Silence held.
Halan glanced warily at the rumpled haversack, and a mocking sneer flitted over Ke’uld’s face. “It seems the God of All has at long last chosen to favor the firstborn of this world-”
Faster than thought, the haversack swelled into a bloated sphere, shafts of cruel purple-black light lancing from rupturing seams. The radiance expanded, disintegrating the haversack, becoming a blinding indigo flash of tremendous heat and pressure that knocked Leitos off his feet. Roiling fire engulfed the possessed Brothers. The agonized screams that followed came not from the throats of men, but from demons made flesh … flesh that perished as all flesh did, when steeped in the purifying heat of the Nectar of Judgment.
Ke’uld alone burst through the flames, scattering everyone. Charred meat rained down from his body, but still the Nectar of Judgment burned, freeing a horror that had made itself into a being of living flesh while locked inside Ke’uld. In three strides, it had grown twice the height of a man.
A Yatoan ring formed around the whirling demon, intent on not letting it escape, but wary of the creature’s dozen lashing arms. One of those limbs flashed near Leitos, and he met it with his dagger, hacking off a trio of bony fingers tipped with scythe-like claws. Intense heat stiffened those ghastly fingers, blackened them. The demon fared no better. It faltered and collapsed with a breathless howl, its body of interlocking plates shattering like crystal upon the paving stones.
“What did you do?” Leitos asked, staring at the smoking remains.
“Daris thought it up,” Sumahn answered. “You place a wax-sealed vial of water into a jar filled with the Nectar of Judgment, throw it where you need fire, and…” Instead of finishing, he swept a hand over the blackened carnage. “On Witch’s Mole, we did the same thing against the Kelrens and their changeling wolves.”
The Yatoans cried their approval, but Ulmek cut them off with a gesture. “The day is not won yet. We must still find and destroy Adu’lin, and any who stand with him.”
“Once he knows that we have crushed the largest part of his forces,” Damoc advised, “he will flee.”
“And we will follow,” Ulmek said. “There can be no rest until he is dead.”
Chapter 40
Adu’lin stared at the distant scene with a shock so deep he forgot to breathe. The demon-filled Brothers were supposed to have destroyed Damoc’s clan. There were other clans spread across the islands, but upon learning of Damoc’s death, they would have fled as far and fast as their boats would take them. In time, Adu’lin would have sent his Kelrens coursing after them, and they would have returned with holds filled with breeding stock.
Adu’lin had laid his plans carefully, never doubting success. Yet now, the most powerful of his forces lay in ashes. How can this be?
The intense eruption of strange fire lingered behind his eyes. He had never seen the like, and he feared what else he did not know. Who were these Brothers of the Crimson Shield, that they could conceive such deadly weaponry? Was it some power forgotten long years, something from before the Upheaval?
Another thought overrode all the others, and infused him with dread. Do they have the means to destroy the Faceless One?
It seemed inconceivable, impossible … but what if it were true, what if the Faceless One was not invulnerable, as all his loyal subjects believed?
Adu’lin backed into the midst of the newly possessed Kelrens, and looked around at their faces with far less confidence than he had ever felt. For the most part, many hours must pass before the demonic spirits within their shells of human skin could fully reform themselves into living flesh.
But he did not have hours.
The Yatoans and the few Brothers who were still human would come for him. Doubtless, they already plotted his capture … or even his death, for what reason did they have to keep him alive?
Adu’lin’s gaze rose above the city, to the mountains beyond the city wall. If he had any hope, it waited within the Throat of Balaam. The Faceless One will protect me, he thought, refusing to heed the doubts of his master’s supremacy.
“Go,” Adu’lin commanded the sea-wolves. “Destroy them.” He meant to project an air of strength, but the words came out as a whisper. Despite that, his newest creations obeyed.
Moments later, they burst from the building and spread out upon the street, racing toward their foes.
Adu’lin did not linger. He took the stairs down to the street, fled to the city wall by way of quiet alleys, and abandoned Armala. Never slowing to catch his breath, he made for his last refuge, and the birthplace of his transformation. Every step of the way his fear grew, reducing him to that which he loathed most in the world: A frightened man.
Chapter 41
Leitos and the rest of the company whirled at the shouts of the Kelrens charging up the street. The slavers looked much the same as they had when they attacked Witch’s Mole, swarthy skin branded head to foot, loose breeches fluttering with each step, weapons waving above their heads like a steel hedge.
But they were not the same.
Their flat expressions told him that, even if he could not see the dull, silvery glints of their demon-possessed eyes in the light of day.
Sumahn and Daris, along with the Yatoans armed with bows, began firing arrows, thinning the enemy ranks, but not slowing them a whit.
“We cannot fight so many,” Damoc called.
Adham squinted. “I do not see Adu’lin among them.”
“Nor do I,” Ulmek agreed, cutting his eyes toward the elder. “You said he would flee. Where?”
Damoc thought but a moment, and in that time the Kelrens had halved the distance. In heartbeats, they would be upon them. “He will go to his master. There is nowhere else he can find safety.”
“Then we will follow him, and destroy the Throat of Balaam.”
“What of the wounded?”
Ulmek took in the downed Yatoans. “Gather them, and follow me.”
While a handful of Yatoans kept up a steady barrage of arrows, the others hoisted the worst of the wounded onto their shoulders, and aided the rest in trailing Ulmek.
The Yatoan archers came behind, slowing the Kelrens with coordinated volleys. In that way, the withdrawing company moved toward the southern edge of Armala, while at the same time forcing the demon-possessed sea-wolves to rethink their brazen attack.
At each turn, Ulmek gauged the pursuit of the enemy, until finally gaining enough ground to lose sight of them. After ducking down another alley, he bustled everyone into a building overgrown with climbing vines and thick moss.
Almost before Leitos could pull the last hobbling Yatoan into the musty gloom, Ulmek pressed the door shut, then barred it with a timber near to hand. If it came to it, neither the door nor the wooden bar, both rotted, would thwart the sea-wolves for long. Knowing that silence was their best defense, all remained quiet.
Ulmek joined Damoc at a shuttered window, and peered through a crack in the wood planks. “They missed us,” he said in a satisfied voice.
“Your trick will not fool them long,” Damoc said, facing his people.
Most of slumped against walls, or were stretched out on the floor. In the darkness, it was hard to judge their wounds, but Leitos could smell blood, and hear the labored breathing of those in severe pain.
“My brothers and I will give them a trail to follow,” Ulmek promised. “That will keep you safe.”
“What of Adu’lin?” Leitos asked.
Ulmek gave him a hard smile. “The trail we leave will, by necessity, lead to Adu’lin and the Throat of Balaam.”
Belina stepped forward, showing that she meant to join them. Nola moved beside her, just as resolute.