Crown Of Shadows Part 14

Filled with misgivings, he nonetheless started forward toward it. If the path leads that way, we have no alternative. If the path leads that way, we have no alternative. He disciplined his mind by recounting all the various ways he would make Tarrant pay for forcing him to come here, and thus managed to keep his fear under tight rein. But as he drew closer, as he saw the strange realm for what it was, that strategy failed him utterly. He disciplined his mind by recounting all the various ways he would make Tarrant pay for forcing him to come here, and thus managed to keep his fear under tight rein. But as he drew closer, as he saw the strange realm for what it was, that strategy failed him utterly.

It was bodies. Human bodies, stretching ahead to the horizon and beyond. Women's Women's bodies, strewn across the landscape like discarded refuse, gathered together in such numbers that in places they were stacked in mounds, like heaps of living garbage. As he watched, they twitched and shivered, and their combined motion gave the illusion of waves pa.s.sing across the surface. He saw thin limbs, pale skin, fingers that clutched at air and then withdrew again, burrowing deep down into the flesh-blanket that seemed to cover the whole planet like crabs seeking shelter. bodies, strewn across the landscape like discarded refuse, gathered together in such numbers that in places they were stacked in mounds, like heaps of living garbage. As he watched, they twitched and shivered, and their combined motion gave the illusion of waves pa.s.sing across the surface. He saw thin limbs, pale skin, fingers that clutched at air and then withdrew again, burrowing deep down into the flesh-blanket that seemed to cover the whole planet like crabs seeking shelter.

"What is it?" he whispered.

Karril breathed in sharply, for once without a pat rejoinder. "d.a.m.ned if I know."

With a wrenching sensation in his gut he realized that the living blanket was parting, ever so slowly. Limbs contracted to draw the nearer bodies out of their path; their motion was crablike and horrible, not at all human. What is this place? What is this place? he thought desperately. A narrow path was forming, flanked by twitching limbs. It was just wide enough for them to walk single file, if they watched where they were going. Just narrow enough to make him feel sick at the thought of such a pa.s.sage. he thought desperately. A narrow path was forming, flanked by twitching limbs. It was just wide enough for them to walk single file, if they watched where they were going. Just narrow enough to make him feel sick at the thought of such a pa.s.sage.

But ...

That was the path, without question; he didn't need Karril to tell him that. Tarrant's own fear had marked it for them. How many miles did this horror stretch onward, glazed eyes staring out of undead faces as spider-fingers struggled to clear the way? His stomach churned at the thought that one wrong step might put him in contact with those gruesomely contorted bodies, but a hissing behind him, like steam off approaching lava, warned him that to stay where he was might prove an even worse alternative.

There's no other choice, he told himself grimly. he told himself grimly. Not unless we want to go back the way we came. Not unless we want to go back the way we came. And that was out of the question. And that was out of the question.

"All right," he muttered. "Let's do it."

He went first, moving toward the narrow path the bodies had made for them. On both sides the mounds of flesh still twitched and writhed, and periodically a leg or a hand would be flung across their path, a gruesome reminder that their new-made road might disappear as quickly as it had begun. The thought made hot bile rise in his throat, but still he forced himself forward. There's no other way, There's no other way, he told himself, repeating the words over and over again, a mantra of endurance. Behind him he could hear the hiss of lava as it flowed down the rocky slope and enveloped the nearest bodies, and the stink of burnt flesh filled the air like a choking perfume. He could see details of the bodies now, faces and b.r.e.a.s.t.s and b.u.t.tocks made waxen and distorted by death, undead eyes gazing out of hollowed sockets as if facing some unseen horror. The movements of their limbs were not random, he could see now, but each body twitched as if running, or striving to run, while the weight of all its neighbors trapped it in place and turned the motion into a mockery of flight. he told himself, repeating the words over and over again, a mantra of endurance. Behind him he could hear the hiss of lava as it flowed down the rocky slope and enveloped the nearest bodies, and the stink of burnt flesh filled the air like a choking perfume. He could see details of the bodies now, faces and b.r.e.a.s.t.s and b.u.t.tocks made waxen and distorted by death, undead eyes gazing out of hollowed sockets as if facing some unseen horror. The movements of their limbs were not random, he could see now, but each body twitched as if running, or striving to run, while the weight of all its neighbors trapped it in place and turned the motion into a mockery of flight.

His foot landed close to the head of one, then by the clutching hand of another. It took almost balletic skill to avoid coming in contact with them, a trial his burned and aching body was no longer up to. It seemed to him that every step must surely be his last, and only the sheer horror of the bodies surrounding him gave him the strength to keep going. Karril followed silently behind him, wrapped in her own Iezu thoughts. Were these unalive creatures human enough to disturb her? Did they give off waves of pain of their own, or some other, more virulent suffering? He glanced back now and then to check on the demon, but though Karril's expression was grim her short nod told Damien that all was well with her. For the moment.

And then he stopped and stared, as one human fragment among many caught his eye. A dark arm atop the paler ones. Thick hair, as black as night. Eyes that he knew, staring into the sky like eyes of the dead even as the dark limbs twitched in a mockery of life.

"Sisa," he whispered.

He heard the Iezu curse softly as she, too, realized who this body belonged to. Tarrant's latest victim, strewn atop this lake of human remains like so much garbage. How many others here were his victims, or at least vivid simulacra of the same? He looked out upon the acres and acres of twitching flesh and shuddered. They were all women, and from what he could see they were all within a narrow age range. Mostly pale, as befit the Hunter's taste in victims. Doubtless attractive during their lives, although now that quality made them seem doubly gruesome.

Then: "Move!" the demon hissed from behind him, and he did so without thought, trusting Karril's warning. Fingers scratched his ankle as he moved just beyond the reach of something, and for a moment a wave of fear surged through his blood with such force that his limbs bound up like a frozen motor. Frightened, he struggled to keep moving. From behind him the demon hissed sharply as if in pain, but when he stopped to turn around, a hand shoved him from behind as if to say, I'm fine! Keep going! I'm fine! Keep going! Glancing down at the ground before his feet, trying to locate the safest ground, he saw with horror that human limbs were closing in on the path from both sides. Arms grasped at him as he lurched past, some closing on air behind him, some coming close enough to sc.r.a.pe his boots. For some reason that sight made him more afraid than all of Tarrant's lava h.e.l.l combined, and he broke into a run. Forcing his way past the grasping arms, whose fingers sent waves of terror coursing through his soul whenever they made contact. Where was the end of this path? he thought desperately. How many bodies were there? He found it impossible to believe that so many women could have fallen victim to one man's hunger, but what did he really know about the Hunter? How many numberless atrocities had the man indulged in, in the years before his semi-retirement in the Forest? Glancing down at the ground before his feet, trying to locate the safest ground, he saw with horror that human limbs were closing in on the path from both sides. Arms grasped at him as he lurched past, some closing on air behind him, some coming close enough to sc.r.a.pe his boots. For some reason that sight made him more afraid than all of Tarrant's lava h.e.l.l combined, and he broke into a run. Forcing his way past the grasping arms, whose fingers sent waves of terror coursing through his soul whenever they made contact. Where was the end of this path? he thought desperately. How many bodies were there? He found it impossible to believe that so many women could have fallen victim to one man's hunger, but what did he really know about the Hunter? How many numberless atrocities had the man indulged in, in the years before his semi-retirement in the Forest?

And then one of the arms grabbed his ankle and held it. His own weight sent him plunging forward and down, into the hands and the arms and the legs that were waiting for him, and- -running.Tree branches spreading across the path like spider silk, dark webs catching her as she runs, she struggles, she convulses madly, desperately, as the black thing that has chased her for three days and nights closes in- -running while the ground comes alive, crawly things oozing out of the very pores of the earth to trip at her ankles, sending her facedown into a bed of hungry worms- -running from the thing that has chased her for days, manlike but demon-strong, whose hunger licks at her flesh as she stumbles, as she feels sharp talons piercing her skin, setting hot blood to flow free- Strong hands took hold of his hair and his collar and yanked upward; it was the pain more than anything which made the visions scatter, allowing him one precious instant in which he could gasp for breath. The hands about his ankles shifted grip, and the visions began to close in once more-but the demon dragged him forward, hard enough and fast enough for them to be thrown lose. Left behind.

Shuddering, he gasped, "Tarrant's victims-"

"I know," Karril said grimly. "Keep moving!"

He knew in that moment, as he struggled to his feet once more, that the demon had experienced those awful visions through him. And he knew with dread certainty that if he should fall again, if those bodies should overwhelm him, the demon would be trapped alongside him in an endless h.e.l.l of suffering, reliving the last moments of each of the Hunter's victims over and over and over again....

He ran. Fast enough that the hands couldn't take hold of him, or so he prayed. Hard enough that any which did would be shaken loose by his momentum, before the memories they stored within their flesh could take hold. One arm lashed out across the path and he landed on it, crushing its dead flesh into the rock ground beneath; a spear of memory burned up through his leg and he felt cold teeth bite into his throat, the hot wound of despair as his lifeblood gushed out. It took everything he had not to stumble, but terror lent him a strength that cold logic could never have inspired, and he managed to stay on his feet. There were moans all about him now, and while some were echoes of pain and fear, others seemed to be sounds of hunger. Were the bodies aware of him? Did they think he was Tarrant? Ahead of him the path was closing up now, and he realized in horror that to get beyond this region he was going to have to wade through a sea of bodies, each of which had the power to send him spiraling down into unending nightmare. Panic a.s.sailed him, and he glanced back over his shoulder-stumbling as he did so-to a.s.sess the odds of retreat. There were none. The path in the distance was already gone, and as they ran forward, a wave of flesh came at them from behind, threatening to submerge them utterly.

And then he reached the wall of limbs and he surged into it, knowing even as he did so that no human velocity could possibly overwhelm such an obstacle, that a realm which had been designed to overwhelm the great Gerald Tarrant could easily overcome a mere human like himself- -running/falling/fearing into darkness darkness, running DESPAIR! DESPAIR! and the great bird closes in, talons red, feathers white and the great bird closes in, talons red, feathers white-andthe man with eyes of blue flame-and the wolveslspiderslsnakesl shadows/HUNTER!- A hand grasped hold of his shoulder; he felt it distantly, like a thing from another world, as the terror of the Hunter's victims reverberated through his flesh, drawing strength and solidity in each new second.

-facelike a ghost and hunger a palpable force that licks at her with an icy tongue a ghost and hunger a palpable force that licks at her with an icy tongue- He struggled to surface and failed. Struggled to define himself, to divide himself from the tsunami of pain and fear that surged through his brain, but the memories were too strong, too compelling ... too many. He was drowning in terror.

-faceof a monster- Another hand grasped him, held him tightly.

-faceof a G.o.d, too dark and terrible to behold. She lies transfixed as he bends down over her, her heart pounding like a frightened animal's... and then, suddenly, there is something besides fear in her. A rising heat, sharp and shameful, that makes her stretch back her throat as his shadow embraces her, baring it for the kill- -secret, shameful thrill- -power all around her, throbbing like a living thing, all around her, throbbing like a living thing, HIS HIS power power- -raw and terrible and and magnificent magnificent- -ecstasy as as flesh is tom from her bone, one last glorious moment in which she shares his pleasure and is willing to die for this terrible embrace flesh is tom from her bone, one last glorious moment in which she shares his pleasure and is willing to die for this terrible embrace- With a gasp he surfaced long enough to see Rasya's face just above his own, expression drawn and strained as if by some private agony. "Can you move?" it whispered. A dead hand grasped at his thigh as he nodded, and it sent him plummeting down into nightmare once more. But they were no longer cold dreams of horror and despair; this was a hot sea he sank into, fear trans.m.u.ted into desire, horror made into beauty, resistance giving way to a blissful acquiescence. He could sense the real terror behind it, masked by Karril's hedonistic illusions, but its edge had been blunted. Just enough, he thought, to give him a fighting chance.

Panting, he struggled to his feet. His groin was painfully swollen, and when an undead hand brushed against it from beneath he cried out, waves of pain and pleasure radiating out from that point in stunning, shameful confusion. He held onto Karril's arm and let the demon guide him, accepting the transformed memories as they washed over him like a wave. Once, for a brief instant, his sight of the real world grew clear enough that he could study the land ahead of them, searching for some end to this trial. But the ground was covered in flesh as far as he could see, bodies piling upon bodies in all the directions he might choose to turn. There was no end to this, he realized. Already it seemed like he had been here forever. Each memory that took hold of him seemed to last forever, and the journey yet to come- With a strangled cry he acknowledged an even greater danger facing him, and as the next memory dragged him down into the past he fought the time-numbing power of its imagery, and struggled to regain some kind of temporal framework. At last he was reduced to counting seconds in his brain even as he ran, on remembered legs, through the Hunter's Forest. Time and time again, in the dreams of the Hunter's victims, he ran and suffered and desired and died-and all the while the counting ticked in his skull like some vast spring-wound clock, marking the parameters of his body's survival. One minute. Two. Ten. An hour ...

It'll never end, he thought grimly, he thought grimly, unless I make it end. unless I make it end. He struggled to win free of the nightmares that a.s.saulted him long enough to get a good, hard look at his situation. If he had managed to gain any forward ground thus far, it wasn't visible. There was still no end in sight. And Karril, whose bizarre ministrations had allowed him to cling to sanity, was clearly weakening from the strain of such sustained effort. He struggled to win free of the nightmares that a.s.saulted him long enough to get a good, hard look at his situation. If he had managed to gain any forward ground thus far, it wasn't visible. There was still no end in sight. And Karril, whose bizarre ministrations had allowed him to cling to sanity, was clearly weakening from the strain of such sustained effort.

With the kind of courage that only sheer desperation could muster, he drew himself upright and raised up his fist against the black sky. "d.a.m.n you!" he screamed, in a voice so hoa.r.s.e it hardly sounded human. "You know we're here! You know why why we're here! Why play these games?" A cold hand closed around his ankle and he began to sink into memories once more; he struggled to cling to consciousness long enough to voice the challenge that his heart was screaming. "Are you afraid?" he demanded. "Afraid of one man and a Iezu? Afraid that if we get through this nightmare, we'll lay waste to all your plans?" we're here! Why play these games?" A cold hand closed around his ankle and he began to sink into memories once more; he struggled to cling to consciousness long enough to voice the challenge that his heart was screaming. "Are you afraid?" he demanded. "Afraid of one man and a Iezu? Afraid that if we get through this nightmare, we'll lay waste to all your plans?"

"Don't," Karril whispered fiercely. "You don't know what they'll do-"

But I know what'll happen if they don't do anything, he thought grimly, as the horrific images began to flood his brain anew. Already the black sky was fading, and his image of the swollen sun, and the bodies on the ground were giving way to night-black, Forest-sp.a.w.ned underbrush- he thought grimly, as the horrific images began to flood his brain anew. Already the black sky was fading, and his image of the swollen sun, and the bodies on the ground were giving way to night-black, Forest-sp.a.w.ned underbrush- And then there was a rumbling beneath his feet, so like that of a volcano's flank that he nearly turned back to see if some new eruption had followed them here. But Karril was clutching him too tightly for him to turn. Another quake shook the ground, and it seemed to him that the bodies before him were beginning to withdraw, clearing the way ahead. The one that grasped his leg let loose, and he felt an almost unbearable relief when, for the first time in hours, his mind was wholly his own.

"Karril-" he began.

"You're suicidal, you know that?" Amazed and exasperated, the demon shook her head. "How on Erna did you manage to survive this long?"

The ground split before them with a roar, and a vast, black chasm opened just before their feet. The bodies on its edges spilled down into the guts of the earth, still twitching their death-dance as they fell. It seemed to Damien that the bodies moaned as they fell, or perhaps some h.e.l.lish wind that scoured the chasm's depths merely mimicked the sound. Instinctively he stepped back, but the demon would not permit him to retreat.

"You summoned it," she growled. "You deal with it."

Something in the chasm's blackness made his stomach clench in terror, but he knew in his heart that Karril was right. Tarrant's captors were clearly aware of their journey here-as he had guessed-and they had answered his challenge. It was too late to undo that. All he could accomplish now, by refusing their invitation, was to anger them enough that they closed the way out of here forever.

He walked slowly to the edge of the chasm and gazed down into it. Though his human eyes could make out no details in the blackness, other senses picked out motion within the lightless depths, of things that slithered and flew and ... waited. A sickening reek rose up to his nostrils, all too like the one that had been in Tarrant's apartment. He had barely been able to tolerate that a.s.sault; how well would he handle this, its h.e.l.lish source? As he stared down into the abyss, he suddenly wasn't sure.

Well, you should have thought of that before you came here, priest. It's too late now.

The lip of the chasm near his feet wasn't a sheer drop, as elsewhere, but an angled and rocky slope. Clearly it was the only way down, short of jumping. With a last glance at Karril and a pounding in his heart, Damien slipped free of the demon's grasp and began the precarious descent. Into the black, rent earth. Into a darkness so total that despite the light from above, sharp yellow shafts making the lips of the chasm glow as if they were burning, he couldn't make out the shape of his own hand in front of his face, much less any detail of his surroundings.

Then the darkness closed in overhead, and all sight of the world above was gone. He breathed in deeply, trying not to give way to the claustrophobia that suddenly gripped his heart. At last, when he felt capable of moving again, he began to work his way down the slope by feel alone. When the path seemed to dissolve beneath his hands, he fought hard not to panic, and waited it out. The blackness surrounding him was close and thick and evil-smelling, but his sense of impending danger had become so great that those things took a back seat in his consciousness. As did the pain of his many wounds, now burning anew as the darkness rubbed against them.

"Karril?" he whispered. "You with me?"

"Unfortunately." He felt the demon brush against him and reached out to take her hand; from the strength of her returning grip he judged that she wasn't any happier about this place than he was. He was suddenly glad that she had come here in a female form. It didn't matter worth a d.a.m.n in reality-a demon was a demon-but he would have felt like an idiot squeezing hands with a man in this darkness, even knowing the truth. Thank G.o.d for Karril's insight.

Something brushed against his leg-and a wave of loathing rose up in his gut, clogged his throat, made his brain fill with images of hatred and destruction. An instant later it was gone. What-? What-?Then another thing slithered against his back, and for an instant he was consumed by such jealous rage that all conscious thought gave way before it. That, too, pa.s.sed quickly, fading into the darkness that surrounded as soon as its messenger lost contact with them.

"Hate-wraiths," Karril whispered. "Rage-wraiths. And more. Every species of evil that man has ever produced is here, given independent life by the force of the planet. Congregating in this one place, like drawn to like, until their sheer ma.s.s gave them a kind of consciousness no lone demon could ever enjoy." Damien could sense her eyes fixed on him; could her Iezu senses function in this darkness? "That's your Unnamed, priest. Erna's great devil. Like everything else, a creation of your own species." Damien could feel her twisting, as if to look about them. "And a d.a.m.n lousy host, besides."

He was about to respond when a voice whispered, See. Others echoed it, fragments of speech that entered his skull not through his ears, as human speech might, but through his very skin. Whispers that etched their way into his brain matter without ever making a real sound.

See Intruders!

No place Go Go See Invasion!

Strike out Destroy And then a deeper voice, more resonant, that seemed to contain a thousand others: See what it is you came to see, priest. Know your own helplessness. See what it is you came to see, priest. Know your own helplessness.

A figure some ten yards distant from Damien was made visible, but not by any natural light. Eerie phosph.o.r.escence illuminated the form of a man hanging as if bound to some frame, but gave no view of his supporting device. It gleamed off the polished surfaces of belt buckles, b.u.t.tons, and embroidery, but was swallowed by the darkness surrounding those things before it could illuminate any details of the chamber surrounding. It etched in harsh relief the visage of a man so wracked by pain that his features were almost unrecognizable, and the shreds of his clothing where they hung from his lean frame were little more than wisps of dying color, bleached by the unnatural light.

"Gerald," he whispered.

He was bound as he had been in the fire of the earth so long ago: cruciform, his arms stretched out tautly to his sides, his legs separated just far enough to make room for the bonds at his ankles. But where the Master of Lema had used plain iron to bind the Hunter, the Unnamed had more gruesome tools. The ropes that were wrapped about him glowed with an unwholesome light all their own, and they shifted and twitched as Damien watched, like living creatures. Horrified, he saw one raise its head as if noting his approach; when it decided at last that Damien was no threat to it, it returned to the work at hand, burrowing down between the tendons of the Hunter's forearm like some hungry animal, leaving a band of sizzling flesh wherever it pa.s.sed. Now that he knew what to look for, Damien could see that the other "ropes" were much the same, serpentine creatures that twined inside and out of the Hunter's body, their flesh burning into the man's own like acid every time they moved.

He wasn't surprised that Karril let go of his hand and refused to approach with him. Gazing at Tarrant's tortured visage, sensing a man so lost in pain that he wasn't even aware of their presence, he wondered that the Iezu had managed to come even this close.

You see? a slithering voice pressed, and another whispered, a slithering voice pressed, and another whispered, Your Church would approve. Your Church would approve.

He tried to focus on why he had come here, on the arguments he had been running through his mind since his discovery of Tarrant's disappearance. It was hard, with that horrific display hanging just overhead. He flinched inside each time he heard one of the serpent-things move, guessing at the pain they caused.

"Is this some kind of punishment?" he demanded.

This is his judgment, many-voices-in-one answered him. many-voices-in-one answered him.

"For what crime?"

He could sense agitation in the darkness around him; one or two of the d.a.m.ned creatures flitted near him, but none made contact. For the act of forgetting who he is, and what power sustains him. For the crime of pretending to be human. For the act of forgetting who he is, and what power sustains him. For the crime of pretending to be human.

"It must have been a terrible thing he did, that over-weighs nine centuries of service. Tell me what it was."

You were there, priest.

Was that anger in its voice? He tried to keep the fear out of his own as he urged it, "Tell me how you see it."

He saved a civilization from ruin, one voice whispered into his brain. one voice whispered into his brain.

He circ.u.mvented a holocaust that would have fed us all, another proclaimed. another proclaimed.

He gave your Patriarch a weapon no man of the Church should ever have.

"What-?" He looked up at Tarrant, eyes narrowing in anger as he realized what the voices must be referring to. You son of a b.i.t.c.h. You did it! You son of a b.i.t.c.h. You did it! It was hard to say if he was more amazed or angry, now that he knew. What kind of desperation must the man have felt, to have risked such a thing? It was hard to say if he was more amazed or angry, now that he knew. What kind of desperation must the man have felt, to have risked such a thing?

He forced himself to turn away from the Hunter's body, to face the unseen creatures once more. He had an answer for that argument, and for any other they might come up with. "Each thing you name, he did for his own purposes. Each thing he did, he did to stay alive so that he could serve you."

Doesn't matter Doesn't matter Doesn't matter Traitor!

His mind racing, Damien struggled to regain control of their interview. "And so what? You'll keep him here forever? Is that your intention?"

Until judgment is rendered Until the compact is broken Traitor!

"A death sentence," he mused. "Is that what nine centuries of service are worth to you?"

He could feel something swelling in the darkness, like a wave gathering overhead, preparing to crash down on him. The next voice was deeper and infinitely more resonant, and played against a background of utter silence; the whispering voices had been sucked into a greater whole.

We reclaim a gift he no longer deserves, it told Damien. What he does after that is his own concern.

"You're sentencing him to death."

Again there was the dizzying sensation of something gathering just beyond his sight, drawing back like an incipient bore wave. Panic shot through his flesh like hot spears, but he sensed that it was some kind of a.s.sault from that presence, and he struggled to stand his ground.

Whether he lives or dies is not Our concern.

"Your sentence means his death," he persisted. Sensing that there was an intelligence behind the voice now, and a malevolence, far greater than anything it had contained before. "You know that. He He knows it." And he dared, "Taste the knowledge inside him, if you doubt me." knows it." And he dared, "Taste the knowledge inside him, if you doubt me."

Something dark and unwholesome moved close by his cheek, almost touching him as it pa.s.sed; it took everything he had not to collapse in a heap of gibbering panic at the near-contact. G.o.d in Heaven! What would happen if it had actually touched him, like the others had? Then he heard a sharp cry behind him, and the straining of flesh against living bonds. Whatever method of Knowing the owner of that voice was using, it was clearly painful.

I'm sorry, he thought to Tarrant. Wishing the man could hear him. he thought to Tarrant. Wishing the man could hear him. There was no other way. There was no other way.

At last the struggling behind him subsided, and he was aware of the dark thing withdrawing to its place. What you say is true, What you say is true, it rumbled. it rumbled. It's still no concern of Ours. It's still no concern of Ours.

"He served you for nine centuries," Damien challenged. "He tortured and killed and maimed and corrupted whole generations, all in your name. He warped an entire region so that it would serve his hunger-your hunger-and made himself into a legend that'll feed you with fear long after he's dead." He paused dramatically; his heart was pounding. "For all that service he should deserve some kind of chance for survival, don't you think?"

Perhaps, a lighter voice whispered, and others echoed the thought. The sense of overwhelming malevolence had faded ever so slightly, for which Damien was grateful. Would that greater being have accepted his argument? For the first time he sensed what Tarrant must have gone through, putting his soul in the hands of a creature who changed its very definition with each pa.s.sing second. a lighter voice whispered, and others echoed the thought. The sense of overwhelming malevolence had faded ever so slightly, for which Damien was grateful. Would that greater being have accepted his argument? For the first time he sensed what Tarrant must have gone through, putting his soul in the hands of a creature who changed its very definition with each pa.s.sing second. Or perhaps instead We should judge him by the company he keeps. You defend him as if he were one of your own, priest. If he were truly as evil as you claim, no living man would stand up for him like that. Or perhaps instead We should judge him by the company he keeps. You defend him as if he were one of your own, priest. If he were truly as evil as you claim, no living man would stand up for him like that.

"I need him!" he snarled. Making his voice as callous as it could become, smothering every last bit of sentiment his human heart might nurture. "I need him as a tool, and when that's done I couldn't give a d.a.m.n what happens to him. Let h.e.l.l have him if it wants. G.o.d knows, he's earned it."

Silence. Damien glanced over desperately to where Karril must be, but saw no sign of her in the darkness. Would his argument work? Clearly the Unnamed's response to such things had as much to do with the form it was in at the moment, as any inherent merit his argument might have. Was it in Damien's favor that the voices had stayed joined together through most of their interview, or would the fragmented whispers that flitted about like insects have been easier to convince?

At last, after long minutes of silence, the voices whispered, Judgment is rendered. Judgment is rendered.

He looked back at Tarrant, then into the heart of the darkness once more. "What is it?" he demanded.

Death may take him, another voice whispered. another voice whispered. But not by Our hands. But not by Our hands. There was a pause; Damien could feel the blood pounding hot in his head, and it felt near to bursting. One There was a pause; Damien could feel the blood pounding hot in his head, and it felt near to bursting. One longmonth longmonth from from today, the compact that sustains him will be dissolved. If he can find an alternate means of survival before that, so be it. If not, then h.e.l.l may have him. today, the compact that sustains him will be dissolved. If he can find an alternate means of survival before that, so be it. If not, then h.e.l.l may have him.

You will see that he understands Our terms.

"Yes," he whispered. Numbed by the seeming victory. "Of course."

A stench of foulness spilled into the s.p.a.ce surrounding Tarrant, a smell so unclean that it made Damien's stomach heave in protest. A hot, bitter fluid filled his mouth; he forced himself to swallow it down as the living ropes unwound themselves from about the Hunter's limbs, withdrawing themselves from his flesh. One by one they slithered off into the stink and the darkness, and became invisible. One and one only remained, coiling about Tarrant's neck like a restless serpent.

We leave him with this, the voices whispered, the voices whispered, as a reminder of Our power. as a reminder of Our power.

The snakelike creature lashed out at Tarrant's face suddenly, and such was its speed and its force that it cracked like a whip as it struck his flesh. The Hunter cried out sharply, and his body bent back in agony. Then that creature also slithered away, leaving Tarrant's body to fall from its unseen frame to a lifeless heap on the floor. A shapeless sack of bones, no more, so tortured and starved and exhausted by fear that it lacked even the strength to cry out as it struck.

The light was beginning to fade, but it seemed to Damien that the source of the whispers was also gone. "Karril?" he dared. "Can you do something?"

He heard something move toward him, and then the demon was by his side. "Here." She handed him a candle-or the illusion of a candle, more likely-whose feeble light was just enough to illuminate Tarrant's face. Damien rolled the Hunter gently onto his back. Where the serpentine creature had struck him there was now a scar that glistened wetly as it coursed from his jawline to the corner of his eye. The flesh was puckered about it as if it were a wound badly healed, enhancing its disfiguring power tenfold. He'll love that, He'll love that, he thought grimly. Tarrant's eyes were open but glazed, unseeing, their pupils so distended by pain that no hint of the iris was visible. he thought grimly. Tarrant's eyes were open but glazed, unseeing, their pupils so distended by pain that no hint of the iris was visible. Just as well, Just as well, Damien thought. Damien thought. Not much worth lookingataroundhere. Not much worth lookingataroundhere.

He readied himself to lift the man's limp form up onto his shoulders-and then shuddered, at the thought of where he had to carry it. "Tell me the way back is easier," he begged Karril.

"It's easier," the demon a.s.sured him.

He looked up at her.

"It really is. I swear it." She reached out to the Hunter's face as if to touch it gently, but then drew back before contact was made. Afraid to share his pain? "You have him now. I can lead you home directly."

"Thank G.o.d for that," he muttered. For a moment longer he crouched by Tarrant's side, his body aching from its many wounds. Then, with a practiced grip, he heaved the unprotesting body up onto his left shoulder, and rose with it. The weight hurt like h.e.l.l-so to speak-but that pain was ameliorated by the knowledge of his victory.

Well-he cautioned himself-partial victory, anyway.

As he turned to follow Karril, the weight of Tarrant's limp form heavy on his shoulder, he thought, Pray G.o.d it will be enough. Pray G.o.d it will be enough.