Crown Of Shadows Part 11

Karril snorted, then drained the chalice of its contents and cast it into the fountain; it disappeared before it hit the surface. "I'm not a Locater, you know that. There are some in the town. Go to them."

"I know what you are," he said sharply. "And I know how close you were to him. Close enough that I'd think you'd want to help if-" He couldn't finish the sentence. Dared not give the threat a name, for fear of making it real. "I've tried every Working I know, consulted everyone I dared. You would think with the channel between us, a Locating would be easy, but ..." He shook his head. "Nothing, Karril. Nothing! What do I do? How do I find him? You're my only hope."

"Then I'm sorry." He turned away. "I can't help you."

"He called you a friend."

It seemed to him the demon winced. "Did he?" he whispered. "Shame on him. He was usually more careful with his choice of words." His robes were black now, and the bright jewels were muted as if by smoke. "I'm not a friend to him, or to anyone else. Not as humans know the word. Friendship implies a full range of emotions, a wide a.s.sortment of bonding criteria. Humans can do that. Iezu can't." He looked at Damien; his expression was strained. "All I am, my dear Reverend, is the hunger for pleasure that resides in your own soul, given a face and a voice and enough knowledge of etiquette to mimic human interaction. That's all. No love, no loyalty, only a ghost of self-interest in human guise. So you see," he said, turning away again, "you came to the wrong place."

"He didn't believe that," Damien challenged. "And I'm not sure I do."

"Oh?" The demon's voice was strained. "Is the Church claiming a monopoly on demon lore, now?"

"You came to warn us about Calesta," he reminded him. "Was that self-interest? You said that you liked humankind, that its foibles ..." he struggled for the proper word, "... amused amused you. Was that just hunger speaking? I don't think so." He walked to where the demon stood and grabbed him by the shoulders, as he might any man; Karril's "flesh" was comfortably solid, utterly human in temperature. you. Was that just hunger speaking? I don't think so." He walked to where the demon stood and grabbed him by the shoulders, as he might any man; Karril's "flesh" was comfortably solid, utterly human in temperature. "You saved Ciani's life. "You saved Ciani's life. " He forced the demon to turn toward him, forced him to meet his eyes. "I don't remember all the details of that incident, but I seem to remember you saying it wasn't easy. You could barely stand the pain of it, I recall. Was that hunger that drove you then? Or was it something else? Maybe a more human emotion." " He forced the demon to turn toward him, forced him to meet his eyes. "I don't remember all the details of that incident, but I seem to remember you saying it wasn't easy. You could barely stand the pain of it, I recall. Was that hunger that drove you then? Or was it something else? Maybe a more human emotion."

For a long moment Karril was silent. At last he pulled himself loose from Damien's grasp, and turned away; the priest let him go.

"He knew the risk all those years ago." Was that pain in his voice, or some demonic emotion? "Knew it and accepted it. Let him go, Reverend Vryce. He made his own fate. You make yours."

"Where is he?"

For a long time Karril was silent. Damien waited him out, though his hands were shaking from impatience. At last the demon said, in a voice that was little more than a whisper, "Where Gerald Tarrant has gone, no living man can follow."

Damien breathed in sharply. "Where?"

"To be judged." As the demon turned back to him, Damien saw that now even his jewelry was black. "By those whom he feared the most."

"The Unnamed?"

He hesitated only a moment, then nodded. "There's nothing you can do, Reverend Vryce. You have to believe that. His own word gives them the power to judge him, his own blood makes him vulnerable...."

"How do I get there?" he demanded. His heart was like ice as he heard his own words, as he felt the power of his own commitment. "Tell me!"

The demon shut his eyes as if in pain. "Through the nightmare of his own fears. That's the only path left, now that he's in their hands. But no fleshborn being can travel that road safely. Even my kind-"

He stopped, but not soon enough.

"You can go there."

He hesitated.

"Karril. Please." Please."

"I can go there," he admitted. "I can also die there. I'm not willing to risk that."

"Gerald told me that no Iezu has ever died."

"Because we don't take chances! Because we're selfish spirits, who trade illusions for food in our neat little houses and mind our own business when meaner demons come calling!"

"Is that what Calesta's doing?" he demanded. "Minding his own business?"

The demon winced. "I don't ... leave him out of this."

"He can't be out of it! He's part and parcel of this whole mess, and you know it!" He took a step closer to the demon, into what would have been his personal territory had he been truly human. "Or don't you care if he has his way? Don't you care if the whole human species is remade to suit his taste, bred and winnowed like animals until all they can do is eat and sleep and suffer. suffer. Is that what you want, Karril? Is that what any of the Iezu want? Where will you find your worshipers then?" Is that what you want, Karril? Is that what any of the Iezu want? Where will you find your worshipers then?"

"I'll survive," he muttered. "But some of the others ..." He shook his head and whispered hoa.r.s.ely, "I can't get involved. It's simply not allowed. The penalty-"

"Is worse than what I just described?" he demanded. "All right, so I was wrong. Maybe you and Calesta aren't so different after all." He made his tone as venomous as he could, hoping scorn might stir the demon where loyalty and compa.s.sion had failed. "Sorry to have bothered you."

A shudder seemed to pa.s.s through the demon's body. "That way is pain, and worse," he whispered. His voice was strained, barely audible. "Don't you understand? I couldn't endure it. Even if I wanted to, even if I were willing to risk her her displeasure ... I'm not human. I can't absorb emotions which run counter to my aspect. No Iezu could survive such an a.s.sault." displeasure ... I'm not human. I can't absorb emotions which run counter to my aspect. No Iezu could survive such an a.s.sault."

"So I'll m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e for you," he said harshly. "Is that good enough? In the midst of Tarrant's nightmares I'll dream acts of pleasure, so you can stay on your feet. h.e.l.l, it worked for him, it should d.a.m.n well work for you."

The demon turned away. "I'm not human," he whispered. The hanging tapestries had all turned black; even the wine in the fountain was dark. "The rules for us are ... different."

"Yeah. I guess so." Rage and despair churned in his gut at the thought of this, too, being a dead end. Where else was there to turn? He forced himself to turn away, while adding bitterly, "Sorry to bother you."

He began to walk away from the demon, a.s.suming the illusion surrounding him would fade when he tried to leave. It didn't.

"Even if you survived the journey," Karril pressed, "what would you do once you got there? Do battle with the Unnamed? Try to reason with it? It's too powerful for the former, and far too unstable for the latter. And it might make things even worse for Gerald Tarrant, that a man of your stature cared enough to try to save him. Have you thought about that?"

"I've thought about everything," he said sharply. "Most of all about what this world will be like if Calesta goes unopposed, and how little chance I have of stopping him without Tarrant's help. As for the rest ..." He shrugged stiffly; despair was a cold knot within him. "I guess it doesn't matter much, does it?" And he snapped, "Hope the new order works out for you."

He turned to leave then, and the tapestries did fade. The amorous couples were visible once more, but thinly, like ghosts. The half-clad priests and priestesses fluttered like wraiths about the borders of his vision.

"Reverend Vryce."

He didn't turn back, but he did stop walking. The entire room seemed frozen in time, as if the very walls were waiting.

"True night falls for an hour tomorrow." The demon's voice was low and even; there was only the faintest tremor of fear in it. "Eat well and drink well before that, and rest with a pitcher of water by your side. In a secure room," he added quickly, "so that no one disturbs your flesh." He whispered, "It can't make the journey."

And then the tapestries were gone and the demon also, and the warm smell of the temple filled his nostrils and his head. "Can I help you?" a priestess asked, approaching him. He shook his head and waved her away. His legs felt weak beneath him. What had just happened? Did Karril mean to help him, or merely point him on his way and say good-bye? Either way- Either way I have to go, he thought grimly. go, he thought grimly. Because there is no other option. May G.o.d have mercy on my soul. Because there is no other option. May G.o.d have mercy on my soul.

Then he thought of the risk that Karnl had already taken, of the rules the Iezu had broken just to talk to him-of the pain that he might yet endure, in order to betray his own brother-and he added, May G.o.d have mercy on us both. May G.o.d have mercy on us both.

Sixteen.

The Patriarch dreamed :

Armies on a plain, arrayed in Church regalia. Beyond them lies the Forbidden Forest, whose trees even now cast blackened shadows before the setting sun. He lifts his hand to bless them and the armies start forward, into that haunted darkness....

... and the Forest is alive, it tears them apart, it strews their blood upon the ground to nurture its foul growth....

Armies on a plain. He lifts his hand to bless them and a chosen few start forward, armored with sigils of fire....

... and the Forest swallows them whole, so that not even the light of their Worked weapons shines forth, so that not even their fellow soldiers can find them....

Armies on a plain. He lifts his hand to bless their purpose and a few men move forward with firebrands, setting them against the nearest trees....

... and rain lashes down from the heavens in fury, sun-bright lightning striking in the midst of their encampment with thunderous fury while the downpour douses their their flames.... flames....

Armies on a plain. He lifts his hand to bless them and one man rides forward, accoutred in the Prophet's glory....

... and the Forest parts before him. him. Tall he rides in the saddle, and proud, and his armor glints in the dying light like molten gold. He is an image out of mural splendor, this brave soldier, with the coronet of Merentha holding back his golden hair, and the armor of that doomed neocounty glittering upon his chest and limbs. He is the living image of the Prophet himself, and as he approaches the twisted trees of the Forest, they give way before him, thinking him their master. Safely he rides into its depths, making a path where none have been able to before. Tall he rides in the saddle, and proud, and his armor glints in the dying light like molten gold. He is an image out of mural splendor, this brave soldier, with the coronet of Merentha holding back his golden hair, and the armor of that doomed neocounty glittering upon his chest and limbs. He is the living image of the Prophet himself, and as he approaches the twisted trees of the Forest, they give way before him, thinking him their master. Safely he rides into its depths, making a path where none have been able to before.

The Patriarch lifts his hand in blessing and the troops begin to follow. Riding in the wake of the false Neocount, they encounter no opposition, but make their way toward the heart of the Forest with a prayer upon their lips and the song of the One G.o.d loud within their hearts. The Forest thinks that they belong to him, its master, and it makes no move against them. Wave after wave moves into the preternatural darkness, as the spear of the Church is leveled against the Hunter's throne....

He awoke in a cold sweat, his heart pounding. The last moments of his dream were as fresh in his brain as if he had really lived them, and the implications of it were so stunning that as he rose to a sitting position, he noticed that his hands were shaking.

Was this what all his war-dreams had been leading up to? He reached over to his lamp and cracked open the hood slightly, letting a faint light into the room. G.o.d in Heaven. Was there really a man like that, whose mere presence could disarm the Forest's defenses ? If so ... He breathed in deeply, trying to accept the implications. The Church had lost its Great War when its armies turned against the Forest; that cursed land was more powerful than mere human troops could ever hope to be. But if there were a key to that realm, a way of entering and traveling through it without setting off its defensive sorceries ... then they might indeed make it to the heart of the Hunter's domain, and make war with him outright. They might then destroy the tyrant who had dominated that land for centuries, and thus free the human lands of his predations forever.

As spokesman for the One G.o.d's Church, the Patriarch knew the power of symbols all too well, and this one reverberated in his soul with stunning force. A symbolic victory over the Forest's prince would affect the fae in a way that generations of sorcerers could never manage, winning a far greater battle in the long run. It wouldn't be necessary for men to make war against the Forest itself, or even try to contain it; that was the mistake the Patriarch's predecessors had made, which had resulted in the Church's greatest defeat. No, if they made war against the symbol symbol of the Forest, by attacking its demonic monarch, and if they won, the planet itself would be their ally. of the Forest, by attacking its demonic monarch, and if they won, the planet itself would be their ally.

It could be done, he thought. Numbed by the concept. he thought. Numbed by the concept. It could really be done. It could really be done.

For a moment he shut his eyes and prayed, opening himself up to the wisdom of his G.o.d. If this is foolish If this is foolishness, he begged, then tell me now. then tell me now. Could there possibly be a man like the one he saw in his dream, who so resembled the Hunter in outer aspect that he might pretend to be him, and lead Church troops to victory? It would take more than mere physical resemblance, the Patriarch suspected. What kind of man would be able to take on the Hunter's persona-become him, in essence-and still serve the Church's purpose in attacking his stronghold? Could there possibly be a man like the one he saw in his dream, who so resembled the Hunter in outer aspect that he might pretend to be him, and lead Church troops to victory? It would take more than mere physical resemblance, the Patriarch suspected. What kind of man would be able to take on the Hunter's persona-become him, in essence-and still serve the Church's purpose in attacking his stronghold?

He'd have to be crazy, he thought. And if he wasn't crazy to start with, he sure as h.e.l.l would And if he wasn't crazy to start with, he sure as h.e.l.l would be be by the time it was over. by the time it was over.

With a sigh, he forced himself to lay back down. What were the odds that someone like that could be found, even if he existed? A million to one, if that. It was a dream, nothing more. Not a vision this time. Just a dream, like other men had. Just that.

But the image wouldn't leave him. And even when he forced himself to shut his eyes-even as sleep shuttered his restless brain once more-he couldn't help but imagine what it might mean to his Church if this dream, like so many others, proved true.

Seventeen.

He ate a big meal at the end of the day, just as Karril had advised. It was hard for him. His appet.i.te had faded long ago, and it went against all his best instincts to load himself up just at the moment when danger was beckoning most strongly. But if he couldn't trust Karril then he figured the whole game was lost anyway, so what the h.e.l.l. a big meal at the end of the day, just as Karril had advised. It was hard for him. His appet.i.te had faded long ago, and it went against all his best instincts to load himself up just at the moment when danger was beckoning most strongly. But if he couldn't trust Karril then he figured the whole game was lost anyway, so what the h.e.l.l.

He rented a small room in one of the poorer neighborhoods, using Church credit for the deposit. Having given the better part of his remaining cash to his previous landlady, he had no other option. He winced at the thought of the Patriarch hearing about it, but then, if the Holy Father heard about this incident at all, Damien would be in such deep s.h.i.t anyway that a little bit of cash more or less would hardly matter. If the Patriarch found out that he was traveling with demons now, and knew what he planned to do ... he didn't like to think about that possibility.

In the small, dingy room, by the light of a single lamp, he lay back on the worn coverlet of the bed and tried to relax. Beside him lay his sword, its leather-wrapped grip rea.s.suringly familiar in the gloom. Outside the window Casca was setting, and the Core had yet to rise. True night would come soon, whether he was ready or not. He dreaded what kind of power Karril might be conjuring, that required such a forum. Or was it Tarrant's own nature that gave the true night special power over his affairs?

He lay still for a few minutes, and then it occurred to him that the lamplight, dim though it was, might hinder whatever process Karril meant to initiate. He turned the wick down nearly all the way and closed the hood tightly, leaving the room in nearly perfect darkness. Good time for demonlings to strike, Good time for demonlings to strike, he thought grimly, resting one hand upon the grip of his sword. G.o.d, what he wouldn't give to be back in the days when the worst of his worries was that some hungry brainless thing would try to s.n.a.t.c.h a bite of his flesh while he slept! That seemed like heaven, compared to the dangers he was courting now. He could hear little things scrabbling under the bed and for a moment he tensed, but then he realized they were probably no worse than bugs and rodents, arguing over some choice bit of refuse a previous occupant had left behind. he thought grimly, resting one hand upon the grip of his sword. G.o.d, what he wouldn't give to be back in the days when the worst of his worries was that some hungry brainless thing would try to s.n.a.t.c.h a bite of his flesh while he slept! That seemed like heaven, compared to the dangers he was courting now. He could hear little things scrabbling under the bed and for a moment he tensed, but then he realized they were probably no worse than bugs and rodents, arguing over some choice bit of refuse a previous occupant had left behind.

d.a.m.n it all, I hate waiting. He trained his vision on where the ceiling must be, darkness within darkness within darkness. There was no longer moonlight coming into the room, or any other light that could help him. His hand closed reflexively about the hilt of his sword as the thick, surreal blackness of the true night closed in around him. Now what? Was he supposed to change, or the room, or ... what? He listened to the scrabbling for another few minutes, until he thought he would go insane from doing nothing. Maybe Karril had chickened out, he thought; given the demon's state of mind, that was a real possibility. If so, what was his next step? He tried to work out some kind of plan in his mind, but the close-lying darkness made organized thought difficult and, besides, he had already exhausted every plan he could think of. If Karril failed him now, then Tarrant was gone for good. In which case Calesta might as well chow down on the whole western continent, because there was nothing Damien could do to stop him. He trained his vision on where the ceiling must be, darkness within darkness within darkness. There was no longer moonlight coming into the room, or any other light that could help him. His hand closed reflexively about the hilt of his sword as the thick, surreal blackness of the true night closed in around him. Now what? Was he supposed to change, or the room, or ... what? He listened to the scrabbling for another few minutes, until he thought he would go insane from doing nothing. Maybe Karril had chickened out, he thought; given the demon's state of mind, that was a real possibility. If so, what was his next step? He tried to work out some kind of plan in his mind, but the close-lying darkness made organized thought difficult and, besides, he had already exhausted every plan he could think of. If Karril failed him now, then Tarrant was gone for good. In which case Calesta might as well chow down on the whole western continent, because there was nothing Damien could do to stop him.

He sensed several hungry things flitting outside the window, no doubt sp.a.w.ned by the brief bout of true darkness. Fortunately for them, none mistook him for prey and tried to enter. He almost regretted it. It would feel good to cut something to pieces-anything-for the sheer physical relief of such action.

Then, slowly, it dawned on him that he could see again. A rectangle of dull light where the window had been. A shadow in place of the back of a chair. With a muttered curse he rose up to a sitting position, and Stopped moving. Stopped breathing. Stared.

The walls were gone now, and in their place was something far less substantial, through which he could see the lights of the town beyond. The floor of his room was still dark, but beneath it-through it-he could see currents of fae-light coursing like water over the ground, sparkling here and there with silver and silver-blue highlights. The rest of his room was gone, simply gone-all the furniture, the rug, even the sad little picture that hung crookedly on the far wall-and only shadows of those things remained, some clear to his eye, others barely discernible. it-he could see currents of fae-light coursing like water over the ground, sparkling here and there with silver and silver-blue highlights. The rest of his room was gone, simply gone-all the furniture, the rug, even the sad little picture that hung crookedly on the far wall-and only shadows of those things remained, some clear to his eye, others barely discernible.

"Ready to go?"

He started to hear Karril's voice from right beside him, and grabbed reflexively for his sword as he turned to acknowledge him. The demon had exchanged his velvet robes for a tight-fitting jacket and breeches not unlike Damien's own; a short cloak was clasped to his shoulders by jeweled brooches the size of a man's fist. He seemed unarmed, but who was Damien to judge the nature of a demon's a.r.s.enal? He also seemed tense, which was so uncharacteristic that it heightened Damien's own sense of impending danger.

"Where?"

"Following the path Gerald Tarrant left for us. Or for you, more specifically. It's the channel between you two that gives us any hope of finding him." A dark smile crossed his face, a bleak attempt at humor. "Not exactly a road your Church would approve of, but it's the one you ordered."

Damien stood. The action was surprisingly difficult, as though something were being wrenched from his flesh as he moved. He swayed a bit afterward, made vertiginous by the sight of the earth-fae less than a yard beneath his feet. Was that dim shadow the floor? He tried to focus on it, to gain a sense of solidity.

"Don't look down," the demon instructed. "Follow me, and trust your footing. It's solid enough."

"Where are we?"

"Exactly where we were. But you're seeing it like I do now ... and like your enemy does. Don't stare at the floor," he said sharply, as Damien stumbled over some shadowy obstacle "Look at me. Only me."

He did as he was told and fixed his eyes on the demon. Even by this light he could see how nervous Karril was, how agitated. If he took time to think about the implications of that, it would probably scare the h.e.l.l out of him. Drawing in a deep breath, he forced himself to place one foot ahead of the other without looking down. It seemed to him that some kind of power was prying at the edges of his brain, trying to get in. In answer to his unspoken question the demon nodded slightly, and Damien tried to relax and let it happen. He had committed himself to this alliance back in the temple; there was no point in holding back now. G.o.d alone knew what kind of power the demon had to apply to bring a living man into this surreal place.

G.o.d help me if the Patriarch ever finds out about this.

Walking as if in a dream, he followed Karril out onto the street. Only this wasn't the real street, the one he had seen on his way to the lodging house. This was a place of dreamlike images, where silver earth-fae lapped up against walls of misty shadow in forms that implied houses, wagons, storefronts. Bright power swirled up about his legs and he could feel the current pulling him forward as he walked, stunned, past buildings with walls of smoke and crystal, through which ghostly interiors might be glimpsed. There was light in some places, lamps and hearthfires glowing with a brightness that shone through the nearer walls. The view made for an eerie sense of dizziness, and he had to shut his eyes for a moment to regain his sense of balance.