Esselles marveled at the thoroughness of their security and wondered why the Imperial Guard was not the same. He quickly answered his own question, realizing that the majority of the Imperial Guard were not professional soldiers. The exceptions were the Imperial Guardsmen assigned to castle detail, who were actually members of the Legion assigned to the Imperial Guard.
“In here,” Walket said, breaking Esselles’ contemplation. “The Twenty-Third’s barracks hall is the fourth on the right. But we have to go and check in with our night watch. I’m sure they’ve already received your name and description from Captain Falconer, but you still have to check in.”
They continued down the hall and entered one of the only doors with light emanating from it. Seated around a table were five Legionnaires playing cards.
“Hey Walket,” one of them called as he entered the room. “You’re up late. Who’s the monk?”
Esselles looked back over his shoulder before he realized that the person was referring to him. It dawned on him he was wearing one of the robes from the Temple of the Moon, and he turned back towards the table with a wry grin on his face, smiling at his own mistake.
“This is Esselles,” said Walket. “He’s the one Falconer assigned to our barracks while he recovers from his combat with a grishmagi.”
“This guy fought a grishmagi?” one of the other soldiers asked, looking up from his hand. “What’d he use? A ballista?” He tossed two cards to the dealer, laughing at his own joke.
“Walket said he had combat with one, didn’t say he killed him,” the dealer joked back.
“True,” Walket answered, a smile creeping onto his face. “I didn’t say he killed him. If I did, I would have mentioned that he did so with a dagger. Drove it deep into his chest.”
Two of the other players looked up with a start. Esselles started to say something, but Walket gave him a quick little kick in the shin.
“You’re trying to tell me that he killed a grishmagi with just a dagger?” asked the dealer. “Let’s see those arms of yours. They don’t look all that big under them monk robes.”
“Speed,” Walket emphasized, “can kill just as efficiently as strength can. I’d thought that Kyell had taught you that enough times on the combat grounds Mr. Fletcher.” Walket’s smile became a wicked grin as he elicited his desired reaction from the dealer. The other card players laughed at the dealer’s indignation.
“Ha, he got you there, Sitas,” one of the card players said. “Well, you are welcome to stay in our barracks, Mr., um…”
“Hawkblood,” Esselles supplied.
“Mr. Hawkblood,” the card player continued. “As long as you don’t mind sharing it with us mere mortals.” He chuckled as he set down his cards and stood up to shake Esselles’ hand.
“Hey,” Esselles objected, “I never claimed to be anything else.”
“Yeah, with Walket talking for you, you don’t need to. By the way, I’m Harran. Also in the Twenty-Third, but I’m in B Platoon. Captain Falconer told me you’d be joining us this evening. Welcome to our humble abode.”
“Thanks,” Esselles said as he shook Harran’s hand.
“Got any money you’d like to lose?” Harran asked as he sat back down at the table.
“Actually, I don’t know where my belongings are, and even if I did, I’d pass out before you dealt the first hand. I’m exhausted.”
“Hey, don’t let us keep you up. Walket, get this grishmagibane to his bunk,” Harran said with a grin.
“Wait a minute,” Sitas called out. “If you’re gonna pass out before the first hand, sit down and play. With the way my cards have been tonight, you’d be about the only one I could beat.”
“With your skill and luck? He’d probably beat you twitching in his sleep,” Walket joked. He and Esselles left the room as the other players lightheartedly kidded Sitas about his card-playing skill.
“Hope you don’t mind, but Sitas loves to flaunt his alleged superiority. It felt great making him eat his words.”
“Just don’t go making me out to be something I’m not. I don’t want people to think I’ve got an over-inflated ego.”
“It’s not as if anything I said was untrue. I just said it in a way that made it sound better.” Walket’s voice dropped to a whisper as they reached the bunk hall. “Besides, if you do have an ego, the drill sergeants will beat it out of you pretty quickly.”
He quietly led them down the rows of bunks until he came to an empty one. He pointed to it, indicating that Esselles should take it. He then pointed out his own, three bunks down. He also pointed to a far door, indicating it was the head. Walket then saluted and walked to his bunk, taking off his gear and stowing it in his footlocker.
Esselles sat on the edge of his assigned bunk and looked about the dim room. A slight breeze blew through the room from the far end and Esselles could see stars through the narrow horizontal windows set high in the wall. He could hear the sleepy rumblings of the many legionnaires who shared the barracks hall and he could smell the musky odor of leather armor and the slightly pungent odor of the oil used to keep armor and arms in good condition. It was a smell he was familiar with for it permeated his own room back at the Undertow Inn. It gave him something familiar to cling to in this foreign landscape.
He thought back on all that had happened to him this day and marveled that it could all fit within a single day’s span. Less than a day, he thought to himself. In another hour or two it would be a full day from when he had first awakened to take his sojourn into the woods.
Thinking back to his trip here with Walket, he again wondered what it was he had volunteered for. The fact that Walket was talking about him as if he would be here a while had not been lost on his tired mind. But the talk of drill instructors had caught him by surprise. It was only exhaustion that had kept him from showing any reaction.
That same exhaustion took over as he lay down onto his cot. His mind was still trying to determine how the past day’s event might impact his life, if at all, but before he could conjecture upon the possibilities, he fell into a sound slumber.
Chapter Four
The demon, trapped within a cage of light, flexed its muscles with every ounce of strength it possessed, ripping and pulling at the confining strands. It tore at them with its rows of razor sharp teeth to no avail. The futility fed its anger, and the beast redoubled its efforts.
Unable to break the strands of light with shear strength, the demon began to attack them magically. It shot bolt after bolt of energy but each one merely divided on the radiant filaments and were absorbed into the floor.
The demon turned its attention to the source of the cage of light, a small obsidian obelisk sitting upon a marble pedestal. It worked its hand through the net and fired its bolts of magical energy at the obelisk. The demon watched in dismay as each one was deflected by the magical field surrounding the cage and disbursed harmlessly onto the floor.
Still not admitting defeat, the demon tried to fold space. With its mind, it reached across the room and tried to pull itself to that location. But no matter how much mental effort the demon exerted, it was unable to break out of the magical barrier imposed by the cage.
Exhausted, it slumped to the ground. It relaxed and began to absorb the energy of the confining strands. Within minutes, the demon’s energy pool was recharged. But after another round of attempts attacking the cage, it finally decided it was futile.
The demon turned its attention to the surrounding room. The demon was situated in one end of a large room. The perimeter was lined with large bookshelves, all of which were filled with numerous tomes and scrolls. The other end of the room was filled with large oaken tables. Standing near the tables were three large uruks.
The demon could both smell their fear and read it in their minds. It probed their minds further, looking for the most courageous of the three. Once choosing its victim, it began to feed the uruk’s courage and curiosity.
Come forward, Vilnarin, the demon called out menta
lly.
The uruk began to walk forward, eliciting protests from his fellow guards.
“No!” Pernigin called out, reaching for Vilnarin’s back.
Vilnarin wheeled around with a vicious snarl and dislodged Pernigin’s hand. Vilnarin puffed his massive chest and stood tall, fangs bared and eyes boring into Pernigin’s. Pernigin finally backed down and Vilnarin continued toward the demon.
That’s it. You are the mightiest of your brethren. They will fall down before you. You and I…together we can rule this place.
Doubt and fear registered in the back of Vilnarin’s mind at the thought of running the castle, but it was quickly swept away by the wave of hubris the demon was invoking.
And you will hold dominion over the castle. I will hold dominion over the outside lands. But for us to achieve this, I must first be freed. You need only shatter the obelisk and we will be free to conquer.
Vilnarin drew his scimitar. Behind him, his fellow uruks cried out protests. Vilnarin ignored them and approached the obelisk. As his blade neared the obelisk, small blue sparks danced across its surface. Vilnarin hesitated.
Smash it! Smash it, and I will be free. I will destroy Malicar and all this will be yours. Vilnarin. Lord of his demesne.
Vilnarin drew his blade back. His fellow guards grew even more agitated and called out, but by now, their cries fell on deaf ears. Mustering all of his strength, Vilnarin swung his iron blade at the obelisk.
As the blade descended, the sparks increased, leaping from the surface of the blade to the surface of the obelisk and back. When the edge of the blade hit the corner of the obelisk, the blade exploded in a white hot flash, showering Vilnarin and the demon with molten iron. The concussion threw Vilnarin back against the far wall.
The demon looked down at the drops of iron smoldering on its hide and glowered. It negligently flicked them off and dropped down on its haunches, finally admitting defeat.
Pernigin cautiously approached Vilnarin.
“Is he alive?” his partner called to him.
“How should I know?” Pernigin snapped back. He kept his distance from the demon as he worked his way over to his fallen comrade.
Vilnarin’s chest rose and fell. The movement was barely discernible, but it was there. The skin on his hand was blackened and blistered and his arm, chest, and face were all covered with numerous burns from the molten iron.
“What’s going on?!” The dry, wispy shout snapped Pernigin to attention. “Get back to your post.”
Pernigin scurried back to the oaken tables.
Malicar walked past the demon, towards the fallen uruk. Behind him, Renamir waited in the doorway. As Malicar passed the demon, it leapt from its crouch, stretching its confines to try to reach its captor. Malicar calmly stopped and turned to face the demon.
The demon fired energy bolts at him, but as before, they were absorbed into the floor.
Malicar raised his hand and pointed at the demon. Five pulses of energy shot down his arm and struck the demon in the chest. Though most of the energy dispersed on the demon’s hide, the bolts still inflicted a great deal of pain.
It howled in pain, but got the message. It dropped back into its crouch, hate radiating from its eyes.
Malicar turned back to Renamir. “Place everything on that table. And you two,” he said to the remaining guards, “get him out of here,” pointing at Vilnarin.
“He appears rather powerful. Was the capture difficult?” Renamir asked as he set down the magical devices he carried.
“Not very,” Malicar answered. “I was able to get in and get out before any of the demon princes noticed.”
Malicar walked over to the obelisk and placed his hands on its surface, ignoring the witch-fire that danced on his fingertips. He began to mumble as he pressed the surface. The bands of light thickened as he did so. They began to tighten on the form of the crouched demon.
The demon immediately realized what was occurring and tried to straighten out. But no matter how hard it fought, the strands continued to constrict and before long, the demon was completely bound, unable to move at all.
Satisfied with the bindings, Malicar went over to the table to check the supplies he had brought. He ran down a mental checklist and decided all was in order and ready to begin. He pulled down a large tome from one of the shelves and opened it to a page marked with a cloth strip. He scanned that page and the next three before continuing. Satisfied that he knew the procedure, he grabbed a small, lidded metal bowl and walked toward the demon. He flipped open the lid and stuck one finger into the silvery white powder contained within. He muttered a strange syllable and a pulse of light shot down his finger into the powder. The powder began to radiate, casting an eerie light onto the folds of his heavy cloak.
He carefully sprinkled the powder about the demon, leaving a well-drawn glowing circle with the demon at its center. He handed the bowl back to Renamir, who then handed him a tubular metal device. Malicar took it to each of the four cardinal points of the compass, placing it at the edge of the circle, pointed toward the demon, and again uttered a strange syllable. Each time, a stream of black liquid shot out, drawing some of the powder from the circle with it. The streams stretched from the edge of the circle to the feet of the demon. As each stream touched the demon’s feet, it flinched, even though heavily confined by the bands of light.
Once all four streams were laid down, the flecks of powder in the streams began to circulate to and from the demon. As time went on, the movement of the flecks began to increase in speed and blue sparks crackled over the streams. The light radiating from the silver circle increased to a blinding whiteness.
As this was happening, Malicar handed the tubular device back to Renamir and walked to the obelisk. He placed a single finger upon its surface and began to utter strange words, just on the threshold of hearing. When he pulled his finger away from the surface, a black tendril extended from his finger to the obelisk. He stretched the tendril from the obelisk to the edge of the silver circle, touching it to the powder. He mumbled once more and when he withdrew his hand, the tendril remained attached to the circle.
Energy began pouring down the tendril, causing it to snake about the end of the room. As the energy of the system increased, the tendril lashed about the room with increasing speed. Renamir was forced to take a step backwards to avoid the black tendril.
It soon became apparent that the source of the energy was the demon. The hatred began to drain from its eyes and its face took on a slack-jawed appearance. After a few minutes, it began to slump in its confining strands.
Malicar was back at the obelisk working the strands, causing them to retract. As they did so, the demon fell to the ground. Malicar shut down the magical cage and retracted the strands of light back into the obelisk.
In the center of the inscribed circle, the demon tried to lift its arms but was unable to do so. Soon it began to lose consciousness.
The flecks in the streams began to slow down and the tendril similarly slowed down, eventually returning to its original slow weaving motion.
Renamir handed Malicar another bowl of powder, which he sprinkled on the black streams. The powder sizzled and popped as it hit the streams generating a volley of blue sparks. When the sparks subsided, the black streams were all but gone.
“Monitor his energy levels closely,” Malicar instructed. “His regenerative capabilities are strong. We may need to drain him again once or twice through the procedure. I want enough advance notice because some portions of the procedure cannot be interrupted.”
Renamir nodded his understanding and moved closer to the circle containing the demon. He sat down on the floor, made himself comfortable, and began to concentrate.
Through his mind’s eye, he could see the presence of the others in the room – the strong, towering presence of Malicar’s shielded mind, the open and unshielded minds of the returned guards, and the barely discernible mental signals of the demon.
Malicar followed the instructions
in the tome. Though most of the spells were beyond Malicar’s comprehension, it did not matter. He had learned the spell that allowed a mage to lift a spell from a magical tome directly into his mind. His mind loaded the magical commands from the paper and then acted them out upon the demon.
Twice during the series of transmutation spells, the demon’s energy levels had regenerated enough to necessitate Malicar draining them. The spells he was working were delicate enough that he did not want to risk them being disrupted by the demon’s natural ability to shed magical energy. With the demon’s energy levels properly depleted, it was not a problem.
By the time the three-hour process was complete, the vials of blood were empty and the powders and liquids nearly depleted. Once finished, Malicar redrew the black streams connecting the circle and the demon. Unlike earlier, he left the streams touching the demon, but disconnected the black tendril.
“The circle should be able to dissipate any energy the demon regenerates,” Malicar informed Renamir as he detached the tendril. “Now it is simply a matter of waiting for the spell to complete its transformation. It should take somewhere between forty and eighty hours.”
The spell was already having visible effects. The skin of the demon could be seen rippling occasionally as the musculature underneath was slowly being transformed by the spell. Renamir, still monitoring the demon, could read the pain signals being transmitted to the demon’s brain.
Apparently the body doesn’t take too kindly to being transformed, Renamir thought as he dropped out of his mental trance, blinking his eyes as he returned to normal sight. Of course, I don’t imagine Malicar really gives a damn whether it does or not, he added, being careful to shield his thoughts.
“You two must now return to Ostar,” Malicar said as he led Renamir out of the room. “Keep an eye on Hawkblood. I’ll contact you when the transmutation spell is complete and then again when I’ve completed the spiritwrack. A horse and wagon will be waiting for you down at the lower gate.”
Demonified (Hawkblood Chronicles Book 1) Page 5
