The Blood Sigil (The Sigilord Chronicles Book 2) (18 page)

The rock soared through the noxious air, then simply winked out of existence a few feet from the wall. They waited, impatiently, wondering what had happened to it on the other side.
 

"What are you looking for?" asked Timoc.

"I want to see if the gap is stable. There is no sense in our going through if it will destroy us or collapse in the process."

"Good point. Throw another rock."

Murin tossed another rock and again it vanished into the gap, sucked into nothingness. They waited for several minutes, sweltering in heat that would have burned the skin off of an ordinary man.

"I grow tired of waiting," Timoc said. "I'm going through."

Timoc hadn't gotten more than two steps toward the gap when the creature dropped out of it.

It was a terrible, doglike thing with an oily purple skin. Disproportionately large teeth filled its mouth so that it couldn't close it. A foul-smelling black ooze dripped from its gums. Tentacles burst from holes in the creature's neck, each flapping about in the air as though sniffing it for signs of prey or food. Jagged, curved claws jutted from its huge paws, and its twin, spike-laden tails swished slowly back and forth.

That's impossible
, Murin thought.
It simply cannot be!

Timoc stumbled and fell backward, trying to get out of the creature's way. "What in hell is that?" Timoc wheezed, struggling to breathe.

"Hell is remarkably accurate," replied Murin. "That hound is not of this world."

The creature cocked its head and fixed its gaze on Murin. It had eyes like solid black marbles and short, broad ears covered with scars and gashes from unknown battles. Its tentacles all suddenly stopped searching, turning their attention to Murin and Timoc. Each tentacle bore a tongue-like appendage that protruded from the center, ringed by a set of curved, stained teeth.

It didn't let Murin spend any time deciding his next action. Snarling a horrendous, high-pitched shriek, it bared its teeth and leapt for the old man's throat. Murin had just enough time to jump to the side, the beast's oily skin rubbing against his hands as it flew past and skidded to a stop.

Murin's fingers burned where they had touched the hound's skin, bright red pustules forming on his fingertips. The hound turned and leapt for Murin again, but Timoc jumped to intercept it.

"Don't touch it!" Murin shouted, but it was too late. Timoc wrapped the tentacled monster in his arms and slammed it to the ground. Smoke erupted from Timoc's hands as he screamed in pain.

"I can't hold it for long," Timoc shouted, his face contorted in pain. "Break its jaw!"

Murin tore a strip of cloth from his robe, wound it around his hand, and reached for the nightmare hound. Timoc used his weight to pin the dog down, but only barely, as he swatted at the beast's flailing tentacles. Murin grabbed hold of the creature's fangs—one on top and one on the bottom—then, with every ounce of strength he had, he wrenched the thing's jaw apart.

It howled with such high pitch Murin's ears rang and blood dripped from his ear, his eardrum shattered. Ignoring the pain, Murin pulled and stretched, the black ichor from the beast's mouth already burning through the cloth wrap and eating into his flesh.

Finally the bottom of the dog-thing's jaw cracked, the muscles and tendons tearing, bone shearing off. Murin yanked the jaw off, then kicked the creature in the face, his boot heel slamming into one of the black, pupil-less eyes.

Disoriented, but far from dead, the creature thrashed and flailed, black blood spewing from its face. Timoc drew a dagger and stabbed into its eyes, over and over again. Murin drew his own daggers, added his weight to Timoc's on the beast's back, and stabbed it anywhere he could find an opening.
 

The creature's skin was as hard to pierce as Murin remembered, memories he wished he could forget. One of Murin's daggers chipped on contact with the beast's skin, bouncing off into the molten rock.

It took a long time to finally kill the monster. It struggled and clawed, cutting open Murin's and Timoc's skin and leaving searing acid on the wounds. One by one they severed the tendons and muscles in its legs, then sliced its hamstrings and finally stabbed its spine enough to paralyze it.
 

Despite leaking huge pools of black ichor onto the ground, it hadn't died. Murin and Timoc rolled off the beast and watched as it coughed and wheezed, gurgling blood with each breath, something entirely alien keeping it alive long after it should have expired.

They lay there on their backs, exhausted, waiting for the beast to die, but it wouldn't.

"That thing smells of death," Timoc said, rolling to his side and checking the burns on his hands.

"This thing smells of far worse than death," added Murin. He had traveled through several universes and seen creatures of every shape and size, but he knew there was only one place in all of the multiverse where something this foul and borne of nightmares could exist.

He got to his knees, exhausted from the battle.
 

"It won't die," Timoc gasped. "It's out of blood; we broke its neck, cut its spine and its tendons. What more must we do?"

"Kick it into the magma," Murin suggested. He stood and approached the beast, examining it. Everything about it was lethal: a creature bred to hunt and kill, covered with skin that burned, and a mouth that dripped acidic saliva that could eat through anything.
 

Together, pushing it with their boots, they managed to slide it across its own blood trail into the magma flow. It burst into flame as it touched the molten rock, but still it moved, what remained of its muscles twitching even as it sank below the surface of the magma.

The heat of the oil from the creature's skin threatened to dissolve the sole of Murin's boot.

"I think it would be wise to avoid whatever universe is on the other side of that gap," Timoc said. "If that is what passes for a dog there, I cannot imagine what passes for that dog's master."

Murin was barely aware of Timoc's comment, so lost was he in his own memories, many of which he would classify as nightmares.
 

"Murin," Timoc prodded.

Murin did not acknowledge Timoc's presence. His mind returned to a dark time in his past, a time he had repeatedly tried to forget.
 

Timoc gasped. "You've seen one of those things before, haven't you?" he asked. "You know what that thing was."

Murin nodded, then turned to face the man who had once been his apprentice. "What do you remember of the terms of my banishment?" Murin asked.

"Only that you were sentenced to serve your banishment as an arbiter, preserving the balance as punishment for…" Timoc trailed off, not wanting to finish his sentence.

"I served with the arbiters as punishment, but there is more you do not know," Murin began. Suddenly hit by the exhaustion of the battle in the oppressive heat, he wavered. Timoc helped him back up to higher, and slightly cooler, ground.

"During the Fulcrum War, the high chancellor Vogon once ordered me to murder a sigilord," Murin said.

Timoc shrugged. "The arbiters killed thousands of sigilords, as did their slaves and sycophants."

"Yes, but I had never killed one. At this point in the war, the arbiters could still claim neutrality, observing but not interfering. Vogon wanted to change all that. He told me there was a yellow sigilord who, if left unchecked, would tip the scale in favor of the sigilords. He could win the war for the sigilords, Vogon said."

"So Vogon told you to kill him?"

Murin nodded. "He knew what I was capable of, what I used to be before the banishment. He told me to kill the sigilord so that the blood mages would have a chance to win the war."

"What does this have to do with that dog-thing?" Timoc asked.

"It is called a bile wolf," Murin said. "I defied Vogon's direct order and refused to kill the sigilord. That defiance was a breach of the terms of my banishment. Vogon had an artifact given to him by the Vyes Hive. My breach of the banishment terms empowered the artifact, and Vogon used it to send me to the banished realms. That is where I encountered my first bile wolf."

Timoc simply stared, his mouth open wide in shock.

Before Timoc could reply, Murin turned back to the gap. He sniffed the air, invoking both his olfactory and his quantum senses, taking in the foul stench drifting up from the rift below them. "That rift does not lead to another universe," he said.

"What?" Timoc asked. "A bile wolf of the banished realms just came out of that rift. A literal hell-hound just came out of hell through that rift."

"The air that accompanied the wolf through the gap—it was of this universe, not of the banished realms," said Murin.

"What does that mean?"

Murin gave his apprentice a hard look. "It means that creature was already in
this
universe when it came through that gap."

Timoc gaped at his former master. "So that crack leads to somewhere else on this world? How did a bile wolf get into this realm?"

Murin yanked off his boot just as the heel finished melting. "It was summoned here by the sigilord I was once asked to kill, someone far more dangerous than a mere bile wolf."

Chapter Twelve

Rising out of the fog of a dream he could no longer remember, Goodwyn lifted his head and thumped it against something wooden behind him. He tried to roll to his side but stopped short, his hands bound behind his back. He was tied to a wooden pole.

The heat of a very nearby fire washed over him, the flickering orange light casting shadows throughout a large chamber. He blinked a few times as his vision focused and eyes adjusted to the light. He realized he was wearing nothing but his underclothes.

Therren leaned against a wooden pole a short distance away on the other side of a massive iron fireplace, his hands also tied behind his back. Most of his clothes had also been removed. Even in the dim light, Goodwyn could see Therren was awake and appeared unhurt.

"You're finally awake," came a young female voice.

"What is this place? Why are we being held prisoner?" Goodwyn demanded, struggling against his bonds. The rope was tight, but the knot had been tied by an amateur at best.
 

I'll be free of this rope in minutes
, he thought. He squinted, struggling to see the rest of the room, where shadows gradually enshrouded everything as the light from the fire diminished. The room had a stone floor and, judging from the echo, a very high ceiling.
 

"You are in the lair of the most feared gang of thieves in all of Niragan," replied the girl's voice. Goodwyn couldn't tell how old she was based on her voice alone, but she sounded as though she might be a few years his junior.

Feared gang, indeed
, he thought.
Whoever these kids are, they're all talk
. He caught Therren's gaze and rolled his eyes. Therren gave a slight nod—he'd come to the same conclusion.

"Why are you holding us prisoner?" Goodwyn called again into the darkness, searching for the source of the voice while rubbing his bindings against the wooden pole. "We've done nothing to you, broken none of your laws. We demand an advocate to hear our case."

Goodwyn expected no such legal avenue from children, but it might keep her talking long enough for him to break free.

"Light us up, Spider," the girl said with audible pride. In response her to command, lanterns hanging from the walls bloomed with bright white light, casting the shadows back into far corners and nooks.

The room was even taller than Goodwyn had guessed, a simple towering square with stone walls. Iron bars, spanning from one wall to the other, supported wooden walkways and stairs. Hovering near the ceiling of the chamber hung a collection of metal rods, gears, and spinning orbs that looked like something the briene would have constructed. In the center hung a bright yellow glowing orb, with other metal spheres slowly orbiting the central light.

"Impressed?" the girl asked, finally stepping out of the shadows on one of the catwalks above. "I'm Owl, and this is Spider, and Ferret." She gestured to her left, and two boys emerged from the darkness on the catwalk. Spider was as short and wide as Ferret was tall and gaunt. Though clearly younger, Ferret stood nearly as tall as Goodwyn.

"I might be more impressed if I wasn't your prisoner," Goodwyn snarled. "Where are we, and what have you done with our clothes?"

"Awfully demanding for a prisoner," Owl said, leaning forward so her blonde hair, with shocks of white, dangled across her shoulders. A larger than average nose dominated her face between bright, ice blue eyes.

Now I know why they call her Owl
, Goodwyn thought.

She wore a drab gray tunic and tight-fitting pants. Goodwyn couldn't tell if the drab color was intentional or from a collection of dirt and stains. "You should show us some respect. We saved your lives, after all," she said.

"You rescued us from the bay?" Therren asked.

"You're lucky you're only partly stupid. Stupid enough to be swimming in the bay, but not dumb enough to wait till a few weeks from now, when the water will be so cold your heart'll stop even before you drown," Owl said.