Demon's King
Page 2

"Very much so. We don't talk often, but we do talk. Now, go and make arrangements to travel to Kareed tomorrow. Do this for me, Reah. Do it for all of us. As long as Zellar lives, he will be a danger to every world across the universes."
I nodded against his chest and pulled away. "Reah, you are tirlan-dar'miri—beautiful beyond words," Lendill whispered
"What language is that?" I'd never heard that phrase before.
"It is the language of my father's race. Go now, Reah, before I change my mind and pull you back. I have no desire to let you walk away from me."
I left him. Yes, I would have liked to stay. I would also like my heart to stop thumping painfully in my chest whenever I thought of Chash. My Chash. I wanted to weep as I skipped the rest of the way to the suite I shared with Tory. Most of my clothing was there. I pulled two eight-days' worth from my closet, wiping tears away as I tossed it into a standard-issue black bag.
All ASD agents had at least two sturdy, black bags for travel. They looked much the same as many other bags normal Alliance citizens used, except they had compartments built in for pistols, knives, throwing stars, even rifles. Any other kind of weapon could also be accommodated, as long as its length wasn't greater than that of the bag itself. My knife and pistol went into the bag—I seldom carried anything else.
My knife saw more use than the pistol did, too. Aunt Glinda—Glindarok, the High Demon Queen, had sent it to me for my twentieth birthday. I didn't know where she found it, but it was extremely sharp and never lost its edge. She and I still didn't talk. I'd done my best to understand—or at least to overlook it. I overheard Tory whisper to Ry once that the knife was probably Grey House work, but I didn't know whether to believe that or not. The knife was made in black metal of some sort and had no glint or gleam if I chose to use it at night. It had turned out to be more than useful. Now, I only wanted it at Zellar's throat.
Tory and Aurelius were there to say their good-byes the following morning—I'd spent the night in Tory's bed. He didn't want to let me go, either. I gave him the best kiss I could, asked him to keep me updated on Gavril and skipped away.
* * *
"Pretty." The drunk I sat beside at the bar attempted to paw my hair. For the third time. I had my knife-point at his throat in less than a blink. The drunk moved his hands and turned away from me. The bartender gave a slight smile in the dim light and went back to washing glasses. Stuffing the knife into the sheath clipped to the leather waistband of my pants, I went back to my drink.
Alcohol doesn't have the same effect on me anymore—Tory and his father, Gardevik, had done a lot of teaching during the past four years. I was informed that a High Demon doesn't come into adulthood until age twenty-two. Garde had grinned when he'd shared that information. Under the laws of Kifirin, the High Demon's world (named after Kifirin, the god) no female was allowed to legally mate until that age. Tory (and Aurelius) had gotten ahead of things. Teeg—well, I didn't even want to think about him. With High Demons, once adulthood is officially reached, alcohol, anesthetics, pain medications—all had limited effects. Now it took nearly four times the amount of alcohol that would make any normal humanoid drunk just to get me tipsy.
"Want another?" The bartender tapped the bar in front of my glass. I'd chosen what Ry and Tory called a bloody Mary. The alcohol was named Sardof on Alliance worlds. They called it the same here, too.
"Sure." I drained my glass and pushed the empty toward him. The bar was connected to the hotel where Zellar was supposedly staying—I'd been given his alias and the room number, even. Now I watched the door into the hotel from my barstool, hoping that Zellar would come in soon. I didn't want to sit there drinking all night, in case the bartender had a limit on the number of drinks he could serve to one person.
"I haven't seen you here before." The bartender slid the fresh drink across to me, accompanied by two napkins and a dish of mixed nuts. The drunk beside me had his hand in the bowl before I could decide whether I was hungry. Now I wasn't about to touch it.
"Just got here today," I sighed. "Came here to meet a friend, but he hasn't arrived yet." I was lying to the bartender, but it might keep his interest at a minimum. He seemed nice—the bartender, that is. I got his kind of attention a lot. If I could have disguised myself, I would have. Ry could put a disguise on anyone without blinking. Except a High Demon—if they didn't want one. I didn't want one. I could have worn a wig and makeup, but wigs made my head itch and makeup made me feel as if I had hotcake batter glued to my face. I hated it. Lendill knew not to send me anywhere that required anything of the sort. Therefore, everyone saw me as I was.
I dressed terribly most of the time while on assignment—people tended to stay away if you looked destitute or crazy. Not tonight—I had my black leathers on. Mid-summer had come and it was hot on Kareed, so the top was sleeveless and laced up the front. The pants were tight except around my boots—I had another knife and a small pistol hidden there. Kareed allowed weapons, if they were worn on the outside in full view. I was breaking Kareedan law with what I had in my boots. Of course, I was breaking Kareedan law just by being there. They didn't allow Alliance citizens to set foot on Kareedan soil. Probably why Zellar had chosen the planet to begin with.
Zellar walked in while I was sipping my drink and eating the stalk of celery the bartender had planted in it. A young couple came in right behind him. The situation couldn't have been more ideal.
"There he is, that cheating scum. I should have known he was seeing someone else." I muttered my accusation loud enough for the bartender to hear. I slapped several Kareedan marks down on the bar and went to follow the couple who walked right behind Zellar.
We rode up the elevator together—Zellar hadn't chosen a seedy hotel. He'd paid for the best. I wondered if he were currently working for someone or living off funds gained from past jobs. The couple got off the lift before I did. Zellar allowed me to get off the elevator first on the next floor. I'd gotten a room on the same floor; I'd flirted with the desk clerk to do it but it had gotten me what I wanted.
The rooms on the fourth and top floor were huge, the doors facing a bank of windows on the opposite side of the hall. I slipped my key card into the slot two doors down from Zellar's room and went inside, putting my back to the door when it closed and listening carefully for Zellar's door to shut. When it did, I was out of my room like a rocket and kicking his door in. What happened next I didn't have any explanation for. Not until later, anyway.
* * *
Lendill, Tory and Aurelius watched the pirated vid-feed in horror. The hotel where Reah was staying had been bombed. At the moment, only Lendill knew where Reah had gone and that the room where the blast originated had been Zellar's. Assignments were generally kept secret from the others, unless they were on the same assignment. None of them had been able to reach Reah through mindspeech after the blast.
Journalists were saying it was a ranos grenade. Aurelius placed an arm around Tory's shoulders—Tory was sitting, Aurelius standing. Gardevik burst into the room. Tory stood and went to his father. Aurelius sat in Tory's vacated chair with a sigh of disbelief.
"Just one blow after another." Norian Keef, Director of the ASD walked in. "Do we have any agents in the area? Lendill?" Norian grabbed Lendill's arm.
"Two," Lendill had to bring himself back from the horror he was seeing on the vid-screen. "I've already sent them. They'll have something for us soon."
"Let me know as quickly as you can. Do you need something? Anything?"
"I need to know that Reah is safe," Lendill choked up.
* * *
"Do this first." I barely understood the words; I was in too much pain. There was more—a sharp stabbing pain in my collarbone. What were they doing to me? I couldn't see; something covered my eyes. "Now," the voice was soft as it continued, "normal painkill and anesthetic won't have much effect. Don't give too much—it could harm her."
"But she has broken bones. Her ribs are crushed, three vertebrae are cracked, one leg is broken in two places, the other leg in one. One arm broken, one not. Skull fractures—honestly, I have no idea how she still lives." That was a second voice, talking with the first voice. I moaned.
"Make sure she stays alive," the first voice said. "I'll help this time." Fingers touched—cool against my forehead—followed by pain-free darkness.
Fever came with my next waking. I must have been restrained—I couldn't move. That frightened me, even in my feverish state. I was too weak and in too much pain to struggle much. I still couldn't see and knew somehow I'd been blindfolded. Somebody didn't want me to see anything. They wanted me to live; I remembered that from the previous waking, but little else. Who had me? They couldn't be friendly; I realized that, even in my impaired condition. Pain bloomed with my agitated movement.
"Shhhh," fingers against my hot forehead. Darkness came. Again.
* * *
A slight sound woke me next. I still couldn't move or see. I must have made some sort of noise—the second voice was back. "Only changing the bag, pretty girl. We have to feed you, you know."
What had they done? Placed a feeding tube? How bad off was I? I moaned. "I didn't mean to upset you. Just stay calm, all right? Gods, you're so beautiful." I felt a tugging around my torso—second voice was cleaning the area around the tube and placing a fresh dressing. I wanted to weep. I wanted him to take off the fucking blindfold. I wanted to be anywhere except where I was.
Could I send mindspeech? How could I tell Tory, Lendill or Aurelius where I was? Auri? I sent. Tory? Lendill? Only silence met my weakened sendings and I failed to get any response. The effort, too, was taking its toll. Second voice continued his ministrations—he was bathing me now, his hands expertly wiping my body with a warm, soapy cloth. My ribs and the surrounding area were so tender I wanted to scream when I was washed there. "It'll be over soon—over soon," the voice crooned. Could I trust that voice? He'd left me blindfolded—I couldn't. I didn't even try to speak to him. He might ask questions and I was in no shape to keep him from getting what he wanted—all he had to do was exert a little pressure against my aching ribs. My breathing became ragged as he worked; pain was waking all over my body. The singsong "It'll be over soon," came again. I whimpered and endured it.