Crown of Shadows - C. S. Friedman [166]
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“The stars, Gerald. He could black out the sun from our sight, but he couldn’t change every one of the stars so that its position was right!” He told him about the constellation he had noticed, that shouldn’t have been so high in the sky until dawn was well underway. “Or maybe he just didn’t bother with details,” he concluded. “Maybe his arrogance was such that he imagined simple darkness would work the trick. Well, now it won’t. Now we know how his Iezu mind works. And if he couldn’t pull off that illusion perfectly, maybe all his work has flaws. Maybe, like an Obscuring, a Iezu illusion succeeds because men don’t think to look at it too closly. Well, now we know to look.”
“And do you imagine that we can remain so perfectly alert at every moment, that not a single detail out of place will escape our notice? Because that’s what it would require, you know. Even if his illusions are less than perfect—and we don’t know that for a fact—he’s no fool. He’ll wait until our guard is down, until we’re being less than perfectly careful, and then what?” He raised up a hand to his face, wincing as the pale fingers traced the scar there. “I didn’t feel my own pain,” he whispered. “I could have died out there, and not until the final moment would I have understood what was happening.”
“Karril said he’d protect us,” Damien reminded him. “He can’t stop Calesta from misleading us, or from making others try to kill us, but he won’t let you walk into the sun. He promised.”
The Hunter’s voice, like his manner, seemed infinitely weary. “And what about Iezu law? What about the rule their creator set forth, that there was to be no conflict between brothers?”
“Maybe,” he said quietly, “there are things that matter more to Karril than that.”
“Like what?”
“Like friendship, for one.”
He dismissed the possibility with a wave of his hand. “The Iezu aren’t capable of friendship. Their venue is limited to one narrow range of emotion, and their only motivation is a hunger for—”
“Oh, cut the crap, Gerald! You know, you’re a brilliant demonologist in theory, but when it comes down to facing facts you can be downright stupid.” He leaned toward the man, as if somehow proximity could give his words more force. “Was it Iezu nature that made Karril take me down to Hell to rescue you? Where does pleasure fit into that? And was it Iezu nature to do what he did last night: defy the law of his creator to step into the midst of his brother’s war, at the risk of angering the one creature on this planet who can kill him? He did that to save you, Gerald Tarrant. For no other reason. Just to save you.” He leaned back on his heels. “That’s friendship by any standard I know. To hell with who or what he is. I’d be damned proud to have a friend that loyal myself.”
“You wouldn’t have said that once. You’d have damned yourself for even entertaining such a thought.”
“Yeah. Well. We’re worlds away from that time now. I may not like that fact, but I accept it.” He studied the Hunter—his wounds, his weakness—and then asked, “You need blood, don’t you? Blood to heal.”
The Hunter shut his eyes, leaning back against the stone. “I drank,” he whispered.
“Warm blood? Living blood?”
Tarrant said nothing.
“I’m offering, Gerald.”
Tarrant shook his head; the motion was weak. “Don’t be a fool,” he whispered hoarsely. “You need your strength as much as I need mine.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “The difference is that my strength can be renewed easily enough. Or don’t you think that a Healer would know how to accelerate the production of his own blood?”
“You can’t Work here,” Tarrant told him. “Not even to heal yourself. Shaitan’s currents would swallow you whole.”
Damn. Damien drew in a slow breath, trying to think. Were there alternatives? “What about fear? I don’t mean a nightmare this