Crown of Shadows - C. S. Friedman [158]
It was a ten-foot drop into darkness, and then there was earth to support their feet again. “This way,” the demon urged. He showed them a dark space that led into the mountainside. “Quickly!” With only a second’s pause to study his face—for motive, perhaps?—Tarrant passed within the cavern’s mouth and was gone. Damien hesitated, then moved to follow. But Karril’s hand fell on his arm, stopping him.
“It’s over,” the demon announced. Not to Damien. To the air above him ... or something in it. “You failed, brother! Give it up!”
—And the illusion was suddenly gone from Damien’s eyes, the false backdrop of night that had blinded him to a deadly truth. To the east of him dawn blazed brightly—dawn!—and even as he watched the white sun breached the horizon, filling the valley beneath it with fatal, unforgiving light. Had Tarrant been shelterless right now ... He felt sick just thinking about it.
“This way,” Karril said gently, and he led Damien into the cavern’s darkness.
Immersion in the blackness of the underearth was blinding after such a vision; he fumbled for his lantern and lit it with trembling hands, praying that Karril wouldn’t leave him behind while he did so. But the demon waited patiently, and not until he had the wick adjusted and the perforated door latched shut did he urge him onward, into the mountain’s heart.
Two chambers later, safely beyond the reach of the sun’s killing light, they found Tarrant. The adept was sitting with his back to stone, his eyes shut as if in pain.
“It’s dawn,” Damien said quietly.
“So I gather.” The pale eyes slid slowly open, fixing first on Damien and then, at last, on Karril. “You saved my life,” he whispered. “In defiance of Iezu law.”
“He broke our law.” The demon’s tone was defiant. “Should I sit back and let him be rewarded for that?”
The Hunter shut his eyes again. Now that the illusion had been lifted, Damien could see that his face was reddened where dawn’s light had fallen upon it. What kind of power did these Iezu wield, that could blind a man to his own pain?
Perceptual distortion, he mused. That’s all it is. A power more deadly than any other, if used without reservation.
“Thank you,” Tarrant whispered. Not to Karril alone, it seemed, but to both of them.
The demon hesitated. “I can give you dreams—”
“No. Leave me the pain.” He lifted a hand to his face, wincing as the fingers made contact. “Let it be a reminder to me of what we’re fighting.”
The stars, Damien thought suddenly. The stars had been wrong. Arago shouldn’t have risen that high until the sun was nearly up. He should have known the truth from that. He should have guessed.
“Don‘t,” the demon said gently. They can read what’s in your heart. “You couldn’t have known. Not even we knew, until the dawn was well underway.”
He looked sharply at the demon. “We?”
Karril nodded. “There are others here. Some as human as I am, others so alien in form even I can’t speak to them. And the mother of us all is stirring, after so many centuries of inactivity that some of us thought she might be dead.”
“Toward what end?” Damien asked sharply. “Will she get involved in this?”
The demon shrugged wearily. “Who knows? Those few of us who can speak to her use a language I don’t understand. Most think that she’ll respect her own law and stay out of it. But then, we also thought that Calesta would be punished long before this.” He looked at Tarrant; his expression was grim. “I can’t keep my brother from using his power to stop you, but I won’t allow him to kill you directly. That much I can promise.”
“Karril—”
“It’s not much of an assurance, I know.” His tone was frankly apologetic. “But it’s the most I can offer right now. I’m sorry.”
“Karril, please—”
But the demon had already begun to fade. A few seconds later only his voice remained, and a few precious words that lingered in the dark cavern air before they, too, dispersed