Revelation (48 page)

“A demon legion . . . thousands . . .” Enough to drive a whole city or a whole race into madness at once. Impossible. Inconceivable. My mind balked and gaped—aghast at such a vision. No words could possibly address it.

“Yes, I see you understand. She would do everything in her power to stop it. Unfortunately, the gateway to Kir’Navarrin lies in our world, in a wild place—or at least it was wild when I last knew of it—in southwestern Manganar, just over our border. A ruin—gods’ teeth it does fit with what you’ve said—the Place of the Pillars it’s called. But no matter where. Because the demons are the only ones that know of Kir’Navarrin and its magics, a demon must open the way. And because the gateway exists in the physical world, the demon needs a human hand to open it—one with a great deal of melydda behind it, a powerful sorcerer joined with one of their own. They tried for a hundred years to persuade me to do it, but I wouldn’t. And so they’ve planned to find some other Ezzarian sorcerer and take him by force as they make their way to the portal.”

“But why . . . if they could force you, why didn’t they?”

“Because they said”—for just a moment Merryt raised his maimed fist in front of his face—“because the lady would not allow it. She convinced the others I was not worthy . . . because I saw her true face when they were at their feeding. She could not forgive me for that, so she had me—” He took a deep breath and smiled tightly, rubbing his stumps again. “Well, my melydda serves me for little but magician’s tricks anymore, and it would do nothing for them. But you . . . you’ve a great deal of melydda, so I’ve heard. Exceptional. It sounds as if someone thinks to use you and has drawn you here for that purpose. But first, before they attempt the gateway, they plan to destroy the Ezzarians.”

Merryt’s story was jumbled, clearly skewed with his own anger and resentment. He did not like to be found wanting, even by a demon who wished to possess his soul. But everything he said fit with what I had heard from Denas—Denas, who was planning to lead “the great venture.”

“Why now?” I said. “Why haven’t they done this before? There have been other Wardens, powerful enough surely. . . .” But perhaps not so easily manipulated as one who had been a slave, whose pride had set himself up as the judge of law and tradition, who had teetered on the verge of corruption.

“For a long time the Rudai held back. They’re happy enough here and had no inclination to risk losing it all again. But the Gastai keep them all fed, and the Gastai are going mad, thanks to our war. The day is coming soon when the Gastai will be uncontrollable. Then who will feed them? The Rudai are next in line to go hunting. They don’t like that idea and have come willing to the venture at last. The only thing that’s hindering them is the Nevai’s everlasting bickering over who’s to command the legion. For you killed the Naghidda, and, of course, this was all his idea to begin with. All the most powerful Nevai have been killing each other off until you’d think there’d be none of them to fight.”

“We’ve got to stop it, Merryt.” I knew it as I knew my own name. I could see it so clearly . . .

. . .
mounted demons riding across the luminescent bridge into the storm that raged outside the castle walls. The terror waiting for them . . . the one in black and silver . . . ready to lead them to destroy Ezzaria. And at the edge of the trees stood Ysanne and Catrin and young Drych and Tegyr, and behind them in the moon-cast shadows the remnants of my people . . .

. . . but not me. I would not be there to defend them, and none of them would know the truth. “It will destroy all of us,” I said, “Ezzarians and demons together—and all hope of righting this great wrong that was done. We’ve got to warn Ezzaria, and to find a way to convince them all—both sides—that it doesn’t have to be this way. There must be another answer.”

“A novel idea to be sure. I think the Gastai addled your head.” The Ezzarian sighed and poured wine from a crystal carafe into two silver cups and shoved one of them into my hand. “As to warning the Ezzarians, it’s not going to happen unless one of us can get out of this place. Maybe you’ll be more fortunate in finding a way out than I’ve been. As to convincing . . . you’ve heard Denas and his like speaking of ylad. Not exactly begging to get back into the family. And I can imagine what my Ezzarian elders would have said if I had tried to tell them that our war against the demons was self-murder. I would have vanished from their sight before I had the words out.”

So was this invasion the key to my dream? Had Vyx been trying to warn me of the demon plot? It would explain why he had made no public acknowledgment of our meeting, no advance of friendship. If he was trying to undermine the demons’ venture, he could not dare reveal what he had done. And yet that explanation seemed too simple. The terror of the dream was all-encompassing, devouring darkness . . . led by a being magnificent in power. “Merryt, what do you know of the place called Tyrrad Nor?”

“The Last Fortress? There’s naught to know. Rumors from the dark times. Nothing more,” said Merryt, leaning back on his cushions and propping his feet on a flat box. The wine cup held in his right hand was quivering ever so slightly. “There’s not any of the devils can say what gives them the frights. Just ask them about it. You’ll see. If it’s something so wicked, you’d think one of them would remember . . . if the place even exists. Think on it, lad. If there were some danger locked up in Kir’Navarrin, then why would they be so anxious to go back?”

If Raddoman was to be believed, the rai-kirah had no choice in the matter. It was go back or become like those in the pits. Risk the unknown danger to prevent the known. But what was the true risk? “It was fear that caused us to split ourselves apart a thousand years ago. We need to know—”

Merryt slammed his cup on the table. “I’ll vow it matters not a whit what happened a thousand years ago. All that matters is what happens next . . . in the real world, where there are Wardens and Aifes and Searchers and Comforters who won’t let these bastard demons possess anyone who takes their fancy—much less a host of thousands. That’s where the battle will be won or lost. You need to get your head out of the past, lad. The devils plan to destroy us, and if we fall, havoc will rule. No phantom in any fortress can do worse than that.”

He was right. The invasion was the immediate danger, worse than he knew. Neither Merryt nor the demons understood how few of us there were since the Derzhi conquest. However the confrontation came about, the Ezzarians would be destroyed, leaving the world at the mercy of the rai-kirah. So. One thing at a time.

Merryt leaned forward, motioning me to sit close. His voice dropped low. “You are set down in the middle of a very nasty fight, my friend. Unless you have some deep-held wish to be a demon, you’d best look to your soul.” As if yielding this morsel of wisdom had eased his mind, he settled back again and drained his wine cup. “The biggest surprise is Vyx . . . the fool in the thick of the plotting. Clearly he has deceived us in many things. Maybe he was warning you, but I think it more likely he was just trying to get you here to use for the joining. But I can’t credit that it was for his own play to command the legion. And if not for himself, then whose interest is he taking? Rhadit never had wit enough to come up with such a plan . . . and certainly it’s not Denas. Denas has despised Vyx for fifty years. Had him beaten not too long ago for some petty insult—in front of twenty witnesses. There are only a few other contenders. Nesfarro might work with Vallyne and Vyx—but this is plotting beyond the ordinary. Kryddon is too weak. The legion would never follow him. As for Vallyne herself . . . she’s strong enough, but she cares only for her own pleasure. So who, then? Someone who’s persuaded her to make you into the instrument they wish.” Though the fire had died, Merryt blotted his square forehead with a blue kerchief. “It explains why you were left with the Gastai so long after Denas told her about you.”

“She knew?” All my confused speculations about threats and dangers and dreams were erased in the instant. A demon fist in my belly could not have felt so cold.

He raised his wiry eyebrows. “Of course, she knew. Denas was the only one who could get you out. I couldn’t fathom why he wouldn’t latch on when I dangled the prospect of a new human ally in front of him. When I went to him a second time to plead your case, he told me of this lackwit bargain that gave you to Vallyne. She’s the one who kept you in the pits, Exile, and Vyx along with her, for whatever Vallyne knows, Vyx knows. These are no common enemies, my friend.”

No. No common enemies. So it all fell into place, now I had wits. Indeed I had started losing my memory before Merryt’s first visit to the pits. Everything since was hazy; every moment of my time with Vallyne was obsession. She had left me in torment until I forgot everything, until I was so empty she and her friends could fill me with whatever lies and distractions they wished. All of it—the rescue, the trial, the teasing, and affection—all of it had been scripted . . . a mummery . . . a dance . . . to make me do what they wanted. To yield my name. To let them take possession of my soul so they could use me, at the same time as they were destroying my wife and my friends and my home.

In disgust and fury, I blurted out the secret I had no intention of sharing just yet. “We have a way to send a warning to Ezzaria. And when the time is right, when we’ve learned enough, we can go ourselves.”

Merryt’s eyes were huge. “Then, what you’ve said is true . . . how you came here willing . . . I never believed . . .” I thought his bellowing laughter might melt the frozen stone of Denas’s castle. “By the Nameless God, brother, this changes everything! A way out! After this eternity . . . to see sunlight . . . and to turn this devil’s dance upon itself. I need to think on it.” His dark eyes took fire with excitement. “We can cause havoc if we but put our minds to it.” He jumped up, in clear indication that it was time for me to go. “Stay careful, friend. Don’t let them know you’ve got on to their plan. If they think you’ll refuse them, they’ll have no more use for you, and they’ll do to you what they did to me. We’ll stop them—all of them who’ve done us ill. By all that’s holy, we will. After all these years”—he raised his mutilated fists before his face and grinned ferociously—“it will feel damned fine to get back in a fight.”

 

 

 

Plotting. Conspiracy. Manipulation. Those were not the answers I had come looking for in the demon realm. I certainly did not trust Merryt implicitly—I was already uneasy at my hasty revelation of Fiona’s tower. His story was self-serving, a jumble of hearsay and guesses, and his glib dismissal of the mystery of Tyrrad Nor rang false. Yet Raddoman had dismissed it, too, willing to risk its uncertain dangers in order to reclaim his home. It was my own deep-seated dread that kept twisting my gut. But everything Merryt had revealed of the demon plan fit with what I had already learned. No wonder Vallyne had never questioned me. Vyx and Vallyne knew very well what had drawn me to Kir’Vagonoth, and they didn’t care in the least what other reasons I might have had. They had their own plan.

I strode around the corner of the castle and was almost knocked off my feet by the wind. After leaving Merryt, I had gone outside to walk off my churning anger. Anger at allowing myself to be so duped. Anger at the demons for their shimmering beauty, for the pity and admiration they raised in me. What warrior had room for pity? And such disappointment—all my hopes for understanding, for peace . . . What kind of fool had I been to think that one man’s insight could stem the tide of violence that engulfed our history?

Yet even now that I knew of Vallyne’s duplicity, what real difference would it make? That was the most distressing part. So many had suffered for so long. So many were destined to face the truth of suffering. If opening the way to Kir’Navarrin could set right the horror my ancestors had worked. . . . My stomach gnawed upon itself, rebelling against the terrifying idea that was growing in me as I rebuilt the mosaic in my mind for the hundredth time.

If I had been a Rudai shaper, I could have reproduced the images of shattered stone in the slightest detail: the trees, the figures, the portals that opened onto a place that was the image of Vallyne’s garden—the garden that was itself the image of Kir’Navarrin. In that chain of images lay one of the answers I had come so far to find. Now I knew where Blaise and Kyor and Farrol and my child would find their healing. The woman-deer, in pain and torment, had left her family in the human world and stepped through the portal into Kir’Navarrin, then had come back eased to take up life again. Something in that place had made her whole. I pulled my cloak tight and ducked my head into the wind that thrashed about the desolate courtyard like a caged beast.

“Exile!” Raddoman called to me sharply from the balcony. “The mistress is waiting for you. She is most irritated at your absence. Where have you been?”

“Walking,” I said. “Trying to wake up.” I needed to be careful. “No luck at it, unfortunately.”

“Her guests are in the book-room. I’d recommend you make your way there straightaway.”

I looked up at the light-sculpted figure on the balcony and wondered if Raddoman, too, was part of the game. Likely so. They would have left nothing to chance. Only by Fiona’s grace was I awake to know it, and as I walked into the dwelling carved of ice, I wished that I had never seen her tower. Then I wouldn’t know what fate was demanding of me.

 

“I’ve been waiting a very long time, Exile,” said Vallyne when I walked into the shadowy book-room.

I pulled out a slim brown volume from a shelf where I had put books that looked to be complete and sensible. “I’m sorry, my lady. I have no sense of time here. I’m not used to . . .” To telling time without sunlight and moon and stars, I was going to say. Yet even in my anger, it seemed cruel to mention it. “I was outside walking and lost track of the hour,” I said.

I went to my stool, pressing the book between my knees as I always did, trying to ignore the green eyes that were staring at me so unashamedly. No doubt she was watching to see if my hands were trembling or if my face gave any sign that I had caught on to her game. Conspirators had no rest, as well I knew.