No more than a tremor at first, the sensation grew, until Kall had to hold the weapon with both hands. The empty space where the Morel emerald had been was filled with a silver light that outlined the blade. Accompanying the light, the vibrating hum sounded like music. Then he heard, within the song, Garavin’s voice.
“Banish the demon, Kall.”
The dwarf’s voice pierced his temples. Kall shook his head to clear it and to deny him. “You have to get out of here, back through the portal. If we stay, he’ll slaughter us all,” he said.
“Listen to me, lad.” Garavin’s voice shook him, unrelenting. “Ye can wound the thing a thousand times, but his link to this world has to be severed. He’s holding onto it desperately. As long as he’s sure it’s safe, he can kill us all at his leisure. By Dumathoin’s will, Kall.”
“Kall!” This time it was Meisha, shouting to him from the bridge. “The eye, Kall! The empty eye!” the Harper cried.
Kall swung his sword around. It seemed to have grown heavier with the weight of Garavin’s voice coursing through the blade. He flew into the demon’s path, angling to its left. The jarilith didn’t need eyes to find him, but the beast turned anyway, running alongside Kall, using the points of his spines as defensive weapons.
Kall pulled back, sucking in his gut. He didn’t trust his armor to hold, and wasn’t surprised when he heard cloth and chain rip. His cloak, caught against his flank, tore into two ragged slits.
My hands are already ruined, Kall thought, so …
Reaching out, Kall grabbed a handful of red and black mane and pulled, hoping to wrench the beasts head around.
He might as well have tried to turn a statue’s head.
The demon jumped straight up, pulling Kall with him. His grip shaken, Kall fell onto his back on the walkway. He managed to hold onto his sword, but the weapon still vibrated painfully in his hands. Its guard wedged against the stone bridge, allowing him to see the silver light clearly. Movement reflected within it like a mirror, showing the demon as he turned and jumped again, intending to finish his prey while he was out of the air.
Bringing his arms and legs in close to his body, Kall swung the humming blade around until the demon filled the reflective surface, and all he could feel was heat, a great waterfall of it coming down on him. The blade’s edge crossed his center of vision then thrust back, deep into the demon’s empty socket.
His sword ripped out of his grasp, and the last thing Kall heard before the fire buried him was the demon’s roar, a scream that sounded almost human.
Varan screamed, clawing at the punctured eyeball. He tore it out of its socket and cast it aside. The Shadow Thief guarding him skittered back a step in revulsion.
Crying, the wizard flopped onto his back. His breath hissed erratically in and out of his lungs. Blood that was not his own ran from his ruined eye socket. After a moment, he raised his hands to wipe the moisture away—blood from one eye, tears from the other. He began to laugh, a relieved, hysterical sound that echoed through the caves and brought the other thieves running.
“What happened?” asked Geroll.
“Don’t know,” said the guard, taking another step back just to be safe. “He just started screaming, then pulled out his own eye. Crazy bastard looks almost happy about it.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Kall felt the weight of the demon come down and knew the battle was over. He prayed the spines would impale him and end his life quickly. If they did not—panic rose sickeningly in his throat—he would burn to death from the demon’s flesh.
A silver light filled the cavern, blinding him, but the killing weight did not follow. Kall blinked the brightness out of his eyes and strained to see. Running feet came across the bridge toward him. Dantane’s wall had come down. The wizard and Aazen were coming to him, but neither wore looks of fear or alarm. If anything, their expressions were confused.
Kall rolled onto his side, still shocked at his ability to do so. A few feet away, his sword lay on the walkway.
The jarilith was gone. There was only a small puddle of blood left on the bridge. Either the demon had fallen from the bridge, or Kall had truly severed his link to this place.
“He’s gone,” said Dantane, echoing Kall’s thoughts. He knelt beside Kall to examine his wounds. “You need healing, or you’re going to die,” he said.
Kall laughed. Pain flared in his abdomen. “No need to spare my delicate feelings. Tell me the truth.”
“Kall! Dantane!” cried Meisha from above them. “It’s Garavin!”
Garavin—his voice had cut off sometime during the flash of silver light. Kall used Dantane’s arm to haul himself to his feet. Light-headed from wounds and the terror gripping his heart, he flew unsteadily to the upper bridge. Dantane flew beside him.
Out of the corner of his vision, Kall saw Aazen looking past them, up to the double doors Kall and Garavin had come through. Green portal light spilled out through the doorway. Aazen motioned to his man on the opposite bridge.
Let them go, Kall thought. Dantane was right. He wasn’t in any condition to fight.
He crested the stone lip, and all thoughts of Aazen deserted him.
Garavin lay prone on the bridge. Meisha and Talal crouched beside him. The dwarf clutched his holy symbol in his hand, his eyes fixed and staring at nothing.
Kall bent, trying to pry the symbol loose, but stopped when he felt the latent heat. “What happened?” he demanded.
“It was the ghost,” said Talal. “The one from the room, where we found Braedrin’s body. Meisha’s messenger. I saw it touch him. I don’t think he’s breathin’ at all.”
“Garavin,” Kall said, taking his friend by the shoulders. There were no visible wounds on the dwarf’s body. “Wake up. Wherever you are, we need you back here.” He held his maimed hands in front of the dwarf’s vacant eyes. “Look at this. See what a wreck I make of myself when you’re not here?” His voice cracked. “By the gods, you’d better not be dead.” He leaned close and spoke in the dwarf’s ear. “There are too many ghosts down here already, old friend. Please.”
Kall thought he heard a shallow push of air fill his friend’s chest. Garavin’s bloodshot eyes slid closed, then opened again, and something of a presence returned. Kall breathed a quiet prayer of thanks. “Can you hear me, old friend?” he asked.
“He’s gone,” said the dwarf, looking beyond Kall to something unseen. His voice held a sadness Kall had never heard before.
“Who’s gone?” Kall asked quietly.
“Dumathoin,” replied the dwarf. Beside him, Meisha drew a startled breath, but Garavin’s attention was on Kall. “He’s gone, and so are the Howlings. Their penance is done.”
“Is it safe to go now?”
Garavin nodded. “Best to leave it all to the dust, lad.” This time he did look at Meisha. “And take the warning to other secret keepers. This Shanatar doesn’t exist.”
The Harper nodded, and Kall stood up. Garavin touched his hands and stomach and began a healing prayer.
“As soon as we can move, we’re getting out of here,” Kall said, feeling the pain of his wounds diminish. When Garavin would have tended other hurts, he gently pushed the dwarf away. “I’m all right, old friend. Save your strength.”
“To what fate are we escaping?” spoke up Dantane. When Kall turned, he pointed to the double doors. “Your friend is gone through the portal.”
“Could be an ambush waiting for us up top,” said Morgan. He sounded as if he did not care either way.
“Or the portal malfunctioned again, and they could be sitting anywhere in the Delve,” said Kall. He thought of Cesira, back at the estate. “We don’t have any other way out.”