The darkness overwhelmed her and ate at her spirit, so she sang to comfort herself. She curled in the nook between the head of the cot and the cold stone wall and softly caressed the strings of the lyre, whispering the words of a song she remembered as a child. Odd, how the simple songs she recalled her mother singing to her before her freedom had been stripped away from her were more soothing than all the elegant and courtly tunes she had been taught to play during her life as a slave. The song was about cherry trees and children stealing fruit and laughingly taunting the orchid growers as he pursued them for their theft. She had never seen a cherry tree. She had tasted them once, when she had belonged to the wealthy landowner. He had often been benevolent and given her scraps from the lord's table. Scraps from his table and the full measure of his licentiousness when he had her alone after dinner, while his lady wife prayed in the chapel to wash away all her earthly sins. Only the wealthy had the ear of god. Lily had never imagined that one like her might be worth of such bounty.
The sound of Kall-Su's breathing never faltered. Never altered, hinting that he might be close to awareness. He was a shape in the darkness that held no spark of energy that she could sense. A life that pulsed near her, but that held no will or spirit. It was disconcerting. It made her feel so dreadfully alone, to sit so close by and yet sense no aura. She had to reach out and touch him every once and a while to reassure herself that she was not alone. His skin was warm to the touch, fevered, she thought, but so smooth under her fingers. She felt like a thief in the orchard for prolonging the contact, but she had never felt skin as soft as his on a man grown. Like that of a child -- or an unattainable angel from the heavens. It made her gut clench to think what the master had done to mar it.
The master said she had magic in her. In the melody of her song. She wished she did in truth, even though the notion scared her, for she would surely use to it soothe his wounds -- or at the very least out of this cell. Absently, she stroked the fingers of one limp hand curled by his head and wondered what he had been before this. Before the Master had decided he needed him shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. She had visions of wealth and power, because to the last he held himself with the grace of bearing that only men of power possessed. She wondered what it would have been like to be owned by him. Then shook her head, banishing where her thoughts led from there. Slaves were things to be used and discarded and she could not bear the thought of that, even in fantasy. One never, never grew attached to one's owner, for sooner or later, the one master would be exchanged for another.
She slept, with head pillowed on arm on the edge of the cot and woke to the muffled sound of footsteps echoing outside the door, coming down the hall. She stuffed the lyre under the cot and slipped into the scant shelter herself, pressing fists to chest and biting her bottom lip in fear. The sound of key in lock. The squeak of hinges as the door was pushed open. The swish of robes and the hard tamp of a staff hitting the stone floor. She squinted out from beneath her lashes to see the hem of white robes and beside them polished black boots. The master and his shadow. The master stepped close. Shifted slightly to lay a hand perhaps on his sleeping victim. A long moment passed where no one moved. Lily dared not breath.
Then the master straightened and said with a tight inflection of anticipation in his voice. "He's ready. There will be no opposition when I take possession. But I will not wake within a marred host."
Another silence and this time she felt the stirring scent of power curling about the room. She felt it coil carefully and meticulously in the air above her and knew, without knowing how she knew, that a healing of sorts was taking place. The master was repairing the damage he had gone to such lengths to inflict. She could not for the life of her imagine why.
Then it was gone and the master turned without speaking another word and strode from the cell. His shadow stepped close to the cot, bent down and with a grunt of effort lifted Kall-Su from it. Dust settled down into her face from the shift in weight. She blinked her eyes furiously to dislodge it. They were gone by the time she'd cleared the grits from her eyes, leaving the cell door ajar and the room empty save for herself and whatever crawling insects had occupied it before she came. She lay under the cot, shaking from reaction, from the miracle that she had not been caught. That she could slip out now unnoticed with none the wiser. But the master's words rang ominously through her mind.
I will not wake within a marred host. No opposition when I take possession? They had broken him. Scarred his beautiful skin, then healed him at a whim. For what? She shivered to even imagine the master's dark thoughts. His reasons within reasons that no common slavegirl could fathom. But it all revolved about him. About Kall-Su, who she thought was as ignorant of the master's machinations as she was.
She slipped from under the cot, hugging the lyre to her chest. She ought to run down the hall and cower as far from where the master was as possible. She ought to remember what she was and what place she held here, but her bare feet touched the stone in the direction the master and his shadow had gone. Her ears could just make out the sound of boots slapping against the floor. If she didn't follow them to see what they were about, it would gnaw at her forever. Even if she held no power here, she had a mind and a will to know, even if the knowledge would haunt her, what the master had planned for Kall-Su.
The point of the anointed blade sliced cleanly into the flesh of Schneider's wrist. He sank it deeply, wincing slightly at the sting, cutting through the large veins that pulsed under the translucent skin. The winds attacked him, high atop the tower of Sta-Veron Castle, whipping silver hair into his eyes and mouth, blinding him now and again as he watched the crimson well like a font from his wrist. He was simply dressed for the preparation. Black sleeveless tunic and trousers, bare feet that had grown so numb from the cold stone that he barely felt them. A warming spell would be inappropriate at the moment, so he endured the discomfort. He saw the pattern in his mind. A glowing circle with a five pointed star within it. He held his wrist over the stone and let the blood drip down, softly chanting the lines of an incantation as he made the circuit full circle, creating the symbol from the most potent ingredient available. His own life's blood. He made the first slash of the star, crossed its tip with the line of the circle and carefully walked the breadth of the circle to create the second line. A touch of dizziness assaulted him and he used a small bit of magic to shore up the strength the blood loss took from him. He couldn't replenish himself yet, because the symbol had to be made from his sacrifice. He hated -- hated with a passion, this sort of magic. But what choice was left, when all his other methods were exhausted?
He finished the symbol and sealed the rent in his wrist with a touch of finger tips to skin. Went and knelt in the center of the circle and finished chanting the invocation, feeling the stirring of sibilant and indistinct powers that were attracted to the sacrifice, drawn by the incantation. Bound by the symbol. It would have been easier to bind them with his own will, but then they wouldn't be able to perform the tasks he wanted of them. The symbol glowed faintly in the night. The moon was almost at its zenith above him. He sighed and relaxed, reflexively rubbing the wrist he had cut.
One layer done. Now for the second.
Lily slid among the shadows, following the sound of footsteps in a vast emptiness. Up one level and the next, to halls that were dust shrouded and devoid of life. No one ever came up here. No one disturbed the solitude of these higher level halls. In all her wonderings she had never come up here, fearing perhaps the omens that kept all the other residents of the place without windows from these deserted pathways.
She had abandoned the lyre some ways back, afraid some slip of her hand might cause it to vibrate with sound. There was a door ahead which the master and his shadow had passed through. Hesitantly she peeked around the edge of the portal and looked into a room that dwarfed any she had seen in this place. The walls rose high enough that the ceiling was hidden in darkness. It was a cylindrical chamber, from the floor of which rose a circular pillar the width of several houses lumped together. A stair jutted out from the sides, winding round the pillar until they reached the top, which was some forty feet above the floor. There were columns surrounding the edge of the pilaster that might have rose to the ceiling. It was hard to see. Torches guttered on the inside face of each column, casting it in an orange glow, while the rest of the mammoth chamber resided in shadow.
They began climbing the steps. Disappeared around the back of the pylon and then appearing again as they reached the top. She could hardly hazard a guess what waited on top. They were no longer visible to her. She shored up her courage and darted across the space separating the door and the foot of the stairs. They couldn't see her unless they came to the edge and looked down. She set her foot on the bottom step and climbed, too far into this to run now.
Hundreds of steps. Almost at the top and the beat of her heart was so palpable that her head hurt from it. At the top and she crouched, her head level with the top of the pilaster. Carefully she lifted her eyes above the surface and looked.
There was a great stone cross sat above a broad alter in the center of the floor. The cross was engraved with runes and symbols, as if it were a religious icon instead of the familiar symbols of the gods she was used to seeing in temples and churches. She had never seen a cross so depicted. But the master knelt before it with clasped hands and prayed in a language she had never heard, while his shadow laid Kall-Su down upon the alter, which was also shaped somewhat like a cross. The Shadow arranged his limbs to conform with the shape of the cross. Arms spread out to either side, legs together down the center. The Shadow whispered a word and touched east wrist. Black fingers seemed to come out of the stone itself, encircling Kall-Su's arms, then his ankles, as if he were likely to jump up and fight them. The Shadow, finished with his duty, went to stand behind the Master, his back to Lily. She could see the end of his sword protruding from his long cloak.
The Master finished his prayers and stood. He walked to the end of the alter and lifted his hands and as if appealing to the silent stone cross he cried out.
"Forgive me, my lord God, but the flesh I am about to take is sullied by the hand of Your enemy. It is a willing sacrifice I make in your name so that I can better rid the lands of the pollution that fouls them."
In the air above his hands a blackness began to form . . . .
The servants trudged up the stairs in a procession, arms loaded with clothes. The spell called for something personal. A lock of hair or a nail clipping would have been ideal, but Kall was so damned fastidious no such sloppy leavings were to be found. The old witch said clothing was the next best thing. So Schneider had Kall's closets emptied, bringing the entire lot of it up here just to be safe. The clothing was back up, he had his prize clutched in his hand, the bloody glove he'd found in the mountains when they had come upon Kall's slaughtered party. Old blood, yes, but blood had great potency despite the fact that it was dried and flaking off of the leather.
A bonfire burned in the center of the pentagram. A ring of polished, round stones encircled it, miraculously keeping its flames from licking out beyond the borders of the ring. Ashes and cinder flew on the wind as material burned. He threw in other ingredients. Circling the flame, ever watchful of its dance, he spoke the words of his carefully constructed and researched spell.
The servants had fled, but others stood outside the boundaries of his blood circle, watching. Arshes and Gara. The old witch and Geo Note, the only people in the castle who were not deathly afraid of what he was doing up here that required blood and the burning of all their master's wardrobe. He felt the potency of the spell. Felt things responding to his summons. He tossed the glove into the fire and watched sparks fly.
"I hate this." He heard Arshes discontent. "I don't trust it."
He did not respond to her fears, too busy listening to the winds that howled around the tower.
"What if this spell takes him someplace he can't return from."
"That's what the blood circle is for." The old witch said. "His blood binds him to this circle. The counter-summons may pull him from this place temporarily, but the blood circle with snap him back."
Arshes had no reply to that. He circled the fire again and saw her face, drawn and worried in the light from the flames. He felt a surge in power. A culmination of forces and drew his breath in expectation.
Gara stepped into the circle.
"No." He said, and Arshes cried at the same time.
"What are you doing?"
"Going with him."
"You will not!" Arshes reached after him and Geo Note caught her shoulder.
"Go back, Gara. He's almost killed you once." Schneider said softly, attention wavering between Gara and the flame.
"No." Gara said simply, broad face set in stubborn lines.
"Then I'm coming." Arshes declared, wrenching free of Geo Note's hand.
"No, Arshes." Schneider snapped. "I need you here, guarding this place. I need you to protect her, Arshes. And protect yourself."
Her eyes spoke volumes. She trembled at the edge of the circle, ears twitching in distress. Her eyes threatened to well over with tears. She looked from him to Gara, then back again.
"Bring him back." She whispered, not taking that step, and Schneider didn't know who she meant, Kall or Gara or Angelo's severed head.
Then the fire went out and with it, it sucked wind and air and breath into the void where it had existed. Schneider blinked and he was thrust into blackness.
He blinked again and he was falling through the night sky with nothing but indistinct blackness below and Gara's startled cry from above. He gasped out the words of a flight spell, caught Gara up in its tendrils and slowed the descent. Mountains below. He made out the sprawling line of ridges and the distant black void of what might have been the ocean. The western mountains then. And below...... Below was nothing. Nothing until he sent a sphere of witch light down to light the way and then he saw the sprawling roof of a blocky, flat surfaced building, built almost like a pyramid save for the tiers and the sprawling flat roof. It thrust out from the side of the mountain like some abnormal growth.
And it felt wrong. It felt as if he ought to be looking at nothing at all, as if his eyes were playing tricks on him and it wasn't there at all. Warded to the teeth then. He gathered power as they dropped, not even bothering with the words of the spell, just summoning the power he wanted and focusing it downward. Downward.
Kall-Su screamed. The blackness the Master had created emitted a high pitched wailing drone. Lily covered her ears, not sure Kall-su were even conscious, but his body was arched on the alter, straining at the bonds, his mouth open in wordless shock. The Master stood before him, body ridged, hands turned into claws that reached out and hovered just over Kall-Su's face.
Tendrils of darkness laced out of the pulsing darkness that had settled just before the master's chest and just over Kall-Su's face, thrusting simultaneously into both bodies. A dozen grasping little spirals of evil that seemed to feed off the both of them. The master seemed almost to draw in upon himself. In the light of magic and torches his hair seemed to silver with age between one breath and the next as though the vitality were leaving his body and flowing into the black cloud. Lily cringed, tears streaming down her face, helpless to do anything but cower on the steps and watch.
And the sky fell down upon her head. With an reverberating thunder clap of sheer, devastating sound the ceiling shattered. White, sizzling energy exploded downward, sheering off the far side of the pillar. Chunks of stone the size of wagons showered down. The column nearest her was hit. It toppled, ripped from its moorings and slammed into the column next to it. She screamed. She couldn't stop herself, but her voice was lost in the cascade of destruction. It was lost to the Master's screams of rage. To the sudden crashing sound of an explosive burst of his own making that he sent ceilingward into the darkness. She closed her eyes against the light. Opened them again to see him launching skyward as if some invisible hand had pulled him up by strings. Another burst of power that jarred her to her bones and the sky lit up. For one moment she could see the ragged outline of the hole made in the ceiling. She could see the night sky beyond and her eyes teared at the sight. Then a man was dropping out of the darkness with a naked sword in hand and the Master's Shadow dashed to meet him, drawing his blade as he ran.
She was afraid to move. Afraid to do anything but stare. The night sky flared as if some dire storm brewed in the clouds above. A chunk of stone fell, glanced off the cross and shattered one of its arms. The whole of the cross teetered and she thought it would fall forward and crush Kall-Su. She dashed forward even as it toppled. But it fell at an angle, hit one of the outlying arms of the alter and shattered. She shoved stone aside, away from his arm and clawed at the black bands circling his wrists. Magic. Magic bindings, she thought frantically. They tingled at the touch. She yanked and pulled but they would not surrender. Sobbing furiously at her own helplessness she sank down next to the alter.
"Wake up." She cried. "Wake up and help me."
But she did not expect a response. The sky shuddered as something vastly powerful burned through the cloud cover. The whole of the sky visible though the gaping hole in the ceiling glowed briefly. The sound of blades clashing resonated through the circular chamber. The fight drew closer to the alter.
Gara's boots touched ground and he rolled with the impact, came up with the Murasume held at ready and his eyes scanning the area for enemies. The enemy was not hard to find. The enemy was rushing him with drawn blade and damned expressionless eyes. He was prepared this time for the strength of Sinakha's blow. He blocked it and let it slide down the length of his own blade, then spun and kicked at the man's ankles. He didn't connect, but he didn't expect to. All he expected was Sinakha to jump to avoid it. He rammed a fist into the man's gut when he did. Sidestepped even as Sinakha shook off the blow and swung at his head with his blade.
A chunk of ceiling crashed down and the both of them leapt out of its path. It gave Gara a split second to take in the battle field on which he stood. A platform with edges falling over into what he could not see. Columns surrounding the circular surface, some of which had toppled when Schneider blasted through the ceiling. Nothing else but a cross in the center and an alter below it. Gara's mouth twisted into a cold smile. He'd actually done it. Schneider and his half-assed hedge witch spell had done it.
Sinakha sailed over the slab of ceiling, slashing down as he passed. Gara lifted his blade to block it, called on the powers of the Murasume and tore a path of destruction across the ground Sinakha would have to land on. The Prophet's captain touched ground and was tossed to the side. He hit a column so hard it splintered. For a heart beat he stood with his back against it, breathing hard, then his sword came up and he smiled. A cold little smile that made Gara grip the hilt of the Murasume tighter and grind his teeth together. He had already ascertained that the man was good. Damned good. But the fact that Sinakha managed to unnerve him made him doubly dangerous.
Gathering power glowed in the air before Sinakha's sword. Then a dozen balls of pure energy hurtled towards Gara. He cried out and slashed the Murasume in an arch over his head. A whirlwind of power rose up before him, absorbing the energy, causing a hundred tiny little zig zags of lightning to flare before his eyes, all of them reaching out to touch the tip of the Murasume. He felt the electric tingle in his fingers. Then it was gone, along with the magic and the two of them were left facing each other with plain steel again.
Schneider didn't get a chance to see what lay below the section of roof he had demolished. A bolt of high power energy lanced up out of the depths, almost as if had been a backlash of his own strike and seared the air in which he floated. He lost his hold on Gara, he was taken so off guard. Then there was a screaming, force shield surrounded banshee rocketing up towards him and he forgot about the ninja master altogether. He put up a shield in time to take the brunt of the impact but it still slammed him back a good hundred feet. By then he had recognized Angelo's face. He let out an inarticulate cry of his own, drew in power with a frenzy and released it in the biggest lightning blast he could summon on such short order.
It bounded across Angelo's shields. The skies rumbled in response to the energy released within them. Angelo disappeared into the ominous clouds over head and with a snarl Schneider was after him. The Prophet would not escape him again.