by T. A. Miles
Ashwin cast a Lantern bright enough to illuminate the very sky. The demon’s physical form was revealed beneath its intensity, and Ashwin attempted another Release.
The body of Renmyr was struck, but leaned into the force of the spell rather than allow it to throw him over. After a moment of pause, he grinned wider, and pressed forward.
Somehow, the demon’s power was increasing, even as Ashwin actively worked spells against it. The body was yet only a material form, though. That had not changed. With that in mind, Ashwin put careful strength behind a Megrim.
The body of the demon staggered when the spell was cast, but soon Renmyr shook the effect off and was moving forward again.
Ashwin put a Barrier between them. The beast once again went to work assailing it with fist and claw. Ashwin took that time to summon more strength into his hands. He collected and manipulated threads of energy, weaving them around his sword, weaving strands of Fire.
The demon broke through the Barrier before long, and Ashwin lunged forward, driving his blade toward the vessel, disregarding any of its extensions for the moment. Renmyr attempted to block with them anyway, but the empowered weapon repelled the dark matter. His momentum brought him to the man’s body. His sword immediately broke through flesh and bone, enabling Ashwin to force the weapon further.
Bellowing with rage, the demon was helpless to the impalement of its vessel. The body of Renmyr Camirey toppled to the ground, engulfed in Fire and with Ashwin’s sword lodged in its torso. Before the man had fully felt the mortality of his wound, he was incinerating, robbing the demon of any further vitality from him.
The demon emerged, as black as its wall and several times larger than the body it had been inhabiting. With unexpected force, it thrust many limbs outward, scraping blood off the battlefield, toward itself. The lesser demons that had been assimilating with the beast swam around its undecided shape, carrying on as if they had not been disrupted from the vessel, as if they had never been connected to it at all past the will of the archdemon.
Ashwin cast Fire to hinder the collective feeding, and watched the demon fold in on itself in an evident attempt to escape. The spell sailed over the field of corpses, illuminating the demons yet lingering. They scarcely fled from the magic, seeming bolder now that the beast had been separated from its host.
Had he assisted it in some way? Was that what it wanted, to be pried away from a body that had become more burden to it than strength?
The archdemon’s dysmorphic cloud thrust aspects of itself in Ashwin’s direction. From it, the demon’s arm swung out, its hand slick and solid, catching Ashwin across the face.
He was thrown back several steps, but kept his balance. With blood trailing across his jaw, he observed the erratic movement of the living shroud.
Blood was yet streaming toward it, helping it to manifest a new form. Shadow erupted from the core of the darkness, tearing toward Ashwin.
Knowing Barrier would not hold against the raw release of magic at this stage, he cast Mist with force again, pairing it with Wind. His energy collided with the demon’s once more. Ashwin put more strength into maintaining it this time and they became locked.
“This was built for you, Ashwin,” came the graveled voice of the demon.
With it, a fresh surge of power emerged from the shroud and immediately, both it and his own spell came back on him. The force was crushing. Ashwin’s feet left the ground and he rolled several times across the battlefield and the bodies strewn upon it. The long-forgotten sensation of real physical pain reintroduced itself spectacularly and within seconds, threatening to break his focus. His Will prevailed, however, and the Barriers protecting Vassenleigh and its inhabitants remained intact.
Ashwin had intended this to be over by now, even if he and the beast wound up destroying one another. Though that prospect would have distressed others, it was one of very few recourses they had to ensure that not only the Source remained protected, but all the magic at Vassenleigh; that of the lilies and of the priests themselves. One hundred years ago, the Vadryn had gorged on the blood of men and of priests. Driving the demons back out, once they had gotten in was a worse task than this. No one was immune to the Vadryn’s poison. Once bodies began to be infected or fed from, it was as a plague sweeping over them.
Ashwin determined that it would not happen again. Once this beast fell, the others within the citadel would be able to keep the remainder of the collective at bay. Without a master to control them, they would fall into single-minded action, seeking only to feed. The others will have retained the majority of their strength, and the battle would be ended.
But this horror had to be brought down first. This creature of tragic parenting could not be left to continue passing its bleak legacy forward, creating new and worse versions of itself.
Ashwin pushed himself to a stand, casting Fire and directing it at the demon stalking toward him, its shroud of power and assimilating Vadryn trailing off every limb. The beast was halted, though only for a moment. All too quickly, it threw the magic off itself. Some of its horde had been lost to the burning spell, but not enough.
Not nearly enough.
A Barrier redirected the errant remains of his own spell away from Ashwin, and he set about another casting, one which was interrupted by the demon as it dashed across the distance between them. It hooked an extension of its form around Ashwin’s body, and drew him swiftly toward its growing mass. The contact felt as if it was draining him. His Will pushed the sensation back, summoning more strength to the surface. The hellish eyes of the demon met his gaze for an instant, during which Ashwin drew energy from the very foundation of his being, pulling every thread of it forward, and thrusting it all at the beast.
In the process, Ashwin let go his hold on the Barriers behind him. He let go of everything, save for the beast directly in front of him.
Korsten had never felt more helpless than during the moments he was left to be an observer to the battle between Ashwin and the demon. He struggled to fully process most of what happened. Snatches of conversation on the wall had let him know that Ceth and others were working at taking down what apparently Ashwin had done upon leaving, which was to virtually seal them inside Vassenleigh.
His mentor had meant to do this and it was unfair of him. It was unfair of him to try to prevent any of them from making such sacrifices, only so that he could turn around and do the very same thing. Korsten didn’t want Ashwin to protect them like this—no one did. No one expected him to atone for past decisions with his own life.
“We have to get outside,” Korsten said, not for the first time.
And not for the first time, Merran countered with, “We can’t.”
Below, the demon had hold of Ashwin. Korsten’s fear had begun to stir the hidden beasts tucked within his presence. They were not riling themselves for a frenzy in his fear, or in the chaos below. They were bristling, as they had done against Serawe. He felt them trying to climb upward through his being, out of the depths of his soul, and with them was one larger….one he believed had faded in the arms of the sea.
A tremendous and near-blinding light engulfed the entirety of the field beneath them, dousing the sky end to end. It was then that the Barriers shuddered, whether through the efforts of other priests, or through Ashwin’s releasing them. And it was then that Korsten leapt from the wall, Merran’s voice trailing after him.
In flight, Serawe and her former ranks unfurled from hiding within Korsten’s soul. They fountained from him, circling back around before travelling too far. Serawe herself attached to his back, clinging as she had in the water far out to sea. She extended her form to carry him through the radiating current of magic that should have burned her. The tension of her form digging into him communicated that it did hurt her, but Korsten found it an unconscious response to let her feed, which allowed her to survive the residual power of a patriarch’s magic.
At first, Serawe began to siphon from Korsten’s magic, testing whether or not she co
uld dip her fingers into his very soul. The answer was delivered purely by the sensation he transferred through instinctive denial. She did not press it, but carried them low, scraping some of the essence of life energy from corpses, and then retreated immediately afterward, nearly dropping him onto the ground.
She remained attached at the core of him, as did the others. Many of them had circled out in hopes of snatching blood or soul from one of the fallen. Korsten commanded them back without word, and they rejoined, falling out of external notice.
As the light Ashwin had cast dissipated, the field became colored in a natural darkness. Renmyr…the demon, had gone.
Ashwin remained.
The patriarch was lying on his side not far away, and Korsten rushed to him. He dropped down beside his mentor, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Ashwin.”
Korsten looked to his face first for a response, but Ashwin’s eyes were closed. Korsten’s gaze travelled over the Superior’s body next, looking for sources of injury.
Eisleth arrived in that very moment by Reach and knelt beside his twin at once. His magic radiated visibly over his hands and arms, illuminating symbols upon his skin while he cast an immediate Healing.
The effort brought Ashwin to consciousness, enough that he opened his eyes and cast their luminous green onto his twin, and then to Korsten. Korsten felt assured that he would survive. Even if his body had been badly broken…Korsten had been Healed after his dealings with Renmyr, and Ashwin could be also.
It occurred to Korsten afterward that he had not dealt with anything like what they had just witnessed. The colossal amalgamation of Vadryn into a form that could actively construct a vessel for itself… Korsten had not been witness to that before now.
The demon had gone, thankfully. Presumably, it had been eradicated by Ashwin’s spell.
“Demartas?” Ashwin asked, the murmuring of a single word illustrating his exhaustion.
Eisleth continued to work a Healing. “He survives. Barely, I think.”
Ashwin closed his eyes without expression.
Korsten felt a small needle of panic in his chest. Partly for Eisleth’s answer, and partly for the level of Ashwin’s weariness. He found his mentor’s hand, and continued to feel his own panic rising, while he observed Ashwin’s white clothes taking on color. Red seeped over silver-white threads, somehow in defiance of Eisleth’s spell. He looked to Eisleth, and saw the strain in his features.
Tears brought a painful warmth to Korsten’s eyes. His hand flexed and then closed again around Ashwin’s. This was not true. It wasn’t possible, and therefore it couldn’t be true.
Merran arrived and crouched down next to Korsten, laying a hand over Ashwin’s side, where a wet stain appeared to be pooling as the fabric became saturated. He began contributing to the Healing.
Korsten struggled not to shake in his fear over what he might have been witnessing.
“You shed my tears,” Ashwin said quietly, and it was almost too much that he formed the vaguest of smiles while he spoke. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“You’re not,” Korsten told him. He leaned closer to him, and kissed the side of his face. Afterward, he brushed his hair back from his brow. Korsten knew in that moment, as his spirit caressed Ashwin’s, that his mentor was, in actuality, leaving. He struggled with himself, not to break. “You’ll come back, Ashwin…I’ll be waiting for you.”
“You would…” Ashwin began to say.
“I will,” Korsten insisted, if for no other reason than to keep him with them for a few moments longer. On the chance that Eisleth and Merran could catch up with the damage, and turn it around…
I think I’ve finally lost the strength to argue with you.
Korsten began to cry helplessly when the words entered his mind, rather than coming from Ashwin’s mouth.
Tell me you love me, his mentor requested.
“I love you, Ashwin,” Korsten whispered tremulously, shutting his eyes against the sight of Eisleth, withdrawing his Healing.
Tell me again.
Korsten bent over Ashwin’s body, curling his arm around his head. I love you.
Now…let me go, Korsten…
A breath kissed against his skin. Immediately following, Korsten felt a brush of movement across his arm. He lifted his head, looking through wavering vision at Ashwin’s Nera on his wrist. He raised his hand, strands of Ashwin’s hair trailing, tangled around his fingers. The dragonfly shifted its delicate wings. And then she rose, taking flight from Korsten’s hand, toward the walls of Vassenleigh.
Eisleth rose to his feet, drawing Korsten’s attention.
The elder’s face was unreadable as he stood over his sibling’s body, eyes closed. He stood like that, silently, for several moments, moments which enabled Korsten’s tears to dry. He lost hold of feelings for himself while he contemplated Eisleth’s loss.
Gradually, Korsten lowered his gaze back to Ashwin’s form. He was numbing to the tragedy while he became aware of the lingering presence of the lesser Vadryn Ashwin had pushed back when the battle started.
Korsten stood, looking across the scarred and littered battlefield. He could see the demons loitering in the darkness, contemplating whether or not Ashwin’s final spell had passed, whether or not they could scavenge the remains of blood and life left behind by Renmyr.
Not by Renmyr, Korsten realized, his gaze finding the ash and bone that represented the body of a man he had barely known. All of this was by the design of a beast.
Korsten took slow steps across the field, scarcely hearing Merran’s voice behind him. He looked over the bodies, and the demons, who took his inaction for permission to draw nearer. Their wispy forms began to drift, and Korsten watched them.
A part of him thought to let them feed, to let them gain the strength to carry themselves to their master and bring him down…except they wouldn’t. They would be assimilated into his wounded mass.
Korsten decided then that he would be the one to decide their fates.
“Don’t,” he murmured at the Vadryn.
Each of the transient demons withdrew from the bodies they were approaching with the intent to scavenge from.
“Korsten!”
The shout registered only minimally. Merran’s voice could not break his concentration on the spell he was casting.
“Come to me,” he said softly to the demons.
Through the haze of lingering conflict, the Vadryn lifted away from the dead and swam to him in their insubstantial forms. They swarmed around him, gathering swiftly, feasting not upon him, but on what he fed to them, through Song.
The magic extended to and through them, enveloping them, as they sought to envelop him. They quickly excited to a near frenzied level, becoming agitated with the presence of one another as their instincts veered them toward competition. Such a state could have turned them against him as well. They would bite the hand of their master, if allowed. Korsten knew that.
“No!” he commanded them.
Some of them shrunk back, accustomed to the cruelty of an archdemon. Korsten was not an archdemon. He was not a demon. At all.
Related, but different.
Siren caressed the beasts, drawing them in again. And gently, Korsten gave them purpose. “Carry me.”
The Vadryn obeyed. They took in the magic, as if it were blood, giving them substance.
Korsten inspired them to merge and to take form, allowing Serawe and the others to surface again. The arms of the larger Vadryn wrapped around his shoulders, extending from his back while the lesser demons collected, clinging one to the next, until their gathered mass and shape enabled them to lift Korsten from the battlefield. Together, with Korsten’s guidance, they would all share a single focus. That focus was Renmyr.
Twenty-six
MERRAN WATCHED DEMONS once again take Korsten from him. This time it was not by Reach, but by some manifestation of Siren that almost defied his ability to rationalize it. In spite of the surreal calm of the way in which a horde of
demons had flocked to him and then almost literally become his wings, he feared for Korsten’s response to Ashwin’s passing.
“Follow him,” Eisleth said.
Merran turned back to him, looking into his mentor’s eyes, which showed traces of moisture glinting in the light from Vassenleigh. “Where has he gone?”
“To the Old Capital, where the beast will try to lay claim to the Source.”
Merran felt a pang of grief with the mention of the last topic he and Ashwin had discussed. He pushed his thoughts around recent events, focusing on the people who would be unprepared for what Ashwin had uncovered when he began to break down Renmyr.
“Others will follow,” Eisleth assured.
Merran accepted that, then turned to cast a Reach to a city he had not been to for some time, not since the fall of a family Ashwin had lately tried to encourage him to embrace as his by blood.
As Korsten was carried by method of demons, he was briefly revisited by the memory of the spirits of the sea. It held a similar feeling emotionally, and spiritually. Physically, he should have been more rigid with the newness of the experience, of being held aloft, high enough that his destination was plainly visible long before he arrived. The lights of the city below, not as frequent or bright as Indhovan’s or Vassenleigh’s traced the boundaries of a wall and a palace within it. The movement of some of those lights suggested that fire arrows were being hurled upon an enemy.
A collection of more lights along what may have been the base of a hill or a steeper rise suggested that Morenne had split its forces. Korsten suspected that these soldiers were largely men, and that Renmyr had brought the bulk of the Vadryn to Vassenleigh, perhaps expressly to fuel his battle with Ashwin.
According to Eisleth, the demon had suffered from Ashwin’s efforts. Korsten didn’t imagine it could have been otherwise, given the sheer age of Ashwin, but the manner in which Renmyr had been growing…pulling the lesser beings in to fuse with his unnatural form…