by Ron Collins
Her hold on Amanda broke, but the planewalker stunned the boy so that he hung there, suspended in mid-space, spinning away in silence, arms and legs trailing away into nothingness.
Garrick cried out and raced toward them, lobbing great handfuls of energy at her. Three lords died in his attack, but Leaxis shied away and survived.
She let go of Will, though.
Garrick poured himself into the boy, and was encouraged when his life force surged. It felt like summer, he thought. Will’s essence felt like summer. The boy was pure of heart. He would have grown to a good man if Garrick had not conspired with the planewalkers to destroy his future.
There was no time to dwell, though. The lords pressed in on him, their combined presence like a net closing over him. He pressed against that curtain and felt the lack of trust at its seams.
That was it.
The planewalkers held no love for each other. They could not trust. At their core, they lived lives of fear. They wanted only control, only power. And since ultimate power corrupts, they would never be able to give trust.
But they were like insects, too.
Or, to use Braxidane’s more apt analogy, they planewalkers were weeds, simple shells for power, conduits that could lie fallow for centuries, for millennia, for eons, and still would come back as soon as the energy of Existence were to filter through them. He felt this in the planewalker life force that he held inside his body. The foundation of a planewalker was undying, and as Braxidane had once suggested of a plane, they would always come back.
Unless.
Garrick gave a grim expression as he cast magic.
Unless they were truly obliterated.
Unless every trace of them was removed from the world as one, single, whole.
“Amanda!” Garrick called as he threw more energy at the council “Recover Will! Protect him!”
Amanda moved toward the boy, and Garrick turned back to the battle.
He saw devastation.
And he saw, also, the truth of the struggle. The supply of planewalkers seemed endless, but his champions were not. They were dying, and would not last much longer, no matter how you counted time.
His champions were going to be destroyed.
He pushed himself throughout All of Existence then. The movement was instinctive and simple. He spread himself into a vaporous energy that filled the full extent of everywhere at once.
“Run,” he flashed at the champions. “Take to your planes!”
And they did.
He covered their retreats, spreading himself farther. He grasped for anything he could touch, and dragged himself further into every open space throughout All of Existence. He reached into dimensions to set gates. He pulled energy from Talin, and drank directly from Existence itself, mixing it all with power that came from his own life force. He was the air. He was the smoke that filled every space in that air. Time bent. Infinite existence came as a vision that was crystalline and clear. Land collapsed below him. He felt Amanda and Will. He felt planewalkers and nodes. The champions were retreating, and the essence of the dead swirled in the reaches of this many-space. A siren called from a place he could not determine. A low rumble filled the void.
Did he exist anymore?
Did he have a body?
Yes. No. He had no words for this existence. No framework for this consciousness. All he knew was that he was there. Ubiquitous. And that he was ready.
Leaxis cast a flame into the framework of his node then.
Garrick latched onto it.
He clenched every part of himself, grabbed every planewalker he came into contact with and pulled them tight against him. He condensed, and a vacuum throughout All of Existence ripped into the very essence of each of them. He swallowed it all into himself. Power crammed into his gates, crushing them, stretching them, rending them.
He wrapped himself tightly around the Lord Council.
The planewalker’s fire flared bright. She screamed, but her voice was drowned by a rasping torrent of power that collapsed into itself faster than Garrick could control. Space drew down, condensing, compressing into heat and energy.
There was an explosion.
A thousand bitter-sharp knives bore into him.
His brain collapsed. Gates tore and crumbled like the wall around Dorfort. Was this his mind cracking? Was it his body? Pain centered on a single point. Exquisite pain. Intense pain. Pain that drew into a scream that echoed throughout all of Existence.
Then it was done, and there was nothing but a dark and solid silence.
Chapter 17
Zutrian Esta was reviewing supply plans with his counselors when his link to the plane of magic returned. It came with such a jolt that he nearly dropped the parchment he had been reading.
The others felt it, too.
The link was fresh and pure. It filled his senses with joyous excitement.
He set a gate and cast a faint breeze over the page before him, smiling as the force cooled his skin and the page turned to a new table of figures.
He looked into the beaming faces of his compatriots.
“Does this mean what I think it does?” said Haffee.
“Yes.” It was Cara who replied. “The link has returned, just as I expected it would.”
Zutrian nodded.
The scars that crossed Cara’s face and neck spoke for her understanding of how things could work throughout the planes, and she had been the strongest voice on his panel. She had argued long that the power would return. She said she understood the creatures who controlled magic, and that they would not withhold it for long.
Zutrian demurred to her in this case because he agreed with her. He had dealt with powerful entities across planes before. They understood business did not work well when lines of commerce were cut.
But inside, Zutrian admitted he was relieved. He had not been as sure of himself as he let on, and this event meant he could relax. It meant their advantage was real.
He turned to Cara.
“You were right to take such a position, Cara, and I think it is time you step further into a role that guides this order. If you would, please go gather the council together for a session this evening. It is time to launch our attack on Dorfort, and I would like you to lead it.”
She did a poor job of fighting a grin.
“I would be honored to take such a role, High Superior.”
“Then go gather the order. We must ride soon.”
Existence
“Gather them up,” a champion said to Amanda.
Amanda started. She had been in a fog of thought.
The champion was female, dressed in black armor and carrying a mace that glowed with a muted flare.
“What?” Amanda finally managed to reply.
“We are returning to our planes,” another champion replied—a male this time, a man with pale orange skin and who was slight of bearing. He had multiple eye sockets ringing the half circle around the ridge of his forehead. “You need to take Garrick and your other partner to your plane.”
Amanda nodded, comprehension finally coming together.
The battle was done. The champions had returned to the space that was All of Existence now. The planewalkers were gone, defeated somehow. In their place was a small pebble, or a marble, spinning madly in a tight circle. If felt massively dense, though, somehow huge despite its size. Looking at it gave Amanda a strange sense of vertigo.
The champion who spoke to her was named Fei-ahn, and had fought closely by Garrick.
Amanda saw Garrick then, prone and floating in the void, his arms and legs extended in graceful repose. He did not seem to breathe, but she felt stirring inside him. Was he alive?
What had he done?
And she saw Will, also floating in multi-space, still shocked and dazed, but clearly trying to pull himself together, muttering incoherent phrases that she had no way to understand. Neither of them had a protective shell of mage stuff—which did not surprise her in Garrick’s case, but made her pause for t
he boy, though in her state of confusion she could not say why that would bother her.
She put her hand to her head and steadied herself.
“Does Garrick still live?” she asked.
“I do not know,” the woman replied. “But he deserves to return to the plane of his home.”
“I don’t know what he considers home,” Amanda replied.
The faces of the champions still around her took on expressions that varied from frowns to scowls to knowing grins. “We understand,” Fei-ahn said. “Are you able to take him to Adruin, though?” the woman asked. “We think he would want to be there.”
“Yes,” she replied. “I can do that.”
Her body shook as she collected both Will and Garrick to her. It felt as if she might break something each time she moved, but she brought both of them into her shell and moved through the flow of Existence until she came to Adruin’s gate.
“If he lives, tell Garrick we will tell his tale on Gostück,” the dark-clad woman said. “And that I’m sure others will do the same.”
“I will,” she mumbled as she peered back into the dark beauty of Existence.
It was the first time, and possibly the last, that she would be able to look at it. She took it in like a surveyor would. It was a vast ocean of emptiness, of darkness made of pure scents and tastes and other senses she could not describe. There was still energy here. Still power. It curled in on itself, billowing in waves and stray rays of light. It was like the night sky, she thought, only deeper.
She felt hope, then.
She felt opportunity.
Existence was strong, she thought.
Existence was bold, and warm, and chilling. Other words came to her, too. Powerful. Breathtaking. Delicate.
Dangerous.
Before coming here, Amanda had thought she was strong. She thought she knew what she was doing, and why she was doing it. She thought she had understood what life was about. She had been through battle, after all. She had seen leaders like Darien and Reynard and Garrick, and she had seen the ways power would corrupt a person. She considered herself a good person, wise for her years.
Yet, as she took in the depths of Existence, she felt an overwhelming sense of awe that very nearly brought her to her knees.
This was why life is so bitterly beautiful.
“I will tell him of your tales,” she said to Fei-ahn.
Then Amanda did as the remaining champions did. She pulled Garrick and Will with her as she slipped into the gate that led back to her own world.
Chapter 18
Darien cursed. He was tired and his head hurt. Mostly, though, he wanted to reach out and throttle someone, but there was no one here to throttle. He looked at the map where he had outlined the coming battle.
He had three mages.
That was it. Once it became understood that Amanda, too, had left Dorfort, the rest of the Freeborn had scattered to the winds. And he had retained the three only by promising them a thief’s ransom.
Not that it would matter.
The Lectodinians would bring thousands of men and cartloads of mages. He could slow them as they came from the East Mists without sustaining great losses, but the terrain from there to the rivers was too flat to support the ambushes he would need, and with only three mages to fall back on he couldn’t plan any surprises there.
That left only the surrounding woodlands in which to set traps, all of which had now been built. But they were a poor shield for a city that still had no wall.
This was Garrick’s fault.
He clenched his fist and pressed it against his temple as he went to the window to breathe fresh air. It would not be long before Zutrian Esta’s forces would arrive. The end was clear. He thought of his father and his brother, both of whom had spent their lives in the service of this city. He leaned against the window sill and looked down.
A commotion brewed in the manor yard.
People gathered, their voices rose in general unrest that set him on edge. One man dragged his son away, and pointed toward the government center. The boy sprinted across the yard, holding his hat to his head as he came to the guard outside.
The only word Darien heard was his own name.
The boy had asked for him.
He sighed and straightened, doing his best to ignore the wave of fatigue that washed over him. His hand went to his father’s sword, which he now kept at his side at all times. Boot steps came from the corridor, then a knock at the door. He glanced a last time at the crowd of people and saw a face he recognized.
Amanda.
“Commander J’ravi?” the voice echoed.
“Enter,” he said, turning.
The boy was there, hat in hand. The guard stood beside him.
“Sorry to interrupt, Commander,” the guard said.
“It’s Garrick, sir,” the boy said. “He has returned.”
Darien’s heart jumped, but something in the boy’s face darkened his excitement.
“What is wrong?”
“He’s injured, sir. My pa says …”
But Darien had already stepped past the boy and into the hallway.
“Bring an apothecary,” he told the guard as he raced from the chamber.
His boot heels sank into the grassy soil as he ran across the manor. Amanda was kneeling over Garrick’s prone form. The god-touched mage was pale and gaunt, his hair matted into oily chunks, his skin drawn tight over his sharp cheekbones and his bloodless lips.
Will, too, was there, lying on his side and murmuring.
“Darien,” Amanda said, rising.
“Bring a pallet,” Darien barked at a member of the guard who had come near. “What happened?” he asked Amanda.
“I …” she gazed around the gathering. “Perhaps we could discuss this once we get Garrick and the boy settled.”
Darien nodded.
A detail of the guard appeared, the apothecary running right behind with a cart of the phials and ceramic bowls of his administrations clattering in the afternoon air.
“I’m sorry to see you again so soon, Commander,” the apothecary said, obviously referring to Darien’s father.
“Me, too,” Darien replied. “Get him to a comfortable place.”
A short while later, with Garrick comfortably resting but still unresponsive, Amanda and Darien retired to his war room. He offered food and drink, which Amanda partook of. Will came with her, still sullen and dazed, but recovering and apparently unwilling to be left out of the conversation. He did not eat. He did not speak. He did not react as the captains and other staff milled about the room attending to their duties.
Darien looked at Will as he took a seat beside the map table.
“Are you sure he’s all right?”
Amanda nodded. “I hope so. But I want him near me now, and, regardless, he deserves to hear this.”
Darien raised his eyebrow, but said nothing more on the subject.
“You can see my problem,” he indicated the map, which showed the overwhelming numbers the Lectodinians would bring.
“I don’t need to see the map to understand your problem,” Amanda said. “I know the mages are coming.”
“True enough, but this map is useful because it helps one see that my biggest issue is getting the Torean Freeborn to hold up their end of our bargain.”
“How many remain?”
Darien snuffed, and pulled at his tunic.
“We have three mages. Four, counting you.”
“Then you have three mages.”
Darien looked at Amanda. Something was different about her now. There was a new depth to her gaze that he had not seen before.
“You see this, don’t you,” she said. “How ridiculous this is? Somewhere in there, you see that it doesn’t matter how many mages you have. And it doesn’t matter how many mages the Lectodinians have. All you’re going to do either way is to kill a lot of people and destroy a collection of families.”
“Tell that to the Lectodinians.”
> “Someone should.”
“Good luck with that.”
Amanda smiled in a failed attempt to cut tension.
“What has happened to you?” Darien asked.
She set her lips and looked as if she was trying to find words. Her expression made him angry. It said he was deficient. It said he couldn’t possibly understand what she was thinking.
“We are our own worst enemy, Darien,” she said, her voice trailing away. “Just as the planewalkers were their own worst enemy. Do you see that?”
“I see that mages from the north will destroy the Dorfort in less than a week if the Toreans won’t help. I see death and devastation.”
“Death and devastation are coming either way. The world is too vast for drawing these kinds of lines. They are just mages, Darien. They must need something. How can we justify losing half our forces defending a piece of dirt when we don’t even know what the Lectodinians actually want? How many of the Lectodinian mages who are in the attack force, for example, actually think they are doings right by rolling over the land? How many are here only because their leaders are driving them? How many are blindly following? How many would prefer instead to find other ways? How many would be willing to die for the Lectodinian order if they knew who we were, or what the future might actually look like? It’s not like Zutrian Esta himself is storming our broken gate now, is it? What would it take for him to put his own life on the line?”
“Fine,” Darien growled. “I understand.”
“What do you understand?”
“I understand you are enjoying a little thought game, and I understand you would see us all murdered before you would lift a finger to help.”
“Then you don’t see well at all.”
Amanda came to stand before him.
“You are a good man, Darien. But you are misguided. You draw your boundaries in whatever way makes you most comfortable. You see nothing beyond what you will see, and you are too stubborn to change.”
Darien gritted his teeth. “Perhaps that is true, but our city lives on because of men like me. Backing away from such a threat as the Lectodinians, as you would have me do, puts every life in Dorfort at risk.”
