Mages path 3, p.18
Mage's Path 3, page 18
His mind swept north again. In the town of Trader’s Crossing, the adventurers’ guild was growing and putting out shoots like a vine in spring. People were traveling the roads now on guild business, seeking out the new dungeons, adventuring in them, and bringing back reports and loot to the town. New guilds were springing up in the smaller towns, and messengers were on the road from the far southern court of Aaron, the King of the Noonlands in Seaport, looking to find out what all the fuss was about and—crucially—if there was any money to be made from it for the king’s coffers.
Jack’s satisfaction was immense as he saw all these things moving in the world below him like pieces on a gameboard. He had done this, set all these pieces in motion. He had changed the world, and yet there was so much more to do. His vision did not extend as far as the other world, the world of Nightvale, and yet there he knew there was work to be done in that place too. Elena was there, Lachlan’s lover, long thought dead. There, too, was the evil influence of King Bain, who was trying to bring together a huge amount of magic for an unknown purpose, and to deny the existence of the Aetherborn, the awakener of dungeons.
And there was Azhoth.
Jack’s mind traveled often to the aether god, the progenitor of the magic of the red and black, trapped in his cell behind a magical maze in a dimension specifically created for his imprisonment. Jack had been unable to recreate a portal through to Azhoth’s chamber, and even if he had managed to, he did not know what good that would have done. Azhoth had given Jack a massive mana boost, which raised him to the level of power of an aether god for a short time. Azhoth had helped Jack and clearly still had great power, but the diety was powerless to free himself from his entrapment.
Breaking the maze, Jack thought. That’s the only way to do it. Sheobeth said that if she were to pass through one of the portals it might cause enough disruption in the aether to break the maze of Azhoth, but she’s now merging with Maia in the tower and cannot be reached.
“Ah, lad,” a voice said near Jack’s ear. “There you are! So, you have not forgotten me or your promise?”
“Azhoth!” Jack said to the sudden presence. “You can talk to me?”
“So it would seem,” the aether god’s kindly, deep voice replied. “But for how long I do not know. I have been able to watch you through my vision pool. I’ve seen your work—you are doing well. But I have seen other things too—the King of Nightvale is moving, and he has created something… someone… a creature that has been set up to rival the Aetherborn in power and in relationship with dungeons.”
“The Devourer,” Jack said.
“You know the name?” Azhoth said, astonished.
“Hannah Dwimmer mentioned it. She’s a member of the resistance in Nightvale.”
“Hmm,” Azhoth pondered. “My vision pool is frustratingly unreliable, and very susceptible to disruption by disturbances in the aether.”
Jack remembered the vision pool that Azhoth had been able to create within his small chamber. It was odd, but comforting in a strange way as well, to think of the aether god alone in his small cell, watching Jack’s progress from his prison dimension.
“I’m glad you think I’m doing well,” Jack said with a smile.
“Oh, indeed,” Azhoth said. “Reawakening the dungeons is the only sensible thing to do in your situation, and indeed I believe, as Lachlan and Sheobeth did, that it’s your destiny and the reason you are in existence on earth at this time.”
“I believe it’s the right thing too,” Jack said, “but I still don’t see how it’s going to help to free you.”
“Perhaps it won’t, not directly at least,” Azhoth said. “But it will move you toward your ultimate goal, and since you’ve promised, I don’t doubt for a moment that your destiny includes freeing me from my captivity.”
“I’m glad you believe so strongly in this,” Jack said. “It’s not always easy to keep faith.”
When Azhoth smiled, Jack realized that he could actually see the aether god now. He looked like an old man with red and black skin in intricate and beautiful patterns, and with a long red beard. His eyes were yellow as a cat’s eyes—in short, he had all the characteristics of a warlock.
Or was it rather that all warlocks had the characteristics of Azhoth?
Jack was about to ask the question when something else caught his attention with a suddenness that made him forget everything he’d been about to ask a moment before. Azhoth felt it too, a sudden terrifying rip in the aether.
“What in the name of the gods is that?” Jack cried.
“Look to your dungeon senses, lad!” Azhoth advised. “They will tell you what it is, though I suspect I know…”
“What do you suspect?” Jack demanded.
Azhoth shook his head, and Jack’s vision of him flickered and became unclear. “Look to your dungeon power, lad,” his voice said again, wavering a little. “Look to your dungeon power.”
Jack did as the aether god advised. All the time he and Azhoth had been talking, Jack’s dungeon had been sending seekers out through the aether, magical sensing tendrils that snaked outward like exploring roots of a fast-growing summer plant.
As Jack turned his mind to them, he suddenly felt each of the aether roots surge forward, as if boosted from some unknown place. He had not boosted them, he was sure of that. Azhoth? But the aether god had retreated, and Jack was only vaguely aware of his watching presence.
You’re on your own now, Jack, he thought to himself grimly.
He let his awareness flow out along the dungeon tendrils, finding that it was easily divided among them without his losing touch with his own mind.
“There we go,” he said with satisfaction, feeling his attention boost the growth of the dungeon roots even further. They raced through the aether toward their destinations, and then, one by one, they began to snap into place.
“Of course!” Jack cried in sudden understanding. “The dungeons!”
That was what was happening. The part of him that was a dungeon was reaching out to all the dungeons in the Noonlands, sending a magical tendril of awareness out to each one. When each tendril reached the core, it snapped into place like a sailor’s rope tied fast, anchoring Jack to the dungeons in the world.
With amazing speed, the tendrils snapped home, and with each one Jack felt understanding, knowledge, and permanent awareness of each dungeon become a part of him. He was aware of them in the same way he was aware of his feet, or his hands, or his heartbeat, or of Melinda and Spark in his magical senses—he did not always notice them consciously, but they were always there, and all he had to do was turn his attention toward them to become fully aware of them, and or anything that was happening to them.
Dungeons. They were all there, all alive, with all their different personalities and traits. Some were busy, with adventurer teams fighting joyfully in their depths. Others were sleeping, digesting the energy that had been gathered from previous adventurer runs. Yet others were busy creating new chambers and new monsters, and even new external decorations to attract adventuring parties.
“My dungeons,” he said, and was surprised to find a chorus of acknowledgement from the network.
“Our master,” they seemed to say, before turning back to their tasks.
But what was this? Something else was happening, something painful. It was like a cry of pain coming up one of the tendrils. Jack turned his attention to it, realizing that this was the disturbance he and Azhoth had felt in the aether moments ago.
As he focused in on it, he saw the ground below him rush up to meet him until he was hovering over a dungeon that they had reactivated only a few days before. It stood on a hill about three miles from Yillin, and only three miles also from the spot where Jack, Melinda, and Spark currently slept in their physical bodies.
“A dungeon is being killed!” Jack said out loud. From his view of the dungeon from above, he could see nothing but a glowing red light from the entrance. But his awareness of the core rang with distress. There was a sucking, draining feeling. It was, Jack imagined, how it would feel to have your blood drained by one of the legendary vampires of Dregwaith. He brought his attention to a closer focus and found himself dropping down closer to the dungeon.
He hit the top of the hill and passed through it like a ghost. Then, he was looking down upon the dungeon chamber from above.
The sight was horrifying.
There was a huge, bulky figure leaning over the dungeon core crystal. He was dressed from head to foot in amor, with a tall, pointed helmet. In the glimmer of torchlight from the wall sconces, Jack saw that the figure’s armor was dull gray iron, but when the figure moved, he saw the gleam of gold bands that lined the edges of the larger plates and were worked in detailed, intricate, and beautiful designs across the darker metal.
Jack moved his view of the scene so that he could see the figure’s face.
It was covered by the iron faceplate, unusual in that it seemed so solid and complete that there would have been no easy way to take it off. As Jack watched, he saw the helmet had a mouth of sorts—a long, dark slit that was topped with two huge, iron spikes like the fangs of a monstrous bat.
And those fangs were sunk into the crystal.
The dungeon crystal was a big one, two feet tall and a foot across at its widest point, and it had been filled with a creamy-yellow light. Now the light was flickering and wavering, and Jack could hear a terrible sound through the aether, like a scream, but silent.
The yellow light was flowing out of the crystal and into the huge figure.
Jack tried to move forward, but there was nothing he could do in his current form to influence the situation. He had an aethereal body here, but not a physical one, and his attempts to push his own magic into the scene before him did not succeed.
It was over quickly. The light flickered and went out and Jack felt the dungeon’s life-force extinguished with the suddenness of a bubble popping. The dungeon immediately began to collapse. The lights went out, but the bulky figure stood up straight, and he was glowing with a bright red light as if there was a dull fire burning within him.
As he stood to his full height, Jack saw the terrifying scale of him. He was like Melinda in her juggernaut form, though made of steel and gold rather than of magically strengthened flesh. With a shudder of horror Jack realized that the armor was, indeed, built in such a way that there would be no getting out of it. There were no straps or buckles to undo, no places where the armor gave way to show a leather jerkin or padded cloth hose.
This was a man encased in iron, a man of metal and magic. Was there even a man in there? The mouthpiece on the helmet would not allow the occupant of the armor to eat or drink real food—it was more like the model of a mouth on the front of the helmet. Jack could feel the malevolent, purposeful life force from within the suit.
From the single, long eye slit, a red light like glowing coals gleamed.
The Devourer, Jack thought. This is him, the creation of the Nightvale King and his pernicious mages. The doom-bringer who has been created to rival me and disrupt my path and my journey. This is the enemy that I must defeat.
With a sudden rending crash the dungeon began to cave in. Jack caught a glimpse of the empty dungeon crystal looking as insubstantial as a spider’s web as it dissipated and vanished into the aether. There was a sighing noise, and then the roof collapsed.
Jack found his concentration wavering. He had a fleeting sense of the Devourer standing up and thrusting rubble aside with iron-clad hands, then he found himself rising again, rising swiftly, the land spreading out below him again at dizzying speed.
I must return to my physical body, he thought. The Devourer is close by us. We must go there and fight him, at once!
With that thought, he let his magical awareness fade and his physical body rushed in to take its place. He slammed back into himself with almost-painful suddenness, and woke, sitting bolt upright with staring eyes and a parched tongue.
Melinda was sitting by him, staring at him with frightened eyes. Spark had stood and was prowling around the hilltop, looking for threats.
“What is it, Jack?” Melinda said as soon as his eyes met hers. “Are you sick? You were thrashing around and crying out in your sleep as if you were having a nightmare, but I couldn’t wake you no matter what I did.”
She reached out a hand and placed it on his forehead, and he realized he was drenched in sweat.
He put a hand up to cover hers, and tried to speak, but his throat was so dry that his voice came out as a painful croak. He reached out for some water from his waterskin, but she grabbed a cup she had ready and lifted it to his lips so he could drink.
“Ugh,” he said after a moment, “that’s better. Melinda, it’s the Devourer. The one Hannah warned us of. The one the King of Nightvale has created to rival me. He’s here.”
“Here? Where?” Melinda asked, looking around as if she expected a sinister figure to come creeping out of the darkness.
“In the Noonlands. Not far, only a few miles away, at that last dungeon we activated.”
To her credit, Melinda did not ask any questions. Sensing the urgency in his voice, she immediately stood and began to roll up her blankets. In moments, they were ready to leave. Spark dropped low for them to mount and they both jumped onto his back.
Immediately, the dragon took off.
Spark and Jack had a powerful psychic link, and Jack did not need to tell Spark where to go. Spark knew. He understood completely. Head extended forward on his long neck, tail stretching out behind him, the mighty dragon beat his wings and made for their destination.
As they soared through the night, skimming the tops of trees and making the grass below them bow with the wind of their speed, Jack turned to Melinda and began to speak. It was hard to hear his words over the noise of the rushing wind, however, and Melinda reached forward to place a hand on his wrist. The skin-to-skin contact strengthened their magical bond, and they were able to communicate mind-to-mind with ease.
“It’s horrible,” she said after Jack had explained what had happened, from becoming aware of himself in the aethereal realm, through to meeting with Azhoth and finding the Devourer.
“Awful,” he agreed. “And I don’t even know what he is really. I’d have said a man in armor, but the armor seems… permanent. Is he some kind of machine animated by magic? Some demon trapped in armor? Or something else… something even more terrible.”
Even as he communicated his thoughts to her, the conviction took him that the Devourer was indeed something worse than an automation.
“There is some foul application of magic here, Melinda,” he said. “An abomination the likes of which we have never even considered.”
“All the more reason to fulfill your destiny,” Melinda replied grimly. “Destroy the Devourer, restore dungeons to the world, and go through to Nightvale to destroy the source of whatever evil corruption has spawned this monster.”
“Looks like we’re about to get the chance to make a start on that.”
Up ahead, rising up out of the dimness in the light of the half-moon, was the hill that had, until only a short while ago, been home to a fine dungeon. Now all was dark at the top of the hill. No sign of a dungeon to be sensed.
There was only a pile of rubble, and beside it, gleaming faintly, a tall figure. A red glow like burning coals came from the place in his helmet where his eyes should have been.
“There he is,” Jack said aloud. “The Devourer awaits us!”
Chapter 13
“We need to hit him hard and fast,” Jack said grimly as they approached.
“I can feel the power radiating from him,” Melinda said in awe. “Can’t you feel it?
Jack felt out with his magical senses. “You’re right,” he said. “The Devourer radiates power like a bonfire radiates heat. He must have taken an enormous boost from the dungeon!”
“Are you sure about taking him on?” Spark asked.
“We have to try,” Jack said, feeling determined. “I’m not letting this creature away with destroying a dungeon, not while we have him right in front of us.” He laughed suddenly. “After all, we’re two mages with unique powers, and a dragon. What could possibly go wrong?”
They soared down toward the hilltop. The hulking, ominous figure of the Devourer stood silhouetted blacker than the darkness against the pile of rubble that had been the dungeon. Clouds whipped across the moon and a few stars gleamed in the deep dark of the sky.
The night was cold.
Spark’s feet slammed into the ground two hundred yards downhill from their enemy, sending up fountains of mud and earth into the air as his huge claws gouged holes in the soft soil of the hill. Jack and Melinda leaped off the dragon’s back.
Magic flashed bright blue as Jack summoned his spear. He whipped it round in a circle before lowering it to charge. The spear, which had begun as a simple ash shaft and leaf-shaped blade, had evolved as Jack’s magic advanced. Now it had one long central blade and two smaller ones, and long, colored banners of bright fabric were wrapped around the shaft. The shaft itself had developed leather grips at various points, and at the base, a vicious short spike of bright steel gleamed. Strange runes that glowed blue, red, and purple were graven into the metal of the blades.
Melinda yelled a wordless battle cry as she drew her sword. Fire flashed along the blade, lighting up the scene with a flickering orange glow—it was none other than the magical, fiery blade that they had created from blue sand back in the village of Sheepfold. Melinda had taken that sword for her own, and already warlock magic gleamed around the sword. Mana was pulled out of the aether toward her, coating her and her blade in a shifting, sinister shadow like a cloak of living armor.
With a toss of her head, she dropped her glamor, and her yellow warlock’s eyes flashed with battle fury.
