not stop,’ Miron commanded, staring at the thing. ‘Speak, vermin. Where did your master go?’
‘“And he said to them, Do you fear miracles? Have you lost such confidence in the Gods?”’ Asper continued, breathing heavily. ‘“Then look upon me with fear, for in fear you will find the need for answers. And it is answers I give you.”’
The Omen shrieked suddenly, hurling itself against the cage. The brass rattled upon the wood, causing all to draw back, save Miron. The beast hissed, gnawing on the bars of its cage with yellowed teeth and blackened gums, straining to break free, to silence the prayers.
‘“Your suffering is not unknown to me, He said. And your dead are with me now, in a place of unending sun and peace. Weep not for them. I shall weep for you. For I say to you, life is sacred.”’
The creature battered itself against the bars, blood leaking from its head, white feathers stained red as it shrieked and made guttural whines. It gyrated, twisted, writhed upon the floor of its cage. Miron held up a hand to Asper, leaned close to the cage and whispered.
‘Where?’
‘North,’ it gasped, through its inner lips, ‘north.’
Miron nodded solemnly, then drew in a sharp breath and finished the prayer. ‘Hii lat Udun.’
‘And so is death,’ Asper translated, eyes going wide.
‘That’s . . . Old Talanic. Old, Old Talanic. It’s never been used outside of hymnal verses—’
‘And not since humanity developed one sole language out of many,’ Miron said.
The creature twisted once, then lay still, its life escaping on a gurgling, choked sigh. The assembled could do nothing but stare as Miron slowly took up the cloth and draped it over the cage once more.
‘A demon’s true weakness is memory,’ he muttered. ‘It recalls the chants that led the House into battle, it fears them.’ He lifted the cage off the table and set it aside. ‘But more importantly, we have our answer. We know where they are heading.’
‘You can’t be serious,’ Denaos whispered.
‘Can I be anything but?’
‘You bring out a flying gopher-demon, do a few tricks and expect us to go chasing after the Abysmyth?’ The rogue made a flailing gesture. ‘All that convinces me of is that we shouldn’t be chasing demons! Lenk and Gariath couldn’t even scratch that thing! You’re sending us against something that can’t be hurt!’
‘It can’t be harmed by mortal creations, no,’ Miron replied quickly, ‘but there are weapons that even demons fear. Fire, you see, is their bane. The smallest heat source burns them unmercifully, and they cannot bear the presence of smoke.’
‘Dreadaeleon is a wizard,’ Asper said thoughtfully. ‘He can make fire.’
‘Well, thank goodness he did that when it was here earlier,’ Denaos sneered.
‘If I had known that then, maybe I’d—’ Dreadaeleon began.
‘Quiet,’ Lenk snapped.
‘Regardless,’ the priest continued with a sigh, ‘you are hired to me as adventurers. You are free to leave my company at any moment and free to make your own decisions.’ He held his hands up in resignation. ‘Man’s fate is his own to weave.’
Glances were exchanged, myriad emotions captured in every eye. Terror, excitement, purpose, anger, anxiety, all reflected in stares that slowly, one by one, turned to the silver-haired young man scratching his chin absently.
Despite everything said between them, despite their harsh words for each other, they looked to him for their answer, their uniting purpose. Whatever had been said in the name of duty and fury, every word and oath could be revoked in the blink of an eye.
All rested on what would emerge from his mouth.
‘We’ll do it.’
Kataria and Asper beamed with simultaneous smiles of pride as Dreadaeleon’s brow arched and Denaos’s head fell into his hands with a dramatic moan. Gariath’s fierce visage remained unchanged, save for a snort and a nod to Lenk. Argaol, meanwhile, stared at the young man with the same curiosity with which he would regard a fire-breathing tortoise.
‘For one thousand pieces of gold.’
Suddenly, smiles disappeared, brows went flat and the rogue’s head snapped up like a cat catching the scent of dead fish.
‘How dare you, Lenk?’ Asper was quick to hurl her voice brimming with scorn. ‘To ask any money for such a duty is a sin in itself, but to ask for such an exorbitant sum is—’
‘Done.’
‘Lord Emissary!’ Her wrath turned to shock as she whirled upon Miron. ‘The Church doesn’t have that kind of wealth to flaunt on a quest with no guarantee of success. ’
‘As well I know, child.’ Miron sighed. He looked to Lenk without judgement.