Demonbane (Book 4)

by Ben Cassidy

  Kendril put the mirror face down on the table. “It doesn’t matter,” he said curtly.

  There was an awkward moment of silence.

  “Olan’s downstairs,” Callen said. “He wanted to see you.”

  Kendril could hear raised voices from below as he went down the stairs. The house was big, a veritable country estate. Several servants passed him as he descended. They looked at him with a strange sense of fear and awe.

  Kendril ignored them.

  “The King can’t do what you’re asking. It’s preposterous.”

  Kendril turned the corner into a large room. Olan, Baron Dutraad, and several other nobles in traveling clothes sat around a table. A map of Valmingaard was spread over the surface, lit by candles at either end.

  Olan leaned forward. His face was haggard and worn. “With respect, my lord, you must understand that this Despair is already consuming all of Zanthora. You’ve heard the reports from Merewith. There are reports of insurrections there. Outlying towns are being attacked by cultist bands. And there are rumors of uprisings in Kelmar, fires being set in Rella. We can’t simply—”

  One of the lords in traveling clothes banged an impatient hand down on the table. “The Despair has been defeated, and Vorten has already paid the price. Yet you are speaking as if the war is still being waged.”

  Kendril stepped up to the table. He tried to keep the pain from showing on his scarred face. “That’s because it is,” he said bluntly. He leaned on the end of the table, struggling to keep from gasping. “This is just the opening shot in a war, gentlemen. Vorten was the start of this Despair, not the end. The hammer is still going to fall on Rothland.”

  The envoys all rose to their feet. One of them put his hand over his heart and gave his head a slight bow. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, sir.”

  Kendril gave the man a puzzled glance.

  Olan looked up gruffly at Kendril. “Good to see you up and about,” he said without much enthusiasm. “When your friends and those gendarmes dragged you out of the sewers we all thought you were dead.”

  “I feel fine,” Kendril said defiantly. He looked over the group. “Each of the past Despairs has involved more than just riots and cultist uprisings. There has always been an army that has invaded Rothland, under the sway of the Seteru. We should expect no differently this time. The Seteru failed to open a Void gate here at Vorten. Now they will try again with an army.” He paused, his legs wobbling uncertainly. He gripped the table edge tightly as he tried to steady himself. “We need intelligence, information. The only way to combat this new threat is to unite all the nations of Rothland so that when it comes, we can repel it.”

  “That may be a problem,” Dutraad said grimly. “We have just received early reports. The kingdoms of Kalingland and Badera are mobilizing regiments against Valmingaard. We expect them to declare war within days.”

  Kendril sank into a chair, genuinely shocked. “What?”

  “They blame the current chaos on Valmingaard,” Olan said quietly. “They have accused the court at Varnost of being in league with the dark powers.”

  “Which is, of course, ridiculous,” spat the envoy.

  “Ridiculous or not,” Dutraad countered, “they mean war against us.”

  “The Seteru are turning us against each other,” Kendril muttered. “This is part of their plan. The whole of northern Rothland will be up in arms against one another.” He looked up. “When the hammer does fall, we’ll be divided, weakened.”

  “We’re already weakened.” Dutraad leaned back in his chair. “Vorten has been utterly destroyed. The body count is still rising, but it is already in the thousands. Thousands more have been displaced without food or shelter. And the fires are still burning.”

  “Not to mention the cultists,” Olan said. “They have been mostly broken, but there is still fighting north and east of the city.”

  “In other words,” said Kendril, “Valmingaard is ready to fall.”

  There was a deathly silence around the table.

  Outside the windows, a red glow came from the fires of Vorten.

  Kendril walked down the hall. Every step sent pain shooting through his face and arm. It took every ounce of willpower he had to keep his face from flinching.

  “They won’t listen to us,” Olan said bitterly. “They’re too wrapped up with the little things to see the big picture.”

  “Valmingaard being invaded from east and west is hardly small,” Kendril commented. “They can’t see the threat this Despair really is yet.”

  Olan turned a corner of the hall. “Even with Vorten in flames?”

  “Especially with Vorten in flames.” Kendril stopped before the house’s doors and faced Olan. “We need information, where the Seteru plan to strike us next.”

  Olan shook his head. “I don’t see how.”

  “We need to find Bronwyn.” Kendril put his good hand on the door handle. “I’m certain she was deep in the enemy’s counsel. If anyone knows what the Seteru are planning, it’s her.”

  “The witch?” Olan glanced out a side window at the smoking ruin of Vorten just on the horizon. “There is little chance she survived that.”

  “I did.” Kendril opened the door. Chilly air poured inside.

  Olan glanced at Kendril’s burned face. “Barely.”

  Kendril paused for a moment. “Madris?”

  The other Ghostwalker gave a slow shake of his head. “Sorry Kendril. She was dead even before the Void gate opened.”

  Kendril grunted, then stepped out the door.

  “Kendril?”

  He stopped and looked back at Olan.

  “Lieutenant Gradine told me what happened in the sewers. I admit, I didn’t think you could do it. Shoot your friend like that, I mean. I had you pegged for the sentimental type.”

  Kendril didn’t respond. He turned and hobbled outside into the falling snow.

  There was a crowd of refugees out of the lawn of the estate. Displaced townsfolk, many of them burned and bandaged. Makeshift tents and shacks dotted the area. Fires burned in open pits on the lawn. The wail of babes and the shouting of small children filled the air.

  Kendril made it to the bottom of the stairs and began to make his way through the crowd of people.

  A murmur rippled through the tents. Some of the refugees stood, staring in Kendril’s direction. Many of them pointed. The rumble of conversation increased.

  “Ah, Kendril.” Maklavir appeared to the right, his once-fine clothes bedraggled and stained. “You’re alive. A bit touch and go there, eh?”

  Kendril looked over the crowded lawn. “You’re outside here?”

  Maklavir shrugged. “Well…yes. Only big-wigs are invited inside the house, I’m afraid. Officers, the King’s envoys, your Ghostwalker friends. I’ve been waiting for you here.”

  “With me.” Senna came over, hooking her arm in Maklavir’s. The curly-haired tavern owner smiled. “It’s good to see you again, Kendril.”

  “And you.” Kendril gave a half smile. “You made it out of the city in one piece.”

  Senna’s smile faltered. “Yes. But only me. I lost everything else. The inn, all the supplies…” She gave a fierce shake of her head. “No matter. I can start over again. I’ve done it before.”

  “She rode out on Veritas,” Maklavir said with a grin. He jerked a thumb back towards his white stallion, who was leashed by a tent. “Isn’t that grand?”

  Senna shrugged. “He was the fasted horse in the stable.”

  Kendril looked over the crowd of people uneasily. Many were blatantly staring at him now. He pulled his hood self-consciously over his burned face. “I…don’t suppose you managed to…?” Kendril looked away nervously. “Simon?”

  Senna looked at the Ghostwalker questioningly.

  “His mule,” Maklavir explained quietly.

  The woman closed her eyes and nodded slowly. “Of course. I’m sorry, Kendril. The fire was coming our way…I let the animals out, but…”
<
br />   Kendril gave a quick nod. “He was always a stupid beast anyways. Probably ran towards the fire.”

  Maklavir turned his head towards the distant outline of Vorten. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? All those people dead. So much destroyed. The Great Library, the Bathhouse, the Ice Gardens…” His voice trailed off.

  “Maklavir?” Kendril lowered his voice. “How’s…Kara?”

  The diplomat’s face darkened. “Not good. Joseph’s been taking care of her, but…”

  Kendril tried not to wince as the cold snow fluttered against the raw side of his face. “But?”

  Maklavir crossed his arms. “You shot her in the heart, Kendril. She should be dead. But she’s not. She’s in a coma of some kind. I don’t understand more than that.”

  Kendril nodded. “Where is she?”

  “Kendril…”

  “Where is she?” the Ghostwalker repeated.

  Maklavir sighed. “I’ll take you to her. But you should know, Kendril, about Joseph…”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s…” Maklavir paused, choosing his words carefully. “He’s taking it hard.”

  “Just take me to them,” Kendril snapped.

  “It’s the farmhouse up there, to the right.” Maklavir pointed down the white country lane.

  The farms and fields outside the city were covered in frost and snow. More refugees from the city were camped out in barns and along the road. As Kendril and Maklavir passed by they all rose to their feet, staring at the Ghostwalker.

  “What’s their problem?” Kendril grumbled. He looked behind him. A crowd of people from the estate were following them. “You’d think they never saw a burned face before.”

  Maklavir adjusted his cap against the falling snow. “They’ve come to see you, Kendril.”

  Kendril scowled. “Me? Whatever for?”

  “You’re the Demonbane,” Maklavir responded evenly.

  Kendril stared at him. “The what?”

  “The Demonbane,” the diplomat repeated. “The man who closed the Void gate and slew the goddess.” He smirked. “Some of Gradine’s men talked.”

  Kendril gave the gawking crowds an irritated glance. “That’s ridiculous. I didn’t do anything special. Just what needed to be done.”

  “Apparently they don’t agree.” Maklavir brushed some snow off his shoulder. “Word is that you’re a hero.”

  Kendril grimaced. “That’s all I need.”

  Maklavir put a hand on Kendril’s arm, stopping him. “These people need a hero, Kendril,” he said in a low voice. “They need a champion, someone to believe in, someone to rally them. They need hope. Don’t take that away from them.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” the Ghostwalker said sarcastically.

  Maklavir sighed and glanced at Kendril’s face. “It…looks painful.”

  Kendril pulled away. “Can’t even feel it.” He stepped up to the farmhouse door. “You coming?”

  Maklavir leaned up against a fencepost. “I’ll wait here.”

  Kendril pushed his way inside without knocking.

  The house was crowded. Injured, burned, and wounded people covered the floor. The air stank of blood and body waste.

  Kendril crinkled his nose, and ghosted past the moaning people that lay on all sides. He headed down a corridor. Behind him he heard the whispered word “Demonbane.”

  Halfway down the hallway he saw her.

  Kara lay on a torn mattress in one of the side rooms. Her face was pale, almost white, her eyes closed. She lay on her back, her chest barely moving as she breathed.

  She looked dead.

  Kendril tried to step forward, but found he couldn’t. He could only stare at Kara’s almost lifeless form.

  “She looks almost peaceful, doesn’t she? Like she’s sleeping.”

  Kendril turned.

  Joseph stood just behind him. He looked terrible, his eyes bloodshot and his face worn.

  “Joseph—”

  “The bullet you fired at her destroyed the Soulbinder,” Joseph continued, his voice almost montone, “but it also penetrated into her chest. I managed to extract the pistol ball, but shards of the Soulbinder itself got into the wound, too. At least a couple were too deep to dig out.” He looked over at Kendril. “Frankly, I don’t know why she’s not dead. I don’t know if she’ll ever wake up.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Kendril. His voice sounded strange in his ears.

  “Sorry?” Joseph’s eyes turned on him. “That’s all you have to say? Sorry?”

  Kendril opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

  “I told you not to shoot.” Joseph’s hand clenched at his side. “I begged you not to.”

  “She was killing you, Joseph.” Kendril glanced uneasily down at Kara. “What was I supposed to do? Watch you die?”

  “Yes.” Joseph took a deep breath. “I trusted you, Kendril. You promised me you’d protect Kara.”

  “That wasn’t Kara, it was Indigoru.” Kendril felt desperate to escape the conversation.

  “I heard Kara. She was alive. If we could somehow have gotten the Soulbinder off her, maybe tried to reason—”

  “Reason?” Kendril felt a flash of anger himself. “Every minute Indigoru was in Kara’s body she was growing more powerful. You saw it. It was only a matter of time before she would have been nearly unstoppable, just like before. It was the only way, Joseph. You have to know that.”

  “What I know,” said Joseph, “is that you killed the woman I loved.”

  Kendril swallowed. “She’s not dead.”

  “She’s not alive, either.” Joseph stared at Kendril with hollow eyes. “Olan told me once that you didn’t care about anyone but yourself, that you had no friends. I didn’t believe him. I didn’t want to believe him. But now—” He stopped.

  “Joseph—” Kendril tried to keep his voice down.

  “I think you should go,” Joseph said.

  For a long moment there was silence.

  Then, slowly, Kendril turned for the door.

  The snow was still falling as Kendril stepped outside. In the east, the smoke was still rising over Vorten.

  “Give him time,” said Maklavir. “He’s just trying to process…to deal with…”

  Kendril looked dejectedly out towards the city. “This is all my fault.”

  Maklavir straightened. “Is that what Joseph told you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Look, Kendril,” Maklavir said softly. “What you did…it needed to be done. I couldn’t have done it, and Eru knows Joseph never would have. You did the right thing, Kendril.”

  Kendril cocked his head towards Maklavir. “You can say that? Even though I shot her? The woman you’re in love with?”

  The diplomat blushed bright red. “What—? I don’t think—” He took a deep breath, then looked up at Kendril. “How did you know?”

  Kendril put a hand on a nearby fencepost. “Because…because I love her too.”

  Maklavir’s eues widened “Really?”

  Kendril rolled his eyes. “No, not really. What on Zanthora is wrong with both of you? This is why we never should have let Kara come along with us.”

  “If I remember correctly,” Maklavir said, “you were the one who wanted her to come along in the first place.”

  “Well, that’s turned out well for everyone, hasn’t it?” Kendril turned towards the lane.

  “Where are you going?” Maklavir called out.

  “Away,” Kendril muttered.

  Night had fallen as Kendril moved along the road. Behind him to the west there was a faint red glow from Vorten.

  The fire. It was almost burned out.

  He moved slowly, shambling, leaning heavily on a broken branch he had found. His breathing became more labored until he finally stopped and sank down onto a rock by the side of the road.

  Pathetic. At this rate it would take him forever to travel even a few miles.

  He reached a hand up to his face, and carefully brushed his
fingers over his burns.

  Sharp stabs of pain met his feather-light touch.

  Kendril winced and dropped his hand.

  Something moved on the road behind him. A large shape, shadowy and lumbering.

  Kendril instantly reached for a pistol.

  There was a loud snort.

  Kendril hesitated. He tilted his head. “Simon?”

  The beast came towards him, his tail swishing happily.

  Kendril smiled, then winced from the pain. “Great Eru, you’re alive? I thought for sure you burned in Vorten.”

  The mule came up to him and snuffled his face happily.

  “Easy, easy,” Kendril gasped. He pulled his head away from the animal’s raspy snout. “My face isn’t what it used to be, pal.”

  The animal whined understandingly. He chewed playfully on Kendril’s hair.

  “Stop it,” Kendril said. He pushed Simon away. “You’re worse than a bloodhound, you know that? I can lose everyone but you, apparently.”

  The beast whined.

  Kendril sighed. “It’s good to see you, boy.” He patted the mule’s head. “It’s just us this time. We’re going east.”

  Simon brayed.

  “Bronwyn,” Kendril replied. “We’re going to find her.”

  The mule snorted.

  “Don’t start with me,” Kendril said. “Olan said the same thing. We’ve still got to try.”

  Simon lifted his head and looked down the road. He flexed his nostrils and swished his tail again.

  “I don’t know,” Kendril admitted. “It’s just a guess. We have to go some direction, don’t we?” He paused and looked down at the ground. “Assuming Bronwyn is even still alive.”

  Simon gave a plaintive whine. He nudged Kendril.

  “That’s why I like you,” Kendril said. “You’re always so optimistic.” He climbed to his feet, holding on to Simon. “I might lean on you for a little if that’s okay, boy. Truth is, I’m in a lot of pain.”

  The mule began to walk slowly down the road.

  Kendril leaned on his back.

  Above, the snow began to drift down in slow white flecks.

  The coach rolled to a stop on the muddy road, next to a large stone inn. Two passengers disembarked, covering their heads against the driving rain. A wooden sign by the road read Rella 10 Miles.