Diana Rowland - Touch of the Demon

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 for the lords’ approach.

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.