by Ryk E. Spoor
He studied her. “Who are you, Lady Miri? What are you? What did Wieran do? Whence came that monster—for it seemed to many of us that you knew exactly what it was, knew what terrible thing was causing the earth to quake as it shook off the bonds of earth and stone. What are the answers to these questions, Light Miri?”
Miri hesitated, an agonized expression on her face, and Tobimar’s heart twinged in sympathy. She doesn’t know where to begin.
Kyri stepped forward. “Lady Miri—”
“No!” Tanvol said, and his deep, powerful voice was absolute. “I mean you no offense, Phoenix; I have seen your power, your courage, your willingness to risk all for our city, and for that I honor you. But we wish our answers to come from her.”
Kyri looked for a moment as though she would argue, try to shield Miri anyway, but Tobimar caught her eye and she closed her eyes, then opened them and bowed to Tanvol.
“It’s all right, Phoenix,” Miri said softly. “They’re right. I do need to explain.”
“But—”
“I’ll tell them the truth.” The blue-green eyes were suddenly terrified—and not of death, because Tobimar knew she could face that as courageously as any.
She’s terrified because she might lose everything she was fighting for, just . . . what, hours? after she realized that it was what she was fighting for.
Then she straightened and her voice firmed. “You were told that Master Wieran had betrayed us—and that was true. A monstrous betrayal indeed, seeking the power of the Great Light for a purpose none of us suspected.” She gave a bitter smile. “But in a sense, you had all been betrayed since before you were born. I . . . Lady Shae and I . . . had been manipulating this country’s development for longer than you can imagine, wearing different guises, changing your histories, your legends, your world, all so that we could, ourselves, steal the power of the Lights.”
The Unity Guard were staring at her with incomprehension that was slowly shading into horror. “You . . . ?”
She drew herself up, taller now than she had been, and those beautiful wings appeared, shimmering with gemlike sparkles, yet dangerous and terrible as well. “I am Ermirinovas Leshkivinahlmba, Daughter of the Second to Kerlamion himself, and I had planned long since this theft and destruction of all things good, the debasement of the Light into a weapon of the demons and a source of power for myself and my most trusted ally and aide, Kalshae Vunalivieria, daughter of Erherveria the Accursed, whom you knew as Lady Shae.”
Just as abruptly she shrank back to the tiny, innocent Miri they had first met, but with an expression of abject sorrow on her face. “I had planned that. But in the end . . . I did not want that. I wanted Kaizatenzei to live. I wanted to see you all live, and build Valatar and all the cities higher and brighter, and for that I fought as you saw.
“But you can lay many crimes against my name, and I am guilty of them all, including most of the wrongs done to you by others such as Wieran. Kalshae and I lured Sanamaveridion here, used him to destroy the Lords of the Sky who dwelt here, then betrayed and imprisoned him so that we could take the power of the Seven Stars and the Sun—for so they were truly named—for ourselves. We encouraged Wieran to perform his experiments, which are responsible for your lost time and for those of you who have collapsed without explanation or understanding.”
There was a quaver in her voice, and Tobimar stepped forward and laid a hand on her shoulder. She did not look towards him, but her own hand came up and gripped his fingers so tightly it hurt . . . but he did not pull away. “I . . . I knew what he was doing, and I didn’t care. I’ve . . . I’m a monster, I know. I just . . . woke up, I suppose, a few weeks ago, started to think I wasn’t sure I wanted this thing I’d worked towards for so long, and then I knew I didn’t.”
Tanvol finally found his voice. “You are a Demon?”
She nodded.
Shocked, unbelieving murmurs ran through the assembled Guard . . . and then the murmurs began to take on a darker tone.
“But she has changed,” Kyri said. “And she was willing to die, if necessary, to protect you. I think that’s worth giving her a chance, at least, if not the respect she had before.”
“But how do we know that?” Danrall demanded, pushing through the crowd, and shouts of assent went up. “We saw you fighting that monster, but it surely would have killed you anyway!”
“You’re right about that part,” Tobimar said, feeling he’d better at least remind them he was there. “But if you watched the battle—with the training all you Guards have had—you know that all three of us put ourselves in a lot of extra danger trying to protect this city. There were a lot of blows we could have avoided if we weren’t trying to keep the Elderwyrm from wiping you all out.”
“Still, he has a point,” said a middle-aged woman, heavily built, leaning on her lance. “If she’s as old and devious as she says, the whole thing could be a trick. How do we know it isn’t?”
“Because I tell you she speaks the truth,” came a weary, pained voice behind them.
The Unity Guard whirled, but Tobimar had already seen enough to make his jaw drop.
“Every word is true, even though she could easily have placed the blame squarely on my shoulders,” Lady Shae said, and her voice held a touch of wonder. “She could have blamed Wieran alone, or the two of us. Yet she did not.”
“Shae?” Miri’s eyes seemed to have doubled in size; Tobimar thought that Poplock’s had too, though not with such a joyous smile. “KALSHAE!”
Miri’s leap cleared the entire assembled mass of Unity Guard. She landed just before Lady Shae, who was barely dressed in the ragged remains of what Tobimar assumed had been the underarmor for her battle gear.
Shae looked at her, and the two stood, swaying the tiniest bit from injury or exhaustion.
Then Shae’s gaze dropped, and Miri lunged forward, embracing her and crying uncontrollably. Slowly, uncertainly, Shae’s arms came up and returned the embrace.
“So, I hate to interrupt the reunion, but last I saw of you, you weren’t exactly on our side,” Poplock said.
Lady Shae’s laugh was more a snort. “No, indeed. Though I was rather less effective than I had expected. A trick worthy of a demon, little Toad.”
“Fear me,” he agreed. “Am I going to have to do that to you again? It might stick, the second time.”
This laugh was the great, loud, cheerful one Tobimar remembered. “I would say that you couldn’t manage it a second time, but I think I have learned my lesson. No.” The wonder had returned to her voice. “No, you won’t. When that . . . attack of yours dispersed me, I was caught in Wieran’s trap. I was enveloped by the power of the Sun of Terian, and I felt my anger and hatred dissolving as though they had been the morning dew before the sun. By the time I managed to drag myself free and try to bring myself back to some semblance of solidity, well . . .” She smiled down at Miri, still with her face buried against Shae’s side. “. . . well, I wasn’t who I’d been, but instead the person I’d been making myself.” She met Tobimar’s gaze. “As you knew, and tried to make me accept. I thank you for trying; it helped, when I was realizing what I was becoming.”
“You . . . are both Demons?” Tanvol asked, with the tone of a man still trying to grasp the impossible.
Miri pulled herself free and wiped her face roughly with one arm. “Yes. Well, no, not now.”
“Say, rather, that they were demons, but are no longer,” Kyri said.
“I will vouch for them both,” Hiriista said, finally speaking. “You all know me. You have worked with me for many years and know that I have ever and always been a resource you could trust, though I am not one of you—and therefore not subject to any influence they or Wieran may have used.”
Tobimar could sense the relief slowly working its way through the crowd. That could have become very ugly.
Light Tanvol sighed and suddenly sank down to sit on a nearby piece of fallen bridge. “Light, I don’t even know what to think. But by the Cities
we need your help, Lady Shae, Miri. If we can trust you . . .”
“Trust me,” Poplock said. “They’re all right now.”
Shae shook her head. “But can they ever trust us?”
Danrall looked around at the other Unity Guards, then laughed. “Well, Lady Shae, the fact is we’ve never seen you do anything wrong. Or Light Miri. Maybe . . . maybe this will mean we won’t ever completely trust you again, but for now? We’re the Unity Guard. Our job’s to protect Kaizatenzei, and you’re the ones who can tell us how we can do that best, at least for now. So . . . I guess what I’m saying is, we have to trust you.”
“At least for now,” Tanvol said. “So . . . let us lay these issues aside, Lady Shae, Light Miri. We all require rest . . . and then we must enter the Castle, brace it, and seek the survivors within!”
Kyri smiled, and went to embrace the other two women. After a moment, Tobimar went and added his own, at which point even Shae began to cry a little, and Tobimar didn’t mind that his eyes stung a bit with empathy.
Miri thought she might lose everything; Shae must have thought she was going to die. And now, just maybe . . . they’ve won everything instead.
CHAPTER 57
“Viedraverion, when are you going to return my property?” Balinshar demanded.
“When I am finished with him, and not one minute before. Father told you to let this go. Do not presume too much on my well-known good nature.”
Balinshar’s eyes narrowed. “Well-known now, but I remember you somewhat differently, oh, some ages back, before the Fall.”
Unexpectedly perceptive of Balinshar. “I spent millennia playing human roles to tear down civilizations, Balinshar. One thing I learned well was that one can gain much with a quiet word and patience. Especially,” and It caused Its shape to change, growing, the skin turning stony-gray, “when one can choose the other path.”
Balinshar’s fanged mouth twisted in annoyance. “Bah. In any event, you had better not be relying on your Father’s good will so much; he’s becoming annoyed with you, and everyone knows it.” The black-fanged grin was mocking. “Perhaps your fortunes are about to change.” The connection was cut in that instant.
Just as well; he’ll brood about my keeping Tashriel and not think more on that other subject. Tashriel was vital to the final portion of the plan, though almost certainly not in any way that anyone else would guess, and Balinshar definitely wouldn’t.
Miri had played her unwitting part perfectly, right down to returning to the palace to retrieve the scroll—which had of course activated upon contact, as he had planned. The alternative courses had also been planned for, with appropriate arrangements made for each—Miri not retrieving the scroll, Miri not falling to the influence of the Light, Kalshae falling, both dying, et cetera, all planned for. But his predictions had been correct and the course he had most hoped for had been run.
Weiran escaped? Well, that may become interesting in a year or ten, depending on where he escaped to, and with what. He will certainly be most put out by our little band of heroes, but they’ll be dead long before he has any opportunity to try for revenge.
It stood and put the scroll away. Condor will be helping rebuild on the other side of the lake; I’m sure he’s trying to be the hero by now—Miri’s reports certainly indicated that—and he won’t be able to leave a devastated town. So he will not catch up with Phoenix yet, not until the proper moment.
It made a note to Itself to make sure that the agents It had planted there centuries ago were ready to act just in case Condor put on a surprising burst of speed. Timing is the absolute essential element here. Can’t have him interrupt the rebuilding of Kaizatenzei Valatar and their heroic departure. I’m certain there will be a small but important Temple to Myrionar there before she leaves. That must be properly dedicated.
Judging from what he’d seen in Miri’s memories—both those things she’d witnessed and those things she had been told—there were other likely events. Kalshae is probably not actually dead, though I have no doubt that being disintegrated that way must have been painful. But my, my, my, that little Toad is clever. I look forward to seeing what tricks he can come up with in the ultimate confrontation.
The Elderwyrm, on the other hand . . . hit with what appears to have been part of the Sun’s core. Were it merely something like, oh, one of the rannai cannon the Reborn Empire used to use, or even the thermonuclear toys Earth’s playing with, he’d be back fairly quickly. However, the fact that it was a piece of the Sun—the light of the world—had symbolic and thus mystical significance which undoubtedly injured Sanamaveridion’s spirit gravely. And, of course, the fact that it was one of the Wanderer’s tricks might make it even harder to deal with. No, I think that he’ll be long in returning . . . which will likely make the rest of the Elderwyrm cautious in their rising.
Then there was Kerlamion. The time was nearly right to let Kerlamion decide the great plan was unraveling and to dismiss “Viedraverion” in disgust. Not quite yet, but soon, very soon. Kerlamion and his pedestrian and rather boring plans of dominion were, in the end, futile, and the amusing thing was that the King of All Hells did not realize this. It all goes back to that ancient conflict, so far that I’m not sure any of them realize their motives anymore, let alone how completely their little dances of death and revenge are choreographed by others.
It of course understood those motives perfectly; after all, It had arranged that conflict, just as it had arranged all of what was happening here.
A knock on the door of the nearly-bare room caused It to turn. “Enter, please,” It said.
Bolthawk and Skyharrier entered and bowed low. It returned the bow with a slight nod. “Welcome, both of you.”
“You called us,” Skyharrier said, still carefully avoiding using even pronouns that might designate anything about It. That wasn’t so important anymore, now that neither he nor Bolthawk dared show their faces in Evanwyl anymore, but old habits died hard. “You said that you had some good news for us.”
“I do indeed, my friends.” It smiled, and was pleased to see that they still flinched at the expression. “I have been giving thought to the problem you posed, Bolthawk.”
“You mean about our numbers. As in, there’s only two of us left, and it’s going to be Balance-damned hard to recruit any new blood.”
“There are three of you, technically. Condor has not, after all, been killed or otherwise removed from the Justiciars, he’s merely on a rather extended mission. But still, there are, as you say, only two of you available. And while it is true that Justiciars’ Retreat is very difficult for those not of the Justiciars to find, it is not at all impossible. And if that happens . . .”
“My apologies, but we can, I believe, envision the results well enough, Patron,” Skyharrier said.
“Yes, yes, I do tend to ramble, don’t I? Well, in any event we are missing four: Silver Eagle, our beloved Thornfalcon, Mist Owl, and Condor’s foster father Shrike. If we are discovered—and we will be, I assure you, because our friend the Phoenix has been far from idle and will be on the way back here very soon—you were correct that we must have more allies, more sword-brothers . . . more Justiciars, in short.”
Bolthawk shook his head. “Takes too long—why, even if we weren’t on on the Watchland’s kill-on-sight list—how ironic that must be for you, eh?—even if we weren’t on that list, I say, we wouldn’t have half the time we need to train even one newcomer, let alone four.”
“I entirely agree with you,” It said, and smiled more broadly. “So I have found a far better solution.”
It gestured, and in the darkness at the far side of the room was movement. The movement sharpened, became three figures walking with a faint creak and clank of armor. The smell of polish and oil carried with it another odor: the faint, sweetish-foul stench of something long dead.
Bolthawk gave a curse, bringing his gauntleted fists up to guard position, while Skyharrier paled, and half-drew his weapon, backing up with a terror tha
t was sweet to smell indeed.
“Oh, how, now?” It asked, and now It laughed, even as the three figures stopped just behind it. “Is this how you greet the comrades you had just now said we need?”
“Oh, great Balance . . .” murmured the ashen Skyharrier, and Bolthawk’s hands trembled.
Silver Eagle, Mist Owl, and Shrike bowed, surrounded by the smell of the grave, as Its laughter echoed throughout Justiciars’ Retreat.
“But . . . but Mist Owl was burned! To ashes!” Skyharrier finally managed, his voice shaking. “And that . . . that’s Gareth Lamell, the Eagle before Rion Vantage, buried years agone! He should be bones!”
It turned to them slowly and let them see the lambent yellow light in its eyes. “You have allowed yourselves to forget, or perhaps never realized, the truth. You are bound to me, your oaths given and accepted, my power bestowed upon you.
“Did you think that there was any way for you to escape?” It smiled, and the two living Justiciars shrank back. “There is no escape from me. If you serve me well enough—and live—then when the final act of this play is concluded, I may release you.
“But if you serve me poorly, you shall have no release . . . not even death.”
It looked upon their horrified faces, and knew that all was ready, now, for the final act.
GAZETTEER FOR ZARATHAN
NOTE: Some elements of the Gazetteer may be spoilers for Phoenix Rising and Phoenix in Shadow.