by Dave Gross
Even through the cacophony of the vescavors, I heard the malice under Yavalliska's honeyed voice. Something fluttered in my stomach like the wings of the vescavors.
The butterflies of evil.
But I am surrounded by evil, I thought. Even so, I knew Yavalliska for a deceiver. She was placing a lure before the prince.
Kasiya appeared oblivious to her ruse. "Please help yourself," he said. "I'm quite engaged in these rituals."
"Perhaps you would prefer to drink from a chalice?" said Yavalliska. "I will have your cup-bearer fetch one and wring the blood out of the heart for you."
I opened my mouth to protest, but the succubus turned her dark eyes upon me. I pretended not to notice as I tied another tether to a barb.
"No," said my prince. "Yester eve I gorged myself on slaves. I do not yet hunger."
As I pointed the crossbow once more at the vescavors, I snuck a glance at Yavalliska. Apart from her demonic features, she looked exactly like the image most men have of a brothel trollop, at least until they actually enter the brothel. She pouted and bit her lip, the very portrait of a thwarted child.
"Please, my prince," she said. "Do not insult me. Drink it as a toast to our impending triumph."
Kasiya sighed. Even under the golden mask, I could see the resignation in his eyes. "Very well, since you put it that—"
I could bear no more. "My prince, do not taste the heart. It is a ruse."
The golden mask turned, the bloodshot eyes gazing upon me.
Yavalliska spoke quickly. She lifted the heart toward me. "Perhaps your pet should drink the toast—a tribute to her new master and his grand design."
"Don't waste such a choice morsel on a thrall," said Ommors. The daemon snatched the heart from Yavalliska. Its black fangs sank deep, its mandibles trembling with desire.
"Well," said Yavalliska. Her arched brows sank in defeat as the daemon sucked the blood out of the blanching flesh. She cast a narrow glance at me. "There it is. Perhaps another time."
"Delicious," murmured Ommors. The daemon's voice grew dreamy as it drained the succubus heart. "How generous, Yavalliska. I never expected a demon to be such a considerate host. If there is any way I can repay the favor—"
Kasiya looked from Ommors to Yavalliska, then back to me.
"Ommors, leave us."
"But I was just—"
"Now."
Clutching the remains of the heart in its mandibles, the daemon took flight. Its buzzing wings threw a light spray across the balcony as it scattered the vescavors on its way out into the night.
"You sought to enchant me," said Kasiya. He stood up and slammed his palms against the table, knocking the skull-candle to the floor. "In my distraction, I might have fallen for your trick, if my spear-bearer had not warned me."
"Don't be absurd," said Yavalliska. "You can't seriously trust a paladin to protect a vampire."
"She is my thrall!"
"She is a liability," said Yavalliska. "It's only a matter of time before she throws off your spell."
"It is no mere spell that binds us," said Kasiya. "I am a prince of Osirion, transfigured by the power of my own undying—"
"Yes, yes," said Yavalliska. "I understand all that. But do you understand how foolish it is to keep a paladin of Iomedae by your side?"
As if by some unintended charm, the words of the succubus pulled a weight from me. The jabbering of the vescavors seemed like a distant noise, though they flew just outside the open window.
I am a paladin of Iomedae, I thought.
I remembered Gemma, captured and tortured below. I remembered Porfirio and his bereaved lover, Dragomir, whom I prayed still lived, along with the rest of the crusaders whose company I had joined to Count Jeggare's expedition.
I glanced at the masked vampire and felt bile rise in my throat.
I had been a thrall of this wicked creature, but no more. My mind was free of the tumultuous voices of the vescavors, as well as whatever poison Kasiya poured from his eyes into mine.
As I returned his gaze, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Did he know I had broken free of his control? Surely he must have felt the change as I had.
To the vampire prince, I bowed my head, not in obeisance but to conceal the truth I feared my eyes would reveal. Without the Ray of Lymirin, I could not defeat the prince and Yavalliska together. I could not cut my way through the Tower of Zura to rescue Gemma from whatever horrors they inflicted on her in the experiment chambers below us. I could do nothing but conceal my freedom and bide my time.
"It is precisely because of her affiliation that she makes such a perfect spear-bearer," said the wretched bloodsucker. His tone of voice had changed. He suspected me, but did not yet know.
"You should at least embrace her."
"Hm," he thought. "That notion is not entirely disagreeable."
I kept my gaze upon the floor as he approached, his steps so smooth and silent that he appeared to glide toward me. When I felt his bandaged fingers on my chin, I raised my head.
"Look at me, my spear-bearer," he said.
I obeyed. As our gazes locked, I felt a calm settle over me. Not the cold certainty of death, but the warm faith of the Inheritor. At that moment, I knew how much my life was worth. It was worth one more vampire.
I raised my chin, offering him my throat, silently praying he would not bite me, but knowing with increasing certainty that he would.
If Kasiya embraced me, I would embrace him back. In my final second of life, I would drag him to the window and throw us both over the edge. He could fly, but while he did I would tear his head from his body if I could.
If nothing else, I would deprive him of myself, my soul. I would die trying to destroy him.
Kasiya studied my eyes. From his own bloodshot orbs I could perceive little of his thoughts, but his wormlike lips twitched.
He glanced at Yavalliska as if she had spoken, but I heard nothing from her. Kasiya's head turned from the succubus to me and back again, his uncertainty increasing.
He rounded on Yavalliska. "You would like that, wouldn't you? How stupid do you think I am? I will not be vulnerable to your machinations during the daylight hours. My spear-bearer stands guard above me as I rest."
"Perhaps you're right, Your Highness," purred Yavalliska. "For one so grand as you, I can see now that a paladin makes the perfect spear-bearer."
"I think her presence frightens you," said Kasiya.
"Hardly," said Yavalliska. "I simply find your choice garish. Slaves are cheap and obvious. I prefer devotion to obedience. It is not enough simply to be obeyed. I want to be adored."
"You mew like a harlot," scoffed Kasiya. "Adoration is fragile, subject to jealousy and neglect. Look at my spear-bearer, demon. She once commanded crusaders for the queen of Mendev. Now she captures vermin to draw my carriage. Yet do you see the slightest fear or disgust upon her face? There is nothing but obedience in her heart. She is the perfect subject for a prince."
"I would prefer a fallen paladin, one who would cast away the bonds of obedience and embrace me with desire."
"What an apt expression, ‘fallen paladin.'" Kasiya turned his golden face toward me. "My spear-bearer felled one of those before I claimed her as mine."
I am not yours, I thought, you disgusting refuse of a once-living man.
"Are you not concerned she will turn on you?" Before I realized she had moved, the succubus stood beside me. The top of her head rose barely higher than my shoulder. She craned her neck to study my face. "After all, if your pet could slay the peerless Xagren ..."
"Do not mistake me for some mere failed crusader. I am a prince born and reborn! Besides, without her sword, she depends on me for protection."
"Still, her presence is a dangerous indulgence. Perhaps it is better you keep only her head as a trophy. Among my minions is a talented taxidermist." Yavalliska reached up to touch my chin.
At her silken touch, I felt the muscles in my hand tighten and willed myself not to make a fist, not t
o strike her down before the prince. Even without my sword, my enchanted belt lent me more than enough power to tear off her wings, perhaps even her head.
As if reading my thoughts, the succubus slipped her fingers through my belt. She tugged at it, gazing pensively into my face. The barest smile dimpled her red lips. "Although I suppose without her sword, she poses little enough threat to you."
"How can you look upon her dumb face and doubt her loyalty to me?" said Kasiya. "But of course—you just returned from murdering your rivals so that you can betray your mistress. You common fiends know nothing of loyalty. You cannot imagine the strength of the bond between master and servant."
"No," laughed Yavalliska. "I daresay we of the boundless Abyss have no love of shackles, upon the wrist or in the mind. We love nothing so much as our own freedom."
"Do you not serve Areelu Vorlesh when she is here?"
"When she is here, of course I appear to serve her," said the succubus. "What do you think ‘our own freedom' means?"
Prince Kasiya's mask wavered. Through the narrow slot over his mouth, I glimpsed thin lips twisting again. Gone was the awe his eyes had inspired in me only moments earlier. Now I felt only revulsion. Even thinking such thoughts felt like a weight of tangled chains falling from my mind.
"Now you're spouting nonsense," he said. "Freedom is an illusion for all but the gods." He sat once more before his books and returned to his studies.
Yavalliska shook her head, smiling. Abandoning me with one coy glance over her shoulder, she glided back to Kasiya.
"I've changed my mind about your spear-bearer," she whispered in his ear. When he looked up, she added, "She is perfect."
Kasiya looked at her and then at me. "Of course she is."
Yavalliska insinuated herself onto the arm of his chair, reading over his shoulder. "Are those druidic runes?"
"Yes," said Kasiya. "I suppose they are."
"You can't read them?"
"I don't need to understand these barbaric scribblings," he said. "A prince has no time to waste learning the tongues of lesser races. A simple spell allows me to comprehend any writing."
"How much of the ritual can you reconstruct from this portion of the Lexicon?"
"Not enough," said Kasiya. "I require the missing pages."
Yavalliska reached past the prince to close the Lexicon. She stroked a finger along the rough bark cover. "You should have captured this Count Jeggare and had him fetch it for you. He seems clever and resourceful."
Kasiya hissed. "I don't need the Chelaxian's help. When next he looks upon me, it will be as a mortal worshiping at the foot of a god."
"I thought you said you required only obedience, not adoration?"
"He dares to look down on me. Me, a prince of Osirion! And what is he but a glorified landlord bending his knee to an upstart house of Cheliax? The Thrunes have ruled for less than a century. They're not even a dynasty, but a mote of ash in the eye of history."
"I see I've touched a nerve. Is it for his origins or his station that you hate him most? Or is it something to do with your fraternity of grave robbers?"
Prince Kasiya fell very still. "What do you know of our rivalry?"
"Rivalry?" laughed Yavalliska. "I didn't mean to suggest a mere count of Cheliax could rival a prince of Osirion. No, I simply inquired about his name after you told it to me. It seems Varian Jeggare is known among the horde, both as a count of Hell's ally, Cheliax, and as a Pathfinder. Is it true you died while trying to steal his notebooks so you could present them as your own?"
"How dare you suggest—" Kasiya stood so quickly that he knocked over his chair. He swept up Jeggare's journals and grimoires in both arms and carried them to the brazier. "I have no need to follow in Jeggare's footsteps. This is what I think of his notes."
He cast the books onto the coals. In seconds, flames crackled at the edges of the pages.
A surprising pang of sympathy for Varian Jeggare struck me like a blow to the stomach. Clenching my jaw, I resisted the urge to rescue the books. Jeggare had invested years if not decades in those journals, and all his arcane power was inscribed within that grimoire. Its absence surely endangered him, but its fiery destruction felt to me as though Kasiya had burned him in effigy.
Yavalliska leaned close to the fire, inhaling the smoke and grinning. "Oh, Great Prince Kasiya. What a glorious display of indifference."
"You vex me, Yavalliska. Continue to do so at your peril."
"I but tease you, my prince," she cooed. "You will be more pleased with me, I think, when I tell you I know where to find the missing information."
"Is it not in the other tower?"
"My minions are searching even as we speak, but I do not think they'll find it there. Those who hid the treasures of the Threshold did so with great care and cunning. Why divide this Lexicon only to keep its halves close? No, I think the missing fragment is far from here, or perhaps destroyed."
"No!"
"Do not fret, my prince. As you have no doubt already seen, the secrets in these pages came from many sources, but the binding is the important clue. The keepers of Sarkorian lore were not sorcerers or wizards or witches. They were druids."
"Then where is their stronghold? Where did they keep their most secret lore?"
"I know the place," said Yavalliska. "We've been destroying it for a century."
Chapter Seventeen
The Frostmire
Radovan
Stop make chase," yelled a loud, deep, mush-mouthed voice. Even without the boss handy to say so, I could tell Taldane wasn't its native language.
"Everything worse downriver," said another big voice, this one with a rubbery wheeze at the end of every breath. "Take chance Pit of Blood, like big man."
Alase looked at me, eyes wide. She shook her head to tell me she didn't know what it was we were hearing. I could tell she didn't want to be the first one to look.
Peeking over the hollow log, I saw two giants lumbering out of the mists.
Even crouching, the gray-green things were a head taller than Kronug and massive as a draft horse. Their fishy mouths gaped beneath fiendish eyes. Four-fingered hands clutched heavy fishing gaffs.
One of them slapped the net slung around its shoulders. Stunned by the blow, the woman trapped inside stopped struggling. Her dirty fingers clutched the netting as she stared blankly at the marshy ground.
Alase put her hand on my arm before I realized I'd pulled the big knife and stood up. She pulled me back down. "We're no match for them."
"Call your wolf."
"Even with Tonbarse ..." She shook her head.
Much as I wanted to argue, I couldn't. Without a devil riding me, and without the boss and the others at my back, I wasn't exactly giant-slayer material.
One of the giants slugged the other on the shoulder and pointed with its gaff at a footprint in the mud.
The other growled and rubbed his shoulder. Together, they waddled after the tracks. From their own prints, yellow steam rose from the ground.
The captured woman shouted something in Hallit. All I caught was "Run, Jokum!"
The giant slapped her again. She went limp, her eyes rolling back in her head before closing.
"That tears it," I said, standing up.
"Don't," said Alase. But she knew I wasn't listening. With a sigh, she put her palm to the ground and began the chant to summon Tonbarse. I caught a glimpse of the blue glow that connected them as I hustled off.
Keeping low, I ran through the swamp, parallel to the giants. Lucky for me, the ground wasn't too wet this close to Dyinglight.
We'd already had our peek at the city. Smaller than Undarin and surrounded by willows and wetlands, it was lousy with demons. I figured the Pit of Blood the big fellow mentioned had to be the arena beside the headwaters of the Sarkora River. We'd seen more activity in the nearby fields, where giant and demon overseers lashed the human and demonblooded slaves weeding the crops.
These fiendish marsh giants didn't act like t
hey were in a hurry to catch this Jokum character. It wasn't exactly like they didn't want to catch him. It seemed more like this job was a lot better than whatever they had waiting for them back in town. Or maybe they just liked chasing slaves.
They took turns shouting threats and arguments explaining why it was better to give himself up than to risk the greater dangers downriver. Having seen Undarin and Valahuv, I had to admit they had a point.
It didn't take me long to get ahead of the big lummoxes. Then it was just a question of finding Jokum before they did. I heard him plunging through the brush a second before I heard his ragged panting. I sprinted after the sound and caught up half a minute later.
He was barely more than a kid, lean and muscular but without so much as a hint of a beard. His shaggy black hair reminded me of Alase. I hissed at him. "This way, kid!"
He took one look at my pretty mug and ran in the opposite direction.
"Dammit, boy, I'm here to help!" Under the circumstances, it was hard to blame him. Still, he wasn't making my job any easier.
He didn't make it thirty steps before something caught him. He rose up a foot or two off the ground. Only after I got close to him could I see why: he'd run into a gigantic spider web.
The thought of leaving him here did more than cross my mind. It set up camp.
It's not that I'm more scared of spiders than the next guy. I just don't like the damned things, with all the legs, and all the eyes, and just— They're nasty. That's all.
Still, it was kind of my fault Jokum was stuck there.
"Desna weeps." As I moved in to cut him free, the damned fool started screaming.
"Shut it, kid. I'm getting you out of here."
I severed a few tough strands. They weren't even as thick as my little finger, but they were strong as ship rigging. The kid screamed again. I had half a mind to belt him one, but I saw his eyes weren't on me. He was staring upward.
One big spider wouldn't have bothered me so much, but that's not what we had. Instead, it was a swarm that made the bugs back at Nekrosof look like garden centipedes.
There were thousands of the things, none much bigger than my hand, and every one of them touched by the Abyss. A blood-colored hook curled out from each joint of their legs. Their many eyes glowed in different colors: yellow, black, red, green, purple.