He could sense the evil the palace radiated, could almost see it as a foul black cloud spreading outward in all directions from the building. More, he could smell it: like the carcass of an animal that had been gutted and cast into a sewage pit to rot. The stink offended him on a primal level, and-though it shamed him to acknowledge this-it excited a part of him, too. His mouth began to water and without his realizing it, a soft growl of desire began rumbling deep in his throat.
Then, like a sudden violent cloudburst, the dark energy emanating from the palace doubled, tripled, quadrupled in intensity. The cloaked man felt the evil power slam into him with almost physical force and then move past as it rolled like an ebon wave to inundate the streets of Kolbyr. For an instant, the cloaked man's spirit was almost swept away by the dark tide, but he resisted the call of the Fury. He'd had much experience resisting such urgings over the last few months, and though it had been an ordeal, that experience saved him now.
Unfortunately, the citizens of Kolbyr, though used to withstanding the day-to-day effects of the Fury, had no preparation for dealing with it at full intensity. The Fury grabbed hold of their minds, instantly transforming them into murderous fiends intent only one thing: shedding as much blood as they could as swiftly as possible. The air filled with shrieks of fury, maniacal laughter, and cries of agony as the ensorcelled Kolbyrites began a sickening orgy of pain and death. The cloaked man hesitated, torn as to where his duty lay. He didn't wish to abandon the people in the street to their fate, but if Diran and Ghaji failed to lift the curse, every man, woman, and child within the city would perish, and there would be nothing he, one lone bowman, could do to save them.
His duty was clear.
Leontis ran toward the palace's main entrance.
The throat and the heart, Diran decided. Slash one, pierce the other… do it at the same time, and even a creature as strong as a half-orc would perish within moments. He'd have to make sure to stay clear of the beast's flaming axe, but even if he did take an injury, as long as it wasn't a mortal blow he would be able to heal himself after his opponent had been reduced to a cooling corpse. Then…
The half-orc swung his elemental axe in a wide arc designed to separate Diran's head from his body. It was a clumsy attack, fueled by emotion rather than directed by skill, and Diran knew he could easily evade it and get in his planned strikes. But instead of lashing out at the half-orc with his daggers, Diran threw himself to the side, tucked in his right shoulder, rolled, and came to his feet. He spun around to guard against another attack by the half-orc, and-though his hands itched to hurl his daggers at the green-skinned half-blood-Diran stood and regarded his foe.
Something about what was happening bothered Diran. The situation seemed wrong somehow, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. On the surface, it all appeared simple enough: he hated the half-orc, the half- orc hated him, and each wanted the other dead. But…
You thought of healing yourself a moment ago. Your power to heal flows from the Silver Flame. You are a priest of the Silver Flame, one of the Purified. You do not kill without reason, and you certainly do not want to kill your friend.
Friend. It was a simple word, but a profound one, and as if it were a charm to counter to effects of the Fury, once he'd thought it, Diran found himself released from the demon's influence.
Ghaji moved in for another strike, features contorted into a mask of pure hatred. Diran wanted to speak to his friend, to try to reach the real Ghaji, but there was no time. The demon had unleashed the full force of the Fury upon Kolbyr, and Diran knew that at this moment men, women, and children throughout the city were in the grip of the Fury's killing madness. Innocents were dying, and Diran couldn't afford to waste any more time.
With a bestial roar, Ghaji swung his axe in an upward arc designed to gut Diran from stomach to throat. Diran sidestepped the blow-the heat from the elemental axe's flame stinging the skin of his face-then he moved in close and, wielding his daggers with surgical precision, he sliced through Ghaji's right bicep with one blade while at the same time that he rammed the second into the half-orc's right quadriceps, sinking the dagger into the leg muscle all the way to the hilt.
Ghaji bellowed in pain and released his grip on the axe. The weapon's flames extinguished the instant physical contact with its wielder was broken, and the axe fell to the floor. Without the illumination provided by the elemental weapon, the windowless chamber plunged into darkness. Before Diran could move out of the way, Ghaji-maddened with pain-head-butted him, and bright light flashed behind the priest's eyes. Diran staggered backward, struggling to hold onto consciousness, knowing that if he passed out, the demon would be victorious and dozens, perhaps hundreds, of Kolbyrites would die. He reached into a pocket and withdrew a small light gem. It wasn't very powerful, but when Diran activated it, the gem shone brightly enough for him to see.
Blood gushed from Ghaji's wounds, but the half-orc limped toward Diran, teeth bared, eyes burning with a hatred born of madness and evil. Diran still held the dagger he'd used to slice Ghaji's arm-the other was still embedded in Ghaji's leg-and he flipped the dagger into the air, caught it by the blade-tip, and hurled it directly at the point between Ghaji's eyes. The dagger hilt struck the half-orc a solid blow before bouncing off and falling to the floor. Ghaji stood, fighting to remain upright, but then his eyes rolled white and he collapsed.
'That's a surprise. I would've put my money on the half-orc.'
Diran turned around to regard the demon. If Ghaji hadn't been under the fiend's spell and had been able to fight with a clear mind, Diran might well have died at the hands of his friend. It had been a near enough thing as it was.
Diran's vision was blurred and his head swam, but he managed to keep on his feet. He walked over to where his silver arrowhead had fallen. He bent down to retrieve the holy symbol. Once his fingers closed about its cool metal surface, he felt renewed strength, and when he stood again his vision had cleared and his dizziness was gone.
'It's over, Demon. Vacate the boy's body now or I'll eject you by force. This is your last warning.'
The demon chuckled, but the sound lacked confidence. 'I have plagued the House of Kolbyr for a hundred years, and I'll continue to plague it long after you've rejoined your precious Silver Flame, priest.'
Diran hadn't expected a demon this powerful to give up easily. He glanced at Ghaji's unconscious form to make certain that his friend wouldn't rise and attempt to kill him while he worked to exorcise the demon, and then he started walking toward the naked scarred body of Calida's son.
The demon made no move to defend itself-no physical move, that is. The body it inhabited was no stronger than that of an ordinary boy. But the fiend redoubled its efforts to ensnare Diran's spirit with the force of its Fury. Diran felt as if he walked against gale-force winds, but he concentrated on the image of a silvery flame burning at the core of his being, and he continued moving step by tortuous step toward the demon. When he reached the boy, Diran knelt before him and pressed the silver arrowhead to his forehead. Silver light flashed bright as a lightning strike, and the demon let out an agonized shriek so loud Diran could feel the floor vibrate beneath his feet.
The priest began speaking the Rite of Exorcism in a strong, clear voice, and the demon's howling increased in volume, as if it thought it could negate the rite by drowning out Diran's words. But Diran continued praying aloud, silver light blazing forth from the arrowhead and filling the chamber with its pristine energy.
The demon's screams reached a crescendo, and Diran knew from long experience that the rite had almost done its work. Just a little longer…
'Fine!' shrieked the demon. 'If I can't stay here, then I'll just have to find myself a new home, won't I?'
Diran felt a cold, foul wave of infernal power wash over him, and he knew that the demon had been forced out of the boy and was seeking to enter the next closest body available: his.
Such a nice strong, body… and there's already a place for me here! Once you've played host to darkness, it leaves a hollowed-out space inside your soul, Diran Bastiaan. All sorts of nasty things can find their way inside you and make themselves right at home.
Diran felt the demon's spirit attempting to wriggle its way inside him, like a worm invading the flesh of a potential host. But Diran wasn't without his defenses, and he fought back with all the spiritual strength at his command.
It goes both ways, demon, Diran thought. I once shared my soul with one of your kind, and that does make me more susceptible to possession. But I also know what it's like to resist evil and cast it out of my heart.
Diran closed his eyes. In his mind he saw the fiend as a cross between a spider and a squid, with a touch of boar tossed in for variety. He didn't recognize the demon's species, but that wasn't important. What was important was the thin dark thread that emerged from the demon's back and trailed off into the distance. It was this astral thread that connected the demon to the physical world, and more particularly, to the House of Kolbyr. The mystic
