14: THE NIGHT HUNT

Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Two days since the last sighting of High Lord Therin D’Mon

“Okay, now it’s your turn,” Kihrin said.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a break?” Janel smiled, even as she clearly still teased him. “Obviously, it doesn’t have so unhappy an ending—for me, anyway. I’m still here.”

He shook his head. “Just tell me the story.”

“All right, all right. You come up again in this next part, you know. I didn’t know your name at the time, but still…” She shrugged. “I do think we know all the same people.”

Janel’s Turn. The Afterlife.

Something large thundered through the Afterlife’s forests. Several large somethings. I heard toppling trees crash as beasts moved through the dark woods, ravens scattering at their approach.

Kasmodeus paused, lowered his hammer to the side, stared in shock.

I couldn’t blame him. The Hunt’s arrival boded ill.

And not just for him.

I rolled to the side and hefted my shield as high as my broken ribs allowed.

He glanced back at me. **WE COULD TAKE THEM TOGETHER. LET US PUT THIS PETTY SQUABBLE BEHIND US AND JOIN FORCES. THEY’LL KILL YOU AS SURE AS ME WHEN THEY ARRIVE.**

I brushed blood from my face with my gauntlet, although I suspect I just spread the muck about.

“Interesting idea,” I said. The approaching elephants grew closer, and Mereina’s ghosts emptied out as demons took the opportunity to run for their lives.

There are few things demons fear. They are the ones others fear, the ones who feed off fear, the creatures who make mothers scream and old men wet themselves. The Eight Gods, though, are among the entities who garner a demon’s respect.

Demons run when gods take the field.

And what approached us was, at the very least, a servant of those Eight. If we were lucky, only that.

If we were not lucky, it would be Thaena herself. I brooked no illusion about whether I would survive such an encounter. I trespassed here as much as any demon. Kasmodeus knew that; it’s why he’d made the offer.

I smiled. “Alas, I have one issue with it.”

The demon cocked his head to the side. **WHAT’S THAT?**

I slammed my sword into him.

“The gods aren’t my enemies. You are.”

Kasmodeus’s hammer was a heavy, staggering weapon, but that didn’t always work in his favor. The demon had difficulty blocking with the weapon, while I had speed on my side.

Also, I had nothing to lose. I was dead either way.

I reminded myself the pain was all in my mind. Literally so, in this place. I wrenched my sword free and then stabbed him a second time. I didn’t think I could win, but I thought I might prevent him from leaving before Death’s forces arrived to finish him.

Kasmodeus had absorbed many souls. I wanted to ensure he had no chance to profit from his feeding frenzy. The death I provided would be temporary, a momentary weakening while he returned to Hell to regain his strength.

But what Thaena could do to him? She could restore all the souls he’d slain, undoing the damage so those who had died might be reborn. Demons broke the cycle of reincarnation; that is what makes them abominations. I could do nothing to restore the proper balance.

Thaena could.

I managed to cut a deep slice into his arm, severing the muscles and tendons allowing him to swing his oversized meat tenderizer. Even so, he remained dangerous and lethal and twice my size. I regretted Xaltorath had never taught me shape-changing. Then again, I would have rejected her lessons if she’d tried.

Kasmodeus bellowed and struck out with his arm, staggering me as the hammer crashed into my shield. It threw me out of line, but the unwieldy hammer prevented him from following up with a finishing stroke. I screamed and head-butted him as he leaned forward, thinking to do the same. When the blow made him pause, I kicked his side. I slashed my sword between his legs as a distraction and then slashed back across his stomach.

An elephant’s bellow—close now—made Kasmodeus look to the side. A whistling filled the air. I paused myself, trying to place why I knew that sound. Ninavis, I thought.

Oh. Arrows.

I dropped under my shield as white arrows rained down from the storm-dark skies. Any demons who hadn’t fled the field screamed, as white-feathered shafts found their marks. Kasmodeus roared, but his cry was no armor. A white arrow pierced his chest, another his left arm, several more striking his stomach and legs. A radiant light spread out from the arrow wounds, while Kasmodeus lurched back in surprised dismay.

Several arrows thunked against my shield.

Then an arrow hit true, spearing me through the leg.

The pain was beyond anything I had ever experienced, and I had thought myself jaded to agony. Searing fire spread out from the injury; I had to grind my teeth to keep from crying out. It felt as though fire was burning my leg from the inside out, blazing beneath my skin.

But I couldn’t lower my shield. The rain of arrows hadn’t slackened.

I saw Kasmodeus take an arrow through the neck, another through his right eye. His whole body pulsed with light from a dozen sources.

His muscles began to flake away, glowing fragments floating away on the wind.

I looked down at my leg and saw flakes of light there too, smaller but still excruciating. More arrows impacted my shield. One managed to pierce the wood, stopping just a scant hairsbreadth from my face.

I started laughing.¹

I was going to die there. Truly die.

I didn’t embrace the idea. There was so much I hadn’t done with my life. On some level, I had the childish thought dying would be allowing the man who’d pushed me from my home to win. That I’d be letting Sir Oreth do as he wished with my canton and people.

Yet …

And yet. I’d stopped a Hellmarch here. Thousands would live because of that.

Not so bad a way to end one’s days.

I lowered my shield then, because I wanted to see the faces of my slayers.

Unlike the normal gray elephants who lifted timber or helped around villages and towns throughout the empire, these elephants glowed white and stood twice their size. Their eyes sparked as red as my own.

This was appropriate. White and red, Thaena’s sacred colors. Of course her elephants were white and red. They were dressed in the most beautiful and ornate silver armor too, intricately engraved with roses, entwined branches, their goddess’s sharp-edged thorns.

Men and women rode their backs like hidden shadows, overwhelmed by their mounts’ glowing brilliance. They dressed in dark colors, armed with bows and arrows—shadows raining down death’s justice on those who deserved it.

One last arrow pierced my chest. I didn’t scream; rather, I let out a soft whimper. A glory of icy fire spread over me, something so far beyond understanding my soul stopped trying to communicate the damage. The whole world darkened. The woods fell silent.

The arrow fall stopped.

I knew Kasmodeus had died; he’d stopped screaming.

Dead was the wrong word. What did dead mean in the Afterlife? Discorporated, disintegrated, unmade.

A fate I would share soon enough.

I had wondered if I remained human on many occasions since Xaltorath first tricked me into accepting her help. If so, perhaps there would be a next life for me.

If I was a demon, quite a different fate awaited.

An elephant slowed, then crouched with an impact that shook the woods. Her rider swung down from her back.

He wore strange clothing, green and gold, the pattern looking something like snake scales. He wore no shirt at all, but fabric hung about his torso like long fringe, a knight’s parade dress—if the knight in question had foolishly forgotten to wear armor.

His black skin made his features difficult to pick out in the dim light, but I thought he was exceedingly handsome.

His eyes shone like clear, bright jade.

He held two daggers in his hands, a bow slung across his back—not an idle passenger but one of Thaena’s warriors, out hunting demons.

I found myself coughing and felt liquid touching my lips—blood, or whatever played that role here.

“You’re still alive,” he told me. He seemed surprised by the revelation.

I felt like laughing, but the pain stopped me. I smiled at him instead, or at least I tried to. It’s more likely the expression on my face resembled a rictus. “Not for much longer, I think.” I winced and tried not to let agony overwhelm me. “Come closer. I would ask you a boon.”

“A boon?” He tilted his head and shifted his grip on his weapons.

“Yes, my beautiful killer. A boon. A favor before you take my head.”

He stepped closer.

“Well?” He bent down next to me on one knee, but I noticed he kept his weapons ready, his eyes wary and alert. He hadn’t lowered his guard.

Good. I liked him already.

“They were trying to start a Hellmarch,” I told him. “In Jorat. They were trying to create a prince instead of summoning one. They would have kept killing people, offering all those souls to a single demon. The demon would become more powerful with each death. Every soul fed to him would make him strong, until finally he’d be as strong as a prince. Strong enough to open gates to Hell on his own. Set demons loose. You have to warn them. This time, it failed, but they’ll try again.”²

He met my eyes. “What makes you think I give a damn what happens to Quur?”

That stopped me.

I blinked and looked at him again. It hadn’t occurred to me to question his tall height, his perfect features, the fine angles of his jaw and cheekbones. He wasn’t Quuros. He wasn’t even human. He could only be a vané, the immortals who dwelt in the Manol Jungle to the south. The vané, who remained unconquered after orchestrating Quur’s only defeat.

A Manol vané would indeed not give a damn what happened to the empire.

“You’re not…” I gritted my teeth, stopping myself from letting out a toxic laugh. “Of course. You’re Manol vané.”

He smiled. “Someone paid attention to their teachers.”

“It would have been hard not to; I trace my lineage back to Emperor Kandor.” Normally, I’d have said that with more pride in my voice, but this man belonged to the race who slew Kandor.

He laughed, flashing teeth as white as the elephants behind him. I didn’t think the news funny. I’m not sure he did either; his laugh rang with more gallows humor than joyful mirth. I’d told him the punch line to a joke I didn’t understand myself.

I wondered if he’d been the vané who’d slain my ancestor during Kandor’s flawed attempt to invade the Manol. I supposed it would be a fine jest, then, if this vané killed me as well.

But I needed the help of Thaena’s servants; I had to give him a reason to care.

“They were starting a Hellmarch,” I told him a second time. “I don’t know why. A woman named Senera and a man named Relos Var plotted it. Evil sorcerers who still live, who will try again. Even if you care nothing for Quur, Thaena must care for all the souls who will never reach the Land of Peace.”

I felt I’d achieved something by making that speech without dying … or at the very least without passing out.

“Relos Var? You’ve met Relos Var?” Surprise and recognition tinted his voice. He stopped grinning.

He tried to lift my shoulder but pulled his hand back as I stifled a scream.

“Yes,” I said, “but he left before it all began. Went to fetch his brother.”

His stare sharpened. “His … brother. His brother? Are you sure?”

“I’m certain that’s what he said. He had to leave because his brother had ended up on the auction block. About to be sold as a slave someplace called uh … Kesha-Farigona. Wait, was that it?”

“Kishna-Farriga.”³

“Yes. That.” I coughed and told myself I had to stay alive for just a bit longer. “He left before the trouble started, but I don’t think him innocent. They killed everyone. Do you understand? Everyone. Please. Don’t let me have died in vain. You must warn them.”

He put his hand to the arrow piercing me through the leg. His hand glowed for a moment. The arrow vanished amid a painful flash making me clench my teeth. His hand on my leg felt intimate, even through the armor.

“You misunderstood what I meant before,” he said. “I said you’re still alive. You still have a body. Your connection to the Living World is faint, but it exists. You’re not dead, and you’re not a demon. You won’t die here tonight.”

“I’m a demon, though. I—”

He leaned close to me. His eyes were jewels. I found myself distracted from the pain, which faded into the background as unimportant.

“You’re not a demon. You’d have ripped out my throat by now.”

My throat felt rather dry. And his throat … well, his throat was quite beautiful, the velvet line of tendon from ear to collarbone possessing a carnal elegance. I raised a hand to his face. He didn’t move to stop me. I touched his lips, not quite trusting myself to do more. I didn’t know if my strength in this realm would sabotage me here too, where I had never done more nor less than hunt and slaughter demons.

“It’s not my fault you’re too pretty to kill,” I told him.

He smiled at my jest. Then he put his hand on the arrow through my chest, the one still spreading its brilliant light but not yet disintegrating me into nothingness. Perhaps he was right about my nature; the arrows had worked faster on Kasmodeus.

“This will hurt,” he warned me.

I placed my hand on his. “Not as much as not knowing your name.”

He laughed outright. “Ask me again the next time we meet.”

He dissolved the arrow. I remember screaming, but nothing more after.