Shadowstorm_ The Twilight War Part 2

Black energy pooled around father and son. Magadon screamed. The archdevil, as tall as a t.i.tan, laid Magadon across his palm and stabbed him in the abdomen with the tip of one of his dagger-sized claws.

Blood poured from Magadon's torso; he wailed with pain as the devil opened his body.

"No! No! Erevis, help!"

Cale struggled against the enchantment that held him immobile, felt around the edges of the magic and tried to slip the chains of the spell. To no avail. Shadows swirled around him. Frustration and anger rose in him so strongly that he thought he must burst. He broke through enough only to voice a scream.

"Stop!"

Mephistopheles paid him no heed. He tore his claw through Magadon's torso, opening his abdomen fully, and spilled his innards. They fell in a steaming heap to Cania's ice.

Magadon's screams died. The hole in him gaped.

The archdevil shook out the corpse to empty it of blood and organs. A shower of crimson spattered the ice.

Mephistopheles took Magadon's limp body by the ankles and torso and tore it in two at the waist. The sound of tearing flesh and cracking bone sent bile up Cale's throat. He could not swallow and it burned the back of his tongue, acrid and foul. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes and froze in the cold air.

The archdevil held aloft the two pieces of Magadon and chuckled. "A half-breed, truly."

Cale vowed with every breath that he would kill the archdevil, punish him, cause him pain.

Mephistopheles dropped both halves of the body to the ice. Magadon's face stared at Cale, the dead eyes and mouth wide with pain. The mindmage's arms spasmed grotesquely in his own gore. Cale prayed it was only a reflex.

Mephistopheles reached down into the pile and with two fingers drew forth a glowing, silver form, a ghostly image of Magadon.

A soul. Magadon's soul.

Cale wanted to close his eyes but could not.

The form squirmed in Mephistopheles's grasp as the archdevil held it up before his face. He leered and his eyes glowed with hunger. The face of Magadon's soul contorted in terror, pounded its fists against the archdevil's hand, but could not escape.

The archdevil lifted the soul high, tipped back his head, opened his mouth, and bit the soul in half. He swallowed it down as the other half writhed in his grasp. The silence with which Magadon's soul endured the agony made it all the worse to witness. Cale heard the screams only in his own imagination.

The Lord of h.e.l.l cast the remaining half of the soul back into Magadon's remains. He shrank back down to his normal, merely giant size, bent low, and exhaled a cloud of vile power over the gore.

To Cale's horror, the b.l.o.o.d.y pile began to stir. Magadon's eyes focused directly on Cale and his mouth opened in an animal scream that rose above the wind, that dwarfed the wails of the d.a.m.ned.

Slowly, the mindmage began to pull himself together. Screaming and gibbering all the while, he scooped his innards back into his torso, pulled his upper and lower halves back together. As the parts reunited, Mephistopheles's magic st.i.tched the b.l.o.o.d.y pieces back into a man.

The archfiend waited until Magadon was almost whole, then grabbed his son by his hair, pulled him up, and put his mouth to Magadon's ear. He whispered something that Cale could not make out. The terror in Magadon's eyes made Cale thankful that he could not see Mephistopheles's lips to read them.

The archdevil released his son and Magadon collapsed to the ice. Mephistopheles eyed the immobile Cale, circled behind him.

Cale never felt more vulnerable. He waited for pain.

It did not come. Instead, he felt the archdevil rifling in his pack.

"Here," the archdevil said. "I knew I smelled the tang of a G.o.ddess. This, too, I claim as mine."

He circled back into Cale's field of vision and Cale saw that Mephistopheles held in his hands the black book that Cale had taken from the Fane of Shadows. The archdevil flipped open the back cover of the book and flipped through the pages, thumbing from back to front.

Cale could see that the pages contained more writing than the last time he had opened the book in Stormweather Tower. Precise purple script covered the sheets. It appeared that the book was ... rewriting itself from the back to the front.

"Another interesting toy," the archdevil murmured. He snapped the book shut and smiled. "Interesting times lay ahead."

Mephistopheles flicked his wrist and the book disappeared in a puff of foul-smelling smoke. He looked over to Magadon, who was once more whole, but p.r.o.ne on all fours, slick with gore, and coughing. The archdevil moved to Magadon's side, grabbed him by the arm, and jerked him to his feet.

"No more," Magadon said in a broken voice.

"Your obeisance comes too late, half-breed."

To Cale, Mephistopheles said, "What's left of him is yours. But if you renege, I will destroy utterly what I have taken and come for the rest. You cannot protect him. Bring me what you've promised, and I shall vomit him up and do him no further harm."

With that, he threw Magadon toward Cale.

At the same moment, the spell holding Cale and Riven immobile ended.

Cale could do nothing but catch his blood-slicked friend, who groaned and collapsed in his arms, but Riven twirled his blades and stalked toward the archdevil.

"No, Riven!" Cale shouted immediately. "No!"

The a.s.sa.s.sin did not look at Cale but stopped his advance. His breath came like a bellows.

"Not now," Cale said.

The a.s.sa.s.sin stared hate at the archdevil.

Magadon started to shake in Cale's arms. It took a moment for Cale to realize that he was sobbing.

"Riven," Cale said, more softly. "We are leaving."

Riven looked back at Cale, saw Magadon, and his expression softened. He turned back to the archdevil, spat at his feet, and sheathed his blades.

Mephistopheles only c.o.c.ked an eyebrow in amus.e.m.e.nt.

Cale held his friend and stared into Mephistopheles's face, into his eyes, and did not blanch.

"I will get you what I've promised and you will return the rest of him to me. And when that bargain is concluded, I will exact payment for this."

"And the price will be high," Riven added, as he stepped beside Cale. He put a hand on Magadon's shoulder, gently, the way Cale had seen him touch his dogs.

Mephistopheles lost the amused expression. "You make another promise you will find difficult to keep, First of Five."

Cale shook his head and stared. "I have never made a promise more easily kept."

"That's truth," Riven added coldly.

Mephistopheles did not even glance at Riven. He studied Cale's face for a moment.

"You, too, could have been one of mine, I think."

Cale stared. "You know nothing about me."

"I know you entirely. I know what you want. I know what you are willing to do to have it."

Shadows oozed from Cale's flesh. He felt Riven's eye on him, Magadon's eyes.

"Shall I say it?" the archdevil asked. "If I do, it will never happen."

"You know nothing," Cale said, but his voice lacked conviction.

Mephistopheles looked upon Cale and smiled. "You wish to transcend, wish it desperately. So do all men who hate themselves. But you never shall. Not now."

The truth of the words was too evident to deny.

Mephistopheles filled the silence with a chuckle. "Now, begone from my realm. Skulk back into the shadows in which you cower and get me what you've promised."

He blew out a black cloud that engulfed the three comrades.

"And remember always that I am a liar," the archdevil said.

Cale's stomach lurched as they moved between worlds.

Elyril sat cross-legged and nude on the carpeted floor, her back to the hearth. The darkness in the chamber caressed her skin, teased pleasantly at the soft hairs of her arms and legs. She took a pinch of minddust from the small metal box on the floor at her side. The pungent drug took effect immediately and her consciousness expanded.

The flames from the fire behind her cast malformed shadows on the pale plaster wall opposite. The minddust darkened them, sharpened their lines. Elyril watched them dance and spin and tried to understand their truth.

What do they say? projected Kefil. projected Kefil.

The enormous mastiff lay curled beside her, a mountain of black fur, muscle, and teeth.

They keep their secrets, she answered. Silence, now, Kefil Silence, now, Kefil.

Kefil sighed, licked her hand, and s.h.i.+fted position.

Elyril watched faces and shapes form and dissipate in the chaos on the wall. She willed them to speak, to give her wisdom. She wished to know the secret of the sign and the book to be made whole. She held her arms aloft, stirring the shadows, and whispered, "In the darkness of the night, we hear the whisper of the void."

Her words set the images to roiling. Dozens of faces formed momentarily in the darkness and leered at her from the wall. They said nothing, offered her no secrets, and her frustration grew. She s.h.i.+fted her position to change her perspective. Kefil groaned and rolled over on his back. Elyril inhaled another pinch of minddust and lit her senses on fire.

The wall darkened and the faces withdrew. Stillness ruled the room. She was alone in the darkness. The air thickened. She saw her heart beating in her shadow.

A diabolical face appeared on the wall and lunged out of the plaster to hang in the air before her-a devil sent her by Shar, or Volumvax. Horns jutted from the brow to shadow the malevolent eyes.

Elyril recoiled in surprise but recovered herself quickly.

"Speak," she ordered the image. "Where is the book to be made whole?"

The fiend licked its lips, mockingly smiled a mouthful of fangs, and spoke to her in a tongue that she could not understand, but with such power that the words nauseated her.

She knew there was truth in the speech, if she could only understand. She needed more minddust.

She reached for her tin of drugs, took a pinch between her fingers, and inhaled, but the face withdrew into the wall, smirking. She clenched her fists in anger.

"I do not understand!"

Her voice took physical form and bounced off the walls and around the room.

"... not understand ... not understand ..."

Kefil raised his head and looked around the room. To whom do you speak? The fire is long dead. There are no shadows on the wall To whom do you speak? The fire is long dead. There are no shadows on the wall.

"What? You lie."

But he did not. The fire behind her was dead. She was alone in the darkness. How long had she been sitting so? How could there have been shadows without the fire?

Kefil stood, sighed, and stretched. What is it you wish to understand, Mistress? What is it you wish to understand, Mistress?

Elyril pulled a nearby wool blanket about her. The minddust made her skin sensitive and the blanket chafed. She threw it aside.

"The location of the book to be made whole. The nature of the sign."

So that you may free the Divine One?

Elyril smiled and nodded. "So that I may sit at his side as the Shadowstorm darkens the world."

Kefil scratched his ear with a hind leg. Perhaps you will never know the location of the book or the nature of the sign. Perhaps Shar will keep this secret from you always. Perhaps not knowing will drive you mad Perhaps you will never know the location of the book or the nature of the sign. Perhaps Shar will keep this secret from you always. Perhaps not knowing will drive you mad.

Elyril glared at the mastiff.

"And perhaps I shall make a rug from your pelt."

Kefil said nothing more.

Elyril spent the rest of the night praying and trying to wrest information from the darkness. But Shar held her secrets, and the truth of events lay just beyond Elyril's reach.

CHAPTER TWO.

15 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms The slim stone towers and high walls of the Abbey of Dawn perched atop a rise in southeastern Sembia, not far from the coast of the Dragon Sea. The three tapered spires of the abbey's east-facing chapel gave the impression of reaching for the heavens, of something about to take flight. The polished limestone walls and accents of rose-colored stone glittered in dawn's light.

A pear orchard and a patchwork of barley and vegetable fields stood within the shadow of the walls-the harvest had already been brought in-and beyond that lay only the whipgra.s.s of the plains, cl.u.s.ters of yellow and purple wildflowers, and copses of larch and ash. The winding wagon path that meandered through the plains from Rauthauvyr's Road to the north was barely visible in the swaying gra.s.s. Few used the path. The abbey served as a cloister for servants of Lathander and was almost entirely self-sufficient. Most who came spent years there.