Phoenix in Shadow
Page 32
Hiriista stuck his head out and looked. “Something of a gamble, yes . . . but it has the virtue of keeping us mostly out of sight from the ground except from a small number of angles. And not many are using that bridge this time of day.”
“Shame we can’t all jump like you can,” Tobimar said, squinting at the bridgeway. “It’d be easy then.”
Kyri joined them and studied the suggested approach. “Yes, but I think we can do it. I like it, that will keep us out of the crowds in the streets for most of our escape.”
“Where to after we escape, then?” Hiriista asked reasonably, settling his pack onto his shoulders.
“Play it as it goes,” Tobimar said immediately. “We don’t know how they’re going to respond, and that response will probably decide us.”
“All right, then, let’s go.”
Poplock scrambled onto Tobimar’s shoulder and gripped tight. The Skysand Prince was the first out, edging his way carefully along the sill, then looking up to the ornamental fringing above. “Good thing this tower’s made to look so pretty; there’s a lot of handholds.”
“Hurry up!” Kyri whispered behind them. “If someone looks even a little bit up—”
“I know!” Tobimar took a breath and then leaped upwards. His lean, dark fingers caught solidly on the scalloped ridge, and he was able to shuffle his hands sideways until he reached the rising curve and could pull himself up. He crouched down as low as possible, waiting for the others.
Kyri followed almost immediately, and—after a short pause—Hiriista. “What took you so long?” Poplock muttered to the mazakh.
“Making sure the window latched on the inside,” Hiriista said with a spineridge-rippling equivalent of a chuckle. “If they don’t realize we’ve already left, that should give them some confusion.”
“All right, everyone ready?” Tobimar’s eyes closed, and Poplock recognized his friend getting into one of his Tor “centers.” “This is going to be the hard part. That’s a pretty long jump, and if we miss it’s a thirty-five foot drop. Not fun for anyone.”
“Definitely not fun,” agreed Hiriista. “But I feel an even greater sense of urgency right now. Let us be off.”
Tobimar rose a bit from his crouch and rocked on his feet; at Poplock’s inquiring glance, he said “Testing how well my boots are gripping on this surface.”
Then he backed up as far down the curved ridge as possible, looked carefully at the suspended portion of the bridge—which looked a lot farther away now than Poplock had thought when they started—and then burst into motion.
It was a matter of a mere nine steps and a leap, but for Poplock the whole operation seemed to take about twenty times as long as it should have. Tobimar launched himself into space, and they crawled through the air, first rising, then beginning to descend, long before they had reached the bridgeway, dropping farther—we’re not going to make it!!
But then Tobimar’s hands lashed out and caught the silvery stone of the bridgeway; his body curled under and then flipped up and around, and with a single vertigo-inducing spin Poplock found himself sitting comfortably on Tobimar’s shoulder on the wide, smooth stone of the floating bridge. Though it was apparently completely unsupported, the stone of the bridgeway felt as solid and stable as the paving-stones below had. Amazing magical technique, there.
Kyri’s immense strength and much longer frame let her clear the distance more easily; she landed on the edge of the bridgeway feet-first, rolling forward and coming up easily.
Hiriista’s jump was much more that of a lizard—a spring-loaded leap forward, arms outstretched, landing on the platform crouched like a cat and slowly straightening to his full height. He nodded to them. “Let us complete our departure, shall we?”
The three full-sized adventurers sprinted along the floating bridgeway. We’re making great time here, Poplock thought. No need to follow the turns and such of the roads, we’re going right over their heads and their buildings. “What about the building this one ends at?”
“Take a closer look,” Tobimar answered cheerfully. “See? There’s a spiral stair around the outside to let people get from ground level to the bridgeway without having to go through the building.”
They had already crested the high point of the bridgeway and were on their way down. Still there was no one else on the bridgeway with them, and Poplock’s occasional glances down through brief separations between sections of the bridgeway didn’t seem to indicate anyone had noticed them yet.
“We just might make it out of the city without anyone realizing it,” Tobimar said as they approached the slender building which lay at the end of the bridgeway; twin spirals of stairs dropped away on either side. The three runners barely slacked their pace as they reached the stairs.
“Let’s hope so,” Kyri said, only starting to breathe a little faster with the effort. “I don’t want any fights where anyone else can get hurt. Ideally I don’t want any at all.”
The stairs streamed past below Poplock, and he kept an eye out in front. Within minutes they were off the steps and into the streets—only a couple of hundred yards from the entrance to Sha Kaizatenzei Valatar. In the slowly setting sun, Poplock could see that there were still quite a few people on the road, and that forced the group to slow. Trying to run through the crowd would definitely get us a lot of attention.
A hundred and fifty yards to go, and they were moving forwards easily; occasionally one of the people on the street would recognize one or more of them, but that just resulted in a nod or wave.
Then Poplock felt his own grip spasm on Tobimar’s shoulder, even as the crowd separated slightly to reveal, dead ahead of them, Shade Danrall of Sha Murnitenzei.
“Sand,” cursed Tobimar. They were too close to evade or pretend they hadn’t seen him. Just have to act perfectly natural.
“Danrall!” Kyri said cheerfully. Poplock had to admire how casual the greeting sounded; there wasn’t a trace of the tension they all had to be feeling. “How are you? I didn’t expect to see you here!”
Danrall’s long, innocent face lit up. “Phoenix! Tobimar! And Magewright, what an honor!” He turned to Phoenix. “Yes, most of us have been summoned for a banquet in your honor; I am just arriving!”
“Well, then, we’ll see you there in a little while!” Kyri said.
And in a single instant, something about Danrall changed. Poplock knew that if he were asked, he couldn’t have touched tongue to the exact change, but he could see it clearly as anything. There was no obvious change in his expression, or posture, or tone, but somehow all of them were just different enough to send a screaming warning through the little Toad.
“Are you not going to the Tower now?” he asked; somehow he was still in front of them, rather than being passed.
“No, we’ll be there in a little bit. Just taking one more walk before the sun sets.”
“I think we should all go together,” Danrall said. “After all, we should all get into our finest, and I am sure that takes time for you as much as it does for me.” He bowed, but Poplock felt there was something . . . sinister . . . in that bow. “I would gladly escort you back.”
“Thank you for the thought,” Tobimar said, “but we’d just like to complete our walk and we’ll head back on our own.”
Danrall paused for a moment then, and the three of them began to walk past.
Then he turned, and with a shock of fear, Poplock saw a dark green glow behind his eyes.
“Return to the Valatar Tower,” Danrall said, but the voice was no longer his, but a voice of flat, cold iron, as though a statue were speaking. “I’m afraid I must insist.”
“We must insist,” repeated other voices from every direction.
Surrounding them, scattered through the crowd, were others—Shades, Hues, even one Color—and each and every face was inhumanly calm, flat, and implacable.
“We must insist,” they repeated, and moved forward as one. “Return to the Valatar Tower.”
CHAPTER 42
Tobimar’s twin-blades were also out. Hiriista gestured, and shimmering pearlescent light rose from a bracelet, became a whirlwind that surrounded them and pushed back their opponents for a few precious moments.
“Keep going towards the gate!” Poplock said. “Gotta bull our way through!”
“Capture them alive,” Danrall said, getting to his feet. “They must not be killed. This directive is absolute!”
Well, that’s one edge we have. If we can take it. “That means they can’t take too many risks when fighting us!”
“And we don’t have to be that restrained. Hate to do this, but . . .” Poplock muttered a few cryptic phrases and gestured; a streak of flame zipped from his tiny paw and detonated in the midst of the Guardsmen surrounding them. “Go, go!”
The blast had opened up a narrow passage, and the three larger people sprinted down it, the fourth tiny one still clinging to Tobimar’s shoulder. “I thought you couldn’t cast regular magic here!” she said, cutting with her sword at one Unity Guard who was already trying to close the gap.
“Can’t do it much, too hard,” Poplock said, and fired one of his incendiary bolts at another target.
“I was going to say that I wished you hadn’t chosen a killing strike,” Hiriista said dryly, “but it appears that you didn’t.”
Even those who had been in the center of the momentary inferno were rising, cloth scorched or completely turned to ash but otherwise showing little sign of having been struck with flame intense enough to have left its mark on the stone. “Myrionar’s Balance, how—?”
“Surrender,” Danrall said, and to her shock he was now ahead of them again. “We are to capture you, not kill you. Surrender!”
The wrongness of him screamed out at her, even more grotesquely evident in the surrounding perfection of Kaizatenzei Valatar; gritting her teeth, Kyri leveled a full-strength swing at Shade Danrall.
The great sword of the Phoenix, creation of the Spiritsmith, sheared straight through Danrall’s own blade as though it were the merest twig and bit deep into the armor and through: three, four inches into the left shoulder beneath. It was not necessarily a mortal blow, but an agonizingly crippling one that would leave the injured man unable to fight for weeks or until he was healed.
Except that Danrall only winced, then tossed aside the useless stump of his sword and drew twin daggers—his left hand and arm moving almost as smoothly as if she had not struck him at all!
“Terian’s Light! What in the name . . . ?”
The other figures were moving faster, and an appalled Kyri realized that they were faster than either she or Tobimar—at least, without calling upon Myrionar’s power for the speed to match them. And that would take time—
A tremendous impact struck her from behind. Her sword fell from her hand. She heard a shout, then a curse from Tobimar; his swords rang out like bells as she staggered, then found her arms caught by two of the Guard. She struggled, realized these people were extraordinarily strong as well; perhaps not as strong as she, but far more than she had expected. By the time she recognized her peril, both her arms had been forced behind her.
Hiriista gave a shriek of agony and she heard a heavy body thud to the ground. A darting, moving streak of brown was abruptly halted by a small net hurled with devastating accuracy. She was yanked around and thrown to the pavement, unable to twist out of the inhumanly powerful grasp of multiple Unity Guards.
With a tremendous effort she heaved herself half upright, shaking off the grasping hands through sheer Vantage strength. Picking up her sword, she spun from ground level, legs either scything down her attackers or forcing them to jump clear, and rolled to her feet.
She saw Tobimar’s dumbfounded expression as one of his attackers completely ignored being impaled through the gut by one of the green-blue glittering swords, and then he fell to his knees as one of them struck him down from behind.
“Tobimar!” she shouted, and tried to lunge forward, but more hands caught her, a mace smashed her on the shoulder and momentarily numbed her arm, and as she staggered, one of them expertly took out her legs with a sweep and others seized her.
She was hammered to the ground twice to stun her, Flamewing was wrenched from her grasp (burning the one who did so, but even that seemed to only slightly bother him) and with two Unity Guards on each leg and one on each arm, they began to immobilize her. She struggled as much as she could, but it was useless. In minutes, she had been bound tightly with at least three different ropes; Tobimar, staggering groggily, was also tied up securely, as was Hiriista. Poplock appeared to have been wrapped in tight packaging material. Not taking chances on him moving or going anywhere.
Danrall gestured, and the Guards hauled her to her feet. Without so much as a word, they were unceremoniously dragged towards the Tower.
“Danrall! Danrall!” she shouted. Get his attention! Stall! Do something!
But Danrall utterly ignored her.
“Useless,” Hiriista muttered. “The compulsion is complete. I do not know if they even know who they are.”
“I’m not sure I know what they are,” Tobimar said painfully. “I ran one of them through—”
“I saw. I cut Danrall deep through the shoulder; he’s barely even bound the wound, and there’s hardly any blood.”
“Healing armor, maybe. Wound-sealing wards. And they’re fast.” Poplock said. “Couldn’t you guys keep up?”
“It takes time to do that,” Tobimar said. “I have to at least get a breathing space to focus, unlock the potential. By the time I could have done it, they had me trussed.”
Kyri noticed that their captors weren’t even bothering to try to keep them quiet. It’s as though there’s nothing we can do that even matters. The thought was absolutely chilling. “And with that power damping even my ability to draw on Myrionar, I need time and focus also.”
The crowds parted before the Unity Guards—and Kyri now saw they’d been joined by others. By the Balance, even if we could get free it wouldn’t do us much good now. There’s twenty-five of them surrounding us.
“What is far worse is that they attacked us—honored guests and at least minor heroes, and the two of you unique visitors—quite openly,” Hiriista said grimly. “This means they anticipate little need to continue their masquerade. Their preparations must indeed be complete.”
“We were right to try to run,” Kyri said. “We just didn’t run fast enough and early enough.”
The procession reached the entrance to the Tower and continued inside, straight through the doors; others of the Guards including Tanvol and Anora joined them. After a few more minutes they ascended a set of stairs and reached a huge set of double doors.
“Ah, we’re attending the Grand Banquet as scheduled,” remarked Hiriista. “This is the Grand Dining Hall.”
As the doors opened and they passed through, Kyri felt herself go very cold all through. Poplock simply commented, “Not exactly what I was expecting in a dining hall.”
The immense room was, Kyri realized, at the very center of the Valatar Tower, part of the original tower that held the Sun of Terian. Carved into the floor and surrounded by complex, precise designs, outlined by burning lamps and glowing gems, was a ritual circle—although to call it a mere circle was trivializing what was both a work of art and of dark genius.
“Blackwart’s Chosen,” she heard Poplock mutter as they got closer. “That’s not good at all.”
Standing in the center were three figures: Lady Shae, towering over the other two, wearing a simple dark robe that contrasted starkly with her usual subtly complex choice of dress; Master Wieran, gazing co
ldly at them as they were dragged into the circle; and Miri, still in her blue-green-crystal armor. For a moment Miri’s eyes met hers, and Kyri was startled to see no triumph or malice, but wide blue pools of horror and sympathy.
“I am so disappointed in you,” Lady Shae said, and even her voice was different; the timbre was deeper, the cadence sharper, the tone arrogant and weary at the same time. “Here we had prepared everything for you and you try to leave at the last minute.”
In the center of the circle was a raised, eight-sided dais, deeply carved with complex symbology dominated by an eight-pointed star. And suspended over the very center of that dais . . .
“What are you doing with the Sun?” demanded Tobimar.
Shae laughed. “What are we doing with it? Nothing . . . yet. That is where you are going to be most useful, Tobimar Silverun, Seventh of Seven.” She turned to those holding him. “Strip him of his armor and weapons.”
Oh no.
“Oh, yes, we know who you are, Tobimar Silverun,” she said, even as the Unity Guard complied with her instructions. “It was, indeed, fortunate that you and your allies were able to dispose of Misuuma and her people rather than the other way around, because you have a far greater purpose to serve in death.”
“That’s what happened to the Stars,” Poplock said slowly, unbelievingly. “You broke them. But you couldn’t just get rid of all the essence of the god, which is why—”
“It is far more accurate,” Master Wieran said, gesturing to those holding the now nearly-naked Tobimar to place him on the dais in a particular location, “to say that they used the Stars, but that there were particular waste products which contaminated the area. This process will be much less wasteful.”
“By the Light,” Hiriista breathed. “You mean to steal the power of this god Terian directly.”
“Exactly so,” Shae said with a grin—a smile that revealed teeth far sharper than they had been. “Steal the power without its corruptive essence.”