by Tony Donadio
“It may not even be a chance to save the world,” he said. “Even if we fix their numbers by destroying the gate, even if we kill many of them in a last, desperate stand, they still may be strong enough to take Kalara. But we have to try.”
He held up the hand on which he now wore the ring. It was shining with white magic.
“And this was the key,” he said. “I had to labor in desperate hope that your parents would find a way to send it to me. I could not complete the spells I needed without it. Thanks to you and your brother, they are now ready.”
“Just tell me what to do,” she said firmly. “I’ll do anything I can to help.”
He strode over to put his hands on her shoulders.
“We have to be ruthlessly honest with ourselves about what stands before us. The best case scenario — the best case — is that we will succeed in destroying the gate, flee Carlissa, and spend the rest of our lives fighting an apocalyptic war to contain the evil that has already entered our world. Are you prepared for that?”
The rage — and the hate — burned brightly in her heart as she answered.
“I am.”
He kissed her forehead. “Then let us begin.”
He turned and gestured toward the darkened doorway. “It’s time for you to come forth.”
A figure stepped through the opening, and Randia gasped. It was her grandfather.
The new Archmage smiled at her. “Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “I’m here to help.”
Another person stepped through the opening. She stopped beside him and took his arm.
“As am I,” she said.
Randia stared at the second figure, mouth hanging open. It was her.
“Simulacra,” Lenard said. “Their creation is an incredibly arcane process, and one that I’ve managed to master through … recent study. Thanks to their help, we will not have to give our own lives here today.”
Randia’s simulacrum stepped forward and took her hand. “We will do that for you. So that you can live on, and carry on the fight.”
Randia looked at herself, confused. “But why?”
“So that Zomoran and his demon lord will think that you both perished in the stand that we’re preparing to take,” Lenard’s simulacrum explained.
“And that the royal family is destroyed,” her twin added. “If they are not convinced of that, they will hunt you without relent.”
The Archmage smiled. “And I do plan to convince them of that,” he said.
Randia nodded in understanding.
“You mean for us to fight on in secret, then. In disguise. Behind the scenes, and in the shadows.”
“Yes. A few will have to know the truth, of course. Your grandparents, for example, and your uncle Nimrod. Augustus Darren, who on your father’s orders has initiated the Diaspora. I sent many from the Star to join him. They will be our first allies. We will unite them into a resistance against Zomoran and his demons.”
Randia reached up to touch her simulacrum’s face. “They seem so real,” she said. “Can we …”
“You needn’t grieve for us,” Lenard’s twin said. “We are merely convincing copies, programmed with a simulation of your own thoughts and memories. But that is all. We have no consciousness as you understand it. We’re not actually … real.”
Randia turned to look carefully at her grandfather. “And us?”
Lenard gestured toward the black panel on the wall behind them. Its surface shimmered, and then suddenly resolved itself into the image of a small wizard’s laboratory. The walls and ceiling were finished in a rich walnut, giving it an incongruously cozy look.
Randia recognized it at once. “Blackwing Lodge,” she said.
Lenard nodded. “In my hidden valley. The panel is a portal. One of the sanctum’s many artifacts. The ‘escape route’ you surmised I would have.”
She gave him an astonished look. “That valley is in the Nurian Mountains. It’s hundreds of miles south of here.”
He nodded. “I will need you to bring me there, and to watch over me, during what is to come.”
She frowned, looking confused. “I don’t understand,” she said.
“I will be taking our last stand personally,” he explained. He nodded at his doppelganger. “Through him.”
“He will possess me,” Lenard’s double said. “His consciousness — and the full power of his magic, including the ring — will be invested in my form. Through me, he will finally strike back at the demons. He will destroy the gate, if he can, and kill as many of the enemy as his remaining power allows.”
“And I will stand openly at his side,” her double added. “To bring the song against them as well. Channeling your own potential through the ring and adding it to his, if you are willing.”
“And when we fall,” Lenard’s copy concluded, “then everyone will believe that the last of the Killravens are no more.”
Randia’s eyes narrowed. She looked at her grandfather suspiciously.
“But won’t you die, then, too?” she asked, nodding toward his simulacrum. “When he is destroyed?”
Lenard sighed. “I won’t lie to you that it’s not a risk,” he said. “If something goes wrong. If it doesn’t, then my consciousness should return to my body afterward. That’s why I will need you to watch over me, Randia. Until it does I will be in a coma, and completely vulnerable.”
Her grandfather’s eyes went wide as she suddenly dropped to one knee. Her hand clasped the hilt of her sword as she knelt before him.
“I am yours, Archmage,” she said. “Take my power. Take my life if you need it. Make it into a weapon to bloody the monsters that have done this to us — and to our world.”
Her twin knelt by her side. Lenard laid a hand on each of their heads. Randia felt the ring’s magic once again rushing through her, the song ringing triumphantly in her soul …
Her double started. She turned to Randia, and they shared a long, slow look of understanding.
“For the Princess Bard!” she said, grinning.
Lenard released them and turned to his double. “It is time.”
Both Randias rose to their feet as Lenard slowly lifted his staff above his head. His simulacrum stepped forward, grasping the shaft just below the Archmage’s hand. The crystal blazed with sudden fire, and then subsided.
Lenard’s eyes rolled up in his head, and he sank toward the floor. Randia caught him as he fell and lifted him into her arms with surprising ease.
The Archmage’s double stepped next to her. Gently, he removed the ring from Lenard’s hand and put it on his own. Then he looked at her.
“I am here, now,” he said. “Take my body and go through the portal. I will destroy it behind you.”
Randia nodded. “Good luck, Grandfather,” she said. “To you — and to all of us.”
She walked to the opening. Then she paused on the threshold, and looked back at the image of the burning city. When she spoke, her voice was cold and hard.
“This is not done between us, Emil Zomoran. I vow by all that is holy that I will not rest until you have met vengeance for this unspeakable evil. By my soul, I swear it. I will hunt you, and fight you, without respite, for the rest of my life. Until the day when I see my blade in your heart, and the light fading from your eyes at my hand.”
Then she turned and stepped through the portal. There was a brief shimmering in its surface, and they were on the other side.
Lenard watched his granddaughter go with a troubled expression. Then he waved his staff. There was a flash of white, and the doorway exploded into a thousand fragments.
Chapter 22 - The Last Stand
The Challenge
Lord Rugon knelt before the gates of the royal palace. The survivors of its taking were arrayed around him on the wide plaza above the road to the High City. They, too, were on their knees, heads bowed, hands bound behind their backs. The rest of the High Council knelt in a long line to either side of him.
Hellman soldiers had been waiting for the
m when they were led out of the palace. Now they marched through the ranks of the captives, weapons at the ready, watching for any sign of defiance. Their volcanic red skin contrasted starkly with the gleaming black of their armor.
“You have been brought here to bear witness to your defeat,” a voice said. It was cold and hard, without a trace of mercy or feeling.
Lord Rugon tried to brace himself against his helpless anger. He knew that voice. It was Emil Zomoran, Lord of Westreach.
The magus stood before him, a Hellman officer at his side. With his head bowed Lord Rugon could only see the fire elf’s powerful legs, encased in plated armor of black steel. The thong of a whip dangled from a hand that rested beside them.
“Your kingdom has fallen,” it continued. “Look now to see what is left of the once royal family of Carlissa.”
He closed his eyes. He knew what he would see if he opened them, if he lifted his head. The sight would bring an end to his long life of service to king and country. A series of wails erupted suddenly around him, confirming his fears.
The legs turned toward him as the whip lifted and cracked. He gasped in pain as the lash struck.
“He said, look,” another voice said. It was clear and masculine, with a cold, hard timbre. “All of you. If you disobey, you will be flogged.”
Slowly, reluctantly, Lord Rugon raised his head and opened his eyes. A sob escaped his lips as he beheld the sight before him.
The demons had raised a long row of pikes before the gate. Atop each was mounted a severed head. His gaze ran numbly across the line, recalling the names he’d known well. In his mind, he said a prayer for each of their souls.
Palanad Lantar. General Banderman. Vala Orleans. Elena Starlight. Aron and Danor Killraven. Go now into the embrace of the Divine, my dear friends.
He saw a winged demon circling the gruesome scene. It landed and handed a round object to one of its fellows. Another head for the pikes, he thought. Soon they will all be here.
He watched the fading of the light. Mountainset had passed, and the sun was falling below the horizon. As the sun sets on the world, so does the dark come to claim us all, he thought suddenly.
Except the light wasn’t fading. He could see it, now, growing around them, tinged with red. He didn’t dare look behind him for fear of the whip, but he was sure the Blood Moon was rising over the southern ridges of the Upper City. It was another omen.
It took less than a minute to mount the new head beside the others. It was Prince Gerard’s.
“Where’s the princess?” a voice suddenly called out. “And the Archmage?”
The speaker was a woman in the livery of the palace guard. Her cheeks were wet, but her eyes were alive with defiance. The Hellman officer spun toward her, his face a mask of outrage.
“You don’t have them, do you?” she went on. “They’ve escaped! You haven’t won yet!”
The Hellman stalked over to her. He stood before the girl for a long moment, staring into her tear-stained eyes. Then the whip rose, and struck. She screamed and fell to the ground, a red welt blooming across her cheek. Lord Rugon turned away, unable to watch.
The illumination continued to grow around them. It wasn’t just the red light of the Blood Moon, he realized suddenly. It wasn’t even coming from anywhere in particular. It was an ambient glow that seemed to emanate from the very air around them.
His head snapped up as he realized that it could not be natural. He saw that some of the others had noticed it too. Even Zomoran was looking at the sky with an uneasy expression. He slowly raised his staff, as if testing the glowing air with his magic.
The Hellman officer, however, his attention fixed on the young guard — Daria, he thought her name was — still seemed unaware of it. “Their heads will join the others soon enough,” he said icily. “And you, I think, need to be taught a lesson in obedience. One that I —”
A deafening peal of horns rang out over the valley. Like the light, it didn’t seem to come from any one place. It was just around them. It seemed to be everywhere at once — powerful, majestic, magnificent, and inescapable.
The Hellmen screamed, covering their ears. But the hearts of the Carlissans leaped with renewed hope. They knew the notes for what they were: a cry of challenge, and a call to battle.
Answered Faith
Orion surged to his feet. The horns resounded all around him, setting his heart aflame with a sudden, desperate hope.
He saw Diana standing by the window. She had been unwilling to tear her eyes away from the sight of the burning city, and he had known that she needed to be alone with her thoughts. He had reluctantly left her there to keep watch, and lain down for a few minutes of fitful rest.
He rushed over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. She was trembling.
“What is it?” he asked.
She turned to look at him, and shook her head. Her deep green eyes were wide and gleaming in the growing light. She moved quickly to make room for him at her side.
The horns faded, their last notes echoing along the walls of the valley. In their wake, and to the pair’s astonishment, followed the music of an overture. The sound surrounded them, seeming to come from nowhere — and yet from everywhere at once at the same time. It was like standing in the center of a symphony orchestra as it began its performance.
The theme was understated, but pregnant with power and promise. It didn’t progress in any particular direction. Instead it began a series of variations. It seemed almost to be exploring and learning about itself, slowly developing the characteristic passages of its movement.
Orion looked out at the city. He had expected to see the glooming grey of dusk descending over Lannamon, punctuated by the flaming red of unquenched fires. To his surprise he saw the city coming to life with iridescent light. Like the song it seemed to be everywhere at once, as though the air itself were glowing with magical illumination. Silver, gold, white, and blue hues shone throughout the valley, brightening slowly with each passing moment.
A wash of red shot across the firth as the Blood Moon, now fully risen above the shoulder of the southern cliffs, blazed with crimson radiance. He gasped at the sight. Kalara’s moons could shine brightly at times, especially at rise and set, but this — !
“What’s happening?” Diana whispered. Her voice was uncharacteristically small, almost awed. “I’ve never seen the moon like this. Either of them.”
It was true. The Blood Moon seemed to be growing, rather than shrinking, as it rose into the night sky. And like the ambient glow over the city, its light, too, was slowly increasing in intensity.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But whatever it is, it’s not natural. There’s powerful magic behind it.”
They watched the moonrise and the growing light with bated breath. Enraged demon screams began to echo throughout the city, accompanied by the relentless progression of the theme in its variations.
“It’s the Light!” Orion cried suddenly. His eyes were wide with astonishment.
Diana looked at him, confused. “It’s what?”
“The Light. It’s a spell, used by the Knights of the Order of Light. Usually, it’s conjured in the form of a wave or a wall of white magic. You saw it earlier when the warrior priests rode out to meet the King. It causes fear and pain in demons, and suppresses their powers.”
“Is that why they’re screaming, then?” she asked. Her voice had suddenly taken on a note of savage satisfaction. “Because this light is hurting them?”
“I think so. But this isn’t just a battle spell, Diana. It’s covering the entire city!”
The music started to change. The tension in it began to grow, building, still slowly, toward a new movement. Hints of a new theme emerged in its notes, a theme whose triumphal promise had been present in all that had come before.
Diana suddenly pointed. “Look! Something’s happening!”
The moon had grown to dominate the southern sky, its lower arc still touching the line of the cliffs. Even as the
y watched, the disc began to distort and shimmer. A face was taking shape in its scarlet contours. A face with steel grey eyes, framed by a shock of white hair.
The face was known and beloved throughout the Kingdom of Carlissa. Cheers and cries went up across the city as the people recognized it. Diana threw her arms around Orion and hugged him, her voice ringing with exultant laughter.
“You were right! Oh, Orion, you were right! He hasn’t abandoned us!”
Orion stood by the window as she clung to him. Tears were streaming down his face. Desperate hope washed through him as he listened to the song, building inexorably toward a powerful crescendo.
“Now we’ll see,” he said softly. “Now you monsters will know justice.”
Diana nodded and squeezed him more tightly.
The face, now fully formed, turned its gaze down toward the ravaged city. They both grinned when they saw it. It was very, very angry.
“Zomoran of Westreach,” a voice boomed over the valley. “You who call yourself ‘Warlord’ of Carlissa, and have brought the scourge of a demon horde to the lands of Kalara. You have murdered my people and my kin. Now prepare yourself — to face the wrath of Lenard the Archmage!”
Ready to Strike
Liana looked up from the massacre site in the gardens of the Upper City South. She had already found Gerard and sent his head on to the palace. Now she was searching for a survivor to interrogate about the fate of the princess.
As she stared at the enraged face of the Archmage looming over the city, though, she finally understood what had happened. The prince had died here, saving his sister, and had given her the ring. She, in turn, had fled, and brought it to Lenard. The two of them were now wielding it together — against the Horde.
She stepped away from the body of the flame-haired guard she’d been about to examine. She chided herself as a chill of fear ran through her. It was ridiculous, of course, just a manifestation of this strange spell that had settled over them. Lannamon teemed with over a thousand score of her kind, led by the godlike power of her master, Borr. Artifact or no, they would swat this troublesome Archmage like a fly.