The Titan of Twilight ttg-3

by Troy Denning

Tavis took a deep breath. “Kaedlaw has two fathers,” he said. “I’m sorry, milady. Please forgive me for allowing it.”

  Brianna hardly heard the apology. She felt no need of one, and there were other, more pressing matters on her mind. The queen took a tentative step toward her son.

  “What of his future?”

  Tavis shrugged. “No one can say. Ifs impossible to tell the future-at least Kaedlaw’s.”

  Galgadayle shook his head violently. “What of my dreams?” he demanded. “You’re lying!”

  Brianna swept Kaedlaw from Tavis’s hand, then whirled on the seer. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She was almost laughing. “Firbolgs can’t lie!”

  “Then what of my dreams?” the seer demanded. “They have always come true!”

  “Have they really?” Basil’s tone was more one of curiosity than debate. “Has anything ever happened exactly as you saw it?”

  “Of course!” the seer replied. “A landslide swept Orisino’s village away, just as I dreamed.”

  “In your dream, what happened to Orisino’s tribe?”

  “They were buried.”

  Basil smirked. “Obviously, your dream was inaccurate. We both know you warned Orisino in time to save his tribe.”

  Galgadayle furrowed his brow.

  “The same thing happened with the fomorians, I presume,” the runecaster continued. “You dreamed they would drown, then saved the entire tribe by warning Ror of their danger.”

  The seer’s face grew almost as pale as Tavis’s, then he fell on his knees before Brianna. “By the gods, I have made a terrible mistake!” he cried. “How can I earn your forgiveness?”

  There was a time when Brianna would have turned the firbolg away in contempt, perhaps even struck him, but the joy she felt now was more powerful than any fear he had ever inspired. She could not condemn the seer for what had been an act of conscience-and ultimately one of kindness and concern as well.

  Brianna took Galgadayle’s hand and urged him to his feet. “There’s nothing to forgive. You may have frightened me half to death in the silver mines, but it was better that you were chasing us than the fire giants-and they would not have been so kind to their prisoners,” she said. “Fate has a way of pursuing its own course; all you or I can do is follow our consciences and hope for the best”

  “You are more generous than I deserve,” Galgadayle replied. “But I thank you.”

  Basil cleared his throat. “Now that all’s forgiven, perhaps we should turn our thoughts to leaving before Lanaxis comes back. As bad as he’s wounded, I doubt the titan has given up.”

  Brianna felt her joy changing to hot tears. “That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier! I can’t leave the palace. The titan’s magic is too strong!”

  “By my brush!” Basil gasped. “That’s what he meant!”

  “What?” Tavis asked. “He said something?”

  “As he was slipping down the hole into Twilight,” Galgadayle confirmed. “I believe it was, This is not done, not done at all.’ ”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Tavis said. “I can cleave even the titan’s magic.”

  “But I can already see your bones!” Basil objected. “At most, you can use the axe twice before it destroys you-perhaps only once.”

  “I’ll have to take that chance,” Tavis said. “And if I fade, Galgadayle can… he can always…”

  “What’s wrong?” Brianna asked.

  Tavis stepped toward the seer and raised his axe menacingly. Galgadayle wisely lowered his gaze and retreated.

  “He can’t have Sky Cleaver!” Tavis shouted. “I’ll never give it up! I’m the One Wielder!”

  “Of course you are,” the queen replied. She stepped back and motioned for Basil to do the same. “We all know that.”

  This seemed to calm Tavis, and they all stood in silence, considering their options.

  At last, Brianna said, “Running won’t do us any good. One way or another, we’re going to end this thing tonight.”

  Tavis shook his head. “We’ll lose. I can’t beat Lanaxis-and the rest of you can’t even touch him.”

  “Don’t worry about your sight,” Brianna said. “The goddess still favors me. I can repair your eyes, at least.”

  “My eyes aren’t the problem!”

  Brianna frowned. “What’s wrong? I know your concern can’t be for yourself.”

  “Oh, I’m frightened enough for myself.” Though Tavis’s skin was so transparent that it was difficult to tell his expression, he seemed unable to raise his cloudy gaze from the floor. “But my first concern is still for you and Kaedlaw. I’m just not strong enough to best Lanaxis.”

  “Perhaps you could go into Twilight and slay him while he rests,” suggested Galgadayle.

  “He’ll expect that,” Brianna said. “Besides, the only time I’ve ever seen him rest was when he got caught in daylight. Twilight restores his strength.”

  “Then it’s better to wait for him here,” Basil said.

  Tavis clutched the axe to his chest. “He’ll steal it from me!”

  “Steal it?” asked Galgadayle. “If Lanaxis gets close enough to grab it-”

  “Not grab-call,” Tavis said. “How do you expect me to outshout a titan? He almost stole it before!”

  “That makes no sense,” said Basil. “The bond between Sky Cleaver and its wielder is an emotional one. Even Lanaxis shouldn’t be able to call it simply by shouting.”

  “Of course he should!” Brianna said. “Lanaxis is mad with power-lust. Tavis’s anger is no match for that.”

  Galgadayle sighed heavily. “Then we are finished.”

  Brianna shook her head. “Perhaps not. There are plenty of emotions mightier than power-lust.” She turned to Tavis. “When Lanaxis tries to call Sky Cleaver away, fight him with a stronger emotion. Call it back with compassion in your heart, and you will win.”

  Basil shook his head. “That won’t work. How can Tavis fight while he’s trying to be compassionate?” the runecaster demanded. “He’ll never kill the titan that way!”

  Brianna let her eyes drop to her son’s cherubic face. “Of course not, Basil.” She kissed Kaedlaw on the brow. “We can’t defeat Lanaxis by killing him.”

  Fools. Watch this.

  A gloomy hand appeared first, as they knew it would, rising from the pit as the ashen afternoon darkened into twilight. Tavis stood on the boulder, Sky Cleaver in hand, with Basil and Galgadayle to either side of him. Brianna, unable to leave Bleak Palace, stood beside Kaedlaw at the end of the demolished portico.

  Waiting was the hardest part. The queen’s plan called for the One Wielder to attack last, but he wanted nothing more than to leap now and finish the battle. They had made their plans and completed all their preparations. He felt as though the combat had been fought already and they were only awaiting news of the victor.

  The arm climbed slowly, filling the pit so completely that it seemed to drag the edges of the hole up with it. The limb continued to rise until it loomed above the boulder to twice Tavis’s height, then tipped toward Bleak Palace and lay flat as a fallen tower. The hand wedged its fingers into the broken plain and pulled. An enormous, gloom-cloaked shoulder appeared in the hole.

  “Now, Galgadayle!” Tavis urged. “Before he can call to Sky Cleaver.”

  The seer stepped forward and threw a glowing dagger. The blade sank deep into the titan’s flesh, illuminating his shoulder in a brilliant halo of light.

  If Lanaxis felt the weapon’s sting, he showed no sign.

  Basil attacked next, rushing forward with a javelin-sized knife stolen from the palace kitchen. For once, his flat feet made no sound as they slapped the ground, for he had painted runes of silence upon his boots. The runecaster lowered his weapon as though it were a lance and drove the point deep into the titan’s clavicle.

  Basil’s legs were still pumping when the tenebrous arm abruptly dissolved into wisps of purple murk. He plunged forward. The verbeeg’s mouth opened in a silent scream. He flailed h
is arms, dropping his weapon into the dark pit where the titan’s shoulder had been a moment earlier.

  Tavis leapt off the boulder and grabbed Basil’s arm, pulling him away from the hole before he followed his knife into what remained of the Twilight Vale.

  “It was an illusion!” Galgadayle continued to stare into the pit as he spoke.

  “Then he’ll be returning from someplace else.” Tavis spun toward Bleak Palace, expecting to see the titan’s looming figure charging across the demolished portico.

  There was only Brianna, standing at the edge of the lowest step, with twilight rising around her like a ground fog. Tavis turned slowly and saw the purple gloom seeping up all across the plain.

  No, not across the entire plain. To the east, a blanket of damson light was falling from the sky to cover the ashen snows. Twilight did not rise from the ground, not on a tableland as vast as the Bleak Plain.

  “Watch yourselves!” the high scout yelled. “He’s coming up under-”

  Four purple talons burst from the ground and seized Tavis, crushing his arms to his sides. Sky Cleaver popped free and tumbled away. The shadowroc’s foot closed only tightly enough to hold the high scout motionless, as though the bird thought he still had the axe and feared squeezing too tightly would trigger the weapon’s defenses.

  The shadowroc was emerging upside down. As its enormous breast rose from the plain, both Sky Cleaver and Basil tumbled off. The runecaster hit first, with the axe’s enormous heft falling across his chest.

  The verbeeg’s baggy eyes grew as round as plates. His thick-lipped mouth fell open, and he glanced up at Tavis. When he found the high scout still locked helplessly in the raptor’s enormous claw, he raised his sagacious eyebrows in apology. He looked away and wrapped both arms around Sky Cleaver’s ivory handle.

  Tavis felt the syllables of the axe’s ancient summons rise spontaneously in his chest, but he could not force so many strange words past his trammeled ribs. An unreasoning panic welled up inside him, not because he was caught in the titan’s grasp, but because he had lost Sky Cleaver.

  As the shadowroc’s enormous wings and tail rose from beneath the plain, Basil rolled onto his stomach and covered Sky Cleaver. The runecaster murmured something, then he began to pale-hair, flesh, even his clothes.

  A shrill screech erupted from the shadowroc’s throat as it broke completely free of the ground. Tavis felt himself whirl. The enormous bird rolled off its back, and then the air throbbed beneath the force of its great wings. Basil’s figure, already as translucent as alabaster and still paling, began to recede. The raptor beat its wings again. The plain spread out beneath Tavis like a milky-blue sea. In the center lay a dark island of shattered ground, the ruins of Bleak Palace.

  There was nothing above save the shadowroc’s umbral torso, a ceiling of purple feathers as vast as a cloud. Every few seconds, the bird’s distant wingtips dipped below its gloomy abdomen, lifting them ever higher into the sky. Perhaps twenty paces away, the sticklike stump of a severed leg dangled beneath the fan of a monstrous tail.

  Tavis began to work his pinned arms back and forth. Though it required only a few moments to free an arm, by the time he succeeded the shadowroc had carried him so high he could have looked down on the moon. The immensity of Bleak Palace was a mere dot in the milky snows below. He could look across the Endless Ice Sea to where it spilled off the northern edge of the world, and in the opposite direction he saw the dark valleys of Hartsvale lying beyond the white teeth of the Ice Spires North.

  The shadowroc leveled off. Tavis wrapped his free arm around a talon toe and jerked back as hard as he could. There was a muffled crack, and the bird opened its claw. The high scout dangled for an instant, then pulled himself up to wrap his free arm around the raptor’s ankle. He shimmied up the tarsus as fast as he could, trying to reach the jungle of feathers overhead.

  The shadowroc’s ebony beak darted back beneath its breast, a blue tongue fluttering in its gaping maw.

  Tavis grabbed a handful of feather vanes and pulled himself into the dark thicket that covered the bird’s meaty thigh, barely escaping the hooked mandible that came scraping across the tarsus below.

  Suddenly, the high scout’s legs began to rise, as though floating, and his entire body followed, straining away from the shadowroc’s thigh. The vast expanse of the Endless Ice Sea flashed past his eyes, then the starlit sky, the jagged Ice Spires, and finally the creamy snows of the Bleak Plain. Tavis pulled himself deeper into the feathers and held on for his life, trying to keep from being thrown clear as the raptor tumbled. Again, the Ice Sea flickered past, followed so quickly by the stars and distant mountains that the sky and ground blurred into a kaleidoscope.

  The shadowroc pulled a beakful of feathers from its thigh and tossed them to the wind. Tavis could not tell how far the bird had already fallen, but he felt certain those hooked mandibles would find him long before the raptor crashed itself into the ground. Nor could he climb to a safer hiding place. It was all he could do to keep from being flung off the tumbling creature. He realized now why the titan had attacked in this form. As long as they were in the air, Lanaxis was the master; even if the high scout had been holding Sky Cleaver, he could not have killed his foe without sending himself plummeting toward the wasteland below.

  For the next several seconds, the shadowroc struggled against the force of its wild fall to bring its beak to bear. Then, with the ground so close that Tavis could see his friends standing on Bleak Palace’s shattered portico, the raptor’s beak closed around the feathers to which he was clinging.

  Tavis thrust one hand into a nostril. The air inside was as bitter and cold as ice. He grabbed hold of a jagged edge and clung tight as the shadowroc flicked its head to rip the feathers from its thigh. The high scout felt his feet swing around and sink into the soft tissue of the bird’s eye. It squawked in shock, then whipped its head in the opposite direction. Tavis slammed against the side of its beak and reached over the top, sticking his hand into the other nostril.

  “Try to get rid of me now!”

  The high scout had barely growled the challenge before he floated into the air, remaining connected to the beak only by the strength of his trembling old hands. The shadowroc’s enormous wings spread out to both sides of its body. The bird swept low over the ground, and the kaleidoscope of their long, tumbling fall abruptly gave way to the milky snows of the Bleak Plain.

  They glided toward Lanaxis’s palace, flying no higher than the cupola. Basil was standing on the portico, supporting his ancient frame on Sky Cleaver’s heft. Already, the runecaster’s organs and most of his bones showed through his transparent skin.

  “Throw it, Basil!” The cry was not so much a command as a prayer, for not even Basil had believed he would have the strength to part with Sky Cleaver once he touched it. “Now!”

  As they passed by, Tavis kept his gaze fixed on the palace. To his amazement, Basil grasped Sky Cleaver’s heft and began to spin like a hammer-hurler. The shadowroc dipped a wing and wheeled around. Tavis lost sight of the verbeeg, then felt a sudden rush of wind as Lanaxis drew a deep breath through the cavernous bird nostrils.

  The high scout whipped his head back around in time to see Basil releasing the axe. In the same instant, the shadowroc voiced the terrible screech Brianna had warned them about. An anguished ringing erupted in Tavis’s ears, and his entire body stung from the powerful vibrations that reverberated through the bird’s beak. The cry swept Basil from his feet and hurled him across the portico into Galgadayle and Brianna.

  Sky Cleaver dropped toward the ground.

  Tavis pulled one hand from the shadowroc’s nostril and stretched it toward the axe. “In the name of Skoreaus Stonebones, Your Maker-” The high scout’s ears were ringing so painfully he could not be certain he was uttering the syllables correctly, but the axe began to rise into the air. “O Sky Cleaver, do I summon you-”

  The shadowroc screeched again, and wheeled around so violently that Tavis slammed against
the side of its head. As they turned, the high scout glimpsed the axe sailing after them. He finished the last part of the command, unable to hear his own words:

  “Into the service of my hand.”

  Sky Cleaver flew to Tavis, turning its heft toward his outstretched palm. The shadowroc flapped its wings madly. Once more the vibrations of its deafening screech racked the high scout’s body; then he felt the axe’s ivory handle in his palm.

  The bird flung its head wildly, trying to throw its passenger away before he could strike. Tavis glimpsed the moonlit snows a thousand feet below. He knew Sky Cleaver would save him even if he destroyed the shadowroc, but Brianna had warned him against thinking he could kill the titan so easily. He would have to defeat Lanaxis another way.

  Tavis waited and hung on, more for his son’s sake than his own. When at last he felt himself bouncing toward the shadowroc’s face, he struck not with the edge of the axe blade, but with the flat.

  “Cleave!” he commanded. “Sunder this madness!”

  Tavis could never speak of what happened next, not even to Brianna. He remembered a wind that shined like light and a radiance that boomed like thunder. He stood on the whirling emptiness between the stars, with the titan kneeling at his side, head bowed toward a majestic figure that resembled the smell of freshly cut spruce and the sizzle of lightning and the howl of a lonely wind sweeping over an endless glacier. A voice like oak coursed through the high scout’s body and, he supposed, through Lanaxis’s as well.

  “I can return, but why?” demanded the majestic figure. “You poisoned your brothers. You destroyed Ostoria. You cannot raise it again.”

  “But the voices, Father!” Lanaxis seemed as young as the day he had walked from Othea’s birthing caves, with a strapping lean body, curly brown hair, and a brow unfurrowed by centuries of worry. Only his eyes, as deep and sad as twilight, betrayed his timeless remorse. “I have listened to them-I have studied them-for decades of centuries. You want me to rebuild Ostoria. The message is clear!”

  “Message? There is no message! The time of giants has passed without notice on Toril, and that is your doing. The voices are punishment, nothing more.”