The Third Soul Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  "Rachaelis!" shouted Corthain.

  Thurvalda snatched a dagger from her belt. If her blood sorcery was not strong enough to kill Rachaelis, cold steel might do the trick. Rachaelis dodged, the blade whipping past her face, and threw power into another spell. A ward of blue light flared to life around her, and an instant later Thurvalda's dagger rebounded from it. Rachaelis cast another spell, her thoughts becoming fists, and threw all her will at Thurvalda. The sigils upon the older woman's arms shuddered, and the blood shaman slammed against the wall with bone-cracking force.

  Thurvalda fought to keep her balance, and then the wall of crimson light collapsed in a burst of silver flame.

  An instant later Aramane Morulan loosed a crackling blast of azure astralfire. For an instant, the blood sigils on Thurvalda’s arms held the Magister’s fury at bay. And then her wards collapsed, and the astralfire plunged into her with a howl loud enough to drown out her scream.

  The blue fire winked out, and what was left of Thurvalda collapsed in charred ruin to the floor.

  Rachaelis had never seen such wrath upon her father’s face.

  She let out a long breath.

  "Are you all right?" Aramane was at her side in an instant, Corthain a half-step behind him.

  "Yes," said Rachaelis, blinking. "I'm fine. I just wish...I just wish I could have talked sense into her." She looked at the dead Jurgurs and Swords scattered near the broken wall. "There's been so much death already."

  "She was a blood shaman and a worshiper of demons," said Arthain, his voice iron, "and she deserved death."

  "You couldn't have saved her," said Corthain. "I've seen her sort before. She would rather have died than surrender. The Jurgurs believed that their demons reward the strong and punish the weak." He looked at the smoking corpse. "She was not quite strong enough."

  "Yes, the matter of the demon," said Magister Orain. "She claimed to have bound a demon in the body of her son, yet I have not seen a boy among the slain. Which means the demon, and the boy, are still at large."

  "He'll be in the apartment," said Corthain. "That's what Thurvalda built this place to protect. The demon was her god, and she believed it would destroy her enemies. And this," he gestured at the wreckage, "this was the temple she raised for it."

  "Then our work is not yet finished," said Arthain. "Lord Corthain, thank you for your assistance. Again you have aided the Conclave well, and we shall speak of suitable gratitude once this affair is settled." Corthain nodded without expression. "Magister Jonas, direct the Swords to see to the disposal of the corpses and care for the wounded.” Jonas barked orders to the Sword-Captains. “The other Magisters, follow me. We shall settle with this greater demon."

  Arthain paused long enough to cast fresh wards about himself, and Rachaelis followed suit. A ward of blue light, to turn aside physical attacks. A ward of white light, to repel creatures of the astral world and to guard her mind from demonic possession. And a ward of silver light, to blunt magical attack.

  When facing a greater demon, she would need all three.

  Arthain gestured, and the wooden door splintered open. Another gesture, and his will swept aside the wreckage. He strode inside, Rachaelis’s father, Magister Jonas, and Magister Orain following. Rachaelis trailed after them. Arthain hadn’t commanded her to come…but he had not ordered her to remain behind, either. And she would not let her father face a demon’s wrath alone.

  Corthain followed her, sword and dagger in hand.

  Perhaps he could not let her face a demon alone, either.

  The thought cheered her.

  The hallway beyond ended in another doorway. Arthain pushed it open, and led them into a richly furnished room. Rachaelis’s boots sank into a thick carpet. Silken Khauldish hangings covered the walls, a long wooden table held polished goblets and plates, and an overstuffed couch sat on the far side of the room.

  On the couch lay a gaunt boy of about twelve, clad in the ragged orange tunic of a slave. His eyes were closed, his narrow chest rising and falling. A steel cuff encircled his right ankle, bound by a chain to a metal ring set in the wall.

  The boy was Maerwulf’s son, Rachaelis was sure of it. He had the same features as the dead blood shaman, the same lines of nose and jaw.

  The boy opened blue eyes the same color as Thurvalda’s.

  Save for the faint crimson light that glowed in their depths.

  “Help me,” he whispered. “Please help me.”

  Chapter 6 – For The Greater Good

  Corthain saw the Magisters tense, saw Rachaelis lift her hand in the beginnings of a spell.

  He could not blame them, given the crimson glare in the boy’s eyes.

  But the child made no threatening movements. He did not even try to stand. Corthain realized that the boy might not have the strength to sit up.

  For a moment no one spoke.

  “What is your name, boy?” said Arthain.

  The child's eyes shifted to the First Magister. “Magister Arthain?”

  Arthain blinked. “You know me?”

  “You are my master,” said the boy. “Your seneschal bought me to clean pots in your kitchens.” Rachaelis’s mouth tightened into a hard line of disapproval. “I want to go back to the kitchens, sir. Please take me away from my mother. Please.”

  “How did you come here?” said Arthain. His voice was gentler than Corthain would have expected.

  “There was a great battle,” said the boy. “So many people died. Some men took me and said I was a slave. Then they put me on a ship and your seneschal bought me. Please, sir, will you take me back to work in your kitchens? I am a very hard worker. Your cooks will not need to beat me for laziness.” He shivered. “Mother beat me all the time.”

  “Your mother kidnapped you, I assume?” said Arthain.

  “Yes, sir,” said the boy. “She took me from your kitchens, and said that I would help Father’s great work.” He shuddered again, and the bloody light in his eyes flared. “She used her magic on me. Now I hear voices in my head, and they tell me to do bad things. Can you make them stop?”

  “What is your name?” said Arthain again.

  “Sigaric, sir,” said the boy.

  Orain stared at the child, fascinated.

  “Can you make the voices in my head stop?” said Sigaric, his tone pleading. “Please, sir, they tell me to do…to do such evil things.”

  He shivered and closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the crimson glare was brighter.

  “Fear not,” said Arthain. “By the end of the day, I promise you that the voices shall be silent.”

  Corthain’s hand tightened around his sword hilt, wondering if Arthain would fulfill that promise simply by killing Sigaric.

  “First Magister,” said Orain. “We may have a problem.”

  Arthain snorted. “You have only now come to that conclusion?”

  “A larger problem, then,” said Orain. “That boy cannot be more than eleven or twelve.”

  “I can see that,” said Arthain. “Your point?”

  “The demon should have dominated him utterly,” said Orain. “Yet it’s fighting him for a control. A child of twelve should not have the mental discipline or stamina to fight off a demon.”

  Arthain’s harsh face somehow grew sterner. “You mean…”

  “The boy,” said Orain, “has the ability to use magic.”

  “Which means,” said Rachaelis, “he's an Urmaaghsk.”

  Fear filled her voice, and Corthain wanted to comfort her. But she would not want to show weakness before Magister Arthain.

  And before the demon inside Sigaric’s skull.

  “Not…quite,” said Orain. He tugged at the spike of his beard. “From what I understand, 'Urmaaghsk' is the Jurgur term for a wielder of the High Art who voluntarily takes a high demon into his flesh? Is that correct, Lord Corthain?”

  Corthain nodded. “Like Paulus and Talvin.”

  “This boy has the potential to become an Adept, and I suspect Thurvalda
...ah, forced the demon into his flesh,” said Orain, pointing. Bruises and welts marked Sigaric’s arms and legs, and again Corthain saw rage flash through Rachaelis’s eyes. “He is not as powerful as an Urmaaghsk, but nonetheless his raw strength is considerable. If the demon gains full control of his body, or twists the child into willing cooperation, it would wield considerable power.”

  “Mother said she put a god into my head,” said Sigaric, his expression heavy with misery. “She said I would rule the world and lead the Jurgur people to glory. But I don’t want to do that. The voice tells me awful things…I just want to be a cook.”

  “We’ll help you,” said Rachaelis. She squatted before Sigaric, meeting his eyes. “We’ll drive the demon out of your head, and…”

  Sigaric's face twisted with inhuman fury.

  His eyes blazed like coals as the demon took control.

  “Fool!” he bellowed, his voice ringing with the eerie double echo of possession. The boy surged to his feet with such speed that his chain almost tore from the wall. “Wretched Adepts! Do you think your puny spells can challenge me? I, who wielded the wrath of the astral realm before your crawling race was ever born? Perish!” Red fire blazed around his fingers. “Perish, and…”

  For an instant chaos reigned in the room. Sigaric, thank the Divine, could not quite reach Rachaelis. Arthain, Aramane, Jonas, and Orain all began casting spells, and Corthain reached for Rachaelis, intending to pull her from harm. Part of his mind knew that it was foolish, that she had a better chance against the possessed child than he did.

  But he could not let her face that demon alone.

  Sigaric groaned, his eyes screwing shut, and fell back against the couch. For a moment he trembled like a dying animal. Then his eyes opened, their crimson blaze fading back to a sullen glare.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “The voice makes me do things and I can't stop it.” He shivered. “Mother sometimes made the voice take me over. So she could turn her friends into those monsters.”

  “That’s how Thurvalda created the Urvuulfs,” said Corthain. “The greater demon summoned them, and Thurvalda's followers accepted the demons into their bodies.”

  Rachaelis cast a spell, white light glimmering around her fingers. An aura of white light appeared around Sigaric, and the boy cried out in pain.

  “That hurts!” said Sigaric.

  “It does,” said Rachaelis, “but it will keep the demon from controlling you. At least for a little while.”

  “I can still hear the voice,” said Sigaric, “but it’s…softer.”

  “Enough,” said Arthain. “The boy is possessed and tremendously dangerous. What is to be done about it?”

  “White astralfire,” said Aramane at once. “If we join our powers and strike, we will work enough white astralfire to destroy the demon.”

  Rachaelis frowned. “That will destroy the demon, but we'll break Sigaric’s mind in the process. He’ll be like one of those Jurgur slaves drooling downstairs, and he'll die when his mind forgets to keep his heart beating.”

  “He carries a greater demon,” said Arthain. “His death may be necessary.”

  “Necessary?” said Rachaelis, whirling to face Arthain. “He is innocent! He isn’t some demon-worshipper. His mother forced this on him! All he wants to do is to scrub your pots, First Magister! He does not deserve to die.”

  “He does not,” said Arthain. “Neither did the slaves and freemen slain by the Urvuulfs. Nor those who will die if the demon continues to inhabit his body. We are Adepts of the Conclave, Rachaelis. We do what is necessary to guard the world from demons and dark magic.”

  Corthain had heard his father speak those words so many times that sometimes they seemed to echo inside his head.

  “If the boy’s death is likely,” said Jonas, “then perhaps we should simply kill him.”

  “You cannot be serious!” said Rachaelis. “Are you truly going to murder a child?”

  “Not murder,” said Jonas. “A…mercy killing. A terrible thing, yes. But necessary, as the First Magister said. If we use white astralfire to destroy the demon, the boy will almost certainly die drooling in a puddle of his own waste. Instead we can make his death quick and painless, and then destroy the demon with ease once we force it out of his corpse.”

  “I will not allow it,” said Rachaelis.

  Jonas drew himself up. “You are an Adept of the Conclave, but I am a Magister, and the Magisters will decide how to handle this.”

  “Magisters, there may be another way,” said Orain, stepping between the scowling Jonas and the furious Rachaelis. “I propose we enhance Rachaelis’s wards around the boy and take him back to the Ring for study. Perhaps the College Excorisia can find a way to force the demon from boy without harm. And who knows? Maybe we will learn of additional weapons we can wield against the demons.”

  “Absolutely not,” said Arthain. “Your ambition to expand our knowledge of the High Art does you credit, Orain. But the Conclave of Araspan does not consort with demons, not even by holding them prisoner for the purposes of study.”

  Orain bowed his head in acquiescence. “As you say, First Magister.”

  “Then it appears our only choices,” said Jonas, “are white astralfire, or the sword.”

  “There is another way,” said Rachaelis.

  They all looked at her, even Sigaric. He had remained silent during the argument, watching with exhausted passivity. He did not care whether he lived or died, Corthain realized. Perhaps he hoped death would release him from his mother's cruelty and the demon's voice.

  But Rachaelis Morulan would not let him die.

  “I join in a thoughtmeld with Sigaric,” said Rachaelis, “confront the demon directly, and drive it from his body.”

  A chorus of outrage answered her.

  “No,” said Aramane. “Under no circumstances. You would put yourself at terrible risk. I will not allow it.”

  “My learned colleague is correct,” said Orain. “Performing a thoughtmeld at the necessary level would strip away a your mental defenses. The demon could abandon the child’s body for yours. Lady Rachaelis, you are one of the strongest young Adepts in the Conclave, and if you were possessed by a demon…you would become incalculably dangerous.”

  “I can do it,” said Rachaelis, looking at Corthain. “I faced Talvin’s high demon when it tried to possess Corthain. The demon inside Sigaric is not as powerful.”

  “That was a close thing,” said Aramane, “and you had my aid, and the aid of Solthain Kalarien. Alone, you would have been overwhelmed.”

  “Sigaric is a child,” said Rachaelis, “and he is fighting off the demon.”

  “He is losing,” said Aramane. “The demon was forced into his mind and must overcome his natural defenses. If you entered his mind, you would forfeit those defenses. The demon could well overpower you.”

  “Then join with me,” said Rachaelis, looking around the room. “All of you. Join your strength to mine, and we can drive out the demon.”

  “That is an even greater risk,” said Orain. “Joined together in a thoughtmeld, we would all lose our defenses. The demon could possess any one of us.”

  “The risk is unacceptable,” said Arthain.

  “Father,” said Rachaelis. “I can do this. I know I can do this. I can defeat the demon and save…”

  “No,” said Aramane.

  She blinked.

  “As a Magister of the Conclave, I forbid it,” said Aramane, his voice sad. “Paulus murdered your mother when she discovered his crimes. I almost lost you to Paulus and Talvin and their high demon. I will not…I will not risk losing you to this demon. Not even to save this child.”

  For a moment hurt betrayal filled Rachaelis’s expression, and then steely determination returned.

  “First Magister,” said Rachaelis. “Let…”

  “Magister Aramane and Magister Orain are correct,” said Arthain. “The danger is too high. I will not risk losing an Adept to save one Jurgur slave child.” />
  “Then what good are we?” said Rachaelis. “You talk about defending people from demons. What value does the Conclave have if we do not that?” She turned to her father. “You told me that the Conclave was corrupt, that it was too concerned with its own power and privileges. This is our chance to change that.”

  Aramane did not answer.

  “Enough,” said Arthain. “We shall use white astralfire to destroy the demon while putting no Adepts at risk.”

  “And leaving Sigaric a broken shell,” spat Rachaelis.

  “A necessary sacrifice,” said Arthain. How often, too, had Corthain heard his father use that word. The cruelties of the Conclave were always necessary. “Too many innocent lives have already been lost. The life of one child is an acceptable sacrifice to safeguard further lives.” He shrugged. “And perhaps the child’s mind will survive the ordeal.”

  “So be it,” said Jonas.

  Rachaelis looked at her father and the First Magister, and then at Sigaric.

  She stared at the boy for a long time as the Magisters conferred.

  Then Corthain saw her eyes widen, saw the idea cross her face.

  All at once he knew what she intended to do.

  “Oh,” he said.

  The Magisters looked at him.

  “Do you have something to say, Lord Corthain?” snapped Arthain. “This is a matter for the Conclave.”

  “Nothing,” said Corthain. “Carry on, First Magister.”

  Arthain gave him a suspicious look, but turned his attention back to the other Magisters.

  Rachaelis stared at Corthain, a silent question on her face.

  He knew what she intended, and it was just as dangerous as Aramane and Orain had said. The demon could destroy her, or worse, possess her. White astralfire was the safest plan, and it even gave Sigaric a small chance of survival. Part of Corthain wanted to agree, to voice his support.

  But he had seen too many people die today, and most of them hadn’t deserved it. And if Rachaelis thought she could save Sigaric, then Corthain would trust her judgment.

  He nodded.

  She smiled at him.

  Then she spun and cast a spell. The iron ring jerked from the wall and fell with a clatter against the floor. Rachaelis seized Sigaric’s shoulder, the white light of her ward washing over her fingers.