Tarrik levered himself into a sitting position. The sorcerous restraining ropes were gone.
Aeshma met his eyes, and her lips curled into a smile. He ignored her. She wasn’t the danger here. Only Indriol could hand him over to her, if he didn’t kill Tarrik first.
Moving his tongue and mouth, Tarrik worked up enough saliva to speak. “What is your will, Master?”
Indriol held a different dagger in his hand. Its thin blade was forged from steel, and rather plain, but the pommel resembled a wolf.
“Take it,” he said, holding it out.
Tarrik grasped the hilt and tried with all his might to plunge the blade into Indriol’s heart. He found himself frozen in place, as expected. He growled, muscles straining to no use. He almost barked a cant to bring forth his shadow-blade, before ruthlessly suppressing the urge. It wouldn’t do to waste his only advantage, and what could he do now anyway?
Indriol gave him a wry smile. “This dagger was procured for me on the eastern continent, from Sansor in Kaile. The rulers of Kaile have been intruding in Atya’s affairs for quite some time. They think their promises of trade and wealth will loosen the Cabal’s hold here. You’re going to prevent that from happening.”
“How?”
He knew all too well what purpose most enslaved demons were put to: murder and desecration.
“The rulers of Kaile have sent diplomats here in secret. However, they are not your target. You’re going to kill some of the Cabal’s apprentice sorcerers. Their deaths will weaken the Cabal, and in this way I kill two birds with the one stone. Or five sorcerers with the one knife. When you leave this dagger behind, it will fan a spark of suspicion into a flame.”
Humans and their wars. A decrepit race of short-lived imbeciles. So Indriol wanted to start a war, did he? Or perhaps divert attention from the Nine’s attempt to free Samal?
“Get dressed,” Indriol ordered.
Tarrik slid off the table and tugged his pants up. Aeshma handed him his shirt, and he shrugged it on, ignoring his stinging chest and arms, aching thigh, and the dried blood pinching his skin.
Indriol straightened Tarrik’s collar. Tarrik tried to jerk away from his touch but couldn’t move.
“There,” Indriol said. “Almost presentable. I’ve set the apprentices a reading task that will take them several hours. Paliax is guarding the door so they don’t get it into their heads to shirk their duty. Go up the stairs and through the concealed panel into the suite. Turn right outside, then take the second-left hallway. Do not speak to anyone on your way. You’ll see a man dressed in charcoal pants and a puffy linen shirt standing outside the third door on the right. That’s Paliax. He’ll let you inside. Kill them all, and make it bloody. Leave the dagger. Paliax will shout for help, and when the guards come, make sure they see you. Then return here to me, making sure you’re not followed, of course. You have my permission to kill anyone who tries to impede you.”
“Yes, Master,” said Tarrik. He had no choice.
He realized Indriol wanted him to be seen so the apprentices’ deaths would be linked to Ren. How that tied in with Kaile he didn’t know and didn’t care.
Tarrik glanced one last time at Aeshma before leaving both of them in their hideaway.
“I’ll see you soon,” she said to his back.
Chapter Fifteen
The stairs creaked as Tarrik ascended, wincing at the pain of the knife wound in his thigh. The latch on the concealed panel was easily found, and once in the empty suite with its sheet-covered furniture, Tarrik slipped the dagger up his sleeve. Soon he was walking along the hallway. It was night outside, and the passages were mostly deserted and lit only by the occasional lamp. Three servants dressed in navy and carrying baskets of linen passed him, and Tarrik heard them giggling afterward.
He turned right and spotted the gaunt man from earlier standing outside a door: Paliax.
The jikin-nakar sneered at Tarrik as he approached, but Tarrik couldn’t summon a response. He’d been sent to kill, and it was best to get the task done as quickly as possible to show Indriol what a good slave he was. Then maybe he’d keep Tarrik alive awhile longer. Unless there was a way to mess up Indriol’s plans . . . Tarrik had never been one to avoid conflict, especially when it came to the human slavers.
“Has Aeshma touched you?”
Ah, they were a pair. Tarrik couldn’t resist a jab. “How could she not? I am far above her, and you.”
“She is mine. I will be pleased when our master disposes of you.”
“As he will you, once you’re of no use to him.”
“Be about your assigned task.”
Tarrik slipped the dagger from his sleeve and gripped the hilt. The oak door was right in front of him, with the apprentices on the other side.
He took a few breaths, then paused as a female servant rushed along the hallway toward them, carrying a tray laden with fruit. He reached his free hand for the door handle and found Paliax’s grip on his upper arm.
“Not yet,” the jikin-nakar said, voice pitched low.
Tarrik looked down at his hand. “Are you . . . impeding me?”
“You’ll get to your task soon enough. Make sure you are seen on the way out after I raise the alarm.”
“I think you’re impeding me.”
“Shut your mouth, or—”
Tarrik drove the dagger into Paliax’s chest. The demon’s mouth opened and closed, and both hands tried to push Tarrik away.
The serving woman screamed, dropped her tray, and ran.
Tarrik twisted the blade into the jikin-nakar’s heart, then yanked it out and plunged it into the second heart. Purple blood spurted from both wounds, splashing Tarrik’s hand as he jerked the dagger out. He let Paliax slump to the ground. The Cabalists couldn’t miss such evidence that demons were somehow involved.
Raised voices and hurried footsteps approached the other side of the door. Of the serving woman there was no sign, but he could hear her screams getting fainter, and then shouts joining her hysterics. He waited for the apprentices to gather enough courage to open the door, except they didn’t.
He heard hushed whispers, then a woman shrieked when she saw Paliax’s blood seeping under the door. “That’s blood! And it’s purple!”
“Feck!” said a male voice.
Tarrik turned the handle, and the door opened on to five young faces—three men, two women. None had thought to shield themselves.
“I’m sorry,” Tarrik said, and leaped at the closest man, blade flashing.
The deed was done in a few heartbeats before any of the young sorcerers had gathered their wits to defend themselves. The last one, a girl, Tarrik slaughtered midcant.
He dropped the dagger and surveyed the carnage. The five sorcerers lay akimbo around the sparsely furnished room lit by two alchemical globes. Their blood splashed across the walls, ceiling, and lounges from where Tarrik had whipped the dagger around. Their books, still open from their studies, were streaked with red.
Rage overcame Tarrik. Again he’d been ordered to slaughter, for no reason other than the machinations of a mad sorcerer. When humans summoned demons, they only wanted one thing: to kill in the furtherance of their own power. It was an atrocity to be used like this and a worse abomination to be forced to do someone else’s bidding against your will.
Perhaps this is how Ren feels.
The thought stopped him as he turned to leave the carnage. Did some part of Ren know she had lost her will? Was that why she sometimes gave him leeway?
No, by her own actions she had shown she was a ruthless killer. Exactly the kind of creature Samal would value.
He expected Ren to abandon him to his fate with Indriol—which wouldn’t be pleasant once the sorcerer learned Tarrik had killed Paliax and left evidence that demons were involved. Still, Indriol’s madness seemed less overt, less emotional than Lischen’s, so perhaps he could be reasoned with.
He ducked out of the room and stepped over the corpse. The demon hadn’t rever
ted to his own shiny gray skin in death, but the strange-colored blood would be enough. And perhaps the humans would dissect the body.
Tarrik wanted to run, to leave the scene of slaughter behind. But he had commands to obey. He had to be seen leaving the murder site. He waited, listening to the approaching, excited voices, and allowed himself a grim smile. Indriol had been lax with the wording of his command. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
When the first human appeared and noticed him, Tarrik broke into a sprint and bolted around the first corner. He shadow-stepped twice and easily lost his pursuers.
“What happened?” shouted Indriol, droplets of spit flying, his head shaking like wobbling aspic.
Not the best response, thought Tarrik. He drew a deep breath. “The demon impeded me. Your command was quite clear: kill anyone who impedes you. I had no choice.”
Aeshma hissed at Tarrik. Her hands pulled at her hair, and she collapsed into a corner, sobbing.
“You idiot!” snarled Indriol. “Do you know how long it took me to find this pair? And the resources I used to summon them?”
“No. But if you made a mistake with me, you might have done something similar with this one.” Tarrik pointed to Aeshma. “I can show you a few tricks to make sure—”
Indriol snarled a cant, and the Wracking Nerves slammed into Tarrik. His nerves burned with searing pain, and he screamed and collapsed to the floor. Indriol’s punishment was similar to Ren’s, though with a sharper, malicious edge. His heart pounded in his ears, and he tried to focus on its beat, to partition his mind against the torment.
His awareness brushed against Ananias’s essence, and the barrier between it and Tarrik trembled, almost dissolved. Tarrik was so surprised he forgot about the pain for an instant—until he heard Indriol voicing another cant and the Wracking Nerves redoubled. He only knew burning torment and wailing then until the punishment ceased.
Tarrik lay on the floor, blood in his mouth, nails digging into his palms, marking his skin. His cheek ached where he’d bitten it. He groaned and spat purple onto the floor and rolled onto his back. After a few panting breaths, he struggled upright and leaned on the table in the center of the room.
Indriol sat in an armchair, affecting relaxation. But the goat stench surrounding him had amplified, and his hands gripped the arms of the chair so hard that veins stood out.
Aeshma glared at Tarrik from the corner. Her eyes were red from weeping, filled with grief.
“You sorcerers are too quick to punish,” Tarrik said, repeating what he’d told Ren after she’d summoned him.
His mind roiled with the implication of what he’d sensed. Ananias’s essence had also felt the agony of the Wracking Nerves. And its shell had almost broken open. There was great danger here, Tarrik knew. If the shell had cracked, the essence would have poured into him like a surge of water after a dam failed. But there was also opportunity, for if he could siphon enough of the essence into himself first, a final shattering of the shell should be easily weathered. And Tarrik’s mind wouldn’t be washed away in the flood.
Focus, he told himself. He couldn’t afford another dose of the Wracking Nerves right now, not until he was ready for the shell to be fractured.
“What power does she use?” asked Indriol abruptly.
Tarrik hesitated and felt the sorcerer’s arcane bindings tighten around his limbs and clamp his throat. Indriol spoke a cant, and Tarrik was forced to respond.
“I don’t understand what you are asking. Dawn- and dusk-tide, like any other sorcerer.”
Indriol’s lips tightened. “You’ve traveled with her. What can she do? She was hundreds of miles away a few days ago—I know it! And yet now she is here.”
“We flew,” Tarrik said. “On a disc made from water and heat.”
“Oh, come now, I’m not so stupid as you think. We all have ways of traveling, but that’s absurd. She has a pact with Sheelahn, doesn’t she?”
Why would that matter?
“Sheelahn asked her to repay a favor—that is all. You know I speak the truth. I cannot do otherwise because of your bindings.”
“Bah! I trust nothing. Not demons, not the Nine, not the Cabal, and sometimes not even myself. What is Serenity’s purpose?”
Indriol’s questions jumped from topic to topic like a grasshopper.
“I do not know.”
“She would have killed you when you were no longer useful to her.”
Perhaps. The fate of a summoned demon was always uncertain. And Ren had made no secret of the fact that he was only a tool.
“She is mad, you see,” continued Indriol. “Samal was too strong for her weak mind. The others broke like twigs, but not I. I was too strong. I’ll ask again: what power does she use? And no lies this time.”
Tarrik glanced at Aeshma, who sneered at him. She had to know Indriol was insane. If she could help Tarrik escape . . . but how could he convince her after he’d killed her mate?
“I am unable to lie to you,” Tarrik said again. “She created a disc of water and heat—”
“Lies! Are my bindings not enough to force you to tell the truth? What use are you if you lie? You have been intimate with her. You know her plans, what she seeks. You’ve seen her use whatever strange power she holds, and I’d wager you know exactly what it is. You are of demon blood; you have no loyalty to a human other than what is forced upon you. Tell me her secrets.”
The barrage of questions threw Tarrik for a moment. He hesitated. “I have only guesses.”
“What use are you then? A broken tool!”
Perhaps he could use Indriol’s madness and arrogance against him. If Indriol died, would he be free? Or had the sorcerer simply usurped some of Ren’s bindings and left the rest intact?
“Her power is her own, and I know nothing of it,” Tarrik said. “But do not go against her. I swear she will end you.”
Indriol laughed. “She has you wrapped around her finger still, like a dog sniffing after a bitch. She wasn’t as strong as I was when Samal took us. We eight forged our own path to Samal, while she was chosen. An example of his power. Even the most powerful of Samal’s enemies could not withstand his will. And she will fall to my power now, once I’m done with you here.”
Time for a roll of the dice.
“She killed Lischen,” Tarrik said. “With sorcery.”
Indriol’s amusement fled as quickly as it had come. He tilted his head and stared at Tarrik. “That is not possible. Lischen was bolstering her own power.”
“Nevertheless, it happened.”
“What of her sword?”
“I know she keeps it sheathed, and I’m not allowed to touch it. She keeps the weapon near her always.”
Indriol chewed a thumbnail. “What are her secrets?”
“I do not know.”
The sorcerer stood. “You are lying. Again! You are her creature still; I see that now. My bindings are not enough to control you. How she has done this is a mystery, but she won’t be alive much longer.”
His words held the sound of finality. Tarrik had to assume he would be killed too. Or perhaps Indriol would let Aeshma amuse herself with him first, which would mean more blood and pain. Two things he was used to.
“You are going to kill her?” he asked Indriol.
“When I find her. She has disappeared, like the coward she is.”
“But I’m right here,” said Ren, stepping out of the gloomy corridor.
Chapter Sixteen
White-hot hooks of sorcery jabbed into Tarrik’s body and mind. Indriol’s bindings were ripped away, and the familiar feel of Ren’s reasserted themselves. He had no time to prepare and experienced the full brunt of the bindings anew. Pain seared through him, scouring his nerves and consciousness. His vision swam, and blackness closed in again. With a snarl he pushed it away.
Indriol barked a cant, and a shield of violet surrounded him. Ren’s shield was the sphere of swirling golden sparkles Tarrik had seen before. He leaped to the side, not w
anting to be flayed by stray arcane energy.
Aeshma bounded toward him, her knife clutched in one hand. She crouched low in a fighting stance.
Indriol yelled at Ren in a language Tarrik didn’t understand. Ren shook her head and drew her sword, which was already at her hip. A furious white light painted the room, and waves of heat rolled over Tarrik.
Aeshma turned to look, and Tarrik pounced. He managed to grip the arm wielding the knife. She snarled and twisted but was no match for him now that he was in close.
Indriol shouted a cant, and sapphire lines scourged the surface of Ren’s shield. Sharp cracks sounded as the eldritch threads skittered away from her wards and etched black lines into the stone walls. Either Ren or Indriol would likely die in the next few heartbeats, and for some inexplicable reason Tarrik found himself wishing it would be Indriol.
He clamped his other hand on Aeshma’s arm and dragged her away from the sorcerers.
“I’ll kill you!” she spat.
“I’m trying to save us both! Get down!”
Tarrik kicked her legs from beneath her, and they tumbled to the floor together. He squeezed Aeshma’s wrist until she cried out in pain and dropped the knife, which he batted away. Then he wrapped his arms around her so she couldn’t move. He grimaced as her teeth sank into his bicep.
Cants flowed from Ren and Indriol like discordant songs. Ice crystals formed across the ceiling and walls, vaporized to steam an instant later by a surge of roiling heat. The very air keened at the violence, and the armchairs and table in the room charred and smoked.
An indigo web materialized above Ren and fell onto her shield. She cried out and stumbled. Golden motes rushed to wherever the web touched her wards, attaching like dewdrops.
Ren waved her sword. Its shining blade passed through her shield and pierced Indriol’s web, severing the taut strands. They thrummed as if plucked, then twisted and curled before evaporating into smoke.
Another web appeared and dropped onto Ren, its strands filtering through her shield. She fell to one knee, ducking her head to avoid them. Her shield held under the assault, and again her searing sword sliced the web to vapor.
Shadow of the Exile (The Infernal Guardian Book 1) Page 25