When the Heavens Fall (27 page)

“How much of a start have we got on the Kalanese?”

“Maybe half a day.”

Merin held his gaze.

Aye, not enough.
The Kalanese mounts were better suited to the rigors of the Gollothir Plains, and were most likely fresher too. Goldenlocks would catch up to them long before they reached the Sun Road.

“There's another option,” Luker said. “We split up. Me and Jenna, you and the boy. Soulcaster's bound to come after me. I'll lead him into that storm. Give me a day, I'll have thrown him off our scent.”

“How do we find each other afterwards?”

“I'll find you.”

The tyrin's look was appraising.

He thinks I'll hang him out to dry.
Luker scratched his scar.
It's a thought.

“No,” Merin said at last. “The Kalanese could just separate when we do. And there's still the risk of running into tribesmen. Our chances are better if we stay together.”

The Guardian grunted.
Yours are, you mean.

*   *   *

Parolla kicked a stone as she followed the course of a dry riverbed. She hadn't expected to make it so far through the demon world unopposed. She had been trudging through the Shades for nearly six bells, she reckoned, and she'd yet to see a single inhabitant of this barren wasteland. But that didn't mean they hadn't seen her. The valley slopes to either side were pockmarked with caves from which countless hidden eyes could be looking down, but if she
had
been spotted, why hadn't the watchers come for her? Were they waiting in ambush somewhere ahead?

The charcoal-gray sky hadn't changed tone since Parolla entered the rent, and she was starting to wonder if a sun would ever rise on this cursed land. The Shades made the Ken'dah Steppes feel welcoming. Such light as there was came from two small moons, one behind and to her left, the other low in the sky to her right. The air felt stale and stagnant as if it had not moved in days, and Parolla's breathing was becoming labored as she climbed higher into the hills. Flakes of rock crunched beneath her feet, and when she looked behind she saw clouds of dust marking the way she had come. She scowled. Like a big arrow pointing any nearby demons after her. It made her wonder why she bothered with her shadow-spell.

Hers were not the only footprints in the dirt. She had encountered two other sets since entering the rent—fellow intruders in this realm, she suspected. The first tracks were small and punctuated by round imprints apparently made by the butt of a staff. The ground between the tracks was scuffed, suggesting their owner moved with a shuffling gait. An old woman, perhaps? The owner of the second prints had huge feet and a stride to match, one for every two of Parolla's.

For a time both sets of tracks had kept her company as she walked. Now, only the old woman's prints continued into the gloom. The giant's had halted half a league back beside a spire of rock. The ground in its shadow had been speckled with blood and scored by dozens of clawed feet. There was no sign of the giant's body, just drag marks in the dust leading up one of the valley sides to a cluster of caves. As Parolla had hastened past, her gaze had been locked on those caves, and her nerves were still raw from twitching at every breath of wind. But nothing had stirred. The one benefit of this desolate landscape, she told herself, was that she'd at least be able to see trouble when it came calling.

And yet, that hadn't helped the giant, had it?

She had come across the prints of both the giant and the old woman at the entrance to the valley she now traveled through. The convergence had puzzled her for a while. It seemed the other intruders were, like Parolla herself, heading for the rent near the Forest of Sighs, but how did they know which route to take? The answer came to her suddenly.
The threads of death-magic.
Even here in the Shades, they were discernible through the distant rent. It would be a simple matter for the giant and the old woman to follow the tendrils, knowing they would lead to a way out of the demon world. And how had they known to track the strands?
Clearly I am not the only one with an interest in following them to their source …

She stumbled to a halt.

It took her a moment to realize what was wrong. The old woman's tracks had disappeared. Parolla retraced her steps until she found them again. Then blinked. They just … stopped. There were no claw marks on the ground, no signs of a struggle. It was as if the old woman had simply vanished in midstep. Parolla's hackles rose.
Unless …

She looked up into the yawning gray sky.

It was empty.

Suppressing a shiver, she glanced back at the footprints. There was something lying in the dust to her right—a staff, snapped into three pieces, the wood flame-blackened. Had the old woman been a fire-
magus,
then?
A fire-
magus
in a land without a sun.
Little wonder, if so, that she'd been no match for whatever took her.

There was a noise to Parolla's left, farther up the valley. Claws scratched on stone. A small shape flitted across the ground, moving so quickly Parolla could barely follow its course. Anticipating an attack, she gathered her power and waited, her heart thumping, her gaze raking the gloom. The shadow, though, was moving away from her, cutting upslope in front of a group of caves before disappearing over the lip of the incline. Parolla scanned the rest of the valley for movement, but all was still. Eventually the click-clack of settling stones faded, and silence returned.

She released her breath. A coincidence the demon had taken flight just as she was passing through? Hardly. Odds were it had spotted her and judged her too powerful to tackle alone, but her stay of execution would prove short-lived if, as she suspected, it had gone to fetch help.

Her time was running short.

She set off at a run along the dry riverbed, but the Ken'dah Steppes had sapped the strength from her legs, and she soon slowed to a walk again. The gradient increased as the valley began to narrow. Ahead she caught sight of twin columns of stone. Had she seen them last time she was in the Shades? The rent was close now, she thought, but she'd been telling herself the same for the past bell. And while the threads of death-magic told her she was heading in the right direction, they didn't tell her how far she still had to go to reach her destination.

The course of the dry river became choked with rocks, and Parolla abandoned it for a rough track that wound a tortuous path up the slope to her right. By the time she reached the summit her legs were trembling and her shirt was sodden down her back and beneath her arms. The ridge was deserted, and she paused to catch her breath, doubled over with her hands on her knees. The back of her throat felt like someone had stripped the flesh from it. In front of her, the ground fell away into a sea of black. Far in the distance she could make out a range of mountains silhouetted against the smaller of the two moons. She smiled in recognition, for this was the same view that had greeted her when she'd first entered the Shades eight years ago. Towers and turrets rose from among the rocky outcrops, and circling above them …

Her smile faded. In the sky, winged demons soared and swooped in their hundreds.
No, thousands.
Most were the size of needleflies at this range; some were as large as spider jays.

Then a cluster of them scattered.

A rumble sounded as a shape rose from the darkness between the spires. Just one of its wings was enough to eclipse the moon entirely. There were horns atop its head, and it had a long, broad snout like a crocodile's. As its ascent leveled out, it beat its wings to maintain its height. It was difficult to judge perspective at such a distance, but it appeared to be heading toward Parolla.

She pushed herself into motion.

On the opposite flank of the ridge to the one she had climbed was a track leading down to a row of caves, and she scrambled down it, her feet skidding on loose gravel. The threads of death-magic guided her to the cave she needed. As she recalled, the portal was just the other side. The entrance was narrower than she remembered, no more than a jagged fissure less than two paces across. Too big, certainly, for that demon to follow her through. As she plunged into the blackness, she held her hands out in front of her face. Her left hip jarred on stone, catching her right on the bone, and she swore. A strong wind blew into her face, reassuringly warm after the chill of the demon world.

After a few heartbeats the passage opened out, the walls to either side dissolving into a starry night sky. In the foreground a dozen stakes had been hammered into the earth in a rough semicircle, a shrunken head on top of each one. Farther away she could make out tall swaying grasses and a grove of trees lit by a flickering fire.

The Ken'dah Steppes.

She released her shadow-spell.
I made it.

“Welcome,” a man's voice said.

Parolla halted.

A figure stepped from the shadows to her right, a glint of silver at his brow that might have been a coronet. He moved to stand between Parolla and the rent. His features were hidden in darkness, except for his eyes, bloodred and unblinking.

“Lord Mezaqin,” Parolla said, struggling to keep her voice even. “I was wondering when you'd make an appearance.”

“Of course you were, my dear,” the demon lord's voice purred. “Would you have me believe, also, that you are pleased to see me?”

“I'm not so foolish as to think I could cross your realm uncontested,” she lied.

“And yet you were foolish enough to come back. Perhaps I didn't make myself clear when we last spoke.”

Parolla hesitated. Mezaqin's tone was good-humored, almost friendly. Was he as magnanimous as he seemed, or was he just taunting her? She needed more time to judge his mood. “I see you've taken human form to greet me,
sirrah,
as you did when we last met. Should I be honored?”

The demon lord shrugged. “I fear you might find my true form … disturbing.”

“How considerate. I think you overestimate my sensitivity, though. I am no longer the child I was eight years ago.”

“Your powers have grown,” Mezaqin conceded. He took a step forward. “But we are in
my
realm, lest you forget. Here, you are still as a child to me.”

Parolla swallowed. This was not going as she had hoped. “You misunderstand. My words were not meant as a threat.”

The demon lord sighed. “Parolla, Parolla, whatever am I to do with you? The last time you were here I set a dangerous precedent by allowing you to live. Now you take advantage of my restraint by testing it again.”

“I had no choice—”

“Your reasons for coming are irrelevant. The penalty for trespass is death, you know that.”

“Then why are we still talking?” Parolla retorted, her voice sharper than she intended.

Mezaqin chuckled, and the air within the cave shook. Parolla's blood stirred in response to her growing fear, and her vision darkened. She should strike! Now, before the demon lord raised his guard! Digging her fingernails into her palms, she fought back the rising swell of bloodlust. Mezaqin had yet to call on his power, and Parolla was not going to force his hand while his intentions remained unclear.

The demon lord glanced at the heads on the stakes. “Do you like my collection of trophies? A little crude perhaps, but it seems a reminder was needed of the welcome we give to uninvited guests. You are not, after all, the only one reckless enough to enter my realm of late.”

“I saw footprints on my way here,” Parolla said cautiously. “A giant and a fire-
magus
.”

“There have been others. People who should have known better. An Everlord. A Beloved of the White Lady. Even one of the Deliverers.” There was a hint of a smile in Mezaqin's voice. “As with you, the Deliverer's intrusion required my personal attention.”

“Did you ask him why?”

The demon lord turned his back on her and stared out over the Ken'dah Steppes. Parolla's gaze shifted to the fire in the distant grove of trees. If she could make it through the rent, the balance of power between herself and Mezaqin would shift. But then if the chance to escape truly existed, he would not have left it open to her.

In answer to Parolla's question the demon lord said, “Why the Deliverer risked coming here, you mean? I did not need to ask him. The threads of death-magic … I can sense them as well as you.” He paused. “Their touch is unsettling, yes?”

His admission left Parolla feeling strangely troubled. “What effect has the sorcery had on your realm,
sirrah
?”

“Little as yet, though the same cannot be said of
your
world. You will see what I mean when day dawns.”

Parolla raised an eyebrow.
Am I to live that long, then?
“And you fear the same will happen here?”

“I fear nothing,” Mezaqin said. He turned to face her again. “I may, however, be forced to act if the … contamination … persists. I will not tolerate any violation of my borders, whatever the source.”

“And what
is
the source?”

“You mean you don't know? Why, then, are you heading toward it?”

“Because I seek answers,” Parolla said. At her first encounter with Mezaqin she had told him of her quest to find a way into Shroud's realm. “The magic is death-aspected, is it not? Perhaps it is a portal to the underworld.”

Mezaqin was a long time in responding. “A portal,” he said. “You may be right.
Something
has been opened, of that I am sure.” His gaze bore into her. “Now it must be closed.”

The hordes above the mountains …
“Is that why your kin are gathering?”

The demon lord's eyes flashed. His form appeared to bulge and lose cohesion, and for an instant the starry sky behind him was blotted out. “Careful, my dear,” he said. “Your next shot might hit the mark.”