Shadow Prince, page 21
part #2 of Demon Hunter Series
"Nonsense. I'd sooner hang on to the top of the tower and dangle over the city then try to ride your sister's path," said Catricha. "We are of different disciplines. I intend things to stay that way."
"You’re determined.” Galocai grinned. "I enjoy that, Catricha."
Catricha rolled her eyes. "Charming as always. But you say such things to every woman."
Melissa frowned slightly and looked away from Galocai. She returned to the window. "It looks like they're moving."
Catricha approached the window to look out, beside the mages. In the midst of the mob below, a scuffle broke out in the street. Some torches fell, while others scattered, their bearers fleeing into the gathering darkness. A sound like ice cracking ripped through the air.
The noise reached Catricha in the building high above. She must be two stories up, and she could still hear every note of pain in the horrified voice. Their were no words, nothing but a scream of pure agony. In the next moment the shriek cut off. Ruar's eyes went wide.
Catricha nodded. Her face felt cold as the blood fled her cheeks. Melissa and Galocai exchanged glances.
“I'll check the street," said Melissa. "We need to know what's going on down there.”
"I'll go with you.” Catricha stepped forward. "I want to see it myself."
"Whatever happened," said Ruar. "It could be dangerous."
"Then we'll all go," said Galocai. "Strength in numbers and all that.”
The four of them descended the steps in the building, then went into the dark to find what lay on the street. Little remained of the victim. All that Catricha found was a body with a still-attached head. She gagged. All of the large man's limbs had been rent off at the joints.
Blood dripped and flowed, and the smell of it, almost sweet on the evening wind, filled the air. There was no sound of sprites or banes in the darkness and no evidence of the man’s attackers. Fallen torches guttered nearby, lighting the horrific scene. Melissa and Catricha stood over the body and looked down into dead eyes. The expression on the man's face was not one of horror. On those slack lips, in those staring eyes, an epiphanic smile graced dead features.
Catricha stood, stunned by the brutality of the killing. In the light of the fallen torches there was no sign of the man’s arms or legs. Like Adias’ heart and eyes, the man’s limbs were simply gone, taken in his final moments.
She put a hand to her mouth and turned away. The kind of tears she’d never managed for her unfaithful husband flowed freely down her face. Ruar put his arm around her, but he was shaking too. Catricha felt his oddly twisted hip against her side and clutched at his arm.
“I’ll take you home,” said Ruar.
She nodded, unable to force words through her tight throat.
Behind them, Melissa said in a quiet voice. “It wasn’t us they were chasing. Whoever this man was...I doubt they could have done worse to him.”
“Then why is he smiling?” Catricha murmured. “He shouldn’t be smiling.”
Ruar pressed her to him closely and they made their way from the scene before the guards could arrive to slow them down.
One way or another, Catricha swore to find the truth behind the murders. The thought terrified her spirit, thrilled her mind and tortured her heart. Yet, she vowed not to abandon the search she’d begun, even if she had to return to it alone.
HERON’S CHAMBERS AT House Graef was lit by a tall lamp.
"Enlighten me on what happened.” Heron frowned. “Is there danger beneath the city?"
"We saw a man dismembered on the street.” Melissa closed her eyes, trying to shut out the image. “And there could be demons in the catacombs underground."
"Demonic statues maybe. You didn’t describe any proof of actual demons, only sculptures made to look like them."
Melissa scowled at her feet. "I know what demons are like. I've encountered more than one in the past."
"Of course, but you don't know exactly what any possible demons below Alliance are doing. You never saw one move. They could just be stone props for the Cult of the Sleepless."
"A stone demon is still a threat to the city if they are related to the sleepless,” said Melissa.
"The sleepless are not as harmless as we thought.” Bethanelle entered on the other side of the room. "That much I overheard."
"We'll tackle them when the time comes." Heron folded his hands. “I’ll see to it myself.”
"I'm trying to tell you," said Melissa. "The time is now."
"Perhaps. Or perhaps you're just eager for a fight after so long without one."
"I'm not bloodthirsty.” Melissa folded her arms and sighed. "My instinct is to protect people. And you're paying me to protect you, right?"
"A true point." Heron shrugged. "Am I supposed to investigate underground to improve my name with the people?"
"It would help, for certain," said Bethanelle. "Perhaps now is more dangerous than Melissa thinks."
Melissa’s gaze flicked to Bethanelle. "The underground is perilous, but I'm willing to face that."
"We all must be willing," said Heron. "As your current employer, with no illusions of how long that will last, I request you use caution when you explore the under-city. I’ll need your help to protect myself if the sleepless are as dangerous you presume."
"We don't even know if the sleepless were the ones who killed that man.” Bethanelle frowned. "Though his horrible death bears a certain resemblance to what happened to the steward."
"Missing limbs and body parts.” Melissa took a deep breath. "What parts was the steward missing?"
"His eyes," said Galocai. "And his heart.”
"Not the same parts by any means.” Elaine she flipped through her book of spells. "If I had a sacra form I’d be behind you in exploring underground. With demonic threats possible it may be too risky just for the two of us to go alone."
"The three of us," said Galocai.
Melissa glanced at Galocai, taking in his determined expression, set jaw, and fierce eyes.
"Perhaps if we assemble enough people," said Melissa. "We could make an attempt.”
"Do you really want to explore under the city so badly?" Heron’s mouth shifted, almost like he was mouthing a grumble. “We’ll need more than the the city guards, as most won’t marshal for a plunge into the depths."
"The house guard.” Bethanelle snapped her fingers. "I'll ask my father if we can use them."
“A good idea, my lady.” Melissa nodded. “Your guards should be enough to suppress the crowds of sleepless. They are mostly unarmed people and always lack rest."
"We don't know what kind of magic they wield," Elaine said. "We must take care, Melissa."
Melissa unfolded her arms. "Three mages and a team of house guard, should be enough to at least make an expedition to explore what the sleepless were actually doing under the theater."
"Other than cleaning stone demons?" Heron shrugged. "It seems to me we know very well what they were trying to do. They were trying to spruce up old statuary."
"Witty," said Galocai. "But they’re potentially dangerous regardless. We don't know what those statues actually mean or why they’re in the catacombs."
"You're the natives," said Heron. "Bethanelle, Galocai. Do you have any idea of what's going on with the cult?"
Bethanelle shook her head. “My family doesn't have much to do with the catacombs or the underground."
"My family on the other hand," said Galocai. "Is native to the darkness of the city. We've had to hide there in the past, or so our legends say."
"Your family hid in the catacombs?" said Melissa. "When and why?"
"Long before my generation, my ancestors were in hiding from a battle between powerful immortals, so they took to the depths of Alliance. Whatever they found there must've disconcerted them, because my family has rarely gone below since."
"Well that doesn't encourage me," said Heron. "The danger might be too great even for mages with guard assistance."
"It's a danger we must confront.” Melissa turned toward Heron, eyes determined. “I’m not going to risk instead letting them go completely unmanaged down there."
"They seem to be tied to the killing," said Heron. "I'll give you that."
"Then let me lead a group into the catacombs," said Melissa. "We'll find what we can and we’ll punish the cult for their evil."
"Their evil?" Heron raised an eyebrow. "That’s an unusual term for you to use."
"Evil, is a curse," said Melissa. "And that curse must be rooted out by those blessed who defy it."
"A bold statement," said Elaine. "Be careful, Melissa."
"Tomorrow," said Bethanelle. "You three will go below the city, and I'll go with you."
"Are you sure that's wise?" Galocai asked. "After all, my dear, you don't have much magic of your own."
"I have enough," said Bethanelle. "And my arrows will be of use if there's a battle."
"Very well. I'm not one to tell a lady what to do."
"I've heard by reputation you’re not a man to push anyone around."
"Guilty.” Galocai smiled.
Melissa’s heart fluttered with his words. “We should get some rest. Tomorrow we’ll go underground again."
“WHAT IS IT NAMED...Your sacra form?" Galocai turned to Melissa in the shadows as they crept up the stairs in the Graef estate.
Elaine had gone to sleep below in the stable, where they’d quartered her and Melissa since the first night. Melissa was only supposed to be escorting Galocai up to his chambers.
"She’s called Fanhedon," said Melissa.
"Fanhedon? I'm not familiar with the name, but I don't know as much as I should.”
"Neither do I.” Melissa sighed. “I only know how to access my sacra from, and I can't even imagine more.”
"There is a man in the north of Geteren who learned three.” They reached Galocai’s door.
"Three?" said Melissa. "That’s fantastic. Is it just a myth, though?"
"Not a myth.” Galocai smiled slightly. "I believe he’s still with us, living as a man."
"What is his name?" asked Melissa.
"He’s known as Virgil Silas Dane, a parson of the Chos Valley."
"The Valley," said Melissa. "That place is strange. I’ve been there only in passing.”
Galocai fumbled with the lock the door to his chambers. He got the mechanism open and they stepped into the moonlit room beyond. The clouds parted. What remained of the rain still drizzled in the distance over the city, but in the pale light of the silver moon, they sat in the dark, on the couch of animal hide.
Melissa leaned against him, feeling his breathing. "You don't need to know about sacra forms, not yet."
"Why not?" asked Galocai.
"Because as long as I'm in the city, I'll protect you."
"I won’t be in the city for much time," said Galocai. "Unless, of course, I somehow become the prince."
"It's possible," said Melissa. "Don't let Heron hear me say this, but I think you’d make a good prince."
"I’m beginning to doubt he would, though," said Galocai. "He seems a little cautious and possibly less trusting then I would hope."
"Less trusting?" Melissa raised her eyebrows. "I don't know if that's a good quality for a prince."
"Not being able to trust your subordinates to do what you ask them of them," said Galocai. "Is not a hallmark of a successful administrator."
"If he can't trust anyone to do anything for him, then he won't be powerful. He’ll become a man with a lot of authority and no support."
"Yes," said Galocai. "That's it exactly."
"I have my insights.” Melissa wrapped her arm around his shoulders.
"I know you do," said Galocai. "Too many women and men are empty-headed these days."
"Are they the same way in the Chos Valley?" asked Melissa. "I imagine things are different there."
"Well Country is a dangerous place. That ensures the people there are more serious than we in Alliance."
"Not as many poets in the Chos Valley?" said Melissa.
"Very few indeed.” Galocai smiled. "Though, I suspect Catricha Maltos would fare all right there. She might be an outrage poet but she has a toughness to her."
"I saw some of that today," said Melissa. "She pulled a knife when I entered the room."
"She’s too quick to take up a blade.” Galocai frowned. “She's always been that way."
"What aggressive?" said Melissa.
"No," said Galocai. "Uneasy. Part of the reason I think she chose to become a poet that insults the nobility is to use up her anger. She's always been an angry person."
"She has a swift temper, but wit is her tool."
"A good observation," said Galocai. "I suppose the case."
"I've never been funny when I'm angry," said Melissa. "I just get cold inside."
"Cold?" said Galocai. "I've heard warriors compare battle to a raging fire, but you say cold."
"I'm not cold now," said Melissa. "But in battle, I can be icy as a blade’s edge."
"I’m glad you're not an ice woman now."
She looked into his smiling eyes, then tugged him closer by the lapels, and they kissed in the moonlight.
DECKARD FLEW TO THE palace, carrying with him the vision of the bloody street.
The murder of a man by removing all four limbs, struck a bizarre chord within. Ritual killings could hardly be concealed. The theft of all four limbs spoke of a brutal pact with some kind of demon. Deckard didn't know everything about the underground of Alliance, but he knew enough lore to recognize what had happened. Someone was performing sacrifices and the one last night was not the first.
The sleepless might look harmless but their bizarre proclivity for the night and avoidance of sleep may have driven them to darker places than mere self-flagellation through fatigue. Deckard landed on the battlements overlooking the street below. He glided off the wall toward the palace’s center, landing on a balcony outside the prince’s chambers. There the dowager regent waited for him.
She smiled as his feet touched the stone. "For a man of such skill and power to be remarked upon for his beauty before the rest, is remarkable, don't you think Lord Hadrian?"
Deckard stepped in from the cold, closing the balcony door behind him. The windows rattled with the force of the wind from the north.
Kizoni wore her dressing gown at the late hour, but her eyes were brighter than ever. Perhaps she was simply a night owl by nature.
"What did you find?" she asked.
“Murder," said Deckard. "I suspect whoever did it is the threat to the city we feared."
“Could they be a threat to me?" Kizoni’s Rosadon accident made her voice sound gentler in the dark.
"I wouldn't deny they threaten you and your child."
"I'll double the guard on the palace and my chambers."
"Your servant, Varder is a powerful warrior," said Deckard. "I've heard of his exploits in the past."
"Varder can protect me from one attacker." Kizoni sighed softly. "But the dear man can’t guard an entire palace himself."
"I only wish I had the same power," Deckard said.
"You’ve defeated countless demons. I’ve been hearing of you since I was a girl."
"There are always stories. Only children dream of heroes.”
Kizoni sat on the side of her finely upholstered bed. "You know, Lord Hadrian, it isn’t often we speak of childish dreams in these chambers."
"The dreams of children may be petty but they are often beautiful."
“I never dreamed of becoming a widow, even with the power of being regent of Alliance."
"You grew up not in this cold city and a dream is not a wish."
“True, but now, I have more power than I would've ever gained as a prince’s sister or wife."
"As one’s dowager, you are the most powerful woman or man in the city."
"Power does not interest me.” Kizoni tugged at the sides of her gown. “It’s only a tool to achieve my other dreams.”
Deckard, pacing in front of her, paused. "What dreams do you speak of now?"
"Not the dreams of the child," said Kizoni. “I dream as a woman."
Deckard turned toward her. "I must caution you, honorable regent of Alliance. I’m not the man you think you desire."
Kizoni bowed her head, hiding her face from the dim lamplight. "But you are."
"I can protect you or I can love you. Not both."
"Do I not have guards to protect me? None of them can offer me the other service."
"Is that what you call love, now? I've been gone from Alliance, and from Rosado for too long."
"You’ve tasted a world most humans never dream of," said Kizoni. "But you've grown bored of it, because after decades, centuries, I'm sure the to any taste becomes dull."
"Everything goes stale over time.” Deckard put his hand to the clasp of his iron robe. The metallic garment was still light as feathers around him, effortlessly carried by his magic.
"Perhaps. You could give me just a taste of your immortality, just an hour, maybe a little more."
“Why would you want to taste what has driven me to boredom?”
"It will be new to me." Kizoni reached for his hand. He held back for a second, then he let her take his fingers in hers. He felt the coursing of the monster within his heart.
He never mentioned the affliction openly, never shared the nature of the curse with another. His love and lust were always together as one being, both condemned by Mother Mercy. His purpose transcended urges of the flesh. And in that night, as Kizoni drew him close to her, he bowed his head and submitted.
The battle of daylight was over for the moment. At dusk, Deckard Hadrian's most difficult hours began. The night swarmed like a flurry of black insects.
His robe fell to the floor with a clank as it's weight returned upon leaving Deckard's shoulders. He settled onto the bed beside Kizoni.
"Is this what you want?" he asked.
She said nothing, but began to undo the fastenings of his tunic at the front.
He worked on the ties with her. Until his tunic fell away. Moonlight crept through the window, illuminating his many scars.
