by Carol Berg
Gensei Kovrack was doing his job well, driving our advance through the city virtually unhindered. Ironic that after a thousand years, all it had taken was a few of D’Sanya’s Restored to open the gates of Avonar to the warriors of Zhev’Na. The Dar’Nethi defenses were in tatters. Without their walls to protect them, the shop-keepers, boys, and cowards could not face our soulless legions. When their commanders—more of the reverted Restored—turned on them, they broke and ran. All to the good. Wholesale death had never been our objective. Slaves yielded more lasting pleasure.
Only where D’Sanya led the defense did we have to fight. I had caught sight of her twice, racing from one end of the front to the other, beautiful and valiant, rallying her straggling, inexperienced fighters, conjuring barriers and shields of enchantment, expending her extraordinary power without thought for the cost. Somewhere in the morass of tangled feelings I embraced upon this night, I pitied D’Sanya.
All I had to do to counter her workings was to send word of the new obstacle to Gensei Felgir, one of my five senior commanders, who was ensconced safely on the ramparts of Mount Siris. He would touch the master avantir in the way I told him, and a hundred Zhid would veer from their present course, tear down whatever she had built, and savage those foolish enough to rely on it. She could not stay to defend her workings, as she had already moved on to counter another assault. No matter how strong, how powerful, or how valiant she was, the Lady could not fight the entire battle on her own, not when her own perverse sorcery gave life and coherence to her enemies through the avantir. Eventually we would wear her down. I was counting on that.
Against custom for a Zhev’Na high commander, I kept close behind the front line, moving from one watchpost to another as we advanced. The Three had never been physically present in combat. But I could not afford to be far away when D’Sanya broke and ran for the citadel. Though vast swathes of the city remained in Dar’Nethi hands, our wedge of fire and destruction had reached almost to the grand commard. We would have both palace and princess before midnight.
No Zhid questioned my loyalties any more. In less than a day, I had brought the plans of five contentious gensei together. Over the past few years, the five, strong enough and wily enough to survive the passing of the Lords, had quietly gathered the remnants of their legions into the deep and hidden places of Gondai’s wastelands. The only circumstance that had preserved Avonar for so many months was the lack of a single will to lead them. If Kovrack had not been temporarily diverted by D’Sanya’s flawed healing, he might have risen to it. But what they had needed was a Lord’s will. Now Dar’Nethi were fleeing and Avonar was ours for the taking. If I were to unleash the warriors at my command—those here, those aimed at the northern Vales, those in the east—no blade of grass in all of Gondai would survive two days longer.
I spoke in Gensei Felgir’s mind and had him touch my three armies through the avantir, reminding them that their only duty was my desire. I reiterated my simple strategy: First, I would take the palace of the Tormentor King and recapture his daughter; second, I would destroy his Bridge; and only then would I unleash the holocaust upon the Dar’Nethi and their land.
“Lord Dieste, Wargreve Raskow begs confirmation that you wish every house destroyed along the water-courses. His cadres cannot give chase to the escaping Dar’Nethi if they are required to attend these enchantments.” The grevet with blood streaks on his arms stood with bowed head at my right.
I examined him closely. His fouled weapons were still warm. The full lips smirked at his own clever depravity in finding ways to trap and kill fleeing Dar’Nethi. His tongue had licked the salt of terror from Dar’Nethi skin not half an hour ago. Minor officers such as grevets always overvalued themselves. I closed my eyes and reached out through the avantir into the murky ocean of Zhid minds until I found the man . . . and I touched him.
His pupils dilated with horror, and he slapped a hand to his face. His scream emerged as only a gurgle in the sea of blood that gushed from his mouth.
“Tell the Wargreve Raskow . . . or show him, whichever you wish . . . how I rebuke those who question my commands. Remind him that with increasing rank my rebukes grow more severe.”
Still mewling, the grevet backed away, raced down the span of the bridge, and vanished into the night.
And so I waited. Listened. Watched. It was almost time to move forward again.
An hour before midnight, the bells of Avonar stopped ringing. I stood at the foot of the sloping parkland fronting the Heir’s palace, and signaled the aide who held my horse to bring the animal closer. I tested the girth straps and had the aide tighten them and shorten the stirrup height. An occasional rumble of the ground and frequent flashes signaled skirmishes to east and west of my position.
D’Sanya had withdrawn to the palace gates after her battle lines stretched too thin. I had forbidden my warriors to pursue for the moment, commanding our forces to solidify their positions on the corners before taking on the Lady. And so she and some hundred fighters had taken their stance before the gates of her father’s citadel, sheathed in her blue-and-green fire. The archers atop the palace walls were skilled, diffusing the light about their positions so that we could not return fire accurately or see where they moved next. But they were forced into this tactic because their numbers were far too few for the expansive front of the palace. The archers were not a concern. Nor were the clustered fighters. Only D’Sanya could face us.
Gensei Kovrack and three hundred Zhid fanned out across the commard behind me, swords and axes blazing with blue fire, enchantments of rending and destruction hovering about each man like the stench about a three-day corpse. The gensei chafed at my withholding, especially now the bells were silenced, as near rebellion as he dared go with my eye on him and my fist wrapped about his heart.
Another half-hour passed. A horseman raced toward my position.
“Lord Dieste.” He dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Gensei Senat reports a hardening of the defenses at the shrine. A shield wall has gone up, interfering with communication, and obscuring sight. He asks that you hasten the summoning of his reserve troops.”
Warmth flooded my skin, but I permitted no change in my demeanor. “Tell the gensei that my plan was flawless. If his own weakness gives breath to the defenders, he must deal with it.”
“Of course, Lord Dieste. As you say.”
Not daring to consider what his report signified, I glared at the warrior as he slunk away. If I could but get a confirmation . . . “Grevet Gen’Vyl!” I called.
A tall man with a knobby bones, one of the Restored from the hospice, separated from the cluster of aides standing ten paces away. He hurried to my side and genuflected, his cold eyes devoid of the kindness he had shown to D’Sanya’s guests for so many months. “Lord.”
“Have we new reports from Wargreve Pavril?”
“Only that the ruined quarter around the bathhouse appears to be abandoned. He believes the last Dar’Nethi have withdrawn, and he is hastening his troops’ passage through the portal. He will be ready when your signal is given. We didn’t think such a minor matter—”
I backhanded the babbling Zhid, shoved him to the dirt, and swung into the saddle. “You are not commanded to think. Nor are you qualified to judge what is minor.”
“Now!” I yelled at the red-haired general who sat his pied stallion on my left. And into the dark void where the gnarled Gensei Felgir fingered our instrument of doom, I screamed the same command, all the while praying to gods I had scorned that I didn’t mean what I was about to say. “Onward to the world’s end!”
My mount, free at last, raced gleefully across the commard toward the palace. Timing was everything. And yet timing was the least certain of all the elements of this battle. Out of harsh necessity, some of the participants fought blind. But the defensive hardening at one entry point and the suspicious quiet at the other indicated that someone had heeded my message.
I rode as I had never ridden, flying ahead of the ass
ault, trying to dodge the initial defensive shock that would be aimed at Kovrack and his warriors, a huge enchantment laid far enough from the defenders themselves that their eardrums and night vision would remain intact. Explosive light and shattering noise erupted behind me. Zhid and horses died.
Plowing through the perimeter of the defensive arc, I allowed the force of my charge to part the unmounted defenders. I hoped that my horse would survive long enough to get me through. My primitive diversion spell worked well enough that the Dar’Nethi defenders’ eyes slid past me, and I carried only a knife in my boot, a weapon small enough and far enough from my hand that it would not trigger their perceptions. The Lords had taught me that trick. As with everything they taught, I had learned it well.
The few of D’Sanya’s little band who noticed me could not afford to confront a lone, unarmed rider, as the bulk of Kovrack’s assault force swept across the commard like a hurricane right on my heels. I dodged a few late strikes, my enchantments misdirected a few more, and I was through.
D’Sanya stood at the top of the palace steps, her golden hair standing out from her head with the charge in the air. Her silver rings and pendant gleamed in the murky light as she wove enchantments meant to give her warriors strength, accuracy, far-seeing, and steadfast hearts. Even now, after a long and terrible day, her strikes blasted and scraped both spirit and flesh like a desert whirlwind. Horrific death lay in her wake.
“Stand fast,” she shouted. “We will hold this gate until the end of all—”
Her startled eyes met mine. “You!”
Her hand flew to her breast as I leaped from the saddle and raced up the steps. But I ripped the silver pendant from her grasp before she could invoke its particular violence, snapped the chain that circled her neck, and flung the pendant into the melee behind me, wrapping it in a spell that would cause anyone who touched it—even D’Sanya—to throw it away. As she clenched her fists to focus power, I gripped her waist and spun her in my arms, relieved to discover that her mail vest carried no enchantments more dangerous than any warrior’s protections. Crushing her wrists to her breast, I snatched the knife from my boot and pricked the pale skin of her throat. “I would not slay you, Lady. But I will not hesitate if you disregard even the least of my commands.”
“Kill him,” she screamed, as I dragged her backward, pressing my undefended back against one of the gate towers. “Kill us both.”
But there was no one to aid her. Throughout the past day and night she had been their rock, the commander who had needed no protection, for hers was the overwhelming power that had shielded them all from fire and wrath. And now her tired, brave warriors were desperately engaged with two hundred and fifty Zhid who slavered at the promise of accomplishing the destruction I had promised them.
“Strip off your rings or I will remove your fingers.” She writhed in my arms, but I tightened my grip on her wrists and my knife bit deeper into her smooth flesh. “Now!” I screamed in her ear. I could yield her no time to think or plan. I was already relying far too much on exhaustion and confusion to slow her reactions and dampen her power.
“Lady!” A horrified Dar’Nethi warrior saw what was happening and ran toward us, only to be cut down from behind by a bellowing Zhid.
D’Sanya cried out as if the slashing blow had cut her own flesh. “Curse you forever, you soul-dead devil!” she spat over her shoulder. “I’ll never—”
I whipped my blade across the back of her graceful hand, leaving a trail of bright blood, as I felt the first fire of her magic sear my flesh and claw at my heart. Her cry of pain almost caused me to lose focus. But her enchantment cooled, and my heart kept beating on its own.
I dug the knifepoint into one of her knuckles. “Remove the ring and drop it to the ground.”
Sobbing softly, she pulled off the delicate band of silver and let it fall to the ground. I wrapped it in my own power so she could not use it again. I had to hurry. The Dar’Nethi were steadfast . . . but they would not hold for long. I could smell their blood. Their fear. Their despair. My veins pulsed with blood-fever as my warriors hissed in contempt. Focus. Remember who you are.
I shifted my knifepoint to the next knuckle. “And now the next. Quickly.”
When her hands were bare, I dragged her toward the center of the steps. “Open the gate.”
“Never!”
I pulled her ear close to my mouth. “If you open it now, I will allow you to lock it again behind us, secure until my warriors break it for themselves. And once inside, you will have only me to deal with. You might even get the better of me. But if you wait, I will bring five thousand Zhid into your father’s house alongside me, and no hand in any world will stop what is to come. Choose the lesser evil, D’Sanya.”
“I will not serve you, Destroyer,” she said, trying again to wrench free.
I summoned a wind to clear the smoke for one moment. From the steps we could see down the great slopes of Mount Eidol, the foundation of Avonar. Tongues of orange flame ate their way through the darkness in every direction. Dense plumes of smoke bore the thunderous cries of the dying city into the lowering clouds.
“Look on Avonar, D’Sanya! You have served destruction since the first day you yielded to the Lords’ will. You know this. You’ve always known it. This day is your doing as well as mine, and no hollow swearing will alter what we have done. We were children, and they corrupted us. We are their instruments. But our choices this day can change the destiny they planned for us. Lay your hand on the lock. You are the anointed Princess of Avonar. The locks of your palace gates know you.”
Her weary body betrayed her. After only a moment’s struggle, I pressed her hands onto the great steel plates that centered the leftmost gate. The wood-and-steel slab had scarcely begun to swing open when I dragged her through and shouted to the confused guards to slam it shut behind us. When they saw my knife at their sovereign’s throat, they jumped to obey.
The closure of the palace gate triggered the next wave of Kovrack’s assault as I had designed it to do. At the shrill bleating of the Zhid warhorns and the trumpeting of the Dar’Nethi alarm, every Dar’Nethi in the palace precincts was summoned to the walls. Shielded by the distraction of battle and the simple spell of not-seeing that I’d learned from Jen, we left the battle behind and entered the palace.
The routes to D’Arnath’s Gate were not guarded. My father had told me that in a thousand years, the ancient king’s palace had been broached only by individual treachery, never by war, and never at the Gate itself. The wards opened only to the Heir’s command. The confusing passages were untraversable by any who had not been shown the way to the Chamber of the Gate. Centuries of safety had left the Dar’Nethi complacent about the greatest treasure they possessed.
As the battle for the palace raged, I dragged D’Sanya down the path and forced her to open the wards. Shoving her toward the brass lion, I slammed the doors behind us. The wrongness of the Bridge enchantment threatened to rend my spirit.
“Why have we come here?” she asked, clutching her bleeding hand, backing away from me, her eyes blazing. The light of the Gate fire—no longer the searing white purity of D’Arnath’s enchantments, but the livid color of dead flesh—made the edges of her hair gleam. “You daren’t touch the Bridge. Only the—”
“What did you do here, D’Sanya? Were you so mad to repair your crimes that you had to pervert your father’s marvel? Did you even think what you were doing? Did you even consider the consequences, the risk?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Hoarse. Defiant.
With a roar of rage, I summoned the power of a battering ram and slammed it against the bronze lion. The deafening crash as it toppled to the rose-and-gray stone might have been the gates of doom closing behind us. The gold orb and the silver, the villainous baubles she had cast in her lectorium, dropped from the air, then clattered and bounced across the cracked floor.
Anger filled me to bursting, fed by the soul-shredding dissonance of the perverted ma
gic, fed by the blood-thirst that raged in me and my horror at my deeds of this day and their unyielding necessity. “Every artifact you create is connected to every other, D’Sanya. Each ring and pendant, each lock and statue and slip of metal that you place in walls and floors and doors is imbued with your power. Some objects focus power. Some devour it. Some pieces are of your own design. Some are of the Lords’ contrivance. But you are the Metalwright, and your magic binds them to you and to each other as L’Clavor taught you. All of them, am I right? So that you can make larger workings than each device would support.”
She retreated until her back rested against the fallen lion. Her expression of confusion infuriated me. “Yes, but I don’t know—”
“You didn’t have enough power for all your good works, did you? And so you made the orbs and put them here, and then you worked some magic to link them, and thus all of your devices, to the Bridge itself—the artifact of your father’s power to which you believed you had a right. You’ve drained its power for your own uses.”
“I did no such thing. How could I? The lion . . . the orbs . . . are to glorify him, so that none who come here forget who made all this. I am my father’s Heir, and I bear the power he gave me. Of course I have the right to walk the Bridge and to maintain it as he taught us. But I would never use it for myself. I wouldn’t know how to do that.” She knelt on the floor and scooped up the golden ball. Her mail shirt was streaked with blood, her trousers stained with mud and soot. “How dare you touch these things?”
“You made the oculus and the avantir, knowing full well they were artifacts of Zhev’Na, designed by the Lords. As you used the Bridge to feed your own power, you empowered those devices as well. D’Sanya, you’ve linked the Bridge to the Lords’ devices. That’s how the Zhid have risen. That’s why the enchantments of this world crack my skull, why they twist back upon themselves and go awry.”