In any case, this was a slightly different summoning. I had planted a demon in Maikel while he slept, drugged, at my mercy. It bore in its claws two ends of a demon Une, one out and one back, the other ends of which were in these very chambers. The spell on Maikel was subtle and had cost me dear, in time and blood and lansip, but it was worth it. Once I set the spell in motion Maikel, out wandering the world even now, would follow whoever I told the demon to follow, thinking that he had his own reasons for doing so, and when the prey had come to rest he would stop and build an altar. The instant it was built the demon would burst forth, plant the demon lines in the earth and disappear. I could then travel to wherever it was, take my prisoner and travel back in the bUnk of an eye. Maikel wiU most probably live long enough to watch me appear. I will enjoy that.
Above the altar, in the red air, a shadowy impression of the demon within Maikel took shape. "Sso, prey, you dare ssummon your death! Despair as you die, for I am—"
"I am MaUor, Master of the Sixth Hell. You have taken my blood, little Rikti. Serve me or die," I said, tightening the binding charm.
"Ssspeak, masster," it spat, tearing at the charm like a rope around its neck.
"I have your quarry," I said. 'Taste the blood on this cloth. Send your host to seek her and build an altar where she stops, but it must not be before three days' time."
I was proud of that detail. I had calculated that the summoning that would follow this minor one would leave me drained for two days, giving me one day to prepare for La-nen's arrival. The instant she was safely in my hands I would complete the summoning of the Demonlord, but it would be folly to attempt it until I had her safe. I knew she had Farspeech—Marik had warned me—so she would have to be silenced as swiftly as possible once I had her.
The creature objected and threatened, of course, but it had no choice. "Ass you command, masster," it hissed finally.
"When the altar is built, plant both of the Swiftlines you carry. When that is accomplished you will return to me and inform me that all is done. You will then be free to go."
"Ssoon, ssoon, masster," it begged.
"Three full days from this moment at the earliest. You submit?"
It cursed and hissed and struggled to escape, but I could hold such a creature captive in my sleep. "I ssubmit. Three daysss at the earliest, and when the prey iss at resst."
"Yes. Go now. You will return and tell me when all is done."
"Yesss," it hissed as its form dispersed into nothingness.
I threw lansip on to the altar to sweeten the air. The simpler of the two done, but I had known it would be easy. The smoke from the lansip leaves was pleasant enough.
Now for the second of my tasks. I renewed the incense and began to prepare myself for the ordeal ahead, but the truth was that I knew most of what I needed already.
There was a certain simplicity to it, overall. I had pondered long on the problem: How should anyone be burnt to powder by the Kantri and laugh all the while? Either he was completely insane—and I refuse to believe that one who could destroy True Dragons at will was mad—or he must have found a way to do in life what has only ever been heard of in legend. It was that thought that had led me to realise that the Demonlord had performed the spell of the Distant Heart.
There are many children's tales of such thing, the mythical wizard who removes his heart and hides it away, making himself invulnerable. The heart is always removed to a great distance, hidden and guarded: in the stories it is some variation on the theme of "inside an egg inside a duck inside a box hidden in the trunk of a hollow tree," guarded by fabulous beasts or simply by obscurity.
But I know where it is. Fabulous beasts and all.
For thousands of years the true death of the Demonlord was within the grasp of those who hated him most, and they never knew it.
The heart of the Demonlord was hidden on a green island in the west, inside a series of caves too small to admit any of the creatures who lived there. The final stroke of irony is that, vulnerable and without a body to use, his heart continued the destruction of the beasts he so longed to destroy. In their exile they thought they were so safe, so wise and strong, and all the while his heart beat in the mountains and poisoned the air, the water, the very land they lived upon. They are fewer now than they have ever been, barely enough to breed.
I must be sure to tell them before they die.
XIII The Wind of Shaping Like Fire Burns
We sat as close to the fire as we could get. The inn was all but empty. I'd have preferred it to be full, that we might not be so obvious, but to be honest I was too tired to care, and I was the most wakeful of us three.
Vilkas and Aral slumped down on to the bench nearest the fire while I went to find Gair, but I noticed as I left that Aral still had her power about her. They were talking quietly.
Gair emerged carrying a steaming pie, and for two coppers I'd have taken it out of his hands, but he saw my face and pulled it out of my grasp.
"Ho, Will, it's that way is it? Well, there's another in the kitchen with your name to it, just let me serve these good folk and I'll be with you."
"We need food fast, Gair, these two are famished. Can I fetch beer and bread for now?"
"A moment, Will, I'll be right with you," he said, placing the pie before the only other people in the place, an older couple. I just stood and waited. Gair was like that.
I couldn't help taking note of the two he was serving, a sharp-featured man with dark hair sprinkled with grey, and a woman with a crooked back. They both looked done in, but while the man was slicing the pie into quarters the woman said, "I'll need something stronger than wine. What else have you got?"
"Is she in that much pain, then?" asked Gair kindly. "The poor lass! I've some Kygur, or there's a bottle of Kairhum wine."
"Stronger than wine, I said," the woman said sharply.
"No, mistress, you see—it's boiled down, like, and the water's drawn off and leaves the alcohol behind. It's strong, right enough."
The man barked a harsh laugh. "Kairhum is it. That stuff'11 take the shine off old leather, Rella, and Lanen's not used to spirits. Trust me, it'll help her until we can fetch a Healer from Verfaren."
"Bring it then, quickly," said the woman.
Gair turned to me. "Will, I—"
"Go. I'll get our beer, you help these folk."
I brought a brimming jug and three leather tankards to th table Vil and Aral had dragged over to the fire. "Did you hea any of that?" I asked quietly. I glanced at the older couple They were eating quickly, but more than half of the pie sa untouched in its dish.
"Not a thing," said Aral. She drank off a full tankard of Gair's best brown ale and sighed deeply. "Blessed Shia, that tastes wonderful. Where's the food? I'm starving."
"Coming. Gair's fetching strong spirits for those folk-seems there's more of their party and one of them's in a bad way." I lowered my voice. "They're heading for Verfaren to fetch a Healer."
To my astonishment, Vilkas rose instantly without saying a word and moved towards the corner where the others sat, Aral and I, of course, followed after. As always. I'll say this for the lad, he'd have made a fine player.
Vil stood before them and bowed. "Your pardon, my lord, my lady," he said. "My friend could not help but hear your conversation. You seek a Healer?"
The man just frowned at him, but the woman stared straight into his eyes. "Yes. We need the best Verfaren has and we need them quick. What has it to do with you?"