by Ari Marmell
He rose, somehow directing both an infuriated glare at Corvis and a wistful, longing look where his weapon lay interred.
"Is he dead?" Irrial asked shakily.
"You heard him," Corvis said, turning away. "We can't kill him. That probably won't hold him for more than a few minutes." He began to run, but managed only a few paces before his aches and bruises and burning lungs reined him back to an unsteady, stiff-legged walk. The others fell quickly into step behind him.
"Can we possibly get far enough in a few minutes?" Irrial wondered aloud.
"That depends-on him." Corvis halted abruptly, raised Sunder's edge to hover within inches of the startled Jassion's throat.
"Where's Mellorin?" FOR LONG MINUTES THE STREET WAS STILL, the nighttime silence broken only by the creak of settling rubble and the fearful cries of distant villagers too terrified to leave their homes. Low-hanging clouds began to thin, moon and stars peeking out to see if the chaos had ended.
A peculiar snapping, combining the whistle of a sharp wind with the crackling of a bonfire, sounded a few yards down the road. The dust swirled as though kicked by a giant invisible foot, and a shape-human, feminine, lost in slumber-materialized in the dirt. It would have astonished anyone watching, had there been anyone watching, but the street, and the surrounding windows, were empty.
Again, silent moments passed. The debris shifted, stone screeching on stone, wood breaking, and something that had once appeared human rose from the wreckage with a scream to shame the damned. Limbs hung at agonizing angles, splintered bone protruding through rents in the flesh. Blood caked its skin, flowed from a hundred tiny wounds. From its body, unmarred by the impact of the rubble, protruded the Kholben Shiar.
Shattered hands, aquiver not so much with agony as rage, clutched at the blade. He could feel the insatiable hunger within the metal, a power that flowed from the same infernal wellspring as his own. He bit back a hiss of revulsion at its touch, all the while promising Rebaine and Jassion a thousand deaths.
He'd expected that the Kholben Shiar could likely hurt him, even if they could not kill; known that the magics of other demons, no matter what form contained them, would cause him pain. But until he'd felt the weapon sliding through him, piercing mind and body, pinning him to the earth, he'd not truly understood what that meant. Khanda had not worn his human form long enough to comprehend mortal anguish, and nothing-not his various minor wounds, not even the torment of Nenavar's ire-had prepared him for an agony the equal of any found in hell.
Inch by inch, fingers shredding themselves even further against the edge only to form anew, he pressed back upon the blade, driving it out. Finally he felt the pressure and the pain ease, heard Talon clatter to the ground behind him, and he gasped in very human relief.
On legs that bowed like saplings, that should never have supported his weight, the inhuman creature in human form staggered from the cairn. With each stride his body twitched, reshaped by the demon's will. Step, and a leg ceased bending, bones knitting together and kneecap sliding into place. Step, and an arm snapped back into its socket, its fingers straightening with a series of pops. Step, and the blood fell from his face, revealing not the demonic visage that Corvis had recognized, but the more mundane features that had borne the name Kaleb.
But though the greatest wound, the mark of Talon itself, had closed, it did not fade entirely. For all his control over his corporeal body, he lacked the inner strength to finish the job. Soon, yes, when he'd had the opportunity to rest, to recover from the unexpected torment. But not now.
Leaving the weapon where it lay-hoping that some villager might be stupid enough to come out and try to claim it, offering him an excuse to tear someone apart-Khanda moved along the road, following the scents of fear and pain and very familiar blood. Past several houses and a smattering of shops he walked, until he came to a large wooden structure with a great hole battered in the side.
Subtle, Corvis. Do you even know how to use a door?
He didn't need to enter. The scent wafting from within was more than enough to identify it as a stable. Nor did he need to examine the hoofprints that emerged, for he could literally see the magic rising off them like early-morning mists. Clearly, his prey meant to put as much distance between them as possible. Wise of them, that. Futile, but wise.
With a deliberate, unhurried pace, he returned to the wreckage, drumming two fingertips on his lips as he thought. He'd misjudged Jassion, assumed that the baron's burning hate would blind him to all else. Of course, he hadn't intended that Jassion even hear his words to Corvis. He'd thought the baron safely unconscious, if not dead. Still, it was a mistake that had cost him, and-though he'd never have admitted it-shamed him. Once, Khanda had been a far better judge of mortal souls. His long association with, and his smoldering anger at, the Terror of the East had obviously clouded that judgment. Not again. His most important ally remained, and of her he would make absolutely certain.
And there she was. Khanda jerked to a stop, staring at the ground beyond the rocks that had imprisoned him. He'd not seen her when he first emerged, too distracted by his pain and fury, but there she lay, asleep, not half a dozen yards from where he'd been buried.
Ah, Corvis, you big softy. You went after her, didn't you? For that was the true nature of the spell he'd cast upon her when she first joined him in his travels. Not to protect her, as he'd allowed both her and Jassion to believe, but to conjure her to his side should her father come too close, ensuring they had no opportunity to reconcile.
Wincing, he knelt and lifted Talon by the hilt. He could feel the weapon squirming, and the skin of his own palm crawled at its touch. It had not been forged for his kind; its shape did not change, for he had no soul to taste. For his own sake, Khanda would have gladly left it behind.
But Kaleb would not have, and for a little longer, Kaleb remained essential.
Clutching the Kholben Shiar in one hand, gathering the ragged remnants of his clothes with the other, Kaleb moved to her. He knelt, removing the enchantment that kept her in slumber, and then collapsed to the road beside her, waiting for her to awaken.
"OH, GODS! KALEB, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?"
Only moments had passed before he felt her hands upon his shoulders, heard the horror in her voice. She didn't even ask how she'd gotten here; she was more alarmed at finding him coated in blood than in finding herself sprawled in the street rather than upon the straw pallet where she'd slept. Feigning exhaustion-well, feigning part of it-Kaleb allowed her to help him up, slumped in her arms as he pointed with one shaking hand. "There," he whispered. "I think… we'll be safe there."
The restaurant's porch and a portion of its outer wall had collapsed during the battle, but the rest of the squat structure appeared solid-and it had long since emptied itself of fleeing, panicked peasants. Leaning heavily on Mellorin, he limped and staggered inside and up the steps to the first empty room. Talon clattered to the floor by the doorway as he lurched toward the bed, while she darted back downstairs to gather supplies from the kitchen. She was gone only moments.
Forcing himself to remain patient, he allowed her to bathe his face with a wet cloth, cleaning away the last of the dried blood and grime, and to bandage those wounds that still showed in his flesh. At times he groaned, even crying out as he clutched at her. Once or twice he heard her whispered prayers to Sannos the Healer, and had to suppress an instinctive sneer.
Finally she was finished. Kaleb lay flat upon the mattress, stripped to the waist save for various bandages, his entire body damp-and, in a few places, rubbed raw by Mellorin's heartfelt but unskilled ministrations. She sat beside him, eyes clouded by worry and unshed tears, holding his hand in hers. Her hair hung across her face, matted and disheveled from sleep, and flecks of dried blood speckled the tunic and leggings she'd worn ever since collapsing beneath the strain of Kaleb's spells.
"What happened?" she asked him again.
"I… I managed to cast one final spell, to call you to me. I didn't want to pu
t you in danger," he said, as though begging her to understand. "But there was nobody else."
"Who did this to you, Kaleb?"
"Your… Mellorin, I'm sorry. It was your father."
"What?" Her voice had gone suddenly small.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, sitting up. "I never meant it to go like this. You-you were so exhausted, from my divination spells. We thought we'd let you sleep while we explored the town."
"Without me?" She sounded so terribly hurt, it was all he could do not to burst out laughing.
"Nothing was supposed to happen, Mellorin. We just wanted to get the lay of the land, see if we could figure out where he was staying, who might be with him. The idea was to learn everything we could, then come back and make our plans.
"But… Your uncle."
She nodded her understanding. "He wouldn't wait."
"He was like a wild animal. As soon as we spotted your father, that was it. I should have known better, should never have let him come…"
"It's all right," she told him softly-and then the implications finally struck home. "Where is Jassion?"
"Gone." Kaleb looked deep into her eyes. "He went with them. They must have done something to him; he wasn't himself." Carefully, remembering to limp, he rose and moved past her, toward the door. He bent with an audible grunt to lift Talon, extended it hilt-first toward the hesitant young woman.
"No, I couldn't…"
"You can give it back to him, if you feel the need, once we've freed him. But it's just the two of us now, Mellorin. And we're stronger with it."
Trembling fingers closed about the hilt, and the Kholben Shiar shifted, folding in on itself. In seconds Mellorin held a brutal, thick-bladed knife with a wide guard, a weapon equally suited for parrying a larger blade or gutting an unsuspecting foe. A street fighter's weapon.
"I guess the formal training didn't take," he joked with a wince.
For several heartbeats she examined the blade, and then resolutely placed it on the floor beside her and stepped forward to take his hands, guiding him back to bed. Allowing her to seat him, he gazed up at her.
"Mellorin…" He paused, cleared his throat. "If this is too much, if you want to give up, I couldn't blame-"
"Hush." She placed a finger against his lips. "I won't leave you to do this alone, not now."
He offered her a wide smile, then gently kissed the tip of her finger. Her entire body quivered. Slowly he reached out, pulling her to him.
"Kaleb…"
Whatever she might have had to say was lost in a long, impassioned kiss. He pulled back for just a moment, offering her the chance to speak, but there were no words in her quickened, frantic breaths. They fell back, moving as one, and they had no more need for words at all.
But if the soft sounds from beneath him were gasps of passion, even love, in Kaleb's fire-blackened heart there lurked only a horrid exultation.
Chapter Twenty-one
THEY COULD NEVER COMPREHEND IT, of course, but the horses had every reason to be grateful for the sorry state of Corvis and his companions. Had they been able, the riders would likely have ridden the poor beasts to death under the twin pressures of the hastening spell-cast by Seilloah, this time, as Corvis was in no shape to invoke it-and their desperation to put distance between themselves and the manifest demon.
Instead, as they pounded across the open road, every step a jolt of sheer agony, the wind driving dust and grit into open wounds, Corvis knew they would have to stop, and stop soon. If they didn't, the ride itself might well kill them, saving Khanda the trouble.
Well, he noted bitterly, Khanda and the Cephirans.
Khanda, the Cephirans, and the agents of the Guilds.
And possibly the gnomes, if they'd found their missing brother.
And Jassion himself, for that matter.
It was all enough to make a fellow really depressed.
For long hours, Corvis didn't see the road before him, or the horse's mane waving in his face. He saw only the farmhouse, less than a mile from the village proper, in which Jassion had sworn they'd left Mellorin, and the rented loft in which he'd sworn they would find her.
They hadn't. Indeed, they'd found no sign of anyone within the house, be it Mellorin or the homeowners. Corvis would have stayed, torn apart the whole house-the whole village-with his bare hands, no matter that it took hours or even days; would have gladly consigned his life to Khanda rather than leave his little girl in the demon's clutches. When his companions had made to drag him from his search, to flee before the creature freed itself, he'd actually reached for Sunder.
It had, astoundingly, been neither Irrial nor Seilloah but Jassion who'd gotten through to him. "Rebaine, if that creature finds us, he'll slaughter us. All of us. You think it'll matter to him if Mellorin's with us? So long as he can use her, she lives! Would you be the one to change her from ally to enemy in his eyes?"
And so, though Corvis wept with frustration and burned with the need to feel the baron's neck break beneath his squeezing fingers, they had gone. On stolen horses they fled, and swiftly the old warrior learned that he would not easily lose himself in the journey, for each pain he escaped was replaced by another.
Every limb ached. His back screamed in agony where he'd struck the rubble, and each jostle of the horse's steps made it worse. His jaw pounded, the laceration on his forehead itched, his gut ached where the very tip of Talon had stuck him after transfixing Khanda. And thank Kassek and Panare both that it had just been the tip; it didn't take much for the Kholben Shiar to kill. (Corvis hadn't bothered to ask Jassion if he'd meant to stab them both, since he was pretty sure he knew the answer.)
But all that, Corvis could have managed. It was the wound to his mind and soul that threatened to lay him low. He couldn't rid himself of the memory of Khanda's foul presence in his head. He felt filthy, violated. He swore something slick and viscous clung inside him, coating his thoughts. He hurt anytime he tried to reason, and the simple act of remembering burned like an infected sore. Even picturing Mellorin, allowing himself the worry and concern that was his right as a father, was almost too painful to bear. Corvis had never been a religious man, but he prayed now beneath his breath, begging the gods to let him heal before the poison in his psyche fermented into true dementia.
At least, if nothing else, the voice that had yammered at him for years, and so much more frequently in recent weeks, seemed to have gone silent. Had it truly been a lingering remnant, now returned to the resurrected demon? Or had it been imagination, the first signs of a fracturing mind, now buried beneath a more severe insipient madness? Corvis dared not even guess, and it hurt too terribly to think about; he knew only that, as silver linings went, trading a phantom of Khanda for the real thing left much to be desired.
He twisted in the saddle, groaning and clutching his stomach, struggling to see the others. The clouds seemed to be following them from town-were they, too, fleeing Khanda's presence?-and they wept a persistent drizzle that hung in the air, forming a glutinous fog. The moon was nothing but a gleaming sliver within those clouds, selfishly hoarding its light, and were it not for the sounds of hooves and the sporadic groan of pained fatigue, Corvis might have thought himself alone.
But then, he didn't need to see, not really. He'd seen his companions well enough when they'd mounted up, and assuredly none of them had gotten better over the intervening miles.
He tried to shout, to make himself heard over the horses and the rain, and succeeded only in driving himself into a fit of hacking coughs. Fine, then. They'd just have to follow. Corvis yanked on the reins, driving his horse off the path and across a rocky, scrub-dotted plain.
Here there were insufficient trees in which to hide. But the knolls and rises of stone, while lacking both the height and the sheltering caves of those through which they'd earlier passed, boasted the occasional overhang within the bowl-shaped depressions that feebly masqueraded as valleys. Poor cover indeed, but it would keep some of the rain from their heads-and, more im
portant, hide them from casual search. They might even risk a brief fire, if they kept it banked low.
Corvis didn't know if the others realized what he was doing, or followed him purely out of habit, but nobody hesitated or questioned the change in direction.
It was tricky, picking a course through the rocky slopes on horseback. Corvis was forced to gather what little focus he could muster and cast a spell of illumination. He kept it dull, scarcely brighter than a candle. It was feeble, but it was enough, and some moments later they tromped listlessly into a hollow between two hills.
Corvis toppled from the saddle in what couldn't even generously be called "dismounting," landing on his feet through sheer force of will. He watched as the others filed slowly into the meager light upon horses lathered in sweat and rain. Irrial remained in the best shape of them all. Though her skin was pallid, her hands lacerated, her limbs covered in bruises, she displayed no serious injuries and her shoulders remained unbowed. With as much care as she could muster, she hauled Seilloah's canine form from a broad leather saddlebag and laid her gently on the earth. The witch was trembling, whimpering in agonies that resulted only partly from recent travails. Open sores marred her matted fur, and her tongue lolled out in constant panting. Corvis didn't need her to explain that she would need a new body soon-or that she had only a few "mounts" remaining before her magics could no longer sustain her.
That thought, in turn, drew his attention to the final rider, and Corvis found his physical discomfort washed away. Jassion was teetering precariously, one foot in the stirrup as he dismounted, when the older warrior seized him by the shoulders, hauling him bodily from the horse and slamming him against the slope of the nearest hill. Dust erupted around the impact, then fell from the air as the raindrops transfigured it into mud. Corvis loomed over him, fists clenched so hard they trembled. He'd torn open the shallow wound in his belly, making his tunic and trousers run red, but he hardly seemed to notice.