The demon walked away from the woman. **Tear out his lower soul. Bring the spear and the rest to me.** Hounds, demons, and hell-horses advanced.
Kihrin snapped his fingers. Nothing happened. A few demons laughed as they advanced, then pushed their horses to a gallop to ride him down.
The demons ordered to hold their captive up for the master’s pleasure had less than a second to register that their victim had woken. Then she kicked one demon away from her. She grabbed the other by the tentacles above its ears and twisted its head in a perfect circle to the sound of snapping bone. The second demon came at her with a glowing sword that radiated a heat-sucking cold fire. She ducked under the weapon, drew her hand into a fist, and punched him.
Her hand went through his armor, and then through his chest, exiting through his back in a spray of gore. She twisted his spine into two pieces, then let the corpse fall away. She moved with beautiful grace, as if violence were a dance she had practiced since childhood.
Her eyes burned with all the colors of a forge.
She tore the sword away from its dead owner’s grip before it could dissolve. The color of the weapon turned from blue to red.*
She began her slaughter in earnest.
Meanwhile, Kihrin set the spear to the ground, and readied to take the demonic charge. The demon steed did not impale itself so much as dissolve, reduced back into energy and chaos. The energy flowed up the spear and added itself to his own, which he used to move his attackers back into each other. Just for fun, he put out every bit of cold fire in a two-hundred-foot radius. Torches went out. Cold-fire hooves stopped burning. He stabbed at hounds, with much the same result as the horses. A few of the dogs faced their demise with pleading, shining eyes—obscenely grateful for oblivion.
The master of the hunt decided that it would be best if he rode elsewhere, fast. As he galloped away, the spirit of the rest broke with his exit. In a matter of seconds, the clearing was empty save for the man, the woman, and the fading soul-forms of annihilated demons. He summoned up a glowing ball of mage-light.
The two people stared at each other.
The woman reached up to retrieve her cloak from where it hung off the tattered branches of a tree. When she had draped it across her shoulders, she turned back to him.
“That,” she said, pointing at the spear, “belongs to me.”
Kihrin smiled. “I don’t think it would be in my best interests to return Khoreval to you, before you’ve promised me I won’t be her next victim.”
The woman stopped, startled. “You know her name?”
“Of course. Who did you think named her?”
The woman blinked at him with those fiery, fierce red eyes. “That’s not possible.”
“Ah, the skeptical sort. Still, it’s the truth.”
The woman looked out toward the lake as she rubbed her solar plexus through the doublet. “I thought that dragon had finished me—”
“Xalome.” He laughed. “That was Xalome. She’s dead. For a while.”
“And why am I not?”
He seemed reluctant to answer. “Because I healed you. I healed both of us.”
“You attacked me,” she continued, frowning. “Then you healed me, and then you left me here for that pack of demons to slaughter, before you rescued me again. Are you always this indecisive?”
Kihrin sighed. “I suppose that depends on who you ask. I didn’t think they would hurt you.”
“They’re demons,” she pointed out.
“So are you.” His expression was haunted.
She swallowed and looked away, but she did not correct his statement.
Kihrin pointed to the deeper, darker parts of the woods. “We can’t stay here. That demon that escaped will report back. And sooner or later, probably sooner, they will send a contingent that knows how to fight.”
“I’m not afraid of them,” she defended.
“I can see that, but we still shouldn’t stay. Do you know how to reach the Chasm?”
She tilted her head as a sad smile crossed her lips. “What a strange man you are. You just denounced me as a demon, and yet, you expect that I’ll help you? Would that not be odd behavior for a demon?”
“Usually,” Kihrin agreed, “but you were trying to help me back there. I didn’t realize it, and I screwed things up because I thought you were with them, but you weren’t hunting me. You were hunting the demons.”
“Being their enemy does not make me your friend,” she said.
He bent down on one knee in front of her. “Then what is your pleasure? If it’s in my power to grant it, it’s yours. Tell me your heart’s desire and I will make it real.”
She drew away from him as if his proximity might burn. “Don’t make such offers. You sound too much like a demon with such pretty words.”
She put two fingers to her lips and whistled; a few moments later the large fire-horse trotted into the clearing and whinnied to her in greeting. She retrieved some of her armor, making a face at the sorry state of it, and tied it to the saddle before hauling herself up onto the massive horse.
As hunting horns sounded in the distance, the woman turned to Kihrin and presented her hand, to help him up behind her. “Very well. I still await a good explanation of why I should help you, but I’m willing to take us to shelter first.”
84: THE D’LORUS DUEL
With the City on fire, no one noticed when the wall of energy surrounding the Arena fell.
“This will work?” Darzin asked for the third time, cursing himself. He knew his fear was showing, but he couldn’t stop himself. He’d been in the Arena plenty of times, as a duelist.
This was different.
The trio walked inside the Arena with no one to stop them and none to even notice their passing. They didn’t need a Voice of the Council to create a door for them; the man who wore the Crown and wielded the Scepter possessed his own power to take down the barrier of magical energy.
“Keep your eyes open,” Gadrith said, for it was Gadrith, even if he looked like a plain Marakori man wearing a patchwork sallí cloak. The Stone of Shackles glittered around his neck, for he had taken the time to reclaim it from his old body, as well as Thurvishar’s gaesh. “You and Thurvishar will stand as lookouts while I search the ruins. Neither of you may come inside: you would die.” He smiled. “It appears only the Emperor may enter without suffering a horrible demise.”
“Is that you, husband? I hardly recognized you without your D’Lorus wardrobe,” Tyentso said as she called out from behind them. The agolé draped around her body was a dark cloud whipped by the wind.
Gadrith turned and cocked his head as he regarded the woman. It took him a moment to recognize her, but then his eyes widened. “Raverí. What a surprise, but ‘husband’ is not the proper word for our relationship.”
“Oh, is this where you reveal you’re my father?” She tilted her head. “I’ve known that for years.” She put a hand to her chest. “Phaellen told me before we ever met.”
“Who’s Phaellen?”
Tyentso rolled her eyes. “Really, Gadrith? You murdered him.”