Radha swung her dagger in a looping overhand arc. It was not so much an attack as a test, to see how fast he was with the new sword. Greht easily parried her swing and countered by shoving her roughly backward with the flat of his blade. Radha gracefully turned a back handspring and bounced back to her feet, facing Greht with her dagger ready. The Skyshroud ’host cheered again.
Radha swelled at the sound. “Too slow, false Keldon,” she said.
Greht cocked his head and puffed steam from his metal mask. “Fast enough to scare you, elf-girl. I’ve never seen eyes so wide.”
Radha side-stepped clockwise around her larger opponent. He was right—he had surprised her. Rather than slowing Greht down, his oversized muscles had more than enough power to compensate for their own bulk. His movements were short and inelegant, but they were also fast and effective.
Now Greht charged, and though Radha easily backpedaled out of range, the mere fact of his swing was enough to set his warhost howling. She ducked inside his reach and slashed at his belly, but he brought the handle of his broadsword down at her skull and forced her to jump clear.
Greht didn’t even try to stop his blow, slamming the handle of his sword into the platform. The rocky stand shuddered and a thick crack raced toward Radha’s feet. She hesitated, trying to gauge which way to jump, then sprang to her left.
The crack angled after her, following her flight until she landed. When her feet touched down, the forward tip of the fissure was directly below her. Greht thumped his sword again, and the cracked stone exploded, peppering Radha with sharp bits of stone and hurling her awkwardly through the air.
As gratifying as it was to hear her ’host cheer, it was doubly crushing to hear them gasp and moan. Radha came down on the platform with a loud thud. Her warhost shouted encouragement.
Rage, you idiots, she thought. I said rage when he gets me. Radha scrambled to her feet and leaped away from another of Greht’s powerful swings. She had hoped to draw things out more before he started using spells on her, largely because she wouldn’t last long once he did. His magic was still far more powerful than hers.
She hurled a blade at him but Greht easily batted it down with his sword. She now had only two of the tear-shaped blades left, plus Astor’s dagger.
She drew a tear-shaped blade and struck it against the kukri, shouting, “Burn.” The blades lit up and her warhost shouted raucously.
Greht stopped where he was and lowered his sword. He brazenly turned his back on Radha and faced his ’host below, shaking his head in exaggerated disbelief. He turned back and shouted, “Is that what they call a burn in Skyshroud?”
The mountain rang with brutal laughter.
“I see you’ve found a decent weapon at last. It’s a remarkable blade you carry, a relic from the days of true craftsmanship. If only I had such a weapon.” Greht cocked his head and paused. He reached behind him and drew Astor’s other dagger, the one Radha had lost when she attacked the Gathan convoy alone.
“Oh, wait,” he said mockingly. “I do.” The warlord’s massive fist tightened around the kukri. The fist, the knife, and half his arm ignited into blindingly hot orange flame.
“Oh,” Greht said, his mock-concern rising over the roaring flame in his hand. “It seems this heirloom isn’t as sturdy as it looks. Perhaps it’s just not capable of handling a true warlord’s full power.” Greht concentrated, raising the flaming dagger and turning his metal face intently toward it. The dagger glowed like a small star, blinding every living thing on the platform.
Radha snarled as her vision returned, almost incoherent with rage. Greht now held a twisted stick of black metal in his hands. The rest of Astor’s kukri dagger had melted away into slag and steam. The Gathan warlord clenched his fist, rendering the last remnants of her grandfather’s weapon into a soft, falling stream of ashes and grit.
“So much for true Keldons,” Greht spat. His warhost roared and stomped loudly enough to shake the mountain.
Radha forced herself to stand where she was. She remembered the lesson of Teferi, fixing on the long-term success that she’d never win if she rushed Greht now.
Instead of attacking, Radha held her own flaming blades at arm’s length. She crossed them in front of her and concentrated. As in Skyshroud, the air around her filled with multicolored leaves of flame.
Greht shook his head again. “This is too much. Attacking me with foliage?”
Radha ignored him, hearing and seeing only the flames she had conjured.
“You’re embarrassing yourself, elf-girl. Here. Let me show you Gathan fire.”
Greht raised his sword and plunged its tip six inches into the rocky floor. He jerked the blade free and from the wound surged a perfectly straight column of searing yellow fire. The hair spilling out from Greht’s mask curled in the heat.
The geyser of flame went out. Greht turned his smoking face toward Radha.
“That’s fire, elf-girl. That’s heat.”
“No,” Radha said. “That’s hot air and it won’t burn, but this does.” She cast her arms forward. The leaves of flame rushed at Greht, a hundred or more all headed for his chest and face.
Greht seemed to sense this was another bluff. The fire was colorful and bright but it did not burn like his. It did not generate heat that could glaze solid rock or melt steel. The Gathan warlord was an expert at fire magic and he recognized this as a flashy, hollow display.
Arrogantly, he stood unmoving with his sword down by his hip. Greht allowed the stream of flaming shapes to slam right into him, his posture stoic and unflinching as they seared minor burns into his flesh and burned black furrows across his metal mask.
Radha stood glaring as Greht weathered her flames. There were no sounds from her warhost, but she couldn’t blame them because she herself didn’t know whether to cheer or flee. Her fire spell had looked impressive, but the end result was so far lacking. She tossed one of her last tears at his throat, which he blocked, then she circled down to the front edge of the platform with her back to the throng of Gathans below.
Greht simply stood and watched her as smoke rose from his superficial burns. He came forward with slow, deliberate strides, his broadsword raised high.
Radha quickly began dragging Astor’s dagger through the air in front of her, its tip carving a flaming trail in its wake. If she moved the blade quickly and retraced her pattern, the trail lasted long enough for her to inscribe simple shapes, even symbols.
“What now?” Greht roared. “A prayer of salvation to Freyalise? Even she fears me these days. How does that feel, elf-girl? Your patron goddess is hiding from me right now, cowering somewhere in that cesspit of a forest.”
Radha turned to her host and gestured with her head, leading their attention to the flaming symbol she made. She gestured and lifted her hand, silently urging them to see what she was showing them.
The first tentative sounds of laughter came, but they were sporadic and they died away almost immediately. Radha felt the first twinges of despair as she realized her mistake. She should have planned for this. It was not her ’host’s fault they didn’t read High Keld.
Greht was too close now. Radha quickly re-scrawled the symbol in the air and then dodged as Greht’s huge body barreled through the uneven line of flaming characters.
“She’s writing a thrice-damned book,” Greht taunted. He raised his broadsword and shouted to his men, “Is this how elves make Keldon fire?”
There was no approving roar from the Gathans, no thousand throats united in assent. Most of the raiders knew High Keld, enough to read what she was writing, and they knew it was no prayer or story. Greht stood in the sudden near-silence, his awkward, hesitant pose made nigh-ludicrous by his bulk.
Radha turned to her host, a feral snarl on her face. She growled like an angry tiger, half-roaring at them, “Laugh, you bastards.” She jumped up and drew a larger flaming symbol into the air. “That,” she pointed at the symbol, “means ‘Piss here.’”
Greht turned to
ward Radha, confused but no less dangerous. As he did, her warhost saw the flaming Keldon symbol closely juxtaposed with the matching corpse-marker burned onto Greht’s iron mask by Radha’s flaming leaves.
Skive noticed first, but his laugh was little more than a loud, hissing rasp. The elves quickly joined in, and even Dassene cracked a smile. The Ghitu hurled abuse at Greht instead of laughter, and soon the entire Skyshroud ’host was jeering and taunting the mightiest of all Gathan warlords like a gang of children.
Greht saw the symbol burning in the air before him. His huge square hand rose to his mask and he dragged his fingers roughly across it. He probed the connected series of furrows that had eaten into his mask like acid burns. Radha reckoned he realized what she’d done to him at about the same time he realized that his ’host was no longer cheering.
Radha stepped forward, Astor’s dagger ready in her fist. “You’ve lost them,” she said, “and now we’ll see who is the true Keldon.”
Greht’s eyes glowed red behind their metal sockets and spit sparks that continued to glow even after they hit the ground. “Yes,” he said darkly, his voice painfully loud and deep. “We will see. Elf-girl? I haven’t lost anything yet.”
The huge berserker dropped his broadsword and raised both hands to the right side of his mask. Greht dug his fingers into the seam between the thick metal plate and his own flesh, tightened his grip, then hauled forward with all of his might.
For a moment Radha could only stare. In that moment the rivet that connected Greht’s mask to his cheek split, its wide end shooting out into the frosty air. In a hideous display of strength and determination, Greht slowly wrenched the mask off his face, inch by agonizing inch.
The rivet in his chin cracked and fell out. Greht continued to pull. Radha saw the jagged, gaping holes in his face the rivets had left behind as the metal mask began to bend, folding away from Greht’s wild, bleeding, and smoking face. With a final agonizing effort, Greht ripped out the last two rivets and the corpse-markered mask flew from his hands. The twisted hunk of metal skidded noisily across the platform and disappeared.
The Gathans went wild, roaring and stamping in unison, chanting their leader’s name with increasing frenzy.
Yet unmasked, Greht was somehow diminished. He was no different from any other Gathan, even with four ragged holes in his face. It was not the face of a demon or an immovable, unconquerable titan. To Radha, with his true face revealed, Greht was just another angry, ugly, bleeding berserker.
But still a dangerous one. “Now,” the warlord said as he retrieved his broadsword, “we finish this.”
Radha still stood amazed with Astor’s dagger extended. Greht had just outdone her, actually increasing his power by recovering so quickly and completely from the humiliating thing she had done.
She nodded to her foe. “Yes,” she said, “let’s finish this.”
She charged forward with the kukri dagger down low. Greht came to meet her with his broadsword high in both hands, blood streaming from the holes in his face. As they closed, Radha pulled back Astor’s dagger and dug into her belt with her free hand. Mere paces from his foe, Greht could not stop his charge or his sweeping overhand blow. Radha saw delightful confusion in his eyes. He didn’t know what she was doing and he didn’t like it.
She dropped to one knee and thrust her hands up toward Greht’s face. She squeezed the bottom point of Skive’s mana star into the handle of Astor’s dagger, her mind filled wholly with the sharp, jagged lines of the next symbol.
Greht’s sword arced down at her head. She felt the power of Keld below her, felt it merge with the mana from the jewel in her hand, then Radha guided them both though the blade of Astor’s kukri.
“Burn,” she said, releasing a blast of pure, searing fire that slammed into Greht’s face and blew him halfway across the platform. His broadsword snapped in two, the top half clattering on the rocks beside Radha.
Anger from the Gathans drowned out her warhost’s cheers, but Radha heard them anyway. Still clutching the gem and the dagger together, she loped across the platform to her enemy, kicking the piece of broadsword aside as she went.
Greht was on his hands and knees, his head hung low, but he still held the bottom part of his sword. Radha stopped just outside of lunging distance and said, “Get up, false Keldon. Get up and die.”
Greht’s head jerked toward the sound of her voice. Radha looked at his face and savage glee shot through her. Seared deep into the leathery flesh of Greht’s face was the Keldon corpse-marker “Target.”
“Near here,” Radha said, “in a village between the mountain and the forest, there’s a blind boy. I hope he’s asleep right now. I hope he’s dreaming of this.”
Greht gurgled and snarled. He tried to speak, but all that came out were guttural noises.
“Behold, Gathans.” Radha’s voice rolled out, loud and strong. “Your leader, the great Doyen Greht. Behold, and always remember how he was beaten, burned, and corpse-marked by an elf-girl with no heat.” She turned and spat on the warlord. “Pathetic.”
She knelt down, still clear of his sword but well within earshot. “You’ve lost them for real now,” she said. This time it was true. She could barely feel the once-constant and once-potent exchange of power between Greht and his warriors. “They’ll never follow Warlord Target.”
“No.” Greht’s voice was garbled and unclear. He stood and hurled his broken sword, which Radha easily avoided. “I will rule again, mana sow, and right now.”
Radha rolled back to her feet, ready to fight, but Greht had not moved. He stood with his feet planted and his fists clenched, a low roar growing louder in his chest.
Below them all, the mountain responded. Greht was a Gathan, twisted by magic and Tolarian artifice, but he was also a Keldon. Even without the fury of his warhost he was still capable of devastating magic. He had survived the mountain, had completed the ritual and become a warlord, and so the fires of this harsh nation were still his to command.
At first Radha thought he would blow the entire stone platform to pieces. Greht was not shaping the mountain’s mana yet, only collecting it. His scarred face smoked as the flesh upon it blackened and split. Greht’s eyes disappeared, replaced by two glowing red embers. He roared for a full five seconds, then Greht’s head exploded, releasing a vast gout of crimson flame from his neck and shoulders.
Radha stepped back. Greht’s head continued to burn, but instead of staggering and falling, the Gathan seemed to be growing stronger. He rose and straightened to his full height. He flexed his powerful arms, raising his broken sword and a clenched fist as his prodigious roar continued. The flames around his head did not dwindle.
Radha saw him clearly in the scarlet glare. Greht’s head had burned down to the bone, only vertebrae and a skull left from the shoulders up. Flames still licked around his naked skull, which was stained blackish-crimson by the infernal light. Two orange coals still glowed in his eye sockets and his square, blackened teeth clacked together in the front of his tongueless mouth.
Radha felt the surge of arcane forces around her. Greht was the dominant magic-user here, and he had summoned a great deal of the mountain’s mana exclusively to himself. She still had the mana star, its power thrumming in her palm, and Astor’s dagger called out to it, demanding to focus the gem’s potential into true killing power. She felt the flow of mana that originated in Skyshroud but came to her through the rift above and around the forest. She felt the combined might of Greht’s warhost, a rippling, churning reservoir of strength that only a true warlord could wield. If she had completed the mountain ritual, perhaps she could have claimed this resource when it deserted Greht. As it was, she could only stand and watch as the Gathan warlord’s insane gambit restored his fighting form and reestablished the link between he and his ’host.
“Now, elf-girl,” he said, though Radha could not determine how. “You will see how a true warlord burns.”
“Yes,” Radha said. “Show me, O Greht. Show me how
you burn.”
Then Radha struck, projecting all the mana she could muster directly into Greht. She sent hers, the pure, rich mana from the rift, along with the concentrated power of Teferi’s gem. Mixed with the rush of mana Greht had already taken from the mountain, these forces gorged and taxed the warlord to his very limit. But it was the fury of a thousand bloodthirsty Gathans renewed that finally overwhelmed him.
Choking on pure power, drowning in it, Greht was unable to even cast the simplest fire spell. The blistering energies continued to pour into his body and his flaming skull glowed ever hotter and brighter. The fused platform started to fall apart, and Radha realized the great flaw in her plan: close enough to spring her trap was close enough to be caught in the blast when the forces inside Greht blew him apart.
She turned to her warhost and shouted, “Go!”
Radha then tossed Astor’s dagger into the air and caught it with the blade facing downward.
“Here, you bastard,” she shouted. “You can have this one, too.” She cocked her arm back, got a running start, and threw herself at Greht, preparing to drive the dagger into his flaming skull with all the strength in both arms. Oddly, she thought of Teferi as her arms came down.
“Burn,” she whispered, as the dagger’s tip touched Greht’s forehead. The Gathan warlord’s body exploded, unable to contain the power it absorbed. Radha felt a flash of heat envelop her as the dagger punched through.
“Hoy clean-head!” she shouted. “Look at me!”
Radha came to in a cavern of complete darkness. Well, not complete … there was a rich red glow emanating from beneath the veneer of black, like the flashes of light she saw when she rubbed her eyes hard.
“Where am I?” Though she was aware of her jaw working and breath leaving her body, Radha did not hear her own words.
Rise, daughter of Keld.
“I’m up. Where am I?”
Home.
“Oh. Well, I need to get back to the mountain. Is Greht dead? What about my warhost?”
Time Spiral Page 29
