Into the Dark Lands (26 page)

The Servant's face flickered spasmodically—an expression that looked suspiciously like laughter deprived of sound.

“Oh, really? You wish to give the blood of a Lernari to our God? I think it would be unpalatable, at best.”

“That is not for you to decide; I am the high priest here, and the decision is mine alone.”

“Dear Talon,” the Servant said, rising from his seat, “you and your minions would not be here at all if I had not chosen to intervene. Do not make me regret the generosity of that decision.”

With two long strides he bridged the gap between himself and the Karnar. Erin noted that his feet never touched the ground.
“If you were too careless to ward yourself against the Sarillorn's strike, that is your problem. It changes nothing, not even my opinion of you.”

Talon was silent for a few minutes. When he spoke again, his voice was smooth and even. “Lord Stefanos, let me make it clear that the Malanthi value and respect the abilities that you have proven here; in no way do I wish to suggest otherwise. But this woman has proven herself in every way our enemy, and as she has demonstrated, she still has power here. I believe it would be expedient to dispatch her immediately.”

With equal smoothness the Servant replied, “And I do not. I did not bring her back for your amusement, but for my own.”

“Nevertheless, Lord, I must do as—” The words were cut off as the Servant leaned forward and casually grabbed the collars of the priest's robe. With contemptuous ease he lifted Talon off the ground and let him dangle there.

“Half blood, you will do nothing.” The mockery was gone from his voice. “This night's effort has cost me much that I will have to spend the time to replenish. Another word from you, and you will be my first.” He jerked his arm and threw the man aside without further comment. Then he walked quietly to where Erin crouched.

She felt his shadow spread across her upturned face and knew the meaning of the word
enemy
more clearly than she ever had before. The hair on the back of her neck rose as she met the red flash of his eyes. If the Lady had eyes of emerald, this Servant's were living ruby. It surprised her; she thought they should be cold.

He held out a hand, which also surprised her; it was almost human in appearance, but longer and finer. She ignored it and rose to face him. The Karnar had named him Lord Stefanos, and she knew the name: He was First of the Twelve of the Enemy, with a power equaled only by the Lady's. There was death here.

At last, there was a death.

“You did very well, Sarillorn. Very well indeed. Walk with me.”

This time she did as she was bidden, the shock of his shadow surrounding her. So great was his power that she hardly noticed his height—it was too, too insubstantial.

“You do not cooperate here,” she noted.

He didn't bother to look at the high priest, who was already rising from the blackened earth.

“No.” He stopped in front of his makeshift throne and smiled. “Perhaps the Lernari have learned to respect their superiors in a way the Malanthi have not. Perhaps not; the light must give way to the darkness, and the beginning to an end. I shall teach you respect of that darkness and that end, Sarillorn.”

“Perhaps not,” she replied, her mimicry soft but evident. “For the darkness gives way to the light; the end to a new beginning.”

He smiled. “Well said. But look around you and look well. For you and your people, dawn is a scant few hours away, but it may as well be centuries. None of you will see it.”

Erin went cold; her muscles clenched tight, stifling breath. Tilting her chin, she said, “No. If our eyes cannot see it, our memories will hold it before you like a shield. We carry the light within us; you may dim it, but you will never destroy it. That is our nature.”

“No, little Sarillorn. That is your nature. And if I gave you all to the Karnar, you know that you alone would prove true to it. I offer you, as proof, the human you have just killed.”

Erin shuddered inwardly, and the Servant sank back into his chair, his fingers forming a steeple beneath his chin.

“But other things interest me; other things motivate me. Do you know,” he said conversationally, “that none of my number has ever devoured one of yours? The Lernari are protected against us in ways that are not easily broken, and they die so quickly. If I had a few days with you, Sarillorn, I would attempt it. And I would succeed.”

She stiffened, waiting for him to finish.

“But such is the nature of time; when I am here it affects me as any mortal. Already your people will be on the move against us—Kandor of Lernan will know I am present, although he will not be in time to move against me if my business here is short.” Leaning forward, he motioned to two soldiers. They quickly separated from the crowd. “Take another. There, the boy. If the mother tries to stop you, hold her and kill the child slowly.”

They nodded curtly and did as he commanded. The woman allowed them to remove her young son from the dubious safety of her arms. He was perhaps five; certainly old enough to know the caution of fear. Although he trembled in the mail of the arms that held him, he made no sound or struggle.

“Very good.” His eyes returned to Erin. “Now, Sarillorn, I have a choice to offer you. You are intelligent; I assume you know what it is.”

She had already turned away from him to stare dully at the boy. They had disarmed her, else she might have considered dealing herself a death-wound. It would not save the villagers, nor would it destroy the Servant—but the Malanthi here would suffer before she died.

“I wish to destroy you, painfully and slowly, in the fashion of my . . . kindred. It has never been done before because my brethren are less subtle than I am known to be; they believe they can beat down the will of Lernari blood by force alone. I am willing to grant you more strength than that during the short term and, as I have already said, I do not have the long term to look forward to where you are concerned.”

Erin looked carefully at the soldiers; their faces were guarded but she could detect the strain beneath their careful neutrality. They were not Swords, then. Her eyes scanned the crowd, squinting in the sparse light. She sent out a hesitant probe—the smallest spark of light—but it failed before it could reach the first rank. The Servant had stopped it.

With a soft smile she turned back to him.

He returned a brittle, edged version of her expression.

“Yes, Sarillorn, your little ploy has incapacitated most of the Malanthi available. I will give you the respect that is your due. I make no attempt to convince you that the human soldiers here would willingly carry out the service of Malthan on so young and so helpless a crowd of civilians.

“But there is still the priest.”

She nodded, waiting.

“For reasons that do not concern you, I wish to deny him that pleasure. Which is a pity—” He stood. “—for that leaves me.”

His smile was wide and genuine; that was the horror of it. “It is the blood of the Sundered that allows the Malanthi to be what they are; to convey the sensations of pain and terror that come from a shattered human mind. Their mortal blood limits them, but even with this limitation they are easily up to their work.

“Can you bear to imagine what I can do? I am the eldest of my kind; no mortal taint inhibits me.” He gestured, beckoning the guards. They carried the child to him. Gingerly he encircled the boy with his arms.

“Can you?” His arms tightened around a sturdy linen smock. The child stiffened, his pupils dilating. A low, strangled moan slid out of his mouth, and he slumped back to rest against the
shadow. The Servant casually let the child fall to the ground, his eyes never leaving his true prey.

Erin started forward, reaching for the child. No one interfered as her hands sought and found his skin. She went outward, catching the injuries inflicted by the nightwalker's embrace. To her great relief they were only physical; a few ribs were snapped but had not pierced the lungs. She soothed the confusion in the boy's half-conscious mind as she dulled his pain. Then, although she knew it would make no difference in the end, she healed the cracks in the ribs themselves.

“As you see, I can choose to be merciful. I seldom do so without good reason.”

Erin walked quietly past him. He made no move to stop her. With quick, flat steps she approached the boy's mother.

“Here,” she said, handing the child over with great care. “Take him. Hold him carefully.” Without another word she turned back to the Servant.

He watched her as she approached, aware of the odd light that suddenly glinted in her eyes. She stared at him as if seeing him for the first time.

“Your decision?”

She held out a hand and flinched as he took it. And she gazed down at the red lines of it, a pale fascination in her eyes. “I can give you what you wish for—but not ‘without good reason.' ” Her imitation was bitter and failed on the last word. “If my people are to perish at your hands or the hands of the Karnar, there is no reason to submit to you.”

“You will not be forced to observe it.”

“Don't insult me. If you think that squeamishness is the driving force behind the Lernari, you're wrong.”

“Very well. Guards—”

“And if you kill or injure another one of my people, I swear blood-oath that you will never accomplish your desire. Not with me.”

“Ah. Very good. Very, very good.” He made a gesture of dismissal with his left hand. Lazily he said, “If I promise that your people will receive a clean death—”

She shook her head. “I want their freedom.”

He darkened slightly. “Sarillorn, what I do, I do for amusement only. Insolence never amuses me.”

In a low voice she said, “Let them go. Without my protection they have little chance against your forces—but it is that chance alone that I will bargain for.”

“And if I give you my word?” He laughed. “What is the worth of the word of a Servant of Malthan?”

“Maybe nothing.

“Indeed. And for risk of that you give the word of a Sarillorn of Elliath.” His hand tightened around hers, cutting off her circulation. His robes swirled in the windless night, lapping at her ankles. “I accept.”

She pulled away, her free hand tracing the least of the wards. “My people first.”

He laughed openly. “It has been a long time since I have encountered one of your number. Too long, perhaps.” He turned to the men that ringed the square. “Release them.”

A look of confusion washed across the ranks like a wave, but no one put this into words. Moving forward, they surrounded the villagers and began to push them out. Erin thought she could see one or two of the soldiers sigh with relief, and it warmed her a little.

“Gently.”

Only one of the villagers stopped to look back. He was an older man wearing a makeshift bandage that obscured a third of his face—the schoolmaster, Dorcas. His familiar, bloused shirt was stained red and plastered against his chest. “Sarillorn, we—”

“You must leave. Remember your vows of trust and faith. Let me invoke them now; one life is in the balance against many.” She could hear the tremor of fear and hope in his voice, but knew that his concern transcended them. The knowledge of what it must have cost him to turn back warmed all of her; she accepted it as the tribute it was. In a quiet voice, she said, “Thank you.”

He nodded gruffly and began to move along with the rest of the people, her people. They were taken by the night.

And Erin was alone with death. She felt an odd sort of peace envelop her fully as she stared at the Servant. She watched, half adult and half the child that she had been the night her mother died. Her memories blurred, spilling forth into the imperative of now.

My word.
She faced the Servant, her expression remote.
Lernan, help me prove true to it.
There were ways to distance oneself from pain. She could see Telvar, or the ghost of Telvar, instructing her yet again in their uses. She could remember the struggle to call them forth in his drill circle. She touched on them briefly, then cast them aside; their power was derived from
the complexity of her blood, so the use of them would break her vow.

He brought his hands up to either side of her face, and she watched him, mesmerized. Contact. She cried out at the shock of it. Her hands shot up and she forced them down. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Do it quickly.”

“That, Sarillorn, was no part of our bargain.” His fingers slid across her cheek, peeling it open. When she jerked back and the sensation vanished, she knew it for a game. Flinching, she forced herself to be still.

This, this was the death that she had earned for herself nearly thirteen years ago.

The game stopped; the pain began in earnest.

He closed his eyes and lifted his head to savor this dark communion. His smile grew, transforming the lines of his face, pulling the corners of his mouth over sharp, angular teeth. For a moment the lines of his face flickered in shadow; half the human he chose to appear, and half the Servant he was.

Yes. Take my lifeblood. Take it, freely offered, freely given.
She called no God; her word—and her desire—prevented it. But she was dying.
Take it.

He tried, but more than her life passed into his hands. Something strange, something new, something brilliant; it was pure and clean. A soft glow, a hard light—it somehow embodied the essence of the unknown. It overwhelmed him with the strangeness of its taste and texture; he pulled it in as quickly as it was offered, but instead of dimming, it grew stronger, brighter, hovering above the shell of the life that was ebbing.