Jessa nodded.
“The exchange is fair, and because of that I cannot take it.”
Gregoor started to protest, but Jessa silenced him. “I understand, demon; you must come out the better in the bargain.”
He nodded. “You have dealt with demons before.”
“Perhaps.” She caught Gregoor’s shocked look and ignored it.
“What do you offer to sweeten the bargain?” the demon asked.
She held up the bloody splinter. “Blood.”
The demon licked his lips. “And from the man?”
Gregoor said, “No.”
Jessa frowned at him. “Will you bargain with just my blood?”
“If I cannot harm either of you, then I must have blood from both of you, or we fight here and now.”
“Gregoor, just a few drops…”
“Look at its face.”
The demon’s face was lined with hunger; he seemed almost to have grown thinner. He shimmered with a horrible eagerness. “I see him,” Jessa said softly.
“Then how can you offer him our blood? I am an herb-witch, and I could kill with a single drop of it. What could a demon do with blood?”
“I will taste your soul,” the demon whispered.
Gregoor said, “I will not give that thing my blood.”
“Then we will fight it here and now. It is your choice, Gregoor. I understand your uneasiness and I will abide by your decision.”
He shifted in his saddle, hand stroking his sword hilt.
“Fight me, wizard. I will have your blood one way or another.”
“No,” Gregoor suddenly said. “I will give what is asked.”
Jessa held out the bloody shard. The demon reached for it, and she covered it with her hand. “Swear, demon. Swear by Verm and Loth.”
“Let the wizard draw blood first.”
Gregoor took off his gloves and drew his dagger. He nicked one finger, letting three drops of blood fall into the snow. “There is your blood.” He wiped his dagger clean and applied pressure to the small wound.
Jessa said, “Make oath, demon.”
“I swear by the birds of Loth and the hounds of Verm that I will not harm you by direct actions.”
The demon grimaced, claws clicking like ice breaking, but he repeated it word perfect. Jessa handed over the ice shard with its cold blood. The demon took it delicately in his claws and licked it, daintily as a cat with cream. He licked it clean, but the ice did not melt. He chewed up the ice, crunching it with his teeth.
Then the demon knelt in the snow, all glittering in a shaft of light. He rolled his eyes at Gregoor and scooped up the bloody snow. Sucking sounds filled the forest, obscene and joyous. The snow did not melt at his touch, and he swallowed. He grinned and stood, stretching arms wide. “I will see you in your dreams.” He vanished.
Gregoor said, “What does that mean?”
“We will relive this in our nightmares, with certain changes.”
“Jessa, what have we done?”
“We have bargained with a demon. Did you think to come out of it untouched?”
He stared down at his gloved hands. “I don’t know what I thought.” He drew a deep shuddering breath and looked at her. “Let’s go kill this bitch and get out of here.”
Jessa smiled, her eyes full of a strange dark light. “Let us go hunting. May Magnus guide our strokes and strengthen our spells.”
The village of Bardou lay in a small hollow, trusting to be hidden rather than protected by a stout wall. Perhaps a dozen houses huddled in the snow. There was activity near one end, people moving. A scream carried through the cold air. Two figures were left isolated in the snow as the rest backed away into the houses. A tall figure in red, fur-cloaked, stood alone before the two who had been cast out.
Gregoor said, “It would be better to wait until she is in the middle of her spell. We could catch her by surprise.”
Jessa shook her head. “Enough have died in my place already. I cannot let these two die while I watch.” She met Gregoor’s eyes. The killing light had faded from her face, replaced by something he could not decipher. “By saving these people our plan falls apart.”
“I know, but this is your choice, Jessa. I will abide by your decision.”
Jessa smiled. “Perhaps I have been playing the mercenary too long.” She kicked her horse into a gallop and Gregoor followed. The red-cloaked figure was chanting strange twisted words that slid along Jessa’s mind and left a stain. Jessa called, “Hold, Cytherea, mother of Soldon.”
The woman looked up, startled. Jessa glimpsed a pale face. As she rode closer, the woman stared at her with eyes the cold gray of good steel. There was no expression on Cytherea’s face, only a blank waiting. Thin yellow hair blew in strands around a fox-lined hood. The reddish-brown fur made the face paler.
“You seek the earth-witch who killed your only son. Is that not true?”
There was no change in the pale eyes, but she nodded.
Gregoor had a potion open in his hand, waiting.
“Let these poor fools go; I am here.”
Cytherea shook her head, slowly. Her voice was as flat and unemotional as her face. “You are a sorceress. Do not stand in my way, or I will destroy you.”
Jessa rode her horse between the two huddled earth-witches and Cytherea. The first flicker of emotion passed those gray eyes: anger. Gregoor dismounted, staying off to one side.
“Do you remember the village of Threllkill?”
Cytherea frowned. “They killed my husband, and my son destroyed them for it.”
“Your husband died of old age. Even sorcerers die, Cytherea.”
“No,” she said.
“Your son destroyed innocent people, but I survived. When I was grown, I hunted him down and I killed him.”
Anger flared and turned the eyes a darker color, the color of storm clouds. “Get out of my way, little sorceress, or I will kill you as I slew the earth creatures that killed my son.”
Jessa dismounted and pushed back her hood. Gregoor poured the potion upon the ground.
Suddenly, the world was cold; the cold that numbs bones and steals air from lungs. A glittering figure of ice appeared beside Cytherea; vague eyes and mouth appeared, but nothing more. The ice elemental whispered to the sorceress, “The man spilled a potion on the ground.”
Cytherea blinked as if trying to focus on what was happening. “Demon, where are you? Jecktor?”
The demon appeared and bowed before her. “Kill them, Jecktor, get them from my sight.”
The demon said, “I fear I cannot.”
She turned on him, anger flashing sorcery like embers on the wind. “What?”
Jessa reached out to the earth where Gregoor’s potion lay, pooling and still warm in the snow. She touched it with her earth-magic. There was the scent of green growing earth, strong and clean.
Cytherea turned back from the cowering demon. “What are you?”
Jessa said, “I am earth-witch.”
The earth exploded upward, showering down dirt and rock. A figure stood full-grown from the ground. It was ten feet tall, roughly man-shaped, formed of rich black earth and the redness of clay. One eye was a diamond, the other an emerald. It took a heavy step forward, and the ground moved.
The ice elemental grew like an ice fire and rushed over the earth elemental, shrieking like a banshee wind.
Cytherea screamed, “Then die, earth-witch!” She pointed her left hand and its ring at Jessa. A shriveling, killing magic flashed outward. Jessa staggered from its touch, but it washed past her as if she were a rock in a stream.
Cytherea stared at her. “No!” Again she raised the ring. The ground began to smoke and pop to either side of Jessa.
Cytherea turned to Gregoor. “Die!” He stood unmoved and unharmed. “What is happening here?”
“We are both already cursed. You cannot curse someone twice,” Jessa said.
The sorceress shrieked and tore her cloak away. She stood, hair streaming in the wind, the emerald necklace sparkling in the cold light. She put a hand over the emerald and began to chant.
Encased in ice, the ice elemental moved forward, its movements stiff. Ice froze the earth, until the earth-giant moved in agony. The ice wind shrieked in triumph.
Jessa felt the power growing. She felt the pull of the enchantment. It called to her magic; it beckoned, a poisoned seduction. Her magic answered it, flaring and shredding on the winter wind. It drew off the magic she had absorbed. Jessa drew her sword and started forward, but she could not move against the necklace. It was sucking her dry.