by Hal Emerson
The crescendo built like a wave, and just as it seemed ready to crash, Autmaran reached through his Aspect and shouted:
“Hold fast, Exiled! We have defeated the Visigony themselves, and sent the invincible Imperial Army running across the Plains of al’Manthian! Whatever comes from this city, we shall meet it, and turn it back with equal potency!”
Shoulders squared and chins raised; hands gripped tighter around weapon hafts and hilts; Autmaran felt a stirring in his heart as he watched them – his men and women, his troops – and felt a pride unequalled by anything he’d ever experienced. After all they’d seen, after all they’d had to fight through, they still stood ready.
I am more proud of my people here today than I have been in my entire life.
He unsheathed his own sword, ready to join the fray should he be needed. The sound of the approaching force was enormous; they would spill out of all the streets simultaneously, it seemed, which meant the time for tactics and strategy was over. It was going to come down to a fight of total war, if it hadn’t already.
“Here they come!” someone shouted.
A form on a horse emerged from the farthest alleyway, carrying a wounded boy across his lap and a child in his arms. Autmaran’s mind couldn’t grasp the image at first, and then he heard bowstrings tighten and he leapt to action.
“HOLD!”
The Command bound everyone in place, except the man on the black stallion, who kept riding forward, untouched. More people emerged, all of them helping each other along, all calling out behind them for others to follow and hurry, that the gate was almost here, before they stopped at the sight of the Kindred army. The man on the black horse rode forward; the burned half of his face looked gruesome in the combination of flickering torchlight and distant fluorescence as he reined in at the first line of spearmen and gave a mocking salute.
It was Davydd Goldwyn, and half the city of Lucien.
* * *
With every uttered Command, Raven felt the Veil tear further, like a ripping in his mind.
He pushed away, running to another point in the throne room, and as he moved he saw that each footstep left a boot-print in the ground behind him. The world had become so strained that stone itself had ceased to be solid.
“Be thou consumed in flame!”
Fire sprang from nowhere and sought to envelop Raven.
“Be thy words as thin as air!”
The Command came rolling off his tongue before he’d even had a chance to examine it, but as soon as the words were said the world around him shifted, and the fire around him snapped out. His Mother’s booming voice momentarily died, and she grasped her throat in shock. She stared at him, her beautiful blue eyes showing white all the way around in pure astonishment, but then those eyes narrowed, and Raven barely stifled a shiver of fear. She took a step forward and broke through his Command by letting loose a shriek that shattered the pillars on either side of her, sending them crashing to the ground.
The air around her seemed to curve and bend before snapping back into place, and suddenly the ground beneath them began to shake. Without thinking, Raven looked down and shouted out another Command, pulling as deeply as he could one the energy flowing to him from the Crown:
“Reverse the pull of force!”
He knew as soon as he’d spoken the words that he’d made a mistake. Rikard had always talked about specificity, and how, without it, Commands could go very, very wrong. Raven had meant to stop the stones from being pulled apart, meant to stop the Fortress from breaking beneath their very feet, but that wasn’t what he’d said.
As soon as the final word left his tongue, he felt the force that held him to the earth disappear, and found it replaced with a force that pulled him upward, straight for the angular, vaulted ceiling with its sharp, blade-like buttresses. Unable to understand what was happening or what he’d done, he threw his hands in front of his face and braced for impact; but before he could crash into the ceiling, the ceiling itself suddenly broke apart and flew upward into the sky, shooting into the encroaching clouds with shocking speed. Raven turned back, scrambling for ideas, mouthing words that made no sense, only to hear his Mother’s voice ring out from somewhere close beside him:
“Let the laws of nature triumph!”
The force re-switched, and Raven found himself plummeting back toward the broken throne room. He drew on the Aspects of Strength and Endurance to fortify his body, and as he hit the stone floor he descended several inches into it, creating a crater where he’d landed, cracks running through the marble like streaks of silver.
“You foolish boy!”
Raven stood and spun, raising Aemon’s Blade in front of him, but his Mother, who had landed easily on her feet, wasn’t coming for him now. Her eyes were blazing with fury, but she remained where she was, clutching her long, curved black sword in her graceful hand, unmoving.
“You have no idea what power you hold, do you?”
“I know enough,” Raven said, feeling his own rage burn within him. “I know it is power you created by killing hundreds of thousands of innocents!”
“But do you have any idea what you could do with it?” she asked, watching him with a flicker of curiosity. “Do you have any idea what I will do with it when it is mine and mine alone?”
Aemon’s Blade flashed brightly, and Raven found himself speaking words he didn’t understand, but words that felt right.
“You will try to cross the sea,” he said, his voice strangely flat and somehow deeper, “as you did once long ago.”
His Mother’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open, revealing white teeth behind her perfect rosebud lips.
“And you will fail,” Raven continued, speaking from the memories of Aemon, memories that were flowing to him from the Blade, “as you failed then. You will fail as I always said you would – and I will be here to stop you, as I was then, as I am now, and as I shall ever be.”
“SILENCE!”
The words snapped out of her with such power that Raven was blown back completely off his feet; he felt as though a huge hand had slapped him across the face. He flew back, twisting uncontrollably in midair, and landed on his stomach. His hands convulsed, and closed around the hilt of Aemon’s Blade, the wire hilt still cool against his slick palms.
“You are not him!”
“I am Aemon’s Heir,” Raven said in the tones of Command; he stood, this time ready for an attack, the Crown on his head still flaring with light. “And he is my ancestor just as you are my Mother. I swear it on my blood and body, and may the shadows take me if I lie.”
She was struck dumb by his words, and he could see that the fact he had spoken in the tone of Command told her it was real. The world didn’t shift when he said the words; nothing changed, because nothing had to. He had spoken something that already was.
“Very well,” she snapped, coming closer, her hand flicking the black blade like a lion twitching its tail as it stalks its prey. “So you are his heir. So your father deceived me. It matters little – I shall kill you as I killed him.”
As she said the words “your father,” Raven saw the barest flash of emotion cross her face, such a small twitch of it that he knew no one else would have seen a thing. But he knew it for what it was, and knew everything Goldwyn had said was true. She had loved his father, had loved Relkin, in spite of all that she was, in spite of everything she had done over countless years of tyrannical rule. She had loved him, even as she killed him.
She is only a person … only a lost soul searching for meaning in immortality.
“Mother,” he said suddenly. “Mother – abandon this. Stop it – you cannot do what you want to do!”
“You cannot convince me of such things, Aemon!” she roared at him, her eyes blind and full of madness spurred on by ancient pain that she had never let go, pain that had come to define her. “You tried once, but your words are still just wind! I killed you once, as I killed the others, and I will not stop until I have power over all! I will control the
way the world works – I will make it work the way it should!”
The memory of that night flashed in Raven’s mind, the night she’d betrayed her brothers and sisters and Aemon himself; and then another night came to him, a night outside of a white-stone valley, when Aemon chose to strike himself down as he fought her, using the Bloodmagic he hated to call down a bolt of lightning from the sky so that she would never have the power she craved. He lived the memories, felt the chill of the rain touching his skin on both those nights, felt the despair in his chest as he watched his best friend lose her mind.
Best friend….
“He mourned you,” he said quietly, feeling sorrow for her for the first time. “He loved you like his own blood, and it tore him apart to see you fall.”
“He never cared about me! He means nothing – I killed him; he was weak!”
“You never killed him,” Raven said, a calm, instinctive certainty directing him. “You never had power over him.”
“He fled before me, cowering like an ant,” she hissed.
But as she spoke the words, more memories came to him, as if that first had been but the beginning trickles of a flood. He relived Aemon’s flight on the night she had killed the other Heirs, and felt his despair as Aemon realized his friend was gone, consumed by her grief.
And then another memory came to Raven, the memory of a single word that had been lost for as long as anyone could remember. It shocked him through and through, and in his surprise he couldn’t help but speak it aloud:
“Alana,” he whispered.
At the sound of her name, the Empress froze, and something in her face seemed to crack and shift, like the façade of a statue falling away to reveal a hidden, scarred foundation. Here, where reality was so thin, the power of names was so potent that it could change a person altogether.
“Do not speak that name,” she said, staring murder at him.
“It is who you are, Alana,” he repeated, and realized his voice had mingled with Aemon’s. He was speaking for them both somehow.
“It is who I was!” she screamed, and she came for him, her midnight blade swinging for his head.
“You are not Aemon!” she cried out, railing against him with sword and Crown and sheer force of will. “You are my cast-off son! You are Azraeloph!”
“I am Raven!” he shouted back at her, his fear and doubt momentarily burnt away in the blazing light of Aemon’s memories. “I choose to be someone new!”
The white and black swords clashed against each other with such power that both the Empress and Raven were thrown away from each other and sent rolling. They regained their footing and ran for each other again, channeling power and strength from their Crowns, breaking more of the throne room with each attack as the Fortress continued to shake and tremble.
“Fine,” she snarled at him. “Then what will you choose to do?”
Black sword and white sword crashed together in a huge flare of sparks, both of them trying to control the world around them, both gaining an edge only to lose it again. The swords flashed out, back and forth, pushing, straining to break through.
“If you kill me and solidify your power,” she hissed, “what will happen then? You trust the Kindred to treat the former Empire fairly? You trust that the corruption that is part of human nature will not seep into your new world?”
Raven shouted at her wordlessly and slashed at her head; she blinked, and was suddenly a foot farther away, sending his sword through empty air.
“And if you take the Crown you wear now, this Crown of Aspects, and you keep it for yourself? What then? Then you live forever, don’t you? Then you can take hold of this land and keep it pure, the way you want it, for as long as you live? How are you any different from me?”
“Is that it?” he spat back at her. “Is that what you think you are – some heroine who saved the world and kept it pure just like she’d always imagined it?”
She disappeared and reappeared on the dais of the Diamond Throne, out of range of his sword. Laughter rang from her open mouth; the sound and sense of it was beautiful bells ringing at a friend’s funeral.
“This doesn’t need to end like this,” she said. “You can take this land – keep it. I need it not. All I want is to return home. You can have this land … Azraeloph.”
The name burned in his mind, even holding Aemon’s Blade, and he felt again that darkness inside him, the corrupted part of the Talisman he still wore, struggling to break free. The world closed in around him as he circled closer to her, trying with every ounce of effort not to show how weary he was, how weak he felt. He buttressed his mind with constant running thoughts of anything good he could bring to mind: Leah, Tomaz and the others; his cabin in Vale; his first taste of kaf at Goldwyn’s manor; playing word games with Tym –
She killed Tym – she killed him!
He ran forward and struck at her, swinging the Blade so fast it was a blur of motion, but she met each strike, and even spun away, moving just as fast as he. He ran for her once more, but she slipped his blow and sent him sprawling. When he came back to his feet, she had moved to the center of the throne room and was watching him with wicked triumph.
“Let me show you true power, little Azraeloph!”
She threw back her head and flung out her arms. The world seemed to turn, and reality was forced to change again. As soon as the thinning stopped and the world settled, Raven knew something was different. She stood before him still, but she was somehow more.
She laughed, and rose off the floor.
Wings expanded behind her out of nowhere, beautiful white wings like those of an angel, unfolding in a huge spray of light. Raven dove to the side to escape the first rush of wind that came off of them, and then she was in the sky, soaring over the city. She cried out a word of power and lightning broke through the clouds, stabbing down at him where he lay. He rolled away, reacting by instinct, madly trying to find cover as thunder rolled around him, ruining his hearing as it cracked like an explosion of Black Powder.
“Come to me, Azraeloph!”
Raven turned back to the sky, fighting within himself to keep his identity his, even though each time she said the name she’d given him he felt like he’d finally come home.
She is not my home – she is not my family!
But he knew he had to follow her. Geofred had known it too, somehow, and had told Raven what he had to do only seconds before his death.
When all hope is lost, when you are fighting her in Lucien, as you know you must, look to the heavens, and remember that where the world is thin, reality is what you make of it.
Raven drew power from his own Crown, tapping into all seven Aspects, pulling together all seven strands and weaving them into a single, powerful Command that he let roll out of him in a wordless rumble of power. The sound of it alone, guttural and harsh, was enough to fry his throat.
But the world obeyed him, and warped. Sound changed, his vision blurred; he tasted ashes on his tongue. Everything snapped into place again an instant later, and he felt the Talisman on his back begin to writhe and shift. He grabbed a tighter hold on Aemon’s Blade, knowing it was the rope that held him back from the waiting pit of insanity, just before black wings ripped out of the skin on his back, growing straight from his shoulder blades. The pain was terrible, but he refused to feel it.
He looked up into the sky, and followed Alana.
* * *
“What happened?” Autmaran shouted to Davydd as he rode forward, leading a huge rush of Commons. Kindred began to make their way out of the streets as well, and he realized they’d managed to bring out nearly a third of the force that had gone into the city. The Commons began to surge past him at the urging of the Kindred, and were soon rushing through the gates and out onto the Plains as the whole city began to shake beneath their feet.
“We were too late,” Davydd said shortly, his face an expressionless mask.
“Where’s Lorna?”
The Eshendai turned to him, and Autmaran sa
w the answer in his eyes.
Dammit. Dammit – not her too! Shadows and fire!
Another explosion rocked the Fortress, and Autmaran saw chunks of blackstone cascade down into the city, as what looked like whole columns of rock were blown apart. Davydd cursed and started shouting for the Kindred and Commons to move faster. Rangers and Rogues, the only ones who seemed able to keep their heads in the chaos, were standing guard in loose formations at every street into the city, on watch for any final Imperial soldiers.
“We need to leave,” Davydd said. “Whatever is happening is only going to get worse – anyone inside this city while Raven and the Tyrant fight is asking to die. We need to get everyone out and keep them there until this is over, however long it takes.”
“It’s barely hours ‘till sunrise,” Autmaran said, “the clock rang just before the shaking started.”
Davydd cursed, and spurred his horse through the hard-won gate.
Another explosion rocked the Fortress, and this time the whole top of the highest tower, what must have been the throne room, split open like a popped boil, spewing blackstone debris that slammed into the adjacent towers, tipping them drunkenly as more stone crashed down into the city below. Shouts and cries could be heard, and claps of thunder that seemed to issue out in wave after wave with words on them that held all in hearing spellbound.
Autmaran watched the battle as the Commons streamed past him. Seconds passed, then minutes, and still he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was like watching a battle between elemental forces.
“Autmaran!” shouted Davydd from somewhere behind him, somewhere beyond the gate. “We have to go!”
But Autmaran couldn’t move, couldn’t break himself away from what he was seeing now. His mind told him it wasn’t possible, but his eyes told him it was happening. He felt a hand on his arm, and knew Davydd had come back for him, was trying to pull him out of the city as the last of the Commons and Kindred fled. The Ranger was shouting in his ear, but Autmaran couldn’t make sense of the words.
