invading the chamber of a mad Derzhi prince voluntarily?”
I glanced up at his face again and recognized the flash of wry self-knowledge I had observed in him as I wrote letters in his map room. And so I answered a simple truth. “Even that.”
I expected that to be the end of it. He would either have me beaten for insolence, or dismiss me as a mad barbarian who claimed that soldiers’ legends were real. But instead, he reached for a bottle on a low table and poured himself a glass of wine, then leaned back on his cushions as if it were not three hours past midnight. “So you’re saying that the rai-kirah are more than legend? Next thing you’ll be telling me that I have a guardian spirit who rides at my side to protect me from dishonor.”
Now I had begun, I couldn’t figure out how to retreat. “I know nothing of guardian spirits. But demons are quite real.”
“Go on.”
“They come from the frozen lands of the farthest north, seeking a warm haven ... a vessel ... a human who will satisfy their hunger. Often they just devour the vessel and move on, but their power and intelligence grow when they find a welcoming host, one who’ll feed them more of what they desire. They are as real as you are, my lord.”
“But I can be seen and touched. I don’t believe in anything I can’t see.”
This needed no answer. It would have been a logical place to end the strange conversation. Yet it came to me that there could be value in telling a little more. If the Khelid was set on tormenting a Derzhi prince, there was little I could do about it. I was no longer capable of facing a demon. But if I could make Aleksander wary, then perhaps his mistrust and his innate strength would tire the demon or its host and make them go elsewhere ... away from me. I could not afford to be taken by a rai-kirah. I knew too much ... a great deal too much ... that they must never learn. And so I continued.
“They are as real as the sunlight, which you cannot hold in your hand, yet changes the very aspect of the land, making it lush and fertile or a desolate wasteland. They are as real as truth and honor, which you cannot see yet alter the very essence of a man. They are like moths, drawn, not to light, but to power and fear and unholy death.”
He listened carefully as I spoke, but shook his head after. “So some invisible demon has sent me an enchanted seal by the hand of a Khelid emissary? I think your head is more injured than you believe.”
I could feel the distance between us, bridged so unexpectedly by the touch of his hand and his probing questions, grow vast once again, and his thoughts settle into the usual Derzhi views of “Ezzarian superstition.” We called it melydda—greater power; true sorcery as opposed to the illusion and trickery practiced by Derzhi magicians. But it was not only skepticism I felt from the Prince. He was disappointed. He had wanted more from me than fanciful tales he could not believe. The event had frightened him, though I was sure that particular word had never come to his mind, and he needed some kind of reassurance. I sighed. As long as I had come so far, I might as well tell him the meat of it.
“No, my lord. The Khelid carries the demon.”
He burst out laughing. “Now you’ve done it. I have no love for this Korelyi. He is sly and ambitious and oversteps his welcome, which is not a long step, since I had no wish for him to come. But he is no supernatural soul-eater. Tell me a better story.”
Enough was enough. I would not dredge up the past for the Prince of the Derzhi. I would not tell him how I knew what I knew, or how I could recognize a demon, or anything else he might consider a “better story.” I would not trust him with any more of myself than he already owned.
“I cannot prove this to you, my lord, nor can I guess why the Khelid sought to afflict you with the enchantment. The demon has no purpose of its own save to satisfy its lust. It is the vessel that gives
I glanced up at his face again and recognized the flash of wry self-knowledge I had observed in him as I wrote letters in his map room. And so I answered a simple truth. “Even that.”
I expected that to be the end of it. He would either have me beaten for insolence, or dismiss me as a mad barbarian who claimed that soldiers’ legends were real. But instead, he reached for a bottle on a low table and poured himself a glass of wine, then leaned back on his cushions as if it were not three hours past midnight. “So you’re saying that the rai-kirah are more than legend? Next thing you’ll be telling me that I have a guardian spirit who rides at my side to protect me from dishonor.”
Now I had begun, I couldn’t figure out how to retreat. “I know nothing of guardian spirits. But demons are quite real.”
“Go on.”
“They come from the frozen lands of the farthest north, seeking a warm haven ... a vessel ... a human who will satisfy their hunger. Often they just devour the vessel and move on, but their power and intelligence grow when they find a welcoming host, one who’ll feed them more of what they desire. They are as real as you are, my lord.”
“But I can be seen and touched. I don’t believe in anything I can’t see.”
This needed no answer. It would have been a logical place to end the strange conversation. Yet it came to me that there could be value in telling a little more. If the Khelid was set on tormenting a Derzhi prince, there was little I could do about it. I was no longer capable of facing a demon. But if I could make Aleksander wary, then perhaps his mistrust and his innate strength would tire the demon or its host and make them go elsewhere ... away from me. I could not afford to be taken by a rai-kirah. I knew too much ... a great deal too much ... that they must never learn. And so I continued.
“They are as real as the sunlight, which you cannot hold in your hand, yet changes the very aspect of the land, making it lush and fertile or a desolate wasteland. They are as real as truth and honor, which you cannot see yet alter the very essence of a man. They are like moths, drawn, not to light, but to power and fear and unholy death.”
He listened carefully as I spoke, but shook his head after. “So some invisible demon has sent me an enchanted seal by the hand of a Khelid emissary? I think your head is more injured than you believe.”
I could feel the distance between us, bridged so unexpectedly by the touch of his hand and his probing questions, grow vast once again, and his thoughts settle into the usual Derzhi views of “Ezzarian superstition.” We called it melydda—greater power; true sorcery as opposed to the illusion and trickery practiced by Derzhi magicians. But it was not only skepticism I felt from the Prince. He was disappointed. He had wanted more from me than fanciful tales he could not believe. The event had frightened him, though I was sure that particular word had never come to his mind, and he needed some kind of reassurance. I sighed. As long as I had come so far, I might as well tell him the meat of it.
“No, my lord. The Khelid carries the demon.”
He burst out laughing. “Now you’ve done it. I have no love for this Korelyi. He is sly and ambitious and oversteps his welcome, which is not a long step, since I had no wish for him to come. But he is no supernatural soul-eater. Tell me a better story.”
Enough was enough. I would not dredge up the past for the Prince of the Derzhi. I would not tell him how I knew what I knew, or how I could recognize a demon, or anything else he might consider a “better story.” I would not trust him with any more of myself than he already owned.
“I cannot prove this to you, my lord, nor can I guess why the Khelid sought to afflict you with the enchantment. The demon has no purpose of its own save to satisfy its lust. It is the vessel that gives
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