The Third Soul Omnibus Two Page 3

  “Then they are clever enough,” said Carandis, “to set an ambush.”

  “Unfortunately,” said Solthain.

  Thalia opened her mouth to answer…and a flare of white light filled the stairwell, followed by the thunderclap of an explosion.

  “To me!” boomed a voice, amplified by the force of a spell. Thalia recognized the voice of Arthain Kalarien, First Magister of the Conclave. “To me, all Adepts, Magisters, and Initiates! To me!”

  “No ambush,” said Thalia. “Father’s drawn their attention. Solthain, Carandis, with me! The rest of you, stay in the stairwell and do not leave until we fetch you!”

  Thalia sprinted down the stairs, robes gathered in one hand, Carandis behind her. Solthain brought up the rear, his sicarr and cortana flashing with white fire. The slaves huddled against the wall, whispering and praying. Thalia reached the bottom of the stone stairs, turned a corner, and stepped into the tower’s hall.

  She found herself in the middle of a battle.

  An arched ceiling rose high overhead, hearths crackling with fire on either wall. A group of twenty Adepts and Magisters stood back to back in the center of the hall, flinging blasts of white astralfire in all directions. Thalia spotted her father standing in the midst of the Adepts, shouting instructions. Arthain Kalarien was tall and grim, his black hair turned to gray, his face a mask of unsmiling lines, but his voice boomed with command, and blasts of white astralfire erupted from his hands.

  Over a hundred of the wraiths circled around the Adepts, surrounding them like a ring of hazy blue-white light. The Adepts had shielded themselves in wards of white light, and destroyed wraith after wraith. Yet even as Thalia watched, the wraiths reassembled themselves, their demons returning from the astral world. The Adepts could destroy each demon a dozen times, at hundred times, but the wraiths would always return – and sooner or later the Adepts’ strength would fail.

  And then wraiths would triumph.

  Unless Thalia intervened.

  Her intent flowed through the thoughtmeld, communicating without the necessity of words, and she felt Carandis’s and Solthain’s agreement come back to her.

  Thalia pointed and sent a brief burst of white astralfire at the nearest wraith. The creature whirled to face her, and she felt the malevolence of the demon’s attention. The wraith flew towards her, and she summoned more power. Carandis moved to her side, and they sent twin shafts of silver astralfire blazing into the creature. The wraith shuddered as the astralfire fire disrupted the spells binding it, but the demon did not slow.

  Then it met Solthain, his blades ablaze with white astralfire. Thalia’s brother moved with the speed and power of a hunting lion. A swing of his sicarr, a thrust of his cortana, and the white fire ripped through the wraith and tore it to shreds. Solthain pivoted, and through the thoughtmeld Thalia felt him select his next target.

  She gestured, as did Carandis, and twin blasts of silver flame stabbed into the wraith. The creature turned to face them, and Solthain attacked it. The wraith reached for him, but Solthain moved around the demon’s blow with contemptuous ease, his blades ripping through the demon’s immaterial body.

  It disintegrated into blue-green mist around Solthain’s feet.

  Thalia, Carandis, and Solthain worked their way through the battle. Solthain chose his foes, and Thalia and Carandis hammered the wraiths with silver flames, leaving the demons vulnerable to the white astralfire sheathing Solthain’s weapons. The other Adepts and Magisters saw their tactics, and Arthain shouted a command. Soon bursts of silver astralfire erupted from the Adepts, followed by volleys of white flame. And through it all Solthain hacked and stabbed, moving with the grace of a dancer and the power of a lion. For a brief moment Thalia regretted that she had never seen Corthain and Solthain spar, and she felt Solthain’s amusement flow through the thoughtmeld.

  Then the last wraith ripped apart in a burst of white fire, and silence fell over the hall.

  “Thalia,” said Arthain, stepping free from the other Adepts. “Solthain. Carandis. Your arrival was most timely.”

  “Thank you, First Magister,” said Carandis, her eyes wide. Like most of the Adepts, she was terrified of the First Magister.

  “Father,” said Thalia, “do you know what is going on?”

  His perpetual scowl deepened. “I do not. I was proceeding to my rooms for dinner when these…things rose from the floor and attacked. They killed three of my slaves before I overpowered them. I have been gathering what Adepts I can find and am making my way to the great hall.”

  “We had the same thought,” said Solthain.

  “I had thought this the work of Jurgur blood sorcery,” said Arthain, gesturing at the glowing mist that swirled across the floor, “but the Jurgur shamans never managed work of such subtlety.”

  “There’s more than blood sorcery at work here, Father,” said Thalia. She lowered her voice and stepped closer. “Carandis detected a spell of the High Art upon the wraiths. That’s why they keep…regenerating, or reconstituting themselves. The blood sorcery created the wraith, but the spell of the High Art summons the demon back from the astral world and creates the wraith anew.”

  “I see,” said Arthain, and from his cold tone Thalia knew he understood.

  This was the work of the Secret College, of men like Talvin and Orain.

  “First Magister!” shouted one of the Adepts. “The wraiths rebuild themselves!”

  “When they return,” said Arthain, “strike them with silver astralfire, and then with a burst of white. Maintain your wards. That will have to suffice until we find a permanent way to dispatch these demons.”

  “First Magister,” said Carandis, “may I speak?”

  “If you have something useful to say,” said Arthain.

  Carandis took a deep breath. “I think I know how to destroy the wraiths permanently.” Arthain gestured for her to continue. “The spell of the High Art that summons the demon must be anchored to something. I suspect this traitorous Adept created his wraiths by killing a victim through blood sorcery. The demon inhabited the victim’s memories and then manifested as a wraith. But every time the wraith is destroyed…”

  “A spell of the High Art upon the corpse activates, and summons the demon once more,” said Arthain. “Well thought. Now we need only find these corpses.”

  Carandis turned, her eyes narrowed, a hand extended. “I think…First Magister, I think one is near. This way!”

  She strode across the hall, the glowing mist swirling around her boots. Thalia and her father and brother followed. A narrow door stood at the end of hall, an entrance for the slaves as they brought food from the kitchens and clothes from the laundry.

  “Here,” said Carandis. “Behind here.”

  She yanked the door open, and Solthain cursed.

  A dead man in an orange slave’s tunic lay behind the door, his glassy eyes staring at the ceiling. Sigils of crimson fire pulsed and flared on his exposed arms and legs, and a symbol of white light flickered upon his forehead.

  Carandis recast the spell to sense the presence of magic, as did Thalia and the others. Thalia felt her eyes grow wide. She had never detected anything like this before. Spells of the High Art and blood sorcery had been combined upon the dead man in an intricate maze.

  “Father,” said Thalia, “whoever did this was no novice, no dilettante. These spells…I did not think it was possible for the High Art and blood sorcery to be melded like this.”

  “Nor did I,” said Arthain. “The mage-lords of the Old Empire, the Hierarchs, wielded spells like this. But this is an abomination. The purpose of the Conclave is to defend mankind against the demons of the astral world, not to serve them as pets.”

  “Then let us stop talking,” said Solthain, “and destroy the damned thing.”

  “Wisely spoken,” said Arthain. “Do…”

  The corpse jerked. Brilliant crimson fire flared in its dead eyes, and the thing got to its feet in one smooth motion.

  “First M
agister!” said Carandis. “The demon manifested in the corpse! We…”

  Arthain thrust out his hands and a torrent of silver astralfire erupted forth, hammering into the corpse. Thalia cast her own spell, sending a blast of white astralfire into the dead slave. The corpse stumbled back with a snarl, the crimson glare in its eyes flickering as Thalia’s fire chewed into the demon. Solthain lifted his hand and flung a bolt of white fire into the corpse.

  The crimson light in its eyes flared and went out, and the dead man slumped to the ground, the demon destroyed.

  Carandis let out a long breath and cast the spell to sense the presence of magic. “It’s destroyed. And the spells upon the corpse have been broken.”

  “And to defeat the wraiths,” said Thalia, “I fear we shall have to track down each and every one of these corpses.” She looked over her shoulder, saw the gathered Adepts destroying the wraiths one by one as they reappeared.

  She felt a shiver of anger. There had been over a hundred wraiths, which meant that whatever Adept had created them had murdered over a hundred people to do it.

  That Adept would pay for his crimes.

  She looked at the others and saw the same determination in her father’s eyes, felt it flowing through her from Solthain through the thoughtmeld. She and her father and her brother were very different people.

  But in this, they were of one mind.

  “First Magister, if I may make a suggestion?” said Carandis. “Let us retreat to the great hall. We can defend ourselves more easily there, and then strike out in force to hunt down these enspelled corpses.”

  “And,” said Solthain, “we can find whoever is behind these crimes.” He scowled. “First Paulus, and then Talvin, and now this? It is monstrous.”

  “You are correct,” said Arthain, his voice like ice. “The time for action has arrived. Come.”

  He led the Adepts from the tower.

  Chapter 4 - Wrath of the Conclave

  Hundreds of red-robed Adepts and Magisters filled the Ring’s great hall.

  The arched ceiling rose two hundred feet overhead, with slender pillars supporting balconies that overlooked the dais and the main floor. The Conclave’s formal ceremonies took place here. When an Initiate survived the Testing and took the oaths of an Adept, the celebration was held here. Or when an Adept survived the secret trials of strength and became a Magister, the Conclave gathered in the great hall to witness his formal ascension.

  And now the great hall served as a refuge for the Conclave.

  Thalia stood near her father, watching as he gave commands to the Magisters and the captains of the Swords. Nearly five hundred Adepts waited near the dais, along with a thousand boys and girls in the gray robes of Initiates. With them stood nearly another thousand men and women in the orange of slaves. Dozens of groups of Adepts had made for the great hall, gathering other Adepts, Initiates, and slaves as they went. There had been fewer deaths than Thalia had feared.

  But more than she would have hoped.

  A score of Magisters stood in a ring atop the dais, working spells. Their combined power sheathed the walls, ceiling, floor, and windows of the great hall with a pale ward of white light, powerful enough to keep the wraiths from entering.

  The demons had not abandoned their attacks. Thalia looked out the great hall’s tall windows and saw hundreds of wraiths floating outside. They encircled the hall, and sooner or later their efforts would overwhelm the Magisters’ strength and collapse the wards.

  But the First Magister would take action long before that.

  “Well?” said Arthain, looking at one of the other Magisters. A squat, solid block of a man, Magister Jonas commanded the Swords and was a member of the College Bellaca, the Adepts who studied the arts of war. Jonas was competent enough, but Thalia wished Corthain was here. Jonas had never led more than a few thousand men, but Corthain had commanded the armies of the western kingdoms against the Jurgur horde at the Battle of Dark River.

  “Five hundred and forty-two Adepts have gathered in the great hall, First Magister,” said Jonas. “All those still in the Ring, I believe. More are astraljumping in even as we speak. I sent a group of Adepts to astraljump to the Ring’s gatehouse, and they have secured it against the wraiths. We have dispatched messengers into the city, warning all Adepts of the attack and recalling them to the Ring.”

  “Good,” said Arthain. “And the Initiates?”

  “Nine hundred and sixty-five have been gathered,” said Jonas. “I fear forty-seven were slain by the wraiths in the first moments after the attack. We should leave the Initiates here under guard until the demons have been defeated.”

  “No,” said Arthain. “The weaker ones and the younger ones, yes, leave them here. But the stronger ones, the ones closer to their Testing, will come with us. They will lend their strength to the Adepts and help us cleanse the Ring of these demons.”

  “That would put them at great risk, Father,” said Thalia.

  “I know.” Arthain looked at the Initiates. “They will have to learn the meaning of an Adept’s life sooner or later. Why not now?” His eyes hardened. “And if more Adepts had learned their duty, we would not now face such trials.”

  “I fear the Swords will be little use against these wraiths,” said Jonas. “So far astralfire has been the only effective weapon against them.”

  “The High Art created these monsters,” said Arthain, “and we must use the High Art to destroy them. Come, Jonas. Gather the Adepts before the dais, and bid the Initiates and the slaves to remain in the rear of the hall. I will announce our plans…and then I shall have words for the ears of the Adepts and Magisters alone.”

  Thalia wondered what her father had in mind. Would he denounce the Secret College before the assembled Adepts?

  Jonas shouted orders to the Swords, who herded the Initiates and the slaves to the rear of the vast hall, while the Adepts and Magisters clustered around the dais. Thalia joined Solthain and Carandis near one of the pillars. Arthain cast a minor spell of psychokinetic force, distorting the air around his mouth to amplify his voice.

  “Magisters, Adepts, and Initiates of the Conclave!” His voice thundered off the high ceiling. “As you have realized, we are under attack. No one may strike at the Conclave of Araspan with impunity, and we shall crush these attackers.”

  “What sort of creatures are these, First Magister?” said a Magister.

  “Wraiths,” said Arthain. “Demons formed by inhabiting the memories of a dead man and taking form in the material world. As you have no doubt seen, destroying the wraith is insufficient, as the demon will soon manifest again. To fully destroy the demon, we must find the corpse of the victim used to create the wraith. Only by breaking the spells upon the corpse can we destroy the demon entirely.”

  “More work of the damned Jurgur blood shamans, I’ll warrant,” said another Magister. “We ought to order the execution of every Jurgur man, woman, and child in the city to prevent these attacks.”

  Thalia felt a spike of anger, and opened her mouth to argue, but her father kept speaking.

  “We shall launch a counterattack at once.” Arthain pointed at the Adepts. “Under Magister Jonas’s direction, you will arrange yourselves in groups of two and three. The stronger Initiates will lend their power to this effort. We shall search the Ring room by room, corridor by corridor, floor by floor, until every last one of the corpses is found and destroyed.”

  “Well and good,” said an Adept, “but who is behind this, First Magister? The Jurgurs?”

  “Jonas,” said Arthain. “Now.”

  Jonas nodded, turned, and issued instructions to several Adepts of the College Bellaca. As one they cast spells, blue light flaring around their fingers, and lifted their hands. An enormous shimmering sheet of blue light appeared halfway across the hall, dividing the Adepts and Magisters from the Initiates, Swords, and slaves. The sheet emitted a peculiar buzzing noise. Thalia recognized the spell. Wards of blue light blocked physical attacks, and this particu
lar ward had been fashioned to disrupt sound.

  Which meant Arthain did not want anyone outside the Adepts to hear his next words.

  “By my authority,” said Arthain, “I, Arthain, Lord of House Kalarien and First Magister of the Conclave, do hereby invoke the Seal of the Conclave. What I am about to tell you is a secret known only to the Conclave, and intended only for the ears of wielders of the High Art who have survived the ordeal of the Testing and taken the oaths of an Adept. Under pain of death, do not repeat these words to anyone outside of the Conclave. Am I understood?”

  Silence answered his pronouncement.

  “An Adept,” said Arthain, “summoned those demons. The wraiths were created through blood sorcery, but a spell of the High Art allows them to return.” He pointed at the rows of red-robed men and women. “That means an Adept has turned against his oaths. The purpose of the Conclave is to guard mortal men from the demons of the astral world. And one of our brothers has betrayed us all and embraced the dark forces we oppose.”

  An uneasy murmur went through the Adepts and Magisters. Thalia sensed Solthain’s grim determination and Carandis’s queasy fear through the thoughtmeld.

  “This has happened before,” said Arthain. “First Magister Talvin trafficked with demons, and other Adepts have fallen into folly and committed these heinous crimes. And I say to you that this will not stand.” Her father’s voice remained calm, but Thalia knew him well enough to hear the growing fury. “We shall root out this corruption, this cancer, from the heart of our Conclave. I do not know whether the Adept responsible for this vile betrayal stands among us today. I do not know, and I do not care.” Arthain stepped forward. “We will destroy the demons…and we shall find the Adept responsible. And when we do, he will pay for his crimes.”