IV - The Prisoner
For a moment Aaron wondered why the demon was so intent. But Bellenmore and Dark Anne nodded their agreement, and so the demon started out. Together the mortal three — and the lizard — followed their guide onto a crumbling stair that wound a slow, spiral descent into the tower.
Darkness swallowed them as they passed out of the open area at the tower’s shattered top. The walls were dank, yet Aaron pressed against them, for fear of falling off the stair and plummeting into a void for which he could see no bottom. As they continued downward the air began to change, growing cold and foul, and heavy in the lungs. Aaron wanted desperately to cough, but feared he would give them away if he did. So he held it in, though the urge grew until it was like a torment.
Once something fluttered close to him, the sound of wings in the darkness so startling that he nearly leapt away from them. He only saved himself from hurtling into the darkness by an enormous effort of will.
At last Bellenmore whispered, “The floor is solid here. We can stop for a moment.”
“A bit of light would be safe,” said the demon.
Bellenmore’s staff began to glow. In the dim light he examined the walls, then nodded in satisfaction. “I have studied this tower in my books. We are near the room where Malefestra would most likely seat himself, on a throne that once held the high kings.”
“What are you going to do when we get to that room?” asked Aaron.
Bellenmore glanced at Dark Anne, but directed his answer to Aaron. “This will be a battle of power. Skills, some, but mostly raw power. And every bit we have on our side will be important. We will spend it, spend it all. That is the reason you are here, Aaron, for I do not like to put you in harms’ way like this. But if Anne and I win, and still live, we will surely need you to minister to us, since a victory here will come only at great cost. You are to stay out of the throne room until then, well away from the battle. If we win, but do not survive — well, at least there will be someone to tell the story.” He paused, then added grimly, “And if we lose, then you must flee — flee as fast and as far as you can.”
Despite his terror, Aaron ached with shame that he had nothing more to contribute to the battle, no power, no magic to throw against their enemy.
Bellenmore turned to Dark Anne. “Are you ready?”
Her answer came in a scratchy whisper. “As ready as you, wizard. And we need to take him by surprise, so no more chatter. Let us move on.”
Another flight of steps led them to a set of doors three times Aaron’s height. They were made of bronze and worked with evil figurings. Witch and wizard each took one of the handles, then chanted spells to loose all locks.
With a nod to one another, they threw wide the doors and burst through to meet Malefestra.
The room was huge and high, and empty. As they looked around in bewilderment a shimmer of grey light fell from the ceiling, wrapping itself around Bellenmore and Dark Anne.
The minor demon broke into wild laughter. Then, as Aaron watched in horror, their guide began to change, throbbing and growing until it was revealed at last in its own true shape: The Demon King, Malefestra.
Bellenmore and Dark Anne shouted in rage, but were held by a band of shimmering grey light that wrapped around them. The lizard leaped upward, but the light caught and held him. As they struggled against the grey light, Malefestra stepped into the throne room, towering over them. Huge, bat-like wings sprouted from his powerfully muscled shoulders. His legs were like flaming tree trunks, his chest as broad as the hearth in Bellenmore’s cottage. But of his face Aaron saw nothing, for resting on the Demon King’s shoulders was a cloud of smoke, from which licked an occasional tongue of fire.
Out of that smoke rolled a deep, oily voice, rich with satisfaction: “Oh, my fine sheep. How easily you were led to the slaughter!”
At that moment, Bellenmore and Dark Anne burst free of the grey light. They flung their strongest magics at the Demon King. But surprise they had none, and he was well armored against their attack. Though light and power sizzled and struck around him, it could not touch him.
Then he made a gesture. Green smoke began to curl about the witch and the magician. Dark Anne twisted, then cried out in pain and rage. The Black Stone of Borea fell from her hand and began to roll across the floor.
Aaron dived for it. With a flick of his finger, Malefestra unleashed a force that sent the boy crashing against the nearest wall.
The demon king spoke a word that sounded like thunder. An enormous sphere of liquid scarlet appeared and wrapped itself around Bellenmore and Dark Anne. The crimson globe shimmered evilly for a moment, then began to shrink. It grew smaller and smaller, until finally it disappeared — taking Dark Anne, Bellenmore, and the lizard with it.
Alone with Malefestra, Aaron sprang at the Demon King, fury in his eyes. “Bring them back! Bring them back!”
He never touched the enemy, never came anywhere near him. The Demon King simply made a sign with his fingers, and Aaron bounced away harmlessly.
“Idiot child,” murmured the monster. “Did you expect to lay hands on me? Surely your master has taught you better than that. Or do I overestimate the wisdom of Bellenmore?”
Aaron burned with shame but said nothing.
From the corner of his eye he judged the distance to the Black Stone.
Malefestra laughed. The sound boomed around Aaron, seeming to press him to the floor. With a snap of his fingers, the Demon King pulled the stone to his hand. “Idiot child,” he repeated.
He gestured once more. A cage formed out of the air surrounding Aaron. Iron bars rose and curved above his head, meeting in a ring at the top. A plate of cold metal slid into place beneath his feet.
At another signal from Malefestra the cage floated slowly into the air, rising until the ring at the top slipped over a great hook embedded in the rock of the ceiling, some thirty feet above the floor.
Days dragged by, but with no way to measure them Aaron lost track of the time. Small amounts of food and water appeared in his cage every once in a while — enough to keep him alive, but never enough to satisfy his young body. He grew thin, while watching the guests of his captor feast.
And guests there were many, for the stream of visitors through the throne room seemed endless. Aaron was fascinated, and frightened, by the parade of evil things that came to pay homage to the master risen among them. Towering trolls and squat, snout-faced goblins passed below him, along with other things for which he had no name; creeping, crawling things. Even worse, in Aaron’s eyes, were the humans who came to do business with Malefestra. Traitors! he thought furiously.
Most of these visitors snorted with amusement when they noticed the boy in his cage, dangling from the stone ceiling.
Each visitor brought some gift to Malefestra, and the pile of spoils on his left hand side grew higher by the day. But on his right side there was nothing save a seemingly empty pedestal. Aaron knew that seeming to be false. He had watched the Demon King render the Black Stone invisible and then place it lovingly on the pedestal. Ever and again, when he was alone, the Demon King would reach out to stroke the stone.
When Aaron slept he had strange dreams. Sometimes he heard Bellenmore and Dark Anne calling out for help. Sometimes the lizard whispered to him, but he could not make out the words. Other times he would see the stone rise from its pedestal and thunder toward him. Then he would wake with cold sweat running down his face, and his body trembling.
He grew obsessed with the stone. Sometimes he actually thought it was calling to him. His hands ached to hold it and he would grip the bars of his cage until his knuckles went white. He would shake it in his fury, and weep for Bellenmore. But there was nothing he could do.
He had no power.
– End Chapter Four –
