James West - Shadow and Steel

The blade struck true, sinking deep into the Faceless One’s heart … and passed through him.

“No,” Leitos breathed.

The Faceless One fingered the spot where the dagger had pierced him, and Leitos fled. Roaring hateful mirth, the Faceless One ordered his minions to join the hunt.

After hiding the bulk of his warriors around the entrance of the Throat of Balaam, Damoc strode into the chill light, following two sets of muddy tracks. One set he knew as well as his own, the other belonging to the outlander. He still could not understand why Belina had brought Leitos here. Surely no good could come of it.

Nola and a handful of others, all armed with bows and swords, guarded his flanks. Washed in the haunting radiance, their mottled garb served poorly to conceal them.

“Do not hesitate to cut down any Fauthian or Alon’mahk’lar we see,” Damoc told them. Of demonic spirits, neither he nor his people feared their touch. At worst, such were a nuisance, although he had heard it told that other peoples did not fare so well against Mahk’lar. In all the Great Councils, no one had been able to explain why the Yatoans could resist being taken by spirits. In the end, it was a small advantage.

“What of Na’mihn’teghul?” Nola asked. “Is it still your wish to capture any young ones we find?”

Damoc considered that decree, born of a secret and now forsaken desire to redeem his eldest daughter. His deeper hope was that his people could, perhaps, change the nature of one of those fell creatures, and turn its loyalties against the Fauthians. Or, at the least, use it to crush the sea-wolves who hunted the Isles of Yato. While he knew he could never fully trust such an abomination, it seemed well worth the risks to utilize such a living weapon. If it were not for Belina, who he was sure waited somewhere up ahead, he would have allowed the capture of any and all changelings they came across. But not this night.

“The time for taking captives is for later,” he advised. “Retrieving Belina and killing Leitos is our only purpose.”

“Had Belina not stopped me,” Nola said, “I would have cut his throat when we found him.” She searched the empty corridor. Only Damoc among his party had ever entered this domain, and his daughter’s apprehension mirrored that of the others.

“Do not fret over that,” Damoc said in a placating tone, sensing his daughter’s coming words before she spoke them.

“When this is over, we must confront Belina. Her decision to betray our trust has endangered the clan, perhaps all Yatoans.”

The warriors around them gave the pretense of ignoring the conversation, but Damoc knew they sided with Nola.

“She did not betray us,” Damoc said firmly. “She made a mistake, much as Robis blundered in heeding her.”

“And how many such mistakes will you allow her to make, before you enforce our laws?”

He dragged her close. “You are speaking of your sister,” he said against her ear. Nola tried to pull away, and though she was strong, he was stronger. “Trust that I will deal with Belina. Not you, not anyone else. And before you think to pass further judgments, remember that she is your sister-a sister who has, time and again, ensured your safety, when others would have left you in the hands of our enemies.”

“She has saved me, but only as I have saved her, on occasion. Past good deeds cannot erase present wrongdoing.”

“We will speak of this later,” Damoc growled. “For now, concentrate on our task.” Only after Nola nodded agreement, did he release her, and set out ahead of his clan.

As time had seemed to slow when first he had ventured into the Throat, it did so now. They had passed what he judged was the midway point, when a brief rumble filled the corridor, fading slowly.

Damoc signaled a halt, sure that buried under that noise he had heard a voice. When the silence persisted, he waved them forward.

The first time he journeyed into the Throat of Balaam, he had been searching for his eldest daughter. He found instead a breeding ground at the corridor’s end, a place rife with demonic spirits, Alon’mahk’lar, and fires spread across a seemingly infinite plane. Countless women and older girls had been held captive by invisible bonds across that endless expanse. All had been stripped bare, and they had gazed about with deluded, lustful eyes….

A night had not passed since that he did not relive the horror of those wanton expressions, or the dismay and revulsion he had felt upon witnessing the captives crying out for the brutal touch of Alon’mahk’lar. At the center of all that ruthless madness, the Fauthians and the Faceless One had overseen the loathsome ritual.

Remembering filled him with fresh fear. He could not let that happen again, not to anyone, and not to Belina. Damoc sped up until he was running.

The rumbling came again, and this time Damoc was sure he heard words. A moment later, a feminine scream raced down the corridor to meet them, and knew her voice as he knew his own.

“Belina!” he bellowed.

No answer came.

He and the others flew down the corridor.

Moments later, a figure appeared far ahead, running toward them. Damoc halted everyone with a warning shout. Movement to one side drew his eye, and he found one of his men raising a bow and drawing back the string.

“Hold, Kasem!”

The man cast him a confused look.

“It may be Belina,” Damoc explained, and noticed that Kasem’s eyes flicker toward Nola, before he grudgingly lowered his weapon. When Damoc glanced her way, Nola stood peering down the corridor, as if she had noticed nothing. The downturned corners of her mouth told a different story.

“Father,” Belina cried, sliding to a stop. “The Faceless One has Leitos!”

Damoc, blinking back tears of relief, tried to embrace his daughter, but she pushed him away. “There is no time. We must save him!”

He despised her senseless devotion to the youth. When he spoke, that hatred burst out. “Cease this deluded nonsense! We did not come for an outlander who has chosen to cast his lot with the Fauthians. We came for you.”

“He is not one of them,” Belina insisted, putting a pace between them. “It is as I have always told, he came to destroy the Faceless One!”

“The Faceless One cannot be killed,” Damoc scoffed.

“I told him as much, but he refused to listen. Believe me, his loathing for our enemies is as strong as our own. In that, he is an ally-but also a fool who believes he can defeat the Bane of Creation, by himself. Please believe me, if only this once. We must help him.”

“No,” Damoc said, refusing to acknowledge the nagging in the back of his mind that told him his refusal was a grave error. “We must leave.”

“I will not,” Belina said defiantly.

“You will heed me, child. One way or another.” As he spoke, he searched the faces of his companions for support, and found one face missing. His heart became a frozen lump in his chest. In a croaking voice, he asked, “Where is my daughter?”

Feet shifted uncomfortably, but no response came. But he knew the answer. All eyes turned to look down the corridor, just as Nola vanished into the cold burning light of the Throat of Balaam.

“No!” Damoc called, but it was too late.

Nola had not come to rescue her sister, but to hunt.

Adham looked at his hand, moved his fingers. Not long before, that hand had rested a foot from the stump of his wrist. After Adu’lin had chopped off the appendage, he had healed him the same way he had healed Ke’uld’s leg. “Only to gain favor of the Lord of Light and Shadow, do I do this,” he had said.

It sounded like a favor Adham wanted no part of.