We said little, each in the privacy of our own minds addressing the Goddess. Being so near a waterfall, of course, the Laughing Girl of the Waters was uppermost in my mind. It seemed odd, addressing so weighty a subject as battle to the lightness of Mother Shia, but somehow it cheered me. If the Mother of us All had sent us the Laughing Girl, perhaps it was to remind us of hope. That’s how I chose to think of it, in any case.
Aral was deeply moved, kneeling, her hands cradling the leather bag around her throat that held the soulgem of some lost Kantri, and her corona surrounded her for a moment as she prayed. To my surprise, her power was no longer plain blue; it was still bright and clear, but there was a depth of colour that suggested purple. I had seen corrupted Healer’s power. This seemed the opposite.
My mother Maran seemed to have a very rough and ready approach—she didn’t kneel, she didn’t even stop moving, just kept walking back and forth in front of the little waterfall, muttering, gesturing, as if she were addressing someone who stood beside her. An impulse took me—I’m sure it was because of the danger we all faced, rather than a kick from the Goddess, but I went up to Maran, stopped her for a moment, and kissed her cheek. Just like a daughter.
Tears sprang into her eyes, sudden as a spring shower, and she wrapped her arms about me. “Oh, Lanen,” she said, just for a moment holding me close. “Bless you for that.”
Our devotions were soon done, and as we walked back to rejoin the others I happened to glance at Vilkas. I never meant to look at him with my new depth of vision, but so it was. I shuddered. I had once watched a travelling silversmith ply his trade, and I swear that under the surface Vilkas was like nothing on earth more than molten metal burning off impurities; white-hot and boiling, dangerous, beautiful, and waiting to be shaped by the hand of the maker. How he could bear it I will never know.
And suddenly a clarion call ringing in my mind.
“It comes!” cried Shikrar. “Rise up, my people!”
We started running when to my amazement I heard another voice.
Stop bloody posturing and get on with it. Bloody dragons! If you’d just damn well kill the thing I may live to see another day.
A voice I had heard before, but never with my mind. “Bloody hellsfire! Marik?”
“My name somebody heard me Hells what is this?”
His mindvoice was shrill with panic. Varien waited beside Idai, who was to bear us to a safe place on the far side of the mountains. I took Varien’s hand and opened my mind to his.
“It’s Lanen, Marik. You said you could only hear.”
“It was true up to this moment where are you how can you hear me?”
“Can you hear him?” I asked Varien as we scrambled with Vil and Aral into Idai’s impatient hands. The instant we were all together Idai launched herself skyward, throwing us all off balance.
“Hear who?” shouted Varien, struggling to keep his footing.
“Marik!” I yelled.
Varien obviously couldn’t hear what I was saying: it wasn’t worth trying to talk. Idai and Gyrentikh were flying as fast as they could, but because there are no thermals so early in the day they were having to fly to the end of the mountain ridge, south and a long way west of where they wanted to be, then back around east and north to Lake Gand. It was sheer hard work. It didn’t help that they were also burdened with the eight of us.
However, it did mean that we saw the arrival of the Black Dragon. It headed straight for the castle nestled up against the mountains’ roots. Castle Gundar. My father’s home.
It was not alone. Behind it, above it, flew many of the Dhrenagankantri. They watched closely as it aimed itself directly at the castle, then held back. They all knew the basics of the plan of attack, and praise Shia there didn’t seem to be any more of them who desired death so strongly that they must needs pursue it.
We came to ground on a hilltop, near the shore of Lake Gand. Idai dropped us as gently as she could as she came to land. She did not rest, but launched herself immediately off the edge and aloft again. Gyrentikh did the same before joining the gathering cloud of Kantri.
Idai swooped past then, returning with the last and largest boulder to lay on top of a cairn of stones that she and many others had carried from the mountains’ feet by moonlight in the small hours. Many of the Dhrenagan and the Kantri took this fleeting moment of quiet to fly into the mountains, searching, taking this brief chance to learn the lay of the land in daylight.
We all watched as the black thing circled and landed behind the high walls of the courtyard. It barely fit. Even as we prepared, insofar as we could, we could see its wing joints above the walls.
“The Winds and the Lady help us all,” I muttered.
Varien stood at my side and put his arm around my shoulders. “They will, surely,” he said.
“I’m glad you think so,” murmured Rella. “In my experience they tend to stay well out of such things.”
Varien gazed unblinking at the distant creature. “The Wind of Change has blown over us, the Wind of Shaping we have been part of,” he said quietly. “This is the Unknown, kadreshi. It is the hardest to bear.”
“You Gedri keep away from the lake,” said Idai’s mindvoice in our heads. “It begins. Keep well back. We will fight the better for not having you to worry over”
Speaking of worrying. “Varien, before Idai brought us, did you hear—” I began.
Then I heard him again, Marik, my father. His thoughts spilled into my mind. I tried to shut him out, but no matter what I did his voice was there. Goddess, it was terrible.
Berys
When Marik didn’t follow me, I raised the alarm. His castle, after all, his people. “Your master is missing. His mind is not stable, he has not been well, help me find him, there are dragons out there!”
The presence of the dragons had not escaped the denizens of Castle Gundar. They were petrified, and only Marik’s reassurance stood between them and panic. They were desperate to get him back.
I was seriously annoyed with Marik. Of all times to develop an independent mind! No, I was not amused at all. Fortunately one of his old family retainers came forward—one Mistress Kiri—and told me that as a child he used to be fond of the hills, and when he went missing they would always find him in a certain place.
I was impatient. Waiting in the main courtyard of the castle, I called up a Messenger Rikti and sent to the Demonlord.
“Your future has escaped into the mountains,” I said without preamble.
“My future lies where I choose, demon-spit. What are you on about?”
“I have a soul here, ready to join with you and make you less dependent on my power,” I said. “But the current owner has escaped.”
“Why are you telling me this, fool? To expose your weakness before I have a chance to find it out myself?”
“Don’t waste time. Legend calls you Demonlord, with power over every Raksha ever spawned.”
“Only the Lord of the Last Hell does not owe me homage,” it said smugly.
“Then send me a winged Raksha to fetch me your soul carrier,” I demanded.
“Why should I use my power to assist you, little demon-spit?” it asked haughtily.
“I will waste no more time in debate,” I growled. With a thought I was in the realm of the spirit, where Healers see all things in metaphor. There soared the Demonlord like a vast high-flying hawk. A tethered hawk. The line was woven of all the binding spells I had cast about him: it was interwoven with cruel spikes, poised upon his back to cut him to the bone should he disobey me, and the line led to my hand. I had made the binding tight and true: he could not shake it off, try though he might. I grasped my hand about the tether and pulled. Hard.
The spikes of the bargain he had agreed to were driven into his flesh. He screamed, and with my real ears I heard a distant dragon roar. It was good.
“Bound to me, in bonds unbreakable. Do as I bid you or suffer more,” I commanded.
“I am not a demon, fool!” it cr
ied.
I pulled the binding leash again.
“I don’t give a damn what you think you are. Do my bidding as was agreed, or suffer the True Death.”
It laughed, even in its pain. “You cannot threaten me with that! My life is as safe as ever it was.”
“Your life is in your heart, which you bear even now within your form.”
It laughed again. “Fool! Do you think the power of the Distant Heart is in its physical location? There is only one creature in all the world and time that can inflict the True Death upon me. It is the stricture to the spell, and you know it not.”
I smiled as I pulled the binding tighter. “Fool, thrice fool and damned! I know exactly what is required, and I have her under my hand: she who, when cut, bleeds both Kantri and Gedri blood.”
The Demonlord reeled, in the realm of the spirit. Luckily my mind was closed to him, at least enough that he could not see that I did not physically have her by me. Enough that I knew the stricture and had a demonline to her. I knew I could take her when I needed her, and that is all he would see in my mind.
“If you are done with your posturing, send me a Raksha to bear to me my prey,” I growled at him. He cursed and spat and writhed in the bindings, prophesying my sudden demise—and sent me a Raksha.
“Fetch Marik,” I told it. “He will be in these hills. A man, running away from this place.”
“Too many Kantri!” it cried. I’d never seen a Raksha terrified. Interesting, but I had no time for this.
“Then fly low and find him swiftly,” I retorted. “Go!”
It flapped up to the wall, looked about, and took off towards the southeast.
I stood alone in the courtyard, drew my poniard, and waited.
Marik
Height. Must get higher, so I can see and not be seen. I can’t shake the feeling that Lanen is right behind me, but I’ve looked back ten times and she is not there. My mind is playing tricks.
My mind. How did I get to this place? I was steadily gaining wealth, I was doing well as a merchant, then Berys came along and I made that damned Farseer and my life was ruined. I’d never have been as rich as I am, but who knows, Marik, you might have lived longer, eh?
There is no pursuit. Hells! I’m not as young as I was, I can’t run up the side of a mountain without catching my breath. Damn—but I’ve come a long way up, he’ll have a job finding me—what’s that over the castle—oh, Hells.
It’s the sodding dragon. It’s too big to be alive, nothing that big should be able to move. It’s circling to land, it’s—
Damn it what’s that something’s got hold of me
it’s a demon NO NO Let me go damn you let go of me oh Hells we’re flying!
It’s taking me back. I just came all that way I got away I was nearly away it’s taking me BACK—to Berys, Berys is standing there in my courtyard smiling, and the dragon is waiting.
I’m struggling against the demon but I can’t get away, the second it drops me one of Berys’s own guards holds me, I kick I fight to get free but it’s done—
Oh, shit.
A second of pain, a deep thrust with a knife like a terrible needle—the sight of it sticking out of my chest is surprising, my heart stumbles and stops-thought flies away, it’s like a dream my mind is loosed my body drops away I’m free at last …
Gahhhh!
I was dead. I know it. Dead, just now. A terrible, eternal, burning moment of pain, and then freedom. No more agony, no madness, no fear. No self. It was—comforting.
But Berys has dragged me back, half healed. Hells, the agony! I cannot breathe, my chest is on fire—and Berys is calling my name. I ignore him, but am forced to open my eyes. He is standing above me, smiling.
“Ah, Marik, welcome back,” he says happily. I struggle, I long to leap up and throttle him, but I cannot move. “Just in time. Here is your soul mate. I hope you like him.”
Something huge has fallen to earth behind me, with a great commotion and a gust of hot air. The Black Dragon. The Demonlord. It is so near I can see its eyes, but I cannot focus for more than an instant, the pain is everywhere. I cry out with it but nothing happens. I force myself to look at the creature, take my mind off the searing agony in my body.
Close to like this, it seems to be no more than a thin shell over something that flows horribly beneath the surface, ever changing. And it is hot, a haze rises from it, it bleeds heat like a hundred days of summer violently crushed into one, scorching heat streams from it, merciless, more cruel than death.
Berys is chanting. Why isn’t he healing me, the bastard? The thing seems to nod in reply to Berys, while I lie here in agony, dying again as they go through some stupid ritual. And at last, here again is Berys. He is speaking to me.
“You are chosen, Marik of Gundar. Your soul will blend with the Demonlord, you will fly with him, you can kill every dragon ever spawned. Do you consent?” he asks, as unconcerned as if he asked about the weather.
“Let me die, you bastard!” I scream.
“No, no, we must have consent,” says Berys evenly, as if he corrected an errant child. “That is the way to end the pain, Marik.”
Pain pulses through me, endless, agonizing. I half open one eye—he’s keeping me alive, bastard, I can see the thin stream of healing—not enough to do any more than keep me on this rack. “Bastard,” I croak. “Let me go!”
“Consent, Marik,” he says, “or you will live forever.”
I can barely hear him. What is he saying? Consent. Forever. The prospect of living another instant is torture upon torture.
He wants me to say I consent to something. What was it?
I don’t know. I don’t care. I will say anything that will end this torment.
“I consent, I consent, damn you forever let me die!” I scream, my voice thin—but it is enough.
A voice unimaginably deep rumbles through the courtyard, shaking through me. “Your wish, brother, is my command,” says the great black beast.
No!
It reaches for me, I am lifted from the ground, I can smell the burning and hear the sizzle of my flesh where its skin touches mine.
I turn my face away, towards the cool blue sky, and close my eyes on my last glimpse of the world of life, as I am pulled through that thin shell and into the body of the beast. AAhhhh, it bums, it burns—but what …?
Marik/The Black Dragon
And behold, we are one. I-Demonlord I-Marik, we are in one body, powerful, free of pain. As we are joined, I-Demonlord find a mind not unlike my own—weaker, unstable, but not so very different in kind, and rather than send that half screaming down into madness I listen to it and we both learn. We are one, and we have a soul again.
I-Demonlord realise immediately that this poses a problem. The Distant Heart spell requires that the heart cannot inhabit a body that has a soul. If that should come to pass, the heart would become mortal once more.
Swiftly I-Demonlord reach into my chest and remove the Distant Heart from the molten rock of my being. It shines in my claws, an unlovely thing the shape and size of a human heart turned to silver-black stone. It remains unchanged: I have acted in time. Berys’s eyes glitter. Ah, yes, he would see this as a desirable object.
I leap into the sky. The mountains here are high and perilous and the range extends over a huge area. I can drop the heart somewhere in the trackless heights for now. I will find it a safer resting place later.
For the second time in this hour, I feel the force of Berys’s binding spell like spikes driven deep into my soul. This body cannot feel pain, but he is not working in the realm of the physical.
He’s a clever bastard.
Berys
“Back you come,” I declare, pulling the binding tether. It rages, it spits fire at me that slides off the shield I have raised against it, it screams defiance.
“For one reputed to be so wise, you are an arrant fool,” I say. “Whatever your pride may make of things, you are bound to me.” I feel a triumphant grin ste
aling on to my face. “And by the power of that binding, I tell you that I will not release you to the pleasure of destroying the Kantri unless you leave that ugly silver-black lump of stone with me.”
It hisses like ten thousand serpents. “You cannot force me to this!” it cries.
“Fool, I tell you I can,” I respond. I jerk on the binding, driving the spikes of the spell ever deeper into the tender flesh of the bound soul. “You required my living hand for the binding spell, Demonlord. Blood and bone binds deep.” I dropped my calm mask and growled, “Give to me your Distant Heart, Demonlord, or I will tie the binding at its sharpest and leave it there forever.”
It screams. It curses me a thousand times, it writhes, it flails about—but it knows that I have spoken truth. At last, the agony wins over its defiance. It flings the Distant Heart at my feet.
“Thank you,” I say to it, secreting the thing in a deep inner pocket of my garments. “I was certain that you would see reason. Fear not,” I add. “I will put it somewhere very safe indeed when time allows.”
It tries to tear me with its teeth. I shrug it off.
Ah, life is sweet.
Marik/Demonlord
I will kill him. I will find a way, for he must sleep sometime.
For now, I-Demonlord must admit defeat. However, I-Marik know that Berys did indeed have beneath his hand the only creature in all of time who can control me, that she is our daughter, and that Berys has no idea where she is. I-Marik have realised that for all our new strength we are yet bound to Berys and for the most part controlled by him. I-Demonlord learn from my brother that we do not know where the Lanen is, but she will not be far from the Kantri, and once they are dead she is defenceless. I-Marik remember that I could hear two of the Kantri, but when we listen, there is nothing. I-Marik am truly changed.
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