The Path of Sorrow by David Pilling & Martin Bolton

Author:David Pilling & Martin Bolton [Pilling, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-05-07T04:00:00+00:00

* * * *

Much later, Hoshea was alone in the cellar with his patient. The others had been taken away by his attendants to be treated with kindness until they died. He had given orders that he wanted to be left alone.

Hoshea was frightened. Before dismissing them, he had got his attendants to bring three more braziers into the cellar as a guard against the evening chill and his own shivering. For the task in hand, he knew he had to appear calm and have an iron grip on his emotions. He read too many ancient charred accounts, written in shaking hands, by sorcerers who had lost control of their work at vital times.

Jean’s bed had been dragged into the middle of the cellar floor, and Hoshea had arranged the braziers to stand in each corner. The injured Templar was still only half-conscious, his breathing still shallow, and his filmy blue eyes gazed at Hoshea in dull incomprehension.

The secretary was holding a very ancient book in the crook of his left arm. The pages, yellow with age and covered in stains and water marks, were covered in spiky handwriting, a difficult form of Old Temerian that Hoshea laboured. to understand. His lips moved silently as he traced the words with his forefinger.

After a while he stopped reading and looked up. The musty air in the cellar had thickened slightly, and the flames of the braziers flickered as if rippled by a soft breeze.

“I expected something more dramatic,” said Hoshea, doing his best to sound nonchalant. “These old grimoires speak of dog-headed apparitions, curling horns, cats-eye pupils, grinning mouths full of wolf-like teeth, and the like. Perhaps they exaggerated. I suspect that many of the old true sorcerers were rather too inclined to indulge in narcotics.”

“You will call me Lord,” hissed a sibilant voice. It was as though someone whispered in Hoshea’s ear, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Control, control, he thought to himself. Ignore the prickling of sweat on your skin and the terrified knocking of your heart. The demon must know that you are the one in control here.

“You are mistaken,” he said, careful to speak slowly and enunciate every word, for the demon might seize on any inaccuracy of pronunciation. “I am not your servant, and you will call me Master. I summoned you, and the words of the conjurer are binding.”

Silence for a moment, and Hoshea was uncomfortably aware of the sweat trickling down his spine.

“What do you want with me, Master?” the demon said in a sulky voice. His name in the book was given as Am-Ho-Ra-Trep, or the Maker of Pain. His true demonic name was unpronounceable in the human tongue, and his true form (so the book claimed) too horrible for any human to look on without losing their sanity. Thus it was a relief that the Maker chose to remain invisible.

“That is proper obedience,” said Hoshea, “now, do you see this man before me?”

“I see him.”

“He is sorely wounded and his life hangs by a sliver.

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