Dh’arlo’mé felt the chant weaken as some of the chosen fought the urge to bolt in terror. Having grounded his own rationality, he sent a general khohlar to brace flagging reserves.
The demon laughed at Dh’arlo’mé’s efforts. “Your magic wavers. These wards are not strong enough to hold me.”
Dh’arlo’mé returned to his single contact with Baheth’rin. *Focus.* With that one word, he sent a concept of absolute dedication. The longer they held the demon, the stronger it would grow; and magic only weakened over time. He fed Baheth’rin’s next line to her, desperately fighting back his own concerns. Already the demon had alternately cowed Dh’arlo’mé, Baheth’rin, and several of the chosen. If too many wavered at once, they would lose control; and the demon would slaughter elves before starting on mankind.
Baheth’rin raised her voice, surprisingly steady. “By Odin’s law I have called you here. You must answer my questions and perform a service to the best of your knowledge and abilities.” The statement of a fact they all knew seemed frivolous formality, especially since they would not risk holding the demon long enough to bother with questions, but the books insisted on its necessity. Demons had no constraints and followed no laws except those thrust upon them.
The demon laughed, the sound as harsh and thundering as an avalanche. “What use the laws of one long dead? The forces of chaos slaughtered Odin . . .” Its volume rose with each word. “. . . as I will slaughter you!”
Dh’arlo’mé felt the catch of Baheth’rin’s uncertainty. For an instant, he thought he saw the bonds flicker, and the demon seemed to swell. It assumed human form, red eyes like fire against its sable head.
Dh’arlo’mé growled, fists white against the strain, as he channeled concepts of consolidated power to his student.
The bonds held, coiled like steel around limbs and abdomen. Baheth’rin replied with more assurance than Dh’arlo’mé expected. “The AllFather may have died, but his laws remain to govern this world I’ve called you to. And you must follow them.” She assumed a commanding demeanor that tightened the bonds until they cut furrows into the form it had assumed. The demon howled, the sound raw with ancient pain. It flickered through a parade of animal figures, none of which granted it reprieve. As a bulbous pig with seven appendages, it hissed, “Ask as you will, elf. Only hope the answers are worth the blood I’ll claim in return.”
Dh’arlo’mé’s reading had revealed the truth of its claim. If a Wizard lost control, the demon would remain on the summoned world sating its hunger for blood; and the summoner always died first. Even fully bound by wards, a demon claimed its payment for services in blood. Evil Wizards had sacrificed enemies or followers, dispelling the creatures while they consumed their proffered meal. Too compassionate to kill, the Northern Sorceress had offered her own blood, forced to battle for her life even as she banished the demon. This time, the sacrifice would prove no issue. The lives of the humans aboard the Sea Seraph would work as remuneration as well as service.
Baheth’rin returned her wards to normal, and the pig creature dissolved. The demon oozed and squirmed in its bonds. The elf’s voice remained calm. “I’ll not waste either of our time with questions. Demon, a ship recently here now sails to the west. All humans aboard her are yours, just leave the elf alive.”
The demon assumed a parody of elfin form, its eyes grotesquely slanted and the graceful musculature bloated. “I will do as you ask,” it said softly.
Dh’arlo’mé reveled in rising triumph and sensed a moment of joyous relaxation. The elves’ chant scarcely wavered an eighth of a tone, but that proved enough. Suddenly, wind slammed the ocean into wild breakers that gobbled up the beach. The sky darkened to slate, and the sun disappeared. Dh’arlo’mé battled panic that turned his thoughts to liquid, too caught up in his own scramble to lend himself to others. As if in a dream, he saw the demon flex and the bonds bow like heated metal. Baheth’rin shouted something desperate, and magical syllables spewed from her lips. The chanting became distant background, a bare hum in Dh’arlo’mé’s ears. Then, the bindings shattered, hurling hot shards of sorcery that glittered in myriad hues against the solid darkness of the sky.
The demon hurtled down upon them, all sable and claws. Seized with the urge to run, Dh’arlo’mé held his ground, though whether from paralyzing fear or courage he never knew. The demon crashed into Baheth’rin, pitching her into a wild spin. She crashed amongst the horrified chanters, most of whom scattered along with the observers. Blood splashed Dh’arlo’mé, then Baheth’rin’s agonized shrieks shattered his hearing.
Dh’arlo’mé called a frantic khohlar, urging any elf still rational to continue or join the chant. His vision became a savage swirl of black splashed red as the demon’s claws tore through its summoner’s flesh. Need brought deadly logic. Dh’arlo’mé realized it no longer mattered that others cast magic stronger and better than he did. Few could have read the sequence required to banish the creature and its murderous frenzy, and none of those seemed likely to remember it now. The first few syllables rushed from Dh’arlo’mé’s throat even as the demon shredded Baheth’rin and her screams became mindless. The third word peeled forth, then disappeared. The next would not follow. He dove for the book, knowing as he did so he did not have the time to scrabble for the page.
Dh’arlo’mé sobbed, beyond desperation. Even as his mind dismissed one strategy as hopeless, it clung to another. The banishment incantation would not come, the memory too distant in his hysteria. But another sequence flowed smoothly into conscious thought, the one of binding he had shared with Baheth’rin moments ago.
Baheth’rin lay mercifully still, tatters of skin and bloodstained clothing inseparable. The demon whirled toward Dh’arlo’mé, eyes burning, Baheth’rin’s intestines wound like a rope around hawklike talons.
Dh’arlo’mé drew a shuddering breath. There was not enough time to cast in the moment between the demon’s scarlet glare of triumph and its leap toward Dh’arlo’mé. Instead, he condensed the spell into concept, shouting khohlar at the demon. He kept the sending personal, directed at the creature, even as the semisolid blackness descended upon him. The thought scarcely left Dh’arlo’mé’s mind in time for him to tense in anticipation. He could smell its fetid breath, and a drop of its saliva burned his arm like poison. He screamed, imagining the nails rending him, his flesh yielding to their sharpness.
The hot wind of the demon’s passage raised Dh’arlo’mé’s hair, then the beast swept out to sea on leathery wings. It took the shape of a serpent, blood drizzling from its claws in pink-red droplets. Its words echoed in Dh’arlo’mé’s head, though whether aloud or as khohlar he did not care to wonder: “Bound to my summoner’s assignment, damn Odin’s corpse. But when I’m done, I’m free. And you’re next.” Its laughter boomed across the waters, and the waves seemed to shiver in response.
Dh’arlo’mé lay still several moments, his body refusing to respond. His mind raced with all the vigor his limbs lacked. His khohlar had accomplished nothing. Only the demon’s promise to Baheth’rin had brought it back under control. When it returned for him and the others, they must be prepared.
Dh’arlo’mé forced himself to rise, hid his terror behind a mask of false bravado, and headed off to gather his troops.
* * *
The Sea Seraph scudded across the Southern Sea, caressed by a gentle northerly wind. The breeze filled sails hauled taut that did not spill a puff of precious air. Blue water reflected blue sky, mirrored expanses interrupted only by white clouds above and eddies below. At the forward bow, Kevral stared out over the placid waters, enjoying Ra-khir’s presence at her side and the occasional, casual brush of his weapon-hardened hand against her own. Wind swept red hair from his stately features, floating strands into streamers. His green eyes sparkled in the sunlight, and his lips parted slightly, bowed subtly upward. Their frivolous conversation meant little to Kevral, but their closeness brought a joy she had cast aside for days. Moments like this one seemed a haven
in the tempest her life had become. She could study his face forever and never tire of it or discover a flaw. The masculine ideal stood beside her and, for reasons she could not discern, wanted her. The thought of losing him for the love of an Eastern crime leader’s son seemed madness. Yet Kevral knew from experience that if she stood with Tae instead of Ra-khir, he would seem just as much her one and only choice.
Kevral’s contemplation broke the thread of their conversation, and they slipped into a comfortable silence. The wind rose, scarcely ruffling Kevral’s short locks but sending Ra-khir’s longer hair into a wild dance. A shadow dimmed the sky’s brightness suddenly. Rantire’s voice rose in alarmed question from the aft deck. “Captain, what is that?”
Softer, Captain’s reply scarcely wafted forward. “I don’t know, but I don’t like the look of it.”
Kevral and Ra-khir turned. Beyond masts and canvas, a dark form blotted the sun. A cloud, Kevral guessed, though it moved too swiftly and its shapelessness seemed to stretch and pull as she watched. Ra-khir placed a hand on her arm, the gesture polite habit. A Renshai warrior needed no protecting.
“Get below!” Captain instructed suddenly. “Safer there.”
Footsteps clattered toward Kevral and Ra-khir, interspersed with voices. She could not pick out individual words. They headed aft to meet their companions halfway while Tae climbed the companion ladder from below. Darris and Matrinka rushed toward them, Mior trotting in their wake and Prince Griff only a few steps behind them. Rantire guarded her charge’s every movement.
“Strange weather,” Matrinka explained.
Rantire herded the two Béarnian heirs below, forcing Tae back down the rungs.
A roar rolled toward them in a savage crescendo. Kevral looked up to see the shadow hurtling toward the Sea Seraph at a pace too fast for any cloud. A gust slammed the ship, rattling clamps and lines and flapping canvas crazily.
Kevral raced aft, Ra-khir matching every stride. Tae scrambled over his descending companions. Darris remained above, torn between Matrinka and the need to assist.
“I’ll watch these two!” Rantire shouted, making the decision for Darris. Kevral ignored her cousin, without judgment. Renshai fought without pattern or strategy. Kevral had made her choice to remain at the heart of any danger and Rantire to tend their charges.
Captain shouted a wordless expletive, launching himself at the lines securing the main sail. Kevral skidded across the planks to the taffrail. The thing hurtling toward them howled noises that grated through her ears, like steel scratching slate. The blue arc of sky stretched above and before them. Aft, the blackness seemed to spread from thing to horizon, as if it poisoned clouds and atmosphere where it touched. Kevral drew her sword.
Abruptly, the thing struck, hammering the Sea Seraph with a strength that should have shattered the tiny craft to matchsticks. The timbers held, but the canvas tore. A sheeting sound screamed over the cries of the creature. The ship rolled, lurching suddenly to starboard. Kevral seized the rail, keeping her feet without losing a grip on her sword. Thrown sideways, Ra-khir crashed into the jib mast, then tumbled to the deck. Captain sprinted for the tiller, too late. The Sea Seraph yawed widely, thrown broadside into the trough of the sea. “She’s broached to!” Captain shouted as waves hammered the strakes like drumbeats.
Kevral had eyes only for the dark form that had slammed into the ship. It seemed to flow like water, then solidified into a disproportionate man. Muscles clung to arms and legs like boulders, and red eyes flashed out from a bulbous, hairless head. Demon. No other word fit the creature, though logic, experience, and training defied the possibility. The creature bashed the Sea Seraph again, sending it into a wild, rollicking spin that knocked even Kevral to one knee. Ra-khir clung groggily to the mast. Darris scrabbled for purchase as he rolled across the deck. A wave smashed over the port quarter, plucking Tae over the gunwale and into the roiling sea. Water broke over Kevral’s head, soaking her. Salt stung her eyes and slicked her grip. Receding ocean sucked at her hold.
Raising her dripping sword, Kevral screamed a desperate challenge while Captain fought a losing battle with tiller and lines. “At me, demon! Any coward can fight a defenseless boat. Dare you face a Renshai?”
Captain gasped out a sob of frustration as he raced by Kevral with impressive dexterity. “Nothing but magic holding her together. Even that will soon fail.”
The sable bulk of the demon wound between the sails. A massive fist hammered the main mast. It bent and reeled but did not break. Then the creature alighted in front of Kevral. A snout grew from the otherwise human face, and a muzzle crammed with canines opened and shut with every word. “You’re nothing, trifling human. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than crush—”
Kevral sprang, sword flailing. The blade cut the dark form half a dozen times yet met no resistance. Kevral’s lunge propelled her through the demon, and she skidded savagely out the opposite side. Wet planks gave no purchase. Kevral scrabbled for balance, slamming into Darris as he finally regained his feet. Both sprawled in a wheel of flailing limbs. Kevral rolled to a crouch, only to find the demon on top of her. Its jaws splayed open, and saliva dribbled from teeth like daggers.
Kevral jerked up and aside, shoving Darris out of the way. The bite grazed her arm, pinching without tearing, and its spittle seared her flesh into a blister. “Modi!” she screamed, the Renshai battle cry naming the god of wrath. The cry brought new strength and rage. Renshai fought not through pain but because of it. She swept, jabbed, and looped. A sword that should have torn the demon repeatedly sliced harmlessly through it. Finally, Ra-khir managed to draw up beside her. His sword accomplished nothing more than her own.
The demon laughed, the sound so rich with ancient evil it raised every hair on Kevral’s body. Terror hammered at reason, but desperation and Renshai courage drove fear into oblivion. Catlike claws sprouted from the demon’s fingers, and it swept at its attackers in a patternless frenzy.
Kevral dodged and leaped, returning strikes that cleaved the black form without consequence. Ra-khir retreated, his strokes comparatively slow and clean but no more effective.
“No!” Captain ceased struggling with the ship long enough to hurl himself between the claws and Ra-khir’s face. A blow intended for the knight-in-training slashed the elf’s tunic instead. Four, bloody gashes marred Captain’s upper arm, and his sleeve hung in tatters. “Ten years each,” the elf gasped, eyes glazed with pain. “I can afford it. You can’t.”
“I can’t hit it!” Kevral shrieked her frustration as she circumvented the mast and drew the demon back toward the aft rail. The demon ignored the weaving steel that could not harm it. Soon, Kevral knew, they would tire of dodging. When they did, they died.
“Only chaos can hit chaos,” Captain explained, drawing a figure in the air in front of him. Kevral stumbled on a slick board, crashing to one knee. The demon’s fists galloped toward her, then slammed an invisible barrier that Captain had, apparently, drawn between them. A high-pitched tinkle like breaking glass filled Kevral’s ears and the fists continued their plunge toward her. Captain’s magic had gained her only the few moments she needed to scramble free.
Magic. The answer seemed obvious to Kevral, the solution less so. “Can you put some magic on the swords?”
“No.” Captain built another barrier that the demon shattered effortlessly. “That’s beyond any elf.”
The demon’s attack increased. Five more arms appeared from the mass, driving toward Kevral and Ra-khir with increased fury.
“Darris!” Kevral screamed, remembering the sword Ravn had given her cousin. “Get Rantire.”
Darris scurried amidships. The ship rolled and yawed, violently erratic. Ice-grained wind battered the back of Kevral’s neck, and she felt the gunwale touch her thigh. As three claws sailed for her at once, she threw herself sideways. The tiller gouged skin from her calf, tripping her, and she sprawled to the deck once more. The Sea Seraph pitched, ocean funneling over the stern. Water churned
around Kevral, breaking her grip on the sword. Standing, she would have been ripped overboard. Now, the sea only heaved her against timbers that should have fractured long ago. Nothing but magic holding her together. Magic!
Kevral tottered onto rubbery legs, feeling the hot swish of a demon fist through the air beside her. Its roar deafened her. Her wet hands chilled to numbness, and wind tore beneath her sodden cloak. Her fingers closed over the tiller, and she wrenched at it desperately. Apparently second-guessing, Captain jabbed a latch at its back. The tiller jerked free in Kevral’s grip.
The demon’s fist caught Ra-khir a solid backhand across the mouth. The Erythanian flew over the gunwale, flailed for the rail, then plummeted into the ocean.
“Modi!” Rantire’s battle cry echoed across the deck, and she charged the demon with a bellow of fury. Her sword plowed a gaping furrow through its belly. Its shriek combined pain and rage, and it turned its attention to this new threat.
Kevral sprang from behind, banishing images of loved ones dumped into the frothing waters. Until they destroyed the demon, she could not help them. The rudder thrashed down on the demon’s head with all of her strength behind it.
The demon’s scream intensified. It stumbled forward, onto Rantire’s stop-thrust. Blood splattered from the demon, nearly as dark as its bulk. Kevral caught the beast three more blows across the head and back, driving it further onto her cousin’s sword. The demon staggered. Suddenly, it lurched backward. Its massive form slammed her against the rail. Her head snapped back, banging metal. Consciousness swimming, she slid to the deck. The demon hurtled awkwardly over her, splashing into the ocean.
“Oh, no.” Captain’s quiet expletive did not prepare Kevral for the tidal wave that followed. Water seethed, washing the planks from stern to stem. The Sea Seraph bucked and reared. As the stern smacked the water, the ship pitched over, tumbling aft over fore, dumping Kevral and her remaining companions into the sea. Kevral ducked, anticipating the weight of the craft on her head. Instead, she crashed into the sinking demon as the Sea Seraph finally surrendered to the sea. Something wooden bumped her hand. Without bothering to identify it, she jabbed, slashed, and hammered at the creature as it slipped deeper beneath the water. It did not resist. Still Kevral did not cease until her arms ached from fighting the thick constraint of water and her lungs demanded air.
Prince of Demons Page 4
