An enraged voice rang over the melee. Raelum saw Marsile standing beyond the demons, a black spear held the crook of his arm, astralfire dancing around his hands.
“Marsile!” roared Raelum, shoving aside a ghoul.
Marsile turned, snarled, and flung out his hand. A blast of azure astralfire erupted from his fingers. Raelum drew on the Light, armoring himself against the fury of spells. The blast struck Raelum in the chest. The protection of the Light turned the worst of its fury, yet the flame still had enough force to fling Raelum through the air and slam him to the ground. He rolled to one knee, coughing in pain, as the demons closed on him.
Carandis sent a shaft of astralfire at Marsile. Marsile crossed his arms over his chest and snarled a phrase. The astralfire winked out against his ward of silver light, and he unleashed a blast of his own at Carandis. Carandis shouted a warding spell, and the astralfire raged around her in a storm of magical power.
Marsile began working another spell, the air rippling around his fingertips.
Raelum staggered back to his feet and drove his sword through the chest of a ghoul. Arthuras laid about with his flaming sword, driving the demons back. Lionel shouted, hacking his way to within a few feet of Marsile.
Marsile whirled and opened his hands. The strange rippling leapt from his fingers to settle over Lionel like a shroud. Lionel shrieked and shuddered, limbs twitching, and fell to his knees.
Marsile began another spell, fresh astralfire burning in his grasp.
“Raelum!” shouted Arthuras. “Keep them off me!”
Raelum charged Arthuras’s attackers, taking the arm off one, ripping through the throat of another. Arthuras jumped back, rammed his sword into the earth, and yanked his bow free. Marsile’s eyes settled on him. Arthuras notched an arrow, drew back, and released.
The arrow flew towards Marsile. As had happened in the nameless city, the arrow exploded into a thousand shards an instant before striking. Yet a greenish smoke, the same color of the powder Raelum had seen Arthuras mix, billowed from the shattered arrow. The fume washed over Marsile before dissipating.
Marsile began to cough, his body shaking like a leaf. The astralfire around his fingertips winked out, the spell forgotten. Marsile doubled over, hacking, pounding at his chest.
Raelum risked a glance at Arthuras.
Arthuras shouldered his bow. “At him! Quickly!” His blade burst into fresh flames.
Raelum’s sword sliced through another ghoul.
###
Marsile’s chest felt as if it wanted to split open. He coughed and shook, trying to catch a breath. He could not stop coughing.
Nor could he chant a spell.
Through his tear-filled eyes he glimpsed the fires of a Silver Knight’s sword drawing closer.
Marsile growled and made himself begin another spell.
Another arrow exploded against his wards, shards raining over the ground. The burning odor plunged into his nostrils yet again. Marsile quivered, fighting his rebellious throat, but to no avail.
He began to cough again.
The white fires drew closer.
###
Raelum saw Lionel collapse to the ground, the air around him rippling, a pair of ghouls stopping over him. Raelum sprang forward and fell on Lionel’s attackers. His blade sheared through the leftmost ghoul’s arm. The creature fled, shrieking. The remaining ghoul threw itself at Raelum. Raelum sprang back, thrust his sword, and caught the creature on his sword point. The ghoul shuddered and fell over.
Carandis staggered to her feet and threw out her hands. A stream of blue astralfire sprang from her palms and slammed into Marsile. The astralfire dissolved into sparks, but Marsile groaned and toppled backwards, still coughing.
Raelum stepped over Lionel, swinging with his sword, bashing with his shield. Marsile was not twenty feet away.
###
Marsile rolled over and clenched the black spear. He focused his will and drained some of its energies into himself. The awful pressure in his chest and throat eased.
An armless ghoul ran past him, gibbering. Marsile blinked and turned his head.
Panic struck him like a blow.
Of his ninety servants, not twenty remained. He saw no sign of the wraiths. Two swords, one burning with white flames and the other with yellow-orange, rose and fell. He heard Carandis Marken casting another spell.
In a few moments they would kill him.
Marsile seized the satchel holding the Book of Summoned Dead and the Book of Stolen Blood. One hand on the black spear, he cast a spell. The world became indistinct as his physical flesh shifted into the astral world.
Marsile permitted himself to sink into the earth. By will alone, he drove himself through its dark mass.
He rose from the ground a few feet behind Carandis Marken.
###
Raelum tore through the last of the demons. Marsile’s wrecked litter lay on the ground, atop the bones of the destroyed ghouls. Yet Marsile himself had vanished. Raelum whirled, seeking his enemy.
He saw a gray mist appear behind Carandis, a mist that hardened into Marsile.
“Carandis!” said Raelum.
Carandis turned just as Marsile thrust out his hands. Blue light flashed and crackled, and Carandis toppled to the ground, staff rolling away.
Raelum shouted and dashed towards them.
###
Marsile saw Raelum coming, saw his death in the blazing sword. He had hoped to kill Carandis Marken, to keep himself safe from the location spell.
Marsile knelt next the stunned Adept, free hand searching through her pack. His fingers curled around a length of rusted iron. He yanked it free and stood up.
Raelum was almost at him. Marsile smirked at the red-eyed boy and astraljumped away, the world vanishing in silver light.
###
Raelum raised his arm for the blow, even as Marsile vanished in a burst of silver light. Raelum’s sword whistled through empty air. He overbalanced and stepped to the side, eyes darting back and forth.
The fires of his sword flickered and went out.
Raelum turned. Arthuras strode towards him, wiping down the blade of his sword.
“He got away,” said Raelum.
“Aye,” said Arthuras.
“He took the iron bar, the one marked with his blood,” said Raelum, snarling. “We’ll never find him now.”
“Perhaps,” said Arthuras, “but first we must see to the others.”
He knelt besides Carandis, helping the Adept sit up. Carandis groaned and pressed her hands to her forehead.
“Do I have an axe in the back of my head?” Carandis said.
“Not as I can see,” said Arthuras.
“It feels like it.”
“Hold still,” said Raelum, putting his hand on Carandis’s shoulder and drawing on the Light. The Light rushed through him and settled into Carandis. Carandis closed her eyes and let out a long, weary sigh.
“That’s better,” said Carandis.
“Good,” said Arthuras, “let us see to Lionel.”
Raelum felt a stab of alarmed guilt. He had last seen Lionel lying defenseless on the ground. Suppose a ghoul had taken him during Raelum’s mad rush at Marsile? Raelum followed Arthuras and Carandis, picking their way over the destroyed demons.
Lionel lay on the ground. Froth bubbled from his lips. His limbs twitched, his heels drumming.
“What did Marsile do?” said Raelum.
“A spell of the mind,” muttered Carandis. “It…must have broken the connection between his reason and his flesh.”
“Can you undo it?” said Raelum.
“Probably,” said Carandis. “Marsile would have needed more time to inflict permanent harm.” She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and cast a spell.
Lionel shuddered and blinked, his eyes coming back into focus.
“By the Divine,” muttered Lionel, wiping his mouth, “that hurt.”
“We have to go,” said Raelum, “we have to catch Mars
ile.”
“How?” said Carandis. “He took the iron bar. I can’t find him again.”
“You forget,” said Raelum. “He’s going to Moragannon, is he not?”
“He is,” said Arthuras.
“Marsile will not stop now,” said Carandis. “He’ll go straight to Moragannon.”
“He will,” said Raelum. “If we get to Moragannon before him, we can lie in wait.”
Arthuras hesitated. “We can. I know paths through the hills. We may reach Moragannon before Marsile does. Yet…Moragannon. By all the gods, I had hoped never to lay eyes on that place again.”
“What choice do we have?” said Raelum.
“None,” said Arthuras. “None at all. We dare not let him stir up the evil in Moragannon.” He shook his head, and pulled his mottled cloaked around him. “We had best not waste time. This way.”
Arthuras set off through the rocky hills, Raelum and the others following.
Chapter 15 - Ashborn
Marsile cast another astraljump spell and reappeared further north along the road. A short distance ahead, Tored and five ghouls raced forward. The nine unconscious children dangled from the ghouls’ backs.
“Stop!” called Marsile. “Tored, stop! To me!”
The reaper-ghoul turned and trotted to Marsile’s side, the ghouls following.
Marsile gazed in despair at the six demons. He had lost nearly all of his supplies and most of his servants. Even worse, he had failed to kill a single one of his enemies. Walchelin had failed, Nightgrim had failed, and now Marsile had failed to stop them.
He looked at the iron bar in his hand and smiled. At least they now had no way to track him. Yet they had followed him beyond the Alderine River, had they not? They knew he intended to make for Moragannon. Arthuras himself had said so, during their confrontation at the nameless city. What if they were racing to meet him at Moragannon even now?
Everything else had gone wrong. Why not this?
Marsile shook his head and tucked the iron bar into his belt. He dared not linger here. If he had any hope of escape, he had to keep moving. With any luck, he could reach Moragannon and bind Baligant’s high demon before they caught him.
And with the power of a high demon, he would utterly crush his foes.
“Where are the others, master?” said Tored.
“Destroyed,” said Marsile. “Continue towards Moragannon. Now.”
“I was commanded to take you to Moragannon,” said Tored. “I shall obey.”
“How splendid,” growled Marsile.
He followed the reaper-ghoul, wincing at the pain in his knees.
###
Marsile trudged on, following the reaper-ghoul through the hills. The lands grew barren, rockier, the Silvercrown Mountains rising higher. Every now and again Marsile drew on the black spear, draining some of its energy into himself. How much longer would it last? For that matter, he had only a meager supply of food and one skin of wine. Sooner or later, he would need to find more or starve.
He cursed Raelum as he walked. He should have ordered Lucas Parwaith to poison the boy with Sir Oliver. He cursed Walchelin and Nightgrim for their failures. If he ever got the chance, he would repay Raelum in full.
A black shape atop a nearby hill pulled him from his snarling thoughts.
“Hold a moment,” said Marsile.
Yet another ruin squatted atop the hill, similar to the one Marsile had seen earlier. Burned timbers lay heaped atop rough foundations, a shattered palisade encircling the ruin. Flint arrowheads and obsidian spearheads littered the ground. The place had been destroyed only a few months ago. Who had lived here? Marsile detected the presence of no demons nearby, save for his few servants.
“Continue,” said Marsile.
It didn’t matter. Perhaps he could find one of these villages, slaughter the inhabitants, and raise them as ghouls to replace his destroyed servants.
Tored wove his way through the hills, Marsile following. To his unease, the land showed signs of habitation. Sharp-edged tree stumps stood in the woods, and well-worn paths threaded through the hills. A ring of low stones had been raised as a sheepfold, though Marsile saw no livestock.
Then he followed Tored around a copse of trees and saw another skull totem crouching behind a mossy boulder.
The skull launched itself into the air, a hideous screech rising from the skull’s grinning mouth. Marsile flung a blast of blue astralfire and burned the skull to smoldering embers.
Something clattered, and Marsile glimpsed a dark shape flitting behind a tree.
“Show yourself!” said Marsile.
No one answered. Marsile squinted at the tree, trying to see if anyone lurked behind it.
“Master!” said Tored. “Behind you!”
Marsile turned and saw the creature squatting atop the hill.
He had never seen anything like it. It was man-shaped, about the size of a large child, and had skin like blood-colored leather. It wore a ragged loincloth and a dirty wool cloak. Enormous yellow eyes, black-slit like a serpent’s, stared at Marsile, and wide dripping nostrils sniffed at him. The creature had large, pointed ears the size of a man’s hand.
The beast held a bow and an obsidian-tipped arrow in six-fingered hands.
Marsile recognized the thing with an alarmed shock. The Hierarchs of the Old Empire had summoned them from another world, binding them and using them as soldiers. Marsile had thought them all slaughtered, or lurking in the wreckage of the Old Empire, leaving behind only tales to frightening the few remaining mortal men in these lands.
Apparently, he had been wrong.
Marsile had come face to face with an Ashborn.
The creature growled a question in a grating language. Marsile caught a few words, bits and pieces of High Imperial, but could not discern the meaning. The Ashborn repeated its question, gesturing with the bow.
“I don’t understand,” said Marsile. He began making small gestures, preparing a spell.
The Ashborn stepped back, eyes widening, and shrieked. The creature raised its bow and loosed the arrow, and Marsile finished his spell just in time. The arrow struck his ward and shattered in a spray of wooden shards. Marsile raised his hands, summoning astralfire.
The Ashborn whirled and sprinted away, vanishing behind the hill. Marsile abandoned his spell and clenched his fists. The creature would bring others.
“Tored! The path! Quickly!” said Marsile.
Marsile took a step forward just as three more Ashborn appeared atop the hill. Together they raised their bows and released. The arrows splintered against Marsile’s wards, and Marsile responded with a stream of astralfire that killed the leftmost Ashborn. The other two whirled and vanished into the rocks. Marsile snarled a curse. He had no chance of killing them before they brought others.
Something crackled behind him, splinters bouncing off his back. Marsile turned and saw two more Ashborn crouched atop a boulder, sending arrow after arrow at him. Marsile cast another blast of astralfire, and the Ashborn threw themselves aside, the glowing fire digging chips from the stone. Arrows flew from every direction, crashing against his wards. Marsile felt a surge of panic. How long could his wards hold up against this battering?
He worked a spell and focused his mind. His will seized a Ashborn and hurled it through the air. The creature crashed into two others, and Marsile focused his will and flung another. More came to take their place, until dozens stood in a ring around him, loosing arrow after arrow.
A flash of flame caught Marsile’s eye. An Ashborn hefted a burning arrow and released. It shattered against Marsile’s wards, sending flaming splinters skittering across his robes. Marsile answered with a blast of astralfire and cut the Ashborn down. Two more burning arrows burst against him, and his robes began to smolder. Marsile beat the embers with his hands even as the other Ashborn took up the tactic. A barrage of flame and heat washed over him, and his sleeve caught fire. Marsile dropped to the ground and rolled, smothering the flames.
&n
bsp; Fighting his growing terror, he rolled to one knee and snarled out a spell of blood sorcery. A wave of dark power washed over him, crimson flames crackling around his fingers. He clenched his will and unleashed the power.
The bodies of the Ashborn he had killed twitched. Marsile flung his arms over his face, trying to keep the smoke and heat at bay.
The Ashborn shrieked.
Marsile opened his eyes. His spell had bound minor demons into the corpses of the slain Ashborn, raising them as ghouls under his control. The demon things attacked their fellows, biting and slashing. A living Ashborn collapsed under the weight of a dead one, and Marsile cast the summoning spell again. Another demon Ashborn rose up. He expected the living Ashborn to fight the ghouls, to feather them with burning arrows, or to flee.
Instead the Ashborn drew back, maintaining their loose ring around him. Marsile drew up his hand, ready to release another blast of astralfire, waiting for the living Ashborn to attack.
Yet the Ashborn did nothing. Some gazed at the new-made ghouls. Others muttered to each other in their harsh tongue, gesturing This went on for a few moments. Finally one of the larger of the Ashborn turned and sprinted away, cloak fluttering.
The others stared at him, waiting. Marsile stared back. Their twisted, brutish faces revealed nothing.
“Master,” said Tored.
“Be silent,” said Marsile. He hesitated, then took a step forward.
An arrow skipped off the ground before his boot. The message, despite the incomprehensibility of the Ashborn tongue, was clear enough. Marsile waited.
The ring of Ashborn parted, and a hulking shape shambled towards him. It had, as did the other Ashborn, leathery skin the color of dark blood. But this Ashborn was far taller than the others, and almost as wide as it was tall. Its limbs rippled with muscle, twisted fangs jutted over its muzzle, and a pair of curving horns spiraled from its forehead. The thing stopped, gazing at Marsile with yellow-slit black eyes. Marsile recalled his long-ago studies, remembering how the Ashborn had different castes depending on their size and strength. The smaller ones must have been bred as hunters or scouts, while this one was as a warrior.
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