*******
Moon, his vigour restored since Pagan returned with a fresh supply of brainwort, hammered hard on the solid hardwood door, Casca, Pagan, and Liang standing behind him.
Glancing at Casca, Moon raised his meaty fist again, but a voice came from behind the door. “Who knocks?”
Casca elbowed Moon aside and stepped forward. “It is I, Casca!” he called out.
They heard the squeak and scrape of iron bolts being drawn, and heavy bars lifted clear, then the door opened a crack, showing a fearful, nervous face. “Ah, Casca,” a relieved Father Durmast said, “Come in... quickly...quickly...” His voice tailed off as Moon, Liang and Pagan pushed in behind Casca.
The gangly youngster, Banous, closed and secured the double doors behind them.
“Who are...they?” Father Durmast asked, looking at Moon and Liang. Casca put an arm around the priest’s shoulders and pulled him to one side. “That’s not important,” he said, his voice low. “Listen to me carefully Father, and do not react to what I'm about to tell you, for we don't want to cause panic.”
Pausing, Casca's head turned as he looked around the temple. The benches, normally arranged in neat rows, had been stacked in an untidy pile in the far-right corner of the great hall. Almost every possible space on the floor was covered with blankets, bed-rolls, possessions, and assorted piles of rubbish.
The air was heavy with the stench of so many people crammed into a confined space. Casca estimated there must be over a hundred men, women, and children – lying, seating, squatting or standing in the hall, their eyes dull and hopeless.
They were mostly the old, weak, and poor, for those more able had fled the city, except for Krocus, now safely back in his eyrie in the investment house.
Casca turned back to Father Durmast. “The temple is going to be attacked. I don't know exactly when, but believe it will be soon. Now listen carefully… they’ll be coming through...the walls.”
Durmast's eyes grew wider – Casca could see the fear in them, but the priest took a deep breath, swallowed and calmed himself.
Casca gripped the frightened man’s shoulder, and nodded. “That’s good, Father,” he said with a tight smile. He too was on the edge of panic, for soul-drinking demons were about to descend on them through...the pigging walls.
“There’s black sorcery at work here,” Casca said, surprised he could keep the tremor from his voice. “But we have strong friends with us. Now, as I understand these things, they will be coming through the outside walls.”
Pausing, Casca looked around the temple once again, noting the stairs in the far-left corner leading down to the cellar-kitchens. He thought it unlikely the demons would materialize through the cellar walls.
Seeing Tovral moving through the crush of bodies, Casca called and beckoned the baker toward him. He spoke urgently, pointing at the stairs. “Tovral, help the Father and Banous move all the people to that far corner, and get some down the stairs into the kitchen. Quick now, we may not have much time.”
The priest moved forward and raised his voice, addressing the sprawl of people. “Listen my children. You must be brave and strong now. The demons are coming.”
A murmur of fear rose, then a few shouted queries.
“You said we would be safe here, Father!”
“We are trapped, what shall we do?”
Durmast raised his arms, calming the uproar. “You will be safe. There are people here to protect us! I want everybody to move to the far end of the hall by the stairs. As many as possible should get into the kitchen, the rest stay on the steps!” Tovral and Banous moved among the mass, cajoling and helping them move as directed by Durmast.
Casca turned to his companions and moved to the pile of benches in the other corner. “Let's stack these in front of the people. Should act as a protective wall...of sorts.”
The hall was clear within moments, the children and eldest down in the kitchens, the rest clinging to the stairwell, and crammed into the space above it. Before them was a wall of stacked heavy benches.
Casca licked his lips nervously. The responsibility of protecting these people who were his friends and neighbours, weighed heavily on him.
Liang and Pagan standing either side of Moon, stood a few paces in front of the barrier. Moon, Ausak Demon Bane held in a double-grip, rolled his shoulders to loosen his muscles.
Only three against the coming hordes of demons, thought Casca. Surely, they couldn't stand. He felt guilty for he should be with them, not cowering behind the barrier with Father Durmast and the others. But he wasn't a fighting man or a warrior, but then what good was he? What was his real role in this?
Moon glanced at his companions, grinning. “Give me some room to swing old Ausak here.” Pagan and Liang edged further away from him. “The beasts are easy enough to kill,” Moon continued in a conversational tone. “The others – the yellow-eyed demons move quickly, but they die well enough.”
Liang reached up, her hands closing on the hilts of the Storm Blades. “It’s getting colder in here,” she whispered.
No sooner had the words left her mouth, the wall to their left shimmered, and then seemed to collapse in on itself. A blast of frigid air bearing the stench of dead things enveloped the hall.
“Here they come!” Moon yelled, as a mass of yellow-eyed Suanggi and crimson-eyed Bahktak disgorged from the dark maw of the wall like so many fiends from the darkest of hells.
A huge figure loomed over Pagan, its hands reaching for his throat. He ducked, slashing his sword in a tight arc through the creature's torso. Spinning around, he lanced the point under the chin of another Suanggi, the Storm Blade exiting above the creature's eye.
Twisting the blade clear, Pagan kicked the slumping body away, and drove his sword downward, impaling a Bahktak through the skull. The blade stuck, and a thin, part-translucent figure, ribs shinning white through its skin, locked its ice-cold grip on Pagan's throat.
Gasping for breath, Pagan's thrust his clawed fingers at the demon's thankfully solid throat. He gripped and wrenched savagely, ripping out the Suanggi's throat in a shower of yellow blood.
A dark shape hurtled at his head. His sword tore clear of its encumbrance, and sank deep into the belly of the leaping beast. Continuing his momentum, Pagan twisted, flinging the gutted beast into the mass of demons.
Moon, battle-lust gripping him, charged into mass, Ausak cleaving left and right, ripping through heads and limbs. Liang leapt forward, dancing and pirouetting through the heaving mass, twin-blades weaving and cutting in a blur of blue light. Suanggi and Bahktak fell before her. A massive figure clubbed at her head with a serrated club. She swayed to one side, slashing one blade through the descending arm, her other blade ripping through the figure's throat.
Hearing a fear-filled scream, Pagan spun around to see a Bahktak leap for the bench-wall. Taking two running steps, he leapt at the beast, right leg extended. His foot caught the demon-hound in the ribs, hurling it backward. Landing lightly on his feet, Pagan's hand flashed to his baldric. A shuken spun through the air, slicing through the beast's throat as it regained its feet.
Bodies surrounded by dark gore covered the floor, and the mass of fat yellow maggots – as the bodies of the Bahktak rapidly decomposed, sent a foetid stench up into the already foul air.
Spinning around, Pagan leapt back into the melee, plunging his sword deep into the back of a creature with a transparent skull – the spongy dull-grey mass of its brain visible. Pagan wrenched his blade clear, swaying back as Liang spun, her swords singing through the air. She grinned at him, her eyes flashing like thunder clouds in the gloom.
Peering around the pile of benches, Casca saw Moon towering like a colossus above the heaving mass, one hand locked around a Suanggi's throat. The giant jerked his wrist, snapping the creature's neck. Hurling the body away, he swung his foot mightily, sending a Bahktak hurtling through the air. His axe swept out, shearing through the waists of two tall, bony creatures
.
Casca blinked in surprise as a nimbus of orange light flickered around the Axeman. Swinging around, he saw Liang and Pagan cutting their way through the mass with a speed he didn't think possible, their swords, dazzling blurs of blue light. The same-coloured light flickered around them.
A skeletal figure, yellow eyes glowing in the flickering torch light, and a gash of a mouth filled with sharp-pointed fangs broke through the trio, with two Bahktak in its wake. Casca, who foolishly, had ventured beyond the safety of the wall, screamed, throwing up his arms and flinging himself backward.
The demon-hounds leapt for his throat, fangs as long as his forearm dripping strings of saliva. Their leap was curtailed in mid-air as they hit an invisible force, their heads splitting open like overripe fruit, spraying gore in the air. The Suanggi, was thrown backward, and Moon's axe sundered its neck.
Casca was thunderstruck. He had felt the force, like an invisible blast of lightning or unseen energy hurtle from him as he screamed and fell backward. His entire body was trembling, and he fell against the stack of benches as his legs failed him.
Suddenly, it was over. The three warriors stood, chests heaving as they sucked in the not-so-invigorating foetid air. Casca slumped to the floor weary beyond belief, mind awhirl at what he thought he had just done.
Frigid air blasted from the dark maw of the wall, and more creatures burst into the room like pus from a wound gone bad.
“Sutr's teeth!” Moon bellowed. “Here they come again!” Pagan and Liang leapt to join him, and Casca, dragging himself behind the relative safety of the bench-wall, watched open-mouthed in awe as the seemingly tireless trio hacked, slashed and cut their way through the fresh wave of demons. Blue light lanced from Liang's swords, burning through the abominations, leaving them molten heaps of twisted perverted flesh.
But the three were tiring; the chilling cold from the Suanggi was strength-sapping. The heaving struggle against inhuman foes in the semi-gloom, the squelching bodies of the Suanggi and squirming, wriggling maggots underfoot, weighed heavily upon them like a lead-ballasted shroud.
Each carried minor scrapes and cuts and more serious wounds. Blood seeped from a gash in Pagan's side, blood poured down Liang's face from a cut on her scalp, and Moon's left arm hung limp, his forearm a bloody mess where a Bahktak had sunk its jaws in.
More creatures appeared at the mouth of the yawning hole in the wall.
The weary, bloodied trio turned to meet the new wave of demons, then a large golden sphere appeared between the startled warriors and the hole. Shouting an obscenity, Moon leapt forward, hammering Ausak down with tremendous force. His mouth gaped as the axe merely slid off the sphere like a flower petal floating to ground.
The sphere disappeared, revealing a vision of a woman with long golden hair that shone like the sun. Moon’s mouth gaped wider, as his eyes widened in astonishment. “Frigga's tits...” he spluttered.
“Hardly,” chided the woman, glaring at him with disapproval. “Priestess!” Liang cried, springing forward.
Swiftly taking in her surroundings, Elphemina motioned the three warriors to stand back. Extending her right arm, a small globe of light appeared on her palm. She whispered a word and flung the globe at the writhing black chasm before her.
A blinding flash of light erupted, illuminating the gloomy hall, and causing all present to gasp and avert their eyes.
When they looked again, the wall was once more solid greyish-black stone, and the demons, bodies, gore, and mounds of squirming maggots had disappeared. The light had swept away the choking miasma of evil, and even the air smelled fresher.
Moon, Pagan and Liang, covered in non-human gore, stood, weapons dangling limply staring around in disbelief. Moon and Pagan staggered over to the wall and slumped to the floor. The High Priestess caught Liang as her knees buckled with exhaustion and led her over to her fellow warriors, where she slid down the wall to sit alongside them.
Casca moved forward on shaky legs, eyes fixed on Elphemina. “We thank you for your aid, Lady,” he said, mouth dry and head spinning. Elphemina favoured him with a dazzling smile, making him lower his eyes in embarrassment as he felt a red flush travel up his face. “They will not return,” she assured Casca. “I have set a ward to protect the temple.”
Casca murmured his thanks once more, as Elphemina looked across at the three slumped against the wall. “You have done well, but we have to see to your wounds. The Bahktak are foul beasts born of dark sorcery, and wounds from their bite go bad very quickly.”
People began to emerge from behind the stack of benches, and those sheltering in the cellar-kitchens began to climb up the steps. Father Durmast limped up to the High Priestess. “Who are you, Lady?” he asked. “A servant of Mithros, just like you, Father,” she replied cryptically. Brow furrowed in confusion, Durmast opened his mouth to ask another question, but Elphemina had turned away.
Raising her arms, she prescribed a circle in the air, and a sphere, similar to the earlier one that had announced her arrival, appeared. She gestured at the four. “Come quickly now. We have to get you back to where I can see to your wounds.” She stepped up to the globe, and vanished.
Liang and Pagan helped each other up, moved to the sphere and disappeared into it. Moon levered himself up with a grunt. “Frigga's tits,” he grumbled, “more sorcery.” Tentatively reaching out a hand, he touched the globe, and promptly vanished. Casca looked around one last time, nodded to Father Durmast, and walked up to the sphere.
Lessons
Startled, Ripper darted away with a snarl as a large shining globe appeared in the middle of the tavern. Peering from the corner of the bar, a querying whimper escaped him as the globe winked out. The whimper was replaced by a loud welcoming bark as four familiar figures appeared. The fifth was unknown to him, but he wasn't concerned, for it was clearly a friend.
“My throat is as dry as a dead man's seed,” Moon declared, as he headed toward the bar. “I need a pigging drink!”
Elphemina glared at him. “There's no time for that. If I don't see to that bite, your flesh will turn black with corruption, and you may lose your arm or even die.”
“Whisht, woman,” the giant retorted, “'tis only a little scratch, and will heal itself in no time.”
“No, it won't you great oaf. It's already going bad, and I can smell your rotting flesh from here!”
Moon paused as he poured himself a tankard of ale, fixing the Priestess with a baleful stare. “You have a harsh tongue on you, woman,” he grumbled. He took a great swallow of ale, then paused, wrinkling his nose. “Sutr's balls, you are right woman.” He placed his tankard on the bar surface, and peered at the wound, poking and probing with a finger. “It does smell foul, and the flesh is turning as black as...Pagan.” He grinned at Pagan who grinned back. “Well, let’s get to it!” he demanded, turning back to the hectoring Priestess.
Moving from behind the bar, he sat at a table, emptied his tankard with one long swallow, banged it on the table, and stretched out his mutilated arm. Elphemina pulled out a chair and sat opposite. Closing her eyes, she placed a hand over the weeping wound. Moon arched an eyebrow, his face sceptical, then he almost jerked his arm away as heat suffused it.
Elphemina remained still, her face wreathed in concentration. Finally, she removed her hand, and Moon gasped in wonder as he looked upon firm flesh without a single mark. He clenched his fist, watching the bulky muscles of his forearm bunch without a hint of pain.
Feeling a bit foolish and shamed by his earlier lack of grace, Moon looked at his benefactor sheepishly “My gratitude, Lady,” he whispered in a reverential tone. He was accustomed to minor cuts and such healing quickly, but this was something altogether different. He grinned at Elphemina. “Don't concern yourself with the other wounds. I'm a quick healer.”
“I know,” Elphemina said, “one of the benefits of carrying Ausak demon-bane.”
 
; Pushing the chair back, she rose and walked up to Pagan who sat slumped on another chair, absently scratching Ripper behind the ear. “Your turn now, child,” she said. Remove your baldric and tunic, and lie on the table so I can have a better look at your side.”
Nonplussed at being called a child by a woman who looked no older than him, Pagan did as bid. Pain flared through him as he lifted his arms to slip his tunic over his head. His left side was a bloody mess and he could see the white of his ribs beneath the jagged gash.
Pagan lay on the table, groaning as his ribs protested. He winced as Elphemina probed at the wound. “Three of your ribs are broken,” she told him. “Now, hold still while I mend the breaks.” She closed her eyes and pressed her hand against Pagan's ribs. He felt heat spread from her palm onto his side. It spread over his torso, warm and pleasant, removing all pain, then faded away.
Elphemina moved to Liang, and gently brushed her hair over her forehead, revealing a long slash just above the hairline. “Ahh, much simpler to deal with,” she said, running her thumb along the cut, which sealed instantly. Stepping back, she addressed the bloodied trio. “I suggest you all get some rest to help the healing process, for we still have much to do.”
The weary and numb Casca, standing at the far end of the bar, had been studying their mysterious benefactor as she went about her ministrations. She was gloriously beautiful, but it was a regal aloof beauty without sensuality, far beyond the desiring of man. Even the hardiest lech would wither and shrivel before it.
Taller than most women, her gold-hued eyes stood out in a strong, but finely chiselled face. Her flawless skin had a golden glow, and her tied and pulled back gold-spun hair, hung down to her lower back. She wore a shaped golden breastplate over a long-sleeved silver mail-shirt, and her long legs were encased in silver leggings of flexible mail. A scabbarded sword with a large red ruby on its pommel hung at her waist.
Sometime later, after all had eaten a meal of cold meat and cheese, and the trio had taken to bed as advised by Elphemina, Casca sat with the High Priestess. “Can I get you a drink, Lady, perhaps the pressed juice of summer fruits?” he asked. Elphemina shook her head with a smile. “I would much prefer a goblet of Amarian Pale.”
Casca fetched a bottle and copper goblet from behind the bar. Filling the goblet, he slid it across to the Priestess and watched as she took a sip. Nodding in appreciation, she took a larger mouthful.
“How did you know about the attack on the temple?” Casca asked.
“One of my girls...one of the young initiates, a gifted child named Kiandra, saw it in a dream,” Elphemina told him. “I knew I had to warn you, and could only do so by contacting Liang.”
Elphemina paused to gather her thoughts before continuing. “…You see, every spell has a distinctive signature...or vibration, if you will, and leaves a residue. I became familiar with the vibrations of the empowering spell woven into the Storm Blades, when removing Kyung-Su's insidious cantrap, which might have enabled her to return from the dead and possess Liang's body. It was a simple task to link with the vibrations and hence the swords, and from there, the bearer of the swords. The difficulty lay in getting through to Liang, for I had little affinity – such as blood-ties with her. The only link were the enchanted blades.”
Casca nodded. “I think I understand. It appears the swords provide a strong linkage. Pagan, who you'd never met, and now carries one of the blades also heard your voice in his head.”
“Yes... the third Storm Blade now belongs to him, as willed by Liang.”
“I saw a blue light surrounding Liang and Pagan when they fought the...demons, and an orange light about Moon,” Pagan said.
“All carry enchanted weapons. What you saw was the radiation cast by the empowering spells woven into the weapons.” Elphemina explained. “The light would shine brighter around Liang than Pagan, for the Storm Blades are her birthright, but only a gift to him. The Storm Blades and Ausak enhance the senses, and the physical abilities such as strength, speed and reflexes of the bearers when facing sorcerous or demonic foes. No mortal could stand unaided against the Suanggi.”
Casca nodded, but sat silently his eyes downcast. Elphemina also remained silent, waiting for him to speak.
“I felt so...useless,” Casca finally blurted. “I have no magicks nor am I a warrior. All I could do was stand by and watch while the others fought.” He paused, taking a deep shuddering breath. “Two of the beasts and a Suanggi attacked me, and I...I... killed them with...split their heads open…I don’t know how.”
Elphemina held Casca's gaze. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
She listened intently as he did.
“Now Casca, how did you see those... lights hovering over your friends?”
Casca looked puzzled. “With my eyes, of course. I am sure others in the temple would have seen them too.”
“I doubt that, Casca, not unless they had the power.” Elphemina said. “And no, you didn't see the radiations of the enchanted weapons with your physical eyes. You saw them with your ethereal eyes, called the spirit-eyes by some.”
The High Priestess studied the fair-haired man before her. His hair hung lank, and his eyes were ringed with dark shadows.
“The nature of magick or sorcery is complex and confusing,” she began. “At the most basic level, what you call magick is the ability to use your non-physical senses to see, hear, and sense things others cannot. The talent can show as a child – such as having dreams that show the future, or it may be triggered by strong emotions such as great fear, anger, or finding yourself in a situation endangering your life or those you love. The situation in the temple made you fear greatly for your life and that of your friends. At that moment, your non-physical senses came to the fore, opening your ethereal eyes. This was akin to a stone being removed from a dam, allowing your talent to flood out like rushing water – the force you destroyed the Bahktak with. The talent, like any other ability can be honed by study and practice. Using magicks, or casting a spell drains your life-force or essence, leaving you fatigued.” Elphemina inclined her head, brows raised. “You know that now, Casca, your eyes are ringed with fatigue, and you feel you could sleep for a week.”
Casca nodded. “There is truth in that,” he said wryly.
“There are many things invisible to the physical eyes” Elphemina continued, warming to her theme. “The life force...the essence of creation is all around us. Mages, sorcerers and conjurers can manipulate this essence for their purposes. You can manipulate light and air. The Terrene...the globe we travelled here in, is a thing of light and air, imbued with the protective power of Mithros. Life essence is strong in human blood, making it a potent source of power. Some believe royal blood has more potency, but I have misgivings, for isn't a king or queen just another mortal? Blood magick though, is an evil practice for it involves human sacrifice – Kyung-Su damned her soul by cruelly spilling the blood of hundreds of innocents in her quest for eternal life. Some in their lust for sorcerous power, blacken their souls by entering into pacts with demons.”
Casca was quiet as he took in Elphemina's words. Finally, he shook his head. “Beleth's stones,” he whispered, “I never believed I had the talent.”
“Being of Castillan's line, it is hardly surprising you have the talent for magick,” Elphemina said. “But the talent isn't necessarily passed down the line to each generation.”
Casca nodded. “My father didn't have it, and neither did my grandfather or his father. And neither Aeneas, nor Althea – my daughter, have shown any signs.”
There was another long pause while Casca gathered his whirling thoughts. “When I struck out at...destroyed the Bahktak, it felt like my guts were being turned inside out. I thought my heart would burst through my chest.”
“That was because you had no control over your talent.”
“How do I control it?”
Elphemina shook her head. “We haven't the time to give you lessons.”
But Casca was insistent.
“We will be facing the darkest of horrors shortly, and I'd rather not be out there ball-naked, grasping my privates, and hoping for the best.”
Elphemina's laughter rang out. “Using words like that makes me think you've been spending too much time with the Axeman. But...I can tell you this. The power of your mind controls your talent. Put simply, concentrate...focus on what you want to do and your talent will manipulate the essence of creation...the energies all around us, accordingly. It is best you stick with defensive measures at first, like raising a shield to protect yourself and your friends from the mind blasts of the Gualich.”
Casca looked uncertain, but Elphemina reassured him. “I don't expect any mind-shield you manage to erect will stand up to the powerful minds of the Gualich. However, it will reinforce the shield I provide, and reduce the drain on me. That would be most useful.”
Casca nodded, then cleared his throat. He wanted to know more about the woman before him. “It is said the High Priestesses who follow the old ways of the Sun god possess the memories of all their predecessors.”
“Yes, that is so,” Elphemina confirmed. “I carry the memories of those who came before me. That is how I know of Castillan and the Gualich. One of my predecessors stood alongside him, Kyung-Su, and Belash against the demons.”
“I met him once.”
“Really? How?”
“He summoned my spirit whilst I slept. He was a... frightening man with blazing blue eyes.”
“Yes, he was a mage of considerable power, but one with an inflated sense of his own abilities.”
“Castillan told me Beleth, the eldest of the Gualich, would be the first to return,” Casca said. “He explained that once we...weakened the demon enough, forcing him to flee back to their home world, he would direct his powers through me to replace the barrier across the gateway.”
Elphemina’s brow furrowed in consternation “Beleth wasn't the first, and we shouldn't look to bar the gateway, but seal it for ever, or better still, destroy it. The danger will be great, but we have little choice. Two of the younger brothers have returned to Tor- Arnath, and their towers stand once again. It was they who detected the soul-fire of the people sheltering in the temple, and used their sorcery to open a path for their servants.”
“So how do we close or destroy the portal?”
“All in good time Casca. But first, a basic lesson in how to use your mind to control your talents, then you should prepare yourself for the day of true horror that lies ahead of us.”.