Touch of the Demon by Diana Rowland
I still couldn’t shake the sense that I was forgetting or overlooking something. Nearby, Mzatal danced the overlays for the main ritual with such grace I couldn’t help but smile. I cast my gaze out, seeking the demons. Safar perched on the roof. Juntihr flew high above. One kehza stood atop the wall of the western tower, and the other flew circles above the ruined eastern tower. I didn’t see the zhurn or Ilana. Surely we have enough eyes, and I’ll feel it if Rhyzkahl comes through the grove, I reminded myself.
Before I knew it, the diagrams were prepared, and it was time to begin. Mzatal joined me in the center of the main diagram while Idris took up his position within the support structure. Smiling, Mzatal caught my face in his hands and kissed me, tender yet with a heat beneath it that whispered hints of what he’d done to me this morning. I relaxed into the pleasure and comfort of the kiss. I could trust him utterly. I knew this deep in my essence. Yes, we were lovers now, but we were still friends and partners, and that trust would never waver.
He gently broke the kiss and gave me a radiant smile. Releasing me, he turned and lifted his hand to trace the first sigil of his shikvihr, but before he could do so I took hold of his braid and gave it a not-very-gentle tug.
Mzatal froze with a sharp intake of breath, then turned on me with demonic lord speed, catching my head between his hands in a move that should have struck fear of neck-snapping death into my heart. Instead, I smiled up at him, meeting eyes that shone with playful heat over shadowy depths. He bent and touched his forehead to mine, closed his eyes and murmured, “Dak lahn, zharkat. Thank you.” I felt his gratitude far beyond the words, and encompassing so much more than this moment. He pulled me into a quick embrace, then released me, smiling. “Now, work. Vsuhl awaits.”
I grinned, turned, and set about doing my part of the tracings. The potency of the ritual rose, the three of us working in a harmony that I wouldn’t have thought possible until the Gestamar summoning last night. It was even better today. Beautifully unified power flowed between Mzatal and me, but Idris followed and maintained with astounding ease and adaptability. He traced sigils with a keen efficiency that would have likely left me gaping if I’d been able to spare the attention.
With a torrent of arcane power, the patterns ignited, flowing through me with sweet perfection. In a perfect dance of tracings and dispersals we wove the summoning, called to the blade named Vsuhl. I’d thought it kind of superfluous and weird before—to name a blade like it was a sentient creature—but not now that I could sense it. With the first touch I felt it, knew it: Vsuhl. Gooseflesh crawled over me, and I wanted to feel it in my hand. The blade’s power began to infuse the ritual, and I smiled as I met Mzatal’s eyes, seeing nothing within them but certainty that we would succeed.
The tingle of the grove reached me as a new harmony within the pattern. “Rhyzkahl comes,” I calmly told Mzatal without pausing or stopping my tracing. We’d known this would likely happen, and Mzatal was prepared to hold him off until I had Vsuhl.
Mzatal’s face went to the intense, unreadable mask. He nodded once and worked through the patterns to exit the diagram. “Maintain and continue. I will meet him.”
The grove activated again, and I nearly fumbled my tracing in shock. “Wait! Mzatal, it’s not just him.” Swallowing hard, I extended toward the grove to get a better sense of what was happening. “Oh, fuck.”
Mzatal reached the outer edge and turned as soon as he was fully out, already tracing new protections. “Who?”
Cold seared through me as I felt who was in the grove. “Rhyzkahl, Jesral, Amkir, and Vahl.” Four! There was no way in hell we could stand against four. Maybe they’d play by their own rules and only engage one-on-one? Amkir hadn’t intervened during the grove fight, so I had a measure of hope. In any case, it was far too late to shut down the ritual and make a run for it.
Mzatal’s eyes narrowed, but otherwise he displayed no reaction. “Idris, lay pure defense with a support core.” His voice dropped to Scary-MoFo intensity. “Kara, these chekkunden have already gone far down a dangerous path and the stakes are high. They may well dishonor our ways.” Anger flared in his eyes, and I sensed it was directed at least partly at himself for not anticipating this level of treachery.
Crap. “What do we do?” I asked, doing my best to keep my cool.
He turned back to me, eyes hard on mine. “You must get the blade,” he stated. “With Vsuhl and Khatur, we can hold against them even if they come in force. It is too close to let go now.” He lifted his chin. “You know what you need to do. I will meet all of them.”
I nodded, but worry knotted my gut. “Boss, be careful.”
A whisper of a smile curved his mouth. “And you, zharkat.” He turned away and took up a position about twenty feet from the edge of the main diagram, then began to lay a mobile foundation of glowing sigils around himself. The distance did nothing to diminish our bond, and I smiled in the comfortable rightness of it.
The bellows of multiple reyza sounded in the distance, and Safar took flight. The odd trumpeting call of our kehza signaled their rise to challengers. Fuck. The game’s really on.
I spared a glance to Idris in the support diagram where he moved in a ceaseless flow of tracing. “Kick ass, Idris!” I said, giving him a wink and a smile.
He glanced over and grinned. He was pumped full of adrenaline. Probably had no idea how bad a direct combat situation could get, and I wasn’t about to inform him. Then again, he was dug into a damn good defensive position with his diagram. Plus the pattern here not only mirrored the one at the nexus on the beach, it also linked fully to Idris’s support diagram in the unique way developed by Mzatal and Idris. We were a kickass unit. I could only hope it would be enough.
I continued to trace and work the ritual. This was what I needed to do. The blade was close, but I knew I didn’t have time to complete the next three rings and make the call before the lords could engage Mzatal. But I did have time to finish another ring before those assholes made it to the courtyard.
With the fullness of the ritual and the light merge with the grove, I felt Rhyzkahl in the tree tunnel. He moved through it and away from the grove with a speed that made me wonder if perhaps he didn’t like being within those leafy walls since nearly being crushed by that power. I smiled at the thought as I continued tracing.
A few minutes later, Rhyzkahl rounded the base of the west tower, striding with arrogant confidence, badass and beautiful in full-blown potency. Behind him Jesral stalked with contained precision. Vahl trailed them, glancing around, wary and watchful. Through the connection with Mzatal, I sensed Amkir delayed by the warding on the passage door.
Why Vahl and not Kadir? I wondered. Kadir was one of the Four Mraztur, as Seretis had called them. Maybe the other lords don’t like dealing with Kadir any more than humans do, I thought with a curl of my lip. That actually made sense. I couldn’t help but feel a shimmer of disappointment that Vahl had thrown in his lot with this crowd. Then again, he didn’t seem all that fired up to be here.
Rhyzkahl’s eyes locked on me. I smiled and flipped him the bird while continuing to trace, and I also pulled more grove power. We were fucked. I had no doubt about that. Best I could do was keep on doing what I was doing.
Rhyzkahl bared his teeth and held up his right hand in a motion I knew would call his blade to him. His hand moved stiffly and without any of its normal fluid grace, and when he opened his fingers to receive the blade, it exposed an ugly, ropey scar.
I laughed out loud at the sight of it. I knew damn well how he’d gotten it—when Mzatal had sent potency through the blade in order to disrupt the torture ritual and save me.
“Fuck you, you worthless piece of shit!” I shouted at him. “Guess you’ll have to learn to jack off with your other hand!” What the hell, I might as well have some fun before we all died horrible deaths.
I felt Mzatal at the other end of our bond, balancing me out with deadly and silent potency as he wove sigils into a complex pattern in preparation f
The blade coalesced into Rhyzkahl’s hand. Rakkuhr wrapped itself around his fist in shimmering reds and coiling shadow, and he visibly shuddered. With blade in hand, he lowered his head, focusing fully on me with a palpable intensity.
Rowan.
I sucked in a breath as the name smothered me and slid through my essence. I faltered in the construction of a sigil, trembling to my very core. The entire ritual flickered and dimmed as I stared, stricken, at the unfinished sigil.
Kara!
My eyes snapped to Mzatal. He wasn’t looking at me, but I knew that touch had come from him. The name drifted before me like a life preserver before a drowning person. In that instant I knew I had a choice. My choice. Slip under the sea of fear, or reach out and take what was offered, reclaim what was mine.
“I. Am. KARA!” With the proclamation, the trembling gave way to exultant determination. I know who I am. I bared my teeth and finished the sigil, relieved when the ritual stabilized.
“Not for much longer.” Rhyzkahl didn’t shout or seem to raise his voice, but the words carried to me as if he’d used a megaphone.
I flipped him off again and continued flowing through the ritual, though I did check the perimeters of the diagram to be extra super sure they were secure. Rhyzkahl advanced on Mzatal, Jesral to his right rear by only a pace. My hope that they’d engage singly evaporated. Their combined potency crashed on the verge of the ritual like storm-driven surf, and I struggled to maintain both the perimeter and my connection to the ritual itself.
Sealing the ring of sigils, I ignited it. I stood silent and unmoving for a moment as the power of the growing ritual suffused me with a tingling arcane heat. My awareness expanded with the power. I could sense where everyone was in the area—five lords, two humans, and damn near too many demons to count. I sensed Amkir moving through the passage. I saw my connection to Mzatal—not like a strand but as a constant flow and melding of energy between us. We were greater than the sum of our parts, and my faith deepened that we would succeed.
Breathing deeply, I began work on the next ring. Only two more. I felt the blade on the periphery of my awareness, a roiling sun of power. Fear rose. Within a heartbeat I recognized it as a remnant of Elinor, made myself breathe, and separated from the reaction. With unexpectedly gratifying recognition of the blade, I bared my teeth and breathed its name. Vsuhl.
“Mzatal.” Rhyzkahl spoke the name with dark vehemence, words carrying clearly on the sea of power. “I give you this single opportunity to return that which is mine.”
“Nothing here is yours, nor ever was,” Mzatal said, continuing to weave and trace sigils with calm, elegant speed and precision. “We offer you this single opportunity to withdraw.”
I laughed. “You don’t get to keep the toys you break,” I called out. “Didn’t your mama ever teach you that?”
Rhyzkahl turned on me and went demon-lord still. The potency surrounding him sucked in so close and tight, I thought he would break into a billion pieces if anything touched him. I locked my gaze with his and continued to weave and trace.
His stillness shifted into dynamic motion in the blink of an eye. He gave an unnerving cry as he threw his arms wide, expanding and drawing to himself the fullness of the shadow and blood of rakkuhr. I’d sure as hell struck a nerve in Rhyzkahl, but I didn’t have time to wonder about it right then. Shifting darkness illuminated by brilliant red arcane discharges surrounded him and lit his eyes with glowing intensity. I’d only thought he looked badass before.
Mzatal moved only to widen his stance, opening his left hand low and slightly out to his side, and raising his right hand open, palm toward Rhyzkahl. He gave every indication that he was acting purely in defense, but I knew from our shared connection that he had plenty of options for attack and wouldn’t hesitate to use them.
Amkir emerged from the passage and headed straight for Idris and the support diagram. Fuck! I knew Idris had a strong pattern, but I wasn’t sure how well it would hold up if Amkir decided to truly attack it. In the sky and on the ground, demons battled. I knew that ours were sorely outnumbered, but at least for now they seemed to be holding their own. I hated that I couldn’t spare any energy to try and help them, and could only hope that they would handle themselves and that none would get hurt.
Rhyzkahl’s face revealed fury, certainty, and triumph as he brought his fully ignited blade in front of him and cast a heavy strike at Mzatal. In the split second before it reached him, Mzatal called Khatur to hand and lifted it high. The blade summoned the strike like an umbrella lightning rod, the rakkuhr channeling into it, and the residuals shedding off like rain. With his other hand, Mzatal shot forth a very sneaky left-handed strike, catching Rhyzkahl fully in the chest.
Rhyzkahl staggered back from the unexpected assault, shaking his head to clear it. Jesral strode forward two paces and sent a shimmering net of potency toward Mzatal. With practiced ease, Mzatal deflected the net, then moved in sweeping strides to fully engage in a perilous dance with both Jesral and Rhyzkahl.
On the other side of the courtyard I sensed Amkir moving closer to Idris and his diagram. The lord made a motion to strip the outer perimeter, but the well-constructed pattern thwarted his efforts. Amkir snarled, gaze traveling over the support diagram, the ritual, and then to Mzatal. Anger swept over his face as he realized that all were tied together. It had been a brilliant move on our part to link the diagrams and support together when we’d assumed that at most we’d be facing one lord. But now I worried. Four lords was an entirely different story. Mzatal currently handled Jesral and Rhyzkahl masterfully, especially with the support from Idris and his ability to draw on the grove power through me.
What the hell was Vahl doing? He hung back near the palace wall, a good thirty feet or so from either Rhyzkahl or Amkir. But Amkir, unopposed, had all the time in the world to pick apart Idris’s circle, and he did so now, prowling around its perimeter, unweaving a strand at a time.
I cursed under my breath and tried to channel power toward Idris and his diagram so that he could reinforce his defenses, but I wasn’t sure it was working. I watched Amkir warily and nurtured the connection with Mzatal. Amkir’s eyes were on Idris, dark and intense as he sent spikes of disruptive energy toward him.
“Dispel your perimeter, little summoner,” Amkir said with a sneer. “And this will not hurt nearly as much.”
Idris merely scowled, continuing to maintain the perimeter and tend the support core. His scowl seemed weirdly familiar, but I couldn’t spare the focus to try to place it. I finished the ring of sigils and locked it down before igniting it. One more. The blade blazed clearly in othersight. Tears stung my eyes, surprising me with their onset and the sense of kinship that accompanied them. Vsuhl. Once you are in my hand, all of this will be over.
My entire circle wavered abruptly, as if in a brownout, and I hesitated in the preparations for the final ring. Mzatal still held his own against the two lords, but now Idris was deeply involved with fending off Amkir. Idris shot a quick look at me, most certainly noting that I’d set the second-to-last ring.
Amkir sent a spike through the perimeter, and Idris staggered. Then, before I could say or do anything, Idris abruptly unwound a sigil and severed the connection between my diagram and the support core.
I stared at him in shock. There was no way for me to finish the final ring without that support. But then I realized what he’d done. By severing the connection, he was protecting me and my diagram. If Idris lost control of the support core while I worked the final ring, it could jeopardize the entire ritual and would open me up to attack.
That means he knows he can’t hold it, I thought in dismay. I struggled to think of something I could do, some way to help Idris, yet with the connection severed I could do nothing with the arcane. I extended through to the master ritual on the beach, felt its power, but I didn’t have the skill to draw upon it. I touched the grove energy, but it flowed through and down into the patterns, feeding the
Amkir sent another spike through the breach he’d created. Idris went to his knees, then tipped forward, barely getting his hands in front of himself in time to keep from fully collapsing. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth onto the ground beneath the patterns, sending shudders of distortion through the entire diagram. In a heart-wrenching effort he sought to stand and regain the unraveling patterns, but the strands of both the support core and ritual slipped away.
I sucked in a breath as his circle fractured completely. Idris had severed the connection just in time, but was now completely and utterly vulnerable. Having Vsuhl in hand would kick all the ass but—although I could feel the blade so close, so present—I couldn’t finish the damned ritual without Idris’s support. I had to do something. No way was I just going to stand there and let Idris get smeared by that fucking asshole.
Amkir had his back to me, between Idris’s circle and the full ritual, and I made a quick decision. After making certain that the completed rings were stable and that the entire diagram was keyed only to me, I called grove power and tapped the connection with Mzatal. I’d never tried anything like this before, but I wasn’t going to let a little thing like that stop me. All I needed was a burst. I slid out of my ritual and ran for Amkir.
The lord meticulously ripped through the circles of the diagram now that Idris could no longer hold them inviolate. He lifted a hand, and I knew it was only a matter of seconds before he called deadly potency down on Idris.
With everything I had, I pushed a barb of power before me. Lowering my head, I slammed into Amkir as hard as I could, tackling him to the ground. He let out a surprised oof, and in that moment of advantage, I grabbed his shoulder and turned him over. I came down hard with my knee on his groin, and at the same time punched him hard in the face—backing it all with grove power. Then I slugged him again just to be sure. “I got your chikdah right here, motherfucker!” In that moment, even with pain flickering in his eyes and his precious lord-blood flowing from his nose, he looked more shocked than anything. It’d been a gamble that he didn’t have any physical shielding active, but apparently an attack by a human was way down on his list of possibilities.