"That thing did more than watch. Where did it come from?"
His jaw tightened. "It was a familiar, the eyes and ears of another. What he did to you was only a warning."
She tilted up his chin to examine the scratch under his neck. Dried blood flecked off under her fingertips. The cut was already healing, barely a purplish weal across his throat. A couple of inches lower, and Naylor would have gotten his carotid.
She rested her hands on his shoulders. "What it did tonight wasn't a warning. It was here to kill."
He didn't answer.
She persisted. "Who sent that thing? Xavier?"
"No."
"Who, then?"
"Megwyn."
Her fingers flexed against the hard muscle of his shoulders. Her gut clenched painfully, only this time it wasn't hunger prodding at her insides. It was instinct. Instinct warning her his twin was a very dangerous and vindictive woman. If anyone's going to completely devastate him it will be that woman. Suddenly, a bit of repressed memory stirred.
"I have something to tell you."
"What?"
"I saw your sister again with Xavier." Would he believe her?
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "When?"
"When I was trapped in the tunnels beneath his sanctuary, trying to get out."
"Tell me everything you saw."
In a rush of words, she recounted the strange experience of leaving her body, of the conversation between the two and of the queer little Chinese man who had stitched up the sorcerer's hand and face. Even as the words left her mouth, she realized how unbelievable they must sound.
"You are sure what you witnessed was real?"
"I'm sure. It was too real to be a dream."
"There is a way to find out."
She looked at him. "How?"
"Duk-cho. I want to talk to that old man." He made a move to unseat her, but she stayed firmly planted.
"You don't need to run off right this second," she scolded. "Not until you've had a little time to rest. You're pushing yourself too hard."
She looked at him, unaware of the blatant need in her eyes. He caught her glance. Instantly a blaze of desire ignited between them, as though it had been simmering below his surface composure for too long, waiting only for a spark from her to burst into full flame.
A slow smoldering fire came to light in the depths of his eyes. "You have something in mind?" The playful curve of his lips made her feel as though the room was doing a half spin.
Julienne was suddenly conscious that her legs were spread apart over him. Her gaze slid to his hard powerful thighs, bringing her more intimate knowledge of him vividly to mind. She thought of how he could touch her, lead her into the sexual act with an exhilarating power that would leave her breathless and trembling. She wanted him then, no holds barred.
"Most definitely." She began tugging at the front of his shirt, working the material out of his jeans to slip her hands underneath and caress his skin.
"You are always so headstrong," he marveled in a low murmur. A shudder of need went through her as one of his hands lifted to curl around the nape of her neck, drawing her forward. His mouth claimed hers in a fervent kiss. She could have sworn she felt his heart beating against her breast, but perhaps it was her own. She couldn't really be sure--their bodies suddenly seemed melded together.
"The best part about the fighting," she breathed, "is the making up." Her words were spoken as a whisper against his lips. She could feel his erection straining beneath the tight material of his jeans. She reached down and deftly undid the top button.
He grabbed her hips and dragged her to him, molding her to the rampant hardness of his arousal. "If this is your plan to get me into bed," he grated, "I do not think I will have much time for rest."
"Who said anything about resting?" She slipped her sweatshirt over her head.
There was no more time for words. Morgan was pushing her down onto the couch, breathing her name as he fought through the tangle of his clothes. It was sensual and erotic, an act of coming together, a healing of the rift between them as their bodies soon joined on the most basic level of all.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The city of Gidrah was crude. Paths were narrow and hard to navigate by anyone larger than the troll people. As Xavier's procession struggled around bubbling pools of molten lava, hostile eyes stared out from the caves in which the trolls made their homes.
Because he was fleet of foot, Azoroath led the sorcerer's company. Streams of steam issued from the ground, making the travelers doubt every step. Water was scarce in this barren land, a prize dearer to the troll population than even their precious metals.
Beyond their city lay the acrid wasteland that would lead the travelers into the city of Ula'dh. Only the strongest of plant and animal species survived there. In this barren land, rain never fell and the sun never shone. The sky was rock, and the night eternal. Fire was the only light.
Behind Azoroath, Xavier, flanked by two of his slaves because he was not so agile and feared falling, grimly pushed forward. He panted with each step, and his heart beat wildly with the exertion he had not experienced in years. The layers of clothes he wore clung to his sweat-soaked body, making him regret the decades of excess that made him ashamed to bare his body. The eunuchs were stripped down to the waist; and though their minds were broken by torture, their bodies were extremely well developed and strong. They bore their burdens with the patience of packhorses, docilely following where the master led.
It would be a long and arduous journey. To cross the borders and reach Ula'dh in two weeks would be more than a challenge--it would be a miracle. In order to make the crossing before the troll king's warriors attacked, the travelers would have to keep constantly moving. There would be limited time to rest. Duk-cho had provided narcotic herbs that would give the body energy in place of sleep, but the old man had warned they must be used sparingly.
To over-use could prove lethal.
Though he had not yet had the need to use the potion, Xavier knew it would soon be the only thing that would keep them going.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Julienne shivered and pulled her cloak closer around her. Why don't I ever remember it's so damned cold here?
She scanned the landscape. In the Westlands, the city of Kemryk flourished, a far cry from the glacial Northlands or even the more habitable Eastland valleys. A semblance of decent civilization appeared to be thriving. For all the apparent prosperity, though, all was not well. Through the centuries the human populace had grown sparse. Elderly people were infrequently sighted, babies even rarer.
"It's so different here. A little more alive."
Her words trailed off as she surveyed the city they had yet to enter. She'd wanted to accompany Morgan in his search for Duk-cho; and to her surprise, he'd agreed. It was time she started learning more of this realm and its customs and people.
For the crossing, they'd both had to abandon modern dress and don clothing that would be less conspicuous. After all, to the humans here no other places existed. Since she had no appropriate clothing beyond what Anlese had left her, he'd provided some of his to wear. They were a little large and hung in places, but they were acceptable.
"The people here live much as their ancestors did centuries ago," he said. "It has hardly changed."
"When you said we'd go to one of the better cities, I expected more," she said. "If you ever want to live in Sclyd again, you're going alone."
"You would not follow me?"
She placed her hands on her hips in mock indignation. "Now that I've seen the real estate? No. I'll stay in Virginia."
"I thought as my woman it was your duty to follow me anywhere."
"One, we're not married so I won't go anywhere without a ring on my finger." She grinned. "Two, you can afford better."
He raised an eyebrow. "And if I put a ring on your finger?"
Her jaw dropped. "Are you proposing?"
"Just checking future options."
Leaving her to stew on those words, he set off, heading down the embankment and boldly into the village center. Julienne hurried to catch up, keeping pace just behind him. For once, she wasn't eager to rush into the unknown.
They passed the poorer quarters on the outskirts of the village, places where several families often inhabited a single house. The buildings were square, with trellis walls made of stone cut and placed so precisely together no cement was needed. The roofs were thatched or sometimes of woven reeds if near the riverfronts.
Aware of how she was dressed, she cast glances at dirty men and women in garments of homespun material. The men wore long-sleeved tunics covered by a long belted cloak, trousers and boots of soft leather. The clothes had no pockets, so most people carried their money and other belongings in a pouch tucked into wide sashes tied around the waist.
Women wore a tunic with long sleeves topped by a cloak caught at the waist by a sash, and leather ankle slippers. Both sexes kept their hair long. The women wore theirs neatly braided, then covered by a scarf. Men's was more casual--jaw length, usually pulled back into a ponytail. Most of the males had beards or heavy stubble. Few were clean-shaven.
The village was encircled by a palisade--a stone embankment topped with posts. While not exactly any kind of fort, the wall served as a barrier for keeping livestock in and predatory carnivores, such as wolves, out.
The surrounding land was fairly fertile, providing good soil and water enough for farming. Most of the village's outlying acres were given to produce, orchards and pasturage. Underground water was plentiful, dotting Kemryk with wells that provided communal gathering places. It was here trading flourished.
Agriculturally, the people had prospered. The heavy, wheeled plow drawn by slow-walking oxen broke through the bottomland, yielding fair crops of wheat, oats and corn. The harvesters used iron sickles and scythes, and they plowed with iron plowshares and coulters. Wheels in the city streams provided power for the grain mills and the forges that manufactured iron for farm and household implements.
The two main thoroughfares ran east to west in the commercial section. Earlier settlers had built roads, provided a market for local farm produce and offered shelter to traveling tradesmen and paupers alike. Most of the traffic was by foot. Vehicles were human-powered handcarts and horse-drawn wagons. The drivers clashed regularly with pedestrians, a noisy bunch chattering constantly. Commands and curses resounded. Fistfights were a common sight among people who carried their possessions balanced on their heads or in makeshift packs.
The merchants of Kemryk traded the basic wares of food, clothing, trinkets and dray animals.
The day was just beginning, yet even in the early-morning cold the hard-packed dirt streets were already overflowing with people going about their daily fight for survival. The streets had been freshly tidied for the day's trading, but the smells of the city were still present. Odors of animal waste and garbage mingled with that of unwashed bodies. Recent rains had turned the streets to mud.
"My God, this is poverty. These people live in squalor. How do they survive?" Julienne commented, pulling away from a ragged teenager who took a liking to her slave bracelet. Egged on by her companions, the urchin attempted to steal the trinket.
A muscle in Morgan's jaw tightened. "To them it is prosperity."
He caught the young thief by her scruff. Taking something out of his pocket, he handed it to the girl and let her go. An instant ruckus over the gold coin ensued among her companions.
"The ruling entities refuse to let them have better. Most people here cannot read or write. Their only history is an oral one. They know nothing of your world or their true origins."
"Why'd you give that to her?"
"That is probably the only real money she will ever see in her lifetime," he explained. "And it got her mind off your jewelry."
"This place is terrible. No one could live decently here."
"To their minds, they do," he said then lapsed into silence.
There was no time for more idle talk. He had not come to show her the sights.
On the move again, Morgan strode through the crowd, urging people out of his path with sharp words. He seemed familiar with the twists and turns of the unpaved streets.
Head swiveling to take in every detail, Julienne noted the shops and the wares they offered. She even thought she could understand some of what the people said, just as she could now read the journals her grandmother had given her. While many of the words were still unfamiliar, she realized some of them were simply English that had been mangled through time into entirely different pronunciations.
Since few could read, signs with drawings depicted the business within--a vine for a vintner, a horse's hoof for a blacksmith, a cow for a butcher. In the market, chickens and geese were strung up by their feet, as were rabbits. In the butcher's quarters, piles of offal swarmed with flies. Slaughtering was performed on the spot.
Luxury shops stood side-by-side with basic crafts. Horse, oxen and burro traffic made the narrow streets foul, congested. Fire was a constant threat.
Morgan made a sharp turn, leading her up an alley less populated but no less polluted with refuse. Prosperous merchants along this lane had multi-storied homes with business premises on the first level, living quarters on the second and third. From cellar to attic, the emphasis was on comfort. He stopped when he found the shop he wanted. Its sign was burned across the door.
Apothecary.
He pushed open the door.
Following him, Julienne entered an anteroom. A door to the side led to private quarters. A fire blazed under the hood of a huge chimney. Even in daytime, fire supplied light.
The large, low-ceilinged room was chilly. The walls were hung with panels of embroidered linen, and the furniture consisted of benches, a low trestle table and large wooden shelves--planks nailed lengthwise--that displayed the shop's wares. The windows were sealed shut, covered with split bamboo blinds. A heavy haze of incense floated in the air, issuing from the nostrils of a huge brass burner cast in the form of a winged dragon. The scent of sandalwood was stifling in the closed space.
Rubbing her watering eyes, she looked around. As her vision adjusted to the fire-lit dimness of the shop, she could make out shelf after shelf loaded with a variety of items, some occult, some not.
Curiosity aroused, she approached one, minding her steps lest she trip over something lurking in the haze. With a delicate finger she lifted the lid of a lovely rosewood box and peered inside. She quickly let the lid drop and stepped back in shock--the box held a dried human hand.
"Do you know what's in these boxes?" she hissed.
"I have a good idea." More than a few of the articles closely resembled those Morgan had once used in his spell work.
A small figure entered the room, slipping quietly through a waterfall of blue beads. Her almond eyes widened when she recognized the being she had not set eyes on in centuries.
Dropping to her knees, she bowed her face to the floor.
Julienne looked from the woman to Morgan. "I think she knows you."
He regarded the bent figure. His hand tightened on the strap that held his crossbow in place across his back, but he did not draw the weapon. He had not come to kill. Just get information.
"Get up, Uan-li," he said in Mandarin.
Trembling, Uan-li Twrng lifted her head from the floor. She remained on her knees. Without prompt, she began to babble, a torrent of words spilling from her mouth. Her hands twisted together in front of her as she talked. She was nervous.
He listened intently. When Uan-Li finished speaking, he nodded to himself and spoke to her in a reassuring tone.
"I bear you no animosity. I have not come to kill your father." His words seemed to please the woman.
Uan-li picked herself slowly off the floor, arthritis making her movements stiff and awkward. She chattered in a staccato of Chinese, bowing and moving to the doorway through which she had come. Lifting the blue beads aside, she
motioned with her hand.
"You are free to proceed."
"Come on." He slid through the blue beads.
"What was this about?" Julienne demanded as they began to descend an earthen stairway leading to an underground chamber. "I thought she was going to die when she saw you."
"Uan-li would not die so easily. Every time she sees me, she thinks I have come for the kill. She forgets I do not hold grudges forever." He paused. "She just thinks I do."
"Oh? What'd she do to you?"
"Uan-li? Nothing."
"Is there anybody you haven't made an enemy out of?"
He did not answer. Reaching the bottom, he crossed to the threshold of another room, slithering through a second waterfall of beads. Like the floor above, the windowless, unventilated room was inundated with the dusky smoke of smoldering incense. A haven of drugs. An opium den.
Duk-cho sat cross-legged amid a pile of soft cushions of all sizes and colors. Dressed in a flowing kimono of red silk, he was thin, wasted by the physical disintegration he battled. His heavily lidded eyes were closed, his skin sallow. The thick scent of the incense could not conceal the noxious smell of the strong opium.
In pain, he puffed at the pipe of a hookah. A stream of smoke curled from his nostrils as he exhaled the potent drug. Without opening his eyes, he reached up with one hand and removed the stem of the pipe.
"I see you came to visit, Lethe." He put the pipe back in his mouth.
"I see you are still hiding out in the dens."
Duk-cho lazily opened his eyes. His old face creased into a smile of mischief.
"I am an old man, burdened with aches of the body," he smirked. "At least I do not resort to hacking on myself when miserable pains strike." He raked his gaze over the assassin's form, half in contempt, half-longingly. "Why have you come? I am in no mood to be seen."
Ignoring the comment, Morgan said, "I have word that you have aided Xavier in a healing, at my twin's request."
"My skills were needed, and Xavier's gold coins are good enough for me." He puffed the stem, drawing the opium deep into his lungs. "But you still have not said why you seek me out."
Descent of Demons Page 35
