"A body is prepared for you, ancient one. Look to the west, see there an island in its death throes."
"I see it," the voice answered. It sounded curious.
I explained the arrangement. The Demonlord laughed, long and loud.
"That is not enough!" he said. "Oh, you are such a clever fool! No, little demon caller, that is not enough. I must have you."
"I am not part of the bargain," I replied.
"Ah, but you are," he said. "Without a piece of your own body I am not bound. I told you, I am not a demon. I require a sacrifice from you, yourself. The heart of this man is good, it nourishes me, but it is not yours."
"I will make a sacrifice of blood," I began, but he interrupted me.
"No, not blood," he said, "that is too simple. No, I need something of you that you cannot replace." It stopped for a moment to ponder. "Your left hand, I think."
"You ask too much!" I cried, but I knew what its response would be.
"Those laws of what is too much or not enough only apply to demons. I told you, I'm not a demon." He smiled. "So, what happens now, little demon-spit? Do I eat you where you stand, or will you do as I bid?"
I was trapped, but those of my profession must ever consider the possibility that such things can happen. It was not that much to lose, after all.
"Once accepted and given, you are bound to me. Blood and bone binds deep, Demonlord. Once accepted and given, the sacrifice binds you to me."
"True. I'm waiting."
"On pain of perpetual servitude, do you accept this sacrifice of my left hand?"
"Damn," he said calmly. "I was hoping you'd cut it off first so I could refuse. Yes, I accept the sacrifice."
I did not stop to think or wonder if I dared. I took the bloody knife and brought it down with all my strength upon my wrist. I took the instant of shock to seal the wound with my Healer's corona and dispel the pain, for I had to keep my wits about me a little longer.
It was peculiar, though, lifting up my own hand and tossing it on to the coals. It hissed and was taken.
"Bound to me, Demonlord, bound and mastered!" I cried.
"It is well, Malior," he answered from the heart of the coals. The voice was much stronger now. "I go now to the island to take up that which arises, and I will come unto thee in the body thou hast prepared for me. It is fitting. I will aid thee in thanks for the sacrifice, and then—ah, then, we shall see, little demon-spit. At the least I will take joy in the death of the Kantri, and thy death thereafter."
"Arise, then, and come to me as swift as the wind will bear thee," I cried.
"I come, O Master," it said, its voice light and mocking.
And it was gone.
The spell was complete. I had done it.
I closed off the invocation, sealed the brazier and doused the coals, blew out the candles.
It was done. I was in a daze, for the shock was taking me, but I took the precaution of looking again at my hand—at the stump where my hand had been. As I suspected, it was hazy with infection. I would have to have it seen to.
Out of habit I called for Durstan to help me with my robes, but he lay on the altar most decidedly dead. I just managed to rouse balefire to consume him—it was a kind of swift and useful sacrifice I kept always ready by me. It al-lowed me to summon the Rikti at will, for they always received the leftovers of my sacrifices. This much fresh flesh would supply me with another small army of Rikti should I require one.
I dressed with difficulty in my usual robes, left the chambers and closed the door behind me. I staggered to All Comers with a tale of a demon attack. The Raksha infection was purged, my stump was examined and sealed carefully with a skin flap. I was carried back to my chambers to rest, amid general dismay.
I spent the journey to my chambers in quiet delight. My lost hand bothered me hardly at all. Now that I had in my grasp all I required for victory, the only question that remained was deciding which of the College servants I should choose as Durstan's replacement.
I had watched it all. I saw Berys under the trees, laughing, fifty years younger than he should be. I had tried to get to him while the demons were massed against us; thank the Lady, Vilkas and Aral restrained me. I'd have been killed instantly. It brought me up short, reminded me I was thinking with my heart not my head. Stupid.
But when he took Lanen, when he disappeared with her, I went cold from head to foot, felt my heart contract to an old and unwelcome ice. I fought it for the moment. There was too much to do first.
I waited until the last demon was dead, until Vilkas dropped his shield against the demons and healed the gash in my cheek. I thanked him for his kindness to me and to Rella, carried her gently to the fire we had been tending through the night and roused her from her healing sleep.
"Rella," I called softly. "Rella lass, coom nah, waken oop," I said, slipping for an instant into the thick accent of my youth. " 'Tis broad daylight, Rella. Come, lass, waken to me."
She stirred and opened an eye. "I'm weary, Jamie," she said sleepily, "go 'way—oh Hells." And between one breath and another she was awake and very aware of her last memory. "Oh Goddess, am I—but—how?" She lifted her hand to her face, then stood shakily with my help. "It can't be. How can I move, how can I stand? I felt that thing cut me down like a spider off its web, I dropped and couldn't feel a thing. How—?"
"Vilkas," I said. "Never seen the like." I took her hand. "You're right, lass. You were done for. I saw the cut. The lad has a blind spot about demons, but by all the Hells, he's the stuff of legend when it comes to healing."
"Amazing," she said, stunned.
Well, I'd best get it said and over so we could get on with things.
I took her by die shoulders and made her look me in the eye. "I must tell you, my girl. When I saw what had happened, before Vilkas said he could help, I had already drawn my sword. I was going to send you on ahead."
That was mere's cant, in such circumstances, for the merciful blow you give a comrade who will otherwise die a slow and painful death.
Rella drew me to her and kissed me soundly. "Thank the Goddess, you're neither fool nor coward," she said, her eyes locked with mine. "It's a long death, that one. I wouldn't wish it on anyone." She touched my cheek. "I'd have been grateful."
She released me and looked around. "What's happened to Varien? In fact, what's happened to—Lanen—" Her face changed and she looked appalled. "Oh Jamie, no, she isn't—"
"No, she's not dead, at least not yet," I said. "Berys came, I saw him, and he summoned a big bastard of a demon to take her. He's got her, Rella." I gazed into her eyes, into love so late found and so precarious still. "Berys stole her from under my nose. And I must go after as long as I have strength to try to get her back. I'm leaving, now you're awake."
"Just make sure you can keep up with me, old man," she said, smiling, her voice light, as if this was just another stage in our journey. If I hadn't seen the bright track down her cheek gleam in the sunlight, I'd never have known she wept. "But Jamie—I know it goes against your every instinct, but you must wait. There is too much we do not know."
"I have waited long enough!" I cried. "She could be dying!"
"And where would you run to, to find her?" Rella demanded. "And what would you do if she is protected by demons? Think, Master Jameth," she said. "We cannot rush after her like green recruits. We must plan this campaign. If he wanted her dead, why bother to take her away?"
"How should I stand here a moment longer when she is in his power?" I cried, even though I knew in my heart that Rella was right.
"Because you know you will be of no use to her dead. Come. We need to think, find out who is with us and how best to use our strength. How fares that young Healer—" she said, glancing around the field. There was certainly plenty to see. "Bright Lady! Jamie, you idiot, you didn't tell me there was a dragon come to call!"