86: RETURNING

Kihrin sat up and gasped for breath.

Teraeth bent down next to him. “Took you long enough. What did you do, stop and pick flowers?”

Kihrin glared at him. “Some of us haven’t died before, thank you very much.” He shook his head. “I don’t remember what happened to me while I was dead. I remember dying though.”

“No one remembers what happens to them in the Afterlife,” Teraeth agreed.

“Really? You don’t remember?”

“All right,” Teraeth allowed. “Most people don’t remember. Don’t blame me. You didn’t want to join the Brotherhood.” He presented his hand to Kihrin. “Come on, we have work to do.”

“Wait!” Kihrin looked around the church, at the towering statue of Thaena and the dead and mourning clogging the aisles. “How did I end up here? What’s going on? Where is everyone?”

Teraeth ticked off points on his fingers. “You were sacrificed to Xaltorath, but since Xaltorath didn’t receive your entire soul, he’s not technically under anyone’s control. So Xaltorath is starting a Hellmarch,^* summoning up every demon he can. High Lord Therin, Lady Miya, and General Milligreest have left to send him back to Hell. Galen went back to the Blue Palace to oversee the evacuation of your surviving family. Meanwhile, Gadrith was wearing the Stone of Shackles when Sandus killed him, so the Emperor is dead, and Gadrith is wearing his body like a fancy new cloak. Tyentso’s gone to stop him.”

Kihrin blinked. “Damn it, we had a plan.”

“Which worked beautifully right up until the point where it didn’t.” Teraeth sighed. “Such is the way of plans. Nobody could have predicted Gadrith would be capable of responding so quickly.”

Kihrin scowled. “Is Tyentso strong enough to kill him?”

A pained look crossed Teraeth’s face. “She’s counting on the fact that he won’t be able to cast spells while he’s adjusting to his new body.”

“Remember what Tyentso said about possessing my body? He’s been planning this for years, Teraeth. He knows how to cast spells in Sandus’s body.”

Teraeth made a face. “Doesn’t matter anyway. He won’t be alone.”

“Thurvishar,” Kihrin said, his chest growing tight. What were the odds that Jarith had been able to successfully arrest him? So poor even Kihrin wouldn’t take that bet.

“Plus, we have no idea what powers the Crown and Scepter themselves will give him.”

Kihrin nodded. “Okay. Let’s go back her up.” He took a step, stumbled, and sagged when he tried to catch himself.

Teraeth looked surprised and cursed under his breath. “You need to rest. You can barely walk.”

Kihrin shook his head. “Being dead was rest enough. Wait, I need a sword.” He cast his gaze around the room.

He stopped at Jarith’s body and looked sick.

“The High General brought him in,” Teraeth said as he saw Kihrin’s expression. “Soul dead. He was probably killed by a demon.”

“Damn it all.” Kihrin walked over to the body, bent down, and pulled out the sword that was in Jarith’s scabbard. The blade was Khorveshan, sharp along one edge and wickedly curved. It was nothing like a normal Quuros dueling blade, and four years before, Kihrin would have had no idea how to wield one. He did now.

His old weapons trainer, the Thriss lizard man Szzarus, would be so proud.

Kihrin leaned the dull end against one shoulder, holding the hilt with his other hand. “Okay, let’s go.”

Teraeth held out his hands. “Where? I don’t know where Tyentso went.” He didn’t sound happy about that.

“We’ll figure something out.” Kihrin stumbled through the halls, managing not to curse as he tripped over dead bodies.

Teraeth put an arm under his to steady him. “You couldn’t fight a leprous rabbit in this condition.”

“Just give me a minute to catch my second wind,” Kihrin said.

The two men paused on the steps of the cathedral. It seemed like most of the City was on fire, a hearth-like wind blowing ashes and smoke up into the sky. The noise as people screamed, fought, panicked, and died was an unintelligible roar.

There was a flash of purple light in the distance.

Kihrin pointed. “Did you see that? Magic . . . That came from the Culling Fields.”

“Are you sure . . .?” But as Teraeth asked, there was a flash of red, a flash of purple, and then lightning.

They looked at each other.

“Quite a trick you pulled there, brat,” Darzin said as he stood up from the twisted, withered tree he’d been leaning against. Behind him, flashes of multicolored light brightened the sky. “I’d heard someone sacrificed to a demon couldn’t be Returned.”

Kihrin pushed Teraeth away from him so Kihrin was standing on his own, and the blond man cocked his head and regarded Darzin. “Yeah, funny thing about that. I suppose you should probably go ask Xaltorath if he really received an acceptable sacrifice. I’ve got a funny hunch he lied about having to do what you say.”

Darzin pulled his sword from his scabbard. “Doesn’t matter. We already have what we want. Who’s your friend?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Kihrin said back. “Shall we end this?” He lowered the sword from his shoulder.

Thurvishar was looking past Darzin, toward the center of the Arena. He showed no interest in Kihrin or Teraeth, but was staring at the bright light flashes. Dread stole over Kihrin. If Thurvishar was still here, that meant Tyentso had been wrong about Gadrith’s decline in power. She was fighting the man himself.

That was not a good sign.

“End this?” Darzin laughed outright. “Oh brat, you can hardly stand. Do you really think you’ll be any good against me?” He waved the sword in front of him.

“Are you too afraid to find out?”

Darzin’s nostrils flared. He stepped forward, nimble feet dodging the fallen branches and bleached white bones of the Culling Fields floor. He came in with a quick sword swing.

Kihrin blocked it easily and took a step to the side. “You need to work on your stance.”

Darzin’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t waste breath on a reply. He attacked again, slicing to Kihrin’s off-side, feinting, and then sliding to the right to thrust the blade at Kihrin’s thigh.

Kihrin again reacted, moving his sword to block the feint, then leaning back just enough so that Darzin’s sword sliced through the fabric of his kef but no deeper. Darzin and Kihrin circled each other, until Kihrin’s back was to the center of the park. Darzin lunged forward. Kihrin caught the inside of Darzin’s blade against his own, and while the blades were trapped there, Darzin lashed out and punched Kihrin in the face.

Kihrin staggered back and wiped the blood from his nose.

Darzin shook his head. “Oh, come on, this isn’t even a challenge. The least you can do is put some backbone into it.”

Kihrin readied his blade again.

Thurvishar sighed as he watched the lights fade from the center of the Arena. “What a tragedy. She was magnificent.”

“What?” Kihrin’s eyes flickered to Thurvishar in horror, and Darzin saw his chance.

More than one person saw their chance. As Darzin swung at Kihrin, a wall of energy—fine deadly webs of glowing blue lines—spread out from Thurvishar. Teraeth vanished from where he had been standing and reappeared, almost in position to slice his poisoned blades across Thurvishar’s back. Almost, but not quite.

Teraeth flew back as if he’d run into an invisible wall.

Kihrin wasn’t distracted. Too late, Darzin tried to stop himself, but he was already committed to the sword swing. Kihrin stepped inside Darzin’s blade, holding his sword next to his body with one hand on the hilt and the other hand directing the back end of the sword. He sliced across Darzin’s wrist, then in a single quicksilver-smooth motion lifted the sword and brought the blade up and across Darzin’s throat.

Kihrin stepped backward as Darzin put his hand to his neck, shock widening his eyes as blood gushed outward. Kihrin didn’t have to see beyond the First Veil to know what Darzin was doing.

He was healing himself.

“Not this time.” Kihrin swung his sword in a tight arc with all his remaining strength.

Darzin’s head and several of his fingers tumbled onto the grass.

“I’m sorry,” Thurvishar whispered. “I have no choice. None.”

Kihrin turned to him in time to see the branches and roots of trees twisting out of the ground to wrap around Teraeth—the real Teraeth—who struggled at the bonds with little success of freeing himself.

Kihrin held up his sword as he moved back to confront Thurvishar. “You’re gaeshed.”

The magus smiled. “If only I could answer.”

“Notice how I didn’t ask you.”

“Yes, perhaps that’s for the best.”

Kihrin swallowed and looked past him into the center of the park. The darkness that lingered now was far more threatening than the colored light show had been earlier. “Settle a curiosity for me, would you? I get that you don’t look like Sandus because you’re half-vordreth, but the age thing has been bothering me. I think I’ve got it though: it’s because you’ve spent time in that lighthouse, Shadrag Gor, isn’t it? Time moves slower there, and that’s why everyone thinks you’re too old to be Sandus’s son, even though you are. Truthfully, you’re not any older than I am.”

“Oh, I am older than you,” Thurvishar corrected, looking impressed, even as he explained the details as much as the gaesh allowed. “I lived those years. I just didn’t live them here.”

“Kihrin!” Teraeth shouted. “Just run. Run! You can’t take them both.”

“And I can’t run fast enough either,” Kihrin said, looking past Thurvishar. “He’s already here.”

As if on command, Gadrith strode out of the darkness.