Tower Of The Forgotten
Page 6
Without warning, the demon leaped straight for Niklaus, letting out a roar that shook him to his bones. Its form grew larger in Niklaus’s vision.
Just before it hammered into him, Niklaus took a step backward into thin air. He dropped like a stone over the side of the tower, clutching at the parapet with both hands. Niklaus’s fingers found purchase on the edge and brought his fall to an abrupt halt. He cried out as his injured hands bore the brunt of his weight and twinged with pain in protest.
The demon skidded to a stop, arresting its momentum before it tumbled over the edge.
“Blood and damnation!” cursed Niklaus.
He had failed.
Roaring with rage, the demon loomed above him. Its rotten breath washed over Niklaus. It stank like days’-old putrefying corpses.
Another bottle of alchemical spirits struck the demon in the side and shattered. The demon ignored it, fixing its baleful eyes on Niklaus.
My goddess, where are you?
The demon reached both taloned hands toward him . . .
Sly’s bottle of oil shattered against its leg, drenching the limb and the ground beneath it. Niklaus caught a glimpse of another projectile . . . recognized it as his other vial in time to clench his eyes shut.
An inferno erupted.
Niklaus cried out as the world became a white blindness and a roar filled his ears. An intense flame lashed his hands and face. The demon bellowed a pained shriek.
“Goddess!” Niklaus cried, blinking through tears. He squinted against the whiteness of his vision. A vague shape appeared above him, a few shades darker than the surrounding space. Tears streamed down Niklaus’s cheeks.
The parapet shook as the demon slipped and crashed to its knees. Its head swayed back and forth. The demon was blinded too, but for how long? If he could just pull himself up . . .
With a mighty heave Niklaus dragged himself back atop the tower. His hand grasped for his sword hilt as the demon rose unsteadily to its feet. Niklaus saw the conflagration had disrupted its sorcerous shield, and its hide was now unprotected. It took a tentative step toward Niklaus and teetered on the edge of the parapet. It might be blinded, but it could still sense him.
Maybe—
Niklaus took a desperate chance and leaped, using the demon’s knee as a springboard. He rammed his short blade into its armpit, where it sank to half its length. Giving the sword a quick twist, he yanked it free with a sucking noise. The creature bellowed and stumbled.
Sly slammed boots-first into the demon. Its clawed feet slipped, losing the tentative purchase they had. And the demon overbalanced. Its arms flailed, searching for an anchor as it toppled. Niklaus rammed into it with his shoulder, his momentum finally tipping it over the edge.
The dark, blurry shape of the demon screeched as it plummeted. Blood pounded in Niklaus’s ears. He counted his hammering heartbeats. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven—a massive reverberation sounded from below. The demon’s cries ceased.
Niklaus risked a glance down. Far below, a black form lay in a shallow crater of cracked cobblestones. Wind sprang up around it, swirling dust and leaves, then coalescing into a fiery tornado. After a few moments it dispersed, leaving behind only ash and cinders.
Sly appeared beside Niklaus. “I killed a demon,” the thief said, grinning from ear to ear. “Your plan was terrible.”
Niklaus lay back on the cold stone for a few moments, coming to terms with nearly losing his life.
Thank you, Sylva Kalisia, for my survival.
But the truth was, his goddess had little or nothing to do with it.
“You stole my vial,” Niklaus said.
“Yes . . . but it all worked out in the end. Because my plan was better.”
~ ~ ~
The ship rolled in the swell as it departed Riem’s harbor. Niklaus remained in his cabin, preferring the darkness and comparative solitude it afforded to the deck with sailors racing about and shouting at each other. It was muggy below deck, so he’d opened the tiny cabin window, though it offered little relief. There was only a gentle breeze tonight, which made their departure agonizingly slow. He lay in his bunk, watching the sliver of Chandra appear briefly in his window as the ship rocked back and forth.
And then she was there, somehow, as if she’d materialized out of the shadows.
His heart hammered in his chest. His eyes traced the outlines of sensuous curves, lingering on silken black-feathered wings and her lustrous hair. A diaphanous cloth draped her body. Her not-quite-naked curves sent a delicious shiver through him. He couldn’t think straight.
“You almost didn’t survive,” she whispered, voice like warm honey.
A cold rage overcame him, and he suppressed a twinge of bitter resentment. “Barely. Why didn’t you intervene?”
A tremor coursed through him. Blood surged to his face and groin.
“But I did,” she said.
Niklaus’s thoughts scattered as the force of her presence overwhelmed him. He wanted to say more, to tell her how he worshipped her, admired her intelligence and unforgiving insight, but knew she’d heard it from many men before. Actions spoke far louder than words, and they were the key to catching his goddess’s attention and regard. He was, despite his goal of becoming like her, no more than her slave.
She stood still for a long moment, piercing him to his soul with her violet eyes. Judging him, oblivious to the powerful emotions surging throughout his body.
“Another chance, then,” she said. Her tinkling laugh sounded in his ears, close, yet far away, filled with promises and lust and power. “Demons are problematic. I’ll see what I can do for next time. For now, come, follow me.” Sylva dematerialized into shadows, which flowed under the door and out of his cabin.
He cursed, struggling to his feet. In the passageway outside, the shadows flowed like water, leading him onto the deck lit by the gray light of impending dawn.
Where is she? Blood and damnation, she’s gone.
There wasn’t much activity, only a few sailors climbing in the rigging as they prepared for any freshening breeze daylight brought. Over by the great wooden wheel, the captain and first mate took readings using brass instruments and made markings on a map. They had a short exchange, and the first mate left and went below.
One of the crewmen, a lean man with a gray beard that could have hidden a bird’s nest, passed close by.
“What’s your cargo?” Niklaus asked the sailor.
“Slaves for the port of Sohrah in Kharas, mostly children from the streets of Riem. They fetch a good price down there, let me tell you. The southerners like ’em. Think they’re exotic.”
When Niklaus didn’t reply, the old man grunted and walked away, busying himself coiling rope near the prow.
Slaves . . . now there’s a story as old as time that never ceases.
The captain was obviously a man of few scruples. Niklaus stared at him, taking in the fine gold chains around his neck and a ring of orange metal—orichalcum, if he didn’t miss his guess. He wore a burgundy shirt with silver buttons and dark gray pants. A man of expensive tastes, though judging by his scraggly goatee and ear hair, he could use a good barber.
A sound like the flap of great wings reached Niklaus’s ears, along with the scent of leather and musk and spices. His mind swam as her heady presence inflamed him.
“Him,” she whispered hotly in his ear.
Niklaus nodded, unable to speak, his throat tight with emotion. Her breath on his skin burned like fire, sending a shiver from his head to his toes. He turned his head to see her, to catch a glimpse . . . but she had vanished.
He looked back over the city, eyes drawn to the Tower of the Forgotten. It was a symbol of failed faith and human caprice. What did ordinary folk care of the fate of the fallen gods? But not Niklaus. His faith would burn eternal, and he would rule beside his goddess one day.
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Also by Mitchell Hogan, the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence, in reading order:
A Crucible of Souls US
UK : DE : CA : AU
Blood of Innocents US
UK : DE : CA : AU
A Shattered Empire US
UK : DE : CA : AU