The Godborn

Chapter Ten

Sayeed and Zeeahd moved quickly over the plains, cutting through the shadowed air. Minser huffed and stumbled, sweating and wheezing, but the occasional cuff on the head from Sayeed kept him moving. The cats, too, herded him along.

“What will you do with me when we get there?” the peddler asked, gasping. Zeeahd looked over his shoulder. “I’ll decide when we arrive.” Minser’s fearful gaze went to Sayeed, to the cats. He muttered prayers under his breath as he staggered along.

“No god is going to save you now, peddler,” Sayeed said. “We’re past that.” “My grace is all you can hope for,” said Zeeahd, and a slight cough wracked his body.

The cats looked at Zeeahd curiously, hope in their evil expressions. Minser whined, perhaps fearing a similar fate to that of the woman in Fairelm. But Zeeahd’s coughing ended without a purge.

Minser continued to pray under his breath as they walked. Ahead, the dark, jagged spikes of the Thunder Peaks rose from the plains, the exposed spine of some enormous beast that seemed to reach all the way to the sky. Within an hour they walked the foothills. The terrain began to rise steeply. Valleys and gorges cut the face of the mountains. The pass they sought could have been anywhere. They’d have never found it but for Minser.

Minser led them on, his head bowed, his will broken. He stumbled and weaved as they walked, exhausted.

“You’re certain of the way?” Sayeed asked him, and swatted the side of his head.

Minser blanched, mumbled something inaudible, and plodded on. He looked around from time to time, as if taking stock of their location.

“Speak, peddler,” Zeeahd said, and another coughing fit afflicted him.

Sayeed was surprised to see his brother coughing again so soon after a purge. The disease within him must have been not only growing worse but doing so more quickly. Sayeed wondered if the changes wrought by the Spellplague in his own body were also worsening, but in a way he did not notice.

“You heard him,” Sayeed said, pushing Minser to the ground. “You spoke of a pass. Where is it?”

Minser looked up to speak, but before he did he turned green and puked. He tried to cover his mouth as he vomited but that served only to spray it in all directions. The rapid travel had taxed him. Spitting and gagging, he pointed ahead at one of the narrow openings in the mountains. It did not look like a pass so much as a slit.

“If you’re lying. . ” Sayeed said, and let Minser’s imagination make the most of the threat.

The peddler shook his head, his chins jiggling.

“Give him a drink and keep him moving,” Zeeahd said.

Sayeed tossed Minser a waterskin and the peddler gulped greedily.

“Get up,” Sayeed said, and lifted the fat man as easily as another might lift a child.

When they reached the mouth of the pass, Zeeahd turned to Minser. The peddler quailed.

“You’ll lead us through the pass.”

Minser shook his head. “I don’t know the way. There was a mist, and. . ”

“And what?” Zeeahd snapped.

“And nothing,” Minser said, and Sayeed knew he was lying.

“Sayeed,” Zeeahd said, and nodded at Minser.

Sayeed advanced on the peddler, who stumbled backward and fell, holding up his hands.

“Please, no.”

“Then speak truth to me, peddler,” Zeeahd said.

Minser’s twisted expression evidenced the battle within him, but eventually fear won out.

“There were. . spirits in the mist.”

Zeeahd’s voice was low and dangerous. “Guardian spirits?”

“I see no mist,” Sayeed said.

“And you thought these spirits would save you, perhaps?” Zeeahd asked Minser.

To that, the peddler said nothing. His entire body shook with terror. The cats crowded close around him, mewling.

“There is no mist,” Sayeed said again.

“How long ago did you travel the pass?” Zeeahd asked.

“Four years ago,” Minser answered.

“The mist is gone,” Zeeahd said, clearing his throat wetly. “There are no guardian spirits.”

“Gone?” Minser said, his tone that of a little boy.

“Gone,” Zeeahd said. “And with it, whatever hope you had of escape. Now move.”

With Sayeed dragging Minser by the collar, they entered the pass. Its narrow, sheer walls closed in on either side. Tunnels, cracks, and other natural openings led off in other directions almost immediately.

“Which way?” Sayeed asked, shaking Minser.

“I don’t know,” the peddler said. “I told you, there was a mist. We were guided.”

“By who?” Sayeed asked.

“By servants of Amaunator,” Zeeahd said, as he kneeled before a boulder. He pointed near the base of the boulder and there, carved deeply into the stone, was the symbol of the Dawnfather-a blazing sun over a closed rose.

“They marked the path,” Sayeed said.

Zeeahd stood, his hands on his hips. “So it seems. Do you remember other markers, Minser?”

“There was mist, but yes. They checked from time to time for markers.”

“Good,” Zeeahd said. “Very good. With them, we can find our way.”

“So you can let me go now,” Minser said. The quaver in his voice betrayed his fear.

“Yes,” Zeeahd said. “We no longer need you. Have your release.”

He waved at the cats and they swarmed the peddler, snarling. He screamed and tried to run as they bit and clawed. His exhausted legs would not bear him and he fell. The cats latched onto his body and tore at his flesh and skin. Blood and screams flew.

“Get them off! Get them off!”

Sayeed watched the murder, feeling nothing. Zeeahd laughed when Minser tried to pick up a nearby rock to strike one of the cats. The cat easily dodged the clumsy blow and sank its teeth into Minser’s wrists.

“The light preserve me! The light preserve me!”

Death came slowly and painfully to the peddler. His screams bounced off the walls of the mountains. The cats, their fur soaked with Minser’s blood, licked delicately at his savaged body. The peddler’s lower lip dangled from the mouth of one of the creatures.

Zeeahd kneeled once more before the mark of Amaunator, stared at it as if committing its form to memory. After a moment, he stood, removed a pearl from his cloak, shattered it with a rock, and gathered the dust in his hand. He found a forked stick, sprinkled the pearl dust on it, and incanted the words to a divination spell Sayeed had heard him use hundreds of times over the years.

“Other than the symbol of Amaunator carved into the rock immediately before me,” Zeeahd said. “Show me the nearest such symbol.”

The forked stick glowed opalescent and seemed to tug Zeeahd around, the magic pulling him to the next marker.

“Come,” Zeeahd said excitedly. “This way.”

They left Minser’s corpse behind them and, relying upon Zeeahd’s spellcraft, moved from marker to marker, picking their way through the labyrinthine pass, their excitement growing with each marker they passed.

They heard a soft rush, growing as they moved forward-falling water. In time they exited the pass and below and before them stretched a valley ringed by sheer mountain walls, a long smear of green bisected by a slow-flowing river, itself fed by several cascades that poured from the cliff face. Dark tarns dotted the valley here and there.

Stone structures nestled among the pines near the river. Sayeed could see cleared land for cultivation, barns and other outbuildings, several livestock pens, an orchard of apple trees. A large central structure-the Abbey of the Rose, home of the Oracle-sat in the center of it all.

Built of granite taken from the mountains, the abbey was more cathedral than cloister. The diamond-shaped structure featured tall towers at the east and west ends. Glass was everywhere. Large windows, not only in the walls but in the roof, would have bathed the interior rooms in light, were there any light in night-shrouded Sembia. A covered portico featuring slender columns ran around much of the structure. Several balconies jutted from the second floor and the towers. Flagstone courtyards on the north and south sides of the abbey provided gathering places.

Sayeed would have thought the building beautiful once, gentle in line despite the heavy stone of its construction. Either magic had aided the builders or they had spent greater than a decade erecting the building.

“There could be hundreds of priests and warriors in there.”

“I see no one,” Zeeahd said, concern raising the pitch of his voice.

The cats sat at Zeeahd’s feet, disinterested in the spectacle, licking their paws. They left off only when Zeeahd hacked a cough and spat a black glob, which they pounced on and devoured.

Sayeed saw no one, either. The abbey appeared abandoned, the Oracle gone. “What if he knew we were coming?” Sayeed said. “What if he knew?”

Despair rose in him, his affliction unable to spare him the black hole that followed failed hopes. “To have come so far. . ”

Zeeahd cleared his throat, spat, and stalked down the rise toward the abbey. “It isn’t over yet.”

Vasen watched the sky for Sakkors or any other sign of the Shadovar, but saw nothing. When they reached the site of the battle where they’d fought the Shadovar scouts, they found nothing. The veserab and the dead Shadovar soldier were gone.

“We should have hidden the bodies, or moved them, at least,” Vasen said. “There was no time,” Orsin said.

“You fought Shadovar here?” Gerak asked, scanning the ground. “How many?”

“Two, with their mounts,” Orsin said.

“And you killed them?”

“No,” Vasen said. “One escaped.”

Gerak seemed to consider that as they hurried on, moving at the doublequick. The effort left Gerak and Vasen sweating and gasping, but Orsin was untroubled. Vasen took the deva’s endurance as inspiration and pressed on. Soon the plains gave way to the rocky foothills, and in a few hours, even the dim air could not mask the rising, jagged bulk of the pine-ruffed Thunder Peaks. Seeing them, Vasen felt both hope and foreboding.

“We’re near the pass,” he said.

Gerak studied the ground as they moved.

“Come on, man,” said Vasen.

“Wait, look at these marks,” Gerak said, his brow furrowed. “A lot of people passed this way. Yesterday.”

“Us, with the pilgrims.”

“We didn’t walk this area,” Orsin said. “We were over there.” Vasen realized Orsin was right. He went to Gerak’s side. Whatever the man was looking at on the ground, Vasen could not see it. “How can you be sure it was yesterday?”

“The rain has been steady,” Orsin said. “I would think-”

“Two things I do well, Orsin,” Gerak said. “Archery and tracking. I’m sure.”

Vasen and Orsin shared a look. Orsin spoke the conclusion both of them had drawn.

“The Oracle foresaw the attack. Everyone left the abbey.”

Vasen was already shaking his head. He could not imagine the priests and the Oracle abandoning holy ground in the face of an attack.

“The Oracle is, infirm. He couldn’t travel.”

“He must have,” Gerak said. “Unless. . ”

And all at once Vasen knew. He replayed in his mind the Oracle’s words to him before he left the Abbey, the finality of the Oracle’s farewell.

“By the light,” he swore. “He ordered everyone away. He’s there alone.”

“Why would he do that?” Orsin asked.

Vasen snapped at him, harsher than he intended. “Who knows why seers do what they do?”

Orsin stared at him, blinking at Vasen’s tone.

“I’m sorry,” Vasen said, putting a hand on Orsin’s shoulder. “He. . said things to me before I left. They sound now like a farewell.”

“Then we should move,” Orsin said.

“Aye.”

Valleys, gorges, and cutouts scarred the face of the mountains. But none of them misled Vasen. Following a path he could have walked blindly, he led his comrades over the rising terrain to the mouth of the winding pass that would take them to the abbey’s valley.

“This way,” he said.

The terrain rose steeply. Vasen guided them through a series of switchbacks and narrow, rock strewn passageways. Gerak seemed to be noting the terrain with care as they moved, nodding at noteworthy landmarks, presumably placing this or that marker in his mind.

“Small wonder none found the valley without aid,” he said.

Vasen uttered a prayer to Amaunator and let the power flow into his blade, which glowed with rose-colored light. “We’ll soon come to the mist. Guardian spirits live within it. Stay close to me and do not heed their whispers.”

Speaking of the spirits reminded Vasen of his last trek through the pass. It felt as if it had been years ago, but it had been only a short time The spirits had spoken of his father and of Elgrin Fau. He wondered what he would hear now.

As the pass leveled off and widened, he saw the first marker-a boulder chiseled on its base with a tiny rose. At its base lay a crumpled form. His heart sank and he ran toward it, his armor clanking. Before he reached the body, he realized it was too large to be the Oracle.

He laid his shield on the ground and kneeled beside the corpse. The body was that of a human man-fat, balding, with a thick beard and moustache. His garish clothing was shredded, as was his flesh. He had died of blood loss after receiving hundreds of small bites all over his body. The rocks around him were stained brown. The torn remnants of his lips were peeled back from his teeth in a death grimace.

“Minser the peddler,” Gerak said, coming up behind Vasen.

Vasen’s eyes fell on the marker at the base of the boulder. Several drops of Minser’s blood had spattered the engraved sun and rose.

“They must be using spells to move from marker to marker,” he said. “We have to hurry.”

Before standing, Vasen held his glowing blade above Minser’s body and recited a prayer for his passage. He had time for nothing more.

“Go now into the light,” he finished, raising his glowing blade skyward. “Be at peace.”

“I think he would appreciate that,” Gerak said, and with that, they left Minser behind.

Vasen expected the gray mist to form at his feet, crawl up ankles, expected his mind to fill with the confusing hisses and whispers of the spirits, but he saw nothing, heard nothing. He double checked the marker, stopped, looked around.

“I don’t understand.”

“What?” Gerak asked.

“The mist,” Vasen said. “It should be here.”

“You’re certain we’re in the right place?” Gerak asked.

“Yes,” Vasen said. “I think. Come on.”

He picked up his pace, counted his steps, and sought the second marker. Perhaps he’d made a mistake, taken a wrong turn. It happened from time to time with others.

And there was the second marker, a cliff face chiseled with the symbol of the sun. Normally he saw it only through swirls of mist, with the spirits’ voices in his ears.

“By the light,” he breathed. “They’re gone. The spirits.”

“How can they be gone? What does that mean?” Orsin asked.

Vasen did not know. The mist and spirits had been as much a mainstay of the pass as the valley’s cascades, as the abbey itself, as his faith. Perhaps they, too, had been telling him goodbye when he had passed through them the last time.

“Move!” Vasen shouted.

Sayeed fell in behind his brother and the cats, his eyes on the abbey, looking for any sign of habitation. When they reached the cultivated earth and animal pens, they found that the livestock remained. Goats cowered in their open pens, bleating, fearful of the cats. The agitated flutter of wings sounded from the chicken coops, the doors thrown open.

“If they’re gone, they didn’t leave long ago,” Sayeed said. “Else the animals would be starved. We can still catch them if they traveled on foot.”

Zeeahd grunted as they stalked among the compound, his anger palpable.

The cats eyed the animals, mewled.

Zeeahd waved a hand dismissively. “What are the animals to me? Do what you wish. Kill what you wish. Only the Oracle matters to me.”

As the devils wetly slipped their fleshy cells and set about slaughtering the panicked animals, Sayeed and Zeeahd explored the nearby buildings. They found root cellars, fermenting beer, wine, cheese, but no people.

“They’re gone, Zeeahd,” Sayeed said. “The Oracle is gone. He foresaw us coming and-”

Zeeahd whirled on him and slapped Sayeed’s face, once, twice. “He’s not gone! He must be here. He must. Otherwise. . ”

Sayeed grabbed his brother by the wrist and squeezed. Zeeahd did not so much as wince.

“Release me, Sayeed. Now.”

Sayeed let his brother go.

Zeeahd’s gaze drifted in the direction of the devils that had emerged from the cats. In their bloody glee, the fiends were leaping atop buildings, firing their quills at each other, at the animals, at nothing. Some of their spines trailed flames as they flew, and soon dozens of small fires started.

“Otherwise what?” Sayeed asked. “Finish your thought.”

Zeeahd ignored him, turned, and eyed a low stairway that led to a columned portico and a pair of double doors that opened onto the abbey. Zeeahd inhaled in a hiss, put a hand across Sayeed’s chest.

“What is it?” Sayeed asked, his hand going to his sword hilt.

“He’s here,” Zeeahd said.

“How do you know?”

“Because those doors are warded. Feel it?”

Sayeed didn’t, but he trusted his brother’s ability to sense powerful magic.

Zeeahd withdrew some items from his belt pouches as they walked toward the doors. He began to cast a counterward.

Standing in the shrine, looking upon the image of Jiriis and his father, the Oracle held his hand over the glow globe in the shrine.

When he lit it, he knew what it would bring.

“I will stand in the light and fear no darkness,” he said, and waited for the ward on the doors to fall.

Vasen ran through the pass, his armor clanking, and even Orsin struggled to keep up. The moment Vasen heard the distant rush of the valley’s cascades, he readied his shield and let the light die from his sword. Darkness cloaked them all.

“The light keep us,” he said to his comrades.

He stopped at the mouth of the pass. The valley stretched out below him, a finger-shaped slash in the mountains covered in shrouded pine and scrub. The darkness and trees hid the river. The abbey and its outbuildings and walls nestled in a cleared swath farther in. The lands around the buildings looked like a black smear in the darkness. The glowglobes were unlit, their defiant glow extinguished. The windows, too, were dark, and the sight pulled Vasen up short. He’d never before seen the abbey sitting in darkness under the Shadovar’s sky. It looked not like a place dedicated to the God of the Sun but a tomb, a surrender. The shadows around him swirled.

Orsin and Gerak tried to walk past him, but he stopped them with the flat of his blade.

“Wait.”

“What is it?”

Screams pierced the valley’s silence, carried up from the abbey on the wind. Not human, but animal, and. . something else. The wind carried the stink of smoke.

“Something is burning,” Orsin said.

“I smell it,” Gerak said. He nocked an arrow but did not draw. “I can’t see anything.”

More screams sounded from below, the desperate, terrified bleats of the goats. All at once a dozen small fires lit up in the compound, the roofs of several storage sheds and several trees. Vasen heard cracking wood, the growls and snarls of some kind of beast. He could see movement in the shadows cast by the fire, but could make out no details.

“We get close,” Vasen said. “Move quietly and quickly.”

Orsin and Gerak nodded and they all started down. By the time they reached the bottom, two of the storage sheds were fully ablaze. The light from the fires raised shadows all over the compound. Vasen felt a twinge when he looked at the shadows, a feeling of connectedness. He crept onward.

They clambered over the low stone wall that kept wild animals from the fields, and when they did Vasen stepped on something slick and wet.

A pile of blood-soaked skins lay at his feet. Vasen lifted one of the skins on the end of his sword. They looked vaguely feline. Blood slicked the empty bag of fur.

“Those. . look like the cats that accompanied the two men,” Gerak whispered.

“They weren’t cats,” Vasen said, dropping the skin to the ground.

“Then what?” Gerak said, looking toward the abbey.

“We’ll soon know,” Vasen said.

They darted in a crouch across the fields toward the abbey.

The sudden flash of a light in one of the windows of the eastern-facing tower of the abbey caught Sayeed’s eye.

“There is a light in the eastern tower,” he said, pointing.

Zeeahd nodded, the flesh under his robe roiling and bulging, and continued his countercharm, using a silver wand to trace glowing symbols in the air.

Vasen, Orsin, and Gerak sheltered behind one of the outbuildings used to house visiting pilgrims and peeked around the corner. Smoke fogged the air, but the light of the flames allowed Vasen to see the marauders.

“Spined devils,” he said.

The spined devils, which were about the size of a mastiff, prowled about on all fours. Hundreds of sharp quills, about the length of a man’s hand, coated their hides. As Vasen watched, one of the creatures growled, tensed, and fired a half dozen spines from its back at a storage shed. The spines burst into flame as they flew and sunk deeply into the wood of the shed, the flames licking at the timbers.

Another spined devil burst through the fence of an animal pen, carrying the leg of a goat in its mouth. A second devil bounded into view from the right and tried to take the goat haunch from the first, the two fiends scrabbling over it like dogs.

“I can’t see how many,” Vasen said. “More than a handful, though.” “There were at least a dozen cat skins,” Orsin said.

Vasen eyed Gerak, to see how well the man was holding up. Gerak met his gaze, nodded.

There were too many to try and cut their way through.

“We’re looking for men, not devils,” Vasen said. “We need to get to the abbey undetected.”

“The smoke will help,” Orsin said.

“Where is everyone?” Gerak asked.

Vasen could only shake his head and try not to lose hope. He looked out from around the building and saw no devils, although he could hear them above the crackle of burning wood. Just as he was about to give the order to run for the northern courtyard, a powerful impact shook the timbers of the shed. The three men flattened themselves against the wall, looking up, as they heard the chuff of a devil, the sound of claws on roof tiles.

Shadows poured from Vasen’s skin.

Moving silently, Gerak drew an arrow, nocked, and took a knee a pace away from the wall, his bow trained on the roof.

The chuffing changed to a low growl.

Vasen met Orsin’s gaze, gave him a nod. The deva nodded in return. They readied themselves and Vasen cleared his throat.

The devil lunged forward and the moment its head appeared past the edge of the roof, Gerak let an arrow fly and Orsin lunged upward. Orsin looped his hands around the fiend’s neck and flipped it from the roof. It fell on its back, snarling, claws flailing wildly, an arrow sticking from its throat. Vasen hacked downward with his sword and split its throat. Stinking black ichor poured from the wound, stained the grass, and the creature went silent.

The three men sheltered behind the building again, listening. They heard nothing nearby. The devils appeared to be elsewhere on the grounds, burning and destroying.

“We move now,” Vasen said. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Orsin and Gerak said in unison.

They dashed out from behind the shed and made for the courtyard. Through the smoke and darkness, the large arch leading into the courtyard looked like a screaming mouth. The moment they broached it and set foot on the flagstones, Vasen saw the two men they sought.

They stood near the north-facing double doors. The smaller of the men held a thin rod in his hand with which he traced glowing runes in the air. He made a gesture of finality with the wand, and the jambs around the abbey’s double doors flared white as the protective wards winked out.

Gerak drew an arrow and Vasen whirled his blade over his head. Anger and faith combined, flowed into his blade, and ribbons of rose-colored light trailed the weapon’s arc.

“Get away from that door,” Vasen called.

The men turned to face him. Behind and above them Vasen saw a light glowing in the upper window of the Saint’s Shrine, the only light in the entire abbey.

If the Oracle was still in the Abbey, that’s where he would be.

The man who bore sword and shield was the largest human Vasen had ever seen. A battle-scarred breastplate covered his barrel chest. Shaggy hair and a thick beard obscured all of his features but his eyes, which looked as lifeless as coins.

The other man, also tall but thin as a willow reed, looked like a walking corpse. Parchment-colored skin was drawn tight over sunken cheeks and deep-set eyes. His thin lips parted in a snarl to reveal snaggle teeth.

“Kill them, Sayeed!” the thin man said to the large one. “I’ll get what we need from the Oracle.”

Before either man could move, Vasen swung his blade in a wide, final arc and flung the ribbons of light across the courtyard. The energy slammed into the thin man like a hammer blow, knocking him from his feet and leaving him stunned on the ground.

“You’ll never set foot in the abbey,” Vasen said.

The large man roared and rushed them. Gerak fired twice in rapid succession, but the large man blocked his shots contemptuously with his huge shield, never slowing his advance.

Two devils, perhaps hearing the shouts, bounded into the courtyard from the far side. When they saw Vasen, Gerak, and Orsin, they coiled, arched their backs, and a dozen flaming spines hissed across the courtyard.

Vasen jumped before Gerak-the man was unarmored-and protected both of them with his shield. Orsin leaped high into the air, and the remaining spines slammed into the stone wall behind them and fell to the ground, flaming.

Gerak drew, fired, and an arrow slammed into one of the devils. Meanwhile, Orsin leaped skyward on a column of shadow, the arc of his leap carrying him over the huge man, who halted in his charge to watch him sail overhead. Orsin landed in a crouch a few paces from the thin man, and a disc of shadow exploded a short distance outward in all directions from his feet. The wave of dark energy slammed into the thin man and sent him careening into the doors. Orsin clenched his fists, dark energy surrounding them, and advanced on him.

Vasen charged Sayeed, blade and shield readied and blazing with light. Sayeed whirled, his mouth a twisted snarl, sword and shield ready. They collided with a shout, a clamor of metal and flesh. The impact made Vasen’s teeth ache, but he managed to slam his glowing shield into Sayeed’s blade and loose an overhand strike at the man’s skull. Sayeed parried with his shield, pushed Vasen back, and unleashed a vicious overhead strike that Vasen sidestepped.

When Sayeed’s missed strike put the tip of his blade in the earth, Vasen stomped on it even as he slammed the edge of his shield into Sayeed’s cheek. The combination should have snapped Sayeed’s sword and skull, but the man barely flinched and the steel of his blade resisted Vasen’s stomp.

Sayeed levered his blade up, knocking Vasen off balance, then swung his shield hard into Vasen’s side. The blow sent Vasen stumbling sidelong.

Sayeed bounded after, stabbing for Vasen’s ribs. Vasen managed an awkward parry with his shield, spun, and slashed downward with his blade, catching Sayeed’s calf behind the protective plate of his armor. Blood spilled, and Sayeed grunted with pain but didn’t fall. Instead, he stabbed at Vasen’s chest, his blade slipping past Vasen’s shield and scraping armor. Horrifyingly, the blade vibrated like a living thing, as if burrowing for Vasen’s flesh. But the force of the blow knocked Vasen backward and the blade did not penetrate his armor. Sayeed advanced, blade held high for a killing stroke.

A hiss, thunk, and grunt of pain accompanied one of Gerak’s arrows slamming into Sayeed’s back. The big warrior roared, turned, and tore the arrow from his back. Vasen backed away and regathered his wits.

He glanced around, just in time to see a column of flame explode from the thin man’s hands, slam into Orsin’s chest, and send the deva careening backward across the length of the courtyard, where he crashed into a wall and sagged to the ground. His chest smoked as he struggled to rise. Another spined devil sprinted into the courtyard and charged him.

“Orsin!” Gerak and Vasen called as one.

Gerak’s hands were a blur, firing again and again, as he backed toward the wall His bow and one of the devils charging him fell in a tumble, but the second shot went wide and he fumbled his sword free as the devil closed and slashed with tooth and claw.

Behind Vasen, the thin man opened the double doors of the abbey. Vasen cursed, torn between aiding his friend and pursuing. Before he could decide, the huge warrior loomed before him, roaring, and unleashed a flurry of blows that drove Vasen backward and prevented him from doing anything other than keeping sharp metal away from his flesh.

“Shoot him, Gerak!” Vasen called. “The other one! Shoot him!”

But Gerak was pressed against the wall, stabbing and slashing with his blade at two devils.

Anger flared in Vasen. Shadows whirled around his flesh. He channeled all the power he could into both blade and shield, causing both to glow, and lunged at Sayeed, loosing his own flurry of strikes, stabs, and slashes. The ferocity of the attack drove the larger man backward, toward the double doors, and the power infusing Vasen’s weapons gave his strikes the force needed to knock Sayeed’s shield and blade out wide, exposing his chest. Vasen put a straight kick into the larger man’s torso, staggering him, then drove the glowing line of his blade to its hilt in Sayeed’s chest.

He went nose to nose with Sayeed, whose mouth was filling with blood.

“We just want the Oracle,” Sayeed gasped. “We need the son of Erevis Cale.”

Shadows swirled around Vasen, around Sayeed.

“You’ve found him,” Vasen said. “Know that as you die.”

Sayeed’s dead eyes widened with surprise and his mouth split in a bloody smile. He laughed, spraying Vasen with blood, and fell to his knees. He closed his hands around the hilt of Vasen’s sword.

A pained shout pulled Vasen around. He tried to jerk his blade free as he turned, but Sayeed held it in a death grip.

A spined devil had Gerak pinned up against the wall. The devil lunged at him, but Gerak sidestepped the attack and slashed down with his blade. The weapon bit and sent several spines flying. The devil squealed, more with anger than pain, and not before catching Gerak’s side with a claw that came away bloody. Gerak backed off, wide-eyed, his breath coming hard.

Orsin had regained his feet, and clouds of shadow clung to his fists and the ends of his staff as he battled with a spined devil. His weapon hummed, trailing a line of shadows.

Vasen turned, kicked Sayeed flat, put his foot on the man’s abdomen, and tried once more to pull his blade free. Still it would not come loose. He cursed and left it.

Slipping out of the straps of his shield, he rushed toward Gerak, shouting the name of Amaunator as he ran, putting the power of his faith into his shield. The devil whirled as Vasen neared, and Gerak took the opportunity to stab it in the hindquarters. The creature snarled and loosed a handful of flaming spines that pierced Gerak’s face and chest, sent him stumbling back against the wall, shouting with pain and frantically trying to pluck the flaming projectiles from his flesh.

Vasen held the shield with both hand, the metal and wood warm in his grasp. The devil leaped at him, jaws wide, and Vasen slammed the edge of the shield down on its neck before it reached him. The blow drove the devil flat into the earth, cracking bones, and the power infusing the shield poured out into the creature. It screamed, spasmed, and died. Vasen grabbed the now-dim shield and hurled it to Gerak.

“Take it!” he said. “You know how to use it?”

“I was a soldier,” Gerak said, catching the shield. He was bleeding from his face. “What’re you doing?”

“Going after the other one.”

Gerak looked past Vasen, over his shoulder. “We haven’t even gotten the first one.”

Vasen turned to see Sayeed-inexplicably, impossibly-back on his feet. Vasen’s blade stuck out his chest and back like a pennon. Sayeed stared at them, grinned, and slowly extracted Vasen’s weapon in a gout of blood. The moment the weapon cleared his skin, the bleeding stopped.

“Gods,” Gerak said.

“I have to go help the Oracle,” Vasen called to his friends.

“Go,” Gerak said.

“Go,” Orsin said, pummeling a nearly dead spined devil with fists that dripped with dark energy. “We’ll follow.”

That was all Vasen needed. He sprinted for the double doors. As he did, he heard a hiss and thunk as Gerak put an arrow into Sayeed. The big man roared and fell to his knees.

Vasen leaped onto the portico and barreled into the side door. It burst open and he cut left, sliding to a stop and cursing.

A wall of fire blocked the hallway from floor to ceiling, the flames licking hungrily at everything within reach. Vasen felt the hair of his beard and eyebrows melt. He scrambled backward, blinking in the heat. The thin man must have conjured the wall of flames to prevent pursuit. Vasen did not hesitate. He covered his face with his hands and charged through the flames. Skin blistered and hair burned, but his armor protected him against the worst of it. Ignoring the pain of his charred skin, he stripped off his burning cloak and beat out the flames on his trousers and tunic.

The skin of his face felt raw, blistered. He would have channeled the light of his faith into healing energy, but he was without a focus-no holy symbol at this throat, no shield emblazoned with Amaunator’s rose, no sword with his god’s symbol cast into the hilt.

He drew a dagger and ran through the abbey’s halls, speeding past the meditation cells, the storerooms, the library and study rooms, the stairway that led to the lower level.

He knew the thin man was heading toward the Saint’s Shrine in the eastern tower. Vasen could cut through the central worship hall and cut him off before he got to the eastern stairs.

He shouldered his way through the double doors that led into the main worship hall, running too fast to hear the noise until he’d entered.