Time Spiral

by Scott McGough

  Llanach’s tired rangers had withdrawn mysteriously, but Radha was not concerned. The defenders of Skyshroud could always melt into or appear out of the forest like ghosts. Good riddance in any case. Less of Freyalise’s cannon fodder meant more room for Radha to enjoy herself.

  The strangers continued to fight as well, though they had pulled back to form a defensive formation around the wounded fire mage and the unarmed girl. The male fire mage and the scalies were able to keep the raiders at bay, but there were plenty of Gathans left to maintain a constant threat.

  Radha occupied the rest of the raiding party. She herself was still uninjured, even though the tear-shaped, talonlike blades she used were not designed to defend against a Gathan broadsword. Her rage mounted as she fought, for they were only coming at her one at a time, not afraid of her skills but amused, taking turns like children. They stood and watched, eerily patient as if fighting her were some sort of novelty to be shared.

  She had surprised the first few by being faster and stronger than they expected, but they now had the measure of her. What’s more, the single combatants were becoming inexplicably more dangerous and more skilled as Radha thinned their numbers. Warlord magic was undeniably tied to the number of combatants on the field, so how was Greht making his warhost stronger as it shrank in size?

  She paused for a moment, breathing evenly as the next opponent approached. Her arms and legs were streaked with blood that all but covered her long metal gauntlets and her swooping tribal tattoos. Blood had also matted her hair on one side and stained her cured-hide tunic and leggings. Radha clenched her weapons tightly, green leaves of flame flaring around her. She stared fixedly into the approaching Gathan’s eyes and smiled, showing him her teeth.

  The colos horn sounded again from the top of the ridge and the berserker approaching her stopped. Though Radha expected a surge of strength from the raider, the klaxon had a very different effect on him. The brute slowed as he heard it, then he stopped.

  His bulging muscles relaxed and his eyes narrowed. He nodded at Radha, returning her ruthless smile. Then the brute turned away and lumbered back toward the mountainside.

  The other Gathans also stopped fighting at the sound of the horn. Thrown, Radha and the strangers could only stare suspiciously as the raiders withdrew, each uncannily quiet and careful in their movements. The brutes separated into two single-file lines and stood facing each other in perfect, symmetrical ranks.

  The colos horn blew again. Radha looked up in time to see the masked figure of Greht cast aside the instrument. He oriented on her in the center of the valley then ran to the edge of the mountain and hurled himself off.

  The prodigious leap carried Greht almost halfway down the mountain in one fell swoop. He landed in an explosion of snow and gravel then shot back up into the frigid air before the scattered cloud of debris reached its apex.

  Radha’s eyes gleamed. Her shroud of flames danced as Greht descended. She had done it. She had goaded him into personal combat. The Gathan warlord would not be an easy opponent, not with so many of his fell raiders backing him, but Radha relished the challenge.

  She fortified herself, drawing the innate power of her home to her. As her strength grew, Radha’s urge to kill became a burning, driving need. She had two tear-shaped blades in hand and three more on her belt. She was ready. She would kill Greht here and now. She would break the Gathans’ dominance in this region and then drive all of them into the sea, preferably in pieces.

  Greht landed on the valley floor directly between the two lines of raiders. He glanced neither left nor right as he strode toward Radha, his crackling red eyes boring into hers from behind the mask.

  Radha held his gaze. Her heartbeat boomed at her temples so hard the whole world seemed to throb. She gorged herself on the raw power of the land until it filled her, stretching her mind to bursting. The flames around her tripled in number and intensity, burning so brightly that she appeared to be aflame from the waist up. When Radha opened her mouth to give voice to her bloodlust, the sound was distorted by echoes and accompanied by a cloud of verdant fire.

  Like a comet wreathed in flames, Radha shot forward. She slammed into Greht’s broad chest, engulfing them both in a fiery cloud of green lightning and black, billowing smoke. The impact stunned Radha, crushing the breath from her lungs and sending a jolt of jagged agony through her entire body. Her vision went white and she felt her own body as someone else’s, the pain diffuse and distant. Her ears rang, registering only the aftermath of the collision.

  Greht had hardly flinched under Radha’s attack, immovable as a mountain. He cocked his head, an apelike gesture of confusion without real interest as Radha struggled to regain control of her numbed body. Behind the Gathan warlord, the entirety of his warhost erupted into harsh, mocking laughter.

  Greht’s massive hand shot out and clamped around Radha’s neck. The Gathan lifted her to his masked face. Radha took hold of his wrist and drew another sharp metal tear from her belt. She struggled to breathe, to keep her own weight from choking her to death as she rammed the sharp tip of her weapon deep into the underside of Greht’s forearm. Then again. And again and again and again.

  Unconcerned by the wounds on his arm or the flecks of his own blood that spattered his face, Greht locked eyes with Radha through his mask.

  “Your fire has no heat, elf-girl. And you call yourself a Keldon?” Greht twisted his wrist slightly, closing Radha’s windpipe and forcing the blade from her hand. He waited for her eyes to flutter, then he straightened his arm and allowed her to breathe again.

  “I am more than a mere Keldon,” he said, his face almost touching hers. “I am greater than any ‘true’ Keldon who ever lived.”

  Radha coughed, foam and blood spraying from her swollen lips. Her voice was a feral growl, choked and grating. “Prove it.”

  Sparks popped in Greht’s eyes and smoke rose from the sockets in his mask. He snorted. “You speak like a Keldon, but there are no true Keldons left … are there, elf-girl?” He shook her slightly. “Certainly not among the old women of Skyshroud.”

  Radha’s nostrils flared. Her eyes sprang open and she extended her neck, stretching her chin up as far as it would go. Then Radha’s jaws snapped open and she slammed her face down, biting into the tough wad of flesh between Greht’s forefinger and thumb. Radha’s teeth clenched tight and the Gathan’s blood spilled from her lips.

  A jolt of greenish eldritch force surged up Greht’s arm from where Radha held him, and when it reached his torso the impact broke his grip and sent him staggering back a step. Radha twisted as she fell so that she could hurl the tear-shaped blade she held into Greht’s throat before she hit the ground. She drew back and cast it, straight and true, as her shoulder blades thumped into the stony ground.

  But Greht simply tilted his head and Radha’s razor-tear bounced harmlessly off the mask’s metal chin. The warlord casually followed the deflected blade with his eyes then looked back over his shoulder at his soldiers.

  He shrugged, flexing the hand that had held Radha and making a show of noticing his own blood as it dripped from his punctured forearm. To their full-throated approval, he pressed his thick tongue through his mask and licked the wound clean.

  Radha forced herself to her feet as Greht turned back to face her. The warlord drew a wide broadsword from a sheath on his back, effortlessly hefting the massive weapon in one hand.

  “Elf-girl,” he said, his stentorian voice clear and composed, “I’ve killed a hundred of you walking mana-bladders with this sword. Sometimes they go up in a flash of green before they bleed to death.” Greht pointed the tip of the blade at Radha. “What will pour from your body when I split it in two, Skyshroud sow? Liquid or light?”

  Radha smiled, her teeth still dripping crimson. “Hate,” she said. “I will die spurting great gouts of it upon you, false warlord, and it’ll burn clear through wherever it touches.”

  Greht’s eyes popped again as two huge sparks spat from the mask’s slit
visor. He let out a roar, and then the Gathan warlord lunged.

  He was fast, faster than ever, but Radha just managed to deflect the tip of his broadsword with the flat of her blade. Greht’s momentum carried him and the broadsword forward, and Radha slid along its razor edge, her tear striking a stream of yellow sparks. As she neared the hilt of Greht’s weapon, he shifted his weight and brought the handle up, twisting it so Radha saw her own reflection in the sword’s wide, polished face.

  She skidded to avoid slamming face-first into the broadsword. Radha ducked and slashed under Greht’s defense, trying to open up the meaty tangle of muscles and veins in the warlord’s thigh. Greht twisted and kicked his leg up over Radha’s strike so that her blade slashed empty air.

  To her open-mouthed amazement, Greht continued to roll, jamming the tip of his sword into the hard, frozen ground and using it to cartwheel a full vertical flip until he came solidly back onto his feet. The Gathan warlord instantly jerked the tip of his sword free and clapped the flat into his waiting hand, turning the polished face once more to Radha as he planted his feet.

  Greht grunted and thrust the horizontal blade forward. A semi-visible surge of magical force exploded from the huge weapon, and though Radha was at least twenty yards away it still caught her flat-footed.

  She hastily crossed her own blades in front of her face and prepared to weather the storm. It didn’t help; she felt the long bones in her forearms bend as they were pressed back awkwardly against her own face. The ground turned to liquid under her as the metal sheathes covering her forearms heated up, searing the skin below.

  But Radha held her ground. She wasn’t aware of her arms or legs any more, but she saw through bleary eyes that she was still upright. The world pitched like a capsizing ship and Radha stumbled forward. A huge, dark shadow fell across her.

  Radha looked up. Greht was there, blocking out the sky, his voice a murky sludge of primal sounds and distorted echoes from behind his mask. Instinctively, Radha slashed at his throat, but her movements were slow and gummy. Her arm slammed against something immovable and the blade sprang from her grip.

  Greht held her arm, lifting her up to the tips of her toes. He delivered a savage, tooth-rattling backhand that sent Radha sprawling to the valley floor. The Gathan warhost cheered again, their voices vague and even more incoherent than usual.

  Radha felt herself fading. If she blacked out now she would die here, humbled by her most hated foe. She tried to take solace in the fact that at least she had died in combat. At least she had tasted the enemy’s blood.

  Greht stood over her once more. With a fistful of her long, coarse hair, the warlord hauled Radha up onto her knees, pausing only to swat her head aside when she tried to bite his hand again. Through it all she teetered and swooned, but she also kept her balance and stared fiercely up at her enemy.

  The Gathan slowly extended his huge sword out to his right, preparing to take Radha’s head with a long, swooping side strike. She struggled to muster a mouthful of spit for one final farewell.

  “Excuse me?” The new voice was rich and friendly, a polite inquiry from a cosmopolitan traveler.

  Radha forced both eyes open. The dark-skinned wizard who had come with the strangers stood nearby, composed, elegant, and well-mannered.

  “Warlord Greht?” he said merrily. “I am Teferi of Zhalfir. I have business with that interesting woman you’ve got there.”

  Greht grunted but said nothing. He barely acknowledged the interruption as his arm reached full extension, turning his shoulders slightly to allow himself a stronger, swifter cut.

  Radha cursed the stranger. Did he know nothing about barbarians? Did he think a smile and a classy turn of phrase would keep a Gathan warlord from making a kill?

  “Oh, dear. Stop that, please,” the wizard said. “I really must insist.”

  Greht half-snorted as he began his swing. The stranger extended his staff.

  The air around Radha changed. Her vision fogged. Her skin tingled, even on her numb and smoking arms. She remembered Greht’s raised sword and then the sensation of falling freely. She hurled herself back, scrambling clumsily to her feet as she listened for the incoming blow.

  Radha circled left of the last place she’d seen Greht, a razor-tear in each hand. Her ability to focus was quickly returning, and her eyes darted left and right as she searched for her enemy.

  But Greht was nowhere nearby. In fact, the Gathan warlord was currently fifty yards away and hurtling backward toward the mountainside, right through the center of the carefully assembled ranks of his raiders. Each member of the Gathan warhost followed his flight, craning their heads as he slammed into the deep snow at the base of the mountain.

  The wizard’s own face appeared, gigantic and glowing, blocking the space between Radha and the Gathans. The wizard manifested this vision of himself without his frivolous hat but with a confident smile. The huge bald phantom filled almost the entire valley from end to end, and its sudden appearance surprised Radha but did not comfort her. She lost her balance and fell back to one knee, two blades pointed at the enormous face.

  The wizard’s smiling visage remained calm, even friendly. His eyes twinkled as Greht burst out of the snow. The Gathans silently regrouped behind their leader as he assessed this new enemy.

  “Begone, Warlord,” said the wizard’s giant bald head, “and come no more to Skyshroud.”

  Azure light flared around Greht and his raiders. They each vanished simultaneously, without fanfare. Even those that had fallen and died burst into puffs of powdery blue smoke and were seen no more.

  Silence fell across the valley. The wizard reappeared, normal-sized, his head and body attached and his impractical headgear in place. The smiling man dusted his hands together.

  “There,” he said. He turned to Radha and spoke brightly. “Told her I could handle it. Now then, to business.” He bowed deeply, and when he straightened up his eyes were flecked with vivid blue light.

  “My name is Teferi,” he said, “and you fascinate me.”

  To Teferi, Radha was even more intoxicating up close. Even now she collected a constant stream of mana, though she seemed to only employ it on that purely cosmetic display of green fire. She was physically and personally imposing, towering over Jhoira and the Ghitu and standing eye-to-eye with Corus and Skive. Though the viashino tended to crane their long necks downward when talking to humans, it was a far shorter trip when they were speaking to Radha.

  Radha appeared to be a perfect Keldon/elf hybrid with strong visible traits from both species. Her skin was a striking brownish-gray, like brine-cured hardwood or burnished steel. Physically she favored her barbarian side, evidenced by her size and strength. Keldon blood also bestowed upon her the long arms and legs that characterized the berserkers, as well as the traditional Keldon widow’s peak. Radha’s long, thick hair flowed wild and free behind her, but it came to a severe point on her face that plunged down almost to her eyebrows.

  Radha’s elf ancestry was evident in her physical grace and her bone structure. She was not as broad shouldered as her barbarian ancestors, and her arms and legs were less heavily muscled. Her head was smaller and more rounded than a typical Keldon’s but broader and more massive than a typical elf’s. Unlike the boxy Keldon faces Teferi had researched or the elongated features of the Skyshroud elves, Radha’s cheeks and eyebrows were an inviting series of graceful curves and bold, sharp angles. Her lips were thin and elegant, and her teeth were small but square as a row of tombstones.

  Those teeth were currently clenched in frustration. Radha was struggling for breath but her mind was clear, as was her voice. “Where is Greht?”

  “Gone for now,” Teferi said cheerfully. “I wanted very much to meet you, you see, so I sent them away. I have—”

  “Where did you send them?” Radha’s hand quivered with pent-up energy, almost trembling above the tear-shaped blades on her belt.

  Teferi glanced down at her nervous tic and chose his next words very c
arefully. Radha seemed to be recovering very quickly from her encounter with Greht and her temper was obviously not good. What’s more, the language of Keldon politics was far from an exact science and Teferi knew he had to speak with just the right tone of confidence, one that commanded respect without spilling over into actual arrogance. What he had seen and gleaned so far led him to conclude Radha saw herself as a Keldon and would therefore respond to a dominant authority figure.

  “I sent them back to their camp,” he said. He folded his arms confidently, catching his staff in the crook of his elbow. “But we have business, you and I, important business. You can go and kill Greht another day.”

  Radha sneered. “What’s wrong with today?” She took an unsteady step forward but soon regained her strength and her stride as she swept past Teferi.

  “Wait, please,” he said. When Radha ignored him, Teferi thumped the bottom of his staff into the ground and said, “Warrior.” His voice boomed impressively and the valley shuddered beneath Radha’s feet.

  She turned to face him and he took on the terrible aspect of a storm wizard, cloaked in glittering blue metallic fabric, attended by lightning. “Your patron and protector Freyalise has assigned you to my service. I have a great deal of work to do, work worth doing. I need your help. It will be dangerous, but you will be well-rewarded for it.”

  Radha shrugged, craning her neck sideways until it briefly touched her shoulder. “I have work of my own.” She straightened and huffed dismissively. “Let Freyalise keep her own promises.”

  She turned away once more and Teferi stopped himself on the verge of a planeswalk. It would have been effective to appear suddenly in front of her, dramatic even, but he didn’t dare risk it so close to the Skyshroud rift. Instead, he turned to Corus and Skive behind him and sent “Stop her” directly into their minds.

  The viashino blinked, caught off-guard by the planeswalker’s sudden presence in their heads, but they recovered quickly. They could not move as smoothly across Keldon rock as they could through Shivan sand, but they were still fast enough to catch the deliberate, defiant pace of the Keldon elf before she reached the mountainside.