Book 2: Epilogue

The Lady strode, unafraid, through the domain of the demon lord Vatarxis. The few demons who could see her cowered back, while the rest went about their business unknowing. An imp careened into her and was obliterated in an instant, its companion squawking in fright and fleeing back the opposite way.

Vatarxis’s throne room was constructed entirely of black granite, lined with veins of gold. Typical demonic pretentiousness. He stood peering out a window, but at what, The Lady didn’t know. There was nothing worth seeing in this dark place.

“To what do I owe the honor of a visit?” he asked, not bothering to turn around.

“Why are you interfering?” she demanded.

“You violated our accord. I provided a demonic bloodline for the royal family of Larso, and in exchange, you were supposed to stop Pallisur. You failed.”

“That wasn’t by choice. Fox interfered.”

“And the child?” Vatarxis asked, spinning his bulk around to face her.

His voice was deep and heavy enough that she could feel the vibration within her own body. She’d learned to ignore the sensation on the blood-drenched Field of Van Kir, when she’d defeated him and brought an end to the Third Demon War. She’d earned great accolades that day, but if she’d known what the cost would be, she’d never have accepted the reward. Then again, if it hadn’t been her, it would have been someone else.

On that day in Van Kir, she and Vatarxis had made their first agreement. He’d returned to the hells, never to wage war against the mortal realm again. He’d seemed almost amused at her demands, but in the years since, he’d mostly kept to his side of the bargain, except when he grew bored. Today, though, she was here to speak to him about a more recent agreement.

“The child will still be born,” she said. “I just need more time, and a way to delay Pallisur. That doesn’t explain what you’ve done!”

“When Fox severed your plan, you ended up with two pawns rather than one. I’m familiar with Rusol—he’s my own blood, after all—but the other one is different. It’s amazing that you managed to fail at even that half of the plan. How is he not godborn?”

“Leave him out of this. He’s no threat to you.”

“Isn’t he? You made him a warden—you made them both wardens. How did you manage that, anyway?”

The Lady raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking me, of all people? When the wardens figured out how to choose their own members, I paid attention. I was there, remember. Now, tell me, why did you send the girl?”

“I wanted to keep an eye on the other half of your failure, and make sure he didn’t return to Larso. He can still be dangerous, whether you think so or not. He was trained as a knight of Pallisur—what if Leonis convinces him to participate in the ritual?”

“That won’t happen. He may have trained as a knight, but he has little love for the order. And that doesn’t excuse your interference. His blessing was meant to ensure that he always finds the right bondmates, but now he’s bonded your daughter!”

Vatarxis laughed so hard the room shook. “You blessed him to…! Well, that explains things. In that case, you’ll be pleased to know he was about to bond her himself before he stopped the spell. I simply made sure he completed the process.”

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The Lady stopped and considered that. This changed things. She’d assumed the demonborn girl was a mistake. The blessing was the only real gift she’d been able to give Corec. It wasn’t the sort of blessing that would turn him into a priest—that had been against the rules for over a millenia and a half, ever since Leonis had somehow become a warden—but it was still dangerously close to crossing the line. Close enough that she hadn’t given Rusol the same blessing.

“He was truly bonding her on his own?” she asked.

“Until he stopped himself. I merely nudged him along. He was strangely resistant to my influence. It took a lot more power than it should have. Was that your doing, too?”

“Each warden has his or her own gift,” she said absently as she considered the ramifications.

“I told you why I’m interested in the boy. Why are you? You’ve already failed. What role is he meant to play?”

The Lady didn’t like showing weakness in front of her ancient enemy, but she had to tell him something.

“I can no longer see how it will all unravel. I’ve got to trust that Fox knew what he was doing, and that either Rusol or Corec will do something to prevent the ritual.” That wasn’t the real reason, of course. Rusol would serve as her weapon. Corec wasn’t involved with any of it, but he was still Moira’s son. The Lady couldn’t pretend he didn’t exist.

Vatarxis laughed again. “Trusting Fox is an exercise in futility. Why do you even bother with this plan? You’re closer than anyone to mastering all four magics, yet you still insist on giving the power to a mortal child. You and your friends managed to steal the secret of divine magic from the totems. Why not let Pallisur have his little ritual? It’s likely to serve you more than it does him.”

“You really want me to learn demonic magic? Do you want Pallisur to master it? Besides, he’s changed the ritual to only affect himself. And I already have more power than I need. No, the Master of Four Magics must be mortal. That will prevent Pallisur—or any of us—from ascending over the others.”

“You think the child won’t ascend?”

“The ascension ritual requires merging the magics, so if the child is born with all four, it won’t be possible. He or she will live and die a mortal life, and the ritual will cease to work.”

“You hope. Just as you hope Pallisur won’t discover some other way to ascend.”

She acknowledged his point with a nod.

“And where exactly do you plan for this mortal baby to come from?” Vatarxis asked.

“The pieces of the plan are still out there, unanchored. Someday, with proper nudging, I can bring them back together.”

#

Fox ran.

The chase had begun in southern Sanvar, where he’d been looking for any sign that Snake was alive and part of the game. After discovering half of the Travelers dead, he’d been chased by human cultists who’d found him skulking around their hidden temples. He outdistanced them easily enough, but more appeared, somehow alerted to his presence.

In the deserts of northern Sanvar, he was chased by snakes. Not real snakes, but ones that never grew tired—spiritual constructs of a sort he hadn’t seen before.

In the Tablelands, one of the snakes managed to bite his hind leg, and now he understood what had happened to Bear and Raven. Perhaps he’d had it wrong all along, and that’s how his other brothers had been lost as well. Maybe they hadn’t died because they’d been forgotten, but had been forgotten because they’d died.

He ran through the garden kingdom of Abildgard and then into ogre territory, and still the snakes chased him.

In the Terril Forest, far north of where he’d started, the spirit snakes stopped pursuing him, blocked by the protective boundary of the tershaya. Instead, real snakes found him. Those bites were less dangerous, but they never stopped coming. He had to keep moving.

His destination was to the east, but he ran west to throw off his pursuers. As soon as he left the forest’s borders, the spirit snakes returned, giving him no respite.

Could they track him if he Traveled from one location to another? It wasn’t worth the risk. Instead, he gathered as much power as he could and Traveled across the barrier to the realm he’d once considered home.

That gave him time to catch his breath, but he couldn’t stay long. In this world, Pallisur or The Lady might find him and demand answers. He used the last of his strength to hide his aura and disguise himself as a normal fox, then he passed back into the mortal world, to a land far across the sea from where he’d started.

He’d arrived much too early, but he had an appointment to keep.

To be continued…