The Imkaira called them 'Demons' - Demons of Undoing. They brought dangerous new thoughts and inventions, ideas that could topple the rigid Imkairan society. Shocked by the harm they were causing, the humans withdrew. Hundreds of years later they are no more than legends.
Fenobar, born with a crippled arm is allowed to live only by the grace of his father, the King of Clan Fen. An outcast all his life, he struggles to survive with honor in a world of warriors. Long ago, he chose the Demon, a mythical being, as his secret ally, his source of strength. Then one shows up in his hour of greatest need.
Two young men, one human, one Imkaira, are fated to meet.
WHEN IS A DEMON NOT A DEMON?
The Demon rubbed at his strange sharp nose with the back of one hand. "I haven't any more supernatural power than you have--really! I'm a very ordinary kind of person. I can't change things, or make them go wrong."
"Demon, I have been with you for two hands of days, and in that time things have done nothing but go wrong."
"The Axe was subject to raltmichak, we were chased to exhaustion by the Kaymath, we had to cross the Straits of Tyvai, we nearly drowned, we smashed the boat in the Mists of Tyvai, and now we are marooned on a tiny island with no way off."
"We saved the Axe from the raltmichak, which was never finished on it. We escaped from the Kaymath, we survived crossing the straits, we didn't drown, and the Mists of Tyvai provide us with water," replied the Demon, ticking the points off with one long finger.
"What about getting off this island?"
"I'm thinking on it."
"Hunh!" Fenobar snorted. His crest could not fluff because of the sticky residue left from the sea salt, but his ears twitched with amusement. In a voice dripping with overmuch sweetness, Fenobar said, "So. It is coincidence you trail change behind you like the Sprite of Spring trails flowers." Purring, he added, "But if you are not a Demon of Undoing, what are you?"
His ears twitched wildly as he heard the note of helplessness in the Demon's voice when he answered, "I'm called a human being."
"And you are from?"
The Demon cleared his throat. Not looking at Fenobar, he mumbled something at the mail in his lap.
"We're from another world."
"Demons are hardly from this one," Fenobar said dryly. 'Bit still you say you're not a Demon."
"A little wildly, the Demon ran his five-fingered hand through his head fur, which was as stiff and sticky as Fenobar's. It stood up under this attention like a particularly ratty crest. "I'm a very ordinary kind of of person!"
"Very ordinary...for a Demon," Fenobar agreed.
"For a human!" the Demon protested.
"You're still a Demon of Undoing, no matter what you call yourself."
"I call myself Sig," the Demon said, a little desperately.
"Human Being Sig?" Fenobar asked sweetly.
"Sigmund deGama Cook of the tribe of...of...United Stars Interstellar Survey. Human being. As you are Imkairan.
"Oh," Fenobar scrubbed at his almost forgotten armor as he thought that over. "How did humans get here?"
"We..."Sig gagged on a word and came to a confused stop. "I can't tell you."
"Can't or won't?"
"Won't," the Demon admitted miserably.
"You used some kind of magic ritual which permitted you to fly here, not so?" Fenobar looked up at Sig from under the long hairs of his crest. "Demons use them all the time."
Sig put his head in his hand, surrendering. "All right. I'm a Demon."
"Could you be anything else?" Fenobar murmured. "Let me show you how to clean that leather properly...Sig."
|Publisher:||Andrea I. Alton|
|Product dimensions:||6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.50(d)|