She looked up at him, incredulity in her gaze.
“I’m not being an idiot, I promise.”
“Didn’t you hear me? Casting magic in this place could destroy the entire portal system!”
“I know.”
He watched her, silent, as she figured out his plan. Understanding dawned on her face, but it was wiped out by fear. “We can’t …”
“It’s the only way to keep all these Shahadán out of our world. If we time it right, we can collapse the portal just as we escape.”
She looked doubtful, but didn’t offer any alternatives. “I can reach my magic,” she said, “though I’m not sure how useful it will be. I have very little energy.”
A blast of Varyah magic raced past them, knocking them a bit out of the flow of the portal. “It’ll be enough,” Windrunner said. “We can let him do most of the work.”
He didn’t think it would take much to encourage reckless magic use from the Varyah. He was already slinging magic at them as if he hadn’t a clue what it could do to the portal. Windrunner had no idea how any of this was possible and even he’d figured out that could be disastrous.
That Varyah must really want us dead.
Though, he suspected, it was him the Varyah wanted dead. Why else show himself now? He’d been following their progress for weeks without giving more than a hint he was even aware of their existence. Yet a few hours had passed, at most, since Windrunner had used Tsenian magic. And now the Varyah was on their heels and very unconcerned for their safety.
I can’t let this become another thing I blame myself for, he thought. I can’t let something happen here that’ll be all my fault again. I’ve already got enough on my shoulders as it is.
Given his plan was to destroy the entire portal system, mitigating the damage seemed a bit ridiculous. But he was still going to try.
He willed the Remnants to lead them. Brinelle clung to him enough he was able to reach his good arm back and grab hold of his staff. The bloodwood was hot against his palm, burning with stored magic. He might be able to use that.
He spun around, facing the way they’d come, and pulled the magic from his staff. It burned through him and he launched it toward the Varyah. He didn’t care if it wasn’t all that powerful. It just needed to get his attention.
The portal seemed to shudder as the magic passed through it. Windrunner could feel the ripples radiate from him and coruscate down the corridor. It sent a chill through him, like when the ice had cracked under Brinelle. One split and they were doomed.
The Varyah responded in kind, throwing a powerful burst of magic at them. Windrunner thrust his staff forward and urged his magic to Destroy the Varyah’s before it could hit them. Even so, Windrunner felt a roll of nausea and pain at the touch of that dark magic.
They flew ever faster, the ride growing more violent and reckless as the portal destabilized. Windrunner kept the Varyah busy with potshots while Brinelle concentrated on gathering her magic.
“All right, Brinelle. As soon as we’re free of the portal I need you to shoot as much magic as you can back into it,” he said.
Brinelle nodded. Her face was pale and sweaty, as if she had a fever. Windrunner hoped she had enough left in her battered system to make this work.
The portal was clearly unstable now, the lights ebbing and flowing like waves in the ocean. It wouldn’t last much longer.
Windrunner hoped they were close to the exit.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she said. She sounded nauseated.
We’ve already destroyed Syrenia and the Farmlands. What’s a bit more destruction at this point? He doubted that would comfort her, though.
The Varyah was almost close enough to see now, lurking just on the edge of Windrunner’s vision. He was throwing more and more magic at them, no doubt trying to hit them before they left the portal.
Windrunner wasn’t about to let that happen.
He summoned more magic, exhausted though it was. He needed a bit more.
He didn’t find any.
It was like a punch to the gut. Had he run his magic dry? With all he’d done in the past hours he shouldn’t be surprised, but still. To be without magic again made him feel vulnerable.
He was blinded by sudden light, grey but still painfully bright. The sun.
“Now, Brinelle!”
She hadn’t needed his direction. As soon as she’d seen the light she released her magic back into the portal. Windrunner felt it pass them, the powerful warmth of Creation magic sent to destroy the portal. It seemed like a sacrilege, even to him, but there was nothing he could do about it.
The explosion blasted them even farther from the portal. Windrunner flailed through the air, his bound arm stiff and pained. He tried to turn so he wouldn’t land on it. Or anything else, for that matter. One broken limb was more than enough.
His back took the brunt of the landing. It hurt like mad but no cracks or sharp, nauseating pain met him. Everything responded well enough, if sluggishly, when he struggled to his feet.
Brinelle was slow to stand. She was clearly at the end of her rope. Being dead had that effect, he guessed.
“Will you be all right?” he asked.
She nodded. Windrunner couldn’t help but note the bruise-dark bags under her eyes, or the way her impeccable posture was slouched with fatigue. He put his good arm around her and she leaned against him gratefully.
Then they took note of where they’d landed.
The desert felt eerie without the blazing sun overhead, as if Nevantia had become a foreign place in the grey world the Shahadán were creating. Yet the sand was still blistering hot and the wind that blew into their faces was dry like the backdraft of a fire. The few Shahadán Windrunner could see on the horizon looked right at home.
“Oh no,” Brinelle said. “Why did the portal bring us back here?”
“I thought the portals could go anywhere,” Windrunner said.
“The portals are interconnected. There’s no reason we should have been forced here.”
“Great.”
Thanks for nothing, he told the Remnants.
Windrunner pulled the battered map out of his pack. “Let’s see how far we are from the last piece.”
Brinelle held both Remnant pieces above the map, and they watched as the ink bled across the page once again. It greeted him by name. Or was it title, now? He had accessed Tsenian magic, after all. Even without the Remnants, he thought he might be able to do it again.
The map recentered, ink flowing and marking a familiar spot in the middle of a vast empty area.
“The last piece is here?” Brinelle asked. She peered closer at the map. “And not just here—in the monastery itself?”
Huh. Maybe thanks for a lot, after all.
“That would have been nice to know before we’d left,” Windrunner grumbled.
“It’s likely we wouldn’t have been able to retrieve it without the other two pieces, even had we found it,” Brinelle said. “After all, whoever hid the pieces seems to have gone to great lengths to ensure they couldn’t be picked up by accident.”
“Good point.” He turned back to the portal. “If it’s here, then the clue should be …”
The words died in his throat. The portal was nothing more than a crater in the sand. Bits of stone littered the desert as far as he could see.
For once, he couldn’t think of anything to say.
How would they find the Remnant now? Knowing it was in the monastery was like saying a certain person was somewhere in the Farmlands. It was a big area to search for something so small.
“Windrunner,” Brinelle said. “What’s that?”
She pointed to a spot behind the ruined portal. Windrunner could see the dark, unnatural shape in the dunes, but he couldn’t make out what it was. The stench, though, gave him an idea.
They crept forward, making sure no one was around to see them, until they came to the carcass.
A Shahadán lay half-buried in t
he sand. Its limbs were sprawled, its head bent underneath it from the force of its broken neck. Dried blood caked its skin and its flesh crawled with maggots.
“It is dead, right?” Windrunner asked.
Brinelle glanced at him, eyebrow raised, but then looked back to the Shahadán and examined it a bit closer. “It must be.”
They came as close to the corpse as they dared. Its hide was littered with wounds, some large enough Windrunner could have crawled inside them. A few still had weapons lodged in them, massive battle-axes and greatswords and clubs as big as trees.
“The urn warriors did this,” Brinelle said.
Windrunner wanted to cheer. Allies, and ones that had felled a Shahadán! He didn’t even care how they’d managed to kill a creature of Destruction magic. They had. That was enough for Windrunner.
Movement to the side caught their eye and they ducked behind a dune. Moments later Windrunner recognized the urn warrior shaman, his tattoos shining like white lines against his black skin. Many others came into view behind the shaman, most of them bleeding ash from at least a few cuts. Brinelle and Windrunner relaxed, rising from their hiding spot and approaching the man.
“Warrior-friends,” Shaman G’hantra said. He clapped them both on the shoulder in greeting. Windrunner stumbled from the force of it. “But where is Fi’ar?”
“We lost him in the forests to the northwest,” Brinelle said.
The shaman hung his head. “Vaharra has been blessed with a mighty warrior.”
“I don’t think he’s dead,” Windrunner said. “Just … lost. We got separated after a battle. He didn’t meet up with us before we were forced to flee.”
“However the Blood God demands.”
Windrunner nodded, then gestured toward the stinking Shahadán carcass. “How did you manage to kill it?”
G’hantra smiled and looked behind him. Another man was approaching, but he wasn’t an urn warrior. He was barely taller than Windrunner, hair as white as his skin, and though he seemed frail his eyes were shining with life and joy. Master Kelsen, Windrunner’s ally from his trial. The only one who’d been willing to stand up to the Godspeaker on his behalf.
Brinelle grinned and inclined her head respectfully toward the man. Windrunner did the same.
“Godspeaker,” Brinelle said.
What? It was the first time Windrunner had heard the title come from her lips brimming with respect, but …
“Not for decades, child. That title was stripped from me before you were even born.”
“And yet you will always be my Godspeaker.”
Windrunner looked from her to the man and back, trying to make sense of what he was learning. He had to admit, Kelsen was what he’d expected from a Godspeaker—intelligent, caring, strong when he needed to be but willing to listen. Much better than the bastard who held the title now.
Kelsen noticed his confusion and laughed. “The Godspeaker isn’t a lifetime position, Windrunner. Men can be challenged or bullied out of office as easily here as anywhere else.”
“Master Kelsen may not be the Godspeaker anymore,” Brinelle said, “but many of us have continued to look to him for guidance. He is still a wiser leader than the current Godspeaker ever could be.”
“And so you decided to help us,” Windrunner said.
“The Shahadán cannot be ignored. Every effort must be undertaken to defeat them. While you went in search of the Remnants, and the Godspeaker commissioned armor and conducted research, I took a more … direct approach.” He looked up at the massive shaman standing beside him. “By the time I’d gotten word to G’hantra he’d already sent you on your way. After that it was only a matter of preparation and waiting before battle came to us.”
G’hantra nodded. “Vaharra was with her children. Our Evantar allies’ magic weakened the monster enough for my people to finish it. It was not an easy battle, and many of our warriors have gone to be with the ancestors, but we have had great success.”
“As have we,” Windrunner replied. He told G’hantra and Kelsen about their travels and showed them the two pieces of the Remnant. “The third is in the monastery. We’ll have to fight our way in, but maybe …”
Brinelle cleared her throat, silencing Windrunner. “Shaman G’hantra, Master Kelsen, we could use a distraction to help us get into the monastery unseen. Could you do something to help?”
Kelsen’s eyes seemed drawn to something in the distance. “You won’t need us to create a distraction.”
“Why not?”
G’hantra jerked his chin toward the horizon, where the Shahadán Windrunner had seen earlier were growing larger by the moment. “Because the distraction has come to you.” Then the shaman pointed the other way, toward the monastery. “Evantar will flood from the gates in moments, no doubt called by the explosion you created. We will ensure they are guided into glorious battle against the Shahadán.”
Windrunner and Kelsen shook hands, while Brinelle gave the old man a fierce hug. Windrunner reached up to clap the shaman on the shoulder, as he’d done to him. G’hantra didn’t seem to feel it. “Thank you.”
“May Vaharra guide your battles.”
Windrunner and Brinelle dashed away from the urn warriors, heading toward the monastery in an arc that would keep them away from any approaching knights. They paused behind a large dune when they got within sight of the monastery and waited.
A few moments later, the gates opened and men and women began racing toward the portal. Windrunner couldn’t tear his eyes away from the knights. There were so many, and they were outfitted for battle. He’d never seen the Evantar knights wear armor, but now they gleamed with weapons and breastplates. Many of them even wore boots. If anything showed how seriously they were taking this, it was that. Footwear.
At this rate the monastery would be empty in moments. “This is much better than my plan,” Windrunner said.
“Your plan would have gotten us killed,” she said.
“Exactly.”
They stared at the monastery. Even from this close, Windrunner had a hard time seeing where it ended and the dunes began. “Do you think the Godspeaker knows he has a piece of the Remnant in his own monastery?” he asked.
“I doubt it. Had he known, he would have flaunted the power.”
“Unless he didn’t want anyone to know so they wouldn’t try to take it from him.”
Brinelle paused. “That could be likely as well.”
“Great. Let’s hope it’s the first one.”
When the last of the knights had poured into the desert, Windrunner and Brinelle made their way to the monastery. They kept low to the scorching sand, on the lookout for any scouts or stragglers left behind.
Windrunner couldn’t help but remember the last time he’d traversed these dunes en route to the Evantar Monastery. He’d been lost, confused, scared, pursued by strange monsters and saved by a woman who’d both frightened and intrigued him. They’d left in the middle of the night, defying the order of the madman knight in charge. And now they were returning, broken arm and newly resurrected. What a picture that must make.
He couldn’t help but be awed by the massive gates of the monastery once again. Even knowing the corruption behind them and hating the Godspeaker. That made it even worse. He shouldn’t have his breath taken away by a place like this. He shouldn’t have this urge to humble himself or grovel. He should be outraged by the very sight, ready to charge in and set things right. Not searching his soul and finding it inadequate.
“I’m a Tsenian, damn it,” he muttered. “I’m not the one who should feel inadequate.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
They crouched behind another dune for several minutes, until they were sure the gates weren’t being watched. The last scouts they’d seen were several dozen yards behind them, and they were focused on the battle ahead. As they should be.
With any luck he and Brinelle would be well on their way to finding the last Remnant by the time they returned.
26
T hey crept up to the gates and slipped inside without hearing anyone raise an alarm. So far so good.
The vast marble-and-bloodwood hall was still an impressive sight, too. It didn’t look any different in the now-colorless world to Windrunner’s eyes. It was still white and impeccable as ever. It made him sick.
“Where should we look first?” he whispered, cringing as his voice echoed back to them.
“Most of the Evantar curios are kept in the library,” Brinelle replied. “It would be a logical place to hide something, since even the Godspeaker cannot know every item on those shelves. Many have been there for generations.”
Windrunner nodded. He remembered the cluttered shelves filled with more strange items than he’d ever seen in one place before. Hadn’t there been several rocks among the books? “And if he does know, he might have left it there, thinking the sheer number of things would be as good as camouflage. Besides, the map was there. Good chance the Remnant will be there, too.”
He followed Brinelle through the halls. He still didn’t understand how she could find her way. Everything looked the same to him. At this point he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn it was some strange working of their magic that led them to the exact place they wanted to go, much like the Remnants had led them here.
The halls had always been empty and silent when Windrunner had first been here, but they felt even more so now. The monastery felt abandoned. He could tell they were two of the only people in the entire complex. Rather than reassuring him, it set him on edge. Could they waltz into the Evantar Monastery and find a Remnant, lost for hundreds of years, worth more to the knights here than any of their lives? If no one had noticed its presence all this time, how could Windrunner and Brinelle expect to stumble upon it where anyone could have noticed it, picked it up, or walked away with it?
The other pieces of the Remnant had been well hidden, guarded by their own formidable magic. They had exacted terrible prices in order to be retrieved. But there was no hint of anything of the kind here.
A sick feeling settled in the pit of Windrunner’s stomach. All this was starting to feel too easy.
Remnant Page 27
