“She doesn’t look like much of a threat, but how do we get past the curtain?”
“Don’t judge too hastily. Flauros is an Ancient, very powerful. As for how to get past the force field…I have no idea.”
Dustan’s neck popped, his head swung around so fast. “What? I thought Hadraniel told you…”
“He has secondhand information. Just be glad his knowledge has gotten us this far.”
Dustan shook his head and sighed. Nothing for it now. She was right. Hadraniel couldn’t know every aspect of their journey or what they would face. He stared at the Ancient and the wavering curtain.
“I have an idea,” he said. “Follow my lead.”
Kyra glanced at him, her head in a questioning tilt. Dustan stepped up to the curtain.
“Who’s there?” The old demon’s voice crackled like dry paper.
“Shax, you ol’ bat.” Dustan dropped his voice and attempted to mimic the demon warrior. He hoped Flauros did not know Shax well. It seemed a safe bet she would be aware of him since Shax had been among Aamon’s most trusted inner circle. If word of his demise had reached this distant fortress, Dustan would know soon enough.
“How dare you speak to me…. Why I will twist your innards inside out.” She craned her head as if looking for him.
“Oh hush your flappers. Aamon sent me.”
“Aamon?” Flauros perked up at the sound of the name. “Why has he not visited? “
Dustan relaxed a fraction. “He’s got a war to fight, no time for the likes of you.”
“You should know your place, Shax. You may be favored by our Lord, but that won’t keep me from setting your ears on fire.”
“I don’t have time for your gab.”
She straightened in the chair. “No? Why are you here?”
“You got the warning didn’t ya? Bloody thieves coming for the blade. Aamon wants it moved.” Dustan held his breath.
The old demon’s blind eyes flitted back and forth. “I’ve protected the blade for a thousand years. Aamon does not trust me?”
“Nah. Precaution’s all. He figures the thieves know it’s here. Going to keep it with him for a bit.”
“Fine. If something happens to it, you make sure Aamon knows I guarded it well while in my care.” She gestured with knotted hands and the field dissipated.
Dustan nodded to Kyra. He planned to remain on this side and keep the demon occupied.
“You don’t smell like I remember.” Flauros sniffed the air.
“Been a long time, your smeller’s going the way of your eyes.” Dustan moved another step to the right, hoping to turn the demon farther away from Kyra.
“No. You’re different.”
The Ancient was catching on; Kyra needed to hurry. She tiptoed to the blade and lifted it off the pedestal. The demon’s head darted around. Her head bobbed up and down as she inhaled in quick snorts.
“Who’s there? Two? There’s two here.” She floated from the chair, hovering a foot off the floor.
“Kyra,” shouted Dustan.
Kyra darted past the barrier an instant before it fanned across the opening. Flauros glided through, energy crackling from her fingertips. Her head swiveled, ears twitching, nose wiggling, as she listened for their movements and sought out their scents. A bolt flew, disintegrating a suit of armor inches behind Kyra as she fled toward the battlements’ landing. Another missed Dustan and blew a shield-sized hole in the entrance. Debris rained on them as they scurried past the arched doorway.
On the landing, they dashed for the stairs. The Ancient glided out behind them, lifted her arms toward the sky, and cast a monstrous ball of energy. It erupted over the fortress like a spectacular fireworks display.
“She has signaled others. They will be coming. We have to get out of here.” Kyra tugged his arm and raced down the stairs.
A bolt of Flauros’s energy exploded at Dustan’s feet. He stumbled and fell, tumbling head over heels. His jaw cracked sideways as it struck a step, his elbow slammed into the wall. Stairs, ceiling, and walls rolled by in violent rotation before his somersaults came to an abrupt and painful halt at the foot of the staircase. Kyra moved back to help him. The fear in her eyes warned him that the old demon still pursued and remained close behind. A wave of scarlet swept down the corridor. The next level lay another two dozen steps below. They leapt toward the exit, skidding across the hallway. Kyra gained her feet first and crawled against the wall as Dustan slid out of the demon’s line of fire. Flauros would reach this corridor before they could make it to the secreted door. Should they somehow make it, and she followed into the passage, they would be finished.
Dustan waited halfway between the hidden door and where the demon would enter the corridor. When he saw the first hint of her robe, he threw a spear taken from the chamber above. The weapon clattered down the far end of the hall. The Ancient did not take the bait, but hesitated long enough for Kyra to make it into the recess. Dustan sprinted the remainder of the way and slipped into the cave with energy bolts exploding all around.
When the demon entered the passage, Dustan stood on the cliff’s rim. She scrunched her face and smiled as she caught his scent. Her head skewed to one side, her nose twitching.
“I’m right here you ugly bitch. Come get me.” Dustan flung a sphere that Flauros waved away with a flick of her hand.
She smiled and worked her fingers before her face, tendrils of energy leaping from their tips, as she floated toward Dustan at the cliff’s edge. As the Ancient summoned a killing blast, Kyra sprang to her feet from behind the demon and launched a pair of sizzling orbs. Dustan leapt off the mountainside with Kyra’s daggers in his hands. He jabbed one into the rock and then the other, hanging on and refusing to look down. A blast of bright purple filled the alcove’s mouth, scorching the left side. The sight of the old demon soaring out into the open demanded his attention. Her ability to hover vanished without the ground beneath her feet, and a piercing scream followed her all the way to the valley floor. Even from the distance, the powerful demon’s death showed in a blossom of dark red light.
24
Lailah
After dispatching Flauros, Dustan and Kyra reentered the fortress and headed back toward the battlements, evading a dozen guards before gaining the north face. Kyra held tight to Dustan’s back as he scaled the short drop down the backside of the temple to a mountain road leading northwest. More fractured cliffs soared high on both sides. The narrow pass in the rear joined with the staircase in the front to make the fortress defendable by a small contingent. The east side merged into the mountain, the one open side remained assailable only through the air. Enemies attacking in flight provided clear targets for defenders on the ramparts.
The reverse, however, was also true. Escape became near impossible—the road and staircase bottled up by an opposing force, the sheer drop from the battlements certain death. The temple had quartered a stable of terrifying steeds long ago, but the practice ceased after years of disuse. Surviving a heavy assault now would require a sizable force of reinforcements arriving prior to the battle. An eventuality that should prove easily accomplished with the fortress so deep into the Horde’s domain.
Dustan and Kyra found themselves in the latter scenario. From the sky, far above the downslope of the mountain pass, approached four demon Slayers.
“What the hell are those things?” asked Dustan.
The slayers rode massive horses with bat-like wings thundering against the air.
“Umbra steeds,” said Kyra.
“Return to the temple?” asked Dustan. With his stomach roiling, he clutched Blood Dancer, feeling the energy blister the air.
“Even if we breach the rear gate, we would be trapped between the temple guards and the arriving warriors. If we attempt to gain the alcove again, we back ourselves into a corner with four umbra steeds flying outside the opening.” Kyra twirled her daggers, eyes darting down the slope. “There!”
Dustan sprinted behind her, having no idea whe
re she headed. “Where are you going?”
“A cleft in the mountain wall—a tight passage that allowed one or two scouts to escape and find assistance if the temple were ever besieged.”
“That’s fortuitous,” said Dustan.
“Not as much as you might think. The passages are almost always predicted by the enemy.”
Dustan paled. “Meaning we’ll have to face them somewhere else on the way down?”
Kyra gave him a conciliatory nod before wiggling into the crevasse. It was a tighter fit for Dustan; sharp rocks cut into his back and buttocks. The channel snaked some fifty feet into the mountainside. Claustrophobia clenched his belly and twisted up into his chest.
“You sure this is an escape route?” He couldn’t breathe. The pressing walls seemed to stifle all airflow. He heard a clamor from the mountain road. A moment later a lance of fire jetted into the cleft, scorching his face and hands. “Shit. What the hell?”
“They are flooding the passage with umbra fire. Hurry.” Kyra pushed herself into the crack, writhing against the stone.
“Umbra fire? Those horses breathe fire?” Dustan wiggled faster. “Damn, I hate this realm.”
The rock in front of his face glowed read with heat, a slight touch sending needles of pain through his fingers. If they didn’t find the other end, and soon, they would both be baked alive.
“I’m out,” said Kyra, relief in her voice.
Dustan shoved hard for the exit as an enormous wave of fire swept through the cleft. An instant from becoming a bonfire, he was yanked out by his arm by Kyra. He sprawled on the ground outside the channel, heaving the air and beating the flames off his body. The deep intakes of air helped to replenish the energy lost as his body attempted to heal the continuous burning.
“Are you okay?” Kyra patted his jacket, plumes of smoke rising off the leather.
“Medium rare.” He grinned. “Think they will follow through the passage?”
“Doubtful. They will wait farther down. We can rest a bit and try to figure out our next move.”
Dustan gazed around the cavern. It appeared to be a makeshift outpost with crates and barrels littering the ground. He assumed it had served as resource station for scouts heading down this clandestine route. They rummaged through the stores, but found nothing useful. A rivulet cut through the rock on one end of the cave and disappeared beneath a wall on the other. Dustan led as they worked their way through another channel in the stone, mercifully wider and shorter than the previous one—he thanked whoever constructed the shaft.
They reemerged next to a rickety dock. A small boat sat anchored in a stream that spilled into a main artery of the mountain river. The river’s tendrils wove through the valley and rounded a neighboring peak cut into the summit high above the Temple of Asmodeus, then crashed over numerous cliffs before finally breaking into a steady flow down the mountainside. Dustan climbed in and took Kyra’s hand, helping her into the teetering craft.
The initial stage of their travel went smoothly. The river’s current, though swift and at a steep angle, allowed a comparatively safe descent. Roughly a third of the way to the valley floor, the course picked up. White-topped rapids tossed the little boat back and forth like a drunk juggler. Dustan braced with his hands locked onto the craft’s railings. Kyra perched to the fore, a dense mist hammering her face. She pointed and shouted. Dustan could not make out the words, but allowed her extended arm to guide his eyes. A few hundred yards ahead, the river split into two branches. The right remained wide. Moss-covered stone posts along the banks indicated it had served as the route when this trek was in use ages earlier. The left appeared a more recent tributary. The offshoot was narrow and shallow, but raced downward with nauseating speed, the tight funnel increasing the water’s force.
“We must stay to the right.” Kyra stared back at him, fear in her eyes.
Dustan did not appreciate the danger until a roar rose above the crashing rapids. While the right fork continued its steady race, winding along the contours of the geography, the left ended with a dive over the mountainside. Billowing foam, agitated by the sudden drop, marked the mouth of a waterfall.
The pull of the faster branch swept their tiny craft to the left. Both Dustan and Kyra watched the fall speed toward them, powerless to alter their path. He inched forward and wrapped his arms around her. The gesture would do little to protect her, he knew, but Dustan needed to do something. He could not sit there with the water spraying against them and go meekly into the Void. Kyra reached up and clutched his forearm as the boat’s bow tipped over the edge.
They hit the river’s surface a mile below. Even with the reduced gravity, the impact shattered his ribs and collapsed his chest. One arm flopped useless, the bone jutting from the skin and pointing toward the sky. A leg felt on fire, some object buried deep in the flesh. He ignored the pain and concentrated on keeping his head above the surface. He sucked in the air, hoping the energy would be quick about his healing.
Dustan craned his neck, trying to locate Kyra. His eyes scanned the water, but could find no sign of her. A gagging cough came from his right as Kyra’s head bobbed up for an instant and sank beneath the churning waters. Dustan swam for her, his one good arm swiping down in frantic slaps, the exertion robbing him of what little strength remained in his body. He worked his injured arm around her neck with a grimace of discomfort and dragged her toward the shore. Once on the bank, he eased Kyra down, his breath coming in quick gasps. She lay still among the rocks and sand, her chest rising slow and shallow. Violet-hued energy poured from a deep fracture in the side of her skull. She would not last long.
Dustan had no idea if stanching the wound would even help, but he tore off his shirt and pressed it to her head. Tears mingled with the river water coating his face. He placed Kyra into his lap and rocked in despair.
“She will not die.” A soft voice came from behind.
Dustan’s head spun to the sound. A girl who appeared six or seven years old stood a few feet away. A half-inch of blonde fuzz covered her scalp. Brilliant green, inquisitive eyes stared at him. She smoothed her dingy taupe robe and strolled forward, showing no fear of them.
“May I see her?”
The tiny voice held an authority that surprised him. Dustan had the distinct impression she was not asking for permission. Her dark blue aura calmed his apprehension. He eased Kyra off his lap and slid to one side. The girl knelt, cupped Kyra’s head in her petite hands, and closed her eyes. Her body undulated in a slow rhythm, a soft murmur fluttering from her lips. Kyra’s left hand thumped the ground as her legs began to shake violently.
“Hold her,” said the girl.
Dustan placed his palms on Kyra’s chest and a leg. She continued to gyrate, but he contained the jarring movements. After what seemed an eternity, Kyra lay still and the girl removed her hands. She peered up at him with a warm smile.
She gripped his broken arm, gave a quick tug, and snapped the bone into place. Dustan yelped. The girl smirked, shaking her head. She clutched the limb penetrating his leg and wrenched it free. This time he managed to bite down on the pain and not embarrass himself further. Her energy flowed into his arm and traveled through his body, banishing the soreness from his ribs and chest, healing the wounds to his arm and leg.
“She’ll be okay. Come.” She wiggled little fingers at him and sauntered up the embankment.
Dustan didn’t move, dumbfounded for a long moment. He blinked several times to make certain the girl was real, took Kyra into his arms, and followed. They trekked through the underbrush, keeping to a narrow trail. Emerging from the forest, they stepped into a clearing sprinkled with detached columns and defaced monuments, chipped and worn by time. A disquieted sigh escaped him when he saw the girl disappear into yet another cave on the far side of the open area. Caves had not produced much good fortune thus far.
“She can have my bed.” The girl pointed to a mattress of leaves and straw. Dustan laid Kyra on the pile. She moaned once and fell bac
k to sleep.
“Thank you.” Dustan moved to the fire and sat across from the girl. Her cheeks reddened and she grinned. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Lailah.”
“Nice to meet you, Lailah. I’m Dustan and my friend is Kyra.” He poked a stick into the embers, sending sparks dancing into the air. “What are you doing here all alone?”
“Oh, I’ve been here forever. When the others left, I knew they wouldn’t make it, so I stayed.” Lailah averted her eyes, shying from his gaze.
“Others?”
She shrugged and nodded as though that answered everything.
“You’re unaligned. Why didn’t you try to make it to the In Between?”
“The others tried.”
A wave of sympathy flooded him. He wanted to take her in his arms and make certain nothing ever harmed her.
“It’s a glamor,” said Kyra from the mat.
Dustan rushed to her. “You need to rest. Don’t get up.”
Still pale and weak, Kyra pushed to her feet. “I’m fine. The old one did a number on me, though. I’m not sure which affected me more, the fall or her power.”
“Old one?” Dustan glanced at Kyra. Perhaps her mind was still addled.
“She may be the oldest spirit I have ever encountered.”
Lailah offered a sheepish grin.
“Shit, I forgot. There are no children spirits. You’re born fully formed.” Dustan slapped his forehead. “In this realm, spirits appear to me in their first human forms. Why are you a little girl?”
“I peeked into your mind. A human child seemed the least threatening form to approach you.”
“Smart. Wait. You can read minds?” Dustan hoped he hadn’t thought anything lurid or embarrassing.
“Her age might rival the rune stones. How have you existed so long?” Kyra seemed to remain suspicious.
“The war altered many things, including how the realm works. My kind settled these lands long before the war and it has never encroached this far south. I’ve managed to avoid those traveling through. My kin feared the armies would find us, and left.” Sadness crept into her voice. “They are no more. I am all that’s left.”
Blood for the Dancer Page 21