by Paul S. Kemp
Rakon shrieked, wailed as blood sprayed, bone crunched, and teeth flew. The sorcerer held his hands up, feebly trying to grab Egil's thick arms or deflect the priest's furious onslaught, but to no avail. The old woman near the door looked on, a dazed look in her eyes, her hand to her mouth in shock.
"Egil!" Nix called, and stumbled toward him, trying to stanch the blood leaking from his shoulder.
But the priest either did not hear him or did not acknowledge him.
"Your own sisters!" Egil said, and hammered Rakon's face again, again. "Your own sisters! We saw it, you fakking monster! We saw it!"
The devil shrieked in rage, the binding circle sizzling as he tried to break free.
"Your own sisters!" Egil said again, repeating the phrase with every punch, the words a vengeful incantation.
Rakon went limp under him and still Egil did not stop. The priest would beat Rakon to death if Nix did not stop him.
"Your own sisters!"
Nix staggered to his friend's side, caught his right hand by the wrist.
Egil whirled on him, tears in his eyes, left hand cocked.
"You can't beat it out of you by beating him!" Nix said.
The priest stared at him, blinking, pain in his eyes.
"You can't, Egil," Nix said, more softly. "We saw it. We felt it, at least in part. It'll never be out."
Egil lowered his fists, looked over at the old woman. There were tears in her eyes, too. Egil slouched, started to weep.
Rakon groaned, his face a broken, bloody mess.
Behind them, the devil raged in his prison.
They didn't have much time.
"I have an idea," Nix said, staring at Rakon.
Egil looked up, his bushy brows raised in a question.
Nix glanced over at the old woman, who was trembling against the wall. "Get her for me, Egil."
"Nix…"
"I'm not going to hurt her. You know me better than that." He nodded at Rakon. "I'm going to hurt him. Get me Rusilla, if you'd prefer."
The devil's attack on the binding circle grew frenetic, his rage-filled slams against the magic causing it to spark and flare.
"Hurry," Nix said.
While Egil gathered Rusilla, Nix tore a strip of his clothing and did his best to tie off his shoulder wound. Egil laid Rusilla down gently on the floor near Nix. Her eyes were open and she stared into Nix's face.
"I'm touching only your hand," Nix said to her, not sure if she could hear him.
He took her hand in his, removed the transmutation wand from his satchel, and activated it with a word in the Mages' Tongue. Once more the gold cap glowed and the wand warmed in his hand.
"What are you doing?" Egil asked.
"Watch," he said, and touched it to Rusilla.
"I still don't see…" the priest said.
Nix then touched the wand to Rakon. "Let him experience what he intended for them."
Rakon's eyes snapped open as the magic poured into him. As the transformation began, his eyes widened and his mouth opened in a silent scream.
The sorcerer's facial features softened. His body lost height, gained hips, his waist narrowed, his chest swelled with breasts. In moments the magic had turned him from sorcerer to sorceress.
"What have you done to me?" Rakon said, his now high-pitched voice slurred. The transformation had healed some of his wounds. His face was bruised, red in places, but not the ruin Egil had left it moments before.
"You wanted to honor your damnable Pact, whoreson," Nix said, and jerked him to his feet. "So you will."
Accompanied by Egil, he dragged Rakon toward the devil, who still flailed and raged frenetically against his binding. Rakon seemed dazed, not quite understanding what Nix intended.
"Do you understand me, beast?" Nix said to Abrak-Thyss.
"The Pact demands a Norristru woman of childbearing age."
Nix pulled Rakon toward the binding and shook him.
"I've brought you one."
The devil stopped struggling. The eyes at the end of his arms fixed on Nix. The slits in his abdomen, his nostrils, flared wetly as he inhaled Rakon's scent.
"What?" Rakon said, finally understanding, his voice high-pitched and feminine.
"Let's have our own pact, devil," Nix said, and shook Rakon again. "This one is yours. But the others are left alone. Do we have agreement?"
Rakon struggled against Nix's hold. Nix shook him like a rag doll. Rakon's fear seemed to excite the devil, to judge from the further engorgement of his member.
"I think he likes you," Nix said to Rakon. "I'm sure he'll be a gentle lover."
"No," Rakon said, swallowing, going limp in Nix's grasp. "You can't do this. You can't."
Nix pulled him around and stared into his – her – face.
"This is what you would have done to your sisters! This is the fear they felt. Worse than fear awaited them. I've seen it, Norristru. I've seen it! And now worse than fear awaits you. You've earned it."
"Don't do this," Rakon pleaded. Tears fell from his eyes.
"It's done!" Nix said, the anger in his words spraying Rakon with spit. "And you did it!"
Nix nodded at Egil and the priest withdrew, picked up Rusilla and Merelda, and carried them to the far side of the room. Egil recovered his hammers, his crowbar, and stood at the ready.
Nix turned to Abrak-Thyss, holding Rakon like an offering. "Devil, what say you?"
The devil growled, a low, predatory sound that reminded Nix of a cat's purr.
Without warning, the energy sphere around the binding circle winked out. Rakon screamed, sagged. Nix shoved the sorcerer toward the devil and backed away fast toward Egil.
He drew his blade but needn't have worried. The devil grabbed Rakon around the waist with one of his serpentine arms. Rakon flailed, his small fists beating at the devil's grip, his screams high-pitched and fearful.
"Honor the deal, devil," Nix said, backing up until he bumped into Egil.
The devil did not even glance at them. Carrying Rakon, who screamed helplessly, the devil strode for the open door that led into the manse.
The old woman abased herself before the devil as he approached.
"Scion of the Thyss, welcome."
The devil neither paused nor acknowledged her. His girth barely fit through the doorway, but he squeezed through and inside, Rakon still screaming plaintively.
Nix knew where the devil was taking Rakon: to the hall of doors he'd seen in his dreams, a place of horror.
"It's worst the first time," the old woman called after Rakon. "It's easier after that. Take heart."
Rakon's screams were desperate. Nix endured them only by reminding himself of the generations of women who'd uttered similar screams as a result of the scheming of Rakon and his sires.
Egil shifted on his feet. "I don't know if that was the right thing to do."
Nix stared at the open door, the darkness beyond. "I don't know either. But death seemed… too neat an end for him. We both saw what'd been done here. If it was the wrong thing to do, it was my wrong thing."
"No," Egil said thoughtfully. "I'm with you. If it was wrong, then it's our wrong and we both own it."
"Well enough."
"We should go," Egil said.
"Aye."
Nix kneeled and looked into Rusilla's pale face, her intense green eyes. Her hands spasmed, probably some aftereffect of the drug her brother had been giving her.
"Can you hear me?" he asked her. "Do you know what I just did? Was it the right thing?"
They stared at one another a long while.
"The drugs, Nix," Egil said. "She can't answer."
Then her lips moved. She made no sound and he wasn't sure if the movement was intentional. He stared at her, willing her to mouth again what he thought he'd seen. She did and he read her lips.
Applause, Nix.
For a moment, he could think of nothing to say, then he stood and said, "I've been waiting for those."
Nix and Egil bound th
eir wounds as best they could. They'd need to see a priestess of Orella when they returned to Dur Follin, maybe visit the Low Bazaar to procure a healing elixir or ten. But before leaving, they approached the old woman, Rusilla and Merelda's mother. She remained by the door, and at their approach hid her face behind the wall of her wrinkled, veiny hands. She rocked back and forth, muttering to herself.
"Is she… lost?" Nix asked.
"I think maybe," Egil said sadly.
"It's worse the first time," she muttered repeatedly. "Always worse the first time."
"Grandma…" Nix said.
She looked up between the gaps in her fingers. "Don't hurt me. Don't hurt an old woman."
At first Nix felt a surge of scorn, but it gave way to pity when he thought of Mamabird, thought of the pulsing doors of his dreams, the blood and screams, and what the poor woman must have endured in her youth.
"We won't hurt you, grandma."
"Of course we won't," Egil said. "You've been hurt enough."
She looked up at them, uncomprehending.
Nix kneeled to look into her face. "We're going to Dur Follin and we're taking Rusilla and Merelda. They can make their own lives there, free of… all this. You can come with us, if you wish."
She stared at him as if she didn't understand. Perhaps she didn't. Nix and Egil had destroyed the foundation of her world, as depraved and terrible as it had been.
"Do you hear me, grandma?"
Finally, she said, "This is my home. My son lives here with me. I can't leave. The Pact must be honored."
Nix did not bother to tell her that she no longer had a son, that the Pact was among the most depraved things Nix had ever seen. He looked up at Egil, who shrugged. Nix went to put his hand on the old woman's shoulder but she recoiled and he kept his touch to himself.
"You needn't ever be hurt by man or devil again," he said to her. "Pact or no Pact. Do you understand? Never again."
She looked past him, through him. "We are Norristru and we will honor the Pact. Rakon will honor it, preserve the line. House Thyss will be satisfied. We can rebuild our wealth…"
She went on like that for a time and Nix finally stood, shaking his head. She was what Norristru men had made her. Nix could not unmake her with his words; they had no such magic.
It was time to leave.
Bearing Rusilla and Merelda in their arms, they walked into and out of the Norristru manse. Nix was pleased to get out of the pain-haunted halls. They pretended not to hear Rakon's screams that carried through the cracked plaster on the walls.
The moment they stepped out under open sky, under Minnear's ghostly light, Nix swore.
"What is it?" Egil asked, turning, his free hand on a hammer haft.
Nix looked down at his feet. "I'm fakking barefoot."
Egil chuckled. Nix waited while the priest circled the grounds for a stable. He returned presently with saddled horses. They mounted the horses, Egil with Merelda, Nix with Rusilla. Nix felt awkward with his body pressed against Rusilla's, the smell of her hair in his nose. He reminded himself of recent events and banished all thoughts from his mind but the purest.
They spoke little as they rode away from the manse, heading for Zelchir's Fall, and from there, back to Dur Follin. After an hour of riding, the sisters could speak clearly, though their bodies were still mostly paralyzed by the drugs.
"Will the city be safe for you two?" Nix asked them.
"It's a big city," Merelda said. Her voice was lilting, musical. The sound of it made Nix smile.
"The Lord Mayor will be free of my brother's spells for the first time in years," Rusilla said. "When he realizes my brother had enspelled him…"
"Rakon will never enter Dur Follin again," Merelda said. "Oh, Rose! We're free."
"We are, Mere. At last."
"You will help us get situated when we arrive in the city," Rusilla said to Nix.
Nix chuckled, looked to Egil. "She gives orders like a noblewoman. And this time with her lips instead of her mind."
"Speaking of," Egil said, "how much of this did you plan from the beginning?"
"As much as I could," Rusilla answered.
"And how much of what we did was you and not us?" Egil asked her.
She looked off to the side and smiled, a secretive look. She was striking in profile, a strong jaw and regal nose. "Does it matter?"
"It matters," Nix said.
"Why?" she asked softly.
It mattered because he wanted to be that kind of man, not be made to behave like that kind of man. It mattered because he wanted to believe that the difference between him and Rakon Norristru was a gulf of moral sense, not opportunity and circumstances.
"It just does."
"Aye," Egil answered.
Rusilla was silent a long time. Minnear had vanished from the sky. Finally she said, "I don't know how much was me and how much was you. You have to answer that for yourself."
About the Author
Paul S. Kemp is a lawyer. That is bad.
He is also the million-selling author of the Erevis Cale sword and sorcery stories and several Star Wars novels. That is good. Very good.
He has appeared on the New York Times Bestseller list three times (twice on the hardcover list, and once in the mass market list).
It's a little known fact that Paul has maimed eight men and three llamas using only an unsharpened pencil and a stick of Wrigley's gum. Now you know too. He does not hum show tunes. Ever.
Paul lives in Michigan with his wife and twin sons.
paulskemp.com
Also by Paul S Kemp
The Sembia Series
The Halls of Stormweather
Shadow's Witness
The Erevis Cale Trilogy
Twilight Falling
Dawn of Night
Midnight's Mask
The Twilight War
Shadowbred
Shadowstorm
Shadowrealm
Star Wars
Crosscurrent
Riptide
Deceived: A novel of the Old Republic
Anthologies and Collections
Ephemera
Realms of Shadow
Realms of Dragons
Realms of War
Sails and Sorcery
Horrors Beyond II
Worlds of Their Own
Eldritch Horrors: Dark Tales
Acknowledgments
To Marco and Lee, for believing in the book. To Lieber, Howard, Brackett, and Moorcock, for inspiring the book.
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An Angry Robot paperback original 2012.
Copyright © 2012 by Paul S Kemp
Cover art by Richard Jones of Artist Partners
Distributed in the United States by Random House, Inc., New York.
All rights reserved.
Angry Robot is a registered trademark and the Angry Robot icon a trademark of Angry Robot Ltd.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Sales of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as "unsold and destroyed" and neither the author nor the publisher may have received payment for it.
ISBN 978 0 85766 245 3
eBook 978 0 85766 246 0
Printed in the United States of America
