“I could take your life.”
Ceredon threw his head back and laughed. It took a great amount of effort to do so.
“A life without freedom is no life at all,” he said. “There are a great many things worse than death.”
“And I am one of them,” the beast snarled.
“So I have heard.”
The demon in the Clovis suit plunged its hand through the bars, fingers wrapping tightly around Ceredon’s tunic. The beast yanked him so hard that his forehead smacked against the iron, bringing stars to his vision. Still, he refused to show his terror.
“You will fear Darakken,” the beast said.
“I will not.”
It glanced down at itself. “This body is not menacing enough?” it said.
“That is part of it.”
The meaty fingers released him, and Ceredon dropped back down onto the balls of his feet, rubbing the lump that was rapidly growing above his left eye. It was a wholly casual action, and Darakken’s head tilted to the side, those glowing red eyes studying him as if he were some puzzle to be solved. The thing whirled around suddenly and snatched the smaller satchel off the floor. It tore apart the twine binding it, yanked a large tome from within, and held it up for Ceredon’s inspection. It was a large book, nearly a foot and a half tall and a foot wide. Strangely, its leather cover was adorned with the three stars symbolizing the cooperation of the three gods of Dezrel.
“This vessel,” Darakken said, “is a prison.”
“The body of the human Crestwell?”
The beast nodded. “A weak vessel.” The thing laughed, revealing those sharp teeth once more. “It might have been forged by the hands of the gods themselves, but it was still a slave to human needs and despair. And just like all mortal beings, when its soul was wrapped in that despair, it ebbed away, leaving this body to Darakken and Darakken alone.”
“What brought about this despair?”
“News from afar,” the beast said. “An unexpected gift from Darakken’s creator.”
Ceredon drew back, squinting. He recalled the young human Boris Morneau, the newcomer to Dezerea who had assisted him on his quest for water.
“The soldier,” he whispered. “The one with the scar beneath his eye.”
“Yes. A useful mortal, that one.”
“What did he bring you?”
“News of the death of the vessel’s wife. News that Karak, a fraction of the mighty Kaurthulos, changed his mind. And this.” Darakken lifted the book even higher.
“What is it?”
“The journal of the one who swallowed my brother.”
He leaned forward, staring at the book, but the beast yanked it away quickly, as if Ceredon might try to reach through the bars and snatch the book from it.
“It is mostly useless, save for a few wondrous pages. But those pages hold the key to my rebirth.”
“Rebirth?” asked Ceredon, dreading what it might mean.
The beast inclined its head, staring at him from beneath its brow.
“The means to rebuild my true form.”
Ceredon pursed his lips and fell back a step. It was an involuntary motion, but one that did not go unnoticed. The beast chuckled then, issuing coughlike fits of laughter that flung pink spittle from its almost human maw.
“So you do fear me,” the demon said.
Ceredon gathered himself, shook his head, and defiantly stepped toward it once more. “I do not, and I do not fear death. Come and cut me down. End this game.”
The beast seemed uncertain, its fingers flexing. For a moment, Ceredon thought it looked as if Darakken were afraid of him.
“No,” the demon finally said in a growl. “You must live, elf. You must watch as Darakken leads your people into war, as their lifeblood is spilled, and you must look on in horror as I use that blood to bring the order of Karak to this land. You must watch”-the glow of its eyes intensified, appearing more hopeful than confident-“and you must understand.”
“And if I do not?”
The beast tucked the journal beneath its arm and slammed a fist into the bars. Anger washed away the beast’s doubt. “You elves are not timeless, but your lives are long. I will have plenty of time to teach you the glory of dread. Until then, make peace with your father…or what is left of him.” The beast licked its fingers and grinned wickedly. “The rest of him…was delicious.”
The creature pivoted on its heels and lurched away. The heavy door to the dungeon slammed a few moments later. Ceredon closed his eyes, said another prayer to Celestia, and then sat down, cross-legged, on the floor. When he opened his eyes he stared directly at the four heads, focusing on his father’s in particular. A chill worked its way up his spine.
“Orden Thyne, Phyrra Thyne, Tantric Thane, Ruven Sinistel,” he whispered in reverence. “For you, and with Celestia in my heart, I will show no fear, no matter what may come.…”
CHAPTER 43
The raft system that led over the relatively calm waters of the Corinth River was intact. Aully stood on the bank and looked around nervously. There had been no signs of danger in their journey to the edge of Stonewood: no warnings, no traps, no eyes spying on them from the treetops. In fact, to Aully it seemed suspicious because of its normalcy, for the most dangerous monsters lurked in the quiet.
The Corinth was a relatively slender river, only three hundred feet across at its widest. The raft system had been built where it was a mere sixty feet across. Three lengths of thick rope were secured to the trees on either side of the river, one running the length of the span, five feet off the water, the other two fastened to either side of the rickety raft. All one had to do was stand on that raft and use the upper rope to guide it across. Not that the system was necessary under normal circumstances: the Corinth possessed a gentle current that lent itself to swimming. Aully herself had crossed the river many times that way. Yet when she glanced at her people, all of whom were carrying weapons from the cache found along the coast of Ang, she was grateful for the alternate mode of transportation.
“If we aren’t ready now, we never will be,” Lady Audrianna said after Aaromor used the pulley system to lug the raft from the other side of the river. The Lady of Stonewood stepped onto it without another word.
It took ten trips to convey all thirty-two of them to the other side, as the raft could only transport three at once. Aully and Kindren went last with Noni. “For protection,” Aaromar told them. Should an ambush await on the other side, the two youngsters would have the opportunity to flee back into the giant’s land. “Our future lives and dies with you.”
It was a responsibility Aully wasn’t sure she wanted.
When they stepped off the wobbling raft and onto dry land once more, Aully turned to look behind her. The desert and grasslands of Ker were but memories now, the sight of them blocked by the massive trees of Stonewood Forest. She offered a silent prayer to her goddess, and was answered by the hypnotic tweeting of songbirds, a morose sound that did not fill her heart with hope.
Lady Audrianna guided her people through the woods, weaving an indirect path toward their home. The prince and princess were placed in the middle of the party for protection, their cohorts creating a wall of flesh around them. Aully found it more than a little irritating, as her short stature meant that her view was blocked on all sides. The only thing she could see clearly was Kindren, who held her hand as they walked. She kept her eyes on him, drinking in the wonder of his beauty. His devotion to her shone in his eyes whenever he gazed down at her, and she allowed his love to wrap her in a warm bubble.
They walked for an hour without running into any elves. The sun was bright in the sky, sending shafts of illumination through the dense canopy; the birds sang; the forest critters scurried through the underbrush, the larger predators trampling after them. Still, there was not a single familiar face to be seen.