Legend of the Ravenstone (42 page)

“Summoned what?” Argamus asked.

Asmat stared at him. “The Demon.”

“Where?” Rourke demanded, his eyes wide.

There was no verbal response, but none was needed when the creature revealed itself by the unfurling of a pair of large, white, dragon-like wings. It stood just outside the door to the inn and lifted its arms. The amber flames flared violet and rose in one great and spiraling pillar to the sky. They disappeared as they climbed higher, and the dark smoke followed, hovering like a massive thunderhead above the building. Like a stone breaking the reflection of a puddle, the cloud suddenly shattered and dispersed, leaving only the acrid scent of char in the air as a testament to the fire.

The white wings dropped, and so did the creature’s arms. The Demon dropped, too, and lay still. No one moved. No one spoke.

The first sign of motion was from the Minstrel’s Quarter, where Nesif emerged, supporting the lesser form of the Priagent. At once the group moved forward to meet them.

Nesif set Rashir upon the ground, both of them gulping at the air to assist their starved lungs. “I will be fine,” Rashir rasped, though it was clear that he and Nesif had both suffered burns to their faces, legs, and arms.

“We must find a medic,” Hesun said. “Is there no one to help us?”

The streets were deserted, and not one witness emerged to gawk or offer aid. If the innkeeper and his staff had survived the blaze, they had evacuated and fled without a trace.

Argamus pulled Hale aside. “I can help them,” he said in a low tone. “It is the innate gift of a Markanturian.”

“Except that you are not a Markanturian,” Hale reminded. He gripped the wizard’s shoulder as if to restrain him.

“I cannot stand helplessly and watch them suffer from their injuries,” Argamus said. “I will not. If I am to be a wizard, then it is a healing ‘spell’ that I shall employ. They will be none the wiser.”

“How can you be certain?” Hale asked, his expression drawn in the staff’s stark, cold light. “You will rouse suspicion for which you will have to answer.”

“Then so be it.” Argamus shrugged Hale’s hand from him. The tall man did not follow after him as he went to assist the victims. The wizard knelt down, grimacing at the raw and blistered burns the staff brought to light. He set Whitestar down and met Rashir’s gaze. “I have been trained in healing magic,” he said. “Let me help you.”

Rashir said nothing but gave a slight nod, and Argamus placed his hand just above his heart. Red, snakelike tendrils of flesh stretched from the wizard’s palm and dove into the burned and blistered skin. Rashir gave a cry, but in a matter of moments, it was over. The tendrils retreated, and Argamus moved away. There were no visible wounds to speak of. The Priagent stared at him, a curious expression upon his face.

Argamus shifted uncomfortably in the ensuing silence.

Rashir’s focus finally turned to his brother. “Nesif. Please do for Nesif what you have done for me,” he said, almost inaudibly.

With a nod, Argamus did as bade, aware that the Priagent was rapt to every move he made. When he had finished, he extinguished the light of the staff and waited, uncertain what would happen next. He did not wait long before a voice drew their attention.

“Your demon stirs.” Hale’s somber tone.

Nesif and Rashir rose, but Argamus merely twisted in the creature’s direction—uncertain if he had the strength to stand. The sliver of a moon caught the shrouded form as it lifted itself onto all fours, its ghostly wings braced to either side of it. The Demon staggered to its feet, yet unaware that it had an audience. It stood for a moment, swaying slightly, before it set its sight on some shadowy haven. Then it bolted.

Rashir lifted a hand, and the creature froze. Its momentum sent it reeling forward into the dirt, but did not rise again. “Asmat, please shackle it and return it to the wagon. I see no need to tarry here any longer.”

At that, the Jornoans moved into action, surrounding their leader and heading for the stable. Argamus watched them, his mouth slightly agape. Hale and Rourke joined him, both offering an arm to help him stand.

“He didn’t even say thanks,” Rourke said.

“I imagine this whole scenario has greatly upset him,” Argamus said, dusting off his robes. “I cannot say I feel differently.” He expected Hale to contribute his own words of wisdom, but the tall man said nothing, and his silence worked its way into the wizard’s side—a deeper thorn amongst the many that held him fast.

R
uddy clouds scudded across the sky as though a giant broom had swept them up from the earth. Dawn had risen with an amber light—
stormlight—
as his people had called it. They had a little more than a day’s journey before they would reach Veloria, and Hale could feel the winds stir long before they swayed the brittle autumn grasses along the road. He had no trouble spotting the mottled hawk riding the swift currents of air above them, and he felt a touch of envy that he could not join her. Had his initial plans come true, he would have been just as carefree, well on his way to the Chronleste Mountains to a place he had left in his memories. How often had his path been diverted? His life was a far cry from what he ever would have imagined it would be.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?”

Hale turned to find Rourke gazing skyward, trying to see what had drawn his attention. “Stormlight,” he murmured. He picked up the razor blade and felt at the contours of his face with his free hand.

Rourke drew nearer. “How you gonna do that?”

“Very carefully,” Hale answered.

“Oh.” Rourke glanced back at the fire, where the others were finishing breakfast. “I just wanted to make sure you’re alright. You’ve been kinda quiet—even for you.”

“We’re nearly to the forest,” Hale said. “I have slowly searched the wagon, and I still haven’t found the stone. Time is escaping us.”

“What if we don’t find it?”

“I don’t know.”

Rourke sighed and gave a nod.

“Anything can happen now,” Hale told him. “Best I can tell you is to be ready.”

Another nod. “You didn’t eat breakfast, so I brought these for you.” He handed Hale a pair of hardened biscuits and a piece of cheese. Once Hale thanked him, Rourke slowly walked back toward the others. Shortly thereafter, the wagon was loaded, the fire extinguished, and the group was ready to press on. Hale took his place in the back of the covered wagon, though it seemed no matter how many hours he spent beneath the canopy, he could never completely be at ease in the space.

Hale swept the contents of the wagon for what could have been the hundredth time, but he knew he had checked every nook, every container and blanket. If the Ravenstone was not in the wagon, then where would it be? He rubbed his brow and breathed a sigh. Then he turned to the one watching him from behind the bars of its cage. He removed the biscuits and the cheese from the cloth in his pocket and situated himself near the Demon, as he had done on other occasions, when pity had moved him to keep the creature from starving. The Demon’s hands were bound in glove-like manacles made of magic-nullifying alethrium, and the only way Hale could feed it was by tearing chunks of the bread and delivering them to the creature’s mouth. It was eager enough to accept the food, and it had never shown any aggression toward him. Hale reached toward it now, a piece of the cheese ready for the taking, but the Demon did not move.

“You must be hungry,” Hale murmured. “Unless you are immortal. But I suspect you have just as many needs as I do.” He tried again, and the hooded creature moved closer, but it did not accept the food. “So be it.” He started to move away, but the Demon made a sound that snared his attention. He paused.

“
Emérion Aguilos
.”

Hale stared.

“’Awkwing.” The voice was nearly inaudible, but Hale had keener ears than most.

“What is this?” Hale whispered, slowly gravitating back to the Demon.

“
Erano
,” the Demon said.

“No.” Hale drew closer and peered past the bars, trying to see the creature’s face. “This is some sort of ruse.”

“
Erano,
” the Demon repeated.

Brother. In my own tongue. How does this creature know me? There would be no way for the Priagent to speak through the demon. But...
Hale shook his head and frowned. “I do not understand you. Whoever you believe me to be, you are mistaken.”

The Demon pressed up against the bars, and Hale drew back. “
Marí. My mother and yours.
”

It took all Hale’s self-control not to let his hardened expression fall. “What are you saying to me?” he demanded.

“I came to find you. Marí spoke of you. I came to find you.”
The Demon’s weak voice pleaded with him. Its manacled hands pushed against the bars. “M’ brother,” it tried in the common tongue.

“I have no brother,” Hale said, forcing his anger. “I was born to a wealthy family, and in no way by Jedinom’s Great Sword can I share an ounce of blood with a
demon.
”

“Y’are ‘Awkwing,” the Demon insisted.

“That is not my name,” Hale snapped. He left the Demon’s cage and moved to the front of the wagon to peer through the opening. Arcturus and Rashir were in the seat of the open wagon, in deep discussion as they smoked. A couple of the brothers on horseback were at the helm of the procession. Hale doubled back, purposely not looking at the creature in the cage as he moved the flap of the canvas to see Rourke and Arshod riding behind him. Nothing was amiss. Nothing was out of place.

Nothing except for the Demon who insisted they were brothers.
I don’t understand. There is no sense to it.
He drew a long breath and slowly exhaled, but it did not ease his trembling. Hale looked at his quaking hands, then lifted his gaze to the Demon. “Who and what are you? How is it that you know my language?”

The Demon cocked its head toward him as Hale approached. Then it shook from its hood. Hale’s mouth fell open, and he forced himself to close it again. Within the cage was a boy—a white-skinned, white-haired boy who could not be any older than Kariayla. Its large, foxlike, violet eyes stared at him from a hollowed visage stained with filth, blood, and bruises. Aside from the youth’s tapered ears and shrouded wings, he was just a boy.

“What are you?” Hale whispered.

“Oqranton.
Falquirian
,” the Demon said.

Hale shook his head and crouched beside him. “That is not possible. My people are dying in the Chronleste Mountains.”

“
Marí. My father took her.”
The boy studied him, awaiting a reaction.

Hale could not regard him. Instead he stared vacantly at the wall of the wagon, trying not to let his memories swallow him. “Where?” he asked quietly. “Where did he take her?”

“
Islan Sorgratrena. Gento.
”

“I know of no such place.”

“
Home of Oqranton.
Me.”

“Does she live?” Hale asked, his words like ghosts. When there was no verbal response, he turned back to the boy, who merely shook his head. Hale let out a long sigh, and silence followed. When he found the courage, he turned back to study the boy again. “How...” He paused when his voice broke. “How came you here?”

“Water,” the boy answered. “I left ‘ome. Come to find y’.
Erano. Em’ri.
” The large eyes swallowed Hale, eating at him from the inside.

“I...I don’t know what to say.” Hale took a breath and subconsciously drew a gloved hand across his eye. “I can’t even begin...” He bowed his head, into his hand, as if he could not support the weight of what was brought to his mind.

“’Elp me,” the boy whispered. “Please.”

Hale looked at him miserably.

“Please.” The half-starved creature pressed against the cage. “I ‘elp y’. Y’ want stone.”

Hale lifted his head. “The Ravenstone? You know where it is.”

The Demon nodded and tapped the floor of its cage with his foot.

“He has kept it here,” Hale marveled. “Beneath you.”

“Take stone. Take me.”

Hale frowned. “The Priagent has a hold over you. How will you leave with us?”

The Demon lowered his head.

“What happened to the Prophet? What has Rashir done with him?”

The head snapped up, the eyes glinting like cut amethyst in candlelight. “
He was eaten.”

Hale sat back and blinked. “I do not—”

“
He was eaten,”
the creature rasped. “
The king took his Sight. Took his magic. As he takes mine. But Nik is dead. The king can see the future now.”

Hale processed the message, sifting through the broken language to what the Demon meant. The more he considered it, the more he could feel his heart darken. If the Priagent could claim any magic as his own with or without the Ravenstone, who could hope to stop whatever plot he had set into motion? And if Rashir could see the future, it was likely he already knew the motives of the intruders in his company. What little time Hale thought they had to retrieve the stone had been spent the moment the Prophet was consumed. This was a ruse—a grand ruse—and at any moment, the earth would crumble beneath their feet. They would never reach Veloria.

He found the Demon watching him, waiting for him to act or speak. “There is no promise I can make you,” he said grimly.

The Demon sat back and rested his head against the cage, though his eyes never left Hale.

“Your name,” Hale said gently. “What is your name?”

“No name,” the Demon whispered. “Nik call me Collin. But Nik is dead. All of them dead.”

“If it is in my power, Collin, I will take you with me,” Hale said. “I will try.”

“
The king will eat you too,
” the Demon said and closed his eyes.

~*~

B
y midday the wind was constant, buffeting against the canvas of the covered wagon and pushing horses and riders with firm resistance. The group stopped before a river ford, stretching limbs and preparing a light lunch. Hale slipped from the covered wagon, catching Argamus’s eye with a subtle gesture. He gave Rourke a light tap upon the arm as he limped his way to the riverside to wash. He glanced at the sky for a hawk that was not there, waiting for his two companions to join him. When they were beyond site of the others, Hale made his announcement.