Crown Of Shadows Part 25

It wasn't like the other noises that surrounded her, although it would have been hard for her to describe the way in which it differed. A thousand creatures had skirted the edge of her lamplight since she had come here, and their scrabblings and slitherings had become an accustomed counterpoint to her own footsteps. This noise was different. This noise echoed with purpose. This noise, as it mirrored her own footsteps, warned of something intelligent, something focused ... something dangerous. Something unbound by the Hunter's promise, that was free to sate its own hunger in these nightbound woods.

Her heart began to pound, but she forced her stride to stay even. Surely anything that belonged in this darkness could outpace her easily; the trick was not to run, not to provoke it. The Church soldiers couldn't be far ahead-right?-and if she could just get within hearing range of them, maybe the thing that was following her would be frightened off. Or maybe she could cry out and get someone to come to her, fast enough to keep it from moving in on her- And then there was a sound ahead of her, and another to her side. She heard footsteps first, like those which followed her, and then a kind of snorting. She felt a chill crawl along her skin, and only the knowledge that displaying her fear would make things a thousand times worse kept her legs from locking up in terror beneath her. Everything in the Forest is his, Everything in the Forest is his, she chanted silently. she chanted silently. Nothing of his will hurt me. Nothing of his will hurt me. But what if her fears had manifested some new creature, some demonling not yet broken to the Hunter's ways? Would she still be protected then? There was rustling on both sides of her now, so loud that she knew it was deliberate ; the things that echoed her steps were taunting her. But what if her fears had manifested some new creature, some demonling not yet broken to the Hunter's ways? Would she still be protected then? There was rustling on both sides of her now, so loud that she knew it was deliberate ; the things that echoed her steps were taunting her. G.o.ddess, help me. Please.... G.o.ddess, help me. Please.... Her legs were numb, her feet so heavy she could hardly move them. Could her pursuers smell her fear? Did it whet their appet.i.te? Her legs were numb, her feet so heavy she could hardly move them. Could her pursuers smell her fear? Did it whet their appet.i.te? Oh, Andrys, what have I done! Oh, Andrys, what have I done!

A figure moved into the path before her. At first it seemed to be some kind of animal and she took a step backward involuntarily, trying to put herself out of range of its teeth. But then it straightened up, and stretched somehow, and when she held the lantern up so that she might see it better, she saw that it was human in shape, human in countenance ... but not human in substance. That much she saw with her heart, if not her eyes.

It was the white man, the Hunter's servant. But not as she remembered him from their meeting years ago, a slender, lithe creature with ghostly white skin that gleamed in the moonlight, feral hunger that gleamed in his eyes. This was a creature of plague and rot, a living manifestation of the malignance that had a.s.sailed the entire Forest. His hair-if hair it could be called-was a matted ma.s.s of dirt and slime that seemed to move of its own accord as he watched her. His body seemed somehow distorted, in posture if not in form, his clothing was torn and filthy and reeked of urine, and his eyes ... those were the most horrible thing about him, she thought. Not human eyes at all, but pits that seemed gouged into his flesh, emptiness where eyes should have been, framed by a ring of flesh pulled back so hard against his bone that she could see black veins pulse beneath it.

"Ah," he whispered, and the sound was more a growl than any human utterance. "It seems we have company." His voice gurgled thickly in his throat, as if some growth within that pa.s.sage made human speech a trial. "So rare, these days."

Stay calm. You know how to deal with him. Just stay calm and do it. She tried to reach a hand into her jacket pocket, but she was shaking so badly that she couldn't find the opening. Wolflike creatures were moving into the circle of light now, and like their master they were horribly deformed, filthy satires of a once-proud pack. If the Hunter's own servants could be so twisted, what did that imply about their master? She trembled to think about it. She tried to reach a hand into her jacket pocket, but she was shaking so badly that she couldn't find the opening. Wolflike creatures were moving into the circle of light now, and like their master they were horribly deformed, filthy satires of a once-proud pack. If the Hunter's own servants could be so twisted, what did that imply about their master? She trembled to think about it. Stay calm! Stay calm! Then her hand slid into the pocket-finally-and she clutched the thing within it, grasping it like a lifeline. Even as he took a step toward her she jerked it out and held it up before him, wielding it as a warning, a weapon. The Hunter's token dangled in the lamplight, glints of gold along its edge warning back those demons who would defy his will. It had worked once before, when this creature meant to toy with her. Surely it would do so now. Then her hand slid into the pocket-finally-and she clutched the thing within it, grasping it like a lifeline. Even as he took a step toward her she jerked it out and held it up before him, wielding it as a warning, a weapon. The Hunter's token dangled in the lamplight, glints of gold along its edge warning back those demons who would defy his will. It had worked once before, when this creature meant to toy with her. Surely it would do so now.

The white man stared at her amulet for a long, silent moment.

Then he laughed.

G.o.ddess! She felt her soul flinch as the sickening figure came toward her. She felt her soul flinch as the sickening figure came toward her. Help me! Help me! She tried to back up, but something large and cold had come up behind her legs; it took all her remaining strength not to fall backward over it, into its waiting jaws. She tried to back up, but something large and cold had come up behind her legs; it took all her remaining strength not to fall backward over it, into its waiting jaws.

"The Hunter isn't around right now," the white creature informed her. He grinned, displaying a mouth full of rotting and bloodstained teeth. "But don't worry. I'm sure we can manage to entertain you in his absence." "

He reached for the amulet then and she tried to back away from him, but the beast behind her knees moved suddenly and she fell over it, her lantern hurtling to the ground far out of reach. She tried to regain her feet, but it was impossible; the beasts closed in on her even as she struggled to get to her knees, their jaws closing tight about her arms and legs, their rank weight forcing her down again.

She screamed. Hopeless effort! What did she think it would gain her, in this land where even the laws of sound would surely be warped by sorcery? But the cry welled up from a core of terror so stark, so primitive, that mere logic could not silence it. And the white man laughed. He laughed! The whole Forest was his now, not only its plants and creatures but the very air itself. Who could hear her, if he willed it otherwise?

And then his face bent down close to hers and his hands closed tightly about her wrists-icy flesh, dead and d.a.m.ned, that sucked out her living heat through the contact-and she could feel her frail grip on sanity giving way, the darkness of terror closing in about her brain even as the flesh of the albino's pack closed in around her body. Sucking her down into depths where was neither terror nor pain, only mindless oblivion.

Andrys! she screamed, as the darkness gathered in thick folds about her. The sound built up in her throat and left her mouth, but made no tremor in the air. Andrys! Andrys!

He couldn't hear her. No one could. No one except the Hunter's servant, whose beasts even now were mauling her frozen flesh.

Oh,Andrys....

Thirty-six.

Sunset was sandwiched between earth and ash, its light like a wound in the darkening sky. Though the sun itself had disappeared behind distant mountains, its rays, stained blood red by a veil of ash, lit the bellies of the clouds like the fire of Shaitan itself. Now and then a wind would part the ash-cloud overhead and the light of the Core would lance through, but it was a fleeting distraction. The day was dying. sandwiched between earth and ash, its light like a wound in the darkening sky. Though the sun itself had disappeared behind distant mountains, its rays, stained blood red by a veil of ash, lit the bellies of the clouds like the fire of Shaitan itself. Now and then a wind would part the ash-cloud overhead and the light of the Core would lance through, but it was a fleeting distraction. The day was dying.

Pointedly not looking down at the landscape that spread out beneath his perch, Damien squeezed his way back into the shelter that Karril had found for them. The lantern he had left at the first turn was still burning, and he caught it up as he made his way back to the place where Tarrant waited. Unlike the Hunter, he needed light to see.

Tarrant was exactly as he had left him, resting weakly against the coa.r.s.e wall of the cavern. By the lamp's dim light Damien could see that his burns hadn't healed, and that was a bad sign; a full day's rest should have restored him. His scar alone remained unreddened, and its ghostly white surface, framed by damaged flesh, reminded Damien uncomfortably of the scavenger worms of the Forest.

"Sun's gone," he said quietly. No response. He put down the lantern and lowered himself to the ground beside Tarrant, striving to maintain an outer aspect of calm when inside he was anything but. Come on, man, we've got a long way to go and not a lot of time to get there! Come on, man, we've got a long way to go and not a lot of time to get there! But something about Tarrant's att.i.tude scared him. Something that hinted that the worst damage wrought last night might not be that which was visible, but some wound inside the man that was still bleeding. But something about Tarrant's att.i.tude scared him. Something that hinted that the worst damage wrought last night might not be that which was visible, but some wound inside the man that was still bleeding.

At last, unable to take the silence any longer, he ventured, "Gerald?"

The pale eyes flickered toward him, then away. Staring at something Damien couldn't see, some internal vista.

"We can't win," the Hunter said weakly. The pale lids slid shut; the lean body s.h.i.+vered. "I thought we could. I thought there must be limits to his power. I thought that human senses were complex enough to defy absolute control-"

"And you were right-" he began.

"No. They aren't complex at all. Don't you see? What we would call a view of the sun view of the sun is no more than a simple pattern of response in the eye, which is translated into simple electrical pulses, which in turn pushes a handful of chemicals into place within the brain ... there are so many places in which that flow of information can be interrupted, and with so little effort! Our enemy has that power, Vryce. One spark in the wrong place, one misaligned molecule ..." He gestured up toward his ravaged face with what seemed like anger, but for once Damien didn't think the emotion was directed at him. "The only thing stopping him was Iezu custom. Now that he's willing to disregard the law of his own kind, what chance do we have?" is no more than a simple pattern of response in the eye, which is translated into simple electrical pulses, which in turn pushes a handful of chemicals into place within the brain ... there are so many places in which that flow of information can be interrupted, and with so little effort! Our enemy has that power, Vryce. One spark in the wrong place, one misaligned molecule ..." He gestured up toward his ravaged face with what seemed like anger, but for once Damien didn't think the emotion was directed at him. "The only thing stopping him was Iezu custom. Now that he's willing to disregard the law of his own kind, what chance do we have?"

"First of all," Damien said, with all the authority his voice could muster, "It isn't that simple a process. You of all people should know that. Do you think all those molecules in your head are labeled clearly, so that it's easy to tell which one does what? Oh, you youcould . probably figure it out-I wouldn't put too much past you-but I doubt if Calesta's got the patience or the know-how for that kind of work. Which means that he may have the power to screw with our heads, but he's not necessarily going to do it right every time."

"He did it well enough to-"

"Shut up and listen for once! Just once! All right?" He waited a moment, almost daring Tarrant to defy him. But the Hunter was too weak to spar with him like that ... or perhaps he was simply too astonished. When it was clear that his outburst had had the desired effect, Damien told him, "He didn't do it perfectly. "He didn't do it perfectly. If you or I had known what to look for, we would have seen the signs, we would have known that trouble was coming, we could have taken precautions-" If you or I had known what to look for, we would have seen the signs, we would have known that trouble was coming, we could have taken precautions-"

"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?"

"The stars, stars, Gerald. He could black out the sun from our sight, but he couldn't change every one of the stars so that its position was right!" He told him about the constellation he had noticed, that shouldn't have been so high in the sky until dawn was well underway. "Or maybe he just didn't bother with details," he concluded. "Maybe his arrogance was such that he imagined simple darkness would work the trick. Well, now it won't. Now we know how his Iezu mind works. And if he couldn't pull off that illusion perfectly, maybe all his work has flaws. Maybe, like an Obscuring, a Iezu illusion succeeds because men don't think to look at it too closly. Well, now we know to look." Gerald. He could black out the sun from our sight, but he couldn't change every one of the stars so that its position was right!" He told him about the constellation he had noticed, that shouldn't have been so high in the sky until dawn was well underway. "Or maybe he just didn't bother with details," he concluded. "Maybe his arrogance was such that he imagined simple darkness would work the trick. Well, now it won't. Now we know how his Iezu mind works. And if he couldn't pull off that illusion perfectly, maybe all his work has flaws. Maybe, like an Obscuring, a Iezu illusion succeeds because men don't think to look at it too closly. Well, now we know to look."

"And do you imagine that we can remain so perfectly alert at every moment, that not a single detail out of place will escape our notice? Because that's what it would require, you know. Even if his illusions are less than perfect-and we don't know that for a fact-he's no fool. He'll wait until our guard is down, until we're being less than perfectly careful, and then what?" He raised up a hand to his face, wincing as the pale fingers traced the scar there. "I didn't feel my own pain," he whispered. "I could have died out there, and not until the final moment would I have understood what was happening."

"Karril said he'd protect us," Damien reminded him. "He can't stop Calesta from misleading us, or from making others try to kill us, but he won't let you walk into the sun. He promised."

The Hunter's voice, like his manner, seemed infinitely weary. "And what about Iezu law? What about the rule their creator set forth, that there was to be no conflict between brothers?"

"Maybe," he said quietly, "there are things that matter more to Karril than that."

"Like what?"

"Like friends.h.i.+p, for one."

He dismissed the possibility with a wave of his hand. "The Iezu aren't capable of friends.h.i.+p. Their venue is limited to one narrow range of emotion, and their only motivation is a hunger for-"

"Oh, cut the c.r.a.p, Gerald! You know, you're a brilliant demonologist in theory, but when it comes down to facing facts you can be downright stupid." He leaned toward the man, as if somehow proximity could give his words more force. "Was it Iezu nature that made Karril take me down to h.e.l.l to rescue you? Where does pleasure pleasure fit into that? And was it Iezu nature to do what he did last night: defy the law of his creator to step into the midst of his brother's war, at the risk of angering the one creature on this planet who can kill him? He did that to save fit into that? And was it Iezu nature to do what he did last night: defy the law of his creator to step into the midst of his brother's war, at the risk of angering the one creature on this planet who can kill him? He did that to save you, you, Gerald Tarrant. For no other reason. Just to save you." He leaned back on his heels. "That's friends.h.i.+p by any standard I know. To h.e.l.l with who or what he is. I'd be d.a.m.ned proud to have a friend that loyal myself." Gerald Tarrant. For no other reason. Just to save you." He leaned back on his heels. "That's friends.h.i.+p by any standard I know. To h.e.l.l with who or what he is. I'd be d.a.m.ned proud to have a friend that loyal myself."

"You wouldn't have said that once. You'd have d.a.m.ned yourself for even entertaining such a thought."

"Yeah. Well. We're worlds away from that time now. I may not like that fact, but I accept it." He studied the Hunter-his wounds, his weakness-and then asked, "You need blood, don't you? Blood to heal."

The Hunter shut his eyes, leaning back against the stone. "I drank," he whispered.

"Warm blood? Living blood?"

Tarrant said nothing.

"I'm offering, Gerald."

Tarrant shook his head; the motion was weak. "Don't be a fool," he whispered hoa.r.s.ely. "You need your strength as much as I need mine."

"Yeah," he agreed. "The difference is that my strength can be renewed easily enough. Or don't you think that a Healer would know how to accelerate the production of his own blood?"

"You can't Work here," Tarrant told him. "Not even to heal yourself. Shaitan's currents would swallow you whole."

d.a.m.n. Damien drew in a slow breath, trying to think. Were there alternatives? "What about fear? I don't mean a nightmare this time. The real thing. Straight up." He managed to force a laugh. "G.o.d knows there's enough of it inside me right now for both of us."

But the Hunter shook his head, dismissing the thought. "Without an artificial structure? The channel between us isn't strong enough for that. That's why I used dreams."

The words were out before he could stop them. "Then make it stronger."

Slowly the Hunter looked up at him. Those chill eyes were black now, bottomless, as dark and cold as the fires of Shaitan were bright and hot. "And could you live with that?" he demanded. "Knowing what I am, understanding what such a channel would do to the two of us? Could you live with yourself, knowing that a part of me was in your soul, and would be until one of us died?"

"Gerald." He said it quietly, very quietly, knowing there was more power in such a tone than in rage. "I knew when we came here that we probably weren't getting out of this mess alive. So what are we really talking about? A day or two? I'll deal."

Tarrant turned away from him. Maybe the channel between them was already stronger than he thought, or perhaps Damien simply knew him well enough to guess at what he was feeling; he could feel the sharp bite of hunger as if it were his own, the desperate need not only to feed, but to heal. Damien reached out and grasped the man's arm, as if somehow that would lend his words more power. "Listen to me," he begged. "Deep inside there's a part of me so afraid I don't even like to think about it. It's in that place where you store hateful feelings and then bury them with lies and distractions, because you can't bear to face them head on. Because you know they'll eat you alive if you try." He whispered it, pleading; "Why waste that, Gerald? It's food to you, and the strength to heal yourself. Take it," he begged. "For both our sakes."

For a long, long time the Hunter was silent. Then, ever so slightly, he nodded. Just that.

Damien let go of his arm. His heart was pounding. "What do I have to do?"

Silence again, then a handful of words whispered so softly he could barely hear them. "Complete the bond."

"How?"

Slowly, the Hunter then reached into the pocket of his tunic for the knife he carried there. Not the same one he had used so long ago to open Damien's vein, establis.h.i.+ng the channel between them in the first place-that had been lost in the eastern lands-but one very much like it, that he had purchased afterward. He opened the blade partway and then quickly, precisely, pressed its point into the flesh of his fingertip.

"Here," he whispered. Raising up his hand, so that the tiny drop of blood might be visible. Black, it seemed, and so cold that its surface glittered like ice. Or was that only Damien's expectation, playing games with his vision? "Only once in my long life have I offered this bond to another man ... and that one betrayed me."

As vulnerable as this will make you, it will make me equally so it will make me equally so. The words rose up out of memory unbidden, and for a moment Damien understood just how desperate the Hunter must be to offer such a bond. You fear this more than I You fear this more than I do, he thought. Reaching out to touch the glistening drop, gathering its dark substance onto his own fingertip. do, he thought. Reaching out to touch the glistening drop, gathering its dark substance onto his own fingertip. d.a.m.n Calesta, for making us do what we fear the most. d.a.m.n Calesta, for making us do what we fear the most.

As the Hunter had done to his first offering years ago, so now Damien did to this. Touching his tongue to the cold, dark drop. Forcing himself to swallow it, as one might a bitter pill. Forcing his flesh to take the Hunter's substance into itself, so that a deeper link might be forged- -And the monster within him rose up with a roar from those hidden places where it had lain shackled, its bonds shattered, its howling triumphant. Fear: pure and terrible, agonizing, undeniable. Fear of dying in this place. Fear of surviving, but as less than a man. Fear of returning to a world in which he no longer had a purpose. Fear that Calesta would claim his soul, or else leave him unclaimed-the ultimate sadism!-to witness his final holocaust. Fear that the Church would fail and mankind would be devoured by the demons it had created ... and fear that it would succeed, and the world would become something unrecognizable, that had no place for him. Those fears and a hundred more-a thousand more, ten times a thousand-roared through Damien's soul with such horrific force that he could do no more than lie gasping on the floor of the cavern, shaking as they exploded one after another in his brain.

Then, at last, after what seemed like an eternity, the beast's roar quieted. He could still hear it growling in the comers of his brain-it would never be wholly quiet again, not while Tarrant lived-but if he tried hard enough, if he focused on other things, surely he could learn not to hear it. Surely.

"You all right?"

He managed to open his eyes, amazed that his flesh still obeyed him. For a while it hadn't. "Just great," he whispered. It seemed there was an echo in the chamber, that it took him a minute to place. Tarrant's perception. Tarrant's perception. The thought sent a chill down his spine. The thought sent a chill down his spine. I'm feeling him hear I'm feeling him hear me. Fear uncoiled anew in his gut, rising up to- me. Fear uncoiled anew in his gut, rising up to- He choked back on it, hard. His whole body trembling, for a moment he could do no more than lie where he was, struggling to get hold of himself. Then slowly, very slowly, he rose up to one elbow. Tarrant offered him a hand for support, and he grasped it in his own. Not cold, that undead flesh, but comfortable in its temperature, comforting in its strength. That, too, made him s.h.i.+ver.

"It won't last long," the Hunter a.s.sured him.

"Yeah." He brushed himself off with shaking hands. "Only until one of us dies."

"As I said." The Hunter reached down to pick up his backpack, handed it to him. There was a strange kind of echo to the gesture, such that when Damien closed his hand about the leather strap it was as if he had just done so seconds before. Unnerving. "Not long at all."

He drew in a deep breath, then slipped his arms into the straps. It seemed to him that the air between them was warmer than before; was that some new faeborn sense, or just overheated imagination?

"The strangeness of it will fade," the Hunter promised. It seemed to Damien that he smiled slightly. And yet his mouth didn't change, nor any other part of his expression. Weird.

"How about you?" he asked. The Hunter's face, he saw, was back to its accustomed ghastly color. "Feel stronger?"

"Strong enough to send a Iezu to h.e.l.l." And he added: "Thanks to you."

For a moment there was an awkward silence. Not quite an expression of grat.i.tude. Something stronger, and subtler.

"All right, then." Damien s.h.i.+fted the pack on his back until its straps fell into their accustomed position, allowing him free access to his sword. Without further glance at Tarrant he started toward the exit, knowing that the Hunter followed. "Let's do it."

The valley was ...

Different.

Where before a dark valley floor had served as backdrop for mist and moonlight, now an ocean of fiery power seethed and frothed, driving itself onto the rocks beneath them with such force that a spray of earth-fae, fine as diamonds, drizzled down the slope of the ridge. Where once vague tendrils of mist had curled about the crags and monuments of Shaitan's domain, now it was possible to see things stirring, snakes of mist that resolved into semihuman form and then, with a ghastly cry that Damien could feel in his bones more than he could hear, melted into mist once more. The whole of the valley floor was in motion, spewing forth malformed creatures and then swallowing them up again while Damien watched; the sight of it made him dizzy, and he leaned back against the ridge for support, afraid that he might lose his balance and fall into it.

And then that vision faded. Not utterly, though he would have liked that. Out of the corner of his eye he could still sense unearthly motion, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to walk along that ground without feeling the earth-fae twine about his flesh, without knowing that here every human thought became a thing with a face and a hunger and a chance to scream, before Shaitan's power swallowed it up again.

"A taste of my Vision," the Hunter said quietly. "Now that you can share it."

"Is that really what you see down there?"

The Hunter chuckled. "A faint shadow of it, no more. The most your human brain can handle. Here." He held out something to Damien. "Put this on."

It was a fist-sized bundle, soft and gleaming. Damien shook it out to its full length, nearly ten feet long. "A scarf?"

"Just so." The Hunter had taken out one of his own and was wrapping it about his head like a turban. The fine black silk was so thin that it seemed more like smoke than fabric, and when he drew a fold of it across his face and fixed it there, it gave his white skin a weird, ghostly quality. "Shaitan's breath is hard on the skin. You'll want to put on your gloves also."

"Not to climb down a mountain, I don't."

-and his hands are burning, corrosive mist eating into the flesh until the skin peels off in reddened bits, blood welling in the wounds- "Okay, okay! Gloves it is!" He fumbled in his pack and retrieved them. "G.o.d." He put the wrong hand in the wrong glove and had to start over. "You're a lot of fun to travel with, you know that?"

"The fun," Tarrant a.s.sured him, "has not even started yet."

He looked down into the valley again. The ground was dark. The mist was just mist. It was comforting. Damien wrapped the black silk around his head as he had seen Tarrant do-it took three tries-and noted that it had a faint chemical odor, as if it had been treated with something. It did surprisingly little to affect his vision; perhaps it had also been Worked in that regard. Tarrant's been here before, Tarrant's been here before, he reminded himself. he reminded himself. He knows what he's doing. He knows what he's doing.

"Ready?"

The Hunter had brought a special rope for the descent, a thin line meant to steady them on the rubble-strewn slope, long enough to guide them down almost to the valley floor. He tied one end to a spire of rock and sent the other end, weighted, hurtling down into the darkness.

Damien sighed. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Tarrant led the way. Slowly, oh so carefully, they dropped down toward the valley floor and the dangers that made their home there. At times the Hunter would stop and signal for Damien to do the same, and they would grasp the thin rope to keep from sliding while he waited for whatever danger he had sensed to pa.s.s them by, or turn its attention elsewhere, or ... whatever. Damien didn't want to know the details.

The rope gave out at last and they had to make their way without it. Gazing down at the ground by his feet, eerily lit by the orange fire of Shaitan in the distance, Damien couldn't help but notice the tendrils of mist that played about his feet, couldn't help but remember the vision that Tarrant had shared with him. When he made the mistake of looking too closely at the misty tendrils, they reared up like snakes and began to take on a more distinct form-but Tarrant ignored them, and just nudged him forward at a faster pace. Soon they were moving too fast to look at things closely, thank G.o.d. If you didn't look, did they leave you alone?

At last they reached a place where the ground seemed level enough, and Damien allowed himself a small sigh of relief. Thin orange highlights played along the earth, not enough to see by; with a glance at Tarrant to make sure it was all right, he took out his lantern and lit it. Golden light flickered upon the bellies of mist-clouds, outlining ghostly faces that formed and faded as he watched. "Those are no danger," Tarrant told him, when he seemed hesitant to move forward. "Come."

It was an eerie place, and the orange light from Shaitan, flickering and fading as its lava fields pulsed, did little to make it more comforting. Craggy monuments lined the valley floor, and the mist flowed between them like rivers. A handful of plants had tried to take hold on the rocky ground, but they were stunted things, pale reflections of a hardier species, and their leaves and bark had been eaten away in seemingly random patterns, fibers peeling back to reveal a core laced with channels and pockmarks. The very smell of the place was strange, as if the plants were struggling to create some kind of natural perfume but were too wounded to do it right; wisps of unnatural odor came and went with the breeze, mixed with the stink of ash and the omnipresent bite of sulfur in the air. The ground seemed solid enough, but what if that were just another of Calesta's illusions? Karril said he would protect us, Karril said he would protect us, Damien told himself as they walked. Damien told himself as they walked. He won't let Calesta kill us with illusions. He won't let Calesta kill us with illusions. Yet there was a vast gap between Yet there was a vast gap between killing killing and and being safe, being safe, Damien knew that, and if Calesta believed that Tarrant had figured out a way to kill him ... what would he do? Damien gazed up at the mists surrounding them, at the craggy monuments that reared high over their heads, and s.h.i.+vered. That Calesta would strike at them was not to be questioned. The only question was when, and how. Damien knew that, and if Calesta believed that Tarrant had figured out a way to kill him ... what would he do? Damien gazed up at the mists surrounding them, at the craggy monuments that reared high over their heads, and s.h.i.+vered. That Calesta would strike at them was not to be questioned. The only question was when, and how.

The b.a.s.t.a.r.d's afraid of us, he told himself. Trying to derive some satisfaction from the thought. he told himself. Trying to derive some satisfaction from the thought.

And then something drifted out at them from the mists, all too human in shape for his comfort. Tarrant said nothing, but urged him forward with a touch, and Damien obeyed silently, his stomach a tight knot of dread. They walked like you did with a mad dog, slowly, pretending not to notice its presence, while all the while your heart was pounding, and sweat was running down your face. The figure had come closer now, close enough to investigate, and it took everything Damien had not to turn and look at it. Were there other figures by its side, or was that only his fear making him see things? Or Calesta's power, turned against them at last? d.a.m.n it, if this place didn't give him a heart attack all by itself, waiting for the enemy to strike at them might just do it.