“Magic ent evil, and corelings ent foot soldiers in some eternal space war,” Arlen continued. “Just animals, like us. Animals that spent millions of years living deep in Ala, bathed in the power of the Core. Evolved to absorb and hold some of that power, and we’ve learned to turn it against them. That’s all.”
He held up a warded fist. “Tattoos give me power, but no more than your scars. Real power comes from eating the meat. That’s why I can dissipate and draw wards in the air. Do things you need your spear and crown for, or can’t do at all. Got my own demon bone core now.”
“If they are just animals as you say,” Jardir said, “you risk becoming one of them yourself, if you continue on this course.”
“Know that,” Arlen said. “Ent eaten demon in years, but the power seems here to stay.”
“But you allow your jiwah to risk it, too,” Jardir said.
Arlen laughed again, but it was not a condescending sound this time. His mirth was genuine. “Allow? Have you met Renna Bales? There’s no allowing her.”
“Corespawned right,” Renna said, taking his hand.
Arlen looked at her, love in his eyes, but kept taking to Jardir. “Asked her not to, but she knows what’s at stake, and has been trying to catch up. Thinks I’ll mist down to the Core and try to take on the alagai without her, she doesn’t.”
“Don’t say it like it’s some crazy notion,” Renna said. “Told me yourself it calls to you. Hear it too, now that I’m skating. But that ent a fight we can win alone.”
She expected Jardir to be aghast at the thought of the Core calling them, but he only nodded. “Nie’s call is strong, but indeed, you must resist. All Ala depends upon us. Put your faith in Everam and He will keep you strong.”
Arlen shook his head. “Never been much good at putting faith anywhere but in me and mine.”
Jardir reached out gently, touching Arlen’s chest. “Everam is inside you, my friend. Whether we created Him, or He created us, is irrelevant. He is the Light inside you when all else is dark. He is the Voice that whispers right from wrong. He is the Strength you drew upon in your desert trials. He is the Hope that you carry in this mad scheme.” He smiled. “He is the Stubborn inside you that refuses to admit the truth I bring.”
Arlen smiled. “Grant you that last, at least.”
“Now that the cat’s out, might be we don’t need the prisoner.” Renna said. “There’s a shortcut to down below for all of us.”
Arlen shook his head. “Don’t trust anyone, even myself, to dissipate too close to the Core. Be like dumping a bucket into a river and expecting it to stay upstream.”
Jardir crossed his arms. “Hypocrisy or not, my warriors I will not profane our bodies with alagai meat.”
There were enthusiastic nods from Shanvah and Shanjat, and Renna could see the relief in their eyes.
“So we do it the hard way,” Arlen agreed. “But for that, we need a way to get that ripping demon to talk.”
CHAPTER 14
THE PRISONER
333 AR AUTUMN
The Consort huddled at the center of the warding, presenting as little flesh as possible to the cursed day star.
His captors had been thorough. The chain and locks were carefully crafted from a true metal, and their warding was strong. They burned against his skin, keeping him corporeal.
His cell was circular and bereft of furnishing. Colored stones lined the floor, cemented into a mosaic of warding that would keep him trapped even if he escaped the chain. The warding pulled at his magic with such strength the Consort needed to keep his power buried deep, lest it be drained.
There would be no restoring lost energy, for the demon prince’s cell was high above the surface, with no vents to Draw from. The Consort powered his own prison, and was determined to give it as little as possible. He sipped at the store carefully.
There were wards outside the walls, as well. Wards to keep his prison hidden from prying eyes, both human and the drones that no doubt combed the surface, seeking sign of him. The Consort had tried to reach out to them, but the forbiddance was too strong. For the first time, his mind was cut off from both the base impulses of his drones and the beautiful complexity of his brethren’s thoughts. The silence was maddening.
But worse than even that indignity was the day star. Thick curtains had been pulled over the windows of the cell, overlapping and lashed tight. The darkness was so complete the surface stock were blind, but to the demon prince, even the barest light filtering in through the weaves was agony, sapping his strength and burning his skin. It was all the demon could do to squeeze his lidless eyes tight and curl on the floor until darkness returned.
At last, the star set, and the demon made a few quick, efficient motions to sit himself upright despite the unevenly wrapped lengths of chain that bound him. Slowly, the Consort Drew a bit of power, healing the flesh beneath an ever-thickening armor of burned and dead flesh.
Again he Drew, a spark for sustenance. His captors wisely did not get close enough to feed him.
Last, he shifted, pulling a particular lock against his flesh as he focused a last bit of power into it, slowly eroding the metal. Too much, and the chain would pull the power away, but just a touch could wear it like water dripping on stone.
The demon had studied his chains for half a cycle now, and knew them intimately. Shatter three locks at the shackle, and much of his mobility would be restored. Break two more links, and he could slip the chain.
Once free of the chain, he would need to disable the mosaic to dissipate out of the prison. That would go more quickly, but the patterns suggested he would not progress far enough before one of his captors noticed the attempt. Even the weakest of them could pull the curtain with a flick of the wrist, and sunrise mark his end.
The Consort could afford to be patient. It would be many cycles before he was ready to shatter the chain, and much could change in that time. The human minds wanted him alive, and it was a good opportunity to study and probe their weaknesses.
It was a delightful irony that the very shackles they used to keep him corporeal prevented the Consort from reshaping his throat and mouth to allow him to replicate the crude grunting that passed for speech among the surface stock. He could understand their questions, but not answer them.
This frustrated the minds, deepening the rifts between them. Unifiers they might be, but like any human, they were stupid. Emotional. Barely more intelligent that mimics.
Most of all, they were mortal. The time would come when their vigilance failed, and he would be free.