Seph eyed the wild sky. “Can the temple still be standing?”
“There is no power greater than the Blessed One!” Delara returned, but her voice wavered. She understood as well as Aryx that these were no normal bolts of lightning, that the power that wielded them might be as terrible as the God of Vengeance.
Again and again the bolts blazed, three, four, five and more at a time. They struck nowhere else. The clouds above the block where Sargonnas’s temple stood had grown as black as pitch, but in their center swirled what looked like molten fire, and from there came the lightning. In addition, the rain began to pour in earnest, making the trek even more difficult.
Seph pointed ahead. “Look! A priest!”
The tall robed figure stumbled backward down the street, his eyes ever fixed on the direction from which he had come. So caught up was he by what he stared at, the priest almost collided with the horses.
“What’s happening?” Delara shouted down to him. “Does the temple still stand?”
The cleric glanced up. Eyes wide and untrusting, he snapped, “Keep away from me!”
“We only want—Wait!”
Heedless of her words, the cleric rushed off, his gaze again fixed in the direction of the temple. Aryx watched him flee, wondering about the state of things if even the keepers of the temple were abandoning their sanctum.
Delara urged her mount on, Seph following a moment later. Aryx could feel the tension running through his companion. More than either of the brothers, she had to be wondering about Sargonnas. Aryx wanted to reassure her, but could think of nothing in the face of the fearsome storm.
On and on she urged the steed, paying little heed to those in her path. A second priest wandered past, followed by two grim acolytes. An officer of the State Guard tried to wave them back, but Delara stared him down, finally forcing the other minotaur to the side. The lightning continued relentlessly.
And then they came upon the temple.
“By the Blessed One!” Delara gasped, suddenly pulling hard on the reins.
Aryx swore. Next to them, Seph pulled up short, his mouth hanging open.
The Temple of Sargonnas stood seemingly untouched, but a frightening aura surrounded it, one that the dusky gray minotaur felt certain did not originate from the god. Every stone, every facet of the temple, shimmered with the unsettling green and blue light, a light that grew stronger with each bolt. Even more disturbing, when Aryx tried to peer close at any detail of the edifice, it seemed to waver, as if no longer quite real.
Scores of priests, acolytes, and temple guards surrounded the building, all but one standing at what might be a safe distance. The one contrary figure looked to be the high priest, Xarav, who stood midway up the great steps, beseeching the god to whom he had sworn his life.
“Hear me, Sargonnas!” he roared. “Your servants stand with you! Our strength is yours! Send back to the Abyss that which would dare confront you in your home, your domain! Hail to you, God of Vengeance—”
Lightning crackled. A harsh wind sent the high priest staggering, but he regained his balance, again imploring his god to unleash his wrath on the lesser power that dared touch his great temple.
“He’s mad!” Aryx muttered, dismounting. “Mad!”
“No!” Delara wore a look almost as fanatical as that of the master cleric. “Sargonnas will hear him … will hear us! We’re his chosen!”
“You’ll be his dead chosen if you go any farther!” He pulled her back, fearing that she would attempt to join the mad priest.
One of the other clerics, perhaps a bit more level-headed than his master, sought to entice Xarav down from the steps. The elderly minotaur shook him off, almost sending the younger cleric tumbling. None of the others seemed inclined either to come to the high priest’s aid or to try to convince him of the danger.
Xarav struggled his way up the steps, all the while calling out the praises of the conspicuously absent deity. He reached the top, then turned to face those below.
“Weak of faith!” the graying cleric roared. “Weak of will! If not for Sargonnas, there would be no minotaur race, and yet in this hour, you cannot stand fast, be strong in your belief! There is no god greater than the Blessed One, no god stronger than the Horned One! Stand with him or be lost without him, for this is the hour of judgment! This is the hour in which the faithful will rise to victory with Sargonnas, and the faithless will be condemned to the Abyss!”
“He’s ranting,” Seph whispered to his brother. “He’s insane!”
Aryx nodded, yet he saw that some around the temple had at last been affected by Xarav’s determination. Not many of the other clerics, curiously enough, but some from among the throngs nearby.
“We must be stronger.…”
At first Aryx thought that the high priest had spoken, but then he realized it had been Delara. He glanced her way, saw that, like the others, she, too, had been affected by the master cleric’s pontificating. Even as she spoke, she stepped forward.
Aryx would have none of that. While he granted Delara her faith, that did not, in his eyes, mean that she should commit suicide for Sargonnas, who still had not made his presence known. Too often in history, the gods had been more than willing to sacrifice their followers, and now seemed no different.
She glared at him when he seized her arm. “Let me go! He’s right, Aryx! Sargonnas needs our faith, our will, behind him! We owe it to him!”
“Not for this! Better to fight in his name in battle than join Xarav in this madness! Look, Delara! Look closely at the temple! The high priest doesn’t court his god; he simply courts death!”
True enough, more and more the temple seemed to waver from reality. Marble columns bent, twisted. The roof of the vast edifice shook, turned as if it were soft clay caught up in a whirlpool. Xarav appeared not to notice, still calling out for the glory of Sargonnas. Five or six other minotaurs had already begun to make their way up to him despite the obvious peril, true believers unwilling to see that they faced something more terrible than the storm.
Emboldened by these first few converts, Xarav called out again. “Let your faith guide you, my children! Now is the greatest test, and Sargonnas watches to see who will stand in his name! We are one in his glory or we are nothing! Come and add your strength!”
Two younger clerics broke from the ranks of the wary, joining their master. Several minotaurs from the general crowd cautiously stepped forward.
“This is insane!” Aryx could not believe how many climbed the steps. Perhaps if the Horned One joined them up there, Aryx might have even become one of the converts himself, but he had been around Sargonnas long enough to be wary.
Another series of bolts struck the roof. They did no apparent physical damage to the building, but each warped it, twisted it into something not in sync with this world.
Then what Aryx had feared all along happened. The winds around the temple grew more violent, whipping around and around as if forming a tornado. Those who had rejoined Xarav now struggled simply to stay in one place. Even the high priest had to clutch one of the twisted columns. Yet the winds swirled harder and harder, and as they did, the lightning poured down, a torrential rain of fearsome energy.
A bolt struck the roof and a piece finally cracked off. However, instead of collapsing, the fragment flew high into the air. A second fragment, larger than the first, flew off a moment later, spinning around in the giant whirlwind as if it were a tiny leaf.
The temple of Sargonnas shattered, walls, windows, columns, and roof flying up into the swirling winds, eventually vanishing into the fury above … and with them at last went the people.
Those gathered nearby scattered, fleeing for their lives. One of Xarav’s converts tried to stumble back down the steps, but the wind suddenly pulled her into the air, and she went, screaming, into the black heavens. The high priest clutched the handles of the great doors, the entrance to the temple, the only part of the front still remaining. Xarav continued to shout to the sky, as if obli
vious to the fact that his god’s sanctum had been all but destroyed.
Even away from the temple, the winds proved treacherous. Aryx had to struggle against nearly impossible winds to pull Delara back away from the temple. Seph struggled to them, and the trio fought against forces that seized one unsteady warrior nearby, dragging him up into the vortex above the shattered building.
At last even the high priest could not maintain his hold. Xarav’s grip slipped, and with a roar, the elderly cleric flew off helplessly into the maw of the ungodly storm.
Several more bolts struck the remains of the temple. A few last fragments of the once proud structure soared into the air, vanishing.
Abruptly the lightning ceased. The storm continued to rage, but no longer did it assault the area. The fearsome fire in the sky faded into the black clouds, leaving only torrential rain, strong yet earthly winds, and the distant rumble of thunder.
Attempting to catch their breath, the three weary minotaurs paused to stare at the temple. Almost everywhere, the roof and walls had been completely torn away. For the most part, only the floor and a few of the bases of the marble columns remained. The one curious feature to survive the ruin of Sargonnas’s sanctum was the doorway. Both the arch and the huge bronze doors still stood, guardians to a place that no longer existed. The doors remained shut.
“It’s gone!” Delara shouted. “It’s all gone!”
“What do you think happened to Sargonnas, Aryx?” Seph asked.
If the temple itself were any indication, then the god had been torn from Krynn, a victim of the power behind the lightning storm. Still, with gods, one could never be certain. “I don’t know.” A sudden, intense urge to investigate the site came over him. Aryx sought to overcome it, but it proved superior to his will. “Let’s … let’s take a look.”
There were few other minotaurs in sight, most having wisely retreated far from the terrible destruction. Aryx himself wondered what drew him to the ruined structure when common sense dictated that he should turn and never look back. Whatever had assaulted the city center had not finished with the minotaurs yet, of that he remained certain. The terrible trials of which Sargonnas had spoken in the Great Circus had only just begun.
Yet, knowing that, he climbed the ravaged steps, then approached the towering doors. Why he did not simply go around them, the wary minotaur could not say. Somehow, even with the god’s citadel little more than a memory, Aryx felt he had to enter as he always had.
As he reached out for them, the doors creaked open.
Seph reached for his axe. “Be careful, Aryx!”
The doors swung wide, inviting entry. Beyond, marble floors soaked by rain welcomed them to rooms that no longer existed. Drenched though he was, Aryx accepted the invitation and entered. “Wait here.”
With Seph and Delara taking what refuge they could under the doorway, Aryx moved along cautiously. The storm made it hard to see more than a few yards, but he thought he saw something glisten where Sargonnas’s chamber had once stood. Did the god yet sit in the ruins of his sanctum? An absurd notion, but not out of the question.
Something did glisten, despite the gloom and storm. Aryx started to reach for his own axe, wondering if the awesome power that had destroyed the temple had left behind some force intended to deal with intrusive warriors.
Lightning, this time far away, illuminated the area briefly. Aryx caught a flash of steel, a glimmer of emerald, and the familiar outline of a weapon of war.
Sargonnas’s sword, the same wailing beast that had so readily put an end to the councillor, Garith, stood, hilt up, before him, the bottom half of its shining blade buried somehow in the marble floor.
Aryx cautiously approached it, wondering why the god would leave the sword behind. With such a blade, there were few foes who could stand against the wielder, yet the gray minotaur also suspected that not everyone could safely use it. The sword seemed to have a life of its own, a life that—
The green stone in the hilt flared brightly.
A life that Aryx suddenly realized had been responsible for the undeniable urge that had forced him to enter the ruined temple.
“Ancestors preserve me!” he snarled under his breath. Aryx began to retreat, wanting nothing to do with demon blades. He recalled only too well the legends of enchanted weapons, how for every loyal tool such as Kaz Dragonslayer’s venerable Honor’s Face, there had also existed those weapons that had readily turned on their wielders. The warrior had no doubt that what stood before him better suited the latter category.
Be not afraid, O Master.…
The words echoed in his head, a sly, powerful voice somehow reminiscent of Sargonnas. Aryx glanced around, seeking the speaker. Finding no one else, his eyes at last returned to the sinister sword, whose emerald gem continued to flare brightly.
You have nothing to fear from me, Master.…
“Nothing to fear?” The wary minotaur snorted. “Nothing to fear from such as you?”
I am here for you, Aryximaraki, the voice declared. I am yours to wield in this struggle with the Chaos.…
“Where’s your master? Where’s Sargonnas?”
Sargonnas is where Sargonnas is … and you are here as you must be.…
Aryx swore. He should have known better than to expect a straightforward answer from such a weapon. Had Sargonnas abandoned it here, no longer able to tolerate it? Had it turned on its master, betraying the God of Vengeance to the power behind the chaotic lightning storm?
“I’ll have nothing to do with you,” he declared. “You can stay here, a testimony to the insanity of the gods.” Aryx turned about, heading back to his waiting companions.
You would sacrifice your race, then? came the mocking voice. You would refuse that which could lead you to victory?
The minotaur turned back, wiping rain from his muzzle. “One sword, however powerful, can’t ensure victory … and against what? Do you know what we face? Do you know when and where it will come? Answer me that!”
The Chaos comes sooner than you think, and if I cannot give you victory, then surely I can give you guidance … for that is what he commanded me to do.…
Aryx blinked, clearing his eyes. Despite the sword’s enigmatic pattern of speech, he understood enough of what it said and therefore could not deny that, at the very least, it could aid his people’s cause. Sargonnas had left it behind in the face of a titanic struggle; surely he had done so for the benefit of his chosen. Whatever Aryx thought of the god in general, he decided that the Horned One could have had no other reason for abandoning such a powerful tool. Yet, for a mortal to take up a blade wielded by gods …
“I’m to take you?”
You and no other … Master.
“You’ll obey me?”
I will fight for you.…
Not exactly phrased the way he would have liked it, but Aryx accepted the weapon’s promise. “Do you have a name?”
The question seemed a foolish one, but the demon blade answered readily enough, as if expecting it. Men and gods have called me the Sword of Tears … Master.
Aryx started to ask it why such an ominous title, then decided that he did not truly want to know. The Sword of Tears seemed to be a weapon he would wield only when necessary, and even then with some caution.
Take me up … use me. The time draws near when darkness and light must join for a final time or be replaced by nothingness.…
Thunder rolled. Lightning flashed, causing Aryx to look up briefly, but he immediately saw that no new assault began. He stared at the sword, and suddenly the images of his crew mates returned to him. Had he held such a weapon, perhaps Aryx might have saved some of them. Surely the sword of a god could have done that much. How many lives could he save now if he took up the Sword of Tears? How many?
Steeling himself, the minotaur reached for the hilt, twisting his hand to take a proper grip.
The stone blazed.
Yesss … came the gleeful voice of the sword.
Energy coursed th
rough Aryx’s every muscle, his every nerve. He felt more alive than he had in weeks. His fears and doubts melted, became minuscule things. He knew that, whoever the foe, he had the means to strike him down … in fact, to strike down any who threatened that which he held dear. Broedius, Carnelia, and the rest of the knights would bow to him or suffer the consequences. Rand might protest, especially if harm came to his precious Carnelia, and if so, Aryx would deal with him as well. Chot, too, for that matter, for clearly he had outlived his usefulness as emperor, having bowed so meekly to the intruders. Yes, Aryx would then rally his people, bringing about—
“Aryx?”
Snarling, he turned to see who dared interrupt him. His baleful gaze fell upon his whining brother and the female who constantly sang the praises of the useless Sargonnas. Aryx could not believe that he had tolerated their presences for so long. Best to be rid of them now, and with the sword in hand, he knew just what to—
“No!” With herculean effort, Aryx forced his arm down. He glared at the Sword of Tears and knew at last the malevolence it contained. Small wonder that only one such as Sargonnas had wielded it before. The shock of what he had thought of doing to Seph and Delara fueled his efforts, enabling him to raise the demon blade high in preparation to hurl it far away.
You need me! the sword implored. I am your only hope!
“You’re worse than the creatures that killed my friends! You’d turn me into a butcher for your own amusement!” Aryx hesitated, trying to think of where to throw the sword. If he left it where someone could find it, the monstrous blade might yet wreak havoc on the island.
Wait, O Master! it pleaded. You need not fear me! You need not worry! I merely tested you … yes, tested you.…
“Tested! You wanted me to kill my brother!”
Seph and Delara stared wide-eyed at him, entirely oblivious to the downpour. They couldn’t hear the sword’s end of the conversation, and Aryx did not doubt that they wondered at his sanity. Nevertheless, he dared not let up against the sinister artifact.
I would never have let you do it.… Oh, Master … the Horned One chose you to wield me. I would not disobey.…
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