Chy

by Greg Curtis

  Maybe four hours after they'd begun they came across one of the ancient ruins – though this one was more ruined than most. It wasn't any sort of building at all. It was just a wall – though by the looks of things a massive one. Once judging by the ramparts and crenelations, it had been a part of something much larger and militaristic. A castle perhaps. Now it was just a piece of ice covered fortified wall from the distant past. They still gave it a wide berth.

  Lunch arrived not long after that, and Chy was happy to be able to sit down on a fallen tree and rest his weary legs. Happier still when Elodie joined him. And though he didn't say a lot – he was simply too tired – at least he could dream that she'd forgiven him. And that things were all going to turn out alright. Because the leaders might have come up with what seemed like a good plan for once. But when it came to planning these days, he was growing sceptical.

  “Honey bun?” he asked her as he dug into his pack. Luckily at least he'd had time to do some packing before they'd left – though mostly it had consisted of simply shoving everything he could find into a pack, some of it wrapped in grease proof paper.

  “Thanks.” She accepted the treat from him and even managed a small smile.

  “You're welcome,” he told her as he pulled out another bun for himself. And then he had to pull out a third when Bacon unexpectedly grabbed the second one out of his hands, catching him completely by surprise. The damned pig could be sneaky!

  “You know,” Elodie told him with a smile, “She is getting fatter. It's almost a wonder she can fly!”

  “Actually it's a wonder she doesn't burst!” He added while the pig in question gobbled furiously. “And the cat!”

  But he didn't begrudge the pig her snack. It was good to have a friendly face – or snout – with them. And if it came to it, Bacon could fight. She might be useful.

  He was still thinking that when the ground unexpectedly thumped and then began to tremble. It wasn't violent but it made him wonder – even worry a little. And then the wind started roaring in the distance.

  “Earthquake?” He asked nobody in particular. But earthquakes didn't make the wind blow.

  “The Master,” Kirkain replied. “He's here.”

  Everyone turned to stare at the sprite.

  “It's one of his ancient weapons. The weapons of the gods, he calls them. I told you, he may be at his end, but that just makes him more dangerous.”

  “A quarter left of narward,” Nga Roth told them. “That makes it Imrock or Mas. Four or five leagues at least.”

  “They should be well defended,” he told the ogre, trying to be reassuring. And they should be. At least a couple of hundred soldiers had been sent to both towns, as they had to every other portal, and of course the ogres were powerful warriors. Surely whatever this Master could have sent through could have been contained. After all they had the spell to remove the grains of the enchantment from bodies, so his armies would have been easily overcome. And if things became too dangerous, they'd simply destroy the portal. That was the plan. Besides long before that happened they could start bringing in more forces from the other towns.

  But even as he said that the ground kept shaking and the wind kept roaring in the distance. And then the sky turned yellow. Whatever it was, it didn't sound like a simple attack by soldiers coming through a portal. Not even if they'd brought cannons. And the sky kept growing ever more yellow. He didn't like that. He didn't like it at all.

  “We should move,” he told the others quietly as they kept staring at the sky. They'd had enough rest. And to make his point he tossed the remains of his bun at Bacon and started packing up. It was time to go.

  Soon after that they were off, Nga Roth taking the lead as before and setting an even tougher pace. But no one objected. Not when for as far as they could see in any direction, the sky was bright yellow. They just marched. And oddly, Kirkain who was the smallest of them and the least able to dash through a forest, almost ran. He was practically leaping over fallen trees. Fear it seemed, was powering his legs. He did not want to be enslaved again.

  Three hours brought them to another rest stop, shortly after the ground had started shaking once again. But there was no resting. They stopped, they drank some water, and they massaged their aching legs. But that was it. They didn't even speak. And after that they carried on, and tried not to notice that the yellow of the sky had grown even darker.

  Two more rest stops and the gods alone knew how many more bone grinding leagues brought them almost to the end of their strength and the foot of the volcano. But also there had been three more times when the ground had shaken and the sky was now the colour of dark mustard. It was obvious that this Master was sending his armies through the portals, seeking out the nearest ones, then when he found them defended, pulling back and looking for the next one. At least that was the only explanation Chy could come up with. But in his heart he feared it was something worse. Some plan they simply hadn't prepared for.

  Still they were here, he told himself as he sat on a small outcropping of stone, while all around evening was falling. Now they had only one more length ahead of them. The climb. And then they could start fortifying the volcano against whatever was coming. Now that they knew it was coming.

  So as the mustard yellow sky turned black above them, and sweat poured into their eyes, they began their ascent. And all Chy could think was that he wished the road was still there. But it was gone, along with the portal and much of the volcano itself. So it was literally a climb for the fifty of them, hands and feet, forcing their way the slope, trying not to slip as loose shale kept giving way under them. The only one of them who didn't have any trouble was Bacon of course, and the pig was happy to fly through the sky above them, snorting with abandon. Lucky pig!

  And little by little they made it. It wasn't easy. His hands were being torn to shreds by the sharp rocks, and he was burning hot from the heat beneath the stone. The Heartfire. But every time he looked behind him Chy was sure that the ground was further away. Meanwhile the lip of the volcano was closer. Better still the slopes below them were covered with enchantments. They were fortifying their position as they travelled.

  That gave him the strength to keep going, as did the light that some of their number were projecting all around them so they could see. But it was so hot, even when they were carefully climbing a path as far away from where the lava had flowed as they could. Worse the air stank of brimstone. But eventually, just as the high moon was doing its best to shine through the black, mustard sky, he reached the lip.

  And then he collapsed, right on the lip of the caldera. A flat expanse of smooth stone that was almost soft enough to rest on. And he wondered at how that was all there was left. The Temple was gone. Completely. So was a lot of the volcano. And all that was left was a huge caldera full of bubbling lava.

  And of course an enemy heading for them.

  Chy gave himself five minutes to lie there. To regain a little strength and to drink a little more water from his flask. Before he knew it was time to prepare. Whoever or whatever this Master was, he was coming and they had to be ready for him. That was the whole point of their having come all this way.

  So he and the others finally got to their feet and started work, all while a happy pig snorted and squealed ecstatically as she soared through a black mustard sky above them.

  Chapter Fifty Seven

  Fylarne was exhausted by the time dawn came. Everyone was exhausted. But he was happy with what he'd achieved. He and Elodie had circled the entire caldera so many times during the night, raising the defences of the Heartfire. Because just as they could help the Heartfire welcome worshippers to it, they could also have it reject them. Send them away. And that was their ultimate defence. Whoever this Master was – he assumed it was an ancient – the Heartfire would not accept him. It would never accept him.

  That was the final defence. The others were laying out the typical magical defences. So the ogres had set about covering the entire side of the volcano w
ith ice. The same spell that they used to shield the ancient pieces of realm from the rest of their world, and somehow the spell was working. With thirty or so of them to cast the magic, even the heat of the lava couldn't overcome the self sustaining ice magic.

  And the others were preparing armies of stone golems, barriers of force and wind, traps of lightning and fire, and everything else they could think of. They could face down an army, he thought. But if everything else failed the rejection of the Heartfire that he and Elodie had readied, would stop the Master. Hopefully.

  Still, he had earned a little rest and a few more sips of water he thought. So he let himself collapse to the warm stone which now had a cooling breeze flowing over it, and let himself lie there and just breathe for a while. Others were doing the same. And most of them he guessed, were doing the same thing as him as he lay there – looking up at the mustard yellow sky and wondering what it meant. How a sky could possibly be that colour.

  “Visitors!”

  Someone called out as Fylarne was just about comfortable on the stone. But he didn't begrudge the shout. Because there weren't supposed to be any visitors here. There were no portals on the volcano. Not now that the Grand Portal was gone. And no one had built any in the eternal forest near to it. They'd come from the closest one the previous day – and they'd destroyed it immediately after they'd arrived.

  He sat up and peered into the distance at where the man was pointing, but could see nothing. It was too far away to the trees and his eyes were full of crud from whatever was in the air. But Gris could see something. The wood elf already had his longbow out and was ready to take his shot.

  “What do you see?” he asked.

  “Ogres,” the wood elf replied, “with gossamer wings!”

  “Piss!”

  It was Chy who said it, but he spoke for them all. The Master had arrived. After all they'd done to stop him. But how did he have ogres as slaves?

  The answer to that became obvious over the next couple of hours as the Master's army emerged from the forest and crossed the open ground between the forest and the base of the volcano. They'd brought some sort of huge monolith with them. A massive block of glowing marble on a cart. Fylarne didn't need to be a sage to realise that it had to be the enchantment from the other temple that turned people into slaves.

  He sighed. No one had realised he could do that. But luckily their defences would protect them against it. They had expected the Master to bring his slaves – they were his army after all – and so every inch of the volcano was covered with enchantments that sucked the stones out of the victims. His army wouldn't be able to climb the slopes.

  Less fortunate were the numbers they were facing. Because as the hours slowly passed and they emerged from the trees, it became obvious that the Master had prepared. There weren't just thousands of ogres with wings, there were tens of thousands of others. All gathering together into a horde, slowly surrounding the stone base.

  “Remember Elodie's sending,” Dah told them. “They may all be as powerful as possible, but none of these slaves have any free will. There are no leaders to direct them in the battle.”

  They were comforting words, Fylarne thought. But they weren't completely true. Elodie's sending had only reached the thoughts of those who had been called by the Temple. He doubted that all of these slave soldiers had. And they still had the Master to direct them. There was a reason that there was a fire burning angrily in his stomach.

  It was fifty of them against tens of thousands. But worse than that, the soldiers below, enchanted slaves or not, seemed to have some training. At least they were forming up into ranks and lines at the foot of the volcano exactly as regular soldiers would. Looking down upon them, Fylarne found himself impressed and intimidated by the sight. He guessed that that was the point.

  But where was the Master, he wondered? Surely the leader should be somewhere in the middle of his army, no doubt wearing shining armour, surrounded by generals and with a tall flag beside him. But he couldn't see anyone like that among the horde. Others asked the same question. But no one had an answer.

  And then about midday, as their nerves were stressed almost to the point of snapping, they got an answer. But not the one they wanted. A visage of the Master appeared in front of them. A huge, glowing image of an ancient in shining armour, floating in the air in front of them. And for some reason the illusion looked even more frightening when it was bathed in sickly yellow light.

  It was strange armour, Fylarne thought as he stared at their ancient enemy. Polished and heavy and obviously able to defend the wearer against a blow. But he suspected it was also a lie. The way it was shaped – surely no one, not even an ancient could have a chest that puffed out that far. Or shoulders that broad. And why was it polished so brightly that it almost reflected light like a mirror?

  There was more wrong with the image too. The man's hair. Normally the shades – the ancients as they were more or less – had black hair that stuck out in all directions like the quills of a porcupine. But his was longer, wrapped up in gold weavings and then somehow draped down over his head and down to the small of his back. Was that to impress?

  And what about his face? Those perfectly chiselled features? Designed, Fylarne was sure, to look regal and commanding, and perhaps even beautiful. He wanted to look like the dashing hero of the bards' tales. Even though he was the monster they would be rushing off to fight.

  Somehow he suspected it was all vanity. This entire image they were being shown was a lie. A vision meant to impress and awe – and he guessed, to frighten. This wasn't how the Master actually looked. It was how he wanted to be seen.

  “So small,” the Master spoke down to them, smiling for some reason. “Insignificant.”

  “This from someone afraid to show his own face?!” Dah retorted. “Are you so frightened?”

  “This is my face!” The Master snapped back at her. But his smile had vanished.

  “In your dreams you decrepit old flat head! How many thousands of years of decay have you suffered through? And what's left, a bit of dust that pretends it still breathes?!”

  Who had put Dah in charge, Fylarne wondered? Not that he minded. The sylph was doing an excellent job of putting the Master in his place. But it occurred to him that no one had ever actually decided who was in charge. No one had even discussed the matter.

  “Dah Mi Lon, isn't it.” The Master's smile returned – though it wasn't really an expression of happiness so much as a threat by then. “Weren't you thrown out of your tower because of your failing logic?”

  Fylarne felt an icy cold fist start squeezing his heart when he heard the Master say that. How did he know such a thing? And why did he know it – or make it a point of telling everyone that he knew it.

  “And yet I can see through your lies easily enough!” Dah yelled at him. But behind her outrage was worry. Fylarne could see it. She'd never told any of them what the Master had just revealed. And he could guess why. It was a shameful thing to her.

  “And look, there's Chy Waine Martin, the human trying to stand tall against all those others with far greater gifts. But secretly you know you're not.”

  “Maybe not piss pot,” Chy replied easily. “But I have one thing you'll never have – friends!”

  “You mean like Myless Elodie Mae beside you? The last Guardian as she calls herself? And yet really just a frightened little girl, betrayed by everyone she knows, devastated by the loss of her precious Temple, and broken by the fear she holds inside that it was all her fault? Really, I'd rather not have friends like that.”

  “Oh and guess what?” He turned to stare at Elodie. “It is your fault. You were so blind to what was happening that you didn't even notice your best friend was serving me. Anyone else would have noticed the pain in Alur's eyes. But you just carried blithely on, completely indifferent to her suffering as you served your glorious Temple.”

  “I'm going to enjoy ripping your head out of your neck and stuffing it up your arse!” Chy told th
e ancient. “And who knows, maybe then you'll finally discover just how full of shite you are!”

  That drew a round of smiles from the others. But Fylarne didn't smile. Instead a feeling of dread was creeping over him. The Master knew so much about them. He wanted them to know how much he knew. He had a reason and he was building to it. But he let the others argue back as the Master went through his list. Because he didn't know what else he could do. He wouldn't know until the Master showed his hand.

  It took a while for the Master to get around to that. There were a lot of people he had to name and then humiliate. Or more than humiliate, Fylarne realised, break. He was trying to smash the wills of all of them. To tell them they were without hope and that they couldn't even rely upon one another. If he could break their wills, they wouldn't be able to resist him. At least that was his plan. But eventually the Master revealed his cards.