by Ryk E. Spoor
She shook her head grimly. “We can’t. Gharis is only half a mile away; there’s other farms and houses not far away. We’re giving them a focus, they’re obviously directed to kill anyone they see. If we run, they’ll just spread out from here.” She took a better grip on Flamewing. “Every one we kill before we die is one less to kill someone else.”
Two more bilarel strode out, clad in thick armor, tugging it into place, and these two planted themselves on either side of the ramp. One of them . . . has armored claws for arms. The other . . . something wrong with his shape, too wide, twisted somehow.
“Sand and storm,” Tobimar muttered. “They’re getting organized.” Even as he spoke, she could see him focusing, bringing forth that unique speed and strength he’d shown in the earlier battle. “But how many of these things could he possibly have under that house? If he was feeding that many creatures, people would have noticed!”
She was having the same thoughts, but she had no answer. Obviously he did have that many, somehow. And we have to kill everything that comes up, or the rest of Evanwyl will be under attack.
She knew the Arms and Eyes would eventually sound the alarm and deal with such monsters . . . but how many people would die in the meantime? No, we can’t run. Here we stand, even if the ghost of Thornfalcon laughs at me for being caught in his final trap.
Yet with that decision, she couldn’t repress another shudder of horror. The new fires burning from Flamewing’s last strike showed the creatures clearly, and none of them were quite normal, each one distorted, showing some monstrous change even for creatures normally monstrous. A doomlock with four clawed arms instead of two, a sinuous draconic thing with the head of a flame ant, an oozing, shapeless blob that manifested human mouths and eyes at random, these and more were emerging, arranging themselves in abominable and unnatural formation at the roared exhortations of the ogre-things.
She glanced at Tobimar, and he nodded. No point in letting them choose the moment.
The Prince of Skysand and the Phoenix Justiciar charged directly for the center of the assembled ranks, Flamewing blazing anew and a pearlescent aura shimmering around Tobimar’s blades.
Shrieks and roars and hisses, the thudding wet sounds of blades on flesh, the jolt of striking bone, smell of scorched flesh, a shout of pain from herself or her ally, the occasional growl or grinding cry of shock from an enemy as Poplock’s blade Steelthorn found its mark. She whirled and cut and spun and blocked, severing legs, smashing the pommel into lamprey-mouths, kicking into vital areas, taking impacts that could have broken her before and shrugging them off. At her side, Tobimar Silverun carved a path of devastation through the monsters, twin swords dancing back and forth and leaving death in their wake.
Still, cuts appeared on his arms and face as if by malign magic, and she felt the dull fire-ache of poison trying to work past her defenses, knew the sun-bright shock of a broken rib that tried to blind her with pain, encircle her breath with agony. Won’t be . . . much longer . . . now . . .
She knew they had killed many, and perhaps would kill those around them now, but there were more, impossibly more, and she knew there was something else they had missed, some secret Thornfalcon had taken with him, and that Evanwyl would pay the price for her failure.
A monstrous thing loomed suddenly up before her, tall as a bilarel but more like an armored crab on two legs with the brown eyes of a faithful dog and the fanged mouth of a gigantic lizard. She was yanking Flamewing free of its last victim but slowly, too slowly, she’d never get it up in time—
Two leaf-green blades exploded from the thing’s chest and it gave a gurgling wail, collapsing, falling forward, inert.
A face was revealed, a face and figure of a young man standing behind the fallen body, a boy somehow familiar, with hair and dark-tinted skin the mirror of Tobimar’s, and eyes her own shade of steel-pearl gray.
50
“Xavier!” Tobimar shouted triumphantly, and he heard the same shout in a smaller size from somewhere in the grass. “By the Seven and One, you’ve got the best timing!”
“Thanks, guys! Now that I’m here, let’s kick some real ass!”
Tobimar redoubled his efforts, and saw Kyri also swinging with renewed strength. With the addition of Xavier Ross, the tide had at least momentarily turned, and in a few moments, Kyri had a chance to deliver another tremendous flame-strike that temporarily cleared the surface.
“Kyri Vantage, Phoenix Justiciar of Myrionar, meet Xavier Uriel Ross, traveller from Zaralandar itself.”
She gave a quick bow. “Thanks and well come,” she said. “And I’ll have more thanks later. But now we have this problem to deal with. Tobimar, there’s something terribly wrong here. Those things can’t all be coming from some underground of the mansion.”
“No, you’re right.” The shadows were milling about, probably waiting for another set of creatures to become the leaders. Won’t be long. “And most would normally live aboveground, so I doubt it’s from some unexplored caverns beneath. We need to know where the source is.”
“On it,” Xavier said. “I’ll be back as fast as I can. You guys just stay alive, okay?”
He nodded, and grinned as he saw the momentary puzzled expression on Kyri’s face . . . puzzlement that turned to enlightenment as Xavier vanished.
A new surge of monsters, some the same, but now, others even more bizarre and alien, erupted from the underground. Kyri sent a blaze of flame against them, but this time a small reptilian thing sent a column of ice against the flame and an explosion of steam clouded the area in mist. “Can he really get past this mob?” she asked.
“I’m pretty sure he can,” Tobimar answered. “If we can hold out.”
“Charge forward,” she said.
The two did so. “What is your plan?”
“The corridor they are coming from looks narrower, as though we might be able to hold it—if we can clear out those that we are passing. If we can do that—”
“I understand. Of course, it could get us both killed.”
Tobimar almost stopped as they reached the edge. Looking down he saw what appeared an endless river of foes of monstrous shapes, twisted bodies, distorted features, and it was like a waking nightmare, or an entry into one of the Hells themselves. Some looked almost human, others like a malformed and debased Artan, or a monstrous centipede with taloned arms and the face of a madman.
But he did not stop, and his swords struck in unison with Flamewing. My reserves are running out, he realized, drawing upon them for strength and finding there was almost nothing left to give. A glance at Kyri showed her face was pale and the fire on her sword flickered momentarily. And she is new to this, channeling the power of the gods, and it has to be wearing on her as well.
Xavier, you’d better hurry!
Swing, chop, block, take another blow, leap over a falling body, parry and return-strike. His whole existence was blood and monsters and aching arms, leaden with exhaustion and pain, that he pushed to deliver just one more stroke, block just a single attack, then start the cycle again. Time seemed to be running faster, more creatures trying to surround them, to kill, from all directions, yet it was ticking by slower than the fall of congealing blood.
Kyri cursed and stumbled, nearly went down. He didn’t know how he did it, but somehow he was at her side, supporting her, beating back a half-dozen creatures with one sword as she recovered, and for a moment they stood back to back, and the bodies were piling around them like obscene cordwood.
“Found it! Get out of there, people!”
Xavier’s silver-green blades joined theirs and led them upward and out. “They’re coming through . . . I guess you’d say a portal, or something, in the basement of this place. There’s a way down to it from the mansion—a lot easier than fighting back against this tide!”
A scramble, tentacles grasping at his legs and Kyri’s, a quick slash of swords, up, and they were on the scorched earth of the clearing, rolling to their feet, running, a rustlin
g, rattling, slithering horde behind them.
Through the front door of the mansion, skidding on the rugs and slick polished floors, but Xavier was leading them, swiftly, an open door with a lamprey-mouthed monster, cut down, then the three were running down a stairway, killing as they went, but here the mob had not begun to press. She saw why as they burst into an underground chamber, through a door which had obviously been opened by Xavier in his investigation.
The monsters marched out of an archway sixteen feet high, standing in the middle of a circle of symbols that made Poplock, now riding precariously on his shoulder, croak in consternation. “Oh, that’s bad bad news there.”
“No,” said Kyri, drawing herself up, even as the creatures noticed their presence. “That’s good news. Because now, no matter the cost, I know I can stop this. Keep them from me, and it will be over.”
“Do what she says!” Tobimar shouted to Xavier. “Believe me, she knows what she’s saying!”
His friend nodded, and they intercepted the things together. Behind, he heard the girl’s clear, certain voice.
“Myrionar, God of Justice and Vengeance, I, the Phoenix, last and first true Justiciar, call one last time this day on your power. To my sword and body give the strength, to my blade the power, to sunder stone and shatter spells that bring forth monsters against my homeland and yours.” Brilliant gold light shone from behind them, casting their shadows towering and dark over the monstrosities before, and for the first time he saw uncertainty and hesitation in those creatures, a drawing back.
“I take unto myself all the power you can give,” Kyri said, and her voice was louder, more powerful, and filled with iron faith, though there was the tone of pain and exhaustion, someone pushed to her very limits, “and I shall release it, to protect my allies, to destroy our enemies, and in the name of my brother I call for it—RION’S VENGEANCE!”
A blade of unbearable brilliance smashed outward, precisely between Tobimar and Xavier. The Vengeance Blade did not pause or dim or slow as it passed through body after body of the monsters. It struck the mystical circle about the gate and for an instant that circle flared green and black, as though to defend what lay behind, but that magic, powerful though it must have been, could not withstand the absolute force of a god’s power, and the circle shattered in poisonous emerald shards of power. Vengeance Blade and summoning Archway met in a cataclysmic flare of opposition, a detonation that blew Tobimar from his feet, blinded him, sent Poplock tumbling away.
He dragged himself to his feet, blinking furiously. Shapes and mist slowly came into focus, as he came to full guard. But then he slowly lowered his blades.
The archway lay in shattered, almost unrecognizable pieces; ash and scattered limbs were all that remained of the monsters, and scorchmarks were visible up the tunnel, as far as he could see, showing that Myrionar’s Vengeance was complete and total; none of the creatures had escaped.
“Whoa,” Xavier said in a tone of awe.
51
Kyri sagged to her knees, trying to support herself on her sword, feeling utter exhaustion weighing her down like a leaden cloak. Tobimar ran to her, his friend Xavier reaching her at the same time. Together they helped her stand. “Are you all right, Kyri?” Tobimar asked.
She smiled, and through the exhaustion she felt a different weight, one of guilt and doubt and self-hatred, lifting, fading away. “I am . . . I think more ‘all right’ than I’ve been in a long time, Tobimar Silverun,” she said. “With all of your help,” her gaze took in Tobimar, Xavier, and little Poplock who was just now making his way back to them, “I’ve . . . I’ve just finished avenging my brother. Thank you.” She heard her voice break, felt tears of relief and gratitude stinging her eyes. “Thank you all, more than I can say in just words.”
“You are very welcome, Kyri,” Tobimar said, and his blue eyes were smiling at her. “Believe me when I say it was an honor to be part of such magnificent justice and vengeance.”
“He talks prettier than I do, I think,” Xavier said, “but helping you kill off those things and save everyone around? I’m all for that. You’re welcome.”
“Same here,” Poplock said. “Glad we ended up on the right side. And I’d guess there’s a lot more work to come, if one of the Justiciars was gone totally bad, eh?”
She smiled again wryly. “I am very much afraid so. But,” she said as she managed a wobbly step forward, “I’m not ready to do anything else quite yet.”
She looked over at the little Toad. “I seem to recall, just before things took another turn for the worse, that you were suggesting looting my fallen enemy’s house.”
“Look,” Poplock said reasonably, as they all started towards the stairs, “we’ll have to get moving pretty quick anyway—none of us want to get caught explaining this, right? And if you’re fighting the Justiciars like this, you’ll need help, you’ll need resources, you’ll need money. This—” he used a Toadish grunt-bounce that conveyed complete disgust, “he didn’t have any family except the false Justiciars, so where are all his valuables going?”
She had to admit the little Toad had a point. A large point. Why leave her enemies with resources she could deprive them of? It was . . . only just that she take what she could use and deprive them of the rest, as this was a war. She nodded slowly. “I . . . can’t argue. But afterwards . . . we set it to the torch.” She looked at Tobimar as they entered.
He looked serious. “He was a monster, and I would guess that he’d done things we don’t want to know about.”
“You’re right.”
“Done. First pillage, then burn. Remember to get the order right.” Poplock dropped off of Tobimar’s shoulder and started to examine the cases around the room.
“I’m starved,” Xavier said. “Dunno about you people, but I’ve been moving pretty constantly for the last day or so.”
“Well,” Tobimar said, glancing at Poplock, “we’ve got at least a few hours before we have to go, and everyone knows Thornfalcon had gourmet tastes.”
Kyri looked at the one table and shuddered. “Not in this room. And you’d better be very, very careful what silverware, glasses, and so on you use. Those,” she pointed to the shattered remains of some glassware on the floor, “almost got me killed.”
Poplock bounced over to them, squinted sideways at the pieces, pulled out a strange greenish lens, and examined the material. After a few moments he sat back. “Whoo. That’s good work. But don’t worry, I’ll check stuff out for you. It’s something I’m good at.”
With Poplock’s help, the four of them soon assembled a feast on Thornfalcon’s kitchen counters and the three humans sat at a small table near the counter, while the little Toad continued his exploration and accounting of the useful materials available in the house. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be listening to you. I’ve got good hearing.”
“How in Terian’s name did you find us?” Tobimar asked Xavier.
“Well,” Xavier said, studying the assorted foods as though intimidated by the choices, “I’d been told I had to find you quick, and so when I came to that one village I was going to ask about where to go. And so I hear this guy getting on his horse, saying ‘That Adventurer says Thornfalcon may be in trouble.’
“So I remembered that you guys were officially ‘Adventurers’ and asked him quick if it was you, and he said yes and said you’d gone off to help Thornfalcon. He then rode off to warn people, he said, but he’d pointed off to the south so I started running in that direction.”
“But I was down that path,” Kyri said, puzzled. “Without directions you just couldn’t have found the right one.”
“You’re probably right,” Xavier said with a grin, taking a leg from a roast brushhen, “but once you guys started fighting this Thornfalcon guy? Lights all over. It was like following a lightning storm that sat in one place. The lights went down for a while, but by then I had a line on the direction, and by the time you started in on the monsters I could hear you.”
“Go
od luck for us,” Tobimar said, and Kyri nodded her agreement.
She looked over at Tobimar. This Xavier’s a different matter, I think, but . . . “So,” she said, cutting a slice of coilserpent, “did Toron send you after me?”
“No,” Tobimar answered, filling his own plate, “King Toron didn’t mention you d—”
“King Toron?”
He blinked in surprise, then closed his eyes as though realizing something painful. “Oh, Terian and Chromaias. You don’t know.”
“Know what?”
He sighed, “The news will only just be getting here anyway. I have no idea how you got here so fast—I saw you the day I had my first audience with the King. If you’d stayed just a few more days—”
“I had . . . reasons to move as fast as I could. And I got lucky, met an old man along the way who—”
“Had a funny five-sided hat,” the Toad and Xavier said at the exact same time. Poplock’s voice was slightly muffled, as it was coming from one of the cupboards.
Kyri stared in that direction. “How did you know?”
“Khoros,” sighed Tobimar.
“Who is this ‘Khoros’?”
“Look, we need to all figure out what’s going on here,” Poplock said. “Tobimar, you tell her your story, I’ll tell mine, Xavier tells his, and she tells hers. Then if we have any questions left, we ask them.”
The black-haired Skysand Prince grinned. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll have questions left. But you’re right, we should stop asking random questions and getting confused.” He bowed across the table to Kyri, then looked abstracted for a moment, as though trying to put his thoughts in order. Finally he began speaking.
“I am the Seventh of Seven—the Seventh child of my mother, the Lord of Waters, ruler of Skysand, as she was the Seventh child of her mother. In the normal way of things, I would have lived there and become a ruler in my own right—likely of one of the Seven Cities, or—perhaps—become Lord of Waters myself, if my siblings had died or chose not to take the burden, or my mother chose me above them.
