The Third Soul Omnibus Two

by Jonathan Moeller

  Marsile clenched his hands in panic. He had lost the drugged children. He didn’t even have the black spear any longer, its power drained away by Raelum’s strikes. What could he do?

  A groan echoed through the chamber.

  Raelum lay near the doors, climbing to his feet, his blazing sword in one hand.

  Marsile’s panic exploded into full-blown terror. He no longer had any minions. He had lost the black spear. His spells had proven unable to stop the maddened Paladin. In a few moments, Raelum would rise and ram that burning sword into Marsile’s heart.

  In desperation, Marsile pulled free the Book of Summoned Dead and opened it to the page of the summoning and binding spell. Perhaps he had time. Perhaps he could pull up Baligant’s high demon even without the children’s blood, pry the secret of immortality…

  Raelum came to his feet.

  Marsile ran to the sarcophagus, gathered his power, and began casting the spell.

  ###

  Raelum shook his head, trying to get his bearings.

  A voice thundered out, ringing off the high dome of the ceiling.

  He saw Marsile standing over a hulking iron sarcophagus, a large black book cradled in one arm, his free hand tracing intricate symbols. What was he doing? Surely his spell couldn’t succeed without the children…

  Raelum broke into a run, intending to cut Marsile down. Marsile glanced at him and returned his eyes to the book, a note of panic entering his voice. His fingers moved in a blur, a corona of harsh blood-colored fire dancing around his hand.

  Even as Raelum raised his sword to strike, Marsile thrust out his palm. A sudden chill shot through Raelum’s bones, and the iron sarcophagus trembled.

  “Too late!” said Marsile, eyes reflecting the crimson fire. “Too late!”

  The lid exploded off the sarcophagus, and struck the floor with an echoing clang. The shock knocked Raelum off his feet. A beam of piercing light shot from the opened sarcophagus. Marsile flung his arm over his eyes, and Raelum forced himself to stand, ready to face whatever horror emerged from the sarcophagus.

  The light winked out, and the echoes died away.

  Silence fell.

  Marsile inched towards the sarcophagus and looked down.

  “It…it didn’t work,” he whispered.

  Raelum strode closer. The opened sarcophagus stood between him and Marsile.

  Within lay a crumbling skeleton. Ancient, corroded armor sheathed the ribs and limbs. A relief on the breastplate showed a grinning skull crowned in bones.

  Atop the skeleton’s chest and legs lay a massive greatsword of gleaming black steel. Unlike the bones and the armor, the sword remained in perfect condition. A line of deep-carved sigils covered the blade from crosspiece to tip.

  A few lines of crimson fire stirred deep within the sigils.

  “Nothing,” croaked Marsile, trembling. “Nothing! It didn’t work!”

  “Is this what you’ve come for, then?” shouted Raelum. “Some old bones? A few bits of rusted armor? Is that why you slaughtered the villagers of Karrent? The Brothers of St. Arik’s? St. Tarill’s? Sir Oliver?” Raelum circled around the sarcophagus, sword in hand. “Is that why you killed him? For bones and dust?”

  The fires in the sigils glimmered brighter.

  A strange look of fascination came over Marsile’s face.

  “Answer me!” said Raelum.

  The black book fell from Marsile’s hand and hit the floor with a heavy thump. He reached into the sarcophagus and picked up the black sword. The bloody glow from the sigils played over Marsile’s face, reflected in his eyes.

  “You think to defend yourself with that?” said Raelum.

  Marsile did not answer, did not even seem aware to hear. He raised his free hand and ran his fingers down the flat of the blade, as if caressing it.

  The runes burst into bright red flames.

  Marsile went rigid, his eyes bulging. The veins in his temples swelled. Raelum watched in uneasy confusion. He had expected Marsile to fight or to run, not this.

  Then Marsile began to scream.

  It was a high-pitched, piteous wail. Marsile rocked back and forth, screeching, terrified eyes fixed on the glowing greatsword. He jerked his arm back and forth, as if trying to fling the sword away.

  Yet his fingers remained clenched around the hilt.

  “What is this?” said Raelum.

  “Help me!” said Marsile.

  “What?” said Raelum.

  Drool frothed from Marsile’s lips. “It…it’s…my mind, my mind…” He screamed again. “Don’t…don’t let it take me!”

  “Fool,” said Raelum. “You picked up the weapon of a Hierarch of the Old Empire? Now it is devouring you, isn’t it?”

  Utter despair crossed Marsile’s face. “No! No! Help…help me…ahh!”

  Raelum grounded his sword point. “I will not. Not after what you have done. I’ll watch you suffer for your crimes.”

  “You…don’t…understand!” said Marsile. “It…it will take me…it will…”

  Raelum only glared in answer. Marsile deserved this, deserved every instant of torment Baligant’s greatsword inflicted Marsile’s screams grew louder and louder.

  Then, all at once, he froze, falling silent. The runes on the sword blazed.

  And Marsile seemed to change before Raelum’s eyes.

  He stood straighter, the stoop vanishing from his shoulders. The very cast of his face altered. The weariness and despair vanished. In their place appeared cold confidence and cruel contempt. He almost seemed a different man.

  Or, perhaps, a different man wearing Marsile’s flesh…

  Marsile’s eyes opened.

  Raelum stepped back, sword raised in guard.

  The Adept’s eyes blazed like burning coals.

  “What have you done?” breathed Raelum.

  “So,” said Marsile, holding the greatsword in an easy grip. His voice had changed, become stronger and more confident. “One wielder of the Light to contest my return? Has your Order so weakened?” His burning eyes seemed to stab into Raelum’s mind. “Or…ah, I see. You are the only one that knows.” He strode around the sarcophagus, taking the sword’s hilt in both hands. “We shall deal with that, soon enough.”

  He moved with terrifying speed, the black sword blurring towards Raelum’s head.

  Raelum barely got his sword up in time. The force of Marsile’s strike knocked him back, and Marsile twisted and launched a slash at Raelum’s knees. Raelum blocked, and the raw power of the blow pushed Raelum off balance. He jumped backwards, out of the black sword’s range.

  Marsile sighed. “Foolish boy. Lay down your blade and I will kill you quickly.”

  “Never,” said Raelum. “I care not what powers you might have plundered from Baligant’s tomb, but you killed Sir Oliver, and I will not rest until he has been avenged!”

  Marsile frowned. “Sir Oliver?” Then his eyes widened, and he laughed. “Fool! Do you not know who I am? What I am?”

  “All too well,” said Raelum.

  “I think not,” said Marsile. “I was before the world was made, fool child, and I shall be after the last star crumbles into ash. Men named me Baligant, and called me a high demon, but wearing the flesh of a man I ruled over the world of mortals, and I shall rule over it once more.”

  “What?” said Raelum. “Has madness overcome you? Baligant is dead.”

  The blazing red eyes narrowed. “You mean Marsile? Yes. I can hear his imprisoned soul screaming. I see his memories. The fool sought to bind me.” His laughter rang like thunder. “This body is old and weak, but shall serve my purpose until I claim a new one. I have returned, and I shall summon my servants from the astral world and give them bodies both living and dead. The Ashborn will rally at my command, and I shall bring this world to order.”

  “No,” said Raelum. “No.” Yet he saw the truth in Marsile’s glowing eyes, in the cold set of his face, the proud stance of his body.

  Or, at least, in the body
that had once belonged to Marsile.

  He should have killed Marsile when he had the chance. How many thousands would suffer for Raelum’s folly?

  “The wielders of the Light shall pay,” said Baligant, “for what they did to me.” He grinned like a wolf. “Shall we begin?”

  Baligant leapt forward, crimson robes flying, sword ablaze with bloody fire.

  Raelum just got his shield up in time. The shield shattered in a spray of shards and twisted metal rivets. Raelum flew backwards and slid across the floor, groaning.

  “Pitiful,” said Baligant. “What became of the great Knights who defended the Seeress when she marched against my armies?” He raised his sword and advanced. “All the easier.”

  Raelum growled, jumped up, and drew on the Light, letting it strengthen and speed him. Baligant’s sword came down in a high overhand chop. Raelum parried, twisted, and slashed for Baligant’s chest. Baligant sidestepped and swung, and Raelum ducked. The pommel of the black greatsword clipped Raelum’s shoulder, and he stumbled and went to one knee. Baligant sprang forward and Raelum rolled aside. Baligant’s sword hammered into the floor, the stone tiles splintering.

  Raelum circled away, heart hammering. The Hierarch or the high demon or whatever it was moved with power and speed that would have shamed Nightgrim.

  “That is better,” hissed Baligant, “but one wielder of the Light alone cannot overcome me. I slew them by the dozens. Their broken skulls crowned my banners. ” His eyes blazed. “Come, boy, lay down your blade and die.”

  Raelum reeled as Baligant came for him. He had no way to stop Baligant, no way to defeat the mighty Hierarch. Despair gripped him.

  Almost too late, Raelum realized that Baligant was using magic, using a spell to cloud his mind with despair. He flung himself aside, Baligant’s blade whistling past his ear.

  “Impressive,” said Baligant. “You have the strength to resist me. Why, I wonder?” He stalked towards Raelum. “Ah! Your eyes. You have been marked by one of my kin.”

  “The Light of the Divine gives me the strength to oppose you,” growled Raelum.

  Baligant laughed. “Perhaps.”

  Raelum flung himself into the attack, slashing, stabbing, and thrusting. Baligant backed away, his greatsword moving back and forth, picking off Raelum’s attacks. The enormous sword must have weighed at least twenty pounds, yet Baligant moved the weapon as if it weighed no more than a feather.

  “Tell me, boy,” said Baligant, parrying. “You are marked by my kin, and you were born to a woman possessed by a demon. How the rabble of the world must hate you! And yet you are a Knight of the Silver Order! Why defend those who loathe you?”

  “Because I must,” said Raelum.

  He stepped back, letting Baligant take the initiative. Raelum caught Baligant’s blade and pushed down, knocking the Hierarch off balance. Raelum whipped his sword around, trying to slash across Baligant’s chest. Baligant jumped back, but not before Raelum’s blade clipped his shoulder.

  The crimson inferno in Baligant’s eyes flickered.

  Baligant glided back, sword raised. “Indeed, you are strong!”

  Raelum said nothing. Sweat sheeted down his face.

  “They will hate and fear you forever,” said Baligant. “For you are stronger than them, greater. You are more than human, and you can become greater yet! You think to defend the humans from me? Why? Even if you strike me down, they will still curse and loathe you!”

  Raelum launched a feint of his own, stabbing at Baligant’s head. His movement slid into a downward strike. Baligant parried, rolled his wrists, and thrust. Raelum slapped aside the black blade and stepped back.

  “Enough talk,” said Raelum. “Kill me, if you can.”

  “Whatever for?” said Baligant. “If I slay you, you will rise again to serve me. I would rather you joined me of your own accord.”

  “You’re mad,” said Raelum.

  “There is brilliance in what mortals call madness,” said Baligant. “You cannot stop me. I will strike you down, leave this place, and raise my hosts once more. Join me as an ally. You are demonborn. If a demon inhabits your flesh, you will become a being of tremendous power, stronger than even the greatest Adepts of the Conclave, mightier than the most venerable Silver Knights.”

  “No,” said Raelum.

  “You are strong, and will become stronger yet,” said Baligant. “You can be my strong right hand, the bringer of my fury.” His burning eyes cored in Raelum’s mind. “Do you not see that we want the same things? A world brought to order? The corrupt, the proud, the haughty, the slavers and the brutal emirs and fat merchants. I see how you hate them. Yes.” His resonant voice dropped to a whisper. “We can destroy them together, remake the world in a better form. No more toil, no more misery, no more sweat and tears. No more death. Neither the Seeress nor the Divine ever understood. We can make the world over again, make men undying.”

  For a fleeting moment Raelum wondered what it would be like to return to Khauldun at the head of a vast Ashborn host, to thrown down the cruel princes and the bloated merchants, to give their riches to the starving orphans of the slums.

  Raelum shuddered. “No.”

  “I can tell you,” said Baligant, voice purring, “what you really are. Have you not wondered? Demonborn, they call you, but what does that mean? I can show you the truth. I can tell you who you really are. I can help you become what you were meant to be.” He lowered his sword and held out his hand. “Will you not come to me?”

  Raelum dashed forward, sword high.

  Baligant laughed. “So be it! You shall join me, whether you will it or not!” The runes of his sword blazed brighter as he ran to meet Raelum’s attack.

  The blades met with a thundering crash, white fire straining against red. Baligant shoved, breaking the parry, and launched a furious rains of blows. Raelum retreated, and Baligant drove him back until Raelum struck the icy stones of the wall. Baligant’s sword came for him, and Raelum managed to duck. The black sword slammed into the wall, shattering the stone blocks.

  And, for just a moment, the blade was stuck in the stone.

  Raelum twisted aside and flailed at Baligant. His sword scraped against the Hierarch’s forearms, the holy fires writhing against his flesh.

  Baligant shuddered.

  The crimson fire in his eyes vanished.

  “Help me.”

  It was Marsile’s voice, shuddering and broken. The Adept’s terrified eyes met his. “Help me! Don’t let him take me again…ahh!”

  Raelum spun around, sword arcing for Marsile’s neck.

  The black sword whipped up and clanged against Raelum’s blade. The crimson fires had returned to the dark eyes, and Baligant had claimed control of Marsile’s flesh once more.

  “Ah,” said Baligant. “A pity you cannot hear his screams. Was he your mortal enemy? You would enjoy his torment, I think.” He smiled. “And soon enough you shall scream for all time, for daring to oppose me.”

  He came at Raelum, hacking and slashing. Raelum rolled away from the wall and backed towards the empty sarcophagus, arms and shoulders aching with effort. Baligant thrust, his sword tip scraping against the side of Raelum’s mail. Raelum tried to riposte. The flat of his blade slapped against the inside of Baligant’s forearm.

  Again, just for an instant, the inferno in Baligant’s eyes winked out. Raelum got a glimpse of Marsile, broken and terrified, before the flames returned. Baligant growled and shoved, and Raelum stumbled and went to one knee.

  Baligant didn’t hesitate, his sword plunging down in a two-handed chop. Raelum flung himself aside, and Baligant’s strike shattered the tiles of the floor in a spray of glittering splinters. Raelum lurched back to his feet and yanked Arthuras’s dagger free, gripping it in his left hand, Sir Oliver's sword in his right.

  The holy fires of his sword seemed to drive the high demon back, return control of the body to Marsile. If he could just drive Baligant back long enough to land a killing blow with the dagger…<
br />
  “Marsile!” said Raelum. “Fight him! If you can hear me, fight, or you’ll never be free of him!”

  The fires in Baligant’s eyes blazed brighter. “Fool boy. He is mine. He gave himself to me, did he not?”

  Raelum gathered his waning strength, gripped his weapons, and attacked. Baligant moved his blade back and forth, picking off Raelum’s blows. Raelum slashed with his dagger, hitting Baligant’s shoulder. The wound didn’t slow the Hierarch at all. Baligant roared and shoved, sending Raelum to the floor with a bone-jarring crash. Raelum rolled under Baligant’s sweeping stab and slashed at his knees, his sword blade nicking Baligant’s shin.

  The flames vanished from his eyes.

  “Kill me!” shrieked Marsile, “kill me, before it takes…” His body staggered back, weaving like a drunkard.

  “Fool!” roared Baligant’s voice from Marsile’s mouth. “You are mine! Mine!”

  Marsile shuddered, the bloody fires blazing back to life in his eyes.

  Baligant stalked towards Raelum, sword burning.

  Raelum set himself.

  Baligant roared and launched a two-handed swing for Raelum’s head.

  Raelum ducked, twisted aside, and stabbed. Raelum swung again and again, and Baligant blocked every blow, twisted, and kicked Raelum in the gut. Raelum groaned and crumpled to the floor.

  “Now,” said Baligant, raising his sword high, “let us…”

  He shuddered. The fires in his eyes flickered madly, and his face writhed through a dozen expressions. Raelum heard both Marsile’s and Baligant’s voice bursting from the mouth, screaming at each other.

  It was his last chance. He rolled to one knee and stabbed with both hands.

  His sword plunged into Baligant’s stomach and burst out his back. Marsile’s terrified, agonized eyes bored into Raelum’s face.

  “Don’t let it take me again,” Marsile croaked, blood bubbling from his lips.

  Raelum yanked his sword free, spun, and took off Marsile’s head before Baligant could reclaim control. The head rolled away across the floor, forever frozen in a mask of despair. The body twitched and fell to the floor, lifeless.

  The black sword hit the floor point-first with a clang, falling towards Raelum.