Destroyer
Governor Predoran scowled at Major Ranjal, who stood in front of his desk, head bowed, fiddling with his data recorder. A haze of blue smoke hung in the air and cracks crazed the floor to ceiling windows behind him. The governor clasped his hands to hide their shaking after the shock and terror of the explosions that had ripped through nearby buildings. By some miracle, the tower in which his office was located had survived relatively unscathed, just a bit cracked by the vibrations that had shaken it barely an hour ago.
Predoran turned his attention to the wall-mounted vidscreen on his right, which showed an aerial view of the Great Gate and the devastation in front of it. The burning wrecks of the fleet lay crushed on cratered streets, and ruined buildings belched flames and black smoke. The destruction spanned the city in straight lines that angled from the gate, and some of the surviving structures leant drunkenly, on the verge of collapse. People ran through the ruins in panic-stricken mobs, trying to flee the city. Parts of the fire dome had been destroyed, and the blue shield now had gaps in it, while the remainder flickered and swirled. In the foreground, a pale-faced reporter with glazed eyes shouted into his microphone, repeating his narrative over and over in a cracked voice.
“We are all still stunned by what has taken place here in Sarlan City. The attack on the Great Gate brought retaliation from the ancient weapons located around it, and the destruction to the city is significant. Fortunately, this news crew was not caught by the weapons, and…”
Predoran pushed the mute button on his remote control. “Well?”
Major Ranjal looked up. “The entire fleet was destroyed, sir. As yet, no survivors have been found. Estimated dead in the city is fifteen thousand. Two ships that were not sent to the gate were also hit. One was destroyed, the other badly damaged. All we have left is one destroyer and two frigates. And, of course, three stealth ships, two of which are away on missions.”
“What the hell happened?”
“From the vidfeeds we’ve received, it seems our attack activated those weapons. The gate was only chipped a little.”
Predoran glowered at him. “So now it’s closed again, and we’ve lost our fleet. Tell me the stealth ship we sent inside has reported the death of that damned dra’voren.”
“We lost contact when the gate closed, and at that time, they were still in pursuit.”
“Good. Let’s hope they succeed, at least.”
Ranjal consulted his data recorder. “Sir, some of our science advisors have pointed out that if we destroy this dra’voren, no one will be able to open the gate.”
“We’ll work it out somehow. Either we’ll find a way to open it or a weapon that will destroy it. We’ve got plenty of good scientists to work on the problem.”
“Yes sir.”
Predoran faced the screen. “Keep me apprised.”
Major Ranjal saluted and left.
Bane shifted to ease an ache in one leg, and stretched it, watching the observation room’s main screen. Sarjan had spent most of the flight on the bridge, then had made his way down to the observation room two hours ago, when the stealth ship had passed close to a vast military base where rows of war craft were parked on cratered concrete aprons and battle-scarred weaponry pointed at the skies, ready to defend against airborne enemies. Bane and Kayos had followed, resuming their vigil at the back of the room. On the far side of the outpost, which Bane assumed was close to the border with Vockroy, ugly square buildings housed off duty troops and field hospitals tended to the injured soldiers who were transported from distant battlegrounds in rescue vehicles.
Cargo ships ferried in supplies and carried away the dead for their grieving families to bury. There had been no aerial combat in progress at the time, but the myriad wrecks that littered the torn ground around the encampment told of a surfeit of such conflicts in the past. Somewhere, probably deep in Bayonan territory, battle-bitter veterans must be preparing hordes of fresh soldiers in training camps, and factories produced the warships necessary to fight this war, also well-defended against enemy attack. Evidently the conflict between Bayona and Vockroy had been raging for quite some time, and an entire industry had sprung up to feed the war machine. This was just the sort of situation a dark god revelled in, and in this world, with its billions of people and advanced technology, Parsimon and his cohorts could watch the action from the comfort of their luxury residences, doubtless whilst enjoying the attentions of pretty girls and indulging in some of the death and torture themselves.
Now the stealth ship sailed over another area of dense housing, parts of which seemed to be abandoned. A vast city lay ahead, a sprawling concrete scab that looked like it needed to be scratched off. The ship slowed as it neared the metropolis, which, despite the bustling throngs of humanity that jammed its streets, had an air of neglect, as if its past had been more prosperous. Its far edge bounded a foul lake wreathed in pale vapour that hung about its oily surface like a noxious blanket.
Yellow and red flags draped walls and flagpoles with garish colour, paying homage to the rabid dictator who drove his people to war and poverty to feed his lust for suffering. As the ship entered the city’s crowded airspace, it flew lower to avoid the traffic, the officers concentrating on their instruments. They wound between the towering buildings, air cars zipping past as they descended to land in the city.
A screen on Sarjan’s console came to life, filled with the pilot’s worried face. “Sir, it’s too dangerous to fly through the city in stealth mode. One of those vehicles could hit us.”
Sarjan glanced at the back of the room, then faced the screen again. “Keep going.”
“Yes sir.”
Bane raised a brow at Kayos, who inclined his head, his eyes becoming distant for a moment.
Within a few minutes of the pilot’s warning, an air car headed straight for the stealth ship, veering off at the last moment as Kayos’ shield deflected it. The tension rose, and some crewmen darted nervous glances at the back of the observation room.
An obstech said, “Presidential palace dead ahead sir.”
“Scanners on,” Sarjan ordered.
“Sir, are we really going to assassinate President Parsimon?”
“If he’s a dra’voren, yes. That’s what we do.”
“Except when we take orders from one,” another obstech muttered.
Sarjan glared at the crewman. “I didn’t see that we had too many options, did you?”
“We’re clearing the way for him to rule us, sir.”
“Just until we hunt him down, too; he’s done us a favour, bringing a stealth ship into the world.”
“He’ll probably destroy the ship when he’s finished with us.”
“Then we’ll build another one,” the commander said.
“Sir, look at this!”
Sarjan went over to the senior obstech’s station and peered at his screen with a frown. “Fiends. Bloody hell, there’s a lot of them.”
“Why don’t the people see them?”
“Maybe they’re invisible.”
“Or they look human.”
Sarjan straightened, staring at the screen. “It must be because Parsimon is a dra’voren.”
“If they look like people, they could be everywhere. There could be some on the ship.”
Sarjan shook his head. “There can’t be, or they’d have destroyed it long ago.”
“I thought they were all destroyed by the first stealth ship; the one that was built in Bayona.”
“Apparently not.”
The obstech looked up at Sarjan. “There are enough of them down there to keep a flotilla of stealth ships busy for decades.”
“Let’s concentrate on getting rid of the dra’voren first.”
Bane glanced at Kayos. “If I destroy a few demons, do you suppose they will trust me?”
“Probably not.”
The Demon Lord sighed and sipped his ambrosia. “What fools they are.”
Sarjan gazed at the main screen, where a geometrically designed building clad almost entirely in mirror glass grew larger. “Do we know if President Parsimon is in residence?”
“If he’s a dra’voren, we’ll soon find out,” an obstech replied.
“Find out now.”
“Yes sir.” The man tapped keys on his console and read the glowing screen. “According to the latest intelligence reports, he’s here.”
“Do a full scan of the building.”
A minute passed, then the obstech said, “A lot of fiends inside, and something else. It appears to be in the basement, a source of dark power. Even more fiends down there.”
“Keep scanning.”
A beeping alarm broke the hush, and everyone jumped. The senior obstech said, “There! He’s in the east wing, top floor, with several fiends.”
“His office,” Sarjan said. “So, the dra’voren was right.” He sat at an empty station and keyed a device Bane now knew was a communications’ relay. “Pilot, target area is the east wing, top floor.”
“There’s a dra’voren in there?” the pilot’s surprised voice enquired.
“Yes. It’s in President Parsimon’s office.”
“Right.”
The ship drifted around the building, turning as it did so, its bow pointing at the east wing of the structure. Flying vehicles zipped past, a few swerving to avoid the ship their pilots could not see. The chief obstech leant closer to his screen, his eyes intent.
“Pilot, pass control to the observation room,” Sarjan ordered.
“Yes sir. You have control.”
Sarjan typed on his keyboard, glancing often at his scanner screen, which showed the location of the dra’voren. Bane went over to stand behind him, and Kayos joined him. Glowing green crosshairs inched towards a black form on the scanner screen, which appeared to be seated in a chair.
Sarjan keyed the com-unit again. “Containment, prepare for capture.”
“Generators online, sir.”
The crosshairs reached their target, and stopped. Sarjan’s hand hung poised over a red button for a moment, then he pushed it. On the main screen, a flash of blue light came from the upper floor window of the building, and the black form on the scanner screen vanished.
Sarjan leapt up and dashed to the lift doors. Bane and Kayos took a more direct route through the floor, and arrived in the containment room well ahead of the commander. The containment techs crowded around the shredder room window, staring at the lean, well-built man who was sprawled on the floor. His silver hair and charismatic, noble-featured face were designed to inspire confidence and respect in minions. Gold braid, epaulettes and medals adorned his rather gaudy red military uniform.
Bane said to Kayos, “This one uses a glamour.”
“He would look out of place otherwise.”
Sarjan burst in and hurried over to peer through the window.
A contech shot him a startled look. “That’s President Parsimon, sir!”
“I know. He’s a dra’voren. Shred him.”
The crewman tapped keys on his console, and the lodestones emerged from their niches as the oscillating light guns warmed up, glowing, then spun. Blue light shot from them, growing more intense until the room was filled with slashing lines of brilliance, forcing Bane and Kayos to look away. Sarjan donned a pair of dark goggles, as did some of the contechs.
The senior obstech stated, “His form’s breaking down.”
Bane glanced at the man’s screen, where the black form shredded as the light guns tore it apart and the lodestones drew off its power. After a few minutes, it vanished.
“Shred complete, sir,” the contech said, tapping keys on his control board.
The light guns shut off, and Sarjan removed his goggles, turning to face the men. “Good job. One less dra’voren to lay waste to worlds.”
They grinned, and Bane nodded to Kayos, who withdrew his light shield and allowed the Demon Lord to reappear.
“Good work,” Bane said, and Sarjan whipped around with an oath. His men recoiled with muttered curses and apprehensive expressions. “You have defeated him, not destroyed him,” Bane explained. “Your machine stripped away his dark form, and his spirit has flown to the Land of the Dead until he can Gather enough power to rise again.”
“How do you know that?” Sarjan demanded.
“I have defeated several, although not with such ease. Your machines are ingenious.”
“You have the power to destroy worlds, yet our machines can defeat a dra’voren more easily than you can? Why is that?”
“When I attack one, he tends to fight back,” Bane said. “Your stunner gives you an advantage.”
“You can become invisible. Why can’t you knock them unconscious?”
Bane shook his head. “We can still sense each other, very slightly. I might get close before he became aware of me, but I doubt I could hit him hard enough to render him senseless. It is not that easy. Your machine uses some sort of force wave?”
“It’s an amplified low frequency concussion pulse.”
Bane spread his hands, making the contechs tense. “Alas, I cannot do that, but, as I recall, it is extremely effective. It rendered me senseless for many hours.”
“It only knocks them out for a few minutes.”
“That is because they do not have mortal bodies. In fact, it is the droge shell that makes them susceptible, since it confines a dark form and compresses it.” Bane shrugged. “At least, I think so. Your stunners would not work on a dra’voren in his dark form, if I am right.”
“That’s... good to know.”
“It is doubtful that you will ever trap a dra’voren in his dark form, Commander. They rarely venture out of the dark realm without a droge body.”
Sarjan was clearly fascinated. “Why’s that?”
“Sunlight will strip away a dark form in a few minutes, just as your blue light stripped away his droge shell. They may go abroad at night, but generally they prefer to wear a droge body, since they were once mortal men who were damned to the dark realm and Gathered the power to leave the Land of the Dead and make themselves into dark gods.”
Sarjan eyed him. “But you’re mortal, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“How did that happen?”
“I was changed by a dark god before he tore me from my mother’s womb and forced me to take up the dark power.”
“I see.” Sarjan looked around at the gawping contechs. “So the shredder room won’t destroy you?”
“No. It will only strip away my power, as it did on Nikira’s ship.” Bane indicated the blank green scanner screen. “The dark beings you saw in the city were not all demons. Many, probably most, were droges, condemned spirits granted the power to form a body by their master, a dark god. They look just like people, as do the demons.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I am trying to help you, Sarjan. We are on the same side, whether you believe it or not.”
“Are there fiends aboard my ship?”
Bane inclined his head. “Probably, but droges are more common in a world that is inhabited by dark gods.”
“Could you... get rid of them?”
“Certainly.” He glanced at the back of the room, where a contech dived behind a console. Making a casual gesture, Bane muttered, “Thorack nadure.”
The man shrieked as his droge form was rescinded. A few wisps of grey smoke rose from behind the console, and the crewman’s yells stopped, leaving a deathly hush. The rest of the men shrank back, and two drew their weapons, then thought better of it and holstered them again. Sarjan strode around the console and searched in vain for his crewman before looking up at Bane.
“He was a droge,” Bane said.
“He was a damned good contech. He’s worked on this ship for years. Why would he do that?”
“They long to practise their debauchery and evil amongst the living, and they are the minions of the dark god who gave them their body. They are spies, or instigators, who go amongst the people to spread lies and dissent, or they commit heinous acts that their sponsor enjoys watching.”
Bane shrugged again. “I am not an authority on droges, since I have never granted a condemned soul a form, nor do I employ them. Mostly, they are given base forms, that have no feeling, and they try to earn a better body that can feel pleasure by committing terrible deeds that please their master. Dark gods seldom grant this, since they enjoy their minions’ misery just as much as they do the pain of the innocent people who suffer at their hands. Still, the false promises drive the droges, although they also enjoy inflicting torture. What they have is a parody of life, but far better than being trapped in the Land of the Dead, so they do whatever they must to earn a droge form.”
“Why would he live and work as one of us? He did nothing evil.”
“That you know of. What he did in his private time is anyone’s guess.”
Sarjan looked around at the rest of the contechs. “Was he the only one here?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll believe you if you find me another droge, but this time don’t kill him. I want to examine him.”
“Then you will believe I am not a dra’voren?”
“No, then I’ll believe he was a droge.”
Bane smiled. “You are a hard man to convince. This is a waste of my time, but I will do it in the interest of fostering better relations. Droges are far stronger than men, so when I capture him, you will have to find a way to restrain him, or your people will be injured. Your weapons will not harm him, although the ones that use blue light will do some damage. And I did not kill anyone, Sarjan. He was already dead.”
“All these men underwent physical examinations before they could become crewmen. Is a droge body exactly like a mortal one?”
“No, but you will find that another droge helped them; one who was the examiner, or perhaps a demon possessed the examiner in order for the droges to pass the test.”
Sarjan swore and swung away, going to the door, where he turned. “Will you do it now?”
Bane followed him, the contechs sidling away as he passed. Sarjan’s interest in droges seemed to have distracted him from his fear, and he strode down the corridor to a sizeable a mess hall, judging by all the tables and chairs in it. He activated a com-link beside the door and summoned his complement of soldiers, who arrived after a couple of minutes, about a hundred of them.
Bane cast his eyes over them and shook his head. “These are all men. Soldiering is not an ideal occupation for a droge, since there is the risk of injury, which would reveal his true nature. His comrades would notice if he was fatally wounded and did not die, or even bleed.”
Sarjan grunted. “Then we’ll have to check the ops.”
“I do not wish my presence in this world to be known yet, and if I capture a droge he will inform his master, so I hope the one we find is Parsimon’s vassal.”
“Or else what?”
“His master may wish to confront me, which would prove damaging to your ship. Have you shackles prepared to hold this droge when I capture him?”
Sarjan despatched a soldier to fetch some and ordered a group of twenty men to accompany him. They set off along the corridors, stopping to study the men in the various rooms. Most were in a state of excitement and anxiety, gathered in groups to discuss the events of the past few hours. Those on duty tended their stations with intense dedication, motivated by the ship’s perceived peril.
Bane found a droge in one of the recreation rooms, a ratty man who stood on the outskirts of a discussion group, listening to the conversation. Sarjan’s brows rose when Bane nodded at the crewman, then walked towards him. The droge and the rest of the men eyed Bane and backed away, glancing at their commander for reassurance. Bane made as if to pass the droge, then whipped around and seized him, locked one arm around his throat and twisted his right arm behind his back.
The droge struggled fiercely until Bane bent his head to murmur, “Fight me, and I shall rescind your form.”
The man relaxed, and Sarjan gestured to the soldiers, four of whom took hold of the droge’s arms as Bane released him. The ratty man threw them off, and more piled into the fray, trying to pin him down. The droge sent men reeling across the room with powerful punches and kicks. Bane prowled around the melee, waiting for the droge to emerge triumphant. The number of soldiers dwindled as they were injured or knocked out, some with broken limbs, and Sarjan looked worried.
When only five soldiers remained, the droge threw them off again and made a dash for the door. Bane Moved ahead of him and smashed him to the ground with a double-fisted blow. The droge writhed, the front of his head staved in, then staggered to his feet and headed for the door again. Bane tackled him and hurled him down, straddled him and bludgeoned his head flat. The droge yanked a knife from his belt and stabbed Bane in the face. It glanced off his cheekbone, just missing his eye.
The Demon Lord hissed and ripped off the man’s arm, hurling it away, then stood up and stamped on his head until it was a grey smear. Sarjan gaped at the twitching droge, looking sick. Bane wiped his cheek and frowned at the blood on his hand.
“Bloody hell,” Sarjan muttered.
Bane shot him an angry look. “I instructed you to put shackles on him, not try to beat him into submission.”
Sarjan stared at the blood on Bane’s face. “You really are...”
“Mortal?” Bane snorted. “Yes, Sarjan, and I do not usually indulge in fist fights with damned droges. It is much easier to rescind their forms or burn them.”
“You tore his arm off...”
“Are you going to put the shackles on him before he recovers?”
Sarjan’s eyes flicked down to the droge. “But surely...?”
“He will wake up in a few minutes, and his head will reform.”
The commander gave the order, and the remaining soldiers approached the droge with some reluctance and obvious distaste, one carrying the manacles they had brought. When the droge’s remaining arm was shackled to his waist, the soldiers dragged him away.
Sarjan turned to Bane. “I’m sorry... you were hurt. Thank you for capturing him. I could take you to the hospital for treatment.”
“Tend to your injured men. I need no help from you.”
Some of the crewmen came forward to assist the injured soldiers while one keyed a communications device, summoning medical personnel. Bane left the recreation room, Sarjan following.
As they walked along the corridor, Bane said, “Take the ship out of the city, to a wooded area, or fields, somewhere not crowded with people. There you will wait for me. I must meet my informant to find out if he has found the other two dark gods.”
“You have an informant? A man?”
“No, a demon, or, as you like to call them, a fiend. Do not worry, he is under my command.”
Sarjan nodded. “Right.”
“And Sarjan, if you try to get me into your shredder room, you will regret it, understand?”
“Yes... I won’t.”
Bane signalled to Kayos, who enveloped him in his light shield once more. Sarjan swung around in search of him, then trotted away towards the bridge.
Kayos eyed Bane with a sigh. “That was foolish.”
“I did not know he had a weapon.”
“You should stop trying to convince these dolts that you are good. It will not work.”
“It might.”
Kayos placed his hand on Bane’s cheek, healing the cut in a flash of golden power. “It is far easier for you to convince women. They find you irresistible.”
Bane avoided Kayos’ amused gaze, discomfited. “Let us find somewhere to rest.”
Kayos chuckled as Bane marched off, following him to an empty mess hall where they could seal the doors and relax on their couches for a while.
Sherinias smiled and jumped up when Drevarin arrived outside her birthing chamber. He inclined his head, awaiting her permission to enter, and she approached the entrance. He walked in as the wards flickered, returning her smile.
“It is good to see you, Lord Drevarin.”
“I thought I would keep you company, My Lady.”
“My father and brother have succeeded in casting down one of the dark ones, with the aid of my people. They are clever indeed.”
Drevarin went over to her cloud couch and formed his own beside it with a wave of his hand. “I know. I have been watching them too.”
“Perhaps Lord Bane will not have to fight any of them, and thus be spared the hardship and pain.”
“Let us hope so.”
Sherinias sank down on her couch, her eyes sparkling with excitement tinged with anxiety. “I do, Lord Drevarin, most fervently.”
“Do not concern yourself unduly, My Lady. Bane is well able to deal with these dark gods.”
“I am certain of that, but he may not escape injury.”
“That is true.”
Sherinias gasped, and her eyes became vacant for a moment before filling with dread. “My Lord, the Oracle warns me that a dark god has just entered the light realm.”
Drevarin frowned. “It could be Bane.”
“What if it is not?”
“Then you must call your father.”
“That will put him in danger too.”
“He will bring Bane with him if he thinks you are in peril.”
She shook her head. “Then he will have to fight.”
“That cannot be helped.”
“We must flee. You can take me to my father.”
“No. Bane wishes to do battle here, not in the mid realm.”
Sherinias rubbed her arms and stared out through the wards with deep trepidation. Drevarin longed to comfort her, but, unless she invited such familiarity on his part, protocol forbade it. Instead, he gazed at the rolling, misty landscape outside the door, hoping that it would be Bane who appeared. Several tense minutes passed, then he cursed himself for a fool and waved an Eye into being, seeking Bane within it. An image formed of an empty, dimly lighted room on a ship like Nikira’s.
Drevarin said, “It is not Bane.”
Sherinias cast him a terrified look. “I must call Father.”
“No, wait. The dark god may not find you, and we are safe in here for now. He will not be able to destroy these wards easily. It will take him a while.”
She rose and joined him on his couch, slipping her hand into his. “I am glad you are here, Lord Drevarin.”
He patted her hand. “So am I. We will be all right. Bane will protect us.”
“It is strange that we rely upon a dark god to rescue us.”
“Yes. Now I understand even better why tar’merin are accorded such reverence. I always knew they were the stuff of legends, but knowing one has made me appreciate him all the more. My parents taught me about the ones who have gone before. They spoke of them in hushed tones, yet none of the previous four were mortal. And since Bane is Kayos’ son, he is undoubtedly the most powerful ever, although he has yet to reach his full potential. Would you like me to tell you about the first four?”
At her nod, he recounted the story of the first tar’merin in soft, soothing tones to calm and distract her, making her gaze at him instead of the doorway, her curiosity aroused. Tense minutes crawled past like hours as he concentrated on telling the story instead of pondering what might lie ahead. He had almost completed the tale when a flash of blue light outside made him look up. Sherinias gasped and gripped his hand as a black-clad stranger appeared outside the door.
The dark god wore a thigh-length tunic trimmed with silver on its hem, collar and cuffs, matching trousers and an ornate, silver-patterned belt. Long, iron-grey hair framed a chiselled, almost inhumanly perfect countenance with cold black eyes that glittered with triumph. A grey moustache and goatee framed a thin-lipped mouth twisted in a contemptuous sneer.
“Well, well, what have we here?” he mocked. “Two little lambs cowering in a birth tub. You must be the one who woke up our little sleeping goddess. How good of you.”
The dark god stepped closer and gripped the lintel, thrusting his face so close to the wards that they flared. “Now she can be my slave, and you, I think, will serve my lovely Jerriss. She will enjoy torturing you, and so will I, since we do not need you to keep this domain alive.” He nodded. “Yes, much fun to be had. The only question now is: are you going to cower in there and make me destroy this chamber, or are you going to flee, so I can chase you? The second option would be preferred, since you will have to flee eventually anyway. Do it now, and save me the trouble of destroying this pathetic remnant of a birth tub, or I will punish you when I catch you. And I will catch you.” He turned his head. “Come to me, Shalanar.”
A black circle appeared on the ground behind him, rimmed with blue fire, and expanded rapidly, the diamond sand hissing. An earth demon shot up from its centre, formed from the blackened sand, and pushed forth a pair of glinting eyes.
It bowed. “Lord.”
“Tell Jerriss that I have found them, and she must guard the gate until I have captured them. Go.” The demon sank back into the ground, and the dark god faced Drevarin again. “So, what is it going to be?”
Drevarin glared at him with all the venom he could summon up. Sherinias clung to him with trembling arms and buried her face in the side of his neck.
The dark god smirked. “Ah, but I am rude; I have not introduced myself. I am Tolrar, Lord of Darkness.”
“How conceited of you, to claim lordship over all the darkness,” Drevarin said.
“Why should I not? It obeys me. Do you also have a name, or should I just call you ‘lackwit’?”
“I am Drevarin, and I claim no more notoriety than is my right.”
“And your sweet, powerless child?”
“Lady Sherinias, ruler of this domain, and she is not my child.”
Tolrar grinned, revealing perfect white teeth. “Excellent, then we have another to capture. The game will be fine. So, have you decided yet what you will do, or are you too afraid to think?”
“We will remain here.”
Tolrar’s smile faded. “A foolish choice. You will pay for it, I promise.” His eyes took on a cunning glint. “Give me the child, and I will let you flee out of the realm gate. She is the one I really want.”
Sherinias shuddered and clutched Drevarin more tightly. He shook his head. “No.”
“Another foolish choice,” Tolrar remarked. “No matter, we have two flesh beasts prepared for you. But you anger me.” He scowled and struck the lintel with his fists, making the chamber shudder. “Flee!”
“No.”
Tolrar swung away, walked off a few steps and turned back to face them. “See, I will even give you a chance to pass me. Come out, and we will have a grand chase. Stay in there, and you are trapped. If you make me come in there after you, I will not give you another chance to flee.”
Drevarin shook his head again, and Tolrar’s face twisted with fury, his eyes glittering. Raising his hands, he struck the lintel with twin bolts of darkness, and the intense flash of blue light that accompanied them forced Drevarin to squint.
Sherinias gave a soft shriek and cried, “Father, save me! Help me! Kayos!”
Drevarin held her, his gut clenched. Tolrar struck the lintel with bolt after bolt of shadow, filling the chamber with blue brilliance as the white power warred with the dark. Drevarin fought an overwhelming urge to escape and clung to his resolve. Several runes on the walls lighted as the chamber’s defences activated, but all they could do now was strengthen it. The power to strike back had gone with the deactivation of the inner wards, which could not be reactivated while he and Sherinias remained within it.
Drevarin sent the doors swinging closed with a flick of his mind, and they sealed with a pearly flash. They added only a little to the chamber’s strength, but they blocked the blue light and the fearsome sight of the dark god who hammered upon the base of the wards.
Sherinias looked up at him, her eyes filled with terror. “How long before...?”
“That depends on how powerful he is. A day, at least.” He stroked her hair. “Kayos is coming, do not fret.”