The Warlord's Legacy

by Ari Marmell

  “And me?” Jassion’s voice shook, making his words almost unintelligible. “Where do I fit in?”

  Perhaps sensing the growing fury mere feet behind her, Salia decided that silence was no longer the prudent course. “We had to look as though we were dealing with the threat of Rebaine, and we had to ensure that he didn’t pop up somewhere public and put the lie to what we were doing. And in so doing, we would also punish him for the crimes he committed against Imphallion so long ago. Something else,” she added bitterly, “that Khanda was supposed to make happen.”

  Minutes passed, and nobody spoke. Corvis glared down at Sunder, battling a desperate need to kill something.

  “I don’t believe it,” he said finally, tearing his gaze from the demon-forged blade. “Oh, it makes sense, but … Mavere was there, when Audriss summoned the Children of Apocalypse. I saw you,” he continued, now turning toward her, “how you reacted. No political scheme would entice you to risk that happening again.”

  “I was assured there was no risk,” she muttered, but she could not meet his eyes.

  It was, perhaps unsurprisingly, Irrial who figured it out. “She was afraid.”

  “Shut your mouth, you godsdamned—!”

  But nobody was listening to the priestess at that point. “Of me?” Corvis demanded. “More than she was of a demon? I was bad, but I wasn’t that—”

  “The demons didn’t threaten to take her mind from her, Corvis.”

  Finally, finally he understood. “You thought you might be one of them,” he whispered, marveling. “You figured out that I’d charmed many of the Guildmasters, and you were afraid you were among them!”

  “Until you had to hold that damn axe to my throat to force me to bring you here, yes,” Mavere admitted, her shoulders sagging. “How could I know otherwise? How could I be sure that any choice I made was my own? I had to know I was free of you, you bastard!”

  “Well,” Corvis said dully. “Congratulations on your success.”

  Mavere turned away, and again there was silence.

  “We should continue,” Nenavar said finally. “We’re almost ready.” Again he began bustling about, while the trio on the stairs descended into the cellar proper.

  “What exactly are we doing, Rebaine?” Jassion demanded.

  “A banishing incantation. An exorcism, if you prefer. Nenavar called Khanda, so Nenavar is best suited to send him back. It’s no easy spell, though.”

  “We can’t just kill the old man? Isn’t that what you did with Audriss, to banish Maukra and Mimgol?”

  “I never did learn if it was killing Audriss or burning the book, actually,” Corvis corrected. “But no, not all summoning incantations work that way. This one doesn’t, it appears.”

  “Too bad. It would’ve made things much simpler.”

  Corvis nodded his agreement. Only then did they glance at each other, horrified to realize how alike they were thinking. Jassion scowled and moved across the room.

  “All right,” Nenavar said, standing as straight as his aged back would permit, “I need everyone to move away from the sigil, and to keep silent. Once I’ve begun, I can afford no—”

  Corvis recognized the sound from above, the hideous shrieking of displaced air, but the wide-open cellar offered nowhere to hide. Portions of the ceiling burst in a rain of stone as Khanda’s pillar of eldritch force slammed into the earth, hurling people around the chamber, dolls caught up in a child’s tantrum. Even as he smashed into the far wall, his head ringing, his lungs burning as the breath rushed from them, Corvis could not help but note that neither Nenavar himself, nor the arcane runes upon the floor, were touched.

  The old wizard raised his hands, seeking the source of the attack. “Come out, Khanda!” he cried. “You know you cannot harm me!” He clenched a fist in anger, and from somewhere in the broken house above, a voice shrieked in agony.

  But Corvis saw, too, a dark-clad figure slipping through the ruins of the cellar, concealed from the others by piles of rubble—a figure that was most assuredly not Khanda.

  “Mellorin!” He tried to shout, but his words emerged in only a ragged wheeze. “Mellorin, no! You don’t know what he is! You don’t—”

  For an instant she rounded on him, her eyes blazing. “I know exactly who he is! And I know who you are, Father! I’m just glad I’m here to see you get some sliver of what you deserve.”

  “No, please …”

  But she was already moving. Nenavar had only just heard something, only begun to look behind, when she whipped the pommel of a heavy dagger across the back of his head, watched as he tumbled senseless to the debris-strewn floor.

  Corvis struggled halfway to his feet, reaching out imploringly for his daughter, when his ears were assaulted by the shriek of another spell from above. He saw only an instant of the second detonation before he tumbled, limp and senseless, to the far corner.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  ONCE AGAIN, AWARENESS RETURNED to Corvis’s body at a slow creep, accompanied by the sharp pain of rocks splayed beneath him and the throbbing ache of bruised, maybe broken, limbs. Despite that pain, his mouth curled in a faint smile. Any human opponent with a shred of sanity would have slain him while he lay helpless, but for once, Khanda’s hellish nature was working for them. So deep did the demon’s innate cruelty run, he had to keep Corvis alive as witness to his ultimate triumph.

  Of course, had Khanda known that the old warlord would not long remain as weak as he appeared, he might have acted differently.

  Around him, Corvis heard the faint patter of falling dust and settling stones, along with an occasional whimper or moan, and knew he must not have been unconscious long. He heard, as well, Khanda’s voice, echoing from all sides. It took him a few moments to recognize, with a dull but growing horror, the familiar syllables.

  He struggled to focus, to spur his sluggish thoughts into motion. The demon must have been inside his head once more, extracting the last bits of Selakrian’s spell, and Corvis was pathetically grateful that he’d been oblivious during this second violation.

  For the decay in his mind, there was little to be done, but his physical hurts could yet be assuaged. Corvis forced his breathing to remain steady as the worst of the pains faded—not entirely or even substantially, but enough to become tolerable. His lips twitched in relief, and he wondered what his companions must be thinking as they felt the same healing touch.

  Opening his eyes, he could see clearly into the manor’s upper levels. Bits of rock trickled down from what remained of the ceiling, and the cellar’s stone floor, except for the area circumscribed by the sigil, had fared little better. Great chunks of it were shattered or missing, revealing pits of clay or soil below, filling the air with a rich, earthen scent.

  And there, across the room …

  Oh, gods. I’m so sorry, I never wanted any of this life to touch yours …

  She stood straight, her dark hair plastered to the sides of her face with a light sheen of sweat. In each hand she held a brutal, heavy-bladed dagger, one of which was covered in a spidery array of subtly shifting runes. Corvis couldn’t help but wonder, albeit briefly, if anyone had ever before, in all recorded history, wielded two of the Kholben Shiar at once.

  She’d grown, these past years, into a striking young woman. He saw a touch of his own craggy features, softened and smoothed by her mother’s influence. Yet in her eyes he saw neither Tyannon’s gentle strength nor his own burning obsession but something else entirely, a deep well of intensity whose nature he could not interpret—in part because it was largely hidden behind a growing spark of fearful confusion as her world spiraled out of control.

  And Corvis Rebaine realized, with a muffled sob, that he didn’t know his own daughter well enough to know if he should be proud of her—but he knew, beyond the sharpest sliver of doubt, that he could be.

  /Ah, there you are, old boy! I was afraid you were going to miss the big finish./

  It sounded in his mind and soul rather than his ears,
just as it had so many years before. He could actually feel his thoughts recoiling from that unholy intrusion like the curling edge of burning parchment. Groaning with only half-feigned effort, Corvis craned around further to glare at the figures beside his apprehensive daughter.

  An unconscious Nenavar, bloody head lolling limply on his neck, sat awkwardly before Khanda, propped up by one of the demon’s hands. Khanda himself, still wearing Kaleb’s shape, knelt upon the floor, chanting Selakrian’s invocation without interruption even as his words resounded in Corvis’s thoughts.

  /Did you know,/ Khanda asked conversationally as the incantation progressed, /that it was Nenavar who helped Audriss awaken Pekatherosh? Small world, isn’t it? You ought to be standing in line to kill the old stick, not working with him./

  Corvis mumbled something, spat out a mouthful of dirt and sticky, half-dried blood.

  /Where is old Pekky, anyway? You didn’t send him back to hell—I was waiting—and I know you didn’t free him from that silly little jewel./

  “Safe,” Corvis rasped.

  Silence for a moment, and then Khanda began to laugh uproariously—mostly in Corvis’s head, but even his physical body convulsed, his mouth bending around a smile that almost, almost mangled the next syllables of the spell.

  /Oh, Corvis, you really never change, do you? You stuck him back in the cave on Mount Molleya, didn’t you? “Just in case,” yes?/

  “It held you well enough all those years,” Corvis said with a painful shrug.

  /So it did, so it did./

  Far more quietly, gathering all that remained of his battered will to ensure that none of his words reached Khanda’s awareness, Corvis whispered, “Can you do it?”

  “Not yet,” came the equally quiet reply. “He’s far too focused. I need him distracted.”

  Corvis nodded. “How did you find us?” he asked, raising his voice once more.

  /Didn’t have to. You’ve always been predictable, Corvis. As soon as I dropped “Master” Nenavar’s name, I knew you’d come here eventually. All I had to do was watch the place./

  “I can’t believe the idiot didn’t have teleportation wards on his own home.”

  /Oh, he did, more than you’d ever imagine. But he’d attuned them to admit me. He so enjoyed summoning me to him at every whim, and after all, I couldn’t possibly hurt him, could I?/

  Another nod. And of course, he’d have been able to carry Mellorin as well—or at worst, teleport her nearby and then physically open the door from within.

  “Khanda, please …”

  /Eh?/

  “Let her go.” He hadn’t known he was going to say it until the words were out. “She’s taken Nenavar out for you, done what you needed her to. This is between us. Let her go.”

  /Why, Corvis, that’s so sweet, I could just cry. Actually, I’d rather make someone else cry. It’s so much more fun./

  “Khanda …” Just keep talking, you bastard. With every second, he could feel the pain of his wounds lessening, his strength growing …

  /I’m keeping her, Corvis. She really wanted to be here for this. Besides, I think I’ve grown attached to the little lady—rather like a pet. I want her around to see what happens to you, and you to see some of what I’ll be doing to her. It’s not good for family to have secrets from each other, you know./

  Corvis choked, fire roaring in his mind. And as it had before, his concentration wavered.

  /Corvis …?/ Not merely the demon’s tone, but the set of his shoulders, bespoke a sudden suspicion. /Corvis, what are you doing?/

  “Damn it!” If Khanda had sensed the slow spring of magic flowing through their bodies, mending their hurts, they could wait no longer. “Are you ready?”

  “No!” that voice insisted. “Corvis, I need more time!”

  “Then I,” he growled, tensing muscles that should have been too weak to move, “need the Kholben Shiar.”

  Beneath Corvis’s cloak and tunic—and, too, beneath the soil exposed by the rents in the floor—unseen things began to move …

  “What? Where are you—?”

  “Probably nowhere. You’ve just got me paranoid now. I want to make sure nobody’s following—that Mavere didn’t somehow manage to signal anyone.”

  “Paranoid indeed,” Jassion said. “But probably wise,” he acknowledged, riding on ahead.

  Corvis wheeled his mount in a tight circle and galloped back the way they’d come, straining to keep one eye on the sky, the other on the road. As soon as he was well and truly out of sight of the others he reined the beast to a halt and raised an arm out before him.

  Having been waiting for just that, or so it seemed, one of the crows circling above plummeted to alight upon his wrist. It was a bedraggled, sickly-looking thing, with drooping feathers and weeping eyes.

  “I see you brought some friends,” Corvis said.

  Wings rose and fell in what was probably meant as a shrug. “They followed me,” the crow told him. “Probably figured I knew something they didn’t. Or maybe they were curious about me.”

  “Or maybe they’re just birds, and gods know why they do anything.”

  “Or that, yes.”

  Corvis lowered his wrist so she could hop onto the pommel of his saddle. “I was afraid I’d never see you again, Seilloah.”

  “You almost didn’t,” she admitted.

  “I’m sorry I—”

  “No, Corvis, I’m sorry. Of course finding Mellorin and stopping Khanda take precedence. I don’t like it, but I understand it. It’s just—it hurts so much, you’ve no idea how much …”

  “I understand,” he told her softly.

  “You don’t. Not really.”

  “No, not really. Seilloah …” He swallowed, reached up to wipe away tears he refused to shed. “Seilloah, if you want, I could—I could end it. Make it quick.”

  Corvis didn’t understand how, but he swore he saw the beak flex into a sad smile. “No, dearest. Thank you—I know how much you didn’t want to offer that—but it’s not necessary. If I want to end it, all I need do is stop fighting. Let the spell lapse. It’ll be over in seconds.”

  “Then why …?”

  “I thought about it. More than once, especially in the past few weeks, I very nearly did. But I couldn’t, not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Khanda. Corvis, I think I know how to beat him …”

  CORVIS ROLLED TO HIS FEET, his companions—all save Salia Mavere, whom Seilloah had not thought worth the effort to heal—following only seconds after. A small crow stuck its head out from within Corvis’s tunic, and from beneath the exposed soil erupted a squid-like array of roots and tendrils, drawn through the earth from the surrounding gardens and hedge. With uncanny speed they lashed out, some knocking Khanda and Nenavar aside, others wrapping like whips about Mellorin’s wrists. She cried out, and the Kholben Shiar plummeted earthward.

  Even more tendrils intercepted them, flinging them hilt-first across the room. Seilloah dived from Corvis’s clothes and fluttered toward the cracked ceiling as he snagged the weapons in mid-flight. Sunder he clasped in his left fist, spinning it in an upright grip even as it shifted into its familiar shape. But Talon—Talon he whipped back behind his head and hurled back across the chamber. It tumbled end over end, forming into an axe not unlike Sunder itself, and struck …

  Not Khanda, for the demon had not been Corvis’s target, but Nenavar. The old wizard’s body spasmed as his head split under the axe’s caress, and then lay forever still.

  Everything went silent as death. Slowly, Khanda rose from where the writhing plants had flung him. With an angry grunt, he shoved Nenavar’s body off him, small gobbets of his former master’s brain and skull clinging to his face. Corvis spun Sunder smoothly through the air before him, ready for any response.

  Except, perhaps, for Khanda to simply stand gaping at him, jaw moving silently. In all the years they’d known each other, in all the forms the demon had worn, Corvis had never seen him at a loss for words.r />
  “You …” Even when he finally spoke, the words seemed almost too much for him. “You bastard!”

  “Really, Khanda? That’s the best you can do?”

  “Kaleb?” Mellorin appeared at his side, clutching her lacerated wrists. “Why is he calling you—”

  But the demon ignored her, had eyes only for the man he hated most in all the world. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for a sorcerer to take over another’s conjuration? I don’t even know if there are any alive who could do it! I’m going to have to search for years before I find someone who can usurp Nenavar’s spell!”

  “And until then, there’s no way to free you from the binding’s limitations. I know.” Corvis shrugged. “Weren’t you the one who just told me I ought to be trying to kill Nenavar? You were right. Thanks for the suggestion.”

  “Kaleb,” Mellorin demanded, her tone far more insistent. “What’s he talking about?”

  “Yes, Kaleb.” Corvis smiled grimly. “Tell her what I’m talking about.”

  Khanda growled and shoved Mellorin aside, not hard, just enough to stagger her. “You,” the demon hissed, “are now officially more troublesome than you are fun. Good-bye, Corvis.”

  Flames bridged the chamber. Stone cracked; brimstone-reeking smoke made for the holes above, seeking its own escape. Anticipating just such an attack, Corvis and the others dived aside. He continued rolling, rose and ran as Khanda spun, sweeping his hellfire across the far wall in swift pursuit.

  Sweat poured down Corvis’s face, his heart pounded in his chest. Over the roaring fire he heard his daughter shouting, but what she said, or whether she addressed him or the man she knew as Kaleb, he couldn’t tell. He was nearing the end of the cellar, had nowhere else to dodge …