It took a long moment for her to regain control of the forces she held.
Just as she began the final spell, before the demon realized that it was no longer held by the rune, the great wave struck and the cliffs shook. Water coated everything, spraying in great heavy sheets. Elsic faltered and the magic flared wildly until she couldn’t tell hers from the magic that sang in the waves. Sham knew Elsic had resumed playing only from the feel of the magic flowing into her; she couldn’t hear the music over the pounding water.
Crying out in a voice that was nothing against the roar that shook Purgatory, she continued working the last spell.
The first of her spells gave her an awareness of the demon, so she knew when it sprang. She spoke faster, finishing as the demon’s hot, sharp tail raked her side.
Somethingrippled in the night and the demon stilled as the rift grew. In that bare instant Sham realized the place she was sending the demon didn’t exist, not as she understood the term. For a brief moment that might have been an eternity, she stood at the gate and understood things about magic she’d never realized before, small things . . .
A second wave hit. Smaller than the first, bringing with it more water, more noise, and more flute-born magic.
Buffeted by pain, awe, and a new surge of magic, Sham lost control, consumed by the torment of the demon’s touch and the fire of wild magic. The gate flickered, then steadied, held by someone else.
Give me the power, witch,said Sky’s voice, slipping beneath and between the waves of pain as Sham regained a tenuous hold on the magic.You have my name, give me the power. If you do not, it will kill you and all those here this night.
Sham struggled to think. With the power she held, the demon could destroy Landsend. She didn’t think even the ae’Magi would be able to stop it. Now that Sham had shown it how, it could go home any time it wanted to. Demons were creatures of magic; they were not bound to use unformed magic as she was.
Elsic played, and the magic continued to grow as a third wave hit. Sham couldn’t even divert enough attention from her tasks to tell him to stop.
Silly witch, hatred of your kind does not mean so much to me that I would stay here another moment. Give me the magic and let me go home.
“Take it,” said Shamera, knowing that she could not hold it for much longer.
Power flowed out of her faster than it had come, and the demon accepted it with a capacity that seemed limitless. When it held all she could give, Sham collapsed on the sandy cliff top curling around the pain in her side. She watched the demon as it steadied the gate to its home.
The demon turned toward the rift Sham had opened, then hesitated.
Sham had a moment to wonder what she was going to do if the pox-ridden thing decided it didn’t want to go back when, feather-light, its tail brushed her side again. The pain that had resided there was replaced by cool numbness.
Sorry, said the demon in a voice as soft as the wind.
Then it was gone.
The gate hung open above the broken bits of golden thread. Sham struggled to her knees. She had given all her magic to the demon; there was nothing left. If it didn’t close . . .
It snapped shut with a cracking sound that rose above the thunder of yet another wave of water. For a moment the night was still—then the fires began.
They lit up the night like a thousand candles, burning the saltgrass where the gate had been first, then spreading faster than even a natural wildfire through the damp foliage. When the next wave hit the cliff and sent fine spray high into the air, flame touched the algae that lived in the water, making the droplets of spray spark gold and orange in the night.
“Back,” yelled Shamera, stumbling to her feet as best she could. “Damn it, get back.”
The magic that she’d given the demon was from this world. What the demon hadn’t used had returned when the gate closed. A clump of driftwood burst into ashes as the magic passed near.
“Shamera, get away from there.” She thought it was Kerim who called, but she was too busy drawing upon what little magic she had left to be certain.
Cold hands closed on her shoulders. “What can I do?” asked Dickon.
“Support me,” she said, her voice thin even to her ears. “Release your magic to me.”
Like his magelight, the power he fed to her flickered randomly, but it helped. The old bell tower went up in a blaze of glory, but Sham managed to keep the wild magic from raging where it would. Like a sheepdog, the threads of her mastery nipped here and there, cornering the worst of it against the cliff where the water would control the damage.
Kerim stood back with the rest, wishing futilely for the means to help. The Shark stood on his right, looking much like Kerim felt. Talbot knelt on the ground with the unconscious Halvok’s head resting on his knee. The sailor’s eyes were focused on Shamera and Dickon. Elsic sat beside them, his lips tight with anxiety—Kerim thought perhaps that Elsic, blind as he was, had a better idea of the struggle than any of the rest of the audience.
Shamera was lit by an eerie brilliance like the phosphorescent plankton that floated on the sea, only many times brighter. Foxfire flitted here and there in Dickon’s hair and on his back, dripping from his fingers to the ground where it shimmered at his feet. The air carried a scorched scent and a feeling of energy like it had just before lightning struck.
Another wave hit the cliff, but this one was only dimly lit by the odd little flickers that had covered the ones before. When the water ran back to the sea it left only darkness behind it. Dickon swayed where he stood, as if it took all of his strength to remain on his feet. Sham fell into an untidy heap on the ground.
The Shark beat Kerim there only because his crutches hindered his movement. Kerim hesitated by Dickon’s side, touching him lightly on the shoulder.
“I’m all right, sir,” said Dickon, “just tired.”
Kerim nodded, dropping his crutches. He fell to his knees next to Sham where she lay face down in the wet sand. The Shark, kneeling on the far side, held his hand against her neck.
“She’s alive,” he said.
Remembering the fires that had flickered over her, Kerim reached out carefully, and with the Shark’s help, turned her face out of the sand. Elsic and Talbot joined the quiet gathering with Halvok braced between them.
Halvok made a gesture and a dim circle of light appeared in his hand. The Southwood noble looked tired, and he moved with the painful slowness of an old, old man.
By his light it was possible to see that Sham was breathing in the soft panting rhythm of a tired child, and some of the tightness in Kerim’s chest slackened. He began to examine her with battle-learned thoroughness for wounds, but found only blisters. They clustered tightly on her hands, then scattered here and there. Her side was covered with blood, but all that Kerim could find was a growing bruise.
He had expected much worse.
Carefully, he gathered her into his lap and wrapped her with his cloak to keep her from getting chilled. As he worked, he thought it didn’t seem possible that this bedraggled and dirty thief was the wizard whose blazing figure had recently lit the night. The Shark watched him coolly.
“It’s gone,” said Halvok, breaking the silence. He shook his head in private amusement. “Not too badly done, for an apprentice. I’ll speak to the wizard’s council and see if we can get her raised to master. Sending a demon to hell should count as a masterwork.”
“Not hell,” corrected Elsic with a dream-touched smile. “It was beautiful—didn’t you see it?”
FINIS
When Sham woke, she was in her room at the Castle. With her eyes closed she could hear Jenli arguing with someone. A door closed and the sound was muffled. Sham began to drift off again.
“Shamera,” hissed Kerim softly and her bed dipped under his weight.
With an effort she forced her eyes open.
“I had Dickon distract your maid so I could come in here and talk to you. She’s been as bad as a cat with one kitten since we
brought you back, although,” he added with a twinkle, “I think she was more upset about your dress.”
Sham started to grin in response, but stopped when she felt her lips began to crack.
“I feel—” she said carefully, so she didn’t cause more damage, “—as if I need an apple.”
He looked blank. “An apple?”
“Hmm,” she nodded. “Don’t you Easterners roast your pigs with apples in their mouths?”
Kerim surveyed her and laughed. “Except for your hands it’s little more than a sunburn, and Dickon says even your hands won’t scar.”
The outer door opened a crack, then snapped shut again.
“I needed to ask you something before Halvok talks to you. I don’t want you to agree to his proposal before you listen to mine,” said Kerim hurriedly. “There’s not much time. I’m not sure how long Dickon can keep Jenli occupied. I would like you to consider taking Maur’s post. I . . .” he said softly, then hesitated and adopted a more businesslike tone. “We need you—just today I’ve gotten word that there’s something odd at the hot springs just outside of Landsend. There’s no king of course, so we’d have to change the title.”
Sham carefully kept all expression out of her face, mostly because moving her face hurt. “You want me to be your wizard?”
He nodded. “I’ve talked to Fykall and he’s agreed to give you Altis’s blessing, so you’ll have that as well as the state’s endorsement.”
“A powerful position,” said Sham slowly, uncertain how she felt about having Altis’s blessing.
Kerim leaned back against the headboard of her bed. When he spoke his voice could have melted ice. “I trust you.”
To give herself time to think about what that tone meant she asked, “What’s Halvok’s offer?”
“The Wizard’s Council has agreed to raise your status to master.”
Sham shrugged. “It’s a formality.”
He nodded. “That’s what he said. Additionally, he was able to arrange a position for you with the ae’Magi.” His tongue stumbled over the unfamiliar term.
Impressed, she said, “That’s quite an honor.”
“It would allow you to work with other mages. You would have access to the Archmage’s libraries.” He softened his voice and leaned nearer. “You would be safe there: no mobs, no demons.”
He knew her too well. Sham cocked her head at him, then leaned forward and touched his lips with hers. Considering the blistered state of her mouth, it was quite a respectable kiss—for which she gave Kerim full credit.
She pulled away, the corner of her mouth tilted up, and she answered in the thick accents of his mistress. “No mobs? No demons? How utterly boring.”
About the Author
Until she learned to read, Patricia (Patty) Briggs, lived a mundane’s life in Butte, Montana. Shortly after her sixth birthday she found herself living in any number of strange places that only got stranger as the years passed: Narnia, Middle Earth, the Witch World, Pern. At the University of Montana she studied history (as the closest thing she could get to fantasy) and German (castles and good fairy tales), then left Montana for Chicago (talk about strange lands . . .), returned to Montana for a bit, and finally settled in Washington state. Somewhere along the way she acquired three children and a husband (not in that order), a horse, two cats, and a green-cheeked conure.When Demons Walk is her third novel for Ace.
Patricia Briggs, When Demons Walk
(Series: # )
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