FIREFANGED

Chapter 17 (Demon in exile)

More than true to his word, King Ylamil showed his gratitude for our success. He officially ended the exile of his daughter Raven and outlawed any rituals of sacrifice that the shamans might have practiced. I carried a letter for Raven from her father detailing the new situation and asking her to return home.

The King also presented me with a pair of necklaces, each adorned with a matching golden disc to replace the silver amulets that Raven and I both wore. I tucked these safely away for later. He also permanently assigned Yseria Warric as my Bastian Royal Guard, giving her the option to travel with me back to Berykholt.

I wasn't sure how I felt about that last little gift. Yseria and I had plenty in common. We were loners and both the last of our line. From our brief time together, I sensed a kindred soul. She carried a loss, one hidden deep beneath the surface, and the need to act lest she scream her pain to the world at large. To survive each day, she carried a challenge where I carried hope. Perhaps King Ylamil thought we were a good match or that Yseria's presence would lessen the sting of Raven's return to Bastian.

Who knows the mind of a king? I barely knew my own.

Khamros brought me down to the lowest levels of the castle to meet with Palypsos again. I delivered the chalice collected from the portal altar. It was an artifact for demonic rituals. Perhaps, through further study, Palypsos could discern a clue to its original owner and how it ended up on the doorstep of Bastian.

According to Palypsos, the silver chalice was centuries old and had been used to capture the souls and blood of those sacrificed in the name of Infernal deities, such was the currency that flowed through the Veil. The chalice held the residue of many thousands of souls and would take the shamans a lifetime to decipher.

The unusual sword had all of my attention. Its stout blade was two feet long and at least three inches wide. The Bastian Castle armorer called it a hand glaive or a broadsword. It weighed almost the same as Hicks' sentinel axe, and its balance was as exceptional as it was ancient. On the hilt, the armorer noted a forge mark from a kingdom thought to exist over a thousand years ago. There were also some unrecognizable runes etched into the blade itself.

Despite its age, the edge of the glaive was free of damage or defects. It reminded me of the sword from my vivid dream last month, the one raging in the hellish bar. In my dream, it had been as thunderous as a berserk demon. Here in my hands, it was silent, almost cold, content.

It was late in the evening as we scrutinized the items with Palypsos. My three guards waited back in my room. I had been patched up, but my body ached from misuse and fatigue. Still, I needed as much information as possible before heading home in the morning—home, funny that I never really used that word before, even during my life in Lockrun.

Palypsos lifted my newfound glaive for a reading. He wasn't going to pierce his ear with that three-inch wide blade. Instead, I held the hilt while he ran his thumb slowly along one edge, carefully drawing a small amount of blood as he went. Again, we sat back and waited for him to breathe.

A wicked raspy voice arrived first, "Hal-Noire, in Exile, beckons you forth."

"Who is Hal-Noire?" I asked.

"One you have defeated, Firefanged. An Infernal House gifted in Exile."

Firefanged. This time I didn't jump. I was beginning to sense where this was leading.

"Gifted to whom?" I asked.

"Exile was given to you. Your House would not possess me otherwise."

"Given by who?"