King of Hell (The Shadow Saga)

by Christopher Golden

  With a single, primal shout, Ronni reached up to grab hold of the hand that was gripping her hair. She got her feet under her and crabbed backward, twisted, and swung her legs at Allison's. The vampire tripped and the two of them fell in a bone-jarring tangle of limbs.

  "Go, Phoenix! Run for it!" Ronni screamed. "Finish it!"

  On her feet now, Phoenix stared at Kuromaku. The violet glow of his eyes seemed to dim a moment and then he turned to glance back at Allison. Phoenix bolted, racing along the corridor toward the elevator banks. Her breath came in small gasps and her heart thudded in her ears and the slap of her shoes on the linoleum was so loud. So fucking loud. And she knew she would never escape, that she was going to die. In a building full of demons, with a window into hell in the goddamn lobby, with vampires ordered to kill her, how could she hope to survive? Why was she even bothering to run?

  Running, she thought. Oh my God. She had left Ronni behind. Ronni, this brave woman who had become her friend in just a few short hours of terror, who had just attacked a vampire in order to buy her precious seconds to try to get away. Who had wanted nothing more than to redeem herself for the terrible accident that had colored her whole life.

  Guilt threatened to swamp her, and then Ronni's words caught up to her racing thoughts. Finish it.

  Jaw set, fists clenched, she raced past the elevators toward the stairwell door. She could feel the vampire bearing down on her, imagine its jaws opening wide — too wide — and those fangs tearing her flesh, splashing her blood onto its face, the monster drinking it down, face smeared crimson. But her father's corpse still lay in his hospital room one floor above them, soaked in gasoline, and one small flame would do the trick. Maybe end this, but at least cleanse him.

  Behind her, she heard Ronni cry out again, but the sound had changed.

  As she reached the stairwell door she glanced back to see Kuromaku staring at Allison and Ronni. He hadn't moved. Instead, he put his sword away, sliding it into an invisible scabbard, where it vanished. Allison held Ronni's hair and yanked her head back, opened her jaws wide and sank her fangs into the creamy coffee skin at Ronni's throat. Ronni screamed louder, the sound filled with regret and profound sorrow, and then Allison silenced her forever with a single, swift jerk that snapped her neck. The crack of bone echoed along the corridor.

  Shaking, numb and hollow with grief, Phoenix slammed the door open. Just before she raced into the stairwell, she saw Kuromaku whip his head around, his gaze locked with hers, and then he gave chase.

  Phoenix didn't have a chance. Bruised and exhausted, she was only human, and Kuromaku was not. She managed to make it to the seventh step before he caught her, and she twisted to fight him, beat at his face, tore furrows in his cheeks with her nails. He struck her again and she went limp, waves of pain flowing through her skull.

  In his arms, she felt herself being carried and wondered why she wasn't dead.

  Down, she thought. Why are we going down?

  Blinking, she drew a ragged breath and her vision swam back into focus. Her ears rang from the blow but she worked out that the pain meant he had not killed her. Instead of tearing her throat out, he carried her down past the first floor landing and kept going until he reached the door that led into the basement level. There were two corpses blocking the door and he slid Phoenix gently to the ground before picking up the bloodied corpse of a woman in scrubs and tore her arm off as if she were a Christmas turkey. Blood and gristle spattered the ground and then he tossed the corpse aside and turned to glare at her, the dead woman's arm in his hand.

  The purple hue of his eyes had dimmed even further.

  "It's all I can do to keep from . . . killing you . . ." he managed. He shook the bloody arm at her. "This is to prove that I did. If you can escape from down here, do it. If not, just hide, and I'll find a way to get you out as soon as I can."

  He turned and left her there, taking the steps two at a time with inhuman speed. In a blink, he was gone. For several long seconds, Phoenix could only sit and breathe, astonished to be alive.

  Just hide, he'd said.

  But she had other ideas.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Hell

  In a small alcove of gleaming black volcanic rock, Octavian conversed with Kazimir and Charlotte while Squire stood watch at the entrance to that shadowed grotto. Moans and screams drifted to them from distant corners of this circle of Hell, but they had found respite here after fleeing the Pit. As shapeshifters, their abilities were not confined merely to flesh and blood. They changed themselves on a molecular level, could alter their appearance to look like anyone or become anything, so manifesting clothing had not been a problem. They were all grateful for that, except for Squire, who had been disappointed when Charlotte was no longer nude.

  "How long had you been here before they captured you?" Octavian asked.

  "Weeks," Kazimir said, his accent thick with emotion. "Months, I don't know. Time is fluid here; you know that. Important thing is that when they finally catch us, they took us to Lazarus —"

  Octavian frowned. "Not to Abraxas or Balberith? There are dozens of Demon Lords they could have taken you to. Unless he knew you were here somehow, had people out looking for you, it's a pretty damn big coincidence that the demons who finally captured you —"

  "We kill many of them."

  " — would be working for Lazarus."

  "Peter," Charlotte said. "You're not thinking."

  She put a hand on his chest and he glanced down at her, met her gaze, and felt the connection between them instantly. Not a sexual thing, but a bond and a rapport that made her important to him. With her fox-red hair and narrow features, she was beautiful, but so young that his greatest urge was to protect her and to teach her how to protect herself, not to take her to bed. They were friends, but as with a small handful of those he had called friends over the years, he felt as if they were growing toward becoming something like siblings.

  "All right, little sister," he said. "What should I be thinking?"

  Charlotte narrowed her gaze. "He's got the run of the place. We were separated, but the demons captured us and dragged us all to the same Pit. Us specifically — your friends. Allison and Kuromaku, Santiago and Taweret, and me and Kazimir. Allison and Kuromaku were taken away. We don't know to where, but it was at Lazarus's command. You think he could get away with this without the Lords of Hell knowing about it and coming down on his head?"

  "Not unless he had some power over them," Octavian replied.

  "He does," Kazimir said. "That's what we're trying to tell you. Lazarus . . . he's like you, Peter. He's a powerful mage. Peter . . . he killed Taweret and Santiago, and maybe others as well."

  In the baking heat of Hell, Octavian felt his blood run cold. "You're sure. Shadows are hard to kill."

  "I have seen you do it," Kazimir replied. "He is magic, like you."

  Charlotte took her hand off Octavian's chest, but kept her eyes locked on his.

  "Lazarus isn't just a mage," she said. "We heard the demons talking, heard him giving commands. Balberith and all the others — I don't know the names, this is all new to me — but all of those Demon Lords don't try to stop him because they can't. They already tried and he defeated them."

  Octavian stared, ice forming in his gut. "What?"

  "Yes," Kazimir said with a nod. "Lazarus . . . he is King of Hell."

  Squire had been listening from his position keeping watch. Now he let out a humorless bark of a laugh.

  "You gotta be fuckin' kidding me," the hobgoblin said.

  "No," Kazimir replied. "No kidding."

  "From what we overheard," Charlotte went on, "Lazarus killed a couple of Demon Lords — one of 'em was Moloch or something like that. The rest saw they didn't stand a chance and some even rallied behind him. Demon politics are just like politics in our world, I guess. Once they saw he was a winner, everybody wanted to kiss his ass."

  "The demons say that Lazarus promises to break down all walls between Hell and
other dimensions," Kazimir said. "They can spread everywhere, make little demon babies. Lazarus is going to lead them, but he has told them there's one thing he must do before he guides them to conquest. One task they have to help him accomplish first."

  Octavian stared at the huge Shadow, with his dark eyes and grim features, and he saw the message there. He glanced at Charlotte.

  "Cortez murdered the woman I love," Octavian said. "I know he did it at Lazarus's command. So it's not hard to guess what this one task is."

  Charlotte nodded slowly. "The King of Hell has told all the demons under him that he will basically give them the universe, but only when he has killed you, Peter. Only when you're dead."

  "Fuckin' marvelous," Squire said from his post.

  "He's not even in Hell right now, I don't think," Charlotte said. "Lazarus is out hunting for you, trying to track you down. He must be trying to get into our world to find you the same way you were trying to get into Hell to find us."

  Octavian hung his head a moment, trying to steady his breathing and calm his heart. Hate and rage could be fuel, but he had to make it burn cold and calm. If he could not keep his head, they would all pay the price.

  "I wish it hadn't come to this," he said.

  For the first time, he regretted having brought Squire with him. There were only two ways for them to find Lazarus now, either let themselves be captured or work their way up the hierarchy of Hell until they found a demon well-connected enough to know where the dark realm's new monarch had gone. Either way, the level of peril they faced would increase. As if Hell itself weren't dangerous enough, now they were going to have to spit in its face. Squire had proven himself more capable in combat than Octavian had imagined but when it came time for them to do battle with the Lords of Hell, how much could one hobgoblin do?

  Damn it. He had to send Squire back, and despite the risk, the hobgoblin would have to use the Shadowpaths to get home or else Octavian would have to travel with him in order to protect him on the journey. He owed the little man that.

  "Peter?" Charlotte said.

  Octavian glanced over at Squire — and froze. He blinked a couple of times to clear his vision but it was not the heat haze rising off of the stone floor. Squire had vanished from his sentry post.

  "Son of a bitch!" Octavian snapped, rushing from the alcove.

  "What is —" Kazimir began.

  "Squire!" Octavian shouted, scanning the entrance to the alcove and the glassy-black rock that sloped away from where they had gathered. Gleaming teeth of that volcanic stone jutted up from the slope and he could have been hiding behind any one of them.

  He stopped to listen, holding up a hand to silence Kazimir and Charlotte as they joined him. The tunnel they were in was forty feet wide and almost as high, and stretched a hundred yards or so before it opened out into the vast cavern where the Pit was located. They had killed all of the demons on guard there, but by now more would have arrived. Hundreds of tunnels branched out of that cavern, so a search would take time, but he had to wonder if somehow the searchers had gotten lucky.

  No. If they had been found — if Squire had been attacked — there would have been noise. Hellions from the Pit would not have snatched a hobgoblin and spirited him away, they would have attempted to wreak vengeance. In the distance, out in the cavern, huge jets of flame shot toward the ceiling. The cries of the Suffering continued, no different now than the sound of the surf against the shore — omnipresent, ordinary. The idea troubled Octavian, but he had already argued with Squire about the nature of the damned and he couldn't be distracted by them now.

  Octavian glanced at Charlotte and Kazimir, who seemed equally mystified.

  "Where did he —"

  A birdlike screech tore through the air and echoed off the alcove walls behind him. Octavian glanced up at the ledges overhead, jagged stone plateaus that hid shadows within shadows. A cry of pain burst forth and the sounds of a scuffle ensued.

  "Damn it," Octavian said, magic flowing from his hands, bathing the alcove in bright blue light.

  "I've got it," Charlotte said. She leaped upward, flesh rippling and diminishing instantly as she transformed into a bat. Octavian had a moment to cringe at the choice, but he knew it was second nature to her. She had been made a Shadow by Cortez, and he had embraced the darkest parts of vampire lore.

  Before Charlotte could reach even the bottommost ledge, two small figures came tumbling over the side. In the light of his own magic, Octavian saw Squire grapple with a squirming crimson demon as they plummeted to the ground. It had its spiny tail wrapped around the hobgoblin's throat but Squire managed to twist himself around just in time to be on top as they hit the black stone floor. The demon cried out at the impact and its tail loosened enough for Squire to breathe.

  "You spying little motherfucker!" the hobgoblin yelled. He raised his axe and hacked off the vicious little imp's tail.

  It let out another bird-screech and tried to claw at Squire's face.

  With a gesture, Octavian struck the imp with a hex that made it jerk and shudder and then go still, moaning quietly. Squire took the opportunity to launch a kick at its side, his heavy boot cracking something inside the demon.

  "I hate these little things," Charlotte said, moving to stand above the imp. "They're filthy, always groping. Fingers everywhere." Squire glanced up at her, yellow eyes gleaming. "I'll cut the little bastard's fingers off if you want. Have 'em as a keepsake or something."

  Charlotte arched an eyebrow. "Gross."

  The hobgoblin shrugged. "Fine. Just don't ever say chivalry's dead."

  Kazimir crossed his arms. "You say this thing was spying?"

  Squire nodded, still clutching his axe. "Perched on the ledge up there, just sitting in the shadows listening. At first I thought there were more of them, but when I snuck up there I only saw the one. Little prick was just listening, trying not to be seen, but if there's anyone who's going to notice something skulking in the shadows, it's me."

  "I don't get it," Charlotte said. "It didn't attack and it didn't raise an alarm. What's the point of spying on us?"

  Octavian crouched above the imp. Standing, it would've been under four feet in height, and its arms and legs were thin and wiry, little more than bones with thick, cabled muscles wrapped around them. Its sunken eyes and tipped back ears would have made it look like some kind of exotic monkey if not for the deep crimson hue of its leathery skin and the small nubs of horns on its forehead. Its primary weapon would have been the tail, which looked just as long as the imp was tall. The spines on the tail were painted with Squire's blood, an observation that made Octavian glance worriedly at the hobgoblin. Squire's coat and trousers were spotted with bloodstains but other than looking pissed off he seemed little worse for wear.

  "You okay?" he asked.

  "Right as fuckin' rain," Squire said. "Even better when you let me chop the asshole's head off. Those spines hurt, I don't mind tellin' ya."

  Octavian frowned. "You're gonna have to wait a while."

  On one knee, he waved a hand and the sizzling blue light engulfing the imp disappeared. The demon leaped at him, claws out and hissing, but Kazimir snatched it up from behind, held its arms back so far that Octavian thought the huge Shadow might snap the little imp like a wishbone.

  "Who are you spying for?" Octavian asked.

  The imp spat in his face. Its spittle burned, but the magic in Octavian healed his skin instantly, without him sparing a thought to do it. Larger injuries required focus, but this was nothing.

  "Do you know who I am?" he asked the imp.

  Its tiny pink eyes burned deep in those sunken sockets, full of hate and fear.

  "I think you do," Octavian said.

  "I'll say," Squire added. "I think he just pissed himself."

  Octavian ignored him. The imp tried to struggle and Kazimir gave it a bone-jarring shake so that it fell limp in his huge hands.

  "What's going on?" Charlotte asked.

  "Let's find out," Octavian re
plied. He opened his hand and a bright, coppery light flickered to life upon his palm.

  "Hurt me, cut me, snap my bones," the little imp dared them. It uttered a high, grating little laugh. "What can you do to me that hasn't been done? This is Hell, stupid magic-man."

  Octavian let the copper fire play across his hand and over his fingers. The others all seemed mesmerized, but the imp resolutely refused to look at the flame.

  "You know who and what I am," he said darkly, moving his face nearer the imp's so that they were nearly nose to nose. "I will forge a little bottle and lock you inside, not like some djinni — that would almost be kind. I will bring you back to my world and put you on a shelf in a room where human children would come and gape and you and shrink from you and laugh at you all day, every day, for as long as humanity exists. And when the last light of humanity is extinguished, I will travel the Shadowpaths with my friends and find another world where there are children to mock and to shudder in revulsion at your ugliness and your pitiful flesh. You will never feel pain again. Never feel anything again, except within you."

  Kazimir leaned forward and whispered into the demon's ear. "There is more than one kind of torture."

  The imp averted its eyes but Octavian saw the way its mouth quivered, as if it might cry. In all the time he had spent in Hell, he had never seen a demon cry. The desire to witness such a phenomenon did not make him feel ashamed. Evil could feel pain, but never sympathy, and so he would lend it none of his own.

  "Talk, you little —" Squire began.

  The imp spat acid at him and the hobgoblin jumped back, swearing.

  "Little?" the demon wheezed. "What is little to half a man? Stay here in Hell, 'goblin. Here, at least, you swim in an ocean of ugliness and no one will notice your face."

  Squire raised the axe, but Octavian gestured for him to stay back.

  "Do you honestly think I'll let you be killed before you tell me what I want to know?" he asked.

  The mage raised his hand and the copper fire that burned there began to take shape, becoming a small, ornate bottle. The imp let out another screech and tried to scramble back away from him, but Kazimir held it tightly.