Phoenix in Shadow

by Ryk E. Spoor

  Now Kyri could sense the dark, cold, amused presence clearly. “It was you all along. I sensed you sometimes, but—”

  “Yes, you couldn’t be sure. We did not spend thousands of years working on this plan to be easily discovered.” Shae stepped up and locked complex, elaborately enruned and crystal-encrusted shackles onto Tobimar’s arms and legs, sealing each with a complex gesture and a drop of her own blood, drawn by a small needle. “There! All is in readiness, yes?”

  Master Wieran nodded absently. “I believe so. I am performing a final check of all arrangements now.”

  “Then we need to clear the circle of all non-participants. Consider yourselves fortunate—for various reasons, Master Wieran wants the three of you alive, for now. Although perhaps you, Phoenix, can be spared the pain of living to see what happens to your darling Tobimar.”

  “What?” Wieran’s gaze was suddenly sharp and very much focused. “I said I wanted her for—”

  “But I want to give Miri a chance for a little fun, and I am in charge here, Master Weiran.” Shae was smiling and the tone was light . . . but at the same time dark, dark threats ran through every word. “Miri, you’ve had to put up with her sanctimonious clueless superiority for months, I think you’ve got every right to kill her now. As you told me just last night, there’s only so much of that we can take.” She gestured. “So go ahead. I’ll let Wieran have the other two, but she’s yours.”

  Miri stepped forward, and her hands distorted, her skin rippled and changed shade and texture, more armored, less human. “She’s . . . mine?”

  “All yours.”

  Without warning, Miri whirled, lunging for Master Wieran—

  And was caught almost before she began by four Unity Guards.

  Now Shae was not laughing or smiling; she looked both furious and sorrowful. “I knew it. I knew it! Ermirinovas, I told you to watch yourself! Now you’re all contaminated, ruined, twisted, just like the others!”

  “No! We’re the ones who were twisted, Kalshae!” Miri shouted, struggling, her skin shifting color from a blue armor to light-skinned human and back in a chaotic pattern. “We can stop this! There’s—”

  “I have no intention of even listening. I know the dangers. But I’m going to help you, Miri, even though you don’t want it now.” She looked at the Unity Guards—Danrall with his handsome long face now vacantly grim, a Hue that Kyri didn’t recognize in shifting violet armor, Light Dravan Igo like a mighty statue in his blood-red, Color Herminta Gantil in the blue-green of the sea—and made a sharp, savage gesture towards the door. “Take her down to my Meditation Chamber, the one at the very base of the tower, towards the lake. Perhaps it’s not quite too late for her. But in any case she is not to leave until I release her. Tanvol, Anora, go with them. I want a very strong guard on her; if she tries to escape and the wards do not hold, you know how powerful she is.”

  Lady Shae—or “Kalshae” as Miri had just called her—watched darkly as Miri was dragged out. Kyri, seeing the shamed desperation in Miri’s eyes, gave a tremendous effort and actually pulled halfway free of her captors, but it was futile.

  Kalshae’s burning gaze—now literally burning, with a red fire—locked on Kyri. “You were the trigger. I hope that what Master Wieran has planned for you is painful indeed.”

  “I would expect so,” Wieran said, circling the dais with a precise eye surveying everything. “I had thought she would be a rather uninteresting specimen, but the evaluation scan showed that she was something far, far more interesting than anyone I had yet had the opportunity to measure. The analysis will undoubtedly extend to disassembling her—component by miniature component.”

  “Oh, wonderful,” Kalshae breathed. Then she turned and gestured. “Clear the circle! Let the prisoners watch, just keep a close and keen eye on them. And once we begin, let none stray into the circle, for it will be death for you to do so!”

  Kyri struggled, trying to draw on the strength of Myrionar now, but she felt that leaden weight impede her even more than before. They can focus it?

  Of course they can, she answered herself. Even if this was a natural effect left from the last Chaoswar, these beings—demons, she now realized with certainty—would have learned how to best control and direct it.

  Her struggles were utterly in vain; at the same time, she saw Hiriista and Poplock were equally unable to break free. And as she saw the circle begin to glow and a complex apparatus rise up around the central dais, she realized that it was already far, far too late.

  CHAPTER 43

  By the Seven and One . . . is there no hope?

  Tobimar had never felt quite this helpless—not even the time he’d been cornered by mazakh in their own temple. At least there he’d been able to sell his life dearly, and choose to die on his feet, fighting, as long as his arms and skill held out. Here . . . “You seriously believe you can break open the Sun of Infinity and take its power?” he said, forcing incredulity into his voice. In honesty, he doubted that they would be doing this if they weren’t very sure.

  “It is not a matter of belief, Tobimar,” said Master Wieran, his cold voice as calm and matter-of-fact as if they had both been talking the matter over at dinner. “Belief is for weak-minded fools who do not understand that there is only that which is, that which may be and can be tested, and that which is not. I know that I can do this, because I have examined all of the data, I have formed hypotheses and tested them, and I have verified all the steps necessary to reach a successful conclusion of this project.”

  The complex metal-and-crystal array of devices was aligning itself precisely with every angle and face of the eight-pointed star at Wieran’s direction; behind him, Tobimar could see Kalshae producing four strange objects from a pouch at her side; they were similar to elaborate punching daggers, with a very narrow blade and four projections half the length of the blade facing forward with it and separated by several inches.

  What are those? They don’t look very useful as weapons, and she certainly doesn’t need . . .

  Kalshae stepped over—carefully avoiding any contact with Wieran’s structure—and placed one of the things above Tobimar’s wrist. With a shudder Tobimar realized that the very narrow blade was meant to transfix the limb into which it was plunged, and the four extensions would lock down into the matching holes he could now just make out around his wrists—and, he would guess, his ankles as well.

  “And what do you get out of it, Master Wieran? They . . . or, I guess now she alone, get the power, but what is your interest?” He had no idea if these questions would be of use—if he couldn’t figure a way out of this, nothing would matter soon enough—but it couldn’t hurt.

  “I learn, young man. Knowledge is the greatest power and the highest aspiration. The ability to investigate the essence of power itself—of the border between the numinous and the mundane, of the deific and mortal essence, this has always been my one, true interest.”

  “A study which requires very large scale operations and many . . . test subjects,” Kalshae said, laying the other three of her daggerlike tools at their appropriate places. “We provided that, and he provided other tools or materials when we needed them. A mutually beneficial arrangement.”

  She turned to Wieran. “I am ready to perform the ritual. Is all in place?”

  Wieran nodded. “All is in readiness. The completion of all our goals is at hand.” He stepped back. “You may begin.”

  Kalshae nodded, and then began a slow walk around the circle, chanting in a language that Tobimar could not understand, but whose overtones were clearly Demonic. As she walked, Kalshae’s transformation completed—seven feet tall, with a pair of spiraled, delicate horns rising from her head, her skin of an unearthly smoothness, shining more like porcelain than flesh, eyes now red, alien and deadly. Yet there was little of the monstrousness he had seen and sensed in other demons. There was evil here, yes . . . but not only evil.

  “Lady Shae,” he said, “you have been called that name for years.
You have served as a strong, beloved ruler for all that time. I cannot believe that was all a fake, that there is nothing in you of the light. You have been here as long as Miri. You care for Miri in your own way—you wouldn’t be so furious at Phoenix otherwise!”

  Shae continued the chant, but he saw tenseness in her shoulders, the bunching of muscles at the corner of her jaw between phrases when she clenched her teeth. The eyes flicked at him, angry but unyielding.

  Now she was spiraling in towards him. Periodically she scattered something—her own blood, Tobimar thought—across the circle. “You don’t have to do this! You’ve built something wonderful and powerful and it doesn’t have to be ended this way!”

  She reached the raised eight-pointed dais, and for an instant—just an instant—her eyes met his and he saw a moment of uncertainty, of a wish to change the course of things from the one chosen. But even as he saw that, the eyes hardened their gaze. “It will end this way,” she whispered as she leaned over him. And before he could react, she snatched up one of the daggerlike objects and drove it straight through his wrist.

  Tobimar couldn’t restrain a scream of shock. It wasn’t entirely pain, not yet—that would come later, he thought—but it was definitely shock and the feeling of violation, of something impaling him and holding him locked to the table by gripping his own flesh.

  “Tobimar!” Kyri shouted. “You monstrous—” The Phoenix Justiciar gave vent to some astonishingly inventive cures. “When I get free of this—”

  “You will never get free,” Kalshae said, a note of surprising weariness in her voice, and impaled Tobimar’s opposite-side ankle.

  Now that hurt! he thought, somewhat dazedly, as he heard his own scream echoing in his ears. Through the ankle. Terian and Chromaias, that’s agony! He gritted his teeth, knowing now what was coming. The holdfasts on the eight-pointed altar, however, wouldn’t let him get away. All he could do was endure.

  But for what purpose?

  A faint glow was now emanating from the table on which he lay, and he strained his head around to see.

  Blood flowed from beneath his impaled wrist and ankle, blood slowly gaining a ghostly azure sheen as it trickled down a complex pattern of channels worked into the stone. Another shock of pain, and a third stream of blood began to run down the channels beneath his other arm.

  Once more he wondered: is there no hope?

  As the lightning-sharp agony repeated for the fourth time, transfixing his last limb, he looked over at Kyri and saw her eyes closed, her lips moving in prayer. She’s calling on Myrionar, even though she’s in enemy hands, and the power is blocked.

  He remembered her story then, and Myrionar’s words to its last Justiciar: “. . . believe, and hold, and be true to Justice, and there is a way out for you.”

  That meant that there was—there must be—a way out for Kyri, if not for him.

  But I was sent to her for a reason. And not just to help her against Thornfalcon. It means nothing if I found my homeland and no one ever hears of it. Master Khoros wouldn’t have just let me go here to die.

  He could feel coldness starting to creep upon him; losing blood pretty quickly through those wounds. But he clung to those other thoughts. Oh, he knew some other people—more cynical about Khoros’ motives and approaches—might laugh at him for having faith in the ancient wizard, but Khoros intended them to achieve something, and something that, he was sure, had not yet been achieved.

  The light was brightening, and now the Sun was responding, its luminance beginning to shine forth. I can’t let this happen. But I’m helpless!

  He felt fury rising in him even as his breath became shorter. They will steal the very power of Terian and use it for their ends—and now that they’ve reached this point, what will happen to Kaizatenzei itself? This was all a trap, something perfected to bring in and hold one particular target—me—so they could use me as a key to . . .

  A key . . .

  The idea was there, hovering just out of reach. But it made sense, somehow. Terian had given the Stars and Sun to his family. If the artifact of a god could be forced open, even with the knowledge and skill of a twisted genius like Wieran and the power of what he now knew must be a demonlord, then it must be meant to open somehow. There must be some way for those who owned it to activate it, to call upon that power in utter extremity . . .

  And once more, the memory of Khoros, towering above him, face somehow hidden, a mouth with a half-smile beneath the five-sided hat . . .

  Kyri . . . praying . . .

  And then he remembered.

  His breath was shorter now, and sweat stood out on his brow. He was faint and nauseated, but he drew in a breath. Khoros said, “. . . But when all else fails, you may find strength in childhood prayer . . .”

  That childhood prayer. Said to have been the words of Terian himself, in the days of the founding of their line . . .

  “Seven Stars and a Single Sun hold the Starlight that I do Own,” he began, and Kalshae suddenly turned to him, eyes narrowing. Wieran raised his head from where he stood.

  “These Eight combine and form the One, Form the Sign by which I’m known,” he continued, speeding up as he saw Kalshae start forward. But the demon hesitated, and Tobimar managed a wan grin of triumph. She doesn’t dare interfere—her own ritual is in the process of completion too!

  “The Good in Heart can Light wield . . .” he said, and heard his voice echoing out, stronger than he had believed possible. And one tiny change from the prayer, “. . . The Length of Space shall be MY shield!”

  And as the four rivulets of his own blood coalesced about him, the world dissolved in a thunderous blaze of blue-white flame.

  CHAPTER 44

  The detonation of azure-touched argent staggered everyone in the room, knocking Kalshae and Wieran to their knees. Kyri felt the grip on her arms loosen; she spun and kicked out, freeing herself, straining against the bonds on her. But as her sight recovered from the dazzling blast, she stopped, staring incredulously.

  Standing atop the eight-sided dais was an immense figure, perhaps eight feet tall. The head was shrouded in a nimbus of pure white light, blurring the features so that the only thing that could be seen were a pair of piercing blue eyes and the hazy gold of the hair. A black cape streamed from the shoulders, a waterfall of ebony in stark contrast to the shimmering light that surrounded the apparition, light that coalesced into an ever-shifting sparkle of rainbow about the waist that seemed both source and product of the luminance that enfolded the figure. Just visible above the crossed arms, a small golden sigil, a sidewise eight, could be seen over the heart.

  For a frozen instant no one moved, all staring at the impossible. Within that figure, a shadow within a shadow of light, Kyri thought she saw a smaller figure.

  Then the light-shrouded head came up, and the apparition spoke.

  “I am the Nemesis of all Evil. I am the Light in the Darkness. I am Terian, the Infinite.”

  Kalshae’s face was salt-white beneath its tan, and she cowered back against the limit of the ritual circle. “You . . . you cannot be here. You cannot! You made a pact—you all made a pact—with Father, with Kerlamion and all the other gods, that you would not, could not directly intervene!”

  Kyri noticed that one—and only one—person in that room seemed unawed by the presence. Master Wieran’s face held an expression as of someone given an unexpected and wonderful gift, and even as Terian answered, the alchemist-sage bent over his complex apparatus.

  “It is even so that such a pact was made. And even though it was done with malicious intent, to allow that which has now come to pass, still I am bound by that oath. To intervene directly would, by that oath, precipitate a Godswar across the face of Zarathan.” The shining figure nodded. “That I shall not allow.”

  A hint of a smile, sharp and dangerous. “Yet there is nothing in that oath or any other that prevents me from awakening the power that slumbers within Tobimar Silverun, Seventh of Seven; that sleeps within his blo
od. Withinmyblood. So it is done, and I have written your ending, as surely as if I had taken up sword against you.”

  The figure vanished in a rampage of blue-white fire, energy that tore through the room in a storm of actinic fortune that shattered her bonds, stripped the coverings from Poplock Duckweed and Hiriista, and hammered the Unity Guards to the ground.

  Now it was Tobimar Silverun who stood on the dais, the wounds on his body shimmering with the gods-fire, sealing, welded by the power of the divine, and the Sun of Infinity was open, its shimmering polychromatic light pouring down upon the Prince of Skysand.

  But in the same moment, Master Wieran slammed down a pair of levers within his mechanism, speaking a phrase in a language Kyri did not know. The waterfalling power was suddenly drawn downwards, through the dais, and swirled through the entire complex circle. Kalshae began to glow darkly, blue-black energy twining up around her as the azure-white shimmered around Tobimar.

  Kyri stretched out her hand and Flamewing wrenched itself from a nearby pack; she kicked one of her captors in the face, caught the bundle he had been holding, and hurled it through the air. “Tobimar!”

  Tobimar’s eyes snapped open, shining with the awakened power but fully aware. The bundle came apart in midair as his aura reached out to meet it, and in a blur of motion and magic Tobimar was suddenly clothed, with his swords back in his hands. “Kyri! Get Miri, keep them from holding her!”

  “But you—”

  There was a scream of pain to her side and one of the Unity Guards was falling, gripping his ankle. “Go,” Poplock said from the floor, bouncing speedily around the circle. “I’ll keep an eye on things here!”

  “You will go nowhere!” Kalshae stretched out her arm and red-black fire coiled towards Kyri—

  —Only to be blocked by the now blue-blazing swords of Tobimar Silverun.

  Kyri gritted her teeth and turned towards her opponents. Have to get through that door, to the stairs. They can’t have gone too far yet.