Garin used the advantage to leap high, intent on winging himself behind the fiend and finishing it off. But the storm betrayed him, for he failed to notice some low-hanging branches. The boughs snagged and tangled in his wings right at the apex of his jump. He grunted in pain as his appendages bent back at an awkward angle, and he had to flip halfway backward to avoid spraining the limbs. The maneuver spared him any serious damage, but he didn’t clear the demon and instead wound up landing on top of it.
The fiend thrashed beneath Garin and pitched him off to one side. The angel tumbled away, wary of an attack. As he completed a roll, he brought his mace up to swipe away any blade thrusts. The wicked black steel of the creature’s ill-formed sword whipped through the air and drove the mace wide. Garin grunted from the exertion of hanging onto the weapon and sprawled backward on his rump.
Before Garin could regain his balance, the demon leaped atop him. It brought its sword down hard, and Garin was forced to brace his mace with both hands to ward off the blow. The fiend used the opportunity to drive its weight onto both weapons, ramming them toward Garin’s face.
Garin grunted as he resisted the onslaught. Enough of this, he decided. He opened his mouth to utter a holy word, but the abyssal fiend must have been expecting that, for it vomited a foul-smelling thick sludge right into Garin’s face, choking and blinding him.
The angel coughed and shook his head from side to side, trying to fling the vile substance from him, all the while fighting to keep the demon from crushing him.
A low growl emanated from Garin’s right, and he felt a powerful concussive force slam against the fiend. The weight of the demon toppled to the left. Canine snarls of rage mingled with reptilian hissing. Garin could feel thuds in the ground beneath him as the fiend wrestled with a new adversary.
Garin rolled away from the fight and dropped his mace. He frantically wiped the sludge from his eyes and spit the disgusting stuff from his mouth. He scooped up handfuls of snow and vigorously scrubbed his face clean of the noxious goop. When Garin could see again, he turned toward the commotion.
A hound archon perched atop the demon, pummeling it with his fists. He went tumbling head over heels as the fiend bucked and pitched him off. The dog warrior landed with a splat into the wet snow and immediately went into a roll. He sprang to his feet and spun to face the demon. He gave a shake, flinging leaves and ice from his fur and spared Garin one quick nod.
Garin grabbed his mace and moved to circle the demon so that he and the archon could get it between them and gain the advantage. He was forced to move wide, however, due to a particularly large tree. As he raced around the thick bole, a deafening roar burst from the other side. Blue flames shot everywhere, engulfing the entire forest and blinding Garin once more.
The angel sank to one knee, shielding his eyes with his forearm and wing. The heat of the fire scorched his skin and melted much of the snow from the storm. A torrent of it splashed him as it cascaded off the tree branches overhead.
Just as quickly as the fire began, it vanished again.
Garin opened his eyes and found that he had been spared the worst of the inferno by the tree. Everything to either side of him was blackened to a crisp. On the far side of the tree, he discovered a large rift in the ground, perhaps ten paces across, still smoking and smelling acrid. The angel moved warily to the edge and peered down, but he could see nothing but darkness.
Of the demon and the archon, there was no sign.
By Tyr, he thought, mourning the loss of yet another celestial. This madness must stop!
Garin took to the air, anger and purpose driving him. He rose above the tree line, where the roaring winds became stronger and buffeted him. The icy storm had passed, and he could see clearly. Clouds that glowed a deep blue filled the entire horizon to the west of him, and flashes of green, red, and yellow lightning crackled through them.
Garin put his back to that terrible field of arcane insanity and began flying home, toward Tyr’s Court.
Tyr must do something, he fumed. This destruction, this loss of life, cannot continue.
No, he insisted to himself. Questions, doubts, and anger are the signs of a faith beginning to waver. That is not who I am. I am a good, devoted follower.
But I harbor disloyal feelings. I presume to know what is in Tyr’s heart. I presume to wonder why he leads in the direction he does. Down that path lies sorrow, ruin. Micus knew this. Micus was strong. Micus was not afraid to confront those who question Tyr’s ultimate wisdom. Would he challenge me if he were here?
He would if he could look into my heart, Garin decided. I am an imperfect being. For the sake of Tyr, I must try to right my course.
By the time the Court was in view, Garin had vowed to redouble his determination. He would not stray from the path set before him by those wiser than he. He would serve to the best of his abilities, especially in the most trying of times. He was a dedicated and devout soldier, loyal to Tyr.
The angel’s resolve lasted until he reached the outer plaza.
The entire mountain roiled in chaos. Petitioners filled every open surface. Devas and even a few planetars and solars worked hard to keep order, but the uproar consumed everything. As Garin got near enough, he could tell that many of the citizens of the Court argued. In several instances, pushing and shoving broke out.
Blasphemy, he thought. Never has such behavior been contemplated, much less tolerated, within Tyr’s domain.
He landed atop one of the higher plazas and had to dodge numerous folk shouting to him to help them before he could slip inside. He hurried down and across an open courtyard toward the Hall of Requisitions. Even before he reached it, though, he could tell the angels there were barely able to maintain order.
The whole House has lost its way, Garin realized. There’s too much disruption.
Then another thought slipped unbidden into the angel’s thoughts. Tyr is losing control.
Garin wanted to shake those impure notions loose, cast them away from himself, but the unease he felt prevented him from completely ridding himself of them.
Is this what it comes to? Is this how a deity finally succumbs to the ravages of chaos? Is even Tyr bound to the strictures of time and change? Am I witnessing the end?
Garin did not want to think such thoughts, and he staggered momentarily under the weight of his own trepidation. His vision blurred and he found it hard to breathe. The thought came that perhaps Tyr sensed his lack of loyalty and was sending a harsh reminder of the price of faithlessness. He fought his own despair and stood straight again.
Don’t think about any of that, he told himself. Just do your job. The rest will work itself out. Have faith.
The inside of the Hall of Requisitions was in no better shape than the courtyard outside. Though no petitioners milled within, celestials filled the place, all clamoring for assistance. Most of them were devas, like himself. From the snippets of conversation he caught, Garin realized they had been on the outskirts of the House, battling untamable magic too. No one’s tactics were effective. They all needed reinforcements and new instructions. They were all trying to fight the good fight, as he had been, and they were all beginning to lose hope.
Garin spied an angel he recognized off to one side. He did not know the deva well, though they had served Micus together on a few occasions. Nilsa was young but competent, if Garin’s memory served.
He worked his way through the crowd, trying to reach Nilsa. When he finally got near enough for her to hear him calling above the din, she looked up. Garin motioned for her to join him, then he slipped outside again.
They found a relatively quiet spot atop a wall dividing two sections of the Court that looked out over several lower levels. When they were both seated and comfortable, Garin took a deep breath and spoke.
“I hadn’t expected to see things this bad. I’ve been near Deepbark Hollow—or rather, what’s left of it. I came back for reinforcements, but that doesn’t look very promising.”
Nilsa sigh
ed. “It’s the same all over. Everyone is trying their best, but there just aren’t enough of us. And the numbers dwindle every moment.”
“What?” Garin asked, looking up into the younger angel’s face. “Why?”
Nilsa looked carefully at him. “You haven’t heard, have you?” she asked. “You have been away.”
“Tell me,” he insisted, fearing the news.
“Many are abandoning Tyr,” the other angel said, her voice cracking with emotion. “They are leaving his banner and flocking to other gods. Mostly Torm.”
Garin pursed his lips. “I had a subordinate do that today,” he said. “I would not have dreamed so many would abandon the Blind One.”
“I can’t say that I blame them,” Nilsa continued, drawing a sharp stare from Garin. “No, wait.” She held up her hands to forestall his admonitions. “I do not agree with them, but I do understand. What with Tymora’s departure, and the—”
“What?” Garin interrupted, unsure he had heard correctly. He stared at her, shocked. “Tymora has left the realm?”
Nilsa was silent for a long moment. “I do not know everything,” she finally said, “but whispers have suggested that, in light of Cyric’s manipulations, Tymora cannot be certain of what is real and what is contrived between Tyr and her, and she is departing to spend time in contemplation.”
Garin could only shake his head. “Blessed Tyr,” he breathed.
“That’s not all of it, though,” Nilsa said. “The High Council has dissolved.”
Garin felt his eyes widen. That cannot be! He opened his mouth to protest, but he could not find the words.
“The membership was too sharply divided on many things, and once the High Councilor quit in protest over some of the other members’ actions, everything else crumbled.”
“This must not be allowed to continue,” Garin said, but he felt weary, without hope. “The law of Tyr must stand supreme. If Micus taught me nothing else, he taught me that. Tauran was a pale imitation of him, and unworthy of his status. He and those fiends brought much of this upon us.”
“If you truly believe that, then I need your help,” Nilsa said. “I came here hoping to find a companion or two to aid me in a very important task, but I was on the verge of giving up and going alone when you spotted me.”
“What is it?” Garin said, giving the other angel his full attention. “What are you talking about?”
Nilsa studied his face for a moment, perhaps judging his sincerity, then she said, “Come with me.”
Intrigued, Garin nodded. “If there is a way to honor what Micus fought for, then I am ready to serve.”
Together, they took flight, and Garin followed Nilsa toward another part of the Court.
Tauran remembered scouring, burning pain.
Zasian would succeed because Tauran had failed.
The priest’s schemes would come to fruition because Aliisza had betrayed Tauran.
Cyric would triumph.
All was lost.
No. It must not happen that way, Tauran thought. He flailed helplessly, felt the searing fire consuming him. No!
Tauran awoke with a start. He heard himself screaming. His voice was raw.
The angel drew a ragged breath and willed himself to relax.
Foulness assaulted him in every conceivable way. He could sense the taint of evil hanging in the hot, fetid air. He felt it in the very stones beneath his body, tasted it on his parched and swollen tongue.
“I am forsaken,” he gasped. The words were barely more than a croak.
“Just about,” came a reply in a familiar voice.
Tauran turned toward the sound. A dim glow filled the otherwise dark space around him. He lay upon hard ground, uneven rock that poked and dug into his shoulder and thigh. Overhead, the jagged ceiling of a cave hung low, with several stalactites dangling even lower.
Beside him, another figure sat slumped in dejection. The figure looked at him, ebony skin and red eyes framed by silvery hair.
Kael.
“My friend,” Tauran tried to say, but the words got lost in a choking cough. He was desperately thirsty.
“Easy,” Kael said, scooting toward the angel. “It will take a while for you to recover.”
Tauran could tell that the half-drow was bound, shackled at wrists and ankles. He realized his own body was similarly restrained, and that bands of tight, constricting material wrapped around his torso, pinning his wings to his back.
Kael moved until he was right next to the deva, then he helped Tauran rise into a sitting position. “There,” he said. “Now you can see our guest chambers a little bit better.”
Tauran peered around the cavern and spotted a third figure on the opposite side of the room, cowering. The odd glow that filled the room came from that figure. Long flowing hair and mustaches warned the angel of imminent danger, but the shaking, timid body language was at odds with that assessment.
“Zasian,” Tauran said, his voice still hoarse. It stung to speak. His thoughts screamed at him to beware, that the priest of Cyric would immolate him, would bring every last bit of his foul, unholy magic to bear against him. In panic, Tauran tried to roll away, to escape before the searing pain struck him.
“Easy,” Kael said, reaching out with his bound hands to take hold of the struggling Tauran. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Zasian!” the angel repeated, trying to wriggle free. “Must stop him!”
“Stop,” Kael said, his voice soft. He pressed his hands down, holding Tauran still. “He’s no threat to you, my friend. His mind is gone.”
Tauran continued to fight his bonds for a moment longer, until the words at last sunk in, and he quieted.
“Here,” Kael said, reaching down beside him. “Drink this. It’s foul tasting, but it’s just water, and you need some.” He held out a badly dented bowl with both hands so that Tauran could take a sip.
Tauran leaned forward as best as he could and took a whiff of the water. It smelled tainted with disease. He made a disgusted noise and flinched away.
“I know, but you must drink,” Kael said, still holding it out. “You’ve been unconscious for days. Your body is in bad shape. Help it heal.”
Tauran wondered if the damage of drinking such sickening water would offset any benefits it might provide, but he took a deep breath and leaned forward once more to gulp the proffered substance.
The taste was ten times worse than the smell and it made Tauran want to gag. It felt slimy in his mouth. He could sense the evil essence of it, and he was sure he was being poisoned. He jerked his mouth away and spat out what he had not already swallowed.
“Oh, that’s awful!” he complained, but already, his throat felt better, and his voice sounded clearer, stronger.
“Well, don’t waste it,” Kael grumbled, righting the dish before any more spilled out. “This is all we have!”
“Sorry,” Tauran said. He shuddered at the disgusting aftertaste. “But it’s truly unpalatable to me. The stench of evil wafts from it.”
“I imagine it does,” Kael said. “Maybe it’s no good for you,” he added, sounding pensive.
Tauran tried to rise up straighter, but his bonds made it impossible for him to do much more than worm back and forth ineffectually. Kael set the bowl down and helped him.
“Where are we?” Tauran asked after he had gotten more comfortable. “What’s happened to us?”
Kael drew a long breath before answering. “I think we’re somewhere in the Blood Rift,” he said. “I heard Vhok and Aliisza discussing some battle between these demons and a host of devils they ran into.”
Tauran’s mind reeled. It could not be! “No,” he gasped, his voice a gurgle of panic. “No!” he repeated.
“Be still!” Kael growled softly, reaching out and holding Tauran down again. “Let me finish explaining.”
Tauran used every bit of his willpower to calm himself. If he was to suffer the tortures of a horde of demons, as must surely be his fate, bound as h
e was, he would show Kael the bravery he knew the half-drow deserved to see. “I’m sorry,” he said at last. “Continue.”
Kael nodded and released the angel. “I awoke some time ago. Vhok and my mother were still here.”
Images of Vhok and Aliisza flashed through Tauran’s mind. He remembered clearly the devastated emotions that washed over him when the alu had appeared with Micus in tow within the great rotunda. Everything that had gone wrong in that battle had been because of her. Tauran’s heart sank deeper, but he realized Kael was speaking again. He refocused his mind on the words.
“They were bargaining with a wretched creature who seemed to distrust both of them a great deal. Something about providing his lord with information gained from tricking you. I didn’t quite get all of it, but it sounded like they were debating what could and couldn’t be done to us until it was time to meet.” The half-drow’s voice quavered the tiniest bit as he finished.
Her betrayal had run much deeper than he had suspected, Tauran realized. The High Council had been right; she and Vhok had been manipulating him all along. They had used him to see Zasian succeed. That thought sapped any remaining will Tauran had left to fight for his life. His sorrow was complete. He had failed miserably.
“Before they left, my mother leaned down to us and whispered to me not to worry,” Kael said, interrupting Tauran’s lamentations. “She said it was all a ruse to save our skins and that she and Vhok would be back soon. She seemed unsure of herself, but she also seemed sincere.”
Tauran tried to make sense of the knight’s revelation. Too much was at odds. How did we come to be here? he wondered. What’s happened to Zasian? Can I trust Aliisza? That last question stuck with him. He feared allowing himself to hope that she had been forthright with her son. To do so was to invite even more pain and suffering later. And she had brought Micus with her. Hadn’t that been a betrayal?
But didn’t you yourself try to teach her that the essence of goodness was to trust, even when it put you in danger of grief? he asked himself. Can you practice what you preach, Tauran?
The Crystal Mountain Page 8
