by Ryk E. Spoor
“What fortuitous timing,” it said. The human-seeming fingers brushed back light-colored hair which, the seated man knew, was no more real than the reflection itself.
He had to admit that this last remark escaped him, however. “I confess that I don’t quite understand.”
It smiled, a glitter of teeth perfect, white . . . and not quite human. “Let us say that while Voorith does not know why four years is a fortunate period of delay, I do. A most fortunate coincidence, especially for Voorith himself. The Lord of All Hells is far less tolerant and forgiving than I am.”
Controlled as he was, the man in the chair could not—quite—prevent himself from glancing down at what was both evidence of that tolerance, and reminder of just how terrible it could be, if that tolerance were worn thin.
It didn’t miss that glance, either, and the smile widened momentarily. “Far less tolerant. You very nearly caused me, and my plans, inconvenience some time ago . . . but you have learned well. Kerlamion tends to deal with failure . . . poorly.” Its gaze became intense. “You do also understand our position?”
He nodded tensely. “I . . . believe so.” It was astonishingly hard to say the next words, though he had realized the truth some years before. “You . . . have a deeper plan than that of the Lord of All Hells. That is, your plan given to him has some other levels of its own. One that has something to do with—”
It cut him off with a sharp glare. “Do not say names. Any names. I believe this mirror scroll is proof against spying . . . but not, perhaps, completely so.” It looked at him steadily. “Are you willing to continue, knowing that you risk playing so deep and very dangerous a game?”
He nodded, managing a smile of his own. “I am. I believe you know precisely what you are doing . . . even in this case.”
The humanoid’s tone became cordial. “Excellent. Then I trust you are . . . enjoying your first rewards?”
The man smiled more naturally. The being he spoke to might not share all the same interests that he did, but it certainly did not mind supporting them as long as he never forgot who he served, and did not fail it. And one day I may be like it. “I am tremendously appreciative, my most generous and supremely devious patron,” he said, “and I hope—as time goes on—that I will continue to show you that I am worthy of the full reward you have offered.”
“If all goes well . . .” it chuckled, and the lights at the edge of the table flickered as though in fear, “if all goes well . . . it is quite possible. Sooner than you might think, in fact.
“Now, it will be a challenge to delay things, my friend, especially where you are. Remembering that except when I personally present myself to you, you cannot—none of you can—approach or speak to me in any way that indicates a special familiarity. I will thus be relying on you to keep everything . . . going smoothly for the next four years.”
The man grimaced. “Speaking honestly—as you have always demanded—that will be a difficult challenge. There is an immediately complicating factor that you know—”
“—and one I wish treated with extreme caution for now. There must not be the faintest breath of suspicion of your actions.” It held up a placating hand. “I understand your concerns, my friend. I will make it easier; I do not expect to need you and your allies’ services for most of that time, and so I promise not to call upon you for at least three years, possibly the entire four, so long as you tend to any . . . pernicious growths, shall we say?”
That will make it much easier. Still, there were a huge number of unknowns . . . and the game they were playing here might attract the wrong sort of attention at any moment, no matter how careful he might be.
At the same time, there was no point in pretending to be reluctant. His course had long since been decided. Take what you must. “I will do so.” While normally he would finish such a declaration with a name, a title, or at least “Sir,” the other’s instructions had been made very clear; no reference to it directly, not even a title of respect other than words such as “patron”—nothing that gave any clue as to the nature, rank, or even sex of the being.
The being smiled at his simple agreement. “I am pleased with your acceptance—and I know the challenges that four such years, without my assistance, may bring. Know them better than you, in fact, for there are things I have had to address which you have not even been aware of.” It nodded in decision. “I shall be, in essence, giving you full authority here—to direct our operations, to control those under our command, and to make the decisions I shall not be present to make. For that, of course you must have the power to enforce those decisions, take those actions. So let us advance your fortunes.”
He felt a surge of disbelieving joy. “You . . . you mean it?” A natural caution took over. “And . . . there will be no . . . untoward prices?”
His patron laughed. “Wisely cautious, my friend—but no, not in this case. I find it most useful to keep my word to those who are, themselves, useful to me, and betraying you with the poison-pill of legendary wishes is hardly in my interests.
“There is of course a price, but you have already begun paying it, and you seem not displeased with the results.”
“My soul is being . . . transformed, yes?”
“Slowly, carefully, and in no way that will affect who you are, only what you are, yes. If you wish to become one of my people, to gain our powers and strengths . . . you will of necessity be giving up your essence as a human.”
He almost laughed aloud. “You have said I will retain my true self, my interests, my knowledge, my skills—and from what I have seen, from what you have hinted, I will but become all the greater.”
“There are those who would see the change . . . in not so positive a light. But speaking with entire honesty, I do see it as you say, and I believe you shall, as well.” It straightened. “In that case, I have no more time to waste. Unlock the scroll and place it on the wall, hanging sideways.”
It took only moments to do as he was instructed.
“Stand back,” his patron said; as soon as he had done so, his patron spoke a single word in an unknown language, and the scroll blazed with golden light, expanding to the size of a doorway—and through that doorway stepped his patron. “Remove your armor, my friend.”
He was already doing so; he remembered the last time, and this part he was not, entirely, looking forward to. “Now,” his patron said with that disquieting smile, “brace yourself. I strongly suggest you look away from yourself, to the wall, to the scroll or anywhere but down.” The smile widened. “This will hurt.”
It did.
For a moment it felt as though five lances of fire-essence had impaled him through the guts. He tried to scream, but the pain was so great he could not even manage that. He could feel something dark-ice cold dwelling in the heart of that fire, an ice that spread through his body and soul, the agony of freezing fire saturating every nerve, and he wondered for a moment if he had trusted this monster in vain.
But then the ice warmed, and the fire cooled, and something else began to flow. A trickle, then a flow, then a flood of strength beyond anything he had ever felt, even when using the powers he and his brethren were granted by right of their brotherhood. The dimly lit room brightened, his vision sharpened. He could see the smallest detail on the walls, the ripples where a chisel had shaped the stone. More, he felt he could see more—there were colors for which he had, as yet, no names, and a sense of other powers nearby—the souls of the other Justiciars currently at the retreat.
And he could sense that there was something wonderful he could do with such souls.
His patron stepped back, studying him narrowly for a moment. Then it gave a quick smile and nod. “You have survived. Most gratifying. Many would not have lived through that infusion . . . but with the changes we had already begun, you were just able to do so.”
He tested his balance, leapt half across the room with a single motion. “By the . . . Will this stay with me?”
“It should, for the mo
st part. Oh, there is a certain . . . flush of the initial change which will wear off soon enough. But there are ways to regain that strength, ones you already suspect. I do not begrudge you such advancement, when you are in truth dealing with problems which would otherwise be mine, and which I now leave to you.” It turned, striding back towards the scroll. “Be cautious. Do not betray your nature—even if you are in combat, you must not reveal the fullness of what you have become. Now,” it continued, “I must prepare my own works in service of our King . . . and,” that deadly smile flashed again, “in our own, of course. Do not attempt contact with me again. I will contact you when I am ready.”
The light flared and dissipated, and the scroll was blank.
He picked up the scroll and carefully returned it to its normal place. He put his armor back on, slowly, carefully, as though it were a ritual. All those moments, he savored the changes—the exquisite sensitivity of all senses, the ability to detect traces of power in the very air, the physical and mystical strength that filled him nearly to bursting, and he finally laughed aloud.
Then he thought more carefully on his situation. The smile did not disappear, but became less manic, more calm and focused. I must not allow these senses to be active most of the time. It would be far too easy to betray myself through knowing, sensing something I shouldn’t. In battle or on a hunt, yes, that’s one thing, but I must remain mostly the “self” that others know.
His patron’s warning to not betray his nature was a warning he had no intention of testing. A being which could grant him such power—and who could supply the power that gave their entire group their unique abilities . . . such a being was one to heed well and completely when they gave such quiet and definite warnings.
Still . . . with my patron gone, and his resources no longer available . . . I may have to expand my own resources. For a moment he backed away from that thought, for he knew it could be his doom if his patron thought he was plotting against it.
But, he reminded himself, my patron is quite different from the others. The King of Hell undoubtedly would be suspicious of an underling amassing a power base. Voorith, likewise. Most of the beings of this dangerously unstable alliance would feel similarly. But his patron . . . no. As he thought on it, he realized that his patron would expect him to build his own power base, the better to be effective—and to be able to act outside of the brotherhood he still belonged to.
Then it is time to gather my own forces, my own allies, he thought. Getting them here . . . concealing them . . . these will be challenging, as will this most difficult masquerade I must play. He sat down and leaned back in the seat, his smile broadening. But ahh, the rewards when the last curtain comes down!
9
Kyri set her brush to a slow dry, brushing the long black waves into place as the simple enchantment gradually reduced the heavy dampness from her bath to the lighter flow of cascading black. Victoria says she managed to do this while on adventure, I suppose I should at least do it while I’m at home.
She pulled on a houserobe and continued to brush the hair dry as she walked down the wide stone steps of Vantage Fortress. Kyri paused on the first landing and looked out of the wide, high north window, a habit any of the Eyes would have.
The first thing she could see was Evanwyl, the city, itself. Not, she admitted to herself, really a city from the point of view of the other countries. The Vantage estate was almost due south of Evanwyl, with the Watchland’s castle-fortress directly opposite to the north-northwest on a corresponding ridge of the Evaryll’s valley. The Evaryll, moderately wide but swift-flowing, was the focus of the town, three bridges crossing it at different points.
The buildings below contrasted starkly with the fortresses; they were open, airy, with light, strong doors almost the width of the walls that could be closed against wind and rain but were usually open. She could see the Monn, Jessir, and Tukal farms in the distance, the layered leaf roofs distinctive green-touched gold in the middle of the wide fields—Oh, I think Tukal’s got a crop of gravelseed almost ready to bring in; that gray-blue color’s so distinctive. The town buildings were roofed with split zuna wood but were still mostly open. When the night temperature never got below “cool,” you didn’t need to exclude the air.
Of course, they were still made of the strongest, lightest woods, and there were heavy bars for every door and window, and the reason lay beyond.
The immense spires of the Khalal range loomed in the distance, a wall of mountains that cut across the entire continent, ranging from the comparatively low peaks she could see—Harlock’s Spire at twenty-seven thousand feet, Urudani at twenty-three thousand feet, a few others—to the incomprehensibly high Mount Scimitar, sixty thousand feet in height, throne of Idinus of Scimitar, God-Emperor of the Empire of the Mountain, a wall of stone and peril unbroken for over three thousand miles.
Unbroken save for one narrow passage, directly in the center of the view from the north window, the reason even the smallest house could lock its doors, the reason every man, woman, or child knew how to swing some sort of weapon from the time they could stand, the reason she, as one of the Watchland’s Eyes, always took a moment to look to the threatening north. Even from here, the dark green of that gap looked different, the color shadowed and at the same time somehow more virulent, a green that only faded to normalcy a short distance from the Watchland’s Fortress. The Riven Forest was not a safe place, no, and it was merely a hint of the horrors on the other side of Rivendream Pass.
She shivered slightly, then turned away. Almost impossible to believe that was once called Heavenbridge Way, before the Chaoswar.
She shook off the concern. There hasn’t been much of anything out of there in years, she reminded herself. The Eyes of the Watch—the Vantages, the Hightowers, the Thalindes, and others—had not relaxed their vigilance on the Pass, and with the help of the Watchland, his Arms and their Armsmen, and of course the Justiciars anything that tried to escape was driven back or killed.
At the bottom of the stairs she turned and started for the breakfast room, when she noticed the door to the underfortress open. That’s odd. With only her aunt, herself, and Urelle living here full time—Rion now spent most of his time with the Justiciars—there wasn’t any need to make use of the underfortress. Even Victoria’s servants rarely had to go there.
The lightglobes glowed with soft, clear light, showing that someone had gone down deliberately. “Hello?”
“It’s me, sis.”
“Urelle?” She went down the steps quickly, putting the brush in the robe pocket. Cooler air greeted her like slowly wading into a sunlit pool. “What are you doing down here?”
At the bottom of the stairs the underfortress continued back beneath the rest of Vantage Fortress; she knew there was at least one level below this one, but she’d never actually seen it and she seemed to remember Victoria saying they’d locked it off years back. “I’m in here,” came Urelle’s voice, and Kyri could see light from the open door at the far end of the hallway, a hundred and fifty feet down.
Even Kyri’s bare footsteps caused faint echoes to chase themselves down the corridor and back; the polished marble was chill enough to send a hint of gooseflesh up the backs of Kyri’s legs. She paid scant attention to that, because of the sheer surprise at where her little sister was.
“I don’t think you’ve ever been in this room before,” Kiri said as she reached the doorway.
It was a huge room, extending another seventy feet from the doorway, and thirty feet on either side of the doorway Kyri stood in. Lightglobes shone brightly at each corner and one, larger globe illuminated the center of the chamber, which was carved of the native gold-speckled granite and floored with the same light pink marble as the corridors.
“No . . . no, I never was.” Urelle looked nervous, a little afraid. “But . . . it’s been long enough. I’m still a Vantage, aren’t I?”
At the proud yet uncertain question, Kyri felt a sting of tears, bent and hugged her little sist
er. “You are most definitely a Vantage,” she said.
The room was cluttered around most of its perimeter with an assortment of what looked like the most worthless junk imaginable; pieces of half-burned timbers, twisted, blackened metal, crates with objects so melted or burned you could barely discern their original shape as cups or knives or shelves. There were stones covered with soot and broken by heat; a piece of what looked like clay with half a bootprint in it; a scorched length of wood with savage cuts through it, clearly one half of a similar piece that lay next to it, the middle splintered and broken.
In the center of the room, two doors of metal and wood, untouched by fire, a broken bar across their center. And on one wall were two shelves, and beneath the shelves, a small altar to Myrionar: the Balanced Sword, a sword held upright as the point of balance between a pair of scales. On the lower shelf, seven ornate jars; above them, two simple marble containers carven with the Vantage symbol of a tree and a hill.
Even after all these years, even being moved down here, it all still smells like smoke and iron.
“You are a Vantage,” she repeated. “And this . . . is our heritage. What’s left of it.”
Urelle shivered, looking at the one wall. “That’s . . . Mother and Father. And Garrick . . . and Toll. I remember Camberi . . .”
“They’ve all gone to the Balance, yes.”
Urelle bit her lip, then gazed at the mass of wreckage. “And . . . well, I can understand why we’re keeping that,” she pointed to a crate with half-melted but still glittering gold cups, “but . . . why all the rest?”
“Because,” Kyri said, and her voice was suddenly hard, “we still don’t know who, or why, and we are not destroying the evidence we have. Maybe we’ve missed something. We couldn’t preserve the whole house, but we all searched for anything that might tell us something about what happened.”
“I . . .” Urelle looked down. She didn’t speak for a moment, then looked back up. “Kyri, can I tell you something?”