Tosh waved a hand. He looked exhausted. “Nothing. I don’t want a thing. I trust you’re finished with your investigation and will be leaving my city soon.”
“Tomorrow morning,” Master Shen said. “I need sleep and food before I’ll have strength enough to transport us to the capital.”
“Fine, just don’t blow up anything before you leave.”
Jen opened her mouth to protest, but Master Shen laid a restraining hand on her wrist. They took their leave of the weary captain, collected her men along with many thanks from the former prisoners, and headed to Jen’s inn. She had a ton of questions, but when she started to ask, Master Shen shook his head.
They stopped outside the inn. The sun was just coloring the horizon. “Order some breakfast and wait for me in your room,” Master Shen said. “I’m going to collect Mariela. I’ll be back soon.”
He leapt into the air and faded from view. Jen shook her head and led the way in. The smell of fresh bread washed over her and her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten in a full day. A serving girl bustled around the common room, wiping tables and straightening chairs. It wouldn’t be long before the other guests came down to eat.
Jen waved her over and ordered a large breakfast to be sent up to her room. She flipped the girl a gold royal and went upstairs. Fifteen minutes later a tapping sounded on her window. She saw nothing, but opened it anyway. Something brushed against her and a moment later Master Shen shimmered into view, Mariela held in his arms.
He laid the scholar on Jen’s bed and sat on the edge. The woman looked better. The last of the dead skin had flaked off and her hair had grown back, only an inch long, but still. Six healing potions could work wonders.
A knock sounded on the door. Outside two serving girls held trays laden with food. Edward and Alec collected the trays and closed the door. Master Shen waved his hand and nodded. “We can speak now. I’ve blocked all sound from leaving the room.”
Jen fixed an egg-and-bacon sandwich and leaned against the wall. “So what was that black disk in the ceiling above the torture room?”
“A hell gate. A small one, thank heaven. Someone opened it for them and they fed it blood to get demon essence.”
“You mean that black stuff?” Jen finished her sandwich and moved on to the pastries. “It looked like a lot more blood went in than black stuff came out.”
Mariela sat up. “It runs about a gallon of blood to a quarter ounce of essence.”
“What do they do with it?” Alec asked around a mouthful of ham.
“You saw the ones with the black flames?” Master Shen asked.
They all nodded. “What are they anyway, the flames?” Talon asked.
“For the gang members the flames were simply a visible manifestation of the demonic power running through their bodies. They represent the flames of hell. For a warlock or a demon the flames are the shape their corrupt soul force takes unless they chose to transform it into something else. The gang used the essence to ink their tattoos a second time. When they shed their blood it triggered the power which took the shape of the black flames. What you missed was the aftermath. Normal humans aren’t equipped to handle that much soul force, much less corrupt, demonic soul force. Most of them would have dropped dead the instant the power dried up.”
“Mikhail didn’t seem to have much trouble,” Jen said.
Master Shen frowned. “He’s a different matter altogether. Mikhail bonded his soul to a demon, most likely that ugly flying horse he was riding. It allows him to draw on the demon’s power, but when he dies the demon consumes his soul and grows stronger.”
“Seems a little short sighted,” Rhys said.
“Usually, but demon binding grants immortality as well, so as long as no one kills him the demon doesn’t get his soul. If the binding was done correctly it can’t betray him either.”
“So what happens now?” Jen asked.
“Eat, sleep, and tomorrow we fly back to the capital where I report to the archmage then I’ll fly you back to The Citadel to report to your father.”
Jen sighed. This was one mission she didn’t regret finishing.
Chapter 21
A little after noon the first supply station came into view. It jutted up out of the snow several hundred yards ahead of them. Damien had never felt so glad to see a building, even a slumping, three-room shack like the station, in his life. Eight days of riding and sleeping in a tiny, two-person tent with a woman that barely tolerated him left him eager for a bed and someone, anyone, else to talk to. A bath wouldn’t hurt either of them as well.
Behind the station a fenced-in paddock and modest stable housed about ten horses. Army patrols stopped at the station to swap injured mounts and tend to tack and shoes. No soldiers manned the place, only a farrier, stable master, and their apprentices. It struck Damien as a peaceful if tedious post.
They rode around to the paddock. From the stable a middle-aged man with a beard wearing a heavy fur-lined jacket ambled out to meet them. “Can I help you?”
“We need fresh mounts and supplies,” Lane said.
“Yeah, and you are?”
She frowned and fished around in her furs. After a moment of hunting she pulled out a badge and pointed it at him like it was a crossbow. “Lane Thorn, diplomatic corps. This is my bodyguard.”
No introduction for him. Damien tapped his forehead in a two-fingered salute. “Damien St. Cloud, pleasure.”
The stable master studied the badge a moment then nodded. “Looks official. You two staying the night?”
“Yes.” Damien didn’t give Lane a chance to speak. “Please tell me you have a tub in this place.”
He glowered at Damien. “Of course. Just because we’re in the middle
