The Last Rune 5: The Gates of Winter

by Mark Anthony

  “Am I dreaming?” Melia murmured.

  Travis held her tight. “I'd think we both were, only I'd choose a happier place for my dream than this.”

  “It is happy with you here, sweet one.”

  All the same, she was weeping, and it did not seem all her tears were ones of joy. Travis set her down. Falken was there now, and Beltan and Vani. It seemed so strange, to be embracing one another in such a lifeless place. All the same, it filled Travis with warmth.

  The Maugrim man and woman nodded to Melia and Falken, and the bard and lady bowed in return. Curiosity glinted in Falken's eyes, but Melia smiled.

  “It is long since I have had the pleasure of meeting the Gul-Hin-Gul,” she said. “I am honored.”

  Falken shot her a sharp look. “You mean you've met the True People before?”

  “Once. It was over a thousand years ago, just after we banished Mohg from the world, just before they vanished into the mists of the deepest forests and wildest mountains.”

  “You mean all this time you knew the Maugrim still existed?” Falken said, his expression stunned.

  Melia gave the bard a fond smile. “I know lots of things, dear one.”

  The Maugrim man spoke to Melia in his strange language. The honor is ours, ancient ones. We saw you come through the pass into the land of He-Who-Wields-The-Ice. We would have greeted you then, but we knew the one we waited for was coming.

  Melia turned her golden eyes on Travis. “And now he is here, in this place.”

  “So this truly is the end, then,” Falken said. He gazed at the bloody sword that lay on the ground.

  “Kelephon,” Beltan said, glancing at the dead body of the man. “You've killed him, Falken.”

  So that was who the white-haired man was. Travis pressed his hand to his chest, remembering the pain he had felt a few moments ago. Kelephon had been the last of the Runelords. Now there was only Travis. Or was that true? Was there not one other who could yet break runes?

  With his boot, Falken nudged Kelephon's arm, and the runelord's dead fingers fell open, revealing a Stone. It was smooth and spherical, its surface a mottled snow blue. Travis heard a hum, like the sound of metal against dry ice.

  “Gelthisar,” he said, standing next to the bard.

  Falken nodded. “Kelephon tried to use the Stone of Ice against us, but I don't think he had time to fully master its power. It had been long centuries since he last held it, and its touch seemed to freeze him. For a moment he couldn't move, and it was enough for me to put my sword in him.”

  Travis shook his head. “Why did he have the Stone? And how did you find him here?”

  “It was Shemal,” Melia said, her eyes going hard. “She led us here.”

  While the wind moaned over the ridge and silent lightning flashed above, they listened to Melia and Falken tell how they had come to this place. After leaving Calavere, the bard and the lady had set out on Kelephon's trail and soon found the runelord in Embarr, where—in the guise of General Gorandon—he was amassing his Onyx Knights for an all-out assault on the remaining Dominions. Falken and Melia had not been able to get close to him, but then they had spied one of the Pale King's ravens, and in a daring ploy they had caught the attention of the bird. They had convinced the raven to spy on Kelephon, and to take news of what it saw back to the Pale King.

  Shortly thereafter, more ravens had flown from the direction of Imbrifale, and then Falken and Melia had seen Kelephon riding north, cloak flying, a look of fury on his face. It had worked—the Pale King had grown suspicious and had summoned his runelord to him. Kelephon had had no choice but to go and feign loyalty, not if he didn't want his treachery revealed. Without his presence, the spell with which he held the Onyx Knights in thrall weakened. The order began to crumble; many of them began the long journey back to Eversea in the far west.

  “I don't understand,” Beltan said. “Why did Kelephon go back to Imbrifale right when he was ready to attack? Why didn't he just turn against the Pale King then?”

  “That's why,” Travis said, pointing to the Stone on the dead runelord's hand.

  Falken nodded. “He always intended to steal Gelthisar back from the Pale King. I suppose he lusted after it all those years. He had known its touch once, before he surrendered it to Berash, and he wanted it back.” The bard knelt beside the corpse. “I imagine he convinced the Pale King not to take the Stone into battle, to keep it safe in his fortress in Fal-Imbri instead. Once Berash rode through the Rune Gate, Kelephon absconded with the Stone. He was trying to escape through this hidden pass when we came upon him.”

  “I thought there was no way in and out of Imbrifale,” Beltan said with a frown.

  Falken stood. “So did I. I suppose this way has been here for centuries—from the very beginning, perhaps. My guess is, when the Runelords raised the Fal Threndur, Kelephon created this pass in secret, keeping it concealed from his brethren. I'm not sure even Berash himself knows about it, though it's clear the Necromancers did.”

  Melia picked up the tale then, telling how after they saw Kelephon ride north, they had turned their attention to Shemal. They had searched for the Necromancer without luck. Then, only a day ago, Melia sensed her presence, fleeing north.

  “She was wounded and unguarded,” Melia said. “That was why I was able to discover her so easily. We followed and came upon her here. I believe she was seeking to enter Imbrifale even as Kelephon was fleeing it, though what her purpose was I do not know.” A shiver passed through her. “I feared I would not have the power to face her.”

  Falken laid a hand on her shoulder. “But you did.”

  Melia gazed at a scorched circle on the ground. “She was severely weakened. How Shemal came to be wounded, I don't know, but it was the reason I was able to stand against her. Somehow she had lost her immortality. She still had her magics, but in the end she was too weak to work them—she could no longer hold on to her mortal form. She is . . . dissipated.”

  “Dead, you mean,” Beltan said. “Shemal is dead.”

  “More than dead. Her spirit is gone, as dust before a wind. Just like poor Tome and the others.” Melia bowed her head.

  Vani knelt beside the scorched circle on the ground. “There are strange tracks here, like those of some great cat.” She looked up. “Did you see such a beast?”

  Neither Falken nor Melia answered.

  “So now what do we do?” Beltan said.

  The Maugrim man made a breaking motion with his hands. The end must be made to come. He pointed to the Stone resting on the dead runelord's palm.

  A sick feeling filled Travis. That couldn't be the answer; there had to be something else they could do. “The Rune Gate.” He looked at Falken. “You said it's opened again, that the Pale King has ridden through.”

  Falken nodded, his face grim. “Grace rode to Gravenfist Keep to stand against Berash, and to await King Boreas and the Warriors of Vathris. Although whether she has held or the keep has fallen, there's no way to know.”

  “Yes there is,” Travis said, his voice shaking. “We can go to her. We can go to Gravenfist Keep right now and help her fight until King Boreas gets there.”

  Melia turned her amber gaze on him. “Can we?”

  These words were like a blow; Travis staggered. “What are you talking about?”

  Melia looked up at the roiling clouds.

  “The sky,” Beltan said softly. “Something's wrong with it.”

  “It has been broken,” said a voice behind them.

  The voice was sharp-edged but haggard—a man's voice. They turned to see a figure in a black robe appear from behind a boulder, walking down the last few feet of the hidden path toward them. The man moved slowly, as if weary beyond imagining. He came to a halt a dozen paces away. The heavy cowl of his robe concealed his face. Vani crouched, ready to spring.

  Travis tried to moisten his lips, but his tongue was dry as sand. “What do you mean?”

  The man held out his hands. On it were the fractured pieces
of a disk of creamy stone. Travis could still make out the symbol that had been embedded in the disk: a curved line over a single dot. Tal, the rune of sky. The broken pieces of the rune slipped through the man's fingers and tumbled to the ground.

  Anger and sorrow tore at Travis's heart. “You. It was you we saw at the Black Tower. You're the one who killed Sky—you're the other Runebreaker.”

  The man said nothing, and the others stared, shock written across their faces—all except for the two Maugrim, whose brown eyes were as calm as ever.

  Bitter laughter rose in Travis's throat. “So, have you come to take the Stones from me? They're all here. I have Krondisar and Sinfathisar, and here's Gelthisar.” He pointed to the Stone resting on Kelephon's dead hand. “It's everything Mohg needs to break the First Rune.” He drew the two Stones from his pocket. “Have you come to take them to him?”

  “No,” the man in the black robe said. “I will not take the Imsari from you, Master Wilder.”

  Travis clenched his hand around the Stones. “But you broke the rune of sky. You opened the way for Mohg so he can return to Eldh and break the First Rune.”

  “You're wrong.”

  The man pushed back his cowl. Intelligent eyes gazed from a face that was a shattered mask crisscrossed by white scars. His lips twisted in a sardonic smile.

  “Mohg will not break the First Rune,” Master Larad said. “Because you will, Master Wilder.”

  58.

  Travis knew he should do something, that he should speak a rune to save them. Master Larad was the other Runebreaker. He was in league with Shemal.

  He had slain Sky.

  The last time they had seen Larad, the runespeaker had been leaving the Gray Tower, banished by All-master Oragien. In the months since, he must have found the Necromancer Shemal, must have cast his lot with hers out of bitterness at his exile. He had journeyed to the Black Tower, and he had murdered Sky—sweet, voiceless Sky, who had somehow been both man and rune. Larad had made off with the rune of sky, taking it back to Shemal. And now he had broken it.

  Do it, Travis! Jack's voice—and a hundred other voices—roared in his mind. Speak Krond. He cannot match your strength, Runebreaker though he may be.

  Travis gathered his will. However, before he could speak the rune, an animal snarl sounded to his left, and a shadow streaked toward Larad. For a stunned moment Travis thought it was Vani, but the T'gol stood next to Beltan, and this thing moved on all fours.

  It was a panther, its eyes gleaming like gold moons. Dimly, Travis noticed that Melia was no longer beside Falken. The panther crouched low before Master Larad, growling deep in its throat, ready to spring. The runespeaker staggered back a step and held up a hand. It was stained with blood.

  “Please, listen to me,” he said, his voice tight with pain and fear. “Kill me after you hear these words. I don't care, for I imagine I'm dying anyway. But first you must listen to what I have to tell you, Master Wilder.”

  The rune evaporated on Travis's lips. It had been hard to see against the black fabric, but now Travis did: There was a dark, wet patch on the right side of Larad's robe, and it was growing.

  “Stand back,” Falken said, his voice stern.

  The panther snarled again, its tail twitching.

  Falken made a fist of his silver hand. “I don't care what you think he did. It can't be chance he's come upon us in this place, and we're not going to kill him before we listen to what he has to say. Now stand back, Melia.”

  The panther let out a complaining growl, then a nimbus of azure light sprang into being around the great cat. Its form shimmered, changed, and a moment later Melia stood in its place. She smoothed her black hair with a hand as the nimbus faded, and her amber eyes gleamed with anger and suspicion.

  Beltan appeared nonplussed at this transformation, and Vani looked on in curiosity, but Travis forgot Master Larad and instead stared at Melia.

  “Have you always been able to do that?”

  She gave him a sharp smile. “It's my little secret, dear. Although I suppose that cat's been let out of the bag, if you will.” Melia turned her gaze on Larad, and all traces of her smile were gone. “For some reason I cannot fathom, Falken seems to be of a lenient mind. I am not so merciful. You killed Sky in the service of Shemal. Why should I not kill you now?”

  Larad sighed, a sound of weariness and sorrow. “Because I didn't serve the Necromancer, much as she believed I did, and I didn't kill Sky. He gave himself of his own free will.”

  Beltan snorted. “That's not how it looked to us at the Black Tower. We saw you stab him. I'm with Melia. I say we kill you right now.”

  The runespeaker did not look at him. “As I said, do what you wish. Just hear what I have to say first.”

  Travis hesitated, then moved closer. At the Gray Tower, it had been largely because of Larad's machinations that Travis had been sentenced to die at the null stone. However, Larad had also helped to arrange Travis's escape from that fate, and as they had learned, he had done the things he did to help the Runespeakers find purpose again.

  “How?” Travis pointed at the shattered fragments of the bound rune. “How did you manage to break the rune of sky? The art of Runebreaking is lost.”

  Larad's expression was part grimace, part smile. “Not lost to you, Master Wilder. And nor to me, now.” He wiped his right hand against his robe, cleaning away the blood, then held it out. A silver symbol shone on his palm: three crossed lines. The rune of runes.

  Travis clenched his right hand into a fist; if he were to speak a rune, the same symbol would appear on his own palm.

  “By Olrig,” Falken swore, his faded blue eyes wide. “You've become a runelord. But how?”

  Larad's eyes were thoughtful in his shattered face. “And if I told you it was Olrig One-Hand himself who made me into this, would you believe me, Master Falken?” He lowered his hand. “No, don't answer, for it matters not. There is no time for this. I have broken the rune of sky. The circle of the world has been cracked open. Mohg, Lord of Nightfall, comes.”

  Melia balled her small hands into fists. “It took all of us gods working together, Old and New alike, to banish Mohg from the world. Such an alliance will never come again. And now you have opened the way for him.” Tears shone in her eyes. “Why?”

  Larad met her gaze. “Two worlds draw close to one another. They move nearer every day—our world, and the world from which Travis Wilder comes. Once they draw close enough, the way will be bridged, and Mohg would be able to return no matter what any of us might do.”

  “But it could have been years before such a thing took place,” Falken said, his wolfish face haggard. “We could have had more time to prepare.”

  “And so could the enemy,” Larad snapped.

  He winced, pressing his hand to his side, then spoke more softly, so that they had to move closer to listen to him.

  “Do you not see it? Sooner or later, evil will return to Eldh. By breaking the rune of sky, I have made it so that evil comes sooner, when it is ill prepared. If we waited until Mohg had gathered his strength, until he marched from that world to this with a vast army at his side, we never would have been able to stop him. We still may not be able to now, but at least we have a chance, however small it may be. Sky understood that. He found me not long after my exile from the Gray Tower, and he convinced me it was the only way. That was why he sacrificed himself at the Black Tower. The only hope for the world was to allow Mohg to return to it.”

  Sorrow shone in Falken's faded eyes. “And now that Mohg has returned, he'll break the First Rune and remake Eldh in his own shadowed image.”

  “Not if Master Wilder breaks it first,” Larad said, his voice ragged.

  All of them stared at the runespeaker. Above, bloodred lightning hissed across the churning sky.

  “No.” Sickness filled Travis, and dread. “No, I won't do it. It's not my fate. I have no fate.”

  Larad waved the words aside with an angry motion. “Fate is what we choose, Maste
r Wilder, not what is chosen for us. The end is here, you can't change that—no one can now. The First Rune will be broken. There will be a Runebreaker. It can be Mohg—or it can be you. That is your fate. That is your choice.”

  Travis couldn't move. For so long he had run from this destiny. He had done everything he could to keep it from coming to pass. Only all this time he had been running, not away from it, but straight toward it.

  “Go, Master Wilder,” Larad said, and blood flecked his lips. “Take the three Imsari. Go to the Dawning Stone.” He nodded toward the two Maugrim, who had stood silently a short distance away. “They will help you. They know the way.”

  Travis reeled. Once again Larad had worked to purposes unknown to them—unknown to anyone, save for Sky, it seemed. Shemal must have thought him her slave, another Runebreaker she could manipulate to her own ends, a tool she could use to bring about victory for her master. But the Necromancer had been wrong.

  “So you betrayed Shemal,” Travis said.

  Larad gave him a rueful look. “I have betrayed us all, if you do not do what you must, Travis Wilder. Shemal was . . .” A shudder coursed through him. “No, I will not speak of my days with Shemal. It is enough to say I used her even as she thought she was using me, and somehow, though I never expected to, I have survived. Somehow she was wounded in Calavan, and she sought to flee back to Imbrifale for protection. I followed, knowing that was my chance to gain Gelthisar. Then, quite to my surprise, we came upon Kelephon, and he had the Stone of Ice with him. When I saw that was so, I knew the time to act had finally come.”

  “So you began the end of the world,” Travis said softly. “And now you want me to finish it.”

  “It is not my choice such a task should be given to you, Master Wilder. I still believe you are given to foolishness and impracticality, and that your knowledge is insufferably lacking.” Larad hesitated, then despite the pain on his face, he grinned. “But I also believe that you are good at heart, and that there is no one in this world stronger than you.”