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

  Yet no matter how hard she struggled, fought to move, she was unable.

  These are merely mortals! How can one be so powerful?

  Porantillia considered the issue as she carried on trying to move. Perhaps it was the effect of being inside Besmir’s body that allowed this Zaynorth power over her. Certainly there would have been no possibility of one such as he being able to stop her doing anything in her original form. Almost limitless power to create or destroy had been hers to wield, yet at present she was at the mercy of a mortal illusion mage.

  Anger rolled through Porantillia then, fueled by the chemicals pulsing through Besmir’s blood.

  How do males manage to function?

  “I am losing her,” she heard Zaynorth say as her arm moved. “Her power exceeds mine by an immeasurable amount.”

  “Correct, mage,” Porantillia said. “It would be wise in the extreme to facilitate my freedom.”

  Porantillia watched as Zaynorth shook his head, his long, iron gray hair waving.

  “Yet you do not wish to leave,” he said. “Your only need is to restore Besmir.”

  Zaynorth leaned in close to Porantillia, staring into her borrowed eyes.

  No. Resist hi…

  There really did not seem to be any reason to go anywhere else and she was so incredibly tired, probably from her time in the absence, that she could sleep while Besmir took control of the body again. It was his after all and once she woke she could just shove him aside and resume control again.

  “I do not wish to leave,” Porantillia said. “I am feeling sleepy.”

  “A nice long sleep would refresh you,” Zaynorth assured her.

  “Hmm...” Porantillia hummed as Besmir’s eyes started to close.

  As she felt herself slipping into unconsciousness, Porantillia heaved herself from within Besmir.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Besmir?” Arteera said softly into his ear. “Is that you my love?”

  Something throbbed at the back of his neck. A painful, tight lump that felt as if someone had…

  “You hit me,” he slurred. “Over the back of the head with a wine decanter.”

  Arteera sniffed a laugh.

  “That hurt,” Besmir added, opening his groggy eyes and lifting his head to look at his wife.

  His limbs would not move correctly, something rough and tight held his wrists and it took a few seconds to realize he was tied to a chair.

  “Safety precautions,” he muttered, straining against the ropes. “Wise choice.”

  “What happened?” Zaynorth asked.

  “I had a nice long chat in Hell with our old friend Cathantor,” Besmir said. “Apparently the Gods can’t actually force us to do anything we don’t want. He did try to keep me in Hell long enough to die though. Strangely it was Tiernon and Porantillia that actually saved me.”

  Zaynorth sat back and tugged at his beard again.

  “Tiernon! I do not believe this mad creature is truly Besmir,” he said. “Maybe this Porantillia is attempting to deceive us once more.”

  “No,” Arteera said. “That is my husband. The way he speaks, his tones and inflections are completely different to when he first arrived.”

  “She’s gone,” Besmir said in a miserable tone.

  Nowhere within his mind could Besmir feel or sense any sign of Porantillia’s presence. Somehow she had left him, taking her thoughts and memories with her.

  “What?” Arteera asked, untying his wrists.

  “Porantillia needed a body to leave the absence, the Gods destroyed hers when they sealed her inside,” Besmir explained. “She stole mine thinking I would die or go mad but for some reason I didn’t. But now I can’t feel her at all, can’t go through her memories like I could. She’s gone.”

  “Good,” Arteera said.

  “Not good, love,” Besmir said, rubbing his wrists and stretching. “I could hear her thoughts while we shared a body.”He looked at each face in turn solemnly. “Despite anything she told me, her sole purpose is vengeance,” he added. “Against the Gods and anything they created.”

  “That would be us,” Zaynorth observed.

  Besmir nodded and Arteera slumped into a chair.

  “I just want Joranas back,” she said in a small voice, “and now we know where he is.” She looked at Zaynorth gratefully. “Ludavar, wherever that might be.”

  “I beg your Majesties pardon,” the half Corbondrasi ambassador, Founsalla Pira said, “but I believe I have heard of such a place. It is the stuff of legend, folklore and hearsay,” he said grimly.

  Besmir stared at the strange looking hybrid and held one hand up in question.

  “Far to the north of Boranash is an uninhabited land of ruins and desolation, abandoned centuries ago for a reason long forgotten. That is where Ludavar supposedly lies.”

  “Looks as if we have a trip then,” Besmir said.

  “The land is cursed, sire,” Founsalla said. “Nothing lives there any longer.”

  “If that’s where my son is being kept, that’s where I’m headed,” Besmir said grimly.

  “I shall be going too,” Arteera said.

  “And I,” Zaynorth added.

  Besmir watched Founsalla’s face change from disbelief to respect as one by one Besmir’s companions added their support. It was not until all others had spoken that Besmir searched the large room for Keluse. She did not appear to be anywhere he could see so he asked.

  “Has anyone seen Keluse? Where did she go?”

  The White Blades made a brief search of the embassy but could not locate Besmir’s former apprentice and friend. The king frowned knowing it was unlike her to just disappear without telling anyone where she was going and a nasty suspicion grew in his mind.

  “Porantillia,” he said grimly. “What if she’s taken Keluse over? We need help from King Vi Rhane.”

  “How do you know?” His wife asked. “Could you tell that was what she was planning before I knocked you out?”

  “No, love,” Besmir said. “But I can’t feel any trace of her inside me anymore and now Keluse has disappeared without a word to anyone. Founsalla, can you get me an audience with the king?”

  “Of course, majesty,” the Gazluthian ambassador said before leaving.

  “I need to clean up a little,” Besmir said. “Hell is a dirty place.”

  Besmir stared at his hands as he waited in an antechamber for the Corbondrasi king. It played over and over in his mind, the texture of his father’s horns as Porantillia had wrenched his head from his body. The sickening lurch as his spirit had given way, separating into two sections. Worse was the feeling he had of her carrying his father’s head, as if she had instantly forgotten it was in her hand, as if his life, his spirit, meant nothing.

  “Tell me,” Arteera murmured gently as she rubbed his back with a soft hand.

  Haltingly, in a pained voice, Besmir told her of Porantillia and what she had done, how he had been powerless to halt her and how he had been able to feel and see everything.

  “I don’t even know if his spirit could survive such trauma,” Besmir said as he stared out over the palace buildings. “When I journeyed there before, my spirit could feel pain but not be harmed...”

  “By the Gods!” Arteera said.

  Anger pulled a grimace across Besmir face and his hands tightened their grip on the stonework he leaned against.

  “The Gods,” he spat disdainfully. “This is their doing in the first place. Cathantor made the deal with my father that kept him in Hell, then he tried to hinder my progress so I died of old age there. Do you know what he told me?” Besmir asked, his eyes wide.

  Arteera shook her head, a worried expression on her face.

  “Cathantor, the God, said he hasn’t got any power over any of us. None. The Gods can’t force us to do anything, they can only guide, suggest or hinder.” Besmir’s voice took on a mocking tone. “I’m done with them,” he carried on. “If we’re ever to get Joranas back we’re going to have to do it
ourselves.”

  “I think...” Arteera began but the door opened and a Corbondrasi guard ushered them into the throne room.

  Besmir led his wife through a room filled with opulence and wealth. Part of him was awed at the gilded metalwork and marble columns supporting the ceiling while another part railed at the waste such luxury must have cost. He knew that somewhere in this kingdom someone could benefit from the gold used as decoration. His eyes wandered over paintings depicting various Corbondrasi he assumed were former members of the royal family, each dressed in swathes of silk embroidered in silver and gold thread. A cream carpet ran the length of the room, leading straight to where the king and queen sat on gilded thrones so intricately carved Besmir could have spent several hours looking at the various scenes depicted there. Royal guards lined the hall on both sides lending an official air to the proceedings and Besmir knew this was not an informal meeting as they had had before.

  “Your majesty,” Besmir said, bowing to Vi Rhane before turning and offering a bow to his queen.

  The Corbondrasi royal couple were dressed in similar silken attire to that which had been depicted in the paintings Besmir had passed. Light material flowed over their colorful plumage, allowing what little air circulating to cool them. A simple crown of beaten gold adorned Vi Rhane’s head while his queen sported a diamond encrusted silver tiara.

  “Friends,” Vi Rhane said. “We have arranged refreshments to be served outside.”

  The Corbondrasi king offered his arm to his queen and she laid her feathered hand on it, allowing him to lead her onto a raised platform that gave them an almost complete view of the city.

  “Your ambassador has advised us as to your plans,” Vi Rhane said as servants appeared with trays of sliced fruit and honey. “Ludavar is in an abandoned land, barren and hostile. It was she whose name is forbidden that made it that way centuries ago.”

  “So when can we leave?” Besmir asked, impatience nagging at the back of his skull.

  “It isn’t going to be an easy path,” Vi Rhane warned them. “The land of Aristulia is hostile and filled with savage creatures. You will only be able to take a small party as water will be difficult to find.”

  “If you’re suggesting we abandon my son to Porantillia...”

  Besmir halted as the Corbondrasi king held one hand up, his face showing distress at the use of the forbidden name.

  “I am simply warning you of the dangers and hardships you are likely to face,” he mumbled. “If our daughter had been taken, I would do anything I could to see her returned. We will provide as much help as we can within Boranash, however once you have crossed into Aristulia we cannot offer much assistance.”

  Besmir nodded gratefully.

  “We are having an ancient map copied,” Su Rhane said. “The only known image of the land you wish to enter. As it will take our scribes some time to complete and the day is waning I suggest you take the opportunity to rest today. We will arrange supplies and mounts for you to leave at first light.” The queen lowered her eyes for a second before addressing Arteera. “I cannot begin to know what you are feeling at present,” she said in a softer voice. “If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”

  Besmir watched his wife embrace the older Corbondrasi queen, the two sharing a bond he could not and an irrational stab of jealousy lanced into him for a second but he shoved it aside, ashamed.

  “I want to give you both my heartfelt thanks,” Besmir said, “for everything you’ve done for us. Under different circumstances...” he trailed off, his throat closing.

  “When you recover your son,” Su Rhane said, “bring him here, we would love to meet him.”

  Besmir’s heart swelled at her words. Even if she believed they were doomed to failure, the Corbondrasi queen spoke as if they had already recovered Joranas.

  Collise heard the shouting before the explosive thump and dashed across to see what was happening. She opened the door leading to the hallway and stared out at the scene before her.

  Two guards lay sprawled on the carpet, weapons scattered and eyes devoid of all life. Branisi held her arms out in surrender as someone Collise could not see made their way inside her house.

  Anger rose in her chest, heating her ribs and threatening to burst out, burning whoever the invader was.

  “Who is it? Who is there?” Collise demanded as she approached Branisi.

  Peering round her housecarl, Collise laid eyes on a boy of around her own age. His hair had been sheared close to his skull, he had dirty brown skin and his clothing had seen better days, ill fitting with rips and stains. Collise saw the expression on his face, his jaw set and eyes locked onto her as he examined her from head to foot. A ripple of pleasure made her smile and the newcomer smirked back.

  “Who are you?” Collise asked.

  “Merin,” he said in a voice that wavered between boyish soprano and manly baritone. “King Merin,” he added. “Tiernon was my father. Who are you?”

  “Collise. Queen of Gazluth,” she said. “Tiernon was my father, too.”

  Branisi looked from Collise to Merin and back as she lowered her hands and shook her head.

  “How many more are going to appear?” She whispered as Collise walked down the stairs.

  “You can’t be queen,” Merin said, “as I am king.” He folded his arms and stuck his chin out like a child having a tantrum.

  “I’m already queen,” Collise said, “so you will have to go away.”

  “You’re the one who will be leaving.” Merin said raising his hands.

  Collise saw Branisi throw herself aside at the same time as something massive and unseen slammed into her chest. She flew backwards, hitting the wall hard enough to make her ears ring and slumped at the base, groggy and weak. The outline of something was coming slowly towards her and something burned inside her chest, leaping from her hand and hitting it.

  Merin shrieked as flames coursed over his body and he dropped, rolling madly to try and put them out. Disorientated as she was Collise could not keep her focus enough to carry on burning him and Merin managed to put the flames out, rolling to his knees and facing her.

  Collise struggled up, head pounding and looked for Merin, ready to burn him as she had done her mother but he ducked down a side corridor to get away. Collise stumbled after him, her eyes unfocused as Branisi shouted behind her.

  “Collise, wait!”

  Yet anger drove the girl now.

  Who is he to come in here and attack me? I will make him pay.

  Collise chased Merin along the corridor, throwing fire at him but missing and setting flame to tapestries and the walls themselves with her power. Merin turned and loosed a barrage of force at her, knocking both her and her flame aside. Collise rejoiced when she heard him cry out and heard the hair singe on the side of his head, burning it even shorter than it had been. The stench of burning hair and cooking flesh reached her nostrils and a grin spread over her face.

  The blast that slammed into her chest a second later smashed all the breath from her. She felt something snap painfully in her chest and squealed as she was thrown back through the air to land in a heap, back scraping painfully along the carpeted floor. She dragged a ragged breath in, her ribs clicking and sending agony lancing through her chest. Tears blurred her vision as she struggled up into a sitting position to see the dark outline of her attacker slowly approaching her.

  Collise lashed out with her fire but the agony in her ribs as the pressure built fouled her power meaning nothing but a little spark of flame fell from her palm. Merin smiled nastily, the side of his face she had burned not working as well as the side that remained intact. Raw, pink flesh covered in angry looking scabs and blisters that had burst covered his cheek and the side of his head. Collise also noticed he walked with a slight limp now and a savage satisfaction rolled through her.

  Merin closed, approaching where she lay against the base of the wall. He looked as worn and tired as she felt under his injuries and she wondered if he
was about to attack her again or leave her here. Merin slowly squatted beside her, fixing his pained eyes on her with grim satisfaction.

  “Mother said you would be easy to beat,” he said, “just like the others were.” His voice warbled but with pain this time. “Now it’s time for you to sleep the long sleep.”

  His grin widened a little and Collise knew he was about to slam her with his power again. Hot pressure grew in her chest and she felt her ribs grinding against each other again, wrenching a grunt from her throat. She leaned over as if she was about to whisper something to him and he actually leaned in to hear her.

  Collise slapped her hand against his face and unleashed the burning pressure inside her. Merin’s eyes went wide as soon as the heat flowed into his skull, cooking his brain alive. A scream tore from his throat as he keeled over sideways trying to escape the searing pain she was inflicting on him. Collise managed to hang on, broiling his head with the savage power she could barely control.

  Merin’s eyes rolled back into his head and his limbs started to shake, hands and feet tapping on the carpet in a tattoo of agony. The smell of waste filled the air as he lost control of his bladder and bowels gave way. Foam appeared on his lips and a puff of air escaped his lungs, a low moan of agony as he died.

  Collise collapsed back against the wall, staring at the young man she had just killed.

  That is the second person dead because of me!

  “Branisi!” She called. “I think my ribs are broken.”

  The housecarl appeared, pale and shaken at the sight that greeted her eyes.

  “By the Gods what happened?” She asked, staring at the dead boy before her.

  “He attacked me,” Collise said defensively. “You saw him. Broke my ribs, too,” she added.

  Collise let herself drift as Branisi shouted orders to the royal staff, telling them to clear the bodies and extinguish the flames that still crackled here and there.

  Collise let them help her up, her chest aching as they moved her, and get her back to her bedchamber. Collise lowered herself into the soft bed Besmir had shared with his queen and waited for someone to come and tend her injuries.