by Jim Galford
Unfocusing his eyes, Estin studied the runes as well as he could at a distance. They radiated energy that was twisted in ways he had never seen before. He saw some familiar whorls to it, resembling the way his own magic flowed, though other parts reminded him of the few glimpses he had gotten of Atall’s magic. From another angle it looked more like the tender patterns of magic that continuously drifted around Feanne. It was as though someone had taken every possible type of magic and wrapped it up together.
While he might not understand it or ever be able to duplicate it elsewhere, he could see parts where the magic was weaker and beginning to fade. Each time the magic dwindled, a different form would flow over and rebalance the weaker magics, as though the three styles were aiding one another to resist the mists. Estin watched a moment longer, realizing the way the magic sustained itself meant that pouring his type of magic in could well strengthen even the other types of magic.
It would not be hard to reinforce those runes with fresh magic, mirroring what he could see of them. More than anything, the runes appeared to just need more energy, which he could provide. He doubted his patch would hold up for nearly as long as the original, but it would certainly keep it from failing before nightfall, and perhaps a little longer than that. Even that thought brought torrents of energy to Estin’s fingers, the dragon’s power struggling to escape him.
What he could not do was repair the runes from the ground. He needed to be close enough that he could touch at least part of the script, and that meant a difficult climb, especially as badly as his leg was throbbing after scaling the hallway.
Estin checked the pillar nearest himself and found the stone was deeply marred by centuries in the elements. Handholds would not be an issue, though being spotted certainly would be. He had to climb quite some distance to reach the first ring, perform magic on the whole stone circle, and then somehow climb up another section of pillars and do it again, all without being seen—and without falling.
Before Estin could decide what to do next, he heard more boots hitting the stone floors in the hallway, echoing from both directions. Patrols were getting close. Muttering to himself about never having enough time, Estin yanked off the heavy Turessian robe and threw it aside. He tested his arm and leg movement in the thick winter pants and shirt he wore, finding they would hinder him slightly, even without the robe.
Estin gauged how long he had by the sound of the footsteps. He had maybe another minute before they could see him, if that long.
Grumbling, Estin yanked a small knife from his belt pouch, hurriedly slit the cloth near his shoulder, and pulled off the sleeve. He repeated the process on his other arm. He had always hated the tattered look of wearing his clothing like that. It was too reminiscent of his youth, when keeping his arms and legs free to run or climb was the only way to stay alive. He had seen far too many wildlings and even human urchins get snagged on something just long enough for the guards to catch up to them if they wore long sleeves.
Thinking through things he had done in the past to keep from slowing himself down when climbing, Estin realized his long pants would not help. Slashing at the cloth, he ripped away both pant legs at his knees. The walk home—assuming they survived—was going to be cold. Still, he would rather freeze than slip climbing the temple’s pillars.
As Estin stepped up to the pillar, with the sound of guards getting dangerously close, the distraction he had been promised came. An explosion within the courtyard hurled bodies in all directions. While some of the Turessians crawled to their feet and others remained still in pools of their own blood, Turess walked confidently into the archway opposite Estin. He made no attempt to conceal himself and stopped at the edge of the courtyard, staring down the Turessians who still stood.
Estin then realized Turess could not have created the explosion and searched the shadows behind him. There, Feanne kept herself hidden, her hands up and ready to cast a spell. Given that she was straight behind Turess, she appeared to be trying to make it look like he was the one using magic.
“You all know who I am,” Turess called out, smiling broadly at the Turessians. “Surrender and you will not be hurt again.”
Those among the Turessians that Estin had watched heal from the initial ambush laughed openly, but the still-wounded looked around nervously. One went so far as to take a knee, only to have one of the undead Turessians reach over and tear out his throat.
“You are still just another mortal, Turess,” answered one of the Turessians. She walked toward Turess, spreading her arms wide. If Turess cared, he gave no indication. “What can you possibly do to all of us? Dorralt will reward us for dragging you back to kneel before him, no matter how many of us you manage to kill.”
From the shadows of the pillars, Feanne leaped out and tackled the Turessian, tearing at her face and neck before darting off into the cover of the pillars again. At that point the chase was on, with about twenty Turessians in pursuit of Turess and Feanne. They fled into the southern part of the temple’s bottom floor. The last glimpse Estin got of them was Feanne’s white-tipped tail vanishing into the shadowed halls beyond and then flashes that could have come from either group. Distant shouts and rumbles of magic hitting the temple walls echoed through the whole place. There could not have been a single Turessian in the place who was not aware that combat had broken out.
Estin started to move into the courtyard when he noticed one Turessian had not left. The man stood in the shadow of one of the pillars, watching the way the others had gone. There was nothing remarkable about him that Estin could see. He was middle-aged, with short cropped black hair and dark eyes. The man’s calm reluctance to leave made Estin wonder if this was actually Dorralt, the man who had ordered the deaths of nearly everyone Estin had ever known. He had somehow expected something different. Perhaps a crown, or almost anything else to set him apart from the rest of his people. Even his tattoos were unremarkable.
Before he realized he was doing it, Estin had his hands on his swords and was baring his teeth as he walked toward the man, distant thoughts of Atall coming to mind. He shook off his mindless desire to attack and quickly refastened the loops that held his weapons in their sheaths as he backed away. He had a job to do, and that did not include throwing himself recklessly at Dorralt. That could wait for Feanne to return. They would find a way to kill Dorralt together or not at all.
Estin slid behind one of the pillars and reached as high as he could, grabbing hold of the uneven stone with his thick claws. He pulled himself up by one hand and finding a good grip with the other. His toes sought out notches of their own to cling to. Soon he had a feel for the stone and began climbing, the tiny imperfections giving him a way up as clear and steady as a ladder would have been to most humans. Even with his left leg shaking, he made good time up the stone pillar.
The first issue came at the top of the high-ceilinged hallway. There he had to go around to the courtyard side of the pillar to keep climbing, and that meant he was visible to the Turessian if the man looked his way. Finding no way around that, Estin quickly scurried around the pillar and then back around to the outer side once he was above the roof of the first floor. He heard no shouts or crackles of magic, letting him know he had made it back to the concealed side without being seen. A small accomplishment, but an important one.
He continued up the pillar until he reached the ring of stone with the first of the rune patterns he would need to adjust. Again, that meant getting to the inside of the courtyard, as the runes were absent on the exterior. Praying he would get as lucky as the first time now that he was well above the part of the pillars one might naturally see in passing, he reached around and slid sideways into the shadow of the pillar.
Estin stopped there, trying to determine what to do next. The ring with the runes was smooth, giving him no sure way to pull himself up any farther. Unlike the stone columns, the stone ring appeared to have been preserved perfectly, offering no good handholds. That section was about three feet tall before the start of
the next section of pillars, which appeared even more pocked than the one he hung from. Somehow he had to go straight up about three feet to reach the next set of hand-holds. If he could manage that, it would be far easier to repair the runes from a perch on the stone, rather than hanging from the pillar below.
Looking down, Estin saw the Turessian below was pacing the courtyard. The man had his hands clasped behind his back as he walked, his hood turning occasionally as he watched the halls for the return of either his allies or foes. He appeared to have no idea that Estin was right above him and no visible concern, despite the unending sounds of battle outside.
To Estin’s amusement, he caught a glimpse of red fur through one of the archways a second before he heard the sizzle of acid and more shouts.
Turning his attention back to the climb, Estin stared at the space between himself and the upper pillars. He thought back to all the years of climbing the walls of Altis as a child. Then he realized this was not entirely different from one section near the Grinder that had several newer blocks in it that were too smooth to climb. When he had been very young, he had avoided those areas, lest he fall. But as he had gotten older and more willing to take risks, he had challenged himself to climb them anyway. Back then he had nothing to lose by dying and somewhat welcomed the risk. Now he had to accomplish the same thing, knowing that if he died, so would everyone else in the temple, sooner or later.
Estin felt out his muscles to get an idea of whether he could do what he was thinking. He had been a lot younger back then, and he was hardly in good shape after years of war. What he wanted to try had nearly killed him a half dozen times in far better days. Aches throughout his arms and legs warned him this was not going to be easy—his recently broken leg in particular was giving him plenty of unease. He only had one chance, and he would either succeed or fall right onto the Turessian.
He stared for some time up at the pillar, trying to convince himself to make the jump. Doubt continued to creep into his thoughts, warning him that he was much too old to try this.
Then a memory of Oria and Atall as kits came to mind. They had been terrified of the cliffs and crags in the mountains, mostly thanks to their mother’s fear of learning to climb. He had insisted, and they had gone far higher than he had meant to, bringing them near a steep drop-off. They could see things far from their home in the distance.
Climbing a few steps behind him on the crumbling rocks, Oria had looked up at him with her bright eyes and asked, “Dad…aren’t you scared you’ll fall?”
Right then she had slipped and tumbled backward toward the drop-off. Estin had leaped down the nearly sheer mountainside and caught her with one hand as he managed to dig his claws into the stone to keep them from falling any farther.
“Never,” he had told her, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. “If you’re afraid, you will fall. Every time.”
Smiling, Estin stared at the pillar and tensed to make the jump. He would have no fear. Oria needed him again, and today it meant doing this right the first time.
Estin flattened against the stone and lowered himself as far as he could without moving his hands or feet. Then, with as much strength as he could muster, he jumped straight up the pillar’s side and grabbed for the top of the stone ring. One hand missed, but the other caught with little more than the tips of his claws. Clinging as tightly as he could, Estin managed to swing his other hand up and get a second hold. From there, he carefully pulled himself onto the stone ring above the first set of runes.
Panting, Estin sat for a moment, giving his arms and legs a break before trying to climb again. He wanted to deal with the dome’s runes first, as they would be the hardest to reach and that meant another climb. A few seconds’ rest would make it far easier. He could not give himself long for fear of what might happen to Feanne and Turess, but seconds could mean the difference between success and falling to his death.
Estin looked around as he sat on the stone ring, staring out over the white plains of Turessi around the temple. Realizing he was probably not far off from an angle where he could see Linn’s soldiers, he shifted closer to the outer edge to get a better view. He did not have to move far before he could see more than he had expected.
On the west side of the temple, Linn’s small force was locked in a brutal combat with undead a short distance from one of the temple’s outer doors. Bodies lay strewn across deep ditches filled with spikes that had slowed their charge and left them vulnerable. There were so few people left that it broke Estin’s heart. One of the few things that made it easier to watch was seeing Alafa and Barlen dart around the enemy lines and back again. At least some people had survived this long and showed no sign of tiring.
At each end of the army, a dragon held the flanks for Linn and drove back the undead with their flaming breath every so often. As Estin watched, Alafa led a long strand of undead straight at the grey dragon. She dove between the dragon’s front feet, and the undead were turned to dust by the dragon’s breath the moment she was out of the way. Though he could not see her face, Estin could imagine the panicked squeak when Alafa realized she was beneath a dragon.
Getting to his feet, knowing he had already wasted precious time, Estin got ready to climb again and looked toward the east. There, a second army was making headway through an undead force at least ten times the size of the one Linn’s people faced. He could see hundreds of robed figures out there, and initially thought he was mistaken about which people were on which side, but there was no doubt. Hundreds of Turessians were turning on the undead and even their brethren, fighting toward the temple. Among them, there were large bestial creatures Estin could not identify from so far off. More importantly, there were the three other dragons on that side of the temple, aiding the troops, and if he was not mistaken, one was Mairlee.
There were actually two armies attacking the temple at the same time.
“That explains the comments about sending our main force east,” Estin whispered to himself with a chuckle. “Who are all of you?”
His humor faded abruptly as he watched a flicker of light in the sky, followed by what appeared to be a tornado dropping in the distance. A second came down off to his left a second later. More and more appeared, the sky around the region flashing brightly. At first he stared in confusion, but as he saw the whirlwinds begin to glow, he realized they were the first bits of the mist to break through the temple’s barrier. He was almost out of time.
He had a newfound sense of urgency. The armies did not have long before the mist could reach them. He had to get the barrier reinforced and fast, or it would not matter that the dragons were aiding them.
Scrambling up the pillar, Estin made the climb as quickly as he dared, until he hung just below the dome’s bottom. Only inches away, the rings of runes flared and popped, spewing out bursts of blue flame as they began to collapse. Estin could feel the heat radiating off the flaming symbols, along with a wavering hum that seemed to grow louder right before a rune would burst. His whole body itched from the magic, making him want to check his fur for any that might be aflame.
Estin braced himself with his legs, minimizing his need for his hands. Ignoring the pain that lanced through his left leg, he leaned back away from the pillar, hoping his legs would be strong enough to balance him. He pointed one hand toward the farthest parts of the rune pattern, trying not to panic as he unfocused his vision to watch the magic instead of his grip. Immediately he could see the weakest sections flare more brightly, where the flow of energy was unraveling. Even the darkest section of the runes still had some magic to it, though from what he was seeing, it would not last long. Faint tendrils of magic were being forcibly ripped away, drawn out in strands toward the distant mists.
Tracing the original design with his fingers, Estin poured magic into the blue lines while the thousands of voices in his head shouted and screamed. He had never heard them so riled, and it worried him more than a little. Most were as incoherent as usual, but there were some that seemed more
insistent and far clearer. For the moment he ignored them.
Slowly the pattern balanced out in his sight, the magic flowing more steadily across all of the runes. When he finally reached the end of the pattern, the hum faded away abruptly.
Estin shifted his vision back to normal as he kept channeling into the runes and saw there was already a change around the temple. The mists had been forced back several miles, and the winds they were raising pummeled a dome of faint white light that peaked high over the temple. The armies would be safe for a while. He just needed to fix the lower ring, and they might have days or weeks to deal with Dorralt. The dragon’s magic had given him more than enough to deal with this. They had hope now.
Letting the flow of his magic fade away to prepare to climb down, Estin realized three of the voices did not depart with it. They continued to whisper, and in the absence of the dozens of other ghostly voices that came with magic, he could finally hear them clearly.
“Son, he knows you are there!” Asrahn hissed, sounding as though she were hanging near his shoulder in midair.
From the other side, Atall’s soft voice seemed near panic. “Dad, get out of there!”
As Estin started to turn to see what they were talking about, Lihuan said, “Get ready to fight, my son. It’s too late to run, and Feanne cannot hear us call for her help.”
“Hello, rodent!” called out a man’s voice from below. “Come down and be sociable.”
Shadowy hands grabbed at Estin from all sides, yanking him away from the pillar and out into the open air above the courtyard. The moment his hands and feet were hanging free, the magical tugging vanished and he tumbled backward head over tail.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Estin drew as much of his strength as he could into a barrier around himself. He had been taught to use that spell to knock aside or soften the blow from a weapon being swung at him. Now it was his only hope of minimizing his impact with the ground. He had no time to shape it properly and instead forced the magic into existence and hurled it in the direction where he hoped the ground was.