Diana Rowland - Touch of the Demon

“Juntihr, seek interlopers and warding,” Mzatal said to the reyza I didn’t know, voice focused and intense. “Idris, you know what to do, but—” He paused, frowned. “Add an additional layer. Double the pattern.”

Juntihr snorted assent and leaped into the air with a bellow. Idris’s brow furrowed with a quizzical look as though considering the implications. A second later he gave a sharp nod, likely having analyzed the possibilities in the time it took me simply to register the statement. With total focus suffusing his face, as if slipping into a second skin that fit better than his own, he turned and loped off down the path toward the passage. The zhurn scuttled on in Idris’s wake and the kehza took flight, heading up and over the palace. Safar and Ilana paced us some distance behind.

Mzatal and I followed Idris in comfortable introspective silence, stopping only to close and ward the doors behind us. It wouldn’t stop Rhyzkahl, but it would delay him or encourage him to flank the palace. Either way, it bought a little time.

We exited the passage into the overgrown tangle of the courtyard proper. Nothing had changed, yet it felt as if every thing had changed. The raised circle of stone with its enigmatic eleven columns still stood among sorely neglected pathways and flower beds. The wings of the palace still angled off to the east and west. But me? I couldn’t even begin to quantify the changes in me since I’d last stood here. Blatant rape of naïve innocence tended to shake things up a bit.

Letting my cop-senses assess the area, I released Mzatal’s hand and headed toward the columned pavilion. I wasn’t the best tactician by any stretch, but it wasn’t tough to figure out that the pavilion was horribly indefensible except with the arcane.

Uneasy, I scanned the area, then looked back toward Mzatal. “Can you ask Safar to station himself on the tower there?” I asked, gesturing to a section of the palace above the arched passage that offered a good view of the grove on the other side. He nodded and turned to give the instructions while I continued on to the pavilion. Idris was already there, laying out the initial diagram. I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling, but doing something would help. I’d spent the last couple of weeks learning everything I needed to know about my part, and now it was show time.

“Watch out, dude,” I called out to Idris, “I’m coming in.”

He grinned and gave me a look of mock horror before slipping back into total focus. “Mzatal wants the patterns double-layered to amplify the resonance,” Idris said without a hitch in his flow of tracing. “That doesn’t change anything in the initial set-up, but when we start on the overlay, you’ll have to feel into it to get the two layers to mesh.”

I gave him a nod. “I can totally do that.” Creating the sigils by feel for the recovery of Gestamar last night had skyrocketed my confidence in my intuitive ability. I began to work the opposite side of the pattern from Idris, delighted at how smoothly the tracings flowed. All that practice with Mzatal this morning , I thought with amusement.

The main ritual pattern dominated the circle of stone, reaching almost to the columns themselves. With the double layer, it pulsed in multicolored beauty at about chest-level, quiescent sigils shifting subtly, primed and ready for ignition. Once we’d checked it over for continuity, Idris gave me a grin and thumbs up then moved out to his designated place about halfway between the pavilion and arched passage. I wasn’t keen on him being exposed like that, but it was the right place for the damn support diagram.

After a brief assessment, Idris traced a compact pattern and ignited it. With an impressive burst of heat that stirred my hair even twenty yards away, he seared a neat circle in the overgrowth, efficiently clearing the ground for his patterns. Damn, the dude had skill.

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.