by John Delaney
* * *
—
Jeska appeared in Keld just outside Radha’s traveling camp. Stealth was not Jeska’s forte, but it was a simple matter for her to observe the workings of the camp and its leader without being noticed.
It was also easy to find Radha among the others—Jeska only had to follow the disruptive swathe the Keldon warlord cut. Jeska’s enthusiasm for this errand soured as Radha stalked across the camp and intimidated her own soldiers, and again as Radha viciously wounded the elves who had come to parley. She had seen warriors like this before, and she was not impressed.
Despite her obvious elf lineage, Radha was little more than a brute. In Otaria the Pardic people were known as barbarians because they lived wild and followed a rough code of justice. The Keldons seemed to be that other kind of barbarian, the feral, bloodthirsty kind. There were Pardic rituals that created temporary battle-madness, but the Keldons were true berserkers to the bone, hostile and savage as a matter of course. Jeska recognized the hungry look and dangerous air of those who reveled in the chaos of the battlefield so much that they carried it with them everywhere.
Jeska moved in front of Radha as the warlord strode back to her camp. She was disappointed to find the Keldons were mere brutes, but she also saw advantages to the situation. Berserkers were like dogs and quickly submitted to superior force or a dominant alpha figure. Radha was charismatic and talked tough, but Jeska had developed her talent for bluster in the Cabal’s fighting pits. She was ready to bark right back when Radha barked and to bite harder than she bit.
As for dominance, well, Jeska simply was dominant—she commanded more force than a hundred Radhas with a hundred warhosts. There was no danger of Jeska being magically intimidated or physically overpowered, and she felt calm, even confident. She was in control here. She didn’t need to kill the Keldon, and the Keldon couldn’t kill her—all Jeska needed to do was keep her head and she’d be on her way in a matter of minutes.
Still without much hope of a peaceful result, Jeska appeared in front of Radha and said, “Warlord, I am Jeska of Otaria, from the Pardic mountains. I would speak with you.”
Radha looked Jeska over, then put her hand on one of her many weapons. The Keldon elf’s fierce eyes locked on Jeska and she said, “I’m listening, Planeswalker. But I can save us both lots of time: The answer is no.”
Jeska’s brow wrinkled. She expected bluster and boasting but not rejection out of hand. She was accustomed to garnering respect and awe, but Radha was clearly unmoved. Jeska wanted to end this interlude as quickly as possible, and so the only sane policy was to get the brute’s attention and hold on to it.
“If you know I’m a planeswalker,” she said, “you should know the risks of antagonizing me without good cause.”
“Get to the point,” Radha said, “or get out of my way.”
Jeska’s eyes narrowed. “They said you were contrary. They didn’t say you were suicidal.”
“Who’s ‘they’? Never mind. I bet I know. Who are you?”
“I told you. Jeska of Otaria.” Radha’s eyes were blazing red, and the warlord continued to stare directly at her. The Keldon seemed to be on the verge of saying something, her throat tight as she tried to keep it in. Her expression was furious, frenzied. It demanded a response.
Involuntarily, Jeska’s eyes slipped down to the blade in Radha’s hand. It was shaped for throwing, and it was certainly balanced for such duty. Perhaps the Keldon was trying to mesmerize her with a fiery stare so she could draw and strike while Jeska was vulnerable?
But Radha let out a contemptuous snort as soon as Jeska broke eye contact. The warlord’s mounting fury deflated, but in its wake Radha was still sharp and hard and unyielding as stone.
“You came to talk.” Radha glanced over Jeska’s head to the camp’s torches. “Get on with it.”
“I want to know about you,” Jeska said, “your connection to this place. I’m told you also had a connection to the time rifts.”
Radha shook her head. “By who? The boring, bald-headed one or his Ghitu handler?”
Jeska blinked. “Teferi,” she said. “And Jhoira. Yes, they are the ones who told me about you.”
“I thought so. Listen here. Whatever that babbling fool told you was only half-true. He tends to leave things out if they don’t support his argument.”
“That’s why I’m here. To see for myself.”
“Take a good look.” Radha spread her hands out wide, leaving the blade in its sheath. She slowly turned around in place, allowing Jeska to view her from all angles. “The Skyshroud rift is closed. I’m not connected to it because it doesn’t exist anymore.” Radha lowered her arms. “Keld is my home. Now move on. We’re done.”
Jeska did not reply. She was staring at Radha, seeing the Keldon not as flesh and blood but as a collection of magical energy and potential. Radha was steeped in the fires of Keld, but Jeska saw an absence in the pattern, a space that until recently had been filled with rich green mana. The elf within Radha must be drowning in the overwhelming abundance of Keldon magic.
There was also another important facet to Radha, a small, hard-edged ingot of…something. Something unfamiliar, as yet untapped, and potentially explosive.
Radha suddenly strode forward straight at Jeska.
“Wait,” Jeska said. “The rifts—”
“I’ve heard it all before,” Radha said. She plowed right into the planeswalker and shoved her aside without breaking stride. Amazed, Jeska allowed herself to be shunted aside. As Radha continued to walk away she said, “World in danger, universe unraveling, your planeswalker plan is the only way to save us all. I’ve heard it, done it, and lived it, and it didn’t make any difference.”
Jeska straightened her clothes and clenched her jaw. “I will have your help, Radha, if I have to pin you down to get it.”
The Keldon elf stopped. She turned and showed Jeska a wicked smile. “I’d like to see that,” she said.
“Before we fight,” Jeska said, “there ought to be stakes.”
“Stakes? Are you a warrior or a moneymonger? Never mind, I can guess that too. Stakes.” Radha shook her head angrily. “How about ‘to the death’? That ought to motivate us.”
“If I beat you,” Jeska said, “you work for me. You can bring your whole ’host along if you like, but you will come with me and help me figure out what I need to know.”
“No deal, Little One,” Radha said. “I’ve had planeswalkers on my back since I was born. I’m never going to help another.”
“What if I’m not a planeswalker?”
Radha cocked her head. “Explain.”
“I could crush you and your entire band of mongrels with a thought. But I was a warrior long before I was a god. I will meet you on even terms with no more power than I had before I…became what I am. And I will beat you, Radha. You will come with me.”
Radha shook her head again. “I’m not wagering time or effort with you. I’ve got plans of my own.”
“Then I say you’re a coward.”
“Easy to say,” Radha said. She smiled wolfishly as flames erupted behind her head. “Prove it.”
Radha’s flaming mantle reminded Jeska of Leshrac’s crown, and she hesitated. It was only a coincidence, as Jeska felt absolutely no connection between the two, but it still distracted her. Then a terrible, high-pitched keen came ripping out of the camp. It was an angry sound, an anguished one, filled with pain and fury. The noise continued to expand, filling the air like a winter wind, and Jeska felt the temperature around her drop.
The scream punched through Jeska’s ears like an awl, echoing and reverberating inside her head. She had heard such cries before on the battlefield, in the fighting pits, in her darkest and most private dreams. It was a sound she had often squeezed from others, sometimes from a thousand throats at once, the sound of death laying its cold hands on a tenacious spirit that refused to go quietly, that had chosen to fight and kick and spit to stay among the living.
The
sound visibly pained Radha, her body wracked with involuntary spasms. She grunted and snarled like an animal as her white, square teeth bit through her own bottom lip. As soon as the initial shock passed, Radha’s face twisted into a mask of pure rage. She knew what that scream signified, or at least she thought she did, and thus Jeska started to see the full range of Radha’s inexhaustible fury.
“Miserable bitch,” the Keldon said. Flames flared around her entire body and Radha launched herself over Jeska, arcing high into the air with a long wake tail of fire trailing behind her. Radha was fast on her feet to start with, but enveloped in flames and fueled by Keldon fury she was a blur that quickly disappeared from view.
Jeska paused a moment to calculate Radha’s course. The warlord was heading straight for the central command tent and the source of the horrid, chilling noise. The sounds of battle quickly rose inside the tent, just as the echoing screech died away. Jeska heard grunts of exertion mixed with shouts of pain.
Bewildered but still determined, Jeska teleported after Radha.
Dinne waited barely an hour before his new orders arrived. He felt a buzzing in the top of his head, felt Leshrac’s presence, and suddenly all was clear. Leshrac knew what Dinne knew, and moments later Dinne had his instructions.
Enrage the warlord, Leshrac told him. Cripple her ’host. Kill as many leaders as you can and wound her if you’re able. Above all, kill the boy. You must stoke the Keldon’s fury until she’s ready to lash out at anything and everyone.
The orders were not perfectly in line with Dinne’s desires, but he was first and foremost a good soldier. Silently acknowledging his instructions, the Vec raider gathered his strength and moved forward.
He approached Dassene, the woman warrior in red, and passed by undetected. Dinne plunged through the outer walls of the command tent into the dimly lit interior where two torches and a pewter brazier burned. He drifted toward the firelight and saw something massive lying in between the torches, a great barrel-sized chunk of something moist and meaty.
It was soft and boneless, a grayish-white lump of muscle with deep, blue veins throbbing along its outer surface. It shifted like a bag of melting ice, and the veins pumped so that the entire mass shuddered as it compressed and expanded like a clenching fist. A deep, sonorous sound accompanied the ghastly rhythm, a booming, percussive beat that shook the ground and sent soft vibrations up through the soles of Dinne’s feet.
Icy fog drifted from the object to the soil floor, ferrying intense waves of bitter cold inside. Dinne extended his hand within a few feet of the grisly totem, and the chill emanating from it brought a painful tingle to his fingers. If this was Radha’s precious war trophy, its value was beyond Dinne’s comprehension. There was power in it, but the object itself seemed to have no offensive or defensive effect beyond making the inside of the tent far colder than the outside.
The rest of the room’s contents were less mysterious and well within his abilities. A young boy sat on the floor opposite the frigid mound, arms and legs folded in meditation. His face was hidden in the flickering shadows, but as he rocked silently back and forth Dinne saw the deep, vivid scars that crisscrossed the boy’s face. The Vec watched for a few seconds to verify one last detail: The boy was blind, his wide, open eye sockets empty and hollow. Whoever had cut his face had also taken his sight.
The tall lizard called Skive stood near the boy, watching over him like a kennel master watches his dogs. Skive’s tongue and tail lashed impatiently, but he was an alert and focused sentry. If anyone but Dinne came calling, the boy probably would have been perfectly safe.
Leshrac promises were already coming true—the lizard was clearly an able warrior, and killing him would be a worthy test of Dinne’s skill. Leshrac would probably appreciate it if Dinne kept Skive alive to watch what happened to the boy, but the Vec was unwilling to take the extra time required. Kill the lizard, kill the red-garbed woman when she rushed in, and kill the boy. If Radha didn’t come to investigate he would kill his way across the camp until he found her. Dinne remembered the feeling of his heart’s beating faster and longed to experience it again. The sooner he finished this task, the sooner Leshrac would give him another, and each success brought him closer to his reward.
Under different circumstances he would have appeared and declared himself to Skive, but he did not have that luxury here. If the lizard didn’t fight and instead raised an alarm, it would complicate Dinne’s plan. Safe in his shadow form, Dinne drew a spike in each hand and drifted toward the tall reptile.
“Skive.” The boy stopped rocking and broke the rhythm of his near-silent chant. “Someone is here,” he said. His voice was that of a child, high-pitched and hesitant, but it came with the dry, hollow listlessness of age. Unlike his tone, the boy’s movements were young and lively as he pointed his left index finger directly at Dinne. “There,” he said.
The lizard hissed angrily, and his tail curved up over his head like a scorpion’s, ready to strike. If Dinne were to prevent an alarm he had to move quickly, so for now he put aside the mystery of how the boy had sensed him when the Vec didn’t physically exist.
Dinne made himself solid, letting both throwing spikes fly at Skive before he was completely formed. The scaly bugger was fast, fast enough to avoid the missiles after being alerted by the boy. Dinne’s spikes sailed by their target and punched through the wall of the tent. They puffed away like smoke as soon as they hit the night air outside, leaving clean, sharp holes in the canvas.
The lizardman struck back, charging forward on all fours and slashing at Dinne with the sharp crescent end of his tail. Dinne let the tail’s cutting edge pass through him and slammed a spike into Skive’s shoulder so deeply the point came out on the other side.
The scaled warrior’s return stroke would have gutted Dinne if the Vec raider had been a solid creature. Instead, Skive’s claws cut only empty air that still held the ghostly afterimage of his quarry.
Dinne rammed another spike into Skive’s other shoulder. The huge creature hissed and spat, displaying rows of sharp teeth, but the battle was already over. No matter how angry or determined Skive became, moving his arms at all now caused the spikes to grate painfully against his shoulder joints. Even if Skive remained conscious through the pain, his arms were functionally useless. He was beaten.
Amazingly, the lizard rose up to his full height and let out a throaty hiss. He bent at the waist and pivoted with his feet so that his long tail whistled through the cold smoky air inside the tent. The half-moon blade could have cut five men in half at the speed it was traveling.
It never touched Dinne, however. The Vec raider waited until Skive was facing away and completely off balance, then pounced onto the lizard’s back. Dinne plunged two more spikes into Skive’s spine and hung on tight as the reptile thrashed and bellowed. When Skive’s movements slowed, Dinne released his hold and rolled backward, down Skive’s back and onto the floor. As he passed the slashing end of Skive’s tail, Dinne pinned it to the dirt with another one of his spikes.
Dinne rolled to his feet and drew one final spike. Skive’s strength and weight would soon pull the spike out of the ground or pull Skive’s tail away from the spike, so Dinne did not wait. He strode forward toward Skive’s head, determined to split the reptile’s skull.
Flames crackled behind Dinne, and he faded out just as a blast of fire streamed through his body. It was magical fire, so he felt its heat, and he savored the searing sensation and the muted smell of burning flesh even as his shadow state protected him from the worst of the flame’s effects.
Red-clad Dassene stood at the open tent flap with her batons crossed and smoking. She was desperately scanning the room for any sign of the flickering ghost that had attacked Skive, but Dinne kept himself out of sight. This had not gone as smoothly as he had hoped, but it was still well within his control. Calmly, he stepped through Skive and advanced on the boy.
Dinne paused only a moment when the boy suddenly turned his face and his empty socket
s directly toward him. The Vec raider felt a fresh wave of cold touch his back like a stinging breeze, and he realized the boy was somehow using the power from the grotesque mass of flesh at the far side of the room. Dinne looked down at himself and saw the icy fog flowing around him, outlining his shape. The boy was probably seeing him stark and clear against the backdrop of frigid air. Even in his immaterial state, Dinne’s presence disrupted the flow of cold, and the boy was capable of tracking that disruption.
The child intrigued him. Dinne made sure Dassene was still rooted in place, searching for something to burn, then slowly circled around the seated child. The boy’s ruined face followed Dinne every step of the way, wordlessly watching the silent killer assess his next helpless victim.
The spikes he had used so far now reappeared in his belt, one by one. This afforded Skive some release, but the fight had largely drained out of the big lizard along with his blood, which now covered the floor of the tent and slowly seeped into the hard, frozen dirt. Skive turned toward the boy and toppled, stretching out his tail and his injured arm in one final attempt to protect his charge.
Intriguing or not, the boy was Dinne’s target, and he had to die. Dinne drew a spike, twirled it in his hand, and advanced on the boy with the weapon raised high. As he stepped within arm’s reach, the boy surprised him by lunging forward and slashing at Dinne’s throat with a small tear-shaped blade he’d concealed between his hands.
Still immaterial, Dinne nonetheless felt the edge of the blade slip through his shadow windpipe. Icy, searing pain followed in the blade’s wake, and Dinne gurgled as if his throat had actually been cut. He was not bleeding, could not bleed, but he still clapped his hand to his throat and stepped back.
He had been correct. The boy was using the power of the gruesome hunk of meat and muscle nearby. The stinging cold he had felt from the frozen mass was also in the boy’s blade. It was a sublime sensation, pure and clean and sharp. Dinne felt real physical pain for the first time in a long while…along with real uncertainty, which he had not felt in decades.