Arms and legs, in standard pairs, grew from the darkness, as well as a head scarcely larger than Kevral’s own. As the figure became more definingly human, the bindings slipped, dropping abruptly to the floor.
Captain hissed, magical syllables collapsing into a human curse. “Damn!” He flung his arms in savage frustration, summoning more bindings that appeared, entwined, and collapsed in an instant. His amber eyes turned wild.
The demon winked to sudden life, man-shaped with a readied sword that gathered momentum in an arcing blur and sped for Captain’s head.
Kevral drew and cut as Captain sprang backward. Even her deadly speed nearly proved too slow. The demon-sword slammed solidly against the one Colbey had given her. Steel chimed, a strange melody against the background chanting, and impact ached through her hand. She started a riposte as the summoned creature lunged a stroke for her gut. Converting the movement to a desperate defense, she managed to batter its sword aside. A moment later Rantire reached Kevral’s side, her own attack foiled by a graceful dodge.
*Colbey?* Captain’s startled word barely penetrated Kevral’s concentration.
The creature Kevral battled moved with a speed that dazzled, and it managed an attack at each young Renshai before either could gain an opening for offense. Only then, it occurred to Kevral that demons never used objects with form as weapons. She glanced at her opponent, recognizing the feathered golden locks, the familiar Northern features, and the demon-scarred cheek. It is Colbey!
The momentary lapse cost Kevral the battle. The tip of Colbey’s sword licked under her crossguard, and the blade flew from her hand. He lashed rabidly at Rantire, sending her into startled retreat, and still managed to catch Kevral’s hilt.
Kevral back-stepped cautiously, battle wrath dispersing in a sudden rush. More from instinct than threat, she reached for her other hilt.
Captain leaped to the tabletop, scuttling to the opposite end. *Colbey, stop it! What in Hel are you doing?*
“Defending myself.” Colbey whipped in on Rantire, elves scattering from the wall behind her. The chanting broke off erratically. Kevral’s sword, in Colbey’s hand, screamed for Rantire’s throat. As she jerked up her blade to parry, Colbey’s own carved the grip from her hands as well. Catching Rantire’s sword in the same hand as Kevral’s, he whirled to face Thialnir who had, apparently, rushed in the moment Kevral lost her weapon. Colbey danced aside, jabbing both of the captured blades through his belt, and Thialnir thundered past him. Kevral never saw the maneuver that claimed the last Renshai’s weapon. Colbey pivoted to face Knight-Captain Kedrin and his drawn sword, keeping all of the warriors to his front. “I’m running out of hands.”
Kedrin neither sheathed his weapon nor attacked, instead carefully spreading his arms in willing truce. Surely, he realized this also opened his defenses.
Apparently trusting the knight, Colbey turned his attention fully on the three Renshai. Each remained where he had left them. Too little time had passed for other action. He sheathed his sword. “Are we finished?”
Thialnir nodded, studying Colbey’s lithe warrior figure. As Colbey’s icy blue-gray stare turned to Kevral, she also nodded. Rantire met his scrutiny next, again nodding.
Accepting that, Colbey tossed back the weapons in the same order, each snatching the hilt from the air and returning it to its proper position.
“Who are you?” Thialnir demanded, though Captain had revealed Colbey’s name in general khohlar. The use of Renshai maneuvers should have clinched the identity, yet Thialnir still refused to believe.
Captain had a more pressing question. “Colbey, are you a demon now?”
Since Captain’s query answered Thialnir’s, Colbey turned to the elf, still crouched on the tabletop. “You know I’m not.”
Kevral sought Tae, no longer in his corner. He had a tendency to appear suddenly in the midst of battle, too often directly in front of her strokes. She found him near the door, stance casual, hands resting lightly on his belt. He acknowledged her only by meeting her eyes.
“Nothing about you is certain anymore.” Captain eyed his ancient companion warily. “I know I summoned a demon, and you came.”
“I told you I wouldn’t bind with the Staff of Chaos.” Colbey patted the hilt of his sword, the shape into which he had willed the staff shortly after becoming the Prince of Demons. “Even if you doubt my word, you should realize that your bindings hold creatures of chaos, never of law. Proof enough, I would think.”
“I don’t know what to think,” Captain admitted.
Kevral glanced back and forth between these friends who had supported one another in centuries past, at a time when everyone else had abandoned or turned against Colbey. More than three hundred and twenty years ago, Colbey had completed the task that brought the Staves of Law and Chaos to man’s world. Certain only balance could keep the worlds alive, he kept one staff and passed the other to the Wizards who had championed the universe for centuries. Even the gods believed Colbey had chosen chaos, and beings at every level had banded together to destroy him. Only later did they realize he had taken the Staff of Law. Touched by chaos, the Wizards set the Ragnarok in motion, the war that had destroyed most of the gods and elves. Captain alone had refused to judge Colbey, trusting him to follow the course of balance no matter which staff he championed.
This time, Colbey had taken up chaos against law, and even Captain seemed uncertain whether he could keep from fully binding to its cause. Colbey shook his head, a gesture of clear disgust. “Captain, trust me.”
The elf jumped down from the table. Kevral moved aside so that he could approach Colbey. “I trust you. You know I do. It’s chaos I don’t trust.”
Colbey’s nod defined resignation. He had clearly lost more friends than Captain to his decision. “I’m tired and irritated by the summoning.” He looked around the room, apparently weighing the danger of speaking his piece in front of those present. “I walled off all but one opening to chaos’ world. I’ve assured that no amount of chaos sufficient to create a demon escapes at once.”
Thialnir sat in the nearest seat, still clearly shocked. Kedrin remained like a statue, accustomed to long, stiffly attentive vigils. Rantire took a defensive position near the door, and Tae returned to his corner. The elves remained near the walls, several gliding to the floor to sit and watch the exchange. The page stayed still.
Captain explained what Colbey surely already knew, “Demons don’t just ‘escape.’ They have to be summoned.”
“Indeed.”
Captain’s eyes narrowed. “Who besides me and Dh’arlo’mé knows how?”
Colbey’s look became arch. “Do we need others?”
“You’ve faced off with Dh’arlo’mé?” The words emerged in a tight squeak.
Colbey’s head bobbed once.
Captain back-stepped, his face revealing anxious confusion only to one as skilled in reading elfin expressions as Colbey was. “Doesn’t that mean . . .” He trailed off, the rest obvious to only a few. Kevral understood. Colbey had, at first, selected her for the task of wielding chaos. He had explained that the staff would bind with her; she would ultimately become chaos. She would then confront Dh’arlo’mé bound to the Staff of Law. Then they would destroy one another and, with any luck, the extremes of law and chaos.
Colbey waved dismissively. “We fought, but then we separated. And we’ll surely fight again.” The blue-gray gaze rolled to meet Captain’s directly. “But these matters don’t concern those gathered here,” he said tightly, expression revealing. Kevral guessed he would have told Captain more under other circumstances. It seemed cruel to inform humans and elves of a hovering destruction they could not affect. “What purpose did you have for a demon? Surely, you know better than to try to fight enemies with a summoned abomination.”
Thialnir continued to stare. Kevral could almost see the thoughts taking shape in his massive head: Colbey had performed flawless Renshai maneuvers during the combat, yet Thialnir knew all three hundred livi
ng tribe members. He still sought some other explanation than that he had confronted a four-centuries-old Renshai out of legend.
Captain shook his head. “I would never do such a thing.” His lids clipped the edges of eyes like garnets, the only sign that he had narrowed them. “You know that. I called the least of demons to ask necessary questions, ones that concern the survival of mankind as an entity. Nothing less would have driven me to such desperate action.” He added pointedly, “I did not expect to draw the Prince of Demons himself.”
Colbey did not deny the title, as he had throughout history. Now that he championed chaos, it held a ring of truth. “Fair enough. What did you need to know?”
Hope spiraled through the room, made tangible by khohlar. Captain relaxed visibly, though nothing had revealed his previous tension. “I’m seeking the missing pieces of the Pica.”
“The Pica,” Colbey repeated, head jerking suddenly to the partially reconstructed sapphire on the meeting room table. He drifted toward it.
“I’ve gathered as much as possible by magic but can’t locate the rest. Restoring it will help break the svartalf’s sterility spell. Can you help?”
Colbey circled the mangled stone, as if afraid to touch it. Captain’s story explained his reluctance. If he was, indeed, responsible for its destruction, then he might worry about damaging it again.
Several moments passed in silence. Tae remained crouched by the door. Knight-Captain Kedrin held an alert posture wholly lacking threat. Thialnir continued to stare. The elves watched the proceedings through sparkling, homogeneous eyes.
Finally, Colbey spoke, “I can’t help you. But I know one who can.” He drew his sword with a slow serenity that belied the deadly grace and dispatch that usually characterized the motion. He offered Captain the hilt.
The gesture stunned Kevral. A Renshai would sooner hand over a body part than a sword, even for a moment. Allowing another to touch one’s sword conveyed a depth of trust that went far beyond family ties or liege loyalty. Her hand slid naturally to the hilt of the weapon he had given her, with great reluctance, after Dh’arlo’mé’s summoned demon had attacked the great trading city of Pudar.
Captain seemed not to understand the profound honor Colbey bestowed upon him. He shied away.
Colbey’s mouth formed a crooked grin. “Take it, Captain. The demon you summoned holds the answers you seek.”
The elf pursed his lips, turning Colbey an irritated look. “Have your fun with me while you still can, Renshai. I have no mind powers to control the Staff of Chaos. It would ruin me.”
Kevral watched the exchange with great interest. Colbey’s mind powers, she had learned, came of the succession forced upon him by a desperate Western Wizard. Without foreknowledge, Colbey had inherited the collective consciousness of all of the Western Wizards ahead of him and believed their voices in his head to be his own madness. With the ferocity of a Renshai in wartime, he had battled and destroyed them, in the process sharpening the mental control of the Renshai. It had left him with the ability to read minds, though he never invaded the thoughts of those he cared for or respected uninvited. Strong ideas and emotions, however, radiated to him without intention.
Supporting the sword by the crossguard, Colbey continued to offer it. “The staff and I have an agreement.”
“Chaos cannot be bound to promises.”
“It needs me as much as I need it,” Colbey insisted. “For all its power-mad unpredictability, it would not abandon me for a champion of lesser power.” He held the sword at the extent of his reach. “Take it.”
Captain’s expression never changed, though Colbey’s words trapped him. To refuse meant betraying the trust he had earlier sworn, yet to take it might cost him life and sanity. The yellow eyes swiveled to meet Colbey’s, and his jaw set in stony determination. The hilt slid into his small, long-fingered hand. No fear flickered through his eyes, nor did his stance reveal any trepidation. Once he had chosen to trust his silent companion, Captain did so implicitly.
Colbey retreated, hands hovering as if he had suddenly become conscious of them and they could find no natural position. A Renshai without a sword might as well remove every scrap of clothing. He felt equally naked.
While Captain communed with the Staff of Chaos, Colbey turned his attention to the others in the room. He approached Thialnir first, tiny compared to the broad-boned and -featured warrior leader, yet far more menacing. “Colbey Calistinsson of the tribe of Renshai.” He made a standard gesture of greeting that included displaying both hands to reveal the lack of weaponry.
“I know who you are,” Thialnir replied, meeting the icy stare with sharp, green eyes. “No one less skilled could have disarmed me so easily and with a maneuver I don’t recognize but still know as Renshai.” He made a broad motion of respect. “Thialnir Thrudazisson. Renshai.” His face twisted, he shifted restlessly, and his eyes revealed the need Kevral knew well. He wanted to challenge the immortal Renshai, desperately needed to pit his skill against the greatest of all swordsmen and perhaps glean a point of instruction. However, the circumstance did not allow him to ask, and Colbey did not offer.
Acknowledging the introduction with a nod, Colbey moved on to Rantire, placing a hand on her shoulder “Ravn speaks highly of you.”
Rantire beamed.
Colbey smiled and nodded to Kedrin as he passed.
“My lord, is it true you were a Knight of Erythane?”
Stopped by the knight-captain’s words, Colbey turned. “Were? Was my title revoked?”
“Not by me,” Kedrin assured him. “So it’s true?”
“Centuries ago, a knight challenged me to fair combat, and I bested him. Later, he attacked me dishonorably, and I was forced to kill him. I took the vow before King Orlis and was awarded my horse, Frost Reaver.”
Kedrin executed a respectful bow. “Welcome back, Sir Colbey.”
Colbey smiled but, to his credit, did not laugh. It would offend. “Thank you, Captain.” Again, he started toward Kevral, this time halted by a thought. “While I’m dealing with the balance, Reaver languishes in a pasture, tended but not properly exercised. Would it burden you too much if I left him in your care?”
Kevral froze, unable even to breathe for a moment. The honor reached nearly the level of sharing a sword, and she sensed the truth behind the request. Colbey expected the task he had undertaken to kill him and knew the Knights of Erythane would appreciate the white charger as no others could.
“Not in the least, Sir Colbey.” Kedrin bowed again, as grandly. “We would consider it an honor, and he would receive the best of care.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Colbey finally came to Kevral’s side. His gaze fell to her abdomen before meeting her eyes, and he spoke in a low voice that scarcely carried. “Raise my grandchild well, in the best tradition of Renshai.”
A wave of excitement swept through Kevral. “I will,” she promised.
At least one other heard. Before Kevral could reply further, Kedrin’s nostrils flared, and all the joy of Colbey’s gift fled in an instant. “Any grandchild borne to Kevral had best be mine.” He spoke as softly, but his tone carried clear threat.
Chilled by Kedrin’s delivery, Kevral found herself without retort. Memory flooded back: the stench of mold, urine, and unwashed flesh that pervaded Pudar’s dungeon; desperation and loathsome weakness inexorably mixed; self-made vows to slaughter King Cymion lost to a promise to Ra-khir. Once again, she would bear a child not her husband’s; Ra-khir knew and understood, but others would revile her. The vow of silence to which Pudar had bound them now seemed still more horrible. She had the words to explain but could not, by her own honor and Ra-khir’s, speak them.
Colbey rescued Kevral from the need. “It is your grandchild, Captain. In every way that matters.” Though barely above a whisper, his voice revealed sorrow. The son of the god Thor by blood, Colbey claimed ties only to his mortal father also.
“Blood matters.” Kedrin turned Kevral a withering scrutiny. A fai
r man, he had accepted Tae’s son without comment. This time, he would not prove so forgiving.
Colbey shrugged. “Soon, Captain, the entirety of Béarn will learn otherwise. As will you.” Kevral suspected Colbey referred to the baby princess now. His manner stiffened, and he fixed those glacial eyes on Kedrin. “Trust in your son and daughter-in-law. Judging honor in hindsight is only condemnation.” He added pointedly, “It’s beneath you, Kedrin.”
The knight-captain did not argue. Kevral felt certain he would raise the matter again, when she did not have an immortal to defend her. She rolled her glance to Colbey, then looked away. Her hero had betrayed her.
Colbey addressed Kevral’s state of mind. “I didn’t mean for him to hear, but it’s better that he knows.”
Kevral did not agree but knew it fruitless to question. She had spent too many years glorifying him to disbelieve his assertions now, even tainted by chaos.
Captain raised his head, then looked at the sword in his hands. His eyes darted restively, seeking some place to set it down that would not offend its champion. He started toward the table.
“Don’t,” Colbey stopped the elf with a word. “Toss it here.” He raised a hand.
Captain hesitated, sword gripped at arm’s length. “But I might . . .” He trailed off, either because he realized Colbey could compensate for any lack of skill on Captain’s part or to get rid of it as soon as possible. He hurled it awkwardly toward Colbey.
The sword plummeted a bare arm’s length from the lysalf’s leader, but Colbey was there, catching the hilt as if it had come to him in a deft and gentle arc. “Did you get your answer?”
“Yes.” Captain’s tone and expression revealed nothing.
“Very well.” Colbey lowered his head, preparing to depart.
“Colbey,” Captain said. “Don’t turn my work into futile trivia. Keep the balance, and yourself, alive.”
The Children of Wrath Page 10