But instead, he blew out a breath and nodded, the corners of his lips lifting. “I do have something to hold onto. I named the talisman after myself, didn’t I? I’ve faith in my abilities: you will be free.”
“Well, thank the depths of the Abyss, kid, because I have got to get the fuck out of this crystal.” Zagadoth’s husky laughter carried out over the parapet and echoed down into the city. Somewhere in Aszath Koth a goblin involuntarily emptied his bladder. Voice returning to its brazen tone, Zagadoth sighed in a contented if wistful way. “It’s too bad I’ll be mostly outta commission on the trip—I’d really like to see you in action.”
“That, actually, is where my concern lies.” Damien turned away from the edge of the walkway and continued on, palming the enchanted ore and squinting out at the Infernal Mountains and their smoky haze. “This talisman gives off an aura I’m unsure can be masked. I know I must take your shard to be fused with the rest of the occlusion crystal in Eirengaard before you can be released, but to be carrying two such powerful, infernal objects past the mountains and across the realm seems…challenging.”
His jaw ground at the thought of the ridiculous, white-clad buffoons of Eiren’s holy order who patrolled the roads and cities. Their ranks were made up of mages blessed by any number of their gods, wielding simple enough to quell holy magic, but sometimes they were led by the descendant of a dominion, the virtuous counterpart to a demon. Though very few were as direct a descendant as Damien was—apparently dominions held some moral high ground by infrequently leaving the celestial plane to dabble with humans on earth—divine mages were not to be trifled with. Thankfully, most were so far removed they were simply divine mages in name only, the children of the children of the children of dominions, and serving in Eiren with royal titles rather than in militaristic roles, but on occasion, an aristocratic family would produce an extremely adept magic user. And running into one of those would be unpleasant.
“There won’t be much juice left in this baby once it’s outta the keep, you know that, so it’ll take someone keenly aware to detect it, I reckon.” The shard of Zagadoth’s prison was fueled by the chaotic, infernal energy that swam beneath Bloodthorne Keep. An expenditure of Damien’s arcana and a drop of his blood would allow his father to communicate through it for brief moments once he left Aszath Koth, but not forever. Though none of that accounted for the talisman. “Isn’t there a cloak of Abyssal shielding or maybe a mask of damned souls or something at the Sanctum? You could pick some sort of buffer up there and darkness knows what else is in that place that might come in handy.”
Damien tipped his head. The Ebon Sanctum Mallor indeed housed some of the most potent, accursed objects in existence, and it was only a short detour on the way out of the city.
“And you’re gonna visit The Brotherhood before you leave, right?”
“Oh, uh, well?” His voice hitched. “I don’t know if I’ll really have time. I mean, especially if I go to the Sanctum, and—”
“They’re my most loyal subjects outside of the keep, kiddo.”
Damien scratched at the back of his head with the talisman, and it thumped against his skull. “Yeah, I know. They’re always saying.”
Valsevrus stopped and turned toward Damien, Zagadoth’s eye in the crystal meeting his. “Look, bud, I know they’re a lot, but we gotta throw them a bone every once in a while. They’re the reason this shard of your pop’s prison got back to Aszath Koth at all after Archibald’s attack. Also, they’re, like,rightat the city gates, so I doubt you’ll be able to avoid them.”
Eyes darting away, he sighed. “Sure, yeah, I’ll try.”
“Damien,”—Zagadoth’s voice hardened—“you won’t try: you’ll do it.”
Standing a little straighter, he nodded.
“But you’re gonna sleep first, kiddo. You look exhausted. You know what I always say: even the wicked—”
“—need to rest.”
The sky had gone the slightest bit darker, threatening clouds rolling overhead and blotting out what little light dared shine on Aszath Koth. Damien was weary, limbs heavy before he had begun to travel and mind filled with complications before they arose, but it all fell away with a drop of rain plucking at his shoulder. The Sanctum first—that, at the very least, would be a simple infiltration for the morning, once the storm cleared.
His gaze trailed to the pass through the mountains where he knew the gates of the city let out. Beyond, there was the tiniest pinprick of light, even in the darkness of night, where the moons shined differently on the very farthest reaches of Eiren and Archibald’s realm.
“Anything else on your mind, kiddo?”
Damien shook his head before even contemplating the possibility. “I won’t let you down, Father.”
“Aw, champ, I know you won’t. Hey, Valsevrus, give Damien a hug for me, all right?”
The minotaur’s arms dutifully came around Damien all at once, and he stiffened under the furry embrace. Hands slapped down onto his back much harder than would have been preferred after the bloodletting ritual, but he managed to stay upright, lucky so close to the edge of the wall. The malodorous scent off the minotaur filled his nostrils as he was pulled into his chest, and he held his breath.
“Come on, Gril,” called Zagadoth’s voice, muffled in Valsevrus’s fist, “get in on this.”
The draekin waddled over, throwing spindly, scaled arms around Damien’s legs, perhaps even tighter than the minotaur, his claws sinking in. Damien was unsure if it was either creature’s lack of practice or simply their nature that made them so dreadful at embracing, but a very distant memory from childhood told him it shouldn’t feel like this.
“Thanks, guys,” Damien mumbled, pulling away, and they finally released him. Valsevrus brought the crystal back into his eyeline. “And thanks, Dad.”
What lay beyond the borders of Aszath Koth was worthy of his wariness, but the city itself, the inky blackness of its streets and the trials inside the Ebon Sanctum Mallor, held nothing for Damien to fear. He was born of this place, even if his human heritage made him starkly different from nearly all the other beings that inhabited it.
But there was one creature that trolled Aszath Koth’s alleys that night, one from beyond the Infernal Mountain’s pass, that he couldn’t have counted on, and that creature would prove to test Damien’s resolution more than any darkness ever could.
CHAPTER 2
A DISSERTATION ON INTENT AND ITS USEFULNESS
Like the unfixed moon, Ero, the influence of evil had waxed and waned over the realm’s many thousands of years of existence under whatever name the aristocracy gave it at the time. In most recent years, the mass of land in question was called Eiren, and goodness had clenched an authoritative fist around its throat, choking the evil out until only the last gasps of goblin dens and giant spiders remained. There was, of course, always alittleevil around, but that was what worshiping the gods and those who served them was for, after all: protection.
