Child of the Sword, Book 1 of The Gods Within by J.L. Doty

the assembled
throng as something began to materialize in the air before him, a
demon from the netherhells of his own nightmares. Fangs and claws
appeared first, then a tail with a barbed point dripping venom.
There came the body of an ogre and the head of a goat, and it
looked at him hungrily with eyes of fiery hate. Then it advanced,
saliva spilling from its muzzle in anticipation of a meal.
    Malka intervened, stepping in its way. It
struck him with its claws. He staggered, but withstood the blow.
Then, wielding his own power like a sword, he cried out in the
godtongue and struck back. The demon whimpered sorrowfully. Malka
struck again, lashing his power like a whip until the demon
screamed in agony, a balefully inhuman whine. Malka raised his
power to strike again, but the demon vanished before he could do
so, gone, dematerialized. A distant cry of anger and pain echoed
back from the netherworld, then all was silent.
    Morgin shivered. He wondered how many more
demons, curious about all the sorcery here, would come to
investigate.
    A witch, young and pretty, stepped forward
to stand on the other side of the circle of black sand. She cast
spells, tracing runes in the air with her fingertip as she chanted
more of the words that always eluded him. He’d asked AnnaRail about
that, and she’d explained that when he was older and had learned
his lessons well, the words would begin to take on meaning.
    The young witch finished her incantation.
But as she turned and melted into the shadows of the darkened hall,
the runes she’d traced in the air before him remained, softly
visible by some magic of their own. They faded slowly, and when
they were gone Morgin was tense with the new power he could sense
in the room.
    He cast a spell AnnaRail had taught him for
protection, then another to banish fear. He wished now that he
could have mastered more of her teachings, for the young and pretty
witch was obviously the first of the truly powerful. He tried the
spell of confidence, but as usual he failed there.
    AnnaRail had explained that there was
another hierarchy within the clan, a ranking that had nothing to do
with one’s relationship to Elhiyne. It was the hierarchy of power.
At its bottom were those like Roland; Morgin was embarrassed for
him since he ranked below some of the children. And at its top were
Malka and Olivia, masters of the arcane and the powers of magic and
sorcery. They would all stand before the circle of black sand this
night, one by one, in ascending order of power, with Olivia the
last and greatest of them all.
    AnnaRail had warned him that a gap existed
between those of little power and those of great. She had cautioned
him not to be frightened when the first of the truly powerful stood
before him, but the warning of another day held little weight in
the here and now, with power dancing up and down his spine. He
tried to think of other things, of other times, but his thoughts
would not leave the present and the magic that surrounded him.
    There followed a train of wizards and
witches, including Annaline and many of his newly adopted brothers
and sisters and cousins, with MichaelOff the last and most
powerful. And then the next to stand before him was Tulellcoe, a
strange man with eyes like a caged animal, darting about as if to
see all at once. Morgin didn’t like Tulellcoe. He was a quietly
angry man, with a kind of seething hatred hidden just beneath the
surface of his emotions.
    JohnEngine said that Tulellcoe’s mother,
Hellis, who was Olivia’s sister, had been raped by Clan Decouix
during the last of the clan wars; that Hellis hated the child that
had been conceived within her, and shortly after Tulellcoe’s birth,
had taken her own life. She’d tried to take the child Tulellcoe
with her into death, but had been prevented from doing so by Olivia
who raised him as one of her own sons. JohnEngine said that the man
Tulellcoe had inherited his mother’s madness, and most feared him
for that.
    Tulellcoe