“I was rewarded after I slew Meeryn,” Mistress Naff said. “Given this skin to wear and walk this world. Now it’s your time to follow.”
Darkness closed around Tylar. The hall dissolved away-but not sight. An inner eye opened. He watched, experienced, lived as someone else. He found himself struggling against someone.
The attacker was impossibly strong.
A tangle of brown hair, stubbled chin, hungry green eyes… Chrism.
No, she mouthed. Why…?
It was Mistress Naff.
She was struck in the mouth, but Tylar tasted the blood. Chrism thrust into her, rough, tearing. Tylar was unprepared. The pain tore his belly, his legs, his groin. She screamed. He screamed.
It stretched endlessly, then the burn of seed spilled into her. He felt it like a wash of fire. It seared through her, through him. They were one. Memories locked.
Raped… by Chrism.
His corrupted seed ate her from the inside. Hollowed her out. All that was once a woman was eaten away. Nothing was left. He felt himself going, too, following.
… NO…
A ring of command shot through him.
… THAT IS NOT YOUR PATH…
The words came from outside, from inside.
… IT IS ECHOES… NOT TO BE FOLLOWED… HERE IS YOUR BODY…
Agony flared anew… a more familiar agony. He knew the break of bones… his bones. He took the pain and claimed it for his own.
… DO NOT LOSE YOUR PATH…
Tylar recognized now the voice of his naethryn daemon.
Vision returned, tunneled and distant.
Corram lunged with a sword, attempting to cut him free. But the naether could not be harmed by mere steel. A lash of Gloom snapped forth, striking Corram in the face. He stumbled back, dropping his sword. He reached for his face. But it was too late. It was already gone.
Corram fell backward, blood pouring from the hollow that was once chin, lips, and nose. He struck the floor, dead.
A dagger flew with deadly accuracy at Mistress Naff’s throat. Thrown by Rogger. But a flow of Gloom turned it to slag in midair. It splattered to the floor. Harmless.
No weapon could pierce the naether tangle.
Save one.
Tylar could not see the Godsword in his hand. But he felt it. The hilt clung to his broken hand, refusing to let go. Tylar willed his body to move, to strike out at the daemon wearing Mistress Naff’s skin, the one who slew Meeryn and won this body. Tylar knew the real woman was long gone. All that was left were shadows and light, meant to trick him, to lure him astray like a will-o’-the-wisp in a dark wood.
Echoes, as his naethryn had claimed.
He struggled to raise the weapon, but he found no strength in his broken limbs. All he had was will. And that wasn’t enough.
Laughter met his struggle.
“We will have the sword… and you,” the daemon promised. A slim arm rose and reached for Rivenscryr. “With it, we will tear open this world, like this shell I wear now, and claim it for our own! We will be free!”
Tylar struggled, broken and hopeless.
There was no escape.
Fingers closed on the Godsword’s hilt.
Dart heard Mistress Naff’s voice from a landing away.
We will have the sword!
Dart hopped from the hound’s back, almost breaking her leg on the stairs. The sudden loss of his rider stopped the bullhound. Dart did not want to be dragged unwilling into the same trap as the others.
She left the hound below. She hoped her command to stay was obeyed.
Reaching the open doors, she crouched and studied the hall.
We will be free!
Dart ignored Mistress Naff. She spotted one knight down on the floor, blood pooling around his head. The others seemed at a loss on how to penetrate a tangled web that locked Tylar and Mistress Naff together. From her hiding place, Dart searched for Lord Chrism, but he was nowhere to be seen.
She returned her study to Tylar… and his sword.
He had to be broken free.
But how?
Kathryn despaired as she watched the daemon woman’s fingers close upon the hilt of the Godsword. She had heard the woman’s mad claim.
But how could they stop her?
Rogger circled the pair, seeking any means to penetrate the snarl of Gloom. He had tried striking from behind, but still the Gloom had thwarted him, burning his dagger to molten steel that dripped and steamed to the stones.
Krevan hovered by his fallen friend. His face was a mask of fury, but there was no outlet for his anger. Eylan and Gerrod stood to the side. Eylan pointed to a torch on the wall, then to the rug at her feet. Plainly she was thinking to set it on fire.
Gerrod wisely shook his head. Even if they could light the rug, it was doubtful flames would fare any better than steel.
Krevan stirred from his vigil and pointed his sword back to the door.
Kathryn turned, dropping lower, wary.
A small figure ran toward them.
It was the child. Dart. What was she doing here?
Kathryn closed upon her, intending to keep her back. The godling must not fall into Chrism’s hands. Especially if the monster recovered the sword. Kathryn’s fingers tightened on her own hilt. She could not let the child be taken alive.
Still, Kathryn stared down at the girl’s small flushed face as she joined her. Do I have the strength to slay this girl if I must?
“Castellan Vail,” Dart gasped. “You must throw your dagger!”
She grabbed the girl’s arm as she tried to move closer. “We already tried. No blade can reach her.”
Dart fought her grip. “Not her.” She freed her arm and jabbed it forward. “Him!”
“Tylar?”
Dart bent and touched Kathryn’s calf. “Strike him here. She may not expect that.”
“But-?”
“Do it!” The small voice chimed with a mix of command and desperation.
Kathryn twisted around, trusting the girl for now. She slipped a dagger free. “Rogger!” she called out. “Strike from behind again! All of you! On my command! Attack together!”
Kathryn pushed Dart behind her. She hoped the additional distraction might allow a blade to slip by the smoky defenses and strike Tylar’s calf.
“Now!”
Blades fell from all sides, aimed for the woman.
Kathryn swiped her dagger low, swinging from the hip. She put all the force of muscle and shadow into her throw.
The blade flew from her fingertips, sent with a prayer.
Elsewhere, steel exploded into fiery, molten splashes.
All done to protect Naff.
Not Tylar.
Kathryn’s blade slipped through a break in the tangle. The dagger struck Tylar’s calf, spearing completely through it.
Kathryn straightened. Nothing happened. The stalemate continued. Tylar did not even seem to notice the blow, too racked in pain already.
She stared down at the girl.
If Tylar lost this battle…
Kathryn lifted her sword. The girl did not even notice. She continued her focus on the two in the smoky tangle.
Dart’s lips moved, a whisper. “Go, Pupp…”
Frowning, Kathryn turned back to Tylar.
At his knee, something formed. A misshapen, molten chunk of bronze. It moved, defining itself into some four-legged creature of sharp points and razored edges. Its nose was pressed to Tylar’s calf, to the dagger.
To his blood!
“Tylar’s Grace!” Gerrod gasped, stepping to them, laying a hand on Dart’s shoulder. “It ignites her creature!”
“Pupp,” Dart corrected.
The bronze creature stalked around Tylar’s leg. Unseen and without substance before, it must have slipped in and waited for a source of Grace.
It found it in Tylar’s blood.
The daemoness finally noted the monster in her midst and jerked back. But it was too late.
Pupp leaped, flying high, all four claws extended. He latched onto Nass’s belly, flaring brighter. She screamed.
Flames shot out her back as Pupp buried his fiery muzzle into her flesh. She fell backward, tumbling out of her protective tangle and into Chrism’s rooms.