City Under the Sand

XXI Nibenay

They were too late. From the top of a hill they could see the fertilized fields flanking the city walls, the Plain of Burning Water, and Nibenay itself, gleaming in late afternoon sun. But rolling through the Mekillot Gate were wagons laden with steel. They were spread well apart, but one was just passing beneath the musicians atop the gate, and others had already entered the city. The expedition had beat them home, and Kadya—Tallik as well, no doubt—with it.

Aric had been surprised that the others, those of the Thrace family, had kept to their original agreement. Even without Myklan, they would return to Nibenay with Aric, in hopes of warning the Shadow King or, failing that, of finding a way to stop Kadya. That fact filled Aric with relief—if they hated him, they would still see through the struggle ahead.

The night of Myklan’s death, no one had rested much. In the morning, after a brief discussion, they had pushed on, driving themselves and their kanks ever faster. The procession had been a grim one, with little laughter or spirited conversation, but in the end, although it made the days feel long, it probably made the trip shorter.

And here they were, and they were too late, and Aric felt like he had swallowed an erdlu egg, shell and all. It sat between his throat and his chest, aching.

All of it, the journey, the battles, rescuing Rieve and her family, and for what? Kadya would have entered the city in the first argosy, or mounted, even on foot—but at the head of the procession, so everyone could see her triumphant return. By now she was deep in the city.

“Now what?” Ruhm asked. The goliath had come up behind Aric, loomed over his shoulder, and Aric hadn’t even noticed.

“I don’t know.”

“Kill the demon,” Mazzax said. Aric looked around. Everyone had dismounted, and stood gathered together on the hilltop.

“Not so easily done,” Aric said.

“Why not?”

“We don’t even know where Kadya is now. Or who’s protecting her. If she’s with Nibenay, or with her sister templars …”

“As long as the city stands,” Myrana said, “we have a chance, don’t we? Perhaps the demon bides its time.”

“We’ve come this far,” Sellis added. “And it was a hard slog. I’m for Nibenay, either to kill a demon or to have a drink and find a bed to sleep in tonight.”

Pietrus shivered with terror. His mother cradled him in her arms. “We’ll let nothing happen to you, Pietrus. We all heard your father confess to the crimes you were accused of, and any blame will be laid at his feet. You’re safe now.”

“He had better be,” Rieve declared.

“Kill the demon!” Mazzax repeated.

“Yes,” Aric said. “Let’s kill the demon.”

“Do we know how?” Ruhm asked.

“Haven’t the faintest idea.”

“Magic!” Mazzax pointed to Myrana and Sheridia. “Kill it with magic!”

“Good a plan as any,” Aric said. “Let’s see what we can do.”

They started down the hill. As they descended, they saw smoke rise up from the city’s center, tinted green and yellow and blue. “That’s from the Naggaramakam,” Tunsall observed. “They’re already celebrating.”

“A celebration that’ll go far into the night,” his wife added. “They’re lighting fires for warmth, and adding color to the smoke to display their joy.”

“Then they must not know yet,” Aric said. “About Tallik, I mean.”

“Myrana’s right,” Rieve said. “The demon probably isn’t acting right away. He’s been confined beneath Akrankhot for a thousand years or so, right? And then freed by Kadya, and carried inside her? He probably wants to see how things are before he stirs things up. For all he knows, the entire city-state will be as welcoming as Kadya was. If it is, then he might not be bent on its destruction, but on preserving it to use as his new home.”

“Whatever the demon’s got in mind,” Sellis said, “I doubt it’s anything good.”

“I’m certain of that,” Aric agreed. He watched colored smoke drift into the still air above the city, and a thought came to him. “But if they’re already celebrating, then Kadya must be inside the Naggaramakam. She’ll be the toast of the celebration, right? That’s where we’ll find her—and the Shadow King. Perhaps we can still do something.”

“But … nobody’s ever been inside the Naggaramakam,” Corlan pointed out. “No free person. How do we get in? And even if we do, how do we get out again?”

“I don’t know if we’ll ever get out,” Aric said. “But I haven’t come this far to fail now. As for getting in?” He pointed at the last argosy, its mekillot struggling to haul the weight up the road toward the big gateway. “We’ll use that.”

“What?”

“Just come with me!” Aric broke into a run. Behind him, some tried to prod their exhausted kanks on faster, then gave up and dropped off them.

The final argosy was just near enough the gate to hear the musicians. As Aric raced toward it, he could see its drivers swaying, already caught in the music’s irresistible spell. There wouldn’t be many people inside, if any—the thing looked as if its wheels would give out at any moment, so it was burdened by the weight of a massive amount of metal.

Aric had easily outdistanced his companions, but he had to act fast, before he was seen, so he didn’t wait for them. He jumped onto the argosy’s side, landing with quiet, sure-footed grace, and climbed to the top. He could hear the music, too, and had to fight not to give in to it and start dancing. He let the music fill him just enough to add a sinuous fluidity to his motions as he crept toward the front.

Ruhm’s footfalls pounded closer, in counterpoint to the music wafting from the gate. “What’s that?” one of the drivers asked.

Aric reached the argosy’s front just in time to see another poke his head out and spot Ruhm. “It’s a goliath,” he said. “Running at us.”

“Well, kill him!” the first one said.

Aric drew his sword, and before the second could tuck his head back into the argosy’s depths, he crouched low and swung it. It sheared through the man’s neck, and the head flew out, bounced, and vanished beneath the big wagon.

“What—?” the driver cried.

Aric heard him fumbling with the panel that he could close, to keep those inside safe from Athas’s winds and cold. The reins went slack as he worked it. Aric climbed down, and Ruhm reached the wagon at the same time, jumping up onto the tongue. The driver managed to slam the panel shut but not to latch it, and Ruhm’s massive fist opened it again. Aric slid through the gap, sword in hand. He ran the driver through while the man was still drawing his own.

“Sorry,” Aric said as he pulled his sword free and the man died. “It’s nothing personal, but we need this thing.” He stuck his head out the window. “Go around back!” he told Ruhm. “Open the doors so we can get rid of some steel!”

Ruhm dropped off the wagon without comment. Moments later, Aric heard him pawing at the doors, then they opened and light flooded the inside. As he had expected, there were no other guards, just a mass of metal, stacked as high as the single mekillot could manage to pull.

“We need some speed!” Aric shouted.

Ruhm climbed up and started hauling out chunks of steel, throwing them into their tracks. The others were beginning to reach the wagon, and one by one they climbed in, tossing out the pieces they could lift.

Then they were getting close enough to the gate to worry Aric. This would be the hard part. “Everyone inside, now!” he called. “Get those doors closed!”

His companions did as he said. Behind them, Aric knew, was a trail of metal pieces and a man’s head. But the mekillot had managed a little more speed, as the load lightened. Anyone standing on top of the Mekillot Gate could look back and see that they had shed cargo, but only the musicians were there, and they were focused on their playing. The guards at the gate danced without enthusiasm or expression, probably tired by now of watching the argosies roll past. Aric summoned Corlan to stand beside him at the reins, and the guards waved them in with hardly a glance.

“We’re in,” Corlan said as the gates clanged shut behind them. “Now what?”

Aric had no answer. He had only worked out how to get inside the city walls. From there, he had no plans.

Sage’s Square!” Tunsall said from the darkness of the argosy’s interior.

“What?”

“All the argosies will be at Sage’s Square. Nibenay will want the people to see them. They may even be stopped and opened up so the people can see all the metal they’ve brought back. They’ll be well guarded, of course, but they’ll be in a public place for at least a day or two.”

Tunsall was right. There were still smatterings of onlookers lining the road toward Sage’s Square, although no doubt there had been many more at the front of the expedition.

“We’ll go to the Square,” he said. “But then what?”

“Then on to the Naggaramakam,” Sheridia said. “That’s where Kadya is.”

That made sense, but Aric knew the doing of it would be more complicated. He guided the mekillot, Corlan still beside him so anyone looking inside would see two people, as there had been, and they made their way into Sage’s Square. There amid the thick grove of agafari trees, the other argosies had been parked, some with their backs open, and throngs of people gazed past the guards at the treasure within.

Instead of following suit, Aric guided his mekillot around the square’s outer rim. At the entrance to the road leading toward the Naggaramakam—this road considerably narrower than the first, and roundabout, as no roads led directly to the Shadow King’s private estate—two city guards blocked the way.

“Why have you not pulled over?” one asked.

“We were told that the Shadow King wants to see one load for himself,” Corlan answered. They had briefly discussed this possibility, and Aric was glad they had. “You don’t expect him to come to where all those people are, do you?”

“I suppose not.”

“Then get out of our way, imbecile!” Corlan shouted at the man with the imperious air of one used to being obeyed. Aric had never known that sensation, and likely never would.

Corlan was convincing enough, and the two guards stepped away, letting them pass. The mekillot followed Aric’s urging, and soon the big armored wagon made its way down a road barely wide enough to let it pass without scraping the ornately sculpted buildings on either side.

“This might work,” Myrana said after they had passed the guards.

“What happens inside Naggaramakam?” Ruhm asked.

The dwarf’s voice bounced off the argosy’s walls. “We kill the demon!”

“That might not be so simple,” Tunsall said. “She’ll be surrounded by other templars, and slave guards. We’ll be strangers, barging in—if we can get in—and attacking one of their own.”

“We need some way to make Tallik show himself,” Myrana said.

“There might be a way to do that,” Sheridia said.

“How?” Myrana asked.

“Everyone in Nibenay has heard rumors about the Shadow King’s palace,” Sheridia explained. “It’s built in the shape of his head. His many wives are carved into it, forming his hair.”

“How does that help?” Myrana asked.

“It’s said that those sculptures are more than just carvings in stone,” Sheridia said. “That there’s some essence of each wife contained in the figure. If one can destroy the figure, that forces the templar wife to reveal her true self. Naturally, it has never happened, that I know of. And I’m certain the palace is a nest of secrets many layers deep. I’m only telling it because I’ve heard it spoken, more than once, and from people with far vaster stores of knowledge than mine.”

“It sounds worth a try,” Aric said from the front.

“If we can figure out which of those many figures represents Kadya,” Solyara said. “And find a way to destroy it.”

“We’ll have a chance soon enough!” Corlan called. The argosy was just rounding a bend. “We’re at the gates!”

The Naggaramakam was surrounded by walls towering fifty feet high. Beyond those walls, when one was far enough back, the tops of huge agafari trees, in the Shadow King’s private garden, could be seen. The sun had almost sunk below the horizon; in the shadow of those walls it was already dusk.

As the wagon drew up to the massive wooden gates, Aric pondered the impossibility of the task ahead of them. They had to venture into the inner city, the Forbidden Dominion, which no one had ever done and lived to tell about. Once there they had to identify which of hundreds of sculptures, on a tall palace, stood for a particular templar wife. They had to destroy that, revealing the demon inside—they hoped. And then they had to destroy the demon, and hope that because they had shown it for what it was, the other templars, and the Shadow King himself, would let them leave again.

He had been surprised when the family Thrace had agreed to come to Nibenay, after Myklan’s death. If they survived the next few minutes, that surprise would be dwarfed by the astonishment he would feel.

A trio of goliath soldiers stood before the gate into the Naggaramakam. “Turn away!” one shouted. “There is no admittance here!”

“But the Shadow King has asked to have a wagonload of steel brought before him for his inspection,” Aric argued. “We’ve been ordered here by the templar Kadya!”

The soldiers traded glances, uncertain but made anxious by the mention of Kadya’s name. “We’ve heard no such orders,” one of them said.

“Open the gates, and let us pass!” Aric insisted. “Just because you’re not trusted with this information doesn’t mean we don’t have a mission to fulfill!”

“No one comes through these gates,” the soldier said. “Except templars and slaves—”

“What do you think we are?” Aric asked.

“No slave known to me.”

“And you know every slave who ever set foot in the Naggaramakam?”

“No …”

“Open the gate. When we find Kadya we’ll ask her if she’d like to discuss this with you in person!”

The guard swallowed, but made a gesture toward whatever unseen operator controlled the gates. Chains rattled and the wooden barricades began to part. As soon as they did, Aric prodded the mekillot ahead, in case the soldiers changed their minds.

As the argosy surged forward, one of the goliath soldiers peered inside the front window. Corlan’s clothing was torn and filthy from the trip, but still obviously of expensive make. And inside, crowded in the shadows but still visible, were the rest. “Stop!” the soldier cried. “It’s a trick! Close the gate!”

It took a few moments for the gate’s direction to reverse, with an agitated clanking and grinding of the chain. The soldiers swarmed around the argosy, more joining the first three. Aric urged the huge lizard on, and although the closing gates rasped against the wagon’s sides, it passed between them.

Soldiers grabbed the argosy. “Stop, you!” one shouted.

Big hands reached in toward Aric, and he drew his sword with his right hand, holding the reins in his left. He sliced the goliath’s arm. The soldier yanked it away. “Sound the alarm!” he cried.

The back of the wagon banged open, spilling Sellis, Myrana, and Amoni onto the road. Neither had weapons in their hands, and after a moment, Aric saw why—those hands were engaged in the peculiar gesturing common to spellcasters. One of the soldiers was beginning to shout something, and his cry was cut off as if a hand had clamped over his mouth. The others went mute at the same time, arms pinned to their sides like they were wrapped in invisible rope.

“Go!” Amoni cried, jumping back into the argosy. “That’ll last a few minutes, but not long.”

Sellis and Myrana clambered aboard after her, shutting the door again, and Aric drove the wagon into the depths of the forbidden city.

Instantly, shadows enveloped them. The sunset was gone, lost in a gloom created by the thick foliage overhead and the gargantuan walls surrounding it all. Inside, the road became a vast plaza, multilayered, with benches and sections of garden and private nooks where one might go to meditate. It looked like it would be a pleasant place to spend time during the day, shaded and with the choice of being alone or visiting with others. It was empty now, though, whether because of the imminent fall of night or because everyone was gathered elsewhere, Aric knew not. All he knew was that they had not yet found the fires sending colored smoke into the sky … and that before them sat the strangest building he had ever seen.

“The palace,” Corlan said, his voice more a breath than a whisper.

Aric had only ever had a glimpse of Nibenay, since the sorcerer-king had stayed in the shadows the one time they met. But if the building across the plaza, still largely hidden by thick agafari trunks, was meant to resemble him, then it was as he had looked a long, long time ago, or else it was a work of great imagination.

The massive figure’s chin met the ground at plaza level. Its mouth gapped open, a door, Aric realized, with steps leading up to it. The teeth were even and straight. Above that flared the figure’s nose, then its inset eyes, and a smooth, tall brow. Then the hair, cascading back the brow and all down the sides each lock the figure of a woman. Thousands of them.

And why not? Nibenay had lived a thousand years or more, it was said. He had well more than a hundred wives now, perhaps as many as two hundred. They were human, and although their association with Nibenay might confer longer lives, they would still die at some point. Over those thousand years, he could easily have had several thousand wives, each immortalized in stone upon the walls of his palace.

The stone Nibenay appeared to be a passingly handsome man. The real Nibenay, Aric knew, was anything but.

As if sensing an end to the long journey, the mekillot picked up speed across the plaza. When it seemed as if they might go straight to the huge palace’s chin, directed there by the banks and levels of the plaza, a side route presented itself, leading around the palace. Aric steered the mekillot that way.

Toward the rear of the palace, shifting multicolored shadows offered evidence that they neared the fires. Night’s cold wasn’t far off, but within the warmth of those fires, Aric was convinced, the chill would be kept at bay.

And that’s where they would find Kadya, and Tallik, and an end to all this. He reined in the mekillot, who heaved to a stop with a grateful sigh.

“From here we go on foot,” Aric said. “The argosy is too large, and we’ll be trapped in it.”

“Trapped, or safe,” Mazzax said.

“You’re the one who wanted to kill the demon.”

“Kill the demon!” The dwarf’s single-minded fixation was, Aric knew, not uncommon among his kind.

He just hoped they could succeed at doing what Mazzax wanted.

Sounds of celebration, of hundreds of female voices, of song and laughter and the crackling of huge fires, met them before they turned the corner. Behind the castle was another broad plaza, this one with fewer plantings, just a handful of tall agafari trees scattered about. Eight huge bonfires burned, their heat bouncing off the palace walls and the exterior walls of the compound, warming the air to a comfortable level. Behind the palace, the wall was nothing but sculpted women shaped into flowing hair.

Templars filled the area between the fires, girls and women of every age from their teens onward. Most were naked, or nearly so. The mood was jubilant. Kadya sat on a dais at the near end of the space, accompanied by the consorts. They faced toward the crowd. A larger chair, almost a throne, stood beside Kadya in the center, Aric couldn’t see its occupant from here.

Getting to Kadya would not be difficult, but doing so unnoticed, when nearly every eye in the place was pointed their way, would be virtually impossible.

“Well?” he whispered.

“Kill her!” Mazzax said.

“No,” Sheridia said. “If killing Kadya would kill Tallik, perhaps it would be worth a try. But if we want the templars to know about the demon, it needs to be forced out of her.”

“The sculpture,” Aric said.

“Yes. But which one, I have no idea.”

“Let’s find out. Ruhm, give me a boost.”

Ruhm handed Sellis his war club and took Aric’s waist in his hands. His idea of a boost was to hurl Aric up onto the dais. Aric landed hard, his sword drawn, and a gasp of surprise silenced the plaza.

Aric held his sword’s tip at Kadya’s throat. He managed to keep his hand from shaking, though barely. His friends had stood by him, against all odds; he owed them his best effort, if it took his last breath.

“You,” Kadya said. “Everyone has been warned about you.”

“I’m no killer,” Aric said. He spoke loudly, so the crowd could hear.

“You’ve never killed?” another voice said. It came from the throne. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Siemhouk, Nibenay’s daughter, sitting there with a wry grin on her face.

“I didn’t say that. But whatever lies Kadya has told, that I’m a traitor or a member of the Veiled Alliance, they’re not true. I ran because I knew she meant to kill me, that’s all. Because of what I found out about her.”

“We brought the bodies of your fellow Nibenese back to the city with the expedition, Aric,” Kadya said. “Perhaps you’d like to see the evidence of your handiwork.”

“I didn’t kill them. You can’t prove I did.”

“At any rate,” Siemhouk said, “you’re interrupting our celebration. Have you a good reason, or should we strike you and your friends down where you stand?”

“A very good reason indeed. Kadya is possessed by a demon named Tallik—a demon with a long-standing hatred for the world. If he’s allowed to gain any power by being here, among all of you, then however many members of her own expedition Kadya killed will be as nothing compared to how many Tallik will kill.”

Kadya chuckled. “And you spoke of proof? What proof have you of that ridiculous charge?”

“I don’t know how to expose a demon,” Aric admitted. “But there’s a tale that says destroying the sculpture of a templar will reveal her secrets, so that might be a place to start.” He waved at the sculpted wall. “And if you’re hiding nothing, you’ve nothing to fear. Which one of those is you?”

“Utter nonsense,” Kadya said, pointing. “I’m that one—third from the left, seventh row from the top. Go ahead, destroy part of our husband’s palace. It’ll do you no good, but I’ll be curious to see how he decides to punish you.”

“Sheridia,” Aric said, anxiety tightening his voice. “Do you have a way to destroy that sculpture?”

“Wait,” Siemhouk said. “Kadya, why lie to them? You know yours is the eleventh from the left, nine rows from the bottom. It’s a better than passing resemblance, too, if you look closely.”

“My sister,” Kadya said. “I believe you’re mistaken—”

“I’m not.” Siemhouk’s voice was firm. “That’s you.”

“Why would you …?”

“We all have our reasons for doing what we do, haven’t we? You for leading the expedition, and for returning, and trying to hide the demon you carry. I, perhaps, for wanting to free that demon from within you.”

Aric held the sword near Kadya’s throat, ready to strike if need be. “Sheridia …”

“Eleventh from the right, nine rows up,” Sheridia said. “Amoni, Sellis, Myrana, you’re ready?”

“Ready.”

Aric didn’t dare rip his gaze from Kadya. Behind him, he heard the rustle of motion, and then the stone sculpture that Siemhouk claimed represented Kadya began to glow with a yellow inner fire. After a few moments of that, it burst apart, stone flying everywhere. Several templars cried out when bits of rubble struck them, but nobody seemed badly hurt.

Before Aric’s blade, though, Kadya began to change. Her flesh undulated, shifting color, changing texture. It peeled away in long strips, revealing another layer beneath, this one mottled and gray-green and sickly. Her chin grew long, her jaw jutting, the bones of her brow reshaping themselves, bulging out. Stubs of horn pushed through her flesh above eyes that turned yellow-green, and tusks flanked her nose. Tentacles burst from paper-thin flesh.

To the shock of nearly every templar in the plaza, Tallik revealed himself.

Aric had seen the demon before, in visions, so although he was appalled and surprised, he knew more or less what to expect. Siemhouk, too, appeared not to be taken off guard.

“You’re Tallik,” she said.

“I am,” the demon said. His voice was rough, gravelly and sibilant at once, as if leaking out through a rocky passage. He shook off shreds of Kadya’s skin, like they were some web he had walked through.

“You’ve lost your host.”

“Don’t need her,” Tallik said.

“You’ll need a host of some kind, though.”

“For a while, I did. No more. The energy here, the strength … it fills me.”

“It’s not for you to have,” Siemhouk said. “It’s spoken for. But if you’ll swear fealty to me, the one who freed you—”

The demon laughed, showing two tongues. He extended arms and tentacles out toward the templars, then slowly curled them in. He might have been drawing the very life force off the onlookers. As his hands and arms curled toward his sides, and his tentacles rolled up, he began to grow. He was already taller than Kadya had ever been, and broader. But with everyone watching, he gained inches, gained pounds. Before he was done, he towered over Siemhouk and even Aric.

“I like it,” he said, chuckling again. “The power here, it feeds me.”

“It’s not for you,” Siemhouk said again. This time she sounded nervous, and Aric realized they were really in trouble. She had acted like she could control this thing that she had helped unleash. If she couldn’t, then they all might be doomed.

“Whatever I desire is mine,” Tallik said. His voice boomed, echoing off the massive walls surrounding them. He laughed, and his laugh shook the trunks of the agafari trees. “I desire power, so I take it. I desire vengeance, against the world that turned on me, that summoned me here and then imprisoned me, and I will have it.”

Aric held out his sword, but its point was closer to the demon’s waist than his throat.

“Kill the demon!” Mazzax shouted from nearby.

Good idea, Aric thought. If only I could.

The demon extended his hands again, and his tentacles. If he sucked more power from the assembled templars, Aric didn’t want to know how big he would get, how strong.

So far, this plan had not worked as he’d hoped. Any moment, Tallik might start killing, destroying, seeking his vengeance.

With little to lose, Aric stepped forward and sank his blade in the demon’s body.

The sword burned. Aric could barely hang on to the grip, it grew so hot. The demon tilted his head down to look at Aric as if he were an insect, some sort of biting pest he could swat away.

Aric drew the sword out, and saw Tallik flinch. He thrust it in again, through the demon’s waist. Pulled it out before it was too hot to touch.

“I-I’ll start with you, then,” Tallik said. He curled up a tentacle and unrolled it quickly, aimed at Aric. When it hit it would knock Aric from the dais, possibly kill him.

Aric sliced through it, and the tentacle’s tip fell wetly to the dais floor. The rest of it curled away again, regrowing the severed part as it did.

“You don’t like steel,” Aric said. “You were imprisoned beneath tons of steel for all those years, and there’s a reason why. You can’t stand it.”

The demon raised clawed hands and brought them toward Aric.

“Aric!” Sheridia cried, from the ground behind the dais, Myrana by her side. “We’re with you!”

He didn’t know what she meant, but suddenly, his blade glowed, much as the sculpture of Kadya had. Not with the same result in mind, Aric hoped.

He struck at Tallik’s hand. His blade sliced flesh and the demon jerked his hand away.

Heartened, Aric dropped into a defensive position. As long as the demon attacked him physically, he could defend himself. Sooner or later, though, Tallik would launch a magical attack. At that time …

He didn’t want to think about that.

Stab him.

He heard the voice, Siemhouk’s voice. But he heard it in his mind, not through his ears. He had already tried stabbing. It hurt the demon, although possibly no more than it hurt Aric. Steel bothered Tallik, but could it kill him?

Stab him, Aric!

Siemhouk’s voice sounded in his head with more urgency than before. She knew more about this kind of thing than he did. He drew his sword back and Tallik swatted him with the back of his hand.

The blow knocked Aric flying off the dais, into the crowd of templars. He crashed into some and fell to the ground amid a tangle of limbs and bodies. He lay there for several long moments, stunned by the impact of the demon’s huge hand. His sword had been flung from his hand.

Aric shook his head. Blood sprayed from his nose and lips. He touched his jaw, which was tender, and wondered if it had been broken. He held his medallion in his fist, letting the steel give him strength, and he reached toward the sword. It skidded across the stones into his open hand.

The templars didn’t attack him, but they backed away, clearing a space and eyeing him as if he might suddenly go berserk. The real danger, though, was Tallik, up on the dais. He was reaching out to the templars again, drawing their power into himself, growing ever larger. Templars seemed to shrink as Tallik stole their life force. Faces wrinkled, flesh puckered, shoulders stooped. Those who had been young moments before suddenly looked like old women.

Ruhm, Amoni and Sellis clambered onto the dais to stop him, but Tallik batted them away easily.

Then Tallik left the dais, charging into the midst of the templars. He lashed out with fists and tentacles. He squeezed a templar until her ribcage cracked and caved in, tore the head off another, swept a third’s legs out from under her and stomped on her skull when she fell. Templars blasted him with spells, but he simply drank in the magic aimed at him and grew more powerful still.

That won’t work, Aric. Siemhouk’s voice in his head again. She remained on the dais, watching the carnage with a gaping mouth. Only steel can stop him. You must stab him again.

Aric tried to work through the panicking swarm, heading toward Tallik even as templars tried to flee in his direction. He didn’t think Siemhouk’s idea would do anything but get him killed. He didn’t have any better ideas, though. And if Tallik could so easily get the best of hundreds of templars, then he couldn’t be allowed to move through Nibenay and the rest of the world.

My daughter is right, Aric. This Aric recognized as the liquid voice of the Shadow King himself. Stab the demon with your new sword.

Aric wondered for an instant how Nibenay knew his sword was new.

A templar ran into him, blind with terror, pushed off his chest and raced around him. Others bumped him as they rushed past. Blood pooled on the flagstones, bodies were everywhere, and Tallik continued his slaughter.

Then Aric understood. The voices sounding his head, Siemhouk and Nibenay—they weren’t just speaking to him, they were inside him, seeing everything. The journey, the discovery of the trove of steel, the knowledge that the demon was imprisoned beneath it, the escape. They knew about Kadya accepting the demon into her—wanting it there.

And as if that understanding turned a key, he realized that he saw flashes from their minds as well. They had both known that Kadya carried a demon inside her. Siemhouk had known it all along, had sent Kadya specifically to ensure that the demon would be brought back to Nibenay, where she believed she could control it. Nibenay had found out later, and decided to let his daughter’s plan play out, thinking he could make use of the demon when Siemhouk failed.

Now, however, both were frightened. The demon’s power grew with every passing moment, as it sapped the magical energies of Nibenay’s templar wives. Already Tallik was beyond their control—the only question remaining was whether or not it could be destroyed.

Aric was their best hope—and not much of a hope, at that. But he was someone they were happy to sacrifice.

And his hand was full of steel.

Another templar crashed into him, light as a bird. She fled, and then it was Aric and Tallik, facing each other across stones washed with crimson.

“You again?” Tallik asked. His voice was loud enough to rattle the branches at the tops of the agafari trees, and his breath carried the stink of a thousand cesspools. “I thought you had learned.”

“I’m slow,” Aric said.

“I let you live before. No longer.”

“Do your worst.” Fleeing was out of the question now, so Aric decided pretending to bravery was his best option. Not that he could frighten Tallik. But if he could make Tallik believe he wasn’t afraid, perhaps that would give him some small advantage.

He needed whatever advantage he could gain. The demon towered over him, as big as a giant now, if not bigger.

Tallik’s tentacles lashed out toward him, all at once. Aric struck back, steel flashing in the colored firelight, slicing through tentacles. They flopped to the bloody stones and writhed there. Tallik yanked them back, grew them again. He sent them once more.

Once more, Aric fought back.

The wildness was beginning to grip him again, the feel of steel in his fist feeding him. He moved faster than he knew he could, cutting and slicing, not thinking about his weapon but letting it have its head. The moment seemed at once to happen instantly, and drawn out, slowed down—he seemed to see the blade whip almost to the ground, chopping off tentacles as if they were no more substantial than dried out stalks of grass, then swinging up again, carving through more, sweeping to the left to block the ones coming from that way, then down and right again. At the same time it was all faster than his eyes could follow, the blade a silvery blur.

Then a tentacle caught him on the cheek with the force of a hammer blow, and at the same time another wrapped around his waist. That one burned like coiled fire. If not for the burn, Aric believed the blow to his face might have knocked him senseless.

If not for the burn, and the wild fever imparted to him by the steel.

Now, Aric, Nibenay’s voice said.

Now, Aric, said Siemhouk.

Another tentacle lashed him in the face. Blood flew, and Aric’s eyes started to close. And another blow landed. Another. Claws tore at his flesh, opening gaping wounds. Blood splashed into the pools below.

Aric pushed through unconsciousness, refusing to give in. He embraced the fire at his waist, pulling him ever closer to Tallik, because hanging onto that was the only thing keeping him awake.

He was barely aware of his feet leaving the ground. Tallik lifted him, raising him up, two tentacles wrapped around him now, waist and thigh.

That massive jaw opened, and the tentacles carried Aric toward the mouth, and Aric knew then that the demon meant to bite him, perhaps to eat him whole.

Aric could barely speak, but with a thick tongue and battered lips, he said, “I’ve no magic in me, demon, I’d just give you indigestion.”

He held his coin medallion in his left fist.

And he plunged his sword deep into Tallik’s upper chest.

Once again, it burned.

Aric hung on despite the agony.

Yes, Aric, Siemhouk said.

Yes, Aric, said her father.

Tallik tried to wrench him away with tentacles, to push him away with hands almost big enough to cover Aric completely. But Aric kept his grip on the sword, and the steel clung to Tallik, and it took several moments to realize, through eyes swollen almost to slits, that the blade was glowing red, its glow visible even beneath the demon’s skin.

Aric’s head flopped onto his shoulder and he blinked, nearly unconscious from the pain, but he could see Siemhouk on the dais, standing straight, arms thrust out before her, and a red glow emanating from her flowing toward Aric’s sword. Another struck the sword from elsewhere, like a beam of scarlet light. Nibenay, Aric guessed, from wherever he was hiding. Then more of them, beams striking the blade, running along it, down its edges and its fuller groove and into Tallik’s breast, and he knew these came from templars, gathering once more around the demon. He caught another glimpse of Siemhouk, and flanking her now were Sheridia and Sellis and Amoni, their hands resting on Siemhouk’s shoulders and hips, feeding him their magical energies.

And Tallik screamed.

The scream hit the branches of the agafari trees like a terrible wind, tearing leaves from limbs, raining them onto those gathered below. It deafened Aric; he felt hot blood running down his jawline, and for an instant his eyes shut and he was gone, away from this plaza in the Naggaramakam and back in the chamber beneath Akrankhot, beneath all the steel there, imprisoned for a millennium, and inside the Shadow King’s palace, in darkened corridors choked with incense and tuneless chants, in the elf market, in Nibenay’s streets, alone and frightened, and he almost let go of the sword’s handle.

Then he was back in that place, in that moment. He strengthened his grip on the sword, its blade nothing but red light now, and shoved it in deeper, to the hilt. Tallik screamed again, his face contorting. Aric felt the wind, smelled his ghastly breath, but heard nothing. Tallik’s knees buckled. He dropped to his knees, trying to cast Aric away but unable to. He was smaller, Aric realized, he had stolen the templars’ strength and grown but now he was shrinking again. Aric twisted the blade in the demon’s breast.

Tallik’s tentacles relaxed, flopped limp at his sides, then his arms did the same, and he released Aric. Aric hung onto the sword, refusing to fall, to let go, unwilling to give Tallik the chance to pull it from his chest. But now the red light showed in Tallik’s eyes, glowing from his open mouth, from his nostrils and ears, and he shrunk more, teetered, and sank backward, rump meeting heels. He kept going, head swaying back, back paralleling the wet paving stones. Aric hung on.

The demon slumped to the ground, Aric on top of him, gripping his hilt. They held that position for what seemed a full minute before he heard Siemhouk’s voice again. That’s enough, she said. He is defeated.

“Enough?” Aric echoed, or thought he did. The world was utterly silent, except for the sounds in his mind.

Enough.

Aric found his feet. Through the slits he had for eyes he saw Tallik, still at last, shrunken back to the size he had been when he had first emerged from Kadya, arms and tentacles splayed out around him like a stomped spider’s limbs.

He drew his sword from the demon’s chest, nothing but steel now, the red glow faded.

Enough? he thought.

Summoning what strength remained to him, he struck quickly, lopping off the demon’s head. It rolled to one side, and Aric kicked it away from the body lest it reattach itself somehow.

That was unnecessary, Nibenay’s voice said.

I didn’t want to chance someone reviving him again, Aric thought.

Me, perhaps?

Aric spat a tooth into the gore coating the paving stones. Perhaps.

Nibenay didn’t respond. Siemhouk had gone silent, too. On wobbly legs, Aric made his way back toward his friends. They caught him before he fell, and they led him, half-carrying him, out of the plaza, out of the Naggaramakam, past the argosy they had stolen and abandoned, past the guards, who as far as Aric could tell might still have been mute.

No one raised a hand to stop them.