Black Magic (20 page)

The stone glowed, shimmered, bathing Brekk's dark skin in violet light. There was so much power in it that he was left hungry and aching. It reminded him too much of being a demon. He did not want those cravings to get the better of him ever again.

But he was severely depleted, and if he did not replenish himself soon the demon haze would begin to creep upon him again. He sighed, wishing for the thousandth time that he knew how to truly restore himself. To be free of the demon haze was not enough; if he remained a demon even the slightest bit he would never be anything, but Emel's dirty secret.

Neither of them wanted that—but Brekk had no idea how to change it.

Sighing, he went to his cupboard and pulled out the last of the food Emel had brought him some time ago. Yet another reason he wanted to be free: he wanted to stand on his own feet. He was not certain what he was anymore—some sad half-life between the demon he could not stop being and the human he longed to be.

He must have been human once, but he did not remember it. Brekk barely remembered anything before he began to fight as a young demon. He suspected he had been turned as a child, but had no way to be certain. The memories simply were not there, burned away in a demon haze.

Unable to bear his own depressing thoughts, Brekk ate quickly, then gathered up the sword and headed out, bound for the oak tree where his life had been saved and forever changed by a beautiful paladin.

Though he had not expected Emel to be there, disappointment rushed through him to see the clearing empty.

As he crossed the clearing, drawing closer to the oak tree that seemed to radiate its own sadness, the sword in his hand began to glow. Brekk frowned and stopped, staring at the glowing jewel set in the hilt. The whispers came again, as though the sword was desperate to tell him something, and a deep ache twisted in his chest.

The damned sword made him uncomfortable, but he could not seem to leave it alone.

What was wrong with him? He made a face, wondering if he was losing his mind. He was more than happy to let Emel have the sword back. It was clear from the way it kept reacting to him that it wanted no part of being held by a demon, even if its original owner had loved a demon. It was a paladin's sword, meant to slay demons. Hopefully Emel would visit him soon and Brekk could return the damned thing.

He turned to leave the clearing when the sword gave him another sharp jolt of power that seemed to settle in his chest, throb and pulse there. Brekk scowled, glared at it, and tried to leave again. But the further he got from the clearing, the more his chest hurt.

Sighing, he turned back around and reentered the clearing … and after a few steps he realized the sword was urging him closer to the tree. As he reached it, the pain in his chest eased. Brekk gripped the sword in his right hand and reached out with his left to touch the tree.

He hissed, surprised, as emotions and images flooded his mind.

Ambrose tasted like honey; he was shockingly warm against the miserable winter, the snow that came near to Rakken's hips. It had taken him an age to clear enough of it away from the oak so that they could sit with relative comfort beneath it. "Ambrose …"

"I've missed you," Ambrose whispered. "I did not think I would ever escape. Levent granted me leave to go home for five days."

The words sent joy coursing through Rakken, that he would have Ambrose to himself for five whole days. So far from the royal castle, on the far side of the royal wood, no one would bother them. No one ever bothered them. The clearing with the oak and the creek was their place. Where he had fought and lost to the fiercest and yet most naïve paladin he had ever encountered. Ambrose's light had blazed through his haze, burned away his rage, replaced all of it with himself.

"I wish the day might come when you did not have to sneak away to see me," Rakken said as he pushed Ambrose down into the bed he had made of blankets and his own cloak, hiding them from the bitter wind with his great wings. "That we could just be."

"Me, too," Ambrose whispered before drawing him down into a long kiss.

Brekk tore away with a rough sound, moving to the creek and sitting before it, dropping the sword at his side to bury his face in his hands. Emel had said that it had happened before, but Brekk had not really believed him.

What had Emel said about them? That Ambrose had been burned at the stake. He wondered what the paladins had done to poor Rakken. Killed him, obviously, but Brekk could only imagine what sort of death had been given to a demon who dared to violate one of the Goddess' precious paladins.

His stomach churned at the thought. Shivering, Brekk retrieved the sword and stood up—and froze when an arrow came through the canopy and landed in the grass on the other side of the creek. Emel. Leaping neatly across the creek, Brekk pulled the arrow from the ground and scowled at the three notches on the shaft. Emel was leaving and would be gone for some time. If he was sending an arrow, then he was too busy or in too much of a hurry to find a chance to slip away. There was no telling when Brekk would see him again. Damn.

He broke the arrow in half and threw the pieces in the creek, then left the clearing to return to his cabin.

After Emel's message, the cabin seemed all the more desolate. Brekk weighed the merits of staying put versus going after Emel. He was certainly better equipped to fight those horrific demons, but his presence put Emel at risk because Emel would not hesitate to save him if Brekk came to real harm.

He would not risk his lover's life simply to be close to him.

Sighing, Brekk stowed the sword safely away in a hidden space beneath the floorboards by his bed, then added more wood to the fire before crawling into bed. Reaching beneath his pillow, he pulled out the necklace that Emel had let him keep so long ago—a purple blossom made of silver and colored glass on a gold chain. A gift from a grateful woman, Emel said, but not something he was inclined to actually wear himself.

He'd laughed, sweet and fond, when Brekk had become completely enamored of the trinket. Holding the necklace in his fist, ignoring the gnawing hunger for energy and the far deeper ache of longing for his lover, Brekk curled his wings around himself, closed his eyes, and willed himself to sleep.

Koray stood on the battlements staring pensively at the distant woods and the glittering starlight slowly winking into being as the sky steadily darkened.

He had thought, back in the heat of battle, that he'd been mistaken. But catching Emel firing an arrow from the back of the castle where he had clearly hoped to go unobserved confirmed Koray had not been mistaken in the slightest.

The only remaining problem was figuring out what he was supposed to do with his discovery.

He briefly considered going to Sorin, but after pondering that, discarded the notion. Sorin was many things, but tolerant of what Koray suspected was not likely. Not immediately, anyway, the stubborn fool.

Thoughts of Sorin compelled him to turn to look down from the battlements into the inner ward, where Sorin was speaking with a cluster of paladins, laughing at something one of them said. Given how focused he had been upon Sorin during the fight, Koray was impressed he had noticed anything else at all.

What was he going to do? What should he do? If he was mistaken in what he had seen …

But he wasn't, he couldn't be, not when his head felt like someone had driven a dagger into it from the force of the Goddess' guidance.

Koray froze in surprise when Sorin abruptly looked up at him, scowling when Sorin smiled. His mind went, wholly without permission, to every kiss exchanged between them, and he felt a growing desire to do a great deal more than kiss. But what did he know of such matters?

Quick on the tail of that thought was the sour supposition that Sorin probably knew a great deal of such matters, and Koray would wind up just one more name on the High Paladin's list of conquests when the novelty of bedding a necromancer burned out. It was not a situation he had ever anticipated finding himself in, and Koray found he had no taste for it. Life had been much simpler when he was just one more necromancer going about his lonely work. Even ghosts were far less aggravating company than one infuriatingly fascinating high paladin.

Movement from the corner of his eye caught Koray's attention, and he gladly turned toward the distraction—surprised that it was the alchemist who walked toward him. The paladins patrolling the battlements gave them both strange looks, but left them alone.

"Good evening," the alchemist greeted in a tone of voice that reminded Koray of the necromancer who had trained him. Always so calm, so steady, Koray had very rarely heard his voice raised in anger or even relaxed.

The alchemist … what was his name? Nei … Neikirk, that was it. "Good evening," Koray replied. "Did you require something?"

"Were you watching for that demon that helped fight the white ones?" Neikirk asked. "I have never seen a demon fight with paladins before. It was quite unusual. Has such a thing ever occurred before here in Vindeia? His energies were peculiar, not as muddied as is typical with demons."

"You're very observant," Koray replied. "How did you note so much in the heat of a battle?"

Neikirk lightly touched the corner of his right eye and replied, "I am used to taking in a great deal of information. I constantly see the energies of everything, unless I cover my eye with a patch to find relief. And as I said, it was unusual—unheard of, I would theorize. The demon and his actions stood out even in the middle of that fight."

"Definitely unheard of," Koray said. "Demons feed on humans and they hate paladins. I have never heard tell of a demon siding with humans, except in the tale of the Lost Paladin. I'm sure the high priest could tell you that tale; I still do not know all of it myself. But we found his sword a few weeks ago, and Emel had kept it close—until tonight. Apparently it was carried off by one of the white demons."

"I would have liked to have seen this sword."

Koray shrugged. "It may yet find its way back to us." He stared at Neikirk, that glowing violet eye. "What spell gave you that eye?"

"I do not know it well enough to recite it, but I have it written down in one of my books. I would be happy to show it to you, if you'd like."

Nodding, Koray said, "I'd like that. Perhaps at breakfast tomorrow?"

"Yes, I will bring it." Neikirk gestured to the ward, where Sorin was walking toward them. "I think your presence is desired by your lover."

Koray scowled at that. "He is not my lover."

Neikirk gave him a faintly puzzled look, but before Koray could say anything further, Sorin reached the wall and cried up to them, "Get down here, necromancer! Supper is waiting and I know for a fact you're ready to fall over from banishing all those ghosts."

"Do go away, My Lord High Nanny," Koray snapped.

Sorin just grinned. "Get down here, or I'll come up there."

Huffing in irritation, Koray gathered up the folds of his robes and stormed to the stairs and then down them. He knocked away the arm that Sorin extended, then looked up to where Neikirk still stood on the battlement. "Goodnight, alchemist."

"Yes, goodnight," Sorin called. "And welcome to the royal castle of Vindeia."

Neikirk waved goodnight, and Koray strode off ahead of Sorin, heading for Sorin's room. At some point, all his belongings had been moved back into Sorin's room, even his shelves and books. Koray had almost protested, but he was so confused by the entire situation—High Necromancer, enough belongings he could fill a trunk, being given responsibilities, and those damned kisses—that it was easier to stay quiet and hope nothing happened to take it all away.

And, if he were honest with himself, he liked sharing space with Sorin. Far beyond the warmth of Sorin's paladin nature, even beyond the kisses—the man drove him to madness and needed his tongue removed, but Koray liked him anyway.

He absolutely dreaded the day his novelty wore off and Sorin dismissed, and he hated himself for caring about it.

The smell of food and wine made his stomach rumble, distracting him, and he wasted no time settling into his seat and helping himself. Sorin sat across from him and ate in silence as well until they both slowed down and settled for sips and nibbles.

"Have you ever known a demon to help before?" Koray finally asked.

"No," Sorin said. "It troubles me that one did—that something has gone so wrong that demons would tolerate us enough to kill those white ones. I hope Emel and the others are able to obtain answers from Navath."

"Maybe there's a chance not all demons are evil," Koray replied. "I mean the sword of the Lost Paladin is proof that there was once a paladin who loved a demon."

Sorin lifted one shoulder. "We know the Lost Paladin believed himself in love—"

Koray slammed his hands down on the table. "You cannot believe that it was a mistake. The Goddess herself has made it clear they loved one another. The anguish in that sword is not of someone who believed he was in love. It is the pain of someone who was in love and had that love denied him. You know it."

"I know what demons are capable of," Sorin replied flatly. "I've watched them tear men and women and children apart. I've seen them beat and break and rape. Demons are lost to a mindless craving for power, a hunger that never eases. If it is possible for a demon to come out of that, it will take more to convince me than a sword and one demon fighting against worse demons. You saw for yourself on that farm that, scared or not, demons acted like demons."

"You're a paladin, you should—"

"I should what? Go soft?" Sorin shook his head curtly. "That is not why I am High Paladin. I am the Goddess' war avatar, her voice in battle. I ever pray there will come a day when such as me are no longer needed, but that day is not coming any time soon."

Koray wanted to throw something at his head. "Why are you being so stubborn about this? You've touched the sword. You saw that demon today. That must mean there is a chance circumstances can change—are maybe even on the verge of changing."