When the Goddess Wakes

by Howard Andrew Jones

  Rylin eyed the blood mage, knowing from their previous discussions that he was in the midst of a sending, one to a woman he barely knew, in a part of a realm he’d never visited. “Has Muragan performed a lot of sendings?” Rylin asked Vannek.

  “He was one of Grandfather’s chief mages, so I’m sure he’s done many. I’ve no worry about him. The problem will be on the other end. Your new queen had better be near some malleable substance. Water, sand, blood. Otherwise Muragan won’t be able to appear beside her.”

  Muragan let out a low groan, twitched a finger, and the ganglier of his two assistants shouted up: “Again!”

  Once more the drover plunged the spear into the beast. This time it rumbled, and Tretton remarked outside that the whole affair was distasteful. Rylin agreed. The hose extended down the land treader’s back expanded and disgorged a well of blood.

  Muragan gritted his teeth. Corded neck muscles stood out.

  And then his mouth spread in something that wasn’t quite a smile, but more a grimace of triumph.

  “I have her,” he said. “Ready yourselves.”

  Rylin watched in horror as streams of slick blood swirled up from the trough, swiftly expanding into the shape of a human woman. His eyes shifted from Thelar, to Varama, and to Vannek, each displaying varying levels of revulsion

  “It’s just how the spell works,” Vannek said, eying him in dark amusement.

  In moments the awful figure resembled Elenai.

  “Varama?” The bloody mouth moved and Elenai’s voice emerged from it, though she sounded as if she spoke while slurping water.

  Varama spoke quickly, confirming that Elenai had recovered the weapon. Rylin hadn’t realized just how worried Varama must have been about that until he saw her let out a long breath.

  Elenai relayed the startling news that she’d been joined by a small kobalin army, but that paled in comparison to their discovery of the lost alten, Kalandra, alive, although Rylin sensed something unsaid about her condition. Varama warned her about Cerai and ordered her to hold her position. After Elenai acknowledged that, she was in mid-sentence about chaos spirits when Muragan had to break contact.

  The blood that had shaped the future queen rained into the trough, and Muragan sank to the ground, panting.

  Varama looked down at the stinking pool of crimson, not so much horrified as thoughtful.

  “Did you say what you needed?” Vannek asked.

  “Enough,” Varama answered.

  “I couldn’t hold it any longer,” Muragan said wearily. “Not without another sorcerer with more blood on the other end.”

  “You did well,” Varama told him. “It’s time for the next step.”

  “We bring them here,” Vannek suggested.

  “No,” Varama said.

  The Naor general’s brow furrowed in surprise. “I thought we would all go to Cerai’s palace, and kill her.”

  “While I fully plan to confront Cerai, I don’t believe she can be defeated upon her own territory, and I cannot predict what will happen to the Goddess’ energy if we fight her there. We will lure the Goddess to the wastelands of Kanesh. N’lahr advised me to pick good ground, and I think that will suit us well. There will be no one in that place at risk but ourselves.”

  “My people are still with Cerai,” Vannek said. “I hope you have some plan that includes freeing them?”

  “Indeed,” Varama said. “You’re not the only one whose forces remain with her.”

  Vannek didn’t look entirely assured, so Varama, uncharacteristically, explained further. “When we rendezvous with Elenai, we will launch a raid against Cerai.”

  “It sounds as though you’re planning to open a lot of portals,” Rylin said. “Are you up to that? And do you have the power to do it?”

  “I have a shard hidden in my rooms yet. And I am the only one who can open the portals at this point, so there is no question of whether I’m up to it. We’ve no other option.”

  He knew her well enough now to be alert to her own subtle signals. “You’re worried about using this powerful magic, aren’t you?”

  “More than I would like,” Varama admitted. “Each portal opening weakens my own existence even as it weakens the surrounding reality.”

  “What do you mean it weakens your existence?”

  “It’s hard to describe with precision. I haven’t had the luxury of study, but I feel … stretched out. Weary, disconnected. I suppose the closest comparison is to being dizzy. Whether or not the condition is temporary or has lasting ramifications, I cannot say.”

  “Alten,” Thelar said, “you should have said something sooner.”

  “He’s right,” Rylin agreed.

  “I appreciate your concern, but we’ve little choice. I’m less worried about me than I am about our overall chance of success against the Goddess.”

  “We need you strong enough to fight her,” Thelar said.

  “Indeed we do. But as Asrahn would often advise, we need to control the ground where we’re going to fight. And that means I’ll have to open more portals.” Her face firmed with resolve. “Enough of this. There’s work to do.”

  31

  The Battle Looms

  The wastelands were not as Rylin had expected. He’d thought he would step into a barren and blazing heat pit. While the sun hung in the sky above the dunes, it kept company with a weird tear in the heavens through which the night sky peered out and through which bright colors flared at random intervals. A chill wind blew.

  The company was strange as well. In addition to the odd mix of squires and Naor—Varama had come through with a force smaller even than that N’lahr had led against the queen—hundreds of kobalin wandered the area in their mismatched arms and armor. The end result resembled an over-decorated scene from an absurdist play set in the deep shifts.

  Once introductions had been made, Varama summoned the leaders of the forces to the top of a long, crescent-shaped mesa in the middle of the dunes, and held perhaps the strangest conference in the long annals of the Altenerai. In addition to the Altenerai physically present, including himself, Varama, Gyldara, Tretton, Elenai, and Kyrkenall, there was the spectral Kalandra. Thelar, too, was there, the last of the exalts, and then others who Rylin would never have dreamt would be a part of a formal Altenerai meeting: General Vannek of the Naor, Muragan the blood mage, and Ortok of the kobalin. All of them sat about a low fire but Kalandra, who told them she didn’t really have the knack for sitting anymore. She stood beside Kyrkenall, who shifted constantly, in a sharp, birdlike way.

  Kalandra explained how she had come to be in her current condition, how the chaos weapon had been found, and, oddest of all, how Kyrkenall’s body was shared jointly by a forgotten god.

  “I am only here with him for now,” the God in Kyrkenall said brightly. “I will speak to her when she comes.”

  “He means the Goddess,” Kalandra said.

  Once everyone had been fully briefed, Varama laid out N’lahr’s plan. They were to run a three-pronged raid upon Cerai’s fortress, their goals the freeing of their people, the acquisition of the shaping tool, and the obtainment of Cerai’s hearthstone cache, which would later act as a lure for the Goddess.

  It was apparent to Rylin that the discussion phase took far longer than Varama would have liked. Neither Elenai nor Kyrkenall were happy about staying behind, but Varama argued that they couldn’t take all of their spell casters, and that Kyrkenall could not be risked, since he housed a deity that might be essential to the battle with the Goddess.

  Asrahn had always said that the more intricate the plan, the greater its chances for failure. But then most of the planning of the assault was N’lahr’s, so despite the concern voiced by Tretton, Rylin had faith in it, even if he still didn’t understand why Varama and Elenai had thought it appropriate the hulking kobalin leader was trusted with the commander’s rescue.

  While Varama conferenced with Kalandra and Thelar, Rylin stepped apart to look over his equipment. Just as Asrahn had
often said, and Thelar had recently repeated, waiting was one of the hardest skills to master. The old alten had impressed upon his charges that you could never be too certain of your equipment. Bored between actions? Check your gear and sharpen your blade.

  And so Rylin found a spot in the sand away from the others, and, under the weird sky, took out his whetstone.

  He was honing near his sword guard when he heard the swish of footsteps through the sand. He looked up to find Gyldara before him. He set the weapon aside and pushed to his feet. She glanced back at the greater body of troops, and the shifting kobalin, then met his eyes. “This assault is the moment where we stand or fall. I wish I was going with you. After this it’s all up to the mages.”

  “Maybe. If we’re lucky. I wouldn’t mind some good luck.”

  “I hope you have it. I don’t want to be the last one left from our little group, so you be careful. Come back.”

  Rylin saw the depth of emotion in her eyes and wondered if it meant more than she was saying, or if he was just distracted by the pleasure of her company and her knifelike beauty. He’d always understood she preferred the company of women, but she was as private with her trysts as he had been public, and some people were far more fluid in their sexual interests than he.

  He smiled, amused at himself. His friend, who happened to be a lovely woman, cared about him. Right now that was all that mattered. “All right then, Alten.”

  She kissed him on the cheek before stepping away, almost colliding with Thelar as he walked up. They exchanged a brief greeting, and then the exalt glanced curiously at the retreating Gyldara before turning his attention to Rylin.

  “I have the distinct impression I’ve interrupted something.”

  “Maybe you did,” Rylin said. “But I’m not sure either of us will know until I get back.”

  “That sounds vague. I thought you were a master with women.”

  “Never with that one. How did the magical conference go?”

  “Fascinating. I’d forgotten how brilliant Kalandra was. Varama wanted to make sure we understand portal magics in case something happens to her. I know enough to be dangerous now, but I think Kalandra actually does understand.”

  “We can’t let anything happen to Varama,” Rylin said with grim resolve.

  “That has to be your lookout.”

  “I know.”

  The exalt frowned. “I wish I was going through with you.”

  “Apart from Varama, we have to keep the best spell casters in reserve. And you and I both know you’re better than me.”

  “I’ve known that for a long time.”

  Rylin chuckled more than the joke deserved, and was rewarded with a faint smile.

  “Do you think it will work?” Thelar asked. “The whole thing—getting N’lahr and Tesra and the squires and the hearthstones and the tool, luring the Goddess here, blasting her into pieces?”

  “Varama thinks it will work.”

  “Varama thinks it could work. If we’re smart, and careful, and lucky.”

  “Then we’d better be all three.”

  It was at that moment the horn sounded the call to arms. Rylin stood, stretched, and slid his sword into its sheath. “It’s time.”

  32

  On Wing of Fire

  Varama proved no more genial than ever as she presented Vannek with one of three packs sitting at her feet.

  Muragan looked down at them. “What are these?”

  “Your way off the dragon, from midair,” Varama answered briskly. “I can’t guarantee they’ll work perfectly, but they’re an improvement over certain death. There’s one for each of you.” She passed one off to Muragan, who eyed it curiously as he hefted it.

  “I don’t understand,” Vannek admitted. “Is this more magic?”

  “It’s a device that slows your descent, part of an incomplete series of experiments into flight. Pull here, and here, with both hands. Fabric will pop free, and your fall will be slowed. I’d advise you to have a knife ready to cut the straps free the moment you land.”

  “I always have a knife. Did you use these in Alantris?”

  “Those balloons carried no people. As I had none of my normal tools or materials from my workshops in Alantris, I had to improvise an effective system to reach targets without any guidance.”

  “You improvised your devices in Alantris?” Vannek had a hard time believing that.

  “Yes,” Varama answered impatiently.

  “And this time you had access to your workshops,” Muragan said. “I’m starting to feel sorry for Cerai.” He flashed a sly grin at Vannek, who fought down an answering laugh.

  “Give her no pity,” Varama said. “She has an immense amount of raw power at her command. You’re going in first, so you’ll present the most obvious target for the first part of our attack.”

  “You actually sound concerned,” Vannek said.

  Varama responded to the dry humor of Vannek’s statement with a crisp assertion. “We need you. If we survive this, we have a chance for lasting peace with your people. But only if someone farsighted like yourself remains in charge. Here.” Varama bent and passed over the remaining, smaller shoulder satchel.

  Vannek took it only after the briefest hesitation, pushing the top flap aside to reveal four glass vials, stoppered by corks and separated with padded leather. “What are these?”

  “Whatever you hit with them should burn nicely. You don’t want to drop it on yourself.”

  “Something else you improvised?” Vannek asked.

  “It’s an idea I wanted to test in Alantris, but lacked the resources for.”

  “And you just whipped these up in the few hours we had while in Darassus?”

  “I had the ingredients. Until I had spare time to think during our long road trip it had never occurred to me to combine them in these amounts. I’m sure the recipe could be finessed, but it’s effective currently.”

  Once again, Vannek realized the alten was one of the most dangerous of all of those wearing the ring. “I’m lucky you hadn’t developed this before, aren’t I?”

  “If I had developed this before, you would never have taken the city, dragons or no. As to now, are you clear on what you need to do?”

  “Yes,” Vannek replied. “I’m to cause as much mayhem as possible, and keep clear of those key sections you pointed out. Is that all from you? I always assumed Altenerai led people with stunning speeches.”

  “I simply tell them the truth. Do Naor need something different?”

  “My family usually gave speeches mocking your people and extolling ours.”

  “I don’t do that.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “Is there anything else?” Varama asked impatiently.

  Vannek decided to ask something she had long wondered. “Even the newest Altenerai have famous nicknames. Why don’t you?”

  The corner of Varama’s mouth ticked up in what resembled the start of a smile, then vanished so quickly Vannek wondered if he had imagined it.

  “Early attempts to assign me a sobriquet proved disappointing. I discouraged it.”

  “What were they? Varama the Wise, or Varama the Blue? Something like that?”

  “You’re extraordinary loquacious today. No. They were worse.”

  “And no one clever gave you one for inventing things or concocting plans?”

  “Or retaking Alantris?” Muragan asked.

  “It hasn’t come up.”

  Varama looked as though she had grown uncomfortable, and Vannek was startled he found it endearing. “The most memorable image of you I have is when you stood on the tower, in Alantris, raining fire down on the city. You lifted your ring above your head and lit it. Of course, I thought you were N’lahr at the time.”

  “As I intended.”

  “Varama High Ring,” Muragan suggested.

  Varama fixed him with her piercing gaze.

  “That’s really not bad,” Vannek said. “Maybe Naor should write all Altenerai epithe
ts.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement,” Varama said. “Good luck.”

  “Fight well,” Vannek said.

  Varama nodded, pivoted, and hurried off.

  “All right, Mage,” Vannek said. “We have our orders.”

  “From an Alten, no less.” Muragan wrestled into his pack. “Who’s actually going out of her way to keep us alive.”

  Vannek grunted. “Focus on the future, Muragan.”

  “Here’s to it.”

  They walked for their dragon.

  As promised, they emerged in a grove of trees in the gloom of night, under two bright moons, both of which waned just shy of full. Muragan immediately urged the beast forward.

  Under his guidance the dragon stretched its wings in the shadow of the trees. It snorted before it lumbered forward. With each footfall it let out another snort and Vannek gritted teeth, certain Cerai’s guards would hear. He fixed upon the fortress, visible as a dark blot against the sky a half-mile distant. Lights shown in a handful of its windows, and lanterns blazed every hundred paces along the battlement, rendering the place strangely festive.

  Beneath him, the dragon hurried forward, jostling Vannek with every step and every swing of its wings. Abruptly, without any particular warning, they were in the air.

  The dragon climbed steeply, circling higher and higher over the trees. The leg straps pressed against Vannek, holding him to the seat, a few feet back from Muragan.

  The blood mage looked over the bulky pack he wore on his shoulders, identical to Vannek’s. “Are you ready, General?”

  “I’m ready. Are you?”

  “I am. I’ve never flown a dragon before. It’s exhilarating!”

  “Don’t forget to put in your ear stops.” Vannek pushed small wads of fine cloth into either ear, and Muragan did the same.

  He took the dragon up until Cerai’s fortress lay hundreds of feet below.

  At Vannek’s word they swept down toward one of the towers, dropping opposite the moons.

  Vannek spotted sentries along the wall and regretted his decision to leave his archers behind. He had expected this attack to require more brute force than pinpoint accuracy, and he had few archers left.