by T. A. Miles
“I’ll come with you.” Merran seemed to suspect that Korsten might make the suggestion. There was scarcely a breath between the end of Korsten’s statement and the start of Merran’s.
“No,” Korsten said, observing the beginnings of a startled expression on his partner’s face. “Tahlia’s still not at her best, nor are Syndel and Jhac. They’ll need your strength, and Endmark needs to be distracted. I’ll see to it. Join me when you’re able.”
Merran wasn’t entirely appeased by the end comment, but maybe somewhat. With a frustrated breath, he said, “Try not to provoke him overly before I’ve arrived. We can accomplish that together.”
Korsten could have smiled, but he didn’t. “I’ll wait for you.”
Twenty
“Where is this place?” Merran asked, shortly after Korsten had gone.
“The castle extends out of doors, into the natural caves,” Syndel explained. “There’s a wide shelf and an open cave to the west. The area the fortress is built within and on top of looks to be a narrow canyon. At the start of it, is a lake, from which the river runs. It drops off at the east end and deposits underground. Where it goes to from there, I’m not certain.”
At the very least, Syndel had found plenty of opportunity to scout out the area. They were fortunate to have not been discovered, particularly following Jhac’s injury. Once blood began to flow, they could not rely on the soulkeepers alone to hinder discovery. Thankfully, the two of them had managed to staunch the bleeding with some skill. Mending it by spell had been more time consuming than anything. Though somewhat ragged, the injury itself was rather straightforward. Nothing had been damaged in a way that Merran couldn’t assess it and repair it. The pulled muscles in his back were less certain, and it was possible that there were internal strains and tears that Merran would rather Eisleth tend to.
Provided they returned to Vassenleigh, Merran would refer him immediately. That only left Herrel to recover, and hundreds of soldiers.
“Do you think that you would be able to make a Reach to this place?” Merran asked, of either Syndel or Jhac.
“Not yet,” Jhac replied.
And Syndel said, “I don’t think so.”
Merran had experienced a neutralizing spell once, cast upon him by a Superior during a moment when he might have become a reckless threat to himself. It had only just been enough to tire him and ensure that he would not attempt to place himself into danger he might not have been able to return from. Witnessing the effect on the others, he was beginning to envision what it might have been like to have taken the full force of such a spell. He doubted any Superior would find any reason to commit such a breach of ethics. Naturally, the Vadryn would have no such guards in place.
“Right,” Tahlia exhaled. “Well, at least we’re headed in the proper direction.”
Merran nodded, looking once more in the direction Korsten had gone—back toward the arching doors they had deliberately overlooked. It was a test for Merran to allow him to go, knowing that there was even a possibility that an archdemon might be waiting. But they had a surer hope at finding the missing soldiers now, and at bringing down whatever the enemy was trying to construct.
“We’ll go until we get there,” Merran said to the others, resigning himself to the task at hand. “Or until one of you feels able to get us there faster.”
•—•
Korsten walked slowly back in the direction he had come with Merran and Tahlia previously, toward the place with the arching doorways. The decision had been made with greater ease than he found himself able to execute it. They were to avoid archdemons, at almost all costs. Korsten had determined that ‘almost all costs’ carried up to the point of fellow priests being murdered at the hands of one of them. He had begun to feel that it was Endmark’s intention to do just that; that he had been tracking them patiently by following the aspect of Korsten that had originally drawn another archdemon to him, quite possibly the same archdemon that had taken at least two towns before this.
Renmyr had gone some time before presenting himself as an immediate threat on Korsten’s life. Of course, Renmyr had been trying to conceal himself and that made the circumstances quite different. It may have been that Endmark would waste no time attempting to tear from Korsten what Renmyr had tried and failed to locate. The mark Renmyr had made—the second attempt begun by him and halted in some way by Analee—was a currently a faded scar upon his wrist. Korsten was already protected, so the seal had not been necessary that time.
How would Endmark feel about being tempted by a soul he could not taste? Would he be as enraged as Renmyr? Korsten had no intention of letting Endmark near enough, but on the chance that he was unable to prevent such an advance, that would be when the true danger began. A priest could be neither satisfyingly fed from, nor possessed. At the time, Renmyr had been legitimately shocked to discover that, but perhaps Endmark, through Renmyr, was already aware. And what did that mean?
The bracken pool was in view. The corridor stretched back through the passages he and Merran, and Tahlia had taken from a relative safety at the fortress entry. Of course, it was nowhere Korsten would go without the others. He had only come back this way to enter through the arched doors. They were topped with carvings of antlered tree spirits. Their gentle architecture displayed a deceptive sense of peace, almost as a haven from the filth and stain of the Vadryn’s presence throughout the rest of the fortress.
Korsten understood that this was the beginning of the demon’s attempt to draw him, through illusions of safety. Through lies.
Pulling in a long breath, Korsten held it for several moments, then let it out slowly. He turned fully to the twin doors and started down the passage. Analee fluttered just in view, as if to alert him to impending danger, but she must have known that he knew already.
You must know why I’m here, my dearest.
The butterfly continued to flit about his head and shoulders for several steps, before her movement subsided from view. She was hidden. She was safe.
He was not.
Korsten drew to a halt, less than an arm’s length from the doors. The space between them and him felt as if it carried a physical pulse, one slow and steady. It was precisely the opposite of his own.
He attempted to regain his center through rationalization. This was neither Renmyr, nor was it Haddowyn. This was not a personal encounter. Endmark wanted something specific, else he would not have left the invitation and he would not have cared which of them came. Of course, Korsten could not scrape up even the merest idea of what Endmark could have wanted that would in any way make the encounter less dangerous than one that was entirely motivated by personal designs.
It was also distressing to think that Endmark was very likely was aware that Korsten was presently standing at the doors, and he was doing nothing. It was too like Renmyr.
“You have a choice, Korsten.”
Korsten dropped all thought, save what was required to lay his hand on the door and open it. His fingers curled about a ring held in the mouth of a stag, and he pulled it enough to make a portal through which he could pass into Hell.
The door made virtually no sound. The air that followed after it gave off no odor or foulness. It was merely …cold.
Korsten stepped into the room. The observatory, it must have been, though he saw no means by which to observe the stars. Of course, the stars were not what Endmark was observing.
Before Korsten, was a wide chamber of articulated rose-gold and ivory with facets of deeply varnished wood and fabrics in rich browns, greens, and yellows. There were two floors. The upper mezzanine was lined with shelving. There were books packed upon each one.
Endmark had taken the body of Leodyn Izwendel. That was as much as confirmed now. It had been told to Korsten that the governor’s son had been well known for his appreciation of aesthetics. Even above a rich environment, he had loved a space of balance a
nd beauty. This was all of those. And so was Endmark himself.
The possessed—Korsten was certain—rose from a bench on the lower floor. His form was well-covered in layers of pale green and white-gold evening robes, though still allowed for no confusion about his symmetry and strength. Hair of a pale blond tone with a relaxed texture sat neatly about his face. His face, which was that of a bard’s tales about the spirits of the deep forests of the mythical north. It was a face that in some ways reminded Korsten of his mother. She had died when Korsten was a child, and she had left him with an impatient, intolerant father who couldn’t be bothered with his child’s grief. Korsten was sent away, to Haddowyn, where he had nearly died.
“Renmyr had no intention of killing you,” Leodyn said. “As I have no intention of hurting you. Unless you insist.” He spoke in a voice that was both steady and lovely, holding onto the youth of the physical form, while the charm of an envesseled demon augmented the beauty.
Korsten refrained from making direct eye contact for the moment. He had no desire to initiate challenge so soon, though he knew he would have to eventually.
The door behind him was closed now. It had pulled itself shut. The return route would never be open again. Of that, Korsten was certain. He could only move forward. Away from the demon now meant toward him, just as certainly as taking steps in his direction. By now, Korsten had come to know that intimately. In fact, he had been introduced to that truth on intimate terms. He had vowed that he would not allow it to happen again. At the time, he had thought that he would only have been referring to Renmyr.
Leodyn came forward only a short distance, though he held out his hand. His fingers were long, and Korsten had no trouble remembering the manner in which Renmyr had once made his fingers longer, and shaped them as claws.
The thought seemed to reach Leodyn and he closed his hand. He attempted to impress that some small amount of injury had been delivered, but he made no attempt to hold the expression, or to enforce its sentiment. Instead, he gestured toward the bench he had lately risen from.
“Won’t you please sit?”
Korsten steadied himself with another breath, and walked across the room. While he approached, the beginnings of a smile turned the edges of Leodyn’s lips. It became apparent, the nearer Korsten came to him that he was quite tall. He was of a height that would have gained notice, regardless of station or beauty. It made Korsten wonder whether or not Leodyn had felt somehow separated from others, and if that had been the demon’s pathway.
“Let us never mind of paths,” Leodyn said, eyes looking down while he turned to a nearby stand and began to pour something into a glass. His eyelashes were quite long and not as pale as his hair, which made them stand out against his cheeks. “You may believe that I’m determined to remind you of your path in some way, but I assure you that I am not. I do like that you admire, however. I have been similarly inclined for some time. Granted, I have not had much opportunity to do more than imagine your beauty.”
Korsten did not allow himself to fully hear the words. He instead focused on the delicate crystal goblet within which Leodyn had poured something with no color.
“It’s wine,” Leodyn said.
Korsten had never heard of, nor had he seen such a wine.
“The Tears of Elayahlel.” Leodyn offered the glass. “A wine from the most distant north, made of a grain that only yields its crop at the very edges of autumn and the start of winter.”
The demon was trying to charm him with myth and beauty. Korsten deliberately avoided asking him what he wanted just yet. Instead, he took the glass, though he did not drink from it. He held it only, studying the delicate beveling of the goblet’s edges and the clarity of the liquid within. Clarity, at this very moment, was the most valuable item Korsten could hold onto.
•—•
The corridor grew rawer the further Merran went with the others. It eventually opened onto an exposed shelf, which overlooked a hazy darkness. Overhead, the view was impeded by high outcroppings and shadow which blended with a darkening sky. A staircase without railing descended from the outcropping, leading onto a lower shelf, which was populated with stalagmites and a barred wooden door with a burning torch beside it.
“That’s where we’ll need the key,” Syndel told him, keeping her voice low so that it wouldn’t carry in the more open space. “Shalex frequented this area. He kept no schedule about it. I was nearly discovered by him once, because he returned for the third time inside of a matter of hours.”
“Where would you have hidden in this area?” Tahlia asked her.
“There are deep alcoves in the rock,” Syndel explained, gesturing to the corridor behind them. “I merely squeezed myself into one and was fortunate to find a space large enough to crawl up inside of. The process required much time and patience, in order to not make any noticeable sound. I suspect the neutralizing effect of their battlefield spell helped to keep the signature of my presence very low, even lower than normal.”
“There doesn’t seem to be a regular patrol of any kind,” Merran noted.
“No. This isn’t a Morenne stronghold yet,” Syndel said. “That stated, with Haddowyn long since fallen and no potential for reinforcements from Feidor’s Crest, it wouldn’t be difficult for them to simply claim it.”
“I don’t know how we can prevent that,” Merran whispered. “Unless someone can be convinced to send more of our own soldiers here.”
“I don’t know from where,” Tahlia said.
“Dremahs, probably, would be the quickest and most able,” Syndel offered. “Though, a few units came from there already, and they may be waiting on word from Ceth or Ashwin as to why no one has heard anything and what should be done about it.”
“All the more reason for us to learn exactly what’s been happening here,” Jhac inserted.
“Agreed,” Tahlia said.
“Where were the other units from?” Merran asked.
“Sulerese and the Old Capital,” Syndel answered. “A collection of supplies came from the coastal cities, except for Sarily, which is busily preparing for a battle in its own defense, or to take back Eastmark.”
Merran nodded in an attempt to keep the explanation brief and their conversation focused. At present, their most important focus was this butcher. “We’re going to have to discover what’s behind that door after opening it. Do you still carry your weapon, Jhac?”
Jhac let it slip from behind his fingers, as if from a sleeve he wasn’t wearing. For the moment, the blade that was largely formed of magic was in the shape of a smooth spike.
Merran gave a nod. “I think that you should stay here and watch for anyone who may happen this way.”
Jhac agreed to the task and disappeared back into the corridor. The rest of them took the staircase down, across the quiet and distant flow of water, and onto the adjoined shelf. The utilized the natural obstructions to make their way to the cave wall. Arriving nearest to the door, Merran hazarded a look through the bars. The shadows were heavy within the space beyond, obscuring details. He decided to listen instead.
He heard the occasional shuffle, above the mild sounds of the river moving below. Someone or something may have been breathing in the near vicinity. He heard none of the chattering and scuttling of rodents who otherwise might have occupied such a place and the lack of animal life, implied demon. While that was expected, the confirmation enabled them to prepare for one demonic opponent, rather than a large number of men. Given the amount of difficulty they’d had with Shalex, Merran would have almost preferred soldiers.
The sound of ragged or feral breathing drew momentarily nearer, accompanied by definitive steps. They were heavy and plodding.
Merran drew back to ensure that he wasn’t in plain view.
The footsteps continued without interruption for some distance, fading minimally in the acoustics of the place. When they did finally halt al
together, it seemed that the opportunity to enter might have come. He raised the key ring, halting at the abrupt and repeated striking of metal on wood.
It occurred to Merran that, while they had the means to enter, the place may not have been deep enough or structured enough for anyone to hide. That meant that whomever was inside—chopping at something—would be on them with relative quickness. It was possible that the individual might expect that when the door opened, it would be Shalex entering. That might grant them a breath or two in which to contend with the individual before they—or it—had time to respond.
The proximity made him wonder whether or not he should forgo keys altogether and simply take the door down by spell. Except that would put the individual inside into a state of immediate action. The first spell cast would have to be an assault on the butcher, not the butcher’s door.
Merran held the keys out to Syndel. She took them and he looked next to Tahlia. He showed her his hand, palm out, and then indicated her weapon with a nod.
Tahlia readied her bladed staff, and Merran angled his head toward the door for Syndel’s benefit.
The white-clad girl came to the door and crouched down to avoid being seen. She inspected the ring of keys, matching the shapes to the door lock. When she found what she evidently believed to be a match, she fit it into place with care. Her guess was correct, and she glanced to Merran and Tahlia before turning the key. When they indicated readiness, she pulled the door open swiftly, and Merran rolled into the now open space, hand out.
He waited only until he saw a silhouette of some substance move in the general direction of the door, then released the spell. Light thundered across the space, glistening upon the slick edges of crudely cut rocks, tracing the shapes of chains, and ultimately illuminating the hulking figure of a bearded man with one eye gone.
Merran only caught a glimpse of his scowl and a sullied, heavy apron before the Blast struck the man square in the chest. It drove him into a wall. The weapon in the man’s hand scraped against the surrounding rock, casting sparks of fire into the darkness.