Ren’s voice boomed above the cacophony. A brilliance erupted in the room, as glaring as the noon sun. Lischen cried out in pain and terror. Tarrik risked a glance and found Ren standing, a smile of triumph on her face.
No!
She raised her arms above her head, and her wards expanded around her. She spoke a cant, and white and golden lights answered her call. She gathered the sparkling emanations between her hands, then sent them whirling at Lischen.
Thunder cracked, and a sudden wind buffeted Tarrik. Lischen’s wards tore like tissue, knocking her to the ground, where she trembled and spat blood. Her clothes smoldered, and smoke wafted from her form. Her hair burned and twisted into clumps. She wiped the back of a hand across her lips, leaving a crimson smear across her cheek.
She spoke a cant, and her shield surrounded her again, though even to Tarrik’s eyes it was a weaker, paler version of the original. Ren called more eldritch lights to her grasp and pounded them into Lischen. The other sorcerer’s shield shattered into motes.
No! Blood and fire!
Lischen struggled to her feet, her face sheened with sweat, pink and blistered as if sunburned. She stared at Ren, her mouth working soundlessly. Then her gaze dropped to the floor, and her shoulders slumped.
No! Fight, damn you to the abyss!
“I submit,” croaked Lischen. “I see now what you have achieved.”
Ren drew her sword. White incandescence shone from the blade, like intense moonlight, and despite the coolness of the color, heat poured from it in waves. Hot air blasted across Tarrik’s skin, and sweat broke out on his forehead.
Lischen held a hand up, her voice pleading. “We can work together, Serenity. Your name will be revered, and Samal will raise you above us all! The dawn- and dusk-tides . . . who would think anyone could harness the—”
Ren struck faster than Tarrik thought she could move. Her blade passed through Lischen’s torso as if she were made of smoke.
Lischen gasped, looking down in surprise. Her back arched, and an unholy screech tore from the depths of her soul. A blue-violet light erupted from her mouth and eyes, and her skin blackened and charred, cracking open to emit the same intense light coming from Ren’s sword.
With one swift movement, Ren sheathed her blade, plunging the room into darkness. The only light now came from Lischen’s glowing body, her jaws working in a silent scream.
“Gith-ruthos!” shouted Ren.
A glaring wave of the blue-white light erupted from her open palms in a flat plane and flashed over Lischen. The sorcerer’s flesh spat embers, then broke into brittle chunks that fell to the floor and puffed to clouds of dust. Her incinerated muscles and organs followed, leaving only a skeleton scorched to obsidian. It clattered to the ground, the skull’s eyeless sockets and blackened teeth a testament to the intensity of Ren’s incantations.
She turned to Tarrik. “Don’t just cower there, demon. We still have work to do.”
Tarrik rose to his feet. What he’d just seen was like nothing he’d ever experienced before, not even with Contian, who had been an unmatched sorcerer in his prime. Ren had overpowered a sorcerer who was her equal and who had also been augmented by the power of several other sorcerers. Which meant that Ren herself had augmented her power, possibly in the same way.
A fleeting thought came to Tarrik: If the Nine were successful in freeing Samal Rak-shazza, the demon lord would once again permit, even encourage, humans to torture and enslave demons. What, if anything, could the demons do about it? When Tarrik returned to his realm, who could he tell? Who would believe him?
Ren moved to the cots and turned down the blankets to reveal burned and twisted carcasses. “I’ll send Veika down here with a few men to clear the place out. The families deserve to know what happened to their children and bury their remains.”
“I thought you were going to stop her,” Tarrik said. “Not kill her. She was one of the Nine. You’re one of them too.”
“No. I’m something different.”
Chapter Eleven
Back at the house, Ren created another flying disc out of water, steam, and sorcery as they prepared to leave Dwemor Port. It was still the middle of the night, but the rain had stopped, and the clouds had been mostly cleared by a fresh wind. Tarrik was grateful; the thought of flying on Ren’s disc in a downpour made him tremble with disgust. He would be glad to leave this human city and the two people Ren had conned into believing she stood for something other than herself. He guessed that was why she hadn’t wanted Veika to accompany them when they confronted Lischen, because he would have seen who she truly was. The stupid only stayed gulled if they were kept in the dark.
Slivers of both moons were high in the sky by the time Ren made it outside to where Tarrik had been waiting for what seemed like ages. Veika stood close by, silent for once. At Ren’s order, Tarrik piled their gear on the platform—no saddles this time—then sat on it, his spear cradled across his arms. He half expected attacking soldiers to appear or a sorcerous assault—Ren had killed one of the Nine, after all. Surely there would be retribution from the others. But to his surprise nothing materialized.
He cast a sidelong glance at Ren as she ceased shouting cants, hopped onto the disc, and moved to what he assumed was the front. Did it have a front? Again, he could only sense a minimal draw of dawn- and dusk-tide emanations by Ren, which set his mind to wondering afresh. She was more powerful than Lischen, who had augmented herself with the powers of more than a few fledgling sorcerers. So where did Ren’s power come from? Was its source the artifact Tarrik had stolen for her? He was no fool, especially when it came to sorcerers. He wouldn’t put all his coin on one explanation. Sorcerers were never what they seemed.
“Do you have to go so soon?” asked Jendra, emerging from the kitchen.
“I’m sorry—I must,” replied Ren.
“When will you be back?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
Jendra opened her mouth to speak again, but Veika’s hand on her arm stopped her. She frowned at him, then sighed in resignation.
They aren’t sure whether they’ll ever see her again. Tarrik found the thought calming and sat up a little straighter. The life of a sorcerer was risky, and the path Ren had chosen was more dangerous than most. The way she was going, she’d be certain to make a mistake, and that would be the end of her. He only had to stay alive until it happened.
Jendra approached the disc and handed Tarrik a small burlap sack. “Provisions,” she said, and backed away quickly.
With a final brief wave at Veika and Jendra, Ren knelt and began to whisper cants. Crimson-violet lightning gathered between her hands, and she grasped its glittering strands. The shimmering disc rose into the air as heat waves cracked the stone pavers of the courtyard. Veika and Jendra scurried to a safe distance to prevent themselves from being scalded. Again, Ren smelled of arcane power—and of something that reminded Tarrik of sunlight, along with a tinge of reluctance.
They quickly ascended and were soon so high Tarrik lost sight of Veika and Jendra. With a lurch, the disc surged forward. Wind whipped across his face and ruffled his clothes.
“Get some sleep, if you can,” shouted Ren above the rushing sound. “But first pass me one of whatever provisions Jendra gave us. I’m hungry, and it’ll help keep me awake.”
Tarrik hesitated as he reached for the small sack. What would happen if Ren fell asleep while they were in the sky?
Inside the sack were small parcels wrapped in waxed paper. Tarrik opened one to reveal a rounded loaf dotted with dried fruit. He grimaced, then noticed a bottle as well. He took it out and smiled when he saw the label: Widow’s Malt. It also pictured a crow rather than stalks of cane from which rum was made. Veika must have included it. No doubt he thought Tarrik would get drunk and make a mistake, and Ren would get rid of him.
He wormed his way on his knees to Ren, not trusting himself to stand.
She gave him a look of amusement and took the small loaf. “I see yo
u found Veika’s present to you. He thought you’d enjoy it more than rum. He would never say it out loud, but he’s glad you were able to keep me safe in the temple.”
“Aimy and Gaukur died, though. I wouldn’t imagine he was too pleased about that.”
And Ren had scarcely required Tarrik’s help to defend herself. He still believed he’d been intended as bait, just as he’d used Aimy and Gaukur to distract the larmarsh.
A determined smile came across his face as he considered what he’d survived so far: a demon of a higher order, a larmarsh, and one of the Nine. Let Ren think he was there to be used; he was stronger than she realized.
He looked up to see her frowning at him and schooled his expression into one of meekness. “Where are we going now?”
“Northwest until we reach the coast, then follow it north to Atya.”
“Atya?”
“A city. I have business there.”
“Why were you not concerned about creating this platform in possible sight of others in Dwemor Port but so secretive in Ivrian? We rode some distance from the city before you created it there.”
Ren took a bite from the fruit loaf and gave him a thoughtful look. “We have a long way to travel. Get some sleep,” she said, then turned her back on him.
He moved to the middle of the platform and tried to get comfortable. Clearly he’d asked too many questions, and Ren was suspicious.
The cork slid easily from the bottle, and he took a swig. The spirit burned his tongue and throat, but after a few moments he felt less on edge and more in control of himself. He returned the bottle to the sack and scoured his memory for any information about absorbing a higher-order demon. His previous absorptions had all been demons of a lower order and many years ago. The process had been difficult, but in the end, with patience and skill, he’d been rewarded. All he was certain of this time was that it was tricky and a process best done slowly. He didn’t want to lose his mind. However, patience might be his downfall. The longer he waited, the more chance that Ren would get him killed.
Tarrik closed his eyes and found the hardened mass in his mind that was the remains of Ananias. It had a smooth surface that undulated slightly, as if something moved inside. When he pushed against the shell, it hardened and resisted his probe. He shook his head. Trying things he’d tried before wouldn’t get him anywhere. He had to be smarter. He thought back to Ananias and what sort of a demon he’d been: cruel and cunning; partial to melodrama, as shown by the scarlet steam he had generated to conceal his face and the use of his dark-tide power to create fire. A waste of energy for little gain. Ananias was no genius.
Perhaps heat would corrode the shell around his essence? Generating heat inside one’s own mind was dangerous, but Tarrik was confident he could shield himself using shadows.
A tiny part of his consciousness exulted at the thought of subsuming Ananias. A feral, desperate part.
He set to work.
Tarrik opened his eyes to find Ren staring at him. She was munching on another fruit loaf, which meant she’d taken one from the sack without him being aware of the movement.
He looked over the edge of the disc. Below, lit by moonlight, sheer cliffs rose from the ocean, a hundred yards high. The disc skimmed above them, heading in a northerly direction. If they’d reached the coast already, they were making better time than their first trip. Ren was in a hurry.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Thinking.”
“About killing me, no doubt.”
“No. Something else.”
She sniffed and bit into the loaf. After a few moments of chewing, she said, “You should try to feel the stars. They’re especially bright tonight, now that we’re away from the city.”
Feel the stars? What use was that? Both moons had sunk toward the horizon, and dawn couldn’t be too far off.
Humor her. “I’ll . . . try,” he said.
Ren looked away as if the suggestion was of no importance to her. Why then had she suggested it?
“We’ll stop soon and rest during the day,” she said. “There are winged creatures that inhabit the cliffs along this coast. They’re very territorial and might attack us. I can’t keep us aloft and fight one off at the same time.”
Good to know. His body had healed well, but a day of rest would do wonders.
“I’ll find a relatively safe spot to land, and you can guard me while I sleep. I’ll also place some wards in case we encounter anything you can’t handle.”
Tarrik’s stomach rose as they began to descend, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since the tavern. The fruit loaves Ren seemed to enjoy so much turned his innards.
Ren flew them inland over stunted trees and windswept grasses until she found a rocky outcrop. The sun peeked over the horizon, casting an orange glow that reminded Tarrik of home.
He couldn’t see many signs of life on the surrounding terrain: a few rabbits, a herd of wild goats, a bird of prey soaring high above. The presence of the animals eased Tarrik’s mind, since it meant this area was clear of creatures such as larmarsh and manticarrs. Dead-eyes, on the other hand, hunted at night, as did a few other predators. But from what Ren had said, they would be long gone before the night dwellers came out.
“Off,” said Ren as the disc hit the ground with a jarring thud.
Tarrik shouldered their saddlebags and grabbed Jendra’s sack along with his spear. He leaped off the platform and hurried away from the surrounding heat. Wind buffeted him, cold from the sea. Without waiting for Ren, he strode over to the outcrop, which stood up from the grasslands like a wart. A small group of trees sat on the sheltered western side. He dumped the gear and sack, and, after a moment’s hesitation, his spear as well, then set about gathering firewood. He was already shivering from the gusts, and the thought of an entire day guarding Ren while she slept set his teeth on edge.
He carried his pile of sticks and branches to the sheltered side of the rock. Ren was already relaxing, having found a comfortable slab of stone to lean her back against. She had her journal out and leafed through its pages. Beside her sat a tiny ink bottle and an ivory pen with a steel nib.
She looked up in annoyance as he dropped the wood at her feet with a clatter. “Go and catch a rabbit or two for a meal.”
Tarrik gave her a short bow, grabbed his spear, and strode away. He found it a simple task to catch rabbits, even though they were quite swift when fleeing. He simply shadow-stepped to their burrows and grabbed them when they froze in surprise.
As he twisted the second rabbit’s neck until it cracked, Tarrik’s skin tingled. He felt three surges of arcane power from Ren. He stopped, the dead rabbit forgotten in his hands, but couldn’t sense anything further. Had she wanted him gone while she performed sorcery? Or did she actually want rabbit to eat? Perhaps both, he decided.
He raised the corpse to his mouth, intending to taste its blood, but thoughts of the larmarsh killing Aimy and Gaukur stopped him. Tarrik had long since lost his squeamishness around slaughter and using others to ensure his own survival. Prey was prey, and humans were slavers, and worse. But a niggling discomfort kept returning. Aimy hadn’t known he was a demon and had been attracted to him. She’d had her own hopes and desires, and a daughter. And he’d left her dead in a decrepit catacomb, her daughter without a mother.
But that was the way of the world—of all worlds—wasn’t it? The strong and intelligent survived to fight another day. Still, he couldn’t get Aimy out of his head. He’d never cared about such things before his time with Jaquel. She’d changed him more than he’d thought possible.
Flashes of memory swamped his thoughts until he could hardly breathe. He saw the boys and girls she’d taught running around her, smiling after their lessons had finished for the day, and her delight in their joy. He saw Jaquel chasing after the chickens when they’d gotten loose, eventually giving up and throwing herself onto the grass in surrender—the endearing way she would lift her hand to her throat when she laughed. He saw
her sweat-streaked face as he taught her to fight with weapons and without, saw her eyes piercing his as they loved one another. Demon relationships were usually brief and fiery, but he’d always wanted more. In Jaquel he’d found a mate who made him better than he was without her; and because of his devotion, his deep, immortal love for her, giving up his freedom hadn’t felt like compromise. And ultimately, he’d betrayed his own kind to keep her.
He sighed and returned to Ren.
She was writing in her journal, though beside the campfire there was now a square hole with precise edges and a mound of dirt beside it.
She placed her journal and her pen aside, drew a skinning blade, and set to work on the rabbits with a practiced hand, stripping their hides and gutting them. Their innards she deposited into the hole in the ground. They didn’t have a spade, so Tarrik guessed that was the surge of power he’d felt. Or one of them.
What else had she done with sorcery? He glanced around but couldn’t see any other changes.
As with the birds Ren had prepared before, once the rabbits were ready for cooking, it struck Tarrik again how like miniature demons they looked. He would have preferred the meat raw and watched with regret as Ren placed the carcasses into her cast-iron pot, added water and dried herbs, then put the lid on and placed the pot into the coals.
“Fill our canteens,” she said. “There’s a stream a few hundred yards north.”
Tarrik walked off, leaving Ren staring into the flames. His shoulders and neck felt tight, and he shrugged to loosen the muscles. He paused when he felt another two surges of sorcery and looked back toward their camp. From this distance all he could see was the fire glowing in the morning light.
At the stream, he knelt on a rock and filled their canteens, then returned to the camp. Ren was now relaxing on a blanket on the ground, her journal and writing implements stowed back in her saddlebags. The pot was still in the coals, and Tarrik’s stomach grumbled loud enough to be heard over the fire.
Ren laughed. “They’ll be ready soon.”
Shadow of the Exile (The Infernal Guardian Book 1) Page 20