by Ryk E. Spoor
Which would in its own way be quite a blow against his so-called master. Aran felt the smile tighten to a near-snarl. That was the real reason he couldn’t afford to die even after taking down the Phoenix. Phoenix was a personal issue. But the “Patron” of the false Justiciars? He—or to be more accurate, it—was the cause of the whole issue, and wouldn’t it be just indeed for the creature to meet its downfall at the hands, not of its greatest known enemy, but someone it thought was its puppet?
Aran reached the crest of the hill and looked down upon Sha Kaizatenzei Valatar.
The legendary Valatar Tower was fallen; most of the floating bridges that had crossed the town in lines of crystal and dream were shattered. Yet the beauty of the great city remained, and for a few moments Aran, the Condor Justiciar, could do nothing but stare, drinking in the shining rose-sunset tinted loveliness and feeling it ease, for at least a few moments, the tension and guilt and fear.
Finally he shook himself and moved down the last stretch of the Necklace towards the town. Evening now. Tomorrow…tomorrow I think I’ll have to go to the current palace, whatever they’re using while rebuilding the Valatar Palace, and see if I can get an audience with this ruler, Lady Shae. She must know where the Phoenix is…if the Phoenix isn’t still here.
There was of course a considerable danger in meeting up with the Phoenix here. Presumably the city knew—had probably watched—as the Justiciar of Myrionar and companions had done the impossible; they’d be uncontested heroes and any assassination attempt would probably result in him getting lynched. So he’d have to be somewhat circumspect until he discovered whether the Phoenix was still here. If his target had left recently, though, Aran could probably catch them on the road with no witnesses…
The gates were still wide open as he approached. He nodded to the two guards standing attentively at the sides, but evaded conversation. A quick glance at the buildings ahead showed him one with a sign—the Dawning Light—that was clearly for a travelers’ inn.
Aran hastened his steps slightly as he neared the inn. His legs ached—all of him ached, actually, because climbing in and out of the scar and walking down the slick glassy surface had been what he’d done for most of the day, and was far more wearing than ordinary walking. A meal and a good bed will do me a lot of good.
Arranging for a room took a little longer. Refugees had taken many spaces, and apparently Lady Shae and her right hand—Light Miri, whom he’d met earlier—had decreed that refugees be housed and fed at the inns (expenses, he heard, borne entirely by the Lady of Light). But he was able to get a small corner room finally, and sat in the quietest corner of the downstairs dining room that he could find.
In the middle of finishing his gyllidat—an interesting grilled dessert pastry he’d never tried before—he became aware of someone standing near his table.
Glancing up, Aran saw it was a young woman of about his own age. “Yes, miss?”
“Excuse me, sir, but…would you be named Aran?”
What in the Balance…“Why do you ask, miss?”
She tilted her head, studying him. “Because you fit the description. The armor you’re wearing, like a great condor?”
Cautiously now…“What description?”
“I was given a letter to deliver to you, if you ever arrived in Sha Kaizatenzei Valatar. Told that if you were coming, you’d show up in one of the inns soon. If your name is Aran.”
His heart felt as though it was sinking through his chest. Who would act in this fashion to get a message to him? Not the Phoenix. Not anyone he knew of an ordinary sort. But Viedraverion? Quite likely. “Yes, my name is Aran,” he said, trying not to sound too angry. It wasn’t her fault she was being used as a messenger. “Do I have to pay…?”
“Oh, no, sir—paid half in advance, I will be paid again once it’s delivered.”
And how will it know…
As he took the thick parchment envelope, he was surprised by its weight; more than ordinary paper was within. The seal on the envelope was also complex, and now Aran understood; once the seal was broken, whoever sent it would know the delivery was complete. “Thank you, then.”
She bowed and moved off—apparently with other deliveries. They have a delivery service in the city for messages? Well…yes, I suppose they must. We didn’t need any in Evanwyl, but I did see something of the sort in Sha Kuratenzei.
He finished his dinner first; there was no particular reason to rush, and the contents would be likely something he didn’t want exposed to public view. Once he was done, he went up to his small room, set as many wards as he reasonably could manage, and only then sat at the tiny wooden table and placed his hands on the seal. “Aran Condor,” he said, and bent the seal; it popped with a flash of green and eerie yellow.
Undoubtedly our Patron, he thought grimly, as the contents slid into view: a polished mirror-scroll, silver trimmed with gold. He remembered with a chill his last viewing of such a scroll—the mirror-finish replaced with the pure-black face and dead-blue eyes of Kerlamion himself.
With a sigh, Condor picked it up and held it before him. “I am here.”
There was no immediate response, and Condor had a sudden hope that there would be no response. Maybe something had happened in the intervening time. If his Patron was no more…
But if that were the case, he would have known; the powers it gave them would have faded away.
On his third attempt, the silver faded suddenly, replaced with the cheerful smiling face of their Patron. “Ah, Condor! How wonderful! You’ve made it all the way to Valatar.”
“Not without incident. I still haven’t caught up with Phoenix, always just a few weeks behind them, and in the meantime this…place almost got destroyed—by a Great Elderwyrm, no less!”
“Yes, indeed, Sanamaveridion himself. But about Phoenix—I’m afraid we were both a bit misled.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you would be very ill-advised to go talk to the lovely rulers of Kaizatenzei and bring up the subject; you see, while I had thought they were—in a general sense, mind you—on my side, both Lady Shae and Light Miri betrayed my cause, and that of the King of All Hells.” He looked sincerely apologetic. “I am afraid that while you thought you were following the Phoenix, they were just laying a false trail. The Phoenix was going the other way around the lake.”
For a moment Aran sat still, dumbfounded. Tricked? Following a false trail all that way? Hundreds of miles following NOTHING?
Then he cursed and turned away. “Myrionar’s Balance, how stupid could I be. Of course, that makes sense of everything.”
“Really? What does it make sense of?”
He gestured vaguely. “I kept running into problems—real people problems, monsters, kidnappings, all that kind of thing—that it seemed obvious to me were the kinds of things a real Justiciar would have to deal with. It passed belief that the Phoenix would just pass them by unless there was something just incredibly immediately important driving them on, but I never got a hint of what important thing that could be.
“But now I know I was just getting whatever false hints they wanted to keep me going in the direction I was already headed. Thunder and Fire!” He kicked the wall so hard it left a hole, and winced. Great, I’ll have to pay for that.
“Yes, I see. Quite correct, of course. From what little I got from Miri when she severed our relationship, Phoenix did indeed get involved in such things along the route the party actually took.”
“Do you at least know if Phoenix is still here in Valatar?”
It smiled apologetically. “I am afraid not. You are now, in actuality, in the position you thought you were in earlier—a few weeks behind the Phoenix. The last symbol of Myrionar is now on its way home—to Evanwyl.”
Aran closed his eyes and counted from fifty backwards to zero. This kept him from cursing again, at least, and saved the walls and furniture from more abuse. “At least I know where Phoenix is headed. I should be able to make up distance,
unless they’re pushing forward on a hard march.”
“They shouldn’t be; they have no reason to think it is necessary, and why would there be? Everything’s fine at home.” The smile was suddenly just a hair too sharp and shiny, and Aran shivered. “Get your rest tonight, Aran. You will catch them this time. I guarantee it.”
“And if I don’t? If they reach Evanwyl? I—”
“Aran, Aran, I understand your oath completely. I assure you, none of us will stand in your way.” Its eyes lit up with sudden amusement. “In fact, I think we could help you.”
“What?” He was immediately—and he felt justifiably—suspicious.
“What do you think the Phoenix is going to do when he—or she—arrives in Evanwyl?”
“Now? After what they’ve done here? Come after you, of course!”
“But how will they find us?”
“They…oh.” He paused. “Oh, I see. If I work it correctly, I could lead them to you. And then…”
“And then,” agreed the other with a chuckle, “You can get your vengeance and we can…deal with the Phoenix’s companions so that no one interferes with you at all.”
The idea worked. If Phoenix had companions, and they’d even lived through that last battle, they’d be dangerous, dangerous adversaries. Having his Patron and his old comrades taking on those adversaries…“Agreed. If I don’t catch and kill Phoenix before we enter Evanwyl, I’ll find a way to get them to follow me.” He felt his lips twist in an ironic smile. “Given that Phoenix will want to kill me about as much as I want to kill them, that probably won’t be too hard.”
“No, I wouldn’t think so. Well, then, Aran, I leave you with wishes for a peaceful night’s rest. Good night!” It hesitated before making the final cutoff gesture. “Oh, this scroll—break it after we are done, please.”
“As you wish, sir.”
“Farewell, then.” The scroll went blank. Aran immediately picked it up and bent it double. It split and cracked down the center, and instantly began to evaporate. A summoning or temporary creation…maybe a functional duplicate of some original our Patron has elsewhere? He’d never really studied magic in detail. The important point was that no trace of the mirror would remain in a few moments.
He grinned suddenly. Yes, an excellent plan, Patron. Bring your most powerful enemies to our stronghold, where they will be most vulnerable.
But you will be in greatest danger there, too, for there will be nowhere for you to hide…and once Phoenix is dead, no reason for me to wait.
Chapter 9
Poplock caught a tenzili on the wing and crunched down. The glowy-stuff the little insects used gave them a particular tang that he liked.
“That’s…kind of eerie, Poplock,” commented Tobimar.
“What is?
“When you eat those things you end up with a glowing mouth for an hour or so. So I just see this little floating smile and sudden flash of you gulping something else down.”
“I didn’t realize that! Sounds neat!”
Tobimar chuckled. “In a creepy way, yes, I think.” The Skysand Prince finished putting the supper dishes away and then went to sit beside Kyri on the other side of the camp.
The toad noticed Rion looking pensively at them. The one-time Justiciar shrugged and frowned, then turned to look out into the darkness surrounding the camp. “If no one objects,” he said, “I’ll do a scout around camp before we all turn in.”
Kyri and Tobimar glanced around, both with some reluctance. Knowing what was on their minds, Poplock bounced up onto Rion’s shoulder. “I’ll come with you.” The relief on the others’ faces was obvious.
So was the wry smile on Rion’s, even in the near-blackness under the stars above Kaizatenzei. He walked a few moments in silence, moving easily and quietly through the brush. “Not letting me out of your sight yet, are you?”
“Would you, in our position?”
Rion didn’t answer right away; finally he let out an explosive sigh. “No, I suppose not.”
“Part of you was counting on that.”
“What?”
Poplock gave him a gentle kick to the side of the head. “I saw you looking at them. You’re not comfortable with that, are you? You figured one or the other would insist on coming with you.”
The blond-haired head dropped down in unmistakable embarrassment. “I…look, for me it’s two years ago. My sister hadn’t even noticed anyone aside from Aran and the Watchland, and now suddenly I find she’s…well, serious about this so-called prince I’ve never met before. Of course I’m a little worried.” He raised his head and cocked an eyebrow at the Toad. “And given what I now know about those other two, I think I have a little bit of a reason to be cautious about her judgment there.”
Poplock snorted. “Okay, you might have a point. ’Cept it’s still not really your business.”
“No,” Rion conceded after a moment. “But after our parents died…I guess I still want to take care of everything. That’s stupid, though; she’s obviously taking care of herself perfectly well. Better than I took care of her or me, for that matter.”
“You got kinda suckered like everyone else. She still thinks you’re the greatest thing living; you don’t know how hard it is for her to let us stay suspicious of you.”
A quiet chuckle. “About as hard as it would be for me, I would guess.” He paused, then smacked his sword against a nearby bush; something hissed but scuttled swiftly away, recognizing Rion was much too dangerous to confront. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure. Don’t guarantee I’ll answer it, but you can ask.”
The one-time Justiciar hesitated again. “No one…no one really told me the results of your analysis, just that you had decided that I really was at least a part of Rion Vantage. Could you please tell me what you found out?”
Poplock considered. He obviously could tell Rion everything. The question was whether he should.
After a moment’s reflection, he decided that there was no real reason not to. It had been a few weeks. If Rion had a deeper game he was playing, it clearly wasn’t time for him to move yet, and nothing that they’d discovered would be a surprise to him.
“You’re not exactly human. I suppose you probably guessed that.”
“My human body was left in Evanwyl. I had hoped that it had been re-created here. No?”
“The samples we took…well, you were saturated with magical energies, no surprise there, and there were components that were human, some that were probably demonic, and…well, there’s no nice way to say this…some that were graverisen.”
Rion looked at him with faint horror. “I’m…graverisen?”
“There’s a part of some type of walking dead there—can’t tell what type, though. Plus demonic power and essence, and human. That all isn’t surprising, though. They probably took part of your original corpse as a pattern, and this Viedra guy used his demon-power to build you a new body.” He hesitated, because the next part was worse.
“What? Come, Toad, don’t stop now.”
“Okay, but you’ll really hate this one. He still needed a living human body as a base, something to take that fragment of your soul—something like making a new flickerflower bush by grafting a branch from it onto a simjin root. So—”
“Oh, great Balance.” Rion’s face, always much lighter than his sister’s, looked almost white in the starlight, and he stopped walking. “I…I’m wearing someone’s reshaped body?”
“And,” Poplock said, “one whose soul was used to rebuild yours. At least, that’s our guess. Wieran, or Viedraverion, or both were involved, and they’re like way out of my league and even out of Hiriista’s. What we found…could mean something completely different. But that’s our best theory.”
Rion did not move for several minutes. Finally he gave such a shudder that it nearly pitched Poplock off the tall man’s shoulder. “Myrionar’s Mercy. Someone was erased just to make an imitation of myself. For what purpose?”
Poplock gave a
bounce-shrug. “No idea, really. We kinda hope that they just weren’t done with you, so you’re pretty much who you appear to be—”
“—but maybe I’m not at all, and I’m going to turn on you at some point. I may not even know I will.”
The Toad stared up at the sparkling sky, the edge of the Balance just visible above the trees. “No, maybe you won’t. Wieran sure managed to do that well enough with the Unity Guard, and if we’re right you were a special project for his biggest patron.”
Rion nodded, and began walking again—but more slowly. Poplock could feel the heaviness in the stride. “Poplock…just so you know…if that turns out to be the case, I want you to know ahead of time—I don’t care what happens to me. Just keep me from hurting Kyri. However you have to. Okay?”
“Trust me, if you try to hurt either her or Tobimar, I’ll stick Steelthorn through your ankle and then cut your throat as you hit the ground. Just so we’re clear on that.”
“That’s comforting to know.” The attempt at humor was weak but sounded genuine.
“But,” Poplock said.
“But?”
“But I do think there’s something of the real Rion Vantage in there. And if that’s true?” He looked straight into Rion’s startled eyes. “Then I’ve seen your sister in action, and if there’s one thing I know about her, it’s that there is nothing that she’ll let stop her from doing the right thing. So if you’re the brother she thinks is so incredible, then you should be able to fight any control anyone puts in your head. Don’t ask me to keep you from hurting Kyri. Do it yourself.”
Rion looked away, then looked back with an almost sheepish grin. “I…I guess you’re right. What kind of a Justiciar would I be if I let someone else turn me against my friends?”
“Not much of one, that’s for sure.”
They moved on for a few moments before Rion spoke again. “Thank you, Poplock.”
