by Phil Tucker
The Hrethings and Ennoians simply stared at her, wide-eyed. Kethe felt overcome with emotion, with fury and fear and a sudden sense of vulnerability and despair. Rather than stand there, she turned and strode away, back down to the island shore and then followed it till the Hold's walls hid the small group from her sight. She was trembling as she watched Ser Wyland's party make its way around the lake. She wished he was back here so that she could repeat what she'd said to his sanctimonious face. The bastard. The bastard!
Asho stepped up beside her. She glanced quickly at him, then looked down and wiped away her tears. He stood with his arms crossed, his face drawn, his mouth a hard line, staring out at Ser Wyland. Kethe inhaled deeply and waited for him to say something.
Instead, she felt him reach out to her, opening up their channel. She accepted, and with a sudden rush his eyes blanked out into white flame and an aura of black fire flickered around him, insubstantial as shadow but whipping back and forth as if lashed by a furious gale. Kethe breathed deep, and when she exhaled, white fire engulfed her.
Asho looked at her then, and she felt a shock run through her, a sense of recognition, of affirmation. He extended his hand to her, palm out, and she pressed her own against his. Immediately their flames flickered and rose high, coruscating and sending off a shower of sparks. His face remained grave throughout. Then he turned fully toward her and they touched both of their palms together.
Magic flowed through them with terrible force and intensity, perfectly channeled and thrilling. Her heart was pounding as the world poured into him and then through to her and then was drained out of existence. For how long they stood like that, eyes locked, she didn't know. Eventually they both stepped back, hands falling to their sides, their power ebbing away but leaving her almost painfully aware of his physicality and presence.
"Asho, what are we going to do?"
Asho sighed and turned back to the Hold. "Just what you said."
Kethe felt a wave of uncertainty pass through her. "Do you think we can hold them off?"
Asho shook his head. "Not for too long, no. I'm going to send everyone down to Hrething. There's no sense in their dying up here with us."
"Everyone?" Kethe wanted to say no, that they should keep as many friends and swords by their side as possible - but then saw that that was just her fear taking control. "Yes. Of course."
"I think they'll come soon. They won't attack under the light of the sun. Come on. Let's get the others ready and make sure none of them insist on staying."
"Asho? Thank you." She couldn't meet his eyes. "For everything. For sacrificing so much for my mother."
She felt him hesitate, and then he reached out and took her hand. "It's not just for your mother."
She wanted to laugh, wanted to cry, wanted to call herself a fool. Instead, she just stared down at the rocky beach, and when he squeezed her hand, she squeezed back. She looked up shyly at him, saw him smiling, and gave him a tremulous smile in return.
"I always knew it would take something like an imminent demon invasion to get you to smile at me like that," he said.
She laughed. "In comparison to those things, you're actually not so bad-looking."
"Not so bad-looking?" He grinned and pulled her along, heading back to the hold. "Careful. If you keep talking like that, I might get used to it."
"Yes, well, you've only got one day to enjoy it."
"True." They walked in silence for a moment, then Asho said, "Then we might as well make the most of it."
Their friends and followers left around midday. It was a solemn parting, with neither side expecting to see the other again, and the hugs were heartfelt. Elon squeezed Kethe so tightly that she thought her ribs would crack, and when he stepped back with a gruff cough, she saw tears in his eyes.
"Is this what you dreamed of, my lady, back during those months at my forge?"
Kethe couldn't help but smile despite the pain that lanced through her heart. "No. But it's truer and more meaningful than any of my silly dreams."
"Aye," said Elon. "I never really understood why you wanted to put yourself in harm's way. But now I see that maybe you were meant for it. Meant for standing against the likes of which no one else can fight."
Kethe reached out and took his scarred and callused hand in her own. "Thank you, Elon. You were the first to believe in me. I'll never forget that."
"Yes, well." He coughed again. "I'd say take care of yourself, but..." He cleared his throat. "You show those demons what it means to tangle with Lady Kyferin's daughter, hey?"
"I will." She smiled again and was glad that he turned away. She didn't think she'd be able to hold his sorrowful gaze any longer.
She stood next to Asho at the head of the causeway and watched the little party cross to the mainland, then circle the lake following Ser Wyland's trail. The Hrethings led the way, grim and purposeful, leading the mules, each packed high with provisions and anything else they could carry.
Eventually Asho turned away, and Kethe followed him into the hold. They wandered into the great hall, now as empty and abandoned as when they'd first seen it. The fires had been doused, and pitifully little had been left behind. It would be a matter of months, not years, for the wilderness to reclaim this room as its own.
Without conversation they stepped back out, then wandered the Hold, exploring it slowly as if for the first time. They pointed out small details to each other but mostly walked in a comfortable silence, even going down to the Portal rooms before finally climbing all the way to the walls.
A cold wind was blowing off the water, and their friends had long ago completed their circuit and disappeared from sight. Kethe moved around till she was standing at the section of wall that overlooked the causeway.
"They'll attack here," she said. "Mostly."
Asho stood beside her, hands on the cold parapet. "Who would have thought. You and me fighting the hordes of hell up here alone."
"Yes. It's just you and me now."
Asho reached out and took her hand. "I remember when I first saw you," he said. "I'd just come through from Bythos and was standing in Kyferin Castle's courtyard. You came thundering in on your horse - the palfrey before Lady, I think - and you leaped off and ran into your father's arms. I remember thinking, 'So, Lord Kyferin really is human after all'. And then seeing you, and - well."
"And what?"
"I don't know. I was full of dreams then. I thought Shaya and I were going to be treated well." He smiled bitterly. "I was very young, obviously. I thought maybe you and Shaya would become friends. And maybe one day you would be in danger, and I would be close by, maybe minding my own business, and I'd run forward and save you."
Kethe's smile grew broken and slipped away. "I was so cruel to you and your sister."
"You and everyone else." Asho looked down at her hand in his, her own looking almost tanned in comparison to his pale skin. "Yet, here we are now. It's all behind us. Nothing left but a few hours till the demons come."
Kethe inhaled deeply and looked back out at the mountains. She didn't know what to say. Words came to her lips, half-formed apologies, expressions of gratitude, questions about the coming night, but she let them all go. It felt good to stand beside him, hand in hand, the cold wind tugging at their cloaks. The sun was inching toward the western peaks. They had at best an hour of light left. Her heart skipped a beat and she squeezed his hand. "I'm glad you're here with me, Asho."
He laughed. "It's ridiculous, given what's coming, but right now there's nowhere else I'd rather be. Just standing here, alone with you, holding your hand."
She laughed with him. "That's only because you've got no imagination. I for one would rather be - oh, I don't know - on a balcony on Nous, looking out over the emerald waters of the Eternal Ocean, with a banquet set to one side, the sun delicious and warm, the breeze touched with salt and carrying the sound of music on it, and not a demon within a hundred thousand miles."
Asho turned, resting his hip against the parapet and cr
ossed his arms. "Well, I would rather be back in Kyferin Castle. Riding in on my own horse, you on Lady beside me, coming home from a - I don't know, not a hunt, perhaps a visit to a distant ally - with Lady Iskra awaiting us in the Great Hall, ready for a night of feasting with friends. Audsley, Elon, Ser Tiron, Rodrick, everyone together and happy and safe."
Kethe felt a cold fist of sadness close around her heart. "That'll never happen, I guess." She looked down at the causeway. "Not now. Not for us."
"No, I guess not."
Tears pricked her eyes. The immanence of her death was suddenly overwhelming. Her heart began to pound, each dull thud bringing her closer to her death.
"Here," said Asho, taking her hand. "Let's get off the wall. We'll be back here soon enough."
Kethe nodded numbly, and it felt natural to slip her arm around his waist, for him to drape his own over her shoulders. Together, hunched in the cold wind that came off the lake, they walked down the steps into the dark emptiness of the Hold.
Kethe was awakened by a distant howl. She startled and sat up, the blankets pooling in her lap. Asho stirred beside her and propped himself up on one elbow. They'd fallen asleep in their armor, sharing secrets, private thoughts, their whispers fragile in the fastness of the Great Hall.
"What was that?" he said.
"You need to ask?" She scrambled to her feet, snatched up her scabbarded blade, and began fixing it around her waist. Asho grunted and did the same. The howl came again, aching and lonesome and filled with horror, riding the wind like a lost thing, a warning, a premonition, an omen of what was to come.
Kethe wanted to curse. How had she allowed herself to fall asleep? It didn't matter how exhausted and terrified she had been, how good it had felt to simply snuggle down under six blankets and enjoy Asho's warmth and presence and words. None of that mattered. She should never have fallen asleep, and now - !
A screech sounded overhead and they both froze, tracking it as if they could see through the ceiling of the great hall. A knot of cold, greasy fear formed in Kethe's stomach. "Hurry," she said, and ran for the courtyard.
Asho was right behind her. They bolted up the stairs to the walls, then out into the dusk, where they raced around the hold till they reached the section that faced out over the causeway. The white stones seemed to glow in the half-light, and down its length came a riot of evil, a dark carnival of half-forms and malformed demons, of shambling behemoths and slinking shadows. At the column's head walked a man in black robes, unassuming in comparison to the parade of monsters behind him, but he held their gaze with ease.
It was him. As if to dispel any doubt, the man's eyes flashed with flame, twin pinpricks of fire in the darkness.
Kethe felt all hope wither and die. There was no end to the line of demons; they stretched the length of the causeway and disappeared into the darkness of the mainland. Many more creatures were swimming across the lake, dark forms leaving silver ripples behind them. Winged shapes of all sizes and forms flitted and swooped in the air above them, one so large that it momentarily blotted out the moon.
Asho took Kethe's hand and squeezed it tight.
The demon at the front stopped just shy of stepping onto the island itself. He rose into the air, and twin wings of pure flame extended out from his shoulders, brilliant and blinding in the gloaming, roaring dully and unleashing waves of sparks with each beat. The man rose into the air until he was level with where they stood on the wall.
As promised, I am come, and I have brought the legions of Hell with me.
He spread his arms wide, and his army howled and roared and rasped and croaked, a cacophony so terrible that Kethe was forced to press her hands over her ears.
Surrender or oppose me, I care not. Your fate will be the same. I have but to stretch out my hand and you are mine.
Asho drew his blade. It shone silver in the light of the moon, and then a black flame burst down its length as Asho reached out and linked with her. Even against the darkness of the falling night the fire was a deeper black, a black absolute, and when Asho raised his sword and pointed it at the demon, Kethe thought that even that dread being flinched.
"It's been centuries since Mythgræfen Hold has been defended by a Kyferin." Asho's voice rang out in the night, though Kethe knew him well enough to hear the underpinnings of fear. "But there's one here now, and we're not going to give in without a fight. We defy you, demon. All of you! So, come on. Wash up against our walls and we'll beat you back one by bloody one."
Kethe's skin goose-pimpled as she drew her sword as well, her one-and-a-half blade, which immediately lit with her white fire. A deeper purpose filled her, a resolution to sell her life and soul dearly. She felt an outpouring of emotion for Asho, though she didn't know what to call it other than a fierce desire to see him live for as long as possible. However much taint he needed to pour into her, she would take it. She would cleanse him until she was a burned-out husk, would fight by his side until she was no more.
The white and black flames spread from their blades to engulf their bodies, and for the first time Kethe felt her power extend back through their channel and envelop Asho, shielding him from the corruption of the magic he was drawing in. His eyes went wide and he turned to stare at her, clearly feeling that encasement, that protection that she had never been able to extend before. Their fiery auras flickered in unison, lethal and incandescent, and, holding hands, they turned to face the horde.
Very well, said the demon, sending heat wafting towards them with each beat of its wings. You desire violence. It will be yours, violence unending until you are ground into bloody shards of bone beneath my heel. It thrust a finger at them and snarled, Destroy them!
And the legions of Hell screamed and threw themselves forward.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Audsley had feared that he would never again know peace, that the demons that now inhabited his mind would prove a constant presence, commenting or discussing amongst themselves as Audsley went about his business. Instead, they each seemed to sink into nothingness, melting away into the fabric of his mind so that he was aware of them deep within him only if he sought them out.
He had decided that the most decorous way to fly was in an upright position, as if he was standing, hands linked behind his back, chin lowered. It was a pensive and dignified posture, and one that granted him a modicum of dignity. He floated in this manner out of the tunnel into the chamber, out over the mist and corpses, and then sank to alight in front of the Portal to Agerastos, dropping unexpectedly quickly at the end so that he nearly collapsed to the floor. Frowning, he caught himself and smoothed out his clothing. He would need more practice. He glanced at the day glass to see that the white sand had nearly risen to the mark.
Audsley watched the grains descend in a seemingly never-ending stream. So might souls fall into the lap of the Ascendant, he thought; a virtual stream of the pious and depraved, to be sorted and then sent back to the world to live out their next cycle. Unless you were a righteous Aletheian and passed through the White Gate into eternal bliss, or damned, like he most likely was, and cast through the Black Gate.
He tore his eyes away and glanced around. "Aedelbert?" He thought he'd seen a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, but he found nothing. That, more than anything, weighed on his soul. Aedelbert was quite possibly injured and all alone, yet he refused to come to Audsley. And how was Audsley to continue without Aedelbert by his side?
He sighed and turned back to the dayglass, where the white sands were still falling with the faintest of whispers. The level rose to the height of his mark, and this time when he looked up at the demonic runes, he realized that he could understand them. He coughed, then said in the language of the demons, R'arzh ah-lkech. A name, he realized. The name of the demon bound to this particular Portal.
The surface filled with black ink, and Audsley took a step back so as to not crowd any theoretical traveler. He felt a deep yearning for the sight of a friendly face. He didn't think he could
last for long in Starkadr with only demons for company.
Ser Tiron stepped through, and Audsley raised his hand to his mouth. The knight seemed to have aged five years. Deep lines had been carved into his face and his eyes were hooded. Despite his clean clothing and shining mail he looked battered and beaten, with big smears of purple beneath his eyes.
"Magister," said the knight, his voice a harsh rasp. "Step aside. There are more coming through. Many more."
Audsley did as he was bid, Ser Tiron standing by his side, and a file of Agerastian soldiers began to emerge. Twenty men and women in all, clad in studded leather armor that looked better suited to warmer climes, with heavy packs and cloaks and curved swords at their hips. They all but stumbled as they entered Starkadr, their eyes widening in shock, nearly losing formation until discipline forced them to keep walking. A man at their front, a round-faced fellow who looked more like a shopkeeper than a soldier, barked a command, and the soldiers shook off their shock and moved to stand in formation to one side.
The next person through was Ord, grim-faced, followed immediately by Lady Kyferin.
Audsley clapped his hands. "You did it, my lady! You have succeeded? We are allies?"
Iskra stepped up to him and clasped both of his hands in her own. She looked worn, perhaps not as exhausted as Tiron, but a pale blue silk scarf wrapped around her throat gave her a little flair, and her eyes were alight with determination and satisfaction. "Yes, my dear Audsley. We did, though at great cost. We've lost Hannus. But his loss has gained us an empire as an ally. There is much to tell you, soon, when we are all safely resting at Mythgræfen over a mug of tea."
