He had been smitten with Rayne at first sight, even before the demon had revealed his plans for them. He wished he had Iain with her before departing, but the demon had been very insistent that the time was not yet right. A particular infusion of power was necessary, and while the demon grew stronger every day, that particular strength was not yet theirs.
There were a number of instructions to follow in creating his son. The stars were to be aligned just as the demon instructed, and Rayne was to be pure when he planted the child inside her.
Thanks to the whisperings of the Isen Demon, Ciro realized that his son was not the only special child. Other special babes were planned by the demon. One was a daughter soon to be created, a daughter who would wed the son of Ciro and Rayne and stand beside the dark ruler as the world changed and shifted into a long period of darkness.
Ciro realized that his own reign would be filled with battles against those who continued to foolishly seek the light, but when his son and the soon-to-be-made girl-child ruled, there would be no more light in the world.
In the years to come, there would be other children created with the demon’s special touch and assistance, but the initial three were the key to victory.
Ciro’s son.
The girl-child of the mountains.
The bastard Diella carried.
Ciro had come to despise Diella, who sauntered toward him as if she were of higher station, as if she were not as much a slave to the demon as any of the others. “Is it time to begin our journey again?” she snapped. “Do you think your legion is ready for what they might face on die road?”
“You are anxious to take the palace?”
“Yes,” Diella snapped. “I did not wait in filth and pain for more than a quarter of a century just to sleep on the ground and rut with your filthy soldiers. I want a bed, and handsome sentinels, and pretty clothes, and all the Panwyr I desire, and I want slaves to cater to my every whim.”
Another man might wonder if the child Diella carried might’ve been fathered by someone else, but thanks to me demon, Ciro knew mat the newly created child inside Diella was his. His and the Isen Demon’s. She didn’t even know of die child’s existence, and he would not be the one to tell her. Not yet.
In times past Diella had repulsed Ciro, and he’d refused her advances. The demon had been leading him, making him wait for the moment when the stars were aligned correctly and the power of the demon was strong enough for what needed to be done.
“That sounds very much like the life you had before your emperor husband killed you,” Ciro countered.
Diella’s eyes went hard. “Sebestyen didn’t kill me. The coward tossed me into Level Thirteen and allowed the vermin there to do the job for him.”
Ciro was glad he had scarred the face of die young body Diella had taken for her own. She was more trouble than she’d been worth thus far, but the demon insisted that she had a maternal purpose yet to serve, and so he could not kill her. Perhaps after the child was born…
“So,” she continued. “Is your legion ready?”
“If anyone else spoke to me in that tone, he’d soon be my supper.”
Diella grinned. “But you can’t make me your supper, can you? The Isen Demon owes me for all I’ve done on its behalf, and it will not allow you to hurt me.”
Did she really think the demon would allow her to live as a favor! She did not understand her master at all, if that was the case.
He wanted, so very badly, to kill her. When we are finished with her, she will be yours, the demon whispered deep in Ciro’s mind.
“We march for Arthes in the morning,” he said, his voice calm as he imagined how he’d dispose of Diella when the time came.
*
The time for her wedding would soon come. The day was growing darker, and Maccus had instructed his servants to prepare a special site beneath the stars for their vows. Keelia studied the place, squirming in the heavy black gown that Maccus had insisted she wear, and fiddling with the ring he had given her.
Here, well beyond the walls of the cave, they would be bathed in moonlight. Smallish rocks formed an almost-perfect circle around a clearing, and there was an altar of sorts in the center of the circle. The altar was also made of stone.
Keelia had always imagined that there would be flowers at her marriage ceremony, if she ever had one, but there were no flowers here. The clearing was stark, decorated only by an arrangement of long-dead leaves still attached to their severed tree limbs.
She heard a commotion and turned to watch. Ten servants—ten mutants—led the two prisoners toward the circle. Her heart leapt as she caught sight of Joryn’s face, even though she knew he did not love her, knew he did not want her, knew he had never intended to stay with her. If he now insisted they were mated, it was in an attempt to save his life.
When she experienced doubts, she was suddenly washed in that welcomed numbness that allowed for no pain.
Don’t let him touch you.
Shouldn’t you be begging for your own life?
I don’t care about my own life.
But he cared about her? That did not fit with what sheJcnew; it certainly did not fit with what Maccus told her.
I’m going to create a child tonight. A special child.
Joryn jerked against his bonds, but he did not escape. No!
He loves me.
I love you.
There was that twitching, again. The silver band grew warm, reminding her of the moment Joryn had slipped it onto her wrist. No, you don’t.
Maccus told his servants where to place the prisoners. No one seemed to pay the prisoner with graying hair much mind. He was always crouched and often mumbled, and never put up any sort of a fight. He was constantly befuddled. Keelia had thought the man to be ancient when she’d first had a vision of him, but only his eyes were old. His eyes and his mind. Apparently he was insane.
Her betrothed, who was dressed in black as she was, came to her once the prisoners were in position. Maccus placed his hands on her shoulders and smiled. “Soon, love, we will be married.”
Keelia attempted a smile, but it didn’t quite work. Joryn was trying to talk to her. She did her best not to hear him, but die words kept coming. She was able to ignore some of what he said, but whenever he said that he loved her, the words were loud and clear. Those words worked their way past everything else.
If she told Maccus diat Joryn spoke to her in a way no one else could hear, he would silence the doomed man. So why didn’t she tell? Why didn’t she betray die secret conversation?
Everything inside Keelia told her that Maccus was right for her, that he loved her, that their life together would be perfect. He said he was her mate …
Chaos.
But she did not share this secret connection with him. She could not see inside Maccus’s mind. Of course, she had never really tried.
While her betrothed told her that the time for their joining would soon be here, Keelia tried to peek into his mind. Nothing. She tried again, and soon realized that he had not blocked her abilities. There was nothing within him. Blackness. Emptiness. A dark void …
But why should she worry about such things? The numbness began to creep upon her again, offering welcome respite from the turmoil of her mind.
Maccus pressed a dagger into her hand, forcing her fingers to curl around the handle. It was not plain, like Joryn’s dagger, but was set with pretty stones that seemed to be alive. The weapon was pretty, but it was also evil. She felt that evil, and it made her palm itch and burn. Maccus turned her about and forced her to stand before Joryn, who was tightly bound to a stake at the edge of the circle.
“Wait until he changes,” Maccus instructed. “As soon as the transformation is complete, you are to drive this blade into his heart. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Keelia touched the tip of the blade to Ioryn’s bare chest. “I understand.”
“You are to use your powers to retain your human form, and once I am fully elevated, we
will be wed.”
“Keelia,” Joryn whispered aloud. “Don’t.”
“Beg all you want,” Maccus said sharply. “She’s mine now. In a very short time the Queen will be entirely mine, and you will be dead.” He smiled. “When you’re elevated,-the demon will take your soul, so when you die, it will already be lost to you. Lost forever. Yours is a powerful soul, and he awaits it with much anticipation. You will feed him well. You will feed us all.”
Maccus glanced down at a bound Druson, who all but cowered in the dirt.
“Leave him alone,” Joryn commanded.
“I will for now. For some reason, the demon wants him to see everything that happens here tonight.”
Darkness came too quickly, and the full moon shone down in bright, silvery rays. Joryn felt the shift in his blood; he felt the pain of a transformation which was usually painless. The wizard was caught in the diroes of transformation, too, writhing and pulling at his clothing.
Keelia stood before him, the tip of her knife resting over his heart. While he could still speak, Joryn said, “I love you, Keelia.”
“Liar. You’re only saying that in a vain attempt to save your own life.”
“No. This is not a life I want to lead.” Already his voice was changing, growing deeper and rockier, more indistinct. “Remember, I asked you to kill me if I became like them. Kill me, and then run, Keelia. Run away from these monsters.”
“They are not monsters,” she said, but her voice sounded less than certain.
“Do you remember how the creature we found by the stream fought for his soul?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I plan to fight for mine, and I want you to fight now, too. Can you do that, Keelia? Can you fight?”
Her lips parted as if to form an answer, but no words came out. The other mutants were busy watching their master and his transformation, awed and reverent as the man who had created and led them became one of them. Druson mumbled incoherently and twitched. Soon he would shift himself into the familiar form of mountain cat. Perhaps when that happened, he could escape. Someone should escape this nightmarish horror.
“I love you,” Joryn said again, but this time he was too far gone and the words made no sense. So he spoke to her with his mind, something he had fought against for the entire time he’d known her. He had never wanted to be this close to anyone, and now that closeness was all he had left that was good and right. I love you. Fight, Keelia, Fight!
Joryn felt his soul slipping away. No, not slipping, but being grabbed and pulled. The demon was trying to yank his soul from him. Such an outrage was the most unnatural of atrocities. He grit his teeth and fought.
It would be so easy to just let his soul go, but like the creature by the stream, Joryn wrestled to keep it within him. The battle was painful, as if the soul considered this twisted body to no longer be its home.
The wizard at the center of the stone circle stopped writhing and stood tall. His face was grotesquely caught between mountain cat and man, and his hands were claws. His black shirt had been torn, but still hung on a torso that was part skin and part fur.
Maccus spoke, his words muddy but clear enough. “Finish it, love. Bathe yourself in your lover’s blood so that we can be wed and create our special daughter.”
The tip of the blade in Keelia’s control barely cut into Joryn’s skin.
*
15
Fight. It was a simple-enough word, and Keelia had done her fair share of fighting in her lifetime—most specifically in recent weeks. So why was it so hard to fight now?
Her eyes were drawn down to the ring on her finger; the ring Maccus had placed there. The green stone swirled and danced in a way a rock should not. Her glance shifted to Maccus; he was grotesque, but a part of her thought him handsome and powerful and hers. A part of her could not wait to be his bride.
It isn’t real, Keelia. He’s bewitched you somehow. Fight, please, My Beautiful and Brave Majesty.
The graying prisoner changed into a mountain cat, but not before shouting once in that gruff voice that came between man and cat, “You don’t need your hands!” The large, powerful cat—his fur mottled black and gray— quickly fought off its bonds and ran, escaping while Maccus’s servants had their attention on the Queen and her task.
Her task was to kill her lover and wear his blood to her wedding.
Fight.
A drop of Joryn’s blood sprang onto the end of the blade she wielded. She could feel him fighting, not for his life but for his very soul.
“Finish it, love,” Maccus said, his words rough and ill-defined but crisper than Eneo’s had ever been. “This is one task I cannot take on for you. This duty is yours, and yours alone. Do as I command, love, and complete freedom will follow.”
Freedom from what? Thought, right, love, judgment …
“My will is yours,” Maccus whispered. “Kill him, adorn your face and arms with his blood, and then come to me.”
The silver bracelet on Keelia’s wrist warmed and tingled. It reminded her of who she’d been before coming to this place; it reminded her of who she’d been before another’s will had become her own. It reminded her that Joryn was right. She’d been bewitched.
Feeling as if she were fighting against gravity and time itself, Keelia yanked her hand down and away, releasing the dagger so that it fell to the ground. She dropped to her haunches and swung her hand fiercely at the nearest rock, slamming the wrongly alive stone of her ring against the rock with such force that it shattered and died.
Instantly, she was free of the wizard’s enchantment, and he knew it. He cursed and reached for her with deformed paws, but she was able to roil out of his reach. Others moved in to assist their wizard master. There were so many of them! Maccus and his soldiers outnumbered her, and Joryn was still tied to a stake.
Was he? Did the Joryn she loved still exist within that twisted body? Yes, she knew he did. She felt his struggle. She had promised to take his life if this happened, but she couldn’t even think of that now, not while it was possible that she could save him.
And she could save him as long as he continued to fight.
Maccus and his monsters came near, but they did not move forward to harm her. They still needed her, arid they still had hope that she could be used as they intended. Used to bear a monster. Used to rule these mountains at the side of an evil, twisted wizard.
“All your magic is caught in the things you possess,” she said, rising slowly to her feet. “All your bewitchment is in stone and metal, in silver and pretty gems.” She ripped the damaged ring from her hand and threMf it to the ground. “Do you have any talents of your own? Any talents that reside inside you? No, you need spells and talismans and objects to hold the temporary magic you create. None of it is yours to own. You’re a vessel for a demon and nothing more.”
In anger Maccus lashed out at her, but she moved quickly and his claws missed her. He quickly contained his rage and drew away.
“We could have such power, you and I and our child” he said. His lips were malformed, but she understood him well enough. The medallion he always wore around his neck hung against a furry portion of his chest, and she studied it for a moment In her time here he had never taken it off. It was precious to him. That was where his magic rested, she realized. Now that her mind was clear once again, she knew many things.
She glanced at Joryn, at the creature who had once been Joryn. She knew it was him thanks to the streak of red fur that started at one ear and traveled back. And she knew it by the flame in his eyes.
Step back, he ordered, and she knew instantly what he planned to do.
Not yet.
The fire in his eyes grew brighter. Now!
Keelia rushed toward Maccus, not away. She reached out, knowing she had one chance, and no more. Needing an infusion of strength, her hand changed in an instant, and an appendage that was part human and part wolf grabbed for the medallion Maccus wore and ripped it from his neck.
&nbs
p; He howled as she dropped to the ground and rolled away with the medallion clasped in her hand. She felt me small stone that was built into the backside of the metal, and she knew this was the stone she had come here to claim. Without ever looking at it, she turned the medallion about and swung her arm mightily. She smashed the cursed medallion, stone side out, into one of the rocks that had been used to form her wedding site.
Maccus shrieked, but the inhuman sound changed before it was done. He and his soldiers returned to their human forms, as Caradon all over the world were now changing. Though Keelia’s gifts remained less than they had once been, she felt the shift to the pit of her soul. It was momentous. Painful and startling and unexpected.
Something other than the creatures howled in outrage. The demon who’d orchestrated the design of the atrocities, the evil thing which had planned her marriage to a monster, felt pain as well. It was weakened and startled and defeated. Not permanently, perhaps, but this was a battle it had lost.
Keelia realized with sadness that returning the creatures to their Caradon selves did not return their souls. Those who had not fought to hang on to their souls, as Joryn had, would remain monsters of another kind, but monsters without the strength of mutated bodies and the guidance of the Isen Demon.
An angry wizard and his men rushed toward Keelia, but she was not afraid. This was not her time to die; she knew it with all her heart.
Down!
She obeyed Joryn’s silent command and dipped down, covering her head with her arms and making herself small. He didn’t have much time. Some of the enemy soldiers were already slipping into their feline forms, and Joryn would soon follow. There was a full moon overhead after all, and he would not have much of a window between his short time as a mutant and his transformation to his wildest form. As a cat, he had no gift of fire. As a cat, he could not save them.
But the time he had before the change was enough. Without using his hands, he called upon a wild and furious fire that burst into Maccus and his soldiers, instantly consuming them in flame. They screamed as desperately as they had when the curse had been ended, trying to escape the inescapable for a moment or two. Then all was silent as they fell dead, one after another dropping to the ground.
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