Time Spiral

by Scott McGough

  “Teferi.” Jhoira’s voice rang out over the valley. “What are you doing?”

  The planeswalker kept his eyes on the viashino, who were now standing in front of Radha.

  “These two are part of my warhost,” Teferi called, “and now so are you. Fall in, warrior, and prepare to fight and die as a true Keldon should.”

  “No, wait,” Jhoira called. She was moving toward Teferi, seemingly with something urgent to add, but things were already in motion. He’d just have to make do on his own.

  Radha looked back and forth between the viashino, her back still turned to Teferi. “I like you scalies,” she said to the pair. “I really do. What are you, anyway?”

  Before they could answer, Radha struck out with one of her long legs, catching Skive alongside the jaw. She scissored her other foot up and planted it in the blade-tailed viashino’s chest, and pushed off of Skive to hurtle face-first at Corus.

  Radha hit and bit. An awful crunch sounded as her teeth cracked through the viashino’s hide. Corus bellowed and pulled away, hauling Radha along with him. She brought her knees up under her and pushed hard against the viashino’s broad chest. A long, ragged piece of pink flesh pulled free as Radha separated from her target and landed lightly on her feet. Corus cursed her in his native viashino and staggered back, his hand pressed to his bleeding collar bone.

  Radha turned aside and spit the grisly mouthful out. “Pah!” she said, licking her lips. “The rind is thick and bitter, but the fruit below is sweet.”

  Enraged, Skive lunged at her with his mouth open wide, looking to return the bite. Radha caught his upper and lower jaws as he came, sank to her knees, and pulled his head down to the ground. The two rolled together, Skive’s feet and tail flailing for a moment before the long muscles in Radha’s arms and legs bulged. Her strength and their combined momentum made it a simple matter for her to hurl him clear to the edge of the forest, where he landed in the saproling thicket with a thud.

  Corus slashed at her with his claws, but Radha easily dodged. He no longer had full reach on the wounded side, as fully extending his arm widened the wound. She rolled past the viashino and dived toward the forest.

  Teferi. Jhoira’s thoughts were bright and sharp. What in the name of sanity are you doing?

  Not now. If she reaches the deeper woods—

  Talk to her. Let me talk to her before you—

  It’ll take days to pry her out if she goes to ground.

  She’s not going to ground, is she?

  Jhoira was absolutely right—Radha was not trying to reach Skyshroud. The fierce Keldon elf had put some space between herself and the others, but then she stopped well short of the tree line. She wasn’t trying to escape.

  Corus was wary as he stalked in. He and Skive were far from beaten, but the larger viashino stayed clear, satisfied to maintain a safe distance after facing Radha at close-quarters. Behind Radha, Skive thrashed and cursed among the ivy.

  Radha clenched her fists. Dire green light flared behind her pupils and a fresh flurry of fire leaves flickered to life around her. She closed her eyes and crossed her fists before her chest. Opening her eyes, she cast her hands up.

  Guided by her motion, the green flames shot upward, then bent and streamed toward the saproling thicket where Skive had landed. The fire sank into the ghastly tangle of vines, and they swelled in response.

  Hundreds of thick tendrils erupted around Skive, engulfing him in a many-fingered fist and burying him under an avalanche of leafy green. Teferi could still hear Skive’s voice over the sound of the burgeoning thicket, a single, sustained, high-pitched hiss of surprise and annoyance.

  Then the viashino shouted, “For slag’s sake, someone burn this stuff off me.”

  She did it again, Teferi thought. Radha carelessly wasted mana when no one else could even find it. What’s worse, she used it to feed saprolings, which were little more than cancerous tumors with roots. Freyalise must be beset indeed to have saprolings at all, much less enough to cover the forest floor.

  Teferi froze when he heard the cacophony rising behind the noise of the saproling surge. It was a chattering, clicking sound, the advance notice of a thousand hard, sharp-tipped legs charging toward them. Radha’s green fire hadn’t just invigorated the saprolings; it had also stirred up the slivers.

  Slivers were another arcane species he had studied but not encountered. Now Teferi could sense their alien presence nearby as distinctly as that of the time-lost Gathans on the beach, though where the berserkers were creatures out of time, these slivers were out of synch physically and magically.

  He saw them for the first time then, a hundred at once as the leading edge of the wide swarm ripped through the underbrush. There were hundreds of them, each as big as a seagull, wedge-shaped, sharp-nosed creatures with tough outer shells and rigid, spiked limbs. Two winglike crests stabbed out from each sliver’s back, their barbed double-tails lashing behind like two striking snakes.

  Things just got more complicated, he sent to Jhoira.

  You just noticed this? His friend’s thoughts were as biting as he’d ever heard them.

  The second wave of buzzing slivers erupted from the dense woods, swirling through the air like wasps returning to their nest.

  They can fly now, Jhoira’s voice observed, and I just saw one punch straight through a tree trunk.

  Which means they all can, Teferi said. Remind me to congratulate Radha on an excellent diversion.

  She couldn’t have heard Teferi’s thoughts, but Radha screeched triumphantly as if she had. The mana-gorged slivers and saprolings continued to pour out of the forest. They formed two increasingly large heaps of squirming, scratching chaos that heaved and strained against each other. Away from the center of the mass, stray slivers and a fresh crop of saprolings skittered and crept out into the valley.

  The thicket continued to churn behind Radha as she turned to face Corus and the rest of the strangers.

  “Look here,” she said, her voice bright and nasty. “More work you can do, without me. Work worth doing.” She sneered at Teferi. “I hope it’s as fascinating for you as I am.”

  Larger faceless, multi-legged forms emerged from the confused mass of vines, fungus, and scissorlike jaws. Engorged by Radha’s donation of mana, the smallest of these latest saproling monstrosities was as large as a pony. They moved at different speeds with different gaits, but they all shambled clear of the forest and into the valley, mewling like horrid, mouthless children. Likewise, the slivers were more frenzied and savage than ever in the face of prey that had suddenly become a real threat.

  Teferi reached out with his mind. He found Skive at the center of a ten-foot mound of vines and offal. The Shivan warrior was screaming, not in pain or terror but from sheer disgust. Clearly he hadn’t noticed the line of slivers chewing its way toward him … if he had, if Skive understood the real danger he faced, his screams sound a bit more urgent. Thankfully, it was a simple matter to magically latch onto Skive and levitate him out of the thicket.

  By then Radha was gone, of course, vanished into the trees of Skyshroud. Teferi would not have any real trouble finding her, but it would take time. The more time he spent tracking her, the less time he had to prepare the ground for Shiv’s return.

  Still, first things first. He plucked up Corus as well as Skive, then levitated Jhoira and the other Ghitu. Teferi set them down a safe distance from the forest edge, facing the oncoming line of ghastly fungus monsters and the odd sliver.

  “I’d appreciate your help,” he said to the Shivans. “There’s a lot on my mind at present. Cut back the saprolings or burn them down as quickly as you can; the slivers seem to be following them.”

  Jhoira looked as if she had quite a lot to say to Teferi. He was glad she chose to limit herself to, “What will you do, Teferi Planeswalker?”

  Teferi bowed. “Of course.” When he rose, his eyes flashed and a swirling wind swept up dust and granular snow into a perfect circle. The shape filled in, solidified, an
d hardened into a giant crystalline snowflake.

  “A parting gift,” Teferi said, “to show that I haven’t forgotten my Shivan allies.”

  The planeswalker nodded. The great snowflake turned on its side and started to spin. It gained momentum, its exquisite crystalline structure becoming a nearly solid blur. The whirling circle of sharp ice shimmered for a moment then shot across the valley, sundering each in the long line of fresh saproling shamblers messily at the waist. The snowflake stayed pristine as it burst through the saprolings, leaving a gleaming silver-blue metallic trail behind it.

  Nearly all of the saprolings fell into pieces, covering the valley floor in a grisly stew of gore and fungus chunks. The frenzied slivers quickly descended on the mess, swallowing as much as they could scissor free. Shreds of green and yellow spattered up from the edge of the thicket as it retreated back to the tree line.

  “I,” Teferi said, his voice full of confidence, “will now begin the figuring out of things once and for all. But first I need to come up with a way to convince our new friend to help us.”

  Jhoira nodded grimly. “Right,” she said. “I’ll be doing a little figuring myself while you’re gone.”

  “Stay safe,” Teferi smiled. “Though that shouldn’t be too hard now.”

  “Stay in touch,” Jhoira said, without smiling.

  Without replying or changing his expression, Teferi disappeared.

  Radha circled around to the far edge of the forest, emerging at the north end. The saprolings were thinner up here, where it was coldest, and she was soon scaling the steep sides of the mountains that bordered Skyshroud and leaving the whole forest valley behind.

  She was forbidden to do this, as all the elves were. Radha had flaunted this restriction several times already, always in the pursuit of her enemies, so she was not concerned. Freyalise’s punishment would hardly stack up to the joy and glory she’d get from killing Greht.

  She would need a new strategy. Greht had grown too strong, his warhost too large. It pained her to admit it, but he was clearly her physical superior—bigger, stronger, faster, with a higher threshold of pain. She had to find some way of eliminating the gap, of becoming his equal.

  Radha moved swiftly through the snow and reached the peak of the mountain in just over an hour. As her long legs and loping stride ate up the ground below her, she turned her thoughts to the upcoming battle.

  It was a circular problem, a snake eating its own tail—the stronger Greht was, the more successful his raids; the more successful his raids, the larger his warhost grew, fattened by plunder and press gangs; the larger his ’host, the stronger Greht became; and then the cycle began again.

  She had to break that cycle if she were ever going to beat him. She had to separate him from his followers or at least meet him on the battlefield with a warhost of her own.

  Only a warlord can lead a ’host, and you are no warlord, Radha.

  Radha grinned as she kept moving. She recognized the voice. “Wizard. I see the saprolings and slivers were easily discouraged.”

  Quite so, and since then I’ve been following you, Radha. I have heard your thoughts and I would like to talk with you about them.

  “Hah!” Radha laughed. “Piss off, baldie.”

  Do you really think you can break the bond between Greht and his ’host? My understanding is that warlords campaign constantly. The man lives in an armed camp, never far from a huge body of soldiers who are all fervid to kill and die for him. How will you isolate him from that?

  “You talk like a tutor. What in nine hells is ‘fervid’?”

  Until she understood more about the long-winded wizard’s voice in her head, Radha would be extremely careful. She tamped down the violent thoughts rising in response to his words and reviewed what she knew. Teferi, he called himself. He had spoken of Freyalise, telling her the patron had placed Radha in his service. Was he Freyalise’s ally? Enemy? Unwitting tool? In any case, was he as powerful as the protector of Skyshroud?

  How will you stand against that? Teferi continued. He had an irritatingly jovial tone even when he tried to sound solemn and portentous. How will you raise a warhost of your own to do it? What Keldon would follow a daughter of Skyshroud against Greht?

  Radha stopped, green fire flickering in her eyes. “I am Keldon,” she said.

  I say you are not. That trick back there with the saproling thicket … what kind of Keldon fights a battle by enhancing shrubbery?

  “This one,” Radha said. “The one that beat you, embarrassed you, and got away clean.”

  Nonsense. “Your fire has no heat, elf-girl.”

  Radha drew two tear-shaped blades, holding their sharp tips out as she shouted inarticulate rage into the sky.

  Teferi waited until she ran out of breath. You cannot defeat Greht alone. I can help you.

  “I wipe my feet on your help, clean-head.”

  Don’t be rash. If you want to become a true daughter of Keld—

  “I am a true daughter of Keld.” She sheathed her weapons and turned back down the mountain. “Now blow away, gas-bag. I’ve a Gathan to kill.” For the next twenty paces the only sounds Radha heard were her own boots whispering through the snow.

  Then Teferi’s voice said, Very well, but remember two things, Radha of Skyshroud.

  “Didn’t you leave?” Radha snapped. “I’m so bored right now.”

  Teferi paused. You are remarkable, Radha, but you are no true Keldon, not until you learn Keld’s wisdom for yourself and touch its power with your own hands. You have longed for that all your life but never had it. I can put it in your reach. When you are ready for me to do so, simply call my name….

  “Which one?” Radha slowed to a walk, craning her head around behind her. “Clean-head or gas-bag?”

  But the wizard was already gone. Radha waited for a few moments to be sure he had nothing else to add, then she resumed her fast, loping gait.

  The bald wizard’s riddles could wait, so she pushed the encounter to the back of her mind. She still had a lot of ground to cover before she’d be in Greht’s territory. Once in, she next had to find his mobile headquarters.

  The Gathans were massing for a major ritual before beginning a large-scale campaign abroad. Greht needed wood to make warships, and he would be traveling among all the campsites he controlled from the southern edge of the forest to the eastern shoreline to make sure they were collecting timber fast enough. It might take Radha several days to pick up his trail, and by then he would have moved on, but eventually she would track him down.

  Radha looked up at the endlessly gray sky. As she came down off the mountainside, the landscape grew harder and more barren. There were no trees here, no cover, just miles and miles of blasted, frozen rock. The wind was freezing, but Radha liked the cold. It made her feel restless, like there were too many things to do that she didn’t want anyone else to have the pleasure of doing.

  She continued to run, now following the long-abandoned footpaths her ancestors had worn into the rock. A large party had recently come this way. Greht and his ’host? Whoever they were, if they stuck to the paths Radha might be able to catch them by daybreak.

  Hours later, the trail led Radha to something she hadn’t seen in years: a human settlement. It was a drab and awful collection of shacks that sat nestled against a thick, murky stream. The settlers had constructed a crude water wheel to harness the stream’s almost nonexistent flow, but Radha could not guess why. There were no crops or lumber to mill.

  Something like a sentry hut stood empty by the side of the path. Radha strode past it. The settlement seemed deserted, but as she drew closer to the small cluster of buildings she heard someone weeping.

  The sound came from between the first two ramshackle structures, a storage shack and a public house. Radha edged silently up to the mouth of the alley and peered in.

  A small, huddled form crouched between two lifeless bodies. Radha could not make out any clear details, but all three figures were dressed in peasant r
ags. The two on the ground were soaked with crimson, and as the weeping child rocked and sniffled, the wet ground sloshed beneath his threadbare shoes.

  Radha turned sideways and forced herself through the narrow alley opening. The buildings on either side were not square to one another, so the space opened up toward the back of the alley. Radha walked to the far end, hands open and in full view of the child, but the small head never looked up from the bodies on the ground.

  They were scrawny, wasted creatures like all Keldon humans who hadn’t yet been killed or forcibly taken by a Gathan warhost. The child was fair-skinned but sickly, his neck and hands a jaundiced yellow. Liquid dripped from between the fingers pressed over his face.

  The boy must have heard Radha’s boots because he suddenly stopped sobbing. He pressed his hands harder against his face and held his breath, listening intently.

  “I mean you no harm,” Radha said. Her voice echoed coldly off of the wet wooden walls.

  The child lowered his hands and Radha saw why the Gathans had left this otherwise healthy young recruit behind. Fresh wounds covered his face, a connected series of jagged slashes that had opened his flesh and cruelly destroyed both eyes.

  Radha’s jaw clenched as she recognized the symbol these wounds formed. It was a Keldon corpse marker, a rough way of honoring the fallen. If they had been valiant foes, the sigil on the body was grudgingly respectful: “Died well” or “Showed No Fear.” Far more popular were the marks used to desecrate the bodies of worthless enemies to dishonor a hated foe: “Coward,” “Backstabber,” and “Leave Me to Rot.”

  To anyone who could read Keldon runes, this boy was forever marked, “Target.”

  Only the Gathans used corpse markers on living people. Only Greht would order such a mark carved into a child.

  “Boy,” she said sharply. “Who did this?”

  The shredded, slack-jawed face did not change at the sound of Radha’s voice.