Chapter B4C49 - Nothing Runs Rampant

Chapter B4C49 - Nothing Runs Rampant

Herath Jorlin stirred in his sleep. Something tickled at the edge of his awareness, a touch as light as the fluttering wings of a butterfly brushing against his cheek. He would never have noticed at all, left to his wine-induced slumber, if only it hadn’t persisted.

His brow furrowed in his sleep as the subtle feeling of wrongness continued to grow, to poke against his magickally sensitive mind.

Restless, he began to toss and turn, until finally he started awake, bolting upright in his bed, silk sheets spilling loose.

“What in the Divines’...” he mumbled as he blearily grasped at the strange feeling that had roused him.

His head hurt, his mouth was dry as a bone and he felt vaguely ill. Just how much had he drunk before bed? Fumbling for the nightstand, he conjured a globe of soft light with a flick of his wrist and took hold of the glass of chilled water the staff had left for him.

Halfway to his lips, the glass slipped from suddenly numb fingers as the Magister realised just what he was sensing.

“No!” he cried, leaping from the bed, all thought of his poor condition driven from his head.

He barely had the presence of mind to throw on his night robe before he burst out into the corridor, wild-eyed and shouting.

“Attack! We’re under attack! Someone is casting a ritual in the estate!”

Where were the family wards? They should be screaming right about now!

As if conjured by his thoughts, light bloomed throughout the manor house and the wider estate, followed by a loud, sustained trumpet call. What had taken them so long?

The previously dark and deserted corridor of the family wing transformed in a matter of seconds. Doors flew open as cousins, aunts and uncles burst from their rooms, each demanding answers or shouting for help. The staff arrived moments later, followed by the guards, who stormed in, weapons drawn, only relaxing a hair when they saw the Jorlins were unharmed.

“What is the danger?” the officer, easily identified by the red plume rising from their helmet, demanded.

“You tell us!” Aunt Patricia shrieked, white-faced, her two young children clutched in her grasp. His two young cousins managed to hold themselves together, though both appeared on the edge of tears.

“There’s a ritual being conducted on the grounds!” Herath exclaimed.

“Impossible! The wards–”

“Well they aren’t bloody working,” Herath said. “It’s... that way!”

“Do you know the form of the spell?” the officer demanded even as he directed his troops to rush toward the ritual site.

“Yes, it’s—”

Like scissors snapping shut on a thread, Herath could hear the moment the veil was torn open, and he could sense the endless hunger that dwelt upon the other side.

“—too late...” he groaned. “They tore the veil. An abyssal is going to come through!”

He had to give it to the officers, they were calm under pressure. A slight widening of the eyes was the only sign he had that this Soldier knew exactly what Herath was talking about.

“How long?” the officer demanded.

“No time,” Herath shook his head, “it’s already coming through.”

Expression grim, the Soldier turned and rattled off more orders, his followers racing off to get their tasks done, then he turned back to Herath.

“Are you able to reassure the family and get them moving to the bunker, my lord?”

“I’m a high level mage, you need me,” Herath refused. “Let me grab my items and I’ll be back.”

“We have our own mages, my lord. My lord!”

But Herath wasn’t listening. He raced back to his rooms and ripped into his wardrobe, flinging the various shirts and state-robes onto the floor until he found his enchanted Magister robes and staff, pulling them on as quickly as he could. It took a little longer to get his jewellery on. Insidious, unintelligible whispers had started to nibble at the edge of his awareness, and his hands were shaking by the time he managed to get his rings and amulet in place.

When he emerged again, the family was beginning to fall into some sort of order. Guards were busy escorting them out of the corridor and down into the secure bunker using the emergency staircase concealed in this wing. They tried to get him to go as well, but he refused, pushing his way past and then took off running toward the site of the ritual.

That’s when he heard it. An Abyssal didn’t make sound, not really, they weren’t made in a way that let them interact with the world the way even the kin were. Even so, he heard it.

At least the break in the weave was no longer of their concern. The Abyssal had obliterated the remains of the ritual in the act of coming through, removing the magick that had opened a path for it in the first place.

When he judged it to be safe, Herath measured his distance and raised his hands again. Though it tried, the Abyssal wasn’t able to get to him before he completed the spell. Once again, the orb flew forward and discharged its light directly into the inky centre of the creature.

With a shuddering scream, the creature shrank in on itself before once more starting to lash out.

“It’s starting to break apart!” Herath yelled. “Don’t relent!”

His words rallied the Soldiers, and a rain of magick began to arc overhead before pouring down on the beast, who railed and writhed, smashing itself into the shield wall again and again but failed to break through.

In desperation, the Abyssal whipped its limbs around, slipping past the edges of the shield wall and catching the outer footmen off guard. Several were lost in a few seconds, but that was all it took before Captain Janus was in position, planting his tower shield and bellowing defiance at the beast.

With one final barrage, the Abyssal collapsed yet again. It gave one final screeching wail, forcing Herath to clench his teeth against the pain, then began to dissolve, drifting into the sky like ash from a bonfire.

The moment it no longer held itself together, the scream and the whispers finally ceased, causing many to collapse from sheer relief. All around the courtyard, Soldiers stood, knelt or had collapsed entirely. Herath took a deep breath, then another, letting his jangled nerves settle a little.

Captain Janus strode through his men, offering a word of encouragement here, a tap on the shoulder there, but quickly found his way to Herath.

“You shouldn’t have been out here, my lord,” the Captain groused.

“I’m a Magister, Janus. I can fight a nightmare creature from beyond the veil if I want to. If my brother Nostas were out here, then you’d have something to complain about.”

“We are here to protect the Jorlins, not let them fight alongside us,” Janus said, eyes steady. “You are not to risk yourself unnecessarily.”

“Alright, fine,” Herath said, holding up his hands. “I’ll head to the bunker like a good little lord. I’ll leave the glory of catching the villian to you.”

“As it should be,” the Captain grunted. “Though we may need your help afterwards. The family wards should have blocked any ritual taking place within the estate.”

“You’re right, they should have,” Herath nodded, looking up to the peak of the manor.

A dome atop the house contained the many powerful arrays that could be deployed in the defence of the estate. The magick suppression should have kicked into effect the moment the ritual had begun.

He opened his mouth to say something, then froze halfway.

“Another ritual,” he whispered.

“What? Where?” barked the Captain.

“Inside the manor! Follow me!” Herath yelled, taking off at a sprint.

“Get in the bunker, you fool!” Janus shouted from behind, but quickly turned to roar at his troops.

Much faster than he, the Soldiers were on his heels in an instant, but all Herath could think of was how. How had someone managed to defeat the wards, not once, but twice? Even he had barely managed to sense the rituals until they were almost completed!

Inside the building, past weeping maids and white-faced pageboys, Herath ran until he came to a skidding halt just outside the ballroom.

Janus and another officer crashed into the grand doorway with their shoulders lowered.

The doors blasted open to reveal an arch of bone occupying the centre of the floor, a door lodged in the middle.

And a man, lowering his hands.

“Herath Jorlin?” the unknown mage said, turning towards them. “Your friend Poranus told me about you. I’ve been wanting to speak with you for some time.”

Then he reached out and opened the door.

From within emerged a skeleton, but not just any skeleton. It was enormous, as if the bones of a giant had been used to craft it. Twice as tall as a man, it had to hunch low to squeeze itself through the door. Silent as a tomb, it stepped toward the soldiers, a black blade that trailed dark smoke clutched in one hand.

“Let’s chat, shall we?” the mage said.