Revelation (52 page)

“No. Not if I can help it.”

Fiona kicked aside a clay water pitcher that was in her way, so that it toppled over and rolled to a precarious perch on the edge of the steps, then she snatched up the vial she needed to anoint the sleeping man’s forehead in preparation for the rite. Before she caused some other destruction, I smiled up at her. “Whatever your reasons, Fiona, thank you for caring one way or the other. I will come back. Just as I said.”

Of course she wasn’t going to like it—any more than I was.

 

The walk back to Denas’s castle from Fiona’s portal would have taken me at least two hours. But I didn’t walk. I flew. The cold bit deep after the humid warmth of Fallatiel, and only with the greatest reluctance had I begun the long slog through the deep snow, watching over my shoulder for mad Gastai and wishing I knew the secret of demon traveling. That consideration led me to the matter of the clothes and the weapons, and the relationship of the realm of Kir’Vagonoth to the souls I walked as a Warden . . . and so to my wings. Never had I made the change with such ease. Little resistance. No pain. Just what I had always wanted . . . until I had watched Blaise’s face as he transformed. But I told myself that what I had was enough for now, and truly, negotiating the violent winds of Kir’Vagonoth was considerable distraction.

I landed behind a hill, whispered away my wings, and walked the last bit, then slipped through Merryt’s back door and took one shivering moment to glance into the time vessel. The water was swirling just above the last mark. An hour and a quarter, no more, until someone would come to fill the vessel and count another day gone. Time enough. I hurried up the winding stair and through the dim passageways to Gennod’s rooms.

I would have given much for someone I could trust. Saving that, Gennod was the only name I had. I would not approach Denas with my proposal. He had made it clear how little use he had for my kind, and I did not doubt that he would rather kill me than allow another to use me. Kryddon and Nesfarro, the other two demons who had expressed a willingness to do this thing, were friends of Vallyne’s. I would not put my life in her hands. I had no time to get to know all the demons and select the perfect one, like a Manganar matchmaker. Likely it would make no difference in the end. Speed was the important thing. And power.

I had at last begun to sense the true magnitude of my melydda. It was greater than I had ever imagined, manifesting itself fully, I thought, because of my existence in this place of demons. In the past when I had walked the Aife’s portal, I had been able to shape wings and to perform feats of sorcery and endurance I could not match in normal life. Now I understood that it was not only experience and developing skill that had made me stronger the longer I fought, but the closeness to my own kind, as if the barriers between us were worn down by physical proximity. As Catrin had remarked, I’d spent more time beyond the portal in my last two years as a Warden than in my own world. Now that I was immersed in the life of our lost spirits—and awake to notice it—power thundered in my veins like the waterfalls from the highest glaciers of Azhakstan. This was but one more confirmation of my beliefs. Demons and Ezzarians belonged together.

Gennod was surprised to see me, to say the least. The demon stood in his doorway staring, his form shimmering red against the darkness behind him.

“Perhaps our meeting should be a little less public,” I said. Not waiting for his permission, I squeezed past him and flattened my back to the wall of his chamber. “You’ll have to excuse this intrusion. I have very little time. But I was told we had interests in common, unlikely as that seems. May I speak with you?”

“Unlike some of us, I have no objection to your company, ylad, but what possible common interest could I have with you?” Gennod’s welcome was as spare as his room—a cold, barren hole, starkly empty of the cluttered furnishings of the rest of the castle. A few candles in plain-work sconces, steady-burning to stave off an oppressive darkness. A single table piled with rolled papers, books and drawings, and a map half buried beneath the other materials, all weighted down with stones. A freezing wind slipped through the shutters, threatening to scatter Gennod’s business on the floor.

No use in attempting pleasantries. “Denas plans to put himself in command of the demon legion,” I said, “which seems to require seeing Rhadit murdered along the way. Since Rhadit favors you for certain ventures, your own existence could be in danger.”

“Indeed.” The demon hissed and twitched his fingers, and the doorway behind me was shut and sealed. Unsettling, but not unexpected. “So I have been told. Though I must say I’m surprised that you know of it. Has Denas sent you to threaten me? Or perhaps to attempt the deed yourself?” He cocked his head and peered at my hands in polite wariness. “Perhaps you have weapons hidden somewhere as Merryt claims.”

“On the contrary. I’m the one who told Merryt to warn you.” Almost true. My lying had improved considerably over the past year.

Gennod folded his insubstantial arms in front of him and nodded slowly. “I wondered where the sneaking ylad had learned of the plot. And now you wish to claim some reward?”

“There are many things I wish, but here are the two most important. First I want to convince your people and mine that we are two halves of the same beings, that out of monumental fear our ancestors split us apart—cheated you out of your bodies and us out of half of our souls—and that we must discover how to undo it. But—”

“Preposterous!” Except for a slight tremor with the outburst—the first unstudied emotion I had ever seen from him—Gennod’s red light was steady and unchanging. Unfortunate, for the movement and intensity of a demon’s light were far more expressive than the face he wore.

“—but that is a great deal to expect from those who have been at war for a thousand years.”

He turned away from me and picked up a page of oddly formed characters from the table, rolling it up vigorously and stuffing the scroll in a stiff paper tube. But he was still listening. “And the second thing?”

“Failing the first, I want to call a truce between the rai-kirah and myself. I’ll help you open the way to Kir’Navarrin on condition that the demon legion refrain from any assault on my people—the
pandye gash
. Once you are all safe in Kir’Navarrin, I’ll take it upon myself to convince my people to end our war. If they won’t listen, then at least we are no worse off than we have been.”

Gennod was not as self-controlled as I thought. He whirled about, his light streaking and flashing, his form shifting from light to beast—a catlike being, breathing tongues of fire. Perhaps he didn’t understand that I could recognize his excitement, for his voice was yet cool and steady. “Why would I make a bargain with you? And what makes you think I have enough influence to call a truce?”

“Because I’m offering you what you want. Why else? The rai-kirah wish to be in Kir’Navarrin and to be free of the
pandye gash
. You don’t have to torture me or trick me or anything to get me to do it. I think that any Nevai who goes to the others and says he has arranged such a matter will be listened to. And you . . . you will find glory in it . . . and a body of your own. Which one of you would refuse such an offer?”

“How can I believe you would enter into such an arrangement with those you despise?”

And so the fish was hooked. “Because I also know that despite your love for intrigue, rai-kirah keep their bargains. It is a fundamental trait that Wardens learn from earliest training: make a bargain in a demon battle, and it will always be kept. Even the Naghidda did so. He swore to yield all Khelid souls if bested in single combat. When I defeated him, he gave the command and the Khelid were free. If he, the most corrupt of you all, kept his bargain, then I believe it must be a fundamental part of your nature.”

“You understand what this entails for you?”

For a few moments I permitted his examination—the cold probing of my mind and body to seek my intentions and my truth—then I gathered my melydda and pushed him away. “I do.”

“Wait here while I consult others. The terms . . . we will need to clarify . . . but I think we can find common ground.”

“There will be no negotiation, Gennod. The bargain will be as I have stated or nothing. And I can’t wait here while you persuade your fellows. I am expected elsewhere. When I’m ready to proceed—say two hours from now—I’ll meet you . . . where?”

“In the courtyard beside the gates.” From his quick response, I didn’t think there was going to be much discussion with the others.

“Agreed. No delays. No trickery. If you’re not there when I come, I’ll find someone else.”

“Indeed. Indeed. We’ll be ready.” He waved his unseen hand, and the doorway reappeared in the wall. I left him standing in the middle of his room, his light pulsing like a beating heart. For my own part . . . I wanted to be sick.

There was no time for self-indulgence. Everything depended on speed. On keeping them off-balance. I had to remain in control. So I hurried back through the shifting geography of the castle to Vallyne’s “resting” room. One small thing I had to do before proceeding.

Demons had no need for bedchambers, as they had no need to sleep. But they remembered the desire for sleep, so each of them had a private place to which they retired alone for part of the day. Vallyne had pointed out such rooms as she took me about the castle, but until that day she had never invited me to her own. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“Exile!”

I had come expecting a war, and indeed Vallyne was waiting for me in full battle dress. She stood at her door arrayed in midnight blue, a simple gown of woven air that hid only enough of her physical form to set my imagination on fire. Her pale shoulders were bare, and she wore no jewels save the emerald depths of her eyes. “You’re early, Exile, but I’m glad of it.” With a smile so radiant I wondered it did not make the dismal castle gleam, she took my hand and led me onto the battlefield.

Her room was hung with filmy veils of silver, a soft and delicate draping that hid the overabundant furnishings and glowed with candlelight. A small table was laid for two, wine poured in crystal goblets, a silver bowl of sugared cherries set between. Where had she learned of my favorite sweet? Beyond the table was a very large and very comfortable-looking bed. I reviewed the sincerity of my intents . . . and cursed Fiona and her tower one more time.

“In the city of the Rudai you offered to be my teacher.” The lady picked up the wineglasses and pressed one of them into my hand. “Have I passed beyond the first lesson or is there yet more to learn before we go on to the next?”

I took a sip of the wine . . . sour . . . wrong . . . and then I poured it out upon the gray tiles, watching the dark red liquid spread and splatter over Vallyne’s bare feet. “It won’t work, my lady. I’m free of you.”

Indeed. My lying was considerably improved.

 

 

 

Vallyne had succeeded in one of her purposes, at least. She had convinced me of the reasons. No matter what, I could not condemn the demons to an eternity in Kir’Vagonoth. She had shown me worth and beauty in her realm, and I could no more fault her for her ways than I could fault Aleksander for the ways he was born to. But for myself, I was a warrior who was accustomed to confronting my opponent and settling matters in the open. That’s why I could not wait for rumor to inform Vallyne that she had lost her game. I had to tell her that I knew what she was doing, no matter that it led me into such temptation as I had never known.

“So what I’ve guessed is true,” she said, setting her wineglass back upon the table. The hanging veils shifted softly in the silver light. “You’ve reclaimed what I’ve taken from you.”

“I can never reclaim everything you’ve taken. All those months in the pits . . . I must believe you don’t know what such things do to a human, else I could not stand here and say I’m sorry I cannot continue with our playacting.” I set my empty wineglass beside Vallyne’s. “You took away the memory of my child, Vallyne. Days when I could have been imagining what he was like as he grew. Yet even as I say it, I grieve for you . . . knowing how it must pain you to hear such things.”

“Exile . . .”

“Shall I tell you what you want to know? My name is Seyonne. You can bring out your friend Vyx—or is it Raddoman—or is it the unnamed guardsman who kept me with your other mindless animals—and tell him, too. None of this was necessary. I came here to learn. To help. To right the wrong that sent you here, even though I didn’t know what it was. I would have told you my name and helped you do what you want.”

No one could argue with Vallyne’s persistence. Her physical form vanished, and only her silver radiance remained. She stepped closer. Her face shone with insistent perfection. “But how could we know?” Her enveloping fire began to sear my skin and my resolution.

I walked to the window and threw open the shutters, hoping that the cold wind and the sight of the pitiless wasteland would cool my fever. “You could have listened to me,” I said. “Neither love nor trust nor friendship can grow without that one step. All you had to do was ask.”