Page 10 of Trial By Fire

A group of demons had gathered in a circle, cackling and jeering as they egged each other on. In the center of the circle, a human soldier was bound, his eyes wide with terror. The demon who had brought him as a “gift” to Malekith advanced on him, his claws extended, and a fresh wave of terror reeking from the human’s sweat.

Aric’s instincts screamed at him to do something, anything, to stop the cruelty that was about to unfold. His hand moved, his muscles tensing with the first words of a binding spell. But then the human spotted Aric in the crowd, and Aric stilled.

There was no hope for him. Aric saw that now, and he knew with a sickening certainty that Malekith was right. There would be no reprieve, no last-minute rescue. Once you were in the demons’ grasp, there was no escape.

The soldier’s cries echoed off the stone walls as the demons set upon him, their forms blurring with inhuman speed. Aric’s stomach roiled as he caught glimpses of claws and teeth, of scales and bone. It was a savage, brutal display, and it took all of Aric’s willpower to keep from retching.

He was no use to anyone if he fainted, though. But as the screams went on, Aric felt a numbing coldness seeping throughhim. A sense of dread and inevitability. Even the sight of that human, barely a boy, being ripped apart by the creatures around him was becoming just one more drop in the ocean.

He was becoming inured to the violence. And that was a far more dangerous trap than anything the demons might lay for him.

He stumbled away from the crowd, the taste of bile rising in his throat. What was he doing here? What possible hope did he have of making a difference in this world of predators and prey? He was hopelessly outmatched, a lamb wandering into the wolves’ den.

“Aric.”

The voice was a cool touch against his fevered skin, and he turned towards it almost instinctively. Malekith stood at his side, regarding him with an inscrutable look. His skin was flushed, his eyes fever-bright, and yet he moved with his customary grace, as if he were in perfect control.

“Is this really what you wish to spend your time on?” Malekith asked. He kept his tone light, as if the words were merely a question, but Aric heard the warning beneath them.

“What are you suggesting?” Aric asked, just as carefully.

Another demon cast a glance in their direction, and Malekith lowered his head to speak in a low, almost inaudible murmur. “The library might offer you a quieter refuge from the predations of the others.”

“The library.” Aric stared at him, that possessiveness in his tone echoing in Aric’s head. The feeling of those fangs sinking into his throat, claiming him. A shiver ran through Aric, but he wasn’t sure if it was revulsion or something else.

“Why are you telling me this?” Aric asked.

Malekith’s eyes narrowed, but his smile didn’t falter. “I would not see anything happen to my . . . pet,” Malekith said,and then he was gone, disappearing into the writhing mass of demons.

Aric lingered for a few more moments at the edge of the revelry before allowing himself to drift towards the library. The demon court had opened its doors to the darkest and most dangerous of their kin, and they flooded the great hall of the Ebon Spire like a plague of locusts. The pounding of the music, the flash of the bloody, writhing bodies engaged in their macabre dance, the stench of sex and violence hanging in the air . . . It was all too much for Aric to take in. Even if he’d been in the mood for company, the thought of threading his way through the sea of demons, most of whom eyed him with thinly veiled curiosity or contempt, was more than he could bear.

A pair of felhounds growled at each other in a silent brawl, their fangs and claws leaving trails of noxious smoke in the air as they collided. A pack of ghouls tore into the raw flesh of some unfortunate victim on a nearby banquet table, their tattered limbs and gaping maws a horrific blur. The shadows themselves seemed to gather and pulse in time with the music, threatening to reach out and swallow him whole.

He needed to get away, if only for a little while. He needed to think. To breathe.

When he reached the library, he paused in the doorway, savoring the sudden hush of quiet that surrounded him. The vast chamber was lined from floor to ceiling with ancient tomes, scrolls, and other, less identifiable things. The otherworldly shimmer of the spire’s barrier was visible through the high arched windows, casting the only light in the library at this hour. The moon looked so small and far away, an indifferent witness to the darkness that lurked within the demon fortress. The heavy scent of old paper and the crackle of candlelight flooded his senses, and he closed his eyes, allowing himself a brief moment of respite. It was one of the few parts of the fortressthat felt familiar to him, a place where he had spent countless hours poring over dusty tomes and ancient scrolls in his quest to unravel the secrets of demon magic, and he felt a pang of nostalgia for the life he had left behind.

Aric moved towards the back of the library, where a large wooden desk sat, piled high with scrolls and books, some opened to display intricate diagrams and formulas. Curiosity piqued, Aric drew closer, careful to make no sound as he moved the chaotic layers aside. The diagrams seemed to be some kind of magical ritual, but he couldn’t make sense of the details. Instead, he turned to the papers spread out across the desk.

His breath caught in his throat as he scanned the words. They were troop requisition orders for House Ixion, for the same campaign Malekith had just outlined at the war council—and yet the numbers and placements detailed here bore little resemblance to the plan the prince had presented. The requisitions listed here were far more modest in scale, targeting more defensible areas, and the deployment plan was entirely different.

Aric’s heart pounded in his ears as he flipped through the papers, struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. Had Malekith lied to the war council, or was this some kind of ruse, a misdirection to throw off any spies who might be lurking in the fortress? Aric’s mind raced, his thoughts spinning in the darkness of the library. If Malekith’s own commanders didn’t know the true plan, what did that say about his chances of success? Would the humans be able to counter whatever deception the prince had in mind and turn it to their advantage instead?

His grip on the papers tightened, threatening to tear them, as he struggled to breathe. The library walls were closing in around him, the dark stone smothering him. The air was too thin, the room too vast. The eyes of the Vizra were surely watching him,waiting to pounce. Or had she said that she had other prey to hunt, that she was not looking to torment him?

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

Aric’s head snapped up, and he whirled around, his heart leaping into his throat. Vizra was standing in the doorway of the library, her gaze raking over him with open amusement. She was a vision in red and gold, her skin the color of honey, her eyes molten gold as she studied him. She moved towards him with a sinuous grace, her hips swaying with each step.

“What are you doing here, little mage?” she asked, stopping a few feet away from him. The corner of her full lips quirked up in a sly smile, and she tilted her head to the side. “Did you get lost on your way to the prince’s bedchambers?”

“I, uh . . .” Aric stammered, his thoughts still reeling. He tried to gather the papers back into a stack, but his hands were shaking, and the papers scattered to the floor. He ducked to try to gather them up, but Vizra snatched at them first, her laughter was a taunting echo in the silent chamber.

Vizra scanned the contents of the papers, a delighted smile curling her lips. “Oh, my, this looks very unlike the plans we had settled on. And here I thought our armies were meant to be working together. Could this be the great prince’s master plan? How delicious . . .”

She continued to read, her expression shifting from glee to shock. Aric watched her carefully, his mind still reeling from what he had seen. He knew he should warn her, stop her from making a terrible mistake. But a wicked little voice in the back of his mind reminded him of the cruel games she had played with him, the fear and revulsion she had stoked in his heart. If she was about to walk into a trap of her own making, then maybe she deserved it.

But then her eyes met his, and he saw the fierce intelligence burning within them. She might be a sadist, but she was no fool.She would use whatever was on these papers to strike back, and he wasn’t sure that was a safer option for him, after all.

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