That evening, they reached the manor.
An unnatural silence hung over the place. Standing below the wooden walls, they felt exposed, like easy targets for anyone watching from above. Yet there were no archers stationed in towers or upon high ground, nor horses waiting in any stable outside. The wind swept across the hilltop, and the estate appeared completely abandoned. Plants had swallowed much of the walls, while a terrible stench lingered around the sealed entrance.
"Are we certain this is the right place?" Maynar asked.
Kalden stepped forward and struck the gate. The sound vanished into the powerful wind.
"We seek the lord of this estate!" he shouted.
His voice carried across the rocks, but no one answered.
"This place is unnatural," Arsik observed. "Who the hell lives up here? How does he feed himself? How does he protect the place?"
"I think we know enough about Dyran to be certain there is nothing normal about him."
At last, a figure appeared atop the wooden gatehouse, where the walls met above the main entrance.
"Who are you, strangers?" a deep voice called.
The guard's features were impossible to see. He carried no torch, and there was no other source of light anywhere around him.
"How can they even see?" Arsik muttered.
As he stared at the solitary guard, a shiver ran through him.
"We seek the lord of this estate," Kalden repeated. "Does Dyran not reside here?"
"He does," the mysterious guard confirmed.
"I do not know what customs you follow here, but throughout the rest of Lothen, when a knight stands before the gates, he is usually granted a warmer welcome. In the name of the Lord of Forcry, I, Kalden Orans, request an audience with your master."
Silence followed.
Darma noticed someone standing upon a distant balcony. The silhouette turned its back and disappeared into the manor.
"There," he said, pointing it out to Arsik.
"Well?" Kalden shouted again, his irritation growing.
"No," the figure answered.
"No? What do you mean, no? How dare you refuse an envoy of Lothen?"
The figure gave no answer. It simply disappeared back into the darkness.
Kalden waited for the gate to open at any moment.
It never did.
"This is impossible," the knight muttered.
"Diplomacy has failed," Darma said.
"Failed? And what do you suggest we do?" Kalden asked in disbelief. "Lay siege to the manor?"
"He won't open the gate, knight. He knows who we are, and he certainly knows we've come looking for trouble. Even as we speak, he's deciding how to dispose of us, one way or another."
"He's right," Arsik added. "Every moment we waste gives him more time to measure us and prepare. We need to get through that gate, and quickly."
"I will not fight innocent guards," Kalden said. "Dyran will answer for the crimes he has committed, but his guards may know nothing of them. We'll take them to the nearest Magistrate or Baron, and he will—"
Darma shoved him aside and stepped forward.
"I didn't walk all this way to wait for Barons."
With a tremendous leap, he caught hold of the timber and began to climb. He reached the top within moments and saw the guards standing there, motionless as statues.
With another bound, he landed inside the courtyard.
The moment his feet touched the ground, the guard who had spoken rushed toward him.
"By the gods!"
The man had no face.
Two pale lights burned where his eyes should have been. Beneath his armor there was no flesh, only bone.
The skeleton brought its two-handed sword down, but Darma leapt to the left and avoided the strike. He pulled the trident from his back and drove it into the creature's chest.
Electric energy surged through the metal.
The skeleton collapsed and remained motionless upon the ground.
The other guards began to advance in silence.
"What the hell is happening in there?" Arsik shouted, pounding against the gate.
Darma rushed to remove the heavy beams barring the entrance before the guards could reach him.
At the last possible moment, the gate opened.
The others stormed into the courtyard with weapons drawn.
Undead warriors surrounded them, wielding swords, axes, and spears.
Kalden caught one of the spears upon the shield he had managed to repair. With a clean stroke of his sword, he severed the creature's arm.
The skeleton did not falter.
The severed hand continued clutching the weapon as it crawled across the ground.
Arsik drove his iron gauntlet into another skeleton's face and heard the bone crack. He struck again and again with savage fury until the skull tore free entirely.
Pale took a glancing blow across the shoulder, and blood ran from the wound.
"Servants of Nedel," he said in his usual calm manner, "you will return to nothing."
He drove his slender sword into one creature's chest but felt the blade pass through the empty space between its ribs.
He retreated and took another blow across the stomach.
Maynar intervened and kicked the skeleton away.
As he gained distance, he hurled one of his knives. It buried itself in the guard's skull.
The skeleton remained standing for a moment.
Then it collapsed.
"Enough!"
The voice came from deeper within the courtyard.
The silhouette they had seen upon the balcony had come down to meet them.
"Who are you, and what do you want in my manor? You will answer to House Sparrow for this invasion. If you do not surrender immediately, you will answer directly to me."
Kalden stepped forward.
His gaze remained fixed upon the fallen undead. The glow within them had weakened, but it had not vanished completely.
"What is happening here, mage? Who are you, and why do you keep undead guards within your estate? Do you not know that such practices are forbidden in Lothen? We have come from far away, and there are questions you must answer."
"My manor stands in dangerous lands, sir," the mage replied. "My practices allow me to remain alive against the threats of this region. The lords responsible for these territories are fully informed."
He looked across the intruders.
"As you can see, you are the criminals here. You invade my home and destroy my guards... on whose authority?"
"We came from Ayaton," Maynar blurted out. "A young man possessed several pages from a book that belonged to you. He went mad, lost his senses, and died. His father followed him into death."
"From Ayaton, you say?" the mage interrupted, visibly amused. "Sent by a foreign queen? Then you are invaders."
He smiled.
"And yet you have the audacity to lecture me about the law?"
A flash passed through the mage's eyes.
Darma and Arsik exchanged a glance, almost like a signal. They were the only ones who understood the warning.
Darma, however, was staring toward the balcony.
He thought he saw the silhouette of a woman standing there.
Naked.
Graceful.
Familiar.
Jealousy twisted inside his stomach.
I am here, my beloved, she whispered inside his mind. You will have to fight for me, if you truly want me.
"Darma!" Arsik shouted.
But the Gargoyle paid no attention.
His gaze remained fixed above.
The mage appeared to notice the telepathic exchange.
"How dare you? You're speaking to one of them? Get inside!"
A muffled feminine laugh drifted from the balcony. The woman seemed thoroughly amused. Everyone could see her now, openly admiring her nakedness. The mage's expression darkened, fury carving itself across his face.
"You promised me your eternal devotion," he said. "Go inside and cover yourself."
"It's boring in there," she complained, provoking him even further.
"What exactly is going on here?" Kalden demanded.
Arsik, however, had already stepped forward, closer than anyone else. His mouth trembled with rage.
"Is it really you?" he shouted at the woman, drawing his knife.
"Arsik? Arsik Derouat? Well... what a delightful evening this has become. So many pleasant surprises to ease my boredom. How long has it been since we last met?"
"You know him as well?" the mage asked, unable to hide his jealousy any longer. "How many men have you shared a bed with, you whore? How many lies have you told me?"
Pale looked around in complete confusion.
Maynar was seized by a dreadful feeling.
He saw the spellbound look in Darma's eyes and the fury consuming Arsik. They were no longer a single company. Each of them was now fighting his own battle.
"How long...?" Arsik repeated. "Since the depths of Hell, when you murdered Maestra. Today, though, you'll be the one to die. You'll pay for everything you've done."
"Maestra? You still remember her, Arsik? I thought you'd have forgotten by now. I still hear her screams every day—they lull me to sleep. But you? Oh, Arsik... that's rather pathetic."
He never heard the rest of her sentence.
With a furious roar, Arsik charged the entrance.
Darma met him with a tremendous leap, knocking him to the ground and driving his claws into his throat.
Arsik answered with a crushing punch that shattered Darma's jaw and broke free of his grip.
At that very moment, the mage raised his hand.
Kalden caught sight of bare bone stretching from the elbow to the palm.
"Pale! With me!"
To his surprise, Pale obeyed immediately, though he kept glancing toward the struggle between his master and Arsik.
"Has some spell ensnared my master?" he asked simply.
"Yes, Pale. Exactly that. This mage is the cause of it."
"Then Pale will stand beside you, knight."
The two men closed in on the mage.
A shield of swirling energy enveloped him like a furious storm, winds gathering around his body, changing direction with every heartbeat.
Kalden charged.
His sword pushed against the gale, but the strike never broke through.
The raging wind hurled him backward with terrifying force. He skidded across the stone for several yards as sparks burst from his armor, his flesh burning against the ground.
Pale followed with a lightning-fast thrust.
The tip of his blade pierced the magical barrier but stopped just short of the mage himself.
Even the Sirakrat's immense strength could not drive it any farther.
Maynar's knife ricocheted harmlessly from the whirling dome, but for a brief instant the mage's attention shifted.
Pale seized the opportunity.
The point of his sword grazed the mage's cheek.
Blood appeared.
"You dare?" the mage snarled.
He flicked his hand.
Pale was hurled violently across the courtyard, crashing back-first into the wooden wall, where he remained motionless.
The mage turned his gaze upon Maynar, whose courage was already beginning to falter.
Kalden had only just climbed back to his feet.
"Do you think this is some sort of game, little man?"
As the words left his lips, Maynar felt a horrifying pain explode inside his skull.
It was as though a red-hot wire were being dragged through his brain.
Madness stirred within him.
His eyes emptied.
He seized one of his own knives and plunged it into his stomach.
"Maynar!" Kalden shouted in horror.
A heartbeat later, Maynar stared in disbelief at the wound he himself had inflicted.
"What... what have I done? Why?"
Blood poured rapidly from his abdomen.
Kalden charged once more, bringing his sword down upon the shield of wind.
This time the mage struggled to hold him back.
Kalden thrust his shield forward, smashing it into the mage's jaw with such force that the spell shattered.
The dome collapsed.
The knight's sword swept downward toward the mage's chest—
—but in an instant, the mage teleported several yards away, escaping the blow.
Meanwhile, Darma and Arsik continued tearing at one another.
Darma's face was slick with blood, while Arsik's hands slipped against it.
The Gargoyle had finally pinned him again.
Once more he straddled him, both hands wrapped tightly around the Sirakrat's slender throat.
"Where the fuck did you find this kind of strength?" he growled, tightening his grip, unable to understand the superhuman power Arsik had suddenly gained.
Darma refused to relent.
He watched Arsik's eyes widen.
He watched the light within them begin to fade, just as it does in those who are violently strangled.
Arsik's mind drifted elsewhere.
The pain vanished completely.
Darkness claimed him.
He awoke within a heavy veil of shadow.
Just as before, the darkness possessed texture.
He could gather it in his hands and let it fall away like soft flakes of snow.
He walked alone through an unfamiliar place.
Each footstep echoed through the emptiness.
Strangely, he knew exactly where he was going.
Then he heard it—
the faint melody of a violin.
He quickened his pace and instinctively reached for its case.
It was gone.
"Thief," he muttered.
Panic washed over him.
"Bring it back!"
He tried to shout, but the words came out muffled.
Something powerful was squeezing his throat.
Running blindly through the darkness, he stumbled violently against something solid.
"A door..."
He rubbed his head.
Oddly enough, it did not hurt.
Now the melody was louder.
It was coming from beyond the door.
Whoever had dared touch that violin would pay dearly.
Rage flared within him.
He searched frantically for the handle, threw the door open, and burst inside.
The room beyond was small and built of wood, like a ship's cabin.
Upon the bed sat Maestra, almost naked.
Her dark skin shimmered in the gloom.
Only the violin concealed her body.
Her long white hair spilled over the edge of the bed.
She was breathtaking.
The moment Arsik entered, she stopped playing and smiled at him.
"Trouble has found you again?"
Arsik fell to his knees before her, no longer able to understand what was happening.
"You're here?" he whispered through tears, overwhelmed with joy.
Maestra smiled gently and caressed his cheeks.
"Not exactly. But you are here, my beloved. Your touch is a balm."
"How is this possible? Where am I?"
He shook his head.
"No... I don't want to know. I just want to stay here."
The ship lurched violently.
Screams echoed all around them, like souls raging upon wild seas.
"I wish I could stay here with you, my Arsik. They're looking for me. I have very little time."
"They're looking for you? Who?"
The screams grew louder.
Faint lights began to seep through the cracks in the wooden walls.
"You're dying, Arsik. You're standing upon the threshold. It costs me dearly to be here, but I couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye."
"If this is death, then let it take me. There's nothing waiting for me back there. No one. Nothing. I want to stay here... with you."
"I am still there, Arsik."
"Alive?"
"No," Maestra answered sadly. "Where you left me."
At once, Arsik remembered the battle against Taarum in the depths of the sea.
The demoness cutting the violin's strap.
Maestra falling into the Abyss.
Arsik burst into tears. "You're imprisoned? Are you suffering? What can I do? Tell me. I'll do anything."
"She won't let me rest, Arsik. Her. She has kept me bound ever since I met her. As long as she lives, I will remain here forever, among the lost souls of the sea."
The screams echoed once more. Maestra's form began to fade.
"No!" Arsik cried. He seized her face and kissed her fiercely as her body dissolved, becoming one with the darkness.
"Your role is not over yet, Arsik. There is still a small light that has not gone out..."
Maynar drove his knife into Darma's arm. The Gargoyle released his chokehold and looked down at the blade buried deep in his flesh, then at the pale man beside him who had acted out of sheer desperation. He seized him by the throat. Maynar had no strength left. He felt his bowels empty.
Only then did Darma realize what was happening.
A sudden flash made him duck, raising his broken wing in front of himself. Four bolts of fire burst from the mage's hands.
Kalden caught one with his shield. The grip became red-hot, forcing the knight to throw it away immediately.
The second bolt struck Pale in the shoulder. A chunk of flesh was torn away, and the Sirakrat's arm blackened all the way to the elbow.
The third slammed into Darma, and he felt his wing tear apart. Nothing could ever restore the membrane after that. He screamed in agony and staggered back.
As he fell, he saw the fourth bolt strike Maynar, who no longer had the strength even to move. The man was engulfed in flames. A heartbeat later his skin turned gray. A gentle breeze swept through the courtyard, and his body crumbled into ash.
Darma stared in utter disbelief as his companion scattered into thousands of tiny fragments.
"Maynar!" he cried.
Arsik rolled away and sprang to his feet. Rage pounded inside his skull like a hammer. He drew his knife and locked the iron gauntlet over his fist.
The four remaining companions exchanged a glance before charging the mage together.
With a mighty leap, Darma drove his trident into the mage's chest.
The mage caught the weapon with both hands.
At once the metal glowed white-hot.
The Gargoyle felt the skin of his palms blister from terrible burns and was forced to release the trident before its rune could activate.
Pale thrust his sword into the mage's belly, yet no blood came—only a few scattered drops.
The mage laid a hand upon the Sirakrat's skull.
An instant later Pale was hurled five meters into the air before crashing to the ground with a sickening crack.
Arsik smashed his iron fist into the mage's jaw and buried his knife in his chest.
Bones cracked.
He slammed his forehead into the mage's face with all his strength and saw stars.
"Die, you bastard! Die!" he roared, spitting in the mage's face.
The mage did not even flinch.
With a wave of force, he hurled Arsik into a stone pillar nearly ten meters tall. Then, through telekinesis, Arsik's own knife shot toward him.
The blade buried itself deep into his right cheek, carving a gruesome scar.
Kalden raised his sword with both hands.
With one sweeping horizontal stroke, he severed the mage's head clean from his shoulders.
The blade sang through the air.
The head struck the ground with a dreadful thud.
Yet the mage's body continued to move.
Its hands were still weaving another spell.
Without its head, however, the incantation formed more slowly.
"Fuck me..." Darma muttered hopelessly.
Pale struggled back to his feet. He looked at his broken arm, forced the bone back into place, and smiled.
A voice whispered inside Darma's mind.
Now is your chance, my love. They're all weak. We can have everything.
Darma looked toward the balcony, but she was nowhere to be seen.
"Everything? What everything?"
Everything you've ever desired. My power is limitless. Duran was never enough. I never loved him. He could never give me what you gave me aboard that ship.
Darma hesitated.
He thought of Nastal.
Of Ayaton.
Then he remembered the bottom of the sea, the souls of the ocean, the screams echoing through the darkness.
He remembered the days of piracy, his crew, and all they had done.
All those souls down there... how many of them did I send there myself?
Then he remembered the woman's body, her touch, the treasures in Argar's cavern, and everything that could be his.
They betrayed you, she whispered.
"What do you mean? Who?"
The ones you think are your friends. They betrayed you. Even now the queen intends to hand you over to the authorities once this is over. The knight beside you already knows. Ask him.
Darma felt as though his skull would split apart.
He turned toward Kalden.
The knight was still watching the headless mage weave his spell.
"He won't die, Darma," Kalden said. "She must be the one keeping him alive. By Jastar... I don't know what to do."
"Is it true?" Darma asked, ignoring him.
"What?"
"Is it true you've been ordered to hand me over to the authorities?"
Kalden froze.
He tried to answer—
But the hesitation was answer enough.
"Bastard!" Darma roared, hurling himself at him.
"Darma! No!" Arsik shouted.
Too late.
The companions were fighting one another again while the mage continued weaving his spell.
"She's the one keeping him alive," Pale told Arsik.
"I know, damn it! But I don't know what to do."
"You have to bring her out. Then we must kill her."
"I don't know where she is, Pale . She's not here. Not here, at least. She's a demoness. She comes and goes from our world whenever she pleases."
"You must. Otherwise we're all dead," Pale replied. "Pale does not fear death. But Pale still has great things to accomplish before he dies. He is Chosen of the Blood."
Arsik could no longer listen.
An idea flashed through his mind.
He loosened the strap across his shoulder and drew the black violin from its case.
Ignoring the pain, he emptied his mind of everything except his purpose.
He needed a melody.
A melody that would draw the demoness to him.
Then another realization struck him.
The melody he had heard moments before had drawn him to that door.
He struggled to remember it.
The bow glided across the strings.
His maimed fingers danced along the black neck of the ancient violin.
Magic flooded the courtyard.
Pale heard an otherworldly melody spill across the mountains and the surrounding ravines.
"By the Gods of Blood..." he whispered.
A silhouette appeared upon the balcony.
Her body was made of black smoke.
Her voice shifted constantly, shrill one moment, then like a thousand voices speaking as one.
The violin's magic was dragging her toward them by force.
Arsik continued playing until the cloud of smoke descended to the ground.
The sight made both Darma and Kalden stop fighting.
The demoness no longer resembled a beautiful woman.
She was the monster from every nightmare.
Her true form was violently tearing through the illusion.
Pale seized his sword and charged.
"Now!" Kalden shouted, rushing after him.
At last, without another thought, Darma joined the assault.
Each blow struck only smoke.
With every strike, they felt their strength draining away.
Then a woman's scream echoed through the courtyard.
Kalden faltered, fearing they had made some terrible mistake.
Pale stopped only because his body would no longer obey him.
His muscles were torn.
His bones shattered.
Only Darma remained, staring into the abyss.
"There's nothing here," he said quietly. "You don't have the warmth of a woman. You're a monster."
And what are you? the voice of Hell answered, dripping with venom as countless images flooded his mind.
Images of the atrocities he himself had committed.
You're part of the darkness too, Darmakaya. Oh, Stone Kraken... it's too late for you. You're no hero. You're just like me.
Those words cut deep beneath Darma's skin.
He turned toward the place where Maynar's ashes had scattered.
A sob rose into his throat.
"He was my friend," he whispered. "You killed him."
He raised the trident and drove it into the heart of the black cloud.
Energy surged through his hands, racing from the weapon's tip until the entire mass of darkness crackled with lightning.
The woman's scream continued.
Then it transformed into an unearthly death rattle—a chorus of a thousand monstrous voices fading into another dimension.
A moment later, only a strange, pulsating lump of flesh remained upon the ground, shimmering in the darkness.
The mage had finally stopped moving.
The force that had kept him alive was gone.
Silence settled over the courtyard.
The men collapsed where they stood, their wounds horrific.
None of them had the strength left to fight.