“That’s fair,” Cyril said. “We’ll manage that when we come to it.”
They went to work untying Imogen and the others and using the bindings to tie Nash’s hands behind her back. Enzo craned his neck to see what was happening.
“That thing would have had me if you hadn’t intervened,” Kat said to Ben, putting a hand on his arm. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Ben managed, his mouth going suddenly dry.
“Oh, man up, already,” Homer said.
“Shut up.”
Zack was on his knees, his head bowed low, trembling. Ben knelt down next to him. “Hey, it’s me. You’re safe.”
Zack didn’t move.
“Ben?” he whispered, still on his knees, his forehead to the floor.
“Yeah … it’s me, you’re safe.”
Slowly, tentatively, Zack looked up, as if he expected to get hit. When he saw Ben, he started crying and lunged into him, hugging him fiercely, sobbing and whimpering uncontrollably. Ben held him and let him cry, tears rolling down his own cheeks.
“You’re safe,” Ben whispered, not sure if he was lying or not.
Zack spent a few minutes in hysterics before falling unconscious. When he did, Ben carried him to the corner where they’d put Frank and wrapped him in blankets.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” Cyril said.
Ben nodded, looking down, feeling a sense of guilt for bringing Zack into the situation … then feeling a sense of anger at the dragon for creating the situation in the first place. He decided that anger at the dragon was more productive.
Once he’d laid Zack down and checked on Frank, he returned to the group. They could hear dogs barking in the distance.
“So what’s the plan?”
“We were just discussing that,” Cyril said. “Annabelle wants to cut and run.”
She glared at him.
“But I want to make another attempt on the keep.”
“Do you have a way through the shield?” Ben asked.
“Sort of,” Cyril said. “It’s complicated.”
“It’s insane,” Belle said, looking at Cyril. “My father used to tell me stories about you—he said you always refused to do black magic. Why would you start now?”
“Desperation,” he said softly. “I’m out of options.”
Imogen sat quietly, tension virtually radiating from her as she clenched her hands together and held her breath.
“Black magic?” Ben asked.
“Technically … yes.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Certainly, but within acceptable limits if used correctly.”
“What, exactly, are you planning to do?”
Cyril took a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it out slowly.
“I’m going to beseech my Guardian Angel to bind the demon Magoth to my will and then command him to transfer my consciousness into Enzo’s body.”
Chapter 35
Ben stared in disbelief. He wasn’t sure what left him more dumbfounded, the fact that his grandfather was considering such a thing, the fact that he obviously believed such a thing was possible, or the fact that he talked about it so matter-of-factly.
“As Enzo, I can gain access to the temple with ease and will be given relative freedom of movement. All that remains is finding the child and getting him out safely.”
“Wait … back up to the part where you bind the demon Magoth to your will,” Ben said. “What the hell is that?”
Cyril shrugged. “Black magic, though done with the blessing and guidance of my Guardian Angel.”
“Why doesn’t he just help you?”
“He will, but within certain limits.”
“So he won’t just go get Imogen’s baby, but he’ll summon a demon for you and bind it to your will.”
Cyril shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t make up the rules.”
“There has to be a better way,” Ben said. “You’ve harped on the importance of relying on basic manifestation and now you’re talking about a demonic summoning.”
“I’m open to suggestions,” Cyril said. “As long as that circle is protecting the temple, I’m out of options.”
A dog barked nearby.
“They smell the blood,” Homer said.
Ben glanced at the two doors—both closed and locked.
Cyril was looking at him when he looked back. He knew in a glance that his grandfather had made up his mind. Cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach.
“Please don’t do this,” Ben said.
Cyril brought up a holo-screen and displayed a picture of his infant grandson.
“That’s you,” Cyril said. “My grandson. My blood. He’s helpless and he’s defenseless and he needs me. I don’t want to do this, but I don’t have another option, not even a bad one. Either I do this or we leave and forsake our family.”
Imogen sat quietly, looking at the holo-screen with tears streaming down her face, her hands clasped together between her knees.
Ben nodded, a sick feeling in his gut. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if they left without trying everything possible. But black magic …
A dog pawed at the door, snarling and growling, then jumping up, hard nails scratching against the lacquered wood. Another yipped, followed by a chorus of barks and yowls as the rest of the pack arrived.
“Fortify the doors,” Cyril said. “Looks like we’re staying here for a while.”
The doors were stout and the bars were sturdy. The dogs wouldn’t be getting in. Ben peered out the window, estimating forty or fifty dogs milling around in front of the warehouse with more in back.
“What’s happening?” Zack asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“We’re surrounded by a pack of wild dogs,” Ben said. “How are you feeling?”
“Are they going to get in?”
“No, but we’re stuck here for now.”
“Oh,” Zack said with a shrug. “It’s not so bad here as long as Dominus Nash is asleep. And I’m glad you killed her wolf—I hated that thing.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Do you have anything to eat? She didn’t feed me much.”
“Of course,” Ben said, going to his pack for some food.
Zack sat down with his back to the wall and ate until he was content. “Thank you,” he said with a sigh. “I haven’t been full in weeks.”
“What happened to you?”
“They detained me. Nash said I had information that she needed to find you. I told her I didn’t know anything, but she didn’t believe me. She liked to slap me across the face, hard. If I flinched, she’d do it over and over again. A slap doesn’t sound like much, but after a few dozen, it really starts to hurt.
“She asked me all kinds of questions about you … and Cyril … and Frank … and Imogen. She wanted to know where you came from and how long you’d been in town. All kinds of stuff.
“I tried to hold out, but she started slapping me. After a while, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I told her anything she wanted to know. I’m sorry.”
“Oh God, Zack, you have nothing to apologize for,” Ben said. “If anything, I got you into this. I’m so, so sorry you’ve had to go through this.”
He smiled just slightly. “I always wanted to have an adventure. Never thought it would consist mostly of getting the shit slapped out of me by some Amazon bitch.”
“It isn’t over yet,” Ben said, stifling a chuckle.
Zack looked over at Nash, asleep and bound in the corner.
“I want to kill her with my bare hands,” he said, his voice dead calm.
“I know the feeling.”
Zack frowned. “What’s your grandfather doing?”
Cyril had tossed a rope over a rafter and was tying one end of it around the ankles of a dead Dragon Guard. He hoisted the body into the air, got the cooking pot out of his backpack, cut the man’s throat, and started collecting blood.
“Black magi
c,” Ben said, still in a state of disbelief.
“So he is the Wizard, then?”
Ben nodded.
“Nash was so certain—she seemed to think that I should have known.”
“I didn’t even know,” Ben said.
“All this time,” Zack said, shaking his head.
“Can’t say I blame him. He’s lost a lot—two wives and a daughter.”
“Shit,” Zack whispered.
Ben nodded, watching Cyril carefully pour blood in a circle on the far end of the warehouse. His grandfather would do literally anything for family, a vulnerability that the wyrm would certainly exploit if given the chance.
Imogen was sitting next to Frank, who was still unconscious but recovering from the beating he’d taken. She had her knees to her chest and was rocking back and forth. Ben sat down next to her.
“This is all my fault,” she said.
“Stop that,” Ben said. “We’ve been over this. You’re the victim here.”
“Yeah, but he’s casting a spell that he’d never cast in a million years. He’s using magic that he swore he’d never use, magic that he has always cautioned against. What if something happens to him?” She put a hand over her mouth.
“He’s tougher than anyone I know and smarter too,” Ben said. “If he says he can do this, then he can. We just have to trust him and support him.”
Cyril stood up, scrutinizing his work, nodding to himself in satisfaction. It was a gruesome sight—a magic circle drawn in blood.
He went to the other end of the warehouse and dug around in his pack for a moment.
“Ben, come here,” he said, “I have a job for you.” He handed Ben a large piece of chalk. “You’re going to draw this one.”
“What do you mean?”
“You will all need to be inside a consecrated circle during the summoning,” Cyril said. “A wizard can only consecrate one temporary circle at a time, so you’ll have to do this one.”
“Me? But I don’t know how.”
“That’s why I’m going to teach you. Start by drawing the outer circle. You want it as circular as possible, and big, so get an idea where you’re going to draw it first and put down some marks for the center, and several around the edges to use as a guide. Once you start your line you don’t want to lift the chalk until you come full circle. Also, while you’re drawing it, don’t ever step outside of it until you have entirely completed it, and then take care to never step on the lines.”
“Slow down,” Ben said. “So I start by marking the outline of the circle I want to draw.”
“Correct.”
“All right,” Ben said, surveying the warehouse floor and picking his center point. It took about thirty minutes for Ben to draw his first magic circle. While he worked, Cyril lectured and offered guidance and advice. Everyone else watched with varying degrees of skepticism.
“Good,” Cyril said, evaluating each symbol carefully before nodding his approval, and glancing over at Frank, still sound asleep. “Now for the most important part. Sit with me.”
Ben sat down on the cold floor. Cyril sat opposite him and handed him the egg. Ben took it reverently, his heart rate accelerating. It was just slightly warm to the touch.
“Cradle the egg in your lap and focus on the circle. See it in your mind’s eye, see it laid down in light, shining down from your Guardian Angel.”
Ben did as he was told, focusing his will and his imagination. After a few moments of clearly visualizing the circle of light, he felt an odd sensation, like grace brushed up against him. A knowing came over him—within the confines of this circle, no evil could befall him. He opened his eyes to find Cyril smiling at him proudly.
“It usually takes people much longer to see the image clearly enough to consecrate the circle, at least the first time. You’ve trained your mind well.”
Ben smiled his thanks for the compliment.
“So I’m safe inside here.”
“You are … unless someone undoes your circle. In this case, I’ll be dealing with incorporeal beings, so they can’t physically interfere with it, but the Warlock, for example, could walk up and rub the chalk away on the outer edge with his boot and your circle would fail.”
Cyril guided each member of the group over the chalk lines, taking great care to avoid even the tiniest smudge, carrying Frank and placing him gently on a bedroll that Ben laid out for him.
“What are you doing?” Enzo asked, looking around a bit wildly when Cyril tipped his chair back and started dragging him across the warehouse.
After positioning Enzo, Cyril came back to the rest of them. “What I’m about to do is dangerous. It might also cause you to reevaluate your understanding of reality. I suggest you look the other way, but I’m sure a few of you will ignore that suggestion.
“Whatever happens, you must stay inside the circle. If you leave the circle or if you break the circle, you will be at Magoth’s mercy. Also, you must remain quiet. Do not talk. Any words you utter will be heard by the demon and he will use them to engage you, offering promises and enticements to draw you out.
“Once the spell is complete, my body will be in a trance state inside my circle. My awareness will be inside Enzo, so someone will have to come untie his body. One last thing,” Cyril said, looking to each person in turn, “I’ve been training Ben since he was three to become the next Wizard. If anything happens to me, the egg goes to him, no matter what Frank says or does.”
Ben swallowed hard, went to Cyril and gave him a hug. Cyril returned the hug and then held him at arm’s length, patting him on the shoulder.
“If all goes well, we’ll be on our way by dawn,” Cyril said. “Remember, stay in the circle and stay quiet.”
He gave them one last solemn look to drive home his warnings and then returned to the other end of the warehouse and his circle drawn in blood.
Chapter 36
Ben watched intently as Cyril sat down in the middle of his circle and began to meditate. After an hour, everyone else had lost interest and were taking advantage of the opportunity to rest.
Ben watched.
When Cyril stood and began speaking in an unknown language, everyone else sat up again—all except Frank and Nash who were still unconscious.
Cyril knelt to the east, speaking under his breath as he put his forehead to the floor. He stood, whispering another string of words before turning south and repeating the process, kneeling to each of the four cardinal directions before facing east again and sitting back down.
Eyes closed, legs folded with his feet on his thighs, he began to chant, speaking in the same alien language he’d used before, repeating the same sing-song mantra over and over again. Time seemed to slow. Ben felt the mantra reverberating in his chest, even though Cyril wasn’t speaking loudly. Each time he repeated the string of unintelligible words, Ben felt a sense that something deep and ancient was stirring within him.
Cyril stopped abruptly and rose once again, standing with his arms out and his head back.
He shouted to the ceiling, crying out with an intensity of emotion that Ben had rarely seen his grandfather display. All at once, he collapsed, going to his knees and placing his forehead on the floor.
The air grew still and silent—expectant. Ben realized that he was holding his breath. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, an indistinct haze formed in front of Cyril. It had the quality of vapor but glowed slightly before it coalesced into the form of a man, dressed in a simple robe. He was slightly translucent and glowed with a soft white light, yet Ben sensed a solidity about him that seemed somehow more concrete than anything in the real world. He had a presence and calmness that suggested a kind of permanence that was beyond Ben’s ability to fully comprehend.
“Why have you summoned me with blood?” His voice was strong and substantial, yet sounded very far away.
“Desperation,” Cyril said, his head still bowed to the floor.
“Rise.”
Cyril stood, bowing his head before his Gua
rdian Angel, who reached out and laid a hand on his head.
“You’re situation is desperate indeed, yet the solution you have chosen is more desperate still.”
“I can see no alternative,” Cyril said. “I beg for your counsel. Show me a better way.”
The angel was silent for a few moments.
“I cannot see another path more likely to lead to the preservation of your grandson, and yet, this path is fraught with risk.”
“I know,” Cyril said.
“And still you would proceed?”
“Yes.”
“Very well,” the angel said, laying his hand on Cyril’s head again.
After a moment, the angel became less distinct and then vanished altogether.
Cyril stripped off his shirt and went to work drawing a number of symbols on his chest in blood.
Ben felt a bit queasy.
Cyril didn’t seem to be fazed in the least. He focused on the task at hand until his chest and face were covered with an elaborate series of runes.
With that requirement completed, he cut the side of his hand and let blood drizzle onto the floor before him, then smeared it around until it covered a spot large enough to stand on. He hesitated, closing his eyes and tilting his head back for a moment before stepping very deliberately onto the blood.
He began to chant, this time in an entirely different language, spitting harsh and angry words at the world in defiance and challenge. He stopped, waiting for a moment before repeating the chant, his face red with anger as he hurled the words into the universe like a curse.
When he stopped again, a faraway howl seemed to move through the entire warehouse. The temperature dropped and the lamplight dimmed. The shadows in the corners of the room appeared to take on substance.
Cyril repeated the chant.
The howl—angst, frustration, rage, madness all bound into a single long wail—started somewhere else and ended right in the middle of the warehouse as a creature of darkness and malice seemed to draw itself together from the shadows in the room. It continued to wail, a horrendous, terrifying noise that filled Ben with dread.
Frank began to stir. Ben looked at his brother with a start, suddenly realizing that he would certainly ask questions the moment he saw what was happening. He winced, taking a moment to think through his options, deciding to wait and watch since Frank didn’t wake before the demon wail trailed off.
The Dragon's Egg (Dragonfall Book 1) Page 34
