Sword and the Spell 01: The Grey Robe (47 page)

The sorcerer staggered away from the stone slab, his
steps uncertain and his whole being churning and twisting within its fragile
covering of skin so that the crispness of his outline blurred and shifted. He
stumbled up the stairs becoming stronger and, with each step, regaining his
solidity whilst the turmoil within him increased its intensity.

At the top of the stairs he burst through the iron-bound
door with power surging through him and a new energy pulsating at the edge of
his consciousness, straining to take control of his being. Maladran held it in
check by the force of his human will, determined to be the master of the demon
magic he had summoned and not its slave but it was a tentative control, a fine
edge between containment and oblivion.

In the stone, cold hallway he stopped to breathe
deeply, pushing the power back inside of himself and calming wild emotions of hate
and anger and a craving to tear living flesh and drink hot blood. He carefully
and deliberately wrapped his black cloak around him, shielding the vivid scar
on his throat from sight and keeping the name of his enemy from his mind. For
the first time in nearly five years he opened the tower door and stood at its
threshold, revelling in his freedom.

Horsemen crowded around the door, their steeds’
laboured breath making red-tinged plumes in the dying sunlight. Horses stamped
noisily, their iron-shod hooves striking sparks on the jagged stone as they
shied into each other, nervously backing away from the cloaked figure and the
animal presence he radiated. Grim riders covered with the dust of a long hard
ride fought to keep their fractious animals steady and fingered their sword
hilts as if they too sensed some overwhelming evil.

Sarrat urged his horse forward through the crowd of
horsemen and flipped back his visor, a look of uncertainty on his face as he
saw the magician standing there with waves of anger and hatred sweeping from
him, their force almost destroying Maladran's tenuous control. "Good, you're
ready." He turned to the rider closest to him. "Gartnor, give
Maladran your horse, we leave this place immediately."

Gartnor reluctantly dismounted but Maladran made no
move to take the horse’s reins. Sarrat's look of consternation changed to
annoyance and his frustration beat against the sorcerer's mind. "Move,
magician, I have need of your services. That bastard who rules Northshield has
been supporting my enemies in the south against me but I will make him pay for
his treachery. Before I’m finished I will have him screaming on a stake and
every one of his noblemen’s heads on a pike. Now mount, he has a magician you
will need to deal with and there's work to be done."

"I cannot, My Lord.” hissed Maladran through
clenched teeth. “Your exile still chains my power and holds me in thrall within
the confines of this tower."

"Damn the exile, you have my release!” He reached
inside a silk bag which hung at his waist and removed the magician’s torc which
he threw at him. “Now get on that horse and come with me."

Maladran caught the torc and looked his master in the
eye before placing it around his neck over the imprint of the demon burnt into
his flesh. With a surge of power which threatened to bring him to his knees the
gold circlet bonded to his flesh and the ruby eyes glowed fiery red.

"No, My Lord," replied Maladran in a
growling voice which hardly seemed his own. "I have other things of
greater importance to attend to."

Sarrat looked at the sorcerer in disbelief. "You’re
mistaken, magician. My affairs are the only thing of importance to you and you
will obey me."

Maladran staggered under the onslaught of Sarrat's
fury magnified by the torc around his neck and the insatiable demands of the
demon which fought within him for release as each fought for dominance. His
long ago vow of fealty tore at him with a physical pain but the needs of the
demon magic were too great.

"I have no need of you anymore," hissed
Maladran. "You have released me from the bonds which held me to you."

"Wrong, Maladran, I command you because I own
you."

The torc at Maladran's throat burst into a brilliant
red glare and his control snapped as flames leapt into his mind and consumed
the being which had once been Maladran. Demon magic suffused his mortal body in
a fiery glow growing into an inferno in front of the horrified king and his
terrified soldiers. Horses reared and fought to escape as the raging flames in
front of them grew and twisted. Within the centre of the flames the dark shape
which had been Maladran became lost whilst the golden torc, stretched and
changed, grew
 
larger and denser.

Sarrat and his men drew their terrified horses back
and pulled their swords as a massive, elongated darkness with glowing eyes took
shape in front of them.Then it was free and roaring above them, a scaled head
with wide nostrils, burning eyes and glistening fangs, snapping down and
sheering men in two. The long spiked tail whipped around as the demon passed,
swiping men from their horses, crushing out their life with the power of its
muscular body.

The dark wings held the demon aloft, weaving in and
out of sword range with arcane agility. A massive scaled foot reached down and
vicious talons grasped Sarrat's body, heaving him from his horse and piercing
chest, abdomen and back in a welter of blood and torn flesh. Sarrat's death
scream was lost in the demon's roar of triumph as it clutched the mangled body
and sped into the sky, westwards towards the Blue River and the setting sun.

*

Pellum whistled a cheerful tune as he rode Sansun
towards the arched and open gates of Alewinder, the city’s honey-coloured stone
glowing pink in the final rays of the setting sun. Behind them the last
vestiges of the thorn forest dwindled to nothing and the ruptured earth settled
back into smooth green turf. Jonderill walked at the silver horse's side, one
hand on the knife he’d taken from Perguine's body and the other opening and
closing around nothing, missing the feel of the old iron sword at his side.
Pellum had claimed both horse and sword as his right as a prince of the six
kingdoms and a trained warrior. Jonderill, despite his misgivings, hadn’t
argued after the Prince had once again sneeringly reminded him of his lowly
place as his servant.

Ahead of them stood the walled city with the spires of
the palace towering magnificently at its centre. It seemed strange to Jonderill
that there should be no movement in a city which had always been so full of
life. There were no people coming or going through the massive gates, no
liveried guards walking along the wall and not even a sky flyer in the
faultless sky where the first light of the northern star proclaimed the
approach of night. There was no sound either, just the steady thud of Sansun's
hooves against the soft turf as it rose gently upwards towards the city gates.
It was so quiet that Jonderill could hear the pounding of his own heart.

A sudden tingling in the back of his neck and along
his arms, as if he’d been nettled, made Jonderill dive to the ground at the
same instant that Sansun leapt sideways in a bucking prance. With a horrifying
scream that ripped apart the unnatural silence a dark shadow flashed passed and
swooped upwards leaving a clash of talon and fangs clipping together in the space
where horse and rider had stood a moment before.

Jonderill clambered hurriedly to his feet, desperately
looking around for the source of the attack whilst Pellum dragged at Sansun’s
reins bringing the horse to a shuddering halt. He pulled the battered sword
from his belt and for a moment they looked at each other wondering if they had both
imagined the sudden attack. A change in the pressure of the air made them look
towards the city where, from between the palace spires, the creature appeared,
black wings swept back and the long neck extended as it hunted its prey.

Pellum froze, unable to take his eyes off the
approaching horror that was making straight for him. At the last moment his
torpor broke and he raked his spurs along Sansun's sides, drawing blood and
sending him into a springing leap forward. Discarding his sword, as if its
presence burnt his hand, he whipped the reins from side to side against his
horse's neck and again gouged his spurs into the stallion, goading the horse
into an all out gallop towards the shelter of the city gates.

Left defenceless and exposed on the hillside,
Jonderill dropped flat to the ground as the demon swooped overhead. One
extended talon ripped into his back, tearing flesh and muscle and the spiked
tail whipped around missing him by a fraction as he rolled away leaving blood
on the grass behind him. The demon climbed upwards in a scream of frustration
and a flurry of leather wings.

Blood ran down Jonderill's back and fire burned in his
shoulder and ribs when he tried to move his arm but he’d been lucky; no bones
had been broken and no vital organs damaged. He picked himself up and with his
good hand grabbed for the sword as the demon circled in a high, banking curve
and plunged downwards again. It passed over Jonderill’s head at less than an
arm's length ignoring him, intent on striking at the fleeing horse and rider.

As it banked around a wing dipped into Jonderill's
reach and his iron sword bit into the dark flesh, slicing through the leathery
wing from body to tip. The creature wavered in the air as it closed on Pellum
and Sansun as if it were desperately trying to maintain its level flight but
the deflection was enough for its snapping jaws to miss its retreating prey.
Pellum raked his horse's sides again in a last surge forward and then yanked
back on the bit to bring Sansun to his hocks so he could dive safely forward
into the protection of the deep archway beneath the city walls.

With obvious difficulty the nightmare creature powered
into the air, its one usable wing shining like wet leather, maintaining its
upwards flight whilst the tattered remains of the other trailed behind as it fought
to keep its equilibrium. Jonderill watched it go, his heart pounding with fear
and pain but encouraged by having struck a disabling blow against the vicious
monster. His triumph was short lived. He knew the demon would return and this
time he would be the focus of its attack.

Running as fast as his injured back would allow he
made his way up the hill towards the safety of the archway with the creature
circling overhead but Pellum used his horse to block his way. With only a dozen
paces to go he veered away from the city gates in a desperate attempt to find
somewhere safe and to lead the creature away from the sleeping and defenceless
inhabitants of Alewinder.

Jonderill heard the demon approach from behind long
before he reached the crest of the hill where a stone wall edged the Blue
River. The sound of the wind whistling through its broken wing moaned like
tortured souls and he ran as fast as he could for the protection of the wall.
Before he reached it he knew he wouldn’t be fast enough to draw hellden's
creature away from the city or to make safe his own escape, so, when the
demon's steaming breath beat against his back he stopped and turned to face the
creature. He defiantly stood his ground with his sword held high in the hope he
could reach the demon’s throat before the massive jaws closed around him but
the creature was already upon him.

As it flew passed its sinuous neck twisted so that its
jaws could close from behind its prey and the talons were extended forward to
hold him in a death grip. Jonderill plunged the sword upwards and felt it
scrape uselessly across scaled flesh before a leathery wing beat him to the
ground. He waited for the jaws to close around him but the killing strike never
came. Instead the creature was bowled over in a frenzy of twisting wings and
lashing tail.

Sansun screamed his battle cry and charged his enemy
again, this time head on using his iron-shod hooves and ripping teeth instead
of the weight of his muscular body which had knocked the swooping creature from
the air. The horse reared and brought his sharp front hooves down on the
demon's good wing, smashing the bones and tendons which held the leather
membrane to the scaled body. Sansun's teeth attacked the back of the creature's
neck as if it were an enemy warhorse but scaled plates, as thick as any
knight's armour, resisted the long, snapping teeth.

The demon whipped its neck around shaking the horse
free but Sansun reared again, crashing his hooves down on the demon's shoulder
in a move which should have crushed ribs and broken bones but his hooves
bounced off the scales on the creature's sides. The demon staggered under the assault
and Sansun attacked again, his teeth ripping into the demon’s underside and
gouging into unshielded flesh. Burning blood sprayed into the horse's nostrils
momentarily blinding the attacking horse.

He leaped back with a scream of pain and fear whilst
the demon's tail lashed around and caught him squarely on the shoulder, bowling
him over and over until he came to rest in an unmoving, twisted heap. In
triumph, the demon let out a high-pitched scream, like metal being drawn across
stone and then lifted its head to renew its search for its prey. It twisted its
sinuous neck until its burning red eyes focused on Jonderill, standing now at
the top of the rise with his sword drawn and ready in challenge.

Another scream tore the air as the demon lumbered
forward, the useless wings trailing behind as the massive talons ripped into
the earth to heave it onwards. Each step shook the earth and was accompanied by
the whine of tortured air as its spiked tail lashed from side to side and its
head whipped backwards and forwards like a venomous dirt crawler, all the time
focusing in on its prey.