Into the Dark Lands (48 page)

Sara heard the beginning of a scream take shape from the throat of her captor. It was cut short before it could fully blossom, but that—that was his way. No pain in the face of the enemy, even if that pain gave no satisfaction. She understood it well.

Her hands curled into little fists as he fell—again slowly, agonizingly so—to the floor. The red around him still pulsed frantically, but it was weakening. Kandor was doing his work, and well.

She felt a sharp pain and looked down to her hands. Little drops of blood lingered on her fingernails. She looked away again, to see Belfas, arms raised, begin his attack upon the Malanthi high priest.

I should leave.

She thought it, senselessly, as her legs locked her in place. So she waited, not knowing what it was that she waited for until it came, drawn out, covering more of her than either she or her Lord could have expected.

He called her name, just once, into the odd silence of the battle zone. But once was enough.

And she turned to him again, caught his eyes, and held them as if to provide an anchor for him before she realized fully what she was doing. She saw him—as she had seen him daily, as she had seen him this afternoon—her chosen, her bond-mate, nightwalker, Servant, and darkling. She felt the coolness that lingered over cheek and brow in the morning, felt the concern that had been his first thought when Kandor and the priests of Elliath were launching their assault.

It hurt her, more than walking through red-fire, for it was a darker and deeper pain.

“Erin,
don't!
”

But she was already running the short distance between herself
and Kandor—arms outstretched as if to embrace him. There was no time for tears, no leisure for anything but automatic action, as her hands gripped Kandor's tightly, wrenching them into a direction that would, for a second, free Stefanos.

Nor was she prepared for Kandor's reaction. His hands shuddered once, twice in her grip, but he made no move to pull free.

“Sarillorn.”

It was the first time he had spoken aloud to her, and she knew what it meant; he was tired, his power was failing.
Yes,
she thought uneasily,
that's what it must be.

Then he gently, but firmly disengaged her hand. “It is over. Rest.”

She turned then, wildly, to see Stefanos standing, glowing brightly with the ugliest of light haloing his body.

“This the Lady saw.” Bending, he kissed her forehead. “And I am ready. Stand aside, little one.”

“No.” She turned and met Stefanos's eyes. “Please, please no.”

“Sara.” He bowed once, no hint of his torment marring the gesture. “Thank you, Lady. Now we will meet on equal ground.”

Kandor bowed, also. “Not equal, First of Malthan. But come, I have done what I can to defy the Lady's fate; I will defy it no longer.” The saddest of smiles touched his lips, and he turned to look at Sara.

Derlac's loud cry filled the hall, robbing Kandor's last words of sound. But Sara saw his lips move, saw a tremor of something shudder through his eyes. And when he turned to face his enemy, he was Servant of Lernan once more, with all the majesty, and all the power.

Stefanos laughed once. “You were a fool to come here; this is the seat of my strength.”

“I was a fool, yes,” Kandor replied, mildly. He raised his arms high, and the light that flooded the room blinded Sara.

She cried out, “Stefanos! Don't!” knowing that she would hear nothing in return. Nothing? She choked as the sound of wood striking wall rang through the room, followed by the scrape of metal against metal, and the loud, dissonant clang of armor. She heard the scuffling of feet and bodies as she tried to clear her eyes.

“Erin,
why? why?”
The agonized question was followed by a grunt and a silence punctuated by heaving breath.

When her eyes cleared, she was still in the hall.

“Lady.”

She could not face him.

“Lady.” His arm touched her shoulders, drawing her close. “Thank you.”

Avoiding his eyes, she turned to see the still form of Kandor upon the floor. Dodging Stefanos, she darted toward it and knelt.

His hand, ivory and pale, was motionless in hers, limp, all of the life he had carried into the hall vanquished.

Kandor, please—understand me
.

He had; she knew it. She drew the body closer, wondering why it still existed in the mortal realm.

Lernan, God, forgive me. I am Sarillorn of Elliath no longer.
And she wept, salt tears warming the chill of her face. Beyond, the voice of her Lord broke through.

“Captain, take them to the north wing. Confine them until I—”

She stood, leaving Kandor on the floor. “Stefanos.”

He turned to her as the guards began to carry out his orders, and beyond his back she could see that Rein was bleeding profusely. The other three were unscathed—physically. She tried to capture Belfas's gaze and failed; he turned his face away without speaking another word.

“Lady?”

“Please, Stefanos, please let them go.”

He grew remote, his eyes black against the gray of his natural pallor. “They are my enemies, Lady. There is an understanding in this. They have failed; they know the price.”

“They wouldn't have failed if I had not—not—”
betrayed them.
But the enormity of the words stuck in her throat, refusing her the relief of releasing them. “Please, Lord. I saved your life. Please grant me this one thing. I won't ask for anything else.”

He caught her trembling chin in his fingers. “Sara, I—”

“You'd be dead if I hadn't interfered!”

“I am not alive now.”

Dropping to her knees, she caught the hand beneath her chin and grasped it so tightly that the blood ran out of her fingers. Bowing her head, she said, “First Servant of—of Malthan. I ask you, beg you if I must, for their lives. Please.”

He studied her for a while as the hall emptied, saw the tears upon her cheeks, etching themselves into her countenance as if they were acid. At length he knelt in front of her, pulling her into his arms.

“Sara, Sara, I understand. You ask me to lessen the price you
have paid tonight.” His hands ran through her hair, changing shape and color as they did so, until he stood before her, once again Lord of Veriloth—as close to human as a Servant could become. “Lady, why did you choose as you did?”

She shook her head, wordless, and he let the question fade, knowing the answer, marveling at it.

“I will not earn your hatred this night, Sara. Rise. Return to your rooms. The Lernari are free to go; they have lost the strongest of their number; they have lost the Third of Lernan.”

She trembled, but this time brought her face up. Tears still fell, and her face was no less troubled, but he could see a glimmer of light in her eyes.

Weakly, her arms came up and around him.

“Thank you. Thank you, Stefanos.”

She tried to stand, and he caught her as her knees gave.

“It is I who should thank you, Sara. Come.” He lifted her. “I will take you to your rooms; you may rest there. In the morning, all shall be as it was.”

He carried her out of the hall, cradling her gently as she curled against his chest. Together they made their way to the north wing of the palace and from there to Sara's rooms.

Sara seemed to sleep; her breath came shallowly and evenly as the First Servant traversed the final hallway that she'd covered so carefully with her tapestries. He had seen them many times and had no need to pause to reexamine detail; it was all in his memory, and with a thought he could summon it up. Given a night he could sit in his chambers, counting each individual thread and each careless flaw.

Nonetheless he stopped at the end, to gaze fully at the loom-drawn Lady of Elliath.

Lady.
He did not bow, but would have had he not carried Sara.
Your eyes see your doom. Does it wear my face?

I do not know if you sent the Lernari, or the Third of Lernan, but I am grateful for both. I shall use them well.
He tightened his grip on Sara, a wordless statement.
When we meet again, I shall remember your gift to me.

He nodded once, crisply, and then carried Sara to her bedroom. She stirred once, and he cradled her until she was again still. Then he pushed her covers back and laid her carefully in her bed, arranging the pillows beneath the spread of her hair.

His lips brushed her forehead once.

Then he raised his arms, passing them three times over her still form. His eyes glinted red in the darkened room.

Sleep, Sara. Sleep until dawn.
He spoke a few words, each one carefully chosen to reverberate across her.
It is done.

Bending down, he kissed her again, lightly on either eyelid. Then he stood and walked briskly out of the room, closing and locking her door behind him.

He walked quickly down to Kadrin's quarters and rapped on the door. Kadrin emerged, paling slightly at the sight of his Lord; it was rare for him to make a personal appearance.

“Lord.” He bowed, dropping to his knees.

“The lady sleeps. She has had a troubled evening. Post two of the slaves near her quarters and make sure that she is not disturbed under any circumstance.

“And send someone for the high priest. Tell him he is to meet me in my chambers immediately.”

“Yes, Lord.”

Stefanos held the man's eyes for a minute, then nodded curtly. Kadrin rose from the floor and scrambled awkwardly—but quickly—down the long hall. The First Servant was already gone.

 

Derlac opened the door to his master's chambers and walked quickly in.

“You are here.”

“Master.” Derlac gave a low bow.

“I require your assistance for the evening.” He rose, almost impatiently. “We must move quickly; the work will be long and it cannot, under any circumstance, outlast the darkness.”

Derlac nodded, rising.

Stefanos was already at the door. “Quickly, High Priest.” He had no need to make a threat; Derlac understood his position too well.

“Where do we go, master?”

“To my temple.”

A look of surprise, followed by satisfaction, swept across the high priest's face. “Will we need a congregation?”

“No.”

Derlac shrugged. Not a full ceremony then—but it didn't matter. The First Servant, for the first time in over three years, was willing to perform blood rites.

“Is there anything that you require?”

“The blade.”

“Done.”

“And the Lernari. Bring also the body of the Third of Lernan. Both are necessary.”

A slow smile spread across Derlac's face.

“Immediately, master.” He bowed again, genuinely. “I shall meet you at the temple with the things you have requested.”

Stefanos nodded absently.

You trusted me, Sarillorn. And why should you not? In the past four years I have never broken my word to you
.

He felt uneasy, and buried the feeling beneath a sharp and sweet elation.

Just this once, Sarillorn, I must do so. Then you, too, will be free of the dictates of time. As I am.

I will never lose you to so impersonal an enemy.

He opened the door and began his journey to the temple. And his eyes were deep and red, a dark red that showed no light, nor allowed any to pass.

Stefanos looked about his small personal temple
, noting the marks that the passage of time had left upon it. Here, a cobweb, hiding perhaps a spider or two, there, dust in an even, undisturbed blanket upon the unused altar. He felt momentarily annoyed at the sight; he would have to find the time to make sure that the temple was clean. Not that it would take long, but the darkness of evening was a precious commodity.

With a wide, deliberate gesture and a few curt words, he let his displeasure take form. A strong wind swept through the room, tearing away cobweb and dust alike. Small spiders scurried away from the ruins of their daily labor, and he let them pass.

He walked to the altar, tracing a familiar path easily and cleanly. The stone was cool to the touch, even to his, and black with the faintest threads of gray running through it. It was an elaborate monument, the more so for its plain, unadorned elegance. He had always liked it, although the labor had not been his; Sargoth had constructed it almost whimsically during one of his few visits to the mortal plane.

His arms swung across the length of the stone, inches above the surface. His eyes and the altar glowed red at the same time, and then the color faded into natural black.

I am ready.

As if hearing his thoughts, two men walked through the door. By their uniforms, it was clear they were Swords of the Church, Malanthi, but not strong enough in blood to aspire to the priesthood. Between them they carried a limp, pale body—Kandor's.

“Lord.”

“Put it on the altar. The left side.”

The man who had spoken nodded sharply, with only a slight
trace of fear—it was not, after all, his blood that would grace the altar this night. Still, it always paid to be careful when dealing with the First Servant of God.

They deposited the body clumsily on the stone altar, but before they could straighten it out, their Lord waved them away.

“That will be all. You may go now.”

Nodding, the Swords left.

Stefanos went to the body and began to unfurl it almost gently.

Third of the Enemy, know that your essence will be used to aid one of the Line Elliath.