Crown of Shadows - C. S. Friedman [73]
“Who?” He saw Damien look around the temple—now empty—and he chuckled. “What, my faithful? They’re still there. Surrounded by curtains of illusion so fine that each one imagines himself truly alone, in an environment that caters to ...” He grinned. “Shall we say, to individual taste? I try to be an obliging god.”
“I saw them all.”
“You wanted to see them all, my dear Reverend. You needed to despise them—and me—in order to set yourself at ease here.” He shrugged. “As I say, I try to be a good host.”
He walked to the fountain and dipped a hand beneath its surface; when he withdrew, there was a chalice of finely engraved silver in his hand. “I would love to think you came here for a simple diversion, but, alas, I’m not so naive. Though the illusion is tempting.” He sipped from the chalice as if assessing its contents, and nodded his approval. “So what brings a Knight of the Church to this den of unholy indulgence? Surely not an attempt at proselytizing.” Again he chuckled. “My worshipers are too loyal for that game.”
He forced the words out somehow, past the knot in his throat. “Gerald Tarrant’s gone.”
The demon’s expression darkened. Damien thought he saw him stiffen.
“So?” His voice was low now, and quiet, and all humor was gone from his tone. “What does that have to do with me?”
“I need help finding him.”
Karril snorted, then drained the chalice of its contents and cast it into the fountain; it disappeared before it hit the surface. “I’m not a Locater, you know that. There are some in the town. Go to them.”
“I know what you are,” he said sharply. “And I know how close you were to him. Close enough that I’d think you’d want to help if—” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Dared not give the threat a name, for fear of making it real. “I’ve tried every Working I know, consulted everyone I dared. You would think with the channel between us, a Locating would be easy, but ...” He shook his head. “Nothing, Karril. Nothing! What do I do? How do I find him? You’re my only hope.”
“Then I’m sorry.” He turned away. “I can’t help you.”
“He called you a friend.”
It seemed to him the demon winced. “Did he?” he whispered. “Shame on him. He was usually more careful with his choice of words.” His robes were black now, and the bright jewels were muted as if by smoke. “I’m not a friend to him, or to anyone else. Not as humans know the word. Friendship implies a full range of emotions, a wide assortment of bonding criteria. Humans can do that. Iezu can’t.” He looked at Damien; his expression was strained. “All I am, my dear Reverend, is the hunger for pleasure that resides in your own soul, given a face and a voice and enough knowledge of etiquette to mimic human interaction. That’s all. No love, no loyalty, only a ghost of self-interest in human guise. So you see,” he said, turning away again, “you came to the wrong place.”
“He didn’t believe that,” Damien challenged. “And I’m not sure I do.”
“Oh?” The demon’s voice was strained. “Is the Church claiming a monopoly on demon lore, now?”
“You came to warn us about Calesta,” he reminded him. “Was that self-interest? You said that you liked humankind, that its foibles ...” he struggled for the proper word, “... amused you. Was that just hunger speaking? I don’t think so.” He walked to where the demon stood and grabbed him by the shoulders, as he might any man; Karril’s “flesh” was comfortably solid, utterly human in temperature. “You saved Ciani’s life. ” He forced the demon to turn toward him, forced him to meet his eyes. “I don’t remember all the details of that incident, but I seem to remember you saying it wasn’t easy. You could barely stand the pain of it, I recall. Was that hunger that drove you then? Or was it something else? Maybe a more human emotion.”
For a long moment Karril was silent. At last he pulled himself loose from Damien’s grasp, and turned away; the priest let him go.
“He knew the risk all those years ago.” Was that pain in his voice, or some demonic emotion? “Knew it and accepted it. Let him go, Reverend Vryce. He