The Third Soul Omnibus Two

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Then shouldn’t Ashborn ghouls choke the land?” said Lionel, “as in lands where mortal men have fought wars?”

  “Nay,” said Arthuras, “for Ashborn do not rise as ghouls unless a blood sorcerer forces a demon into their corpses. I don’t know why. Perhaps they have no souls. For us, it matters not. If the Ashborn learn of us, they will do everything they can to kill us. ”

  “At least Marsile will face the same danger,” said Carandis.

  “Let us hope,” said Arthuras.

  “What do you mean?” said Raelum.

  “Some of the Ashborn worship the Hierarchs,” said Arthuras. “If Marsile encounters such a tribe, he might persuade them to…get down!”

  He shoved Raelum aside. Half a heartbeat latter an arrow whizzed past Raelum’s ear. Arthuras spun and shot into the thicket of trees. Something shrieked in pain, and Raelum regained his balance and yanked his sword free.

  A dark-cloaked shape stumbled from the trees, an arrow protruding from its shoulder. Raelum had never seen anything like it. The creature had skin like bloody leather, a bow clutched in its six-fingered hands. Its face had enormous, black-slit eyes, like the eyes of a snake, and a pair of massive pointed ears. With a cry of rage and pain, the creature whirled and began running.

  “An Ashborn!” Arthuras shouted. “Kill it, quickly, before it brings others!”

  Raelum sprang forward, the Light filling his legs with speed. The creature turned, snarling, and stabbed at Raelum with a flint dagger. Raelum parried the blow, twisted the crude weapon aside, and riposted. His blade drove into the Ashborn’s chest, and the creature slid dead to the ground.

  “By the Divine,” said Lionel, “I’d seen images of the Ashborn in stained glass at Chrysos, but one in the flesh…”

  “Is a most unpleasant sight,” said Arthuras, flipping the corpse over. “One of the lesser breeds of Ashborn, a hunter. They have the eyes of eagles and the noses of bloodhounds.” He shook his head and stepped back. “I’ve not been taken unawares like that in years. ”

  Raelum looked in disgust at the black ichor coating his blade. “What now?”

  “We keep going,” said Arthuras, “and hope to elude the Ashborn hunters. And let us hope Marsile falls to their arrows and we may return to civilized lands without ever laying eyes on Moragannon.”

  Raelum hoped Marsile yet survived. He wanted to kill the renegade Adept himself, wanted to watch Marsile’s eyes as the life drained from them.

  He said nothing and followed Arthuras, leaving the dead Ashborn behind.

  ###

  Bit by bit, the land died around them.

  At first, Raelum thought the earth had grown barren from the mountain winds, but no snow covered the ground. The earth became gray, pallid dust, swirling around their boots in small puffs. Every now and again they passed the bones of a dead Ashborn, fangs jutting at the sky. The very ground felt poisoned, as if all life had leached away long ago. The astral world seemed to pulse in the corner of his eye, as if the dirt covered a pit of bottomless blackness.

  They spent a restless night in the hollow of a barren hill. Demons prowled the night, their agonized cries rending the dry air. Raelum and Lionel took turns standing guard, their swords out. Time and time again they saw strange lights just outside their camp, but no ghouls attacked.

  Morning came and they resumed their journey through the poisoned lands. As they climbed higher, plants reappeared on the barren slopes.

  This was not an improvement.

  Arthuras led them through meadows of black roses, their thorns gleaming with poison, a sulfurous stink rising from the black petals. Raelum saw twisted trees with bark like obsidian, leaves sharp as daggers. A huge, florid flower, larger than a bed, rested besides the road, reaching for them with thorn-studded tentacles. Shriveled bushes squatted on the hills, laden with blood-colored fruits the size of a man’s head. The entire land seemed like a madman’s nightmare, twisted and corrupted by the demons of the astral world.

  “I see,” said Raelum, “why you didn’t want to come here.”

  Arthuras said nothing.

  The road climbed ever higher. A cold wind whistled down from the peaks. At least it blew away the stink from the nightmarish plants.

  At noon they stopped before a towering cliff split by a narrow canyon. The road led into the canyon itself. A strange humming rose from the stones, like a chorus groaning over and over again.

  “Beyond this defile, you will see Moragannon itself,” said Arthuras. “You had best brace yourself. It is…it is not something men were meant to see.”

  “Then we are ahead of Marsile?” said Carandis, clutching her staff like a shield. “We…will have to wait here for him?”

  “Most likely,” said Arthuras. “There are two roads to Moragannon. I have taken us by the high road, for if Marsile acquired Ashborn guides, even the Ashborn would not willingly come through the corrupted meadows. Marsile might have taken the lower road.”

  “What are we waiting for?” said Raelum, clenching his sword hilt. Marsile might stand at the far end of the narrow canyon even now. “Let’s go.” He shoved past Arthuras and into the defile. After a moment the others followed him.

  The rock walls towered over Raelum, fifty feet high on either side. The strange chorus of groans grew louder, echoing inside Raelum’s head. He glimpsed a dark shape at the end of the canyon, and even that brief glimpse sent a sickening jolt of revulsion through him.

  Finally he reached the end of the defile, and stepped onto a high ledge, the others behind him. The ledge stood over a deep valley. On the far side of the valley an enormous rocky spur jutted from the side of the mountain.

  And on that spur sat the most hideous shape Raelum had ever seen.

  It loomed like a great black castle against gray sky, a thousand feet tall, its stones darker than the night. The towers and spires rose in graceful lines, yet something about their shapes made Raelum’s skin crawl. Statues adorned the windows and arches, images of the Ashborn, of demons, and horrors Raelum had never even dreamed existed. The fortress seemed a monumental pile of stone and black iron.

  Yet it appeared to twist and writhe. Swollen black veins covered it in a web, pulsing, drawing black power from the earth. The groaning chorus came from the great fortress, echoing in Raelum’s mind. His demonborn senses had never such a powerful concentration of dark energy, not in Nightgrim, not even in the catacombs beneath the nameless city.

  “Moragannon,” said Arthuras.

  “Merciful Divine,” muttered Lionel.“How could any man willingly seek out such a blasphemy?” The horror vanished, replaced by cold anger. “When we find Marsile, we will bring him to account for this.”

  “And there he is,” said Carandis, pointing.

  Raelum followed her finger. A broad road wound its way to the gates of the monstrous black tower. He glimpsed dozens of small figures moving along the road. Most had the blood-red hides of the Ashborn. But in their midst walked a man in crimson robes, carrying a black spear, a small knot of ghouls trailing after him.

  “Those are Ashborn, I think,” said Carandis, “but they’re bigger than the one we killed…”

  “Aye,” said Arthuras. “That was but one caste of Ashborn. Those are warrior-Ashborn, strong and savage. Harder to take down than a hunter-Ashborn.” He squinted. “See that giant behind Marsile? I think that is an berserker-Ashborn, but there is something strange about it.”

  “No matter,” said Raelum. He shoved aside the horror and the fear. “What are we waiting for?”

  He started down the slope into the valley, the others following.

  ###

  Marsile stared at the huge, twisted shape of Moragannon.

  His stomach quivered, a sharp pain flaring behind his eyes. He had spent a good part of his long life searching for this place. Within lay the remnants of a Hierarch of the Old Empire, and Baligant’s moldering bones held the secrets of binding a high demon and claiming eternal life. Marsile had killed dozens of
men, crossed half the world, and risked death again and again to reach this place.

  But he did not want to go inside.

  He cursed himself for his fear. Did he not know the secrets of blood sorcery? Had he not lived thrice the span of most mortal men? Had he not surpassed lesser Adepts as an eagle soared above the rude earth? He had no reason to stare at the great dark tower like a feeble-minded peasant.

  Yet stare he did. The great fortress groaned and trembled, and the groans took shape in Marsile’s mind.

  “Come to me,” they seemed to say, “come to me.”

  “Dark One?” said Kazathan.

  Marsile blinked. How long had he been staring at the tower?

  “We have come, Dark One,” said Kazathan, “to Moragannon, where lies the great Lord Baligant.” The Ashborn’s lips split in a mocking sneer. “Is it not glorious?”

  “Aye,” said Marsile, wincing at the hoarseness in his voice, “most glorious.”

  He wanted to turn and run.

  Yet he dared not. The Ashborn might have proclaimed him a Dark One, but in truth he was their prisoner. If he tried to flee, they would cut him down without mercy. And if he restored Baligant, then the Ashborn would kill him anyway. He saw it in their eyes. They loathed humans, and would offer him as a sacrifice to a reborn Baligant.

  But that was foolishness. Baligant was dead, and would not walk the mortal world again. Marsile took a deep breath and steadied himself. He had not survived every obstacle in his path only to quail in sight of his goal. And he could deal with these wretched Ashborn. Guile might suffice where force would fail.

  “I must enter Moragannon alone,” said Marsile. “Only those already dedicated to great Baligant,” he waved a hand at Tored, the ghouls, and the hulking berserker, “may accompany me.”

  Kazathan growled.

  “It is ordained,” said Marsile. “The spells will not function if any interfere.”

  “You take the mortal children with you,” said the Ashborn chieftain.

  “It is necessary,” said Marsile, “mortal blood must be spilled for Baligant to return. Would you put his return in doubt?”

  Kazathan said nothing, his eyes narrowing.

  ###

  “Good,” whispered Arthuras, peering over the boulder.

  Raelum’s heart pounded. They crouched behind a boulder near the road, not forty feet from Marsile himself. About thirty Ashborn stood on the road. Marsile argued with the largest of them, the Ashborn chieftain growling answers.

  “No Ashborn blood sorcerers,” said Arthuras. “We might be able to take them.”

  “Shoot him,” whispered Lionel, “now.”

  “I can’t get a clear shot,” said Arthuras. “Too many Ashborn.” He drew his sword quietly. “They don’t have steel weapons. If we take them hard, we may win through.”

  Raelum nodded and drew his sword, as did Lionel. The blades shimmered, the holy fires awakening. Carandis gripped her staff in one hand and began a spell.

  “Now!” said Arthuras. Raelum leapt over the boulder, sword and shield ready, and plunged into the Ashborn.

  ###

  “My warriors will set a guard on the road, if you wish,” said Kazathan, “but myself, and a few of my most trusted kin, shall accompany you.” His eyes glittered. “For your protection, Dark One.”

  Marsile shook his head. “That is…”

  Someone roared.

  Marsile whirled just in time to see three men and a woman spring from the valley besides the road. Two held swords that burned with white, while the third’s sword snarled with orange-yellow fire. The woman wore crimson robes and carried a long staff. Even as Marsile watched, Carandis Marken raised her hand and unleashed a blast of astralfire that killed three Ashborn.

  His enemies had found him!

  Marsile caught a glimpse of Raelum’s red eyes, filled with murderous fury. That boy had tracked him across half the world, his rage crushing all the obstacles in his path.

  Marsile saw his death in those red eyes.

  His fear redoubled.

  “Dark One!” roared Kazathan, eyes fixed on the white flames of the swords. “Your foes are upon us!”

  Marsile said nothing, unable to look from Raelum.

  “Master!” hissed Tored. “Master, we must go. Into Moragannon! Now, now!”

  “Go!” said Kazathan, pulling free his steel sword. “Raise great Baligant! We will slaughter the enemy and await you here! Go!”

  Marsile managed a nod. “You!” He pointed at the giant ghoul. “Stay here. Kill my enemies!”

  The berserker turned and lumbered towards the attackers as more Ashborn died.

  “Master!” said Tored, eyes flashing.

  Marsile nodded and ran towards the hideous shadow of Moragannon, the ghouls and Tored racing at his side.

  ###

  Raelum caught a spear thrust on his shield. The obsidian spearhead shattered against the shield’s metal boss, and the Ashborn roared and swung the shaft like a club. Raelum caught the blow on his shield, and the shock of it almost numbed his arm. He sidestepped, riposted, and tore a gash across the Ashborn’s chest. The Ashborn howled and kept coming. The weapons of the Ashborn were inferior, and they had no armor. Yet they possessed tremendous strength, and their hides were thick as leather armor.

  Raelum drew on the Light, filling himself with strength, and brought his sword down in a mighty chop. The Ashborn raised the wooden shaft as a shield, and Raelum’s sword sheared through the shaft and plunged into the Ashborn’s chest. The Ashborn gibbered, black ichor pulsing from the wound. Raelum kicked the Ashborn off his blade and turned to find another.

  A dozen dead Ashborn littered the road. Lionel hacked and stabbed, bellowing hymns to the Divine. Arthuras fought in a wheeling blur, his sword leaving trails of fire in the air. Carandis loosed blast after blast of astralfire, setting the Ashborn ablaze.

  Raelum caught a glimpse of Marsile, crimson robes flapping as he ran for Moragannon, a cluster of ghouls at his side. He turned, ready to sprint after Marsile, and then hesitated. He could not leave his friends here to face the Ashborn alone.

  The Ashborn fell back, and a dark shadow fell over Raelum.

  The giant ghoul came at him. It looked similar to the other Ashborn, though thrice their height, its horns longer and sharper than swords. It carried a club the size of a small tree trunk The mummified remnants of skin dangled from thick bones, and bits of dust fell from its empty eyes.

  Raelum had never seen a ghoul of such size.

  Raelum jerked back, and the huge club blurred in front of his face. The berserker spun around, bringing the club down in a backhand. Raelum leapt aside, and the club crashed into the ground, the earth trembling. Raelum tried to dart in, but stepped back. The huge ghoul moved too fast, its arms too long, for Raelum to land a blow. The club came crashing down again. Raelum sidestepped and slashed, trying to take off the creature’s hand at the wrist.

  His blade sliced through withered flesh, but skidded off the berserker’s iron-hard bones. The creature’s free hand slammed against Raelum’s chest, and the blow sent him soaring through the air, arms flailing. He crashed to the ground, the breath exploding from his lungs in a painful wheeze.

  The Ashborn laughed and jeered, slamming the butts of their spears against the ground in a crashing rhythm.

  The berserker pivoted, following Raelum.

  Raelum rolled to his feet, coughing. Lionel, Carandis, and Arthuras clustered around him. Carandis loosed a burst of astralfire, ripping a smoking chunk from the giant ghoul’s chest, but the damage did not slow the demon thing.

  “Now what?” said Carandis.

  “It’s naught more than a ghoul, if an overlarge one,” said Arthuras. “No wits, just a hatred of all that live and breathe. ”

  “So?” said Raelum. The berserker raised its club for a strike.

  “I’ll distract it. Go for the ankles.” Arthuras sprang forward, brandishing his burning blade. The berserker swung at him, and Arthur
as jumped back, the wind of the club’s passage pulling back the hood of his cloak.

  “Wait!” said Carandis. “I can…”

  “Go!” said Raelum, running at the giant ghoul, Lionel sprinting at his side. The berserker wheeled towards him, club rising. Arthuras ran at the demon thing’s side, hacking at its knee. The ghoul whirled, changing the direction of its strike. Arthuras ducked beneath the whistling blow, and Raelum set both hands around the hilt of his sword and hacked at the giant’s left ankle. The blade cut through the withered flesh and chipped at the bone. Lionel swung, chopping through demon flesh. The creature shuddered and turned towards them.

  Arthuras danced to the right, stabbing at the ghoul’s knee. The demon beast turned towards him, giving Raelum another opening to strike.

  Carandis threw a blast of silver astralfire into the berserker’s face. Crimson sparks flashed around the creature, and the giant ghoul went as motionless as a statue. The jeering chant of the Ashborn ended in dismayed growls. Raelum stepped back, puzzled. Had Carandis found a spell to destroy the creature?

  The berserker turned and brought its club down, reducing a Ashborn to bloody pulp. The largest Ashborn roared, brandishing an ancient steel sword, but the huge ghoul brought its club hammering down and crushed the big Ashborn. The remaining Ashborn turned and fled, and the berserker lumbered down the road in pursuit of them, club swinging.

  “What did you do?” said Raelum, wiping sweat from his brow.

  “Arthuras said that the Ashborn had no blood sorcerers,” said Carandis, brushing some dust from the shoulder of her robe. "One of Marsile’s spells had to be controlling that thing. So I disrupted Marsile’s spell.” She shrugged. “Ghouls crave the taste of living blood. Yet that berserker never saw mortal men in life, only other Ashborn…”

  “So when it was free of Marsile’s spell, it went after the Ashborn,” said Lionel. A faint crunch echoed through the hills, followed by an Ashborn’s terrorized howl. “By the Divine, Adept, you are a clever one.”

  Carandis smiled. “I but try.”