Varien was gone.
I looked for Lanen the instant I heard Shikrar calling me, though I could not answer while my sword still defended my head. The Raksha was distracted—I am told that they can smell us as we can them—and it only fought with half its strength, for it knew that one of the Kantrishakrim was near and it began to fear for its life. From the corner of my eye I could see Lanen moving towards the others, towards the protection of me healers, when suddenly she fell. I was struggling to get away from the Raksha to help her when two of the Rikti caught her up and dragged her at a terrible speed across me field and away towards the wood at the far end.
She called out to me in truespeech. "Varien! I am be-spelled, I cannot fight back—help me! Shikrar, to me! "
"I come, Lanen! Shikrar, swiftly, she is taken!" I cried. I saw Shikrar diving at the Raksha. It turned its attention away from me, and like an arrow released from the bow I sped towards Lanen.
If the field had been empty I might have reached her, but ever me Rikti attacked me as I ran and I was forced to fight them off. "Shikrar, help her!" I screamed in the agony of my frustration, as my blood-soaked sword dispelled the last of the Rikti about me. Shikrar's vast shape ran past me then, scattering the Rikti as he went, and I followed after faster than I had thought I could run. I felt as though I were running through deep water. Every muscle, every beat of my heart threw me towards Lanen, but I felt a great darkness gather round about me with each step as I watched her carried away from me on demon wings.
All my strength, all my love, all that I was or ever had been I poured into my desperate need to be by her side, but to no avail.
The Rikti reached the wood. At its edge stood a man, young and strong, who stank of the Rakshasa as though he were one himself. "Shikrar, the Gedri, he is the source, destroy him for me I beg you!" I cried in truespeech, and spared the fraction of an instant to rejoice when cleansing flame surrounded that abomination.
It did not touch him.
The demon-master laughed and gestured to his tame Rikti, who dropped Lanen into his arms.
"NO!" The scream ripped from my throat, agony. "Stop him Shikrar!"
Too slow.
Too late.
I wake still at nights to the memory of those last moments. I see Lanen catching sight of me, struggling to get away from Berys, stretching out her arms to me, crying my name desperately in truespeech as bespelled silence holds her.
"Varien! Varien! AKOR!"
I threw down my sword and flung myself across the last few feet that separated us, but the bastard who held her captive took one step backwards and disappeared.
With her.
"NO!" I cried, falling to my knees, scrabbling insanely in the earth where he had stood. "LANEN! LANEN!" I screamed in truespeech and aloud.
Silence.
Shikrar went wild then, I think. Like me he followed instinct, but he dug stone like earth, as if Lanen had disappeared down a hole. When finally he realised that he could not follow her, he turned his incandescent anger on the remaining Rikti.
The Lesser Kindred had fought well, but they had not the flame nor the strength of a Lord of the Kantri in his wrath. I had never seen any of our people in a killing frenzy before. The Lesser Kindred drew back in awe as he roared and flamed until all the Rikti were dead, then he rent the bodies of the dead when there were no more to kill.
I bespoke him finally, from that small part of me that still lived. "Shikrar, it is done. They are dead. Burn them."
Great gouts of flame roared over the mangled bodies, burning the ground clean down to the rock. The cleansing flame seemed to rouse him out of his madness, for he shook his head and gazed about him, his glance finally coming to rest on me.
"Varien—Varien, I could not save her," said Shikrar brokenly. His voice in my mind was appalled. "/ tried with all my strength, I could not—Akhor—they were too far ahead." He bowed, shaking, and said aloud, "Akhor, Akhor, I cannot hear her."
I tried to answer him, but my voice was trapped in my throat and would not obey me. "Shikrar my brother," I groaned in truespeech, "/ cannot hear her either." I tried once more, calling into silent darkness, as I feared I would call for the rest of my days.
"Lanen! Lanen! Hear me, answer me—Lanen!"
There was no answer, and there was no more strength in me. I knelt there on the grass in that bright spring morning and stared helplessly, stupidly, at the place where she had disappeared.
I could not weep. My soul was lost in a desolation far beyond tears—but my heart kept up its litany long after my mind had fallen into darkness.
Lanen—Lanen—Lanen—
XVI The Nameless One
Once I had her safely in my chambers in Verfaren I cast yet another bespelled sleep upon her. She fought it, but I was too strong for her. I sent Durstan to put her in a demon-guarded chamber and hurried to begin the great summoning.
I did not wait for Durstan to return with my sacrifice for there was much to be done first. I moved surely but swiftly, rejoicing all the while—Marik of Gundar's blood and bone were in my power at last!
I drew forth and lit the incense I had made a year since from a fist of ingredients obtained from ancient sources. Mixed in with the rest was a rare and precious scrap of parchment the Demonlord himself had touched. It had taken me half a lifetime to find and a small fortune to purchase.
I threw more coals on to the fire, renewed the candles, sealed the seven sigils at the points each with their prescribed element. The circles were carven into the stone floor but I swept them again, ensuring that each was clear and complete. I opened a small chest against one side of the room and drew out the robes I had made for this work. Woven into the fabric of the cloth were the sealing symbols of spells of protection, binding, containment, control and mastery. I threw off my battle-stained garments and assumed the deep red robes. As I wrapped the cord around my waist I repeated each of the spells, sealing each with a touch to the symbol, that my very robes might act as protection and reinforcement of the spells I needed. I finished tying the cord with the binding spell.
Where in all the Hells was Durstan with my sacrifice?
I threw a handful of the priceless incense on to the coals. It instantly sent billows of pungent smoke into the air, a heavy cloud that seeped into the brain and made limbs heavy and speech slow—or would have if I had not taken the precautions I had. The symbol for protection glowed bright in the murky chamber.
Ah, the door at last! I had told Durstan to send in the sacrifice—I could not see who it was for the smoke, but it was alive and that was all I required. Durstan had not subdued it, however, so I had to cast Sleep upon it before I could drag it on the altar. The smoke was so thick I could barely see the shape as it lay not two feet from my eyes. Still, I could find its chest fast enough.
It was time. I called up my power and began the chant I had spent so long learning. Every word was a spell, weaving a full tapestry of spells to call and to bind.
From the moment I started I sensed a presence. There in the mist, somewhere in the cloud created by the incense that carried the single point of essence of the Demonlord, there was a mind watching mine. It was more intelligent than any demon and it was without fear that I could see.
I was delighted. At last, a kindred spirit.
I proceeded with the summoning, invoking the strictures that would keep it under my control.
"I'm not a demon, you know," said a quiet voice from the mist.
I continued with the spell.
"You're trying to bind me like a demon. It won't work.
I'm human, just like you. Well, no, not like you. I'm much brighter than you are." It giggled. "I know when to leave the dead alone."