I bespoke him finally, from that small part of me that still lived. “Shikrar, it is done. They are dead. Burn them.”
Great gouts of flame roared over the mangled bodies, burning the ground clean down to the rock. The cleansing flame seemed to rouse him out of his madness, for he shook his head and gazed about him, his glance finally coming to rest on me.
“Varien—Varien, I could not save her,” said Shikrar brokenly. His voice in my mind was appalled. “I tried with all my strength, I could not—Akhor—they were too far ahead.” He bowed, shaking, and said aloud, “Akhor, Akhor, I cannot hear her.”
I tried to answer him, but my voice was trapped in my throat and would not obey me. “Shikrar my brother,” I groaned in truespeech, “I cannot hear her either.” I tried once more, calling into silent darkness, as I feared I would call for the rest of my days.
“Lanen! Lanen! Hear me, answer me—Lanen!”
There was no answer, and there was no more strength in me. I knelt there on the grass in that bright spring morning and stared helplessly, stupidly, at the place where she had disappeared.
I could not weep. My soul was lost in a desolation far beyond tears—but my heart kept up its litany long after my mind had fallen into darkness.
Lanen—Lanen—Lanen—
xvi
The Nameless One
Berys
Once I had her safely in my chambers in Verfaren I cast yet another bespelled sleep upon her. She fought it, but I was too strong for her. I sent Durstan to put her in a demonguarded chamber and hurried to begin the great summoning.
I did not wait for Durstan to return with my sacrifice for there was much to be done first. I moved surely but swiftly, rejoicing all the while—Marik of Gundar’s blood and bone were in my power at last!
I drew forth and lit the incense I had made a year since from a list of ingredients obtained from ancient sources. Mixed in with the rest was a rare and precious scrap of parchment the Demonlord himself had touched. It had taken me half a lifetime to find and a small fortune to purchase.
I threw more coals on to the fire, renewed the candles, sealed the seven sigils at the points each with their prescribed element. The circles were carven into the stone floor but I swept them again, ensuring that each was clear and complete. I opened a small chest against one side of the room and drew out the robes I had made for this work. Woven into the fabric of the cloth were the sealing symbols of spells of protection, binding, containment, control and mastery. I threw off my battle-stained garments and assumed the deep red robes. As I wrapped the cord around my waist I repeated each of the spells, sealing each with a touch to the symbol, that my very robes might act as protection and reinforcement of the spells I needed. I finished tying the cord with the binding spell.
Where in all the Hells was Durstan with my sacrifice?
I threw a handful of the priceless incense on to the coals. It instantly sent billows of pungent smoke into the air, a heavy cloud that seeped into the brain and made limbs heavy and speech slow—or would have if I had not taken the precautions I had. The symbol for protection glowed bright in the murky chamber.
Ah, the door at last! I had told Durstan to send in the sacrifice—I could not see who it was for the smoke, but it was alive and that was all I required. Durstan had not subdued it, however, so I had to cast Sleep upon it before I could drag it on the altar. The smoke was so thick I could barely see the shape as it lay not two feet from my eyes. Still, I could find its chest fast enough.
It was time. I called up my power and began the chant I had spent so long learning. Every word was a spell, weaving a full tapestry of spells to call and to bind.
From the moment I started I sensed a presence. There in the mist, somewhere in the cloud created by the incense that carried the single point of essence of the Demonlord, there was a mind watching mine. It was more intelligent than any demon and it was without fear that I could see.
I was delighted. At last, a kindred spirit.
I proceeded with the summoning, invoking the strictures that would keep it under my control.
“I’m not a demon, you know,” said a quiet voice from the mist.
I continued with the spell.
“You’re trying to bind me like a demon. It won’t work. I’m human, just like you. Well, no, not like you. I’m much brighter than you are.” It giggled. “I know when to leave the dead alone.”
There was a brief pause in the spell. “Forgotten it already? You are pathetic,” it said, ending on a hiss. I felt a presence now, much nearer, above the altar.
The summoning was working. The words grew harder to say, sticking in my throat, but I bent all my will to speaking them aloud despite the pressure not to. My will prevailed.
It had stopped its inane comments when the binding took hold, but it did not writhe as the Rakshasa did. I had wondered if it would—but no, it was not embodied yet, I could inflict no pain. That would come in time.
I gathered my thoughts and ran quickly over the end of the spell.
“You’ll never manage it, you know,” it said loudly, confusing me. I had to begin again, going over the syllables, and again it interrupted. “It’s too hard. You’ll never do it. Give up now and I promise I won’t hurt you.”
I sent what was left of my Healer’s aura to encompass the presence. Corrupt as my corona was with Raksha-trace, still there was enough in it of the Lady to injure the creature. The presence, to my satisfaction, screamed loudly. I went over the spell once more, this time without interruption.
I took up my sacrificial knife and ripped open the garment the sacrifice wore. As I pronounced the final words of invocation it stirred, and when I plunged the razor-sharp blade into the chest of the victim it screamed. I had done this often enough that I hardly needed to look as I cut out the heart, but I usually enjoyed the look of horror on their faces when I held their still-beating hearts before their eyes. I glanced down just for a moment.
It was almost my undoing. My eyes met those of Durstan. Somehow I had mistaken him for whoever he had tried to supply, and of course, I had put the sacrifice to sleep instantly.
It is as well I never cared much for Durstan. I was annoyed that I would have to train up a new servant, but it was a small inconvenience. I showed him his heart and found that I felt my usual pleasure. That was all right, then.
I threw the beating heart on the coals. “Arise now, Demonlord, thou who didst surrender thy name in the service of darkness these long aeons since. Arise as my servant, that together we may destroy the Kantrishakrim once and for all, and have the whole of Kolmar for our own.”
The voice became only a little louder. “You have not provided me with a body. How then shall I arise, you fool?”
“A body is prepared for you, ancient one. Look to the west, see there an island in its death throes.”
“I see it,” the voice answered. It sounded curious.
I explained the arrangement. The Demonlord laughed, long and loud.
“That is not enough!” he said. “Oh, you are such a clever fool! No, little demon caller, that is not enough. I must have you.”
“I am not part of the bargain,” I replied.
“Ah, but you are,” he said. “Without a piece of your own body I am not bound. I told you, I am not a demon. I require a sacrifice from you, yourself. The heart of this man is good, it nourishes me, but it is not yours.”
“I will make a sacrifice of blood,” I began, but he interrupted me.
“No, not blood,” he said, “that is too simple. No, I need something of you that you cannot replace.” It stopped for a moment to ponder. “Your left hand, I think.”
“You ask too much!” I cried, but I knew what its response would be.
“Those laws of what is too much or not enough only apply to demons. I told you, I’m not a demon.” He smiled. “So, what happens now, little demon-spit? Do I eat you where you stand, or will you do as I bid?”
I was trapped, but those of my profe
ssion must ever consider the possibility that such things can happen. It was not that much to lose, after all.
“Once accepted and given, you are bound to me. Blood and bone binds deep, Demonlord. Once accepted and given, the sacrifice binds you to me.”
“True. I’m waiting.”
“On pain of perpetual servitude, do you accept this sacrifice of my left hand?”
“Damn,” he said calmly. “I was hoping you’d cut it off first so I could refuse. Yes, I accept the sacrifice.”
I did not stop to think or wonder if I dared. I took the bloody knife and brought it down with all my strength upon my wrist. I took the instant of shock to seal the wound with my Healer’s corona and dispel the pain, for I had to keep my wits about me a little longer.
It was peculiar, though, lifting up my own hand and tossing it on to the coals. It hissed and was taken.
“Bound to me, Demonlord, bound and mastered!” I cried.
“It is well, Malior,” he answered from the heart of the coals. The voice was much stronger now. “I go now to the island to take up that which arises, and I will come unto thee in the body thou hast prepared for me. It is fitting. I will aid thee in thanks for the sacrifice, and then—ah, then, we shall see, little demon-spit. At the least I will take joy in the death of the Kantri, and thy death thereafter.”
“Arise, then, and come to me as swift as the wind will bear thee,” I cried.
“I come, O Master,” it said, its voice light and mocking.
And it was gone.
The spell was complete. I had done it.
I closed off the invocation, sealed the brazier and doused the coals, blew out the candles.
It was done. I was in a daze, for the shock was taking me, but I took the precaution of looking again at my hand—at the stump where my hand had been. As I suspected, it was hazy with infection. I would have to have it seen to.
Out of habit I called for Durstan to help me with my robes, but he lay on the altar most decidedly dead. I just managed to rouse balefire to consume him—it was a kind of swift and useful sacrifice I kept always ready by me. It allowed me to summon the Rikti at will, for they always received the leftovers of my sacrifices. This much fresh flesh would supply me with another small army of Rikti should I require one.
I dressed with difficulty in my usual robes, left the chambers and closed the door behind me. I staggered to All Comers with a tale of a demon attack. The Raksha infection was purged, my stump was examined and sealed carefully with a skin flap. I was carried back to my chambers to rest, amid general dismay.
I spent the journey to my chambers in quiet delight. My lost hand bothered me hardly at all. Now that I had in my grasp all I required for victory, the only question that remained was deciding which of the College servants I should choose as Durstan’s replacement.
Jamie
I had watched it all. I saw Berys under the trees, laughing, fifty years younger than he should be. I had tried to get to him while the demons were massed against us; thank the Lady, Vilkas and Aral restrained me. I’d have been killed instantly. It brought me up short, reminded me I was thinking with my heart not my head. Stupid.
But when he took Lanen, when he disappeared with her, I went cold from head to foot, felt my heart contract to an old and unwelcome ice. I fought it for the moment. There was too much to do first.
I waited until the last demon was dead, until Vilkas dropped his shield against the demons and healed the gash in my cheek. I thanked him for his kindness to me and to Rella, carried her gently to the fire we had been tending through the night and roused her from her healing sleep.
“Rella,” I called softly. “Rella lass, coom nah, waken oop,” I said, slipping for an instant into the thick accent of my youth. “’Tis broad daylight, Rella. Come, lass, waken to me.”
She stirred and opened an eye. “I’m weary, Jamie,” she said sleepily, “go ’way—oh Hells.” And between one breath and another she was awake and very aware of her last memory. “Oh Goddess, am I—but—how?” She lifted her hand to her face, then stood shakily with my help. “It can’t be. How can I move, how can I stand? I felt that thing cut me down like a spider off its web, I dropped and couldn’t feel a thing. How—?”
“Vilkas,” I said. “Never seen the like.” I took her hand. “You’re right, lass. You were done for. I saw the cut. The lad has a blind spot about demons, but by all the Hells, he’s the stuff of legend when it comes to healing.”
“Amazing,” she said, stunned.
Well, I’d best get it said and over so we could get on with things.
I took her by the shoulders and made her look me in the eye. “I must tell you, my girl. When I saw what had happened, before Vilkas said he could help, I had already drawn my sword. I was going to send you on ahead.”
That was merc’s cant, in such circumstances, for the merciful blow you give a comrade who will otherwise die a slow and painful death.
Rella drew me to her and kissed me soundly. “Thank the Goddess, you’re neither fool nor coward,” she said, her eyes locked with mine. “It’s a long death, that one. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.” She touched my cheek. “I’d have been grateful.”
She released me and looked around. “What’s happened to Varien? In fact, what’s happened to—Lanen—” Her face changed and she looked appalled. “Oh Jamie, no, she isn’t—”
“No, she’s not dead, at least not yet,” I said. “Berys came, I saw him, and he summoned a big bastard of a demon to take her. He’s got her, Rella.” I gazed into her eyes, into love so late found and so precarious still. “Berys stole her from under my nose. And I must go after as long as I have strength to try to get her back. I’m leaving, now you’re awake.”
“Just make sure you can keep up with me, old man,” she said, smiling, her voice light, as if this was just another stage in our journey. If I hadn’t seen the bright track down her cheek gleam in the sunlight, I’d never have known she wept. “But Jamie—I know it goes against your every instinct, but you must wait. There is too much we do not know.”
“I have waited long enough!” I cried. “She could be dying!”
“And where would you run to, to find her?” Rella demanded. “And what would you do if she is protected by demons? Think, Master Jameth,” she said. “We cannot rush after her like green recruits. We must plan this campaign. If he wanted her dead, why bother to take her away?”
“How should I stand here a moment longer when she is in his power?” I cried, even though I knew in my heart that Rella was right.
“Because you know you will be of no use to her dead. Come. We need to think, find out who is with us and how best to use our strength. How fares that young Healer—” she said, glancing around the field. There was certainly plenty to see. “Bright Lady! Jamie, you idiot, you didn’t tell me there was a dragon come to call!”
I followed her slowly as she hurried to talk to it. Truth be told, I was a bit afraid. This creature’s presence, its friendship with Varien—well, there, I’d been inclined to believe him of late in any case.
Varien. There he knelt in the grass, still in shock. He loved her, aye, true enough, I thought, gazing at his back. But I had the prior claim by more than twenty years.
I shivered as I felt it again, a cold wave sweeping over me, but this time I welcomed it. My heart was swept clean for that instant as I made my vow, as I declared my only purpose. I had always known, I suppose, but the time was now come.
I would go and speak with the great Dragon. Perhaps it would help us find Lanen.
And if it would not, no matter. For my only purpose in life now was to find Berys the Bastard, Berys Child-killer, come day come dark, come pain or death or all the Hells, and make him give me back my shining daughter.
On my soul I swore it.
Shikrar
The other Gedri came to me and to Varien then, a little tentative at first because of my presence, but it seemed I was not completely unexpected.
They
had seen what had happened.
Two of the Gedri came first and tried to lift him from his knees but he would not move. I spoke to them. “Forgive me, littlings. You are young, even in the span of your people, are you not?”
The man bowed. The woman answered, “Yes, we are, but we’re Healers. He needs help.”
I lowered my head that I might be nearer to her level and spoke more gently. “Lady, he is beyond help at this moment. I have known him all his life. I pray you, leave us. When he comes more to himself we will seek you out. It will not be long. What are you called?”
“Her name’s Aral, Shikrar, and he is Vilkas. They’re only trying to help,” said a familiar voice. I found a solemn joy in that dark moment when I realised who stood before me, bedraggled and bloodstained.
“I greet thee gladly, Lady Rella,” I said, bowing. “I believe that they act for the best as they see it, but please, come away with me all and we will speak of it further.”
They followed me to a good distance, where Varien would not hear my words. “It eases my heart to see a familiar face, Lady, although I did not expect to see yours,” I said to Rella as we walked.
She smiled. “Ah, there I have the advantage of you, for I knew you were coming. Now, why did you stop these two from helping Varien?”
“His wounds are not of the body, Lady, as you know well. He needs time.” I lowered my voice to the merest whisper. “You do not hear him as I do. He calls to her even as we stand here, speaking on her name over and over.” Aral the Healer put her hands over her mouth. “I know his pain, for I lost my mate after so short a time together—”
“And I lost my child when she was barely ten years old,” said Rella sharply. “Death comes untimely to all who live, Shikrar, not only to the Kantri.”
I bowed. “True, Lady. I did not mean to imply that my pain was worse than another’s. But Akhor waited a thousand years for the deep love of his heart to blossom, and it has been in flower so short a time. Please, in this let me serve my friend.”
The Lesser Kindred Page 43