And the singing!
The demon hated all his captors, but he was beginning to hate the Singer most of all. Even muffled by the thick metal walls, the sound of her voice grated, chewing a still-primitive part of even the Consort’s powerful mind.
The Consort had experienced in the thoughts and memories of the Singer’s sire his abhorrent feelings toward the girl—love, pride, hope. It made the demon despise her—want to hurt her—even before hearing her cursed voice.
Like the combat wards, the song was an echo of an ancient magic the mind court thought long since expunged. It tugged at the base emotions of demonkind, and magic was drawn to emotion. His kind provided the very power the song used against them.
Even knowing it for what it was, the Consort wanted to flee the sound. If the humans regained such power in force, they would be difficult to quell. Perhaps impossible, with the hive scattered.
The Consort remembered the great choirs of Kavri and shuddered.
His chains chafed and burned with the movement. He stopped trying to heal the damaged flesh, letting it die and form a barrier as he used his precious reserve of inner magic to build new layers of dermis beneath. It was a slow process, but one that would, over the weeks to come, erode the ink on his flesh, even as the wards eroded his own strength. He did not know which would give out first.
In the meantime, the Consort could only wait in darkness as the carriage jolted across the land. He could not see their route, and his bonds prevented him from reaching out with his mind.
That was the most disconcerting of all. Since he was a hatchling, the Consort’s consciousness had been a thing independent of his body, able to leap vast distances in an instant. Never alone, he felt the urges of his drones, heard the voices of his brethren.
Now, nothing.
Only the coming and going of the day star’s heat gave the Consort a sense of time, but it was enough. New moon was upon them. If they did not set him upon the mindless drone and begin the long trek down to the mind court now, it would be pointless. Very soon, the queen would begin to lay, if it had not already begun.
If it had, they were all doomed, the Consort most of all. If it had not, all of them had an interest in getting to the queen before it happened. If the only way to draw closer to her side was as a prisoner, it would suffice. Once they passed into the deep, where magic heightened and his drones were numerous, there would be opportunities to escape, should his captors ease in their vigilance.
With a sudden jolt, his prison came to a stop.
—
The Consort hissed at the glare of starlight as the heavy door to his prison was pulled open.
The Consort marked their positions even as his lidless eyes adjusted to the brightness. Even hatchling minds were taught to read the hated stars. It was impossible to gain status in the mind court without experience in the surface wars.
They were close to the path.
His captors gathered at the entrance—the Explorer and the Hunter, the Heir and the cursed Singer.
Chained beside them was the Consort’s mount, the drone Shanjat.
“Gah! Stinks in here!” The Explorer made a show of contorting his face and spitting on the ground, but his aura said otherwise. It was a dominance gesture, meant to manipulate the Consort into anger, in hope he would give up some valuable piece of information.
The Explorer dared lay hands on the Consort, hauling him out of the prison by the burning chains and hurling him to the ground at the center of their ring. The night air was cold, carrying strong ambient magic this close to the path. The power was drawn naturally to the wards on his flesh, and they began to burn. He let the flesh die, tasting the magic on the wind.
One of his brethren was in the area, no doubt holding the vent. It was one of the few direct vents from the Core, and the only one for hundreds of miles large enough to march captives through. An ideal place for a hive, if a mind was powerful enough to hold it from his rivals.
The imprint on the magic told the Consort this one was of his own line. The eldest of his spawn, the Consort’s most trusted lieutenant. Favor had led the Consort to let him live too long, and now he was powerful. Powerful enough to destroy the Consort’s captors, if they were taken unawares.
The Consort rolled to a stop at the feet of his mount. Part of him wanted to refuse to bond with it, simply to remind the humans they did not control him. That at their most crucial hour, he could still stymie them if he wished.
But he did not wish it. Now was the time to gain their trust, and even the limited agency of the mount was better than he had on his own.
When he struck the sandaled foot, there was a moment of flesh-to-flesh contact. It was all the Consort needed to slip in and take control of the drone’s body. It opened its robes, then bent and picked the Consort up, setting him on its back and covering him against the starlight with the cloth.
The demon closed his eyes against the brightness, seeing instead through the eyes of the drone. Chains attached to a thick belt kept its limbs from full extension, just enough to make the climb over the hills and up the mountainside.
They were in a human breeding ground, the one the Consort destroyed when he held the vent several turnings past. Having consumed the mind of its leader, the Consort knew the place intimately.
“You have done well,” he congratulated them in the growls that passed for their communication. “We are near the entrance. I can show you the way.”
“Awful eager, alla sudden,” the Hunter said.
“As a fish is eager for water,” the Consort replied. “As you are eager to consume the flesh of my kind.”
“Ent.” The Hunter’s aura lit with indignation, and the Consort relished it. The humans were so easy to provoke.
“Your lies are meaningless,” the Consort said. “It is written across your aura. You tell yourself you march to save your kind, but in truth you crave only the power.”
The Hunter clenched a fist, ambient magic gathering to her. She would not have to feed much into the tattoos to kill the Consort, but he was unconcerned.
On cue, the Explorer intervened. “Don’t let ’em rattle you, Ren. Know what they’re like.”
The Hunter’s aura eased at the words. “Ay.”
“What place is this, demon?” The Heir waved his weapon as he spoke, and the Consort watched it warily. Kavri’s spear was one of many ways his captors could destroy him, but the Consort had feared that weapon for thousands of years. His own sire had fallen to it. “It bears the markings of my people. What happened to them?”
Countless lies presented themselves, but the truth was more exquisite. “It is Anoch Dahl, the city of night. Staging ground for the armies of Kavri, northern seat of Kavri’s power before his empire came to ruin, leaving a scant few to guard the vent.”
“What happened to them?” the Heir demanded.
“They forgot what they guarded, and why,” the Consort said. “They grew lax, as you will, and their wards failed. I was able to penetrate their defenses and march their bodies down to the mind court for my personal larder.” The words upset the humans. He could see it in their auras, and relished it.
“How can the demon know all this?” the Singer asked.
The Consort turned his drone’s eyes toward her. “Because he consumed their leader’s memories, much as he did mine, daughter. It is how he knows my shame when your ugly mother presented me with a female firstborn. I was too cowardly to strike your mother, but I found a heasah who looked like her to vent my frustration.”
“Lies, from the Father of Lies,” the Singer growled, but there was doubt and pain in her aura.
The sound of her father’s laughter struck the Singer even deeper. “From that violent coupling was born a bastard I loved more than I ever did you.”
She shrieked at him, the sound scraping along his aura. Shanjat fell to his knees, covering the Consort’s ears, but even amid the pain he found pleasure in the Singer’s anguish. Human minds were so fragile. Claw at
the right moment and she would shatter.
The Heir laid a hand on her shoulder and her attack died away. The Consort used the drone to flash a grin at her in response.
It was a step too far. The Heir raised his spear and released a burst of power into the wards on the Consort’s skin.
It was agony beyond even his ability to endure. The drone’s robes held him in place when his grip on its back faltered, but the Consort’s control ebbed, and the drone fell atop him as he writhed.
Then, abruptly, the pain stopped. The Consort reclaimed the drone’s body, slowly getting it back on its feet.
This time it was the Hunter who drew a warding, setting the Consort’s nerves aflame and dropping him back to the ground. There was real damage done in the assault. Damage it would take precious magic to repair. The others looked on, impassive.
At last she Drew the power back, and the Explorer stepped forward. “You’ll speak when spoken to, know what’s good for you. You’ll answer our questions and take us where we want to go, and keep your corespawned mouth shut otherwise, or we’ll leave you for the sun and find our own way.”
“You will never find it,” the Consort promised. “Not with a hundred of your years, and you have no such time.”
“These prisoners you sent.” Revulsion was slick across the Explorer’s aura. “They walked the entire way by themselves?”
The Consort shook the drone’s head in the human fashion. “I sent a mimic to guide them past the more…difficult obstacles, and imprinted magic upon the stock, so all the creatures of the dark would know they were mine.”
“What kinda obstacles?” the Explorer asked.
“Even when your ancestors traveled the path it was long and difficult,” the Consort said, “and it has been thousands of years since Kavri led his legions below. Tunnels have collapsed or flooded, others worn through or since dug. Steep drops and sheer climbs. It may be difficult for this drone to navigate them bound.”
“Cross that river when we come to it,” the Explorer said. “Wouldn’t count on us takin’ them chains off, I were you.”
“Sooner or later, I will be free,” the Consort promised. “And when I am, I shall feast on your minds.”
“Maybe.” The Hunter stepped forward, aura flaring hot. “Or maybe you’ll try’n get free, and we’ll kill you and feast on yours.”
She bared her teeth at him. They were not long or sharp like those of his kind, but nevertheless the Consort felt a chill of fear. “You think it’ll work the same way with us? Suddenly know everythin’ you know?”
The Hunter drew the blade from her belt. It was an item of considerable power, imprinted with a heady mix of emotion that Drew magic on its own. “Night, maybe we’re going about this whole thing the wrong way. Maybe I cut you open right now, and lead us down myself.”
She took a step forward, and the Consort knew he had taken the game too far. She meant her words, would kill him and likely go mad consuming his ancient mind.
The thought brought no comfort. If he did not survive, the Consort had no care for what happened between the humans and his kind.
He looked to the Explorer, and found some sense of sanity as the man moved between the Consort and his mate. “Breathe, Ren. Ent got any way to know that’ll work.” Her aura remained hot, unpredictable, but she eased slightly, and the Consort drew a relieved breath.
The Consort had his drone meet the Explorer’s eyes. It was a strange sensation, looking into another creature’s eyes without also being able to see into their mind. How had the humans grown so powerful with such rudimentary senses?
“There is a quicker path for you and me, Explorer,” the Consort said quietly. “One we can travel in moments, sparing weeks of travel. Sparing risk to your mate and get.”
“We go together,” the Heir said. “Or not at all.”
“He does not trust you,” the Consort advised the Explorer. “It is obvious in his aura. He fears you will betray him. Betray all your kind.” He had seen the strain between the two. The doubt. They were not as unified as they appeared.
He tilted the drone’s head. “Is that what you fear, Explorer? What you may become, so close to the Core’s power? You trust yourself little more than your so-called ally.”
The Explorer raised a hand, summoning magic and suffusing the Consort’s wards again. The drone collapsed, the two of them howling and convulsing in unison. The mind tasted human blood, realizing the drone had bitten his tongue.
“Warned you about speakin’ out of turn,” the Explorer said, Drawing back the power. “Only thing we don’t trust around here is you.”
“Yet you ask me to guide you below,” the Consort said, still clutching his fallen drone.
“No time like the present,” the Hunter said.
The Consort considered. He could lead them to the vent, walk them right into the talons of his get, and perhaps see them all brought down.
But what would his rival do, if he found the Consort bound and helpless? Rescue him? Unthinkable. He would do what any in his place would do. He would kill the Consort and consume his mind, gaining power enough to return to the Core and take his sire’s place, fathering a new generation of demons.
“The vent is guarded.” He growled the words.
“Guarded how?” the Explorer demanded.
“Can you not feel it? One of my get controls the vent. Even I can sense him, crippled though you have me.”
The humans froze, all of them tilting their heads as if to listen. It was a moment of distraction the Consort might have used to escape, but he was too weak to attempt it, and feared the Hunter would keep her promise.
“I can hear it,” the Heir said, after a moment. “A whisper on the night air.”
The Explorer frowned, unused to being second when it came to magic. He had the greater skill, but the artifacts the Heir carried were no simple trinkets. The belief of millions remained imprinted upon them, even after so many years.
“There,” the Explorer said after a moment. “Got it.”
“Well I ent,” the Hunter growled.
“The princeling hides behind wardings, even as we do,” the Heir said.
“Draw and Read the flow, but don’t look for anythin’,” the Explorer said. “Look for emptiness, like a pothole in the road.”
The Hunter closed her eyes again, face locked in an animal grimace of concentration. Finally, she opened them, turning and pointing toward the vent. “That way.”
The Heir turned to the Singer. “Shanvah?”
Shame filled the girl’s aura, and the Consort relished it. She bowed. “I am sorry, Deliverer. You three have six senses, but Everam has seen fit only to grant me five.”
“Don’t fret over it,” the Explorer said. “Not like any of us warblers can sing.”
It was difficult to keep the drone’s face from contorting in disgust. Their understanding of the power around them was rudimentary at best. The lowliest caste of drone had greater control by instinct than the best humanity had to offer.
The Consort compartmentalized emotions, for therein lay the essence of magical control. Still, it took an effort to suppress the shame that he should have been taken unaware and captured by…mammals.
But there was hope in the thought, as well. If they could barely read the currents, it opened a range of subtle magics the Consort could safely work without detection.
The problem remained the power source. The wards on the Consort’s skin kept him from letting his own internal magic rise, or Drawing from without. He could work through the drone, but Shanjat, while healthy and strong, was unwarded and broken of will—nearly magic-dead. To work magic he would need a repository, like the items his captors carried.
A small distraction, and the demon might reach one of the items long enough to power a warding. Defensive wards would be no hindrance, working through the human drone.
A puzzle for later. There was a more immediate concern. “You will need to eliminate my get, if we are to pass through th
e vent into darkness.”
The Explorer turned back to the Consort. “We’re supposed to believe you’re gonna help kill your own son? Maybe you already warned him we’re coming and are walking us into a trap.”
“Do not doubt that I would, human,” the Consort said. “But if my get senses me in my weakened state, he will not hesitate to kill me as well.”
“His own da?” the Explorer asked doubtfully. His disgust at demonkind was palpable in his aura.
“Believe it,” the Hunter said.
“Listen to your mate, human.” The drone turned to smile at the Heir. “It would hardly be the first prince willing to kill for his father’s throne.”
It was a guess, but the Heir’s aura confirmed it immediately. Much like the mind court, the Heir’s proud get were making war upon one another in the vacuum of his power. The surface rebellion was ripe to be crushed.
“If he finds me bound, my get will gleefully feast on my mind, adding my power to his own. None of you could stand against him, then. He will feast on your minds, learning everything about your people and plans before returning to the Core to imprint his essence on a new generation of demons. They will mature quickly, and rise up to pacify the surface long before your crude greatwards can reach a critical mass.”
The captors shared a glance, then the Heir looked at him. “Back in your gaol, Prince of Lies.” He sent power into the wards, and again mind and drone fell to the ground, writhing in agony.
The Explorer came forward, hauling him free of the drone, but the Consort was barely aware of the burning of the chains against his skin. In the moment just before they were pulled apart, the demon’s flailing talon touched something slung from a leather thong around the drone’s neck, nestled between the thick muscles of his chest.
The Singer had made a critical mistake. She thought the vial of her tears hung around her sire’s neck was symbolic, but the bottle held real power. Not much, but imprinted with her sadness, the item Drew and retained magic.
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