Duel With A Demoness (A Huntsman's Fate Book 2) Page 17

  Porantillia jerked away from the memories, releasing Joranas reflexively and Besmir watched his father flinch back, falling to the ashen surface of Hell.

  “No!” Porantillia shouted. “Stay thee from my thoughts!”

  “Then give me back my body!” Besmir shouted inside his own mind.

  From the floor, Besmir’s father sent a wave of boiling heat flashing at them. Distracted by Besmir’s use of her memories, Porantillia did not manage to protect herself from the initial blast and searing agony burned her face.

  Besmir recoiled in agony as well, feeling the jet of flame cooking his skin.

  Father, no!

  Yet he knew his father was unaware he was trapped within his own body as he intensified the gout of flame that erupted from his clawed hands. Porantillia managed to construct a barrier, protecting Besmir’s skin and allowing her to heal them both. Besmir felt blessed coolness wash over his face, a relief from the savage sting his father’s burns had caused.

  Porantillia lashed out with Besmir’s arm. Strengthened by her incredible powers he could only watch as his own fist hammered through his father’s soul. Joranas bellowed an inhuman sound that crashed against Besmir’s ears and clutched at the arm that Porantillia was using to rummage around inside him with. She jerked Besmir’s hand free of his father but dragged a length of something from inside him, vital parts that should never have seen the light of day.

  Joranas fell back to his knees from where Porantillia had lifted him, some of his wound already beginning to heal, but she had further plans and Besmir screamed inside his own head when Porantillia wrenched his father’s head sideways, twisting and pulling with incredible force. Porantilia ripped the head from Besmir’s father’s spirit with a sickening popping sound, ending his existence in Hell.

  Still holding the horned head of Joranas senior in one hand, Porantillia casually approached the house he had built here and waited for it to fall back to the dust from which he had created it. Now she had destroyed his soul, Joranas senior’s power no longer supported the house he had crafted to hide the portal back to Besmir’s world.

  Besmir felt nausea crawl up his very arm from the contact with his father’s head. Porantillia had shown no mercy in dealing with his father and Besmir knew she had none within her. Sorrow gnawed painfully at his chest as he watched the lines and decorations his father had lovingly crafted failing, twisting and returning to the gray surface of the planet.

  In just a few minutes, everything Joranas had fashioned was gone. Porantillia discarded the fading head and strode over to the almost black sphere that would take her and Besmir to his world.

  He felt a spike of triumph leap from her when she let his body fall forwards and into the darkness between worlds.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Herofic became aware of a few things at the same time. To begin with he was laying in some kind of bed. Deep nagging aches ran the length of his body combined with a soreness on his skin that felt as if he had been dragged through fire. Without opening his eyes he reached up to feel the skin on his face. His fingers found crusty scabs that had been covered in some buttery substance and he frowned, sniffing at it for identification.

  Something soft tickled over his face, gently moving his hand away and Herofic opened his eyes, blinking at the brightness that made the backs of his eyes ache. The room he was in was light and airy, with a cool breeze to take the heat out. Dark green plants had been brought in here and he could smell their foliage. Herofic himself was naked, covered only by a thin sheet, his muscular chest open to the air. To his left a long, thin table sat along one wall with a number of items that Herofic could not identify in pots and jars. His eyes lit on the most readily identifiable item there, however, a jug of water. He reached for it but his weakened body refused to move and he lay back, turning his head a little.

  Ru Tarn sat beside his bed, offering a concerned expression as she leaned over to pass him the water. Herofic sucked greedily at the liquid, almost choking in his desperation to drink. The Corbondrasi ambassador took the cup from him for a second.

  “Being slowly,” she said.

  Herofic sipped the cool water as he studied the Corbondrasi woman. She appeared subtly different to when he had last seen her but he could not pinpoint the exact cause. Her plumage and feathers were the same shade of coral pink and peach they had been but somehow it was as if they were more vibrant, a deeper hue and she shone with the oils her body secreted to keep her feathers healthy. The Ru Tarn Herofic had known had been fairly direct and business like, always ready to deal with whatever life threw her way. Now, however, Herofic thought she was distracted by something, her feathered hands were in constant motion, fixing her dress and absently preening her feathers. Her lavender eyes darted about the room, not remaining on one point for long before darting to another place and off again. She could barely bring herself to look at Herofic at all.

  “Are you all right?” Herofic managed to whisper hoarsely.

  “Ru Tarn should be asking Herofic that,” she muttered. “Herofic is being almost killed by sun and heat.”

  Herofic caught her fleeting expression, her feathered face caught somewhere between disapproval and complete fear, her reaction making him wonder what was really happening.

  “Little bit of sun never hurt anyone,” Herofic said stubbornly.

  Ru Tarn’s eyes widened and she fixed Herofic with a stare more intense than he had seen since he had opened his eyes.

  “This is being Boranash!” She said in a tone of disapproval. “Sun and heat is being so great it killing even Corbondrasi sometimes,” she looked away from his eyes. “Herofic is being lucky he is not dying. Why is Herofic not using creams Ru Tarn giving him?”

  Herofic felt a flash of embarrassment then, his face feeling hot as he stumbled for an explanation.

  “I...ah, did not use the cream as...well the thing is.” Herofic muttered, sipping the water again. “It smelled...like something a woman would wear.”

  Ru Tarn stared at Herofic, her lavender eyes blinking a few times in complete disbelief. Eventually a small chirp erupted from her chest, a Corbondrasi giggle. Unable to stop herself, Ru Tarn began to laugh uncontrollably. She folded at the waist, her chirps and squeaks turning to silent shakes of her body as her lungs emptied. Herofic chuckled as well, although not quite sure what had been so amusing.

  “Oh Herofic is being funny,” Ru Tarn eventually managed. “To be thinking Herofic nearly died so he is not smelling like a woman!”

  Abruptly her expression changed and Herofic watched as the calm, pleasant Corbondrasi turned into an angry and savage being.

  “Herofic is being stupid Gazluth!” She said, her command of the language slipping as her anger grew. “Why is it mattering what Herofic is smelling like? King Besmir was smelling same! Herofic’s brother was smelling same! All men from Gazluth be smelling same so why is it mattering what Herofic is smelling like?”

  Her outraged stare demanded an answer from him but just as Herofic was about to try and explain himself her expression changed again and the Corbondrasi dissolved into a flood of tears, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed.

  “Ru Tarn cannot be doing this,” she said in a thick voice. “Ru Tarn cannot be...”

  Herofic reached out and gently wiped the tears from her face.

  “What is wrong?” He asked gently.

  “Ru Tarn is sorry,” she finally managed to blurt. “Ru Tarn has something to be telling Herofic,” she added. Herofic waited for her to continue. She looked down at her belly and stroked a hand over her abdomen. Herofic understood the gesture immediately and a happiness spread through his chest at her news.

  “So you are pregnant?” He asked. “With a baby?”

  “Hatchling,” Ru Tarn corrected him gently.

  “How long until he arrives?” Herofic asked.

  “He?” Ru Tarn giggled. “Ru Tarn will be laying egg soon, then Ru Tarn must be caring for egg for around five months then hatching happening.”<
br />
  “Five months!” Herofic cried.

  “Gazluthian women are being pregnant for nine months,” Ru Tarn said defensively.

  “I know,” Herofic said, “it just seems such a long time,” he added. “So why the tears?”

  “I am having problem,” she explained. “Laying of egg is being difficult for Corbondrasi and Corbondrasi needing male to help with caring for egg after laying but...”

  “But you haven’t got anyone to do that for you,” Herofic muttered, understanding coming to him. “What about friends or servants?”

  Ru Tarn drew back from him aghast, her expression as horrified as if he had asked to eat her impending young with a salad.

  “This thing is not done!” She cried, pacing beside his bed. “There are being rules. If Ru Tarn is having this hatchling, Ru Tarn will have to be hiding and still not having male to help caring for egg.”

  “I’ll do it,” Herofic said.

  The Corbondrasi stared at him as if he had lost his mind. She blinked slowly and then blinked again before smiling at him kindly.

  “Sun is being too hot,” she said, patting his hand. “Gazluth man is not being able to look after egg.”

  “An egg?” Herofic asked with a chuffed laugh. “How much trouble can one egg be?”

  “Is not being trouble,” she said in a halting voice. “Is just not being done...”

  “So we’d be the first,” Herofic said. “Nothing wrong with that is there?”

  “Not being wrong,” Ru Tarn said thoughtfully. “Being different so Corbondrasi not liking it.”

  “Tough,” Herofic grunted. “Are we doing this or not?”

  He watched the Corbondrasi ambassador sit beside his bed and look at the floor as she considered his words. Her smile told him her answer before she even spoke.

  “Herofic is being kind man to offer this,” she said. “But Ru Tarn is thinking Herofic not knowing what he is getting himself into. Herofic does not need to be doing this.”

  “I never had children,” Herofic said. “There never seemed to be time with all the wars and fighting, slipping from on crisis to the next. I just thought I could be part of a child’s life.”

  His tone was somber, surprising even him and Ru Tarn looked at him with sympathetic eyes.

  “Ru Tarn not knowing Herofic is feeling like this,” she said. “So if this is something Herofic is wanting to do, not feeling he is having to do, then yes.”

  Herofic felt the smile cross his face, scabs cracking as his skin stretched.

  Previously, when Besmir had been in Hell, he had been there in spirit so upon his return his immortal being found his mortal body and he was restored. As he had been in Hell physically this time, his body returned to where it had left from and he found himself staring at the Gazluthian embassy in the heart of the Corbondrasi capital.

  Porantillia panned Besmir’s eyes over the building, marrying what she saw with his memories as she studied the colorful patterns and designs around them. Hardy, arid, desert loving plants had been artfully placed, their thick succulent leaves adding a structural element to the floral display. Dusk had fallen over Wit Shull bringing the chill of the desert night and the Gazluthian guards posted outside stomped their feet, blowing warm air through their fingers, steam rising into the air. One paused, his eyes going wide as he caught sight of his king and within a few heartbeats the alarm had been raised.

  “Majesty,” another guard breathed, her eyes wide as she approached. “Are you well?”

  Porantillia nodded shortly, shoving past her towards the embassy buildings as Besmir struggled, fruitlessly fighting to control his own body.

  He watched as Arteera appeared, her face pale in the dim light, lines of worry carved into her forehead and a deep ache throbbed in his chest to see her in such a state.

  How long was I gone this time?

  Besmir felt the warmth of her body as she threw herself at him, wrapping herself unashamedly around him despite the many eyes that posed unasked questions. Porantillia patted her back awkwardly and Arteera pulled back, staring into Besmir’s eyes questioningly.

  That’s my Arteera. You know something’s not right.

  Even with her access to his memories, Porantillia was a completely different person to the man the gathered people knew and her behaviors and answers to their questions would reveal her almost immediately, Besmir knew.

  “Did you find Joranas?” His wife asked as soon as she had pulled back.

  “No,” Porantillia said, “there was no sign of him.” She did manage to make it sound as if Besmir was breaking inside when she spoke.

  The real Besmir could only watch from inside his own body as Arteera folded herself into a chair, curling up and hugging her knees as if it would stop the pain.

  “What news of Porantillia?” Zaynorth asked.

  “Her,” Besmir heard himself say. “She tricked me into releasing her from the absence before she managed to escape.”

  “Were you able to discover any of her plans?” Zaynorth asked.

  “None.” Besmir’s voice sounded filled with disappointment and his rage grew.

  What are you up to, Porantillia? You said I could have my son back!

  My plans are incomplete. Thy son remains safe for the nonce,

  I won’t let you get away with this!

  Thou art powerless to halt me.

  “What do we do next?” Zaynorth asked, his face a mask of despair. “How do we get Joranas back?”

  “I don’t know,” Besmir’s voice said.

  From inside his body Besmir watched as his old friend frowned, glancing at Arteera and Norvasil. He tried to keep his knowledge from Porantillia, guarding his thoughts as much as possible.

  “Wine,” Besmir demanded.

  “It’s right there.” Arteera pointed to a table with goblets and decanter atop.

  “Then serve me, woman!” Porantillia snapped in Besmir’s voice. “I’ve just crawled through Hell and refuse to pour my own wine.”

  “Of course, my lord,” Arteera said, her face pale.

  She looked at Zaynorth as she approached, picking up the large decanter and pouring wine into a goblet before passing it to Porantillia. She drained the wine noisily and held the goblet out again, shaking it impatiently. Besmir heard the sound as his wife filled the goblet once more but Porantillia pointedly ignored his friends and family, staring at the blank wall as she drank.

  Her oversight and self confidence proved to be misplaced when Besmir felt a savage impact across the back of his skull. The blow was accompanied by a deep ‘thwok’ sound that echoed through his head as darkness took them both down.

  How is it thy comrades knew something was amiss? Porantilia demanded.

  Leave my body and give me my son back! Besmir said.

  Never. She promised.

  They won’t let you go. Besmir told her. Zaynorth and Arteera will keep you prisoner until you leave my body!

  Fool! I am eternal, think thou that I cannot merely wait for this vessel to die?

  The voice was immensely persuasive, worming its gentle way into Porantillia’s mind as she woke from the blow that had rendered both her and Besmir unconscious.

  “You cannot see,” it said, “yet there is no need for concern. You are completely in control and safely hidden.”

  Porantillia felt assured the voice was correct, especially as it was not the voice of her host. In all her planning and scheming she had not anticipated he would be as strong a presence as he had been. Besmir should have been a silent passenger within his own mind at worst, utterly destroyed and driven insane by her memories at best. Yet it seemed he was able to see into her past, uncover the secrets she had buried and locked away from herself and Porantillia hated Besmir all the more for that ability.

  She had been forced to relive the utter humiliation of Gratallach’s betrayal time and again as Besmir rifled through her thoughts. Every feeling she had spent centuries burying he had raked up, putting her through the pain and frustr
ation again.

  Yet, even as she had access to his pathetic memories, his companions had realized something was amiss and bludgeoned them both over the back of the head.

  “All that you need to do to secure release is to speak your name,” the voice told her.

  Of course, it is as simple as saying my name.

  “Porantillia,” she said in a deep male voice.

  Porantillia heard gasps and cries of alarm as she opened her eyes. Besmir’s friend sat before her, stroking his beard as he studied the face before him.

  “You have forgotten how to use your power,” Zaynorth said calmly.

  Porantillia felt the warm wash of certainty roll through her with his words.

  That is correct, I have forgotten how to use my powers.

  “It would benefit you immensely to remember where Joranas is,” Zaynorth said.

  Another warm feeling raked over Porantillia and she smiled, looking around at the people in the room. Zaynorth sat before her and there was an immense warrior with a red, braided beard but his name would not come to her. Behind Zaynorth stood a thin woman with light hair. She was pinching her lips in horror, her skin a waxy, pale color as her blue eyes pierced into Porantillia.

  “Joranas is in Ludavar,” Porantillia found herself saying. “Tended by a demon.”

  Further gasps issued around her and Porantillia frowned as something tugged at her mind.

  This is all wrong.

  “You are beginning to feel weary,” Zaynorth said.

  A flush of exhaustion rolled through Porantillia but she fought it.

  No! He is an illusion mage!

  “Thy tricks will no longer work on me, mage,” Porantillia spat in Besmir’s voice. “Release me immediately!”

  “Yet, you cannot move,” Zaynorth said in the same calm voice he had been using all along.

  Porantillia felt her borrowed limbs lock up, her entire body halting as Zaynorth’s persuasion invaded her mind.

  How is it possible?