[Lanen Kaelar 03] - Redeeming the Lost (44 page)

On the instant, the air was black with legions
of the Rakshasa. I could barely see the Kantri for all the demons. There must
have been twenty to every one of the Kantrishakrim.

These were not the Rikti, who could be
dispelled by the touch of the Kantri’s breath of Fire: these were the Rakshasa,
the mirror image of the Kantri in creation, shaped roughly like winged Gedri
and only slightly larger than humans. Although Kantri fire can wound them, they
are much harder to kill, and although they are much smaller and do not fly as
swiftly as the Kantri, they are more manoeuvrable. The Rakshasa breathe
balefire as well, the only fire aside from molten stone that can wound the
Kantri.

There were so many of them, and the Kantri so
few.

For all that they were beset on every side,
however, a good quarter of the Kantrishakrim would not leave off harrying the
Demonlord. They flamed and fought the Rakshasa even as they pursued or enticed
the Black Dragon, flying like mad things to avoid its deadly fire, those who
still had them throwing those great stones at it whenever they could to try to
force it to ground, or better yet to douse it once more in the deep waters of
the lake.

I saw in that brief time more carnage than I
could bear. The Kantri, those wise, ancient creatures, attacked from all
directions by evil incarnate, fighting back with tooth and claw and the Fire
that is sacred to them. So many wounded, so much of blood and agony on both
sides. I have never heard that the Rakshasa ever wanted, truly, to take over
the world, except in old legends. I think they were forced to it by Berys. If
that was the case, every drop of blood, Rakshi and Kantri, was on his soul.

And suddenly there was a great shout and a
second deep splash and boom, a second great cloud of steam. The Restored, ted
by Naikenna, had managed even in the midst of battle so to harry and anger the
Demonlord that it had flown out over the lake once more. I saw in the instant I
turned to look that some five or six of the Kantri had thrown themselves on the
thing and forced it down. I could hear their agony, but there was triumph there
also, and a fleeting sense of peace when they chose the Swift Death once the beast
was under the surface of the lake.

Berys called out something in a sibilant
speech, and a group of the Raksha came for me.

“Shikrar, swiftly!” I cried, in truespeech—and
aloud. Would to heaven I had held my tongue. Would to heaven my tongue had
withered in my mouth ere I had spoken.

Shikrar arrived, covered in wounds, and with
fang and talon he bit and crashed the Rakshasa who threatened us, ignoring the
fresh cuts they inflicted on him. He spat, when he was done, and turning to
Varien said, “It tastes worse even than you remember.” Varien grinned up at
him.

Then to my astonishment, Berys spoke. He had
been watching the battle with delight, distracted perhaps, or perhaps simply
keeping out of the way of Varien, Jamie, and Rella. That kind of healing must wear
him out eventually, and they all three would cheerfully kill him again and
again until it worked.

“You are Shikrar?” he said, looking
desperately pleased with himself.

“I am, Rakshadakh,” growled Shikrar, drawing
back his head to strike.

“No,” said Berys smugly. ‘The true name is
binding, knowing the true name is power over the named, truth in essence holds
the soul and thus I bind you to my will. You are Hadretikantishikrar, and you
will be still!” Berys cried.

Shikrar froze. He was screaming in truespeech,
he was fighting with his entire being, but for once in his life Berys spoke
truth. The true name is the essence of the soul. He who knows the true name has
a terrible power over the named. True names are kept secret, told only to a
soulfriend or a loved one.

Marik had overheard Shikrar’s true name when
Varien bespoke Shikrar in the Language of Truth. If Shikrar and Akor had not
forced open Marik’s mind out on the Dragon Isle, Marik would not have been able
to hear their truespeech to report to Berys. If Marik had not been trying to
kill them both, they would never have done such a thing. If, if, if…

Berys grinned. “How delightful,” he said,
seeing his foe immobile. With a casual gesture, he called a hundred of his
demons down to him and threw them at Shikrar.

Varien screamed, “NO!” and ran towards Berys,
but there were too many demons in the way. Varien, my beloved, fought like a
madman, but he made little headway. Too many demons. Not enough time.

“IDAI! KEDRA! SHIKRAR NEEDS YOU NOW!” I
screamed in truespeech, kicking myself that I had not called before, putting
all my horror into my mind’s voice, and even I could hear the un-derthought
that ran through my call. “Help help help he’s held by his true name Berys has
him quickly quickly they’ll kill him help help help!”

They flew, desperate, fury and terror driving
every stroke of their wings. Time seemed to slow as I watched them approaching
from two different directions. Too far away. Too slow.

Too late.

My breath stopped as I looked upon Shikrar
held helpless. No, it can’t be—Goddess, help us—O ye Winds, blow that word back
into Berys’s mouth and let him choke on it, let it not have been spoken, oh
no,oh no…

The demons tore Shikrar’s flesh with their
teeth and with their claws and he could not fight back. He could not even cry
out in pain. When they broke his wings, laughing, I heard his mind’s scream, a
sound that shook my bones to the marrow and drew an answering scream from my
own throat. I swear that sound will haunt me every day of my life.

At the last instant, just before Idai and
Keclra arrived, they broke his neck I heard it go. My knees would no longer
hold me up, and I landed hard on broken stone, gasping for air, as if I could
breathe for Shikrar. My throat ached as if some great hand choked me.

Shikrar collapsed. Berys and the demons
cackled, and then Berys said, “Enough of pleasure. Bring me the girl.”

It was harder than I thought.

I reached out in all my pride and power to
destroy the Prince of the Sixth Hell and found myself somewhere else entirely.
I was thirteen years old and it was summer. My friend Jon and I were wrestling,
as was our wont. I had him in a lock and had started to squeeze.

“Ow, Vil, too tight!” he cried. “Let go!”

“You’re such a baby, Jon.” I laughed,
squeezing tighter. He started to choke. Suddenly I realised that I was grown
furious with his weakness and had let go of my self-control. To my horror, I
was on the very point of killing him before I forced myself to release him. “Jon,
no, I’m sorry,” I began, and the world shifted again. The demon prince laughed.

“Sssuch a fool you are,” it hissed.

I threw my power at it again and found my
hands clasped around Aral’s throat. She was beating at my arms and kicking my
legs. I squeezed tighter, and suddenly found myself unable to move. My hands
were forced apart and Aral dropped back, her hands protecting her neck. She
released me.

“Damn it, Vil!” she cried. “What’s wrong with
you!”

“Where are you from, Aral?” I shouted,
convinced that she was some phantom of the demon’s. “Where were you born?”

“Berun, you idiot,” she snapped. “What in all
the Hells is up with you? You let it go and went for me!” She pointed up to the
demon prince, who was laughing again. Or still.

Once more I sent fire to envelop it, and this
time there was a great fight. I closed my eyes and turned away that I might not
be blinded, but when next I opened my eyes, I lay in bed. Clean, crisp linen
sheets, gentle sunlight at the window filtering through the young spring leaves
of a rowan tree.

“Welcome back, Vilkas. You had us worried,”
said Magistra Erthik. She smiled, the crooked smile she saved for those moments
when she was feeling most maternal. “I am glad you have come back to us. I’d
rather not lose my best pupil just yet.”

I sat up in the bed. I was in the infirmary at
Verfaren. Magistra Erthik was alive.

“Magistra?” I asked, quietly. My throat began
to close but I fought it. “What happened? Where is the demon prince?”

“Gone with your waking, young man, and not
before time. You’ve been feverish for nearly a month.” She reached out and
touched my forehead. “It has truly broken at last. Thank the Goddess.”

“A dream, was it?” I asked suspiciously. “What
of Aral?”

“Was that someone else in your dream?”
Magistra Erthik asked, politely curious.

“Stupid,” I said. I called on the Goddess and
sent my corona to cover Magistra Erthik, who screamed and vanished. I was back
on the hillside above Lake Gand, with the demon prince almost near enough to
touch. I backed away.

“Vil, what’s wrong?” asked Aral frantically. “I
thought—l felt you change, I know you aren’t restricted any longer. What are
you waiting for?”

“It’s playing with my mind, Aral,” I said
quietly. “Changing time, changing appearances. Its illusions are horribly real.
How shall I know truth when I see it?”

“As you ever have, Vilkas,” she said, and her
voice had taken on the strange cadence it sometimes did when she was speaking
not entirely for herself. ‘Trust those who love you. Here. She wants to help.
We both do.”

And with that, Aral put the soulgem of
Loriakeris into my right hand.

It was astounding. No wonder the Kantri are so
good against the demons. I could see the demon prince twisting reality,
changing shape, trying to govern my mind and make me drop my guard or injure
myself or Aral. The touch of that ancient mind, Loriakeris of the Kantri,
granted me for that brief time the vision of the Kantri and acted as a talisman
of truth.

Or perhaps it was the touch of Aral’s hand and
soul.

I bowed my head briefly, committing myself to
the Lady, and lifted my hand. Blue flame mixed with red surrounded the demon
prince and swiftly constricted about it. Its screams, I am ashamed to say, were
music to me. I squeezed harder. I kept expecting it to dissipate, but Berys
must have performed quite a spell. It died the True Death.

In my defence, once I realised that it was not
going to disappear back to its Hell I killed it swiftly. Even demons require
some mercy, after all. It is their nature to bargain and they are forced to
obey their master’s commands.

It is people who deserve no mercy. They can
choose, after all.

I turned to find Berys advancing swiftly on
Lanen, a company of Rakshasa with bloody claws before him. A sight that would
have moved me to frustrated terror such a short time ago. I raised my hand and
Lanen was shielded from their attack.

“Take him first!” cried Berys, gesturing, and
a score of demons flew at me, roaring, fanged mouths agape, talons raised to
rake and rend.

I blessed them in the Lady’s name and
destroyed them all with Her power, flowing from me as light from the sun. It
was—trivial. Berys looked on impassively, as if he were judging me.

“Berys,” I said quietly, saluting one about to
die.

“You’re that pup Vilkas,” he said calmly,
drawing his power around him. The blue of the Healer’s aura was gone entirely;
that which surrounded him now was a black cloud, through which he could barely
be seen. “You should have taken the horses. You could have been imprisoned and
died with all your friends back in Verfaren.”

“I have sworn myself your enemy,” I said. In
the full flow of my power, looking at him was like looking at a patch of
red-shot darkness distorting the world. “For all the evil you have loosed upon
the world, for all the murders, for all the corruption of that which was
worthy, death is too small a price.”

“Then you can pay it,” he said, and sent the
full brunt of his malice against me, to sear my soul and rend my body.

I was surprised at his strength, but not
nearly as surprised as he was at mine.

For that first moment it was a battle of raw
power against raw power. The battle of a bully grown proud, believing that he
possesses the greatest strength, striking at one he knows cannot fight back.
The battle of a coward. He expected me to fall before him, helpless. He
expected me to die.

‘Tour pride has ever been your weakness,” I
said quietly, as I deflected his strike. It was harder to do than I had
thought. Perhaps my own power was not infinite.

As long as it was greater than his, I was not
concerned.

I joined my mind to Shikrar’s from the moment
his true name was used against him. There were no words left to say between us,
but I was there with him for every breath. He was never alone.

I fought beside Maran, Rella, and Jamie to
keep Berys away from Lanen as Idai arrived, flaming Rakshasa as she came, to
land beside the broken body of Shikrar. Kedra was behind her by only a wingtip.
Their arrival worried Berys enough that, for the moment, he backed off. He left
his Rakshasa to continue the fight; Idai swiftly despatched a score or more of
them while Kedra moved carefully to stand beside his father.