"Well," Corvis said dully. "Congratulations on your success."
Mavere turned away, and again there was silence.
"We should continue," Nenavar said finally. "We're almost ready." Again he began bustling about, while the trio on the stairs descended into the cellar proper.
"What exactly are we doing, Rebaine?" Jassion demanded.
"A banishing incantation. An exorcism, if you prefer. Nenavar called Khanda, so Nenavar is best suited to send him back. It's no easy spell, though."
"We can't just kill the old man? Isn't that what you did with Audriss, to banish Maukra and Mimgol?"
"I never did learn if it was killing Audriss or burning the book, actually," Corvis corrected. "But no, not all summoning incantations work that way. This one doesn't, it appears."
"Too bad. It would've made things much simpler."
Corvis nodded his agreement. Only then did they glance at each other, horrified to realize how alike they were thinking. Jassion scowled and moved across the room.
"All right," Nenavar said, standing as straight as his aged back would permit, "I need everyone to move away from the sigil, and to keep silent. Once I've begun, I can afford no-"
Corvis recognized the sound from above, the hideous shrieking of displaced air, but the wide-open cellar offered nowhere to hide. Portions of the ceiling burst in a rain of stone as Khanda's pillar of eldritch force slammed into the earth, hurling people around the chamber, dolls caught up in a child's tantrum. Even as he smashed into the far wall, his head ringing, his lungs burning as the breath rushed from them, Corvis could not help but note that neither Nenavar himself, nor the arcane runes upon the floor, were touched.
The old wizard raised his hands, seeking the source of the attack. "Come out, Khanda!" he cried. "You know you cannot harm me!" He clenched a fist in anger, and from somewhere in the broken house above, a voice shrieked in agony.
But Corvis saw, too, a dark-clad figure slipping through the ruins of the cellar, concealed from the others by piles of rubble-a figure that was most assuredly not Khanda.
"Mellorin!" He tried to shout, but his words emerged in only a ragged wheeze. "Mellorin, no! You don't know what he is! You don't-"
For an instant she rounded on him, her eyes blazing. "I know exactly who he is! And I know who you are, Father! I'm just glad I'm here to see you get some sliver of what you deserve."
"No, please…"
But she was already moving. Nenavar had only just heard something, only begun to look behind, when she whipped the pommel of a heavy dagger across the back of his head, watched as he tumbled senseless to the debris-strewn floor.
Corvis struggled halfway to his feet, reaching out imploringly for his daughter, when his ears were assaulted by the shriek of another spell from above. He saw only an instant of the second detonation before he tumbled, limp and senseless, to the far corner.
Chapter Twenty-three
ONCE AGAIN, AWARENESS RETURNED to Corvis's body at a slow creep, accompanied by the sharp pain of rocks splayed beneath him and the throbbing ache of bruised, maybe broken, limbs. Despite that pain, his mouth curled in a faint smile. Any human opponent with a shred of sanity would have slain him while he lay helpless, but for once, Khanda's hellish nature was working for them. So deep did the demon's innate cruelty run, he had to keep Corvis alive as witness to his ultimate triumph.
Of course, had Khanda known that the old warlord would not long remain as weak as he appeared, he might have acted differently.
Around him, Corvis heard the faint patter of falling dust and settling stones, along with an occasional whimper or moan, and knew he must not have been unconscious long. He heard, as well, Khanda's voice, echoing from all sides. It took him a few moments to recognize, with a dull but growing horror, the familiar syllables.
He struggled to focus, to spur his sluggish thoughts into motion. The demon must have been inside his head once more, extracting the last bits of Selakrian's spell, and Corvis was pathetically grateful that he'd been oblivious during this second violation.
For the decay in his mind, there was little to be done, but his physical hurts could yet be assuaged. Corvis forced his breathing to remain steady as the worst of the pains faded-not entirely or even substantially, but enough to become tolerable. His lips twitched in relief, and he wondered what his companions must be thinking as they felt the same healing touch.
Opening his eyes, he could see clearly into the manor's upper levels. Bits of rock trickled down from what remained of the ceiling, and the cellar's stone floor, except for the area circumscribed by the sigil, had fared little better. Great chunks of it were shattered or missing, revealing pits of clay or soil below, filling the air with a rich, earthen scent.
And there, across the room…
Oh, gods. I'm so sorry, I never wanted any of this life to touch yours…
She stood straight, her dark hair plastered to the sides of her face with a light sheen of sweat. In each hand she held a brutal, heavy-bladed dagger, one of which was covered in a spidery array of subtly shifting runes. Corvis couldn't help but wonder, albeit briefly, if anyone had ever before, in all recorded history, wielded two of the Kholben Shiar at once.
She'd grown, these past years, into a striking young woman. He saw a touch of his own craggy features, softened and smoothed by her mother's influence. Yet in her eyes he saw neither Tyannon's gentle strength nor his own burning obsession but something else entirely, a deep well of intensity whose nature he could not interpret-in part because it was largely hidden behind a growing spark of fearful confusion as her world spiraled out of control.
And Corvis Rebaine realized, with a muffled sob, that he didn't know his own daughter well enough to know if he should be proud of her-but he knew, beyond the sharpest sliver of doubt, that he could be.
/Ah, there you are, old boy! I was afraid you were going to miss the big finish./
It sounded in his mind and soul rather than his ears, just as it had so many years before. He could actually feel his thoughts recoiling from that unholy intrusion like the curling edge of burning parchment. Groaning with only half-feigned effort, Corvis craned around further to glare at the figures beside his apprehensive daughter.
An unconscious Nenavar, bloody head lolling limply on his neck, sat awkwardly before Khanda, propped up by one of the demon's hands. Khanda himself, still wearing Kaleb's shape, knelt upon the floor, chanting Selakrian's invocation without interruption even as his words resounded in Corvis's thoughts.
/Did you know,/ Khanda asked conversationally as the incantation progressed, /that it was Nenavar who helped Audriss awaken Pekatherosh? Small world, isn't it? You ought to be standing in line to kill the old stick, not working with him./
Corvis mumbled something, spat out a mouthful of dirt and sticky, half-dried blood.
/Where is old Pekky, anyway? You didn't send him back to hell-I was waiting-and I know you didn't free him from that silly little jewel./
"Safe," Corvis rasped.
Silence for a moment, and then Khanda began to laugh uproariously-mostly in Corvis's head, but even his physical body convulsed, his mouth bending around a smile that almost, almost mangled the next syllables of the spell.
/Oh, Corvis, you really never change, do you? You stuck him back in the cave on Mount Molleya, didn't you? "Just in case," yes?/
"It held you well enough all those years," Corvis said with a painful shrug.
/So it did, so it did./
Far more quietly, gathering all that remained of his battered will to ensure that none of his words reached Khanda's awareness, Corvis whispered, "Can you do it?"