Page 51 of A Hunt Bound in Blood
I wet my lips and looked from the wall to the pedestal to Cammon. “I don’t suppose he was kind enough to leave the needed words written somewhere on this pedestal.”
“I don’t suppose he was,” Cammon agreed, walking a circle around it to make sure. “He did not. Fortunately, the battle he mentions is well known in Karhasan, even though it happened over three centuries ago. The sword of Calanthruin has the capacity to slice through demon flesh as though we were made of paper.”
A thrill ran through me at the thought of getting an impromptu history lesson, especially from so attractive a professor, and my cheeks flushed at my body’s response to the fantasy. Cammon flashed another smile my way as though I’d spoken aloud, and my flush deepened.
“Please go on,” I said, averting my gaze to not appear too eager.
“An army of mages arrived on the banks of my homeland,” he said, and was it my imagination that his voice sounded deeper, his cadence more alluring? The demon prince was toying with me—and I wasn’t about to complain. “They claimed we’d run off with their people, that we’d invaded their homes and stolen what didn’t belong to us. At first, King Melat denied all accusations. He would never permit such a thing to happen, and the very accusation risked causing bad blood between our countries.”
“But it turned out to be true?” I guessed.
“It did. A group of young demons had gotten it into their heads that the taste of true fear would give them greater strength. The fools. Heightened emotion of any kind feeds us—why not make it pleasurable for all involved?”
His eyes turned inky, and I swallowed around the rising heat in my chest.
“So the mages attacked?” I encouraged. Anything to get us through this moment. Out of this cave. The darkness was pressing in on me, and not even Cammon’s flirtatious lecture was enough to distract me.
As though he realized it, he continued the story in his regular voice. “They did. They struck first, and the demons laughed at what they assumed was a futile effort. Until the sword came into play. Then it was a massacre. On both sides, but the demons were hard hit. After that battle, the sword was conveniently lost. I suspect Melat tossed it into the Never Sea to ensure it never touched his shores again.”
I frowned. “Most of that makes sense, but what about the reference to the gods? This was a battle that took place on Karhasian soil, but the friends Tersey mentions can’t be demons, right? Am I being presumptuous? Do demons have gods?”
Cammon grinned. “Don’t worry, Buttons, you didn’t miss anything that scandalous in your research. No, we don’t. But as I said, there were losses on both sides. When the tide of the battle changed, the demons laid claim to the sword and exacted their revenge on the same soil on which the first blow was struck. I doubt Tersey was referencing demon losses as a subject of particular grief. He’d have been more concerned with the mages.”
Cammon was likely correct about that. Nothing in Tersey’s notes had shown any particular demonic sympathies. Though that didn’t explain why he’d chosen to include demonic languages in his clue. As a twisted joke, perhaps?
I shifted my thoughts from the history lesson to the riddle written on the pedestal. “Do you know the words he’s talking about?”
Cammon gritted his teeth. “I do. The surviving mages, what few there were, shouted it like a battle cry. It was memorable enough that even the Karhasian historians noted it down.”
He eyed the pedestal, then glanced at me, and I understood. As soon as he spoke the words, we needed to grab whatever clue appeared and get out of here. I was starting to loathe Mage Tersey as much for his homicidal tendencies as for his horrible rhymes.
I braced my feet against the ground, ready to run, praying I didn’t stumble and fall in my hurry to get to the entrance, and nodded to Cammon that I was ready.
“Our people may die, but the magic never does,” he recited. “As long as the magic lives, we are immortal.”
The last syllable fell from his lips, and as the sound of his voice went silent, the notches on the back wall click, click, clicked. Were they getting into position? Nothing about the pedestal changed.
“Where’s the clue for the next signpost?” I asked. My heart thudded against my rib cage, and my legs itched to move.
Cammon’s gaze was pinned to the back wall, but he dropped his attention long enough to scan the stone plinth. “We must have missed a step. I’ll wait for it. You should get out of here.”
But I couldn’t leave. Not until I was sure we had what we needed. If we didn’t get the next clue, we’d have nothing to go on except my vague memories of which direction we were headed.
The notches shifted again, and a red glow woke within them, creating a pattern of vicious eyes deep within the stone.
“Gloria…” Cammon warned, and my full name on his tongue did things to me that should have been impossible under the circumstances.
My body tensed, and my brain screamed at me to flee. Cammon edged backwards, away from the pedestal, towards the mouth of the tunnel, but he still didn’t have the clue. What was he doing?
A final click, and the notches went silent. I held my breath, and my pulse rattled in my ears. Cammon grabbed my arm, ready to drag me down the tunnel, but I exerted the full force of my vampiric strength and held firm.
The top of the pedestal spun, and a door popped open from what had been the back.
The notches clicked again.
“For fuck’s sake, go!” Cammon yelled.
I tore out of his grip, snatched the parchment from within the drawer, then bolted as fast as my legs could carry me. Cammon sprinted behind me, and I heard the tear of fabric. A roar of fire came next, and the searing heat soaked my back with sweat faster than my race down the tunnel could have justified. I dared a glance over my shoulder and caught sight of Cammon wincing in pain as he held off the flames with his wings. Fire licked at his heels, but he didn’t falter.