by John Delaney
“Of course,” Venser said. “It’s as much yours now as mine since the Ghitu rebuilt it. Take it with my blessing. When do you leave?”
Jhoira squeezed his hand. “Now.”
* * *
—
Radha strode up to the camp sentries without a word. She was glad to see Dassene had not moved the ’host while she was gone.
The sentries nudged each other as she approached, straightening to rigid attention, but they were savvy enough not to meet her eyes or question her.
“Boys,” she said. She took one more step and stopped directly in between them. She kept her face pointed into the camp.
“Keep up the good work,” she said.
“Understood,” they said in unison.
Radha marched on. She heard the whispers spreading as she crossed the compound, felt the excitement and anticipation as her warriors prepared to welcome her home. The look on her face and the determination in her stride kept them away for now, but she knew a raucous celebration was coming. She looked forward to outdrinking and outswearing the lot of them before she kicked them back into shape and took them out on another campaign.
The command tent was open and unguarded at the center of the camp. She would smack someone for that tomorrow. She loped up to the open flap and prepared to holler inside.
“You’re back.” Dassene emerged from the tent’s gloomy interior and met Radha at the doorway. “We’ve been waiting.”
“Good. Things are looking sharp, mostly. We’ll talk about that later.” She thumped Dassene on the shoulder. “Thank you for keeping things running while I was away.”
Dassene’s eyes shifted uncomfortably. “Uh…you’re welcome?”
“Where’s Skive?”
“Inside. With the boy.”
Radha nodded and strode past. Dassene called after her, “What happened to the planeswalker?”
“Dead,” Radha said. “She did herself proud though. She went out like a warrior.”
Skive was slouching casually just inside the tent as if he’d been standing there all day. He eyed Radha lazily. “Warlord,” he said.
“Skive. How are your wounds?”
“Tolerable.” He stretched his arm over and behind his head. “A little stiff in the shoulders.”
“Come see me later. I’ve learned a few new tricks that should set that to rights.”
Skive grinned, and his tongue flickered between his sharp teeth. “Done.”
“How’s the boy?”
“Better than me,” Skive said. “He’s physically fine, but he’s been in a mood since we had to get rid of the frost giant’s heart.”
“He’s a dark one,” Radha said. “At least he comes by it honestly.” She frowned. “Why did you get rid of the heart?”
“It was rotting,” Skive said. “It wasn’t even cold any more. It wasn’t any use to anyone. It just sat there and stank.”
“Then we’ll have to get another,” Radha said.
Skive hissed. “Can’t we just wait a few weeks for winter to set in? It’ll be cold enough then.”
“The boy needs training now. I might even join him for his next lessons to see if I can’t learn anything while I’m at it.”
Skive hissed again. “Understood.”
“Go on now,” she said. “I want you and Dassene to collect Llanach and those whining elf leaders. I’ll meet with them later too. When spring comes, we’ll see about finding a better home for them than that port town.”
“Done.” Skive turned, but before he left he said, “It’s good to have you back, Warlord.”
Radha waited until Skive’s tail followed him out. She turned, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom, and stepped into the deeper recesses of the tent.
A soft, sharp voice said, “Who’s there?”
“Radha.” She saw the boy sitting at the far corner, where he used to sit as he drew on the power of the frost giant’s heart. “Radha’s gone.”
“And now I’m back.”
The boy thrust his hand out, brandishing the tear-shaped blade she had given him. “Prove it.”
Radha pondered for a moment. “If you don’t point that somewhere else,” she said, “I’m going to make you eat it.”
The blade clattered on the hard, frozen ground. The boy crossed his arms and hunched over. “Welcome back, Warlord.”
Radha stalked across the room and scooped the boy up in her long arms. She tossed him over her head so that he landed on her shoulders and folded her arms over his legs. He was big, but she was bigger, and she carried his weight easily.
“Come on,” she said. “I’m going to address the ’host in a minute, and I want to show you off.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“You cut that phantom bastard’s throat,” she said. “Not even ten years old and you outdid your warlord.”
The boy stiffened. “Did you find him?” he said.
“You know I did.” She dragged her thumb across her windpipe and made a wet, ripping sound in the back of her throat.
The boy relaxed. “Good.”
A rough cheer sounded from the other side of the canvas walls. “Word is out,” she said. “Let’s go.”
She crouched so that the boy’s head would clear the top of the doorway and stepped out into the cold Keldon sun.
* * *
—
Jhoira found the cabin without too much trouble. Its resident was not a gregarious person and had not built it to accommodate travelers or guests.
She was nervous. She had been scared and anxious and panicked more times than she could remember, but she hadn’t been this nervous since she was actually nineteen.
She climbed two wooden stairs and went across the creaking porch. There was freshly chopped firewood in the yard and smoke coming from the chimney so she knew someone was home.
She knocked. Several seconds went by without reply, so she knocked again.
“Who is it?”
Jhoira didn’t answer. She backed away from the door a step and straightened her robe.
The door opened and a tall, dark-haired man with a broad forehead and an angry expression appeared.
“Who is it…oh.”
“Archmage,” Jhoira said.
Jodah’s face brightened. “Jhoira,” he said.
“I’m taking an extended break from adventuring, world-saving, and planeswalker-sitting. I thought I might come by for a visit.”
Jodah smiled. He stepped back and opened the door wide. “Come in,” he said. “You’re always welcome here.”
Jhoira nodded. “Thank you. But before I do, I need to ask a question.”
“Fire away.”
“Jodah the Archmage Eternal,” she said musingly. “Appears in many different texts from many different eras. I know because I checked. The brash mage who overthrew a magical tyrant. The wise wizard-warrior who helped shape nations. Confidant and lover of planeswalkers.”
Jodah’s smile grew strained as doubt crept across his face. “History is not always true.”
“No. But I was struck by how much the Jodah I met differed from the portrayal of him in the archives. They don’t do you justice. They show only a reflection of Jodah, one facet of his personality.” Jhoira reached into her sleeve and pulled out a small silver mirror. She held Jodah’s eyes as she tilted the mirror until his face was centered in its glass.
“Or,” she said gently, “you are the reflection.”
Jodah paled slightly, but he continued to smile.
“This is not the mirror that the texts associate so closely with Jodah.”
“No,” he said. “I made that one myself.”
“Perhaps in the wake of Jaya Ballard’s death?”
Jodah’s eyes fell. “Yes,” he said.
“But Jaya never died,” Jhoira said. “Or at least, there is no mention of her death in my archives.” She extended the mirror to Jodah. “Yet I take one look at you and I can tell your grief is genuine. Which means your history is not ex
actly the same as the history recorded for Jodah. You are Jodah…but you are not that Jodah. Are you?”
“I never was,” Jodah said. He took the mirror and let it drop to his side. “And I doubt he ever was, either.”
Jhoira’s eyes were bright and sharp, her expression eager. “Whoever you are,” she said, “You’re a good man. I may not know the true Jodah, the historical hero of old, but I know you. And I’d like to know more.”
Jodah’s face relaxed and his cheeks flushed. He stood back from the open doorway and beckoned Jhoira in with his arm. “We can start right now,” he said.
Smiling, Jhoira went inside. A moment later, Jodah followed, closing the door firmly behind him.
* * *
—
Venser stood on the edge of the Madaran cliffs. The Talon Gates were as they had been, standing tall and proud.
This was risky, he knew. There was no real way to predict where he would end up or if he’d be welcome there. His mind was made up, however. He thought it fitting that his first-ever interplanar journey would start here, where Dominaria’s history began.
Eyes wide open, Venser concentrated. Golden energy surrounded him, and he felt himself slipping through the veil that separated Dominaria from every other plane.
He had spent his whole life preparing to travel, and now he had the means and the opportunity. There was an entire Multiverse out there, full of people he could teach and learn from. He wasn’t immortal, he wasn’t omnipotent, but he was a planeswalker.
It would be a good life.
THE SAGA
CONTINUES
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