Dragon Over Washington (The Third War Of The Bir Nibaru Gods) (6 page)

The eyes in the cloud narrowed as they turned towards the black iron mask; as the summoned entity concentrated its strength. The eyes in the cloud stared into the iron mask, sulfur jets streaming out as the entity gathered its power.

“Free my prize ere you feel the wrath of ages!” a voice came out of the cloud, as if blazing embers were given the power of speech.

“
Sin-Shar-Ishkun Adar Hejaat
! I forbid you your prize!” The words rang from the mask. The eyes in the boiling cloud narrowed to mere slits as the yellow vapor darkened and writhed, claws of scalding sulfur slicing closer and closer to the frozen sailor.

“A pact, demon, a service paid by the prescribed prize. The mortal standing yonder only upon completion,” the voice coming from the iron mask was sure and confident.

The cloud writhed and the predatory eyes in the cloud scanned the sailor from head to toe. The sailor’s eyes were closed as tightly as he could close them. From his expression it was clear that he was trying to close his ears as well while holding the iron plaque as if it were a shield. However hard the cloud tried it could not touch the sailor, though his clothes started smoldering.

The eyes in the cloud widened and the writhing cloud burst into toxic flaming fumes, yellow and blue winds burning inside a brimstone cloud. The sailor quailed, but the black-robed figure did not flinch, even as heat waves washed over it. The eyes floating inside the fuming brimstone focused on the black-robed figure as great sheets of smoke roared out of the cloud, engulfing the black figure and the sailor. The figure remained standing calmly even as its robes caught fire and the wooden planks beneath it began to smolder.

The black robes were the only dark things fluttering in the fiery yellow and blue inferno. Great snapping noises rose as the deck timbers cracked and were splintered by the yellow toxic cloud. The black figure stood its ground without moving or flinching, leaning forward against the storm, an immovable pillar of rock staring into the heart of the fiery conflagration. A war was being fought inside the yellow sulfurous inferno, a collision of wills, a fight for supremacy, a burning chaotic blaze against the will of the black figure dwarfed by the toxic, insubstantial, sharp limbs flailing from within the heart of the yellow cloud.

“
Sin-Shar-Ishkun Adar Hejaat
! Submit to thy master! Thy name binds thee!” The words were heard clearly over the raging inferno of brimstone fire.

The eyes in the cloud widened, then shut in resignation as the strength of the cloud dwindled. An instant later, nothing remained except a feeling of burning anger, a shriek echoing away into the darkness, the iron plaque the sailor holding emitting faint sulfurous plumes of smoke.

The great light of the toxic, yellow brimstone fumes vanished and the shadowy twilight of the Skyriver lane returned. The figure’s robes settled down around it, unscathed. The sailor finding himself uncooked, looked around in wonder, a wide smile spreading on his face. He did not care about the large wet patch on the front of his pantaloons.

“Well, it seems the demon’s name was the correct one,” the black figure said smugly, watching the small iron plaque twitch. The sailor promptly closed his eyes again. Seeing as little as possible had seemed to keep him alive. So far.

The other sailors started to move, trying to put some distance between the deck and themselves. They looked everywhere, expecting to see a monster in every dark corner. They all felt something peculiar, a feeling projected by the planks or lines they touched, a feeling imbedded into every sail of the ship. There now seemed to be something hostile on the ship with them. The captain slowly stood up and looked at the black-robed figure on the deck below him. The captain’s wide, weather-beaten face was twisted in a scowl. He turned around, checking the whipstaff and the ship’s course. Wisely, the first mate kept quiet.

The black-robed figure looked carefully at the small iron plaque that the sailor still held. It was hot, engulfed by small, telltale yellow plumes of smoke.

“Free me, witch, ere your skin be flayed, your flesh boiled and your bones carved into javelin heads!” a smoldering voice hissed, scorching unprotected ears. Slowly, a sulfurous cloud condensed in front of the witch.

“A second time I offer you a pact, demon. There is no escape for you except the pact,” the black-robed figure said.

The eyes in the tiny cloud hovering in front of the black-robed figure never left the iron mask. The echoes of the demon’s name reverberated endlessly. The yellow eyes in the cloud bore into the iron mask, the hissing voice quiet.

“I offer you the pact for the third and last time. I have brought you up from the Pit Lands and I will send you back down there, to continue to suffer hunger. There will be no sweet human essence for you to devour, no mortal for you to gnaw on.” The athame rose again, the dark iron blade directed towards the iron plaque. The eyes in the cloud grew wide, watching the black, lusterless blade approach it.

“Master! Wait!” The voice emanating from the cloud was high and inhuman, the shriek of a monstrous bird of prey.

The sharp athame stopped, its tip near the engraved nine-sided polygon surrounding the demon’s name on the plaque. The mask turned towards the writhing sulfur fumes.

“Master, what service do you require?” the smoldering voice asked. The athame hovered another moment and then drew back.

“A man. Hunt him. Find him. Kill him. He commands an Azure Empire frigate circling the sphere ahead on this lane. He scouts the sphere, no doubt. Kill him in the sphere, not on the Skyriver. His death must appear to bear no connection to anything out of that sphere. Your prize will be presented upon the completion of the task. This is the pact,” the black-robed figure said.

The yellow vapor changed color, turning darker, gathering intensity.          

“Free me master, allow me to devour this meat and your enemies’ bones shall dance before you!” the demon said.

“You do not need to be free. Use your powers, demon. Use your guile.” The metallic voice was calm.

The cloud grew darker still, the plumes of smoke moving urgently. Its voice, however, was subdued.

“Yes, master. Give me your name to seal the pact,” the demon said, his scalding voice subdued. The iron mask studied the demon, telltale flickers of reflected yellow light playing on it.

“
My
name, demon? I hold
your
name. I hold you bound. Anger me and your name will be thrown into the waters. Consider well if you desire the talkative company of fish for the hundreds of years it will take the iron plaque to rust. Conversations with fish are no doubt as enlightening as conversations with sailors.”

“Yes, master,” the demon said, eyes downcast.

“Your prey’s name is Duke Armand Luguvalium of High Monteil, heir of the House of Luguvalium, and a peer of the Azure Empire. Remember the prize awaiting you. I allow your shadow to walk upon that sphere, but your essence remains in the Pit Lands for now,” the witch said.

The demon’s gaze roved over the sailor standing, eyes tightly closed, beside them, devouring him with its eyes. The droning sound coming from the demon intensified and the brimstone cloud thickened as more of its substance billowed forth. The yellow vapor moved, drifting away, flying across the deck, growing larger, hotter. Sailors rushed out of its way, running for their lives. Great sulfurous wings spread out as the demon reached the forecastle, surged across it and headed out towards the Skyriver lane.

The flying jib began to smolder as the blazing sulfurous entity passed near it. The demon flew out across the waters, its wings beating, turning into a small yellow light that momentarily blazed like a star before disappearing in the distance. As if a noxious screen had been removed, the smothering feeling left the ship, allowing the sailors to breathe freely once more. The twinkling twilight-lane stars shed their soft light over the ship again.

“Words are mightier than the sword,” the metallic voice said smugly.

The black-robed figure looked at a burnt patch on the deck where the thick planks had blackened around it. The figure carefully touched the iron plaque. It was surprisingly cold. He examined the engraved polygon imprisoning the name and then looked again at the burnt patch on the deck.

“It should not have been able to influence something outside while being bound by its name. This demon might prove to be more powerful than I thought, even though my research indicated it is a mere soldier demon. Duke Armand Luguvalium’s life should become very interesting. Short, but interesting.”

The black-clad figure turned to the sailor standing nearby.

“When the time comes and there will be further need of you, you will be informed, meat. It is good to sail a ship full of prizes. Do not let go of this iron plaque, even when you sleep or relieve yourself. Do so and you will surely die,” the figure said, pleasantly. It stopped talking and looked at the direction the demon had vanished to.

“Why did the demon have a scar between its eyes? It may be weaker than I thought if it can’t even cure a simple scar. But then, what can scar a demon in the first place? Did I once hear about a scarred demon? Maybe, a long time ago,” the black-robed figure mused.

The captain held the rail of the aft castle with calloused hands, making the wood groan in protest. His eyes never left the black-robed figure, as it headed below deck. The figure stopped before it entered the stairway and looked back. The captain tried to look away, but failed, again. He shuddered when the iron mask was directed at him.

Nothing was visible aside from the black silk robes, the gloves and the mask. The captain shuddered again, gripped by a cold feeling. It seemed that the eyeholes in the iron mask were empty. Or perhaps they contained a black abyss inside. The dark figure turned away and went below deck, swallowed by the lesser darkness of the stairwell.

“Captain,” the first mate said softly. The captain did not respond. He was looking at the smoldering circle on the deck where the summoning had occurred. Some of the cracked timber beams were still red hot and smoking.

“Captain!” The first mate approached the captain and the captain shook himself. He looked at the big first mate and then at the sailors. They were all frozen, holding on to lines or masts, staring at him silently. The captain shook himself again and straightened up.

“Douse the fires! I want to see no damage to the rigging. Check every line and every sail! Hold station with the frigate! Have the damage to the deck fixed!” The captain ordered. The first mate smiled tightly.

The first mate began bellowing orders: “Lark! Robert! Douse the fire on the jib! Helmsman, to the whipstaff! The rudder is to be kept straight! Carpenter! Look at the deck! Anthony, Reynolds! Get the first and second shifts on deck! Smartly, now! Smartly!” Sailors started to scramble even before the officer stopped his shouting. The captain looked at the dark stairway leading below deck.

“Have the rudder checked to see if it has sustained any damage,” the captain said. “I want lookouts, fore and aft. Have the bolt throwers checked and manned. Have the carpenter ready planks for blocking holes. Double shifts on deck. Issue arms to all men. Have the cutter launched. I want a message sent to the Bludgeon. I suspect we may see battle shortly.”

If their presence wasn’t betrayed by the summoning, the demon might betray them. The captain’s eyes darkened.

“Aye, aye, captain!” the first mate said and ran down the stairs from the aft castle to the main deck. The captain kept looking at the blackness inside the stairwell, half-drawing the sharkskin hilt of his short sword, and then sheathing it, repeatedly.

“That thrice-cursed witch! Damn him and damn his soul, if he even possesses one. No amount of money is worth this!” the captain said, scowling.

Two men moved towards the sailor who still stood near the blackened spot on deck, his hands extended rigidly forward, holding the iron plaque with white fingers. The men approached carefully. The sailor’s face and arms where red, as if he had been out in the sun too long, his eyebrows were singed, and his hair was smoking. There were burnt patches on his clothes. The stink of brimstone was on him.

“Kennard? Kennard?”

One of the men touched the sailor lightly on the arm and leapt back as the sailor collapsed like a tree cut down. He kept mumbling something. One of the men leaned closer.

“Never! Never! Never learn to read! Never!”

***

High above the brigantine, yellow vapor slowly condensed, forming a shapeless brimstone cloud that hovered motionlessly. The eyes inside the cloud were glued to the small ship, the impenetrable black pupils searching and judging. Claws opened and closed, sharp talons gleaming. The demon had doubled back, sneaking through the Skyriver fog when the eyes of the people aboard the ship had lost track of the demon's yellow form.

“Arrogant and ignorant witch. No conditions. No limitations. No time limits. The demon pact sealed without the name of the witch. And he thinks he has my name. Yes ‘master,’ thy wish will surely be done,” the demon hissed, grinning widely. It shot away, a high-speed, yellow streak moving forward. It flew above the frigate that was sailing ahead of the brigantine, and then it passed into the dayside of the Skyriver lane, heading towards a small gem. The gem was revolving, glowing blue and green. It hovered in the middle of a maelstrom as the rainbow-colored waters of the Skyriver lit the gem from every side.