There they stood, encircled, back-to-back, fighting heroically on all sides, but surely doomed to die — or worse, doomed to a life of slavery. This thought had barely burst into Xemion’s consciousness before he saw the flag of Arthenow rippling atop the mast of one particularly large ship that had just arrived. Debarking from it and approaching the shore, several ghoulish-looking blood Thralls shepherded wheeled cages, which they obviously intended to fill. Xemion screamed. He tried to envision again the burning letters of the spell book in his mind. Surely there was a spell to burst open doors! Nothing. Magic had nothing for him! He cursed and kicked at the bars savagely. At least, he thought, he still had the natural power of his body. He would sooner spend his last energies crashing himself again and again into the cell door in an attempt to break it open than waiting here helplessly while she was captured and dragged away. But even as he gathered himself for this, the whole tower shook as though some giant had beaten it with a great stone hammer. There came another mighty blow, and another, and then a loud crash followed by an explosion of bright, yellow sunshine into the stairwell. Someone, something had battered that door open. He didn’t have to wait too long to find out what manner of creature it was. There was some hoarse panting, a click-clack of something like claws slowly coming down the stone steps. Xemion backed into the corner of his cell and waited. A large black shadow crawled out of the stairwell.
“Bargest!” The collisions with the door had left a deep split in the dog’s brow and his thick hide still bristled with arrows that caught at the sides of the doorway as he entered. Panting heavily, the huge dog dragged himself across the floor. He had retrieved something from the battle but Xemion couldn’t quite make it out as he squinted in the sudden brightness. Bargest crawled forward and lay the item on the stone floor beside the bars, as close to Xemion’s feet as he could get it. Wide-eyed, Xemion’s hand shot out from under the cage and grabbed it. His sword! His spell-made sword. “Good boy! Good boy!” he shouted. There was no hesitation in him now. No worries about cross-spells that might or might not lie in it. He didn’t care now if he was a warrior, a mage, or both because another powerful force was flowing. It was the most powerful force in the universe, he thought. It couldn’t be bound by oaths or stopped by a trillion cross-spells at once. Love. He loved her and he wasn’t going to let her die or be dragged off to be some blood Thrall in Arthenow.
With complete faith, Xemion swung the sword at the metal bars. Two mighty hacks cut them through and he was free. Bargest panted heavily, pressed flat to the ground, his eyelids nearly closed. Xemion bent down, gently stroked the massive head, and whispered, “You will always be my dog, Bargest.”
Bargest roared, “Go!”
“Thank you, Bargest,” he called as he flew up the steps and out the door of the tower.
“Go!” the dog commanded for the second time. There was no begging left in him.
⚔
Xemion burst into the sunlight, sure of the sword’s power in his hand. And with a great scream he ran down the embankment, headlong into the streaming throng. Immediately, he fell upon one huge Kagan with such strength he cut him diagonally in half from his shoulders to his hips. And with his next stroke another died at a different angle. Criss and cross, just as he had played as a child. But when next he thrust the sword point-first at the breast of a battle Thrall in full armour and the blade did not pierce it, he knew something was wrong. The sword was not quite whole. A piece was missing. Xemion gasped and ducked and stood back up, warding off a blow that would have killed him if it had connected. He could feel the Great Kone turning. Spells tugging at spells. Everything entangled and at odds with everything else, as though the whole world was caught up in some mass cross-spell. But he was not crooked or crossed. Nor was his love for her.
Having turned the battle Thrall’s thrust away he slashed the blade crosswise into the well-armoured waist. He put all he had into that swing, trying to make himself the sword’s missing piece, and the blade slid through the battle Thrall’s armour like cloth, cutting him in half. And so it was he advanced onward through that river of men, cutting them down with sideways swings to and fro. And there were some as young as him, some who looked like they might have been his brothers or sisters, but he cut through them like he cut through the rest, every step bringing him closer to Saheli.
Glittervein was too busy watching the battle in front of the Lion’s Mouth to notice Xemion’s entrance into the fray. One hand cupped his pipe, the other rested on the gate wheel, ready to lift the massive iron grill when the time was right. For a while he’d feared that the storm had indeed ruined his plan. He hated improvising, but now that he had and everything was back under control, he could begin to enjoy it a little. Soon the rest of the ships would be here and he would make his killing and his fortune, too. A triumph! A masterpiece of revenge! As intricate as any machine. He looked down scornfully as Lirodello and Imalgha and the small, dwindling group of battle Thralls and kitchen Nains who still stood before the gate struggled against the inevitable. He could lift the gate now if he wanted and let those last flailing Thralls be flushed through and up the tunnel. It wouldn’t matter. But he liked the poetry of them dying up against the gate — his gate — so he waited. That would be his gift to them: one more second of futile bravery before they and all their foolish purposes were swept away forever. But a second can sometimes make an enormous difference. In the next instant a dark shadow fell over him and there was a bestial scream that seemed to shake the Earth to the horizon and back again. He looked up in horror as something shot down from the sun. It was Poltorir the dragon. With a great swoop she caught him up in her claws. Kicking and scratching, Glittervein shrieked with fury, rage, and then terror as the dragon arced up over the city and disappeared from view beyond the walls.
Still backed up against the Lion’s Gate, which would not now be opened, the small group of fighters, which included Imalgha, severely wounded in one leg, and Lirodello, in full battle thrall, were unyielding. The Cyclops, having exhausted his arrows, had been sent to replenish his supply from his ship while the regular troops returned to the assault. The defenders continued to slay so many, however, that the invaders kept having to drag away the bodies heaped in front of them just to give access to the next group charging in to take their place. But more and more of the defenders were falling. And now as the Cyclops returned, they knew they couldn’t last much longer. But just as the arrows began to fly again, there came a great downward push of wind and a huge shadow descended upon the horde. With her leathery wings widespread, the dragon swooped in ominously, Glittervein still screaming in her claws. She let out a white-hot jet of pure dragon fire over their heads, so bright it wrought havoc upon the battle, reflecting off shields and swords. So bright, in fact, that the Cyclops, having looked up, was struck all but sightless. Before the dragon fire faded, Tharfen imbedded her final chunk of masonry in the Cyclopean eye and the Titan went down with a terrible scream.
For an instant, Xemion, at the opposite end of the harbour, flinched in mid-swing as the searing brilliance ignited a cascade of burning letters in his eyes. Spell to Awaken Desire. Spell to Untie a Knot. In that moment, a mercenary sword came so close to him it nearly slashed through his neck. Spell to Sing from the Heart. For the first time Xemion staggered back and felt again that strange charge he’d experienced when the chain lightning had illuminated the book of spells. Indeed, now that he no longer wanted them, the glowing letters burned before him, so brightly they were obstructing his vision and the mercenaries, sensing his weakness, came at him with renewed hope.
38
Second Kiss
Poltorir the dragon touched down on the sand at the far side of the bay, about half a league from where the newly arrived ships bobbed in the rhythms of the tide. There, she opened her claws and allowed Glittervein to hurtle out of them like panic itself. He was heading for the sea. Perhaps he thought hiding beneath those red, silk waters could shield him from the terrible punishment comin
g his way. And indeed the dragon did let him get almost to the shallows before the long billow of her fire exploded forth, encompassing the Nain in a fireball and continuing on across the waters to where it scorched the hulls of two warships. The flames then climbed over their bows and incinerated the red head-feather of the large Kagan warrior crouched at the prow, where he had been waiting, ready to hit the water at a run. He fell screaming into the sea as his comrades backed away and the pilot gave panicked orders to turn the ship about.
With that bright blast, more letters exploded in Xemion’s mind — Spell to Stay Hunger, Spell to Stay Thirst — but he did his best to see through them and kept swinging, trusting the sword to land where it may. The attackers were falling like straw before a scythe, but no matter how many of them he killed, more and more streamed off the ships: blood-crazed berserkers, huge, red Thralls, cruel Pathans on gorehorses, all of them screaming and hacking while distant trumpets blared and an orange flame crept up the mast of one of the ships. And all the time those letters kept shining in Xemion’s mind — Spell to Send. Send? Xemion sent an unfortunate blood Thrall screaming to the ground. Every death brought him closer to her. Every slash and laceration narrowed the distance. But there was still so far to go.
Poltorir still stood where she had landed on the far side of the bay. Glittervein, who had at first been driven to the ground by the force of her fireball, had risen up and now ran screaming and burning as he plunged into the blood-reddened sea. Hiding there, detectable only by those curls of smoke and steam rising above him, he clutched at the sea bottom mud, trying to hold himself beneath the surface. But the dragon had not lost track of him for a second. Walking at a waddle, the great lizard made her way over the sand and into the shallows until she stood over him. Then, lifting her head in a great, saurian scream, she brought down the full, baleful fury of her fire upon the submerged Nain. So great was the dragon’s flame that the gargling of Glittervein’s screams was almost drowned out by the hissing of the waters as they boiled and bubbled about him, rising in a great cloud of steam. Again and again she brought her fire down until the sand was melted to glass all about her and her torturer was no more.
These last incandescent blasts reflected so brightly off the invaders’ shields that the battle ceased altogether for several seconds as all but the sun-shielded Pathans flung their arms protectively over their eyes.
The Spell to Bind. The Spell for Stillness. Xemion squinted through the burning letters as he hacked. He had slain so many of them he was completely soaked in blood. But now a ring had formed around him, no one daring to come close, all of them tall and lanky with long-shafted spears. He charged at them, slashing their spears aside like long grass in a field, slaying their bearers. But they were slowing him down and he had lost his bearings. Where was Saheli now?
Having finished with Glittervein, the dragon opened her great greyish-green wings and, with a few running steps, took off once again into the sky. Xemion caught one more fleeting glimpse of Saheli through the gusting fog and smoke. She was still far across the bay, back-to-back with one last fighter whose face he couldn’t quite see. The two of them were working formidably together, but the enemy was still many against them and they couldn’t last forever. Just before the smoke billowed in again, the other fighter turned and Xemion finally saw his face. It was Montither!
Desperately, as the spearmen grew ever bolder in their attempts to hem him in, Xemion exploded with pure fury. Screaming with rage, he hacked his way forward a few more yards before he heard again that high, shrieking hiss of the dragon’s rapid descent. Neither he nor those who fought him were able to keep their eyes away from the mighty beast’s fall. For a second she looked like she might bring her flame down upon Saheli and Montither, but she lifted her head at the last moment and directed the white-hot heat accurately at the attackers in front of them. Screaming, burning, and writhing, they were flung back as the dragon soared up and turned for another assault. Those mercenaries who still remained saw that their fight was futile and began fleeing over the steaming sands back to their ships. Atop the narrow track on the Uldestack promontory a slender red-haired woman ran toward Xemion, but he didn’t see her. He was tearing across the wide expanse of sand, still half-blinded by the burning, ever-shifting letters in his mind. He saw only Saheli and Montither, still standing on the opposite side of the bay as the invaders fled.
Finally Saheli spotted Xemion. “Watch out!” he screamed as he ran toward her, but he was too far away and it was too late. Montither, now that he knew he was safe, gripped his sword and, with a little salute Xemion’s way, took the hilt in both hands and shoved the blade straight through Saheli’s chest. Xemion’s shriek of fury could not stop him as she fell to the ground, the sword still protruding. Montither put one foot on her chest, yanked the blade out, and then shoved it in again. Pulling it out a second time, he turned and fled into the mist and smoke. She was nearly dead by the time Xemion got to her.
High above them the dragon screamed and emitted her most furious fire — a flame so bright it seemed for an instant to detonate the very sky. There was an explosion of searing light as Xemion cradled Saheli in his arms, and in that blinding moment, even as the bright letters ignited again in his mind, he saw through them to the fear and love in her eyes. And just then two arrows met point-to-point in the air, each splitting the other. Birds were flying through birds and it seemed for a moment there was a second sun crossing back through the sun above them. “No! No!” He saw death in her coming fast, but life, too, lots of it, fighting to continue.
He took her hand and she gripped back with ebbing strength, biting her bottom lip at the pain it caused her. Holding his gaze, she nodded, saying nothing with words, for words were crashing into words just as swords were crashing into swords, just as the whole Earth seemed to be clanging into and through itself as the two looked at one another. Another blinding flash. Spell for Leaving. “No!” he cried again, staring through it into her eyes. “No!” He tried to hold the vision of her dying face clear in his mind, but the wave of light and heat rolling over him ignited one last set of letters too bright to be avoided: Spell for Bringing Back.
In her last moments, as she dimly heard the words he intoned over her, she saw him for who he truly was: a great mage. And somehow her wounds had bled the fear of his magic out of her and she realized, fading away, that he was beautiful and true. A numinous, blue light was cycling around him and she could see his wider aspect. She beckoned him. Her eyes drew him closer, and even in her last dying moment, as she kissed him, he finished speaking that spell.
Lexicon of the Phaer Isle
Arthenow: the continent across the western sea from the Phaer Isle ruled by the blood magic of the Necromancer of Arthenow. Original home of the Thralls.
Chimerant: living creatures who are blends of more than one species, usually as a result of spellcraft.
Common magic: magic that can be initiated by the turning of a spell kone rather than by the vocalizations of a trained mage.
Cross-spell: contrary or contradictory or paradoxical spells invoked upon the same person or object or locality. Often the magic will compromise, pleasing one part of one spell and another part of the other.
Elphaereans: the ancient people now departed from the Phaer Isle, who are thought to have created and written the Great Kone.
Era of Common Magic: also known as The Phaer Era, this is the fifty-year period after the invention of spell kones and before the Battle of Phaer Bay. It was a period of increasingly ludicrous magical achievements.
Examiner: an official of the Pathan government empowered to examine Phaer youth in order to detect spellbinders.
Great Kone at Ulde: a huge, mostly subterranean cone-shaped structure. The downward spirals of text written upon it are reputed to be the ancient foundational spell-riddle of existence.
Ilde: the isolated western portion of the Phaer Isle dominated by Mount Ilde.
Kagars: a piratical sea people who defeated the Pha
erland forces at the Battle of Phaer Bay at the end of the Era of Common Magic. Surrogates of the Pathans.
Kone: a conically shaped structure upon which a spell or riddle is written.
Kone craft: spells invoked by the turning of a spell kone; textual magic other than that written on the Great Kone.
Kwislings: traitors who have collaborated with the Pathans.
Mage: a learned master of the spoken magic. Applied to both ancient Elphaerean mages and Phaerland mages. All known mages have been executed by the Pathans at the time of this tale.
Middle mage: a mage with no powers, but who is capable of transmitting the power of another mage’s spell, usually by hand contact.
Nains: a people of short stature renowned for their earthworking skills and their ferocity when forced to fight.
Natural magic: the inherent biological magic present in small amounts in most Phaerlanders.
Necromancy: blood-based magic most powerful in the continent of Arthenow.
Nexis: the area around the bottommost point of the Great Kone. This point is shared by an infinite number of other Great Kones whose spells create infinite other universes.
Panthemium: the stadium where athletic events such as the racing of gorehorses took place during the time of the Elphaereans.
Pathans: an underearth people whose armies have taken to conquering the surface world. They have a crystal-based biology.
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