Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [117]
A sphere of light blazed on Kalkan’s right hand, where the odd device was strapped. Its light outshone all the others. It was almost like an awareness in itself, or the channel for one that led away in a direction he had no name for. Could it be what allowed Kalkan to see the future? It would explain much.
And other gleams shone too, across the silhouette of Kalkan’s body like stars. So strong. So bright.
But even stars eventually go out.
Demascus glided forward, one with the gloom of the mausoleum.
Kalkan’s third eye, blazing through the filter of his shroud, blinked, and time snapped back to its normal flow. The rakshasa reared back and swept an oddly curved blade from the air itself, and parried Exorcessum even as it descended out of shadow.
Demascus tried to salvage the motion of the deflected blow by cutting at his foe’s stomach. Kalkan twisted aside, and brought his own blade round in deadly response.
Only the tatters of his fading temporal acceleration saved him from being disemboweled in turn.
A flight of crossbow bolts screamed through the air at Kalkan, forcing the rakshasa to take a step back. One grazed the creature and drew blood. Not that Kalkan paid any mind.
Then Riltana dropped out of the air behind Kalkan and shoved her short sword into the creature’s back. Or would have, if the rakshasa hadn’t suddenly become as shadowy as Demascus himself, and slipped to the side like a dark breeze.
Burning dominions, Demascus thought, turning just in time to lift Exorcessum in defense. He only partially deflected Kalkan’s sword strike that would have otherwise split his head in two. As it was, the blow sent him spinning.
His free hand snagged the Veil. He pulled it loose from where it wrapped his opposite arm, but his foot caught the lip of the pool and he toppled in. Damn it!
The ice-cold water was only a foot deep, but he got a mouthful anyway. He convulsively coughed as he tried to surge back out of the water.
Kalkan flung himself atop Demascus, mouth wide and hot with saliva and teeth. The creature landed on him, almost forcing his head underwater a second time. Demascus thrust his hand holding the Veil toward the beast, but Kalkan batted it aside and brought his mouth down to tear out Demascus’s throat.
He released Exorcessum—it was too large a weapon to use in close quarters—and caught the rakshasa’s horns as Kalkan’s head descended. Lords of shadow, Kalkan was strong! Demascus was cognizant that he wouldn’t be able to hold the thing off for more than a couple heartbeats. He struggled, gasping, coughing, and choking as every breath he took sucked more water into his lungs.
Kalkan whispered, his breath a slaughterhouse, “Do you remember killing the priest of Oghma? That death stains your soul, deva. The means do not justify the ends. And this time around, you’ve done nothing to absolve yourself of the crime, despite it being the very first vision you had upon waking to this new life.”
Oh, lords of shadow, was that why the vision had been vouchsafed him? So he could seek forgiveness? If so, he’d done nothing … Because he hadn’t understood! Burning dominions, it wasn’t fair!
“Which means,” continued Kalkan, “when I take your life this final time, you shall return as I, and remember all. Then—”
Riltana’s steel-toed boot appeared out of nowhere and smashed like a forge hammer into Kalkan’s forehead.
The rakshasa cried out and Demascus finally managed to thrust the creature away.
Chant plunged in the water with them. He leaned over Kalkan and tried to haul the creature back.
Demascus whipped a loop of the Veil around the rakshasa’s neck like a lasso. The fabric, as if waiting for just such a cue, animated. Its opposite end pulled from Demascus’s grip, then whipped around and around Kalkan’s neck.
The rakshasa sprang out of the water, raking Demascus and Chant with the razor claws on its unshod feet in the process.
Demascus sat up, still coughing so hard that his vision seemed scratched with ragged white