Back in the demon realm, he reached for the familiar silver fire of Lena’s ikilhia. A wild, rushing blur of currents and color, and he pulled Yashad and Janek into the cool twilight of a desert gully, right in front of an extremely startled Lena and Teo.
He shoved a gasping Yashad at Lena. “Cast to hold her!”
Lena shouted a sharp phrase, and a lacework of silver drew tight over Yashad, freezing her in the midst of grabbing for another of her charms.
Janek yelled and clawed at Kiran. “Don’t hurt her! Don’t! She’s my kin!”
“I’m not going to hurt her.” Kiran meant the assurance for Teo and Lena as much as Janek. “I’m just going to take her charms.” Many of the charms on Yashad’s braided cords were dead of magic after all the power he’d pulled to get here, but those charms were far from all she had hidden on her person. Quiescent glimmers of magic dotted her like slumbering fireflies. Kiran pulled charms from her bony arms, her topknot of gray curls, and her robe’s inner pockets, ignoring her mute, frozen fury.
Teo said, “Kiran, what…?”
“This is Yashad abi Mahar, ruler of the Khalat,” Kiran said. “Take her and Janek back to Prosul Akheba. But don’t cast to speed your travel, and don’t let her get hold of your charms or send any messages.” It would take them several days to reach the city. By that time, either he or Ruslan or both would be dead. Kiran stuffed the last of Yashad’s charms into his satchel and surveyed her. No more hint of any magic on her person. Good.
“I’m returning to take Cara and Melly to Alathia. We’ve all the charms we need and more.” He patted the satchel in satisfaction.
“Thank the twin gods,” Lena said, heartfelt.
“Thank Yashad, rather.” Kiran gave the old woman an ironic bow. “Think of the walk back to the Khalat as a chance for your grandnephew to get to know you. Should he still want your kinship when you reach the city, none of us will gainsay him.” He took Janek’s shoulder again. “If you change your mind about staying with her, you have only to let Lena and Teo know.”
“She’s my kin,” Janek repeated stubbornly. He pulled away from Kiran and wrapped his arms around the still-frozen Yashad. “Let her go, Lena. Please?”
Kiran sighed. “Not until I leave.” He dug his fingers into the cloth bound around his waist and touched the stain of Melly’s blood. Teo and Lena had been following the earth-current as they traveled north; he need not even waste more of Yashad’s charms to reach the demon realm.
On the verge of crossing, he called to Teo, “Raishal’s fine. She’s living in the citadel with Zadikah. You’ll see her when you get there.”
Teo’s cry of joy rang in Kiran’s ears as he stepped into the demon realm. When he stepped out again, he was greeted with a yell of surprise rather than delight. A middle-aged woman in scholar’s robes scrambled back from him, snatching a knife from inside her sleeve. Behind her were stone shelves piled with books, vials, and a bizarre assortment of metal implements. Melly caught the scholar’s arm.
“Don’t worry! That’s just Kiran. You know, the mage friend of Dev’s we told you about.”
Kiran took a stumbling step. Warm hands closed over his arms, and Cara eased him into a chair. “Melly said you went to see Yashad. What happened?”
“I got the charms.” He indicated the satchel heavy at his side. Maybe he shouldn’t say more with the scholar in the room. All he wanted was to take Cara and Melly to Alathia. Except his body didn’t seem to want to get out of the chair.
The scholar had recovered from her first surprise. She sheathed her knife, peering at Kiran with sharp interest. Zadikah moved into his line of vision. “Apt-Scholar Trenell, would you give us a moment?”
Trenell. That was the scholar Dev had saved. She had something of a gaunt look, more so than the Khalat’s other survivors. Her robe hung loosely on her frame as if she’d lost quite a lot of weight. Her journey back to the city couldn’t have been easy.
With obvious reluctance, Trenell inclined her head to Zadikah. “I hope afterward you’ll continue your tale. I’m quite curious to know why a mage powerful enough to translocate needs charms.”
Zadikah muttered something noncommittal and ushered the scholar firmly out the room’s iron door. Returning, she handed Cara an oilcloth packet.
“Make him chew the herbs in this. He looks terrible.”
Kiran blinked and found Cara’s hand warm on his chin, gently pulling open his mouth. She pushed a sticky wad of herbs onto his tongue. Obediently, he chewed—and jerked upright, gagging, his tongue on fire.
“Works wonderfully, doesn’t it?” said Zadikah. “Raishal came up with the recipe. Says it’ll wake a man right out of his deathbed.” She offered Kiran a waterskin.
“Or put him into it!” Kiran snatched the skin. Even after long, frantic gulps of water, his mouth and throat burned like he’d swallowed magefire. But the haze was clearing from his head. Tingling warmth spread slowly through his muscles. He hadn’t even realized how exhausted he’d been. “Why were you talking to the scholar?”
Cara looked up from sorting through his load of charms. “We caught up to Janek just in time to spot him being taken into Yashad’s tower. Zadikah suggested we ask aid from the Seranthines before confronting Yashad, since it seems apt-Scholar Trenell is likely to be named matria. We thought she might be willing to put a little pressure on Yashad.”
Melly said, “But then I found them and told them you were going to take care of Yashad. Did you kill her?”
She sounded cheerfully bloodthirsty rather than alarmed by the prospect, but Cara was looking at him with a searching concern that reminded him terribly of Dev.
“I didn’t kill her,” Kiran said. “The city will merely have to do without Yashad’s leadership for a few days.” He hurried through a terse explanation of what he’d done.
“A few days, we can handle.” Zadikah looked as relieved as Cara. “Especially with apt-Scholar Trenell’s aid. She can spread the word that Yashad went to bring us some mages to help. When Teo and Lena arrive, they’ll be welcomed as if they’d descended from Suliyya’s blessed gardens.”
She must hope the survivors’ glad welcome would help her persuade Teo to stay, perhaps even aid the city with magic as well as his healing skills. Kiran wasn’t so sure; but thinking of Teo’s joyful shout, he dared to hope as well.
Melly said, “You shouldn’t have taken Janek. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to him.” Her head was bent so a tangled mat of red hair obscured her face.
“Kiran gave him a chance to make a proper choice. That’s more important.” Cara put an arm around Melly’s shoulders. “You’ll feel better once we’re sneaking toward that gate chamber. Nothing like a challenging task to keep your mind off regrets.”
Kiran shoved out of his chair. The tingling in his muscles had renewed the urgency churning his heart raw. If he had to face the ssarez-kai, he wanted to get it over with. The sooner he reached Ninavel, the better his chances of saving Dev and Marten.
“I’m ready,” he announced.
“Wait.” Cara caught him in a ferociously tight hug. “I won’t be saying goodbye to you. What I’m saying is, go kick Ruslan into Shaikar’s innermost hell—but don’t you follow him there. You break Dev’s heart that way, I’ll never forgive you. And he’s not the only one who’d miss you.”
Kiran’s vision blurred. Wordless, his heart both full and aching, he returned her hug. When she let him go, he found his voice again.
“I’ll do everything in my power to bring Dev back to you.” That, at least, was a promise he could keep.
Cara nodded, her pale eyes steady on his, and beckoned Melly. “Now we’re ready.”
* * *
In the demon realm, the Alathians’ barrier was not a wall of fire but a black, lightless bubble, vast in size. The barrier’s curving arc sliced through dunes and sky-veils like an obsidian blade. A more powerful version, perhaps, of the spell Vidai had used to cage his demon—though this was a cage meant to keep
demons out, not in. It did not hurt Kiran to touch the bubble. But he couldn’t pass through it; the black barrier resisted the demonfire in his soul as if he were a nathahlen trying to walk through solid rock.
He pressed against the unyielding surface and strained his senses through the rift he’d opened beyond the barrier. He glimpsed the overlapping, multihued glow of a forest’s ikilhia, a palette of life made up of trees and undergrowth and creatures large and small.
Brighter than all the rest were the two sparks that signified Melly and Cara. They walked the human realm now, fast becoming indistinguishable amid the forest’s wealth of life. Kiran let the rift close. They were on their own. As was he.
He reached for the rich, unmistakable taste of Ninavel’s sea of currents, deep and wild as the greatest of oceans—and reconsidered. Given what the scarred demon had said about the ssarez-kai inhabiting Ninavel’s confluence in force, he doubted he could reach Ruslan’s house before they captured him. But on the off chance that speed would serve, he reached not for the confluence but for the achingly familiar taste of Ruslan’s house wards, infused with the stamp of Ruslan’s power, red and sharp and strong. If he could reach the house quickly enough, he might be able to cross through Ruslan’s gate into the labyrinth’s realm and fight him without need to worry over demons.
If the ssarez-kai caught him, he must succeed in enlisting their aid without surrendering to a kin-bond. He must.
The anchor took. He catapulted across a blur of dunes, straight toward one of the immense, ceaselessly shifting mountain-shapes. He had an instant to realize that the mountain-shape was the confluence; made not of crystalline sand-stuff, but a mass of brilliantly hued fire that flowed like water, twisting in and around and over itself in a multitude of streams. Then he plunged within, and the currents battering him increased in strength a hundredfold. Pain seared him as badly as it had when he first entered the demon realm. He struggled to shield himself, grateful the demonfire in his soul had grown so strong. His every nerve felt dipped in acid, but he’d almost reached Ruslan’s house, the taste of the wards red in his eyes, sharp in his heart—
Frost-pale figures hemmed him in. Whip-tendrils of power locked around him, halting him short. The scorpions of his childhood whispered in his head, smugly satisfied, Temple child, you have come to us at last.
Chapter Thirty-One
(Kiran)
The ssarez-kai’s cold web of magic prisoned Kiran as tightly as if he were nathahlen. Countless pale figures surrounded him, poised amid the currents like scorpions clinging to a cliff. Their eager triumph was a hissing chorus in his mind louder even than the pain of the currents.
Kiran shouted at them, Ruslan will cheat you! Control of the labyrinth is within his grasp, and he will never yield it to you. He shoved at the demons the glimpse he’d had from Ruslan of the sigil-marked arch, and Ruslan’s certainty of victory.
Of course he will try to cheat us, the ssarez-kai answered, amused. He thinks we have not the skill to understand rat-magic; that we do not realize his spellwork will let him command Ashkiza’s weapon from outside its poisoned realm.
They expanded Kiran’s image of Ruslan’s workroom and showed him with precise clarity the silver channels spiraling around the gate’s base. The pattern was too intricate to swiftly read, but one thing was obvious. The channels weren’t yet complete, the design unfinished.
In sweet, sibilant chorus, the ssarez-kai asked, Why should we strike before he finishes building his conduit to the labyrinth’s heart? Once this so-clever spell is complete, we can use it to control Ashkiza’s creation as easily as he can. Unless you accept our kin-bond and walk the labyrinth at our will—then we need not wait. Yield to us, child, and you can have your master’s death.
He could not yield. The ssarez-kai would kill Ruslan, oh yes, and even preserve Kiran from dying with his master. But with Ruslan dead, Kiran would be freed from the stricture of his master’s blood vow not to harm Alathia. The ssarez-kai would use the kin-bond to rip Ruslan’s remaining compulsions from Kiran’s mind and force him to cast with Ashkiza’s weapon. He’d be the one to turn Alathia into a wasteland.
You underestimate Ruslan. Kiran poured a torrent of memories into the currents, giving the demons every instance he could recall that proved Ruslan’s cunning. If you let him finish that spell, he’ll ensure you have no chance to strike. Kill him now, and I’ll consider a kin-bond. But strike quickly, or you’ll lose any hope of using me.
That threat was perfect truth. He would not survive within the confluence long. The freezing power of the currents burned ever deeper into his ikilhia. His shield of demonfire was quickly eroding. Kiran threw the tide of his pain at the ssarez-kai.
Answering delight shuddered into him. Ah, so sweet a draught you give us. Never fear, temple child. We will not give you up to death. The cold tendrils binding him thickened and spread, sheathing him in ice. Vision and mage-sight alike went dark; he was entombed in a black glacier that blocked all his senses. He couldn’t even feel the currents’ deadly power.
A fading whisper reached him. Here you will stay, protected, preserved. Until you either agree to accept our bond or your mind splinters into madness.
No! Kiran fought to break free of their spell. The magic felt something like the icy scrim the scarred demon had cast on him in Cadah’s cave, but far, far stronger. If you want Ashkiza’s weapon, you must destroy Ruslan—otherwise he’ll turn your realm’s fire to ash!
But silence was his only answer.
* * *
(Dev)
Somewhere in Ruslan’s house, Marten was screaming. Hoarse, agonized cries that I wanted desperately to block out, but I had no hope of covering my ears. I was splayed against a wall, my wrists locked in manacles sunk deep in the stone. My legs weren’t bound, but that didn’t do me any good. I had to stand on tiptoes, my thighs straddled wide, because a cluster of gleaming spikes protruded from the floor beneath me. Their dagger-sharp points ended mere hairsbreadths from my groin. Cold dread shriveled me imagining what would happen when my legs finally gave way from exhaustion.
But even my upcoming impalement couldn’t match what Marten endured. His shrieks reminded me horribly of when Lizaveta had mindburned his lover Talm, though Ruslan wasn’t torturing Marten with magic. No, this was far more crude. Knives and acid and biting insects and gods only knew what else. All supposedly so he could break down Marten’s resistance prior to ordering another mage to bind his will, but I knew that wasn’t Ruslan’s only reason. I’d seen the red, mewling ruin left of Marten after Ruslan’s first session. That one, Ruslan had done in front of me. I’d thought Ruslan had gone too far; that Marten would escape into death, and it’d be a blessing.
The more fool, me. Kiran might not know a damn thing about healing spells, but Ruslan had clearly studied up. He couldn’t cast to hurt Marten, but he could cast to heal him—and heal him he did, dragging Marten back from the brink of death, leaving him shuddering and ashen but whole, all so Ruslan could start again.
Marten hadn’t begged Ruslan to leave him be. He’d only turned his face aside and shut his eyes, but not before I saw the dread in them. Now, the third time around, he screamed his lungs out. Stubborn as he might be, I didn’t think it would be long before the begging started. I feared Ruslan would take that as the sign to quit amusing himself with knives and get on with making Marten cast with Ashkiza’s weapon.
I silently pleaded with Kiran, wherever he was, to hurry the fuck up and do something—anything!—against Ruslan before Marten broke. The demon still refused to say a damn thing to me. I hadn’t felt so much as a glimmer of its presence; I was beginning to wonder if our conversation had been a fever-dream brought on by Mikail’s blow to my head. A sullen ache still throbbed behind my eyes, which felt like they’d been rubbed with fistfuls of sand.
Ruslan hadn’t touched me yet beyond his little joke with the spikes. He hadn’t even set them himself; he’d called in a cold-eyed sand mage to shape them and force me into th
e manacles. Presumably she’d be the one who would cast the binding on Marten, with the same disinterested efficiency as she’d shown while locking me up.
I tipped my aching head back against the wall. A slanting shaft of sunlight crept over the floor toward the dark stains where Marten’s blood had pooled during Ruslan’s first torture session. The room held nothing else but a heavily warded copper door.
I’d long since picked out where to strike the wardlines to safely break them. If Kiran showed up and gave me even an instant of the Taint, I’d be out of manacles and room as fast as any mage. Maybe I should be glad he hadn’t come. Hadn’t I wanted him to play some smarter game than chasing after me to Ninavel? But it didn’t matter what I told myself. What I wanted now, with desperate, unreasoning force, was for Kiran to come and get me and Marten both the fuck away from Ruslan.
The wardlines on the door flared bright and the door eased open. I tensed, straining to lift myself higher away from the spikes. Marten’s screams drilled even louder into my ears, so my visitor couldn’t be Ruslan. For an instant, I dared to hope it might be Kiran.
My hope died when Mikail slid around the door into the room. He looked exhausted. His flat cheekbones were shiny with sweat, his fingers black with soot, and his sandy hair a straggling mess. Yet his hard gray eyes were alive with hate.
I had the nasty feeling he wasn’t sneaking in here because he’d thought better of helping Ruslan kill Kiran. But still, I had to try. Swallow my own hatred and speak not to the monster I despised, but to the part of him that Kiran insisted was still human.
In a rusty croak, I said, “Do you know, Kiran refused to even consider sending a demon to kill you? He loves you still, no matter what you’ve done on Ruslan’s orders. He’d never stand back and watch you get mindburned and slaughtered, let alone help the viper responsible.”
The Labyrinth of Flame Page 58