The Lesser Kindred

by Elizabeth Kerner

  He sighed. “It is Nikis, daughter of Kirokthar who was taken by the Winds two hundred years since. She keeps the Weh sleep”—I could hear his mind’s laughter—“though how she can sleep through being carried half by me and half by Idai I have no idea!”

  “Kretissh is next after Idai in size, is he—”

  “He and Idai take it in turn to bear what they can of her weight on their backs. However, I cannot think how I might loose her from my grasp without disaster, at least until we find the green island Kédra spoke of. We should find it soon.”

  “How long, Shikrar?” I asked grimly, for the pain of using truespeech was assaulting me. “How long will it take you to get here once you have rested, for I assume it is to Kolmar that you fly?”

  “There is nowhere else, my friend,” he said resignedly. “We look to land on the island this night, and two or three days after should see the Kolmari coast, but that is only if we meet with no other checks. The winds are with us much of the way but the Storms lie between and they are always treacherous.”

  I was about to reply when Lanen cried out again. I shivered. She sounded much worse. I tried to bespeak her but to my deep dismay there was no response. “Shikrar, forgive me,” I called to him, “Lanen is in pain, I must go to her. I will speak with you again soon, my friend”

  I moved as close as I could get to Lanen as she drew her steed to a halt: Luckily Jamie was on the other side of her, for when she fell off her horse she fell away from me.

  Marik

  I was listening. I couldn’t help but listen. They had violated my mind, torn it open against my will, and I could hear every word the two of them spoke as long as I was awake. I knew it was them, the two who had made me mad, sent me into that darkness that lurked still beneath the thin layer of sanity just waiting for me to fall.

  I heard it all. Everything the one called Shikrar said, no matter who he said it to. I heard all their debates, knew everything—well, nearly everything they said. Sometimes the other whispers were too loud, sometimes I was asleep and remembered things as in a dream, sometimes it was like speaking to someone in a large crowd; I would hear about every other word. I could make sense of some of it, though.

  I wrote it all down, even that long unpronounceable name, shaking as I realised that they were coming. All of them, all the dragons, were coming to Kolmar.

  Berys would be pleased. Maybe he could kill them. I knew that was what he was planning.

  I hoped he was planning fast.

  I couldn’t stop shaking.

  Jamie

  “Rella!” I cried as I caught Lanen, barely. Rella returned at a canter; in the darkness she hadn’t noticed right away that we’d stopped. Well, that Lanen had stopped.

  I managed to hold on to Lanen until Varien got off his horse and took her weight from my arms. “Jameth,” he said, his calm voice shaking only a little, “we must get her somewhere warm and safe, and find a Healer.”

  “Warm sounds good,” came a quiet voice. Lanen had recovered, enough to speak at least. “And sooner sounds better,” she added.

  “We’re almost at Verfaren,” said Rella sharply. “We can make it—”

  “No,” I said, at exactly the same time as Varien. “She is too cold, lady,” added Varien. “I fear for her. Should we make a fire here?”

  “No,” said Rella. “There’s an inn somewhere near here—Wolfenden can’t be far, and the inn there is good enough.”

  “How far away are the Mages?” asked Varien urgently as he helped Lanen back onto her horse for the moment. Damn, he was strong. He lifted the long weight of her up in the air with no trouble at all.

  “A good hour,” replied Rella. “But one of us can make the run to Verfaren once we get there if we can find a fresh mount. It’s a good ten miles beyond Wolfenden.”

  “I’ll go,” I said, vowing that I would run on my own legs if I had to. Seeing Lanen like this was breaking my heart. My lovely girl, daughter of my heart if not my body, so weak and ill. I was on the way to cursing Varien for fathering a child on her when I realised she wouldn’t take that very kindly. Still, it was hard to keep my mouth shut. I held her steady while Varien mounted his own horse, then he reached out and drew Lanen into his arms. He held her there, her head against his shoulder, and we set off again.

  We rode slowly, Lanen lying motionless in her husband’s arms. I hardly knew her in this dreadful condition, and despite my entire lack of faith in any god ever made I begged whatever powers might be watching to get us to this inn quickly, and her to a Healer who would be able to do more than relieve her pain for a day.

  To my intense relief I smelled smoke after a very short while, and when we rounded the next bend in the road I smelled food as well and saw light ahead. As we drew nearer we saw clearly the open doorway and the glow of a fire shining through it on to the road. We were at the inn door a quarter of an hour after Lanen fainted.

  Maybe there is something to these wretched gods after all.

  Berys

  I sent the Rikti hours, ago and they have not returned. I have badly miscalculated Vilkas’s power. Damnation! Twenty of the Rikti I sent after him and not one survived to report to me!

  Swearing will not help. I have two separate tasks before me this night. I shall begin with the simpler, sealing the fate of the fool Maikel. Then the last stroke of the knife, the last drop of blood, the last word of the spell, and I shall know how to control the Demonlord.

  And when I have learned what that control is—ahh, I have worked these long years to bend the world to my will, these long months to learn how to summon and control the strongest demon master who ever lived. It will not be simple, for he is not strictly a demon, though if he accepts my offer to live again he will be bound under the terms we agree. When he knows I have Marik of Gundar’s blood and bone in my power, he will be tempted. When he finds that I plan for him to dispense with the few remaining Kantri he will not be able to resist.

  After I have recovered from the second of my tasks—it will take a few days—there lacks only the final summoning and sacrifice to set all in motion. Then he will rise again and serve me; the Demonlord, who sold his name and his soul for ultimate power, will be my servant, bound to come and go at my will!

  It is good. He will accomplish for me the death of the Kantri. Ah, somehow I must arrange to see at least one of them die.

  What would be the point, otherwise?

  My robes await me in the anteroom to my hidden chamber. I have drawn my blood into a sealed vessel and healed the wound. I have the scrap of cloth from Kaibar, and the last of my lan fruit in my scrip. Its worth is a thousand times the value of the dead and dried leaves, this living piece of the island of my foes. It is precisely the sacrifice I require.

  Oh—and I must find a student along the way. Or a Magister. I need a heart from a living body to sacrifice to the Lord of Hell for the control spell—but there are so many hearts walking around that it’s not really worth planning in advance. I shall simply take what I can find.

  Now for it.

  A plain lantern to light my way this night, Durstan at my side. I passed no one on the way to my summoning chambers. I may have to go to All Comers and see who is available, but I have a minor task to accomplish before I require whoever it may be.

  Once inside I renewed the spell that renders this room unnoticeable, for though I was still in need of a heart there was too much at stake to risk interruption.

  While speaking the appropriate prayers and binding spells, I lit the seven candles placed on the boundary ring, each at the point sacred to one of the seven Lords, and with a word I charged the fire under the main brazier on the altar. In moments the coals began to glow red. I lit the incense from the candles and breathed deep. The familiar scent was like coming home.

  Durstan, robed now and prepared to assist, helped me on with my robes and handed me my knife. I called my power about me and began the familiar words of the invocation, pierced my fingertip and offered seven drops of blo
od. They hissed on the coals. I had spoken the invocation so often I felt that I hardly needed to concentrate, but I knew that feeling so well I laughed at it. Ever the Rakshasa attempted to trap the unwary. I concentrated as usual, avoiding the stutter in the fourth line that would have changed the meaning and left me open to instant attack.

  In any case, this was a slightly different summoning. I had planted a demon in Maikel while he slept, drugged, at my mercy. It bore in its claws two ends of a demon line, one out and one back, the other ends of which were in these very chambers. The spell on Maikel was subtle and had cost me dear, in time and blood and lansip, but it was worth it. Once I set the spell in motion Maikel, out wandering the world even now, would follow whoever I told the demon to follow, thinking that he had his own reasons for doing so, and when the prey had come to rest he would stop and build an altar. The instant it was built the demon would burst forth, plant the demon lines in the earth and disappear. I could then travel to wherever it was, take my prisoner and travel back in the blink of an eye. Maikel will most probably live long enough to watch me appear. I will enjoy that.

  Above the altar, in the red air, a shadowy impression of the demon within Maikel took shape. “Sso, prey, you dare ssummon your death! Despair as you die, for I am—”

  “I am Malior, Master of the Sixth Hell. You have taken my blood, little Rikti. Serve me or die,” I said, tightening the binding charm.

  “Ssspeak, masster,” it spat, tearing at the charm like a rope around its neck.

  “I have your quarry,” I said. “Taste the blood on this cloth. Send your host to seek her and build an altar where she stops, but it must not be before three days’ time.”

  I was proud of that detail. I had calculated that the summoning that would follow this minor one would leave me drained for two days, giving me one day to prepare for Lanen’s arrival. The instant she was safely in my hands I would complete the summoning of the Demonlord, but it would be folly to attempt it until I had her safe. I knew she had Farspeech—Marik had warned me—so she would have to be silenced as swiftly as possible once I had her.

  The creature objected and threatened, of course, but it had no choice. “Ass you command, masster,” it hissed finally.

  “When the altar is built, plant both of the Swiftlines you carry. When that is accomplished you will return to me and inform me that all is done. You will then be free to go.”

  “Ssoon, ssoon, masster,” it begged.

  “Three full days from this moment at the earliest. You submit?”

  It cursed and hissed and struggled to escape, but I could hold such a creature captive in my sleep. “I ssubmit. Three daysss at the earliest, and when the prey iss at resst.”

  “Yes. Go now. You will return and tell me when all is done.”

  “Yesss,” it hissed as its form dispersed into nothingness.

  I threw lansip on to the altar to sweeten the air. The simpler of the two done, but I had known it would be easy. The smoke from the lansip leaves was pleasant enough.

  Now for the second of my tasks. I renewed the incense and began to prepare myself for the ordeal ahead, but the truth was that I knew most of what I needed already.

  There was a certain simplicity to it, overall. I had pondered long on the problem: How should anyone be burnt to powder by the Kantri and laugh all the while? Either he was completely insane—and I refuse to believe that one who could destroy True Dragons at will was mad—or he must have found a way to do in life what has only ever been heard of in legend. It was that thought that had led me to realise that the Demonlord had performed the spell of the Distant Heart.

  There are many children’s tales of such thing, the mythical wizard who removes his heart and hides it away, making himself invulnerable. The heart is always removed to a great distance, hidden and guarded: in the stories it is some variation on the theme of “inside an egg inside a duck inside a box hidden in the trunk of a hollow tree,” guarded by fabulous beasts or simply by obscurity.

  But I know where it is. Fabulous beasts and all.

  For thousands of years the true death of the Demonlord was within the grasp of those who hated him most, and they never knew it.

  The heart of the Demonlord was hidden on a green island in the west, inside a series of caves too small to admit any of the creatures who lived there. The final stroke of irony is that, vulnerable and without a body to use, his heart continued the destruction of the beasts he so longed to destroy. In their exile they thought they were so safe, so wise and strong, and all the while his heart beat in the mountains and poisoned the air, the water, the very land they lived upon. They are fewer now than they have ever been, barely enough to breed.

  I must be sure to tell them before they die.

  xiii

  The Wind of Shaping Like Fire Burns

  Will

  We sat as close to the fire as we could get. The inn was all but empty. I’d have preferred it to be full, that we might not be so obvious, but to be honest I was too tired to care, and I was the most wakeful of us three.

  Vilkas and Aral slumped down on to the bench nearest the fire while I went to find Gair, but I noticed as I left that Aral still had her power about her. They were talking quietly.

  Gair emerged carrying a steaming pie, and for two coppers I’d have taken it out of his hands, but he saw my face and pulled it out of my grasp.

  “Ho, Will, it’s that way is it? Well, there’s another in the kitchen with your name to it, just let me serve these good folk and I’ll be with you.”

  “We need food fast, Gair, these two are famished. Can I fetch beer and bread for now?”

  “A moment, Will, I’ll be right with you,” he said, placing the pie before the only other people in the place, an older couple. I just stood and waited. Gair was like that.

  I couldn’t help taking note of the two he was serving, a sharp-featured man with dark hair sprinkled with grey, and a woman with a crooked back. They both looked done in, but while the man was slicing the pie into quarters the woman said, “I’ll need something stronger than wine. What else have you got?”

  “Is she in that much pain, then?” asked Gair kindly. “The poor lass! I’ve some Kygur, or there’s a bottle of Kairhum wine.”

  “Stronger than wine, I said,” the woman said sharply.

  “No, mistress, you see—it’s boiled down, like, and the water’s drawn off and leaves the alcohol behind. It’s strong, right enough.”

  The man barked a harsh laugh. “Kairhum is it. That stuff’ll take the shine off old leather, Rella, and Lanen’s not used to spirits. Trust me, it’ll help her until we can fetch a Healer from Verfaren.”

  “Bring it then, quickly,” said the woman.

  Gair turned to me. “Will, I—”

  “Go. I’ll get our beer, you help these folk.”

  I brought a brimming jug and three leather tankards to the table Vil and Aral had dragged over to the fire. “Did you hear any of that?” I asked quietly. I glanced at the older couple. They were eating quickly, but more than half of the pie sat untouched in its dish.

  “Not a thing,” said Aral. She drank off a full tankard of Gair’s best brown ale and sighed deeply. “Blessed Shia, that tastes wonderful. Where’s the food? I’m starving.”

  “Coming. Gair’s fetching strong spirits for those folk—seems there’s more of their party and one of them’s in a bad way.” I lowered my voice. “They’re heading for Verfaren to fetch a Healer.”

  To my astonishment, Vilkas rose instantly without saying a word and moved towards the corner where the others sat. Aral and I, of course, followed after. As always. I’ll say this for the lad, he’d have made a fine player.

  Vil stood before them and bowed. “Your pardon, my lord, my lady,” he said. “My friend could not help but hear your conversation. You seek a Healer?”

  The man just frowned at him, but the woman stared straight into his eyes. “Yes. We need the best Verfaren has and we need them quick. What has it to do with y
ou?”

  Vilkas drew himself to his full height. He was in a dreadful state, dishevelled and weary as he was, but there was a light in his eyes that would not be ignored. I think the day had been too long for him, too full of death and battle, too close to the dark places in his soul. He was at the same time exhausted and in that strange place beyond exhaustion where we are stronger than we ever imagine. Certainly, he risked a damn sight more than he should have.

  “Everything, lady,” he said. “At Verfaren today, one of the people I loved best in the world was killed by the head of the College because she dared stand up for me and mine. I would keep even a chance-met soul out of the clutches of that demon master lest the same fate befall them. I am a Healer, in the service of the Lady Shia, the mother of us all. It is my duty to serve those in pain. How can I help?”

  “Hells’ teeth, you puppy,” muttered the woman, staring around her to be certain we were the only souls about. “How dare you say such things about the Archimage?”

  “Because they are true,” said Vilkas loudly. He was burning bright now, not with his corona but with a bone-deep . anger that had at last found an outlet. “I am no fool, mistress,” he said, his brilliant eyes alight with his fury. “I know all too well the powers ranged behind Berys the Bastard, but from this moment I refuse to support his lies. He is a demon master and a murderer and I will do all in my power as long as I live to bring about his downfall.”

  “And if I were to tell you that I am an assassin, and in his service?” said the woman harshly.

  Vilkas wrapped a shield of power about her instantly and she was held motionless. The man beside her hardly moved, but he was watching carefully. “Aral,” said Vilkas.

  Aral moved forward and joined her corona to his, muttering, “Great, thanks Vil, now we’re both in it.” She gazed closely at the woman through her corona. “It could be, Vil. She has killed before—but I’d swear she has not the slightest touch of Raksha-trace.”