"What is it, Wotan?" Uthorion asked, suddenly pleased to see his most powerful ally back in the cosm.
"I have hunted stormers from Earth across Takta Ker to Aysle," Wotan explained. "They knew how to travel the maelstrom bridges."
Uthorion looked around, again noticing the steam carriage. There was something not right about the vehicle, but he couldn't quite decide what that something was. Otherwise, he saw no dangers. He was nothing, however, if he wasn't cautious.
"Send your hunters throughout the valley, but position your best warriors within the castle itself," Uthorion ordered. "Castle Ardinay is yours to defend until I return, Wotan. That is my wish."
"Yes, my lord," the Horn Master said.
Then Uthorion took the dagger he had received from the Viking warlord from out of his belt. He held it momentarily in Ardinay's soft fingers, turning the jeweled pommel over and over. He addressed his court wizard.
"Take this, Delyndun," Uthorion ordered. "It has been prepared. You know what to do with it if anything should ... go awry."
The elf took the dagger reverently, holding it to his chest like it was a precious gem. "I will not fail you, Lord Uthorion," Delyndun promised.
"No," the High Lord smiled, letting the natural dazzle of Ardinay's features shine out, "I don't believe you will."
"Come, Angar," Malraux urged. "Time grows short."
In one of the watch towers, a bell tolled. It was the first of six gongs proclaiming the start of the Entity's Hour. That was Uthorion's hour, and suddenly the High Lord did not feel quite as nervous as before. He placed a slippered foot upon the maelstrom bridge, and began the journey toward Aysle on Earth.
127
Christopher Bryce held Tolwyn within the dark confines of the crypt, letting her cry upon his shoulder. He cried along with her, soaking his beard with salty tears. He had no answer for her when she asked why the tombs were empty. Had someone stolen the bodies of Tolwyn and her companions? Or were they never actually entombed within the stone coffins that filled the small chamber? He just didn't know.
"Tolwyn!" shouted Tom O'Malley from outside the crypt. "Father Bryce! Come quickly!"
"It's time to go, Tolwyn," Bryce said, wiping tears away from the warrior's eyes.
"You must think me foolish, Christopher Bryce," Tolwyn stammered. "The mighty Tolwyn, knight of honor, weeping like a babe."
Bryce smiled gently. "Not at all, Tolwyn," he assured her. "It just shows me that you're human."
"Tolwyn! We need you!" Tom called again. There was fear and urgency in his voice.
Tolwyn was on her feet, her sword in hand, charging out of the crypt into the increasing dusk. Bryce was right behind her, almost smashing into her when she stopped short. He peered around her, trying to see what was the matter. First he saw Tom and the dwarves, standing with their weapons drawn in the village square. Then he noticed the armored knight.
He was dressed in full plate mail of excellent make, but the metal was tarnished with age, its natural luster all but gone. The visor of his helmet was closed, and he held a deadly-looking sword. The knight regarded Tolwyn curiously and stepped forward, still remaining beyond the reach of Tom or the dwarves.
"You have returned," the knight said. Bryce thought he recognized the voice, but he couldn't be sure because of the helmet's muffling effect.
"I have," Tolwyn returned. "I want my armor and sword."
"Tolwyn? What are you talking about?" Bryce asked.
"You do not understand, do you, Christopher? I know what happened to the bodies of the Knight Protectors. They have been turned into abominations, works of necromancy that defile the memories of my companions," Tolwyn said, anger rising in her tone.
"You want your sword?" the knight sneered. "Come take it, if you dare!"
Then the armored knight threw open the helmet's visor and Bryce gasped. The face inside the helmet was Tolwyn's face! But it was a Tolwyn twisted by dark magic and corruption, a Tolwyn who looked more dead than alive.
"What are you?" Tolwyn asked.
"I am you, warrior of honor," the knight with Tolwyn's face proclaimed ."l am Tolwyn of House Tancred, leader
of Ardinay's Knight Protectors!"
"You are not me!" Tolwyn exclaimed, leaping to meet the other Tolwyn's charge.
Tolwyn felt the power in the sword as it clashed with the Victorian blade she wielded. There was enchantment within the weapon. It was her sword, the mighty Battlestar! Now all she had to do was get it away from the abomination that held it. Somewhere beyond the village, a bell rang.
"The Entity's Hour," Grim said, shuddering.
"Spectral knights, Bryce," Gutterby called. "I knew they might be around, but I never connected them with the old Knight Protectors. That one wearing Tolwyn's armor is undead. Your holy symbol should be able to slow it down."
Bryce pulled his cross from under his shirt and held it before him. He watched the two Tolwyns battle, two sides of the same coin locked in mortal combat. One was full of honor, the other dark and corrupt. He waited with the others for an opening to exploit, quite aware that the spectral knight's sword was battering through every defense Tolwyn placed in its way.
128
Dr. Hachi Mara-Two prepared herself for battle. She had removed her jumpsuit, preferring the striped leotard she wore beneath it for the coming conflict. She strapped a belt pouch around her waist, placing all of her most important items within the two separate pockets: her tools, spare chips, and the data plate/jaz pack assembly she had constructed. Also, in the tradition of the warriors of her world, she applied black makeup to her face so that it covered her eyes like a mask.
"I am ready, Djil," she told the shaman, but he ignored
her.
Djilangulyip was dancing an intricate pattern across the maelstrom bridge. With each step, Mara thought she could see the swirling colors beyond the bridge draw closer. It was like he was pulling the dimensions together, knotting them the way he knotted rope.
Somewhere up bridge a bell tolled, and Djil looked up from his dance. "They are coming," he said. "Time is short." Then he continued his dance, carefully exaggerating each step to ensure that he was not forgetting anything.
Mara checked her laser pistol. It was low on energy, maybe good for a few sustained blasts. Then the power cells would be dead. She examined her hands. These were weapons, too, even the left one. It spasmed, forcing itself into a fist. It took Mara long seconds to unfurl the hand's fingers.
A second toll, and she forgot about the hand. There were two figures approaching from the Aysle side of the bridge. "This is it," she said aloud. She wondered if the others were going to make it in time for the final moves of this deadly game.
129
Thratchen stood in the small booth, holding the metal bars that would soon send power coursing through his body. He had set the ornate mirror where he could see it, for the mirror was the gateway to even greater power. All Thratchen had to do was provide the energy necessary to open the portal to such a faraway place. He double-checked the calculation he had made, mentally going over all of the numbers to make sure that no more than a fraction of the physical energy of this planet would flow into him. He needed only enough to open the gateway. Anything more would be wasteful, and could turn out to be dangerous.
He gazed into the silvery surface of the ornate mirror and spoke its name. "Wicked," Thratchen commanded, "show me that which I seek. Reveal to me—the Nameless One!" Thratchen concentrated on his command, sending his considerable will into the arcane mirror. Then, when the chant was running through his head, calling for the mirror to show him the Nameless One, Thratchen triggered the buttons on the metal bars.
The infernal machine had been recalibrated by the techno-demon to let no more than a dribble of the Earth's stolen energy course through him, but it felt like the fires of hell burning through his veins. It was agony! It was ecstasy! It was unrivaled power! Oh, how it hurt! Oh, how Thratchen cherished its boiling taste!
He
was on fire, a star flaring beneath the Gaunt Man's keep. He could barely see through the glow of his own form, but he nonetheless felt the mirror's surface ripple as it searched for the one he sought.
"More power!" Thratchen screamed, tapping the buttons a second time. Now it was as though his flesh was boiling, leaving his interior exposed as it bubbled away. If he looked upon another being, that being would cease to exist beneath the strength of his gaze. The mirror's surface was like a storm-wracked ocean, churning as it stretched beyond the cosms to find the legendary god.
"More power!" roared the techno-demon, tapping the buttons a third time. Now his bones burst into flame, or so it seemed, and there was nothing left of Thratchen but a burning thirst for even more power. The mirror's surface whirled like the vortex itself, spinning farther and farther through the empty dimensions in search of
The Place where things began.
"More ..." Thratchen started to call, when an alarm went off in his head. It flashed a message across the LED screen within his right eye. Reluctantly, and with extreme difficulty, Thratchen pried his hands from the bars and cut the connection to the infernal machine. His body was whole, unharmed, but the residual effects still burned through him, exhilarating him. He paused to look into the mirror, but its surface was once again still, reflecting his own face back at him.
He clicked open the panel in his arm and pressed in a code. Data flew across a small screen, downloading information from the cybernetic hand he had given to young Dr. Hachi Mara-Two.
"What are you up to, Mara?" Thratchen asked aloud, examining the confusing data. He turned once again to the mirror. "Wicked," he intoned. "Show me Dr. Hachi Mara-Two!"
130
Somewhere in another Place, the Darkness awoke. It had been sleeping for a long time, waiting for its children to call for it. Was this the call? Was this finally the time of reckoning?
The Darkness stretched, obliterating long-dead worlds as it continued the waking process. Memories returned to it, and with those memories came the hatred. How dare the Other flee! How dare the Other take the All with it! More memories, and it remembered what the Other had called him. Yes, him. Not it.
He was the Nameless One.
The title had been a joke to the Other, an amusement. But the Nameless One had amusements of his own. He destroyed the creations of the Other
and he would have destroyed her, too, if she hadn't left the Place. Even the Nameless One had to leave the Place, for the Nothing became hungry. The Nothing was somewhere behind him, searching the Place and all the other Places for him. But that would end when the Nameless One found the Other
(Apeiros)
and the All. Then the hunger would finally be satisfied.
The Nameless One stretched again, forcing himself to fully awaken. He had to seek out the call, follow it to its source.
And then the Nameless One had to feed.
131
With each parry, Tolwyn felt the metal of the Victorian sword weaken. Battlestar, her true sword, was just too powerful to defend against with ordinary steel. Moreover, every move she made was easily countered by the spectral knight, as though it was anticipating each feint and thrust. Tolwyn lashed out with another flurry of attacks, but the spectral knight turned each attack with a twist of the enchanted blade.
"You cannot win, Tolwyn who is no more," the spectral knight hissed as a sixth bell tolled from the castle tower. It was the Entity's Hour, the hour of the undead and other things from beyond the natural world. "You should have stayed dead," the spectral knight declared, swinging Battlestar at the sidestepping Tolwyn.
Anger flared in Tolwyn's breast, and she delivered another series of blows at the abomination before her. Again it deftly parried each strike, then lashed out with a strike of its own. Pain exploded in Tolwyn's left arm as Battlestar's point pierced her flesh just above the elbow. She clenched her teeth against a scream and backed away, trying to think of a maneuver the knight would not expect.
"I know how you fight, Tolwyn," the knight jeered. "It is how I fight. You cannot defeat me. I shall finish the job the Carredon started long ago."
The spectral knight prepared to launch another attack when Father Bryce stepped between the two combatants. Tolwyn saw that he was holding his holy symbol before him, directing its power at the undead warrior.
"Stay back, monster!" Bryce shouted. "I will banish you to the depths of hell!"
The spectral knight retreated at the force of Bryce's words, but it did not seem cowed as the banshees and lesser evils of Orrorsh had in the presence of his holy symbol. Either the knight did not fully recognize the power of Bryce's faith, or it was simply more powerful than he.
"You are strong, priest," the knight admitted, "but you do not yet know the extent of the forces you wield."
"Father Bryce!" Tolwyn called the warning as soon as she saw what the knight was doing, but it was too late to help the priest. The undead warrior pulled a dagger from its belt, holding it by the tip as it prepared to throw.
"No!" screamed Tolwyn, but she was too far to stop the skeletal from pulling back. She saw the metal edge of the dagger glint in the final rays of the setting sun. "No!" she screamed again, but her voice was drowned out by a loud, resounding series of bursts.
It took an instant for Tolwyn to recognize the sound of automatic weapons fire — an Earther weapon. She saw Decker holding the weapon, saw the spectral knight pitch forward from the impact of the rounds. Battlestar flew from the abomination's hand as it tried to keep its footing, and it released the dagger as well.
Tolwyn leaped past Bryce, catching the enchanted 2 92 sword before it hit the ground. Its power sang a welcome to its rightful master as she gripped the hilt, rolled, and landed in front of the reeling knight.
"You are not me," Tolwyn proclaimed. Then she drove Battlestar into the spectral knight's breast.
132
Decker, Kurst and Julie ran to join the others, but there was no time for greeting old friends or meeting new ones. Decker got right to the point, addressing Tolwyn as she removed her armor from the spectral knight.
"Uthorion isn't in the castle," Decker explained quickly. "We watched as he and a priest of some sort started down the maelstrom bridge."
"Tolwyn, I have to tell you that Uthorion wears the body of Pella Ardinay," Kurst added, bowing his head. "I should have told you earlier ..."
"I know," Tolwyn said, stopping his confession as the dwarves helped her strap on the armor. "There is no more to say right now."
"Tolwyn, Mara and Djil are on the bridge," Bryce reminded her.
"I know that, too, Christopher," she said, placing the helmet over her head.
"Is it my imagination, or is the shine returning to that armor?" Tom O'Malley asked.
"It knows its true owner," Tolwyn agreed. "For the first time since I battled the Carredon five hundred years ago, I feel truly alive."
She stood before them, in the armor of her House, with the sword of her father. She was Tolwyn of House Tancred again, completely and utterly. A small corner of her heart grieved for the woman Wendy Miller, a woman who was no more. But mourning would have to come later. There was still so much left to do.
"We should go, Tolwyn," Bryce suggested. "Mara and Djil will need our help."
Tolwyn nodded, and the companions headed toward the maelstrom bridge.
133
Katrina Tovarish was alone in a world of darkness. She remembered the Tharkold and the pod it wanted to place her in. Then her mind exploded — at least that's what it felt like — splintering into a thousand shards of sharpness that ... what? She tried to remember what happened next. The shards of her mind slashed at the Tharkold's mind like sharp glass, tearing it as easily as a knife cut through meat. The Tharkold was no more. After that the darkness descended and she blacked out. But now her mind was whole again, and the darkness remained.
Not that she wasn't used to darkness. She was blind, after all. But the darkness she knew was never so deep
before, so complete. She had been able to "see" things with her mind—images, other people's thoughts, things that were to come. Now there was nothing. Just the darkness.
In addition, her normal senses seemed cut off as well. She did not feel anything touching her, not the floor she assumed she laid upon, not the gentle brush of wind, not even the scratching of clothing against her skin. There were no smells, no sounds, no tastes. There was nothing but the darkness.
She did not feel the presence of Nicolai Ondarev. She did not even hear the ever-present sound of the Earth, the song of life that comforted her. And even the frightened voice was gone, the voice that she had long ago told Nicolai belonged to the one she was really helping. The pain-filled voice that was the Earth, and was also something more. But it was gone now.
She was alone ...
... in the darkness ...
... total darkness.
Katrina Tovarish screamed.
134
The mirror's surface rippled like the surface of a pond, and when the ripples subsided, Thratchen was looking at the image of Dr. Hachi Mara-Two. She was dressed for battle, painted with the Kadandran mask of war that became popular during what they called the Sim War. Thratchen was intimately familiar with her garb, for he battled against those who wore it throughout the war. Why was she wearing it now, he wondered.
He examined her surroundings, forcing the mirror to expand the image so that he could see more of the place around her. She was with the aborigine shaman, who was involved in a ritual that screamed of Earth magic. The two were standing on a maelstrom bridge formed of stone and mortar. It was the bridge to Aysle.
Thratchen felt another presence deep within the mirror, but he ignored it as he studied the shaman's ritual. Djilangulyip was weaving a spell to connect one of the intermediate dimensions of Earth to the maelstrom bridge! For what purpose?
Intrigued, Thratchen watched as Djil completed the ritual dance and the bridge expanded to fill the horizon. It was now part of another of Earth's dimensions, the path down to Aysle realm hidden from view. But the path was still there. Thratchen could sense it. He absently flexed his fingers, and he saw with some amusement that Mara did the same — with the fingers of her left hand.
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