Crusader

by Sara Douglass

  DragonStar stared, and then half-smiled. Two could play at this game. He closed his eyes, concentrated, and in the next moment two insubstantial hounds appeared at his side.

  Sicarius and FortHeart.

  “I have lost my comrades,” DragonStar said. “Hunt.”

  The hounds scented the air, and then they bounded down the corridor, DragonStar close behind them, the lily sword in his hand.

  He fought down his apprehension. Why hadn’t he found the time to tell the other three of what he’d learned about the Book?

  But he had not had the time, and DragonStar knew he would have to find them before the Demons either killed them, or took control of their minds.

  Faraday turned about, and found herself face to face with two Demons.

  At least, that’s what she supposed they were, although they had taken the form of a broom and a rake.

  Both were enormous, twice the size of any broom or rake Faraday had ever seen. Their handles were constructed of rough, splintery wood, three times the thickness of her wrist, and while the rake had teeth made from razor-like bear claws, the broom had bristles of nails.

  Each had elongated eyes towards the top of their handles, and each had tiny, clawed hands protruding out just beneath their eyes.

  “We’ve come to help you tend the field,” one of them whispered in a sing-song voice. “We’ve come to do our very, very best!”

  They rushed towards her.

  Faraday fought down her fear, and did not flinch. She reacted with pure instinct, as she had when confronted with the rat when trying to help the people of Carlon.

  “Have you ever smelt the scent of the Field?” she asked pleasantly, and cast towards them every memory she could dredge up of the overwhelming fragrance of the billions of flowers.

  The rake and broom screamed, and then crumpled.

  “Bitch!” one of them said, and then vanished with its companion.

  Faraday blinked her eyes, and then turned slightly to see Axis and Azhure leaning over her.

  She twisted back to DragonStar’s form, and grasped his hands tighter.

  “Come back!” she said. “Come back!”

  DragonStar and his hounds found Gwendylyr in tears, hunched over the still forms of her twin boys.

  “They are not what they appear to be,” he said, and, as he spoke, the boys rose, their faces taking on the likenesses of long-snouted dogs.

  Sicarius and FortHeart snarled, stiff-legged.

  DragonStar stared at the boys, perturbed more by the Demons’ ability to see inside their minds than by the apparitions they chose to weave about them.

  How had they known about Gwendylyr’s boys?

  The two demonic dogs grinned, and their entire bodies waggled and writhed, as if highly amused.

  Then they quieted, and their fleshy lips drew back from their teeth. They snarled back at Sicarius and FortHeart, and the two hounds sidled forward a pace or two, stiff-legged.

  “No!” DragonStar commanded, and the Alaunt stopped. FortHeart flicked her eyes his way, and in that instant the two Demons attacked.

  Gwendylyr screamed, and DragonStar seized her by the shoulder and hauled her away from the twisting, snarling pack of savagery before her. She stumbled, almost fell, just saved herself, and shrank against a wall, her arms hugged tight about her, her face pale and wide-eyed as she stared at the dog fight.

  DragonStar stepped close to the four dogs and tried to seize either Sicarius’ or FortHeart’s ruff to drag them back. Gods! He hadn’t wanted the two Alaunt to get involved in a one on one fight with the Demons! Apparition and illusion this all might be, but DragonStar did not doubt it when Qeteb said that any fatal wound delivered to any apparition would also deliver a fatal wound to the reality.

  All DragonStar received for his efforts was a savage bite to his left hand.

  In the chamber in Sanctuary, Axis, Azhure and Faraday stared in alarm at the deep wound that suddenly, unexplainably, appeared on DragonStar’s hand. Faraday seized a cloth from a nearby table, and wrapped it tightly about DragonStar’s limp hand, staunching the flow of blood.

  “What is happening?” Azhure said, aiding Faraday to tie up the bandage.

  “I do not know,” Faraday answered, her voice tight and hard with frustration.

  The pack was a writhing, twisting and largely indistinguishable mass of heat and teeth and ferocity. Blood and sweat and pieces of fur scattered about as the four creatures within the pack wriggled and wormed, each trying to get the death grip on the throat of their opponent.

  DragonStar hesitated on the outer, not knowing what he should do. Curse his stupidity for bringing the hounds into this nightmare—

  A cascade of ice-cold water appeared from nowhere, drenching the dogs and soaking through DragonStar’s shirt and breeches.

  “It is easy to see that none of you have had to deal with a dog fight in the streets of Carlon,” said a calm voice, and there was Goldman, standing to one side with his arms folded and a satisfied look on his face.

  DragonStar nodded at him, relieved not only that Goldman was well and had managed to find them, but that he’d had the presence of mind (and enchantment) to do what was necessary.

  The dogs had separated, Sicarius and FortHeart standing just in front of DragonStar, the two Demons several paces away. All were wounded: Sicarius carried several deep gashes on his flanks, while one of FortHeart’s ears hung almost completely severed and she limped badly on two of her legs.

  The two Demons, also badly gashed, healed themselves simply by flowing back into their humanoid forms complete with pastel-coloured gowns and smug faces.

  It was Sheol and Mot.

  Behind DragonStar, Goldman moved to stand with Gwendylyr. DragonStar glanced at his two Alaunt. They were panting heavily, and were in obvious pain.

  “We have you trapped,” Sheol said in a conversational enough tone, “in our mansion of dreams. How do you think you will get out, DragonStar?”

  DragonStar held her gaze easily. “By wishing you love,” he said.

  Sheol flinched, and Mot instinctively took a step back, but before anyone could say and do anything else, the hunchbacked, wizened old man appeared behind the other two Demons, cackling with laughter.

  He still held the knife in his hand, but he was laughing so hard it hung useless at his side.

  “Love! Love!” the old man cried. “You wish me love, DragonStar? Is that how you think to defeat me? By redeeming me? You utter fool! Ah, bah!” And the man suddenly raised his arm and slashed the knife through the air.

  Goldman, Gwendylyr and the two hounds disappeared. “It is time you and I talked, my Enemy,” Qeteb said, and assumed his true form. “There are some things I ought to explain.”

  The forms of Goldman and Gwendylyr gasped and twitched, then their eyes flew open.

  “What’s happening?” Faraday cried, seizing Goldman by the hands.

  “Qeteb has DragonStar,” Goldman said, and looked at Axis.

  Axis stared at him, then switched his gaze to the still limp and insensible form of DragonStar.

  Chapter 21

  Legal Niceties

  “Do you recognise the place?” Qeteb said, and waved a hand about. “I thought you might feel more at home here.”

  But for the moment DragonStar could not take his eyes from Qeteb. The Demon had assumed a form that was a reflection of DragonStar himself, save that his body was better muscled, his face less lined, and his mouth far more sensual.

  DragonStar wondered why he’d assumed so close a likeness, and then thought that perhaps Qeteb wanted to remind him of the close blood relationship between the body the Demon inhabited—WolfStar’s son—and DragonStar, who was WolfStar’s grandson.

  Qeteb had dressed himself elegantly in shades of grey and ivory, his hair neatly combed, his hands folded innocently before him.

  He wore no weapons.

  Qeteb stood waiting, his handsome face wearing an air of exaggerated patience, and so DragonStar l
ooked about.

  They were standing in the kitchens of Sigholt. The tables were spread with the implements of cooking—bowls, foodstuffs and sundry knives and spoons—and the ranges glowed comfortingly against the far wall.

  Four cats lay curled up in front of the ranges: all bald, and all with horns protruding from their skulls.

  Qeteb grinned. “Would you like to cook for me?”

  DragonStar walked about the table before him, running his finger lightly over its surface. “You know a great deal about me,” he said.

  “I have had a great deal of spare time in recent millennia to learn a great deal,” Qeteb said, and clapped his hands together once, sharply.

  Instantly the cooking ingredients and implements before DragonStar transformed. A meal appeared before him—roast meats, pastries, mounds of steaming and well-buttered vegetables. The table was laid with heavy silver and cut crystal, and ruby wine glowed in pitchers and the tall-stemmed glasses.

  The table was laid for two.

  Qeteb picked up one of the glasses and sipped. “Ah, yes. Tasty. Dry but full-bodied. Won’t you have some?”

  DragonStar did not reply, moving so that the table remained between him and Qeteb at all times.

  Qeteb smiled again, all congeniality and consideration. “Please, sit. It was so convenient for you and your…ah, what do you call them? your “witches”, to drop in like that. I apologise for the indulgence of the mansion. I couldn’t resist playing a little.”

  DragonStar made no reply.

  “Ah, please, do sit,” Qeteb said. “We’ve both had a few hard days recently, and surely a good meal and a long chat will relax us.”

  DragonStar did not move.

  Qeteb noisily pulled out a chair and seated himself, lifting a snowy napkin and making a great show of placing it on his lap. “Please…sit.”

  DragonStar did not move.

  “Sit!” Qeteb said, a hardness now underlying his voice, and DragonStar found himself bodily lifted up and placed in the chair opposite Qeteb.

  A napkin gracefully unfolded and slid itself solicitously over DragonStar’s lap.

  Trying to take back the initiative—if ever he’d had it since Qeteb had trapped him within this illusion—DragonStar picked up a glass of wine and sipped.

  It was, as Qeteb had said, rather good.

  “What do you want?” DragonStar asked.

  “Ah,” Qeteb said, and began to pile food on his plate, “I thought it might be a good idea for you and I to have a bit of a chat. You see…” Qeteb paused as his hand hesitated between a plate full of roast pigeon haunches and one laden with grilled swan tongues. His hand eventually dipped towards the swan tongues. “…I was thinking that you and I might actually be at cross purposes, you see.”

  “Cross purposes?” DragonStar contented himself with sliding some cheese and slices of fruit onto his plate.

  “Yes. Oh, these tongues are delicious! Try some, do!”

  DragonStar ignored the invitation, wondering where in the world Qeteb had dragged this particular persona from, and why he thought it useful in the first place.

  “You don’t think it charming?” Qeteb said, assuming an expression of the most utter surprise. “It doesn’t relax you?”

  For the first time DragonStar laughed, genuinely amused. “Stop toying with me.”

  Qeteb grinned, also apparently a gesture of genuine cheerfulness rather than malevolent sarcasm.

  “You and I,” he said, waving a piece of roast pig, “come from much the same place. Disinherited, betrayed, thrown to the stars in the most despicable of ways—”

  “I’ve heard all this before,” DragonStar said.

  “Ah, but from my dear travelling companions, who—”

  “Your companion Demons.”

  “—often have the most unfortunate turn of phrase. And their manners! Frightful at times, I’m sure you’ll agree!”

  By the range, the four cats hunched into sorry bundles of the most abject misery.

  It was a pity, DragonStar thought, that the entire thing was such an obvious farce.

  Qeteb grinned around a mouthful of meat, and DragonStar pulled himself up. The Demon could obviously read his mind at will…and he? DragonStar sent his power scrying out, probing Qeteb’s mind.

  All he saw was a grassy riverbank under the midday sun, willow trees gently swaying and dipping, young men and women lying languidly about in hammocks, adjusting their cream linens, and sipping cups of sweet tea.

  “It didn’t help you much, did it?” Qeteb whispered, and just for that instant DragonStar saw the malevolence and hatred seething beneath the urbane surface.

  Then the instant was gone, and Qeteb was again the epitome of graciousness and solicitousness.

  “As I was saying,” Qeteb said, sipping his wine, “you and I may have found ourselves at some cross purposes here. Let me just summarise our situation. No, please, let me speak without interruption for a moment or two longer.

  “Now, let me see. You have found yourself the final product of several hundred millennia of manipulation by a power that we can call the Star Dance. Now, myself and the Star Dance, or the intelligence it represents, have been…um, shall I say…at loggerheads for some time. Since the time of Creation, actually. And here you find yourself caught up in a struggle that is none of your doing, none of your concern. You find yourself bred for a purpose…but what if the purpose doesn’t suit? What if it were better for you simply to shrug your shoulders and say, ‘It doesn’t concern me?’ and walk away.”

  “You have destroyed the land that I love—”

  “And yet which rejected you beyond anything you deserved. After all, you were merely trying to execute your duty in claiming the title of StarSon and in divesting Caelum of it.”

  A vision of his parents and sundry inhabitants of Sigholt standing around the boy-Drago in Sigholt’s courtyard filled DragonStar’s mind. They were simultaneously laughing derision and screaming hatred at him, pointing fingers, their bodies stiff with rejection, their faces implacable.

  “That was a long time ago,” DragonStar said quietly.

  “Was it?” Qeteb whispered, and another vision filled DragonStar’s mind.

  Faraday, turning to Axis with love. “I only used DragonStar to make you jealous,” she whispered. “You are the only man I have ever wanted.”

  “With you at my side I can reclaim my position as StarMan,” Axis replied. “Tencendor will be mine again.”

  “We can dispose of DragonStar,” Faraday whispered, and pulled Axis’ face down to hers.

  “That was a pathetic effort,” DragonStar said, and the vision faded as Qeteb shrugged.

  “I am offering you a choice, delightful boy,” Qeteb said. “Leave me alone, leave Tencendor to me and mine. Enjoy your life elsewhere. There is no point in continuing a battle which is not only not your fight—”

  “Your destruction and murder across Tencendor make it my fight,” DragonStar said, but Qeteb continued on without acknowledging the interruption.

  “—and which you cannot possibly win.”

  DragonStar smiled, and Qeteb paused before resuming. “Take you and yours—”

  “What is left of them.”

  Qeteb took a deep breath, his eyes hardening and the veins on his neck standing out, “—and flee with them south. Coroleas, I believe the land is called. There you will be safe.”

  DragonStar shook his head. “No-one will be safe, Qeteb. You will suck Tencendor dry of every piece of love and beauty and spirit it possesses, and then you will absorb the other lands on this world, one by one, bit by bit. Nowhere will ever be safe from you.”

  “I am making you an offer, my dear chap. Do try not to refuse without giving it some thought.”

  “Why the offer at all, Qeteb? Surely you could just eat me as I sit here?”

  An expression of pure delighted malevolence crossed the Demon’s face. “But, my dear DragonStar! Don’t I have enough to eat right now?”

  His
hand swept over the table, but DragonStar knew he meant something else.

  “I will eat everything within this land,” Qeteb hissed, leaning forward. “Everything!”

  “It appears to me that you have already had your glut of all the land, Qeteb. What else do you have your hungry eye on?”

  “The Sacred Groves.” Qeteb sat back in satisfaction at the expression on DragonStar’s face. “Won’t the Mother make a good meal, don’t you think, DragonStar? And after I’ve finished Her, well…there’s the small matter of dessert.”

  He paused, and DragonStar waited, knowing what he would say.

  “Sanctuary, and all that it hides.”

  “You can’t get in.”

  “On the contrary, my delightful fellow,” Qeteb said, “I can indeed. What do you think Isfrael traded for his freedom?”

  Short freedom, DragonStar thought, if soon the Sacred Groves are spread over the Demons’ dinner table. “The bowl,” he said. “Isfrael gave you the bowl.”

  “No. Isfrael only showed us what the bowl was for, and even that was unintentional. He traded us something else…something that will enable me to eat Sanctuary as well, and then to destroy you.”

  Niah! DragonStar thought, desperately trying to work out what it was about her that was so dangerous, so frightening…

  “No,” DragonStar said. “You are afraid of me. That’s why you bargain with me, and why you offer me and mine an escape route through to Coroleas.”

  Qeteb laughed. “I…afraid of you? No! I was merely toying with you for my own amusement! I will kill you, DragonStar. Have no doubt about it.”

  He sipped some more of his wine, and let his amusement suffuse his entire being. “Sheol has told me of what DareWing did to her. Poor girl, she was slightly put out. Being somewhat tuneless herself, she resents all aspects of harmony.”

  DragonStar said nothing.

  Qeteb drained his wine, and poured himself another glass. “Do drink up! Please! No? Well then, let me continue. As I see it, DragonStar, you think you have the key to my destruction. No, wait! Redemption would be a better word than destruction, wouldn’t it?”

  DragonStar fought to keep both his face and mind blank, but his thoughts were working far too furiously to be successful at either.