With a puzzled expression, Ponu examined himself, patting his vest, feeling the pouches dangling from his belt. Then abruptly he stopped.
He gazed past Gaelin into nothingness as the others gathered around to see. Slowly he delved into the pocket above his hip and, with a grim glance at his audience, drew forth a glittering crystal sphere. “This comes from my world,” he said. “A young human in my care brought this out of safe hiding by mistake. It should not be here, and it is not meant for you.”
Holram wrested the orb from Ponu’s reluctant grasp.
“Time Crystals,” Ponu explained, his features pale. “The facets are naturally occurring and random. They are a wild and dangerous magic, difficult to guide, even for me. This is not for you!”
“Yes, it is,” Holram said, sifting through Ponu’s thoughts. “I shatter the stone and the power releases on impact. One flash, and I ride its fire. White lightning, so beautiful. Will it take me home?”
Ponu nodded gravely. “Not just you,” he said. With impatient fingers, he flipped back his white hair. “Gaelin also would ride that fire to the airless void you call home. He would freeze instantly and die.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Gaelin told Ponu, shaking free of Holram’s grip. “I made my life count. That’s enough for me. I’m dying anyway; let me go.”
“You will do no such thing,” Terrek said roughly.
Camron appeared, wading around an immense boulder. He rose dripping from the water onto the bank, his massive hands clutching their bedraggled gear.
Gaelin recognized his pack with a surge of relief. He took his single possession from the giant and quickly dressed under the blanket in the same tattered gray tunic he had worn when he murdered Seth Lavahl. The activity briefly comforted him, easing his dread.
His death was coming, yet the chill down his back was not fear. All along, he had been conscious of its advance through his flesh. Yet as he faced it at last, he had what very few others did—the knowledge that his end would protect the world.
“You won’t,” said Terrek. “We’ll find another way.”
Gaelin fingered Ponu’s crystal. “How long do you think Holram will last here without doing serious damage?” he asked. “I’m sorry, Terrek.”
He stood, letting the blanket crumple around his feet. Gathering his courage, he tried to smile. In his chest, Holram tensed in alarm. “Gaelin, no. Listen to him. There must be another way.”
Gaelin watched his hand rise quickly and fall, the white explosion blinding him as the crystal struck the stone.
Caught in the heart of a whirling kaleidoscope, he glimpsed a thousand different places and moments whipping around him, with the white-speckled lens at the end rushing toward him to snatch him up.
From the mouth of Mount Chesna far beneath his kicking feet came Avalar’s strident scream cut short. Somehow, he still perceived it with his warder’s understanding: seized by the brilliance of the crystal’s flash, the young giant, too, had winked out.
Chapter 67
CAUGHT FAST BY alien magic, Gaelin ignored the countless times and places flashing across his sight—the remnants of Ponu’s ruined crystal. Transfixed, he gaped at the starry endlessness spreading out before him.
A vision filled his mind of a pathway high on a mountain, the Companion’s disk shining silver behind it to dominate the midnight sky. Snow swirled and a figure appeared, his golden eyes gleaming, his blurred features resembling Terrek’s. The being held out his hand, gripping Gaelin’s forearm. Puzzled, Gaelin met the other’s proud stare and returned the clasp.
A tearing pain ripped through his chest as Holram let him go, breaking from him at last, abandoning him for freedom. The separation left a tang of metal in his mouth, the taste of the warder’s regret.
He tumbled end over end, a feather in a freezing void, his lungs desperate for breath. He was fading fast, his consciousness fraying, his limbs stretching toward the misty barrier that rushed to meet him.
A white shield of power snapped into existence around his body, sending jolts of fire through his flesh to keep his blood pumping. The burning was familiar yet stronger than he had ever known and beyond ancient, potent and wholly mastered.
A whirling gray funnel rose from the churning clouds under him, a spout of furious wind, pale lightning licking through its core.
Still flailing, Gaelin plunged into its heart, toward a ring of distant water. Down he sank, buffeted by gentle currents. He caught glimpses of wings as ephemeral as the wind, of thick, arched necks and brilliant eyes. From the corner of his vision, he saw snatches of occasional detail, jaws bristling with fangs and diamond scales reflecting the sky. He slid from one pair of muscular shoulders to the next, and as he descended, he felt his numb body returning to life.
Thunder rolled long and loud, building to a crescendo, a massive voice speaking one word: “Live!”
Gaelin dropped through the storm of dragonesque forms, with one visible directly beneath him, its powerful neck thrust forward and great wings spiraling him toward the widening patch of sea.
Something floated in the circle of water far below. It grew swiftly as the great beast carried him down.
It was a ship. A very large ship, shaped like the blade of a sword.
✽ ✽ ✽
SIGHING, TERREK LEANED his elbows on his knees and puzzled at the roll of canvas in his hands. “You’re giving this to me, why?” he asked.
Roth shrugged testily. “I don’t need it anymore.”
“If this is about Camron,” Terrek said, “I think you should wait and give him some time.”
“I don’t want it; that’s all!” said Roth. “And it’s not what you think, either. I don’t care if he ever remembers me. He’s alive! That’s what counts.”
“Good boy.” Vyergin winked. “No point in wasting your days trying to control what you can’t.”
Grinning, Terrek nodded. “Words of wisdom,” he said. “Come spring, we’ll take a little trip to Marin and see if we can locate a hat for you like the one your father wore.”
Roth’s eyes went wide. “Really?” He beamed at them, the jaunty bounce back in his step as he ducked into the patched tent.
“Strange lad,” Vyergin observed. “Life won’t ever be dull as long as he’s around.”
“Laori,” mumbled Terrek.
Felrina, beside him, stretched her hands toward the flames. “Ponu should be here soon,” she said, glancing skyward. “Must I go to Heartwood?”
Terrek frowned at the wistful note in her voice, the glint of dread in her gaze. “Yes, and you will do fine, Felrina.”
“All the other black-robes are dead!” She choked on the last word. “Maybe I deserve that, too.”
“And you did die,” he reminded her. “Felrina, those other priests picked a fight with the wrong elf. The same one who went out of his way to save you. You have the strongest mage on the planet on your side. I don’t think you need to worry, do you?”
“I guess you’re right.” She paused. “T-Terrek?”
He inclined his chin. Then Vyergin rose discreetly from scrubbing the pans and, whistling, sauntered away.
“Will you and I . . . ? I mean . . .” Felrina ducked her head. “Oh, never mind.”
He drew a deep breath. “We shouldn’t obsess about things beyond our control, either. You need to go to Heartwood and endure the elves’ judgment. I need to take these men home and help rebuild Kideren. Time,” he stressed. “What you did—I can’t just erase that like it never happened. I need to digest what has happened between us. And I think you do, too.”
“And I think,” Ponu said as he strode through the trees to join them, “all this is making me hungry.” He grunted when he spied the washed dishes piled by the little blaze. “Ah, but I missed it!”
“You have not said.” Terrek strode around the fire to confront the winged elf. “Has Gaelin’s body been recovered yet? I would like to have him buried next to Silva at Vale Horse. I was hoping you would have word.”
“Bury his body?” Ponu arched a brow. “Interesting. Is this how your people honor your heroes?”
Terrek stepped back. “Gaelin’s alive?”
“Yes,” Ponu said. “Very much so. I will be taking him to Heartwood soon as well, Felrina, so you might see him there.”
“Why Heartwood?” Terrek asked. “Are the elves planning some kind of special . . .” He trailed off.
“Gaelin is dying, Terrek Florne,” said Ponu. “It is my hope the Seeker elves might have a remedy . . . something to keep him alive at least for a while.”
“Oh, Gaelin!” Eyes brimming, Felrina covered her mouth.
“This isn’t a time for tears,” Ponu told her. “Your staff-wielder not only rode lightening and touched the sky, he flew an Azkharren, too. Something no human has ever done! He has found himself, Felrina Vlyn.” Reaching out, he clasped her arm. “And now, my dear, it is your turn.”
Chapter 68
AVALAR BLINKED TO clear her sight. A rank smell filled her nostrils, the lumpy objects beneath her knees sinking under her weight. She made out the blacker darkness of the stone walls around her and caught the faint scent of dirt mingled with the stronger reek of decay. Her gorge rose as she realized there were corpses beneath her, the husks of her people in various stages of decomposition.
A repetitive crack sounded overhead and, with it, an occasional grunt or moan. Curious, dreading what she would find, Avalar crept up the side of the trench.
The tableau on the rocky shelf above her appeared frozen at first, the figure in chains motionless as she drew near. She shivered in horror as she recognized her surroundings, and knew who the giants were who lay dead in the pit.
A large grizzle-haired male in the garments of a slave knelt in a patch of unnatural light, his wrists bound by heavy links to a thick and bloodied stake. She saw his manacles first, his drooping head with its matted hair, his cheek leaning against the post.
He looks like Trentor, she thought wildly. A chill ran tingling along her spine as she remembered the paintings of Trentor’s legendary father at Freedom Hall.
This is Thresher Govorian; he has to be! She ducked low when the whip struck close to her own head. The leader’s spirit was clearly broken, his body nigh to death after cycles of toil. She could not tell what lurked behind him other than more gloom. Once again came the whistle and crack, blood spattering as the iron balls struck.
Ponu’s crystal did this. I am in the past! Grimly she nodded, pondering hard. The slavers meant to strip the flesh from their unruly captive, and soon it would be Govorian lying dead on the pile below her.
He is supposed to find the sword and save his people! Avalar cringed as the hideous whip struck and cut. Govorian’s eyes were slitted, his shoulders quivering as he gasped for breath. Mocking human laughter echoed from the dimness.
Dizzy and shaken from her unexpected transition, Avalar lowered herself back into the ditch. She positioned her pack beside the bodies, her eyes watering at the stench as she fixed her attention on the wrapped shard of crystal that had helped to bring the Destroyer down. It is bloodstone—gorged on a warder’s power, she recalled, and she had imprinted it with all the knowledge the Bloodsword Redeemer had given her. I even taught it the song.
Carefully she unwrapped the blade-shaped quartz, its magic thrumming beneath her hands. As the relentless whip cracked on, she worked swiftly to modify the shard, cutting a wide strip of leather with her knife and wrapping the base of the crystal, twisting the hide around and crisscrossing it before tucking it tight. Now you have a proper hilt, she thought to the makeshift weapon. You are not Redeemer, but mayhap you will do, for Govorian needs our aid now, else he shall not live to find the sword!
Avalar climbed the wall of the trench, crouching as low as possible until she squatted again under the gory stake.
Reaching up, her fingers trembling, she stroked Govorian’s wrist. Then, as soundlessly as she could, she worked her knife’s tip between two of the links holding him and, twisting hard, pried them apart.
Govorian’s gaze shifted as his pain-ridden mind registered the unexpected vibrations. In his brittle glare, fear and suspicion sparked and gradually ebbed, giving way to sudden hope as she quietly separated the links, laying the two ends of the massive chain on the stone.
“You are free!” Avalar whispered fiercely, sliding the bloodstone blade as close to him as she could. His eyes widened as he took in the object by his knee.
“Have courage, great Leader! Please,” she said. “You are the one who saves us, and you will succeed, you will! Behold the sword! It is already filled with power; it will not drain you, it will give you strength! Escape now and free your people!”
She swiped at her tears. If only you could have lived, too, she thought. You helped so many of us, but not yourself!
She sank back as he bent, groping through the dust for the sword. Like other sires and grandsires, he would surrender his place on the last Skimmer. For the sake of the children and their mothers, he would stay behind.
“Now you can fight,” she murmured as he grasped the weapon’s crude hilt. “You shall defeat them, great-hearted one. You will win!”
Avalar sighed as she emerged from the memory, tears running down her cheeks. She focused on her father’s worried frown, and on Trentor peering at her across the granite table.
“Because of us! Gaelin and Ponu, Terrek Florne and . . . and me. Because of all we did, Thresher Govorian found hope!”
“Do you remember anything else?” Trentor asked. She shook her head, her gaze on the easel that Freedom Hall’s curator had set up next to them. As the artist labored over the canvas, his fine brush mirrored her vision, re-creating Govorian’s ordeal with loving touches of flax-oil paint.
“There was more,” she said at the curator’s glance. She closed her eyes. In her mind, the memory was clear—Govorian’s tortured body gathering itself, the great leader clambering to his feet next to the stake, his back and shoulders spraying blood as he whirled in his broken chains to face his tormentors, the homemade sword pulsing in his battered hands.
“I heard his cry,” said Avalar. “His roar was like thunder; he was so angry! He charged with the weapon held high, and the shard cut through them as if they were not even there.” She shivered.
“That is when I located her and brought her back.” Ponu entered the hall through the arched doorway. “Thresher never caught sight of her, Master First. Your great sire beheld Redeemer; that is all. Nothing has been harmed by her journey.”
“No. Were you not listening?” Avalar asked. “It was not the Bloodsword; it was melted stone. He must have discovered the true sword during the battle. Redeemer is here, is it not? In Freedom Hall. That would mean he did eventually find it.”
Avalar, shaking off the painful memory, met her father’s marveling gaze across the table, and Camron seated next to her, with his human features that she had loved. “Redeemer has a gray hilt,” she said. “Petrified bottomwood.”
“Avalar,” said her father, his eyes twinkling. “You are correct about one thing. Redeemer does indeed rest upstairs in its case, and it has the beautiful hilt you describe, too. I suggest at the conclusion of this meeting you go and take a peek at the sword. Mayhap examine more closely the leather the quartz is lying on. Avalar, Redeemer’s fancy hilt was fashioned later by a skilled crafter. The blade Govorian wielded had a leather haft.”
“But . . .” Avalar sprang to her feet. “You are telling me that I brought him the sword?”
Camron bobbed his head and grinned. He was larger than her father, larger even than Kurgenrock, her uncle, as his ill-fitting, borrowed trousers and tunic proved. “It would seem,” he said, “you are a hero now, too, and not just Gaelin.”
Flabbergasted, she dropped to her seat. “I brought the sword! The whole time I was carrying it, I never . . . So when it spoke to me . . . sang to me when I was little, it was . . .”
“It was merely repeating the things you taught it,
my dear,” Ponu said. He smiled. “I suppose I should have believed you.”
“And the others?” she inquired. “Leader Terrek and . . .”
“Safe and sound, Avalar,” said Camron. “I was there to bid farewell to my brother before Ponu transferred me here. I know Terrek plans to journey to Tierdon to swap the shan for his horses. He told me that much. We didn’t get to talk very long.”
Avalar nodded, glaring at the table’s granite surface beyond her folded hands. “But not Gaelin. He never returned?”
“Now Erebos is dead and Holram is gone,” said Ponu, “and the world is safe. All is as it should be, with only Talenkai’s magic here. And my own.”
“Human magic too,” sang a piping voice, breaking the tension. Avalar smiled at the familiar little human skipping into the room.
“Kray?” She gaped at Ponu. “This is the child you are caring for? The one I rescued?”
“Indeed.” Ponu grinned as the little boy dashed to the table and climbed up Grevelin’s leg. “Though, for his sake, that arrangement has changed. He’s now in your father’s care. Grevelin has agreed to let Kray stay here. At least until he is older.”
Avalar looked from one face to the next. Everything had fallen into place, except for one thing—her future. She was back where she began, on Hothra Isle, after months of tasting freedom and learning the Swordslore from Roshar Navaren at Tierdon.
The new blade Father has promised me, she thought. What use will it serve here?
“Avalar, you have done well representing our people in a hostile land,” Trentor said. “And this strapping fellow that Ponu brought here is correct; you are a hero. There shall be a feast in your honor tonight in the courtyard, to celebrate the one who delivered the weapon that set us all free. But still I sense a restlessness in you.”
Song Of Mornius Page 46
