Reality's Plaything

by Will Greenway

I must admit that human ‘life’ is of no real value to me.

  Still, through the millennia there have been those exemplary individuals that have forced me to respect their potential.

  They can be tenacious and surprisingly cunning despite their short life spans. I have been burned enough times to know that they are by far at their most dangerous when cornered or when a loved-one is at stake. Ironically, that is also when they are often at their weakest and most vulnerable. All the better, I have always loved a good roll of the bones…

  —From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

  Chapter Forty

  « ^ »

  Bannor staggered to a stop behind some rocks. He pressed his forehead against the cool stone and wished the nightmare would end. His arms ached. His legs felt like slabs of lead. The pain of dozen or more flesh wounds pulsated through him. Dried blood from humans, minions, and spawn covered him like a cracked and brittle growth. His father once told him that unredeemed evildoers were dragged into Hades to suffer for eternity. For the man who wielded the Garmtur’Shak Nola, the gods changed the plan.

  They brought Hades to him.

  The white-barked shimmerleaf trees around the clearing seemed to stand still in the calm. He glanced up at sun nestled in a sheath of gray edged clouds. Well past noon he guessed. In the distance, battle horns blared yet another charge. The realm’s armies fought valiantly, but their foes were countless. Even the kingdom of Corwin, Ivaneth’s greatest rivals had moved troops into the fray. Longtime enemies fought side by side against the avatars. They battled together. They died in each other’s arms.

  Bannor felt nauseous. The putrid stench of Hecate’s dying minions still lingered in his nostrils. He let go of his axes, noting that neither dropped from his fingers. After failing to shake them loose, he sat. Gripping the hafts one at time with his knees, he pried the weapons from his numbed, blood clotted hands.

  Rest. He needed rest. Now, he understood how Laramis had felt when he appeared before them on the beach. The fighting never seemed to stop. They would fight one skirmish, advance or retreat only to run into another. Despite their utmost stealth, they would get discovered and the fighting renewed.

  Where was Sarai? She should have been behind him. He tried to force himself to stand but failed. Laramis, Wren, Sarai, himself, they’d each come close to being killed at least three times in the last two days. He didn’t have any energy left to worry.

  If Sarai notched her belt for every enemy she’d slain, nothing would remain to hold up her breeches. Her stone power laid low dozens at a time. She learned to conserve her strength though. The effort was taxing and made her vulnerable. Three times now the enemy had drawn her attention to flank and strike her down. They’d come close. The thought made Bannor shudder.

  In battle, Wren could not be touched. The Kel’Varan Nola turned all attacks back against their foes. The enemy squadron leaders would direct their assaults away from Wren only to learn that strategy failed too. Ignoring the savant proved worse than facing her.

  Laramis the Justicar plowed through the battles like a machine. Shouting Ukko’s name, he sent the spawn back to Abyss. A flourish of his sword and a shake of his fist, another enemy life would be extinguished.

  ‘Ragnarok’ Laramis had called it. The twilight of the gods, the reshaping of the world and rebirth of men. Entrenched in this chaos, Bannor saw nothing that contradicted the paladin’s assessment. Truly, it seemed like the end of the world as he knew it.

  He reached into his pouch for salve and clean strips of cloth to dress his most recent injuries. He and the others had forged north and west toward the base of the mountains in hopes of finding the Malanian base camp. Luck had been poor and the only evidence of the elven army’s presence they found had been the shredded tabard of a Griffin regular.

  Branches and leaves crackled off to his left and Bannor snatched his axes. A surge of energy he thought impossible in his exhaustion shot through his limbs.

  “Ho there, Bannor, I am ally, not enemy.” Laramis appeared at the edge of the clearing. His armor looked a grimy mess, and his breeches dripped water. At least three different varieties of blood stained his ripped tabard. He walked toward Bannor, barely keeping hold of his battle sword. Even Ukko’s chosen warrior had his limits.

  Laramis limped noticeably as he moved across the clearing. He took deep breaths and gestured to the sky with three upraised fingers. Bannor had learned this was a sign of thanks to his god Ukko for bringing him alive through another battle.

  “Did you see Sarai or Wren?” Bannor called to him.

  “Not with my eyes, friend. My ears, there be another story. Our princess, she can make herself heard in a press. She’s alive and well.” He thumped down next to Bannor and patted him on the shoulder. “I think we have turned them this time. I saw the echis pulling their creatures back and making for the east.”

  Bannor sighed. “You’ve said that before. I don’t know if we’re ever going to win free of this press.” He punched the grass at his side. “These—these—slime are killing hundreds, maybe thousands simply to spite us.”

  Laramis nodded. He took a cloth and wiped his sword down. “They are vile, of that, there is no doubt.” He elbowed Bannor in the shoulder to get his full attention. Bannor met the man’s eyes. “As Ukko is my witness, we shall prevail. They cannot stop us.” He shook a fist toward a black cloud that lingered on the eastern horizon; the dark radiance of the shadowgate.

  Bannor closed his eyes, stomach churning. He wondered if Laramis truly believed anymore. This war had become so much larger than the four of them. He touched the slab of leather still hanging in his belt: Diakeré Harad’s message. One of the serpent-like echis, the commanders of the squads of armored minions, had thrown it across the battlefield to Bannor. It read:

  You shall not escape us Garmtur. If we do not have your body, we shall crush your spirit. Submit or you and all of your ken shall suffer. The fist of the dark alliance is poised. Do not allow your brethren to pay for your inaction. Surrender to us. Take your sup at the well of eternity and join in the dominion of a new age.

  —Diakeré Harad

  Avatar of Hecate

  Diakeré Harad, Bannor knew eventually he’d be staring this creature in the eye before too much longer. The violence had already tempted him to use the Garmtur. Hecate wanted his power? He would give them every iota of it, turning the lines of magic in the sky into a hammer of devastation that scattered their armies to the winds of the cosmos.

  He possessed the strength. If only he could strike and not destroy everything along with them. He trusted Wren’s judgment. They could harness the Garmtur given time. The avatars were making sure they didn’t get any. Obviously, advisers had deduced Bannor’s liability, of the all-or-nothing nature of his power. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be risking such a gigantic sally.

  If Wren had the Garmtur under her control again for even the length of a long breath, he felt certain the avatars would regret invading Titaan. They’d come too close to destruction to try that ploy though. They had to find another way.

  Bannor decided to focus on something, anything else. He pointed to Laramis’ soaked breeches. “I see you found the stream.”

  The paladin looked down at himself and raised an eyebrow. “That I did. I can tell you the spawn liked it less than I.”

  “What is this thing with demons and water?”

  Laramis shrugged. “Perhaps because it is the basis of all life.” He gestured to trees and sky. “Demons are the antithesis of life. My guess is that oppositeness is the source of their loathing.”

  Bannor shook his head. “As a warrior you speak clearer theology than the priests I’ve spoken to.”

  Laramis bowed a little to Bannor. “I represent Ukko in all regards. It is a Justicar’s duty to be lucid of thought, pure of conscience, and dauntless of spirit. I—” He stopped. “Ah, our ladies return.” He pushed himself to his feet.

  Wren and Sarai stumbled across the clearing a
rms around one another. Both looked bedraggled, wounded and exhausted. Bannor felt relief wash through him at seeing Sarai all right. He waved to her and she returned the gesture.

  As they struggled ahead she and Wren grinned and laughed as though lauding the battle and their parts in it.

  Bannor didn’t know what to make of it. Between battles, the verbal fencing between Wren and Sarai was constant. In the heat of conflict though, the enemy couldn’t attack one without getting the full fury of the other. He’d heard of love/hate relationships, but never imagined it being applied to Wren and Sarai. He wondered how much the magical blood sharing had to do with it. Should he consider this ‘twining’ a bad thing? The two of them protecting each other was definitely beneficial.

  Wren manipulating Sarai—that matter differed. He didn’t know enough yet to act. The last thing he wanted to do was inflame the already existing tensions.

  Using the rock for assistance, he crawled to his feet and walked to meet Sarai half way. His mate wrapped her arms around him. She pressed her face into the fabric of his tunic and shuddered. “I’m so glad you’re all right.” She looked up at him and grinned. “Wren and I have news.”

  The way she said it made him frown. Like they were expecting a baby or something. “What?”

  She turned to look at Wren who gave Laramis a hug. “We found something important,” Wren was saying. “Something good for a change.”

  “Aye, Milady, that twould be welcome.” He took Wren’s elbow to lead her back to the cover of the rocks. Bannor put an arm around Sarai and paced Laramis. “Pray, what is this news? I saw the echis myself retreating east.”

  “Better news than that,” Wren said. “I found these sticking from the buttock of an aspis.” She pulled something wrapped in piece of cloth from her belt and handed it to Laramis.

  The paladin unwound the fabric. He stopped mid-stride and stared. Revealed were the tips and part of the shafts of two heavy war arrows. His solemn face broke into a grin. “Milady, these are Irodee’s!” He gave Wren an enthusiastic hug. “These wood cores are fresh, they must be recent, not more than two days ago!”

  “Thought you’d like the news.”

  “Thank, Ukko!” He made a three-fingered salute to the sky. “These are grand portents indeed!” He held the arrow fragments against his chest as if drawing strength from their substance. Bannor saw a new fire flicker in the man’s eyes, a power to be reckoned with. Laramis without Irodee was simply a Justicar doing his duty. Laramis in search of a live Irodee with a wall of enemy forces between him and her … that was a monumental fight in the making.

  Laramis moved forward again with more bounce in his step than Bannor would have suspected possible after their last grueling battle. He sat by the rocks and drew Wren down beside him. “So tell me, Milady, how did you come upon these?”

  Wren glanced to Sarai, who was settling by the rock with him. He noticed that Sarai sat next to Wren rather than putting him between them as she usually did.

  “Sarai noticed them. This one aspis attacked with a group of others, but it moved funny. Actually, the whole group of creatures looked as if they’d been wounded in an earlier battle. We checked them to see what they’d recently been up against.” Wren shrugged. “Since we removed these arrows from its hind end, they must have been routed.”

  Laramis nodded. He laid his head back against the rock. “This force came from the East. Then Irodee, too, must be in the East.”

  Bannor glanced over his shoulder in that direction to the black clouds that swirled over that region. There lay the shadowgate and the main body of the avatar hosts.

  “Is it possible that she thinks the rest of us are dead?” Bannor asked.

  “We thought she was dead,” Sarai said.

  Laramis opened one eye and sniffed. “Beg pardon, Milady?”

  “Well, some of us did.”

  “Tis possible she thinks me dead. I lost my helm in the skirmish. Blighted echis rang my head a good one.” He rubbed his skull in memory. “You know how head wounds bleed, even ones that aren’t serious. I’d dare that a fair share of my scalp was still in that helmet. Twouldn’t be too much of a stretch to think my head had been removed entire.” He paused. “I hope she had more faith than that.”

  Wren sighed. “You not showing up may have a lot to do with it. Nothing much should ever be able to stop your powers from locating her.”

  “Blasted shadowgate,” he muttered.

  “I wonder if Dac’s still alive?” Bannor asked.

  “He’s a tough warrior,” Wren said. “I’d gamble, if possible, he’d have stuck with Irodee.”

  “Aye, he would,” Laramis murmured, voice growing softer.

  Bannor felt his own lethargy coming on. The lull after the storm. They must rest for the next battle. There would be more to come. “So what do we do, Wren?”

  “Same,” the savant answered. “If Irodee is in the East she joined up with a larger party. We need to find that Malanian base camp. We can’t have Father—” she raised an eyebrow and glanced at Sarai. Sarai grimaced and poked Wren in the ribs. “Going crazy looking for us.”

  “What if we find them? What then?”

  “We persuade them to give us a war-party and we go Myrmigyne and dwarf hunting.” She folded her arms and leaned back against the rock. “Maybe while we’re at it, we’ll do some shadowgate scouting. You know, when you’re searching for something, you’re never sure where you’ll end up.”

  Wren might not have been sure, but Bannor was. He prayed they had the strength to win their way through; that an answer to their dilemma existed. Wren’s path would lead them into the heart of the Abyss. The gods only knew if there would be any coming back.

  * * *

  Euriel Idundaughter and Vanidaar Kergatha have the blessings of Gaea in their blood—if only my avatar Mishaka hadn’t been such clumsy simpleton, Tan’Acho would already by mine. Now, not only do I not have Tan’Acho, I have Wren Kergatha, Damay Alostar, Gabriella Sarn’Ariok, Aarlenn Frielos, the Felspar and Ishtarvariku families all turned against me. Some of my peers scoff that this assemblage is a threat—they are wrong. If Frielos, Felspar, and Ishtarvariku were to abandon their bickering and combine their resources there is no immortal that could stand against them. It is a certainty that Kergatha knows it, and it is only a matter of time before she finds the catalyst to make it happen.

  I know who her target will be. I do not plan on waiting for it to happen…

  —From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

  Chapter Forty-One

  « ^ »

  Bannor gestured to his left where he knew Laramis stood. The bulky silhouette outlined against the gnarled scale-bark tree could be no other than the paladin. A cool gust of mountain air rustled the leaves overhead, pushing tendrils of mist through the foliage. Bannor felt the perspiration on his forehead turning icy in the wintry morning breeze. The hair on his arms stiffened.

  He saw metal glinting from the corner of his eye. Orienting, he recognized Wren and Sarai creeping up parallel to him. The two women advanced shoulder-to-shoulder, passing through the undergrowth as silently as wraiths.

  Bannor sniffed again. A rotting sourness tainted with sulfur still lingered in the air, the smell of demon spawn. In the last week, he’d become familiar with more kinds of abyssal creatures than he ever wanted. This particular malodor belonged to the snakelike echis.

  The beast’s body was similar to a human’s except shiny gray chitinous scales took the place of skin. A yard long neck that ended in a dragon-like head protruded from between muscular shoulders. Added to the creature’s ability to wield swords and knives, long claws instead of nails tipped its hands. A full array of serrated teeth lined powerful jaws. As the monsters hunted, they let out an undulating hiss that set flesh to crawling. Bannor had fought several, but experience made the battles little easier. Where echis lurked, Hecate’s armored minions were never far away.

  His fingers twitched around the hafts of his axes
as he took cover behind the nearest tree. The damp ground squished underfoot.

  Wren and Sarai’s combined skills had led them here into the forests on the eastern slopes of the Westros Mountains. In different times, Bannor would have derided the idea that the Malanian army would have sought refuge in Corwin’s territory but the world was under attack now. All forests were the domains of the elves and no one had time to dispute their trespassing.

  He squinted up through the tree line. Rising from a fleecy girdle of gray-tinged clouds the stair-stepped face of Jhared peak gleamed in the ocher light of dawn. Snow ran down its sides like rivulets of white icing on a betrothal cake. Jhared pass was where Sarai figured the main Malanian host must have situated their base camp. Being located in rough terrain, guarded on two sides by sheer rock walls and surrounded by snow and trees, it seemed a logical spot.

  The problem lay in getting there without being shredded by avatar forces or punctured by elven arrows.

  A crunch of breaking vegetation made Bannor freeze. He sensed Wren and Sarai do the same, bodies crouched low and oriented to the northeast. To his left, the hum of steel quietly leaving the sheath sounded from where he last saw Laramis.

  His heart beat faster, and he gripped his axes. After dozens of battles, he would give almost anything to avoid another fight. His aching muscles and upset stomach cried out for them to simply be left alone.

  Between the boles of the trees, he saw the breeze flicking through the brambles. A pair of chattering blue-feathers swooped through the boughs. Still audible fifty paces back, a brook gurgled.

  Hearing sensitized, he slipped toward the sound’s origin. He put his belly against a broad needleleaf tree. Sap from long scratches three paces up ran down its side like thick amber syrup. From the size and depth they must have been made by a broadpaw. He shook his head. As if they needed another difficulty like a hungry broadpaw out looking for a meal. Why couldn’t it have stayed in its cave another moon? A scrabbling on the bark above made him jerk. Bannor caught a glimpse of the bushy striped tail of a nutstasher as it leaped through the branches.