At the Gates of Darkness (16 page)

Amirantha looked as fascinated as a child opening a gift from Father Winter at the Midwinter’s Festival. He pointed at it and said, “It should take me…only a day or two to determine if what is written in here is remotely true. If so…” He looked at Pug. “My newfound friend, the elf Gulamendis, he and I both came to our skills the hard way: trial and error. We may be among the few who survived that education, Pug, for I suspect a few lads and lasses who tried to conjure their first demon ended up with painful, deadly results.

“With this”—his finger poked at it for emphasis—“I would be twice the master of demon lore that I am now.”

Pug said, “This sounds impressive.”

“At the least you sound very enthusiastic,” observed Jim.

Magnus shot him a sideways glance and then asked the Warlock, “Who wrote it?”

“I see no author named,” replied Amirantha. “It may be stated somewhere in there; I only read a fourth of what was here before Livia took me back to call it a night.

“There are…” He caught his breath. “I don’t know where to begin.” He paused, then said, “My perception of the demon realm, what we call the Fifth Circle of Hell, is that it’s a place of chaos, constantly shifting and violent,
where the strong rise and take command.” He let his voice drop. “It’s so much more than that.”

“They have…hierarchies.” He held up his hand and could see he had both magicians’ undivided attention, and even Jim was listening closely. “I, like you, thought that there was a demon king, Maarg, others before, perhaps after, but that he was simply the strongest, one who achieved his rank through combat, murder, terror, alliances with those seeking his protection…” He sighed.

“What is it?” asked Magnus.

“That’s a slave class,” said Amirantha.

“Slave class?”

“Like Keshian Dog Soldiers, trained killers, crazed, vicious, only good for one thing—fighting war. Even the imps are little more than criminals in their society.”

“Criminals?” asked Jim, now obviously interested.

“They have a society,” answered Amirantha. “They have builders…where did that hall you describe on the other side of the rift where Macros died fighting Maarg come from?” he asked Pug.

Pug blinked as if he had never thought of the question. “I saw it so briefly—”

“Yet you described it to me when you told me of Macros’s death facing Maarg,” said Amirantha.

“I thought it was some world…” He shrugged.

“One the demons had already conquered?” said Magnus.

Amirantha said, “I’ll have to spend a few days studying this.” He looked at Pug. “May I take it to my quarters?”

“Of course,” said Pug.

Amirantha put his hands on the book, but instead of picking it up, he opened it to the very last page. That page was folded up, and as he unfolded it, the others could see that it had been tipped into the volume so that only a third of its length was attached to the spine, so that when it un
folded a four-foot-by-three-foot piece of heavy vellum was revealed.

“What is that?” asked Jim.

Almost grinning, the Warlock said, “Unless I’m mistaken, My Lord James Dasher Jamison, this is a map of hell!”

T
he brothers stood motionless.

Laromendis used all his arts to conceal their presence in the basement as a pair of demons escorted a handful of prisoners out of the cells. Only Gulamendis’s demon sensitivity had alerted them in time. The quip of moments before became reality as they stood flat against the wall and the Conjurer made it look as if they were part of the wall.

The moments that passed were torturously slow yet eventually the door to the cell block was closed and the prisoners marched away. They had been a mixed group: four dwarves, two humans, and two elves. All were silent, sullen, yet not looking particularly fearful.

When the room was empty, Laromendis let the illusion fade. “What was that?”

“I couldn’t understand the language,” said his brother. “The demons are not speaking anything I recognize.”

Since coming to this alien castle on this unknown world, they were confronted with one conundrum after another. The frustration that had gripped Gulamendis when he had first encountered the demon encampment on the previous world, raised to a maddening degree when he witnessed the assault by the rival demon faction, was now close to delivering him into near rage at not knowing what was occurring.

“We need information,” said Gulamendis.

“Where do you suppose we get it?”

“I think our only choice is to go in there and talk to some of the prisoners.”

“Are you mad?” asked Laromendis.

“Why? Do you think they might give us up to their masters?”

“If they think it will curry favor, perhaps!” argued the Conjurer.

“What do you suggest?”

“I think we try to find out more by ourselves. Let us get out of here and see what else we may discover.” He sighed. “If we find no clear way home or at least a better sense of this place, we can always come back.” He glanced around and said, “Besides, I’d rather strike up a conversation in there with our distant cousins when it’s less likely we’d be surprised by guards.”

Gulamendis inclined his head as he thought, then said, “Agreed. We might better be served to do it while the humans and dwarves slept. We can almost certainly count on our kin not to betray us.”

“You have a better opinion of our people than I do, brother,” said Laromendis. “Come on and stay close. If I
have to suddenly conjure another illusion quickly, it’s certain to be a small one.”

“I shall be your virtual shadow,” said his brother softly.

“Which way?” asked Laromendis.

“That way we came, opposite lie the cells. Across or behind? Let’s go forward.”

They set off softly and carefully, moving up the stairway that had been on their right side when they first entered the dungeon.

“Any other suggestions?” whispered Gulamendis.

“Keep still,” hissed his brother, and they both backed down the hallway, ready to turn and run.

They had reached the top of the stairs and found themselves in a vast armory, and at the far end a group of demons were endeavoring to fit armor to what apparently were new recruits. With grunts and other guttural sounds, they communicated with them how to fasten the new chest-plates and helms. They were so intent on their task, they failed to notice the two elves who walked into the hall.

Gulamendis backed into the hallway as his brother tugged on his tunic. When they were back in the shadows, they turned and hurried down the stairs. When they were near the level of the entrance to the dungeon, they knelt and peered into the room. Seeing no movement, they hurried across the large expanse and paused. “That way,” said Laromendis.

“This time a little slower, brother.”

“Agreed.”

They crept up the stairs.

Most of this huge keep was empty. The elves judged there was enough room for a thousand or more soldiers to be garrisoned in a host of now empty barracks rooms scattered throughout the massive structure. It was clear from this
design, that elements of any army occupying the fortification were positioned to reach their defensive positions in the shortest time possible, rather than the more common practice of placing them in a single large barracks. It was also clear this gigantic assemblage of buildings and walls had been constructed by someone ages before. The scale was wrong for demons. The halls and galleries were too large for the smallest of them, and yet far too small for the greater demons. Something between dwarf and tall elf lived here, in the past.

Moreover, the demon occupation was recent. Vast areas of the place were empty, dust covered, and showed only the most cursory inspection by the current tenants. One tower to the front of the main keep showed signs of occupancy, but the others were abandoned. They climbed one tower out of curiosity, to see if a high vantage might give them some better sense of where they were.

When they reached the top room, they found the door locked. “Do we try to break it?” asked Laromendis.

“We might as well risk one of the knives,” said Gulamendis. “If we run into demons, these two blades will not count for much.”

“I still have the wand,” Laromendis said, patting his tunic.

“That might buy us a few minutes,” said the Demon Master, “but I’d rather not put that to the test. If an alarm is raised…?”

Laromendis said, “How do you propose attacking this door?”

His brother smiled at the inadvertent joke. “By stealth,” he answered.

“No, seriously, what are you thinking?”

“Hinges,” said Gulamendis, taking his blade edge to the top of the bottom hinge. It resisted, but after fussing with it and wiggling the blade, he managed to get it under the head of the hinge bolt, and when it came up slightly, he gripped it with powerful fingers and pulled straight up. “Got it,” he said softly.

The second hinge took longer but after several frustrating attempts, finally yielded to the brothers, leaving Gulamendis with bruised knuckles and a dull knife edge. The door protested as they pushed on the hinge side, but grudgingly gave and moved forward slightly. “The latch, it must be one of the long metal type,” said Laromendis.

“Let me see if I can squeeze through and free it from the other side.” They pushed and wiggled the door back as far as it could go, then the Demon Master squeezed through, barely clearing the side of the door and the nearby wall. Once on the other side, he said, “Move back, I need to push the door a little.” He did so, then Laromendis heard a door latch free up and suddenly the door began to wobble and fall.

His brother caught it and said, “I could use some help; this thing is heavy!”

Laromendis reached out and grappled with the hinge edge of the door and helped his brother swing it out of the way. Then they stopped and examined the locked room.

“What is this place?” whispered Laromendis.

The late afternoon light illuminated the room enough for both the brothers to see it had once been someone’s personal study. There were books and tomes against one wall, and a writing desk with a dried up inkwell and ancient quills. Rolls of brittle parchment lay scattered on the surface.

“My skin is itching,” said Gulamendis. “Whoever resided here practiced dark arts.”

“Is that why the demons didn’t open the door?”

“Probably just too lazy,” said Gulamendis. “They tend to take the path of least resistance.”

Laromendis picked up a paper and said, “Whoever penned this left in a hurry. It’s unfinished.”

“But he expected to return,” said Gulamendis. “He locked the door behind him.”

“A mystery,” said his brother. Pointing to the window, he said, “Let’s take a look outside.”

The window was a vaulted affair, with a large cushioned window seat. They both could stand on it and peer through the dirty glass. “Can we open this? I can’t see a thing,” said Laromendis.

“It has a latch,” answered his brother.

Gulamendis jumped down and his brother followed suit. The Demon Master tried the latch and found it reluctant, but it slowly released. He pulled on the window and found the hinges as reluctant as the latch. “No one has used this in a very long time.”

Laromendis said, “Does any of that look familiar to you?”

Gulamendis looked and saw a dark and foreboding mountain range in the distance. The low light in the loft told him he was looking southward as the sun set behind the dark clouds. After a moment, Gulamendis said, “No, nothing.”

“Can you see the fire peaks?” he asked, indicating the distant volcanoes.

“Of course,” said Gulamendis. “Why?”

“See how that one massive one rises up on the right, while those other two look like smaller twins to the left?”

“Yes,” said the Demon Master. “Does it mean something to you?”

“The Fire Twins.”

“Could it be?”

“If you were miles to the south, looking northward…” said Laromendis.

“From the battlements of Can-ducar!”

“The twins would be on the right and the Fire Queen on the left!”

“How did we not know about this ancient fortress?” asked Gulamendis.

“We never got this far,” answered the Conjurer. “Can-ducar was the northernmost fortification on Telesan when the demons appeared. We never occupied much of the world
because of this foul smoke and ash. The only reason we had anyone here was for mining metals.”

“Do you think that’s why the demons have dwarven prisoners?”

“Possible,” said Laromendis.

“Well,” said his brother. “We have some idea where they came from, at least.”

“Do we?”

Feeling defeat, the Demon Master said, “No. I mean, we know that portal in the wall by the gate leads to the world where we saw the demon battle, but we don’t know where they came from originally.”

Laromendis sat down in the gloom of the fading afternoon light. “We dare not light anything…assuming we can find tinder and flint, lest a light be seen, so we must wait until tomorrow to see if anything here is useful.”

Gulamendis stood. “Help me get the door back on the hinges, just in case this is the one day they decide to investigate the top of the tower. Then one of us should go back to the storage shed and fill up a sack.”

“I’ll go,” said Laromendis. “You were always the better scholar. See what you can make of this with what little light is left.”

They quickly got the door back on its hinges and closed it to ensure it was secure. Then Laromendis left, closing the door behind and Gulamendis latched it shut. He looked at the many volumes on the shelves, wondering where to start, then he found his gaze drifting to one at the top, large and covered in leather. He reached up and when his fingertips touched it, he jerked his hand back. “Demon,” he whispered. “Could this be—?” He pulled the book down and opened it. At once his vision swam and he recognized the writing, the arcane runic symbols of demon control. “Oh, my,” he whispered as he sat down and began to read.

A short time later his brother returned with a sack full of food and said, “It’s a good thing we vacated that shed.
When I got there some dwarves were leaving with food for the prisoners.”

“Why didn’t they find us last night?”

Laromendis shrugged and tossed an apple to his brother. “Perhaps they don’t feed them every day.” He started eating an apple as well and after a juicy bite, asked, “Find anything?”

“Yes,” said his brother. “I think I may have found several important things.”

“Such as?”

“Where the Demon Gate is that lets them into this realm.”

“Really?” he seemed impressed. “What else?”

“Who or what may be at the heart of this madness.”

Laromendis let out a slow sigh. “It’s almost too dark to read. Finish that tomorrow.” Elves were capable of seeing things on the darkest of nights, even if only starlight was the source, but without some light, reading ancient ink on parchment was beyond even their gifts.

“One other thing,” said Gulamendis.

“What?”

With a broad smile he said, “I think I have found a way for us to get home.”

Night dragged on and Laromendis repeated back what he had just been told to be certain he understood it. “So, this lair was the study of a human magician, by name Makras—”

“Macros.”

“Macros, and he was the magician advisor to the local ruler.”

“The King of Des.”

“The King of Des. He discovered a portal, built by some unknown people in ages past.”

“Yes.”

Laromendis said, “So while experimenting with this device, he opened the portal.”

“Yes, to a world…well, I will have to reread that part when the light returns.”

Laromendis sat silently in the darkness a moment, then he said, “I’ll skip the other parts. It’s not the portal we came through to get here?”

“No, for he described its location as being in a nearby vale; I assume he meant nearby from where he was writing and I assume he was writing here.”

“Well, let us say we can find this portal. How are we to operate it?”

“This is why I said ‘I think’ I have found a way home, instead of ‘I know.’ If there are controls we can use, I suggest we make for Home.” Laromendis was about to object, but Gulamendis cut him off. “Not for E’bar, but for Sorcerer’s Island.”

“How?”

“I spent enough time near that portal in the keep on the island to…
I think,
” he stressed, “I can contrive to get us there.”

Laromendis was determined not to let his brother get his hopes up. “And what do we use for power?”

Gulamendis held up a small bag and even though his brother could barely see him in the gloom, he sensed his brother was smiling. “I took these from the dead galasmancer.”

“Crystals?”

“Crystals.”

Laromendis said, “As I don’t have a better idea, can I suggest we leave now, take the volume with us, and read it somewhere far from here at first light?”

Gulamendis was loath to leave the treasure trove of ancient human magic behind, but saw the wisdom in getting out of this place when activity was at its lowest point. He took the volume and nodded once, and opened the door.

They moved purposefully but slowly down the circular stairs of the tower and at the base, looked down the long
connecting hallway that would eventually lead them to the stairs back down to the dungeon, and then up to the yard. They made their way past silent doors and empty rooms and when they were once again in the dungeon, Gulamendis risked a hurried peek through the viewing window in the door to the cells. Prisoners were huddled together for warmth, all sleeping. There were no guards.