Legacy of the Demon (Kara Gillian 8)

Idris gave a subdued nod, anger gone. “We’re the good guys, aren’t we?”

“I believe that with all my heart,” I said. “But at the same time, I doubt the Mraztur think of themselves as the bad guys. Remember, a whole lot of wars have started because both sides were absolutely certain they were in the right.”

He made a face. “I can’t imagine anything they do is right.”

“Then you’d better start trying,” I said, tone sharp. “If you can only paint your enemies as monsters, then you’ve lost all hope of a peaceful resolution.” With a well-placed finger on his sternum, I pushed him back until he folded into a chair. “Szerain believes you’re the greatest summoner alive, and I agree with him. But it’s time for you to start looking at the bigger picture.” I gentled my voice. “Mzatal never intended to keep Rhyzkahl bound to the nexus forever. You know that. It was time.”

He looked thoughtful now, which told me I’d gotten through to him, at least a little.

“You should go sit under the grove tree,” I said. “It’s a really good thinking spot.”

He gave me a dubious look but pushed up and headed outside. Through the window, I watched as he crossed the yard then flopped to sit under the brilliant canopy.

Good. Rho would help him get straightened out.

I allowed myself a few precious seconds to savor the all too rare peace and quiet, then followed up with a luxuriously hot shower and bath soak that lasted a decadent twenty minutes. Dressed, clean, and ever so slightly more relaxed, I returned to the kitchen where I found biscuits and bacon ready, with Pellini partaking of both. While I stuffed my face and downed more coffee, Pellini informed me that he and Szerain had checked out the stone turtle.

“It’s not as big as I expected,” he said between bites of bacon. “Only about two feet long. But Szerain found a spot on its belly that was different and opened ’er up.” He paused and took an overly long sip of coffee.

“Tell me what you found. Now, or you’ll be sleeping in Rhyzkahl’s tent.”

Pellini grinned and wiped his mouth. “Nine rolls of makkas wire. About seventeen gauge or so and at least fifty meters each.”

“Sweet!” I said, relieved. “That’s a lot better than the raw lump I was envisioning.”

“My guess is that whoever stuck it in the turtle meant for it to be easy to use in a pinch.” Pellini took a bite of biscuit then washed it down with a slug of coffee. “Szerain’s downstairs now. Said he wants to talk to you once you’ve shit, showered, and shaved.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Is that how he phrased it?”

“Pretty much,” he said with a laugh.

Since I’d already accomplished all three, I made my way to the basement.

Ryan Kristoff had lived down here for several months, ensconced in his own little man-cave with the usual manly comforts: TV and DVD player, futon, small refrigerator, gaming console. Then Idris had moved in, and it was just a spare bedroom in a slightly unusual location.

Szerain had pulled my big armchair over by the futon—currently in couch-form. Spread out before him was a ten-foot diameter circle of floor filled with complex sigils that crawled with rakkuhr and defied identification, at least by me. Everything else was exactly as Idris had left it. But though I couldn’t in a million years define why or how, Szerain had turned it back into a man-cave.

“Did you get Idris all sorted out?” he asked when I reached the bottom of the stairs.

“For now,” I said. “He’s a good guy. Can’t say I blame him for reacting the way he did, considering everything he’s been through.”

“And he’s young.” A corner of his mouth quirked up. “It’s easy to forget that when he’s so skilled and has such focus.”

My lips twitched. “Greatest summoner alive, right?”

“For now,” he said with a sly grin.

I could tell I was expected to assume that I’d someday surpass Idris, but I wasn’t going to fish for compliments. “What’s all this?” I waggled my fingers at the circle o’ sigils.

“Monitoring,” he said. “The dimensional stronghold as well as general arcane activity for when Xharbek decides to step up his game.”

“When? Not if?”

> “He expected Dekkak to kill you and then bring him Elinor’s essence. Not only did that plan fall through, but we succeeded in retrieving and restoring Elinor.” Szerain’s mouth tightened into a humorless line. “He’s not a happy demahnk right now.”

“If Xharbek is the least restricted of all the demahnk, does that make him the fearless leader of the rest of them?”

“It’s a good working theory.”