Duel With A Demoness (A Huntsman's Fate Book 2)

by Liam Reese

  Why did you enjoy it so much? Keluse asked.

  What?

  If exterminating all life is a simple case of erasing a mistake, why did you enjoy killing all those people?

  It was a simple case of completing a task. Porantillia thought.

  Liar! Keluse spat, knowing the truth. You wanted these people to suffer because they were created by Gratallach’s children!

  Speak not his name!

  I’ll speak anything I want! Keluse screamed inside her mind. This is my body and I’ll do as I please. Yes what Gratallach did was horrible and wrong but killing people who have never heard of him or you is worse. You had your revenge on him and Coranstansia centuries ago but you are still trying to punish everyone for things they haven’t done. You’re like a child having a tantrum…

  Keluse’s thought cut off as agony lanced through her nose. Porantillia had slammed her face into a nearby wall, breaking her nose. Keluse watched in horror as the Goddess brought her head back and smashed it against the corner of a jutting windowsill, splitting her lip and snapping one of her front teeth.

  Reeling from the pain and the savagery, Keluse silenced her thoughts.

  Better. Porantillia sent to her. Thee would do well to remain silent for thy remaining time.

  Keluse knew the Goddess could feel the pain as well as she could. She also knew nothing she said or thought could dissuade Porantillia from her course. She was determined to destroy all life and kill the Gods and there was nothing Keluse could do about it.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Besmir’s eyes traced over the dark gray buildings in awe of their height and size. Many of them were completely intact, with just a few cracks radiating from the odd holes that Porantillia had melted through the stone. A few had seen better days, portions of them spewing out into the street like drunken sailors pouring from a tavern but most remained as intact as when the Goddess had attacked the place centuries before.

  He looked inside a few of the buildings to see what remained. Many of them had similar stone tables and benches to the one he had seen in the map room at the quarry. Others had constructions within he could not fathom as he rode past.

  Teghime snorted, sniffing the air for a scent he could not detect and grew anxious as she approached an intersection. Besmir dropped from her back, handing the reins to Arteera and drawing his sword. He put his back to a building that soared into the sky, hiding in its shadow as he edged towards the crossroads. Risking a peek Besmir saw the cause of his mount’s concern and stepped from the shadow, waving his friends forward.

  A large carcass, stripped almost entirely of flesh, lay against a wall. Besmir walked over to it, covering his mouth against the smell as a cloud of flies launched from the exposed bones. He could see it had been a daasnu but wondered what had killed it, as snapping the massive jaw like that must have taken incredible strength.

  He turned and walked back to Teghime, soothing the great cat with words and touches as Arteera and Cal Trin did with their mounts.

  “Let’s go,” he said quietly before clambering back into the saddle.

  Hours passed as they wandered through the dead city, past columns with statues at the top and fountains long dried up. A massive amphitheater had been dug and built with hundreds of tiers of seats facing a circular stage that had a curved wall behind it to reflect the sound.

  Not knowing their destination was worrying, especially when much of the city looked the same and Besmir found himself wondering if they had passed a certain building or statue before. The confusion and bewilderment on his companions faces told him they were feeling the same thing.

  Yet he pushed on as the heat of the day rose, steering his mount from side to side as he guided her from one tiny sliver of shade to another. It grew so hot they were forced to take shelter within one of the buildings, using the last of their water to quench their thirst and keep their animals alive.

  Arteera drew a knife from Besmir’s side.

  “What are you up to?” He asked.

  “You need a shave,” she said. “Your beard is a complete mess and I will not have you reunited with our son looking like a vagrant.”

  Besmir knew better than to argue and let his wife trim his beard, shaving him as close as she could without cutting his skin. He felt raw and sore after she had finished but had to admit he felt a lot cooler.

  “Your turn, old man,” she said to Zaynorth who had lain down in the coolest part of the building he could find.

  “I will thank you to keep your distance from my face with Besmir’s hunting knife,” Zaynorth told her. “Should I desire to be skinned, even by a queen, I will request it.”

  “You’re being childish,” Arteera said. “Let me give you a little trim so you look your best.”

  “We’re burned, tired and dirty,” he said. “Trimming my beard is not about to make me look my best.”

  “It won’t matter if it makes no difference, then,” she said brightly.

  Zaynorth grunted something about women and sophistry that Besmir did not catch. The king grinned at his old friend as his wife started cutting at his beard.

  With Arteera satisfied they all looked good enough to meet her son and the hottest part of the day over, the little company continued their trotting through the dead city.

  Eerie sounds made Besmir think they were not alone on a number of occasions and his hand kept straying to his sword until he understood it was the stones themselves making the sounds. Heat and wind seemed to cause the creaking and sometimes wailing sounds, the stones expanding and then moving against each other as they passed. Apart from that, nothing stirred, not a single speck of life seemed to exist in the whole city.

  By mid afternoon Besmir’s mood had worsened to the point he wanted to blast holes through the walls himself.

  Is there no end to this place?

  He looked across at his companions, seeing similar dour expressions on their faces. Only Cal Trin seemed unaffected, his expression the same grim, grief stricken one he had worn since his brother had died.

  Besmir stretched and stared ahead, jerking in surprise when he saw the figure walking ahead of them.

  “Porantillia!” he bellowed loudly. “I’ve come for you!”

  Joranas heard the footsteps pounding towards him and instantly knew it was not Whint. He stood, putting aside the stick he had been trying to carve with a sharp, stone knife he had found in one of the houses and looked toward where the footfalls came from. It seemed as if they were coming for an age, echoing from the buildings endlessly until Joranas thought he was going insane and imagining them.

  When she finally appeared Joranas felt an irrational jolt of fear and utter confusion wash through him. It looked like Keluse but a Keluse changed and mutated from the one he knew.

  Although she had always been slender, the woman storming towards them was emaciated, as if she had not eaten for weeks. Blood had poured from her nose and mouth where she had smashed her face and her blonde hair looked greasy and far darker than it should. The sun had burned the tops of her ears, forehead, cheeks and nose where he could see bright red skin. Although she was running towards him, her right leg was failing to support her fully and she had a pronounced limp.

  “K-Keluse?” He asked unable to believe it was her.

  “Well met, Prince Joranas,” the woman said in a very un-Keluse like way. “We shall have a formal introduction once I have dealt with thy parents.”

  “W-What?” Joranas asked, his mind reeling.

  The false Keluse grabbed him, her grip deceptively strong and fingers digging in as she dragged him towards the building where his friend was.

  “Whint!” Joranas cried. “Whint, help me!”

  Relief flooded his young chest as Whint appeared, squinting in the afternoon light as his large frame emerged from the building. His relief was short lived, however, as Keluse shoved him towards Whint.

  “Hold this,” she commanded.

  “Whint?” Joranas asked in fear as the
dark skinned man’s arms clamped around him like iron.

  “Silence,” Whint grunted as he hauled Joranas up off his feet.

  Keluse stood beside Whint and both turned to face the same street she had entered through.

  “What’s going on?” Joranas asked, his voice wavering. “Who are you really?”

  Keluse’s face turned towards him, dried blood and crusted salt from sweat marring her skin and grinned horribly. Joranas saw one of her front teeth had been snapped off, a tiny sliver of white all that was left in the gum. Her skin looked loose as if she had aged twenty years since he had seen her a few months ago, hanging from her neck in jowls. Joranas stared at the woman he had known his whole life and knew this was not his friend’s mother.

  Things fell into place as he struggled against the unmovable arms that held him.

  The thing that was talking to Whint is the same thing that has taken control of Keluse!

  “Let me go!” Joranas shouted. “If you were ever my friend, Whint, just let me go!”

  The dark skinned man never twitched once.

  Besmir kicked Teghime into a run, her twin toes clicking on the cobblestones as he charged towards the dark figure of his friend. He skidded to a halt not far from where Porantillia had turned Keluse to face him. On her right a large man stood, muscular and strong, holding an urchin across the chest and head. His mahogany skin glistened with sweat and he shook with some unknown palsy. His face was strong and fine boned with a square jaw and framed with loose, dark curls. His eyes were wide, almost bulging despite the bright sun and his white teeth shone from the grimace he wore. Whoever he was it looked as if he was having trouble with something.

  Besmir’s eyes fell to the younger man the other carried, his eyes widening in horror when he finally recognized his own son. Something felt like a horse kicking him in the sternum as he stared at his altered boy.

  Joranas’ hair had been bleached by the sun and had grown long enough to touch his shoulders. What was left of his clothing had not covered much of his skin and the sun had burned him a hazelnut-brown, adding a heavy dusting of freckles across his shoulders and the tops of his arms. His eyes looked wild as he tried to stare at the man who held him, then toward Besmir himself.

  Besmir heard Arteera make a small noise of despair when she caught up with him and saw Joranas. Yet he had no time to comfort her as he was staring at Keluse’s face and the obvious damage that had been done. Despite the blood and missing tooth Porantillia wore a deranged, triumphant grin that set fires of hate inside his chest.

  “Thee shall leave now or I kill thy child!” Porantillia shouted.

  Besmir stepped forward, ignoring her completely.

  “I know you want to kill everyone anyway,” he said. “So I think I’ll stay right here.”

  “So be it,” Porantillia called.

  Keluse felt something shift inside her and her pain doubled. Little cuts and scrapes she had barely been aware of shot to the fore as Porantillia tried to leave. She could feel the Goddess pulling her consciousness out through her skull, returning control of her body to Keluse.

  “Besmir!” She cried.

  Hope flared in her chest when his expression changed to one of recognition.

  Yes it’s me, your friend.

  Joranas’ heartbeat doubled as soon as he saw his father.

  He came! He actually came for me!

  Joranas felt a lightness in his chest and a smile spread over his face.

  Unbelievably his father was riding one of the massive cats similar to the one Whint had killed, its light brown fur shining in the sunlight. The cat growled low in its throat as another of its kind joined it, this time with a woman on its back.

  Joranas had to stare at her, his brain refusing to believe what his eyes were telling him.

  It can’t be her. Mama?

  Her transformation was even more pronounced than his father’s. Her skin glowed a deep, golden brown and her hair had lightened in the sun until it was almost the same color as Keluse’s. Normally she wore long, flowing dresses and items she had sewn herself but his eyes picked out a pair of cloth leggings clinging to her skin and a shirt that might have fitted his father. A hat covered her head, warding off the sun and casting shade over her face.

  Joranas heard Keluse threaten his life and his father refuse to leave. Whint stiffened behind him, his muscles tensing until it felt like Joranas was pressed against stone. The big man trembled, his whole body shaking as if he fought something. His breath came in little gasps and Joranas swore he could hear his friend repeating the same word over and over.

  “No! No! No!”

  Keluse knew something had gone wrong with Porantillia’s plan. She had created the man who was holding Joranas, pulled him from her very essence and pushed him from the prison she had been in before Besmir had freed her. Her plan had been to come here and take control of the body. With it being part of her life force, Keluse knew she would not have the limitations she had while using Keluse’s own form. Yet for some reason she was still anchored in Keluse’s mind.

  She could barely feel the connection the Goddess still had to her but knew it was there, like a gentle finger resting on the side of her head. Confusion broke over her like a wave when she felt Porantillia snap back inside her.

  Yet Keluse remained in control.

  No! It cannot be. Porantillia’s angry thought rolled through Keluse’s mind and she knew what she had to do to free the universe of her.

  Besmir knew as soon as he heard her voice say his name that Keluse was back. He had no idea where Porantillia had gone to but he knew she was no longer in control of his friend. He took a few steps towards her as she walked towards him.

  “Keluse...” he began, his voice breaking as he looked at the dire state of her body.

  Porantillia had used his friend’s body hard, aging her and wearing her down in horrible ways. She was limping and in obvious pain as she reached for him, leaning against him for support.

  “Don’t,” she told him when she saw his expression. “She’s back in here.” Keluse tapped the side of her head. “But she can’t do anything...at the moment.”

  Keluse broke off as Arteera approached, her gaze flicking between his friend and their son, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “What is going on?” She asked. “Who is that?” She pointed at the dark skinned man holding Joranas.

  Keluse turned to Besmir’s wife, taking her hand and looking into her eyes.

  “Please, please take care of Ranyeen for me,” she said.

  Cold fright screwed tight inside Besmir’s chest when she said those words. He knew she was not expecting to survive this and wondered if the Gods had been meddling again.

  “Of course, we’ll look after you both,” Arteera said, confused.

  Keluse smiled at her sadly, shaking her hands and turning back to Besmir.

  “You’re going to have to kill her while she’s trapped,” Keluse said.

  “I can’t!” Besmir cried. “Keluse, I can’t.”

  “What are you talking about?” Arteera demanded. “How can you kill her?”

  Keluse rolled her eyes towards the queen.

  “Porantillia is still inside of me. She’s trapped at the moment but I can feel her fighting for control and when she wins, it’ll be too late.”

  Besmir watched his wife as understanding dropped into her, tears forming in her eyes.

  “There must be some other way,” she said.

  Keluse made a clicking sound in her throat as she almost doubled over, grunting.

  “There isn’t,” Keluse said. “She’s nearly broken through. Besmir, do it!”

  “How can I?” Besmir begged as sorrow mixed with despair in his chest.

  “Kill me,” Keluse said in a quiet voice. “Send me to be with Ranyor and end this before she destroys the world. Kill me!” Keluse ended her sentence in a shout.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  This is going to hurt. Tiernon thought to Collise as h
eat flared from her palms.

  Searing agony rolled up her arms as her father burned through the bindings that held them to the chair. She screamed inside her mind as Tiernon maintained the fire, searing through the leather, grunting through the pain himself.

  With a final jerk Tiernon freed their wrists and flapped the flames out with a shake of their arms. He took the blindfold off and Collise saw they were in a stone cell, dark and damp. Reaching down he undid the rope that held their legs and rubbed the circulation back into their cold feet. Pain lanced up her arms from the blistered skin but Tiernon ignored it as he strode to the door.

  Collise felt an immense pressure grow inside her as her father did something she could not begin to understand. She watched as he gestured with her hand, the pressure lancing along her arm and out through her finger. The dungeon door folded outwards with an explosive thump, splintering against the wall opposite.

  Shaken and pale a face appeared from the gloom and dust, pointing a spear at Collise as he trembled. He died in agony when Tiernon lanced lightning through his heart. She screamed inside her mind as her father advanced along the stone corridor, casually lobbing fire at anything that moved. At an intersection he turned and made for a set of stairs leading upwards.

  At the top sat a thick, oaken door firmly bolted and locked.

  “Halt or die!” A voice called through the tiny grate.

  Tiernon laughed in Collise’s high pitched voice and gathered the pressure in their chest again, ready to burst the door.

  “If you open the door and leave I might allow you to live!” Tiernon called back.

  Collise felt a wave of hatred and disgust roll through her when she realized he had no intention of giving them a chance to run. He gestured and the door burst outward, massive chunks and splinters shredding the air as well as the guards in the room beyond.