by Isaac Hooke
She reached the castle proper, hitched Vesuvius to a post, and entered the wide open doors before her to set foot in the main hall.
The first thing she noticed was the lack of loot. Candleholders and brackets had been stripped from the walls so that the only light came from the broken windows. Discolored rectangles marked where rich paintings and exquisite tapestries had once hung from the stone surfaces. Even the carpets had been torn away.
This is a waste of time.
But she continued forward.
She reached the dining hall, and wasn’t surprised to find that the dining tables had been stripped of their cloths. The cutlery and dishes in the kitchen beyond had also been looted. She found nothing except a few worthless tin pots.
Definitely a waste of time.
She made her way through the hallways and up the stairs, searching the rooms on every floor. The place was completely abandoned, save for the rats that had taken up residence on the lower levels.
She found a few drachmae hidden in a niche in the wall when she shoved aside an empty bookcase, but otherwise she came away almost empty-handed.
She took the final staircase that led to the rooftop where she, Malem and the others had had their fateful encounter with Mauritania.
She reached the rooftop: a wide battlement lined with parapets. A nearby tower loomed over it.
She slowly crossed that battlement. The place evoked so many memories. She saw where Ziatrice had ripped away the stones from the surrounding parapets with her ghostly chains to form a defensive bulwark for Malem and the others to hide behind. That bulwark itself was littered with blast holes where Eldritch magic had struck, and the upper portion was a jagged mess, its broken stones scattered across the rooftop when Nemertes had broken through with a single swipe.
She observed the depressions where the great feet of Nemertes had crushed the stone to powder upon landing. She spotted a similar depression where Mauritania had used that magical shockwave of hers to nearly knock everybody from the roof. She picked out the dents in the rooftop and surrounding crenellations where the swords of Malem and Mauritania had missed their marks during the duel that followed.
She remembered how the Darkness had chased Malem around that rooftop while he fought Mauritania, trying to use the distraction of the fight to finally snare him.
How did we ever survive that day?
She didn’t really know. That fight was a blur to her now.
She noticed something strange, then. Near the center of the rooftop, it looked almost like dark mist was emerging from the stones themselves, as if seeping through tiny pores from some source within.
As she watched, that dark mist curled across the rooftop stones, weaving left and right, slowly making its way toward her. Alarmed, she took a step back.
The darkness seemed to grow stronger, flowing with more alacrity. Overhead, the sun became dim.
“Get back!” she said.
But no sooner than the words left her lips, the dark threads vanished. The sun shone bright as ever above.
She shook her head and chuckled softly. “This is what happens when you’ve been alone too long. Hallucinations, Xaxia. That’s all this is.”
Still, come to think of it, that had been the very spot where the Darkness had entered this world—via the black portal Banvil had summoned. The same spot where Malem had followed the Darkness through to the Black Realm, and confronted the Balor.
She felt a cold tingle pass up and down her spine.
Does Banvil still live? Is it possible?
She didn’t believe so, but then again, it wouldn’t have surprised her. Not much was truly known about Balors, and how their bodies and magic behaved when away from their native realms. If he were slain here, did he die in the Black realm as well?
She shook her head. “Foolish imaginings.”
She sheathed Biter with a dismissive gesture, and walked to the edge of the rooftop. Before she reached it, she caught herself glancing repeatedly over her shoulder, but the Darkness didn’t appear again.
At the edge of the roof, she stared past the parapets at the ghost town below.
“This is the future that awaits all cities,” she said softly. “Breaker, what have you done?”
“He comes here often,” a voice said from behind her.
9
Heart in her throat, Xaxia spun.
A gaunt man stood before her, slightly hunched. Below his hollow eyes and cheeks, he sported a thick, knotted brown beard. Matted hair clung to the bald spot in the center of his head, and hung down to his shoulders. He was clothed in the threadbare robes of a beggar, or perhaps some monk who had made a vow of poverty. His sandals looked like they were about to fall apart.
“How long have you been watching me?” she asked. She hadn’t realized it, but her hand had unconsciously leaped to the hilt of her sword. She kept it resting there for the time being.
“Since you entered the castle,” the mendicant replied.
She shook her head. I let a beggar follow me, and didn’t even notice? I’m losing my touch.
Then again, she hadn’t exactly been trying for stealth during her trek through the castle. Knocking over tables, moving bookcases—searching for loot was a noisy business. Plus the loud clip-clops produced by Vesuvius during her entry would have been hard to miss.
She studied him uncertainly. There was more than a touch of madness to those eyes, but also a dangerous shrewdness to them. “Who are you?”
He smiled, revealing a dark hole where one of his upper front teeth used to be. “I am Banvil.”
Once more Xaxia felt her spine tingle. But then she shrugged the feeling off, and erupted in a raucous laugh. She bent over from the sheer exertion of it.
Finally, when she’d caught her breath, she looked at the man and said: “You’re either mad, or you have a macabre sense of humor. Either way, I like it!”
He gave a deep bow. “A little of both, I’m afraid.”
“What’s your name, really?” she said.
His eyes became distant, and he looked over her shoulder, toward the city below. “I was once known as Goldenthall. I was a king. I ruled a nation of warriors. I sent my armies away to the west to battle Vorgon with the Alliance. But he sent a race of demons to attack my city while my soldiers and mages were gone. I had only a skeletal defense force left to protect my city, so I opened my doors to the demons, asking their queen to take me and spare my people. She did the reverse.”
Xaxia stared at the man in shock. She had seen Goldenthall only once before, on this very rooftop. She hadn’t immediately made the connection, because he looked so different, but now that he had revealed who he was, she could certainly see the resemblance. Still, he was little more than a shadow of his former self.
She looked more closely at his clothes. Yes, she realized they were made of intricate silks, but she hadn’t been able to recognize them as such because of the many holes, and the layer of grime that had formed over them.
Malem had left Goldenthall here when he took Mauritania’s army away. The king hadn’t wanted to leave. She wondered if Goldenthall had stayed in the castle the whole time, hiding from the looters that occasionally passed through, and from the monsters that had taken up residence in the city. No doubt he had lived off the rats that infested the lower levels, and the wine that remained in the cellars.
“Is it really you?” she said. “Why are you still here?”
“Where should I go?” Goldenthall said. “This city is all I’ve ever known, from my days as a young prince, to my all too short tenure as a king.”
“But there’s nothing here for you, not anymore,” she told him.
He nodded. “I am a king of ghosts. I’ve been trying to leave, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to. Maybe someday.” He shut his eyes. “Whenever I set foot in those streets, I hear the screams of my people. And I see them dying all over again, killed by Eldritch magic.”
“Mauritania overstepped her bounds,” Xaxia
agreed. “But she wasn’t herself. A Balor can twist people into terrible creatures… making them do things they would never do without his corruption.”
Goldenthall cocked his head slightly, and raised a hand to his ear. “Who overstepped their bounds? I didn’t quite hear…”
“Mauritania,” Xaxia said.
Goldenthall exhaled with a hiss and stepped back. “Do not say that name here!” He glanced around nervously. “You’ll summon the demon back!”
“She’s never coming back,” Xaxia said. Neither is Malem.
He shook visibly. “She will come!” He continued to gaze around the battlements, as if expecting Mauritania to leap out at any second.
Xaxia sighed, and waited. He finally seemed to calm down, but still jerked whenever he heard some noise, like a birdcall in the distance, or the buzzing of a fly.
Hoping to distract him, she asked: “Who comes here often?”
He looked at her with a confused expression. “Mmm?”
“When you first spoke to me, you told me, ‘he comes here often,’” Xaxia explained. “Who?”
“Ah yes,” Goldenthall told her. “That was in reference to your words: ‘Breaker, what have you done?’”
She stared at him. “And? Who is it that comes here?”
“Why, the Breaker,” Goldenthall said.
Xaxia frowned. “You really are mad. Either that, or you’re still playing games. It’s starting to piss me off.” She patted Biter’s hilt menacingly.
“I know you saw him,” Goldenthall said. “He was just here, lurking at the center of the rooftop.”
Xaxia folded her arms. “That was not Malem.”
“Who?” Goldenthall said. “No, I’m referring to the Breaker of Worlds. Banvil.”
She tilted her head, puzzled. “Tell me exactly what it is you think I saw?”
“Dark mist,” the former king of Tartan said. “Issuing from the flagstones themselves. Curling across the battlements, as if reaching for you.”
So she hadn’t imagined it after all.
“I saw dark mist, yes,” she said. “But to equate that mist to Banvil is a bit of a leap, don’t you think?”
“No,” Goldenthall said. “He calls out to me, sometimes, when I sit here late at night beneath the stars. When I let him wrap the darkness around me.”
“That’s impossible,” Xaxia said. “I watched Banvil die. Watched Vorgon cut off the demon’s head with that terrible ax.”
She noticed how the former king referred to Banvil as he, rather than it. That implied an intimacy, or at least a familiarity, that Xaxia wasn’t sure she was comfortable with.
The man nodded. “That aligns with what I’ve seen and heard. Banvil is but a shadow of his former self. He can only enter this world through this portal, where the boundaries between worlds have been weakened.”
“Probably Malem’s fault,” Xaxia muttered. She remembered when Malem had enlarged the dark portal before stepping through. Even though it seemed like that portal was now gone, he’d probably accidentally left it open a crack. That’s what happened when you played with powers you didn’t fully understand.
“Who’s fault?” Goldenthall asked.
“Never mind,” she replied. “I still don’t understand how Banvil can be alive, if he died here.”
“That’s because he wasn’t fully here,” Goldenthall said. “No Balor can truly enter our world, you see. A part of their essence always remains behind in a higher realm. To truly kill a Balor, you have to destroy it in the Black Realm as well, or whatever intermediary realm it uses to regenerate.”
“How do you know this?” she asked.
Goldenthall’s eyes momentarily darkened, and black mist flowed from them.
Xaxia gasped, stepping back, reminded of what happened to Malem that fateful day.
Goldenthall smiled a terrible smile. When he spoke, his voice seemed unnaturally deep. “Because I have made this creature my vessel.”
The mist faded, and Goldenthall’s eyes returned to normal. He seemed oblivious to what had just happened.
“Holy shit,” Xaxia said.
The former king pursed his lips. “I am neither.” His voice was its usual timbre.
“Are you really Banvil?” she asked.
“No,” Goldenthall replied. “I do have his Darkness within me, this is true. But I like it there. It suits me. We’re like old friends who keep each other company on dark, winter nights. It just so happens that every day is a dark winter night for me.”
“You’re completely okay with this?” she said. “Really? Having a Balor inside your head?”
Goldenthall shrugged.
She supposed it wasn’t all that different from what Malem was experiencing.
“I can’t believe you’re more afraid of Mauri—” Xaxia caught herself. “The Eldritch, than a Balor.”
“It was not a Balor who razed my city,” Goldenthall said.
“Actually it was, if indirectly,” Xaxia said. “But forget that. You have to help me destroy Vorgon.”
The former king shook his head. “It’s impossible. Banvil is in no state to deal with Vorgon. He won’t return to his former power for many decades.”
“Then you have to help me set Malem free,” she said.
“That name again,” Goldenthall said. “It seems familiar to me, but I can’t quite place it.”
“Banvil knows him,” Xaxia said. “Ask the Balor if there’s a way to take Malem’s mind back. To free him from Vorgon.”
Goldenthall’s eyes defocused for a moment, then he returned his attention to her. “If Vorgon has Broken him, then he is lost. Not even Banvil can save him.”
“There has to be a way,” Xaxia said.
Goldenthall compressed his lips. “If this Malem could enter the Black Realm, or whatever realm Vorgon uses to regenerate, it’s possible he might be able to sever the link. But even if he did, Vorgon would simply re-Break him, without Banvil in his mind to stop the Balor.”
“Then we will bring Banvil’s essence with us when we enter Vorgon’s nether world,” Xaxia said. “And Banvil will join with Malem after we free him, to prevent Vorgon from re-Breaking Malem.”
She wasn’t sure it would be so simple as that, nor if allowing Banvil to join with Malem was a good idea in and of itself, but she wanted to hear the demon’s take.
The king’s eyes became pure black once more and emitted dark mist. He spoke in the demon’s voice. “A tempting offer. Linking with Malem would strengthen me greatly, and shave off several years from my recovery time. But still I would be no match for Vorgon. Malem would have to battle the beast on his own, both before and after he frees himself.”
“He’ll have help,” Xaxia said, thinking of the women bound to him. “So if this vessel, Goldenthall, comes with me, is that enough to convey your essence to the nether world, to join with Malem?”
“No,” Banvil said. “Before confronting Vorgon, Malem must enter the Black Realm, and allow my raw essence inside of him first. Only then may he proceed to Vorgon’s domain. I will lurk in the background of his mind, waiting to pounce… the moment Vorgon releases him, I will take control.”
Xaxia stared at the possessed king. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that. What exactly do you mean by, ‘take control?’ That sounds suspiciously like what Vorgon did to him already. I doubt he wants to trade one master for another.”
Banvil chuckled: a deep, terrible sound coming from those frail lips. “There will be a price, yes, but it is not so steep. I am too weak to exert the control Vorgon has over him.”
Xaxia regarded him skeptically. “You seem to have no trouble exerting control over Goldenthall…”
“This vessel is weak,” Banvil said. “Also, I have touched Malem once before… he has had a lifetime to adapt to me. So no, I will not Break him, unfortunately. Things will be almost exactly like they were before.”
“And what is this price you speak of?” Xaxia said.
“That is something to be
discussed between me and the Breaker,” Banvil said.
Xaxia hesitated. She didn’t trust the Balor worth shit. Still, what choice did she have? If there was a chance Banvil could help Malem break free of Vorgon, she had to take it. Not just for Malem, but for the world.
She suppressed a grim smile. That’s right; tell yourself you’re doing this for the world, when you know damn well it’s only for Malem.
Besides, it was extremely doubtful Malem could save the world. Banvil had already admitted that Vorgon outmatched the Balor. Without Banvil to fight Vorgon, what chance did Malem have against the demon? If she did manage to free Malem, very likely the only option they would have at that point was to run away, far from this realm, and hope Vorgon never found them.
But she was getting ahead of herself.
First, she had to free him. And to do that, she needed this creature’s help. But she would have to tread very, very careful. She still didn’t really believe that allowing Banvil’s essence inside Malem was the best idea, but the way she looked at it, he couldn’t become any worse off than he already was. At least having Banvil inside would give Vorgon something else to fight. Meanwhile, Malem might actually be able to wrest free of them both.
That was the only hope he had, as far as she was concerned.
But do I really want to experiment on him like this?
She shook her head. He didn’t really have any other options, did he? But who was Xaxia to presume that? Maybe it was best if she left him well enough alone?
“Fine,” Xaxia said, still conflicted. “How do we enter the Black Realm then? Can Malem create a portal?”
The mist dissipated and the former king’s eyes returned to normal. Goldenthall slumped as if exhausted.
“No,” Goldenthall said after a moment, in his usual voice. “At least not on his own. There is an artifact one can use… I used to have one such artifact, in my treasury, though it was looted long ago. No doubt the thieves used it to enter the Black Realm, where they were promptly slain by the dark denizens.”
