The Sacred Hunt Duology (90 page)

“That would not be hard,” Meralonne began. He stopped himself, narrowing his eyes. “Or would it be?”

Kallandras averted his gaze a moment, then continued. “It was there that the wild one disappeared; she alone could not be held by the powers that were invoked. I do not know why, and Evayne did not choose to enlighten me. I do not even know
how
she escaped the citadel—but she did, for some many years later, she found me again, and gave into my keeping an item.”

“What item was that?” Stephen heard himself saying.

“A simple spear. It has no magic about it that I can see. Nor was it maker-made. But because it came from the wild one, I accepted it, and I have kept it hidden these many years.” He turned and bowed slightly to Gilliam. “It is to Lord Elseth that I will give that spear.

“But it is also of Lord Elseth that I will ask my favor. The wild one knew where she was going—or so I believe; if she would, I would have her lead me there again.”

“No.”

“Gil—”

“No. If it took her years to come back, it could be anywhere—and it could be dangerous. I won't allow it.”

Meralonne raised a hand to forestall the argument that was about to begin between the brothers. “Gentlemen, please. It may not be entirely necessary to worry about distance traveled. I begin to see the pattern here, and I understand it. For I have been pursuing a different investigation at the behest of The Terafin, and now I see that they are not different at all.

“The lays—and they are old and fragmented—that survive both the Dark League and its passing say that the city was leveled by the combined will of the god-born and the remnants of the Dawn Rose. I will not name the city's Lord, but we have already had confirmation that his priests are at work here; they killed Zoraban in Breodanir, and attempted to kill the wild one there as well.

“But now, I do not believe that the city was leveled; I believe that it was
swallowed.
There is no magic now that could raise it—but were I to guess, I would say that Averalaan is literally founded upon the ruins of that evil place.”

• • •

“Then what of the kin?” Kallandras said softly, speaking into the chill silence that stretched out around them as if it could barely be broken. “For they were there, Meralonne. They were in Vexusa.”

“So you said, but what of it? They cannot raise the city, even if they choose to dwell within the tunnels and empty streets below; they have not the power. Although,” he mused softly, “they
have
power, and of a like that has not been seen for a very long time. It is still a shadow of what it was.”

“A dark shadow,” Kallandras replied. “And they draw it, I think. From a gateway, or a door, something large and magical.”

“Well? Door?” The mage frowned slightly and lifted the stem of his pipe to his mouth.

“It was,” Kallandras said, closing his eyes as if the closing required a great force of will, “tall. An old, eastern arch, with a glowing keystone. I saw it, and she as well; I believe I asked her what it was. She did not answer. But she was afraid,” he continued, musing. “She never shows me her fear; she showed it because she couldn't contain it. I was younger then. The kin drew power from this arch by calling upon their Lord.”

“What did you say?”

“They called upon their Lord for the power that came from the gate.”

“Then they must have been god-born.”

“They were of the kin; there was nothing about them that was human.” Kallandras' eyes narrowed. “You know your history as well as I—it would be impossible for a human to carry a child darkness-born to term. They were demon lords.”

“That is
not
possible. I assure you, Kallandras. You know your lay-lore well. There is no possible way that—” And then he stopped speaking and turned to look full upon Stephen and Gilliam and the god-born girl who sat unruffled at her lord's knee. The ancient pipe clattered to the stone. Meralonne drew a quartered circle in the air before him, and then rose jerkily as if clumsily pulled by a rope. Turning, he gripped the lip of the fountain's basin with two fine, shaking hands.

“Justice,” he said bitterly to the silent, blindfolded boy, “is weaker than your maker could have possibly imagined.” He stood, picked up his guttered pipe, and
bowed very formally to his three companions. There was no hint of antagonism left between him and Kallandras.

“This is not a matter,” he said gravely, “for any one group. I cannot remain here, although your safety may be in question. I will summon you all; should you choose it, respond to my summons. It will not be long in coming.”

Before they could stop him, he was gone.

6th Corvil, 410 A.A.
Cordufar Estates

“They know that we've spies in the palace.” The words were sharp and crisp in the silence of the chambers that were reserved for the use of Lady Cordufar. The sun was coming down from the full heat of high noon, but the heavy curtains with their fringes of lace and lilac remained closed, denying the light.

Shadows, however, filled every possible corner.

“They do not know.”

“I tell you,” the man in the pale blue day-robes said, as he leaned forward and placed his elbows against his knees, “they know. Or if they do not, they will.” He looked fatigued; his hair was streaked grayer than it had been mere months past. But he did not look terrified, and even surrounded as he was by the personal servants of Lady Cordufar, he did not feel threatened. He was, after all, Krysanthos of the second circle, and although the magery of the demon lords rivaled his own, it did not surpass it. Still, he wished that of the three, he could deal with Isladar—
that
Lord was subtle and had an understanding of human nature that dwarfed many men's.

Lady Cordufar rose angrily; she was, in all things, passionate. Her lips, thinned, were still a glistening curve, and her skin seemed to glow like a satin that demands the hand's touch. Even so cloaked and so disguised, the true nature of Sor na Shannen could not be completely suppressed. She turned to her entourage. “Get out.”

They fell at once into the submissive posture and held it long enough to pay homage to her rank, but with enough brevity that they did not appear to be failing to comply with her command. It was clear that her wrath would be played out against something soon.

When they had cleared the doors, and she had secured them, she turned to Krysanthos and raised a dismissive hand. At once human guise fell away—as did the diminishment of human clothing. Her dark hair fell like shadow across her breasts. That was the only concession she granted him.

“You have not secured the return of the Spear or the Horn.” He saw her eyes flicker with a deep, red glow, and he stopped himself from smiling at her expense. It was enough to know that he was right, and that she knew it well. “You have
also failed to rid us of the threat that the Breodani bring to the heart of our master's dominion.”

“If we speak of failure,” she said, and her tone was an icy purr, “then we must speak of the attempt that should have been successful within the Hunter Lord's demesne.”

This was not to his liking; he frowned and straightened out. “Sor na Shannen, whatever your regard for humans—”

“You have no more regard for
your
food and sustenance,” she said softly.

“You must acknowledge that we are in danger here,” he continued, as if she had not interrupted him. “This is not a mere city—it is
Averalaan Aramarelas
, and all of our foes dwell here in their greatest strength.”

“And they will die here, and that strength will mean less than nothing—as it did in the days before humanity infested the realm; in the days before the Covenant of the Meddler.”

“They will only die if our spell is completed. We are not now near completion. If they know that we have a demon in the palace, they will know that this is widespread. I tell you, they will make the connections that the beggar girl brought them.”

Her smile was one of the most sensuous that Krysanthos had ever seen; he could not help but respond physically to it, as she intended. His facial muscles did not shift at all. “We are mere years away, mage. Decades and more have gone into this casting; it is a matter of two human years—less, now. Surely even one of your limited lifespan can appreciate that.”

“I tell you that we will not have it. What we've kept concealed is no longer concealed. The maze has been discovered, and soon, the undercity—”

“Will never be found.” She rose and brushed her hair back, walking toward him like a dream or a dare. “Did you think that we would just leave the maze to be discovered once we detected the breach of our magical concealments? We have been closing the Ways.”

“You cannot close them all before—”

“We are almost finished with our task.” She stopped, her bared breast a hand's span away from his bearded face. “The ways have been unmade; they are returned to the time before they were created.”

Krysanthos paled instead of flushing. “With what power?”

“The Lord's,” she replied sweetly.

“But the cost—”

“And then,” she said, ignoring, as she often did, his words, “let them know of the undercity. Let them try to flee or try to discover it. We are safe; they cannot find what does not exist. In all of our time here, there have only been two seers who attempted to find us; they flickered on the edge of our concealment, and they gained no answers.”

He was silent, absorbing what she said. Victory, of sorts. But then he added, “it doesn't matter if they find the city. If the Hunter Lord and his kin have the Horn—”

“I
know
what will happen,” Sor na Shannen snarled, losing the edge of her sensuality.

“Good. Then you know that we have no choice. We must abandon our original plans; they have failed us. If we are not to fail our Lord—”

“We have begun to gather the living,” she said, grudgingly. “Before we seal the last of the entrances, we will have the sacrifices we need to give our Lord his anchor here.”

Krysanthos nodded grimly. “That many victims over so short a period will be missed,” he said softly. “But better so. If we start with the last summoning now, it will take a month. Maybe two.”

“Longer,” she replied, casting off her glamour and assuming once again the drabness of human aura. “For the Lord's power has been much used and tested in the sealing of the city.”

“Then when?”

“The middle of Veral.”

Krysanthos frowned, but the frown smoothed itself out as he considered. If the maze was completely sealed away from the discovery of those who dwelled in Averalaan, the ceremonies could be conducted with the very earth itself as a fortress wall between Allasakar and his enemies. It was probably worth the power.

“Very well. Let me continue my own surveillance of the Order of Knowledge. There are two there that are of sufficient worry that they may have to be removed.”

She nodded. “And I,” she added, “have a report to make to The Darias. I think it may almost be time to reap the rewards of serving under his banner.” Her smile was a dark radiance.

• • •

The Terafin studied the missing persons reports that lay across her desk. Morretz stood by her side in silence, unmoving. She knew that he, too, read the lines of words and numbers that made the loss of the living so impersonal.

It had not been easy to gather the information from the magisterium, but ease had never been the case in crisis, and she had not expected it. She had also not expected the numbers that she saw before her, and she could well understand the magisterium's reluctance to make public—if acceding to the
personal
request of The Terafin was considered public—the findings here. There would be panic, at the very least.

Almost two hundred people—spread out over the holdings of the basin—had disappeared within the last three weeks. The ages varied, as did the walks of life; there seemed no rhyme or reason. Here and there, whole families had simply “gone missing.” It could not be a coincidence.

“These creatures—they were never after Terafin,” she said, musing aloud. “Did Ararath discover them by accident? Or was the hand of the One behind it?”

Morretz said nothing, but moved quietly to pull her chair out as she made to rise. “Terafin?”

“I am going to the shrine,” she said softly. “I do not need the company, although if you fear for my safety, you may accompany me.”

He shook his head. “As you wish, Terafin. You did not take the late dinner—may I have something ready for your return?”

“Not tonight,” The Terafin replied quietly. “Put the reports away, Morretz. I've seen enough; now, I must make a decision.”

• • •

It was not yet dark; the sky was an orange-pink, bordered by a deepening blue that stretched up into eternity. Faint stars began to tremble in the wake of the sun's passing.

The lamps were aglow near the flowers and bushes that followed the winding path of the Terafin manse. The Terafin followed them in the silence, hearing only the steps of the small night guard somewhere in the distance. Here, for the moment, there was a curious peace; the gardener worked well to maintain it.

Find tranquillity in the quiet of nature's beauty
, he would say. And she would reply that this much work on such foliage as Terafin possessed could only barely be considered natural. But he smiled because he knew that in the gardens that contained the shrines, she did find some small measure of peace.

She passed by the shrines of the triumvirate, nodding to them at a distance in the darkening sky; the shrine of Terafin waited for her, and it had been too long since she had last visited it.

But as she walked the last leg of the tiled path, she saw the flickering of an orange light, the dim glow of a glassed lamp. Someone had come before her. A momentary irritation flared; her hands became ivory fists, and the stillness of the gardens deserted her. She called it back slowly and took a deep breath; any who were ATerafin were free to place their offerings here.