Revelation (62 page)

Hurriedly . . . brutally . . . I shoved the boy aside and examined Blaise. Though his shirt, too, was soaked with blood, he was still breathing. I could see no wounding, but before I could check him for injury, a razor-sharp blade pricked the vein on my neck, and a deadly steel point appeared in dangerous proximity to my right eye. My least twitch would drive one or the other of them home. My captor was behind me and quickly pinned my legs between his as I knelt on the hard ground, catching me in a leg-hold that felt like a giant vise was going to snap my limbs at any moment. A Warden’s hold.

“You didn’t take my advice, did you, lad?” he said from behind my rigid shoulders. “You had to go and do something mischievous, get yourself tangled up with Denas . . . of all the proud devils. I never trusted him no matter what loyalties he spouted. Of course, unlike some fools, I never trusted any of them.”

I might have known. A man who could rob a dying brother Warden, who could help a captor refine his torturing, was certainly a man who could stab an innocent boy in the back. “Merryt.”

“Aye, and so it is. Back from lovely Ezzaria after delivering your message . . . or something like.” He chuckled. “Here you’ve tried to let the devils take their passage, and you’ve kept Gennod and his Gastai out of the fight . . . but it’s not going to work. I couldn’t make my passage without making sure you knew.”

I quickly assessed my chances of surviving a change of form and decided they were too slim to take the risk. Even if I hadn’t just used up every scrap of my melydda to open the gateway, I was not experienced enough to shape-shift out of danger. One instant’s delay in removing my neck or my eye from the vicinity of his knives would leave me bleeding or blind. “You’ll not get through the gateway, Merryt. I won’t let you through.”

“Did you think to send this boy and his mad friend in before me? Or the witch Vallyne? Or Vyx the fool? Too late, lad. No one will go through the gate before me. I’ll have no one else take the glory of releasing the Nameless from his prison. I’ve looked for the way to pay you and the rest of them for your proud ways: oh, yes, I saw how you looked at me. Just like my wife. Just like the devils. All thinking that you were more powerful, more clever, stronger than Merryt who lost a few battles and became a serving man for vermin. I’ll show you all.” Merryt’s body was tightly wound. Though the night was cool, his deadly embrace was sweaty, and he stank with nervous excitement. His heart drummed like summer thunder against my back.

“You plan to destroy the world.”

“If that’s what comes, so be it. As long as neither Ezzarian nor rai-kirah survives. But I’d guess the Nameless has his own plan. Likely he’ll be grateful to the one bold enough to set him free.”

“So you’re going to be a god, are you?”

He didn’t like it when I mocked him, and he pressed the knife blade ever so delicately against my neck until I felt the skin pop, leaving a thread of fire across my throat. “That’s not your concern. For you see, I’ve brought some here as won’t be happy with what you’ve done to yourself. I told them I’d come secure you, and make sure none of the other devils were here to interfere. You can keep each other busy while I’m off to seek my fortune. That way I won’t have you nor the other devils chasing me. Interfering.” He saw himself supremely clever.

“And you felt it necessary to do murder on the way? What kind of cowardly bastard god stabs a child in the back?”

“Me? Murder this poor boy? Nay, lad. There’s no blood on me, and who is it holds the killing knife?” Merryt’s gleeful whisper slipped into my ear like poison. Then he called louder, over my head. “Over here, my lady. If you have ever believed in true corruption, it waits here to scar your sight. Drop the knife, demon!”

Lights swam into view beyond the fallen outlaws—not lanterns or torches, but clear white lights such as sorcerers cast for their nighttime journeying. The host of Ezzaria. And I was kneeling in a child’s blood with the fouled weapon just fallen from my bloody hand and betrayal glaring from my eyes.

A thousand words skittered through my head: pleas for hearing, protestations of my innocence—innocence of murder at least—threats of doom, warnings of how they had been deceived, prayers for them to kill me quickly so I could not think of the consequences of my misjudgments. But when the line of men and women emerged from the darkness, all plans and words failed me. I saw only one among them—the slender, dark-haired woman standing rigid in the center, a thin circlet of gold banding her brow—and my lips formed only three words. “Forgive me, beloved.”

She could not possibly have heard my whispered plea. And the offenses for which I craved her absolution were so insignificant beside the consequences of this night’s actions, she could likely not remember them: my cruel anger, my refusal to listen to her, to trust her, to consider that her pain and her dilemma had been of so much deeper wounding than my injured pride and shattered hopes. That I had blamed her that my slave’s dreams of returning to a life of beauty and meaning and all-consuming love were impossible to realize. That I had blamed her for my own soul-sickness.

As if moving in a dream world, where sounds were muted by the beating of one’s own heart and actions were slowed to the pace of drifting clouds, I watched my wife’s bloodless face turn away, and her hands fly up between us as if to block the sight she could not bear to look on. Hands reached out to sustain her: from hard-lipped Catrin, her own dear face shattered, from cold Talar, nodding in fulfilled expectation, from rosy-cheeked Maire, crying out to the heavens in devastated fury, and from one other . . . Though I had no reason to expect otherwise, it was still a blow to see Fiona standing with the other women, her hard eyes fixed on the fallen Kyor. She, too, offered her support to her Queen, but she did not look at me. She had already seen.

Ysanne pushed their hands away, and with a motion of her own, summoned others from the crowd. “Nevya, see to the injured. The rest of you, do as I instructed you. Quickly.” Not the slightest tremor marred her precise command.

The short, plump healing woman hurried to Blaise. She called for help and had him carried gently away from me—a small comfort to know that he, at least, must still be breathing. But I could see nothing more, for a crowd of others bustled toward Merryt and me, blocking my view. Five of them wore the badges of temple guards, and Caddoc and Kenehyr followed them, wreathed in powerful enchantment . . . so familiar . . . Searcher and Comforter. Gods have mercy . . . they were going to try to take the demon out of me!

“You can’t do it,” I cried, trying to reach Ysanne wherever she was. I couldn’t see her. “You mustn’t—” Merryt’s knife pressed deeper into my throat, the drips of warm blood from the stinging cut now a constant trickle. “I was joined in the demon realm, full-consenting”—the point of his second knife grazed my eyeball—“no going back.”

“Hold, Warden,” said Ysanne, stepping into view just beside me, Fiona and Talar and Catrin still flanking her. Her command allowed for no misinterpretation. “I told you not to harm this victim. Only to hold him incapable of harming others.” Victim. Not friend, not lover, not husband. Yet she was refusing to see the truth, and I could not permit that.

“I’m not a victim. It’s impossible—”

“This perverted creature is dangerous beyond telling, lady,” said Merryt, his hand trembling, scarcely controlled, which left me well paralyzed. “In only one way does he speak truth. You cannot get this demon out of him. Joinings forged beyond the portal cannot be undone. Seyonne had hoped he could hold out when the devils came after him, but he wasn’t strong enough. Look at what they made him do here. The young Aife there can tell you how he prized these two as his friends, and now he’s slaughtered them like beasts.”

Ysanne looked to Fiona, and the young woman nodded. “As I told you, my lady. He was determined to discover how to help them. It drove him to this.”

“We care nothing for his ‘reasons,’ ” said Talar, her tongue laced with venom. “There is no reason save corruption. Abomination.” Talar saw it clearly. Her proud hatred did not waver when I glared at her.

Merryt burst in again, his feigned grief quite convincing. “The man you know is lost, my honored Queen, buried in this devil’s cloak, in torment everlasting. I’ve told you of the horrors they had waiting for him. Only swift death will release him from this dread captivity. Let me do it, then we can set up the blockade to keep the devils out of this place. It was what Seyonne wanted. What he gave everything for you to do. Even as he fought this madness, his intent was to prevent the devils from getting through this passage.”

Was any man so clever as the vile Merryt? I had expected he would run to Ysanne claiming my longtime corruption and dealings with the demons, but instead he had made me some kind of mad hero . . . with Fiona to witness my deterioration . . . and my own deeds to weigh in evidence. The cursed villain had recognized Ysanne as a woman who could kill her own child to save her people . . . a woman who could murder her own husband to release him from torment. “Beloved, don’t—”

A fiery wash of blood stung my eye and dribbled down my face as Merryt ripped my eyelid with the point of his knife. “Be silent, devil, if you value this body you have stolen from our friend. I’ll not allow your twisted words to harm our Queen.”

“Warden, cease! I command you again not to harm him. Though I thank you for your concerns, we will proceed as I have spoken in this case.”

For once I blessed my wife’s royal stubbornness. Now, what in the name of sense was I to do?

The guards were uncoiling ropes, and white-haired Kenehyr was pouring liquid from one very large vial to another, shaking the resulting mixture: vammidia, in the quantity he was mixing a sleeping draught strong enough to fell a horse. Ysanne was still addressing Merryt. “Since I must deal with this victim, you will direct my kafydda how to set up the blockade as we agreed. If the rai-kirah are as close as you claimed, we have little time. Kafydda!” She motioned to someone behind her.

Kafydda . . . not a name, but a title—the “one who waits,” the Queen’s successor. I’d had no idea Ysanne had chosen a successor; she was young to be thinking of it. Even more astonishing was the identity of the one who stepped forward. Fiona.

So much explained. I would have laughed if it were possible. No wonder she was so dogged in her attentions. Test the young kafydda by setting her to watch the present Queen’s husband. Who would be more diligent, more excruciatingly correct? She could show no leniency, or Ysanne would see it and believe her weak. She could not be overzealous or it would show lack of balance or too much eagerness to claim her future position. I was a challenge. A risk. A training ground. I had been her mentor, but not in the way I mentored student Wardens or even Aleksander. I had taught Fiona of corruption, of subtle evils, of flawed and foolish judgments. To protect the safety of Ezzaria, she had to understand what I was. I had retained some small belief that Fiona had learned something of truth in our travels together, but when I heard that she was to be Queen of Ezzaria, that misbegotten hope went on the scrap heap with all the rest.

Look to your left, Exile.
The new voice intruded on my thoughts, sharper than the pain in my eye. While two of the Temple Guards carried Kyor away, another man knelt down beside me with ropes ready to bind my hands. I glanced at his face, and it was not the blood blurring my vision that caused a slight smear of blue and purple light to flicker around his hands. Slyly he glanced up at me and grinned, a faint blue glimmer in his eyes.
Only a little late.
His words were as clear in my head as those of Denas.
To move the circles and admonish them fully as you required was not a trivial matter, Exile.

Someone behind me was trying to bind my feet, and I took a moment to test my melydda. To hear the sprizzle of burning rope and a yelp was satisfying, but I could not have split a thicker rope. I would have to rely on other skills for a while longer.

Keep him engaged . . . Indeed I would. Keep him or kill him
. Get them through,
I said.
Go
.

My hand crept into the pocket of my cloak, where I had stuffed one of the Warden’s rags from Merryt’s hoard. Quickly I wound the cloth around and around my hand to make a thick padding. When it was done, I closed my unbloodied eye, envisioned the precise positions of Merryt’s two knife blades, then, wishing I had the power to create a true distraction, I let loose a ferocious bellow. Merryt was a trained Warden, and though it had been a long time since he had used his skills, they were far from dead. The knife blades wavered not at all at my noisy surprise, but I was quick and gripped the blade at my eye with my protected hand, while bringing up my left hand inside his arm to catch his wrist and push the second blade away from my neck. Once free of his immediate threat, I broke his leg-hold, kicked away the grabbing hands of the temple guards, and bashed my head backward into Merryt’s face. Hoping the villain was dizzied from the blow, I let go of his hands, then ducked under the knives that were now aimed to smash into my chest, and rolled to the side. My heart racing, I scrambled to my feet and crouched low, waiting for the snarling Warden to come at me.

“We’ll take you, devil,” said Merryt, a bloody bruise centered on his forehead.

“As you murdered this boy? Will you put a knife in my back, too, before I can tell these people what you are?”

“They can see which one of us has blood on his hands, laddie, and they can see which one of us bears a demon. You are the abomination.”

He was right, of course. What a damnable predicament. I wanted to keep talking, to convince Ysanne and the others of my truth. I wanted to take Merryt by the throat and destroy him for what he had done and what he planned to do. But as the traitorous Warden and I circled like warring kayeets, I knew that wasn’t the answer. Ysanne saw a demon, not a man. And there were so many Ezzarians. Unless I transformed and flew away in less than a minute—impossible at present with my depleted melydda—they were going to take me down with sheer numbers, using sorcery and ropes and weapons and potions. In either case, Merryt would walk away. They would never let me kill him. Once I was gone or disabled, the Ezzarians would block the gateway, and the demons would have to force their Derzhi hosts to dislodge the annoying interlopers. Slaughter. And Merryt would have all the time he needed to unlock the danger in Tyrrad Nor.