The Demon had stopped fighting now, and hung in the sky, a burning ember, its wings skeletal, its body ash and bones. But the moment the strange burning spell was lifted, it would begin to heal, and in moments it would be whole—and more savage than before.
Wirance waited for the instant the light of the burning spell flickered out, then struck with his own. This time it held: the Demon’s body fell to the ground, surrounded by a white glow of Restraint.
“Quickly!” Wirance shouted, his voice harsh. “I cannot hold this spell for long!”
Kardus lunged forward, the rope of unicorn hair in his hands. He fell to his knees, looping it about the Demon’s neck, and jerked it tight. The seared Demonflesh crackled as the unicorn hair burned through it, shearing through the neck and windpipe, and with a crack the head rolled free.
A moment later, the whole body dissolved into ash, and began to swirl away in the water.
Silence.
A terrible, heavy silence.
“Is it dead?” someone asked hoarsely.
“Yes,” Kardus said, lunging awkwardly to his feet. “The Demon is dead.”
Then the moaning, the weeping, the agonized cries for help began.
Wirance looked around. The village square resembled nothing so much as a slaughtering pen. In the cold, steam rose from the shattered bodies of the living and the cooling bodies of the dead, and the air was filled with smoke. He looked at Kardus. “We both have much work to do here. But we had best go find the boy first.”
“His name is Cilarnen,” Kardus said. “He is my Task.”
Chapter Fifteen
At the Siege of Stonehearth
CILARNEN HAD NOT gone far. He was too weak to stand, but he had crawled back around the corner of the building and was curled up against it, trying to shut out the sobbing and groans of the wounded. His eyes streamed tears. But he was not weeping. No, not he. Surely.
“Cilarnen,” Wirance said, squatting down beside him, “are you hurt?”
“It thought I was Kellen, you see,” Cilarnen explained—reasonably, he thought. “And then it realized I wasn’t. So it killed everybody. It tried to kill me first, but I still had my Gift. Lord Anigrel was supposed to take it, but he didn’t. That was wrong of him, wasn’t it? They’re supposed to take your Gift when they Banish you.”
“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kardus said gently. “We know who Kellen Wildmage is. Kellen came from Armethalieh. Did you come from Armethalieh too?”
“Yes,” Cilarnen said, sitting back and looking up at the two Wildmages. “I’m a Mage of Armethalieh. I was, anyway. An Entered Apprentice.”
“And you used your Armethaliehan magic on the Demon?” Wirance asked.
“I used Fire,” Cilarnen said, his voice thick with exhaustion, and with what was certainly not weeping. It was hard to form words. But now—now his vision was clearing at last, and—he was tired. So tired. He couldn’t even think, he was so tired. All he wanted to do was sleep. “Even an Apprentice can do that.”
“I know nothing of Armethaliehan magic. How do you pay for your spells?” Wirance asked. ,
Cilarnen stared at him in utterly exhausted irritation. There must be a thousand things that needed doing right now. Why was this man sitting here with him asking how the High Magick worked?
“Pay? You don’t ‘pay’ for spells in the High Magick.” Something occurred to him in the back of his mind, something about the Talismans, but the thought flew away and escaped him.
“All magic has a price, young Apprentice, and woe to your teachers that they did not teach you this. You have paid dearly for the spell you cast today, and now you must rest,” Wirance said.
He put an arm under Cilarnen’s shoulders, and lifted him to his feet. Cilarnen staggered, the world reeling greyly around him. Despite himself, he clutched at Wirance for support.
“It is as I said,” Wirance said implacably.
Suddenly arguing with Wirance didn’t seem worthwhile any longer.
“I will take him to a place where he may rest, then return to aid you,” Kardus said, putting his arm around Cilarnen. Cilarnen leaned against the Centaur gratefully.
To his relief, they did not return to the square, but went back along the same back street he’d gone down not so long before. Kardus seemed to know Stonehearth as well as Cilarnen did.
When they reached the place where Cilarnen had encountered the Demon, he flinched, as if it somehow might still be here.
“It was here,” Cilarnen said shakily. “It looked human.”
“They can appear in any guise they choose,” Kardus said.
Suddenly the Demon’s words came back to him, as if he were hearing them at that very moment. Not the part about Kellen. That was Kellen’s problem— and if Kellen really was a Wildmage, he wouldn’t care if Lycaelon had supplanted him or not. But the rest:
And daily our foothold in the City grows stronger…
Were there Demons in the City?
“Wait—wait!” Cilarnen gasped. “It told me—it said—when it thought I was Kellen—that the Demons have a foothold in the City—in Armethalieh. I’ve got to tell…”
Who? Who could he tell? He couldn’t return to the City. He probably couldn’t even cross the Border and live.
“I’ve got to tell someone,” Cilarnen said desperately.
“Indeed you must,” Kardus agreed. “You must tell Kellen Wildmage, for he makes war against the Demons, and if there are Demons in Armethalieh, he will make war against them as well. It is my Task to bring you to him, but we will speak further of that when you are rested.”
—«♦»—
KARDUS took him to the stables, not to Grander’s house, but Cilarnen was so exhausted he didn’t think to question it. He took a horse blanket and curled up in an unused stall, and was asleep before Kardus had left the stables.
When he woke again it was dark, and the stillness in the air told him it was snowing. There was no light in the stable, but he knew his way around it by touch after so long, and groped his way to the lantern and tinderbox.
He was reaching for the flint and steel when he realized he would never need them again. He concentrated, and the lantern bloomed into light.
He felt dizzy for a moment, and shrugged it off, closing the lantern door and watching the small flame steady to brightness. His momentary weakness didn’t matter. What mattered was why he should be able to do this at all—or should have been able to cast the Mageshield that had saved his life when the Demon had first attacked him. His Gift should be gone, burned from his brain.