The Warlord's legacy

Chapter Twenty-three

ONCE AGAIN, AWARENESS RETURNED to Corvis's body at a slow creep, accompanied by the sharp pain of rocks splayed beneath him and the throbbing ache of bruised, maybe broken, limbs. Despite that pain, his mouth curled in a faint smile. Any human opponent with a shred of sanity would have slain him while he lay helpless, but for once, Khanda's hellish nature was working for them. So deep did the demon's innate cruelty run, he had to keep Corvis alive as witness to his ultimate triumph.

Of course, had Khanda known that the old warlord would not long remain as weak as he appeared, he might have acted differently.

Around him, Corvis heard the faint patter of falling dust and settling stones, along with an occasional whimper or moan, and knew he must not have been unconscious long. He heard, as well, Khanda's voice, echoing from all sides. It took him a few moments to recognize, with a dull but growing horror, the familiar syllables.

He struggled to focus, to spur his sluggish thoughts into motion. The demon must have been inside his head once more, extracting the last bits of Selakrian's spell, and Corvis was pathetically grateful that he'd been oblivious during this second violation.

For the decay in his mind, there was little to be done, but his physical hurts could yet be assuaged. Corvis forced his breathing to remain steady as the worst of the pains faded-not entirely or even substantially, but enough to become tolerable. His lips twitched in relief, and he wondered what his companions must be thinking as they felt the same healing touch.

Opening his eyes, he could see clearly into the manor's upper levels. Bits of rock trickled down from what remained of the ceiling, and the cellar's stone floor, except for the area circumscribed by the sigil, had fared little better. Great chunks of it were shattered or missing, revealing pits of clay or soil below, filling the air with a rich, earthen scent.

And there, across the room…

Oh, gods. I'm so sorry, I never wanted any of this life to touch yours…

She stood straight, her dark hair plastered to the sides of her face with a light sheen of sweat. In each hand she held a brutal, heavy-bladed dagger, one of which was covered in a spidery array of subtly shifting runes. Corvis couldn't help but wonder, albeit briefly, if anyone had ever before, in all recorded history, wielded two of the Kholben Shiar at once.

She'd grown, these past years, into a striking young woman. He saw a touch of his own craggy features, softened and smoothed by her mother's influence. Yet in her eyes he saw neither Tyannon's gentle strength nor his own burning obsession but something else entirely, a deep well of intensity whose nature he could not interpret-in part because it was largely hidden behind a growing spark of fearful confusion as her world spiraled out of control.

And Corvis Rebaine realized, with a muffled sob, that he didn't know his own daughter well enough to know if he should be proud of her-but he knew, beyond the sharpest sliver of doubt, that he could be.

/Ah, there you are, old boy! I was afraid you were going to miss the big finish./

It sounded in his mind and soul rather than his ears, just as it had so many years before. He could actually feel his thoughts recoiling from that unholy intrusion like the curling edge of burning parchment. Groaning with only half-feigned effort, Corvis craned around further to glare at the figures beside his apprehensive daughter.

An unconscious Nenavar, bloody head lolling limply on his neck, sat awkwardly before Khanda, propped up by one of the demon's hands. Khanda himself, still wearing Kaleb's shape, knelt upon the floor, chanting Selakrian's invocation without interruption even as his words resounded in Corvis's thoughts.

/Did you know,/ Khanda asked conversationally as the incantation progressed, /that it was Nenavar who helped Audriss awaken Pekatherosh? Small world, isn't it? You ought to be standing in line to kill the old stick, not working with him./

Corvis mumbled something, spat out a mouthful of dirt and sticky, half-dried blood.

/Where is old Pekky, anyway? You didn't send him back to hell-I was waiting-and I know you didn't free him from that silly little jewel./

"Safe," Corvis rasped.

Silence for a moment, and then Khanda began to laugh uproariously-mostly in Corvis's head, but even his physical body convulsed, his mouth bending around a smile that almost, almost mangled the next syllables of the spell.

/Oh, Corvis, you really never change, do you? You stuck him back in the cave on Mount Molleya, didn't you? "Just in case," yes?/

"It held you well enough all those years," Corvis said with a painful shrug.

/So it did, so it did./

Far more quietly, gathering all that remained of his battered will to ensure that none of his words reached Khanda's awareness, Corvis whispered, "Can you do it?"

"Not yet," came the equally quiet reply. "He's far too focused. I need him distracted."

Corvis nodded. "How did you find us?" he asked, raising his voice once more.

/Didn't have to. You've always been predictable, Corvis. As soon as I dropped "Master" Nenavar's name, I knew you'd come here eventually. All I had to do was watch the place./

"I can't believe the idiot didn't have teleportation wards on his own home."

/Oh, he did, more than you'd ever imagine. But he'd attuned them to admit me. He so enjoyed summoning me to him at every whim, and after all, I couldn't possibly hurt him, could I?/

Another nod. And of course, he'd have been able to carry Mellorin as well-or at worst, teleport her nearby and then physically open the door from within.

"Khanda, please…"

/Eh?/

"Let her go." He hadn't known he was going to say it until the words were out. "She's taken Nenavar out for you, done what you needed her to. This is between us. Let her go."

/Why, Corvis, that's so sweet, I could just cry. Actually, I'd rather make someone else cry. It's so much more fun./

"Khanda…" Just keep talking, you bastard. With every second, he could feel the pain of his wounds lessening, his strength growing…

/I'm keeping her, Corvis. She really wanted to be here for this. Besides, I think I've grown attached to the little lady-rather like a pet. I want her around to see what happens to you, and you to see some of what I'll be doing to her. It's not good for family to have secrets from each other, you know./

Corvis choked, fire roaring in his mind. And as it had before, his concentration wavered.

/Corvis…?/ Not merely the demon's tone, but the set of his shoulders, bespoke a sudden suspicion. /Corvis, what are you doing?/

"Damn it!" If Khanda had sensed the slow spring of magic flowing through their bodies, mending their hurts, they could wait no longer. "Are you ready?"

"No!" that voice insisted. "Corvis, I need more time!"

"Then I," he growled, tensing muscles that should have been too weak to move, "need the Kholben Shiar."

Beneath Corvis's cloak and tunic-and, too, beneath the soil exposed by the rents in the floor-unseen things began to move…

"What? Where are you-?"

"Probably nowhere. You've just got me paranoid now. I want to make sure nobody's following-that Mavere didn't somehow manage to signal anyone."

"Paranoid indeed," Jassion said. "But probably wise," he acknowledged, riding on ahead.

Corvis wheeled his mount in a tight circle and galloped back the way they'd come, straining to keep one eye on the sky, the other on the road. As soon as he was well and truly out of sight of the others he reined the beast to a halt and raised an arm out before him.

Having been waiting for just that, or so it seemed, one of the crows circling above plummeted to alight upon his wrist. It was a bedraggled, sickly-looking thing, with drooping feathers and weeping eyes.

"I see you brought some friends," Corvis said.

Wings rose and fell in what was probably meant as a shrug. "They followed me," the crow told him. "Probably figured I knew something they didn't. Or maybe they were curious about me."

"Or maybe they're just birds, and gods know why they do anything."

"Or that, yes."

Corvis lowered his wrist so she could hop onto the pommel of his saddle. "I was afraid I'd never see you again, Seilloah."

"You almost didn't," she admitted.

"I'm sorry I-"

"No, Corvis, I'm sorry. Of course finding Mellorin and stopping Khanda take precedence. I don't like it, but I understand it. It's just-it hurts so much, you've no idea how much…"

"I understand," he told her softly.

"You don't. Not really."

"No, not really. Seilloah…" He swallowed, reached up to wipe away tears he refused to shed. "Seilloah, if you want, I could-I could end it. Make it quick."

Corvis didn't understand how, but he swore he saw the beak flex into a sad smile. "No, dearest. Thank you-I know how much you didn't want to offer that-but it's not necessary. If I want to end it, all I need do is stop fighting. Let the spell lapse. It'll be over in seconds."

"Then why…?"

"I thought about it. More than once, especially in the past few weeks, I very nearly did. But I couldn't, not yet."

"Why not?"

"Khanda. Corvis, I think I know how to beat him…" CORVIS ROLLED TO HIS FEET, his companions-all save Salia Mavere, whom Seilloah had not thought worth the effort to heal-following only seconds after. A small crow stuck its head out from within Corvis's tunic, and from beneath the exposed soil erupted a squid-like array of roots and tendrils, drawn through the earth from the surrounding gardens and hedge. With uncanny speed they lashed out, some knocking Khanda and Nenavar aside, others wrapping like whips about Mellorin's wrists. She cried out, and the Kholben Shiar plummeted earthward.

Even more tendrils intercepted them, flinging them hilt-first across the room. Seilloah dived from Corvis's clothes and fluttered toward the cracked ceiling as he snagged the weapons in mid-flight. Sunder he clasped in his left fist, spinning it in an upright grip even as it shifted into its familiar shape. But Talon-Talon he whipped back behind his head and hurled back across the chamber. It tumbled end over end, forming into an axe not unlike Sunder itself, and struck…

Not Khanda, for the demon had not been Corvis's target, but Nenavar. The old wizard's body spasmed as his head split under the axe's caress, and then lay forever still.

Everything went silent as death. Slowly, Khanda rose from where the writhing plants had flung him. With an angry grunt, he shoved Nenavar's body off him, small gobbets of his former master's brain and skull clinging to his face. Corvis spun Sunder smoothly through the air before him, ready for any response.

Except, perhaps, for Khanda to simply stand gaping at him, jaw moving silently. In all the years they'd known each other, in all the forms the demon had worn, Corvis had never seen him at a loss for words.

"You…" Even when he finally spoke, the words seemed almost too much for him. "You bastard!"

"Really, Khanda? That's the best you can do?"

"Kaleb?" Mellorin appeared at his side, clutching her lacerated wrists. "Why is he calling you-"

But the demon ignored her, had eyes only for the man he hated most in all the world. "Do you have any idea how hard it is for a sorcerer to take over another's conjuration? I don't even know if there are any alive who could do it! I'm going to have to search for years before I find someone who can usurp Nenavar's spell!"

"And until then, there's no way to free you from the binding's limitations. I know." Corvis shrugged. "Weren't you the one who just told me I ought to be trying to kill Nenavar? You were right. Thanks for the suggestion."

"Kaleb," Mellorin demanded, her tone far more insistent. "What's he talking about?"

"Yes, Kaleb." Corvis smiled grimly. "Tell her what I'm talking about."

Khanda growled and shoved Mellorin aside, not hard, just enough to stagger her. "You," the demon hissed, "are now officially more troublesome than you are fun. Good-bye, Corvis."

Flames bridged the chamber. Stone cracked; brimstone-reeking smoke made for the holes above, seeking its own escape. Anticipating just such an attack, Corvis and the others dived aside. He continued rolling, rose and ran as Khanda spun, sweeping his hellfire across the far wall in swift pursuit.

Sweat poured down Corvis's face, his heart pounded in his chest. Over the roaring fire he heard his daughter shouting, but what she said, or whether she addressed him or the man she knew as Kaleb, he couldn't tell. He was nearing the end of the cellar, had nowhere else to dodge…

And the flames abruptly angled upward before ceasing entirely. At Seilloah's urging, the tendrils lashed at Khanda yet again, knocking him backward and disrupting his attack. For the second time in as many minutes, the room went abnormally, impossibly silent.

In that instant of calm, Corvis saw the others staring at him, nightmarish phantoms in the flickering light of the many small fires that illuminated the cellar. And he saw in their faces a growing despair, for what, really, could they do against such a foe?

Struggling to catch his breath, he gestured toward Khanda, who was even now rising once more to his feet. "Wound him! It'll be enough!" He didn't know if they heard, wasn't even certain how loudly he'd spoken, but Jassion and Irrial both nodded all the same. They separated, advancing on the demon from different sides. In her right fist, the baroness clutched her dueling blade-better than nothing against Khanda, albeit only just-but Jassion's hands remained empty.

Khanda stood tall, hands raised, and from above came the first hint of whistling-of the air itself splitting-as he prepared to call down another storm of undiluted eldritch force. Corvis cocked his arm back as though to hurl Sunder like he had Talon, and just as he'd hoped, Khanda flinched, allowing his spell to fade. Immortal the demon might be, but with the aid of the Kholben Shiar, they had taught him to fear pain.

The others lunged, taking advantage of that momentary distraction. Irrial's blade sank deep into the meat of Khanda's side; a mere sting, less than an inconvenience, but at least a start. Jassion, however, hurtled past his foe; stooped, instead, by Nenavar's corpse and lifted Talon from the human wreckage. Clutching the hilt in both hands as it sculpted itself again into his great two-hander, he took a single step toward Khanda and offered a twisted smile.

The demon waved, and Jassion felt himself lifted from his feet, as had happened thrice before. This time, however, he recognized the gesture and twisted aside while thrusting with the demon-forged blade, as though parrying a corporeal weapon. Perhaps it helped, perhaps he'd simply avoided the worst of the spell, but he tumbled only a few yards before landing in an awkward crouch.

Seilloah's roots and tendrils continued whipping themselves at Khanda, forcing him to split his attentions, lest he be knocked aside or bound long enough for either Kholben Shiar to deliver up far greater torment.

Mellorin appeared suddenly at his side, her own dagger held before her. "Go!" she insisted, placing herself between her lover and her father's relentless approach. "I can hold them long enough for you to get out!"

Corvis pulled up short just beyond his daughter's reach, his eyes imploring, his soul shivering at the gleam in Khanda's own.

"No…" The demon turned away, devoting his attention to Jassion and Irrial. "No, don't keep him off me. Kill him."

"What? No! Kaleb, I don't think I'm-"

"Kill him."

Her face gone slack in horrified disbelief, tears beginning to roll along her cheeks, Mellorin advanced on her father, blade held high.

"Mellorin!" Corvis stretched forth a hand, only to yank it back as her blade nearly took off the tips of his fingers. "Mellorin, stop!"

"I'm trying!" And he saw, then, the unsteady gait as she approached, the twitching and shuddering that ran through her limbs without slowing her movements one iota. "Oh, gods, what's happening?"

Corvis backpedaled as fast as the loose rubble would permit, Sunder held defensively, casting about desperately for some solution. Time and again Mellorin's blade struck, and each time he parried only to find himself faced with a new angle of attack. She was good, she was fast; better and faster than he'd ever have expected. He felt his chest swell with pride even as he wondered how to stop her. More than once she left herself open, and he felt the tug as Sunder, or perhaps his own instincts, goaded him to strike. But by every god and every damned soul, he would not!

Over her shoulder, he saw Khanda hurling himself about like an acrobat, spinning between Seilloah's tendrils, always just beyond reach of Jassion's furiously hacking blade. Now and again, bursts of fire or shrieking levinbolts would hurtle from the demon's fists, pour from his eyes. Thanks to the speed and magics of the Kholben Shiar, the baron avoided or even parried most of them, but burns across his arms and chest showed where a few had found their mark.

Corvis saw, too, the witch fluttering in the corner above, raining feathers and bloody pus as her strength ebbed, the corruption spread through her latest-her last?-body.

And then Corvis's boot came down on a rough chunk of stone, and he found himself flailing. With a cry of infinite despair, Mellorin lunged.

Still he could have stopped her, could have cut her down with Sunder before the dagger fell. Still he would not.

White-hot agony yanked at his entire body like an angry puppeteer as her blade plunged deep into his left side. He coughed twice, felt the slick steel slide from his flesh as he staggered. Groaning, he pressed his left hand to the wound, felt liquid warmth between his fingers.

"Daddy? I'm so sorry, Daddy…" Even as she wept, she came at him again, bloody knife poised, and it was all he could do to stay ahead of her.

"Sorry?" Khanda's mocking laugh echoed through the cellar. "This is what you wanted, Mellorin! Ah, fickle youth…"

A shadow fell across Mellorin and the baroness appeared behind, hands outstretched to wrestle the blade away. The girl spun a brutal kick into Irrial's knee and continued on, ignoring the other woman as she collapsed to the floor.

"Corvis…" It came from above, the caw of a wounded bird. "Corvis, I can't hold on much longer. If it doesn't happen soon…"

"Aw, poor Corvis." Again from Khanda, literally dancing away from Jassion's blade. He wasn't even trying to attack anymore, wasn't throwing fire or arcane bolts. He was, Corvis realized with a choking mouthful of bile, enjoying the show. "Did your little plan fall apart? Did you smuggle poor, dying Seilloah here for nothing?"

Corvis snarled something, but the words that crossed the cellar were Mellorin's, not his own. "Kaleb! Gods, Kaleb, don't make me do this! Please…"

"I admit," Khanda continued, "it's not as efficient as Selakrian's charm, but it seems to be doing the trick, doesn't it? Of course, it'd be a lot harder if part of her hadn't already wanted to see you dead. Poor abandoned waif. But if it makes you feel better, it's mostly me. I told you, I've complete control of my physical form-and I've spent many a night these past weeks leaving tiny parts of that form in sweet little Mellorin. And now look. Why, the result is almost as much fun as the process!"

Corvis stumbled once more, so violently was he trembling, and only Sunder's unnatural speed enabled him to parry the stroke that followed. Thick blood soaked his trousers, left a trail across the floor, and with every step his wound pumped another spurt of his life.

"Daddy, please! You have to fight back! Please don't let me do this!" But he could not. Another stroke of the dagger and Sunder went spinning across the room, knocked from a broken and bleeding hand.

"Do you suppose I'm fortunate enough," Khanda asked, slicing one of Seilloah's roots with the edge of his bare hand, "that she might conceive? If so, Corvis, I hope you'll be good enough to let us name the child after you. It was you, after all, who brought us together."

Corvis was screaming unintelligible, bestial sounds. Veins stood out in his neck and across his forehead; spittle hung from the corner of his lips. Irrial was back on her feet, struggling to reach them, to do something, but with her limp she had trouble even walking, certainly could not keep up with his constant retreat or Mellorin's relentless advance. Even Salia Mavere, it appeared, was trying now to lend a hand, but she could only crawl and stagger from where she'd been thrown, looking for some way to help.

Mellorin closed, her dagger flashing…

THROUGH HIS BURNING FURY, through his constant slashes and thrusts at a target who evaded his every effort with inhuman grace, Jassion still managed to keep track of what was happening to the others. He saw the Terror of the East forced into retreat, saw blood spilling from his side, and in his soul, he rejoiced. No matter what threat Khanda posed, an uncountable array of wrongs would be set right by Rebaine's death; no matter what the warlord and Seilloah had planned, surely he, with Talon, could serve just as well. The time had finally come for retribution for Denathere, for all Imphallion…

For Jassion, and for the sister who was ripped from him.

But then, as he swung Talon, he saw his sister, saw Tyannon not as the girl he remembered from so long ago, but as he'd seen her months before, for the first time in his adult life. He saw her face, staring, imploring. And he saw, too, Mellorin's eyes, horrified as she'd taken her first unwilling steps toward Rebaine.

He saw, and he knew that neither woman-none of his family-could live with what she was about to do.

And Jassion, the Baron of Braetlyn, abandoned his fight with Khanda to save the life of the Terror of the East-and the soul of the Terror's daughter.

"Irrial! Catch!"

Corvis heard the call, saw Jassion sprinting his way, tossing Talon at the limping baroness as he neared. The distance between them was not vast, but broken pebbles shifted beneath his feet, slowing his headlong plunge, and Mellorin's dagger rose ever higher.

Rose… and stopped.

Steel glinted, seeming to dance in the flickering firelight. Inches separated father from daughter, and the old warlord knew he should already be dead.

Mellorin's blade, her hand, her entire body shuddered, muscle and flesh warring against each other. Dried lips split and bled, so tightly were they compressed together. She cried out once, in pain or fury Corvis could not tell, and then she was moving again, once more a slave to Khanda's whims. But in that one moment of rebellion, she'd bought Jassion the extra seconds he'd needed. She heard his footsteps, turned to face her charging uncle, thrust with the vicious weapon.

Jassion made no move to stop her. He twisted so that the dagger grated across his chain-armored ribs, winced with pain as several links parted, and then slammed into his niece, carrying them both to the floor. He lay atop her, pinning her with his bulk, fighting to grab at her wrists. He saw hope flare in her features, even as she bucked and thrashed beneath him, struggling to break free.

"Oh, no, this will never do." Flame again roared from Khanda's hands, reducing the intervening tendrils to ash, but it approached slowly, a tide rather than a rushing river. The demon, Corvis realized, wanted to force Jassion to release the young woman, rather than simply char them both to nothing. He struggled to close on Khanda, and found he could scarcely walk. The agony in his side flared, his legs turned to so much paste, and he collapsed to an awkward crouch.

More feathers rained from above and Seilloah landed clumsily on his shoulder. Half her body was bare of feathers, covered in weeping sores, and her beak was cracked down the center. "I'm sorry…," she told him in a broken whisper.

No… No, it can't end like this…

Khanda screamed, a high-pitched, inhuman thing.

Irrial lay on the floor before the demon, as near as her limping and crawling would allow. Talon stretched from her hand, a slender-bladed duelist's weapon, its very tip punching neatly into the muscle of Khanda's calf.

No serious wound, this. Even inflicted by the Kholben Shiar, for the demon it was but a momentary hurt.

But for that moment, Khanda was distracted. Khanda was vulnerable.

"Corvis…"

"Is there no other way?" He felt the words catch in his throat, even though he knew she was already dead.

"None." The crow looked at him, and he wished he could know if she was trying to smile. "Good-bye, my dearest friend."

"Good…" He choked, then, and there was no time to say more. The crow squawked once, trembled, and lay still.

Groaning with the effort, Corvis rose once more to his feet, turned his tear-streaked face toward his daughter's struggling form. "Mellorin…"

She knew his tone for what it was. "No! No, don't…"

"Tell your mother… Gods, you know her better than I do now. Figure out what she needs to hear, tell her I said it. I love you, Mellorin. Whether you believe it or not, I always have."

"Daddy, no!"

But Corvis was already running, the last of his strength pumping through his legs. He had to be there, had to reach him before it was too late.

Khanda had begun to catch his breath, was leaning down to clutch at the weapon in his leg. Irrial had scurried away, knowing full well she had no way to save herself if the demon turned on her. For a moment, as he crossed the cellar, Corvis thought it hadn't worked, wondered if Seilloah had held on all this time for nothing.

Wondered, and began to despair, until Khanda shuddered. His face went slack, and his entire body fell back against the nearest wall.

No, not his body. The body he'd created around himself, to wear in the mortal realm. A body over which he had full and absolute control.

A body that, inhabited by a demon, possessed no mortal soul. It hurt. Oh, Arhylla Earth-Mother, it hurt!

The ground beneath her was rough, abrasive against her feet. The scents of thick soil and rock dust and sweat in the air were acrid, scratching at her lungs with ragged claws, until she was certain she must choke on her own blood. Around her, every line, every corner, the edge of every brick, the contours of every stone, were razor-edged, slicing at her even from feet and yards away.

And those lines looked wrong. The illumination came, not from above, but from all around her. They burned, the people burned; men and women both, and she recognized none of them. She saw no faces, saw no features, for the light emanated from deep inside them, through bone and flesh and fabric and armor.

Every mortal soul, every soul, was a light-and that light was terrible. It pierced the eye, no matter how she turned away; cast shadows sharp enough to slit her own flesh; burned against and beneath her skin, inferno and infection intertwined as one, worse than hell's own fire.

A world, a whole world, of torment, distilled impossibly pure.

But not everywhere. Not quite.

Amid the awful glow were patches of comforting shade; open wounds in mortal flesh seeped blood and pain, and from those spots, the light grew dim. She heard hopeless cries, the song of sorrow and fear, and where despair shrouded any soul, the burning abated.

She laughed a cruel, exulting laugh, rejoicing as the agony of those nearby lessened her own, if only just. Laughed, and wept, for she understood that in a world of such perfect torment, the waning of her own pain was the only joy.

Pummeled by agony, weeping ever harder as she sought only to lash out, to inflict more pain to detract from her own, she doubled over, gazing down…

The body she wore was not bird, nor beast, nor her familiar feminine form garbed in earthen browns and forest greens, but clad all in black, a thing that was not human in human form.

And Seilloah remembered. Who she was, where she was, what she must do; she remembered.

She also understood now, just a little, what Khanda was. And she almost, almost pitied him.

Then Seilloah rose up, gathered her strength for the very last time, and reached out through the body she wore, wrestling it away from the demon it housed…

CORVIS CLOSED, AND FOR A SINGLE heartbeat, he saw Khanda's lips curve, not in his own smile, but in Seilloah's. He saw, and his heart exulted.

Khanda had no soul, perhaps, but his will was great. For only seconds, those few heartbeats before the demon understood what had happened and fought back, would the witch have control.

But those few seconds were enough for her to draw upon the demon's own power, to send it flowing through muscle and bone and organ. To reshape his body within, rather than without.

To make him well and truly and utterly mortal.

Corvis swept up Talon from where it lay at their feet. He smiled, too, meeting Seilloah's eyes behind Khanda's. And then, both hands clenched upon the brutal Kholben Shiar, he struck.

The axe punched through half the demon's rib cage with a shower of bone and blood, embedding itself deeply in the stone wall beyond. Khanda-and it was Khanda, again-stared at him, then down at his mangled body. He raised his head, he opened his lips…

SHE WELCOMED THE PAIN OF THE BLADE, the swift fading of the body she wore. It meant that she'd won, that the far greater torment in which she'd lived for so long would soon fade, that she had not suffered it in vain, that…

Her limbs shuddered around her; a wave of fire and rot washed over her thoughts, sweeping them away. In the dark of the cellar, or perhaps in her own mind, a pair of eyes gleamed open, staring at her through four separate pupils.

And just before the world faded away, she heard that terrible voice, one last time, in her own soul.

/Not alone!/

"NOT…" KHANDA COUGHED, wet blood spraying his enemy's face. "Not alone…"

Then he was gone, just another corpse to fall at the feet of Corvis Rebaine.

Corvis turned toward the others, a smile stretching across his face, and took a single step…

The sky screamed, the whistling of the final spell Khanda would ever cast. Corvis heard it coming, tried to dodge aside, but the last of his strength was gone. His entire left side was numb, the floor around his feet a slick pond of blood. He fell back, slumping to the floor against the wall, sinking down to Khanda's side. He reached, grasping at Talon, trying to pull himself up once more, and the Kholben Shiar shifted, grinding even farther into the battered and broken stone of the cellar.

A resounding crack echoed as the demon's magic slammed into the splintered ceiling above. Dust choked the air, perhaps an unnatural mist rising to hide the next world from mortal view. Corvis fell prone beneath the weight of the invisible force, felt the first of the stones falling on his shoulders like hail, heard the rumble of shifting masonry, and allowed himself to drift away

NOTHING MOVED but a final handful of rocks, clattering off the heap of stone that now filled a quarter of the cellar. They bounced with hollow clacks and clicks, finally tumbling across the floor and fetching up against the corners. The clouds of grit began, oh so gradually, to sift down from the air, the echoes of the ceiling's collapse to fade from aching ears.

Mellorin attempted to stand and found she could not for the weight atop her. Only then did she remember where she was. "I…" She swallowed, trying to clear the dust from her mouth, her throat. "I'm all right, Uncle Jassion."

She felt the suspicion, the tension in his tentative shifting, but he moved. She rose, knees wobbly, abandoning her blood-encrusted dagger on the floor. Her steps hesitant, she staggered toward the heap of broken stone that had buried one man she had thought she'd loved, and another she'd thought she hated. She felt a dampness on her cheeks, but for the moment she wept no more. Her soul was distant, numb; she had no more tears to shed.

Without thought, she reached toward the stones, and blinked in dull confusion at the fingers that clamped around her wrist, halting her.

"Don't," Jassion told her. It took her a moment to recognize the foreign tone in his mangled voice as compassion. "We don't know how precarious that pile is. You could bring it down on you."

"I never… I never got to…"

"I know. I'm sorry, Mellorin." And damn if it didn't sound like he meant it, too.

She heard shuffling, watched from the corner of her eye as Irrial appeared beside her. Mellorin flinched as the older woman laid a hand upon her shoulder, but did not pull away.

"He loved you, Mellorin. Whatever else you hear about him-and there will be much you'll wish you hadn't-believe that he loved you."

"I think… I think I almost do."

With that she crossed back across the chamber, leaving the unsympathetic stone behind, crouching to retrieve the one piece of her father that remained. Again Sunder shifted in her hand, becoming the heavy dagger she already knew so well, already despised, already needed. She glanced about her, saw Jassion, Irrial, and Guildmistress Mavere all watching.

Still on her knees, she ran a finger across the tiny feathered body that lay nearby. It rocked beneath her touch, one wing falling open to reveal mottled patches of bare skin between clinging feathers.

"There's so much I don't understand, so many lies Kaleb-Khanda?-told me. You'll explain it to me?" It seemed directed to the room at large, rather than any one soul. "All of it?"

"We will," Jassion promised.

"Even the parts you don't think I want to hear," she insisted.

"Yes." Irrial, this time, her tone no less sincere.

"Thank you." Mellorin rained dust as she rose, but made no move to brush herself clean.

"For what it's worth," Mavere began, her voice weak from her injuries, "I'm sorry. If we'd known Khanda would try this, we'd never have called him." Her gaze flickered from one to the next, imploring. "But something had to be done, don't you see? For the good of Imphallion, we-"

She grunted once, less in pain than surprise, and slid, with a final rattling sigh, to the floor. Her expression blank, Mellorin shook the Guildmistress's blood from Sunder's edge.

Irrial grimaced, Jassion nodded. Neither spoke.

"We should go," the warlord's daughter told them.

Her uncle nodded again. "There's much to be done. We have to try to explain what's happened, and to mount a defense-a true defense-against Cephira."

Irrial quirked her lip. "That might've been easier if we had-"

"No." Jassion shook his head. "She'd never have admitted to any of it. It would've been our word against hers. As it is, we've precious little proof, but…" He shrugged.

"But we have to try." Irrial took one step, a second, and staggered. "I don't think I can ride. I certainly can't climb out of here. Go."

"My lady, we-"

"Take Mellorin back to Mecepheum. You can send someone back for me with a coach. And rope. Lots of rope."

The baron nodded reluctantly and began examining the broken ceiling overhead.

"Jassion? Send a squad of soldiers, too, would you? Just in case."

"Of course."

IT TOOK SOME DOING, especially since they refused to touch the stones that had become a makeshift cairn for Corvis and Khanda both, but eventually they stacked together sufficient rock and timber for Jassion to leap up and clasp the edge of the floor above. After a moment of scrabbling, while the others held their breath and prayed the stone would hold, he vanished over the rim. He reappeared a moment later, one arm reaching downward. It probably wasn't necessary-Mellorin could likely have made the jump herself-but he offered, and she accepted. A bit more scrabbling, Jassion called out once more to ensure Irrial would be all right for the duration, and then they were gone.

For several minutes the baroness waited, until all sounds had ceased above and she was certain the others were on their way. Then, leaning against the wall for support, she inched her way toward the unsteady heap of rock.

And again, for long minutes, made no move at all.

Who had he been, there, at the last? Who had slain Khanda, had risen in the face of a mortal wound and lashed out to save, if not the entire world, then his beloved daughter? Corvis Rebaine, the Terror of the East? Or Cerris of Rahariem, whom Irrial herself had once thought to love, and who-though that love was past-might have been a friend and companion worth having?

Irrial didn't know. But as sure as she was that nobody could have survived either that dreadful wound or the weight of the crushing stones-let alone both together-she knew that she must do all she could to be absolutely certain. No matter how futile the effort.

How many times, after all, had Corvis Rebaine already performed the impossible?

She could accomplish little enough by herself, perhaps, but at least she could make a start until the soldiers arrived to aid her. Grunting with exertion, the baroness of Rahariem leaned down and heaved aside the first of many stones.