Radha waited for them to finish. “One of you will tell Greht that the ‘elf-girl’ is coming for him. That Radha’s Fists will destroy him and his entire ’host.”
“Tell him yourself.”
“If you live long enough.”
“One of you will tell him what you saw here. That you saw this.” Radha extended her arm so that the overseer’s head hung facing the captives. Her fingers were buried in his thick, coarse hair. The sentries froze, snide defiance hardening into outrage.
The overseer’s features were almost lost under a series of long, deep slashes. The dead man’s face bore a rough, jagged symbol in the command language High Keld. The overseer had been a warrior, a commander, a battlefield mage who commanded a whip of fire. Now, thanks to Radha, he would forever be remembered by the mark she left on his severed head: “Goblin’s Whore.”
“Tell Greht,” Radha said darkly, “that the mark I have for him makes this one seem like a fawning eulogy.”
Angered beyond words, the sentries simply stared and seethed at Radha. She waited until she was sure they had no more insults or threats to hurl, then she called, “We’re letting them go. Get ready.” The elves responded by clearing a path between the captives and the north end of the camp. Archers and spearmen stood with weapons ready.
Radha carelessly tossed the severed head over her shoulder. “Llanach,” she said loudly.
“Ready.” The lanky elf captain stood to one side of the sentries with his spear horizontal in both hands.
Radha glared at the two captives. “Take whichever one reaches the perimeter last.”
“Understood.”
Radha stepped forward and shoved her face within inches of the Gathans. Green fire licked up from her eyes. “One of you has a story to tell,” she said, and at last the raiders turned away, unable to hold her terrible gaze.
Radha straightened, turned, and strode over to Llanach. She nodded to the elves holding the prisoners, then she glanced back at the Gathans themselves. Slowly, deliberately, Radha opened her mouth and carefully enunciated a single word.
“Run.”
The elves released their prisoners. The Gathans glanced at each other. The one on the left broke first and sprinted for the north end of the camp, but the other was only a step behind. They were fast for such big, burly men, but they were evenly matched and the one at the rear could not make up that missing step.
When they were ten paces from the perimeter, Llanach transferred his spear to his right hand. He arranged his grip, exhaled, and raised the weapon to his shoulder. Precise and unhurried, he took three long strides and let fly, heaving the spear in a high arc over the campsite. Radha watched the silver hardwood gleam as it soared.
The first Gathan hit the treeline and disappeared into the underbrush. His partner followed close behind, but just as his extended hand reached the woods, Llanach’s spear came down. The sharp length of Skyshroud oak plunged through the Gathan’s shoulder blades, severing his spine before bursting through his chest. The spear continued down until its tip lodged in the hard-packed dirt. The shaft snapped as the Gathan’s heavy body crashed down.
Radha glanced at Llanach. “Well done,” she said.
Llanach nodded. “What of the rest?”
“Leave them,” Radha said. “I want them alive and frightened.”
“Radha,” Skive hissed. “The more of them we leave alive, the stronger Greht will be.”
“True, but the more we leave traumatized, the weaker he becomes. When they hear we’re using corpse markers, they’ll be furious, but they’ll be angry because they’re afraid. Greht can’t use their fear. We can.”
One of Llanach’s rangers ran up. “There’s another Gathan camp ahead. They’ve got carts of wood and slaves.”
“How far?”
“Ten minutes at a dead run.”
“Headed for the beach? Going slow?”
The runner nodded.
She raised her voice. “New target,” she called. “Bring Dassene to me. It’s time for her to go back to work.”
“I’m ready.” The Ghitu firemage looked like she’d been through a war already, with her missing fingers and broken nose. She had been devastating in the first two Gathan camps, but Radha had to reign her in so she would have some fury left for the mountain.
“Ghitu,” Radha said. “How would you like to burn some Gathan ships before they’re ever assembled, along with the bastards who would have sailed in them?”
For the first time since Aprem died, Dassene smiled. Skive saw the look on her face and shuddered.
“That’s the spirit,” Radha said.
Teferi examined the Shivan rift as a botanist would a rare and poisonous flower. The very things that made it unique, the aspects most worth studying, were also its most dangerous. The fragrance from this particular bloom was intoxicating and distracting, but he did not allow it to divert his attention.
He noted with some pride that he had learned a great deal about the rifts from his detours through Keld and Urborg.
Hear that, Jhoira? It wasn’t a complete waste of time.
Make sense, Jhoira sent back.
Experience is always the best teacher, and at least now I have some. All right, my limited familiarity with the rift phenomenon isn’t enough to provide a direct answer to the problem of Shiv’s return, but it does allow me ask the right question.
And that is?
The rift represents a rupture in the fabric of the multiverse, caused in this case by the removal of Shiv. The rupture had probably been affecting the area for decades before Karona’s war turned it into an open mana drain that warps time and space. Now it’s like a cracked glass bowl filled with water. The crack is the rift and Shiv’s contents are leaking out, which in turn widens the crack and speeds up the whole process. Sooner or later the crack will expand enough to split the entire bowl into pieces.
To complete the metaphor, Jhoira’s said, Shiv is a rock hurled at that glass bowl. A big, sharp rock.
Teferi frowned. Don’t complete my metaphors.
Excuse me, Teferi Loreweaver, but I’m just trying to nudge you along. You’re too fond of your own cleverness at times like this.
“Well,” Teferi huffed aloud. He turned to Venser. “I can see some of us need to work on our listening skills. Jhoira is trying to help, but what she’s actually doing is hindering.”
Venser face stayed fixed on the circular phenomenon overhead, but he nodded. “Something is definitely happening inside the rift. It’s grown much brighter and the color keeps oscillating.”
Teferi’s face crinkled into a smile. “I have a plan,” he said, “and also, and better still, I have a few more moments to think of a better plan.”
Jhoira looked pained. “Teferi, please. I—”
“Ah,” he interrupted. “It’s too late, my friend. Shiv has already started to come out of the special phased state that we … that I created for it.”
“Excuse me,” Venser said. “Do you mean to say part of the continent is simply going to drop back into place out of the sky?”
“Not exactly,” Teferi said.
Jhoira jumped in before he could continue, saying, “Shiv is still here in a manner of speaking, but it’s entirely out of synch in time and space. It’s not going to sail into view like a tall ship into a harbor. Reintegrating it isn’t a matter of physical dimensions but magical ones.”
“And planar physics,” Teferi said. “Remember the bowl metaphor.”
“About that,” Venser said. “It doesn’t really work, does it? Shiv isn’t a rock, it’s part of the bowl. You took a section of bowl away, it sort of patched itself, and now you have this extra piece you want to force back in.”
Teferi frowned. “Don’t over-examine my metaphors.”
“Sorry.”
“Your point is well-taken, however. It will take a huge effort of will and a lot of magic to make this happen as it needs to. Fortunately, I have an ample supply of each. Would you at least agre
e that sustained effort and serious magic can fix a broken bowl with too many pieces?”
Venser shifted uncomfortably. “I said I was sorry.”
“Teferi,” Jhoira said sternly, “what is your plan?”
“My plan is still evolving,” Teferi said breezily, “and I’m sorry to say, I’m just about out of time. I’ll keep pondering until Shiv begins to appear, then I’ll just have to go with what I have.” He turned and called to Corus, who was eying the mob of feral Shivans through Teferi’s hazy white barrier. “Any problems there?”
“None,” Corus called. “Though I think every angry Shivan on this sad little rock is currently out there howling for our blood.”
“Good,” Teferi said. “One less thing to worry about.” As he spoke, the Shivan rift rumbled and let loose a plume of fire and glowing red vapor.
“It begins,” Teferi said. As one, they all turned to the south, toward the clean, sharp precipice that marked the outer edge of Shiv’s missing section. The ocean far below bubbled and churned, lit from below by a harsh blue-green light.
A low, grating sound vibrated up through Teferi’s feet, rattling his spine. At the same time a high, whining shriek sliced through his head. The air grew heavy, pressing in on him from every direction. A strong tremor slowly shook the southern edge of the island, and sea water splashed up over the cliffs, driven by the wind and the unimaginable forces building up around the entire region.
Teferi looked up at the Shivan rift, mentally preparing himself. He cleared his mind, focused his thoughts, and summoned to him all the mana he could muster.
As if emerging from a dense fog, the first hazy outlines of a massive landmass appeared. Then a familiar, throaty voice ripped through his mind, drowning out his thoughts and Jhoira’s alike with its sheer manic intensity.
Hoy, clean-head! Radha bellowed. Look at me!
Radha and her warhost found fewer camps to attack as they drew close to the mountain. It was safe to assume that all seven of the survivors they sent running to Greht had reached him by now, even though the Gathan warlord had not marshaled his ’host and ridden out to confront them. Radha was pleased. If Greht wasn’t coming after them in force it meant he had pulled in all of his troops and assembled them here. He knew Radha was coming and he would want to make her humiliating defeat as public as possible to drive his ’host into a proper frenzy before the armada sailed.
As her choice of targets dwindled, Radha had her budding warhost close ranks and march boldly toward the mountain. It only seemed she were leaving herself wide open to attack, as Radha had sent elfish scouts ahead, behind, and to both sides. These rangers shadowed and preceded the ’host, making sure there were no special surprises lying in wait between Radha and the Gathans. The proceeded this way for over an hour until the mountain itself appeared on the misty horizon.
Radha slowed, raising an arm to keep Skive and Dassene from passing her. She pointed at the mountain and said, “It worked. We’re expected.”
The foothills and the base of the mountain were dotted with campfires and torches. Farther up the slope Radha saw two straight lines of fire that created a lane to a square, raised platform of stone. The stagelike structure had not been here before when she had come with Teferi, but now it also stood rimmed with torches, their flickering light giving Radha a detailed view. Scores of dense gray boulders had been carted, broken, and set in place before they were fused together by intense heat. The surface of the platform was charred black yet smooth as glass.
Radha saw those flat black rocks and steeled herself for the coming battle. It took an incredible amount of heat to even scorch Keldon stone, but Greht had half-melted tons of it in less than a week. His power was growing too strong, too quickly, and his warhost was growing right along with him.
She dismissed her misgivings, focusing instead on the opportunity they represented. Greht commanded titanic forces, especially here on the mountain surrounded by his warhost. He would justifiably expect her to make the same mistake she always made, to simply dash herself against him and see who broke first. He would also expect her to fail as she had every time before, and Radha knew she could turn that to her advantage—Teferi had shown her how even gods and titans fell when they were overconfident.
Radha slowed her pace as her ’host approached the first torchbearers. She made a soft, trilling sound to summon her elf scouts in; they responded in the same Skyshroud trail-talk. Seconds later, all eight emerged from the brush and took their places among the rangers. When the Skyshroud ’host was complete and assembled, Radha led them into the lane of torches.
Radha saw the Gathans smirk and heard them chuckling at the state of her ’host. She glanced back, half-agreeing with their assessment. Apart from Skive and perhaps herself, none of her warriors looked capable of climbing the foothills without pausing for rest.
She resisted the urge to mock the Gathans, to shout how her ’host was small, but at least none of them were serving as torch racks. Radha actually relished her warriors’ shabby appearance: the more the Gathans took them lightly, the better off she’d be against Greht. Besides, looks counted for very little in the wilds of Keld. Her ’host had already routed a hundred Gathans this night and they were marching stronger than when they started. Let the false Keldons scoff.
The smirks and jeering dwindled as Radha’s ’host approached the platform. These were the upper echelons of Greht’s warhost, the ones who knew for sure what Radha had been carving on their fellow commanders’ faces. Radha could feel their rage and hatred for her like wind on her face. She kept her eyes wide and fixed on the platform ahead.
They were almost to the end of the lane, where the way was blocked by three formidable-looking Gathans. They were not the biggest or the most powerful, but they stood with the confidence of experience and training, stood shoulder to shoulder, one slightly ahead of the other two. Each of the sentries had a massive broadsword drawn and planted in the icy ground.
Radha stopped six feet from the trio. She felt Skive and Dassene behind her and the Skyshroud rangers behind them.
“We’ve come for Greht,” she said.
The leader scanned her critically from head to toe. He looked as if he might yawn. “Are you the elf who thinks she’s a Keldon?”
“I am Radha,” she said, “and I sent runners to announce me. Didn’t they make it?” She turned to Skive. “I told you we should have nailed the heads in the messenger’s hands.”
The three Gathans suddenly all lunged forward, each of their swords aimed at Radha. Fire bloomed from beside her and she saw Skive become a blur, so Radha concentrated on the one at the center.
She was still faster than the false Keldons, even these elite ones, and Radha smoothly brought up Astor’s kukri blade up to deflect the broadsword’s tip. She pushed herself forward along the blade, and with her free hand, she buried a tear-shaped blade between the Gathan’s ribs. She held him up, glaring fiercely into his eyes until his body went limp.
Radha let him fall. She saw that Skive’s tail had taken the other sentry’s hands off at the wrist. The viashino had wrapped his sinewy body completely around the maimed Gathan’s torso and appeared to be squeezing the life out of him.
A wall of greasy smoke blew over her and Radha turned. Dassene was standing with her batons crossed. There was nothing left of her target but his heavy metal boots, a pile of ash, and the melted tip of a broadsword. “You have got to teach me that,” Radha said.
Now the torch-bearing Gathans began to break ranks and Radha called, “Back to back.” As one, her warhost drew their weapons and faced outward.
“Oh, let them through,” came Greht’s gruff, echoing voice.
The Gathans immediately fell back into line. Radha waited for a moment, then climbed up the improvised steps and stood at the platform’s edge until her entire ’host had joined her. Greht was there. She saw him standing at the center of the platform near the far edge, a line of five warriors flanking him on each side.
No
w that she was on the platform, Radha saw how Greht had angled it so that the back was higher than the front. Her first thought was that this was to give a clear view to all of the raiders assembled below, but she also realized it made Greht and his men seem even larger.
She was amazed. There was so much more theater involved in running a warhost than she had imagined, and Greht was a cunning beast to have staged this scene so well. He could crush Radha here for his entire army to see, and doing so would serve the twin purposes of removing a considerable danger to his supply lines and strengthening his connection to his ’host.
“So, elf-girl.” Greht’s voice boomed out and echoed down the mountain. “This is what a forest ’host looks like.” Thousands of Gathans jeered and hooted.
Radha stepped forward. “Take a good look,” she said. “As Kradak himself, we came up the mountain as strangers, foreigners from another place, but we will descend it as Keldons.”
More laughter, but it was more sparse and less enthusiastic. No warrior who had ever felt Keldon battle magic was eager to laugh for long at Keld’s founder, especially while standing on the sacred mountain.
Greht himself seemed displeased by this turn of the conversation, but he said, “Kradak lasted through the night. You and your elves will be dead within the hour.”
Radha drew Astor’s dagger. It ignited. “Prove it,” she said.
Greht snarled as he drew his own sword. He had switched to a smaller broadsword than he had carried, perhaps anticipating Radha’s smaller, lighter weapons. Perhaps he just wanted to make a more interesting show of it for his ’host.
“Listen,” Radha said to her soldiers behind her. She watched Greht stalk toward her. “You have to make noise. Cheer when I block or dodge or stick him. Rage and stomp when I miss or he sticks me.”
“Why?” Llanach said.
“Because we’re on the mountain.” Radha turned to the elf captain, her eyes flaring. “Act like Keldons.”
She turned back, let out a piercing cry, and charged. As she focused on Greht, everything outside the stone platform vanished from her perception, but she was gratified to hear roars of enthusiasm rising from her ’host.
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