Obsidian grinned, looking more like a skull than any kind of benevolent being. He waved his hand once more, and the groans of a strained ceiling filled the chamber. Deep, bone-chilling cracks came next. Dust.
Then the entire ceiling started to give way.
Obsidian nodded to them, as if in polite greeting, and vanished through the rift.
Windrunner looked up. The catacombs were crumbling. He stumbled toward Brinelle and pulled her aside, jarring his broken arm, just before a large chunk of rock would have crushed her.
If they stayed here, they would die.
Saving their lives aside, there wasn’t a choice. Obsidian was a rogue Varyah, in possession of the complete Remnant. There was no way they could let him escape.
Windrunner scooped up the barely-conscious Brinelle, dodging falling rocks and choking on dust, and plunged into the rift behind him.
29
T here was no sensation of travel this time. They fell through the rift and landed on hard, hot stone. One moment in the depths of the Nevantian monastery, the next … here.
The air was stale and stifling. It reeked of brimstone and seared Brinelle’s lungs with every breath. Even the light was too harsh, making her eyes water. She could feel it toasting her skin.
Windrunner put her down, holding onto her until she found her balance. Her whole body ached. They were both unsteady, bleeding, but they were alive. That had to count for something.
“You all right?” Windrunner asked.
Brinelle nodded, then pushed her hand to her forehead. “I will be. Are you?”
“Yeah.”
They took a moment to breathe and recover. Then they looked around at a landscape direct from nightmares.
A handful of parched, half-dead plants clung to the rusty red sand. Jagged mountains, even more dagger-like than the peaks surrounding Ta’ranq, rose all around them. Brinelle looked up, expecting to see a hazy, red sun in the sky. But there was only swirling, chaotic light. A few wisps of trailing color were evidence of the pathways through that nether realm.
“Brinelle,” he said, “please tell me we aren’t in the portal.”
“We aren’t in the portal.”
“Good.”
“This is the plane of the Shahadán.”
Windrunner paused. “Oh. I don’t like that answer any better.”
Brinelle reached for his hand. He leaned his staff in the crook of his arm and gripped it.
There was no sign of Obsidian or the Remnant. No sign of anything living anywhere, but considering the other beings in this plane were Shahadán that was probably a good thing.
“Why would Obsidian have come here?” Brinelle asked.
“To get away?”
Brinelle shook her head. “He could have gotten away easily enough. He had us both at a clear disadvantage, and once he’d gotten out of our sight we’d never have found him again.”
“Oh.”
“No, he had to have a very specific reason to bring the Remnant here. Magic is more wild, more potent in these in-between places. Perhaps he was hoping to use that strength for something.” She puzzled through the implications, trying to think like the Varyah. What would he want in a place like this?
“He’d mentioned the Remnant would make him Tsenian.”
Brinelle nodded, turned away, then froze. She turned back toward Windrunner, her heart tight in her chest. “Of course. Obsidian doesn’t just want the power to become Tsenian—he wants as much power as he can get. More than anyone has ever had before. Taking the power of the Remnant wouldn’t be enough for him.”
“But the Remnant has more Creation magic than anything in the world,” Windrunner said.
“Correct. But now he knows your strength. He’s realized he doesn’t have the most Destruction power anymore. Your magic is stronger than his, Windrunner, even though he refuses to admit it.”
Windrunner nodded. “A guy like Fi’ar could never stand for that.”
“But if Obsidian brought the Remnant here, to an in-between plane where magic is more potent, and took in its power …” She looked up at the swirling colors in the sky. A few circling dots of blackness shown against the chaos.
Her breath caught in her throat. “Windrunner …”
“What is it?”
Brinelle had to take a moment to compose herself. “I think he’s going to destroy the Shahadán.”
“That’s … not good?”
“No.” Brinelle swallowed hard, took in a shaky breath. “If he destroys the Shahadán here, there will be a few moments while their magic is loose. Were they destroyed in our world, the Destruction magic would dissipate back to where it belonged. But here, it has nowhere to go. It isn’t native to this place. And if Obsidian, an already powerful Varyah, in possession of the Remnant, were to have access to that kind of raw magic … Exposure to power like that can change a person. It can change their magic on a fundamental level.”
Windrunner nodded. “Like how tapping into the power of the Remnant gave me Tsenian power.”
“Yes. If Obsidian were to gain the magic of the Remnant and the power of the Shahadán …”
They looked at each other. Obsidian could do anything with that magic. Literally. Even if he didn’t find a way to keep it—which Brinelle wasn’t about to bet on—for those few moments he would have unlimited power. The kind of magic to change the entire world.
“We can bet whatever Obsidian would do, we don’t want it to happen,” he said.
Brinelle nodded.
Windrunner released Brinelle’s hand, taking hold of his staff again. “We’ve got to find him. We can’t do any good without the Remnant.”
A wave of Destruction magic rolled toward them from the peaks above. At first Brinelle thought it was the Shahadán, but then the sound of tumbling rocks followed. Brinelle cringed. She’d heard enough of that for a lifetime.
They looked up in time to see a small avalanche block what might have once been a path to the summit.
Brinelle craned her neck. She couldn’t see Obsidian, but the peak above them loomed. It rose a thousand feet or more higher than the others. It looked like a gigantic tooth, some sharpened canine from a massive predator.
“All the better to get the Shahadán’s attention,” Windrunner muttered.
They stepped away from the rift, preparing to climb a mountain that looked like it had come straight from hell.
And Brinelle had asked—no, demanded—to come along on Windrunner’s journey.
There were no foothills. The mountains rose so steeply the land went from flat to sheer in a matter of paces. As if the mountains had punctured the plain and never bothered to be graceful about it.
They searched for a path up, but found very little. A few gentler slopes that would dead-end a dozen feet beyond their origin. Numerous crevices that opened into box canyons with no way to advance. The mountains were about as unforgiving as she could imagine.
“You’d think at least one of these would lead up the mountain,” Windrunner said.
“I suspect some of them did, but Obsidian has used his magic to Destroy the paths and hinder our pursuit.”
“Think you could Create a new one for us, then?” Windrunner asked.
Brinelle wasn’t anxious to trust her magic in a place like this. Not only was she unsure how it would react, but she feared too much magic would attract the Shahadán circling above. The Varyah was already pouring quite a bit of magic into the area to stop them. The Shahadán may not take much notice of Destruction magic. It would probably feel too familiar to them. But Brinelle’s Creation magic would draw them like moths to a flame.
If they knew she and Windrunner were here, they would come, and there would be little either of them could do to protect themselves.
But they had to get the Remnant and stop Obsidian.
As if to punctuate the point, a wave of magic swept over them. It was dark, powerful Varyah magic—the kind wielded by Obsidian. It had come from above.
“I don’t see that I have a choice.”
She summoned her power cautiously, keenly aware of the potential for disaster. She watched for any signs of it going awry as she released it. Using as little as possible, she Created a safe path up. Her magic was chaotic, at times immensely powerful and others little more than a spark, but it took only a few moments and a moderate effort of will to make them a path heading up the mountain.
Even so, she could feel the drain on her body. They’d been going non-stop for weeks, and the last days had been brutal. No rest, no time to even catch their breath. Brinelle was still bone weary from being dead. She couldn’t imagine how awful Windrunner felt, his arm still broken, his entire body bruised from numerous battles, his magic exhausted from his monumental castings. Brinelle had done one huge working of magic to mend the Remnant, and it had taken everything she had. Windrunner had done several. He had to feel at least as wretched as she did.
She wished she still had the Remnant. Then she could use its magic to heal some wounds, infuse them with energy. She hadn’t realized how much they’d relied on that power to keep them going. Without it, she felt ready to collapse.
She pulled what little remained in her staff to give them a bit of energy. It was hardly worth the effort, but it was the best she could do.
Neither of them complained about the pain. They didn’t bother saying how exhausted they were. They just started climbing.
The black and grey stone was a welcome relief from the scalding red below them, but it gave Brinelle chills. This place could not have been more ominous if it had been designed for it. Every single aspect was perfectly tuned to strike fear into her heart. She couldn’t wait to finish this and go home.
Home … did she even have a home anymore? She’d never known any place other than the monastery. Before she’d met Windrunner she’d never even imagined living someplace else. Once this was over, where would they go? Would Windrunner still want her with him?
She looked over at him and smiled to herself. Of course he would. He’d wanted her beside him from the very beginning. It was her who’d resisted, who’d put up a fight and claimed they could have no future together. Now, she couldn’t imagine being without him.
First they had a Varyah and the Shahadán to defeat. This was not the time to get distracted.
Brinelle shook herself from her musings. They had made decent progress up the mountain. The rock was smooth, her path narrow by necessity, but there were few hindrances to slow them other than their weariness. More than a few times she thanked Evantar for her staff. Without it she would have fallen or collapsed from sheer fatigue long ago.
Every time she thought to pause, or ask for a break, a thrum of dark Varyah magic would wash over them. Obsidian wouldn’t take long to tap into the power of the Remnant. Once he reached the summit, they’d have moments to stop him. No more. There was no time to rest.
She Created a new path when they reached the end of hers. She kept a wary eye on the Shahadán above as she did so. She thought she saw a few hesitate in their circling and drop a bit lower toward them.
It could have been paranoia, but she didn’t think it was. The Shahadán had taken notice of her.
Her breath was coming in ragged gasps by the time they neared the summit. Windrunner’s too. They were approaching their enemy but were ready to collapse at any moment. How could they be a match for a Remnant-wielding Obsidian in this state?
They’d have to find a way. Otherwise it would all end here.
A hot, putrid breeze hit their faces as they crested the summit. They stood on a mound of rock perhaps fifty feet across, bare like the rest of this plane. The swirling, chaotic colors of the portal seemed closer from here. The Shahadán were certainly closer. She could see their ragged flesh and decaying fins.
Brinelle tore her eyes from the sky. Obsidian stood in the middle of the summit, one arm limp at his side, the other holding the Remnant aloft. Its glow was blindingly bright. She could feel its power flooding the mountaintop like a cool breeze across her soul. As much as she wanted to bask in it, let it rejuvenate her, it filled her with fear.
She looked up again. The Shahadán were moving closer, drawn to the power of the Remnant. They would be upon them in moments.
“Obsidian,” Windrunner shouted. He managed to hide most of his weariness behind his rage. Brinelle could understand that perfectly.
Just looking at Obsidian made her anger swell. Yes, he’d saved their lives, but only until they’d fulfilled his goal. Then he’d tried to kill them. The deception, the callousness, the selfishness and greed … it was everything she despised about Varyah.
But none of that had come from his magic. That was him. It wasn’t the Varyah who needed killing. It was Fi’ar, the man. He was the one who was dark and corrupt.
She understood now. Destruction magic wasn’t evil, just as Creation magic wasn’t good. Windrunner had tried to tell her that from the beginning. They were tools. And if the complete magic contained them both, they were necessary. Part of a whole.
Destruction magic didn’t make one evil, just as Creation magic didn’t make one good. Brinelle had known many bad Creation mages, and one very good Destruction mage.
It had been Fi’ar’s choice to become an evil man. His magic had nothing to do with it.
He’d asked for mercy, but he hadn’t earned it. He’d earned his death upon her staff.
“You keep the Shahadán at bay,” Brinelle said to Windrunner, not taking her eyes from Obsidian. She lifted her white staff and stabbed it toward Obsidian. “I’ll take care of him.”
“Are you sure?” Windrunner asked. He hesitated, and she could feel his eyes on her. Then he took a step to the side. “All right. I’ll make sure the Shahadán don’t interrupt.”
“Thank you.”
Obsidian had turned to face her, the Remnant held before him. Its glow cast his face in stark relief—black shadows partly concealing his features, the rest covered in a bluish tint. It made him look eerie. Evil.
Perfect.
She rushed him, a wordless cry of outrage preceding her. Obsidian held the Remnant before him and thrust a rush of magic at her. Brinelle met it with her own Creation magic. The majority of the power evaporated, but a bit still managed to reach her. It felt strange, not pure Varyah magic, but not quite the power of Evantar, either.
Her charge faltered as she saw Obsidian’s grin. He was already absorbing the power of the Remnant. His magic was changing, becoming whole. Becoming Tsenian.
She’d never be strong enough to stop him if that happened.
She had to get that Remnant away from him. Now.
When she charged this time, she aimed for the hand holding the stone. Since he didn’t have Creation power he wouldn’t be able to pull any of its power if it was out of reach. Yet. If she could make him drop it, it would buy her some time.
Obsidian dodged her strike and Destroyed the ground below her. Brinelle Created a strong wind to push her up and away.
She came back in at an angle, moving quickly with lots of feints. Trying to confuse him, make him dizzy, anything that could distract him enough to get the Remnant out of his grasp.
He seemed to anticipate every move and met it with magic. Each missed strike, each attempt to kill her, fueled her rage. She kept the image of Fi’ar falling to her staff in her mind, drawing strength from it.
She could imagine this is what the Varyah feel like all the time. Relishing darkness, death, and vengeance. These kinds of thoughts were unbefitting a knight of Evantar.
She wasn’t here to exact vengeance upon the Varyah, as appealing as that thought was. Not all Varyah needed to pay for taking away her parents. That wasn’t what this fight was about. This was about her and Fi’ar. The man who’d betrayed them and left them to die.
“Brinelle!”
Windrunner’s cry pulled her from the thoughts. She backed away from Obsidian and stole a glance his way. He seemed to be all right, for the time being, but the Shahadán wer
e so close she wondered why she hadn’t smelled their fetid odor before. He shot a quick burst of magic at one that dove toward him, driving it back. The rotten skin came within inches of brushing Windrunner’s head.
She understood what Windrunner was saying. They were running out of time.
She fell into an aggressive chatana drosand stance and started her staff moving. This sequence was dangerous against a skilled opponent, but it was her best chance to gain a quick victory. She needed to get the Remnant and help Windrunner fend off the Shahadán. This entire mountain would be bathed in Destruction magic and Shahadán rot in moments. If she didn’t win before then, they would all be dead.
She lunged at Obsidian, working her staff furiously to create an opening. The Varyah met her strikes with magic or even with the Remnant itself. Each time her staff met the stone, it chimed like a gong. The sound resonated across the entire mountaintop, drawing a cry from the Shahadán. She hated hitting the Remnant, but it couldn’t be helped.
Obsidian seemed to be tiring. He was moving a little slower, his blocks getting sloppier. She watched for a few more hits.
There. He’d overextended, exposing his ribs. Brinelle moved as fast as she could, slamming her staff into the opening. It made contact with a satisfying thunk.
Then Brinelle realized her mistake. Too late.
Obsidian swung the Remnant at her, hitting her full in the face with the stone. This close there was no way to dodge it. She took the hit, stars exploding in her vision, and staggered back. Obsidian followed with a kick to her stomach that stole her breath and slammed her to the ground.
The Varyah’s eyes narrowed. Brinelle felt his magic gather an instant before he released it.
And suddenly Brinelle was floating.
She scrambled for purchase, but there was nothing to hold onto. Every movement she made sent her spinning. She stilled, not daring to move in case she left her back exposed.
Obsidian laughed and approached, no urgency in his steps. He watched her like she was an interesting specimen ready for dissection.
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