“Most of the Iezu never take on human form. Most of them never appear to humans in any shape at all, or interact with them except in the course of feeding. It’s doubtful if their victims are even aware of their existence. But a few, skilled in the arts of illusion, create bodies and voices and mannerisms with which to communicate, and seem to delight in human-style intercourse. The first of these appeared in the early fourth century, and more followed soon after. In my library back home I have files on nearly three dozen, and that’s by no means a final figure. None have ever died that we know of.”
“If I assumed that you knew of them—” and here he was speaking to Damien, “—it was because so many sorcerers do. The lady Ciani consulted several, and when an enemy’s attack robbed her of her facilities it was a Iezu who tried to help her.”
“Karril,” Damien recalled. “I think that was the name.”
Tarrant nodded. “Perhaps the very first of his kind; certainly one of the oldest. Karril is worshiped as a god in some regions, as many of the Iezu are; their nature makes them particularly compatible with that role. And he seems to enjoy interaction with adepts, which not all of them do. I, too, have relied on him for information. Sometimes even for guidance.”
“You would trust a demon?”
“The Iezu aren’t common demons, Reverend Vryce. Many pride themselves on their interaction with man. And even when they feed, they don’t take anything from man that can’t be replenished. Their hunger is for emotional energy, and they seem to be able to feed off that without weakening their prey. In fact, the bond between Iezu and human can even intensify the emotional experience for both.”
“Karril was worshiped as a god of pleasure, wasn’t he?”
Tarrant nodded. “And the men and women who couple in his temples not only feed him with their passion, but draw on him for intensification of their pleasure. It’s a true symbiosis between man and the faeborn—or as close to one as Erna is capable of providing.”
“So what’s the catch?” the priest demanded. “There has to be one, or the whole damn planet would have set up Iezu shrines.”
“A lot of them have, Reverend Vryce. Of the ninety-six pagan churches in Jaggonath, more than forty are dedicated to Iezu. Not that they know it, of course. The lady Ciani was trying to catalog them when events . . . distracted her.”
“As for the ‘catch,’ it’s both simple and deadly. Obsession. Addiction. Dependency. And not all of the Iezu hunger after pleasant emotions. Some lust after varieties of pain, and bond themselves to men and women who delight in self-torture; others have needs so complex or abstract that their victims expend all their vital energy trying to define just what it is they hunger for. Obsession can kill, remember that, and even when it doesn’t, it always deforms its victims. That’s the price of a true Iezu bond, for those who choose to embrace it.”
“So why would a sorcerer chance it?” Damien asked. “Surely they understand the risk.”
“Some think they can handle it. Some see it as a challenge. Most—like myself—perceive in the Iezu a valuable tool. Those who are willing to appear in human form—perhaps a tenth of their total number—are eloquent, sophisticated, and often amiable in nature. They have considerable knowledge about demonkind in general, and can tap sources of information that humans have no access to. And they recognize their own dependence upon humankind. That’s what really sets them apart from common demons: they may feed on man, they may delight in seducing him into symbiotic bondage, but in the end they do recognize that it is they who will be the losers if humankind fails to thrive.”
“So what does it mean that our enemy is Iezu?” Hesseth demanded. “To us, and to this mission?”
“You’ve seen it for yourself,” he said quietly. “The one power that all the Iezu have. The skill that defines their kind.”
It took Damien a minute to realize what he meant. “Illusion.”
The Hunter nodded.
“You mean those children-” Hesseth began.
“Illusion. That’s all it was. That’s all it had to be. The Iezu have no other power than that. But isn’t that enough?” he demanded. “A Iezu cloaked the valley so thoroughly that all my sorcery couldn’t see through his work. The children rotted to pieces even as they worshiped their Iezu patron, unable to see the truth of their own flesh.”
“You saw through it,” Hesseth challenged.
He turned to look at her. “I bargained with a Iezu for that right,” he said quietly. “Which may not work again. We would do well not to count on it.”
“Still,” said Damien, “If they have no power beyond that—”
“Don’t underestimate the danger of illusion,” Tarrant warned. “Remember the power of human belief. In the rakhlands I was captured by an enemy who wielded sunlight against me. Was that real or illusory? In that moment I believed it, and so it burned me. It could have killed me. We’re not talking about some parlor conjuration, which you can Banish with a little concentration, but a total warping of natural perception, manipulated by an enemy who knows its power. And you can bet he’ll use it carefully, in circumstances where we aren’t prepared to resist. It was surprise as much as anything which defeated me in the rakhlands.”
“So is it this Calesta who’s one of them?” Hesseth asked. “Is he your Iezu demon?”
The Hunter’s expression darkened. “Most likely. And we can expect him to be allied to some powerful human, as he was in the rakhlands. That’s not uncommon with demons in general, but it’s standard operating procedure for the Iezu.” Something dark seemed to flicker in the back of his eyes then, something cold and uncertain. Whatever it was, he didn’t choose to share it. “It will make our campaign more difficult,” he said quietly, “and far more dangerous.”
“You sound afraid,” Damien challenged him.
The Hunter hesitated. “Maybe I am. Maybe we all should be. If you told me that I would have to face a horde of demons unarmed, with nothing but my Workings to support me, I would be reasonably confident that my power was up to the challenge. But the Iezu? No man has ever killed one. I wonder now if any man has ever controlled one. Many of the laws of demonkind seem to be suspended in that family, which means that the techniques mankind has developed for dealing with such threats may well be inoperative here. Isn’t that reason enough to fear?”
“What about the atrocities we’ve seen?” Hesseth asked him. “Do you think this Calesta’s responsible?”
Tarrant seemed to hesitate. “Without knowing exactly what emotion he feeds upon, I couldn’t answer that. But my instinct says no. Not him alone. When a Iezu feeds, there’s usually a clear pattern. An emotional theme, if you will. I don’t see that here.”
“What about pain?” Hesseth demanded. “What if he fed on human suffering? Wouldn’t that explain a lot of what we’ve seen?”
“Pain may indeed be part of it,” he agreed. “But it isn’t enough. The inhabitants of the Proctectorates were suffering, but what about those in the northern cities? Except for a few frightened children, those regions were remarkably peaceful. No, if a Iezu were responsible, his mark would be visible there also.”
“What about degradation?” Damien offered. “You mentioned that as a pattern.”
“Yes—but rakh were also affected. The Iezu can’t feed on the rakh—or any other native species—so why waste effort corrupting them? No, it has to be something else. Possibly something that reflects Calesta’s human alliance.”
“You know for a fact that he’s allied with someone?”
A strange, dark emotion flickered in the depths of the Hunter’s eyes. “I think it’s likely,” he said quietly. “And why not? He served a human master in the rakhlands; why not do the same here? In time such a human would have no choice but to serve the demon who had bonded with him, regardless of their original relationship . . .”