However, that time she and the gargoyle had
nothing to fear from the Lord of the Underworld. He’d greeted them like
friends, and she supposed they were. Being the god of death was a lonely duty,
and like the gargoyles, he’d spent his existence alone.
“It rests, dormant as far as we can tell,”
the demon said in its child’s voice.
Memories faded and she returned to the
present. She still faced the massive sword.
The sword complicated her plan a bit.
“It may have used up its defenses, but
we’re not risking ourselves on a guess,” the demon said. “But the sword
will
recognize you as the Goddess’s avatar. It won’t consider you a threat. And then
we’ll use your blood to forge its new allegiance.”
She didn’t need to be told what their next
step would be. They’d command the sword to tear a hole in the Veil between the
Realms, and more demons would flood into this land. The Clan and the Coven
would be the first casualties in the war.
Lillian let them herd her toward a dead
tree, one of only three still standing within sixty feet of the sword. The
demons were careful to go no closer to the weapon.
Come on Lil, you can do
this. Act the helpless victim. Pretend you don’t have the knowledge to protect
yourself. How hard can that be? No acting required.
With jerky motions, they tied her to the
tree’s blackened trunk, using a bit of nylon rope to secure her. The occasional
anxious glance over their shoulders said they didn’t trust the sword’s
serenity. She didn’t either.
An insubstantial current of magic swirled
past her ankles on its way toward the sword. The great weapon siphoned power
from the land, reclaiming some of the magic it had spent in the first attack.
She didn’t think the demons sensed what it was doing, or she doubted they’d
still be so close. Lowering her shields, she opened herself to the magic coiled
within her soul. A small trickle welled up and flowed across her skin. She
directed it into the ground. None of the demons looked in her direction. They
were busy erecting a circle of stones for their spell casting. Or rebuilding
one, perhaps? Yes. That looked likely. She’d come to them sooner than they had planned.
Maybe she’d have time to give the sword
enough power to return to its master. She dared not let her captors use her
blood to remake the sword. Nor could she risk the sword falling into the hands
of the Lady of Battles. There was no telling what damage the dark goddess could
do with one of her brother’s weapons.
Lillian opened the part of her soul
connected to the Spirit Realm. A cold rush of power filled her. She guided it
into the ground, one slow, measured bit at a time. With her head bowed, she
looked up through her lashes in the sword’s direction. The massive blade
continued to feed.
Fifteen minutes passed, and the demons
still hadn’t noticed her silent rebellion.
This wasn’t so hard. All she needed to do
was give the sword enough power to return home before the demons came to slay
her. However, there was one weakness in her plan.
If her own demon soul awoke before she was
ready, it might enslave her and the sword, and then return to the Lady of
Battles with a great prize.
She glanced at the stone ring. Unfortunately,
demons possessed strength and agility greater than a human, and the ring of
stones circling the central altar was nearly complete. Lillian didn’t think her
enemies would lavish much time on other preparations once the last stone was in
place.
Frosty power filled her body to the point
of pain but still she held it in check. Long minutes crept by as she gritted
her teeth against the burning pressure. When she could hold no more, she
released a great flow of magic into the ground. With the crisp smell of winter,
cold air rushed away from her in an enlarging circle, caressing the grass and
kicking up a fine scattering of dust as it raced away.
A dire wolf eased out of the trees to the
west of her position. He raised his head and sniffed in her direction. Uh-oh,
perhaps the demons were nose-dead, but the wolves weren’t. Before she choked
off the flow of magic, the dire wolf barked, a high-pitched sound of warning.
At the alarm, Riven rushed from the trees
as if the dead forest spat them out. Forty, fifty. Far too many. Instinctively,
she pressed her back into the dead tree.
“Stop her,” the demon boy yelled. He was on
the opposite side of the meadow, sprinting toward her.
“Oh, what the hell.” She unleashed another
wave of magic. The sword drank her power, swallowing it faster than she’d
thought possible.
Go
, she willed it.
Go home. Please
.
Not enough power
, it whispered into her mind.
She dropped her mental shields to speed up
the transfer of power, and Gregory was suddenly in her mind, his grief and rage
buffeting her. She blinked, and then realized he’d been there the whole time,
but she’d been so focused on the situation that she’d blocked him from her consciousness.
Now there was only one way to protect him. She showed him what was unfolding
while she shoved all her recent memories at him. The number of enemies, their
plans to force the sword to serve them and tear a hole in the Veil between the
Realms, and all tactical information about the meadow. Then with that done, she
sent one last message.
“Gregory, you mean everything to me, and I’m sorry to
cause you pain.”
Lillian turned her thoughts from him to the
task at hand as she forced her connection to the Spirit Realm wide open. Power
flowed through her, more than she had ever used. She screamed as a wild current
tore through her thoughts. Her vision blurred, and then cleared in time to see
a demon standing in front of her, his arm raised, the silver glint of a blade
in his hand. Pain exploded in her shoulder and a second scream tore free of her
chest.
* * *
The world below streaked past in a blur as
Gregory winged closer to Lillian. He was almost there when her thoughts came to
him, flowing across his own. His wings faltered. Shocked, he grasped at her
thoughts as he leveled out his flight. Her thoughts flooded his mind with the
knowledge she’d gathered. The demons. The sword. Their plan to invade this
Realm through the torn Veil. He smelled evil, carried on the breeze, and
overlaying that odor, the distinct scent of the Lord of the Underworld.
Gregory was almost there. Hope filled his
numb wings and burning lungs, and with renewed strength he sped toward his
other half.
Another image of the enemies flashed through
his mind. A demon with a dagger poised to strike.
Despair engulfed him. He’d hunt the demons
down, find the deepest abyss in the Magic Realm, and imprison them with their
own dark magic until all they would know was unending torment. And it wouldn’t
be one quarter of the pain he’d feel for failing Lillian.
Lillian’s fear washed across his mind, her
agony resonating within his soul. He roared one short, sharp howl, echoing her
pain.
* * *
Lillian awoke, a hot, wet agony slicing
along her stomach. Had they stabbed her with a branding iron? She gritted her
teeth and looked down. She was naked, her abdomen a red ruin. Blood soaked her
bare legs. A second, smaller ember of fire gnawed at her shoulder where a demon
blade was buried—probably the same dagger they’d all but gutted her with.
A whimper escaped. Her breath came quick
and shallow. She’d been prepared for death, but not this pain. A swift death.
She’d been too naive.
She didn’t remember the demons moving her,
but a slab of stone propped at an angle now supported her back. She hung from
her tied hands, her shoulder joints so taut something would dislocate if she
moved even a little.
Blood covered the stone, running down its
surface in rivulets. Jagged little flashes of light sparked at the edge of her
vision. She wasn’t going to pass out, not yet. When she closed her eyes, she
could sense Gregory near. His thoughts were no longer crisp, but muffled by
whatever the demon blade was doing. Or perhaps it was from losing so much
blood. But whatever the cause, she was weakening fast.
Just not fast enough.
Gregory would arrive in time to watch her
die and then he’d get himself killed. He’d died for her so many times in the
past; he deserved to live this time. While she couldn’t will herself to die
faster, perhaps she could find another way to defeat them. Lillian had hoped
the demons would trigger whatever trap the Lady of Battles had laid on her soul
when they stabbed her, but Gregory must have done something to keep her demon
soul from waking. Now, the stupid magic couldn’t even kill her properly.
Focusing proved difficult, but she gathered
her thoughts and began picking at the tight knot of coiled memories and magic
at her core. There must be something there she could use. She just had to get
to it.
Blood continued its slow descent. It
circled around her ankle and dripped off her bare toes, and still Lillian dug
deeper into her memories. Then she found what she sought, a tether linking her
demon soul to the Lady of Battles. Lillian followed the path, reaching,
stretching, seeking until another powerful and fearsome being acknowledged her
with a caress like lightning across her skin.
“My child,” the other said as a malevolent
power snaked through Lillian.
A mild surge of relief escaped Lillian in a
giddy laugh. The demons turned puzzled eyes in her direction, but she didn’t
care if she’d given herself away. There was nothing the demons could do to stop
her. Power poured from her and flooded out across the meadow. Fog rose from the
earth, shifting and flowing into thick ropes that wove themselves into a
billowing tapestry. The mist solidified and became a silver-edged window,
similar to the time Lillian had spoken to the Warden Gryton, but this one was
much larger.
The Lady of Battles reclined on the garnet-colored
stone steps outside her temple. She raised her head, and then came to her feet
with the soft rustle of fabric and the rattle of chains. With the deep-red
stairs and the polished-black onyx of her temple behind her, the Lady of
Battles glowed pale against the darkness, an ethereal creature with alabaster
skin and green eyes. A delicate bare foot poked out from under the hem of her
cream-colored dress as she descended the steps. Her slim-figured elegance was
at odds with the blood-red breastplate and manacles encircling her wrists and
ankles.
The goddess continued down the steps in an
unhurried manner. Her billowing skirt reminded Lillian of sails in a strong
wind, the chains disappearing into the shadows, the ship’s rigging.
It wasn’t until the Lady of Battles reached
the foot of her temple and knelt down to peer through the shimmering window
that Lillian realized her true size. The dark goddess was a giant, like a Titan
of old. The individual links of the chain binding her were the size of
Lillian’s torso.
If she were not so far gone, Lillian would
have been terrified. But terror was too great an emotion to muster at the
moment.
“What is this?” The Lady of Battles
demanded, her voice booming across the clearing. “Wee little demons, do you
seek to better yourselves?” Her voice grew softer and darker. “Better
yourselves by sacrificing my daughter? I think not.”
Lillian was so woozy, she could barely
think. Had the dark goddess just called Lillian daughter? That couldn’t be good?
“I have planned too long to let your
foolish greed destroy my work. Release my daughter and I might let you live,”
the Lady said, while her piercing gaze tracked everything in the clearing. The
two green orbs at last settled on Lillian. “Daughter, let me help you.”
Accompanying the words, Lillian felt more
of the foreign magic invade the meadow from the viewing window. The demons
hissed at one another, nearly stumbling over each other in their hurry to get
away. The magic continued to pour into the meadow and then it reached her.
Lillian burned and itched. A searing agony
shot through her. She bucked and spasmed with the pain, feeling as though her
bones were melting and reshaping themselves.
* * *
Gregory flared his wings to slow his
descent while he took in a scene more horrible than he’d expected. A chaotic
mix of power swirled around the meadow. But it was the essence of his greatest
enemy that overlaid every other scent. Somehow the Lady of Battles was here.
“You’re late,” the Lady said as Gregory
landed. “Again.”
Gregory froze at the sight of the silver
window occupying half the meadow. The Lady of Battles looked out upon the scene
from the steps of her temple. In front of the mirror was a small slab of stone
propped up haphazardly by another boulder half-buried in the ground. Upon the
stone altar, Lillian hung suspended by her wrists. Blood dripped down the
length of her naked body and coated the stone beneath. With a cry, Gregory
bolted into motion, uncaring if he was about to walk into the Lady’s trap.
Up close, Lillian was gray, and her breath
came in shallow gasps. Her eyes, wide with fear, met his. He slashed the ropes
tying her to the crude stone alter. She slumped into his arms.
“Go. I don’t want you to die,” she
whispered.
“Foolish, beloved Sorceress. I can endure
much, but I cannot live without you.” He lowered his muzzle to her and rested
his forehead against hers. This was all he could do. Hold her while she died.
“I’ll follow you. Soon we’ll start over.” He would seek out the Lady of Battles
in her prison and pick a fight he couldn’t win.
“No, love,” Lillian said. “If you challenge
her and die in her prison, she’ll trap your soul as she did mine, force you to
be reborn into a body she can control. That’s what she wants. She tried to heal
me, make me into her tool, but I’m too weak—now I’m useless to her. She needs
you.”
“Gargoyle, feed her some of your blood,”
the Lady of Battles commanded.
Tears flowed freely. He didn’t care if the battle
goddess witnessed his grief or took joy in it. He caressed Lillian’s hair as he
tried to comfort her as best he could. This never got easier, ever. “I have
you,” he whispered into her hair. “The pain will be gone soon. Let go. I’ll
join you shortly.”