by Toby Bennett
It should have been easy indeed, if the Hierophant were not so blinded by his need to regain mortal form, he would have seen that Varkuz could only have one true goal in mind, but he neither knew the words to tear the veil nor had the right to summon another though it; ghost though he was, Takiaza still belonged in the world of flesh and Lothar was too subjugated to make the invitation, to those that waited beyond, the Hierophant’s desire would be as important as the children’s screams.
“We were always going to use their fear, we must work with what we have, this madman will simply be the first to be slaughtered.” Lothar snapped back.
“Lothar!” The man called from the centre of the square, the rage in his voice was obvious for anyone to hear. Inside his meaty prison, Varkuz thrilled, he knew this man and he knew the source of that anger. Madman had been a truly appropriate word for the wretch now approaching him, Varkuz had not thought to see this man walking again, let alone hear him offering challenge. A quarrel blurred across the courtyard, making Varkuz think his sport was over before it had even begun, but the man reacted with inhuman speed. The bolt audibly thunked into the heavy leather satchel, that the intruder had brought up to defend himself. The smell of the satchel’s contents was masked by the incense and rare spices that permeated the courtyard. The Cardinal made a small gesture and the other guards lowered their bows, as if acknowledging this the intruder flung the stinking satchel away from him to land in an open patch of cobbles, which seemed insignificant to everyone.
“You address me, my son,” the Cardinal called out cordially, “yet it is not with the respect that my office or my festivities deserve.” The Cardinal chuckled, “but since we are not strangers you and I, perhaps you would like to tell me your reasons for renewing our acquaintance at this time?”
Stones clattered across the cobbles and Lothar’s eyes widened to see the familiar crystals.
“I’ve no fear left for you.” Akna said quietly, locking his gaze on the Cardinal’s rotund face.
“I have tasted you once,” the daemon whispered to him from behind the corporeal mask, “You will not escape me twice.”
“Bring him!” The Cardinal ordered and six guards peeled from the ranks to surround the intruder. Akna made no move to resist this time and allowed himself to be disarmed and dragged before the Cardinal. The Cardinal looked down at his kneeling prisoner in genuine disbelief.
“The prisoner is taken,” he called out. “We’ll not let his crimes ruin our celebrations, bring more presents and food.”
Servants bustled to comply with the commands but none dared approach the four bodies that lay on the cobbles, their blood flowing into shallow channels that no one had yet noticed. The mix of fear and the orphans' need to believe that their danger had passed washed over Varkuz. Whip-bodied dragons tensed against the stone walls of the palace, waiting to take part in the slaughter, but Takiaza was still mumbling words, so Varkuz decided to indulge himself.
“Was living so painful that you have come here to die?” The Cardinal craned his body to try to examine Akna’s face but he could read nothing but anger in the assassin’s dark eyes. It made no sense. It was this rage and determination that had freed the boy from an impossible situation; he’d literally torn himself in half, rather than surrender and survived, even as a shell of the being he had once been. It made no sense that he should come here and now of all times. It was impossible that he could know of the ritual, impossible that he would care. Lothar’s eyes flicked to the discarded satchel and he saw the viscous fluid pooling around it. He opened his mouth to give warning, gesturing to the guards to get rid of the satchel.
The wind was picking up still further around the less sheltered heights of the tower. The layers of cloth protected the people below from the fine drops that swirled through the whining zephyrs that spun up around the tower. Ilsar could almost imagine that there were quiet voices calling to her from the dark clouds but her concentration was too fixed on the small gap in the cloth and the distant patch of stone for her to give much heed to the phantoms, tugging at the corners of her perception. It came as a shock, when Akna’s satchel landed in the middle of the stones she was watching. She could see some snatches of movement beyond the gap she was focused on but the bolt jutting from the satchel told her that she shouldn’t hesitate. She gripped the match in her left hand and tried to light it on the window sill. The damp stone did not oblige her with a spark and instead only succeeded in crumbling the head of the match. The dry stone further into the room offered a higher chance of a spark but with the oil so close to her she dared not try it. Two men entered the visible area of cobbles and began to approach the satchel. Ilsar fumbled for a dryer match.
The Cardinal watched as the first of his men reached the satchel and began to carry out his unspoken order. It came as some relief when the guard was able to simply lift up the offending item and gingerly turn to hold it up to his master.
“It seems even here I have misjudged you boy,” the Cardinal crowed, “I can’t imagine what you hoped to accomplish with that stinking sack, but you should not have assumed that I would simply overlook such an obvious attempt to divert my attention.”
Akna visibly slumped in his captor’s grasp, the Cardinal chuckled and addressed his guard,
“Take it away, don’t just stand there.” Lothar returned his focus to Akna.
“I could almost feel sorry for you, that is if you hadn’t insulted me by stealing what is mine.” The Cardinal flicked a finger towards the soul stones scattered over the cobbles. “I hope you think this insult was worth your life,” and your soul Varkuz whispered from inside his host’s skull. Lothar looked around at the children sheepishly unwrapping presents on the other side of the courtyard and averting their eyes from the fallen bodies. “There’s already been enough disruption, so I can’t offer you the proper persuasion but I am truly curious to know how you got your hands on those stones. Care to tell me how you got past my chimera?”
Akna’s eye’s snapped open and his mouth twisted into an ugly grin, “I killed it,” he growled at the Cardinal.
Before Lothar could respond, flame roared into life behind the guards holding Akna. A wave of heat and force drove them forward at the same time as the assassin bunched his slack legs beneath him and drove back hard. The guard, who had been holding the satchel, was immolated almost immediately but his companion had just enough life left in him to begin the chorus of screams that echoed up to the gathering storm.
The drops that had spilled from the punctured barrel ignited and burned with a fierce crimson flame, which ignited the next barrel that came tumbling down from high above, tearing through the thin cloth and bright banners. The second explosion threw one of the guards, who was grabbing for Akna’s twisting form, off his feet. Akna managed to kick another backwards in to the growing conflagration and then darted forward before the stunned guards could bring their crossbows to bear. A third barrel was tumbling through the air somewhere above but Akna’s world had narrowed down to fractions of a second. The next fireball would not be in time to help him against the three men surging after him, nor would it help him close the distance with the fat cleric in front of him before the daemon within him could react. A bolt flashed past him, coming within a hair’s width of his neck, before plunging into the eye of his nearest pursuer, he ran on, ignoring both the near miss and the lucky strike.
Akna’s only focus was on Lothar, who seemed to move as if he were under water, the liquid rolling of his jowls as his gaze flicked from side to side, added to the illusion. If Akna’s spiritual deficiencies had left him single minded and quick, then Lothar and Varkuz had precisely the opposite problem. Two beings were panicking inside the swollen body and the body itself was on the verge of collapse. Two days of fasting and focus were taking their toll and Varkuz watched helplessly as the assassin sprinted towards him. Fat fingers fumbled for the gems that held his most deadly summoning and the dragons lashed out from the wall but neither barrel nor dragons would rea
ch the two combatants in time and the words, which might draw forth the terrors held in the stones under Lothar’s fingers would not come. The only thing that was immutable in that moment was the silvered steel of the sabre that the guards had failed to confiscate. Akna made no attempt to intercept the second guard’s wild swing at his back and he hardly felt the blade leaving a slash across his left shoulder, he was too intent on bringing his own blade down on the thing that had taken his life from him, the man he had waited to kill for three years.
The barrel hit, the serpent’s struck, the Cardinal’s head flew clear of his body. Flames erupted again, pouring from one corner of the courtyard like a tide and men and children screamed. Released from their master, the whip-bodied dragons reared back from the waves of heat pouring off the inferno. Akna’s momentum took him past the falling body of his victim but he was still able to grab the white stone from around the dead man’s severed neck. Bolts that had not been unloosed, for fear of hitting the Cardinal lanced through the air around him but none found their mark. Akna absently slipped his sabre under the guard of one of his two remaining pursuers and turned to face the last man. He could see the animal panic in the man’s eyes and he knew the fight would be over before it began. If it began, the few men who had not fled in panic from the advancing wave of flame, were struggling to re-crank their weapons. All seemed reluctant to face him, as the man in front of him was doing. The man was no coward, Akna absently wondered where the blood on the guard’s sword had come from.
Time slowed and the courtyard took on a ruddy tone, Lothar’s jaw spasmed and Varkuz found himself climbing sharply into the air above his dead host. Without the blood shot eyes to see for him, Varkuz could only make out the grey blurs of the material world. Emotion provided the colour in this new world, he watched the fear pour off the guard as he crossed swords with Akna. One pass and it was over, the rich red horror of the dying man, contrasting with the impenetrable darkness of the assassin’s thin shadow of a soul. Varkuz climbed still further past the window where the creature, who had betrayed him, threw a final barrel into the conflagration below. It was not the blast of hot air that buoyed him up but rather the growing pressure from the vortex above. To return to the release of the void after all this time seemed right, desirable, but Varkuz knew it must not be. In that world he was amongst the least of his kind, if he could just be on the right side of the gate when his lords returned that would change. He had to show them that it was he who had opened the way. It never occurred to the imp to wonder why the lords of the outer realms had left in the first place, millennia of inferiority and ambition overrode his desire to return home.
It was not over yet, not while the priest still chanted, not with blood flowing on the runes Lothar had had cut into the cobbles. Varkuz just needed a host, many of the children had been prepared for just such a purpose, the runes on their gifted clothes providing conduits for any daemon with a will to find their way inside. Vurkuz spun through the air, turning his perception in all directions to try to find an appropriate vessel for his malice and desperation. The fire had driven the children too far away, the imp howled in frustration and disappointment. Except one, one child had not run like the other’s, he felt her, closer than she could possibly be. He saw her, lying on the library floor, her ritual garments stained with blood, as prepared as any sacrifice had ever been. He looked through her eyes, adapting them to seeing in the dimness with a few blinks; Tera felt her eyes open and felt her legs gathering beneath her, the lingering disorientation of her recent unconsciousness made her a passenger on the trip to the window. She looked down into the smoke and flickering flames and felt an anger not her own.
Another explosion roared over the courtyard and the flames rose higher, swirling up towards the distant clouds. Akna was forced to use the guard, he had just dispatched, as a human shield against another volley of crossbow fire, though the heat now scorching his back seemed almost as great a danger. The guards who had fired on him, did not wait to see if they had felled their target, there seemed little need, with the fire threatening to swallow the entire courtyard, they would only need to wait outside and the assassin would either burn or come out to them. Akna had no doubt that the area around the palace was already being sealed off by guards, there would be no escape either through the gates or over the walls, but there was still one way. Akna baulked at the thought of returning to the dungeons below the palace, but whatever creatures might lurk in the plumbing below and however foul the journey might be there was no other sane way to escape. The fire had grown beyond all expectation but it would not last forever. He started to head back towards the only viable door into the palace, when he felt Ilsar getting nearer. Akna also felt an inexplicable sense of panic washing over him.
If Ilsar was in trouble, he would have to hurry, Akna sprinted over the cobblestones, ignoring the withering heat of the flames. Ilsar appeared in the doorway ahead of him and the terror was stronger than ever, stronger than he ever remembered feeling in his life.
“What is it?” Akna called looking into the corridor behind her for some sign of pursuit.
“Not me, him.” Ilsar yelled back pointing into the flames. Takiaza! Akna cursed himself for a fool, the Hierophant’s white soul stone still dangled at his wrist but the practicalities of survival had pushed all thought of the dangerous spirit from his mind.
“He’s finishing the ritual!” Ilsar yelled at him. “You have to stop him.”
A new reality washed over Akna, he narrowed his eyes and saw a dull glow emanating from the shallow runes beneath his feet. He felt the pain of a long cut down his back that he had not even known he had had seconds before, a wound that even now wept one or two dark drops of blood that were instantly absorbed by the hungry energies, writhing through the runes under him. What had seemed to be an unexpected victory was close to becoming defeat, it was, after all, he who had brought the death and destruction to the courtyard, he who had spilt the blood on the stones. He had assumed that the flames would empty the courtyard and bar any ritual; even the ghost had to take some form in the physical world and the fire was of such intensity that he should have had to retreat back into the safety of the stone, which Akna now held. He had not reckoned on the power of the runes, the ritual was protecting its own and if he squinted, he could see the Hierophant standing at the centre of the courtyard, apparently unaffected by the flames roiling around him. A further narrowing of the eyes revealed that the pale glow, emanating from the runes on the cobbles, had formed an almost imperceptible barrier around the chanting ghost.
“There’s no time to let the flames die,” Ilsar shouted over the growing howl of the wind and the hissing of the flames. She levelled her crossbow and pulled the trigger but the same insubstantial nimbus that held back the heat of the flames, turned the surging bolt as if it had hit a stone wall.
“We cannot reach him, we have to use this.” The white stone pulsed in Akna’s palm.
“You have the skill?” Ilsar yelled back
“Once. I’ve not been able to reach beyond the veil since…” Akna trailed off and his head jerked up to the menacing vortex of cloud and crackling lightning above them. “We have to try. If we work the summoning together, we might be able to draw him back to the stone.”
“How do we call him back?”
“Just touch the stone and call his name, focus everything you can on the summons and the sorcery should do the work.”
Akna did not bother to point out that, even when he had been a practitioner of the summoner’s art, he had never come across a stone such as this, nor tried to command a summoning that was actually a whole spirit, rather than some fractured aspect of the whole. The Hierophant would likely be strong, beyond the wild spirits that inhabited the palaces of the old kings. It would take true power to control him, even with the aid of the stone and Akna had not even felt the veil in years. He could only hope that Ilsar had some latent talent he could draw on or that the growing tear in the veil above might, somehow, make it e
asier to touch the forces that had once flowed so freely through him.
“I don’t feel anything.” Akna felt the pressure as Ilsar squeezed tighter, no it was more than that, something indefinable stirred within him. It felt as if he were reaching for something he could almost touch, as if he were reaching for something unseen in the dark and his fingers kept brushing against it.
“Concentrate! This is our only chance.” He felt her renewed determination along with her fear. The stone or simply their physical contact, seemed to amplify the bond between them and for an instant, there seemed to be nothing separating their thoughts. The realms beyond the heavy curtain of the physical opened up in an instant and for the first time in years, Akna felt the currents of the world beyond. The howl of the wind was the scream of daemons, echoing from an impossible distance, from places where distance had no meaning. The lightning was a network of fine cracks frozen in a single moment, on which a whole world turned and in his hands he felt the pulsing essence of the Hierophant, still praying for his relief from the inevitability of his mortal limitations.
“Takiaza.” They spoke the word together, as sure a summoning as any adept had ever uttered.
“Takiaza.” The chanting had faltered and on the second call it stopped altogether. Thunder sounded and the ground shuddered. Takiaza, did not relinquish his material form, he found the strength to resist the summons but he could not maintain the spell as well. It was a small interruption, insignificant in comparison to the momentum that the ritual had already built. Under any other circumstances, it would have been meaningless but standing at the heart of the raging flames, the Hierophant could not afford to relinquish the protection of the ritual for even an instant. The body, he had held together through pure force of will, blistered and blackened in a heartbeat, his robes were ash and his eyes were blind. The Hierophant managed to gasp a single syllable before the intense heat burned out his tongue. The Runes gave one last flicker and died, yet still he refused the summons. Takiaza was too proud to fail, too resolute to become a creature for a sorcerer to summon, he held until the last atom had been rendered to ash and when Ilsar and Akna opened their hands, the pale stone they had held was as black as the soot blown away on the unravelling currents of the wind.
