Dagger's Edge (Shadow series) (29 page)

Not far from the bottom of the stairs, an altar had been built of smooth stone deeply incised with runes. Jael wondered at it; had it been here already, or had Urien somehow brought it with him? Had it perhaps been magically created? Dark stains on the stone around the base of the altar made Jael think of the previous rituals that must have been performed here, but a sheet of dark blue velvet stitched with silver designs, similar to those on Jael’s robe, now covered most of the altar’s top. On a table past the altar, four long knives with thin, toothed blades had been pushed aside.

Urien’s three lesser priests were still busy with preparations, meticulously setting out small bowls filled with powders, pastes, or oils, or chalking designs here and there on the stone floor. The acolytes were equally busy assuring that the oil lamps were full, and placing ritual candles of various colors at certain points on the chalked markings as they were completed. As soon as Urien and Jael entered the chamber, however, one of the acolytes bowed to Urien and hurried out of the lighted circle, and the others moved to stand at the opening to the stairs.

Jael had wondered how Urien planned to pace his ritual with the one far above them. She shortly had her answer as the acolyte returned from the darkness with a small crystal sphere, such as was commonly used in scrying, which he placed carefully on a stand near the head of the altar. One of the lesser priests laid his pale hands on the crystal’s surface briefly, and suddenly muffled sounds emerged, and a dim, poorly focused image of the summoning nearly ready to begin above. Another of the priests stepped forward, bowing to Urien.

“Everything is prepared,” the priest announced, accepting the small bundle of Jael’s belongings.

“Excellent,” Urien said. “Jaellyn, come here. You two, lift her up. And clean her feet.”

Jael raged inwardly as the two acolytes lifted her awkwardly onto the altar, unable to struggle even slightly. The stone of the altar was cold even through the velvet, but its solidity was comforting, and Jael fought desperately to calm herself. Stone was firm and unmoving, alive only if you knew how to look deep within it. She would be stone, strong and solid and enduring. She would be stone, anchored firmly to the bones of the world.

“We begin,” Urien said. “Light the candles of invocation.”

I
am stone,
Jael thought firmly. She could not move her head, but that was all right; stone did not need to move. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the movement in the ball of crystal, hear the chanting as Ankaras began his own ritual of summoning. Her heart leaped as she saw Tanis assisting him, but she quickly turned her eyes away from the globe. She might destroy the scrying spell and cause Urien’s ritual to end at the wrong time, but that was no assurance that he wouldn’t succeed anyway.

Urien had begun to chant. One of the priests approached with a bowl and a brush and painted something on the palms of Jael’s hands and the soles of her feet in an ink that smelled suspiciously like blood.

“Light the candles of summoning,” Urien said from somewhere near Jael’s feet.

Jael realized that the scrying ball had only been necessary, actually, to time the beginning of Urien’s ritual. As she had in the hiding place in the main temple hall, she could feel the power of the Grand Summoning gathering even here. A similar power was gathering in this hidden temple, slowly eclipsing the awareness of magic from above, and Jael’s heart pounded as she tried to focus her concentration on Urien’s spell, listen to each word, to feel the magical energies he was calling to him. She ached with frustration because she could not see him.

Something was beginning to disturb the air over Jael, as if a slight breeze blew there. A priest stepped to the head of the altar and turned Jael’s face to the other side, and now she was staring directly into the crystal. Ankaras was standing before the altar, his arms raised as he began the final chant of the summoning, but the image was dim and vague.

Time to try.

Jael stared as intently as she could into the crystal, trying to feel the energy of Ankaras’s spell, trying to focus more clearly on him. If she could yank a summoning off course once before, she
could
do it again. Gods, if only there was more light, if only she could see him more clearly! This time she’d yank it so far off course that—

The scrying globe flared with light, then went black. Urien’s chant faltered for only a moment, then continued, and Jael could have screamed with despair as the priest quietly turned her head back upright. Now the disturbance above her was more visible, like a cloud of oily smoke, just as she’d seen at the Lesser Summoning, but concentrate as she might, Urien’s ritual was proceeding smoothly, the cloud growing more solid. Now she could see something like features in one part of the cloud.

Jael tried to ignore the forming image and focus only on Urien’s words, on the ticklish awareness of magic inside her. Gods, why was it that she could ruin every spell when she
didn’t
try, and couldn’t send one spell awry when she
tried?

Because maybe I’m trying the wrong way.

She’d never deliberately tried to cause a spell to fail until she’d gone to the cellars with her mother, and then she’d been too queasy to do anything but touch the corpses and hope it would work. Even in Nubric’s workroom, she’d hoped that his spells would somehow succeed, that he would find some clue toward solving this problem of hers.

All right, then.

I’m stone,
Jael thought again.
I
don’t want to move. I don’t want to speak. I want to lie here perfectly still, like stone, and this spell Urien’s cast over me feels warm and nice, like a blanket against the cold. I like it.

Nothing.

“Light the candles of admission,” Urien commanded.

How nice it feels, like floating in the bathing pool,
Jael thought firmly.
Soothing, relaxing, making me feel safe and warm and
—

Then the warmth was gone. Jael moved her fingers once experimentally, and a shock of joy ran through her. It was all she could do to keep herself from leaping off the altar and shouting triumphantly.

No sense in that. I couldn ‘t get far enough away, not with the acolytes guarding the way out.
Jael forced herself to lie still. The image above her was almost complete now, and she could see a face clearly, beautiful and terrible, and eyes, eyes that drew and yet repelled, eyes that tugged at her soul, made her want to give herself—

“The door is open, Lord,” Urien said triumphantly. “Pass through and be whole.”

All right,
Jael thought grimly, staring into those eyes, letting them draw her.
If you want me, Eiloth, I’m all yours. Body, mind, and soul
—
and especially soul.

The figure above her reached for her, and quickly curling to gather her legs under her, Jael leaped as high as she could to meet it. For a moment her fingers clasped something, something not quite as solid as flesh—

—then an unearthly scream shook the world, and another, and another, and Jael felt her hands now grasping nothing but smoke. She fell, and this time stone was not her friend; she crashed awkwardly, striking the edge of the altar with her shoulder, and lay where she landed, all the breath driven out of her lungs and her head spinning. One of the oil lamps crashed over, and there was another terrible scream. A priest in a burning robe ran past.

Jael lifted her head and her vision cleared. Urien had fallen to his knees only a few feet away, his head and shoulders enveloped in the same oily smoke Jael had seen earlier. His body was shaking violently, his scream fading. One priest lay dead on the floor beside him. Jael could not see the other priest, but from the dark area beyond the lamps she could hear the gruesome, wet sounds of something feeding.

Jael forced herself to her knees, glancing frantically around to see where the priest had laid her belongings. There! Using the altar to pull herself to her feet, Jael stumbled over, picking up her sword and sliding it out of its scabbard. She had to use the altar to steady herself as she walked back.

Urien’s screams had faded to a whisper now. The oily cloud was gone, but Urien’s features were changing, melting like the wax of a candle, re-forming slowly. His eyes snapped open.

Jael hurriedly looked away from those eyes and raised the sword.

Just a practice pole,
she thought, and struck. There was a brief resistance; then her sword was free. Hot liquid spattered her legs, and Urien’s head thumped wetly to the floor, the melting features becoming still.

Jael felt her gorge rising, but then she remembered—there were still the acolytes. She turned as quickly as her dizzy head would allow, but the acolytes were gone, whether they had dissolved into the air or merely fled up the stairs.

That left only the demon, and Jael, still shaking, had no illusions that she would survive a second encounter with it. Listening to make certain that the ugly feeding sounds still continued, Jael quickly retrieved the rest of her possessions and hurried toward the stairs. She’d just have to retreat back through the temple, block the trapdoor so the demon couldn’t get out, and send some of the City Guard to finish here.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, rapidly approaching. Jael quickly flattened herself against the wall, sword ready, only to slump against the stone in relief as Tanis emerged, followed closely by Donya, Argent, and the twins, all in full regalia.

“There you are!” Donya said angrily, seizing Jael’s shoulders. Her anger evaporated instantly as she saw the blood spattering Jael’s robe and the dripping blade in Jael’s hand. “Are you hurt? What’s—” She stared over Jael’s shoulder and her eyes went wide; before Jael could react, Donya wrenched the sword from her fingers and threw Jael behind her. Tanis caught Jael before she could knock everyone off their feet.

The demon had obviously finished with the priest. Spattered with gore, it squatted just outside of sword range, its eyes darting from one to the other as if contemplating which might make the choicest morsel.

“All of you, back up the stairs,” Donya said, her voice steady. “Markus, Mera, you guard those robed men we caught and send the guards back down, and send for a mage who can perform a banishment. Argent, you guard the trapdoor and be ready to close it if anything tries to come up that isn’t me. Jael, you and—whatever your name is—”

“Uh-uh,” Jael said, swallowing heavily but not moving. She drew her dagger. “I’m staying with you.”

Tanis glanced disgustedly down at his ceremonial robes, looked quickly around, and pulled one of the torches from its sconce.

“Then I’m staying, too,” he said, his voice shaking.

“Don’t be foolish,” Donya snapped, striking at the demon as it stepped forward. The demon batted at the sword, but retreated a pace. “You can’t kill a demon with ordinary weapons.”

“Then what are you doing with my sword?” Jael panted, wondering if the dagger was too light for a throw. With her skill, she’d probably miss anyway.

The demon darted forward again, and this time Donya struck true; the sword buried itself halfway in the demon’s gut and then pulled free. A little bluish ichor trickled out and the demon roared with anger, retreating a few steps, but it seemed otherwise unharmed.

“Keeping it back until we can get a mage down here,” Donya replied, advancing and forcing the creature back a little farther. “Which I could do much more effectively, Jaellyn, if you’d do as you were told and leave.”

“What about fire?” Tanis suggested, swinging the torch feebly in the direction of the demon.

The demon roared and leaped forward, swatting at the torch and Tanis with all four arms. Tanis screamed and went flying backward, blood flowing freely from five deep gashes in his shoulder. Without thinking, Jael struck, burying the dagger to the hilt in the creature’s belly as she leaped away. At the same time, Donya wheeled and brought the sword flashing down, and the demon roared with rage as its severed arm dropped to the stone floor, claws still flexing.

Five guards appeared in the stairway. They froze momentarily at the sight of the demon, but quickly moved forward to stand beside Donya, helping her to keep the demon back from the stairs.

“Jael, take your friend and get out of here!” Donya shouted, forcing the demon back away from the stairs again. “There’s nothing you can do!”

But was there?

Jael hurried to Tanis’s side and helped him to his feet, supporting most of his weight as they staggered up the stairs. Argent was waiting at the top, and he quickly helped Tanis away from the trapdoor.

“What’s happening down there?” he asked anxiously. “Is Donya all right?”

“So far,” Jael answered, snatching one of the bottles of Bluebright from the case. “The guards are helping her. I’ve got to go back down.”

“Jaellyn—” Argent reached out to stop her, but Jael ducked under his arm and half fell, half ran down the stairs. As soon as she reached the bottom, she pulled the stopper out of the Bluebright and gulped down two large mouthfuls.

There was no warning, no pleasant drifting; this time the Bluebright hit her like a paving stone in the gut. Jael gasped as her legs went limp under her, huddling on the floor against the wall.

Some potions, Mist had said, could temporarily stop the effects of soul-sickness. The dreaming potion she’d taken in the forest had allowed her to melt a good-sized hole in one of the Forest Altars, but that wasn’t the only time she’d done it; after a dose of Bluebright, she’d unconsciously melted her drinking mug into an unrecognizable lump. Could she do it consciously? Jael didn’t know, but with Mother and the guards facing a demon, there was nothing to do but try.

Suddenly the battle between her mother, the guards, the demons all seemed very far away, moving with incredible slowness and clarity. Jael marveled at that for a precious moment, then laid both hands flat against the stone of the floor and closed her eyes.

This time stone seemed to welcome her, and she let it draw her down into its cool, sheltering strength. Nothing would pull her back this time. She could feel the feet of her mother, the guards’, the demon’s, like gentle taps against her skin— her mother’s fancy slippers, sliding somewhat on the damp floor; the hard boots of the guards, and—there, the scaly heat of the demon’s feet.