Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian 6)

“I am breaking the bond,” Zakaar said, his trembles slowly easing. “Breaking the oath.”

Horror spread over Rhyzkahl’s face. “You cannot!” He shook his head in denial at the very idea. “The bond is inviolate,” he practically sputtered. “Zakaar, your time on Earth has driven you mad.”

Off to my right, Kadir reached down without ever shifting his eyes from us, gripped Asher by the hair at the back of his head then expertly slammed his forehead into the ground to leave the summoner stunned and limp. That done, he straightened, stepped over Asher and moved several feet closer to—as far as I could tell—get a better view. It reminded me oddly of tying up a pet dog to make sure it doesn’t run off while the owner steps away to look at something interesting.

Paul’s voice crackled in my ear. “Oh, man, the feeds are nuts! They totally shifted when you went up by Zack.” I flicked a quick glance over to Kadir as I realized it was the feeds—the potency flows—that had him so fascinated.

Zakaar slowly shook his head, eyes never leaving Rhyzkahl. “No, my time on Earth has brought me a breath of sanity.” He closed his eyes, and his focus grew palpable. Undoing the strands that held a several-thousand year old bond wouldn’t be an easy task, much like picking the lock of long-rusted prison chains, but I knew Zakaar was determined to find a way. I pygahed for both of us, supporting him physically and emotionally.

“Whoa, coooool,” Paul breathed. “Now things are coiling and going all over the place.”

Kadir took another step forward. Rhyzkahl jerked as if stung. “Zakaar!” For the first time fear flickered in his eyes. “Cease!”

“There is no stopping now,” Zakaar said in a voice full of sorrow. Uncertainty flooded to me from Mzatal, as if echoing Rhyzkahl’s experience. I touched him, sought to soothe him.

A weird non-physical vibration went through me, and Rhyzkahl jerked again, harder. Kadir’s eyes narrowed, head swiveling this way and that as he tried to assess the shifting flows. I caught a hint of movement behind me and to my right, and I glanced back to see Paul on his feet, lips slightly parted as he focused on his tablet, a bizarro mirror of Lord Creepshow’s fascination.

Abruptly, Kadir spun and moved back to Asher, seized him by the hair and dragged him to the node, then literally threw him in. The summoner disappeared with a weird pop, but Kadir remained and turned back to watch, having put the pet dog in the kennel.

Rhyzkahl dropped to his knees, face a mask of anguish and loss. “No. No! Come back to me,” he pleaded, voice breaking. “Zakaar!”

A sliver of pity wormed its way in, and I allowed it to remain for now. None of the lords had ever been without a ptarl. Ever. I couldn’t even think of a human parallel. Divorce? Not even close. Losing a limb? Horrible, but not unthinkable. Losing a loved one? A tragic part of existence, but an accepted one.

Zakaar’s arm tightened around me as I felt him reach for the last strand. One final cut to sever an unbreakable bond. “Tah si firkh. I’m here for you,” I said softly, held him to me.

His breath came in short gasps as he remained poised above that last strand. Then he tensed, every muscle rigid as iron, and made the final cut to free himself.

Rhyzkahl let out a strangled cry and fell to his hands and knees. His blade, Xhan, tumbled out of his grasp as he stared at nothing, face stricken with unimaginable loss. “Zakaar,” he pleaded.

The tension abruptly fled Zakaar, and his knees buckled. Taken off guard, I managed to lower him to the ground with a bit of control, then knelt beside him and cradled him to me while I murmured I am here, I love you over and over.

Zakaar, his face twisted in tormented sadness, jerked heavily, much as Rhyzkahl had done, as a low anguished noise issued from his throat. A wave of desolate despair swept over me from him. Eyes still on Rhyzkahl, he gave me a brief mental touch, like the brush of a phantom’s fingers, then vanished.

Chapter 40

Unbalanced by Zack’s abrupt departure, I barely caught myself before going sprawling and struggled quickly back to my feet. Worry for Zack swept through me, followed by a wave of frustration. He’d sacrificed himself and now he needed support more than ever. An agonized cry broke through my thoughts, snapped me back to the here and now.

Rhyzkahl crumpled to his side then rolled to his back, eyes wide as he began to puke. With a stunned look on his face, Kadir stepped smoothly forward and rolled Rhyzkahl to his side, then set a foot on his shoulder to hold him there so he wouldn’t drown in vomit. His eyes came to me, and I felt his slicing regard. Did he fear that his own ptarl, Helori, would follow Zakaar’s example? Or did he hope for it, estranged as they were?

“Kara,” I heard Mzatal say from behind me, plea in his voice. “Come back.”

I returned to Mzatal’s side, and guilt stabbed me at the shock in his face, his unsteady breath, his uncertainty. I should have warned him somehow. “I’m here, Boss.”

“Kara. Zharkat.” I watched him visibly fight for focus. Now that the unthinkable had happened to Rhyzkahl, the other lords knew it was possible and could conceivably happen to them. “They are not done,” he said. “Jesral and Amkir.”

“Hold it together, Boss,” I told him, centering for us both. “Focus on the now. It’s all good.” A peal of thunder startled me, and a moment later rain pattered down in hard and fierce drops for several seconds then stopped again.

Jesral abruptly threw off the potency net that had held him. He looked just as shaken and freaked as Mzatal, but his focus returned as he concentrated on the situation at hand. Three quick strides brought him to where the blade, Xhan, lay on the ground between him and Rhyzkahl. He stooped to pick it up, then dropped it with a curse and shook his hand as if it had burned him. Jaw set, he pulled a cloth from an inside pocket of his jacket, doubled it, then carefully retrieved the blade and tucked it away. With that accomplished his attention shifted to Amkir, who still lay pinned on the ground. The two lords’ eyes met. Jesral gave a slight nod. Amkir returned it.

Those two are up to something, I thought—and had no time to do anything more.

Jesral’s head swiveled toward me, and he lifted a hand, even as Amkir gestured to where Idris lay bound behind Mzatal. In the next heartbeat I let out a hoarse scream as the sigils on my body flared in hideous reminder of the agony that had formed them. Distantly, I heard Idris cry out, and I realized Amkir must have activated a recall implant in Idris. Like an arcane homing device, the recall was intended to return its subject to the one who placed it. But because Idris was still behind Mzatal’s protections, it could only pull; like tying a rope around someone’s middle and then attempting to yank them through a chain link fence. Pull the rope hard enough and something has to give.

Jesral twisted his hand, and instantly my agony ratcheted up and flashed in quick sequence through each of the eleven sigil scars of the lords, before settling into a steady white-hot burn. My vision went grey, and I staggered, saved from falling as Mzatal threw an arm out and pulled me back against him. The agony abated very slightly with the contact, but behind me Idris gave another pain-filled cry.

A primal scream of fury and frustration burst from Mzatal. His resources were exhausted, and I sensed his awareness that he could perhaps save either Idris or me, but not both. And then even that awareness burned away in the fury that seethed within him.

Jesral closed his fingers, and a pinpoint of searing heat like a tiny sun burned over my sternum. Red tinged my vision, and I shuddered then looked down at the arm around my waist. Why was Mzatal holding me? I began to struggle against the hold. No. I needed to return to Jesral, to Rhyzkahl.