When Demons Walk

15

When she came back from speaking with Halvok, Kerim had gathered Elsic, Dickon, and Talbot in his room.

“Lord Halvok doesn’t think it will work,” she reported blithely, “but he can’t come up with anything better, so he said he’ll help. Talbot, I’ll need you to accompany me to my dressmaker’s tomorrow morning, if you would.”

“Of course, lassie.”

“Elsic, I’ll need your help as well.”

“Whatever I can do,” he offered, though he was obviously surprised to be of use.

“We haven’t eliminated entirely the possibility that Sky isn’t the demon,” said Kerim slowly. “If she isn’t, will she be hurt by what you’re planning?”

“Not physically,” she said, after a moment of thought. “If she is human the most it will do is scare her.”

He considered that. “I suppose we really have no choice.”

“Why use me as an escort?” asked Talbot as they rode through the morning traffic.

“I need you when we go into Purgatory,” Sham replied, deftly avoiding a collision with an overloaded wagon.

“Purgatory?”

She grinned. “I need the Shark too.”

She shifted her weight and the little mare stopped in front of the dressmaker’s. Talbot followed suit, helping her off the awkward sidesaddle. Slipping a coin out of his purse, he handed the copper and the reins of both horses to one of the young boys who haunted the streets looking for odd jobs.

Sham tucked her hand under his arm and allowed him to lead her into the dressmaker’s shop.

Buying the thread took her some time. The dressmaker took some convincing before she agreed to sell Sham all her gold thread. It took time to order more from the goldsmith and there were dresses on order. Only Kerim’s letter that authorized his mistress’s unlimited spending persuaded the dressmaker to relent.

They attracted a lot of attention as they ventured into Purgatory. Sham had considered hiding their presence, but decided it was unlikely that Lady Sky bothered hiring spies, and the furor was likely to attract the Shark’s attention. She could have returned to the Castle and changed herself back into Sham the Thief—but the mottled-silver silk dress (that matched the horse with expensive perfection) might come in useful.

She knew the Shark’s haunts and hoped to find him before someone braved Talbot’s wrath in hopes of a full purse. Sure enough, as they turned a corner the Shark was waiting in the shadow of a battered awning.

He looked pointedly at a filthy figure that had been following Shamera and Talbot for several minutes. Noticing the attention, the skulker abruptly turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction.

“Business slow, Sham?”

She shook her head. “Actually, I think I’ve become successful.”

The Shark raised his brows. “Oh?”

“They’re paying me not to steal. I think it was you who told me that you can tell when you have become a success in your chosen field because then people pay you not to do it.”

“Welcome to success,” said the Shark, making a gesture that encompassed all of Purgatory.

“I need to talk to Tallow.”

The Shark shook his head. “Not unless you want to talk to a corpse. He got his throat slit five, maybe six days ago.”

“Then who controls the territory by the cliffs, where the old bell tower used to stand?” she asked.

He scratched his ear and pursed his lips in obvious perplexity. Sham gave an exasperated sigh.

Talbot grinned. “He looks stupider than a codfish out of water. Think a bit of gold would help that mouthbreathing?”

“Nothing,” said Sham, “would help that. But it might make him talk.”

The Shark bared his white teeth. “Now, Sham, you know you love me—and business is business.”

“Like I love the plague,” she muttered.

The Shark laughed, effortlessly catching the gold Talbot tossed to him. He dropped the Purgatory dialect, exchanging it for that of a courtier. “A charming runt who calls himself ‘Toadstool’ has taken over that half of Tallow’s territory. You need something from him?”

“I need to talk with him myself.”

The Shark shook his head. “He eats little girls like you for breakfast.”

“I grind up toadstools for my lunch,” she replied. “For dinner I eat shark-steaks.”

The Shark sighed, appealing to Talbot for sympathy as he drifted into a rougher dialect. “Always she does this to me. Isn’t any way I’m goin’ to let her go to Toadstool and talk without me, an’ she knows it. Gives a man no room to bargain. She isn’t goin’ to pay for service I’ll give her anyhow.”

Talbot grinned. “If that’s the first time a woman’s gotten ye by the short ...” he glanced at Shamera, “er ... toes, ye can count yourself lucky.”

The Shark gestured to Talbot and fell into the thick accents of a dockworker, “You see, girl? You’re gain’ to ruin my reputation. Soon no one will take the Shark seriously. Pretty girl says walk this way, I say how far. Word gain’ to get around. Ain’t no Shark, but a little Tadpole running the Whisper.”

Sham bent down on the horse until her face was level with his, matching his accent. “They’re gain’ to say dead Shark, if you don’t start moving. We’re all gain’ to die of old age right here in this spot wi’ the wind a’ rattlin’ our jaws.”

He laughed and started down the street, letting them follow as they could through the debris that littered the battered cobblestones. Sham drew in a deep breath and coughed. Funny how quickly she’d gotten used to the fresh salt air of the Castle.

The Shark led them to a rough brick and stone building near the old docks, shaking his head when Talbot started to dismount.

“They know we’re here. Let them come to us.”

“They’ll consider it an insult,” commented Talbot, familiar with the games of the streets.

The Shark shook his head. “Tell them you wanted to keep your horses. He won’t take it amiss.”

“I hope not,” said Sham. “I need his cooperation.”

The Shark smiled sweetly. “You’ll get it.”

She turned to Talbot. “You know he’s not as nice as he’d like to pretend, don’t you?”

“Neither am I,” replied Talbot smugly.

She snorted just as a nattily dressed young man opened the door of the building.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, in a pure Cybellian Kerim would have been pleased to claim. “But Toadstool sent me out to inquire as to the nature of your visit.”

The Shark nodded gravely.

“These are friends of mine. The pretty little mare here—” he rubbed Sham’s horse underneath its cheekstrap and it closed its eyes in ecstasy, “—she’s a bit skittish, so we don’t want to leave her alone. Could you persuade Toadstool to come out and talk with us a moment?”

“Regarding?”

“I would like to rent some property from him for tonight,” answered Shamera.

“I will so inform him.” Toadstool’s man went back into the house.

They waited. Shamera’s “skittish” mare dropped into a three-legged doze, idly switching her tail at the flies.

At last a middle-aged man with a slight potbelly and a round, good-natured face approached them from an alley several buildings away from the one where Toadstool made his office.

“I’d wager he’s not as nice as he acts either,” commented Talbot softly.

Sham grunted her agreement.

“My friend tells me that you are interested in the rental of a property,” said the chubby man congenially.

She nodded. “I need to rent the space near the cliffs, where the old bell used to hang, from now until dawn.”

Toadstool pursed his lips. “I know the spot. Tonight’s the Spirit Tide, eh? Nice little place for a lover’s tryst.”

Sham gave him a sly smile. “That’s the idea.”

He cast an assessing eye on her clothes, just as she had expected he would. It would have been safer to wear her tunic and trousers, but then he might not have dealt with her at all. Purgatory’s territorial lords were a fickle lot.

“Ten gold.”

“For that price, I want you to make sure that we are not disturbed,” said Shamera.

“Eleven gold and I’ll supply guards.”

“Ten gold,” she countered smoothly. “I have my own people. I just need you to put the word out to your folk to stay off the cliffs tonight. For their own safety, you understand. I have a few enemies, and it would be a great tragedy if one of my men killed one of yours by mistake.”

“Ah, quite,” he agreed cordially. “Ten gold then.” Sham nodded at Talbot, who opened Kerim’s purse and produced ten gold coins.

Sham waited until they had ridden out of sight before she reached over and snagged the purse. Stopping her horse near the Shark she tossed him the heavy leather bag.

“Shark, there’s another ten pieces of gold here. I know that you usually don’t offer protection, but I need people I can trust to keep that area clear.”

“Does this have something to do with the demon that killed Maur?”

Sham nodded. “It’s not revenge. But it’s the best I can do.”

“Very well.” He put two fingers to his lips and whistled sharply.

A thin man trotted up from somewhere, nodding a grave greeting to Talbot, whom he obviously knew.

“Vawny will escort you to the rental property while I gather a few favors,” said the Shark. “I assume that you mean to take up residence immediately?”

“Immediately,” she answered.

Vawny and Talbot stayed with the horses while she paced out a design in the sandy soil at the top of the cliffs. The ocean was already lower than usual; even the spray from the breakers didn’t come near the top. She’d picked her place carefully. The sandy area was surrounded by large rocks, some as tall as a two-story building, that looked like jagged shark-teeth. Strewn amidst the rocks were small wooden huts cobbled together for shelter. They were currently empty, since the Toadstool had scattered their most recent inhabitants for the night. They would serve as hiding places from the demon until the trap was sprung.

When she had walked the rune through once, she climbed to the top of a convenient rock to inspect her work.

Slithering down to the sand, she made several corrections and checked it once more.

Satisfied, she took a stick and began again, pushing one end deeply into the ground to retrace her footprints. When the pattern was finished, Sham rifled through Talbot’s saddlebags until she found the spool of gold thread.

She glanced surreptitiously at Vawny and decided not to push his integrity further than she had to. Before she pulled the thread out of the saddlebag, she turned it black with a softly spoken spell.

She stretched once and started to lay the metal thread in the patterned soil. It took a long time. Her back grew stiff, and the sky began to darken toward evening well before she was through.

“Can I help?” asked Talbot softly, bringing her a flask front his saddle.

Sham accepted the drink gratefully, shrugging her shoulders to loosen her tight muscles. The sea was pulling away from the cliffs now, leaving a widening strip of sand behind. In the distance she could see the top of the sea wall, a dark, ragged, brooding presence on the horizon, The waveless sea between the wall and the beach was smooth as black glass.

Returning the flask, she nodded her head. “Yes, I need you to fetch Elsic and Lord Halvok. They should be waiting for you at your home by now. I’ll be through with this before you’re back.”

At long last it was finished. Sham closed her eyes and ran a soft pulse of magic through the end of thread she held in her left hand. A brief moment later her right hand tingled faintly where it touched the other end of the thread. The flavor of the magic told her the pattern was correct. Carefully she laid either end in the dirt, making certain that the two did not touch.

With a wave of her hands the sand shifted, burying the rune and the marks her knees had left behind. Standing up, Shamera surveyed the remains of her gown wryly. If this night’s work didn’t pan out, she was likely to end her life buried in the ragged, dirty silk gown.

She removed the illusion she’d put on the wire. Now that it was covered with sand she didn’t need it, and she didn’t want any hint of magic to warn the demon. As she set a broken cobblestone in the center of the rune, she heard riders approaching. It was too dark to see them, but it could only be Talbot, Halvok, and Elsic. The Shark would have let no other riders through.

Sham closed her eyes and worked a touch of magic.

In the castle Kerim watched the small rune Sham had traced on his chair arm flare briefly. It was time then.

Despite his formidable self-control and his doubts, a touch of battle fever caused a surge of elation. He wiggled his toes inside his boot, just to prove he could, then he grinned at Dickon.

“Get the horses ready,” he said. “It’s time.”

The riders dismounted and handed their horses’ reins to the man who had replaced Vawny an hour or so before. As Shark’s man led the horses away, they approached Sham.

Elsic cradled Maur’s flute in one hand and held fast to Talbot’s arm with the other, a reckless grin plastered on his face. “You really think this will work?”

“No,” said Sham repressively.

If anything, Elsic’s expression brightened. She understood him —it was a good thing to be needed. If the boy were a little older, he wouldn’t have half his confidence in the wild scheme she’d come up with.

“Neither do I,” added Lord Halvok. “If you want to activate your rune, I can work the spells to force the demon to submit to me, for my lifetime anyway.”

“For your short lifetime it would be, if the demon had anything to say about it,” replied Sham without heat—they’d already had this argument when she’d first approached him for help.

“If Shamera’s plan fails, could you try to control it then?” asked Talbot.

Sham shook her head, answering before Halvok could. “No. I have to release the rune that holds the demon in place while I work the spell to send it home. If I fail, it’s not going to be contained—nor is it going to be happy with us. Don’t worry, though, if my spell doesn’t work, the backlash of wild magic will kill us and burn Purgatory to the ground before the demon can do anything to you.”

“Thanks,” said Talbot, with a wry grin, “that’s good to know. I wouldn’t want to be killed by a demon.”

Sham left Talbot talking with Lord Halvok and walked to the edge of the cliffs. Below her was inky blackness. Though there was no moon to see by, she could tell by the silence that the tide was out. The unnatural quiet seemed expectant.

Elsic sealed himself on the ground next to her. His sightless eyes closed, he breathed in the salt air.

Kerim knocked softly at the door, ready to play his part. Although he was honest by nature, acting was the meat of any politician, and he had no fears about his ability. He worried about hurting Sky, though, and she’d been hurt enough.

“Who is it?” Sky’s voice sounded husky with sleep.

“Kerim.” There was a pause, and Kerim could almost hear her thinking.

“My Lord?” The door opened partially, and she peered through. Her sleeping gown was sheer and inviting.

Kerim gave her his best boyish grin. “Do you know what day it is?”

“No, My Lord,” she smiled with a hint of shyness.

Looking at her, he found it even harder to believe that Sham was right. He had a feeling that he was going to be apologizing to Sky before the night was over.

“It’s the day the Spirit Tide breaks. Have you ever seen it at night?”

“No, My Lord.”

“Well, get dressed then. You have to see this. I know you’re not up to a strenuous ride yet, but we’ll take a gentle horse for you —I have one with paces as smooth as cream ... and I believe I owe you an apology for last night.”

She drew herself up. “What about Lady Shamera?”

Kerim allowed a sad smile to cross his face. “Ah—Lady Shamera ... Perhaps you could put on a dressing robe and I’ll come in and tell you about her. The hail is not the place for it—I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

The door shut momentarily; when Sky opened it again, she was decently covered in an ivory silk bedrobe.

“Come in, my lord.”

He slipped by her, a difficult thing to do gracefully with his crutches but much easier than the wheeled chair, and took up residence on a uncomfortable wooden stool. She looked from him to the only other seat in the room, a padded loveseat, and smiled before she sat in it.

“You were going to tell me about Lady Shamera?”

“Yes,” he sighed and looked at his feet before turning his gaze to hers. “I am not her first protector, you know. She enjoys men. I met her soon after you came here, and I think that it was knowing that I had to leave you alone that drew me to her.”

“But I was crippled and it was getting worse.” He swallowed heavily and continued in almost a whisper. “I knew that Ven loved you, and would make an admirable husband and father. The child ... the child was mine, wasn’t it?” He didn’t have to feign the sadness in his voice: the poor babe, doomed by demons and wizards long dead or by mischance, he supposed it didn’t matter which.

“I thought I was dying. I could see no good in making you a widow a second time, so I went looking for something to put between us—and I found Shamera.” He played with the top of his left crutch. “Then I began to recover.”

“I noticed that you have been getting better, my lord. Can you tell me why?”

He hesitated and managed to look frustrated and slightly guilty. “That’s the truly odd part, and I’m not certain it is my secret to tell.”

“My lord,” she said meeting his eyes squarely. “Anything you say will stay with me.”

He gave her a measuring glance, then nodded as if in sudden decision. “Late one night, when one of the cramping spells began, Shamera came in and ... worked magic.” He let some of the wonder he had felt creep into his voice. “I would not have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. Shamera has told me that the wizards are largely fled from here, though there are a few, like her, who hide what they are.”

“Did she find out who did that to you?”

Kerim nodded his head, even while the meaning of the mistake she’d just made washed over him. He’d never told Sky that Sham had been undoing a spell laid upon him—just that she’d worked magic. “She seems to think so,” he said smoothly. “After the High Priest died—and this is the strangest part. I’m not sure I’d believe it if Shamera hadn’t had Brother Fykall to back her up—something took over his body, or wore his shape. Shamera says that it was a demon. It made the mistake of going to the Temple of Altis, and brother Fykall destroyed it.”

Sky’s mouth tightened with anger momentarily. If he hadn’t been watching her closely, he would have missed it. The guilt that he’d been feeling for misleading Sky all but melted away.

“I owe Shamera a great deal—my health, and even my life. But —” he looked down, as if caught by shyness. “—I don’t love her. Last night made me realize that I had to talk to her, and tell her how I felt. I’d already left it too long; I was afraid I would hurt her.”

He grinned suddenly. “I almost wish you’d have been there. I was expecting to face down the virago who leapt on my bed with a broken pitcher and faced a merchant instead. She let me say what I had to say, then smiled and laid down terms she thought were fair for services rendered.”

Kerim smiled coaxingly. “Come with me tonight, Sky. I haven’t been to the sea for a long time. The Spirit Tide is something you will remember for the rest of your life.”

“I ...” she gave him a look filled with desire and fear. “I don’t know if I should ...”

“Come with me,” he lowered his voice into a purr. Practicing with Shamera had improved his seduction technique.

She drew in a breath, and recklessly said, “Yes, I would like that. If you’ll wait a moment in the hall, I’ll put on riding clothes.”

“For you, I’ll wait,” replied Kerim softly, rising to his feet and crossing the distance to the hall as lightly as someone on crutches could be expected to.

Lady Sky gave him a quick, bright smile before she shut the door.

Lantern in hand, Dickon waited outside the walls of the Castle with three horses: A sweet-faced bay mare, his own sturdy gelding, and Kerim’s war stallion, Scorch.

The stallion looked rather odd with the crutches attached to the shoulder of either side of the saddle, but he was used to carrying stranger things than crutches. Kerim rubbed the black muzzle affectionately.

Cautiously, with Dickon holding the opposite stirrup so the saddle wouldn’t slip, Kerim gripped the saddle at pommel and cantle and powered the rest of his body up and into position. Not graceful, but it was effective. Dickon handed Kerim the lantern, and helped Lady Sky on her mare before mounting himself.

“We are not to go alone, my Lord?” questioned Lady Sky softly, with a pointed look at Dickon.

Kerim shifted his weight until the stallion sidestepped next to Lady Sky’s mount. Reaching over he took one gloved hand into his free hand and brought it to his lips. “Alas, no, Lady. The best place to view the Spirit Tide is on the other side of a bad section of town. Despite the fact that I’ve paid off the proper people to ensure a quiet ride, it would be sheerest folly to go into such a place with only a crippled warrior such as myself to guard you. Dickon is quite a hand with that sword he carries.”

Lady Sky smiled. “So this is not such an impulsive trip after all —you could have given me more notice.”

Behind her, Kerim noticed that Dickon was frowning his disapproval. He’d cautioned Kerim about flirting too hard and hurting Sky.

“Ah, me.” Kerim grinned. “I have betrayed myself. No, Lady, I’ve been planning this for most of the day.” He gave her a convincing leer. “But if I had given you notice, you’d not have met me in your sleeping gown.”

Lady Sky laughed and followed him as he nudged his mount into a swinging walk.

In spite of his spoken pessimism, Kerim’s ride through Purgatory was without incident. He could feel the eyes peering at them from the inky blackness, but they stayed there. Apparently Shamera had greased the right fists with his gold. He took his time, flirting and delaying. By the time they reached the broken timbers of the old bell tower, he calculated that they only had a short time before the tide returned.

Kerim stopped the stallion near a clump of scrub a fair distance from the cliffs. Returning the lantern to Dickon’s care, he dismounted with more expediency than skill, but ended up on his feet, which was something of a salve to his pride.

While Dickon saw to Lady Sky’s dismounting, Kerim untied the leather strings that kept the crutches in place. He was still unsteady on his feet, but with the crutches he had a fair bit of mobility on the rough ground.

“Come,” he said, leading Lady Sky away from the horses and Dickon, “You’ll have to take the lantern.”

The nearby buildings were nearly rotted through from the salt-sea air. Kerim ignored them as he made his way to a small area of sandy dirt near the cliffs. He stopped with the base of one crutch resting near a solitary piece of broken cobblestone. Sometime during the ride the stars had come into their full glory. Even without the moon’s light, it was possible to see the beach far below.

Sky drew in her breath as she gazed beyond the cliff. “How fascinating.”

“Beautiful,” he agreed, “an unexpected act of nature—like you.” He reached into his belt pouch and looked for something that wasn’t there.

“Plague it,” he said, with boyish embarrassment, “I brought you something, but I forgot to get it from Dickon. Wait here, I won’t be but a moment.”

She gave him the lantern. Holding it awkwardly, he turned and rapidly made his way back to the horses while Lady Sky waited, her beautiful profile turned to the sea and a faint smile on her face.

As soon as Kerim was far enough away, Lord Halvok sneaked soundlessly around the remains of the building he had been hiding behind, giving Sham a hint at the reason his guerrilla campaign had been able to hold out against the Easterners. He stopped at the place she had hidden the break in the wire.

Quickly he brought the ends together, fusing them with a touch of magic that caught Lady Sky’s attention. Hidden in the shadows of another building, Sham bit her lip. Halvok’s fate rested on her rune skills, and she’d never had to make a rune of this size before.

As the magic built, the golden thread began to glow, burning brightly beneath the covering sand. Under other circumstances the rune would have been enough to hold its prisoner indefinitely; a demon was as capable of unmaking a rune as Sham or Halvok was, so Halvok knelt where he was and continued to imbue the rune with magic.

“What are you doing?” asked Lady Sky, staring at Lord Halvok in surprise and taking a step back. “Kerim?” her voice rose in fright, “what is he doing to me?”

Coining out of her hiding place. Sham flinched at the fear in Sky’s voice. Looking at her standing alone on the cliff edge it was difficult to remember the reasoning Sham had used to convict her. Instinctively Sham glanced at Kerim, knowing that he’d had his doubts as well. Kerim was frowning as he gripped Dickon’s arm. He gestured as he talked—though Sham couldn’t hear what he said.

Elsic stepped out around a rock, the flute in one hand and his other resting lightly on Talbot’s shoulder. “I know you, demon,” he said, his face turned to Lady Sky. “I’ve felt you in my dreams.”

“What are you talking about? Kerim said the priest killed the demon,” said Lady Sky, looking more frightened than ever, “Kerim?”

“She’s going to send you back,” said Kerim gently, as he approached with Dickon. “Isn’t that where you’ve been trying to go all this time? It’s time for you to go home.”

“No ...” Lady Sky’s voice lost its cultured softness as she wailed despairingly. “You don’t know what she’s trying to do!”

“Nor does she,” said the Shark from just behind Sham, causing her to jump. “But that never stopped her before.”

“What are you doing here?” asked Sham in a voice designed to carry only to the Shark’s ears.

He grinned. “You think I’d miss the most exciting bit of news to happen around here since the Eastern Invasion?”

“Stay back with Kerim,” she warned him. “This could get nasty.”

“Shamera?” asked Lady Sky. “Why are you doing this? I thought you were my friend.”

Sham walked forward until she stood just outside the barrier Halvok held. “Chen Laut,” she said, and gestured.

It was unnecessary to call the demon’s true form in order to send it back to its world, but Sham needed the reassurance of knowing she was right. So she call the demon by a name it had held for centuries. It was not its true name, but it had power all the same.

The sand at Sky’s feet shifted, as if at a strong wind. Sky herself jerked like a marionette in the hands of a toddler, shifting. The body fell limply to the ground, and over it stood the demon.

Larger than a horse it was, a creature of flames the color of magic. Eight fragile limbs held its apparent hulk off the wet sand, but there was nothing arachnoid about the rest of the demon. A tail of gold and red ever-changing flames hit the edge of the rune with a crack, driving Lord Halvok to the ground at the unexpected pain.

But there was no question who was hurt worse. The demon screamed, an unearthly trill that covered the spectrum of sound, as a blue-green light flashed from the rune to its tail. When it was through, the demon crouched in the center of the rune, swaying back and forth.

“Halvok?” called Sham.

“Fine,” he said, though he sounded hoarse. “The rune will hold her.”

“Three times bound was I,” said the creature using Lady Sky’s voice. “Three dead wizards litter the cold earth. Your binding too. I shall come through in better condition than you, wizard. Get what power you can while you may, you will be dead soon enough.”

“I will die,” Sham agreed readily, “as all mortal things do. But before then I will see you home again. Talbot, what’s the tide like?”

“If you destroy me,” continued the demon, “I will haunt you and your children until there is one born I might use, witch. I will take that one’s body and hunt until your descendants walk not upon this earth.”

“Not yet,” answered Elsic, listening to the sea as he fingered the flute, “but soon.”

Talbot gave the blind boy a sharp-eyed look. “It’s still out.”

“Jetsam,” purred the demon, shifting its graceful neck so it was peering at Elsic, “—cast-off selkie garbage. If you aid in my binding, I will seek you out when I am free, and throw you back to the sea where your own people will rend you and feed you to the fish as tribute.”

Elsic smiled sweetly. “I aid in no binding.”

The demon paced sinuously within the outer bonds of the hold-rune. It was careful not to touch the edges.

“Now,” said Elsic.

Dimly Sham heard the muted roar of the returning waves begin. Elsic put the flute to his lips and blew a single pure note that pierced the night as cleanly as a fair-spent arrow. After a few experimental scales, he slipped into an unfamiliar song in a minor key.

Sham felt the magic begin to gather. She took a deep breath, and silently reminded herself that most of the magic she would work were spells she already knew. She’d spent half the night memorizing the only one that was new until she could recite the steps backwards in her sleep. If her concentration or confidence faltered, it would release all the power of the Spirit Tide into flames that would swallow them and Purgatory as well—inspiration for the poorest of students, and she had never been that.

In the original version the death of the sacrifice gave power to the spell. The sympathetic magic of death sent the demon to where it belonged as the soul of the sacrifice traveled home. She intended to replace both functions with the Spirit Tide as it came home to the cliffs.

The magic that the tide generated was formed by the sea, and humans worked only with unformed magic. Like limestone and marble, the two kinds of magic were formed by the same materials with tremendously different results.

Elsic gathered the green magic of the sea, and the flute transformed it into its raw form. Sham had to hold the gathering forces until the last moment before she worked the final spell. There would be no second chances.

Sweat ran off her forehead and she swayed with the effort as the magic grew exponentially with the progress of the monumental wave of water that had begun to swallow the sand. Someone gripped her shoulders briefly and steadied her.

Still the magic grew. The first two spells were easy, nothing that she hadn’t cast a hundred times before. She began to draw on the magic.

First to set the subject.

The demon screamed as she worked the spell, weaving it around the creature.

Second to name its true name.

Demon, Chen Laut, bringer of death, stealthy breaker of bonding spells laid upon it by greedy men. Avenger, killer, lonely exile. Sham understood the demon, and wove her knowledge into the spell. It was enough—she knew it. She could feel the demon trying to break the naming, but it was futile.

“Southwood lord,” called the demon, “Bind me to you and I will help you drive the Easterners from Purgatory. If you allow her to destroy me, they will never go.”

Halvok stiffened, like a hound scenting fox.

“If she chooses to bind rather than destroy, Shamera will not drive them away,” continued the demon persuasively. Sky’s voice rang clear through the growing roar of sea and wind. “She’s in love with the Reeve. She’s too young to really remember how it was, what it felt like to hold your loved ones as they die. But you do, don’t you? You remember your wife. She wasn’t beautiful, was she? Not until she smiled. She was wonderfully kind. Do you remember how much she loved your children? Then the Easterners came, while you were fighting elsewhere. You returned home and found only what the soldiers had left. She fought to protect the children, your wife, even after what they had done to her.”

“Halvok,” said Sham, her voice trembling with the effort of speaking while she tried to hold both the magic and the demon. If Halvok dropped the tune at the wrong time, it could spell disaster. “Halvok, that world is gone. Driving the Easterners out of Southwood will not set time back. It won’t restore your wife, nor even the person you were before they came.”

She had told Kerim that what the demon wanted most was to go home—she knew how the creature felt. As she exacted vengeance from those men who had crippled Maur, she had known that it was only a substitute for what she really wanted: to return to what once was, to go home. “Only death will come from seeking it, Halvok. Not just nameless Easterners will die—but your friends and colleagues. People you’ve come to know and care for. And once the killing starts, it won’t be Eastern blood alone that feeds the soil. Hasn’t there been enough death?”

“Yes,” said Halvok. “I am sick of—”

The demon struck the rune.

Halvok fell limply to the sand and the steady glow the rune had been emitting flickered wildly.

No time to question. Running to the place where Halvok lay, Sham drew her knife, nicked her palms, and placed both hands on the gold thread. Power surged through her from that contact and she cried out. The magic from the waves buckled and the skin of her hands turned red and blistered from the wild magic that seeped out of her control, but the blood made the difference as she had known it would. It made the rune hers again, no matter how the magic surged and fought it.

She couldn’t let the rune fail until just before the wave hit the cliff, or she wouldn’t be able to open the gateway to the demon’s realm no matter how much power she had. She would have to break it, symbolizing the breakage of the bonds that held the demon to this world. It shouldn’t have been difficult. Halvok could have done it by dropping the two ends of the wire separately, but Sham was tied to the rune by blood.

She needed Halvok, but he lay silently on the ground, Talbot kneeling at his side. She hoped he was alive.

Still the magic grew. She couldn’t see the Spirit Tide, but the sound of the water rushing over the sand had become deafening. Ignoring the smell of singed flesh she continued to gather the magic.

“Now,” shouted Kerim and Talbot together.

She broke the rune. Bound to her by blood, the rune’s death hurt her, making her hands cramp until she had to force herself to her feet so that the tension of the wire would pull it from her grasp. Pain wasn’t the real problem, or rather not the whole of the problem. It was what the pain did to her concentration that mattered.

It took a long moment for her to regain control of the forces she held.

Just as she began the final spell, before the demon realized that it was no longer held by the rune, the great wave struck and the cliffs shook. Water coated everything, spraying in great heavy sheets. Elsic faltered and the magic flared wildly until she couldn’t tell hers from the magic that sang in the waves. Sham knew Elsic had resumed playing only from the feel of the magic flowing into her; she couldn’t hear the music over the pounding water.

Crying out in a voice that was nothing against the roar that shook Purgatory, she continued working the last spell.

The first of her spells gave her an awareness of the demon, so she knew when it sprang. She spoke faster, finishing as the demon’s hot, sharp tail raked her side.

Something rippled in the night and the demon stilled as the rift grew. In that bare instant Sham realized the place she was sending the demon didn’t exist, not as she understood the term. For a brief moment that might have been an eternity, she stood at the gate and understood things about magic she’d never realized before, small things ...

A second wave hit. Smaller than the first, bringing with it more water, more noise, and more flute-born magic.

Buffeted by pain, awe, and a new surge of magic, Sham lost control, consumed by the torment of the demon’s touch and the fire of wild magic. The gate flickered, then steadied, held by someone else.

Give me the power, witch, said Sky’s voice, slipping beneath and between the waves of pain as Sham regained a tenuous hold on the magic. You have my name, give me the power. If you do not, it will kill you and all those here this night.

Sham struggled to think. With the power she held, the demon could destroy Landsend. She didn’t think even the ae’Magi would be able to stop it. Now that Sham had shown it how, it could go home any time it wanted to. Demons were creatures of magic; they were not bound to use unformed magic as she was.

Elsic played, and the magic continued to grow as a third wave hit. Sham couldn’t even divert enough attention from her tasks to tell him to stop.

Silly witch, hatred of your kind does not mean so much to me that I would stay here another moment. Give me the magic and let me go home.

“Take it,” said Shamera, knowing that she could not hold it for much longer.

Power flowed out of her faster than it had come, and the demon accepted it with a capacity that seemed limitless. When it held all she could give, Sham collapsed on the sandy cliff top, curling around the pain in her side. She watched the demon as it steadied the gate to its home.

The demon turned toward the rift Sham had opened, then hesitated. Sham had a moment to wonder what she was going to do if the pox-ridden thing decided it didn’t want to go back when, feather-light, its tail brushed her side again. The pain that had resided there was replaced by cool numbness.

Sorry, said the demon in a voice as soft as the wind.

Then it was gone.

The gate hung open above the broken bits of golden thread. Sham struggled to her knees. She had given all her magic to the demon; there was nothing left. If it didn’t close ...

It snapped shut with a cracking sound that rose above the thunder of yet another wave of water. For a moment the night was still—then the fires began.

They lit up the night like a thousand candles, burning the saltgrass where the gate had been first, then spreading faster than even a natural wildfire through the damp foliage. When the next wave hit the cliff and sent fine spray high into the air, flame touched the algae that lived in the water, making the droplets of spray spark gold and orange in the night.

“Back,” yelled Shamera, stumbling to her feet as best she could. “Damn it, get back.”

The magic that she’d given the demon was from this world. What the demon hadn’t used had returned when the gate closed. A clump of driftwood burst into ashes as the magic passed near.

“Shamera, get away from there.” She thought it was Kerim who called, but she was too busy drawing upon what little magic she had left to be certain.

Cold hands closed on her shoulders. “What can I do?” asked Dickon.

“Support me,” she said, her voice thin even to her ears. “Release your magic to me.”

Like his magelight, the power he fed to her flickered randomly, but it helped. The old bell tower went up in a blaze of glory, but Sham managed to keep the wild magic from raging where it would. Like a sheepdog, the threads of her mastery nipped here and there, cornering the worst of it against the cliff where the water would control the damage.

Kerim stood back with the rest, wishing futilely for the means to help. The Shark stood on his right, looking much like Kerim felt. Talbot knelt on the ground with the unconscious Halvok’s head resting on his knee. The sailor’s eyes were focused on Shamera and Dickon. Elsic sat beside them, his lips tight with anxiety. Kerim thought perhaps that Elsic, blind as he was, had a better idea of the struggle than any of the rest of the audience.

Shamera was lit by an eerie brilliance like the phosphorescent plankton that floated on the sea, only many times brighter. Foxfire flitted here and there in Dickon’s hair and on his back, dripping from his fingers to the ground where it shimmered at his feet. The air carried a scorched scent and a feeling of energy like it had just before lightning struck.

Another wave hit the cliff, but this one was only dimly lit by the odd little flickers that had covered the ones before. When the water ran back to the sea it left only darkness behind it. Dickon swayed where he stood, as if it took all of his strength to remain on his feet. Sham fell into an untidy heap on the ground.

The Shark beat Kerim there only because his crutches hindered his movement. Kerim hesitated by Dickon’s side, touching him lightly on the shoulder.

“I’m all right, sir,” said Dickon, “just tired.”

Kerim nodded, dropping his crutches. He fell to his knees next to Sham where she lay face down in the wet sand. The Shark, kneeling on the far side, held his hand against her neck.

“She’s alive,” he said.

Remembering the fires that had flickered over her, Kerim reached out carefully, and with the Shark’s help, turned her face out of the sand. Elsic and Talbot joined the quiet gathering with Halvok braced between them.

Halvok made a gesture and a dim circle of light appeared in his hand. The Southwood noble looked tired, and he moved with the painful slowness of an old, old man.

By his light it was possible to see that Sham was breathing in the soft panting rhythm of a tired child, and some of the tightness in Kerim’s chest slackened. He began to examine her with battle-learned thoroughness for wounds, but found only blisters. They clustered tightly on her hands, then scattered here and there. Her side was covered with blood, but all that Kerim could find was a growing bruise.

He had expected much worse.

Carefully, he gathered her into his lap and wrapped her with his cloak to keep her from getting chilled. As he worked, he thought it didn’t seem possible that this bedraggled and dirty thief was the wizard whose blazing figure had recently lit the night. The Shark watched him coolly.

“It’s gone,” said Halvok, breaking the silence. He shook his head in private amusement. “Not too badly done, for an apprentice. I’ll speak to the wizard’s council and see if we can get her raised to master. Sending a demon to hell should count as a masterwork.”

“Not hell,” corrected Elsic with a dream-touched smile. “It was beautiful—didn’t you see it?”