Citadel of Demons Page 6

  Balthazar writhed as he tried to twist free but he was held too tightly. The sandfolk were inhumanly strong. There was no escaping their grasp.

  “Now it comes,” Nexali shouted. “Prepare yourself.”

  Something wet slithered across his skin. The reflective ceiling showed the mass of corrupt flesh squirming atop his chest, making its way towards the wound. There was a lapping, sucking sound.

  “It drinks your blood,” Nexali cried. “Thus will it know you. Thus will it bind to you.”

  It came to Balthazar that, if the thing were a demon, it might seek to possess him. Perhaps the sandfolk were vessels for these alien entities. He had heard of stranger things. Terror made him void himself.

  There was a hideous sucking sound. He thought of the thing as a giant leech. Its mouth attached to his chest. Looking up at the mirrored ceiling, he saw the symbiote swell. It pulsed as it drank his blood. The pain in his chest intensified. Tendrils extruded from its head. They plunged into the open wound like spears.

  He screamed as they penetrated his flesh and wormed their way through his body. They pierced him in a dozen places. Alien life invaded his chest cavity. It was as if a bladder was being inflated beside his heart. The pain was agonising.

  He felt weaker. His vision blurred. The thing had taken a lot of his blood. Nexali resumed chanting. The creature responded to her words. It extended itself, stretching like a snake. A wave of flesh moved from its rear towards his mouth. He was almost sick when he realised what was coming.

  Slimy meat flowed over his mouth and nostrils, cutting off his breath. Moist wetness squirmed between his lips. Worms of flesh drove up his nostrils. He tried to keep his jaws clamped shut but his mouth was forced open and a tail of protoplasm entered his mouth. It tasted salty and sour and rotten. He tried to gag but it pushed down his throat, cutting off all air.

  Was this a sacrifice? Had Nexali intended to kill him in this horrible way all along?

  Waves of nausea and dizziness and agony passed through him. Unconsciousness, when it came, was a mercy.

  * * *

  Kormak studied the bleak land uneasily. Dry ground crunched beneath his boots as he strode along beside the wagon. Thin air rasped into his lungs. The sere land rolled away into the distance, a dead plain, punctuated by mesas and clusters of boulders. The only visible wildlife was the buzzards hovering overhead and the desert rats scampering from creosote bush to creosote bush.

  He had rarely seen a place less prepossessing. It was dry and there was little food to be foraged. It was worse than the deserts of Umbrea. At least there, there had been occasional signs that the land had once been inhabited by human beings. Here there was nothing, not even the dried bones of large animals.

  And yet he could not shake the feeling that he was being watched and not just by the carrion birds. He felt hostile presences out there. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that it was only his imagination, he could not. He had lived too long with danger to start discounting his instincts now.

  “What is it,” Rhiana asked. “You look as jumpy as a Port Blood alley cat when he hears a cook sharpening his knife.”

  “It might be nothing,” Kormak said. He spoke quietly so that the marching soldiers could not overhear him. “There’s something out there. Something that resents us being here.”

  He looked at her sidelong to see how she was taking this.

  “I am glad I am not the only one who feels it.”

  “You sense something?”

  She nodded. “It’s not anything as powerful as an Old One. I think there’s more than one of them. I feel — pulses — and then nothing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It reminds me of when I was with my people under the sea. When they were close, I could always sense an undercurrent when they were mindspeaking. Even if the thoughts were not aimed at me I knew they were there, the way you are aware of background chatter in a tavern or people speaking quietly in the night.”

  “You think there’s something out there that communicates via mindspeech?”

  She shrugged. “It’s not like the mindspeech of the merfolk but it feels similar. Like listening to people talk in a foreign language. It is so difficult to find words to explain things in your tongue.”

  Kormak switched to the Old Tongue of the Eldrim. “Is it any easier in this?”

  She shook her head. “Mindspeech might be easier.”

  “I won’t take off my elder sign.”

  “It would not work anyway. I can drive thoughts into your head but I cannot read them. Only another mindspeaker would understand the concepts and only if we shared deep communication.”

  There was something about the way she said that that told him she was uneasy about the idea. She did not like talking about such things. Perhaps she had had a bad experience with it in the past.

  Kormak tried to imagine what it must be like to share thoughts directly with another person and he could not. Could there be any secrets under such circumstances? Would emotions bind along with ideas and words? It was a thought that made him deeply uncomfortable. He had spent a lot of time learning how to block such intrusions in his youth.

  “I’ll tell the others to be alert,” Kormak said. “You never know what might be out there.”

  She nodded her head. “Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s friendly. It has the taint you get near blight.”

  “Let me know if you sense it again. That does not sound good.”

  “There’s nothing good about this place,” she said. “We’re heading to the end of the world.”

  “I hope you don’t mean that literally,” Kormak said. He intended it as a joke but she seemed to take it otherwise.

  “I don’t know. I don’t like this. Why did that coffin come to light now? Why have these cultists been attacking us? We’re on the trail of something big and bad and ugly. You know that as well as I do.”

  He would have liked to disagree but he could not.

  Scouts returned, marched up to Zamara and spoke. He nodded and rode over to the wagon. “Joris and Lorka say we are being watched. They say there is something out there. They’ve seen monsters that just vanish when they realise they have been spotted.”

  Kormak thought of the sand demons of which Anders had spoken. “They’re probably right.”

  “I was rather hoping you would tell me that they were seeing things. In Umbrea, there was the occasional mirage.”

  “Sorry to not be more obliging.”

  “No, you’re bloody well not. You’re glad there’s something out there to test your blade on.”

  Kormak did not deny it. “I may well get the chance soon. Rhiana also thinks we are being watched.”

  “It’s most likely these sand demons that Anders talks about, isn’t it?”

  Most likely, Kormak agreed, and returned to studying their surroundings. The dunes seemed suddenly foreboding, as if concealing some dire threat.

  Chapter Seven

  As the evening sky darkened, Kormak saw a reddish-green aurora dancing in the sky to the west of their campsite.

  Admiral Zamara came over to where he sat with Rhiana, by their own small fire. The Siderean hunkered down beside them, pointed to the glow and said, “I don’t suppose you have any idea what that is? I don’t like the look of it at all.”

  “I’ve seen lights like those before,” Kormak said. “Over blighted ruins and areas where the Shadow was strong. It marks the presence of evil magic.”

  Rhiana nodded. “There are places out at sea where you can see the same thing. Sometimes they are just patches of seaweed, sometimes they are islands, and sometimes they mark ancient sunken ruins. Always they are places to be avoided.”

  “So we won’t be investigating these then,” said Zamara. He smiled with false cheerfulness, but his eyes never left the distant ominous glow.

  “Not if you value your soul,” Kormak said.

  “A convincing argument, Sir Kormak.” He stood up and shaded his ey
es with his hands. “I am guessing they are a good few leagues away and they are not in our direct line of march. Let’s hope we don’t find any that are. I don’t like navigating in these wastes. Give me a ship’s deck beneath my feet any time.”

  Rhiana nodded her agreement. Zamara smiled at her. He reached into his belt pouch and produced a small silver flask. He offered it around.

  “It’s rum,” Zamara said. “From Port Blood or so the trader claimed. I am wondering if you could verify its provenance.”

  Rhiana took a swig, grimaced, and fanned her face with one web-fingered hand. “It’s from Port Blood all right. No one else makes it that strong except Old Toby.”

  “Glad to hear it. Sir Kormak, would you care to take a swig?”

  “Not tonight, not with a blight so close. You never know what might come out of them.”

  Zamara took a swig himself. “All the more for me then.” He coughed as the rum went down and offered the flask back to Rhiana. “What happened here? There are so many strange lights in the sky in that direction. Why is this whole land so blighted?”

  “I am not a native,” Kormak said. “You would have to ask them.”

  “I am disappointed. I thought you had infallible knowledge of every depressing thing that might happen to us.”

  “They say blight occurs where evil spells were cast or ancient magical weapons were deployed.”

  “That’s more like it, Sir Kormak. I knew you would not let me down.”

  “I do my best. All the usual warnings apply. In such areas, eat nothing you find there, drink no local water, and try to spend as little time within them as possible. People who do tend to become monsters.”

  “You think the monsters that our scouts have been sighting might come from these blights then.”

  “It’s very possible.”

  “I was rather hoping you might say our men were seeing things.”

  “You know me better than that.”

  “Alas I do. You think we are going to catch Count Balthazar before he finds whatever it is he is looking for?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think we could not possibly be so lucky. Those sand demons the scouts keep sighting will get us first. You think it’s possible they are creatures of living rock.”

  “There are sand elementals amid the deserts of the Southern Continent. They can look like humans among other things.”

  “I heard tales of such when I was stationed in Umbrea. You, of course, have encountered them.”

  “Of course.”

  “And killed them?”

  “Yes.”

  “I find that last part reassuring. I fear we will have need of your dwarf-forged blade before this is over.”

  “I’d be disappointed if we did not.”

  “At least one of us is looking forward to that then.”

  He stood up and stoppered his hip-flask. “How in hell can that bastard Balthazar survive out here? He’s a sorcerer indeed if he can manage that.”

  “He is a sorcerer indeed,” Kormak said. “We should all know that by now.”

  “Best get some sleep while we can,” said Zamara. “Best to be rested and ready for whatever comes.”

  * * *

  Balthazar opened his eyes. The pain had stopped. His chest felt cool, his body heavy. He saw nothing. All was darkness filled with swirling patterns. He tried to raise his arm but it was like trying to lift the weight of a horse.

  The sound of a voice came from very far away, as if heard through a wall of rock, or as if his ears were filled with dirt. Had they buried him alive? Could they really be that cruel? He did not doubt it for a moment.

  With a massive effort, Balthazar rose, groggy and heavy-limbed. At least he was capable of movement. That was a relief.

  “I can’t see,” he said. His words came out muffled. He could barely hear them. It was as if a thick membrane covered his mouth. There was something wrong with his chest and he felt as if he could not breathe. He gagged but it did not clear the obstruction.

  Desperately, he tried to draw air into his lungs but felt nothing. He tried to move and stumbled. His fall was half-arrested an instant before he expected it to be, as if a helmet protected his head and armour his body. He did not feel the impact as much as he had expected to either.

  What was going on here?

  Hands helped him up. The touch sent an odd tingling through his body. A greenish glow surrounded him. Gradually shapes took form. They were murky and indistinct at first but slowly they acquired detail. Nexali stood in front of him. She was partially armoured, her face bare, and a cowl of symb flesh hanging around her neck.

  He tried looking up. His head did not move but his point of view swung up. He was staring at the reflective crystal above the altar, looking down at what could only be himself.

  His reflection did not look like those of the sandfolk. His carapace was smooth and leathery with no protrusions. He looked like an eyeless tailor’s dummy. His head was flat and featureless.

  A pang of horror invaded his mind when he realised that he was. What had been done to him? Had he been transformed into a monster? Had his soul been transferred to another body, the way the jungle tribe shamans took possession of the great beasts? Then he remembered what had happened. A symb encased his flesh.

  He extended an arm. The leathery mannequin did the same. He wiggled his fingers. Stubby appendages moved on his reflection. He extended both his arms full length. It did the same.

  You are back with us. Good. The voice sounded tiny. Balthazar was shocked to discover it was inside his head. Nexali was speaking to him as if by magic. Instantly he warded his thoughts. The voice faded. The shaman grinned as if she knew exactly what he was doing.

  “I should have expected that,” she said aloud. Her voice sounded very quiet, as if his ears were stoppered with wax.

  “What have you done to me?” he asked. His words were muffled but she seemed to understand.

  “We have grafted a second skin to you. The symb will take some time to grow hard and to gain its full power but already it is feeding you nutrients and strength. Soon you will be fully recovered from your ordeal in the desert.”

  “You should have told me what was coming, woman.”

  “Would it have made any difference?”

  “I would have been prepared.”

  “You would still have to endure. You did well for an outlander.”

  “I am glad my performance met with your approval.”

  “You have much to learn and the sooner you start the better. Do you want to stand there all night whining or do you wish to begin your lessons?”

  Balthazar considered a scornful reply but bit it back. She was right. The sooner he started, the sooner he could be about his task, and the sooner he would have the power to avenge this slight.

  “Go ahead and teach me.”

  “It will go faster if you stop warding your mind. The symbs make it possible for us to communicate with our thoughts.”

  “Is that all they do?”

  “Unless you wish it otherwise. Our thoughts are relayed to the symbiotes, who relay it to the others around us.”

  “Why then can I not hear what your companions are thinking?”

  “Because they are choosing not to broadcast. If they were, you would hear them.”

  He paused to consider this and noticed that his heart had stopped racing. “That is a useful ability.”

  “It is essential if you are lost in a desert storm or buried beneath a sand dune. It is also very useful when you have to ambush enemies who do not possess mind speech.”

  Balthazar weighed his options. It seemed that he had little option but to trust her, and she did at least seem to be keeping her promises. Perhaps things might work out after all.

  “Very well. I will cease warding myself.” He removed the blocks he had placed on his thoughts.

  Now that is better, is it not?

  “How do I send my thoughts as you do?”

 
; You merely speak them very quietly. The symb does the rest. Eventually you will get used to speaking so quietly it will seem as if you are not talking at all.

  “I expected there would be more to it than that.”

  There is but we must start somewhere. Once you have mastered this, I will teach you the intricacies of mind speech.

  “Very well.”

  You are doing well. Much better than any of our children do when they first are bonded to their second skins.

  “I am flattered.”

  You are a sorcerer. It is to be expected. You are feeling better now, aren’t you, stronger?

  Balthazar had to admit that he did. He still felt strange, as if his throat was full of stuff. He still had not taken a breath, but so far, there had been no ill effects. He was not choking or suffocating.

  “How do I do what you have done and retract the cowl from my head?”

  It is best that you do not for the moment. You need to get used to the symb. Your body needs to learn it will not harm you. Your mind needs to believe that, otherwise you will find putting your cowl back on very stressful.

  “I will take your word for that.”

  Good. Balthazar sensed the irony behind the flat emotionless voice of her mindspeech.

  “How am I breathing? My lungs throat feels obstructed and yet I have not suffocated.”

  The symb is breathing for you. In a way. It is providing you with all the oxygen you require.

  “It will not harm me, will it?” He was still uneasy.

  If it was going to do so, it would have happened by now. Sometimes the symb rejects its bearer. Sometimes the bearer’s body rejects the symb. The results are inevitably fatal.

  “You might have told me that as well before we began.”

  Once again, it would make no difference. If the symb did not bind, you could not leave this place and you would be of no use to our master or my people. Now you are accepted. You have shown that you have what it takes to be one of us. It is an honour, believe me. It is not the usual fate of an outsider who falls into our hands.