Jarath gave him a look that said he doubted Rowan could ever be right, but stayed silent for so long Morgan began to wonder if he’d managed to offend probably the single most powerful man in the known universe.
‘I hadn’t realized Rowan did care about me,’ the Doman finally spoke for Morgan alone. ‘It was... Wait until you have a rebellious brood of children, Morgan. And ones you think hate the very ground you walk on. Then, when one of them shows even a little concern for you, that’s when you’ll know what my son’s words meant to me. Of course, it could simply be because he hates Benedict more than me.’
‘I think Rowan cares more than he, or you, will even know,’ Morgan replied, then beckoned to Jonas and Rajan who were both watching expressionlessly. “Please escort your Doman to Saybel. Then if he has no requirement for you to stay there, Rajan, come back as soon as you are able. Thank you again, Jarath, we should have an outcome by the morning, I think.”
Holding out his hand to the elder lord, Morgan glanced over Jarath’s shoulder to Rowan’s unsmiling face. The Nightlord merely backed away into shadows and vanished. While the Doman bade goodnight to the rest of his acquaintances, Morgan crouched down at Liath’s side and held her unresisting hand. In the dim light he could see her eyes moving beneath the lids, but he didn’t think she was dreaming.
“Where is he, Lee?” he murmured, willing her to answer, not expecting to hear her reply.
“He comes,” she whispered, eyes closed. “Only minutes... Girl... Her! Here! How dare she!”
Even as Morgan looked for Druin, he felt Liath’s fury, watched wide-eyed as she strained to move from the cot, tendons standing out on her hands, arms, neck. Teeth clenched, brow furrowed, she gripped the edges of the cot, fingers digging into the fabric. Druin rushed round the side of the screen closely followed by Resh.
‘I can feel her! The girl! It’s her – my sister!’
An immense crack of thunder overhead beat down on their heads, rang so loudly in their ears that no other sound could be heard. Another one followed, another and another, each one beating the group further down until all were forced to their knees, hands clapped over their ears in a weak form of protection. Not able to hear himself speak, Tia’mar nevertheless chanted, moving his fingers in time with the unheard words. A few feet away, Shian did the same. On their last spoken word, all sound ceased. Still crouching, people looked up, glancing around, frowns or puzzlement plain on their faces. Lips moved, hands clapped, and yet still no sound, until the two magi gestured simultaneously and noise rushed back in, filling the void.
***
Copper-pupilled eyes narrowed, talloned fingers rested lightly on a gently pulsing triangular gem. The gem itself, a deep amethyst, nestled safely on a deep back cushion – a swatch of night with a tiny purple dagger – both lay in a dull ebony casket that sat in the exact centre of a heavy black stone altar. Detailed carvings all around it moved and flowed with a life their own, at times creeping up to the edge of the top slab.
Leaning forward, Azqueh let his thoughts drift into the stolen shard, join with it; expanded and focused at the same time, he pinpointed their awareness on the weakest part between the dimension. Oh, it was so fragile, so delicate, like the finest spider-web of lace. One gentle breath, the least pressure, and it would part, like lips before a kiss, like taut skin to a scalpel.
Especially since – yes! Especially since they had another segment of the Starstone there! Oh, this was good, did they know nothing! Three segments was the minimum needed to break through the membranes separating Danaach from non-space to their reality, which meant that the three they had were already working and the one under Azqueh’s hand was merely the boost. Of course, there was the other. Yet to be brought here, but which was already playing its part, and had been for weeks. The one held by someone so similar to Azqueh, it was like family.
Family. He rolled the word over his tongue – around his teeth – what was that like...Family? Real family – not the dregs that had been scraped up and tossed here, but a true family, with a lineage, traceable back, forth and to each side.
He snorted a laugh. Families like that made people soft, reliant, foolish; always to be at someone’s beck and call. He pushed the suppositions out of mind, concentrated on the sensations created by the shards. The sensations that ran along his nerves, tingled through his fingers, each shard in a slightly different location, yet aware of the others, lines of pure energy drawing them closer – the energies of worlds. Each with a slightly different vibration; once these matched, when these wavelengths all lined up perfectly, then the way would open fully.
He breathed in, inhaling the prismic beauty of their power. They were so close, minutes away. He could almost taste the air, smell the land, taste the souls. Those of Akashii and Anraun...and... Lammia...? Oh, yes...and Saybel! This was better than he’d ever dared hope for. But...something bound those of Saybel... Family! That word again! And these Nightlords were related! The ones on this world, and the one who held the other shard. He...he was a...Stealer!
Whirling from the alter where the casket sat, Azqueh, most feared Voltus, most feared of all, gave orders to his slaves, the Raylor. The time was here, they would be the first through the barrier – now so weakened a child could pass unaided. The Raylor, resembling a little in their form insectile mantises, lined up in rows where their master dictated. Gleaming black armor grew to cover legs with backward facing knees, flowed up over thin waists, broad shoulders, long arms and finally covering the triangular heads, meshing over large compound eyes. In each two fingered hand, they held a serrated sword and a machete type, crude weapon that they were fearsomely adept at using.
Pulling a hood over his dark skinned head, Azqueh picked up the heavy casket containing the shard and slipped it into a harness he had devised and strapped to his chest for it. He called the warrior-priests subordinate to himself, and called a sorceress to his side, watching her stride towards him, tall, slender and graceful. Long golden hair coiled atop her head and threaded with tiny ebony rings, a dress of the same light absorbing color clung to her arms and torso, flaring out around her slim legs as she approached.
“Is it time, at last?” she asked, purple and gold eyes alight with eagerness. A talloned, long-fingered hand reached out to her in reply.
“And Varen? Is he there with the shard I stole?”
Azqueh laughed aloud, an echoed and quite unpleasant laugh, until one was left with the memory of it, then it became an irresistible lure of sound – soft, low, seductive, powerful. “In this small space – here and there, we have nearly enough segments to make a complete Starstone. Only one is missing!”
“Only one?” the sorceress asked, not quite understanding where the extra shards had come from.
“Ah, my dear, you are not in possession of all the facts. Suffice it to say we have enough of the Starstone to rule much more than Danaach – despite what the Stealer plans.”
Relleshom shook her head. “Stealer? Which Stealer? Azqueh, tell me what’s been going on!” she ordered, appearing to grow taller, more solid.
“Not much, just another player in the game. I’m not sure what he and his companion plan, but they will not interfere with me...with us. Now,” he turned his attention to the Raylor. “March!”
Obediently, the ranks, six abreast, moved forward, stepping in time and straight towards a glowing area. On the first step it was the size of a cartwheel, on the second it had grown to that of double doors, on the third a hazy nighttime landscape could be seen, on the fourth the area was easily wide enough for the marching Raylors to pass though onto the grassy hillside and start towards the large marquees brightly lit in the night. Behind them, Azqueh chuckled and rubbed his hands together, sparks flying from his palms. “Awaken,” he murmured, staring at one particular tent.
***
With a gasp, Liath opened her eyes and jerked up off the cot. “Morgan – he’s here!”
Outside, thunder boomed again, though not as devastating as be
fore, lightning flashed overhead, reflected through the canvass and into the marquee, and were-lights flickered in response. Rowan swore loudly, took a step forward and vanished before completing it. Rajan followed him, both having returned minutes earlier. Liath would have joined them if Morgan hadn’t grabbed her arm.
“Wait! We can’t do this if everyone goes off alone.” Without further explanation, he dragged her along behind him to the group of people gathering by the door, Resh as ever, a shadow at her side.
‘She‘s here – my sister!’ Resh’s voice bubbled in her thoughts.
‘What? Who? Ah, that was her!’
‘Yes. My sister, the one who is bound up in all this, just as we are – she is here, outside!’
“Resh! Don’t go out alone!” she yelled, as the youth broke away from them and darted beneath the door flaps, and she would have followed had not Morgan taken a firmer grip on her arm. Eyes wide, she mentally pleaded with him to let her go after Resh.
“No, Liath,” he stated, remembering what Delga had told him only a few hours before about Liath not coming through unscathed.
Unexpectedly, it was Ky who prevented her from leaving. Standing in front of the doorway, brawny arms folded across his broad chest, he told her, “Pass by me without using any force I cannot counter and you are free to go.”
A moment passed while they simply stared at each other, until Liath made a sound of frustrated annoyance, spun on her heel and returned to the rest of them running through last-minute preparations.
Rowan stood within night observing the rift parting and rows of insect reminiscent creatures looking blankly out. Behind them he glimpsed the warrior-mage and a woman, felt the power dance in both of them, and the kinship with the male. He had Saybelese blood. How much and what it was mixed with, Rowan didn’t know, and didn't particularly care. They’d threatened his friends, family, too. But his family was well able to take care of its self. His friends, that was a different matter, and he wasn’t about to see this half–breed harm any of them. Letting himself become visible, he continued staring at the male – Azqueh, or whatever the hell it called itself. The chick was pretty hot, a bit older than he normally went for, but still a fine piece of...woman hood. He chuckled as the two opposite him picked up on his thoughts. The indignation in the woman was tempered with interest, so Rowan blew her a kiss. She retaliated by trying to blast him into atoms; stupid thing to try on someone who could race the wind and ride the storms. If anything it tickled. And then, unexpectedly it hurt.
With an oath, Rowan moved away, seeing, as he did, the kid Resh, headed towards the rift, which by now had widened enough for the insect things to step through. A movement on the hillside caught his eye – another kid was coming towards them. Female, but enough like Resh to be the sister he’d heard about. He had a sudden vision of them meeting – and the place going up in a mushroom cloud. He could feel Rajan near, just observing, and not going to stop anything from happening. Before the other one realized it, Rowan had sent him an order, a demand, that as a less powerful Nightlord, Rajan had to obey.
‘Stop them! Now!’
Then Rowan returned to the marquee, rubbing his arms to rid them of the tingling pain from the woman’s blast, or spell or whatever she’d done to him. “You guys had better be ready, ‘cos your visitors are here, and they’ve brought friends along,” he warned. “Your little shadow’s out there and there’s another kid, too, a girl; looks a lot like him and they’re trying to get together. I sent Raj to stop them. There’s also an Akashii woman with that Voltus; she’s a bit short-tempered. Mesar, you know anything about her?”
The silver-haired mage nodded, “Leave her to me, we have an old score to settle, she...”
The sound of metal clashing against metal stopped their conversations, then everyone shifted into action. Ky and Jall were first out of the door, happily loosening up with battleaxes. A coughing roar cleared the way for Cinbar as the great puma bounded out next. The Temple mages strode out after Cinbar, with Mesar at their heels. Druin snatched a staff from where he’d hidden it beneath the cot, energy crackling along its length. Hallan and Hurral loosened their swords, smiling at each other as they made for the fighting outside. The seers, led by Annushi and accompanied by the High Priestess, followed them – raising the forces of nature against the invaders and the forces of their own minds to compliment that.
‘Morgan!’ Liath protested while he held her back for Annushi and Demora to pass, their seconds close behind with Conna and Nic on their heels and Ulric alongside. Balin, harpless, but armed with other weapons, led the rest out. Seconds later, they were the only ones left in the tent and Liath was becoming more and more annoyed. So when Morgan pulled her to face him, she was on the verge of fighting him.
“Just stop it, Lee, I need to talk to you before we go out. I need you to be safe, but I know you have to do this, just as much as I do. But please – please – be careful. I love you more than you will ever know.”
Liath opened her mouth, and all her anger at him drained away. She slid her arms around him, looked into his eyes, “I love you as much. Now, let’s go kill something.”
Laughing, Morgan led her out of the tent, hoping, praying he was doing the right thing.
***
Varen knelt at the entrance of the shallow cave looking down on the valley. In front of him on his folded cloak was the box containing the shard, to the side was the dull metal box he and the girl had taken from beneath the alter in the temple just across the valley. It was so apt the prison world being accessed here. There were still some Akashii to be rid of. That would be one of the first jobs after he’d taken over Danaach and the warriors were under his control. He could picture it bright and colorful in his mind... But now, the shards needed to be brought into play. He reached out his hand, hesitated, flexing his pale fingers above the faceted little shard, then rested his hand on it.
For one glorious moment, pure unadulterated power raced through him. He gasped in sheer pleasure, head thrown back and eyes closed. Then he felt the other shards, and their power took him to paradise. Two, three...ahhh...bliss... Four...! No... Too much... Five! NO...! SIX...!
The light burned through him, into each cell in his body, blazed through every atom, stripped the nucleus away, reduced it to fine molecular ash, destroyed Varen from the inside out, quite quickly, and very efficiently. Behind Azqueh, Relleshom blew a kiss across her palm in the direction of the hillside cave. A small wind blew up, swirled the ash in a miniature eddy, spiraled it higher and higher, then was gone.
The sorceress smiled fondly and followed the last of the subordinate warrior-mages out through the rift in the dimensional barrier, and into the middle of a blood-red battle. Briefly wondering where her children were in the maelstrom, she caught sight of a once familiar glimmer of silver hair. Black eyes met hers, and male and female magic worker smiled, and moved forward towards each other.
Resh stood still, held by the night-seers will. That was alright, his sister would come to him and between them they would break the Nightlords hold. She was making her way slowly to him, avoiding the fighting going on around them; a confusion spell partially concealed her, but the raw magics and energies flowing over and about the valley lit the sky in flashes of color, sheets of light and flickering strobes of clashing hues.
To either side, warrior-mages moved to flank the Raylor where footing was less slippery and blood had not yet been spilled. Tia’mar and Shian, with the rest of the mages divided between them, moved to meet the black-dressed ones, magics swirling in the air and shimmering along the grass, devouring all in their paths. Occasionally one or another would feel something move past so quickly as to be unseen. Then an enemy would suddenly die and the speeding attacker move on. At one point, Nicolas, knowing he was taking lives for the good, for the right reason, stopped a little way from the fighting, hidden in a small dip, and threw up, physically ill from the realization he could take life so easily. Then he wiped his mouth and raced off to make s
ure his new friend was unharmed.
Huge puma paws were bloodied to the knees as the great cat let his predatory nature rule, teeth and muzzle dripped red, eyes glowed with feral delight and his coughing roar struck primal memories in foe and friend alike.
Hallan and Hurral, standing almost shoulder to shoulder with Ky and Jall, slashed and hacked a swath into the ever advancing insectile fighters; for each one they killed, two seemed to take its place. But Ciaran and T’marl added their blades and metal sang sweetly in the air. The blood spurting and gushing from weak parts in the chitin-like armor was a greenish black and stung like flea bites when it touched bare skin. But in the heat of battle such annoyances went unnoticed and on they fought.
Druin and Balin applied their various weapons at the edges of the fighting – the staff’s energies crackling like lightning around each foe the healer touched with it, and like lightning, its force was deadly. Balin, wielding a sickle-like weapon, weaved a dark ballet, slashing gracefully and spinning out of reach, the tattoos inked onto his body glowing with every move, shifting and reforming to tell the tale of the battle.
Wherever Rowan went, living darkness followed; ropes of it tangled feet, caught hold of arms, wrapped around necks – and squeezed. Chuckles and laughter could be heard inside it, disturbing sounds of madness. And when he disappeared holding some hapless warrior, he would be alone a split-second later when he reappeared. He could have killed everyone on that red and black field of battle. But it would be everyone – friends included; he had that much power, he thought, but not the selectivity to make it useful. The shards were singing through his body and he was having a hard time ignoring their power as it filled him. He turned his attention to the glowing rift, where Azqueh stood like a conductor guiding an orchestra – but of fighters and death rather than musicians entertaining an audience.
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