Demonkin (13 page)

“What's at Pale Lake?” Trell asked.

“The portal that brought me here.”

“You opened another portal?”

“A cult did. Cantrall's chosen.”

Trell shoulders sagged. “Our victory at Terras was not a victory at all.”

“Oh, it was. That portal is nothing compared to Terras. Paymon can never invade your world again.”

“What?” Trell didn't dare believe that.

“Your great mage, Torn, locked your world away from us in a way Paymon does not fully understand. We can never bring our army here. We can never protect you.”

“Then how are you here?”

“I am an exception.” Abaddon paused, perhaps contemplating how to explain. “Individual demons can be pushed through this new portal with enough effort, but sending one of us requires immeasurable power. It is ... how to explain it? Like squeezing a mace through a pinhole.”

“Then why send you at all?”

“I'm here,” Abaddon said, “because I failed Paymon.”

Trell focused his eyes and mind on Abaddon. The fate of his world hinged on this conversation. “Explain.”

“Kara ... your woman ... really pissed Paymon off.”

Trell almost smiled. “Did she.”

“She destroyed his Great Home, a structure he had been building and tweaking for millennia. When it burst, it released four thousand subjugated souls, destroyed eight legions of finished revenants, and ruined countless creations I have no hope of understanding.”

Trell felt a chill that had nothing to do with the ice inside him.

“To put it in simple terms,” Abaddon said, “Kara broke all his toys.”

Trell’s heart thumped as each breath grew ragged in his lungs. The thought of a being as powerful as Paymon losing that much terrified him. Paymon must want to do something truly horrifying to Kara.

“Am I to be used against her?”

“You understand perfectly. I failed Paymon ... as did Davazet, Balazel, and Malkavet ... when we failed to invade your world. He banished us.”

“For how long?”

“We may return only if we bring him the souls of Kara's allies. By torturing them, by ensuring Kara knows, Paymon will take his revenge.”

Trell thought of Sera and Byn, traveling to Terras, and Aryn, wherever he might be now. He even thought of Jyllith. All of them were in horrific danger, and none had the faintest idea. “Let me warn them.”

“Can't.” Abaddon raised an armored palm. “Forbidden. Paymon gives me orders and I follow them, after a fashion. Your soldiers are on their own.”

Trell sucked in a chunk of ash and coughed. He hoped he was not coughing up someone's remains. “Why not take me to Pale Lake at once?”

“I don't particularly want to go back. I was made for warfare, but I will never lead an army again. One failure is all we are allowed.”

“That's why you wanted your rematch,” Trell whispered. “You wanted to prove to Paymon that you could still lead.”

“Yes.” Abaddon clattered forward. “So you see, all my hopes are shattered as well. That’s revenge, isn’t it? For your murdered family? So I will take you to Pale Lake. Keep you separated from the others.”

“Would you turn against Paymon if you had the opportunity?” It was a dangerous question to ask, but Trell was dead either way.

“That would be interesting.” Abaddon's helmet tilted toward the sky. “Mavoureen legion facing Mavoureen legion. I've never planned for such a battle. It would be quite different from anything I've led before.”

The demon almost sounded excited by the idea. Trell waited, daring to hope. Had he made an ally?

“Sadly,” Abaddon said, “it can never be. I have only one directive that I must never violate. I may never attack another Mavoureen, no matter how annoying they might be.”

Naturally. Paymon would never be so foolish as to make a weapon that could be used against him. Trell sagged and looked once more around the burning village. Pieces of its slaughtered people lay everywhere.

“Do you orders prevent you from giving these people a proper burial?”

Abaddon considered. “No.”

“Will you?”

“If it makes you cooperate. My orders were to do whatever is necessary to bring you to the Pale Lake portal, alive.”

“This is necessary. It will make me cooperate.” Trell wondered if he could even lift a shovel.

“Then sit down and supervise.” Abaddon laughed once more inside its metal helmet. “Sitting and supervising is what Paymon does best.”

Trell hurt too much to argue. He thumped down amidst the corpses. He marveled as Abaddon set to digging graves with its armored hands. He watched it for a very long time as it never slowed, never tired.

The sun set by the time all the graves were dug. Abaddon filled open graves with body parts, mixing and matching with surprising speed. At some point Trell slept, and he woke to a chilly morning. The fires were out and only smoke remained. Beyond the ruined palisades were almost five-hundred shallow piles of dirt, arranged in neat lines.

Upright stone chips sprouted from each grave, each slightly different from the others. They were simple markers, placed without names, but each had a chilling artistry to it. Abaddon had made each marker, leaving each slaughtered villager a unique memorial stone.

The Mavoureen general waited in silence, looking over a field of fresh graves. Trell's bones felt frozen but he managed to stand up. Each movement brought icy pain.

The Mavoureen general glanced at him. “Are you satisfied?” There was no malice or worry in Abaddon’s question. It simply wanted to know.

“Yes.” Trell's words surprised him. “Thank you.” That surprised him even more.

“Excellent.” Abaddon brushed its armored palms together, shedding fresh dirt. “Shall we set out?”

“Why not?” Trell pushed back his growing sympathy for this demon. It might seem that he had tamed it, ended its bloodlust, but Trell knew better than that. For all he knew its entire speech from the previous day was nothing but a ploy to gain his trust.

He had to warn the others. He had to get away, but how to do that without unleashing Abaddon on another village? For now, Trell decided, he would walk with the demon and think. Thinking was all he could do with this sickness devouring his muscle and bone.

“Shall I carry you?” Abaddon asked as they set off. “I will walk slow.”

“Perhaps tomorrow.” Trell felt moving was the only thing slowing the ice inside him. “I want to feel the earth beneath my feet.”

“Acceptable,” Abaddon said. “We head south.”

Trell opened the map in his mind. That would take them through Highridge Pass and eventually to the Unsettled Lands. The direction Byn and Sera had headed. He hoped Abaddon would never find them.

Trell started walking.

A KICK WOKE ARYN FROM DREAMS of home. He almost looked up, but remembered not to at the last moment. He could not reveal his face until he knew who had kicked him. When he rose, he knew it was not Tania.

“Hey,” a hard voice said. “Get lost, beggar.”

Aryn struggled to take the dream world, to draw form from the darkness. He finally did and found a tall, narrow shape standing over him.

“Pardon?” It was the only thing he could think to say.

“I said,” and the man grabbed him by his cloak, “get lost, you lazy pile of dung.” The man shoved him.

Aryn stumbled and kept his feet, catching the wall of the tavern with one hand. It was only when he spun on the man with teeth bared that he realized he had let his abuser see under his hood. Had he given himself away?

Fortunately, the man did not scream in terror or shout the word “demon”. Perhaps he hadn't gotten a good look. Aryn brushed himself off and looked to the ground. “I'm no beggar.”

“You are what I say you are, beggar.” The man spread his arms. “Do you fancy a beating, too?” He cracked his knuckles. “Give me an excuse.”

The disrespect this cretin showed was preposterous, and who did he think he was, anyway? One dirty, ignorant peasant accosting his better in the middle of a muddy street. One strike from Aryn's staff would put him down.

Aryn could imagine it now, imagine this man broken and bleeding in the muddy street. Instead, he bowed his head and walked away without another word. Hard laughter followed and Aryn's shoulders tensed.

“That's right, gutter trash! Run to your mother! Maybe that rutting bitch has more teeth than you do!”

Aryn straightened and halted. His mother, Melona, had always favored him, one reason Tamen and Loras despised him. Aryn rarely let himself think about Melona. It hurt. Melona Locke had died when he was ten, afflicted by a horrible pox even noble medicine could not cure.

Scarcely a year later, Aryn's father married a much younger bride. Lady Valara. She was very beautiful. She saw Aryn as a burr in her boot.

“I guess his staff is just for show!” Aryn's tormenter chortled. “I've changed my mind, beggar! Lick my boots and you can have my scraps!”

Aryn blocked out his rage as he had blocked out Tamen's cuffs to his head, the pinches that tore his flesh. If Aryn fought this idiot, people inside the tavern would come out to watch. What if one saw his charred skin?

Aryn walked until the taunts ended, the hateful man losing interest. He settled against another building, more featureless sticks in the dream world, and dropped into darkness. Tania would find him when she was ready.

A hand clasped his shoulder. He hopped up and threw it off. “Enough!”

“Is it?” someone asked. Someone female.

Aryn took the dream world to find Tania standing in front of him, her dream form recognizable by her shape, height, and posture. Her hands rested on her hips and her head tilted inside her cloak.

“I'm back!” Tania said. “Time to go.” She clutched his hand and dragged him off. She was quite strong when she needed to be.

“Where are we going?” Aryn demanded, as quietly as he could. They approached the tavern again.

“You did well,” Tania said, and he suspected she was grinning by the light tone of her voice. “Valar is
not
going to be happy. He owes me twenty silver.”

“Did well? With that?” Aryn pulled at his captured hand. “Wait. At the tavern—”

“That was Ilan. You'll like him. He's like me and one day you'll join us.”

“Join who?” Aryn asked, exasperated. He saw the man who had rousted him approaching fast. “Tania, wait—”

“Easy, Aryn.” His tormenter raised his hands. “That was a test. The things I said were awful, unwarranted, and designed to show Valar you were still the petulant noble you were in Locke. I did not mean any of it.”

“Petulant?” Aryn straightened.

“I'm Ilan,” the man said. “My task was to make you angry, and I did, but you kept your head and walked away. I have no doubt your mother was a fine woman and it seems she raised you right.”

Aryn's face heated. “You were goading me.”

“Thank her for that.” Ilan pointed at Tania. “She spoke highly of you. I gambled she was love-struck.”

Tania snorted. “You owe me silver too.”

“If I may ask,” Aryn said, straining to keep from shouting at them, “what am I training
for?
”

Ilan exchanged a glance with Tania, then turned his dream world head to Aryn. “That's not my question to answer. Good luck.” Ilan thumped Aryn's shoulder. “No hard feelings.” He vanished into the crowd.

Aryn looked for Ilan and could not find him, a trick worthy of Jair's legendary disappearing acts in Solyr. How had the man vanished so fast? Was he a mage too?

“I recommended you because you're like us,” Tania said quietly. “You have no home to call your own.”

Aryn wondered then if she was right. He kept telling himself he
was
going home, but that hope grew more distant with each passing day. “Where are your loved ones?”

“Dead,” Tania said, “parents and now younger brother. Demons killed my parents. My brother died later.”

Aryn wanted to hug her. “I'm sorry.”

“Everyone is. You know how your life is now? It's empty. Are you willing to keep it that way to aid your province and your king?”

Aryn offered her a heavy sigh. “Sure.”

“I need a better answer than that.”

Aryn saw the truth for the first time. “I have nothing left.”

His family would never take him back. Even if he returned, Valara would urge Dupret to banish his crippled, possibly demonic spawn. Aryn's father would do it. He had no future at Solyr, no future in Locke.

Yet for the first time since Aryn clawed his way from the Underside, he saw a possible future
here
. “If it's to aid King Haven, aid Mynt, I'll do anything.” He made himself believe that. “You have my word.”

“Terrific.” Tania led him to the tavern. “You also have something you didn't mention.”

“What's that?”

“Me.”

No one in the tavern challenged them. As Aryn took in the many dream forms he noticed small black sticks inside boots, inside jackets, or up sleeves. He wondered how many were drunks and how many were guards. Even the barmaids had daggers strapped to their thighs.

Tania led him to the back of the tavern and knocked. The door opened. They walked down a short set of spiral steps until they reached a cellar, judging by the damp smell and cool air. He saw no stored goods of any kind.

A man waited in the middle of the cellar, dream form arms clasped behind his back. He wore no weapons that Aryn could see but held himself the same way as Trell. Balanced and ready to fight.

“Hello.” The man greeted Aryn with a soft, raspy voice. “Close the door.”

Tania closed it. She did nothing else.

“Come closer,” the stranger rasped.

Aryn wondered if an injury had damaged his voice. He obeyed, palms open and arms spread. There was nothing yet to say.

“Pull back your hood,” the man whispered.

Aryn laid his blistered flesh bare, cool air dancing across his skin. He kept his charred lips closed. He had nothing to hide any longer.

The man looked him over. “How did you survive?”

Aryn understood this test. If this man
was
Valar, Tania had already shared everything he told her after Davazet.

“Heat took me as his champion,” Aryn said. “That's why I'm alive.”

“Is Heat with you now?”

“Never coming back, so far as I know.”

“You stopped Davazet by using a demon glyph.”

“I did.”

“Yet you bear no Demonkin taint.”

That was a relief to hear, even though Aryn had been relatively certain he did not. “You can see that?”

“We all can,” Valar rasped. “The taint of demonic energy is upon all souls marked by the Mavoureen.

“Why don't I have it, then?”

“That,” and when Valar paused, it reminded Aryn of Tania, “is an interesting question.”

Aryn remembered something Melyssa had said to him at Terras, something he had barely thought about at the time. “I've been to the Underside. My pact is complete.”

“That is one possibility. If you may now scribe demon glyphs without losing your soul, that makes you unique among all those living today. It makes you an asset to someone, and I’d like that someone to be me.”

“I’ll help however I can.”

Valar crossed his arms again. “Then I accept you for training.”

Tania offered a quiet, fervent “Yes!”

Valar leaned sideways, looking at Tania, and even without turning Aryn knew she had hunched down.

“Apologies, master.” She did not sound very sorry.

Aryn wished he could see any detail of Valar’s face. It was difficult to read people when their faces were featureless orange blobs. He would simply have to learn other ways. He had always been good at learning.

“Normally,” Valar said, “I explain our calling to those who come to train with us, but Tania has asked to train you herself. Given your advanced age and your shared blindness, I've agreed.”

“I'm honored to be chosen.”

Valar brushed past Aryn and walked to the door. “You lie well. Practice that, but not on us.” The cellar door opened and closed.

Aryn turned to Tania. “Now, can we finally—”

She slipped into his arms and kissed him again, not caring one bit about his charred lips. As his head spun pleasantly he realized exactly where he was. He was in a dark cellar, alone, with her, and she felt
wonderful
.

Tania broke their kiss. “That was for not disappointing me, and for being such a good sport.” She stepped away. “Now sit.” She sat herself in front of him. “We start training at once.”

Aryn sat. She took one of his hands in hers. If her broken arm bothered her, she gave no sign. He wondered if Valar knew any Bloodmenders.

“I'm Valar's first hunter,” Tania said, “which means I'm authorized to recruit others and trusted above all the rings below. Think of me as Valar's second-in-command. I even get to train those I deem fit.”

“Do you always kiss them like that?”

“Only the ones I like.” She laughed in a way that made him warm. “I liked you the moment I saw you, but that’s one thing that's ending now.”

“Ending?”

“You're a good man and I'm quite taken with you, but if I'm to teach you, there will be no kissing. We're allowed to take lovers from our order, even encouraged to do so, but not during training.”

“Oh.” Some of his old caution returned. Was she still after something? “I just thought—”

“After you're done training, of course,” Tania said, “I can do whatever I want with you.” She squeezed his hand. “We're going to do many things.”

Aryn grinned before he could stop himself, but his stubborn worry eclipsed that. What if she was toying with him, as so many had done? He pulled his hand away. His skin felt cold where hers had touched it.

Tania tilted her head. “You're tensing up again, as you've done too often on this trip. Is there something you haven’t told me?”

Aryn wanted to tell her all the reasons she might be lying to him — she wanted his money, she wanted his family name, she wanted the ear of Dupret Locke — but those accusations felt hollow and wrong. He had none of those things now. He had
nothing
to offer her.

“I just ... I don't understand why you're interested in me. How can you be attracted to me, given how I look?”

“Because you're a good person?”

“Is that the only reason?”

“Oh, I see.” Tania's tone grew taut. “You think the only reason I can stomach your new appearance is because I'm blind. Is that it?”

That was exactly what he had been thinking. How could anyone be attracted to him as he was now? He was hideous.

“So the poor blind woman can't find herself a healthy man,” Tania said, “and settles for the cripple with the melted face. I'm desperate, is that it?”

Aryn flinched. “That's now what I—”

“I am quite capable of intriguing any man who interests me,” Tania said. “You aren’t unique, and you aren’t even close to the first.”

Aryn felt like he had done something horrible to her, shoved her or hit her or worse. “I didn't mean that. I—”

“You’ll want to stop digging your hole now.” Tania leaned close. “I understand you've endured horrific circumstances, and I know you think less of yourself as a result, so I'll say this as clearly as I can. You are the same person you were before you gave yourself to Balazel.”

Could it be true? Could she believe it?

“I find that person attractive for reasons entirely my own. That's as complicated as our relationship need be.”

“I know that.” Aryn grimaced. “I'm an ass.”