Redeeming the Lost

by Elizabeth Kerner

  Of course, I now have no further need for Marik himself.

  I do not plan to use him this night. No, he will be worth a great deal to me when the Demonlord comes. Betrayal, despair, perhaps even fury; a tasty banquet for whatever it is that inhabits the Black Dragon. I will enjoy putting an end to his whining and his endless requests for assistance—let him live pain-free for one night. His despair will be all the more delightful when it comes.

  Ah, but enough of such pleasant musing. I go now to claim my birthright. And when the Demonlord arrives and all the Kantri are dead, and with the help of the fool King Gorlak of the East Mountains and his armies, I have control of all of Kolmar, I will give to the Rakshasa a home for themselves in this world, that they may serve me more readily.

  The time approaches. After I have released the Lord of the Fifth Hell to feed on my erstwhile colleagues and any students he can catch, I shall take Marik with me to collect his daughter. Let Marik feel himself fully healed for a day or so before I sacrifice him. He will have so much more to regret that way.

  Ah, life is sweet.

  Jamie

  It had been too long since I’d had to use lockpicks, and I was as rusty as the lock. It didn’t help that every instant I was anticipating the sharp claws of the Rikti in my back. I must have been there a full minute—it felt like forever—when I felt the lock go and I pulled open the door, shining the lantern into the darkness.

  Lanen stood there, eyes blazing, manacled and chained to the wall. For all that, she stood holding a chair by its back, the legs aimed at whoever was coming in. I was proud of her, being prepared for an enemy despite everything. She caught sight of my face and threw the chair from her. I winced, waiting for the clatter, but of course it made no noise at all.

  I was inside in a moment, lantern in hand, setting the delicate lockpicks against those rough manacles to release her from her chains. There!

  And suddenly she was free and in my arms, my girl, my own Lanen. I stole enough time from our peril to hold her to me for a breath—forever—then I took her arm and pulled her with me. Every bone in my body was screaming at me to run.

  Varien

  The moment I reached the road I called out in truespeech. “Shikrar, my friend,” I cried, striding as swiftly as I might towards Verfaren, holding my fist to the stitch in my side. “Howfare you?”

  “I have eaten a little, and rested,” he replied. “I am still hungry, but that may be addressed in time.”

  “There is no time, Shikrar, do you hear me? I am filled with the most terrible foreboding. I beseech you, my friend—my wings are gone forever, I must needs borrow yours. When will you be able to fly?”

  My head ached instantly from using truespeech, my side was worse, and I noticed as I walked that the wind was rising. From the south, of course. I was headed directly into it.

  There was the merest hint of a sigh from Shikrar. “I am at your service, my friend. I have eaten but little, I am yet wing-light.”

  “Then come now!” I cried, breaking into a run for a moment, despite the pain, ere I was forced to walk again. My heart pounded in my chest like a great river over rapids, and of a sudden I found I was terrified. I could not stop shaking, and I feared in my marrow that Lanen’s death was near her. “Come swiftly, soulfriend, find me on the road. I will not stop to wait for you.”

  Even as I bespoke him, I felt the fear of death enter me.

  “Shikrar, swiftly, to me!”

  Lanen

  The moment we stepped outside the cell several things happened at once.

  First and most obviously, we sprang Berys’s trap, for more of the Rikti appeared and began attacking us—though they seemed to concentrate on Jamie. I fought them off as best I could.

  The second thing that happened was that, to my infinite delight, I could hear again, and I could speak.

  “Varien!” I cried, as loudly as I could in truespeech. “Come swiftly, my heart!” Then I realised—I had no idea where I was.

  “Where the devil are we, Jamie?” I asked, beating off Rikti as I spoke.

  “Verfaren, where else would you find half the Hells in the corridors,” he grunted, between slashes at the Rikti and swerves to avoid being injured. “Come on, the farther away we can get the better. Run!”

  We pelted down the corridor and I called out to Varien as we ran—

  “We Jamie and I are in Verfaren the College of Mages attacked by Rikti but I am free …”

  —and met Berys and Marik turning the corner not five feet in front of it.

  “Oh, Hells, it’s Berys!”

  I heard only “We come Lanen! Shik—” before Berys waved his hand and the beloved voice in my mind was silenced yet again.

  I was getting truly sick of that trick of his.

  Berys

  I felt the activation of the Rikti on the prison door and hurried Marik down with me, along with two of my favoured guards who bore lanterns and the makings of the small altar that was needed to work the demonline. There was very little reason for either of us to stay in the Great Hall any longer, after all. The Lord of the Fifth Hell was doing a fine job on its own.

  I was tempted to linger. The pleasure of seeing those colleagues I had despised for so many years dying in pain, confounded by a powerful demon—for they had never truly considered the possibility of such a battle, leaving such studies to me—ah, it was balm to my soul. Deeply satisfying. Still, there was no more for me to do, and I did not wish to lose my new treasure.

  I expected to find the hunchbacked woman or possibly the proud student Vilkas in a foolhardy raid being savaged by Rikti; instead we ran full into the prisoner herself barely at arm’s length, with some servant behind her and the Rikti nowhere to be seen. I threw up a barrier and just managed to stop them barrelling into us and escaping; they were held motionless. It was as well I was so powerful at that moment, for they struggled wildly, but my will was implacable and my power ascendant. I grinned and with a gesture stopped her from using Farspeech as well.

  “How very kind,” I said lightly. “Now I have two sacrifices, and you have even unlocked the door for me. Very considerate.”

  The guards handed off their lanterns to Marik and bore the prisoners unceremoniously into the cell they had just left.

  Varien

  In the event, Shikrar was nearly upon me when at last I heard my beloved’s mindvoice.

  “Shikrar, I have heard her! She is in Verfaren and faces Berys—in the name of the Winds, come quickly!”

  “I am aloft. Where are you, Akhor?” asked Shikrar. His mind’s serene voice restored in me a tiny measure of calm, at least enough to answer.

  “On the road heading south of the field where we welcomed our people,” I shouted, running as fast as I could. I told him what little she had said even as I ran, and heard his distant roar through the darkness. It was balm to my heart, as was the sound of his wings above me. I cried out to him in truespeech and saw him looking back and forth.

  “I can’t see, drat these clouds—grace of the Winds, there is the moonlight—and there you are, all of you. I come!”

  All of us?

  I turned around. The wind had been in my face, I had not heard the others behind me. Aral and Vilkas were on foot, Rella, Will, and Maran were mounted. Just for an instant I blushed in the darkness. At least someone had thought of horses.

  Although I was proved the shrewder in the event.

  The poor creatures had objected strongly to Salera when she had first arrived at the Dragon’s Head—was it ten, twelve days since? It seemed a lifetime—and even more strongly to Shikrar when he joined us up on the High Field, in the mountains. They were still not at ease around him, but they hadn’t bolted. Or they hadn’t bolted when Shikrar was walking sedately alongside them as we all came down the mountain. When he appeared suddenly from the night sky and landed with a thump right in front of them they did a spinbolt and disappeared into the windy darkness, leaving Rella, Will, and Maran to rise up and brush the dust
from their clothes.

  “Well, it was a nice idea,” said Rella, grimacing.

  “I cannot stay,” I told them, as Shikrar gathered me in his hands. “I will see you in Verfaren.”

  “Don’t leave me here!” cried Rella. “Please—Jamie—”

  “I have bespoken Kédra, he comes for you,” said Shikrar, and took to the wild sky. We were barely aloft when he let forth a huge hiss of pure fury, stretched his wings, and flew at the utmost of his strength. I could feel it even as he held me, I knew that bone-deep change between flight that is important and flight on which life depends.

  “Raksha!” Shikrar cried in truespeech as he flew. The wind was fierce against us. “Akhor, it is a Lord of one of the Deep Hells, some kairtach has summoned a major demon!”

  The wind might have come directly from the Hells that night. It blew in huge gusts, catching him on the upswing, throwing me backwards as he tumbled. The gale fought him, swiped at him, almost seemed to be trying to knock him out of the sky, but he laughed fiercely at the challenge and rode the tempest.

  My heart soared. No matter that we rode on the treacherous wings of storm—it was Hadreshikrar who held me safe, who for more than my lifetime had taught every youngling of the Kantri how to fly. He was not the teacher of flight because he enjoyed the company of younglings, or because he had endless patience with them, although those were truths as well—no, he had earned his position. Every year. Only the best flyer, the one with the most experience and the greatest proven skills, was allowed to teach. He had been the best longer than I had been alive. I felt it when he caught the feel of the winds, felt him begin to move with them, anticipating the gusts by some weather-sense I envied desperately even as the blankness at my back ached for what was not there.

  And suddenly there below was Verfaren. Ten miles was not so far on those great wings, thank the Winds and the Lady. The lights in the town shone on winding streets, and lights in the windows gleamed in the darkness, but the College on the hill was dark as death.

  vi

  The Fall of the College of Mages

  Varien

  Shikrar landed hard outside what I assumed was the College of Mages—it was the largest set of buildings and had its own walled courtyard—and he didn’t so much release me as throw me to the ground. I rose to find him facing the gates. A large Gedri, heavily armed, took one look at Shikrar and ran silently and with great concentration into the night and away from anything he might have been guarding. Shikrar ignored him.

  The gates of the College of Mages were astoundingly strong, as it proved. They withstood a blow from the Eldest of the Kantri without breaking, which was one blow more than I had thought it would take. When Shikrar hit them again—harder—the entire frame came away from the stone walls and the still-locked gates fell to the ground with a great crash.

  There was a single human figure in the courtyard, barely visible in the dimness. He called out, “Jameth of Arinoc!” and ran towards me, thereby striking me as being very clever.

  Shikrar rushed into the courtyard and looked around frantically, echoing my desperation. “Where, Akhor?” he cried. His voice boomed and echoed in the cobbled square.

  I ran up to the shaking man and caught him by the shoulders. “Where is Jamie? Where is Lanen?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, and even in that darkness lit only by fitful glimpses of the moon I could see that his eyes were wide and staring. “Most likely there, you see those grates?”

  He pointed to a row of small gratings to the right of the courtyard, maybe five feet above ground level. Light gleamed in one of them as we spoke.

  “Shikrar! There, where the light shines, she is within!”

  Jamie

  I struggled furiously against the holding spell, but I might as well have tried to dig a well with a fork. Lanen, away to my left, was swearing at the guards, who ignored her. When we were all inside the cell, Berys had his guards shut and lock the door while he cast a silence around us. “Don’t bother yelling,” said Marik smugly. “No sound can pass those barriers. In either direction.”

  Berys busied himself directing the guards, who drew stones from their packs and started building something while he started drawing things on the floor. I couldn’t yet tell what it was going to be, but I was certain to my marrow that it held my death. They might want Lanen for something particular but I was of no use to them at all.

  I had nothing to lose. Might as well enjoy myself.

  “Bloody Marik of bloody Gundar,” I spat. At least I might enjoy a little Marik-baiting, if I could do nothing else. “Last I heard you were mindless and drooling.”

  “No change there, then,” put in Lanen. Her face was white and drained, but her voice was steady as a rock.

  Marik ignored her and came near to me, staring intently. “Who the devil are you to give a damn?” he asked, lifting a lantern and peering at me.

  I glared back at him, unable to fight, unable to move a muscle. “I could have killed you stone dead back then,” I spat. “Should have finished the job.” A defiant smile touched my lips. “Though I hear you’ve been limping ever since. Some good comes of everything, seemingly.”

  “Who in all the Hells are you?” he asked again. “I don’t remember you! No human gave me this limp, it was the demons when we made the—”

  “Oh, no,” I interrupted. “We gave you that limp right enough. Indirectly. And at the least, Maran broke a few of your ribs for you. I heard them go.”

  His eyes widened. “You bastard! You were the one who took on Berys while she knocked me out! You and that whore Maran ruined my life!” Marik cursed, throwing down his lantern. He grabbed the front of my tunic to steady himself and threw a punch at me with all his strength. I saw it coming and managed to turn my face away enough to save my nose, but my jaw hurt like hell—and I could do nothing but wait for the next one.

  “Your courage astounds me, Father,” drawled Lanen sarcastically as Marik drew back for a worse blow. “Striking a helpless man. Such daring.”

  He stepped over to where she was held and slapped her, hard. “Mock while you can, Daughter,” he snarled, turning the last word into a curse. “You’re demon fodder.”

  “Leave off, Marik, I need that one,” murmured Berys. “Come, it’s time. You,” he called to one of the guards, “bring her to the altar.” It was only a few steps. No!

  “Damn you, let her alone!” I shouted, stupidly.

  Lanen

  It was come, then. My ending, or the start of some foul halflife I dared not even think on. I was still held by Berys’s spell, which I could do nothing about. Terror gripped me, gutwrenching, breath-stealing terror.

  That was what did it, I think.

  I have always gone straight from fear to anger, and the greater the fear, the deeper the anger. But what took me over was not anger, or not only anger. It was—it was most like that moment when you first become aware and leave childhood behind forever; or when you first had to deal with death and you realised that life is always too short. I felt the change in my breath, in my blood, in the very beating of my heart, and it happened between one instant and the next. My very vision changed—it was the difference between looking at rain through thick glass and stepping out into a thunderstorm, when you can not only see but feel and hear the downpour and smell every drop. And it was not vision only that was affected. I had always known Berys was evil but now I could see it, and worse yet I could smell it. He reeked, a stench like rotten meat but much worse, coming off him in waves. I was hard put to it not to retch. He was my death and he stood there smiling.

  And the soul’s-fire I had discovered in that dry hopeless place exploded like a newborn star.

  I threw back my head and cried aloud, words I didn’t understand, and a great pulse of power blazed from me. The guard screamed and let go, Marik staggered backwards and fell, and I could feel Berys’s will shatter and saw him reeling from the shock. I could move.

  I often wonder what would have happened
next if the wall hadn’t disappeared.

  Marik

  I was trying still to master myself in the face of whatever the Hells the girl had done when I felt it, a rumble deeper than sound that shook my feet—there was no more warning than that, thanks to Berys’s brilliant idea to keep us all from being distracted by sounds from outside—and my nightmare rose howling before me.

  I could neither move nor act, I could not think, I could only stare and scream. I had dreamed this so many times, dreading it both mad and sane, seen it again and again—but this was not in some distant place, half legend, where dragons dwelt and anything might happen. This was not some light timber frame wall being torn away. The walls of the College were of shaped stone, three feet thick and centuries old, and that monster pulled down fifteen feet of wall at once. It was twice the size of the silver one, its head barely fit within the room, its vast bronze jaws agape and roaring, tearing down more of the wall to get at me.

  I felt someone take me by the arm to throw me to it. I fought with all my strength, but that grip was iron. A brilliant light flared before my eyes and I was tossed into it, whether I would or no.

  A moment of nothing, a moment in which nor breath nor light existed, and I stumbled out onto a high platform under quiet stars. There were high mountains around about me with snow on their sharp summits, ghostly in the pale moonlight. It was peaceful, a good place, it almost looked familiar—so long ago—faint memories of years long past, coming to the top of this tower as a child, wrapped in a bear skin to keep warm, gazing with delight on the mountains in winter … bloody Hells.