Before he could stop himself, he caught the hilt with his left hand.
A wave of ravening cold roared up from the sword and stabbed into Raelum’s chest. The sigil on the sword’s blade blazed into new life. Raelum screamed and tried to throw aside the sword. But his cold fingers refused to release the hilt.
Baligant’s voice, mocking and triumphant, boomed inside Raelum’s skull.
“And now you are mine.”
The voice echoed inside his head.
And suddenly Raelum understood.
There never had been a Baligant, not really, at least a mortal man named Baligant. There had been a mage-lord of the Old Empire wielding this black sword, a sword that contained a bound high demon. A high demon that had worn that Hierarch like a man wearing a suit of clothing, a high demon that had taken the name of Baligant for its own. A high demon that had possessed Marsile.
And a high demon that was now claiming Raelum for its own.
He felt the high demon’s black power stabbing into his mind, tearing into his soul like swords of ice. Baligant wanted his mortal flesh, wanted to lock Raelum’s screaming soul into a dark corner of his mind.
Raelum let the fury of the Light fill him and fought with everything he had. He reeled like a lunatic, growling and snarling. The Light beat aside Baligant’s writhing tendrils, yet the chill gripped his arm like a vice. He could not throw down the sword.
“You are mine!”
“No!” said Raelum. “Leave me! I’ll slay myself first!”
He struggled against the dark presence in his mind. Arthuras had been right. Sir Oliver had been right. His hatred of Marsile, his fixation of revenge, had almost loosed this beast upon the world of men once more.
Raelum would not let it go free.
But Baligant would not give up.
The high demon’s voice filled his mind.
“You are indeed strong. I cannot overcome you, nor you me. Why should we struggle? Let us merge, let us become one, two minds occupying the same flesh! We will be stronger than any creature that has ever walked the earth.” Terrifying and exhilarating visions filled Raelum’s mind. “Yes. We will go to Khauldun, free the slaves and the children. We shall cross the sea and throw down the slavers, and perhaps even find the Sister who treated you so kindly. We will destroy all who oppose us, and the nations of the earth shall bow before us.”
Raelum’s mind began to buckle. How long had he dreamed of finding the power to destroy the cruel and the mighty? Now he could do it. He could throw down the corrupt princes of earth. He could slaughter his enemies, permit their corpses to rise as his ghoul servants. Who could stop him? He would become a great lord, a just lord, ruling wisely and well. He could become…
Raelum remembered a fat, red-haired man, laughing as he described Sister Julietta’s fate.
He could become just like Red Philip.
Raelum screamed in horror.
Baligant’s voice rose to a roar.
Raelum raised Sir Oliver’s sword and hammered at Baligant’s sword. The two blades clashed and clanged. Raelum hammered again and again, screaming, Baligant’s howls of rage echoing in his skull.
Raelum rammed the point of Sir Oliver’s sword into a sigil on Baligant’s blade. Both weapons bucked and heaved.
Then, all at once, both swords exploded.
The shock sent Raelum flying. Shards stabbed into his chest, his arms, his face. He hit the ground with a crash, hearing bones crack.
Baligant’s scream of fury faded from Raelum’s mind, and everything went black.
###
A tremor went through the floor.
Lionel raised his shield as another jolt shook Moragannon. The imprisoned wraiths in the walls flickered, and the black veins shuddered and writhed.
The black skeletons began to shriek.
“My lord!” the woman wailed. “My lord!” She screamed again, hands hooked into claws, and flung herself at Arthuras.
She did not get two steps. Cracks appeared in her bones, green light welling up from the fissures. The other two skeletons froze, shuddering and moaning, and their screams rose into agonized wails.
The ghostly images winked out and the skeletons exploded. Lionel threw up his shield, bone shards falling in a rain. With a terrific crack, the iron doors fell down, sending cracks shooting through the floor. The jolt knocked Lionel off his feet, and for an awful moment he thought the entire black pile of Moragannon would collapse on their heads.
The shaking stopped, and the lights in the walls vanished, blackness falling over the chamber.
Arthuras sang a spell. His sword burst into flame, shedding light over the darkness.
Utter silence filled Moragannon, save for the crackle of Arthuras’s sword.
The strange moaning had stopped.
Chapter 19 - Broken Sword
Voices echoed in Raelum’s ears.
“He’s not dead, is he?”
“No. But hurt, badly.” Armor clattered. “Be quiet so I can concentrate. ”
A flush of warmth washed through Raelum. The world rotated around him for some time.
His eyes swam back into focus.
Lionel knelt over him, sweating with exertion, the Light glimmering about his fingertips. Over him stood Arthuras and Carandis. The flames from Arthuras’s sword and the ball of blue light hovering over Carandis’s palm threw back the darkness.
Raelum sat up, gasping, ignoring the stabs of pain in his flesh. “Baligant! Is he loose? My fault!”
“Calm yourself,” said Lionel. “It’s over. Marsile’s dead. You killed him.”
Raelum looked down. In his right hand he held the broken hilt of Sir Oliver’s sword, the aurelium core glinting. In his left he clutched the shattered hilt of a black greatsword. Rust covered the once-fine metal, and flaked away as Raelum watched.
He flung the thing away in disgust, and it struck the floor and shattered.
“What happened?” said Lionel.
“It was my fault,” whispered Raelum. “I almost killed you all. I am sorry.”
They stared at him.
Raelum closed his eyes. “Marsile cast the spell on the iron sarcophagus. Inside was a black sword, the sword of Baligant. He took it up and began to scream. I…I did nothing. I thought the weapon would burn away his soul. I wanted to watch him suffer for what he had done. But the sword was a vessel for Baligant’s high demon. It claimed Marsile’s body.”
“The fool,” said Arthuras. “Marsile brought this on himself.”
“You mean to say you faced a high demon and lived?” said Lionel, stunned.
“Barely,” said Raelum. “The fires of Sir Oliver’s sword loosened his grip on Marsile’s body. Marsile begged me to kill him. I did.” He tried to smile. “Sir Oliver and all the others have been avenged.” He closed his eyes again, sick and weary to the very core of his soul. “I caught the sword. Baligant tried to take me, but I struck his sword with Sir Oliver’s, and both blades shattered.”
“I wonder,” said Carandis, frowning, “if all Hierarchs were only the puppets of their respective high demons? In the old chronicles, it describes how the Hierarchs wielded swords burning with the fires of a demon. I always thought that a poetic flourish.” She nudged aside a rusting shard of black steel with the toe of her boot. “Evidently it was not.”
“Thank the Divine,” said Raelum. “I was a fool. You were right, Arthuras. If I had not been so eager to see him suffer. . . I almost loosed Baligant on the world again…”
“Marsile is to blame, not you,” said Arthuras.
“Help me up,” said Raelum.
Lionel and Carandis pulled him to his feet. A crumpled black shape lay nearby, just at the edge of the light. Raelum limped towards it.
Marsile’s decapitated corpse lay sprawled on the floor, the head lying near the shoulder. Raelum winced in disgust. Marsile’s corpse had withered to skin and bones. The head gaped up at Raelum, eyes glittering, forever frozen in despair.
All the li
fe Marsile had stolen, it seemed, had abandoned him.
He turned away. “It’s over.”
Sir Oliver Calabrant, all those who had suffered and died at Marsile’s hands, had been avenged. Yet Raelum felt a great, crushing emptiness. The victory had brought him no joy. Sir Oliver was still gone. Sister Julietta was still dead.
A paralyzing doubt struck him.
What would he do now?
“You’re taking the skull?” said Lionel, disgusted.
“Well, certainly,” said Carandis, wrapping Marsile’s head in a rag. “I was sent to kill him, after all. I need some proof that we were successful.”
“What of his dark books?” said Lionel.
“You had best take them,” said Arthuras. “We cannot leave them here. Else another fool like Marsile will come seeking them. We will take them back to St. Tarill’s. No doubt First Brother Ulrich will want to keep them under lock and key, though they should be destroyed.”
Raelum picked up the shattered hilt of Sir Oliver’s sword. He would not leave it here. He gathered up the shards, one by one. Perhaps he could take them to Saranor. Maybe Sir Oliver still had kin there.
“And some good news,” said Lionel. “The children. The ones Marsile took from Karrent. They all live, though they slumber. Carandis can break the spell keeping them asleep.”
“Not until we get to St. Tarill’s,” said Arthuras.
“Why would you let that diabolical spell linger?” said Lionel.
“We don’t have enough food to feed nine children for weeks,” said Arthuras.
“Oh.”
“For that matter,” said Carandis, “how are we going to take nine sleeping children across the wilderness to St. Tarill’s?”
“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” said Arthuras.
Raelum followed them.
Chapter 20 - The Ocean
Spring had come by the time they reached St. Tarill’s.
Arthuras built sleds to carry the children, and they made the long journey down the mountain. The Ashborn did not trouble them.
They crossed the heart of old Arvandil, making a wide arc around the nameless city. The blood of the sleeping children drew wandering demons, and more than once they had to fight off maddened reaper-ghouls.
As the snow melted and buds appeared on the trees, they passed the burned ruins of Abbotsford. The charred timbers jutted like broken fingers against the sky. Raelum felt demons lurking in the ruined place, but none came forth to trouble them.
They crossed the ancient bridge of the Elder People, and returned to the lands where the barrier against the astral world was stronger.
###
Leaves rustled on the trees as they walked the last mile to St. Tarill’s. Nine bewildered children walked with them, their bellies full of goat meat and cheese from Arthuras’s caves.
The Alderine River glittered in the spring sunshine. Raelum looked about in tired wonder. Despite the horrors that lurked in the forests across the river, the lands looked beautiful, almost free of the demons’ threat.
St. Tarill’s came into sight.
Raelum blinked in surprise. A new village had sprung up around the base of the monastery’s hill, with several more houses under construction. Even from a distance, he heard hammers and saws at work.
“Those are villagers from Karrent, if I’m not mistaken,” said Carandis.
Fresh-cultivated fields lay about the monastery and the half-built village. Men toiled behind oxen-pulled plows, while women followed, pushing seeds into the wet earth. One of the men stopped, saw them, and ran into the village. A thin woman, her stringy hair tied back with a gray kerchief, staggered towards them, eyes wide.
She began to scream.
Raelum stepped back, hand dropping to his dagger. But the woman was screaming in joy, not fear. One of the children, a little girl, squealed and ran to the woman. The woman scooped up the child, sobbing and laughing all at once.
A flood of people erupted from the village, and soon the children were among their families once more. Women wept, and men fell to their knees and offered thanksgiving to the Divine.
And to Raelum and the others.
“A warmer welcome than the last time,” said Carandis.
“We were trying to kill Sir Raelum, as I recall,” said Lionel.
Raelum said nothing. The children had found their parents again. Raelum had lost Sister Julietta, had lost Sir Oliver.
Where would he go now? Where could he go?
“Ho, the First Brother!” said Arthuras.
Silver-bearded Ulrich came to their side, a train of Brothers at his back. He stared at them for a moment, then he laughed. “By the Divine, the merciful Divine! I never thought to see any of you alive again. And you, Arthuras! I’ve not seen you in years. They found you, then?”
“So it would seem,” said Arthuras, smiling.
“Then…you did it?” said the First. “Marsile…he is…”
“Dead,” said Raelum. “It is over.” He handed a large wrapped bundle to Ulrich. “The books he stole from St. Tarill’s and from St. Arik’s.”
“You’ve been busy, I see,” said Carandis.
“Aye,” said Ulrich. “We sent Brothers, you remember, to Karrent after we heard your news. The village was half a ruin. The survivors came here and settled. I hope to build a new community here, strong and prosperous. ”
“You will,” said Lionel.
“Come!” said the First Brother. “Eat with us, I beg, at the evening meal. You must tell me everything.”
They went and dined. Raelum said little, leaving the telling to the others. Later he slipped away and fell into a troubled sleep.
###
“I am going,” he told the others the next morning as they stood in the monastery’s courtyard.
“What?” said Lionel.
“Why?” said Carandis.
“I don’t know,” said Raelum.
“Wait a while, I beg,” said Lionel. “The First Brother says merchant ships will come up the river soon. We can take them downriver, back to civilized lands, and avoid the perils of overland travel.”
“No,” said Raelum.
“Come with me, at least, back to Chrysos,” said Lionel. “You….you are the greatest Paladin I have ever met, demonborn or not. You should be honored by the commanders of our Order.”
“I cannot,” said Raelum. “They will loathe and fear me. ”
“I am going to journey in the civilized lands for a time,” said Arthuras. “I will go with Carandis to Araspan, I think, and thence I shall go where my feet take me. You can come with me, if you wish.”
“Thank you,” said Raelum. “But…I cannot.”
“Why not?” said Lionel, half-pleading. “You are a great Paladin, Raelum. You should come to the civilized lands. You could do so much good there. You ought to have honor for what you have done, and what you will do.”
“I can’t,” said Raelum. “I…don’t know why. I wish I could say.”
“Perhaps I can guess,” said Arthuras. “You wanted revenge on Marsile. That was the focus of your life, your purpose. And now that you have found it, it has proven empty and hollow. You know not what to do next, or where to go.”
No one said anything for a while.
“Yes,” said Raelum, closing his eyes. “That is it."
“What do you want, then?” said Arthuras.
“I want…” Raelum thought it over. “I want to see the ocean again.”
“The ocean?” said Carandis.
“I want to see it,” said Raelum, staring into nothing. “When I was a child I would sit and watch it, the moon shining off the waves.”
“Araspan lies on the sea,” said Carandis. “We could travel together to Chrysos, part with Lionel, and thence to Araspan.”
“No,” said Arthuras. He met Raelum’s eyes. “I think Sir Raelum needs to do this on his own.”
“Aye,” said Raelum. “I do. My friends. Good-bye.”
“A
demonborn Paladin,” said Carandis, shaking her head. “Farewell.”
“I think,” said Arthuras, “that we shall meet again. Despair all you like, Sir Raelum. Great things lie ahead of you, I think.”
Lionel bit his lip. “I owe you my life. Everything.” He fumbled at his belt. “Take…take this, I beg.”
He handed Raelum a Paladin’s sword.
“Your sword?” said Raelum. “I cannot take this.”
“Actually, it was Sir Hildebrand’s,” said Lionel. “He has no need of it now. And you need a sword, if you’re going to wander off on your own like a fool.” He blinked a few times and pressed the hilt into Raelum’s hands. “And take his horse. A proper destrier. He’s been eating hay in the monastery’s stables, getting fat.” He laughed. “The villagers would use him for naught but pulling hay. Take him, the sword, and go.”
“All right,” said Raelum. “Thank you. ”
He clasped hands with each of them, put the sword on his belt, and walked to the stables. Sir Hildebrand’s former horse glared at him. Raelum took it, mounted up, and rode away from the monastery, on the long road that would take him to the ocean.
Epilogue - Black Paladin
Later Ganlon reflected that Midsummer’s Day, the day the red-eyed man came to the village, began much the same as any other.
Ganlon rose at dawn. He liked to take a walk along the beach every morning, keep his joints moving, greet the young men as they prepared their boats and nets. And he liked to watch the sea.
He loved the sea. A man died on the sea, he died clean. No need to worry about a demon claiming his flesh.
Ganlon had been a fisherman for forty years, sailing on his father’s boat, and later his own boat. Three years ago he had broken his leg. It had never healed right, and he couldn’t keep his balance on a boat. So now he ran the village’s little inn. It was quiet enough work. Even the smugglers who came down from Saranor or Annoc, hoping to evade the tariffs, didn’t make much trouble.
So on Midsummer’s Day Ganlon rose, walked into the common room of his inn, and froze.
The Third Soul Omnibus Two Page 47
