The Third Soul Omnibus Two

by Jonathan Moeller

  “What manner of enemies?” said Walchelin.

  “An Adept of the Conclave of Araspan,” said Marsile. He offered a brief description of Carandis Marken.

  “The deceitful fool!” hissed Walchelin. “It is told in our lore. The forebears of the Conclave sided with the Seeress against the great Lord Baligant.”

  “The Adept has at least one Silver Knight with her,” said Marsile. “Possibly as many as three.” He described Hildebrand of Oldenburg, Lionel of Tarrenheim, and Raelum. He did not know which of the Paladins had survived Nightgrim’s assault.

  “Three?” said Walchelin, paling. “Lord Marsile, I and my kin will aid you however we can…but we are not fighters.”

  “Indeed?” said Marsile. “Then how has this village survived for so long?”

  “The guardians,” said Walchelin.

  “Guardians?”

  “In the monastery,” said Walchelin, looking towards the ruin on the hill. “Great demons sleep in the ruins. They were once the servants of Lord Baligant, and now they guard us.”

  “Do they?” said Marsile, frowning. “I have sensed the presence of these ‘guardians’, as you name them. They have great power. It would take considerable magical strength to compel them to do anything, and I rather doubt that you have such power.”

  “We give them tribute,” said Walchelin. “Once a year, on the day of midwinter. A virgin girl, under the age of seven. The guardians feast upon her life force, and in exchange, they offer us their protection when wandering demons come to ravage the village.”

  “A clever arrangement,” said Marsile. No wonder the villagers had so many children. “Listen to me. The Adept and the Paladins know I plan to restore Lord Baligant to life, and they will do anything to stop me.”

  “You have mighty magic,” said Walchelin. “Can you not destroy them?”

  “Perhaps,” said Marsile, “but what if I fall? It has taken me decades to discover the spells necessary to raise Lord Baligant. Who shall then raise him if I am slain?”

  Walchelin nodded. “We will lure the Adept and the Paladins into the ghoul-pit.”

  “Futile,” said Marsile. “The Paladins are strong. They will slay the ghouls, free themselves from the pit, and kill you all. No, a different method is required.” He pointed to one of his servants. “Come here.”

  The ghoul complied. Its desiccated joints, no longer muffled by the heavy robe, clacked and clicked. Marsile reached into its pack, dug through it, and pulled out a small pewter vial.

  “What is it?” said Walchelin.

  “Powder made from the bones of a ghoul,” said Marsile. “Poison.”

  “Will not a Paladin have the power to fight off a poison?” said Walchelin.

  “Not this poison,” said Marsile. “I have already used it to kill a Paladin. Oliver Calabrant, in High Morgon.” A pity Marsile had not thought to poison Raelum as well. “Now, listen well. The Adept follows my trail by means of a spell. He and the Paladins are only a few days behind me. They will follow me here. And when they arrive, welcome them with open arms. Honor them, treat them as heroes. And when you can, slip this powder into their wine. They will die in agony after a few hours.”

  “A few hours?” said Walchelin. “They could kill many of my people in that time.”

  “The poison is tasteless. They will not know they have been poisoned until the agony wracks their limbs,” said Marsile, “and then they will be too weak to do anything but die. No, you will face no danger, as long as you are careful.” Marsile pressed the vial into Walchelin’s fleshy palm. “When I return with Lord Baligant, he will be most pleased for your service.”

  Walchelin’s eyes flashed. “I will do as you say, Lord Marsile.”

  “Good,” said Marsile. “Bring me what food you can spare. My supplies run low. It will do Lord Baligant no good if I starve in the wilderness.”

  Walchelin obeyed. Villagers came forth, bearing cured hams, fresh-baked bread, and dried vegetables. They loaded the foodstuffs into the packs of Marsile’s servants, casting uneasy looks at the unconscious children. Marsile did not bother to explain.

  “Follow my instructions to the letter,” said Marsile, climbing into his sedan chair, “and you shall receive great reward from the Lord Baligant! Aye, great reward! You are the chosen of Lord Baligant!”

  The villagers cheered, and Walchelin pumped his meaty fists into the air. Marsile tried not to laugh. How could these fools believe any of that nonsense? A man liked Baligant, fused to a high demon, would view these people as fodder, nothing more.

  Much as Marsile did.

  Marsile’s servants walked back into the fields, following the ancient road northeast. The trees closed in around them and Abbotsford vanished. Walchelin might very well succeed in poisoning Carandis Marken and the Paladins. Then nothing could stop Marsile from reaching Moragannon, nothing but…

  “Oh,” said Marsile, sighing.

  “Are you troubled, master?” said Tored, loping alongside the litter.

  “Not really,” said Marsile.

  He had forgotten to warn the villagers against Nightgrim.

  No matter. Most likely, Walchelin would poison the Adept and the Paladins before Nightgrim arrived. And even if the draugvir decided kill everyone in Abbotsford, at least the slaughter would turn Nightgrim’s attention away from Marsile.

  His servants marched on.

  Chapter 3 - Arthuras

  Raelum stared into the forest’s gloom.

  They had camped away from the road and the river in a small clearing ringed by ancient, twisted trees. Demons roamed freely over road and wood alike, so the trees offered no shelter, though if any adventurous Northmen came this far north, they would not spot the fire from the Alderine.

  Raelum had drawn the last watch of the night. Carandis and Lionel lay on opposite sides of the fire, asleep. Lionel twitched and thrashed in his sleep, muttering. Every now and again Lionel’s right hand twitched towards the scar on his left wrist.

  Raelum didn’t want to know what dreams haunted Lionel of Tarrenheim’s sleep.

  The sun began to rise, though the gray clouds blocked most of the light. Carandis rose, yawned, and gave Raelum a pointed look.

  “Do you mind?” she said.

  Raelum grunted and turned his back, and a few moments later heard the sound of Carandis relieving herself. A little while later she stepped to his side, raking a hand through her thick black hair. She wore a heavy, fur-lined cloak over her crimson Adept’s robes.

  “By the Divine,” said Carandis, “I want a bath.”

  “You’re not likely to have one for some time,” said Raelum.

  “Yes, I know. Pity, that. I should have stayed in Araspan,” said Carandis.

  Raelum looked at her. “Why are you here? If the Conclave wants Marsile dead so badly, why didn’t they send a dozen Magisters to kill him?”

  Her smile was almost sad. “I didn’t have much choice in the matter. Nor, I suppose, did you.” She looked at the black staff in her right hand and sighed.

  “I did not, at that,” said Raelum.

  “Did you sense anything?” said Carandis.

  “Nothing,” said Raelum. “I sensed some demons to the west, earlier in the night. A few weak ghouls, perhaps. But nothing stronger.”

  “Good,” said Carandis, blowing into her hands. “And Lionel?”

  “Unchanged,” said Raelum.

  “Nightmares torment him,” said Carandis.

  “No doubt.” Raelum had experience of his own with dark dreams.

  “I don’t trust him,” said Carandis.

  Raelum frowned. “You think he’ll betray us? He would say the same of you, if pressed.”

  “And he would say the same thing of you,” said Carandis, “a demonborn man, undoubtedly sunk in depravity and wickedness.”

  Raelum said nothing.

  “I don’t think he’ll betray us,” said Carandis, pulling her cloak tighter, “if that’s what you mean. No…I think he might betra
y himself.”

  “How?” said Raelum.

  Lionel moaned, stirring in his sleep.

  Carandis shook her head. “The draugvir left its taint in his veins. He might go mad and run raving into the trees. Or fall on his sword.” She hesitated. “But he might be changing.”

  “Changing?” said Raelum.

  “Look at his arm,” said Carandis, pointing. Lionel’s left forearm lay loose of his blankets, and a number of half-healed scratches marked the pale flesh.

  “Where did those come from?” said Raelum, voice low.

  “He made them himself, I expect,” said Carandis. “When I woke to relieve him at watch, he was staring at his arm, and I had the oddest feeling that he had been licking it. He wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down without saying a word to me.”

  “Licking it,” said Raelum, sickened. “Licking the blood, you mean.”

  “Yes,” said Carandis. “He might be changing. Nightgrim’s taint might be pulling a demon into his body. He could be transforming into a draugvir before our very eyes.”

  “But I don’t sense a demon in him,” said Raelum. “I thought he had to die for a demon to enter his flesh.”

  “So said all the books I have ever read on the draugvir,” said Carandis. “But I’ve never encountered a draugvir before. Have you? It’s possible that the Nightgrim’s taint drew the attention of a demon in the astral world, one that can twist Lionel’s thoughts as he dreams. Would you be able to sense that?”

  Raelum shook his head.

  “If it goes too far,” said Carandis, “we may have to kill him.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” said Raelum.

  “Not right away. And only if he grows…dangerous,” said Carandis. “But he blames me, I think, for what has happened to him. And you.”

  “What?” said Raelum. “Nightgrim would have drained him dry if we hadn’t interrupted.”

  “Aye,” said Carandis, “but before Lionel met us, he was a Silver Knight, sure of himself and his purpose. Then he met an Adept and a demonborn man,” Carandis’s lips twitched, “both of whom his mentor Hildebrand accused of alliances with the demons. And, lo, a few days later, Lionel has been tainted by a draugvir. If he had not met us, would any of this have happened?”

  “If he had not met us,” said Raelum, with some heat, “he would be dead now. Or worse.”

  “Or worse,” said Carandis. “He was a good man. But now…he is changing. The draugvir’s bite is only part of it. His faith has been shaken. Between that, and whatever Nightgrim’s mark has done, he’s changing.”

  “Perhaps,” said Raelum. “But I’ll not murder him in his sleep.”

  “Of course not,” said Carandis. “But if a demon summoned by the taint twists his thoughts, it will destroy whatever reason he has left. Then we must be prepared to act…”

  Lionel yawned and sat up. Raelum stared into his mouth, searching for any hint of fangs, and felt foolish.

  “Up already, I see,” said Lionel, looking back and forth. His golden hair fell over his pale face. “Do you have the wine out? I feel as if I could drink a lake.”

  Raelum and Carandis shared a look.

  “Here,” said Raelum. “It’s with the food, on Fortune.” He stepped over to the pack horse. “We all may as well have some food and drink.” They sat around the fire, eating and drinking in silence. Lionel hunched over his food, not looking up. Raelum watched him with unease. Maybe it had been a mistaken to bring him.

  “Well,” said Carandis, reaching into a saddlebag and pulling out the iron bar, “let’s see where Marsile is doing today, shall we?” She laid the bar across her lap, closed her eyes, and began muttering. A moment later she shuddered, sighed, and opened her eyes.

  “Where is he?” said Raelum.

  “About seventy miles to the northeast,” said Carandis. “He’s on the far side of the Alderine River by now. He was…satisfied, I think, pleased about something.”

  “Satisfied,” said Raelum. That did not bode well. “Can he sense when you do this?”

  Carandis shrugged. “He must have enough magical sensitivity to feel the spell. He can do nothing to stop it, though.”

  “So far as you know,” said Raelum. Lionel finished eating piece of sausage and licked his fingers clean.

  “So far as I know,” said Carandis.

  “Seventy miles,” said Raelum. He stood and kicked dirt onto the fire. “We shouldn’t dawdle.”

  Lionel grunted in annoyance, but finished his bread and stood up.

  They returned to the the decrepit road and set off. Raelum looked across the wide expanse of the Alderine River. Marsile was there, even now.

  Raelum gritted his teeth, and resisted the urge to run.

  ###

  “Then do Adepts of the Conclave take wives, or are they sworn to chastity?” said Lionel, leading his horse. “When not coupling with succubi and enslaving virgins with spells, of course.”

  “Of course,” said Carandis, amused. “Why, just last night, while you slept, I drew a circle in the earth, stripped naked, painted myself with grease, danced around the fire, and summoned up a pair of virile demons. We coupled long into the night.”

  “She did,” said Raelum, “nothing of the sort.” Carandis and Lionel had started their usual bickering soon after dawn, and had not stopped since. Often he wished they would kill each other and get it over with.

  “You did not,” said Lionel. “I am a Knight of the Silver Order. I would have sensed the presence of vile demons.”

  “If a succubus had appeared before you,” said Carandis, “you wouldn’t have known what to do with it.”

  Lionel scowled.

  “Fortunately,” said Carandis, “succubi are entirely mythical.” Her eyes grew distant. “Possessed women are rarely…fair to look upon.”

  “I suppose you have seen possessed women?” said Lionel.

  “More than I care to recall,” said Carandis. “When the Jurgur blood shaman Maerwulf attacked Araspan, I was among the Adepts that fought his followers. He had many possessed women among his followers, creatures they called urthaags. Or urvuulfs.”

  “An urvuulf?” said Lionel. “What is that?”

  “A Jurgur possessed by a demon of fury,” said Carandis. “The demon is strong enough to twist their physical form, to give them the aspect of a wolf. It is just as well Corthain Kalarien reconciled with his father, and helped the Conclave repulse Maerwulf's creatures. If not for Lord Corthain's leadership, things might have gone ill in Araspan.”

  “You knew the domn Corthain Kalarien?” said Lionel, surprised. “The Hammer of Dark River?”

  “I have seen him,” said Carandis, “with my own eyes. And I am friends with his sister. I am glad he reconciled with his father the First Magister. Lord Corthain is…quite a handsome man.”

  Lionel scowled. “Sir Hildebrand marched with Lord Corthain when he saved the nations of the west from the demon-worshipping Jurgur horde. You should not speak…speak so lightly of him.”

  “Why not?” said Carandis with a mocking grim. “Lord Corthain is a hero and a brave captain, I’ll deny it not. Callian domns also wear close-fitting black coats, and Lord Corthain looks quite fetching in one...”

  “This is inappropriate!” said Lionel. “Do all Adepts wallow so freely in such…such lusts?”

  Carandis rolled her eyes. “You, sir Paladin, would not know the first thing about wallowing.”

  Lionel drew a deep breath to answer.

  “For the love of the Divine! Shut up, both of you,” said Raelum. Still, he wondered if Carandis’s teasing had a deeper purpose. It kept Lionel too angry to brood. “Keep silent. We are drawing near to Arthuras’s abode.”

  A short distance to the east he saw a small cluster of rocky hills, stunted trees clinging to their sides.

  “I have never been to his abode,” Ulrich had said, “though he described it once. A fortified cave, of sorts, lying amongst some stony hills.”

  “How do you know th
is is it?” said Carandis. “There must be dozens of such hills scattered through the woods.”

  “Have you seen any others?” said Raelum. “And look.” A wisp of black smoke rose against the dull sky.

  “Smoke,” said Lionel. “The lord First said Arthuras was a blacksmith. And smoke can only come from fire.”

  “An observation worthy of a Silver Knight,” said Carandis.

  “Bicker later,” said Raelum. “We cannot convince Arthuras to guide us if you squabble like children.”

  “And suppose he refuses to guide us?” said Lionel. “What then?”

  Raelum shrugged. “If he agrees, I will go in pursuit of Marsile. If he declines, I will go in pursuit of Marsile.” He strode into the trees, leading Fortune behind him. Carandis and Lionel followed, walking their pack horses.

  To Raelum’s surprise, he found a worn trail winding among the trees. Someone, or something, did indeed dwell here. The air smelled of wood smoke as they passed the stumps of trees, some old, some fresh. The base of the hill came into sight.

  “A hermitage,” said Lionel.

  A small stone cottage squatted against the side of the hill, surrounded by empty gardens. In the hill itself opened into the mouth of a cave, lit from within by a red glow. A stone sheepfold had been built between two hills, holding a goodly number of sheep and goats. A chimney of brick and metal carried the smoke out of the cave.

  “A mad hermit,” said Carandis, “to dwell alone in the wild.”

  Raelum stepped forward, looking over the cottage. “It seems empty, though.”

  “Someone lit that fire,” said Carandis.

  An arrow shrieked through the air and landed between Raelum’s feet.

  He whirled, drawing his sword.

  “Someone lives here,” said a deep voice, colored with a lyrical accent, “and if you wish to live, you’ll not move.” Another arrow buried itself into the ground between Carandis’s boots. “Or begin working a spell, Adept.”

  A man stood on a ledge over the cave, about twenty feet above the ground. A ragged green cloak, mottled with black patches, obscured his outline. He held a deadly-looking composite bow, an arrow at the ready.