Hero in the Shadows (52 page)

“I cannot die!” he shouted.

Thunder boomed as he spoke, and a blast of lightning tore down from the sky. The iron spear in Eldicar’s hand exploded in a tremendous flash of white light. The magicker’s body was hurled high into the air. The force of the explosion threw Lalitia from her feet. Chardyn ran to her, helping her up. Then he walked slowly toward the charred body of Eldicar Manushan. One arm was completely gone, and a part of the man’s chest had been torn open. A blackened section of the iron haft had crashed through Eldicar’s face and was jutting from the rear of his skull.

As Chardyn stood there, he saw the body twitch. One hand opened and closed. The leg jerked. Eldicar’s eyes flared open. Blood bubbled from his ruined chest, but the wound began to close.

Lalitia dropped to her knees beside the magicker and rammed her dagger into his throat, severing the jugular. Blood pumped out. Eldicar’s eyes stayed open for a little while, wide and terrified. Then they closed, and all movement ceased.

Benae Tarlin moved alongside Chardyn, and then the other townspeople crowded around.

“All praise to the Source!” someone said.

“The spear of lightning,” said another.

Chardyn looked up from the charred corpse and saw people staring at him, their faces awestricken. Benae Tarlin suddenly
took his hand and kissed it. Chardyn realized that the crowd was waiting for him to say something, some grand words, something memorable to match the occasion. But he had nothing to say.

He turned away from them and began the long walk back to Carlis.

Lalitia came alongside him, taking his arm. “Well, you are a saint now, my friend,” she said. “A man of miracles.”

“It was no miracle. He was struck by lightning in a storm,” said Chardyn. “And I am a fraud.”

“How can you say that? You promised them the Source would strike him down. He was struck down. Why do you continue to doubt?”

Chardyn gave a sigh. “I am a liar and a charlatan. You, though I love you dearly, are a whore and a thief. You think the Source would work his wonders through people like us?”

“Perhaps that is the real miracle,” she said.

The fingers of Waylander’s left hand were beginning to cramp as he eased himself up the wall, reaching for the cracks where the sections of marble dressing joined. The cracks were thin, no more than half an inch wide in places. Rain swept over him, drenching his clothing and making the handholds slippery. Waylander paused and opened and closed his left fist, trying to keep the fingers supple. Then he pushed on.

A figure appeared on the balcony just above him. Waylander froze. Lightning flashed over the bay, and the assassin saw in its fierce light a nightmare face. Hideously stretched at the temples, the head was triangular with huge almond-shaped eyes. The texture of the gray skin was scaly, like that of a serpent. Then the creature moved back from the balcony and into the tower beyond. Waylander gripped one of the stone balcony rails and hauled himself up. Lifting the crossbow from the clip at his belt, he vaulted the rail and then dove into the room.

Something bright flashed by his face. He rolled to his right. A second burning missile flew past. Coming to his knees, bow raised, he saw the creature’s hand come up. A ball of fire appeared in the palm. Waylander shot swiftly. The bolt slammed through the fiery globe, embedding itself in the shoulder of the creature. It leapt forward and then spun, its huge tail raking out. Waylander threw himself to his left. A sharp claw missed him by inches. He shot again. The bolt sliced through the creature’s face. It reared up, then fell heavily. Waylander notched the upper string of his bow and slipped another bolt into place.

The creature lay still for a moment.

Suddenly Waylander felt an immense pity for it and a powerful yearning to befriend the beast. He knew in that instant that it could not be evil, that it desired only love and friendship. He could not believe that he had come here to kill it. The creature slowly rose and turned. Waylander relaxed. Then his eyes fell on the bodies around the walls. In the corner he saw a dried-out husk. Braided golden hair clung to the desiccated skull. He knew the style of the braid. The corpse had once been Norda.

He looked back at the creature. Never in his life had he known such love as he felt now.

From somewhere deep in his mind he recalled Ustarte telling him about the charm spell used by Deresh Karany. The creature was closer now. Its tail swept around, the claw glinting in the lantern light.

“Will you die for me?” the creature asked sweetly.

“Not tonight,” said Waylander. With a huge effort of will he raised his weapon and touched the trigger. The bolt tore through the creature’s neck. Deresh Karany gave out a terrible cry. The spell broke.

Waylander dropped the crossbow and drew a throwing knife, which he hurled into Deresh Karany’s chest. The creature screamed and rushed at him. Talons snaked out. Waylander
dropped to his knees and flung himself to the right. The tail lashed at him, throwing him against an oak table. Waylander came to his feet and drew his short sword. The tail swept up. Waylander’s blade cut deeply into it. A high-pitched scream sounded from Deresh Karany, who backed away, his tail oozing blood to the floor.

“You cannot kill me, mortal,” he said.

“But I can bring you a world of pain,” answered Waylander. Another knife sliced through the air, plunging deep into the creature’s biceps.

Deresh Karany backed away once more and began to chant. Waylander had never before heard the language. It was guttural and harsh, yet powerfully rhythmic. The air in the room grew colder as the chanting grew louder. The walls began to vibrate. Shelves came crashing down. Realizing that the magicker was summoning a demon, Waylander hurled himself at him. Deresh Karany spun, his blood-smeared tail whip lashing out. The assassin was thrown across the room. He landed hard, striking his head against the wall. Groggy now, he struggled to rise. A bright light was beginning to form by the far wall. The stone began to ripple. In desperation Waylander drew another knife and hurled it with all his might. It hammered into Deresh Karany’s outstretched hand. Waylander heard him grunt with pain. For a moment only, the chanting ceased. Then it began again.

The cold intensified. Waylander shivered. Fear began to swell within him. Not fear of death or even fear of failure but fear itself, undiluted and pure. He felt the unseen presence of something so primal, so powerful that all his strength and guile were as nothing against it. Like a blade of grass trying to withstand a hurricane.

His limbs began to tremble. Deresh Karany screeched with laughter, the sound bizarre and insane. “You can feel it, can’t you?” he shouted. “Where are your knives now, little man? Here is one for you!” The
Ipsissimus
pulled the throwing
knife from the flesh of his face and tossed it toward Waylander. It clattered on the floor close by. Plucking the other blades from his flesh, he casually threw them to the floor. “Quick, gather them up,” he said. “I will enjoy watching you use them against the greatest of demons, the lord of the pit. Do you feel honored? Your soul is to be devoured by Anharat himself!”

The air around Waylander vibrated. Terror, pure and undiluted, swept through him, and he felt the desperate need to escape from this place.

“Why not run?” mocked Deresh Karany. “If you are fast enough, his wings will not be able to catch you!”

Waylander hefted his sword, anger coming to his aid. He was still unsteady on his feet, but he prepared himself for one last attack.

A dark figure appeared in the rippling wall, then ducked down and stepped into the room. Its skin was black and scaled, its head round, its ears long and pointed. As it entered, it raised itself up until it stood more than ten feet tall, its head just below the rafters. Black wings stretched out, touching the walls on either side. Fire burned in the demon’s eye sockets, and flames flickered from its wide mouth. A sickening odor filled the room. Waylander recognized it. It was the stench of decaying flesh.

“I summoned thee, Anharat,” said Deresh Karany.

“For what purpose, human?” came the response. As it spoke, fire billowed from the gaping mouth, curling up against the skin of its face. The words hung in the cold air, echoing around the rafters.

“To kill my enemy.”

The Demon Lord’s burning eyes fastened on Waylander. Ponderously he advanced across the room. As his taloned feet touched the ornate rugs, the cloth burst into flame. Smoke rose around the creature.

Waylander flipped the short sword, catching it by the blade as he prepared to hurl it into the breast of the demon.

The beast paused. Its head arched back, and it began to laugh. Flames roared from its mouth, the sound causing the room to tremble. Waylander threw the sword. As it left his hand, it burst into flame and then flew up to plunge into one of the rafters.

The Demon Lord swung to face Deresh Karany. “Ah, but this is a good moment!” he said. “I have always loathed humans, Deresh Karany, but you I hold in utter contempt. Did I not warn you that this gateway would be protected? Did I not tell you that only the deaths of three kings would open the portals? Did you listen? No. Hundreds of my people have been slain, and now you have the effrontery to call on Anharat to kill a single human.”

“You must obey, demon!” shouted Deresh Karany. “I have followed all the ancient rituals. To the last detail. Ten deaths I have given you, and the incantations were perfect. You have no choice but to accept my order.”

“Oh, this is exquisite! You are a skilled sorcerer, Deresh Karany. You know all the laws governing the summoning. And what, pray, is the prime law?”

“There must be a death. That is the price! And there he is, Anharat. Kill him and the ritual is complete.”

“And how many times can a man be killed?” asked the Demon Lord, moving slowly toward Deresh Karany until he towered over the
Ipsissimus
.

Waylander stood silently by. Deresh Karany tried to back away. The wall stopped him.

“I don’t understand,” said Deresh, his voice shaking. “Kill him—and go!”

“I cannot kill him, mortal. For he is already dead. His heart no longer beats. His body stands only because a magicker laid a spell upon it.”

“No. This cannot be!” shouted Deresh. “You are trying to trick me!”

“The prime law,” said Anharat. “There must be a life.” His huge arm snaked out. Sharp talons crunched through Deresh Karany’s body, hauling him into the air. As Waylander watched, the Demon Lord tore open the sorcerer’s chest, ripping out his heart. Yet still Deresh struggled. “Even better,” said Anharat. “You have mastered the art of regeneration. You will wish you had not. For now it may take a hundred years for you to die.” A blast of flame roared from the demon’s mouth, engulfing the beating heart in its hand.

Ponderously he turned and moved back to the rippling wall. Deresh Karany was still struggling as Anharat ducked down and stepped through.

As the portal closed, Waylander heard one last despairing scream.

Then there was silence.

Kysumu had never fought better in his life. He was the representative of humanity in a battle to save his world, and pride flooded his muscles with a power he had never before experienced.
This
was what he had been waiting for his entire life. To be the instrument of good against evil, to be the hero. He was unstoppable and fought beside the
Riaj-nor
with a chilling ferocity.

At first they drove deep into the superior ranks of the
Kriaz-nor
, driving toward the great arch. It was a curious sight, and even as he battled, Kysumu found it wondrous. Above him the sky was lit by moon and stars, yet sunshine was beaming through the gateway, casting a golden light on the stark ruins of Kuan Hador. Intermittently, dark blue lightning would ripple across the opening, filling the air with an acrid smell.

The
Riaj-nor
had hacked and cut their way forward. Four warriors burst through the
Kriaz-nor
lines and sprinted
toward the gateway. A dozen
Kriaz-nor
gave chase. As the gray-garbed warriors reached the portal, they hurled their blades toward the golden light. As the swords crossed the opening, they flared with a brilliance that dazzled the eye. Blue lightning tore across the huge arch. To Kysumu it seemed fractionally darker than before, but still the sunlight from another world streamed through. Unarmed now, the four
Riaj-nor
had turned and flung themselves at their enemies. They were cut down in moments.

That had been almost an hour ago.

Now the lightning was pale, and within its flare Kysumu could see white streaks. Only around thirty of the
Riaj-nor
were still fighting, and though they had taken a terrible toll on the enemy, they were still outnumbered two to one. Ren Tang had fallen moments before, cut down by two
Kriaz-nor
. As he fell, his chest pierced, he reached out and pulled one of the warriors in close, ripping out his throat with his teeth.

The sound of thunder rumbled from some distance away as a storm broke over Carlis Bay. The wind changed, and a light rain began to fall over the ruins. Kysumu’s gray robes were drenched with blood, and now the rain was making the ground slippery beneath his feet. Yet still he fought with controlled frenzy. Two more
Riaj-nor
forced a way past the enemy, running at the gateway and throwing their swords toward it. As the blades disappeared, the white streaks faded, the lightning becoming a blue so deep that the sunlight could no longer shine through. Three
Kriaz-nor
fighters peeled back from the battle, killing the unarmed warriors and taking up positions directly in front of the gateway, ready to cut down any who broke through.

Song Xiu killed two warriors, then darted through the gap. Kysumu ducked under a slashing blade, disemboweled the wielder, then ran after him. But before they could reach the gateway a group of
Kriaz-nor
cut them off. Back to back, Kysumu and Song Xiu struggled to defend themselves. The remaining
Riaj-nor
swept forward to aid them. Many were killed.