Witchbreaker (Dragon Apocalypse) (30 page)

Avaris tumbled to the floor, landing on one knee. She rose shakily, beating a hasty retreat toward the velvet curtains on the rear wall, and Sorrow gave chase. She was furious at Slate for losing his temper and attacking, and furious at herself for knowing that the crimes Avaris had just confessed to didn’t change Sorrow’s desire to talk to the woman. If Avaris had become a parody of evil, it was only because her enemies had made her thus.

Avaris slipped behind one of the curtains. Sorrow heard iron bars rattle down. She glanced back and saw Slate and the warrior still grappling. Slate was keeping close, where a two-handed sword like the Witchbreaker was nearly useless. Slate had managed to slip his hands beneath the warrior’s helmet and was squeezing his foe’s throat with all his might.

Sorrow pushed aside the curtain and reached out to touch the iron bars that blocked the doorway. With a thought, they crumbled to rust. She pushed through, her wings scraping against the edges of the doorframe.

She found herself in a luxurious bedchamber. A canopy bed sat in the center of the room, with gilded bedposts and satin bedding. All around the room were mirrors in frames of gold. Beside the bed was another crystal sphere, as large as the one outside. She could see the two warriors in the throne room struggling. Could hear them, too, the
clinks
and
clangs
of their armor echoing faintly from the crystalline surface. The room was almost silent other than this.

Almost.

There was an open door at the back of the room. The obvious path was to go through it. But in the relative silence of the room, she heard a noise. Her ears fixed upon a large wardrobe on the far wall. She moved before it, holding her breath to hear better. She furrowed her brow. Someone was definitely inside. And they were sobbing?

She yanked the door open. Avaris fell at her feet, her hands clasped around her bleeding temple, as she whimpered, “Please! Don’t kill me! I’ll give you anything you want!”

Sorrow raised her eyebrows. The woman seemed genuinely terrified.

“You were a queen once,” Sorrow said. “Now you grovel at the feet of an unarmed woman?”

Avaris snorted. “You don’t need to be armed. You’ve blended your spirit with Rott. You’re destruction incarnate.”

“I just expected... someone a little...”

“Braver? I fear death so much I’ve hid from it for six centuries. I live in shadows because I fear the scorn of those who remain in light.”

Sorrow didn’t know what to say to this. As she silently stared at the woman, she heard laughter from the crystal at her back.

A man’s voice said, “I feel your hands grow weary. I see you’ve inherited none of my cleverness. How stupid must you be to try to strangle a dead man?”

Sorrow blocked this from her mind. If Slate bested his foe, he could burst through the door any moment and kill Avaris. If the swordsman bested Slate, he might prove a bit more courageous than the queen. In any case, she needed to speak quickly.

“I may be blended with Rott,” said Sorrow. “But I’m having difficulty controlling my power. I’m hoping you can help. If anyone knows how to command the powers of a primal dragon, it’s you.”

Avaris shook her head. She ran her fingers through her black hair, pulling locks away to reveal an ugly bubble of scar tissue on the pale flesh beneath. “This is all that remains of my one attempt to master the powers of Rott. In the end, I gladly plucked the nail from my skull.”

“You had the same powers?” Sorrow asked, unable to take her eyes off the scar. “And you threw them away?”

“I’d lost an even greater power,” said Avaris. “Since I was young, men have done my bidding, seduced by my beauty. I lost that power when I blended my soul with Rott. No matter how I tried to blend the dragon’s body with my own, I wound up repulsive, covered with scales. My once perfect mouth was ruined by fangs.” She glanced up at Sorrow’s nude body. “You’ve kept your figure better than I did. If you found a man who didn’t mind the wings, you might still seduce him.”

“I’d rather be part dragon than seduce men,” said Sorrow.

“Truly? Because you may be ignoring your greatest natural gift. Women need no magic to enslave men. After I gave up on the false path of controlling the primal force of decay, I rediscovered the primal force of womanhood. I restored by body with bone-weaving and went on to seduce my greatest tormentor.”

Sorrow almost asked who that was. She turned her gaze toward the crystal ball as a loud
clang
rang out. Slate had recovered his mace. He’d just knocked the warrior’s helmet from his head.

The two men stared at each other in the aftermath. Save for the swordsman’s deathly pallor and gray hair, they were as alike as twins.

“Lord Stark Tower,” Sorrow whispered.

“The Witchbreaker,” said Avaris. “My mortal foe, now my undead champion. Once I seduced him, perverting what little good remained in him, it was a simple matter to enslave his body and ferry his soul to hell. I keep his corpse healthy with a daily supply of virgin blood.”

Sorrow started to ask if Avaris meant that Stark drank the blood, but decided she didn’t want to know.

Avaris looked puzzled as she stared at Sorrow, “If you don’t seduce men, how do you summon the procreative energies required for bone-weaving?”

“I don’t,” said Sorrow. “I’ve never learned the art. That’s why I’ve been hunting for you all these years.”

“Ah. Then we can make a bargain. I give you knowledge. You spare my life.”

“We spare all lives,” said Sorrow. “Call off your castle’s attack on my companions. Tell Tower to spare Slate.”

“You’ve asked just in time. The castle has found your friends, and stands above them now, unseen. It shall not strike unless I will it. As for Tower, he may be my slave, but his cruel streak exceeds my ability to control. He’ll play with your friend until he grows weary. Slate will die in terrible pain. It would be tragic, I suppose, if he were truly a living thing.”

“Slate isn’t alive?”

“For all physical purposes, the man you call Slate is indistinguishable from a living man. But he’s my creation, an exact duplicate of Stark Tower, woven from the original’s blood. I magically endowed him with all of the original’s prowess in battle, but warped other aspects of his mind so that he would be Tower’s dark mirror. Tower swaggered around the world claiming to be the champion of good. I created Slate to be the champion of evil. Only, I had made the mistake of believing Tower’s own myth. When my creation woke, he was not the scourge I had hoped for. Instead, in his mirror nature, he proved kind where Tower was cruel. He was selfless where Tower was vain. While Tower hated mankind, Slate was quick to form friends, even with those who should have been his worst foes. In the end, I was forced to give the useless dolt a potion that destroyed his memories. I intended to find a wicked spirit in the realms of the dead more suited to my needs, and offer him Slate’s impressive shell. Alas, these events unfolded in chaotic times. Though I soon made the true Witchbreaker my slave, his armies still overpowered my own, and I was forced to flee. Slate was left in stasis, neither alive nor dead, until such time that I could return for him. Of course, in my exile, I decided to change my tactics.”

“How?”

“The kingdoms of the world rejected my rule. I came to understand they were never worthy of my time. Let the masses suffer under their false churches. What they believe was a victory against me was the beginning of their long doom. I’m now immortal. What does it matter to me if it takes my enemies centuries to fall?”

There was more laughter from the globe. Sorrow looked back to see Slate clutching his side, bleeding. Much of his armor was shattered. Save for his missing helmet, Lord Tower looked none the worse for wear.

“You’re younger,” Tower said. “Faster. Perhaps even a bit stronger. A benefit of still having a heartbeat, I suppose. What a shame that a living body so quickly grows weary. I do not miss pain. I do not miss the burning in my chest when breath grows short.” He swung his sword overhead with both hands and chopped down. His blow didn’t seem aimed to kill, but to maim, targeted on Slate’s legs. At the last possible instant, Slate rolled aside, and the sword bit deep into the bone floor.

Sorrow looked back at Avaris. “How long will it take you to give me a nail of bone? I still wish to learn this art. It’s said that bone-weavers can alter their forms. Can I not restore my humanity with it?”

Avaris shook her head. “The dragon spirit is stronger than mere flesh. You may rearrange your body, but only if you sever all ties with Rott can you be fully human. As for the bone nail, have the weaver arts decayed so far that you don’t see the simple truth?”

“There aren’t many witches left.”

“But all should be bone-weavers.”

“But I’ve never found a bone nail. I’ve never even discovered a bone-weaver’s skull to study!”

“Fool! Peel away your scalp and what would you find?”

“My skull?”

“Made of?”

“Oh,” said Sorrow.

“You were born with the tools. You merely lack the teaching.”

“How long will I have to train?”

“A lifetime. I still discover new aspects to the magic. But there is a short cut.”

“What?”

“You’ve already shown a willingness to blend your soul with a dragon. Would you be open to blending your mind with mine?”

“How?”

Avaris ran her fingers along Sorrow cheek. “I will take your left eye. I will give you one of mine in exchange.”

Sorrow stared at the woman’s face. Avaris looked serious. Her eyes were a perfect match for Sorrow’s own emerald green.

Sensing Sorrow’s hesitation, Avaris said, “It’s only painful for a short time. After this, I will see all that you see. We can converse by thought though separated by miles and dimensions as easily as we speak now. I can guide you in the art of bone-weaving, and improve your mastery of other skills. I may even be able to guide you in dealing with the dragon spirit. I held the power for over a decade before rejecting it. I know a thing or two about control.”

“And sparing your life is the only price?”

Avaris laughed. “No. No, I think not. Of course, you’ve already dedicated yourself to the thing I would find most pleasing.”

“The destruction of the church?”

Avaris nodded. “My price cannot be something you would do on your own. So, I will make it simple. You will kill someone of my choosing.”

“Who?”

Avaris shrugged. “I don’t know yet. It may take me many years to decide.”

Sorrow frowned. She thought about the decapitated girl in the kitchen. There were people in this world she couldn’t and wouldn’t hurt. She turned away. “I cannot accept your bargain. If you were to demand I kill a child, I could not obey you.”

“Even if the child were Numinous Pilgrim?”

Sorrow pressed her lips together.

She was still thinking the offer over when Avaris said, “Fine. No children. Nor anyone you would consider innocent, though no such creatures exists. I promise when I name my target, you will agree that they have committed the most flagrant sins.”

Sorrow nodded. “Agreed.” She turned to shake the elder witch’s hand. Instead, she found Avaris standing behind her. The woman’s left eye was a barren socket. The woman grabbed Sorrow’s face, bringing her mouth toward Sorrow’s eye. The witch’s teeth warped and grew into long blades. Sorrow screamed as the fangs gouged into her flesh.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

JUST MAN

“S
ORROW
!”
A VOICE
cried out. It was Slate, from the other room, still alive despite the odds. She couldn’t look at the crystal ball, however. She couldn’t look at anything. There was nothing but a veil of perfect blackness before her. Avaris’ fingernail dug around within her left eye socket, removing dangling bits of flesh. The pain made her reflexively clamp her right eye shut, effectively blinding herself.

There was a terrible pressure in her skull as Avaris jammed something hot and wet into her bleeding eye socket. Suddenly the veil of black was full of dancing white sparks. Avaris removed her hand and Sorrow jammed her palms over her face. She probed as gently as she could and felt that she once more had two eyeballs.

With sheer force of will, she pulled her hands away and opened her eyes.

Everything in the room was doubled. She blinked, but it did little to improve her overlapping vision. She craned her neck. Avaris was nowhere to be seen. She rose on trembling legs, steadying herself on the bed frame. She glanced into the crystal ball. Through her doubled vision, she could see Slate still on the floor before the Witchbreaker. Judging from the deep scars across the floor, he’d rolled out of the path of dozens of blows.

“You’re getting slower,” Tower taunted as he raised his sword once more. “I can keep this up for all eternity.”

Sorrow stumbled back toward the door she’d entered, placing her hand on the wall as she fought for balance. Her heartbeat pounded in her temples as she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting dizziness. The weight of the wings upon her back threatened to bring her to her knees. Just how much blood had she lost?