by James Wisher
“There was no sign of Connor,” Damien said. “But he left a black gem filled with corrupt energy. It detonated when we got close.”
“How could he have set a trap if he didn’t know we were coming?” The archmage gave voice to Damien’s thoughts.
“Someone must have warned him. Maybe I didn’t bury Mikhail deep enough.”
“It might have been Eleck,” the archmage said.
“I doubt it.” Damien shook his head. He couldn’t imagine Eleck having the nerve to contact Connor after his massive failure.
“Whatever happened we clearly missed him. Are you two okay?”
“Yeah, no problem,” Damien said. Imogen nodded once, her face a blank mask.
In a louder voice the archmage said, “The mission’s a failure. Let’s head home.”
When the archmage turned her back Imogen reached over and stroked Damien’s arm. When he looked toward her she smiled in a way that set his heart racing. It reminded him of Lizzy. Maybe he should have introduced Imogen to the demon spirit instead of the princess. That would have been a night to remember.
Chapter 52
“How do I free you from that mirror?” Connor stood, hands on hips, staring at the spirit. He could have taken the whole mirror with him, but it would be a nuisance plus it appeared to be fused to the stone wall.
The spirit shook its head. “I’m not in the mirror, stupid. The mirror is a viewing gate to hell. You need to fetch the portable gate over there and touch it to this one so I can connect my consciousness to it.”
Connor let the insult pass and looked where the spirit pointed. A hand-sized black mirror rested in one of the sealed alcoves. He took out the key and followed the great king’s instructions to retrieve the mirror.
“All I have to do is touch this one to the big one?”
“Yes, even you should be able to manage that much.”
Connor again let the insult pass. As long as he needed the miserable creature’s aid he had little choice but to accept the abuse it seemed to enjoy heaping on him. When the mirrors touched a little thrill of power shot through his hand. When he took the little mirror away the large one was empty. Connor flipped the hand mirror around and found a tiny version of the spirit leering at him.
“Congratulations,” it said. “You finally did something right. The cave is northeast, in the Barrier Mountains.”
It would take half a day to fly back and Connor was eager to go. He started to secure the mirror in a large inside pocket of his robe.
“Hey! The inside of your robe is less interesting than the vault. Carry me in front of you so I can see where we’re going.”
“Of course.” Connor held the mirror as the spirit wished. He just needed to bear with the obnoxious creature for another day or so. Once it led Connor to the cavern he’d have Mikhail throw the mirror in the nearest river.
Connor flew upstairs where he found Mikhail standing right where he’d left him. “Success, Master?”
“What is this travesty?” the spirit asked. “It looks like a mockery of the master’s famous knights. If King Alexious saw this pathetic figure he’d destroy the poor man out of pity.”
Mikhail growled deep in the back of his throat.
“Don’t mind our guide’s wit, Mikhail. All quiet while I was gone?”
“Yes, Master.” The black knight shot one last glare at the spirit. “Do we depart?”
“Yes.” Connor conjured mounts for them both and they flew out the ceiling, turning northwest as soon as they cleared the roof.
Night had fallen when they reached the Barrier Mountains. They hovered in the sky, Connor scanning the area for any sign the spirit hadn’t led them on a pointless trek.
“Where now?”
A moment of silence then, “A little more north. Look for a short peak flanked by a taller one on either side. They’ll almost look like horns. The cavern is at the foot of the smaller mountain.”
Connor waved Mikhail further into the range then they flew on. In the dark every mountain looked like a horned head. Just when Connor had begun to despair of ever finding it he spotted the small mountain the spirit described.
If his heart still functioned like a normal mortal’s it would have raced. At the foot of the mountain was a wide opening, much like the cave he’d abandoned. Connor took that as a good sign. He landed just outside the opening and let his mount fade.
“This is it,” the spirit said. “Aren’t you glad you relied on me now?”
Connor forbore comment and summoned Mikhail. When his knight arrived they entered the cave. They’d barely taken ten steps when it widened out into a vast, multilevel cavern. Paths had been carved into the stone to allow easy access to all levels even to those who couldn’t fly.
“The crystal chamber is on the top level,” the spirit said.
Not willing to walk, Connor flew up to the highest point in the cavern. There he found a level, open space perhaps thirty yards in diameter, a raised pedestal in the center. He motioned Mikhail to his side and handed him the mirror, no longer caring if he smashed it into a million pieces.
Connor crossed the chamber, pulling the Soul Burn Crystal out of a secure pocket of his robe. The crystal felt even heavier in his hand than when he’d first picked it up. The weight of long expectation perhaps. He set the crystal on the pedestal. A small dent accepted the base of the blue stone like it was made for it, which it probably was.
Now all that remained was the awakening. Connor pulled a knife with a blackened silver blade from a sheath at his belt. The ritual dagger was a relic from the Old Empire. It held no special properties, but Connor decided a special weapon should be used for the final task.
He held his hand over the crystal and dragged the blade across his palm. Thick, reddish-black blood dribbled out and covered the stone. Connor held his breath. It had to work. After all this time, all the setbacks, it had to work.
The crystal began to glow and slowly the blood sank into the surface. A moment later the crystal expanded, forming a blue sheath around the pedestal.
It didn’t stop there. Faster than it had any right to the crystal spread, covering the floor and continuing over each level of the cavern. In less than an hour a thick layer of blue crystal had coated every inch of stone. Directly above the pedestal a black disk appeared, identical to the one he’d opened in Valcane, only ten times larger. A great, devouring maw ready to consume everything.
Connor just needed something to feed it.
Author Notes
And so we reach the end of Volume Two. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you’d like to get a free story telling more about how Lizzy went from flesh and blood demon to sword spirit please sign up for my newsletter. I promise no spam, I hate it too. Just a monthly newsletter and, if anything interesting, like a new release, happens between letters I’ll let you know. I end this note by thanking you very much for reading my story and with the hope that you’ll join me for Volume Three.
Also by James E Wisher
Other Books in the Disciples of the Horned One Trilogy:
Darkness Rising
Harvest of Souls
A complete list of my books can be found at
www.jamesewisher.com
About the Author
James E. Wisher is a writer of science fiction and fantasy novels. He’s been writing since high school and reading everything he could get his hands on for as long as he can remember. This is his eighth novel.
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www.jamesewisher.com
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