Changelings Book1 Dragons & Demons

Chapter 4

The land was dying; sapped dry of the magic that was the source of its life. The trees had turned rotten and twisted, before finally giving up and falling across each other, as if they were trying to uproot and move from the corruption that tainted their forest. No bird sang, no animal burrowed and not even a single insect swarmed in the silence.

In the centre of the desolation stood a squat, windowless, square tower, solidly built of large black stone blocks. It was a dark and foreboding building with a single, heavy door. Waves of pure darkness seemed to radiate from between the bricks in pulses, rhythmic and powerful.

A distant, high scream pierced the silence, sounding from deep within the bowels of the building, followed closely by a deep, guttural laugh. It echoed from down a dark stairway of uneven steps, through a dank, foetid corridor of roughly hewn stone, lit by oily, smouldering torches, ending in a room of horror.

The naked figure of an old man writhed upon a simple, stone table, struggling in vain against invisible bonds that held him fast. His torso was daubed with glyphs and runes, which seemed to burn on the skin with a living flame.

"Speak the word, mage." A too-deep voice sounded from the inky shadows.

The captive resisted, arching his back till only his head and heels touched the stone. Small pools of sweat mingled with his blood beneath him. The flames burned brighter, a soft sizzling followed and thin trails of smoke rose and the acrid aroma of charred flesh filled the chamber.

A long, snorting inhalation sounded.

"You will never know how long I have lusted for this aroma." A man dressed in a long, black robe stepped from the shadow. Sweat ran down his shaven head, over his ashen face and dripped from his pointed chin. His thin lips were pulled back from his teeth in a rictus grin that did not suit his face and his eyes were sunken; ringed with deep shadows, and as lifeless as a grave.

"Lailoken, please...," the captive begged through clenched teeth. "Fight it! Exorcise the Demon within you..."

Somewhere, buried deep within the labyrinthine mind of the man in black, hid Lailoken.

He was the foolish mage who, through trickery and dark magic, had opened the first portal to the Netherworld; allowing the Demon that now possessed his body to gain control. Heedless of the warnings and even threats issued by the High Council of mages, Lailoken had secretly studied and practised the longforbidden, black arts. He had grown powerful and arrogant, shunning his family, teachers and friends alike, before hiding himself in this vast forest, living wild and shielding himself with magical charms of reflection.

There he constructed a simple, but strong tower, binding each stone with magical incantations that would render himself and his dark workings practically invisible to the probing spells of the High Council.

Now, in his own mind, Lailoken whimpered pathetically, cringing at some of the terrible deeds he had committed over the fourteen years whilst under the control of the Demon.

He had desecrated the statue of his Goddess Danu in the Darkhaven Temple; he had ravished an innocent, young priestess before slaughtering several acolytes. He had lusted for things beyond his understanding, and now he and all mankind were to pay for his ignorance.

Lailoken reached into the folds of his robe with a crooked hand and slowly produced several thin and wickedly sharp-looking spikes.

"Speak the word mage," he repeated softly; barely a hiss, right next to the captive's ear, "and your end will be swift, if not..."

He clinked the spikes together, ominously.

The old mage took a deep, shuddering breath, before attempting to compose himself in the face of almost certain death. He recognised the Necromius Spines from the texts he had studied as an apprentice. The dark iron was skilfully engraved with the runes and glyphs of the dark art of Necromancy. He now knew in his heart that if he did not give up the word in this life, then this Demon would doubtless tear it from his screaming soul in death.

"Yes!" Lailoken exulted. "Each spine will be driven slowly into your energy centres, enslaving your soul, till I tire of my plaything."

"Danu, forgive me!" he whispered, tears forming. He took a slow, deep breath; gathering strength and energy.

Lailoken stood stock-still, and if it was possible, his wide, toothy grin grew in anticipation.  

"ATEH," the old man screamed once.

The Word shook the room, sending a small shower of stones cascading from the ceiling, and deep in the hidden dimensions something fractured slightly; it was the ancient binding on the gate-way to the Netherworld - the aeons old prison world created to hold the Demons.

A small ball of purest darkness formed above the captive. Torches dimmed as it grew rapidly, till the mage could see his own ravaged frame, reflected in its oily surface. His eyes widened in terror as an inhuman face formed on the swirling gloss, all ravenous eyes and terrible teeth. The sphere settled next to the table and melted into a pool of pitch darkness, bubbling and hissing evilly.

Lailoken uttered a few harsh syllables, before swiftly grabbing the old mage and tossing him headlong into the rancid liquid.

He barely had time to scream before being enveloped.

Scant moments passed before a huge, clawed fist thrust from the pitch fluid, followed closely by a pair of red eyes, buried deep within a squat ugly face. The Demon had large, serrated, tusk-like teeth jutting from an impossibly huge maw, and a long, thin, barbed tongue. The shambling figure climbed out and stood on four powerfully muscled legs, swaying slightly before gripping the table with its taloned fist.

"Welcome to our world, Krangresh!" Lailoken shouted with gleeful insanity.

The new Demon turned and studied his liberator before speaking with a surprisingly clear voice.

"Our time has come, as you prophesied, Master!"

Lailoken nodded. "Come Brother, we have much work to do before we can free our brethren."

The huge, iron-bound door swung slowly open, the rusted hinges squealing loudly in the silence. The newly reborn Demon stepped outside, flinching in the brightness. Lailoken laughed a harsh barking sound.

"Feel it, Brother. That is sunlight! How long has it been? Ten millennia? Fifty?"

He placed a thin hand on the creature's flank and closed his eyes. The skin beneath his hand bubbled and smoked slightly as power flowed and the Demon screeched and wailed, rearing and thrashing wildly. A shadow crossed the sun as pendulous storm-clouds brewed unnaturally. Lightning jabbed the clearing, exploding one tree in a flaming shower of splinters. The air crackled as living energy was sapped from the land and fed the transformation ritual. Powerful limbs shrank, eyes cleared and moments later a figure not unlike the old mage stood where the Demon had been.

"I do not like this shape brother!" he spat scowling. Lailoken laughed, handing his demonic brother the mage's blue robe.

"Wear this, and the cattle of this world will follow your words without question. Go Brother, gather me a flock of priests, mages and shapeshifters; with their help we shall recite the six words of power that bind our kind. Then this shall be our world again, only this time forever..."