by Dave Dobson
I stretched my mind downward, to where I presumed the prison lay. I felt the broad cool presence I’d felt earlier. Order. Control. The wall of Faera’s cell, I thought. Above it, I felt another focused mass of coolness, now distinct in my mind from the larger field below and the amulet at my feet. What was this? It was about six feet below ground, centered in the carved floor, and it was icy cool. It almost felt as if it were connected to the cold field below it. Generating it?
I took a jagged breath and breathed out slowly, pushing my senses deeper. I could feel the frigid ball slip by as I reached out, then the layer of cold below it, connected to it, deeper. It was thick. As I moved my mind across, I felt it shudder, and bright flashes of heat broke the coolness. The layer I had sensed before the ceremony was no longer uniform – it had cracks, fractures, running through it. Or rather, moving through it - the strands connected to the creatures roaming the square. It seemed Faera’s prison was crumbling, torn apart by his servants above. Reluctant, but curious, I pushed deeper.
Suddenly, searing heat. I cried out. Not just static heat, but waves of movement, angry blows, striking at the coolness above. Down there, something raged. I felt the coolness shudder with every onslaught. Faera was trying to break free. The intensity of the energy blazed at my senses. I had to withdraw – it was too much, like trying to hold onto white-hot steel in a forge. I opened my eyes.
Two keys. Brand had used one at the center of the sun carving to awaken Faera. But there was a second hole, and I had a second key. One that radiated coldness now. I picked up the amulet and walked over to the center of the moon part of the carving, to the second small hole.
“Marten, what are you doing?” said Clarice. She knelt, checking Boog for injuries.
“I have no idea,” I said. “Just a hunch.” I bent down, holding the amulet over the hole.
“You do remember that when Brand put his amulet down one of those, it started the end of the world,” said Clarice, coming over to me.
“Things can’t get much worse, can they?” I replied. I opened my fingers, and the amulet fell down the hole.
Nothing happened at first. But then there was a clanking noise, much softer and gentler than before. It came from the center of the floor, where the moon met the sun. As I turned to look, a small section of the floor slipped aside, and a metal shaft emerged. Set into the top of the shaft was an orb of clear blue glass, as big as my head. This was the source of coolness I had sensed. It rose up until it was waist high, then stopped. I closed my eyes, and I could feel its icy cold presence. An aspect of order, stronger than the rods, stronger than the pools, stronger than anything I’d felt, other than Faera raging below. It began to sparkle in the dim sunlight of the eclipse, and as I watched, wisps of flame rose from its surface.
I moved over to it. Clarice followed. “What is it, Marten?” she asked.
“I’m not exactly an expert in this, you know,” I said.
“Well, you’re the one who brought it here.”
As I approached, I circled around it to get a look from all sides. At one point, my shadow crossed it, distorted and curved by the eclipse above. The wisps of flame died out under my shadow. I stepped aside, and when the light returned, the thin flames rose again. I shaded the orb with my hand, and where my hand blocked the sun, the orb was dark and lifeless. Everywhere else, it rippled with the wispy, translucent flames.
I reached my hand around behind the orb, so that I could touch it without casting a shadow upon it. I realized the flames weren’t fire – they weren’t hot, just bright and warm, like a sunbeam. In Gora’s view of magic, I supposed, this made sense. Sunlight promoted growth and life, while fire destroyed or killed. This magic emanated from the sustaining part of the sun. Augmenting it, because of the eclipse, was the moon’s regular cycle, the rhythm of the months and tides, which represented order of a different kind. Maybe the orb used sunlight, or special eclipse light, to function, and the wisps were a kind of concentrated solar energy.
Looking at the blue glass of the orb made me think of another object of blue glass – the disk behind the statue, with the long metal arms set into the floor. The purpose of the disk had been a mystery before, but now, exposed to the dim sunlight, a possibility occurred to me. A lens. In our investigations, we sometimes used magnifying lenses to study details of the evidence we uncovered. At the border, I’d seen inspectors carrying distance glasses with special lenses, which they used to study objects far away. And as a child, in my father’s shop, he’d used magnifying lenses to work on small, intricate lock mechanisms. One day, he’d shown me how the biggest one could be used to scorch a leaf using only the sunlight, focused down into a small point of light.
“Can you help me?” I asked Clarice. I went over to the large glass disk and bent down, placing my hands under its curved lower edge.
“That looks heavy,” said Clarice, but she took the other side. I counted to three, and we lifted together. There was a scraping sound, and the disk slowly rose. My wounded shoulder burned in protest. It took considerable force to get the disk moving, but it must have been counterbalanced or geared in some way below the floor, because it was easy enough to control once it started moving.
The glass disk rose up into the sunlight, suspended on its metal arms. At the opposite side of the chamber floor, I saw the shadows of the disk and the arms move into view. There was a splash of light at the center of the disk’s shadow. As the glass rose further, the shadow and the splash of light moved toward the center of the floor, toward the orb. The light condensed and grew more focused, into a ring of light surrounding a dark spot – an echo of the moon against the sun above us. I ran to where one arm met the floor and pushed back on it hard, slowing the ascent of the glass disk. Clarice followed my lead, rushing to the other side.
When the shadow of the lens first crossed the orb, it dimmed, and the wisps of light vanished. But when the intense, focused ring of light hit the orb, it blazed with energy. We had not slowed the movement of the arms enough, though, so the circle of light overshot the orb, and it went dark again. We stopped the arms, and together, we slowly nudged the mechanism back. At last, the bright spot of concentrated sunlight was focused directly on the orb. It blazed back into life, the wispy, writhing bits of flame growing larger and brighter.
“Marten,” said Clarice, her voice low and intense. “They’re back."
I looked around. I had been intent on the orb and our careful manipulations. Approaching us on all sides, worming their way through the ruins of the market, were the colossal beasts, the former worshippers of Faera transformed. They flapped their mouths open and closed and screeched at us, waving their long slender arms.
A purplish-gray one reached the temple floor first. Clarice ran from it, ducking through its arms as it followed.
“Run!” I shouted. “It’ll kill you!"
She dodged again, rolling behind a crumbling wall as the beast surged after her. “Save the city, Marten,” she yelled. “I don't matter.” She vanished from my view.
Not true, I thought, not at all. I looked at the glass orb. I didn’t know what it was doing. But I did know she had no chance against that creature. Nor did I, or anyone. I couldn’t see Clarice, but I could see the creatures swarming over the walls. The one following Clarice stopped, twisting its grotesque head around. It seemed to have lost her for the moment. But with the others coming, one was sure to find her. And me, eventually, but it was focused on her.
I wanted to be elsewhere. I wanted to be back in training, two years ago, with my friends unhurt and a career in the Guild ahead of me. Those days were the happiest of my life, before all this. Before Marron, before Faera.
Clarice climbed up onto the wall. She looked at me, flashed a smile, and shouted at the creature. “Hey! Over here!”
It saw her. It gave a grinding squeal and flowed toward her on its many legs. It was fast. Too fast. She ran, hopping from the wall to a crate, then running along a stall railing, but it would catch her. I cou
ldn’t watch that. I had to act, to do something. Across the market square, another creature, and then another, closed on our position.
I was too scared, too distraught, too angry to center myself and work with the magic of order. So, I gave in to chaos, to anger, fear, and rage. As the beast closed on Clarice, I bellowed, as much to summon its attention as anything. It hesitated, craning its distorted face around to look at me. Clarice gained a few steps. I shouted again. Not words, just a long angry scream. At Brand, at Marron, and at Faera. For Lucianna, and Sophie. As I howled, I suddenly felt the orb's coolness. My sensing of magic had always before been triggered by calm contemplation, but now it seemed just as strong at the other end of my emotional range. I could feel the icy presence of the orb, tinged with a heat from the sun and ripples of coolness from the moon, mixed together by the lens. Below us, I felt the cold of the prison wall, now penetrated, cracked, by Faera’s efforts to emerge. And below that, the raging heat that was Faera.
Gora had told me, what seemed a lifetime ago in the ancient fortress in hills of the barbarian lands, The surest way to ruin, as a wizard, is to try to bind aspects of chaos with aspects of order. But wasn’t this what the ancient ones had done? They had bound Faera, without ending the world. And ruin was surely here, now, already, flowing across the wrecked temple floor on dozens of legs. The creature left off pursuing Clarice and turned to me.
The orb was steeped in order and calm strength. But it was faltering, weakening. Faera was chaos ascendant. Two opposing powers, one waxing, one waning. And the stronger one was sure to bring death in its wake. There was no choice. I could not make the situation worse, but I could try to change its course.
I cried out again, my throat raw, and reached my mind out below me. Where Faera’s heat broke through the prison barrier, I pulled at it. Attracted it to the heat from my own anger. It flowed to me, sought me out, whether as a kindred spirit or merely as new prey, I did not know. I felt it swirl around me and through me, intensifying. The beast neared, but slowed, perhaps seeing a hint of its master in me now. It opened its jaw, wider than any creature should have been able to, and let out a howl of its own. Then it struck at me, its glistening head darting downward toward me, a breaking wave of death.
As it opened its mouth to consume me, I hurled the energy from Faera at the orb. From the prison cell below, to me, to the orb, a gushing channel of white-hot energy, like molten steel. As it struck the orb, there was a terrible blast, and a wave of energy knocked me away from the orb, flat on my back. The creature fell back as well, dazed for a moment, sparing my life.
The glass orb sparkled, heat competing with cold, then dimmed, cool for a moment. Then it flared. A ball of bright light shot from it, striking the creature directly in the side. Where the ball of light hit, the gray flesh broke apart into steaming, sizzling bits, and the damage spread from the impact along its whole length. The creature squealed as it fell, twisting and twitching. Eventually it melted away entirely, leaving a dark stain on the ground. As it died, a black haze flowed from its melting body, coalescing into a dark cloud, like smoke, but swirling and flowing almost like a living creature, with intellect and intent. It still radiated the heat, the chaos, I’d sensed, but tinged with a chill not present before. The smoke surged upward, away from the temple, reaching skyward, but then it was sucked quickly back down, disappearing into the hole in the center of the moon carving, where I’d placed my amulet.
The other creatures slowed their approach, but the orb’s intensity was growing. More balls of light shot forth from the orb, at the creatures and in all other directions. Some blazing balls of sunlight soared high into the sky, descending like shooting stars. Some smashed into the surrounding buildings, exploding with light but causing no apparent harm. But many found their mark, and one by one, the terrible creatures were struck and melted away, even as they fled. Each released a cloud of dark smoke as it died, and each cloud was sucked down into the temple floor, even as it struggled like a living creature to escape the pull.
Clarice came over to me and took my hand as I watched the display. “What did you… do?”
“I don’t know.” I embraced her, holding her close. The orb, fed by Faera’s own power, continued to spew forth balls of light even when the creatures had all been consumed. The balls of light seemed harmless to all but the monsters. They flashed and exploded when hitting the buildings and the ground, but they did no more damage than the light of the sun. It was actually rather beautiful. I suddenly laughed.
“What’s so funny?” said Clarice.
“Look!” I said, pointing at the clock tower rising above the marketplace. Balls of glowing sunlight rained down upon it, blazing with energy, protecting the city from Faera, who now seemed locked back in the prison below us. "The pool’s foretelling. Frosthelm in flames.”
61
Aftermath
Eventually, the sun moved along in its path through the sky. The moon left the sun behind, the light returned to normal. Faera’s power, or whatever was triggering the orb, faded. The bright spot from the giant lens shifted away from the orb, and it went calm once more. The balls of light ceased to fly. Curious people looked out at us from windows, and a brave few crept cautiously out of doorways and along the streets.
I heard a crunch, a footstep, from behind us. Clarice turned, and said only one word, but it was cold as ice, and dripped with venom. “You!”
I spun around. There before us, covered with dust and grime, but free from his bonds, was Count Marron. He must have freed himself and made it up the staircase earlier, before the temple floor reached the surface and blocked the way. It would have been easy for me to miss. The whole series of events had been chaos, and I’d blacked out for part of it after Brand’s wand exploded.
Marron held a sword. I was still unarmed. I shot a look at Clarice. She’d set down her bow to help me with the lens, and I could see her quiver was empty regardless. She took a cautious step to the side, trying to reach Marron’s flank, but I didn't like our odds taking on an expert with a blade.
“A good show, boy,” said Marron. “You’ve saved the city."
“One you tried to destroy,” I said.
“I never wanted it destroyed.”
I was curious. “What did you want, then?”
Marron laughed. “What does anyone want? Power over one’s destiny. Power over others. That’s what you wanted here, what you've been struggling for this whole time. Power to protect your interests.”
“A nice speech. But you’ve killed hundreds.”
He grinned. “I didn’t. Brand did. I tried to stop him. I’ve only killed tens.”
“You helped him! The whole time.”
“Brand was useful, and smart, but he didn’t understand. The Prelate did, at least until he lost his nerve.” Marron swung his sword a few times through the air. "Real power doesn’t come from actual violence. It comes from the threat of violence. A credible threat.”
“So that’s all you wanted? Power? To rule? How shallow.”
Marron glared at me. “Have you read anything, boy? Throughout its history, Frosthelm has lurched from crisis to crisis, hampered by its nobles and its weak elected Prelates. With a strong leader, assured of power, and without the ridiculous machinations of the court, Frosthelm could be so much stronger.”
I couldn’t fault his assessment of the court. But that was the game he’d played his whole life. “Sounds like a lot of justification to me. For nothing more than a lust for higher station. One that you’ll not have once people understand what you’ve done.”
“No one left alive knows my role,” he said.
“I know it!” I protested.
“No one of consequence,” he amended.
“You killed the Prelate! There are witnesses.”
He looked surprised at that, but quickly composed himself. “Witnesses can be managed. Testimony changed. You, of all people, should know that. It’s especially easy when one is the High Inquisitor. Or the Prelate himsel
f."
“You’ll never be Prelate,” I said. “Jeroch's warrant lists your crimes, and your accomplices. You are finished.”
“And how do you know about that?” asked Marron. He paused, thinking. “You came through the tunnel. Through the house. You have the warrant, don't you, boy? Well, that’s rather convenient.” He took a step forward and brought up his sword.
I was tired and hurt, but I was far too angry to run. “Count Marron, you are under arrest,” I shouted. “For high treason against Frosthelm, and for the murder of Prelate Jeroch.”
“Silence, boy,” said Marron. He took a swing at me, but I ducked away, dancing back. I was back at the edge of the temple floor now, near where it met the market.
I looked him in the eye. “You’re finished,” I said. “It doesn't matter what you do to me.” He moved his sword back and forth, then lunged at me. I turned aside, and he missed. As he pulled back, I anticipated his next swing, and took another step to dodge it, but my foot hit a loose cobblestone and slid. I fell awkwardly to the ground, and Marron stood over me.
“I’m not the one who’s finished,” he said. "Good bye, at last.”
He raised his sword to strike, but I felt no fear. I was at peace. I might be about to die, and at the hand of a hated enemy, but I had saved the city, and perhaps the world. I could make a case for saving the world, anyway. That’s not a bad legacy, not at all. If the Blood Mother were real, perhaps she would let me hang out with Sophie and Lucianna in the afterlife. Or if she got all stuffy about it, maybe I could convince one of her Ugly Daughters to look the other way.
As Marron brought the sword down, Clarice jumped at him. She lowered her shoulder and hit him, hard, in the chest. He tried to change his swing to hit her instead, but she came too fast, and they both went down in a sprawl. She got a couple of punches in as they fell, but Marron maintained his grip on the sword’s hilt, and he was quicker to his feet than she was. He aimed a quick stroke at her, and she tried to stumble out of its way. But I heard her grunt as it connected. She took a few more unsteady steps, holding her side. She’d gone pale.