Duel With A Demoness (A Huntsman's Fate Book 2) Read online

  Besmir looked at Cathantor, a living God that he had been taught to revere, and saw he was as flawed as any human. He, Sharise and Mwondi might be powerful and immortal but they were just as fallible as people, Besmir realized. His lip peeled back in a sneer and a rush of anger flooded his chest.

  “You’re like children!” Besmir accused. “Powerful yes, but like children all the same...” his eyes widened as realization hit him. “And we’re your toys!” He gasped. “We have lives and loves, suffer losses and pain...all for your entertainment?”

  “Speak not to me in such a fashion, mortal!” Cathantor bellowed in a completely different voice.

  Flames dripped from his mouth as if he were chewing lit tar and Besmir fell back, grazing and cutting his hands as soon as they touched the ashen surface of Hell. He cowered, hiding his face from the rage Cathantor had just exploded into, yet when the God spoke again his tone was pleasant and conversational once more.

  “Porantillia came against Gratallach, hammering at him with dark powers that stunned him enough for her to seal him in the heart of a sun to burn forever.” Cathantor swallowed hard, his deer like neck working. “We cannot free my father,” he said. “His screams haunt my days and nights endlessly. With Gratallach sealed in a star, Porantillia turned her attention to Coranstansia who had never been her match.”

  Besmir saw a single tear glimmer in Cathantor’s animal eye, rolling down his furry cheek as the memories of his mother came back.

  “The battle was immense,” Cathantor said quietly. “My siblings and I could only watch, as if we were to have added our own powers the universe would have died. Coranstansia...mother tried in vain to fend her off but Porantillia’s wrath was so incredible, so immense she didn’t stand a chance. Eventually Porantillia drove mother into the heart of a planet, the energy she used so great the world exploded and Coranstansia was no more,” Cathantor trailed off, staring at the blank horizon as if he could see his mother there.

  Besmir got slowly to his feet, tired and aching, wearied by a thousand cuts and sighed. Something nagged at his mind, some deeply buried idea that would not leave him alone. Yet the more he concentrated, the more elusive it became.

  “The rest of us went into hiding,” Cathantor continued, “but Porantillia attacked our creations. Any world we had seeded with life she murdered, taking no prisoners. It was Mwondi who came up with the idea of the absence,” Cathantor explained. “A prison fashioned from the very grief she had caused.”

  A bitter smile split Cathantor’s deer head at the recollection and he spread his arms wide.

  “We followed her to the last place any of our creations lived. Your world, Besmir. In the middle of a rain of fire we confronted her, binding her in the absence created from our pain and sorrow. Mwondi ripped his chest open first, followed by Sharise and then me. Deurine was the youngest,” Cathantor said fondly. “She felt the loss so much more, so deeply that when she tore the despair from her chest there was nothing left of her to carry on and she faded from existence.” Cathantor laid a gentle hand on Besmir’s shoulder, his touch reassuring and kind. “So you see I do understand what it’s like to lose one you love,” the God continued, “but I can’t let you get to her. I’m sorry,” he said.

  Besmir frowned. Why would a God be sorry? The idea that had been nagging at him surfaced then, alarm bells screaming inside his head.

  “Why are you telling me all this?” He demanded.

  Cathantor’s face twisted into a horrible parody of itself and he shook his head, antlers waving almost sadly.

  “Do you remember how time passes faster here than on your world?”

  Besmir recalled his time here, years ago, when he and his father had spent what felt like a century together yet only a few weeks had passed in Gazluth. He nodded, his neck aching.

  “I truly am sorry,” Cathantor said again. “You can be with your mother in the afterlife,” he added in a quiet voice.

  Besmir looked down at his hands as they had begun to ache. His skin sagged from his bones as if he had aged a hundred years in a few minutes and horrified fright grabbed his chest. A fluttering sensation in his chest signaled his heart was about to fail and Besmir drew in a deep breath, cursing Cathantor with his dwindling breath.

  He was keeping me here. All the time, keeping me from getting to Porantillia so I’d die of old age in Hell.

  Besmir watched as Cathantor faded from sight, his form becoming indistinct before vanishing utterly. The wind returned to rasp across his now ancient skin with Cathantor’s departure and pain ripped at every joint and tendon as he grew older by the minute. Besmir fell painfully to his hands and knees, the diamond sharp ash shredding his hands even more.

  Desperately Besmir reached his weak arm out in a silent plea to anyone to help him. With his energy spent, however, he could not even keep his arm raised and it fell to the ash once more.

  Joranas had given Whint a wide berth since he had come to the realization the man was not human. Whint did not seem to mind. Or even notice, Joranas thought. The young prince’s skin had turned a golden brown in the almost endless sun, his body gradually changing and adapting to this harsh environment.

  He had also started to look after himself a little more. Initially dependent on Whint for all his food and water, Joranas had followed the dark-skinned man as he foraged and hunted learning the best places to find food and water. Whatever race had built this city had included large stone tanks that filled during the rare downpours and stored the water in shaded places where it remained cool. Whint had an almost innate ability to find these cisterns and get fresh water for them.

  The same people who had designed the water systems had also included an irrigation system that dripped water to fruit trees in a few gardens in the city. Now overgrown and wild with self seeded offspring the gardens were unruly places but could provide a morsel or two of fruit for the odd pair. Whint had shown Joranas the trees one afternoon, pointing to the apples that grew high in the branches.

  “Food,” he had said.

  “Yes they look like really juicy apples,” Joranas had said.

  “Juicy apples,” Whint repeated. “Climb up,” he had pointed.

  Joranas had been surprised, that had been the first time the dark-skinned man had asked anything of him, Previously he had been content to carry out any and all tasks relating to feeding and watering them both from hunting and getting water to cooking and finding firewood. That had marked a change in their relationship, as if Whint understood Joranas had some kind of power inside him and was not quite as fragile as he had first believed.

  Joranas had scaled the trees easily, finding hand and foot holds among the tangled branches, then picked the fruit and tossed it to a waiting Whint who stalked off as soon as he had caught the last apple.

  “Hey!” Joranas had called. “Wait for me!”

  “Wait for me!” Whint had called back as he carried on walking.

  Joranas had tried on a few occasions to ask Whint why they were in the city, who had brought them there and if they were ever likely to leave. His answers had been the same frustrating echoing of Joranas’ words that he had been giving since they had met leaving Joranas with little option but to grin and bear it.

  “I want to go home,” he said once he had climbed for the apples.

  “Where is home?” Whint asked in a surprising turn of events.

  “Gazluth,” Joranas said. “A city called Morantine.”

  “Morantine,” Whint repeated.

  “So can we go?” Joranas asked hopefully.

  Whint stared at him with a blank expression for a long time before turning away and shaking his head.

  “Can we go?” The dark-skinned man echoed.

  Rage and despair flooded Joranas then. Whint was the problem. Whint was keeping him here against his will. It was Whint, Joranas wanted to hurt. The hot pressure in his chest flowed down his arms, filling his fingers with a tingling weight her had come to recognize.

  Fire.


  Tears rolled down his cheeks as he fought to contain the heat that threatened to explode from him. Part of him didn’t really want to hurt Whint while another part didn’t believe he could hurt him.

  “Water,” Whint said as he pointed at the tears flooding Joranas’s cheeks.

  “They’re called tears, Whint,” Joranas explained. “I get them when I’m sad or hurt.”

  “Are you hurt?” Whint asked, his kind eyes glued to Joranas.

  “In here,” Joranas said, pointing to his chest.

  “In here,” Whint repeated his words and action, sadly. “Why?”

  “I miss my family,” Joranas sobbed.

  “I miss my family,” Whint echoed.

  “You don’t have one!” Joranas shouted.. “Not one you remember any way. So how can you miss them?”

  “How can you miss them?” Whint said.

  “Stop copying everything I say!” Joranas yelled, his face reddening with the force of his screams.

  Whint looked about to say something but clamped his mouth shut and stared at the horizon.

  “I’m leaving,” Joranas said. “Don’t try and stop me or I’ll burn you.”

  “You cannot leave,” Whint said. “I have to keep you safe here.”

  “Why?” Joranas demanded. “Who told you to?”

  “I don’t know,” Whint said. “But you aren’t allowed to leave.”

  “You’re going to have to kill me then,” Joranas declared.

  Whint’s face fell and he looked as if he were about to cry himself but he stood and approached Joranas.

  “It hurts in here?” he pointed to his chest.

  Joranas nodded, more tears flowing down his face. Whint reached out a gentle finger and caught one, bringing it up to his face for inspection.

  “Tears,” he said. “You should go home,” he eventually added after watching Joranas’ tear evaporate.

  “Really?” Joranas asked expectantly.

  “Really?” Whint echoed before falling to the floor and convulsing.

  Collise was sure everyone hated her now. Even Branisi avoided her as much as she could and it was all because of her mother. Deremona had alienated and belittled any and everyone she could since they had come here and Collise had had enough of her. It had been bad enough when they had been living in the poor house but at least Collise had been able to get away, to run and hide and play without her mother. In fact, Deremona had seemed more than happy her daughter was gone, until it turned out she had some power.

  Now Deremona wouldn’t let Collise out of her sight. She spoke for her, chose her outfits and kept her virtually isolated from the rest of the world like she was some kind of pet.

  I might be simple but I am not stupid. She only keeps me here because I can burn things.

  Collise sat in a chair in the only room she ever saw apart from her bedchamber and while it was comfortable, it still felt like a prison. She had books and embroidery, games and all manner of things to pass the time but all Collise wanted was a friend.

  The door opened and Deremona walked in, wrinkling her nose as soon as she entered.

  “Order a bath, Collise,” she said. “There is an air about the room.”

  This was yet another change Collise had noticed in her mother. In addition to keeping Collise separate from just about everyone else, she had begun to speak differently as well. Gone was the common language she had used for as long as Collise could recall, to be replaced with terms, phrases and manners of speech she thought sounded more royal. Collise thought they made her mother sound ridiculous.

  “Can I go out if I have a bath?” Collise asked. “King Besmir and Queen Arteera used to go out and see their people so why can I not?”

  Her mother moaned, rolling her eyes and throwing her arms out.

  “We have been through this, my dear,” she said as if speaking to a toddler. “The populace will see you as a usurper, someone come to take the throne from their precious Besmir. Nobody will want you to go out in the streets. Why they might even throw things at you and you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  “No, mama,” Collise said. “But I’m so lonely in here on my own, all I want is to have a friend.”

  “And we’ve been through that as well,” Deremona said, losing patience with her daughter. “Anyone who comes in here is going to try and use you to get what they want. They will not want to be your friend but try and get as much gold out of you as they can. That’s why you sit in here alone,” she added. “Besides which, you have me,” she said lightly. “So how alone can you be?”

  Collise folded her arms, sitting back in her chair and pouting her bottom lip.

  “Branisi could come and keep me company,” Collise said in a childish voice. “She wouldn’t try and get things from me.”

  “Branisi could come and keep me company,” her mother echoed in a mocking voice. “Branisi this and Branisi that.” Her expression changed, lips peeling back from her teeth in a snarl of anger. “Branisi is the worst of them all!” Deremona yelled throwing her hands up. “She wants rid of me so she can control you.”

  Collise frowned, wondering if what her mother said was true. Branisi had never shown any malice towards either of them. In fact, the housecarl had been like a friend to Collise until her mother appeared and shooed her away. The more Collise thought about things, the more she realized it was Deremona who was the problem and she was not going to stand for it any longer.

  “I don’t think that’s right, mama,” Collise said in a trembling voice. “Branisi is nice, she would never try and get between us.”

  Deremona stared at Collise with an expression that showed she could not believe it was her daughter speaking.

  “I beg your pardon?” Deremona said in a deceptively calm voice.

  “Branisi is nice,” Collise repeated. “It’s you who keeps everyone away from me. You who wants gold and riches from me.” Collise wanted to stop saying things but could not. “I have heard them speaking in whispers about you,” she said. “About how you think Tiernon chose you, how you were special but that’s a lie. He forced himself on you and you hated me because I was born.” Collise had both fists balled at her sides and her chin thrust out at her mother like a battering ram.

  “Idiot girl!” Deremona screamed, launching herself at Collise. “You know nothing of the ways of the world. That’s why you need me to tell you what to do. What to think.”

  Her mother punctuated every sentence with slaps and punches as Collise cowered, covering her head and face to ward off the blows. Tears rolled down her bright red cheeks and the pain of humiliation tugged at her chest as she cringed in the corner.

  No!

  The flash of rage pulsed along her arms, exploding from her hands and engulfing her mother in a ball of flame. Her piercing screech split the air, grating over Collise’s ears which, for some reason, angered Collise further. She stood, pointing her hands at her mother, flames belching forth to wrap around Deremona’s writhing body as she thrashed and yowled in agony.

  “You leave me alone!” Collise shouted as she burned her mother alive. “Stop hitting me! Stop calling me names!”

  Collise burned her mother until she stopped moving and the mewling sounds ceased. Realization hit her then and her body started to shake, knees weakening as she looked at the charred husk of flesh that had been her mother. A wail of utter pain resounded around the room as soon as the impact of what she had done hit her.

  “Mama!” She begged. “Mama, I’m sorry. Please be alive. Don’t be dead. Please. Please.”

  Hands gripped her shoulders gently, lifting her from the pile of cooked and burned meat that had been her mother just a few short minutes before. The blurred face of Branisi hovered before her and Collise tried to speak, to tell her what had happened but she could not force words from her tight throat.

  “Calm now,” Branisi said. “Calm down and tell me what happened.”

  In broken and jerking sentences, Collise managed to convey the essence of
what had happened to the housecarl who listened as the girl laid it all before her. Collise listened as Branisi gave orders for her mother’s remains to be taken from the room along with the charred rug she had died on.

  “I’m a murderer,” Collise said absently.

  “No,” Branisi explained. “This was self defense.” She gestured to the charred husk. “Your mother was hitting you as we all know she had done before and all you did was stop her.”

  The housecarl’s voice was persuasive and Collise started to let herself believe Branisi’s words. An ache still grew in her chest but it was the pain of loss rather than the tug of guilt.

  “Yes,” she said. “All I did was stop her.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  White foam bubbled from the corners of Whint’s mouth as his head thrummed and heels kicked against the ground. Joranas held his fingers to his mouth, eyes wide in shock and indecision as he watched the only other person for miles dying before him.

  “Whint!” He cried. “Whint what can I do?”

  Unable to reply Whint carried on convulsing on the ground, his skull making an awful, hollow sound as it cracked repeatedly on the floor. Joranas’ body unlocked itself and he dropped to the floor, cradling the dark-skinned man’s head on his knees.

  “I’m here,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  As soon as the words left his lips Whint’s fit began to subside and a horrible suspicion crawled through Joranas.

  Whoever is controlling him will kill him if I try and go.

  Whint’s breathing slowed and the tremors that ravaged his body ceased completely as Joranas watched, leaving the odd man in a calm state of sleep. After only a few minutes Whint opened his eyes, squinting against the sun to look up at Joranas, a wide smile crossing his face.

  “Still here,” he said, sitting up.

  “Still here,” Joranas repeated.

  Both laughed when Joranas repeated the phrase as it was normally Whint that echoed anything he heard.

  Joranas stood, wondering why he was so concerned about Whint’s fate. He barely knew the man and although Whint had been nothing but kind to him, he did not feel he owed Whint anything. So why had he been so terrified when Whint lay dying at his feet? Joranas was at a loss to understand any of the strange feelings that coursed through him, at one point he felt about to cry at the loneliness and loss he felt. The next a burning anger might overtake him making him want to lash out and destroy things.