A keening moan flooded the battlefield. Tarrik realized it came from the void that was the gate to Samal’s prison. The gaping maw wasn’t swirling anymore. The gate had stilled, and in its center shone a flickering light, like a candle at the end of a tunnel. Around the edge of the blackness a crackling crimson fire shimmered.
“He comes,” whispered Ren.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
All around them, the dreadlords and remaining Cabalists slowly regained their feet. Tarrik braced himself for another assault. But they all turned to the void, enthralled.
A sound came from Ren, faint at first, then with greater strength. Tarrik realized she was laughing.
“I broke your chains!” she screamed at the flickering light. “The sun cleansed me! You cannot torment me anymore! I am—”
The low moan coming from the void turned to an ear-piercing whine. A look of panic came over Ren’s face.
“No, no, no . . . ,” she whispered as she stumbled to her knees.
The light inside the void grew larger, resolving into the shape of a manlike figure.
“What do we do?” Tarrik asked.
“No!” Ren barked savagely—not to Tarrik, but to Samal. She staggered to her feet, and her hands tangled in Tarrik’s shirt. “He is coming. I am not as free as I thought. He has me, Tarrik. I can feel his claws . . . inside me.”
“Fight!” he urged her. “Fight or die; it’s that simple.” He could scarcely hear himself over the wail from the void.
Ren shook her head slowly. “It is never simple.”
She shouted a word, lost to Tarrik in the cacophony. But his arm hairs stood on end, and a prickle niggled at his mind, the buzz of an insect. The glow surrounding Ren brightened until it was too strong for his eyes. Faint popping sounds came from high above, and then ahead of him a multitude of cracks opened in the veil that separated this world from the abyssal realms.
No!
Ren had summoned an army of demons, all bound to her will.
The air froze to white vapor, and snow fell from the sky. A sulfurous stench underlaid with rot poured through the breach between the worlds. Demons emerged from the tears in the veil, and the sight stole Tarrik’s breath. Mighty winged monstrosities studded with horns, their terrible clawed hands huge enough to crush a horse’s head; feathered predators with razor talons and bone-crushing beaks; seven-eyed, spiderlike beasts dripping with pestilence, their mottled hides shagged with wiry hair, their limbs longer than a human’s entire body. Siparank-chigira, karat-skup, hishil-wurg, krux-alat, and many others.
Tarrik knew these demons. They were unfettered hunger and debasement, full of bestial urges that overruled what little intelligence they had.
Ren had summoned these demons from the abyss and bound them with cruel sorceries that Tarrik loathed. His ilk, enslaved—and the sight brought him joy. How was this possible?
The shame he felt at his response was quickly overwhelmed by pride in Ren’s strength. She had brought forth dozens of demons, surely a feat unsurpassed by any sorcerer of this world, living or dead. But how could she control so many minor demons at once? It was impossible. Only a higher-order demon could hope to—
Tarrik looked at Ren. Her face streamed sweat, and her eyes were red rimmed. He might be able to, now that he’d grown stronger from absorbing Ananias’s essence. Somehow, he knew that Ren also understood this.
“I cannot control them,” she said. “But you can. I know you can. Coerce them—compel them!”
He was dumbfounded, not believing what she was asking of him. “No. I cannot.”
“You can. You must! Samal’s grip tightens. If he controls me again, all is lost. You must do it, Tarrik!”
He would be sending scores of his own kind to die for Ren. How could he do such a thing? Tarrik knew he had to make a choice. What was worse: The death of many fellow demons or the return of Samal?
It was no contest.
Tarrik focused on his dark-tide repository and modified his scrying cant. Instead of just seeking, it would also deliver a message: Kill the humans. Feast upon their meat. Sate your lust upon their corpses.
Closing his eyes, he sent out his scrying tendrils.
Shrieking with hunger and desire, the winged demons descended on the sorcerers, the dreadlords, and any remaining soldiers. It was as if they fell from the sun itself, while others on the ground rushed toward a few feeble arcane shields and hundreds of prone warriors.
With the Nine having turned their attention to freeing Samal, the debilitating sound of their sorcery had all but disappeared. Tarrik no longer felt it gnawing at his bones, scraping against his mind. The warriors of the Cabal began to recover and struggled to their feet, hands searching for discarded weapons. Heads clearing, they gathered in ragged groups as they rallied, and the demons assailing them became manifest.
The inhabitants of the abyssal realms fell in arcs, some upon the Cabalists, while the bulk streamed toward the Nine.
Demons spread their wings wide to slow and control their descent. They swooped over the gathering at the base of the pyramid, screeching and chattering and bellowing. The Cabalists responded to the aerial assault with coruscating lines of energy. Fires blossomed, erupting against demonic flesh and hide.
A dozen or so arrows soared into the sky, most missing their targets. A feeble, probably final response of a beleaguered army. Cabal warriors chopped at demons with swords and axes. Shields weathered fists and claws, paint chipping and wood splitting.
A bearded man charged Tarrik, spit flying from his mouth as he yelled a war cry. Tarrik dodged the man’s spear thrust, lunged his own forward, and impaled the warrior upon its point. The impact ran up his arm, and he twisted the blade up and free, ripping through leather and skin and muscle. The man screamed his foul breath in Tarrik’s face. Tarrik punched him twice until he lay in the dirt.
Another soldier came from the left: a woman with a slender sword and round shield, her hair plaited into two braids. He shoulder charged her shield, and she staggered backward. He kicked hard, sending her shield’s iron rim smashing into her mouth. Her lip split, and she fell, screaming. Tarrik killed her with a stab to her throat.
He looked up, panting. Dreadlords rushed at him from all directions, their orichalcum eyes blazing orange. He wondered how he was going to fight them all, then realized they were converging on the remaining Nine.
For a heartbeat, it seemed the Nine were dumbstruck. Then, as if one hand guided them, they congregated around a central point, still surrounded by their ward. The dreadlords stopped outside the dome and turned to face the oncoming demons.
The horde barreled into the dreadlords, howling and clamoring to get past them to the ward. The dreadlords’ great swords swung relentlessly, severing limbs and rending flesh, sending purple blood spraying. But the demons were not cowed, driven as they were by heartless lusts. Their claws and talons scraped the dome’s surface, sending sapphire motes skittering across it.
Ren sank to her knees and released a cry of torment. Her fists battered the sides of her head. “No! Not again!”
Although he wasn’t directly targeted by Samal, Tarrik felt as if someone’s fingers were rummaging through his skull.
He knew there wasn’t much he could do to stop Samal. That fight was for Ren alone. But perhaps he could stem the tide and delay the Adversary, however briefly.
He drew on his dark-tide power and sent tendrils into Ren’s mind. To his surprise, she latched on to them almost instantly. Just as she had helped him in his fight to absorb Ananias’s essence, so did his awareness join hers now to battle Samal.
Black and crimson threads of Samal’s dark-tide power invaded Ren. They were too numerous, and Tarrik couldn’t disperse them. The best he could do was to block some and corral others for brief moments. But his intervention seemed to give Ren space to recover. Her defenses gathered strength, and her white and golden tendrils isolated and fractured the black and red of Samal. A surge of power flared bright, creating
spheres of protection against which Samal’s forces battered in vain. For now.
Tarrik withdrew quickly, not wanting Samal’s attention to turn to him. He opened his eyes to see more demons assailing the Cabalists. Warriors fell under the weight of inhuman numbers as they were set upon with exultant abandon. The demons worked a grizzly slaughter, tearing out throats, ripping soldiers to shreds with their talons. One demon struck a big mail-clad man, and he simply dropped, his throat slashed. Three others were dismembered by a pack of taloned and feathered terrors. Human steel—blades and axes and spears—cracked against scales and thick hides, penetrating flesh to spill purple blood. Warriors shouted war cries and wordless yells. Only a dozen of the sorcerers remained, and they fought back, sending concussions and fiery balls and glittering incising lines in all directions, not caring who they killed.
Demons bellowed. Men and women cried out in fear and futile determination, brandishing weapons and shields. A horn brayed through the dissonance, a long, warbling note that trailed off as if it had given up.
The area around the pyramid was a screaming turmoil, humans and demons scrambling on bloodied dirt, slipping in ichor and innards.
Individual shields sparked and collapsed under the demonic assault. The flesh inside the vanquished wards was pummeled with abandon. Blue and violet shields dwindled to a mere handful. Brilliant explosions peppered the earth.
Demons screeched and swerved from the onslaught. Incandescent explosions pimpled the sky. Dozens of abyssal denizens were incinerated, their flailing or inert forms trailing smoke as they plummeted from the sky to hammer into the ground with loud thumps, sending up curtains of dust.
The Cabalists retreated toward the encampment, all the while pounding the demons with virulent sorceries. What shelter the Cabalists thought they’d find at the camp, Tarrik didn’t know, but it was the way of humans to continue to hope when all hope was lost.
He turned his attention to the Nine, still protected by their ward. Shrieking demons threw themselves against the wall of dreadlords, who swung their blades to cut through scales and hide. But the mass of demons was too much. Their infernal claws and fangs scraped across the dreadlords’ plated armor, penetrating joints, piercing mail. The dreadlords fell, torn to glistening chunks.
The Nine scoured the demons with violet fire. Those that didn’t flee burned as if made of wax.
A great gust of air blasted across the battlefield. The wind scooped up dry earth and swirled it into a vast dust storm that boiled and churned, sending sorcerers and demons tumbling. So great was the detritus it occluded the sun and sent swaths of shadow across the ground. Within heartbeats the sky turned gray, and all was reduced to ragged shapes in the gloom. Ren propelled herself skyward again, surrounded by her golden shield. Tarrik lost sight of her completely in the swirling dust she had generated.
He made use of the obscuring storm to fight his way toward the Nine. If Ren was to win her battle, defeating them would surely be paramount. What he could do against them was another story.
Men and women and demons of all types scurried through the smoking and murky battlefield, moaning and crying, squealing and growling, either searching for a fight or fleeing like prey. The few Cabalist warriors that Tarrik stumbled upon mostly ignored him, though some tried to grab his arm and urged him to run away, their words uttered from faces gaping with horror. He passed unharmed between the demons’ claws and pummeling fists, snarling at them in Nazgrese when they came too close. Some croaked back in their own tongues, and all skirted around him to search for human meat.
One of the few remaining soldiers fought a marfesh, blood streaming down his face from a head wound. Bubbling poison from the demon’s mouth scored lines across the earth, and the man’s left arm was covered with the vitriol, his flesh sloughing off in layers. Somehow he managed to drive his sword up through the marfesh’s throat into its brain.
The man saw Tarrik and pleaded with him for help. Tarrik buried his shadow-blade in his chest.
A series of impacts shook the ground. “Finish her!” cried Jawo-linger in a voice like cracking thunder.
The Nine chanted in unison, and a shock wave blasted out from their ward, clearing the haze that Ren had created to obscure herself.
Tarrik tottered, then righted himself. Only a handful of Cabalists remained standing, their glowing shields beacons for the demons. He caught sight of Ren. She hovered above the destruction but was on her knees, her arms hugged tight around her body, her face a mask of misery as she looked toward the pyramid.
There, highlighted against the backdrop of the void, stood Samal, a cloud of burning cinders swirling around him.
The others of the Nine whooped and cried out in adoration.
At first Tarrik thought enormous shadow wings spread behind Samal’s massively muscled form, but as they writhed and twisted, he realized they were fleshlike tentacles, each studded with spikes and ending in talons. Glowing red eyes stared out from the Adversary’s black visage, and horns curled down from his forehead, ending close to his chin. His mouth opened in four sections to reveal jagged fangs, and his roar smothered all other sound and set Tarrik’s bones vibrating.
Tarrik shuddered with disgust and fear. This was not any form he’d ever seen or heard of. This was obscene. A caricature of a demon. A nightmare form created by a lord drunk on his own power. Or driven insane.
Samal’s clawed fists pounded at the arcane window that still held him in the void. The talons at the ends of his tentacles struck at the barrier like snakes.
The keening wail returned and rose in volume as the Nine spoke their powerful cants. The invisible wall separating Samal from this world shimmered and swam with silver motes.
Tarrik fell to his knees in the dust, more afraid than he’d ever been. His spear dropped from his fingers. He reached a hand out to Ren, imploring her to retreat, to flee.
He called her name, and she turned to regard him. Violent sorcerous lines assailed her shield, which flashed with white brilliance where it was struck, lighting her face in brief spurts. For a moment Tarrik thought she’d heard him, that she had agreed to run. His heart wrenched as emotions racked his frame. The sobs rising in his chest made him feel impotent, pitiful. Had this world driven him mad, as the Nine were? As Ren was?
The Cabal’s sorcerers, warriors, and servants lay dead all around. Oily smoke from their burning corpses poured into the sky in long plumes. And Tarrik knew, with a conviction that made him clench his jaw, that this was also part of Ren’s murderous design. For even as she fell to the Nine’s sorceries, the Tainted Cabal would be forever turned against them.
Popping sounds echoed across the battlefield. The cracks between this world and the abyssal realms once again opened. Tarrik’s skin crawled, and his hair stood on end. Coldness seeped into his bones. What else would Ren bring through? Demon lords?
But he watched with amazement as the demons Ren had summoned disappeared into a swirling mist that was sucked back through the veil and returned to the abyss.
He sent his awareness inside her again. Only a few spheres of her consciousness remained: golden-white balls assailed by crimson-black sorcery. Tarrik threw himself at the invading threads and shredded some, but his effort wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. It was a losing battle. Hopeless.
Ren rose into the air again, this time kneeling on her sorcerous platform, her arms cradling her body. Abruptly, a new shield surrounded her of a type Tarrik had never seen before, of a black so deep as to be impenetrable, making her form invisible. Crimson and pitch-black lances slammed into the strange shield, which wavered under the barrage. Swirling tendrils broke away and curled around the ward, as if twisting in a wind, before fading to nothingness.
For a dozen heartbeats the strange shield held.
The Nine paused in their assault, as if to regain their strength before a final offensive.
Ren’s black sphere dissipated to reveal her swaying and clutching at her head with both hands. Tarrik’s ca
refully woven braids had unraveled, and her tresses swirled in the wind.
Laughter came from the void. Samal. The sound rose in volume until it boomed as loud as an avalanche.
Ren’s gaze fixed upon the demon lord, and her mouth curved into a smile. Her hands dropped to her sides. A look of resignation came over her.
Tarrik stared. For a moment it seemed that they both stood once more atop the derelict tower: Ren, damp and fearful; Tarrik, angry and confused from her summoning.
He stumbled toward Ren and shouted her name. His cry must have penetrated the fugue of Samal reasserting his dominion. She ceased her swaying for a moment and turned toward him.
She shook her head, then frowned. “Run, you foolish demon!” Her voice crashed around Tarrik like thunder.
She lifted her left hand and placed it against the back of her right shoulder. The same spot, realized Tarrik, where he’d implanted the artifact.
Blood and fire!
He threw himself flat into the dirt, landing on Ren’s journal. Her sword hammered the back of his head, and he felt an eldritch shield press against his skin. Ren, trying to protect him to the last.
The earth heaved, and his body launched upward, breaking contact with the ground. A dazzling light pierced his eyelids, causing him to cry out in pain. He was slammed back into the earth, grunting as his breath was driven from his lungs.
Another detonation, and the earth heaved again, and again. Finally, the radiant glare faded, and the ground’s shudders subsided to reveal a strange cracking and clicking underneath.
Tarrik staggered to his feet and gaped in dismay and wonder.
Flames had turned the battlefield into an undulating sheet of fire pluming noxious black smoke. The conflagration twisted as if alive. Gales swirled through the air, churning clouds of ash and fire into the sky, blotting out the sun yet again. The air tasted of charcoal and heat and roasted meat.
There was no sign of the Nine, nor of the Cabalists’ warriors. A few scintillant spheres fled from the devastation. A tiny fraction of the Cabalists’ sorcerers had survived, probably because they were outside the area of the detonation.
Shadow of the Exile (The Infernal Guardian Book 1) Page 37
