The Titan's Tome

by M. B. Schroeder

  Armagon waited patiently, he wouldn’t rush his brother in his mourning. When DraKar turned back, the seething amber had begun swirling in his eyes, threatening to drown them in red. Armagon knew they would be taking their retribution. He hoped DraKar would let him help plan their strikes. They flew away from Meerwood without a word.

  They landed in a small clearing of a forest a few miles away and made camp. DraKar made sure to ward it with his magic. Neither spoke until it was done.

  “My sympathy,” Armagon offered.

  DraKar grunted.

  “What’s your plan?” Armagon asked, hoping to force DraKar to speak.

  DraKar frowned and looked away.

  “And Meerwood? Shall we rebuild?”

  DraKar stood and whirled away from Armagon. He didn’t want to think about Meerwood. It only made him think of Drunah. He stalked away to the edge of the clearing and slashed at a tree with his claws as he passed.

  Armagon knew better than to go after DraKar when he was upset. He’d wait until his brother returned, and offer a plan. If it had just been an attack on their town, Armagon could take more time. He could be diligent in gathering information and plotting their best tactics. But with Drunah being targeted, he didn’t have long before DraKar lost what little patience he had and simply went on a destructive rampage against the Hells. He didn’t blame his brother, he knew what it was to lose a mate. Armagon had sacrificed himself to save Selien’s soul from the corruption of the Hells. It hadn’t been a thoroughly thought out trade, he had been young, foolish, and despairing. He should have bargained for her soul to be released from the Hells, not simply untouched.

  It wasn’t the time to be worrying about the past, but it still needled at him, in the back of his mind. The memories were still sharp even after all the centuries in the Hells.

  The job he and DraKar had signed on to was simple. Guard students on an expedition to the southern continent. After their small group walked through the gateway the instructor had opened, the stench of the place had been what first struck Armagon. The single step it took to enter the swirling gateway, had them a full step on the other side in a strange new realm. The mage instructor was the last to follow his students through, and when he exited the gateway to join them, the runes around it darkened, and the swirling portal vanished.

  Armagon hadn’t known where they were, the landscape was unfamiliar and unnatural. The sky held a red cast, the purple and black clouds swelled and stirred like an unnaturally fast moving storm. The rust colored ground was hard packed and cracked. The aura of fear had suffused his thoughts, made him tremble and almost caused him to run. But there had been nowhere to run to, they couldn’t see beyond the ragged cliffs surrounding the small valley, and nightmarish thugs were charging down the narrow pass toward them. Having never encountered demons before, he hadn’t been able to put a name to the creatures.

  The confusion of traveling through the gateway and arriving in a foreign place, made Armagon lose track of Selien. He had taken only a moment to look behind them to see the large circular gateway quiet, the runes dulled as the magic faded, and when he looked back, she was amongst the demons charging toward them. All his emotions and instincts to flee ceased when he saw one of the beasts shove a clawed hand into her gut and lift her off the ground. She offered no sound, but gave several small spasms as blood poured down the arm of her attacker and spilled from her mouth.

  DraKar had followed him into the fight. The two sarpand tried to reach Selien’s broken body, coating the parched ground with the blood of their foes and their own. Before they could come close, a blinding light flashed, and a tall robed figure stood amongst the grotesque beings who’d slaughtered Selien.

  Asmodeus, the brothers would later learn was his name, was an elegant archdevil and supreme ruler of his realm of the Hells, the Seventh plane. A giant amongst the demons, standing thirteen feet tall, with black horns that arched back above his head. His humanoid face appeared stretched, the cheekbones and eye sockets pronounced and his nose sharply pointed, the red skin pulled taut over his features. His long black hair was meticulously groomed, slicked back and lying flat on the back of his robes.

  Asmodeus chuckled at how Armagon and DraKar roared and raged at him. The archdevil held them in a spell, along with the students and instructor. The instructor of the magic school who had led them through the portal, could only gape in stupefied shock.

  “Rare for living souls to be on my plane of the Hells. Rarer still, for those souls to fight so viciously against my forces.” His voice was a soothing baritone and accent eloquent in the common Merchant tongue, like a cultured noble. “Is this what you want, mortal? The soul of this creature?”

  “Yes!” Armagon shouted, and his chest ached from the exertion against the spell holding him.

  “And what would I get in return? If I keep the taint of the Hells from her soul?” Asmodeus’s grin had pulled back his dark lips from the sharp fangs in his mouth.

  “Anything!” Armagon panted, straining to breathe and think of what he could offer. “My soul!”

  Asmodeus laughed heartily. “A reasonable trade. Here, seal it with your blood.”

  Armagon was released from the magical hold, and a red crystalline dagger appeared on the ground in front of him. Without hesitation, he picked up the knife and sliced open his palm, effectively making his sword hand useless, and let his blood drip to the ground. It had startled him when DraKar had snatched the dagger from his hand and offered himself up for the release of the rest of their companions. DraKar threw the dagger back at Asmodeus’s feet after cutting his own palm, keeping the three other elves in their party from negotiating further.

  Before Asmodeus could give an order to his new servants, the mage instructor regressed them to eggs, causing their memories to be forgotten. The two had only known being Mammon’s sons after that, bargained away to the archdevil of the Third plane before their hatching. It wasn’t until they had come across their Legacy Crystals, that they recalled what had preceded their service to the Hells.

  Armagon unconsciously clutched the dark crystal; his claws pressed hard against the heel of his hand. The strange black stone that DraKar said was magically enchanted, but the true nature of the spell was beyond even his knowledge. The elven magic instructor who’d hired them centuries ago, had given such crystals to each person in their small party. The elf had called them Legacy Crystals, and only said they were an experiment to record their journey.

  Once they found the crystals and held them, the fog that blocked their lives before the Hells, lifted and they realized their souls were cursed. They could never erase everything they had done, but it began their rebellion against the Hells.

  ***

  Khain slipped into the hidden chamber in DraKar’s tower where Erian lived. The main room was lit with enchanted lamps DraKar had crafted. Erian could light, brighten, and dim the flames with a touch. Several rugs blanketed the floor haphazardly, laid across each other, double and triple deep, covering the stone completely. Shelves of books and scrolls lined the walls, and more stacks leaned dangerously near the chairs and well-stuffed sofa.

  Erian’s sat in one of large chairs, nose buried in a book, and his bare toes curled and scrunched at the soft rug.

  Khain made the approximation of a polite cough.

  Erian lowered the book, not surprised by the assassin’s quiet entrance. “Word from Meerwood?”

  “Nothing yet. I have to go to Limbo…”

  Erian shook his head.

  Khain didn’t push his offer, he had his answer. “With Lil’ Brother and Old Blue gone, do you want me to tell Sahra?”

  “So long as the larders and cold rooms are full, I’ll be fine.”

  Khain nodded. Erian had chosen to be reclusive since his time in Arkhed’s labs. He rarely spoke of his life before being captured, so there was no way to know if this was his true nature or if he’d become this way.

  “Sahra will be coming with me to keep an eye on the g
ate to Limbo again for a time.” Khain made an encompassing gesture to the tower. “So you’ll have the run of the place.”

  “I won’t be hosting any guests.”

  Khain forced a smile at the hollow joke. “It might be several years here before I get back to this plane. I told Sahra to return in three. You have five years of foodstuffs.”

  Erian set his book aside and stood. The thick rugs muffled his steps as he walked to Khain. He narrowed his eyes, one a natural green, the other socket filled with a congealed black fluid. “What are you trying to say? What is happening on Limbo?”

  Khain smirked; he’d finally gotten a reaction from him. “Just visiting a mutual acquaintance.”

  “Mutual…” Erian muttered, looking away and mulling the thought. He looked sharply back at Khain. “Slear? A kadmon?” He sucked in a sharp breath. “Arkhed!”

  Khain tipped his head. “So, if I’m not back by the time Lil’ Brother and Old Blue choose to return, send a rescue party for me.”

  Erian cursed and clenched his fists. “Why? Why go see him?”

  “I have my suspicions Arkhed hasn’t been sitting on his thumbs lately.” Khain gave a casual shrug. “And that is never good for anyone. It’s best we not let him plot and plan undisturbed.”

  “Then wait for Armagon and DraKar. Take them with you.”

  “Naw,” Khain drawled. Then grew serious. “Neither of us wants them within reach of Arkhed.”

  Erian paled and took a step back. “Yes… You’re right.” He turned away, a hand reached up and grasped at his red hair. “If he captured them…” The broken kadmon tugged once, twice, and finally released his hair. After several deep breaths he gathered himself and turned back around.

  Khain was gone.

  Chapter 9

  309 Br. winter

  “The Unclaimed Lands in the center of the northern continent have been left because there is little value in expanding a kingdom into land scarcely occupied. There are no riches there, no unique woods, no vast cities. To stretch the kingdom’s resources to occupy an indefensible, useless track of forest and plains is an errand that only a fool would try to undertake.”

  -King Gorlen Toren, ruler of Brenack

  A nother bout of snow began to fall as Kharick and Madger headed back to Pero. Heavy, low, gray clouds settled across the lowlands. The weather weighed everything down, soon even the sound of the cart was muffled in the flurries.

  It wasn’t a surprise that the smell of the town’s chimneys carried to them, as the gently falling snow kept the smoke from lifting away. The glow from the lanterns and windows reflected against the silent clouds. The sun was setting, and made the clouds glow crimson. In moments they would be home and warm in the little house with Gerran. He would have supper ready for them and perhaps some warm bread from the baker if she had sent her boy to Gerran’s house. It was too cold and slick out for the old man to go outside. Perhaps the children were still there, keeping him awake with their jabbering.

  Madger’s head jerked up from the piece of hay she had been studying. The distant wail in the encroaching darkness sent a stab of ice down her spine and her heart skipped. She grabbed at Kharick’s coat, clenching tightly at his thick shoulder.

  “What?” Kharick asked.

  “Listen,” Madger hissed in a strained voice.

  A piercing scream, closer and louder than before, shattered the air. Suddenly they were aware the smoke wasn’t from chimneys, the reflecting light wasn’t from cozy homes, and the townspeople were crying out for help.

  Kharick cursed and shouted to Bill, “Hup!”

  The gray gelding trotted into a lope, then with further encouragement, broke into a gallop. His ears flipped back as the air whistled by, and he stretched out his neck, committing to the task of rushing home.

  Madger clung to the seat in front of her as the cart bounced along the road; she leaned into the wind that wanted to pull tears from her eyes. It couldn’t be happening again. She couldn’t lose another home.

  The sound of the cart and Bill’s heaving lungs, drowned out any other sound, except for the shrillest screams. They crested the hill and saw towering flames buffeting the clouds, black smoke billowed up into the gray, soot-filled sky. Silhouettes of fleeing people dashed past the flames and disappeared into the smoke.

  Kharick flicked the reins on Bill’s back, encouraging the gelding to race home, toward the destruction and chaos. Madger had her feet under her now, crouched low on the hay in the back of the cart, eager to jump from it and try to save some of the people who’d accepted her into their community.

  Kharick deftly pulled his weapons free of his belt while still keeping a hold of the reins. The ax and hammer were held at the ready in each hand as he continued to coax Bill for every bit of speed he could offer.

  A figure strode out of the smoke, slender and slightly taller than a human, with pointed ears that could just be seen in the harsh light of the fire. Shrouded in a cloak that billowed by the light of the flames, it raised a bow and made ready to shoot. In one fluid movement, it released the string and Bill lurched.

  The gelding stumbled, and then tipped forward, slamming head first into the muddy road. The cart bounced wildly, and the fixed shafts caught against the ground as Bill’s body fell. Madger screamed as the cart lifted off the ground, launching her and Kharick into the air as it flipped over.

  Kharick rolled through the mud, but kept a firm grip on his weapons. An angry determination smoldered in his brown eyes as he came to his knees. He was close enough now to see the details of the figure.

  “Darkling,” Kharick growled and jumped to his feet. He charged at the dark elf who’d shot the arrow into Bill’s chest.

  The dark elf hesitated only a moment before pulling another arrow and nocking it. Before the bowstring could be pulled, Kharick flung his ax. It smashed through the bow and planted in the dark elf’s chest. Kharick was at the dark elf’s side as he fell to the ground with a gurgle. He jerked the ax free, gave a final blow to the dark elf’s head with his hammer, and ran into the town.

  Madger wasn’t as quick to her feet as Kharick. She’d never trained to take a fall as he had, and was still finding her footing by the time Kharick killed the dark elf. She saw him give the final blow then disappear into the smoke-filled town. With a cry, she gathered her balance and raced after him.

  She hadn’t been with her family when they were killed, but she imagined it had sounded much like this. The different screams were maddening, a child for her mother, a man enraged, a woman being pulled away from home and family. The sounds assaulted Madger’s ears and the smoke choked her. The defiant noise of small pockets of people trying to defend their homes echoed in the street, but they were few, and rarely lasted long.

  She had no physical weapons, but catching the darkling’s clothes on fire was a simple spell for her now. Two had come close enough for her to cast the spell, one at a time. She left the pair fleeing the petite flames trying to eat their clothing. She didn’t want to lose sight of Kharick though and was desperate to get to Gerran’s house. They broke off the main road and followed another street to the ring of houses that circled the cities central fountain. Taking a southern route, they raced toward the worker's houses. Fire reared up around them, roaring like an angry beast.

  The smoke was thick, offering to choke her and making her eyes water. Familiar buildings were ravaged by fire, parts of the framework had fallen into the street. Bodies were clustered where people had cowered together as their attackers killed them.

  Kharick’s gruff battle cry carried over the sound of buildings collapsing as the fire ate away at them. Madger paused at an orc’s body, his knee had been crushed, splinters of bone protruded through muscle and green skin. His chest and neck were smeared with blood from deep gouges. Kharick had crossed paths with the darkling and killed him before moving on.

  A weapon was still grasped in the orc’s thick hand, and Madger took it. It was a dual headed ax, with a long haft that matched
her in height. She hefted the weapon experimentally, and satisfied she could handle the weight, hurried after Kharick.

  The attack must have been going on for most of the day, because several of the houses in the worker’s district were already burnt husks. Gerran’s house, in the worker’s section of town, still stood, but the rear smoked heavily. Though, the buildings around it had collapsed into charred piles of debris.

  No one else was around, the screaming of the townspeople in the central merchant’s section, remained distant. The damage hinted that the attackers had moved through the entire city with the wave of fire. The snow continued to fall, mixing with the ash and melting on smoldering ruins.

  Madger’s lungs ached as she ran to the doorway of Gerran’s home, the door hung awkwardly on one hinge. Inside, Kharick cradled Gerran’s bloody body, the old man’s eyes were partially open, but lifeless. The three dirty urchins were huddled near Gerran’s bed.

  Jula crawled away from the other’s, her skin smudged with soot and her blonde hair a halo of knots around her head. “He saved us, Kharick. He saved us with his magic.”

  Kharick didn’t answer and didn’t look up from Gerran’s slack face.

  Madger shook her head, her grip on the ax tightened. Without a word, she left the remains of their home and stalked back the way she had come.

  The main cobblestone road she and Kharick had rushed down only moments before, was becoming quieter. Fewer people remained in the town, and the attackers had their plunder. A gangly troll was dragging a rug out of a nearby home and the corners of the thickly woven cloth were pulled up in his grasp. The sound of metal and ceramics clattering together, couldn’t be completely muffled by the carpet, and it drew Madger’s attention.

  The troll was muttering in what she assumed to be the Darkling language, Madger had never heard it before, but she didn’t care to know what he was saying. With an angry flick of her wrist, a trick Gerran had shown her to help direct her magic, she set the rug on fire and charged at the troll with a rage-filled scream. The troll startled back from the spark of flame and turned toward Madger’s cry. He didn’t have time to pull the cudgel from his belt before she was on him.