Work Text:
Shaman had gotten used to spending most of his time at the bottom of a gorge, and really didn’t mind it as long as his demon was with him. After a restful night in the ravine, he awoke ready to pursue their quest for one of the sacred scrolls. First he gathered his magic in preparation for working the complex spell that the old god had given him. He recalled the sigil perfectly, but when he began to draw it out on a piece of parchment, the ink refused to stay on the page. Every mark he drew dissolved into fine droplets and scattered in the air. Drawing it in one unbroken line didn’t make a difference; as soon as his pen left the paper the symbol was gone.
“Did the god trick you?” Demon asked. He’d been sitting nearby, idly cleaning his sword while Shaman worked. He looked more relaxed than Shaman had ever seen him.
“I don’t think so,” Shaman said, frowning. He had heard of wards like this, and it made sense that this particular spell would have unusual security. Allowing the location of one of the sacred scrolls to be written down and perhaps fall into the wrong hands would be disastrous. Following that logic, he had to find a way to write it out in a temporary medium, one that would last until he could work his locator spell, then dissipate.
He’d been using the flat side of a large rock as his work table. It needed adjusting, but once he had a level surface, he scooped up a handful of sand and began dribbling out the lines of the spell. It was a slow process, and the result was imprecise, so he had to go back several times to refine each stroke. When it was complete, the spell lit up with its own inherent energy, pulsing in pure white light.
Demon came closer to see it. “What’s next?”
Shaman was already working his other spell, incorporating the sand symbol in order to pinpoint the location of the scroll. It took a while, but finally an arc of magical power sprang from his fingertips in the direction he sought. It thinned as it went until it was an all but invisible thread in the far, far distance.
“Now we go there,” Shaman replied. He turned his attention to effecting the spell that would take them to the end of the arc, but the instant his focus changed, the arc vanished. That was unexpected.
He worked the locator spell a second time, glad that the lines of sand hadn’t shifted in the breeze. Once the arc manifested, he made a mental note of where it disappeared on the horizon, then kept his gaze on it while working the transit spell. Again, as soon as other magic was invoked, the arc failed. It seemed the god’s sigil allowed only one other spell to exist in its proximity at a time.
Shaman wasn’t pleased. He leaned back against another rock and glanced at the sun. His attempts had taken the entire morning and required a lot of his own energy.
“We may have to walk part of the way,” he announced. “I can take us to approximately where the arc met the horizon, but the scroll is much farther than that.” He indicated the direction they had to go, northwest across the Barrens and beyond.
Demon nodded solemnly. “Into the River of Sand.” He looked out over the rocky expanse too, shielding his eyes from the sun. “What lies on the other side of the desert?”
“I don’t know.” Shaman hating saying those words. “But we may find out.”
“You’ll need to work the god’s spell again.”
“Perhaps many times.”
“Then we need supplies.”
“Non-magical supplies,” Shaman added, since the last thing they wanted was to get partway through the Barrens only to discover that the sigil had the power to erase magical objects as well as itself.
The nearby hamlet was too small for them to return to without being noticed. Shaman swept away all traces of the sand on the rock, then gathered his charms and reached for Demon’s hand. “We’re going to Shengto.”
They materialized on the outskirts of the crowded market town. Although Demon was wearing his nondescript grey clothing and offered to tie his hair back, Shaman had no intention of letting him go in. With a promise to send frequent messages, Shaman went in alone. As before, his presence wasn’t remarked on. He was able to purchase food and other provisions, as well as shoulder bags to carry everything, and leave again as anonymously as he’d entered.
“I don’t know how long this trip will take,” he stated once they were back in the gully that ran alongside the road. One of the items he’d bought was a slate on which to work the sand spell again, but it would take time, as would re-doing the locator spell. He had no qualms about transporting them to the horizon at the end of the arc in daylight, but wasn’t keen on arriving in an unknown location in the dark. The further the Barrens stretched west from the ravine, the more difficult and treacherous the terrain became. “We will spend the night here.”
Demon was amenable to that. In fact, as Shaman watched him set up a site for them to eat and sleep, he reflected on how his companion seemed perfectly content no matter what they did. His demon had apparently lost his anger, his sorrow, and especially his gloom.
Once they lay together on a blanket, Shaman took the other’s hand again, enjoying the cool feeling of his skin in the warm night. “I need to give you a name.”
“Whatever you wish.”
“Pet?”
Demon hesitated, as Shaman had hoped he would. He did not, and never would, want his lover to fall into that category. “Not that.”
“Do you have a preference?”
“I haven’t thought about it.”
“Think of a name, or ‘Pet’ it shall be.”
Demon smiled, pulling Shaman closer. “You’ll go with whatever name I choose?”
“No.” Shaman smiled too, but his thoughts were veering toward a different subject. He slipped his fingers under his partner’s tunic to caress the firm flesh there, gently tracing some of the scars. When Demon copied his move, Shaman drew in his breath in pleasure and closed his eyes. “Suggest three names and I’ll select one.”
“How much time do I have?”
“Till we find the scroll,” he said, since it looked like that was not going to happen as quickly as he’d once expected. In the meantime, he intended to enjoy his lover’s touch and not worry about their upcoming trek.
##########
Next morning Shaman worked both the sand and locator spells as efficiently as possible, but it still took several hours. Once the arc appeared, he marked its farthest place on the horizon then, holding his slate level, he moved himself and Demon to that spot.
It turned out to be deep in the Barrens, amidst a tumble of large boulders and rocks with no path in sight. Behind them was a low hill covered in scree, ahead were more boulders obstructing their view of what lay beyond. Shaman and Demon climbed to the top of the highest one nearby, but all they could see ahead of them was more rubble, rising steadily as it extended to the west.
“Find a flat surface,” Shaman instructed, turning to his slate. Not surprisingly, the lines of the sigil had not survived the trip.
Sand was not hard to come by. Once the spells were re-created, the arc emerged, but it only journeyed a few miles before disappearing behind more rocks. Shaman mentally marked where it ended, then moved them both to the new location. If anything, it was more desolate than the first.
Demon surveyed their surroundings, where boulders now rose too high for even him to see over. “I will do whatever you want, but this method of travel isn’t practical.”
“Granted.” Shaman sat down to consider. The distance they could cover in each move was not worth the time it was taking to work the spells: they could walk it quicker if not for the hazardous terrain. There was no way to know whether the rubble would continue to rise ahead of them for miles or whether it would soon transform into the desert. “Pros and cons?”
“If you use magic, you’re going to wear yourself out doing those spells every few hours, and we still risk arriving in a place where the footing is dangerous. Without magic you will be worn out physically climbing up and over this.” Demon stopped, but Shaman indicated he should go on. He rather liked hearing the demon’s strategic training come to the fore. “Either way, it’s going to take a lot longer than we prepared for, and eventually our supplies are going to run out. When we reach the desert it will be worse because we’ll have no shade and you are not dressed for intense heat.”
“In other words, we need a new plan.”
“Yes…” Demon apparently realized that Shaman had reached the same conclusion before even asking. Shaman nodded, satisfied. He wasn’t about to let his demon coast.
They ended up doing one more jump that evening, but the place they arrived was very like the place they’d left. Demon hoisted himself onto a huge boulder to see what lay beyond, but came back down shaking his head.
“I couldn’t see an end to the rocks,” he said. “Can you climb?”
Shaman hadn’t done so in years, but it was not in his nature to admit to an inability. “If necessary.”
“In that?” Demon’s eyes flicked over Shaman’s dark robes.
“If necessary,” Shaman repeated. “Let’s set up camp here. I’ll use magic to replenish our provisions. Tomorrow we’ll decide whether we need to start walking.”
They spent the night there and next morning began making their way over the rocks. There was no need to work the spells because they knew the general direction they needed to go. At first it was not easy or quick: Demon clambered efficiently from boulder to boulder, but Shaman gave up the struggle once he’d proven to the other that he could climb. From then onward he moved himself magically from one gigantic stone to the next, letting Demon make his own way. Judging by the small smile on the latter’s face whenever he achieved a difficult summit, he didn’t mind, seemingly pleased with his own prowess.
Around noon they stopped for Shaman to work the spells, then set off in a slightly altered direction. The terrain didn’t change much; the rocks just grew larger and more tightly compacted. By nightfall they’d covered an impressive distance, but there was no end in sight.
For two more days they followed the same route, and finally, far ahead, the boulders appeared to come to an end. Shaman immediately sent himself and Demon to the farthest point he could see, and was dismayed to discover that the end was in fact a steep drop-off. The only way forward was down, and the ground at the bottom proved to be the beginning of the desert. Drifts of sand crept a third of the way up the cliffside.
“That’s… a lot of sand,” Demon remarked as they both gazed out at an apparently endless expanse. They were still facing west, but the River of Sand ran to the north and south as well. There was not a tree or other plant to be seen.
Shaman didn’t comment until he’d transported them to the bottom of the cliff. In its shade he set up his slate and began working the spells.
“We can travel from dune to dune,” he decided. “We’ll conserve our water, and I’ll devise some protection from the sun.”
Demon was still looking out across the desert. “There are no landmarks,” he pointed out. “You’ll have to work the spells more often. Can you do that?”
“Of course. I can do whatever is needed,” Shaman said. He caught an odd look from his companion but didn’t question it since he had to concentrate on his magic. He was reluctant to admit it, but doing the spells was taking a lot out of him. His head had begun to ache after each session, and as much as he would have liked to attribute that to physical exertion, he recognized the signs of his energy being drained. One of his teachers had once forced him to expend every ounce of his power to demonstrate what it felt like. He’d determined never to experience that again, but he didn’t see a choice.
The locater arc rose gracefully from his fingers and disappeared behind a dune in the near distance. Shaman marked its end mentally, but before moving them there, he created hats for himself and Demon with wide brims to shield them from the unrelenting sun. He didn’t think Demon’s dead skin could burn, but he knew his own could.
From the top of the dune, all they could see were more dunes, more sand, more sun. After working the spells twice more with the same discouraging result, Shaman had to rethink their strategy. Demon had been correct that without landmarks, they dare not more forward without the aid of the arc, but he could not keep doing the spells without resting in between.
It was nearly dusk, so he began setting up camp, which now included a sun shade to cover them both.
“We will travel at night,” he said, wishing he didn’t sound so fatigued.
Demon nodded. “We can use the stars to navigate.”
“It will be cooler as well.”
“Then we can rest now till the stars rise.” As he spoke, the demon placed his arm around Shaman and urged him to lie back. Shaman didn’t resist although he meant to assure the other that he was fine. Instead he sank into sleep mid-thought.
##########
Once the stars were high and clear in the sky, Shaman worked the spell again. This time, while the arc shimmered over the desert, they marked its end by the nearest constellation. Acting quickly, they moved short distances in that direction, only stopping when it became obvious that the stars had moved on. At that point, Shaman knew he didn’t have the energy to do the spells again. His head still throbbed from the last effort.
“I’m going to give you another power,” he announced, sinking to the hot ground. Demon sat down beside him, frowning. A wind had sprung up, so Shaman formed the sun shade around them as a tent. “We may need light since we’ll be traveling by night, and I won’t be able to interrupt the spells to create it, so I’m giving you that ability.” He formed a new symbol on the other’s jawline. “You’ll have light whenever you want it now.”
Demon tested his new power, and the appearance of a small flame at his fingertips made him smile, but only for a moment. He dissolved it and turned to Shaman, his expression concerned. “How else can I help you?”
Shaman didn’t reply; he merely pulled his demon to him and lay back. The only thing that could help him at that moment, aside from leaving the desert and never working the god’s spell again, was resting in his lover’s arms.
They slept all day, or at least Shaman did, and Demon stayed wrapped around him the entire time. It was sweltering inside the tent, but the sun didn’t reach them. When it came time to rise and resume their trek, Shaman’s head still ached mildly, but his energy was restored enough to work the spells. Again they moved forward in short bursts, following a designated constellation. Shaman did the spells a second time, the lines of the sigil barricaded from the wind, but by morning, they were still far from their goal and still surrounded by unending sand and unrelenting sun.
By the third night, Shaman’s headache never went away, and he’d begun to make mistakes while fashioning the sigil. When he realized this, he stopped mid-spell, intending to start over and completely unable to remember how.
“You’re going to kill yourself,” Demon told him quietly. He’d been hovering nearby, watching, but now he laid his hand on Shaman’s forehead. “I think you have a fever.”
“It’s just the heat,” Shaman said slowly. “We need a new plan.”
“We need to get out of this place while you still have the strength.”
Shaman turned to him. “We’ve come too far to give up. We have to be close now.”
“Maybe the scroll isn’t meant to be found. Maybe leading us on an endless quest is another of its wards.”
That idea made Shaman’s head hurt more, because it was possible. “The old god wouldn’t do that to us.”
“Finding the scroll isn’t worth this,” Demon stated. He cupped Shaman’s chin, and his voice softened. “Your eyes are black and sunken although the magic you’re doing isn’t dark. You can’t keep going.”
Shaman’s automatic reaction was to contradict him, but now that he was immobile, he realized he could feel unnatural warmth behind his eyes. It wasn’t a normal fever, but neither was it healthy.
“I need to rest,” he said, setting aside the slate. He fell back, only vaguely aware that Demon was there to catch him. Somehow the other’s body was still cool, and it felt divine against his skin. He could do nothing other than sleep, even if he’d wanted to.
The next evening he worked the spells one more time, carefully laying out the sigil despite the pounding in his head. Using all the energy he could muster, they moved onward, going until Shaman couldn’t see for the pain. He passed out where he stood.
When he awoke, it was long after sundown, and the first thing he saw was Demon solemnly forming the sigil on the slate by a light he’d produced himself. Shaman stared for several minutes in confusion.
“Is it accurate?” Demon asked without looking at him.
“Almost.” Shaman reached over to correct a few of the lines, eventually making the symbol glow. “Thank you.”
“I can’t work the magic, but at least I can do this. I’ve seen it enough times.”
“I…” Shaman stopped himself before he could say something he’d regret. He refused to be sentimental. His head felt like it was splitting open, but he managed to get to his feet and work the locater spell. He paused then; if he’d had the strength, he would have given his demon the ability to move them, but granting a power took more energy than actually performing it. He marked a constellation at the end of the arc and steeled himself to begin the painful process of moving them toward it a short distance at a time.
“Stop,” Demon said suddenly. “Hold onto the arc.” Shaman’s hand trembled, but he froze the thread of light, waiting. “It doesn’t reach the horizon!”
Shaman looked again and nearly lost the thread when he saw what Demon had seen first: the end of the locator spell was finally there before them, well within jumping distance. Hugging his companion in relief, Shaman moved them to the spot they’d been seeking.
It turned out to be another huge dune, but that didn’t matter; he stood back and used the last of his energy to create a sand storm, raising and disbursing it grain by grain. The fine particles whirled around them before settling on all sides, gradually forming a pit many yards deep and twice as wide. Shaman’s head was frankly swirling along with it, but he kept going until Demon shouted at him to stop. As soon as the air cleared, the latter trudged through the remaining sand to where the dark rounded tip of a canister protruded. He pulled it out, twisted off the lid to look inside, then gave a nod. That’s the last thing Shaman was aware of.
He roused briefly several times over the next few days, always cradled in Demon’s arms inside the tent, and always too weak to speak or move. His head hurt so much he felt ill, his eyes burned, and any bit of light would have made him groan if he’d had the energy to do so. Usually what woke him was Demon trickling water into this mouth, but it was warm rather than refreshing and did nothing to enliven him. He hadn’t the brain power to recall much beyond their situation, and even knowing they’d achieved their purpose in coming out to this corner of the hells didn’t stir him enough to care.
One of the times he rose to consciousness he became aware of Demon murmuring aloud. Shaman tried to listen, hating that his lover was left to deal with their predicament alone.
“I understand that I may never hear you say the words,” Demon was whispering, his usually rough voice so gentle that Shaman barely recognized it, “but it doesn’t matter. My love for you will never change. If you die here, I will stay with you until the end of time…” Shaman’s heart lurched, and he missed the next bit. “…even if we get there. I would rather be with you as I am then live as a human and die without you.”
Shaman tried to open his eyes. He was unsuccessful, but the other must have noticed, because the next thing he felt was a tender kiss on each lid. Shaman’s heart shuddered again, and he passed out reflecting that he didn’t really mind sentiment when it was directed at him.
The next time he woke up it was night, and without the sun beating down on him, Shaman was able to focus his thoughts. He still felt like death warmed over, but the reminder than he had someone depending on him forced him to act. Eyes closed, he clutched Demon tightly, willed the canister into his grasp, and moved them out of the desert. In mid-move his head threatened to crack open, so he surrendered to the pain, arriving back in civilization deeply unconscious.
##########
He woke up in a real bed in a darkened room. His head only throbbed intermittently, but he could tell he was still running a fever and his energy, magical and otherwise, was minimal. When the mattress shifted a little, he turned to see Demon lying beside him.
“Where are we?” he asked, not surprised when his voice was almost too faint to hear. Demon propped him up for a drink of cool water before answering.
“In Shengto.”
“Where is the scroll?”
“Under the bed.” The other replaced the glass with a bowl of soup. “Eat. You’ve been asleep for days.”
“Where in Shengto?” Shaman’s wits returned suddenly. “You’ve been seen here? We can’t stay—”
“We can’t go anywhere else,” Demon replied. “We’re safe for now.”
Shaman automatically tried to send them elsewhere, and was seriously alarmed when nothing whatsoever happened. What power he felt inside hardly stirred. He attempted to create a flame, and barely produced a spark. “I should be able to work spells by now.”
“You’re still unwell. Eat. I have things in hand.”
“Convince me,” he demanded, but he accepted the bowl. While he ate, Demon told him all he’d missed.
They’d appeared outside Shengto in the middle of the night. Since Shaman had been unconscious, Demon had carried him to the first rooming house he could find, dodging the few townspeople still out and about. The house belonged to a woman called Rubena who took one look at them and tried to slam her door. Demon had kicked it in. Inside he calmly explained that they needed a place to shelter until his friend recovered from sun-sickness, and evidently the sight of Shaman passed out and pale as a corpse had touched her maternal instincts, because she agreed to rent them a room.
Since then, she’d been friendly and attentive, which Demon was clearly not used to. She’d made their patient soup every day, whether or not he was awake to eat it, and had washed their clothes. That gave Shaman another jolt.
“She’s seen me without clothing?”
“No. I think she is pretending I’m not a font demon. She has no idea what you are and doesn’t want to know.”
“How did you pay her?”
“I created weapons and sold them in the market—”
“Then you have been seen.”
“I covered my face with a cloak.” Demon set aside the empty bowl. “You’ve been very ill. If not for Rubena, you might have died.”
Shaman took a deep breath. From what he recalled of their horrible time in the desert, that was probably true. “How long have we been here?”
“Nearly a week.”
“I should have some magic back by now.”
Demon did not appear concerned. He lay down beside Shaman again, and it occurred to the latter than he was enjoying their enforced isolation. He always seemed most content when the two of them were alone. “Rest. I’ll go downstairs later for some solid food.”
“May I see the scroll?”
The demon pulled the long leather canister out from under the bed, opened it and carefully drew out a thick roll of ancient parchment. Seeing it intact was enough to reassure Shaman that they hadn’t risked their lives in vain. Once it was safely re-stowed, he curled up next to his lover and went back to sleep.
The following day he met Rubena, a bustling middle-aged woman who seemed too nervous to speak in his presence. She obviously knew enough about font demons to know they served higher masters, and she’d naturally assumed Shaman was one. He adopted a smooth smile and even tone which seemed enough to comfort her, and privately hoped she didn’t plan to come visit again. He’d never had much to say to human females.
When his fever hadn’t broken by the day after, Demon said he had an idea and left the room for a few minutes. As soon as he came back, Shaman heard noises in the next room. It connected to theirs, but the door had been locked till now. Demon waited till the noises stopped, then opened it to reveal a small bathing chamber containing a large wooden tub currently filled with steaming water.
“I commandeered the bathing room for this evening,” he said. “Normally it’s for the use of everyone on this floor, but tonight it’s yours. The other doors are locked.”
Shaman had never beheld a more welcome sight. “Join me?”
Demon shook his head with a smile. “I’ll wash my hair when you’re done.”
He assisted Shaman to the tub, which was deep enough for him to submerge himself up to his neck. The water felt glorious, and the prospect of brushing his lover’s hair afterwards was all he could wish for at that moment. He rested his head on the padded edge of the tub and let his body work on healing itself.
When the water had begun to cool, he got out and wrapped himself in a large, coarse towel. The connecting door was half closed, and as he went to open it, there was a loud crash from the bedroom. Shaman started to pull the door wide, but froze when he saw the source of the sound: the hallway door had been broken open and four burly men had entered. They all wore black and all carried swords, and they surrounded Demon immediately in a well-practiced move. Demon created two swords of his own, but for several vital seconds couldn’t determine which man to attack first.
Shaman instinctively tried to send them far away, but his magic was still not cooperating. He started to pull the door open to join the fray, but Demon saw him and shook his head sharply. Then he raised his weapons and swung at the nearest man. Shaman closed the door to a crack to watch and await his chance to intercede.
It never came. Two of the strangers were quickly wounded, but with all four men moving in on him, Demon’s space to maneuver shrunk to nothing. When one of them pressed his sword to Demon’s throat, Shaman could see him attempt to disappear, and was as startled as Demon when it didn’t work. Then he saw that a second man had forced Demon’s arms behind him and slipped manacles around his wrists. The metal of the cuffs lit up when they touched their prisoner’s skin, revealing symbols Shaman recognized. Demon was powerless while he wore the gods’ shackles.
“The more you fight them, the tighter they’ll become,” one of the thugs told him. “No dark magic gets out and no dark magic gets in.”
Demon met Shaman’s eyes through the crack in the door. For a second Shaman thought he’d grown even paler than normal, then realized that was because all the symbols on his face had faded. Then Demon struggled against the cuffs, turning himself and his captors’ attention away from the doorway. For his efforts, one of the wounded men struck him over the head, knocking him out. They let him fall to the floor where the other injured man bestowed a vengeful kick.
“You can damage him, but don’t kill him,” the apparently leader said shortly. “The Resistance can’t try a corpse for murder.”
“Why bother with a trial?” one of the others grunted. “He’s a demon. He’s never going to be found innocent.”
“Not our business. We just need to deliver him alive.”
Shaman tried with all his heart to work a spell to disable the mercenaries, but all he did was bring on an incapacitating headache. He watched in fury as the men carried Demon from the room. Then he fainted.
He awoke to find Rubena trying to hoist him to his feet. She released him when he pulled away, her eyes widening at a glimpse of his scars.
“I couldn’t stop them,” she exclaimed, raising her hands in fright. “They burst in and said they would break down every door unless I told them where he was! I have other lodgers, families--”
“How did they know that he was here?” Shaman demanded. He made it as far as the bed before collapsing again, and once Rubena saw how weak he was, her fear diminished although her distress remained.
“Someone in the market recognized him, I don’t know who. They must have gossiped.”
“Did you see where they took him?”
“They had a cart and horses. They were heading out of town, that’s all I know.”
Shaman laid his head back and closed his eyes, but there was no way around it: he was useless. After a moment a cool cloth was placed on his forehead, then he heard the door close. The lock was broken, but at least the latch caught. He sank into semi-consciousness without even thinking to make sure the scroll was safe.
For the next two days he allowed Rubena to nurse him, since he could do little else. He rested, ate, and tested his magic every few hours with no change. It was a very familiar feeling, and he thoroughly hated it.
On the third day his headache finally abated, followed that evening by his fever. The next time he attempted to light the bedside candle, a timid flame flickered then caught. He immediately tried to send Demon a message, but his words went nowhere. He might as well have been sending a message to a non-font demon, and although he’d anticipated that, it left him with few options. He could sense magical energy returning to him, and it took all his willpower not to leave the house that moment. Instead he disciplined himself to wait till morning. He knew where he had to go, and it would do no good to arrive at night.
Come daylight he dressed and placed a handful of gold on the table so that Rubena would hold the room. He then retrieved the canister containing the scroll and willed himself to Jade Mountain.
##########
The palace itself looked no different now that it was inhabited by gods rather than demons, but the people living around it were decidedly more cheerful. Shaman materialized in an alley wearing a hooded cloak, and observed for a while before approaching anyone. When a young boy wandered past, he stepped forward.
“I’m a stranger here,” Shaman stated in his most velvety voice. “Do the gods ever leave the palace?”
The boy peered up at him curiously, but without fear. “Some do.”
“Can a message be delivered to them?”
“You can give it to one of the guards.”
Shaman held out a small coin. “I’d rather you deliver it for me.” Grinning, the boy accepted it and then the folded piece of parchment with Shaman’s message to Lior. It simply said “The one who sent you Locke requests a meeting at the tavern outside the palace gates. No trickery.”
As soon as Shaman saw a guard take the note, he retreated to the nearby tavern. He was still a bit unsteady on his feet and was glad to sit and eat something while he waited. He imagined his missive would take a while to reach Lior if he now occupied the top level of the palace, as those in charge were wont to do whether god or demon.
Lior eventually came in alone, glanced around the room, and joined Shaman at his table without hesitation. He looked the same, although more alert than Shaman was used to seeing him. He wasn’t smiling, but neither was he armed.
“Where’s your sentinel?” he asked bluntly, again scanning the room.
“Not here. Can we call a truce?” Shaman asked. He’d set the canister on the floor beside his chair and wondered whether the god would sense the presence of a sacred scroll, but Lior showed no reaction to it. “I need information.”
“I’m listening.”
“My font demon has been captured by the Resistance.”
“And?”
“They used a set of manacles made by the gods. How could they have gotten their hands on those?”
Lior shrugged. “Over the centuries many relics have found their way to the Resistance.”
“Where are they based?”
“Why would I tell you? Your gift of Princess Locke is the only reason I’m here. Do you think I owe you something for that?”
“Yes,” Shaman said, watching him steadily. He knew his gaze could be intimidating even if his physical presence wasn’t. “She was trying to build an army against you.”
“I know. She’s been quite vocal since turning up in our cells. The woman has a mouth on her.” Lior paused. “The way I see it, you traded me one prisoner for another. Two if you count your font demon and Locke’s headless companion. We’ve even.”
“What if I could tell you the location of another of the lost scrolls?”
That made Lior frown. “Prove it.”
Shaman smiled a little. “Tell me where to find the Resistance.”
“You know I won’t do that. I won’t put lives at risk.”
“And I won’t hand over the scroll unless you do.”
“Then it’s stalemate.”
He considered his options. He actually had no intention of surrendering the scroll; he’d promised the old god that he would deliver it to Monkey, and that was a promise he meant to keep. On the other hand, he didn’t trust Lior to keep his word even if he gave it. In Shaman’s opinion, gods were every bit as deceitful as demons, they were just better at pretending.
“Point me in the right direction,” he suggested.
Lior shook his head, but now he looked a bit more sympathetic. “Then what Locke said about you and the sentinel is true?” Shaman didn’t bother to reply. “I can’t help you, but I’ll tell you this. The Resistance has had a bounty on the font demon’s head ever since he killed their Scholar, their Warrior Monk and two of their guards. They want him to stand trial and be executed as an example to other demons who would challenge them.”
“They have a relic that would permanently kill him?”
“If he is killed while wearing the manacles, he would truly die.”
That was not what Shaman had hoped to hear. What scared him more was that, with no connection to his demon, he had no way of knowing when or if that had already happened. The idea of his lover being dead made him feel ill again.
“How long would it take for his captors to reach their base?” he asked.
Lior stood up to go. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
He turned to leave and nearly collided with a young man who’d been sitting at a nearby table. The stranger grinned at him before stepping aside. He watched the god leave the tavern, then turned to Shaman with an equally wide smile. Reflecting that Lior wouldn’t recognize a demon if one bit him on the ass, Shaman waited for the man’s next move.
He smoothly took Lior’s seat as if he’d been invited.
“I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation,” he began. He met Shaman’s eyes easily, his own light blue, bright and friendly.
“By deliberately eavesdropping.”
“I can help you with your problem.”
Shaman looked him over, uncertain just what he was. Not a fighter, that was apparent from his slight build, nor very experienced, judging by his youthful face. He exuded dependability, no small feat for a demon. Shaman felt inclined to trust him, which told him what he needed to know, and also that he couldn’t believe a word the man said. “You’re a Coax Demon, a spy. How is that supposed to help me?”
“More than a spy. People tell me things, things you couldn’t find out on your own. I can help you track down your font demon.”
“Who is your master?”
The other’s shoulders slumped a little, displaying, or feigning, grief. “Alas, he was killed in the Banquet Hall Battle. I have no allegiance now, except to you perhaps?”
“You’re seeking a new master?”
“I can be very useful.” He leaned forward eagerly. “In so many ways.”
Shaman resisted the unwanted urge to smile back at him. “Name one.”
“I can get near to those who have your sentinel without being noticed.” He looked around them to make sure they weren’t being watched. “Don’t blink.”
For a split second Shaman found himself sitting across the table from a small black bear wearing clothes, then the coax demon reappeared, grinning.
“Good trick,” Shaman said blandly. “Can you change into an animal they won’t try to kill for dinner?”
“You’re a difficult one,” the demon said amiably. “Yes, I can become all sorts of animals. I can get close to people and influence their actions. I can—”
“Get a message to my font demon?”
The other nodded, although Shaman suspected it was his habit to agree to anything. “Yes, or a weapon.”
“And in exchange?”
“Without a master, I have no purpose,” he admitted, casting his large eyes downward for a moment. “I can’t motivate myself, that’s one of the drawbacks of being a coax demon. I need a master to set me a task, so I’ve been waiting here for someone to need me.” He looked up, his expression all relief and gratitude. “You do.”
Shaman was growing impatient with his attempts at manipulation, but what he was offering had potential. “If I act as your master temporarily, will you stop trying to work your magic on me?”
“No, not unless you claim me.” He shrugged with no sincerity whatsoever. “It’s what I am. I live to persuade.”
Shaman had no intention of acquiring a second demon, but he also had no qualms about letting the other think he would. “What is your name?”
“Honee. What do I call you?”
“You don’t.” If the coax demon hadn’t figured out who he was, Shaman wasn’t going to give him any hints. “We need to leave at once.”
The other nodded again, but said, “I thought you don’t know where the Resistance are based?”
“I don’t, but all I have to know is what route the mercenaries are taking to get there.”
A plan had come to him while talking to Lior. Everyone knew that the Resistance hid somewhere in the west, and everyone assumed that meant west of Jade Mountain. The thugs who’d taken Demon had to have traveled north from Shengto since the road south led to little more than the old god’s abode and the wilderness beyond. There was no pathway down there through the Barrens to the west, and all that lay to the east was a vast forest. Hence, they’d come north to take one of several roads heading west, and even with horses and a three-day lead, they couldn’t have ventured too far. Shaman just had to devise a way to find them.
“Do you have a private place to work a spell?” he asked. Honee’s smile was his answer. He pointed upward, which Shaman deduced meant he was living above the tavern.
Within minutes they were in the coax demon’s tiny bed chamber, and Shaman was assembling his ingredients on a small table. He tried to send Demon a message again, in case the shackles had been removed, but again his words hit a wall as soon as they left his thoughts. It was worrisome not to be able to sense his lover magically, but that was exactly how he hoped to locate him.
Ignoring his new companion, who knew to keep silent, Shaman spread feelers out in all directions, scanning for all earthly magic, light and dark. He encountered a trace of it in every living thing, human or otherwise. As he gradually increased his range, he continued to find magical energy, noting it and moving on. That wasn’t what he was looking for.
When he finally found it, the complete absence of magic, he narrowed his focus, trying to form an image in his mind. The void was surrounded by light magic and other living creatures who were also engulfed in light magic. By concentrating till his head ached, Shaman was able to pin-point the direction and distance from himself. Then he broke the spell and had to sit down.
“You’re not well,” Honee guessed.
“If I were well, my demon would not have been captured,” Shaman told him irritably. He’d hoped that his sun-sickness had passed, but doing the elaborate spell had exhausted him. The last thing he needed was a relapse. “May I rest here a while?”
Honee gestured to the narrow bed. “Of course. I’ll pack for our journey. Do you have anything besides that?” He pointed to the canister, which Shaman had set in a corner hoping the other wouldn’t notice it.
Most of his and Demon’s possessions were still in Rubena’s boarding house since all that Shaman had brought with him were a few hard-to-acquire charms, the amulet containing his partner’s hair, and the clothes he was wearing. Now he thought of one item that might come in useful and one that was absolutely necessary.
“Do you know where to buy a hairbrush?” he asked as he stretched out on a mattress that proved to be barely softer than the floor.
Honee blinked, but otherwise hid his surprise. He couldn’t help glancing at Shaman’s hair, neatly slicked back as usual, then decided not to ask. “Yes.”
“And we’ll need a chart of this area.”
“I’m on it.”
The coax demon left the room at once. As soon as he’d gone, Shaman closed his eyes, willing his head to stop pounding. He let himself doze, but as soon as the door opened, he was alert again.
Honee strode in with both items he’d gone seeking. Without explanation, Shaman slipped the hairbrush into this pocket, then spread the map out on the table where he’d worked his spell. It was crudely drawn but included the detail he needed.
“We are here,” he said, pinpointing Jade Mountain on the chart. “The mercenaries are approximately one hundred twenty miles from us, which would put them somewhere around here.” He located a road heading west that intersected the one the mercenaries had taken north form Shengto. It was nearly one hundred miles north of that city and sixty miles to the west, but they could conceivably have covered that much ground on horses. The road in question ran west right off the map. “Do you know what lies beyond?”
“I’ve heard the road keeps going till it reaches the mountains,” Honee said, which didn’t help in the least. He began shoving a few of his belongings into a sack. “We’ll need to buy provisions along the way.”
“No, this is not going to take very long,” Shaman predicted. He remembered the intersection of the two roads quite clearly, which meant they could be there in a blink. Then it was just a matter of moving along the western artery until they spotted their prey. That’s when things might get interesting. “Are you ready?”
Honee nodded, slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the door. Shaman waited till his back was turned, then enclosed the canister and scroll in a small invisible sphere. It would have to remain there, hopefully undisturbed, till he got back.
The next instant, he and Honee were standing at the crossroads.
##########
Honee’s knees buckled when he found himself outside in a strange place, but Shaman didn’t give him long to adjust. He peered down the road headed west, which veered erratically at first as it bordered the uneven edge of the Barrens. Further along he could see that it gradually straightened. Focusing on a spot next to a large maple, he moved himself and his disconcerted companion there. The road ahead narrowed as it led further into the trees, which unfortunately cast thick shadows and obstructed Shaman’s view.
“Are we going to travel the whole way like this?” Honee asked.
Shaman didn’t answer, busy choosing his next destination. He didn’t think he could keep doing this for long, but he wanted to get as close to Demon and his captors as possible before nightfall. It was already mid-afternoon.
He moved them several more miles onward.
“Can you give me some warning—” Honee began to say, only to break off when they again moved forward.
Shaman didn’t bother to look at him. “I think you’ve gotten the idea how this works.”
They managed to travel at least forty miles in that fashion before the sun set and Shaman admitted he’d overdone it. He resented having to rest for the night, but by the time they’d settled on a place to camp beside the road, he was feeling as disoriented as Honee, who took the opportunity to go further into the trees and be sick.
“I’ll get used to it,” the latter promised when he came back. He took in stride the sudden appearance of two blankets spread on the grass. Shaman had already laid down on one. “Can you make food?”
Eyes closed, Shaman materialized an apple and a small loaf of bread for him, along with a cup of water. He was too tired to eat, but he forced himself to drink some water as well, knowing that Demon needed him to take care of himself if this rescue was going to be successful.
“Sleep now,” he instructed, turning his back to the other. “We’ll be up at dawn.”
Honee was too busy eating to argue.
Shaman slept deeply for several hours. He woke suddenly when he felt an arm slip around his waist and a hand reach for his private parts. He knew even before his brain was fully functional that it wasn’t his lover, and it wasn’t welcome. An instant later, Honee landed on the other side of the road.
“You just had to say no,” he complained, rubbing his sore posterior.
Shaman sat up, coldly furious. “If you ever try that again, you will find yourself in the middle of the River of Sand.”
Honee smiled charmingly as he came back to sit on his own blanket. “I just wanted to help you relax.”
“You’ve done the opposite.”
“My previous master liked—”
“I do not.”
The coax demon finally accepted defeat. He lay down as if to go to sleep, but Shaman was too angry to do the same. He de-materialized the blankets, one right from under Honee, and began walking up the road. It wasn’t yet light enough to see ahead and make jumping worthwhile, but he had no desire to stay in the other’s presence any longer.
Honee scrambled to his feet, grabbed his sack and followed. At least he had the wits to keep his mouth shut.
Come dawn, just as Shaman was about to resume moving forward magically, they found horse and cart tracks. The day before, a deep layer of leaves had covered that part of the road, but here the trees and leaves had thinned, allowing hoof prints and wheel ruts to show through in the dirt. Since the road was little traveled and they hadn’t passed anyone coming from the west, it was very possible that the tracks had been made by Demon’s captors.
As long as there was no one ahead as far as Shaman could see, he advanced them with his spell. Honee handled it better this time, although Shaman didn’t care if he was ill the entire way as long as the he could perform when needed. They’d gone a dozen or so miles when he spotted a fresh pile of manure in the middle of the road. He couldn’t see anyone ahead of them, but he didn’t dare risk another move that might put them in sight of their quarry.
“Make yourself useful,” Shaman told the coax demon. “Run ahead and see how close we are.”
Honee began to strip. “You’ll be here when I get back?”
“Yes, but be quick.”
Naked, the other took a moment to flaunt himself for Shaman’s benefit, but when he got no response other than a hard stare, he gave up. He shifted his form into that of a large black and brown dog and ran up the road.
Shaman took the opportunity to sit down and rest. He could have worked a spell to see how near they were, but he wanted to conserve his energy. This might be his only chance to get Demon back alive, and he was determined not to fail him again due to weakness.
About thirty minutes later Honee returned. He pranced around Shaman, tongue lolling in what was probably a canine smile. When he nudged Shaman’s hand as if to be petted, Shaman stood up and stepped away, ready to kick him if he tried it again. His dislike of being touched extended to animals.
Honee had enough sense not to persist. Back in human form, he began to re-dress. “There are four men with an open cart about five miles ahead. Your font demon is in it, chained on all sides. The men were wearing swords and what looked like magical amulets. They weren’t hurrying.”
“Was my font demon conscious?”
“Yes, but helpless.”
Shaman’s heart flipped in relief, but he didn’t show it. “Did the men see you?”
“Yes. They figured I was lost and invited me to go along with them.” Honee grinned. “Seems everyone likes dogs except you.”
Shaman ignored him, thinking. The men would need to stop and sleep at some point. If they welcomed the stray dog into their camp, Honee might be able to incapacitate one or more of the men despite the magical protection they wore. First he had to let Demon know that rescue was at hand.
“Go back,” he said. “Linger around them, but don’t get so close that they realize you’re a demon. Take this.” He pulled the hairbrush out of his pocket. It wasn’t anything like the one he and his lover owned, but it would definitely get Demon’s attention. “Try to put it in the cart. If you can’t, just make sure my font demon sees it.”
Honee had finished dressing, but he stripped again without complaint. “Where will you be?”
“I’ll follow but stay out of sight till dark. Once they’ve made camp, find me.”
“And then?”
“I hope you don’t mind killing?”
The other’s teeth seemed to sharpen as he smiled, but since he was in the midst of turning into a dog, it may have been an illusion. He mouthed the hairbrush, circled Shaman once, then again ran up the road. Shaman followed at a comfortable walk, only jumping forward when he’d judged the others had gotten far enough ahead.
##########
It was fully dark before Honee came bounding back. Shaman estimated that they’d covered another forty miles, and without the light of the moon, he wouldn’t have been able to see the road. He only saw the dog because it ran up and tried to lick him.
“They’ve made camp about three miles ahead,” Honee said the instant he’d resumed his human form. “They should be asleep soon.”
“Did my font demon see the hairbrush?”
“Yes. It clearly meant something to him.” He glanced around for his belongings. “You didn’t bring my bag?”
“You can get it on the way back. Did you overhear anything I should know?”
“One of them said they’re nearly at the half-way point. I got the impression they’re expecting to meet someone there to restock their supplies.”
Shaman nodded, convinced they couldn’t wait another day to attack. The mercenaries were tired now, and perhaps letting down their guard. “Tell me about the amulets they’re wearing.”
As Honee described them, Shaman made his plan. It depended on the coax demon, but so far he’d done everything requested, or he had as far as Shaman knew. It was possible that Honee had revealed himself to Demon’s captors and was plotting with them against him. Shaman had to rely on his annoying companion’s desire to find a master, something the Resistance couldn’t provide, as well as the mercenaries’ inherent distrust of demons. The odds they’d allied themselves with Honee were very low.
Still, Shaman wasn’t taking any chances: he created two long knives, the one he handed to Honee guarded against being used on another demon. He explained his plan quickly, then sent the other back to camp in his canine form. He followed more cautiously himself, jumping to where he could just glimpse the glow of a campfire, then to a place just outside its light. From there he could see the entire clearing.
Four men lay asleep, surrounding the wooden cart. The horses appeared to be sleeping as well. For a second Shaman thought that Demon was sleeping too, but his position in the wagon looked far too uncomfortable. He was on his knees, his arms still cuffed behind his back, and a metal collar around his neck had chains attached to the wooden sides that prevented him from reclining. His back was to Shaman, but the slump of his shoulders indicated he’d been forced to remain in that position for days.
Tamping down his fury, Shaman crept closer to the man he’d guessed was in charge. Honee, crouched beside a second man, turned human and awaited the signal. When Shaman knelt and drew his knife firmly across the leader’s throat, Honee instantly did the same. As Shaman had anticipated, the second man did not die immediately, his amulet activating and partially protecting him from the be-spelled dagger. Honee slit his throat again, but not before the man managed a faint cry. Instantly Honee’s dog-self ran behind the cart while the other two mercenaries jumped to their feet and faced Shaman with drawn swords.
Shaman had been prepared for that. While the men hesitated, puzzled how their adversary could have killed two of their compatriots alone, he worked a shield spell that would prevent steel from touching his body. It also prevented him from using his knife again, but that didn’t matter. Honee was under the cart watching for his chance, knife in his teeth.
“I understand the Resistance wished to make an example of my sentinel,” Shaman said coldly. He saw Demon raise his head, but had no time to acknowledge it. “I am therefore making an example of you. One of you gets to live to warn your employers not to come after him again. Who shall it be?”
Both men had raised their weapons as soon as he started talking, but only one darted forward to impale him. The thug’s sword rang against the invisible shield and fell from his hand. Shaman responded by levitating it and turning it on its owner, running him through with a fervor that was anything but cold. Honee transformed and pressed his dagger to the remaining man’s throat till he dropped his sword.
“Where are the keys to the manacles and collar?” Shaman asked. The other pointed to the first victim, unable to speak due to the blade. “Go now, before I change my mind. If I set eyes on you again, you will die much more slowly than these animals did.”
Released, the man backed away, eyes wide and then wider when he saw a naked stranger holding the knife. He took off into the trees behind him, not even bothering to seek out the road.
Shaman went to the cart where Demon was twisting to see over his shoulder. Honee hovered nearby. “Get the keys,” Shaman ordered as he climbed in. “And whatever food and water they had.”
By the firelight his lover looked gaunt and weary, but glad beyond words to see him. His clothing was torn and blood-stained, indicating he’d attempted to fight his captors again at some point, and Shaman knew that if he were capable of bruising, he’d look a thousand times worse.
“Don’t try to speak yet,” he advised softly. He accepted a canteen from Honee and helped Demon drink most of its contents, then embraced him tightly. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to find you.”
“I knew you were looking…” Demon whispered. His tired eyes were trying to shine.
Shaman held his hand out for the keys, not surprised when Honee gave him the whole ring rather than handle the warded one. Relics were known to burn any demon who touched them. The key glowed when it came close to the manacles, but Shaman didn’t care; he gripped it despite the pain and unlocked the cuffs, then did the same with the collar, and tossed them aside. Both left darkened marks on Demon’s skin, akin to brands.
“Those bastards,” Shaman breathed, moving to massage his partner’s stiff shoulders. In his opinion the mercenaries had behaved no better than demons in their mistreatment of their prisoner.
Once Demon could move a little, Shaman assisted him to sit on the end of the cart and left him to eat at his own pace the food Honee had found. The coax demon was standing nearby staring with a thoughtful expression, and needed to be dealt with.
“I hope you’re pleased with me,” the latter said abruptly, smiling and almost oozing charisma. “I’ve proven I can be useful, both on quests and in private.” He posed, drawing attention to the fact that he was still nude. “I’m ready whenever you want to claim me.”
Shaman wasn’t amused. He glanced at Demon, who seemed more curious than threatened. “I don’t intend to claim you.”
“That was our deal,” Honee protested, then switched to charm again. “You couldn’t have found your font demon without me. I have skills you haven’t even seen yet.”
“I would have found him some other way, that was never in question, and I’ve seen more than enough.”
“You let me believe—”
“I used you,” Shaman agreed. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To be useful?”
“I have a lot more power than a font demon.” Honee approached the sitting demon as if to compare them. Although still shaky, Demon stood up, proving to be taller than the other by nearly a foot. Honee immediately moved away. “A coax demon doesn’t need to fight. I have brains as well as physical skills. I can serve you in ways he can only imagine.”
Demon sat down at that, whether out of weakness or in agreement, Shaman didn’t know. He just knew he’d had enough of Honee.
“Let me make something very clear,” he began. “There is only one person on earth I care about other than myself, and that is not you.” Honee’s mouth opened again, but Shaman raised a hand. “I’ll give you a choice. Continue to plague me and I’ll send you to the Barrens. Accept defeat, and I’ll send you home.”
Honee’s lips tightened. “My belongings are still back there on the road.”
“Good choice. You may go get them.”
In a blink he sent the irritating man back to the place he’d left his sack.
Finally able to give Demon his full attention, Shaman went to embrace him again. The other had a slight smile, but didn’t comment on Shaman’s declaration. He rested his head on Shaman’s shoulder and sighed.
“Take me somewhere else?” he murmured.
He didn’t have to ask twice. Half-supporting his lover, Shaman whisked them first to Honee’s room near Jade Mountain to collect the scroll, then to their familiar room in Shengto. It was as they’d left it, although Rubena had obviously been in to clean. Demon’s smile grew when he saw their hairbrush on the bedside table.
“You’re fully recovered?” he asked, pulling Shaman down onto the bed beside him. He looked better, in Shaman’s opinion, now that his font demon symbols had all reappeared.
“Recovered enough to work any spell I need to.”
Shaman described how he’d managed to locate the mercenaries, and why Honee had accompanied him. Demon had already deduced that he’d been the stray dog who’d visited the camp. “It was clever to have him bring a hairbrush. The men just thought he wanted to play fetch.”
“He was helpful, but I have no use for a spy.” On impulse, Shaman stroked the other’s hair back from his face. “I hope you know that there was nothing he could offer me that I wanted.”
Demon nodded. His eyelids were drooping, but he wasn’t ready to sleep. “When we were in the desert, I made a decision.”
“I heard you.” Shaman paused. He would have preferred to simply lay with his lover safely in his arms till morning, but Demon’s words while caring for his ailing companion were future-changing. “You said you’d rather remain my sentinel than become human again.”
“For the first time during my death, I want to stay as I am.” He met Shaman’s eyes. “I want to stay because of you.”
“I want you to stay too,” Shaman said truthfully. Losing his demon to a natural human death was as unacceptable as losing him to the Resistance, and he was relieved that Demon had changed his mind. The fact that the old god had seen it coming made the promise she’d elicited that much more irksome. “This means we have to deliver the scroll to Monkey.”
“But there’s no hurry.”
“No,” Shaman wrapped himself around the other, pleased that he could take care of his partner now rather than the other way around. Rubena would be thrilled to have another patient. “We have all the time in the world to complete our journey.”