The Sorcerer's Abyss (The Sorcerer's Path) (9 page)

The inside of the pyramid was just as black as the outside. The walls of the passages they navigated for seemingly miles were all triangular, coming to a peak fifty feet over head. Feh’lan’s group and her guards came to halt outside a set of massive doors where they waited nearly as long as it had taken to walk from the gate to the lord’s seat of power. Feh’lan endured, but she thought it a colossally stupid show of power. Especially considering what she had to offer. Organizing a demonic horde for something as great as assaulting a rival lord took time, and every minute Drak’kar wasted making her wait was time he could be using to organize his coup.

The doors finally opened and the procession marched inside. Beyond the doors was a cavernous chamber not unlike the one belonging to Klaraxis. The cathedral ceiling vaulted a hundred feet overhead where dozens of winged demons roosted and watched the happenings going on below. All around the massive chamber, demons stood by acting as guards and sycophants vying for favoritism.

Feh’lan hazarded a glance upward as they came to a halt before the expansive dais where Drak’kar reclined upon his throne. He was an ugly brute of a creature, four-armed and even taller than Klaraxis but sporting less mass. Another difference was his being wingless, but Feh’lan imagined the fact posed little hindrance for him. His four powerful arms and thick, muscular legs likely provided him with extraordinary speed and agility. His horns were straighter and more slender than Klaraxis’ oxen-like protuberances. Thick, olive-green skin covered his burly body.

“Explain their presence,” Drak’kar boomed from atop his dais.

Kra’la stepped forward and dropped to her knees at the edge of the lowest step. “My Prince, they claim to bring a message you will wish to hear. They say it will please you greatly.”

“Hm, and what say you, Kra’la? Do you think it will please me?” the demon lord grumbled like an avalanche.

The succubus looked from the floor to Feh’lan and her sisters. “I do, My Prince.”

“You had best hope so, or you will suffer a worse fate than the one with only a single wing for wasting my time and inflicting upon me the presence of Fifth Circle filth.” Drak’kar’s gaze fell upon Feh’lan with such intensity it was almost a physical weight bearing her down to the floor. “You have been mutilated. Such mutilation makes you weak. To be weak is to be devoured.”

Feh’lan fought past the fear in her throat and responded, “It has made my body weak for a time, but it has made my resolve strong, Prince Drak’kar.”

“The resolve to do what, harpy?”

Feh’lan knew Drak’kar was trying to bait her, to see if her resolve was strong enough to weather one of the greatest insults one could hurl at a succubus. Harpies were grotesque mortal creatures barely ranking above animals.

“To provide you with the means of destroying Klaraxis and ascend to the Fifth Circle.”

“You will regret wasting my time. Klaraxis is a formidable opponent and I will not expend the resources needed to take him down.” Drak’kar looked to several hulking demons standing against the walls. “Tear off their wings and deliver them to the gate.”

“Drak’kar, Klaraxis is weak! He failed miserably in his sojourn to the mortal world and is afflicted with the possession of a mortal sorcerer!”

Drak’kar raised two of his long, powerful arms and the approaching demons stopped. “What kind of trick is Klaraxis playing? Did he send you to lure me into a trap?”

“No, My Prince! The sorcerer, whose body he was supposed to possess so he could walk the mortal realm, defeated him. When the body was later destroyed, both souls returned to Klaraxis’ body, but the human sorcerer remained dominant. He either cannot or will not make full use of Klaraxis’ power. My sisters and I all saw him falter after a damnable ground crawler tore off my wing.”

Drak’kar stroked his thick, boney chin as he thought. “If the human did remain dominant, it is possible he cannot use Klaraxis’ power without risking his demonic parasite taking control. Fellspawn!” One of the black shadows seemed to detach itself from the wall and glided toward the dais. “What do your kin know of this?”

“Master, we have seen signs. Klaraxis is not himself. He argues constantly with someone unseen. None have seen him feed.”

“Why was this not reported to me?” Drak’kar quietly demanded.

“We were uncertain of the extent of the affliction or its source. We wished to have more facts before troubling you, Master.”

Drak’kar used all six limbs to propel himself off his throne and down the side of dais to land atop the hapless shadow creature with unbelievable speed and ferocity. The demon prince tore the creature to shreds and shoved the shadowy bits into his mouth like a man starving. The carnage lasted only seconds before Drak’kar casually returned to his throne, leaving only tiny bits of black on the floor.

“Fellspawn!” he roared.

Another shadow glided forward and awaited its fate atop the remains of its brethren.

“Remind my spies it is I who decides what is important. They will not withhold information from me again for any reason.”

“It will be so, My Prince.”

Drak’kar returned his attention to his visitors who were nervously awaiting his response. “You shall remain here as my guests while I make further inquiries. Should this information prove true, and I become master of the Fifth Circle, I shall reward you as none has ever been rewarded before. Now go.”

“You are as gracious as you are powerful, My Prince and soon to be worthy master,” Feh’lan crooned. She and her retinue backed out of the vast hall.

Once the vast hall had cleared, another shadow detached itself from a dark, recessed corner. Twin sparks of blue fire blazed as rage burned within it.
The sorcerer is mine! I cannot allow him to die by another’s hand. I had hoped to grow stronger before I moved, but perhaps what I have gained is sufficient. It is an arduous journey and fraught with peril, particularly while I am in this form. I must assume another.

As if the goddess of death and murder had listened and answered his prayer, a grackin swooped down from the high ceiling. “You do not belong here, shade. That makes you open to be my dinner!”

The demon expected the shade to moan pitifully and anticipated the joy the creature’s terror-filled suffering would bring. However, it did not wail, and it did not shrink away and quaver in fright of its imminent demise. The grackin lunged at the shade and the Rook vanished into a deep crack between the stones of the floor like water down a drain.

The demon cast about for the impossibly swift shade and tried to understand what was happening. That realization came in the form of a shadow blade piercing his back just below where the right wing joined the body. Instead of pulling the life force through the black blade, the Rook forced his own existence through the knife’s ethereal form and into the demon’s body. The grackin let out a short bark as the two souls warred for control of the demon’s physical form.

The battle was short and the Rook devoured the demon’s essence from within. His glowing blue eyes replaced the red orbs of the grackin and he stretched out his arms and wings and appreciated the solid if hideously ugly form.

“Yes, this will do most excellently,” the Rook whispered.

The Rook soared over the desolate grey landscape, keeping a watchful eye out for other demons. The creatures were notoriously territorial and were quick to kill outsiders. Not just for food, but also for the entertainment such wanton murder and torture brought. The Rook found it vile. Murder and death were things of necessity, vengeance, and business. It should be orderly and conducted with forethought. Murder was a means to an end—a final end.

CHAPTER 3

The school’s masters were sitting around the large dining table in the old tower after the day’s classes discussing the various activities and happenings while they waited for dinner. The tension caused from The Academy wizards’ intrusion several months ago had lessened, as there appeared to be no further threats or inquiries. However, Magus Allister was far from feeling at ease.

“Franklin, has Ellyssa been missing classes again lately?” the old wizard asked.

“Yes, she has. At first, it was just a few here and there, but these last several months her truancy has gotten steadily worse. I would have brought it up, but the work she shows in class is excellent when she comes. Her focus and understanding has increased dramatically. She is really beginning to pull away from the other students, and I think we will have to put her in a more advanced class soon if she keeps going the way she is.”

Allister nodded but was still troubled. “It is the same with the classes she has with me.”

“Mine as well,” Aggie piped in. “I believe she is still practicing a great deal outside of school. She is especially spending a great deal of time in the laboratory with Azerick’s tome.”

“She is, and it is what has me concerned more than her attitude or truancy,” Allister admitted.

“Do you think she is overreaching herself?” Rusty asked.

Allister shook his head. “It does not appear she is. I’ll admit I am apprehensive with someone of her youth and inexperience to have unfettered access to such a book. There is some rather advanced magic in there, which could be very dangerous. As you said though, it does not appear she is overreaching herself. She has matured remarkably, and if the book gives her something other than her grief upon which to focus, I do not want to take it away without good cause. I will have to look into the matter in greater detail.”

Daebian broke the seriousness of the table conversation as he bounced through the door, singing a song in his rich, high-pitched, and remarkably in tune voice for someone so young. Even after nearly three years, his rapid growth and mental development astounded everyone. Even if he were the six-year-old he appeared to be, he would be a prodigy in reading, mathematics, and any other academic subject thrown at him. He had yet shown any inclination toward magic, but he recently began practicing with wooden swords with the martial students and took to it like a duck to water.

“Mother, look!” he shouted as he thrust a handful of flowers at Miranda.

Miranda’s smile was so bright and loving it lit up the room and made everyone forget the pain she still held for her husband. “They are beautiful. Did you wash your hands?”

“Yep!” Daebian answered and thrust out his hands open-palmed for inspection. “I made up a poem while I was picking them. Do you want to hear it?”