Apprentice: Book 3

By Dmitri Talanov

As Europe braces for the onslaught of the Black Death, Phale Fe goes to Italy in search of the demon that murdered his friends and burned down his school. Meanwhile, the parallel world of the New Realm closes its borders and institutes quarantine in an effort to protect its citizens from the pathogen.

Yet, with an Emperor slowly sliding into dangerous obsessions, a Secretary hungry for power, and vengeful forces gathering within as well as without, the clock on stability in the Empire is truly ticking. Phale is after justice, stability, and a future with his beloved Metta, but when a sword he forged from a mysterious meteorite falls into the hands of the deranged Emperor, all of that threatens to turn to chaos, along with the Empire itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483589626

Book preview

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Spain’s Inquisitor General, monk of the Dominican Order, Nicolai Aymeric (1316–1399), is considered to be the precursor of—and inspiration for—the terrible Torquemada. An ardent fanatic, he denied all his mistakes, was wantonly cruel, and created the truly sadistic Inquisitors’ Handbook. It is unknown what catalyst pushed this doctoral candidate of theology from the Sorbonne in Paris down this wretched path. There are only scattered accounts, some of which seem to suggest that it occurred around the year 1347…

—Jose de Ribero, The Horrors of the Inquisition, manuscript, Book 2

Castell de Montjuïc, Barcelona

It seemed to be too early for what they had intended.

Phale suggested not drawing the eye of the city guards, and instead waiting it out in the Dancing Bull Tavern, where some dinner could be had. Father Nicolai readily agreed.

They started as usual, with bread, radish, and hard pecorino. Phale also ordered a bowl of olive oil, which had the vinegar hint of a good red wine. He liked to enjoy a hunk of bread with this mixture, dipping pieces into the oil before eating them.

Father Nicolai didn’t approve of this, considering it gluttony. But he had chastised the foreigner on the subject only once, allowing him to bear the responsibility for his own sins in the future. What he couldn’t make his peace with, however, was the manner in which Phale swallowed his food.

My dear Phalemon, said Father Nicolai, curtly, you’re once again eating much too quickly. Is it not written in Proverbs that one must seal one’s throat to craving?

So you’ve said before, dear brother, answered Phale. I’d add that you’ve worn me down with the like these past seven months, and soon I’ll be quoting like a real monk. As for the Proverbs, don’t they also say, don’t judge the plight of your peer?

A serving girl brought them some wine, diluted with water and goat cheese. Father Nicolai, who was nearly twice the age of his young companion, smiled thinly.

Phalemon, I value your instinct to turn to the fount of grace that is our Holy Scripture but, every time you do, you stun me with your interpretation of what you’ve read. If you’re attempting to reference the book of Exodus, therein it is written not to judge the plight of the poor, not your peer. It’s damaging for you to read the scriptures, having not yet equipped yourself with a firmness of mind. This, again, I have said on countless occasions.

Phale sighed. Brother Nicolai, we don’t have time to firm up my mind. And I seem to remember asking you to call me by my real name when nobody of your acquaintance was within earshot.

Father Nicolai, a dry and lanky monk who appeared even taller due to his gauntness, smiled paternally. He had a thin, straight nose and a piercing gaze.

"What I remember is your banishing a demon from my Parisian landlady, and our subsequent agreement affirming that to avoid unpleasantness, I would call you Phalemon Ugge, and you would refrain from orating upsetting tales about the place you’d come from. And that you would also instruct me in the art of combat with demons.

"I, in turn, give myself body and soul to assisting you in your quest, utilising all the wisdom afforded me by the Holy Dominican Order, to whom all glory will go…should there be any. This last item is worth enough to me that I will stomach your youth and juvenile antics, while seeking at every turn to keep from getting ensnared by the powers that be—be they earthly, or celestial. In any case, the name you call yours at home can here only belong to a shepherd or the like, and certainly not a knight of the faith, which you are not only taken to be, but indeed are, despite your protests. Your true name would raise far too many questions here, my young friend!"

Such lectures were the frequent result of any attempt Phale made to gain freedom of speech and action, ever since the moment he’d shown up on Father Nicolai’s porch. The older man, it had to be said, looked nothing like the monk he assuredly was. He wore no tonsure, and dressed entirely like a secular commoner—unless visiting an abbey or monastery, for which purpose he lugged a trunk of clothes after himself.

Phale got along with him because he had learned during their last encounter that Father Nicolai was smart, imbued with curiosity, and ready to combat any devil that crossed his path—to which end he saw no sin in straying from dogma. He also bathed no less than once a week, which placed him in contrast to his odorous colleagues. He also knew a surprising amount about demons, though he ascribed them to be servants of Satan, and not fauna, as Phale had grown to think of them.

As a servant of the church, doctor of theology Nicolai Aymeric saved a pile of money on lodging. He had easily found shelter for Phale and himself at monasteries across France, Navarre, Aragon, and Catalonia, during the six months the pair had spent chasing a Nergal named Valefar across the continent. Phale had been surprised to discover that the demon’s name was actually included in the church’s bestiary.

Their pursuit was coming to an end. Phale had come full circle since his departure from the New Realm, ending up once again in Veneto, near Padua, and Father Nicolai insisted that this was a good omen. The plague that had seemingly followed in their wake had remained on the shores of Spain, and a demon of the Dilleron variety, that they’d recently cornered at a Barcelona market, had admitted that there was talk Valefar intended to return to Padua.

Phale had been surprised by Father Nicolai’s aptness in sussing out that the clown sneering above the crowd was not quite what he had seemed. While Phale, mouth agape, had been watching the spottily made-up jester compel people to do as he pleased with a wave of his finger, Father Nicolai had sneaked backstage and immobilised the demon using an arponis staff. He had then thrown the creature into the crowd and jumped in after it. Then he dragged the limp body to his horse, and, after securing the creature, mounted and spurred his animal out of the square. Phale had barely caught up to him.

Father Nicolai had carried out the interrogation that followed just as quickly. Certain he was faced with a demon, for the arponis staff would not have been effective otherwise, he had hit the creature with several doses of the freezing flame to stop the cascade of transformations that the Dilleron had begun, upon finding itself tied to a tree. The freezing effect had also robbed the creature of most of its hypnotic ability.

Having mercilessly interrogated the ten-year-old little pigtailed waif that the demon had finally chosen to appear as, the monk had executed her without batting an eye.

Four years earlier, when Phale had sent this arponis to Father Nicolai, he hadn’t anticipated the monk would become such a capable student.

Brother Nicolai, why are you waiting for the demon to appear precisely here? he asked, first to finish his meal. "Why not in Padua, Treviso, or Venice? And why not tomorrow, or the day after? There’s nothing remarkable about this Vicenza place—it’s nothing but jewellers!"

Were you not godless, Phalemon, you would know why today of all days, the monk answered. Today the Christmas Mass begins at midnight across all of Italy.

Phale shuddered at the thought of having to once again stand through mass in a stuffy, crowded church.

Father Nicolai noticed this, and sighed. I knew you wouldn’t take to this news with joy, as would a Christian man. Well. You only deny yourself salvation.

I’m already satisfied with the amount of salvation required in order to impersonate an idiot novice when we’re around your sacred brothers, Phale grumbled.

Father Nicolai rinsed his fingers in a cup of water.

And you are not without a talent for it. You’re brash, noble-hearted, but know how to keep quiet when it suits you. Thus, I have not lost hope that I might yet bring you into the bosom of the church. You were made to be God’s hand, I know it!

Phale shoved his own hands into the pockets of his cape, and turned over in his palm a signet ring with the symbol of a dog’s head with a torch in its jaws. This had been a gift from Father Nicolai. The monk had been overwhelmed with feeling after Phale had pointed his arponis at the back of the aforementioned landlady, pressed the noose, and a moment later found himself face-to-face with a furious velara.

Father Nicolai had become much more friendly then, and after their lengthy chat, had assured Phale of his aid and allegiance. When the landlady of the Parisian apartment had awoken and, now absent the demon, found herself to be twenty years older than she last remembered, they had been forced to flee Paris in a hurry, if only to escape her screams.

Your god scares me. I doubt we’ll agree on a price, Phale said.

Father Nicolai shook his head judgmentally.

God is our father, and the only price here, my son, is your very soul!

Having heard the term my son, Phale, as always during such exchanges, rushed to interrupt the torrent of epithets with a reminder. My dear brother, remember you are not preaching at the moment! And you still haven’t explained to me how you chose Vicenza.

The monk smiled indulgently. "Quick-witted as you are, sometimes you miss the most basic of details, dear Phalemon. Did the Dilleron not tell us that Valefar had taken an Obzes demon into his service, which would now be seeking shelter for its master? From what you’ve told me about the Nergals’ status amongst their own, such shelter would have to be no less than a villa, if not a palace. So the Obzes, which can be extremely comely, and is able to change gender appearance at will, will be seeking a wealthy victim to seduce and turn to its nefarious ends.

A quick seduction is difficult when your physical attributes are hidden beneath the heavy garments worn now in Padua, Treviso, and Venice—where wet snow is falling and fog hangs in the air. This is all good weather for our hiding Valefar, but ill circumstances for the Obzes. In Vicenza, meanwhile, as you can see there is no fog, due to its distance from the shoreline, and we’ve even gotten lucky with the temperature today. Thus, I don’t doubt that the Obzes will appear here, and precisely at the time when the town’s more well-to-do citizens start heading to mass at the Basilica of Felice and Fortunato. This, among all the local churches, poses the least threat to a servant of Satan, as it was built on the site of a pagan necropolis.

For Phale, chatting with Father Nicolai seemed much like doing so with Irenius: one, two, and everything was filed away in its place. If only the monk would climb up on his pulpit less often.

You’re suggesting we freeze our rumps off, waiting for midnight? asked Phale. The tavern’ll be shutting soon!

They alone remained in the half-dark tavern, except for the ostiary, cleaning up nearby. His face was lined with impatience, but he didn’t presume to hurry such finely dressed guests.

Father Nicolai stood, and Phale settled their bill. The monk didn’t go out of his way to pay for himself. Phale wasn’t irritated about it because of what he was saving in lodgings with the monk’s help.

They exited into a dark alleyway, just steps from the square upon which stood the Basilica of Felice and Fortunato, beautifully lit by a multitude of oil lanterns. It was brisk outside, but not wet. The glimmer of lamps housed inside the massive Basilica played on the cobbles of the still deserted square.

Let’s go wait there, said Father Nicolai, taking Phale’s arm. The participants in the service will be dressing now, and the keeper of the cellar has nothing to do. Only not a word from you about—

I know, I know, Phale interrupted him. They’re not Dominicans, so keep mum about our work, so all the glory can go to your Order alone.

The monk patted him on the shoulder, pleased.

At the main entrance to the Basilica two guards with halberds blocked their way, but Father Nicolai showed them his ring, stating his credentials as a tertiary of the Dominican Order, and they were admitted.

The monks decorating the church’s interior glared toward the unknown wanderers in civilian dress who were genuflecting in their entryway. However, upon hearing "Ordo fratrum praedicatorum, we are travelling preachers, finding ourselves without shelter this night…" they greeted their visitors, and then returned to their duties, unconcerned.

Leaving Phale in the cellar, Father Nicolai went to introduce himself to its caretaker. He was gone awhile, and Phale had time to snooze. He awoke to find the Dominican returned and in the company of a fat, bald cellar keeper. The two monks were engaged in amicable conversation, which was soon interrupted by the ringing of bells.

Father Nicolai rose, hurrying Phale along.

Dear brother, I don’t wish to miss the start of the service!

Bidding the cellar keeper adieu, they reentered the church proper and stood off to the right, under the choirs, from whence it was easy to monitor the gaily dressed, festive crowds that were now entering the hall. Phale approved of the monk’s plan to come here in nondescript civilian clothes—a stranger’s gaze would not be tempted to linger on them.

The hunters loitered in their shadow, as though they were shying away from taking up seats in such a privileged crowd, but were simultaneously also desirous of being near to the altar. Had Father Nicolai worn the habit indicative of his status in the Order, someone would undoubtedly have tried to give him his seat.

The first row in the rapidly filling church was occupied by the most garishly overdressed. The stench wafting from these señors—and, indeed, señoras—was so extreme that Phale’s eyes began to water. He knew that his countrymen rarely bathed in the winter, but this current odour was altogether too much.

One beauty in lace, feathers, and gloves to the elbow had dark patches of dirt behind her ears. The cloud of perfumes that hung over her could intoxicate a demon. Her equally pompous companion had hands covered in horrific spots. Phale decided to get out of here the second they killed or captured Valefar. The way of life here made him nauseous, including their stopovers in monasteries. The monks thought every open window a sin, as though it wasn’t clean air waiting outside, but some kind of poison.

An escape from the Old Realm, however, would require a trip to Sugdeya. Phale could wait for spring, and leverage the increased naval traffic to get himself hired crewing a ship bound for his intended destination. Meanwhile, he had decided that as soon as the Nergal had been dealt with, he would return for a visit to his childhood home in Napoli.

This last thought invigorated him, and with renewed vigilance he peered into the faces of the people filling the building. Phale was searching for a man or woman of unusual attractiveness. Father Nicolai appeared to be busy with the same, judging by his nose, aiming alternately this way and that.

Taking in his surroundings, Phale noticed nobody and nothing remarkable, other than a monk, ensconced deep in prayer in the fourth row, who hadn’t bothered to pull the hood back off his head. He was obscuring Phale’s view of the far row, which was submerged in darkness despite the clutter of numerous candles nearby.

The more candles, the more shadows, muttered Phale, shifting sidelong for a better view. Father Nicolai grabbed him by the elbow, forcing him to halt.

Slow down…What did you say?

It’s unusually dark just there, Phale repeated. Even with all the candles.

His remark visibly alarmed Father Nicolai. At that moment, organ notes sounded, and the two hunters were past conversation.

As the hymns began, Father Nicolai headed for the exit, not taking his eyes from the spot in the hall that Phale had gestured toward. The monk held many strange beliefs, and could be annoying while expounding on them, but after their encounter with the clown Dilleron, Phale had grown to trust his scent for demons. Phale himself could only identify demons easily with the help of an arponis, the brandishing of which at this time would have been unwise. When the right moment presented itself, a quick turn of the thick head on the hollow club hanging from his belt would slip the staff into his hand.

The club was nothing much to look at. It was virtually indistinguishable from any other. Its domed lid was secured with a dovetail lock and opened with a half turn, at which point it could be left to hang free on a coarse thread. These sheaths for their staves had been constructed by Phale, following Father Nicolai vouchsafing his fear of being parted from them by the will of some entitled señor or insistent abbot, who might be drawn by the shiny hunk of silver.

Phale gleaned that the sly monk had told nobody of the parcel he had received from the New Realm. Having now had the staff in his possession for four years, Father Nicolai had become assured of its utility—judging by his lack of desire to have Phale dragged before another church tribunal.

When the monk drew his arponis, Phale quickly followed suit. Both hid their staves in the folds of their capes and advanced toward the doors. The eyes of the staves’ canine busts glowed, betraying the presence of a demon in the area, and they would have definitely drawn the attention of onlookers were they left in the open.

Phale was impatient to find out from the Obzes where they might locate their accursed Nergal quarry, and he almost tripped over Father Nicolai when the monk came to a sudden stop. This part of the hall was mostly crowded by common folk with unclean faces and bad teeth. The odour was stronger than it had been by the altar, but was aided, thankfully, by the open doors. The halberd-wielding guards were discouraging the pickpockets.

To the left, by the fifth column, the girl with the silk head cover, Father Nicolai whispered to Phale. Next to her, the gentleman in the plain black cape. Both fit the bill…Wait!

The girl was good-looking. She had symmetrical facial features, twinkling eyes, and rosy cheeks. Sitting on the edge of her bench, she occasionally bent nimbly to address her companion. It was as though she had no inkling that one should be quiet during the service. She spoke quietly, however, not bothering anyone, and delighting a multitude of male gazes in the vicinity.

The gentleman next to her had a dour, expressive face, powerful neck, and wide shoulders. He looked more like a Roman warrior than a wiry, Italian aristocrat. He sat unmoving; ignoring the attentions of the mostly female gazes directed his way.

The priest began a procession down the aisles to distribute Holy Communion. Father Nicolai grasped Phale’s elbow. The matron in the dark dress to the right of the caped man is a witch!

Where are you getting that, brother Nicolai? whispered Phale, surprised at the sudden shift in focus.

She took the wafer beneath her tongue, instead of upon it! Witches receive the body of Christ in this way, so that they can easier pull it out later and use the wafer for their own nefarious ends in their crimes against the creator!

And what are we going to do, then? asked Phale, who did not believe a jot of this witch nonsense, and was frustrated that Father Nicolai had become distracted with it at such a critical juncture. If they took the time to sort out this so-called witch, they could let the real demon escape.

"We’re going to do this!"

Father Nicolai unceremoniously pushed his way through the thick crowd, responding curtly to the grumblings of the displaced people.

Make way for the Lord’s servants! Let us through, out of the way!

Who are you, then, calling yourselves God’s servants? demanded an angry obese man, who looked easier to vault over than walk around.

Father Nicolai shoved a fist up to his nose, displaying his signet ring, and growled the commonly known name of his order, "Domini canes!"

The large merchant ceded the way.

The Hounds of God… people whispered in the crowd. Here to grab a heretic. Make way!

Having previously seen the effect that mentioning this order had on the commoners, Phale tried his best to look serious, and followed Father Nicolai.

At that moment, the hooded monk sitting in the centre of the temple got to his feet. Then there was a prolonged, horrified wail.

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So when it is asked, Of what sort is the body assumed by the devil? it is to be said that—with regard to its material—it is one thing to speak of the beginning of its assumption, and another thing to speak of its end. For in the beginning it is just air; but in the end it is inspissated air, partaking of some of the properties of the earth. And, all this the devils, with God’s permission, can do of their own nature, for the spiritual nature is superior to the bodily nature. Therefore, the bodily nature must obey the devils in respect of local motion. And no shape is beyond their power.

—The Malleus Maleficarum, Part II, Question 1, Chapter IV

1st English edition, 1928, University of Cologne library, Germany

The señora two rows behind the wide-shouldered man was emptying her lungs. Those seated on benches near her jumped up, trying to understand what had happened to her. She could do nothing but point desperately at the wide-shouldered man, who over the past two minutes had quite suddenly lost all of his hair.

The nearby hooded monk produced a sword. The matron Father Nicolai had branded a witch gasped and spread her arms. Upon seeing the weapon, some of the other ladies in the church screamed.

Passing the sword to his left hand, the monk clocked the matron in the jaw. As she fell between the benches, the hairless señor and his lady companion jumped up on the bench and moved closer to the doors. The gaze of the bald señor met Phale’s.

You! barked the señor, viciously, widening in a strange manner, and losing all semblance of human form. Phale shivered in revulsion. But he wasn’t truly afraid of this beast any more. Not after the Alexa.

At the sight of the demon, whose cape came unfurled as a set of large wings, the church descended into total bedlam. While the sword-wielding monk bounded over the benches, the maddened crowd carried Phale and Father Nicolai away with it to the doors, where it stopped, clogging the exit.

The rosy-cheeked beauty jumped onto the Nergal’s back and flew with him out the nearby window, crashing violently through the stained glass. They were only lightly singed by the arponis blasts firing in their wake.

Roaring like a wild boar, the monk with the sword launched himself over people’s heads and shoulders toward the exit. When Phale and Father Nicolai managed to push their way out through the frightened crowd, they emerged into an ongoing battle in the square amongst the monk, the city guards, and the Nergal.

The girl, whose hair now resembled a squirming bunch of worms, lay on the cobbles, howling a single note and cradling her right side. The Nergal, its left wing dragging limply along the ground, was trying to grab the monk who wielded the sword, and was lunging viciously this way and that. The hood had dropped from the spry monk, revealing the head of a very average-looking, bearded old man. He was playfully holding off the guards, who were accosting him.

Phale noted the inhuman mastery with which the old man wielded his blade. The old-timer finished off the city guards with a few swipes, and took a chunk out of the Nergal’s remaining functional wing. In answer, the demon flailed a claw across the old man’s face, causing him to retreat. The man clasped a hand over the wound.

Stop, whoever you might be. We’re better armed for this! exclaimed Father Nicolai, lunging forward.

Phale pushed blindly on an arming symbol on his staff, engulfing the demon in a pillar of flame. Judging by the Nergal’s slowed movements, he has pressed the snowflake.

The old man swung his blade at Father Nicolai. Phale managed to grab his arm, which was as strong as though it had been forged from iron. The old man turned to him with a bewildered, bloody face.

Looking for death, milksop? he whispered, malevolently. Then he inexplicably dropped his sword.

Seeing his opportunity, the Nergal plunged its claws into Father Nicolai’s back. The Dominican winced and coughed. His mouth filled with bloody foam. His eyes rolled backward and he fell.

Phale advanced on the demon, aiming with his staff, and knowing exactly which symbol he would push this time.

The Nergal backed away with equal speed. Clacking its teeth, it said, Why have you come here, executioner? I didn’t touch you in the summer, but now you have driven me out of my mind! I will rise and live again—this is not my final life! And when I do, the dead will litter the streets, and the stench will rise from their bones, like starved goats under a fence!

Enraged, Phale fired a bolt of white death at its chest.

IF you come back, freak, then we’ll talk!

The demon disappeared in a momentary whirlwind.

Phale turned and understood why the old man hadn’t interfered. Pushing the struggling Obzes into the cobbles with his knee, he was using the remaining arponis to heal Father Nicolai. After finishing the process, he stood and put the half-dead demon out of its misery. He stood there for a moment, turning the arponis staff over in his hands, and looking Phale up and down. Then, he nodded to himself, as if understanding something.

He gave the Dominican’s hollow club on the ground a little kick and kneeled over it to figure out how to get it open. He slid the arponis inside, closed the lid, and then raised his eyes, unusually light-coloured for this part of Italy, to Phale.

So, should we head back?

Phale nodded, finally comprehending who it was that stood before him.

He had no answers for where Irenius had gotten his hands on a seashell, how he intended—or, indeed, had previously managed—to light it, where he had learned to wield a sword so deftly, and how in the world he had gotten so very old.

****

The next day the friends appeared before the emperor’s personal secretary, Mr. Clement, having spent a restful night at Phale’s home.

Delighted at their return, Mistress Fe and Esha had fed the travellers and bound the wound of the ex-mentor. They had teased every last detail out of them about their journey, and Phale had gotten some answers regarding questions he’d had back in Vicenza.

Seven months earlier, disappearing into the forests that surrounded the Alexa, Irenius had not wandered there long before running into a young velara. In his ire, he wanted to kill her, but quickly noticed her unusual friendliness. Burning with the need to punish the escaped Nergal responsible for the devastation at the Alexa, and desperate at not knowing where to find it, Irenius did something crazy: he entered into a dialogue with one of the Empire’s most dangerous demons—and a mute one at that.

He extended an arm, and the velara extended a tentacle. Irenius took it in hand, and the demon mentally conveyed to him a proposition. Irenius agreed to let the formless, bodiless demon live inside him, in return for which the velara promised to lead him to the Nergal he sought, which had apparently wronged her in some way.

In assuming possession of Irenius, she had healed the smith of his old limp, and taught his body effortless swordplay. She suggested that it was doubtful that the Nergal would stay in the New Realm after the Alexa’s destruction, and that meant Irenius would need a Way Key if he were to give chase. They found the key they sought in the ruins of the boys’ dormitory, where it remained still tucked inside Phale’s charred travel chest.

Spending a month on the long road, since no horse would now allow Irenius anywhere near it while he was possessed, they reached the outskirts of Halmstem. Irenius took half a day to initialize the seashell, at which point—having little knowledge of the Old Realm—he started opening gates to wherever Odin willed, until the velara finally announced, "Here!"

Half a year elapsed as they pursued the Nergal as it looped its way around Italy, crossed into Spain, and then returned to Italy again.

The velara was ready to abandon her host, whom she had by now studied at length, when they ended up in Vicenza. Experiencing an unusual swell of energy, which was how the language-less demon communicated