Revelation (55 page)

“It seems a courtesy to tell me who it will be.”

Vyx smiled a little sadly. “You underestimate your own strength, Exile. It matters not in the least which of our kind takes this step, save that it not be Gennod or one of his sympathies.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, and I didn’t want to think about it.

“Now go, friend Seyonne. And may your gods care for you better than they have thus far.” He grinned and gave me a nudge forward. “We may yet have time to see something of the world together.”

My feet didn’t want to move. “You’re sure it isn’t you?” I could use a dose of his optimism and good humor. At least I had shared more than five words with him.

Vyx threw his head back laughing. “It would be my privilege, but you have troubles enough without adding mine. I can’t seem to stay in anyone’s good graces for more than an hour’s passing. We can’t risk anyone knowing our players until the deed is done.” He waved a hand toward the steps. “It will be well, Exile. It will be well.” Then he shoved me forward into the crowd of demons, crying out in a voice much larger than his slender frame, “Make way! Our rescuer comes!”

Much of that hour was a blur. A blur of light as I walked through the sea of demons, fighting to ignore the stench as they opened a way to let me pass. A blur of sound—babbling, murmuring, demon words of anger and hope, and gut-twisting music that wailed and writhed and set my bones quivering with memory and dread. Events carried me along without thought or conscious agreement, as if my only choice had been made on the night I wrapped my arms about my wife and discovered she no longer carried a child, the night I tumbled down a well of darkness and could find no purchase to stop my fall.

But inevitably I found myself standing on the steps of Denas’s castle, sleet stinging my face and Gennod’s pulsing red light grating at the edge of my spirit. “The terms of truce are agreed to as you stated, Yddrass,” Gennod said quietly when I climbed the steps to stand beside him. “In return for your agreement to open the gateway to Kir’Navarrin, the legion will not attack the
pandye gash
. Now that I am to assume command of the legion, you can be sure of it. Only if we are prevented from traveling the gateway will we fight your people, and once safe within our homeland, we will allow you to negotiate in peace. The entire host of Kir’Vagonoth will be bound by these words. Is that satisfactory?”

“Satisfactory,” I said. But of course I already knew how things would fall out. The rai-kirah might not attack the Ezzarians, but Merryt was seeing to it that the Ezzarians would be in the fight. He would create chaos between humans and demons so that he could get through the gate first. What possibility of escape from this fate I might ever have possessed, I had squandered when I sent Merryt through the portal. I could not warn the Ezzarians away from the confrontation. If they believed the demon legion was coming to destroy them—possess their own souls or those of others—they would be ready. They would send in every student, every scholar, every person with any trace of melydda, and they would be slaughtered. So I had to prevent Merryt from passing through the portal, and I had to have the power to force the demons to leave whatever hosts they used without fighting. That meant I had to both control the gateway and command the legion. I. No one else. Even then I didn’t know if it would be enough.

Demons gave speeches lamenting the missing Rhadit, glorifying his determination to lead the demon legion into the human world, and praising Gennod’s nobility to risk all for a new life in Kir’Navarrin. Others gave exhortations for courage and pleas for unity and thanks to those who planned to take their places in the vanguard. Gennod was not highly regarded. The speeches seemed hollow, the cheering thin, but Gennod came nearer a smile than I had ever seen him. When it was his turn to speak, the red-glimmering demon was brief. “We will take what we want. No longer will we beg or steal.”

That got the demon legion enthusiastic—especially the fringes of the crowd where the hunters lurked. As one of the things he wanted, I felt distinctly nauseated. Acrid smoke billowed from torches mounted on the tall pillars, burning my eyes.

Then they turned to me. “This ylad—an yddrass of many battles—has come to us in our need,” said one of Gennod’s followers, a slight lisp marring his high, clear voice. The growling from the Gastai had me shuddering; I would have sworn I heard Jack-Willow’s voice among them. “This ylad has been punished for his crimes and has offered us his true repentance. We have judged him sufficient to do what must be done.” More words. None yet that had meaning, but those would come soon, and I was not sure what I was going to do. A thousand plans flitted through my head like the winged seeds of the yvarra tree, all of them dismissed as useless before they could settle and take root.

And then it was time.

“Yddrass, is it your intent to help us on our way to Kir’-Navarrin?” Gennod now questioned me.

“Yes.” Such a deep hush fell over the babbling crowd that even my half-strangled reply resounded clearly. A blast of wind flapped my cloak, and I drew it tight.

“And you will accept freely the one of us who offers to join you in this enterprise?”

“Yes.”

“And you will abide by the agreements we have made and forsake the war you have waged upon our kind?”

Bile burned in my throat. “Yes.”

Gennod leaned toward me and whispered, “There is one more thing we require of you . . . because of your history . . . because so many of our kind have suffered at your hand, they’ll not believe that you submit unless you kneel.”

“Kneel . . . no. I will not.” How foolish to rebel at such a small matter, when I was violating every law I had sworn to uphold, betraying every Ezzarian who had lived and fought and died for a thousand years. Yet every fiber of my body revolted at such blatant humiliation . . . such abject surrender. I might be renouncing my people, but I would not humble them. “Impossible.”

Even the wind fell still. Gennod sneered, still keeping his tight voice low. “Then, you have no intent to accomplish this deed. Your claims of sincerity are false. What does appearance matter when you have already said you will yield?”

The crowd was stirring uneasily; those on the steps were leaning closer. Vyx now stood with the group of Nevai, his head cocked to the side, the blue flame of his eyes sharply focused. What would Gennod do if I refused? I shifted my senses and looked deep into the red light, and the answer was unmistakable. He would try to force me. Along with all my other misjudgments . . . what if I had misjudged his power? I knew nothing of what was to come, and I could not allow him to gain any advantage. I had gone far enough along this path . . . what if he won?

“When I give you my name, I will not kneel, but I will bow,” I said. “A very deep, formal bow, as one honorable warrior to another, as a local king gives to our Emperor. If that is not enough, you can find someone else.” Some things just could not be.

Gennod stared at me, assessing my intent. Evidently he was satisfied that he had gotten all he could get. He smiled. “We will do very well,” he said. “I could not live a coward.” He continued, louder again. “And this choice you make freely, witnessed by this host before you?”

“Yes.”

As one the crowd leaned forward. I darted my eyes about looking for Vallyne, but she was nowhere I could see.

“Speak your name, ylad.”

I forced myself to smile at Gennod, then jerked my head at his friends who were crowding close, almost touching my shoulders. Gennod waved his hand, and his friends moved aside. At the same time, I stepped back, and as I grasped the edges of my cloak and spread them wide, pointing one foot and dipping my head low over my knee in the most formal of courtly bows, I felt others move up close behind me, a circle of demons at my back. When I came up, I spun on my heels to face them as if I were surprised. Tovall and Denkkar were to my right and my left. In between them were Nesfarro and Kryddon, a slyly smiling Vyx, and Kaarat, the Rudai judge.

“The name, ylad, the name.” Gennod was at my shoulder, waving at the others. “You—Vyx, Tovall, the rest of you—move back.”

Kryddon spoke the question. Not loud, but very clear. As inescapable as a trumpet call on the battlefield. “Do you yield or not, ylad? Answer Gennod’s question.”

My breathing stopped. And yet there was one moment of relief when I saw it was Kryddon.
Not horrid . . . not crude or sly . . . forever . . . oh, gods, have mercy . . .
The wind blasted sleet into my eyes and made the torchlight dance wildly.

“The name, ylad.” Gennod was angry. Closer.

I closed my eyes and envisioned my son, grown into a sturdy child, his cheeks of rosy gold, his straight black hair, his coal-black eyes, laughing with kind Elinor and Gordain back in the world of light. It was the image I wanted to take with me—my purpose. A Warden can accomplish nothing without a purpose, so I had taught my students a lifetime ago. This purpose is the framework of his honor, the foundation of his strength, the standard to which he can attach everything he needs to remember.

“I yield,” I said. “I, Seyonne . . .”
. . . son of Gareth and Joelle of the line of Ezraelle, husband of Ysanne, father of Evan-diargh, Warden of Ezzaria
. Though I dared not speak the names aloud, I invoked them under my breath to ensure I did not forget. Then I opened my eyes, touched the hand that reached for mine . . . and looked up into the bitter, golden eyes of Denas.