Chapter 18

The chanting dwindled into confusion, swallowed up by shouts of outrage and anger.

“Torches!” cried some of the Paladins, starting to leave.

“Do not break the Circle!” the Black Sorceress’s voice shrieked above the cries, and Mathew heard movement around him cease.

But the menatarms standing outside the Circle were, free to act. Hastening into the hallways around the Vestry, their booted feet skidding and sliding on the slick floors in their haste, the soldiers grabbed torches from the walls and were back into the Vestry before Mathew’s eyes had yet grown accustomed to the darkness.

Blinking in the blazing light that caused his eyes to ache, Mathew saw the Black Sorceress staring at him, her face livid, her eyes burning more fiercely than the flames reflected in their dark depths. She did not say a word or make a move but only gazed upon him, testing his strength. Between her and Mathew stood the imp, its splayfingered hands outstretched, its red eyes flaring threateningly around the circle, its tongue lolling in excitement from its drooling mouth.

Nobody moved or spoke. All eyes were on him. Mathew smiled, secure in his power. “Bring me the fish,” he ordered the imp again, his voice cracking with impatience. “Why do you delay? Must I speak the name of Our Master again? He won’t be pleased, I can assure you.”

Slowly, the imp turned and faced Mathew, its red eyes flickering, its shriveled skin glistening with slime in the torchlight. “You speak the name of My Master glibly enough,” said the imp, pointing at Mathew with a crooked finger, its feet sliding noiselessly over the floor as it drew near him. “But Astafas is not convinced that you are His servant. He demands proof, human.”

“What more proof does he want?” Mathew cried angrily, keeping the wand pointed at the imp. “Isn’t it enough that I am capturing these two Gods, bringing them to Him to do with as He pleases?”

“Are you?” inquired the imp, grinning. “Or are you using that as an excuse to aid you in your escape from the Castle, knowing that if you have the magical globe in your possession, no one can harm you? Will you truly offer the fish to Astafas?”

“I will! What can I do to prove it?”

The imp’s pointing finger began to move. “Sacrifice, in the name of Astafas, this man.” The finger stopped. It was aimed at Khardan’s heart.

Mathew sucked in his breath. The wand in his hand began to writhe and change and suddenly he held an onyx dagger with a handle of petrified wood. The breastplate melted from Khardan’s body, leaving his chest bare, the wounds of his torment clearly visible on his skin. The Calif regarded Mathew complacently, obviously thinking this was part of the plan. He made no attempt to escape, and Mathew knew he would not.

He has faith in me!

Not until Mathew plunged the dagger into his heart, would Khardan realize he’d been tricked, duped.

“There is nothing else I can do!” Mathew whispered, raising the dagger, enveloping himself in the darkness that had suddenly become a living, breathing entity.

And thus he did not see, behind him, torchlight flare off the drawn blade of the sword of Auda ibn Jad.