On legs that bowed like saplings, that should never have supported his weight, the inhuman creature in human form staggered from the cairn. With each stride his body twitched, reshaped by the demon's will. Step, and a leg ceased bending, bones knitting together and kneecap sliding into place. Step, and an arm snapped back into its socket, its fingers straightening with a series of pops. Step, and the blood fell from his face, revealing not the demonic visage that Corvis had recognized, but the more mundane features that had borne the name Kaleb.
But though the greatest wound, the mark of Talon itself, had closed, it did not fade entirely. For all his control over his corporeal body, he lacked the inner strength to finish the job. Soon, yes, when he'd had the opportunity to rest, to recover from the unexpected torment. But not now.
Leaving the weapon where it lay-hoping that some villager might be stupid enough to come out and try to claim it, offering him an excuse to tear someone apart-Khanda moved along the road, following the scents of fear and pain and very familiar blood. Past several houses and a smattering of shops he walked, until he came to a large wooden structure with a great hole battered in the side.
Subtle, Corvis. Do you even know how to use a door?
He didn't need to enter. The scent wafting from within was more than enough to identify it as a stable. Nor did he need to examine the hoofprints that emerged, for he could literally see the magic rising off them like early-morning mists. Clearly, his prey meant to put as much distance between them as possible. Wise of them, that. Futile, but wise.
With a deliberate, unhurried pace, he returned to the wreckage, drumming two fingertips on his lips as he thought. He'd misjudged Jassion, assumed that the baron's burning hate would blind him to all else. Of course, he hadn't intended that Jassion even hear his words to Corvis. He'd thought the baron safely unconscious, if not dead. Still, it was a mistake that had cost him, and-though he'd never have admitted it-shamed him. Once, Khanda had been a far better judge of mortal souls. His long association with, and his smoldering anger at, the Terror of the East had obviously clouded that judgment. Not again. His most important ally remained, and of her he would make absolutely certain.
And there she was. Khanda jerked to a stop, staring at the ground beyond the rocks that had imprisoned him. He'd not seen her when he first emerged, too distracted by his pain and fury, but there she lay, asleep, not half a dozen yards from where he'd been buried.
Ah, Corvis, you big softy. You went after her, didn't you? For that was the true nature of the spell he'd cast upon her when she first joined him in his travels. Not to protect her, as he'd allowed both her and Jassion to believe, but to conjure her to his side should her father come too close, ensuring they had no opportunity to reconcile.
Wincing, he knelt and lifted Talon by the hilt. He could feel the weapon squirming, and the skin of his own palm crawled at its touch. It had not been forged for his kind; its shape did not change, for he had no soul to taste. For his own sake, Khanda would have gladly left it behind.
But Kaleb would not have, and for a little longer, Kaleb remained essential.
Clutching the Kholben Shiar in one hand, gathering the ragged remnants of his clothes with the other, Kaleb moved to her. He knelt, removing the enchantment that kept her in slumber, and then collapsed to the road beside her, waiting for her to awaken.
"OH, GODS! KALEB, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?"
Only moments had passed before he felt her hands upon his shoulders, heard the horror in her voice. She didn't even ask how she'd gotten here; she was more alarmed at finding him coated in blood than in finding herself sprawled in the street rather than upon the straw pallet where she'd slept. Feigning exhaustion-well, feigning part of it-Kaleb allowed her to help him up, slumped in her arms as he pointed with one shaking hand. "There," he whispered. "I think… we'll be safe there."
The restaurant's porch and a portion of its outer wall had collapsed during the battle, but the rest of the squat structure appeared solid-and it had long since emptied itself of fleeing, panicked peasants. Leaning heavily on Mellorin, he limped and staggered inside and up the steps to the first empty room. Talon clattered to the floor by the doorway as he lurched toward the bed, while she darted back downstairs to gather supplies from the kitchen. She was gone only moments.
Forcing himself to remain patient, he allowed her to bathe his face with a wet cloth, cleaning away the last of the dried blood and grime, and to bandage those wounds that still showed in his flesh. At times he groaned, even crying out as he clutched at her. Once or twice he heard her whispered prayers to Sannos the Healer, and had to suppress an instinctive sneer.
Finally she was finished. Kaleb lay flat upon the mattress, stripped to the waist save for various bandages, his entire body damp-and, in a few places, rubbed raw by Mellorin's heartfelt but unskilled ministrations. She sat beside him, eyes clouded by worry and unshed tears, holding his hand in hers. Her hair hung across her face, matted and disheveled from sleep, and flecks of dried blood speckled the tunic and leggings she'd worn ever since collapsing beneath the strain of Kaleb's spells.
"What happened?" she asked him again.
"I… I managed to cast one final spell, to call you to me. I didn't want to put you in danger," he said, as though begging her to understand. "But there was nobody else."
"Who did this to you, Kaleb?"
"Your… Mellorin, I'm sorry. It was your father."
"What?" Her voice had gone suddenly small.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, sitting up. "I never meant it to go like this. You-you were so exhausted, from my divination spells. We thought we'd let you sleep while we explored the town."
"Without me?" She sounded so terribly hurt, it was all he could do not to burst out laughing.
"Nothing was supposed to happen, Mellorin. We just wanted to get the lay of the land, see if we could figure out where he was staying, who might be with him. The idea was to learn everything we could, then come back and make our plans.
"But… Your uncle."
She nodded her understanding. "He wouldn't wait."
"He was like a wild animal. As soon as we spotted your father, that was it. I should have known better, should never have let him come…"
"It's all right," she told him softly-and then the implications finally struck home. "Where is Jassion?"
"Gone." Kaleb looked deep into her eyes. "He went with them. They must have done something to him; he wasn't himself." Carefully, remembering to limp, he rose and moved past her, toward the door. He bent with an audible grunt to lift Talon, extended it hilt-first toward the hesitant young woman.
"No, I couldn't…"
"You can give it back to him, if you feel the need, once we've freed him. But it's just the two of us now, Mellorin. And we're stronger with it."
Trembling fingers closed about the hilt, and the Kholben Shiar shifted, folding in on itself. In seconds Mellorin held a brutal, thick-bladed knife with a wide guard, a weapon equally suited for parrying a larger blade or gutting an unsuspecting foe. A street fighter's weapon.
"I guess the formal training didn't take," he joked with a wince.
For several heartbeats she examined the blade, and then resolutely placed it on the floor beside her and stepped forward to take his hands, guiding him back to bed. Allowing her to seat him, he gazed up at her.
"Mellorin…" He paused, cleared his throat. "If this is too much, if you want to give up, I couldn't blame-"
"Hush." She placed a finger against his lips. "I won't leave you to do this alone, not now."