Demon Lord X: Forge of Time

By T C Southwell

Seven dark gods have imprisoned the Demon Lord and condemned him to eternal damnation, sealed within a warded tomb and lost in the infinite, ever-changing God Realm. A time hex keeps him on the brink of death, while the two cursed swords that impale him ensure he will die if it is undone. Bane suffers endless torments designed to break his spirit and despair erodes his will to survive. Mirra raises their daughter in Myrthran, but a dark cult has set its sights on the young demigoddess, who is vulnerable to its machinations without her father’s guidance and protection.

The Grey God, Kayos, and legions of angels search for Bane, while the dark city of Naskara closes in on Airedene, intent on destroying it. Years have passed with no sign of the mortal tar’merin, and soon Kayos will be forced to abandon his search and join the other Grey Gods to defend the celestial city, even though he fears that it is doomed this time.

In a distant world, a light god receives mysterious messages from the Last Land that speak of an imprisoned warrior of the light and contain clues as to how to find and free him. Lord Veradian prepares a sorceress, endowing her with the powers that may be necessary to take on the seemingly impossible task. He is even forced to make a deal with the darkness, since light and dark must work together to achieve this aim, but the chances of freeing the prisoner alive are slim. A mysterious scourge afflicts Veradian’s world, and war ravages the land. He hopes the warrior of the light can help, but, even if Ashryn succeeds in her mission, the god who comes out of the tomb is liable to be quite different from the one who was condemned.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T C Southwell
• Release date: Nov 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463009611

T C Southwell

T. C. Southwell was born in Sri Lanka and moved to the Seychelles when she was a baby. She spent her formative years exploring the islands – mostly alone. Naturally, her imagination flourished and she developed a keen love of other worlds. The family travelled through Europe and Africa and, after the death of her father, settled in South Africa. T. C. Southwell has written over thirty fantasy and science fiction novels, as well as five screenplays. Her hobbies include motorcycling, horse riding and art, and she is now a full-time writer.

Book preview

Book X of the Demon Lord Series

FORGE

OF

TIME

T C Southwell

Published by T C Southwell at Smashwords

Copyright © 2019 by T C Southwell

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Table of Contents

Chapter One – Anvil of Clouds

Chapter Two – Spirit Seeker

Chapter Three – Demigoddess

Chapter Four – Damnation

Chapter Five – Redemption

Chapter Six – Forge of Time

Chapter Seven – Blue Gods

Chapter Eight – Myth Magic

Chapter Nine – Greater God

Chapter Ten – Confrontation

Chapter Eleven – Lord of the Light

Chapter Twelve – The Scourge

Chapter Thirteen – Tra’mith

Chapter Fourteen – Tar’shaegan

Chapter Fifteen – The Pact

Chapter Sixteen – Warlocks

Chapter Seventeen – God Blood

Chapter Eighteen – A Broken Soul

Chapter Nineteen – The Call

Chapter Twenty – Dark Angel

Prologue

The Demon Lord saves Kayos’ granddaughter from the ancient dark god, Telvaron, but his final trap injures Bane and forces him to Move in the God Realm. He is flung into the Forgotten Lands, where deadly time tides roam and, with an adamante shard lodged in his flesh, he cannot use the dark power. The archangel Majelin guides him to a wild portal that takes them to the accursed celestial city of Naskara. Seven dark gods slumber there, awaiting its arrival at the angels’ city, Airedene, which they intend to destroy. They crucify Bane and send his warded tomb into the God Realm, condemning him to eternal damnation, sealed within a time hex.

Kayos orders legions of angels to hunt for his dark spirit son’s tomb, but their chances of finding him in the trackless, ever-changing wastelands are slim. He ensures Bane’s family and friends return safely to Myrthran aboard the stealth ship before he joins the search, but the impending war with Naskara looms as the years pass with no sign of the Demon Lord.

Chapter One

Anvil of Clouds

Jeharad squinted across the sweltering expanse of stony sand, where mirages of shining lakes lured unwary victims to grim fates. A makeshift shelter of poles and ragged grey cloth kept the blazing sky’s radiance from baking his brains, but the arid air sapped him. He was the self-appointed watchman for his little clan, so each day he left the encampment half a league away to take up his lonely vigil for several hours. Since there was no night there, he slept when he was tired and woke when he was rested, but remained vigilant, even after seven years of that stultifying routine. He preferred solitude, and spent his time whittling wooden bric-a-brac whilst lost in memories of better times, before his world had died.

A distant, moving speck caught his eye, and he tucked away his latest project and picked up his spyglass, his heart thudding. Heat shimmers warped the figure, but it was bipedal and dressed in a white coat and veiled cowl. He lowered the spyglass and opened his water skin to wet his mouth, which had gone dry. The stranger could just be a half-dead wretch trudging across the accursed wastelands in search of shelter and succour, but he hoped it was someone of more consequence.

The clouds had guided Jeharad and his companions to this place when most had thought they were doomed to die of exhaustion and thirst. The towering formation of billowing blue-grey thunderheads, gilded by the sky, was visible for hundreds of leagues, and remained above a mysterious stone monument, even when storms swept through.

Jeharad and a few others called it a monument, but some thought it might be a tomb or relic of a vanished civilisation, except that it stood alone. It seemed to be the reason for the strange clouds, and its chilling aura of gut-churning evil repelled any who dared to set foot upon the circular area of blasted land that surrounded it. Just looking at it curdled Jeharad’s blood, as if it watched him with frozen, shadowy eyes.

Jeharad peered through his spyglass again, finding the figure a good deal closer and therefore easier to make out. The stranger approached with swift, strong strides and carried only a small pack. He headed directly for the clouds, and Jeharad sipped water while he waited, but, when it appeared that the stranger would walk right past, he rose to his feet to make his presence known. The newcomer veered towards him, his tall silver staff clinking on the stones. He stopped three paces away and swept back the veil to reveal a tanned female face with high cheekbones and arched eyebrows. Her full lips curved in a broad smile as she drew a sliver flask from her coat, opened it and took a sip, then tilted her head and inspected him with striking golden eyes.

"Comcha; est naya kar si lagraan."

Jeharad realised that his mouth hung open and shut it, then shook his head and gestured to the cluster of huts. I don’t understand. Come to the settlement, and we’ll figure out how to translate your tongue.

That’s okay. I speak yours now.

Ah. Um… that’s good. Welcome. I’m Jeharad.

My name is Ashryn. Her eyes focussed beyond him, and he quelled a strong urge to look back, knowing at what she gazed.

You must be tired and hungry. We have food and shelter.

Thank you. I am a bit tired.

Ashryn dumped her pack, strolled into the shade and pushed back her hood to free a thick mane that was plaited on the sides and tied back. Her locks were ash blonde on her crown, but changed hue through golden and strawberry blonde to dark red above her nape. Tiny gold symbols adorned the backs of her hands, and three crooked blue lines emerged from under her hair on either side of her neck. He detected a faint stench and furtively sniffed an armpit. Washing was a rare luxury, and he had long since lost the ability to smell his own stink, so perhaps it was hers. Hiking across a desert was sweaty work, although she looked fairly cool.

He said, You’re lucky you found this place. You’ll be safe here.

She raked him with an assessing look and sipped from her flask again. I’m not lost or seeking shelter. I’m here to free the warrior of the light… or, at least, to try.

Ah. Well, I hope you find him. You’re welcome to stay awhile and rest.

Oh, I’ve found him. She jerked her chin at the monument. He’s in there.

Jeharad glanced at it. That’s a prison?

I’ll wager you thought it was just a relic, huh?

Actually, most of us think it’s a monument. What makes you so sure this… um… warrior is imprisoned in there?

About twenty-eight years ago, comatose people in my world started waking up and saying things like, ‘the warrior of the light is imprisoned under the anvil of clouds in the realm of the gods’ and ‘go to the anvil of clouds in the God Realm and free the warrior of the light’. Some were more specific, while others wrote down a runic spell that undoes a time hex or insisted that the rescuer must be a healer. They were obsessed with the message, telling it to anyone who would listen or writing it repeatedly, even on the walls, but only for three days; then they forgot it. Few paid it any mind, at first, but some doctors took notes.

She drained her flask, and four arcane symbols on it glimmered. The problem was, those people were unbelievers from technocrat lands, so it remained a mystery for years. The doctors dismissed it as dreams, or delusions, although the messages’ consistency intrigued them. Then several people woke up in cleric lands and said the same things, and the priests interviewed them. Those clouds look rather like an anvil, don’t you think?

He nodded. So you trekked all the way here to free whoever’s in that… thing, based on a bunch of sick people’s ravings?

Sure. The priests prayed to our god, and he told them to find a pregnant woman who wished a great destiny for her child. My mother was a volunteer, and here I am. She spread her arms. So, what insights do you have to share? So far, I might as well have walked on past, for all the good stopping has done me.

I can tell you no one goes near that thing. It’s dangerous.

It’s a bastion of the dark power, yes. That’s enough to put most people off.

It repels everything, he said. Even dark beasts won’t come near it. That’s one reason why we live here.

Well, that’s handy, and it makes sense, but what do you eat and drink?

There’s a crashed vessel on the far side of the monument that has a… device in it that produces food and water.

Huh. Maybe those people made the mistake of trying to tamper with the tomb.

That’s what we figured. When we found this place, we buried dozens of mummified corpses. They looked like they’d been dead for a while.

And they didn’t die of thirst. She nodded at the clouds. That’s a thing of beauty. It even has rainbows in it. Does it ever change?

It gets stormy sometimes, and then the ground shakes and fire burns fiercer.

That’s interesting. This area hasn’t changed one iota since you found it, has it?

No.

But it should have.

So who’s this warrior of the light and why is he imprisoned in that thing?

"Let’s not call it a thing, shall we? That hardly does it credit, and it’s a bad description. She gazed at the monument. That’s undoubtedly the greatest prison ever built, but it’s more accurately described as a tomb, since that’s what it’s supposed to be. So let’s stick with that."

Okay, so who’s entombed in it?

A god, of course, she stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He must be a greater mortal god; hence the need for a healer and such a formidable prison. No one knows his name, but we think the messages came from the light.

He shook his head, flabbergasted. That thing… tomb hasn’t been here for that long.

How do you know that?

It’s sinking. It’s sunk two inches over the past seven years, but the depression is only about three inches deep, so it can’t have been here for more than a decade or so.

She sipped from her flask. That’s what Veradian said. I don’t understand it either. I gave up asking questions because most of the answers were beyond me, but he says that the reason this desert’s been here since the tomb arrived is because it halted the changes. And it’s not sinking; it’s immovable, while the God Realm shifts around it.

Who’s Veradian?

He’s my god.

He raised his eyebrows. Yet you speak of him so irreverently?

You mean, because I don’t call him ‘lord’?

Yes.

He taught me to be fearless, even of gods. He said I’d need to be. He gave me all the gifts he thought I’d need for this task, and he even made a deal with the darkness.

Really? Huh. What sort?

She indicated his rickety chair. Do you mind? As I said earlier, I’m a bit tired.

Go ahead.

Ashryn sank onto it with a sigh, placed her flask on her lap and released her staff to massage her thighs. It remained upright, and he peered at it, intrigued. Its surface was so reflective it was almost invisible, but fine lines twined around it, and light streamed along them. He reached for it, drawn by a powerful compulsion.

She said, I wouldn’t do that if I was you.

He snatched his hand back. Why?

It’ll zap you. It only allows me to touch it. Veradian made it that way, for safety.

So, it’s a tool, to help you with your task?

It’s many things, like me. No one thing will triumph over the tomb, but many things, working together, might. I can tell you it’s made of adamante, if that helps.

It doesn’t, since I don’t know what that is.

It’s a celestial metal found only in light realms.

Okay, if you say so. You said your lord made a deal with the darkness?

I did. Astonishing, huh? He hated doing it, but it was necessary. So, I have him. She gestured to her tracks in the sand. Show yourself, Gorvin.

A greyish-yellow cloud formed and thickened, and then solidified into a bald man with black eyes, sharp features and a short brown goatee. He wore a silver-studded leather jacket over a royal blue silk shirt, black trousers and a surplus of gold jewellery in the form of thick neck chains, earrings and a jewel-encrusted belt.

Jeharad stepped back, his blood chilling. That’s a demon.

Ashryn nodded. Yes. He’s a greater air demon. His master, Kamath, is a black mage. Don’t worry, he won’t harm you. He obeys me.

Why do you need a demon?

Well, a child of the light can’t free a prisoner of the darkness, but Gorvin can help. This is all quite hit and miss, you see. No one’s tried anything like it before, so Veradian equipped me as well as he could, based on the information the messages provided. There may even be a bit of overkill involved, but hey, rather have too much than too little, right?

I didn’t think demons could wield the dark power.

They can’t, but he doesn’t need to, because I have this. She reached into her coat and drew out a fist-sized crimson stone that glistened and seemed to seethe.

"What the hell is that?"

It’s a bloodstone. They’re extremely rare, and mages prize them, due to their ability to store magic and unleash it when triggered. Veradian created this one, and Kamath spent almost a decade filling it with shadows and inscribing it with the spell that was provided, see? She held it up to display the runes carved into it. Considering how formidable that tomb is, it must be a hell of a spell, so this thing’s about as powerful as it can be made.

Jeharad shifted under the demon’s unnerving stare. That’s a lot of trouble to go to, to free this… warrior of the light, even if he is a god, since you don’t know what kind he is, isn’t it?

I agree, but Veradian has a strong suspicion.

What’s that?

Ashryn leant closer and lowered her voice. He’s tar’merin.

Oh. He drew back, blinked and shook his head. "I have no idea what that is."

Neither do I, but Veradian’s all fired up about freeing him. She put the stone back in her pocket. And, if I succeed, I’m to ask him to help my world, which is in a spot of trouble.

What sort of trouble?

War, famine, sickness… I was raised in the light realm, for the most part, but I did visit my mum, and there’s a scourge, which has something to do with the darkness.

Don’t all scourges have something to do with the darkness?

I suppose so. Good point.

Jeharad shot Gorvin a frown. Could you… send him away, or something?

"Oh, he’s always around, but he can be less obnoxious. Gorvin, leave our sight."

The demon faded, and Jeharad rubbed his prickling nape. So… how do you intend to open that thing?

"It’s a tomb, not a thing. Veradian can’t see it, since it’s warded, but apparently those weird clouds confirm that it’s in a time hex. So, Gorvin will use the stone to try to break the spell, and I hope it works, or I wasted a trip. First, I must talk to the occupant in a spirit dream. Veradian says that the only person who can free the prisoner is the prisoner."

So you need somewhere to sleep.

She shook her head. No, but I do need to have a closer look at the tomb.

If you go too close, you’ll feel sick.

It won’t affect me. The staff protects me, and Veradian will guide me, when necessary.

Are you his priestess?

I’m a priestess, a sorceress, a spirit seeker, and a healer. I think that’s all. Veradian might have sneaked in a few more abilities while I was asleep, or before I was born. He tried to prepare me for every eventuality. We have no idea what’ll happen when I try to free the prisoner, after all.

How far away is your world? he enquired.

Oh, not too far; the journey here only took me about a year.

If I help you, will you give my friends and me safe haven?

She raised an eyebrow. I’m not authorised to make deals, and besides, you won’t like my world. There’s that scourge I mentioned earlier.

It must be better than this.

It’s prettier, but it’s up to Veradian. What are you offering?

Um… food, shelter, guidance… whatever you need.

I’m pretty much self-sufficient, but I’ll put in a good word for you.

Thanks. Would you like some refreshment, perhaps a meal? It’s not the tastiest food, but it’s nutritious. My friends will be happy to meet you. You’re the first newcomer we’ve had.

She tucked away her flask, stood up and took hold of her staff. Sure, but first, I want a closer look at the tomb.

Ashryn strode off with a confident air, and Jeharad hesitated before following. As the clouds loomed overhead, she glanced back and slowed her pace so he could catch up.

Are you feeling ill yet? she asked.

No. It’ll start just after I step into that depression. He pointed at a sharp-edged dent in the land that curved away in a vast circle.

That’s the tomb’s sphere of power. It’s rather impressive, I think, but this is all new to me. She flung him a grin. Aren’t you the least bit excited?

I find my excitement tempered by a healthy dose of self-preservation.

Veradian says that if the prisoner is tar’merin, he won’t harm us.

That’s a big ‘if’. He stepped into the depression and stopped as his stomach heaved. I can’t go any closer, or I’ll be vomiting up my breakfast.

Ashryn turned to him, her smile fading. That’s a shame. She addressed the staff. I’d like Jeharad to come.

Jeharad’s queasiness abated, and she set off again. He fell into step, quailing at the gut-freezing ambience. The anvil of clouds was far more menacing at close quarters, and the temperature plummeted so much in its shade that he exhaled puffs of steam and shivered.

The cold isn’t just from the shade, she said. There must be a Source beneath us, to power the tomb and… There’s something else here, too.

Ashryn halted and struck the staff’s foot on the ground with a chime, and a silvery ring rippled through the earth. Thousands of glowing red runes appeared, forming sweeping lines that radiated from the tomb. They faded after several moments, leaving black scars, which he eyed with deep misgivings.

What are those?

She walked on. I’m pretty sure they’re curses; probably part of the tomb’s defences.

And did that… destroy them?

She snorted. No. It just revealed them. The staff can’t destroy dark magic.

So how is it protecting us?

It’s shifting us slightly out of phase with the rest of reality, so we’re undetectable.

Your god must be really determined, to go to such lengths, he remarked.

He spent two days consulting the Book of Edict, in order to fashion this staff and provide the defences I’ll need once the bloodstone breaks the time hex.

But surely, the time hex is inside the tomb.

Of course it is, and it would take far too long to reach, if not for a demon’s speed. Time can be stopped only briefly, or it would start a cataclysmic chain reaction, but it can be slowed indefinitely. So, it may take Gorvin a day or a week to reach the hex, depending on how slowly time’s passing inside its sphere. But first, I must… She stopped dead and thrust out an arm to halt Jeharad, gasping a cloud of steam. This is it.

He stepped back, scanning the area ahead. The time hex is there? How can you tell?

She grimaced and rubbed her chest. I have magic that warns me of danger. That hurt quite a bit, I have to say. I think Veradian wanted to ensure I couldn’t miss a warning.

What would have happened if you’d walked into it?

Oh, that’s not a problem. She raised the staff and jabbed its foot ahead, and it stopped with a clink, sparking a blue shimmer that crawled away in an expanding circle over a vast hemisphere. All movement inside that is so slow entering it would take years. I’d just have lost some skin if I’d bumped into it.

So this is as close as we can go.

For the moment, she agreed, staring intently at the tomb. But, to find the prisoner’s spirit, I need to know his name. And this isn’t the right spot. Come on. Stay on my right.

Ashryn set off to the right, tapping the staff’s foot on the hemisphere to ensure she knew where it was, and he kept pace. Periodically, she peered at the tomb, whose converging arches were wreathed in skeins of creeping shadows, like smoke, and its movement puzzled him until he realised that time had no effect on the dark power.

Ashryn halted for what seemed like the tenth time. Ah. There it is.

What?

His condemnation, which will contain his name, she said. It’s written on the plinth, see? But it’s too dark to read it, so…

Ashryn raised the staff and brought it down with a chime, and the curses glowed. The writing on the plinth glimmered golden, as did vertical lines of runic characters on the arches. She leant forward and squinted. Here, damned for all eternity… blah, blah… wow, gods can waffle on… the traitor – huh, interesting – who bears the name… Her lips moved silently, and then she straightened and raised her eyebrows. Okay. That’s unexpected.

What? You didn’t say his name.

Yes I did. I said his name’s…

Jeharad shook his head. Again, you said nothing. Did you hear yourself?

I thought so, but… She frowned. It’s gone. I can’t remember it. Gorvin! The demon appeared four paces away, and Ashryn ordered, Read the name on that plinth.

He glanced at it. It says his name is Bane, the Demon Lord.

I’m pretty sure I heard that. She looked at Jeharad. Did you hear it too?

Yes. It sounds rather ominous, if you ask me.

"Interesting, though, and puzzling, and only a dark minion can speak it after reading it on his tomb, and I could only remember it for a short time, so it’s cursed and the staff couldn’t protect me. Someone really doesn’t want this god freed, at all, ever. She flicked a hand at the demon. Leave us."

Jeharad rubbed his neck. Why would your god want to free someone with that title?

He might be tar’merin.

And we have no clue what that means.

But Veradian does. She set off towards the huts, and he followed. I don’t have all the answers, but I intend to carry out my task.

Jeharad grunted, sensing that arguing with her would be futile, and her staff and demon made her invincible. He could only warn his fellows that their haven might be destroyed in the near future.

What did the writing on the arches say? he asked.

I don’t know. They must be written in the language of the gods, which only they can read. They’re most likely part of the wards that imprison him.

At the settlement, she shucked her coat, revealing moulded silver armour over a long-sleeved, thigh-length tunic and leggings. Jeharad wondered how she could stand to be so overdressed in the heat, but maybe the staff kept her cool.

Chapter Two

Spirit Seeker

Ashryn sat beside Jeharad on a bench outside his hut, eating a bowl of bland porridge that one of the ragged, tanned women had given her. After living for so long on the strange nectar her flask provided, it was good to chew again. Her arrival three hours ago had caused quite a stir. Everyone had come to meet her, most smiling, but a few older men looked wary. Jeharad had introduced her to some of his friends, who greeted her with reserved friendliness, and the settlers had bombarded her with questions until he shooed them off, promising to tell them her story later. Then he had told her how, over a century ago, an apocalypse had made his world quake and the skies rain fire. Many had died before the cataclysm ended, but then the rains had dwindled until the rivers and lakes, and finally the oceans, dried up. He and his companions had fled their dying world when the sky darkened.

Jeharad’s group had originally consisted of several hundred people, who set out, with cartloads of supplies and beasts of burden, into the barren expanse beyond the vanished sea that once marked their world’s end. By the time they found the tomb, most had perished of thirst or the perils they encountered. Only forty-two survived, thirteen of them women. Given the hostile environment, the presence of four children, all under the age of six, surprised her somewhat. Jeharad had then left to partake in a heated discussion with a trio of middle-aged men for over an hour, which had involved a lot of head shaking and scowls, and returned looking a bit harassed.

Life at the camp was relaxed,