Damien nodded.
The captain knelt before him; it was clearly a position to which he was not accustomed. After a moment’s hesitation he lifted his hands, clasped palm to palm, before him. Damien folded his own about them, his pulse warm against the callused skin. And he spoke the same words that had been said to him so very long ago, so very far away, at the birthtime of his soul.
“This is the way of the Lord the One God, who created Earth and Erna, who led us to the stars, whose faith is the salvation of humankind . . .”
And as he intoned the words that would bind yet another soul to his mission, he whispered silently, Thank you, God. For giving me this moment. For showing me that I wasn’t alone tonight. For showing me that none of us are alone, not ever. Not in Your service.
And thank You for touching this man’s soul. For letting him taste of our dream. There is no more precious gift.
“Welcome to God’s service,” he whispered.
9
A study in Silence: the jagged peak of Guardian Mountain, granite-clad and still. No life stirred on those harsh slopes, nor anything that might attract life. No breeze swept across the bare rock, though winds had gusted strongly up to half an hour before. The storm which had been headed this way had been turned aside, for no better reason than the one with the power to do so had no patience left for storms. The peak was as still as death itself, reflecting the mood of the one who stood upon it. Reflecting his soul.
And then there was movement. Not visible to most, perhaps, but visible to him. A tremor of earth-fae; a whisper of foreboding. The power that was near him thickened, focused, began to coagulate into solid form. Flesh. A woman’s body at first, and then—as the body became more solid—it shifted to a man’s form, draped in a man’s attire. Velvet robes, priceless jewels, fur collar that rippled as if in the wind, despite the lack of breeze. As he changed form, so did the surroundings. The cold peak disappeared, to be replaced by a palace interior. Rich silk tapestries, frescoed walls . . . the fae-creature waited a moment for the man on the peak to react, then shrugged. The tapestries gave way to trees, the walls to a brilliant Coreset. Still no response. He let that fade to a church interior. When even that image failed to stir the man’s interest, he let it fade as well, and replaced it with a scene out of nightmare. A vast field of skulls stretched for miles before them, and in its center—at the feet of the man—an offering cup of blood. About its brim was engraved a ribald limerick in ancient Earth-script. He saw the man glance down to read it, then turn slowly toward him. His expression made it clear he was not amused.
“You really have no sense of humor tonight,” Karril said.
“I Called you five nights ago,” Gerald Tarrant pointed out.
“You did. And someday when you’re in a better mood I’ll tell you just how much fun it wasn’t to cross Novatlantis. My kind rides the earth-currents, remember? Do you know what they’re like in that region? If a horse did to you what the fae did to me, you’d unevolve the whole species.” With a short wave of his hand the demon banished the nightmare images. Black walls took their place, dressed with crimson curtains and golden sconces: the trappings of the Hunter’s palace. “You want to tell me what’s eating you, or you want me to guess?”
“I thought you could read my soul.”
“I can’t read pain. You know that.”
“Is it that?” he murmured. “Already?”
“You tell me.” When the Hunter said nothing he pressed, “You Called me for a reason.”
“I Called you to see if I could Work through to the west from here.”
“Well?” He spread his hands generously. “I heard you. Here I am.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “With you it worked.”
For a moment the demon studied him. Then, very softly, he ventured, “I wasn’t your first effort, was I? You must have tried other times, without result. Tried to call up some power from your western reservoir, and it wouldn’t respond. Is that it?”
The Hunter nodded tightly.
“I suppose it makes sense, you know. Summon a demon who has a will of his own, and maybe he’ll choose to make the trip. Summon the power of the Forest, which has no independent spirit . . .”
“I couldn’t,” he whispered. “The distance was too great. And Novatlantis—”
The demon shuddered dramatically. “I understand.”
“You know what that means, don’t you?” His voice was quiet but strained; evidently his self-control was being pushed to the breaking point. “I can’t go home. Not the same way I got here.”
“I thought your priestly friend was willing to support you.”
“Yes. He fed me his blood and his nightmares for half a year . . . and I starved, Karril. I starved. Even now the hunger still resonates within me. Why? It’s never been like this before. Never been something I couldn’t master. Until now.”
“You fed, I take it.”
He shut his eyes, remembering. “As soon as we landed, and many times since. Fear so rich it made me giddy to taste it, blood so hot with terror that leaching it of warmth should have cooled my hunger for a decade. This land is ripe for me, Karril, and its people are unprotected. And yet . . . I feel empty again. Desperately empty. The scent of a victim makes me tremble with hunger . . . even though I know that my physical need has been satisfied. Why? It’s never been like this before.”
“You never starved yourself for that long before.”
“Why should that matter? You can starve a vampire for centuries, but within a night after he’s fed—”
“You haven’t been a mere vampire for centuries now. Remember?”
“It shouldn’t make a difference.”
“Of course it does! You have a complex soul, my friend. A human soul, for all its hellish trappings. Such a thing takes time to heal. Hells, even a housecat that’s starved for five months will hoard its food for a while. Give it time.”
“I haven’t got time,” he muttered. Turning away. His hands, clenched into fists, trembled slightly. “Our enemy must know we’re here,” he whispered. “I have no time for weakness.”
“I would help if I could,” the demon said softly. “You know that. But my powers are limited.” He indicated the room that surrounded them, as if to say, this is it. “I can give you illusion. I can intensify the pleasure of killing, perhaps even offer a brief euphoria of forgetfulness. But escapism’s never been your style, I know that. What more can I offer?”
“You can give me information.”
The demon chuckled softly. “Ah, now it all comes together. Is that why you called me here?”