertips, and Rachaelis felt his mind brush against her thoughts. Nazim clapped his hands together, and the blue light flared.

  And Rachaelis felt the presence of dozens of other minds against her own.

  Nazim had joined all fifty Adepts together in a limited thoughtmeld. It would permit them to communicate quickly and silently together during the battle, providing them with an advantage that Maerwulf could not match.

  Masterfully done, Nazim, said Arthain.

  Why, thank you, Arthain, said Nazim.

  Nazim lacked Rachaelis’s raw power, but he more than made up for it in skill and subtlety. Rachaelis could have never pulled off anything like that.

  “I want a moment to address the Swords,” said Corthain.

  “I will prepare to open the way,” said Arthain, and began communicating through the thoughtmeld with Magister Nazim.

  Corthain turned to face the Swords, and five hundred sets of eyes fell upon him.

  “In a few moments,” said Corthain, his voice ringing over the street, “the Adepts will open a gateway, and we will meet the enemy. You’ve heard, no doubt, of Sword-Captain Marvane’s death, and the slaughter at the basilica. Marvane was a veteran, and yet the blood shaman still killed him. And you’ve probably heard of the Urthaags that attacked the Red Water Inn, how they’re faster and stronger than a regular man.”

  Silence answered him.

  “You heard rightly,” said Corthain. “The Urthaags are faster and stronger than men who haven’t prostituted themselves to demons. But we have two advantages. One, our disciple and order. You will fight as one unit. The Urthaags and the blood shamans will fight as individuals, every man his own battlefield, in chaos and disorder. And you are all veterans, and you know that order and discipline beat individual valor, every single time.”

  She saw nods among the Swords, especially among the older men.

  “And as for the blood shamans…we have the Adepts on our side,” said Corthain, glancing at Rachaelis. “You’ve all seen what an angry Adept can do. Leave the blood shamans to the Adepts. If you get a chance to ram a sword through a blood shaman’s gullet, do it, but otherwise, leave them to the Adepts.”

  “We are ready,” said Arthain.

  “Then open the gateway,” said Corthain, “and we’ll pay Maerwulf a visit he won’t soon forget. Will he?”

  The Swords banged the flat of their blades against their shields in salute. The sound rang in Rachaelis's ears like thunder.

  “Adepts,” said Corthain, “take your places.”

  Thalia remained by Corthain's side to relay his orders, and Rachaelis joined the rest of the Adepts in the center of the Swords' formation, where the soldiers could shield them from Urthaags and other attacks. Magister Arthain stood in their midst, grim and silent in his black armor.

  Maria stopped besides Rachaelis, still in her aurelium-banded armor, the heavy mace in her hand. The nearby Adepts gave her an uneasy look.

  “Lord Corthain bade me to watch over you,” said Maria.

  Rachaelis nodded. “You let him tell you what to do?”

  “Well.” Maria smiled. “He was most generous to the Temple, after all.”

  Rachaelis took a deep breath. “Pray for us. I think we shall need it.”

  Rachaelis, came Arthain’s thought. The amulet.

  Rachaelis drew the amulet over her head, the metal cold against her skin, and handed it over.

  Arthain took the amulet in his armored fist, pointed it at the shattered tower. Channel your power to me through the thoughtmeld, he said, and I will direct it at the entrance. Several precisely placed bursts of silver astralfire, followed by an astraljump spell forced through the amulet, and I think we will tear open an ample gateway.

  I concur, said Nazim, and several of the other Magisters agreed.

  Begin now, said Arthain, taking a step towards the tower.

  Rachaelis summoned power, but instead of pouring it into a spell, she directed it through the thoughtmeld, towards Arthain’s mind. The air crackled with power as the other Adepts did the same.

  Arthain raised a hand and pointed.

  Silver astralfire lashed out in a shining beam, ripping into the ruined tower like a sword blade. Again Arthain struck, and again, and Rachaelis saw red light ripple around the tower, the structure of Maerwulf’s spells collapsing under the combined strength of fifty Adepts.

  Then Arthain lifted the amulet and cast the astraljump spell into it. The amulet shuddered, blazing with silver flames, and shattered into dust. The red glow around the tower brightened, and coalesced into a ragged wall of blood-colored flame, similar to the gateway Maerwulf had opened. Arthain made a hooking, dragging motion with his right hand, and the gateway expanded, swelling to enormous proportions, rising until it towered over the ruined tower. Within Rachaelis saw the ghostly, gloomy world of Maerwulf’s nightmare sanctuary, the gruesome obsidian sculptures jutting from the black grasses.

  Corthain nodded, and the Sword-Captains shouted orders. The Swords lifted their shields, swords ready, and advanced upon the gateway.

  Move, ordered Arthain. Keep within the Swords’ formation; I desire to lose no Adepts hunting down this cockroach Maerwulf. And ward yourselves, as well.

  Rachaelis nodded and cast the spells, the other Adepts doing the same. She sheathed herself in a ward of blue light, to turn aside physical attack, and then one of silver light, to blunt any magical assault. Holding them would drain her strength, but better to keep them up than to catch an arrow in the throat.

  Then they reached the writhing gateway, and marched t
hrough it.

  Again Rachaelis felt that moment of painful, wrenching disorientation. When it cleared she found herself in Maerwulf’s sanctum, the black grasses waving in the cold wind. But this time the ground trembled, ever so slightly, beneath her boots, and red lightning snarling continuously between the dark clouds.

  First Magister Talvin had been right. The sanctum was collapsing. The forcible entry had destabilized the spells binding the place together, and soon it would collapse around them, forcing anyone still within back into the mortal world.

  But not before they had dealt with Maerwulf.

  And not before Rachaelis had ripped the truth of her father's condition from his grasp.

  The Sword-Captains bawled orders, and the Swords moved along the path to the stony hills, maintaining their formation, shields raised and swords ready.

  Be mindful, came Arthain’s voice. I expect Maerwulf to strike at any moment.

  The sanctum is unraveling, said Thalia. I think we can astraljump within here, if necessary.

  A pale mass appeared on the path ahead, and the cold wind suddenly carried the smell of rotting flesh. Hellish red light flickered in the pale mass, and as it drew closer, Rachaelis could make out details.

  Ghouls.

  Hundreds of them.

  “Halt!” Even over the wind and the rustling noise of the charging ghouls, Corthain’s voice rang out. The Swords stopped at once.

  White astralfire, said Thalia. Corthain says he needs white astralfire, and lots of it!

  A sound plan, said Arthain. Adepts, lend me your power!

  Arthain gestured, and rose from the ground, suspended by the power of his will, until he hovered a twenty feet over the armored heads of the Swords. Rachaelis poured more power into the thoughtmeld, and felt the others doing the same. White fire crackled around Arthain’s armored fists, growing brighter and brighter.

  The mob of demon-animated corpses raced closer.

  Arthain yelled and thrust out both his hands.

  A blinding torrent of white astralfire exploded from his palms, so bright that it illuminated the dark gloom of the sanctum, so white that it drowned out the crimson light of the storm clouds. The blast ripped through the mass of ghouls like a stream of molten steel. The ghouls’ eyes burned white as the astralfire destroyed the minor demons within their dead flesh, and the corpses fell to the ground. The ghouls tried to scatter, but Arthain swept his hands back and forth, sending the blazing stream through the ghouls like a scythe through ripe grain.