Chapter 9
The time had come. The night light had not yet left the sky, the night of the dark forces was in full swing. The Baron stood in the centre of the nave, some distance from the altar with Robin's body. He froze, slowly breathing in the air of the night and seeming to take in the darkness of his surroundings. He was the Darkness itself. The air thickened. The torches smouldered desperately, their flames almost extinguished, unable to resist the viscous, swampy gloom. One of the servants handed the sorcerer a goblet with drops of scarlet blood dripping from it, and he took it and drank it slowly. His eyes flashed with sinister fire. Tossing the goblet aside, he entered the glowing magic circle outlined in a pentagon on the stone floor. The black mage raised his hands above his head and, rolling his eyes, thundered:
- O Fortis Ezrahel Princeps Daemonum dominus Umbrarum et dominus Abyssi Nigrae! Exterminati sunt, et ad inferos descenderunt Veni! (Lat. - Oh, mighty Azrael, Prince of Demons, Lord of Shadows and Lord of the Black Abyss! I conjure you by the forces of hell. Come!)
The ominous sounds echoing in the dense vaults rang and rattled deafeningly, tearing the air, overwhelming the will, paralysing with fear. A black and purple mist swirled out of the dungeon in a columnar whirlwind, rose up and swirled, filling everything around it with the breath of the underworld. The sorcerer muttered incantations in an ancient language. Quietly at first, then louder and louder. His voice went from a whistling whisper to an almost frantic scream.
- O meu presente, ao teu amor. Audi me! ( Lat. - I call out to you, dark lord! Hear me!)
The sorcerer's cloak in the flickering light of the night sky rose up like the black wings of a harpy, his eyes were burning and almost out of their orbits, his beastly grin was terrible, and large drops of sweat appeared on his deadly pale forehead. A serpentine hiss and a bestial growl escaped from his open, spasmodically distorted mouth. A glowing red orb hovered above him, expanding and contracting, consuming the darkness and scattering sparks of hellfire.
The torches, which had been completely extinguished, suddenly flared brightly, but not with red, but with poisonous green flames.
De Bellem slowly pulled from the folds of his robes a short dagger with a hilt studded with jewels. He waved it in the air, as if cutting through space, letting something alien, otherworldly into the earthly world. A sweep, another sweep. A mighty clap of thunder or the low roar of an unknown creature of the infernal abyss, responding to the call of the black magician.
"Azrael...-" Simon de Bellem exhaled in awe.
His maids, frozen in horror along the walls like stone statues with their faces twisted, dared not take their eyes off their lord and what was happening. Then, still trembling with fear, they crawled out of the dark corners and, drawn by the mystical power, moved closer and closer to the centre of the hall like spellbound people. They repeated the words of the incantation and swayed to the beat. Black magic sputtered in the air, it flowed through de Bellem's veins, pulverising him from the inside out. He clenched his fists with a vigour that brought his hands down, as if to gather the darkness and horror around him. And with a sharp lunge of his body toward the altar where Locksley lay, he unclenched his fingers.
Streams of green flames ran across the stone floor. They wriggled, weaving in and out, from the walls to the centre of the hall, to the altar. At last they surrounded the spot where Robin lay in a ring of fire, and the flames rose up in a bright green whirlwind. But this flame did not burn. On the contrary, it absorbed the heat, and it was cold. A bright flash illuminated the dilapidated castle. The shimmering lightning reflected off the altar and smashed against the stone walls, which trembled from the impact. Locksley's body arched, and it seemed as if the inhuman strength that had been infused would tear his body apart. The veins in his neck bulged, all his muscles tensed to the limit, the iron shackles cut deeply into the pale skin of his arms and legs. A grimace of pain contorted his face. Strands of wet hair clung to his forehead and neck, covered with sweat. He shook and wriggled his body, white foam coming out of his mouth.
An ominous rumble swept through the castle. A white dense cloud glowing from within descended on the altar, enveloping Robin's body, dissolving, shimmering and flowing into him like the white smoke of an extinguished bonfire.
- Surge, Fili Herne et esto servus meus! (Lat. - Arise, son of Hearn, and be my servant!) -the mage growled, and his words were drowned out by the rumble of thunder, like thousands of rocks falling in the mountains.
An avalanche of thunder made the sorcerer shudder, and he fell to his knees before the red glowing ball, keeping his gaze fixed on it. The infernal tribe howled in ecstasy. Suddenly, everything stopped at once. The green flames vanished, the possessed baron's servants fell silent, and there was a sepulchral silence in the air.
Eyes wide open, Robin took a deep breath, a breath that cracked his ribs, that brought him back to life. Thousands of needles pierced his torn body, each breath painful, but he breathed. There was a loud crunch and a scream escaped the unfortunate man's lips, his body twitching convulsively. De Bellem realised with a shudder that it was the first breath and the first cry of a newborn creature. Or rather, born again in this world. The shooter's body felt like a cramp. He was shaking and jerking from side to side. It seemed as if giant invisible hands were busily and carelessly mending a broken puppet, setting joints, splicing broken bones, putting shattered vertebrae back in place. The dead heart beat again, blood rushing through his veins. Loxley was agonisingly returning from the realm of the dead. An hour ago it had been a cold corpse, but now it was screaming, thrashing and wriggling like an animal caught in a snare. Suddenly he fell silent. His body went limp.
The blood purple mist cleared. The glowing ball of light soared upward and exploded into a cloud of fiery sparks, scattering ash into the air and disappearing into the darkness with a heavy sigh. The hurricane was replaced by silence. The demon had finished its work. De Bellem felt the demon's departure like a gust of icy wind that passed through him, burning him with its grave breath, and dissolved into darkness. No doubt Azrael was expecting payment for his labors, and Simon knew exactly how he would repay the Lord of Darkness.
Robin groaned weakly, chills pulsing through him, his muscles numb, he could feel the coldness of the stone altar beneath him, but he couldn't turn around or lift his head. The sorcerer performed his spell, his servants silently approached the altar and removed the shackles from the prisoner. Robin tried to raise himself on his elbows and turn on his side. But his body would not obey.
After a few tries, breathing heavily, he threw back his head and covered his eyes.
- Greetings, son of Hearn! Welcome back to our mortal world," the Baron thundered.
Locksley flinched and turned his head at the sound of the voice, trying to focus his eyes. He was breathing hard, his body pierced with pain that clouded his mind, and he clenched his teeth to keep from wailing.
- How was paradise for you?" de Bellem continued mockingly, "Or were you not allowed in?
Robin finally saw who was in front of him, and his eyes widened. He made a jerk and rolled awkwardly off the altar to stand on weakened legs, but a moment later found himself lying on the cold stone floor. Bad idea. His stiffened body refused to obey. He bent his legs and leaned on his arms and tried to rise again.
De Bellem walked slowly toward him and beckoned to his servants. They took Robin under their arms, lifted him from the floor, and knelt before the sorcerer.
The Baron took his chin with two fingers and slowly lifted his head upward. Their gazes met.
- I see you're a little surprised to see me? It's not nice to lose, is it? - The sorcerer said, slowly enunciating each word.
Robin looked hatefully into the snake eyes of his tormentor, and clenched his jaws, through gritted teeth, and said hoarsely: "You want another try, sorcerer? Well, please ..."
The Baron grinned and laughed.
- Even in death, you haven't changed, Loxley. You're still stubborn. I like heroes like you, especially when they're quiet," he hissed.
-That gives you an advantage, doesn't it? -But without Azrael's protection, you're nothing..." he said, gasping in pain.
A triumphant smirk flew off the Baron's face, turning it into a cruel evil mask.
- We'll see about that," the sorcerer said in an ominous whisper
- Wash him well and change his clothes. He stinks like a dead dog," said the Baron to his servants. -Now take him away and bind him tightly," De Bellem said tiredly.
The demon's summoning had not been easy for him; he had aged a dozen years during the night, and he definitely needed to rest. He walked slowly away, and the echo of his footsteps echoed through the castle.
The servants dragged Robin into the dungeon. He tried to resist, but there were too many of them, and he was too weak. He was forcibly pushed into the basement, chained to the stone wall, and left in the dark. The iron bolts clanked loudly, and the footsteps of his tormentors fell silent. Robin leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, he felt the gentle touch of a cool palm chasing the heat from his forehead and lulling the pain away. With parched lips he barely audibly uttered-"Marion..." and merciful oblivion for a time gave him comfort and relieved his body of suffering.
