The Devil Thaumaturgist

Chapter One: Prisoners


Torchlight only penetrated a few feet through the dust in the hollow darkness around Cosette. The Sovereign wheezed as his aging body fought him, pushing the Prince forward to keep him ahead of those animals. Prince Demetrius' loud and uncontrolled breathing appeared to pain him with every step; even Cosette, young and fit from years of training, felt her strength wane, cursing the immense weight of her armor. The rattle of their greaves echoed in the hallway, drowning out the footsteps of their predators. But Cosette didn’t have to hear to know they were approaching; she could feel the stomping rhythm in tandem with the wild pounding of her heart.

A knife whizzed past her head, missing her head by a hair’s breadth and clattered against the stone wall.

“Shit!” the crown prince swore.

While Cosette agreed with the sentiment, she didn’t have the breath to curse. Her side split with pain from running, and sweat dripped in her eyes. Shouts behind them echoed throughout the labyrinth.

Another knife flew past, grazing the Sovereign’s shoulder plate.

‘I’m going to die; I’m going to die; I’m going to die’. The mantra pounded in her head as intently as her heart thumped against her ribs. If she kept this up any longer, she felt her heart would explode, and she’d be just as dead.

“This way!” the Sovereign gasped as he swerved right. The crown prince hesitated, but quickly followed.

Cosette snapped out of her trance. A surge of adrenaline pulsed through her body. ‘I can’t die now,’ she thought. ‘Not until they’re safe.’

She swerved to the right, following the prince then scurried down the stairs, inadvertently overtaking the Sovereign. The sound of his footsteps ceased. Puzzled, she turned her head and saw that he had come to a halt, facing the entryway.

She cried, “Sir, what are you-!”

Not another word escaped her lips.

An azure aura of magicka quickly engulfed the Sovereign’s forearm and began to pulsate violently. Her heart thumped to the deafening sound of the erratic flares. He gripped his forearm with his other hand, trying with all his might to stabilize the volatile current.

The storm had calmed, the flaring ceased. The warmth gently caressed her face, stroking her skin; slowly filling the emptiness in her heart those assassins had induced upon her.

He threw his arm out towards the entryway. “Magnus Signum!” he roared.

Cosette could feel the earth quake beneath her, the sounds of metal grinding against metal came from beneath the cold stone floor.

Suddenly a colossal iron slab disgorged from underneath and smashed against the top of the foyer. A thunderous sound of metal slamming against the apex jolted Cosette out of a state of bewilderment. Thick clouds of dust spewed from the impact point. Cosette shielded her eyes with her hands until the clouds cleared. A seal was emblazoned on the slab. Soon, the entire mass was engulfed in an aura of magicka which was pulsing with its own heartbeat. The aura around the Sovereign’s arm dissipated.

The aged man stumbled, letting out a whistling wheeze, and grabbed his side. The Prince draped the Sovereign’s frail arm over his broad shoulders and leaned him against the cold stone wall. Cosette caught up and slid her slender shoulders under the other arm in support. The wall softly flickered in the glow of the last torch lamp they had just past, and she could see the hollowed cheeks drawn tight as the old man grimaced in pain.

“We must keep moving, Prince”, Cosette whispered sharply.

The young man lifted the old man’s arm off his shoulders, steadying him against the wall. The Sovereign bent over, gasping for air. He waved a bony hand in the air: “Give me a minute to catch my breath,” he said quietly. Cosette collapsed right beside him, her heart feeling as if it was about to explode.

“Jesus, what is that stench? Smells like something died in here.” The prince bleated as his face contorted. Cosette gave a distraught smile as he shut his nostrils with his fingers in a futile attempt to block the scent. ‘At least it’s better than breathing dust whilst running for your life through a blistering corridor,’ she thought.

“Looks like we’ve arrived at the dungeon halls,” the Sovereign noted. Cosette was thrown out of her stupor, staggered by the revelation. The Prince staggered, his eyes widened in horror. He looked as if he had just witnessed a bloody murder. “It seems God favors us today.”

“The dungeon!?” the prince bellowed, “You’ve locked us here in the dungeon halls? Jesus Christ, are you mad father?”

“How many times must I tell you? Never use the Lord’s name in vain. I raised you to be more respectful than that, Demetrius.” The Sovereign retorted. Cosette glanced back at the seal then proceeded to scan her surroundings. The light illuminated the entire staircase, baring the muck that had coated the stone foundation with a diffused cobalt hue.

“There is a hidden passage in one of these cells which leads to the sewers,” the Sovereign said. To her, this answered one question but raised so many others. Demetrius froze, gawking at his father. ‘Demetrius has always been so easy to read, though I can’t blame him.’ She thought, unwittingly taking another whiff at the stench that permeated the air.

“That explains the awful smell, doesn’t it?” the aged man let out a chortle, briefly reverting back to that jovial character she admired so much before he became afflicted with grief after losing his wife and two eldest sons. As if something was caught in his windpipe, he started letting off a series of painful and noisy releases and clutched his chest with his bony hands, his face drawn tight as he grimaced in pain. Demetrius began patting his back with fervor, issuing sufficient force yet refraining from trying to hurt his father. The Sovereign had ceased coughing; his breathing became stable once more. “Once we get out of here, Aislinn should be within walking distance. That seal should last for about an hour provided that the assassins do not possess any ability to override Magnus Signa.” The Sovereign lifted himself off the floor and dusted off his elegant robe and began walking down the stairs. The young knight and the Prince followed him; standing side by side. The Sovereign snatched a torch and lifted it off the handle. The trio sauntered down the staircase en route for the dungeon halls.

The faint smell of blood upset her stomach, her face turned pale as the faint scent invaded her nostrils. Cosette looked down to see the traces of blood mixed in the grime, stone, and the crevasses in the flooring, nearly indeterminable due to the cobalt glow but evident by scent. She could feel the rhythm of her heart beat become irregular, her stomach began to churn. The Sovereign wrapped his scraggily arm around Cosette, rubbing her back tenderly. “Is everything alright?” he spoke.

“I’ll be fine.” Cosette replied.

“I haven’t seen you look so pale. Are you sure, dear? The Holy Order would not have admitted you if you possessed any hereditary illness, defect, phobia-”

“I’m fine.” Cosette interrupted. The Sovereign lifted his arm off her back. “Are there any prisoners still down here?”

“No. From what the guards told me, there was a bloody riot that killed about seven prisoners and it took a dozen guards to quell the uprising. The rest were hung.” the Sovereign said.

Cosette examined her surroundings. The stench of death, fecal matter, and rancid meat poisoned the damp air. The stone foundation was completely ruined, exposing the flimsy struts. She felt that the slightest touch could break the decomposing wood and cause the entire dungeon to implode. She peered inside one of the unopened gates and saw no sun. No light. The faucet had become completely corroded. Spoiled meat lied on the floor, which led Cosette to conclude the prisoner tried to starve himself to death. The toilet flooded with bloodied fecal matter; the disgusting odor of urine and feces forced its way through her nostrils, the sight of maggots dwelling in the toxic waste nearly caused her to vomit. Her anxiety shot through the roof, her body shaking uncontrollably. “Oh my God, oh my God,” she uttered as her heart began to pound violently against her ribs again. The blurring world around her felt like it was spinning. She took just a few baby steps rearward then stumbled. She raised her arms up and leaned her upper body against nearest wall to keep herself up and off the grimy floor underneath.

“Cell one…cell three,” the Sovereign said as he meandered onwards, briefly checking each gate for the right number. “Ah, here we are. Cosette! Over here!” he commanded. Cosette, startled, tried to regain her composure despite her unease. She turned her back on the cell and marched towards the survivors of the Mazda family, questioning whether or not it was possible to purge the horrors which had just assaulted her mind.

The Sovereign grasped the corroded iron handle, twisted it, and then pressed it open and took a few steps.
A hand came out of nowhere and clenched the Sovereign’s throat and threw him to the ground. The young man lunged at the Sovereign and held the aging man against the grime-infested flooring, a rock with a jagged edge. The man drew a deep breath and winded up for the kill.

He hesitated for a second. The man in tattered sack clothing released his iron grip on the Sovereign’s throat on the spur of the moment.

Cosette grabbed the back of the man’s collar and threw the assailant off the Sovereign and onto his back. With her eyes narrow with hate and following her sixth sense, she drew her falchion, lifted it high above her head with both hands, the blade directly above the assailant’s throat.

A hand grabbed her by the shoulder.

“Wait!” Demetrius shouted and he forcefully pulled the young knight backwards. Her eyes met with Demetrius’. The prince studied the assailant for a brief moment. His mouth pried open in shock, eyes widened with astonishment. “Aiden?”

Cosette, with her heart still racing from the sudden burst of adrenaline, was about ready to have a heart attack. The prince actually knew this man? No, there must be a mistake. This is the man who tried to kill his father! The man who tried to kill her savior! Rob her of her will to live! Her eyes flitted in every direction; to the prince, the Sovereign, the assailant, back to the prince again. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Her eyes darted back to the assailant and scanned his features, trying to jog her memory in case his likeness lay dormant within her consciousness.

His cerulean eyes burned brighter than the most intense flame, his tousled raven-black hair going in every direction, the hairs on the back of his head pointing outward. The bloodied, tattered sack cloth outlined the lean muscles of his upper body; his broad shoulders stretching the tight shirt, the seams of the cloth on his shoulders undone. Innumerable lacerations and stab wounds were visible where the fabric was torn, several with blood still trickling down his fair skin.

That nauseating feeling came roaring back.

No, this was worse than before. Cosette’s heart felt like it was pounding against her ribcage with fervor. Her body started shaking uncontrollably. Warmth seeped out of her skin and into the abyss, giving her naturally healthy, rosy skin a tomblike pallor. She could feel his eyes study her and the Mazda family as she tried to prevent her from vomiting in plain sight. ‘Could I be afraid of blood?’ No, that’s silly! She was a knight of the highest order for God’s sake! Top of her class in academics and praised for her peerless swordsmanship. Not to mention she was assured she never had these symptoms before! The only rational explanation was that she must be coming down with something. She tried to absorb the bitter circumstance fate has transpired. Today of all days, she shouted in her mind to bring herself back to reality. She lowered her chin and murmured to herself. “Heavenly Father, please give me strength”. Lifting her chin up, she gazed deeply into the prisoner’s eyes.

They seemed so intoxicating, so very addicting. The perfect drug, she thought.

His face was still rather round, a bit too young for her tastes, yet seemed to be developing into a chiseled form of a rather handsome young man. Was he rougeishly handsome? No, she wouldn’t say that, but those gorgeous blue eyes burned with the intensity of a thousand suns yet the emotion she felt they emanated was what she could not make out.

She could not sense distress or astonishment in his eyes. Not pain. Not even fear.

His lips arched into a smug grin. “Looks like I will be getting the royal treatment today.”