Age of Asango - Book II

by Matt Russell

  Glavius turned back to Kota and swallowed. This moment was beyond insane, and yet it all felt incredibly natural somehow, like he was finally seeing something that the deepest parts of his soul had always perceived. In a whisper, he said: "What will he face?"

  Gretis put a hand on his shoulder, and the burning paw of the wolf moved with it. When it touched him, the sensation was hot and wild and alive. "The animus that resides in Kota is older than the human race—even more ancient than the elves and the Great Dragon. It was born of nature itself to hunt and kill demons, and the fact that it has returned now..." Her fingers tightened on Glavius's shoulder. "The demons are going to come again, Glavius—maybe in greater force than ever before. I see no other conclusion."

  "Gods!" he whispered.

  "Kota has a remarkable heart," she went on. "His courage and his goodness keep all that tremendous power in check, but he still needs help to remain centered, especially now that he is going to face a creature of hell." She drew her hand away and gestured to Kota. "Let us aid him."

  Gretis walked toward Kota, her wolf spirit continuing to move with her. As she passed through the outer barrier of Kota's animus, strange sparks of white and emerald green flashed for a few seconds as the smaller spirit was enveloped by the larger. Untroubled by this, the woman walked to Kota's side and sat down next to him, putting a hand on top of his. He grasped it, and there was a quickening of the vast swell of energy around him.

  "Come," Gretis said, her voice friendly and inviting.

  "Uh-h-h," Glavius grunted, staring at the impossible sight.

  "You said you had courage, did you not?”

  "I guess I did," Glavius muttered. He drew in a very deep breath, his mind spinning, and then he walked forward. When he came to the outer shell of Kota’s animus, he reached out a hand and touched it. A sensation of intangible warmth and power coursed through his fingertips. It felt strange, but it did not hurt him. The hell with it. He stepped inside and was immediately engulfed within the spirit, a feeling like hot wind blowing against him. It tingled and made his limbs tremble.

  "Closer," Gretis said. "Take his hand."

  Glavius looked at Kota. "Does he... can he hear what you're saying right now?"

  "Probably not," she said, her voice light. "His connection to the spirit world is far, far more intense than yours or mine. All the same, we can help him. Take his hand."

  Glavius sat down next to Kota, feeling more than a little unsure of what he was doing. He tentatively put his hand on Kota's. The fingers instantly curled around his, and something deep within Glavius seemed to come alive. "GODS!" he panted as a blazing power he had never known crackled through every cell in his body.

  "Remain calm," Gretis said in a serene voice.

  Calm? Glavius’s heart and mind were stretching in dozens of directions at once. He could feel the energy in the grass beneath him, in the trees and bushes in the forest. He could also feel the beast all around him—Kota’s animus—and its primal feelings of anger.

  Demons! The spirit raged to destroy them all. It could not stand their unnatural presence. There was a burning desire for violence, and at its center was Kota. He was trying to control the beast, and he was afraid.

  "I believe in you, my friend," Glavius said, and he gripped Kota's hand tighter.

  "We can help him calm the creature," Gretis whispered.

  "How?"

  "All living things have a spirit, and not all are violent. There is peace all around us. Help me draw it to him."

  He looked around, feeling stupid. "I... I don't know—"

  "Close your eyes, Glavius," she said. "Listen to your spirit. You are connected to it as you have never been before."

  He swallowed and did as he was told. When he shut his eyes, he did not perceive darkness, but swirling patterns of light all around him, flowing like slow currents.

  "Start with the grass," he heard Gretis say.

  Glavius lowered his fingers to the soft, wet grass beneath him and immediately felt the gentle tingle of its energy. He felt... tranquility... it was quiet but profoundly beautiful. Somehow, he was able to will some of that energy into himself, and as it seeped slowly up his arm, he felt his inner tension melt away. What was it to be a blade of grass? There was no fear. No anger. Never in his life had Glavius felt so calm, and as he considered this, he felt some of that wonderful bliss flow down his other arm into Kota.

  "Yes,” he heard Gretis whisper. "Keep going."

  Glavius's lingering thoughts faded away and all became feeling. His animus was energy unto itself, but it was also a conduit. He could sense spiritual life all around him and could reach out and draw it in. Slowly, he lost himself in the process until there was no perception of time or even his individuality. There were only the spirits.

  Sometime much later he heard Kota's voice say his name, and he slowly opened his eyes to see morning light creeping in through the trees, illuminating his friend's face.

  "Thank you," Kota said.

  "What?" Glavius murmured, shaking his head. "What the hell?" He blinked several times. "It's morning?" He looked down at his hands. They were no longer glowing. His spirit no longer seemed to crackle inside. Had it even been real? He looked up at Kota and said: "I'm feeling... a bit confused."

  "Yeah," Kota sighed, "this is all fairly disconcerting. I want you to know though that you helped me. I was starting to lose my center. Thank you."

  "I don't even... know what I did," Glavius muttered.

  "Something to contemplate on the trip home," Gretis's voice said from behind. He turned to see her strapping a dagger to her right calf. She had three swords on her belt and was wearing a leather vest that had at least ten throwing blades in sewn-in sheaths. With a sigh, she glanced up at him and said: "I am afraid Kota and I must go on ahead."

  "I understand," Glavius said, thinking of the poor shamalak tribe.

  "You did quite well with your first encounter with the spirit world," Gretis said with a slight nod that almost seemed to be a gesture of respect.

  "Yeah," Glavius said, finally rising. "So... I might as well ask: will I develop Sansrit abilities now?"

  This elicited a small burst of laughter from the Blade Witch. "Not nearly, dear boy, but..." She looked him up and down, "perhaps we might consider a new course of training sessions together when this is all over."

  Glavius grinned stupidly. "Yeah, all your spirit stuff isn't so hard." He turned to Kota, who was holding up an extremely large sword and inspecting it. His heart sank a little as he whispered: "You're going to go face whatever's down there now.”

  "I must," Kota said, turning to face him.

  "You're the best friend I've ever had," Glavius said without thinking.

  Kota cast him a wide grin, displaying all four of his fangs. "I'll see you again, my brother." He chuckled and added: "Don't beat on anymore Nemesai while I'm gone."

  "Only if I see any," Glavius laughed back. It was good to see his friend smile. He understood now the incredible weight Kota carried. The demons were returning. That revelation hung like a terrible weight on Glavius’s heart, but there was a fighting chance. The bright-eyed little shamalak he had met almost seven years ago had very possibly become the greatest warrior the world had ever seen. It was an honor to be his friend and, whatever forces of Hell came, Glavius would gladly die by Kota's side.

  Chapter 24:

  Lone Assassin

  Soulic carefully poured water into the brass goblet on Cassian Asango’s desk, wearing a tired look as he gazed down at the withered hands his Elokien was projecting as his appendages. It was still irritating after two months of this daily act to move slowly and keep himself hunched throughout the day. He had spent several weeks observing Asango's infamous tutor, Somar Dojinko, carefully picking up every idiosyncrasy to emulate. Soulic even looked like the old bastard. All of this was because he had deciphered that the Starborn thought of Dojinko as a second father and had guessed correctly tha
t Cassian might have a soft spot for someone who reminded him of the old man. Every day was a carefully crafted, carefully improvised performance, but that would all be over in the next few minutes.

  "Here you are, my lord," Soulic said, hearing his words distorted by the Elokien’s enchantments to reflect a grating, elderly voice.

  "Thank you," Asango said, looking up from his maps for a fraction of a second and making eye contact. The Starborn had been engrossed for most of the morning in his tactical plans. He had papers strewn all over his war table and beautifully detailed images and lists. Soulic found the way Cassian ‘wrote’ to be quite fascinating. All he seemed to have to do was think and letters seared into the page in elegant calligraphy.

  "Will there be anything else, sir?"

  "Please tell the kitchen I will take my lunch in my tent, and that I would like it as soon as possible." He did not look up this second time, though Soulic did note the 'please.' Asango was polite to his servants, even when he was in a foul mood. That was a point in his favor at least.

  "Absolutely, my lord." Soulic turned to leave, and as he did, he felt a psychic tendril reach out from the Starborn to probe his thoughts. He gave no resistance but allowed Asango to see the false thoughts and memories that had been meticulously synthesized in his mind. Soulic had spent nearly half a year in the far east, outside of Denigoth’s borders, where a group of sorcerers had meticulously created pockets in his psyche to store artificial personas. He had practiced this art against some of the best telepaths in the world before moving on to a Starborn. As Cassian’s tendril penetrated into this outer shell, Soulic concentrated on his servant persona and found that it was thinking about how best to slice the skin from potatoes—probably a memory or thought pattern stolen from a particularly dull subject. It seemed to be no more interesting to Asango than it was to Soulic, for the Starborn abandoned his probing after a few seconds and returned to his planning.

  Opening the tent flap door, Soulic moved outside into the heart of Cassian's war camp. The way the Starborn’s ‘personal guard’ was run was another point in his favor. The soldiers, most of whom were covered from head to foot in deep gray runes that augmented their strength and speed, did not conduct themselves like fighting men Soulic had encountered before. They refrained from heavy drinking in the evenings and bullying local peasants as they moved about the countryside. He had hardly even heard any cursing from them, but found they conducted themselves as gentlemen in the classic sense of the word that was more imagined than real in the empire.

  Yet they were ruthless killers. Soulic had to remind himself of that every time he started growing too fond of the Starborn. Cassian's men had slaughtered hundreds, perhaps even thousands in the efficient tactical style that had made Asango a living legend and had earned him the rank of General at such a young age. Most military leaders from other countries now refused to fight him. They had heard the stories, as many had, of the young Starborn descending from the sky on his dragon and killing the leader of any force that opposed him, leaving the army in disarray. Asango's voice would then come from all around, offering terms of surrender. Soulic had to admit that Cassian was incredibly generous to his enemies when they surrendered, but that was likely only a strategy to encourage others to come quietly. Soulic refused to believe that there was anything magnanimous in a Denigoth conqueror.

  He approached the kitchen, which was more or less a large cluster of mobile iron stoves and wooden tables with cooks moving about. The small army was very well supplied at all times. Cassian had a superbly organized supply chain, not to mention he could use spells to make fruit and vegetables to grow from seeds to full maturity in a few days when in a pinch.

  "The General would like his meal in his tent at your convenience," Soulic said to the barrel-chested fellow he knew to be head of the kitchen. The man looked sharply at Soulic and then gave a quick nod. "Just a moment, sir."

  Soulic smiled and sat down at one of the nearby mess tables, acting as a tired old man would. Some of the men cast quick glances at him here and there. In one respect, he had achieved something to which many of them desperately aspired: He was close to Asango. This was terribly amusing given that he was about to kill the little bastard. He wondered at times why he was doing it. Was it because Cassian was a rising star in the Denigoth military, or was it because he had been the one who brought Kota into the human world, and ultimately to Soulic's mother? He hated that she had replaced him, and with a damned shamalak! Would Kota cry when he found out Asango had been killed because of him? Soulic shook his head. This was because Cassian was a symbol of Denigoth conquest. Nothing more.

  The head cook placed a steaming bowl of a bean and meat stew and a handful of boiled vegetables on a wooden tray accompanied by utensils. "Please tell the General that we did not get our fish shipment this morning, else he would have his favorite lunch." The cook had a guilty tone in his voice, though there was no fear behind it. Asango did not punish his men over such trivialities like some commanders.

  Soulic picked up the food and carried it back to Cassian's tent. As he came to the door, he stopped and took out the small ceramic phial from inside his coat and poured its contents into the Starborn's soup. His stomach twisted just a little. He liked Asango. There was also the fact that if he killed this Starborn, either Telemachus Vale, or the monster, Arkas Adronicus, would eventually become emperor, which would likely mean that slavery would continue in Denigoth, as would the brutal punishment of sin. This almost gave Soulic pause, but he found himself stirring in the poison nonetheless. It was yanthum, one of the most horrible toxins he knew.

  "The shipment of fish did not come, my lord," Soulic said as he entered the tent.

  "That's a shame," Cassian replied. "That smells good enough anyhow. Place it on my desk please."

  "Yes, sir." Soulic placed the tray on the small desk near Cassian's bed. The young man continued to glance down at his maps. Soulic moved quietly to the door. When it happened, visitors would need to be turned away. He could use his Elokien to take Asango's form, but he had no desire to exploit such a trick. Once the Starborn was dead, a quick exit would be best.

  Finally, Cassian rose from his war table. He took a slow, deep breath and then tilted his head from side to side, eliciting a handful of pops from his neck. "Beef stew," he said with a smile. He walked over to his desk and sat down. "Tovor," he said, using the name Soulic had given him, "please go and take your own lunch, or you are welcome to eat in here if you like."

  "Thank you, my lord, but I am not hungry just now. I prefer to take your dishes back as soon as you finish, if you would not mind."

  "I appreciate your dedication to cleanliness," said Cassian with a little smile. Soulic felt the Starborn's psychic tendrils brush against his mind once again. The telepathically implanted false-self met the probe, and Asango observed a simple set of thoughts from a kind old man who wanted to please his noble master and keep a tidy tent.

  "Hmm," Cassian grunted, and then he picked up his spoon and ate several mouthfuls of the stew. Soulic suppressed the urge to smile. The church had been trying for over a decade to kill this young man. Soulic’s hand subtly slid inside his coat and thumbed the tip of the short sword in his belt. It rested concealed from sight within the veil of his Elokien as it had for many weeks.

  "Tell me, Tovor, did you ever have any sons?" Cassian said.

  "No, my lord. I never found a wife who quite suited me."

  "Any brothers or sisters then?"

  "No, my lord, I was an only child."

  "As was I." Cassian took another mouthful of his soup. He was in the midst of swallowing it when his jaw suddenly tightened and let out a surprised grunt. With a sharp convulsion, he spat the soup all over his desk, and then he hunched forward, grabbing on to the edges of his table to steady himself. His breathing turned to furious hissing, and he glared up with wide eyes.

  "Are you alright, my lord?" said Soulic, not bothering to feign concern in his voice. He d
rew his short sword from its hiding place slowly, letting the Starborn see it. Cassian's body began to shake wildly. Soulic watched him and said: "I am truly sorry, but you are too dangerous to allow to live." He sent a mental command to the Elokien, and the illusion unfurled around him, revealing his true form.

  "What—what?" Cassian shrieked between convulsions. He looked at the sword and exclaimed: "Stop!" He raised a hand, but Soulic thrust the blade immediately into the Starborn's chest. The chair in which the young Starborn had been sitting jerked back, knocked by the tip of the weapon. The sword had passed through his body with no more resistance than air!

  "No hesitation at all," Cassian's voice came from behind. Soulic whirled to see his victim standing directly behind him, looking perfectly fine. "I was hoping we could come to an understanding naturally, Soulic."

  Every muscle in the Sansrit warrior’s body tensed in rage and fear. In an instant, he made his decision and slashed at Asango's face. The weapon bounced away as a translucent wall of magical energy shimmered in the air, letting off a high pitched whining sound. Cassian stared through it, his eyes cold and calm. The son of a bitch had not even flinched!

  Soulic's blood ran hot for the kill. The barrier was made of magic, and he had overcome sorcery before. He drew out his elven dagger from its concealed place in his shirt. Released from the sheath that secreted its powerful enchantments, the Odessian Blade blazed yellow light and hissed in the air. Soulic rammed it into Cassian's shimmering wall. Golden sparks popped from the collision as the dagger, whose name roughly translated into spell drinker, bit into the shield. Soulic's animus rippled power and speed through his limb as he drew the weapon back and slashed again, and then again, and then again.