The Hammer and the Blade

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Nix had no time to evaluate himself more thoroughly. He lifted himself to all fours, to his knees, blinking, his vision swirling for a moment. He'd landed in the center of a summoning circle, the lead of its lines inlaid into the wood. The nonsense thought struck him that he'd been summoned out of the sky. He would've laughed aloud but his body hurt too much. There were other symbols carved or scribed or inlaid into the wood in other areas of the floor — an elemental circle, a thaumaturgic triangle, a binding diamond. They'd landed in a summoning chamber. Rakon's summoning chamber, which was open to the sky, to the vault of night, to Minnear, which shone full in the velvet of night.

A metal staircase stood in the center of the open room, supported by cracked scaffolds. The stairway — thirteen steps, Nix noted — ended in an elevated platform. There Abrak-Thyss lay, his huge body and serpentine arms flowing over the sides. Ichor dripped from the sphincters that ended his thick arms. The small eyes at the end of the arms were closed.

Nix shook his head to clear it, looked around. Rakon lay across the room, lifting himself off the floor with his hands, his face dazed, bloody, his skullcap askew, hair for the first time mussed. Egil was already on his feet, kneeling over Rusilla and Merelda, who lay near one another on the floor. The priest turned them over, put his ear to their mouth.

"Egil?" Nix called.

"They're alive," Egil answered, relief in his tone. "And untouched by the fiend, near as I can tell."

Rusilla groaned; her forefinger curled.

"And stirring!" Egil said. "Their eyes are open, Nix!"

"Get away from them!" Rakon said, his voice a hiss.

Egil rose slowly, turned to look at the sorcerer. His heavy brows darkened, vowing violence.

Nix, too, rose. He wobbled, swayed, but stayed upright.

"Kill them both, Abrak-Thyss," Rakon said. He coughed, spit blood. "Then honor the Pact."

"Your devil is dead, sorcerer," Nix said, and drew his falchion. "There'll be no rapes in this house tonight. Just an execution."

Rakon chuckled, the sound broken and wet.

Wood creaked and cracked above Nix. He looked up, saw the eyes at the end of the devil's arms open, staring at him with menace.

"Shite," he whispered.

Rakon laughed louder.

"Egil…" Nix said.

"I see it," the priest answered. He put hafts in his hands, fixed his eyes on the devil. "Just something else I need to kill, then."

Behind the priest, the lone door that led back into the house flew open and a bent crone in the faded garb of a noblewoman tumbled through. Her gray hair stuck out from her head in wild tufts. Her crazed eyes, one of them marred to a half-open droop by a scar, took in the devil, Rakon, Rusilla and Merelda, Egil and Nix.

"Rakon!" she shrieked.

"Back inside, Mother," the sorcerer snapped.

But she didn't go back inside. She charged Egil, her thin hands bent like claws, a snarl revealing rotted teeth. Egil caught her up in his grasp while she clawed bloody furrows into his face. He lifted her from her feet and set her down firmly on the ground near the door.

"Sit, grandma!" Egil said, and stuck the head of his hammer in her face. "Do not move."

She snarled at him, hissed like a serpent, but stayed put as if planted there.

Above Nix, the wood platform at the top of the infernally numbered stairs cracked as the devil shifted his bulk, twisted and stood. His arms flailed, muscles rippled under the scaled form, and the mouth in his chest opened in a roar of triumph.

Nix backed off, treading on arcana, and the devil coiled himself and leaped from the top of the platform. His huge misshapen form landed with a thud that shook the floor.

Dry, reptilian stink filled Nix's nostrils. One of the devil's larger arms snaked sidewise to eye Egil, who stood over Rusilla and Merelda. The other jutted forward and eyed Nix, the mouth open and dripping ichor. The two smaller arms flexed and bent near the devil's mouth, a reflexive motion like those of an insect's mandibles.

Nix eyed the partially engorged member dangling between the trunks of the creature's legs.

"Been a while for you, yeah? Gonna be a bit of a wait yet, fakker."

The devil tensed and roared, his exhalation the stink of a charnel house. The eyes in both arms fixed on Nix and it charged, his tread shaking the floor.

While backpedaling, Nix drew and threw his throwing daggers at the brute's torso, but the creature's hide turned them as well as plate armor. Nix pulled his hand axe as the creature lurched toward him. An arm lashed at him, toothy maw snapping, but he ducked under it, hacked at the arm with his axe. The axe's edge rang off the devil's hide, sending a shock up Nix's arm. He lunged forward and stabbed with his falchion but it, too, bounced off the creature's hide. He lurched backward as the devil tried to stomp him with one of the tree trunks of his legs. The impact vibrated the floor, caused Nix to stumble. The devil lumbered after him, his huge bulk pushing him back toward the edge of the room, which overlooked a fall down the escarpment.

Egil roared and charged from the side, hammers held high. The devil whirled to face him, so Nix planted his feet and hurled his axe at the creature's mouth but missed. He cursed and took his falchion in both hands for better leverage.

Egil sidestepped a crushing blow of one of the devil's arms, spun, and smashed both hammers down simultaneously on the appendage. Scales gave way with a wet crunch and the devil shrieked with pain. His wounded arm spasmed with agony. Egil whirled to parry a blow from the other arm but too slow. The thick serpent of the creature's arm hit Egil squarely in the chest and sent him flying backward across the room. He landed on his back near Rusilla and Merelda.

"Shite," Nix said, and a backhand lash from the devil's arm snatched at him, caught him by the wrist, and jerked him toward the creature's chest maw. Panicked, Nix twisted and pulled, nearly dislocating his shoulder, but finally pulling himself free. The fanged mouth from the other arm lunged for him. He dodged it but the move sent him careening backward off balance. The devil plodded after him, an arm swinging crosswise for his head. Nix managed an overhand, two-handed strike with his falchion, chopped with all his strength. He grinned when he felt the blade bite into flesh. Black blood spurted from the squirming arm. The devil howled in rage, withdrew the arm, but advanced on him, his bulk inexorably driving him backward, his arms a nest of toothy snakes, snapping and biting.

Nix retreated, waving his blade defensively, as a sphincter of teeth snapped closed a finger's width from his nose. He grabbed a dagger from his belt and flicked it underhand at the devil, but the creature's scales turned its point. He was running out of both options and room to maneuver.

"Egil!" he shouted. "Get up!"

Nix stumbled back from a swing of the devil's arm, but was too off balance to dodge the backswing. It hit him squarely in the back, drove the air from his lungs, and sent him careening into a wall, abrading his face. He ducked as one of the fanged sphincters lunged at his face and instead took a bite of the wall, removing a divot of plaster and wood. Nix spun into a crosscut, hoping to disembowel the devil, but his boots clung to the floor, slowing his movement. The devil lurched backward, arms waving menacingly.

Nix cursed. He must have stepped in something sticky. He tried to maneuver, found his feet even more fixed to the floor.

"What in the Pits!"

He tried to dodge a swing of the devil's arm, but his stride, clutched by the floor, slowed him and the blow caught him in the abdomen, doubled him over, and sent him flying across the floor.

Coughing, gasping, he clambered to his feet. His boots stuck to the floor again, more strongly this time. He put his weight on one foot to lift the other and the first sank ankle deep into the floor. He cursed, tried to pull his boot free but no use. He might as well have been standing in hardening quicklime.

"Egil!"

The devil roared as it turned to face him. Nix looked over to see Rakon lying on his belly, one hand caressing the floor, the other cupping his mouth, as if he were uttering secrets to the wood, and Nix supposed he was.

"Egil!" Nix said. "I'm stuck! The sorcerer! Egil!"

The priest sat up, his eyes bleary. He took in the situation at a glance.

The devil lumbered for Nix, hissing, great mouth snapping, his arms a swarm of toothy snakes. The enspelled wood held Nix fast, his boots sunk into the floor almost to the ankle.

"Egil!"

Nix took his falchion in two hands, readied himself.

The priest hurled his hammers in rapid succession. One flew for Rakon with fearsome velocity, flipping head over haft, and slammed into the sorcerer's unprotected side. Whatever whispers Rakon had been making to the floor ended with broken ribs and a howl of pain. He curled up, gasping, coughing blood.

The priest's second hammer hummed as it flew at Abrak-Thyss, striking the devil in the chest, in his open mouth, turning his roar into a shriek of pain as the weapon shattered a tooth. The enraged, pained devil bit the haft in two and spit head and handle to the floor, but the blow had done its work, halting the creature's charge at Nix.

Nix pulled at his boots with his hands but even with Rakon disabled he could not get them free. His stream of expletives would have shamed a crew of seamen.

Egil pulled his crowbar and held it in both hands, eyeing the devil.

"This worked well on your sibling, darkspawn. Let's take its measure on you."

The devil charged Egil and the priest answered in kind.

Unable to dislodge his boots from the melted stone, Nix slit his boot laces with the dagger he kept in his boot and pulled his bare feet free. He looked up in time to see one of the devil's serpentine arms catch Egil on the run and send him spinning and cursing to the ground. Another arm darted in, serpentlike, the fanged mouth at its end biting for Egil's face, but the priest caught the arm in the vise of his grip and stopped it a few fingers' width from his face. The mouth snapped open and closed, dripping spit in its hungry lust for flesh.

Teeth gritted, arm shaking, Egil used his free hand to slam the claw end of his crowbar into the creature's arm. The crowbar bit deep into the devil's hide, drawing a spurt of blood and a squeal of pain. The devil reflexively pulled back his arm, and the sudden motion jerked Egil, off balance and staggering, toward the creature.

Seizing the opportunity, one of the smaller mandible arms caught Egil about the waist and lifted him bodily toward the fang-lined, cavernous mouth in the creature's chest. The priest squirmed in the devil's grasp, legs kicking, curses flying, as the devil drew him toward a mouth that could bite him in half.

Nix charged barefoot across the roof, falchion held in a two-handed grip, shouting oaths.

Egil's roar answered the devil's hungry growl and when he was close enough, Egil slammed the crowbar he still clutched into the devil's teeth. The blow shattered another tooth and fragments of it flew in all directions. The devil shrieked with agony, spasmed with pain, and reflexively hurled Egil across the rooftop. The priest hit the wall near the door, near the old woman, and sagged to the ground once more.

The devil whirled to face Nix, arms coiled for a strike, but Nix did not slow. He parried a swing of the devil's arm, rode the momentum of the parry into a spin, leaped over a swing from the other arm, and slashed downward at the creature's shoulder. His blade rang off the scales, and he bounded backward. A fanged mouth snapped at his ear. He ducked as the mouth bit again and the teeth collected a tithe of his hair rather than his flesh. He unleashed a twisting backhand swing of his falchion and the blade cut into the devil's arm. Teeth snapped all around him as he spun, slashed, twisted, and leaped. He loosed a furious onslaught of slashes and stabs, his blade mostly bouncing off the devil's hide, but occasionally opening a scratch. The devil's arms swarmed around him, the fanged mouths snapping in the air, snatching at his clothes. He tried to lead the creature toward the edge of the floor that overlooked the Shelf, hoping to somehow trick the devil into falling over the side, but the devil did not come near when Nix retreated to the edge.

Egil stirred, one leg bending at the knee. Rakon, too, was trying to rise, still coughing and spitting blood. The devil cared nothing for either. He roared and lumbered at Nix.

Nix darted to the side, slashing defensively with his blade. He stumbled over the lead line of a thaumaturgic triangle and went down. He whirled to see the twin mouths on the end of the devil's arms streaking toward his face. He rolled to his side but too slow. One of the mouths closed on his arm, the sphincter of fangs twisting as it clamped down.

Blinding pain summoned a shout of agony from Nix. Blood poured from the wound, the devil's arm pulsing grotesquely as it nursed fluid from his arm. Nix slashed down with his falchion to dislodge the bite, once, twice, and the creature released his arm in a spray of blood.

He staggered backward, bleeding profusely, already weakening. The devil did not relent. His arms flailed for him, his mouths snarled and snapped, as he moved toward Nix on the thick cylinders of his legs.

Nix's eyes fell to the floor and a desperate stratagem occurred to him. He acted before he'd thought it through. He circled wide to draw the devil toward the binding circle inlaid into the wood. The moment the devil stepped within it, Nix dove forward on his belly, touched the activating glyph on the circle, and shouted a word in the Language of Creation.

Instantly the circle flared and a translucent green sphere of power encapsulated the devil: another prison for Abrak-Thyss, albeit a temporary one.

Realizing what had happened, the creature roared with frustration.

Nix scrabbled backward, bleeding, breathing hard, while the devil flailed his arms and railed his anger against his binding. Where he struck the sphere, sparks of energy flew. Nix knew the circle would not hold for long. He didn't know the proper incantation to use the glyph properly, and even if he did he doubted it could have held Abrak-Thyss for long.

"Stay there," he said to the creature, but couldn't even muster a grin.

Still bleeding from his shoulder, he turned around to find Rakon standing and Egil on all fours, coughing. The sorcerer eyed the bound devil, Nix, then Egil. Fear entered his expression and he ran for the half-open door. He staggered as he went, favoring his side, and Nix thought he'd make it, but Egil saw him, roared, scrambled to his feet, and proved the faster. The priest tackled Rakon right before the door and they went down in a scrum of arms and legs. The sorcerer was no match for Egil's strength and size, and almost instantly the priest was astride him, his huge fists slamming into Rakon's head and face again and again.

Rakon shrieked, wailed as blood sprayed, bone crunched, and teeth flew. The sorcerer held his hands up, feebly trying to grab Egil's thick arms or deflect the priest's furious onslaught, but to no avail. The old woman near the door looked on, a dazed look in her eyes, her hand to her mouth in shock.

"Egil!" Nix called, and stumbled toward him, trying to stanch the blood leaking from his shoulder.

But the priest either did not hear him or did not acknowledge him.

"Your own sisters!" Egil said, and hammered Rakon's face again, again. "Your own sisters! We saw it, you fakking monster! We saw it!"

The devil shrieked in rage, the binding circle sizzling as he tried to break free.

"Your own sisters!" Egil said again, repeating the phrase with every punch, the words a vengeful incantation.

Rakon went limp under him and still Egil did not stop. The priest would beat Rakon to death if Nix did not stop him.

"Your own sisters!"

Nix staggered to his friend's side, caught his right hand by the wrist.

Egil whirled on him, tears in his eyes, left hand cocked.

"You can't beat it out of you by beating him!" Nix said.

The priest stared at him, blinking, pain in his eyes.

"You can't, Egil," Nix said, more softly. "We saw it. We felt it, at least in part. It'll never be out."

Egil lowered his fists, looked over at the old woman. There were tears in her eyes, too. Egil slouched, started to weep.

Rakon groaned, his face a broken, bloody mess.

Behind them, the devil raged in his prison.

They didn't have much time.

"I have an idea," Nix said, staring at Rakon.

Egil looked up, his bushy brows raised in a question.

Nix glanced over at the old woman, who was trembling against the wall. "Get her for me, Egil."

"Nix…"

"I'm not going to hurt her. You know me better than that." He nodded at Rakon. "I'm going to hurt him. Get me Rusilla, if you'd prefer."

The devil's attack on the binding circle grew frenetic, his rage-filled slams against the magic causing it to spark and flare.

"Hurry," Nix said.

While Egil gathered Rusilla, Nix tore a strip of his clothing and did his best to tie off his shoulder wound. Egil laid Rusilla down gently on the floor near Nix. Her eyes were open and she stared into Nix's face.

"I'm touching only your hand," Nix said to her, not sure if she could hear him.

He took her hand in his, removed the transmutation wand from his satchel, and activated it with a word in the Mages' Tongue. Once more the gold cap glowed and the wand warmed in his hand.

"What are you doing?" Egil asked.

"Watch," he said, and touched it to Rusilla.

"I still don't see…" the priest said.

Nix then touched the wand to Rakon. "Let him experience what he intended for them."

Rakon's eyes snapped open as the magic poured into him. As the transformation began, his eyes widened and his mouth opened in a silent scream.

The sorcerer's facial features softened. His body lost height, gained hips, his waist narrowed, his chest swelled with breasts. In moments the magic had turned him from sorcerer to sorceress.

"What have you done to me?" Rakon said, his now high-pitched voice slurred. The transformation had healed some of his wounds. His face was bruised, red in places, but not the ruin Egil had left it moments before.

"You wanted to honor your damnable Pact, whoreson," Nix said, and jerked him to his feet. "So you will."

Accompanied by Egil, he dragged Rakon toward the devil, who still flailed and raged frenetically against his binding. Rakon seemed dazed, not quite understanding what Nix intended.

"Do you understand me, beast?" Nix said to Abrak-Thyss.

"The Pact demands a Norristru woman of childbearing age."

Nix pulled Rakon toward the binding and shook him.

"I've brought you one."

The devil stopped struggling. The eyes at the end of his arms fixed on Nix. The slits in his abdomen, his nostrils, flared wetly as he inhaled Rakon's scent.

"What?" Rakon said, finally understanding, his voice high-pitched and feminine.

"Let's have our own pact, devil," Nix said, and shook Rakon again. "This one is yours. But the others are left alone. Do we have agreement?"

Rakon struggled against Nix's hold. Nix shook him like a rag doll. Rakon's fear seemed to excite the devil, to judge from the further engorgement of his member.

"I think he likes you," Nix said to Rakon. "I'm sure he'll be a gentle lover."

"No," Rakon said, swallowing, going limp in Nix's grasp. "You can't do this. You can't."

Nix pulled him around and stared into his — her — face.

"This is what you would have done to your sisters! This is the fear they felt. Worse than fear awaited them. I've seen it, Norristru. I've seen it! And now worse than fear awaits you. You've earned it."

"Don't do this," Rakon pleaded. Tears fell from his eyes.

"It's done!" Nix said, the anger in his words spraying Rakon with spit. "And you did it!"

Nix nodded at Egil and the priest withdrew, picked up Rusilla and Merelda, and carried them to the far side of the room. Egil recovered his hammers, his crowbar, and stood at the ready.

Nix turned to Abrak-Thyss, holding Rakon like an offering. "Devil, what say you?"

The devil growled, a low, predatory sound that reminded Nix of a cat's purr.

Without warning, the energy sphere around the binding circle winked out. Rakon screamed, sagged. Nix shoved the sorcerer toward the devil and backed away fast toward Egil.

He drew his blade but needn't have worried. The devil grabbed Rakon around the waist with one of his serpentine arms. Rakon flailed, his small fists beating at the devil's grip, his screams high-pitched and fearful.

"Honor the deal, devil," Nix said, backing up until he bumped into Egil.

The devil did not even glance at them. Carrying Rakon, who screamed helplessly, the devil strode for the open door that led into the manse.

The old woman abased herself before the devil as he approached.

"Scion of the Thyss, welcome."

The devil neither paused nor acknowledged her. His girth barely fit through the doorway, but he squeezed through and inside, Rakon still screaming plaintively.

Nix knew where the devil was taking Rakon: to the hall of doors he'd seen in his dreams, a place of horror.

"It's worst the first time," the old woman called after Rakon. "It's easier after that. Take heart."

Rakon's screams were desperate. Nix endured them only by reminding himself of the generations of women who'd uttered similar screams as a result of the scheming of Rakon and his sires.

Egil shifted on his feet. "I don't know if that was the right thing to do."

Nix stared at the open door, the darkness beyond. "I don't know either. But death seemed… too neat an end for him. We both saw what'd been done here. If it was the wrong thing to do, it was my wrong thing."

"No," Egil said thoughtfully. "I'm with you. If it was wrong, then it's our wrong and we both own it."

"Well enough."

"We should go," Egil said.

"Aye."

Nix kneeled and looked into Rusilla's pale face, her intense green eyes. Her hands spasmed, probably some aftereffect of the drug her brother had been giving her.

"Can you hear me?" he asked her. "Do you know what I just did? Was it the right thing?"

They stared at one another a long while.

"The drugs, Nix," Egil said. "She can't answer."

Then her lips moved. She made no sound and he wasn't sure if the movement was intentional. He stared at her, willing her to mouth again what he thought he'd seen. She did and he read her lips.

Applause, Nix.

For a moment, he could think of nothing to say, then he stood and said, "I've been waiting for those."

Nix and Egil bound their wounds as best they could. They'd need to see a priestess of Orella when they returned to Dur Follin, maybe visit the Low Bazaar to procure a healing elixir or ten. But before leaving, they approached the old woman, Rusilla and Merelda's mother. She remained by the door, and at their approach hid her face behind the wall of her wrinkled, veiny hands. She rocked back and forth, muttering to herself.

"Is she… lost?" Nix asked.

"I think maybe," Egil said sadly.

"It's worse the first time," she muttered repeatedly. "Always worse the first time."

"Grandma…" Nix said.

She looked up between the gaps in her fingers. "Don't hurt me. Don't hurt an old woman."

At first Nix felt a surge of scorn, but it gave way to pity when he thought of Mamabird, thought of the pulsing doors of his dreams, the blood and screams, and what the poor woman must have endured in her youth.

"We won't hurt you, grandma."

"Of course we won't," Egil said. "You've been hurt enough."

She looked up at them, uncomprehending.

Nix kneeled to look into her face. "We're going to Dur Follin and we're taking Rusilla and Merelda. They can make their own lives there, free of… all this. You can come with us, if you wish."

She stared at him as if she didn't understand. Perhaps she didn't. Nix and Egil had destroyed the foundation of her world, as depraved and terrible as it had been.

"Do you hear me, grandma?"

Finally, she said, "This is my home. My son lives here with me. I can't leave. The Pact must be honored."

Nix did not bother to tell her that she no longer had a son, that the Pact was among the most depraved things Nix had ever seen. He looked up at Egil, who shrugged. Nix went to put his hand on the old woman's shoulder but she recoiled and he kept his touch to himself.

"You needn't ever be hurt by man or devil again," he said to her. "Pact or no Pact. Do you understand? Never again."

She looked past him, through him. "We are Norristru and we will honor the Pact. Rakon will honor it, preserve the line. House Thyss will be satisfied. We can rebuild our wealth…"

She went on like that for a time and Nix finally stood, shaking his head. She was what Norristru men had made her. Nix could not unmake her with his words; they had no such magic.

It was time to leave.

Bearing Rusilla and Merelda in their arms, they walked into and out of the Norristru manse. Nix was pleased to get out of the pain-haunted halls. They pretended not to hear Rakon's screams that carried through the cracked plaster on the walls.

The moment they stepped out under open sky, under Minnear's ghostly light, Nix swore.

"What is it?" Egil asked, turning, his free hand on a hammer haft.

Nix looked down at his feet. "I'm fakking barefoot."

Egil chuckled. Nix waited while the priest circled the grounds for a stable. He returned presently with saddled horses. They mounted the horses, Egil with Merelda, Nix with Rusilla. Nix felt awkward with his body pressed against Rusilla's, the smell of her hair in his nose. He reminded himself of recent events and banished all thoughts from his mind but the purest.

They spoke little as they rode away from the manse, heading for Zelchir's Fall, and from there, back to Dur Follin. After an hour of riding, the sisters could speak clearly, though their bodies were still mostly paralyzed by the drugs.

"Will the city be safe for you two?" Nix asked them.

"It's a big city," Merelda said. Her voice was lilting, musical. The sound of it made Nix smile.

"The Lord Mayor will be free of my brother's spells for the first time in years," Rusilla said. "When he realizes my brother had enspelled him…"

"Rakon will never enter Dur Follin again," Merelda said. "Oh, Rose! We're free."

"We are, Mere. At last."

"You will help us get situated when we arrive in the city," Rusilla said to Nix.

Nix chuckled, looked to Egil. "She gives orders like a noblewoman. And this time with her lips instead of her mind."

"Speaking of," Egil said, "how much of this did you plan from the beginning?"

"As much as I could," Rusilla answered.

"And how much of what we did was you and not us?" Egil asked her.

She looked off to the side and smiled, a secretive look. She was striking in profile, a strong jaw and regal nose. "Does it matter?"

"It matters," Nix said.

"Why?" she asked softly.

It mattered because he wanted to be that kind of man, not be made to behave like that kind of man. It mattered because he wanted to believe that the difference between him and Rakon Norristru was a gulf of moral sense, not opportunity and circumstances.

"It just does."

"Aye," Egil answered.

Rusilla was silent a long time. Minnear had vanished from the sky. Finally she said, "I don't know how much was me and how much was you. You have to answer that for yourself."