The Demon Shroud

by T. A. Miles

  It was Korsten who said, “I think you’re right, General.”

  •—•

  Returning to Endmark enabled Korsten to actually feel the victory behind them. Morenne had attempted to establish themselves in the northern reaches, and while they had won some areas, they had not taken all. Not yet. Moreover, their attempt to lay the groundwork for a plague that would have surpassed all others before it, had been defeated. Endmark was badly damaged by events, but it survived, and now it had the full attention and support of the Kingdom Alliance, which hopefully, would be reciprocated by its new leader. An army could be gathered to defend against further invasion and possibly to retake Feidor’s Crest, though Korsten imagined further investigation of the situation would have to happen first.

  If it had indeed been Renmyr who took Feidor’s Crest, and he and Leodyn had been working together—and the battle between demons had been representation of their dissolved alliance …then it may have been possible that something could yet be done for Feidor’s Crest. Perhaps any who had fled the town early might make their way to Endmark to reestablish themselves. And perhaps Elwain could become a leading citizen, once he recovered. Maybe he and Sesha—if Korsten was presuming correctly—would follow through on their parents’ marriage arrangement.

  That said, Phyodar intended to keep his younger cousin as chief constable, so it may have been that Sesha would be more interested in making an impression as a town leader than marrying anyone. Korsten wished her well; it would certainly be a challenge, even without consideration to her gender and the expectations of society outside of Vassenleigh.

  And that brought Korsten to his own plans for the immediate future, which carried him to the stable which now was neighbor to the ruins of Behn’s inn. It seemed that no one had been harmed by what may have been the Vadryn’s attempt to escape or the burning of its prison.

  From the doorway, Korsten asked, “Are we nearly ready?”

  Merran was sat on a stool beside Erschal. His healing hand aglow as he tended to the sprain the poor beast had acquired during its flight from the falling cliff. Thankfully, both he and Onyx had been able to escape.

  “Nearly,” Merran said. “The soldiers have their orders to march to Vassenleigh. Tahlia and the others say they’re strong enough for a Reach gate.”

  “Good,” Korsten said, and otherwise enjoyed the stillness.

  •—•

  By nightfall, three Reach gates were conjured outside of Endmark. Tahlia escorted Merran and Erschal while Jhac brought Bheld and his mount. That left Korsten and Onyx with Syndel. She delayed finishing out her spell for only a moment.

  It was a moment long enough to say, “Thank you.”

  Though Korsten didn’t know for what precisely he was being thanked, he gave her a smile. Rather than thank her verbally in return, he stepped forward and kissed her forehead. She and Jhac had both gone beyond duty, surviving for weeks within the walls of Endmark’s fortress without ability to cast a spell to save their—or anyone’s—life. They had managed to save lives anyway, even if not Herrel’s.

  If, when they returned, Herrel was reported dead, he would be both remembered and honored at Vassenleigh. And if not, someone would search the area for him. Of that, Korsten had no doubt.

  Perhaps it was the lives saved that Syndel was thanking him for. Though he was not party to the evacuation and rescue of the soldiers. He had only borrowed time for them and there was no guarantee that his actions had really done that at all. The rescue of the soldiers had been well-executed. Korsten would gladly work alongside any of them again.

  He took the step necessary with Syndel to bring the Reach gate toward and around them, having taken her hand in the process. Afterward, he found himself slow to step away from her. Perhaps it was that he found her in some ways reminiscent of his sisters, all of whom had hair a similar brown to hers and all of whom would have been much older women by now. Perhaps they had married and he had nieces or nephews that he would never meet.

  It occurred to him that their sudden connection may have been so simple as recognition, not only of families left behind, but of large families and of extended connections that were as much political in nature as they were established by blood. Syndel may well have come from a noble family. In which case, Korsten was left to wonder which family and how she had come to be at Vassenleigh.

  The thought drifted off after he joined Merran in the courtyard, and all of them were joined by Ashwin, Sione, and Jeselle. The two matriarchs lingered on the steps while Ashwin came forward to address them, letting them know how greatly relieved he and the Council were by their return, and also that their stay would not be lengthy.

  •—•

  Baths, sleep, and meals were had. All of this was allowed, in whatever order the individuals chose, to carry them through until morning. With sunrise, each of them found themselves in conference with their life-mentor’s, relaying all that they had experienced and receiving advice and counsel on all of it as well.

  Korsten could admit that such debriefing enabled him to feel renewed and able to carry on to the next fight. He did not think that he would have the stamina for it, if the transitions from one battle to the next were rushed and without some reestablishment of peace.

  As it turned out, Syndel was mentoring with Ashwin as well, so Korsten was pleased to be able to sit with her in the garden, which their superior tended to prefer to any of his indoor offices. Conferences held between Korsten and his mentor at the seminary library were frequent, and had often been the result of Ashwin having to locate Korsten there, but ultimately, it was the lily garden where such meetings took place.

  “The portal spells you’ve described worry us,” Ashwin admitted. “It has been known to us that there is one among the ancient masters of the Vadryn capable of performing such feats, of not only accessing the Spectrum, but of comprehending it as any other studied magic user. And now, we know that he has found a vessel, one that may be equally inclined. If your vision of him departing was more than dream, Korsten, then we also know he has kept it and is likely determined to do so for some time.”

  “Had he been in body before?” Syndel asked.

  “All of the ancient masters have been, at one time or another,” Ashwin told her. “Some of them multiple times. It’s most dangerous when they come upon a bloodline with a particular strength and stamina that can tolerate their presence—and the possession—without gradually slipping away from them.”

  Korsten wondered what was meant by that precisely.

  Clairvoyantly, Ashwin said, “By slipping away, I mean that the human body begins to weaken and break down. It’s not always a problem if it’s the mind, but if the body won’t hold its strength, it’s a struggle for them to hold a corporeal form.”

  “Both at Endmark demonstrated a vast amount of physical strength while in their natural forms,” Korsten commented.

  “The strength of their host allowed them to expend such energy and maintain physical presence,” Ashwin explained. “The system that they create with a willing host can be phenomenal. They’re able to collect and hoard vast stores of energy. They nest it within the space around them and their host, creating channels by which they are fed and by which they feed the vessel. It’s similar to the root system of a plant, but rather than in the ground, they’ve anchored to a human body. And, like the limbs of a plant, they can build. How large and with what force depends on the strength of the demon and its vessel, the age of the demon, and the amount of sustenance at hand. In this instance, I suspect they dissipated quicker because they had overspent themselves. If you saw Leodyn carrying his vessel, then he may have weakened his host considerably.”

  “So, he may not be able to save it,” Korsten deduced.

  Ashwin looked at him, levelling in the gentle manner in which only he could. “In the interest of mercy to the man, it would be best if he perishes.”

 
Korsten did understand that. And he knew better than to recall the moments spent with the demon, as if they were in any way the words or actions, or desires, of the man. It was a fantasy the demon had constructed of the man’s personality. And, in knowing that, Korsten knew that much of what he believed he had known about Renmyr had also been a fantasy, just as Merran had once told him.

  But he would still hold onto the possibility that Renmyr could be saved, even from the will of an archdemon. It had been done once before, near a century ago, by Ashwin.

  Ashwin’s deeply green gaze lingered with Korsten for some time, as if he detected Korsten’s chain of thought, but he did eventually withdraw. In doing so, he stood from the garden bench. “I will not expect that Leodyn will return to the area of Endmark, or of Feidor’s Crest for some time. With the animosity that exists between him and Renmyr, it’s possible that the plans for those towns will fall through entirely, and Morenne will have to find other areas to press or to use for staging. It is a slight victory, but one that will enable us to focus, for a time, on Edrinor’s flanking sides.”

  The patriarch approached Syndel, taking both of her hands in his own. “Syndel, I understand that the loss of Herrel is a deep one.”

  Her response indicated that this information was not news, but a reiteration. Korsten observed her controlled tears, feeling the sting of his own, even if only for her sake. He could not claim that he had ever known Herrel, or even of him, before meeting Syndel.

  Ashwin said, “May he have chosen a successor who will carry something forward that you may one day recognize, and cherish.”

  In the moment Ashwin issued the words, he glanced in Korsten’s direction, which was in unconscious or deliberate reminder of Adrea, who the patriarch had admitted to seeing some aspects of in Korsten on more than one occasion. Afterward, he bent down to kiss the top of Syndel’s head in blessing. “I would like you to partner with Tahlia, and for the two of you to travel with General Bheld to South Meadows.”

  “What of Jhac?” she asked while he let go her hands.

  “He yet needs time to recover,” Ashwin answered. “A suitable arrangement will be found for him afterward. For now, it is imperative that South Meadows be defended. Its neglect would be at the risk of a last pillar falling and all of the Vadryn horde breaking through, making their way back here. Even counting the Siege of nearly one hundred years ago, we have yet to face such odds.”

  “I understand,” Syndel replied.

  Korsten reached up for her hand, and was glad to receive it. Her fingers were quite slim and delicate.

  “You and Merran,” Ashwin said to Korsten, “are to travel to the coast. To Indhovan, where you will investigate reports of frequent disappearances occurring only at night and during the hours of the day when the shadows are long. Take your new knowledge of what the Vadryn are capable of with you. And take care of each other.”

  The latter went without saying, but Korsten appreciated whenever Ashwin said it. He loved his mentor dearly, and he was swiftly coming to love Syndel as well. Keeping her hand, he rose to his feet and guided her from the bench, walking with her to the edges of the garden, where Merran and Tahlia were waiting for them.

  The four of them would part ways within the hour, to opposite ends of Edrinor. It was possible that they would not meet again, either in their pairs or as individuals. The erratic dance of their soulkeepers seemed to reflect that, but also to illustrate the importance of cherishing each moment of peace, no matter how fleeting.

  Epilogue

  A steady barrage of wind and rain scraped over his body. Vaelyx Treir felt like a cold, iron weight in his drenched clothing, but at the same time, the wind’s violent handling made him feel as if he were of no significant mass whatsoever. He would be stripped from the surface of the world this night, and disappear into the ephemeral drift of time, the same as his brother had been.

  The thought waxed quickly grim. Vaelyx shoved the mental thorn aside, kicking his foot up onto the rock before him as he grabbed hold of each side of the corridor walls and forced himself into the narrow space. He could have chosen a better time for this venture. The lingering ghost of his younger self argued that he could not have. This was what he loved to do—to explore and uncover. But time, as it stood, afforded no one love of anything, and he had no love for what had drawn him from the mainland tonight.

  The wind channeled swiftly through the cavern entrance and made a solid threat to pry him back out and hurl him toward the sea. Vaelyx pressed himself to one side and turned, so that the wind had less to push against. He clung there for a moment, feeling the strength leaving his limbs. The trek felt like more of a struggle than it had the last time, though the conditions had been similar. There was no predicting the weather in this place. It could be temperate for days, then draw all the furies of the gods to them, as if no place else in the world had earned their wrath so completely. A worse storm encroached, though. In spite of the gods’ tempestuous ways, there was a fire far worse coming.

  The thought returned some stamina to Vaelyx, and he pressed through the corridor. At least, the wind’s strength was such that very little of the rain made it into the narrow passage cutting through the rocks. It was a natural formation, one that would quicker lead to where he wanted to be than following the lengthy slope from the beach. He was lucky enough as it was to have made a safe landing in the rough waters after the storm truly announced its presence.

  With a gloved hand on the corridor’s rough wall, he pressed through. He had been compelled by nightmare …by dreams of what might have transpired on his last visit to this specific location. Of the nine islands, this one was among the smaller, and it was technically uninhabited. Technically, but Vaelyx imagined otherwise. So dark, his imagination had become …

  His trek through the rocks led him to a rise, accessible by a brief climb over slick stone. At the top, he came to a lantern-lit path marking the way to a small cottage. The driving rain obscured the structure’s shape, making it appear of uncertain dimension in the darkness.

  “I’m here,” Vaelyx said, weary yet resigned. He had brought this to himself. Whatever he might encounter in this place was, in part, by his own design. The rest was her doing.

  Thunder rolled across the sky in a heavy, resounding sequence. The sound spurred Vaelyx to move. He followed the lanterns to the overhanging cottage roof, and put himself beneath its inadequate shelter for a moment. He shared the space with a few barrels and an untidy pile of wood. It made the place seem lived-in, but life was not what occurred here.

  With a last look at the way back—a way that mocked him openly—he stepped around the side of the cottage, past a solitary window that revealed nothing beyond darkness, and to the door. His hand on the latch was all that was required to open it. The wind near ripped it from his grasp.

  A pale green glow swelled into being before he’d even fully entered the house. An aged woman in layers of simple skirts, with a shawl over her head and shoulders, sat on a chair of rough-cut wood. There was a bundle of blankets in her lap, cast in deep shadow with her light hovering over her shoulder.

  “Close the door,” she said, with a voice that seemed to sag in tone, as her skin did from her bones.

  Vaelyx did as she instructed, having to press the door with both hands, then bolted it against the storm’s determination to intrude. In the process, he took note of the fact that the partition now blocked him from the outside world as well.

  “Did you think that nothing would come, Vaelyx Treir?” the old woman asked, in a tone that didn’t call for an answer. She was no demon, but she did the work of them, taunting and delivering messages that didn’t need to be heard. Delivering curses.

  The last thought presented itself when Vaelyx turned from the door to face the woman in her chair.

  “Serawe left you a gift,” she said, with a mouth of poorly spaced white teeth. The arrangement presented gaps
that, in the light, looked like small portals into Hell’s depths. Her words delivered him to that same pit.

  Vaelyx looked from the woman’s grinning face, to the blankets in her lap, waiting.

  The woman raised the bundle with one arm, then with her other hand, pulled carefully tucked layers of fabric away from the form of an infant. It lay there asleep, as if it were not a harbinger of his doom, and perhaps the doom of them all.

  It was always when the woman began to laugh, low and breathy, that Vaelyx awoke from the nightmare. His past clung to the simple bed beneath him, but it clung to his mind as well, like the long fingers of a demon with death to deliver. But the demon would take its time. For twenty years, it had done so. For twenty years, Vaelyx had awakened in his room in the dark, hearing the laughter of a young woman on the night air.

  •—•

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