by Carol Berg
I bowed and remained in a submissive posture, wondering who he was. I did not know how to recognize Khelid rank.
“I’ve received word that my uncle is missing in the Jybbar Pass. I’m off to find him.”
“But, Your Highness, the ceremonies ... the Emperor ... your guests ...” Surprise. Kindly concern.
“They mean nothing if my uncle is endangered, Lord Kastavan.”
Kastavan. The highest-ranking Khelid in Azhakstan. He who was persuading the Emperor to abandon Zhagad, the birthplace of the Derzhi. The man who had traded his mutilated king for Derzhi favor. I stole a closer glance at him, but his back was to me.
The music grew louder and more grotesque. The colors reflected on the walls and faces around me blended in nauseating profusion. Sweat dripped down between my shoulder blades. It made no sense.
“Of course, I understand,” said Kastavan, laying a sympathetic hand on Aleksander’s shoulders. “Most distressing. So send your slave to make ready while you watch the conclusion of our display. Only a few minutes more. Korelyi and Kenedar will wither in humiliation if you are not there to witness their triumph—it is unlike any magical event in the history of your fair Azhakstan. Designed especially for you.”
Magical display ... Korelyi. The nerve-scraping music. The nauseating light. The memories that would scarcely keep buried. Demons.
“Be off, Seyonne, and do as I’ve said. Tell Sovari I’ll be at the stables in an hour.” I could scarcely hear the Prince, for the thunder of warning in my head. Now that I let it loose, I thought it might crumble my bones. Was it only the one demon I had seen or were there more of them? Surely the creeping horror that chilled my soul was not just from Korelyi.
“As you command, my lord,” I said automatically.
The Prince and the Khelid moved toward the velvet curtain. My skin shriveled with what I had to do. I moved as if to go, then I stepped deliberately on the flowing purple cloak, holding it long enough to jerk the heavy gold clasp hard against the Khelid’s throat. He staggered briefly and choked, then whirled about furiously as I stumbled off the purple silk and dropped to my knees. “A thousand pardons, my lord!” I cried and glanced upward. Just before Kastavan’s hand crashed into my head, I glimpsed what I dreaded: a pair of cold blue eyes that spoke of soulless lust, lust that had found an evil nest very much to its liking. But the magnitude of what I saw took me beyond fear. This was beyond anything I had ever known, beyond anything any Ezzarian, living or dead, had ever seen. I had glimpsed a being from our most ancient writings, so fearful that we could not believe in it lest we refuse to venture our work in terror of encountering such a one. Korelyi was a small player. Kastavan ... Kastavan was the Master.
I crawled away, trying to shake the darkness from my head, mumbling apologies, not daring to think lest the demon somehow read it.
“The slave will be punished for this,” said Aleksander.
“No need,” said the Khelid smoothly. “I’ll not let a captive brute spoil your celebration. The slave can repay me by doing his duty. Come, Your Highness, and view the climax of the evening.”
It seemed to be my good fortune—if good fortune could be said to apply in any encounter with demons—that Kastavan was preoccupied with Aleksander and whatever was going on in the ballroom. But his very interest in the Prince spoke of monumental deviltry, and I didn’t know what to do about it.
“You are more lenient than I,” said Aleksander coldly, then opened the curtain for his guest. “Please go in.” As the Khelid and the servant disappeared through the opening, the Prince looked down at me in irritation. “Are you absolutely mad?” he whispered.
“Don’t go in, my lord,” I said, huddling over my knees as would be expected from a slave in imminent danger of the Prince’s wrath. At a gesture from Aleksander, the guards had moved back to their station beside the stairs. “Find a reason. Stay away from him.”
“There is not reason enough. I cannot leave without informing my father. I’ll be inside no more than five minutes. Do as I told you and be ready to explain yourself when I return from the Jybbar.” He shoved me toward the stairs with his foot, then disappeared inside the curtain. The kick wasn’t hard, just enough to knock me off balance. I did the rest, sprawling on the gallery floor and creeping away.
The guards shoved me down the stairs, but I didn’t go all the way down. I needed to be about the Prince’s errand, yet I had to understand what the Khelid were doing. I had seen the Lord of Demons ... the Gai Kyallet, the Changing Face ... one who could assume a hundred different aspects when forced to take form, who was accounted impossible to slay in a demon battle, because of its power and guile. Our oldest writings claimed that the Gai Kyallet could draw the demons together and set them to a common purpose, could command them all with a single thought as a queen bee ruled her hive. I could not imagine such danger.
I stood by the railing and looked out on the ballroom. The end of the ballroom had disappeared, and in the open space beyond the crowd was a world of marvels. Between the sturdy granite columns existed a magical woodland with youths and maidens chasing each other and laughing merrily as they caught and kissed and ran away again. Fantastical birds and beasts cavorted with them: a deer with a boar’s head, a bird with an eagle’s wings and the claws of a lion, a horse with a man’s head. All through their games they danced to the squawking demon music, or maybe the enthralled onlookers heard the mellanghar or the mountain pipes in more familiar melody and it was only I who heard the demon music. A fragrant wind stirred the treetops and wafted into the audience, ruffling hair and gowns, stealing the breath of the astonished Derzhi.
Five Khelid stood to each side of the display. One of them walked into the crowd, took a young woman’s hand, and drew her into the vision. When she stepped past the granite columns, her formal attire grew blurry and was replaced by country apparel, and instead of a silk fan, she carried a basket of flowers. Soon she was dancing with the rest, and the Khelid stepped out again and took the hand of a young man. There was wild applause and laughter from the audience.
I passed my hand before my eyes and shifted my senses. I expected to find enchantment. The vision was too elaborate; it could only be spell-wrought. And though I prayed not, I expected the Khelid magicians’ eyes to be cold and dreadful like those of Korelyi and Kastavan. The presence of such a powerful demon was dreadfully serious, even if I discounted tales that had likely swollen with so many years of telling. But I came near drowning in horror at the entirety of the truth. The magical forest was no enchantment, but a place that was quite real. Somewhere a poor man or woman was clawing his head in madness, tearing at her own flesh, screaming at the horrors trapped inside. Soon the dancing youths would pull out their swords or the maidens bare their fangs. Perhaps the beasts would extend claws of steel or spew out poison or lick the dancers with tongues of flame. All would be blood and terror, destruction and madness. Perhaps the Derzhi spectators would see it; perhaps it would only play out in the broken mind. The demons might have other purposes in view. But it would happen, and the sad wretch whose soul they violated would never be the same again. I could not allow this to go on. For the forest was a landscape such as I traveled when I was a Warden, when I would step alone through the portal of a human soul and do battle with demons.
Chapter 14
I tried to go back to warn Aleksander. I begged, I groveled, I pulled out every reason, every excuse, offered every bribe or favor I could think of, whether possible or not, to persuade the guards to let me back up the stair. But they had seen the Prince kick me away, so they were in no mind to be persuaded that he would want to see me again. After ten fruitless attempts to sneak, push, and talk my way through, the guards threatened to put me in chains if I bothered them again. One of the guards threatened to tell Durgan I was mad, and in my frenzy of helpless dread, it was very near the truth.
The danger was unimaginable. The Khelid were working enchantments with the most profound sorcery that existed in the world, dr
awing on the madness of a tormented human soul. Yet I had no idea what they were trying to accomplish with it. Were the Derzhi guests the target, or was Aleksander, or the Emperor himself? Even if I could get to Aleksander, what could I tell him? That every Khelid in the palace might carry a demon within, and that their magic was dangerous, unholy, soul-destroying? That his father, the Emperor of the Derzhi, was likely in the thrall of the Gai Kyallet, the Lord of Demons, the most powerful of their kind, prophesied to lead the demons in a war to end the world? He would never believe me. Nor could I explain to him how he, Aleksander, carried within him the very thing demons hated most, the spark of strength and honor that could enable a man or woman to hold out against them. But only if he used it. Only if he nurtured it and humbled himself to its power.
Impossible. He is an arrogant, murdering Derzhi. His own people had stripped me of the very tools I needed to discover what was happening. I wished myself a thousand leagues away. Better to be dead. Better to be chained to the rocks in the depths of the Derzhi mines than to be faced with a dilemma so monumental in consequence and so wretchedly impossible to solve. Oaths and wishes had no bearing on the matter at all. I could not even get close enough to warn him.
From the ballroom came laughter and applause, and the howling music that covering my ears could not silence. The liveried sentinels who ringed the ballroom were not so obviously armed as the guards on the stair, but their ranks were no more penetrable. I could not see what was going on ... and, in truth, I did not want to see. Whatever were the purposes of the demons, I could not stop them. Never had bondage been so bitter.
I slunk away from the ballroom, half sick with the aura of demon, and found Sovari, captain of the Prince’s personal troop. I delivered Aleksander’s orders, and Sovari immediately sent word to handpicked riders to make ready, and to the kitchen to prepare provisions for the group, and to the stable to have the horses saddled and loaded. Then he proceeded to Aleksander’s chambers to collect the Prince’s preferred weapons and riding clothes and winter cloaks. I snatched the opportunity. When the Derzhi captain walked past the door guards and into the Prince’s apartments, I followed close on his heels. I lit candles and sat purposefully at the writing desk as if I had work to do there. Sovari sent the extra clothes to the stables, and piled the riding clothes and weapons on the table. Then he left. Pages of nonsense flowed from my pen as I waited, hoping to get five minutes with the Prince before he set off to chase Dmitri.
But Aleksander did not come. The hour passed, and then a second one.
“Are you sure of your message, slave?” Sovari demanded when he checked the room for the fifth time in half an hour.
“Upon my life, sir. He said to be ready to leave in one hour. He planned only to make his farewells to the Emperor and the guests in the loge. Five minutes, he told me. Has the entertainment ended?”
“More than an hour since.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I know nothing else.”
“Maybe the Emperor forbade him to go,” he mumbled to another warrior who stood in the doorway, dressed in thick clothing suitable for a midnight ride into the mountains.
“I’d like to think it,” said the other. “Chasing into the Jybbar in the middle of the night ... it’s not how I’d choose to spend my dakrah feast.”
“I’d surely not do it for my likai,” said Sovari, and the two of them laughed as they walked out. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could laugh on that night.
I let my pen fall on the sheet of gibberish in front of me, put my head in my hands, and tried to figure out what in the name of the stars I was to do. I had been trained from the age of five to see beyond the evidence of my eyes, to hear nuances unnoticeable to ordinary ears, to taste and feel and smell the slightest variations in the textures of the world so that I could oppose the works of demons. Yet these skills were honed to work with melydda, power I could no longer use.
Another hour passed. One by one the candles winked out. As the night winds howled, blowing rain and sleet against the windows and whining behind the draperies, a servant came in and built up the flagging fire. I stayed quiet in the dark, and she never saw me. Periodically Sovari would open the door, peer into the room at the untouched pile of riding clothes, and mutter a curse before slamming the door shut again. The world might have ended beyond the gilded panels of Aleksander’s door.
I needed to leave. At some time soon, the Chamberlain’s men were going to start looking for me, and the consequences of being “out of control” for so long would be severe. I was numb with dread, and I craved the safety of darkness and solitude and ignorance. One more hour. Then I would go.
I must have fallen asleep, for when I heard the door close softly, the fire was no more than glowing coals and my hand lay numb under the weight of my head. I held still and silent in the dark. Listening.
From the floor between the blue couch and the pulsing red coals of the hearth came a low growling. A mournful, animal sound. Aleksander had a pack of hunting dogs—sleek Kuzeh hounds that could outrace the fleetest fell-deer—but he didn’t like them in his apartments. Perhaps someone had let one of them up from the kennels.
But on second hearing the quiet moan of anguish was very human. I crept across the room, my bare feet silent on the carpet, and peered down at the source of the noise. Curled up on the floor just next to the hearth was the Prince. Water pooled on the hearth tiles beneath his sodden black finery, and he was shivering violently.
I dropped to my knees at his side. “Your Highness, are you injured?”
He recoiled at my touch. “Who’s there?” His voice was hoarse and wrenchingly tight.
“Seyonne, my lord. I was waiting to speak with you. Should I send for Giezek?”
“No ... gods, no.”
I grabbed blankets from his bed to throw over him, then stirred the coals and fed the fire to bring it back to life. Next I found brandy and a cup, and helped Aleksander sit up to drink it. There were dark smears on his face and on the shaking hands that gripped the wine cup. While he sipped and huddled close to the fire, I warmed a basin of water and found a clean towel.
“May I help you clean yourself, Your Highness?”
He was puzzled until I gestured toward his hands. The wine cup clattered to the hearth, and the dark liquid pooled on the tiles, then crept gleefully along the mortared crevices, hissing as it dribbled into the coals. “It was only a dream,” whispered Aleksander. “A nightmare. I drank no wine or spirits. ...” When he dipped his hands into the basin, red blood swirled into the clear water, and he jerked them out again as if they were scalded. “Madness.”
“Are you injured, my lord? There’s more blood on your face.”
“It’s not possible.” He pushed the basin away, then snatched the damp towel and scrubbed wildly at his face before throwing the towel in the fire.
I took the basin away and emptied it. When I returned to the Prince, he was no longer shivering, but only staring at the fire with clenched hands pressed to his mouth. The orange flames left his skin sallow.
“Your Highness, is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No. Go away.”
“If I may speak, my lord, there are things I must tell you about the Khelid. I suspect that my news might bear on whatever disturbs you so.”
“Nothing has happened to me. I got drunk and walked about outside. That’s all. Nothing more. Cut a finger ... or something. ...”
He offered no explanation of why no cut was visible or how he’d gotten drunk without drinking anything. I tried again. “What I was trying to tell you earlier was that this Khelid Kastavan also bears a rai-kirah—a very dangerous one. Far more dangerous than Korelyi’s demon. My lord, I suspect all the Khelid in the palace are possessed by demons. I’ve never seen the like ... so many at once, working together as they are. I cannot imagine the danger ... and I know a great deal about demons.”
“You look in their eyes, and you can see who bears demons and who does not. Is that the way of it?”<
br />
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then, tell me what you see here.” He jabbed a finger at his own eye. “Tell me that I am taken by a rai-kirah, then perhaps things will make sense.”
I did as he asked. It was certainly possible, though rare, for a demon to reveal itself voluntarily. But the feadnach still burned within him, which meant no demon ruled there. He was not untouched, however. A veil of enchantment shadowed his bright center—exactly what I should have been able to guard him against.
“So it’s true, is it?” He leaned back on the cushions heaped by the hearth and poured himself another cup of brandy from the flask I had left there. “I see it in your face. I’m one of them, too.”
“No.” Sluggish with fear and despair, it was very hard to make the shift back from the distance of my true seeing, so I had no sense left for caution in choosing words. “No, my lord, there is no demon in you—none you were not born with.”
To my astonishment, after only a moment’s pause, Aleksander burst into laughter—hearty, healthy, hopeless merriment. “I have never known anyone like you, Seyonne,” he said, raising his cup in mock salute. “You mourn the universe while ignoring a knife pointed at your eye. Come, slave, tell me what you really think of me.”
His laughter nagged and nipped at my spirits like an annoying pup, and before another moment passed, I was laughing with him. For ten minutes we wallowed in the silken cushions and chortled like drunken drovers. I had not laughed in a century. It cured nothing, reduced the magnitude of the dilemma not a whit, yet I took strength from it.
I rubbed my hand over my short hair trying to return some wit to my head. “We cannot laugh this away, my lord. I wish we could. There is no demon in you, but they have managed to bind you with an enchantment—a very nasty thing. It happened at the performance tonight, I would guess. The magic they worked was very powerful.”
