“They’re not in control!” He gasped, the words coming out of him in a torrent. “That’s what I’ve been seeing. The patterns are random, not organized. Odin. They don’t have control!”
“Calm down, Friend,” Laramis put a hand on Bannor’s arm.
“Hold on,” Wren locked eyes with him. She pushed her blonde hair back and gripped his shoulders. “Go again—slow.”
The troops gathered around them. Eyes of every color fixed on him. Not all understood the common language, but they probably detected the urgency in his voice.
“I’ve been studying the rift. Looking for a pattern—a weakness.” He couldn’t stop trembling. He swallowed and steeled himself. “I couldn’t identify it though because it was too obvious!” He shook her. “Don’t you see? It’s too big! Nothing could control it!”
Wren paled and her lips pressed to a line. She tightened her grip on him. “What makes you think this?”
“The patterns, the way you showed me to use the Garmtur. Everything—trees, rocks, animals, all have a uniform lattice of threads linked to them. That thing—” He pointed. “Doesn’t have a balanced pattern, it’s—”
“Unstable.” Wren finished in dazed tone. “Laramis, he’s right! That goes with what I’ve been seeing, but couldn’t put it together.”
The paladin looked stunned. “Milady, can this be right?”
Wren broke away from Bannor and covered her face with her hands. “It makes sense. Hecate can’t afford to expend that much power. They tore the rift wide enough so it would stay open. They don’t care if Titaan is destroyed!”
The Queen, Janai and Sarai came into hearing range at that moment. Kalindinai’s eyes watered in the powerful wind, and she raised her voice to be heard. “What is this about being destroyed?”
“The gate,” Wren reported. “Bannor’s seen something wrong. I support his observation. We think the rift is wild, meaning there’s nothing for us to attack or shut down.”
“Wild?” A shudder went through the Queen. “Are you saying they’ve ripped a hole in space without providing for a way to close it? That’s ludicrous! Their own forces will be destroyed!”
Irodee stepped to where she towered over Bannor. She put an arm around Laramis’ neck and a hand on Bannor’s shoulder. Her expression looked fierce, eyes flinty and teeth gritted. The Myrmigyne’s voice rumbled. “They never wanted conquest.” She looked at her troops, pointed up and down the trail and gave orders in Elvish. Six turned back the way they’d come to guard against pursuit. Three more headed up the trail, presumably to scout.
“Wait.” Janai raised a hand. Her voice sounded shrill. “Are you saying we can’t close it? That it’ll grow until it eats Titaan?”
Bannor glanced at Sarai. Apprehension shone in her violet eyes. It fueled his determination. He refused to let these creatures get either his power or his world. “No. We can close it, and destroy the avatar’s army.”
Wren stared at him. “How?”
Bannor bit his lip and stared at the clouds rushing across the sky. The wind blew cold and damp against his face, whipping his skin. His instinct felt right.
When he spoke, his voice sounded firm. “We treat the rift like a flux point. Teleportation magic turns little rifts into gates into the transition realm. It’ll suck the avatar’s army into limbo.”
“Are you insane!” Wren burst out. “Suck them in—and take the continent right along with them! Even if we can force the rift into flux, that doesn’t mean it’d seal! The shock could disrupt a dozen worlds instead of just Titaan!”
Bannor kept his gaze on Wren. He pointed to the huge spire splitting the sky. “It’s only a giant version of the flux point we teleported through. It should work the same way and snap closed after it transitions.”
The savant reddened. The wind blowing in her hair made it look like a halo. “No. It’s crazy!”
“In theory, he is right,” the Queen said with narrowed eyes. Her voice dropped. “Assuming that the forces governing such a huge construct don’t go beyond normal rules.”
“We can’t take such a risk! This could kill whole worlds!”
The Queen pulled the black rod from her belt a slapped it into her palm. Her voice turned to a snarl. “I’ll not allow this world to be destroyed. We must try something.”
Laramis made a low rumble in his throat. “I like not the consequences described by Lady Wren. However, the avatars will pursue the Garmtur wherever it goes. They will likely repeat this violation elsewhere. Inevitably, we’d be forced to gamble. I side with Bannor in trying.” He looked at Irodee. His wife nodded.
Sarai took his arm and pressed close.
Janai looked around. She hugged herself as though her stomach ached. “Mother, Sarai—didn’t you hear what Wren said?”
“I did, my daughter,” the Queen said. “Sometimes one must have faith that Carellion will guide his chosen.”
“Aye,” Laramis said. “Well said. Ukko’s light shall be the way. If we fail, it shall have been fated. It should not be for lack of trying.” He focused his penetrating gaze on Wren.
The savant flinched. She stared at Laramis, then the Queen. Her voice sounded brittle. “After dressing me down for making decisions above my station, I’m surprised at you, Matradomma.”
Kalindinai straightened and put the rod on her shoulder. “Matters of state policy, and matters of personal choice often differ.”
Janai ran both hands through her hair. The black spire reflected in her glowing eyes. “How do we even start?”
“We need four anchors around the opening,” Kalindinai said. “A typical flux point is so small that a mage can cover it with magic.”
“This isn’t typical,” Sarai said. “The tip of that spire is a league up. Someone would have to fly!”
“There are the royal griffin riders,” Laramis offered. “The Queen could order in a few from the capital.”
“Then two anchors on the ground,” Wren finished. “What do we use for anchors? There’s no time to make something.”
When Wren mentioned ‘anchor’, Bannor thought back to how the Garmtur had fixed the area around the flux point when they teleported. As he looked around, he stopped on Janai, remembering the sword sheathed at her hip. The same sword used to shred the avatar’s connection to Hecate. The weapon remained a tangle of stone and air threads, a throbbing ball of clashing patterns.
“That!” He shouted and pointed at Janai. He stepped to the princess and pulled out the glimmering blade. “This will do it!”
Wren stared at the weapon. “Okay. Even if that’ll work, where do we get three more?”
Bannor gulped and gripped the sword tight. “I’ll make them.”
The Queen focused on him. “You have to be certain.”
His heart seemed to stop. He kept his voice level. “I am.” He wished he were as certain as he sounded. “As long as I have good Elven mithril like this to work the threads into.”
“Griffins, anchor points, using the rift like a flux point—it sounds feasible,” Sarai said with hope in her voice. She put an arm around Bannor’s waist and squeezed.
He welcomed the pressure and put his hand on her arm.
“Perhaps,” Laramis said. “Keep in mind it will be hard to position anchors while combating the avatar’s army. The storm may keep griffin riders grounded. There is also working of the magic.”
“I did it once,” Bannor said. “I can again.” He returned the sword to Janai. The princess eyed the weapon, and then sheathed it.
“No offense, Bannor, but I should perform the ritual,” the Queen said. “Granted you’re the only one with enough power, but you lack control.” She drew a breath. “My magic is more reliable. We must combine our efforts for precision’s sake.”
Work together with the Queen. The idea made him uneasy, but she was right. One mistake on a spell that size might blow the world to pieces.
“Still think it’s lunacy,” Wren said. “But you’re probably correct. Eventually, the
y’d have our backs to the wall anyway.”
“There is an outpost west of here,” Irodee put in. “We can get supplies, send for reinforcements, or whatever we need.”
“I’ll call the King,” Kalindinai said. “He’ll get what we need.”
“Father?” Sarai said. “He’ll lock us up!”
“Perhaps later. Our mission is too important.”
Bannor felt both relief and tension. He felt more secure in having a plan. What worried him was his part in it. As the Queen said, the Garmtur had proved unreliable. Much of their success relied on his being able to make the Garmtur work.
Sarai must have read his thoughts because she said. “I feel better now. I know Wren likes to make things up as she goes.” She glanced at the savant. “But, I’m more secure knowing what to do.”
“Aye,” Laramis chimed in. He looked around rubbing his chin. “On our way to the outpost we can refine this scheme. Let us be on.” He gestured to the soldiers. They formed up to continue their march.
As he fell in line next to Sarai, Bannor felt destiny tugging at him. Either they won their freedom or perished in flame. Fate gave him no other options. If he failed to defeat the avatars, they’d rip out his soul and turn him into a zombie as they did to Meliandri. He glanced to the litter being dragged behind the party. Hecate had made him helpless once. He’d come too close to dying like that already.
They traveled for a league over hilly ground, heads down against the wind, slogging through mud, cutting around bracken, and picking their way across rock falls. The gale remained a constant howl, making the landscape groan as though in pain. No one talked much. It took concentration to even move.
Bannor found this traveling some of the hardest yet. Mud and obstacles dogged every step. Poor footing on slick rocks and slushy soil made it impossible to find a rhythm on the winding trail. By the time they turned west along the Malan border, his bones ached.
He told himself it was all part of the ordeal. To win this fight and keep the Nola, he must be worthy of the honor. He must endure. Unfortunately, it appeared all who sided with him were destined to suffer as much as he did. He hated thoughts of Sarai being in pain, no matter how slight.
He took her hand and laced his fingers in hers. She looked up at him face reddened from the wind. She smiled, and gave his hand a squeeze. As long as she supported him, he could do anything, even march into Hades. Soon, they’d have to do exactly that. They must go to the gateway linking his world and the avatar’s, shut it, and somehow prevent it from being opened again.
He checked on the Queen and Janai. The two women moved steadily without complaint. As he’d already learned, both proved much tougher than they looked.
Bannor heard running feet. Instants later, Corrd and two other scouts came slipping and skidding back down the trail at a full sprint. The three of them nearly tackled Irodee, all of them rattling excitedly in Elvish.
“Carellion,” Sarai let out.
Janai and the Queen gasped.
Bannor tried to ask what they’d said, but before his words were out, he was scrambling to catch up with the group. Irodee, Laramis, and Wren sprinted up the trail following the excited scouts. Without a word Sarai had pursued, so had the Queen and Janai.
A chilling sense of danger went through him as the men and women scrambled across the treacherous terrain. He wanted to ask what’d been said, but saved his breath for running. He would know soon enough what had gone wrong.
They half slid, half fell down a steep embankment into a ravine that opened out onto the plains. As he dropped, he knew what they had discovered. Even the powerful wind couldn’t dissipate the stench. Where the gully turned, they saw the first bodies.
“Dwarves!” Bannor gasped.
Bodies lay strewn all over the field, their weapons and armor coated in blood. For every slain dwarf, there lay at least five more dead of the avatar’s creatures. They had died fighting, many with their hands still around the throats of the enemy.
One part of the field looked as though hit by one of the Queen’s fire bursts. A body lay staked out in the center of a crater of razed earth. Long silver spikes jutted from its arms and legs. Around the form, dwarves lay in rows, their bodies blackened and torn.
The group did not focus on the crater but on the crumpled body of someone lying against a pile of rocks a short distance away. Irodee and Wren were already kneeling next to the mutilated body. Bannor had to get close before he recognized the scorched face and glazed over blue eyes that now only flickered with a faint light.
It had been two tendays since he last saw the burly, stern-faced war master. Even in the short time they spent together he had learned to appreciate the taciturn warrior. Now, it appeared, today would be the last time he’d ever see DacWhirter the dwarf again.
* * *
One of my more squeamish peers asked me if I considered anything sacred. I answered that all that burgeoned from Gaea is sacred. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t enjoy committing sacrilege nearly as often…
—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’
Chapter Sixty-Three
« ^ »
Bannor stood on the battlefield surrounded by the dead. Over two hundred dwarves had given their lives for the destruction of one lone staked out figure. The wind howled and raindrops smacked the ground with heavy splats. Even the heavens shed tears over the loss of so many noble creatures.
Irodee’s soldiers dispersed around them in defensive positions.
The Myrmigyne, Wren and Laramis crouched near the battle’s only survivor—DacWhirter. Bannor had first met the tough red-haired war master when Laramis and his wife Irodee were reunited. The gruff and stoic dwarf had traveled all over the realms, even across the starpaths to the gates of Gladshiem, Odin’s domain.
Now, the thick-limbed dwarf looked like a spent coal kicked from a campfire. His clothing looked like nothing but blood-stiffened shreds of charred material. He still clutched his weapons, a pair of hammers soaked in gore. His blue eyes looked glassy. The muscles of his blocky face twitched and his teeth ground together.
Bannor knelt by Laramis. Sarai, Janai and the Queen came to stand behind him. Seeing this valiant fighter so close to dying made Bannor ache. It felt as if icy fingers raked down his back.
“Don’t worry, we’re here,” Wren said. She glanced at Laramis. “Get the healing potion from the pack.”
Laramis rose and went to one of the soldiers and rummaged for the precious stuff.
Wren’s voice roused DacWhirter. He forced a grin from blackened lips. “Missy—that you?” He coughed. “Somehow, knew—I’d see ya again—fore Moradin took me.”
“Irodee here too,” the Myrmigyne said.
Dac’s eyes went wide. Everyone flinched as the dwarf arched his back and groaned. He choked, voice raspy. “Bless me, it hurts.” He searched until he found Irodee. Struggling, he managed to grip her hand. “Sorry, I left ye—outta the fight. Moradin knows—coulda—used another arm.”
“Be still,” Irodee said.
Bannor’s chest felt tight. He looked to Sarai and held his hand out to her. She hugged him tightly from behind.
She shuddered.
Returning, Laramis gave Wren a vial. “All we have, Milady.”
DacWhirter grunted. “Laramis. Shoulda known. Guess you—get to show me those—air maidens after all. Oh.” He writhed. “Jus make sure—she’s—a pretty lass.”
The dwarf’s words made Bannor’s skin prickle. Air maidens, the Valkyries, the winged women who bore the spirits of slain heroes back to Valhalla.
“No worries, my friend,” Laramis said putting a hand on his shoulder. “If it comes to that, I shall choose her personally.”
“You aren’t dying,” Wren growled. “Drink.”
Dac coughed. “Missy, no stuffs—goin ta—”
Wren upended the vial into his mouth between words. He gagged and convulsions shot through his limbs. His knuckles went white as his fingers tightened on Irodee’s arm.<
br />
Green light sparked around Dac’s limbs. Bannor saw no indications that the potion worked except that Dac relaxed.
“Ahhgh.” He grunted. “Bless me—stuff—could use—a little seasonin.” His head lolled to one side. “Least it don hurt as much.”
Irodee put a hand against his cheek tears rolling down her face.
Dac blinked, his eyes clearer. For the first time, he recognized Bannor. “Ah, Lad, yer still with us. Good it does me heart.” He swallowed. “Get yerself up here.”
Bannor met Wren’s gaze, then Laramis’, and Irodee’s. They all looked pale. He had been with Dac long enough to even think of him as a friend. They had only spent a day or so in each other’s company. Given even that short span though, he liked and respected Dac.
Wren gestured Bannor over by her. Sarai let go. He met his mate’s gaze and read the sympathy on her face. He moved stiffly, feeling queasy and uncertain. He knelt by Dac’s head.
With surprising strength, Dac’s hand clamped around Bannor’s wrist. He felt the bones in his arm squirm under the pressure.
“Lad,” Dac said. “See me handiwork out there?” He rolled his head toward the crater behind them, where the creature lay with silver stakes driven through its limbs. Dwarves by the dozens lay scattered around the body, their corpses burned and sundered. The sight made him sick. So much death.
“I see it.”
“Avatar,” Dac muttered. “Thought he—could break me, thought he could—break us.” He rolled his head around. “Dross eater lost,” his grip tightened. “We knew we was right. Gave us heart. Ya gots to do the same. Believe in yerself—do what’s right. Gotta keep heart, Lad. Never—” he coughed. His grip on Bannor’s arm clamped down convulsively. “Lose—heart…” The dwarf’s voice faded and the hand on Bannor’s arm fell away.
A great emptiness opened inside Bannor as if he stood league’s away looking through the windows of his eyes. He felt hot tears on his face. The unfairness churned in his gut. Good people dying to defend lands that the enemy didn’t even want, lands they’d soon destroy. All in the name of power, greed and fear.
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