The Archons of the Stars

by Alison Baird

  “Damion—I am, as you said, one of the lesser ones. I have no strength to fight an Elyra!”

  “What of the Stone?” he asked. “It is a talisman that links you to all other El. Perhaps all you need do is wield it, and they will add their strength to yours.”

  Ailia considered. “Perhaps,” she said at last. “I have it here. We will see what power it grants me. But my mother told me it was not truly a weapon.”

  There was a low rumble and the floor trembled beneath their feet, as if masses of steel-shod cavalry had just galloped past. Then the earth itself seemed to rock—back and forth, like a ship at sea—and then settle once more into solidity. Screams and shouts broke forth from the crowd outside.

  “It’s begun,” said Damion. “We must act now, before he gains too much power from his master. He may not realize even now what he has become.”

  Together they walked back out the tall doorway. The crowd was dispersing in fear, and not because of the tremors alone. The hill with its fortress was wreathed not only in its customary white steams, but with black smoke as well, billowing up to hide the lofty towers from view.

  “Is there a fire?” cried Ailia as Jomar and Lorelyn came running up to the steps.

  The bald man overheard. “The fire is in the earth!” he answered. “We will be punished for listening to you! The Dragon King is angry, and now we will be destroyed!”

  17

  The Power of the Earth

  LATER IN THE EVENING AILIA and her allies gathered in the court before the Dragon King’s temple. From its gilded roof the battle-standard of Arainia now flew: it depicted the Elmir Triumphant, holding in its beak the writhing form of the conquered Serpent. The earth had grown quiet once more. But the fortress of the living god still lowered over the city, its towers enfolded in smoke-plumes rising from deep fissures in the hill’s sides, and circled by sparring dragons and cherubim.

  “That’s our next conquest,” said Jomar. “And the last, and hopefully it will end the war.”

  Erron Komora shook his head. “Few will follow you there. Not while Mandrake lives, as your dragons and cherubim say he does. And the Lady Syndra has also grown in power, so that the people here fear her as much as the Dragon King himself. She told me that she had turned to the earth-goddess for aid,” he said, shuddering.

  “Mortals who turn to evil Archons often live to regret it,” commented Taleera.

  “And we have iron. The armies must go together to the hill, and enter the castle. I will teach them the way,” said Ailia. “Once they enter the stronghold with their weapons, they will weaken the enemy’s sorcery.”

  “But Mandrake is impervious now to iron, you say,” Taleera pointed out.

  “That is true; but Syndra and the Loänei are not, and neither are his rebel Loänan and the firedrakes. Even Elnemorah cannot resist it.” They all looked up at the winged shapes wheeling above the fortress. “He will have to fight alone once his allies are rendered powerless,” Ailia continued, her voice turning dull. “And our Wingwatch wounded him as he fled. Great as his sorcery has become, he cannot fight forever. Our Loänan cannot fight either, of course, with iron present. But the cherubim can.”

  “And will,” said Falaar in his great trumpeting voice. It was clear that he took pride in the thought that his people should fight the final battle.

  “So it will be Mandrake alone against the cherubic hosts. I am sorry, Auron,” Ailia said, turning to the Loänan, “to deny your people this fight. But none of us who wield sorcery can take part in the battle. Mandrake must not be allowed to go to Ombar. With no cherubim on his side, nor any that can resist iron, he will grow weary, and his wounds will weaken him. He will need rest and sleep, and then . . . that will be the end.” There was a catch in her voice as she said the last words, barely perceptible to most, though Damion heard it. He went to stand by her side.

  “The prophecy says that you will triumph, Ailia,” said Taleera. “But in this plan you propose, you have no active part to play. That cannot be right.”

  Damion said, “Perhaps Ailia has played her part already. By devising this plan, she will be the indirect cause of the Dragon Prince’s destruction. And this way the mortals will have a larger share in the victory than if we tried to win through sorcery.”

  “Yes,” said Ailia. “They will have the triumph, not I.”

  “That is as it should be,” said Brannion Duron. “This is, after all, our world and not yours.” The woman Jelynda, who was standing close to him, laid her hand upon his arm in a manner both reverent and possessive. He did not smile, but responded to her touch with a casual caress.

  Ailia averted her eyes from the pair, only to find herself looking instead at Lorelyn and Jomar, who had also put their arms about each other. She had seen their love grow over the past weeks, from small and subtle signs to more open displays of affection. Even as she rejoiced for them, the sight gave her the same heartache as had the love between Mai and her Teren. The boy had survived the battle in the jungles, but he would likely take part in this new campaign as well. How could Ailia ever face Mai if her lover died, since the campaign was of her own devising? And were Lorelyn and Jomar also doomed?

  THE KNIGHTS AND ARMED REBELS, together with many of the people of the city, advanced to the foot of the volcanic hill and looked up. Its sides were sheer, its top lost in the swirling steams and smokes. Through these they glimpsed the path that Ailia and Mai had once taken, winding thin as a thread up to the cave mouth in the hillside.

  Lorelyn went to stand beside Jomar. “Ailia says there is a tunnel inside that, and it goes right through the inside of the hill, and joins onto a passage that leads up into the castle.”

  “I don’t much like the sound of that,” he responded. “We could be trapped inside a tunnel.”

  “Perhaps with the cherubim attacking by air, the enemy’s attention will be distracted from us.”

  He considered. “Perhaps. But we had better wait until it turns dark, just to be on the safe side.”

  After the setting of the second sun they began their cautious ascent, Jomar and Lorelyn leading with their knights while the soldiers of the Overseer followed in long files. The Overseer himself was not with them: he and Komora had disappeared before the march began. “Cowards,” Jomar had said in contempt. “They know now that iron’s no use against Mandrake, so they don’t dare attack him again. They’ll leave all the hard work and danger to us.” Some of the Overseer’s men also became afraid as they approached the cave mouth, and turned back. But most continued on past its steamy curtain, confident in those who led them. It was hot and dark in the cave beyond, almost stiflingly so: the walls were no longer merely dewed and glistening, but dripped and ran with moisture. The intruders panted and mopped their brows, and the knights began to remove some of their armor despite Jomar’s warnings. When they came at last to the cavern and the pool they saw that the surface of the latter was bubbling like a great pot over a fire.

  Lorelyn stepped close to the edge, staring. “Ailia said that the pool was hot like a steam bath, but not boiling. What has happened?”

  “Look, my lady,” said a knight, pointing. They could see a red glow coming up through a narrow crevice in the rock floor, and a heat like a forge at full blast smote their faces as they stooped and looked down into it.

  “Fire—there’s fire below,” said Jomar. “Is this volcano coming to life again?”

  “It’s sorcery,” declared Lorelyn. “I’m sure of it. Perhaps we ought to go back.”

  “If it’s magic, then Mandrake is doing it to make us retreat,” Jomar answered. He felt a rising impatience now that he was so near his quarry. “But he’ll not do anything to endanger himself. He’s only trying to frighten us. We should be safe enough.” He rubbed the sweat from his brow. “Come along. Where is this stair that goes up into the keep?”

  On they went, their weapons at the ready, up the rock stair to the door opening on the lower level of the castle. This they broke open with ease.
There were a few retainers milling about the halls, and these fled at the sight of the invaders’ swords and armor, save for a few who seemed to be in a sort of stupor, as if drunk. But there was no sign of Mandrake anywhere.

  Presently Lorelyn found the great doors to the throne room and peered in. There was a red-robed figure sitting on the throne. She gave an exclamation as she recognized it.

  “It’s she—Syndra! The traitor!”

  Jomar strode through the doorway, sword at the ready. “Where is your prince? Tell me now!” he shouted.

  Syndra continued to sit the throne unmoving. Her loose hair spilled like black oil down her red robe, and her face was utterly serene. “You cannot prevail,” she called out in a clear, unhurried voice. “The fires of the earth are rising. I summoned them, and they obeyed my command, for I have dominion over them. You thought to overrun a keep, and instead it has become a snare. Still, you may depart if you will, and go back to your Tryna Lia. Remain, and you will burn!”

  Jomar stared. “So will you, you fool!”

  She said, “No: only this mortal creature will perish with her body. I cannot be harmed.”

  He gaped at her. “What? What are you saying?”

  “That isn’t Syndra speaking. She has been possessed!” Lorelyn walked swiftly up the aisle and to the foot of the throne, and held out her adamantine blade. “Who are you? What have you done to Syndra?”

  “I am the Archon of this world,” said the red-painted mouth.

  “Elnemorah,” gasped Lorelyn, turning to look back at Jomar. “Elnemorah has taken her over. You see, Jo? That’s why she’s not afraid: the Archon knows she can’t be destroyed!”

  “We brought iron with us,” Jomar said. “Even the earth-Archons can’t resist that, can they? It stops their sorcery from working, just the same as any mortal magician’s.” He too advanced up the aisle, and as his Star Sword drew near the woman on the throne writhed and glared at him.

  “It is too late!” cried Syndra’s stolen voice. “The earth-fires have been awakened, and they rise now not by my power but in obedience to their own nature. You and your rebel allies can never retake Loänanmar now. The city will be destroyed, and its people must flee or perish. You brought this doom upon them.”

  THE TRYNA LIA AND HER counselors had taken an abandoned house in the center of the city for a temporary dwelling. It was one of the finer homes in Loänanmar, having once belonged to an ally of the Overseer, and its many rooms were filled with sumptuous furnishings of fine wood and gilt. The tall windows were open, letting in the sultry air. Ailia and Damion and their advisors sat around a table topped with marble, talking quietly of what must be done. The Overseer and Komora were not with them, having departed on some business of their own. Auron sat with them, transformed into human shape, and Taleera perched on the back of his chair. Falaar was outside, guarding the main entrance of the mansion.

  Ailia felt light-headed with worry and weariness, and with the heat. No breeze came through the opened widows. She noticed Damion looking at her with concern, and made an effort to sit upright and keep her mind on the discussion, but what she yearned for was a long rest and sleep.

  She had changed to a plain white robe, and she wore no crown save for a braid of her own hair, bound over the top of her head while the rest flowed loose down her back. Her only jewel was her mother’s star sapphire: the Stone she kept hidden away in a deep pocket. As she sat in her gilded chair, she sighed often and twisted the ring on her finger.

  “It is taking so long!” she said. “And with the iron we can hear nothing of what is happening in the castle.”

  “Falaar says the battle was going well when he fought there,” Auron assured her. The cherubim were taking turns in fighting Mandrake, whose power was greater than any had expected. “As you said, the Prince cannot last forever. He is only defending himself now, not attacking, and his dragon warriors cannot come within the central court where he has taken his stand. The soldiers ring it about with their weapons.” He laid his hand upon the back of her chair and leaned close to the Princess, talking in his most soothing voice. “It goes well, Highness. The final victory will not be long in coming.”

  “No victory awaits them or you, Princess,” said a new voice. It came from the direction of the door, and everyone in the room jumped and whirled. There in the entrance stood a goblin, or perhaps a hideous man: its figure was clad in a somber dark robe, and its visage was wizened and malevolent.

  “How did this person get into the building?” demanded Taleera, rising up in a flurry of feathers.

  The great head of the cherub Falaar appeared at one of the windows. “He did not get in. The coward is merely projecting his image. See, thou canst look right through him.”

  “Who are you?” Damion demanded, rising.

  “I am Naugra,” the aged creature said, his dark eyes fixing each of them in turn. “Regent of Ombar.”

  “What do you want with us, Naugra? Say what you came to say and leave,” said Damion.

  “You are advised to go at once from this place, for while you stay you imperil the people’s lives,” the Regent said.

  “And leave Mandrake to reign over them as a tyrant?” retorted Damion.

  “It is better than allowing them to be destroyed. Elnemorah has possessed your traitorous Lady Syndra, who wished to be the consort of the incarnate Valdur. She extended her power too far, and was captured. Now she serves the goddess of this world. The hill will erupt in flames and all in this city will perish. And the first to die will be your friends, who are now caught within the hill-fortress: unless you command them to retreat at once. I leave you to ponder these things, and make your choice.”

  With that, he vanished.

  Ailia, her face drawn, rose from her seat. “What am I to do?” she asked.

  Falaar fixed his great golden eyes on her. “We cannot halt our campaign now. If we do so Mandrake will recover his strength, and escape to Ombar. As for the warriors, it is an honor to die for the light. Their souls and names will live on in glory.”

  “The people of this city aren’t warriors! They are mere merchants and farmers—and women and little children,” she cried.

  “The enemy knows thy heart is full of compassion. He expects to make this work to his advantage—to make thee hesitate.”

  She put a hand to her head. “A moment—give me a moment, I need to think . . .”

  Ailia walked out of the house and into the high-walled garden that lay behind it. Over the roofs of the city the volcano brooded, black and ominous. It was full of the earth-magic: far below its base, in its deep and hidden bowels, the fiery forces that had raised it up were now awake again. In the dark green sky beyond all the stars were out—including the one that burned red. The air was warm, and heavy and oppressive, recalling another night that was scented with the fragrance of roses. She paced to and fro beneath the stars. What must I do? Mother, are you there? Tell me what I must do! Archons, help me. But the stars were silent. What will happen? How many lives will be the price? Are they nothing in the scheme of things? Is that acceptable to you? She appealed to the sky. The war will go on for centuries—perhaps millennia. The goblins and others will always hate us—they hate us now more than ever. She recalled the words of Mandrake: only if we unite will there be lasting peace. She longed for that vision of peace with all her heart, but it was not to be.

  The earth shook again, and the stench of brimstone was thick on the air. Ailia’s eyes turned back to the castle wrapped in its reeking pall. Now she understood the enemy’s plan. The rising fires would drive all the human warriors from the fortress, and their weapons with them. With the iron gone, the firedrakes and the enemy Loänan would be free to descend to the fortress, and assist Mandrake in his battle. The only way to prevent this, as Falaar had said, was for the soldiers to remain in the fortress to the end, and perish in the eruption. Many cherubim would doubtless die too, as they strove to keep Mandrake from fleeing. She thought of Teren and the other young sol
diers, and of Jomar and Lorelyn, and she trembled. No! Our warriors must not win by becoming martyrs. It would be such a horrible end. Let the cherubim leave off their fighting, and go save the soldiers instead. They alone can fly them to safety. The iron might be left behind, I suppose, to hinder our foes from coming near their prince.

  But even as she thought this she knew it was no answer. Mandrake’s human minions could simply gather up the swords and spears, and cast them off the battlements. It seems sorcery is the only answer, after all, and I must fight as the prophecy foretold. I will go with the cherubim, and help them and our dragons to defeat Mandrake. But might there not be some hope still, that Mandrake would listen to reason and surrender, rather than go with the firedrakes to Ombar? He had delayed going there thus far, and that meant he still resisted their designs for him.

  After a moment she became aware that Auron, Falaar, and Damion were there with her, just standing still and silent a few paces away, offering their presence as comfort. She faced them with hands clasped before her, like a petitioner. “Damion,” she said, “would you take command of the army for now? I am going to try and help Jomar and Lorelyn and the others—if you will take me to the courtyard, my friend,” she added, shifting her gaze to Falaar. “With the iron, I cannot reach it by taking a winged form myself.”

  “I will bear thee hence,” said Falaar. “But what canst thou accomplish there, Highness, if thou art wearied already, and iron is at hand?”

  “I have still one advantage over my enemy,” said Ailia. “He is hurt, and I am not. If he is not too far gone, I may even persuade him to surrender. But I am going in any case, to do what I must.”

  LORELYN HAD GONE APART FROM the rest of the army into the castle’s conservatory, so that their iron weapons should not cloud her mind as she reached into the Ether. As she stood in the sad silence under its shattered panes, among the withered potted trees, she reached out and was relieved to hear a familiar mind-voice respond. Lori, Ailia called, I am flying to the castle, with Falaar. You must get everyone out of the castle if you can—quickly! Take everyone up to the battlements. The cherubim will fly them to safety.