“You could still do as you first planned,” Ellonlef said then, “and flee Aradan.”
“No,” Kian said, a part of him wishing it could be that easy. “My course is set. I may not hold any allegiance to House Kilvar or Aradan, but as you warned, Varis does not intend to rest after taking the Ivory Throne.”
Ellonlef shook her head. “I worry that King Simiis will not believe that his own blood is seeking to usurp the throne.”
“I have had the same thought,” Kian said. “But in this, our fate is in the hands of whichever gods remain. Besides, King Simiis will have no choice but to believe me, especially once Varis sets his army against Ammathor. Of course, I may be in chains by the time he comes to realize I did not lie about the treachery of his own blood.”
“And what if Varis succeeds in his goals? What if he takes the Ivory Throne for his own?”
“I’ll not waste a moment thinking that far ahead. Besides, if Varis wins out, I’ll likely not be alive-none of us will. Again, I will leave it in the hands of Pa’amadin, or whatever gods remain.” He abruptly stood. “I should get back to my watch, and you should get back to your blankets. Thank you for the fruit.” Before she could respond, he moved down the trail.
Chapter 26
Despite Kian’s advice, Ellonlef stayed where she was, nibbling a date, watching his shadowed figure merge with the rest of the canyon’s darkness until he was lost from sight. She
had never met any man quite like him, and she found him oddly compelling. There was no bluster to him, at least once she had realized that his commanding presence was simply an innate and necessary quality-he was a warrior, a wielder of steel and death. The coldness she had thought was in his heart after the incident with the dying Asra a’Shah, she concluded, was more a result of his role as a leader of a mercenary company. And now, having been in his presence for many days, she sensed in him a deep and often burdensome understanding of life and death that most people would never have or want.
Ellonlef bit into another date and winced at a bit of sand grinding between her teeth. She spat it out and stood, searching the night for a last glimpse of Kian. On my life, I will protect you. The words came to her, not for the first time, as if on a breeze. Could she truly trust his vow, and more, should she burden him with a vow obviously spoken in distress?
A scratching sound, followed by a fall of pebbles, froze her. In the direction of the ruins a man shouted, then another screamed. Ellonlef bared her dagger without thought, the collected dates held in her robes once again thumping to the sandy soil. Something rustled across the dry streambed, but she turned too late. A shape loomed out of the night, quickly closing the distance.
“Attackers!” she cried.
The figure halted before her and fear twisted her insides. The shape was that of a man, but its eyes glimmered with the hue of faded silver. The figure advanced, pressing her back, seemingly taking delight in her fear. It had been Azuri and Hazad who had spoken of the mahk’lar at the beck and call of Lord Marshal Bresado, those with silver eyes.
I face a demon clad in the skin of a man, she thought, mind racing. Kian’s companions had said their weapons were nearly useless against such creatures. At the same instant, she understood that Varis had not raised the dead of Krevar at all, but rather infused once human flesh with the spirits of demons. Does he know that is what he has done? She was certain he did not.
Without warning the mahk’lar darted at her, a blur of motion against the black backdrop of night. Ellonlef staggered, dagger raised. The ring of a sword slamming into her small blade was loud, and the blow rippled through her every muscle, but she kept hold of the weapon. She twisted to one side as the demon’s blade shrieked down the length of hers, and she narrowly missed having her arm hacked off. Wheeling, staying close to her assailant’s sword arm, she forced the creature to turn with her.
“The Life Giver wants you,” the figure said in a voice that rattled.
“Tell your master,” Ellonlef snarled, denying the fear in her breast, “that Sisters of Najihar do not answer to the spawn of the Thousand Hells, nor do we easily give our lives.”
Choked, mocking laughter gurgled in the night. Faster than thought, the creature surged at her with a sidearm stroke, forcing her to leap back. Its steel flashed, missing her throat by a hair’s breadth. Before the demon could strike again she slashed wildly at the creature’s neck, and thought she saw a spark of bluish light where cold steel touched demonic flesh. In the heat of the moment, she instantly discounted it.
Despite the shallow cut, the demon tottered and fell to its knees, clutching at the wound, head bowed. Ellonlef’s arm rose and fell, driving the dagger deep into the base of what had been a man’s skull. When she wrenched the blade free, a freakish howl burst from the creature, and before her eyes the man-shape folded in on itself, oozing a substance darker than any shadow. It quickly dissipated, as if dragged away by a strong wind.
Then Ellonlef was running back to camp. She sought to grasp how her blade had so easily dispatched a mahk’lar, but her thoughts were too frantic to concentrate on anything more than staying alive.
She had not gone far when she detected the sound of thudding feet coming up behind her. She spun into a crouch, preparing to disembowel her next enemy, be it demon or man. The footfalls stopped an instant later.
“Ellonlef!” Kian called.
“Here,” she cried, relief flooding her veins.
Kian ran to her side. He did not speak, but grabbed her elbow and all but dragged her along until they came to a dilapidated building. He cast about, looking for a safer place, but there were none. He pulled her into its roofless interior, hiding them behind a collapsed wall. “Stay here,” he whispered. “Out of sight.”
“Your company is too diminished to lay aside even one sword.”
“You do not wield a sword,” he said, glancing at her dagger.
“Then I will take up the blade of the demon I just killed,” she retorted, trying to get past him. He shoved her back hard enough that she fell on her backside. “You great-”
Kian’s hand clapping over her lips cut off the flow of curses before they began. He stared straight into her eyes. “What demon?” he demanded, then carefully drew back his hand.
“It was a man, but with the glowing eyes Azuri and Hazad described at El’hadar.”
His stare glittered darkly. After a moment, during which he seemed to be struggling over something, he again ordered her to stay put. Closer now, men were shouting, and the sounds of clashing steel echoed off the narrow canyon walls.
Ellonlef tried to stand, but he pressed her down. “I do not have time for this,” he said, exasperated. “Stay here and remain out of sight. I cannot divide my attention between your safety and fighting.”
She had to force herself to relax in a false show of acquiescence. He stared at her a moment more, as if trying to read her intent. Seemingly satisfied that he had cowed her, he stood and sprinted away.
Muttering oaths under her breath, Ellonlef waited and listened, torn in her heart whether to obey, or join the fight. No matter what Kian said, she did not need looking after, whereas she knew he needed an extra sword in this fight. The Life Giver wants you, she heard the demon say in her mind. Imagining more of those creatures lurking around decided her. She would not wait like a lamb tied for the butcher’s knife. She jumped up and hastened back to the thing sprawled in the sand. It looked like the discarded skin of a man gone to some foul and thick liquid. Of bones and flesh, there was no sign.