—«♦»—
WIRANCE felt the tingle of unfamiliar magic, and suddenly the Demon burst into flames.
For a moment he thought it was a trick, a trap, but then the Demon roared with pain, flailing wildly in the air as it sought to extinguish the flames that raced over its body.
Wirance glanced toward the edge of the square, following the line of magic stretched across the sky, and saw a slender human youth pointing his hand at the Demon, his whole body rigid with concentration and fury.
Kardus hurried to Wirance’s side, forcing his way through the press of warriors. In his hands he held a thin length of shining white cord.
“I think—” the Centaur Wildmage began.
“Pray,” Wirance said grimly, and readied his spell.
The Demon had stopped fighting now, and hung in the sky, a burning ember, its wings skeletal, its body ash and bones. But the moment the strange burning spell was lifted, it would begin to heal, and in moments it would be whole—and more savage than before.
Wirance waited for the instant the light of the burning spell flickered out, then struck with his own. This time it held: the Demon’s body fell to the ground, surrounded by a white glow of Restraint.
“Quickly!” Wirance shouted, his voice harsh. “I cannot hold this spell for long!”
Kardus lunged forward, the rope of unicorn hair in his hands. He fell to his knees, looping it about the Demon’s neck, and jerked it tight. The seared Demonflesh crackled as the unicorn hair burned through it, shearing through the neck and windpipe, and with a crack the head rolled free.
A moment later, the whole body dissolved into ash, and began to swirl away in the water.
Silence.
A terrible, heavy silence.
“Is it dead?” someone asked hoarsely.
“Yes,” Kardus said, lunging awkwardly to his feet. “The Demon is dead.”
Then the moaning, the weeping, the agonized cries for help began.
Wirance looked around. The village square resembled nothing so much as a slaughtering pen. In the cold, steam rose from the shattered bodies of the living and the cooling bodies of the dead, and the air was filled with smoke. He looked at Kardus. “We both have much work to do here. But we had best go find the boy first.”
“His name is Cilarnen,” Kardus said. “He is my Task.”
Chapter Fifteen
CILARNEN HAD NOT gone far. He was too weak to stand, but he had crawled back around the corner of the building and was curled up against it, trying to shut out the sobbing and groans of the wounded. His eyes streamed tears. But he was not weeping. No, not he. Surely.
“Cilarnen,” Wirance said, squatting down beside him, “are you hurt?”
“It thought I was Kellen, you see,” Cilarnen explained—reasonably, he thought. “And then it realized I wasn’t. So it killed everybody. It tried to kill me first, but I still had my Gift. Lord Anigrel was supposed to take it, but he didn’t. That was wrong of him, wasn’t it? They’re supposed to take your Gift when they Banish you.”
“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kardus said gently. “We know who Kellen Wildmage is. Kellen came from Armethalieh. Did you come from Armethalieh too?”
