Wait. The Sengezian had healed her before, as well as himself. She had to get to him.

Gasping, she pulled herself back to the balustrade and peered below, spear in hand. The fight had turned against him.

Azar the Sting and five of her warriors menaced him. From the front, she and those flanking her pressured him, while those behind stabbed him whenever they could. The captain’s incredible skill combined with that of her elite veterans threatened to slowly overwhelm Kyembe.

His teeth were gritted in pain. Red grew on his tunic with each passing moment. His sword-staff whirled with the ferocity of a sandstorm, lacerating to the bone those who came too close, but fresh attackers immediately surged forward over their dying brethren. They left him no room to use any of his magic, and the space around him continued to shrink.

He would fall soon.

“Hey!” Wurhi cried, hefting her spear.

The guard closest to her looked up.

Clang!

He caught her thrust directly on the helmet, his head whipping back, and he stumbled into his captain. Azar shouted in surprise, trying to shove him away.

But it was too late.

With a roar, Kyembe rushed past the last man’s outstretched spear and away from those at his back.

Bang!

He drove a powerful kick into the tangle of Azar and guard, sending them sprawling into the rank behind. Most of the line collapsed with a great clamour. A quick swipe sliced open the throat of the man beside him, then - now that he had space - he swept his sword-staff high, his face drawn up in utter focus.

His ring flared once more. His arm hissed as burns crawled further up his flesh.

The air thrummed and shimmered.

But no beam burst forth.

Hot white light rose up the haft of his weapon, outlining it like a star behind an eclipse.

Until it met the blade.

With a crackling roar and blast of heat, it erupted in a white blaze like a miniature sun. The cool night air suddenly burned like noontime in the desert.

Kyembe bellowed as he swept his weapon through his recoiling foes. The hellfire-clad steel melted through bronze shields and armour, slicing open and incinerating the flesh beneath. Warriors’ insides superheated and erupted in showers of white ash, boiling blood, and scorched meat. They fell in burning piles of mewling horror that had lost any semblance of having been human.

The survivors drew back with terror in their eyes. Even the mighty Azar. “He is a demon!” she cried fearfully. “Retreat! Retreat! Fetch bows to shoot the fiend!”

In a clatter of metal and scrambling limbs, the guards fled screaming into the stairwells. Their vanquisher leaned against his weapon, catching his breath as the flame sputtered and went out.

“Thank you,” he panted, his crimson eyes rising to meet Wurhi’s. “They had the better of me-By the stars!” he suddenly cried.

Her blood poured freely from the wound in her side. Her vision wavered, and her spear was slipping from limp fingers. Kyembe’s sword hilt immediately shrank to its former size as he sheathed it and leapt up, catching the lip of the balcony above and climbing over the balustrade to drop beside her.

He clasped both hands to her wound and once again golden light enwrapped them. The pain began to fade, and there was a sickening wet sound as his magic forced her flesh to knit back together. In the span of heartbeats, the only sign she had been pierced at all was a slight tenderness in her side.

“Thank you. Thank you,” Wurhi sighed as her energy returned.

“You are most welcome,” Kyembe placed his glowing hand to his own wounds next. “You saved my life first.”

Despite the fear rampaging through her breast, she forced a quivering grin and clapped him on the shoulder. Her hands still shook. “So, we saved each other’s lives. Great. Maybe we’ll live long enough to enjoy them too.”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Her smile crumpled. “Now let’s get the hell away from this balcony before the archers come.”

She picked up the fallen short sword and, for good measure, slit the throats of the two corpses at their feet. No one would rise and stab her in the back again. “Now, let’s hurry. I want that plunder. And I think I want to kill Cas.”

“My thoughts as well,” Kyembe said grimly.

Wurhi and Kyembe thankfully met no resistance in the western stairs, and reached Cas’ tower without trouble. It seemed deserted, with the only sound being a slight night wind drifting in through the great outer windows. Though the rush of the guards mustering below met their ears, things above were eerily silent as they climbed the spiralling steps.

Then Kyembe held up his hand and scowled at the stairwell ahead. “Hold here for a moment, I will be back.”

“Wait what?”

He was already rapidly charging up the stone steps and rounded a corner, drawing his sword. Heartbeats later, she heard a muffled cry of surprise, followed by one of pain.

Shouts of challenge.

Metal clashing on metal.

Sandals scuffling on stone.

Then a great rolling crash.

The body of a guardsman toppled down the stairs and into her view. The pale moonlight revealed his eyes rolled back and red pouring from a gash in his armpit.

Then silence.

Kyembe reappeared in the stairwell above. “Four waited to ambush us,” he growled. “But we have reached our destination.”

She gave pause.

His face had the rage of a thundercloud.

“Then why do you look so unhappy? …what did you see?” she asked.

His scowl deepened. “Your Cas of Zabyalla is keeping a demon in his bedchamber.”

She blanched. “What?! You mean…now?! It’s there now!?”

“Yes,” he said with the grimness of an executioner. “I have slain many of these things and weaved magics to find their foul presences. I felt it as surely as I feel the wind now.”

All thoughts of plunder, lenders, slavery and revenge were blasted from her mind by pure animal terror. “Then we must flee!”

Kyembe shook his head. “I do not suffer such foul things to exist.”

“That’s mad!” she glanced back down the stairwell. “I’m not letting a demon eat my soul for an armful of coins! Come on!” she looked through the window. Above was a balcony and below lay a bathing pool and fountain. She pointed downward. “There! It’d be hard, but we could climb down, drop into the water and begone!”

His eyes narrowed. “I thought you wanted to kill Cas.”

“Before I knew he had a damn demon waiting for us!” she screamed. “Come on, let’s go!”

He did not move.

Kyembe the Spirit Killer stood above her in the darkened stairwell, as still as stone. His eyes, the same colour as the blood staining his tunic, burned with fervour as they studied her. A chill passed through her body and she quickly remembered her earlier fears.

Would this be it?

Now that he wouldn’t get what he wanted; would he turn on her? Her partner of five years had betrayed her utterly not one night ago, why not he? The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she became very aware of just how trapped she was on the stairwell alone with him. She tried to edge her way to the window.

“If you do not want to go further,” he suddenly spoke.

She tensed. She might have to jump.

He looked out over the grounds below, peering toward their edge. “Then I will escort you to the wall and help you over. After, I shall return and destroy the abomination upstairs.”

She froze. “…what?”

“We had an oath to work together for thievery, and perhaps killing a filth-souled wizard. It did not include dragging you into a demon’s nest. If I did that-” his red eyes flashed. “-then I would be the demon, and there are already enough of those in this world.”

Of all the things she’d expected him to say, that was the last.

“What madness are you talking about? You should leave!” she said quickly. “Live another day!”

The Sengezian shook his head, and the smile he gave seemed lonely. “If I succeed, I will join you later. We can hoist wine and laugh about this, and then you can fall asleep and not have that foul thing plaguing your dreams,” he stepped to the window. “Come, let us move quickly and see you off before the guards get organized.”

Wurhi outright gaped.

She’d been wrong. Utterly wrong. He was no traitor.

He was a fool.

The biggest fool she’d ever met. No doubt.

How had he lived this long? Sure, she’d watched him obliterate twenty-five of Cas’ elite guards and explode a crocodile, but someone should have knifed a man this naive in his sleep by now. Did wizards need to sleep? Did dark elves? Was that how he’d stayed alive?

It was ridiculous. He’d known her for less than a day and he was about to go deliver her to safety then come back and fight a demon by himself? Would Kashta have done that? Would she have? Of course not, they were sane.

Then again…

Her mind started to look at things with a different perspective.

Perhaps it was not so much madness as it was cool assessment. He’d said something about killing a demon in Nubtuka, hadn’t he? And he just said he’d slain these things before. What if he knew well that he could kill the thing upstairs? Her heart jumped. By leaving, she’d give up all the spoils for nothing! Then again, knowing this fool, he’d probably happily find her and bring her share afterward. No, even he wasn’t so stupi-

“Oh, and tell me where I can find you tomorrow,” he looked at her seriously. “If I am victorious, I will bring your share. You saved my life, and do not deserve to leave empty-handed.”

That did it.

In spite of her dread, a snicker escaped her lips. Then a chuckle. Finally, high pitched, roaring laughter exploded from her lungs as she doubled over on the stairs. Kyembe’s startled expression drove her further into hysterics, and soon it was all she could do to stand.

“What is this?” he finally demanded.

She eventually managed to regain control of herself. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Come on, let’s go rob this merchant.”

He blinked. “Truly? You’re coming?”

“Even I’ll feel guilty if I leave you here by yourself after you say something like that. It’d be like abandoning a puppy. A terrifying, terrifying puppy. Besides, you say you can kill it?”

Kyembe nodded.

“You sure?”

“I can kill it,” he said firmly.

Wurhi bounded up the stairs past him. “Then there’s nothing to worry about! Come on, let’s go get rich.”

She wished she actually felt as confident as her words sounded.

Maybe foolishness was contagious.