Message Bearer (The Auran Chronicles Book 1) (32 page)

‘Caleb?’ Seb took a tentative
step into the Drain. The room was in near darkness, the only light source being
a solitary candle that had burned almost to extinction on the oak table,
casting an amber glow over one corner of the room.

‘So, you made it back
then?’

Seb started. On instinct
he shot a
sense
towards the shadows where the voice had originated from.

‘Caleb?’

Caleb shuffled into the
light. Seb suppressed a grimace.

The wounds had healed,
but the scars ran deeper. Caleb walked with a pronounced limp, clutching for
dear life on a staff that had been reinforced with steel strips. His face was
ashen, almost translucent, and the flesh hung loosely from his face. His eyes,
once so bright and full of life, were now tiny pinpricks sunk into a hollowed
face. Caleb staggered to his favoured chair, wincing as he lowered himself into
its depths. Seb swallowed something hot in his throat.

‘That’s better,’ Caleb
said. ‘Bring me something hot, will you, boy?’

As if on instinct, Seb shook
his gaze away and poured a fresh coffee from the still-hot kettle. After all
that had happened, the moment felt natural, almost welcome. For a moment they
were back one year, just the two of them. That hotness filled his throat again
as he handed the cup to Caleb, who took it in both hands, inhaling the aroma
with a satisfied groan.

‘You going to tell me
what happened?’ Caleb said after a few minutes of comfortable silence had
passed.

‘They haven’t told you?’

Caleb sat the cup down
and leaned back in his chair. He looked at Seb again, a new expression on his
face as if he were seeing him afresh. His eyes twinkled, something of the old
Caleb there again.

‘Perhaps they have,
perhaps they haven’t,’ he said. ‘I just want to hear it from you.’

Seb smiled. ‘You’ll need
something stronger than that.’

***

‘And you have it? You have the message?’
Caleb had listened, entranced, for the best part of an hour. He’d interjected
at various places, drawing further details where Seb had glossed over, making
him paint a more detailed picture than he otherwise would’ve done.

‘Yup, well, at least I
think I do.’

‘Have you read it?’

‘No. I can see the crack,
I know I could try and open it, but as to what comes out, it’s not for me to
answer that.’

Caleb nodded, his mind
elsewhere. ‘Of course, you’re right. It should fall on the magi to decide what
to do.’

‘What do I do then?’

‘What?’

‘You’re a magi, aren’t
you? Or did that knock on the head do more damage than I thought?’

Caleb laughed, the noise
echoing around the chamber. ‘Of course, sorry. I guess I considered myself
taking an early retirement. You know, on medical grounds.’

Seb smiled. ‘Sure, I’ll
have to check my contract to see what the Ts and Cs are concerning that.’

Caleb nodded sagely. A
moment later they both burst out into laughter, tears rolling down their faces.

‘It’s good to see you, kid,’
Caleb said at last, wiping tears from his face.

‘You too, old man,’ he
replied, meaning every word. He put his drink by his bed and lit the candle on
the cabinet next to his pillow. The Magister had hinted that he should return
to them as soon as possible, but fatigue was clawing at him. He settled into
his bed, drawing the blanket high over his head.

For the first time in
what felt like weeks, Seb sank into a sleep free from danger.

He never heard Caleb
leave.

It
looked like every member of the household had gathered in the main hall. The
Magister sat on her throne, Cian by her side. Ranks of elites and adepts stood
shoulder to shoulder leading away from the throne for the full length of the
room. Where they came from Seb had no idea. None of them were familiar, save
for Don. All wore the loose-fitting grey tunics of the Magistry. All stared
forwards, eyes focussed on something far away. Nearest the door stood the other
six acolytes. Familiar by face, but still strangers to him even after all these
months. Only young Harry, his silent admirer from the gardens, acknowledged him
with a furtive glance. All of them gathered here, under the instruction of the
Magister.

All for him.

He’d considered not
coming up at all. They’d done the decent thing and left him alone for a few
hours, but the Magister’s summoning in the form of an uninvited visit from two
elites told him that their patience was wearing thin.

So up he came. No doubt
as soon as he’d read the contents of the message then he’d be cast out. Purpose
served. It didn’t bother him anymore. He wanted out now as much as they did.

A low murmur had died as
he entered the hall, the heavy door clunking shut behind him. No eyes had turned
in his direction, although a collective
sense
from the gathering had
nearly knocked him back a step. He raised his shield to subtly deflect the
prying minds.

It was the Magister that
broke the silence.

‘Seb, so good of you to
turn up.’

‘I’m not sure I had much
of a choice.’

Cian glowered. The
Magister merely sighed.

‘You are tired, I
imagine, and have been through a lot. I will allow you this transgression,’ the
Magister said. Her eyes suddenly levelled on him and he felt his shield
evaporate in an instant. The Magister didn’t push any further, but he felt the
power there, brushing hid own.

The Magister beckoned him
forward. He obeyed, head down as he trudged down the narrow path that led
between the rows of magi. He glanced up as he moved, noting with some dismay at
Caleb’s absence.
I thought I’d have at least one friend here, old man,
he
thought.

He stopped and bowed his
head before the Magister.

‘Relax, Seb,’ she said,
an unfamiliar gentleness to her voice.

He dared a look up, every
sinew in his being screaming to do the opposite.

‘Are you afraid?’

‘Yes. No. Should I be?’

The Magister smiled. ‘You
are right to be wary, but have no fear. All you have is information, hidden
inside your mind. Now the door is open, you simple need to push it, and I will read
what you see.’

Seb nodded. What could go
wrong?

***

Jack Mitchell hadn’t been in the
Brotherhood long, but he’d been a serving marine for eight years before that.
He’d seen action in places ranging from the Crimea to Iraq. He didn’t consider
himself easily tricked.

That was why when he saw
the young boy ambling up the road that led to Skelwith he didn’t so much as bat
an eyelid.

‘You lost, kid?’ He
stepped out from behind the massive oak trunk from where he’d kept watch ever
since Cade and those loyal to the Oath had fled here. The kid staggered and
fell, his eyes wide, mouth gaping.

‘Shit, sorry,’ he pushed
the Beretta PDW behind his hip and rushed forwards, cursing inside at his own
crudeness. He knew he was an imposing figure at the best of times, but in his
Brotherhood garb, armed to the teeth? The poor kid would be having nightmares
for months.

The kid was on all fours,
face down, as Jack reached him. He dropped to one knee and offered his free
hand out, gently gripping the kid’s shoulder.

‘Kid?’

It all happened so fast.
The kid flinched at his touch, but it wasn’t that what made Jack stagger back,
fumbling the safety on his weapon. It was the way the kid’s head twisted
towards him, sinew cracking, his eyes bulging and black teeth dripping a viscous
ichor.

Jack’s mind was caught in
a moment of split indecision. He’d messed up, he knew that. Never lower your
guard, no matter how innocent the threat might seem. He was caught between
alerting the others and defending himself. Self-preservation won out. He brought
the weapon to bear as the kid launched towards him. His finger tightened on the
trigger just as a point of cold iron pierced the base of his skull.

***

‘What do I do?’

Seb stood in the centre
of an intricate circle of Runic Script that had been etched into the floor in
front of the throne. Outside the circle stood five Elites, heads bowed and
covered. The Magister stood from her throne and glided down the steps to the
circle.

‘The magi here will
channel into you, giving you the necessary focus to prise upon the lock. Runic
Script will emerge that you will see in your mind’s eye. It is most likely you
will not understand what you see, but do not worry about that. I will read and
decipher the Script. Do you understand?’

Seb nodded.

‘Good. Like I said, there
is nothing to fear from all this. Soon it will be over, the burden will be
removed.’

‘And what of me?’

The Magister stopped and
tilted her head. ‘Sorry?’

‘When you’ve got what you
wanted. When I’m no use anymore. What then? You cast me out? Leave me to fend
for myself? Or worse?’

‘What do you take us for,
Seb? Do you really think we’d let someone with your talents simply vanish?’

Seb shrugged. ‘I know
what I’d like to think, but in reality, I’m not sure.’

For a moment the Magister
looked annoyed, almost angry, but then her face passed back into the familiar
placid veneer. She crossed into the circle, the charged air crackling as she
approached. She placed a hand on Seb’s shoulder.

‘I give you my word, Seb.
When this is over, should you wish it, you will remain with us.’

Seb didn’t sense any
deceit at all. He didn’t dare
sense
, lest he offended the Magister. But
for all he could read she seemed genuine. Something lifted off his shoulders,
at least temporarily, and he forced out a smile.

‘Thank you.’

The Magister smiled. ‘Now,
let us get back to the business at hand, shall we?’

***

Guards fell all along the perimeter of the
mansion. All of them Brotherhood. All still blind to the truth. Rueben had
watched from afar as his men, allied with the sheol, had systematically taken
out the various sentries in a combined action lasting no longer than three
minutes.
They converged now on the mansion itself. They knew where to stop, where the sentinels
range extended. Marek had been clear on that.

Reuben wasn’t a fan of
working with the sheol. He’d spent the best part of his life hunting them and
their kind down, and now he was here, allied with them, purging the world of
their common enemy. Still, it was the greater cause that mattered. They were
destined to reunite with their daemon kin, not to be slaves to an antique oath
to a dying race. Every time he saw one of his former Brothers fall he reminded
himself of that.

Something rustled in the
undergrowth. Rueben didn’t flinch, preferring instead to drain the last of the
coffee from the flask by his side. His men spun about, weapons ready in a
flash.

‘Relax, it’s one of them,’
he said. He’d
sensed
the horned fiend flitting through the bushes five
minutes earlier. He was intrigued to see how far it would come without detection,
its movements being slicker, more subtle than the rest. He was impressed – and
annoyed - to see it made it all the way to their camp without being sighted.

He rose and turned as the
daemon, crammed into human form, burst into the clearing. Near seven foot tall
now, partially burned and covered almost entirely in black scale. One eye had
been burned out, but a malevolence burned in the remaining red orb that told
him it was something much darker than the standard feral that he’d come across.
It stomped to a halt as it sighted the array of guns aimed in its direction. It
snapped looks at each of the warriors in turn, no doubt sizing them up. Its mouth
was bared, exposing narrow fangs through which a black forked tongue whipped
across.

‘Who are you?’ Reuben
gave a barely perceptible nod and his men lowered their weapons. He stepped
before the daemon, noting casually that the air seemed noticeably cooler in its
presence. The daemon slowly lowered its gaze until it fixed on him.

‘You are the leader?’ it
hissed.

Reuben straightened his
back, feeling the reassuring presence of the blade on his hip.

‘I am,’ he replied,
keeping his voice level. ‘And you are?’

‘Farouk. Commander of the
Ninth Legion. I was summoned by the mage.’ Farouk replied, his grating voice dripping
with distaste as it mentioned Marek.

Reuben raised an eyebrow
and nodded. ‘Then I am grateful indeed that your Master has spared such a
formidable ally.’

‘The Message. Where is
it?’

Reuben bristled, not used
to being spoken to in such a way, daemon or not.

‘Where it’s been for the
past few hours. The magi are about to begin the ceremony.’

Farouk cocked his head to
one side and sniffed the air. He looked back at Reuben, his scaled face
creasing into a grimace.

‘The sentinels are still active.
I can sense them.’

‘You are correct.’

‘Why have you failed to
accomplish this task? Why are they not sleeping?’

Reuben ignored the
shocked look on his men’s faces and swallowed down the burgeoning anger. ‘The
task is at hand, I assure you.’

‘It is not me you need to
assure, my Master is not as patient as I am.’

‘Then why doesn’t your
Master try her luck for herself?’ Reuben waved a gloved hand down towards the
valley. She’s welcome to have a go!’

Farouk
blurred
towards him in an instant. The daemon’s teeth snapped at the air inches from
his neck. Reuben fumbled for the weapon by his side but the daemon had gripped a
taloned claw round his neck, strangling the flow of oxygen. Already white spots
were peppering his vision.

‘What in the hells is
going on here?’

Farouk dropped Reuben to
the floor as Silas and Marek entered the clearing. The daemon turned and two of
Reuben’s men rushed over to help their leader. He shoved them away, clutching
one hand to his neck whilst firing a hate-filled stare at the back of the daemon.

The two leaders took
position in the centre of the clearing. A combination of Brothers and sheol
warriors fanned out around them.

‘Reuben?’ Silas said.

Reuben stood upright. His
neck burned but he was damned if he was going to show weakness. ‘Nothing to
worry about, Father. I was just welcoming our new guest.’

‘Farouk, is everything
okay?’

Farouk tipped his head
slightly. ‘I was just asking this
warrior
who claims to lead this rabble
why he hasn’t succeeded in the simple task of disabling the sentinels yet. He
didn’t like the question.’

‘If you doubt my words
why don’t you walk straight on ahead? There’s a thirty foot knight on the path
that I’m almost certain is no longer functioning.’

‘Enough, Reuben!’ Silas crossed
over to him and lead him away from the group. He glanced back at the gathered sheol
and then shot a concerned luck Reuben’s way. ‘We cannot afford to look weak in
front of the daemons, Son.’

‘I’m aware of this. What
do you think I was just doing?’

‘By the looks of things about
to destroy our fledgling alliance before it had even started.’

‘I’m not afraid of that,’
he made a point of glaring at Farouk, who simply growled in return, which only
served to boil his blood further.

‘I don’t give a shit if
you are or not!’ Silas never raised his voice, and this time it got Reuben’s
attention. ‘Farouk’s right, though, why don’t we have access yet? The window is
narrow enough as it is.’

‘You don’t have to remind
me, Father.’ He turned back to Silas, forcing a calm over the tumult in his
stomach. ‘The ceremony is about to begin. The sentries have been incapacitated.’

‘That’s all good, but
with the sentinels still there, we don’t have a chance.’

‘Have faith, Father.
Isn’t that what you always tell me? Marek is certain, is he not?’

Silas sighed. ‘Yes, but I’m
unfamiliar with not being in total control.’

Reuben smiled, calm now.
He put one hand on Silas’ shoulder. ‘I thought I was meant to be the hot-headed
one. The time is at hand. Marek’s plan will come to fruition. It’s all worked
so far, hasn’t it?’ Reuben looked across at the mage, who at that moment was
gazing silently into the forest. ‘He seems to have thought of everything.’