by C. A. McHugh
Well, maybe not so lucky, considering the real Raven Bringer vanished right before the king’s forces broke the door down and found Ceryst with Aerrin in his arms, standing in front of the slain monarchs. They assumed the worst, arrested him, and had planned his public execution by the time Master Binnius convinced Raimel to intervene.
He’d been in the presence of the real Raven Bringer. He had the scars to prove it.
And Ceryst was not the Raven Bringer.
All the more reason to catch the sick son of a bitch before he rose to power again. The Raven Bringer had caused the kingdom enough turmoil to last a century.
He settled down next to Ceryst, who tossed him a chunk of the hard-baked waybread. Raimel wrinkled his nose and tucked it into the pocket that had a hole in it. If he—oops—lost it, then maybe he’d have an excuse to venture into the nearest village for some real food.
Ceryst gave a quiet snort as though he knew exactly what Raimel was up to.
“What?” he replied as innocently as he dared.
A hint of a smile played on the knight’s lips, but he didn’t say anything more for the next hour.
Night stretched over the idyllic countryside, and a blanket of stars lit up the sky, forming patterns of the constellations Raimel had memorized in his youth. The scents of wood smoke and dinner hung on the breeze from the farmhouses in the area. But instead of enjoying it, he sharpened his senses. Demons had more power once the sun set. Hence, why they were more active at night than during the day. And all the evidence they’d been able to gather suggested this band of demons preferred to do their dirty work under the light of the moon.
Speaking of which… Raimel glanced up at the waning crescent in the sky and fought back the dread strangling his throat. Two more nights until the new moon. Two more nights until the demonic forces were at their most powerful. Two more nights until the darker side of his nature got the better of him.
His gaze shifted to the small leather pouch hanging from Ceryst’s belt. They had to be getting low on the elixir that made those nights more tolerable. How many vials did they have left? Enough to get them through this month?
Ceryst met his gaze and nodded as though he could read his mind. “I’ve asked Master Binnius to send us some more.”
That was one of the good things that came from spending nearly fifteen years in the company of a friend. He didn’t even need to ask about the elixir. Ceryst knew how important it was to him. “Thank you.”
Ceryst made some sort of grumbling noise that sounded like, “You’re welcome.”
The moon rose higher and higher into the sky. Dew coated the grass around them and then froze into frost as the temperature continued to drop. The white clouds of air grew larger with each breath they exhaled. And yet, they stayed awake, watching, waiting, until the faint whiff of brimstone entered their nostrils.
Demons.
Ceryst jumped to his feet and ran toward the horses. “It’s coming from the east.”
Finally, some action. After a month of always being a day too late, it appeared they’d finally caught up with their prey.
Raimel’s horse reared when he tried to mount it, and after of a minute of dancing around on its hooves, he managed to climb into the saddle. “He’s even jumpier than usual.”
“I wonder why,” Ceryst replied with a hefty dose of sarcasm before riding ahead. “Come on. The scent’s getting stronger.”
Raimel tuned his senses toward the east as they rode. The smell of brimstone nearly choked him, but as they rode toward it, he picked up on other subtle changes in the air. The faint stench of death and decay. The drop in temperature. The way objects appeared contorted in the distance as though a thick piece of glass had moved past them. “They’re in the Shadow Realm.”
“Then kick them out.”
“I would, but first, I want to know what we’re up against.” He pulled his horse to a stop and turned his inner eye toward the world most humans could not see. Here, the world appeared inverted, and the sky burned bright white while the moon formed a curved black sliver against it. But demons always looked the same, no matter what realm they were in, and he stopped counting once he reached four.
His vision shifted back into the mortal realm. Sweat beaded his upper lip. “At least half a dozen, heavily armed and coming right toward us.”
Ceryst hopped down from his horse and drew his sword. His eyes glittered with the joy that only a battle-hardened soldier could muster. “Outstanding.”
Raimel slid from his saddle and didn’t bother to chase after his runaway horse. Let the old fleabag take off. He had bigger problems to deal with. He dived back to the Shadow Realm one more time to confirm the type of demons they were about to engage. Gaunt frames. Rotting flesh. Telltale glowing red eyes. But still very agile. “And they look like Night Crawlers.”
“Even better.”
Night Crawlers were dead bodies that had been reanimated and infused with demonic powers. It was the one thing that differentiated them from plain zombies. Oh, and the fact they were lighting-quick fighters instead of slow shufflers. He could take out a dozen mindless zombies with one swing of his sword.
But Night Crawlers required a bit more skill.
He gathered his magic into his hand and looked to his right where Ceryst stood with his sword out in front of him. “Ready?”
“More than ready.”
He threw his spell in the direction of the Night Crawlers and forced them out of the Shadow Realm. The next spell locked them in this plane for a good five to ten minutes. They couldn’t blink from place to place. They couldn’t disappear and sneak up on them. They had no choice but to engage or run away.
And, of course, the group of bloodthirsty demons chose to engage. They charged toward them with a high, piercing shriek that was intended to send icy shards of fear into mortal hearts.
But he and Ceryst had heard it before. He was immune to it, and Ceryest—well, he appeared to have lost all fear. The knight raised his sword and bolted toward the horde of demons with his own fierce battle cry.
The demon in front balked, and Ceryst cut right through him. The demon combusted into flames as he died, until he was nothing more than a pile of ashes. But what at first seemed like an act of fear was really a well-planned sacrifice. It told the other Night Crawlers what they were up against and gave them a chance to regroup. They circled up and leveled their weapons, their fangs exposed in challenge.
Stupid demons. All gathered in one spot, perfectly gift wrapped.
Raimel lobbed a stun spell at the group, intending to knock them all to ground so they’d be easy pickings for Ceryst’s blade, but this time it fizzled out over a dome of red magic.
He cursed and grabbed Ceryst by the shoulder, hauling him back. “They have a caster in the group.”
Probably not a very powerful one since a shield spell was pretty basic. But still, something they weren’t expecting.
Ceryst echoed his curse and retreated a few more steps, his sword still out in front of him. “Any idea which one?”
“I’m working on it.”
When it came to hand to hand combat, Ceryst was in a league of his own. The knight could easily handle a group of armed demons, especially since Raimel was there for magical back-up. But magical combat with an enemy changed things up a bit, and Raimel studied each of the remaining demons for a sign of a magical aura. A red halo flickered around the one in the very center just before a fireball flew in their direction.
This time, it was Ceryst who pulled him out of the way. “Found our caster.”
“No shit.” He stomped the flames licking the grass around them. “I’ll take care of him.”
“And I’ll handle the rest.”
It was a shift from their usual battle tactic. He usually had Ceryst’s back while watching for opportunities to slip in and do what he did best—backstabbing. But his mind was already coming up with a new plan. Once Ceryst disrupted the demons guarding the caster, he could sneak up behind t
he caster and take him out with a vanquishing spell. After all, he could still blink into the Shadow Realm, even if they couldn’t.
But only for a few more minutes. He doubted he’d be able to cast another anchoring spell on them with the caster deflecting his magic.
Ceryst engaged them again, drawing two of the soldiers toward him and away from the caster. The remaining two tried to flank the demon mage, but they left his back exposed.
He couldn’t have asked for a more perfect opportunity. Raimel plunged into the Shadow Realm and brushed aside that momentary wave of nausea that always accompanied a trip there. Ceryst and the demons became hazy, slow-moving outlines as he rushed around them. He popped back into mortal realm with the spell already dancing along his fingertips.
And narrowly missed getting skewered in the process. The spell hit the armed demon in front of him, not the caster, and Raimel cursed again. Judging by the smirk on the demon mage’s rotting face, they knew what he’d been doing. He had only a split second to react before another fireball flew toward him, followed by a battle ax coated with a black, tarry substance.
“Stop screwing around,” Ceryst growled just before he decapitated the demon he’d been exchanging blows with.
“You think I’m screwing around?” He dodged his own armed assailant.
A crackle of magic pierced his chest and shimmered along his skin. This time, Raimel let out a string of every curse he could remember. The caster had just anchored him to the mortal realm. He’d lost the advantage of his sneak attack. All he had left was his magic—which he hoped was stronger than the demon caster’s—and his reflexes.
“You haven’t even drawn your sword.” Ceryst parried a blow with a grunt and jabbed his fist into the decomposing flesh of his opponent’s gut. A sickening slurp filled the air, followed by the clang of steel. The knight jerked his hand out, dragging what was left of the Night Crawler’s entrails with it, but it did little to stop the combat between them. Instead, Ceryst threw them in the demon’s face and used the distraction to slice his blade through his attacker’s sword arm, followed by the demon’s neck. “That’s three.”
“Oh, so you’re keeping count now, huh?” Raimel lunged and ducked the ax until he had enough room to draw his own sword. He preferred to either exclusively cast or fight, not juggle both at the same time. Given a few more moments, he might’ve had a chance to try and identify the stuff on the blade, but all he knew was that he didn’t want it on him.
Or in him, whatever it was.
“Gotta find a way to motivate you.” Ceryst made quick work of the next attacker. “And that’s four.”
“I didn’t know you could count that high.” Raimel swirled around to avoid the ax, his gaze never leaving the caster. A well-placed spell or two could be just as deadly as a blade. A rough cry to his right told him Ceryst was already moving forward to engage the fighter, freeing him up to take on the caster.
“Let’s see what you’re made of,” he murmured under his breath before launching a series of quick spells. The first one shimmered off the caster’s shield, just as he’d expected, but as it illuminated the red dome surrounding the demon, a series of cracks snaked across the surface. A shield was only useful if it could withstand a shatter spell, and obviously, the caster’s shield wasn’t.
As soon as the shield began to fall, Raimel hurled a stun spell.
The caster fell to his knees with a grunt, his rotting face contorted in pain, his back arched in a spasm.
It made it easy for Raimel to press his hand to the demon’s chest and cast the final vanquishing spell. A cry of raw pain filled the night as the demon disintegrated from within, starting with a spark in the center of his chest and spreading out toward his limbs. His ashes scattered in the wind, taking whatever was left of the demon away from them.
A blast of heat next to him signaled that Ceryst had killed the final demon.
The knight planted the blade of his sword into the ground and leaned on the hilt, his chest heaving with each breath. “And that’s five.”
Raimel took a moment to survey his friend. Other than being a little winded, he appeared to be unharmed. No bleeding wounds. No amputated limbs. No need for any healing magic. “A little out shape, are we?”
Ceryst swung his fist in his direction, but the distance between them made the gesture more of an empty threat.
Raimel grinned and rocked back on his heels. “At least we can let Master Binnius know we got the demons.”
“Maybe.” Ceryst’s brows drew together as his breathing slowed.
A chill snaked down Raimel’s spine. Ceryst was rarely a pensive man, but when he got lost on a train of thought, it usually meant trouble. “What?”
“Too easy,” he muttered.
As soon as the knight voiced his concern, maniacal laughter filled Raimel’s mind. He pressed his palms to his temples as though he might be able to smother it or squeeze it out, but the sound grew louder and louder until it drowned out all the noise around him. His pulse leaped to a frantic pace, but even the increased blood swirling through his veins couldn’t eradicate the icy dread forming inside.
He’d heard this voice more times than he wished he could admit. He’d memorized every note of cruelty, every nuance of evil. And he hated the fact the sick son of a bitch had gained access to his mind years ago and could torment him like this now.
The Raven Bringer finally stopped laughing, and a new sensation coursed through his body. It drove the air from his lungs and the strength from his muscles. His knees buckled from under him. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to focus his magic and drive the Raven Bringer from his mind.
“You should have joined me when you had a chance,” the low voice said, followed by a wave of stinging pain. “But I don’t need you now. I have apprentices scattered all over the kingdom, waiting to do my bidding. And we’re closer to striking at that whelp of a king than you think.”
Raimel cried out, but more from the frustration and fear of what he’d just learned than from the actual pain. Pain, he could handle. He’d been friends with it since the first time his father had punished him for a slight infraction. But the knowledge that they’d been blind to the empire the Raven Bringer had been building—it tore at his soul.
A new wave of pain jolted his body, but it was different from the Raven Bringer’s magic. It was strong, solid, forceful, and felt remarkably like the hilt of a sword connecting to back of his head. His vision swam as his face plowed into the rough grass, but the blow had done its job. It freed him from the Raven Bringer’s grasp.
Ceryst knelt beside him. “What happened?”
“You already know.” After all, this wasn’t the first love message he’d received from the Raven Bringer over the last few months. Each one had teased him and tormented him, but none had ever had been as informative as this one.
He managed to get up on his hands and knees, his entire body shivering from the cold sweat that covered his skin. “He claims his apprentices have already gained access to Aerrin.”
Ceryst tightened his grip on his sword. His mouth pressed into a grim line before he spoke. “One more thing to tell Master Binnius.”
“Agreed. But why would he reveal his big secret unless…”
The words died in his mouth as the air around them grew frigid, freezing the breaths that billowed out from their mouths. The stench of brimstone surrounded them, and the horizon undulated with invisible distortions. Demons were coming. A whole swarm of them, judging by the signs. The band they’d just demolished had just been the opening act, a distraction to assess their skills and wear them out before the rest of the army descended upon them.
The Raven Bringer had told him about his plan because he didn’t expect Raimel to live long enough to tell another soul.
He drew in a breath and reached for his friend as the first demons materialized from the Shadow Realm. There wasn’t enough time for him to summon a shield or cast a circle of protection. A menacing serrated blade coate
d with same sticky black substance rose in the air above Ceryst. He needed to get them out of there, and fast. He was still anchored to this world, still unable to access the Shadow Realm. But he was also still a master-level mage.
Raimel grabbed Ceryst by the rim of his leather breastplate and cast the quickest teleportation spell of his life. He aimed for the first safe place that popped into his mind—a quiet recessed room in the tunnels under Dromore, the place where he’d made his home when he’d worked for the King of Thieves. It was still unclaimed when he’d dropped in last month after paying his tribute, and he hoped the lock he’d placed over the door was still intact.
A sword swung down as the magic burst from his hand. He and Ceryst evaporated into the air, escaping the ambush and on their way to the secret room, but not before a grunt of pain broke free from the knight.
When they rematerialized inside Raimel’s chambers, they both tumbled to the stone floor. The teleportation spell had leeched his energy, but he was more worried about his friend. Ceryst rolled over onto his side, his face twisted into agony. A curse echoed off the walls, followed by the sound of rapid breathing.
It was only then that Raimel noticed the growing puddle of blood forming beneath the knight.
Now it was his turn to curse as he sought out the injury. He didn’t have much of a magical reserve left after the hasty way he’d had to conjure the teleportation. If he’d had the luxury of time, he could’ve used half the magic to get them here, even though teleporting multiple people required more energy than just himself. But the haste combined with the extra body required him to use more than necessary. Healing whatever injury Ceryst had sustained might push him to the brink of his limits. If he cast beyond them, then it would cost him his life.
But he also refused to let his best friend die because he was being stingy with his magic.
