Black Magic (11 page)

Koray shrugged. "Speaking of what we do, should you not be sleeping? A high paladin too exhausted to fight is a fairly useless paladin."

"I have gone for days without sleep, losing a few marks tonight will not be the end of me or anyone else," Sorin replied. "I'll return to my bed in due course." He turned the conversation to easier talk, then, discussing the paperwork he was avoiding, a matter of food going missing that proved to be a boy stealing to provide for his sick parents, and a trio of drunken fools who had fallen into the moat.

When Koray finally nodded off in his seat, Sorin let the story trail off, a faint, fond smile curving his lips. Quietly standing, he carefully pulled Koray from his chair and carried him over to the bed, settling him comfortably. He then gathered up the dishes and stacked them neatly to be easily taken off in the morning, tended the fire, then stripped down to his hose before finally climbing into bed himself.

Reaching out, he twined his fingers with Koray's and almost immediately fell asleep.

He was jerked awake by a pounding on his door and a sharp, twisting sense of anguish in his chest. Sighing, wishing just once he could be awoken by something pleasant, Sorin dragged himself out of bed and opened the door. Emel immediately burst in, expression grim. "My lord, three bodies were found by the morning guard. They've been drained. I'm trying to keep it quiet, but that won't last long."

"Damn it," Sorin said and went to get dressed, grateful when Emel stepped forward to help him put on his light armor. "Order everyone into light armor and tell them to be ready to go to full armor. If we have a turning demon in our midst, we could have more than one. I want everyone prepared.

Sorin had just buckled his sword belt into place when Koray slid out of bed and began to straighten his own clothes. As he began to braid his long hair back, he asked, "Where were the bodies found?"

"Behind the stable," Emel replied, and if he was surprised to see Koray in Sorin's bed, he made no show of it past the barest smirk in Sorin's direction. "The night guards swear they were not there on their last patrol, and I believe them. They're good men, that's why I put them on the night guard. So it had to have happened in the mark between the last patrol of the night guard and the first patrol of the morning guard."

"So it's somebody familiar with the changing of the guard," Koray said.

Emel made a face. "Someone too familiar, I daresay."

"What do you mean?"

Sorin grunted. "The guards have been known to skip patrols, especially at the beginning and end of their shifts. Whoever drained those bodies was probably counting on them going unnoticed for some time yet—maybe even hoping to frame a guard. The murderer seems unaware that I've been wrathful and unbending with my men since you were harmed. Right now, no one dares forget to so much as polish their helmets."

"I see," Koray said, frowning. "Shall we go see the bodies, then? Afterwards I want that wall down, paladin."

"What?" Emel asked, baffled.

Mouth quirking briefly, Sorin said, "Find some men to knock down a wall. Send a knight to the library; tell him to stand guard at the place where a door was walled over."

Emel shook his head, but only said, "Yes, High Paladin. The bodies are in the empty room in the armory. I'll go see to the wall."

Sorin led the way to the armory, where paladins stood guard and the enormous room itself stood uncharacteristically empty. People milled non-too-subtly in the yard, waiting to be told what was going on.

Admonishing the guards not to let anyone, but Emel enter, Sorin led the way inside. They walked past all the weapons, armor, and additional equipment neatly stored to a room in the back that had once held tools and devices long ago outlawed.

The room gave him chills whenever he entered it, and he could feel the pain and regret of the Goddess herself; whatever had happened because of the items in that room, she hated it.

Three bodies lay on the floor, respectfully wrapped in their cloaks, purple goddess blossoms on their chests and over their mouths. Sorin knelt by the one in the middle, running the backs of his fingers along the man's cheeks. "He's only been a paladin a few weeks. His stepmother will be crushed; he was all the family she had left. There is a damned demon right beneath my nose and I cannot find the bastard. Where could he be?"

"We'll find him," Koray said and sank to his knees beside one of the others, reaching out to gently touch the blossom that had been placed over the man's mouth, secured with the stem between his lips. "There is not even a hint of the soul left. Whoever the bastard is he must be changing rapidly and starving for power to sustain himself. That means he'll kill more, but it also means he's not going to look normal for much longer."

Sorin grunted, horrified and angry that anyone in the royal castle would willingly let himself turn into a demon. That someone he knew, someone he had likely trusted, had skin slowly turning a mottled, unhealthy brown or black, nails turning to claws, body warping to accommodate a tail and the stubs where wings would grow should the demon live that long. "Why would anyone choose to be a demon?" Koray did not reply, but Sorin had not expected him to. Slowly standing up, he said, "We need to find the bastard before he kills again."

"Then get me beyond that wall," Koray said. "I feel whatever is there will tip this matter to our favor, though only the Goddess knows why."

Sorin started to reply, but the sound of footsteps halted his words. He went reflexively for his sword, though he knew by the rhythm of the steps that it was only Emel, who opened the door a moment later. "The wall is ready to be torn down whenever you are ready, High Necromancer," he said to Koray.

"Then let's go tear it down," Koray said and pushed by him to head impatiently for the castle. Sharing a look with Emel, Sorin then went after him, motioning for Emel to stay with them.

When they reached the library, Sorin cast the hovering master librarian an apologetic look, then gestured for the men waiting with mallets to begin their work. The banging of the heavy mallets against stone was near deafening in the small space, and by the time they were finally finished, the entire room was filled with a cloud of thick dust.

Sorin and Emel followed Koray into the newly revealed room, which proved to be filled with crates, chests, rolls of rotted fabric that might have been rugs or tapestries once, and other dust-covered items that Sorin could not immediately identify.

Koray ignored most of it and headed straight for a long, wide box that lay upon a stack of large crates. Pulling the box down, he laid it on two stacked trunks so that it was about at waist level. He scowled at something, and Sorin moved around the trunks to join him and saw that the box was locked. "Move aside," he said, and when Koray reluctantly did so, drew a dagger and smashed the old, rusted lock with the hilt. Stepping back again, he motioned. "My Lord High Necromancer."

Ignoring him, Koray opened the box—and stared, frowning. "A sword?"

Sorin stared at the sword in shock and heard Emel do the same on Koray's other side. It was a magnificent broadsword, polished and gleaming, the blade etched with runes, the hilt set with a dark violet stone, the pommel molded into a diamond shape. He had never seen it, but he knew it on sight—could not believe he was staring right at it. "That's not just a sword, necromancer," he said softly. "I would bet my life that's the sword of the Lost Paladin."

"The Lost Paladin?" Koray asked. "How dramatic. If he is lost, it is because he was too stupid to take his sword with him wherever he went."

Tearing his eyes away from the beautiful sword, Sorin said, "No, he is called Lost because he was seduced by a demon and fell upon the dark path. They were forced to burn him to save him. They say he died without making a single sound and that his death caused so much sorrow the high priest forbade anyone else to ever be put to the flame."

"Burning does not save the soul," Koray said flatly. "Purifying saves it, and burning is not the same as purifying." He reached out and touched the sword—and to Sorin's complete astonishment, tears began to spill down his cheek.

"Koray—"

Snatching his hand away, Koray wiped at his face. "There's a soul in this sword. The paladin you spoke of, was his name Ambrose?"

"Yes," Sorin said softly.

"His soul is in this sword. He died in agony, but not because of the flames. He cries out for someone called Rakken."

Sorin shook his head. "I don't know that name."

"It's a demon name," Emel said, startling them both. When they stared at him, he hastily added, "I mean, it's a name that used to be common to the area where I was born, really close to the border with the Lost North. You see it on gravestones. Nobody uses it anymore because it's become associated with demons. A lot of old-fashioned names are, because so many were taken and turned around the time those names were common."

Koray scowled pensively at the sword. "I see."

Sorin reached out and lifted the sword out, startled at the wash of pain that swept through him, so powerful it made his eyes sting with tears. "This sword seems forged from pain."

"The anguish of the soul bleeds out," Koray replied quietly. "It aches to be reunited with Rakken."

The pain of the Goddess matched the pain locked in the sword, and Sorin was forced to wipe his own tears away. "I still find it hard to believe that a human and a demon could … I have seen the things that demons do to us. Look what the monster in our castle did to Alfrey and the Angels, and he is not even fully a demon yet. Who could fall in love with something that tortures and violates and takes everything that we have to give just to satisfy his need for power?"

"Perhaps there is something we do not know," Koray said.

Sorin winced at the throbbing in his chest. "Perhaps," he conceded.

"May I see the sword?" Emel asked quietly. Sorin handed it over and was startled by the longing mixed with the pain that overtook Emel's face.

"I wonder why it came to be sealed away in here," Koray said. "Surely such a treasure—such a reminder—would have been kept out."

"There may be a reason recorded in the archives," Sorin said. "Something like this would have been written down somewhere. We'll start looking for it."

Koray nodded, but still did not seem satisfied. "What is the point? I cannot remove the soul—that would take the Goddess or an alchemist, maybe. I've never known an alchemist to bind a soul the way they bind magic, but if it can be done they would be the ones to know how."

"We'll figure it out," Sorin said. "Did you want to keep the sword in the mean time?"

"Me?" Koray sneered. "Do I look like I could manage a sword like that? No, thank you. I will leave overblown swords to overblown paladins."

Sorin grinned. "With a tongue like that, I'm surprised you need weapons at all, My Lord High Necromancer. If anyone could reprimand a demon into submission, it would be you."

Koray shot him a look violent enough to send the entire army running, but Sorin just grinned.

"Could I keep the sword?" Emel asked softly.

Sorin tore his eyes away from Koray. "What? Oh, yes. I don't see why not. I like my sword, and I am not being ordered to keep that one close. If you want it …" He paused, feeling, listening to the pulsing in his chest. "I think it is you who are meant to hold on to it, Emel. By all means, take the Goddess' scheming and enjoy it. I am happiest when she is not running me ragged."

That got him a sharp jab to the chest, but Sorin only grinned and rubbed away the ache. "Bodies and swords, and I've still not had any breakfast. What say we remedy that, and then we have funerals to arrange and archives to attend. Emel, make peace with the poor master librarian and have him fetch someone to start cataloguing everything else in this room. When they're done cataloging, I want it taken to my room until we're certain we do not need any of it."

"Yes, High Paladin," Emel said. He removed his sword belt and lifted out the belt and sheath in the bottom of the box that had held the Lost Paladin's sword. Buckling it in place, he slid the sword home and something about it made Sorin shiver.

Something was about to happen, the pulsing in his chest seemed to say, but as ever, the Goddess was infuriatingly silent as to what.

Koray could just barely hear the bells tolling the first mark of the morning as he sifted through still more papers, pouring through the archive records, searching in vain for some clue as to why the sword had been sealed away.

He really wished the Goddess would lead him to something useful, like a nice, tidy explanation—that he could read. For all he knew, he could be missing it, though he was trying his best. Whenever he worked alongside Sorin, who read the archaic writing so easily, Koray was painfully aware of his feeble abilities and the vast differences between them.

Shoulders tightening with further tension, he turned the page and started on the next one. He was still struggling through the second paragraph when he heard the sound of footsteps trying not to be heard. It was a sound with which he was entirely too familiar. Koray drew his dagger and stood up, slipping away from the table and snuffing the lamp by which he had been working.

The room plunged into darkness, save for the silvery ghosts scattered about. Koray had wanted badly to purify them, but decided it would have to wait until the murders were solved. He could not risk wasting precious energy when there was a demon loose about the castle.

He waited, heart beating furiously, keeping his breathing too low to be heard as the careful steps drew closer. They were not Sorin or Emel—not any paladin or knight unless the man had been smart enough to remove his spurs.

As the figure reached the room where Koray worked, he lingered in the doorway. Cold fear abruptly sliced through Koray, a fear that only ever came from once source: demons. So the bastard who had killed two priests and three knights had come for him, which mean he thought Koray knew, or was about to learn, something that would incriminate the bastard.