“Nor have I,” Azuri admitted. “Yet, stories of demons and Geh’shinnom’atar are as old as mankind. Who can say what has been lost in their telling over the ages?”
Kian frowned at the memory of those vaporous shapes, dozens of which had surged out of the roiling pit where the temple had been, monstrous figures that had seemed to circle and brush against Varis, like old companions. “How could demons-the Fallen, the mahk’lar-escape Geh’shinnom’atar, a prison created by the Three before the first men walked?” He thought a moment, then added, “What’s more, why did that demon call out my name?”
Azuri shrugged. “My guess is-”
“Guesses are useless,” Kian interrupted. “I-we-need answers if we are to defend ourselves well enough to reach El’hadar with the remaining men we have.”
“Possibilities are all we have,” Azuri answered, unperturbed by the force of Kian’s demands. “The Hall of Wisdom at Ammathor may have answers and, too, the scholars of the Magi Order, or even the Sisters of Najihar.”
“There might be others who know,” Hazad said flatly.
Kian raised his eyebrows in question.
Hazad looked torn between distaste and hopefulness. “The Madi’yin.”
“Leave it to you to trust in anything the begging brothers have to say,” Azuri said in derision.
The big man glared. “When the world goes mad, I trust that madmen may have answers closer to truth. Demons, after all, seem to be their favored topic.”
Azuri seemed to be searching his mind for a retort, but found none.
Kian glanced over his companions’ shoulders at the demon’s remains-a pool of reddish sludge. Somehow, his sword alone had truly harmed the creature.
My sword, he thought, knowing that was not the truth, not entirely. It had been that blue fire that had traveled through him and into his weapon that had caused harm. Even that, in the end, had not slain the demon, but rather his voice. None of it made sense. Still, if he was to defend himself and others against further attack, he needed to know why he had succeeded where others had failed-but not yet. Now they must run.
“Something has happened in the world that should not be,” he said, imposing himself between Hazad and Azuri. “And that something must have to do with whatever Prince Varis did and became at the temple.”
He purposefully did not mention the blue fire that had issued from his own flesh, nor did he mention that his cry had destroyed the creature, though by the look in their eyes, he knew his friends had noted it all. It was not lost on him in that moment that something similar had happened with the serpent-root that Varis had called forth to attack him. It too had perished at his touch. He did not want to talk about these things, until he’d had time to ponder the strange events. But the undeniable truth, no matter how hard he tried to avoid or disbelieve it, was that whatever had changed Varis, had also changed him. A chill crept over his skin at the thought of sharing any kind of bond with the young prince of Aradan.
Hazad and Azuri shared a look that suggested they had at least broached the issue of what had happened to Varis while Kian was trying to reach them. Had he the luxury of time, Kian would have welcomed any opinion, but he sensed danger closing in from all sides, stalking them … stalking him. He had never been one to fear shadows, but in that moment, he did not doubt that he had the right of it.
It called me by name. The tingle of fear crept again over his flesh. He had known fear as a child, when roving the deadly streets of Marso. He had not enjoyed the sensation then, and he liked it even less now.
“We must get out of this accursed swamp,” Kian said, pushing all else aside. “Then we make for El’hadar to refit. Lord Marshal Bresado keeps a magus there. Perhaps he can shed some light on this. After that, regardless of what we learn from El’hadar’s magus, I intend to make for Izutar. Our Asra a’Shah friends can return to Geldain, or go wherever they wish.”
“Do you not think the prince’s family should learn of what happened to him?” Azuri asked.
“They will, I’m sure, but not from my mouth,” Kian said with a disgusted snort, his mind made up. It was not fear that drove him now-he would not and had never let fear control him-but rather a large measure of antipathy he had for all of Aradan and her people. The realm, as he had always known it, was surely a land fit for demons and strife. More, he had survived Varis’s attack, and now a demon spawned from the bowels of the Thousand Hells. In his mind, he had given enough to Aradan. His duty to the Kilvar line was concluded, even if for but half of the agreed upon gold. As for Varis’s attack against him, Kian reasoned that there were battles that needed fighting, and then there were grudges best left to fate and destiny to decide.
“I’m finished with demons and princes,” Kian announced. “I’m finished with this kingdom and this gods-cursed swamp. I cannot guess Varis’s intentions, whatever he is now. The people of this godless realm can fight him, or bow to him, or sacrifice themselves for his amusements, for all I care.”
Dozens of eyes studied him, but no one seemed inclined to disagree or offer a different choice.
“To horse!” he ordered. “We make for the desert. At least there we will be able see what is coming long before it gets to us.”
Chapter 9
In the predawn light, a young man nearly unrecognizable as Prince Varis Kilvar of the Kingdom of Aradan halted a dozen miles beyond the broken walls of Krevar. He surveyed the destruction, noted the deep crevasse zigzagging across the desert before reaching the collapsed northern wall of the fortress.
I did this, he thought with a mirthless smile. With but one action, that of taking the powers long hidden within the Well of Creation, he had remade the face of the world. He would not stop there. The glorious reshaping would continue for an age of man under his reign.
Although Varis had been running almost the entire time since leaving the temple, he was neither exhausted nor breathing hard. The need for rest had become as irrelevant to him as the need for sleep. He required only the living world around him to sustain his strength. Where another man would have collapsed long since, he simply drew on the life forces of a thousand living things, forcing their energy to replenish him. In time, should Peropis fail him, he would learn on his own the ways to make his life and flesh incorruptible. Not only would his reign be glorious, it would be eternal.
Before returning fully to Geh’shinnom’atar, leaving him to secure his army, Peropis had taught him more directly how to harvest miniscule portions of the life all around him, and how to resist taking more than his mortal body could contain. There was a balance to be struck, she told him, between taking life and releasing it in equal measures. It was a constant war not to draw too much of that mysterious power and simply hold it, but Peropis had explained, “Soon, Prince of Aradan, the breadth and depth of your strength will exceed your greatest desires. You are but a babe taking his first steps. In the fullness of time, you will run. However, you must understand that the gift you possess was never meant for the hands of men. For you, I have changed that. Do not waste that gift by destroying yourself.”
Varis kept secret that he desired more than she promised, and that he knew she was not telling him the full truth of her intentions. For now, he would allow her to serve as his teacher and guide. All the while, he would expand his power. After Aradan was his, he would then stretch out his hand over lands known and unknown, across all the face of the world, and subdue them. Afterward, he would destroy Peropis and take what sustained her-not a life force, he had discovered, but something like it.