The Titan's Tome (The Mortal Balance Book 1) Read online

  The smaller creature groveled before its superior and in a scratching voice made its report. “The lords have gone.”

  Flexing bony fingers tipped with yellow claws, the leader slashed at the face of the one reporting, rending the gnarled flesh. “Idiot, we know they’ve gone,” he snarled in their demonic language. “Which way?”

  They’d found the false trail DraKar had made, but after following it for a short time, they realized DraKar was purposefully leaving markings for them. The snapped limbs and scuffed up leaves were too regular, and Armagon’s scent was too steady. Usually, the black was difficult to sniff out, often taking to the trees to look about, before returning to DraKar’s side.

  The smaller one nursed his injury, but didn’t retaliate. “South.”

  The largest paced a few moments in frustration. “First we get the book.” He reached under his armor and plucked a stone carved to look like a snake entwined on itself. With ease, he crushed the trinket, triggering the spell attached to its twin.

  Lord DraKar was known for stealing magical items that piqued his curiosity, and the necklace had been left out where he could find it. The trap spell on the necklace had been carefully masked under layers of magic, by some of the Third plane of Hell’s strongest mages and it would have been like a puzzle for the big blue sarpand.

  Carefully the large demon poured the dust of the spelled stone into a small glass vial that hung from a leather cord. Once he stoppered it, the vial twisted and pulled gently to the southeast.

  “The drain on Lord DraKar will slow them down; make them easier to find. The stone will lead us to them. Once we have the Titan’s Tome, we will catch up with them. They will not separate,” the largest demon explained. He turned to the northeast and led them back up the mountain to the mountain giant cave. Killing the clan would be a simple thing.

  ***

  It took longer than Armagon liked to reach the river in the lowlands, and he glided along its banks, searching for his brother. The roar of DraKar's agony startled Armagon, but he instantly flapped his wings to hurry further down river. How could the demons couldn’t have reached DraKar before him?

  DraKar was sprawled in the tall grass near the river, and Armagon’s wings shivered with panic. There was no sign of anyone else around his brother, and Armagon landed next to him with a snarl of warning for anyone who might try to harm them. He cradled the book under one arm and drew his ebony blade. The sound of the steel sliding free was a song to him, and he was ready to dance to it. He searched around DraKar’s fallen form, but found no one endangering them.

  DraKar gave a pained groan, and his claws dug into the soft earth as though trying to grasp onto something to ease his agony. He was curled on his side, every muscle strained, and his wings quaked with spasms.

  Armagon dropped the book to the dirt and went to DraKar. “What happened?” He still watched the area, his sword held over his brother protectively.

  DraKar’s teeth ground together as his jaw clenched. His magic was being ripped from him, like a hot hook pulling through his chest. The instant it had begun he’d known the cause, the little orange gem with a strange magical aura he had picked up before leaving the Hells. He had enough sense as he had collapsed to yank the necklace from below his armor, trying to break the delicate chain. But for all his strength, he couldn’t snap the damn thing. The back of his neck was raw and bloody as he tugged at the chain; his blue mane was matted with blood and tangled around it. The gem glowed like a bright fire as it sapped his magic.

  To drain a magic user so dramatically was dangerous and the process had been known to stop the victim’s heart. The pull of energy tore at the essence of the mage. DraKar’s eyes shifted to a red glow as he raged against the torment, a taint left on him from the Hells.

  “Magic drain,” DraKar finally snarled out, between gasping breaths.

  Armagon caught sight of the glowing gem in the darkness and grabbed it. The stone was carved into the likeness of a snake intertwined on itself into a tight knot. He put his sword away and gave the necklace a yank. It didn’t break, and DraKar jerked with it, a tortured growl ripped from his throat.

  “Already tried,” DraKar said in a strained voice, fighting against his own convulsing muscles to take a breath.

  “What do I do?”

  “Go.”

  “No!” He dragged DraKar up to his feet, supporting most of the bigger sarpand’s weight across his back.

  “The book?”

  Armagon bent down and hefted the tome under one arm. “I have the blasted book. The demons must have found our camp and triggered that necklace.”

  DraKar grunted in agreement and tried to take a step with Armagon, but the smaller sarpand was carrying him more than supporting him. “Leave me. Take book. Find translation. Break the pact,” he said between wheezing breaths.

  “You need to stop taking trinkets from the Hells,” Armagon grumbled, but didn’t berate DraKar anymore as they shuffled away. “We’re staying together.”

  ***

  The sun was beginning to rise to Armagon’s left, the second dawn since he’d found DraKar. The rays bounced and glittered off the river’s surface and made the world seem too peaceful for them to be running from demons. DraKar had finally passed out the day before, after several miles of stumbling alongside him. He’d stashed the tome in DraKar’s larger haversack, freeing his arms to heave his brother onto his shoulders, in front of his wings.

  He hadn’t been able to pull the draining necklace from DraKar’s neck. Whatever had triggered the sapping of DraKar’s magic had also enabled a spell that wouldn’t allow the jewelry to be taken off. If he didn’t find a way to free his brother soon, the harsh draw on his energy might kill him.

  “Lord Armagon!”

  Armagon let DraKar slide off his back as he drew a dagger from his belt, spinning to the sound of the guttural voice. With DraKar out of the way, he reached back to his sword and drew it as well. Before his name had finished echoing, he was armed and facing the speaker.

  On the hill Armagon had just descended, a group of creatures gathered, but the distance was too great to make out any details. They’d purposefully called out before he could smell or hear them. They were silhouetted on the hill, making their position clear. Armagon instantly knew who they were, the demons who had been tracking them. It would be easier to kill them now and worry about who was sent afterward. Freeing DraKar from the gem was more important.

  The largest demon took a few steps forward and held his long arms aloft. “Surrender, and we can free Lord DraKar from the spell.”

  Armagon’s eyes searched for an ambush, whatever demons said was never the whole truth. He needed to help DraKar though and the possibility the demons offered made him wait. Could he find someone willing and able to release his brother? How long could DraKar hold out for that hope?

  They would be taken back to the Hells, and Armagon wasn’t sure when they could escape again. The test to bring back the book had only been a lucky happenstance, and even that had come with the clause of the group of demons following them.

  The scent of blood wafted on the air, even stronger than their foul odor. Armagon wondered who had been foolish enough to cross their path. Most mortals would flee at the first hint of the creatures’ dark presence. He adjusted his grip on the black sword and kept his stance.

  “Without killing him,” Armagon answered in the guttural, slurring language of the Hells.

  The large demon snorted in bemusement. “Yes, without killing him. Your father wants you both alive.” He added in a grumble to the four with him, “As always.”

  Armagon resisted the urge to correct him. Mammon, the archdevil of the Third plane was not their father.

  “Lay the weapon aside, and let us help Lord DraKar.”

  Armagon shook his head. “I’ll not lay my blade aside on a lesser demon’s order.”

  The large demon took two more steps forward, but he was several loping strides away. “Sheath it then.”r />
  Armagon glanced back at DraKar, his breathing was shallow and he hadn’t made a sound since passing out. He slowly slipped the deadly blade back into its sheath between his wings. “Come.”

  The demons loped down the hill, using their knuckles and feet like the apes of the eastern continent. Dried blood and viscera coated their rusted armor, whatever they had killed had been large enough to cover them all. Before they came within striking distance of Armagon, he backed away from DraKar, leaving them enough room to gather around without being within an arm’s reach of him. The sulfuric scent of the demons was inundated heavily with the smell of the crusted offal on them.

  “Free him,” Armagon ordered.

  “First we go back,” the large demon said. He licked at the dried blood around his craggy muzzle, yellowed fangs flashed in a snarling smile.

  The dark blade sang as Armagon slid it free from the sheath, in a fluid movement he moved in close enough to gut one of the demons. As it fell with a gurgle, he spun and cut the arm off of another one that had begun to advance. The largest he wanted alive and so swept his tail against the demon’s legs, knocking it down. In a final precise movement, he rested the point of his sword at the large demon’s neck.

  The rest of the demons stopped, waiting for the order from their commander, or if Armagon killed him, weighing the possibility of escaping the lord’s wrath. The gutted demon tried to hold his innards, his armor rent in half and covered in his own blood now. The other wounded demon tried to stifle pained whimpers as he grasped at the stump of his arm.

  “Free him, here,” Armagon ordered again.

  The large demon choked on a nervous sound. “We must take you both back.”

  Armagon hesitated, judging the remaining four demons. He could kill them, but he wouldn’t know if they had the item on them to save DraKar, or if it was waiting back in the Hells. Their return would lead to a period of imprisonment before they were tested for loyalty again. More time lost to the Hells, more time tortured. They hadn’t even gotten to go to Meerwood, DraKar hadn’t been able to see his mate, Drunah. But at least they would get the chance again. If he didn’t allow the demons to take them back, DraKar would likely die.

  Armagon let the frustrated growl spill from his throat. If he left DraKar to the demons to be taken back to the Hells, he would have to find his own way to go back and free him. Hundreds of years could pass in the Hells, while he spent months on the Mortal plane searching for a mage powerful enough and willing to open one of the portals. Even if he did kill the demons and found something that looked like it could help DraKar, he wouldn’t know how to operate it.

  “Agreed.”

  ***

  DraKar woke with a snarl as his right wing was twisted back and pressed against a stone wall. The snarl shifted to a wail when an iron spike was hammered through the upper joint, pinning it to the stone. Chains bound him, bladed cuffs locked his wrists above his shoulders, his legs were trapped, and even his tail was lashed against the wall. A heavy metal muzzle covered his snout, with barely enough room for him to part his teeth.

  Two demons, each as large as him, twisted back his other wing. He strained against them, but the two easily won the struggle against his one wing. They hammered the spike through the joint, smashing bone and tearing ligaments.

  DraKar could do nothing but curse and grit his teeth against the pain. His breath came in short pants, the air tainted with sulfur, burnt hair, and putrid offal, as he tried to keep his spasming wing muscles from pulling against the spikes. The scent of demons made his lip curl back.

  The demons backed away as he lifted his head. Their small black eyes a little wide and wary. One held up his three fingered hands in surrender or supplication as his cloven hooves scraped the floor with his retreat.

  Not that DraKar could take his retribution then. Magic was choked off in the room. Otherwise he would have been free already.

  His gaze shifted from the demons to Armagon, chained in a similar manner, but without the spikes, to the opposite wall. Hell-fire torches on either side of him kept the black sarpand from shifting into his shadowy form.

  Their eyes met, a silent apology and rebuff for being captured again passed with the look.

  “I told you to leave me,” DraKar said. His voice still strained to remain even from the shock of the spikes in his wings.

  “But he didn’t.”

  Armagon and DraKar turned to the familiar voice of Sorris, Mammon’s servant and advisor. He was a pale demon, like a salamander adapted to deep, dark places. He wore fine silks and a gold headdress atop his bulbous head. Large black eyes, whole and glossy, took in the two chained sarpand. He tapped his tall staff against the stone floor as he came to a stop between them.

  “It was a simple task. Fetch the book and bring it back. Kill any who knew about it.” Sorris sighed through his rows razor thin fangs. “Even a damn dog could have done it.”

  “You have the book,” Armagon said.

  “Your minders had to kill the mountain giant clan. Your father is disappointed.”

  “Not our—”

  The crack of Sorris’s staff silenced DraKar, his eyes going wide, then turning red. Armagon slumped from the blow across his ribs, the air knocked out of him and definitive line where the bones had snapped. A low pitiful whine escaped Armagon as he tried to draw a breath. Blood dripped from his wrists as the weight of his whole body was supported by the bladed manacles.

  “Back to this basic lesson?” Sorris asked. He lifted Armagon’s head with the end of the metal shod staff.

  “You’ll be groveling at our feet,” DraKar snarled.

  “When your father deems I do so,” Sorris said over his shoulder. He lowered the staff and pressed it against Armagon’s broken ribs.

  DraKar shouted to be heard over Armagon’s cries, “Mammon is our father!”

  Sorris tutted and eased the pressure against Armagon’s ribs so he would be quieter. “No,” he drawled. “I didn’t ask a question yet.”

  DraKar’s chains rattled as he tensed and shifted from the rebuke, his eyes firmly on Armagon. Armagon was silent but for his wheezing gasps. Bloody drool dripped from his mouth and through the gaps in the muzzle. Telling Sorris what he wanted to hear wasn’t the answer. Their pain and the act of torture was. He needed to give Armagon a longer reprieve.

  “Then I’ll ask a question,” DraKar said. “How long did it take to regrow the eye I burst the last time you got to close?”

  Sorris twitched and spun on DraKar. “A long time in the fires.” A long thin tongue snaked out from his mouth and licked over the regrown eye. He pressed the staff against one of DraKar’s spiked wing joints, grinding against the shattered bone and torn ligaments.

  DraKar flinched and growled through his teeth. As much as he tried to keep still, he reacted to the pain. His whole body shivered, his wing quivering to escape the staff, but it was impossible to escape the spikes. The broken holes in his wings were only becoming worse.

  “Now that you’ve given Lord Armagon some time, should I go back to him?” Sorris gave a final jab of his staff to enunciate the question.

  Armagon lifted his eyes and DraKar gave a small shake of his head to him. Defiance was their only weapon now.

  The motion wasn’t lost on Sorris. “We have time.” He slid a curved blade from the back of his belt. “I’ll peel the flesh from your bones and have it healed an inch at a time. Lord Armagon’s ribs should heal by then.”

  DraKar grimaced and clenched his fists as the torches to heal him were brought in. While Armagon could shift into the shadows, DraKar was healed by fire. Sorris would do exactly as he said until he was satisfied he’d chipped away their defiance.

  Chapter 2

  309 Br. winter

  “The Ancient is the great mountain god of the mountain giants. Inside, are the infinite caverns of all the spirits of the mountain giants. Outside, the entrance is guarded by the Twins, the only twin mountain giants ever born. Beyond their gate is the field of
solitude where the exiles of mountain giant society are doomed to wander alone and unloved for all eternity.”

  -A Study of the Lesser Religions

  T he mountain giantess woke with a scream and tried to flail away from her grisly nightmare. Madger’s covers scattered and she was blinded by the sun. She sat up, panting as the fear ebbed away and rubbed at the side of her face. She checked her reflection in the nearby river, her gray skin was discolored to an angry dark and purple on the right side of her face. The swelling from her father’s blow had gone down. The first and only time he’d struck her. A slap from her mother was common, rocks thrown by her cousin’s accepted, strikes from her uncles and aunts expected. The only one left who’d never raised a hand to her was her brother, Merion.

  No.

  No one was left.

  How many weeks had it been since she’d fled her clan’s home? Or was it a month? More?

  She wasn’t sure.

  Madger’s stomach grumbled and she gathered plants to stew. To keep busy while she waited for the water to boil she tried to figure out how to magically light a fire on the end of a stick. The first few attempts ended with nothing more than a blazing headache. As she practiced, small forces began to work against the wood, but no smoke or a spark. Just the twig shoved around by balls of magic she tried to force into a flame.

  A frustrated sound burst from her throat, and she put more power into the attempt. The wood shattered, and Madger screamed and ducked, dropping the stick as she covered her face. She blinked and looked at the pulverized twig with a frown. Still no smoke.

  She took a sip of her cooking and nearly spat it out. She needed something more substantial and eyed the beaver dam upriver. She made a crude sling and gathered some rocks. For the possibility of meat, she would spend a day or two hunting, waiting, for a beaver to appear.