“No, no, no,” Dravid said, trying to find a way to stop Topleb’s bleeding. But it was too late.
Topleb fell face-forward. Dravid’s hands came away, holding the dagger. He looked helplessly up at Marshal.
Two more of his men dead or dying. Marshal’s brain finally caught up. He sank to his knees beside Topleb, still trying to hold on to his own wound.
Whatever quest he had wanted to achieve, whatever purpose Aelia had hoped for him… None of it mattered. None of it would ever come to pass. They were dead. They were all dead. And he would join them soon.
Volraag stepped up and looked out over the Ch’olan high place. So different from the one in Varioch. He wondered what had happened in his homeland to bury that one so deeply. Someone must know. He made a mental note to ask Curasir. Considering the vast differences, he wondered what the condition of the third high place would be like.
Tezan stepped up beside him. “This is different. I thought it would be sealed, like the other one.” He looked at the stone columns. “What do these stones mean?”
“Maybe it’s sealed in a different way,” Volraag said. He turned to the right and walked to the southern platform. “Look here.” Tezan joined him and they both examined a spot in the platform wall. Unlike most of the limestone, this particular spot showed no signs of decay. Two hand-shaped indentations showed clearly without damage.
“Try it,” Tezan urged.
Volraag shook his head. “Not yet. We wait for my brother.” He turned back to the portal.
“Why?”
“With his death, I will have more power. Whatever Curasir has in mind this time, I want to face it with all the power I can.” He looked out over the jungle. “By now, the spy will have struck, if Rathri motivated him correctly. And Rathri himself may be involved.”
“You’ll know when he’s dead, right?”
“Yes.” Volraag pondered for a moment. He stepped to the edge of the platform and called out as loud as he could. “Marshal!” His voice echoed back from the portal. A curious effect. “Marshal! I’m waiting!”
“Is that wise?”
“Why not? I already have more power than he does. What can he do?”
Nothing happened. In the distance, Volraag thought he heard a rumble. Marshal using his power?
“Someone’s coming.” Tezan pointed to the eastern platform, with its stairs winding down toward the west. Volraag turned to look.
A tall figure ascended the stairs, coming into view slowly. He stopped at the top and looked them over. Volraag considered his muscles and strangely-colored hair. Who was this?
The assassin lunged past Victor’s flail, sword outstretched. Seri shrieked and jumped back. Ixchel appeared in the way, her shield catching the sword in mid-air, even as she tried to counter with her own sword thrust.
Victor attempted a strike of his own, only to have it parried by another sword. The assassin wielded two at a time and seemed totally unconcerned to be facing two opponents. In fact, his eyes kept darting toward Seri. Was she his primary target?
The assassin looked the same as he had back in Volraag’s command tent. He wore a Remavian Guard uniform, red cape and all. Rathri! Volraag had called him Rathri.
“We meet again, hero.” Rathri’s voice mocked and unnerved. The raspiness of it sounded painful; did it hurt him to speak?
Ixchel had been impressive against the curse-stalkers, but now she fought with a skill that seemed beyond human. She moved back and forth, stepping in and then back, thrusting and slashing with her short sword. Her shield seemed to know where to go all by itself, blocking every counterstrike from the assassin. She never took her eyes off Rathri’s face.
At the assassin’s first attack, Victor felt the magic surge again within him. Beside Ixchel, he felt like a stumbling brute, but he knew his movements were much faster than what he would normally be capable of. He stabbed with his sword, then spun in the opposite direction, narrowly dodging a counterstrike from Rathri. He brought up his old flail in an upward arc, but Rathri leaned back far enough to dodge it, simultaneously making another slash in Ixchel’s direction.
Even with all this, they seemed barely able to hold their own against this opponent. Rathri dodged, parried, and struck back so often that Victor felt like he spent most of his time on the defensive. How was that even possible? A thought struck him.
“Seri! Is he using magic?”
“Oh!” He couldn’t see her, but Victor knew Seri would be activating her star-sight and watching their battle.
Victor ducked. How had Rathri gotten a slash that high? And his swords… they looked Eldani-made. Not warpsteel, but just like the one Victor used, that Talinir had given him.
“He’s… he’s magic—I mean, he has magic, but… it’s something new. I can’t tell what he is!” Seri sounded frustrated.
Rathri slammed a blow down at Ixchel, who raised her shield to block it. He used the momentum to launch himself into the air, flipping over her and slashing at her back in the process. Victor thought the blade nicked her shoulder. Rathri landed out of Victor’s reach. Even as Ixchel spun around, he tossed one of his swords up into the air, grabbed a dagger from somewhere within his clothes, and threw it at Seri.
Halfway toward her, the dagger abruptly shifted and flew off into the jungle in a different direction. Seri had been ready, using her own magic to deflect it.
Rathri parried Ixchel’s attack and caught his falling sword without looking at it. If he hadn’t been in imminent danger, Victor would have stood in awe. The assassin’s skill defied understanding
“My Lady!” Ixchel shouted. “You should go!”
Victor charged back into the fray. “Yes! Find Marshal!” he called back. “Stop Volraag!”
“But—”
“Go!” Ixchel screamed.
Victor didn’t turn to look, but he heard Seri moving away through the underbrush. She needed to go, but he hoped she didn’t run into any more curse-stalkers on the way.
Dravid shoved the dagger into his belt, wiped blood off his hands, and grabbed his crutch. He pulled himself up and then moved back to Marshal’s side. A sense of urgency filled him. “Come on,” he urged. “We need to get you to Forerunner or Calu!”
“It’s too late.” Marshal’s voice was almost too low to hear.
“No, it’s not. We can do it.”
At that moment, a voice echoed down to them. “Marshal!”
Marshal’s head came up.
“Marshal! I’m waiting!”
Dravid glanced up the hill. “Was that him? Volraag?”
Marshal nodded. “I guess… I should face him one more time.” He gritted his teeth, took hold of Dravid’s outstretched hand, and pulled himself up. A fresh flow of blood erupted from his wound and around his other hand.
“I’m not the best person to lean on,” Dravid said weakly.
“We’ll make do,” Marshal answered. He took a halting step up the hill. “We only have to make it up there. For the end of all this.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
“WHO ARE YOU?” Volraag challenged.
The tall man ignored him and looked down into the portal with a smile. He took a step toward the edge.
Volraag released a short burst of power that shook the stone around them. “Answer me!”
The mystery man finally looked in Volraag’s direction. His eyes began to glow. “I am Calu, little human. Oppose me at your peril.”
Volraag took a step back. Calu’s voice vibrated with magic. What was this?
“Despite whatever power you may have accumulated here, you cannot stand against me. I am—”
“There you are!” cried a second voice, also vibrating. A second man joined Calu on the platform. Far smaller, he boasted the strangest clothing Volraag had ever seen.
He looked toward Volraag and Tezan, an enormous smile on his face. “Ah, more guests! You must be Lord Volraag. Am I right?”
“And who are you?” Tezan asked.
The sma
ller man made an elaborate bow. “I am Forerunner, and I am here to restore that which was lost.” He lifted a hand, palm up, in some kind of supplication. “Each of you have lost something, something dear to you. I tell that it is not the end. What was lost—”
“Why are you here? Where is Marshal?” Volraag interrupted.
Forerunner took a step closer, spreading his arms out. “Marshal? I’m not here with a Marshal. I am merely escorting my friend here back to where he belongs. And, as I said, to restore that which was lost. But you…” He tilted his head, examining Volraag. “You do not admit to losing anything, do you?”
“Volraag! I’m here!” called a weak voice behind him.
Volraag turned and looked down over the wall. Two figures climbed into view on the lower platform. One held a crutch, but the other, who seemed to be bleeding, stared up at him with a horribly-scarred face.
“Marshal!”
Kishin winced as he came back to consciousness. His head ached.
But he had no time. He still held his warpsteel sword, but had dropped the staff in the blast that tore apart everything around him. Marshal’s doing, no doubt. He considered hurrying on, but somehow couldn’t abandon the staff. He searched quickly and found it beneath a pile of shredded palm leaves.
Voices came from above. One sounded like Forerunner, but he couldn’t make out the others.
Something moved off to his right. A curse-stalker might still be alive out there. Maybe more.
He could try to find Marshal’s path and follow him, or head directly up toward the high place. He decided on the latter course of action. Marshal would be going there, anyway, as would the others. And Volraag might be there.
Kishin sheathed his sword and hurried up the hill as fast as he could.
Seri pushed aside a branch, then recoiled. Ants covered it! Why was this place so strange? If the heat wasn’t bad enough, there were bugs everywhere! And Ixchel had grown up here. Maybe that explained some things about her.
She glanced back over her shoulder. She could hear the clang of weapons colliding and an occasional grunt or inarticulate yell from the combatants she had left behind. Victor and Ixchel would be all right. Both of them were amazing in their own ways.
But that assassin… something very strange there. He glowed with magic, but not like anyone else. The closest comparison she could think of would be Curasir, but he had been stealing magic from the Masters. The assassin’s magic looked… confused. As if one type of magic were buried beneath another, or entwined together somehow.
She kept moving, then realized a pull on her heart led the same way. Volraag.
At the top of her ascent of the hill, she saw a stone wall about three feet high. When she reached it, she found herself looking down into the continuation of the road, now narrowed to a seven-foot-wide path paved with the same stone as the walls on either side of it. It had apparently just emerged from some kind of tunnel. Above the path, the hillside grew abruptly steeper, leading to some other stone structures she couldn’t make out from here. Seri pulled herself up onto the wall.
“You must be the girl.”
“Oh!” Seri almost fell off the wall. How had she not noticed the Eldani standing there, just a few feet away?
He looked different from Curasir or Hanirel. While he still possessed the same angular features and the unnerving perception of being taller than he looked, his features were somehow… kinder. She would have said softer, but that didn’t make any sense. His hair, darker than her own, somehow encouraged her.
“I am Talinir. I believe we possess some mutual friends.” His voice, warm and friendly, immediately put her at ease. She slid down onto the path.
“Talinir! Of course! You’re one of the reasons we’re here. Marshal wanted to rescue you from the Otherworld. But you’re already out, so I guess that’s good.”
“Indeed. Where is Marshal?”
“I’m not really sure. We got attacked by curse-stalkers and split up. He didn’t come this way?”
“No.” Talinir gestured vaguely up the path. “Two others did. Someone called Forerunner?”
“But not Marshal? I wonder what happened… oh! Victor! And Ixchel!” Seri pointed back the way she had come. “They’re fighting!”
Talinir drew his sword. “Victor is fighting someone called Ixchel?”
“No, no, no! Ixchel is my friend. They—they’re both fighting an assassin. He looks like a leper, and he’s—”
Before Seri could finish, Talinir vaulted over the wall and vanished.
Marshal looked up at his half-brother. He had not seen Volraag’s face since that day in Drusa’s Crossing. The day everything changed. The day he found out they shared a father. The day Volraag gave him a dagger that had just been used to stab him and kill Topleb.
Volraag hadn’t changed in that time. His blond hair and beard somehow still looked impeccably trimmed, even in the sweltering heat. His triumphant smile did what nothing else had done: it made Marshal want to survive long enough to wipe it off his face.
“Go find Seri and the others,” he told Dravid.
“Are you sure? You can’t—”
“Go!”
Pain made Marshal almost double over. Despite his best efforts, blood still oozed from his side. He could not go on much longer this way. He leaned against the limestone column. Why was it here, anyway?
Dravid gave him a concerned look, but turned and began ascending the stairs that led around and up toward the high place.
With a rumble of power, Volraag landed in front of Marshal. Chips of limestone rained down around them both. He straightened up and looked Marshal over.
“You’re barely on your feet. Did you really walk all this way from the battlefield, only to die before you could do anything at all?”
“Maybe… not.”
With a scream of pure anguish, Marshal unleashed a blast of power at his half-brother. The limestone column shattered into a million shards that slammed into the wall.
But Volraag stood unmoved and unharmed.
Kishin watched over the wall’s edge at the high place. When Volraag jumped off the opposite side, he almost went after him. But something inside him urged caution. Bide his time.
Volraag’s flunky waited on the platform. He looked nervous, like he wasn’t sure what he should be doing.
Calu and Forerunner were arguing about something. Calu pushed Forerunner aside and began to descend to the glistening portal.
“Will you kill again?”
Again, the voice came out of nowhere. Kishin’s neck twisted as he tried to look in every direction. Why did he keep hearing that question?
From the opposite side, where Volraag had gone down, came a ferocious rumbling.
Dravid leaned against the wall. Marshal’s blast tore up everything behind him, but he was far enough around the corner that it didn’t reach him. Barely. Idiot.
Marshal had ordered him to leave, but it felt wrong somehow.
Also, whoever designed these stairs should be executed. Even an acolyte stonecutter knew every step shouldn’t be a different length and height. And some of them had crumbled with age. It would be a difficult ascent for anyone, let alone a one-legged man with a crutch.
Jamana could have handled these steps with ease. Better than he handled the tunnels back on Zes Sivas, anyway.
Dravid scowled and pulled himself up to the next step. Somewhere up there he would find Seri and maybe the help Marshal needed.
Seri ascended the stairs as fast as she could. Not an easy thing to do when they were all different widths and heights. How annoying.
“That is not what they said when they sent me!” Was that Forerunner’s voice? It came from up above, followed by another voice she couldn’t quite make out. Calu?
“But that is not what I’ve seen here! They’re not all like that! You know this!”
“Enough!” Definitely Calu.
Seri picked up her pace.
Victor dodged again. He envied Ixchel’s
shield. In close-quarters fighting like this, it certainly came in handy. Especially against an opponent like Rathri. The assassin kept up the attacks, never letting up for even a moment. How he could do that against two opponents at the same time baffled Victor.
He and Ixchel kept shifting positions, trying to keep themselves on opposite sides of Rathri to make it more difficult on him. Yet somehow, he shifted with them, keeping them closer together than they intended. The terrain always seemed in his favor as well. No matter how they shifted, he kept the high ground. Twice he used a nearby tree to his advantage.
Rathri dodged underneath a swing of Victor’s flail. He lunged in, his blade scoring a light scratch across the left side of Victor’s stomach. With his other hand, he deflected a thrust from Ixchel.
Victor could think of several maneuvers that might work, but all of them would leave him open for a devastating counterstrike if he failed. If only he could communicate with Ixchel. Yeah, that would work. Perhaps Rathri would be willing to take a break for a few minutes if he asked nicely.
Ixchel grunted as one of Rathri’s swords cut her arm near the elbow. That was it. If they didn’t do something soon, he would wear them down. He showed no signs of slowing himself.
Victor waited for the right moment. He caught Ixchel’s eye, but had no way to let her known his intentions. If this worked, she would have the perfect opening, at least. He had no doubt she would take it.
When the moment came, he took it. Dodging a large swing from Rathri, Victor dove forward, swinging his flail at the assassin’s legs. As he went down, he lifted his own sword up to deflect any counterstrikes.
To his shock, Rathri leaped into the air, planting a solid kick on Ixchel’s shield. She stumbled back a couple of steps from the impact, leaving Rathri free to turn his full attention to Victor on the ground.
Until All Bonds Are Broken Page 38