Redeeming the Lost

by Elizabeth Kerner

  The best we can do in the present moment is to turn to Berys and say, “You are dead, demon-spit.”

  “You are bound to me, beast. You serve me,” he replies.

  “Fool! I keep telling you that I am not a demon,” I-Demonlord reply. “Your lies are made plain. She is gone out of your hands! And when she is dead, I owe you only enough allegiance not to destroy you.” We laugh. “Perhaps I will leave enough of the Kantri alive to do that for me, for once she is dead I will have all the time in the world in which to destroy the few I will leave alive.”

  The Kantri. There, in the sky above us. If they are here, she must be as well—but for now, they stand between us and our prey. We will have to fight them. It is good. We are strong, we share thought and will, we share hatred.

  We rise with a thunderclap, beating vast wings that do not grow weary, and fly straight toward the largest assembly we can see. We breathe fire upon them, and three are stricken at once. Our fire is thick and viscous, it clings to them and sears them to the bone. The three fall from the sky screaming and burn to powder before they strike the ground.

  We dance on the wind with delight, just for a moment, then we scan the ground for humans—but there are too many dragons forcing us into battle. They are many, and the spell we once used works no longer to tear them from the sky. We will have to fight them—but ah, Berys never knew. We have a soul again, we are the Demonlord once more. A price once paid to demons is paid until death, and I-Demonlord have never truly died.

  I can call upon six of the Seven Princes of the Hells to aid me.

  Lanen

  I heard every word, every thought, felt everything that Marik went through. I fell to my knees, retching, when Berys stabbed him to the heart, when Berys would not let him die and fed him to the Demonlord.

  As deeply as I hated my cursed father, surely no one deserved such a fate.

  Blessedly, when he merged with the Demonlord, his voice in my mind was silenced. My mother Maran was at my side, full of concern, Aral right behind her.

  “Can I help?” asked Aral quickly.

  “I’m alright,” I said shakily. The others had gathered round. Varien gave me his hand and I pulled myself to my feet. “It’s Marik. He’s dead, but he’s not—oh, Hells!” I cried. My gut was wracked with spasms. “There is part of him that’s still alive, and it’s in that great black beast. His mind has merged with the Demonlord’s, it knows everything he knows or ever knew—Goddess!” I shuddered from head to toe. “There are two of them in there!”

  Varien

  Do not believe the songs: they were made many years later, by those who were not there.

  The battle was nor glorious, nor simple, nor swift. It was hideous. It began when the Black Dragon first took to the sky, murdering three of the Dhrenagan, dancing with delight and then turning to destroy wherever it could.

  Watching my people and the Restored fighting for their lives against something that breathed death, and against which our natural weapons were useless, wrung my heart and my gut until I could barely draw breath. Lanen, at my side, was hardly in a better case.

  Our strategy—the strategy of all the Kantrishakrim—had been decided. The question was simple enough. How do you fight the fires of the earth? That is what the thing seemed to be made of, to our sorrow. We had never defeated the molten stone on our own Island of Exile, despite thousands of years of trying. We had often tried to drown the advance of flowing rock, but we could not carry enough water swiftly enough.

  Thus the basis of our strategy for this battle. Lake Gand was deep and its waters cold, Rella had told us. Perhaps the sudden cooling of being dashed into the water would render the creature immobile. Idai had another thought, about using the Black Dragon’s poor powers of flight combined with a screen of smoke in the mountains, but that depended even more upon swift pursuit of one or more of us.

  We could only hope.

  Shikrar

  From the moment the Black Dragon rose from the castle courtyard, it was plain that it had changed. Most noticeable, alas, was that it flew a great deal better, as though it were no longer under the control of a spell that compelled it to fly only in a straight line. It seemed more alive, less like a golem—but it was still plain that it was not a natural flying creature. That was one of our few advantages.

  “All keep well apart,” I said yet again, gazing down at it. The dead weight of the stone in my claws was reminding me more and more of Nikis. “Do not present a target. Naikenna, see to your people!” I cried, for three of the Restored had begun flying together.

  It only took an instant. The Black Dragon arrowed towards them, breathed its unholy Fire onto them all three, and danced on the wind to see their deaths. I too watched, and saw the Swift Death take them all ere they could be killed by that solid fire.

  Three too many, and they were only the first.

  I dove at the thing, dropped my great rock onto its back, and was rewarded by seeing it lose height swiftly. However, I had managed to get its attention. “Ready, as many as may, above the north end of the lake,” I cried, riding up on the momentum of my dive and wheeling around towards the water. I was pursued rapidly; the thing was fast, with those huge wings, but it flew stupidly, trying to gain height in a straight line regardless of the air currents. I rolled away left and into a shallow dive, rising up again after two swift wingbeats, and felt the heat of its attack pass behind me as I gained height. When I glanced back it was slowing down—its great size and weight worked against it while climbing, despite its wingspan. Still, it was coming directly towards me. In a straight line. Over the water.

  Surely it was not that stupid?

  There again, I would take any advantage I could get.

  I went into another dive, much steeper this time, straight at the surface of the lake—and pulled up, for the Black Dragon was no longer behind me. I had hoped that it would pursue me, that its obvious unfamiliarity with flight would betray it to simple manoeuvres, but no, it had turned away towards the northwestern shore, towards where Varien and his company of Gedri stood.

  It also became apparent that even Naikenna had not taken complete account of the bone-deep hatred of the Dhrenagan for the Demonlord. Some, it is true, had barely noted the passage of time, but a few now come back to the world yet remembered being trapped, voiceless and alone, all down the long centuries. The death of their three comrades struck deep, and for all that counsel and reason might urge, our instincts incline us to physical battle.

  The moment it was clear that the Black Dragon was not blindly pursuing me, a large group massed above it and all loosed their burden of stone at once. Some missed, but many struck their target, and it was forced down nearly to the surface of the water. So near, so near—

  Then, of a sudden, I saw that six of the Restored were not leaving this to chance. They fell on the beast, all of them, from a great height, and like Tréshak were trapped. Also like Tréshak, they forced the creature down by their sheer weight. The moment those of my Kindred touched the thing, they began to burn, but they did not choose the Swift Death until the whole mass of them fell into the cold waters of the lake with a great hiss and a cloud of steam. The waters closed over them all, and boiled at the spot where they had fallen. I felt in my deep heart the sighs of the Restored, as they welcomed the Swift Death once their task was done.

  Someone is going to have to dive into that lake to recover their soulgems when all is over, I thought stupidly as the steam cloud roiled below me. Those who had fallen upon the Black Dragon had done so in full knowledge of the price to be paid. I bowed my head and vowed in my aching heart to honour their courage and their sacrifice more formally, if I lived.

  The thing was huge and made of molten stone—it must be vastly heavy, and surely only kept aloft by demonic power. It could not possibly swim. Did it need to breathe? Would it drown? Would the cold water freeze its limbs forever?

  Then the steam cloud rising from the lake began to move towards the shore.

&nbs
p; There was work yet to do. I had feared it would not be so easy. As I dove and plucked the topmost boulder from the great cairn of them we had created, I bespoke Idai.

  “It is time for your plan, my friend. Set your Fire where it will do the most good, that our enemy rising from the water may be confused.”

  “Your words fly to the Winds and become truth,” replied Idai as she led a number of the Kantri in a long line, swooping low behind the nearer hills and sending Fire into the heart of the wood they had marked by moonlight. The wood grew at the foot of a great flat cliff face that rose high above the trees. There would be an impressive updraft there on a sunny day, even before we did anything about it. In a very short time the wood was alight, a cloud of thick smoke rising into the clear air like a burnt offering for the dead. It shrouded the cliff face very effectively. If you were new-come to flight and knew not what you were doing in that maelstrom of air currents, it would be quite a hazard. With luck and the blessing of the Winds.

  The water boiled in a straight line, more vigorously now, and the creature’s head rose from the lake. By the time the whole creature was out of the water I soared high on the rising air, watching to see the result of our efforts and the sacrifice of our Kindred.

  The Black Dragon was covered all over with strange black extrusions, some very large indeed, especially where its limbs met its body. As it walked, steaming gently, onto the shore, I saw great lumps of black stone fall away and shatter on the ground.

  It was decidedly smaller. Who knew what masses of the fabric of that body had had to be discarded, gone cold and dead in contact with the water, that it might move again?

  Before I could even begin to rejoice, however, before I could think what we should do next or call off those of the Restored who dove at it and hurled stone, I heard its voice. It spoke with great difficulty, as if it were not used to the shape of its mouth, but the words were clear enough, as was the malice with which it spoke.

  “By the price that was paid, by my mastery, I summon thee, Ur-kathon, Prince of the Sixth Hell! Take unto thee the woman Lanen and wrap her in hellfire until her bones be ash and her heart blows away on the wind!”

  xiii

  Hadretikantishikrar

  Lanen

  We were all ranged along the edge of the hilltop when we heard the Black Dragon scream out its summons, damning me, and I learned then how much I had changed. Fear had no more power over me. I had faced hopeless despair and found fire in my soul, sacred Fire, like the Kantri whose blood I now shared. I drew the dagger Rella had provided me with, useless though it would be against even a minor demon, that I might at least face my enemy armed.

  I did not stand alone. Varien’s sword rang as it flew from its scabbard, making a bright harmony with Rella’s and Jamie’s swords as they were drawn. Vilkas and Aral stood surrounded by the blue glow of their power, and as I watched they strove to cover us all in a kind of shield. Varien, considering, nicked his arm slightly and let his blood flow onto his sword blade. Good point, I thought, and did the same for my dagger. Seems we both bled Kantri, at least in part. That seemed to work on the Rikti. It almost certainly wouldn’t kill a demon prince, but if it banished the Rikti at least it might give the creature a bad taste in its mouth.

  There came a deep rattle of metal on metal and I turned to find my mother, Maran, standing like the others with her long heavy sword at the ready. Against all sense she grinned at me, a wild delight in her eyes. “Well, girl, we’ll likely lose,” she said, her eyes fixed fondly on me, “but Hells’ teeth, won’t it make a good ballad!”

  Even there, even then, we laughed—grim laughter, but laughter—and lo, all was changed. I knew death stalked me close, but for that moment I was surrounded by those I loved, in the free air, on a glorious morning in spring.

  I reached out with truespeech.

  “Varien, kadreshi na Lanen,” I whispered.

  “Kadreshi na Varien,” he replied simply, reaching out to take my hand. His love, real and solid and unchanging, washed over me like clear water.

  It was a good day to be alive.

  Suddenly on the hillside there came a disturbance in the air, as though a small storm cloud were forming before our eyes. It grew swiftly until it was a dark upright oval, three times the height of a man—and from that darkness emerged a gigantic figure, the size of the portal, to stand on the very summit of the hill.

  My stomach churned. It was an obscene mixture of dragon and human. It stood on two legs but from its back sprouted large leathery wings, like those of a bat. Its face was covered by a mockery of a Kantri mask—what in the Greater Kindred looked like worked metal armour, beautiful and unchanging, was here attenuated and become a threatening deformity. Great fangs protruded from its jaws, long talons tipped its hands, and it reached out for me, getting through Vilkas’s barrier with no trouble at all. Vilkas cursed and dissipated it.

  Jamie’s sword struck the thing just after Rella’s thrown dagger bounced off of it. It spat at Jamie, who had to dodge balefire.

  “Nice try, Jamie,” said Aral firmly, “but this one’s ours.”

  Behind her I could see the Black Dragon leap into the sky once more, assailed by our people with every wingbeat, breathing death among the Kantri. Another fell even as I watched.

  Aral, concentrating, sent a stream of blue flame to encompass the creature. The demon barely shrugged and Aral’s flame winked out. Vilkas shuddered.

  “Vil, help me!” cried Aral, reaching out again with her Healer’s power. The thing tried to move but Aral’s will opposed it, and for a moment or two it was held in place, but I watched the colour drain from her face in a heartbeat. “I can’t hold it!” she cried, even as the demon prince shook itself free of her web, flapped its batlike wings, and was beside her faster than eye could follow. It wrapped one great hand around her and started to lift her towards its mouth. Will, horror-stricken, tried to hold on to her and was lifted high in the air, clinging to Aral’s waist. The demon prince took only enough notice of him to toss him aside. He cried out as he fell. He struck the ground with a sickening thump and lay still.

  Aral screamed as Willem fell, her voice rising unbearably at the end. “Vilkaaas!”

  Vilkas

  There was no more time for soul-searching or hesitation or fear. I watched the demon lift Aral to its mouth and I knew that what would follow even I could never heal.

  I had to stop it. Now.

  Time slowed to a terrible crawl, and I realised that all those dreams, all those nightmares of stepping into my full power were come upon me. I had to choose. Would I let fear decide my fate and Aral’s, or would I leap into the unknown and hope for the best?

  I am not well endowed with hope. It seems to elude me, for the most part.

  I decided to go with love instead. I might not love Aral as a man loves a woman, but by the Lady, I knew perfectly well that she was part of my soul, and I loved her as I loved air.

  It wasn’t a difficult decision, on the face of it; but the next time you decide to change your life at a crucial moment, truly change it at a fundamental level, no matter how obvious the need, you will learn just how hard it is to leave what you have known. Even if what you have known is pain and anguish, it is familiar pain and anguish. I felt a thousand demons of doubt and fear rise up within me, what if you destroy your friends what if you fail how many will die at your hands what if you cannot control this power once you accept it Death of the World what if-don’t-what if-don’t.

  I fought the real battle then, in that timeless moment, though it took less than half a breath. All those years of self-control, all the terror of that which dwelt within me, all the wildfire passion in my soul screaming to get out, burning within me now in truth as before only in dreams—

  I held out my arms and chose to be whole, and for the first time in my life I raised my full power about me.

  The high thick walls I had built so carefully, to protect both myself and the world, the armour so thick I could barely live
within it, all, all were gone as smoke in a high wind, leaving only the searing blaze of the power that I had run from since I came of age. I was dizzy with the change, shaking at the terrible sense of nakedness as my true self settled into my body at last.

  It was as if I had spent my life wandering blind, stumbling, crashing into the unseen on every side, and I had magically been given sight. It was like diving into deep cold water on a summer’s day. The Lady’s gift coursed through my body from head to foot, light and life and power, oh, yes, power, and I knew that this was what I was born for.

  It took a moment to adjust.

  It took years.

  It was now, and Aral was nearer death, her terrified voice still caught on my name.

  With a thought I immobilised the demon long enough to release Aral from its grasp and bring her safely back to solid ground. It struggled—I could feel the lash of its powerful will, and was surprised—but I was adamant.

  Once she was safe, the true battle began.

  Berys

  Damnation! I wasn’t expecting the Demonlord to do that. Still, those who protect her will almost certainly be able to prevail against that prince long enough for me to steal her away while they are engaged elsewhere.

  Drawing out the amulet that holds the near end of the demonline, I draw my power to me and throw the amulet on the ground. Grind it with my foot. My eyes are darkened for an instant, and then the demonline is there before me, shimmering in air, connected directly to Lanen.