The Elves of Cintra (55 page)

“But you killed her anyway.”

The demon shrugged. “Expediency. It was more important that you be forced to flee than to let the King have his wish. I wanted everyone turned against you so that you had no choice but to do what I wanted—to find the Loden in the hope that somehow this would give you a means of helping the Ellcrys and convincing the King of your innocence. Admit it—that was what you were hoping would happen, isn’t it?”

Kirisin nodded. “I still don’t understand why you did all this. Why you didn’t just kill me, too. Why you didn’t just let the Elfstones be. If you waited, the tree would have died and the Forbidding would have come down. You would have gotten what you wanted, you and the rest of the demons. What point was there in having me find the Loden? Were you just worried that someone else might find it if I didn’t?”

The demon gave him a wry smile and a shrug. “No, that isn’t it at all. It’s much more complicated. You have to understand. The demons are winning the war against the humans. Within a matter of months, the humans will be wiped out or imprisoned in our camps. Then we will have to deal with the Elves.”

It reached in its pocket and produced a silver cord strung through two shiny silver rings. Idly, it began to play with the implements, letting the rings run up and down the cord. It seemed completely absorbed in the activity, working the cord into different positions to allow for changes of movement in the rings. Once or twice, it jerked on the cord sharply so that the rings disappeared into its hand for an instant before dropping free again.

Kirisin watched the rings as they slid back and forth, glimmering in the light. Then he looked back at the demon. “You haven’t answered my question.”

The demon smiled. “Not yet, I haven’t. Patience, Kirisin.” It was moving the cord and its rings in circles now, its hands inscribing broad arcs on the cavern air. “We have all the time we need.”

Suddenly, right behind him, Simralin’s right leg moved. Kirisin caught his breath.

“The problem with the Elves is one of logistics,” the demon continued, still playing with the cord and the rings. Its eyes followed the movement of the rings, completely absorbed. “To subjugate and eventually eliminate humans, we have been forced to spend years breaking down their system of order, secretly encouraging and fostering them to participate in their own destruction. The wars among their governments, the plagues that have decimated their populations, the poisoning of their world, and the erosion of their sense of security and strength of determination have all required a great deal of time and effort. We are not anxious to have to do it all over again with the Elves. Their population is not as numerous, but there are enough of them that they could prove troublesome. Nor do we have any guarantee that they might not find a way to recapture their lost magic and use it against us.”

The demon spun the rings like shining wheels about the cord. “Look at what’s happened with you, Kirisin—just in the last few weeks! You’ve rediscovered several forms of magic, several talismans that had been lost for centuries. Elfstones that can be used as weapons—weapons that even demons must respect. What if there are others and you are able to find them, as well? You are a better-ordered civilization than the humans, and you might just find a way to stop us, given enough time and incentive.”

Kirisin kept waiting for his sister to move again, but she didn’t. Almost of their own volition his eyes drifted back to the demon with its cord and its rings and its madness. He watched the rings spin about the cord. What was the point of this long explanation? Whatever it was, the demon had just made a big mistake. It had revealed that the Elfstones were a weapon that could be used against it. Kirisin didn’t know how, but he would find a way. He would make it pay for that mistake.

His hand drifted into his pocket. His fingers closed about the pouch that held the Elfstones and began to work the drawstrings free.

“How much more convenient, Kirisin,” the demon resumed. Its hands wove and the rings spun. “Are you watching?” it asked softly. Kirisin was. Suddenly he couldn’t look away. “How much more convenient if we could gather them all in one place and keep them there until we were ready to deal with them. How much better if we could prevent any chance escape. It would save so much time and effort if we could do that. Are you watching?” The rings spun on the cord, flashing in brilliant bursts. “You are, aren’t you? Watching them spin and spin and spin. So beautiful. You like them, don’t you, little boy? You like to watch their colors.”

Kirisin nodded, suddenly unable to think of anything else, completely absorbed in the movement of the hands and the cord and the rings. He had never seen anything so intriguing. He could not seem to look away. He didn’t want to.

“So, if we were able to gather the Elves together in one place—say, inside the Loden Elfstone—why, think how much easier it would be to keep them under control! No worrying about any of them wandering off in search of dangerous talismans, no concerns for how long it might take to determine the best way to dispose of them. All it would require was that we find someone who could wield the Loden’s magic. It would require that we find an Elf who had both the right and the power. Someone like you, Kirisin. Someone who was willing to do what was needed.” The demon paused. “Someone under our control.”

Kirisin tried to speak and found that he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything but stand there and watch the rings on the cord, the sparkle of their metal as it caught the light. He was vaguely aware that something was wrong, that he shouldn’t be letting this happen, but at the same time he was enormously happy that it was.

“Demons have a little magic, too,” the old man standing in front of him said softly, coming a step closer. “Now you belong to me, boy. You are my willing servant, and you will do what I tell you to do. So much easier than threats and beatings and the like. A simple spell and I control your mind. It’s all I ever wanted from you. I don’t need you to do much. Just to come back with me to the Cintra and use the Loden as the Ellcrys has asked of you. Just to put the city and its people inside, nice and safe. Just to keep them there until it is time to take them out. My friends will be waiting to greet us, a good many of them, an entire army, in fact. I summoned them just before I left to come after you. Demons and once-men. There to be certain that no one leaves until we arrive.”

The old-man features twisted into something ugly and mean. “It was so easy to deceive you. You are such a foolish boy. So willing to think that I was your friend. I am sick of you, sick of your kind. I am sick of playing at being one of you, sick of pretending that I am in any way like you. I want you all dead. I want you obliterated from the earth.”

The hands wove, and the rings glistened.

“Just a moment longer, boy, and it will all be over. The spell will be in place and nothing will undo it. Just keep watching.”

Kirisin couldn’t do anything else. He heard the other’s voice, but could make little sense of the words. They sounded reassuring and pleasant, but he couldn’t seem to grasp their meaning. He stood statue-like within the cradle of the cave’s deep gloom, a lone figure in the small light of the solar torch, eyes glazed and fixed on the rings. Some small part of him screamed at him to do something, but he blocked the warning away because it disturbed his concentration on the rings.

The rings were everything.

“Just a little longer, foolish boy,” the demon whispered. “You wanted to keep me talking, didn’t you? You wanted to gain enough time to find a way to escape me, didn’t you? Well, go ahead! Run away! Flee back the way you came and be free of me! What’s wrong, Kirisin? Can’t manage it? Are you really so happy that you would not try to escape? Can that be? I think maybe—”

Then it gasped sharply, and its head jerked back in rigid shock. The cord and its rings went flying into the darkness. The demon screamed, a frightening wail of disbelief and rage. Kirisin was jerked out of his trance instantly, his concentration on the cord and rings vanishing in the blink of an eye. He was back in the cavern, standing before the old man who was a demon, before old Culph who was groping at the air as if gone mad.

Simralin, levered up on her elbows, had plunged her long knife all the way through one gnarled leg.

“Witch!” the demon cried, turning and kicking out at her.

But she caught its leg, wrapped her arms about its ankles, and pulled it toward her. Her face was rigid with concentration beneath the mask of blood that coated it, her strong muscles knotting with the effort of holding the demon fast. But the demon, for all that it looked to be a frail old man, was more powerful than she, and it tore itself away. It kicked at her again, and this time it did not miss, catching her in the face, snapping her head back. Kirisin heard her grunt with pain as she rolled away and lay still.

Hobbling, the demon went after her.

“Culph!” Kirisin cried out.

The demon turned, wild-eyed with rage. As it did so, Kirisin snatched the blue Elfstones from his pocket and held them out. He had just enough presence of mind to remember what they could do.
A weapon even demons must respect,
his enemy had told him. He gripped the Stones in his fist and pointed them toward the demon, envisioning what it was he wanted. The demon’s reaction was instantaneous. It shrank from him, wheeling away with arms raised to ward him off. Kirisin felt a rush of fierce satisfaction flood through him.

“Stupid boy!” the demon shrieked, hands making quick, sharp movements in the gloom.

Too late. The blue fire lanced out, enfolding the demon in a bright shroud of flame. The demon screamed, trying to fight off the flames and failing. It began to burn, clothes and flesh first and then whatever lay beneath. It thrashed in vain as the fire consumed it. Kirisin did not relent; he kept the fire trained on it, kept the power of the Elfstones strong and steady and focused. Old Culph disappeared. Anything vaguely Elven disappeared. What remained was skeletal and as black as night, a child’s drawing of a monster.

Then even that was gone, consumed and rendered to a fine ash, a sediment that floated on the air in the haze of the torchlight, drifting in tiny flakes until finally settling on the ice and snow of the cavern floor, tiny leavings of a virulent plague finally overcome.

Kirisin lowered his arm. “That was for Erisha,” he whispered. “That was for Ailie. That was for Sim and Angel and everyone you ever touched with your black lying words!”

He was shaking with rage and near collapse. He thought he could feel his heart breaking with the memories his words conjured. There were tears in his eyes and bitterness in his mouth that he thought he would taste forever.

In the chill silence of the ice caves, he hugged himself to keep from falling apart.

THIRTY-THREE

T
WILIGHT ON THE ROAD.

Panther walked point with Sparrow, his dark eyes following the descent of the sun as it dropped below the rim of the horizon south. The moon was already up, a three-quarter-full white orb against the gray, hazy sky. Rolling hills turned brown and barren from drought and poisons flanked them in their passage, stark and empty save for small clusters of buildings that surfaced here and there like burrowing animals come up for a cautious look around. Farther away, beyond the hills, mountain peaks loomed black and jagged.

Panther glanced behind him. Catalya walked a few yards back, her mottled face shadowed within the hood of her cloak, her eyes lowered to the freeway they traveled. Rabbit bounced along in front of her, circling back when she got too far ahead. Behind them and much farther back, Fixit drove the Lightning ATV. Owl and River were inside the cab with him, keeping watch over the comatose Knight of the Word. The rest of the Ghosts rode the hay wagon, bundled in among their dwindling stores of food and meager possessions, keeping watch as the shadows lengthened.

The end of the day was silent save for the low hum of the ATV’s solar-powered engine, the soft hiss of rubber tires on concrete, and the whisper of a light wind.

Panther found himself thinking of Logan Tom for what must have been the hundredth time in the past hour. Saving him from Krilka Koos and his stump-head followers was one thing. Saving him from himself was another. He hadn’t seemed that bad when they brought him back to the others, hadn’t seemed as if he were that damaged. Then, all at once, he wasn’t there anymore.

He kicked at the surface of the roadway. “Can’t nobody do nothing to bring him out of this?” he asked Sparrow suddenly.

She glanced over, shaking her blond head. She looked tired. “He has to wake up on his own, when he’s ready.”

“But he hasn’t moved in two days! He doesn’t eat or drink. Man can’t live long like that, you know?”

“I know. But that’s the way it is with these things. He’s hurt pretty bad, so he’s gone somewhere inside himself to try to heal. He just isn’t done with that yet.” She shrugged. “Besides, Owl is doing what she can for him. The wounds are all healing pretty well. There doesn’t even seem to be any infection from the viper-prick, and that should have killed him. Whatever’s wrong, it’s in his head somewhere.”

Panther thought that was a bunch of crap, but he kept it to himself. “Man’s gonna die,” he said instead.

“Don’t say that,” Catalya snapped at him from behind his back.

He grimaced. “Okay, okay. I’m just making a…a observation, that’s all.”
Girl’s got ears like a hawk,
he thought irritably.

Hawk. There was another mystery that didn’t seem close to getting solved. Bird-Man disappears off a wall, goes into the light—
isn’t that what happens when you die?
—and now they were supposed to find him somewhere just by heading south. Like that was going to happen. A vision said it would, but Panther had never had a whole lot of faith in visions. Not even the ones Hawk used to have, the ones that Owl turned into stories about the boy and his children. He liked those stories, liked the way Owl told them. But he didn’t actually believe them. Believing stories like that was what got you killed in this man’s world. You wanted to believe in something, you were better off believing in a Parkhan Spray or a Tyson Flechette. Something you could put in your hands and use to kill your enemies.