Demon Scroll

by Tim Niederriter

  Lakses passed his fingers through the bars.

  “I must get inside.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to protect the well.”

  “The world well?”

  He nodded.

  “It's imperative.”

  She scowled.

  “Is that it? You came here to protect the well?”

  “It’s their objective,” he said.

  “How do you know that?” Said Elaine.

  “I've been on the king and his allies for months, including his mentor, Havindas.”

  “You know so much,” said Elaine. “How can I trust you?”

  He lowered his voice.

  “Elaine, I wasn't misleading you.’

  Her face flushed. She turned to the gate guard.

  “Open the gate.”

  The guard hesitated.

  “I don't know, my lady.”

  “You do know,” said Elaine. “Raise the portcullis and let this man though.”

  The guard called to the crew at the top of the gate. The began to raise the bars. Lakses ducked inside.

  “You do trust me.”

  “Only as far as protecting the gate.”

  “The world well is in the dungeons.”

  “I know. The governor allowed mages there to gather sprites and Banes. Why would the king want to reach the well?”

  “The king and Havindas are searching for the offspring of their benefactor.”

  “Benefactor?”

  “A demon of the pit.”

  Elaine felt her face go pale.

  “You mean one of the eighty-eight?”

  Lakses nodded.

  “Greater demons lie below the world. At the bottom of the well rests one of their children.”

  “A demon’s child?”

  “Yes. It won’t be the strangest thing you'll hear in the coming days.”

  Elaine waved for him to follow her. She marched toward the palace doors.

  As they approached the entrance of the building, Lady Nasibron emerged.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  Elaine bit her lip.

  “Aunt, Lady Nasibron, this is Lakses.”

  “Lakses?” Lady Nasibron wrinkled her nose.

  “Yes,” said Elaine. “He and I...”

  “Never mind that now,” said Lakses. “I've come to protect the world well. I know it's there. Lady Nasibron, please allow me to help you protect the palace.” He pointed at the sky. “Up there, the king of Nassio is on his way.”

  “Deckard Hadrian is up there too,” said Lady Nasibron.

  Lakses smiled behind his half-moon mask.

  “I know Deckard will do his best. Once Havindas arrives we will all need to work together.”

  “Where is Havindas,” asked Elaine.

  “He travels through the air in the form of mist,” said Lakses, “likely he flies among the lizardmen.”

  Lady Nasibron scowled.

  “The battle did not go as planned.”

  “The battle at sea isn’t concluded,” said Lakses. “Regardless, they are nearly here.”

  “We can all see that,” said Elaine.

  Lady Nasibron looked stern.

  “My student tells the truth. Lakses, why should we trust you here?”

  “The governor left you in charge of the palace. Please allow me to protect to help protect it.”

  Lady Nasibron turned her back. Her black gown swished behind her.

  “Follow me,” she said. “Elaine, keep an eye on him.”

  “You first.” Elaine motioned Lakses forward.

  He moved ahead of her. She leaned toward him.

  “You don't know me yet,” said Lakses. “I suspect that may change in the future.”

  Elaine swallowed. She disliked his tone. He seemed to certain, too confident, and too controlling.

  “How can you know the future?”

  “I don't,” said Lakses. “I have my wishes and guesses.”

  They made their way toward the dungeon. Guards scrambled for the walls.

  “Every guard here is nearly useless against vakari warrior mages,” said Lakses.

  “True,” said Lady Nasibron. “The three of us must stand against them alone.”

  “For now,” said Lakses. “But I understand that the governor's hand has potent warriors. Likely, they will return. I pray in time.”

  “I hope they hurry,” said Elaine.

  “As do I,” said Lakses.

  Lady Nasibron reached the dungeon doors. The guards waiting there saluted.

  “My lady,” said the guard.

  “The gates to the dungeon must remain sealed.” Lady Nasibron turned to Lakses and Elaine. “These two are prepared to fight at my side.”

  “You’re asking?” said Elaine.

  “I'm not asking,” said her aunt. “I'm telling.”

  “Lady Nasibron,” said Lakses. “Thank you.”

  “Don't thank me. To defend this gate, we may have to give our lives.” She motioned to the guards. “You two, go find Lord Tanlos. We could use his reinforcements as soon as possible.”

  “Lord Tanlos is in the city,” said the guard.

  “Then go into the city,” said Lady Nasibron. “You won’t do much good here.”

  The guards saluted. The two of them huddled off.

  Elaine glanced at Lakses, strangely glad he'd come. His warning was timely and he made her feel safer. Despite the impending danger, she refused to reach for his hand. With her aunt there, she would only be embarrassed to touch him.

  The three of them began the ritual spells to ward the doors.

  Lakses deftly released sprites and used them to form barriers both complex and astounding in sonic complication.

  Lady Nasibron raised an eyebrow.

  “You are quite a surprise,” she said. “I never thought my niece was drawn to magic the way I hoped she would be.”

  “Lady Nasibron,” said Lakses. “She is not interested in me for my magic.”

  Elaine flushed

  “Don't say that kind of thing,” she said. “Don't be ridiculous.”

  “Is it so ridiculous?” he asked.

  Elaine shook her head.

  Lady Nasibron frowned.

  “What are you? Lakses, these sprites aren’t the work of training.”

  “Of course,” said Lakses. “I am not an ordinary man.”

  “That's an understatement,” said Lady Nasibron.

  “Understatement is my specialty, Lady Nasibron.”

  Elaine frowned.

  “So, what are you if you're not ordinary?”

  Lakses smiled sadly. His half-moon mask appeared made him look halfway to grief.

  “I have an interesting family. Though, you may say I am only mostly human.”

  “Mostly human?”

  “Please,” Lakses said, “I will tell you later.”

  “You'd better,” said Elaine.

  They kept building wards.

  Deckard

  Deckard flew over the waves, skating past fortress ships battling vessels from Soucot. The Lowenraners held the harbor mouth but the real battle was about to begin within the city.

  He glided over the docks. Five Kanor ships maneuvered into the river.

  Deckard squinted, spotting a figure racing across the water. The figure sped across the waterfront, leaving a high wake behind him. That must be Deel. The figure crossed the river and then disappeared into the city streets.

  The leading fortress ship reached the first bridge and then continued upriver toward the palace.

  High above, to the west, a flock of vakari warriors led by the king of Nassio flew in the same direction.

  Without the assistance of a large number mages, even Deckard could not fight so many warriors. Yet, he had to try.

  Deckard put on as much speed as he could through the wind. His cloak billowed around him, iron robe expanding to catching the wind. Intense fear of inevitable battle flickered in his mind. He let the fear go. S
couting over the waters before the battle, he’d not felt this dread. Those warriors and their king held a real objective in mind. They must be headed for the world well. Could a maladrite be leading them?

  The king had his benefactor, someone beyond human or vakari who healed him.

  Deckard pursued the flock, catching up by spans at a time. Near the palace, he first encountered warriors gliding back to face him. The flying vakari turned, catching the dust from Deckard’s wind. His wings billowed outward and he sailed higher on the updraft.

  Deckard spread sprite strings to entangle the warrior’s wings. Cannier than many, the warrior found a clear path to escape the strings. He conjured fire from the banes on his palms. Fire, Deckard thought, no good.

  He reduced the power of the wind and increased the weight of his body. He fell fast, avoiding a jet of flame from his opponent. Deckard caught himself by decreasing his weight. He smashed his knuckles across the warrior’s jaw. Beneath his blow, scales cracked.

  The warrior spun through the air, disoriented. As the warrior spiraled out of control, Deckard ascended to avoid flailing limbs. The lizard man crashed across a rooftop and then lay still. Deckard angled toward the palace.

  Two more warriors detached from the flock to attack Deckard. A third lizard man joined behind them, carrying a net. With Deckard’s abilities, an ordinary neck net did nothing to make him worry but the net the warrior held glinted with razor edges and sprites danced along its length with a song of their own.

  Deckard darted closer to the palace, moving toward the right-most warrior, who was already weaving spell. Deckard's strings shot faster. He entangled the warrior’s hands and then shot a bane dart through one wing. The warrior fell.

  His comrade finished a spell. A lance of pure white light leapt from each hand.

  Deckard dodged one beam, while the other glanced off his armor. He circled to avoid the net as the warrior holding tossed it out on the end of a line like a fisherman. He caught only air.

  Deckard flew over him and hurled darts through his back. The vakari with the net doubled over and dropped his weapon. He sank from the sky.

  The third warrior fled toward the city below rather than face Deckard alone.

  Deckard raced after the rest of the lizardmen. He encountered no more warriors barring his path. More flew ahead, forming the brunt of the attack. The rest scattered through the city. Forty warriors seemed a lot better to face than hundreds, but Deckard didn’t think he could beat them all. The guards and magisters would have their hands full today. A few dropped back to confront him.

  Deckard hurled a bane on a sprite string to entangle one of the warriors in the rear of the formation. Taking the weight from his robe, he forced the lizard man into another warrior. Another warrior dove toward him, swinging a broadsword. His palm touched the warrior’s shoulder and Deckard infused enough weight that the flying lizard man spun out of control. The fourth warrior retreated, still aloft, holding a spear to keep Deckard at arms reach.

  A laugh came from behind Deckard as the net he thought dropped entangled him. He covered his head with his arms, protecting himself with iron sleeves. The razor blades cut into his hands but did little damage anywhere else. He fell toward the city, losing altitude. The wind carried him up.

  The vakari who hurled the net descended with him toward the city, starting to draw him in like a fresh catch. The spear warrior charged toward them in the air.

  Deckard couldn't get his hands free to direct his essences.

  One bane on the tip of his fingers broke a line in the net. The net tightened. A clever construction, Deckard thought, unsure of how one would make such a device. He cut another line, then another. The net tightened about them. He added all his weight and fell, tugging the vakari with the net. The other warrior’s spear pierced the netter. The net slackened.

  Deckard shook himself free as the warrior’s grip relaxed. He shot the spear warrior with a bane dart. Both the warriors fell.

  Deckard flew toward the palace. He hoped the governor’s hand would be behind him or the next fight could be too much. A maladrite accompanied the enemy, an unknown enemy. Some maladrites made powerful foes.

  He descended toward the palace, following the remaining winged warriors toward main halls.

  He shouted as the king of Nassio landed within the palace walls.

  “Zalklith Once Broken,” called Deckard, “Cease your cowardly attack and face me.”

  Zalklith turned. His reptilian lips curled in a sneer. He said nothing but stalked toward the palace. More warrior mages followed him while others spread out to suppress the guards.

  Deckard decided it was better to face the king than confront the entire force attacking the palace at once. Even so, a dozen mages made a difficult prospect to face. Another shape materialized in the front yard of the palace.

  The maladrite floated in the air as he descended in a misty form.

  Zalklith glanced at cloud the maladrite formed, barely detectable as a creature except for the song of sprites. The king went inside.

  Deckard found his plan. He landed in the courtyard before the cloud of mist where the maladrite hovered.

  “Deckard Hadrian,” said the maladrite, materializing a bone-pale form from the mist. The creature had no eyes, but a starry field of the dome over a leering mouth. He wore a white robe, open across a skinny chest. He reached out an elongated arm. “Out of my path.”

  The maladrite made a dismissive gesture.

  Wind hurled Deckard backward. He flew through the palace doors over the heads of Zaklith and his coterie of mages. The maladrite that had been mist just moments ago leapt over the lizardmen and sailed through the broken doors. Deckard tumbled painfully to the floor in the entrance hall.

  The maladrite retrieved the sprites he’s used to throw Deckard as he landed before him.

  “My name is Havindas,” said the maladrite, “I doubt you've heard before.”

  “No one in the city knows you,” said Deckard.

  “By design,” said Havindas.

  “You’re a maladrite. Why help a demon?”

  “He offers great knowledge in exchange for my service.”

  “Havindas.” Deckard got to his feet. “You won't get what you want from him.”

  “You don't know anything, Hadrian. You will perish here, even if I don’t land the final blow. I've heard much of mercy's fabled demon hunter. I’m disappointed.” Havindas folded elongated fingers. His spindly arms suddenly bunched with accumulated muscle from heavy aura pulsing through his limbs. “Perhaps we shall try wrestling first.”

  Deckard grimaced. He shifted all his weight into his legs and took a step forward. Holding all the power he could in himself, Deckard advanced on the maladrite.”

  Zalklith shouted from the hall behind Havindas.

  “Do you require assistance?”

  Havindas shook his head.

  “I’ll handle him. Go to the well.”

  “To the dungeons,” Zalklith said. “Follow me, my warriors.”

  “You won’t win.” Deckard grinned.

  “Oh, I will.”

  “It's funny how many demons say that.”

  “I'm no demon.”

  “You go by a different name but you're still one of them.”

  Havindas leapt toward Deckard, limbs punching holes in the tiles he pushed off. His enormous, empowered arms shot at Deckard.

  Deckard focused all his feather sprites. Havindas’ blow connected.

  Deckard went spiraling away, but not before removing all weight from his foe. For seconds, the maladrite lost friction with the ground. He slid after Deckard.

  The two of them crashed into the feasting hall with the tables up on either side of them.

  Deckard faced his foe.

  “Clever,” said Havindas. He grinned, face splitting below the jaw. “I'm going to enjoy mashing you into pulp, soon enough, but the timing is poor.”

  “Feel free to leave,” said Deckard, finding his feet again.r />
  “I'm not retreating,” said Havindas

  “Then have at me.”

  Havindas’s aura billowed around him, forming a ring of pentagons using sprites to shape them.

  The pentacle, Deckard thought, made for a dangerous combination with a maladrite already capable of wielding such enormous physical strength. The technique could negate his essence’s abilities.

  Deckard grimaced at his foe.

  “Going to posture all day?”

  “Trying to goad me? I'm taking my time.”

  Deckard sensed this the essence songs of two familiar women and one less familiar man, near the dungeon gates.

  “Your friends don’t have time,” he said. “They have worse to contend with than me.”

  Havindas turned his starry face from Deckard.

  “Don’t try to fool me. You will stand in my way no longer. Having saved many, you will die here, alone.”

  “Go on then.”

  Havindas retracted the pentacle and then swung his arms. The force that would've lifted Deckard before sliced through defenses like a scythe. Deckard carried his full weight, slowing him, but keeping him upright.

  Havindas marched toward him. Deckard’s bloody fists rose in the guard position.

  “Draw your sword. It will do you no good against me anyway.”

  Deckard grimaced.

  “I don’t need it to defeat you.”

  Havindas smiled.

  “I won't lie to you any further, Deckard, because I am confident in my victory.”

  The two of them clashed. Fists more powerful than wagon wheels smashed against Deckard's arms. The maladrite’s aura protected him from any counter-attack.

  With every blow, Havindas drove Deckard backward. The iron robe held, but each strike left Deckard more battered and bruised.

  His arms would not last forever.

  The effects of Havindas’ negation magic began to fade.

  Deckard found his essence once more.

  He only took one shot with sprite string. He chose the neck. Havindas brought his arms up and cut the string before it could reach him.

  Deckard’s bane glanced off his skin. A single drop of blood flew from the wound Deckard’s shot left behind, black against the maladrite’s white skin. He recoiled in pain. Deckard used the opportunity to focus as much power as he could into the wind from behind him.