Revelation (63 page)

No. Proof of my “innocence” was not important. Timing was the key—delaying and disrupting Ysanne’s plan. Perhaps they would need her power to set their blockade—even with so many of them, it would take considerable melydda to pull them together and stop the demons’ passing. But if I forced her to attend to me and made sure Merryt wanted to be in on it . . . It seemed a flimsy plan, but it was all I could devise.

“You’re a weakling, Merryt,” I said. “Word in Kir’Vagonoth had it that you yielded to the Rudai on the second day of your captivity. Was it the first lash discomforted you? Or was it sleeping in the dark? Such hardship for a Warden used to easy battles . . . and there was no Merryt to teach your captors how to torture a captive Warden. Perhaps I should teach you what you could have faced.” I leaped onto Merryt, vented a bit of my anger by a few choice blows to his jaw and his gut, then held back and let him dump me off of him. I rolled to the side and popped back onto my feet, snatching up the bloody knife blade I had pulled from Kyor’s back. “Will you not fight me, weakling? Or is it you’re afraid to fight without a woman to blame when you lose? Your wife. Your Aife. It was all her fault, wasn’t it?”

“Silence, vermin. Don’t you dare speak of my wife with your demon-infested tongue.”

For a while the Ezzarians held back. Perhaps they were afraid of my demon. Perhaps they were afraid of my melydda and my training. I preferred to think they found it difficult to believe Merryt’s story when they saw me in the flesh. I was the one they had known for so long, the one who had taken them back to Ezzaria, the Queen’s husband, and friend or student, teacher or brother to so many of them. But that wasn’t going to last long once they glimpsed my eyes for themselves and listened to the demon music, once they realized that I couldn’t fry them with lightning if they touched me. Even as I circled again, a few men started to move forward and I held ready. But it was Merryt who waved them off. “Stay back. I’ll take the devil myself.”

“The great Merryt, the lost Warden. So sure of himself,” I said. “Is the archivist here? Tell me the tales of the ancient hero Merryt. Surely I missed them in my education.”

We exchanged more taunts and scrapped like nasty boys—while a ring of Ezzarians stood protectively between us and Ysanne. But as we circled and ducked and rolled and fought, the crowd shifted, and I watched for an opening. No possibility of getting close to Ysanne, but the others . . . The time came, and, in the space of a gnat’s breath, I had Fiona in my grasp, with the bloody knife at her breast.

“Oh, my good and faithful watchdog, you’re going to be Queen,” I growled into her ear. “Why in the name of sense didn’t you tell me? Did you think I would kill you for it?”

I pulled the slight figure farther away from the crowd, keeping a snarling Merryt well in view.

“Seyonne, don’t do this.” Fiona spoke through clenched teeth and tried to wrench her arms from my grasp.

“Here”—I tightened my grip on the wriggling young woman, hoping to give her pause before the others drew near enough to overhear—“be still and listen. Whatever you think of me . . . however you abhor what I’ve done . . . what I am . . . I beg you have mercy on Blaise. For the love of the world, for all you profess, get him through the gateway. You’ve let your eyes deceive you, Fiona. I thought perhaps . . . Your mind knows so much of truth. Think. Gods, if you would but think.”

“I am not deceived. I know exactly what I see.” She said it loud enough that all could hear.

Maybe someday she would sort it all out, but clearly it was nothing I could count on happening very soon. Her head was harder than the stone pillars. With a silent apology to Blaise, I proceeded with my plan.

“Now perhaps we can speak on equal terms for one moment,” I said, as everyone held rigid in shock. “We’re getting nowhere with this little scrap. You wish to set up obstacles to my friends’ passage through this gateway—a sorely misguided venture—and some of you think to salvage this human soul I have taken. I warn you now that if you persist, you will bring the wrath of the rai-kirah down upon you.” Nothing like a bit of the truth to sound convincing. “No doubt your scouts noted the Derzhi encampment not half a league from this place. Send a runner and discover what ill infests Aleksander’s legions this night. If you set this blockade, I will tell the Derzhi legion who is responsible for their horrors. You know, my Queen, that Aleksander will believe one who appears to him in this body. And so you can be sure that whatever forbearance has been shown you will end quickly. The Ezzarian people will cease to exist. I would prefer to avoid such messy business, and prevent your interference in matters you don’t understand.”

Ysanne pushed her guards aside and walked toward me, pale and regal. No softness. “Are you offering us a bargain, demon?”

I almost could not speak for her closeness. Her violet eyes stared at me boldly . . . contemptuous . . . filled with loathing. What in the name of the gods was I doing . . . standing before the Queen of Ezzaria—the love of my life—with a knife to a woman’s breast and threatening the end of the world? Had any man ever become so thoroughly the very object of his nightmares? Yet my lips kept on speaking. Time was so short. “If you hold back and let the rai-kirah pass to their own homeland, I’ll not tell the Derzhi you have caused their troubles, and I will allow this human Seyonne to choose his own fate. It’s as simple as that.”

She did not even hesitate. “There is no bargain here. Demons have no passage through the souls of this world—my people are sworn to prevent it—and you cannot bribe me with one life, no matter whose it may be. The one you’ve taken understands that better than anyone in any world.”

“Indeed he does,” I said softly. I had not expected her to relent. “Then I’ll be off to visit Prince Aleksander. You cannot destroy me. I know your names. I know your secrets. You have no one who can challenge me. I will live, no matter what you do to this body, and I will see that Ezzaria never knows another moment’s peace. Ask this woman to tell you of Balthar’s mosaic. Ask her who holds the key to the end of the world.” I shoved Fiona back toward the Ezzarians and invited Merryt to continue our engagement. “Come, coward, let us finish our discussion.”

Even as I voiced these dreadful threats, three streaks of colored light flicked into view near the gateway . . . and slowly . . . majestically . . . moved through it. No human eye could have seen them.
Oh, gods of night and day . . .
It was all I could do to resist running off to join them. But I still had my role to play.

“I’ll take him, Lady Queen,” said Merryt, spitting at my feet. “He will die by my hand and no other.” And we began to wrestle again.
Engage, separate, not too much. Let him win a point. Give him confidence.
How long would it take Ysanne’s fellows to be ready?

Not long. I sensed Caddoc and Kenehyr working behind me. Even distracted as I was, I could feel their power growing. Before too long my feet began to drag; my arms might have been lead. A loop of rope snared one arm, and I could scarcely summon the power to snap it apart. Another threatened to snag my feet until I set it aflame. My efforts were pitiful.

“You are a sneaking thief, Merryt,” I said, “a violator of the helpless and a murderer of children. You’re afraid to face a true warrior. Afraid to face a rai-kirah. And I am your worst nightmare, for I am both at once.” I stumbled to my knees, feeling the heavy mantle of enchantment envelop me. Hands grabbed my head and shoulders from behind, bent my head back, and forced a river of sticky, bitter liquid down my throat.

As I choked and gagged on the potion, Merryt stood glaring down at me, his hands trembling as they gripped his two bloody knives. “Abomination.”

I considered using my last sensible words to ask that someone please prevent his cutting my throat, but instead I forced out my last play of the game. “Do not send your child Wardens to try me, Catrin. I’ll eat them for breakfast and spit their bones back at you while picking their balls from my teeth. Too bad you have no one to send who dares face an opponent rather than sneaking up from the back. Too bad you’ve only children and mewling cowards.” A loop of rope tightened about my chest and pulled me onto my back. Like hungry spiders they wrapped me in ropes and spells, and the bitter-tasting vammidia spread throughout my veins like rivers of mud. “This ‘Warden’ has used you. Lied to you. He has lain with a demon woman . . . told us his name . . . begged us to take his soul . . . to give him power. We would not have him. Not even rai-kirah.” I could scarcely speak. “Try him . . . see if he will do a Warden’s duty or tries to sneak away.”

Faces hovered over me: a stunned Catrin, Ysanne, clear-eyed and cold, Merryt grinning. Fiona shoved her way in front of them and knelt beside me, testing my bonds.

“We’ve no time to waste,” said Ysanne, turning away. “Fiona will see to the blockade while I take care of this matter. Merryt, tell her what is necessary to block the demon passage. Talar, you will take the right. Maire the left. Gansard . . .” She walked away, giving an unending stream of orders.

Of course Ysanne would be the one to weave. She was the most powerful of Aifes, and she knew me better than anyone in the world, so she could weave the portal quickly, making it strong and unyielding. Would I feel her inside me?
Beloved . . .

Someone kindly closed my uninjured eyelid, for I was staring up into blazing torchlight and blurred faces and could not close it for myself. I think it was Fiona. The last thing I saw before the darkness came was the reflection of my face in her hard black eyes: the purple slave mark on my left cheekbone, my torn and bloodied eye, the blue fire . . . Abomination.

 

 

 

Gold lightning ripped the darkness. The air was close and sultry, and stank like a refuse pit that had been burned to kill the rats. Rain. It needed to rain. I shifted in my sleep . . . only to realize that, although my eyes were closed, I was not sleeping. My face was buried in my arms, which were wrapped in some kind of heavy scratchy cloth, therefore the gold flashes were not lightning, but in my head. Something wrong with my eyes, perhaps, or the remnant of an unpleasant dream. I didn’t want to think about it. What had waked me—summoned me from the realm of sleep? Summoned . . .

There was rock all around me—a cave, cramped and stuffy and dark as pitch, save for the glimmering gold streaks that had not stopped when I opened my eyes. I uncurled myself, which seemed to take an inordinately long time, as I kept bumping into the walls and ceiling of the cave. And the stench . . . My head swam in the nauseous closeness. Which way was up and which way was down? Ahead of me was a smudge of gray light, and I gave up trying to sit, and instead began to crawl toward the light.

“I am the Warden, sent by the Aife, the Scourge of Demons, to challenge you for this vessel. Hyssad! Begone. It is not yours.” The words rang out clearly from beyond the smudge of light—outside the cave. The words . . . terrible words that scraped my skin raw, that blared in my ears like a discordant trumpet, that caused my intestines to clench in disgust . . . in rage.
Insolent beggar . . . Summoning me . . .

Wrong. This was all wrong. I hesitated just short of the smudge of light. Why did those particular words infuriate me . . . pain me . . . so sorely? They belonged to me. They were written in my soul with fire and blood. Yet the voice was so young, so brave, and I did not feel at all brave and certainly not young. I felt sick. The stink . . . the gold light that confused my vision. I wanted to rub my eyes that felt as gritty as if I’d just walked across the Azhaki desert without blinking. But as I reached for my eyes, I saw something move along the ground in front of me . . . a claw, huge, deadly, razor-sharp talons just visible in the light from the cave mouth. Quickly I drew back and held still, hoping to stay invisible, and the wind sighed outside the cave, carrying the scent of ashes.

“Do not hide from me, beast. This place is not for you. This life of strength and honor and duty is not yours. Hyssad!”

I bellowed at the hurtful word, and the attacker must have discovered my hiding place at the same moment, for just as I cried out, the cave was filled with flame. I lunged for the opening, and was at last able to untangle myself . . . only to discover that I was not what I expected. Wings . . . monstrous, leather-covered fingers of bone . . . and the talons . . . mine, too, not hands, but feet ready to lift boulders and drop them on unwary heads, sharpened on stone and ready to slit the bellies of cattle or deer or puling human warriors. I stretched my shoulders and my long neck, and bellowed again. Flame shot from my mouth, leaving pools of fire in the ashy desolation.

Before I was even sure what body parts I had, someone tried to remove one of them. I felt a piercing sting in my right side. With injured fury I swept my right wing forward so hard it made the air whistle. Something small scuttered out from under the blow and took shelter behind a rock, and without thinking I blasted the rock with fire.

If you have no intent to kill this yddrass, then I’d suggest you control yourself
. This exasperated voice came from inside me, and I would have blasted it, too, if I could have. I roared in annoyance and clawed at the desolate earth.
I tried to make you immune to injury, not immune to intelligence. I knew they would come after you quickly, and their villainy had you tangled up so sorely in mind and body, I surmised you might not be able to move when attacked. If they kill this body, we are both dead. Do you understand? Can you comprehend?

Another stabbing pain, this time from the left. I reached for the scrambling creature with my claws, but missed as it ducked and disappeared.

This seemed the first sensible suggestion. Everything was so confusing. I swept the heavy wings through the hot air and pushed off, lumbering into flight with all the grace of a goose carrying a pig. It was cooler in the thin gray clouds, and the stench less vile. I circled, reluctant to leave the cave, drawn to the ugly, uncomfortable place, though I could not explain why.