Raging Sea and Trembling Earth: Disciples of the Horned One Volume Two (Soul Force Saga Book 2) (9 page)

W
hen Connor’s
wounds had fully healed and his soul force recovered he scrambled up from the floor and walked over to the wall where the construct had first appeared. He conjured more lights and in the bright glow spotted a circle on the floor engraved with faded runes. An outer ring filled with small runes surrounded a central circle filled with dozens more, all intertwined into a single pattern. Some of them he recognized from books he’d read about Alexious’s kingdom, others looked like runes used in summoning and binding demons, and still others—the majority, Connor reluctantly admitted to himself—he’d never laid eyes on before.

He shook his head, crouched down, and traced a rune that resembled a thorny vine twisted into a spiral. What did that one mean? Connor had believed himself knowledgeable when he set out on this quest, but every day he learned just how deep his ignorance and arrogance ran. He felt like a child playing at being a warlock when he studied Alexious’s mastery. How much more had the warlock king known than Connor and how much had he learned at the Horned One’s right hand? Whatever his deficiencies, Connor’s commitment to his path remained unwavering. He would succeed, whatever it took.

He paused in his tracing. A rune featuring a circle inside another circle connected by straight lines. He knew that one. It was a rune of opening. Connor bit his lip, then poured a wisp of energy into the rune, careful not to let any of his power spill over into the other markings.

The rune of opening drank in his power like a dry sponge. He kept the flow going until the rune would accept no more. The now-familiar vibration ran through the room. Black flames outlined a door in the wall which swung open at Connor’s approach. He sent his lights through the opening and followed behind.

His breath caught when he entered the room. The left- and right-hand walls were filled with niches, each of which held an artifact behind rune-etched glass. On the wall directly ahead hung a floor-length mirror of black glass. Connor’s distorted image stared back at him. In the center of the room a stone table sat empty.

This had to be the vault mentioned in the book he’d found in the pyramid. Connor’s impatient gaze flew around the room. The crystal had to be here somewhere. He passed over tomes of power that crackled with corrupt energy, rune-marked gems so sodden with power they made his little black diamond back home seem a pale thing. Skulls seemed to form the bulk of the collection, inhuman, warped things with overlong jaws, too many teeth, horns and bone spurs.

Connor had never understood the warlock fascination with collecting skulls. He had several of his own of course, but he’d never found any particular use for them, beyond decoration. He glanced over yet another skull, this one resembling a cross between a crocodile and a cobra.

The next niche held a midnight-blue crystal the size of his fist. It looked like such a mundane thing compared to the more exotic artifacts filling the vault. Connor ran a hand over the glass protecting the crystal.

After all his years of searching he’d found it at last, the soul bleed crystal, the key to his ascension. Connor slammed his fist into the glass. It didn’t so much as flex. He should have known it wouldn’t be so simple. He sent a focused blast of hellfire into the barrier.

The glass turned inky black then spat his power back at him magnified tenfold. Connor flew across the vault and slammed into the wall. The room spun and when he reached around and touched his head Connor found thick, black blood. He scrambled to his feet, healing the minor injury as he went.

Connor hadn’t come this far just to let a sheet of glass stand between him and his prize. He considered blasting it again, then rubbed the healed wound. Maybe a more subtle approach. He studied the runes cut into the glass. It seemed runes were always the key. Maybe he could find another rune of opening.

Five minutes of searching later Connor found it, or rather he found a perfectly round opening in the pattern where the rune should have been. He punched the glass with no more success than the first time. There had to be a secret, something he’d missed.

Connor abandoned the sealed niche and paced the room as he thought. What was it? What wasn’t he seeing? He paused when he passed in front of the mirror for the twentieth time. His reflection looked strange. He raised his hand and the reflection followed, but with a lag.

Frowning, Connor moved closer to the mirror. The closer he got the more distorted his reflection became. When he met his reflected gaze the eyes in the mirror were black and hollow instead of red and glowing.

“Who are you?”

His reflection smiled even though Connor’s expression hadn’t changed. “Took you long enough to notice. Even the paladin noticed me faster than you.”

The spirit shook its head. “Sad what’s become of the new generation of warlocks. In King Alexious’s day you wouldn’t have even qualified to serve as his court jester.”

Connor clenched his fist and glared at the spirit.

“What, are you going to try punching the mirror? That worked out so well for you the first two times you tried it with the barrier glass.”

Connor took a breath and found his center. His shoulders relaxed and he unclenched his fist. “Tell me, spirit, how do I open the niches and retrieve the item I desire?”

The spirit shook its head again. “You really are an idiot. You need the key.”

“Where might I find the key?” Connor asked with exaggerated patience.

“That bitch took it with her when she forced her way past the guardian. She’s hiding out up in the throne room. Hey, how did you get past her barrier?”

“It only keeps out demons. I’ve still got enough mortal in me to slip through.”

“Tell you what. You kill the paladin and fetch the key back here and I’ll let you talk to the master.”

“The Horned One?” Connor hardly believed his good fortune. The demon lord hadn’t spoken to Connor since he made his pact twelve years ago.

“No, stupid, not The Master. Master Alexious.”

Connor slumped for a moment then brightened. It would still be a great honor to speak with King Alexious. “Very well. I’ll return with the key and the paladin’s head.”

C
onnor stood staring
at the shimmering barrier between him and the throne room doors. The paladin had to be the source of the energy wall. He just needed to figure out how to bypass it. The warlock conjured a dart of hellfire and flung it at the barrier. The tiny speck of energy he used fizzled the moment it hit.

So the paladin intended to keep corrupt energy out. That made sense considering everything in the haunted lands was brimming with the stuff, just like Connor himself. If he couldn’t burn his way through maybe he could sneak through. Connor extended his index finger and pulled all the corrupt energy out of it, no shield, no physical enhancements, just flesh and blood.

He reached for the barrier again, embarrassed to notice his hand shook. The tip of his finger touched the wall and after a moment of resistance pushed through. The sensation wasn’t pleasant; it reminded Connor of washing in too-hot water, but he could bear it. The trick was going to be holding all his power as deep inside as possible, long enough to slip through the barrier. The only way to do it was to do it.

Connor directed all his energy flows into his core. His shield faded away, his enhanced senses dulled down to those of a mere mortal. When he finally had his power as contained as he could get it Connor clenched his jaw and stepped through the barrier.

The resistance was worse this time, like walking upstream in a swollen river, and the temperature had risen as well. His flesh turned red and blistered. Pain, raw and undiminished by any soul force techniques, assailed him.

Connor took another step and reached for the doors.

The temperature rose another fifty degrees. It took everything he had not to cry out. As bad as it was, the pain paled compared to diving through the black construct. While heavenly soul force had its uses, when it came to dishing out damage nothing beat corrupt energy.

He shoved the doors open and staggered through. The pain and resistance vanished. Seated on the white marble floor in the lotus position, surrounded by a bright white aura, was a stunning woman in silver mail. White hair swirled around her and a great sword more suited to a northern warrior than a slender young woman sat on the floor beside her.

Connor restored all his protections and enhancements then healed the minor damage caused by the barrier. Did she even know he was there? Maybe he could kill her quickly and finish his business downstairs.

Crackling black hellfire appeared around his hands. The instant it did the woman’s eyes popped open then narrowed. White light shone from them.

Connor hurled a ball of hellfire. The paladin snatched up her sword and cut the attack out of the air, negating it before it hit. She wielded the massive sword with one hand like it weighed no more than a dagger. Which angel had she struck her bargain with? A powerful one for certain, perhaps even one of the archangels.

He drew more power. This should be a worthy battle indeed. Connor conjured a black dragon and sent it flying toward the paladin. Claws slashed and fangs snapped.

None of them even came close. Her sword a blur, the paladin carved his dragon up. In moments the construct collapsed.

Connor turned the residual energy into dark spears that streaked toward her heart. Perhaps taken by surprise, she missed one of the spears. It struck her mail and sent the paladin flying. She skidded across the empty throne, not stopping until she hit the far wall.

He grinned. She wasn’t invincible at least.

The paladin stood up, not a mark on her. Not even her mail was tarnished from the blow of his spear. His grin soured. He should have known such a weak attack wouldn’t phase a paladin capable of crossing the haunted lands and raising such a powerful barrier. The fact that her sword and armor both had heavenly energy bound into them didn’t help his cause.

The paladin leveled her sword at him. It glowed white. Connor leapt, avoiding a burning arrow by inches. He rolled, spun, and dodged a storm of arrows. Lying on his back Connor sent a black scythe at her knees.

The dark blade stopped when the sword slashed down through his attack. He sent blast after blast at his opponent, watching closely as she slashed each blast out of the sky. After the fourth attack he realized she was using only the power of the sword for both offense and defense. After the sixth blast he noticed the sword’s glow diminishing.

He knew what he had to do now. Connor drew deeply from his core, increasing the power in each blast. If he could just force her to take a little power away from the barrier it might be enough to allow Focalor to break through. With the demon at his side it would be a whole new battle. From the tiny beads of sweat forming on her smooth brow the paladin knew it too.

Connor sent another blast, the biggest one so far. She slashed through it. Her power flared an instant before a wave of white light came roaring at him.

Connor raised his shield at the same moment the wave struck. Dark and light power clashed.

The explosion sent Connor flying. Only his enhanced strength kept his ribs from breaking when he struck the wall.

His opponent stood slumped over, leaning on her no-longer-glowing sword. Connor drew another chunk of power and hurled a black lightning bolt.

She formed a white shield that shattered when the corrupt energy struck it. The barrier wavered.

The ceiling exploded inward. When the dust settled Focalor stood in the center of the throne room.

The demon’s knobby, scaled form shimmered. Bat wings turned to raven wings. The tail shrank and disappeared. The wide, thick body became slimmer and more human.

So his erstwhile partner wasn’t a true demon at all, but a risen demon cast out of hell for the crime of not being evil enough. Should Focalor turn against him Connor wouldn’t last long against both the paladin and the former demon.

For the moment it seemed Focalor had eyes only for the paladin. His gaze locked on the still-silent woman.

“We meet again at last, my love,” Focalor said. “I have so missed you.”

“
I
should have killed
you centuries ago, Focalor.” The paladin’s voice sounded dull and raspy from years of disuse.

“Kill me! I gave up everything I was for you, Aowin. Now I’m trapped on this wretched world. But once I’ve killed you I’ll reclaim my place in hell.”

Focalor’s power blazed around him, a muddy gray haze, not quite the corrupt darkness of a true demon and not the golden light of a mortal sorcerer. The ragged remains of the paladin’s barrier vanished as she drew the energy back into herself and her sword. Both weapon and wielder glowed with pure white light.

If either of them remained aware of Connor they gave no sign. That suited the exhausted warlock. He scrambled back to the doorway and hunkered down to watch the show. He needed time to let his badly depleted soul force regenerate.

Focalor raised his claws and a pillar of gray flames roared down on Aowin. The flames splashed down over her shield. When the torrent subsided she stood unharmed in a circle of charred stone.

“You always start with the same attack.” She shook her head. “Poor, predictable Focalor.”

She raised her sword and Connor expected the white arrows. Focalor blurred and reappeared beside Aowin. He backhanded her hard enough to snap her head aside. He hammered a fist into her stomach, doubling her over.

“Predictable am I?” Focalor raised his hand high for a clubbing blow to her head.

Aowin sped up. Her sword swung in a crossing slash.

Focalor’s hand went flying, spraying black blood all over the white stone. He grasped his stump and snarled.

Aowin sneered as her sword burned the black blood away. “Did I say predictable? I meant pathetic.”

She showed no ill effects from the heavy blows. The great sword went up and power flowed into it. When it reached its highest point Focalor smiled and thrust his dripping wrist at her face.

Mingled blood and flame sprayed into Aowin’s face.

She gagged and staggered back, pawing at her face. Focalor formed a new hand of pure soul force. He drove straightened fingers into her stomach. When he ripped them back they were stained red.

Aowin moaned and held a hand to her stomach. Focalor loomed over her. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

Connor studied the paladin. Power flowed to her wound. “Finish her before she heals!”

Focalor looked back at him.

Bad move.

Aowin chose her moment well. She drove her great sword one handed into Focalor’s chest up to the hilt. Purifying light burst from the blade. Focalor screamed.

He tried to back away from the heavenly blade, but the paladin wouldn’t give him an inch. She poured more power into her weapon. White light burst from cracks in Focalor’s arms and legs. He roared even louder.

Connor gathered his power. It wouldn’t be long now.

Light shot out the demon’s mouth and eyes. A final blinding flash filled the throne room. When Connor’s vision cleared there was no sign of Focalor. Aowin stood panting, her soul force depleted.

Perfect.

Connor conjured a black blade of dense soul force and walked over. “That was impressive.”

She looked up at him and he swung. Aowin’s head hit the ground, eyes wide with shock. Connor smiled down at her. Now where was the key?

He patted her pockets, but found them empty. Four buckles held the silver mail in place and once he unfastened them he tossed it aside and shook his singed fingers. On a chain around her neck was a small round seal marked with the rune of opening. He yanked it and snapped the chain.

Connor now had everything he needed to claim the crystal.