Mageborn 05 The Final Redemption

by Michael G. Manning

  He had to be frustrated. If he used spellweavings, I couldn’t steal any of his aythar, but if he attacked spontaneously and missed, I grew stronger. Of course that assumed he played by my rules. He’s going to start changing the game.

  Mal’goroth couldn’t be sure how quickly I could teleport, so I was betting that he would assume that my visible location was bound to be an illusion if it was under a shield. Taking a chance, I removed the illusion hiding me and dismissed the false image I had placed in one of the other circles. If he used a spellweave, I could probably teleport, but if he tried a spontaneous attack I knew I’d never escape in time.

  But you won’t do that, will you? You’re going to focus on the empty ones. My thought was as much a wish as a prediction. It was entirely possible he’d swat me like a fly if he had a different chain of logic.

  “I think we’ve had enough of this,” said Mal’goroth. “I’ve grown tired of the game.” Extending his arms, lines of spellweaving shot outward and upward, until it seemed that they might cover the sky. From one horizon to the other, the blue was replaced with an absolute black as his power expanded, filling the air over our heads out to a distance that was hard to comprehend.

  He gave me a charming look. “Now that we know where we stand, let’s see where you are.” A flash of raw power erupted from his body and destroyed all of my shielded circles in an instant. I had reinforced my own, which kept me from being completely overwhelmed, but the others were gone now. A torrent of aythar was channeled through my spell-sieve. Desperately I absorbed everything I could, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough.

  Pointing at me with a slender finger he crooned, “Now, we see you revealed.”

  I stood in my lone circle, a hundred yards away. My strength was far greater than it had been when we started, but anyone with even a hint of magesight could still see the difference between us. With my circles gone, I had run out of places to hide. Things are about to get painful, I surmised.

  This is going to hurt.

  “I already said that,” I admonished my inner voice.

  It was worth repeating, it responded.

  Gathering everything I had, I threw my strength into the shield ring around me. Mal’goroth’s spellwoven nightmare in the sky was shrinking now, closing with ever increasing speed. A contracting knot of blackness, with me at its center.

  When it reached me, I lost consciousness, which was interesting in itself. As a rule, immortal beings don’t black out. The crushing power that destroyed my shield should have been painful, but it completely overwhelmed my senses, leaving me awash in a sea of dark oblivion.

  My senses returned far too quickly, and I found myself trapped within a black sphere, or at least I thought it was a sphere. I couldn’t tell much about it other than the crushing pressure it seemed to exert upon me from every direction. I’d never experienced anything quite so claustrophobic before, not to mention painfully unpleasant.

  Speak for yourself, chimed in my inner self.

  The pressure lightened for a moment, and light began to enter my world. My body lay in the same place I had been, wrapped within tight bands of densely powerful She’Har spellweaving. They were covered in thorns, and the pressure they applied made them less than enjoyable.

  Very little of my body was exposed, primarily my eyes. The beautiful face of my enemy looked down on me from only a foot away. “I’m sure you’re starting to feel foolish now, aren’t you?” he told me in an amiable tone.

  I tried to speak, but my mouth was covered as well, so I crossed my eyes instead, hoping that would communicate my disdain for his opinion. After a few seconds of staring at me he gave me access to my mouth again.

  “You had to tear up half the valley and wrap who knows how much sky with your aythar to subdue me,” I told him. “That can’t sit well with you.”

  “We’re going to be together for a long time,” he informed me. “You might want to consider how your words will affect your future.” Reaching through the thorns as though they were insubstantial, he thrust his hand into my stomach.

  Physical pain was almost impossible for me these days, but what he was doing was entirely different. Ripping his hand free, it emerged with a glowing handful of concentrated aythar. I screamed.

  “Today we will teach you a new sort of agony, Mordecai,” he said in a calm tone.

  The next handful he took was less pleasant, and since the only power I was free to use was my voice, I channeled everything I had into it, emitting a painful cry that would have turned his head to jelly if he’d been a mortal.

  He flinched, which did little to improve my mood, but it was a start. The vines covered my mouth again. Ripping and tearing at me, he tore my essence away in both small and large chunks. It was the spiritual equivalent of disemboweling someone, and then eating the organs in front of the previous owner.

  Being unable to die was a real problem sometimes.

  It could have been much less unpleasant, or at the very least, non-painful. I was gaining a new appreciation for the humane method that shiggreth used with their victims. Even my struggle with Chel’strathek hadn’t been this bad.

  After he had reduced me by half or more he allowed me to speak again, so I took the opportunity to cry uncontrollably. Deep within I hated him, and deeper still I wanted to respond with a clever remark, anything to cover the shame and indignity of what he was doing to me. But the agony had defeated what was left of my sanity.

  “I’m going to keep you forever,” Mal’goroth told me, “since I don’t have the key to the spellweave that sustains you. But don’t worry; you’ll be my most favorite pet.”

  He resumed his awful feast, but one clear thought brought me a tiny piece of satisfaction. Peter, do it soon.

  I had lost all conception of time.

  Whether it took him minutes or hours I couldn’t be sure. For me it felt like an eternity. There wasn’t much left of me. Mal’goroth had devoured everything but the still dead flesh that encased me. The thorns were gone, but I was too weak to move. The only aythar left was that of the spellweave that sustained me, the cursed magic that bound the true Mordecai’s soul and kept me in my damned, undying state.

  My consciousness began to fade, too weak to sustain itself as I watched Mal’goroth walk away. “I’ll find you later,” he said as he left. “…in a week, or a month, or a year—whenever I get bored. I have a lot to do in the meantime.”

  I was desperate to speak, but my lips wouldn’t move.

  He stopped, gazing down on me with pity. “I’m off to finish my task. Your family, your people, your race, all of them—do you understand?”

  I couldn’t nod, but my eyes probably showed him my feelings.

  “After I’ve done that, it will be just you and me and the others like us. I might let the new She’Har, whom you kindly resurrected, live if they can find a way to set us free. That’s your only hope, really. Otherwise, I’ll destroy them as well, and then we’ll just have to amuse each other for a very, very long time.”

  Once again I wished my dead eyes could weep, but they continued to betray me, remaining dry and nearly lifeless.

  “Don’t think your people can hide,” he added, pausing again. “I’m not picky. If necessary I’ll tear down the mountains, burn the forests, and boil the oceans. I won’t mind killing every living thing just to make sure they are dead. That should give you some comfort.”

  Mal’goroth had apparently learned a different definition of the word ‘comfort’ than I had.

  Perhaps he was able to read my thoughts because he seemed to answer me then, “They won’t have to live, Mordecai, but your suffering, and mine, will last forever.”

  I closed my eyes and let my awareness drift into the dark. Finish it, Peter, please.

  Chapter 43

  Once again Gareth was forced to serve as mount, while two humans and three gods rode on his back. The gods could have flown themselves, but Walter had insisted that they stay together; otherwise his invisibility spell woul
d be more difficult to manage.

  The vast amounts of aythar being used, along with the chaotic fighting, allowed Walter to modify the invisibility spell to some degree. Assuming that the combatants were focused on their battle, he gave the shield a faint permeability to both light and aythar, so they could see and sense the fight. From inside it gave the world a dark hazy appearance, while from the outside they would seem ghostly and ephemeral to a sharp eyed observer.

  Passing through the gate, it was easy to tell which direction to take. Only a half a mile or so in the distance were frequent flashes of light and the deep dull booms of Mordecai’s signature iron bomblets.

  Why is he using those? Gareth wondered. They were sure to be nearly useless against a being as powerful as the spider god.

  “What’s happening?” asked Penny. The haze, combined with being limited to only normal vision, made it difficult for her to discern anything at their distance.

  “He’s using his iron bombs, lots of them,” answered Walter, straining to sense something more specific. They were less than a quarter of a mile away now, but the shield interfered with his magesight.

  “Is he winning?” she asked hopefully.

  “He will, undoubtedly,” said Gareth. “His strength is at least twice as great as the spider’s, but he is fighting oddly.”

  “He should be trying to finish this quickly if Mal’goroth is coming,” pointed out Walter.

  They both stopped for a moment, wondering at their perceptions. The lack of communication annoyed Penny to no end. “What?!”

  Walter seemed confused, “I don’t understand. What is that?”

  But the dragon knew exactly what he was witnessing. The fool! he exclaimed mentally. Banking rapidly, he began a series of powerful wing strokes to gain altitude.

  “You’re going the wrong way!” complained Penny.

  “We should have stayed inside the castle,” responded Gareth, “or better still, we should be in your hidden sanctuary.”

  Walter seemed fascinated, staring behind them as the dragon made haste to bear them farther away. “He’s caught him somehow,” he relayed. “It looks like a giant golden box of some sort. I think your husband just declared himself the victor.” His voice was elated.

  The dragon kept flying farther away. “We need a shield,” he said loudly.

  “I’ve already got one around us,” said Walter.

  Gareth blew flames in his frustration, heedless of the fact that they blew back to endanger his passengers. “No! We need a strong shield. Like the one around the castle.”

  “I will do it,” declared Doron.

  “Link yourselves,” suggested the dragon. “I think it will take more than just one of you.”

  “More than me?!” answered Doron dubiously.

  “More than all of us,” said Gareth.

  It was Millicenth who finally shut Doron up and convinced him to coordinate with her and Karenth. Together the three of them formed a powerful shield around the flying dragon. Walter assisted as well, but his strength was hardly noticeable compared to theirs.

  “I can’t sense anything now,” fretted Walter. The shield had completely obscured his magesight.

  A bright flash blinded them then, even though they were flying away from it. A split second later the world seemed to flip upside down. The shield was gone, vanished, utterly and completely, and they found themselves tumbling through the air, clinging to the back of a dragon hopelessly out of control in a hurricane of wind.

  Spinning through the sky, Penny found herself thrown free, flying on her own, like some strange wingless bird. Events had progressed so quickly that fear hadn’t had time to solidify in her, but she knew with a strange detachment that she was falling to her death. What a stupid way to die, she thought. It never occurred to her to scream, not that she could draw a deep breath. The air was blasting into her face.

  Millicenth found her somehow, gliding toward her like a brilliant white swan through the turbulent rush. Penny couldn’t remember ever having been glad to see the goddess before, but at that moment, she was.

  Caught in the Lady of the Evening Star’s strong arms, she was carried toward the ground. The rush of wind seemed to be dwindling, but it was still great enough to make normal flight difficult.

  Once they landed, Penny had a number of questions. “What the hell was that?” was her starter.

  “Whatever your husband was doing, it fell apart,” said the goddess.

  “I thought the world was ending for a moment,” groused the countess.

  “It may have come close,” conceded the goddess, “at least for this part of it. He seems to have stopped it, though.”

  Karenth appeared then, flying low to the ground, and he was carrying Walter Prathion. “Are you alright?” asked Walter when he had gotten close enough to make himself heard.

  “I think—perhaps,” shouted Penny over the distance.

  “Where is the dragon?”

  That was a good question. It took them a few minutes and a careful search to find Gareth. They found Doron first, a quarter mile away, but Gareth was almost a half a mile beyond that. His wings had allowed the wind to throw him much farther than the others. He was caught in the top of a large oak tree, but he seemed to be uninjured.

  The others gathered at the base of the tree, and Gareth began climbing slowly down. He was using his more human form.

  “Wouldn’t it have been easier to fly down?” suggested Walter from the ground.

  Gareth dropped the last few feet to land beside him. Something about his appearance was oddly off.

  They all stared at him for a long minute. Penny was the first to break the silence, “You have red hair.”

  “Much like my mother’s,” said the man in front of them. He idly stroked a wild red beard with his hand, as if discovering an old friend.

  “You’re—human, aren’t you?” asked Walter uncertainly.

  Gareth Gaelyn nodded, “That seems to be the case.” Reaching out with one hand, he opened it and let a fine white dust sift between his fingers.

  “Was that your aystrylin?” inquired Walter cautiously.

  The archmage gave him a smooth glance, but said nothing.

  “The explosion?”

  Gareth sighed, “No, though I thought my end was upon me. As I was hurtling through the air, I decided to finish my days as I had begun them. I made the choice myself.”

  “Why?” said Penny curiously. She had heard his story several times through both Mordecai and Moira Centyr, but there had never been a hint of any desire to restore his humanity.

  “I had been quietly considering it for some time,” he admitted.

  “And you didn’t talk to anyone about it?” she questioned.

  Gareth gave her a flat stare. Despite being fully human again, his personality still remained rather aloof. “I keep my own counsel, woman,” he replied in irritation.

  She resisted a sudden urge to grab his beard. Taking a deep breath, she focused on their more immediate concerns, “How will we travel? Can you still transform?”

  The archmage answered immediately, “I could, but it would be—unwise, more so now that my aystrylin has been used. It would probably be safer to have one of the godlings handle it.”

  After a moment’s discussion, Karenth reshaped himself. His flesh flowed like a strange liquid and sprouted feathers while expanding simultaneously. When he had finished he was in the form of a giant eagle. He had conveniently included a saddle with three places for riders.

  “I have often wondered something,” offered Walter suddenly with a pensive look, speaking to Gareth.

  “Why are the gods so freely able to transform? It seems that even for you, one of the Gaelyn line, it holds many dangers,” said Walter.

  “They do not change the way that we do,” replied the red headed mage. “Their natures are fixed by the enchantment that binds them.”

  “Couldn’t you do something similar to yourself?”

  “No!” responde
d Gareth quickly. “That sort of thing is very close to what happened to your Count. My family was one of the few to use physical transformations, partly because of our gift and partly because of the risks. We kept to the forms of living creatures to minimize the risk.”

  “The eagle is a living creature,” said Walter, pointing to Karenth.

  “Eagles are, yes,” agreed Gareth, “but that is not an eagle, nor is it properly alive.”

  “Now I’m truly confused,” said Walter scratching his head.

  “Karenth has created a body shaped like an eagle, but it has no heart, no blood. Cut it and you will find only more of his solidified essence inside,” explained Gareth.

  “But he is alive…,” said Walter.

  “Not to interrupt your erudite conversation, gentlemen, but I think we should be going,” suggested Penny.

  Gareth climbed up, taking the middle seat. Penelope rode in front of him, and Walter took the place behind. “Ask Moira later,” he told Walter. “She may be able to explain it better.”

  Millicenth and Doron shrank rapidly in size, until their bodies were no larger than a child’s doll. The Lady of the Evening Star floated upward and landed in front of Penny, settling in as though she actually were a child’s toy. Doron chose to secure himself slightly behind Karenth’s feathered head.

  Beating his wings, Karenth took to the air. “Which way?” he asked.

  “Back,” said Penelope, pointing in the direction they had come from. “I still need to find him.”

  “What if it happens again,” asked Walter.

  Gareth spoke then, “It won’t. The explosion was caused by the destruction of his enchantment. He could not easily create another like it.”

  “Could he be…?” asked Penny, not wanting to finish the sentence.

  “Dead?” said Gareth bluntly. “He died some time ago, but if you mean ‘gone’, I’m afraid not.”

  The Countess kept her features composed, but underneath she felt a twisting pain in her chest. Her resolve had not changed however. “Fly dammitt,” she urged Karenth.