by Ryk E. Spoor
“But we have an ancient history, and a tradition that goes beyond family or rulership . . .”
As he talked, Kyri began to get an impression of the young man before her, and found herself slightly intimidated. I spent most of my time waiting for other people to save my world. He was exiled to gain the chance of saving his people . . . more than four years ago. He’s been travelling and adventuring all that time, and I’ve just been praying and studying.
A new horror came over her as she heard of the disasters that had befallen Zarathan, one after the other, after she left; the death of the King, the slaughter of the Artan and others of the Forest Sea, attacks on others . . . And if this is all connected . . . Myrionar, what is happening to the world?
At one point, Tobimar broke off—it was while he was describing his first sudden confrontation with Xavier—and stared at her in a way that made her near to blushing. “What?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Tobimar looked embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to stare, but . . . your eyes. They’re just about exactly like Xavier’s. I’ve never seen that precise shade of gray, and it’s also their size, the intensity . . . Really, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you had to be related.”
Suddenly she remembered that day, as they were approaching Zarathanton. “By the . . . I think I actually saw those five! A tall blond boy, two dark-haired boys, and two girls, all strikingly beautiful, and . . . yes, it was you, Xavier! I remember, because you looked so much like my sister Urelle.”
“I look like your sister?” Xavier echoed. “Well . . . I hope that’s good. I admit . . . we do look kinda alike. But given that we’re from different planets I doubt we’re actually related.”
“Urelle?” Poplock’s voice came from another room, over the sound of clinking—something small sorting through heavy silverware, she suspected. “Isn’t your middle name—?”
“Uriel,” Xavier said slowly. “That’s . . . pretty weird.” He suddenly glanced up. “Hey, I remember now! I saw you and . . . what, your mom, maybe? Leaving the Castle, right before we went in!”
Kyri felt a pang from Xavier’s innocent mistake, but smiled. “That was my aunt, but yes, I was there.”
Tobimar looked at the two of them again, obviously still struck by the similarities, then shrugged. “Another piece of a puzzle that we can’t quite fit into the picture . . . yet. Anyway, let me go on . . .”
They had finished their meal by the time Tobimar was done; Poplock then came in to give his summary, and rest after what was obviously strenuous work. Kyri didn’t feel entirely comfortable with the looting, so she didn’t watch or inquire much. She knew the discomfort was silly; anything valuable Thornfalcon had should be used against the false Justiciars, or destroyed so they couldn’t use it. Still, the sound of someone cheerfully breaking open cabinets to root around inside and find whatever caught their fancy . . .
In some ways, Poplock’s story was even more startling than Tobimar’s. The idea of that minuscule Toad somehow disrupting the plans of a great demonlord, of destroying an entire hidden enclave of mazakh and worse, and rescuing Tobimar from certain death some years later, was both comical and sobering. But she’d seen all too clearly just how dangerous Poplock could be.
“And so we came in and found out Thorny wasn’t nearly as nice a guy as he should have been, and kept him busy long enough for you to join us.” Poplock finished. “So that’s about it for me. Your turn, Xavier.”
She realized quickly that his was the strangest tale of all, and one that she wasn’t going to understand in full for a long time. But the important points of his venture—the pain of losing a beloved brother, grief and vengeance, a second chance granted, these she understood and empathized with so strongly it ached within her.
It also sent a chill down her spine. There are far too many similarities here. Is that the doing of this Khoros? Or someone or something else? A force we haven’t yet heard of?
But Xavier continued his story—which of course dovetailed at times with Tobimar’s, but then split off. “Then I got to the Broken Hills like you said”—he nodded to Tobimar—“and started looking. Of course, that little mountain range isn’t so little up close, and I was afraid I wasn’t going to find anything. I mean, at least this Idinus guy has a known address.” He grinned, but his face was . . . tense, and the grin faded.
“What’s wrong, Xavier?” Tobimar asked. “You didn’t find him?”
“Oh, no, I found him all right. Well, I think it was him, even though it was a her when I met him. If that makes any sense?”
Tobimar nodded slowly, and so did Kyri. Kyri said, “In the legends, the Wanderer wears many faces. He’s been old and young, man or woman, Artan and human and Child of Odin, wizard and warrior and sage. So yes, it makes sense. He’s definitely a man, but he can assume many forms and will take those, and other names, when it suits his purpose.”
“Okay. Well, she never said she was the Wanderer, but she kinda implied it.” A shadow passed over his face again. “I can’t . . . talk about everything she said. Some of it’s personal to me, other parts are just for the others in my group. Anyway, after we were done talking, she told me that I needed to hurry, that you would need me soon. And she gestured and poof!, there I was at the near end of the Broken Hills.
“So I made my way towards Evanwyl, got into that town—Gharis?—yeah, Gharis, and you know the rest.”
Kyri smiled, then became more solemn. “Mine’s not quite as travelled a narration, I suppose, but there’s a lot to tell you. For me . . . for me it started when my parents died . . .”
She was aware of Tobimar’s eyes on her, and those of Xavier, and there was warmth and sympathy there that she knew was not feigned. After learning the Justiciars were corrupt, she’d wondered if she would ever truly be able to trust again, and known that just the thought was a dangerous one; someone who could have no trust would never know true justice. But she could sense that Tobimar was telling her the truth, that Xavier was as honest as she, and without them and their strange companion Poplock she would already be dead. And she remembered Aunt Victoria’s words: “. . . you will perhaps find the allies you need . . .”
“. . . and I grabbed my Raiment and put it on, getting outside just in time to keep Thornfalcon from finishing you off,” she concluded. “So Justice was balanced in the moment of our meeting; we saved each other from the same threat.” She looked over at Xavier. “And then you saved us both, and together we finished the job. So once more, Justice was balanced in that moment.”
Tobimar laughed and pushed away from the table. “Yes, I guess that’s so!” He stood up, looking around.
“But these attacks you’ve described, and your quest . . . I agree with you. There must be some connection. Thornfalcon, these false Justiciars, Myrionar’s silence, the assassination of the King,” she stumbled over that, the idea that such a thing—which had not happened since perhaps the Fall itself—could have been accomplished, “. . . the attacks on the Great Forest and even Artania itself . . . and the five people from your world, Xavier, and this Khoros.”
“I think he’s trying to fight against whatever’s in charge of these attacks,” Xavier said. “I don’t like him—even less, the more I’ve learned about him—but he’s on the side of the angels, I think.”
“Probably.” Kyri thought for a moment. “The name is vaguely familiar. But why would Toron not tell you about me?”
“Yeah,” Xavier said. “That’s really bugging me, too. If he’d told us at the right time, heck, we might all have been going together.”
“Except,” Kyri said slowly, “you couldn’t have caught up with me even if you’d known right away. Because Khoros himself made sure of that.”
Tobimar frowned. “That’s true. But let’s think about it from Toron’s point of view. He said that he was doing his best to also guess what Khoros wanted us to know and not know. If he was right, then there must be some advantage to us not knowing.”
“Well, let’s loo
k at that,” Poplock said. “If we’d known, we would’ve come up here knowing the Justiciars were bad. We’d have been weeks . . . no, still months, behind you, too. Knowing they were bad, we wouldn’t have gone over to contract with them, so we wouldn’t have gotten into the Temple and gotten their info.” He looked over at Xavier. “You’d probably have stuck with us. Maybe wouldn’t have met the Wanderer, or not until a lot later. Maybe we’d have gotten into a fight with one of these Justiciars by ourselves and gotten killed. Or we’d have been more careful sneaking around, and we wouldn’t have been hot on Phoenix’s trail, so we wouldn’t have shown up in time to save her.”
“And right now the Justiciars think you’re on their side . . . or at least a dupe for them,” Kyri said slowly. “We might be able to use that.”
“And,” Xavier said with a surprised grin, “none of them know anything about me. As far as your enemies are concerned, I don’t exist. And while I’m going to have to get going pretty soon,” he continued, “I’m not just bailing on you until I know this whole situation’s under control.”
Tobimar suddenly laughed. “And we’re sitting here talking it all out without any reluctance. Don’t you see how hard that would’ve been?”
Kyri blinked. Of course. “Even if I’d somehow beat Thornfalcon on my own, assuming I’d lived . . . I’m working alone. I have to be wisdom and caution as well as Justice and Mercy, and a battle with Thornfalcon would have made me terribly cautious. If you showed up claiming to be willing to help me, I’d have had to be even more careful. I’d have to spend days, maybe weeks, figuring out if I could trust you, or if you were part of the enemy’s deeper game.”
“Well, we could still be, I guess.” Poplock said, voice echoing hollowly from upstairs.
“Anything’s possible,” Kyri admitted with a grin, “but Thornfalcon didn’t expect an interruption, and certainly didn’t expect to lose his head. And no one making up a story would ever have come up with yours, Xavier.”
“Heh. No argument there. I don’t believe this story sometimes, and I’m it.”
Tobimar nodded, and seemed about to answer, then glanced out the window and started. “By the Seven . . . I think I’m starting to see some light out there. We need to go. There’s still so much for us to talk about, and decisions to make . . . but not here, I think.”
“No,” Xavier said, “being caught in the mansion of a recently murdered guy doesn’t sound like a good idea to me.”
Kyri looked out, saw that the window did not reflect pure black, but had hints of shapes of the outdoors in it now. “You’re right, Tobimar, Xavier. Poplock?”
The little Toad bounced down the stairs, stuffing some last little object into his neverfull pack. “I think I’ve got most of the stuff that’s safe to take, valuable, and not traceable. I could set some of my flares—”
“No,” Kyri said.
Tobimar nodded. “Of course, it’s your right to—”
“I mean, no, we’re not going to torch the mansion,” she said slowly.
The other two goggled at her; a part of her almost laughed, because for a moment Tobimar looked nearly as pop-eyed as his Toad companion. “What?”
“I think we have a perfect opportunity here, but we have to leave the evidence for what Thornfalcon was in order for it to work.”
Poplock frowned. “You mean I have to put everything back?” His distress was so comically exaggerated that Xavier failed to repress a snort of laughter.
She shook her head, and did smile. “No. We already argued that, and it’s true that he had no heirs except the Justiciars. Since I’m the one true Justiciar, that makes it mine to give away . . . especially,” and she was no longer smiling, “since he admitted to planning the deaths of my family, and did kill my brother . . . and with his monsters, a lot of other people in Evanwyl, too. Blood-debt, now paid. You didn’t take anything of the evidence, and that’s all that matters.”
“Oh,” said Xavier. “I get you. You’re going to try the straight-ahead move.”
Tobimar was looking at her speculatively, those brilliant blue eyes showing the beginnings of understanding. “You’ll be taking a drought-damned risk, if you want to do what I think.”
“Maybe . . . maybe not as much as you think,” she answered, and felt hope rising. “Thornfalcon was bad through and through, and I suppose Bolthawk and Skyharrier might be too. But I know that wasn’t true of Mist Owl and Shrike,” and I’m sure it’s not true of Condor, please let it not be true, “and even Thornfalcon was shocked to find out it was me. I can’t keep that secret forever anyway; part of the reason it’s worked at all is that they know where I went and why, and it would be almost impossible for me to be here again.”
“Oh, oh, I think I see where you’re hopping,” Poplock said. “Might work. If we can do it right.”
“It relies on what they already know—and what we know,” Kyri said. “And on what I’m betting that innkeeper, Vlay, would have done after you left.”
She could see Tobimar’s brows lower, then raise in comprehension. “That look . . . he knew about Thornfalcon!”
“Makes sense,” Xavier said.
“And if he knew that, he had to be one of their agents. Once he suspected what was going on, he’d have used one of the village messengers, sent someone straight to Evanwyl—the city—the man you saw, Xavier, and going probably to the Watchland, maybe to the Temple where the Justiciars would be sure to check in. He couldn’t send anything to Justiciar’s Retreat, that’s not accessible if you aren’t one of them, but the Watchland and the Temple would cover pretty much any chances.”
Tobimar suddenly grinned. “And we can use that—and me—against them!” The grin grew sharper. “And with Xavier as a reserve.”
“Something they’ll never see coming,” he said, with an answering grin.
The smiles, and the sudden certainty that they were right, wiped away the exhaustion. “Yes,” she said, returning the smile, “I think we can. Because we have one other ally . . .”
52
Tobimar strode out of the forest, holding tightly to the ropes. A quick glance showed that Poplock was in place on his prisoner’s shoulder, his slender but deadly blade resting against her neck. A glance ahead showed the main street. “You really do know your way around,” he murmured. “We’re practically at the Temple of the Balanced Sword.” He had to trust Xavier was in his correct location, but that wasn’t much of a worry; the native of Earth had proven his abilities to follow and stick with a plan—and improvise when the plan failed—enough in their journeys together. I can trust him to do his part—or do nothing, if he’s not needed, so he stays a secret.
A shadow of a smile was just visible under the great beaked helm. Otherwise Kyri gave no sign of hearing, or of even being capable of much other than staggering along as she was pulled. Bindings tied her arms securely behind her back and wrapped around front; another line was connected to her legs in such a manner as to allow Tobimar to practically hobble her at need.
However, the blood streaking her armor, especially on the legs, showed that there probably was no need. She was limping and her shambling gait was that of a prisoner at the very edge of endurance and pain.
Tobimar knew he didn’t look much better, with a cut on his cheek, blood on his clothes, dirt and sweat smeared across his face, in his hair, and other parts of clothing tattered and ripped. We cleaned up, then we had to mess ourselves up again. And we still need to be ready to run as though the Hells themselves were on our trail, if this doesn’t work. Eating and the short rest they’d had during their talk had given him some reserves back, but they were all a long way from their best condition. But if this plan was going to work at all, they had to do it now.
Looking forward caused him to slow his pace for a moment. There was a crowd up ahead, dozens of people gathered in front of the Temple of the Balanced Sword. After a moment, though, he moved forward again. I think this is just what we were looking for.
In front of th
e crowd, seated on a beautiful gold and white feathered Sithigorn, was a silver and green armored figure with gold-blond hair. “The Watchland,” Kyri whispered.
The Watchland was addressing the crowd. “. . . will ride with as many of you are ready. Whatever we fear may have happened . . . will have happened, or not, long before we can arrive.” As Tobimar got closer, he recognized two more elaborately armored figures: Bolthawk and Skyharrier. No sign of Condor.
Kyri was obviously puzzled . . . yet just as clearly relieved. “I did not want to fight Condor,” she murmured. “I don’t know why he isn’t here now . . . but I am glad.”
“So am I,” Poplock said in Tobimar’s ear. “One Justiciar just about whipped us all. Three would be entirely too much of a bad thing.”
Tobimar made a gesture for them to both be quiet. Have to time this correctly . . . I think it’s time to move.
“So,” the Watchland continued, “we will move with haste and decision, but not rashly. We have . . .”
He trailed off, head raised to look down the road and staring in their direction.
The rest of the crowd turned to look, and a murmur began. Tobimar saw Skyharrier stiffen, then begin to move forward.
Tobimar ignored them, proceeded towards the steps of the Temple of the Balanced Sword. As he did so, the doors opened, Arbiter Kelsley emerging . . . and then stepping back in shock, nearly falling despite the cane on which he walked. “Adventurer Silverun . . . have you . . . is this . . . ?”
“You asked that I find the one responsible for Mist Owl’s death,” Tobimar said, entering, hearing the rustle and murmur behind him as the crowd began to follow—and the sharper, ringing sound of two pairs of armored boots, not quite running but moving quickly indeed. Another pair of heavier, armored steps right behind them—that must be the Watchland.
About as good as we could hope . . . as long as Kyri’s right about Kelsley. “You asked I do this, and so I have done. Before you is the slayer of Mist Owl and Shrike and—as of this past evening—Thornfalcon.”
