Thomas

by Michael G. Manning

  Raising one hand and making a complex gesture, Thomas invoked Delwyn’s power again, this time using it to disrupt the fell energies swarming through Delia’s body. For a moment he felt his will tested against the darkness, and his spirit quailed, but then he closed his eyes and thought of Sarah. A flash of red-gold hair crossed his mind, and he forgot his doubts, finishing the spell he felt the demon’s grip on her dissipate. Delia fell silent. Her body was broken but her chest continued to move slightly, she was alive still.

  Dastrix didn’t hesitate. Once his spell was broken he brought his sword up and effortlessly deflected Islana’s next strike. He ignored Grom entirely. Swinging his flail high and wide over the dwarf he used it to wrap past Islana’s shield, sending the heavy iron balls crashing into the paladin’s back.

  Her armor held, but the bruising power of the blow sent her falling forward, close enough that she could smell the demon’s fetid breath. From the side of her visor she saw Grom watching her. She raised her shield and caught a shivering blow from the sword on it as she pushed herself back, but her eyes were still on Grom.

  The dwarf was too far back and to the side for the demon to see him clearly, making a gesture with one fist he dove forward. He rolled once and came up on his hands and knees behind Dastrix as Islana surged forward. She crouched low and drove in, using her shield to slam into the demon’s chest.

  Even with her increased mass and strength it might not have been enough, but Dastrix tried to step back and lost his footing when he encountered the dwarf behind him. Swaying, he toppled backward, crushing the wooden frame of the desecrated altar.

  Islana followed him down, slipping her shield to the side and bracing the point of her sword against the balor’s chest. When he hit the stone floor she put her weight into it, using that and her breastplate against the pommel to drive the blade home.

  The demon’s shriek of pain was deafening and Grom was trapped beneath its legs as he thrashed. She felt the sword pass through the monster’s torso until it struck the hard stone of the chapel floor.

  Releasing his flail, Dastrix clutched roughly at her backplate before flinging her across the small chapel like a ragdoll. With a deliberate kick, he sent Grom’s battered body sliding down the aisle between the pews and then he rose slowly from the floor. “You will pay for this, bitch,” hissed the demon, and then he used his free hand to pull the sword from his chest and fling it after the dwarf.

  The longsword flew end over end, and the hard metal pommel struck hard against Grom’s right eye as he struggled to rise. The dwarf’s head rocked back, and he fell to the floor once more.

  Dastrix’s sword burned even hotter as he advanced across the chapel toward Islana. She had been stunned by the impact with the wall and was struggling to find her feet. Shattered wood and burning splinters flew as the demon destroyed the pews that blocked his path to her.

  Islana looked up, her vision blurry as she watched her death approach. She was standing, but her sword was gone and her body felt sluggish as she tried to bring her shield up to block the rapidly descending sword. She wasn’t going to make it.

  Blinding light illuminated the chapel as a beam of distilled sunlight seared itself into her vision. The light pierced Dastrix and wrapped itself around his brutish form, becoming chains of golden fire. Smoke rose from the demon’s coarse hair, and he screamed once more. Straining, the balor tried to shrug off the bonds of light, but despite his enormous strength they held.

  As her vision cleared Islana saw Thomas standing in the doorway of the chapel. What seemed like liquid gold ran from his fingers, streaming across the empty space and connecting him to the chains that held the balor.

  “Islana!” shouted Grom.

  Shining metal turned over in the air as the dwarf threw her sword. Islana reached out and with almost inhuman grace she caught it neatly by the hilt. “Your time is done, demon,” she told the fiend.

  The balor’s power was immense, and the chains were starting to stretch beyond their capacity, but there was fear in Dastrix’s eyes as she prepared to strike again. Islana’s sword was glowing ever brighter as she prepared to plunge the blade through his heart. She would not miss this time.

  And then the sun shivered in the sky. The bright noontime sun flickered and dimmed as a shadow fell across the earth. The power in Islana’s sword faded out, and the chains holding the demon dissolved into nothingness.

  “No!” yelled Thomas, and Islana felt as though a hole had opened in her heart. The light had gone, leaving only emptiness. The power of their goddess had vanished. The support she had learned to rely on, the strength she had spent so much time training to use—was gone.

  Dastrix drew himself up to his full height and laughed, “It has begun. You are too late.”

  Ignoring the soul shriveling fear that seemed to devour her heart, Islana thrust forward with her sword, but the tip skittered across the balor’s now impenetrable hide. Sneering the demon swept across with his burning sword, and though she intercepted it with her shield the blade tore through the metal as though it were no more substantial than tissue.

  The fell blade removed the top half of her shield and continued on, ripping through her pauldron and burying itself deep in her shoulder. Islana felt the black fire eating into her nerves as blood poured from her wound, and she sagged to the floor.

  Dastrix pulled the sword free and then knelt over the now helpless paladin, using his claws to open the tear in Islana’s breastplate. With very little effort the demon pulled the metal apart, exposing the dying woman’s chest. “The heart tastes best when it is still beating,” he whispered softly, licking rough lips with a tongue covered in festering sores.

  Chapter 20

  Blood Price

  “I’ll pay it,” said Thomas, his voice desperate. “Whatever the cost, I’ll pay it. Save her!”

  Anteriolus stood beside him, “Swear it, in her name.”

  Without hesitation Thomas replied, “In Delwyn’s name, I swear it. Save her, destroy this demon, and you may have my soul.”

  The Prince of Hell smiled and stepped into the darkened chapel, “Stop.”

  He said the word without emphasis, but Dastrix paused at the sound of his voice. “You have no business here, devil.”

  “I have taken a contract to end your life, fiend,” said Anteriolus. “Your life is forfeit.”

  “My master is returning,” answered the balor. “Interfere and he will crush you into dust.”

  “I created the prison he lies within,” answered Anteriolus. “I doubt killing one more pathetic spawn of the Abyss will make much difference.” Without seeming to hurry he had already closed the distance between them.

  Dastrix swept his sword toward the Prince of Devils but Anteriolus caught it with seeming ease. His hand darted forward, fingers tipped by impossibly sharp claws. It pierced the demon’s chest and reappeared a second later, holding the balor’s still beating heart.

  The balor shuddered, his mouth open and fear written on his face.

  “I’d eat it, but you aren’t worth even that much,” said Anteriolus. The balor’s heart burst into flames and was quickly reduced to gray ash. It filtered between his fingers as the demon collapsed, dying in front of him.

  Thomas was already kneeling over Islana’s ruined body. There was blood everywhere, and the only sign that she still lived was the steady pulse as yet more pumped from the gaping wound in her shoulder. He reached for the magic Delwyn had given him, hoping he could save her life before it was too late, but the words wouldn’t come.

  He had felt it first when the sun had shivered. The Goddess wasn’t there. His connection to Sarah had vanished. Something had happened to her; he was powerless.

  Anteriolus reached past him, planting one finger in the bloody wound on her chest. Steam rose around it, accompanied by a sizzling sound, and then the flesh began to close. Islana’s eyes flew open, and a gasp of pain passed her lips. She stared at the Prince of Hell, a look of shock and disgust on her fe
atures.

  “Fear not, lady knight, my touch will not defile you—this time. The price has already been paid, and through no fault of your own,” said Anteriolus.

  Thomas looked away. He didn’t regret his choice, but he couldn’t bear for Islana to see the truth in his eyes.

  “Save her, destroy the demon, those were your words, Thomas. I have fulfilled my end of the contract.” The devil smiled at him. “And I cannot help but feel it was indeed a bargain, for me.”

  Thomas straightened, resolving himself to whatever might come. “What happened? Is Sa—Delwyn dead?”

  “No,” answered Anteriolus. “She lives still, but the ritual has begun, sealing her power within her physical form. It will be minutes at most, before they bleed her dry to empower my key.”

  “How do I stop it?”

  “The ritual binds her with chains that can only be broken by heartsblood. They intend for it to be hers…,” the devil informed him. “…but any will serve. Enter the chamber and stab the priest of Gravon through the heart. His blood will dissolve her bonds and end the ritual.”

  Thomas stared at the strange shimmering black curtain, “Won’t there be others with him?”

  Anteriolus laughed, “Hah! The spawn of the Abyss are foolish and greedy. Whoever he is, he will not wish to share credit with any others. He will be alone, hoping to present himself as the Beast’s sole deliverer.”

  Islana started to rise, her body was whole once more, but as soon as she lifted herself partway the blood drained from her face, and she collapsed. Thomas looked at the others, Grom was up now, moving slowly toward them, but it was obvious that he was in no shape for further combat. The dwarf could barely walk, and he had a noticeable limp. Delia was still unconscious at the entrance.

  Thomas headed for the strange black curtain of energy that covered the archway behind the altar.

  “Only those with singular intent can pass that barrier,” warned Anteriolus. “If you were still connected to your goddess, you might manage it. Or I could destroy it…,” suggested the devil.

  “I have nothing left to pay,” said Thomas. He stood in front of the barrier, staring at it as if his eyes could pierce it by force of will alone. “And nothing left to lose.” He began to step forward.

  “If your intent is not pure, whether for good or ill, the spell will rip the skin from your bones…,” warned Anteriolus.

  Thomas ignored him. In his mind’s eye he saw only one thing now, Sarah’s face. It was an image he remembered from his first day with her, when he had woken in her makeshift fruit-crate castle. Wild red hair and shining eyes, she had claimed him with that one look.

  A cold chill passed over his skin as he stepped through the rippling darkness, and then he found himself standing in a small stone chamber.

  A long flat-topped granite block dominated the center of the room. Sarah lay atop it, looking just as he remembered her, a child of perhaps twelve, with long wild hair and freckles. She was bound by something that looked like rope, but rather than being brown it was dark and hard in its appearance, as though it were some sort of flexible black iron.

  The figure standing between them had wide, thick shoulders, covered by a black robe and hood. His back was turned, for he was facing his sacrifice, and Thomas saw his chance. Rushing forward, he drew his sword and made to stab the evil priest through the back, but the sound of his blade clearing its scabbard betrayed him.

  The man spun, sending Thomas’ point skittering along his back, tearing through the black robe and revealing iron mail beneath it. It also revealed his face, and Thomas saw that his opponent was no man at all, but rather an orc, greyish green skin stretched over a brutish skull, framing a mouth with two tusk-like canines.

  The orc grinned, “Did you think I would be easy prey, human?” He held a dark iron dagger in his right hand, a weapon he had been about to plunge through Sarah’s heart.

  Thomas hesitated only a second before continuing his attack. The orc dodged his first slash and deflected the second with his dagger but the third he stopped by sweeping his mailed left arm across to knock the sword out of line. Rushing forward within reach, the orc punched forward with his shorter weapon, and Thomas only barely avoided being impaled by falling backward.

  He was on the defensive, and he knew he had lost the initiative. The orc priest was stronger, faster, and at least as well armored. Even if his opponent had taken his first surprise attack, the sword probably wouldn’t have pierced the heavy riveted mail that covered nearly the orc’s entire body.

  Backing in a circle around the stone altar, Thomas was forced to retreat to avoid a quick defeat. He was thinking furiously the entire time, though. Magic was no help, he had none while Sarah was bound and probably the only reason the orc hadn’t bothered using his own power, was that he clearly had an overwhelming advantage over the smaller human already.

  His sword was unlikely to get through the mail, so his only viable targets were the orc’s hands and head, which were both unarmored. The feet were also a possibility, since they were only covered by heavy leather boots. Unfortunately, the evil cleric was just as aware of those things and gave him little opportunity to reach those targets.

  The length of his blade gave him one advantage, though, reach. He probed constantly as he fell back before the orc’s advance. A lunge at the orc’s foot would force him to step back, but higher attacks he merely batted aside with his forearms, and each time he came closer to gutting Thomas.

  My mail would probably save me, but if he gets close enough to get his hands on me it will become a grapple, and there’s only one way that will end, Thomas thought.

  Desperate, he took a chance, swinging wide and high he took aim at the cleric’s head, but when the arm came up to guard it he had already shifted his strike to come up short. Flicking his blade up into a short backstroke, he clipped the orc’s hand, nearly severing the thumb.

  His small triumph was short-lived, however, for his foe ignored the injury and took advantage of the pause in Thomas’ retreat. Stepping forward more rapidly than before, the evil cleric drove his dagger into the human’s stomach.

  Thomas saw his mistake in the last second. His opponent hadn’t forgone magic, he had merely performed it so quietly and quickly that Thomas hadn’t noticed it. The dagger had a spell on it, one that wasn’t considered very powerful, for it was only good for one attack, but it made certain that that one attack would almost certainly find its mark.

  The wind was driven from his lungs as the iron blade drove the chainmail and padding over his sternum inward, and then pain, as the mail parted and cold metal entered his belly. He gaped at the orc as he staggered back, covering his midsection with his left hand.

  The orc raised his left hand to display his wounded hand, “A fair trade!”

  Thomas couldn’t breathe. Glancing down he saw that his hand was covered in blood. There was surprisingly little pain, but he was surely dying. Sidestepping, he reached out with his left hand and smeared some of the blood over Sarah’s bonds. Nothing happened.

  His enemy laughed, “Heart’s blood little man, only heart’s blood! I aimed too low for that trick to work.” Rushing forward the orc punched Thomas in the chest, sending him flying back against the wall.

  Sliding down the wall, Thomas watched in horror as the cleric lifted his iron blade over the goddess once more, growling, “Let’s finish this while you’re still alive to watch, little man.”

  Despite the passage of years and the vast differences, in that moment it seemed much the same as the day his childhood nemesis, Flin, had attempted to crush the kitten beneath his foot, and Thomas’ response was nearly identical. Leaping forward with strength he hadn’t known he possessed, Thomas threw himself across Sarah’s chest.

  His body spasmed with white-hot pain as the cold iron plunged through the space between his shoulders, ripping through nerves, muscles, and heart before the point emerged on the other side. The world grew dark as he stared into Sarah’s eyes, their face
s only inches apart as he died. I’m sorry, this was the best I could…

  Scarlet blood ran freely from his ruined body as his head sagged to lay quietly against Delwyn’s neck. And then the black bonds that held her began to dissolve…

  ***

  Father Whitmire felt the change even as the sun flared in the sky. It was as though a veil had been drawn back, exposing his soul, nay, his entire being to the burning light that hung above them in the heavens. Delwyn was free, but her heart was full of rage. Her wrath poured down, and the sunlight felt like golden fire scouring the wickedness from the world.

  The Abbot and remaining soldiers and paladins went to their knees. Only Father Whitmire raised his face to the burning sun, exclaiming, “Goddess please, have mercy upon us!”

  As if in answer, the castle began to shake and a pillar of fire shot up from somewhere in the adjoining courtyard. The blazing flames stretched up and up, ever higher until it seemed they would reach the sun itself.

  Whitmire was blinded by the light, and the voice that shook the world threatened to burst his eardrums, “Give him back!”

  Chapter 21

  Endings and Beginnings

  Thomas was floating, but he knew not where. He was surrounded by an endless white fog. At first that didn’t bother him, until he began trying to look around. It was the same in every direction, so much so that he wasn’t certain if he was turning his head or if he was stationary. Then he realized he couldn’t find his hands, or any other part of his body. For all he could tell there was nothing to him, just an aimless viewpoint on an endless and never varying vista.

  “You have crossed a line, taking what does not belong to you.” It was Sarah’s voice and it was a relief, the sound of it gave Thomas something to focus on. He was not alone. He tried to answer, but his own voice was just as absent as the rest of his body.

  “He made the bargain of his own free will,” answered the voice of Anteriolus. “It was good that he did, or you might have died this time and everything we have wrought would be undone.”