by Ryk E. Spoor
The Unity Guards were slower, moving in a confused pattern. Danrall’s eyes were only half-focused, dazed, and Kyri realized that the brief manifestation of Terian had, somehow, disrupted the control or geas that had transformed him from the earnest young man to the implacable destroyer.
And I can feel Myrionar’s presence again!
“I will be your rearguard!” Hiriista said, and unleashed a storm of shimmering bolts that battered at the Guards, further stunning and confusing them. “Go, and I shall be not far behind!”
She charged forward, shoving past the Unity Guards’ halfhearted defenses, and burst through the door, praying even as she did so. Myrionar, now truly I need my strength and speed and power. Give me what you can, for not merely my friends, but all of Kaizatenzei, needs our help now. And so does one who has repented, who cares and would seek salvation, I think. I will save her, if I may.
Footsteps were behind her now, and their uncertainty was fading, becoming a staccato drumbeat of pursuit that was closing the distance, even as she turned, seeking the way down. Hiriista’s hissing voice evoked more thunder and light, but she knew he couldn’t possibly stop them all.
The question was where. Where was the entrance to . . .
And in the moment of thinking the question she knew the answer. This ritual was done above the Valatar Throne. Where else would the entrance to the secrets be, than through that room, more guarded and more watched than any other?
At the same moment, Myrionar answered her prayers. Golden strength flooded into her, with the singing, joyful certainty that Myrionar’s presence had always given her. She sheathed Flamewing. Her body was light as a feather, and she streaked down the stairs, the sound of the Unity Guards now fading away, passing an open-mouthed servant like an arrow in flight. The Throne Room was closed now, but even as the Unity Guards posted there saw her coming she was past them, grasping the doors and heaving with all the strength of Vantage and godspower.
The doors of the Valatar Throneroom ripped from their hinges, battering the reaching Color and Shade aside like toys, and Kyri was through. She drew her sword, and Flamewing ignited in red-gold glory as Kyri saw that indeed the Valatar Throne had concealed a passageway down.
The Tower shuddered and she knew the battle between Kalshae and Tobimar must now be joined in earnest. Please be all right, Tobimar, she prayed, and then was heading down the winding staircase, three, four steps at a time. They’ve gotten farther than I thought. The ritual took time, longer than I had imagined.
The steps ended at a broad intersection, one hallway going straight forward, another going to left and right. Which way?
At first she had no clue; all three ways were dark, silent, polished stone and subtly-painted walls all identical, unmarred, unmarked.
The sound of her pursuers was increasing, and she gripped Flamewing tighter, brought its power to the fore, and in that brighter pulse of light, her eye caught something tiny but lighter colored, just at the limit of the light on the right-hand side.
A tiny scrap of blue-green.
Miri!
Kyri turned, sprinting as fast as she could now. “Hold on, Miri!” she shouted into the silent dark, and her voice echoed endlessly down the corridors.
“I’m coming!”
CHAPTER 45
Once more, I’m a fly in a battle of spiders, Poplock thought as he bounced around the perimeter, ducking, dodging, occasionally poking Steelthorn into someone so that his pursuers kept getting in each others’ way.
Kalshae rose to her full height, the dark energy now seething around her, the simple robe evaporating to be replaced by water-pure crystal armor that had leapt to her from a casket nearby. “Ignore that Toad,” she snarled. “Catch up with the Phoenix—now!”
“Overconfident, are you?” Tobimar said. His voice was different—more powerful, resonant, with a touch of Terian’s own voice still present.
For answer, Kalshae leveled a blast of black energy—so potent that Poplock winced just seeing it—at Tobimar. The twin-swords caught it, held, as the Skysand Prince was slowly pushed backwards, nearly off the dais, before the blue-white power within him burned forward and dissipated the attack.
But Kalshae was already there, her own great sword slashing down to be barely parried by Tobimar’s. She grinned, and Poplock did not like the confidence he saw. “You have gained some of the power of the Sun, yes. But so have I, as was intended.”
She delivered a tremendous backhanded blow that sent Tobimar skidding backwards, off the dais and over, and then chopped the dais itself in half and kicked one of the chunks into the Skysand Prince’s face; Tobimar barely rolled with the impact, and still there was blood on his face when he rose. “But I have wielded such power for millennia untold, while you are a mortal child just now learning what can be done with such strength. You shall have little time to learn!”
Ouch. She’s probably right. It suddenly dawned on Poplock, though, that the fact she had just cut the dais meant that the ritual itself was over. Which means . . .
He held his breath as he bounced across the border of the ritual circle; if he was wrong, this could be very, very painful. But to his relief, he felt nothing happen as he entered the circle. Notice she did not touch Wieran’s little apparatus—kicked the chunk over the edge of the device.
Something bothered Poplock about that—the way the power was waterfalling from the opened Sun down, into a shimmering mass centered in that assembly of devices, and then moving out in thin streams of light and dark to the two combatants. But he didn’t have much time to think about it; Kalshae had summoned another ball of energy and hurled it at Tobimar.
Can’t hold back here; she probably won’t notice the smaller stuff. He gripped the elaborate setting on his upper arm and concentrated. “GO!” he shouted.
Blue-green energy coalesced and cascaded outward as the Gemcall activated. The torrent of the very essence of water caught Lady Shae, bowled her over just before she could strike Tobimar again, slammed her so hard against the far wall that chips and dust exploded from the polished stone.
She cursed and hurled a minor bolt at Poplock, but couldn’t spare the time to make sure it hit because now Tobimar was on her, a whirlwind of blades surrounded by godspower. For a few moments, the two traded blows, and the entire tower shook.
Then Lady Shae laughed and leapt back, whirling her sword like a noisemaker at a party. “Oh, now, why don’t we make this interesting?”
She slashed around in a complete circle, blue-black laced with poisonous green and actinic white. Tobimar hurdled the streak of cutting death, which passed far above Poplock’s head.
And with a grinding, shuddering noise, the Tower above began to slide sideways, tilting, the entire Tower cut asunder by that single assault. Poplock felt his eyes bugging out twice as far as normal as he tried to grasp the fact that a single blow had just cut down the Valatar Tower, a tower two Chaoswars old, a tower built to hold an artifact of Terian.
Slowly the Tower of the Great Light continued its great, dramatic tilt, tipping farther and farther so the rosy sunset light now streamed into the roofless chamber and Poplock could see that it was falling, majestically and ponderously, towards the West. Thank all the gods for that; means that it mostly falls to the peninsula and the lake.
Kalshae bounded to the top of the broken wall, raining destruction anew atop Tobimar’s head, and Tobimar was barely able to deflect the lethal barrage. “What a shame, I got turned around a bit; it’s not going to fall on the city,” Kalshae said. “But just the fall of the Tower will be more than enough to strike fear in their hearts.”
Poplock ducked behind the untouched section of the dais and started wrenching at the points of the Gemcalling Matrix. Got a couple more I can use.
“I think a part of you wanted to spare them,” Tobimar said, and Poplock heard a flurry of cuts. “You deny a part of yourself, Kalshae, and that weakens you. And I am not quite as untrained as you think. Khoros’ training is not to be ign
ored . . . and here, let me show you a trick my friend Xavier taught me while we were traveling!”
Ooo, I know that one. Xavier had his defense that he couldn’t teach, and then he had his offense . . .
Tobimar backflipped away from Kalshae, landing right in front of Poplock. The twin-blades crossed, and where they crossed, blue-white fire concentrated, expanded, became a spinning ball of coruscating power. “Here, Kalshae—catch!”
The sphere of energy streaked past Poplock at blurring speed and there was another Tower-rocking impact. Kalshae’s curse was pained and disbelieving, and the little Toad grinned as he managed to shove the next gem into place. Go get her, Tobimar!
“A surprise indeed,” Kalshae conceded, razor-shards of night-dark flame swarming about Tobimar, rebounding—for now—from the Spiritsmith’s armor and Tobimar’s parrying blades. “But if I keep you from concentrating, you shall never use that trick again!”
“But then,” Poplock said, bouncing out from behind the stone, “you’re busy concentrating on him.” He touched the Calling Array.
Actinic violet-tinged light turned sunset to midnight and thunderbolts rained down throughout the tower, somehow missing both Tobimar and Poplock but hammering down on stone and Demon alike. And Wieran? Wait, where in Blackwart’s name is he?
The white-haired experimenter was nowhere to be seen.
Tobimar had lunged as the lightning died down, and for the first time red blood bloomed from a wound, two wounds, three, on Kalshae, and she cursed in a demonic tongue. “Both of you will be something of a challenge. But I have no interest in challenges.” Her hand dropped to the mechanism on her belt and came up with an amber-orange disc. “Come forth!”
Sunshine-colored light rose and faded, and Light Anora’s staff abruptly blocked a stroke of Tobimar’s swords. Kalshae smiled and turned towards Poplock. “That will hold you a moment, while I eliminate the smaller but annoying opponent.”
She can do that with all the Lights. Except Miri, I guess. Why aren’t any of them going against the orders, though? Why’s Miri so different? Poplock dodged behind another chunk of stone as blue-black power ripped a hole in the floor where he’d just been. This is bad. Stone won’t shield me, just keep her from being sure where to aim. We’ve got to get Anora down, then somehow keep Kalshae from summoning more reinforcements.
But he wasn’t helpless yet. As he bounded from the temporary shelter, which was being shattered by demonic power even as he did, he aimed the clockwork crossbow and triggered it.
A stream of alchemical bolts stitched the air between Poplock and Kalshae. The aura about her diverted some, incinerated others—but as Thornfalcon had discovered months before, some things can hurt you even if they didn’t quite reach you. Stinging vapors, an incendiary blast, acidic spray, and Kalshae was driven momentarily back. That won’t last long, though, and—
In that instant, Tobimar Silverun took the opening and with a tremendous double-cut, cleaved Light Anora Lal in half, blue-white godsfire trailing along the line of the cut. Tobimar’s expression was grim and sorrowful; Poplock doubted that Tobimar would have had the will to deliver such a horrific blow if it weren’t obvious that the little Toad were in mortal peril.
Her legs and lower torso fell to the ground; the upper torso, arms, and head spun in air, hit the floor and rolled, presenting the severed end to Poplock’s astounded view.
From within the fallen corpse gleamed metal and crystal and woven nets of fiber, and barely a trace of blood or flesh.
CHAPTER 46
For a moment, Tobimar found himself unable to grasp what he was seeing. Then, as Anora’s upper half struggled to right itself and move on its arms alone, it penetrated.
Eternal Servants. They’re fully human-looking Eternal Servants! But Wieran said . . .
He mentally smacked himself. It was obvious now that so much of what they’d been told were half-truths, evasions, and sometimes outright lies. The Eternal Servants the cities were given were practically toys, whose ongoing development was merely a mask for what Wieran was actually achieving.
He leapt forward and engaged Lady Shae again. Have to keep her off-balance. “Poplock—”
“On it!” The tiny Toad scuttled underneath Anora’s unevenly-cut chest, as Tobimar matched blades with Shae. In the midst of an exchange of blazing blows which scorched both Tobimar and Kalshae, Anora’s body stiffened and collapsed. “Yep,” came the muffled voice from within, “pulling that stack of crystal discs works just fine.”
Kalshae made an abortive move towards the mechanism on her waist, but was forced to keep her hands on her sword as Tobimar pressed her, hammering at her with both swords as hard as he could. We’re both unbelievably strong, he realized as he saw the shockwaves from their blocked blows resonating in the floor, making dust and crumbled rock dance.
Distract her. Keep her off-balance constantly. “If they’re nothing but Eternal Servants, why the recruits?” he demanded. “You call for these people and yet they’re not the ones you have serving. Do you kill them? Sacrifices?”
Kalshae did not answer, though her grin widened.
A small weight was now on him, scuttling up but only reaching about halfway before being forced to hang onto one of the pouches at his waist for dear life. He lunged to keep up with Kalshae as she tried to disengage, and more realization burst in. “But no . . . no, that wouldn’t work. Zogen Josan, he’s not an Eternal Servant. They’ve seen him wounded. And Miri isn’t.”
As he leapt over a fallen fragment of stone, he saw that the Sun had finally fallen from its place, empty, a crystal shell. The jump was apparently too much for Poplock, too, as he dropped to the floor and bounced to the side. “What in the name of Terian have you been doing with those people?”
“Why would I tell you, Tobimar Silverun?” Kalshae asked calmly. “The knowledge would do you no good dead, and if you win and I lose, why should I smooth your path?”
“No desire to tell me whatever horror lies behind it and see my own reaction?”
She laughed, and the laugh was incongruously cheerful and jolly, the same laugh they’d come to love before the truth came out. “Oh, now, Tobimar, you’re clever. Yes, of course there’s some temptation. But I am rather good at resisting such—”
Without warning, as the two dueling figures spun past another clump of rubble, a tiny brown form hurtled upward and latched onto the slanting cylindrical mechanism at Kalshae’s belt.
“Father take you!” Kalshae tried to reach down and rip Poplock off, but Tobimar’s renewed assault and the fact that the little Toad had wrapped webbed feet and hands tightly about the device made this very difficult. Finally, though, she delivered a sharp blow with her elbow that dislodged Poplock, sending him tumbling drunkenly away across the stone; the holder of the summoning crystals dangled, still partially secured.
Sand and wind, that got us nowhere! A glance told Tobimar that Poplock wasn’t, as he’d feared, dead, but the sluggish movement of the Toad showed he wasn’t in full possession of his wits right now, either. Think!
As Kalshae spun her massive sword in a dark-flaming arc, reminding Tobimar forcefully of Kyri, he knew the only approach that might work. “Please, Kalshae, stop this. A part of you doesn’t want this any more than I do.”
Kalshae’s blade streaked down, then across, up, around, dancing from one side to the other so fast he could barely parry them. But there was a tiny wrinkle between her brows. “You’ve already shown this! The fall of the Tower—where it will hurt almost no one! Your expressions and hurt over Miri—you care about her, the way I care about Kyri!”
Whoops. Used her real name. Well, I guess it doesn’t matter now. He couldn’t feel too bad about the slip; in the middle of battle it was very hard to keep track of the lies you were supposed to believe, and he felt he’d done very well to keep it straight this long.
“Kyri? The Phoenix’s true name. I see.” Her strokes were still vicious . . . but was it his imagination that they were just the t
iniest bit less, that the room was not shuddering quite so violently with each monstrous exchange? “No, not the same way. We are of Kerlamion’s heritage, she a direct one of his children, and we are bound by blood and the excitement of power and dominion, of the crushing of others beneath our heels and the ecstasy of ruin! Do not insult me by—”
He caught her blade between his, drove her back, and now he was sure there was hesitation. “You argue with yourself, not me. Perhaps you have found a way to resist the Light more than she, but you cannot have been unaffected. You even call it ‘corruption,’ when you know full well that it is purification. But you fear it, because it is part of you, a part that has been growing for thousands of years!”
She snarled, redoubling her attacks—but they were crude assaults, much less delicate, easier to block or evade despite the raw power, and he went on, feeling a rising hope. “Kalshae—Lady Shae—if our positions were reversed, you would hope I would fall, that I would become one of you. You would make these arguments to me. But you have been part of the argument. Can you tell me, in truth, that never have you felt a touch of pleasure at resolving another’s problems? At being admired for your justice and your kindness?” He spun away, and realized that for the first time another attack was not immediately forthcoming.
She had paused, staring at him—yet not, precisely, at him, but more inward.
He made another guess. “Have you not found beauty where before you would have found ugliness, things opposed to your nature? Doesn’t a part of you want to stop this?”
The huge sword wavered, and the dark flames were guttering lower, showing shades of lighter color. “I . . .”
“You don’t have to give it all up. You can have this power as it was meant to be. You can be everything you’ve pretended to be, and Miri would want that. She would be proud to be part of that now.”
Kalshae’s sword had lowered halfway, and Tobimar, barely daring to hope, let his drop slightly, too. Not leaving myself uncovered . . . but showing that I am not preparing to attack her in weakness. If she does not trust, there is no chance.