The Third Soul Omnibus Two

by Jonathan Moeller

  Arthuras grunted, peering at the paving stones.

  “What is it?” said Raelum.

  “Bloodstains,” said Arthuras. “Recent. Not more than a day old. A large number of people were slaughtered here recently.”

  “Children,” said Carandis. “Marsile had a number of unconscious children. Maybe the city’s demons overtook them.”

  “Or he offered them as tribute to gain an alliance,” said Arthuras, scowling.

  “Then Marsile has more blood on his hands,” said Raelum.

  They kept walking. An utter silence hung over the ruins, save for the click of the horses’ hooves against the paving stones. Raelum scanned the ruined houses, his senses straining. Demon hordes teemed beneath his feet, but none moved on the surface.

  Yet.

  “Look,” said Lionel, pointing. A pit yawned in the earth beneath a wall. A vile reek rose from the darkness.

  Raelum nodded and peered into the pit. He had a glimpse of a tunnel running deep beneath the city, the walls lined with icy, mold-choked brickwork. The stench reminded him of the festerlings. Raelum stepped back.

  “We’ll want to stay away from those,” said Arthuras.

  “I should say so,” said Carandis.

  A short walk took them to the city’s heart, a large open square that had once been a market. A castle loomed over one side of the square, wisps of smoke rising from the windows. A soaring High Temple sat on the other side of the square, still beautiful despite the ravages of decay. Something in the High Temple seemed to call at Raelum, tugging at the sword on his belt.

  A huge pit gaped in the midst of the square. Even from a distance, the smell tore at Raelum’s nose.

  Carandis frowned, gripping her staff. “There’s a spell here…”

  There was a silver flash, and a man in crimson robes appeared out of nothingness on the far side of the pit. The sight struck Raelum like a bolt of lightning. The robed man looked younger and less worn that at their last meeting, but Raelum would have recognized him anywhere.

  “Marsile!” he roared. He took two running steps forward before Arthuras and Lionel pulled him back.

  “So Walchelin failed,” said Marsile. He held a weapon Raelum took for a black staff, but then recognized as a spear. “I should have known.”

  “You may have poisoned Sir Oliver,” spat Raelum, “but not us.”

  “It would appear so,” said Marsile. “Is that why you’ve followed me across half the world? Revenge is a powerful cause. Still, I have cause for revenge myself, do I not? You almost killed me at our last meeting.”

  “And justly so,” called Arthuras.

  “And who are you, that this is your concern?” said Marsile.

  “Arthuras, once of Rhegion, now of the land that was once Arvandil. Turn back. Black horrors sleep in the tomb you seek.”

  “What would you know of it?” said Marsile.

  “I have seen it with my own eyes,” said Arthuras, “and I know this. If you wake those horrors, they will devour your soul. In the name of the Divine, or whatever gods a man like you might worship, turn back before it is too late.”

  “Gods?” said Marsile. “The Divine? There are no gods, only lies wrought by the strong to dominate the weaker. A man must make his own immortality. As I shall.”

  “Blasphemer!” said Lionel.

  “How quaint,” said Marsile. “Wait until age withers your limbs, boy, until you can feel death approaching, and see if the Divine comforts you then.”

  “So you will not turn back?” said Arthuras.

  “I will reach that tomb or die trying,” said Marsile.

  “As you wish.”

  Arthuras moved so fast Raelum’s eyes failed to register the movement. One moment Arthuras stood with his hands on his belt. The next he had his bow out, the string vibrating, an arrow streaking towards Marsile. Raelum had the briefest glimpse of the arrow before it shattered in a flash of blue light a few inches from Marsile’s face.

  “I expected as much,” said Marsile, smiling, “so I took appropriate precautions.” He lowered his head, gazing into the pit at his feet.

  “You might kill one or two of us,” said Carandis, “but you cannot kill us all before we take you.”

  “Indeed?” said Marsile. “Did I say I would kill you? You ought to listen better, girl. It’s a pity you will never have the chance to learn. There are thousands of demons in this city.”

  “They only come out at night,” said Raelum, “and there’s much daylight left.”

  “There is,” said Marsile. “Have you seen the ghouls native to this ruin, creatures with claws and eyes of cold fire? You have? Sunlight discomforts them, but it will not destroy them. And they are under my command.” His mocking smile widened. “All of them.”

  “That’s not possible,” said Raelum. “You don’t have the strength.”

  “Farewell, wretched boy,” said Marsile. He started a spell.

  Raelum’s sword began to glow.

  A tremendous noise rose from the pit. A reaper-ghoul vaulted over the broken lip, claws sinking into the bricks like daggers into flesh. Raelum sprinted around the edge of the pit and destroyed the reaper-ghoul with a vicious slash. He kicked aside the twitching carcass and dashed towards Marsile. Another few steps, a quick thrust of Sir Oliver’s sword, and it would be ended…

  Four more reaper-ghouls sprang over the edge of the pit, followed by a dozen more. The bottom of the pit seemed a writhing sea of reaper-ghouls. Marsile thrust out his hands and disappeared in the silver flash of an astraljump spell an instant before Raelum’s sword would have found his heart.

  Raelum shouted his rage. Once again he had come so close!

  The cold claws of a reaper-ghoul scraped across his mail. Raelum turned, ducking, and yanked his shield from his shoulder. He caught the reaper-ghoul’s strike, spun with the force of it, and ripped his sword across the thing’s chest. The creature fell with a gurgle.

  Three more ran forward to take its place.

  Raelum hacked and slashed like a madman, trying to cut free from the press. Reaper-ghouls fell around him, gray blood splashing the ancient stones. If he could just break free, he could chase down Marsile…

  “Raelum!” Arthuras, Lionel, and Carandis fought on the far side of the pit. More and more reaper-ghouls boiled out from the earth, climbing over each other in their haste. Across the square, dozens more demons raced along the street, pouring from the catacombs. And more and more clawed their way from the earth.

  “Raelum!” yelled Arthuras, the air rippling around his burning sword. “We have to get out!”

  Raelum destroyed two more reaper-ghouls, trying to force his way around the pit only to realize that he could not. Freezing claws tore at his shield and his armor. Raelum bashed aside another reaper-ghoul with his shield, the metal ringing. The creature tumbled back into the pit, clearing a space. Raelum took a deep breath, called on the Light to fill him with strength and speed, and dashed forward.

  At the edge of the pit he sprang into the air. His Light-strengthened muscles propelled him over the reeking chasm. Raelum crashed to earth on the far side of the pit, his sword leading in a tremendous swing. The blow sent a reaper-ghoul’s head spinning through the air. The corpse toppled back into the catacombs.

  “The gate!” said Arthuras, waving his burning blade back and forth. The reaper-ghouls shied from the flames. A hideous scream rang out, and Raelum saw the reaper-ghouls tearing apart the last of the pack horses. “We must reach the gate!”

  Raelum felt a moment’s grief for Fortune, rescued from the stables of St. Arik’s only to perish here.

  “We cannot!” said Carandis. “There are too many!”

  “Then what?” Raelum chopped off a reaper-ghoul’s clawed arm.

  “The High Temple!” Lionel gazed at it, squinting as if in pain.

  Carandis ducked, crimson robes swirling, and unleashed a spread of blue astralfire. The smell of ozone briefly quenched the corpse stench. “What of it?”<
br />
  “Its towers!” said Raelum. “We can hold out there.”

  “Wait!” said Lionel. “It…”

  “We have to get out!” said Arthuras. He ran a reaper-ghoul through and kicked it off his sword. The burning thing stumbled back, wailing, and set fire to two others. “The tower matters not! If we stay here we shall die!” Festerlings waddled towards them from the side streets, foul miasmas rising from their joints.

  “If we don’t get out of this square, we’ll die anyway!” said Carandis.

  “The tower, then,” said Arthuras, dodging.

  “Keep them off me!” said Carandis. Raelum, Arthuras, and Lionel moved into a circle around the Adept. Carandis began casting a spell, her fingers flying through rapid gestures. She thrust out her hands, and a brilliant bar of blue astralfire as thick as Raelum’s leg erupted from her palms. She spun, and the blazing shaft sliced a dozen reaper-ghouls in half. Another gesture, and the bar exploded into a blazing cone, and a score of screaming reaper-ghouls took flame, fleeing in all directions.

  “Now!” coughed Carandis. “Run! Run!”

  They raced forward, Raelum and Lionel and Arthuras hacking and stabbing. They tore a path through the surprised reaper-ghouls. A claw ripped across Raelum’s leg, but he ignored the pain and the freezing chill and drew on the Light to fill him with speed and power. He scythed through the demons, reaping a harvest of his own. The High Temple’s doors had long vanished, opening into a great dusty nave. Raelum stumbled up the steps, the others at his side.

  Lionel stiffened, shuddered, and collapsed to the floor, clutching his wrist.

  Raelum whirled, sword at guard, ready to stand and fight. He waited for the reaper-ghouls to swarm up the stairs and pour through the door.

  The demons did not come.

  They shifted and squirmed, staring at him with their eyes of cold flame. They snarled and snapped, whipping the air with their tongues, but did not come.

  Raelum lowered his blade, puzzled.

  “A miracle,” croaked Lionel, still holding his wrist. “A miracle.”

  “Nay,” said Arthuras. “Something marvelous, but still explainable. Do you not feel it?”

  Raelum wiped sweat from his face with a trembling hand.

  He felt warmth soaking into his chilled wounds. He blinked in wonder and extended demonborn senses. All around the High Temple he felt the seething darkness of the reaper-ghouls. But the High Temple seemed to gleam with light.

  “The High Temple has been consecrated,” Raelum croaked. “The very stones have been imbued with the Light. The demons cannot enter here.”

  “A miracle,” whispered Lionel. “But, ah, how my wrist burns.” He massaged the half-healed scar. “Nightgrim’s taint. This is a miracle, yet I…I am unclean, tainted…”

  “Shut up,” said Raelum, “and stand up. You entered, did you not? And I am demonborn, yet I walk here freely.”

  “And Marsile can enter freely, as well,” said Arthuras, “even if his minions cannot. Do not lower your guard.”

  “How could he command so many demons?” said Carandis. She leaned on her staff, her thick black hair lank with sweat. “There are thousands of them. No mortal blood sorcerer could command such numbers. A Hierarch of the Old Empire, certainly, but not a mortal man.”

  “Marsile stole some of the Hierarchs’ books, as you told me,” said Arthuras. “Yet he must not have known of this place’s power. If not for this High Temple, we would now be dead.” He frowned. “I wonder how it came to be consecrated so powerfully.”

  “A miracle,” repeated Lionel, face ashen, eyes fixed on his wrist.

  “Since we appear to be trapped,” said Carandis, looking at the waiting reaper-ghouls, “we may as well explore.”

  They walked further into the High Temple. Rays of pale light slanted from the arched windows. Statues and bas-reliefs of saints stared down from the walls. A trio of skeletons lay on the stairs before the high altar. Raelum raised his sword, but soon lowered it. No demon could walk in this holy place.

  Two of the skeletons wore ancient, rusting armor, though their swords remained sharp and gleaming. With a shock, Raelum saw that the swords were those of Paladins. The third skeleton wore the ragged remnants of a Brother’s robe. From the skeleton’s belt hung a gleaming golden medallion marked with the Temple’s rose sigil.

  “They did this,” said Lionel, dropping to his knees. “Two Silver Knights, and a Brother of great faith. They drew on enough of the Light to consecrate the High Temple.”

  “They must have been the last survivors of the city,” said Arthuras, “using the High Temple as a refuge against the demons.”

  “They should be saints,” said Lionel, lowering his head. “If I survive this nightmare and return to Chrysos, I shall see that they are made saints.”

  “As grateful as I am for their assistance,” said Carandis, “I am more concerned about what we shall do next.”

  “We wait,” said Arthuras.

  “Wait?” said Raelum. “But Marsile is so close!”

  Arthuras gestured at the waiting reaper-ghouls. “If you have any ideas on how we can reach him, I should like to hear them.”

  Raelum scowled and said nothing.

  “As I see it, one of two things will happen,” said Carandis. “Either Marsile will come for us. Or he will leave the city, his control over the demons will expire, and then we can escape during the day.”

  “He’s already left the city,” said Raelum. He rammed his sword into its scabbard. “I saw him astraljump away.”

  “If he knows about the High Temple’s consecration, he’ll return,” said Carandis. “If not, he’ll depart and wait for the reaper-ghouls to finish us off. In that lies our advantage. I doubt he can maintain his control over any distance. The reaper-ghouls will revert to their usual behavior and vanish into the catacombs during the day. Then we can escape.”

  “And suppose they do not?” said Arthuras. “What if Marsile has found some new controlling spell in the dark books?”

  Carandis shrugged. “Then we shall have to find some other way.”

  “At the very least,” said Lionel, leaning against the altar stairs, “if we die here, we shall not rise as ghouls.”

  “A relief, no doubt,” said Arthuras, “but I would prefer not to die quite yet.” He returned his sword to its scabbard. “Let us take rest, while we can.”

  Every one of them had taken wounds. Raelum drew on the Light, as did Lionel, and together they labored to ease the hurts. Afterwards, Raelum slumped to the ground, exhausted. Carandis busied herself by taking Arthuras’s hatchet and hacking the ancient, mossy pews to pieces.

  “This is a sacred place,” said Lionel. “You shouldn’t desecrate it.”

  Carandis muttered a spell, a burst of blue astralfire setting the woodpile afire. “I doubt the pews are sacred. And we’ll all be grateful for the warmth.”

  “We’ll rest the remainder of the day,” said Arthuras, “and all the night. In the morning we’ll try to break out.”

  “What if the demons can break in during the night, when their powers are stronger?” said Lionel.

  “I doubt they can,” said Arthuras, “else they would have followed us in already. If not, we’ll take refuge in one of the towers.” He sighed and straightened up. “I am weary, but I doubt I am as weary as the three of you. Sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

  Raelum nodded, wrapped himself in his black cloak, and fell asleep before his head touched the cold stone floor.

  ###

  Marsile sat on his litter, staring at the nameless city to the south.

  His servants stood along the shores of the frozen lake, their ragged garments flapping in the icy breeze. Marsile watched and waited. Every so often he saw a flash of light from the city, the echo of a spell’s thunder.

  Then silence fell.

  Had his enemies been killed? Or had they taken refuge in the High Temple? Marsile contemplated returning to the city to see for himself.

&nbs
p; He dismissed the thought as useless. Why bother? His enemies had either perished in the reaper-ghouls’ initial assault, or they would perish tonight when Nightgrim awoke. Marsile himself had barely found the strength to keep Nightgrim at bay.

  His enemies had no way to stop the draugvir.

  With a satisfied laugh, Marsile opened the Book of Summoned Dead on his lap. He glanced towards the comatose children dangling from the backs of his servants. A short journey would take him to the foothills of the Silvercrown Mountains and to Moragannon itself. Once there he would consume the children’s lives in the summoning spell and raise up the high demon once controlled by Baligant, Hierarch of the Old Empire.

  And from that high demon, Marsile would pry the secret of life unending, free of mortality and weakness.

  He bid his servants to march north, leaving the nameless city and his doomed enemies behind.

  Chapter 12 - Catacombs

  The thing that had been Michael Kalenis in life returned to consciousness.

  Nightgrim opened his eyes. He lay on a stone slab in the deepest crypt of the catacombs, cloaked in utter darkness. But, then, his eyes did not need light. He rolled off the slab and stood with a contented sigh.

  Contented, of course, save for the faint talons of hunger scratching at his stomach.

  A ring of reaper-ghouls and festerlings stood around him, gazing at him with worshipful reverence. Walchelin crouched at the foot of the slab, gnawing on his own arm.

  “Great one,” slobbered Walchelin, crawling to Nightgrim’s booted feet. “We go and kill, yes?”

  “We do, loyal servant,” said Nightgrim. “I have enemies to dispatch.”

  “Let me kill Raelum,” crooned Walchelin, “let me feast on his innards.”

  Nightgrim caught Walchelin’s head and twisted it back. The ghoul whimpered. “If I may offer a word of advice: kindly do not presume to offer counsel.” He released Walchelin. The ghoul stumbled back. “But, then, Sir Raelum’s blood is tainted somehow. Regrettably, I cannot slake my thirst with it. So, by all means, feel free to feast upon him.”