And he always had a handkerchief.
“I’m going after them,” she said, and winced as ink teeth dug into her flesh. “Can you wait for me outside the village?” I have to take the sword. I can’t leave it here. She slung it awkwardly over her shoulder, hissing as the straps brushed the tender flesh of the tattoo.
The gnole frowned. It had immense lower canines, like a badger, but it looked more worried than fierce. “Don’t do it, lady—if she’s got them, they’re old meat anyway. That boss rune is bad.”
“Yeah, well, they’ve said I was dead meat a time or two, too.” She pulled the curtain back, peering into the village. It was still deserted in the moonlight, and the rats were laying down in piles.
“Is it clear?” The gnole’s snout peered over her shoulder, pressing close between her cheek and the hilt of the sword. Its fur was bristly and rough against her skin.
“Looks clear. Go on.”
“How long am I s’posed to wait?”
“Use your best judgment. If it looks like I’m going to get caught, get out of here, go south of here, and cross the river. You’ll find a man and a bunch of horses. His name is Learned Edmund. Tell him that I sent you, and he’ll take you back to Anuket City.”
The gnole paused in the entrance of the hut. “You sure about this, lady?”
“Unless you want to come with me.”
It grimaced. “You help a gnole, maybe a gnole helps you sometime, but I ain’t going up against that boss rune for nothing.”
“Then stay out of my way.” Slate rubbed her hands on her trousers, hunched her shoulder to keep the sword up, and turned toward the largest hut.
Pain spiked up her arm. She missed a step and staggered.
A small, solid body braced her up on that side. The gnole barely came up to her waist, but it steadied her with graceless ease. “God’s scat, lady, you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she lied. The tattoo was really gnawing now. Her arm tickled, which was almost certainly a sign that she was bleeding.
It’ll be okay. If I rescue them, it’ll let up, and if I die it won’t matter.
I hope it’ll let up.
I’m not betraying the Dowager, you stupid thing! I’m helping my friends, but that doesn’t mean I’m betraying the mission!
The pain subsided a little, but there was still a definite pinch. It wasn’t quite buying her rationalizations.
That makes two of us.
“Go on,” she told the gnole. “I’ll be back or—not.”
“Good luck, crazy lady,” said the gnole, and melted into the dark.
Slate turned back to the largest earth-lodge. The door…no, the door was right out.
She crouched down and rubbed her hands in the dust. Then she hitched the sword in place one last time, and began to climb.
* * *
Caliban hung alone in the dark. The earth-lodge was gone, Brenner was gone, the rune was gone. He clung to the ache of his knees as long as he could, but it spun away from him, and then he might not have had knees or a body at all.
“Ngha…” his demon murmured in the dark. He still had that, at least. “Ngha, ha kalikalikaliha…”
He had no time to dwell on what that might mean. The darkness broke apart and the rune was in it—or not quite the same rune, because she was younger and her face was more human. She was beautiful, in a terrible way, but her eyes were still too wide apart and antlers rose from her brow in a great arching sweep of bone.
It was impossible to tell how far away she was. There was nothing in this dark place to provide any reference.
She walked toward him. Her feet looked human, but they left hoof prints across the faceless dark, which drifted smoke behind her.
Caliban had a body again. He was still kneeling, and he still seemed bound. His knees didn’t hurt, however, and he could feel his feet, which was probably a sign that something else was going on.
“You carry one of my kind here, shining one,” she said. The cadence was strange, as if she still spoke with the broken syntax of the rune, but the meaning came through clearly.
Hallucination. It’s a hallucination, that’s why I can understand her, and she’s controlling it. My god, she’s strong. Where did she get the power to do this?
“Why did you bring your demon here? I can smell lies, shining one!”
His heart thudded against his ribs like a drum.
The drums. That’s where she got the power—she called the rats and drained them dry. She’s draining the rune to do this too, I bet. Oh, Dreaming God, this one is strong.
He licked his lips. Whether they were real lips, or a phantom, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it didn’t matter.
“I didn’t mean to. The demon is part of me. A storm drove me here. I did not know you were here.”
Her nostrils flared. Her face was next to his, close enough to bite or kiss.
Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.
“If you can smell lies,” he said, “then you know I’m telling the truth.”
“Sssss…” Her breath hissed out, and then her lips parted and a stream of guttural demonspeech came out.
Caliban had no idea what she was saying—the translation of this hallucination apparently did not extend so far—but his demon clawed frantically at his throat, and he heard himself crying “Ngha, ha! Kalaakalaak ha!”
The demon wanted to cower back and cover its head. Caliban gritted his teeth and did neither.
The antlered doe laughed, highly delighted. Fingers caught his chin and lifted it. “It is dead, then. You carry a corpse inside you, shining one.”
“Yes.”
“Shining one” must be how she translates “paladin” or “knight” or both. It’s probably a good thing Brenner can’t hear that.
Her voice dropped, became throatier. The fingers stroked against his skin. “Would you give me your demon, shining one, if I asked?”
“What?”
The rune stood over him, her hands clasped on either side of his face. Her thumbs moved over his cheekbones. “Give me your demon. I can take it from you, shining one. It need not trouble you any longer…”
Was she telling the truth? Could she set him free? Not even the exorcism had been able to wrench the demon loose—whatever sins it had set its claws in were lodged too deep. They’d left him with a corpse wrapped around his soul, rotting in the back of his head, and not even death had stopped its mouth.
Oh, god, to give it up, to be alone in his own head again!
“Give it to me!”
He wanted the demon gone so badly he could taste it, as strong as the taste of blood in his mouth.
Caliban lifted his head, met her wide burning eyes and said, “No.”
We are paladins. We do not deal with demons. Ever.
His heart ached in his chest. His demon gibbered in disgusting gratitude.
She smiled. The fingers slid up into his hair.
“Are you sure, shining one? It would please me…greatly…”
Her form was almost entirely human now, except for the great bone scaffolding rising from her brow. She was straddling his knees, and her skin was feverishly warm against his.
He almost laughed. Demons were not subtle creatures.
“Quite sure.”
The rune woman’s mouth covered his, her tongue flicking at his lips. Her breath smelled like burning hay. Caliban bore this as stoically as a martyr being tortured.
It wasn’t the first time. They threatened, they bargained, they seduced. He had always half-suspected that the reason the temple did not require celibacy of the Knight-Champions was so that they did not leap at what the demons so often offered.
“Give me your demon.”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed. “No? Perhaps you would bargain with another…” Her thumbs swept across his eyelids, and when he opened them again, startled, it was Slate.
His stomach sank, but he gave no sign. You could never show weakness to demons, or they knew they had
you.
His eyes must have flickered, though, because the antlered doe smiled with Slate’s mouth. It was not Slate’s smile, which relieved him greatly. Slate did not smile like that, and she had never been that beautiful.
“This shape is much in your mind, shining one. Your demon knows it. Would you give her your demon?”
“We could skip right to the threats, if you like,” said Caliban dryly.
“Not just yet, I think…” Her hands were on him again, sliding down his chest and along his arms. If he had a tattoo in this place, he could not feel its teeth.
Ngah, said his demon worriedly.
You said it.
“You say no, but your body says yes…” purred the rune.
“Yes, well. My body’s an idiot.” He stared straight ahead and tried to remember a catechism. Any catechism. Dreaming God, who holds us all within his dreams…
Ngha, ha, kalikaliha…
There was an oddly familiar quality to the demon’s voice. If he hadn’t known better, he’d think that it was praying too.
“Give me the demon,” Slate’s voice breathed in his ear.
“Why do you want it?”
Her mouth was moving down his neck, but her voice was clear, which was proof enough that this was not real in any sense he understood. “Does it matter, shining one?”
Did it matter? He could be shed of the demon.
His muscles twitched from strain. The demon soothed them down with scarred, ink-stained fingers.
He had not touched Slate because he had taken vows to protect the weak from the strong, even when the strength was his and the weakness was a fleeting anguished moment. He had thrown away his chances with the real Slate, but this creature was not weak—not remotely.
The temple had cast him out. No real vows constrained him any longer.
He could give up his demon, and in return, he would have something that looked a great deal like Slate, and no one would ever know—
Caliban forced a smile. “Nice try,” he said hoarsely, recognizing the touch of the rune-demon scratching behind his eyes. “No.”
God, she’s strong, and subtle, too. She wants the demon. Why? You can’t fit two demons in one soul, they’re insanely territorial, if she took mine then she…
Could she jump to me?
The rune woman snarled, jerking backward. The knight shuddered. Is that it? Is her demon looking for another host? Does she want to pry my demon out so that she could take its place?
Is my dead demon protecting me from being possessed again?
“We could do well together,” she hissed, not touching him now. “Your oaths are all broken anyway, and I am far more civilized than that sniveling corpse you carry around now—”
“Why? You have a host—a whole tribe following you—”
The rune’s face was melting now, back into the deer, the beauty running back into the merely alien.
“She will not leave!” hissed the rune. “The old doe is bound here, her bones rotting around me, and the rune will not leave this place! There is nothing that will compel her out of these hills! I am trapped here, do you understand, shining one? Trapped!”
The old doe is holding her here?
Not willingly possessed then.
And he remembered, suddenly, that morning in the temple, when he had gone stalking through the halls with his hands red to the elbow. His demon had tired of such quick deaths, and wished for sport, like a cat with a mouse.
Her name was Selena. He barely knew her—she was one more fixture of the temple, not someone he spoke with more than a few times a year. She had been tall and spare and grey-haired, and her hands had been full of the white pillar candles they burned in the sanctuary.
She had heard the screaming and come running, still with her arms full of candles, and the demon had seen her through his eyes and purred and lifted the sword to cut her, only a little, to make the dying last.
And Caliban, who had been nearly mad and screaming behind his eyes, had thrown every ounce of himself behind the sword, and the cut had dropped her, dead before she hit the floor.
Denied, the demon had raged at him, frothing, his own voice screaming obscenities and curses down upon him. He could not have stopped the sword, he had no power to do that, but there was enough of him to bend it a little—only a little—to his will.
Was the old doe in there, still? Was she bending the demon a little, only a little, but enough to hold her trapped in place, no threat to the other tribes of rune that must surely populate these hills?
Caliban felt a fleeting admiration for the strength of the old shaman, completely dominated by the demon, yet holding the creature here nonetheless.
I wish I could have known her.
He looked up into the rune’s face, hearing the demon rant, and he could have sworn, for a fleeting instant, that something looked out of her face and winked at him.
I must have imagined that…
The demon’s voice cut off. It flung its hair out of its eyes and stood, chest heaving, until it seemed to calm itself.
That was, in its way, frightening. A demon with even that much self-control was rare.
Still. She can’t seduce me. She can’t compel me. Perhaps I can still find a way out—
“Come now, shining one,” the demon-rune said, trying to find its feet again. “Surely you feel some pity for my plight? A maiden in distress, I am. You need only take me to the nearest city, and I will flee, and trouble you no more. I can be so quiet that you will not even know you carry me. Surely you cannot deny me aid—”
We are paladins. We do not deal with demons. Ever.
He didn’t realize that he had spoken aloud until the demon shrieked and flung herself at him. Inhuman fingers scrabbled at his throat, and closed around his neck.
I guess she can still kill me.
It was frothing at him, snarling obscenities, while the grip on his neck got tighter and tighter, and even the hallucination began to seem distant and unreal, a shadow of a shadow.
He would have welcomed death, even now. Slain by a demon, defiant to the end—it was a good death. It was a knightly death. It was how he had always expected to die.
One thought alone held him, and made him struggle feebly. If she can’t get me, will she possess Brenner? Oh god, what if she does, and she goes back to Slate and Edmund, and they don’t know?
No! Dreaming God, no!
It was a futile effort. He had no real body in this place. Was he even fighting for breath? He couldn’t tell.
“I’ll eat your death, shining one!”
Kalihalikalaakhali…ha… breathed his demon, and wrapped itself around him like a lover.
The world went out like a blown candle.
Chapter Fifteen
Caliban’s first thought was that he wasn’t dead, and that this was somewhat surprising.
His eyes were open. He had fallen on his side, and his hands were still bound. His throat ached, but the demon-rune was flat on the ground in front of him.
Did I do that? I don’t think I did that…
And Slate, who had just dropped through the smokehole and landed on the old shaman, staggered to her feet.
She had a sword in her hands. His sword. It was amazing she hadn’t cut herself in half falling on it. The scabbard was slung across her back and looked about to strangle her. Her hair fell in a wild tangle across her face. Blood welled from a dozen sluggish punctures across her breast and shoulder.
She set her feet, raised the naked sword in both hands, and sneezed.
Sweet god, she fell on the thing’s antlers. She must have dropped onto it and broke the trance—
The stag-man, who was still standing behind Brenner and Caliban, roared and leapt forward at the intruder. She staggered back and raised the sword in both hands. The point got maybe a foot off the ground.
Caliban heard himself shouting denials in a voice shattered by the rune’s hands. “No! Slate, no, look out—no!“
She can’
t possibly fight with that sword, she can barely lift the thing, he’ll kill her, oh god—
Slate, apparently agreeing with him, threw the sword at the stag’s legs and dove out of the way.
When someone throws a broadsword under your feet, you have to stop. The other options aren’t worth considering. The sword didn’t do any damage, but the rune had to pull up in mid-stride to avoid it and that gave Slate enough time to get out of the way.
“Get him, Slate!” shouted Brenner from somewhere near the floor.
“Shut up, Brenner! Slate, run!”
Slate ignored them both, flipped one of Brenner’s knives into her hand, and paused. He wasn’t sure if it was a taunt or a moment of weakness. He could see her shaking, but that could have been blood loss or adrenaline or both.
There was blood trickling down her left arm in thin skeins.
“Slate—”
“Shut up, Caliban!” she snarled.
The stag-man charged.
Slate dived out of the way again, and the stag discovered too late that she had been standing directly in front of the shaman. He tried to change direction to avoid trampling the old doe, and ran directly into Caliban instead.
Ooof…
The stag-man went down in a welter of flailing limbs. The knight felt hooves drum against his ribs.
She did that deliberately. I wonder if she’s hoping we’ll kill each other.
The stag tried to rise. A hoof scraped down Caliban’s back, leaving a welt.
I’ve got to keep him down. I’ve got to help. He tried to roll on top of one of the stag’s legs.
It scolded like a jay, an incongruous sound, and struck out with the knife. A hot line went across his thigh. Caliban hissed.
Slate stepped in, her face as cool and detached as a woman doing long division. She caught the stag’s antlers in one hand, hauled its head back, and jammed Brenner’s knife into its throat, up to the hilt.
Blood fountained out. Caliban’s armor was awash in it. If they lived through this, his chainmail would take hours to clean.
Clockwork Boys: Book One of the Clocktaur War Page 19