by Megan Cutler
Wardel remained by her side until Arimand marked the safe boundaries of another campsite. She thanked him profusely, but he only smiled and guided Thail to the far end of the camp. Dwenba appeared a moment later, holding three of the clan's remaining water skins.
“I doubt anyone wants to drink from these, my lady…” she began.
Kaylie hesitated. The magic of the Cocytus was a torment to which she'd rather not return. But the thick slime caked to her hair and the dribbles of brown beading on her arms made her skin crawl.
They shuffled to one end of the camp, giving the edge wide berth. Kaylie sobbed unabashedly as Dwenba scrubbed the grime from her hair, skin and clothes. Afterward, she shivered beside the group's meager fire and wondered if she would ever be dry again.
It was then Arimand returned to her, and she curled against him, drawn like a moth to flame. She wouldn't hesitate to curse Eselt if he disturbed them now.
This time, Arimand wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drew her trembling body close and murmured the assurances he hadn't before. “It will all be over soon. We're getting close. I recognize the signs my companion mentioned.”
Fresh tears welled in Kaylie's eyes, born of personal agony and not from any power in Hell. She would soon leave this swamp and put all her terrible experiences behind her. She wanted nothing more, and she hated herself for it. A lump rose in her throat and she shook her head, struggling to force words past it.
“What about you? How can I go through that door without you?”
“I'm afraid you don't have much choice.” A sad smile graced Arimand's lips. “I'm properly damned, Kaylie. We don't get second chances. If I try to leave, it will probably be worse than if I stay.”
“There must be a way. I will plead for you, even if it only grants you a return to your original position in Hell.” But even as she spoke, she knew it was hopeless. The old gods were unforgiving. She remembered enough to know that.
“I don't think the old gods have any power here. If we wanted to change our fate, any of us, we'd have to appeal to the King of Hell.”
“Aren't the old gods all powerful? They must have some way to retrieve the unjustly damned. Don't the souls that sacrificed themselves on my account deserve a second judgment?”
Arimand snorted. “If the world were fair, perhaps. But it isn't. And if the old gods could take what they pleased from Hell, do you think you'd still be here? We all knew what this journey meant for us when we set out. When you get to that door, I don't want you to hesitate.”
“I can't make that promise. If there's some way to take you with me, to free you from all this… Arimand, I don't want to lose you.”
Arimand pressed the side of his face to the top of her head. “Don't let it trouble you now. There's a long and trying road ahead.”
She glanced up, but he laid a finger against her lips before she could protest. “There's time before we reach the doorway. There will be quiet hours of rest, and there may be time when we get there. For now, let us leave it at that.”
Kaylie said nothing. Eventually, she might find sleep, but she doubted she would ever find rest. No doubt Arimand would push her through that doorway the moment they reached it, no matter how she felt.
Chapter Eighteen: Demonic Duel
Kaylie thought of the world beyond Hell. What little she remembered did not explain how the old gods could resign a soul as noble as Arimand's to eternal agony. Surely they could see beyond Hell's veil if they wished. Didn't the old tales claim the Angelic Avengers could penetrate Hell's boundaries at will? Or was that just wishful thinking?
She wanted to believe she could win an angelic procession for Arimand when she reached Heaven, that the old gods would hear her glowing tale and instantly agree to her beloved's worth. But she didn't know who she was. How could she presume to be important enough the gods would listen to a word she said? They hadn't sent help to free her from her prison.
But hadn't escape from Hell once seemed an impossible dream as well?
Arimand stopped. Kaylie would have barreled into Dwenba if Wardel hadn't placed a hand on her shoulder, lightly drawing her back. The line shifted in place, waiting for the endless trek to resume. When it didn't, Kaylie assumed Arimand had to reorient to keep the swamp from swallowing them.
Only when a hush swept over the group did Kaylie realize something had gone wrong. She tiptoed forward, peering over Dwenba's shoulder, straining her neck to catch a glimpse of the front of the line.
Arimand stood with his chin lifted and his eyes narrowed as he stared into the darkness. It took several minutes of squinting before Kaylie could discern the object of his ire. Red and black fur. Twisting horns. Eyes of fire. She shuddered.
As if perceiving the moment of its recognition, the demon's lips formed a wicked grin, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth. But it remained perched on its haunches, watching, like a dog waiting for its owner to toss a stick. Why didn't it charge?
They stood, hearts in throats, for what felt like hours waiting for the demon to attack. Wardel, Dwenba and Kaylie finally shuffled to the front of the group to join Eselt and Arimand.
“Can we backtrack?” the clan leader whispered. “If it isn't going to move, perhaps we can avoid it.”
Arimand's shoulders lifted as he drew a deep breath and sagged when he released a sigh. “Not unless we backtrack all the way to the river. There's no other path to our destination from here. Besides, there's no way to stop that thing falling on our backs as soon as we're penned with no room to fight.”
Kaylie's heart grew heavy. “You think that's what it's waiting for?”
“I have played your games,” the demon interrupted. It shimmied forward, pausing at the edge of the torch light. Shadows flickered across its long face as the torch fire bent and swayed. “And I have beaten you, Arimand. No more tricks.”
Arimand gritted his teeth but refused to look over his shoulder at the beast. “There's no point trying to converse with it. Demons only speak the language of lies.”
Moril growled. “Face me! We will finish this now.”
“You expect me to fight you one-on-one?” Arimand scoffed. “What kind of fool do you take me for?”
“There is no other way to move me.”
Arimand turned. Everyone stood in silence while man and demon stared across the small circle of light. It may as well have been an abyss.
“What are your terms?” Arimand demanded through clenched teeth.
“What?” Eselt hissed at the same moment Kaylie cried, “You can't!” Other voices rose in protest, but Arimand silenced them with a sharp gesture.
The demon waited for silence. “When I defeat you, your ragtag band of misfits shall yield the Lady Kaylie to me.”
“And if you lose?”
“In that event,” Moril sneered, “I will yield my position and cease my hunt.”
“A trap,” Wardel said, “surely.”
Arimand half-turned to address the group. “An unavoidable snare. If we run, it will fall on us. By the time we subdue it, our numbers will be greatly reduced.”
“Then what hope do you have of fighting it alone, lad?” Eselt demanded. “And where will we go without you to lead the way? I still don't understand how you identify the path!”
Arimand didn't answer right away. He glanced at the dark shapes surrounding them, the twisted trees, tangled vines and murky water. “I can use the terrain to my advantage here, more so than in the city. I was almost able to get on its back then. Perhaps this time I can make it high enough to strike the neck or eyes.”
Eselt set his jaw. “I will not yield the lady to that thing. If you fall, it will have to kill each and every one of us to carry her away.”
“I fear that's exactly what it hopes to do.”
“I will have your answer,” Moril rumbled, pawing the ground.
“All right!” Arimand spun, hand on the hilt of his sword. “We will fight, you and I. The winner will walk unimpeded from this place.” They weren't exa
ctly the demon's terms, but it bobbed its massive head with satisfaction.
Kaylie shook her head, clinging to Arimand's arm with both hands. For all Arimand's skill, he was no match for the waiting beast. She had seen it sweep dozens of men into the flaming river with the ease a man might swat a fly. “You cannot do this. Let someone else try.”
Arimand handed his walking stick to Wardel and gently peeled his arm from her grip. “Stay close to Eselt. He won't let any harm come to you. If this demon wanted me dead, I doubt it would have chosen such an obvious a trick. It has something else in mind.”
Before she had a chance to protest, Arimand strode forward, drawing his sword free of its sheath. The blade still glimmered, as pristine and sharp as the day he arrived in Hell. How many times had it drawn the demon's blood? Not enough to halt its reign of terror.
Moril stalked forward, eyes blazing with hatred. Its saunter became a charge. The moment Arimand stepped within its reach, the demon swept one massive arm in a wide arc.
Arimand stood his ground, spread his legs to absorb the momentum and raised his sword to block the blow. Claws clanged against steel.
Arimand seemed to vibrate for a moment. Then he drew his sword back and lunged, attempting to drive the blade through the demon's hand.
Moril pranced backward, circling his smaller prey.
Arimand refused to give ground. They slashed and feinted, each trying to gain the measure of their foe, each trying to lure the other into an unfortunate position of which they could take advantage.
Kaylie's heart pounded in her ears, in her throat, behind her eyes. Her stomach flipped every time the demon charged and flopped every time it gnashed those wicked teeth. Terror coursed through her veins, thorny and frozen. How could Arimand walk away from this? His sword barely seemed to bite the demon's flesh. No amount of cuts or scratches slowed Moril.
Yet her protector fought like a wild man. Whether it was desperation, anger or some other force that drove him, somehow he held his ground.
Moril lowered his curved horns and charged.
Arimand darted out of the way. Keeping close to his opponent, he slashed the creature's hindquarters.
Growling, the demon tried to spin, but Arimand drove his sword into its massive foot and held fast. When the creature managed to wrench the wounded limb from the ground, the blade protruded from the other end.
Jerking the blade free, Arimand drove it deep into the demon's calf. He drew a dagger from his boot and used it to leverage himself upward, slicing deep into Moril's thigh.
The demon kicked with its wounded leg, bucking and shaking to free itself of the unwanted passenger, but Arimand clung fast. The demon swept its claws down its thigh, but Arimand darted to the limb's far side, using his sword to gain further height.
Desperate to dislodge his opponent, the demon threw itself to the ground and rolled.
Arimand abandoned his dagger, freeing his sword at the last moment before he darted to a safe distance, circling much the same way Moril had before.
The creature's chest heaved, indicating that Arimand had worn it down, but how much endurance did a thing that size possess?
Kaylie wrung her hands. Would the gods listen to a prayer sent from Hell? Did they care about the souls stranded down here? She no longer cared if Hell consumed her; she couldn't lose Arimand.
He, too, had begun to tire. He had to travel twice as far and move twice as fast, and he had neither the bulk nor resilience of his opponent. He tried to herd Moril toward the swamp mud, tried to entangle his horns in the creeping vines, but always the creature caught itself in time.
Once the demon gained the upper hand, there was little Arimand could do except try to remain in one piece. Moril swept Arimand's legs out from under him and drew back a massive paw, poised to crush his skull.
Arimand regained his feet in time to dive out of the way. But the paw clipped the side of his head, sending him spinning and skipping across the ground.
Kaylie's first instinct was to run to him, to shake consciousness back into his body. In the mortal realm, a blow like that would slay. Could a soul in Hell survive it?
She couldn't make her feet move. The air rushed from her lungs and refused to refill. All around her rose a gasp of collective shock. Not because Arimand fell. Not because their champion and guide lay defeated, possibly dead.
Because the demon was gone.
A man stood in his place.
He was tall and muscular, built like a soldier and wearing a fine set of mail. A tangle of chestnut curls framed his weathered face and gleaming emerald eyes. His breath was heavy and everywhere Arimand's sword had scored the demon, the stranger bore a wound.
It must be an illusion; no human could survive such deep slashes without losing a limb. Yet there he stood. Not smug. Not triumphant. Desperate.
Kaylie wanted to run, towards Arimand to assist him, or away from the demon's conjured phantom. But all she could do was stare. The man standing in the demon's place was strikingly familiar. If she contemplated his face a moment more, she might be able to remember…
No such restraint hindered the demon-man. He rushed to her side and the crowd parted for him, too stunned to resist. “Come,” he hissed urgently, grasping her wrist.
“Damn you!” Arimand's scream rent the air as he struggled to regain his feet.
Confusion drowned Kaylie's relief. Was this part of the demon's illusion?
“Before he recovers,” Moril insisted.
Arimand cast about for his fallen sword. “Curse you, Moril!”
She should go to Arimand. He would protect her. Yet still, she couldn't move. Voices surrounded her; Eselt's, Dwenba's, and the haunting chorus from her dreams. They drowned each other out, leaving her awash in a confusing torrent of incoherent babble. And she couldn't get past the familiarity of the demon's chosen form. How could she possibly know him?
She closed her eyes and shook her head, hoping to regain control of her body. By the time she opened her eyes, the demon had returned. It wrapped a massive paw around her middle and hefted her into the air. Her surroundings became a confusing blur as the demon fled into the swamp.
Chapter Nineteen: Moril
For a long time, Kaylie struggled to break free of the demon's grip. She kicked and punched. She bit and scratched. She screamed until her throat was raw, scolding the demon, demanding to be released.
It ignored her.
Darkness pressed close. No matter how she squinted, Kaylie could make out little of their surroundings. The demon leapt and ducked, no doubt dodging trees and choked waterways. The scents of death and decay filled her nose, indicating they remained in the swamp. Their path twisted so much, she despaired anyone's chances of finding her. Arimand would try, but he could only move a fraction of this speed. Not to mention the ease with which the demon avoided the swamp's dangers.
When she ran out of voice, fingernails and energy, Kaylie clung to the demon's paw, trying not to jostle too much, protecting her face from the stinging wind.
Until the fist that held her vanished.
Her fall was surprisingly short. She landed in a heap, rolling once before she came to rest. She huddled with her knees pressed to her chest, trying to catch her breath, afraid to move more than an inch in either direction. She could be on the edge of a mud pit that would swallow her the instant she crossed the threshold.
A ghost of wild curls brushed against her arm. A moment later, a hand gripped hers. “Are you all right?”
It was the man who appeared during the duel. Who was he? Why did it seem as though she should know his voice now that it wasn't dragged through gravel before reaching her ears?
She jerked her hand out of his. “I'm fine.”
“Don't move. The safe path ends very close to us.”
“As if I'm foolish enough to run to my doom.”
Silence. What was this demon playing at? Had this been the point of its trap all along; to isolate her and give its illusion greater power to befuddle he
r? She needed to delay somehow, slow the beast down and give her friends a chance to catch up.
“We need light,” the demon-man said.
“You saw just fine before.”
“In the demon form, yes. But its special abilities disappeared with it.”
“Then why not change back?” Not that she wanted to deal with the demon, or antagonize it, but she had to do something.
“I have no control over the matter.”
Kaylie didn't answer. Why would the King of Hell strip his chosen minion of its abilities the moment it succeeded at its task? Were they waiting for another demon, or the King of Hell himself, to arrive? Perhaps it was a game. Demons did play with mortal souls for entertainment.
Soft noises filled the silence. Moril must have located two sticks and started rubbing them together. Uncertain what to do, Kaylie stared into the darkness. It pressed like a wall against her face.
Eventually, Moril's sticks sparked. With careful movements, he fed hair-thin deadfall into the heated space. Where he found these resources, Kaylie couldn't guess. Perhaps he had conjured them into existence. With great effort, he coaxed a tiny fire to life.
“I'm not really a demon, you know.”
Still, Kaylie said nothing. She watched him build a small tent of twigs around the burning tinder. She could see little else.
Moril's shadow-shrouded face twisted with despair. “I keep forgetting you don't remember. You'll understand soon. I had to stop Arimand before he took you any deeper.”
“He's trying to get me out!”
Moril glanced at her as he fed the first sizable stick to his fledgling fire. His eyes were eerily similar to the demon's. His open skepticism compelled her to continue.
“He doesn't believe I belong here.”
“He's right about that, at least. There are people who need you, Kaylie. That's why I've come.”
She blinked. “You know who I am?”
“Of course. Come sit by the fire. We can't linger long. You may as well rest.”
Squeezing her elbows, Kaylie drew herself up. She hoped she looked defiant rather than frightened. It was hard to ignore the pounding of her heart. “What makes you think I'm going to cooperate with you? Arimand won't stop looking for me.”