REVENANT (Descendants Saga) Page 9

  “How will you manage?” Sophia asked Tom. “The vampires will surely kill any outsiders.”

  “I’ve impersonated vampires before,” he said. “And I did manage to survive almost a year in Greystone.”

  We had no reply to that. He was right about his skills. At any rate, he was determined to go, and there was nothing we could do to stop him.

  “When will you leave?” I asked.

  They looked at one another.

  Finally Charlotte said, “There’s no time like the present.”

  Anubis

  Kron walked out of the elevator on all fours and then righted himself, performing a transformation mid-stride. He stood before Grayson Stone with pixie blood smeared across his face. The excitement of the kill still ran through him—more than just adrenaline—a feverous sensation willing him on.

  He smiled. “I’ve done what you required. How will you restore me to the glory you promised?”

  “Kneel before me, Kron, and receive Anubis into your body,” Grayson said. “Become his willing vessel in this world and he will make you the greatest Lycan to ever live. You and he will call together your people, not simply from Tidus, but from all over the world.”

  “Anubis?” Kron seemed confused. “How is that possible?”

  “My father now resides within me, just as Anubis will you,” he said. “The way from Tartarus is by inhabiting a willing mortal form. Lucifer is the bridge between us and the Fallen. I am the conduit through which this blessing flows. Will you receive him?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered. “I could lose myself to such a powerful being.”

  Grayson laughed at him. “Haven’t you lost everything of value already? I’m going to restore what you’ve lost and so much more than you can imagine. Can a man outrun a horse?”

  “No.”

  “But a man and a horse together can do so much more than either is able alone,” Grayson reasoned.

  “But who is the horse and who is the rider?” Kron asked.

  “Anubis will provide you the power to do what you could not do alone.”

  Kron contemplated, but did not reply.

  “Be sure, Kron,” Grayson warned. “The last Descendant I made this offer to refused.”

  “Who?”

  “A dead man,” Grayson replied. “I will not ask you again.”

  Kron pushed himself beyond his fears. He surveyed his surroundings, considering his gracious benefactor waiting upstairs for him to return in two days for his blessing of a pixie army. The thought of kowtowing to Gillum any longer made him ill.

  “I accept your offer,” he said finally.

  Grayson placed his hand on Kron’s brow as the Lycan kneeled before him in the lobby of the ruined hotel. Pixies still cavorted throughout the structure above them. None of them had any idea of what was about to happen in the lobby below, or the ruin that they would soon experience. Gillum was king and all was merry. What reason could they possibly have to worry?

  The fallen spirit of his father welled within him, filling him with power and purpose, bridging the vast expanse between the angelic prison Tartarus and his mortal form. In response, Grayson became a conduit for the one who would come through from that terrifying place of pain and suffering. He channeled Anubis through his body, depositing the Fallen within his willing host.

  Kron screamed as soon as Anubis arrived. He fell backward, writhing among the debris on the floor. A transformation came over him, turning man to wolf. His anguished cry became a howl of exultation. He was not simply the werewolf who had killed the elevator pixie moments ago. Kron had become larger in form, stronger and more fierce.

  Grayson felt the urge to flee upon seeing him this way. He was an otherworldly, ravenous nightmare. The werewolf’s eyes were molten red and glowing with the power of Anubis. The saliva glistening upon his razor sharp fangs dripped to the floor, eating away at the tiles as acid.

  Anubis gloried in his freedom, a deep menacing laugh escaping the werewolf’s jaws. He heard the pixies above them as he scented the air for prey. His eyes took in every possible detail. He turned back upon Grayson, seeing him not merely as a man, but as the captain of their Fallen host.

  “Lucifer, you have done as promised and freed me from His prison,” Anubis said. “What is thy bidding, my brother?”

  Grayson was overcome by the Fallen spirit within. Even had he wanted, he could not resist Lucifer’s will when he pushed to have control. “Southresh and Hageddon already reside in the mortal world as we do in these fragile forms. Our power is withheld by them, but we can still accomplish my purposes through them. To begin, you will fulfill the desires of your Lycan host. Make him king over your children and take the city of Tidus from those who would resist you.”

  Anubis growled within himself. “The stench of these pixies fills my nostrils. I hunger for the hunt again.”

  Grayson smiled. “These pixies have denigrated your mortal host, thinking themselves better than your children. The majority reside in this building. Destroy them.”

  Anubis stood upright, returning to Kron’s mortal form. He was still more fierce than Kron could ever have hoped to become. “I will bring them and the building down in a heap and rejoice over their lost souls as they depart for the eternal flames!”

  Grayson bowed slightly in deference to Anubis, stepping away and then disappearing through a portal envelope. He had business elsewhere. Anubis could handle what needed doing here.

  Anubis howled again and when he became silent, every pixie within the hotel had gone quiet. “I will hunt,” he said to himself.

  He took to the stairwell, transforming once again into his werewolf form. Prowling up to the first floor, he heard the pixies beginning to investigate the disturbance they had heard coming from below—his disturbance. He lurked in the shadows, waiting for them to come.

  When the first wave of pixie warriors came into the hall with their spears, swords and pixie dust bags ready, Anubis leaped into them. He rent them at every turn of his head. Pixies screamed as they were torn by the voracious beast among them, but they could not escape.

  Dust bags exploded, filling the hallways and rooms in paralyzing powder. Anubis remained unfazed—not because he resided within an immune host, but because he was Anubis. His claws caught the half sized pixies, tearing through their mortal bodies like daggers through spider webs. They were powerless to stop him.

  Floor by floor Anubis continued his slaughter. At times he changed back to Kron, but mostly he enjoyed the wolf. This image terrified his victims the most before they died. He wanted them terrified. They were already helpless. Some had attempted to escape, but he caught them anyway.

  Finally, Anubis came to the penthouse. This was the place where Kron’s thoughts had led him—the place where he would find the pixie king. Gillum had practically made him beg for his help. He had laughed and mocked the children of Anubis and now he would pay with his life.

  Even these pixies attempted to fight him when he walked through the front door of the penthouse. Gillum was cowering behind his pile of gold and jewels while his host tried to defend their king. Their efforts proved futile. Every weapon they brought to bear was evaded or destroyed. His blinding speed made them appear to be standing still.

  He paused when all of the others were dead around him. Corpses littered the room and the walls were awash with blood. Anubis waited, listening to Gillum’s pitiful balling. He whimpered to himself, praying to some idol god for help that would never come.

  “Stand before me now, Gillum,” Kron said as Anubis gave him the freedom to speak. He became a man again. His nudity did not make him feel ashamed. Corded muscle rippled through his arms and chest as he flexed them, enjoying the sensation of having an angel within. Clothing appeared upon him as was the case with Lycans when they become wolves—their clothing at that point deriving from a glamour produced to cover them temporarily.

  His clothing was not the shredded rags he had left this penthouse in. Now, Kron appeared in
the garments of a king. Gillum peeked out from behind his makeshift throne, his eyes growing wide when he heard Kron’s voice and realized who had committed these heinous atrocities. A sense of outrage welled up within him.

  “How dare you?” Gillum asked. “My army will not be yours now. You will never reclaim Tidus.”

  These were Gillum’s final words. By mere thought, Anubis had projected through Kron again and seized the pixie in an invisible grip. The mental hand crushed his windpipe in a fraction of a second, leaving him to spasm on the floor for the remaining few seconds he had left.

  Kron laughed out loud at the carnage he had wrought by Anubis. Grayson had not been lying to him, after all. This power coursing through his body was incomparable. He had no doubt in his ability to rend the kingdom from Sophia. But Tidus would not be all that he claimed. He would gather all Lycans to him now.

  A burst of power went forth from Kron’s body, creating a shockwave that shot down from the penthouse all the way through the dilapidated hotel’s structure. The building shuddered and began to collapse, its supports fracturing by the will of Anubis. Kron wrapped himself within a portal envelope—something he normally had not been capable of doing—and disappeared from the London hotel.

  The building where Gillum had briefly reigned as a king over the pixies collapsed in upon itself. Floor by floor it fell, creating a wave of destruction that spread out from the building, shooting debris through the surrounding structures. Gillum’s throne came down with the hotel and the bodies of his gathered army. Gold coins scattered like amber rain and were then joined by torn pixie bodies in the mushrooming cloud and smoldering mound of debris at the bottom.

  Remorse

  Two days had passed since the goblin raid on the village of Grim Hope. Oliver had remained with Redclaw rather than proceeding on with their business. Many had been hurt in the raid and the matter of the Veil and its weakness had to be dealt with before Redclaw would consider Grim Hope safe while he and Oliver were gone to Laish.

  The first order of business had been to bury the dead. Troll men, women and children had been lost to the goblins. Over one thousand trolls lived in Grim Hope, but even these relative few would be missed terribly.

  Despite rumors and legend, Trolls were very close to their own kind. Family meant everything to them. To have the innocents dying like this would take its toll.

  Talk of revenge among their elders had already been wholeheartedly endorsed. There was no question now as to what would be done—only when it would occur. And everyone effected wanted to be a part of the eventual attack.

  The Veil had been a different matter. The goblins had rather ingeniously used the ability of the trolls to pass through unhindered as their way in. This was old magic and difficult to undo. Oliver had imagined supplementing the effect in some way, but the trolls wanted, now more than ever, to remain hidden from outsiders. He had to be careful what he did.

  Nearly an hour of ruminating over the original construct had been required. He had to understand how it worked in order to attempt to make it work better. In almost any scenario, there was a problem with how to get the trolls in without someone being able to do what had just been done.

  Finally, Oliver decided that the only means, without undoing the Veil’s operation completely, would be to allow only trolls to pass through the barrier. This was regrettable. But, when all was said and done, safety was more important than diplomacy.

  Oliver would have to rework the spell exactly, only omitting the matter of trolls bringing others through with them. No wonder these old spells had lasted so long, he thought. They required hours of spell casting and intense concentration to accomplish—not to mention the drain of one’s strength, if you happened to be powerful enough to work it in the first place.

  By the end of the second day, Oliver had completed the reworking of the Veil. Once again, it kept Grim Hope hidden from outsiders, rewarding any casual glance with a view of the surrounding forest. Redclaw had volunteered personally for the first test. He made it through without a problem.

  Oliver had said that he would be the guinea pig required for the second part of the test. However, the trolls would not hear of it, especially with Oliver in a state of fatigue after all he had already done for them. One of the captured goblin wounded was brought to the boundary instead and thrust at it.

  The Veil, sensing an enemy presence, thrust him out of Grim Hope at such velocity that his impact with a tree yards away killed him instantly. Oliver grimaced at the result. Redclaw and the others, however, were delighted.

  “It’s perfect!” they declared.

  Once outside the Veil, for a separate portal was now required, Oliver delivered them to the Briar Wood where Laish had his home. It was not far removed from the Wood Elves, but he was not of their clan. Laish was the person you went to see when you wanted some sort of dark magic performed. His services were for hire at the right price and he was a quite powerful Descendant. He and Oliver knew one another well, though it couldn’t be said that they were on the best of terms.

  “I’ve heard of this elf wizard,” Redclaw said. “Not a very savory sort, as I understand it.”

  Oliver nodded. “You’ve heard correctly.”

  “What makes you think we won’t run into a fight with him?”

  “He is the twin brother of Donatus,” Oliver said. “He refused to help me fight against Black, but he would not fight against me either.”

  “A mercenary,” Redclaw observed. “They have no honor. Whoever pays the most is where their allegiance lies.”

  They started off walking through the wood. Oliver led them on a trail he knew by heart, though nothing at all distinguished where Laish’s home might be. “In all honesty, I don’t think Laish cares about the money.”

  Redclaw plodded along behind, stepping as quietly as a mouse through the undergrowth despite his troll size. “Why do you think that?”

  “He’s amassed a fortune over the years, but he still lives out here in the woods,” Oliver said.

  “Kings and paupers alike can live wherever they please,” he said. “Living in the woods doesn’t mean anything.”

  “When you see him, you can explain that to me again,” he said, laughing.

  Redclaw stopped behind him, prompting Oliver to do so as well.

  “We may have a problem with that,” Redclaw said, looking through the tree tops toward the sky.

  Oliver followed his gaze. A black swarm of carrion birds was slowly rotating over a particular spot ahead. Oliver also noticed smoke rising above the trees and then trailing away from them on the breeze.

  “I think the elf wizard may have met his end,” Redclaw said.

  Oliver sighed, looking around them through the trees, searching for any sign of invaders. Laish was a powerful spell caster, one of the Sons of Anarchy. He could not be killed easily, to be sure. Only an advanced army, or a being of immense power could hope to do so.

  He looked at the circling birds again. “There are so many,” he observed. “Too many for one elf.”

  “Maybe he killed a great number of enemies then?” Redclaw offered.

  “We’ll know when we get there,” Oliver said, and began again, walking through the woods toward the rising smoke.

  Oliver had explained before coming that this trek of nearly a mile would be necessary when coming to the home of Laish. He had worked a complex barrier that prevented intruders from surprising him by turning even complex portals away to other locations. Essentially, he had devised a means of rerouting anyone who attempted to teleport onto his land.

  Oliver had even made the attempt a few times in the past. He had wound up once in France and another time he appeared in Siberia. However, the worst had been materializing unexpectedly over the Atlantic. Oliver had plummeted one hundred feet into a tumultuous sea in the middle of the night. Since then, he had only come by this route, walking to Laish’s cottage on his own two feet.

  As they continued their trek, Oliver waited to see the
telltale wildlife that always investigated visitors. It was known that Laish had somehow charmed the animals of this forest so that they kept watch for him and even chased away unwanted guests. So far, none of these animals had appeared.

  However, the mystery was soon solved when they finally came out of the trees onto the path leading to the elf’s cottage. The corpses of numerous animals of every size and variety from these woods lay rotting in the sun. In addition, a massive snake and what appeared to be some sort of mutated praying mantis were also among the dead.

  A horde of carrion feeders had descended upon the meadow where Laish’s cottage resided. They covered the bodies until their approach, when many took to the sky, joining those already waiting their turns. Some, however, were resigned to remain no matter who came into the clearing to disturb their feasting. Only the flies could truly compete with the birds at this point.

  Beyond this field of carnage sat what remained of the cottage. It had once been a fairly simple structure, although it was protected by Laish’s wards. The fact of its destruction gave further testimony to the power of those who had caused this great ruin.

  “Something unprecedented has occurred here,” Oliver said.

  “His home looks like it was hit by a whirlwind,” Redclaw observed. “Looks like we got here too late. There’s no way anyone could have survived this.”

  Oliver breathed deeply and exhaled. He felt a great heaviness settling upon him. Death and destruction appeared around every corner, and he was becoming weary of it.

  He walked on, covering his face with his coat sleeve as he passed through the animal carnage. Redclaw followed him through, swatting occasionally at buzzards and flies that flew too close. Those that were shooed away quickly returned.

  They came quickly to the smoldering wreckage of the cottage. Only portions of walls remained fastened to the simple slab foundation. The wizard’s possessions had been scattered into the woods along with the rest of his house. Almost everything was shattered, or burnt, or both.