Legends from the Warlock's Chair - Book Two - The Chained

Chapter Thirty-One - Nightlures and Inquisitors

CHARNEL USED THE STAFF TO STEADY HIMSELF, he leaned awkwardly upon it and breathed deeply. Wisps of smoke curled off his blackened skin and patches of armoured scale lay pitted and scarred. The Elf's use of its magic to reinforce the barrier had almost succeeded in preventing him from returning. It had been a close thing, but it left him damaged.

After disabling his attackers, he seized the Elf and proceeded to try and reopen a passageway back through the wall. With the barrier partially strengthened by the Elf's magic, it proved a difficult task. He repeated the incantations that had earlier brought him through successfully. But this time the Elven wards held firm, continually shutting down the counterspells he conjured against them. Charnel was forced to call upon reserves of strength held deep within the staff. Even then the magic born aeons ago in the fires of the Deepshrine struggled to make an impact on the barrier. Finally, he summoned all the magic he could muster, gathered it all in one final effort to the breach the wall. He brought the staff up, configuring a series of intricate constructs that spun in the air before him. The gem flared brighter than it ever had before, and he sent the magical configurations crashing against the rampart. For a moment the ancient wards held. Then, fleetingly, the Elven magic gave way, and an aperture formed. Charnel dived for the opening, dragging the Elf with him.

The Daemon had forsaken the shields that would protect him from harm, instead strengthening the conjurations needed to counteract the warding spells. He used a tiny portion of what was left, what little he could spare, to save the Elf from harm—he would be no good to him dead— but it cost him dear. Forces within the barrier tore at his body. He felt the magical flames eating at his flesh and screamed in agony. Time appeared to slow, prolonging his torment, he gasped and writhed in an attempt to escape before the wall closed around him and ripped him apart. Fighting against the magic that was trying to prevent his return, he frantically called upon the staff to protect him. The sigils lit up briefly, their otherworldly glow momentarily pushing back the darkness that threatened to engulf him. It was enough. With a roar of triumph, he was through.

Charnel found himself in the shadows between the wall and other tall structures. The only light came from the flickering blue-green magic that licked along the barrier that curved high overhead. He did not recognise this area of the city, but the outlying districts were all much the same. He needed to gain a higher position. From there he would easily be able to locate the Cathedral of the Magnus Lords second only in size to the great bulk of the Great Basilica itself.

Charnel knelt beside the body of the Elf and reached out with one clawed hand.

Good! It still lives, he whispered to himself.

With a grimace of pain, the Daemon lifted the Elf's body and threw it over his shoulder. The journey through the barrier proved debilitating; his magic spent, he needed to gain the safety of his private quarters where he could rest and recuperate. In the gloom, he moved carefully along the steamy alleyways that wound between the buildings. Stagnant water swirled around his legs, each step releasing a pungent odour that assailed his nostrils and clogged his throat. He was searching for an entrance into one of them so he could gain access to the upper levels. The alleys were seldom used and full of discarded waste matter and debris that had fallen from above. Liquid dripped from above and ran down the walls, giving them the appearance of living things. A movement caught his eye, several glowing lights moved just above floor level, each one advancing warily towards him.

Nightlures, he thought.

Daemons were not the only creatures to have traversed the stars. Nightlures had also been on board the ship when it smashed into the planet countless years ago. They too had survived, breeding and evolving in the dark dank catacombs beneath the city. Small, grey-skinned and almost sightless reptilian scavengers, they employed their other senses to hunt among the detritus. A bioluminescent protuberance on their head lured unsuspecting prey into jaws armed with razor-sharp teeth. Anything that escaped was easily hunted down using their powerful hind legs and rending claws.