Legacy of the Demon

by Diana Rowland

  I affected a bored expression and folded my arms over my chest. “Nice mannequin trick with my boys,” I said, nudging my chin toward Pellini and the others. “But this conference room of yours could use some furniture.” I glared at him. “What do you want?”

  “It is you who sought me, Kara Gillian.” His voice flowed over me like soft rain.

  I graced Lannist with a tight, cold smile. “There’s a big difference in watching for a snake in the grass and going out searching for one.”

  His brow furrowed gently above liquid brown eyes. “Is that what I am to you? A serpent?”

  “You’ve kept your distance from me, so I only know you by your masonry-shoving reputation.” A chunk the size of a Volkswagen, according to Bryce. “In my book, that’s edging toward the slithering reptile category, though I might be unfairly maligning snakes.”

  “Much has changed since that moment, Kara Gillian.” He stepped to within arm’s length of me.

  I resisted the impulse to back away. “Gee, I hadn’t noticed, what with Earth being invaded and all.”

  Lovely regret fluttered over his face. “The incursions were never intended.”

  “Funny, that sounds like what Rhyzkahl said about the flood of rakkuhr. ‘Not this soon. Not this much.’” I stabbed a finger at him. “Someone’s grand scheme went tits up, but no one gives enough of a shit to fix it. Meanwhile, we’re the ones getting screwed by rakkuhr and Jontari incursions. What the hell did y’all do in your last Demahnk Council meeting? Scratch Earth off the list then move on to who had to bring the donuts next time?”

  He shook his head, the simple move fraught with grace. “You do not understand. We—”

  “Like hell I don’t!” I bit back my tirade and pygahed. Venting my spleen on him might make me feel better, but it wouldn’t help shake loose information. “You’re right,” I said with a touch more calm, “I don’t understand. Enlighten me.”

  “We strove—strive—to preserve both worlds.” He spread his hands, as if in supplication. “We have failed.”

  My eyebrows winged up. “Ya think? Y’all blew it on a whole bunch of levels. Like how you keep the lords—your sons, for fuck’s sake—ignorant of their heritage by controlling them with pain so they can’t even think about it.”

  Lannist remained silent and aloof for a moment then lowered his head. “Yes. We failed them as well.”

  The admission of failing the lords took me aback, but I seized the opening. “Why? Why is it so important for the lords to have no clue of their parentage and origin? And what else have y’all done to fuck them over?” I scowled as he remained silent. “You want me to understand, but I’m stuck in the middle of someone else’s game without a playbook. I’m forced to operate on what info I’ve pieced together through observation and the bits I’ve pried from others.”

  His lips parted as if he was about to speak, then he shuddered. For an instant it looked as if he went a little see-through around the edges, but the illusion was gone before I could be certain. Surely my mention of the lords’ parentage wasn’t taboo enough to affect him so?

  “Lannist? You okay?” Uneasy, I strained my physical and arcane senses for sign of any other possible influence, but there was only nothingness beyond our bubble of light.

  His gaze dropped to where the grove leaf lay cool against my sternum. I covered it with my hand. “Why did you want to talk to me?” I asked, eyes narrowed.

  He jerked rigid as if touched by a live wire, and his eyes went wide. “Out of . . . time.”

  “What’s happening?” I demanded. “Time for what?”

  “Heed Rho.” Lannist spoke the words as if each one cost a piece of his soul. “Eighteenth convergence factor less nine ascen—” His body went semi-transparent, and his chest filled with amorphous prismatic light—the true form of the demahnk. I’d seen Zack shift shape before, but it had been beautiful. This was wrong. Was this punishment control like the headaches that plagued the lords? But if so, from who?

  “Lannist!” I watched in mounting distress as the light roiled within him. “How can I help you? What can I do?”

  He fixed wide eyes on mine, gripped my shoulders with hands that had little substance, as if nothing remained but an outer membrane of energy. “Consent . . . to accept my final . . . service.” His voice skittered away like shattered glass. In the span of a heartbeat, fine strands of potency like molten diamond appeared around the light in his chest, a viciously beautiful web that encased the shifting colors of his essence and constricted.

  Lannist threw his head back and screamed, an inhuman sound of agony. I caught him as he sagged, his body light as tissue paper in my arms.

  “No no no.” Heart pounding, I knelt and took his head between my hands, pressed my forehead to his and willed him strength to counter whatever was trying to silence him. “I consent. I accept!”

  “Trask.” The name of Rayst’s ptarl arrowed through my consciousness. “Ilana.” Mzatal’s ptarl. More followed that I couldn’t comprehend, cut off by a searing blast of suffocating pain, gone in an instant. The last vestiges of Lannist’s physical form faded, leaving only his light—compacted by the web into a white-hot sun. It hung motionless for a silent heartbeat then burst into a billion flickering particles that swirled around our bubble like glitter in a snow globe. They passed over and through me, bombarding me with images and sounds then dimming as they imparted their gifts.

  A boy with raven-black hair stands naked atop a mountain, arms stretched wide and head tipped back to catch the sun. Mzatal.

  A youthful priest sits upon the steps of a graceful temple, three shining pyramids beyond him in the distance. Vahl.

  A white-blond man in a grain field drops his scythe to scoop up tow-headed twins who run laughing to him. Rhyzkahl.

  A great wolf with fur the color of pale beach sand bounds through a highland meadow.

  I jerked in shock. That was Rhyzkahl as well. I knew.

  The wolf stops, gazes up expectantly.

  A dragon with scales like flakes of obsidian and eyes of molten gold circles down to land in the grass.

  Chills swept over me. Mzatal—terrible and beautiful.

  A willowy being with captivating dual-pupiled eyes stands atop a shining pavilion of pale stone columns.

  Image after image. Hundreds. Too many to process, but each indelibly burned into my essence. Amkir. Seretis. Rayst. Elofir. Szerain. Vrizzar. Jesral. Kadir. Dozens of wondrous creatures of legend. The lords not only had human mothers, but all save Kadir had lived on Earth for a time, in full control of their paternal shape-shifting abilities. Happy. Free.

  One last particle struck me between the eyes. It carried no image or sound, only the feel of Lannist and the immersive plea of save them.

  And then all trace of him was gone.

  I remained on my knees, hugging myself. Grief for the lords clogged my throat, and sobs racked my chest. Even quick-tempered Amkir—who I utterly despised—had once been soft-hearted enough to jump into an icy river to save a stray dog. These rich and full lives of the lords had been stolen, but why? What possible reason could exist to commit such an atrocity? And now Lannist was dead because he’d exposed it.

  Zack had spoken obliquely of the Demahnk Council and the “others,” the enforcers who held him and the rest of the demahnk accountable through ancient agreements, oaths, and decrees. One of Lannist’s images was of an unfamiliar creature on an Ekiri pavilion. And I’d seen dual-pupiled eyes like that before—carved in bas relief in the anteroom of Szerain’s summoning chamber. Had Lannist been trying to impart that the enforcers were, in fact, the Ekiri? Yet, according to the reyza Kehlirik, the Ekiri had left for a new world millennia ago.

  Whoever these enforcers were, I had a sick feeling Lannist had purposefully defied them in order to give me information—and paid dearly. The entire incident was a glimpse into the high-stakes game
played by the demahnk, and a terrifying demonstration of the power and reach of what I was up against.

  Eighteenth convergence factor less nine . . . ascendants? Ascending? It didn’t make any sense to me, but clearly it was important. Heed Rho. That one was easy. But what about Ilana and Trask? Was Lannist telling me to heed the ptarls of Mzatal and Rayst? Or was he warning me against them?

  And what would happen to Seretis now? This ugly turn of events with Lannist was sure to affect him. Rhyzkahl had been shattered when Zack broke their ptarl bond. Would the death of a ptarl have the same effect?

  Still raw from the visions and feeling three sizes too big for my skin, I staggered to my feet and took stock of the situation. It didn’t take long: the situation sucked ass. The dimensional pocket remained intact, and Pellini, Giovanni, and Turek were still statuefied.

  “This is lovely,” I muttered. I couldn’t see or sense anything beyond the bubble of light, and reaching into the darkness was like pushing my hand into liquid mercury. We were stuck in here.

  Cold tendrils of fear wound through me. Fighting for control, I sought to distract myself by clinically memorizing every sensation of the bubble and filing them away for future reference. After all, soon enough I’d be reaching for Szerain and company in their dimensional pocket stronghold. Knowledge was power, right?

  Yeah, well, that power wasn’t doing me any good right here and now. I needed to get us out of this thing. But how? A demahnk had created it. Even at my best I couldn’t match their abilities, and I didn’t have a strand of potency to follow out this time. Hell, I couldn’t even shape basic sigils without the help of the nexus, and I felt absolutely nothing of it here, no matter how hard I tried. Meanwhile, Pellini and the others appeared to be in some sort of stasis, while I continued to breathe and have normal metabolic functions. Would they remain frozen in place long after I died of dehydration? Or would I suffocate instead?

  Or maybe I’m not completely out of options, I thought as I slapped my hand over the leaf and called to Rho. Though I couldn’t sense even the faintest whisper of the grove, I envisioned the one in Seretis’s realm as a distress beacon beaming an urgent, repeating S.O.S.

  Nothing. I pygahed and focused, intensified my distress call. Minutes ticked by.

  More than a quarter of an hour later, the normal world supplanted the void. The stench of rotting fish flooded in, accompanied by a wash of sound: waves, the calls of demons, wind through trees. Pellini crashed into me where I stood gasping in relief.

  “Jeez, Kara.” He grabbed my arms to steady me as I staggered. “Didn’t see you stop. Sorry.”

  “Uh, no prob,” I said, trying to get my heart rate under control. Apparently time didn’t pass for statues. I considered telling the others what I’d learned and what befell Lannist, but immediately realized how dangerous that could be. I had shielding from the mindreading lords and demahnk, but the others didn’t. Lannist had sacrificed himself to pass on the information, and I intended to keep it safe.

  Pellini’s gaze focused beyond me. “We have company.”

  I turned to see a demahnk a dozen feet away, pearlescent wings glimmering in the sunlight. Trask. My distress call through Rho had brought in the one-demahnk cavalry to pop the dimension bubble, but I had no idea if he was ally or enemy. “Hey, Trask.” I gave a casual wave and smile. “How’s things?”

  “Grievous, with the calamitous southern anomaly, Kara Gillian,” he said, his voice like soothing chimes. “Seretis is needed.” He remained cool as ever, giving no hint that anything was amiss, even though he’d just released me from the bubble and had to know by now that one of his fellow demahnk was gone. According to Zack, the demahnk lived in constant telepathic connection. Was Trask maintaining an implacable demeanor in order to protect enemy interests, or save his own skin, or snub me, or all of the above? Even a brief knowing look would have taken the edge off my unease.

  Instead, my worry escalated. With Lannist out of the picture, how could Seretis possibly cope with day to day pressures, much less hidden enemies?

  “I am ready.” Seretis stood at the garden entrance, one hand on the stone arch as if for support. A droplet of sweat trickled down the side of a face rigid with a megadose of focused control.

  He fixed haunted eyes on mine. “I am ready.”

  Those three little words told me everything I needed to know. Though the unthinkable loss of Lannist wasn’t as overtly devastating as a broken bond, it still struck Seretis to the core. Yet he wasn’t going to show any vulnerability. Not now. He was undeniably the most “human” of the lords I knew, but maybe that aspect contributed to his immense strength in the face of adversity. Other lords considered Seretis a minor player. Kadir dismissed him as weak. They were wrong.

  I gave him a nod. “Yeah, I guess you are.”

  He approached, briefly placed a trembling hand on my shoulder, then continued past to Trask. A second later, they vanished.

  “What got into him?” Pellini asked.

  A vision rose of a distraught Seretis singing to soothe a panicked infant Kadir. “He’s exhausted,” I said. “And he has no choice but to keep on fighting.” I blinked back tears and started toward the grove. “Let’s pick up Michael and get out of here.”

  Chapter 27

  Cool sea air touched with the scent of conifers welcomed us upon our arrival in Mzatal’s grove. I caught myself smiling as we trekked up the tree tunnel toward late afternoon sunlight. I’d missed this place more than I realized. “Pellini and I will go for Elinor’s journal and search the upper levels . . .”

  The rest of my words lodged in my throat as I stepped out of the grove. I was vaguely aware of Pellini catching my elbow to steady me. My chest squeezed tight, and a weird numbness crept through my whole body. Mzatal’s palace still occupied the top of the sea cliff ahead, but it was all wrong. The balconies he loved and needed as a refuge from the confines of indoors had been sheered away, lost to the sea far below. The demon-glass that had given an all-window effect to the entire structure was gone as if blasted away from the inside out, leaving a stark skeleton of wood and basalt held together by arcane reinforcement. Where the waterfall should have cascaded from the midst of the palace to tumble to the sea pool far below, a sickly trickle of brown sludge stained the cliff face.

  Someone was talking to me. Pellini. I felt his arm around my waist, supporting me.

  “We can sit for a few,” he said gently. “Take it nice and slow.”

  I wanted to collapse right there, sob my heart out and wallow in the bullshit unfairness of it all. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Mzatal didn’t have that luxury, and neither did I. Not as long as we still held hope for our worlds. I disengaged from Pellini, squared my shoulders, and swallowed the pain. “Better get moving,” I said, voice thick, and started down the basalt steps toward the palace.

  Pellini didn’t say a word as he followed, but I felt his eyes on my back.

  “This place is a big ol’ mess,” Michael said.

  I glanced at him over my shoulder and plastered on a smile. “No worse than other places. And see? Mzatal has fixed it up a little with potency.”

  “Mzatal’s sad,” he said as we reached the bottom of the ravine and started the climb to the entrance.

  “I’m sure he is.” I fought to keep my tone light. “It had to be hard to see his home destroyed.”

  “I mean now, silly.”

  I whirled. “You see him?”

  He nodded earnestly. “Uh huh, but I dunno where he is.”

  “What does it look like?” I resisted the urge to shake the details from him. “What’s he doing?”

  “He’s smack dab in the middle of a big, black circle, sitting on one knee.” Michael squinched his eyes as if trying to see better. “There’s a blue house and grass. He’s going like this on the black part.” He wiggled and waved his fingers.

  Emotion squeezed my
chest. “That’s my house.” Mzatal was on the nexus, in contact with my sigils. “Can you see anything else?”

  “Nope, that’s it. All gone now!” He continued past me up the steps.

  I followed. “How do you know he was sad?”

  “I just know,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

  Why was he sad? My worry ratcheted up a few more notches. We needed to finish up here and get the hell back to Earth ASAP.

  A bellow came from off to our right. I looked to see a reyza swoop toward us from atop the column, the basalt pillar Mzatal used for arcane training.

  “Incoming,” Pellini said, hand on his weapon.

  “And it’s not large enough to be Gestamar,” I said, shading my eyes.

  “Summoner,” the reyza boomed as he overflew us.

  “Kehlirik?” I called back in surprise. “What are you doing here?” Kehlirik was one of Rhyzkahl’s demons, and the first reyza I’d ever summoned. With his amiable personality and passion for popcorn and Earth novels, he’d become my favorite demon to summon. Despite his ties to Rhyzkahl, I considered him as close to a friend as any demon, apart from Eilahn. In fact, not long after Rhyzkahl betrayed me, he’d offered me subtle help during an ugly battle with the Mraztur.

  “We good?” Pellini asked.

  “I think so,” I said.

  Kehlirik landed nearby, on an outcropping beside the palace entrance. “After the Sky Reaper clans overtook Rhyzkahl’s realm, Gestamar and Ilana gave sanctuary to many of his sworn demons.”

  I grimaced. “It sucks that you were driven out.”

  “It is done. It is past.” He shook out his wings then folded them close. “We are here.”

  “I’m glad to see you safe and unharmed.” I scanned the cliff and sky and palace roof. Not another demon to be seen. That was unusual. “Where are the others?”