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Oct. 31st, 2006 06:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrTwo years running now, my halloweens have been a living fucking hell. There was seriously several times today where I just wanted to burst into tears...or kill someone...
Anyway.
May yet have some sort of drabble, but in the mean time, how about the rough for a chunk of the last part of BM? All mistakes are mine, as Goblin has not yet had a chance to make corrrections to Zaede ^^;; Who remains fun to steal and play with. Much love to tygati for already fixing a great many errors.
Happy Halloween. To all fellow nano nuts, good luck and have fun <3
I. The Dark Paladin
Sorin stifled a yawn as he led the way down the hall to Cerant’s room. He suspected that even after he was crowned King, Cerant would insist on keeping his own rooms. Privately Sorin had always believed that Cerant would make the better King…though he wished the price had not been two murders. At least two murders. If a man could kill two people, he could kill more. The thought made him more tired than ever.
Gentle warmth spread through him, the soothing touch of the Goddess comforting, calming.
“What happened?” Koray asked beside him. Sorin resisted the urge to touch him, knowing Koray would just protest and draw back into his dratted hood. For reasons unknown, he’d largely given up wearing it while in the palace. Sorin did not want to be the reason he stopped. He liked seeing Koray, the way his strange, beautiful hair spilled over his shoulders…
Irritably he shook his head. He had more important things to think about than how much he’d like to touch Koray – though that definitely would require some serious thinking later. “I wish I could tell you,” he said with a sigh. “Rofell escaped, we know not how, and while he was attempting to steal the sword from the treasury a demon nearly killed Neikirk.”
“The sword?” Koray asked, glowering at the floor as he thought. “What sword?”
“Nothing that would matter to a skeleton,” Zaede said as he abruptly joined them, spilling in from a smaller hallway.
“Zaede,” Sorin said quietly. He was grateful when his oldest friend subsided. A moment later they reached the end of the hall and Sorin rapped on the door. It was opened almost a minute later by Cerant, who looked rather more cheerful than Sorin thought he should. “Highness,” he greeted, ignoring Zaede’s contemptuous snort. He shot the other Paladin a look and then led the way into Cerant’s rooms.
Cerant motioned for them to sit, resuming his own seat next to Neikirk. “Do we know anything?”
“That the dungeon leaves much to be desired?” Zaede asked.
Sorin rolled his eyes. “I could understand Rofell wanting his ruby back – except he did not try to get the ruby. That was left to the demon. Why would they care about the sword?”
“Master,” Neikirk said, his voice calm and level – even when he’d been nearly killed by a demon, Sorin did not remember that tone faltering over much. The alchemist could give priests lessons in how to appear humble and devoted…though he thought the devotion Neikirk showed Cerant was perhaps not quite what priests should be showing their Goddess. “What is this sword?”
If Sorin had any trace of a good mood remaining, it vanished at the mention of the sword. That Zaede and Cerant looked equally unhappy was poor consolation for dredging up a story that haunted the paladins and priests no matter how many years passed.
Cerant sighed softly. “As I said before, it is an unhappy story. Centuries ago, when my ancestors lived in the old palace, there was a Paladin…” He broke off, grimacing.
“He turned,” Zaede said flatly.
“That is certainly how it seemed,” Cerant said quietly, “until too late. All that remains now is the sword.” He smiled faintly at the confused look on Neikirk’s face. “It’s a sad story, my dear, and one of which we know very little. A Paladin was seduced by a demon and turned to their side. As he died, however, the Goddess’s wrath and anguish consumed all who witnessed it…and when the fires were finally put out, all that remained was a single sword.”
Zaede shifted impatiently. “If you want to tell foolish legends, do it later. We have more important matters to discuss.”
“Yes,” Sorin said dryly. “Such as how we have no idea what is going on. We need a great deal more information than we currently possess.”
“We also need to find my brother,” Cerant said. “Clearly he has joined with the demons, which means he is probably headed north. Sorin, if you have not already done so, send out word to the Paladins in those provinces – all provinces I guess – of what has transpired. Tell them to be especially cautious, as Rofell is in league with the demons.” He sighed, hand sliding almost absently into Neikirk’s. “The last time one of the Goddess’s children joined the demons…”
Sorin nodded. “Word has been sent.”
“Which reminds me that we need to know how a demon was able to get into the castle, with none of my priests or knights aware of it. If they are able now to avoid detection…” Cerant didn’t finish the sentence.
“A demon was here?” Koray asked softly. “What happened to it?”
“I killed it,” Sorin said, and glanced briefly at Neikirk, “after Neikirk hit it hard with a devastating spell.”
“Lightning incantation,” Neikirk said. “War alchemists claim they are most effective.”
“It cooked him quite nicely,” Zaede said.
“So the power of the Goddess was not required to kill him?” Koray asked.
“No…” Sorin said slowly. “Why?”
“Then there may be a chance…” Koray’s words were barely audible as he abruptly stood and strode from the room. He stopped at the door and turned sharply back around, long hair flying about. “Where did you kill it?”
Neikirk told him, and Koray was gone.
Sorin stood up, glaring at the absent necromancer. “I’m going to wring his neck.”
“I’ll help,” Zaede said cheerfully.
“Don’t touch him,” Sorin retorted. Then he turned and chased after Koray.
He caught up with him in the hallway where the demon had died. “What are you doing?”
Koray didn’t answer, but he didn’t really need to. The fact that he was drawing out myrrh was answer enough. Sorin felt a cold chill, and the sudden ache in his chest was far from reassuring. “Koray, are you certain this is a good idea?”
“I’m certain it’s none of your concern,” Koray retorted.
Sorin stifled a sigh. Of course he would choose a thorny necromancer to grow fond of. The gentle fluttering in his chest told him that the Goddess was amused, and a reluctant smile tugged at his lips.
It vanished as Koray started setting out sticks of incense in what Sorin realized formed the points of the Goddess’s star. Once more it was made clear that necromancers were not reviled practioners of black magic as had always been believed.
“Is that really necessary?” Sorin asked, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, a tightening in his chest – whatever was about to happen, the Goddess wanted him to be alert.
Koray was prevented from replying as the others appeared. Sorin shot Zaede a look, and the other Paladin nodded minutely though he did not look pleased – even at the worst of times, Zaede could find something inappropriate to say.
“What are you doing?” Cerant asked.
“I am going to obtain answers,” Koray said shortly. “Do not speak. Do not interfere.” For a single brief moment, a too familiar sorrow flickered across his face. Sorin ached to soothe it, but he knew that right now, especially with other people around, Koray would only reject him. “Do not in any way break my concentration. Doing so will result in at least my death.”
Sorin shook his head. “No way. You’re not doing this.”
“It is not for you to say,” Koray snapped. “I am a necromancer. The ghost of the demon could hold answers.” He glared at Sorin, pale gray eyes fierce. “You would not prevent a soldier from doing what is necessary; do not stop me.”
To that, Sorin could make no reply. “Is there any way I can help?”
Koray ignored him. He rolled up the sleeves of his robes, binding them up out of his way. Sorin looked unhappily at the multitude of scars running the length of them, and wondered how many times Koray had cut himself in the course of his work. He tightened his hands into fists, and wondered when he’d started to care this much about Koray. Always he worried about his fellow Paladins, the knights, the priests, all the children of the Goddess. He worried far more about Koray, and the warmth pulsing in his chest was not as comforting as usual.
As they watched in silence, Koray drew out a small leather bag and pulled it open. Slowly he began to walk around the star marked out by incense, dispersing the contents of the pouch – ashes. Ashes of what?
Sorin wondered if he was the only one to notice how much paler Koray had gotten as he worked, the slight unsteadiness of his hand. Whatever he could see that they could not was severely distressing. Sorin forced himself to hold still. Koray had said interference could kill him – at least. Koray would not say such things lightly.
Finished with the ashes, Koray returned the pouch to his belt and withdrew a dagger. It flashed silver in the light of the braziers running the length of the hallway. Sorin could not hide a wince as Koray sliced open his right arm. The last time he’d seen Koray do it, the wound had been smaller, easily healed. This one ran the length of his forearm and Sorin could see the cut also ran deeper than last time.
If the wound caused Koray pain, his face showed no sign of it. Sorin could feel Zaede vibrating with tension and curiosity beside him, and he settled a hand on Zaede’s shoulder to emphasize that he must stay silent. His hand was shrugged off, and Zaede shot him a disgusted look. Sorin would have snickered if all his attention hadn’t been focused on Koray.
He watched in reluctant silence as Koray began to scatter his blood the way he’d scattered the ashes. Sorin barely kept from moving as that deep sorrow again flitted across Koray’s face. That was it. He could not stand here and say or do nothing. “This is slightly different than the other times I’ve seen you work,” he said slowly.
“Those two were friendly,” Koray said, and Sorin knew he was the only one who could see Koray’s tension. “This…” his voice trailed off – then his expression turned into the mutinous, defiant one Sorin knew so well. From his belt he drew out the familiar small, jingling bells that somehow helped Koray in his work.
Except…these ones Sorin didn’t recognize. The last time he’d seen Koray use his bells, they had been silver or gold. These…one set was copper, the other black. Koray’s expression turned hard as he stood at the northern-most star point and began to shake his bells.
No sound came from them, but in the middle of the star the air began to…shift, change…solidify. Sorin heard gasps all around him as the it solidified into a pale, silver-gray form.
The ghost of a demon. Stripped of his human guise, the demon was truly horrific – though not the worst Sorin had seen. It was skinnier than even Koray, limbs longer than was normal, joints almost sharp looking. His face was narrow, ears pointed, and all manner of scars covered his face. Ordinarily his skin would be a dark gray, giving the whole a nightmarish countenance. Sorin rather thought the ghost was actually worse.
He had not known such a thing was possible. The ramifications of it chilled him. If demons could produce ghosts, they had spirits…souls. He pressed a hand to his chest, which ached so deeply he winced in pain. Beside him Zaede did the same. Whatever was occurring, it deeply upset the Goddess. The only question was – why?
Koray cried out, and his trembling was now blatantly obvious – but the necromancer did not falter, merely grew more stubborn, shaking his bells in one hand, the other held with palm out toward the demon. “Obey me,” Koray gasped, and gave another cry as the demon obviously defied him. “You will obey me, by the power of the Goddess!”
He gave another cry of pain as he continued to fight, but it turned almost immediately into an angry snarl. Muttering arcane words that sounded like a cross between prayers and forbidden black magic, Koray moved his arm so that the blood poured anew, dripping down his wrist and onto the bells. From his belt he drew out a handful of small, white bits – with a chill Sorin realized they were pieces of polished bone.
The ghost of the demon flickered, wavered, and Sorin could see it was fighting whatever Koray was doing.
Gasping in pain, Koray ceased chanting and spoke, “You will obey, demon, by the power of the Goddess. Your Dark God holds no sway here. Obey me!”
Sorin drew a sharp breath as the demonic ghost stilled, grew somewhat more solid…and fell to its knees, head bowed. Around its throat, violet light flared, then settled into what looked like a collar.
“Tell me why you came here. What Rofell wanted with the sword. Tell me all that you know.”
Silence, deep and heavy, fell as Koray listened to words no one else could hear. Sorin remembered the ghost Koray had shown him. That one Sorin had heard speak…perhaps it was simply too difficult this time for Koray to share the voice.
He watched in misery as Koray visibly worsened as he listened to the demon’s soundless words. More than once it looked as though Koray might fall over, and finally Sorin could no longer bear it. He could not simply stand by while someone suffered so much, not when it was within his power to help. With a rough sound he crossed the room, circling carefully around the star to stand behind Koray. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to touch him…but he would be close, because he didn’t think Koray would walk away from this one.
The silence shattered as Koray dropped his bells, which until then had been silent. They jangled sharply as they hit the stone floor, and were a gruesome sight, the black and copper gleaming where the metal shone and dark where they were smeared with Koray’s blood.
From his pouch, Koray drew his gold bells and he began again to softly chant. In the center of the star, the demon again began to struggle.
This time the demon looked as though it was winning, and Sorin realized it was fighting being banished.
Koray cried out, and the sound was more pained than Sorin could bear. He moved before he thought, stepping up close behind Koray and wrapping his arms around the necromancer’s waist, holding him tight. Too late he remembered he was not supposed to touch Koray – but rather than pull away, or something far more disastrous happening, Koray leaned back against him, letting Sorin take most of his slight weight, and with an angry half-shout he finished his spell. The ghost of the demon banished.
In his arms, Koray abruptly fell forward. Shifting his hold, Sorin scooped Koray up and held him close. He bent his head to press his cheek to Koray’s, shivering at the ice-cold touch. Without a word, he strode past the others and away toward his own quarters. Answers would wait until his necromancer was well enough to give them.
Koray woke with a groan, clutching at his head – which felt as though someone had tried their best to split it open.
He didn’t, however, feel cold. Slowly he opened his eyes, expecting to se Sorin’s room – and he wasn’t sure what to make of the disappointment that crashed through him when he realized he wasn’t.
Where was he then? He didn’t recognize the small room. It was plain, and had the smell of a room seldom used. A lamp burned on a side table, moonlight filtering in through a small window. So he’d been asleep at least most of the day.
The bed was simple, and someone had covered him with a heavy wool blanket. A brown rug covered most of the floor. Throughout the room lingered a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature. The room had been heavily purified and blessed. Koray suspected his room would normally be occupied by a priest. Which meant he must be somewhere in the Church.
Not Sorin’s room though, where some small part of him had hoped he would wind up after he passed out – which he’d known would happen. It always happened when he had to enslave a ghost. His fingers went automatically to his hair, and he pulled it over one shoulder, finding immediately the new strip of snow-white.
Koray swallowed and shoved his hair back, furious that his hands trembled. He balled them into fists in his lap and wondered how long he had until they asked him to leave. At least they wouldn’t throw rocks at him. As much as part of him still argued, he was willing to admit – to himself – that Sorin wouldn’t allow such a thing to happen. Sorin would probably even be polite about asking him to go.
Thinking about it hurt, and the fact that it hurt just made him angry. He should go before the whole debacle occurred.
He stood up and retrieved his belt and robe from where they hung on the wall, then sat down to tug on his boots. Would he have time to obtain some food? Perhaps sneak back to Sorin’s room – pain lanced through him. No, he’d be fine with just the one robe. He’d dealt with worse for far longer. He could probably refill his flask. That would have to suffice.
Nothing, of course, would ever compare…he broke the thought off.
He had his hand on the door when voices suddenly appeared on the other side – one of them angry, and unmistakably Sorin. Panicked, Koray drew back, colliding with the bed and sitting down hard.
The door swung open, and the anger on Sorin’s face abruptly vanished, replaced by relief. “You’re awake!” He strode into the room and immediately dropped down to sit next to Koray, arms coming up to embrace him. “You’ve been asleep for three days. I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t wake.”
“We finally had to drag him away to tend his duties,” the High Priest said in amusement from the doorway. “I am glad to see you awake, necromancer.”
Three days. Koray’s mind spun. He hadn’t been hit that hard by his work in a long time. Why was Sorin still embracing him? Why was Sorin embracing him at all? He scrambled for something to say. “Where am I?”
“In the living quarters of the Church,” Sorin answered, finally sitting up, arms slowly releasing him – though the one that slid down his back did not completely let go, but settled lightly around his waist. “I took you to my rooms initially, but you didn’t seem to be recovering. The High Priest finally suggested I bring you to the church. He blessed you, and that seemed to finally break whatever was wrong.
“We kept you here in case you relapsed.”
Koray could only stare.
“I will inform the others that you are awake,” the High Priest said, and closed the door as he left.
“You’re not sending me away?” The question spilled out before he could bite it back.
Sorin looked at him as though he were mad. “Why would we do that?”
Koray glared, refusing to look as confused as he felt. “For enslaving the ghost as I did.”
“I don’t understand why that makes you think we would throw you out.” Sorin shook his head. “That aside, we are rather hoping you learned something.”
All that he had learned suddenly flooded through him, and Koray froze to realize he’d almost left without telling them. He had been more panicked than he realized. “Yes,” he said, shivering at the memories. “They need the sword and jewel to break a seal…something to do with the old palace…the demon didn’t say much that was comprehensible. I know they need the sword and ruby to break a seal that was cast at a place not far from the old palace. Rofell…is their key to obtaining the North.”
Sorin glowered at the mention of Rofell. “That explains much.”
“I know how the demon got in as well,” Koray said quietly. “He used Rofell’s soul as a…disguise, of sorts. He wore it like a second skin. No one could sense the demon beneath.”
“Now I must wonder where else in the Goddess’s kingdom such creatures lurk,” Sorin said, looking grim and tired. The arm around Koray’s waist unconsciously tightened. “I did not know they could do such a thing.”
“It is supremely difficult,” Koray said quietly, fighting a sudden urge to lean in closer. Obviously he was not fully recovered, to be thinking of acting so stupidly. It was one thing to lie close to Sorin in the dead of night when no one was the wiser. Quite another to do so when Sorin was awake. “If there are any more, I think they would be few. Now that we know to look for it, I am certain the priests could devise a spell to search it out.”
Sorin nodded absently. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine,” Koray said, shrugging the questions away irritably, glaring at everything except the man beside him.
Fingers combed through his hair, startling him, and he turned as Sorin pulled gently at a particular strand. “This white was not here before. It’s much brighter than the rest of your hair.”
“You noticed the change in my hair?” Koray asked, surprised.
“Of course,” Sorin said with a faint smile. He let go and stood up, offering a hand.
Koray ignored it. “What have I missed?”
“Nothing of terrible importance. Reports are coming in of trouble in the provinces. Supporters of Rofell are protesting, demon attacks have increased slightly.” Sorin sounded more strained that Koray had ever heard him. “Under the circumstances, we felt it best to assert that Cerant is King – we had a small ceremony yesterday. The real coronation has been postponed until the problem of Rofell and the demons has been resolved.” Sorin frowned in thought. “We sent communications to a man called Jythal. He is knowledgeable on every subject you can imagine. If the King had not brought home an alchemist of his own, Jythal is probably who we would have asked to the palace. Zaede had to return to his own province, and he will go to meet directly with Jythal.”
Koray snorted, but bit back a retort about Zaede’s competence. He’d put that idiot Paladin in his place if it cost him a strand of gray. Obnoxious halfwit.
Sorin laughed. “He told me to tell you good riddance, and that you were far more pleasant when unconscious.”
“I’m certain I can’t say the same for him. He’s repulsive conscious or not.”
Sorin merely chuckled and held out a hand. “Are you hungry? It is only just past the dinner hour and I’ve yet to dine myself.”
Koray ignored the hand, but nodded. “I would like food.”
“You never eat enough. You’ve been at the castle for weeks now and still I think a bird weighs more than you.” Sorin grinned as Koray only glared, and opened the door, waiting for Koray to precede him and then leading the way through the sleeping quarters.
Koray’s breath caught as they entered the church proper. Even in the moonlight, the glass and jewels seemed to shine. There was light and color everywhere, the scent of violets and incense in the air. More important was the warmth, the sense of welcome. Uncertainty froze his feet in the doorway.
The Church of the Goddess. So many years he’d spent dispelling ghosts in Her name, and not once had he ever been allowed into Her sanctuaries. He was seldom allowed even close to them. Now he stood right in the heart of all of them.
How many years had he secretly wanted to be right here? How many years had other necromancers wanted the same? To be welcome here as were their brother priests?
“Koray?” Sorin asked, frowning in concern. “Is something wrong?”
Koray swallowed and shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. Sorin’s frown deepened and he moved back to Koray, wrapping fingers gently around one arm. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing,” Koray finally managed. He avoided Sorin’s gaze, instead drinking in the beautiful church. “I—I’ve invoked Her name a thousand times but was never…” He dropped his head, furious that his eyes stung. He would not cry over something so stupid. The last time he’d cried, he’d just seen his entire village slaughtered and burned. Being inside one stupid building was hardly worthy of tears. He would not cry.
Warm, gentle hands cupped his face, and Sorin brushed the tears away with his thumbs. “She is happy you are here, Necromancer of the Goddess.” The hands fell away to land on his shoulders, and Sorin leaned in to softly kiss first one cheek and then the other.
Koray gasped and jerked away. How awful to not only turn stupid, but to do so in front of Sorin. “Leave me alone.” He strode past Sorin and toward the center aisle – and abruptly stopped as he nearly stepped on a small figure standing in his path.
The small gray cat meowed up at him. Koray glared and shook his robes at it. “Shoo.”
Meowing again, the cat merely sat back on its haunches and continued to stare.
A soft laugh from behind him drew Koray’s attention around. The High Priest smiled. “I see you’ve found Claws. I have told her a hundred times not to play in the chapel, but she is much like our Goddess – she will do as she pleases.”
Sorin threw his head back and laughed. “Only you, High Priest, could stand on the altar and say such things.”
“Oh, I think we all remember Paladin’s Zaede little speeches on this very altar,” the High Priest said dryly. “I can hardly compare.” He stepped down from the altar and knelt on the floor, holding out a hand and calling quietly for his cat. With a soft mew, and another brush against Koray, the small cat went straight to the High Priest and curled up against his chest as he stood. “You are always welcome here, necromancer. Should you see your brothers, express the same to them. I bid you both good day. Goddess guide you.”
Koray nodded and turned sharply on his heel, then strode rapidly from the church. A moment later Sorin fell into step beside him, and he allowed Sorin to lead him to the paladin’s room.
He sat down as Sorin vanished again to order food, closing his eyes to enjoy the warmth of the room. It had been almost hot in the church, a degree of heat he’d never felt. Sorin’s room was not quite that warm, but it was more…familiar. He had been staying with Sorin for roughly five weeks now, sleeping every night beside the Paladin. Rumors flew about the castle of course, but after the slander and abuse he’d endured for so many years, a few trifling rumors barely registered in his mind. If anything, he thought it absurd that anyone would think Sorin would enter into a love affair with a necromancer. The High Paladin was far too grand to waste his time on someone barely fit for polite company.
Koray hunched in his seat, trying in vain to ignore the way his cheeks burned where Sorin had so softly kissed them. He must still be recovering from the confrontation with the demon’s ghost, if his thoughts were this idiotic and scattered.
He started as the door opened and Sorin walked in, and desperately shoved his errant thoughts to the back of his mind.
“Food will be here shortly. I also told his Majesty all that you’ve told me. He says a more formal report from you can wait until morning,” Sorin said with a smile. He took the seat at the opposite end of the table, blinking sleepily at Koray. “So what precisely was it you did to that demon ghost? I did not know demons left ghosts…”
“Usually they do not,” Koray replied, fingers going to his hair, twisting the strands as he explained. “The holy power that kills them is usually enough to force them out of existence entirely. I was not certain enough of the demon remained, but hearing the explanation on how it died…”
Sorin nodded. “Neikirk nearly killed it. All I had to do was cut it down. None of the Goddess’s power was required.”
“So the demon left a ghost…one just as powerful and nasty as the living demon.” Koray tensed as he remembered pitting his will against that of the ghost. “In the dungeon and the garden, I had only to share my spirit and allow the ghosts to speak. This time was different.” He could not quell a shudder. “There are spirits that want only to steal my spirit to gain strength with which to cause harm. Such spirits must be given enough spirit with which to communicate, but not enough that they can overpower the necromancer. They must also be forced to obey, and speak only of those things the necromancer wishes to hear. That requires binding the spirit…enslaving it to my will. It is something necromancers are called upon to do more frequently than we like.”
He looked up to see Sorin’s eyes on him – on his hair. “I can see why you would prefer not to do it. What were the bells you used? The ashes and bone?”
Koray hunched his shoulders, hands dropping into his lap. He stared at them. Of course Sorin would ask about that. He’d never met anyone more eager to ask questions…except perhaps the alchemist. “Silver is for sharing power, for granting form and speech. Gold is for banishing. Copper is for binding, black a representation of my will. Together, they forced the ghost to obey me. So long as I maintain control of the binding, I can make a ghost do whatever I so choose. The ashes…were the ashes of a necromancer. Hard to obtain, as often we die the victim of a ghost, or simple maltreatment, and seldom burned. They help to strengthen the barricade and enforce control. The bones…” Koray’s fingers tightened in his robes. “We take them from animals, most often, though human bones have been used. They are made into talismans and marked with various runes. Like the ashes, they strengthen our spells. I…I once met a necromancer who used to take the bones of priests from their tombs.”
Sorin grimaced. “I guess if anything would repel a ghost, it would be the bones of a holy man. Still, that is rather gruesome.” He snorted. “Though I have taken off the heads of enough demons, I do not know why I find it gruesome.”
“Graves are not such awful things,” Koray said, tension easing as he realized Sorin was not going to condemn him for the implements of his trade. “If nothing else, they are calm and quiet.”
“There is that,” Sorin said with a laugh. “Certainly I cannot find those two things anywhere else but in this room – and then only when I lock the door and pretend not to be here.” He winked, and then laughed as someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” he called.
Servants spilled into the room bearing platters of steaming food and casks of wine. In what seemed like seconds all was spread out neatly on the table and the two men were once more alone. They ate in silence for several minutes.
“That tapestry,” Sorin said, breaking the quiet, pointing to the wall behind Koray.
Koray didn’t need to look. He knew the tapestry in question – the one portraying one of the earliest Paladins. He knew that by the old-fashioned armor, the setting behind him of a castle that had not been used by the royal family for centuries. He waited for Sorin to continue.
“I found it years ago in a room of the treasury that’s mostly forgotten. Things for which people no longer have a use. I think Rofell sent me to find something else.” Sorin grimaced at mentioning the fallen king. “I didn’t realize until much later that it had been woven by the sister of the man in the portrait, some years after his death. That detail came to me only when I read some of the old records in the royal archives. A journal, actually, written by one of the earliest High Paladins. That man,” Sorin pointed again to the tapestry, “was Paladin Ambrose. He hailed from a province to the east. How he became a Paladin was lost…but when he was only twenty two another Paladin caught him consorting with a demon.”
“The sword?” Koray asked. He turned in his seat to look more closely at the tapestry. The man in it was tall, or seemed to be, with broad shoulders and a strong build beneath his full armor. His under tunic and cloak were of rich violet, complimenting the gold-trimmed silver of his armor, clashing brightly with the fiery red of his curly hair. His eyes were a dark brown, and Koray could not for the life of him imagine such a stunning figure being tricked by a demon. Paladins were too strong to fall for such tricks, or so it had always been said. “How did the demon catch him?”
Sorin shrugged. “No one really knows. All that is recorded is that all who witnessed his death were overcome by sorrow and shame. The few records existing never explicitly say what transpired, only that whatever it was devastated everyone present. More Paladins died in the following year than in any other. Ever since those events, the sword has been a royal heirloom. Kings and Paladins are all sworn in with that sword; it is the only time it is brought out of the treasury. No one knows how it came to be, except at the death of a Paladin whose death devastated those who executed him. We only ever call it ‘the sword’ but formally it is called ‘Sorrow.’
His boots were nearly soundless in the soft spring grass, and what little sound he could not hide was drowned out by the rushing of the stream cutting through the field. Beside him his horse moved just as carefully, a mare well-trained to a life of battling demons.
Despite their silence, Ambrose knew they were not being so quiet that the demon at the far end of the field failed to hear them. He didn’t think the demon had yet seen them, but he knew it must sense their presence – why then was it not attacking?
It simply sat beneath the large oak that Ambrose usually lounged beneath when he visited the old field. Ambrose tightened his grip on his sword as he drew closer…but when he was mere feet from the demon he stopped.
Something was wrong. The demon did not even look up at him, merely sat staring at the brook.
Not to mention that within him, this entire time, the Goddess’s power remained a steady, gentle warmth. There was no flare of rage, no rush of heat as Her power flooded his body. Nothing.
Ambrose stood, confused, unable to decide what he should do. He examined the demon sitting so complacently beneath the great oak.
For a demon, it was remarkably not hideous. In fact, he couldn’t in all honesty describe it as hideous in any way. His skin was not the pallid gray of most, but a dark charcoal just short of true black. Scars covered his face, slashes across his cheeks and forehead, one long ugly mark running down the middle of his hairless head. More scars marred his bare arms, a testament to just how powerful the healing capabilities of demons were. He was dressed in simple black leathers, and a long sword lay next to him in the grass. Another dagger was strapped to his left thigh, and Ambrose could just see another holster on his right arm.
Most chilling were the wings. Low level demons did not have wings – that was exclusive to the higher demons, those that were equal in power to the Paladins. That a soldier demon was this close to the castle…the thought was chilling. Was he attempting to lure Ambrose into a false sense of security? Did he have brethren hidden close by?
No. Ambrose would sense them. He hesitated, then gave a mental shrug and stepped a bit closer. “Demon…”
“Yes, that’s what I am,” the demon replied, his voice rough, deep. He finally looked up, and Ambrose drew a breath at the sharpness of the dark blue eyes that met his. “What do you want, human? To kill me? By all means.”
Ambrose frowned and raised his sword again. “What game do you play, demon?”
The demon rolled his eyes. “My name is not ‘Demon.’ If you insist on speaking to me, human, at least use my name. It is Rakken.”
“I have no interest in learning the name of a loathsome demon,” Ambrose said. “What do you here?”
“I rest,” Rakken retorted. “If you have a problem with that, then by all means kill me. Truly, I no longer care.”
Ambrose’s frown deepened, and he lowered his sword. “You are like no demon I have ever met. Why do you ask to be killed?”
Rakken heaved a sigh and stood up, and Ambrose was briefly distracted by the way those wings flexed out, dark and leathery, so ominous looking in the sunny field. “Why do you care? Is it not the job of you despicable Paladins to slaughter all those who refuse to bow to your wretched Goddess? Is she not taking you to task, Paladin, for not separating my head from my shoulders? Your brothers have put these marks here,” Rakken held out his arms, displaying his scars. “Accomplish what they failed to do and kill me. I am certain your Goddess will be most pleased to have my head.”
“We do not slaughter all who reject the Goddess!” Ambrose said angrily. “We kill only you who kill Her children for no reason! You collared heathens who hate those of us who chose to dwell in the light.”
Rakken grimaced and touched clawed fingers to his throat and the collar there. No one knew exactly what the mark was; only that it seemed to be a part of a demon’s skin. Usually the intricate mark was dark. Rakken’s was a pale gray that almost looked white, the pattern a sort of braided pattern interspersed with complicated-looking knot designs. “Then by all means kill this collared heathen, oh so noble Paladin.”
Though he should be taking the invitation to kill now thrice offered, Ambrose still did not move. More confusing than even the demon’s behavior was that within him the power of the Goddess still gave no indication that the strange demon was a threat to be annihilated. If anything, the Goddess seemed interested in the conversation.
Heaving a sigh, wondering how soon he would regret the move, Ambrose dropped his battle stance and sheathed his sword. “What manner of demon ventures into enemy territory and asks to be killed?”
“Would you be more willing to do it if I fought you, Paladin?” Barely did Rakken finish speaking than he launched himself at Ambrose.
Cursing himself for his own stupidity, Ambrose drew his sword and just in time countered Rakken’s blade. Giving a battle cry he continued to defend against the demon’s ruthless, brutal attacks.
Throughout, the Goddess’s power remained far too quiet. What was wrong? The thought distracted him, and the distraction cost him – he blocked a hard downswing, but not well enough to avoid the tip of the demon’s blade, which sliced across his upper arm. Crying out, Ambrose stumbled back. His foot caught on a rock and he tumbled hard to the ground, sword falling from his grasp. Ambrose cursed himself for a fool and waited for the fatal blow to fall. If he was lucky, he would die quickly. Few Paladins were that lucky.
Instead of the expected blow, however, Ambrose felt cold steel under his chin, urging his head up. He stared into the blazing, dark blue eyes of the demon.
“You are young for a Paladin. The scent of blood is not yet heavy upon you. I have not encountered you in battle before; therefore you must be quite new among the Goddess’s weapons. What is your name, Paladin?”
Ambrose said nothing.
“I have offered you mine, and bested you in a fair duel,” Rakken said calmly.
Grimacing, Ambrose conceded the point – though he was still confounded as to why he was being civil to a demon. “My name is Ambrose.”
“Ambrose,” Rakken repeated, as if tasting the name. Abruptly he stepped back and sheathed his sword. “Take yourself off, Ambrose, unless you are willing to kill me – which I doubt, for I can see in the way you fight that you are hesitant to take my head.”
Cautiously, feeling as though he were in a dream, Ambrose stood up. “The Goddess does not bid me kill you. Her will is silent.” By the Goddess, what was wrong with his tongue? A demon acting strangely did not mean he should do the same.
Rakken sighed. “Here, my Lord cannot reach me. I am too close to the center of your wretched Goddess’s power.”
“My Goddess is not wretched. She loves and cherishes all her children, and wants only for them to live in peace.”
“So too my Lord,” Rakken said, laughing bitterly. He turned away and strode back to the oak. “Take yourself off, Paladin Ambrose. Send a Paladin who has the stomach to take my head without asking bothersome questions. If you hope to stay alive to develop such a stomach, I would lose that hesitance. As well as that curiosity. Neither will serve you well in the end.” He resumed his seat beneath the oak, as well as his staring off into the distance, seeing things Ambrose could not even begin to guess on.
Ambrose stood silently for several long minutes, torn between killing a demon and asking more questions. At last, thoroughly confused, he mounted his horse and rode from the field – and found himself looking back before the demon vanished completely from his sight.
He returned to the field the next day, convinced that he had drifted to sleep beneath the oak and imagined the entire encounter.
Rakken reclined beneath the oak, looking for all the world as though he had every right to be there. He stirred as Ambrose drew close. “Ah, the young Paladin returns. Have you resolved to kill me after all?”
“I thought I had imagined you,” Ambrose blurted, too startled to curb his tongue.
Laughing softly, Rakken sat up and gave Ambrose an amused look. “You are the oddest Paladin I have ever encountered. I am amazed my brother demons have not managed to kill you. If I wanted, Paladin, you would be nothing but a corpse by now.”
“I am not so easily defeated as that,” Ambrose retorted, anger flaring. He dismounted and moved closer, making certain that his sword would draw easily.
Rakken chuckled and stood up as he approached. “Unless there are rocks in the area. Such as the one to your left.”
Ambrose flushed but did not back down from the eyes locked with his. “I would know why you act so strangely, demon.”
“I would like to know myself,” Rakken replied, sounding as though they were discussing the weather or some vaguely amusing anecdote. He ran a clawed hand delicately over the nasty scar that ran down the center of his head. “I have not been myself since your High Paladin nearly killed me some months ago. I am certain he thinks me long dead; certainly my brothers do.”
He had come here hoping to clear his mind. Instead everything was only growing more confusing.
Suddenly Rakken was close – too close, and Ambrose cursed himself for yet again dropping his guard around the confounding demon. He struggled helplessly in the demon’s grasp, but Rakken’s strength surpassed his own, hands like steel bands around his wrists. Then Ambrose was slammed against the oak tree and found himself suddenly far too close to those unsettling dark blue eyes. “Demon,” he said, still struggling futiley in Rakken’s grasp.
“I have told you that is not my name, Paladin Ambrose.” The tone was deceptively casual, almost conversational. Ambrose wondered how much longer he had to live, and why the Goddess had thought him fit to know Her will and wield Her power. “So young, you are. Is the Goddess so desperate for killers that she hires men who are barely more than children?”
“I am two and twenty summers, demon,” Ambrose replied, temper flaring. Why must everyone mock his youth?
Rakken chuckled. “Little more than a child, though I could tell that by your scent. The tang of blood has not yet conquered your innocence.” The soft laughter in Ambrose’s ear made him shiver. “I wonder how innocent you still are, little Paladin.”
As suddenly as he’d been pinned, Ambrose found himself free – so abruptly he nearly lost his balance. His cheeks burned as Rakken laughed.
“Run along, Paladin. You are in over your head here.”
His cheeks burned hotter at being told to ‘run along’ like a kid sent outdoors when the grown ups wanted to speak in private. “Confound you, demon, I am not some boy!”
As quickly as that he was pinned again, the demon’s body surprisingly warm where it pressed against his, clawed hand tight but not painful as it pinned his arms over his head against the tree. “You are very much a boy, little Ambrose. Death you are acquainted with, and suffering, but there is much on you that yet reeks of innocence.” One claw traced over his bottom lip, leaving a thin cut. Blood welled up and Ambrose tasted copper as he licked it away. “I should have killed you,” he said quietly.
“Yes, you should have. You did not, and now I find myself reluctant to let you.” Rakken released him again, expression inscrutable as he shoved Ambrose back toward his horse. “Go, Paladin, before I do something we will both regret. Do not bother me again.”
Not knowing what else to do, Ambrose hesitated a moment longer then simply mounted his horse and rode away, desperate to leave the field that had once been his retreat and the demon that had taken it over.
Though he tried not to, Ambrose looked back – and was startled to see that this time, the demon was watching him. Hastily he looked away, and urged his horse to a gallop.
Anyway.
May yet have some sort of drabble, but in the mean time, how about the rough for a chunk of the last part of BM? All mistakes are mine, as Goblin has not yet had a chance to make corrrections to Zaede ^^;; Who remains fun to steal and play with. Much love to tygati for already fixing a great many errors.
Happy Halloween. To all fellow nano nuts, good luck and have fun <3
I. The Dark Paladin
Sorin stifled a yawn as he led the way down the hall to Cerant’s room. He suspected that even after he was crowned King, Cerant would insist on keeping his own rooms. Privately Sorin had always believed that Cerant would make the better King…though he wished the price had not been two murders. At least two murders. If a man could kill two people, he could kill more. The thought made him more tired than ever.
Gentle warmth spread through him, the soothing touch of the Goddess comforting, calming.
“What happened?” Koray asked beside him. Sorin resisted the urge to touch him, knowing Koray would just protest and draw back into his dratted hood. For reasons unknown, he’d largely given up wearing it while in the palace. Sorin did not want to be the reason he stopped. He liked seeing Koray, the way his strange, beautiful hair spilled over his shoulders…
Irritably he shook his head. He had more important things to think about than how much he’d like to touch Koray – though that definitely would require some serious thinking later. “I wish I could tell you,” he said with a sigh. “Rofell escaped, we know not how, and while he was attempting to steal the sword from the treasury a demon nearly killed Neikirk.”
“The sword?” Koray asked, glowering at the floor as he thought. “What sword?”
“Nothing that would matter to a skeleton,” Zaede said as he abruptly joined them, spilling in from a smaller hallway.
“Zaede,” Sorin said quietly. He was grateful when his oldest friend subsided. A moment later they reached the end of the hall and Sorin rapped on the door. It was opened almost a minute later by Cerant, who looked rather more cheerful than Sorin thought he should. “Highness,” he greeted, ignoring Zaede’s contemptuous snort. He shot the other Paladin a look and then led the way into Cerant’s rooms.
Cerant motioned for them to sit, resuming his own seat next to Neikirk. “Do we know anything?”
“That the dungeon leaves much to be desired?” Zaede asked.
Sorin rolled his eyes. “I could understand Rofell wanting his ruby back – except he did not try to get the ruby. That was left to the demon. Why would they care about the sword?”
“Master,” Neikirk said, his voice calm and level – even when he’d been nearly killed by a demon, Sorin did not remember that tone faltering over much. The alchemist could give priests lessons in how to appear humble and devoted…though he thought the devotion Neikirk showed Cerant was perhaps not quite what priests should be showing their Goddess. “What is this sword?”
If Sorin had any trace of a good mood remaining, it vanished at the mention of the sword. That Zaede and Cerant looked equally unhappy was poor consolation for dredging up a story that haunted the paladins and priests no matter how many years passed.
Cerant sighed softly. “As I said before, it is an unhappy story. Centuries ago, when my ancestors lived in the old palace, there was a Paladin…” He broke off, grimacing.
“He turned,” Zaede said flatly.
“That is certainly how it seemed,” Cerant said quietly, “until too late. All that remains now is the sword.” He smiled faintly at the confused look on Neikirk’s face. “It’s a sad story, my dear, and one of which we know very little. A Paladin was seduced by a demon and turned to their side. As he died, however, the Goddess’s wrath and anguish consumed all who witnessed it…and when the fires were finally put out, all that remained was a single sword.”
Zaede shifted impatiently. “If you want to tell foolish legends, do it later. We have more important matters to discuss.”
“Yes,” Sorin said dryly. “Such as how we have no idea what is going on. We need a great deal more information than we currently possess.”
“We also need to find my brother,” Cerant said. “Clearly he has joined with the demons, which means he is probably headed north. Sorin, if you have not already done so, send out word to the Paladins in those provinces – all provinces I guess – of what has transpired. Tell them to be especially cautious, as Rofell is in league with the demons.” He sighed, hand sliding almost absently into Neikirk’s. “The last time one of the Goddess’s children joined the demons…”
Sorin nodded. “Word has been sent.”
“Which reminds me that we need to know how a demon was able to get into the castle, with none of my priests or knights aware of it. If they are able now to avoid detection…” Cerant didn’t finish the sentence.
“A demon was here?” Koray asked softly. “What happened to it?”
“I killed it,” Sorin said, and glanced briefly at Neikirk, “after Neikirk hit it hard with a devastating spell.”
“Lightning incantation,” Neikirk said. “War alchemists claim they are most effective.”
“It cooked him quite nicely,” Zaede said.
“So the power of the Goddess was not required to kill him?” Koray asked.
“No…” Sorin said slowly. “Why?”
“Then there may be a chance…” Koray’s words were barely audible as he abruptly stood and strode from the room. He stopped at the door and turned sharply back around, long hair flying about. “Where did you kill it?”
Neikirk told him, and Koray was gone.
Sorin stood up, glaring at the absent necromancer. “I’m going to wring his neck.”
“I’ll help,” Zaede said cheerfully.
“Don’t touch him,” Sorin retorted. Then he turned and chased after Koray.
He caught up with him in the hallway where the demon had died. “What are you doing?”
Koray didn’t answer, but he didn’t really need to. The fact that he was drawing out myrrh was answer enough. Sorin felt a cold chill, and the sudden ache in his chest was far from reassuring. “Koray, are you certain this is a good idea?”
“I’m certain it’s none of your concern,” Koray retorted.
Sorin stifled a sigh. Of course he would choose a thorny necromancer to grow fond of. The gentle fluttering in his chest told him that the Goddess was amused, and a reluctant smile tugged at his lips.
It vanished as Koray started setting out sticks of incense in what Sorin realized formed the points of the Goddess’s star. Once more it was made clear that necromancers were not reviled practioners of black magic as had always been believed.
“Is that really necessary?” Sorin asked, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, a tightening in his chest – whatever was about to happen, the Goddess wanted him to be alert.
Koray was prevented from replying as the others appeared. Sorin shot Zaede a look, and the other Paladin nodded minutely though he did not look pleased – even at the worst of times, Zaede could find something inappropriate to say.
“What are you doing?” Cerant asked.
“I am going to obtain answers,” Koray said shortly. “Do not speak. Do not interfere.” For a single brief moment, a too familiar sorrow flickered across his face. Sorin ached to soothe it, but he knew that right now, especially with other people around, Koray would only reject him. “Do not in any way break my concentration. Doing so will result in at least my death.”
Sorin shook his head. “No way. You’re not doing this.”
“It is not for you to say,” Koray snapped. “I am a necromancer. The ghost of the demon could hold answers.” He glared at Sorin, pale gray eyes fierce. “You would not prevent a soldier from doing what is necessary; do not stop me.”
To that, Sorin could make no reply. “Is there any way I can help?”
Koray ignored him. He rolled up the sleeves of his robes, binding them up out of his way. Sorin looked unhappily at the multitude of scars running the length of them, and wondered how many times Koray had cut himself in the course of his work. He tightened his hands into fists, and wondered when he’d started to care this much about Koray. Always he worried about his fellow Paladins, the knights, the priests, all the children of the Goddess. He worried far more about Koray, and the warmth pulsing in his chest was not as comforting as usual.
As they watched in silence, Koray drew out a small leather bag and pulled it open. Slowly he began to walk around the star marked out by incense, dispersing the contents of the pouch – ashes. Ashes of what?
Sorin wondered if he was the only one to notice how much paler Koray had gotten as he worked, the slight unsteadiness of his hand. Whatever he could see that they could not was severely distressing. Sorin forced himself to hold still. Koray had said interference could kill him – at least. Koray would not say such things lightly.
Finished with the ashes, Koray returned the pouch to his belt and withdrew a dagger. It flashed silver in the light of the braziers running the length of the hallway. Sorin could not hide a wince as Koray sliced open his right arm. The last time he’d seen Koray do it, the wound had been smaller, easily healed. This one ran the length of his forearm and Sorin could see the cut also ran deeper than last time.
If the wound caused Koray pain, his face showed no sign of it. Sorin could feel Zaede vibrating with tension and curiosity beside him, and he settled a hand on Zaede’s shoulder to emphasize that he must stay silent. His hand was shrugged off, and Zaede shot him a disgusted look. Sorin would have snickered if all his attention hadn’t been focused on Koray.
He watched in reluctant silence as Koray began to scatter his blood the way he’d scattered the ashes. Sorin barely kept from moving as that deep sorrow again flitted across Koray’s face. That was it. He could not stand here and say or do nothing. “This is slightly different than the other times I’ve seen you work,” he said slowly.
“Those two were friendly,” Koray said, and Sorin knew he was the only one who could see Koray’s tension. “This…” his voice trailed off – then his expression turned into the mutinous, defiant one Sorin knew so well. From his belt he drew out the familiar small, jingling bells that somehow helped Koray in his work.
Except…these ones Sorin didn’t recognize. The last time he’d seen Koray use his bells, they had been silver or gold. These…one set was copper, the other black. Koray’s expression turned hard as he stood at the northern-most star point and began to shake his bells.
No sound came from them, but in the middle of the star the air began to…shift, change…solidify. Sorin heard gasps all around him as the it solidified into a pale, silver-gray form.
The ghost of a demon. Stripped of his human guise, the demon was truly horrific – though not the worst Sorin had seen. It was skinnier than even Koray, limbs longer than was normal, joints almost sharp looking. His face was narrow, ears pointed, and all manner of scars covered his face. Ordinarily his skin would be a dark gray, giving the whole a nightmarish countenance. Sorin rather thought the ghost was actually worse.
He had not known such a thing was possible. The ramifications of it chilled him. If demons could produce ghosts, they had spirits…souls. He pressed a hand to his chest, which ached so deeply he winced in pain. Beside him Zaede did the same. Whatever was occurring, it deeply upset the Goddess. The only question was – why?
Koray cried out, and his trembling was now blatantly obvious – but the necromancer did not falter, merely grew more stubborn, shaking his bells in one hand, the other held with palm out toward the demon. “Obey me,” Koray gasped, and gave another cry as the demon obviously defied him. “You will obey me, by the power of the Goddess!”
He gave another cry of pain as he continued to fight, but it turned almost immediately into an angry snarl. Muttering arcane words that sounded like a cross between prayers and forbidden black magic, Koray moved his arm so that the blood poured anew, dripping down his wrist and onto the bells. From his belt he drew out a handful of small, white bits – with a chill Sorin realized they were pieces of polished bone.
The ghost of the demon flickered, wavered, and Sorin could see it was fighting whatever Koray was doing.
Gasping in pain, Koray ceased chanting and spoke, “You will obey, demon, by the power of the Goddess. Your Dark God holds no sway here. Obey me!”
Sorin drew a sharp breath as the demonic ghost stilled, grew somewhat more solid…and fell to its knees, head bowed. Around its throat, violet light flared, then settled into what looked like a collar.
“Tell me why you came here. What Rofell wanted with the sword. Tell me all that you know.”
Silence, deep and heavy, fell as Koray listened to words no one else could hear. Sorin remembered the ghost Koray had shown him. That one Sorin had heard speak…perhaps it was simply too difficult this time for Koray to share the voice.
He watched in misery as Koray visibly worsened as he listened to the demon’s soundless words. More than once it looked as though Koray might fall over, and finally Sorin could no longer bear it. He could not simply stand by while someone suffered so much, not when it was within his power to help. With a rough sound he crossed the room, circling carefully around the star to stand behind Koray. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to touch him…but he would be close, because he didn’t think Koray would walk away from this one.
The silence shattered as Koray dropped his bells, which until then had been silent. They jangled sharply as they hit the stone floor, and were a gruesome sight, the black and copper gleaming where the metal shone and dark where they were smeared with Koray’s blood.
From his pouch, Koray drew his gold bells and he began again to softly chant. In the center of the star, the demon again began to struggle.
This time the demon looked as though it was winning, and Sorin realized it was fighting being banished.
Koray cried out, and the sound was more pained than Sorin could bear. He moved before he thought, stepping up close behind Koray and wrapping his arms around the necromancer’s waist, holding him tight. Too late he remembered he was not supposed to touch Koray – but rather than pull away, or something far more disastrous happening, Koray leaned back against him, letting Sorin take most of his slight weight, and with an angry half-shout he finished his spell. The ghost of the demon banished.
In his arms, Koray abruptly fell forward. Shifting his hold, Sorin scooped Koray up and held him close. He bent his head to press his cheek to Koray’s, shivering at the ice-cold touch. Without a word, he strode past the others and away toward his own quarters. Answers would wait until his necromancer was well enough to give them.
Koray woke with a groan, clutching at his head – which felt as though someone had tried their best to split it open.
He didn’t, however, feel cold. Slowly he opened his eyes, expecting to se Sorin’s room – and he wasn’t sure what to make of the disappointment that crashed through him when he realized he wasn’t.
Where was he then? He didn’t recognize the small room. It was plain, and had the smell of a room seldom used. A lamp burned on a side table, moonlight filtering in through a small window. So he’d been asleep at least most of the day.
The bed was simple, and someone had covered him with a heavy wool blanket. A brown rug covered most of the floor. Throughout the room lingered a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature. The room had been heavily purified and blessed. Koray suspected his room would normally be occupied by a priest. Which meant he must be somewhere in the Church.
Not Sorin’s room though, where some small part of him had hoped he would wind up after he passed out – which he’d known would happen. It always happened when he had to enslave a ghost. His fingers went automatically to his hair, and he pulled it over one shoulder, finding immediately the new strip of snow-white.
Koray swallowed and shoved his hair back, furious that his hands trembled. He balled them into fists in his lap and wondered how long he had until they asked him to leave. At least they wouldn’t throw rocks at him. As much as part of him still argued, he was willing to admit – to himself – that Sorin wouldn’t allow such a thing to happen. Sorin would probably even be polite about asking him to go.
Thinking about it hurt, and the fact that it hurt just made him angry. He should go before the whole debacle occurred.
He stood up and retrieved his belt and robe from where they hung on the wall, then sat down to tug on his boots. Would he have time to obtain some food? Perhaps sneak back to Sorin’s room – pain lanced through him. No, he’d be fine with just the one robe. He’d dealt with worse for far longer. He could probably refill his flask. That would have to suffice.
Nothing, of course, would ever compare…he broke the thought off.
He had his hand on the door when voices suddenly appeared on the other side – one of them angry, and unmistakably Sorin. Panicked, Koray drew back, colliding with the bed and sitting down hard.
The door swung open, and the anger on Sorin’s face abruptly vanished, replaced by relief. “You’re awake!” He strode into the room and immediately dropped down to sit next to Koray, arms coming up to embrace him. “You’ve been asleep for three days. I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t wake.”
“We finally had to drag him away to tend his duties,” the High Priest said in amusement from the doorway. “I am glad to see you awake, necromancer.”
Three days. Koray’s mind spun. He hadn’t been hit that hard by his work in a long time. Why was Sorin still embracing him? Why was Sorin embracing him at all? He scrambled for something to say. “Where am I?”
“In the living quarters of the Church,” Sorin answered, finally sitting up, arms slowly releasing him – though the one that slid down his back did not completely let go, but settled lightly around his waist. “I took you to my rooms initially, but you didn’t seem to be recovering. The High Priest finally suggested I bring you to the church. He blessed you, and that seemed to finally break whatever was wrong.
“We kept you here in case you relapsed.”
Koray could only stare.
“I will inform the others that you are awake,” the High Priest said, and closed the door as he left.
“You’re not sending me away?” The question spilled out before he could bite it back.
Sorin looked at him as though he were mad. “Why would we do that?”
Koray glared, refusing to look as confused as he felt. “For enslaving the ghost as I did.”
“I don’t understand why that makes you think we would throw you out.” Sorin shook his head. “That aside, we are rather hoping you learned something.”
All that he had learned suddenly flooded through him, and Koray froze to realize he’d almost left without telling them. He had been more panicked than he realized. “Yes,” he said, shivering at the memories. “They need the sword and jewel to break a seal…something to do with the old palace…the demon didn’t say much that was comprehensible. I know they need the sword and ruby to break a seal that was cast at a place not far from the old palace. Rofell…is their key to obtaining the North.”
Sorin glowered at the mention of Rofell. “That explains much.”
“I know how the demon got in as well,” Koray said quietly. “He used Rofell’s soul as a…disguise, of sorts. He wore it like a second skin. No one could sense the demon beneath.”
“Now I must wonder where else in the Goddess’s kingdom such creatures lurk,” Sorin said, looking grim and tired. The arm around Koray’s waist unconsciously tightened. “I did not know they could do such a thing.”
“It is supremely difficult,” Koray said quietly, fighting a sudden urge to lean in closer. Obviously he was not fully recovered, to be thinking of acting so stupidly. It was one thing to lie close to Sorin in the dead of night when no one was the wiser. Quite another to do so when Sorin was awake. “If there are any more, I think they would be few. Now that we know to look for it, I am certain the priests could devise a spell to search it out.”
Sorin nodded absently. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine,” Koray said, shrugging the questions away irritably, glaring at everything except the man beside him.
Fingers combed through his hair, startling him, and he turned as Sorin pulled gently at a particular strand. “This white was not here before. It’s much brighter than the rest of your hair.”
“You noticed the change in my hair?” Koray asked, surprised.
“Of course,” Sorin said with a faint smile. He let go and stood up, offering a hand.
Koray ignored it. “What have I missed?”
“Nothing of terrible importance. Reports are coming in of trouble in the provinces. Supporters of Rofell are protesting, demon attacks have increased slightly.” Sorin sounded more strained that Koray had ever heard him. “Under the circumstances, we felt it best to assert that Cerant is King – we had a small ceremony yesterday. The real coronation has been postponed until the problem of Rofell and the demons has been resolved.” Sorin frowned in thought. “We sent communications to a man called Jythal. He is knowledgeable on every subject you can imagine. If the King had not brought home an alchemist of his own, Jythal is probably who we would have asked to the palace. Zaede had to return to his own province, and he will go to meet directly with Jythal.”
Koray snorted, but bit back a retort about Zaede’s competence. He’d put that idiot Paladin in his place if it cost him a strand of gray. Obnoxious halfwit.
Sorin laughed. “He told me to tell you good riddance, and that you were far more pleasant when unconscious.”
“I’m certain I can’t say the same for him. He’s repulsive conscious or not.”
Sorin merely chuckled and held out a hand. “Are you hungry? It is only just past the dinner hour and I’ve yet to dine myself.”
Koray ignored the hand, but nodded. “I would like food.”
“You never eat enough. You’ve been at the castle for weeks now and still I think a bird weighs more than you.” Sorin grinned as Koray only glared, and opened the door, waiting for Koray to precede him and then leading the way through the sleeping quarters.
Koray’s breath caught as they entered the church proper. Even in the moonlight, the glass and jewels seemed to shine. There was light and color everywhere, the scent of violets and incense in the air. More important was the warmth, the sense of welcome. Uncertainty froze his feet in the doorway.
The Church of the Goddess. So many years he’d spent dispelling ghosts in Her name, and not once had he ever been allowed into Her sanctuaries. He was seldom allowed even close to them. Now he stood right in the heart of all of them.
How many years had he secretly wanted to be right here? How many years had other necromancers wanted the same? To be welcome here as were their brother priests?
“Koray?” Sorin asked, frowning in concern. “Is something wrong?”
Koray swallowed and shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. Sorin’s frown deepened and he moved back to Koray, wrapping fingers gently around one arm. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing,” Koray finally managed. He avoided Sorin’s gaze, instead drinking in the beautiful church. “I—I’ve invoked Her name a thousand times but was never…” He dropped his head, furious that his eyes stung. He would not cry over something so stupid. The last time he’d cried, he’d just seen his entire village slaughtered and burned. Being inside one stupid building was hardly worthy of tears. He would not cry.
Warm, gentle hands cupped his face, and Sorin brushed the tears away with his thumbs. “She is happy you are here, Necromancer of the Goddess.” The hands fell away to land on his shoulders, and Sorin leaned in to softly kiss first one cheek and then the other.
Koray gasped and jerked away. How awful to not only turn stupid, but to do so in front of Sorin. “Leave me alone.” He strode past Sorin and toward the center aisle – and abruptly stopped as he nearly stepped on a small figure standing in his path.
The small gray cat meowed up at him. Koray glared and shook his robes at it. “Shoo.”
Meowing again, the cat merely sat back on its haunches and continued to stare.
A soft laugh from behind him drew Koray’s attention around. The High Priest smiled. “I see you’ve found Claws. I have told her a hundred times not to play in the chapel, but she is much like our Goddess – she will do as she pleases.”
Sorin threw his head back and laughed. “Only you, High Priest, could stand on the altar and say such things.”
“Oh, I think we all remember Paladin’s Zaede little speeches on this very altar,” the High Priest said dryly. “I can hardly compare.” He stepped down from the altar and knelt on the floor, holding out a hand and calling quietly for his cat. With a soft mew, and another brush against Koray, the small cat went straight to the High Priest and curled up against his chest as he stood. “You are always welcome here, necromancer. Should you see your brothers, express the same to them. I bid you both good day. Goddess guide you.”
Koray nodded and turned sharply on his heel, then strode rapidly from the church. A moment later Sorin fell into step beside him, and he allowed Sorin to lead him to the paladin’s room.
He sat down as Sorin vanished again to order food, closing his eyes to enjoy the warmth of the room. It had been almost hot in the church, a degree of heat he’d never felt. Sorin’s room was not quite that warm, but it was more…familiar. He had been staying with Sorin for roughly five weeks now, sleeping every night beside the Paladin. Rumors flew about the castle of course, but after the slander and abuse he’d endured for so many years, a few trifling rumors barely registered in his mind. If anything, he thought it absurd that anyone would think Sorin would enter into a love affair with a necromancer. The High Paladin was far too grand to waste his time on someone barely fit for polite company.
Koray hunched in his seat, trying in vain to ignore the way his cheeks burned where Sorin had so softly kissed them. He must still be recovering from the confrontation with the demon’s ghost, if his thoughts were this idiotic and scattered.
He started as the door opened and Sorin walked in, and desperately shoved his errant thoughts to the back of his mind.
“Food will be here shortly. I also told his Majesty all that you’ve told me. He says a more formal report from you can wait until morning,” Sorin said with a smile. He took the seat at the opposite end of the table, blinking sleepily at Koray. “So what precisely was it you did to that demon ghost? I did not know demons left ghosts…”
“Usually they do not,” Koray replied, fingers going to his hair, twisting the strands as he explained. “The holy power that kills them is usually enough to force them out of existence entirely. I was not certain enough of the demon remained, but hearing the explanation on how it died…”
Sorin nodded. “Neikirk nearly killed it. All I had to do was cut it down. None of the Goddess’s power was required.”
“So the demon left a ghost…one just as powerful and nasty as the living demon.” Koray tensed as he remembered pitting his will against that of the ghost. “In the dungeon and the garden, I had only to share my spirit and allow the ghosts to speak. This time was different.” He could not quell a shudder. “There are spirits that want only to steal my spirit to gain strength with which to cause harm. Such spirits must be given enough spirit with which to communicate, but not enough that they can overpower the necromancer. They must also be forced to obey, and speak only of those things the necromancer wishes to hear. That requires binding the spirit…enslaving it to my will. It is something necromancers are called upon to do more frequently than we like.”
He looked up to see Sorin’s eyes on him – on his hair. “I can see why you would prefer not to do it. What were the bells you used? The ashes and bone?”
Koray hunched his shoulders, hands dropping into his lap. He stared at them. Of course Sorin would ask about that. He’d never met anyone more eager to ask questions…except perhaps the alchemist. “Silver is for sharing power, for granting form and speech. Gold is for banishing. Copper is for binding, black a representation of my will. Together, they forced the ghost to obey me. So long as I maintain control of the binding, I can make a ghost do whatever I so choose. The ashes…were the ashes of a necromancer. Hard to obtain, as often we die the victim of a ghost, or simple maltreatment, and seldom burned. They help to strengthen the barricade and enforce control. The bones…” Koray’s fingers tightened in his robes. “We take them from animals, most often, though human bones have been used. They are made into talismans and marked with various runes. Like the ashes, they strengthen our spells. I…I once met a necromancer who used to take the bones of priests from their tombs.”
Sorin grimaced. “I guess if anything would repel a ghost, it would be the bones of a holy man. Still, that is rather gruesome.” He snorted. “Though I have taken off the heads of enough demons, I do not know why I find it gruesome.”
“Graves are not such awful things,” Koray said, tension easing as he realized Sorin was not going to condemn him for the implements of his trade. “If nothing else, they are calm and quiet.”
“There is that,” Sorin said with a laugh. “Certainly I cannot find those two things anywhere else but in this room – and then only when I lock the door and pretend not to be here.” He winked, and then laughed as someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” he called.
Servants spilled into the room bearing platters of steaming food and casks of wine. In what seemed like seconds all was spread out neatly on the table and the two men were once more alone. They ate in silence for several minutes.
“That tapestry,” Sorin said, breaking the quiet, pointing to the wall behind Koray.
Koray didn’t need to look. He knew the tapestry in question – the one portraying one of the earliest Paladins. He knew that by the old-fashioned armor, the setting behind him of a castle that had not been used by the royal family for centuries. He waited for Sorin to continue.
“I found it years ago in a room of the treasury that’s mostly forgotten. Things for which people no longer have a use. I think Rofell sent me to find something else.” Sorin grimaced at mentioning the fallen king. “I didn’t realize until much later that it had been woven by the sister of the man in the portrait, some years after his death. That detail came to me only when I read some of the old records in the royal archives. A journal, actually, written by one of the earliest High Paladins. That man,” Sorin pointed again to the tapestry, “was Paladin Ambrose. He hailed from a province to the east. How he became a Paladin was lost…but when he was only twenty two another Paladin caught him consorting with a demon.”
“The sword?” Koray asked. He turned in his seat to look more closely at the tapestry. The man in it was tall, or seemed to be, with broad shoulders and a strong build beneath his full armor. His under tunic and cloak were of rich violet, complimenting the gold-trimmed silver of his armor, clashing brightly with the fiery red of his curly hair. His eyes were a dark brown, and Koray could not for the life of him imagine such a stunning figure being tricked by a demon. Paladins were too strong to fall for such tricks, or so it had always been said. “How did the demon catch him?”
Sorin shrugged. “No one really knows. All that is recorded is that all who witnessed his death were overcome by sorrow and shame. The few records existing never explicitly say what transpired, only that whatever it was devastated everyone present. More Paladins died in the following year than in any other. Ever since those events, the sword has been a royal heirloom. Kings and Paladins are all sworn in with that sword; it is the only time it is brought out of the treasury. No one knows how it came to be, except at the death of a Paladin whose death devastated those who executed him. We only ever call it ‘the sword’ but formally it is called ‘Sorrow.’
His boots were nearly soundless in the soft spring grass, and what little sound he could not hide was drowned out by the rushing of the stream cutting through the field. Beside him his horse moved just as carefully, a mare well-trained to a life of battling demons.
Despite their silence, Ambrose knew they were not being so quiet that the demon at the far end of the field failed to hear them. He didn’t think the demon had yet seen them, but he knew it must sense their presence – why then was it not attacking?
It simply sat beneath the large oak that Ambrose usually lounged beneath when he visited the old field. Ambrose tightened his grip on his sword as he drew closer…but when he was mere feet from the demon he stopped.
Something was wrong. The demon did not even look up at him, merely sat staring at the brook.
Not to mention that within him, this entire time, the Goddess’s power remained a steady, gentle warmth. There was no flare of rage, no rush of heat as Her power flooded his body. Nothing.
Ambrose stood, confused, unable to decide what he should do. He examined the demon sitting so complacently beneath the great oak.
For a demon, it was remarkably not hideous. In fact, he couldn’t in all honesty describe it as hideous in any way. His skin was not the pallid gray of most, but a dark charcoal just short of true black. Scars covered his face, slashes across his cheeks and forehead, one long ugly mark running down the middle of his hairless head. More scars marred his bare arms, a testament to just how powerful the healing capabilities of demons were. He was dressed in simple black leathers, and a long sword lay next to him in the grass. Another dagger was strapped to his left thigh, and Ambrose could just see another holster on his right arm.
Most chilling were the wings. Low level demons did not have wings – that was exclusive to the higher demons, those that were equal in power to the Paladins. That a soldier demon was this close to the castle…the thought was chilling. Was he attempting to lure Ambrose into a false sense of security? Did he have brethren hidden close by?
No. Ambrose would sense them. He hesitated, then gave a mental shrug and stepped a bit closer. “Demon…”
“Yes, that’s what I am,” the demon replied, his voice rough, deep. He finally looked up, and Ambrose drew a breath at the sharpness of the dark blue eyes that met his. “What do you want, human? To kill me? By all means.”
Ambrose frowned and raised his sword again. “What game do you play, demon?”
The demon rolled his eyes. “My name is not ‘Demon.’ If you insist on speaking to me, human, at least use my name. It is Rakken.”
“I have no interest in learning the name of a loathsome demon,” Ambrose said. “What do you here?”
“I rest,” Rakken retorted. “If you have a problem with that, then by all means kill me. Truly, I no longer care.”
Ambrose’s frown deepened, and he lowered his sword. “You are like no demon I have ever met. Why do you ask to be killed?”
Rakken heaved a sigh and stood up, and Ambrose was briefly distracted by the way those wings flexed out, dark and leathery, so ominous looking in the sunny field. “Why do you care? Is it not the job of you despicable Paladins to slaughter all those who refuse to bow to your wretched Goddess? Is she not taking you to task, Paladin, for not separating my head from my shoulders? Your brothers have put these marks here,” Rakken held out his arms, displaying his scars. “Accomplish what they failed to do and kill me. I am certain your Goddess will be most pleased to have my head.”
“We do not slaughter all who reject the Goddess!” Ambrose said angrily. “We kill only you who kill Her children for no reason! You collared heathens who hate those of us who chose to dwell in the light.”
Rakken grimaced and touched clawed fingers to his throat and the collar there. No one knew exactly what the mark was; only that it seemed to be a part of a demon’s skin. Usually the intricate mark was dark. Rakken’s was a pale gray that almost looked white, the pattern a sort of braided pattern interspersed with complicated-looking knot designs. “Then by all means kill this collared heathen, oh so noble Paladin.”
Though he should be taking the invitation to kill now thrice offered, Ambrose still did not move. More confusing than even the demon’s behavior was that within him the power of the Goddess still gave no indication that the strange demon was a threat to be annihilated. If anything, the Goddess seemed interested in the conversation.
Heaving a sigh, wondering how soon he would regret the move, Ambrose dropped his battle stance and sheathed his sword. “What manner of demon ventures into enemy territory and asks to be killed?”
“Would you be more willing to do it if I fought you, Paladin?” Barely did Rakken finish speaking than he launched himself at Ambrose.
Cursing himself for his own stupidity, Ambrose drew his sword and just in time countered Rakken’s blade. Giving a battle cry he continued to defend against the demon’s ruthless, brutal attacks.
Throughout, the Goddess’s power remained far too quiet. What was wrong? The thought distracted him, and the distraction cost him – he blocked a hard downswing, but not well enough to avoid the tip of the demon’s blade, which sliced across his upper arm. Crying out, Ambrose stumbled back. His foot caught on a rock and he tumbled hard to the ground, sword falling from his grasp. Ambrose cursed himself for a fool and waited for the fatal blow to fall. If he was lucky, he would die quickly. Few Paladins were that lucky.
Instead of the expected blow, however, Ambrose felt cold steel under his chin, urging his head up. He stared into the blazing, dark blue eyes of the demon.
“You are young for a Paladin. The scent of blood is not yet heavy upon you. I have not encountered you in battle before; therefore you must be quite new among the Goddess’s weapons. What is your name, Paladin?”
Ambrose said nothing.
“I have offered you mine, and bested you in a fair duel,” Rakken said calmly.
Grimacing, Ambrose conceded the point – though he was still confounded as to why he was being civil to a demon. “My name is Ambrose.”
“Ambrose,” Rakken repeated, as if tasting the name. Abruptly he stepped back and sheathed his sword. “Take yourself off, Ambrose, unless you are willing to kill me – which I doubt, for I can see in the way you fight that you are hesitant to take my head.”
Cautiously, feeling as though he were in a dream, Ambrose stood up. “The Goddess does not bid me kill you. Her will is silent.” By the Goddess, what was wrong with his tongue? A demon acting strangely did not mean he should do the same.
Rakken sighed. “Here, my Lord cannot reach me. I am too close to the center of your wretched Goddess’s power.”
“My Goddess is not wretched. She loves and cherishes all her children, and wants only for them to live in peace.”
“So too my Lord,” Rakken said, laughing bitterly. He turned away and strode back to the oak. “Take yourself off, Paladin Ambrose. Send a Paladin who has the stomach to take my head without asking bothersome questions. If you hope to stay alive to develop such a stomach, I would lose that hesitance. As well as that curiosity. Neither will serve you well in the end.” He resumed his seat beneath the oak, as well as his staring off into the distance, seeing things Ambrose could not even begin to guess on.
Ambrose stood silently for several long minutes, torn between killing a demon and asking more questions. At last, thoroughly confused, he mounted his horse and rode from the field – and found himself looking back before the demon vanished completely from his sight.
He returned to the field the next day, convinced that he had drifted to sleep beneath the oak and imagined the entire encounter.
Rakken reclined beneath the oak, looking for all the world as though he had every right to be there. He stirred as Ambrose drew close. “Ah, the young Paladin returns. Have you resolved to kill me after all?”
“I thought I had imagined you,” Ambrose blurted, too startled to curb his tongue.
Laughing softly, Rakken sat up and gave Ambrose an amused look. “You are the oddest Paladin I have ever encountered. I am amazed my brother demons have not managed to kill you. If I wanted, Paladin, you would be nothing but a corpse by now.”
“I am not so easily defeated as that,” Ambrose retorted, anger flaring. He dismounted and moved closer, making certain that his sword would draw easily.
Rakken chuckled and stood up as he approached. “Unless there are rocks in the area. Such as the one to your left.”
Ambrose flushed but did not back down from the eyes locked with his. “I would know why you act so strangely, demon.”
“I would like to know myself,” Rakken replied, sounding as though they were discussing the weather or some vaguely amusing anecdote. He ran a clawed hand delicately over the nasty scar that ran down the center of his head. “I have not been myself since your High Paladin nearly killed me some months ago. I am certain he thinks me long dead; certainly my brothers do.”
He had come here hoping to clear his mind. Instead everything was only growing more confusing.
Suddenly Rakken was close – too close, and Ambrose cursed himself for yet again dropping his guard around the confounding demon. He struggled helplessly in the demon’s grasp, but Rakken’s strength surpassed his own, hands like steel bands around his wrists. Then Ambrose was slammed against the oak tree and found himself suddenly far too close to those unsettling dark blue eyes. “Demon,” he said, still struggling futiley in Rakken’s grasp.
“I have told you that is not my name, Paladin Ambrose.” The tone was deceptively casual, almost conversational. Ambrose wondered how much longer he had to live, and why the Goddess had thought him fit to know Her will and wield Her power. “So young, you are. Is the Goddess so desperate for killers that she hires men who are barely more than children?”
“I am two and twenty summers, demon,” Ambrose replied, temper flaring. Why must everyone mock his youth?
Rakken chuckled. “Little more than a child, though I could tell that by your scent. The tang of blood has not yet conquered your innocence.” The soft laughter in Ambrose’s ear made him shiver. “I wonder how innocent you still are, little Paladin.”
As suddenly as he’d been pinned, Ambrose found himself free – so abruptly he nearly lost his balance. His cheeks burned as Rakken laughed.
“Run along, Paladin. You are in over your head here.”
His cheeks burned hotter at being told to ‘run along’ like a kid sent outdoors when the grown ups wanted to speak in private. “Confound you, demon, I am not some boy!”
As quickly as that he was pinned again, the demon’s body surprisingly warm where it pressed against his, clawed hand tight but not painful as it pinned his arms over his head against the tree. “You are very much a boy, little Ambrose. Death you are acquainted with, and suffering, but there is much on you that yet reeks of innocence.” One claw traced over his bottom lip, leaving a thin cut. Blood welled up and Ambrose tasted copper as he licked it away. “I should have killed you,” he said quietly.
“Yes, you should have. You did not, and now I find myself reluctant to let you.” Rakken released him again, expression inscrutable as he shoved Ambrose back toward his horse. “Go, Paladin, before I do something we will both regret. Do not bother me again.”
Not knowing what else to do, Ambrose hesitated a moment longer then simply mounted his horse and rode away, desperate to leave the field that had once been his retreat and the demon that had taken it over.
Though he tried not to, Ambrose looked back – and was startled to see that this time, the demon was watching him. Hastily he looked away, and urged his horse to a gallop.
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Date: 2006-11-01 12:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-01 12:39 am (UTC)*hugs* We need decadent food and good pr0n, I say.
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Date: 2006-11-01 12:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-01 02:53 am (UTC)Hee. It does amuse me how quickly you latched onto the demon. I didn't think he'd have many fans, really.
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Date: 2006-11-01 03:11 am (UTC)Though Sable is still cooler. *nod* ^.^
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Date: 2006-11-01 01:05 am (UTC)Sorry you had a crappy Halloween. I wore an orange shirt and got candy from a few of my teachers and that's looking to be the extent of my Halloween. Maybe I'll take a bath, or find a cable and watch TV.
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Date: 2006-11-01 02:54 am (UTC)Aw, now - how could I resist a backstory like that? ^_~ I know better with this crowd, anyway <<<333
I sooooo wish a bath was possible. There's nothing more relaxing. Except maybe napping.
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Date: 2006-11-01 01:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-01 02:55 am (UTC)Thankee <3
Heh. Demons would take offense, yes. ^___^
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Date: 2006-11-01 01:33 am (UTC)and sorin is so cute! his concern for koray is just so sweet. and koray's insecurities are so endearing- yay for odd couples!
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Date: 2006-11-01 02:55 am (UTC)I actually have all of their story written. I just need to write the present day stuff ^^;;
They're fun to write. I'm glad you're enjoying ^____^
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Date: 2006-11-01 03:07 am (UTC)I'm sorry your Halloween is not treating you nicely. But thank you so much for making mine better. *loves*
My Halloween was okay, but the rest of the week is going to be awful.
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Date: 2006-11-01 03:16 am (UTC)There was also a line that made me almost crack up during class and now I can't find it. Darnit!
Found it!
Date: 2006-11-01 03:20 am (UTC)XD
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Date: 2006-11-01 04:56 am (UTC)So I'm attempting to give up on that, in any case. ^___^;; We'll see how well that goes. But as for Black Magic? I honestly think it's one of your best. I swear I re-read The Necromancer bit six times in a week because it is that good. (And I probably would've done the same with Alchemist if this hadn't popped up.) I love how intricate the plot is, I love how well defined your characters are, I love Koray and Neikirk (esp. Neikirk! Beautiful, studious alchemist, *___*)
I'm curious to see how the ruby ties in, and Alfrey's soul - though it may be as simple as being just another soul to mask a demon's, I somehow doubt it. And though Rofell kept going on about how Alfrey chose Nella over him... I'm not sure if I believe quite yet whether it was of a romantic bent or not... (and another reason I tend to not leave comments, you're probably laughing at my stupidity or something I missed right now.)
And that up there was supposed to tell you how little I guessed at the sword's purpose or what the demon wanted with it. Mostly because you focus so much on the characters and what's going on with them. Like in this section, when Koray's telling Sorin what he learned from the demon's ghost - it's not a 'smother you with plot' feeling, it's a 'the characters are more important' feeling... and I'm not really sure I'm getting that across well. But it's more compelling than it would be the other way around.
(And oh, how my heart ached for Koray when he was in the church. Such lovely aching angst. And Koray and Sorin together just, guh. I love it.)
Though a lot of the pairings in BM are so lovely. Neikirk and Cerant are my very nearly my favorites, if only because I love Cerant's 'my dear' and Neikirk's striving to become worth Cerant.
And this? The Dark Paladin? Ambrose and Rakken? So painfully lovely. (Of course, a lot of that might just be because demon + holy man = *__*) I can't wait to see more of this, and I'd curse Nano for getting in its way, but Nano = more writing, and as I mentioned, I attack everything you write with my eyes as soon as I can.
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Date: 2006-11-01 07:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-01 11:11 am (UTC)yay soul!
I don't recall a link to any picture. I'll double check my email.
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Date: 2006-11-01 02:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-02 12:15 am (UTC)AAAAHHHHH! ZOMG THAT ROCKS.
So not worthy *___* Pretty pretty catboys.
Yeah, totally never got that in my email. I'm bad about replying, but totally would have replied immediately if not sooner.
I love the clothes. The 'maderr' on the ass.
Hee ^__^ Thank you, babe. I love, adore, and cherish it. You're a sweetie.
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Date: 2006-11-02 07:33 am (UTC)I love the clothes. The 'maderr' on the ass.
I rather liked that bit myself. Good luck with nano !
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Date: 2006-11-01 01:46 pm (UTC)Wonderful chapter! I love the Koray/Sorin interaction, and the bit where Koray met Claws was too cute. For a minor character, I quite like the High Priest - he acts like a priest should. Zaede is rather annoying in this chapter, but I guess that's just my reaction to his character. I like Rakken and Ambrose and look forward to hearing more about them.
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Date: 2006-11-02 12:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-02 02:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-02 08:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-02 09:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-02 11:02 pm (UTC)It reminds me of the couple from WISH. I always wanted to know more about them.
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Date: 2006-11-02 11:05 pm (UTC)o.o? Hisui and Kokuyou?
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Date: 2006-11-02 11:24 pm (UTC)I can't recall their names. >.>; The Son of Satan and the high up Angel that failed to mention it to him. Lol.
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Date: 2006-11-02 11:34 pm (UTC)*laugh* Yup, that's them. They were my favorite Wish characters. ^^ One of these days I'm going to make my roomie sew me a Hisui costume. *____*
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Date: 2006-11-02 11:49 pm (UTC):cracks:
:clings and whimpers: What happens?! T___T
:ahem:
Oh yes. I do love them. There just wasn't enough about them! T___T
zomg. That would be an awesome costume.
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Date: 2006-11-02 11:53 pm (UTC)Agreed. Not nearly enough. >.> Now I want Wish icons... ^^;
Yeessss... *.* It so would be. ^.^
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Date: 2006-11-03 12:05 am (UTC)It was funny when they kept on getting interupted though. XD! One always needs more icons. XD!
*________* I pre-emptively demand photos. :nods:
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Date: 2006-11-03 12:59 am (UTC)Oh yes. ^____^ That was the best part. ;)
^^; Hai, hai...
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Date: 2006-11-05 11:33 pm (UTC)Yeeees. Although you know, frustrating at the same time.
Good good. XD!
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Date: 2006-11-02 03:03 pm (UTC)(And I'll read during the weekend? X_x;; Sorry...)
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Date: 2006-11-05 07:21 am (UTC)I want Koray to be happy. :(
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Date: 2006-11-02 09:28 pm (UTC)2) Sorin. Silly man. I love that, to a certain extent, he doesn't understand the depths of Koray's insecurities. That he's just so forward and frank about Koray's place in the palace and the church and his almost lack of understanding when it comes to Koray's questions of whether or not he deserves to be there in the eyes of anyone else. It's just like, he knows it's right, he makes sure that the right is carried out, and everyone can go hmm-hmm themselves if they don't like it. It's not that his world is completely black and white, just that you know that he does his damnedest to do the right thing, regardless of everything else.
3) Rakken is adorably surly. And how much do I love that you have him in here? I like that your demons get to be more than demons through him. They're beings in their own right, with their own motivations and thoughts and feelings, and I'm totally curious as to why he's in the field, so depressed. *______*
4) Poor Ambrose. Talk about having your world turned upside down and your understanding of it turned on its head. I like how mad he gets at Rakken needling him about his age.
5) I heart you. Seriously. Your brain is just too damn cool for words. *pets it*
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Date: 2006-11-05 02:08 am (UTC)And this new OTP!! I adore Rakken and Ambrose! Soldiers on opposite sides meeting in some middle ground and falling in love. *sigh* Also, seeing the demons as real, er, people, with souls and thoughts and feelings rocks hard. Mindless evil monsters are good for black and white plot, but turning the world to grey is ...literary. So very cool. *bows before your greatness*
I look forward to you getting back to this after Nano.^^