by James Wisher
They reached the ten-foot-tall main doors and paused. “Do we knock or just go in?” Damien asked.
Jen reached out and tugged the bronze handle. The doors swung open revealing a large foyer framed by marble columns, with a red carpet running down the center toward a hall. A tall, gaunt man dressed all in black stood to one side of the door and bowed to them. “Welcome ladies, sir, His Lordship the mayor is waiting along with a small gathering of notables. I believe everyone is eager to meet the new heroes of the city.”
Damien sighed. This sounded familiar. At least he wouldn’t have to dodge Karrie for the whole evening.
The butler turned and shuffled along deeper into the mansion. Damien and the others followed. The interior was dimly lit with intermittent glow lamps. Given the opulence of the fine wood paneling and gold trim you would have thought they could afford more lights.
Wanting to have a better look at the place Damien conjured two floating lights and let them bob around on either side of the group.
The butler gave a pained expression. “If you wouldn’t mind, sir, the master prefers the mansion kept dark after sunset. He feels too much light is showing off in front of those unfortunates that can’t afford glow lights.”
“That’s very considerate of him, however I like to see where I’m going. I’ll put them out before we reach the gathering.”
The butler sighed and took the next left. “As you wish, sir.”
They continued down the empty halls, paintings of previous lord mayors decorating the walls. It felt like they were staring down at Damien. The empty eyes gave him the creeps.
Their guide took a right and led them down yet another empty door-lined hall. It was a convoluted path to take to reach a party.
Halfway down the hall a door creaked open. “You!” Jen shouted. Her soul force surged and she vanished into the room, slamming the door behind her.
“Jen!” Damien spun back to face the closed door.
“What happened?” Marie-Bell stood beside him.
The door on the opposite wall opened and head-high clawed hands shot out, wrapped around Marie-Bell, and dragged her into the room. The door slammed shut.
Damien whipped around to face the butler. “What—”
A trap door opened under his feet.
Damien fell fifteen feet before catching himself in midair. He looked up, but there was no sign of the trapdoor. He could blast his way out, but if he used too much power he might bring the whole place down around his ears killing who knew how many innocent people.
He swung his fist, but found nothing to hit. Maybe he could carefully cut his way through the floor.
Below him corruption flared, a potent darkness just a little weaker than Mikhail. What the hell had he fallen into? Damien conjured more lights and sent them out into the darkness. All around was nothing but empty space. One of his lights reached a wall.
Damien flew closer. It was rough stone, like a natural cavern. Did the people who built the mansion even know about this chamber under their feet? They must have, no competent engineer would fail to check for such a thing and account for it in their design.
The corruption was getting closer. The source was below him and to the right. Damien sent his lights down until they reached the floor. Someone had smoothed the floor many years ago and made a path through the stalagmites and loose rubble. The path almost felt like an invitation.
He looked up again. Jen and Marie-Bell could handle themselves. He needed to deal with whoever or whatever was putting out that demonic energy.
Besides, it’s not like you’re alone.
Damien smiled. No, as long as he had Lizzy he’d never be alone.
Chapter 44
Jen brought up the rear of the little procession, thoroughly bored with the whole proceeding. The sooner they got this meet and greet over with the happier she’d be. At least the paladin seemed to be enjoying herself. Marie-Bell looked here and there, her gazing darting from one ostentatious decoration to the next. It was hard not to be amused by the girl’s sheer exuberance.
The soft tread of a boot caught her attention a moment before the door to her right opened with a faint creak. She turned her head, keen for any change in the monotony. Staring back at her was the familiar, bearded face she’d only seen in an illusion.
“You!”
Rage boiled up in Jen and she charged the rapidly backpedaling Smyth. She slammed the door shut behind her so he couldn’t easily escape. Smyth leaned against the far wall, a twisted smile on his ugly face.
Damien destroyed the demon, Smyth was hers. “I’ve been looking for you, Mr. Smyth.” She didn’t bother drawing her sword. Jen planned to kill him with her bare hands.
The man’s eyebrows went up then he laughed. The son of a bitch actually laughed at her.
“I suppose it’s no surprise you only know me by that name.” He had a normal voice, average build; if not for the shaggy beard there’d be nothing noticeable about him.
Jen’s fists clenched and unclenched. “You seem calm for a man that’s about to die.”
He laughed again. “You think it’ll be that easy, girl? I’ve been killing people since before you were born—got a knack for it, you see. I’ve even killed warlords. Mind you I don’t count your father since I just led him along by the nose to his executioner.”
Jen took a step toward him, preparing to lunge across the room and strangle Smyth or whoever he was.
Smyth touched something and the section of wall behind him spun. She just caught a glimpse of him running down a hidden passage before the secret door spun shut.
“No!”
She slammed into the secret door with enough force to blast it off its hinges and send broken shards of wood bouncing down the narrow passage behind it. She just caught sight of Smyth as he ducked down another passage to the left.
Jen raced after him, not quite daring to move at full speed for fear of missing something. She rounded the corner, again just in time to see him duck down anther passage. He was running her around, using the twisting passages to slow her. Whoever he was, he wasn’t stupid. In an open space Jen would have killed him in an instant.
She considered drawing her sword, but the tight quarters would make the long blade more of a hindrance than a help. Instead she drew a wide-bladed dagger from her belt sheath. Not as good as strangling him, but it would do.
Jen rounded another corner and ran smack into a hard-swung mace. She staggered back, unharmed but stunned. Another blow hit her shoulder and another her back. More annoyed than hurt Jen shook her head to clear it.
The mace descended again. This time she grabbed it and yanked it out of the hand of the black-masked man pounding her. The cultist staggered closer. Jen rammed her dagger into his chest three times in the blink of an eye. Hot blood ran down her fist.
Jen took off after Smyth before the cultist’s body hit the passage floor. The murderer’s plan became clear to her now. He’d run her around these passages and into ambushes in hopes of wearing her down. He was bound to be disappointed. She could go for days at this pace. Unless they had something stronger than ordinary men with steel there was no way Smyth could stop her.
She rounded another corner, following the faint disturbances in the dust. Her skills as a tracker didn’t compare to Talon’s, but between her enhanced vision and the little she did know, following Smyth’s trail didn’t pose much of a challenge.
Halfway down the passage a trapdoor opened under her. Jen slammed her hands and feet into the sides of the chute. Fingers as hard as iron dug into the wooden sides of the chute stopping Jen’s fall after only a few feet. Her dagger kept falling. It clattered off something metallic in the bottom of the pit. She had just enough light to make out the gleam of needle-sharp spikes.
Jen turned her head back just in time for a spear to jab into her face. Razor-sharp steel scraped against her cheek without penetrating her iron skin. That didn’t discourage the man in black standing in the passage from repeatedly jabbing her with it.
His additional weight forced her a foot further down into the pit. The man scrambled for purchase, finally wrapping his legs around her waist. They hung there facing each other. Jen raised an eyebrow and the cultist punched her in the face. His fingers shattered against her nose.
While the cultist shook his broken hand Jen sent soul force into her hair. The golden strands glowed and rose up around her head before lancing out like hundreds of tiny snakes. The strands, made tough as steel by the infusion of soul force, burrowed into the man’s face.
He screamed. A second later the strands reached his brain and sliced it to bits. The cultist went limp and fell onto the spikes below.
Jen shuddered. When this was over she was going to have to give her hair a thorough washing. She climbed up out of the chute. No more enemies presented themselves.
The tracks in the dust had gotten all scuffed up from the second cultist’s passage, but she thought she knew where Smyth had gone. She set out again, more cautious this time. Jen regretted the loss of her dagger, but it changed nothing.
The passage ended in an intersection that apparently saw a great deal of traffic. The dust was so disturbed she had no idea which way to go. Down the right-hand branch was nothing but closed doors. She at first thought the left side exactly the same, but when she narrowed her eyes a crack of light leaked out from under one of the doors.
It was almost certainly a trap, but Jen didn’t care. If some more cultists wanted to die, she’d be happy to accommodate them. Despite her acceptance of the danger Jen still approached the lighted door cautiously, soul force surging through her body. She kicked it off its hinges and across a richly decorated bedroom.
The coppery tang of spilled blood assaulted her. A dead bald man lay slumped in front of a massive, four-poster bed, his throat cut ear to ear.
“Heaven’s mercy.” Even though he didn’t have on his usual silk and brocade Jen recognized the lord mayor. The front of his white undershirt was soaked in blood down to his waist.
“You appear shocked.” Smyth stepped out of the shadows on the opposite side of the bed. “The high and mighty Keeper of the Keys gave me one order too many.”
Jen looked away from the body. Smyth stared at her with glittering eyes. He was completely insane. “Keeper of the Keys?”
“Oh yes. His Lordship was the second highest ranking member of the cult in this city. If you’d seen some of the things he’d done you’d thank me for killing him.”
“Perhaps someone will thank me for killing you.”
Smyth grinned. “No doubt. But not today.”
His toe tapped the floor and he started to fall.
With her soul force fully active Smyth seemed to move in slow motion.
She lunged across the bed and grabbed his beard and face just before it disappeared down yet another secret passage. With one arm she yanked him out of his hole and hurled him across the room.
Smyth smashed into a floor-length mirror, shattering it, and sending pieces of glass everywhere. Jen wiped the stiff hair off her hands and walked over to the fallen man. It was time to end this.
Smyth sat up and laughed. Blood covered his lips and his face bore a dozen cuts. “Perhaps this is my day after all. You asked if anyone would thank you for killing me. I thank you, for sparing me another day in this shit-house of a world. My parting gift is Koran Dane, my real name.”
A boom reverberated through the floor. Koran smiled. “It seems I’ve done my job after all.”
“What job?” Jen grabbed him and yanked him off the floor.
Koran just laughed. He didn’t stop until Jen snapped his neck.
Chapter 45
Marie-Bell turned when Jen shouted. She barely registered the warlord’s movement then she was gone, the door slamming shut behind her. Marie-Bell stood beside a confused Damien, both of them facing the door.
“What happened?” Marie-Bell asked.
Overwhelming corruption washed over her. The world went dark and she found herself flying backwards. Something slammed and she stumbled free.
“Damien! Anybody?”
Darkness and silence were the only reply. Her heart raced and she took great gulps of air. Another crash reverberated through the darkness. The noise shocked her out of the panic that threatened to overwhelm her.
“Heaven’s mercy. What’s going on here?”
She concentrated on her hammer and the head burst into pure white light. The holy glow pushed back the darkness, but nowhere near as much as it should have. Something was suppressing her power. Marie-Bell pushed more soul force into the hammer and the light grew in response.
Holding her weapon above her head, she explored the room she’d been dragged into. Furniture was stacked in piles and covered with white cloths. There was a heap of chairs, another of end tables, and a pair of long dining room tables.
She worked her way around the perimeter until she reached the door. Instead of wood she found a rune-covered sheet of steel. That must have been the second crash. She tried to read the runes, but they writhed and went in and out of focus. The wavering images made her nauseous and a headache began to form behind her eyes. Marie-Bell looked away before the effects got too bad. She hadn’t recognized any of the markings anyway. If Damien were here he could help her decipher them, but she was on her own.
Marie-Bell shrugged. If she couldn’t think her way out, brute force might do the trick.
She charged the head of her hammer with even more holy power then swung it with all her might. The hammer’s head struck the metal without a sound. Darkness formed where steel struck steel and the light vanished from her weapon.
Marie-Bell yanked the hammer away from the metal plate. Trembling, she sent more power into the hammer’s head and it burst once more into light. She let out a breath. The barrier had only drained the energy charging the weapon, not her whole core. If she couldn’t bash the door down, how would she escape the sealed room?
Haunting, half-mad laughter echoed through the darkness. It came from everywhere and nowhere. She spun a frantic circle, trying to locate the source.
A wave of corruption washed over her, dropping Marie-Bell to her knees. She’d never experienced darkness this heavy. It felt like someone was holding a wet rag over her mouth. She couldn’t breathe. The room spun.
She leaned forward until her hands hit the floor and focused on breathing. The darkness was only in her mind. It wasn’t a physical thing. Whatever she thought, it couldn’t smother her.
Slowly, one breath at a time, she mastered her breathing and with it her fear faded. She climbed to her feet and sent more soul force into her weapon, forcing the darkness back.
The laughing stopped and a cold voice said, “Well done, little paladin. My master said you were weak, but I didn’t believe a mere cloak of darkness would stop a member of one of the holy orders.”
“Show yourself and you’ll see how weak I am.” Her grip tightened on the haft of her hammer.
Again the humorless laugh. “I don’t think so. Direct confrontation isn’t my style. If you want a fight, you’ll have to find me. I’m not in the room with you. Are you clever or strong enough to escape my trap? It will be amusing to see.”
Her tormentor fell silent, leaving Marie-Bell with nothing but her own thoughts in the oppressive darkness. That creature—she refused to believe it was a human being speaking with such a voice—indicated there was a way out. Perhaps more than one if she could escape by either strength or cunning. Of course that assumed it had told her the truth.
She shook her head. Thinking like that would drive her crazy. There had to be a way out. Anything else meant she was stuck here until help arrived and Marie-Bell refused to just sit around and wait to be rescued like some princess in a fairytale.
She paced
the length of the room, tossed aside the furniture in hopes of finding a trap door, and tapped the walls to check for hollow spots. All her efforts came to nothing.
Marie-Bell pursed her lips and tried to think. There were no secret doors and she couldn’t bash down the steel plate barring the exit. Maybe if she moved down a little ways beyond the steel she could go through the wall.
With no better ideas she walked to the steel plate then took three big strides to the left. Here goes nothing.
The wood made a satisfying crunch when her hammer crashed into it. Marie-Bell grinned and struck again enlarging the hole. She poked her head into the hole in hopes of seeing out into the hall. Three inches from the paneling waited another rune-covered steel plate.
Marie-Bell shouted her frustration, drawing another amused laugh from the creature. If the paneling covered steel plates she had to assume the floor and ceiling did too. If that were true, how could strength help her escape?
Her eyes went wide. Maybe it didn’t mean physical strength. If she purified the room the steel plates wouldn’t be any obstacle to her escape. The technique that destroyed the dwarf’s armor should work just as well here. That was the most powerful purification technique she knew, and Marie-Bell had all the time in the world to gather power.
The hammer went up above her head and she closed her eyes to better concentrate. A steady stream of power flowed from her core to the hammer’s head, pulsing in rhythm to her heart. The heavy darkness descended over her again, but this time she knew what to expect. Her breathing remained steady and the power continued to flow.
“That won’t work,” her tormentor screeched. “You’ll never get free that way.”
Marie-Bell ignored the creature as she did the darkness. If anything its protests encouraged her. When the hammer couldn’t hold another drop of power, Marie-Bell slammed it into the floor.
A wave of holy light rushed in every direction. The runes on the door sizzled and burned away. A pained scream was followed a moment later by a foot-tall creature resembling a wrinkled old man covered in white flames falling out of a niche in the ceiling. It rolled around on the floor swatting at the flames covering its chest and legs.
