Future Sight

by John Delaney

  Leshrac drew closer, increasing his own size until he was Bolas’s equal. “Father of Dragons,” he said. He bowed but kept his eyes locked on the new arrival. “We meet at last.”

  Nicol Bolas lashed the air with his sharp tongue. His tail curled and whipped behind him. His yellow eyes narrowed, but he snorted a half chuckle through his long muzzle.

  “Walker of the Night,” he said, “I shall assume that your presence is no coincidence.”

  “Hardly, O Bolas. I have come a great distance and taken great troubles to meet you here. We have been waiting most expectantly.”

  “We? Oh, I see.” He nodded toward Jeska, who was floating motionless behind Leshrac. “You’ve come out in force, have you?” Bolas looked past Leshrac and Jeska to the cliffs above the shore. “Curious,” he said. “What are you doing with my Keldon?”

  “Your Keldon? I was not aware you had a claim on her.”

  “Of course I do. She was in a position to do me a service,” the dragon said. “She provided that service not long ago, on this very shore. Willingly or not, she served me. She is mine.”

  “I meant no offense,” Leshrac said. “Let me make amends: If my servant doesn’t kill yours, you may have her. After we are through, of course.”

  Bolas grinned hungrily. “Dictating terms, Leshrac? You’ve grown far bolder during your long absence.”

  “ ‘Bold’ is too small a word,” Leshrac said. “I prefer ‘audacious.’ ”

  “I’ve filled several graveyards with audacious beings. One more is hardly a bother.”

  “You would kill me so carelessly, Dragon? We are among the last of the great planeswalkers. Our contest should be as grand as our stature.”

  “Grand it shall be. Your defeat will be as glorious as possible.”

  “My thanks for that. Sadly, I cannot make the same promise. I am going to strip you of your power, Nicol Bolas, and then Jeska is going to kill you.”

  “Oh?” The huge reptilian eyes glittered. “And why would this pale shadow of Karona try to kill me?”

  “Because I shall tell her to.”

  “You may not get the chance,” Bolas said. “You have blundered badly, Leshrac. I am eternal, endless. I cannot be defeated. I saw this world born, and I will see it die. I am the last of the elder dragons, the only one who endured, as the only beings I’ve ever acknowledged as peers turned and destroyed each other. I returned from the edge of death itself more powerful than ever. Gods cannot kill me. Planeswalkers cannot kill me.”

  “But mortals can,” Leshrac said. The spikes along the dragon’s spine straightened, and Bolas growled darkly. “That’s who sent you to the edge of death in the first place, wasn’t it? One of your own minions, a servant who forgot his place.”

  Bolas tightened his jaw and spoke in strained, angry tones. “If you knew the price that cursed servant and his ilk have paid for that victory,” he said, “you would not be so merry.”

  “I meant no offense,” Leshrac said. “I only wanted to be sporting. You see, I intend to follow the example of that cursed servant. I will rely on my sound strategy and your own overconfidence. I know you, O Bolas, but you’ve never seen the likes of me before. That I will destroy you is a given. How badly I humiliate you in the process remains to be seen.” He leered. “My hopes are high.”

  “Then let us begin,” Bolas said. “I think we’re both eager to see how well your hopes are realized.”

  “A formal duel, then? In accordance with our stature?”

  “Indeed. As a courtesy to you and in keeping with the exalted nature of this contest, I shall observe the proper decorum.” He flapped his massive wings and spiraled high over the shore. “Leshrac, Walker of the Night. I challenge you to a duel.”

  “I accept, Nicol Bolas, Father of Dragons. And now that we are formally declared…” He opened his hand, revealing the now-miniscule porcelain mask hovering over his palm. “Behold, the face of Night’s Reach.” He watched as Bolas’s ears flattened and heard the dragon’s angry hiss. “You are familiar with the spirit in question?”

  “Quite.”

  “I used this token to strip Jeska of her most potent weapon. As Phage, she could kill with a single touch. Her caress corrupted flesh and sent it dripping off the bone.”

  “Most impressive.”

  “Much as your touch shatters the mind and sends all thoughts screaming from the thinker. How many duels has that touch won for you, O Bolas? How many titans have you buried with it?”

  “Thousands. Countless thousands.”

  “To be sure. And your touch is even more formidable as Phage’s. But as Night’s face has stripped Phage of her greatest asset, it shall strip you of yours.”

  The mask flashed in Leshrac’s hand. While Bolas was distracted, Leshrac triggered the spells he had woven into the spires of the Talon Gates. A wormlike tendril of dull brown curled toward the dragon’s back. It meandered for a moment then shot straight out, slamming between Bolas’s wings.

  The elder dragon let out a startled half roar. Leshrac moved quickly, sending Night’s mask shooting toward Bolas’s face, guiding its path and controlling its purpose.

  The dragon resisted, but Leshrac’s trap was well laid and perfectly executed. Bolas hung pinned between the paralyzing spell housed in the Talon Gates and the magic-absorbing properties of the mask. Bolas’s scales darkened from mottled green to mold black, his muscles locked, and his teeth clenched, but the dragon did not thrash or roar. Leshrac’s disabling spell held him fast as the mask robbed him of a titanic amount of black mana, as well as the ability to use it.

  Night’s face grew heavy as the last of Bolas’s dark power surged into it. Leshrac’s crown flared, bright and hot as the morning sun, and he called the mask back to him. He dwindled back down to human size, towing Jeska behind him as they floated to the ground. He made no effort to restrain his laughter, both as a true expression of his joy and for the irritation it caused Nicol Bolas.

  Leshrac brought the mask up to his own face, peering through the eye holes, one for Bolas and the other for Jeska. He readied himself and raised the artifact high, seizing it with the transcendent power of his mind. He held it there for a moment, then called forth the incalculable power it had already absorbed, drawing it in like a long sip of air.

  There was pain first, incredible pain, but it quickly diminished and was replaced by a surge of invincibility. Leshrac had never considered himself a warrior, but if he routinely commanded martial force of this magnitude, he certainly would have gone out looking for ways to test it. He had the full black-mana force of Phage and Bolas at the peak of their powers. He was untouchable now, unbeatable. The slightest brush of his finger would instantly destroy any opponent, body and mind.

  Leshrac willed the mask away, safely concealed from Bolas but close enough to maintain its energizing effect. He turned back to Jeska, supremely confident in the rush of his newfound strength, but he was taking no chances, sticking to his scheme. He was not about to underestimate his wily opponent or engage in direct combat until he had finished setting the stage. There would be a prequel to their duel, a sounding out of the enemy before Leshrac himself joined in. Let Bolas and Jeska tear each other to bits while he stood apart, biding his time. He would descend on the diminished survivor of that contest and harvest whatever dark energies they still possessed. Before Leshrac was done both planeswalkers would be dead and he would reign supreme across the entire Multiverse, free to go where and do whatever he liked.

  Bolas was already shaking off the effects of the paralyzing spell. Leshrac called out, “Jeska? Rouse yourself and kill that dragon, please.”

  The Pardic woman’s motions were slow and mechanical. She turned toward Leshrac, and her lip curled up over her teeth. “No,” she said.

  Leshrac’s brain moved faster than the muscles in his face, so he was still smiling in triumph as cold doubt flooded his mind. “What did you say?”

  “I refuse.”

  “You cannot refuse. I am y
our master. You owe me obedience.”

  Jeska shook her head. She was not yet strong enough to attack him, but her will was unshakable.

  “She is no longer yours,” Bolas said. “If indeed she ever was.”

  Leshrac shoved his doubt aside. He could not keep the impressed tone from his voice as he said, “What have you done?”

  “It seems overconfidence is not the sole province of dragons,” Bolas said. “Your hold on Jeska was effective but limited. Did you really believe you could contain part of Karona’s spirit through subtlety?”

  “I did, O Bolas, but only because it worked so well. If anything, Karona’s spirit made my task easier.” He cocked his head. “I suspect you’ve had a hand in her sudden independence.”

  “She is not free to choose,” The dragon swooped down toward Leshrac on the shore and hovered over him. “Only unable to act. I have prevented her from taking any active part in our duel. We shall fight in single combat, Leshrac, according to the ancient ritual. To that end I have hobbled her and made her unable to obey your wishes. She would have to exert a supreme effort of will to obey you, an effort that she cannot make and you cannot force. When her strength returns, you may command her again. If you’re still able.”

  Leshrac’s crown cooled to a deeper and angrier red. His eyes reflected the light, giving them a ghastly crimson-gray sheen.

  “Yours was a successful gambit, Walker of the Night.” Bolas said. “You may take solace in that. No one has harmed me so, not ever. I will sorely miss the power you stole in the coming conflict.

  “But the duel shall continue. I am not so limited as you. I draw on the strength of the tide and the mountains as well as the fen. Come, Leshrac. Let us decide who will rule after the coming conflagration.”

  A hot, unfamiliar feeling swept through Leshrac. He realized he was angry, truly angry for the first time in a very long time. He regained control of his temper and stared defiantly up at the dragon.

  “Such are the vicissitudes of scheming,” he said calmly. “One can always be outschemed.” He changed size, becoming Bolas’s equal once more. “I suppose I shall have to destroy you myself now, using your own power against you. Does that surprise you, Dragon? That I am no coward?”

  “It will take more than boasts to impress me, Leshrac. Words do not win wars.”

  “But impress you I shall. And after I have, after you are lying beaten and helpless, I will enchant Jeska again and force her to kneel as my footstool for all eternity.” He flicked an eye toward the Pardic woman, and Jeska’s eyes rolled back as clutching streams of midnight black rose and surrounded her. They wrapped around her entire body, engulfed her, and hardened into a rock-hard mound that left only her head visible. If Jeska were no longer his to control, he had to make sure that she didn’t play any role in the coming trial.

  He smiled darkly at her. “Hear this, Jeska. Your only choice from this day forward will be ‘Do I weep or wail?’ ”

  Limitless dark mana coursed through him, surrounding him with a nimbus of glittering, purple fire. His giant body rippled and wavered like smoke. “Come, Dragon. I am ready. Let us begin in earnest.”

  Bolas chuckled. The laughter became a roar, and the elder dragon hurled himself forward.

  Radha circled the armored man Leshrac had called Dinne. Jhoira and the others were still backing away, though they were well clear as far as Radha was concerned. Dinne had not spared them a second glance, wisely focusing his attention on her.

  She sprang at him to test his defenses. As she expected, he faded like a ghost as her tear sliced through him. She deflected his return stroke with the broken broadsword and backpedaled before squaring off again.

  “You’ve got to turn solid sometime,” she taunted. “Unless you’re planning to bore me to death.”

  Dinne remained silent. He flickered in and out, alternating between solid flesh and wraithlike intangibility. Radha faced him as he slowly worked his way toward her, her blades ready. He remained solid as he came within range of her throwing knives, daring her to waste them. She only had four of the razor-sharp tears left, however, and she was determined to be stingy with them.

  Two steps outside her long-armed reach, Dinne vanished completely. Radha dashed forward, then pivoted and threw herself to the left. She would not make the mistake of standing still and waiting for Dinne to surprise her.

  The armored cutthroat appeared a few paces from where he had been and threw one of his spikes. Radha dropped low and let it slip by, but Dinne vanished again before she could reach him. She lunged forward to the spot he had just occupied but stopped short and rolled to her right.

  Dinne materialized even farther to Radha’s right and threw another spike. He was fast but not fast enough to seriously injure her. The spike’s sharp tip tore a shallow, bleeding line across her cheek, but it missed her eyes.

  Drawing first blood energized the cutthroat. He started covering more ground between flickers, appearing ten or even twenty feet from where he started. Radha’s eyes darted as she tried to track him and anticipate his next position, but a steady stream of throwing spikes kept her from pressing the advantage when she guessed correctly. Unlike her, Dinne had an endless supply of weapons to hurl.

  She fell into his rhythm, dodging and ducking and rolling when he threw. She began to understand his pattern, or at least his limits. He was not a teleporter like Venser—he couldn’t will himself across great distances but instead moved only as fast and as far as a well-trained foot soldier. His phantom abilities and his fighting style helped conceal this fact, as it often seemed as though he was everywhere at once. As long as she kept moving and didn’t make herself easy prey, she could keep Dinne at bay.

  Her foe vanished and did not reappear. Radha stopped, hesitating as if she couldn’t decide which way to jump. Apparently rooted in indecision, Radha counted steps and calculated direction. Dinne’s offense was extremely fluid and unpredictable, but if she was alert and just a little lucky…

  Radha ducked and spun, swinging the broadsword in a wide arc. She felt something hard and sharp bite into her shoulder, but she also heard the rewarding sound of metal slicing through metal.

  “Got you, skulker,” she said. She somersaulted back and reached around to pull the spike from her shoulder, but the weapon had already returned to its owner.

  Dinne slowly faded into view several yards from Radha. He spread his arms to show her the cut she had made across his chest plate. He vanished and reappeared in the same spot, holding the position he had struck. The armor on his torso was smooth and undamaged once more, and as Radha snarled in frustration Dinne cast four spikes at her in rapid succession.

  Two of the spikes hit her. Stupid, Radha thought, as one glanced off her bicep, taking a chunk of meat with it, and the other sank deep into her stomach. She had been too eager to see him wounded, and he had almost caught her flat-footed.

  Radha choked back the pain from her wounds. She straightened and sheathed the broadsword, then staunched the flow of blood from her belly with her hand. She couldn’t keep trading cuts with him if he simply healed every time he disappeared. She was bleeding and he was not, and the longer this went on the weaker and more vulnerable she’d become.

  Dinne seemed to sense this as well. He eased back, slowing the pace of his attacks, giving Radha more time to bleed out. He kept her on the defensive so she couldn’t catch her breath or cast a spell, but his strikes were slower now, almost lazy compared to what had come before.

  Fresh hate for the cutthroat sizzled in her brain. This was how he had bested Skive, who could normally eat his weight in armored brigands before breakfast. This was how he almost killed the boy, sneaking and striking from concealment. He was going to force her to keep moving and inflict small injuries whenever he could. He would continue to wear her down until she made a costly mistake. It was inevitable.

  She knew she could heal herself to stop the bleeding, but doing so would leave her wide open. Worse, the Keldon healing spells she
knew were more painful than any wound she had so far received. If she employed them she’d be limping and stiff enough for Dinne to deliver a lethal series of blows.

  Dinne appeared behind Radha and slashed her across the back. He vanished immediately, and for once Radha was glad. If he had stayed to follow up he might have been able to finish her off, but he was too well trained, too good a soldier to abandon a winning tactic.

  Radha’s heart began to race. She needed to disrupt Dinne’s attacks, but how could she when she couldn’t touch or see her enemy? The Vec was vulnerable to magic, but her spells were as hampered as her blades in this case. She couldn’t burn him or break him if she couldn’t land a blow.

  The boy had been able to see Dinne….Actually, he had no eyes and couldn’t see anything, but he had been able to use the spells Dassene taught him and the frost giant’s heart to track the armored killer. Radha regretted not learning more of the boy’s methods when she had the chance.

  Dinne pounced again with a spike in his hand, but Radha fended him off. This was becoming ridiculous. He was striking at will, and she had to find a way to retaliate. With her offense stymied, she was reduced to relying on the pure defense of speed and agility. Defense rarely won the day in Keld, and it wouldn’t defeat Dinne here. What else did she have?

  Realization hit, and Radha bared her teeth in a wolfish smile. Was that the answer? Aggressive Keldon magic wasn’t serving her well. Would forest magic make any difference? She rarely acknowledged her elf side, but Multani had reminded her of the power of forest magic. The healing spells she had adapted to Yavimayan mana provided real strength beyond their restorative effect.

  Dinne’s advantage was based in black mana, in his shadowy half existence. He recovered almost instantly every time he shifted in and out of the physical world, but his durability was entirely unnatural. Nature abhorred the unnatural, reputed it, and she could sense Dinne against the backdrop of forest mana as clearly as a single chunk of coal on a linen sheet. She hated the Vec for what he had done to her ’host and to her nation, but Nature hated him for simply existing when he should not.