by Ryk E. Spoor
He didn’t finish, because her expression showed she understood perfectly. Aran was captured, dead, or very badly injured somewhere inside.
“Nothing!” a voice said from near his boot, making him jump.
“Nothing?” he repeated as he reached down to pick up Poplock.
“Not a mud-stuck thing. No wards on the nearby door, no patrols in the air or on the ground, the defense wards under the grass are down—and not broken, either, just not active—”
“There’s a defense ward there?”
“Oh, yeah, big thing, just not visible under the grass, probably goes all the way around the Retreat. It’s not active, though, and there’s not even a seeing crystal I could find. As far as I can tell, we can walk right through that door and no one will even know we’re coming. There isn’t even an alert charm on that door!”
Tobimar narrowed his eyes. “Well, we know bad trouble’s waiting inside. As Xavier used to say, this gives me the creeps. I’m getting myself ready before we go in.”
“You and me both,” Poplock agreed, and they saw Kyri nod as well.
Tobimar focused on the meditations he had drilled into himself over the years, and had refined and practiced even more over the time he had been with Kyri. The scene about him sharpened, became brighter, yet somehow removed, as though he stood outside himself, outside the the world, and every movement was showing itself in its entirety—what had been and what was to come. The High Center was his, and he was now aware of the warp and weft of possibility, the geometry of risk and reward that followed every step.
From within that source of vision and certainty he reached within, found a glittering blue-white spark at the core of his being. He grasped it with his mind, felt it waiting, ready to ignite into power beyond dreams at the simple touch of his will.
“Ready,” he said.
He saw Poplock putting away a bottle. The miniature Toad had also changed from his simple harness into a shining metal jacket covered with brilliant gemstones.
Kyri smiled as she, too, opened her eyes and saw what Poplock was up to. “Ready to do a little Gemcalling, I see.”
“Doesn’t work quite as well on this side of the mountains, but I made sure they were as ready as possible before we came back.” Poplock took out multiple other objects—a miniature wand, his clockwork crossbow that Hiriista and he had vastly improved, an assortment of bottles filled with liquids, powders, and shifting vapors—and then put them carefully back, obviously focused on memorizing location and order. “I’m set.”
With Poplock’s assurance that there were no watchers, stealth was pointless, at least for the moment. They walked quickly through the grass to reach a paved walkway that encircled the Retreat, and then followed that to the doorway that had been just visible from the forest’s edge.
Kyri regarded the door with obvious suspicion. “There may not be an alert on the door, but someone could be waiting just on the other side.”
“No way to tell…unless…Tobimar?”
Tobimar reached out with his senses as he also reached out for the door handle. Grasping it, he had no sudden sense of peril drawing near, as he had when Thornfalcon had suddenly appeared. Shrugging, he turned the handle and threw the door open.
A long corridor, leading deep into the Retreat, was revealed. A corridor that was completely empty except for a few doorways and lightglobes at intervals.
“Nothing again.”
Kyri gave an impatient snort. “Fine. I think he’s just waiting for us to find him. Probably in the center of the complex, this inner sanctum that Aran mentioned. We want to find him anyway. Enough of this sneaking around; I am the Phoenix Justiciar and I have come to cleanse this place!”
He found himself nearly running to try and keep up with her long, rapid strides, but didn’t protest. This was her moment, as purely hers as his encounter with the Sun of Terian, and she was drawn forward as irresistibly as he had been then.
The corridor went straight as a bowshot into the complex. If his guess about its shape was right, that inner sanctum should be straight ahead, if there were no obstacles. But there probably were.
Sure enough, he saw that it ended in a cross-corridor. Kyri, however, didn’t even pause; she turned left, her Raiment’s armored boots rapping out a metronome rhythm of determination, and Tobimar followed, glancing the other way to make sure they weren’t ignoring anything. But there was nothing to see; the Retreat seemed as empty as though abandoned for centuries.
A corridor appeared to the right and Kyri took it, her helm down, a predatory bird diving on its prey through the empty hallways. Her stride had quickened again, and now he was jogging to keep up. Another intersection, another turn, and then up ahead finally something different, a doorway with scattered pieces of wood nearby, as though the door had been broken.
It had been broken; he could see remnants of the shattered door still hanging from bent hinges as they got nearer, and a faint sense now of something nearby told him that Kyri’s instinct had led them truly.
And as they reached the doorway and turned, a voice spoke.
“At last you’ve come,” said the voice of Jeridan Velion.
The inner sanctum was a vast circular room, well over a hundred feet across and rising to nearly forty feet in the center. In the middle of that wide floor stood the speaker, who also looked like Jeridan but wore a wide, mocking smile utterly unlike the Watchland’s usual expression. To either side of him stood Bolthawk and Skyharrier; Bolthawk’s fists were raised in a combat-ready pose, and Skyharrier had his golden bow drawn and centered on the Phoenix as she entered.
Behind them, lying as limp as discarded dolls, were Aran Condor and what had to be the real Watchland.
“At long last you have come,” the false Watchland said, and smiled, spreading his arms. “And now we begin the final act.”
Chapter 35
Poplock studied the three figures before him. Even with my senses up I get nothing off the guy in the middle. Looks like Jeridan, senses like an ordinary human. Which he definitely isn’t if he’s running the show.
Bolthawk and Skyharrier, on the other hand, felt pretty similar to the way they had in the Temple of Myrionar, way back when Kyri had revealed the truth to everyone in Evanwyl. Maybe a little stronger, but they’re no stronger than Kyri was when we first met her, I’m pretty sure. That was good news, overall, although that still meant they weren’t going to be pushovers.
“I welcome you, Kyri Victoria Vantage, the Phoenix; far-wandering Tobimar Silverun; and you as well, Poplock Duckweed.”
Darn, he knows. But I really expected he would.
But Kyri was already acting; she swept her helm off and looked at the False Justiciars. “Bolthawk and Skyharrier, are you really ready to kill me? You who walked my family’s halls, who ate at our table, who called me little sister?”
Poplock saw a momentary aching sadness appear on Skyharrier’s face, and Bolthawk swallowed, tightening his fists.
“Join us instead,” she said, not even bothering to look at the false Jeridan. “He believes he orchestrated this confrontation, but he is not the only one playing the game. It is my turn, Myrionar’s turn, and I will be the one judging you at the end. You know you have been on the side of darkness while speaking words of light. I do not believe you are like Thornfalcon. I believe you would like to have meant those words.”
“Damnation to you, Kyri,” Bolthawk said through clenched teeth. “You think it is so easy, so simple?”
Poplock was watching the false Jeridan—presumably, the demonlord Viedraverion. He was making no move to stop the conversation, merely smiling and watching. He’s pretty sure what’s going to happen…or else he doesn’t care which way they go. Either way, not good for us.
On the other hand, it seemed that their main enemy was concentrating on this exchange. Poplock decided to try at least slipping out of sight. Being unseen was always better than being seen. Once he was halfway down Tobimar’s back, he used an invisibility char
m layered over a camoflage amulet effect. Two layers of “you can’t see me” were always better than one.
“Neither I nor Myrionar say anything of it being easy. I know it will be hard. I also have no doubt he has a hold of some sort over you. But I also have no doubt that both of you were worthy of being Justiciars, and if you have the courage to prove it, you can stand with me, as we cleanse the Retreat.”
Poplock dropped to the ground, scuttled away towards the side of the room farthest from Kyri. Neither of the Justiciars seemed to note anything; their leader…did the gaze flicker in his direction for a second? Poplock couldn’t tell. But hey, if he’s going to let me get away with it, maybe I can still make it my advantage.
This wasn’t just a tactical maneuver to get a better shot at the bad guy; Poplock had more goals in mind.
Skyharrier finally spoke. “If only I could believe you stood a chance, Kyri…Phoenix. But I have seen nothing save weakness from Myrionar, and nothing but power from our patron.”
Kyri laughed. “Such weakness that I have traveled to Moonshade Hollow and found the secrets hidden within. So weak am I that I have survived a confrontation with the Elderwyrm Sanamaveridion!” The two false Justiciars started. Hmmm. So Viedraverion hasn’t actually told them all the details of what we’ve been up to?
She drew herself up and pointed her sword at first one, then the other. “Myrionar itself swore an oath to me, in the name of the very power of the gods, that if I held my faith, then there was a way for me to triumph.”
The central figure did react to that, although by now Poplock couldn’t see his face. But the false Jeridan had straightened, tensed as though this news were either very welcome, or very unwelcome.
“I hold that faith within me, Skyharrier, Bolthawk. By Myrionar’s name, I say to you that this false-faced creature, this demon, Viedraverion son of Kerlamion, will fall this day!”
Their enemy burst into laughter, even as the two false Justiciars each took a hesitant step forward.”Ah, Phoenix, you truly exemplify the teachings. Myrionar could not have found a more fitting emissary!”
Well, he may know I’m here, but he’s not doing anything! That could be very bad, of course—if that was the case it either meant that Viedraverion knew what he was up to and knew it wouldn’t matter, or that it was a trap specifically made for Poplock.
Still, he was now within a few feet of both Aran and the real Watchland. Now the question is if my next trick backfires on me, or works as intended…
“Face me yourself, puppetmaster. If you are Viedraverion, architect of the wars and corrupter of my temples, you shouldn’t need to hide behind others. Draw your blade, summon your powers, prove yourself stronger than the Phoenix of Myrionar.” Kyri put her helm back on, readied herself for combat.
The other laughed again, but there was a hint of an inhuman backtone in the voice. “But of course, Phoenix. I have never planned on anything else. We shall…we must…settle this between ourselves. I simply didn’t want my other guests to feel neglected. I am, after all, known to be an excellent host.” The false Jeridan gestured, even as Poplock readied his first Gemcall. “Thus two Justiciars for your two companions—perfect correspondence, don’t you think?”
“I like less even odds, myself,” Poplock said, and Called to the Eönae’s Tear on his right side.
Gold-green light jetted outward like shining water and engulfed the two unconscious figures, vanishing into them as if they were sponges. Jeridan Velion and Aran Condor instantly gave great gasps and shoved themselves to their feet, already trying to orient themselves as their injuries faded away. My biggest healing trick used up, but if I’m right…
In that instant, their main enemy charged, and Phoenix’s sword parried his; the impact sent a shockwave through the room that sent Poplock tumbling nose over rump. Wow, they’re not starting small!
At the same time, the two Justiciars started for Tobimar—although, from what Poplock could see as he righted himself, they didn’t seem to be happy about it.
Kyri ignited in red-gold flame and she was suddenly a blur, evading her adversary’s strikes like a wraith, and raining down blow after blow with Flamewing. Even as the real Watchland and Aran steadied themselves and stared with amazement, Poplock saw one of the blows penetrate her enemy’s defenses, smash into and partly through the light armor he wore, send him flying into the wall with an impact that cracked the marble like glass.
Kyri gave a wordless cry of triumph and unleashed a sun-bright bolt of energy, an insubstantial yet irresistible talon of flame that pinned the false Watchland to the wall, struggling and writhing against the Phoenix fire that seethed around him, melting and burning the armor, making the hair ignite. The Phoenix Justiciar’s power burned higher and Poplock could see her literally throwing more of her power against the screeching, struggling creature—
“NO! Phoenix, STOP!”
The shout of utter desperation cut across the sound of ringing blades and roaring god-fire, and made every eye turn to Aran Condor.
The pillar of flame hesitated, shrank, though it did not dissipate, still keeping its target pinned. “Do you want me to show mercy?” Kyri asked, disbelief in her voice.
“No, by Myrionar, but you’re…you’re not hurting him at all! He’s not what you think!”
Kyri’s eyes widened, and suddenly Poplock saw the flames…accelerate, as though they were not merely being thrust at their target, but drawn to it, like a boat being caught up in a rapid river, heading for a cataract. “What in the name of the Balance—”
And the figure was stepping away from the wall, walking towards Kyri, hair and clothing reforming, urbane white smile now shining with inhuman brilliance, as the gods-fire flowed into him.
“Stop, Kyri, stop it!”
“I CAN’T!” she shouted with consternation, even as the red-gold flames sped up even more. “What’s happening? He’s…”
“He’s not a demon! Kyri, he’s a Great Wolf!”
Oh, crap. Poplock’s mind locked for a moment. I thought we ruled those out! They don’t work with…
But then, this one hadn’t really been “working with” anyone, had it? Just playing all sides against each other.
And they’re only vulnerable to…
The little toad bounced forward, reaching into his pack. This is gonna suck.
He found what he was looking for, whipped it up and around, and hurled the small sack directly into the stream of golden godsfire.
There was a detonation of gold and black that rocked the room, and the concussion was enough to almost knock Poplock out despite all the enhancements he’d put on himself. But he could see, blearily, that Kyri’s power was no longer pouring into the false Watchland.
The false Watchland shook his head. “Oh, well done, little Toad. Toss silver into the stream, so that my power is broken and she regains control. Brilliantly done.”
Even Tobimar and the two Justiciars had halted their battle, staring. “You’re…not Viedraverion?” Tobimar said, with the tone of a man desperately trying to make sense of things that made no sense at all.
“Well, in a sense, I am. In the sense that I killed him a long time ago, consumed his essence, and took his place, so I’ve been Viedraverion longer than even his dear father would have believed.” The smile was broader, and the teeth were sparkling diamond blades, still in a mostly human face. The creature glanced around, raised an eyebrow as it saw Skyharrier raising his bow, not towards Tobimar or Kyri, but towards it. “Oh, my. Changing sides now, are we?”
Skyharrier’s bow was shaking. “The Great Wolves help no one but themselves. You have no intention of releasing us, no matter what the outcome.”
“Tsk, tsk, Skyharrier,” it said, that monstrous smile widening—and all the more monstrous because the figure of Jeridan Velion was otherwise unchanged. “I have always played the game fairly with you all. Point your bow in the right direction, and there may well still be freedom for you.”
This guy likes to ta
lk. Poplock looked at Aran, pale, and the Watchland beside him. He let me bring these guys back…
Kyri shook herself, then raised Flamewing. “So power is unwise to use against you, without the right preparation. But this sword, forged by the Spiritsmith in my own presence, has silver worked throughout the blade. So, too, the blades of Tobimar Silverun. And of all things, only two can harm a Great Wolf: soul-consuming powers, like unto their own…and silver. Now that I know you for what you are, I can kill you.”
It grinned. “Then by all means…do so.”
Like I thought. “Watch it, all of you,” Poplock said. “He’s not just after Myrionar’s power. This is still part of his plan.”
The creature’s head tilted. “Oh?”
Poplock waved his hand around at the room. “You didn’t have to leave these guys alive. I think you knew I was going to wake them up. You wanted them to reveal your secret, after you’d gotten a taste of her power. But this whole confrontation…you’ve got it all mapped out, right down to your speeches, your delays…maybe even mine, for all I know.” He watched the figure, which simply stood there, waiting. “You wanted her to find out before you finished draining her power. You probably figured someone would find a way to disrupt that trick. I don’t know what you’re really after, but it’s more than just taking her power.”
Aran nodded. “He…needs something else. Something associated with Myrionar’s connections to the other gods.”
Kyri’s body tensed. “That may be true. But does it really change what we have to do?”
“Oh, certainly not,” the creature wearing the Watchland’s face said, with a chuckle. “Nothing will change that. You have to face me, Phoenix. Not only is that my intention, but it is your oath.”
It looked around, the smile mocking. “But I must say, the odds have become a bit lopsided. Even if my good friends Bolthawk and Skyharrier choose the wiser path and help me, they’ll be far too busy to properly accommodate all of you. But let it never be said I was a poor host.”
It flung its arms outward and shouted something rough and incomprehensible.
