Xul roughly took hold of Caleb’s arm and proceeded to shove him in the direction of the ebon tower. “Move.”
Blackthorne began to trudge silently along the narrow bridge, the sun beating pitilessly down upon him. The dark giant strode wordlessly at his back, leaving a serpentine trail of blue blood upon the bitumen stone.
“I have seen your vile mistress in my visions,” Caleb said, glancing back over his shoulder. “She is the perfidious architect of this curse which plagues me. You should know I mean to bring her to task over her dire misdeed.”
Xul laughed darkly. “She has seen mighty empires rise and fall, and witnessed the birth of gods in the ultra-stellar wombs of eternity. Why she seeks an audience with the likes of you is beyond my ken, but rest assured you pose no threat to her, lowly human. She is as far removed from you as your mewling race is from the worms which writhe beneath your feet.”
“And you, Maalech Xul,” Caleb growled. “You are no vaunted champion of a noble queen. You are naught but a fawning lapdog to a petty slattern… an impotent slave to a sorcerous harlot whose insidious plots are doomed to ignominy and failure!”
A myriad flecks of light abruptly exploded before Blackthorne’s eyes as Xul drove his iron-sheathed fist into the base of the mariner’s skull. Caleb fell heavily to the blackened stone only to be hauled violently back to his feet by the incensed titan.
“Speak again, wormcast…” Xul whispered, “and I shall kill you where you stand, the wishes of my mistress be damned!”
Caleb smiled silently and continued his trek through the oppressive and desolate vista.
At length, the dark sea of silent glass subsided and gave way to an arid coastline. The bridge too abruptly terminated upon a shore of bone white sand, the unbroken dunes stretching as far as the eye could see. Huge fragments of ancient statuary lay strewn upon the scorched terrain; colossal representations of gods and demons whose ageless dominion had long since fallen beyond the immemorial bounds of time and memory, leaving only the broken sun-bleached stone to stand as mute testament to their hoary divinity. And ever, the brooding monolithic spire loomed inexorably closer.
Eventually, Blackthorne found himself within the blessed shadow of the black monolith, thankful for the respite it offered from the merciless scoring of the solar glare. The spire was smooth as obsidian, and yet it did not reflect a single lucent ray of the sun, rather seeming to wholly absorb and negate the illumination afforded by the searing sphere.
Xul slowly raised his curved sword and instantly a rectangular doorway manifested at the tower’s base, shimmering into existence upon the surface of the aphotic stone. The armoured fiend pushed Caleb towards the benighted threshold. “Enter.”
Blackthorne strode silently into the shadowed interior of the spire. Instantly, the withering heat of the desert dissipated to be replaced by a preternaturally icy chill. The stone walls of the construct’s inner reaches were black as coal, shot through with fulgid emerald veins which cast a limpid glow upon the tesserae tiled mosaic floor. In response to a sibilant whisper from Maalech Xul, a column of green light sprang suddenly from the semi-darkness, cocooning the two travellers in a shell of pulsing energy. The shroud of witch-fire burned momentarily brighter, illumining the gloom with a fell radiance. Scant seconds later, the pillar of light was gone and Blackthorne found himself in the centre of a vast circular chamber with walls of glittering obsidian. To his left gaped a vast and shimmering ovoid portal, beyond which could be seen the distant motionless sea and the jagged bridge which had borne him to the desolate tower. Immediately below the great window was a shallow pool of ink-black water encircled by a low perimeter of rough-hewn cimmerian stone, and from the centre of the pool rose a large mirror encased in an ornate frame of ebony.
As his keen eyes adjusted to the half-light, Caleb peered further into the tenebrous depths of the shadows before him and gasped. In the easternmost sector of the circular crystalline chamber, upon a carven dais, brooded a great black throne hewn from fulgent onyx. And upon that darkling throne reclined the sinuous, night-clad figure of a beautiful, lissom woman. Her diaphanous robes sparkled with the forlorn rays of long dead stars, and her lustrous tresses were blacker than the void between worlds. The woman’s flesh was whiter than virgin snow, and her eyes shone with a seductive fathomless malice colder than the abyss. Her fulsome lips were red as blood, and as Blackthorne gazed enthralled upon the woman’s mesmerizing beauty, those glistening lips curled in a cruel serpent’s smile.
“Well, the view’s improved, at any rate,” Caleb muttered.
Maalech Xul removed his horned helm and cast it angrily to the blackened floor, revealing the great jagged scar which encircled his bull neck. “Great queen,” he grumbled, “as bidden, I have brought this mortal before thee.”
The dark giant strode towards the caliginous dais and the smile abruptly faded from the woman’s face as she beheld the oozing stump of the demon’s riven forearm.
“By all the black gods of the Chaosphere! I grow weary of remaking you, sirrah,” she hissed malevolently, her voice husky and colder than hoarfrost. “’Tis no small task to weave the spells needed to heal that hulking form!”
“Battle exacts a heavy toll, even upon one such as I,” Xul growled, his rutilant eyes narrowing as he took position at the left-hand side of the throne.
The woman sighed exasperatedly. “Why you cannot simply inhabit a human host is beyond me.”
“My previous experiences with mortal shells have proven less than satisfactory, as well you know,” rumbled Xul. “A human mind may exert a modicum of control over me whilst I dwell within its corporeal frame. That is something I will not tolerate. Thus will this ersatz form suffice for now. And this scheme of yours had best be worth the price I’ve paid.”
The woman glanced briefly at the giant’s chiselled azure features before returning her attention to Caleb. With a casual wave of her slender hand, the lucent shackles binding the mariner’s wrists instantly disappeared.
“Please accept my apologies, Captain Blackthorne,” she purred, her voice akin to the slither of serpentine scales on eastern silk. “I do hope I have not overly inconvenienced you. I trust your journey to my sanctum was not too arduous.”
“Not at all,” Caleb smiled, rubbing at his chafed wrists. “It was absolutely delightful.”
The woman nodded. “And pray forgive me for the rather unsavoury means by which I ensured your apprehension. Reanimating the dead in such considerable numbers is invariably a vulgar and distasteful exercise, but regrettably in this instance it was the most efficient method at my disposal.”
A grim scowl crossed Caleb’s weathered features. “Many good men perished at the hands of those rotting aberrations. ’Tis but one more crime for which I mean to hold thee accountable.”
The black-clad woman’s eyes sparkled with the faintest hint of amusement. “Indeed, captain. Perilous has your voyage been, and long have I watched thee. Know now that you stand before Queen Tanit Vyperia, the divine Adelinda Coaxoch Ophidia, Seventh wife of Amaalphagus, Beguiler of Zurra, Bane of the Grand Arbiter of Temporal Jurisprudence, Sorceress Supreme of Lyonesse, Majestrix of the Praesidium of Ys, former paramour of the Lemurian Emperor, Scourge of Atland and Immortal Consort of the Demon Lord Maalech Xul.”
“Well that’s certainly a mouthful,” Caleb grinned. “How should I address you… your majesty?”
“Have a care, worm!” boomed Xul. “Maintain a civil tongue in the presence of Queen Vyperia or I’ll wrench it from between your bloodied teeth!”
“You really should muzzle your attack dog,” said Caleb. “He’s an ill-tempered beast, prone to biting.”
Xul immediately lurched toward Blackthorne but was stayed by the merest gesture of Vyperia’s delicate hand. Then she smiled and crossed her lissom ivory legs, her robe falling partially open to reveal the flawless eburnean flesh of her thighs. Her long sable boots hugged her perfect calves and Blackthorne felt a powerful surge of arousal as he gazed at
those toned and shapely limbs.
“You are an enigma, Caleb,” Vyperia said. “Initially you were naught to me, simply another nameless host in an endless succession of unremarkable mortality. But then I looked closer, and the conundrum became apparent. You alone of all the soul shard’s vessels retain full memory of each existence in the aeons old cycle of death and rebirth. I wonder why this is the case?”
“We men of York are made of stern stuff,” quipped Caleb. “In truth, I’ve also been watching you, though not by choice. My dreams and visions have been most vivid, and I’ve learned much of late as to their origin. This cruel curse you’ve woven. End it now, witch. I won’t ask twice.”
Melodious laughter sang from Vyperia’s lips and she leaned forward in the onyx throne, her gown falling open still further to afford a fleeting glimpse of her ample alabastrine bosom. Blackthorne’s blue eyes blazed with desire and he clenched his calloused fists.
“You are a bold one,” Vyperia breathed. “Eventually I came to the conclusion that your dreams were the result of my former paramour manipulating the filaments of the temporal web from far beyond the veil of shadow, though to what end I cannot presently guess. He is a troublesome one, bearing his great grudge against me as he does.”
“Heavens forfend anyone could possibly harbour thee any ill will,” Caleb muttered.
Vyperia flashed a pearlescent smile and regarded Blackthorne intently. “Still, it brought you to my attention, if naught else. Ever since I learned your name, I’ve been peering deep into your soul. You are a man of action and of honour, a warrior, a leader and even a lover in your own unrefined way. I’ve looked back upon your ancestors and gazed into the Glass of Far-Seeing to witness your descendants; those hardy souls who will bear your name across the generations to come. One in particular distinguishes himself as a scholar and an adventurer, although we have insufficient time to sing his praises today, I fear. Yes, you are a rare gem. A wolf among sheep. But wolves can be tamed, or slain.”
“This wolf won’t suffer either of those fates,” Caleb growled. “Mark me on this.”
Vyperia reclined upon her carven seat once more. “By now you’ve fathomed that your soul is intertwined with the essence of another. A prince. The son of a man who styled himself a god and who once shared my dominion as well as my bed. He spurned me once, long ago… before Atlantis sank beneath the waves. He forsook our star-born trysts in favour of a mortal woman. Imagine that. A queen’s affections scorned for the crude embrace of a common doxy. Ah, well. Hell hath no fury, as one of your more erudite countrymen shall very soon write. Or something very similar, at least.”
Blackthorne scowled. “Are you saying that this malediction is the result of a lovers’ tiff? Gods, women truly are all the same, be they serving wench or empress!”
Vyperia’s smile faded. “A singularly unenlightened observation, Captain Blackthorne. At any rate, I of course wrought my vengeance. Not upon the man, but upon his son. The son he sired with the mortal drab. It was a rather imaginative curse, I must admit. The soul of his progeny scattered to the cosmic winds to be reincarnated in the bodies of warriors across the millennia. Ever destined to live, to die, to be reborn. My former paramour’s suzerainty was a glorious if minuscule antediluvian islet, his people the forebears of the Atlantean race. Much as your little island has a strong strain of Atlantean blood running through the veins of its denizens. In keeping with this vaunted heritage, the vessels I chose for the soul shards all shared the same ancestry. The devil is in the detail, after all.”
“Ah, ’tis passing strange, but this explains much,” Blackthorne said.
Vyperia’s delicate brow arched. “Many were the battles I fought with my former consort. Our armies clashed in pitiless combat times beyond reckoning. You see, I knew he would ultimately have his son with him upon the battlefield, to share what scant glory he perceived would be his to seize. He was an arrogant man and I am a patient woman. And yet my night-spawned forces were always destined to prevail, particularly after I conjured the energumen fiend Maalech Xul to lead my legions.”
Xul’s carven jaw set silently and a dark scowl crept across his azure countenance.
“At length, I finally wove my curse upon an arid battlefield in the brooding shadow of the Black Pyramid. And mere months later, Maalech Xul slew my former paramour and his last remaining paladins upon the frozen tundra beyond the ancient Temple of the Serpent Kings.”
“But not before losing his head over the matter,” Caleb said. “It seems he has a penchant for shedding body parts.”
Xul remained silent at the remark, although his crimson eyes narrowed to malefic slits.
“But forgive me, my dear captain,” Vyperia said. “You have brought me a gift, have you not?”
Maalech Xul grudgingly proffered the silvern sword with its winged crossguard and Vyperia reverently took the mighty blade, holding it aloft to gaze admiringly at its canescent steel.
“The sword of Araklion,” she whispered. “It has been a long time since I laid eyes upon this star-forged blade. I claimed it as a trophy following my victory, only for it to be stolen from me by the nefarious Lord Angsaar centuries ago and sealed away in a hoary shrine, safeguarded by potent spells even I could not negate. Thank you for returning it to me, Caleb. And well done on besting the Ghulgani. Many before thee had tried and failed.”
“It was nothing,” Blackthorne shrugged. “I confess I have yet to fathom that fancy pig-sticker’s significance in all this, but I had expert assistance divining its location.”
“Ah yes, the old wizard of Logres,” Vyperia said. “I believe he now calls himself John Dee, does he not? He knows much, that one. More than he cares to divulge. I shall visit him one day, for he too may ultimately prove to be of use to me. But for now… shall we reunite this splendid bauble with its true and rightful owner?”
Vyperia gestured to the darkened southern sector of the chamber and instantly two black braziers flared to life in a blaze of green flame. The shadows swiftly melted away to reveal a great sarcophagus which had evidently been carved from a single colossal diamond. The coruscant casket was bound upright to the obsidian wall by blackened chains, and its polished surface shone with crystalline clarity. Within the glittering tomb Blackthorne could clearly see the body of the young prince Araklion, his pale face serene and frozen in a deep, death-like slumber. A golden circlet ringed the youth’s noble brow, holding his auricomous locks in place, and he was still clad in the gleaming ornate armour which Caleb recognized from his waking dreams.
“Such a handsome young man,” Vyperia whispered. “So much like his father.” Releasing her grip on the argent sword, she hissed a fell word of power and the blade instantly moved to the sarcophagus as if borne by an unseen spectral hand, ultimately coming to a stop to hover before the entombed prince’s somnolent form. “Now, my dear captain,” Vyperia said, fixing Caleb with her hypnotic gaze once more. “I have rather an intriguing proposition which I would dearly like to put to you.”
At this, Xul glanced sidelong at Vyperia, his iron-clad hand bunching slowly into a fist.
Blackthorne raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Indeed, lass? This should prove interesting. Pray, continue.”
“This desolate place,” Vyperia purred, raising her hand to indicate the black spire’s gloomy interior. “In truth, it is little more than a prison. A domain in which I am undeniably supreme, but a glorified gaol nonetheless. Over the centuries, my power has waned inexorably, and where once I strode the glorious kingdoms of the antediluvian world unfettered, now I dwell here unable to traverse the boundaries between realms unaided. The dissolution of my dominion and the inevitable toll wrought upon me by the countless battles with my myriad foes has essentially stranded me here, much like a mariner shipwrecked upon some blighted atoll on an uncharted sea. That and certain spells cast by my enemies intended to shackle me here indefinitely. Damn the thrice-cursed Chaos Liege! A pox on the machinations of Angsaar and his treacherous magicks!”
Vyperia sighed heavily. “Once, this was a sublime haven, a glorious and verdant paradise to which I oft times sojourned in order to replenish my arcane power. Now, it is an arid and lifeless wasteland… a time-lost void between worlds where I may watch and wait, but scant little else. For centuries I have observed the realms of men, watching their fleeting empires rise and fall, beholding their ascent from primitive barbarism to sovereign mastery of this fragile globe. And ever have I schemed and plotted, devising and setting into motion certain plans for my liberation and the reclamation of my rightful divinity.”
“Truly, my heart bleeds for your plight,” Caleb growled.
“Why, the energy I expended in weaving the spellcraft to send Maalech Xul forth into your world alone nigh on exhausted me and sorely drained my reserves of mana,” Vyperia hissed, an ireful edge colouring her husky voice. “Which at length brings me to my point, and the true reason why I summoned you here to this darkly gilded cage.”
Both Caleb and Xul now stared at the woman in rapt and silent anticipation. “Your realm… your England. Long have I watched its war-like inhabitants and studied its disparate tribes. Through the ages I have witnessed your island’s ascent from the mire of the barbaricum to its present state as a far-reaching nation with ever growing ambition, replete with a plethora of hardy souls bred to perpetuate that martial aspiration. I have seen the future of your people and I have witnessed their unification and the colourful banners of their empire driven proudly into the far-flung territories of the world, the glory of conquest forging a dominion upon which the sun will not set for centuries to come. The destiny of your people is to embody the greatest imperium the world has ever seen, greater than that of Atlantis and Koord, more far reaching even than the Achaemenid, Macedonian and Roman Empires at their glorious heights. Your island is prophesied to shape the realm of men, Caleb. In a few short generations, your Britain will rule the world.”
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