Reality’s Plaything

Reality’s Plaything 1

Will Greenway

Writers Exchange E-Publishing
ebooks.writers-exchange.com

Copyright ©2001 Will Greenway

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

To Joan Oppenheimer

the “Fearless Leader”

and the

ragtag band of workshop associates who put up with my insanity.

Two decades of spilling blood

for the sake of the craft,

they all have my blessings and thanks.

To Joan especially

who has been the inspiration

and guiding light for myself

and so many others…

A tip of the hat to the

“Band of the Crescent Moon”

the creative wellspring

from which many of the

characters and the world itself

burgeoned before I shaped it

with my unworthy hands.

Brad, Brian, D.J., Dave

Glenn, Jamie, Jeff, Kaye, Lyn

Rob, Robert, and Tony

Intrepid adventurers all,

They do great things in fantastic lands.

Other books in the Chronicles of the Ring Realms:

Reality’s Plaything Series—Tales following the adventures of Bannor Starfist.
Reality’s Plaything
‘Neath Odin’s Eye
Gaea’s Legacy

Savant’s Blood Series—Tales following the adventures of Wren Kergatha.
Savant’s Blood
Aesir’s Blood
Gaea’s Blood

Shaladen Chronicles Series—Tales following the adventures of Corim Vale.
Shaladen Chronicles: A Knot In Time
Shaladen Chronicles: Anvil of Sorrow
Shaladen Chronicles: Who Mourns the Creator

Table of Contents

The Savants
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Epilogue

The Savants

^ »

The historians called it the millennium of the immortal storm. One thousand years had passed since the Silissian holocaust swept the globe of Titaan. The Saughuin invaders had been driven back into the murky depths of the sea, and the dwarven halls at Blackstar rang with the sounds of victory over the orc hordes.

It was an age of gods and those who would challenge them, when demi-gods and goddesses walked the land in the guise of mortals and took lovers and begot children.

Magic was strong and plentiful, and varied were the strains of man that came after the first dilutions of immort blood.

It was the rise of the Ivaneth Empire over a declining Corwin, when the greatest mages and warriors ever to walk the face of Titaan were born and grew strong.

Thence came the Krillar, and the Shael Dal, and the organized bands of adventurers whose strength was the equal of any kingdom’s army.

This time also marked the rise of savants, known to the immortals as the Ka’Amok. For eons, once every few decades men and women were chance gifted with the persistent life sparks of Alpha and Gaea that made them the spiritual brothers and sisters to the pantheon lords. However, the gods treated them not as kin but as prey, hunting them to harvest their bodies for the ritual of succorunding—the forced binding of avatars. For eons that hunt had continued, until the first of true born walked the worlds and grew strong, seeking to end a thousand centuries of predation…

…There are twelve states of being. The first order of being is Jek’Acho, a state of life and activity without organized thought. Insects and other living things that can act only in a predetermined fashion exist at the level of Jek’Acho.

The twelfth and highest order, Tan’Acho is perfect synchronicity with the cosmos, the ability to redefine the laws that govern existence.

It is believed that only Alpha, the prime First-one can achieve Tan’Acho.

I, however, am of a different mind. The Ka’Amok possess parts of Alpha’s spark.

It is my belief that properly motivated the right Ka’Amok can be brought to Tan’Acho—even against their will.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter One

« ^ »

“The best gallows job I ever did, and he survived anyway. Guess we’ll have to hang him again.” The gallowsman’s raspy words inspired both wonder and horror in Bannor. In last moments before the scaffold hatch slammed open, he’d fervently wished he could survive and escape to find the slavers who took Sarai. If he died, his betrothed would suffer a life of misery beneath a slaver’s lash.

Each detail stood out in Bannor’s mind with sun-bright clarity—the race of his heart in anticipation of death, the shock as the cord jerked taut, the flash of light around his body, and the crushing grip of the noose.

I’m alive! He forced his eyes open. He felt the prickly kiss of raw hemp rubbing his cheek and the vibration of the rope as he spiraled. His neck burned as though wrapped in scalding cloth. A sodden collection of straw-roofed huts hunched beneath a slate-gray sky came into view. The air stank of spoiled straw and stagnant water. Needleleaf trees jutted up in the distance-sharp intrusions on the panorama of green foothills nestled beneath the majesty of Radigast pass.

As Bannor turned, he saw flabby, pig-faced boss Ratch dressed in moth-eaten sheepskins. Two men flanked Ratch, his mountainous enforcer who looked like a summer-sheared broadpaw wearing a floppy hat and suspenders, and the gallowsman, a crater-faced scarecrow dressed in a jaundice yellow tunic.

Blackwater’s drab inhabitants shuffled their feet as they stood in the road that went through the center of the village. They were a motley assortment of men, women and children dressed in rough burlap. None looked as if they’d ever been graced by soap and water.

Have to get loose and find Sarai.

Bannor gasped for air. It felt as if a blade ripped down the side of his neck. He could breathe, but anguish accompanied every breath. He fought against the cords binding his arms.

The people murmured as he kicked on the end of the rope like a prize catch on a fisherman’s stringer. Bannor’s dark hair shrouded his face, skin and leathers, filthy from days in a cell. He narrowed steel-colored eyes, and his hardened body tensed as he struggled with the restraints.

The enforcer spoke in a raspy baritone. “What we do, Boss? He not die, we not get our gold if—”

“Shut up!” Ratch smacked him in the stomach. “Pull him down. We’ll hang the murderer again. Do it right this time.”

Murderer? The bastards had been trying to rape Sarai. Heat burned in Bannor’s chest and his heart raced.

A muscle in the gallowsman’s cheek twitched. “It was done right.”

Ratch’s henchmen clambered onto the platform.

Bannor twisted his arms, feeling wetness on his wrists that must be blood. The enforcer had bound them so tightly his hands had gone numb.

“Pull him up. This wolf is even tougher than he looks.”

The burly enforcer grabbed Bannor’s shoulders, fingers clamping down like the tongs of a blacksmith. The tension in the rope relaxed. The other man worked at pulling the trap door shut and resetting the bolt.

Bannor stared at the crowd. Dingy faces studied him with a mixture of fear and awe. He locked eyes with a young woman. Strings of greasy hair hung across her face. He saw no spark in the girl’s eyes. She turned away when she felt his attention. No one else in the crowd would meet his gaze.

Cowards. The truth isn’t important, only the food and clothing promised to them.

Bent over and trying to fit the bolt in the hole, the gallowsman crouched at the edge of the scaffold. Bannor braced one foot against enforcer and kicked out with the other. Bone popped as his heel struck the hangman’s unprotected head.

The man howled and hit the dirt, writhing and clutching his face.

The big man shook Bannor. “Do that again. I break your neck.”

The irony of his words made Bannor want to laugh. I wish these three would—

A woman’s voice rang out from the edge of the square. “I think not. What you’ll do is cut him loose.” Hope surged through Bannor. He glimpsed the heavy skinning knife on the enforcer’s belt. Maybe I can go for the blade.

The villagers turned toward the speaker. A small woman of perhaps thirty summers swept across the road toward the gallows, a green cloak swirling behind her. Gold hair that shone even in the somber daylight framed a narrow face. She wore a short sword and several sheathed daggers like an experienced fighter.

Following the woman was the biggest Myrmigyne Bannor had ever seen. Ebony hair trailing in the breeze, she appeared a head taller than the enforcer and looked thick with muscle. She nocked an arrow in a great-bow and took a bead on the big man.

“What do you want? Who are you?” Ratch snapped.

The blonde woman stopped near the gallows a pace from where the gallowsman muttered obscenities and wept. She looked Ratch up and down, lip curling. “The question is: what are you?”

The Myrmigyne gestured with the bow. The enforcer set him on the scaffolding near the trap opening. A buzzing filled Bannor’s head, as if insects swarmed inside his skull. The feeling waned. The short woman winced, glanced to the Myrmigyne and nodded.

Ratch reddened. “Listen, woman, I—”

Her sword shrieked from the sheath, leaving a trail of sparks as it sliced open the boss’ jacket leaving only a pink line on the skin beneath.

“Cut him loose.” She pointed at the enforcer. “Otherwise, Irodee will put a shaft between his eyes.”

Ratch’s mud-colored eyes went wide. “You can’t—”

“Irodee, I changed my mind. Shoot him first.”

The Myrmigyne swung the bow around.

They’re here to get me loose! It occurred to him that he might be getting into a worse situation. He discarded the thought. What could be worse than dying and having your mate enslaved?

He sensed the enforcer tensing.

The blonde seemed to feel it too. “Don’t—your boss will be dead before you take a step.” Her blue eyes glinted. She scanned the throng of murmuring villagers. “Anybody feel strongly enough about punishing this murderer that they’ll risk crossing steel?” She turned back to Ratch. “I didn’t think so. What’ll it be?”

The enforcer spoke. “Boss, we’re not going to get our—”

“Shut up!” He eyed the sword glowing in the woman’s hand. “Cut him loose.”

“But Boss—”

“Now!”

Grumbling, the big man undid Bannor’s wrists. Bannor struggled with the rope around his throat. He couldn’t understand why the noose hadn’t suffocated him. He didn’t even feel an indentation in his skin.

The blonde smiled, still keeping the sword ready. “That’s better. Step away. All of you.” She gestured to Bannor. “You—down here.”

Bannor jumped down next to her. One knee buckled and he caught himself. Feel weak. Stay wary, who knows what they want.

She looked shorter than Sarai, and from what he could see of her contours through the leather armor, well made.

“Would it be too much to ask why you’re helping me?”

She didn’t look at him. “Put it this way. Would you let an innocent man hang once, much less twice?”

“No.”

“Neither would I.”

“Innocent!?” The gallowsman bubbled through bloody hands. “He killed my brother!”

Bannor scowled. “Bastard tried to rape my betrothed! When I stopped him, he drew a knife.”

“Sounds reasonable to me. What do you think, Irodee?”

“Think town smell bad, Wren. We go.”

Wren nodded. Bannor felt the odd buzz grow in his head, then dwindle again. His chest tightened. He felt dizzy. The woman put the sword to Ratch’s throat. “Last thing. Where was the elf, Sarai, taken?”

He paled. “I don’t—” He gagged as the blade pressed into his skin. “West, toward Marintown.”

“Thank you.”

She knew about Sarai! “How did you—?”

“Rescue first, conversation later. West.” She pointed.

Bannor took a breath and the queasiness passed. Eying Ratch’s henchmen, he walked in the direction indicated. Irodee stayed close behind. He glanced over his shoulder to see what the shorter woman did.

She drew a dagger and flipped it into a throwing position. Pointing to the fat man she said, “Don’t follow us. They aren’t paying you for that kind of grief.” The blade whirled from her hand and impaled the hanging rope ten paces distant. It hung there vibrating. “Get me?” She snapped her fingers and the dagger reappeared in her grip. It drew a chorus of breaths from the audience.

“Boss, we’re not—”

“Quiet!”

The whole town watched as they walked into the forest. The two women kept a brisk pace, not saying a word. They moved as though woods-wise, staying on hard ground and balancing along deadfalls to prevent leaving tracks. The hanging had taken more out of him than he first realized. All the rocks and trees appeared ringed by a white corona. Odors were distorted as well, the scent of needleleaf and sage, even the traces of the recently passed storm, smelled strong. His skin tingled, and he felt hot.

“How’s the neck?”

He struggled to keep his voice level. “Hurts. Didn’t get a chance to thank you.”

“It’s only fair. You’ll be helping me soon.”

Bannor rubbed his throat. Can’t let them see how weak I am until I know if I can trust them. I have to find Sarai. He took extra care picking through some bracken in their path. “You assume much. I know nothing of you.”

“My name is Wren. That’s Irodee. You’re Bannor Starfist. Those thugs were paid to kidnap your girlfriend, Sarai. You resisted; the big guy clubbed you. Being nice ladies, we helped out.”

Bannor stumbled on a root and caught himself by leaning against a tree. The texture of the bark felt all wrong, smooth instead of with ripples and indentations. He strained to stay focused on Wren. “How do you know all this?” The Myrmigyne shook her head. “Irodee think Wren going too fast.”

“Hey, whose rescue is this anyway?”

Bannor moved a little further, then stopped and leaned against a boulder. He couldn’t concentrate on talking and walking at the same time. “I want to know why you helped me. What do you expect in return? I won’t do anything—” “—until we get Sarai back. I knew that.”

Bannor clutched the sides of his head. It would be bad enough without the world spinning. What’s happening?

“Stop finishing my sentences for me!”

“Only trying to save time. We have to move fast if we’re going to catch those slavers.”

Bannor rubbed his eyes. His vision cleared slightly. Strange as this woman was, she did appear sincere, and he needed help. All his equipment and weapons were locked away in town.

“Slowly this time, as if this were a normal conversation. I’m Bannor and you are—?”

Wren half smiled. “I’m Wren Kergatha, this is Irodee De’Falcone. We’ve been looking for you. We would have stopped them before they hung you, but Irodee insisted on following me into the jailhouse.” She glanced at the bigger woman. “It took a while to dislodge her posterior from the window.”

Irodee reddened. “Not Irodee’s fault!”

“Later.”

He sat down on the rock as another wave of dizziness hit. “What—why were you there?”

“Getting your equipment.”

Irodee removed a pack and pulled out his traveling items and his hand-axes.

Wren frowned. “Are you all right?”

He put a hand to his head. “Don’t know—I feel—” He tried to continue, but his throat constricted. Dots danced in his vision. His stomach tightened. “Odin, I—”

He sensed Wren and Irodee lowering him to the ground. The view of the forest canted to one side. His heart thundered. Wren’s words distorted, some distinct, others lost in confusion of sound.

“Bannor … backlash … awake…” He felt himself being shaken. Her warm hands pressed against his brow. So strange. I escape the noose, only to die like this. Poor Sarai, I tried—Odin knows, I tried…

A voice rang in his head. He didn’t hear it with his ears so much as feel it. Bannor! The word hummed through him. The Nola is backlashing on you. You have to stay awake! Each utterance came through clear and concise with no slur or accent, too powerful to have issued from human lungs.

Bannor!

Blackness pushed at the edges of his mind’s eye. He saw visions of Sarai’s misty lavender eyes staring into his, the kitten-soft touch of her fingers on his cheek, her breathy elven accent giving grace to guttural human speech. Images of her suffering made him burn like fire.

A sharp pain coursed through the darkness. He experienced a strange duality. The real world, wrapped in a blanket of shimmering colors, the silhouettes of the two women moving around him, their probing fingers a distant tingling. The dreamy illusions swayed and danced like shadows cast from a campfire.

Sorry, Bannor, this is a bit intimate for a stranger, but I need you alive. He felt the words more strongly. A single bright pattern blotted out everything. It pulsed with life, not his but another’s. It swelled until he felt he would burst trying to contain it.

He felt a sharp twisting sensation, and the light vanished. Thoughts—not his own—female. Ishtar, it’s hard enough doing it to myself. He felt a curious warmth spread through him. Come on—respond!

He wanted to rage at her, to demand to know what was happening. Why couldn’t he see? Where had his voice gone?

Sparks flared like traces dislodged by a blacksmith’s hammer striking a molten ingot. Again.

Damn, he’s stubborn. A sharp prickling sensation, then a cascade of flashes.

Everything turned white.

The worst part of immortality is not boredom. There is always something new to entertain.

No, what makes immortality difficult, is a lack of goals to aspire to.

You can’t kill your chief rivals, they just keep reforming.

Conquering territory and mastering space holds the interest for a few millennia, but even that gets dry after a while. For an immortal to feel true satisfaction, someone is going to have to change the rules. Someday, I shall be that one.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Two

« ^ »

Bannor awoke with a start, realizing he was staring into a campfire. He sat up and pushed the blanket into his lap. His temples and stomach ached. His neck felt stiff, and he found it difficult to move without pain.

He rubbed his eyes and looked around. Stars sparkled through ragged holes in the canopy of clouds. The gurgle of a brook nearby accompanied the chirping of night insects. Brisk air brought the scents of burning heatherwood and cooked meat. The need to find Sarai didn’t feel as urgent as before. We’re on our way. Why do I know that?

Irodee sat across from him leaning against a boulder, her ebony hair loose and spilling into her lap. Wren lay next to her, a cloak pulled over her shoulders. The blonde woman’s face looked pale in the orange light. Irodee poked the fire with a branch, the flames reflecting in her dark eyes. The women must have carried him some distance because the trees ringing the grassy clearing were whitebarks and not needleleaf. The only groves of that breed lay a league south of Blackwater.

“Drink.” Irodee handed a clay cup across the fire.

Bannor took it mechanically. As his head cleared, all his senses became sharp and distinct. The cup felt warm, its surface worn and dusty. Steam curled out, carrying the scent of an herbal broth.

He sipped the sweet brew. It tasted of bird-meat and seasonings he assumed were medicinal. After a few more sips, his curiosity about what had happened began to nag. It appeared Irodee wouldn’t provide an answer without prompting. Brushing her hair, she only watched him. Even sitting, she cut an imposing silhouette.

“What happened to me?”

She threw some twigs in the fire. “Wren calls it backlash.”

Bannor watched the slivers of wood contort in the flames, popping and sputtering. “What do you call it?”

“A league’s worth of heavy toting.”

He sighed. Backlash? Backlash from what?

Wren rolled over. Irodee rubbed the woman’s shoulder.

“Wren said you two were looking for me. Why?”

Irodee frowned and threw some more wood into the flames. “Avatar’s servants planned to slave you. We stop them.”

Bannor digested that. Slave? But the slavers took Sarai, not him. What kind of sense did that make? Sarai had told him stories describing the avatars as harbingers of chaos. Why would an avatar want him, as a slave, or otherwise? Until recently, his life had been placid. Five winters ago he’d taken a position with Baron’s scouting corps. He patrolled South Realm’s border valleys to protect the kingdom from vermin like the orcs and goblins. There’d been scuffles and their inevitable scars, but nothing remarkable except for meeting Sarai. That remained a treasured moment.

It brought him back to his original thought. Why would an avatar want him? There must be some reason—and probably a good one. What did Wren and Irodee get out of it?

“Why would this avatar want to enslave me?”

Irodee made a disgusted sound. “Slavery is slavery. You not want to be avatar’s slave, right?”

He shook his head. “But … why?”

“Who cares? Slavery wrong, we stop it. See?”

Bannor saw. The Myrmigyne’s answer was more evasion than solution. Wren must know why the avatars wanted him. It would be a good reason to compel these two to interfere. From the tiny bit he saw of the blonde woman, she was not the type to run around the countryside bestowing random acts of kindness.

“Bannor should sleep. Long run tomorrow before we get horses. Irodee not carry you this time.” Bannor sighed. Perhaps Wren would give him a better explanation. I hope Sarai is all right. Wish I could find out, tell her I’m alive. She must think I’m dead…

He thought it would be hard to fall asleep, but a wave of exhaustion hit him. By the time he’d adjusted his bedroll and made a pillow from a pack and some clothes, his eyelids felt leaden.

A few long breaths and a last glance into the dark serenity of Irodee’s eyes and consciousness faded…

Drifting. Bannor felt an irresistible tugging. Dragged upward, he soared away from the ground. A powerful force propelled him across the sky. He climbed through mists and emerged in an indigo sky dappled with stars.

He noted that all his sensations were muted and distant. He felt the wind chilling his face as he flashed out over a sea of knotted gray fleece, but the sensation was peculiar-unreal. He marveled at pillars of clouds that rose to support the arch of the heavens. Even the way he saw things seemed fuzzy and less distinct. His heart pounded, but the sensation registered as though not in his body at all.

Dreaming, he told himself. Drawn toward the valley between the rocky fangs of the Marin spur, he descended. Snow crowned the highest outcrops and fog shrouded them in a gauzy cloak. He saw a line of fires at the base of the pass.

He was being sucked toward the flickering lights like a bug caught in a whirlpool. The rocky pass grew, then the details of a long caravan narrowing to a single wagon in their midst. It became dark and the sense of momentum stopped. He tingled all over.

As his vision adjusted, he determined he must now be inside a wagon. A slice of firelight between segments of the tarp gave a sketchy view of the cramped interior cordoned off by rows of metal bars. The malodor of mildew and spoiled straw smelled oddly weak, as if the sense had to travel leagues to reach his brain. In the corner, a single figure lay hugging itself and sobbing softly.

His distant insides tightened and his heart stopped. Sarai! It no longer mattered whether this was a dream or not. Straw blew away to either side as he rushed to her. “Sarai!”

The elf’s lavender eyes went wide, glowing in the darkness. Her mouth opened in a shriek.

“No-No! Sarai, it’s me, Bannor!” He tried to smother her cries with his body. Hugging Sarai’s shuddering form, her skin felt like ice. The woman’s tattered tunic and dress fluttered as though caught in a gale. Her silver hair fanned outward as if she floated underwater.

“Bannor?” Her voice trembled.

“It’s me.” His far away heart thundered. He stroked Sarai’s hair, and sparks danced down the strands like tiny glowbugs. Dipping his face into the curve of her neck, he breathed in her unique fragrance. Her pale flesh glowed as though lit by candles. “I don’t know how, but I’m here. I escaped, and now I’ll free you.”

“It is you! I can tell. Why can’t I see you?”

See me? “I’m right here.” He kissed Sarai, crushing her soft body to his. Since their separation, he’d longed to hold his beloved again.

Sarai’s lithe body shone in the darkness like a beacon. Gasping, she pushed him back. “What’s happening? It’s like I’m full of light!” She held out a glowing hand. Probing, her downy fingers found his face. “My One, you feel as if you’re made of mist. I can’t see you.”

Bannor looked at himself. He saw only a faint outline as if he’d become a chalk drawing. He contained his amazement. “I’ll get you out of here.” Pulling away, he went to the bars. Straw swirled out of his path. Braced, he might be able to snap the thin rusty iron. He gripped the metal. Molten pain shot through his arms.

He snatched his hands back. Red glows throbbed where his palms should be. “Damn!” Dust and splinters of wood spiraled as though caught in whirlwind. He threw himself at the bars.

Agony ripped through him. Bannor hit the frosty ground beside the wagon howling. Dirt, snow and gravel flew all directions, campfires flickered out, and caravan guards screamed warnings. Two men sitting by a nearby fire stiffened and fell over as if turned to stone.

Odin’s beard! I’m a ghost! He righted himself. Sarai yelled his name. Without thinking, he dove back into the wagon. He felt the same excruciating shock as the cold iron tried to suck the life out of him. He held back a curse. The effort made him dizzy.

Bannor swept his betrothed into his arms and comforted her. How could he tell Sarai he’d become a spirit?

Somehow he’d died and now wandered the world as nothing more than a bodiless presence.

A female voice interrupted their embrace. “That’s enough, Bannor. We’ll get her loose soon. We need to leave before we both get killed.”

Sarai yelped. Bannor turned. A red outline shaped like a huge bird of prey hovered nearby. The voice sounded familiar. “Who are you?”

The entity sighed. “It’s Wren. This is simply how I choose to have my astral shape look. Kiss her good-bye. We can’t help Sarai like this.”

“I don’t—”

“Do it!” Flames curled around the image and the debris on the floor smoldered. “The avatars can find us in this state.”

He sensed the urgency in her voice. He kissed Sarai not wanting to part. “I’ll come for you—I promise…”

“Come on.” Something gripped his arm and dragged him skyward. He braced for the searing pain but none came. Clouds whipped past. Wren moved them much faster than when he went on his own. “Passing through iron or silver is deadly while in this state. The lords only know how you survived. Do us both a favor. Don’t do it again!”

He felt silly nodding, not knowing whether she was looking at him. “Yes. What—how—?”

Wren growled. “You’re asking me? It took my mother two seasons to teach me to travel astrally.” They paused high over the sea of clouds. She seemed to be looking around. “Imagine my surprise; I wake up to check you out, and there’s nobody home. Have to get your talent under control before one of your hot-flashes hurts somebody.”

Talent? Could that be what the avatar wanted? “How did you find me?”

Wren snorted and white streaks shot through her outline. “I’m not stupid. Where else would you go?” She kept scanning the heavens. He assumed what she looked for couldn’t be seen in the skies around them.

The pause concerned him. “Why have we stopped?”

“If the avatars detected us I don’t want to lead them to our bodies.”

Bannor strained to grasp what this all meant. “Then we’re not physically here. What I’m seeing is … what?”

“A mental picture; a projection. Because of who we are, our astral-presence is tangible in the real world.”

A sinking feeling hit Bannor. “And probably easily detected.”

The bird image burned brighter. “Exactly.”

She tugged on him again. The sky around them shimmered like a rainbow. The clouds and stars faded to become a gray realm marred by rips of obsidian dotted with colored lights. Odd-shaped islands drifted by like ocean-bound flotsam. Nebulous areas of dark gray boiled in the distance. Occasionally, a bright streak illuminated the roiling masses.

Bannor could see himself again. His skin glowed and he wore his best battle-skins and boots. The war-bow Sarai had made for him rode on his shoulder and his axes lay in their sheaths. Here, Wren appeared as an exotic hawk with flames for feathers and talons of winking diamond.

He struggled to cope with the new environment. In the skies of Titaan, he possessed no body, but he could smell the storm’s aftermath, hear the whistle of frosty night air. Here his form was substance without feeling: no sounds, smells, not even the taste of moisture on his lips.

“I want you to see what’s after you and Sarai. This will keep us from being observed.” She fanned her wings over him. It felt as if a hot desert wind blew in his face. A blue radiance licked around his body.

“What is this place?” He pointed at the rolling chaos in the distance.

“This is the astral realm. Those are ether cyclones. Get caught in one of those and you might never find your body again.”

Bannor’s mind reeled. “Are you sure we’re not dreaming?”

The bird’s eyes gleamed. “I wish we were. Let’s go.” She soared away, pulling Bannor along.

The realm contorted around them. Isles and clouds of matter buzzed past at a phenomenal speed. She slowed, circling and entering an area suffused by a black radiance.

A single titanic figure surrounded by a squirming sea of smaller creatures filled the shadowy zone. An ebony snake with a hood large enough to cast a city into darkness undulated slowly across the astral-scape. Its eyes burned, and its mouth hung agape. Tree-sized fangs dripped green liquid. In each of its scales Bannor saw the images of people in torment. As they watched, the monster struck down into the massed beings around it and came away with a squirming bounty of screaming creatures.

Bannor felt his guts churn as the snake masticated its prey and the shrieking dwindled. A new row of scales appeared around the giant entity’s neck, each plate now filled with a writhing victim.

“By Odin, what is that thing?” It felt as if icy hands gripped his insides.

Wren’s bird form dimmed. Her voice sounded hard. “That is the astral presence of Hecate. That is what is after you, Bannor. That mob around her is servants searching for you.”

“Why would that thing want me?”

Her voice dropped. “Your power, Bannor. She wants to absorb you and use your talent to aid her in the conquest of souls.”

The way Wren stressed the word ‘absorb’ made him shudder. By her tone, he guessed she’d once been at the mercy of that monster. “What talent? I’m a woodsman, a border guardian. I’m no mage!”

“You are a savant. Your ability kept you alive at the gallows and took you to Sarai. I’m sure it’s worked other times you’re not aware of. The fact is, you have a power that we can’t let her control.”

“What power?”

Wren countered with a question. “You want Sarai free?”

“Of course!”

“You’ll do what I tell you?”

“How do I know you’re not as bad as she is?”

“Bannor, look at that. I couldn’t be that bad if I tried!”

His mind whirled. The nightmarish apparitions of Hecate loomed behind Wren. If she was telling the truth, these creatures were arrayed against him. He couldn’t protect Sarai from them. He barely escaped from those three ruffians. Wren knew the enemy. She knew about his talent and how to use it. If she was an enemy, he could always rebel against her later. He would need someone like Irodee to help him get Sarai away from those slavers.

“Guess I’ll have to trust you for now.”

The bird bowed, sparks of yellow dancing through its plumage. “Cautious. That’s fair. You’ve seen enough, they probably wouldn’t probe this close to home, but no sense taking chances.” Bannor felt himself pulled back the way they’d come.

He felt a chill. “Will they ever stop looking for me?”

Ripples of blue shot through Wren’s flames. “Immortals are patient and they have vast resources. They work at something until they lose interest or it becomes too costly to continue.”

They plunged out of the gloomy astral and back into the sparkling night sky, spiraling down through the clouds toward a single patch of countryside that expanded beneath them.

“It sounds like you have a plan.”

“Bannor, one thing you’ll learn about me. I always have a plan.”

The unenlightened feel that death is the end of being.

They are wrong, what they consider death, is merely an altering of one’s existence, a shifting from one state of consciousness to another.

In fact, I have done extensive research in this area.

For some reason, this appears to upset many beings.

Some have gone as far as calling me a murderer.

Don’t these creatures realize I am doing them a favor?

They get the distinct opportunity to change and grow closer to the creators.

Something we of the pantheons have always been denied.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Three

« ^ »

Bannor spent daybreak with nothing to talk to but rocks, grass, trees and the occasional spine-berry bush. Wren let Irodee choose the trail for their pursuit of the caravan holding Sarai. The giantess picked a route that cut through the roughest territory in South Realm.

Though it was the shortest path, Bannor voted for a different way. Wren overruled him by saying if he wanted help, he’d trust their judgment. Bannor avoided saying that he didn’t think Wren could keep up through that terrain. He’d made the trek on several occasions, and he never journeyed that way unless forced. The faint track not only cut through the heart of orc territory, but gullies, rocky slopes and dense thickets that made it treacherous as well as risky. He wanted to find out more about Wren’s plan to thwart the avatars, but had only enough wind for running. Irodee set a brutal pace through the winding Sepacawchee river valley—a boulder-infested tangle of briar-wood, itch-leaf, and snag-root.

When running with others, Bannor usually had to slow down to let them keep up. Not with the Myrmigyne. Irodee leaped over bushes, ducked through thickets, forded streams and negotiated rock falls without missing a stride. It took all his stamina to keep from falling behind. At first, he worried that Wren wouldn’t keep up. He soon discovered his fears were unfounded. She ran as if her feet never touched the ground. If anything, she maintained the pace easier than he or Irodee.

Four leagues down the valley, Irodee stopped for a break in a large cluster of boulders that lay in the shadow of an anvil-shaped outcrop. A handful of scraggly trees grew in between the rocks, and clumps of blue dapple-flowers grew along the edges of a creek that ran down from a crack in the cliff.

A pair of unhappy thistle-wings chastised them from the branches of a nearby tree as Bannor dropped his pack. He slumped in the grass. His mouth tasted like old leather, and his chest burned. He made fists to stop the shaking of his hands. Forcing slower breaths, he sniffed the honey-like redolence of the flowers. The scent mingled with the muted odors of algae and mineral-rich water.

Irodee sat by a boulder, stuck her spear in the ground, and took a pull from a water skin. The woman’s olive skin glistened with sweat.

Wren sat next to him, breathing heavily. Her face looked flushed and a trail of perspiration ran down her cheeks. It took a few moments for Bannor to be able to speak. “You’re a good runner.”

Wren picked up a twig and twirled it between her fingers. “You learn when you spend most of your life being chased.”

“I suppose you’ll tell me about it sometime?”

She didn’t smile. “Maybe.”

Something about the way she said it snapped his restraint. “Why is everything a secret!? I’ve yet to get a straight answer from you!”

The twig broke in her fingers. “Bannor, lower your voice. I can hear fine.”

“Good! I understand the threat of the avatars. What you keep dancing around is why you chose to help me. What’s in this for you?”

Wren tossed the sprig away. “Bannor, I’m not any more inclined to answer you now than before. I have my own security to consider.”

He felt a rush of heat. “Your security—!”

The Myrmigyne cut in. “Irodee thinks Bannor should calm down before he takes a deep swim in a shallow stream.” “Bannor thinks Irodee should stay out of this,” he growled back. “Wren, I don’t accept that. What about me is so secret that even I don’t have a blasted right to know?”

Wren’s blue eyes met his. “Look, woodsman, shaking your fist at me won’t change my mind. I’ve faced lots worse. Ability like yours is addictive. Once you start using it, it’s tough to stop. Until you have control, you are dangerous. So the less you know, the safer we’ll be.”

He’d never wanted to punch a woman so bad. Bannor slammed fist in the grass. “I don’t accept that. I wish you’d just blasted well tell me!”

A gust of hot air blew through the clearing. Wren yelped and rolled as miniature bolts of lightning attacked her from all sides. Wren’s tumbling body left a wake of singed grass. “Bannor…!”

“Wren!” Irodee dashed over, only to be knocked back by the field of crackling energy.

“Stop it!” Wren cried. A hard white glare formed around her body.

Bannor’s chest ached and thunder pounded in his temples. Clenching his hands, he felt a vibration as if he’d grabbed a swarm of angry insects. Circles of green light shimmered around his fists.

The blue radiance pushed inward again and Wren yelled.

By Odin, I’m the one doing it!

The whiteness surged outward with a crack. The attacking force vanished. It felt as if a hammer crashed into Bannor’s forehead.

Wren gasped. The blaze from her body hurt his eyes. “Must release!” She staggered to a boulder and slammed both hands against it.

Thunder rolled through the clearing. A wave of air slammed him backward into the stream. The world grayed then came back into focus. Frosty water ran around his hands and knees. A ringing droned in his ears.

He blinked. A pile of gravel scattered across the hillside was all that remained of the rock. A fifty pace swath of shattered saplings, uprooted bushes, and scarred boulders spread out from the explosion’s origin.

Bannor felt numb. All that came from me.

Face crimson, Wren strode to him, grabbed his tunic and yanked him out of the water. “Don’t you ever do that again!” Bannor could only stare at her. “You—” The woman clutched her temples and moaned. She warred with some inner demon for several moments, then appeared to get herself under control again.

“Damn. Irodee!” Wren turned to the Myrmigyne who lay in the grass groaning.

“Can Irodee kill him?” the big woman muttered, sitting up and clutching her head.

Wren examined the Myrmigyne. “You’re okay. Sit still. I’ll be back in a moment.” Obviously relieved, she rose and pointed at him. “Get up.”

He stood, hands shaking. Wren grabbed his collar and towed him over to the destroyed boulder.

“See that? What if it had been Sarai instead of me? Does this prove to you how dangerous you are?” She scooped up some gravel and let the pieces fall through her fingers. “That’s what Hecate wants—” She paused and her eyes hazed over for a moment. “The most powerful kind of savant, the Garmtur’Shak Nola.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t do it on purpose!” she snapped. “Just don’t do it again. Keep a grip on your emotions.” She was obviously struggling not to lash out at him. Behind those hard eyes Wren was scared.

He swallowed. Garmtur’Shak Nola—that was elven for master of magic’s key. In anger he’d attacked her with his talent. Somehow she’d grappled with the magic and defeated it. “How did you—?”

“I’m—” Wren started.

“Wren?” Irodee gave her a warning look.

She paused as if trying to remember something. “I’m Kel’Varan Nola, a savant of forces.” She shook her head and went to sit next to Irodee.

The Myrmigyne put a hand on Wren’s shoulder and peered at the woman as if there might be something wrong with her.

A cold feeling swept through Bannor. The acrid smell of burned vegetation made his stomach churn. He stared at the debris. She’s right. What if it had been Sarai? He studied the two. Irodee appeared shaken but undamaged. Wren sat cross-legged, head bowed.

I can’t let this happen again. What caused it? I got mad and it happened. How was this like the two other times his power activated? At the gallows he’d been scared, not angry. The astral traveling happened in his sleep. Neither time did the power respond as he would have expected.

Even as he considered, he saw the lure. She was probably right. Ignorance would be safer. What he didn’t know about, he wouldn’t be tempted to ponder or experiment with. He glanced again at the shattered boulder. Somewhere inside him lay an incredible power, one that worked by special rules.

“Don’t you think it’s natural to want to know about yourself?” he asked.

Wren’s shoulders slumped. “Of course it’s natural. It’s just damn unhealthy at this stage in your development.” Irodee shook her head. “Is Wren all right?”

The savant nodded. “I was dizzy. I’m okay now.” She looked at Bannor. “The last one that experimented ended up permanently scarred.”

He frowned. “How many savants have you tried to help?”

Wren turned to look straight at him. “Several.”

He sat by her. “Did any know about their abilities?”

“Three of them.”

“What about you. How did you learn to use yours?”

She shrugged. “Trial and error.” She patted Irodee’s shoulder. “Some Myrmigyne battle discipline. When I finally found my family, my parents were mages. That’s when the training really began.”

“What do you mean, ‘found your family?’ ”

Wren’s eyes hardened. “I lived in a different land in a city named Cosmodarus. Hecate learned that savant blood ran in the Kergathas. When I was seven, she enslaved my parents and separated my brother and I. The priests brought me here to Titaan to the temple in Corwin to be Succorond-molded as an avatar host.”

Irodee walked to where her spear and bow lay on the ground. She brought them back and started cleaning the weapons.

“Weren’t Hecate’s precincts destroyed three decades ago?”

“Bad timing is what saved me. The forces of Ukko and Isis assaulted the temple, and I escaped in the confusion. It left me alone in the street, still in shock, my mind half wiped. I lived twenty summers not knowing I even had a family.” She gritted her teeth. “Bannor, I loathe Hecate. Her avatars will tear your universe apart simply to watch you cry.” She took a dagger from her boot and flipped it. “I don’t like invading other people’s lives, turning their lives upside down. It makes them uncomfortable—”

“Makes Irodee very uncomfortable.”

Wren smiled. “It makes us unpopular, too. Someday Hecate will pay for what she’s done. Until then, all I can do to help other savants is teach them how to protect themselves. Someday all savants will band together to end the hunt.” Bannor sighed. “I appreciate your efforts. It sounds like a worthwhile endeavor, one I might take up. Until I met Sarai, I was a loner. I trust few people, and you’ve hit all my raw nerves since we met.”

Irodee chuckled. “Wren rubs everyone the wrong way.”

“Hush!”

Bannor smiled. “Please accept my apology. I was mad, but not—”

Wren held up a hand. “Save it. I’d rather hear you promise not to experiment with your power. I told you more than I should have…” Her voice trailed off. “Let it go—this is the wrong time and place.”

He met her eyes. “There’ll be a right time and place?”

Wren snorted. “You jest? Of course. You’ll be a bloody menace otherwise.” She glanced toward the destroyed boulder and pointed the dagger at him. “I want to hear you promise.”

“Okay, but will you answer one question first?”

She rolled her eyes. “What?”

“After the gallows, you said I got talent backlash, right?”

Wren flipped the dagger and caught it. “Yes. I had to enter your mind to fix it.”

“I didn’t need it after we astral traveled. Right now, I must have just put out one hundred times as much magic. Why no backlash?”

“That’s because—” Her brow furrowed. “Damn—good question. It took all my will to counter the backlash from turning your attack…” She pursed her lips, obviously intrigued by the possibilities.

“Whatever, only curious, I promise not to experiment.” As soon as I find out what makes us different.

Everyone refilled their water-skins and ate a few pieces of waybread. They spent the rest of the day moving at a fast march.

Irodee’s strategy was to move quickly in the cool morning hours and proceed at double time in the afternoon. This way they could average seven leagues a day. Even with horses, a big caravan like the one carrying Sarai would be lucky to move four leagues. The slavers left three days ahead of them, and the trek through the Marin pass would slow them considerably. By afternoon on the third day they should be at the top of the mountain passage and within striking distance of the caravan.

Sarai would be back in his arms. The thought made a tingle race through him. Little Star, I’m coming.

They camped in a shallow grove of spice-wood where the Sepacawchee valley forked, running south into the Gragrin Mountains and northwest where it opened into Varheath lake. They’d covered twelve leagues since Blackwater.

The odor of gnarled spice-woods permeated the air, a pungent aroma that smelled like a blend of mildew and heavy pepper-spice. Nothing else could grow underneath the acrid canopy, and the ground was a solid mat of dead leaves and crinkled pink seed-berries.

They made a small fire after clearing an area. Mists welled out of the valley and made the air wet and miserable. The flames silhouetted the spice-trees against the fog making it look as if they were back in the astral realm. Bannor felt uneasy. Something didn’t feel right.

“We did good today,” Irodee said poking the fire with her spear. “Bannor not hold us up like I thought.”

He thrust a branch in the fire causing sparks to flare. “Scouting is my profession.”

Irodee grinned. “Doesn’t mean you’re any good.”

Bannor snorted and stood. “I’m going to look around. You want to take second watch?”

Irodee nodded.

Wren pulled a cloak around her shoulders. “Don’t get lost.”

“Funny.” He took an oil-dampened brand from his pack, unwrapped it, and lit it in the fire. Shaking his head, he started a sweep of the perimeter.

He found the first quarter of the circle clear except for some blackhorn tracks. A broad-wing made its distinct hooing in the limbs overhead. He stopped and rubbed his prickling arms as he caught the hint of something that smelled even worse than the spice-woods. I hope that’s not what I think it is.

Bannor followed the odor into an open section between the trees where the ground was covered with leaves. He kicked the thick foliage around. His toe struck some covered over rocks.

“Irodee! You better see this.” He kicked around finding several more hidden circles of rocks.

The towering Myrmigyne loomed out of the fog carrying her spear. “What?”

“Take a look.” He finished clearing away the leaves that hid the fire ring. The blade from a broken iron dagger lay in the debris as well.

Irodee frowned and took his torch. She examined the blade and the stones. “Orcs—they probably broke camp this morning.”

Bannor sniffed and made a face. “From the size of that badly-covered latrine I’d say over fifty of them.”

“What Irodee doesn’t like is, they’re covering up. That means—”

“—They’re looking for something. Probably us.”

Recently, I have heard speculations that the life essence of mortals, that thing they refer to a soul or spirit, is actually a fragment of the immutable Alphaforce.

It is an interesting theory, and lends support to why the most powerful magics can be fueled by this persistent mortal essence.

I think many of us knew the value of souls long before we started using them to further enhance our powers. For myself, I have always found them to be delectable.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Four

« ^ »

“So you agree, the orcs could be looking for us?”

Bannor studied Wren’s reaction in the firelight. Face set, she hugged her knees. “I wouldn’t rule it out.”

The fire crackled and sputtered, illuminating tendrils of mist as they curled through the clearing. Rubbing his prickling arms, Bannor hunched to warm himself. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of burning spice wood.

“Irodee doubts it.” The Myrmigyne pulled a blanket around her shoulders, and continued polishing her spear. “It is orc territory. They’re a raiding party.”

Wren grimaced. “We’ll treat them as if they are looking for us. Tomorrow we’ll be extra alert. You don’t think we have to worry tonight, do you, Bannor?”

He shook his head. “If the orcs planned on returning to that camp, they wouldn’t have covered up.”

“Good, then we’ll do the watches as we discussed.”

Bannor frowned, listening to the night insects. Something in the area had felt wrong since they arrived. Could it be someone watching them?

“Irodee spell you in three bells.” She slipped a sheath over the end of her spear and laid it and the bow next to her bedroll.

Wren arranged herself as well. Bannor stared at the dancing tongues of fire leaping from the wood. He tossed some twigs into the flames. How strange everything became in only two days. In that short time, he’d gone from being a woodsman to some kind of mage.

Poor Sarai, how will I explain this? His chest tightened at the thought of his beloved freezing in a metal cage somewhere in the Marin pass. He dwelled on it for only an instant and then glanced at the slow rise and fall of Wren’s chest. I have to go see Sarai again.

How? The power lay in him, but obviously wasn’t triggered by whim. The desire must be focused. What was I thinking last night? ‘Wish I could find out, tell her I’m alive…’

He sat on his bedroll, leaned back and studied the fog eddying through the branches overhead.

I want to be with you Little Star; comfort you. I know it can be done. I simply have to make this blasted power work. He closed his eyes. I wish to be able to travel again. I wish, I wish…

After a long period of trying, he sat up and let out a breath. Nothing. Why can’t I get it to work? Does it only happen when I’m not expecting it?

He prowled around the edge of the clearing, frustration churning in his stomach. Standing by a gnarled tree, he peeled off hunks of bark and considered what he might be doing wrong.

Something’s getting in my way. He rubbed his fingers together, rolling the sticky sap into a ball. Am I blocking myself?

He looked back to the two sleeping women silhouetted in flickering light. How did Wren learn to control her power? The Myrmigynes taught body focus, being attuned with the physical. Mages taught metaphysical awareness.

He went back and sat on his bedroll. Damn it. All I want is to comfort my beloved!

His body tingled and went numb. He barely caught himself before his head smacked against the ground, then relaxed. A cool wind blew through his mind. The vapor writhing through the clearing faded into translucency.

Floating. I did it! Elation rushed through him.

He hovered over himself, the flames licking up through his ephemeral body. His form lay with its arms crossed. He studied the placid face as if it were someone else’s. A wolf’s features; skin darkened from a life spent in the elements, wide-set eyes beneath feathery brows, a prominent nose and broad jaw. Sarai trusted that face. Nothing would keep him from protecting her.

He glanced at Wren and Irodee. Neither stirred. Even asleep, the image of the phoenix faintly outlined the savant. This is risky. The avatars might sense me. I wish I could conceal myself like Wren.

Green light flooded around his astral form. The lanky specter of the great mountain wolf sprang into being around him.

He sighed. No wonder Wren wants me to wait until I get tutoring from a master.

Bannor willed himself to Sarai. He rose through the mists and streaked over the rocky countryside. Clouds dappled the starlit night. A glowing sliver of Pernithius, the harvest moon, peeked between the summits of the western mountains. Icy wind nipped at his face, and sent chills down his outspread arms. Strange that I feel anything without a body.

He covered the distance to the pass in the time it took for three long breaths. A ring of six campfires glowed in the rocks at the base of the ascent.

Why haven’t they moved since yesterday?

Flashing to within a stone’s throw, he discovered the fires weren’t the caravan’s. A dozen hulking creatures walked in patrols around a cluster of boulders. Coming closer he made out two score more lying in scraggly burlap bedrolls. The rank odors of month-old ale, unwashed bodies and urine lingered close to the ground like a poisonous cloud. Bannor rose higher to avoid the noxious stink.

“Orcs,” he muttered, hovering over the largest fire. His presence whipped the flames into spirals of red and orange. They were after something—the caravan. A large tent sat in the shelter of the hillside guarded by two huge orc tuskers dressed in splint armor. The leader is probably up there.

A squealing interrupted his thoughts. One of the creatures had awakened. Its green-skinned porcine face twisted into a mask of fear. The yell touched off flurry of burlap and bodies as gleaming yellow eyes focused on his wolf-shape hovering amid the bonfire.

The tent flap rolled back and a huge man stepped out and bellowed a command for quiet. He towered over the guards and would have dwarfed even Irodee. In the dim firelight his skin looked blue.

Bannor saw the flicker of an astral presence and dived into the cover of the rocks higher on the mountain. The half-giant bellowed for order. A glowing astral outline illuminated the creature’s body, different from Bannor’s own and likely not visible to the orcs. Membranous wings jutted from its back. A reptilian head topped with horns and mounted on a corded neck rose from bunched shoulders. A twitching spike-studded tail extended from the base of his spine. Two other pairs of arms appeared to point and gesture as he spoke.

A demon! Heart racing, Bannor sped toward the caravan. What if it’s after Sarai?!

He found the chain of wagons at the pass summit. Three fire pits burned around each. A score of sentries moved warily around the perimeter. I must have really shaken them up. He smiled.

He found Sarai’s wagon and entered it, this time moving through the wooden roof and not the metallic cage bars. Sarai huddled in a corner nearest a fire, some straw and few pieces of old sacking pulled around her body for warmth. The rank smells of mildew and spoiled hay came back to him like the first time.

“Little Star, I’m here.”

She roused. “Bannor?”

He hugged Sarai’s quaking body. “Odin, you’re so cold.”

Her arms found his neck and pulled tight. “I could never feel cold with my One so near.” Her violet eyes glowed. “You look like a wolf!”

Bannor frowned. “Wren looked like a bird. I look like this.”

Sarai’s body glowed, filling with his astral energies. “All that’s important is that you’re here. Tell me you can get me out of this cage.” At his hesitation, her voice rose. “Please, Bannor, there must be a way with this new magic.”

The rising hysteria in her voice and thoughts of the demon only hours away sent thoughts careening through his mind.

“Maybe there is. Who has the keys?”

She sat up, crawled across the floor and pushed the edge of the tarp aside. After a few moments a hirsute man with blocky features and a stooped bearing passed.

“There is another. He is bald with a black spider tattooed on his forehead. He opens the cage to bring me food.”

Bannor kissed her. “I’m going to get those keys.”

She held him for a moment then let go. “I’ll be ready.”

Concentrating, he dimmed the image of the wolf until it no longer appeared visible. Rising through the roof, he settled next to the wagon. The hairy man continued to pace. He spoke to another who crouched close to a fire. “I say the witch is a banshee. We should let her go before she turns two more men to stone.”

The stooped man turned. The light illuminated his tattooed face. “We free her, and the master will hang us.” Bannor closed in. On the man’s belt, he saw a ring of keys. Dust eddied and the fire flared as he approached.

Damn.

The tattooed man stiffened and the sentry gasped.

“What was that?”

Bannor grabbed the key ring. Pain seared through his hand as he gripped the iron. The fabric of the man’s breeches tore. Bannor juggled the red hot metal. It dropped into a patch of snow with a hissing sound.

Tattoo-face yelped, and the guard blanched.

Bannor snatched a stick from a pile of firewood and speared the ring. Lifting the branch and the keys took tremendous effort, as if he were hefting a boulder. Shoving the ring through the bars to Sarai, he dodged the guard who grabbed for the stick. Bracing, he slammed a fist into the man’s face.

A flash illuminated the clearing like a lightning. The guard flipped and landed face down in the dirt. Bannor’s hand throbbed the way it did after a fight. I don’t have much affect on dead things, but with people it’s almost as if I were physically here.

Tattoo-face yelled, and men swarmed toward the fallen sentry.

Sarai rapidly tried keys in the cage lock.

Have to distract them.

He rushed to the fire pit. His presence made the flames blaze. The men looked over at the flare of light. Racing around the camp Bannor knocked guards down and made campfires burst, sending sparks and ashes into the air. The ranks broke into chaos, as bosses screamed conflicting orders and men ran in different directions swinging at invisible opponents. Bannor could smell their fear. A satisfying warmth spread through him.

These bastards deserve worse. Picking up rocks and branches he flung them into knots of men, causing flurries of activity.

Bannor pummeled a man hiding behind a wagon, took his vest and cloak, then hurried to Sarai. The elf jumped off the back of wagon and staggered. Catching herself, she ducked down to watch the confusion. Her garments looked like rags, and in the orange glow, he noticed bruises on her arms and face.

He sucked in a breath, keeping a rein on his anger. The accident with Wren flashed through his mind.

“I’m behind you,” he said, wrapping the cloak around her shoulders and putting the vest in the crook of her arm. “Head toward the shadow of the cliff.”

From the sounds, the caravan bosses were getting things under control. He put an arm around Sarai to help support her. Four days in a cage had taken a toll on his beloved.

Out of sight, she put on the vest, pulled the cloak tight and hugged him. Bannor kissed his mate and ran a hand through her silvery hair. He realized that the feelings of the astral form weren’t as perfect as he first imagined. The sensations came to him dully as if thick cloth lay between him and what he touched. Only his expectations made it feel as if he were really there experiencing the embrace of his beloved.

“What now, Bannor?”

“Let’s try one thing first. Hold on.”

He lifted her in his arms and willed himself down the mountain. He felt on fire. Gritting his teeth, he focused hard on moving the two of them. He felt veins bulging in his neck. Arcs of lightning flashed in his vision. With a final groan of effort, they left the ground.

Sarai gasped, clinging to his neck. “I hope you know what you’re doing, my One.”

He couldn’t spare concentration to speak. An inferno burned in his mind as he struggled off the cliff edge and south over the Marin depression. Sarai made squeaking noises and clutched him as they skimmed the tops of needlewoods and bristlebark. Even with supreme effort, he couldn’t rise higher.

Exhausted, his heart feeling ready to burst, he set Sarai down on the southern side of the pass, a league from where they’d started.

“Must rest.” He groaned.

Sarai frowned. “Are you all right? I can’t see you…”

“I don’t know. My astral form can affect people but…” He paused. “I don’t think I should be trying to lift something so heavy.” He waited until the sparks in his vision cleared. “It’s as if I pulled every muscle in my body.”

Sarai tittered. “My One, astral travel is mental, more like you’ve strained your brain. You’re used to swinging an axe, not casting a spell.”

“You know about magic?” He put his arms around her. “Help me.”

She embraced him. “I’m not a mage like my mother; I know the focus to light kindling, clean a hearth, read the stones.”

“I know nothing. Wren, the woman who freed me is Kel’Varan Nola. She says I am Garmtur’Shak Nola, and that we are both in danger.”

Sarai went quiet. A broad-wing cooed somewhere in the trees. “Are you certain she said the Garmtur?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes grew round. “I—”

“Tell me. Please.”

She swallowed and nodded. The look in her eyes made his stomach tighten. Bannor gripped her shoulders. “The Garmtur is a savant of reality.”

“You mean I can make anything happen by wanting it to?”

A rasping voice broke in behind them. “Anything except make me go away.”

Sarai gasped. Bannor turned and stared into the reptilian eyes of the six-armed demon.

Death is an interesting experience. I think no creature is truly complete until they’ve experienced discorporality. It’s happened to me three times.

Once on purpose, twice by peers who were nice enough to demonstrate certain weaknesses in my defenses that I was unaware of. I have since joyfully returned the favor. I’m not certain they appreciated the opportunity as much as I did.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Five

« ^ »

Bannor stared into the flat, gold eyes of the demon and moved between it and Sarai. He tensed, feeling his distant heart hammering. A chill wind swirled through the trees filled with the stench of carrion.

The creature’s membranous wings spread like a cloak lined with pulsing red and blue veins. The green scales covering its body gleamed in the moonlight like a chitinous shell. Its six arms tensed, hands forming fists, spreading talons and clutching daggers.

“What think you to do, savant, scare me away?” It grinned. Serrated teeth glinted and saliva dribbled down the sides of its elongated jaw. “You are nothing but wind.” It strode forward.

Bannor saw Sarai pick up a tree limb as a weapon.

Can’t let it near her. He shot toward the demon and slammed a foot into a deep-socketed eye.

The monster roared and swung. He dodged. A swath of pain cut through his shoulder as talons as long as his fingers lashed past. He landed another kick on its draconian head and lunged away from the counter attack. Behind him, Sarai dashed into trees.

Snarling, the demon pounded after her.

“Run!” Bannor screamed. He flew at its back aiming an attack at the wings. The behemoth turned and struck with surprising speed. A gnarled basket-sized fist slammed into his midriff. The world exploded into a million pinpoints of light. He careened through some trees and thudded to the ground.

Bannor rolled onto his belly twitching and gasping for air. It felt like the creature had struck his real body! He forced down the pain.

The darkened forest appeared to break up in blurry fragments when he tried to focus. He heard Sarai’s scream and the demon crashing through the trees.

Bannor fought down the nausea and flashed through the woods, crossing streams and over rocks. He sensed the fluttering of his beloved’s heart and the fear tightening her insides. Sarai’s weaving course forced the demon to shred and claw its way through the undergrowth.

By the time Bannor reached her, she’d put a sizable margin between herself and the beast. She already showed signs of fatigue. The green juggernaut would soon run her down.

“I’m behind you,” he told her. “Keep going, I’ll figure a way to stop that thing.”

“Bannor!” She stopped. “Where do I go?”

“This way.” He towed her east toward a confusion of trees and boulders. “Run!” He let Sarai go when she moved without assistance.

The demon splashed through a stream fifty paces away. It roared and the trees in its path shattered. Have to find a way to affect it. A weapon is no use because I’m not really here.

Bannor hurtled after his mate. Once they reached the cover of the boulders he tried to carry her like he did earlier but found himself too weak.

Sarai leaned against the granite. “My-One, I can’t-keep going.”

He put his arms around her. She smelled of exertion and fear. “I won’t let it take you.”

“Hold me, Bannor, give me strength.”

“All of it, Little Star.” The creature smashed through some trees a stone’s throw away. The sound made her jerk. He felt her heart pounding and perspiration soaking through her shredded blouse. He hugged Sarai tight, wishing he were there to fold her in the real flesh of his body.

Strength. The word rang through him. If he couldn’t fight the creature, then Sarai had to. “Come on!” He pulled her from the rocks toward the next nearest cover. “I have an idea.”

The demon reached the rocks behind them and bellowed in frustration. Bannor was glad that the tight confines kept the monster from flying.

“Odin help me if I do this wrong.”

Sarai fell as they reached the cover of a knot of dead trees that lay collapsed against an outcrop. Bannor pulled her to a sitting position and hugged her again. “Strength, all I can give.”

Her arms found his neck and she kissed him. “Bannor…”

Lost in his concentration, he didn’t hear her words. Tip the scales. I wish you…

The smell of dead flesh grew overpowering. Snarling, the creature exploded through the brittle wood, knocked Bannor aside and grabbed Sarai with two of its clawed hands. “Mine.”

The elf screamed and writhed in the beast’s grip.

“No!” Bannor yelled, extending his hands toward her. Sparks whirled around his arms in tiny tornadoes of agony. Sarai’s glowing violet eyes turned fiery red, and the elf let out a howl. She kicked out. The demon staggered. Kicking again she tore loose then shoved the demon so hard it flew backward and knocked a tree over.

Groaning, she held her temples. “Bannor! It hurts!” She glowed as if her bones had become embers in a fire. Waves of pain lashed through him. He blocked it out, focusing on Sarai. He had to contain it.

The demon snarled and lunged at Sarai. She caught the huge form in the air and sent it catapulting overhead. It slammed into the hillside with a ground shaking crash.

Sarai hugged herself as if holding her body together. “Bannor!” Her voice echoed through the valley. The elf convulsed and tendrils of blue fire sparked off her hands, shattering rocks and trees.

Embody the power. Another jolt of pain shocked through him. Violet light surrounded Sarai. The crimson in her eyes faded and the blue sparks subsided. She slumped to her knees as if her bones had lost all their stiffness.

The demon shuddered, apparently stunned.

Bannor swept to Sarai. “Are you injured?”

She shook her head. “Dizzy. I thought I would burst.”

Movement made him look up. The creature’s hands and legs stirred. The landscape jumped around in his vision. “We have to run.”

Sarai stood with his urging. She wobbled at first but got better quickly, and increased her speed by stages.

“Okay?”

Her eyes were wide. “I don’t feel weak anymore. It’s as if I’m not running at all.” She leaped across a stream and bounded over some fallen trees. If Bannor weren’t traveling astrally, he would never have kept up.

They heard the demon bellow behind them. Sarai glanced back and her lip quivered. The throbbing between Bannor’s eyes grew stronger. His heart beat erratically.

“Little Star, I must leave soon. I’ve expended too much energy.”

She slid to stop, face turning ashen. “I have to fight it alone?”

Spasms wracked him and he groaned. “There’s nothing I can do. I’ll bring help as fast as I can.”

A shudder went through Sarai. Her glowing eyes searched where his face should be. “Which way should I go?” Fighting the tremors rushing through him, he pressed against her. She felt feverishly warm. “We’re camped at the fork in the Sepacawchee valley.”

“I know the place.” He heard the stress in her voice. She studied the sky obviously trying to get her bearing from the stars. This was a frightening situation, and he was proud of the way Sarai controlled herself.

The stars were difficult to make out through the mists and broken cloud cover. Sarai went to a nearby tree and oriented to north. “That way, correct?” She pointed.

“Yes. We’ll be coming the opposite direction. The ford at Branager’s river is midway. Stay in the trees.”

Sarai took a breath. “I have no weapons, armor—nothing. That’s four leagues through orc land.”

She didn’t have to mention that the demon would be chasing her, too.

“You’re strong now. Wren and Irodee will know how to fight it.” Another wave of pain wracked through him. “I can’t stay any longer.” He kissed her and ran a hand through her silvery blonde hair.

Sarai hugged him with rib cracking force. “My One, you test me—”

“You can do it.” He kissed her again, stiffening as the pain nearly doubled him over. “Tomorrow at the ford,” he forced out.

Tears ran down her face. “The ford.”

He shot away toward his body. Bannor watched Sarai until she shrank beyond recognition. He ached at the thought of leaving his beloved alone to escape the demon. What other choice did he have?

The icy wind whipping in his face only worsened his cramps. As he approached, he realized the part of the pain was the pull of his body screaming to be reunited with its spirit.

The details of the spice-woods grew in resolution until he appeared in the air over the flames of their campfire. He froze, stunned by what he saw. Wren and Irodee kneeled next to his body. They’d removed his tunic. Bruises and cuts marred his torso, and the skin of his arms looked crimson.

The fire roared higher from his proximity. Wren glared at where he hovered. Her blue eyes flashed. “Don’t just float there killing yourself! Get in!”

Bannor relented to the pull of his body. For a moment, he seemed to shoot down a tunnel. He opened his eyes and a wave of nausea gripped him.

He rolled over on hands and knees. His world dwindled to a pinpoint. Nothing else existed save the palpitating knot of his stomach spewing bile into mouth and sinuses. The wracking spasms continued until he thought he would turn inside out.

When the convulsions subsided he collapsed, too weak to even shudder. Agony spread through him as if he’d been dipped in acid.

“Bannor going to be all right?”

Wren snorted. “He’ll live. Damned woodsman, just enough brains to be dangerous. It’ll take half our healing potion to put him right for tomorrow’s run.”

“Demon,” he groaned. “Six arms—after Sarai.”

Irodee murmured some curse that he couldn’t make out through the pounding in his head. “Rankorhaaz?”

Wren grabbed his chin. “Ugly green guy with a dragon’s head and bat-wings?”

“Couldn’t fight him.” The clearing wavered.

“Of course not, dunce. How many times did he have to hit you before you figured that out? Ishtar, you’re a mess.”

“Irodee not like this. Rankorhaaz almost killed all of us last time.”

“Did you hear him? His lady is alone against that demon.”

“Gave Sarai-power. She hurt it.”

“Power?” Wren asked, frowning. “What do you mean?” She examined his scorched hands. “Damn, this is from some sort of imbuing magic. We’re lucky to be alive. Gods, Bannor, if you knew the risk you’d be wetting your breeches. Hell, almost makes me wet myself thinking about it.” She shook her head. “Get the potions.”

Irodee handed Wren a box from her pack. “Not like this. We may need these.”

“Hush. You sound like my mother.”

“Irodee is mother, want to return alive to my little girl!”

Bannor coughed. “She has a child?”

“Yeah, and you bet her little girl behaves too.”

“When Laramis isn’t spoiling her.” Irodee frowned and pulled him to a sitting position.

The movement made the pain worse and he gritted his teeth.

“Drink.” Wren uncorked the bottle and handed it to him.

The fluid burned all the way down. It tasted so foul his eyes watered and it made his tongue feel as if it grew fur. “Odin,” he choked, “that’s horrible!” Warmth spread through his body. The pain in one arm faded.

“You’re lucky it’s not the stuff made with dragon whiz.”

“Don’t joke,” Bannor snarled. “Sarai is in trouble!”

“I hear you. You’re the one who bashed himself up.”

“Leave me the potions then. I’ll catch up.”

“Think, man, we need you. She won’t trust us.” Wren handed him another potion. “Hold your nose.”

Bannor made a face, grabbed the bottle and downed it in one gulp. His throat constricted, and he gagged. The Myrmigyne scowled. “It not work too good on him.”

Wren looked him over. “His physiology has adapted to resist the effects of magic he’s been using.”

“My what?”

“Never mind. This will be a fast lesson. Don’t ask questions, and we’ll get out of here fast, okay?” He nodded and she continued. “You’re blocking the potion’s magic. We’ll tell your body the potions aren’t a threat.”

“But—”

She smacked him on the shoulder. “Listen. Watch the pattern I draw in the dirt. Follow it with your eyes. You want that pattern in your mind.” She took a stick and wove a complex tracery in the dirt. It seemed aimless and without form. Lines converged and ran over one another.

“There’s no sense to this.”

“Concentrate,” she snapped. “It will help save Sarai.”

He watched the stick wander around the ground like a bug caught in the bottom of a barrel. Moving to and fro without apparent purpose-turn, dip, jag, right, up.

He blinked. He’d seen that design before. The glowing lines when Wren entered his mind. He bore down. After a few moments, he could anticipate the movement of the stick.

“Yes.” A glowing line formed on a blank tablet behind his eyes.

His skin appeared to turn gold then back to normal.

“Good. Suck it down.” She handed him another potion.

He made a face and gulped the horrible concoction. A bright blue glow engulfed him. His wounds glowed an eerie green. Open cuts sealed; bruises and burns returned to the color of normal skin. After a few moments, all his injuries vanished.

“Bannor, you’re a man of startling contrasts.”

“At least there are two potions left.” Irodee shut the box and shoved it back in the pack.

Wren stared at Bannor and let out a breath. “We better not chance it. Irodee, give me the teleport scroll.”

“We go home with that!”

Her eyes stayed on his. “If Rankorhaaz gets his woman, no telling what this lunk will do. I’d rather not find out.” Irodee glared at Bannor.

He didn’t refute Wren’s statement. The thought of Sarai in the hands of that creature would make him crazy. He wasn’t sure what he would do to free her.

The Myrmigyne removed a yellowing bone scroll tube from the pack and gave it to Wren.

“Is there a place near there that you have a clear picture of in your mind?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Hydra rock. It’s half way between Branager’s river and the pass.”

“Get a picture of it in your mind. I’m going to touch your memory so I can take us there.”

Bannor closed his eyes. Every hesitation could be risking Sarai’s life.

He formed the picture of the huge outcrop of stacked boulders that looked like a many-necked dragon. Her fingers brushed his temples.

Wren dumped out the scroll in the tube. “Grab all the stuff, you two. We’re going demon hunting.”

Demons are interesting little creatures.

Take the spirit of an reptile, mammal or insect, intertwine it with a portion of a sentient creature’s soul, add a little blood and some freshly harvested flesh and you have a fascinatingly aggressive creature that hates practically everything and especially dislikes water and holy men.

Not that I blame them, I don’t much care for holy men either.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Six

« ^ »

To Bannor, it took an eternity for Irodee and Wren to pack their belongings. The night mists and wintry air seemed to conspire in delaying their departure. Fingers chilled, he fumbled with straps on his weapons and pack. His heart pounded a rapid tempo against his ribs, ticking off the moments. He resisted the urge to rush the women. Both knew the danger Sarai faced and wasted no time securing the gear.

“Ready?” Wren asked.

Irodee nodded.

Bannor let out a breath. “Go.” He’d never teleported. In the larger kingdoms, he’d watched royal wizards transport people to distant lands. Not once did he ever feel the desire to experience the phenomenon.

Wren took Irodee’s arm and positioned the Myrmigyne a half step to her right, then guided him onto the left. “On our way.”

She unfurled the scroll. In a sing-songy voice, she chanted a cadence of strange words. Runes on the vellum sparkled and faded as she read aloud. The timbre of her voice changed, resonating through the clearing. A reddish aura wavered around her, the illumination growing brighter with each word. The last symbol vanished off the page in a shout. Wren dropped the parchment and grabbed their arms. The crimson glow around her exploded.

Bannor felt a savage wrench as if he’d been jerked backwards down a well. His empty stomach twisted. They fell through a swirling blackness then snapped back into reality again. A new landscape shimmered into view as if being painted in by some god-like artist.

Hydra rock loomed above them, silhouetted against the gray-black night and the white-capped peaks of the Marin pass. Boulders wedged in formation gave the impression of five serpentine heads looking out in different directions. Granite fragments, scrub weeds, and stunted trees jutted from the ground in a confusion of dark shapes. He dropped to his knees as the scenery abruptly began spinning. His breath locked in his chest.

“Odin,” he gasped.

“A virgin? Sorry I didn’t warn you.” Wren knelt and patted him on the shoulder. “After a few trips, you’ll get accustomed.”

Bannor groaned as a reply. He would have heaved, but nothing remained in his stomach.

“Irodee hopes we live to get him the chance.”

“Ever since the baby, Irodee, you’ve been positively grim. I’d think you’d relish the chance for some excitement!”

The Myrmigyne unshouldered her bow. “Demons are too exciting for Irodee.”

The dizziness passed by the time Irodee made a few circuits of the immediate area. Bannor stood and looked around. “Do you have a plan?”

Wren frowned. “If accessing the situation and then improvising is a plan, yes. At best, my magic can only drive Rankorhaaz off. We just used up our best means of escape.”

“Irodee think we should go south to Tenax. Heard there’s sorcerers there.”

Bannor shook his head. “Tenax is a two-day run!”

Wren pulled out her sword and headed west toward the pass. The blade cast an eerie blue radiance. “You planning on sleeping with that thing chasing you?”

“No, but—”

“Unless you can think of anything better, that’s our tentative plan. Come on.” She moved into to a jog, picking around rocks and brambles.

Bannor shook his head and followed. Irodee fell in step behind. It would take more than a haphazard plan to defeat Rankorhaaz. He prayed to Odin they reached Sarai in time.

After descending the hill and in smoother terrain, Wren spoke over her shoulder. “How far is it to where you left her?”

“Three leagues. She’ll go south-east and turn north along Branager’s river.” He measured his breathing. An ache already gnawed inside his chest. He felt like a burned-out fire ember, so much of his energy had been poured into the battle and Sarai.

“How fast will she be moving?”

“Fast. She’ll have covered a league by now.”

“I’ll need to think of a way to signal her.”

They ran through the darkness, weaving around trees. The air was cold and damp, and smelled of needlewood. Irodee caught Bannor a few times when he staggered, keeping him moving south. As they ran, a faint acrid scent grew more pronounced.

His heart labored and his mouth tasted like a desert. He refused to relent, forcing himself to continue. Perspiration ran in rivulets down his face, stinging his eyes and splashing on his chest.

He wouldn’t give up and leave his mate alone with that creature. His view of the woods shrank to the bouncing, blue silhouette of Wren who ran point. He ignored the stitch in his side and concentrated solely on the piston-like action of his legs.

It felt like an eternity before Wren halted. He’d lost track of time and distance. The trees looked fuzzy, and his heart hammered so hard his skull felt as if it expanded and contracted with each beat.

He slumped to the ground. The world turned brown. He realized that Irodee was kneeling over him pressing two fingers to his throat.

“Bannor, not go much farther.”

“He doesn’t have to. I know how to signal her. Get out an arrow and shoot me.”

Bannor strained to see Wren clearly. He didn’t have enough air to say anything. Irodee voiced his incredulity for him.

“What?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll stop it. I need the energy for this magic.”

“You sure?”

“Do it.” She held out her hand. “Shoot here-in case I really have lost my mind.” She closed her eyes and blue glow flooded around her body.

Irodee fitted an arrow. Wren nodded to indicate readiness. The Myrmigyne let fly. The razor tipped shaft hissed out and hit the savant’s hand. It stopped soundlessly, giving off a flash of light. The arrow clattered to the ground. Ripples of red and green traveled up Wren’s arm.

“Again.”

Irodee took a breath and fired again. The shaft stopped like the first.

“Again.”

The glow around Wren became a red halo. She and Irodee repeated the process twice more.

“Aim the next arrow up and toward the south.”

Irodee complied. Wren cupped the arrow tip in her hands. The metal sparked and ripples of color flowed into it. She touched the lower part of the Irodee’s bow as the Myrmigyne swung it to aim at the sky. A sparkling nimbus surrounded the weapon.

“Fire!”

Irodee’s greatbow thrummed. The vibration made the trees shake. The arrow left a spiraling blue line as it shot high into the night. When it reached the apex of its arc, Wren clapped once. The arrow exploded with an ear-shocking crack that lit up the sky with a bright yellow blossom. Tendrils of sparkling gold jetted outward and drifted down.

Staring at the display, Bannor climbed to his feet. He didn’t have the wind to say how impressive the magic looked. The pounding in his head no longer drowned out the night sounds.

“Pretty.” Irodee took hold of his shoulder to steady him. “Never saw this trick.”

Wren shrugged. “Never found a use for it before this. I hope she sees it. Everything else within leagues will.” She punched Bannor on the shoulder. “Stay with us. We’ll need you. Let’s head south and fire another signal.”

They moved at a slow jog so Bannor could keep up without over-exerting himself.

“Stop,” Irodee ordered.

They halted. The Myrmigyne froze, intent toward the southwest.

Wren started to say something, but Irodee held up a hand for silence. The Myrmigyne stood so still she could have been a tree. The woman’s dark skin and hair blended in with the shadows. All Bannor saw was the glint of her narrowed eyes.

She pointed, and then put a hand to her ear.

Bannor strained to detect what Irodee heard. After a moment, he detected a barely audible roar. It came from more than half a league away.

“That’s Rankorhaaz for sure,” Wren said. “Good guess on the distance, Bannor.” She looked around then pointed to a hill some thousand paces off. “We’ll head to that high ground and send up another signal.”

“Won’t that bring Rankorhaaz?” Bannor asked.

Wren sighed. “Better us than your girlfriend, right?”

“Not if you ask Irodee,” the Myrmigyne grumbled.

The savant shook her head. “Don’t sound so enthused. I might start to worry. Come on.” She headed toward the rise.

Even though Wren spoke flippantly, Bannor detected the tension she tried to hide. This would be a dangerous confrontation, one she wasn’t fully prepared to deal with.

The only solace he could take from the situation was that Sarai had not yet been captured. Why else would Rankorhaaz still be screaming, if it weren’t out of frustration?

They weaved up a tree and rock-studded blackhorn path. To the east Bannor saw the glint of Branager’s river in a patch of moonlight coming through a break in the clouds. The exhaustion in his body turned to numbness, and he found the extra reserves to push faster. The rocky summit of the hill hove closer, covered only by a stippling of scraggly bushes. The acrid odor he detected earlier grew stronger.

The crusty white ground at the top lay in stair-stepped ripples that crackled underfoot. Bannor heard bubbling and steam billowed along the ground. The reek of sulfur and stagnant water permeated the air.

“Careful where you step,” he said. “The ground is only a thin crust over boiling water in places.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“There’s a place like it to the south. Holes in the ground spit poisonous water there. The mud boils in spots.”

Wren rubbed her chin. “Geysers, eh?”

“Wren has an idea?”

“Only the beginnings of one. Let’s get the girl, and then worry about offense. Hit me.” She held out a hand. They repeated the process of the last signal. This time the blast was a shower of bright green.

The sounds of Rankorhaaz sounded closer.

Wren frowned. “He must be airborne to be moving that fast.” She looked at Bannor. “You better explain what you did to Sarai. We’re two leagues through rough terrain from where you left her and it’s only been a quarter of a bell cycle.” She stopped listened to the increasing volume of the demon’s roar. “Augmenting Sarai this much could be dangerous—to her and us.”

Bannor frowned. “I—balanced—the power. At first, it was too much, but I fixed it.”

“What did you fix? What kind of power? Terra-force, elemental energies, bio-force, magic—what?” Pausing, she bowed her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. “What am I asking you for? You just do things.” She sighed.

“Bannor, come here. There’s no way we’ll catch Sarai if she’s going that fast. We have to ensure she comes to us.” She pointed to the southern side of the hill. “Irodee, cut around the edge and find a defensible position.”

“Wren kidding, right? Defensible against Rankorhaaz?”

“Do your best.”

The Myrmigyne nodded and jogged off. Bannor stepped up to Wren. She looked so small, yet she possessed an undeniable air of command. She accessed problems quickly and immediately chose what seemed to be a competent course of action. He saw why Irodee took orders from her. He didn’t like relying on women, even ones as capable as these two. If that’s what it took to get Sarai back, that’s what he’d do.

“Kneel down. I hate being so short; everyone is taller than me—even the kids. Sarai isn’t real tall is she?”

He shook his head. “Only a little taller than you.” He tried to keep his agitation under control. He knew by now that there was a reason for everything Wren did. She must have some purpose behind this inactivity.

Wren sighed and listened to the sound of the roaring. She appeared to be steeling herself for something difficult. “Just once I’d like to make the acquaintance of someone shorter. All my friends are huge. They have to be careful not to step on me.” She let out a breath. “All right, Bannor, think of Sarai. The clearest picture you’ve ever imagined. We have to make a pattern from that picture. Like the one we healed you with, only this one will forge a mind-link with Sarai.”

She looked in his eyes.

“You’re going to come into my mind again, aren’t you?”

She nodded. “I was getting to that.”

He knelt and clenched his fists. “Do it. Sarai is the most important thing in my life.”

Wren touched his temples. An icy wind tingled through his skull behind his eyes. The sound of her voice soothed through his mind. I’m here. Give Sarai up to me. I need the pattern. As she spoke he saw a beautiful tangle of interwoven lines that pulsed with colors.

Wren’s pattern.

Sarai. He sensed that he already knew her pattern. It drew him across all the leagues to her side that first night. It made the imbuing ritual possible. He knew her most intimate secret. Sarai’s inner name.

Bannor pictured Sarai, imagining the glowing bloom of her true-self alive with wildly dancing sparks. You’re sure this is her pattern?

Yes.

He sensed Wren force down a reaction. It sent a burning through him. What was so alarming?

Wren prepared herself. Like a catapult cranked into position, her mind seemed to coil up, ready to spring free.

Sarai!

The thought was like an arrow shot at a distant target neither could see.

Sarai!

Bannor felt it hit home. The force of the elf’s reply rocked them both. Fear, anger, desperation, relief, the emotions were amplified out of proportion. Her voice echoed like she stood in a huge amphitheater. Bannor is that you?

Bannor sensed Wren wincing. The volume of Sarai’s voice hurt. He spoke as though talking aloud, but the words beamed out across the distance. Yes. Come to the signal, Sarai. We used moving magics and are waiting at the top of the bald hill.

I see it.

Wren’s hands trembled on his face. Come fast. We’re waiting.

I will.

Wren broke the connection with a gasp. There were tears in her eyes. She swallowed. “What in Ishtar’s name did you do to her?” The savant stared at him for moment then broke eye contact. “Come on. We have to get ready.”

Her tone sent a cold shiver along his spine. What had he done?

Bannor followed as she picked a path around the periphery of the steaming terraces. They found Irodee standing in a cluster of rocks. Lines of war-arrows jutted from the ground and she’d leaned her spear against a boulder.

“She’s coming,” Wren said.

Irodee nocked an arrow and aimed at a winged figure now visible as a spidery outline in the sky. “So is Rankorhaaz.”

Some of my peers are alarmed at my behavior, at the way I treat living things, and consume whatever gets in my way. ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you’, my sister Athena once told me. ‘I am’, I responded. ‘I just do it better.’

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Seven

« ^ »

Bannor stared at Rankorhaaz’s bat-like outline as it grew larger in the sky. An icy chill gripped his insides. This would be their ultimate test.

Irodee poised, her bow drawn, breathing so shallow she looked like a statue. Moonlight reflected off the perspiration glistening on her forehead.

Sword drawn, Wren stood by the Myrmigyne. The blue light cast from the blade made her features look metallic. She stared at the monstrosity without blinking. Red and green sparks danced around the knuckles of her free hand as it clenched and loosened.

The tumble of boulders where they stood provided minimal cover. The dank odor of sulfur and minerals were strong reminders that an incautious retreat up the salt terrace behind them could mean a scalding death by drowning or asphyxiation.

“Irodee like to know Wren’s plan now.”

“Penetrate his armor.”

Bannor gripped the haft of a hand-axe on his belt. Rankorhaaz looked as big as a dragon now. “Why do I think that’s been the problem all along?”

“Because Bannor pretty smart guy.” Irodee drew the arrow back farther, readying to fire. “Perhaps Wren tell Irodee how we do it.”

Wren took a breath. “When it’s hatched, you’ll be the first to know. We need to keep him occupied and get Sarai out of here.”

Rankorhaaz dived, vanishing below the pointed silhouettes two hundred paces down the hillside. Trees shattered thunderously. They heard a female cry. The demon’s roar cracked over the valley. The ground shook as though some massive hammer pounded toward them.

“Sarai!” A surge of energy crackled through Bannor’s body. He started for the trail.

“Hold it.” Wren grabbed his arm. “Listen!”

More snarling and pounding, wood sundering. Oaths uttered in a guttural language. Curses screamed back—in Elvish. A howl of frustration rang out.

Footfalls pattered toward them so fast it seemed to be several creatures rather than one. The brush off to their left exploded. Sarai came toward them in a blur. Bannor didn’t even have time to brace before he was toppling under the weight of a female body. Wren went sprawling, and Irodee let out a yelp.

“Bannor!” came Sarai’s ecstatic voice.

Down the hill, the pounding stopped, and they heard snarls and objects being thrown around.

What had started as a happy reunion became a fight for life. Bannor’s ribs screamed as if they were being pulverized. Sarai’s body felt on fire and her arms clamped down like steel bands.

“Sarai..! Augh! You’re-hurting!” For three days, all he’d dreamed about was holding his mate again. Now, he desperately wanted her to let go. Pushing against her shoulders with all his strength didn’t loosen her grip. “Let go!” “Bannor?” The pressure relented. He glimpsed the look of surprise on her pale face, violet eyes wide and mouth bowed.

He pushed her off with a gasp. Rolling onto his knees, he clutched his middle and tried to get his wind back.

“My One, what’s wrong?” Her hands gripped his shoulders.

Bannor flinched and felt an empathic shock, knowing how that must appear to her.

“Be careful, Sarai,” Wren said. He caught a glimpse of the savant’s feet near Sarai’s. “You’ve been charged with elemental power. You’re hurting without intending to.” She helped Bannor up, shaking her head. “Now I have a new savant and an avatar to take care of.”

His gaze met Sarai’s, and then both of them stared at Wren. “What?”

The demon’s roar drowned out her answer.

Rankorhaaz’s huge silhouette rose above the trees.

Wren stiffened and sheathed her sword with a loud clack. “Sarai, come here.” She drew the elf over to Irodee.

Sarai’s gaze lingered on him.

Holding his ribs with one arm he pointed. “Do as she says.”

He could see details on the six-armed beast now. It was larger than when he first saw it. He drew a breath, and pulled the hand-axe off his belt. If Wren had a plan, now was the time.

The savant kicked a spherical piece of granite the size of Bannor’s torso. “Pick it up, Sarai.”

Bannor saw the doubt in the elf’s eyes. “Do it,” he urged.

Sarai bent her knees and gripped the rock, obviously prepared for the great weight. The stone seemed to float off the ground. Despite its mass she balanced it in one hand.

Rankorhaaz roared. Irodee shot two arrows that glanced off the armor of the demon’s forehead. He warded off two more arrows aimed at the eyes.

Wren’s words were like a chant. “Stone, air, fire, and water, Sarai. Throw it. Throw it, hard.”

Sarai stared at the demon only thirty paces away. The boulder glowed as it flew from her hands.

Rankorhaaz howled as the projectile exploded against his chest. Hissing fragments of stone rained down on the forest trailing flame. Irodee loosed two arrows that thudded home where the armor had been weakened. Wren hurled one of her daggers, which slammed into an eye socket. Writhing and screaming the massive body dropped with a ground-shaking crash.

Wren gripped Sarai’s shoulder. “Good shot! That’ll give that green bastard something to think about.” She spoke an odd word, and the dagger she’d thrown shimmered into her hand.

“Well done, Little Star.” Bannor put his arms around Sarai feeling his skin turn sweaty where he touched her. Sarai hugged his arm and put a hand gently on top of his.

“Is it dead?” Sarai asked.

The Myrmigyne shook her head. “Irodee not think it can be killed.”

Wren shook her head. “Short of incinerating him, his body will simply regenerate. It takes grand magics to permanently kill a demon of his power.” She looked toward the South. “While he heals, let’s get as far away as possible. Bannor, aim us for the place where you saw the geysers.”

He nodded, glancing toward where Rankorhaaz crashed into the trees. The rational part of him wanted to run. His emotions told him to search for a way to finish the task Sarai started. Rankorhaaz had tried to kill his mate, to tear apart his life. He didn’t move until Wren tapped him on the shoulder. He took Sarai’s hand, oriented himself, and then headed toward their destination. With Sarai safe at his side, he would do most anything Wren asked.

“Sarai, these are our new allies. This is Wren.” He gestured. “And Irodee.”

“My gratitude.” Sarai put a hand on his shoulder as they descended the hill.

Bannor looked in her eyes. He could read the questions and the agitation.

Picking up the pace, he led the way down a narrow path studded with boulders and thick undergrowth. The marshy smell of Branager’s river grew stronger.

“Lady Wren,” Sarai said. Bannor glanced back to listen to the exchange. “You referred to me as an avatar. What did you mean?”

“No ‘lady’, just Wren. Bannor transformed you somehow. If I can trust my training, and what I can see of the energies in you, it appears that you’ve become an elemental avatar.”

Bannor slowed, looking back toward Wren. “How is that different from one of the avatars of the gods?” he asked.

Wren frowned. “Avatar is more of a term. The elements aren’t alive the way a god is, but she is an outlet for power. I’ll explain better when there’s time. For now, she’s in no danger.”

Bannor felt Sarai studying him. He couldn’t read her expression. Strange that after changing so much that she didn’t have a stronger reaction: anger, angst-something. He decided that it must be shock.

“You’ll be all right, Little Star.”

“I feel better already, my One.” She bumped against him, her skin hot as if she’d spent all day beneath a desert sun.

Behind them on the hill, the demon roared. Even those fearsome wounds had not kept it down long.

Sarai let out a breath. “Next time we meet, it shall be a bigger rock.” Her gaze sought out Wren. “We will not leave him to chase us again.”

The Myrmigyne chuckled. “Irodee think she going to like Sarai.”

“I understand her feelings,” Wren said. “I don’t feel confident taking chances now.”

“Irodee not the only one getting old and cautious—”

Wren held up a hand and listened to Rankorhaaz’s curses retreating toward the North. She frowned. “We must have hurt him real good. He’s giving up.”

Bannor glanced toward the dwindling sound and pulled Sarai against him. She pressed her cheek to his arm.

“Free,” he muttered. “At least for a while.”

Sarai stared at him, face stern. She squeezed his arm until the pain made him wince. Face serious, she said, “I want you to explain everything.”

Bannor held his breath, staring back at her. “I will.”

Her grip tightened again. “Yes, you will. I like not this situation.”

He nodded. Sarai appeared to have the power under control, and almost too quickly. It didn’t take long for her to express her displeasure. Now that she was so strong, she would turn the tables on him. Before this, he had often used his mass and muscle to be stubborn. It was one of the few sore spots in their relationship. The thought of her using physical strength to intimidate him made his stomach tighten. He appreciated strong women. They could be equal to men. Stronger? That was wrong.

“Let’s move ‘til daybreak, steady march,” Wren said. “I want to be out of this territory fast. I don’t feel like fighting off a tribe of orcs.” She turned and gazed up the hill for a moment. “I still want to head for those geysers. Are they in the orc territory?” Bannor shook his head. “Good. We’ll stop there.”

Irodee put a hand on the smaller woman’s shoulder. “Wren still planning something?”

She nodded. “A couple things.”

Bannor wondered what Wren could be planning that involved going to a place where the ground was filled with boiling water and mud.

Sarai nudged his ribs with her elbow. The glow of his mate’s violet eyes looked brighter than he remembered. “Your explanation, my One. What are we into?”

He took her hand, kissed it, and laced his fingers in hers. It felt reassuring to know she was there. He forgave her agitation. He’d be snappish, too, after what she’d been through.

He started by explaining the situation at Blackwater, how Irodee and Wren helped him. He covered his experience in the forest with backlash and the first night of astral travel. The more of the story he told, the less real it all seemed. His life had been so tranquil before this.

Sarai listened solemnly, occasionally asking him to elaborate. She stayed close, rarely letting go of his arm, as if she felt he might vanish at any moment. The walk became tougher as they came parallel with the river, negotiating tree falls and rocky terrain. The night had been exhausting for him, and they rested often to let him catch his breath. Bannor hated appearing so feeble, especially in front of Sarai. He gritted his teeth and trudged on, making light of it. The deep indigo of the eastern sky had paled to azure cut with swaths of orange by the time he finished telling his story, and Sarai had in turn described her capture and the caravan ride up the Marin pass.

They stopped on a hill that overlooked a russet valley gouged deep by Branager’s river. The scalloped edges of the depression turned to the west for a league before side winding through cloud-capped peaks to the south. Yellow tinged smoke rose from a butte on the far side of the valley.

Wren pointed. “Those your geysers, Bannor?”

He nodded and sat down on a deadfall.

Sarai stood by him, arms folded and gazing at the distant landmark. Everything but the vest and cloak he’d taken from the guard the night before looked like shredded rags. Her skin looked gray from trail dust. These conditions certainly weren’t helping Sarai’s mood.

Irodee stuck her spear in the ground and leaned on it. “Take us three bells to reach there. Maybe we rest here a bell then move on.”

Wren stared at the faint plumes. “Damn, I wanted to camp there. I’m about dead, though. I don’t think I could keep going that long.”

The Myrmigyne shook her head. “Irodee make it, but not like it.”

Wren nodded. “Are you tired, Sarai?”

“No.” She shrugged. “I’ve felt no fatigue since Bannor did this to me.”

The savant stared at the log for a moment rubbing her chin. “Will you do an experiment for me?”

Sarai glanced at Bannor, then folded her arms. “Yes.”

Wren patted the wood next to Bannor. “Stand there for a moment.”

Sarai stepped up on the log with a puzzled expression. She stayed for a hundred heartbeats, winced as if someone had punched her in the stomach and stepped back to the ground.

Sarai shook her head. “That was unpleasant.”

“What did it feel like?” Bannor asked.

She frowned. “Like all my strength was being drained.”

Wren sighed. “Sarai gets her strength from the rocks now.” She looked to the elf. “If you keep the power long, it will be hard to give up.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“One of the laws of magic, Sarai. All power has a price.”

In the many millennia of my life I’ve been every kind of good, and all shades of bad.

I can’t really say that one kind of conduct appeals more than another.

One thing that I’ve determined, though, is that truth, honor, charity and having a conscience are a real bother. They do so get in the way of molding the realms the way I want them to be.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Eight

« ^ »

The rumble of erupting water startled Bannor. The fear died before his tired body could respond. The dank smell of sulfur and minerals had worked its way into clothes and skin after only a short time walking through the clouds of hot vapor. He wiped the perspiration off his forehead and looked around.

The Hades flats stretched for a league in all directions. The ashen ground looked like dying flesh, cracked and festering. Stunted trees and bushes grew in solitary patches. Sediment caked rock jutted upward like spires of melting wax. Plumes of steam curled out of craters that bubbled and hissed.

Wren led the way using Irodee’s spear to find a safe path. Before they headed into the mists, she’d cast a spell that would aid her in detecting unsafe footing. Sarai walked behind her. Some part of his mate’s new elemental powers allowed her to pass over fragile crusts of dirt that would collapse with one prod of the spear.

Bannor stayed behind Sarai, forcing himself to stay upright. Occasionally, Irodee reached out to steady him. In all his years, he couldn’t recall feeling more exhausted.

After only half a bell of rest on the canyon rim, Wren decided to press on. Three bell cycles of hard climbing later, it became apparent that the savant had exceeded her endurance. For himself, only Sarai’s support had enabled him to come this far. Even Irodee walked with a ragged stride.

Sarai pranced through the fog like someone fresh on a morning jaunt. During the journey across the canyon she spoke little, obviously troubled by Wren’s remarks concerning her new magic. What price might there be for drawing vitality from the soil?

“Irodee have to know. Why Wren lead us here?”

Wren stopped and frowned. “This area should keep the avatars from magically locating us.” She pointed to a cluster of trees at the top of a white terrace. “That’ll be a good place to camp. The poisonous gases stay down in the depressions.”

She turned and tripped. Off balance, she reeled a few steps. A crunch and one foot plunged into the ground. Wren gasped as steaming water splashed up. Bannor lurched forward.

Too late.

Before he could take a step, Sarai had dragged Wren back onto safe ground. Wren cried out and fought to get her boot off. Bannor dropped to his knees and jerked the hot leather off her foot. His chest tightened at the sight of her now crimson skin. Irodee knelt and gripped Wren’s shoulder.

“Is it bad?” he asked.

Clutching her leg above the knee, Wren spoke through gritted teeth. “Boot stopped most of it. Damn, stupid-stupid.”

“Sarai pulled you out in time. It looks like it’s only a surface burn.”

“Thanks-Sarai.”

The elf nodded brushing silvery hair out of her eyes.

“Help me up, please.”

Irodee lifted her. Wren balanced on one foot. Bannor collected the spear and boot. He had to wait until the wet leather cooled enough to touch. He winced, imagining what would have happened if she’d fallen in up to her waist.

Wren took the spear from him. The pain was evident in her eyes and in the way she held her breath. He handed over the boot, and she pulled it through her belt.

Sarai offered her shoulder for support, and Wren walk-hopped toward the yellow-stained white hill. Irodee bit her lip. Bannor saw that the Myrmigyne was restraining her emotions. No doubt Wren hated being coddled which appeared to be Irodee’s first instinct; the kind of concern a big sister might show for a younger. Her devotion to Wren verged on fanatical. He’d watched her face a demon simply on the savant’s say so.

The fact she could inspire that kind of loyalty made Bannor want to trust Wren. Still, her evasiveness worried him. She clearly had a private agenda, but how did he and Sarai figure into it? He knew she plotted some revenge against the avatars. Would they be forced to choose sides?

He watched Wren and Sarai for a few moments admiring the savant’s tenacity. He’d seen veteran soldiers blubber like babies from lesser wounds.

The thought made him grow cold. His admiration didn’t blind him to the fact that Wren planned to manipulate them in some way. She said all she wanted to do was teach him to protect himself. He didn’t believe it. Accepting Wren’s help obliged them to assist her. If he refused her aid, he and Sarai would have to fight the avatars alone. Irodee stopped part way up the terrace and looked at him. Deep hazel eyes searched his face.

If forced to choose between serving Wren or the avatars, one look at Irodee made the choice obvious. He hated being forced to chose one of two paths when neither appealed. He found it especially frustrating because he couldn’t see a way around it.

Shaking his head, he followed their tracks across the treacherous ground and up the hill. His whole body felt like one giant toothache. Irodee waited and took his shoulder to help him up the steep incline.

She smiled and brushed back her dark hair. “Irodee suspect Bannor thinking too much.”

“Bannor doesn’t like being press-ganged.”

The Myrmigyne shrugged. “What if Wren asks it of you? What is your freedom and Sarai’s worth?” Her hand gripped his shoulder.

He glanced to where Sarai waited at the hillcrest with Wren. The memory of Rankorhaaz holding his beloved in the forest flickered in his mind. “A lot.”

Reaching the top he put an arm around Sarai. His mate responded with a brief squeeze.

“Are you all right, my One?”

“I’ve never hurt so bad, but at least I’m alive.”

Wren sat on a dead tree examining her foot. Irodee nodded to him and went to inspect Wren’s wounds. “Need healing potion if you want to walk on it soon.”

Wren nodded. “We’ll set up over there.” She pointed. “We’ll be upwind from the fumes. The trees will give us some shade.”

Irodee helped her up and the four of them found a flat place between several large needleleaf. Bannor undid his bedroll and collapsed on it with a groan. “This has been the worst forced march since I was in the war.”

Irodee raised an eyebrow. “Bannor must have been very young.”

“Fourteen summers.” He sighed. “King Balhadd was desperate for troops. If they could march and swing a knife he’d put colors on them. I’m lucky Father taught me to fight early or I wouldn’t have survived the first skirmish. If my older brother Rammal had spent more time learning his lessons rather than climbing trees, he might have lived.” He swallowed. “I wonder if he had powers too? Guess we’ll never know now.”

Wren unrolled her blankets and lay down with a sigh. “Iggerd and Balhadd’s five-year feud broke up a lot of families. Nothing worse than being forced to participate in a war you have no stake in—empty victories and unjustified loss.”

Bannor looked at her to see if she was being sarcastic. Her eyes were closed, face impassive. Irodee pulled the potion box out of her pack and prepared to tend Wren’s burns.

And you think your fight will be any different? I lost my brother fighting someone else’s war. I won’t sacrifice Sarai the same way.

It had been many seasons since he had dredged up those dark feelings. A decade later the guilt could still return full force. He had accepted the lonely job as a border woodsman to escape it, so he wouldn’t have to face his family and friends knowing he’d left Rammal to die.

He remembered that day, hot like now, the air muggy and thick with the scent of carrion. He’d supported his brother for leagues, the Northerners coming down the hills like a swarm of insects.

I’ll get you out, Ramm, three more leagues to the staging camp. No place to hide. So heavy. So tired. Come on, Ramm, don’t give up—move! His brother’s limp body slogged forward slower and slower. Bannor’s stomach knotted with fear as he looked back and saw sunlight glinting off an advancing wall of armor and weapons.

Heart pounding, legs like wooden posts. Get up, Ramm! Get up! His brother looked at him with glazed eyes, face ashen. Rammal blinked as though his lids were weighted. Help me. Lifting his body felt like levering up a mountain. Every jolt and gully made the burden heavier. Don’t die. We can make it.

His knees buckled repeatedly. Each time he fought his brother back over his shoulder again. Fire burned in his chest. Behind him, the Northerners howled like wolves. Up down, up down—the ground sucked at his feet. Can’t give up. Then the arrows came; a hail of steel and wood. Cold metal stabbed deep into his shoulder. Screaming, he crumpled. They rolled down the side of gully. Agony ripped through his shoulder. He heard the shaft snap. Lying face down in the grime His body twitched. Rammal groaned, fingers raking the dirt. Bannor clawed up to his knees. No strength. Enemy so close. Blood soaking his back. His arm felt like dough. Ramm!

His brother only shook his head and closed his eyes. He grabbed Rammal’s shoulder. His skin felt so cold. Ramm! He knelt next to the still body, tears burning on his face. No.

He heard footsteps and the sound of steel being pulled. A fog closed around his mind. Scrambling out of the gully, he ran. The image of Rammal’s eyes closing flashed through his mind again and again. I left him.

So tired.

“My One?” Sarai’s warm hand stroked his forehead.

He blinked and laced his fingers in hers. Wren and Irodee looked at him.

“I thought you’d fallen asleep with your eyes open.”

“Grim thoughts, Little Star, that’s all.” He let out a breath. “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

She brushed the hair out of his eyes and smiled. “We’ll do what we have to do, as long as we can be together. After all, we might be going to a better place.” Sarai glanced at Wren then met his gaze. “Rest now, we’ll worry about it later.”

She snuggled next to him. Her body didn’t burn as it had before. It felt cool and comforting. He looked into Sarai’s glowing eyes.

“I love you, Sarai. I don’t want anything to hurt you.”

“I love thee, my One. Nothing will harm me again, I promise.”

So certain. So confident. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off.

The smell of burning needlewood pitch and the crackling of fire woke Bannor. His sleep had been an abrupt plunge into blackness where even the horrors of the previous night couldn’t reach him. His legs still throbbed and his mouth tasted leathery. The misery of the headache had finally left him.

Stars shone in an ebony sky. The gleaming white circle of Pernithius, the harvest moon, illuminated the eastern horizon. He could hear the distant yipping of wild dogs now and then over the hiss coming from the flats.

Sarai knelt by the fire teasing the flames with a twig. The flickering light cast her features in golden hues. Irodee and Wren slept close to one another, their breathing deep and steady.

Sarai looked up and gestured him over. Muscles protesting he rose and went to sit by her.

She kissed him on the cheek and spoke in a whisper. “Feeling better?”

He nodded. “Didn’t you sleep? Even Elves need some.”

“A little. I don’t feel tired, so I need even less.”

He frowned and looked in the sky. “What time is it?”

“Around ten bells. Triatus rose and set already.”

“We’ve been asleep that long? I shouldn’t be surprised. Nothing unusual?”

Sarai shook her head. “No demons or orcs, just dogs and they seem content to stay far away.”

“Good.” He tossed a twig in the flames and watched as it curled and expired. “How are you feeling?”

Her eyes glowed brighter. “I have never felt so—alive.” She paused, her lips pressed to a line. “Bannor, I don’t care what Wren says. I want to stay like this. I was too vulnerable before. Now, I can fight back.”

He’d suspected she’d feel that way. “What about the price?”

Sarai’s gaze didn’t waver. “You gave me this power. How bad could it be?”

Bannor sighed. “You once told me a story about the magician’s apprentice who hired an imp to find his lost love. He wasn’t concerned with how much it cost, either.”

She frowned. “You don’t know what it’s like to lack strength, to be handled by men and unable to break their grip. No one will drag me around or put me in a cage again.” Her eyes flashed. “Ever.”

He put his hand in hers. Sarai’s fingers closed and squeezed tight.

“I want you safe the way that this new magic can make you. It’s just—”

She put a finger on his lips. “Let us worry about Rankorhaaz and—” she gestured to Wren and Irodee. “Those two.” Bannor glanced over. “What about them?”

“How beholden to them do we want to get? I’m obliged for their help, but how much more can we accept?”

Putting his head on her shoulder he stared at the flames. “There’s so much we need to know. I don’t see how we’ll learn it without Wren.”

“I like not being shackled to them.”

“Neither do I. I’ve decided one thing though.”

“That is?”

“She can’t make us pay what we’re not willing to give.”

Sarai nodded. “Aye, that’s the way it will be then.”

He put his other hand on hers. “We will find a safe haven from all this chaos, where the avatars can’t bother us.” A roaring interrupted Bannor’s next words. It made his skin crawl. Sarai stiffened.

Rankorhaaz.

The sound came closer. Irodee woke up and grabbed her spear. Wren opened one eye, frowned and rolled over in the blankets.

“Wren, is demon!”

The savant’s voice sounded thick with sleep. “Yeah, I hear it—tell him to be quiet.”

Bannor’s voice rose. “It’s Rankorhaaz!”

Wren growled. “Let him yell. If he gets closer, wake me up.”

Irodee nudged the smaller woman. “Wren, this not funny.”

“Wasn’t ‘posed to be funny. Demons don’t like water. He tries to drive those orcs out here and he’ll have whole platoon of cooked Urakai. I picked the spot for a reason.”

Bannor chimed in this time. “That is?”

“I’m a savant of Forces.”

“So?”

She patted the folded cloak she used for a pillow. “Can you think of a stronger force than a ground quake?”

“What’s that got to do—”

“This is the most unstable terrain you can find. I can turn every fissure, geyser, and fumarole in this area into a weapon. He doesn’t have the courage to fight me where I have the advantage, especially now that we have an avatar of stone with us too. For the time being, relax. Save your energy for when we need to leave. That’s when it’ll get ugly.”

Love is a trick played on the consciousness of fools.

I’ve extracted the definition from many creatures and all of it is just so much blather about ‘sacrifice’ and ‘feelings’ and ‘caring’.

If such a thing truly exists it is nothing but a convention and no real tangible force. My cousin Aphrodite argues vehemently to the contrary, but she was never very bright and has always been easily duped.

The thing that bothers me is that in the texts of the First Ones, there is reference to it (love), and the achieving of Tan’Acho.

Instinct tells me this little intangible will be an irritating snag in my plans…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Nine

« ^ »

“Wren, you led us five leagues out of our way so you could have a bath?” Bannor’s voice rose. The demon’s roars had kept him awake long after the creature gave up. Lack of sleep left him in no mood to play games.

Face feeling hot, he sat on a boulder. Wren had led them to a rocky basin surrounded by trees and a scattering of bushes. A stream tumbled into the steep-sided depression where it mingled with hissing fumarole water. Silver and gold flecks eddied in the bubbling liquid.

“Honestly, Bannor, I’d have gone even further for a hot soak.” She grinned. “More for you than me. Get a smell of yourself.”

He frowned and folded his arms. Still half awake, it made everything bleary and annoying.

Irodee and Sarai sat on the pool’s edge making ripples in the water with their toes. They both looked amused. Sarai siding with Wren and Irodee made it more irritating. One moment she complained about owing Wren, the next she’d joined the savant’s bath party.

Women.

Wren dove in fully clothed. Swimming to the edge, she fished a parchment packet from the backpack she’d left on the ledge.

Sarai borrowed Irodee’s comb and worked at removing the snarls from her hair.

“My One, the three of you are exhausted.” Bannor noted how Sarai didn’t include herself in the statement. “Rest and get your strength back. We’ll need it to leave this place.”

“If we can get out at all,” he grumbled.

“You’re full of optimism this morning.” Wren poured a white powder in her palm and rubbed it in her hair. “Save the hostility for Rankorhaaz. I didn’t travel all this way to rescue a grouch.”

Sarai chuckled.

Bannor stared at his mate. She beamed back. He turned the scowl on Wren. “Getting chased by demons makes me grumpy.” He found a pebble and tossed it in the water. “Rankorhaaz will be waiting for us—”

Wren cut him off. “Irodee-Sarai, dunk him!”

By the time he registered what the she had said, his mate and Irodee were already reaching for him.

“No.” He pointed a finger.

Neither stopped. Bannor scrambled off the rock. They caught him before he moved far. Their hands clamped on his biceps and wrists. He struggled, but Irodee weighed too much and Sarai’s grip was like steel.

“Hey, not now-don’t-don’t!”

They did.

The bath did make him feel more alert. Steaming water loosened taut muscles and cleansed his grimy skin. When everyone finally finished removing a week of trail grime, the sun had risen high in the cloud-streaked sky.

Wren refused to discuss the avatar’s pursuit. She told him to relax, reality would be facing them soon enough. Bannor translated that as meaning she hadn’t yet figured a way out of their predicament.

Turned away from the pursuit, he was left with thoughts of what he and Sarai should do. What did they really want? Where did they go from here? They couldn’t blindly follow Wren around without a plan of their own. The question was, what could they do? They would never be able to have the pastoral life that they used to enjoy. Rankorhaaz and all the fiends and slavers that came after him would see to that.

Seek refuge, Wren said. What did she mean by refuge? What was deemed a ‘safe’ place? If it meant being trapped behind walls unable to venture anywhere without fear, neither he nor Sarai wanted any part of it. Would he really rather die than live a life closed behind walls?

With those heavy thoughts on his mind he found himself a spot in the shade of a big scalebark to contemplate what they should do. He watched several needle-beaks fencing in the branches overhead, wings a-blur and ruby feathers flashing. Their battles mimicked his own conflict: a pointless feud over personal space. He and Sarai simply wanted to be able to live together in peace, raise children and make a life of their own.

Bannor felt Sarai press her breasts against his back. Hugging him, she put her chin on his shoulder. “Are we feeling better, my One?” She nuzzled the curve of his neck. “I know we smell better.”

He pressed her hands. “Much improved.” He sighed. “How are you feeling?”

She curled around him like a cat, settled in his lap and put her arms around his neck. Sarai’s eyes gleamed. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

Sarai felt warm and inviting, silvery hair spilling across his legs. She certainly looked fine. Bannor felt himself growing taut. He leaned to kiss her. Sarai pulled him down hard, mouth seeking his ravenously. She looped her legs around his back and cinched him down. She squirmed against him, nails digging into his skin. A sharp sting went through his lip and he tasted blood.

Startled, he pushed away, searching her slender face. Is this my Sarai? Eyes glowing, she licked the blood off her lips, smiled and undid the ties on his tunic.

A cold tingle shot through him. He caught her hands. “Sarai?”

“I need you, my One.” She pulled on him, more gently this time.

Her violet eyes swallowed him as they always did. Their bodies tangled. The elation of being with his lover again made all his problems vanish.

Despite the rapture, he couldn’t push the picture of Sarai savoring his blood out of his mind, the strange glee he’d seen in her eyes.

Wren had been right. Sarai did pay a price for the power.

Would he be willing to pay it along with her?

Bannor bolted upright. Sarai sat up next to him, silver hair mussed. The shadows of the trees had grown only a fraction longer. The thrum of a bow, the hiss and crack of arrows hitting home brought him to his feet, reverie forgotten. He pulled on his breeches, grabbed his sword and axe, cautioned Sarai, and then ran toward the sound.

He heard two more impacts and the sound of wood splintering.

He rushed to their camp in time to see Irodee letting fly with two more arrows. The shots hissed into the hearts of two targets drawn on trees about twenty paces apart.

The Myrmigyne spun and aimed at him. Wren appeared behind her, dagger readied.

“Whoa!” He held up his weapons. “I thought there was trouble.”

Irodee lowered the bow. “Only practicing. Sorry, not think would disturb you.”

Sarai appeared behind him, sheathing the dagger Wren had loaned her. Smoothing her hair and blouse, she put an arm around his waist. He found himself more conscious of her touch.

Sarai glanced at the targets. “Good shooting, Irodee.”

The Myrmigyne nodded.

Six arrows jutted from the two trees. All the shafts were clustered in a pattern less than a hand-width across. Wren gestured to Bannor and went back to her place seated on a log next to her pack. Scratches in the dirt formed a rough map at her feet. Obviously she’d been considering their plight. “What were you starting to say, Irodee?”

The Myrmigyne shot twice more. The arrows quivered next to the others. “Irodee saying she misses Marta. Wants to see Laramis.”

“You have a daughter?” Sarai asked.

Irodee nodded. “She’s five summers now.”

Wren looked up from her drawing. “Five—and she’s already taller than me.”

The Myrmigyne looked at Sarai and grinned. “Marta calls Wren, Pico-kana—Little sister.”

Sarai squeezed Bannor. “We were thinking about children after we’re joined.” She looked at him eyes gleaming. “I think we’ll make beautiful babies.” She broke away to stand by Irodee and look at the targets. “I bet Marta is a nice girl. Her mother is tough, but I can tell she’s a good person.”

Irodee looked down at Sarai, apparently not knowing how to respond. “Grata.”

Sarai smiled. “Can I try?” She held her hand out for the bow. The Myrmigyne frowned. The huge weapon looked impossible for Sarai to pull. Irodee shrugged and handed it over.

“Taija,” she said softly, caressing the smooth wood. Brushing her hair back, she accepted two arrows from Irodee. She put one in her teeth and nocked the other.

Bannor barely saw her move. He only heard the thrum of the bow and the smack of impacts. Both shots vibrated in the exact center of the chalk circle.

Irodee bowed to Sarai. The elf bowed back.

Wren raised an eyebrow and looked at Bannor.

“She crafts bows for the Silcanna elves,” Bannor explained. He walked over and examined Wren’s drawing. She’d sketched the flats, detailing the high ground and stands of trees. Sheer valley walls bordered most of the northern and western extents of the area. Broken hills rose into mountains that hemmed in the land to the south. The only easy travel seemed to be back the way they’d come.

Sheathing his sword, he sat beside her. “I see you didn’t relax.”

Wren shook her head. “It’s my job to worry.”

Bannor sighed. Irodee and Sarai took turns shooting the bow, involved in some discussion about children. It seemed months since he’d reflected on their plans for a family. Life’s trivial details dissolved when faced by a danger like that posed by the avatars.

“I notice Irodee doesn’t worry.”

Wren ran a hand through her hair, fingers gripping the strands. He saw doubt in her blue eyes and heard the tremor in her voice. “My friend trusts me too much. We spent my last teleport scroll getting to Sarai. We needed it to escape before things got this tight.”

“Is there something I should know?”

Wren nodded and pointed south to a rise a half-league away. “Watch that hill.”

He did. After a few moments he saw a glint, sunlight reflecting off glass or steel. His chest tightened as he noticed other flashes on adjacent hilltops. “You think they know where we are?”

“Not precisely, but there aren’t many spots in the flats where we could be hiding.” She shrugged. “If they’d come in after us, getting away would be easy. Rankorhaaz will form a blockade instead.”

Bannor frowned. “I saw a hundred orcs, no more. He can’t cut off the entire southern access to these flats.”

“Those are rough hills. Orcs have phenomenal endurance. In that terrain they could run us down. The river valley is a death trap. To keep us penned, Rankorhaaz only needs to guard a few trails and have lookouts keep us from slipping between. Meanwhile, he’ll get help to flush us out.”

Bannor groaned.

“Trust me, it could be worse.”

“Oh? How?”

“We could have camped on the canyon rim and he’d have us trapped in that valley. We crossed before he stationed the orcs on the south rim. I bet he split the tribe. Half went after Sarai and the rest has been stationed here to head me off in case I got to her before he did.”

“I don’t understand. How did they even know about Sarai?”

Wren smiled. “They thought she was the savant. I confused their communications, their times were wrong, targets, trails, everything. Otherwise, Rankorhaaz would have caught her early on. If they hadn’t delayed me up North, I’d have reached you before anything happened.”

He stemmed the urge to bristle at Wren for risking their lives. She worked the way a general did, executing moves to get the advantage.

“I take it they want you, too?”

“For over two decades.” She took a handful of dirt and let the particles trickle through her fingers. “They’ve come close. Each time I help a savant, I give them another opportunity. It’s happened often enough that they keep extra minions ready in case I get involved.”

“You sound proud of it.”

“Damn proud. I enjoy frustrating those—” She stopped, apparently unable to find words strong enough. “I told you. Soon, they’ll pay for all the misery they’ve caused.”

With my help you mean. If you can get us out of here alive.

He looked at Sarai. She and the huge Myrmigyne stood near the trees removing the arrows. They talked as if they’d known each other for tendays. Funny how things as simple as a bow or an interest in children could bring people together.

She glanced at him and smiled. She kissed her hand and made a tossing gesture. He grinned and responded in kind. His throat felt tight. One moment she seemed so alien, the next the tender being he adored.

Wren patted him on the shoulder, looking on. “She’s a special lady.”

“I love her a lot.”

“It shows.” Wren smiled. “She’s handled the power much better than I thought. Maybe she’ll be okay.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Wren’s face turned serious. “What?”

“Sometimes she seems—different—” The thought made his stomach knot. “Like a stranger is looking out of her eyes.”

It took a moment for her to respond. “Power tends to make someone more assertive. This is a desperate situation. She may be putting on another face to deal with it.”

They stared at each other. He broke the silence. “I hope you’re right.”

Wren didn’t meet his eyes. “What else could it be?”

For once, Bannor felt grateful for Wren’s indirection. The thought of some other creature inhabiting the body of his mate made him feel icy inside.

He changed the subject. “Don’t you have any allies that might come and help us?”

“Several.” Wren shook her head. “But they all went to a tournament.”

“Tournament?” He snorted. “Couldn’t we contact them astrally?”

“Not when they’re on another plane of existence. The all-worlds tournament is held in Asgard. They won’t be back for another week.”

Bannor swallowed. “Asgard? You mean like Odin’s Asgard?”

“Yes, as in the Aesir, the Ajeer, and the Valkurum. My mother is the daughter of Idun.”

He studied Wren to see if she might be joking. She appeared serious. “You’re descended from an immortal?” She looked down at herself. “Doesn’t show, does it? You’d think with a family tree like that I’d be taller!”

“Irodee thinks is because Wren is long on brains instead.”

Wren grinned at the Myrmigyne as she and Sarai came and sat down beside them.

Sarai patted Bannor’s knee. “We thought we’d let you two figure out how to leave this place.” She glanced toward the mountains. The expression on her face said she and the Irodee had been discussing the telltale flashes on the hilltops. “It looked like you were having troubles.”

“Some,” he admitted. “These flats are a defensible position, but we only have a few ways out.”

“We need a distraction,” Sarai said. “Something to draw them away from the way we want to go.”

“No.” Wren pointed at her. “We just got you back. We won’t risk losing you again.”

The Myrmigyne took a pebble and threw it into the trees. “Irodee sometimes wishes she were a bird. Not have problems like this.”

Bird. A bell rang in Bannor’s mind.

“We’re not,” Wren said. “If we had Mom’s carpet that would be—”

“That’s it!” he burst out.

They looked at him.

“We’ll fly out. It’ll be tough, but I think between us we can do it.”

Wren narrowed her eyes. “Do you know something I don’t?”

Bannor looked at Sarai and she smiled back sharing his secret. He felt it unlikely his betrothed would ever forget her flight off the mountainside.

“Tonight we make like birds.”

As mentioned elsewhere I have determined that love is an abstraction. Lust is another thing altogether. It is quantifiable quality, and a dependable handle that can be used to control all manner of creatures. In my travails, I have found few creatures that do not experience it to some degree. I must confess I have succumbed to its pull more than once. Hedonism is indeed my greatest weakness, but no one has ever lived long enough to take advantage of it.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Ten

« ^ »

Sitting on the log in the clearing, Wren grabbed hold to keep from falling over. “We’re going to what!?” From the savant’s expression, Bannor guessed she thought he’d gone crazy.

He squeezed Sarai who grinned. “I said that we’d make like birds.”

As if to emphasize his point, two tiny needlebeaks whizzed through the clearing chasing one another. Irodee folded her arms, her gaze lingering where the birds vanished into the branches. “Bannor means we fly?”

“What else would I mean?” He glanced southward. Glints off orcish armor continued to wink on the hilltops. It reinforced the importance of finding a means of escape.

Sarai rubbed her hands. “I think it’s a wonderful idea!”

“I don’t.” Wren’s jaw set. “Precisely how are we going to fly?”

Bannor saw her steely fixation. The thought of flight obviously terrified her.

He wouldn’t let that ruin his plan. “Our astral bodies. I carried Sarai off the mountain in my astral form. Together we could carry her and Irodee across the valley. That would give us a big lead on those orcs.”

Wren rolled her eyes. “Brilliant, Bannor. How do we get across then? Our bodies are stuck here!”

Bannor ignored the sarcasm. “All we need is a hundred paces of rope. We can run south as visible astral projections and get the orcs to chase us. When they’re lured away, we return to our bodies and go to the western rim. We rappel down the cliff, cross the river, and then one of us carries the rope to Irodee and Sarai so they can pull us up.”

“Yes!” Sarai clapped. “That is good.”

The hardness left Wren’s features. “Okay, it’s not as bad as I thought. You lifted Sarai?”

Sarai squeezed his shoulder. “We flew-not well, but you could make it work.”

“Where we get two hundred paces of rope?” Irodee surveyed the West as if she could see the chasm. “The only river ford west of here is at Tarmin’s Bend. Walls very high there.”

“Could you go astrally for some?” Sarai asked.

Wren shook her head. “Not with Rankorhaaz watching us.” She paced in the rocky clearing. “We need something that can serve as rope.”

Irodee scanned the trees. “In jungle, we use vines.”

“Something strong and supple,” Wren said, crossing the clearing a few more times. She stopped by Irodee and ran a hand through the Myrmigyne’s waist length tresses.

Irodee snatched her hair away. “Irodee not have enough hair to make rope!”

Wren’s expression brightened. “Not yet, you mean.”

***

Bannor probed the dirt for the Traba roots Wren said would be found here near the hot spring. Nobody could wheedle the savant into divulging what she meant by her cryptic statement. She only told them that she now knew how to create a rope, and she needed certain roots and other elements for an alchemical potion to make it.

Wren’s silence terrified Irodee. While they prepared to go after the ingredients, the Myrmigyne mumbled about losing her hair. Apparently, she had lost her hair in a fiery mishap in another adventure. Bannor guessed from Irodee’s tone that she had never entirely forgiven Wren for the accident.

Bannor furrowed the dirt, enjoying the feel of moist humus between his fingers. At the cabin he shared with Sarai, he enjoyed tending a large vegetable garden. The work always gave him a sense of peace.

Searching for the Traba vine tubers was turning out much like the rest of his recent experiences: lots of digging and little discovery. He’d been at this for half of a bell with no luck.

His fingers closed on some odd-shaped nodules, and he pulled them up. The twisted, grayish tendrils fit Wren’s description. He uprooted all he could find, put them in his pouch and went to find Sarai.

The breeze rustled the tree branches and he sniffed the cloy needleleaf scent. Beneath the boughs of a scalebark a pair of chattering bluefeathers began diving at him. As he dodged their attacks, he heard the piping of baby birds. The parents kept swooping at him until he moved away.

Bannor felt a kinship with the bluefeathers. They only wanted to keep invaders away from their family. Like them, the enemy’s size wouldn’t deter him. He’d fight back until he died or the invaders gave up.

Shortly, he found his mate kneeling in the hard soil of the terrace overlooking the flats. Emaciated needlewoods grew in the desiccated ground. Rocks crusted with cracked mud thrust up like warts. Wren had sent Sarai here for minerals that should be found in fallow ground like this.

Sarai didn’t notice him. Even dressed in ill-fitting clothes she made his throat tighten. He stood mesmerized by the motions of her lithe body, the way her pale skin glistened in the sunlight.

He cringed, watching as Sarai plunged her slender hand into the hard dirt. He heard a sound as if a blunt knife were being twisted in a melon. She thrust in to the shoulder, probing beneath the ground as if she were searching the bottom of a barrel.

His stomach tightened. She’d held him with those hands only a bell ago.

She pulled out after a moment, leaving an opening. No dirt clung to her arm. Thinking back to her smile when she bit him, Bannor imagined blood welling out of the ground. He shuddered.

Sarai moved a few paces and lunged again the same way an angler might grab for a fish in a stream. The vibration made him wince.

He walked closer. “Doesn’t that hurt, Little Star?”

She focused on him and grinned like a child caught playing a secret game. “Not at all, my One. Stone is my element now. I’m learning what that means—ahhh…” Sarai bit her lip in concentration, hair falling across her face. The ground vibrated. She pulled out her catch. Several bluish lumps sparkled in her palm. “Success! You bring me luck, my One.”

She wrapped the minerals in a piece of cloth, hopped up, and came over. With effort, he held still as Sarai put her arms around him. He felt heat coming through their clothes. He paused before returning her hug.

Sarai’s gaze met his. “Do I frighten you, my One?”

He hesitated. She’d sensed his tension.

She went on. “Think of how I feel. Your power can split the world asunder.” Her glowing eyes searched his face. “I love you. I know you love me too much to let me come to harm.”

Sarai’s tone and her expression made his face feel hot. He bowed his head and hugged her tighter. He nuzzled her silky hair and breathed in the flowery scent. “I’m sorry.” They were the only words he could find.

She shoved him back. “There is more to it, my One.” Her features hardened. “Some of your unease is you don’t like the idea of me being able to be independent. You want your elfin flower to rely on you.” She held his face. “No.” She kissed him and shook her head. “No. No. No. I’ve managed to see to my own needs for four centuries. I want to be loved, Bannor, not coddled. Protecting me is fine. It’s natural to guard your beloved, but I’d rather you give me a weapon and let me defend myself.”

Her lips tightened. “If you’d let me have my bow and sword when we went into town, those ruffians would have been face down in the street rather than carting me off.” She stepped back and folded her arms.

He clenched his hands. He wanted to tell her she was wrong. He saw the depth of her anger over the capture and his part in it. She’d held it in until now. They shouldn’t be fighting now. He couldn’t deal with his own emotions, much less hers. Instinct made him want to yell back—to defend his position, his ego—something that would no doubt sound stupid and immature, especially to an elf four hundred summers his senior. Could he help how he felt? A woman shouldn’t have to carry a blade.

He started to say something and she put hand across his mouth. She stared at him for a long moment, violet eyes unblinking. The corners of her mouth curved into a smile. “Just say you love me.”

He swallowed. His whole body tingled. “Ur muv ooh.”

***

Bannor and Sarai returned to the campsite where Wren hunched over some noxious-smelling concoction she cooked over the fire in a metal cup. From time to time she would add pinches of substances from various packets she took from the pack. Irodee sat on the log nearby, eying Wren’s operation the way a criminal might regard the building of a gallows. The Myrmigyne brushed her tresses nervously as if it would be the last time she ever saw her hair.

“Find the Azurite and Traba root?” Wren asked.

Bannor answered by putting the ingredients next to Wren’s knee.

The savant flashed him a smile. “Good!” She pulped the roots in a bowl with her dagger and measured a quantity into the bubbling mixture. Sarai’s contribution she powdered and put aside.

Bannor knelt by Wren. “Will you tell us what this will do?”

She kept intent on the grayish soup. “Isn’t the suspense killing you?”

“Irodee thinks Wren is what the suspense is going to kill.”

She chuckled. “Touch her hair, and she thinks I’m planning to shear her bald.”

Sarai sat by the Myrmigyne. “Are you?”

Irodee leaned forward.

Wren peered at Irodee with a wide smile. “Would I do something like that?”

“Irodee thinks maybe.”

Shaking her head, Wren continued her alchemical preparations. The three of them watched in silence as the forest shadows grew longer. Occasionally, Bannor watched the south for evidence of the orc scouts.

He pointed to discernible shapes moving near the edge of the flats. Whatever Wren’s plan turned out to be, it would have to work. Apparently, Rankorhaaz had whipped some courage into the orcs.

By himself, Bannor had challenged a dozen orcs and survived. Their chances wouldn’t be good against five score or more. They’d be overborne despite superior skills or magical power.

Sarai stared at the distant figures.

The Myrmigyne let out a breath. “Maybe not have time.”

Sarai narrowed her eyes. With deliberate slowness, she thrust her fingers into dirt until her hand became completely submerged. “Need to keep them scared a little longer.”

Bannor’s neck prickled as he saw beads of sweat forming on her brow.

Sarai’s eyes glowed brighter. “Something scary.” Her hand twisted as if she gripped something. She stamped her foot and tore her hand free. A bulge in the dirt shot south like a wave snapped down the length of a cord.

A rumble vibrated in the distance. Irodee stood. The resonance continued, growing in volume.

Wren stopped working, brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

Sarai’s tone sounded flat. “I tickled the flats.”

In the distance, plumes erupted into the sky. The dirt beneath their feet rippled and the trees swayed. Bannor could feel the air trembling.

“Isn’t that enough tickling?” Bannor raised his voice over the tremor.

Sarai patted the dirt and made hushing noises with a finger over her lips. Her skin gleamed, and he saw pulsations of blue light around her feet.

The rumbling dwindled to a distant mutter.

“That’s impressive,” Wren remarked. “Are you all right?”

Sarai’s jaw set. “Fine.”

Bannor saw strain in her features. A gray cast had come over her skin. She met his gaze, daring him to say anything about it.

He didn’t.

Irodee peered in the direction of the orcs. “Orcs gone.”

“I’m not surprised.” He glanced at Sarai. “It must have been ten times as bad in the center of it out on the flats.”

Sarai’s expression stayed impassive. “Maybe even worse.” She took a breath, and her eyes fluttered. Wiping the perspiration off her brow she looked at him as if asking for forgiveness.

Little Star, what did you do?

“It’s good having an elemental on our side.” Wren went back to work. “Just as well if the vermin fell in a fissure. That’s what I would have done.”

Sarai became interested in another part of the clearing.

His chest tightened. Maybe his betrothed hadn’t changed. Perhaps he was simply being forced to acknowledge the wild part of her nature. One didn’t survive for four hundred summers without some hardness.

Did it matter if his little flower had petals of steel?

After the tremor, they saw considerably less activity in the hills. Bannor figured it would give them another day to prepare.

Wren finished her work, the results of which were three separate solutions. She then performed some kind of ritual magic on each container. Afterward each potion glowed an eerie blue.

The savant stirred the grayish goop, the glow reflecting in her eyes. “My father Vanidaar is a scholar. Alchemy is one of his hobbies. About five summers back, I was going through a bout of hair envy, and he heard me grumbling about my never being able to grow my hair out.” She let a few drops the thick fluid drip off the stick. “He taught me how to make this.” Wren fixed Irodee with her eyes. “Undiluted, the magic will make your hair ten times longer.”

“Wren does want to cut Irodee’s hair!”

“Who else has that much hair? Ten times my hair is four paces. With yours it’d be twenty! We can cut more than we need and leave you with extra if you want it.”

Bannor frowned. “How does it help? We need two hundred paces.”

Sarai brightened. “We take sections, braid them, and tie them all together. Those other potions are to make it viable as rope.”

Wren nodded. “Give the elf a gold crown.”

“Irodee still doesn’t like it.”

“Hey, Irodee, trust me.”

The Myrmigyne folded her arms. “Always trusting you. If Irodee loses her hair, Wren will too.”

“Deal.”

She didn’t seem convinced. “All right, what Irodee do?”

“Sit here. Bannor get the blankets and lay them out to keep the hair clean. Sarai, don’t let the potion touch anywhere but her scalp.”

They worked around Irodee. The big woman looked anything but comfortable. Bannor didn’t envy her. They applied the solution to Irodee’s hair, painting it on her scalp and down the length. Wren then chanted strange words. Her hands gleamed as she made passes over Irodee’s hair.

“Ow! Itches! Wren not say would itch!”

“Don’t touch it!”

Irodee’s black tresses writhed like snakes, spilling down her back and tumbling onto the blankets in a jumble.

“Hurts, Wren!” She clenched her hands as the metamorphosis continued.

Bannor coiled the growing lengths to prevent tangling. The hair felt silky smooth. He could see why Irodee was so protective of it.

“Only for a little bit more.”

“Wren owe Irodee for this!”

“Oh, hush, it doesn’t hurt that much!”

“Maybe on Wren’s dinky hair!”

The savant snorted.

Irodee might have exaggerated some for Wren’s benefit, but Bannor could see it wasn’t a pleasurable experience.

When the magic ended a quarter bell later, the Myrmigyne looked pale and appeared thinner, as if the magic had drawn substance from her body to feed the growth.

Irodee winced and ran a hand over her scalp. “Is done?”

“Done,” Wren agreed. “Where do we cut?”

The Myrmigyne stood. Bannor steadied her when she swayed. Feeling her weight, he realized how gargantuan she was. He could barely reach the crown of her head. Irodee twisted to view the trailer of hair lying on the blankets.

“Here.” She pointed below her hip.

Wren used her magic sword to trim the hair with a few swift cuts.

Irodee caressed her locks as if verifying they were really still all there.

“Some braiding, applied potion and magic and we’ll have our rope.” She patted Irodee on the shoulder. “Then comes your part, Bannor. Moving Irodee will be much tougher than Sarai.”

Bannor stared at the Myrmigyne. “I’ve been thinking about it.” He frowned. “We simply have to find the will to do it.”

Immortals live for gambles, intrigue, manipulation and the hunt.

This goes for those claiming to be of the ‘light’, and we arbitrarily labeled the ‘dark’.

Let none fool you, from the greatest of us to the least we are all caught up in the cosmic game; the higher the stakes the better. Fragile mortals have always been our favored tokens and champions. Perhaps it is their flexibility, unpredictable nature, and vulnerability that make them so attractive. I find their creativity intriguing and have always found their meglocentricities a great source of amusement.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Eleven

« ^ »

Bannor’s fingers felt numb from the constant motion of intermingling strands of human hair. He knelt next to Sarai, their knees and hips touching. The elf’s nimble fingers worked much faster than his calloused, thickened ones.

Limbs swayed overhead, and needlebeaks hummed and flashed through the foliage. Irodee and Wren worked across the clearing beneath a ponderous scalebark. Its thick boughs reached upward to embrace the sky.

Wren had shown everyone how to braid the hair and to link the segments so they became one solid cord. The savant figured working together it would take four bells to complete the rope. In half that time his fingers felt like dead hunks of meat.

Dabbed with the Wren’s alchemical solutions the hair strands swelled and hardened as he worked. From testing, he guessed this rope would be nearly identical to the fine silken cords made by the elves. Mentally comparing the texture of the two products he suspected that Wren’s hair rope was less of a new idea and more of an obscure art.

“My One, have you thought on how you will move the monolith?”

“Monolith?” The word shook him out the daze of constant repetition. “Oh, Irodee.” He shook his head. “Agonizing over it won’t make it easier.”

Sarai deepened her voice in a mock impression of his. “ ‘We simply have to find the will to do it.’ ” She patted him on the knee. “To lift her? My One, there isn’t that much will in the whole kingdom.” She shook her head. “I wish we could break away from this blonde she-thief.”

“Thief?” He turned to his betrothed. “What do you mean?”

“Come now. Haven’t you put it together?”

He frowned.

Sarai rubbed his cheek with the back of her hand and made a clucking sound. “She’s expert with a dagger, runs like the wind, even wears her sword for quiet running. I’ve seen that black leather carapace before. She showed us the rogue’s skill for rope-making. Watch her hands. I’ve done ropes before. She’s still twice as fast as me. She’s a guilder certain, a master from her knowledge and confidence.”

“So, what if she is?”

“Bannor, if we can’t trust her, be damned what and who she knows.”

“Sarai, a person’s past is behind them. She’s been secretive with us, but trustworthy so far. We’re safer with her counsel than without it.”

Her jaw tightened. “Keep your eyes open. A guild master can steal your soul and you won’t even know it’s missing.”

The tone in her voice made the back of his neck prickle. He studied Wren. Blonde hair wreathing her face, the savant leaned over her work, fingers flashing over the braiding.

There’s only one way to resolve the question.

He walked over to Wren. “Can I ask you a question?”

She looked up. Her fingers never slowed. “No, but you’ll ask anyway. So go ahead.”

Irodee smiled and gave Wren a push on the shoulder.

Bannor glanced at Irodee, but locked eyes with Wren. “Sarai thinks you’re a guilder, maybe even a master.”

She sighed. “Sarai’s a smart lady, Bannor, hang onto her. Never argue with centuries of experience.”

“You don’t deny it?”

“Ishtar’s eyes, no, fifteen summers in the guild. Ever hear the story of the Malicent gem?”

“The Ivaneth bards sing it every spring at the faires.”

Wren grinned. “The lady thief in Arabella’s song, Ardwren, that’s me. Last job I did in Corwin for Mistress Whitelock.” She rubbed her cheek against the shoulder of her hauberk. “Earned this armor for the job. Used to be Whitelock’s.” She regarded Sarai who was eying them. Wren grinned. “Don’t worry, I won’t steal your soul. I’m retired.”

Before her last words, Bannor had resolved to push further but the last part answered his questions. “Thanks for not being evasive.” He narrowed his eyes. “For once.”

“We aim to please.”

He knelt next to Sarai and went back to work. She gave him that arched eyebrow expression he’d come to associate with ‘I told you so’.

He sighed.

***

Only a sliver of light tinged the horizon between the rocky teeth of the western mountains, casting tangerine hues on the undersides of distant clouds. The breeze had picked up and felt cooler. It carried with it a familiar scent.

“Storm,” Bannor murmured.

They sat around the campfire where Wren finished the joining and checking of the completed rope. Her attention shifted to him.

Irodee sniffed, her dark eyes intent on the sky. After a moment she said, “Bannor right, think perhaps hit late tomorrow.”

“We are going to be well south by then. It’s to our advantage. Rankorhaaz hates water.”

Sarai paused in the act of rubbing Wren’s skin balm into her hands. She gestured to the sky. “Why? What is water to him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe his mother tried to drown him.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt him, but getting wet makes him crazy.”

Flexing his numb fingers, Bannor scanned the south where they knew the orcs waited. “Orcs aren’t afraid of water. The threat of losing us in the storm may push them to make a move.”

“Then let’s prepare to leave. Tie everything down. Even if we can’t fly we can still use this rope to rappel down the cliff. I can climb up the far side and tie it off. It’s more risky, but a good alternative.”

Irodee and Sarai stood and immediately went to work.

Bannor eyed Wren. “You intended to do it your way all along.”

Wren met his gaze. “Bannor, I refuse to waste time arguing. We’ll try it your way. If it doesn’t work, we’ll try a more practical approach.”

His jaw tightened. He stared at the savant.

“Oh, grow up. I’d be fascinated to see your method work. The ethereal affecting the physical…” Her voice faded. She let out a breath. “Pardon my staidness. I learned to keep things simple; less goes wrong.”

He growled. “My way will work. Can you even climb that cliff?”

Wren stood. Stepping to a big needleleaf, she clambered up. She used no branches for a purchase, only the grip of fingers and toes. She grinned down at him. Bannor couldn’t see how she held on. The tree bark provided little purchase. “Think I can handle rocks?”

“All right, I get it.”

She hopped down and helped with the packing.

He stared at the savant for a moment, before adding his hands to the stowing. She always seemed a pace ahead of him. Could he be that dumb, or was Wren simply that smart? He disliked shying away from something because he didn’t understand it. The savant chose to be a puzzle. She veiled herself in half-truths and obscurities, daring him to discover her true nature. Here I am, try and learn my secrets.

They carefully stowed all of Wren’s alchemical apparatus. All the pack strings were tied down to ensure whether they flew or climbed, things would be ready for the trip.

The last shred of light vanished behind the crags. Irodee and Sarai sat down on the log to await the next step. Bannor gazed around the clearing, their temporary stronghold in the forest wilderness. He would remember this place with its birds, trees, pitfalls and revelations. Glimpses of the stormy road ahead had been revealed to him. The path behind was legion with snapping dogs ready to devour him if he mis-stepped. About that, Wren had been lucidly clear.

He met his betrothed’s gaze. Sarai’s glowing eyes never blinked. Rely on no one, her expression said. We can only trust ourselves.

Bannor tried to remember Sarai before Blackwater and the slavers. Was she always so suspicious? Had that carefree smile and whimsical wit all been a ruse for his benefit, or did he see only what he wanted to see? Maybe only now did he see the true face of things.

No, he would never forget Hades flats.

It was the place where his life changed.

He examined his hands, raw and aching from the day’s work.

His gaze found Sarai again. Whatever real or imagined changes she’d gone through, her support remained constant. She trusted him. The Garmtur’Shak Nola, he knew its unpredictability now. A single wish had kept the gallows from breaking his neck. Later, that same talent had nearly killed Wren. A desire to see his betrothed had given him the ability to soar the astral winds. An urgent need transformed Sarai into an elemental.

He had all of the tools and none of the control. Discipline.

Weren’t all disciplines simply a way of viewing things? In this case, it was knowing exactly what he wanted to accomplish. Willing what wasn’t yet real into existence.

Flexing his fingers, he studied the cracked skin.

“Bannor—” Wren started. Sarai put a finger to her lips and gripped the savant’s shoulder.

He focused. These are not the way my hands should be. Bannor opened and closed his hands. Visualizing his healthy undamaged flesh superimposed over the chapped members.

I wish…

In his mind, he stripped away the cuts and dirt.

I wish…

The cracks in his mental picture vanished.

I wish…

He peeled away another layer and the color returned to normal.

He flexed his fingers. The pain ebbed.

The wounds faded out.

So simple. So alluring. He now understood what Wren had meant by a power that encouraged experimentation, an ability that might fly out of control on his next attempt.

Bannor walked to Sarai and cupped her face in his renewed hands. He felt tears trickling down his cheeks. He kissed his betrothed.

“I love you, Little Star.”

She smiled. “I you, My One.”

He turned to Wren. “I’m ready.”

Bannor and Wren concealed themselves in a cluster of rocks, and Irodee and Sarai covered it over with branches. Lying in a clump of needle-leaves with his arms crossed, he let the tangy-acrid scent fill his awareness and help him to relax. He felt Wren’s presence next to him as if layers of itchy wool surrounded her and pressed against him.

Wren’s voice echoed in his head without making a sound. All right, I’ll get you launched then follow your lead.

He didn’t know how to reply. “How do you do that?” he asked aloud.

Don’t use your mouth. Think the words. Enunciate them in your head. Savants naturally communicate between each other this way. With training we can mind-speak with telepaths and mundanes.

Bannor clamped his jaw shut and thought the word. He saw it spelled out in his head in large red runes.

Mundanes?

Ow! Not so loud. I’m right next to you. Mundanes—people without magical abilities.

He made the letters not so large. Never thought of normal people as being mundane.

Much better. Don’t worry, Bannor, you will.

Another of Wren’s veiled statements, using that ‘I’ve seen it all’ tone that made him want to punch her. He wondered if she could sense his thoughts when they were linked this way.

Yes, Bannor, I can. When you feel the urge to take a swing, step right up. Make your first try a good one. I’ll drop you before the second.

He imagined tiny Wren challenging him a fistfight. Not likely.

Bannor sensed her shrug. People are easier to climb than trees. A girl doesn’t survive fifteen summers in the guild without learning how to earn respect. Think on it. Okay, enough banter, launch now?

Wait.

He took a breath. My One, there isn’t that much will in the whole kingdom. If Sarai was right, Wren would have beaten him again.

This is where it stopped. He would make this work.

They needed the strength of will to move Irodee. Mage’s lifted heavier things with their magic. He and Wren could do it with theirs. He considered what they needed to do, pictured it in his head, and slowly blended desire with reality. He felt a burning rush through him. Wren, go!

Bannor felt the savant reach inside of his mind. There was a twisting sensation and blackness. When he became aware of himself again he stared down at his reclining body. The details of the clearing stood out in sharp contrast. Around him the outline of a forest-canine glowed and crackled. It felt different this time, charged and solid, like a second flesh. Wren appeared again as an exotic hawk with flames for feathers and talons of diamond. Her image gleamed, casting shadows on the trees and rocks.

She fanned her wings and dust blew through the clearing. The savant’s voice echoed weirdly. “Bannor, what in Ishtar’s name did you..?” The bird form surveyed the South. “How in Hade’s am I going to cloak us? We rise above the trees and they’ll see us in the next kingdom! I can’t dim my image.”

Irodee rubbed her eyes walking to within touching distance of the bird form. “That you, Wren?”

“In the flesh, more or less.” She chuckled. It made sparks fly into the air around her feathers.

Irodee stared where Wren’s body lay next to Bannor’s. “Seen you do this before. Never so bright.”

Bannor felt dizzy. As he acclimated himself, he noticed networks of multicolored rays of light connecting he and Wren to the sky.

He spoke. His voice sounded oddly distorted and hollow. “Wren, what are all these lines around us?”

The bird form’s head swiveled, eyes like jewels flickered. “What lines—I don’t…” Her voice dropped to whisper. “Ishtar help us.”

“Force lines.” Gazing up into the sky, Sarai grinned. She focused on him. “The currents of magic that surround planes and planets.”

“Irodee don’t see anything except Wren and Bannor.”

Bannor saw a shudder go through Wren’s form. “You must have bent every force line on the continent. I couldn’t cloak us if I tried. Every mage on Titaan will know exactly where we are. Let’s go. Hold on, Sarai.”

Whatever these force lines were, they made Wren confident. She swooped over to Sarai. The elf shouldered a pack and held her hands up.

It appeared as if Sarai and Wren merged into a single ball of flame. The burning image shot over the trees like a meteor. Sarai’s whoop of delight dwindled into the distance.

Irodee knelt by his body and Wren’s obviously waiting for him.

A roar broke through the night.

Rankorhaaz.

The focused magic and the comet of Wren and Sarai had brought the demon out of hiding.

Irodee stood. She watched where the sounds emanated. “Bannor, must go now.” He saw the fear in her eyes. What if he couldn’t move this ponderous woman? Rankorhaaz would find their untenanted bodies.

The Myrmigyne pushed back her hair and walked toward him. She held her fists up. “You can do it. We go now.” Rankorhaaz’s bat-like form closed on them across the flats.

He lunged for Irodee and prayed.

Magic. It’s study and use is among my greatest joys.

I find awe and wonder in the myriad permutations that the laws established by Alpha and the First Ones can be bent in order to achieve a desired result. Tan’Acho is the ultimate goal wherein the laws themselves can be redefined rather than tricked and sidestepped as I do now. I live for it.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Twelve

« ^ »

Bannor threw ephemeral arms around Irodee prepared to put a death embrace on the woman. Tension shot through him. Distantly, he felt the heart of his physical body race.

Contact.

The Myrmigyne burst into a blaze of blue light. Bannor’s astral body and Irodee’s physical one meshed. He heard her gasp and experienced the knotting of her stomach as they soared away from the ground.

Power rushed through him as he rose higher. The magic lines pulled him whatever direction he wished to travel.

It worked!

It took no effort to carry Irodee. Her mass had become magickly co-joined with his. Bannor dodged to avoid Rankorhaaz. The demon ponderously turned to follow.

“Bannor!” Irodee’s voice sounded tiny and scared. “What did you do? Can’t see myself!”

“Irodee, we’re together in my magic.”

He felt her swallow. “We land soon?”

“Hopefully—” He yelled as spasms wracked him as if rats were trying to chew their way out of his insides.

He spun to see the source of the attack. Rankorhaaz hovered in the path of one of his force lines. Sparks erupted around the demon’s mammoth frame. It swelled in size.

Feeding.

“Odin’s eyes!” Bannor charged.

From thought to impact took less than an eye blink. Irodee’s scream rang in his ears as they slammed into the monstrosity.

The collision sent pain cascading through Bannor. It felt as if he’d jumped out a third story window and landed without bending his knees.

Caught off guard the demon pitched through the air howling. Streamers of energy trailed him like water escaping a punctured bladder.

Bannor felt broken inside, but he’d abated the demon’s attack.

We’re stronger now but also more vulnerable. No wonder it upset Wren.

“Bannor not do that again!”

He wasn’t strong enough to attack again. The monster hovered and flailed as though disoriented. Rankorhaaz would recover soon.

Where’s Wren?

She probably had her own problems. We have to deal with Rankorhaaz now.

“Irodee—shoot him!”

“Not have body!”

“Imagine your bow. Draw an arrow and shoot him between the eyes. Try!”

The Myrmigyne didn’t question again. He sensed her forming the picture. He felt the bow grow taut and the arrow touch her cheek.

Bannor concentrated his will. “Shoot!”

A shaft of energy sizzled across the intervening distance and exploded into the demon. Rankorhaaz screamed. Not in rage.

In fear.

Irodee gave a war cry. “Bannor, it works!” He felt a crushing hug.

The demon clawed at the smoking bolt lodged deep in his shoulder.

“Again!” Bannor yelled, staying focused.

Irodee’s astral bow thrummed twice. Sparkling arrows traced out.

Rankorhaaz twisted to get out of the way. The arrows shrieked home in his side and back. He fell from the sky and exploded into the flats.

“No!” The demon’s agonized scream made Bannor wince.

A greenish ball arced upward from the spot where Rankorhaaz hit. It erupted, illuminating a patch of the sky. A fissure opened in the heavens and something darker than the surrounding night poured through. The pieces of the blackness resolved into dozens of smaller winged shapes.

Wren’s voice cracked through his consciousness. Bannor! Grab my body fast! Get Irodee to Sarai.

Trailing fire, Wren’s hawk-form dove at Rankorhaaz, diamond claws extended. Bannor didn’t watch. The demon’s wail made a chill dance through him.

“Die,” Irodee muttered.

They plunged to where his body and Wren’s lay. What would happen to Wren when he tried to absorb her?

No time to question. The savant’s order was clear. He swept the debris away and scooped up Wren’s body. Pain shot through his arms.

“Irodee! Help me!”

It felt like lifting a mountain. Wren’s form did not merge with his astral form. Magic crackled around the savant’s physical body. The air rippled as if he were pulling her figure through murky water.

Irodee groaned, adding her strength to his. The woman’s will was strong. Together they struggled to move skyward.

“So hard.” Irodee gritted.

They dipped several paces almost hitting the trees.

“Stay focused!” He snapped. “We’ll drop Wren’s body!”

The landscape flickered beneath them. Bannor glanced back. Dark forms flapped after them. Wren’s bird-shape dove and struck among the demons her claws blazing like stars.

Bannor and Irodee staggered through the air over the canyon rim. The ground fell away. The gorge yawned beneath them. The silhouettes of the trees far below looked like spikes. The ribbon of the river glinted in the moonlight, foaming and studded with rocks.

Irodee gasped. “Tired Bannor.”

They fell fifty paces.

“Concentrate!” Bannor’s mind burned. He could feel blisters growing on his hands and arms as magic poured into his astral form.

Through naked will they clambered back up to their original altitude.

The horde of shapes closed, too many for Wren to stop.

The jagged outline of the far rim hove into range. Bannor could see a single bright dot winking off to their left. He headed for it.

He felt on fire. Irodee let out a moan. Their hearts pounded in tandem.

“Not much further.”

Irodee struggled to do her part in the pairing. The world grew fuzzy. The cries of the demons grew in volume. Below, the rocks beckoned. All he needed to do was let go. The torment would stop. Wren would never manipulate him again. She would become a bodiless spirit trapped forever between the astral and physical planes.

A ghost.

Sarai’s voice rolled in his mind, cold and loveless. Let her go, my One. Our problems would be solved.

Their flight faltered and they dropped again.

Bannor screamed a battle cry and Irodee joined in. They halted their fall and started a climb.

Save yourself.

They’d closed half the distance to the glowing dot on the rim. He could now see the gleam of the demon’s eyes. Bannor’s arms felt ready to rip from their sockets.

So easy to simply let go.

We can be together, forever.

Bannor screamed. “We’re-going-to-make-it!”

The cliff edge closed. He could see a figure backlit by a small fire.

A demon cackled. Something ripped through his shoulder. A scaly humanoid form whipped by. He gasped. They tumbled downward. Irodee yelled. They slowed and fought upward again.

Hideous laughter came closer then changed to a howl as something hissed past Bannor’s head. The black creature spiraled out of sight, a long shaft protruding from its eye.

One torturous pace at a time they ascended canyon wall. More arrows stabbed into the darkness followed by agonizing wails that dwindled into silence.

With one last effort, they heaved themselves over the rim. Bannor put Wren down.

He released Irodee. The Myrmigyne flowed out of him like quicksilver. The viscous shape swirled upward and solidified into flesh. The huge woman slumped to her knees with groan.

“Bannor! Back to your body!” Sarai commanded. She held a huge black bow. Her hands blurred as she whipped off more arrow shots.

A dark radiance surrounded the elf. Her violet eyes burned. Winged shapes filled the sky. She continued firing. “Now!”

The urgency in Sarai’s voice gave him a surge of new energy. He shot toward camp. The serpent demons pursued.

Unburdened, he covered the distance in instants. Wren broke off her sky battle and streaked toward the camp. They met over the site of his hidden body.

The trees and bushes looked singed. His jerkin and leggings smoldered. He could feel the beat of his own heart but it sounded dangerously slow.

“Don’t stare, damn it, get in there!”

Bannor felt himself shoved. There was a flash of blackness and disorientation.

“Sorry if this hurts.” Talons pierced his chest. He felt a burst of agony.

The foggy impressions of the forest vanished.

Wake up, damn it!

He regained consciousness what seemed instants later. He couldn’t see himself. The broken outcrops of the canyon whipped by.

What happened?

Thank Ishtar! I thought you’d gone into trauma and your spell link would break. They jerked into an abrupt vertical climb, skirting the rock face. His stomach felt as though it lodged in his boots. He heard several mushy thuds behind them.

We’re in it deep. Rankorhaaz is gone, but he sacrificed his energy to gate in hundreds of these fiends.

They arced around and stopped abruptly. Irodee and Sarai stood bracketing Wren’s body where she lay in the grass. The huge coil of climbing cord was still looped over her shoulder.

Wren released him. A tingling went through him as his bones and flesh became like oil pouring down and spiraling up into a solid form.

A wave of exhaustion enveloped him. He collapsed to his knees.

“Welcome back, my One.” Sarai grinned at him. He noticed blood coated the elf’s hands. He scanned the clearing. A huge orc lay sprawled nearby, neck twisted at an impossible angle.

Sarai frowned. She glanced at the dead orc. “Fool tried to attack me from behind. At least his bow is serviceable.”

Her tone made his skin prickle.

Wren hovered nearby, obviously debating whether to stay astral or assume human form again. She gazed skyward. Bannor saw dozens of force lines still ran upward from the savant’s astral shape.

The demons grouped again for another attack.

“Grath.” Sarai muttered in elvish. She threw the bow down. “Wren, here. Irodee—Bannor, take her body away from the cliff.”

The jewel eyes of Wren’s bird form flashed. She checked the demons. She must have guessed what Sarai planned. “Do it!”

Irodee shouldered her bow and scooped up Wren’s limp form. Bannor grabbed the rest of the equipment. The weight made his strained body scream in protest.

Limping for cover, he noticed Irodee wasn’t moving any better. Sarai must have known they couldn’t outrun any pursuit.

He saw Wren’s bird shape engulf Sarai. She appeared to sprout fiery wings as she raised her arms toward the heavens.

The ground rumbled and the lattice of force lines became crimson.

The nearest demons slowed but the press of their fellows shoved them forward.

Sarai made a clawing gesture. The ground exploded and a giant fist of rock smashed into the massed creatures. Like a huge stone serpent it writhed and struck.

The demons broke ranks. Several slipped inside her reach. Bannor grabbed for the orc bow at the same time Irodee reached for hers.

Sarai had used most of the orc’s war arrows. His arms felt like clay. He drew and fired. The shaft thudded into a monster’s scaly arm.

Irodee’s aim was slightly better. The arrows hit but not with the stopping accuracy both of them needed.

Heart pounding, he kept firing, one in four finding a vital spot. There were simply too many. Sarai!

The fiends reached her. A huge earthen hand shot upward and grabbed a demon around the torso. The creature screeched. Sarai clenched her flaming hand into a fist. The rocky member squeezed with a sickening crack. She seized more demons and crushed them.

Sarai retreated, the ground bulging upward and grabbing any demon that came too close.

By the time she reached the trees, the clearing glistened with demon ichor. The monsters changed course and headed toward the flats.

“They’re breaking off!” Wren gave a whoop. Sparkles danced around her hawk shape. “Yes, what a boost! To be on the offensive for once.”

Bannor looked from Wren to Sarai. She met his eyes and smiled. Her chest heaved and sweat streamed down her face. She’d bitten her lip during the fight, and blood trickled down her chin.

Sarai put her hands on her hips. “Well?”

He let go of the bow and hugged her. She fitted her steaming body to his. Sarai kissed him fervently. He tried to ignore the taste of her blood.

She pushed him back a little. “You’re trembling.”

Bannor let out a breath. “I’m ready to fall down. You scared me.”

Sarai frowned and held his hand up. His fingers were raw from pulling the bowstring.

“My One, you never quit. It must be part of why I love you.” She kissed away the blood.

Wren’s hawk shape dove into her body. Bannor saw the force lines wink out. The savant sat up and wiped the sweat off her forehead. She tried to stand and failed. After her second attempt and failure Irodee helped.

“Ishtar,” she breathed. “We’re lucky that we managed to drive them off. I don’t think we could fight now if we tried.” She leaned against Irodee. “Let’s get under cover.”

They made their way slowly into the trees.

Bannor pointed back to the clearing. “What about the orc?”

“He was an advanced scout for the war party coming from the pass.” Wren caught her breath and continued. “Without Rankorhaaz they shouldn’t be a bother until they get another leader.”

They found a small glade and collapsed into the soft grass.

Everyone lay still. The only sounds were those of night animals and breaths taken to calm speeding hearts. Even Sarai appeared exhausted.

Sarai put her head on Bannor’s chest. He watched the stars. His skin still felt hot as though he’d been sunburned. Irodee and Wren lounged an arm length away.

Bannor broke the silence after a long while. “Where now?”

Wren answered. “The coast, to a town named Bravadura. I have allies there. Hopefully, by then my Mother or Father will check in with me, and we can get transport home.”

“And then?” Sarai sat up. “Cower behind your walls? Live in self exile?”

Wren sat up too. “I understand you’re upset, Sarai, but at least in Cosmodarus, Hecate will leave you alone.”

Sarai’s eyes flashed. “I appreciate your efforts on our behalf. I refuse to be closed in where your family has us at their mercy. That makes you no different from those avatars.”

Wren stiffened. Her face reddened. “Don’t even think to compare me to those beasts!” She stared at Bannor. “You want to spend the rest of your existence running from those things?” She pointed at the canyon. “I’m offering you a life. A place of safety where you can raise children and can learn about your talent.” She met Sarai’s eyes again. “You’re right, I have motives and agendas. You’ve seen what Bannor can do. What would you do in my place?”

Sarai frowned. “You’re worried they’ll use him against you, the only savant more powerful.”

“Hang the danger to me. His power has to be controlled. He pulled the entire planet’s magic field out of alignment, for Ishtar’s sake! What happens if it gets out of hand? A whole population could get erased!”

Bannor’s gut turned icy. The immensity of the danger had never been expressed in those terms. He cut off Sarai’s answer. “Wren, you’re sure that many people could get hurt?”

She snorted. “Bannor, we’re not discussing hurt here. I mean total annihilation; a disruption of the forces that hold reality together. This whole planet and everyone on it could simply cease to be.”

Sarai started to cut in and Bannor put a hand over her mouth. “You can stop that from happening?”

“That’s why I want to train you.”

He looked at Sarai. “I don’t care if it is a cage. We go with Wren.”

Sarai didn’t say anything. She only glared at Wren.

Devotion. My servants are devoted because I allow them to be no other way.

I admit that sometimes I am jealous of those who inspire it rather than force it.

There does appear to be a certain ‘quality’ to inspired devotion that makes it desirable over that won through glamours and fear. I must make it a point to examine the phenomena closer…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Thirteen

« ^ »

Interlude.

Journal Entry 27: Spring, 1102 New Ivaneth Calendar.

I hope that these journal entries will survive me should things get even worse than anticipated. So far, this book has endured every extreme I have exposed it to. The magic tracer placed within it should allow you to locate this record and give you the knowledge necessary to proceed in my absence. The situation is dire and events have taken unpredictable turns.

Mother, I can hear your voice as clearly as if you were standing at my shoulder. “Wren, you really must learn your limitations.”

Let me be remembered as saying you were right. You have always been right. I love you. I wish I had told that you more often. In death, I will regret that the most. We all needed time to come together as a family again. We all found it hard, especially me. I would like to lay the blame at Hecate’s doorstep, to say that the magics that wiped my mind had paralyzed my ability to care. I always feared that my newfound father, mother, and brother were only a dream, a figment that might vanish like a setting sun. In things of the heart, I have become bow shy. Over the summers, Set and Hecate have taken much from me. Tell Azir and Father that I love them too.

It is morning now. The storm winds make travel impossible. We are holed up in a cave five leagues south and west of the Hades Flats. Rankorhaaz is dead. He did not go quietly. Before he died, he opened a dimensional portal and allowed scores of serpent demons through before I could finish him. We slew forty before driving them off. They harried us as we came south. They seem to share Rankorhaaz’s hatred of water and did not attack after the storm hit.

As I write this, Bannor stands at the mouth of the cave. He is edgy, like a trapped animal. I have watched the development of the Garmtur’Shak Nola since the encounter at Blackwater. With each use, the power he taps increases.

It frightens me.

We discussed the power of this new savant. His abilities are beyond our expectations. It daunts me to be near it. Bannor has insisted on testing his talent despite my warnings. It is a miracle we still live.

Irodee is as stolid as ever, but she senses my fear. I think that scares her more than Bannor does. I want to come home. I should have waited for your help. Now, I’m trapped with an army of orcs and Ishtar knows how many demons tracking us.

If that weren’t enough, I face another trial: Sarai, Bannor’s elven wife-to-be. She is a spirited woman, a gray elf noble if I know anything about elves. I like her, but Sarai mistrusts me. Since Bannor transformed her (see my entry 23), she becomes ever more suspicious. I have noted a disturbing pattern. In the day she is pleasant—calm. At night she becomes hostile—vicious. I don’t know if this is stress, part of the transformation, or an avatar manifestation.

That is my main problem. I don’t know enough about Bannor’s talent. I surmise that his ability may have been working on a subconscious level for summers. For him to win the love of this landed princess is far-fetched without magic. Not slighting Bannor, he is handsome, gentle and honest, but the gray elves rarely couple with humans. The way he describes their chance encounter, seems no chance to me whatsoever. I have not been foolish enough to mention this observation.

Mother, it makes me cold. He is so taken by this woman that if she walks away, it will destroy my chances of getting him to safety. He would pursue Sarai into Hades itself, and my words would not divert him.

They hug and she looks past him at me. She raises her chin and our eyes meet. There can be no doubt in my mind. She knows there is nothing I can do if she decides to take him away. Bannor’s power is truly awesome. Should Hecate somehow harness him, no part of the cosmos will be safe from her.

Ishtar help me, Mother. Will I have the strength to do what must be done? What other choice is there if Sarai means to take him?

What then?

End of Interlude

Bannor stared out at the sheets of rain. He listened to the roar of the wind and watched as huge needleleaf and scalebark pitched in the gusts like pennons atop a castle. Star-bright jags of lightning flickered across the sky followed by stone shaking rumbles. A damp musty smell filled the cavern, and wood burned fitfully in a ring of stones at Wren’s feet.

The savant lay against the wall, legs tucked against her chest, jotting notes in a metal-bound journal with a quill. Irodee and Sarai lounged at the back of the cave playing stones on a grid they had scratched in the floor. Irodee sprawled like a great cat, seeming to expand to fill all available space. Sarai sat cross-legged across from her. Apparently, the Myrmigyne knew the game well because Sarai studied the grid intently, brow furrowed, her chin resting on a fist.

He envied Irodee. Sarai beat him at stones so easily it made him feel stupid. The current contest had lasted a bell now with neither gaining a significant lead. His games rarely went half that duration.

Bannor turned his gaze back out to the storm. Blue and green colors shot through the clouds. Each time the colors flashed, what he now recognized as a force line would ignite, then fade.

Magic.

He wondered if Wren had noticed or even cared. She’d spent all of yesterday and now most of this morning scribbling in that book.

“Game.” Irodee turned over a row of stones. “74 to 70.”

Sarai frowned. “By Carellion, well played.” She smiled after a moment, and then noticed he was watching her. Her eyes met his. “I guess I should take her more seriously.”

He stooped to walk over and crouch next to Sarai, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “I have never taken her any other way.”

Irodee smiled.

Sarai rubbed her cheek against his knuckles. It made him feel warm inside. She reset the board. “You play masterfully. Could you be more scholarly than you let on?”

Irodee’s dark eyes glinted. “Irodee never said she was not schooled.”

Bannor folded his arms. “What formal school teaches common like you speak it?”

The Myrmigyne raised an eyebrow. She gazed at the cave roof for a moment, cleared her throat and spoke. “Perhaps you think I should use the properly inflected king’s common?” Her words rolled out in melodious tones like the voice of a trained mage or a stage bard.

Bannor felt his jaw drop. Sarai looked amazed too.

The Myrmigyne frowned and placed a stone on the grid. “Irodee talk like that and all her sisters make fun. If you big as Irodee, people think you slow,” she tapped her temple. “Better for Irodee they not know different.”

“It fooled me, too.” Wren blew on a page to dry the ink. “I knew she read, but didn’t know the queen had sent her to the Kel’Ishtauri School as a reward for bravery.”

“Kel’Ishtauri?” Sarai breathed. “The great bard school?”

Wren nodded.

Bannor scratched his head. “Bard School?”

“Cassandra Kel’Ishtauri the arch-magi of Ivaneth founded a great bard university. It is the most prestigious on Titaan.”

He sniffed. “I’ve never heard of it.”

Sarai sighed. She started to say something, then closed her mouth.

Wren tested the ink on the page before closing the book. “If I hadn’t been a rogue scholar I wouldn’t know about it, either.”

Sarai made her move and studied Irodee as if the Myrmigyne had become a new person. “How well did you do?”

“Irodee graduated Sera Kan Fara.”

Sarai’s eyes widened again. Bannor guessed Sera Kan Fara was good. “Did you get to learn under Master Almechi?”

In her excitement, she must have forgotten he was listening. He felt a twinge of resentment. Sarai was always after him to read. She spent all the money he gave her on books and scrolls. Their living space had suffered for it too.

Their talk about school, masters, classes and grades didn’t mean much to a man who had learned his letters kneeling in the dirt. Like many in the borderlands his education came from traveling bards. They taught in return for shelter.

He went back to the cave mouth to watch the storm. Wren stood, came and touched his arm. “Sera Kan Fara is the top ten of a hundred, Bannor. Maga Kan Fara is best of class.”

He smiled, grateful for the translation.

“I saw you look at me as if you wanted to tell me something.”

He studied her face. Like Irodee this woman was more than she appeared. She saw things even when her attention appeared elsewhere.

Bannor pointed out at the storm. “It isn’t natural. There’s magic driving the weather.”

Wren frowned and studied the sky.

He stood hands clasped behind his back.

“Are you seeing things all the time now?”

“I didn’t see it at first. As I watched, I thought I saw some colors. When I concentrated, there it was.”

She let out a breath and folded her arms.

“What’s the matter?”

Wren didn’t answer. She stared at the floor.

“Wren?”

She focused again. “It’s nothing. Damn it.”

Her knuckles were white. That scowl wasn’t for nothing. He stared at her.

“Were you ever in charge of a patrol?”

The question took him by surprise. “A couple times, why?”

“Take them into danger?”

He frowned. “Yes. I lost a couple men once.”

“How did it feel, Bannor? Remember how it felt to be responsible for other people’s lives?”

Too quickly it brought back the image of Tanny lying in the ditch, his head split open from an ogre’s club, chunks of his flesh ripped away to provide a trail snack for the monsters. He would always remember the smell of death. It made his throat tighten.

“I didn’t like it. The Baron required it of me, so I did it.” He swallowed, realizing where she was leading. “Is it that bad?”

She leaned against the wall. Her face looked pale. “Bannor, this isn’t a simple patrol. That’s the power of the gods out there.” Her chin quivered. “They’re serious this time. I am one person.” She looked at him, eyes moist. “One.” Her voice cracked. She pointed outside. “Those beasts have pursued me all my life. I’ve managed to keep ahead of them and helped others to be free.” She swallowed. “It’s different this time.”

He saw Wren’s shoulders slump with the weight of responsibility. He disliked her methods, but he respected the woman. He and Sarai had accused Wren of wanting to use them. Was it so bad to expect something in return for her aid? Irodee had asked, ‘what is your freedom worth?’; a question he had pondered ever since.

Bannor watched the squall, the fury of the elements as they ravaged the landscape. What person wouldn’t be daunted by such forces? To have stood in their path this long seemed impressive in itself.

Gods wanted him. Visions of creatures snapped up in Hecate’s jaws flashed through his mind’s eye. Men and women doomed to perpetual torment. The thought of Sarai suffering like that made his stomach churn.

So far, Wren and Irodee were the only ones willing to help them. They were possibly the only ones who could help. No, he wouldn’t let Sarai change his mind. Wren might be irritating, but she would never subject them to the horrors those monsters would. It was a trade off, like any of life’s compromises.

He gripped Wren’s shoulder. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. If there’s a way out, you’ll find it. I’ll do whatever it takes to help.”

Her eyelids fluttered. “Please, Bannor, don’t try to help too much. It’s been Ishtar’s own luck that something hasn’t happened. Your talent is coming awake faster than I dreamed…” Her voice trailed off. “If something—” She paused. “Please save it for an emergency.”

He nodded. “Is there a practice that can help keep me from using the power wrong?”

“That’s what I’m writing in that book, observations about how your talent works, to suggest a way to train you. With few exceptions, savants are born able to control their abilities. Unfortunately, each one is different.”

“You helped me astral travel, and in the healing—?”

Wren held up a hand. “Little things tend to be the same. My power is mostly defensive. I used my talent all through my teens not knowing I was doing it. Only later did I find offensive uses for it.” She tapped him on the nose. “Your power is anything you want.”

He swallowed. “Sometimes it’s dangerous getting what you ask for.”

“Exactly. The night before last, you must have wished for us to have the power to move Irodee. Your talent blindly complied. Since you didn’t know how much it would take, you found a magic source and put it all at our disposal.” She shuddered. “We only needed a little telekinetic magic.”

He rubbed his cheek. “So simply knowing exact methods and the consequences might be all I require.” He glanced at Irodee and Sarai. “An education in magic.”

“That would keep you from accidentally using methods that are dangerous, yes. Controlling your thoughts, and the parameters of the power are the most important. That requires study.”

“Whatever it takes. I don’t want to hurt people by accident.”

“Good.” Wren patted him on the shoulder.

He felt a twinge in his forehead. It made him wince. At first, he thought Wren might be doing something, but he noticed she had stiffened as well. It reminded him of the time on the gallows when they first met…

Wren turned. “Damn. Irodee, Sarai take defensive positions. Someone’s coming.”

Irodee stood, ducking to prevent bumping her head. “Wren, sure? The storm—”

A rumbling bass cut through her words. “Is of no consequence to me, Lady Irodee.”

Bannor stepped back pulling his axes from their loops as a figure loomed in the cave mouth. He stood taller than Bannor, the lines of his broad form seeming at right angles to one another. A cloak the color of blood trailed in the wind as he stepped out of the rain. His eyes looked cut from obsidian.

Not a drop of moisture dampened his clothes. He held his hands away from his sides showing no intention of reaching for weapons.

“Mazerak,” Wren’s eyes narrowed and she pulled her sword.

“You know this man?”

Mazerak grinned at Wren. “Well, Princess, an introduction?”

Wren’s lip curled. “Bannor, this is Mazerak, savant of Storms. One of the few I lost.”

Lightning cracked outside and Bannor saw the bolts reflected in the man’s eyes. “Quite so.” Mazerak glanced toward Irodee and Sarai. He folded his arms. “I have come to strike a bargain.”

Royalty. An interesting concept conceived by mortal minds.

Their kings and queens wish it to be believed that they are divinely charged with the task of ruling. That such fallow creatures expect to get the same respect accorded an immortal demonstrates the extent of their arrogance.

They quickly learn different when they are in the presence of a real queen.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Fourteen

« ^ »

Bannor gripped his axe and stared at Mazerak. The storm outside had quieted as if echoing the dark man’s calm demeanor. A new odor competed with the musty cave stench: spice-oil skin fragrance. Bannor wrinkled his nose. He knew a dandy when he smelled one.

The cave felt cooler now, more so with Wren glaring at the intruder. Bannor felt certain that if he’d been caught under the assault of those flashing blue eyes, he would have left this place and never returned. The tautness of Irodee’s body and the way she moved to protectively shield Sarai said she respected Mazerak.

A savant of storms

Bannor met Sarai’s gaze. She smiled. He guessed more to reassure him than anything. Her face hardened and she gripped her dagger tighter.

A grin split Mazerak’s dusky face as if this were all a jest. He shrugged the blood-colored cloak off and draped it over his arm, brushing at his spotless blue vest. Flipping a handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed his nose. “Smells like a privy in here.” His gaze dropped to Wren’s sword. He raised an eyebrow. “Certainly you won’t attack an unarmed man?”

Wren sniffed. “Since when does a savant need a weapon to be dangerous?” Her tone made Bannor’s nape prickle.

Mazerak rolled his eyes. “Come now, I am here to parley. There will be opportunity aplenty for fighting.”

Bannor broke in. “Wren said you were one of the few she lost.” He put his axe back in the catch on his belt. “What did she mean?”

Mazerak rubbed his chin. His hands were manicured, the nails glossed and perfectly cut. “Bannor, isn’t it?” At his assent, he continued. “Actually, she never had me. I chose the winning side over her. Being a fugitive didn’t appeal—beastly existence.”

Bannor frowned. He leaned against the wall and shifted his feet. He kicked dust on the storm savant’s shiny black boots. The dark-eyed man looked down and narrowed his eyes. Lightning cracked outside and the hiss of the wind increased.

“Coward,” Wren muttered.

“I resent that inference. I am practical. What this lady considers bravery is closer to suicide.” He ignored their looks and bowed to Irodee. “Lady Irodee, you no longer wear a maiden’s braids. So, you must have brought a young one into the world. I trust that bounder, De’Falcone, is treating you right?”

Irodee eyed him the way she might a venomous snake she planned to crush under her heel. She nodded curtly.

Wren growled. “This isn’t one of your courts. Say your piece and get out.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “I knew I shouldn’t have expected manners from you, Wren, once a peasant…” He shrugged.

The lady savant reddened. The cave seemed to grow cooler, if that were possible. Bannor suppressed an urge to smile. Mazerak seemed to know where Wren’s dragon was chained. Bannor found it difficult envisioning this fop as one of the enemy.

This fellow wouldn’t save his own mother if it meant getting dirty.

“Manners remain foremost, even when faced with negotiations in such dreadful environs.” He sniffed and dabbed his nose again.

“The exit is that way.” Wren pointed out to the storm.

Mazerak made a dismissing gesture. Bowing, he held his hand out to Bannor. “Lord Mazerak Duquesne.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Captain Bannor Starfist.” He gripped the man’s hand borderland-style, thumbs interlocking.

Expecting to feel an effeminate hand, it surprised Bannor to find he held rock instead. Pampered and pretty this savant might be, but not soft. Mazerak met his grip and clamped down until it hurt.

Bannor pulled back. He sensed Wren’s gaze probing Mazerak’s every movement and nuance.

He smiled. “That’s how you westerners do it, isn’t it?” He peered toward where Sarai stood. “You brought another along, did you not?”

Frowning, Sarai stepped from behind Irodee and folded her arms.

Mazerak’s eyes widened. He dropped to one knee, soiling his silk breeches. “Your pardon, Ladyship, I did not know.” Mazerak glared at Wren. The first enmity he’d shown. “Such indecency should be beneath even you. Keeping royalty in a cave, and unheralded at that!”

Mazerak appeared truly outraged. Bannor glanced at Sarai. Her brow furrowed. She had stiffened at his words. To Bannor, the reaction wasn’t because Mazerak exaggerated—but because he’d revealed a secret.

Bannor’s throat tightened. Royalty?

“Cretins,” Mazerak grumbled. “I shall hang them myself. If I had known I would not have let those slavers—”

“Enough!” Sarai snapped. Her tone rang with command. “Don’t prattle. Do We know you?” The way she straightened and stared at Mazerak, she seemed much taller. With Sarai’s shoulders square and eyes blazing, Irodee no longer looked so huge standing next to her.

Mazerak swallowed and stood. “We met at a banquet in Coormeer, your Ladyship.” He cast another withering glance at Wren. Her face looked like stone. Bannor wondered what she was thinking. “It’s been twenty summers. Father and I greeted your delegation. Your mother wore that stunning ruby dress that had all the matrons sputtering. It was—”

Sarai held up a hand. “Yes.” She growled. “You wore that silly gold feather in your hat.”

Mazerak winced. “Pardon, I assure you it was quite in fashion.”

She snorted. “We are certain.” Sarai came and put her arm through Bannor’s. “Get on with it. What is this deal you wish to deliver?”

Royalty. The word echoed in Bannor’s brain. A princess? He always sensed she was nobility, but never imagined so highly placed. What hurt is that she’d kept it a secret from him so long. They were going to be married next season. What was she planning on telling him? Oh, by the way, my One, there’s going to be a few more guests than expected.

Sarai gripped his arm as if she could wring the knowledge out of him.

Mazerak grimaced. This mission no longer seemed to appeal to him. “This is not right, your Ladyship. You shouldn’t be here. Not with her.” His gaze flicked to Wren and his voice dropped. “A princess of Malan should not be—”

Sarai interrupted. “Lord Mazerak, are you implying that We can’t be where We please? Speak your message—or is it an ultimatum?”

“No, your Ladyship, I wouldn’t presume—” He gulped, his dark eyes glazed like those of a trapped animal. Obviously, realm politics mattered as much to him as his duties for the avatars. Bannor could almost see the thoughts whirling in his head. “Her highness, Hecate—”

“Faugh.” Wren made a spitting sound.

Mazerak stiffened. “Her highness, would like to express her apologies. She wants it known that the actions of certain fanatical elements of her order were not personally ordained. She is willing to overlook the damages inflicted during the conflicts providing that there is no further interference in church business.”

“Overlook the damages inflicted on her!” Wren shouted. “What about the damage to me! Where’s the restitution for the fifteen summers of my life and ten more of being hunted by fanatical elements? Don’t insult our—”

Sarai broke in with a ringing voice. “Wren! Desist!”

The lady savant stopped, mouth open.

“We have heard your half of this story. Let Mazerak,” she seemed to deliberately leave out his title. Bannor saw the man’s mouth twitch. She paused and lowered her voice. “Let Mazerak have his say. We do not need your counsel simply to listen to this story.”

Bannor looked at her. How could he have missed this part of Sarai? Doubtless she’d concealed some from him, but his own blindness seemed more at fault. He never saw her as capable of demanding obedience like that and getting it. He didn’t think anyone could make Wren shut up. Sarai had also lapsed into using ‘We’. He assumed she meant the royal ‘we’ and wasn’t referring to him and her.

Being of royal blood explained some questions he’d asked himself on occasion. Where did Sarai learn to ride so well, or find the extraordinary teachers that taught her proficiency with so many weapons? How did she come by such extensive knowledge of Malan’s people and the borderlands? Why did the few elves they met show her such great respect? He wanted to flog himself. Not once did he wonder why she steered them away from elven contact and refused to cross the border into Malan.

Bannor the blind. Sightless and stupid, he deserved all the surprises that had been thrust on him. He’d been so lovesick these past months, he could have tripped over a mountain and not noticed.

“Well, Mazerak, go on. Tell us how your gracious lady plans to show us her generosity.”

Irodee stepped next to Sarai and folded her arms. The look on her face spoke as loudly as any words. This the Myrmigyne had to hear.

The lord looked as if he’d eaten something sour. “Your Ladyship, they did not know of your involvement. The church would reconsider if they knew.”

Sarai’s tone could cleave steel. “You came to deliver the message, Savant. Do it.”

“This is preposterous. I want no part of—”

She clapped her hands once. “Speak!”

Mazerak gripped his throat as if that clap had been a headsman’s axe descending. “Forgive me. The edict is that Wren and her allies will go unmolested and you will be allowed to live if Bannor comes into our fold.”

Wren looked stunned. “They want you bad, Bannor.”

Sarai scowled. “We will be allowed to live? Allowed, Lord Mazerak? How would her highness like it,” she spat the word ‘highness’, “if Malan supported Wren’s efforts. How would she like it, if the throne proclaimed that all kingdoms harboring her highness’ minions would no longer receive Malanian mithril, food or border support?”

Bannor let out a breath. He now understood Mazerak’s reluctance. His kingdom would be one of the first to suffer for insulting Malan. The Malanian kingdom was powerful in magic. Even the huge province of Corwin wouldn’t dare awaken the sleeping dragon of Malan’s army.

Mazerak held up his hands. “They didn’t know, your Ladyship. Let me talk with them. I am certain they will see their error and be ready to negotiate something more suitable.”

“You do that.” Sarai stepped forward and punched a tiny fist into his chest. The blocky man recoiled a step. “Don’t let them think they can kill Us or kidnap Us again.” She held up her hand and a glowing red sphere appeared there. “You know of the Malanian mind seal. I can send it faster than any knife or magic can silence me. Mother will know what has happened. Trust me, Coormeer will be the first to feel her displeasure.” She clapped her hands. “Be gone.”

All the color had drained from Mazerak’s face. He bowed stiffly and whipped the cloak over his shoulders and headed for the exit. He stopped and glared at Wren. “You can’t keep getting lucky forever.”

Wren’s smile never touched her eyes. “You heard the princess, Lord Mazerak. Be gone.” She made a shooing gesture. “Toddle off, and take your blasted storm with you.”

He scowled at her a moment then stalked off into the downpour. Not a drop of rain hit him.

How does he do that?

Sarai watched the man leave. She went limp against Bannor and let out a breath. “I am glad that’s over. It should buy us a few days at least.”

Bannor frowned. “Why didn’t moot—?” Sarai’s hand clapped over his mouth.

“Things happened very fast, my One.” She took her hand away and rose on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “Please let me think about what I’ve done. We may now be in more trouble than before.”

Wren turned from watching Mazerak. Her eyes widened. “Sarai, please tell me the throne approves of you being here.”

Sarai shook her head.

Wren pointed at Bannor. Again, a negative. Wren put her face in her hands. “Splendid, bloody splendid.”

His brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

Wren swallowed hard. “Your mate,” she choked on the word. “Is a royal fugitive.” She peered warily at Sarai. “No doubt she refused an arranged marriage.” At Sarai’s steady gaze, Wren continued. “That means that if they catch us, the Malanian throne will throw us in the dungeon for assisting her. They’d be even more unpleasant with you.” She shuddered. “Not good. Mazerak will eventually wonder why half the Malanian cavalry wasn’t chasing after Sarai when those slavers caught her. He’s going to inquire in Malan. Ishtar, what a knot this all is.”

Bannor focused on one thing in all of that explanation. He took Sarai by the shoulders and turned her to fully face him. “You’re marrying me so you don’t have to wed someone else?”

Sarai scowled and pushed his hands away. “That is a horrible thing to say, Bannor. It is beneath you to even think it. I kept my ties to Malan quiet for many good and proper reasons. What you don’t know, you can’t accidentally give away. I refused to be part of Father’s barter marriage to that pig son of King Tradeholme’s. It’s an old tradition and its been broken at least half as many times as its been upheld. It simply takes time for things to calm down. Mother knows I’m all right. I’ve had letters couriered to her regularly.”

“But—will they start scouring the southern borders when they find out you’ve been seen?” Wren asked.

Sarai paused. “Probably. Father will want to spank some sense into me if nothing else.”

She glanced outside to the rain. “Well, storm or not, we better prepare to move. I don’t know how Mazerak found us. We better not be here if they send somebody who has less to lose.”

Irodee patted Bannor’s shoulder. “Irodee think we should be honored, being in the company of two princesses.” She winked at him. “Sarai is not the only one who will be spanked when she gets home.”

“That’s enough of that,” Wren said. “I had a good reason for leaving too. I don’t know why they wouldn’t believe how important this was.”

The Myrmigyne shook her head. “Irodee thinks it had nothing to do with importance. They don’t want to be involved in another war.”

Wren’s blue eyes met Bannor’s. “This is a problem that would have come to haunt us.” She picked up her backpack and began stuffing items away. “The threat was ten times what mother thought. Don’t you agree?”

Irodee shrugged. “Not matter what Irodee think. In fact, not think it matter whether you right or not, either.”

“In that I would have to concur, I’ll be up for a spanking, for sure.” She sighed. “Come on, Bannor, Sarai, let’s move. We’ll try to get a few leagues and find shelter further south.”

Bannor headed for his equipment. He glanced back at Sarai as she starting working on her bedroll. It was a silly question but Bannor had to ask. “Would your father really spank a daughter 400 summers old?”

Sarai half-smiled. “Does water run down hill?”

What is ultimate power? Some think of it as the ability to destroy all that is, others say it is the strength to restore true life to things deceased.

Another line of reasoning is ultimate power is the talent of being able to shape any person or thing to your will. The Garmtur’Shak Nola is a little of all of those, and none of them. The study of this particular kind of Ka’Amok has proven central to achieving Tan’Acho.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Fifteen

« ^ »

Bannor pushed the shoulder high brush aside and let Sarai step through. The fields of chaffweed filled the air with a biting pungency. Insects buzzed incessantly. The soaked ground sucked at his boots as he brought up the rear. Wiping the sweat off his forehead he glanced at the sun high in the sky. Another five bells of hard march left today.

On the morning after the encounter with Mazerak, the storm had abated. Its effects remained. The muggy air clung like a stifling shroud.

Only a swaying of weeds marked where Wren picked the trail ahead of them. Next, Irodee towered over the tops of the scrub brush. Her dark hair flicked in the breeze like a pennon. Wren’s desire to move untraceably had made their journey far more arduous.

He concentrated on covering their tracks. It was a task he knew better than any of the women—for once. He brushed the weeds back into place behind them. In this terrain, he could only make a trail harder to see from a distance. He hoped to find rocky ground further west.

Four days of travel with no sign of pursuit had made him nervous. He found it worse than knowing something actively hunted them. They continued toward the coastal city of Bravadura. Once there, Wren’s allies would conceal them until they arranged transport to Cosmodarus.

Bannor still didn’t want to travel offworld, especially not to hide. He kept reminding himself that keeping Sarai safe outweighed his comfort. The fact that Cosmodarus was a city of wizards gave Bannor hope that he could find answers for Sarai’s peculiar behavior. He finally realized that she changed most notably at night. She became snappish and he sensed her always on the verge of doing or saying something hurtful. When Mazerak revealed she was a princess, it made it worse.

He still found it hard to believe. His head ached when he thought about it. What should he do? If he started treating her differently she’d be upset. Of late Sarai had been preoccupied with being self-sufficient which made her more sensitive to his attitude than ever. Bloody royalty, he didn’t know whether to count his fortunes or run for the hills.

“You really are a princess?” he breathed.

Sarai flipped her silvery hair and frowned. Even in this heat she looked as fresh as if she’d just stepped out of the bath. “For the hundredth time, my One, yes. If you ask me again, you’ll limp the rest of the way to Bravadura.” She sighed. “I apologize for being hesitant to talk.” She fell back to walk with him. “I told you I have two sisters.”

He nodded.

“Ryelle, the eldest will accede mother to the throne. There is Janai, and I am youngest. That is why father is willing to marry me off for a little while.”

“For a little while?” His brow furrowed.

“Prince Myrgul is over thirty summers old. Since the health of Ivaneth’s royal family is poor, father figures at worst Myrgul would plague me for forty summers. Once widowed, I would bring my alliances back to Malan.”

Her cool tone made him shiver. In four decades and a man would leave Sarai’s life by natural causes. The same way he would. Bannor had never thought of it that way. A human life spanned only a tiny part of an elf’s existence. Sarai was gray elven and no one even knew how long they lived. A half-elven jeweler Bannor hired to make Sarai’s betrothal ring said he’d read of common elves living to be a hundred human generations old.

They measure time in human generations, not the passing of seasons.

He swallowed. A pang shot through his heart. How could I be any more than a passing fancy to her? “Will it be like that with me, Little Star? A deep breath and I’m gone?”

Sarai stopped. Irodee looked back and paused.

“I apologize, my One. I know that sounded callous. Those are Father’s words. He makes me angry. To him, humans are born to be his playthings.”

“What do you think?”

Sarai reached out and meshed her fingers with his. She started moving again and Irodee broke a trail for them. Light glinted in Sarai’s violet eyes. “There is only one human I like to play with.” Grinning, she poked his ribs. “He can be a colossal bother, but I love him anyway.”

It made him feel warm inside. Something kept echoing in his head. He would plague me for no more than forty summers. “Tell me, how much can you love a man who will shrivel up after a few turns of the seasons.”

“Too much.” Her face turned stony. “With such short lives, humans burn bright. Many elves are drawn to that passion. We call them ‘silcomhad jihira’, star kissers. Getting burned is inevitable when you try to embrace the sun. The pain starts long before your lover’s death. Watching him waste away is agony.”

Sarai closed her eyes, the lids fluttering. “Our own kind seem cool after holding flames. The desolation over losing a short-lived is called ‘kerakah’, the great despair. It can last as long as a century. Loneliness always drives the sufferers back.” She bit her lip. “Some elves hate humans because they’ve watched loved ones die of kerakah. It is ugly.” Sarai’s voice faded.

“Cheerful subject,” Wren said still hidden by the weeds. “However, your worry is over nothing.”

Bannor felt a flash of heat. “How can you say it’s nothing!?”

He sensed Wren rolling her eyes. The habit irritated him. After six days with the savant, he saw it in his sleep. After the eyes, came that patient tone. She rarely sounded condescending. He took it that way, regardless.

He hated feeling dumb. She treated him as if he were a child. He wasn’t stupid; he simply never had that fancy learning going for him. Give him a forest, a town, a siege, normal people and problems-he understood those things.

“Bannor, let me answer it with a question.”

“All right.” He hated these kinds of answers.

“Since we started this trip, your ability turned Sarai into an elemental, that same talent transformed me into pure magic and back. It’s done other things equally as amazing. Now, given that, how hard do you think it would be to turn a human into a gray elf?”

Sarai’s eyes widened. Her expression looked as if Wren had struck her with a lightning bolt.

The simplicity of it hit Bannor. The ease with which Wren cut the heart out of a problem amazed him. Had she already considered it, or did she solve it in the time it took Sarai to explain it?

“No, my One, that is a bad idea,” Sarai said coolly. “As much because I might lose the ‘human’ you, as the way my people react to a changeling. Some people have been changed into elves over the centuries. They were treated as pariahs.” She gripped his hand. “Wren is right, though. When you master your power, slowing your own aging will be simple.”

“Irodee think whatever Bannor wants will simply be.” She smiled at him, a beautiful woman wading through a sea of rippling gold.

Wren and Irodee talked about his talent as if he would become a god. No deity would make mistakes like him. The thought of such incredible power made his stomach burn. Even without all the other’s book learning he knew the huge responsibility that such power implied.

“I get it. Let’s not talk about the Nola.” Wren called all savant powers Nola for short. Since they’d started discussing it at night, he’d adopted the term himself.

Sarai put her cheek against his arm. She looked the most cheerful she’d been since the encounter with Mazerak.

“Does Bannor mind if we talk about food? Irodee is hungry. We ate half-rations this morning.”

It surprised him that Irodee didn’t talk about it more. That huge body had to require a lot of nourishment, far more than he’d seen her eat. “Not far from here is a town named Dewfield just east of the Corwinian border. We can get provisions there.”

“It’s on the Karameth, so they have boats, right?” Apparently, Wren knew the Karameth River marked the Corwin/Ivaneth border.

Bannor wished he could pluck the savant out of the chaff and put her on Irodee’s shoulders so he could see her face. “Yes, traders come upstream in spring when the waters are high. We could take a barge downstream.”

“We’ll do it,” Wren said. Bannor felt good when she took his suggestions without question. “I’d planned to book passage at Candleshire, but since it’s impossible to sleep when Irodee is hungry, we’ll go your way. Her stomach rumbling is like trying to sleep through a ground quake.”

The Myrmigyne snorted. She slapped a bug and tossed it away. “At least Irodee not snore.”

He met Sarai eyes and she grinned.

“Wren, I should go into town to get provisions while you and Sarai book passage. Keep Irodee out of sight until boarding. Everyone in town would remember her.”

“Two plans in a row. Fugitive life agrees with you, Bannor.”

“I think it’s more because a demon isn’t breathing on my neck.”

“That always helps,” Wren admitted.

The town of Dewfield was a rotted tooth in the jaw of the countryside, one that should have been pulled a decade ago. Bannor’s nose wrinkled at the smells of overflowing privies, burning stinkwood and poorly cleaned animal hides hung in the wind to dry. In his summers as a Baronial woodsman, he’d avoided this place when possible. He had always cut short his stopovers in this borderland colony with its rough-hewn buildings and coarse inhabitants.

He shoved the pouch of gold Wren gave him underneath his leather jerkin to keep the jingle of coins to a minimum. Loosening his axes, he made sure to keep two paces between him and any passerby.

Men and women in this town slunk from one place to another. They wore drab clothes, and for a people who lived near a river they didn’t seem to wash often. Few met his eyes, and any who did made his skin feel oily.

Altercations were common in this miserable town. Meanness proliferated here like suck-bugs in a swamp. When Wren agreed to let him come alone, it surprised him. He’d expected her to argue. He guessed she figured if he could handle the place before he became a savant, then nothing had changed.

Of thirty odd buildings in town, three were taverns. A sooty sword-nicked sign proclaimed one place the Troll’s Breath pub. The two-story building was so infested with wood mites that it looked as if it might blow over in a stiff breeze. Dewfield’s solitary sundries shop stood next to it.

Two lanky men with leathery faces and serpent eyes sized him up from the pub’s mouth. Both wore river-lizard boots and hats. Scabbards for oversized skinning knives rode on their hips. Bannor judged those blades cut humans more often than animals.

Bannor ducked into the sundry. Inside it smelled of tallow and spoiled grain. Hedgecloth bags and rickety crates stood in haphazard stacks. Rusty farm implements jutted from dilapidated barrels. A bored, old woman with dull eyes and a puckered face took his provisions order. Her voice creaked like a rusty hinge as she tallied his purchases.

Bannor didn’t quibble over her high prices. He wanted out fast. He did verify that she gave him good food and supplies. The delay made him edgy. He watched the door. Clinking coins always drew attention.

Loading everything into a freshly-bought traveling pack, he shouldered the heavy load and tightened the straps. With Bravadura a month away, he took no chances that they might be forced to avoid populated lands. At Wren’s pace, hunting wouldn’t be possible in the game-sparse south.

Bannor glimpsed a movement by the doorway. He grabbed a shovel from a barrel. “I’ll bring this right back.”

The shopkeeper narrowed her eyes, but said nothing. He approached the door at an even speed. On the right, he saw the tips of scaly green boots. Holding a hand-axe in his left and a shovel in his right he took one fast step outside.

A man grunted. Bannor blocked the weighted leather bag with the shovel handle. The wood shattered under the blow. He whacked the man in the face with the flat of the spade. The curved iron clanked as it impacted bone. The man’s head hit the wall with a wooden thunk. Bannor glimpsed a flash of silver in time to jab the second man in the stomach with the flat of his axe. The skinning knife nicked his forearm in a slash of burning. Bannor counter-attacked. The shovel pealed like a broken bell.

He knelt by the man who’d used the knife. “By Odin, that was a sour note.” He took the bandit’s lizard-skin hat and put it on his own head.

Applying pressure to the bloody gouge in his arm he reentered the sundry. Dropping the broken shovel on the counter, he tossed the shopkeeper a gold coin. “Get it tuned.”

On the way out, he grabbed a rag to stop the bleeding. He examined the two men. They’d live, not that either deserved to. Five summers ago this incident would have made him angry. Now, he expected it and reacted accordingly. It was simple survival among wolves. The borderland’s problems were all symptoms of a kingdom that had expanded beyond its grasp, flesh feeding upon itself to stay alive.

Half dozen of the patrons had gathered outside the Troll’s Breath to view the scuffle’s results. No one spoke above a mumble. They appeared disappointed he hadn’t killed the two bullies. If they wanted murder, he wouldn’t provide it.

Two men wearing hooded cloaks with bows strapped over their shoulders pushed out of a tavern across the lane. They glanced at the front of the sundry. Their eyes locked on Bannor. The men looked pale in waning afternoon light. Muscles rippled under their tight tunics and he saw the glint of mail around their collars. Their weapons all looked well worn. He wouldn’t be taking these two out with a shovel.

He walked straight ahead as if not noticing them.

“You.” One pointed at him.

Bannor glanced and saw the man’s hair was white. For all their muscles, neither appeared very tall. Bannor acted as if he hadn’t heard.

“You there, with the pack!” The man’s voice sounded high, and he spoke with a northern twang.

He let out a breath and faced them. “Yes?”

They came close with a few steps, spreading out to have angles on him if there was trouble. They did it so casually it convinced him they were trained guardsmen.

The one with the white hair pointed at him and Bannor met his gaze. He masked his surprise with effort. Deep lavender eyes looked out of a fine-boned, ageless face: elves, both of them.

His heart stumbled, but he kept his face smooth.

The elf pointed to Bannor’s hand-axes. “You are one of the Baron’s woodsmen, are you not?”

His stomach tightened. How did he know? He glanced down and saw the woods clan seals engraved on the metal heads. He’d used the axes so long he’d forgotten they were marked so prominently. Still, not many would know the origin of that symbol.

No sense in giving the elf the impression he stole them. “I am. What’s this about?”

“We’re looking for a woodsman, a garrison captain. A loner, we understand, he summers somewhere in the mountains. In the winter, he sells pelts and moves around between the towns along this river.”

Animal instinct said bolt, intellect told him to stay calm. Obviously these two didn’t know what he looked like or they’d be all over him by now. How had they found out so quickly? The Malanian capital was weeks away.

“A captain, you say? Know what he looks like? There be ten odd garrison commanders. I don’t see ‘em but once or twice a season myself.”

“No,” the elf admitted. “You would remember him, though. He’s been keeping an elven woman with him. She has silver hair and violet eyes.”

“You don’t say?” Bannor almost choked. He kept a smile plastered on his face. He could see over the heads of the two elf guardsmen.

Waving to him from down the street was Sarai.

Recently, a peer asked me if I believed in the legend of Starholme Prime, the place where it is rumored all of our kind were born.

I answered that not only did I believe in the place’s existence, but that I had proof that certain of the Ka’Amok had been there and had sealed it away from our kind forever. My peer then demanded that I tell her what miscreant dared do such a thing. I answered, “look to the ones I hate, there you will find your answer…”

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Sixteen

« ^ »

Standing in the grimy street amid the rank smells and the flimsy buildings of Dewfield, Bannor tried to scream to Sarai with his eyes. He found his efforts unsuccessful. With the two elf guardsmen watching so closely, any change in his expression would allow them to see his fear. Sarai continued walking toward him. They hadn’t seen her yet.

These elves would drag Sarai back to Malan. Unless he wanted to start a war between Ivaneth and the Malanians, he would have to let them.

Eyes narrowed, the white-haired elf asked, “Have you heard of him?”

“A garrison captain you say?” Bannor spoke loudly, hoping Sarai would overhear. “Traipsing around with an ELF woman?”

The guard winced and wiggled a finger in his ear. “What’s the matter with you, Human? Have you heard of him or not?”

Bannor felt not only the elves attention, but the people gathered outside the sundries shop and the two taverns. Most of them were questionable characters that he would have preferred not notice him. Some of those people knew Bannor was a garrison captain. Flogged, either way he leaned.

I wish I could control my power better. I’d simply tell her without them hearing.

Sarai kept on. The breeze riffled her silvery hair. The sight of her made him dizzy. His stomach tightened. He couldn’t—wouldn’t allow her to be taken away.

“Well?” The guardsman prompted.

“In Blackwater, they hung a man who had an elf with him.” Bannor spoke for Sarai’s ears.

The elves frowned. What’s the matter with her? She hadn’t slowed.

The other guard leaned forward. “You’re certain? They hung him?”

“Certain.” Bannor locked eyes with him.

“Why?”

Bannor’s throat constricted. Memories of Blackwater made a wave of heat rush through him. “Killed a man trying to rape his girlfriend.”

“Someone tried to—rape—” The elf almost choked. “The woman?”

“So I hear.”

Sarai stopped a pace behind the guards. Bannor forced himself to stay relaxed. From the corner of his eye, he surveyed what the townsfolk were doing. At least five pairs of eyes looked interested in him and the elves. He’d keep an ear open in case opportunity made someone bold.

He tried not to meet Sarai’s eyes. What is she planning?

“He was executed for defending an elf?” the guard’s voice sounded strained.

“Some humans are sheep,” Sarai said. She lunged. Before either guard could move, Whitehair’s sword came free of the sheath with a shriek.

They turned on Sarai. She dropped into a crouch. Mithril-steel glinted in her hand.

Bannor drew his axes and moved. One never knew an elf’s level of skill. They might have practiced a weapon for only a summer or as long as a century.

A dagger appeared in Whitehair’s hand. His eyes widened. “Arminwen—!” He stopped and restrained the other elf. “Garech, des noth!”

Garech lowered his weapon.

Sarai nodded to them. Her sword stayed readied. “Praelor Vindae, Midach Garech, We trust your families are well.”

Bannor gritted his teeth. A praelor commanded an elven unit. He moved to stand by Sarai. He wouldn’t make the mistake of making these two nervous by standing behind them. Both elves looked pale. They feared for their lives.

The praelor bowed. “Arminwen, what are you—”

“Obviously, Vindae, We have your sword. You will go back to Father and tell him to recall his trackers. We will return when it suits Us.”

Vindae swallowed, obviously weighing his options. “We cannot—”

Sarai stiffened. “You will, Praelor. Is your midach so good he can bring Us down without killing?” The elves dropped their gazes. “I thought not. Give Us your sheath.” She elbowed Bannor. “We have not owned a good sword for over a season.”

The praelor frowned, but did as she ordered.

“The bow and quiver too. We’ve been making due with an orc bow.” Her lip curled.

Vindae reddened. “Liar human, making Her use vermin’s weapons!”

“You speak out of turn, Praelor!” she snapped.

Sarai’s tone made Bannor twitch, the guardsmen too. If he’d seen this side of her first, he’d have thought there was no gentleness in the princess. Vindae mumbled in elvish and dropped the bow and quiver.

Sarai’s eyes glittered. “Actually, Vindae, he did kill a rapist in Blackwater. They also hung Bannor. Our One does not die easily.” She smiled at their surprised expressions. “You can tell Father that too.”

“Arminwen—You have recognized him?”

Vindae stressed the word recognized. That affectionate term ‘One’ had meant more than Bannor realized. He checked the street and locked eyes with a few villagers. They made a wider circuit around them.

“He is Our One, Praelor.” She gestured. “Go now. Tell Mother that We love her, Father, too.”

The guards studied him. Soon, every elf in Malan would know what he looked like. Cosmodarus might be the only safe place left now.

They watched the elves walk off. When they both were gone, Sarai picked up the praelor’s weapons.

Bannor gripped her shoulder. His heart still hadn’t slowed. “Little Star, was that wise?”

Sarai adjusted the sword belt on her hips. She didn’t speak until she’d discarded the orc bow and quiver and had replaced them with the elvish ones. “I prefer those messengers to Mazerak.”

“Your father will send guardsmen regardless of what you said.”

Her eyes flashed. “I know, Bannor. I know very well.”

Dozens of townsfolk watched them as they headed over the hill to the docks. Between his street brawl and the standoff they’d destroyed any chance of concealing their passage through Dewfield.

Armed with the praelor’s weapons, Bannor noticed that Sarai’s bearing had changed. Before, she walked with a relaxed grace. Now, she stalked like a mountain cat among a flock of herd animals.

Bannor still found that haughty posture appealing except it wasn’t the Sarai he’d grown to know. Had becoming an elemental changed Sarai at all? Could anxiety simply be revealing layers of her nature? The royal Sarai acted stern and abrupt. She spoke of herself in the plural sense, and used her eyes and voice like weapons. He’d seen hints of the hardness hiding beneath Sarai’s gentle manner. How much of the real Sarai was the steely princess?

He reached for her hand.

Looking at him she, laced her fingers in his. “You are my One.”

Bannor listened to the way she stressed her words: my One, mine. Bannor always found the pet name endearing. The praelor’s reaction cast it in a different light; it was a troubling suggestion of ownership.

There was much to consider. The buildings thinned as they leaned into the slope. The air cleared and the humid smells of the river became detectable. He heard dockworkers yelling and the creaking of derricks swinging.

“I love you,” he said.

Sarai brought their meshed hands to her lips. “And I, you. I know the way I’ve been acting may be troubling—”

He interrupted her. “We’ll talk later. This thing with the praelor. Wren is going to pitch a fit.”

“Don’t tell her, my One.” Sarai’s grip tightened.

“What?”

Her gaze remained steady. “You heard me.”

Bannor slowed at the summit that overlooked the river and Dewfield’s five-building trade-depot. Three barges hunched at the streamside laced down with ropes and gangways. Bare-chested men scrambled about their loading chores, cursing and singing alternately.

“What are you saying?”

“Father will provide better protection than Wren. I trust him.”

“What about me going in the dungeon?”

“He is my sire, Bannor. I can persuade him that the support of a savant has more value than an alliance with King Edmund of Ivaneth. Father’s games are important to him, but so is my happiness.”

She sounded so sure; but betray Wren? They’d promised to cooperate with her. “You’ve given this some thought.”

She nodded.

“So why not go with the guards?”

Sarai’s expression turned fierce. “Wren won’t just let us go. Those not on her side are the enemy. She will kill you to prevent your power from being used by the avatars.”

“I wouldn’t want it another way.” He felt an icy chill. “I don’t want to be a tool of the dark powers.”

Sarai thumped his chest with her fist. “There are other ways besides Wren’s. We have a right to choose.” She paused. “I mistrust Wren. I respect her power. If I defy her, my Father’s phalanx will be at my back. Perhaps then, she will follow our lead. Clear?”

His stomach churned. He shouldn’t doubt his fiancé. Her love was as tangible as the grip that linked them now. Would the Sarai he first met conceive of a power ploy such as this?

“Clear. I dislike being forced to choose between you and Wren.”

She touched his cheek. He felt the scrape of her nails. “As if there were any question of who you would choose.”

“She saved my life. You’re suggesting that I break my word.”

“Nonsense.” Sarai’s eyes flashed. “She’s had us treed the whole time. The only way to get concessions from her is to force them.”

Bannor looked to the river. He rested his free hand on the hilt of his axe. The breeze felt cold on his face. “It may be as you say. I’ll consider it carefully before I do or say anything.”

She kissed his hand and held it to her cheek. She fixed him with that same loving gaze that had never failed to make him grow warm inside. “You will see my way is best. We cannot allow Wren to bully us. If we accept her help it shall be on our terms, not hers.”

He sighed. “As you say.”

In the depot, they found Irodee standing in the shadow of one of the buildings. He wouldn’t have noticed her if not for the glint of her spear. She wore a dark cloak and had pulled the hood around her features.

She gestured them over. “Wren has booked passage,” she said. “They cast off in a quarter bell.” Irodee’s eyes glinted. “Sarai followed the elf trackers.” She nudged her. “What you doing?”

“Making sure Bannor didn’t get in trouble,” Sarai answered.

Irodee’s face clouded. Her hand whitened on the spear. “Elves leave in big hurry.”

Sarai put hands on hips. “What of it?”

Irodee leaned down so she met Sarai’s eyes. The Myrmigyne’s tone wasn’t friendly. “Stones not the only game Irodee can beat little sister in. Irodee not old as you, but she not child either. Unwise for Sarai try hurting Wren.” She stalked off in the direction of the river before Sarai could reply.

Bannor let out a breath. Sarai had underestimated Irodee again. No good would come of this. He headed them toward the barge.

The barge master, a brute with hairy shoulders, a pocked face and a filmed over eye could have given anyone nightmares. If the sight of him didn’t, his odor would have.

Bannor climbed the ramp, asked permission to board and promptly looked for someplace else to be. He noticed the barge’s wallopers stayed a discreet distance from him, too.

He spied Wren leaning against some crates. Bannor thought it no accident that the savant chose the upwind side of the barge. Irodee was already heading toward her. He and Sarai followed the Myrmigyne through the maze of ropes, timbers and goods.

Wren flicked the brim of his river-lizard hat and smiled. She frowned when she noticed his arm. “What happened?”

“Nothing a stout shovel couldn’t fix.”

She stared at him, and then apparently resolved to pursue it later.

Bannor glanced at the barge master. “Couldn’t you have booked a less fragrant passage?”

“He’s the only one heading down river.”

Irodee and Sarai found spots for themselves a safe distance apart. Wren’s brow furrowed as she noted the deliberate separation between the Myrmigyne and the Elf. She’d be wondering what caused the sudden rift between them. They’d been getting along very well before this. The savant studied him with a raised eyebrow.

He shrugged. What could he say?

They stayed clear of the wallopers as they finished lashing the freight headed downstream. The barge-master bellowed orders and gestured with a hand that looked like a claw because his two middle fingers were missing.

The barge cast off, starting its trip downstream at a leisurely crawl. Four deck hands with poles guided the wide scow toward deeper water.

Bannor heard a yell from the dock. Two figures ran from between the buildings. One man dressed in a shiny chain mail hauberk was followed by a shorter one that looked unusually broad.

“By Ukko! Hold up there!” The taller one yelled. He looked about Banner’s height with light hair. The hilt of what was likely a battle sword jutted over his shoulder.

“No room!” The bargeman bellowed back.

“Stop ye boat, I can see me-self ya got room!” The smaller man called in a gravelly voice.

“We ain’t booking!” The master boomed.

Irodee rose and shielded her eyes from the sun. The barge was over a hundred paces from the bank. She looked at Wren.

The savant frowned. “It couldn’t be him.”

“Dross-faced metal-breakin orc-kisser, pull that bleedin’ boat over or I’ll swim out and get ye me-self!”

“That one curses well,” Sarai murmured. “That’s a dwarven accent.”

Bannor nodded. “I’ve never heard of a dwarf that big though.”

“We been paid to be full. Hear me!”

Ahead the river narrowed, and someone had built a narrow quay for fishing. The taller hit the smaller one on the shoulder and pointed to it. They both took off at a run.

“Irodee think it sounds like…” Her voice trailed off.

“I know what they’re planning,” Wren remarked.

“Think we should get ready for a fight?” Bannor asked.

The barge master saw it, too. “Watch yourselves, boys. Them two is real determined to board us. Keep us right in those shallows.”

The blond man pelted down the quay, his hair whipping in the wind. He seemed to see the occupants of the boat more clearly. “Irodee!” he hollered. “Get them to pole in!”

“Laramis?” Irodee leaped onto a crate. “Laramis!”

The barge passed the quay with some fifteen paces to spare.

“Ukko’s breath!” The man leaned forward and seemed to fly as he launched himself off the end piling.

Bannor swore he must have been part bird. Wind whistling through his tabard he hit the deck with a half-pace to spare. He stumbled forward and sprawled among the freight.

“Boys get that stower off my deck!” The master boomed. Behind him there was a splash and a curse.

Irodee shouldered through the polers and snatched Laramis up. “Mada!” She cried swinging him around joyfully.

“My jewel!” He gasped back. “Jewel! JEWEL! Aggh-Enough!”

The master raised a pole to fend off the man that had lunged out of the water and gripped the side of the barge.

The man with the dwarven accent focused burning eyes on the bargeman. “Best be gettin that stick out of me face or you be eatin it.”

“Let him on,” Wren told the master. She sighed. “The party just became a little more interesting…”

Starholme Prime, I have learned is the greatest legacy of the First Ones, the race whose blood runs within our veins. They who are the children of Gaea and Alpha.

The Ka’Amok are mere accidents, re-emergences of Alpha’s persistent seed.

With all the First Ones only a distant memory, one would think it would be those of the pantheons that Gaea favors. She does not. Her words and ears are only for the Ka’Amok.

If ever a mother was fickle, it is she.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Seventeen

« ^ »

Bannor leaned over the gunwales and grabbed the arm of the person hanging on the side of the barge. Bracing himself, he dragged the broad-shouldered man out of the river and onto the cluttered deck of the barge. The master and one of his assistants stepped close even though Wren had told them the two newcomers could stay aboard.

The one-eyed bargeman’s odor made Bannor wish he could turn his sense of smell off.

As the brawny man climbed to his feet and shook the water off, Bannor saw he’d guessed correctly. This wasn’t a human, but an exceptionally large dwarf. He stood two heads shorter than Bannor, but was half again as wide. Size wasn’t the only thing unusual about his dwarf. He had no beard, only a bushy mustache that drooped past his chin. Flecks of gold glinted in his rust-colored hair and eyes.

Bannor extended a hand. “Bannor Starfist,” he said.

The Dwarf took hold with a pressure that suggested he could have pulped bone. “I be DacWhirter Ironfist, ye be callin me Dac though.” He looked at himself. “You be havin any blankets among yer things, Boy?”

“There’s a matter of passage,” the barge master started.

Dac’s hand went to the war-hammer in his belt. “There’ll be a matter of dyin if ye bother me again fore I’m dry.”

The master went back to tending his boat. Bannor led Dac to their packs and pulled out a blanket. He sat next to Sarai and pulled her close. She rubbed her face against his shoulder.

As he dried off, Dac spoke to Wren and Sarai. “Ladies—sorry about me language. Sometimes me mouth—well, sometimes it be sayin what me mind is thinkin, ya understand?”

Wren smiled. “No offense taken. So, you must be a friend of Laramis’?”

“That I am, Missy.” He scrubbed the blanket over his head and glanced across the river to the mountains. Thunderclouds boiled over the crags their undersides pierced by the sharp points. “Looks like another storm, dross, I’ll never be gettin dry. Seems I be more oft wet than not this ten day.” He turned and focused on Laramis who was still embracing Irodee. “So that’s his mate, eh?” He shook his head. “Thought his young-one was big. You could make three fair-sized women outta this one.”

Wren frowned. “Irodee’s daughter—Liandra? She was with you? Where’s she now?”

Dac pulled at his mustache. “Couldn’t very well tow a youngster with us. Laramis left her with a priest in Malan.”

Bannor felt a chill. If Mazerak was indeed heading to Malan to speak with the King and Queen about Sarai, Irodee’s daughter could be trapped.

Sarai licked her lips. “In Malan?” she asked. She glanced back at smiling figures of Laramis and Irodee who were weaving their way through the crates toward them. Bannor felt the tautness in Sarai’s body. No doubt she guessed as he did that Irodee wouldn’t be smiling for long.

“Aye,” Dac answered. “Malanian Lord and Lady they was, head of the church as far as I know such things. Seemed happy to watch her.”

Irodee’s eyes widened and she stopped. She took Laramis by the shoulders. “Is this true my husband, in Malan!?”

The blond man looked stunned by her outburst. For a moment, the only sounds came from gurgling of the river and clomping of wallopers moving on the decks.

Indigo eyes wide he spoke slowly, obviously trying to determine his error. “Yes, two of my most trusted friends—” His voice trailed off. His gaze stopped on Sarai. “Arminwen? Ladyship, your pardon please…” he closed his eyes and his fists tightened. “Tell me, milady, you wouldn’t be the one the Malanian King is searching for would you?”

Sarai sighed and nodded. “I am a fugitive for refusing his Majesty’s arranged marriage to Myrgul Tradeholme of Ivaneth.”

Laramis snorted and rubbed his short beard. “Duke Myrgul? I can understand trying to avoid a marriage with that egotistical pigboy.” He turned to Irodee. “I am sorry, my wife. I did not know.”

The Myrmigyne nodded. Her dark eyes fixed Sarai.

“Laramis—Sarai and Bannor are engaged,” Wren added.

Laramis’ face grew tight. “It may be the King has found out. When we left, he was readying to commit troops to a full scale search for Princess Sarai.” The blond man studied Bannor. His dark eyes looked concerned. “That’s very bad considering what we saw on our way here.” He unshouldered his pack, reached inside and pulled out a battered helmet. He dropped it on the deck at Wren’s feet.

The night-black metal made a hollow clank on the wood and spiraled to a stop. The odd shaped helm was fashioned to look like a snake’s head, the face opening sported fangs to make it resemble gaping jaws.

Wren stiffened. “The helm of Hecate’s warrior minions,” she said.

“One of thousands, Missy,” Dac growled. “They’re all over the north territory. We had to kiss dirt and eat bark to get past those dross-eatin scale-faces.”

“Thousands?” Bannor echoed. His stomach twisted. “A whole army?”

“Sure as Moradin’s beard,” Dac muttered. “Lest I’m wrong, they all is carrying one of these. Found ‘em on every one we was forced to bring down.” He fished a piece of worn leather out of a pouch and handed it to Bannor.

Sarai gasped.

Bannor felt a chill as he studied the leather etching. The river sounds and the creaking of the barge seemed to grow loud. An unmistakable rendition of his face had been depicted on the oiled skin. Bannor pinched the leather between his fingers.

A whole army looking for me. I didn’t want to believe…

Laramis sat across from them and pulled Irodee down with him. The Myrmigyne looked less happy now than when they first boarded the barge.

The barge rattled and kissed against a rock quay. The wallopers grunted and heaved a wooden crate onto the cobbled stone finger jutting out into the river. The village on the shore was little more than a few thatched shanties and a corral populated with some mangy looking herd animals.

An army. The words rang in Bannor’s head. He ran his fingers across the image so carefully crafted by an unknown artist. Who drew it? Didn’t they know or care what they were setting loose on him?

Laramis’ voice called his attention back. “It’s more than that, friend.” Staring at Laramis, Bannor noticed he had old man’s eyes set in a young face. His voice made the boards vibrate. “Imagine, friend, the King’s army and Hecate’s army both want the same thing—the princess and you. Neither will allow the other to have what they want.”

“It’ll start a war,” Sarai breathed.

Wren pointed a finger. “Not if we’re not here. I do not intend to be around for them to fight over. It stresses the fact that you two must cooperate with me.” She focused on Sarai. “I know you’ve been considering trying to break from me.” She paused and her voice dropped. “Don’t do it.”

“Ladyship,” Laramis said to Sarai. “I must agree. I know Lady Wren is a bit rough around the edges.” He glanced at the savant. “Her manners are atrocious sometimes, but I have it on good authority—” He paused and looked skyward. He touched his the hilt of the sword over his shoulder, then his forehead and finally placed a palm over the flaming sword emblem on the left breast of his chain mail. “Lady Wren’s heart is in the right place in these matters.”

Sarai’s brow furrowed. She had watched that gesture carefully. It seemed to spark some recognition. “I’ve seen you before.” She paused. “Laramis—Lord Laramis De’Falcone?”

“Sir Laramis Corbin De’Falcone the II, scion of the eternal flame of Ukko. I have visited your court many times Arminwen.”

“Pardon me density, gent, mayhap I missed it, you’re saying she’s the King’s daughter?”

“Haven’t you been listening? Exactly that. Bend a knee, blackguard.” Laramis said it lightly, but Bannor sensed a sword rattling in a sheath.

Dac eyed Laramis. He bent his knee-a little. “Beg pard. I never did understand all this dross with titles.” He grinned. “Ladyship—Warmaster DacWhirter Varon Ironfist of Blackstar. I ain’t had much use for court manners, so apologies if I offended.”

Sarai’s violet eyes turned flinty. “Skill and courage define a warrior, not etiquette. A good many nobles have forgotten that—I haven’t.” She kissed Bannor on the cheek. “Not everyone can shine like a Paladin.” She nodded to Laramis.

Bannor felt a twinge of irritation from the way she said it. It was one of those not so subtle feminine jabs in the ribs. Even when things looked this serious she could still pick at him. He guessed human or elf, it didn’t matter, women were women. Instead of slighting his lack of refinement, what she should have been worrying about was the huge Myrmigyne staring daggers at her.

“So what about Irodee’s daughter?” he asked.

The big woman focused on Wren.

The savant pressed her lips to a line. She seemed to study the movements of the wallopers on the deck.

“Well?” Irodee’s voice sounded sharp. She’d never used that tone with Wren before.

She seemed surprised by it, too. “For the time being, she’s safe in Malan. Even if Mazerak links you and Laramis with Sarai, we can still send my Mother or Father for her. Mazerak doesn’t know them by sight.”

“What if they hold Liandra to get her back?” Irodee nodded toward Sarai.

“Irodee, let’s deal with it if it happens. Liandra is my goddaughter. I won’t let her get stuck in Malan. We’ll get her back safely. Let’s concentrate on staying ahead of that army long enough so that help can get us off planet. Then we can go get Liandra. Okay?”

The Myrmigyne nodded with a tight-lipped expression on her face.

A pungent odor made Bannor’s nose wrinkle. The master stood nearby rubbing his filmed over eye. He was chewing on a raw onion.

No wonder he smells bad.

“Sorry ta interrupt, but there’s the matter of payment for passage.”

Dac fumbled in a pouch and flicked a gold coin to the bargeman. “Yer lucky I’m dry.”

He caught the coin, glanced at it then stowed it in a pocket. He scratched under a hairy armpit. “Am I to understand you six are running from the law? Costs extra if the King wants ya.”

Laramis tapped the circular crest on his armor. “My good man, in Ivaneth—I am the law.”

The rest of the trip downstream was more subdued. The words ‘war’ and ‘army’ were not ones Bannor liked. He’d lost his brother Rammal in King Balhadd’s siege, and his family had all but disowned him because of it. Conceiving of a possible war brought troubling thoughts.

They’d already faced hundreds of orcs and demons, and now an army pushing down from the North. Some tiny part of him clung to the idea that it was some deception of Wren’s.

If a Paladin said an army was headed this way… He best ‘smell the metal smokin’ as Dac said. It didn’t change Wren’s plans of simply leaving Titaan to go to Cosmodarus. It made a shambles of Sarai’s scheme to get away from Wren’s control. Could Sarai justify to her Father waging a war with the army of Hecate over one untrained savant? It might mean starting a conflict simply to get to Malan.

He let the rocking of the barge lull him. Leaning against the gunnels, he let the cool wind caress his face. The sky was turning shades of indigo. The smells of vegetation, wood tar, and slow running water all mingled in his brain. He was glad to let the river do the walking for a change. All the leagues reeled off in this last ten-day had ruined his boots.

The stubble of the borderland hills slipped by. A continuous panorama of steel gray, chaff brown, and dappled greens cut through by valleys and stands of trees. Beyond them the crags of the Westros Mountains stood like rows of teeth back-lit by the setting sun. Beyond that range lay the old world, the kingdom of Corwin where Wren came from, the land that claimed to have thrown off the yoke of Hecate. The presence of her army proved the real truth of that matter.

They’d passed several more nameless river communities. Few were larger than a dozen houses and a few fenced in horses. From time-to-time the barge master would have the wallopers unlash a few crates and drop them on a quay without slowing. Usually people were waiting for the goods.

Thunk!

He looked away from the rail. Dac and Wren were playing a game with a dagger, something to do with lamps casting their shadows on the crates. The barge workers nervously watched them play. One easily saw the deadly accuracy each player possessed.

“Ten points,” Dac rumbled.

“Ten?” Wren demanded. “Off center eye shot? Five.”

“I be spinnin it backwards ye see?”

“All right, ten.”

Thunk!

Laramis and Irodee leaned together whispering. The Myrmigyne had been stiff ever since the news about her daughter. She kept pulling at her long hair and looking to the north as if she would leap out of the boat and head to Malan at any time.

The paladin did his best to keep his wife calm. Polishing the blade of his battle sword, he spoke soothingly in another language that must be Irodee’s parent tongue.

Thunk!

Sarai had folded a blanket and reclined on a pair of crates. He noticed she looked pale and her hands trembled.

“What’s the matter?”

“The water. The wood.”

“Huh?”

“I’m an elemental now, my One, remember? It’s uncomfortable not being in contact with stone. I feel so weak.”

“Is it bad?”

“No, it’s like being empty, vulnerable. I don’t like it.”

She means normal, not faster than a horse and stronger than a bear. He could sympathize with missing such powers. He leaned down and kissed her. “I’m sorry.”

She pulled him in for another kiss. “I’m sorry, too; for deceiving you, for snapping. I want us to be happy.”

Bannor looked at the stars. “We will be.” He closed his fingers together one at a time into fist. “I won’t let anybody stop us.”

Blue light crackled around his hand to seal the promise.

Gaea, for several centuries I was obsessed with learning everything about her.

Because it was known that she only appeared and spoke with Ka’Amok, I even went as far as to become as they are. I learned that to embrace the Green Mother is to touch Tan’Acho. I became obsessed with receiving that boon.

I grew a conscience, protected the weak, and helped my fellow Ka’Amok.

I listened to the stars and one night after several centuries of trying, I finally heard her voice.

“Daughter,” she asked in my mind. “Why do you pretend to be something you are not?”

“To gain your favor, and touch Tan’Acho,” I answered. “If you want my favor,” she answered.

“Give back the life of the brother Alphas that you took. Restore the lives of all the others you have unjustly taken.”

There was such pain in her voice, that for the first time in all my millennia of life I felt guilty for my choices.

“But I can’t,” I answered.

“Just so,” Gaea replied. “You will feel my touch when you are again a part of your alpha. When one can again love what you are.” The voice went quiet and I knew that I would not hear it again.

That is why I hate her—I hate the mother that would call me “daughter” but refuses to acknowledge me with her embrace.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Eighteen

« ^ »

Bannor felt a stirring in the darkness. His eyes snapped open. Ash-gray clouds swam through the indigo night. The red moon Triatus lit the highest clouds making the wispy trails look like streaks of blood. Stirred by a restless breeze, the fire flickered casting random shadows across the riverside clearing. The blocky shape of the barge fidgeted in the current, tugging at the mooring tethers. The night insects had stopped chirping. Bannor sniffed burning wood and the damp loamy odor of grass and vegetation. He detected hints of something else, but the smell was too vague to name.

Sarai stirred in the bedroll next to him, her face delicate against the pillow of his chest. She sighed and her breath warmed his skin.

The silhouettes of Laramis and Irodee appeared undisturbed to his left. The huge woman lay wrapped around the paladin like a blanket. Yellow and orange reflections danced on the Myrmigyne’s glistening black hair as it spilled across Laramis’ sleeping face like rivulets of ink.

Wren and Dac slept on the opposite side of the fire. Neither seemed disturbed in any way. At the edge of his hearing, he detected the bargemen snoring in the wooden hull at the water’s edge. They said they would post a watch. Bannor didn’t see a lookout anywhere.

Something had awakened him. What? It seemed overly quiet. An itchy feeling of wrongness tingled through him. He couldn’t see or smell anything to substantiate the sense. He didn’t want to wake everyone for no reason. They needed sleep. Tensions between Irodee and Sarai had grown tighter than bowstring.

He caught another whiff of that odor, tangy, but too indistinct to make out. Dac muttered something in Dwarvish and rolled over. Laramis kicked beneath the blankets.

Bannor shifted enough to see the surroundings better. Sarai murmured a sleepy complaint, but didn’t wake. Strange, she slept less before his magic transformed her into an elemental. Even though it seemed as if she could stay awake forever, the moment Sarai lay down to rest she fell immediately into a deep slumber.

Wren and he agreed on this camping spot. A wide clearing surrounded by a wall of scrub bushes and pipe reeds so thick that only a master woodsman or thief could approach undetected. To remain out of sight any attacker would have to stay well beyond dagger range.

Something about the silhouettes of the surrounding foliage appeared off. The difference was so subtle that he might only be imagining it. Some of the reeds didn’t appear to be shifting in the breeze the same as the surrounding ones.

If he gave the alarm now, whoever was stalking them might escape. He needed silent communication.

Wren. The savant mind-speak they’d used before. Could he wake the sleeping woman with a telepathic message?

If he didn’t try, there’d be no way of knowing.

He closed his eyes and composed himself, remembering what he did on that previous occasion. Wren’s instructions repeated in his head. Don’t use your mouth. Think the words. Enunciate them in your head. Savants naturally communicate between each other this way. With training we can mind-speak with telepaths and mundanes.

He’d spelled the words out in his head and had aimed them at Wren. He did that now.

Wren. Wake up. Stay quiet. We may be in trouble.

He couldn’t be sure how much, if anything, she understood. He did feel a muddled response. Bannor caught fragments of blurry pictures; cliffs, fields of green, a starry ocean?

She’s dreaming.

Bannor checked the surroundings again. He still sensed an entity crouched out there—waiting. Though he couldn’t identify any visual evidence, he remained certain of its presence. Something out there patiently stalked them. He became aware of his heart thumping hard against his ribs and the dampness now in his palms.

He didn’t want to scream in Wren’s head as he did the time before. She would yell and alert their watcher.

He sniffed the air again. Bannor could still detect that muted scent, sharp and sweet. Something nagged at his memory. He could almost identify it. Any stronger and he would know what that out-of-place odor belonged to.

Bannor returned his concentration to Wren. The savant had convinced him that her guild-trained senses were extremely sharp and that if anything were out there she would be able to confirm or deny its presence.

Wren, he called again. Another reply, still distorted and unclear, slurred like the speech of someone freshly awakened. He guessed it must be an automatic acknowledgement, not a conscious reaction.

He stretched toward her mentally, envisioning his lips near her ear. Wren, I need to talk to you.

Bannor felt a jolt. He recoiled from the force enveloping him. Chills shot through his body as he found himself towed down into darkness. Lungs tight and heart hammering, he mentally clawed for a grip to resist the force drawing him out of his body. His intangible fingers and toes only scraped down the sides of the chasm that widened as he fell. Bannor tumbled into the void unable to even scream.

Light followed blackness. Sensations whirled through his perception. Tensed for impact, he tightened into a ball.

He never felt the collision. He only became aware of a distant roar that ebbed and surged. Bannor uncurled and looked around. The tautness went out of his muscles. This didn’t look like the abyss. Orienting, he rose and glanced around. He stood at brink of a cliff overlooking an ebony ocean. Breakers of liquid night crashed on a shore that sparkled like crushed gems. As the waves thundered, he could see stars shining through from their undersides.

Bannor examined himself. He looked solid, but his body felt weightless and all but intangible. This wasn’t his astral body. What happened?

He recognized the ocean from the images coming from Wren. Could I be in her dream?

Swaths of clouds rolled and tumbled through the sky as though blown at great speed. Inland, trees bordered a wide meadow where blackhorn and small animals nibbled at the grass.

Did all savants dream so vividly or only Wren? In the distance, he saw two figures moving across the clearing. One wore white, the other green. When he moved nearer he determined the one in white must be Wren from her size and blonde hair. The other was a man in dyed leather armor. He walked with his arm around her.

His approach startled them. Wren wore a revealing silk gown. The man was dressed like a guilder, weapons and tools slung for quiet movement.

“Wren,” his voice seemed to echo. “I need to talk to you.”

Her eyes widened. “Bannor? What are you doing in my dream?”

The revelation stunned him. “You know you’re dreaming?”

She put hands on hips. “You weren’t playing around with the power again were you?”

Wren seemed completely lucid.

“No,” Bannor answered. “I tried to wake you up with mindspeak. I sort of got sucked in here.”

The man spoke, his voice sounded low and fluid. “Wren, this doesn’t appear to be a good time for our council. I sense danger. That is why he seeks you.”

She sighed. “I get to see you so rarely, Grahm.”

Grahm nodded. “I know. We are getting closer—my benefactors are almost satisfied. Then we can be together again for real.”

Bannor saw the disappointment in her eyes. Wren—in love with a dream? That didn’t seem right. She seemed so grounded in reality.

“Will I see you again soon?” she asked.

“Perhaps within the next few nights. In the realms I tread now, time is a tricky thing.”

She put her arms around Grahm and kissed him.

The man smiled. “You know I’ll be back for more of those.”

“That’s what I’m hoping.”

Grahm faded out.

“Life around you keeps getting stranger.” Bannor looked up to the sky, then to the trees and out to the rolling black ocean. He shook his head. The urgency in the clearing came back to him in a rush. The words came out all at once. “Wren, something’s wrong in the clearing. The bargemen didn’t set a guard and I feel something watching us in the reeds.”

Wren blinked. “Whoa, Bannor, this is a dream, remember. We have time, go slow.”

“What’s dreaming got to do with it? While you’re sleeping something can sneak out of those reeds and get both of us!”

“Time is relative here. Thoughts move much faster than words. By the time I’ve finished explaining this concept only an eye blink has passed—understand? Now, from the beginning—slow.”

Bannor frowned. “I guess.” He felt trapped. His body might as well be a million leagues away. He didn’t have a clue how to get back to it.

Slow. Bannor held his breath, trying to push down the sense of being confined. Wren would know how to get him loose—he hoped.

“All right, I woke up and I could sense something wrong. The clearing looks wrong, smells wrong. Have you ever looked at a thing and known that it wasn’t right without being able to identify how?”

Wren’s blue eyes appeared larger than they normally did. She looked right through him it seemed. She pulled a strand of hair and twisted it around her finger. “Of course, Bannor. That’s the instinct that keeps you alive.”

He nodded.

She gritted her teeth. “I think Dac and Laramis led the enemy to us without meaning to.”

“What? Then why—”

Wren held up her hand. “They need numbers, a hundred demons didn’t stop the four of us. Now, we’ve got a dwarven war master, and one of Ukko’s highest ranking paladins. They won’t charge in without an overwhelming force. They want you and me alive, not dead. They’ll try to separate us and hem us in individually.”

“So what do we do?”

“We pretend they’re not there.”

“What?”

“Trust me. I know about the minions of Hecate. You won’t find them unless they want to be found. Then it’s too late.”

Even in this dream, Bannor could feel the heat rise in his face. “We can’t just let them surround us!”

Wren took hold of his arm. Her hand felt as soft as a butterfly wing. “I said we ‘pretend’. We act as if we don’t know they’re there. I have no intention of getting caught.”

Bannor looked in her eyes. She couldn’t lie in a dream. Could she? Lately, he’d gotten the sense that Wren always acted in control, even when she was actually improvising as she went.

She appeared sincere and certain.

“Okay.”

“Good man,” she patted him on the shoulder. “All right, I’m going to go astral and see if I can spy these visitors of yours. You stay put, all right?”

He nodded.

She looked at him expectantly. “Well?”

Bannor looked around. “How do I get out of here?”

Wren raised an eyebrow. “The same way you came in of course.”

“How’s that?”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean, ‘how’s that?’ ”

“I thought you did it.”

“Me? I was dreaming, Bannor, sleeping—” Wren stopped herself. “You haven’t been making any funny wishes have you?”

“Not that I remember.”

“You sure?”

“I don’t know—maybe.”

She frowned. “Maybe? I thought we discussed being careful.”

He felt the heat in his cheeks. “I have been!”

“So—what did you wish for?”

“I don’t remember exactly. It was back at Dewfield, I wanted to talk to Sarai, I wished I could talk to her. I felt dizzy for a moment, but it went away. Nothing else happened—at least not that I’m aware of.” He pushed down an urge to panic. It seemed as if the walls of this dream world were closing in on him.

“Ishtar,” Wren closed her eyes and drew in a long breath. “There’s no telling what that might have done. You really must be careful. It’s natural to desire things, but you have to guard that impulse. Even a stupid little thought like ‘I wish he would shut up’ could be disastrous.”

Bannor nodded. He clenched and unclenched his hands trying to keep himself calm. Reining in his emotions here was more difficult than in the real world. Every little feeling wanted to take control.

Wren put a hand on his cheek. It felt warm and smooth. “I’m sorry, Bannor. I always seem to be lecturing you. I know you think my getting you off Titaan is more for me than you. From my heart, I do care; I want you and Sarai to be happy. I want what’s best for all of us. Trust me. I promise things will turn out all right.”

He swallowed. It made a fluttering sensation in his throat. “You can get me out, right?”

“I can if you haven’t somehow magicked yourself so I can’t.”

Bannor glanced again at alien landscape. “I don’t want to be stuck here.”

She sniffed. “Believe me, the last thing I want is you stuck in my head.” She folded her arms. “I’m not even sure I can wake up while we’re linked like this.” She tapped her chin as she thought for a moment. “All right, this should work.”

“What?”

“Do you want me to explain it, or just do it?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Do it.”

Wren gave his shoulder a squeeze then vanished. Moments passed. He stood alone in Wren’s dreamscape. How could he be experiencing someone else’s dream when they no longer dreamed? He didn’t know. There was so much to learn.

Bannor went to the cliff and looked down. Jagged rocks jutted from the beach, their sharp edges glinting like jewels. The waves continued to rumble. The clouds streaked across the sky like flecks of foam in river rapids. Wren had a strange imagination. He looked for signs of the savant and saw none.

What is she doing?

Sighing, he picked up a pebble and tossed it over the side. The stone hurtled downward and made a hollow clacking on the rocks. He kicked a larger stone and watched it tumble, bits of it sundering away as it rebounded off the cliff-face. Finally, it made a white spray as it smashed on top of a boulder.

He shook his head. “Wren, where in Hades are you?”

“Right behind you.”

Before Bannor could turn, he felt hands shove hard against the small of his back. For an instant, he almost caught himself at the brink, flailing for a nonexistent purchase in the air. The dreamscape spun as the crags rushed up to greet him.

One of the strange things that I have noted in my research is the strength that the Ka’Amok exhibit while in their astral body. It is spoken that while beyond the bounds of the flesh they are closer to Gaea and able to touch her power and that of Tan’Acho. My studies have failed to prove this conclusively one way or another. I do know that they are capable of some fascinating feats when not even wearing the flesh they were born in.

I know that in this ‘trick’ can be found the power that Gaea denied me.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Nineteen

« ^ »

The air whistled in Bannor’s ears as he plunged down the cliff side. He saw glints of diamond sharp edges and flashes of stars in tumbling midnight water. Flailing did nothing to slow his descent. Even in a dream, he couldn’t fly. Icy fear shot through his veins as the dreamscape spun, giving him flashes of the craggy shoreline looming larger.

Wren killed me…

The rocks.

The sky.

Rocks.

Sky. Bannor screamed. The sound came out muffled against a hand clamped tight to his mouth. He struggled, but a grip held him immobile. Heart hammering and lungs tight, it took him an instant to realize he was staring into Sarai’s eyes. Her silvery hair was mussed and her brow was furrowed. She hugged him closer in the blankets.

“She killed me,” he mumbled into her hand. “I would’ve died…”

“Shhh,” she hushed. “Nightmare.” She kissed him. “It’s all right.” She glared toward where Wren lay.

The savant turned in her blankets. Bannor saw her eyes glint in the firelight. He noticed the others stirring. Despite Sarai’s attempt to silence him, his outburst had been audible.

Wren’s voice echoed in his head. Sorry, scaring you out was the only way. Before you get mad—how many times have you fallen in a dream and actually hit bottom?

The statement didn’t reassure him. He felt betrayed. The blood still pounded in his temples. A repeating image of the stony fangs rushing toward him flickered through his mind.

I trusted her, and she killed me.

Not replying, he simply stared at her.

Wren frowned. Oh, grow up. You got yourself into it that time. Don’t scowl at me because my way wasn’t gentle. I’m not your mother or your girlfriend. She glanced out at the reeds. Lie there and sulk. I’m going to see if you’re right about us being watched. Rolling onto her back she crossed her arms underneath the blankets. He knew Wren was composing herself to go astral and scout the area.

His face still burned. She shouldn’t have done that.

Sarai stared at him. “My One, what happened?” she asked in a whisper. “Wren spoke in my mind and told me you would awake violently. What did she do?”

Bannor shook his head, keeping his attention on the savant. Her head lolled to one side. He saw the misty image that must be Wren’s astral form leaving her body. It looked like a trail of vapor spiraling up out of the blankets. Bannor guessed he needed to be astral himself to see Wren’s phoenix form when she didn’t want to be seen.

Sarai poked him. “Bannor?”

He swallowed. The thundering of his heart slowed. His anger diminished as the pounding lessened. Wren’s barb still nagged at him. Little witch didn’t have to do that. She scared me on purpose. He didn’t want to admit to himself how well she’d succeeded.

Bannor hugged Sarai. “I’m all right,” he whispered.

“What’s going on?”

He scanned the reeds for evidence of the observer he sensed earlier. He sniffed the air. A hint of that tangy scent he first detected still lingered. Where have I smelled that before?

Sarai nipped his chin to get his attention. “Bannor?”

He kissed her forehead. “Something is watching us.”

She frowned and glanced around. Like most elves, Sarai possessed exceptional vision. Even on a starless night, she could pick up silhouettes where all he could see was black.

She’d once described how the night looked to her; the vegetation and rocks like vague greenish outlines, warm blooded animals standing out brighter against the darker shapes of trees and rocks.

“I don’t see anything,” she said after a moment. “Are you certain?”

He nodded. “Can you smell that sweet odor?”

She closed her eyes and sniffed. Sarai’s brow furrowed and her nostrils dilated as she searched for that elusive scent. Her jaw tightened. He could almost see her digging in her memory for the identity of that trace.

“A spice of some kind,” she determined.

Spice. Bells went off in Bannor’s head. The memory screamed at him. Sarai had brought it partially into focus. Something about spice. Spice-wood? No. Where else did you get that odor? Spice oil… No one in the borderlands could afford to wear it. Only a lord could…

Mazerak! How could he have forgotten the smell of that block-faced dandy with his blood-colored cloak, shiny boots, and velvet finery? That must be his scent. Hiding? That didn’t seem like the fop’s style. What was going on?

“Duquesne,” he murmured. “It’s him.”

“Duquesne?” Sarai’s features tightened. She seemed to be trying to figure out how he reached that conclusion. Her eyes widened. “That’s his skin oil!”

Bannor nodded. He probed the surroundings. Why hadn’t Wren returned? It would take only moments to scout around in her astral form.

Unless Wren was who Duquesne came after. With the savant out of the way, one of the only persons able to help them would be gone.

“Something’s wrong.” He slid out of the bedroll and pulled on his boots. Shivering, he rubbed his arms and patted some life into them. His breath made plumes in the damp night air. The clearing remained quiet except for the crackling of the flames and the creak of the barge moored nearby. The bargemen continued to snore in the hull. The reddish light of the Triatus moon gave everything a crimson sheen.

Sarai tossed off the blankets revealing her pale skin to the night. Now back in contact with her element, hot and cold no longer bothered her. She stretched then donned her breeches, boots, and halter.

He glanced at the others surprised that the conversation hadn’t awakened someone. All appeared normal. Everyone breathed evenly. Irodee snuggled closer to Laramis and his face sought the curve of her neck. Dac grumbled and pitched in his sleep, hands clenching and unclenching around the blankets he used for a pillow.

Bannor turned his attention to the reeds. The cover provided by that thick wall of vegetation worked for and against them. The reeds would hide any assailants until he was stepping on them.

Wren had said to stay put.

A voice in his head told him the savant had an aggravating way of being right. Instinct told him that something went wrong. Whether Sarai trusted Wren or not, they needed the savant to escape the avatars. Her ingenuity had pulled them through some tight situations.

I’m tired of hiding. He picked up his axes, flipped them in the air and caught them. Time to show them I can do something besides run away.

“Give me a few moments. Wake the others. Then come after me.”

Sarai picked up the blade given to her by the elven guardsman and belted it on. She scowled. “No, we go together or not at all.”

Bannor growled. He didn’t have time to argue. The glint in Sarai’s eyes and the set of her jaw said she wouldn’t back down. “Fine. If there’s a battle, the sounds will bring them running anyway.”

A cold feeling crawled up his legs. He sensed wrongness in the air. He studied the sleepers and debated whether he should wake them now.

He and Sarai needed to do this themselves.

“All right, shadow me. Let’s make them think there’s only one.”

Nodding, she picked up her bow and quiver and arranged them.

Bannor crept to the barge. He could see the bodies of the bargemen lying in their bedrolls between the crates. None of them stirred. He gestured to Sarai and moved along the water’s edge toward the reeds.

The gurgling of the river and the creak of the mooring lines sounded loud in the silence. He smelled the fetid odor of marshy ground and decaying vegetation. The squish of his boots in the mud made him uneasy. It was poor footing if he was forced to fight. His heart picked up speed, and his stomach tightened. The sense of unease grew stronger.

He glanced back at Sarai. His betrothed looked like nothing more than a black outline with two violet ellipses that winked on an off as she blinked. She glided across the marshy ground in complete silence leaving no trace. Back at the Hade’s flats they learned Sarai’s new elemental powers allowed her to move unimpeded across ground no matter how brittle or soft.

He slid deeper into the reed thicket. The crimson moon’s hazy illumination made the fluff topped stalks appear to glow. The breeze riffled the narrow shafts, making a low humming. So quiet. Why no insects and animals? He heard no croakers or night singers.

Not good.

Metal creaked.

Bannor froze. His heart abruptly became thunder in his chest.

His skin tingled. He felt a presence. There was something hiding in the darkness.

The reeds swayed. The river gurgled. His blood pounded.

It’s close.

He caught a faint sizzling sound at the far edge of his hearing.

Searing pain swept over him. There were images of blue-black walls and spikes. Bannor staggered and clutched his middle. In an instant, it vanished. He caught his breath.

What in Hades? The pictures and pain had come from outside of him. A wave of agony abruptly cut off. Wren? The burning felt the same as the time he’d tried to pass through iron while in astral form.

Iron walls, spikes. A cage designed to restrain an astral form?

His body felt like a bowstring now, taut and vibrating. His arms and legs burned with hammering of his heart. He moved toward the source of the sound. Whatever was out here may have let him feel that burst of sensation to lead him into a trap.

He’d teach them not to hunt a woodsman. He’d spent his life in the wilderness fighting the creatures of the hills and crags. He’d built a reputation among the border men for his knack of evading ambushes.

One step. Two. Four. More sizzling. Another burst of sensation.

Bait to trap him. Scum, they’ll pay.

Sarai’s eyes became glowing slits hovering in the blackness behind him. He changed course, picking his way toward where the reeds thinned. The higher ground there would be an excellent place to put a lookout.

He crouched low as he neared. Every rustle of vegetation became loud punctuations of the silence. Bannor held his breath again. His chest ached. No more sounds.

Only a few steps remained between them and that hillock.

Nothing moved.

Closer.

The wrongness felt palpable like a seeping cloud of paralyzing cold. Hecate’s minions were here, each of them with an image of him burned into their twisted minds. Laramis told him about the fanatics. They would happily lay down their souls to see their mistress’ bidding done. They were men and women who drank the blood of innocents to gain demonic strength. They wore the serpent armor not only for protection, but to hide the scaly deformities caused by their association with Hecate’s demons.

He inched up the rise. Axes at the ready, Sarai was close on his heels.

Two more steps to the top. The ground felt packed underfoot.

He glanced down.

Fresh tracks.

Slash!

Bannor brought his weapon around before he even saw the figure descending on him with a sword upraised. The whistling head of his axe thudded into the minion’s throat while the creature was still in mid-leap.

The humanoid toppled to the ground and writhed like a beheaded snake. A sulfurous smell filled the air as a greenish mist rose out of the mask and separations in its armor. Its body was gone, leaving only the metal shell behind like the husk of a bug sucked empty of life by a spider.

Bannor surged forward to meet more armored figures rushing out of the night. One of Sarai’s arrows hissed over his shoulder and struck the lead creature in the faceplate. It dropped.

The remaining minions continued their charge. He blocked a sword with his right axe and swung the other so it slammed home into his opponent’s exposed ribs. Bone crunched and the blade sunk deep in the creature’s torso. The minion snarled and thrust a hand forward. Icy metal gripped Bannor’s throat.

Sarai flashed past him and met the last creature as it tried to strike him away from its companion. Steel resounded as they traded blows.

Despite his efforts to resist, the creature pulled him closer forcing him to look into the eyeholes of its mask. Glowing yellow eyes narrowed.

“Ours,” it rasped in a wheezing voice.

The world started getting fuzzy. He couldn’t get air. Have to get loose.

“Not yet, I’m not.” He wrenched the lodged axe side-to-side.

The minion howled and its grip loosened. Bannor tore free and hacked down on the creature’s shoulder and neck. The minion staggered back. Mist billowed around the creature. Empty plate mail clattered on the hard dirt.

The shriek of metal made Bannor turn. Sarai ripped her sword out of the torso of her opponent. The monster fell, gas pluming into the atmosphere.

“Go!” She pointed.

Heart pounding, he headed in the direction she indicated. What she’d seen became evident an instant later. A knot of figures grouped around a gleaming box.

Bannor brought an axe down on the head of the first sentry as it turned to intercept him. The whirring of Sarai’s arrows thudding home sounded around him. The air filled with the noxious smell of Hecate’s minions dying. Two more fell beneath his strokes before the group broke ranks and faced him.

He saw the flutter of a blood-red cloak. He recognized the silhouette of Mazerak’s broad body and the glint of polished brass buttons and boots. “That’s enough of that, Goodman Bannor. Unless, of course, you’d like me to clip the wings off this flaming chicken.” He thrust a black iron sword into the metal box. The burning image of Wren’s astral body flinched back. Gleaming sapphire eyes narrowed and her talon’s closed and opened.

Bannor stopped. The armored minions spread out to either side, razor sharp weapons glinted in the moonlight. He guessed there were at least twenty.

All he needed to do was get Wren out. The savant looked more than ready to do the rest. “Do it, Mazerak, and you’re dead.”

The lord chuckled. “Old boy, you seem to be under the delusion that your threats worry me. Not only will you not attack me, you’ll lay those axes down on the ground and come quietly.”

Bannor gripped his weapons tighter. “What makes you think that?”

Mazerak snapped his fingers. “Show him, Darling.”

He felt a sharp jab in his back. Steely fingers gripped his shoulder. Bannor glanced back. Glowing violet eyes met his. Sarai’s face had taken on a grayish cast and she looked stiff. She pushed him forward.

Mazerak bowed. “Let me reintroduce myself. Lord Mazerak Duquesne, savant of storms. Master of the elements—” He gestured to Sarai. “And elementals…”

Even those of the pantheons do not possess the fundamental will-force known as the ‘tao’, they, like most mortal creatures, have only souls or spirits. The Ka’Amok and few rare beings that exist among the stars possess a tao, a thing that is analogous to a spirit, but can exist normally as personified life outside the shell of their bodies.

If anything, it is the tao that makes Gaea favor the Ka’Amok over the pantheon lords.

I surmise that if I were to possess a tao, Tan’Acho would indeed be mine.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Twenty

« ^ »

Bannor felt a hot rage fill his chest as he saw Sarai’s stiff bearing and grayish skin. The crimson moon’s illumination cast the marshy clearing in an eerie glow that matched the red haze clouding his vision. For him, the armored warriors of Hecate encircling him vanished. Wren’s frantic movements in the iron cage no longer mattered. One thing held Bannor’s mind.

Mazerak.

The dandy grinned at him brushing at his spotless cloak. He adjusted a belt on which hung a jeweled scabbard then rubbed a smudge off the gold chased guard of the saber in it.

Bannor almost gave in to the urge to rush the Lord while his attention was diverted.

Mazerak reached into a ruffled sleeve and pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his nose. “What’ll it be, Man? You going to loiter there changing colors, or do I have to force you to surrender?”

He glanced again at Sarai, noting the stiffness of her body. She looked like a statue as she held the dagger extended toward him.

It took effort to force the words between his teeth. It took all his will not to go for the Lord’s throat. Every instant he thought of Sarai enslaved by this pig made the rage burn hotter. “If you’ve hurt her, you’ll wish you’d never heard of me.”

Mazerak sniffed. “Oh, of that I’m certain. You’re quite a fighter, a bit more than I expected, actually.” No emotion registered on the lord’s face as he surveyed the husks of the minions Bannor had killed. He frowned and dabbed his nose again with the cloth. “Such odoriferous places you camp in. Your concession, I’ll wait no longer. Drop your weapons.”

“Let Sarai go!” Bannor growled.

The minions all made hissing sounds and tensed. Mazerak held up and hand and they stopped. “No, no, no—you’re supposed to say, ‘I concede’.” He pulled the sword from its sheath. Sparks danced around the edges of the curved blade. “There will be no deals, Bannor. There is a hefty reward for Sarai back in her homeland. I plan to recoup some of my losses in this venture. Drop your weapons now, or I’ll have her run you through.” He gestured and Sarai’s knife pressed harder in Bannor’s back.

Where are Irodee and the others? The sounds of the battle should have brought them by now. He thought they’d be attacking long before this. Careful not to give it away, he glanced around to see if Dac or Irodee might be hiding nearby to take advantage of an opportune moment.

Nothing.

The Storm savant shook his head as if he knew Bannor’s thoughts. “Delaying won’t bring the others. I’m a thorough man.” He reached into a pocket and tossed something. Tendrils of glimmering dust fanned out from his hand, reaching the ground they crept along like something alive. “It’s made from the blooms of the Silissian Jytteh plant. Released upwind, it can be effective fifty paces away. They won’t wake for half a day. A pity that elves and savants are immune to most sleep-inducing drugs.” He sighed. “Sarai, take those silly axes from him.”

She placed the dagger in her boot, stepped around him, and pried the axe from his grip. His stomach churned. Fight him, Little Star; don’t let this worm control you. If Sarai heard his passionate mental plea she didn’t react. She simply reached for his other weapon. Bannor searched her face for any spark of the woman he loved. The elf moved like a wooden puppet, her limbs pulled into motion by invisible strings. Her eyes no longer shone. The bright violet that glowed in the night now looked like a dull lavender.

“I never knew elementalism ran so strongly in the Malanian royal family,” Mazerak remarked. “I don’t know how I overlooked the princess’ strong ties to stone.” He raised an eyebrow. “Fortunate I noticed on our second encounter, wouldn’t you say?”

Bannor only glared at him. Keep talking, fop. You’ll regret every word.

Mazerak snapped his fingers and gestured to the cage where Wren’s Phoenix form hovered, its claws opening and closing. The fiery bird’s diamond eyes glittered with malice. If Wren freed herself, Bannor sensed she would do everything in her power to make an end of the storm savant.

He tightened his fists. She’d have to wait her turn.

Sarai gripped Bannor’s wrist and a minion slunk over to take his other arm. Two more took up positions behind him.

He tested Sarai’s hold.

Bannor yelped as she clamped down on his wrist so hard his bones groaned. The minions hissed. Unblinking reptilian eyes stared at him from serpentine masks. Mazerak chuckled as the four escorts propelled him forward and shoved him hard against Wren’s cage. Pain creased his forehead as his face hit the cold metal. Moisture ran down the bridge of his nose and cheek. It trickled over his lip leaving the coppery taste of blood.

The hands holding him released. Bannor snarled and turned to put his back to the enclosure. Thick rods of iron thrust out of the ground around him as Sarai and the minions backed off.

Mazerak’s hand glowed as he made a horizontal slashing motion. A slab of iron appeared, forming a cap over the bars surrounding Bannor. The metal sizzled and glowed red as it fused with the vertical shafts. The dirt under his feet shuddered. A slab matching the first pushed out of the ground and welded itself to the bars as the other had.

His throat tightened. Sealed in iron. An icy sense of doom gripped his lungs, threatening to extinguish the anger burning in him. Bannor fought it down, keeping a steady glare focused on Mazerak. He would never give this bastard the satisfaction of thinking him beat.

Lord Duquesne stepped forward and looked his work up and down. He nodded, apparently satisfied with the soundness of the cage’s construction. “I admire your spirit, Woodsman, but I advise you not to fight this. It’ll only make the combining worse.”

The heat in Bannor flared again. He spat on Mazerak’s boots. “Bring on your death goddess, you worthless fop! I’ll spit in her eye. You have to get me to her alive.”

The storm savant stepped back. His blocky face tightened. He gestured to Sarai. The elf came forward woodenly. When she stood next to him, he pushed Sarai down on her knees.

The lord raised his chin, dark eyes flashing a challenge. “Lick it off, little bitch.”

The flare of anger was blinding. Snarling, Bannor lunged through the bars his fingers passing only hairs from the Lord’s throat. “Bastard! Stop it!”

The shriek of steel leaving sheaths echoed through the clearing. Four minions thrust their weapons through the bars forcing Bannor back.

Mazerak fixed him with flat black eyes.

Sarai hesitated. Her eyes flickered and her neck muscles twitched.

Duquesne’s brow furrowed and his voice became a rasp. “Do it.”

Her head dipped and she stopped again.

“Now,” he gestured with a clenched fist.

“No!” Bannor yelled.

Sarai’s face went to the Lord’s boot. Her tongue flicked out. Bannor looked away. “You bastard.” He felt the tears burning on his cheeks. He pounded the bars. “Leave her alone.”

“Up, girl.” Satisfaction rang in the storm savant’s voice. “I can see why you’re so attracted to this willful bit of fluff. Maybe I should forget the reward and keep her for myself.”

Bannor faced the man. He tasted bile in his throat. For Sarai’s sake, he dared not defy Mazerak further.

The savant took his handkerchief and wiped Sarai’s mouth. He wadded it up and tossed it at Bannor. “You’re a peasant, Starfist. I own you.” He put his fist in Sarai’s hair, forced her head back, and kissed her. “I own you both.”

Bannor narrowed his eyes. He kept his voice soft, but he loaded every word with the anger seething in his gut. “Mazerak, you aren’t half as smart as you think you are.” His gripped the bars white-knuckled. “When you least expect I’m going to be out of this cage. Next thing you know I’ll be reaching down your arrogant throat to turn you inside out.”

The Lord snorted. “Bold words from a condemned man. I’d be a fool to ignore such conviction.” He clapped his hands. “Sazaaran, silence him.”

Bannor tried to dodge too late. He heard metal slide on metal and a burst of ringing as something hard cracked against his skull.

The world went gray. The last thing he saw through the bars of his prison were the fading silhouettes of Mazerak and Sarai together beneath the blood-colored moon.

Liandra Kergatha was the experiment that should have succeeded.

She instead became the most troublesome mortal I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. The witch has personally and by proxy caused the deaths of more of my avatars than any immortal, and been the source of more irritation than I care to admit.

She is a vicious little sprite that lives to thwart me. She has Gaea’s own luck, and as I have lately concluded, the Green Mother’s embrace as well.

Considering what she has cost me, I almost regret the torture I inflicted on her—almost.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Twenty-One

« ^ »

The sun burned over the hills, casting the battlefield in shades of vermilion. A thick layer of pasty ash covered the parched ground, the trees and bushes charred to blackened skeletons. The muggy air reeked of carrion and shuddered with the sound of the Northerner’s marching drums. King Balhadd of the South had lost this territory. No trumpeters remained to even sound the retreat. The North’s armies poured through the valleys like a swarm of insects.

Bannor shifted his brother’s weight, keeping him secure over his shoulder. He paused, something seemed wrong. This all seemed familiar, as if it all happened once before. He pushed the sense down and forged forward, struggling to stay ahead of the tide. I’ll get you out, Ramm. Three more leagues to the staging camp. Bannor’s stomach knotted as he looked back and saw sunlight glint off an advancing wall of armor and weapons.

Fire burned in his chest. Up down, up down-the ground sucked at his feet. He couldn’t give up.

Arrows hissed through the air. He felt a stab in his shoulder. Yelling, he stumbled and the two of them rolled into a ravine. Agonizing pain ripped through his shoulder. He heard the shaft snap. Lying in the grime, Bannor twitched. Rammal groaned, fingers raking the dirt. Bannor clawed onto his knees. Ramm!

His brother only shook his head and closed his eyes. Bannor grabbed Rammal’s shoulder. His skin felt so cold. Ramm! He knelt next to the still body, tears burning on his face. No!

He heard footsteps and the sound of steel being pulled. Scrambling out of the ditch, he ran…

I failed. I was a coward. I should have died protecting you.

A haze swept over the scene. Bannor found himself leaning over Rammal’s still form again. Dead. My fault. I should have done something.

Done something…

Something…

A scratchy voice spoke behind him. “Haven’t you plowed that field of guilt enough, SproutBoy? I’m gettin right tired of seein it myself.”

His vision of the ravine and the hills wavered. Colors sparkled and danced. Bannor found himself standing on the porch of the wood and brick house of his childhood. The lake gleamed. Flocks of birds dipped and flashed on the water’s surface. He smelled the heady scent of his mother’s flower garden and the lingering odor of his father’s pipe tabac.

Bannor whirled toward the voice. “Ramm!”

Rammal leaned against the porch post chewing a blade of grass. He wore the same broad rimmed hat and leather coat that he had on when he left for the war. His lean face looked unchanged from ten summers ago. His blue eyes still possessed the sparkle of mischief Bannor remembered.

Rammal took the grass from his mouth and tossed it. “You sound surprised. I’m disappointed, SproutBoy. Ten harvests older and not any smarter. Who else would you find here?” He gestured toward the house.

Bannor’s throat tightened. “This is a dream. You’re dead.”

“Guess then I can’t do this?” Rammal doubled his hand and struck.

Pain shot through Bannor’s belly. He gasped and folded around his brother’s fist. He sat down hard on the boards, struggling to take a breath.

“Hit pretty hard for a dead man, don’t I, SproutBoy.”

“Stop—” he wheezed. “Stop calling me that!”

“Calling you what—SproutBoy?”

Bannor growled and clutched his stomach.

Rammal leaned over him. His lanky frame blocked the sunlight. “There ain’t much time. You’ll have to take our word for some things.”

“What things?”

A new voice rang in. “That people never really die. They simply move on to another plane of existence.”

A man dressed in a green leather jerkin and breeches stepped into view beside Rammal.

“You’re that Guilder, Grahm, from Wren’s dream!”

“At least his memory works,” Rammal said.

“This is a dream,” Bannor said. “My dream. How—”

Rammal rolled his eyes. Grahm shook his head.

“What—!?” Bannor demanded.

The Guilder sighed. “Don’t you listen to anything Wren tells you?”

“Of course. What’s that have to do with you being in my dream?”

“You didn’t listen at all.” Rammal hoisted Bannor to his feet. “Savants have a strong presence everywhere. In the astral realm, the ethereal, the world of men—and the world of dreams. Dwelling in your thoughts can make me more real, more material.” He took off his hat and scratched his head. “I didn’t die in that ditch. My spirit is here—in you. It’s an ability all savant’s have—the power of the tao.” He glanced at Grahm. “You can keep the spirits of people who die near you part way in the realm of the living.”

Bannor choked. “You’re a ghost.”

Rammal and Grahm traded looks.

“Close enough,” the Guilder said.

“I don’t understand—why are you in my dream?”

Grahm gripped Bannor’s shoulder. “Wren is my girl. She risked her life for you. Her body won’t live long separated from her astral self. You must do something! I’m not going to see her die when we’re this close.”

“So close to what?”

The Guilder’s dark eyes narrowed. A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Do you want to live, or would you rather ask stupid questions?”

The hold on Bannor’s shoulder ached. He sensed the tension both in Rammal and Grahm. Something about this felt wrong. He searched the cloud streaked sky, and the environs of the family farm. It was so perfect, so real. Each scent was correct, every blade of grass, down to the textures of wood and stone. He never dreamed in this concise detail. Bannor could count the pores on Rammal’s face and see the hairline scar on his cheek he had given him one spring during sparring practice. What was the wrongness?

Play along.

He controlled the suspicion in his voice. “What should I do?”

“Stop leading with your chin for a start,” Rammal said.

A flair of heat swelled in Bannor’s chest. “Oh yes, Ramm, you’re going to advise me about fighting? If you’d practiced a lick, you’d be in the real world and not here.”

Grahm glared at Rammal. “You’ve always known the wrong thing to say to him, haven’t you?”

“His favorite pastime,” Bannor grumbled. “I understand it’s hereditary for older brothers to be louts.”

Rammal frowned. “Can I help it if he screamed like a baby over the littlest thing?”

“Don’t waste time!” Grahm yelled. “I can’t keep us here much longer.”

Bannor folded his arms. Rammal sure acted like his older brother, a Rammal that still hadn’t grown up. “Tell me.”

“Your power—” Grahm started.

Bannor cut him off. “No.”

“But—”

“I won’t be persuaded. Wren’s convinced me that it’s dangerous using my talent. What about my other savant skills?”

Grahm gritted his teeth. “You’re in a metal cage. Trying to pass astrally through iron will kill you.”

Bannor felt a flicker of hope. “That bastard Mazerak thinks so too.”

“What?” The Guilder’s eyes widened.

“It’s painful—” Bannor shook his head. “Still, what good would it do? I can’t get the cages open. If Mazerak traps my astral form, we’re doomed.”

“Can you talk to people in this form?” Rammal asked. His voice sounded weaker. Bannor read disappointment in his brother’s face. The scowl had begun when he refused to use his power. Disappointment over what? What did these two really want?

“People who know me well can see and hear me,” he answered. “Others don’t perceive anything but a specter.”

“You need a body,” Grahm said, rubbing his chin.

Bannor snorted. “I can’t take over just anyone, at least not with what I know now.”

“He’d need a body without this astral stuff in it,” Rammal said. “You just said people die after a few days without it.”

“A live body without its astral self—” Grahm’s voice trailed off.

Bannor stared at him. “Why dwell on this? No one—”

A grin spread across Grahm’s face. He gripped Bannor with both hands. “Wren! Wren’s body doesn’t have its astral self!”

His guts twisted. “What? Wren?”

“Only a savant could host your astral energies anyway. You’d burn out a mundane person. It’s perfect. Her powers are controlled. You can follow Mazerak’s enclave, remove the guards and open the cages.”

Bannor’s throat tightened. “Take over the body of a woman?” It made him shudder. Force himself inside of Wren? It was like asking him to rape her, only worse. It would be a complete violation of her body and psyche. The whole idea of forcing himself on a woman, especially this way, made revulsion surge through him. He stepped back. “Think what you’re asking me. This is your girl.”

“She’ll die otherwise.” Desperation gleamed in Grahm’s eyes. His breathing quickened and he clenched his hands. “You have to help her.”

Bannor grasped the Guilder’s fear now. Not only a fear for Wren, but himself as well. “If she dies, it cuts your ties to the material world.” His jaw tightened. “You die, too.”

“Nobody wants to die!” Grahm yelled. “You think I wanted a minion’s knife in my back? Poison turning my blood to acid. I died slow in Wren’s arms. I’m only a dream in her head now. All I can do is perish a little at a time right along with her.” His eyes glazed. “I want to live.”

Bannor saw Rammal’s fear, the tremble in his hands. Both wanted to live. Dream people tied to their anchors in the material existence.

His stomach churned. Take over Wren’s body? It felt and sounded—evil. Even if it weren’t, the unnaturalness made him cold inside. If he asked Wren’s permission, he risked alerting Mazerak.

Each wasted moment increased the distance between Mazerak and Wren’s body. How long since they knocked him unconscious?

“You have to do it,” Grahm insisted.

“Don’t tell me what I have to do,” Bannor growled. He smacked his fist in his palm. Thoughts of Sarai and what Mazerak might do to her made the anger worse. He’d seen his power unleashed. If the avatars turned his capabilities into a weapon it would be devastating. He must either free himself or suicide to prevent the suffering of others. In death, he would condemn Sarai to whatever fate Mazerak planned.

Odin’s eyes, think! He kept coming back to the fact he needed to manipulate objects in the material world. While his astral body could handle small items and affect people, it couldn’t break open cages of iron.

Or kill Mazerak.

The ends justify the means. That’s what Wren would say.

There was so much at stake. Mazerak would send his minions to kill Irodee and the others while they slept to ensure they wouldn’t follow. Ultimately, he couldn’t justify not going for Wren’s body. Could he let his allies die simply to save his conscience?

Another chill went through him. “I’ll do it,” he said, lips tight.

A wind picked up, whipping leaves and dust into spirals.

Rammal’s eyes hardened. “You know what to do, SproutBoy. You know I’ll be here—always.”

Grahm nodded. “Take them to the wall.”

Grahm and Rammal turned transparent. The landscape of the old homestead changed so that it appeared to be a picture painted on glass. The image shattered and the fragments toppled off into nothingness.

Grahm’s voice continued to reverberate. To the wall…

The wall…

Wall…

A shroud of fog closed around him and turned everything white.

Bannor became aware of a jarring vibration. Pain jangled through his neck and his face felt raw where he’d slumped against a bar.

He opened his eyes to slits and saw nothing but a fuzzy blur. Wood creaked and metal groaned. Horses snorted and shod hooves clashed on rock. He felt his enclosure heave up, then slam down with loud clattering.

A wagon.

He blinked to clear his vision. After a long period of trying to focus, nothing came clearer than blurry shapes framed by the broad bars of his cage. It was still nighttime.

The wagon lurched again. A horse whinnied.

He heard Mazerak’s clipped voice. “Get the other cage loaded and catch up. I want to be in Albrech by noon tomorrow.” The Lord sounded too far away to be on the wagon.

Little time had passed. The minion must have hit him a glancing blow. Have to do this fast.

He closed his eyes and tried to focus through the throbbing in his skull. Time to fly on his own.

Bannor reached into himself to that place Wren touched. How did she do it? A kind of a twist and everything broke free.

He thought back to the last time Wren had helped him leave the shell of his body. She did it so fast. Reach in and flick, out he came. He recalled how it felt to unleash the spirit locked in the flesh; the tingle of each tiny component giving up its imprisoned energy. Wren made it like a key in a lock. Turn it and everything trapped behind the door flowed out.

The tracery.

When Wren wanted to talk to Sarai or to heal him, she made him weave a complex series of lines in his head. When done right, the magic worked. Wren did it fast for a reason. She didn’t want him able to do it himself. He must have the design for this feat of magic.

I wish… Bannor focused his desire, his love and fear into the urging.

Writhing lines and colors blossomed in his mind. The tracery beat like a heart. Colors pulsed through it like blood. Recognition shocked through him. He’d seen this image in his sleep.

It’s me.

He’d ponder the revelation later. Expanding the pattern in his mind, he imagined wrapping the lines and colors around himself like a suit of armor. Energy surged. A flickering. A twist.

In the next instant, he looked down at his body crumpled at the bottom of the cage. The glow of his wolf-form surrounded his astral self. He dimmed the radiance until it became only a shadowy outline.

Mazerak sat on a huge white war-horse a short distance away. Several minions lifted Wren’s cage into a wagon. Two warriors controlled the team of horses pulling the wagon loaded with his cage.

He saw at least ten more armored forms in strategic positions around the operation. It would take careful planning to break free of this trap.

Time to go. He braced himself for the pain. Last time he had done this with thinner bars placed much farther apart. He wasn’t sure if spacing mattered. There was only one way to find out. Gathering all his will, he shot forward.

Red-hot talons ripped down the length of his body. He heard the sizzle and the iron glowed with heat.

Bannor hit the dirt, writhing as pain continued to reverberate throughout his spirit. The world grayed. Could a spirit go unconscious?

The wagon rolled on. The racket caused by its travel no doubt covered the sound of the hissing metal. He lay paralyzed until the agony abated. No one appeared to have detected his presence.

When his strength returned, he flowed closer to Wren’s cage. The savant’s phoenix image halted. Her diamond eyes fixed on him. She spread her wings and looked in the direction of their camp. Focused on him again, she closed one eye and cocked her head.

He headed for camp. If she knew what he planned, she might not have been so eager to send him to it.

It took only instants to travel to the barge. As he approached, Bannor saw two minions in the reeds heading toward camp.

He hurtled toward Wren’s body.

Odin help me…

If he had a stomach to feel, it would have tightened. Don’t think about it. Do it.

Bannor dove into Wren’s untenanted form.

Jangles of pain shot through him. Apparently, some remnant of Wren still occupied her body. As he tried to enter, he met fierce opposition. He struggled with the stubborn fabric, shoving and tearing forcing his way inside.

It sickened him, but he continued. He subdued that spark of resistance, crushed it with the weight of his personality. He shoved it into a dark place in the back of her mind and locked it behind a door.

When finished, he felt the spasms of what he’d driven himself to do wracking his new body. Her heart raced and blood hammered in her temples.

Taking hard breaths, Bannor opened her eyes. She stared at the crimson moon and sniffed the cold night air. The sounds of the sleepers impinged on her ears, loud and distinct, much sharper than his own hearing. He heard the minions approaching through the reeds.

She felt around the bedroll until her hand came to the hilt of a sword. The night of the bloody moon was only beginning.

Damay Alostar, the most powerful of the Kel’Varans to walk the realms.

She was obviously one of Gaea’s favorites. I regret never taking a personal hand in killing the witch. Dead twice, and still giving me headaches.

It’s really too bad she came back to teach that troublemaker Kergatha.

I should have killed them both myself to make sure they stayed dead.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Twenty-Two

« ^ »

Bannor sat up clutching Wren’s sword. The savant’s body felt odd; nothing appeared to have any stiffness to it. Could something be wrong with her? The thought made his new heart race. How did a man tell right feeling from wrong in a woman’s body? His heightened hearing still detected the minions moving in the reeds. Everything smelled different—unfamiliar.

Studying the clearing bathed in the Triatus’ crimson light, he saw Laramis, Irodee and Dac. They showed no sign of having stirred since he and Sarai engaged Mazerak’s warriors a bell ago. Apparently undisturbed, the barge still fidgeted against its moorings at the riverside.

From the growing sounds, he determined where the minions should emerge from the foliage. Slipping out of the bedroll, he found Wren’s boots and pulled them on. Why did the clothes feel tight? A tug on the tunic revealed the fabric’s looseness. He ran now slender fingers down from his neck down across—breasts. The tingle made him pull his hand back. Female skin must simply be more sensitive. He looked at the hand; so small and delicate, yet he sensed power in this flesh.

The Nola. Unlike in his own body, Wren’s power seemed alive. He felt it clamoring to be tested.

A sense of revulsion crept into Bannor again. He’d pried into this woman’s body and become privy to sensations and experiences he neither had the right or desire to know. He forced it down. Either he did this or all of them died. He clenched his fists.

Think of Sarai.

Bannor crawled to Irodee and Laramis shook them. The Myrmigyne and the Justicar moaned and thrashed, but he couldn’t rouse them. Dac responded the same way. They showed no adverse effects, no sweating or poor skin color. They only seemed deeply asleep. Mazerak’s claims about the drug’s intoxicating power must be true. He’d have to do this alone.

The sounds told him the minions were close.

He climbed to a standing position, staggered and sat down hard. His face burned and he smacked the grass. Nothing about this body worked right. His movements grew more difficult and sluggish as if something in Wren’s body were resisting him.

How? All the savant’s consciousness should have been locked up with her astral body in Mazerak’s cage. Perhaps the resistance was instinctive or linked to the aliveness of Wren’s savant power. Even something as stupid as a bug understood intrusion, maybe the resistance was like insects that swarmed to attack enemy invaders. A cold fear made his stomach knot. He couldn’t even stand. Not much time left to get control of this body.

Bannor calmed himself. Maybe if he seemed less of an intruder. Don’t fight her.

He stood carefully, trying to let Wren’s body move naturally. He took a few experimental steps. The legs seemed hinged wrong. The body wanted to walk on the balls of its feet in a way that felt off balance. Trying to walk normally made him stumble.

How will I fight like this?

His throat tightened and his blood rushed as he saw the reeds swaying. He gripped Wren’s blade. At least he’d trained with a sword.

He gripped the weapon San cleed style, the way he fought for summers before turning to the axes. His fingers ached and the hilt felt awkward.

Damn it, do it your way then.

Bannor relaxed and exerted a minimum of control. Wren’s hand shifted to an unfamiliar position. The sword felt as though it became an extension of his arm, light and ready for action.

The two armored warriors emerged from the reeds. He let the danger fuel this body’s reflexes. Relying on her instincts rather than on his own, he tried not to think but simply react. He felt that aliveness in Wren’s body swell and mingle with him.

The first creature charged. Its blade whistled in the damp air. His arms and legs moved as if possessing minds of their own. He guarded the attack away with a flick of the wrist. His gaze locked on the eye-slit of the other warrior as it closed. Reptilian eyes glared hate at him. He snatched a dagger from his belt.

Wren’s power surged, something in the body focused. For an instant, that narrow opening expanded in his vision. He threw. The blade whistled home, sprouting from minion’s faceplate with a fleshy thud. The creature dropped, putrid smelling gas billowing from its armor.

As he grew accustomed to this duality, Bannor’s awareness expanded. He felt the air pushed ahead of the other warrior’s weapon and knew where the strike would go. He sidestepped.

The minion missed. It snarled and reversed. He leaped. The blade passed beneath him. He felt an overwhelming desire to taunt the creature. He continued to evade without countering, dodging the attacks as if the creature were moving through molasses.

His body froze. He couldn’t move. The minion swung for his head.

Fear shot through him. What’s happening…!?

His hand suddenly thrust into the path of the blade. He felt a tingling in his guts. The razor sharp steel slammed home—and stopped.

A jolt of pleasure traveled down his arm. A ball of warmth grew in his chest. He yanked on the sword. The minion snatched for the weapon too late and the blade whirled away and stuck in the ground.

The creature punched. He blocked instinctively. Bannor knew from fighting these things that they possessed hideous strength. He felt no impact, only the pleasurable tingling.

A savant of forces. Bannor remembered Grahm’s words. Her power is under control. The Kel’varan Nola must allow Wren to take the energy from each blow and store it—as she did in the forest with Irodee’s arrows.

Each of the minion’s attacks made the warmth increase. The creature pounded away until it realized it couldn’t win. Regaining some control, he dispatched it with a single thrust to the heart.

Withdrawing the blade, Bannor strengthened his hold over the body. Wren’s Nola resisted. She staggered. He concentrated harder, trying again to submerge that primal essence. Wren relented and Bannor sensed his control return.

He felt a chill. Why did she surrender so fast? Some instinct told him the battle for mastery would get worse. Wren’s power acted like a complete consciousness. It possessed no voice, but it understood he did not belong. She would try again to take over.

Ironic that he must fight the woman he wanted to help. What happened if she overcame him? Would he be kicked out? Trapped?

He put the worry from his mind. Sarai needed him.

Bannor wiped off Wren’s blade and reclaimed the dagger. He stared at the shells of the two minions, and then glanced at Wren’s delicate hands. She hadn’t even perspired. That lack of stiffness that first alarmed him was the feel of a body limber as a silken veil and whiplash fast. He’d never understood the scope of Wren’s abilities. He could detect the tiniest particles drifting by in the river, single out any one and know it in terms of its energy, course and mass. That perception apparently assisted her aim, making the most difficult shot a simple matter. No wonder Mazerak wanted her disabled. He didn’t want her for an enemy either.

He looked northwest in the direction Mazerak’s group had been going. He kicked the plate armor. If Wren were bigger, he’d use the mail for a disguise. Mazerak would expect a report from these two.

Damn.

He looked around the clearing. He couldn’t leave everyone so vulnerable. A broadpaw or griffon could come along and eat them. He glanced at the river. The only bad water was days downstream. They’d be safer adrift than lying here waiting to become a meal.

Wren was limber, not strong. Her muscles ached by the time Irodee, Laramis, and Dac and their equipment had been dragged aboard the barge.

He scrawled a note on a piece of parchment and shoved it in Irodee’s tunic. The message explained that Mazerak was bound for Albrech with Wren and Sarai as prisoners. He untied the barge and shoved it out into the middle of the stream.

“Good journey,” he mumbled, watching the barge drift off. Hearing a feminine voice made a ripple of disquiet surge through him.

What if I get stuck inside this body?

Bannor pushed the feeling down.

Shouldering Wren’s knapsack, he cinched the straps, locked down her sword and faced northwest. He took a breath and glanced at the barge now almost out of sight. Everything will be all right. It has to be.

I’m on my way, Little Star.

It wasn’t difficult to follow the tracks of the heavily laden wagons. Bannor found he couldn’t go rapidly without loosening his hold over Wren. It made him uneasy, but he did it, letting her essence take partial control; first a jog, then a run. He hardly breathed. The night moisture clung to their flesh like a cool second skin. Wren ran effortlessly. The trees, brush, and rocks loomed in the darkness and vanished in the distance behind him.

She moved like the high springing blackhorn, feet never seeming to touch the ground. Her Nola absorbed the impact of every footfall, deadening the sound and rejuvenating the energy expended to run.

This is how she kept up with Irodee. She can sprint for hours like this!

The city of Albrech lay on the Corwin side of the border. Leagues of rough territory and hills separated Mazerak’s group from the nearest road. Even with their two bell lead, he could catch them before they traveled far. Could he reach the caravan by daybreak though? Once the dawn light struck the hills, freeing Wren and himself became far more difficult.

He pushed into a sprint. Wren’s heart pumped harder and the feeling of warmth in her chest pulsed in syncopation to the staccato rhythm of her boots against the dirt.

As he dodged through bracken and sorrel, Bannor started adjusting to Wren’s altered perception of smells. He recognized the sappy pungency of scalebark and the sharp bite of needleleaf. Though he would never feel comfortable in this duality, it was reassuring that they could work in concert.

A few thousand trees, three briar patches and a stream crossing later he heard the jangling of wagons. Tinges of orange and azure were now creeping into the dark indigo of the eastern horizon. The caravan had traveled faster than he anticipated. He guessed they must have fresh horses nearby to drive them this hard.

He stopped. Perspiration stung his eyes and his face felt hot. He’d covered a league in little over a quarter bell.

He needed a plan. It seemed simplest to begin by getting Wren back in her body. He need only reach into the cage and Wren’s astral form could rejoin with her flesh.

That wouldn’t free Sarai.

No doubt, the only way to do that was to kill Mazerak. With all the Lord’s guardians and Sarai, Bannor would need Wren’s help to succeed. The coming light gave him little time for careful plotting.

He would have to rely on Wren to get him loose.

Bannor studied the land descending toward the southern spur of the Westros Mountains. Like cairns of fragmented rock, the headlands thrust up from the lower plateau until their peaks mingled with the clouds. A carpet of mist poured downhill into the bramble-studded watersheds that wound a serpentine course toward Corwin’s eastern river valley. Once at the river, Mazerak’s group would follow it north to Albrech.

The hill shadows would give him a fraction more nighttime. The wagons had already disappeared into a thick grove of shimmerleaf, further shutting out the dawn light.

He had to try now; there wouldn’t be a better opportunity.

Jogging toward the trees, he cut around the grove. He’d find a hiding spot ahead of them that would allow him to assess Mazerak’s force.

As he moved through the trees, Bannor felt more in his element—the hunter rather than the hunted. Wren’s chest grew tight as he sensed the nearness of his quarry. Her heart beat faster as she saw the trailing wagon and the cage containing Wren’s phoenix form.

Bannor felt a jolt, then an urgent desire to plunge toward the faintly glowing shape. She charged toward the caravan. Bannor clamped down his will. Wren stumbled as he fought to reassert control.

Damn it. Not now!

She dropped to her knees as he focused on driving Wren’s essence back. Even this little part of the savant was powerful. It felt like she was trying to shove him aside and assume complete command. Calling upon every bit of his strength, he managed to the batter the force back and assume mastery again.

Trembling, he lay in the wet grass, heart hammering and breaths coming in gasps. If they fought again for ascendancy, Wren would win. The nearness to her astral form must be making the host essence stronger.

He rose and stood on shaking legs. He had to do this before she attacked again. Wren’s body tingled as though she’d been struck by lightning. Bannor took slow breaths, calming her body.

Go.

Ducking through underbrush and around trees and rocks Bannor paralleled the caravan, soon overtaking the lead wagon. He cut around a hillock choked with trees. The far side would be the place to lay in wait.

He bounded over a creek and ducked through an overgrown tangle of deadfalls. The wagon sounds dwindled to the North.

Down the backside of the knoll, he spied a cluster of trees perfect for his needs. The wagons should pass by only fifty paces away.

He made his way to the spot and hid. Her heart thundered. A broadwing hooted in the branches above. The breeze hummed through the boughs. A horse whinnied in the distance.

Bannor pulled Wren’s sword.

The wagon sounds grew. He thought he glimpsed Mazerak’s white stallion at the head of the procession. Closer. He saw four armored warriors on black mounts following the Lord.

As the first wagon trundled out of the darkness, his stomach tightened. Where’s Sarai? He saw the cage with his body limp at the bottom but no sign of his betrothed.

Bannor located four outriders on both sides of the caravan. As the second wagon became visible, he felt a chill. Sarai wasn’t on it, either.

Damn. Damn. Damn. He couldn’t let that distract him. He must go for Wren. The beat of her heart counted off the instants. The smell of dry leaves and vegetation filled her nostrils. He formulated a plan; as soon as the gap widened, a quick sprint, take out the rear guard and the drivers.

Her palms felt sweaty. He dried them on his tunic, self-conscious of the touch on sensitive breasts. Wren’s whole body felt charged with tension. It seemed to know reunion with self was coming.

Now!

He lunged out of the cover and bolted through the trees. The silhouette of a minion grew. It turned as he struck. Metal shrieked. The creature’s helmet flipped through the air, another insect-like husk dropped. Stinking vapor plumed upward.

The other minion was too far away to be a hindrance. He rushed the wagon, threw a dagger that flashed home in a warrior’s neck knocking it against the other guard.

The sword flicked out, slashing the reins as he leaped onto the cart. Two swipes brought the other guard down.

Wren.

Wren’s phoenix form blazed, its diamond eyes wide in amazement. Guards closed in on two sides.

He reached out.

A rumble filled the air. The cart capsized, throwing the cage to the ground. Stunned for only an instant, he scrambled toward the red glowing form.

The ground rippled and before Bannor could twist away the rock thrust him into the air. The stone took the form of a huge hand, its giant fingers wrapped around Wren’s entire body, pinning her arms and legs.

He glanced around wildly. A minion, smaller than the others stared at him with glowing lavender eyes. It held a hand outstretched, fingers partially closed.

“Sarai!” Wren’s voice sounded hoarse.

The elf clenched her fist.

The pressure around Wren grew, the huge fingers crushed down…

Willforce or what is more commonly known as magic is an endless source of entertainment for me. Lack confidence and you can’t make a spark.

Get over-confident and you destroy yourself and a large chunk of the immediate landscape.

For some reason, I’ve always found that amusing…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Twenty-Three

« ^ »

Dots danced in his vision, blurring his view of the forest, the caged phoenix and the armored minions. A huge hand formed of rock gripped Wren’s body, pinning her arms and legs. Sarai had smashed dozens of demons in this same fashion only days ago.

Have to break free! Instants stretched into infinity. The blood pounding in her temples crescendoed to a thunder. Bannor’s awareness expanded. Every particle of the loamy amalgam surrounding her body became sharp and distinct. The pressure applied by the stone under Sarai’s elemental control increased. Static crackled and rock groaned. The body didn’t compress. A crackling nimbus of blue light had formed around her.

Bannor glimpsed Sarai dressed in black plate armor. Sparks danced around her clenched fists. The lavender glow of her eyes had turned blood red.

Minions hissed and guttural voices screamed for a halt to the caravan.

He felt Wren’s Nola swelling, jamming into every limb, tapping the constricting force Sarai was applying. The pulsation in her chest turned from a pleasurable warmth to a searing throb.

“Sarai, stop!”

The crushing force grew. The blue light became blinding. The burning of the Nola became excruciating. A voice shrieked in his mind.

The field around Wren’s body was slick. He pulled his left arm free with a heave and struck at the rocky prison. The massed Nola in his fist detonated, sending glowing fragments hissing off into the trees.

The pressure lessened. The burning of the Nola slackened.

Sarai snarled. The stone reformed. The heat renewed.

Bannor hammered at the rock. The Nola jolted each time and released the contained energy. The barrage drove all the minions back, shredded the nearby wagon and battered the iron cage containing Wren’s Phoenix form. Sarai moved forward. The fragments bounced off her slender armored form as though made of sponge.

The voice in his mind became a thunder. Bannor! She’ll kill us both! Not the rock! The cage!

He reached toward the iron enclosure around Wren’s astral form. Too far away.

The pain grew. Bannor slammed the rock to release the energy, sensing that if he didn’t keep venting the power both he and Wren would die in a single searing blast.

Sarai crept closer, each step wooden and slow.

Wren’s mental voice grew more desperate. Throw the power! Focus!

A wave of confusion swept through him. Throw power? Focus? How? He smashed the rock again to release the Nola. Molten chunks of granite and fused soil shot out and bounced across the ground like char and embers kicked from a fire.

Throw.

Focus.

He ripped a hunk of rock loose from his prison. Throwing it at Wren’s cage, he focused all of his pent-up energy as he released.

The stone became sizzling mass, tendrils of energy rasping around it as it hurtled to target.

Wren’s Phoenix form flattened itself against one end of the cage. The missile impacted with a roar.

The shock numbed Bannor’s ears. A searing wave of air knocked Sarai down only a few steps away.

When the dots cleared from his vision, he saw the blazing Phoenix diving for him. Bannor braced himself as Wren’s claws clamped down on his arm—

and slid off.

The astral essence didn’t transfer.

No! Wren screamed.

Bannor’s heart hammered and his stomach became an aching hole in his torso. Wren’s Nola was shielding her body—from everything. Including its real mistress. If he turned the Nola off, the stone would crush Wren’s body before the savant regained control.

Sarai righted herself by stages like a puppet pulled to a stand by strings. Her livid eyes glowed.

Wren dove at Sarai, wings slashing and beating in frenzy. The elf toppled. As Sarai’s concentration wavered, the pressure around him lessened. He smashed away the rock and freed his other arm.

He saw Mazerak and his four guards galloping toward their fight. “Wren!”

The Phoenix whipped around and out of Sarai’s reach. Her diamond eyes widened—then narrowed. The voice in his mind dropped to a deadly whisper. Bannor, your cage—open it!

The other wagon had stopped fifty paces away. The minions surrounded it, ready to fight. “It’s too far away, I can’t throw!”

Forget distance! Focus!

Sarai’s renewed concentration gave him a burst of new energy as the rock tried again to smash Wren’s body.

Distance had nothing to do with it. Throw the Nola; his first lesson in controlling magic. Trial by fire. Live or die. He imagined a stone in his hand and dumped the Nola into it as he had before.

He threw.

A sphere of energy flew from his hand. Mazerak dove off his horse to evade the bolt. The other horses reared as the hissing globe of energy detonated against the top of the cage that held his body. He prayed to Odin he didn’t kill himself with the shock.

The flash whited out his sight. Minions and horses screamed.

Dots still spinning in his vision, Bannor heard Mazerak scream. Cloth and flesh tore. Lightning jagged down out of the sky and rasped into the ground nearby. Bannor felt the roar of thunder like fiery teeth against his skin.

The storm savant’s Nola. Mazerak cursed. Bannor smelled the stink of dying minions.

What happened to Wren? Sarai’s stone prison blocked most of his view. The bright flashes made a blur of what remained visible. He felt sure if the Lord had managed to kill Wren he would have sensed something. Why did she want him to open the cage? He hadn’t questioned, knowing that she never did anything without a reason.

He shunted some more power into the stone fist holding him fast. The material fragmented and reformed. Sarai only held him now, probably realizing she couldn’t kill Wren this way.

His vision cleared. Mazerak pawed at his face, obviously trying to wipe blood out of his eyes.

Bannor felt his nape hair stiffen. His body stood up in the blast ripped cage. Even across the distance, he made out a shimmering green light in the eyes of his wolfish face. The grinning expression looked wrong.

“Guards!” Mazerak yelled still rubbing at his eyes. The Lord looked in the direction of Bannor’s body. After a moment, he stiffened. “Don’t even try it, woodsman. I still have Sarai and Wren.”

Bannor’s stomach tightened. Mazerak didn’t yet understand.

“Mazerak.” The voice came from the lips of his body but it sounded different—hollow. The words echoed through the clearing. “I think not.” The bars of the cage enclosing his body wilted as if they’d become rods of dough, falling open like the petals of a flower. “Start praying, Duquesne.”

Bannor couldn’t see it, but he imagined the color leaving the Lord’s face, the man’s blocky jaw going slack.

Sarai staggered. The reddish tinge left her eyes.

Two of the surviving minions rushed toward Wren in Bannor’s body. She glared at them. As they charged, each moved progressively slower as if wading through thicker and thicker mud. The color of the black armor grayed toward white. The minions froze a step from the wagon—as statues of marble.

Sarai glanced around, obviously disoriented. The stone enfolding Wren’s body loosened. Bannor quickly slid out and caught the elf when she started to fall.

He saw Wren opening and closing his fingers. “Didn’t you know what you were dealing with Mazerak? Didn’t they tell you?”

She reached up and plucked a flower from the air.

Bannor felt dizzy, sensing the true potential of the Nola in his body. How much control did Wren really have? What if she lost it?

“No!” Mazerak shouted. He gestured. The heavens glared star-bright. Bolts twined down.

Wren held up a hand. The lightning bent in midcourse, felling trees, shattering wagons, and vaporizing the remaining minions.

Wren sniffed the bloom. “What a shame. You missed.”

“How?” Mazerak muttered. He glanced back and his eyes fixed on Bannor in Wren’s body with Sarai.

“Kill him,” Bannor growled. Wren’s feminine voice issuing from his lips was still startling.

“Yes, you put it rather poetically, didn’t you, Bannor? Reach down Duquesne’s throat and turn him inside out?” The green in his body’s eyes flashed. “That can be arranged.”

Mazerak’s head snapped around. He made a whimpering noise.

Wren stepped off the wagon. Her feet never touched the ground but levitated a hand width above it. She glanced down, then to Mazerak. She grinned. Snakes gave warmer smiles. She moved forward. The Lord backed away.

Bannor recognized the bloom in Wren’s hand. A star-petal, the type of flower a mourner laid on a grave.

“Wren,” Sarai said, her voice gravelly and dry. “How did I get here? What’s happened to Bannor?”

Without thought, he pulled her tight against him. “You’re all right.”

Sarai’s eyes widened. She didn’t like Wren. It felt wrong, too. Things in the wrong places, touching other things.

“Yes.” Sarai pushed him back. Her eyes went to his body.

Bannor’s heart beat faster as Wren closed with Mazerak.

“You know,” Wren said, her voice a boom. “I never realized I would enjoy gloating so much.”

“Please,” Mazerak’s heavy voice trembled.

“Save it, mercy is for those who are themselves merciful.” She sniffed. “You haven’t given quarter in your life.”

She’d backed Mazerak up to the point Bannor and Sarai could see the cadaverously pale features of the Lord streaked with scratch marks and blood. His dark eyes gleamed like those of a trapped animal.

Mazerak’s gaze tracked to Sarai. The elf stiffened.

“A-a-ah.” Wren gestured as though she were tearing the contents of something from a bag. A bluish glow poured from Mazerak’s body and collected around her hand.

Sarai relaxed and her eyes cleared.

The Storm savant howled. “M-m-my Nola!”

Wren tossed the blue essence on the ground and squashed it underfoot the way she might a leech. The spot fizzled and popped. “Has caused enough trouble.”

Bannor felt ill. So much potential. Too much. The fear Wren had expressed about his Nola reverberated through his mind. A savant who can destroy or enslave all the others, the Garmtur’Shak Nola.

Mazerak dropped to his knees. Bannor stepped to the mound of dirt Sarai used to grab him and picked up Wren’s sword. The metal felt cold and hard.

An icy revelation swept through him. While he didn’t like being in Wren’s body, it might not be mutual. The savant had now capped the danger of Bannor’s Nola. He remembered her saying that such power was addictive. The ability to make any desire a reality would be an incredible temptation.

She already showed warning signs.

Sarai went to Bannor’s body and hugged him. She didn’t realize she was embracing Wren. Wren hugged her back. She glanced at Bannor over the elf’s head and raised an eyebrow.

Wren faced Duquesne. She put the flower in the man’s lapel then backhanded him. Mazerak snarled and gritted his teeth.

“Do you still want to fight?” she growled.

The Lord subsided. Wren drew a glowing tracery in the air. Bannor knew it, the universal symbol for a traitor. The dandy’s eyes widened as Wren drew her hand back. She took her palm and shoved the glowing emblem against Mazerak’s forehead.

There was a sizzling sound. Mazerak yelled and staggered away clutching his face.

Bannor moved to follow but Wren grabbed his arm. It seemed so odd to look up at himself; so much like looking in some strange mirror.

“We don’t need his blood on our hands.” They watched the Lord stagger away, cursing and moaning. He soon disappeared into the foliage on the far side of the clearing. He never looked back. “Hecate’s followers take care of their own.”

Bannor shuddered, thinking of the image in the astral realm as it scooped up souls to be tortured in the Hecate’s scales for eternity. He closed his eyes.

“Are you all right, Sarai?” Wren asked from his body.

Bannor opened his eyes.

Sarai nodded. She blinked and looked up into the canopy of trees. Shafts of buttery light filtered through the shimmerleaf. Birds chirped and a stream gurgled in the distance. The smell of the minions, the tightness in his stomach—they were all gone.

Odd. So sudden.

Bannor watched Sarai raise her face to the light and sniff. Her body relaxed. Then he noticed it, too. It was something in the air. For the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel like something evil was breathing on their backs.

Sarai put her arms around his body’s neck and pulled. Wren returned the embrace.

To him watching, it felt as if he’d gone head first into an icy stream. The fear returned. His guts churned. He watched from afar as Sarai kissed who she thought was Bannor.

Wren didn’t try to stop her.

She has Sarai. It burned.

Thoughts careened through his mind. Now, Wren had the responsibility. The avatars would chase her, not him. With the Garmtur, nothing could stop Wren. Her body had stopped fighting him since she went into his. All of them were safe.

He’d never have Sarai; not like this. It felt like a knife in his chest. He swallowed. How in Odin’s name do I get her out of there?

Sarai pulled back after an agonizingly long embrace. “Bannor?” The question hung in the air.

He wondered what his companion had sensed. Wren had done far too good a job of acting passionate.

I wonder if she kisses better than me? He crushed the thought hard. This is serious.

Despite himself, he giggled. The laugh hurt. Needles of pain jabbed at his stomach. Trapped in a woman’s body, while a woman kissed his mate.

Something is wrong. A wave of dizziness washed over him. He giggled again.

Sarai looked at him then back to Wren. Her lavender eyes flashed. Could she possibly have any clue what had occurred?

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

His voice sounded strong-confident. Her gaze flicked to Bannor. “Nothing I can’t fix.”

Soul or spirit magicks are by far the most powerful incantations that can be invoked by a mortal or immortal. Learning them starts with ‘know thyself’. Mastering them ends with ‘hate what you’ve become’.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Twenty-Four

« ^ »

Leaves crackled underfoot. Boughs squeaked overhead. The morning shadows grew thinner, much like Bannor’s patience. The longer Wren kept his form, the better her control became and the less chance he had of forcing her to leave his body. The vision of her ripping away Mazerak’s power made him shudder. If Wren resisted his efforts to unseat her, he couldn’t guess how she’d react.

A warm easterly breeze picked up, making the light flicker and dance as it filtered through the shimmerleaf trees. Bannor smelled the dewy redolence as flowers opened to greet the sun. It was such an illusion. The battle Mazerak started hadn’t yet ended.

He paced beside Wren. She’d barely said anything except to direct them back toward the river. The savant moved clumsily, much the way he had when first taking over her body. Now, having shed the heavy armor, Sarai glanced nervously between the two of them.

Wren looked at him. The wolfish countenance he only knew from a mirror, was set in a frown. “You know, you walk funny. Nothing smells right.” She rubbed her chest.

Bannor felt that alien urge to giggle again. It made his stomach hurt. A vein throbbed in his temple. “You know you can come out of there any time now.”

“Is that any way to act? I saved your life.” The deep voice dropped to a growl.

“My One,” Sarai said. “What is wrong? You’ve been acting so odd.”

Wren turned to Sarai. “Little Star, what could be wrong? Mazerak’s gone. You’re safe. We can go home now.” Wren said it exactly the way he would have. Her face—his—stayed straight for a few instants. She chuckled. “Bannor, you’re so melodramatic.”

Sarai’s eyes widened. She stepped back. “Bannor?”

Wren shook her head and pointed at him. “There’s your One. Like the new look? Handsome rogue, what a smooth-cheeked, longhaired son-of-a-king he is. Never had to shave a day in his life.” She cocked her head. “Bit on the disheveled side though.” She snapped her fingers.

Bannor felt a tingle and looked down at himself; clean.

Wren made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Absolutely adorable now. Ready for romance.”

She laughed then stopped, wincing and putting a finger to her temple.

Sarai’s features darkened. “This isn’t funny.”

“Funny?” Her voice, his, rose. “Didn’t you see what I did? You don’t think that’s funny?” Her eyes widened and the pupils seemed to shrink. “Ripped Mazerak’s Nola out by the roots. Just felt like it. So I did. Bent lightning in the sky. Felt like it. So I did.” She took Sarai by the shoulders. “Turned those minions to stone. Just bloody felt like it.” Her voice wavered. “Don’t you think that’s positively hilarious?”

Sarai’s lavender eyes went pale. She twitched. Her throat tightened. She snorted. Her lips puffed out as if she was trying to hold something in. Her eyes watered. Then she dropped to her knees laughing.

His heart, Wren’s, pounded. Sarai’s laugh was the most frightening sound he’d ever heard.

“Thought so,” Wren muttered. She turned. Her eyes—his—focused on him. He could almost feel her gaze drilling into his forehead.

Bannor swallowed. Sarai’s laughter made it hard to think. His chest seized and he fought an urge to chuckle. “Stop it, Wren. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Don’t I?” She clapped her hands.

In the distance, hooves pounded. In a moment, three of the black stallions ridden by the minions thundered up and reared. Their eyes rolled, manes and tails whipped. They whinnied as though frightened.

Wren made a slashing gesture. The horses subsided instantly. Sarai stopped, too.

The whole forest had gone silent.

Bannor felt clutched in a giant frozen hand.

Wren stared at him. “You can’t see what I see.” She held out her hand. “The whirling bindings of matter and energy and the road map laid out that links them. A little deeper and I can see the very underpinnings—the pillars that support time and space. All I have to do is reach out—” She made as if to grab something.

Bannor snatched her arm. “Stop it!” His voice squeaked. His fingers barely closed halfway round his body’s wrist. He craned his neck to match gazes. Bannor never realized what an imposing figure he cut.

Wren focused again. She winced and put a hand to her temple. “Rules—so many rules.”

She seemed to be babbling. “What rules?”

“Cards all precariously balanced. To shift one you must move another to alter the scheme or it comes tumbling down.” She made fluttering gestures with her fingers toward the ground. “All comes tumbling down. No more games. No more fun in the sun. Nobody laughs or cries. It’s over.” She gazed upward. “You hear? Over!”

Sarai moaned. The horses whickered and snorted.

It felt as if a needle lanced into his temple. Bannor shuddered and grabbed the side of his head. “Wren, savants must not be meant to trade bodies like this.”

“Put the card game back in your hands?” She shuddered and gripped both sides of her head. “You don’t even know how to shuffle!” She fought to speak through clenched teeth. “You’re blind, woodsman. Your power isn’t an axe, it’s a window.” She howled and dropped to her knees. “Need more time.” Wren thrashed.

The throbbing in his head became a crescendo. A horrible gnawing as if something were trying to chew its way out of his mind.

Suddenly, Wren went very still. “Bannor, I can see myself.”

It felt as if a brick hit him between the eyes.

The sun went dark.

Multidimensional translocation? I’d like to pop the pimple head of the mage that named it that. Actually, there isn’t a good name for ripping a hole in the universe and hoping all the ether doesn’t leak out…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Twenty-Five

« ^ »

The rumble of breakers thundering against rocks roused Bannor. Night birds cried and the wind moaned through crevices nearby. He smelled salt and decaying kelp. A nauseous churning roiled in his stomach, and an ache dinged in his temples.

He sat up as cold sea-spray wafted over him. Clouds tumbled across the face of a blue-white moon in the darkening azure sky. The last quarter of the setting sun shone orange and red reflections on an ocean of gleaming black water. Rubbing his stiff neck he looked down a beach that glistened like crushed sapphire. Ebony water lashed the shore. Stars shone in the underside of the waves.

What in Odin’s name? I’m back in Wren’s dream again.

It made no sense.

He recalled the last moments of consciousness. Wren’s words had been a stream of confused concepts. The savant had perceived depths of his Nola that he’d never guessed at. What she saw drove her to the brink of insanity.

The power she described was mind-numbingly immense. I can see the very underpinnings—the pillars that support time and space. All I have to do is reach out… He shuddered. How close had they come to total annihilation?

He stood. The sapphire-like material crunched underfoot. His mouth tasted dry. He twisted his neck again to get the crick out. The headache diminished some but persisted as an irritating needling in the back of his skull. Something about the dream; it seemed more tangible than the previous times. He glanced up. The moonlight glinted on a shear cliff studded with outcrops.

It was the same precipice where Wren pushed him off when he’d become trapped in her mind.

Who’s dreaming this time? How do I get out? Scare myself out like before?

Studying the rock face, Bannor saw a way to negotiate the climb. He doubted he could bring himself to leap off the cliff. The texture of the landscape, the rumble of the waves, the salt spray; this seemed too real to be a dream.

If it’s not a dream, what is it? How did I get back in my body?

Water sloshed around his boots as he walked down to the waves. Bannor noticed that the sapphire material grew darker the farther toward the surf he looked, totally black at the point where the water looked a few hands deep. He scooped up a handful of the liquid, noticing it looked translucent when not overlaid on the black crystals. He sniffed. Salty, like the ocean water he knew. A touch of his tongue gave an unfamiliar taste, alkaline but weaker with hints of minerals.

He splashed several handfuls on his face and chest, feeling it trickle down the front his tunic and into his breeches. Bumps rose on his flesh.

Bannor frowned. It all felt wrong. Something beyond not knowing where he stood, an aspect of this place itself.

He walked back toward the rocks and paralleled the cliff. A strange sound made him tense. He oriented and moved toward a muffled murmuring that came from a cluster of boulders twenty paces away.

Bannor rounded the outcrop and froze. His heart jumped. “Wren? Sarai?” His voice sounded loud.

Almost lost in the shadow of the rocks Wren lay in the sapphire-colored sand clutching herself and twitching. A quiet whimpering escaped the woman’s lips. By her, Sarai sat up, face flushed and silvery hair disheveled.

She blinked at him with lavender eyes. “My One, I feel weak, I cannot feel the stone.” Running a hand through her hair, Sarai looked around. She swallowed. “What is this place?”

He knelt and reached out for a hug.

She moved back, eyes narrowed. “You are Bannor?”

He nodded. “It’s me.” He looked down and rubbed his chest, thankful there weren’t any breasts there. “I’m not sure how we switched back.”

Sarai ringed him with her arms. He squeezed his beloved tight, relishing her warmth, feeling the beat of her heart against his chest. They broke apart and Sarai’s gaze went to Wren. She paled.

She touched the savant’s arm. The woman jerked and made a frightened mewling sound.

Bannor’s stomach twisted. Something was horribly wrong.

After a period of trying to rouse Wren, Sarai shook her head. “She’s totally withdrawn. What she must have seen at the end…” Her voice trailed off.

He remembered the savant’s words. They’d sounded so full of pain and wonder. Bannor, I can see myself. Likely she meant far more than her physical self, something staggering.

With Wren in this state, this probably wasn’t her dream. The absence of Wren’s boyfriend Grahm supported the idea. Sarai never saw this scene, so it couldn’t be her. Was it in his head? Even though it was plausible, it didn’t make sense. He remembered the sun going dark.

Could it be that they’d actually been transported to some far off piece of reality, a place so distant that Sarai could no longer touch her elemental powers. Wren yelled something about time and that she saw herself.

That brick between the eyes sensation. The queasy stomach. The ache in his skull. They felt similar to the sensations he had when Wren used the scroll to transport them to Hydra rock.

“Odin’s breath,” he murmured. It felt as if his bones had turned to clay. “Oh no.”

“My One?”

“This place,” he gestured to the sky. “It’s Wren’s dream. She wanted time to make sense of what she was seeing. She saw herself. The Nola fulfilled her last desires even as she was losing her grip on it.” He paused. “It either transported us here or created this place.” Bannor tightened a fist. His knuckles cracked. He recalled the dirge-like tone of his voice blurting at the heavens. All comes tumbling down. “This may be all that’s left.”

Wren’s whimpers grew then diminished.

Sarai glanced at the savant, then to Bannor. “What? Don’t be silly.”

He steeled himself, looking out at the water and the reflections on the black sea. “Wren implied that reality as we know it, is more precariously balanced than we’d like to think. One little push—”

“Wren was crazy!” Sarai’s voice went shrill. Bannor saw in her eyes that she believed more than her tone suggested. “She shouldn’t have been tampering with your Nola. Overweening little thief finally grabbed hold of something she couldn’t handle.” Sarai paused. “Served her right after what she did.”

He picked up a handful of sapphire dust and let it trickle through his fingers. “She saved our lives.”

“So?” Sarai glared at him. “She didn’t have to do—” She stopped herself. “That.”

“What? Kiss you? I like kissing you.”

Sarai scowled. “You know that’s not what I meant. Besides, she said those other things. She planned to leave you stuck in her body!”

He shrugged. “Wasn’t meant to be. I understand why a neophyte in command of the Garmtur scared her. I won’t hold it against Wren. Being petty doesn’t get us out of here.”

“Petty!?” She rocked back on her knees, fists on hips. “I’m not being petty. I never liked being herded across the countryside with that harridan snapping at our heels. You didn’t like it either.”

Wren kicked and writhed and Bannor glanced over. The woman went still.

“No, I didn’t.” He kept his voice calm, being separated from her elemental powers. The traumatic experiences with Mazerak and Wren had rightfully put his mate on edge. All he could do was weather the storm. “Wren was helping us the best way she knew how.”

Sarai pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and folded her arms. “I think you actually like her.”

Oh, Odin. Why did she have to want to fight now? They didn’t even know where they were. He kept a rein on his voice. “I admire Wren’s tenacity. She’s very capable.”

She snorted. “I’m certain. She and that tower of a henchwoman. Hmmph. Where were the ogress and her husband when we needed them? I’m killing minions and kissing Mazerak’s boot—” She shivered. “Where are Wren and Irodee? In a cage and asleep. Tremendous help!”

“I’ve never seen you like this.” Bannor shook his head. “Do you get like this often?”

Sarai stared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sucked back the word ‘whine’. “Never mind.”

She rose and looked out at the horizon. She seemed to master herself. Her voice dropped. “I am not being petty,” she repeated. “I’ve been through a lot. She hasn’t helped.” Sarai kicked some sand on Wren’s legs. The savant twitched.

He frowned at the gesture, but let it pass.

“I’m sorry.” Bannor went to Sarai and hugged her from behind. “It’s my fault. If I didn’t have the power, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Sarai leaned her head back against his chest. “I shouldn’t yell at you. I saw what Wren did. It must be frightening to imagine that thinking the wrong thing could cause so much destruction.”

His stomach tightened. To get them out of here he might need to risk using the power again. He was like a child playing with fire. He wouldn’t quickly face that prospect.

“Very frightening. I never wanted to hurt anybody who didn’t hurt me first. It makes me knot-up inside whenever I think of things going crazy. Each Nola has a life of its own. I felt it inside of Wren. Hers is more developed—mature—under control. I can’t sense mine, as if it’s hiding and doesn’t want me to know it’s there.”

Sarai turned and looked in his eyes. “Why do you think?”

He sighed. “I don’t think it wants to be controlled.”

Her eyes widened. “But the danger..?”

Bannor swallowed. “Children think they’ll live forever and don’t fathom the consequences of their actions.” He dipped his forehead to touch hers. “Wren went inside me and forced the Garmtur into line. My Nola probably got mad and kicked her out, like her Kel’Varan tried to do to me. I think like a spiteful little child—it punished her.”

They looked at Wren lying in the sand curled in a ball.

Bannor stared at the moon in the cloud-streaked sky. His voice wavered. “Unless that child grows up. We may be here a very long time.”

Splinter realms, closed universes, alternate realities, parallel time sequences

they’re all a big joke played on us by Alpha and Gaea.

The more we learn about them and the rules that govern their existence, the more exceptions to those rules we discover. They stand as an unending challenge to the know-it-alls of the universe…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Twenty-Six

« ^ »

Bannor walked down the glistening beach carrying the surprisingly heavy savant in his arms. Though smaller than Sarai, Wren weighed at least a stone more. She’d writhed and moaned at first, but now appeared calm.

They’d been in this new world for a bell now. All their efforts to revive Wren failed. They saw no other choice but to bring Wren along and hope they could find a way to heal her. Without her knowledge, they would probably never be able to leave this place safely. Unable to help Wren, they’d turned their attention to finding a way up the cliff where they could see the edge of inland forest. Where trees lived, there would be shelter, warmth, and food. All of them were necessities if they planned to sit a long vigil over the stricken savant.

The sea breeze picked up, the wind brisk and damp. Here on a flatter section of the beach tiny birds darted back and forth near the surf, chasing and being chased by the ebb and surge of the water.

Sarai had taken off her boots and walked barefoot in the glistening sand. She swung Wren’s knapsack as if dancing with it. The waning orange light reflected on her pale skin and silvery hair. Bannor never remembered her looking more exquisite.

“You know, we’ve never walked together on a beach before,” she said in a quiet, speculative voice.

Bannor wished he didn’t have to carry Wren. “Never had a chance,” he said. “The ocean is so far from the mountains that I’ve only been on a beach a few times in my life.” He scanned the shadowy cliff looking for a way up. So far, nothing had looked promising. He turned his attention back to Sarai. “When was your last time?”

“Ten or fifteen summers at least. The coast is five hundred leagues from Malan’s nearest border. I’ve taken the three-day journey across the Iodite Sea many times, but that’s only a big lake. It’s not like the Moonshae Ocean.” She sighed, her attention focused on the breakers. “I see why the water looks black. What do you think makes the stars?”

He shook his head. “Maybe there are some glowing gems among the black. Perhaps the light doesn’t bend in this water like it does at home.”

She nodded. “I can only imagine the wonders out there. I love the open sea. It’s totally free. Father forbade me to travel on the ocean because he hated it so. His sister drowned in the Moonshaes during a storm.”

Bannor jogged Wren to renew his hold. Carrying the woman like this was difficult. They’d found nothing to make a sled from, and he couldn’t get the savant straightened out to carry her over his shoulder.

After he finished adjusting Wren, Bannor fixed Sarai with steady gaze. “Your Father was completely against it, and you went anyway?”

She nodded. “I’ve been on the big Nomar ships running before the storm around the straits of Canth. I’ve talked with sea dragons and walked on the shores of dark Silissia. Some of the grandest times of my life.”

He felt tightness in his throat. Wren suddenly seemed heavier in his arms. “I’m only another one of your defiances, aren’t I? Sarai proving to her parents that she won’t be dictated to.”

She stopped and put her fists on her hips. “Even if you are, Bannor. You are still my One. I love you. I must or I wouldn’t have stayed with you this long.”

“It has nothing to do with this forced marriage to Duke Myrgul?”

“Bannor, what has gotten into you? Lately, whenever we have a free moment, you’re poking at our relationship. Isn’t what we have good enough for you?”

“What we have is excellent,” Bannor replied. He lowered his voice. “It’s how long we’ll have it, that concerns me. I don’t like thinking that I might only be some whim of yours.”

Sarai let out a breath and tossed Wren’s pack up on the sand. “Put her down. I don’t like looking at you through that tangle of arms and legs.” She sniffed. “You probably should just toss her in the water. All she’s good for now is an anchor.”

He shook his head. “It surprises me how I’ve never noticed the mean streak in you.” He moved up the shore and set Wren down in a dry patch of sand.

“If you’d stop thinking of me as a human you might see more things.” The glow in her eyes brightened. She stepped close, held up a hand and wiggled her fingers in his face. “Just because I have four fingers and a thumb doesn’t mean I think the same, act like you, or even feel things as you do. I am an Elf. I have many streaks. I have to because of the millenniums of life ahead of me. We’ve only been together for a few turns of the seasons.”

She poked him in the stomach. “You haven’t begun to see all my facets. I’m almost five centuries old! It’s silly to think I’m hiding things from you. If I’d talked non-stop from the day we met you’d still know little of me.”

Bannor felt heat in his cheeks. She sounded like a mother lecturing a child. He started to interrupt, but Sarai poked him in the stomach again.

“I’m not finished. See something in me you don’t like? Live with it. All relationships are like that. Love is about understanding. Not some impossible perfection between two people. If, before this, you never saw things in me you didn’t like, then you hadn’t looked. I’ve seen things in you. It didn’t matter to me because love makes it trivial. What you should ask yourself is not ‘how long will it last’, but ‘how good can we make our time together.’ The simple truth is, the better it is then the longer it goes.”

He felt tiny. Sarai could do that to him; turn his indignation into guilt. She’d also evaded his point with an attack of her own. She always managed to turn his statements against him.

A movement drew his attention out to sea. He saw a procession of pouch-bills skimming across the swells. Graceful, effortless—in their environment. Like the birds, with language, Sarai was in her element. She glided over the top of words while he gamely tried to keep up.

What do you expect? She’s the daughter of a king.

He refused to be diverted this time. “So am I?”

“Are you what?”

“A whim!”

Sarai snorted. “If you are, you’re the most persistent whim I ever met. I don’t invest this much emotion on a passing fancy. Believe it. Let this be the last time we discuss it!” She scooped up a handful of water and splashed him with it. “If you ask again, I’ll dunk you in the nearest water I can find.”

They stared at one another while the waves crashed on the shore. He couldn’t help it. He believed that she truly loved him. Muscles he hadn’t realized were tight, loosened. He felt a smile spread across his face. “So, you’d dunk me?” Bannor took a step forward.

“Yes, I will.” She backed away smiling and flicked some more spray his direction. “Give it the soaking it deserves!”

He closed in on her. “Soak my head, eh?”

“Douse it good!” She laughed and dodged as he lunged for her. She sprinted along the edge of the surf with him in pursuit. He chased Sarai on a weaving course and tackled her into the shallows.

They wrestled while star-dotted waves rolled into them. For Bannor, the laughter, the cold spray and immersion were like a balm, washing away the anxiety and sense of being trapped. For the moment, they could be themselves, unguarded and free without threat of enemies.

They dragged themselves out of the surf sometime later, breathing hard and smiling, and collapsed in the sand by one another. For a while, they were both quiet, studying the orb of the moon.

He glanced toward Wren. The savant hadn’t moved.

“What do we do?” he asked. “Can’t stay here forever—can we?”

She took a long time to answer. “What if we tried and found out you’re right and this is all that’s left?”

“I’d say we were in trouble.” He tried to laugh it away, but a queasy sensation filtered through him. The prospect when seriously considered made him want to curl up in a ball like Wren. How could he possibly fix the damage? He knew almost nothing. Wren was the trained one and she lay on the beach in a heap, her mind turned inward away from the universe.

Even if they’d only been transported to this place, they didn’t know where ‘here’ was. Would the avatars be able to find them? There seemed to be an abundance of animals, but no people. They couldn’t spend the rest of their lives in place bereft of all civilization.

Sarai sighed and rose. “I suppose we have to find a way to wake up Wren. She knows what she did.”

“How?”

Her eyes turned flinty. “She’s needed her head soaked for quite a while. It’s time it got done.”

“Huh?”

Sarai stalked down the beach toward the curled up savant.

Bannor chased after her. “What do you mean?”

She didn’t answer. Without ceremony, she grabbed one of Wren’s legs and dragged her toward the water. The savant writhed and made whining sounds.

He placed himself in front of Sarai. His heart rushed at the determined look on his mate’s face. “You can’t do that! She’ll drown!”

Sarai stared at him, eyes hard. “You have a better idea?”

“No.”

“Then get out of the way.”

“But—”

“Bannor, trust me! Much as I’d like to, I won’t kill the little trollop. Okay? Move.” She shoved against his stomach.

He didn’t budge. “The water?”

“Bannor, yes, the water—it’s cold and it’s wet.”

Wren made louder sounds and twisted in Sarai’s grip.

Sarai stomped on his toe.

“Ow!”

“Either help or move,” she growled. “We need her knowledge of your Nola. I don’t feel like waiting for her to slip into a death sleep or something.”

“I don’t like this,” Bannor mumbled. He moved and assisted in carrying Wren into the surf.

The savant kicked more vigorously as Sarai splashed water on her cheeks, throat, and chest. Wren’s heart-shaped face wore a grimace, and her eyes were clenched tightly shut. The woman’s skin looked waxy as if all the life in her flesh had been knotted up along with her psyche.

“Come on,” Sarai said, holding Wren’s head above the surface of the water. “You can’t get us into this and then go hide. Get out of there.”

“How do you know she even can?”

“Remember me telling you about elves who go kerakah over the loss of a human lover?”

He nodded.

“It is much like this. The shuddering and child-like sounds. It is a mind turned inward away from pain or fear. Many times they can be brought out with another shock or by getting them angry.” She took a big handful and dumped it across the bridge of Wren’s nose.

The savant cringed. She clawed the air trying to push them away.

“She’s certainly aware of the irritation.”

“Only superficially,” Sarai said. “Like a baby kicking in its mother’s belly in response to a loud noise.”

He held on as Wren thrashed. She still showed no signs of regaining consciousness. “What now?”

“Give it a little bit. Straighten out her legs.”

Bannor did as asked. They both tried for a while and finally gave up. Even together they simply couldn’t outmatch the limber strength in the savant’s legs. She wouldn’t uncurl.

Sarai smacked the water. “So that’s the way she wants to be. I have a solution for that.”

“What are you going to do?”

She took the Wren by the shoulders and shoved her head under.

“No!” Bannor grabbed Sarai’s wrists, but her arms were slick with moisture.

“Let go.” Sarai shouldered him away and straddled Wren. Bubbles frothed to the surface. “This is the only way!”

Wren started flailing and splashing.

Bannor tried to pull Sarai off again, but his mate had a death grip on the savant. “You’re killing her!”

“If she wants to live, she’ll fight.” She bucked up and down as the savant struggled harder.

“Sarai, she can’t breathe!” His heart pounded as Wren groped.

“When she wants me off, she’ll get me off!”

Bannor wavered in agony. He wanted to trust Sarai, but it looked as if Wren was dying. The savant couldn’t last much longer. If she were going to fight back, it would have to be in moments.

He poised himself, ready to drag the both of them ashore.

Sarai jerked Wren to the surface and shook her. The savant gagged and coughed. “Loser—peasant—curl up and let the avatars win. Give up, be the nothing you are! Die like a simpering weakling.” She shoved Wren back under.

The level of the struggling didn’t change. Right when he feared Wren would suffocate, Sarai would drag her to the surface and curse the savant with a vehemence that would make the most foul-mouthed sailor cringe.

After the fifth dunking, Bannor’s stomach felt like an icy lump. If Wren were going to fight back, it seemed she would have done so by now.

“It’s not going to work, Sarai.” He took her wrist. “Wren’s will must be gone. My Nola must have done something horrible to her mind. Let her up.”

“Bannor, without her we’ll be trapped here!” The water started boiling as Wren started thrashing harder.

“Sarai.”

“Damn you!” She slammed Wren against the bottom. “Play-with-fire-and-burn-us-all!”

“Enough!” He grabbed hold of Sarai with both hands.

A blue light shone in the water. Sarai yelped. A flare of brilliance hammered into Bannor, sending him toppling. Air whistled. Images flickered through his vision. The moon, the waves, the sand, the moon. He crashed hard on his back in shallow water. It felt as if a fist had driven into his ribs.

He gasped and spasms wracked his chest. He couldn’t breathe. A ringing droned in his ears.

He heard a female yell and coughing. Energy crackled. Someone staggered rapidly through the shallows. More coughing.

Bannor couldn’t move. He concentrated solely on getting another breath. A wave poured over him, tumbling him further onto shore.

Sarai shrieked. “Bannor!”

A sizzling sound.

Everything went quiet, except for the rumble of the waves.

What is reality? Why can we bend and change something that should be immutable?

I don’t know. I’m just glad we can, otherwise there’d be no fun in life at all…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

« ^ »

Bannor struggled to rise. He had to find out why Sarai screamed. The yell had been cut short. A sound like the buzz of insects all but drowned out the rumble of the waves. An ache throbbed in his bones. He could only make out blurs and black water as the breakers spilled cold and foamy around him. The burst had flipped him at least twice before he slammed into the shallows.

He managed to get to hands and knees in the gritty sand. “Sarai!?” he yelled.

No answer. His chest tightened. He saw only the outlines of the crests rolling into the shore and the cliff side. He saw neither Wren’s floating body nor Sarai.

What happened?

He remembered the flash. It was the same color as Wren’s Nola. Such force. Focused, it would have killed. Had Wren awakened? Where was she? What happened to Sarai?

Bannor struggled to his knees. He wiped his eyes. The scenery moved and shifted. After an instant, he realized it was him doing the wavering.

Never been hit so hard.

He called again. Still no answer. He surged to his feet and floundered a dozen paces toward where they’d been dunking Wren. He collapsed in knee-deep water, sputtering as the salty liquid invaded his mouth.

“Sarai!”

Was it the wrong way? Wren wasn’t here. There was nothing visible on the shore. He shook his head. Clarity was returning, but slowly.

The hammering of his heart only worsened the buzz in his head. Bannor heaved himself to his feet and plowed into the breakers. Could Sarai been knocked into the trough behind the waves and pulled out to sea?

A swell hit him in the chest knocking him off balance. Panic shot through him as the turbulence banged him against the bottom. He clawed for the surface and emerged gasping. The world spun.

“Sarai!”

If she’d become trapped underwater, she might only have moments of air left. He heaved himself to his feet.

“I wish my damned vision would clear!”

A tingle rushed through him. The star-dotted seascape snapped into focus. He felt a jolt, realizing what he’d done. He shoved all thoughts away save finding his mate. To his left, in the trough of a wave, the water boiled.

Water splashed as he raked his way through the swell. A breaker crested over him and slammed down. He dove toward the turmoil.

Lost in an ocean of blackness, he could only grope for the source of the disturbance. He slashed the area in front of him with his arms hoping to make contact—find something.

The buzz in his head became a thunder. His chest felt crushed in a giant’s grip.

You have to be here!

His hands found only more emptiness. The current heaved, flipping him in the darkness, scrubbing him against the sandy bottom. The surface. Where was the surface!?

He lunged, trying to orient as the water tumbled around him. No air. Which way is up?

Something hard hit his ribs. Pain shot through his chest, forcing him to cough out vital air. He snatched at the object. It tried to jerk free in the chaos but he gripped hard. His feet touched the bottom.

The surface.

Bannor pushed off with all his strength. His head broke the surface and he drew in a breath of burning salt air. He pulled the squirming object with him.

It was a leg, still kicking viciously.

He heaved.

Two bodies, locked together, broke the surface. Wren and Sarai, at each other’s throats. They both gasped for breath, hissing and struggling.

“Odin’s breath! Stop it!” he ordered. They ignored him or were too locked in their conflict to respond.

Another wave plowed over him, pushing the three of them toward shore. He found footing, grabbed each woman by the leg and started towing.

In the shallows, he pulled them apart and shoved in opposite directions. “Enough!”

Wren fell hard on her haunches, chest heaving. The savant’s blue eyes were wild and her teeth were bared in a snarl. Scratches marred her face, neck and chest. Sarai landed on hands and knees, teeth gritted and eyes blazing. She took air in gulps. A fist-sized bruise discolored one cheek, and her left eye was red and swollen. An angry-red imprint of Wren’s fingers ringed her neck

When Sarai started to move, he pointed a finger. “Stay still, damn it. Either of you moves toward the other, it’s going to be a three way fight.” He snorted to get the water out of his nose. “Scared the ghost out of me. I thought you were both dead.”

“Thief tried to kill me!” Sarai gasped.

Wren sputtered. “Tried-drown me!”

She made to stand and Bannor shoved her back down.

“Just sit there and calm down. Sarai wasn’t trying to kill you, only wake you up.”

“Fine way to wake me,” she wheezed. “By bashing my head on the sand in pace deep water!”

“She tried to strangle me!” Sarai spit and wiped her face.

“Not that you two liked each other much anyway.”

“I—” Wren stopped. She seemed to notice for the first time the alien surroundings. “Where in Ishtar’s name are we? Can’t be my dream.”

“You tell us,” Sarai snapped. “Your trying to steal Bannor’s Nola got us stuck here!” She convulsed and broke into a fit of coughing.

“What?”

“You’re jesting, right?” Bannor asked. “You remember being in my body?”

“Your body?” Wren grimaced. “I don’t remember getting back in my body.”

“She’s lying,” Sarai muttered. “She must be.”

“I don’t think she is. Come.” He held out a hand to both of them.

Wren rose first. The savant walked with a pronounced limp and held her ribs. She leaned on him, looking ready to fall without his support. Sarai looked equally battered. Her cheek darkened as he watched, stark against pale elven skin.

Not much steadier than the women, he helped them trudge ashore to the shelter of some boulders.

The three of them huddled in silence watching the last sliver of the sun vanish on the horizon.

Bannor rubbed his hands together wishing for a blanket or a change of clothes. He’d left their supplies on the barge. All that remained were his skinning knife, Sarai and Wren’s weapons and the contents of the savant’s knapsack. Sarai’s bow, a vital hunting tool, had been lost in the marsh when Mazerak took control of her.

“We have to get on that cliff to some wood or we’re going to freeze,” Bannor said.

Wren shook her head. “Climb that in the dark? You’ll kill yourself. Hurts. Right now, I can’t make it either.”

“Useless,” Sarai grumbled.

Bannor glanced at his mate with her swollen eye and bruised cheek. She must be in pain. These last hours had brought out shades of Sarai he never imagined existed. He hoped he wouldn’t see them again for a long time.

“If we don’t keep you two warm, those wounds will stiffen up. We haven’t seen a single stick of driftwood.”

Wincing, Wren massaged her side and legs. Bannor judged from her grimaces of pain that Sarai must have really pounded her ribs and thighs with kicks. Wren studied the steep rise of jagged rock for a moment then shook her head. The cold already appeared to be gnawing at the woman through the wet leather.

Bannor felt the chill too. The fear rush was ebbing and leaving him with that drained, vulnerable feeling.

“You don’t remember killing all those minions and finishing Mazerak?” he asked Wren.

She stared at him. “I remember next to nothing. Sarai beat the Hades out of me because I couldn’t make my Nola work right. I feel lucky to know my own name.”

“Trauma,” Sarai muttered, hugging herself. “Your Nola, switching bodies, the water… People lose memory from less.”

Wren put her face in her hands. “It’s hazy—I recall escaping from the cage. It’s muddled after that.”

“You did some incredible things with my Nola.”

“Like what?”

“You ripped out Mazerak’s power for one thing.” Simply remembering the scene of the dandy’s power being torn out and being stepped on made Bannor shiver.

“I did?” Wren looked amazed.

“You also let him go,” Sarai growled. “Should have killed him. He’ll be back to haunt us.”

“Doubt it. The avatars will want him killed for failing. He’ll be too busy running to bother us.”

Bannor rose. If he didn’t move now, the wintry air would soon make it impossible. “I’m heading down this beach until I find a way up. You two want to sit here in the cold or come along?”

Sarai and Wren looked at one another for a short span then stood with a chorus of grunts and moans. They left the rocks together and he went to pick up Wren’s knapsack.

The rumble of the waves had grown. The wind now a steady hum in his ears. His skin felt like ice. The next few bells would be some of the most tense since he, Sarai, and Wren met. Everything was going wrong.

Not everything, he thought, only the important things.

He loosened the pack straps and shouldered it. Best not to burden the limping savant. Bannor set out, Wren and Sarai falling into step beside him, one on either side.

“How’s the eye?” he asked Sarai after a while.

Sarai spoke in tight voice. “Feels like a demon chewing on my face. You plan to do something about it?”

“What do you want me to do? Punch Wren? Looks like you did enough damage.”

“Plenty enough,” Wren chimed in.

Sarai glared at him with her good eye. For a moment, it looked as though she’d say something, but she seemed to think better of it.

Bannor glanced at Wren who stumbled along with difficulty. “You know you could have let go when you heard your ribs starting to crack.”

Wren snorted. “I could have laid there while she drowned me too. Sarai didn’t seem friendly at the time.”

“Since you two have fought, I hope the feud is over.”

Both women stared at him.

So much for hopes.

They walked down the beach, occasionally sighting a notch in the cliff that might give them access to the summit. None tempted their weary bodies. Further on, it looked as if the headland dropped to meet the beach.

The wind moaned in the rocks. The clouds in the night sky grew larger and more forbidding, blocking out the moonlight. Bannor felt a prickling sensation as if something were watching them. Something here? Couldn’t be. This fast? He’d been on the run too long.

He glanced out to sea. It didn’t appear they would be able to reach shelter before the storm reached shore.

“Wren?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Think I should try and use my Nola? Maybe I could get us back to Titaan.”

“You could also get us more lost than now.” She ran a hand through her bedraggled hair. “I’m starting to remember part of what happened. If I used your power like you said, then there’s obviously some technique I recognized.”

“You said that my power was a window, not an axe.”

“Whatever that means,” Sarai mumbled.

“It must be a seeing ability like the Kel’Varan.”

“I can’t see anything special. Nothing like what I saw when I used your power.”

“You just don’t know what you’re looking at. When I use the Kel’Varan, it’s simply being aware of the hidden patterns my Nola puts in my vision. Over the summers I’ve learned to be able to discern them instantly.”

“How can I recognize a pattern?”

Wren shrugged. “It must be something obvious for me to pick it up that fast. Once you see it, then everything else falls into place. The operation of your power becomes apparent.” The savant groaned. “I can’t believe I’m coaching you. It’s freezing and it’ll be raining soon. Could there be a worse time to discuss this?”

“I can think of several,” Sarai murmured. She leaned against Bannor.

“The tracery,” he said. I can see myself. Could it be that simple? “Wren, when you astral travel, do you look into yourself, see your own pattern?”

Her words were slow and measured. “In a way.” She paused. “It’s not seeing, but touching. When you touch your true self. It’s like turning a sock inside out. What normally faces in is facing out.”

He turned to Sarai. She seemed to be considering that.

The patterns. It always came back to the pattern. In the beginning, he’d been good with the weaves. He’d known Sarai’s, Wren’s, and when he looked deep—his own. Bannor, I can see myself. That’s when his Nola had forced her out.

“Wren, what if you could see the true pattern of anything?”

“What if I could see it?” Wren’s expression darkened. “It could unravel the primal essence of anything. If you know the lock, making a key is simple. When you apply a key, that object is completely malleable. That’s what magic is based on. Unlocking the bindings of matter and manipulating them.”

Sarai narrowed her good eye. “That sounds complex. If Bannor’s power works the indirect way he’s thinking, how could he possibly know how to do anything?”

She asked the very question that occurred to him.

Wren sighed. “That’s what being a savant is about. For me, I know matter and energy down to their components; channeling force so exactly that it can’t hurt me. Rationally, dealing with that should be too complex. I do it all the time—without thinking about it. The Nola takes care of it.” She looked at the clouds starting to blot out the moon and frowned. She rubbed the back of her neck.

Bannor felt it too. An itchy sensation.

Wren seemed to ignore it, involved in the explanation. “With Bannor, it would be the same. He wants something, his Nola unlocks all the necessary patterns.” She sighed. “The danger is that his Nola doesn’t discriminate between volatile and nonvolatile weaves. Once he consciously knows what to avoid, so will the Garmtur.”

Bannor drew a breath. He slowly repeated Wren’s words spoken in the clearing after the battle. “You can’t see what I see. The whirling bindings of matter and energy and the road map laid out that links them. A little deeper and I can see the very underpinnings—the pillars that support time and space. All I have to do is reach out…”

Wren froze mid step. Her eyes went wide and her face drained of color. “Ishtar. I said that. I remember n-OW!” She gripped the back of her neck.

Sarai leaned around Bannor and fixed the savant with a one-eyed stare. “You almost did it.”

The blonde woman gazed at the two of them for thirty heartbeats, trying to mouth something. She reached for Bannor’s arm. Her eyes rolled up and she collapsed.

“Wren, this isn’t funny.” Bannor knelt and shook her. When she didn’t move, he put an ear to her chest.

“Bannor?” Sarai crouched by him.

Wren’s heart was silent.

“Odin!” Shock stiffened his body. He reached behind Wren’s head to lift her and felt something protruding. He pulled it out and came away with a small metallic dart.

A raspy voice broke over the sound of the waves. “That is the last thing she shall ever remember.”

Avatars are one of the most interesting creations of magic that those of the pantheons have developed. They are incredibly useful tools that are probably responsible for more insanity than any other affliction experienced by immortals.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

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Bannor turned at the sound of the raspy voice. The moaning wind, rumbling waves, and the thunder of his heart all rang in his ears. Darkness swathed the beach, the cliff-side jutted into the ash-gray night like broken bones embedded in the sand. A movement caught his eye, a silhouette that coalesced out of the shadows.

He heard Sarai’s sword hiss from its sheath. Her breathing quickened and she stepped closer to him. In the distance, a cliff-bird keened, a grotesque laughing sound. He gripped the skinning knife on his belt and pulled it free. Their isolation, despite its conflicts, had been too good to last.

The avatars would never let him go. They would do anything including murder and kidnapping to get what they wanted. The more evidence of it he saw, the more he understood Wren’s total hatred of these creatures.

All he or Wren ever wanted was to be free; to live normal lives, to love and be loved. The avatars and their agents felt compelled to take what they did not already possess. Injecting chaos into otherwise placid lives simply to satisfy their greed.

Now, Wren lay at his feet, the beating of her heart still and silent as stone.

No more.

This creature, whatever it was—would feel his retribution.

The words burned in his throat. “Whatever you want, you won’t get it,” he snarled. “You people have taken enough from us.”

The figure stopped, its details still hidden by the cliff shadows. A male voice spoke, coarse and sibilant. “I did you a favor, savant. Kergatha has long been an obstacle to everyone.”

“Be gone, snake-man!” Sarai said in a commanding tone. “We like your kind even less than hers. If she’s dead, we’ll hunt you down.”

The figure moved nearer. A pair of slit gold eyes flashed in the wan moonlight. Bannor discerned the outline of a long rod that was probably the dart-pipe that was used to shoot Wren.

“No closer,” he warned, tightening his fist on the knife. He wanted to check Wren. Some drugs slowed the heart, but it could sometimes be restarted with a thump to the chest. In the worst case, he might be able to wish her healthy again. Wren’s explanation before she collapsed had made some things clear. He knew her pattern now as well as his own. From what she said, when you knew something’s pattern, it became malleable to your will.

The intruder stepped into the faint moonlight. He was a blade of a man with a hatchet face and long spidery fingers. A black shroud of what looked like cobwebs twitched in the wind around him. The other details of his face and clothing were lost in chalky illumination. Even at this distance, he smelled of death.

“Hethanon,” Sarai drew a breath.

“Arminwen,” The man’s voice dropped. “I could hardly credit Mazerak as speaking the truth. Surely, the princess of Malan has better things to be doing.”

“You know him?” Bannor growled.

“Of him,” Sarai said icily. “Father drove Hethanon and the cult of Set from Malan a century ago, but only after much blood.” She drew a breath. “He is an avatar of the jackal god.”

“Was an avatar of him. I am no longer Hethanon—I am Nystruul. Hecate is my mistress now. No thanks to that witch.” He spat in Wren’s direction.

Bannor took a step forward. “Avatar, this is your last warning. Get away from us. I’m tired of your filth. You stink of decay.”

“What will you do, savant Starfist? Shoo me away with words?” Nystruul reached out. His hand glowed and a crushing pressure clamped down on Bannor’s throat.

Bannor gagged. Something sucked the strength from his legs. He dropped in the sand.

“Bannor!” Sarai started toward the avatar.

“Bastard.” Bannor flipped the knife and threw.

The blade whirled home above Nystruul’s collarbone with a thud of tearing flesh. The avatar let out a gurgling sound and staggered back.

There was only one chance for Wren. He may have waited too long already. Bannor envisioned Wren’s tracery, the glowing pattern he saw in his mind seemingly summers ago outside the town of Blackwood. The feminine presence that saved his life. The phoenix. His and Sarai’s enemy and ally. The nemesis of the avatars.

I wish your mind and body undamaged, perfect and alive. He touched the tracery. For the first time, he felt the Nola surge in him. He sensed its unbridled aliveness.

Wild.

He grabbed Wren’s shoulder. Sparks spiraled down his arms and flooded into her body.

The savant didn’t stir.

A hard cold pressure squeezed down on his insides. He must have done something wrong or perhaps the Garmtur’Shak Nola did possess limits. He couldn’t restore life to something dead. Bannor straightened.

Sarai had taken only a few steps. She gazed at him casting a wary eye to the avatar. Nystruul would not be stopped by a single strike. Fear had made an ugly mask of Sarai’s damaged face. The wind blew through his mate’s silvery hair. She looked at Wren. He saw the question in her eye.

He shook his head.

Gone.

Bannor would die before surrendering to the avatars. He would go fighting. He reached down and pulled Wren’s magic blade. It made a peeling sound as it cleared the sheath. The sound made Nystruul’s noises stop.

With a heave, the avatar wrenched out the knife and flung it in the dirt. His blood looked blacker than the night. “You’ll suffer for that, savant.” His gold eyes tracked warily to the glowing weapon in Bannor’s hand.

Obviously, he’d seen it before and knew to respect the weapon’s edge. Even urged by a woman’s strength it cleaved armor as if it were made of paper.

“Go. Next time your head will leave your shoulders.” The sword made a trail of gold light as he made chopping motions.

The sky flickered white, illuminating the avatar’s dusky skin and jag-toothed grimace. Thunder rolled over the beach several heartbeats later.

The storm still lay a ways out to sea.

Nystruul’s gaze shifted from him to Sarai. This fiend, Mazerak, the demon, even the ruffians, they all wanted to strike at him through the only thing precious in his life. It made heat rush through him. He would not allow another of these creatures to hurt Sarai.

Bannor let out a yell and charged. Anger knotting his muscles and revenge hardening his mind, he brought the gleaming sword around to split Nystruul.

Apparently stunned, the avatar backpedaled. He gestured and crimson lightning blazed from his hand. The bolt jagged into Bannor’s chest. Wet leather, skin, and hair sizzled.

The shock drilled into him. Pain screamed through his body. He kept focused on that single strike. Though his muscles felt as if they’d become clay, he took one more step and swung.

Nystruul blocked with the metallic rod. The whistling sword severed metal, then flesh. The blade tore deep into the man’s torso above the second rib. Blood spouted. The droplets struck Bannor’s face and clung like boiling oil.

Reeling, the avatar howled. The sound shook the rocks.

Bannor dropped, no longer able to stand. He wiped at the noxious fluid searing his skin.

Sarai rushed in. Her elven blade scored two blows before the echoes of Nystruul’s yell faded. She dodged twice, ruby bolts lancing into the night sky. She slashed Nystruul’s instep.

The avatar shrieked and tumbled face first in the sand.

“Jiha Malan!” She plunged the sword into his back.

Nystruul’s next outcry made Bannor’s bones vibrate. His vision grayed. The sound drove Sarai away. She fell at his side clutching her ears. Bannor pulled her to him. They’d made their statement.

The avatar clawed at the gleaming mithril jutting from his back. Black gore welled around the blade. Vapor curled out. The air filled with odor of disintegrating metal.

Lightning cracked the sky. “Fools!” Nystruul’s bellow drowned out the thunder. “I am immortal. I cannot die!”

Bannor put his arm around Sarai’s shoulder. Her face had turned the color of ash. She trembled. No more fight left in her.

Have to try something else. So weak. It felt as if demon gnawed on his chest. Hard to breathe. He took rapid, shallow breaths. Pain crashed through him in waves. Auras ringed everything in sight. The rolling thunderheads caught his attention, in them, the rings bent and swirled.

A pattern.

His vision blurred. In the swirling shapes, multicolored lines pulsed and intertwined. Lightning flashed, twining down into the ocean. In the brilliance, he saw the corkscrewed simplicity of its essence.

In the clouds, he’d seen their tracery, saw how they gave up part of their essence to form the bolt that streaked cloud-to-cloud or at the ground.

Nystruul rose, still transfixed by Sarai’s blade.

Every muscle twitching, Bannor forced himself to his feet with Sarai’s help.

“Let’s test your immortality,” Bannor rasped. He reached toward the sky, forming the thunderhead’s tracery in his mind. He felt the storm’s pulse throbbing at the edge of his touch.

He twisted the weave and pointed at the charge’s target: the shaft of metal jutting from his enemy’s body.

He grabbed Sarai and dove away. Night turned to day as dozens of streaks of energy ripped downward.

The detonations of thunder blended into a single roar too loud to be heard. Scalding air gusted over them. The storm unleashed its full fury on Nystruul, mauling and tossing him like a piece of raw meat attacked by wolves.

Sarai clutched Bannor around the neck and buried her face in his chest.

His stomach twisted and he looked away.

Silence.

He felt a furious humming in his head and moisture trickled down his neck from his ears. The winds had slackened. A stomach-churning stench filled the air. It seemed as if the thunderstorm had spent all its power in that single assault. Even the waves looked smaller.

Bannor collapsed; his weight pulled him and Sarai to the sand. Summoning the lightning had torn away all his remaining strength.

“I hope he’s dead,” Bannor groaned. “I couldn’t do that again if I wanted to.”

“He has to be,” Sarai said in a voice that sounded tiny and distant. Bannor saw that she’d spoken with as much volume as she could muster. It might be hours or days before either of them could hear normally again.

The glow of Sarai’s eyes looked faint. “Nothing could live through that.”

Assisting each other they moved away a short distance.

They’d killed the Nystruul. Wren was dead. It still left them trapped in this alien place. Bannor didn’t know how the avatar found them or if more of his kind would come.

Raindrops pattered on the sand, a mist rather than driving downpour. The cool liquid soothed his burned skin.

“We did it, Bannor,” Sarai said. She tried to smile but it looked more like a grimace. “We stopped him without Wren’s help.”

He let out a laugh and stopped from the pain. “Look at us! This isn’t a victory. We’re barely alive. There’ll be others. We can’t keep fighting like this. We need someplace safe.” He looked out to sea. “That is if we can get away from here.”

Sarai nodded. “Poor Wren, I didn’t like her, but that’s no way for her to die. Cursed assassin.” She glanced back toward the avatar’s remains.

Her eye widened and her jaw went slack. The little color that had returned to her face left it again. Sarai grabbed his arm and pointed.

Bannor felt his skin prickle. Past where Wren’s still form lay. The avatar’s charred corpse twitched. A leg bent and a hand clawed the sand.

“Odin,” Bannor breathed. Despite the hot burning on his chest, his insides grew cold.

Perhaps the avatar was truly immortal, the spirit of a god imbuing mortal flesh with supernatural life. The body could be killed, but apparently not Hecate’s influence. Hecate was elsewhere—empowering Nystruul’s shell much the same way he had impelled Wren when she left her body.

Bannor’s strength was gone and wouldn’t know what to do, anyway. How did you drive out a deity’s demiurge?

“What do we do?” Sarai asked.

Bannor shook his head. Groaning, he rose to his knees. Rain trickled down his face. His chest ached and it hurt to breathe. If they ran, they wouldn’t make it far.

Sarai pushed herself up clutching his shoulder. They watched as the blackened body’s movements grew more deliberate like a puppet master untangling the strings of a broken puppet.

“We can only play for time. We thought Rankorhaaz was unstoppable. It simply took the right thing.”

Sarai’s face screwed up. “It took Wren. You hurt the demon. She killed it.”

“Funny to hear that coming from you. Come on.” It took all his effort to stand.

Bannor wobbled, uncertain of his footing. Sarai swayed at his side. He glanced back at Wren. If they survived they’d come back and give her a proper burial.

The savant’s features looked waxy in the dim light. Her expression had relaxed; she no longer wore the grimace of pain as when she fell.

Nystruul rolled over and rose to hands and knees. His body was now only a sticklike caricature of bones, sinew, and parboiled flesh.

“Bannor!” Sarai pulled on him.

He took a last look at Wren. Even if Sarai didn’t, he thought of Wren as his friend. His insides knotted. He would try to do well in her memory.

They turned and staggered away, leaving Wren alone by the ebony sea to greet her maker.

Dead, undead—the difference never bothered me much.

What’s a few maggots between friends?

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

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Bannor staggered down the sapphire beach doing his best to support Sarai. He hiked Wren’s pack on his shoulders, regretting its extra weight. The cool night drizzle continued to patter down urged by a sighing breeze. He stumbled and caught himself. He was the one who needed help. His body had been drowned, battered, burned, and shocked. It was pure miracle he still moved at all. His ears still echoed with reverberation of the thunderbolts he struck Nystruul with.

Sarai looked as frayed as he did, clothing torn and sandy, bruises covering her face and neck, and one eye swollen.

The chill night air only added to the stiffness of their wounds, robbing them of valuable mobility.

“Is he after us yet?” Bannor asked as loudly as he could. After being so close to the thunder strikes, neither could hear well. He couldn’t spare concentration to look or he’d fall down and be unable to rise again.

Sarai pushed damp strands of hair from her eyes and looked back. “I don’t see him.”

“I hated leaving Wren back there.” He swallowed. “I should have done something.” Bannor glanced out to the rolling black sea, the stars shining from the underside of the breakers. His stomach tightened. “Something.”

“She was already gone, Bannor. That freak must have poisoned the dart. You tried. You can’t raise the dead.” Sarai glanced over her shoulder again. “Wren isn’t around to help anymore. We have to protect ourselves now.”

“Need to concentrate,” he muttered. “I can’t imagine how we can kill it. The lightning should have liquefied him. Should be nothing left.” He looked up to let the rain wash down his face. “If my ears would stop ringing I might be able to think. If only we had some of Wren’s healing potion.”

Sarai nodded. “At least we’d have the strength to fight back.” She stopped. “Wait, maybe we do. You still have her knapsack. Look inside.”

They could only hope. Bannor groaned, twisting to unshoulder the pack. It made his singed skin stretch painfully. They stumbled into the shelter of some rocks to prevent soaking the contents of the pack that had been meticulously weatherproofed with oil and resin.

Bannor laid it on a rock and undid the strings. Sarai stepped out of the cleft and kept an eye out for Nystruul. They didn’t know when the avatar would be after them again. Bannor had immolated the creature in a thunderstorm’s full fury. Nothing should have been able to remain whole in that conflagration.

Sarai returned to watch him go through the contents. Inside, the depth and breadth of the pack felt much larger than the outside portrayed. His hand could move far past the dimensions of the bag before he touched the sides.

More of Wren’s surprises. He always wondered how she managed with only a bedroll and this knapsack. Now, it made sense. Inside were numerous packets of herbs and strange minerals, the mortar and pestle Wren used to make her alchemical solutions, a few tightly bound changes of clothes, a tinder case, the coil of hair rope they made, a wooden box, and three books, one being the metal journal Wren always wrote in. Irodee would want that.

Leaving the wooden box out, he put everything else back. He opened it. In round receptacles were six potion vials one of which contained a swirling blue fluid.

“Yes.” He felt a little surge of hope. “I don’t care if it is made out of dragon whiz.”

Sarai smiled faintly. He knew her wounds hurt as much as his. No doubt she had bruises and contusions hidden beneath her clothing he couldn’t see.

“We’ll split it,” he said. “You go first.” He uncorked the container and handed it to her.

Bannor went to the opening and checked the beach. A cliffbird cawed its raucous laughing sound. The waves tumbled on a dark empty shore. No sign of Nystruul.

He turned back to see Sarai still nerving herself to drink the noxious smelling, foul-tasting concoction.

She looked at him and wrinkled her nose. “This smells so bad, I’d almost rather keep the wounds.”

He wished for the energy to laugh. “Don’t worry, it tastes worse than it smells.”

“Oh, thank you.” She frowned. Pinching her nose, she tilted her head back and gulped half down. She thrust the bottle into his hand, shuddered then grimaced. “By Carellion, that’s vile!” She shook herself. “Bleaahk.”

“You’re lucky. I had to drink two full ones before they figured out how to make it work on me.”

A greenish glow surrounded her swollen eye, bruised cheek and neck. The injuries slowly dwindled to a fraction of their former size.

Sarai let out a breath, the tension in her body relaxing. She touched her face. “The healing is as powerful as the taste is bad.”

Bannor stared at the glass container half-filled with the odious substance.

“Go on,” Sarai urged.

“Don’t rush me.”

“Nystruul’s out there, remember?”

“I know I’d rather fight him than drink this stuff.”

Sarai peeked out of the cleft. She came back and grabbed his shoulder. “He’s coming!”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking. Drink the potion!”

Bannor sensed a genuine note of urgency in her voice. He tightened his hand on the glass. In his mind, he envisioned the tracery Wren had shown him. He touched it. His skin glowed gold as his Nola’s defenses lowered to accept the potion’s magic. He tilted his head back and let the burning, ultra-sour liquid slide down his throat. His tongue felt as if it tried to die in his mouth.

He shuddered. His wounds shimmered green. It felt as if insects were marching back and forth beneath his skin. His heart beat erratically.

Gradually, the ringing in his ears stopped, and the sounds of the rumbling ocean returned. The burning in his chest dwindled to a dull ache.

He could take a full breath again without feeling as though he would split open. He swayed in relief, feeling some of his strength return.

Bannor returned the vial to the holder, shut the box and thrust it back in the pack. He shouldered the satchel and stepped behind Sarai who poised at the opening.

“How far?”

“Fifty paces now,” she said tightly. “He looks like scarecrow after someone’s set fire to it.” She shivered. “Any ideas yet? My sword’s gone and so is your knife. All we have is Wren’s blade.”

“Just run for now.”

They dashed out of the cleft and down the beach. Bannor blinked in the sleet, straining to make out the area behind them. The stick figure of Nystruul reached out a spidery hand and clawed the air. Red pinpoints of light gleamed in empty eye sockets.

The avatar made a hissing sound. Words drifted on the wind, a lisp that only something more snake than human could utter. “Accept the inescapable, Starfist. You shall soon tire. I have time.”

Bannor pushed faster. A patient stalker, that’s all he and Sarai needed.

They passed the area where he had first awakened and rounded a curve in the beach. After running several long stones-throws they slid to a stop. A headland jutted out from the cliff into the waves.

Sarai gasped. His chest tightened.

Trapped.

Breakers lashed the stone, shooting high into the air through hollows in the rock. The smell of salt and seaweed hung heavy in the air. The silhouette of the jagged prominence looked like the riddled remains of some gigantic sea creature that had slithered out of the depths and died as it surmounted the cliff.

The sharp ridges, hollows, and fluted sections of granite wet from rain and pounded by the sea would be difficult to negotiate under the best of conditions. This cliff would be both ally and enemy. If he and Sarai survived the ascent, they could stand off an army from any one of the hollows high in the face. It would also provide shelter from wind and rain.

He glanced back. Nystruul wasn’t visible yet. “We have to try it. Your eyes are better. See if you can find us a way up to that notch over there.” He pointed to a squared off indentation shielded on two sides. It lay midway up the cliff, but looked reachable using boulders and outcrops as foot and handholds.

Sarai drew a breath, wiped the rainwater from her eyes and forged forward.

He followed her as she picked through boulders covered with cone-shells and moss. Farther out the spray from the crash of the breakers gusted over them. Salt stung his eyes. Beneath his hands he felt the vibration of the waves hitting the point.

Moving with care, Sarai tested each hand and foothold before moving on. The promontory rose dark and forbidding above them, lines of strata streaking diagonally up to a hooked claw at the crest.

Crossing to the base proved perilous, negotiating slimy jags, avoiding water filled depressions and unstable slabs.

As they climbed, tiny shapes scurried into the cracks. Between the rumbles of the waves he heard bubbling sounds and the scrabble of chitinous feet.

Sea bugs. He’d been pinched by one the very first time he ever ventured to the ocean. It taught him not to reach into a crack even after small ones. You never knew when a bigger one might be hiding close by, ready to make a meal out of your finger…

This whole adventure had been like that; always a bigger bug hiding in shadows, waiting to feast on him.

He glanced to the beach. Almost lost in the haze of rain and mist, he could discern a spindly figure at the base of the cliff, undulating as though boneless. His heart sped. Even if they made it to the hollow? What then? He made sure Wren’s sword was secure in his belt. He sensed Nystruul was speaking to them, but the monster’s words didn’t carry over the rumble of the swell.

Bannor took hold of Sarai’s calf, as she started up a boulder. She turned. He pointed to the figure of the avatar veiled by sea mist. Her glowing eyes widened. Swallowing, she moved faster.

What to do? The avatar did have time on its side. There were limits to their endurance. Eventually, it would corner them. He looked at Wren’s sword, ultra sharp, that would be their last resort—a quick, clean end.

Sarai climbed. He made sure to place his hands and feet where she did. Her night-sight picked up details he would never fathom under the deceptive moonlight.

Jagged edges rasped under his fingers. He took slow breaths, moving in a steady rhythm as they worked up a crevice that would lead them to the alcove he’d pointed out. Sarai had risen to this task, picking her course with precision. He suspected that sometime in his mate’s long life she’d been formally trained to climb. That knowledge had gotten them this far, but training could only do so much. They had no climbing tools and secure handholds were growing harder to find.

Sarai’s breathing became labored as the ascent grew steeper. Gaining a firm purchase on the slippery granite often took several tries. He saw in the stiffness of her body that she knew every instant counted. Safety versus urgency; to climb this treacherous face any faster meant courting a painful death shredded on the rocks below.

Bannor searched for Nystruul. His stomach churned. The creature was already close enough to hurl one of the fire bolts it had struck him with. It clambered over the boulders slowly, claw-like hands clinging to the soaked stones like spider’s feet.

It stopped as if feeling his gaze. Its red pinpoints fixed on him. Bannor’s skin crawled. The word ‘soon’, drawn out long and sibilant, cut the wind enough for Bannor to hear. It echoed in his mind. Soon, it would all be over, one way or the other.

Sarai pushed up and edged across a narrow cornice above him. The hollow in the rock still lay a stone’s-throw higher. His muscles were burning. She must be tiring too.

A creak, then the grate of leather on stone. Sarai yelped. His heart seized and he snatched for her. She plunged past, hands clawing the air. “Bannor!”

Sarai. His throat constricted. Heart hammering, he twisted to find a way to see down the face. No. No. No. He couldn’t see her. Had she caught hold? “Sarai!”

No answer.

“Soon—very soon.” Nystruul’s words slashed through the roar of the sea. In the distance, a cliffbird cawed its ugly laugh.

Pain can be a horrible distraction, or a catalyzing focus.

Fear is the same way. I understand love can do the same thing in an even stronger measure. For myself, I cannot attest to the truth of the statement. While many have loved me, I have never been foolish enough to love them back.

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Thirty

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Precariously perched on the cliff side, the drizzle running in his eyes, Bannor howled. It was primal sound wrenched from the depths of his guts. Sarai had vanished into the darkness between the outcrops. This far up the side of the point, the rain and mist made it difficult to see. Below, Nystruul clambered across the rocks like a spider. Breakers pounded the point. The wind moaned through the clefts, raking Bannor with icy fingers.

“Sarai!” he screamed.

No response.

He couldn’t leave Sarai on the rocks where that creature might find her. The pulse in his temple throbbed. How would he get to her? He didn’t even know where she’d slid. A fissure separated him and the outcrop that blocked his view. All he could do was cross the cornice and try to climb down on the far side of the fissure.

Heart pounding he clawed his way onto the ledge, conscious of the poor purchase of his toes on the brittle rock. Sidling with extreme care, he struggled to stay focused on his destination. He knew a monster lay below. Bannor felt if he looked down now, he’d be like a bird mesmerized by a snake.

Sarai, please be all right. You have to be.

His foot slipped. Heart leaping, he caught himself with his hands and managed to lift his legs and place his foot farther up the cornice. Gasping, he edged two quick steps to a broader ledge.

He looked down. The mist from a breaker obscured the outcrops below.

Please.

Like a shroud being pulled away, a gust parted the fog. At first he saw nothing, then movement. A few paces down, Sarai clung to the rock wall. A dark streak that must be blood drew a jagged line down the middle of her forehead. A twenty pace drop into rocky teeth and surf yawned below her.

“Sarai!”

She took a moment to look up. Her entire focus appeared to be holding on. She blinked glowing eyes. She sounded dazed. “Bannor?”

“I’ll drop a rope to you. Hold on.”

“I—will.”

Leaning against the cliff, he unshouldered Wren’s pack and pulled out the hair rope. There was far more of the cord than they needed. It made the handling clumsy. He threw a coil around a projection higher on the face, and then put a loop around his waist as security in case Sarai pulled him off the ledge.

A sibilant wheeze came from somewhere down the cliff. “Starfist, I s-see you. Soon.”

The avatar was too close.

His chest felt like a giant knot. He had to get Sarai, even if that meant letting that fiend catch him. Bannor felt the creature’s unholy attention. He blocked out the queasiness in his stomach.

“Bannor?” Sarai’s voice shook. “Scared.”

“It’s okay. Don’t let go.” He paid out the rope until the tip of the strand swayed near her hand. Sarai started to loosen her grip to grab it. “Wait. Let me drop some more.”

Sarai nodded. She swayed. “Bannor?”

“I’m here.” The rope was in position. He doubled the cord around his wrist so it wouldn’t slip.

“Bannor…” She trailed off. “The stone—”

Nystruul’s rasp drowned out the rest of her words. “Soon we dance, Starfist.” The sound made Bannor’s neck prickle. The creature had to be less than a stone throw away now. “Singed me bad, savant. It’s my turn.”

Bannor looked for the avatar.

No sign.

Where?

He couldn’t worry about it now. “Grab it, Sarai. I’m braced.”

Sarai didn’t move. Her fingers appeared to be loosening.

“Sarai! Get the rope.”

“The stone…” The words grew faint, parts of them washed out by the rumble of the waves. “Feel … stone…”

She must have hit her head; be hallucinating.

He moved the rope back and forth so that it thumped against her arm. He made his words sharp and distinct. “Sarai, grab the rope!”

Moving as though in torpor she reached out one-handed for the rope. The action seemed more as a result of his command than her own volition. A shock went through him as he expected her to fall. She must have a purchase with her feet he couldn’t see. Sarai took hold.

“Both hands, Sarai! Hold tight.”

She clutched the rope. He felt her weight bear down on the line. Muscles burning, hand-over-hand he reeled Sarai in; a little up, rest, more, rest. The rain made the line slick and there were no knots to aid his grip. Rubbing the line dry with each pull added to the difficulty. Sarai felt like a mountain pulling against his weary body.

“You okay? Sarai? Answer me.”

A nod.

“Help me with your feet.”

Where was Nystruul? During a rest, he glanced around. No sign. The monster had taunted him as it grew closer; now nothing. The possibility of the avatar coming at them from an unexpected direction made a shudder go through him.

Sarai found traction on the wall, lessening the burden on Bannor’s throbbing arms. Normally, he wouldn’t even feel her weight. The fight, stress and climb had worn away his energy. Being perched on a rock knob no bigger than a bread loaf made the task doubly arduous.

Closer. Only two paces to go. Sarai never weighed so much. His arms felt made of wood.

He called to Sarai. “Still with me, Little Star?”

A nod, nothing more. Sarai didn’t look up. She held to the rope like a rag doll, her body limp except for an occasional kick against the rock face. Bannor couldn’t see how she stayed on the line.

He glanced around. Where are you Nystruul? He let out a breath. Odin, I miss you, Wren. Smug little witch, you always knew what to do. At least you seemed to. That made all the difference.

“Sarai, you’re almost here.”

She mumbled, her words thick as though she were drunk. “Here-yes, close. Feel it.”

Limp strands of silvery hair flicked in the breeze. Blood dribbled across Sarai’s brow, down the bridge of her nose and into her mouth. Crimson stained her lips.

The damage looked superficial. What could be wrong with her?

Pull.

Only a little farther. Could Nystruul have done something to her? He’d been on the wrong side of the fissure though.

Reach.

Why was he fooling himself? Nystruul was an avatar. He found them, even isolated in some unknown corner of the cosmos. The creature survived immolation in the full fury of a storm. Immortal. Unkillable. It could have killed him long ago.

Pull.

Nystruul wanted him alive. Sarai would be a lever to make sure Bannor did what they wanted. Probably, they planned to make him succorund, an avatar host, as they tried with Wren. They probably planned to make him an avatar like Nystruul, something no longer human.

“Bannor,” she mumbled. “Stone—here all the time.”

What? He braced for last pace of rope. It didn’t look as if Sarai would help much. He needed a way to balance her on this tiny projection.

The light in Sarai’s eyes looked almost gone.

“Sarai, you have to wake up! I need you alert.”

Bannor took a big lead and pulled. As Sarai drew closer, the glint of something metallic caught his attention. It jutted from her right shoulder.

A fiery hand gripped his insides and crushed down.

A dart.

“No!”

From somewhere higher on the cliff, he heard hideous sniggering. “She has little time, savant. I restore your star. Come.”

He was outmaneuvered by the slow patient stalker. He was a hunter. He should have known better than to try the cliff.

Damn. Damn. Damn. He heaved, pulling the limp form of his mate to within reach. Half dead and she still hung on. No way to crouch without throwing himself off balance. There was only room for his feet on the knob. She didn’t look capable of standing on her own. Sarai would have to hold around his neck.

Her eyes were closed. When she spoke it came out in a slur. “Almost, my One.”

Bannor fought to keep his voice level. “Sarai, stay with me. When I pull you up, take hold of my arm.”

“All be better soon…”

No help.

He couldn’t spread his legs to brace that last arm length. Done wrong, her weight would flip them both off the cornice.

Nystruul’s hiss came from above. “Hecate awaits you, savant. Hurry. Your star soon strays to the heavens.”

He must concentrate. Forget the avatar. Save Sarai.

Her hands were spaced apart and when he pulled her close he gripped so as not to smash her fingers.

“All right, this is going to be scary.” Odin, yes, it would be. He needed to jerk her up to where he could grab her around the waist. No margin for error. Do it wrong and they toppled off.

“Elemental,” she whispered.

“Here we go,” Bannor said. He bent his knees and tensed his arms. Sarai’s head lay at the level of his toes. He must heave her from there to shoulder level in one clean motion without throwing himself off balance.

It made him wish he’d practiced more in the contests, where men demonstrated their strength. The snatch was little different than this.

“On three,” he spoke as much for himself as Sarai. He focused. His heart pounded. His chest became a solid mass of burning. “One-two-three!”

His arms went taut and his knees straightened as he wrenched on the line with all his remaining strength.

Sarai gave a cry as she lurched upward. Perhaps it was instinct or Bannor’s fervent desire; she grabbed for him.

Eyes clenched shut, Sarai’s arms locked around his neck as he captured her around the waist. “Got you!”

The balancing rope around his waist slipped. They both started to topple. He gasped and threw out a gripping hand as a horrible queasy out-of-control feeling shocked through his limbs.

His fingers scrabbled on the stone finding nothing to hold. No. No. No!

Sarai’s eyes opened wide; brilliant glowing violet. “Mine.” Her hand shot out and clamped on the stone. Her fingers appeared to penetrate into the cliff.

She pulled them both back onto the knob.

Her distant tone turned hard. “All mine.”

Her skin grew hot against his neck. The limp doughy feeling in her flesh was now like velvety steel.

Balanced again, his body still feeling tied in knots, he dared to hope. “Sarai?”

“Dizzy,” she muttered. She pushed her foot against the cliff. A slurping sound and the rock parted around her boot. Braced, hand and foot, Sarai plucked the needle out of her shoulder. “Freak.”

“Sarai, talk to me.”

She blinked. Her gaze less intense, but now more alert. “Drug. Started to fade, felt my element calling. It was close.” She swallowed. “Didn’t know how to touch it. Mine. Mine now. Not weak anymore.”

Maybe not weak, but less than coherent. She’d somehow managed to renew her link to the stone. The surge of elemental strength appeared to have blunted some of the drug’s affects. Bannor couldn’t be sure if it still threatened Sarai. He knew nothing about her elemental nature except that stone was her ally in all shapes and forms. It couldn’t hurt her.

Perhaps even a poison that used minerals as an ingredient would be less effective.

They had to use what windfalls fate dealt them. He spoke to her in measured voice. “Sarai, can you get us up to the notch?”

She pushed the hair out of her eyes and stared at him as if deciphering his meaning. She nodded. Taking the rope he’d thrown around the projection overhead, she tied it around her waist.

“Follow.”

He didn’t have an opportunity to stop her. Fingers and toes gouging indentations in the stone, she clung to the wall unafraid and seemingly immune to the pull of the rocks and sea below. She scrambled along the cliff as if she were moving across level ground. That didn’t help Bannor. Those shallow holes in rain-slick granite didn’t tempt him at all. He’d kill himself if he tried. He could only uncoil the rope and let her ascend.

Odin’s breath. She was out of control, not understanding. Hopefully, when she reached the notch, he could get her to secure the line.

It took only moments for her to reach the spot. Sarai stood in the alcove and looked back as if she expected him to follow that treacherous path up the precipice.

“Tie it off!” He hollered.

Nystruul’s chilly tones came from above. “Savant, is the star gone yet? Sweet relish for Hecate’s altar.”

He took a breath. Even if he made it, they still had the avatar to contend with.

Sarai vanished into the niche and after a few moments returned to the opening. He took up the slack. It felt solid.

She waved.

Bannor pulled again. It didn’t give. How did she attach the rope so fast? He would have to trust her.

Tossing the coil off into the darkness below, he knotted a hanging loop. He quickly made another to have two handholds. The rope rose into darkness on a diagonal. The rock wall was scored with fissures and pitted from erosion. Lines of strata formed jagged ridges. He’d rappelled across worse, but under dry conditions. It had also been over three summers ago with the guidance of a skilled mountaineer.

Nothing to do but try. He put his hands through the loops and settled his weight. Letting out breath he started across the face.

“Such sport, savant. Shall I see how your star fares?”

Stay focused. He bounded over crevices and cracks, feeling the urgency, keeping his gaze pinned on the vanishing point of the rope twenty paces up the cliff.

His foot hit the edge of a fissure and plunged inside. Off balance, he lurched sideways. Needles jabbed his stomach as he felt himself lose control. He countered with the other leg too late. His shoulder thudded into the rock. The world spiraled as he rolled across the face, rough edges and protrusions jabbing his back and side.

In desperation, he brought both legs up and managed to halt his momentum by wedging a foot in a crack. Gasping, he glanced up. The notch lay directly above. He could see hints of what could be usable gripping points. He no longer had the strength to hand-over-hand up the rope.

Half way there.

Sarai peered down at him. What was she thinking? Why didn’t she help?

As if in answer to his question, the rope started rising, pulling him up to the notch.

Reach, pull, reach, pull—her movement fascinated him. She didn’t appear to even be braced, somehow rooted in the stone above. Her arms showed no strain. He aided with his feet to speed the ascent.

The power of an elemental. They’d need that and more to face the monster now waiting on the ridge top.

Sarai reeled in the last of the rope separating them. Standing on a broad flat surface again, he let out a sigh of relief and put his arms around her. It felt good to be out of the rain, off the side of that precipice.

She returned the hug clumsily. “Mine. All mine,” Sarai muttered. She blinked, her eyes the only light in the dark crevice. “My One.”

From the few rays of moonlight that penetrated, it appeared the alcove went some distance back into the cliff. He could easily stand up inside. Even arms spread he could take a long step before touching the walls. The scuff of his boots echoed off in the darkness.

Something squeaked like a rusty hinge. Bannor’s blood froze. “Savant,” Nystruul’s voice echoed from deeper within. “Step into Hecate’s vestibule.”

True elementals are one of the few races in the universe beside the Ka’Amok to possess a tao. Through the strength of their will they animate a ‘body’ of their element and make it as viable a shell as a human spirit does flesh. Hundreds of generations of evolution have given their kind incredible control over their parent element.

How they accomplish this is quite intriguing. Dissecting their varied forms to learn their secrets is a fascinating pursuit I enjoy…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Thirty-One

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Even in the darkened confines of the rock alcove, Bannor knew what lay hidden farther within. Amid the stale dust and the acridness of guano hung the stench of death. It was impossible to be certain of distance in the faint light. At the edge of his vision, Bannor made out a pair of glowing red pinpoints.

Nystruul’s eyes.

Bannor clamped his left hand on the wall and gripped Wren’s sword in the other. A puzzled look on her features, Sarai clung to his waist staring into the darkness.

Rain pattered inside the entrance, and waves rumbled outside. Gusts of wind stirred the dust.

The avatar must have known where they were going and had beaten them here. The frustrating inevitability made Bannor want to yell. To toil so hard, to fight and climb all this way, simply to run into the creature anyway.

“Dead,” Sarai mumbled. “Not belong.”

“She lives,” the avatar rasped. “Pity that the poison seems to have made her dumb. Such a waste, all that magic, so little elf.”

Angry heat rushed through Bannor. “Pity this,” he growled. He looked at Sarai and thrust out his open hand, palm up. “Sarai, show this bastard your magic.” He clenched his fist.

Her mind clouded by poison and elemental power, Bannor couldn’t be certain how much Sarai understood. So far, she understood. The emotion in his voice would be unmistakable.

She narrowed her eyes. Her jaw tightened.

“Savant, don’t even…” Nystruul started.

Sarai made a hammering motion with her fist.

The cliff convulsed. Bannor staggered to one side. Nystruul shrieked. The red pinpoints vanished as a roar boomed through the cave and hot air gushed into their faces.

Sarai slammed her fist into her palm. A thunderous concussion rocked the cliff. Sections of the ceiling pitched inward. The avatar’s howls reverberated through tons of granite. She gritted her teeth. Using her knuckles, Sarai made grinding motions in her palm. A chill went through Bannor as he felt the stone around him writhing. Muted by the rock, the shrieks peaked and finally stopped.

“Quiet,” Sarai said, fists clenched at her side. She went to Bannor and put an arm around his waist. She rubbed her cheek on his shoulder. “Mine. All mine.”

Bannor shuddered. A horrible way to die even for something as unspeakable as Nystruul. It brought back images of when he’d been trapped in Sarai’s stone fist—the rock crushing down… His skin prickled. If the avatar were truly immortal, he wouldn’t be imprisoned forever. They must get away—make time. Perhaps when he’d rested, he might find a way to use his power to permanently disable the Nystruul. How did you kill something unkillable?

“Sarai?”

She looked at him and clutched his arm. “Mine.”

“Can you get us on top?” He pointed through the ceiling.

Sarai blinked at him. She nodded after a moment. Taking his hand, she led him to the wall. She didn’t stop. The granite opened like a giant mouth and sucked her in.

“No, Sarai, no!” He tried to fight off her grip. Sarai’s elemental strength made her hold like a steel manacle. His arm had plunged into the wall up to the wrist before he could brace. Talons of fear raked through him as she inexorably dragged him forward. “Sarai!” She didn’t appear to notice his resistance.

His elbow vanished. The wall made slurping sounds. It felt as if a maw of clay were devouring his arm. He twisted like a drowning swimmer trying to keep his head above the surface. “Sarai, stop!”

His shoulder entered. The clammy embrace spread down his side. Tendrils of liquid stone bulged around Bannor’s torso. “Stop!”

Taking a deep breath, he tottered on one foot, balancing for an instant before the rock engulfed him.

Absolute blackness. No pit or dungeon could be so lightless. He felt viscous matter expanding and contracting around him, pressing down and pushing him ahead like a melon seed popped forward between giant fingers. His heart hammered wildly. No air. He couldn’t take a breath. He sensed the titanic mass of the cliff crushing down. If Sarai’s concentration wavered for an instant he would be entombed; lost forever in this rock void.

He’d never felt such fear. Trapped in a grave of solid rock. Using up his last moments of air in a futile attempt to scream. Dying slowly—painfully.

He latched onto his only point of reference; Sarai’s grasp. How could she see to navigate? It didn’t matter as long as they came out of the stone soon. His lungs already burned. Not much air left.

Please, get us out of here, Little Star.

It may have only been instants, but it felt like an eternity. All at once, the ground spit them out with a wet sputtering sound. He emerged gasping and coughing. Leaned over on hands and knees, he tried to keep from retching. Rain tattooed on his back and neck.

Odin, let me never have to do that again.

Sarai stood at his shoulder, a quizzical look on her face. She smiled and gestured. “The top.”

He glanced around. The headland looked about fifty paces wide here and grew thicker inland. A thin layer of soil covered the stone; farther out on the ridge it became raw edged rock like spines jutting out of a dragon’s back. It rose to an angled point a hundred paces toward the water. It was a long way down to the sapphire beach. The arduous climb had given him a graphic appreciation for exactly how far.

Wren’s corpse lay alone and naked to the rain somewhere down there. The thought ached, like salt rubbed into a wound. He should have done something. Perhaps if he and Sarai had only listened to her and cooperated they wouldn’t be in this mess. They’d be in Cosmodarus; safe.

Wren would be alive.

He looked out to sea. The ebony ocean made the night sky seem huge in comparison to home, as if the heavens were wrapped around them.

Lost—so very lost. Without Wren they might wander the cosmos forever and never to step foot on Titaan again; always pursued by the avatars, never resting.

Bannor rose. He would not give in. Wren had been safe. She risked herself to help others; to help him. She lost her life trying to give him the safety she had won for herself. He would not let everything she strove to accomplish be for nothing. She wanted to make sure the avatars never harnessed the Garmtur’Shak Nola. She wanted to use his power to help other savants to be safe.

Was that so selfish? All he and Sarai had seen was how it inconvenienced them and impinged on their freedom. They had never wanted Wren’s help, and wouldn’t admit how much they needed her. It was too late now.

Far too late.

“Bannor?” Sarai touched his arm. Her luminous eyes looked concerned. His beloved was in there someplace, submerged in poison and elemental force. The power had staved off the killing blow, but what survived was child-like and primal. He could sense her reaching out, trying to make sense of events and emotions.

He took her hand in both of his.

She put her other hand on top and smiled. “Mine.”

He sighed. “Yes, yours.”

Bannor turned his attention inland. Through the dark and rain he could make out the beginnings of a forest. At least there might be a place to find shelter and food.

He pulled on Sarai and she followed. The rock trembled under their feet as they moved.

She looked back and made a shoving gesture. “Quiet.” The stone creaked and groaned. Bannor imagined he heard another shriek.

All went silent again, except for the wind and rain. He pressed on, moving them faster.

They would see the avatar again.

It was only a matter of time.

***

Bannor and Sarai lay in a hollow beneath a deadfall. When he expressed a desire to stay dry, Sarai manipulated the soil and rock so it formed a solid shell over the trees. It took only an instant for her elemental powers to scoop out a sizeable area and make an embankment to keep running water out of their enclosure.

The ground was hard but dry. It smelled of wet vegetation and loam. The breeze was only a gentle sigh in the trees. He wanted to be out of his soaked clothes, to rest, if only for a bell. They should have at least that long before the avatar freed himself from Sarai’s granite prison.

He kindled a small fire with the tinderbox in Wren’s pack. He stripped off his tunic, breeches, and boots and hung them to dry over the flames using branches that jutted down into the hollow.

He coaxed Sarai out of her clothing, and into some of Wren’s dry leathers also in the knapsack. The guilder clothing hung loose on Sarai’s slim elven body, but he found them a good fit overall. Seeing Sarai wearing the savant’s clothing made a pang shoot through his heart. Only hours ago the two had been quarreling and knocking each other senseless. He forced it down. Wren was gone. They had to do what they could to survive.

Stripped to his undergarments, he lay back against the dirt embankment.

So exhausted. Every muscle ached. Have to rest. Bannor shut his eyes for a while, and then opened them, aware that Sarai was still sat cross-legged at his side seeming content to simply stare at him. It unnerved him, but he couldn’t admonish her. She was like a child now. Elves needed little sleep, and the elemental forces gave her limitless endurance. It must be how she resisted the poison. The body never grew fatigued; it simply kept staving off the affects.

He had no way of knowing whether her unusual behavior was a product of this internal conflict, the elemental power, a combination of the two or something entirely different. When the power first came back, she’d acted scattered, confused, eventually regressing into this childlike state. He didn’t know when during those events Nystruul had shot her with the dart.

It seemed strange that a creature of his power would use such a device. In retrospect, the weapon’s effectiveness had to be respected. Nystruul did more damage with a tube and a piece of sharpened metal than he’d done with all his god-like magic.

Ironic.

Why does all the irony have to come home to roost in my nest?

He put his arms up to make a cradle behind his head. Orange and yellow tinges of light danced across the dangling masses of his clothes and the haphazard rock and log ceiling. Smoke eddied among the damp branches before escaping out a trough he formed by shifting two of the logs. Sarai stretched out by him and put her face against his chest. Her cheek felt warm and her hair like tufts of down against his skin.

She senses we’re linked somehow, even if she knows nothing else.

He lay in the cool lean-to, listening to the sigh of the wind, the crackle of the tiny fire, and the gentle rise and fall of Sarai’s breathing.

Bannor didn’t realize he’d nodded off until the pop of the fire startled him. He felt a groggy awareness that he must have slipped into a shallow sleep. For how long, he didn’t know. With Nystruul on their trail, he couldn’t risk staying in one place too long.

He felt drained. He needed to rest and regain his strength. He felt certain that Nystruul wouldn’t give him that time.

He must risk getting what rest he could. If he wore himself out, the avatar would catch him anyway.

Bannor swam at the edge of unconsciousness, drifting in and out of a hazy sleep. Sarai stayed warm and comforting at his side, a tiny island of hope amid a sea of misery. For this one moment, he was at peace. He treasured it. This might be the last one he ever enjoyed.

The ground shook, rattling Bannor awake. The rumbling continued for long moments. In the distance, he heard what sounded like explosions. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. The fire had burned itself out and the faintest tinges of gray shone through the space between the dike and the roof. The rain had stopped. He must have dozed off for bells.

Sarai sat up and fixed on the sound.

“It comes.” Though she said it with no inflection in her voice, it sounded ominous anyway.

She must have done the creature far more harm than his first attack. Perhaps it was simply growing harder for Hecate to keep rejuvenating her immortal puppet.

Bannor pulled on his dry clothes and shouldered Wren’s pack. He still had no clear plan. His body ached, but his mind seemed clearer. He would have to find the key that would somehow disconnect Nystruul from Hecate. Without the goddess’ power to animate it, the battered zombie would be a puppet without strings.

Sarai kept glancing in the direction of the sea cliffs. It was difficult for him to guess what she might be thinking. She hadn’t shown fear even trapped in the alcove with the monster. She might only be reacting to his unease.

They headed inland. The thick forest made going tough. The undergrowth and deadfalls were constant obstacles. Wren’s sword could hack through all but the thickest foliage and he simply chopped his way through rather than go around.

Where to go? With no landmarks and no knowledge of this world, any place would be as good as another as long as they stayed away from Nystruul.

Sarai spoke little. She stayed at his side as though attached. Occasionally, she pointed out animal paths concealed by the brambles.

He needed a destination. What was the point of running if he wasn’t going anywhere? It was all for time, the opportunity to come up with some scheme to get the avatar off his back. Rest time had been a plunge into unconsciousness. Little if any reflecting went on then.

They maintained a steady course for over a bell. The terrain grew steeper and the trees sparser. He knelt by a stream and quenched his parched throat. The water was cold and mineral bitter. Sarai took a few tentative sips, apparently not very thirsty.

“Where do we go?” He wondered aloud.

“Home,” Sarai answered.

“Yes, but how?”

She shrugged.

Odin, how he longed for his mate’s normalcy, sharp tongue and all. When she’d regressed, her control over the stone increased dramatically. Only so much could be done with that ability. Right now, they needed strategy, not power. The avatar could only be overwhelmed on the short term. Nystruul wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Bannor headed out again. As they forded another shallow stream, he followed a rutted dirt path. Weather-worn stone markers with unfamiliar runes engraved in them jutted from the soil every fifty paces along it. The first signs of habitation they’d seen.

Where people lived, there might be help. He felt a twinge of unease. If they are people.

Sarai knelt by a marker and ran her fingers down a depression. “Old.”

Bannor raised an eyebrow. “How old?”

Sarai met his eyes. Her brow furrowed. She looked to the pale sun in the East as if it could give her the answer. She nodded and walked to a huge tree that looked similar to a scalebark, the branches gnarled and twisted from harsh seasons and bouts with insects and disease. She patted its rough side. “This grow many times.” She pointed at the markers. “Tall, much buried.”

“Several centuries,” he repeated. She understood more than he thought.

They followed the path to where it opened into a large grass covered glade. Rocks and markers ringed a pond at the center. The water looked clear and placid. As they drew closer he could see where algae shrouded stone shelves descending beneath the surface. What could those be for?

His thoughts were interrupted by a hissing sound. Wood shattered. A blackened, dirt encrusted stick figure stepped into the clearing on the far side. Bannor felt that hot spike of frustration drive into his guts.

Such blasted, utter futility. Either he killed the avatar, or it killed him.

“It’s ended, savant. This running stops.”

“I won’t give up, Nystruul. I’ll die first.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll take you and your goddess with me.”

“Such words are stupidity. Surrender.”

“No.”

The avatar glared at him with its pinpoint eyes. Bannor could smell its stench even at this distance.

A strident female voice came from behind. “Hey, Bannor, is this loser bothering you?”

A parable says that one of Gaea’s faithful trekked to a high mountain and for days concentrated on summoning the Green Mother.

After a tenday of efforts, she was rewarded with plumes of green smoke that surrounded her, and from it a voice asked.

“You called me, Daughter?” The savant who had labored so hard, half starved and weak could only croak out the words. “Y-y-you came!”

“Of course,” Gaea replied. “I came simply because you thought I wouldn’t…”

Every time I think the universe is perverted or unfair, I remember the words of she who gave birth to it and know it to be true…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Thirty-Two

« ^ »

The voice emanating from behind Bannor made his chest tighten. It caused his view of the lake, surrounding clearing, and the scarecrow-like avatar to blur. He didn’t dare turn his head for fear that he’d only imagined who belonged to that twanged western common.

The breeze seemed to go quiet. The birds ceased their chirping. Even the ripples on the glassy pond appeared to stop. A white glow cast reflections on his arm and he smelled seaweed and salt.

Nystruul was the first to speak. He spoke in a disgusted rasp. “Kergatha.”

“Hethanon,” the feminine voice replied, bright and cocky. It was the most welcome sound Bannor had heard in weeks. “Or what is it you go by now—Nice-drool or something? You look a bit-err, words fail, you’ve looked better. Bannor and Sarai been keeping you busy?”

“This isn’t your business, bitch,” Nystruul hissed. “You’re dead.”

“See, Bannor, try to be polite to this assassin and he insults you. What a low, heathenish, lurkabout—and on top of it, he’s ugly!”

His heart bursting with relief, Bannor could spare a look now. “Wren!” He paused and frowned. “You—you’re—glowing.”

Still dressed in her soaked guild leathers Wren stood at the edge of the clearing. The savant’s blonde hair hung wet and soggy around her face. Everything else about her was dazzlingly white. Wren’s skin glowed and light shone through rips in her clothing as if someone had put a brilliant white beacon where her heart should be.

“Pretty,” Sarai murmured, eyes wide.

Wren’s gaze shifted to Sarai and her eyebrow rose. Something about the savant’s eyes frightened Bannor. No longer were they the sparkling blue he remembered. They looked intense—infinitely blue.

“Never mind,” Wren said, her gaze shifting from Sarai to him. “I’ll ask later. Don’t worry, we’ll get to the glowing part too—Bannor.” She growled when she said his name.

His skin prickled. As she finished, Nystruul snarled and launched a fire bolt across the clearing.

Bannor ducked and Sarai lurched to one side.

Barely stirring, Wren put up a hand. The thunderous energy impacted her palm and flared around it, crackling and sizzling. She lifted a leg and followed through as if she were pitching a stone.

A bolt identical to the first jagged back across the clearing and smashed Nystruul back into the trees. The avatar writhed in the grass cursing.

Wren made a fist. “On the chin,” she cheered. She helped Bannor up and put a hand on his shoulder. “Stupid, he knows that never works. Guess he figures if he keeps trying, eventually it will.”

Her hand felt hot, much like Sarai’s skin. Wren looked jubilant, perhaps insanely so. “What happened?”

She held up a finger and pointed at Nystruul. “Let’s deal with—” Her brow furrowed. “It.” Wren chuckled.

Bannor didn’t see what was so funny. Obviously, Wren didn’t know how to kill this creature or she would already have done so.

Nystruul climbed to his feet. It took a long time. The blackened creature wavered. The smell of charred flesh drifted across the clearing. He moved until he stood at the far edge of the pond. “I despise you, Kergatha. Some day I shall celebrate your passing.”

“Perhaps you hadn’t noticed, Heth, old boy, but I think you beat me to it. I grant that you’re sturdy, but the smell…” She waved a hand in front of her face.

“Mock me, Kergatha, I shall dance at the party when the mistress serves the soup of your soul.”

“Now, that’s not funny.” Wren’s features hardened. “I’ll give you one chance to leave Bannor in peace.” Her voice dropped. “Otherwise, you’ll become the corpse you should be.”

Nystruul snorted. “You cannot kill an immortal.”

Wren’s jaw tightened. “It’s your life, scum.”

The avatar started around the pond. “I shall drown you, and silence your miserable squeaking forever.”

“Bannor, while I was lying there in the sand, I remembered a lot of things,” Wren said, her hand clamping on his shoulder. “How I worked your power, for one thing.”

He fixed on Wren. It hurt to look into her eyes. “And?”

She pointed at the approaching Nystruul. “I know his secret. Without it, he’s only singed flesh and bone.”

“What?”

“It’s all in his pattern.”

“But, I don’t know—”

“Yes, you do. Look.”

Nystruul was almost on top of them. Sarai tensed at his side. The charnel smell grew until it was palpable in the air.

“Sarai, hold him!”

His mate clapped her hands. Two huge bulges in the ground swelled and slammed together with Nystruul at their center.

The avatar’s muffled scream of frustration rumbled through the massed rock and loam. Bits of dirt and hunks of grass dropped off the mound.

“My, she’s gotten good at that.” Wren eyed Sarai. “Poor Nystruul, he’s taking a beating because you’re no good to them dead.” She looked at Bannor from the corner of her eye. “And you are so stubborn.”

“Wren,” he breathed. This strange casualness she was showing, scared him. Where was the dark serious woman he remembered? “That won’t hold him long. He might forget he needs me alive. Tell me.”

She nodded and pulled him back forty paces from the quivering hillock. “Stare at it. Look for his pattern. It will look similar to your own—and mine.”

Bannor studied the mound. All he saw was a grass covered bulge sitting in the middle of the clearing. It looked like pustule ready to split open and disgorge its infected contents.

“I don’t see anything, Wren.”

She reached up grabbed the back of his head. His hair stiffened. “You want me to die, boy? I’ll die right here next to you, and so will Sarai. I can’t kill that bastard. You have to do it.”

“I don’t know how,” his voice sounded weak.

She pushed on him. “I’ll tell you how, damn it. Do as I say. Concentrate! Find the picture within the picture. I know you can do it. Nystruul isn’t this injured because he did it to himself. You had a hand in that—and this.” She held a glowing hand up in front of his eyes. “Focus.”

A split opened in the hump’s top and a blast of crimson energy burst skyward. Melted soil and rock boiled out. A blackened mummified-appearing hand thrust out and tore at the dirt confines.

Bannor’s stomach knotted. His heart pounded.

Sarai gripped his hand. “Dead,” she murmured.

Thoughts jangled in his mind. Focus. He stared, searching for the tracery that would reveal Nystruul to him.

The sulfurous smell grew. He wanted to vomit. Wren stood frozen by him. Sarai wrinkled her nose, but did not stir. Would Wren really stand there while the avatar came to kill her?

Why couldn’t he find the pattern? When he had needed it, the power came.

Hunks of the mound ripped away. Nystruul would be free in moments.

“Wren, I can’t … I need more time…”

“This is all the time you’re going to get. You won’t get lucky twice. I’m not coming back a second time. You’ll spend the rest of your existence being chased by this stinking filth.” She made a fist. “Emotion, Bannor. Desire is the trigger, emotion drives it, and you have to let yourself see.”

A large section of the hump tore, sod ripping and smoldering as Nystruul battered away the obstruction. The avatar had weakened greatly. The flesh was less substantial with each new ordeal it was put through.

You have to let yourself see.

See what? Nystruul’s hands wrapped around Wren’s throat? The pond frothing as she drowned beneath its surface? Emotion. Desire.

Why did the power hide from him, but not Wren?

Let yourself see.

Did he block himself? Even before Wren told him of the danger, some hidden part of him must have sensed it.

The hillock’s side collapsed and Nystruul stepped out.

“I’m going to make an awful fuss when I start suffocating,” Wren warned. “Better do it.”

“Wren…”

The avatar stepped forward. He moved slowly, apparently confused by the fact they weren’t running. Bannor still didn’t know how the creature got ahead of him and Sarai, or for that matter, how Wren found them.

“Do it!” Wren gritted.

Bannor focused on his own tracery. In it, lay all the answers to every question he had ever asked himself.

As he concentrated, Bannor felt the wild thing, the Garmtur, growling in the corner. It wanted to be separate, autonomous, unconstrained—alive. He could feel it feeding on his emotions. It flourished on his primal urges. The Garmtur only acted when he was in danger, or his desire for it became great enough.

Desire is the trigger. Emotion drives it.

The Garmtur snarled. All evidence of it slid from his grasp. It sent a tremor of fear through Bannor. Gone. Then he noticed his tracery had changed. The complex whirl at the center was different now. It hid in the heart of his pattern. The essence that made up his Nola.

“You shall die slowly, Kergatha.” Nystruul staggered toward Wren, hands clawing the air. The stench of death grew overpowering.

Wren stood her ground.

She means to do it. She’s going to let that ugly bastard drown her and strand Sarai and me forever!

Sarai braced at his side. She stared up at him, glowing eyes pleading with him. It appeared she wouldn’t attack the monster again without his urging.

Bannor’s mind whirled. Have to do it. The pattern continued to gleam and pulse, throbbing like the hammering of his heart.

He reached out mentally and touched his Nola. A shock jolted through his body. Pastels and colored weaves danced through everything in sight. The world became dazzling and immense.

Traceries in everything. The trees, grass, the pond and sky, Wren, Sarai—every iota had its own signature and identity. In that instant, he sensed them all. Interlocking weaves, relationships between things he’d thought were simple turned into mazes of boggling complexity. Within each pattern, he found another and another…

Bannor’s stomach turned to fire, and he felt dizzy. His heart pounded. He had always known the universe was huge beyond measuring. The land he called home made up only tiny portion of the cosmos and he could never see all of it within his lifetime.

This sight, this curse brought home how infinitesimal his view had been. Infinity could be found in a handful of the soil at his feet. Now, he could see not only into the sub-patterns but the macro-patterns that comprised the workings of the sky and beyond…

Too much. He knew why Wren had started to go mad.

“Die.” Nystruul closed his fingers around Wren’s throat. The savant impassively let him.

Her infinitely blue eyes burned into him, accusing-daring.

No!

Bannor felt like a colossus. Everywhere patterns and lines. He couldn’t move without disrupting a subtle balance or a scheme. Rules, so many rules.

The avatar clamped down, his stick-like arms tensing as he squeezed Wren’s throat. The blue glow of her Nola flickered around her neck and licked down her arms and legs.

Wren’s intense eyes never left Bannor. She didn’t struggle. Only the Kel’Varan Nola kept the avatar from snapping her neck. The blackened figure cursed and snarled, then started dragging her toward the pond.

Chaos ravaged Bannor’s mind. How had he managed to stay alive? The balance—so precarious. One little tug…

The image of his body arms raised to heavens came back to him. Wren’s voice, his, echoed in his mind. All comes tumbling down. No more games. No more fun in the sun. Nobody laughs or cries. It’s over. He felt as if his insides were turning inside out.

Sarai gripped Bannor’s arm. “Mine.” She pointed at Wren. “Ours.”

The more Bannor understood, the more he realized Wren’s importance. Without her, not only would they be stranded, he might destroy the universe he was trying to protect.

All comes tumbling down.

Nystruul was half way to the pond now, Wren simply limp in the creature’s grasp. Somehow, she managed to glare at Bannor. If she died, he would remember that stare for the rest of his life.

Still afraid to move or even twitch, he focused on Nystruul and the whirling lines in the avatar’s body. He studied the patterns, unable to understand what Wren might have meant by a secret.

What secret?

They reached the water.

“Bannor!” Sarai shoved his arm. “Ours!”

Nystruul thrust Wren into the water.

Bannor’s heart raced. He started to reach for Sarai’s hand and stopped. So fragile. Everything tenuous as gossamer. He could see the web of power connecting Sarai to her element. Brush it the wrong way…

The power. Sarai’s power. The connection, without her power she was a normal elf. Without his power, Nystruul was a…

“Corpse,” Bannor growled.

The line connecting Nystruul to the sky was easy to find. He barely even needed to reach out to touch it.

One little tug.

He took hold with infinitesimal care and gave a little pull.

The avatar, vigorously plunging Wren under the water froze. His jaw dropped open and his limbs drooped. Nystruul didn’t even have time to scream, he simply disintegrated into a pile of blackened ashes at the pond-side.

The avatar was gone. It had taken barely a shrug. Wren’s ranting in his voice filled his mind. Ripped Mazerak’s Nola out by the roots. Just felt like it. So I did. The frightening ease with which he’d finished the creature made Bannor numb.

So many rules. He couldn’t breathe. Each breath, every heartbeat threatened to throw some vital balance out of sync.

Bannor sank to his knees. Even though the Garmtur’s power flashed and sizzled through his body, he felt weak. A throbbing pounded in his temples worse than ever.

Wren crawled out of the water coughing. “About Ishtar-damned time,” she wheezed, rubbing her neck.

He felt frozen and isolated. No one should have the burden of this incredible power. It felt as if he’d stopped breathing. How could he go on living, knowing this horrible immensity lurked inside of him?

The savant’s eyes were on him. “What’s the matter, Bannor? You did it.”

Bannor held his arms up so that he could see Wren framed between them. He let out his breath slow and careful. “Wren, I can see myself.”

There was once a time when I looked in a mirror and thought myself so ugly that I despaired. My vanity became so focused that I spent more than a dozen cycles shaping and refining the appearance of my physical form until even my eyes were pleased with the perfection I had wrought.

It was then I realized that despite the fact that my semblance pleased my eyes, I still hated what I was…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Thirty-Three

« ^ »

Bannor knelt in the grass a few paces from the pond. He didn’t know how much time passed, or even if time continued to move. He sensed Wren and Sarai staring at him. For the moment, they didn’t matter. His body felt like a bowstring, his muscles achingly taut. It seemed as if the forces of the universe had wrapped him in a cocoon.

Bannor’s heart labored and his stomach churned. With a single tug on a tracery he had destroyed Nystruul the avatar. In the instant of the evil creature’s destruction Bannor had felt subtle balances shift, vital lines of cosmic symmetry attenuating; ready to snap. The house of cards had vibrated but held.

One instant away from total annihilation. His mind whirled back over the dozens of times he’d thoughtlessly just wished for something.

A fist twisted in his gut. He wanted to be ill.

When Wren told him about his Nola, he’d unconsciously clung to the idea that power was freedom, the ability to do greater and grander things. He saw his foolishness now with a frightening clarity. No greater millstone could have been put around any man’s neck. Best that he rip out his own Nola to save the lives of countless others.

Rules, so many rules.

To do that would be like trying to light a room with darkness. To remove the Nola, he needed to use it. As the power dissipated, its ability to neutralize itself would fade. Possibilities flickered through his consciousness. He saw the energy dividing repeatedly, growing smaller and smaller but never actually becoming zero.

What did infinity divided infinitely equal?

Wren’s voice shattered his concentration. “It’s a paradox, Bannor. It has no answer.”

He blinked and stared at Wren. The air around her glowed and shifted, patterns in the wind, the life forces of trees, animals, and insects. Everywhere he looked—traceries. Wren looked wet and bedraggled. A bright spider web of lines connected her to the sky and ground. She still glowed with that strange white light. Her intense blue eyes drilled through him.

Bannor clenched his fists and looked away. He glanced at Sarai who stared at him with bright lavender eyes. His mate smiled. In his new sight, she was more beautiful than ever. Delicate filigrees of dazzling silver connected her to the stone. It permeated her body, looking how he would imagine strains of music would appear if they were visible. He wanted to touch Sarai but couldn’t without disturbing a balance. What if it was the wrong one?

His hands shook. “You almost killed us all, Wren. The chance you took…”

Wren snorted and rolled her eyes. “Oh, now he wakes up.” She shook her head. “I’ve been having panic attacks for a tenday trying to get you to understand!” She reached for his shoulder. “Now, maybe we—”

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped. “I understand—okay?”

She froze, hand hovering over his arm. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Don’t you know? You talked me into opening this damned window of yours—” He stopped himself. As his emotions rose, he saw lines growing hot, parities shifting. He closed his eyes and swallowed. “It’s open, Wren, all the damned way. Blasted lines are everywhere. I can’t even—” He forced his voice to a whisper. “I can’t even move. Everything feels ready to fly apart.”

Wren’s eyes widened. She spread her fingers and made a staying gesture. “Whoa, Bannor, ease down.”

He gritted his teeth. Even talking put a perceivable stress on the environment. “That’s what I’m trying to do. I got rid of Nystruul. Now, I’m trying to keep us from joining him in the hereafter.”

Sarai looked at Bannor. “Mine.” She reached out.

“Don’t touch him.” Wren stepped over and grabbed Sarai’s hand. “Wait.”

Sarai frowned, but obeyed.

Wren spoke slowly. “Listen carefully, Bannor.”

He simply stared; there was nothing else to do.

“You’ve gone too deep into your control tracery. You have to pull back.”

Even though he felt like screaming, he kept his voice low. “Wren, climbing a tree is easy. It’s coming down that’s hard.” He swallowed. “Can’t blasted see where you’re going.” Bannor held his breath. “Tallest damned tree I’ve ever shinnied up. Don’t think we want to find out what’ll happen if I fall off.”

“No, we don’t,” she replied, then shivered. “Calm. Close your eyes and think of your tracery again.”

“That’s how I got into this mess!”

“Bannor,” she gritted, eyes narrowed. “This is not a good time to argue with me.”

“Tracery,” he muttered. He imaged the pulsing symbol for his self in his mind. The key to the lock of his Nola. If only he’d never found it. “Got it.”

“We’re going to shrink it, Bannor. Imagine it getting farther and farther away.” She swallowed. “Gently, not too fast. Compress it. Push it down. Feel the power subsiding, dwindling in the distance.”

He pushed against the Nola in his mind. The power resisted like a creature that didn’t want to be caged.

“It won’t go, damn it. It’s not working!”

Wren wiped a now sweaty brow. “Bannor, be easy. Go slow, one step at a time.” She took a breath. When she spoke again her voice was level and firm. “I won’t come in your head and fix it this time. You have to do this for yourself. Listen carefully.”

He nodded. Even that small movement seemed too much.

“Bannor, I want you shut out everything except what I’m telling you, all right? Focus on what I tell you. Imagine your tracery again. Nod when you have it.”

Bannor concentrated on slowing his heart. Blocking out the dizziness, he closed his eyes and imagined blackness, listening only to the soothing lilt of Wren’s voice. He formed the pattern in his mind and nodded his readiness.

“Good.” Bannor sensed Wren marshalling her composure. More than anybody, she knew what would happen if he lost control of the Garmtur. “Relax as much as possible. Focus your attention inward. The battle is entirely inside you. Your Nola is incredibly alive. It’s a mean little brat and it likes to play tricks. You must be stronger than it is. I want you to imagine a pair of strong hands and a box. When I tell you, you’re going use those hands to shove the pattern into the box. Nod when you’re ready to continue.”

Bannor put the images in his mind. Hands sheathed in mail. Blocky fingers able to crush and tear if need be. He refused to be controlled by Wren, Sarai, and especially by his own power.

He indicated readiness.

“Good, take a deep breath, like you were preparing to lift a big weight.”

The cool air burned in his chest. His insides tingled. He poised himself.

“Ready.”

“Keep the picture focused. I’m with you. Stay strong. I’ve seen it happen to other savants. It’s only a matter of getting closure.” She paused. “I’m going to count backward from three. Each step, push harder. On zero, I want that Nola in a box and locked down. Hear me?”

He nodded. Bannor envisioned the armored hands wrapped around the tracery of his Nola. This would be the hardest struggle of his life.

“Three,” Wren said.

Bannor clamped down, imagining gauntlets squeezing hard on his slippery Nola. It writhed under his grasp, trying to wriggle between his mental fingers.

An ache stabbed in his temple.

He ignored it and pushed harder.

Bannor gritted his teeth. The pain grew worse as the Nola resisted his efforts to compress it. He took quick breaths and heaved harder. The tracery shrank. So slow, could he keep up the pressure long enough?

“Two.”

Half way there now. A throbbing pounded in his temples. His heart labored. He clenched his fists. The Nola twisted in his mental grip as if trying to brace against the last little bit of squeeze.

“Almost there, Bannor,” Wren said. “I can feel it. Keep going, don’t give up.”

His mind burned like his chest did on marathon run. The pain made it harder to concentrate. He felt himself slipping. The Nola shoved back feeling as if it would expand to twice its previous size if he let go. Have to do it. I let loose now, no telling what will happen.

He formed a fist and gripped it with the other hand. His arms shook. It was like a game of mercy. Two men struggling with their fingers laced, trying to bend the other’s wrists back and make them give in.

“One.”

Bannor spoke through gritted teeth. “It’s not going, Wren!”

Wren gripped his face, her eyes burning into his. “What’s the matter, Sproutboy, can’t tie your own boots without me?”

His brother’s nickname on her lips was like a slap in the face. Wren had looked in his memories! She lied about not touching his private thoughts! Damn her. Damn the avatars for putting him in this situation.

Angry heat seared through Bannor. He shoved with all his strength. Imagining his fingers wrapped around Nystruul’s throat; squeezing the non-life from the creature that had caused them so much fear and pain.

The Garmtur shuddered under his burst of anger. It began giving ground. Already the short burst of strength waned. He put his remaining strength into an all or nothing effort. Either it worked or his Garmtur would break free and do whatever havoc it might.

Massing all of his emotions and letting them explode into a single concerted attack, Bannor slammed all of his will against the stubborn Nola. The assault drove it back.

It reeled at the edge of Bannor’s mental cage, clinging like a man holding on in a gale. It tried to claw out again but Bannor gave one last shout of effort.

The Garmtur vanished within.

He clamped the lid down tight and fell to his knees.

The world turned shades of brown and gray. He became aware of Wren stroking his brow. She spoke, but he didn’t hear the words, only the thunder of his heart in his ears.

It took a while to catch his breath. Sarai clutched his arm, looking frightened. He guessed even in her fuzzy state of mind she had sensed the tremendous danger they’d been in.

“Odin,” he gasped. “It—it almost—didn’t work.”

“It’s like breaking a horse,” Wren told him. “It’s hardest the first time.”

“First time?” He groaned. “Wren, I don’t want there to be a second time!” He shuddered thinking of the disaster he’d averted.

“What, Bannor, you expect us to walk off this planet?”

His voice had a raw edge. “I can’t do it. You know I can’t.”

Wren sighed. “Later, Bannor, calm down.” She patted his shoulder. “We’re not in that big of a hurry. You just dealt Hecate a severe blow.” She glanced to the pile of dust that was Nystruul’s remains. “Two decades of fighting, I never just squished an avatar like that. They’ll consider carefully before sending another one.”

“I don’t think I could do that again.”

Wren’s features hardened. She flicked a strand of damp hair out of her face. “They don’t know that. As far as those bastards are concerned we let them think you can do it a dozen times a day—and will, if they keep bothering you.”

Bannor closed his eyes. He felt so weary. He could feel Sarai’s cheek pressed against his arm. “Wren, what do we do now?”

“Getting clean and warm might be a start.”

“I don’t mean—”

“Bannor, let’s not try to solve all our problems at once.” He opened his eyes and watched as Wren stood, put her hands behind her back, and started pacing. “We have a lot to deal with here. There’s finding a way home, there’s Irodee and Laramis who no doubt are frantically searching for us, your Nola being more out of control than I ever imagined, Sarai isn’t herself anymore and—” she stopped and fixed him with glare and gestured to herself with a glowing hand. “Let’s not forget the little halo you gave me back on the beach. Now, I can get a job being someone’s night lamp.” She made an angry gesture toward the sky. Wren turned her back and looked at the little pond. “Those are only the problems I can think of this instant. Give me time; I’ll come up with more. So, we’ll take them slow in the most convenient order. Okay?”

Bannor nodded at put an arm around Sarai. His mate stared at Wren as if the glowing savant scared her.

“Wren?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we get out of this? I mean get to someplace safe and have a normal life again?”

The savant snorted. “That’s the trick Bannor, isn’t it? Life can be real finicky that way.” She sighed, her shoulders heaving. “Who’s to say what’s normal anymore?”

Despair is an emotion that many immortals will not admit to experiencing.

Of course, few of us will admit to having tried to commit suicide either.

Imagine having the power to do almost anything, but two of those things are dying and getting the attention of the creatures that gave you life…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Thirty-Four

« ^ »

Bannor sat in the doorway—his arms wrapped around his knees, staring toward the pond. The morning sun shone gold reflections on the ripples left by stub-beaks bobbing in the shallows. Sarai’s powers had erected their cone-shaped structure in a matter of moments. Inside was a place for a fire pit and a hole in the ceiling to vent the smoke.

They’d spent the night hungry because neither he nor Wren felt lively enough to go hunting without the benefit of a bow. Sarai appeared to need neither sleep nor food. While she still seemed to understand their instructions, she refused to travel more than a few dozen paces from him.

In a way, Bannor was glad. What if she ran off? Sarai had become animal-like in her simplicity. It frightened him. What if she stayed this way forever?

His head still throbbed from his efforts of the afternoon before. Total exhaustion had made him sleep through the late afternoon until daybreak. Apparently, whatever ordeal Wren had faced drained her equally. She still lay on the mud-house floor near the fire, head in the cradle of her arms.

The white glow still surrounded her.

What had he done to her?

A movement made him look over. Sarai knelt by some flowers growing by the tree-break and sniffed the blooms. Her silvery hair fluttered in the morning breeze. She was so in tune with the land that he needed to search to find her even when she stood out in the open. She was like forest spirit now.

In his summers as a woodsman, he’d only caught a glimpse of a wood nymph once. That visionary creature was no more captivating than his enchanted gray-elven mate. He rarely stopped to consider his luck that such a woman felt for him. It made him ache inside to think of their recent arguing. The last moments of his time with the Sarai he loved had been spent in fear, chased by Nystruul. Now, she was like a child.

Sarai walked to him and knelt. She smiled and sniffed the bloom, then held it out to him. “Pretty. Ours.”

Despite the sense of melancholy spreading through him, Bannor smiled and took the flower. He examined the damp triple layer of triangular petals that began black at the center ‘eye’, faded to blue, then yellow and ended in red tips.

At home, they called flowers like these ‘spear-blossoms’ for the petal’s resemblance to a ceremonial spearhead dipped in blood. The flower and the name were symbolic for good and bad things. Things that didn’t matter here in this distant place. He found it odd that this far off world shared so much in common with home.

Bannor sniffed the dewy redolence of the bloom. The heavy and faintly sweet scent reminded him of hard candy.

“Thank you,” he said, putting the bloom down by his side. He held his arms out to her.

“Mine,” Sarai said, wrapping her arms around his neck. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

“Sarai.”

She met his gaze.

“You understand me, right?”

She nodded.

“Why don’t you talk to me more?”

Sarai frowned and closed her eyes. She touched one temple with a finger. “Fuzzy. Words—hard.” She must have read something in his expression because her eyes widened. A frightened look crossed her features. “Same.” She put a hand over her heart. Her voice rose. “Same here.”

He must have not looked convinced. She leaned over and kissed him passionately. It was a little girl’s kiss. A child playing at being an adult, desperately afraid of being found out and trying to make up the difference in fervor.

He held Sarai tight. Her scent, the fragrance of the Sarai he remembered had changed. It smelled heavier, salty like the soil and stone she was a part of now. It didn’t matter. That’s what Sarai told him. Love makes the things we don’t like trivial. He wouldn’t give up on her.

“Mine,” he muttered in Sarai’s ear. “Mine forever.”

***

Bannor watched Wren stumble out of the mud house smoothing her hair and rubbing her eyes. She stared up at the morning sun now only a bell before noon.

She looked at him where he sat next to Sarai playing a game of sticks and stones.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Wren asked in a thick voice.

He shrugged. “What’s the point? A few bells one way or the other doesn’t matter much now.”

“It doesn’t?” Wren sighed and rolled her head around to get the cricks out. “Look, Bannor, we aren’t even close to beat, okay? You’re not done until you’re dead.” She stared at him. “Sometimes not even then…”

“Didn’t die,” Sarai said. “Slept. Stone keep you.”

Wren frowned. “Bannor, what did you do to her anyway?”

“I didn’t do anything to her,” Bannor said in a tight voice. “Nystruul shot her with one of those blasted darts. Some kind of poison must have been on it. She hit her head and—” He glanced at Sarai. “She hasn’t been herself.”

“Poison and a hit to the head.” The savant rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Ishtar only knows what Nystruul used.”

“You think poison could be doing this to her?”

Wren shrugged. “She’s a changeling elemental, filled with stone magic. Some poisons don’t break down for a long time. The stone magic could be sustaining her while the poison keeps eating at her.”

Bannor felt his stomach twist. “You know, Wren, you have an ugly imagination.”

Wren fixed him with unblinking eyes. Her cheek twitched. “It’s an ugly universe with some really despicable people in it.” The savant rubbed her stomach as if she were hungry. She glanced at the pond before returning her gaze to Bannor.

Sarai shuddered. The twigs she held in her hands snapped and she appeared to be focusing herself. “Nystruul’s poison-is-gone.”

“Oh, my, she can talk right.”

Bannor held up a hand to stop Wren. “You know this for sure?”

Sarai nodded. “Stone power make it gone.” The creases in her brow showed how much effort it took for her to speak coherently rather than in fragments.

Stone power. It made Bannor flash on something Nystruul said. So much magic, too little elf. “Wren, could it be there’s too much power here? Could it be affecting Sarai?”

Wren bit her lip and thought for a moment. “I suppose. She is an elemental avatar—perhaps the power is overwhelming her. I don’t know. Her power going away then coming back is what has me puzzled. It shouldn’t happen.”

“Regardless, do you think returning to Titaan would mend it?”

“Possibly. Don’t expect it to happen soon, though, unless you expect to become skilled with the Garmtur overnight.”

“I want to forget the Garmtur,” he said clenching his fists and staring out into the forest. “I never want to use it again. It nearly killed us all.”

“It also saved us.”

“Yes?” He glared at Wren. “That was lucky! I didn’t realize how fortunate we’d been until I was staring myself in the eye. Time and space shaking like a rickety building in a windstorm. What kind of idiot creator would make reality so fragile? It’s insane! Nothing should be able to make everything come apart. Nobody can be trusted with that power—no one.”

Wren put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not the first,” Wren said. “Mages have sought the ultimate pattern throughout the centuries. Bannor—you are the ultimate pattern. It can be controlled, made to operate on a level that’s safe. We simply need to erect barriers to prevent you from accidentally touching those sensitive patterns.”

“To do that we have to risk destroying everything. We don’t have the right!”

“We don’t? Bannor, have you ever wondered what will happen when you die?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what will occur when you die.”

Sarai stood. “He not die.”

“I know Sarai. It’s only a question.”

“A stupid question,” Bannor said. “I die. I’m dead. What’s to happen?”

Wren shook her head. “Says the man who hasn’t thought it through. As a person expires, their will fades. The time it takes to die is a long while by the standards of your Nola.” She gestured around them. “Look at what I did in a few instants. Tell me what happens in those moments when you have no will to control the Garmtur?”

Bannor’s mouth went dry. “My death throes?”

“Muscles twitch for a while after someone expires, Bannor. Your Nola is like a muscle. What happens when the Garmtur starts twitching, hmmm?”

Bannor put his face in his hands. All of his avenues of escape were being cut off. He couldn’t even die safely. When it came to painting a bleak picture, Wren was unparalleled. “Do you have any other happy wisdom to share?”

“No, that’s enough I think.”

“Thank Odin,” Bannor breathed. He put an arm around Sarai, and she snuggled close. He closed his eyes and concentrated on trying not to think about it.

“Let’s find something to eat. I’m hungry.”

“Oh fine, be hungry after you ruin my appetite.”

“Come on, Bannor, this isn’t anything to worry about—at least not right away. We all have our burden to bear.” She smiled. “Mine is you.”

He sighed. Had the preceding hours of his life not been so filled with pain and fear, he would have laughed. “All right, but if we’re going hunting, I lead.”

“Why?”

“Another of your burdens is that glow. I’d rather the game not know we were coming…”

Hunting with sticks sharpened with Wren’s sword turned out to be impractical. Bannor still hadn’t recovered all his strength from the ordeal with Nystruul. The partially healed burns on his chest remained tender and made movement difficult. The cliff climb had also taken its toll on hands, feet and muscles.

In desperate hunger, Wren ran down a lop-ear in a dazzling display of foot speed. The winding zigzag chase around the trees with the cursing savant in pursuit was a memory Bannor would keep for many summers to come.

After all the effort and only one lop-ear to show, Bannor decided to make some simple snares using cord made from braided lengths of thread pulled from their clothing. After setting a few, Bannor started foraging for the rest of their meal. A search turned up some tart tasting berries that dulled the ache in their bellies.

A stream proved to be the best provider where the sharpened sticks and some patience caught them a half dozen notch-fin.

Only an orange sliver of the sun remained when they finally returned to their camp by the pond.

The glow around Wren looked even more pronounced in the long shadows. She stopped by the water and held up her arm. She stared at her hand, opening and closing the fingers, studying it as if it belonged to someone else.

Bannor and Sarai stopped by her. He put down the stringer of fish.

“Why are you glowing?” he asked.

Wren glanced at him and knelt by the pond. “Don’t know. Maybe it’s a piece of the light I was going toward when you jerked me back. I held on tight.” She shook her head. “Funny. Over the summers I’ve fought hard to survive. When I saw that light, I fought equally hard to stay dead.” She put her hands in her lap. “I remember the light slipping from my grip and peeling under my nails. Horrible—like the most precious thing in my existence was being torn away.”

Bannor squirmed. The passion in Wren’s voice made him uneasy. He felt Sarai shifting nervously too. That infinite blueness in Wren’s eyes made him feel vulnerable.

Wren took a breath. “I woke up on that alien beach alone. Everything was different. I saw, heard and smelled things better than I ever had. I was clean and revitalized—totally new. Even my scars were gone.” She pulled up the side of her tunic and drew a long line across her side with her fingernail. “I used to have a scar that went from here to here. Given to me by that bastard.” She gestured to ashen remains of Nystruul on the other side of the pond. “Came close to crippling me for life. Gone, along with every other little blemish and injury I’d gotten over the summers.” She paused. “I don’t know what this glow is, but I know what it isn’t.”

“What’s that?”

“A godsend.”

Bannor’s jaw tightened. “What do you mean by that?”

“What I mean is, glow aside, this condition has nothing to do with the afterlife. It has to do with you and whatever in Hades you did to me.”

“All I did was wish you to be alive.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. What—you think I shouldn’t have tried? Without you, we were stuck here for sure. Hades, even with you here, we’re still trapped.”

The muscles in Wren’s jaw twitched. “You don’t know the half of what’s been done to me. I remember everything I’ve ever seen, done, said, experienced … back to when I was an infant. At first you might think that’s a real boon, but when it’s every little detail it’s like a nightmare. My mind and body are doing all these strange things. You might have wished for something, Bannor, but you must have wished for a lot more than alive.” She took him by the shoulders. Her hands were hot the way Sarai’s were. “What in Hades did you wish for?”

“I don’t remember. There was a lot going on at the moment. I had an avatar trying to kill me.”

“Try.”

The look in her eyes made him shiver. He went over the words in his head. “Wren, I told you I can’t recall.”

“Bannor, don’t lie to me. You’re a savant of reality. Your specialty is seeing and remembering patterns. You have a terrific memory, damn it—tell!”

He sighed and spoke the words. “I wish your mind and body undamaged, perfect and alive.”

Wren stared at him with blazing eyes. The corner of her mouth quirked. She let out a single harsh laugh. “Terrific, Bannor, great—just PERFECT.”

Perfection, some of our kind are convinced they have already achieved it.

Others of us waste time in pursuit of it. I would never feign to be so silly as to think of myself as being without defects. As to seeking to be perfect—why in all the heavens would I aspire as to be so colorless? The only enjoyment living creatures have comes from their flaws…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Thirty-Five

« ^ »

Interlude.

Journal Entry 34: Spring (?), 1102 New Ivaneth Calendar.

Mother, Father, Azir—it is both in surprise and dismay that I write this journal entry. Events have gotten further out of hand than I ever could have anticipated. Mother, it seems your first-born has been magically transformed into your most perfect child. That is only one event of many that has occurred recently. I’ve been to edges of insanity and death, and I have stared into Hethanon’s eyes and watched him die.

With these happenings come problems that I must deal with alone. Mazerak waylaid us on our trip down river to Bravadura. He captured my astral form, caged Bannor and drugged Irodee and Laramis. He somehow took control of Bannor’s mate, Sarai, too. Fortunately, Mazerak did not know how powerful Bannor’s astral abilities were. Bannor slipped free and took control of my body. In the ensuing confusion, Bannor made it possible for me to take control of his body.

The strength of his Nola is beyond even my wildest imagining. Each time I deal with the Garmtur I am forced to increase my estimate. I am now convinced that the Garmtur is not a Nola but a sentient force, the ultimate universal pattern given form. Even as I write these words I know how preposterous it sounds. I’ve felt its aliveness twisting beneath my grip. I struck at our enemies with it and watched them shrivel like parchment in a bonfire.

I have also felt its fury at being controlled. The Garmtur is wild. It lives in a host like Bannor and operates to guard the host’s life. Beyond that, it is difficult to manage and utterly dangerous. I’ve come to realize there is no safe way to fetter Bannor. His death might mean the end of all things as we know it. Such a comforting thought for a man to realize he actually is the center of the universe.

I am frightened. I don’t have Irodee. We’re trapped on this alien world because I tried to control the Garmtur. My mind is crammed with memories because Bannor wished me perfect while trying to revive me from poison (see further entries for details on the misadventures we’ve had here). As of this writing, I’m still not fully cognizant of all the side affects of this revival. If I am truly perfect, it doesn’t feel like it. At best, it’s an odd interpretation. Perhaps the perfect me? I have speculated on this matter for bells and it only gives me headaches. I am not the same woman that left the castle a month ago. I don’t know who or what I am anymore.

Euriel, my mother, give me strength and wisdom. I will wait a while, hoping we may be found. Providing time doesn’t move differently here, you should be back from the jousts in Asgard now. If you cannot locate me through the magical beacon in this book then it will be up to me to get Bannor out of here. The only way to do that is to train him in the rudiments of his power and use it to take us to Irodee. It is a horrible risk; Bannor should be in the care of an arch-magi like yourself or father, someone who can keep the Garmtur subdued. I have little choice though. Wish me Hodi’s luck. I will need it.

End of Interlude

The smells of roasted fish and lop-ear still lingered in the smoky air. Leaning against the wall, his arm around Sarai, Bannor watched Wren writing in her metal bound book. The firelight shone red-gold reflections on the savant’s skin. The soft white glow coming from her formed an aura that danced in cadence with the flickering of the fire.

“What do you write in that book anyway?” Bannor asked.

Wren looked up from the metal bound pages put the quill down and blew on the ink to dry it. Her voice was low and reserved. “It’s an account of what I’ve done. It helps me to organize my thoughts.”

“A lot about me in it I bet.”

Wren nodded.

“Me, too,” Sarai added. She narrowed her eyes. “Bad things about Bannor and me.”

The savant stiffened. She stared at Sarai. “You’ve read this?”

Sarai’s eyes glinted, and she glanced at Bannor then back to Wren. “Your lips move when you write. I watch.”

Instead of getting angry like Bannor expected, Wren let out a sigh and rolled her head against the wall. “Ishtar, I thought I broke myself of that habit.” She trained a level gaze on Sarai. “For a princess who spends most of her time accusing me of being a thief, she certainly knows a lot of guilder tricks herself.”

Bannor raised an eyebrow and glanced at Sarai. His mate looked smug.

“Guilders aren’t only ones who know sneaking.”

The way Sarai said ‘sneaking’ made Bannor’s neck prickle. “You’ve been watching Wren all along.”

Sarai nodded.

Bad things written in the book, that would explain Sarai’s sudden dislike of Wren. She was talking, too. Maybe more of his mate lay behind that childlike façade than he originally thought. Perhaps there were two Sarai’s competing for ascendancy. A battle much like the one he fought while in Wren’s body. In Sarai’s case, it would be a fight with the elementalism that now lived her body. The poison and the hit to the head had weakened Sarai and given this more primal personality a foothold. It would also explain some of the changes she went through early on when she received the power. The snappishness and mood swings. She’d probably been fighting this all along. She simply didn’t tell him before because she wanted to keep the power.

“Some things are starting to make sense,” he said. “What did you write that would make Sarai distrust you?”

Wren’s gaze tracked to his mate then back to him. The infinite blueness in her eyes clouded. “Business, Bannor. You know how bad it would be if the avatars got control of the Garmtur.”

Bannor felt a cold wave rush through him. He nodded.

“I knew how bad it might be when I set out after you. This journal is how I communicate with others that come after me. It’s instructions to do what needs to be done.”

His jaw tightened. “Sarai wasn’t exaggerating. You actually were ready to kill me rather than risk the avatars catching me. That’s why Sarai was angry with you.”

Wren sighed. “Guilty.”

He didn’t care if was the reasonable or logical reaction. The fact that this woman could act as his friend and plot his death at the same time made hot anger race through him. When he spoke, it came out a growl. “What gives you the right?”

The savant stared at him, apparently expecting his anger. “Nothing gives me the ‘right’, Bannor. Get chased around by Nystruul for a decade instead of a few hours and see how desperate you get. Every savant they’ve caught ends up as a weapon against my family and me. Look what Mazerak did to you and Sarai. If you were in my place what would you do? What if the avatars were going to get the Garmtur as their newest weapon? It wouldn’t be long before I’d be fighting Bannor the avatar. How much of a chance do you think I’d have? Would anybody have?”

Bannor shuddered. She spoke the very argument he knew she would use. It still felt like betrayal. “You could have said something.”

“I did. Haven’t you been listening? I’ve been stressing how imperative this has been to me.”

Bannor frowned. “Imperative to you?”

Wren waved as if to dismiss Bannor’s words. “We’re being truthful now. So why confuse things with obfuscations.” She drew a breath. “Yes, in the end it comes back to me. I’m no shining paladin like Laramis. My basic interest is in me. When I get rid of Hecate, then I can relax. We can relax. We won’t need to always look over our shoulders. When I find the weapon capable of getting rid of the avatars, I’ll use it and everyone will benefit.”

He ground his teeth together. “Except for your poor used weapon.”

“Poor Bannor—you’ve been so abused. You haven’t been raped. You haven’t had a loved one die in your arms. Your family hasn’t been enslaved. Your life hasn’t been destroyed—yet. The fun is only starting for you, Boy. Like it did for me twenty summers ago.” Wren stood. “So don’t try to look down on my actions. I’m trying to survive. Before things are over, Bannor, you’re going to have to make tough decisions like mine to stay alive. Deciding who lives and who dies. It’s ugly. Nobody should need to make choices like that—but they do. I do. You do. I’d be more than happy to sit back and watch you lead.” She ran a hand through her hair and looked at him sideways. “Think you can do better? Go right ahead.”

Bannor felt the emotion churning in him. If anything, when it came to words Wren was worse than Sarai. Sarai only turned the words around. Wren could take something that she did wrong and make it sound like it was his fault.

Go right ahead. It was a mockery and she knew it. He needed her as badly as she needed him. It wasn’t as if he could simply turn his back and hope to walk away from this alien place. Is that what inspired her truthfulness? Now that he couldn’t tell her to go eat dragon feathers.

He turned his gaze to Sarai. His mate stared back. There was a fierce set to her jaw. The bare hint of a smile turned up the corners of her mouth as if Wren’s words had vindicated her convictions against the savant.

Bannor clenched his fists and turned his attention back to Wren. “This is it for me, Wren. There won’t be any more need to know evasions. If we’re going to be in it. If I’m your weapon, and we both know I am. Then we are together, equal; no leading, no following. Just us against them.” He gestured to the sky. “Yes?”

Wren stared at him for a moment, blue eyes flashing. She appeared ready to respond with a scathing remark then appeared to change her mind. She narrowed her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was low and slow. “Fair enough. Partners in war, Bannor. Learning your power is another thing. I won’t teach you unless you’re my pupil in every sense of the word, otherwise we can just hope somebody finds us before the avatars do.”

Sarai pulled away from him and stood. She kept her gaze trained on Wren. “A pact changes nothing, my One. Color it any shade, it still comes out black.”

Wren stared at Sarai. The two women locked eyes, unblinking. Bannor’s heart raced, he recognized the stiffness in Sarai’s back, the way her chin was thrust forward. That was the Sarai he’d come to know over the last week. The many faceted Arminwen that was both familiar and strange. With each word she was coming back.

“What does it take to convince you?” Wren let out in exasperation. “It’s for the best. You have to know that.”

Sarai’s eyes were slits. “Heard what was best for me all my life. Always ended up better for everyone but me. This is no different. You’ll sacrifice us and anyone else to get revenge on the gods. We want no part of your war. We have fights of our own.”

“You must see that you can’t run away.”

“Yes?” Sarai glanced at Bannor. Her violet eyes were slits now. “You didn’t hear me say ‘no’. I know necessity when I see it.” She paused. “I don’t have to like it.” She turned away and started out the door.

Bannor felt dizzy. “Sarai!”

When she stopped, he stumbled across the room and grabbed her in a hug.

“My One?”

“You’re back!”

She gave him a blank look. “Did I leave?”

“In a way, you haven’t been acting yourself.”

Sarai rubbed her forehead. She searched his face as if hoping to find the meaning of his words there. “Things have been—funny—” She closed her eyes. “Fuzzy, I mean.”

“You remember everything that’s happened?”

“Of course I—” she paused and swallowed. The light in her eyes dimmed. “The cliff and Nystruul—I crushed…” Her voice trailed off. “It’s like I was there, but—” She bent her head back and squeezed her eyes shut. “Bannor, what’s happening to me? I feel … fading again.”

His stomach knotted and he gripped her shoulders. “The stone power, it’s stronger here. You have to fight it.”

Sarai clenched her fists. “There’s nothing to fight. I feel it—pulling.” She shuddered.

Bannor wasn’t aware Wren had moved. The savant simply appeared at his shoulder. “Sarai, you’re fighting yourself. The stone power is rooted in your own desire.”

Sarai drew a breath. A spasm went through her form. Bannor felt a pang of empathy in his chest. Her battle with the stone power would be much like his own with the Nola and probably no less demanding.

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen as a glow flickered around Sarai’s limbs. The ground quaked and the structure overhead groaned.

Wren glanced at the roof and a worried expression crossed her features. A stone elemental was at war with itself and they were inside something constructed by that same creature’s power.

Another shudder went through the rock around them. Wren took a breath and pointed outside.

Bannor took Sarai’s stiff body in his arms. He carried his struggling mate out into the dark clearing, dodging elbows and heels blindly flailed about as she battled with herself. The quaking underfoot grew worse. Sharp rocks thrust out of the ground like spikes. Trees quivered and sleeping birds took flight. The trembling crescendoed to a rumble.

Wren’s face had paled and the bluish light of her Nola licked around her body. “Stay close, Bannor, this could get a lot worse—”

To punctuate Wren’s statement, the granite shelter imploded. The curving walls sheared into themselves, shuddering into dust as they collapsed. Even the moon appeared to shiver in the sky.

Sarai’s thrashing had become too violent for him to control. She dropped out of his arms and fell to her knees. The grass underfoot rippled like turbulence shimmering across the surface of water.

She clawed the ground in front of her, ripping out hunks of sod and crumbling it in her fingers. Sarai groaned as though she were grappling with a giant.

The blood roared in Bannor’s temples. He swayed trying to stay upright. The terrain underfoot had become like the pitching deck of a ship caught in storm. “What do we do?!”

The glow of Wren’s Nola grew bright. The ground directly beneath Wren’s feet stayed stable. The savant’s gaze focused everywhere but on him. “If Sarai wants that power and her mind she has to fight for it.”

“She’s tearing herself apart!”

“What can I do, Bannor?”

Frustration sparked through him. He felt so helpless. Sarai was fighting this alone and she shouldn’t have to. Their world seemed to be falling apart around them. “Do something!” He yelled simply to be heard over the rumbling.

Sarai let out a howl and the quaking became a roar. Trees toppled and pond water splashed in to the air. Boulders exploded out of the ground and fissures opened.

A bolt of fear shot through him. Sarai wouldn’t give up her battle. In losing, she might take them into oblivion with her. “Wren!”

A strange light flickered in the savant’s eyes as the landscape churned around her. She clenched her teeth and drew her sword. “One way to end this, Bannor.”

He glanced down at his writhing mate lost in the battle with the elemental spirit in her body. He stepped in front of Sarai. “What? No!”

“You want to die and take the rest of the universe with you, Bannor? Move!”

What was Wren thinking? “No!”

“Damn you! There’s no time to explain.”

He stood his ground. Killing Sarai was not the solution he was looking for. Wren would kill to accomplish her ends. She’d admitted it.

Guilty.

“Stay away!” he screamed over the chaos.

Wren surged forward.

He hated the thought of attacking the savant, but he wouldn’t let anyone hurt Sarai, even Wren. Trying to steady himself on the bucking ground he punched at her face.

The savant seemed to skip along the surface of the heaving turf. Bannor didn’t even see how she avoided his punch or the follow up elbow. He only felt the explosive crack of her boot against his cheek and saw the grass rushing up in his face.

For a moment, the night’s blackness became absolute with the sounds of the tremor fading in and out. He regained his sight in time to see Wren making a swift stroke with her sword.

Sarai screamed.

Blood magic is one of my favorite evocations.

Though it is called blood sorcery, it is actually the most rudimentary of the spells that tap into the spirit and tao. The fascinating aspect of these magicks is the way they bind mortals to demons, mortals to elementals, and mortals to each other.

My favorite is of course the binding of mortals to those of the pantheons.

That tasty magic we call the succorund…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Thirty-Six

« ^ »

Heart thundering and belly smacking the heaving ground, Bannor didn’t move quick enough to stop Wren from attacking Sarai. “Wren, no!”

Magic blade gleaming in the darkness, the savant struck. The world exploded as Sarai screamed. Fiery pillars of molten rock reached into the night sky. Smoking fragments of magma burned glowing lines into Bannor’s vision as they arced overhead.

“No! No! No!” Bannor fought to clear his eyesight that jumped and swayed from the ground’s palpitations and the dizziness caused by Wren’s kick. He couldn’t believe that Wren would do it: kill Sarai. “Wren!”

The savant’s words boomed in his mind. Her tones cut through the chaos. Even the roaring around them didn’t drown it out. Though he knew little of sorcery, he guessed it must be a magical chant.

“Blood and stone, mind and magic, force and counter let all be one and one at peace…” Wren went on in another language Bannor didn’t understand. His vision cleared. Wren’s swing had only scored Sarai’s arm.

Crimson rivulets ran down his mate’s wrists and onto the ground. Where the blood touched, the dirt flared and caught fire. Sarai moaned, apparently caught up in the chant. She swayed as Wren continued. The violence around them calmed. He noticed that Wren now bled from a similar cut across her arm. The drops of her blood glowed blue like her Nola. Perspiration glistened on Wren’s face.

Still singing, the savant grabbed Sarai’s arm and shoved the cuts together. She pulled off her belt and lashed their arms together.

Both women screamed. Bannor wavered. What to do?

The energy around Wren wavered like a candle in a draft. As she sang, her voice grew weaker as if she were pouring her soul into the words.

Crimson continued to trickle from their lashed arms. The phosphorescent blood ignited as it touched the soil.

Without trying, he saw the patterns winding out of the ground into Sarai and Wren. Powerful bindings; lines similar to the ones that connected Nystruul to Hecate.

What is Wren doing?

The bleeding slowed. The droplets on Sarai’s skin and clothing crystallized, making her look as though covered with ruby sequins.

The savant swayed. Her song stopped in a yell. The leather binding her arm to Sarai’s snapped. Wren collapsed onto her back gasping. Sarai threw her head back, hands palm up on her thighs. The tortured look no longer tightened her features.

“Sarai?” He put his arms around her. The heat coming from her forced him to draw back. “Sarai?”

She groaned. “Bannor?” Sarai’s voice cracked. “Feel—so—strange…”

He glanced at Wren. She’d rolled over onto hands and knees. Spasms wracked the woman’s body as she heaved.

Besides Wren’s noises and those of Sarai, all was quiet. The breeze whispered against his skin, cool but silent. Even the fires that blazed among the trees from the lava stopped at the end of Wren’s chant. He still didn’t understand what she had done.

The grassy clearing looked pitted and burned. Fist-sized lumps of char and lava covered the ground, making it look as though covered with broken glass. Half the pond water had drained away revealing the rune-covered terrace that ran down into it. The skyline looked different. Trees lay scattered like the bodies of fallen soldiers. Hills had risen where none existed before.

“Sarai?” he asked. “You okay?”

“I don’t—” Sarai looked at him and paled. She clutched her stomach. Cursing, she fell onto hands and knees and vomited.

Bannor looked away from the two women being sick to keep himself from doing the same. His stomach still felt knotted in fear. The smells of sulfur and burned vegetation only worsened the queasy sensation in his guts.

Wren and Sarai continued to be ill for several long breaths. They choked and made noises like the morning after a long drunk.

Wren moaned. “Ishtar, I didn’t want to do that.”

“You witch,” Sarai coughed. “What did you do to me?”

“Saved your life—” Wren crawled away from the spot where she’d been kneeling. She shoved some lava rocks out of the way and collapsed on her back in the singed grass. “Lords, I’ve fought battles that took less out of me.”

Unable to stand it any more, Bannor went and put his arms around Sarai. Now cool enough to touch, she returned his embrace. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I—don’t—know,” Sarai answered slowly. She brushed strands of hair out of her face. Her hand trembled. “Feel odd. I can sense the stone power, but it’s different now.”

“How?” he asked.

“Less of it. Something new, something that I—” Sarai’s eyes widened. “Wren!”

Only the savant’s lips moved. “Sarai?”

“I feel—you.”

Wren groaned. “Not exactly a perfect marriage is it?”

Bannor felt a chill run through him. “What are you talking about?”

“Wouldn’t let the power go; couldn’t control it. To help, I loaned her some of my Nola in trade for some of her power.” She groaned. “Not easy to do. Made me—”

“Sick,” Sarai moaned. “I didn’t want your help—oh Carellion—my stomach.”

“Think I feel better?” Wren said through gritted teeth. “Greedy witch, you should’ve let it go.”

“Stop it!” Bannor yelled. “Are both of you all right?”

“Should be,” Wren said through clenched teeth. “Takes time—to assimilate. Nola and Stone should—stabilize.”

He bowed his head. “Please, I hope this is the end. We have enough trouble without fighting ourselves.”

Sarai only moaned.

Bannor picked her up and carried her to a clear spot on the far side of the clearing. He went and carried Wren to the same area. Odin only knew how long assimilations took.

He sat between Sarai and Wren. Both of them looked pale. The moonlight made it difficult to tell how ill they might be. He hoped that their ability to talk indicated that nothing was seriously amiss.

He held Sarai’s hand in both of his.

She opened her eyes and smiled. “I’ll be all right, Bannor.”

He put her fingers to his lips and kissed them. They tasted salty. He noticed the cut on her arm had scarred. “Better be. I’d hate for all that to be for nothing.”

Sarai shuddered. The glow of her violet eyes dimmed. She turned her head and looked at Wren. Her jaw clenched and she fixed on him. “She’s a zealot, Bannor. I never realized how driven. The things the avatars did to her…” Sarai’s voice wavered. Moisture welled in her eyes. “Damn her, I didn’t want to know.”

Bannor felt his insides constrict; so many changes. Everyone, including himself, was changing. Why wouldn’t the universe let them be? He bent and put his forehead to hers. He felt Sarai’s breath on his face. “We’ll deal with it. We can handle anything as long as we’re together.”

She sighed. “Bannor, you’re so melodramatic.” She struggled and looped her arms around his neck. “That’s why I love you.”

He smiled and kissed away her tears.

The night passed. Bannor awoke stiff and sore. His cheek still ached from Wren’s kick. His damp clothes stank of ashes and sulfur. Sarai lay beside him, eyes open. She studied the sky as if seeing it for the first time.

She looked over and squeezed his hand without saying anything. Her smile told him everything he needed to know about her condition.

He glanced over and noticed Wren reclined with one arm behind her head. She held a chunk of stone in the other hand. She studied the rock as though the untold secrets might be contained within.

Her intensity made him nervous. “What’s wrong?”

Wren glanced over. “Nothing is wrong. The ability I borrowed from Sarai has revealed something fascinating.”

At the word ‘borrowed’, Sarai’s hand clenched on his but she didn’t say anything.

“What’s so special?”

She rubbed the stone with her thumb. “If my senses are correct we aren’t as far from home as I feared.”

Bannor frowned. “Meaning?”

The savant sat up and hefted the rock in her hand. He rose and so did Sarai.

Wren’s blue eyes narrowed. A muscle in her cheek twitched. She tossed the stone to Bannor. “Meaning these stones all come from our home world—Titaan.”

One of my peers asked me why I let a mortal like Wren Kergatha annoy me.

‘Forget her,’ they advise. ‘She’ll die of old age eventually.’

Obviously they don’t understand that if that brat dies of old age, I have allowed her to win. I never was a graceful loser…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

« ^ »

Bannor knelt by the pond splashing water on his face. Sarai knelt next to him combing out her hair. His heart thrummed. Wren’s words still ricocheted in his mind. These stones all come from our home world—Titaan. The savant had deflected the questions he and Sarai hurled at her. Asking them to let her consider it further.

The silence had grown palpable as the savant washed her face and combed her hair. Wren moved with a deliberate slowness. She sat in the grass with great care, mouthing silent words as if looking for support to her conclusions.

“How could we possibly be on Titaan?” Bannor muttered. He looked at Sarai whose gaze remained on Wren. “I mean, the moons, the ocean, everything—it’s all wrong.”

Sarai shook her head. She picked up a rock and stared at it. “I’ve looked into these stones a hundred times, I never saw this. The merging has—”

Bannor imagined what she saw. The way her throat tightened made him think of when he’d looked through Wren’s eyes and saw the world broken into its myriad tiny components. If Sarai had gained even a small portion of Wren’s ability to see it would be enthralling.

“Has?” he prompted Sarai.

She broke her gaze away from the rock and met his eyes. “I could sense the stone before. Feel it. Now that I can see it too, it does feel as though it came from home.”

Bannor shook his head. He hoped Wren wasn’t inferring that Titaan itself had been changed. That was insane; millions wiped away, kingdoms gone into nothingness. No, she didn’t mean that.

The savant sat, legs straight out in front, hands in her lap as if verifying she still possessed all of her fingers and toes.

The silence went on.

Finally, Bannor couldn’t hold back any longer. “Wren, tell us. It can’t be from Titaan, can it?”

Wren sighed and stood. Folding her arms, she paced along side the pond. “The evidence tells me it’s Titaan. There are also the questions I’ve asked myself since we arrived. How did Nystruul find us so quickly? The sky and seas look different from home, but why are all the plants and animals the same? Those spear-blossoms Sarai picked, a rare flower that happens to grow here too? They also grow near where we fought Mazerak. Coincidence? I wonder.”

“Then how did I get cut off from the stone?” Sarai asked, looking perplexed.

The savant’s face lit up and she brandished a finger in the air. “That’s another thing, touching your power now, I see that it can’t be cut off by distance.” She picked up a rock and met Sarai’s gaze. “The power had to be interfered with by great magic. Since you kept attacking Nystruul, we eliminate him as a source. It wasn’t me. So, Bannor is the only one left.”

“Me?” Bannor said. “Why would I do that?”

“I brought us here, not you; different mages, different designs. It’s what convinces me this is Titaan.”

“I’m not following,” Sarai said.

Wren sighed. “The power returned when you needed it, right?”

“Yes, so?”

“Twice as strong as before?”

“Maybe three times—what’s your point?”

“Simple, if distance doesn’t affect its strength.” She gestured to the damaged clearing. “The only way it can change is when its source alters.”

“But you just said—” Bannor started but Wren cut in.

“When its source changes, Bannor. You created her connection to stone, your Nola regulates it. That must mean there’s more of your power available than before.”

“I locked it off yesterday!” Bannor said loudly.

Wren nodded. “Sure did.” She said it as if it explained something.

“I’m lost, Wren,” Sarai said, smoothing her hair. “How do you get from that to the idea we’re on Titaan?”

Wren made a clucking sound with her tongue. She gestured to Bannor. “He shut off the Garmtur and shortly afterward you started to get more coherent. Coincidence? I don’t think so. However, you started to get overpowered again. It suggests that Bannor’s magic is tied to your stone power.”

Bannor rubbed his face. “I’m no good at mysteries.”

Wren made an expansive gesture. “It’s all around us!” She thrust the rock she’d been holding at him. “This is the construct. It’s laced with the magic of the Garmtur. You, or rather I as you, did interfere with her stone power. The extra magic in the stone made it unworkable until she became attuned to it again. Then her powers redoubled because she was using not only the power you gave her, but all your energy running through the rocks as well!”

Bannor’s stomach knotted. “Why is my magic in everything? Did I destroy Titaan?”

Wren stared slack-jawed as if the idea stunned her. “No, of course not.”

Relief washed through him. He sighed. Thank Odin.

Wren continued. “Unguided magic takes the easiest route. It works with the materials at hand. What’s around us is nothing more than an illusion.”

This only confused Bannor more. How could it be an illusion? It made no sense.

Sarai put hands on hips. “An illusion?”

Wren made a staying gesture. “Not an intangible illusion; a façade.” She looked hard at Bannor. “A window; we’re in a bubble of Bannor’s power.”

“And Nystruul?” Sarai prompted.

“There’s likely a doorway where we left,” Wren answered unperturbed. “He found it and forced his way in.”

Bannor threaded his fingers and put aside his doubts. “If you’re right, and we’re on Titaan, does it make getting home any easier?”

“Easier?” Wren rubbed her chin. “It makes it more likely.”

Sarai growled. “You said we were home.”

“Yes—I did. Mother and I once discussed something similar to this. The wizards call it something like ‘tangential planes in coexisting space’. Powerful mages use it to secure areas. Simply said, it’s a magic weave that allows an area to have a second interpretation; an ocean in place of mountains for example.” Wren brought the fingertips of her hands together until they touched then moved her fingers until they meshed.

She continued. Her voice took on a different quality. It sounded older and more resonant as if she were mimicking the words of another. “The copy overlaps the first space but is distorted to match how the weaver wants it perceived. Things entering the weave take on a ‘resonance’. The resonance allows them to interact with the interpretation. Armed with a weave key a person can step in and out of the interpretation but anything without the resonance can’t see or sense the area. What’s fascinating is the space’s size is only limited by the breadth of the interpretation. A century ago, northeast of Blackstar, mages hid entire kingdoms. That’s why they called them the spectral lands.”

Sarai brightened. “Finally—something I’ve heard of—they’re called ghost realms. My father has a vault with no doors that’s accessed like that. No one has ever broken into it.”

Bannor held up his hands. “I’m tired of theory. If it’s true, what do we do?”

“We,” Wren said. “Return to spot where we first appeared and look for a gate. If we can see it, we might find a way to access it.”

“Didn’t you say we needed a key to move in and out.”

She nodded. “We do. That’s the hard part.”

Most of my peers choose not to show themselves openly among mortal creatures, citing various reasons that all come down to fear—fear of breaking something, fear of hurting, worship, fear fear fear—have they forgotten that they are immortals? I have not. I walk where I will—let those of the pantheons frown at my actions like the frightened sheep they obviously must be…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

« ^ »

Bannor walked through the forest, his legs shaking. Could leaving this place be as simple as stepping out a door? He doubted it. Wren ranged ahead, periodically vanishing behind the larger trees. Sarai walked next to him silvery hair fanning in the breeze. Though she’d been under a great deal of pressure, Sarai continued to cope, in many ways better than himself.

He studied her composed face, violet eyes trained on Wren’s back. He sensed a lot of anger between she and Wren remained unresolved. The feelings were only exacerbated by the way Wren chose to cure Sarai’s power problem. No doubt, Sarai felt violated by Wren forcibly taking part of her power.

Bannor also knew that Sarai saw Wren differently now. Wren, intentionally or not, opened herself to Sarai in new ways. That knowledge had softened Sarai’s attitude, though she appeared to resent knowing.

Sarai had proven to be a hard woman, steely and vicious in ways he never imagined. His own shortsightedness amazed him. Did he really think that a woman five centuries old would be as simple as one of only twenty summers? Pure hopeful lunacy, what he mistook for simplicity was focus, someone mature and certain of her place in life.

Did he really want simplicity? For a while, Sarai had been childishly simple and completely devoted. That had been more frightening than any of her recent mercurial moods. His own ambivalence disturbed him more than anything. Through everything, Sarai remained constant. He did all the worrying and reconsideration.

They left the trees for the hem of open grass and hillocks that marked the nearness of the ocean. Bannor heard the rumble of the waves and the scent of salt grew gradually stronger. Wren continued up to the cliff edge that overlooked the sapphire beach and waves of frothing black water.

He wiped the sweat off his brow and glanced up at the sun high in the sky. They would have ample time to look around and recover anything they left behind like the rope made from Irodee’s hair that remained tied to the cliff.

Wren stopped at the edge and looked down. She glanced back as Bannor and Sarai approached. A glint shone in Wren’s eyes. She looked down the cliff again and grinned.

Bannor felt uneasy, when Wren smiled like that it usually meant something bad.

“Well guys, I’ll see you at the bottom.” She jumped off, arms spread and back arched.

“Odin’s breath!” What could she be thinking? Why did she do that? Bannor rushed to the edge. Wren managed two somersaults before she hit the beach feet first.

A brilliant blue flash exploded around the savant, causing her to be lost from sight for a moment. Bannor blinked, then watched as the savant stepped out of small crater in the sand. She waved.

“Nola wielding show off,” Sarai muttered standing next to him.

Bannor’s heart still beat fast and he frowned down at the savant even though he knew she couldn’t see his expression. He should know better than to worry about her.

“Now, how do we get down?” He peered off the forty odd paces of vertical drop.

“Easy,” Sarai answered. She held out her hand.

Bannor stared at her. The last time she took his hand in a similar situation, she dragged him through a rock face. Memories of the black void beneath the cliff made him go cold inside.

Sarai raised an eyebrow and frowned. “What, don’t you trust me?”

He sighed. “Yes—as long as we’re not walking through the stone again.”

She appeared to consider his words. That had happened when she’d been under the power’s influence. He knew her recall of that time was hazy. “Oh—that.” She relaxed, looking apologetic. She studied him and spoke slow. “No—we don’t have to do it that way. Put your arm around my waist.”

Bannor did. He held on tight glancing down to the beach and the water.

Sarai looked over the edge too. She took his free hand with her left. “Try to stand straight and balanced, don’t move around too much.”

He cleared his throat. His heart beat faster. “Like a mountain, Little Star.”

She smiled. “Good, here we go.”

Closing her eyes, Sarai aimed her free hand at the ground, fingers spread. At first nothing happened, then a glow surrounded her hand. Bannor held his breath as the rock underfoot trembled. He heard a thick slopping sound, like that of a mudslide. He didn’t realize what was happening until he heard the rock behind them creak. An area a pace around them had separated from the cliff and was now offset downward. The distance grew. It looked as if they were standing on a platform. The stone beneath shifted out of the way. As they dropped, the notch in the cliff behind them appeared to grow taller.

Teeth clenched and brow furrowed Sarai continued the process. The groaning and creaking of the shifting rock underfoot sounded eerie. Bannor swallowed, holding in his amazement, afraid that he might disrupt Sarai’s concentration. He didn’t know how precarious of a position they were in, but he imagined the stone plate canting forward and dumping them off.

The rumbling descent seemed to take forever, but Bannor knew it couldn’t have taken that long because he didn’t take a breath the entire time. The falling stopped about three paces from the level of the beach. The displaced rock formed a huge bulge at the base of the cliff that steamed and groaned.

Sarai opened her eyes and smiled at him. He saw the strain in her face. “Here we are.”

He gave her a kiss. “Here, indeed.” He glanced down and noticed Wren standing on the beach below arms folded.

When Bannor reached down to climb off their perch, he found the rock too hot to touch. “I’ll jump down.”

At her nod, he leaped down to the sand by Wren. Sarai climbed down, unbothered by the rock’s heat. She stepped over, took his hand, and gave Wren an arch look.

The savant grinned. “Showoff.”

They searched the beach until Bannor located the spot he felt must be the area where they first appeared in this place. The tides and rain had removed signs that might have assisted in finding the exact spot. Bannor’s memory of first awakening was fuzzy, and the rugged shoreline was a jumble of planes and angles that all blended together after a long study. Neither he nor Sarai had paid attention to the passage of time, so neither could judge the locale’s distance from the lightning scarred area where they battled Nystruul.

“You and Sarai were out of my sight when I woke up,” Bannor said. He looked down at the sapphire colored sand then out to the ocean. “I walked about twenty paces down to the edge of the water.” When the black water lapped around his boots, he turned and faced the cliff. “You two were on the far side of an outcrop like that one.” He pointed to the ridge jutting from the cliff. “I remember thinking it was the same spot where you pushed me off in your dream.”

Wren stood by the outcrop, arms folded looking up the cliff. Sarai went and stood where he pointed. She peered around, silvery hair spilling across her face. After a long breath, she swept her hair back and shook her head.

“It looks right,” Sarai said. “I’m not sure, though.”

“The glade, huh?” Wren asked Bannor. “The place where you saw Grahm and I?”

Bannor nodded.

“I know that spot well, but only from the top. One way to check. I’ll be back.” Wren turned and started climbing the cliff.

He started to ask how long they should wait until he saw how fast the savant climbed. She traversed the vertical rock as fast as a man could walk. Her hands and feet seemed to stick to the stone like spider’s feet.

Sarai walked over a stood by him and craned her neck up to follow Wren’s progress. “She really is an exhibitionist, you know.”

Bannor shrugged. “There are worse things she could be. Why do you feel so threatened by her anyway?”

“Threatened?” Sarai’s voice rose a notch. “Don’t be silly.”

He looked at his mate askance. He put an arm around her waist and tugged her to him. Sarai let him pull her close, but kept her arms folded.

“You don’t like it that I admire her.”

She snorted. “Nothing but a selfish, conniving, little trollop. I don’t care how skilled she is. I can smell a traitor a block away.”

“A traitor?” Bannor frowned.

“Let’s just see that blonde witch try and separate us.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She’s a schemer, Bannor. She didn’t plan to take ‘no’ for an answer and still doesn’t. If I insisted on dragging you away, she wrote in her book she was considering separating us.”

“Sarai, you can’t damn somebody for what they think.”

She snorted again and banged the back of her head against his chest. “Watch me.”

Wren had reached the top and waved back. She disappeared for a short time then reappeared. She leaped from the cliff and landed in a crackle of energy that blackened the sand. Even after seeing it the first time it scared him. Wren appeared to enjoy it.

“This is it,” she reported with a smile. Wren literally glowed. Since their trip down the cliff the savant had been steadily more cheerful. Bannor wondered if it wasn’t partly to irritate Sarai. The more jovial Wren became, the more his mate looked ready to throttle her.

“Now what?”

“Look.”

“For what?”

Wren sighed and shook her head. “A pattern. If anyone can see it, it’ll be you.”

His stomach tightened. He knew better than to protest. This was the only lead they had in getting out. He closed his eyes and remembered how it felt to see the patterns. He opened his eyes slowly, willing the patterns to be there. He did not look at the cliff but instead at Sarai. At first he saw nothing, then tendrils of ghostly yellow and white began appearing in his vision. Whirls that danced and spun in an aura around her body.

Bannor held his breath. Every time he saw the beauty of Sarai lit up with elemental power; he couldn’t envision her any other way. He gave her a squeeze and looked at the cliff.

He shielded his eyes from the brilliance that suddenly assaulted his eyes. His heart hammered. There really was something there. A portal! A way out. It looked like a million rainbow colored wagon wheels spinning down into a pinpoint. “It’s here!” Bannor whooped. He narrowed his eyes to slits against the glare. It made his head ache to look at it. “About three paces to your left and two toward the cliff!”

Wren made fist. “Yes!” She walked toward where he said. “Here?”

“No, to your left. More. Forward. Right there. You’re right in the middle of it!”

Wren scratched a circle in the sand with her boot. Bannor closed his eyes again to clear his vision of pattern sight. What once appeared like a chaotic miasma of light looked like simple air again.

He let out a breath. “There really is something there. I can’t believe it. I thought—” He stopped himself.

Wren put hands on hips. “You thought it was tripe?”

Sarai sniffed, apparently bored with the subject already. “So, you were right. We have a gate. What do we do for a key?”

Wren stood on the circle and shut her eyes. She held her fists at her sides. The savant’s body trembled with tension. When she opened her eyes again they looked glassy and unfocused. Wren’s face tightened. Beads of perspiration formed on her forehead.

“What’s she doing?” he asked. When he didn’t get an answer, he noticed Sarai’s eyes had grown wide and that she too sweated. She stood by him, body now rigid with concentration as she apparently saw what Wren did.

Wren spoke through clenched teeth. “Don’t just stand there, Sarai. Help me! You want to be stuck here forever?”

The savant’s words were like a yank on a string tied around Sarai’s waist. She hurried to Wren and gripped her hand. Through his tension, Bannor felt a twang of unease. No protest or hesitation? Sarai responded as if she’d been compelled to do as Wren asked. He would have to watch this new connection between them.

The two women stood together staring into space. Bannor wondered what they were trying to do and if it was succeeding. He approached their union cautiously. He took Sarai’s free hand. His mate’s only recognition of the gesture was a small smile. Wren never explained what she planned to do. She only planted herself and started doing ‘it’, whatever that happened to be.

“If you’re not going to use your power,” Wren said, still focused on the air above her, “at least lend us your strength.”

“How?”

“Give me your hand.”

He did.

“Use your second sight. Focus on the gate.”

Though it hurt his eyes, Bannor did as she asked. He looked into the whirling pattern. He felt Wren’s mind at the edge of his consciousness. It bothered him. Sometimes he got the sense she knew more about him than he did himself. She’d already displayed the fact that she knew some of his most intimate secrets.

He heard Wren’s voice again, only this time not with his ears. Tap it, Sarai, and push.

Bannor felt a tingling in both arms then. Burning warmth grew in his chest like when he used the Garmtur. His Nola growled in the back of his mind, rattling the lid of the box he’d locked it in. Power flowed out of the box, streamers of light that made his arms grow steadily hotter. Wren was using his Nola’s strength somehow.

In his pattern sight, he saw the waves of bluish light that Wren and Sarai sent forth through the gate. What would this accomplish? He grew dizzy and his heart beat faster. It grew hard to breathe.

“What are you..?” He groaned.

“Hold on,” Wren gritted. “A few moments more…”

A burst of brilliant colors made the three of them reel back from the gateway. They each fell back a pace. Bannor’s head rang, and his vision went blurry.

“No need, milady,” a familiar male voice said. “I am here. Glad to finally make contact, though it could have been a bit more timely.”

Bannor cleared his sight. It was Laramis. Mud covered his shiny chain mail and his tabard looked torn and bloody. A long black braid the color of Irodee’s hair was tied around his neck.

The paladin was alone.

Paladins, crusaders, justicars, they are all novel inventions.

Justified violence, holy war, religious purging, racial cleansing—marvelous!

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

« ^ »

Bannor stared at Laramis, his burly armored body framed against the dark cliff side. He looked older. His sharp features sagged, broad shoulders rounded with fatigue. The man had recently been through a lot. If the story told by his appearance weren’t alarming enough, Irodee’s long braid wrapped around his neck in tribute fashion made the situation appear even grimmer.

Bannor’s bones vibrated; something terrible had happened. Even after ten summers, he recalled the smell as clearly as the day his brother died. Laramis smelled of trench-dirt and blood. The paladin carried with him the scent of war.

Laramis turned pale. “Ladies, pardon,” he abruptly pushed between Wren and Sarai and sat on a rock. The way Laramis’ body shook, Bannor knew the paladin was protecting his dignity by not collapsing in front of them. Sufficiently supported, Laramis composed his face. “Good to sit down. Seems I have been standing for a week.” Bannor heard a tremor in the justicar’s voice that he tried to mask. “Two hours of sleep in the last four days I believe.”

Whatever had happened must be bad. Time appeared to have passed differently outside, perhaps a week or more. What happened to Dac and Irodee? Here was one of the finest Justicars of Ukko sitting in front of them, one step from total exhaustion. Bannor’s guts knotted.

“What’s happened?” Wren asked.

“What, milady?” Laramis snorted. “Tis easier to ask what hasn’t happened.” He swallowed and rocked his head back. “Tis a horrendous mess. Ivaneth’s troops, Malan’s troops, Hecate’s creatures everywhere, demons and hadespawn…” His voice trailed. “Ragnarok, milady, it is pure ragnarok.”

“Malanian troops?” Sarai asked.

“Oh, yes,” Laramis nodded. He looked so ancient. Even though there weren’t wrinkles or gray hairs, he seemed fifty summers older. “The Elite and the Griffons, enough units to quell the entire south region if they weren’t fighting avatars. I—” his voice caught. “It is not good. The avatars opened a shadowgate to the north. Hordes have been pouring through. The region is flooded with spawn.” His eyes found Bannor’s, the first eye contact since he arrived. “They want the Garmtur my friend, they want it badly, either to have it for themselves or to keep Lady Wren from getting it.” He put his face in his hands. “So tired.”

Wren’s sweat covered face turned a shade paler. She gripped the paladin’s shoulder. “Laramis, where’s Irodee? Where’s Dac?”

His hands tightened into fists. “I do not know. We were separated. All I found…” He touched the braid around his neck. “Chaos. Nothing I have tried has reached her. I fear—” He stopped. “No.” Laramis swayed, eyes closed. “Need to rest. I depleted my demiurge to breech the gate. It will take time before I can do it again.”

Bannor felt Sarai take his hand. She and the Myrmigyne went through a tiff, but he knew that Sarai liked Irodee. He did, too. He met her gaze. Sarai’s face looked grim. Wren also wore a stony expression. Wren and Irodee always seemed as close as any two sisters. Laramis’ words had rocked her like a physical blow. She looked ready to press him. He doubted the man could stand further questioning right now.

Bannor took Wren’s arm. “Let’s get him to a sheltered spot. Sounds like we’re in the safest area in the region. If we’re going out in that mess, we need a plan.”

The savant glared at him. He met her stare with narrowed eyes. Wren glanced at Laramis, and then pressed her lips to a line. She took a breath and appeared to shrink. “You’re right.” She spoke to Laramis. “We’ll get you out of the wind. Bannor, you get one arm. I’ll get the other.”

The paladin made no comment, apparently too fatigued to argue. Together they assisted him down the beach to a sheltered alcove. Wren fetched some wood and they made a small fire for warmth against the chill sea breeze.

While they made Laramis comfortable, Bannor kept catching looks from Sarai. Finally, he pulled her off out of Wren’s hearing range. The sun had dropped beneath the horizon. Only a few orange and red traces reflected off the ebony swells rolling into shore. A line of dirty gray pouch-beaks skimmed over the water. Bannor took a breath of salt air and faced Sarai.

“What’s the matter? I mean, besides the obvious?”

Sarai put her arms around his waist. “It’s our worst nightmare, my One. It’s happening. Father’s troops, Ivaneth, hadespawn, the minions. This might be our last few hours together.”

“What kind of talk is that?”

“We’re only flesh and blood, Bannor! I have great power now, so does Wren, but there’s only so much four people can do. The avatars obviously intend to drown us in spawn. If we run, they’ll destroy our homelands. It’s—” Her voice caught. “It’s hopeless. My conscience will not let me to stand by and watch my people killed. No one should need to die for either of our freedoms. My parents know I am here in the borderlands.”

She held up her hand as if supporting a ball on her fingertips. A glowing red sphere appeared. The crimson light looked like blood on her pale skin. “Because of the mind seal they know I’m still alive. My parents knew I was well, so they didn’t really try to find me. With the avatars threatening, they will risk the Malanian army to get me back.”

Bannor felt tightness in his chest. It was as if Sarai was saying good-bye and preparing to never come back. “We can’t give up, Little Star, there must be a way.”

“I will try. I won’t let Father sacrifice loyal warriors on my account, though. I fear if we go to him and assist against the avatars, he may separate us. You are dangerous, Father will know that.”

Bannor nodded. “He may. Better, I think, to keep the faith. If Wren has taught me anything on this venture is that the impossible stays that way, unless you keep looking for alternatives. We have to find that way through.” He took a breath. “From what Laramis said, my instinct is that shadowgate. If it lets spawn into this world, maybe it will let us into theirs. Maybe then we can get some peace.”

Sarai’s eyes widened. “Can I have heard you? You can’t actually think—”

He put a hand over her mouth. “Little Star, it’s only an idea, okay? If we shut their gate they’ll just open another. Kill an avatar as I did with Nystruul, Hecate will simply make another to take his place. Even taking my own life won’t solve the problem. All that’s left is through. Either we find a way, or we sacrifice our souls and this world.” He looked up to the sky. “If I have to, I’ll wish Hecate never was and hope it all holds together.”

“I hope you don’t mean that,” he heard Wren say. “We have a lot of options before we get that desperate.”

Sarai put hands on hips and stared at Wren who approached. The savant looked drawn, as if Laramis’ news had sucked the energy from her. The sun’s ruddy light gave her a flushed and sickly appearance. He never imagined that anything would strike her so. He wished she seemed as confident as her words sounded.

Bannor folded his arms. “Would you share those options with us?” he asked.

“Glad to,” Wren responded. “When I have more complete idea of what’s happening. From what Laramis says, it looks bleak.” She laced her fingers together. “I’ve learned though, that your worst bane can become a boon.”

Sarai snorted. “How’s that?”

“I overheard Bannor mention the shadowgate. I think the gate is the key too. Hecate’s troops are coming through it. If those forces are here, they aren’t defending their home dimension. It provides an opportunity to strike them a crippling blow.”

Sarai’s voice rose. “Having a Nola has addled both of you. Attack a goddess in her home dimension? Ludicrous! We couldn’t handle an avatar.”

Wren nodded. “That’s why it will be unexpected. Challenging her isn’t the idea; it’s to learn her weaknesses. We must scout her home territory to do that. Finding a vulnerability is the only way to win.” She swallowed and the concerned look came back to her face. “That will wait. I want to find Irodee first.”

During Wren’s explanation, Sarai seemed to be building to an eruption. At the mention of Irodee, the tension left her body. For the first time since they met Wren, the savant showed more concern for someone’s welfare than the quest. It spoke to the friendship that she and Irodee shared.

“When we find Irodee,” Bannor made sure to say ‘when’ and not ‘if’. “What then? It looks like Hecate is tooling up to tear Titaan apart.”

She took a breath. “Bannor, since we decided we’re cooperating, I’ll share something. My father taught me a key to strategy: scout, assess, correlate, strike or negotiate. We’ll go by that canon. I don’t want the countryside ravaged, either. After all, we are the reason they’re doing it. I think our first move is to check in with Malanian army. They’re involved now and will know exactly what’s going on. Sarai should be able to get their assistance now that the threat is looking them in the eye.”

Sarai looked surprised as if she and Wren agreeing on something were an accomplishment of the impossible. “We were just discussing that.”

“Good.” Wren nodded. “I don’t want them separating you and Bannor, though.” He and Sarai exchanged looks as Wren continued. “I think I have a way to do that.” She patted Bannor on the shoulder. “Berzerker like this fellow can be a real hazard unless someone has the music to his melody.” She eyed Sarai. “You can play that tune, can’t you?”

Lips pursed, she studied Wren, obviously trying to figure out what the savant might be up to. “With my eyes closed,” she replied.

***

The four of them huddled around the fire. The rumble of the surf sounded eerie as it reflected off the rocks. Stars winked against the azure night. Shadows cast by the flames danced on the cliff like wraiths.

Even through the salt and the smell of burning wood, Bannor could detect the traces of blood-fetid soil that clung to Laramis’ boots and breeches. The odor brought back bad memories, ones he’d hoped never to face again.

The paladin stirred little except for the rise and fall of his chest and the occasional sleep-mumbled prayer. What they meant, Bannor didn’t know.

Wren spent her time writing in the journal. He didn’t know how she could sit still when she knew what was happening outside. Sarai appeared as nervous as himself. Now that the excitement had waned, he wondered how Laramis came through that gate. How would he get them out? He flashed on the mention of ‘demiurge’. What was that? Wren’s friends all had one thing in common. They were never what they appeared. Sarai learned that with Irodee.

The moon rose high in the night before Laramis awoke. He stretched, massaged his face and rubbed his neck. The man’s skin had more color than when he first appeared. Some of the age appeared to have melted away.

“I apologize,” he said in a bleary voice. “Didn’t realize I was so tired.”

“It’s fine,” Wren said. “You gave us plenty to think about. Besides we won’t be getting out unless you assist.”

The paladin made a tiny smile. “There is that, milady. I needed the rest. More than I’ve had in a while.” He looked at Sarai, then to Bannor. “Perhaps it’s my imagination or some of us are different.”

“Different, yes,” Wren agreed. “Long story. I’ll let you read about it from my journal later. Right now, we need to know what to expect when you take us out.”

“There is skirmishing everywhere. That is how Irodee, Dac and I became separated. We awoke on the river, and thanks to Bannor’s note were apprised of what direction you were being taken. Irodee tracked you in the woods. About three dozen minions descended on us and forced us to retreat. In one press, we were forced apart. By the time I fought my way clear and circled around, I couldn’t find her. All I found was one of her braids.” He touched the coil around his neck. “Two days ago a huge ground tremor caused a lot of damage.” Bannor looked at Sarai. She raised an eyebrow still listening to what Laramis was saying. “The minions were scattered, that gave me access to the gate. They will probably be waiting when we come out.”

“Wonderful,” Wren said.

“And all we’ve got for weapons are my two hand-axes and Wren’s sword for weapons,” Bannor grumbled.

“Not to fear,” Laramis said. He grabbed the heavy backpack he’d been wearing. He undid the ties and reached deep inside, past the bottom it seemed. He pulled out the entire length of a golden longbow.

“My bow!” Sarai cheered.

“Your quiver too,” Laramis said, pulling them from the sack. “We found them while tracking you.”

“Both you and Wren have those backpacks. Where can I get one of those?” Bannor asked.

“The Lady’s mother.” Laramis nodded to Wren. “Is she not a wonder? I have other supplies as well.”

Sarai glanced at Wren. “A wonder indeed.”

Bannor shook his head. If Sarai got any more cattish she’d grow fur and claws.

The savant smiled. “She has her moments. Wait ‘til you meet her.”

The corner of Sarai’s mouth quirked. “I’m certain I’ll like her better than you.”

Laramis frowned. “You’ll pardon, Arminwen, but that’s an unkind thing to say. Wren is a bit, ah, rough about the edges, but I have always found her to be a stalwart companion. Shouldn’t we save such arguments for court?”

Sarai bowed to him. “Forgive my words, Sir Laramis,” she looked at Wren. “You are right. The last day or so has been—stressful.”

“Things shall get worse before they are better, Milady. If we work together though, we shall overcome.”

“Well spoken,” Sarai answered.

Laramis heaved himself up and looked out at the black ocean. “A wondrous work. It is too bad we must leave.”

“The fancy has worn off for me,” Bannor said.

“Pity.” Laramis shook his head. He picked up the sheath of his battle sword and strapped it over his back. He drew the huge blade and pointed toward the exit spot. “Hie us to the gate. There is evil afoot, and we must strike it with renewed vigor.”

Wren chuckled. She walked over and gave the paladin a hug. “I’ve missed you, Laramis. Come on, let’s find Irodee.”

The four of them walked as a unit to the gate spot. Laramis pointed to the sky. “By the hand of Ukko,” he said. Blue fire licked around his arm. For an instant, Laramis seemed bigger and a fiery halo surrounded him.

Bannor didn’t have time to wonder about it. They were back in the forest where they started, the raspy hiss of Hecate’s demons coming from all around them.

I must admit that human ‘life’ is of no real value to me.

Still, through the millennia there have been those exemplary individuals that have forced me to respect their potential.

They can be tenacious and surprisingly cunning despite their short life spans. I have been burned enough times to know that they are by far at their most dangerous when cornered or when a loved-one is at stake. Ironically, that is also when they are often at their weakest and most vulnerable. All the better, I have always loved a good roll of the bones…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Forty

« ^ »

Bannor staggered to a stop behind some rocks. He pressed his forehead against the cool stone and wished the nightmare would end. His arms ached. His legs felt like slabs of lead. The pain of dozen or more flesh wounds pulsated through him. Dried blood from humans, minions, and spawn covered him like a cracked and brittle growth. His father once told him that unredeemed evildoers were dragged into Hades to suffer for eternity. For the man who wielded the Garmtur’Shak Nola, the gods changed the plan.

They brought Hades to him.

The white-barked shimmerleaf trees around the clearing seemed to stand still in the calm. He glanced up at sun nestled in a sheath of gray edged clouds. Well past noon he guessed. In the distance, battle horns blared yet another charge. The realm’s armies fought valiantly, but their foes were countless. Even the kingdom of Corwin, Ivaneth’s greatest rivals had moved troops into the fray. Longtime enemies fought side by side against the avatars. They battled together. They died in each other’s arms.

Bannor felt nauseous. The putrid stench of Hecate’s dying minions still lingered in his nostrils. He let go of his axes, noting that neither dropped from his fingers. After failing to shake them loose, he sat. Gripping the hafts one at time with his knees, he pried the weapons from his numbed, blood clotted hands.

Rest. He needed rest. Now, he understood how Laramis had felt when he appeared before them on the beach. The fighting never seemed to stop. They would fight one skirmish, advance or retreat only to run into another. Despite their utmost stealth, they would get discovered and the fighting renewed.

Where was Sarai? She should have been behind him. He tried to force himself to stand but failed. Laramis, Wren, Sarai, himself, they’d each come close to being killed at least three times in the last two days. He didn’t have any energy left to worry.

If Sarai notched her belt for every enemy she’d slain, nothing would remain to hold up her breeches. Her stone power laid low dozens at a time. She learned to conserve her strength though. The effort was taxing and made her vulnerable. Three times now the enemy had drawn her attention to flank and strike her down. They’d come close. The thought made Bannor shudder.

In battle, Wren could not be touched. The Kel’Varan Nola turned all attacks back against their foes. The enemy squadron leaders would direct their assaults away from Wren only to learn that strategy failed too. Ignoring the savant proved worse than facing her.

Laramis the Justicar plowed through the battles like a machine. Shouting Ukko’s name, he sent the spawn back to Abyss. A flourish of his sword and a shake of his fist, another enemy life would be extinguished.

‘Ragnarok’ Laramis had called it. The twilight of the gods, the reshaping of the world and rebirth of men. Entrenched in this chaos, Bannor saw nothing that contradicted the paladin’s assessment. Truly, it seemed like the end of the world as he knew it.

He reached into his pouch for salve and clean strips of cloth to dress his most recent injuries. He and the others had forged north and west toward the base of the mountains in hopes of finding the Malanian base camp. Luck had been poor and the only evidence of the elven army’s presence they found had been the shredded tabard of a Griffin regular.

Branches and leaves crackled off to his left and Bannor snatched his axes. A surge of energy he thought impossible in his exhaustion shot through his limbs.

“Ho there, Bannor, I am ally, not enemy.” Laramis appeared at the edge of the clearing. His armor looked a grimy mess, and his breeches dripped water. At least three different varieties of blood stained his ripped tabard. He walked toward Bannor, barely keeping hold of his battle sword. Even Ukko’s chosen warrior had his limits.

Laramis limped noticeably as he moved across the clearing. He took deep breaths and gestured to the sky with three upraised fingers. Bannor had learned this was a sign of thanks to his god Ukko for bringing him alive through another battle.

“Did you see Sarai or Wren?” Bannor called to him.

“Not with my eyes, friend. My ears, there be another story. Our princess, she can make herself heard in a press. She’s alive and well.” He thumped down next to Bannor and patted him on the shoulder. “I think we have turned them this time. I saw the echis pulling their creatures back and making for the east.”

Bannor sighed. “You’ve said that before. I don’t know if we’re ever going to win free of this press.” He punched the grass at his side. “These—these—slime are killing hundreds, maybe thousands simply to spite us.”

Laramis nodded. He took a cloth and wiped his sword down. “They are vile, of that, there is no doubt.” He elbowed Bannor in the shoulder to get his full attention. Bannor met the man’s eyes. “As Ukko is my witness, we shall prevail. They cannot stop us.” He shook a fist toward a black cloud that lingered on the eastern horizon; the dark radiance of the shadowgate.

Bannor closed his eyes, stomach churning. He wondered if Laramis truly believed anymore. This war had become so much larger than the four of them. He touched the slab of leather still hanging in his belt: Diakeré Harad’s message. One of the serpent-like echis, the commanders of the squads of armored minions, had thrown it across the battlefield to Bannor. It read:

You shall not escape us Garmtur. If we do not have your body, we shall crush your spirit. Submit or you and all of your ken shall suffer. The fist of the dark alliance is poised. Do not allow your brethren to pay for your inaction. Surrender to us. Take your sup at the well of eternity and join in the dominion of a new age.

—Diakeré Harad

Avatar of Hecate

Diakeré Harad, Bannor knew eventually he’d be staring this creature in the eye before too much longer. The violence had already tempted him to use the Garmtur. Hecate wanted his power? He would give them every iota of it, turning the lines of magic in the sky into a hammer of devastation that scattered their armies to the winds of the cosmos.

He possessed the strength. If only he could strike and not destroy everything along with them. He trusted Wren’s judgment. They could harness the Garmtur given time. The avatars were making sure they didn’t get any. Obviously, advisers had deduced Bannor’s liability, of the all-or-nothing nature of his power. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be risking such a gigantic sally.

If Wren had the Garmtur under her control again for even the length of a long breath, he felt certain the avatars would regret invading Titaan. They’d come too close to destruction to try that ploy though. They had to find another way.

Bannor decided to focus on something, anything else. He pointed to Laramis’ soaked breeches. “I see you found the stream.”

The paladin looked down at himself and raised an eyebrow. “That I did. I can tell you the spawn liked it less than I.”

“What is this thing with demons and water?”

Laramis shrugged. “Perhaps because it is the basis of all life.” He gestured to trees and sky. “Demons are the antithesis of life. My guess is that oppositeness is the source of their loathing.”

Bannor shook his head. “As a warrior you speak clearer theology than the priests I’ve spoken to.”

Laramis bowed a little to Bannor. “I represent Ukko in all regards. It is a Justicar’s duty to be lucid of thought, pure of conscience, and dauntless of spirit. I—” He stopped. “Ah, our ladies return.” He pushed himself to his feet.

Wren and Sarai stumbled across the clearing arms around one another. Both looked bedraggled, wounded and exhausted. Bannor felt relief wash through him at seeing Sarai all right. He waved to her and she returned the gesture.

As they struggled ahead she and Wren grinned and laughed as though lauding the battle and their parts in it.

Bannor didn’t know what to make of it. Between battles, the verbal fencing between Wren and Sarai was constant. In the heat of conflict though, the enemy couldn’t attack one without getting the full fury of the other. He’d heard of love/hate relationships, but never imagined it being applied to Wren and Sarai. He wondered how much the magical blood sharing had to do with it. Should he consider this ‘twining’ a bad thing? The two of them protecting each other was definitely beneficial.

Wren manipulating Sarai—that matter differed. He didn’t know enough yet to act. The last thing he wanted to do was inflame the already existing tensions.

Using the rock for assistance, he crawled to his feet and walked to meet Sarai half way. His mate wrapped her arms around him. She pressed her face into the fabric of his tunic and shuddered. “I’m so glad you’re all right.” She looked up at him and grinned. “Wren and I have news.”

The way she said it made him frown. Like they were expecting a baby or something. “What?”

She turned to look at Wren who gave Laramis a hug. “We found something important,” Wren was saying. “Something good for a change.”

“Aye, Milady, that twould be welcome.” He took Wren’s elbow to lead her back to the cover of the rocks. Bannor put an arm around Sarai and paced Laramis. “Pray, what is this news? I saw the echis myself retreating east.”

“Better news than that,” Wren said. “I found these sticking from the buttock of an aspis.” She pulled something wrapped in piece of cloth from her belt and handed it to Laramis.

The paladin unwound the fabric. He stopped mid-stride and stared. Revealed were the tips and part of the shafts of two heavy war arrows. His solemn face broke into a grin. “Milady, these are Irodee’s!” He gave Wren an enthusiastic hug. “These wood cores are fresh, they must be recent, not more than two days ago!”

“Thought you’d like the news.”

“Thank, Ukko!” He made a three-fingered salute to the sky. “These are grand portents indeed!” He held the arrow fragments against his chest as if drawing strength from their substance. Bannor saw a new fire flicker in the man’s eyes, a power to be reckoned with. Laramis without Irodee was simply a Justicar doing his duty. Laramis in search of a live Irodee with a wall of enemy forces between him and her … that was a monumental fight in the making.

Laramis moved forward again with more bounce in his step than Bannor would have suspected possible after their last grueling battle. He sat by the rocks and drew Wren down beside him. “So tell me, Milady, how did you come upon these?”

Wren glanced to Sarai, who was settling by the rock with him. He noticed that Sarai sat next to Wren rather than putting him between them as she usually did.

“Sarai noticed them. This one aspis attacked with a group of others, but it moved funny. Actually, the whole group of creatures looked as if they’d been wounded in an earlier battle. We checked them to see what they’d recently been up against.” Wren shrugged. “Since we removed these arrows from its hind end, they must have been routed.”

Laramis nodded. He laid his head back against the rock. “This force came from the East. Then Irodee, too, must be in the East.”

Bannor glanced over his shoulder in that direction to the black clouds that swirled over that region. There lay the shadowgate and the main body of the avatar hosts.

“Is it possible that she thinks the rest of us are dead?” Bannor asked.

“We thought she was dead,” Sarai said.

Laramis opened one eye and sniffed. “Beg pardon, Milady?”

“Well, some of us did.”

“Tis possible she thinks me dead. I lost my helm in the skirmish. Blighted echis rang my head a good one.” He rubbed his skull in memory. “You know how head wounds bleed, even ones that aren’t serious. I’d dare that a fair share of my scalp was still in that helmet. Twouldn’t be too much of a stretch to think my head had been removed entire.” He paused. “I hope she had more faith than that.”

Wren sighed. “You not showing up may have a lot to do with it. Nothing much should ever be able to stop your powers from locating her.”

“Blasted shadowgate,” he muttered.

“I wonder if Dac’s still alive?” Bannor asked.

“He’s a tough warrior,” Wren said. “I’d gamble, if possible, he’d have stuck with Irodee.”

“Aye, he would,” Laramis murmured, voice growing softer.

Bannor felt his own lethargy coming on. The lull after the storm. They must rest for the next battle. There would be more to come. “So what do we do, Wren?”

“Same,” the savant answered. “If Irodee is in the East she joined up with a larger party. We need to find that Malanian base camp. We can’t have Father—” she raised an eyebrow and glanced at Sarai. Sarai grimaced and poked Wren in the ribs. “Going crazy looking for us.”

“What if we find them? What then?”

“We persuade them to give us a war-party and we go Myrmigyne and dwarf hunting.” She folded her arms and leaned back against the rock. “Maybe while we’re at it, we’ll do some shadowgate scouting. You know, when you’re searching for something, you’re never sure where you’ll end up.”

Wren might not have been sure, but Bannor was. He prayed they had the strength to win their way through; that an answer to their dilemma existed. Wren’s path would lead them into the heart of the Abyss. The gods only knew if there would be any coming back.

Euriel Idundaughter and Vanidaar Kergatha have the blessings of Gaea in their blood—if only my avatar Mishaka hadn’t been such clumsy simpleton, Tan’Acho would already by mine. Now, not only do I not have Tan’Acho, I have Wren Kergatha, Damay Alostar, Gabriella Sarn’Ariok, Aarlenn Frielos, the Felspar and Ishtarvariku families all turned against me. Some of my peers scoff that this assemblage is a threat—they are wrong. If Frielos, Felspar, and Ishtarvariku were to abandon their bickering and combine their resources there is no immortal that could stand against them. It is a certainty that Kergatha knows it, and it is only a matter of time before she finds the catalyst to make it happen.

I know who her target will be. I do not plan on waiting for it to happen…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Forty-One

« ^ »

Bannor gestured to his left where he knew Laramis stood. The bulky silhouette outlined against the gnarled scale-bark tree could be no other than the paladin. A cool gust of mountain air rustled the leaves overhead, pushing tendrils of mist through the foliage. Bannor felt the perspiration on his forehead turning icy in the wintry morning breeze. The hair on his arms stiffened.

He saw metal glinting from the corner of his eye. Orienting, he recognized Wren and Sarai creeping up parallel to him. The two women advanced shoulder-to-shoulder, passing through the undergrowth as silently as wraiths.

Bannor sniffed again. A rotting sourness tainted with sulfur still lingered in the air, the smell of demon spawn. In the last week, he’d become familiar with more kinds of abyssal creatures than he ever wanted. This particular malodor belonged to the snakelike echis.

The beast’s body was similar to a human’s except shiny gray chitinous scales took the place of skin. A yard long neck that ended in a dragon-like head protruded from between muscular shoulders. Added to the creature’s ability to wield swords and knives, long claws instead of nails tipped its hands. A full array of serrated teeth lined powerful jaws. As the monsters hunted, they let out an undulating hiss that set flesh to crawling. Bannor had fought several, but experience made the battles little easier. Where echis lurked, Hecate’s armored minions were never far away.

His fingers twitched around the hafts of his axes as he took cover behind the nearest tree. The damp ground squished underfoot.

Wren and Sarai’s combined skills had led them here into the forests on the eastern slopes of the Westros Mountains. In different times, Bannor would have derided the idea that the Malanian army would have sought refuge in Corwin’s territory but the world was under attack now. All forests were the domains of the elves and no one had time to dispute their trespassing.

He squinted up through the tree line. Rising from a fleecy girdle of gray-tinged clouds the stair-stepped face of Jhared peak gleamed in the ocher light of dawn. Snow ran down its sides like rivulets of white icing on a betrothal cake. Jhared pass was where Sarai figured the main Malanian host must have situated their base camp. Being located in rough terrain, guarded on two sides by sheer rock walls and surrounded by snow and trees, it seemed a logical spot.

The problem lay in getting there without being shredded by avatar forces or punctured by elven arrows.

A crunch of breaking vegetation made Bannor freeze. He sensed Wren and Sarai do the same, bodies crouched low and oriented to the northeast. To his left, the hum of steel quietly leaving the sheath sounded from where he last saw Laramis.

His heart beat faster, and he gripped his axes. After dozens of battles, he would give almost anything to avoid another fight. His aching muscles and upset stomach cried out for them to simply be left alone.

Between the boles of the trees, he saw the breeze flicking through the brambles. A pair of chattering blue-feathers swooped through the boughs. Still audible fifty paces back, a brook gurgled.

Hearing sensitized, he slipped toward the sound’s origin. He put his belly against a broad needleleaf tree. Sap from long scratches three paces up ran down its side like thick amber syrup. From the size and depth they must have been made by a broadpaw. He shook his head. As if they needed another difficulty like a hungry broadpaw out looking for a meal. Why couldn’t it have stayed in its cave another moon? A scrabbling on the bark above made him jerk. Bannor caught a glimpse of the bushy striped tail of a nutstasher as it leaped through the branches.

He cursed silently. Since re-entering the real world, he’d begun jumping at every sound. Demons of every shape and size had made his nervousness warranted.

Bannor scanned the shadows. Still no sign of what had moved. It might have been an animal, but he doubted it. The smell of echis and other spawn drove natural creatures away.

Picking the location of his next vantage, a jumble of fallen trees, he stepped lightly toward them. Every tiny crinkle of the vegetation underfoot and the suck of mud at his boots sounded loud.

At the treefall, he looked for Sarai and Wren and found neither. Both of them blended in perfectly, Wren from her skills as a guilder and Sarai from her elven heritage. Even Laramis showed an excellent woodsman’s sense, moving with relative quiet even in his heavy armor. Without their combined stealth skills, they never would have made it through the enemy lines. Some enemy commanders would be losing their heads for having allowed them to escape.

He sniffed the air again. The corrupt odor of the echis seemed stronger. He detected something else at the edges, what he could only identify as decay. Bannor found it difficult to make out with the pungency of the needleleaf and scalebark disguising the scents.

Peering around the tangle he saw that the ground ahead sloped into a ravine. The white shimmerleaf trees were visible on the far side. Unlike the needle trees, the shimmerleaf grew only in softer soil. After last night’s rain the footing on that bank would be treacherous.

Something intelligent lay in wait out there. Bannor went by more than a scent in the air. Much as he tried to suppress his Nola, sensations still crept through. Hecate’s creations were perversions of nature, threads of reality woven wrong. When they came near, their patterns sent a tingling through him. He glanced back the way he’d come. The path looked clear except for his boot prints.

A high-pitched shriek drew his attention skyward. The rust-colored wings of a talonhunter glinted as it spiraled higher on the mountain wind. It continued to squawk as though agitated. Bannor neither saw nor heard any other birds. Was something threatening its nest?

Leaving his cover, Bannor wove through the forest, skirting the edge of the ravine. He’d avoid the poor footing on the other side. Any creature on the higher ground could use it to advantage. If he must fight, he’d do it on his terms.

Bannor? Wren’s voice exploded in his ear. The volume made him reel and catch hold of a tree. After a moment, he realized there’d been no actual vocalization. Wren used mindspeak so rarely he’d forgotten they could do it. Helloooo, Bannor? It ‘sounded’ softer this time. Now paying attention, he visualized Wren crouched by a log. He felt Sarai at her side.

Bannor concentrated on forming a reply. He found it difficult to keep moving and do this at the same time. He mouthed the words as he visualized them spelled out in his mind. Damn, you scared me!

Oh? The word expressed surprise, but Bannor also sensed amusement. Beneath those surface emotions was the hard thrum of tension. The situation has me scared. Something’s wrong. Know what I mean?

Bannor stopped by another large needleleaf and glanced up at the fresh scratches high on the bole. He stared at the deep impressions left by a broadpaw in the mud at the tree’s base. Both his boots together left a smaller track.

Bannor imagined the grimace that went with her tone.

He gritted his teeth. He glanced around struggling to keep focused on his environment. The mindspeak tended to catch him up and turn off the sensations coming in from the outside world.

Wren paused before responding. Through their connection, it felt as if she probed the forest. Words were shared with Sarai, then an answer.

He sighed.

Wren chuckled in his mind.

He checked around again. Distantly, the upset talonhunter continued to shriek.

It’s a plan. He sensed her smile as she added.

I’ll try, he answered, trying to put a flat sound in his telepathic ‘voice’.

He continued along the ravine, noticing that the tracks of the broadpaw did the same. He didn’t want to have to kill the animal. If it attacked, it would be because they violated its territory.

The terrain grew more rocky as he climbed the mountainside, and the tracks of the huge animal became indistinguishable on the hard pack. It only increased his unease. That broadpaw might lunge out of nowhere. The animals could charge with impressive speed. The thick fur and skin deflected all but the most direct of sword and axe blows. He must stay alert.

Bannor pushed through the brush, unable to escape the feeling that some intelligence concealed itself right out of sight. The tingling wrongness of something unnatural still picked at the back of his mind. The lack of visible spore bothered him; echis left tracks. This new thing left an odor, but no other evidence. How could that be possible?

He stopped at another scored needleleaf. The broadpaw must be near. Bannor peered up into the rocks half expecting the hairy creature to be descending on him. No sign of it or Laramis. Why had the paladin separated? They agreed to stay within a few instants run of each other.

The hair on the back of Bannor’s neck stiffened. He peered around. The presence felt closer than ever. The sulfur smell wafting on the breeze burned his nose now.

He stepped through the rocks with caution, making sure to come around the blind sides of boulders ready to evade. The climb grew harder as he neared the ridge top. The walls of the ravine approached vertical as it cut into mountain face. Tenacious needleleaf trees clung to the scarp, looking like green bristles in a badly misused brush.

Bannor found a faint animal path and followed it as it zigzagged up the incline. He guessed the area’s blackhorns made it as they went back and forth to the valley to graze and drink at the stream. The bracken grew head high on either side and he had to push the foliage away to see. Twice more, he found trees deeply etched by scratch marks.

Strange, broadpaws don’t normally mark so many trees.

No sign of Laramis or his tracks. Where had the paladin gone?

At the summit, the terrain leveled off onto a rugged plateau crisscrossed with gullies and moraines of broken purplish rock. Gusts hushed across the landscape kicking up spirals of dust. The Jhared massif still lay a few leagues off swathed in clouds, greenery and snow.

This region was sometimes called the bones of the world. The wise men and wizards said that the rocks of this place were the most ancient on Titaan, carved eons ago by glaciers from the deep bedrock.

He looked back down the trail. Why hadn’t Wren and Sarai caught up?

His unease grew worse. First, no Laramis, now no Wren or Sarai. He hated this. He hated not knowing.

He concentrated on forming the word in his mind. Wren!?

Ahhh! What? What? What? There was a pause. He imagined Wren gripping her temples and getting her heart back under control. Bannor? What’s the matter?

He felt relief that nothing was wrong, but a twinge of irritation about being separated. He wanted Sarai’s hand in his. Where are you?

Base of the ascent. Sarai found some weird looking spore. We’re trying to figure out what it is. Thing walks on two feet but has an opposing claw on the heel.

Bannor frowned. Like a bird’s foot?

A lot like that.

You’re lucky to have found a track; I haven’t seen anything but broadpaw spore. I’m going to the west end of the ravine and see if I can find Laramis. Meet me there as soon as possible. You and Sarai be careful.

We will. The connection faded.

He checked his surroundings again. He knew that spawn must be nearby, the broadpaw, too. Keeping one side guarded by trees and watching the other directions he moved to where the ravine narrowed, became a gully and finally terminated.

Along the way, he found marks on three more trees. Stopping in a clump of boulders, he searched around; nothing, no Laramis, no broadpaw, and no creature.

He put his back to a rock. Something nagged at him about the scratches, something wrong. This new monster somehow moved around and managed only to leave one track? Maybe it could fly. What did it want? Could it be spying on them to report back to the avatars?

Something crunched in the foliage off to one side. Bannor stiffened and readied his weapons.

“Laramis?” he called. No answer. It couldn’t be Wren and Sarai; not from that direction. “Laramis?”

His heart picked up speed. The crunching came again, closer now. The smell of sulfur grew strong and unmistakable. He brought his axes to the guard position.

He kept focused on the sound, ready to dodge. A prickling that started at the base of his spine and worked its way up to his neck. Eyes on him. A presence. Not to the front—

Behind.

Bannor spun. He only saw the glowing eyes of the translucent creature as it leaped out of the tree toward him. His axe struck sparks from an armored shell and the monster’s weight bore him to the ground.

His breath burst from his lungs as his back smacked the rock and they fell to the dirt. The creature hissed and Bannor smelled the fetid odor of decay. Dots danced in his vision. The creature’s silhouette wavered as if the thing were a puddle of shimmering water.

“My prize,” the words sounded as if coming from down a tunnel. “My S-savant.”

Bannor struggled to move but the thing pinned his arms. A mountain pressed down on his chest.

“S-sleep,” it hissed. “Over s-soon.”

He tried to wedge a foot between him and it to kick it away. He felt so weak. Nothing would move.

The crunching nearby became a crashing. Something let out a guttural roar. A giant brown paw swiped in front of Bannor’s face. The weight on his chest vanished. The monster shrieked. A body exploded into a tree and went silent.

Lying on the ground, Bannor saw a mountain of fur and claws rise up on its hind legs. It growled and snuffled, then settled again to all fours.

A huge black muzzle then came sniffing in Bannor’s direction.

The gray death is one of the better venoms of my creation.

Not only is it slow, painful, and cruel—I just love the name…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Forty-Two

« ^ »

A gale of animal breath gusted hot and fetid against Bannor’s face. Fangs the length of his finger clicked open then shut as the huge broadpaw smacked its lips and sniffed. Puffs of air blew Bannor’s hair as the giant animal grunted and snuffled through its examination. A fist-sized nose, cold and wet, left a slick trail down Bannor’s cheek and neck.

Bannor’s view of the pale sky, the mountains and forest dwindled to the sight of that huge brown muzzle filled with sharp yellowing teeth.

Clenching his hands, he tried not to move. His heart beat so fast it seemed to hum in his chest. A wave of dizziness rushed through him. He felt a gigantic urge to relieve himself. The demon had scared him less than this natural monster. Those jaws could yawn and clamp shut, crushing his head.

He shut his eyes as the broadpaw nuzzled his shoulder. It snorted. A flurry of hot breath shot underneath his tunic making his skin prickle.

Nearing panic, Bannor reached out his mind to Wren again. Wrennnnnn! Where in Hades are you!

The savant’s answer was quick and filled with concern. Bannor? What’s the matter? Is it the demon?

DemonBroadpawBiiiigbroadpaw. Ontheground, can’tmove. Demon busted something. Get here fast, end of the ravine. For Odin’s sake, don’t make it mad.

The savant didn’t respond for what seemed like an eternity.

Wren!

Coming, Bannor, fast as we can.

He shivered. Why did this thing scare him? Nystruul in all his supernatural horror hadn’t made him quiver like this. The broadpaw sniffed its way down each rib to his ration pouch. It engulfed the entire bag in its jaws and jerked it loose. It munched the entire mess, the leather pouch, wooden utensils, and the last of his wayfood, making wet slurping and gnashing sounds.

Bannor thought about rolling away while it was distracted, but he couldn’t move his legs. His arms didn’t have any strength.

Odin, I don’t want to die this way. Hades, what if this thing does kill me? He shuddered, thinking about the devastation his death throes might unleash as the Garmtur’s reality bending power came unfettered. He couldn’t afford to let this animal kill him; no one could.

Move. He willed his arm up. The limb trembled, crept a finger width and stopped. Could the demon have paralyzed him with a poison? He kept his eyes on the broadpaw. It continued to masticate the tough leather pouch. The creature would do the same thing to his bones if he didn’t get out of here.

He hit the rock when the echis tackled him. The thought made a wave of nausea spread through Bannor. He’d met men who’d hit their backs in similar fashion.

They never walked again.

Bannor you okay!? came Wren’s anxious thought.

Where are you? he asked. Sweat beaded on his brow and ran down his face.

Close. Close enough to hear it tearing something apart; obviously not you. What’s it doing?

Eating my rations.

Okay, we’ll distract it. When it goes for us—run.

Bannor swallowed. I don’t think that will work.

Why not?

I’m broken inside. Nothing’s working. I can’t even crawl. His own thoughts sent a surge of hot emotion rushing through him. His chest tightened and he felt the fear mounting toward panic.

Wren didn’t respond, the silence only added to his concern. Wren!

I’m here. It’s difficult to do three things at once. We’ll come at it from the North and South. If need be, I’ll just split the old boy and be done with it.

No! Even though the creature threatened him, it had also killed the demon. He owed the hairy monster. He wouldn’t repay its rescue, however inadvertent, by letting it get killed.

Bannor, he heard the dismay in Wren’s thoughts. The Garmtur is more important than one old broadpaw!

He forced down the fear, watching as the animal finished its leather pouch snack. It turned and started licking the sweat and blood stained axes he’d been carrying. Still time left. It seemed in no hurry to make a meal of him. The creatures were so unpredictable, though. Bannor kept his resolve. I said ‘no’. It’s only an animal. I’d think it was beautiful if I were simply a bit farther away.

You’re crazy, Bannor.

He gritted his teeth as he heard the crunch of teeth on the wooden haft of his axe. No doubt.

The undergrowth crackled. The movement sounded too loud to be Wren or Sarai.

The broadpaw stopped chewing and raised its ursine head. Round ears swiveled in the direction of the sound. It sniffed the air for evidence of the intruder. Its mottled brown fur stiffened and it rose on hind legs, towering high over Bannor as it spied around.

The creature let out a bellow of challenge that made Bannor’s skull vibrate. It dropped to all fours and moved down the trail a few paces. Using every iota of his will, Bannor tried to force his arms and legs to move.

His muscles quivered at his urging, but that was all. It didn’t seem like he’d hit his back that hard.

The broadpaw roared again; the sound of an animal warning intruders away from its kill.

A rustling came from the undergrowth, this time from the other end of the trail. Sarai appeared at Bannor’s side. The broadpaw whirled, snarled, and started to charge. It yelped and spun again. Bannor saw Wren, a trickle of blood coloring the end of her sword.

Sarai grabbed him under the arms and dragged him down the trail. With her elemental strength she easily could have hefted him, but he was too big to hold in her arms or throw over her shoulder without him dragging on the ground.

Wren taunted the broadpaw and kept its attention as Sarai yanked Bannor away. His legs ached as his feet bumped along the rough terrain. Low lying brush and weeds whipped around him as Sarai towed him clear.

Pushing aside thick foliage, she pulled Bannor into a circle of boulders and examined him. In the distance, the unhappy broadpaw continued to spar with Wren. The savant’s ability to turn a creature’s power back against itself would protect her from the monster’s purely physical attacks.

Sarai leaned close and kissed him on the cheek, and took one of his hands in hers. “What’s wrong, my One?”

“Don’t know,” he responded. Even talking took effort and his voice sounded slurred as if he were drunk. “Demon jumped on me, I hit my back and everything stopped working.”

Sarai clucked in empathy. She undid the ties on his tunic and probed his chest and arms. Her fingers ran feathery light across his skin.

Odd that he could still feel. From what he remembered of those who lost the use of a limb, they felt nothing in the paralyzed parts of their body.

“Does anything hurt?” When he shook his head, she pinched his leg. “Can you feel that?”

“Yes, but it tingles like its asleep.”

She frowned. “Let me check your back. I’m going to roll you over.” He nodded and Sarai pushed him onto his side. “There’s some bruising along the spine here,” she reported, “but it doesn’t look like the bones have shifted.” She rolled him back and examined his other wounds. Her brow furrowed. “I see the marks where the demon scratched you.” She bit her lip and pushed away her hair to study the areas more closely. “There’s no swelling or coloring of the skin though.”

The brush parted and Wren stepped into the cluster of rocks. Sweat covered her brow and her hair looked mussed. The enameling on her leather hauberk bore the unmistakable slash marks of claws. She let out a breath before speaking. “How is he?”

Sarai shook her head. “I can’t find anything that would paralyze him like this. He still has feeling, so I don’t think his back is broken.”

Wren rubbed her chin. She knelt by Bannor and squeezed his shoulder. Honest concern shone in her deep blue eyes when she smiled at him. “We’ll get you out of this.” Her fingers moved to one of his deeper wounds. “Tender?”

He shook his head.

The savant frowned. She pressed her palm against his chest. “Breathe deep for me, Bannor. Suck in as much as you can and hold it.”

He drew in air. It was hard to do, and long before he’d filled his lungs it felt as if claws tore at his insides. Bannor coughed, sending a painful tingles shooting all the way down to his toes. He groaned.

“It’s okay,” Wren gripped his shoulder. “Breathe shallow now.” She looked at Sarai. “Its probably not magic. He’s too resistant. These symptoms look like snake bite.”

“But there’s no swelling.”

“Some kinds of venom aren’t destructive. They don’t cause obvious swelling. The avatars don’t want him dead. Virulent toxins destroy tissue. He wouldn’t be much good to them permanently damaged.”

Sarai stiffened and her jaw muscles tightened. “Can you do anything for it?”

Wren shook her head. “Not without the proper herbs and such. Leeching the blood wouldn’t help. He needs a venom curative.”

Bannor swallowed. He might be this way for days, maybe forever. He clamped his eyes shut and focused on the favorable outcome.

“What now, find Laramis?” Sarai asked.

“We’d best,” Wren said. “He’s probably out there someplace paralyzed like Bannor. I’ll backtrack and see if I can pick up his trail. No telling if there’s more of that breed of demon running around. We’re too close to hooking up with your father’s army to get stopped now.”

“Be careful,” Sarai said.

Bannor opened his eyes and glanced toward Wren.

“I will.” The savant nodded and started down the trail. After a few paces she stopped suddenly and turned back. “Did I hear you right? Did you say ‘be careful’?”

“Get out of here!” Sarai snarled.

“That’s what I thought.” Wren jogged off and disappeared in the foliage.

Bannor looked up at Sarai. “Be careful?” he slurred.

“You’re too injured to poke, just hush.” Sarai let out a breath and sat beside him. She unshouldered her roll of spare clothes and put it under his head. She took one of his hands in hers. “Wren is still a witch. I’ve become accustomed to her that’s all.”

He tried to smile, but didn’t it work right. “I understand.”

Sarai raised an eyebrow. “You’re not too ill to be sarcastic I see, so I guess I shouldn’t worry.” She pulled the Laramis’ bodo bag off her belt. “Want some water?”

He nodded. His throat did feel parched. It took several tries to swallow, but he finally managed a few mouthfuls.

The trembling returned. “Scared,” he said.

“I know.” Sarai kissed him on the forehead. “Wren will be back soon and we’ll head for the pass. Father will have some excellent healers with the Unicorn Elite guard. There’s little they cannot fix.”

She stroked his brow, face turned toward the fang of Jhared peak poking up through the clouds.

“Will they heal me?”

Sarai seemed surprised by the question. “Of course.” She picked up a thumb-sized stone and massaged it between her fingers. The rock flattened and melted. “They’d better or I’ll bring the whole pass down on their heads. Father had better have reconsidered his position—especially now. I refuse to be married off to some pig of a human for the sake of Father’s games. I’ve been dutiful for four centuries. I’ve earned my freedom. If Father thinks he can change that, he’ll find he’s mistaken.” She formed the softened rock into a ball that slowly became transparent. Sarai held the crystal sphere between her thumb and forefinger and looked through it at the pass. “Sadly mistaken.”

Sarai cradled his head into her lap and sang quietly to him while they waited for Wren to return. Bannor had lost track of time as it grew steadily more difficult for him to focus. Moments of wakefulness were interrupted by sudden drowsiness then bursts of riveting panic where his heart hammered and he found it difficult to breathe. One moment he felt hot, the next cold. So confusing.

A word tugged at him for the longest time; chasing him through moments of lucidity, drowsiness, and excitement. He knew what it all meant. When it came to him, he stared up into to Sarai’s concerned face.

“Delirious,” he mumbled.

She hushed him and dabbed his brow. “Damn, where is she?”

Sarai said other things, but he lost it in the sound of rushing blood. His face felt hot and his skin prickly. He wanted to rub at the itchiness, but couldn’t.

A fog shrouded the world and Bannor felt himself tugged down into a vast silence. Stars winked in the distance and towering funnels of writhing color danced at the edges of visibility. Drums rapped out a cadence that alternately grew and diminished in volume. The odor of flowers and sulfur clung to him, and with them the reeking of trench dirt and rotting flesh. He couldn’t escape it. The smells of death and decay.

A voice, harsh a sibilant echoed in the darkness. If you do not come to us, Garmtur. We shall come to you.

No. He wanted to scream at them but didn’t have a voice to utter it with. All comes tumbling down. No more games. No more fun in the sun. Nobody laughs or cries. It’s over… It’s over… over.

“He okay?”

“In and out. You’re right, it must be poison. He needs a healer. No Laramis?”

“I covered everything. His tracks end at a tree. It’s like he vanished.”

“We have to move, now. His fever is getting worse.”

“I’ll chop some saplings for a litter. We’ll use the hair rope for webbing.”

Bannor faded. He woke twice when things moved around him. At one point, he felt himself lifted. The next he heard a peculiar grinding noise and a jostling. After rousing a little he realized the ground was moving, or he was. He tried to ask what was going on but failed. A hand touched his cheek.

“I’m here.” He caught a glimpse of blue eyes.

He lost track again until he felt himself lurch to a stop.

He heard Wren say something, then Sarai. Something about Laramis. Bannor struggled to understand what was happening. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of the blurry images of several figures.

Focusing his concentration he made out some of the words. “Arminwen?”

Sarai’s voice responded, penetrating and clear. “We are.”

“By order of the Armidar se Malan you are under arrest for traitorism to the state.”

Pain is both relative and abstract, as is tolerance to it.

That is why torture is an art. If the victim is subjected to constant pain they grow used to it. Many creatures can live with pain right up to the point it kills them. If information or concession is the desire, the last thing you want to do is let them die. They must fear the torturer’s caress more than the submitting. So, the best torture involves no physical pain at all, the agony should live only in mind of victim. The strokes inflicted on oneself often hurt magnitudes more than the strike of any lash…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Forty-Three

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Interlude.

Journal Entry 37: Spring, 1102 New Ivaneth Calendar.

Steeped in the heat of war, threatened by death or enslavement, yet I can still stand in awe of the majesty of creation. The jagged silhouette of Jhared peak rises high into the sky above us, topped with a crown of snow and clouds. The breeze is an icy nibbling at my cheeks and I can feel my heart stirred by the cries of the talonhunter rising on the morning wind.

As I look back over what I have written, I am amazed at the poetry of my own words. I would have thought by now that such lyricism would have long since been burned from my soul. The spark remains, and I find it heartening as I stand in the shadow of a colossus that plans to annihilate me and everything I have ever worked for. Poetry. I wonder if it is because the pantheon lords have lost the poetry in their souls, so all they know is ravaging. A mindless pursuit of a goal that they can only accomplish by stealing the dreams of less fortunate creatures. They will not compromise.

How I would love to be able to bring the power of Starholme Prime on them. Gaea made me swear never to do that. How I wish she hadn’t forced me make that promise. By now, I would have learned enough control to turn Hecate into a bad memory. Assuming I can get out of this mess, I think Bannor will be all I need to convince the Felspar family to commit to my cause. I can hope anyway.

The elves are taking Ishtar’s own time in getting us back to their camp. They are extremely cautious and fear leading the enemy back to their bivouac. These delays and Bannor’s continued illness disturb Sarai greatly.

It’s been all that I can do to keep her calm and prevent her from doing the leading Praelor some serious harm. Apparently, these elves have been directed to disregard any orders she gives them. I see in their eyes that they hate this duty and even the most steely of them trembles when she raises her voice. Royal blood aside, Sarai is a formidable force among her kind. These veterans know and respect her. Apparently, at some point in her life Sarai put aside her titles and joined the army as common recruit. She apparently earned her way up to rank of commanding Praelor. Some of the troops here still call her by that title.

Bannor is in a bad way, and the poison continues to eat at him. It would not be a fatal toxin if I could get him adequate care in a timely manner. Unfortunately, the elves have been uncooperative and will not hasten us to their healers.

Irodee remains in my thoughts. Does she think I am dead? No doubt she thinks Laramis gone. How barren and angry she must feel. I wish I could reach out across the battlefield to comfort her. We have been each other’s only family for so long. Even the Myrmigyne treated her as something of a freak and an outcast. She has always been there for me and I for her when I could. I feel as though I have let her down. She needs me now. I know that she is frightened. I hope to be back with her soon.

No word about Laramis. The elves have disavowed knowing anything about him. However, I overheard two of the Midachs talking. From what I could understand, Laramis may have been taken by a patrol of elves that were in the area ahead of the group that found us. His presence may have been the very reason they knew to come look for Sarai. I will strive to learn more, if there is more to know.

In light of all the bad news there are some good tidings. Sarai and I have hit something of an accord. Although she is still far from trusting me, we have come to terms with one another. That, in itself, is a major victory. Bannor’s condition worries her, and my consolations have brought us closer.

His condition worries me, too, for other reasons beyond the romantic. The Garmtur could be manipulated in horrific ways by a delirious mind. Each hour that passes increases the chance that some kernel of restraint that Bannor is maintaining might slip. I don’t want to contemplate what will happen then… Sarai senses it too and her patience with the delay and these soldiers is waning. I fear she may do something rash that may jeopardize our chances of getting her father’s assistance. I hope we reach the pass soon.

End of Interlude.

Even in his transient state between sleep and wakefulness, Bannor felt the anger seething in Sarai. The part of him that was bonded to her knew the frustration. The desire to lash out, but knowing that the act would accomplish nothing. The bodies that moved around the travois he lay on marched stiffly, boots clacking heel-to-toe on the broken rock. Wren also walked nearby. She stood with something gold in her hand; the journal. He wondered what secrets lurked within those pages, what chimeras Wren concealed in those words.

He guessed that at least a night and part of a day had passed. Wren asked questions that got minimal or no response. He heard Laramis’ name mentioned a few times. Between the grind of the wooden runners on rock and the chilly moaning of the wind Bannor was too fuzzy to grasp from the elf’s response whether they knew of the Paladin or had simply told Wren to shut up.

After a time, he realized that Sarai hiked along next to him. She caressed his brow. The tension in her was evident in her hands; smooth skin cool against his, the flesh vibrating with suppressed energy. Trying to make out her face rendered only two violet blurs set in a lighter colored circle. A dark outline thrust up into the sky beyond her. The pass. Its name escaped him now.

He wanted to say something but knew it wouldn’t come out right. His stomach burned and an acid taste crept up his throat and coated the roof of his mouth. A painful tingling pulsated in his arms and legs, but he still couldn’t move them. His tongue didn’t work right as he tried to wet his dry lips.

“Want a drink?” Sarai asked.

He managed a nod.

Sarai doled out a few mouthfuls of water that he gratefully swallowed, getting rid of the sour taste in his mouth. He tried to say ‘thank you’ but it came out garbled. Sarai dabbed his brow with a damp cloth.

“How’s he doing?” Wren asked. Bannor didn’t hear a response, but Wren acted as though she’d gotten one. “That good, eh?”

Sarai’s voice sounded low and menacing. “If Praelor Kharvok does not turn us to the pass at noon, I will march us to the pass without an escort.”

“Do you think that’s wise? Isn’t your father already mad enough?”

“Carellion take Father’s game playing.” She let out a breath and Bannor felt it hot on his cheek. “We’re in the middle of a war, and he sends this contingent to harass me. He’s baiting me. Testing my resolve. I’m not in the mood.”

“Sarai, bear up. I don’t like it either. Risking Bannor like this makes me nervous too, but we need your father’s help. It’s bad enough that you’re coming back in—” She paused. “In less than his good graces.”

“I know very well where I stand with him. He also knows that he forced to me choose. He’s just unhappy with my decision.”

“Just the same, give it a little a longer. These soldiers know you’re serious. They won’t push you much further.”

Bannor felt Sarai’s hand on his arm. She gripped it possessively. “They’d best not.”

He felt Sarai’s lips press against his forehead.

The sun grew warm against his face and became a blur in the sky. He focused on Sarai trying to get a clearer image of her, but the clarity didn’t come. As he struggled, darkness slowly swallowed his vision. A single black eye burned in the steel gray sky, casting a dark radiance across the blasted plain. A network of glowing rivulets of lava bubbled and hissed through cracks in crusty reddish soil that looked like parboiled flesh. Charred trees leaned askew in the decimated ground like skeletal hands. A bluish fog that smelled of sulphur and burning vegetation tumbled along the uneven surface.

Bannor blinked.

The image remained unchanged.

He felt the heat working through his boots and the churning begin in his stomach from the vile smells that issued from the fissures around him.

This seemed too real to be a dream. The ill sensation in his stomach made him want it to be no more than imaginary. He noticed that all the scrapes and bruises from his many encounters of the week still dotted his skin but the paralysis inflicted on him by the demon was gone. He felt a vague tugging at the base of his spine.

Wrong, all of this. This was nothing like anything he or Wren would ever imagine. Why did this vision come to him? An ache started in his chest, like his heart was trying to pound but couldn’t move.

The pulling sensation from his back came again. Probing with his fingers revealed nothing. He started to turn and look more carefully when a movement caught his attention. A single figure moving languidly across the smoking terrain.

A tremor of unease crept upon him as he watched the shape approach. He made no attempt to close the distance. Nothing from this forbidden place would be anything he’d be eager to meet. Likely whatever or whoever that was, pulled him to this god-forsaken piece of Hades. If this place turned out to actually be Hades, it wouldn’t surprise him.

The thought made his stomach twist a notch tighter.

He looked around, finding no places to run or hide in the vast openness. He saw no areas where something might conceal itself. Nothing but leagues of blackened expanse and the lone figure now only a stone’s throw away.

Bannor steeled himself. How would he get out of this place? Last he remembered, he lay on the travois being pulled along by one of the elven soldiers. Sarai had been making threatening noises. Now, he stood here in the middle of this devastated land. Why?

He focused on the figure. His answers lay there.

The black radiance made the details of the entity blend together. It looked slender, perhaps a little taller than himself. Something milky white, either hair or a cloak trailed behind it in the gusts of air.

The creature appeared in no more hurry than himself. Picking a winding path across the coarse terrain but definitely heading toward him.

Bannor found himself holding his breath. Though the being moved gingerly around this place’s hazards, it appeared at home, long legs stepping with precision and confidence. What kind of horror would he be faced with?

When it came within twenty paces Bannor saw that it looked to be a female. It brought to mind stories of underworld temptresses such as the erinyes and succubi: demonic females who ate the souls of men and took control of their minds. Hecate had tried to force submission from him without success, perhaps now she was trying a different tack.

The female drew closer, her alluring appearance more apparent with each step. Bannor had never seen anything like her, layers and shades of white on white, waist-length snowy hair, a diaphanous pearl-colored gown, and albescent skin. Her face and body were the feminine ideals great sculptures aspired to capture. The only contrasts to the paleness were the flash of a woven gold necklace, the carmine of her lips and the onyx black of her eyes and lashes.

Feeling his manhood respond of its own accord, Bannor forced himself to look away. Chest aching, he clenched his hands at his sides. He felt cold. Nothing had any right to be so breathtaking. It made his eyes ache.

He didn’t see her come closer, but sensed it. The female’s presence was palpable. It dispelled the foul odors of this place, replacing them with the sweet mingled scents of dewflowers and honeypetal.

A rich female voice caressed his ears. “Why do you not look at me?”

Bannor fended it away with a question of his own. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

She laughed. Despite the sound’s melodiousness it made his skin prickle. “How disarming.”

Jewelry tinkled. Bannor felt a hand touch his wrist, the contact made a jolt sing through him. He jumped back.

The spectral woman smiled, her lips looking the color of blood against translucent skin. “From you, Garmtur, I want everything.”

He gritted his teeth. “Wanting does not always mean getting.”

She put a finger to her lower lip, black-black eyes studying him. He saw that her nails glowed orange-red like the lava. “An intriguing idea.” It was fascinating the way her full lips moved with each perfect enunciation. “However, no one tells me ‘no’ for very long.”

He pushed down the physical urges. He wasn’t some randy recruit who could be enthralled by female beauty. “It’ll take more than a fetching sight to make me give up my freedom. You haven’t said who you are yet.”

Her lips turned to a pout. “You haven’t guessed?” She put a long fingered hand over her heart. “You wound me.” She sighed. “Ah well, I shall have to tell you after we’ve become better acquainted.” She stepped toward him.

Bannor backed up, reaching for his axes. The loops where he kept them were empty. “You keep away.”

“That’s no way for a dying man to be.” She scowled and brushed a strand of her hair back. “Certainly, you want the transition to be as painless as possible don’t you?”

“Transition? What are you talking about?”

She grinned like she’d caught him. “I’ll answer that with a question. You know what a metaphor is?”

“No.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “A metaphor is an image that represents something else. In your land, talonhunters are used to symbolize freedom.”

He narrowed his eyes. Where was she going with this? “So, what’s that have to do with anything?”

“All this.” She turned slowly, raising a hand to indicate everything around them. After turning full circle she stopped and fixed him with a stare. “This wasteland is a metaphoric representation.”

He felt a cold sensation in his loins. “Of?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Of a body deteriorating, wasting away to a crippling toxin. Soon even the hot blood will cool and go dark.” She gestured to the lava.

“You won’t kill me, you want the Garmtur too badly. Besides, I die and everything might just go with me.”

“It might at that,” she bit her lip. Her eyes glinted. “Maybe I’m willing to take that chance.”

Terror tastes best when served with a smile or a wink of an eye.

The true gourmand of chimeras can appreciate the subtle touches that make the bones go doughy and the blood turn to ice…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Forty-Four

« ^ »

Bannor stared up at the metallic gray sky. Now that he studied it closer, he saw variations in the color, shimmering whites and reds too faint to see at a glance. The black sphere that burned on the horizon made him shiver inside. How could something black give off light? The hiss and bubble of lava flowing down channels only added to the malevolent feel of this alien place. His stomach felt tight, and the heat of the burning soil gnawed at the soles of his feet. He was reluctant to look away from the horizon knowing that the pale woman would capture his gaze again.

Moment to moment, he felt a tickling in the small of his back. He couldn’t feel it with his hand, but a couple of times out of the corner of his eye he saw a silvery thread twining up into the sky from his back. What it was, he had no idea. Everything about his circumstances made him uneasy especially what the woman had said.

Maybe I’m willing to take that chance. It had been appalling enough to learn and finally believe what his death might inflict on the environment. More unsettling was the idea that someone would blithely risk the Garmtur going out of control. Was she insane?

It made a chill shoot down his spine. He was trapped in this vile place with a madwoman. Her beauty and presence didn’t blind him to the subtle malignancy reflected in her smile.

“You cannot ignore me,” she said with perfect eloquence. “Besides,” her voice dropped to a growl. “It’s rude.”

Bannor met her obsidian colored eyes. He felt her gaze stab into him like a knife. Her frown was a powerful force. “What did you expect I would do, milady? That I would fall down and worship?”

She narrowed her eyes. “The thought occurred to me.” She said it in a flat tone. Muscles in her jaw twitched.

“You are easy on my eyes, milady, I’ll admit.” He looked around at the wastes, watching trickles of lava surge across the blackened ground. He was glad of one thing in her presence. She kept the horrible smell at bay, filling the air with scent of flowers instead of the sulfurous stench. “Why not have your say and be done with it?”

“Do I need add more?” Her eyes flashed. “You will die—slowly.”

Her cutting tone made his insides twist, but he kept himself firm. He folded his arms. “So, what, am I supposed to beg now?” He sniffed. “I hope you’re immortal. You’ll wait a long time before you hear me beg for anything.”

Her lips curved slightly. “No one said anything about beg—negotiate.”

The word hit Bannor like a punch. A searing anger pushed heat into his cheeks. “Negotiate! Since when have the avatars ever shown interest in negotiating? All I’ve heard is ‘give in or we’ll lay waste to everything’. Which is what you’re bloody doing!”

She stared at him unphased by the volume of his voice. She shrugged. “Insurance. We are prisoners of the counsel we keep. Besides, we have no choice.”

“No choice? No choice!” Bannor’s voice cracked. He felt air fluttering in his chest. “Explain how this isn’t your choice!”

The woman closed her eyes and sidled closer. She looked sad. “A mistake really. My clergy grew a little overzealous in their desire to please me. They took some savants to be succorund; all a misunderstanding really.” The look on her face was one of sincere regret. “Since then, Wren Kergatha has turned it into a war. If she gets a weapon like your Garmtur, she will use it to destroy us. It’s simple survival—her against us.”

Despite her appearance of sincerity, Bannor had his doubts. It flashed on him then, part of the woman’s words. My clergy. My. The thought made the heat in his cheeks freeze. She was almost touching him. He stepped away again. “You’re Hecate, aren’t you?”

She fixed him with narrowed eyes. “Wasn’t it obvious?” Hecate growled.

Bannor couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. “A goddess wishes to negotiate with me?”

Again she shrugged. Hecate stepped across a lava fissure. She continued moving along the broken black rocks in a circle with him at the center. She put her hands behind her back. “With one avatar dead, some major servants permanently destroyed, the loss of demons and such, it behooved us at this juncture to ensure that the matter be handled appropriately.”

“You wanted it done right.”

Hecate stopped on a rock looking down at him. The corner of her mouth quirked. She folded her arms. “Will you negotiate?”

“Your Worship, the only negotiation I’m interested is a truce. You leave my mate and me alone. We’ll leave you alone. I want this debacle ended, whatever it takes. Wren can scream and yell at me all she wants. I won’t lift a hand against you as long as you leave us be.”

Hecate tapped her chin. Sparks seemed to fly from her glowing orange fingernail. “What if Wren forces you to cooperate?”

“Wren can’t force me.”

Hecate’s dark eyes glinted. “We’ve seen evidence to the contrary.”

“You mean what happened with Mazerak?” It was Bannor’s turn to shrug. “We’ve been forced to get creative to get out of your little traps.” Bannor felt a mean urge. “I’ve been tempted to simply give the Garmtur to Wren. I’m certain she’d put it to good use.”

Hecate actually managed to turn a shade paler. It didn’t show in her expression except for a slight tremble in her lower lip. “That would be unwise.”

“Would it? I think it fitting. I know what’s you’ve done to her. That kind of pain can make a person real creative. She’d probably rip your power out by the roots.” He held a hand out in front of him fingers open and then made a tearing gesture and the accompanying sound.

Hecate shuddered then swallowed. “You are not funny.” The woman’s hands clenched into fists and her face tightened. A hot wind blew around them.

“I wasn’t trying to be.” He forced himself to look into her black-black eyes. It made him cold inside. “That’s what being a savant of reality is about, isn’t it? What’s true this moment, might not be a heartbeat from now. I don’t want to threaten you. I don’t want to deal with you. I want to be left alone. You understand? After everything that’s been done to me, if you think I’ll be amenable to anything—don’t.”

Hecate grinned, blood red lips unsheathing from around perfect sparkling white teeth. “What if I could give you back your brother Rammal and Wren’s lover Grahm?”

The shock ran through him. “What!?”

“You heard me. A truce will be issued protecting, you, Wren, and your respective extended families. Also, all warring forces will be withdrawn from Titaan. As an additional incentive, we offer to give back to you Rammal Starfist and Grahm Tuffala unharmed and as healthy as they ever were in life. All you must do is will the Garmtur over to me.”

His heart tried to hammer, but it couldn’t. Rammal alive again? He’d seen him in the dream world. There’d been hints of a second chance, of wanting to live. Could it be true? “You can do that? Bring them back to life?”

Hecate’s smile could have melted ice. “I’m a goddess. Of course I can.”

“How can I trust you?”

Her smile grew wider. “You must have faith.” Before he could jump back, her arms were around his neck pulling him close. “Have faith,” she breathed into his face. Her lips met his. A sensuous thrill shot through him. Bannor felt himself pulled down into the darkness of her eyes.

“Faith.”

He felt as if he were falling down a well into the blackness. Somewhere in the distance, water rushed. Winds groaned. He smelled the sweet scent of dewflowers and honeypetal.

The word continued to echo in his mind.

“Faith.”

“He’s waking up,” a female voice said.

A groaning echoed around him and what sounded like rushing water. The scent of dewflowers and honeypetal filled his senses. From somewhere came a jingling.

His feet felt hot. A thick bitter taste coated the inside of his mouth. Bannor tried to see, but his eyes wouldn’t open more than a crack. They seemed pasted shut. His back pressed against tensed cloth, probably a cot. Sweat trickled down his cheek.

“Bannor?” The voice sounded like Wren’s, but hollow. A hand pressed against his forehead. “You still with us? We made it to the bivouac.”

“Wa—” he tried to croak out the word ‘water’ but it felt like he was swallowing shards of glass.

“I believe he’s sweated most of the toxin from his body.” This came from a softer, more breathy voice. It, too, sounded hollow and was difficult to hear against the rush of water in the background. “It’s all right for him to drink.” It sounded vaguely like Sarai, but he sensed it wasn’t.

A hand gripped the back of his neck and lifted him to a sitting position. Bannor’s joints made crackling sounds and he felt an unpleasant queasiness in his stomach.

“You’ve been through Hades and back,” Wren said. She pushed the stem of a waterskin against his lips.

The cool liquid moistened his dry mouth and throat. The area around him remained blurry. It appeared not to be a room at all, but some kind of chamber. The walls looked inconsistent and scattered with shadows.

A damp cloth dabbed his forehead and rubbed at the corners of his eyes. “Must have been some dream. You were mumbling all kinds of things.”

Faith. Had it only been a dream? The landscape and Hecate had seemed so real. More of the events came back to him. The kiss had seemed almost ultra-real.

He looked down at his arm. The skin looked pale. He tried to flex his fingers and only received a feeble twitch.

Wren wiped the rest of the residue from his eyes and the area came more into focus: a cavern with small sprays of flowers dotting the area in clay pots.

She smiled at him. Her hair had been looped and braided in a fashion Sarai wore on special occasions. Powder and rouge decorated her face and earrings glistened on her ears. The savant wore a sequin-studded green blouse with a unicorn signet over the left breast. The feminine accouterments were so unlike Wren. He wondered if maybe it might not be her.

“Wren?” It came out as croak. He coughed and tried again. “Wren?” It sounded recognizable this time.

She nodded and looked down at herself. “Kinda fancy for me, huh?”

Faith. He felt the word like a stabbing pain in his stomach. He groaned, reflexively trying to grab his middle. His arms trembled and shifted part way.

“You okay?” She gripped his shoulder to keep him from falling.

“Okay,” he grunted. “Feel sick that’s all.”

“He will be weak for a few days,” said the breathy female from behind him. A musical tinkling accompanied the swish of clothing.

Wren held out a hand. “Bannor, this is Meliandri, she’s been caring for you.” A fine-boned hand took Wren’s, and the savant pulled her into Bannor’s view. One tooth chipped, Meliandri grinned, her dusky cheeks dimpling and wavy russet-blonde hair floating around her triangular face like clouds. The pointed ears marked her an elf, but her skin was olive-colored, her eyes were green, and she looked too tall and broad through the hips and bosom to be elven.

“Goodman, Bannor.” She bowed. As Meliandri moved she jingled with tiny bells sewn like sequins onto her shiny blue robes. “It is an honor to tend the Arminwen’s chosen One.”

“My thanks.”

Faith. The word vibrated through him again. He shuddered. “Wren—” Bannor’s voice cracked. “Wren, we have to talk.”

“Of course.” She sat by him on the cot.

“No, I mean we have to talk.”

“Yes?” Her smile melted. “What’s wrong?”

He glanced toward Meliandri. “Sarai should hear this too. I don’t even know if it was a dream or not. Where is Sarai?”

Wren put a hand on his thigh and frowned. “Sarai wanted to be here. She’s—busy.”

“Busy? Tell her it’s important.”

“I’d like to Bannor, but I can’t.”

Something bad had happened. He recalled hearing something. It had to do with soldiers. “Why not?”

Wren glanced up and she and Meliandri exchanged looks. The savant sighed. “Because Sarai’s in the stockade.”

Doubt is like water, given time it can wear down mountains and cut canyons from solid granite…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Forty-Five

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Ker-plunk.

Bannor watched the stone vanish beneath the surface of the underground stream that ran through the cavern. The light from torches mounted in sconces on the walls made flickering reflections on the surface of the water. Judging by the age of the construction, the elves had been using this cave long before the avatars struck. Leather stretched across wooden frames created partitioned areas of the cavern like this one.

He took another stone from the small pile at his feet and tossed it. It hit the water, but the current disrupted the ripples. The churning water swallowed the rock and nothing marked its passing. The image reminded him of his own situation. To be flung into turmoil and get sucked under without a trace.

Hecate now gripped him three ways. Her threat of him dying slow was enough to make him consider carefully. People would continue to be killed if he didn’t act. Lastly, if he gave over the Garmtur, it looked as if he might come away with more than when he started. Problem being, he couldn’t see it as anything but a ruse.

It couldn’t be anything else. Could it?

Ker-plunk.

Meliandri said the sickness had abated for a time. They must remain vigilant because the illness only slept and could renew its attack without warning. She gave him some foul-tasting medicine that gave back some of his mobility. His joints ached and he had no strength. She talked as if he might never lift an axe in battle again. He refused to accept that. He hated being weak.

He glanced at the flowers set in cracks in the floor, dewflower and honeypetal to cover up the musty cave scents. He focused on some yellow and white blooms near the foot of his cot. Starpetal. Sarai’s favorite flower. His pet name for her came from it; Little Star. He hurled a large piece of granite at the water.

KER-PLUNK!

He watched the spray pelt the surrounding rocks. She was in the stockade because of him. Sarai’s only crime was thinking for herself, being independent—and for loving him. The last made his stomach tighten. Both of them knew the risk coming to the elves of Malan. An arminwen didn’t engage a commoner without inciting great disapproval.

If able, he would have charged down to the camp leaders and told them to let Sarai go. Sarai had been through so much. She needed her people’s support, not imprisonment.

Laughter and the clangor of swords in mock battle echoed through the caverns from far away. The elves had isolated him. The ward was set up like a camp for plague victims. Through slits in the partitions he saw nothing occupied the adjacent sections except empty cots, supplies, and piles of blankets. Like Sarai, they’d confined him, too. In his condition, seclusion in this huge cave was enough.

Faith. Hecate’s last word kept coming back and hitting him in the gut. Somehow, he knew the pangs were like the grains of sand dropping in a funnel-glass. He must decide one way or the other soon.

Without actually telling them about Hecate’s proposal, it took time to persuade Wren and Meliandri to try to free Sarai. They simply thought him confused from his ordeal with the poison. He finally convinced them that he’d dream traveled and that in his flight he’d uncovered knowledge that must be shared—with everyone.

They went to try again and check on any developments in Sarai’s judgment. From their expressions, he knew they felt success was doubtful. He learned the King had jailed Laramis with her. Wren said it had to do with the paladin being an accomplice to Sarai’s crimes. It made no sense.

He couldn’t decide on Hecate’s proposal alone. It affected more than himself. If the goddess could be trusted they all would have peace. He knew it was desperate to even consider it, but all the killing and nearly being killed had made him eager to end the ordeal.

What good was the Garmtur anyway? All it ever did was make him miserable. It tore his life apart. The ultimate power came with an ultimate onus. Everyone who knew you possessed the Garmtur either wanted to steal it, kill you, or somehow get you to work for them.

Ker-plunk!

The rustling of clothing made him look up. A figure in woman’s clothing made its way along the stream toward his partition. When he saw silvery hair and glowing violet eyes, his heart leaped that it might be Sarai. As the female neared he realized it wasn’t her.

The lady moved with a stately grace as if she were at the head of a parade even though she walked alone. She had Sarai’s angular features, the edges softened and rounded by time. She looked big in the truest sense of the word, filling the cave with her matronly presence. Her shiny blue robes glowed in the torchlight, embossed with an intricate filigree of jewels. Gold inlays of dragons chased platinum griffins around her hems, cuffs, and neckline.

Long ago, Bannor had learned to disdain royalty. They used heralds and lavish clothing to distinguish themselves above others because in truth they were often cut from cloth poorer than that of the folk they lorded over.

This woman, though, would have been regal dressed in a sack and caked with dirt. She could be only one person, and it put a dread in him worse than any demon or avatar.

Sarai’s mother.

Body aching, he managed to drop himself off the cot to his knees and bow. The stone felt hard and painful under his legs. He couldn’t imagine worse timing. The problems with Hecate and all else were a mental whirlwind that stole his focus. What would he say? He probably looked like a carcass three days after the kill. He felt the stubble on his cheeks and saw the slovenly state of his clothes.

She spoke in a rich voice that sounded like Sarai’s except for its deeper timbre. “We laud your sense of etiquette, Goodman Bannor. We are, however, in a cave.” He heard a tinge of disgust in her tone. “There is little need for formality.” The lady made a pointing gesture and something touched his back. A huge warm hand seemed to gently wrap its fingers around him. The force lifted him and set him on the cot. “Aside from that, you look in ill health to be bowing and scraping.”

What should he say? He didn’t even know the proper form of address. No way did he want to offend her.

Keep it simple. “Thank you, milady,” he answered, trying to keep his voice clear. Milady? Was that the right word? Odin’s breath, had he erred already? The land barons he normally dealt with, cared little about etiquette. They simply wanted capable woodsmen to keep their borders secure.

At least he knew to speak only when spoken to and to not look her in the eye. His mouth dried out and his mind whirled. No way to run and no place to go if he could. Even facing the gallows was preferable to being stuck alone with a future mother-in-law who was also the queen of the most powerful nation on Titaan.

The Queen’s robes rustled as she stepped closer. She stopped only a pace away. He noticed a delicate fragrance coming from her that reminded him of all the pleasant woman-scents he’d ever smelled.

A long silence passed. He sensed that she was smiling at him, probably because of his blundering. It gave him hope. Better that she be amused than appalled.

“We are Kalindinai. Our daughter Sarai has written to Us a great deal about you.” Her tone dropped and became stern. “We were interested to see this man she would defy her father for.”

Bannor shuddered. Odin, I’m in it. Hecate wants my power. Father wants my head, and Mother wants what’s left.

Be eloquent. What would Laramis say? His tongue stuck. “I—” He cleared his throat. His voice cracked anyway. “I never intended to cause trouble. We—I—didn’t know Sarai was—”

Kalindinai cut him off. “We are aware of Our daughter’s duplicity.” She stepped closer. It startled him when she took his chin between her fingers and forced him to look up. “Look at Us. What We are concerned with is far more important.” The Queen’s eyes narrowed and he felt that her stare could have bored through steel. Her long nails dug into his skin. “Do you truly love Our daughter, Bannor Starfist?”

She went straight for the heart. At least that question he could answer without tripping over himself. His certainty made it easy to make his tone firm. “Absolutely.”

The Queen scrutinized him for a moment then stepped back. She folded her arms under her ample breasts. “Do you know what it means to love a daughter of Malan?”

He swallowed hard. Suddenly, it felt very hot in this cave. Bannor sensed he would soon find out. “Truthfully, no.”

Kalindinai sighed. She pulled a long black rod from her sash, and rested its length on her shoulder. She seemed to be collecting her thoughts.

Before the Queen said anything, Wren’s voice interrupted. “Bannor, we have good news. We—”

The Queen’s robes made a snapping motion as she whirled to face the sound. Wren and Meliandri froze as they stepped around the partition. He’d never seen Wren as startled or scared as she must have been right then. The savant’s blue eyes grew round and her skin went ashen. A big grin faded from Meliandri’s lips as if she’d looked death in the eye. As though someone had axed their knees, both women fell into deep curtsies, their foreheads touching the stone floor.

Queen Kalindinai’s voice took on that commanding tone he’d heard Sarai use. “Arwen Kergatha, dama Meliandri, We do not recall sending for either of you.”

Bannor had seen Wren glare in the eye of an avatar without turning a hair, but the queen’s tone actually made the savant cringe. Seeing that, told him of Kalindinai’s power and Wren’s respect for her authority.

The Queen gripped the black rod in both hands and frowned. “Meliandri, you are dismissed.”

The plump red-haired elf glanced up, curtsied again and scurried away.

Wren’s eyes were closed. Bannor could see her cursing under her breath.

“Arwen, We would expect better manners given Our hospitality.” Her voice stayed cool with rebuke.

The savant winced as if she’d been smacked. “Matradomma, my apologies, I did not think you’d be here.”

“As you can see Arwen, We are indeed here. Therefore, your surmise was in error. Would you not agree?”

Wren inhaled as though it had gotten difficult for her to breathe. “Yes, Matradomma.”

Bannor saw now where Sarai’s hard side came from. Kalindinai probably could make Odin himself toe the dirt.

A cold tremor shot through him—to have her as a mother-in-law? If he somehow survived the ordeal with Hecate he would have this fearsome chimera to face. This woman got things her way.

“Rise, Arwen.” She pointed next to Bannor. “Sit.”

Wren sat. The blonde savant’s whole demeanor had become that of a chastened girl. Bannor barely recognized her without that defiant set to her jaw and that superior little smile.

Kalindinai twirled the black rod and paced. “Since We have you both here, We can question you together.” She stopped and focused on the two of them. “What have you done to Sarai? She is not the daughter that left Us two summers ago.” Her stare began first on him, and then drifted to Wren. “Her father cannot see the change, but We can.”

Bannor answered first. “It is my fault, Matradomma,” he said. At least he knew the proper address now. “A bad situation forced me to use my Garmtur—” Wren tensed beside him. Bannor realized his error too late. Nothing for it now, he plunged on. “I used it to imbue Sarai with magic because I could not physically be present to defend her.”

“Garmtur?” Kalindinai’s eyebrow rose. “So that’s what this is all about. A chaos bringer and, of course—” The Queen closed her eyes and she suddenly laughed. “Our daughter wants to marry you! Never to be outdone for finding herself in the middle of trouble, that is Our third born.” She shook her head with a rueful expression. Her jaw tightened. “What is your part in this Kel’Varan? How much of the avatar’s agitation rests on your shoulders?”

A muscle in Wren’s cheek twitched. Her blue eyes grew intense as if she were happy to be the cause. “Perhaps all, Matradomma. We have destroyed Rankorhaaz, Mazerak, and Nystruul. Those minions won’t bother Titaan again.”

“An impressive list of foes. We wonder at the Arwen’s undertaking of this venture unassisted. Where is your Sire and Doma? Certainly, they did not plan this chancy endeavor.”

“Father and Mother didn’t believe in the power of the Garmtur. It had to be done without their blessing.”

The Queen brought the rod around so its tip rested under Wren’s nose. Her tone could slice steel. “You are saying that you chose to do this without your sovereign’s authority, without support, without getting permission from any of the nations your actions put at risk?”

Wren looked in pain now. “There was no time, Matradomma, Hecate’s minions were already moving. Once they got him we would be unable to wrest him away. Speed was—”

Kalindinai slapped Wren across the face. “Fool. We would slap you again except that it is your Doma’s job. Over twelve thousand are dead already of this mockery.” She pointed a finger. “Their deaths are your fault, child. We have watched this Arwen for summers and know her independent ways. Thought she to sneak in and slip away with the Garmtur with no one the wiser. Her over-confidence is abundantly clear. Her victories do not ameliorate her grievous error. She knew not what she was getting into. It has been parody of chase, counter-strike, and luck that brings you to us now—now that things are far out of control. We are grievously disappointed in your behavior Arwen, and truly appalled that one of such lineage would commit so heinous act of ego.”

Tears streamed down Wren’s face.

Kalindinai hit the rod into her palm with a crack. “Your presence greatly disturbs Us. Be gone, Arwen, We shall deal with you later.” She stabbed a finger in the direction that Meliandri went.

Wren swallowed and rose. Her tears made dark spots on the bright green blouse she wore. The savant trembled; her fists were clenched at her sides. She curtsied to the Queen, turned and ran.

The queen watched, hands white knuckled on the rod. A shiver went through her.

Bannor trembled. He’d never seen Wren’s actions in that way. The savant must have felt the judgment accurate or she would have argued more.

Kalindinai focused on him. “Bannor, you disturb Us greatly as well. You are the problem our wayward Arwen has dragged in out of the rain. Her Sire and Doma are deeply regarded by Ourselves as beings of truly noble standing. Much to Our disapproval, their daughter is unrestrained. The Arwen is immensely capable, and her intentions and heart are good. She simply has the pretentious habit of taking too much on herself. Her unilateral decision concerning you was far beyond the scope of her authority. It falls to Us now to clean up after the child.” She sighed. “Firstly, let us make one thing clear.”

She took Bannor’s chin between her fingers again.

“There shall be no deal with Hecate.”

There are eternals, immortals, immorts, changlings, and the various races of spirit-kin. Any of them will tell you there is a great difference between being immortal and simply living forever…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Forty-Six

« ^ »

With her hand gripping his face Bannor blinked and stared into violet eyes of the Malanian queen, Kalindinai. Everything about her reminded him of a Sarai grown wiser and more compelling with the passing of centuries. This royal lady had turned the domineering Wren into a trembling and thoroughly humbled woman.

That was power. A person who could slap Wren down and make her take it was someone to respect.

Kalindinai had turned on him. Within instants, the Queen’s insight stabbed into him with uncanny accuracy.

The hand gripping his face pinched down. “Understand me, Bannor? No deals with Hecate.”

He swallowed, feeling as if he would melt beneath her scrutiny. The beating of his heart, the tumbling of the underground stream nearby and the distant echoing of battle practice all seemed to impinge upon the silence. How did she know? He’d told no one of his vision. Did she read his mind? He knew Wren could do it.

Her jaw tightened at his hesitation. She had sprung the statement on him so fast. One moment they were talking of Wren, and then she was telling him of Hecate and answering the question that troubled him so deeply.

Bannor cleared his throat. His skin felt hot and prickly. “I heard, I—”

Kalindinai cut in. “We did not ask if you heard. Did you understand?”

“I—”

Her nails dug in with stabs of pain. He felt himself withering under her intensity. Kalindinai’s voice turned harsh. “Yes or no.”

“Yes.”

She let go, stepped back, and started pacing again clapping the black rod in her palm. “We have walked the surface of Titaan for two millennia. We have seen dominions rise and fall. One thing remained constant.” She stopped. “Gods. Even those who claim to be benevolent are untrustworthy. Even Our patron deity, Carellion Lothlarian, the law giver of the elves is mercurial and capricious.” She cracked the rod against the floor. “They honor no bargains. Hecate has you slated for a prime deception.”

She took his hand and held his fingers up. “These yellow stains beneath your nails. They are signs of the gray death. It is a plague carried by Hecate’s demons. It is rare, but We have seen it before. When you let slip you were a Garmtur, the reasons for your condition came clear.”

“What can I do?” He clenched his free hand into a fist. “I don’t want to die. Others shouldn’t be killed on my account.”

“We know a cure. Besides,” Kalindinai lowered her voice. “To whom would you rather owe your life, Bannor, Ourselves or Hecate?”

Bannor felt his stomach do a cartwheel. A double-edged question if ever he heard one. He swallowed and gazed into the woman’s eyes. No doubt, if he declined, he would never see Sarai again. If he cooperated, the Queen would have a strangle hold on him. She’d already choked Wren out. It might be days before the savant held her head up again after that verbal thrashing. His answer was mere formality. He knew it and so did Kalindinai.

“You,” he said. Already, he saw what a life in Sarai’s family might have in store.

Kalindinai nodded. “We shall see to it that Dama Meliandri has the proper curatives. We will perform the purification rites Ourselves.” She turned and leaned against the partition and looked toward the underground river.

Bannor shifted uneasily in the cot. In a way, he felt relieved that the decision concerning the deal with Hecate had been made for him. Another part of him resented it. This woman didn’t even know him. She paraded into his life and told him what trail to take and whose drum to march to. It was for that very same reason that he disliked Wren, for barging into his affairs and turning everything upside down.

He studied Kalindinai from behind, the stiff bearing, each hair and every fold of cloth exactly so. This was Sarai’s mother. If that were Kalindinai’s only credential he’d be hesitant to argue with her, but she was the Queen of Malan as well. He loved Sarai, but the prospect of facing this woman and her family on daily basis could make the bravest suitor swoon.

Kalindinai sighed. The tautness in her shoulders relaxed and her fingers loosened and tightened on the haft of the black rod she carried.

“You probably think Us an ogre.” She turned and patted the rod against her thigh. She bit her lip. “Softness is not an option for Us. Responsibility is a burden that forces Us to make hard decisions. You will cause Us to make some of the hardest We have ever made.” She looked up to the cavern roof. “Much of what a Queen says is dictated to her by policy.” Kalindinai’s gaze fixed on him. “Always there is a dichotomy between what Our nation needs and what we Ourselves desire.”

She smacked the rod on her thigh again. “With Wren, we had to maintain the official line. Unofficially, I,” She stressed ‘I’. “Think she did well acting as she did. Hecate concealed your presence and true power from elders such as myself and Wren’s Sire and Doma. Had Wren acted in a proper fashion telling Us first, the war would simply have started sooner. She struck unexpectedly, and took out key individuals in their army. As a nation, We will not be faced with those foes. It is unfortunate that We, that I, cannot tell her that she has done well. As Malan, We can only deride her lack of regard for procedure and responsibility. You understand don’t you?”

Bannor thought he did. Officially, the Queen had to give Wren a comeuppance. Kalindinai could not reverse or change that position, or even apologize—not officially. He guessed she told him this so that he could relay those regrets. “Yes, Matradomma.”

“Good,” she said. She caressed his cheek and a smile flickered across her lips. It made the Queen’s face glow. “We went to see Our daughter. We found her quite stricken.” She pursed her lips and examined a lacquered fingernail. “Though the symptoms were rather mild, We explained to the guards that Sarai appears to be afflicted with the same sickness as yourself. We decided that the two of you should be isolated in this ward until we know how this plague is spread.” Kalindinai looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “We will be watching. This malady has obviously affected Sarai’s heart as well as her stubborn head. Our daughter is extremely dear to Us. Remember that.”

His heart jumped. She wasn’t going to keep them apart. He said a silent prayer to Odin. “Oh, I will, Matradomma.”

The Queen nodded. She turned to leave.

“Thank you,” he added.

Kalindinai stopped, her back still to him. “Don’t thank Us, yet, Garmtur.” Kalindinai’s violet eyes flashed as she glanced over her shoulder and gave him cold smile. “You don’t know yet what you owe.”

Bannor felt the chill of that smile long after her footsteps faded into the distance.

Bannor waited for Sarai in anticipation. He needed her. He wanted to feel her arms around him, to smell her hair and taste her lips. It seemed summers since they last touched. As he contemplated a reunion, the Queen’s last words gnawed at him. You don’t know yet what you owe. Thos words did anything but comfort him. Some inner feeling said that a bargain with Kalindinai might be as bad as a deal with Hecate.

Sitting on his cot with nothing to do he stared at the stream, then the flickering torches, and finally the cavern roof. There was nothing to read or do. His legs wouldn’t support him so there was no way to explore. He felt the tiredness of being ill, but the waiting made him too fidgety to simply lay still and do nothing.

On impulse, he picked up a rock and scratched on the stone floor. The surface yielded, giving up a passable white line. He continued, etching a pattern on the floor. His only thought was to create a satisfying piece of art. Something about it tugged at him. As inspirations came, he worked with more deliberation. The depth and precision of the curves and angles grew. The flow, rhythm, and sequence of the developing symmetry drew him in.

He put down the rock an indeterminate time later and wiped the sweat on his brow. Totally focused, he’d lost track of time. A symmetrical maze of lines, angles and curves stretched around the far end of his cot. What had started as an aimless alleviation of boredom had become a something of significance.

A tracery. He saw bits of his own soul pattern in it and that of the Garmtur. Other segments reminded him of Sarai. He’d learned not to trust patterns. Parts of his Garmtur were recorded here. The one time he concentrated on its pattern the power almost destroyed everything.

He lay on the cot and studied what inspiration had created. Dozens of lines converged in complex rosettes, spanning outward, twining and splitting like the web of a demented spider. Other lines formed a framework, lines of perspective that gave the illusion of depth and volume. The Garmtur hadn’t died. The pattern instincts integral to his Nola remained alive. At his most basic level, he still interpreted reality in terms of patterns like this one. This etching was an energy map that would allow the manipulation of something. With his Garmtur subdued he had no way of interpreting it.

What could it be?

Boots on stone interrupted his contemplation. His heart beat faster in anticipation of seeing Sarai. The sight of a green blouse and blonde hair dashed his hopes.

“Wren,” he greeted. His tone sounded more dour than he wanted.

The savant sighed. She still looked pale and a frown pulled down the lines of her face. “Bannor. I see you still have your head.”

He made a half smile. “The Queen tried to take it, but I wouldn’t let her.”

Some of the frown lines went away, and Wren smiled. She leaned against the partition and folded her arms. Her attention went to the drawing on the floor. “What’s that?”

“Don’t know exactly,” he said. “It’s a tracery of some kind. I got bored, starting drawing, and that came out.”

Wren stepped across the partition and bent over the pattern. “Interesting.” She rubbed her chin. “I see bits of myself in it.” She glanced to him for recognition.

He frowned. “Really? I see myself, Sarai, and the Garmtur in there too.”

“Why this particular pattern? With those specific elements?” She mused aloud. After a moment, she shook her head. “Well, that can wait. How are you doing?”

Bannor sat up on the cot. He took Wren’s hand. “Okay, the Queen gave me a lot to think about. What about you? Are you all right?”

She nodded and looked at his hand holding hers. It seemed to stir memories in her because she pulled away. “Kalindinai was right. I took too much on myself. Still, it had to be done; policy or no, right or wrong.”

“Kalindinai thinks so too. She simply can’t say so.”

“How do you know that?”

“She told me.”

Wren pursed her lips. The savant’s face tightened. “Bannor, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you still trust me?”

Where was she heading with this? He folded his arms and took a breath before answering. “Never trusted you completely, but I don’t trust you any less than I did. We’ve come through a lot together after all.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

Wren shook her head. “Hard to explain, but I think the Queen will to try to come between us.”

“What do you mean? It’s not like we’re engaged.”

“No…” She drew the word out. “You and I have things to do. Things she may try to prevent.”

“It strikes me that if there’s something Kalindinai wants to stop, then there’s a good reason.”

“Her reasons are political. She’s not just a person, Bannor, she’s a nation. What’s good for Malan might not be so good for us savants. You and I are dangerous people. Many folks think we’re potentially too harmful to let roam around free. Understand?”

He did, and he didn’t like the implication. “You’re sure about this?”

“Bannor, aren’t I always?”

He grunted. “So, what do we do about it?”

“Don’t get locked in more than necessary, that’s all.”

“Besides wanting to marry her daughter?” he asked.

“Nothing to be done for that. Sarai is our biggest asset right now, and our biggest liability.”

Boots scraped on stone and he heard a familiar female voice. “I heard that.”

The sound of her voice sent a warm tremor through him. “Sarai!” He held his arms out.

Sarai stood at the partition opening, dressed in a brilliant red silk blouse and skirt. Her hair had been coifed and fixed in fashion he’d never seen her wear. The two guards flanking Sarai scowled at his open-armed gesture to their arminwen. The bigger of the two looked ready to pull out his sword and impale Bannor on it.

Sarai looked sidelong at her guards and their threatening stances. “We are here. We no longer need your escort. Dismissed.” She made a shooing gesture. When the two hesitated, she pointed and stamped her foot. “We said—dismissed.” Her voice rang with that commanding tone he’d now come to associate with the Queen.

It worked. Not only on the guards, but on Wren too. The savant flinched as though bitten. Apparently, she was still a bit tender from the tongue-lashing Kalindinai had given her.

After the two elves stalked off, Sarai came to him. He tried to rise but his legs failed him. Sarai hugged him before he tried to rise again.

Bannor wrapped his arms around her tight. His heart thundered, and he felt Sarai’s heart beating in syncopation with his as they pressed together.

“My One,” she breathed. “I missed you.”

“I, too,” he agreed.

Bannor didn’t want to talk. He only wanted to hold her. He wished that he felt stronger, that he could make his arms hold as tight as his convictions said they should. For a while, there was no sound save their breathing and the gurgle of the underground stream.

He was aware of Wren watching them, but didn’t care. Let her watch. He loved Sarai. The problems that conspired to keep them apart were only obstacles to overcome. Sarai’s love was worth it.

Sarai pulled away. She smiled but it looked a little forced. “How are you, my One? Is Meliandri providing good care?”

He nodded. “What about you?”

She folded her arms and glanced at Wren. The savant raised an eyebrow. The two of them stared at one another as if in silent communication. She turned her attention back to him. “I have been weathering Father’s storm. He has had me in to see him several times. That is why I was not here sooner. He wanted to yell at me one more time.”

Bannor swallowed. Kalindinai was bad. He wasn’t sure if he could handle Father. “Does he know you’re here?”

Sarai shrugged. “Probably. Mother ordered it.”

“Aren’t you concerned?”

She cupped his ears in her palms, pulled his forehead close a kissed it. “Let me handle my parents. You concentrate on getting better. You need to be strong for tomorrow morning.”

He heard something ominous in Sarai’s voice. “What’s tomorrow, Little Star?”

“Your first audience with Father.”

Mothers, fathers, siblings, they are something that we of the pantheons possess but those relations are something that take quite a bit more than a few breaths to explain. For example, my sister Athena claims to have sprung fully grown from the head of Zeus.

The truth is considerably less imaginative…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Forty-Seven

« ^ »

Bannor stared into Sarai’s glowing violet eyes and the earnest expression on her face. Her tone had sounded so innocent, so innocuous, as she calmly asked him to walk up the gallows steps and put his head in the noose.

“My first what!” he choked out. The loudness of his voice startled both Sarai and Wren. The savant who’d been leaning against the partition almost fell over.

The brief surprise on Sarai’s face was replaced by a frown. “I said, your first audience with Father.”

“No.”

“My One…”

“No,” he said louder.

“My One…” she growled the word ‘one’. “We have to…”

“Later,” he said. “Much later. Your Father will just snarl at me, make veiled threats and remarks about my questionable heritage. That, and he’ll probably hang me if he can find an excuse.”

Sarai’s face clouded and her eyes flashed. She folded her arms. “You don’t know anything about my father,” she declared.

Bannor sighed. This was hard, especially when he felt so weak. He needed her support. “I know fathers. I’ve had one, and a sister, too. I know what my Father put my sister’s suitors through. Little Star, I’m not up to it. I look like … well, I’d rather not describe what I look like—”

“Or smell like,” Wren said, wrinkling her nose.

Bannor glared at her. She shrugged.

Sarai fixed Wren with a ‘you-stay-out-of-this’ stare then turned her attention back to him. “We can get you cleaned up. That’s not a problem.”

He squeezed her hand. “Little Star, I don’t want to.” His voice rose on the word ‘want’.

“My One, you may not, but Father does.”

Bannor gritted his teeth. “Does your Father always get what he wants?”

“Usually.”

“Odin.” He felt so tired. Why did he even try to argue? So disoriented. He didn’t even know what part of the day it was now. “Can we make it for late tomorrow?”

“We can try.”

“Good.”

Wren raised an eyebrow. “For a princess who’s a captive of her own people, you certainly are confident.”

Sarai squared herself on the cot. She put her arm around his waist and gave Wren a look. “You know how it is with fathers.”

“Of course. Mine dotes on me.” She pointed an admonishing finger at Sarai. “I’ve never gotten my Father mad enough to throw me in the dungeon though.”

Sarai shrugged. “Give it a couple hundred summers. You will. I’m not a baby, nor a puppet to act out his games.”

Bannor put up a hand to halt the conversation. “Not that this isn’t an important topic, but has anyone found out what’s happening with the gate or the armies?”

Wren nodded. “Last I heard, Hecate had pulled her armies back to the portal. Best guess is they’re waiting to move out. Nobody knows for what.”

Bannor suspected why. Hecate was waiting for his decision about giving up the Garmtur. Whether or not Kalindinai decided for him or not, he would still feel responsible for the consequences. He wondered now if he shouldn’t challenge the Queen’s decision.

Wait. He’d tell Wren later. He didn’t need to worry both himself and the savant now. Part of what he’d learned negotiating with Hecate was that she knew about Wren’s lover in the dream world. The savant would be very upset over the goddess knowing about it. What Hecate knew, she could twist or destroy.

He didn’t even want to think about it. Hecate knew about his brother, too. “Another thing. Has anyone talked to Laramis?”

“He’s all right,” Sarai said. “Upset, of course. I’m working on getting him freed.”

“He’s fretting over Irodee,” Wren said. “Can’t blame him. I’m worried myself. Trapped here with no way to go find her.”

“I’ll handle it,” Sarai snapped. “Carellion’s eyes. It takes time. Mother and Father aren’t through scolding me, much less in a mood to help me. I’m surprised Mother was as generous as she was.”

Wren snorted. “Generous?” She turned her back and faced the stream. Bannor guessed she was thinking about the tongue-lashing Kalindinai had given her.

“I think I can talk Mother into having some scouts search for Irodee.” She glanced at him. “That’s better than nothing—right?”

Back still to them, Wren nodded.

For the rest of her visit, the savant remained sullen and withdrawn. He suspected it was more than being trapped or not being able to go to Irodee. He knew Wren hated being powerless. He empathized with that.

Sarai sent for some heated water and gave him a washcloth bath. At first, he’d thought just to bathe in the stream. One toe in the icy current quenched those ideas. The flow must be snow runoff and barely above freezing.

They spent their time discussing how best to deal with their situation as captives of the state. They talked about what to do about Laramis, and where Irodee and DacWhirter might be if they were still alive. Much of their plans hinged on whether he and Sarai could soothe the King’s anger. The situation was too much, too soon. He couldn’t even stand on his own yet.

They ate a cold dinner of cheese, venison, bread and blackberry wine. Sarai brought her cot from another part of the ward and they lay together in the darkness listening to the stream gurgling by.

Even with Sarai at his side, Bannor’s sleep was fitful. So much rode on the meeting with the King. The morning, or what passed for morning underground, came far too soon. An elf assigned to Sarai came to wake them. A night’s rest had returned little of his mobility.

They sat up as the aide lit the torches and brought salves that Kalindinai had left instructions for applying on Bannor’s scratches.

Sarai had clothes fetched for him, and bathed him again. She applied the salves then rubbed in some oils whose application was the most pleasurable thing he’d experienced since he and she made love among the trees back at Hades flats.

The dark maroon tunic fit snug, and the dark flare-leg breeches even more so. Few elves were over 17 hands tall. He just held in his breath and hoped the seams wouldn’t burst.

Sarai stepped back and examined his appearance. She shook her head and muttered something in elvish.

“What?”

“I said, I wish these were larger.”

Bannor felt a tingle in the back of his skull. A faint glow pulsed around himself and Sarai.

The glow faded, and he realized that the tightness around his legs and groin had vanished.

Sarai’s eyes widened. Her jaw dropped open. “Did you..?”

A cold lump hardened in his stomach. “No, I didn’t.”

Her voice sounded tiny. “I felt a buzzing in my head—then it happened.”

“Odin’s breath,” Bannor muttered. “I felt it, too.” Had the Garmtur found some other outlet? He still sensed that the block he’d put up remained intact. What did Sarai do? More frightening than the Garmtur being loose was that Sarai couldn’t see the threads of reality to even guess when something might be dangerous. He calmed himself and tried to be logical. Might this only be a fluke?

He sat on the cot and rubbed his face with his hands. “This is bad. I had enough problems when I was the only one who could use the Garmtur.”

Sarai’s violet eyes widened. “I don’t understand. How?”

He shook his head. “Don’t know—I—” Bannor stopped. Through his fingers, he glimpsed the tracery on the floor around his cot. He fought back to his feet, wanting to move fast, but slowed by pain. He grabbed her cot, tried to lift it and failed. Sarai snatched it one-handed and tossed it aside.

On the floor lay the complex etching he had spent a day creating. Bits of his pattern, Sarai’s, and Wren’s were snuggled into the complicated maze of curling lines. Without using the Garmtur, he couldn’t navigate the tracery to understand it. He could guess what it did, though. What had he been thinking? No, he hadn’t been thinking at all—simply doodling; musing about Sarai and Wren.

“What is it?” Sarai asked.

“A tracery.”

“What does that have to do with what happened?”

He shrugged and pointed to the pattern on the floor. “I’m guessing something like this can work magic if done right.”

“What were you trying to do?”

“I wasn’t trying to do anything. Just scribbling. The Garmtur’s power is in manipulating patterns like these, only they’re in my mind. I guess it works written down too, just differently.” He shook his head. “There’s so much I don’t know.”

Sarai’s jaw muscles worked. “Think this will happen again?”

He sighed. “Only one way to find out.”

Her gaze met his. “You sure?”

“Something small—very small.” His heart speeded.

His mate’s eyes narrowed. She took a breath. “I wish your surcoat were emerald green.”

Bannor felt a tingle like something trying to happen. His stomach tightened. He waited for the threads of reality to twine.

A wash of relief went through him as the tunic remained unchanged. The fact that it tried to happen was not comforting though. “Did you feel something?” he asked.

She nodded. “Does that mean we’re safe?”

“No. Typical Garmtur, it only happens when you’re not expecting it.” He sighed. “Odin, I don’t want to tell Wren. It’ll make her crazy.” Now there were two things he needed to tell the savant.

Sarai pursed her lips. “I’m halfway there, myself. That’s frightening. Wanting something and it unexpectedly comes true.”

Bannor clenched his fists. He knew what that felt like. “To be safe, be careful what you wish for.”

They were ushered into the King’s hall at noon. Bannor only knew it was noon because he’d heard a courtier mumbling about his being late for the noon court.

The elves had decorated a high grotto as their audience chamber. Strategically-placed torches lit up the stalagmites and stalactites making them glitter as fine as any crafted ornaments.

A high-backed lace-wood chair, plain and unadorned served as the King’s throne. It sat in the center of a simple dais made of wood with a heavy violet cloth laid over it. Two steely-eyed elves wearing shining chain mail armor and carrying broad spears stood on the edges of the platform.

If the King of Corwin knew Malan was holding court in his territory, he’d probably throw a fit.

Bannor glanced around at the other elves gathering in rows down either side of the cavern. They were males and females, mostly nobles, though some were high ranking soldiers. Gold, green, silver, and orange eyes peered at him from impassive faces. Though their expressions looked painted on, Bannor felt himself being scrutinized, sized up, weighed and judged.

The King had not entered yet. He tried to remember all the things Sarai had told him. Proper forms of address and such. So much to remember and only a short time to memorize them. Dom’Ista the most important, the King’s title, meaning high father. If he speaks your informal name you may meet his eyes, if not, look no higher than his chest. Odin—there’d been a reason he avoided court.

Bannor jumped as a fingernail tickled the back of his neck and a hand trailed across his shoulder. A sultry voice very like Sarai’s spoke by him. “So, Sister, is this the one all the fuss is about?”

A dark-haired elf woman dressed in emerald green silks stepped around him. She looked slightly shorter than Sarai, with a rounder face and body. Her hair was clasped horsetail fashion, the long strands finger-widths from brushing the floor. The family resemblance showed in the way she held her chin and the intensity of her amber eyes.

She made a show of looking him up and down. “I must say, he certainly is well made.”

Sarai tensed. Her eyes flashed. When she spoke, her voice echoed none of the irritation Bannor felt in her grip. “Janai, this is my One, Bannor.” She looked up at him. “Bannor, my older sister, Janai.”

Janai held out a hand. Bannor bowed over it and kissed one of the many jeweled rings on her slender fingers.

The older princess smiled, not only her face, but her whole body. She seemed to glow. Bannor found her breathtaking, so like Sarai, and completely different at the same time. His gut feelings told him she was dangerous. She knew she was beautiful and used it like a weapon.

“Your One?” Janai gazed up at him with pursed lips and raised a jeweled finger to the side of his cheek. “Why sister, how impetuous. Are you turning jihira on me?”

Sarai’s tone turned icy. “I’ll ask you once to take your hand off him, Janai.”

The older sister froze as though someone had aimed a crossbow at her head. She gingerly removed her hand as though a stiff breeze might shatter him. She raised an eyebrow. “How selfish of you.” She licked her lips. “There’s more than enough to go around.”

“Janai, you’re too greedy to share. You always have been. It only takes once for me to learn.”

The dark-haired elf snorted. She looked up at him as if to confide a secret. “One little incident two centuries ago and she still holds it against me.” She sighed and shrugged.

Sarai narrowed her eyes. “I have seen little to make me think you would not do it again—sister.”

Janai bit a fingernail and gazed up at him with great amber eyes that glowed the same way Sarai’s did. “I don’t know what it is about him, but I think I’d make an exception in his case.”

Bannor frowned. He hated being talked about as if he wasn’t present. It was something he’d come to expect from nobles, though.

The talking around the room abruptly stopped. Bannor glanced back as a figure entered.

Sarai pulled him to a kneeling position with his head bowed as the King proceeded to the head of the chamber. Bannor heard robes whoosh, the click of hard boots and the clink of armor as the male strode to the dais and stepped onto the wood.

“All may heed,” a deep voice intoned.

Sarai pulled his head up. The King of Malan stood on the dais. Giant for an elf and big even for a human, Bannor would have looked him in the eye. Long, silvery hair crested at his shoulders and ran down his back. His corded arms and torso were covered in a gold metal mesh so fine he looked clothed in liquid gold.

The King gestured. A figure swept forward dressed in black and silver. A triple-layered cloak that looked woven from shadows hushed through the air as a broad-shouldered elf with braided steel-gray hair marched to the head of the room.

“Baldric,” muttered Sarai. “What’s he doing here?”

Janai shook her head, eyes wide. Sarai tensed. This new elf had been unexpected and must indicate something bad.

Baldric stepped onto the dais, came to one knee and bowed to the King. The ruler nodded and gestured him up. Baldric rose, stepped to the side of the throne and turned.

The new elf’s eyes looked the color of granite, flecks of gold and black on a background of rocky gray. The light from the torches did not reflect in his eyes. His whole rigid posture, pinched angular features, and flat stare gave the appearance of a merciless, unstoppable force.

The King nodded.

Baldric spoke with a deep ringing voice. “Step forward Arminwen Sarai, daughter of Malan.” The elf’s eyes sought out Bannor as if to pin him to a board. “Bannor Starfist, step forward.”

Sarai’s grip on his hand hurt. Something was wrong. They stepped to the center of the room a few paces from the King. The Malanian ruler’s handsome face was unreadable. Amber eyes stared through them, unblinking.

Baldric continued, the hard tones of his words like arrows in Bannor’s chest. “Bannor Starfist, Malan formally charges you with kidnapping and reckless endangerment of a daughter of Malan. How do you plead?”

Justice comes in many flavors, each of them more bitter than the last. The only sweet justice is revenge, something I have always had a taste for…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Forty-Eight

« ^ »

Bannor knelt next to Sarai. The cavern walls of the audience chamber suddenly felt as if they were closing in. Sounds resonated off the stalactites and stalagmites. The flickering torchlight appeared too bright. There were too many people with too many eyes staring at him. Only the sounds of breathing and the rustling of clothes and jewelry remained. The echo of the magister’s voice seemed to linger in the walls. Malan formally charges you with kidnapping and reckless endangerment of the Arminwen of Malan. How do you plead?

The neck of Bannor’s tunic felt tight. Sweat dampened his armpits. He realized his hands were clenched where the holsters for his axes normally were.

How do you plead? The words rang in his head. Coming here had been exactly the colossal mistake he expected.

What was there to do? What was there to say? He became acutely aware of the dozens of elves all staring at him, especially the King. The ruler’s amber eyes stared through him as if he were a pane of glass. The King’s hands tensed and relaxed. The rest of the elf remained motionless as if he were a part of the makeshift throne.

Beside him, Sarai drew a breath. He sensed the emotion well up in her, surprise, indignation—anger.

“Father!” she burst out.

The King exploded out of his chair. His voice struck the room like a thunderclap. “You will be silent, Daughter!” He pointed an accusatory finger at her. His hand trembled. “Gav ne ja sada!” His hard inflections cracked like whips.

The vehemence of his order chopped through her objection like an axe. She stopped and stared as if she abruptly realized she was looking at a stranger.

Her father pointed to Baldric. “Continue.”

The magister nodded, his voice hollow. “Arminwen Sarai Ravael T’Evagduran, Malan charges you with criminal malfeasance intended to undermine the state, abandonment of a royal post, and violation of sovereign imposed curfews. How do you plead?”

A ripple went through the audience. It did not appear that the nobles expected this turn of events. Most wore wooden expressions of surprise and dismay.

Sarai’s eyes narrowed and she gritted her teeth. Bannor felt energy crackling around her. The King didn’t know what his daughter had become during the months of her absence. Here they stood, far beneath the ground, surrounded by stone—Sarai’s element. The place where even avatars were unwise to challenge her.

He had to calm Sarai before she lost her temper. His mate would kill if antagonized enough, and it looked like her father was determined to do that very thing.

Bannor pried his hand out of Sarai’s and struggled to his feet. His heart pounded and his mouth had gone dry. He cleared his throat and spoke as clearly as he could. “Dom’Ista, I am innocent of these charges. So is Sarai. No insult, dereliction, nor endangerment was intended by either of us.”

Dereliction? Was that the right word? He’d heard a magistrate use it when a guard abandoned his duties.

The King scowled. “You speak out of turn.”

Sarai rose slowly, the light in her eyes bright and deadly. When she spoke, it was in a quiet voice. Despite its lack of volume, Bannor had no doubt King T’Evagduran heard every word. “Father. Will you press these charges against me? Embarrass me in front of the court?” She paused. The corner of her mouth twitched. “Is that your intention?”

The King settled into his throne with exaggerated slowness and gripped the chair arms. “Daughter,” he rumbled. “Was that not your intention when you slipped away unannounced?”

“Father—” Sarai’s voice dropped to a growl.

Bannor tried to will Sarai silent, knowing that her next words would get them in horrible trouble.

“I had better things to do than play games,” she said.

The temperature of the room seemed to drop as Sarai’s Father jerked as though slapped. Bannor saw many of the onlookers wince. No one blinked. Few appeared to breathe. Bannor glanced at Sarai’s sister. The woman’s jaw hung open and her eyes were wide.

Bannor couldn’t remember his last breath. He’d started to head off this confrontation, but simply didn’t know what to say. Sarai had told him so little of her family, and he knew nothing about her Father. What could he say that he had any business saying?

Baldric the magister stood on the dais like a statue. Only his granite-colored eyes moved. His penetrating gaze flicked from King to Princess.

The wooden chair arm creaked under King T’Evagduran’s grip. He leaned forward. “You are my daughter, Sarai. You will do what is expected of you.”

“To be a whore, Father? Is that what’s expected? To sleep with a man I don’t love for the sake of an alliance?”

Bannor heard the whole room draw a breath. Female elves around the room flinched. Some turned their faces and others stared at the floor. All around him, bodies hummed with tension. He saw Janai take a few steps as if ready to intervene. Apparently, she couldn’t get up the nerve to get between the two.

He closed his hands into fists, angry at his own impotence but not wanting to further escalate this confrontation. His stomach churned in empathy, feeling Sarai’s rage and humiliation. Throughout the generations, the role of noblewomen and women-of-standing had been to bond families together. Rarely did they ever have a say in the matter. Sarai stood here in front of the assembled nobility, challenging the demeaning practice.

King T’Evagduran narrowed his eyes. “You do what your sovereign requires of you. It is no less than is expected of any other loyal lady of Malan.”

“This lady is not chattel,” she snarled. She looked at Bannor and put a hand on his shoulder. “I do not accept patronization from my One.” Another ripple of surprise went through the room. “I will not accept it from my Father. You can lock me up, but you cannot change my mind. I will choose who shares my bed.”

Amber eyes looked daggers first at Sarai, then at Bannor. The accusatory look on the King’s face said he blamed him for Sarai’s open rebellion. He felt that intense gaze dissecting him. Cold sweat trickled down the small of his back. A pessimistic voice in the back of his head said that dissection would be the least of his problems.

The King focused again on Sarai. “Are you finished?”

His mate’s eyes narrowed to slits. She opened her hand, fingers crooked like talons. Sarai made a scooping motion then yanked her arm up as if to grip something and rip it.

The room rumbled. Stone spikes erupted through the dais all round the King, knocking the guards and Baldric aside. Sarai made a chopping motion with her arm and the pointed tops of the spikes sheared away and hissed across the room to slam quivering into the cavern wall.

The cold eyes of the King widened in surprise. Around the room, elves collected themselves after having jumped and cringed from what felt like a ground tremor.

“I am done now, Father. You wanted me to bring a powerful ally into the family.” She held up her index finger, turned her hand over, and then gestured as if pressing on something. One of the stone spikes quivered, groaned, and then shattered. People let out startled cries. The King twitched. “I did. I regret any embarrassment I may have caused, but I refuse to be bandied about like a trinket. As you can see,” she made a smoothing motion with her hand and the stone jutting up through the dais melted and flowed like water. Other rock rose up and crawled along the surfaces of the wooden platform, encasing it in stone. “I have the tools to most stringently object.”

The guards and Baldric picked themselves up. Bannor saw in their eyes they didn’t want to return to the dais, which was now a smooth slab.

King T’Evagduran stared at Sarai. Anger, astonishment and concern all vied for supremacy on his once stony face. The court elves hummed. Faces and bodies taut, they whispered and gestured. Many fussed with clothing, hair, and jewelry.

The King’s knuckles were white from gripping the chair arm. A vein pulsed in his neck. Called out by his daughter in front of his entourage. Not only that, but she was displaying this tremendous power as well. Obviously, he’d expected her to buckle, not give this fierce demonstration of independence.

“How did you—?” T’Evagduran started in an amazed tone, and then stopped himself. Bannor saw the determination in the elf’s face; he wouldn’t let anything sidetrack him, even something as startling as this change in his daughter.

Janai hurried forward in the intervening silence. She bowed low, the long tail of her hair brushing the floor.

“Father,” she said, sounding as though out of breath. “It’s been a bad time for us all.” She glanced at Sarai, who met her gaze. “Sarai has been through much. The war with the avatars has upset us all. Please,” she glanced between sister and father. “Let us not be rash, and say anything more that we—” She fixed Sarai with a stare and silently mouthed the word ‘apologize’. “That we all will regret.”

The older sister’s words brought a sigh from the room. Bannor felt glad that somebody had intervened before Sarai and the King went for each other’s throats.

Some of the tension left T’Evagduran. Sarai gave Janai a suspicious glance, body still tensed like a bowstring.

T’Evagduran swallowed, looking from one daughter to the next. “I do not appreciate this—” he paused, gaze sweeping the now stone-encased dais, “display. Threats are not how any daughter treats her father; especially if he is King.”

Sarai started to speak, but Janai interrupted. “Father, I’m certain Sarai didn’t mean it that way. She—” Janai wet her lips and her gaze met Bannor’s. “She—she simply has been over-wrought. Bannor has been ill; they’ve been fighting demons night and day, and have done combat with an avatar. Surely, one can understand overreacting after such an ordeal.” Elves in the room nodded in agreement. “Everyone understands your anger with Sarai, but you must admit these proceedings took us all by surprise. I notice you even left Mother out of the ceremony. How would she feel about that?”

The King grimaced. Bannor guessed that Janai was gambling. From his reaction, the threat apparently carried weight. Queen Kalindinai must not have known what the King planned. Her discovering that he’d purposely kept this private inquisition a secret must have dire enough consequences to make the King reconsider.

Janai turned to Sarai, amber eyes narrowed and teeth clenched, she mouthed the word ‘apologize’ again. Sarai shook her head. The older sister rolled her eyes. Bannor took Sarai’s hand and squeezed. She looked up at him, violet eyes glowing bright.

“Do it,” he said silently.

Sarai growled. She let out a breath. Her shoulders slumped. “Janai’s right,” she gave her sister an annoyed look. “I’m tired. I shouldn’t have done that. I apologize to you and to this court for that unseemly display. I’d like—” Janai sidled over and planted a heel on Sarai’s toe. Sarai winced and bared her teeth like she’d bite her sister. Janai kept her gaze level on Sarai. She drew a breath and focused on her Father. “I beg—” she choked on the word. “I beg your forgiveness.”

A wave of relief washed through Bannor. He thanked Odin that Janai had been there to mediate and make his stiff-necked mate bend a little.

Janai nodded in satisfaction.

The King slumped sideways on the throne and put chin on fist. When he spoke, his voice had softened. For the first time Bannor saw a hint of a Father’s love for his daughter. “What am I to do with you, Sarai? You defy me in front of these Lords and Ladies. You have this—this outburst.” His gaze flicked to the cratered wall where the fragments of stone had struck. “You also bring this human to us. Is there any reason you shouldn’t be charged and formally punished?”

Sarai simply stared.

Janai nudged her ankle. When she didn’t speak, the older sister kicked her. Sarai growled. “No Father, there isn’t. I—shouldn’t have run out.” She drew herself up straight. Her eyes glinted. “I’d like to think though that maybe it’s for the better. You see I am changed. I can serve Malan in ways I never did before. Bannor, aside from being a skilled warrior and tracker, has other talents.” She lowered her voice. “Talents that could benefit Malan in startling ways.”

The King frowned. “What kind of ways?”

Sarai closed her eyes. She took Bannor’s hand in both of hers. “I wish Mother were here so I could show you.”

Bannor felt a tingle in the back of his head. His heart raced. The Nola twisted in his mind. Energy surged between him and Sarai. A shaft of light struck down from the ceiling a few paces away. The audience drew a breath. Sparks spiraled around the bright column. In a brilliant flash, a startled Kalindinai stood there, dressed in a loose silk blouse and breeches. Her long silvery hair was fastened in a braid.

Bannor felt a wave of dizziness. He dropped to his knees weak from the drain. All around the room, elves let out gasps of surprise. The King’s jaw dropped.

Kalindinai stared around the room and at all the assembled elves. The surprised look on her face turned to a scowl.

The King gritted his teeth. Sarai looked ready to faint, but she smiled.

The Queen pulled the black rod out of her sash. She gripped it white knuckled, eyes narrow. “What is going on, Jhaann? Who did that? Why wasn’t I apprised of this proceeding?”

King T’Evagduran opened his mouth, and then shut it. Bannor saw nobles surreptitiously slipping out the back of the cavern.

Sarai had summoned a reprieve. For now, the audience was over.

Spies are useful tools, but difficult to maintain. The best agents are moles who do not even know they work for you. The da-succorund is an avatar that does not remember being bound. They are the ultimate mole and one of my favorite tools…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Forty-Nine

« ^ »

Bannor staggered down the tunnel supported by Sarai and her sister Janai. His legs ached, and his heart fluttered. Breaths came hard and sweat trickled down his face. Sarai’s tapping into his Nola had ripped away all his recovered strength. Now, every few moments, objects in his vision would spin like a pinwheel.

Nobles brushed by them in the passage. None offered to help. Many pretended that the three of them didn’t exist. Others went as far as to turn and go another direction.

Queen Kalindinai’s appearance in the middle of King T’Evagduran’s proceedings had brought everything to a halt like a spike driven into the spokes of a wagon. The discussion over the King’s failure to inform the Queen had already turned to shouting when three of them slipped out the back of the cavern.

Since escaping, four words had gnawed at the back of Bannor’s mind. I told you so. He had told Sarai the whole audience business was a bad idea.

He clenched his fists to keep from uttering it. He knew better. Speaking those words now would be like putting a razor to his throat. Typical of the unfair universe. For once he was right, and he couldn’t point it out.

The three of them stopped at juncture between two caverns to catch their breath. Sarai thumped against the wall and slid down to her haunches. She wiped perspiration off her brow. Her feats of rock magic coupled with using the Garmtur to magically transport the Queen had obviously drained her.

Bannor leaned against the cool rock wall. He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Sarai smiled up at him and kissed his knuckles.

He looked around. Sputtering torches cast flickering light on the uneven stone. Somewhere nearby he smelled meat being roasted. He also detected the scent of needleleaf brought by frosty drafts of cold air. They must be close to the surface. If only he had the strength to charge up that tunnel and win his way back to the light. He hated these dark, dank confines.

He took a breath and turned to Janai who leaned against the wall panting. “Janai,” he drew another breath, trying to get a whole sentence out. “I know your sister may not tell you, but for myself, I appreciate what you did. You helped get us out of that mess.”

He felt a sharp sting in his wrist. He glanced to Sarai, who’d nipped him in the arm. Her violet eyes were narrowed in a warning stare. He’d sided with Janai during the ordeal with the King. Those glinting eyes said there’d be words about it later. Frowning, he drew his arm away and rubbed the spot where she’d bitten him.

If Janai noticed the exchange, she didn’t respond to it. She only smiled. “Actually, I was protecting myself. Our older sister Ryelle threatened to break my leg if I didn’t watch over Sarai.” She glanced at her sister. “Don’t know why, but Ryelle is fond of our youngest.”

“Why isn’t as important to me as the fact you did it. You took a chance for us, my thanks.”

The older sister grinned at Bannor. “All gratitude is graciously accepted however you wish to express it.”

“Stop it,” Sarai grumbled.

Bannor kissed Janai on the cheek. “My gratitude.”

The plump elf beamed. Bannor sighed. A man would have to be dead not to be enticed by this little seductress. He knew what she was doing, and it still worked.

Sarai sniffed. “Don’t encourage her.”

“Little Star, look around, these caverns aren’t exactly overflowing with allies. Nobody is on our side. I know you two have history, but we need friends now.”

“I suppose,” Sarai grumbled.

Janai stepped around Bannor and faced her sister. “Honestly, Sarai, I know I’ve been—nasty—before, but I never meant for us to be enemies.” She took one of Sarai’s hands in both of hers. “You don’t need to forgive me for everything. I’ve been a kah’dajk. Give me a chance to make it up?” Her eyes were round and sincere.

The two stared at one another for long moments. Sarai closed her eyes and rocked her head against the wall. She sighed. “All right, peace between us.” Her eyes opened and she fixed Janai with a hard stare. “Until you start playing your old tricks.” She reached back and ripped a hunk of the wall out. She held up the chunk of granite and crumbled it between her fingers. “Understand?”

Janai’s jaw dropped. “How in Carellion’s name..?” She bent and touched the gravel as if to verify its reality. “What’s happened to you?” Janai’s gaze shifted to him. “You did this to her, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

Right then, a group of elves passed them. Janai waited until they were out of hearing. “Let us go to my quarters where it’s private. Father won’t look for us there for a while.” She stepped to Bannor’s other side and pulled his arm around her neck. “Come on.”

Janai’s quarters were lavish compared to their accommodations in the sick ward. Bolts of cloth had been spiked into the walls and hung like the draperies covering windows. Reed mats and throw rugs covered the floor and sprays of flowers had been placed strategically for color. Rock ledges and projections were utilized for hangers, racks and tables. Complemented by clever bits of woodworking, everything looked decorative as well as functional.

Fragrant smoke curled from glowing censors that hung from the ceiling. Their flickering light gave the room a warm feeling.

“Please sit,” Janai gestured them to some pillows in one corner. She went to a large chest that sat near what served as her dining table. She opened it and a puff of vapor hissed out. She removed a large gold decanter dripping with condensation and pulled some chalices from a shelf. She poured for all of them and brought it over.

Bannor took his, the glass icy cool to the touch. He smelled the liquid. The odor reminded him of red berry. He guessed it must be a wine of some kind.

Janai sipped from her cup and sat on a pillow across from them. “Father has been a beast since you left, Sarai. You made him extremely angry.”

Sarai took a drink. “Good. I’d tired of being his errand girl. Mediate this. Take care of that. Whatever tasks nobody else would do. He knew I hated it.”

“It’s because you did a good job.”

She snorted. “It was to keep me busy.”

Janai rolled her eyes. “Well, perhaps that too.”

Bannor sampled his drink; it tasted like nectar of some kind, heavy and fermented. It made his tongue feel thick. The two sisters apparently enjoyed it. It was probably an acquired taste. For the moment, he was happy to simply sit and regain his strength. He must think of how to control the Garmtur. Sarai’s new ability to tap his power put them both at risk. How might he block it? He didn’t want to ask Wren. When he informed her of what Hecate said about Grahm and Rammal, she’d be shocked enough. The addition of a new problem with the Garmtur, would make the savant come apart at the seams.

Sarai took a long drink and clacked the mug on the table. “Janai, I meant what I said to Father. I won’t marry some pig-boy son of Ivaneth. I’ve recognized Bannor. I won’t change my mind.”

He felt a warm sensation at Sarai’s fierce defense of their relationship. Not so long ago, he’d begun doubting their future.

Janai tugged at the long tail of her hair. “You certain that’s wise? Remember what Father did to Curtz?”

“Curtz? You married him because Father hated him and mother didn’t. It was mean and calculated.”

The older sister raised an eyebrow. “Really? And what you did back there in the audience chamber wasn’t?”

Sarai scowled. “That’s different, Father deserved it.”

Janai ran a tongue across her teeth. “Of course.”

“Don’t take that tone with me.”

The dark-haired princess looked at Sarai sidelong. “What kind of tone would you like me to have?”

“Ladies,” Bannor leaned forward and interrupted what would likely be an acerbic remark from Sarai. “Didn’t we just make peace?”

Both women stared at him. He took a sip from his cup and glanced from Sarai to Janai.

The older sister sighed. “Old habits.”

Sarai growled something unintelligible.

“Believe it or not,” he said. “Sisters and brothers can talk without insults, barbs and accusations.”

Janai put both elbows on the table and put her chin in her palms. She spoke in a wistful tone just short of sarcastic. “Am I imagining it, sister, or did the barbarian just tell us about being civil? The man from lands that can’t go two decades without a war?”

Bannor felt heat rise in his cheeks. He pointed a finger at the older princess. “Arminwen, don’t you dare lump the hard-working folk in with the anvil-brained, greedy sons of goats who used to rule in the south.” His voice rose more than he wanted it to. “We fought because we were put to the gallows if we didn’t!”

Janai blanched, taken aback by the volume of his voice.

Sarai put a hand on his arm. “Bannor’s brother Rammal died in the hill war in Southrealm; Balhadd’s child army.”

The dark-haired elf winced. “Apologies, Bannor, I did not know.”

He regained his composure with effort. “My apologies, Arminwen, I should not have raised my voice. It is a sore point.”

“That, I saw.” She took a breath. “Perhaps we should change the subject.” At his and Sarai’s nod she went on. “You going to share how you acquired that marvelous ability with the stone, Sarai?”

“Bannor gave it to me.”

“I know that. You said as much. How?”

Sarai looked at him. She seemed to consider what she would say. “Wild magic,” she finally said.

Wild magic? What was that? Was Sarai planning on lying?

Janai’s face lit up with surprise. “Wild magic? You mean he’s a wilder like Mother? Does she know?”

“No,” Sarai replied.

“Yes,” Bannor answered at the same time.

“What?” Sarai gave him a startled look. “She does?”

“Oh, Kalindinai knows exactly what I am,” Bannor emphasized, gaze fixed on her.

Sarai’s violet eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

He took a sip of the heavy nectar. He was growing accustomed to the syrupy texture and taste. “Little Star, I haven’t gotten a chance. You’ve done all the talking. I’ve been lucky to say anything.”

“How?”

Bannor answered with a shrug. Sarai’s stare turned penetrating. Her voice dropped. “How?”

“She was scolding Wren and I…” He sighed.

“And—?” Sarai prompted.

He gritted his teeth. “Well, it—slipped out. I thought you would have told her.”

His mate’s voice fell flat. “It—slipped—out.”

“So?” Janai asked. “He’s a wilder. What’s so bad?”

“Damn it. This changes everything.”

“Changes what!?” Janai burst out. “What does his being a wilder change? Why would Mother knowing make any difference?”

Sarai gritted her teeth. She muttered a curse word in elvish. “You might as well know. I didn’t tell you the truth. Bannor isn’t a wilder. He’s a savant; a Garmtur Shak’Nola.”

Janai’s eyes widened and her face went ashen. “A chaos bringer? Father will—oh my—he’ll—oh my—” She grabbed her cup and took a deep gulp. “It’s Bannor the avatars are after, right?”

Sarai nodded.

“Oh, my.” Janai fell back in pillows behind her. “This is bad.”

The chamber went quiet.

A feminine voice came from the doorway behind them. “Sorry to interrupt, can I come in?”

Bannor turned. Wren leaned in the opening dressed in a gown of blue silk. The savant’s normally plain face was scrubbed and colored with toner and rouge. Her short blonde hair had been coiffed like the court ladies Bannor had seen in the audience chamber. Necklaces hung from her neck and rings sparkled on her fingers.

Was this the savant he’d been with for almost a month?

She looked like royalty.

“Wren?” Surprise made his voice a whisper.

Janai sat up, joyful recognition on her face. She bounced to her feet. “Liandra! How did you get here?” She ran toward Wren.

The savant froze like a blackhorn caught in the glare of hunter’s lantern as Janai threw her arms around her neck. She returned the elf’s hug as if not knowing what to do with her arms. She looked over the shorter woman’s shoulder toward Bannor with a perplexed expression and silently mouthed the words ‘who is she?’.

Janai stepped back, obviously detecting the savant’s reticence. She frowned. “What’s the matter, Li? Surely, you haven’t forgotten?”

Wren’s eyes were wide. She held her hands palms up as if to ask for forgiveness and shook her head.

Janai appeared shaken. “Cosmodarus, twenty-odd summers ago, we toured the countryside. Spent some twenty ten-days together!”

The savant’s jaw dropped. “You met me when Mishaka ruled Cosmodarus?”

Janai stepped back, hands on hips. “Ruled? Mishaka was prime minister. She didn’t rule.”

“She was an avatar!” Wren growled.

“Wait!” Sarai held up a hand. “I think there’s been some mistake. Janai, this is our friend, Wren.”

“Wren?” Janai scowled. “No, this is Liandra Kergatha, first princess of Cosmodarus.”

“No—”

Wren held up both hands. “She’s right, my birth name is Liandra. I don’t go by it anymore is all. She probably did meet me then. Except it wasn’t me.”

“What?” Bannor asked.

“Pardon?” Janai said, taking another step back.

Wren shook her head. “Long story. Mishaka the avatar held my family captive for fifteen summers, she put imposters in the place of my brother and myself to keep loyals in the kingdom from learning she’d taken over. There’s more, but I don’t have time to tell it.”

Sarai stood. “What’s wrong Wren?”

“I need an audience with your Father. I heard some scouts talking. They’ve seen Irodee and DacWhirter. It couldn’t be anyone else: a giant, black-haired woman and dwarf together. We need to leave right away. They’re near the gathering place of the avatar’s forces. Irodee may think we’re prisoners and that the avatars have taken us through the gate. We have to get to them before they try to go in.”

The timing couldn’t have been worse. Bannor shook his head. “I don’t think Sarai can help, Wren. She and her father, well—”

“The audience didn’t go as planned,” Janai said.

Wren stiffened. “Bad?”

“A disaster,” he muttered. He flinched when Sarai smacked his shoulder.

Janai still gazed at Wren as if stunned. “It really wasn’t you?”

Wren sighed and shook her head.

“We really had a good time together. You seem exactly like her, though.” Janai stopped. “Or, I guess she was exactly like you.”

The savant winced. “What do we do? We have to go to them!”

Janai drew herself up, glanced at Sarai, Bannor and then at Wren. “I can get you what you want; one condition, though.”

“Name it.”

“You have to take me with you.”

“We can’t do that!”

“You want the permission, the horses, the guards. Take me with you. Otherwise, I doubt Sarai can budge Mother and Father.”

Wren looked helplessly at them. Bannor could only shrug. The King would come absolutely unhinged. What choice did they have?

They had to choose between making peace with the King or loosing Irodee and DacWhirter.

Either way, they would lose.

The death of an avatar is always a painful shock, but one grows used to it.

It is one of the sacrifices that must be made in order to grasp the prizes one desires most…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Fifty

« ^ »

Bannor limped through the cavern assisted by Wren and Janai. The goal now was to reach the upper caverns, free Laramis, and acquire horses and guards. To his fatigued eyes, the gray stone walls of the tunnel appeared to pulse and shudder. After resting in Janai’s quarters for a while, it seemed as if he would be all right, but the weakness and vertigo returned as soon as he stood up. Holding onto Wren and Janai was like having each arm wrapped around a different season: bitter hard winter and vibrant spring.

On his right, Wren moved stiffly as if she’d been frozen. Against the crook of his arm, her skin felt clammy and the muscles of the blonde woman’s neck and shoulders felt knotted and hard as rocks. Any more tension and he expected to hear something snap. Wren didn’t like Janai’s ultimatum, not in the least. She obviously loved Irodee so much that the risks didn’t matter, though.

On his other side, Janai felt pliant and warm, vibrating with excitement. The princess appeared completely oblivious to the hardship she might put them in. She denied that there’d be any repercussions from her ‘taking a little jaunt’. She insisted that because it was ‘her choice’ that accusations of them becoming ‘accomplices’ were preposterous.

How could Janai be so blind? Didn’t she see what King T’Evagduran tried to do to Sarai in court? He’d threatened imprisonment and worse. Maybe Janai thought she was immune to such treatment. The voluptuous elf would likely learn otherwise.

Ahead of them, Sarai slowed and gave them time to catch up. Her strength had not returned completely or else it would have been her instead of Janai assisting him. She hated letting Janai touch him. Allowing even a smile while being close to the older sister was tantamount to a hanging offense. The looks Sarai gave him were sharp enough to carve the hide off a rhinotaur.

Bannor’s foot caught in a crack, and he stumbled. His knees buckled. Both Wren and Janai grunted under his weight. The three of them listed one way, then the other, finally staggering against the cavern wall. Janai let out a squeak and grabbed hold with both hands to keep from being dragged to the floor with him.

Wren collapsed on his chest but popped back to her feet and began brushing at the expensive blue silk she wore.

Sarai came over and knelt by him. “Are you hurt?”

He swallowed. “Don’t think so. Why am I still so weak?” His legs tingled painfully as if they’d fallen asleep. Sweat trickled down the small of his back. Odin, he hated being an invalid, having to lean on these women simply to move from one place to another. It rubbed all his hairs the wrong way.

Light from the sputtering torches cast an eerie light on Wren’s face. She looked serious and concerned. “That demon’s poison was bad stuff. I don’t know what we can do about you. I know I’m not going to leave you here for Kalindinai to work over, though.”

Sarai put hands on hips and frowned at Wren. “What do you mean by that remark?”

The two women locked eyes, icy blue focused on violet. “I mean I won’t let her try breaking him like one of her prize unicorns.”

That brought Janai into it. Her face darkened, and she folded her arms. “I’d have you apologize for that.”

“Like Hades. Your Mother will try and control him as quickly as the avatars will.” Her gaze swept to him. “I’ve reason to believe she’s already done just that.”

Bannor’s heart jumped. Did Wren know about what went on between him and Kalindinai? Could she be guessing?

Janai brushed a strand of black hair out of her eyes. Her voice hit a sour note. “What’s so wrong with that?”

Wren glanced from sister to sister. “She’d lock him up in a box more confining than the one you two are so eager to escape.” She ignored their irritated expressions. “Your mother doesn’t care about humans, or savants. Her only concern is your kind.”

“I think you slight my mother without knowing her,” Sarai said in a low warning tone.

Wren shook her head. “People look out for their own kind. Bannor and I are savants. We must protect our kind. We must keep the kings, queens, and avatars from making us puppets in their games.”

“We can’t do it by ourselves,” Bannor said. He shook his head. It felt as if gravel rattled around in his skull. He paused and glanced both ways down the rough-hewn corridor. Out of the corner of his eye, it appeared as if something had flicked through the darkness. Probably only a shriekwing. “We have to trust somebody. Not everyone is out to exploit our power.”

Wren snorted. She gave the tunnel an uneasy scan as if having sensed what he did. Nearby, something squeaked and fluttered. She relaxed a little. “Bannor, if you believe that, then you’re a bigger idealist than I thought. Your complaint against me was that I wanted something from you. Everyone wants something. Nothing is free.” She looked at Sarai. “Not even love. Love comes at the cost of compromise. It has the price of identity, when ‘I’ becomes ‘we’. It costs you your freedom. You’re no longer truly free to do anything you want because you’re conscious of your mate’s reprisal.” Her gaze shifted from Sarai to Janai, then settled on him. “Trust me. Kalindinai wants something. It won’t be small, either. The way she gave in so rapidly on your engagement to Sarai makes me certain.”

The sisters stared at Wren, eyes unblinking. Neither spoke. Apparently, part of what Wren said, had struck true. Maybe they saw an insight in Wren’s words that neither would quickly discount.

He stared up at Sarai, hoping to find something in her expression that said Wren had missed the mark. He only saw doubt. It made his stomach tighten. He couldn’t imagine what it felt like being unable to trust your own mother.

Janai only frowned. The older sister looked even less eager to attack Wren’s observation. Why did Wren always have to be right?

The savant offered a hand to help him stand. With her assistance, and the aid of the wall, he fought his way to his feet again.

“What if you’re right?” he asked. “What if Kalindinai wants to use me for some purpose? How can we help that? We can’t do anything if she doesn’t approve of it.”

“It’s a problem,” Wren admitted.

“It’s more than a problem,” a deeper female voice said.

Both Sarai and Janai let out gasps of pain. Grimacing and canting their heads to one side, they rose on tiptoes, hands groping for something behind them.

Bannor’s body went cold as Queen Kalindinai shimmered into view, gripping each of her daughter’s by the ear. As if she was manipulating a pair of puppets, the elder elf forced the two sisters, wincing and squeaking into the center of the passage.

The Queen wore dead-black leather that covered her from shoulders to toes. The tight fabric silhouetted a body both trim and strong. With her hair piled on her head and wearing high spike-heeled boots, she loomed over her daughters.

“If one isn’t lying, the other’s conspiring. You two are trying my patience.”

Bannor glanced at Wren. Fists clenched by her sides, the savant had frozen. Her lower lip trembled. Her blue eyes looked like twin moons, even their bright blue color looked pale. Why did the Queen terrify her so?

“Ow! Mother, I can explain—!” Janai started.

Kalindinai shook Janai’s ear, forcing the woman to subside into yelps of pain. “Did I ask for an explanation?”

Sarai’s eyes narrowed. Her hands started glowing.

Bannor’s heart leaped. He started forward but the Queen moved too fast. She pushed Janai away and slammed Sarai into the cave wall, hand gripping her throat.

Sarai grabbed at Kalindinai’s arm. Her eyes flared white. The stone in the floor, walls and ceiling quivered.

The Queen’s voice turned to a menacing rasp. “Dare it, my daughter, and I will make you eat those rocks one pebble at a time. Let go of your power—now.” Green and blue sparks danced around Kalindinai’s arms.

Janai reached for the Queen. “No mother!”

Bulges of stone swelled out of the walls and floor, making the cavern rumble. Creaking and groaning, huge tentacles of rock thrust toward Kalindinai.

The sparks around the elder elf grew brighter until the light hurt Bannor’s eyes. Heart hammering, he staggered forward, groping in the light for Sarai. His hands didn’t touch anything. All he felt was the heat of the magic building around the two elves.

“Don’t push me, child,” Kalindinai warned.

A fist of stone twice the thickness of a man’s leg poised hand widths from the Queen’s head. Bannor had seen what Sarai’s power could do. It could crush the Queen like an egg.

“Mother…” Sarai growled. “You’re hurting me.” The rock edged closer, the end nearest Kalindinai spreading out like fingers.

Cold air rushed through the cavern. The sparks around Kalindinai turned the hue of blood. Her voice dropped to whisper. “I lose patience. Do as I say.”

As though breaking a spell, Wren appeared to snap out of her paralysis. “Obey her, Sarai.”

Sarai looked to Wren, then to him. She hesitated.

Kalindinai’s eyes narrowed. She stared at the rock shape reaching toward her. “Be gone!” Her voice cracked with incredible volume. It felt like someone clapped their palms against Bannor’s ears. The sound vibrated through his bones and head.

The stone extended toward Kalindinai exploded, sending shards and dust blasting down the passage. The force flung Bannor against the wall and knocked Wren down. Janai let out a scream and covered her head.

The world danced. Pains shot through Bannor’s back. He couldn’t see Sarai for the dust. “Sarai!” He started forward again.

The swirls settled, revealing an ashen-skinned Sarai, her eyes wide with pain and surprise.

The Queen snarled. “Do not make me angry. Release your power.”

Sarai went limp and bowed her head. The glow around her hands and body winked out.

Bannor looked around. Why wasn’t the cavern filled with elves investigating the ruckus? Surely all this noise should have brought guards. Yet, he heard nothing except the ringing in his ears. He never imagined the Queen was so powerful. What had Janai said, something about the Kalindinai being a wilder?

Kalindinai let Sarai go. The flickering around her arms dimmed. “Never, ever, raise your hand to me or your Father again. I will not tolerate it. If it happens again there shall be—severe—consequences. Understand!”

Sarai swallowed and nodded.

“Get over there.” Kalindinai shoved Sarai into Janai’s arms. “I am sorely disappointed in both your behavior.” She turned to Wren. The savant stiffened. She visibly braced herself for whatever she thought would be coming. “I take it you heard about Laramis’ wife being spotted near the avatar’s gate.”

Wren’s eyes widened. She nodded.

“You are dressed for an audience, yet I suspect you decided against going through the proper protocols. Tell me, Arwen, do you think it wise to disappoint me twice?”

The savant’s throat muscles twitched and a shudder went through her body. “No Matradomma.”

“Ask me.”

Wren stared at her. Face slack with non-comprehension. “Pardon?”

“I am here now. Ask me.”

The blonde woman cleared her throat. She looked completely stunned. “For leave, Matradomma?”

The Queen frowned and crossed her arms. “You’re supposed to say, ‘May we form an expedition to rescue Laramis’ wife?’ ”

Both Sarai and Janai’s heads came up, shock written in their expressions.

Wren goggled. “May we?”

“Permission granted.”

Bannor couldn’t believe his ears. They could go? How was that possible? Why?

The savant’s jaw dropped. She blinked. Bannor saw she was mentally pinching herself make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Words seemed to stick in her throat. “Matradomma, I—”

The black rod the Queen often brandished appeared in her hand. She spun the heavy metal implement and placed it under her arm. Her tone sounded half serious, half chastising. “Don’t fall all over yourself thanking me.”

The blonde woman clasped her hands together. Obviously, Wren was warring with her own incredulity. No doubt she wanted to avoid saying something to make the Queen change her mind. Finally, she said the word at the root of her dilemma. “Why?”

Kalindinai’s eyebrow rose. “Why, Arwen, can it be you’ve forgotten your own words so quickly.” The elder woman’s stare became piercing. “Obviously, it’s because I want something.”

Sarai, already been pale from the tussle with her mother, shuddered. Her voice sounded little above a whisper. “What?”

The Queen focused on Sarai. “Did you say something?”

His mate rubbed her neck and cleared her throat. “What do you require from us, Mother?”

“Ah.” Kalindinai nodded. She slapped the black rod into her palm with a crack, making everyone flinch. “I must attend to the avatar’s gate. It annoys me. I need guards—strong ones—savants for instance.” She glanced to him and then to Wren. She tapped the rod on her shoulder, speculating aloud. “A paladin lord might be useful. A Myrmigyne warrior or a dwarven war master could be valuable as well. I imagine a stone elemental would make a good ally—” she narrowed her eyes and fixed Sarai with steely gaze. “If she behaves herself.”

Wren seemed to vibrate with excitement. The savant spoke first. “You’re going after the gate?”

Kalindinai grinned. “What, did you think I’d let you youngsters have all the fun?”

The touch of true power is more alluring than the most skilled and attentive of lovers. Indeed nothing sparks my passion more than the white-hot flash of a deathbolt as it leaves my fingertips…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Fifty-One

« ^ »

Bannor stared at Queen Kalindinai, heart in his throat. The torchlight reflected on her pale skin and silver-white hair. The dance of the flame made the glow from her violet eyes appear to pulsate. Could he have heard correctly? I must attend the avatar’s gate. Could she really mean to close the portal between this world and that of the gods? It had taken all his powers, Sarai and Wren to simply stop Nystruul the avatar. How could they possibly get past the armies of spawn and minions, much less the avatars themselves?

The whole idea was more than surprising.

It was ludicrous.

A cold draft made his nape hair stiffen. He realized his hands were shaking. Janai and Sarai looked stunned, their eyes bright and wide. Wren’s mouth hung open.

“Well, don’t stand there and gape,” the Queen snapped, hands on hips. “There’s work to be done.”

Of everyone, Sarai looked the most surprised. “Mother? You aren’t really planning on trying to fight the avatars?”

Kalindinai smacked the black rod in her palm. “Darling, the war’s already joined. I plan to end it.”

“By yourself?”

The Queen scowled. She ran long-nailed fingers through her upswept hair. “Don’t be a snippet. I have you four, plus Laramis, his wife and that dwarven war master. That’s hardly by myself.”

Bannor felt a wave of weakness sweep over him. He wiped his sweaty brow. “It’s not enough,” he muttered.

Wren gave him a concerned look. “You all right, Bannor?”

He staggered and leaned against the wall. “Actually—No.”

Kalindinai shook her head. “You were going to take him out of here like that?” she asked Wren.

Wren’s jaw tightened. She dropped her gaze.

The Queen stepped to Bannor and put a warm hand against his cheek. He felt his pulse quicken. “It was unwise to try to leave without me.”

Sarai stiffened, her violet eyes narrowing to glowing slits.

Janai cleared her throat. She ran a shaky hand through her dark hair. “Does Father know your plans, Mother?”

Kalindinai snorted. “Jhaann? No. If he can hold hearings of our daughter without me, I can conduct a skirmish against the enemy without him.”

Janai started to tremble. The princess wanted excitement. Now, it appeared she might get more than she bargained for.

Kalindinai turned her attention to him. She pulled the collar of his tunic down and examined the wounds the demon had inflicted on him. “There’s no infection. You shouldn’t be this weak. The salves and herbs I gave you should have neutralized the gray death. There’s only one explanation.” She took Sarai’s arm and pulled her close. “My greedy daughter.”

Sarai’s jaw set. Her mother had been pushing and pulling on her a great deal. Bannor sensed another fight was brewing. Right now, he felt so weak he couldn’t stop a pair of bugs from fighting.

“What do you mean, Mother?”

“You bonded him, didn’t you?”

“He is my One,” she said in flat tone.

The Queen sighed. “Answer the question.”

“Yes.”

“Did he participate? Did he know what you were doing?”

Sarai’s cheeks reddened. That surprised him. Sarai never blushed, little seemed to embarrass her. “He has to cooperate.”

Kalindinai groaned. “Daughter, I taught you better than that.” She gripped Sarai’s shoulder. “Both sides of the ritual, darling, both sides. You can kill him if you don’t.”

Sarai scowled. “That’s a tale! Ryelle single bonded her One, it didn’t hurt him.”

Bannor stared at Sarai. Kill? Did the Queen mean that literally? He didn’t remember any bonding. Well, Sarai had made a special to-do the night of their first cycle of seasons together. He didn’t feel any different then—at least no different from any other night they … or had he? It seemed decades ago.

Kalindinai took a breath. “Ryelle’s One was an elf. His magical ability was negligible. Bannor’s human, he doesn’t just have magic—he is magic.”

His mate’s brow furrowed. “No, Mother, it can’t be. It’s been over a summer since we joined.”

Wren came forward. “Listen, she’s right, Bannor’s Nola only recently matured. He didn’t need the Garmtur then like now.”

Sarai shook her head.

He didn’t understand. Why was Sarai denying it? Was this bond what had been making the Garmtur so uncontrollable? Is that how Sarai had tapped into his power?

“I can’t waste any more time,” the Queen said. She put the rod back in her sash. “Hold still,” she told him. Kalindinai closed her eyes, her shoulders slumped, and her whole body seemed to shrink. She opened her eyes a moment later. They glowed a brilliant red. Bannor felt the hair on his body stiffen. His heart sped. He wanted to flinch away but knew better. He was far too weak to ward her off.

Mouthing words he couldn’t hear, Kalindinai put her palm against his chest. Gold sparks danced around her arm. She shoved hard against Bannor, pinning him to the wall. The pressure hurt. Soon everything hurt. It felt as if he’d caught on fire. He shuddered and grabbed her arm. “What are you doing!”

Sarai let out a yell, her eyes rolled up into her head. Her knees buckled and Wren and Janai caught her arms.

Kalindinai gritted her teeth. “Endure it. Hold on.”

His vision went black. His other senses went wild, seeming to cross with one another, taste with hearing, sound with touch. His twisted perceptions fluctuated, growing unbearably strong then faint.

Inside himself, it felt as if a wall of bricks collapsed. A flood of new strength surged into him. At the same time, he felt the long dormant Garmtur slam hard against its restraints in his mind. Something gave and heat surged through him like an explosion. Sarai screamed. Everything went white.

***

His back hurt. His mouth tasted like dry leather. He smelled weapon oil and woman’s perfume. Tallow crackled. Something wet pressed against his face and was draped over his eyes.

What had happened to the Garmtur? The last thing he’d felt was his control slipping. The barriers he erected around the Garmtur seemed intact. In fact, his whole mind seemed somehow clearer. He shuddered. The thought of losing control as he’d done in the clearing after defeating Nystruul terrified him.

He tried to say a word, but all that came out was, “Uh.”

A hand pressed against his cheek. “Relax, Bannor, let Mother’s healing magic work its course.” He recognized the lower-pitched voice as Janai’s.

He cleared his throat. After three tries he managed a recognizable word. “Sarai?”

“She’s okay. Mother wasn’t gentle in rebonding you, so Sarai yelled a little.”

He pushed the cloth away. The older princess knelt beside him, her face looked red and puffy and her dark hair hung in disarray. Apparently, something upsetting happened while he’d been unconscious.

His first instinct was to ask about it, but he decided to wait. No doubt, he’d find out eventually. No one but Janai was visible and he heard no other movement. Lanterns fueled by tallow crackled and sputtered, providing a dim light in the hemispherical chamber. From the look of the rock, they were higher in the mountain. Several sets of freshly oiled weapons and armor had been arrayed against one wall.

“Where are the others?” he asked.

Janai sighed. She gathered the cloth off the floor and put it in a basin. She carried the bowl across the room to the equipment. As he watched her search through the gear, it struck him as odd that the Queen left Janai to watch him. Sarai must have growled about that. She wouldn’t have left Janai with him without being ordered. Perhaps that accounted for Janai’s upset. Hard to guess. Janai pulled a leather water-tote from the collection and returned with it.

“Drink,” she said.

He pushed himself up on one elbow. She helped him to sit up. He took the cold, damp hide-bag, uncorked the wooden muzzle, and took a drink of the contents. It tasted like deep-water with something sweet mixed in. It soothed the rawness in his throat.

The princess knelt by him in silence.

After couple more sips, he pressed again. “Where did they go?”

She frowned. “Laramis.”

He continued to down water. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he’d been. “Are you angry with me?”

Her jaw worked. “At you, no, this situation, yes. I don’t know what’s possessed Mother! This whole idea is ludicrous!”

Bannor laughed. It felt good. It seemed like centuries since he last laughed at something.

Janai’s face turned stormy. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I thought the same thing, right before your Mother tried to put her fist through my chest.”

The princess relaxed and smiled a little. She held out a hand for the tote-bag. He passed it, and she took a swig. After a little more, she gave the bag back.

“You feeling better?” she asked.

He nodded and hefted the bag. “Enough to get by.”

She smiled. “Long as I don’t have to carry you.”

He took a long pull of the cool liquid, feeling it trickle down into his insides. “So, what’s your mother’s plan?”

Janai stared at him for a moment. “After they release Laramis, they’ll secure horses, take them up to the east entrance and we’ll slip out after nightfall.”

He looked around. “Which is how long from now?”

“Three bells I’d guess.”

He corked the bag and put it aside. He had to know if the Queen’s ‘rebonding’ affected the Garmtur. “Best get to work then.”

“To work?” Janai looked perplexed. “What work? You heal. I watch. That’s our work.”

“I don’t agree.” He struggled to his knees.

“What are you doing? Mother said say still.”

“You don’t have to do everything Mother says.”

“Maybe you don’t.”

On his knees, he looked up at Janai standing over him, hands on hips, a frown on her comely face. He found the view spectacular. Janai had a marvelous landscape, deep valleys, high peaks and rolling hills. He reminded himself that Sarai was every bit as beautiful—simply not in the same ways. He bit his lip. Dangerous—dangerous thoughts, especially when his mate got so violently jealous.

He tried to push himself to his feet and failed. Much of his strength had returned, but not all. His body ached, but not seriously. The dizziness and disorientation no longer plagued him either. What had that bond been doing to him?

She folded her arms. “Mother explicitly ordered you to rest.”

Bannor struggled again to rise, getting half way up before thumping back to the cold stone with a grunt. Janai didn’t try to stop him, but simply loomed over him with a disapproving expression.

He gazed up at her. “Aren’t you going to help?”

She frowned at him with narrowed, amber eyes.

After pushing himself back onto his knees, he fixed Janai with a straight gaze. “Let me put it to you another way.”

Janai raised an eyebrow.

“Ever fought an army of demons, Janai? Granted, it’s exciting; dangerous too. We’ll assume you can protect yourself. The question is, who’ll watch your back, Princess? Sarai? Your dear Mother? Wren?” He saw her shudder and continued. “I’ve fought all my life and barely survived out there. I lived because someone watched my back. The moment I didn’t, look what happened.” He held up his hand with yellow tinged fingernails. “The gray death. You’re too pretty to get slashed up. Let’s cooperate. You help me. I help you.”

The dark-haired princess stared at him for a long moment. She cocked her head and bit her lip as if not knowing what to make of him. She sighed, bent and took his arm with both hands. “I’d best not regret this.”

With her assistance, he clambered to his feet and stood swaying like a giant red-bark in a stiff breeze. The room wavered in his vision, but his legs held.

“Where are my axes?” he asked.

“One thing at a time, Bannor,” she cautioned.

“Janai,” he said in a firm tone. “Get my axes—please.”

The princess rolled her eyes and walked over to the piled armor and equipment. While she rummaged through the stack, he took a few experimental steps.

He staggered a bit, but managed to keep his balance. He took some deep breaths and held his hands out in front of him and flexed his fingers. He had to know. He relaxed and cautiously touched his Nola. When the feeling came, he didn’t fight it. The Garmtur pushed into his awareness. Colored threads danced and spun around everything in view. Unlike the time with Nystruul, he didn’t feel caught up in a chaotic web of forces. The Garmtur wasn’t trying to drown him. He could move—he could breathe!

Turning, he focused on Janai, seeing the myriad lines of force flooding through her form. Pulsing indigo blues, vibrant reds and shimmering golds enfolded her body like a long gossamer cloak flicking in a breeze.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

His tone echoed the awe he was experiencing. He couldn’t have been more sincere.

The way he said it apparently took her by surprise. Brighter colors flooded through her aura. “Thank you,” she responded. She smiled and all the colors pulsated. “What’s made you happy so suddenly?”

How to express it? For the first time, he was seeing the world the way he’d been meant to, without fear of losing control. How did one describe beauty to a person who had never seen?

“Come closer,” he said.

He saw a spark of unease ripple through her aura. Threads of black and brown appeared around tensing muscles and the deep ruby pulsation of her heart. He could read her body; see the interplay of energies that made her a part of reality. Magnificent.

She stepped close. The shimmering flux of her essence intertwined with his. “What?” she asked.

Bannor smiled at her. He brushed his hand through her aura, letting his power touch the threads of reality connected to her.

Janai gasped. Rainbows flashed and danced around her. The two axes she’d been carrying clanged on the floor. Her breathing quickened. Her knees wobbled, and she knelt to keep from falling. Her eyes rolled up in her head, and she hugged herself.

Body shuddering, she took deep breaths. After a few moments, the princess spoke. “Wh-what was that!?”

“The Garmtur. Felt good didn’t it?”

Janai swallowed. Her eyes fluttered. “Should have warned me! That—” She stopped and her cheeks reddened. “Carellion.”

“Sorry.” Actually, he was only half sorry. To see her taken by surprise was satisfying. She’d taken great pleasure in teasing him and irritating Sarai.

Eyes closed, he let the good sensations wash through him. For the first time in over a week, he felt truly alive. When he had first used the Garmtur, it hadn’t been like this. He’d been so out of control, the experience had been frightening. Wren had warned him constantly about the hazards of experimenting. Now, the danger would be ten times as great. There was a lure, a pull to feel this rush of power.

A tinkling, like that of tiny bells interrupted his reverie. He opened his eyes and turned toward the entrance. The passage was dark and sound carried a long way. Janai rose, dashed across the room and grabbed up a sword and shield. Despite the elf’s soft appearance, she wielded the weapons with the competence of a veteran warrior.

Bannor grabbed up his axes as the sound grew more distinct. He’d heard that noise before, but couldn’t place it. Janai pushed him to one wall and took a position between him and the entrance.

He braced against the stone, watching Janai’s reactions as she stared into the dark passage. With her night vision she would know the nature of the intruder long before he even saw movement. Already, his axes were beginning to feel heavy in his hands. He needed his strength back—now.

As the jingling grew closer, Janai tensed. Instants passed then he could make out a pair of emerald colored glows in the darkness: elven eyes. The princess didn’t move. She simply held her ground.

Whoever it this happened to be, they weren’t trying to sneak up on them, not with bells on. Who had he met that wore bells?

Finally, a figure resolved out of the darkness, a chunky russet-blonde woman with dark skin and pointed ears. She wore a shiny blue gown with tiny brass spheres sewn all over it. It was Meliandri, the elf lady who’d cared for him when he first arrived in the caves.

“Stop,” Janai warned. “Dama Meliandri, why are you here?”

The elf bowed. She glanced to him with narrowed eyes. She focused back on Janai. “Arminwen. I bring news. News of betrayal.”

The wise mage does not rely entirely on her magic.

The boon granted by Alpha and Gaea is fickle, and many are the forces that may render incantations ineffective. For those occasions, it’s prudent to master dissuasive tactics that ensure your opponents do not get any inappropriate thoughts in their heads.

I have yet to see an occasion when a knee to the crouch failed to get their attention and render the proper attitude adjustment…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Fifty-Two

« ^ »

His weakened legs still wobbly, Bannor leaned against the cool cavern wall and studied the dark-skinned elf, Meliandri. He shifted his grip on his axes. Janai, sword readied, took a step back to stand next to him. She, too, stared at the newcomer. Tall and broad, with russet hair and green eyes, the healer resembled no other elf in the caverns. Why couldn’t this have waited? He’d only now experienced encouraging success tapping into the Garmtur. He needed time to evaluate whether his Nola might be safely used to fight the avatars. Now, Meliandri showed up talking of betrayal. How did she know they were here? He found her timing suspicious.

Janai’s brow furrowed. She probably thought the same things. Janai hadn’t told him her orders, but he assumed keeping their whereabouts secret would be a part of them. Would they need to take Meliandri prisoner?

“Is either of you going to speak?” Meliandri asked. “This is important.”

“What’s important, is how you knew we were here,” he said.

She frowned. “That’s trivial. There’s a spy in the mountain.”

“Spy?” Janai scowled. “What does it have to do with us?”

“Yes,” he said. “Why tell us? Spy for whom?”

“For the avatars. Whom else would we be worried about?”

Bannor felt his neck hairs prickle. Janai didn’t look convinced; neither was he. What game could Meliandri be trying to play?

Neither Janai nor he said anything; they only kept a wary gaze on the elf lady. Meliandri’s green eyes flashed. She shook her hair away from her face and glared at them. “What’s wrong with you? This is a royal security matter!” She took a step forward.

Bannor backed up and raised his axes. Janai snapped her sword toward the red-haired elf’s throat. Her voice sounded as cold and vicious as Sarai’s ever had. “Any closer, dama, and you’ll force me to spill blood on your nice robe.”

Something didn’t feel right. What did she really want? To get close to one of them? He relaxed and let his Nola flood into his awareness again. Janai’s bright aura shimmered into view. By comparison, Meliandri’s threads looked dim, as though obscured by a haze of smoke. The outline of darkness resembled huge folded wings. A single thick silver strand appeared to extend up through the cavern roof.

The silver line made a cold prickling shoot through him. He’d seen a similar energy line before—emanating from—Nystruul. The magic tying the avatar to his god Hecate.

His heart started pounding. He dropped one of his axes. “Janai, back away—now. A sword won’t stop her.”

“What?”

“Do it!” When the princess hesitated, he gathered all her threads together with one sweep of his arm and jerked her to him. Janai gasped, flew backward, and thudded into his chest.

At the same instant, the glow of Meliandri’s eyes flared. A sizzling sound echoed through the cavern as her hand clawed through the spot where the princess once stood. Her fingers left five ragged glowing rips in the air where she’d struck. Pulsing red energy wept from area as if the attack had made scratches in reality.

Bannor blinked, the brightness of the light left trails and after-images in his vision. He staggered backward flailing to keep himself and Janai from falling. He hadn’t meant to pull Janai so hard. His Garmtur might be under better control, but it remained unpredictable.

The dark shroud surrounding Meliandri’s aura unfurled, revealing a twisting nimbus of fiery reds and yellows. Her green eyes turned the color of obsidian, and then the elf’s whole body shimmered like a pond reflection disturbed by ripples. When the wavering stopped, a pale woman stood before them. Rays emanated from her milky skin, bathing the cave in what appeared to be moonlight.

“Hecate,” he growled.

The princess’ eyes widened, and the color left her face. The sword in her hand began shudder.

“You disappoint me, Garmtur,” Hecate’s avatar said in an echoing voice. “I thought we had a deal.”

Bannor’s stomach knotted, but he kept his tone level. “I don’t deal with murderers.”

The goddess smiled with perfect white teeth. A blast of cold damp air hummed through the room making spirals of dust. Bannor’s skin prickled as what felt like clammy tendrils brushed against his skin.

Hecate shook her finger at him. “Such harsh words, Garmtur. You wound me.” She turned her head to look at him askance. “I see you resolved your little marital dispute.”

He shuddered, and his heart skipped a beat. “You knew. You told me the poison was killing me!”

Hecate raised an eyebrow. Flames danced in her eyes. “I lied.”

What now? He felt so weak he probably couldn’t tap into enough of his Nola to even slow her down. Even if able, the danger of unraveling reality remained. Without knowing what to avoid, he might still mistakenly undermine the pillars that held time and space together.

Time. He needed a chance to use his link to Wren to warn them about the avatar. Unfortunately, he doubted Hecate would stand by while he closed his eyes and concentrated on mindspeaking. He needed to delay her somehow. Hecate obviously knew they were isolated. Otherwise, she wouldn’t waste time toying with them.

“What now?” he asked. “Are we simply going to stand and stare at one another?” His words unfroze Janai. She stepped back and looped an arm around his waist and squeezed until it hurt. She met his eyes and gave him a ‘don’t antagonize her’ look. He was glad for the extra support. He felt none too steady on his feet.

Hecate tossed her hair over one shoulder and folded her arms. She drummed the glowing nailed fingers of one hand on her biceps. “Good question. What shall I do with you?”

“You aren’t doing anything,” he replied. “I shredded one avatar. I can do it again.”

Janai looked up at him hope in her eyes. He tried to look confident, even though he doubted his ability to even put up a marginal resistance.

The corner of Hecate’s mouth quirked. “Perhaps. I learned from that encounter.”

Taking a breath, Bannor dropped his voice and stared through the pale woman. “Push me, and I’ll wish real hard you never existed. We’ll just see what happens.”

Hecate stopped drumming, and her chin rose. “You won’t destroy everything simply to spite me.” She started toward them. “You’re mine, Garmtur.”

He raised the axe he’d been gripping and pointed it at the avatar. “Don’t be so sure.” Praying he didn’t yank on some volatile thread, he focused on the axe’s mithril head. He willed filaments of air and stone to wrap around it. His efforts resulted in sparks and a bright blue light pulsing from the weapon.

The intensity of the glow surprised him. It surprised Hecate, too. She stopped and eyed the gleaming axe.

The weapon grew warm in his hand, the metal and wood humming as though alive. Bannor put everything into making his voice sound as if he’d gotten what he wanted. “I’ve learned a few things from Wren.”

If only he really had. The one thing he knew how to do for certain was far too dangerous. It required his going deep into the Garmtur, into that out-of-control on-the-verge-of-destruction feeling. In that state, cutting Nystruul’s link to Hecate had been as easy as snapping a twig. Hecate mentioned she’d learned from the experience. It wouldn’t be as easy a second time.

In his head, he wished over and over Wren and the others knew the danger facing he and Janai.

Hecate’s gaze followed his weapon. Obviously, she’d learned to be more cautious. Belief in his indestructibility was what had killed Nystruul.

Best to show the avatar it wasn’t an accident. He squeezed Janai’s shoulder and repeated the process on her sword. The elven steel flared into luminescence, this time in a bright green radiance. The added light showed how pale the chunky elf had become.

Hecate’s attention shifted to the new weapon.

Janai flicked the blade from side to side. The metal trailed sparks wherever the tip led. The princess’ jaw tightened, and her eyes narrowed.

He couldn’t let her fight this monster alone. He needed his strength back. His gaze flickered from the two gleaming weapons to Hecate’s burning aura. Many of the same kinds of threads he tied to the weapons, fed the avatar. It must be part of how avatars acquired their strength. The god’s essence being in their bodies allowed them to tap into elemental energies. Those same threads must be what had held Nystruul together through that unbelievable battering on the beach.

He would get one chance at this. He gathered up several threads of stone and looped them around his legs the way he’d seen around Sarai. He prayed it worked for him the way it did her.

Where the lines of energy touched, his skin burned. The hairs on his arms stiffened as they did during a thunderstorm. The pain grew until it felt as if his whole body had caught on fire.

No strength—just pain. Golden flames licked across his arms. He yelled and pushed Janai away.

The princess stumbled a few steps. “Bannor? What’s—? Carellion!”

Hecate’s eyes widened. “What are you—? No!”

Bannor lost track of the avatar as his focus became nothing but trying to undo his mistake. He flailed for a grip on the threads of elemental energy, trying to unbind them. They wouldn’t come loose. He smelled something burning and saw smoke.

“You fool, you won’t rob me!” Cold hands gripped his shoulders.

He sensed Hecate’s essence surrounding him like a northern blizzard, lashing at the destructive magic invading his body. Chilling cold drilled into his arms and legs and he felt the stone power being extinguished by the goddess’ strength.

Through the agony, it was hard to distinguish between his threads and those of Hecate. He sensed the goddess’ entire concentration was on keeping his Garmtur from being burned out.

He’d created the needed distraction. With all his will, he mustered his strength and swung the axe and its massed threads up into the tangle representing Hecate’s magic. When the two collections of lines met, he felt reality flinch like a horse twitching away from a biting fly. All the light in the cavern to appeared to be sucked into the point of contact. Wind roared, followed by a brilliant, white light and ear-numbing blast that drove them apart. He collapsed on the cavern floor. Smoldering fragments of cloth, metal, and wood skittered across the rock leaving black trails. Hecate reeled backward gripping her head.

She screamed. The whole mountain trembled. All around the avatar, snapped force lines thrashed like beheaded snakes, spewing sparks of energy. Cursing, the woman swayed and writhed.

The bindings of stone tied to him had been shattered as well. His body tingled and his skin burned. Somehow during their struggle his strength had come back, whether from his doing or Hecate’s he didn’t know.

He scrambled on hands and knees to where Janai lay on her back gripping her head as though she’d been struck in the face. Hecate continued to howl. Her avatar was like a marionette with half its strings cut.

“Can’t see,” Janai moaned. “The light. I can’t see!”

“I’m here,” he said. He pulled her against him as the princess muttered curses in elvish. “You’ll be okay. Lay still. I hit her good, but she’s not dead.”

The avatar slowed and finally halted her gyrations, standing with hands clenched at her sides. Now that most of the goddess’ magic could no longer reach the host, she’d become Meliandri again. Burns and soot streaked the elf’s dusky skin, rivulets of blood leaked from the corners of her eyes.

“Damn you,” she gritted. A shudder went through her body.

Bannor glanced to Janai’s sword lying on the floor. It still glowed green with the combined air and stone power. He snatched the weapon up and put it between them.

Meliandri’s hands tightened, the knuckles white with tension. She stiffly took a fighting stance. Bannor felt in no hurry to rush in on her. Like a waterskin with a leak, power continued to trickle out of the avatar. She grew weaker by the moment.

He had to keep her defensive, prevent her from using any magic. Lunging forward, he swung at one of the intact conduits still empowering the avatar.

The sword and its massed threads tangled in the energy line and snapped it with a burst.

Meliandri screamed and flinched back gripping her head. After a moment, she composed herself again and snarled like an animal. She stepped forward, hands ahead, fingers spread like claws.

He kept his eye on the prime conduit, the main silver cord that tied Meliandri to Hecate. Break that line and all control over the host body was lost. He lunged in for another line of power. Meliandri dodged. She lashed out, her fingers tangling in his hair. Pain shot through his scalp as she yanked him forward. He yelled as she slammed her free hand up into his groin. She jerked his head down and his vision exploded into a million pinpoints of a light as her knee met the bridge of his nose.

He felt himself slammed to the cavern floor. The sword clanged away. Dots whirled in his vision. Pain. Blood poured down his face. His world became a knot focused on the throbbing, gut-wrenching pain coming from his groin. He couldn’t even yell, only cough.

The avatar flipped him onto his back. She leaned close. Meliandri’s eyes were still Hecate’s obsidian black. Her lips twisted in the goddess’ evil grin. “I feel sooo much better,” she rasped. She took his face in her hand. “Pity, I need you alive—”

A loud thud punctuated the last of her words.

Meliandri’s eyes rolled up into her head. She was shoved to one side and he saw Sarai standing there with a mace in her hand. “Pity the witch that hurts my One,” she said. “Who said you could start the fight without us?”

Some of my servants say that they have never been more afraid than during the times I was angry. They don’t know the meaning of fear, because they have never seen me truly enraged…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Fifty-Three

« ^ »

Bannor felt pain. He saw it, and tasted it. His groans came out as coughs. Dots swam in his vision and the coppery flavor of blood filled his mouth. Like a fool, he’d let the avatar lure him close, she then gave him the worst drubbing of his life. Five summers ago, he’d dropped his guard and took a kick in the crotch. In that instance, quick reflexes saved him from serious injury. Regardless, he still hurt for days. This time, the avatar had hit him in the groin so hard he tasted her nail polish. He wanted to curl up and die.

“Bannor?” He realized Sarai was shaking him. He opened his eyes and saw her through a blur of tears. “Talk to me. Are you badly hurt?”

His response sounded like an old man’s wheeze. The words never reached his lips. He coughed, rolled over and retched. After the convulsions ceased, he fell on his back and rocked back and forth holding himself.

Sarai pulled him away from the mess of vomit and blood. She took his hand and held it. “Lay still,” she said. “I’ll fix you up.” She left and returned moments later, then started treating his wounds.

Nearby, he heard Laramis’ distinctive voice. “The witch struck the Goodman a foul blow. Aie—” The man sucked air through his teeth. Empathy rang in his voice. “Hurts to think of it.”

“Laramis, see to the dama,” the Queen ordered in her penetrating voice. “She is only stunned. Janai-mimi—I’m here.”

Janai sobbed and said something about her eyes.

“I knew we shouldn’t have left him,” Wren said. “He attracts trouble like steel to a lodestone. Ishtar, what has he been doing?” Footsteps approached. “This mithril axe, it’s nothing but slag now. The ether is scrambled up like grandmother’s holiday ambrosia.” Metal slid against rock. “How did he do that to Janai’s sword?”

“ ‘Tis a marvel for sure,” Laramis remarked. Bannor heard the bells that were on Meliandri’s robe jingle. After a few moments, Laramis grunted. “Poor woman, the da’succorund marks are fresh, not more than three tendays old. She was not a willing host for Hecate.”

Bannor moaned. He’d tried to kill Meliandri. Part of him felt relief that he hadn’t killed an innocent person. Another part wished her dead all the more. Her last attack and the sickening crunch of agony played repeatedly through his mind.

The Queen muttered some elvish curse. “They’ve known about Bannor longer than you thought, Wren. They must have anticipated he and Sarai seeking refuge in Malan.” Her voice became a snarl. “Three tendays ago Meliandri and I were in the capital! That means she was kidnapped from and returned to our own home! There must be traitors in the castle.” He heard the Queen’s rod smack rock. “Damnation. My eldest, Ryelle, is there. She’ll have to be warned.”

“Can anyone be made into an avatar?” Sarai asked from where she sat at his side. She continued tending to his wounds. “Ouch, these cuts may need to be sewn,” she muttered.

“To become a host for an avatar, a person must have been trained as a mage or priest,” Laramis said. “Otherwise, their body is quickly burned out by the god’s energies.”

“That’s why savants are so prized,” Wren said. “Being a savant of forces, Hecate’s priests knew I’d make an ideal avatar host. They kidnapped me before I turned six.” Her voice turned hard. “Every child by my mother and father have been savants. Hecate took them prisoner so she could force them to brood host bodies for her.”

“Glad I am, to have aided in foiling her plans,” Laramis said.

“I’m glad you were there to help,” Wren replied.

“Mother,” Sarai said. “We should leave now. After all the noise the avatar made, Father will be looking for you. If he suspects what you’re planning, he won’t let us go.”

“I’m aware, Sarai,” her mother answered. “Hold still, Janai.”

More moaning came from that part of the chamber.

“How do we immobilize Meliandri?” Wren asked.

“It’s said silver bands clasped about the neck, hands and feet prevent an avatar from assuming their god’s power,” Laramis said.

“Will any thickness of silver do?” Wren asked.

“Milady, the lore is a bit vague. My guess is more is better.”

“We’ll have to work with what we have. This bracelet is silver, so is this braid. Isn’t that belt of yours silver, Sarai?”

“Yes.” Metal clinked and jingled. Sarai’s voice dropped. “Are you certain about this, Laramis?”

“Certain as I can be.” His tone sounded cautious. “We don’t get many chances to test such knowledge.”

“I’ll cinch her feet with the belt,” Wren said. “That leaves us some short. Matradomma, perhaps some of your silver neck braids?”

“Yes? Oh.” Jewelry clinked.

“Thank you. I hope you’re right, Laramis. Bannor weakened her, but she still looked plenty dangerous.”

“Get me some water, Sarai,” the Queen ordered.

“Be right back,” Sarai said quietly. She patted his shoulder and left.

Janai yelped. “Hold still!” Kalindinai hissed. “Sarai, pour some water in my hand.” Janai made more agonized sounds. “Roll your eyes around, blink it away. There. Good. That should have removed all of it. Can you see?”

“Blurry,” Janai mumbled.

“Some soot and dirt hit you in the eyes,” she said. “No real damage that I can see.” She paused. “How is Bannor?”

“His nose looks broken,” Sarai answered. “She hit him—”

“I saw,” the Queen interrupted. “I shall be greatly annoyed if he can’t give me any grandchildren.”

“Mo-ther,” Sarai growled. “That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.” Robes fluttered. A hand pressed against his cheek. He winced as fingers probed his face. “This cut on his brow can be kept from scarring,” the Queen said. “The flesh is split to the bone, but it’s a clean separation. The nose can be straightened so it heals properly. The last, well,” The Queen’s voice took on a wistful tone. “Blood is a bad sign.”

“Matradomma, are there any magical healing potions here in the caves?” Wren asked.

“Yes, in my chambers. If I try to go get them, my husband is likely to see me, then we won’t be able to leave.”

“Do you have much guarding these potions?”

“Wards and locks mostly,” Kalindinai replied. “Why?”

Wren laughed. “Wards, locks, and stealth are my specialty, Matradomma. If I know where they are, I can get them.”

A long silence ensued. “All right, but if you’re making a special trip to my quarters I have a list of things we need.”

“A list is fine.” Wren clapped her hands together and rubbed them. “Just don’t forget any of the triggers on your wards. I want to keep my fingers.”

“Be sure you put your fingers only where I call for them to go.”

“Yes, Matradomma.”

“We must go,” Kalindinai said. “Wren, we will meet in two bells at the East exit. I showed you the way.” Hard boots took quick steps. “Laramis, you bring Bannor. Janai, Sarai carry our equipment. If you are satisfied with her bonds, I shall bear the dama myself.”

The paladin made a puttering sound with his lips. “Matradomma, to the extent that I know, those bonds are sufficient to keep her from hosting Hecate’s power again. However, she can still be possessed and controlled by other spirits.”

“Your cautions are noted.” She smacked her rod on something leather. “Everyone has their duties, any questions?”

No one said anything.

Sarai kissed Bannor. “I’ll be close, call if you need me.”

He nodded. Her image wavered in his vision. She patted his hand then rose. Laramis took her place.

“I will take it easy, my friend,” he rumbled. “A little at a time.” The blond man lifted Bannor to a sitting position, and then worked him to his feet. “You are in pain, but it shall pass. Ukko cares for the stoic.”

Bannor grimaced. His legs felt as though they’d been stretched. His vision cleared enough for him to watch the Queen hoist Meliandri onto her shoulder. The russet-haired healer looked a hand taller than Kalindinai, but the royal lady carted her along like a sack of grain.

“Tempered steel is the matriarch of Malan,” Laramis said with admiration. He grinned at Bannor. “A fine woman to have as a mother-in-law.”

Bannor closed his eyes. “Laramis, you frighten me.”

“My friend, have you no taste for spirited women? Rather you some simpering subservient maid? Nay, say it’s not true.”

Bannor pointed to the cavern opening. “Get me out of here.”

Ahead of them, the Queen held up her black rod like a torch. The high end flared and gave off light. She and Wren strode into the dark passage together. Laramis followed, taking most of Bannor’s weight on his shoulder.

Though he tried to favor his wound, Bannor found that nothing he did significantly lessened the pain. Each jarring step sent jolts of agony shooting up through his middle.

He tried to focus away from the hurting and turn his attention to something else. “Where have they been keeping you, Laramis?”

“Some quarters where the nobles are housed,” the paladin answered. “Bit of all right for a holding room. The maid and serving people were courteous.”

Bannor coughed. “You had a maid?”

“The guards of Malan only suspected my collusion with the Arminwen,” he answered, running a hand through his blond hair. “Not even Malanian royalty can press charges against a holy Justicar without proof. I simply needed an opportunity to explain and clear the matter up.”

Bannor made Laramis stop for a moment. He adjusted his breeches while still leaning on the man. Looking back down the stone corridor he saw Sarai and Janai hauling the supplies they would be taking with them. The Queen and Wren continued ahead obviously discussing what they needed from the royal quarters. Wincing, he took a few steps and found he would need assistance to walk any distance. He gestured and Laramis continued to help him down the passage.

“So why did they hold you?” Bannor asked.

“There was another matter.”

“What?”

Laramis reddened. “When they found me, I told them that I did not have time to be detained or questioned.”

Bannor sighed. “No doubt they insisted.”

The paladin nodded. “They were rather rude, actually. The Praelor was quite lacking in manners.”

“Let me guess. You resisted?”

Laramis shrugged. “Aye, the situation did get a bit out of hand. I regret the injuries I caused, but it couldn’t be helped. By Ukko, I told them ‘no’, and that’s what I meant.”

Bannor could imagine a platoon of Malanian elves trying to subdue Laramis; any less and they wouldn’t have stopped him. Fortunately for them, he obviously hadn’t wanted to kill anyone.

The group came to a parting of the corridor. The Queen and Wren said a few words to one another and the savant headed down the left passage. Kalindinai swung around with Meliandri still hanging over her shoulder and gestured for them to follow. She took the right branch.

The passage slanted upward and they needed to lean into the incline. Behind him, Janai puffed under her loaded pack, satchels and other paraphernalia. Sarai brought up the rear.

The Queen took a few more turnings down progressively smaller channels. These areas were natural fissures in the rock and not hewn passages like the other ways they’d been down. Drafts of cold air scented with needleleaf blew over them.

Finally, at the end of teardrop shaped chamber light could be seen shafting down into the cave. With Melindinai still on her shoulder, the Queen clambered up a stair-stepped section of rock and out. Laramis climbed out first then helped Bannor up the last bit. The three of them stood together on a ledge overlooking the mountainside. An icy breeze nipped at their faces as they stared into a gray, orange and white striped sunset.

Though the wind felt bitter cold, Bannor didn’t care. What lay around them was greater than any single sensation for him. Framed by snow-covered slopes that rose high above them on either side, the lowlands stretched out to the horizon. The terrain looked like a leagues wide patchwork quilt of pastel greens and browns decorated with ribbons of mist. Several mountain lakes and rivers formed a string of turquoise jewels winding among the trees.

The sight made Bannor’s heart pound. In the last few days there’d been times that he thought he might never see anything beautiful again. Sarai helped Janai drag their heavy burdens up the last of the way. The two sisters stood by him in silence. Everyone stared at the spectacle, the fiery orange ball of the sun disappearing in the west behind a sheath of clouds.

Gusts hummed through the pass, making the trees and rocks seem to whisper.

Laramis broke the fragile silence. He put a hand over his heart. “Smell that,” he said, taking a deep whiff of mountain air. “That is the scent of freedom. Can you think of anything more worth fighting for?”

Few mortals have met me in magical combat and survived.

Ironically, the few still living are acquaintances of Wren Kergatha.

I am convinced it will be a mistake to wait until she has formed a resistance cadre.

To that end, I am moving to cut her off from acquiring the Garmtur Shak’Nola.

Others of the pantheons would be wiser to listen to me concerning the threat posed by Kergatha and her allies lest they feel her sting as well…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Fifty-Four

« ^ »

Bannor, Sarai, Laramis, Janai and the Queen stood on the mountain ledge staring at the sunset until the last streaks of orange faded in the west. The wind blowing through the pass grew icy and stray flakes of snow drifted down from the higher altitudes. Janai and Laramis rubbed their arms and stamped their feet to keep warm. Sarai and the Queen didn’t seem affected by the temperature drop. Bannor wished that he, too, could resist the elements.

Queen Kalindinai pointed to a trail several paces below them. “Up slope that curves around to the main entrance. Down slope we can find the back entrance and the horses I arranged for. The cold weather gear we need to get out of the pass will be there, too.” She bent and picked up Meliandri’s body and put the healer over her shoulder. “Stay wary, we don’t want to be stopped and questioned by any patrols.” The Queen turned and picked her way down the rock face to the path below.

Laramis left Bannor on the ledge while he assisted Sarai and Janai down the incline with their packs and other heavy paraphernalia. He returned, and then he and Bannor descended the uneven rocks together. The trail wove back and forth around broken boulders, snow dusted trees and heavy bracken. Off to their left, the incline became steeper before dropping a hundred or more paces to the floor of the pass. The light in the sky faded. Breaks in the trees afforded a view to the east and the darkening horizon. A few of the brightest stars peeked between scattered clouds.

Bluefeathers chattered in the boughs overhead. Mists twined along the ground underfoot. Moisture dripping from the trees pattered around them like rain.

Despite the pain of moving, Bannor felt relieved to be walking among the trees again. He hoped to never see another cave again.

Focused on the forest, Bannor lost track of the time they spent on the trail. Battling the numbing chill and the pain of his injuries, he needed all his concentration to stay upright and moving.

The Queen hiked down the trail, only slowing to adjust the burden of Meliandri on her shoulder. Bannor saw that Kalindinai didn’t get to be Queen simply by being nobly born. The lady demonstrated every bit of the hardiness attributed to the legendary Kings and Queens of the Elf nation.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” he said to Laramis.

“What’s that, my friend?” Laramis asked.

“The Queen and this gate. What good does it do to shut it? Why waste effort closing a portal that the avatars will simply open elsewhere?”

The paladin nodded. “Tis a reasonable assumption. However, gateways such as the one we are speaking of can usually only be opened once every few summers. Once a portal onto a world is open, it can be kept open as long as there is power to do so. Once shut, the worldgate cannot be reopened until the correct time. Kalindinai must feel shutting the gate will buy us a reprieve.”

“I hope to cut them off for a full cycle of seasons,” Kalindinai said over her shoulder. “More if we’re lucky.”

Bannor jerked. The Queen’s voice surprised him. He’d spoken quietly and hadn’t expected her to overhear his words.

“Will that be enough?” he asked.

“Shutting the gate doesn’t stop the avatar’s armies already here, if that’s what you’re asking. The gate’s closing will weaken their forces by cutting them off from their reinforcements and supplies.”

Bannor stumbled on a rock. He grunted as pain knifed between his legs. He broke away from Laramis and braced against a tree. The procession paused while he collected himself.

“You all right?” Sarai called.

He waved to her, trying to not let the pain show on his face. “I’ll be okay, give me a moment.” He stared into the darkness between the trees, focusing on nothing and letting the discomfort relax. Branches rattled. His heart jumped as a silhouette flashed through the dense thicket overhead. He scanned for a second glimpse but saw nothing. The shape appeared unusually large for a flufftail. Along the kingdom’s southern coast, one variety of the nut-eating creatures possessed the ability to glide from tree to tree. The outline looked similar to one of those in flight. He sighed. Probably only an ordinary flufftail distorted by poor light and nervousness.

“Something wrong?” Laramis asked.

“No, a big flufftail startled me is all.” He pushed away from the tree and everyone started moving again.

After a while, he composed himself enough to speak again. “It keeps at me, Laramis. Why? If the avatars had left me alone, I might never have even discovered my Nola! I posed no threat to them.” He shook his head. “Now, they’re threatening innocent people because of me.” The idea made his stomach twist. “They want the Garmtur and they’ll destroy everyone to get it. This makes no sense!”

“Bannor, my friend,” Laramis said. A light gleamed in his blue eyes. “The avatars must do as they do. They know you were destined to be their undoing. Either you are annihilated, or they are. What can be simpler than that? Fate chose you for this path.”

“Fate?” Bannor ground his teeth. “Don’t you understand? People will die! By resisting the avatars, I might as well be killing those people myself. Why is my life worth more than theirs?”

Laramis’ jaw tightened. “Because you have the power to banish the evil. Think of the lives that will be renewed. Rejoice knowing that people will be spared the agony of becoming slaves to Hecate. You have heard how Lady Wren was captured as a youth to be made into an avatar. Such a violation of her life was wrong! Yet, right now, thousands of others are being abused in similar ways. If lives are sacrificed in this war, they will be lost while pursuing the destruction of evil. If people must die to see Hecate destroyed, then their lives are spent for a worthy cause.”

Bannor pulled away and put his back against a rock. The group stopped again. The paladin folded his arms and stared. The Queen turned back, glowing eyes narrowed. She set down Meliandri and put hands on hips. Sarai and Janai caught up and paused.

He realized then that everyone had focused on him. No one apart from Laramis believed that fanatical palaver—did they? Bannor frowned. He only wanted to take responsibility for himself and Sarai—not a nation of people—Kings and Queens did that.

The idea sounded ludicrous. He wasn’t a savior. He couldn’t even save himself. How would he save someone else?

He glanced around. The Queen, Laramis, Janai and Sarai all watched him intently, apparently waiting to hear his answer. He looked to Sarai. She’d set her pack down. Her expression showed a mixture of interest and concern. What did they want him to say?

When Bannor spoke, he kept his gaze on Sarai. “I never wanted more than to have a good life with the person I love.” Her chin came up, and she smiled. He met Laramis’ gaze. “Of course, wanting something doesn’t always make it come true.” He glanced toward the Queen. “If it will keep good men from dying, I would rather run than fight. The easiest way to get the avatars off Titaan is for me to leave this world. They’ll follow me. They have so far.”

“No,” the Queen said in a flat tone. “You are too valuable to risk.”

Bannor scowled. “Too valuable? I’m dangerous—even to myself—what good am I?”

“Last I checked, my friend,” Laramis said. “You had defeated every operative of the avatars that had been sent against you. You have the avatars scared. They fear you will get the Garmtur under control. They know that once your Nola is mastered that they cannot defeat you.”

“Let me tell you, Laramis,” Bannor replied. “They aren’t the only ones who are scared.” He took a breath. “Look at my face! I’m half crippled because of—whatever you call that.” He flicked a hand at Meliandri’s unconscious form. “She came this close,” he held up a tiny space between his fingers, “to dragging me and Janai off to Hades. By almost killing myself, I got lucky and caught her off-guard. Next time, I won’t get a chance to fight back.”

“That’s precisely why we have to take the fight to them,” the Queen said. “Bannor, no one here is eager to fight the avatars.” She stopped and eyed Laramis. “Well, most of us aren’t. The avatars must be driven off this world. By concentrating their forces in a search for you, they’ve given us a unique opportunity to strike a real blow against them.” She sighed. “We can discuss this later. Suffice it to say, that if you wish to stay alive, and if you want my daughter as your wife, you will fight. Let us go. We’ve tarried too long.”

Kalindinai bent and picked up Meliandri’s unconscious body and started down the trail. Bannor stared at her back, anger and frustration seethed in his gut. You will fight. She made it sound so blasted easy. If she weren’t the one leading the way into battle, he’d have told Kalindinai what to do with her pronouncements.

Sarai picked up her pack and came toward him. She kissed him gently, careful to avoid his injured nose and cut face. He grew warm inside. “I’m with you, my One.” The sugary taste of her mouth lingered on his lips. As he watched her walk up the trail, he realized that despite their bitter differences Sarai would always follow her Mother’s lead. Wherever Kalindinai went, into battle or into Hades itself, Sarai would be there.

Struggling under her load, Janai stopped by him. She put a hand on his chest. Her amber eyes searched his face. “You kept your promise and watched my back. You got us out of that mess alive.” She rose on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. She backed away her fingers lingering on his arm. “I’ll remember it.”

Janai shifted to get her load square and continued after Sarai. He watched her fade into the grayness between the trees.

Laramis’ gaze followed the sway of Janai’s hips as she moved over the uneven ground. He sighed. “Such fine pulchritude. It reminds me how I miss my lovely Irodee.” His voice caught. Bannor had never heard the man sound more despondent. “After this long, sometimes I fear the worst.” He sighed. “Let us go. The sooner we are off, the sooner we shall find her.”

He leaned on the paladin’s shoulder and they followed the others. He empathized with the man’s pain. When the slavers took Sarai, worrying about her made him crazy.

“She’s a tough lady, Laramis,” he said. “It’ll take more than an army to stop her.”

The man smiled. “My thanks for your confidence. Ukko give me strength, she shall be returned to me.”

The rest of the trip down the mountain grew more difficult. The trees afforded little shelter from the icy gusts coming through the pass. The chill cut like a knife. The thin air at this altitude didn’t help either, making the labor that much more arduous.

By the time they came within sight of the back entrance, Bannor felt as if he’d been turned to stone. His arms and legs moved as though petrified. A tingling ache hummed through his whole body.

A cluster of trees concealed the gaping mouth of the cavern. Only a single narrow switchback trail zigzagged up to the ledge that lay over a hundred paces up the steep mountainside.

The Elven ladies bunched up as they picked their way carefully along the treacherous course. Laramis and Bannor came last, trusting keen elven night-sight to find a safe path in the darkness.

Bannor’s heart pounded like a drum by the time they reached the ledge. The uneven footing, poor visibility, and slick stone made for a nerve-wracking white-knuckle climb.

At the top, they found Wren sitting next to a small fire cooking a long-ear on a spit. Several horses on tethers snorted and stamped nervously a short distance farther inside the cave.

Wren waved to them as they entered. Her eyes sparkled from the flickering light. Her cheeks looked flush from the heat of the fire. “It’s about time. Pull up a rock and get warm. It’s nasty out there.”

Everyone hurried into the sheltered opening. Even the Queen and Sarai who appeared unaffected by the cold moved quickly. For the next while, the cave filled with the sound of sighs and hands being rubbed.

Bannor moaned blissfully as the flames sent waves of thawing warmth up his arms.

The Queen frowned at Wren. “Did you abandon your mission? You couldn’t have finished so quickly.”

The savant frowned. “Abandon? Everything you asked for is packed and ready to go.” She shook her head. “Someday, we should discuss royal security.” She turned to Sarai. “I snitched some extra medical supplies so you can fix up Bannor.”

His mate nodded.

Kalindinai peered into the darkness beyond the tethered horses. “Are you certain you weren’t followed?”

“Double-checked and triple-checked,” Wren answered. “Getting the items was so easy, it made me suspicious, too.” She shrugged and dragged her knapsack over close to her and started rummaging around inside. “The avatar’s screams had everyone going crazy. The echoes made it impossible to guess where that rumbling came from, so the King had the guards conducting a chamber-to-chamber search. They simply didn’t notice me in the confusion.”

“Did you leave the note for my husband as we discussed?”

“Right on his pillow where you said. Here it is. Bannor, I bet you recognize this stuff.” Wren held up a clear crystal vial with a swirling liquid inside.

His stomach churned when he saw the stuff. “Dragon whiz.”

Sarai and Janai both chuckled.

The Queen raised an eyebrow. “Dragon whiz? I’ll have you know that’s some of the finest healing potion that can be bought.”

Bannor smacked his lips, making a sour face. “Pardon, Matradomma, the taste is what I object to.”

“Here you go,” Wren handed it across the fire to him. “As promised.”

He took the flask. It felt cold in his hand. Each time, drinking this vile concoction seemed like a test of what he could keep down without vomiting.

“While the Goodman is steeling himself,” Laramis said, pulling at the ends of his blond mustache. “I should mention one thing. I am loathe to criticize, but there seems to be severe snag in our plan.”

The Queen focused on Laramis. “What’s that?”

“On the way here, I asked myself why this entrance goes unused. Climbing that woebegone path gave me my answer. Getting the horses through the caves was one thing. Getting them down that hill is another. They’re horses, Matradomma—not goats.”

I have always fancied my self a problem solver;

I am better than most at making sure the optimum tool for each task is used. For those times when the best tool isn’t available—I carry a hefty mallet…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Fifty-Five

« ^ »

As the group huddled together around the fire, a silence fell over everyone. The Queen who typically had an answer or at least a word for every occasion, sat motionless with the firelight reflecting in her violet eyes. Blonde Wren ran a hand through her hair, and the corner of her mouth twitched. Janai and Sarai looked at one another, keeping an eye on their mother as if they thought she might explode. Though he knew he shouldn’t have, Bannor still enjoyed seeing Laramis catch the Queen in a miscalculation.

In his short acquaintance with Kalindinai, Bannor had concluded that she thrived on control. Manipulation came as naturally to her as breathing did to other people.

The hints of it he’d seen in Sarai, and later in Janai, convinced him of that. The daughters took after their mother. In the seasons they’d lived and loved together, Bannor never saw the controlling, royal ‘we’ side of Sarai. It wasn’t until Mazerak confronted Sarai with her identity as a daughter of Malan, that she allowed that part of herself to show. Looking back on their months together, he saw how much of herself she kept hidden. He also saw how she’d controlled him. Control that, at the time, he had never realized she was exerting. What confused him was his reaction to the realization.

Ambivalence.

Shouldn’t he be surprised, chagrined—outraged? Was doing another’s bidding willingly a bad thing? Wanting to please them? Are you being taken advantage of, if you’re happy to go along?

These thoughts sparked through his mind as he turned his attention away from the Queen and back to the seething orange liquid in the vial he held. Healing potion—lovingly known as dragon whiz. He’d rather drink privy water than down this stuff.

Twinges from his face and between his legs reminded him of how much he needed healing. He unstoppered the vial.

The Queen still hadn’t said anything. She simply looked at Laramis with a flat expression. From the furrow in the paladin’s brow, he didn’t enjoy disappointing the Queen.

Kalindinai took a deep breath, the first she’d taken in a long while. “I cannot believe it.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and glanced back at the horses.

“Now that Bannor and I are rebonded,” Sarai said. “I don’t think I have enough strength to reshape the hillside.”

He glanced at Sarai. The sharpness in her tone sounded accusatory. No one said anything about any side affects of the Queen’s magic on them. Perhaps that might be linked to how upset Janai had been when he first awoke after the Queen’s spell.

“We could get them down the hill in the daylight,” said Laramis. “It would remain a chancy endeavor though.”

“Maybe we can sneak out another way,” Janai offered.

“Details,” Wren muttered.

Everyone stared at the savant.

Wren picked up her water skin and took a pull from the nozzle. “I’ll get the horses down the hill.”

The Queen’s eyebrow rose. “How?”

“Savant magic. Sarai’s seen me do it. Remember the sea cliff?”

Sarai snorted. “Showoff.”

“See, she remembers.” Wren turned her attention to Bannor. “Staring at that potion won’t get you healed.”

“Uh huh.”

“Drink up.”

“Uh uh.”

Sarai slid next to him and put her arm around his waist. She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “Don’t be that way.”

He sighed. “Hate this stuff.” He pinched his nose to keep the smell from stopping him. He lowered his Nola’s defenses the way Wren taught him, and tilted his head back to take the whole vial in one gulp.

The liquid went down like burning sewage.

“Bleahk!” He coughed. A ball of heat spread outward from his stomach. It felt as if an army of insects marched beneath his skin. The areas where he’d been injured glowed bright green. The pain from those areas diminished as he felt the flesh shifting and moving.

It took several long moments for the effects to run their course. Bannor felt his face, the skin remained tender. The wounds had knit some. The pain from his groin was now tolerable.

Sarai put a hand to his cheek, scanning his face. She pursed her lips. “Looks as if we may need to sew you up anyway. I don’t want this to scar.” She ran a finger along the split between his eyes.

He took her hand and kissed it. A cold feeling on the back of his neck made him look up. His gaze met the Queen who was studying him. Her expression was difficult to read. He smiled. Kalindinai didn’t return the gesture. She simply focused her attention elsewhere. He let out a breath. Sarai’s mother would be difficult to get used to.

“Let’s get our coats,” Wren said. “I’ll take the first horse down.”

“You’re certain you can do that?” the Queen asked.

Wren nodded. She rose and headed toward the horses. Laramis and Janai followed her. Together they broke out the cold weather gear. Leggings, jackets, masks, and gloves lay among the paraphernalia kept with the packhorse.

Bannor stood, and Sarai came with him. He wobbled a little, but could move without too much difficulty. The Queen rose last. Her gaze lingered on the night sky visible out the cave opening. She seemed suddenly very preoccupied with something.

He and Sarai joined the others and started pulling on the thick furs and leathers.

“Only problem with this plan,” Wren was mumbling. “Is I have to climb that hill once for every blasted horse. Handling the shock will be tough enough.” She fastened the last of the ties on her coat and pulled the hood up. With the fur pulled down over her eyes she looked like a miniature broadpaw. She shook her head. “No rest for the sinful.”

Bannor buttoned up the jacket. As with many things of elven manufacture, extraordinary time and effort had been taken to refine the materials. The layered cloth kept out the wind and cold, but was also light. The sewing was so deft one needed to search hard simply to find a seam.

His gaze fell on Meliandri lying against the cave wall, body lax and eyes closed. Sarai’s belt of silver rings held the woman’s feet together while silver jewelry chains bound her wrists. A silver braid necklace looped twice around her throat.

It all seemed a rather flimsy defense against a being that shook mountains.

“What’s the matter, my One?”

Bannor glanced at his mate, and nodded toward Meliandri. “She is. Does your mother intend to drag her the whole way? Why? Won’t she give our location away to the avatars?”

Sarai looked toward her mother who’d put on her parka and was rummaging through the one of the saddlebags on the horses. She put a hand on his arm. “I’m certain she has a good reason.”

He kept his voice to an urgent whisper. “Sarai, she can kill us all!”

Her eyes narrowed and she spoke in firm tone, “I trust Mother’s judgment.”

“Fine, but someone should be keeping an eye on her. She’s been out a long time.”

Sarai pursed her lips and studied Meliandri. She patted his shoulder. “You’re right, my One. We’ll have to set up watches.” She turned to the back of the cave. “Come. Help me put the supplies on the pack horse.”

Hesitantly, he pulled away from Meliandri. They went back among the horses. The heavy scent of equines filled the air. All were purebred thickmanes, barrel-bodied and muscular, with long tufts of white hair shrouding their fetlocks and hooves. He ran a hand down the silky back of the horse nearest him. The animal snorted and bobbed its head, toeing from the right foot to the left. These weren’t riding horses. Riding such a broad beamed animal for an extended time was uncomfortable. On the other hand, thickmanes handled cold weather well and possessed incredible endurance. They also moved sure-footed in terrain where other horses wouldn’t go.

“Been a while since I rode a horse,” he said.

“You shouldn’t have a problem. These are handpicked stock,” Sarai said. “Even-tempered and well trained. They don’t shy at the smell of blood, and aren’t easily startled.”

They turned to the chore of securing the equipment brought from the caves in the saddlepacks. Laramis checked the animals, greeting each in the horseman’s ritual. He stopped in front of each, petting its nose and mane and introducing himself. With the mares, he pulled their heads down and whispered something in their ear. Stories abounded about what the best horsemen said to their fillies, but whatever it happened to be, it appeared to work. They could get their horses to do everything except play dice.

As they led the first horse out to Wren, she was saying to the Queen, “Don’t be surprised if we bounce. We’ll probably end up in those trees if we do.” She pointed.

“Bounce?” The Queen looked over the edge. “I fail to see how a horse and rider would do anything except flatten on those rocks down there.”

“It has to do with channeled force, Matradomma. All the energy of our fall being dispersed.”

“As long as you’re certain you know what you’re doing,” the Queen said. “How it works is immaterial.”

“I want to see how she gets a horse to jump off a cliff,” Bannor said. “It’s tough to rationalize to a horse.”

“Fetter will do as he’s asked,” Laramis said. He thumped the horse’s broad shoulder. The animal trembled.

Was Laramis actually talking to these thickmanes?

Wren walked around the animal Laramis called Fetter, petting and soothing. She then climbed into saddle, lay flat and hugged his mane. Moments passed. The horse’s ears lay back. It stomped and snorted. Wren’s Nola flickered around her. The blue light licked out and surrounded the horse as well.

Bannor swallowed and looked down the huge boulder studded drop off. Could her magic really protect her and a horse? Next to him Sarai gripped his arm. Janai stepped next to her mother and the two eyed one another. Laramis stood like a statue, his arms folded and watching the cliff. The paladin’s lips moved, the words silent, but obviously a prayer of some type.

Bannor’s heart raced as Wren straightened in the saddle.

“Hee-yah!” She spurred Fetter forward.

With a whinny of fear, the animal charged forward and leaped into space. Bannor’s stomach lurched as he watched the silhouette of horse and rider arc out over the drop-off. Fetter’s legs thrashed the air as the two bodies plunged.

The dim blue glow around the two grew brighter as they fell. In the last instants of the drop, it appeared that a star was falling from the heavens.

They struck with a brilliant flash. Rocks, brush, and dust erupted in all directions from the point of impact. As Wren predicted, the sphere of gleaming energy bounced, leaping again from the point of collision, then tumbling and skipping toward the trees. The horse continued to neigh in fear as they crashed to a stop among the trees.

After a few moments, the horse went silent.

“Do you think she’s all right?” Janai asked, eyes wide.

“Of course she is,” Laramis said.

The Queen didn’t say anything. She stared down the cliff to the blackened depression where the two hit.

He felt himself trembling. “We can’t do this six more times. Any patrols will see or hear it for sure.”

“Assuming they’ve already seen it,” Sarai said. “How long before they’ll be here to investigate?”

“She might be able to do it once more,” Laramis said.

“No,” Bannor said. “It will take time to calm the horse after that. Even if they aren’t damaged, it will take too long. We need another way.”

The Queen looked at him. The glow from her eyes cast shadows and reflections on her pale skin. The cool night air teased a few strands of silvery hair that had escaped the hood of her parka. “Suggestions?” she said.

He looked around. “I don’t know.”

There was a whinny below. Wren and her horse trotted out of the trees. How did she calm the animal so quickly? She tied the horse to bush safely away from the zone of destruction and started the long climb.

“Bannor,” the Queen said. “You will get us off this cliff.”

A chill shot down his spine. “Pardon?”

“The Garmtur can get us off this hill can it not?”

“I—” he stammered. “Yes, but it isn’t safe. I don’t have a clue as to how to—”

“No excuses. You will get us down.” She narrowed her eyes. “As soon as Wren is here.”

“Matradomma,” Laramis started. “I don’t believe, we should—”

“You were not given leave to speak,” the Queen snapped.

The paladin lapsed into silence.

Sarai’s lips pressed to a line. She twined her fingers in his and squeezed. Her palms abruptly felt moist. She looked a heartbeat away from exploding. She stared daggers at her Mother, who only stared back.

Bannor felt torn between defiance of the Queen and loyalty to Sarai. To ignore Kalindinai’s direct order would undoubtedly have dire consequences to him and Sarai. Following her instruction though, might get them all killed.

The incident with the avatar, and almost cooking himself sparked through his mind. He’d remember that burning sensation for a long time. Bannor resolved never to make that mistake again.

If he wanted to, how would he get all the people and horses to the bottom? While standing at the King’s court, Sarai had willed his power to move the Queen. She had magically appeared after having vanished from somewhere else in the caverns. Kalindinai was probably basing his ability to get them down the hill on that event.

To transport a large load in a similar fashion would take a great deal of power. Maybe more than he possessed.

“I hope you’re considering how this will be done,” Kalindinai said. “There’s not much time.”

Bannor only stared at her. She was testing him. Should he bend to her manipulation? What response did she want, compliance or defiance?

Wren huffed to the top of the ledge and looked at the five of them standing together in a stiff circle. The woman’s shoulders looked slumped from exertion and a sheen of perspiration clung to her face. “Don’t everyone help me at once.” She glanced around. “What’s wrong?”

“The Queen’s asked me to get us down,” he said.

“What?”

“You will assist him,” Kalindinai stated. “We do not have enough time to do it your way.”

Wren’s eyes widened. “You’re not—” the Queen’s stare stopped her. “You are.” She sighed and she turned to him. “Want to try?”

He nodded.

“Laramis, Janai, bring the horses.” While they complied Wren stared at him. “This is crazy you know.”

He nodded.

Wren bit her lip, gaze sweeping the sky and the ground at the base of the cliff. “Teleportation, like we did with that scroll my Mother gave me, involves puncturing the ethereal fabric.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

Wren held up a hand. “Bear with me. Jumping from point to point is a matter of finding what’s called a node; a weak spot in the ether. You enter a nearby node and exit from another close to where you want to come out. Mages call that process teleporting. Entering and exiting a node is no problem, it’s finding and navigating between them that requires strong magic.”

“That sounds so damn complicated. Sarai just did it.”

“Hades, Bannor, I don’t know how you do those things. Like those swords, how in Ishtar’s name did you do that?”

He shrugged. “Just wrapped some threads around them.”

Wren blinked. “Just wrapped some—” she stopped. She put a hand to her stomach. She swayed.

Laramis stepped to Wren’s side and took her shoulder. “Are you all right, milady?”

The savant nodded. “Still queasy from that trip down the hill.”

It was whenever he tried to analyze his power and break it down to a process the he or someone else was hurt. He did complex acts of magic, simply—somehow. Forced, it never worked right. How did he make it happen without force?

Just do it.

I want all of us and our horses, at the foot of this hill. He put the desire strong in his mind. Repeating the words in his head, he looked deep into his Nola and visualized its tracery.

He felt a rush of strength. Heat flashed through his limbs and his heart raced. A second heart seemed to pound in his chest. Light flashed around his hands. In his vision, a network of bright violet lines crisscrossing the sky and ground flickered into view.

Here and there in the pattern, he saw tangles where several threads came together in a snarl.

Those clusters must be the nodes Wren’s was talking about.

In the time it took him to think it, he felt himself and the others being drawn toward the nearest one. In the same instant, he saw Meliandri’s eyes open. Glowing red embers shone from beneath her eyelids. He heard metal snap as his Nola jerked the group off into the void.

One of the main contributions the Ka’Amok have made to the universe is teleportation. A mortal named Mandrimin, a Ta’arthak Nola, a savant of Matter, invented the magical process of extracting simulcraic derivatives from chaotic space.

He pioneered the first magically interpretable analogue correction matrices for fractal compression of interpolated particulate helices.

In other words, he made teleportation a reality. I wonder if he realized the gorgon he was unleashing on the universe..?

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Fifty-Six

« ^ »

Bannor stood on the cliff ledge looking at the sharp rocks and trees below concentrating on getting his Nola to transport the party. He pulled his parka tighter as gusts of mountain air hummed in his ears, and ran icy fingers across his scalp. Stars and shafts of moonlight glimmered through rips in a blanket of clouds that churned around the high peaks overlooking the pass.

Lost in concentration, he sensed the members of the group only as silhouettes dimly illumined by moonlight. Horses nickered, tails swished, and boots stomped on stone.

Bannor didn’t know his Garmtur had granted his wish until colors began spinning in his vision. By then, he couldn’t change his mind or try to stop what he’d set in motion. He saw his power reach out and envelope the people and horses in giant gold tendrils. He saw their bodies tense and sensed the surprise that erupted from their minds. By the time anyone cried out, the whole experience would be over. For him, the instant stretched out immeasurably.

In his mind’s-eye, a web of crisscrossing threads appeared on the ground and in the sky. He’d been told they were flux lines, river-like currents of the world’s magic. The light from them grew brighter. Nearby, several filaments intersected in what Wren called a node. To his eye, the juncture looked more like a depression than a bulge. Its pattern resembled a spider’s web only with the center-most point stretched so it looked a tremendous distance away.

A thick red line shot from Bannor’s chest into the flux point. The cord pulled taut. He felt forces within the node begin sucking at him, drawing him in the way a whirlpool pulled down a ship.

The gold bands stretching from him to the people and animals shimmered white. As the radiance increased, so did his awareness of his passengers. He knew every iota of their beings. Bannor felt that ultimate knowledge fill him as if it were a substance, pouring into him like molten lead, burning hot and crushingly heavy.

Knowing each creature so totally made them malleable to his Nola, susceptible to the sideways twist that compressed their bodies into energy that flowed toward the flux point along with him.

The transition between material and immaterial took the length of an eye blink. His view of the cave and the cliff bent. In that last instant, he heard metal snap and sensed Meliandri change. Then his body and hers liquefied.

The stars became streaks against an ebony background. Heat turned to cold. Stillness changed to a sense of acceleration. He felt the people and horses like a huge cloak flowing behind him as he shot down a tunnel of spinning colors. Bannor erupted out the far end of the shaft into a gray void. Clouds of blackness shot through with stars roiled through the emptiness. Flux lines skewed out in all directions like arteries in a human body. A pulsation reverberated around him, the heartbeat of eternity.

Poised with infinity spread out around him, Bannor realized that something was horribly wrong. An instant ago, he knew where to go—the path, once clear in his mind had vanished.

He possessed no body to feel with or he would have felt a rush of fear at the thought of being eternally lost. He halted, juxtaposed between reality and the transition realm. If he chose the right path they’d arrive where they needed to be—choose wrong and they might appear a billion leagues from home.

A sense of danger interrupted his moment of indecision. Another entity had entered the void close by. Hecate’s crushing presence flooded out of the flux point, a black pulsating mass of tentacle-like projections.

Could one intangible creature hurt another? Did he want to find out? It wasn’t only the danger to him, but the threat to the five people and seven horses that rode with him. Whatever happened to Bannor would happen to them as well.

A million possible courses and only an instant to choose. He felt the god’s presence like a giant hand reaching to capture him.

As he searched for signs of the right way, an idea flashed. The gate. The one the Queen wanted to shut. Laramis had described it as huge permanent gap that bridged the space between Sharikaar and Hecate’s home realm. That magical doorway would take titanic amounts of power to keep open, so much that its magic might even be visible here in this transient zone. He scanned franticly for a sign that might show him where the gate lay as he felt himself being dragged back toward the dark presence.

A pulsating tangle of lines caught his attention. That might be it. No time for another guess, Hecate almost had him.

Bannor willed himself into the flux line. The sensation felt like being jerked into an undertow. The current grabbed him and yanked him along. In that instant, he felt a burning rip of pain as if a knife were slicing down his body. A woman’s scream resonated through him, a howl of agony and terror that stretched on and on.

They hit the end of flux line and were expelled through the nexus with a twist. The woman’s frantic screams ended as a landscape flickered into being around him. Trees and hills shimmered into view as if rapidly painted onto a world-sized canvas, starting with blacks and grays, then in color. The last to return were sound and sensation. Weight reasserted itself, and with it a nauseating dizziness that made him drop to his knees.

Bannor tried to stay oriented and discover who or what had been wailing. Heart hammering, he prayed it wasn’t Sarai. Echoes of the sound repeated in his head, the shriek of someone whose soul was being ripped apart. Chills raced through him.

With relief he saw Sarai and Janai staggering together, struggling for balance, but appearing unhurt. With their heavy fur parkas on, it looked like a pair of broadpaws grappling. The Queen gripped her head and groaned, disoriented, but not dying. Wren and Laramis glanced around scarcely affected at all.

Who yelled? Movement drew his attention to Meliandri. His nauseous stomach knotted as he saw the elf healer convulsing in the grass, flopping as if boneless. Her green eyes were wide and glassy. Spittle ran from the corners of her mouth. The lady’s dusky skin had turned the color of snow.

Odin. Not all of them escaped Hecate’s grasp. Somehow the goddess managed to get a hold on her unwilling host. The poor woman’s essence had been scattered across the void. He shuddered.

Did they elude Hecate? Something else seemed wrong. His vision flickered as he scanned for signs of the black thing, nothing but orange streaked clouds and a blue sky. Clouds? Daytime? When they left it had been night!

“Laramis!” Wren called.

“Ukko help me.” The paladin rushed to stand over the twitching elf woman. “She’s broken the bonds.”

Sarai and her sister thumped down in the grass with looks of pain on their faces. Only the Queen moved forward, and she moved with halting steps as if unsure of her footing.

“Odd,” Laramis muttered. He shouldered off his parka, knelt, and then put his palm against Meliandri’s forehead.

The elf froze as if the paladin’s touch had paralyzed her. The man’s eyes narrowed as he studied the woman. From his intensity, Bannor felt sure the paladin was seeing more than flesh and blood.

“What is wrong with her?” the Queen asked.

“Apparently, Hecate tried to manifest within her at the same moment Bannor transported us. The goddess’ ties to her are completely severed now.” His face took on a pained expression and his tone dropped. “It appears to have damaged her mind though.”

Kalindinai eyes widened. “You’re certain?”

“See for yourself, milady.” Laramis drew his hand away from Meliandri’s face. The elf lady stared up at the sky with empty green eyes, drool leaving a glistening trail on her face.

Meliandri’s expression reminded Bannor of some of the wounded he’d seen in the war. Warriors struck in the head who’d lost their ability to think.

The Queen drew a breath. Her lower lip trembled, then pressed to a line. She clenched her fists at her sides and muttered a curse Bannor didn’t catch.

Kalindinai’s reaction surprised him. In the time he’d known her, the woman showed little compassion. She appeared to love her daughters, but it was a love with little compromise.

The Queen knelt and stroked Meliandri’s brow. The healer woman remained unresponsive, her gaze fixed on infinity.

“Can anything be done?” Wren asked.

Laramis shook his head.

The grim look on the paladin’s face made a chill go through Bannor. He fought to his feet and went to Sarai. “Okay?”

She nodded. He touched Janai’s shoulder and waited for a nod before going to stand by Laramis. Wren glanced at him, her expression stony.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He couldn’t think of anything better to say. He’d done as the Queen asked, but, as usual, the Garmtur worked in unpredictable ways.

The Queen looked up. Her violet eyes bored into him. Her jaw worked as though she might say something scathing. No words came, she simply turned her attention back Meliandri.

Relief washed through Bannor. He’d braced for a verbal attack. He knew little about Meliandri. When they had first met, the healer had shown kindness to him. As Hecate’s avatar, she had almost killed Janai and himself. Even knowing she’d unwillingly become the goddess’ weapon, made it hard for him to forgive. Still, did anyone deserve torment like that? Her mental screams still made his flesh crawl.

Kalindinai spoke in a low voice. “She has been a loyal retainer for over three centuries.” She stopped and swallowed. “I knew this girl when she—” her voice faltered and her body stiffened. She rose, turned and strode a few steps to look off the hilltop.

Bannor had glimpsed what the Queen was trying to hide. Tears. He could only imagine what it would feel like to lose someone you’d known for centuries. He remembered the agony of his brother’s loss, and they’d only been together fifteen summers.

Odin, they didn’t need more delays. Bad enough he didn’t even know where they’d reappeared. If they didn’t get into the north country soon, they might lose Irodee and DacWhirter as well.

Sarai and Janai helped each other to rise. Together they went to stand with their mother. The three elves knelt, and with heads bowed put arms around one another.

Bannor glanced at the frozen expression on Meliandri’s face. As he stared at the lady, he imagined what it must have been like to have her intellect subjugated by Hecate, her personality crushed by the moon goddess’ evil influence. If Hecate got her way, she’d do the same to him—Wren too, if the chance came along. A cold tingling shot down his spine. Death didn’t scare him, but dying like that?

“You okay, Bannor?” Wren asked.

He met her gaze and nodded.

Wren studied Meliandri and drew a breath. “It’s a shame. Nice lady, I liked her. Damn it. Not fair that this should happen.” She put a palm against his chest and looked up at him. “Let’s put Meliandri’s tragedy aside for a moment.” She pointed at the sun, which was near zenith. “Did you notice that it’s daylight?” Bannor glanced at the sky and she continued. “Where’s the mountain, Bannor?” Her voice cracked. “Where’d you put the damned mountain?”

Laramis rubbed his temples. “Methinks Bannor might have overshot a trice.”

“A trice!?” Wren glared around. “I don’t recognize anything! Are we even on the same continent? Hades! The same planet?”

“Couldn’t help it,” Bannor said, trying not to sound defensive. “Hecate was chasing us.”

“Hecate?”

“She tried to take over Meliandri and followed us into the node. She must have hung on to her when I ran.”

Wren scowled, apparently absorbing the new information. “You mean Hecate actually came into—”

He nodded.

Wren looked at Laramis. “Is that possible?”

The paladin shrugged. “Little the pantheon lords do surprises me.”

“Do you think she knows where we’re at?”

Bannor shook his head. “If Hecate knew, she’d be here.”

“Good point.” Wren smacked her thigh in frustration. “Damn, now what do we do?” She shielded her eyes from the sun and surveyed the landscape.

They stood on a hilltop looking out over a verdant plain studded with rocks and trees. Three large valleys cut across the low-lying terrain in what, judging by the sun, should be west. The scent of grass and sage hung heavy in the air. The breeze came sharp and brisk against his skin. The sun’s rays were already making Bannor sweat, especially clothed in the heavy parka. He unfastened the clasps and pulled it off.

Where had they reappeared? Bannor didn’t see anything familiar, either. Could it be as bad as Wren thought? In those last moments, the choice of which flux line to enter seemed almost obvious. Obvious or not, the results spoke for themselves. He saw nothing that he recalled from any of his travels.

Laramis studied the landscape with the same intensity as Wren, fingers rubbing his chin. “Something about this area…” His voice trailed off.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” the paladin said. “Those four lines of hills.” He pointed toward the south and west.

In that direction, the terrain dipped and became a series of folds that resembled bunched-up green cloth. The hilltops looked bare except for low-lying foliage. Where Laramis pointed, the folds converged into a large dome-shaped headland. Beyond them, thick clouds shrouded the horizon.

Even if he did not know those particular formations, they looked distinctive enough to exist on a map as a landmark.

“We should head out,” Bannor said. He glanced at the horses, which had wandered little from where they had appeared. Tails swishing, they seemed content to munch on the thick grass. “If we can find a river, we’ll find villages and towns, and hopefully someone who can tell us where we are.”

“Agreed,” Wren said.

Sarai came and wrapped an arm around him. She put her head on his shoulder. Her violet eyes looked dewy.

“How’s your mother?” he asked.

“She’s hurting,” Sarai said in a subdued voice. “Meliandri’s been with the family a long time.”

“We should not mourn her passing just yet,” Laramis said. “There might be a way to heal her.”

“Mother thinks so, too.” She sighed. “I don’t know what to do. Meliandri’s not dead.” Bannor noticed how she avoided looking at the healer. “She’s not alive either. We can’t care for a…” she stopped. “I think seeing her waste away will be even more painful for Mother.”

Bannor pulled her close. She reminded him of how his sister had reacted to his brother Rammal’s death. It had hurt Ravan, but not in the same way it had crushed his mother. Treena had been so confused, suffering both for herself and for her mother.

“We need to go,” he said.

“I know,” Sarai answered.

“Eye of Ukko,” Laramis muttered to Wren. “I know that formation looks familiar.”

The savant shook her head, looking somber. Bannor guessed she was already bracing herself to lose Irodee.

Sarai stiffened. “You, too?” She looked over at Laramis. “That formation out there?” She pointed to the dome-shaped hill.

“Aye, the same. Have you seen it too, milady?”

She shut her eyes. “I thought perhaps it was only wishful thinking.” Her brow furrowed. “It reminds me of a place in southeastern Malan…” Her eyes snapped open. “Grimaldi basin!”

Wren’s face lit up. Her voice grew animated. “Grimaldi? If we’re east, then we’re looking at the back of Honig’s fist! That puts us only ten leagues North of where the Elven scouts reported seeing Hecate’s army coming out of the gate! We may have actually have bought some time!”

Bannor hugged Sarai. She put her face in the curve of his neck. The stiffness remained in her body, though.

Even though the group now knew their location, there remained a stickier problem, one that would be harder to solve. Over Sarai’s shoulder, he saw Meliandri as she stared unblinking at the cloudless sky.

What would they do with Meliandri?

Dimensions—they are what the obtuse call alternate interpretations in real space.

Many millennia ago the pantheons developed techniques for the creation of causal anomalies that allowed crossing between fixed realities.

The method that evolved from those efforts still needed considerable refinement when the decision to terminate the project was made. Considering the lead researchers had all killed each other half a dozen times during the project, it was felt that the end product should be used as is before jealousy and arrogance destroyed their work forever…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Fifty-Seven

« ^ »

Bannor checked the last of the horses, running his fingers along its silky hide. The stocky thickmanes remained jittery and trembled under his hand.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, scratching between its ears. Taking the lead strap, he led the animal to where the others waited.

He glanced to where his mate, her sister and the Queen stood together with Laramis and Wren. The body of Meliandri lay between them like a patient in an exorcising ritual. The horses weren’t the only tense ones. The Queen looked as stiff as ingot steel. The only movements the woman made came from the flick of her hair in the wind and the occasional twitch of a finger. Sarai and Janai looked anxious and fatigued, obviously concerned over their mother’s distress. Wren and Laramis visibly struggled to exert some control over the situation.

The ruler of the most powerful nation on Sharikaar heeded counsel when she asked for it. To further complicate matters, as a society, elves disliked infirmity. In some of the smaller Elven communities, the crippled, maimed, or disfigured often got sent away. Many of these outcasts came to live in human communities and became parts of human families. The elves called these people the duna agon, the half men.

Even if they managed to get Meliandri back to her people, without the Queen’s direct orders she wouldn’t receive adequate care. If Meliandri died, he and Sarai would be branded murderers under Elven law. Extenuating circumstances had no bearing in an elf justicar’s mind. A person’s failure to preserve Elven life when possible was considered equal to being a killer. Pureblood elves were few, and elf women rarely brought even two children into the world during her millennium long life. Given the scarcity of births, death carried tremendous significance.

One thing he knew for certain, it was bad—very bad.

“She comes with us,” the Queen snapped. “Tie her on the horse.”

Laramis sighed, nodded, and gathered up the limp form of the elf healer. Bannor assisted the paladin as they arranged her in the saddle. She flopped like a rag-doll, no stiffness at all in her limbs. The only way Bannor knew she remained alive came from the warmth of her flesh. Touching the undead woman made Bannor’s skin crawl. Her eyes never blinked.

Neither he nor the blond man spoke, they relied on gestures instead. It wasn’t a time for talk.

“Wren,” the Queen said. “Take point. Laramis, you and Bannor take rear-guard. I’ll lead Meliandri’s horse. Single file, assume there are enemy around.”

Bannor glanced at Laramis. The man shrugged and nodded. They mounted up. His horse jumped and sidestepped nervously underneath him, and it took a while to get the animal calmed down.

With Wren in the lead they made straight for the formation they’d earlier identified as Honig’s fist. Bannor had never been across the border into Malan, but traders frequently described tales of the Grimaldi basin and the huge stone massif overlooking it. One of the larger Elven communities named Surn lay at the northern end of the valley.

A capricious breeze accompanied the hot sun, blowing icy cold one moment, then warm the next. The potent smell of dry scrub kicked up by the horse’s hooves made his eyes water. Worse yet, his nose ran incessantly because of the change in altitude and temperature. He spent half the time honking and wiping. The change affected Laramis, too, and they suffered together in comradely misery.

The elves didn’t experience as much problem with the temperature and altitude as they did the scrub. When Sarai glanced back at him every so often, he noticed her eyes looked red and puffy. The land lay open to the sky, and the trees around them came in many varieties and ages. Bugs buzzed and birds flew. Despite the war and people dying, nature continued business as usual. To him, it demonstrated the unyielding continuity of the universe; no matter what, life went on, with or without you.

The granite gray promontory grew larger as they wound their way along ridge-tops, ducked through shallow ravines, and skirted dense stands of black scalebark and needleleaf. The sure-footed thickmanes took all the varied terrain in stride. The sturdy animals moved at a steady pace, never seeming to tire.

Bannor’s thighs soon ached from straddling the broad animal. Periodically, he needed to kneel or sit sidesaddle to give his legs a rest. Sarai and the others regularly did the same.

As they topped a high ridge, he glanced south, and his stomach tightened.

“Hold up!” He called.

Wren reined in and they all stared at him. Laramis pulled his horse around to face the same direction. Together they gazed at the dark black spire that wavered over the landscape like a funnel cloud. Though the dark shape still lay ten leagues away, he sensed its immensity. A rip in the sky that opened into another reality.

“The gate,” Kalindinai said.

“It’s so big,” Sarai said.

Wren guided her horse back to the main group. “I can see ripples of force spilling out from it all across the landscape. That thing must be a thousand paces across.”

“And a league high,” muttered Laramis.

“How can we possibly shut such a monster?” Bannor asked.

The Queen’s skin had turned pale, but her violet eyes burned bright. “We’ll find a way.”

“I don’t know,” Wren said. She ran a hand through her blonde hair. Her blue eyes were wide. Bannor didn’t often see Wren show fear. “There’s enough power surging through that portal to turn the world inside out. Shut that gate wrong, and half the continent might get sucked in before it’s closed.”

“We have to take that chance,” the Queen growled. “The alternative is letting all of Hades spill into Sharikaar.”

Bannor glanced at Sarai at the same time her eyes searched out his. He maneuvered his horse toward hers, and they pulled close enough to join hands.

His mate’s palm felt damp, and her hand trembled. To talk about their mission was one thing, but seeing the immensity of what they must overcome cast their task in a new light. The gods had ripped a hole in space big enough that a dozen legions could march through side by side. The sheer size of that pillar of darkness dwarfed anything he conjured in his mind. If Hecate had such power, how could they hope to defeat her?

He closed his eyes. If she could create such a monstrosity, what might she be able to do with his power added to hers? The idea sent a shiver through him.

If they didn’t shut the gate, Hecate would annihilate Sharikaar. The armies of Malan, Corwin, and Ivaneth would drown beneath a sea of creatures spewing out of the gate like a black tide.

Staring across the verdant landscape, Bannor recalled the scorched and decimated world that he saw when he and Hecate met in his dream. If they didn’t stop her, these lands and the people in them would become like that—nothing but cinders. He grew sick inside thinking of it. As he stared at the ebony line extending into the sky, he saw how it resembled a titanic knife. A blade that would stab into the heart of his world and rip it asunder. Even if he ran, she would destroy everything to spite him. A goddess didn’t make idle threats.

“Are you well, my one?” Sarai asked.

He swallowed, met her eyes and forced a smile. “I will survive.”

She gave his hand a squeeze. “We can get through this—I know we can.”

Her voice soothed Bannor, and filled him with warmth. If he had nothing else but her in his life, he would feel complete. Thinking of being forced to live without her, made his heart pound. More than once, the avatars had tried to separate them. If he didn’t find a way to drive Hecate off Titaan, she would eventually claim one of them.

He put his other hand on top of hers. He must defeat the avatars, not only for his security, but also for Sarai and everyone threatened by these creatures. He’d scampered like a long-ear before the hounds for too long. If he kept running, he’d get cornered. By then, it might be too late to fight back.

The Queen was right. Strike back while the enemy still believes you are defensive. His brother had died in a trench, running from the warriors of the North. In his own battle with the dark forces, they’d fought a retreating battle barely two steps ahead of destruction.

No more.

He’d learned from his encounter with Meliandri. He now knew more of the powers of the avatars and the limits of his Garmtur. The avatars wanted him so badly that they would take chances they might not otherwise take. He’d have to capitalize on that and give them more than they planned for.

He couldn’t match the power of a god, but as he stared out at the flux lines spiraling into the heart of the black spire, he realized that power might not be what he needed.

He focused on Sarai’s violet eyes and put his other hand on top of hers.

What he needed—was right here.

***

They rode in the giant shadow of Honig’s fist, the fading light of the setting sun casting spidery silhouettes off the trees and outcrops. The jagged profile of the western mountains where he and the others had lived stood out against an amber and orange streaked horizon. Over the peaks, charcoal colored thunderclouds boiled like a witch’s brew. For some reason, the scene seemed familiar, as if he’d viewed it before.

North of them, gray sheets of rain cast a haze over the steppes of the Malanian highlands. Gusts of cold damp air hissed through the ravines and whistled in the brush. Coveys of trilling birds rushed across the trail along with the occasional scampering of a long-ear.

The squall heading toward them promised to be even more violent than the one they had weathered six days ago. Half a day’s ride away, another storm, in the form of the avatar’s army, was mustering to surge across the land. Even now, Hecate’s demons might be on the move, burning and desecrating the landscape.

Seeing the gate from the hilltop had struck another silence over the group. No doubt, each person speculated about what lay ahead. Though he tried not to worry himself with pessimistic expectations, he knew he shouldn’t try to fool himself, either. They faced a task that might take one or all their lives to accomplish.

He’d kept silent about the patterns he saw in the flux lines leading into the black spire. The instinctive grasp of patterns the Garmtur gave Bannor let him perceive an instability in the magical power feeding the gate. Yet, even after long pondering he still couldn’t verbally describe that vulnerability. How could they take advantage of a weakness he couldn’t explain?

“The town of Silvanshire lies less than a league down the trail,” the Queen said. “We shall break for the night there.”

From the head of the procession, Wren peered back. The savant’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t say anything. After a moment, she focused her attention back on the trail.

Laramis cleared his throat. “Matradomma,” he said. “Are you certain that’s wise? Mightn’t that cause us trouble? Three members of the royal family here, unannounced. What will the folk think?”

Kalindinai didn’t look back. She pulled the lead on Meliandri’s horse tighter. The animal snorted and tossed its head. “Are you questioning Our judgment, Lord De’Falcone?”

The paladin gritted his teeth. “No Matradomma, I merely wish to understand.”

The Queen urged her horse faster with the black rod she used. “No further appraisal of this matter is necessary. Press on.”

Sarai glanced back at Bannor then traded a look with her sister. “Mother,” she said in a low tone. “I understand what they’re saying—”

“As do We, daughter,” Kalindinai growled.

Sarai let out a breath and shut up. The tone the Queen used made a spark of anger rush through Bannor. He pushed the emotion down, knowing that the Queen was still mourning her friend, and lashing out at everyone in her grief.

The group spent the remainder of the descent into the Grimaldi basin in an uneasy silence. Laramis rode with a stony expression like a man who’d been pushed into a corner where he didn’t want to be. Janai and Sarai rode close to one another with concerned looks on their faces. Ahead of the group, Wren rode slumped in the saddle as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders.

Two-thirds of a bell passed before the lights of the town came into view. The runoff from a small spring paralleled the trail, and Bannor found the gurgling of the water a welcome sound in the void of conversation. From the reeds along the creek, the baritone croak of a pond-leaper almost jolted him out of the saddle. A chorus of chirp bugs added to the background of noise.

As the buildings of the hamlet hove into view, a sense of danger impinged on him. Even this close to nightfall, there should be movement in and around the village. An odd smell came to his nostrils, acrid and heavy. The horses snorted and tossed their heads obviously responding to the odor.

Wren reined her thickmane to a stop. The Queen pulled up short beside her, and Bannor saw their heads turning to scan the area. Sarai halted ahead of him, and he pulled alongside.

Her glowing eyes were narrow and her face tight. “Something’s wrong.”

He nodded.

The wind hummed in his ears, and his heart thudded in his chest. A terrible ache in the pit of his stomach told him what they would find in streets of Silvanshire.

I hate being rushed, it disallows the use of finesse and making sure a murder is performed with the appropriate amount of style and misdirection…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Fifty-Eight

« ^ »

Bannor dismounted, axe in hand. The acrid smell and the unnatural stillness in Silvanshire made the skin on the back of his neck tingle. Light shone in several of the hamlet’s dozen or so buildings, but nowhere did he see movement. In the distance, the chirping of bugs was audible, but within the town itself-silence.

Sarai came around the back of her horse, a sword in her fist. Glowing eyes narrowed, she studied the area.

Janai held the reins of her mother’s horse and Meliandri’s while the Queen moved forward. Wren and Laramis ranged ahead.

Bannor pulled on Sarai’s sleeve and pointed to the center of town. She nodded and fell in step beside him.

They stopped by the first yard. A low hedge surrounded the white-wood cottage with large shuddered windows. A brick path led to an enameled darkwood entry and threshold. A wreath of goldentassel hung on the door, the elven sign for welcome. A window box filled with blooming starflowers hung askew from its moorings. One side had been splintered and humus and wood fragments scattered across the stoop. An uprooted stem and its bright white blossom lay smashed amid the debris.

An icy gust made his flesh crawl. His heart skipped a beat, and he glanced at Sarai. She wore a stony expression, all the lines of her face pulled into a frown.

Together they eased to the steps. Broad gouges like those left by fingernails creased the door. Set apart, two sets of crimson streaks trailed off one side of the porch. It appeared someone had groped for purchase with bloody hands while being dragged.

Sarai picked up the mangled flower. Bright red specks dotted the petals. Her hand trembled as she closed her fingers on the bloom. Taking a breath, she went the direction indicated by the red lines. Here and there across the yard, hunks of soil were ripped out. The trail led to a trampled section of the hedge.

Sarai moved with determined strides, her body taut as a bowstring. Bannor stayed at her shoulder. A chilling sense of doom gripped his chest. Perhaps less than a tenday ago children had been playing in the street, and a close-knit community of happy villagers had gone about their everyday business. Now, the streets felt defiled and barren, and a malignant taint hung in the air.

They traced the signs to a ring of seven crimsonwood and slatestone dwellings with high peaked roofs. The pattern of the homes was that of a meshtiqua, a traditional elven domicile where several generations of a single family lived. Steps led to a silverwood gate that opened into the common yard shared by the houses.

As they prepared to enter, the wind shifted. A noxious stench hit Bannor like a hard punch. Tears came to his eyes and his stomach tightened. He recoiled a step. Sarai halted, then convulsed.

The sound of boots on rock made Bannor turn. The Queen strode toward them from another part of the village. The pungent smell of death halted her as if she’d struck a wall. After a moment, she forged ahead as though wading against a current.

The woman’s expression looked so stiff her face could have been a mask. Her lips barely moved when she spoke. “Have you been inside yet?”

Bannor shook his head.

She started forward, and Sarai took her arm. Kalindinai stared at her daughter’s hand. She raised her chin.

Kalindinai pried Sarai’s fingers off her arm and strode for the gate. Bannor followed. He had no desire to see what lay inside, but he knew the Queen shouldn’t see it alone.

The gate opened abruptly and Laramis stepped out with a handkerchief tied around his nose and mouth. Even in the darkness, Bannor saw the pallor of the man’s skin. He closed the gate, and put his back to it. Laramis let out a breath and his muscular frame quivered.

The Queen stepped up to him.

“Milady, there is nothing inside you wish to see.” Bannor heard a tremor in Laramis’s usually strident voice. Whatever lay within must be a horrible beyond words.

“Move aside, Lord De’Falcone. These are my subjects.”

The Queen gripped his arm to push him aside.

The paladin stood his ground. He pulled the scarf from around his face, and then took her shoulders in his hands. “Milady, please trust me.” When he said the word ‘please’ he gave the Queen’s shoulders a shake. Bannor heard a near hysterical note in his voice. “No good can come of seeing what’s within.”

Wren stepped off the porch of nearby meshtiqua house. She moved as though in a daze. Every moment or so she shook her head. The savant stopped by Sarai and leaned against her. Bannor saw tears on the woman’s face glistening in the starlight.

“What’s in there?” Sarai asked.

The savant shook her head again. “It’s—the whole town.” Her voice wavered. “Lord’s—they—”

“What?!” The Queen demanded.

“Flayed them,” Wren cleared her throat. “Stripped off their skin. Bastards—” She put a forearm across her face. “Gutted and piled like wood. Even the children. Lords. Nothing we can do. Nothing.” The despondency and shock in Wren’s voice made chills go through him. Skinned them? Children?

Wren staggered back in the direction of the horses. The Queen looked after her then to the gate guarded by Laramis.

Laramis’ voice startled him. “Bannor, there is one thing you must see.” The hard tone in the man’s voice made Bannor meet his gaze. Laramis’ blue eyes looked glassy, but his face looked as stern as he’d ever seen it. “Inside, there is—” the man balled his hands into fists. “I am sorry,” he said the words as though in anguish. “You need to see it.”

The Queen glanced from Laramis to Bannor.

“Matradomma,” Laramis said. “It is worse even than Wren says. Come with me back to the horses. I must—” A tear trickled down his cheek. His voice caught. “I must get my sanctifications and say a prayer over these souls.”

Sarai came forward and took her mother’s arm. For a moment, it looked as if the Queen would fight both of them. Something, perhaps the tears on the paladin’s face convinced her to relent. She allowed herself to be led away by Sarai and the blond man.

Sarai glanced back at Bannor, obviously torn between him and her duty to her mother.

As they walked away, Laramis paused. “Do not tarry,” he said over his shoulder. “We must say our condolences and be gone. We must warn other towns to prevent this from happening again.”

Bannor nodded. He watched them disappear into the darkness and turned his attention to the gate. Another gust brought more of the stench. His stomach knotted.

What could be inside that he must see? The scent of death and the thought of so many slain elves made his mind reel. It took all his will to grab the gate handle.

His heart felt like a stone in his chest. Steeling himself, he lifted the latch and pulled it open. Inside lay a hexagonal courtyard whose sides consisted of the different houses belonging to the meshtiqua. The rank odor was overpowering. He took his weapon-oiling rag and tied it so it covered his nose and mouth.

A scalebark tree loomed over the center of the yard. Long thick strands of something hung from the branches. Elsewhere around the court, more of what appeared to be the same substance dangled from around bushes and fence posts.

The only obvious feature was a single flickering point of light on the far side of yard. He headed for the light. He skirted the tree because whatever hung from it dripped. He heard droplets pattering on the ground and didn’t care to learn what it was. He stepped with caution, Odin only knew what lay underfoot. Death hung in the air and it clawed at his neck with ghostly hands.

He moved faster.

On the far side, an awning covered a raised patio. A fist-sized object lit the wooden slats and the immediate area. A creaking sound and a movement in the shadows made him freeze. His heart thudded, and he grabbed for his axes. Something hanging from a rope twisted back and forth in the breeze.

He calmed himself and stepped into the circle of light. He shuddered as he recognized a half grown elf girl dangling from a rope by her neck. Her eyes had been charred out. As she rotated, he saw that blackened letters had been seared into the skin of her back.

‘Garmtur,’ it read. ‘See what your resistance costs?—Hecate.’

Waves of disgust and anger rushed through him. Words erupted from his throat, sounding huge in the silence. “You—monster!” The fury became a burning ball of fire in his chest. He threw back his head and howled. At the same time, golden spirals of light corkscrewed around his arms, blasted through the patio roof and lanced into the sky.

Fragments of burning wood rained down over the courtyard making visible the desecrated and butchered corpses of the townspeople piled in the pool.

The sight hit him like another blow. Coughing and choking, he ran. He staggered out into the village too sick to walk in a straight line. He wished the darkness would swallow him up and take the visions of the dead from his mind. They had done nothing.

Nothing.

He’d killed them just as certainly as Hecate did. Odin, why had he even been born?

Disoriented, he stumbled over something metallic in the street. The pieces of it scattered across the path.

Bannor turned to look at what he’d tripped over; a set of black metallic armor that looked vaguely like the husk of a beetle.

The remains of one of Hecate’s warriors. So, the villagers had fought back. The sight gave him heart that they at least struck back at these murdering devils. He noticed that more corpses of the creatures lay scattered across the town square.

Many more. He picked his way around the bodies of at least a dozen of the armored hulks. Most of the black enameled metal was dented and shredded by weapon blows. Arrows jutted from the remains of others. It looked like the work of skilled warriors.

Were the fighters that did this among the slain? If only he and the others had gotten here sooner they might have been able to help. Odin, he felt so sick. How did Hecate even know they would be here? They didn’t even know about coming here. It had all been an accident of the Garmtur? Or had it? When they reappeared it had been light. The only way for that to happen would be that time had passed—or they’d somehow jumped backward several bells. He winced—he wasn’t prepared to deal with that possibility.

After a moment, he realized his name was being called. Damn. He’d probably scared the rest of the group with his outburst.

The creak of metal behind him made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. A sense of danger turned his guts to ice. He ripped his axe from its sheath and spun.

A huge creature in gleaming black armor stood only an arm length away with a giant spear pointed at him. It and the ones behind wore a helmet fashioned to look like a serpent’s cowl and bared fangs. Red glows emanated from elongated eye slits in the faceplate.

Bannor hadn’t even raised his axes before the monster charged.

I have heard it said that imitation is a form of complement.

Imitation is a weak mind demonstrating a lack of originality—or a youngster trying to mimic some figure they admire.

I do not want servants who imitate, I want ones that anticipate and improvise…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Fifty-Nine

« ^ »

Heart pounding, Bannor turned to face a dozen opponents. He knew running wasn’t an option. Nothing in the town square afforded enough cover. If he retreated, the black armored warriors would cut him down.

An icy gust swirled through the plaza, rattling the metallic husks of slain dark-side warriors. The wind flicked through the cloaks of the enemy, making it look as if demon wings fluttered on their backs. Their helmets, fashioned to resemble a cowled serpent’s head, all focused on him with glowing red eye slits.

Bannor pulled his axe and dagger. These monsters murdered an entire town. The bones in his hands made cracking sounds as he tightened his grip on his weapons. He didn’t care how many there were—they would remember this battle.

The lead creature, two heads taller than Bannor and wielding a huge spear, moved first. The monster’s speed took him by surprise. Despite the heavy armor, it closed with him in an eye blink.

His weapons never came to bear. Yelling something muffled by the thick helm, the giant slipped between his axe and dagger. He braced for a stab of pain.

The warrior grabbed him around the back. Bannor’s ribs groaned as he was pulled hard against the unyielding breastplate of the fighter’s armor. The red glow behind the eye slits in the creature’s helm grew brighter.

The giant rattled something incomprehensible that echoed in its helm and squeezed tighter. Dots swam in Bannor’s vision, and he tried to ram his dagger into an open slit. The tip only deflected off the hard metal. The creature had pinned his other arm, preventing him from swinging the axe.

Bannor dropped his weapons. To get free he must make a vulnerable spot. The creature continued to rant as he grabbed the serpent helm and wrenched it off.

The warrior yelped. Bannor grabbed a handful of ebony hair as it spilled across the person’s features. Fist pulled back to strike, he froze. A woman!

He let go as she growled and shook her head. The moonlight illuminated a broad dusky-skinned face. Deep brown eyes glinted. The skin on the back of Bannor’s neck tingled. It felt as if all the air had been sucked from his lungs.

“Odin,” he breathed. “Irodee!”

The Myrmigyne continued to frown, the glint in her eyes becoming a red glow. She let him drop; he stumbled and caught his balance, staring up at the huge woman. Had she been possessed? In his head he heard the echo of Meliandri’s dying wail. The sound of the damned.

Behind them a gate slammed. She flinched and gestured to the armored ranks behind her. The group melted into shadows as though turning into mist.

She focused on him. Her expression looked as cold as a snake’s. “Tell Irodee, the name of the pale woman.”

“Irod-ack!” The Myrmigyne’s hand flashed to his throat and clamped down before he finished the word.

“Speak only answers,” she hissed. She loosened her grip and glanced toward the meshtiqua where the townsfolk had been slaughtered. “Name the pale woman.”

Bannor’s heart pounded. He heard footsteps growing closer. Sarai and the others were coming. The dark-side warriors had positioned themselves to flank anyone entering the square.

“Hecate,” he said. His voice cracked. Should he yell to warn his friends? Irodee was acting so strange. No telling what would happen if he called out.

Her voice remained flat. “Name your love.” The footsteps were nearly on top of them.

“Sarai,” he answered.

Irodee stiffened. She put two fingers to her mouth and blew two piercing whistles that echoed through the town. Laramis and Sarai skidded to a stop at the edge of the square as four warriors materialized out of the darkness on either side of them.

“Jamai! Ke ha!” Irodee yelled.

Swords, knives, axes, and arrow points glimmered in the dim light all around Laramis, Sarai, Wren, Janai and the Queen as they braced for battle. The ring of glinting metal tightened.

“Irodee, no!” Bannor yelled. He lunged for the big woman only to have his arm caught and levered behind him. “Augh. No! We’re your friends!”

Laramis, at the front of the group, peered through the darkness. “Irodee? My Jewel!” His sword burst into brilliant flames. The warriors in front of him staggered, covering the eyeholes of their helms. Brandishing the burning weapon, he drove them to either side and raced forward. Startled, the fighters lunged after him, weapons aimed at his back.

“Jewel? Can it be you?”

Bannor felt the huge woman go rigid. His body turned to ice. What should he do? His weapons lay within easy reach. “Mada—?” She pushed Bannor forward and held up a hand in warning. “Vriaka!”

The creatures behind Laramis halted, still keeping their weapons ready. The paladin glanced back, his sword still gleaming like a firebrand. When had Laramis ever been able to do that? Bannor never saw the paladin use magic before. He glanced at Irodee. The giant woman’s body hummed with tension.

Her voice sounded small. “Is it really you, Laramis?”

“Aye, it is, my Jewel.” He stepped closer. The flickering light from the sword illuminated his face. Flames danced in the man’s eyes. He pulled his riding glove off and reached toward her. “Take my hand. Let there be no doubt.”

A murmur went through group standing behind Laramis. Weapons stirred. A wind moaned through the town square. In the distance, lightning flickered.

Irodee’s voice cracked. “You have died so many times, Mada. I have killed my best friend.” Her gaze went to where Wren and Sarai stood together with Janai and the Queen. “Put my spear through her heart.” Her hands opened and closed convulsively. “Hecate is the mistress of illusions, she preys on our hopes—” she paused. “My hopes. You might be another doppelgänger sent to kill me.”

Laramis smiled. “I am no doppelgänger, My Jewel. Take my hand and you will see.”

Bannor’s heart pounded. What had Irodee been through while they were separated? Clearly, the woman was in pain. He saw it in her features, and in the way her hand shook. He saw in her eyes the look of someone at the verge of complete despair.

“Irodee,” he said. “It’s—”

Laramis held up a hand and Bannor stopped. “My Jewel knows me.” He dropped the sword to the ground with a clang. The flames surrounding the blade guttered and went out. “Magic creatures may resemble me, but only a true De’Falcone bleeds fire for his love.”

The man and woman stared into each other’s eyes. The moment seemed to stretch out forever. All around him, Bannor sensed bodies growing ever more taut.

Tears welled in Irodee’s eyes. “By Nethra, Laramis it is you!”

The paladin and his wife came together in a clash of metal, hugging, crying, and kissing. The meeting of their bodies cut the tension in the square like a giant knife. Weapons poised to strike were dropped. Clenched fists relaxed. Helmets echoed with sighs.

Sarai hurried forward and took Bannor’s arm. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head.

Wren, the Queen and Janai came forward. Wren put an arm around Irodee’s waist and was pulled into the circle of the Myrmigyne’s arms.

Bannor shook his head. Seeing Irodee made him happy, but it didn’t compensate for the horror that Hecate left him in the meshtiqua. She had killed innocent people and laid the blame on him. He couldn’t bear having that happen again.

At the same time, any creature willing to order death so indiscriminately was no one he wanted having control over the pillars of reality. The sight of that elven girl would live in his mind for many summers to come.

He hugged Sarai, craving the warmth of her body. “I’m sorry,” he said. “So sorry.”

“For what, my One?”

He put his face in the curve of her neck and breathed in her fragrance, letting it block out the fetid odors carried on the wind. “For getting you into this. For causing so much harm.”

She grabbed a handful of his hair and forced him to look into her eyes. “This is not your fault,” she growled. “If you say that again, I’ll spank you.”

He sighed and kissed her. The taste of Sarai, her touch helped banish the soiled and guilty feeling that had made him run from the meshtiqua and the dead interred there.

She returned the kiss, but her face remained serious. “I mean it. That witch Hecate means to separate us. Don’t let her.”

“You are right, Little Star.” He let out a breath. “But, I can’t help it. You didn’t see what—”

Sarai put a hand over his mouth. “No. I ache for them, too. They are my brethren, the subjects whom my family is sworn to protect.” She gripped his shoulder, her fingernails digging in until they hurt. “You and I will avenge them and every life that has been wrongly taken. We can’t do that if we doubt ourselves.”

“Sarai’s right. The dark ones try to kill us all a little at a time.” Irodee’s voice surprised Bannor. The big Myrmigyne wore a determined expression. She held Wren and Laramis, an arm wrapped around each as if she feared they might vanish if she let go.

Janai and the Queen stepped close. Irodee’s allies followed, keeping a respectful distance.

When Kalindinai was close enough to be recognized, Irodee’s eyes widened. She bowed her head and spoke in Elvish. “Mihaad kel, Matradomma.”

Kalindinai raised an eyebrow. “Ghanda.”

Irodee raised her head but did not look the Queen in the eye. “Apologies.”

“Accepted,” the elder elf responded. “Tell Us what transpires here. Why are you and the others dressed as minions of the dark side? What did you have to do with what happened here?”

The Myrmigyne sighed, glanced to Laramis, then Wren. “The armor is a disguise. The town—” she paused and bit her lip. “We arrived in time only to avenge the people.”

A rumble went through the fighters standing behind the Queen and Janai.

The Queen nodded with a rueful expression on her face. Her voice, when she spoke, was forced and raw. “It is good that these villains did not escape unpunished.” She gripped the black rod she carried with both hands. She focused on Wren. “Arwen, perhaps you would introduce us?”

The savant reddened. “Matradomma, this is my very good friend and wife to Laramis, Irodee De’Falcone.”

Irodee bowed her head again. Dressed in full plate armor as she was, a curtsey would have looked silly. “Eh mam komaha, Matradomma.” She spoke the elvish with barely a pause. Sarai seemed surprised. Elves often learned the common language, but rarely did humans take the time to study the elvish tongue.

Bannor had learned some from Sarai out of necessity. He knew the phrase Irodee used meant, ‘in your blood’. To a noble, such as the Queen, the phrase represented a promise of fealty. That is, it did if he remembered Sarai’s lessons properly.

Kalindinai sniffed and glanced at Wren. “We suppose We shouldn’t be surprised Arwen, that the jungle woman has better manners than you.”

Wren frowned. “Yes, Matradomma.”

Kalindinai turned and surveyed the collection of fighters who had scarcely stirred since their conversation began. “So, what of these others, Lady Irodee? Who are they?”

“Mostly your subjects, some are duna agon, some humans and a few dwarves.” She raised her voice and gestured to the armored figures. “Mih’ka aya atah!”

Many of the people removed their helmets revealing men and women, many elven, others human and half-elves.

“I wondered why you kept yelling in elvish,” Sarai said.

“Dwarves,” muttered Laramis. “Where is DacWhirter? He isn’t—”

“No,” Irodee said. “He’s north and east of us organizing a group of hill dwarves that live along the Malan border.” She met Bannor’s eyes and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry for scaring you. It hard to trust anything we see. There are bands of doppelgängers roaming the hills south of here. They can alter their appearance so they resemble anyone that’s clear in your mind.”

Lightning cracked. The wind picked up and became a steady roar. The husks of the dead dark-side creatures rattled and clattered.

“We’d best find a spot out of the storm,” Laramis said. “Do you know some place where we can make a secure camp, my Jewel?”

Irodee looked into the sky as forks of lightning leaped from cloud to cloud north of them. Fat drops of rain began dropping in ones and twos.

“Yes, there is a Kirika mound about a quarter bell away. We’ve been holing up there.”

Bannor’s stomach tightened. “You want us to sleep overnight inside a mausoleum?”

The Myrmigyne shrugged. “The vault is underground and the walls are thick. It’s clean inside, and after all we’ve seen—” The woman sighed. “A few more bodies in crypts don’t bother us all that much…”

Doppelgängers are interesting little creatures who draw upon the psychic energy of a target creature and assume that creature’s shape or that of a person who is clear in their mind. They are fascinating little abominations. Though I have a large hand in their creation, I cannot claim being their primary inventor. Still they are interesting tools that experience a wide variety of dementia from schizophrenia to psychotic and manic episodes. What they lack in mental stability they compensate for in cunning and meanness. They are angry little demons that make a fine hammer for breaking the back of people foolish enough to mount an organized resistance to my occupation forces…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Sixty

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Thunder rumbled and rain pounded. Powerful gusts hurled the water in stinging sheets and dark clouds raced across the sky. Lightning flashed. Bannor’s horse bucked, forcing him to drag on the reins and keep the skittish thickmane under control as he led it up the incline. He kept his gaze fixed on the six armored warriors marching ahead. Among them, Irodee’s towering form stood out as she slogged up the muddy hillside. Though he couldn’t see her, Wren and her horse trudged somewhere within that group.

Beside him, Sarai struggled against the strong winds, poor footing and touchy horse. He took hold of her horse’s lead strap, and helped her drag the balky animal ahead. Her glowing eyes fixed on his, and he felt a ‘thank you’ pressure on his wrist.

Laramis strode next to the Queen and Janai. Even in the downpour, Bannor recognized a new vibrancy in the way the man moved. With Irodee back, his whole demeanor had brightened.

The wind’s bite lessened as they entered a stand of trees encircling the hilltop. Boughs groaned in the wind and leaves rattled. They followed a winding path edged with gray stone markers. Patches of colorful flowers lay matted to the ground by the force of the storm.

Ahead, the trail ended in a stepped stone building—the Kirika, the entrance to the Elven burial chambers. As the group reached the steps descending within, they bunched up. Bannor saw that despite Irodee’s assurances, none were eager to enter—especially alone.

He and Sarai reached the hem of hard ground that surrounded the low stone structure a few steps behind Laramis, the Queen and Janai. The rest of Irodee’s warriors crowded in behind them.

Lightning flashes illuminated columns of red-veined malachite that ran the length of the building. Carvings of griffins, pegasai, dragons, rocs, and other legendary flying creatures chased each other around the thick stone flashing that jutted out from the flat roof. Thoughts of entering this place made Bannor shiver.

With the help of one of her men, Irodee levered the metal doors open with a loud creaking. To Bannor, the shadows in the kirika looked ready to spill out and crawl up the steps like something alive.

Sarai gripped his arm. His stomach felt tight as he forced himself to take a few steps forward. By their hesitation, it was obvious that the Queen and Janai felt uncomfortable with entering the kirika, too.

Lightning licked across the sky. Thunder rattled the stones. Bannor’s heart skipped. Several of Irodee’s armored warriors flinched. Sarai clutched his arm so hard it hurt.

Irodee bent in the doorway. Something cracked repeatedly against metal. Flashes lit the steps. Then, light flared and the end of a torch caught fire. The Myrmigyne rose and lit sconces on either wall. The flickering orange light dispelled the surreal darkness lingering in the entry. Irodee led the way lighting more sconces as she went. Wren followed close on the woman’s heels. Mumbling what sounded like a prayer, Laramis hurried in next.

Four of Irodee’s warriors took the leads of their horses, and led them around the building out of sight. He and Sarai approached the Queen and Janai who stood at the entrance steps. Two warriors stood by holding Meliandri’s limp form upright. The stricken elf healer stared into the sky, skin waxy and jaw slack. Occasionally, droplets of rain made her blink.

Kalindinai met Bannor’s gaze. Her soaked hair and riding garments clung to her like a wrinkled skin. Her expression looked tight, the lines of her face pulled down with fatigue.

Sarai put an arm around her mother, and she and Janai led the Queen down the steps. Bannor and the two warriors carrying Meliandri followed.

The interior of the Kirika felt warm and dry, but not confining and oppressive as Bannor feared. Every footstep and creak of armor resounded off the sanded stone walls.

Inside, the Kirika’s builders had divided the space into four sections. Low partitions separated a small shrine to the Elven god Carellion, a grief circle, a viewing area and the slanted runway that ended in the doors to the burial chamber proper.

Irodee spoke in clipped Elven pointing here and there, apparently assigning tasks. The prompt way her orders were followed left no question in Bannor’s mind that she was the unquestioned leader of this band. One group stood in the viewing area and helped each other remove their armor. Others stacked wood and worked at starting a fire in the fireplace in the wall by the grief circle. The rest used blankets and materials stored in the shrine to make sleeping arrangements.

Bannor looked back as the entrance doors boomed shut, and heavy bolts clanked into place. The last of fighters stood near the doors stripping off their armor.

Laramis and Wren helped Irodee remove her armor. The three of them shared another hug. The elves and half-elves watched Laramis and Irodee with round eyes.

Kalindinai watched the activity with obvious interest. Janai and Sarai helped her draw off the soaked leather cloak. Bannor helped the two men lay Meliandri in the shrine. As he arranged the woman on a mat, he felt a pang of pity. She had seemed such a vibrant person when he met her. Now, she might as well be doll of rags and string.

Shaking himself, he went to help Sarai take off her drenched clothing. “This isn’t as bad as I imagined,” he said to her.

“No,” she agreed. “But, I’d hate to get trapped in here.”

Bannor looked around. “These walls are thick.”

“Please,” Janai said in a shaky voice. “Don’t talk like that. Kirikas make me nervous enough.”

The Queen put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. She glanced around. “No one likes to be reminded of death.”

Laramis turned with his arm still around Irodee’s waist. His eyes flashed and a glow pulsed in the middle of his chest. When he spoke, his voice echoed. “Let there be no talk of death!” He clapped Wren on the shoulder and made a fist. “We are a force once again. Take heart!” His words rolled through the room like thunder. The sound gripped Bannor like a vice. Everyone in the stood as though riveted. “It is Hecate who should be afraid,” he continued. “We shall defeat her avatars and banish them forever.” He held his arms outspread. “Veeg gist del thon! Victory over the dark!”

Irodee raised her fist. “Veeg!”

Wren raised her hands as well.

A loud crack of metal on stone resounded through the chamber. The Queen raised her black rod, scanning the assemblage. “Ja ecadra. My people. Veeg!”

One of the burliest warriors stepped to Irodee’s side and pumped his fist.

Sarai and Janai added their voices.

Around the room, others joined the chant. The mingled voices echoed in the chamber, sounding like hundreds of voices rather than the score actually here.

Bannor’s heart pounded as he felt the energy of the gathering surge through him. Laramis was right, without faith they would never defeat the avatars. Thousands of lives depended on his actions. If he surrendered, those who had died would all perish in vain. He glanced at Meliandri, and felt a surge of anger and repugnance rush through him. The avatars and their minions must be defeated, to prevent deaths like Meliandri’s and others.

He mustered his courage and raised his voice with the others.

“Veeg!” The word vibrated the walls and the spirits sleeping in the catacombs below seemed to join in.

“Veeg!”

“Veeg..!”

***

Bannor slept the soundest he had in weeks. In a single blaze of clarity, the whole group came together as a unit.

He opened his eyes. A glance around showed no one had yet stirred. Bannor lay with his arm around Sarai enjoying her warmth. Wan embers popped in the fireplace that glimmering and crumbling. All around him, he heard snores and heavy breathing. Vision still blurry from sleep, he recalled how Laramis had led the soldiers in a cheer.

He glanced across the grief ring to where Irodee lay wrapped around her husband like blanket. Even asleep, the man maintained a measure of dignity, his face composed and serene.

Last night’s scene had happened so fast. The abrupt way it occurred, and the incongruence of the experience, made Bannor uneasy. He remembered sensing that the paladin was manipulating the gathering. Veeg, victory—he used word the like a spell that energized battle weary men and women, including the Queen and himself. It troubled him at how easily he’d been captured by that fanatical verve—almost out of control.

He rolled his head back and studied the star-scape mural on the ceiling. Why, when they most needed unity, did he abruptly mistrust the man? Last night, he let Laramis convince him their group would overcome all obstacles. It felt marvelous.

Laramis’ rally call brought new life to Irodee’s troop. With the Queen and her daughters there to show support, those warriors would march into Hades itself.

Bannor pushed away his misgivings. How could he defeat the avatars if he couldn’t trust his friends?

Frustrated, he disentangled himself from Sarai and rose. He sat on the hearth and tossed more branches into the embers. The rumble and hiss of the storm echoed down the chimney flue.

He was like that storm, powerful yet at the same time impotent. To the unwary, a tempest often proved lethal. To the well-prepared, it posed only an inconvenience. The avatars were ready. Every fiber of his being said so. He remembered Irodee’s words in the town square, ‘Hecate is the mistress of illusions, she preys on our hopes—’. They’d been the words of a woman on the verge of despair.

Their only hope of defeating the avatars lay in doing something unexpected. Going for the gate seemed obvious to him. The Queen thought the opposite, saying the act should be seen as too desperate. Wasn’t desperation the emotion Hecate wanted him to feel?

Damn, he hated guessing games. He tossed a few more branches on the flames and watched as the smaller tendrils of wood curled up, reddened, and ignited.

As he turned from the fire, he froze, realizing someone was watching him. Legs dangling over the partition, one of Irodee’s troops nodded to him.

Bannor nodded back. The elf raised a drinking skin in one hand and pointed to it, he gestured for Bannor to come sit by him.

The soldier kept his gray-blond hair braided into rows. His shoulders, now rounded, looked like they once had carried weight of the world. For a moment, he simply stared at Bannor with heavy-lidded amber eyes that glinted like stained glass. He then grinned, a black gap in his smile where three front teeth had obviously been knocked out. Now close, Bannor saw that the elf’s ears bore unmistakable signs of purposeful disfigurement. Borderlanders called this particular hate crime against elves, an ‘ear bobbing’. It surprised Bannor that this elf wanted anything to do with a human.

The soldier put a hand over his heart. “Corrd,” he said in a gruff, but quiet voice.

He mimicked the gesture. “Bannor.”

Corrd nodded and shook the drinking skin. “Quetzal.” He took a pull from the nozzle, and sighed. He shook the bag again for emphasis. “Shimack. Good.” He held it toward Bannor.

Nodding, Bannor accepted the bag and took a drink. The sweet bitter brew made a shudder go through him. It reminded him of the dark concoction that Sarai occasionally made by steeping fire-leaves in boiling water. His heart thumped harder and the fuzziness in his vision started clearing. “Whoa.” He let out a breath.

The elf’s grin widened. He pointed at the skin. “Aka?”

He smiled back. “Aka, very shimack.” He took another gulp and passed it back.

Corrd and he sat for a while, sharing the quetzal and not saying anything. Other members of Irodee’s group were beginning to stir.

“Yo-urs,” Corrd asked in thickly accented common. He pointed to Bannor’s mithril hand axe that lay next to his bedroll.

Bannor dipped his head. “Eight summers,” he tried to recall the Elven words. He counted—ike, daba, tren… “Octa cyclica.”

Corrd made an approving grunt. He pointed to the axe, then himself. “Me do.” He mumbled in Elvish obviously reaching for words. “Bord-er.” He pulled a scabbard off his belt and showed Bannor. Embossed in silver, the stylized images of the pennons of the twelve counties of Malan twined down the length of the sheath.

Bannor made a fist in approval. “Dak’Rega,” he said.

Corrd brightened and punched Bannor in the shoulder. “Aka.”

This soldier did for Malan the same job Bannor did for Ivaneth. The elves of the Dak’Rega guarded the border villages and served as scouts to prevent incursions of vermin like orcs and goblins.

Bannor held out his hand and they meshed their fingers. “Good,” he said. “Shimack.” He clapped his other hand on top.

Corrd patted the stack. “Veeg,” he muttered then drew his hands back. He shook his head and laughed, then mumbled something in Elvish.

“Veeg,” Bannor repeated. He took the bag of quetzal from Corrd and took another body-riveting gulp. “We agree on that. We’re going to get crunched.”

Corrd grunted. The elf stiffened and his tan skin paled. He suddenly began studying his lap.

“Introduce me to your friend?” Sarai said from next to him. Bannor felt a light touch on his shoulder.

His mate’s silvery hair was mussed from sleep, and her face looked drawn from not being entirely awake. She wore nothing but one of his long tunics and her short-clothes. Startled, it took a moment for him to find his words. “Sarai.” He put his arm around her. “Ummm—this is Corrd. He’s a Dak’Rega. We were sharing some a—a quetzal.” Why did he feel embarrassed?

“Corrd?” Sarai rubbed her temple. “I’ve heard that name before. You two sharing that quetzal, or is it just a male thing?”

Bannor wasn’t sure how much of the common language that Corrd understood, but the elf stammered an apology. Wiping the nozzle, he presented it to Sarai, obviously taking great pains not to accidentally touch her.

She took a big swallow, shuddered, and then sighed. “Yes-s-s, real quetzal, not that weak fire-leaf sludge.” She tilted her head back and downed another big hit.

He glanced at Corrd. The soldier’s eyes seemed to have doubled in size. Seeing the princess half-dressed, and taking swigs from a bag of quetzal was probably the shock of Corrd’s life. Bannor could only imagine what he would feel like if King Edmund’s daughter had stumbled up to him half-dressed and asked for a drink.

Sarai’s eyes brightened and color flushed her cheeks. She took a last sip and handed it back with ‘thanks’ in Elvish. Corrd received the bag stiffly as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Much better,” she remarked to Bannor.

He gave her a squeeze. “So, what do you think we’ll do today?”

Sarai thought for a moment, and ran her fingers through her hair. “Well, we probably—”

A frantic pounding on the kirika doors interrupted her sentence. Bannor’s heart jumped and he looked to the shadowed entryway where the torches had burned down.

All around the room, soldiers sat up in their bedrolls, some bolting to their feet.

Sarai’s eyes widened and she stared at the huge metal portal. “First thing might be to figure out who wants in so badly.”

As the hammering continued, Bannor grabbed his weapons from the floor and ran to the doors. Corrd followed at his back.

They both slid to a stop, shoulders against the thick metal. The pounding sounded like sword hilts or something similar hitting the surface outside. Muffled voices demanded entry.

Should they open the door and see who it was? It might be Malanian subjects seeking safety from the storm. He glanced at Corrd whose face remained intent as he listened to the sounds.

“Don’t open those doors,” Irodee said behind them.

Bannor glanced back. The huge woman stopped next to Corrd and repeated the message in Elvish.

“How can you be sure?” Bannor asked.

The woman’s dark brown eyes flashed. “Trust me.”

Abruptly, the thumping on the door stopped. The echoes in the hall died out. Everyone glanced around.

“Damn,” Laramis muttered. “Our horses are outside.”

Many of Irodee’s warriors began pulling on their armor and strapping on swords. The Queen stepped between Wren and Laramis. Janai took Sarai’s arm and scanned the kirika nervously.

The building shuddered. Everyone ducked and stared at the ceiling. It was as if lightning had struck the roof.

“Not good,” Bannor mumbled.

Irodee rapped out orders, and her troops organized themselves into four groups.

The wavering flames in the hearth caught Bannor’s attention. A sense of danger shocked through him. “Look, the fire—!”

The fire blazed and a single fluttering shape the size of a bird erupted out of the fireplace. Two warriors flailed at a black silhouette as it zigzagged across the room. Bannor raised his axe and sword to fend the thing away as it suddenly swerved toward him.

The creature hit like a hammer. The force slammed Bannor off his feet. He landed on his back with a crash and all the air in his lungs whooshed out. A heavy weight pressed against his chest.

Through a haze of dots spinning in his vision Bannor tried to lever the weight off him. His fingers locked in other fingers and he stared into dark eyes looking out of a wolfish face.

His own.

Actually, I admire courage. I simply detest the trait in creatures when it gives them the will to defy my wishes…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Sixty-One

« ^ »

Lying on the floor of the kirika entranceway, Bannor gripped the hands clamped onto his arm and throat. When he met the gaze of his assailant, it felt as if he’d dived into icy river. Steel-colored eyes returned his stare. Those eyes looked out of a wolfish face with long cheekbones, a broad nose, and protruding jaw. Bannor knew that face better than anyone’s—it was his. The shock only made him struggle harder to shove the doppelgänger away. They tossed and rolled, but he couldn’t dislodge the creature.

“Get it off me!” the doppelgänger yelled in a voice identical to Bannor’s.

“No, get it off me!” he screamed.

Boots scuffing on rock sounded all around him as he and the duplicate wrestled.

Bannor heard the voice in his head.

The words hit him like knife jabs. Another threat sent by one of Hecate’s vile beasts. This time trying to steal the Nola they’d been unable to take by force. A painful itch gnawed at his skull as if something were boring into his brain. It must be the doppelgänger trying to get at the Garmtur so it could wrest it away from him.

Ice and fire swept through Bannor. The moment stretched out as voices shrieked in his mind. Part of him cried ‘run’! Another part said ‘kill’! The gods are invincible! Everything has a weakness. People will die. They’re dead anyway unless you fight. Retreat-regroup! Rammal died with an arrow in his back. You almost got killed trying to rescue him. He might be alive today if you hadn’t run. Pain. Guilt. Death! Life!

Out of the war raging in him, an image focused in his mind. A tortured elf girl, eyes gouged out and body violated. Killed—simply to discourage him—to make him despair. It could have been Sarai. Next time, it might be, if he didn’t stop running—stop doubting.

Hecate robbed him of peace, curtailed his freedom, now she tried to steal his identity. No more. Strike back-hard. The decision felt like a explosion that cleared away clinging doubts and fears. Chains snapped, and with their breaking came a surge of strength.

He rolled atop the doppelgänger and smashed its face with his forearm. “I—” crack! “Am—” crack! “Tired—” crack! “Of you!”

Bloodied, the creature cried out. “Agh! Sarai! Help me!”

“Dammit, I’m the real one!” Bannor gritted. “Kill it! It’s trying to get the Nola!”

“Don’t listen! It’s a trick!”

“I can’t—” Sarai cried in an agonized voice, “tell them apart!”

“Separate them fast!” Wren yelled. “I sense Nola in both.”

A boom resounded in the kirika as a massive blow struck the vault-like entrance door.

Yelps of surprise echoed through the room.

“Sarai,” the Queen ordered, “use your power on the back wall. Make us another way out.”

“Mother, I—”

“Go!”

Irodee rapped out orders. Her warriors dragged Bannor off the bloodied doppelgänger.

Another impact vibrated the metal doors.

Laramis staggered holding one ear. “They must have a ram!”

“There’s no time!” The doppelgänger struggled as the men pinioned its arms. “Wren, can’t you tell he’s the creature!”

Bannor concentrated on resisting the magic invading his mind. Through his Nola, he saw threads appearing between himself and the creature. He didn’t want to hurt the soldiers holding him, but he would to keep his power from being stolen.

“Wren!” Bannor pleaded, trying to twist free. Crunches of pain shot through his arms, legs, and throat as the men tightened their grips. “If you don’t kill it, I will! It’s tearing at my Nola!”

“The enemy wants to rattle us so we make a mistake.” Wren said in flat voice. She flinched as another boom went through the room. “Questions won’t work. Doppelgängers can read minds.”

Bannor glanced to Sarai. A blue glow shone from her arms onto the wall. Before the Queen broke the magic bond between her daughter and him, Sarai melted whole cliffs with ease. Separated from his Nola, she strained to even make a distortion in the stone.

“Corrd do!” The gap-toothed elf pushed through the fighters next to Wren.

“Wren, I don’t know how he…” the doppelgänger started.

“Shut up! Corrd, do it.”

“Hurry,” Bannor growled. His heart sped, and he focused his Nola. He didn’t know if this black mirror image could succeed in stealing his power, but the slightest chance posed too great a risk. He’d learned well how destructive the Garmtur Shak’Nola could be. They couldn’t afford to let the avatars get even a fraction of that ability.

Corrd bent first next to him, then by the creature. The elf pulled a long knife from his belt, and then leaned over the duplicate again. The room shuddered.

“Whatever you do, do it fast!” Janai said. “They’re almost in!”

Corrd turned and peered into Bannor’s eyes, his face almost touching his. Bannor smelled Quetzal on the elf’s breath.

Odin. Decide. Decide now—! He’d have to go through Corrd to get the creature. He formed the Nola’s pattern in his mind, preparing to catapult himself into the heart of the enemy.

I’m sorry, Corrd, this will hurt both of us.

The elf narrowed his amber eyes, the lines of his face taut. Without warning, he spun and drove his dagger into the doppelgänger’s gut and twisted it up into the sternum.

The creature convulsed and let out a screech. The red blood pumping from the twitching body changed to a pasty white color. Its smooth skin flickered through a rainbow of hues before becoming a pitted iron-gray hide. The features that so resembled Bannor’s rippled and elongated into a chinless wedge-shaped face. Wide, steel-colored eyes shriveled into black pits.

“Odin,” Bannor choked. All the energy he’d amassed to break free and strike rushed out of him.

Corrd threw an arm around Bannor’s neck. “Shimack, eh!?”

Bannor gripped the elf’s shoulder, relieved that he hadn’t been forced to hurt his allies to get the enemy. “Thanks! I owe you.”

Another boom on the door reminded him that Hecate still had other entertainments planned. He snatched his weapons off the floor and glanced again at the scaly corpse on the floor.

“That’s only a start, Hecate,” he murmured.

“Irodee, we’re leaving!” Wren sprinted toward the wall section where Sarai strove to form a hole. “Sarai, take cover!”

His mate saw Wren coming and dove over the partition wall. At the last moment, blue fire erupted around the savant as she launched herself at the rock softened by Sarai’s power. Wren hit the wall with an explosion that knocked Bannor off balance. He fell in a tangle with the other warriors as bits of rock pelted them.

A gray vapor filled the air, and icy gusts swirled into the room. Wren had broken through to the outside.

“Sarai!” Bannor called.

“Here!” she yelled back.

Bannor rushed to her as Irodee snapped orders. Six armored men charged into the smoke where Wren had disappeared.

The doors shrieked as the hinges tore from their moorings.

Bannor pulled Sarai up and propelled her through the still smoldering opening in the kirika’s back wall. They emerged into the faint dawn light. It no longer rained, but the wind continued to shriek in their faces. The trees swayed and groaned in a chaotic dance. Leaves and dust swirled. Despite the poor visibility, through the vibrating trees Bannor saw dozens of figures closing in.

Laramis and Irodee ducked through sundered wall behind him followed by more warriors. Steel clashed off to the left, and something howled. The Queen and Janai emerged last followed by Corrd who carried Meliandri’s inert body over his shoulder.

“I’ll clear us a path!” The Queen yelled over the wind. She raised her black scepter. Sparks crackled down its length. She swung the rod and a crimson ball shot from the weapon. When the sphere hit, it exploded in a burst of flames and smoke.

In the brief illumination, Bannor saw a score of the avatar’s twisted creatures glow white and disintegrate into ash. The wind scattered their remains.

Laramis and Irodee charged into the still-burning trees killing the monsters stunned by the blast.

“Bannor! Behind you!” Kalindinai warned.

He grabbed Sarai and sprang away as a giant club crashed into the ground behind them. He rolled and turned to face three hulks lumbering to attack. Each of the hairy creatures stood twice his height, with tree-stump arms and legs.

Bannor’s heart raced as he checked Sarai. She appeared unhurt as she crouched and yanked a knife from her belt. Right then, they’d come within a hair of dying. It made a fire burn inside him. He despised this fight. Hated seeing Sarai at risk. To end this war, he must not only fight back, but also destroy the enemy.

He lunged under the first ogre’s swing, and chopped its exposed knee with his axe. The strike knocked the huge humanoid off balance. When the ogre twisted to stay upright, Bannor let out a yell and swung his axe into its undefended throat. Hot blood splashed on his chest and arms as he yanked down on his axe. The ground shook as the monster slammed into the turf. Bannor dodged to avoid another attack. The massive club pulped the head of the one he knocked down.

Sarai yelled. She used the attacking ogre’s weapon like a bridge, running up its club and arm to get within reach of the head. The monster let out a bone rattling bellow when she plunged her dagger into its face. As the creature flailed, she grabbed a fistful of the behemoth’s hair and swung over its shoulder. Her weight snapping against the back of its head forced the ogre to topple.

The third creature swung at Sarai, and she sprang away. The giant mallet hammered the ogre she’d knocked over, smashing its chest with a sound like shattering rock. Bannor took the opportunity to thrust his dagger into the attacking ogre’s unguarded hip. The thing roared and swung at him.

Bannor danced out of range. On the other side, Sarai pounced, ripping into its knee twice with her dagger. The monster howled in pain and frustration. From behind Bannor, two arrows hissed overhead and thudded into the confused creature’s throat and forehead. He and Sarai dashed away as the ogre collapsed.

Veeg. Victory. Vindication. This is how Hecate’s challenge must be answered. Three down, thousands to go. Bannor turned to thank the archer for the assist. To his surprise, he saw it was Janai holding the bow.

“Stop playing with those ogres and come on!” she shouted.

They followed the older princess as she raced into the trees set on fire by the Queen’s magic. On either side, Irodee’s warriors hacked away at demons trying to cut off their escape.

Ahead, bright flashes lit the forest followed by claps of thunder. Orienting on the light, they scrambled through undergrowth slashing at the distorted humanoids that barred the way.

The Nola burned in Bannor’s mind. They must win this fight, must get through to the gate. No one else lay close enough to attempt to destroy the dimensional doorway. As they ran, he glanced over the hills to the black shaft splitting the southern sky. Thousands of creatures had already spilled through that titanic opening. The center must hold. Each soldier in the troop was vital to their having enough strength to reach the gate.

Bannor surrendered to the anger seething in him, let it drive his arms and legs. He imagined each strike as a vindication for the lives taken by avatar’s obscene minions.

They fought for what seemed like leagues, a running battle that took them down bramble choked ravines, across streams, and through tangled copses of trees. Bannor’s chest burned, and his heart labored. He lost count of the hideous faces of those he killed. His arms throbbed from cuts and scratches.

Irodee’s warriors discarded their armor in favor of speed. He and Sarai dropped back to protect Corrd who labored under Meliandri’s weight. After their group punched through the enemies encircling them, Wren and Irodee fell back to assist the rear guard. Laramis and a few of the bigger men from the troop took turns carrying the stricken healer.

By the time the horde gave up pursuit, Irodee and Janai had emptied three quivers. Bannor’s skin was lost beneath a sheath of caked-on enemy blood. Many of the troops crackled as they moved, crusts of blood having hardened on their clothing.

The sun lay above the trees when the troop staggered into a clearing by a crescent-shaped lake ringed with split boulders and reed patties. Gasping for air, limbs twitching with exhaustion they tumbled to a stop. Bannor collapsed in the grass with Sarai next to him. The wind blew chill against his perspiring face. His eyes stung and swallowing hurt.

Wren, shoulders slumped, blonde hair matted and stained trudged among the warriors taking a count. Her shredded tunic and breeches looked ready to fall off. “All accounted for,” she reported. “The gods must be smiling on us.”

He rocked his head and sighed. The center had held-for now.

Laramis pushed to his elbows and pointed a finger at the savant. Where everyone else looked grimy, only a few spots marked the paladin’s clothing and armor. “You doubted, Milady?”

“No sermons, please. I couldn’t take it now.” Wren tumbled down next to Janai and Queen.

“Hope you’re—happy,” Janai mumbled, rubbing an ugly scratch on her neck. “I’ll be—scarred for life now.”

“Don’t be so immature,” Kalindinai huffed. “A princess—needs a few marks. Forges character.”

The princess groaned.

Sarai’s laugh turned into a cough. Streaks of different colored stains ran down her cheeks like war tattoos. “Actually—it’s good—to see you stabbing—something else in the back—for a change!”

“Wait till we’re back home, sister.”

It seemed odd to laugh after witnessing so much death, but Bannor knew that after a battle warriors must either laugh or cry. The façade of humor focused minds away from the horror of feeling death’s sickle at your throat. With the war still ahead, no one could afford to have their courage shaken.

“How in Hades did they find us so fast?” he demanded.

“That explosion you set off last night in town was probably seen for leagues.” Wren grumbled. “They just tracked us.”

Bannor felt a flush of embarrassment. “Oh.”

“Not to worry,” Laramis said. “No one blames you for being angered by that horror.”

“What I want to know,” said Sarai “is how Corrd knew Bannor from the doppelgänger.”

Irodee tapped someone in the grass near her. She asked something in Elvish.

Corrd struggled to a sitting position and grinned over at Bannor. “Smelled—quetzal.”

Sarai sighed and rolled her head against him. “I hope you’re not offended because I couldn’t tell the difference.”

Bannor gave her a one-eyed stare and kissed her on the cheek. “Insulted? Why? Because you couldn’t tell the difference between me and some scaly, gray, mind-sucking vermin?”

Sarai poked him in the ribs.

He smiled and kissed her on the lips. She tasted salty, and he still detected hints of the bittersweet quetzal. He lay back and turned to look toward the avatar’s gate. The black spire stabbed into the sky in the distance like some immense dagger. Clouds roiled around it.

He felt a pressure on his hand and saw that she’d turned her attention to where he was looking.

“How will we do it? There must be a million creatures between us and that portal!” He drew a breath feeling the ache deep in his chest. “Hecate will start destroying more towns soon.”

“We fought through that,” Laramis said. “We can do it again. There shall soon be distractions aplenty to cover our approach.”

Bannor looked over at the paladin. “How do you know?”

“Trust me, my friend,” Laramis replied. “A sign came to me in the night.” He put his hand behind Irodee’s head and gave her a kiss.

When bribes, trickery, death threats and torture fail, there’s always the direct approach…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Sixty-Two

« ^ »

With Irodee and Laramis in the lead, the troop trudged along the base of steep ridge. The vertical face loomed over them like a cresting wave. All morning the wind had lashed their backs with icy gusts, and pelted them with flurries of rain. Knowing that every moment counted, they rested by the lake long enough to get their breath back, refill water skins, and wash off battle grime.

Then they headed for the avatar’s black spire driven by a disturbing revelation. Irodee and her soldiers who had lived in the shadow of the rift for tendays noted that the blackness was growing. More creatures poured through it every day. In a tenday, its size had increased by half and so had the flow of reinforcements. They must shut the gate before it became impossible to do so.

Their problem lay not only in getting to the rift, but closing it safely. Wren explained how if the gate suddenly collapsed it would rip a leagues-deep hole in the land, causing lava and ash to pour from the wound. The burning blood of the world would erupt in a devastating tide, smothering the surface in a sheath of basalt.

Bannor stared at the ebony thing writhing in the southern sky. As he studied its swirling patterns with his Nola, he still sensed that the portal was vulnerable. What was wrong? Why couldn’t he describe what his Nola gave him an intuitive sense of?

This rift looked leagues high and wider than a canyon. Being so huge, it should have an obvious linchpin, something vital they could capitalize on to sabotage it’s functioning.

So big. Where did the power come from to keep it open? How could anything, even a pantheon lord, control such immense forces?

The realization hit him like a blow to the chest. Suddenly, he couldn’t take in air. “Odin. They’re not controlling it!”

“Pardon?” Sarai asked, looking over.

Bannor gripped her arms. “That’s the weakness!” His stomach knotted and icy fingers played down his spine.

“Wren!” he screamed. “Wren! Hold up!” He turned and ran. The soldiers stared as he sprinted to where Wren, Irodee, and Laramis turned to look back. Tripping over rocks and bracken, he fought his way along the narrow trail until he reached the savant.

“They’re not in control!” He gasped, the words coming out of him in a torrent. “That’s what I’ve been seeing. The patterns are random, not organized. Odin. They don’t have control!”

“Calm down, Friend,” Laramis put a hand on Bannor’s arm.

“Hold on,” Wren locked eyes with him. She pushed her blonde hair back and gripped his shoulders. “Go again—slow.”

The troops gathered around them. Eyes of every color fixed on him. Not all understood the common language, but they probably detected the urgency in his voice.

“I’ve been studying the rift. Looking for a pattern—a weakness.” He couldn’t stop trembling. He swallowed and steeled himself. “I couldn’t identify it though because it was too obvious!” He shook her. “Don’t you see? It’s too big! Nothing could control it!”

Wren paled and her lips pressed to a line. She tightened her grip on him. “What makes you think this?”

“The patterns, the way you showed me to use the Garmtur. Everything—trees, rocks, animals, all have a uniform lattice of threads linked to them. That thing—” He pointed. “Doesn’t have a balanced pattern, it’s—”

“Unstable.” Wren finished in dazed tone. “Laramis, he’s right! That goes with what I’ve been seeing, but couldn’t put it together.”

The paladin looked stunned. “Milady, can this be right?”

Wren broke away from Bannor and covered her face with her hands. “It makes sense. Hecate can’t afford to expend that much power. They tore the rift wide enough so it would stay open. They don’t care if Titaan is destroyed!”

The Queen, Janai and Sarai came into hearing range at that moment. Kalindinai’s eyes watered in the powerful wind, and she raised her voice to be heard. “What is this about being destroyed?”

“The gate,” Wren reported. “Bannor’s seen something wrong. I support his observation. We think the rift is wild, meaning there’s nothing for us to attack or shut down.”

“Wild?” A shudder went through the Queen. “Are you saying they’ve ripped a hole in space without providing for a way to close it? That’s ludicrous! Their own forces will be destroyed!”

Irodee stepped to where she towered over Bannor. She put an arm around Laramis’ neck and a hand on Bannor’s shoulder. Her expression looked fierce, eyes flinty and teeth gritted. The Myrmigyne’s voice rumbled. “They never wanted conquest.” She looked at her troops, pointed up and down the trail and gave orders in Elvish. Six turned back the way they’d come to guard against pursuit. Three more headed up the trail, presumably to scout.

“Wait.” Janai raised a hand. Her voice sounded shrill. “Are you saying we can’t close it? That it’ll grow until it eats Titaan?”

Bannor glanced at Sarai. Apprehension shone in her violet eyes. It fueled his determination. He refused to let these creatures get either his power or his world. “No. We can close it, and destroy the avatar’s army.”

Wren stared at him. “How?”

Bannor bit his lip and stared at the clouds rushing across the sky. The wind blew cold and damp against his face, whipping his skin. His instinct felt right.

When he spoke, his voice sounded firm. “We treat the rift like a flux point. Teleportation magic turns little rifts into gates into the transition realm. It’ll suck the avatar’s army into limbo.”

“Are you insane!” Wren burst out. “Suck them in—and take the continent right along with them! Even if we can force the rift into flux, that doesn’t mean it’d seal! The shock could disrupt a dozen worlds instead of just Titaan!”

Bannor kept his gaze on Wren. He pointed to the huge spire splitting the sky. “It’s only a giant version of the flux point we teleported through. It should work the same way and snap closed after it transitions.”

The savant reddened. The wind blowing in her hair made it look like a halo. “No. It’s crazy!”

“In theory, he is right,” the Queen said with narrowed eyes. Her voice dropped. “Assuming that the forces governing such a huge construct don’t go beyond normal rules.”

“We can’t take such a risk! This could kill whole worlds!”

The Queen pulled the black rod from her belt a slapped it into her palm. Her voice turned to a snarl. “I’ll not allow this world to be destroyed. We must try something.”

Laramis made a low rumble in his throat. “I like not the consequences described by Lady Wren. However, the avatars will pursue the Garmtur wherever it goes. They will likely repeat this violation elsewhere. Inevitably, we’d be forced to gamble. I side with Bannor in trying.” He looked at Irodee. His wife nodded.

Sarai took his arm and pressed close.

Janai looked around. She hugged herself as though her stomach ached. “Mother, Sarai—didn’t you hear what Wren said?”

“I did, my daughter,” the Queen said. “Sometimes one must have faith that Carellion will guide his chosen.”

“Aye,” Laramis said. “Well said. Ukko’s light shall be the way. If we fail, it shall have been fated. It should not be for lack of trying.” He focused his penetrating gaze on Wren.

The savant flinched. She stared at Laramis, then the Queen. Her voice sounded brittle. “After dressing me down for making decisions above my station, I’m surprised at you, Matradomma.”

Kalindinai straightened and put the rod on her shoulder. “Matters of state policy, and matters of personal choice often differ.”

Janai ran both hands through her hair. The black spire reflected in her glowing eyes. “How do we even start?”

“We need four anchors around the opening,” Kalindinai said. “A typical flux point is so small that a mage can cover it with magic.”

“This isn’t typical,” Sarai said. “The tip of that spire is a league up. Someone would have to fly!”

“There are the royal griffin riders,” Laramis offered. “The Queen could order in a few from the capital.”

“Then two anchors on the ground,” Wren finished. “What do we use for anchors? There’s no time to make something.”

When Wren mentioned ‘anchor’, Bannor thought back to how the Garmtur had fixed the area around the flux point when they teleported. As he looked around, he stopped on Janai, remembering the sword sheathed at her hip. The same sword used to shred the avatar’s connection to Hecate. The weapon remained a tangle of stone and air threads, a throbbing ball of clashing patterns.

“That!” He shouted and pointed at Janai. He stepped to the princess and pulled out the glimmering blade. “This will do it!”

Wren stared at the weapon. “Okay. Even if that’ll work, where do we get three more?”

Bannor gulped and gripped the sword tight. “I’ll make them.”

The Queen focused on him. “You have to be certain.”

His heart seemed to stop. He kept his voice level. “I am.” He wished he were as certain as he sounded. “As long as I have good Elven mithril like this to work the threads into.”

“Griffins, anchor points, using the rift like a flux point—it sounds feasible,” Sarai said with hope in her voice. She put an arm around Bannor’s waist and squeezed.

He welcomed the pressure and put his hand on her arm.

“Perhaps,” Laramis said. “Keep in mind it will be hard to position anchors while combating the avatar’s army. The storm may keep griffin riders grounded. There is also working of the magic.”

“I did it once,” Bannor said. “I can again.” He returned the sword to Janai. The princess eyed the weapon, and then sheathed it.

“No offense, Bannor, but I should perform the ritual,” the Queen said. “Granted you’re the only one with enough power, but you lack control.” She drew a breath. “My magic is more reliable. We must combine our efforts for precision’s sake.”

Work together with the Queen. The idea made him uneasy, but she was right. One mistake on a spell that size might blow the world to pieces.

“Still think it’s lunacy,” Wren said. “But you’re probably correct. Eventually, they’d have our backs to the wall anyway.”

“There is an outpost west of here,” Irodee put in. “We can get supplies, send for reinforcements, or whatever we need.”

“I’ll call the King,” Kalindinai said. “He’ll get what we need.”

“Father?” Sarai said. “He’ll lock us up!”

“Perhaps later. Our mission is too important.”

Bannor felt both relief and tension. He felt more secure in having a plan. What worried him was his part in it. As the Queen said, the Garmtur had proved unreliable. Much of their success relied on his being able to make the Garmtur work.

Sarai must have read his thoughts because she said. “I feel better now. I know Wren likes to make things up as she goes.” She glanced at the savant. “But, I’m more secure knowing what to do.”

“Aye,” Laramis chimed in. He looked around rubbing his chin. “On our way to the outpost we can refine this scheme. Let us be on.” He gestured to the soldiers. They formed up to continue their march.

As he fell in line next to Sarai, Bannor felt destiny tugging at him. Either they won their freedom or perished in flame. Fate gave him no other options. If he failed to defeat the avatars, they’d rip out his soul and turn him into a zombie as they did to Meliandri. He glanced to the litter being dragged behind the party. Hecate had made him helpless once. He’d come too close to dying like that already.

They traveled for a league over hilly ground, heads down against the wind, slogging through mud, cutting around bracken, and picking their way across rock falls. The gale remained a constant howl, making the landscape groan as though in pain. No one talked much. It took concentration to even move.

Bannor found this traveling some of the hardest yet. Mud and obstacles dogged every step. Poor footing on slick rocks and slushy soil made it impossible to find a rhythm on the winding trail. By the time they turned west along the Malan border, his bones ached.

He told himself it was all part of the ordeal. To win this fight and keep the Nola, he must be worthy of the honor. He must endure. Unfortunately, it appeared all who sided with him were destined to suffer as much as he did. He hated thoughts of Sarai being in pain, no matter how slight.

He took her hand and laced his fingers in hers. She looked up at him face reddened from the wind. She smiled, and gave his hand a squeeze. As long as she supported him, he could do anything, even march into Hades. Soon, they’d have to do exactly that. They must go to the gateway linking his world and the avatar’s, shut it, and somehow prevent it from being opened again.

He checked on the Queen and Janai. The two women moved steadily without complaint. As he’d already learned, both proved much tougher than they looked.

Bannor heard running feet. Instants later, Corrd and two other scouts came slipping and skidding back down the trail at a full sprint. The three of them nearly tackled Irodee, all of them rattling excitedly in Elvish.

“Carellion,” Sarai let out.

Janai and the Queen gasped.

Bannor tried to ask what they’d said, but before his words were out, he was scrambling to catch up with the group. Irodee, Laramis, and Wren sprinted up the trail following the excited scouts. Without a word Sarai had pursued, so had the Queen and Janai.

A chilling sense of danger went through him as the men and women scrambled across the treacherous terrain. He wanted to ask what’d been said, but saved his breath for running. He would know soon enough what had gone wrong.

They half slid, half fell down a steep embankment into a ravine that opened out onto the plains. As he dropped, he knew what they had discovered. Even the powerful wind couldn’t dissipate the stench. Where the gully turned, they saw the first bodies.

“Dwarves!” Bannor gasped.

Bodies lay strewn all over the field, their weapons and armor coated in blood. For every slain dwarf, there lay at least five more dead of the avatar’s creatures. They had died fighting, many with their hands still around the throats of the enemy.

One part of the field looked as though hit by one of the Queen’s fire bursts. A body lay staked out in the center of a crater of razed earth. Long silver spikes jutted from its arms and legs. Around the form, dwarves lay in rows, their bodies blackened and torn.

The group did not focus on the crater but on the crumpled body of someone lying against a pile of rocks a short distance away. Irodee and Wren were already kneeling next to the mutilated body. Bannor had to get close before he recognized the scorched face and glazed over blue eyes that now only flickered with a faint light.

It had been two tendays since he last saw the burly, stern-faced war master. Even in the short time they spent together he had learned to appreciate the taciturn warrior. Now, it appeared, today would be the last time he’d ever see DacWhirter the dwarf again.

One of my more squeamish peers asked me if I considered anything sacred. I answered that all that burgeoned from Gaea is sacred. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t enjoy committing sacrilege nearly as often…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Sixty-Three

« ^ »

Bannor stood on the battlefield surrounded by the dead. Over two hundred dwarves had given their lives for the destruction of one lone staked out figure. The wind howled and raindrops smacked the ground with heavy splats. Even the heavens shed tears over the loss of so many noble creatures.

Irodee’s soldiers dispersed around them in defensive positions.

The Myrmigyne, Wren and Laramis crouched near the battle’s only survivor—DacWhirter. Bannor had first met the tough red-haired war master when Laramis and his wife Irodee were reunited. The gruff and stoic dwarf had traveled all over the realms, even across the starpaths to the gates of Gladshiem, Odin’s domain.

Now, the thick-limbed dwarf looked like a spent coal kicked from a campfire. His clothing looked like nothing but blood-stiffened shreds of charred material. He still clutched his weapons, a pair of hammers soaked in gore. His blue eyes looked glassy. The muscles of his blocky face twitched and his teeth ground together.

Bannor knelt by Laramis. Sarai, Janai and the Queen came to stand behind him. Seeing this valiant fighter so close to dying made Bannor ache. It felt as if icy fingers raked down his back.

“Don’t worry, we’re here,” Wren said. She glanced at Laramis. “Get the healing potion from the pack.”

Laramis rose and went to one of the soldiers and rummaged for the precious stuff.

Wren’s voice roused DacWhirter. He forced a grin from blackened lips. “Missy—that you?” He coughed. “Somehow, knew—I’d see ya again—fore Moradin took me.”

“Irodee here too,” the Myrmigyne said.

Dac’s eyes went wide. Everyone flinched as the dwarf arched his back and groaned. He choked, voice raspy. “Bless me, it hurts.” He searched until he found Irodee. Struggling, he managed to grip her hand. “Sorry, I left ye—outta the fight. Moradin knows—coulda—used another arm.”

“Be still,” Irodee said.

Bannor’s chest felt tight. He looked to Sarai and held his hand out to her. She hugged him tightly from behind.

She shuddered.

Returning, Laramis gave Wren a vial. “All we have, Milady.”

DacWhirter grunted. “Laramis. Shoulda known. Guess you—get to show me those—air maidens after all. Oh.” He writhed. “Jus make sure—she’s—a pretty lass.”

The dwarf’s words made Bannor’s skin prickle. Air maidens, the Valkyries, the winged women who bore the spirits of slain heroes back to Valhalla.

“No worries, my friend,” Laramis said putting a hand on his shoulder. “If it comes to that, I shall choose her personally.”

“You aren’t dying,” Wren growled. “Drink.”

Dac coughed. “Missy, no stuffs—goin ta—”

Wren upended the vial into his mouth between words. He gagged and convulsions shot through his limbs. His knuckles went white as his fingers tightened on Irodee’s arm.

Green light sparked around Dac’s limbs. Bannor saw no indications that the potion worked except that Dac relaxed.

“Ahhgh.” He grunted. “Bless me—stuff—could use—a little seasonin.” His head lolled to one side. “Least it don hurt as much.”

Irodee put a hand against his cheek tears rolling down her face.

Dac blinked, his eyes clearer. For the first time, he recognized Bannor. “Ah, Lad, yer still with us. Good it does me heart.” He swallowed. “Get yerself up here.”

Bannor met Wren’s gaze, then Laramis’, and Irodee’s. They all looked pale. He had been with Dac long enough to even think of him as a friend. They had only spent a day or so in each other’s company. Given even that short span though, he liked and respected Dac.

Wren gestured Bannor over by her. Sarai let go. He met his mate’s gaze and read the sympathy on her face. He moved stiffly, feeling queasy and uncertain. He knelt by Dac’s head.

With surprising strength, Dac’s hand clamped around Bannor’s wrist. He felt the bones in his arm squirm under the pressure.

“Lad,” Dac said. “See me handiwork out there?” He rolled his head toward the crater behind them, where the creature lay with silver stakes driven through its limbs. Dwarves by the dozens lay scattered around the body, their corpses burned and sundered. The sight made him sick. So much death.

“I see it.”

“Avatar,” Dac muttered. “Thought he—could break me, thought he could—break us.” He rolled his head around. “Dross eater lost,” his grip tightened. “We knew we was right. Gave us heart. Ya gots to do the same. Believe in yerself—do what’s right. Gotta keep heart, Lad. Never—” he coughed. His grip on Bannor’s arm clamped down convulsively. “Lose—heart…” The dwarf’s voice faded and the hand on Bannor’s arm fell away.

A great emptiness opened inside Bannor as if he stood league’s away looking through the windows of his eyes. He felt hot tears on his face. The unfairness churned in his gut. Good people dying to defend lands that the enemy didn’t even want, lands they’d soon destroy. All in the name of power, greed and fear.

His dying was so wrong.

He realized he was shivering. Through the blur of his tears he saw that Wren now stood holding Irodee’s hand. The Myrmigyne knelt with her head thrown back and eyes closed. Only Laramis stared at the fallen warrior. The paladin’s face looked sad but composed. A tear glinted on the man’s cheek.

“Ah, my friend,” Laramis said in a thick voice. “Go thou now to a better place. You depart in honor and glory.” He passed his hand over Dac’s face, closing his eyes forever.

“Such a loss,” Bannor breathed. “He was a good man, with many good summers left to live.”

Laramis looked up, expression hard. “The avatars stole him from us. It is up to us to make sure it does not go unpunished!” He reached out and touched Irodee’s arm.

The Myrmigyne flinched and her eyes flickered open. She stared at Laramis, lips tight.

“I must keep my promise. I will meet you at the outpost as we planned. Wait for me.” He focused on Bannor. “Stay out of trouble.”

“What? Where are you—?”

Laramis smiled. “Valhalla.” The word echoed. Lightning flickered, and thunder rumbled. The winds calmed.

Laramis scooped Dac up in his arms. As he rose, a glow illuminated his face. The light made Wren turn. The woman’s cheeks glistened. She put Dac’s weapons on his chest and laid his arms across them. “Pick a good one for me, too,” she said.

“Aye,” Laramis replied. “I shall.” He turned and started up the slope behind them. Irodee’s trooper saluted as he passed. As he walked, he started singing in a strange, guttural tongue. Each hard syllable rung in the air like a bell. Bannor felt his heart beat in syncopation with the chant.

Bolts forked through the sky, and the air filled with a boom. The rain started faster. The drops felt hot rather than cold.

Sarai took his arm and watched with him as Laramis marched up the hill singing, carrying Dac in his arms.

“I don’t understand—” Bannor started.

“Watch,” Wren said.

Bannor glanced at Irodee. The big woman stood with her hands clasped at her breast, her pale face turned to greet the warm rain. Her lips moved in what must be a prayer.

Blazes of light flicked across the sky, jumping all through the clouds overhead. The roars that followed sounded more like the blare of battle horns than thunder. The rumble did not fade, but continued to rise and fall. The sky brightened and glowing shapes appeared in the clouds, winged shapes.

He looked again for Laramis in time to see something rise into the sky on scintillating wings. The flying forms dropped to meet the one that rose from the hilltop. They came together and formed a circle. The rumbling in the sky rose in pitch and the light brightened until Bannor had to look away.

The brilliance vanished. In its place, the clouds broke and shafts of sunlight illuminated a rainbow arching into the distance.

Bannor’s skin prickled. “The Bifrost Bridge.” He let out a breath. “Farewell, Dac.”

Sarai pulled him tight as she stared at the rainbow. She said something in Elvish to her mother. The Queen nodded solemnly and laced her fingers in Sarai’s. Janai took Bannor’s hand.

He glanced at Sarai’s older sister. She looked weathered and tired. He gave her hand a firm pressure. They were in this together. A horrible fear said that more than one of them would walk that rainbow into the heavens and into the waiting arms of the Valkyries.

Wren wiped her eyes. She patted Irodee’s shoulder. The Myrmigyne put her arm around Wren and pulled her close.

The echoes dwindled, leaving Bannor feeling spent. He looked around and saw that not only did Dac and Laramis vanish, but all of the slain dwarves. Only the fallen demons and the avatar staked out in the crater remained.

“Odin,” he breathed.

Wren looked over, her eyes widened. She glanced back to the sky. “He took them all. Laramis can still amaze me.” She sucked in a breath. “The avatar’s forces will be coming. We need to get moving.”

“Let’s check the area quickly, then,” the Queen said, her voice more request than command. “We must know how the dwarves did this. Hecate still has avatars left.”

They moved to the crater. A dark skinned male humanoid lay at the center. His cadaverous face was frozen in a grimace. A belt of snake skulls ringed his waist. Tattoos of serpents twined down his arms. Silver stakes impaled his arms and legs and a fifth his chest. Not obvious from a distance, dozens of circular wounds and burns also peppered his body. What did the dwarves do to weaken the avatar enough to make him vulnerable? In the shadow realm he’d hit Nystruul with several bolts of lightning and still that creature fought. What did the dwarves do differently?

“It’s obvious he didn’t just lay down for them,” Janai said.

Bannor glanced around the crater. “Laramis must have been right about enough silver driving out the god’s spirit. If people knew about silver hurting avatars, why didn’t they use it before?”

“It wasn’t known for sure.” Wren kicked through the crater. “Avatars rarely stay where they don’t have exclusive control. If anyone ever proved the theory, they didn’t live to document it.”

Irodee finished a circuit of the perimeter. She pointed around. “One thing unusual. All of them had crossbows.”

“Add that to this,” Wren said. She reached down into the ashes and held up a metallic blob. “Silver—melted—probably by the avatar’s magic. There are remnants of dozens of silver objects here.”

Sarai picked up a crossbow quiver and dumped out the contents. “Silver crossbow bolts.”

“They probably hit him with enough to disrupt his link to Hecate. While he was stunned, they spiked him out.”

The Queen chewed on a knuckle. “Leave it to dwarves to find the simplest and most direct way. It’s brilliant!”

“It’s costly,” Bannor growled. “Look how many died!”

“Tragic, yes,” Kalindinai said. “But this is a means to deal with the avatars. Dac had the right idea, but too small a force. Armed with this knowledge and silver weapons our armies can hurt the avatars. Up to now, they’ve been invincible. They’ve decimated our rank and file. If we’re fast enough, we might be able to bring down more, maybe even cripple Hecate’s chain of command.” She looked over at Irodee. “Make sure we have plenty of samples.”

The big woman nodded, she gave orders to her troops who gathered up crossbows and silver bolts.

“Dac did more than kill an avatar,” Wren said. “He found a way to make this war costly to Hecate.”

Bannor dared to hope. “How many avatars are left?”

“Six, I’d guess,” Wren said. “Each god can have up to nine. Hecate’s lost three now, Nystruul, Meliandri, and now this one. Three more dead avatars might back her off for a while.”

“Whether she retreats or not,” Janai growled. “That thing isn’t going anywhere.” She pointed up to the black rift.

Everyone looked.

Bannor felt a stirring in his chest as he looked up at the spire rising into the sky. “It will go,” he rumbled low in his throat. “It’s going away.”

“There’s an army of demons that will disagree with you,” Wren said. “Right now, it’s not a good time to argue. Look.” She pointed.

Bannor’s heart felt like it froze in his chest as he looked where the savant indicated. The horizon appeared to boil. A mass of black, red, and blue figures churned toward them like a flash flood.

When finesse is insufficient to the task, I prefer a strong dose of overkill…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Sixty-Four

« ^ »

Bannor stood in the crater by the staked-out avatar, the warm rain turning frosty against his face. His moment of revelation was shattered. Enemy creatures spilled across the grassy plain like a mountain avalanche, enough demons to drown a city. Their small, thirty-member troop would be swept away in an eye blink.

Maybe even if they ran.

“Bannor, come on!” Wren yelled.

Sarai grabbed his arm and pulled. He didn’t move.

“My One?”

He looked beyond the flood of creatures to the league high black rift-the source of their woes. He’d promised himself to face the enemy, but kept finding himself forced to retreat. He hated war. He hated the avatars. Most of all, he hated seeing friends and loved ones harassed and slain by these abominations.

Dac’s death was a seething ball of heat in his chest. His death and the loss of all those brave dwarves cried for retribution. He had the power to mete out that vengeance.

Irodee growled and grabbed his other arm. “We go!”

“No.”

“No?!” The Myrmigyne cried. “There’s too many!”

“Trust me. Not for long.”

“What can you do!?” Wren demanded. “They’re almost here.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance and lightning flicked and jumped in the clouds.

“Something I learned when you weren’t around.”

He forced himself to relax and let his Nola sight take over. The myriad threads of the world shimmered into view. He scanned for one pattern. The one he had learned to use. He’d find those crucial strands in the storm boiling around the rift. He found it fitting to use the avatar’s rift as a weapon against them. Now, he would shock them. Later, he’d close their plans for good.

Bannor called on the Garmtur, probing deeper into the networks of traceries. He needed the skeins deep in those thunderheads. He stretched out his hands and mind, gathering in every filament he could hold.

The hair on his arms and head stiffened. A painful tingling shot through his body. “You like death, Hecate,” he growled. “You like pain. Let’s see if you like it coming the other way.”

Wren apparently sensed what he’d put in motion. “Everyone cover your eyes!”

Irodee barked a translation in Elvish.

Bannor yanked the sky threads hard, flinging them into the path of the onrushing army.

“Hit the dirt!” Wren yelled.

Irodee pulled him to the ground as the heavens exploded. The storm gray sky went flash powder bright. The clouds rained lightning. Multicolored bolts formed a curtain of annihilating force that wreaked havoc on the plain. The ground shook, and the air reverberated with a long bone-grinding detonation.

Bannor clutched his ears. Irodee and Sarai writhed beside him. Flames and smoke geysered upward.

The maelstrom winked out.

Silence.

Dots danced in Bannor’s vision. His ears rang. His sight cleared by stages. A painful throb pounded in the back of his head. Overhead, the clouds broke and the rain stopped.

“Lords,” the Queen breathed.

Gasps of surprise came from nearby, followed by whoops of triumph. A giant swath of carnage cut across their view of the south. Where an army once advanced, now lay only blast craters filled with shattered and smoking husks. Further out, through columns of smoke, bodies twitched or spun in circles.

“Nethra,” Irodee gasped next to him.

It worked! Bannor rose and pumped his fist toward the rift. “That one’s for Dac! Yes! Who says I don’t have control. What do you think of—” His vision spun. “—that? Ow.” It felt as if someone stabbed him in the skull with a knife. He staggered.

“Grab him!” Kalindinai snapped.

Hands caught his arms as he started to fall.

“I think,” Wren said with a concerned expression. “You’ll wish you hadn’t done that.”

“An awesome display.” Kalindinai murmured, eyes round. “But guaranteed to be a six powder headache.”

Six powder headache? He didn’t like the sound of that.

Wren looked around anxiously. “Can’t care for him here. Everyone on the continent knows where we are now.”

Bannor’s vision flickered gray and brown. “What’s wrong—I—” He blinked, trying to focus through the searing pain.

Sarai’s face swam as she felt his forehead. “He’s burning up.”

“You’d be too, if you’d tapped the energy of the weather patterns for a hundred leagues around. Crazy woodsman.” She shook her head. “Never, ever leave yourself without enough strength to resist the backlash.”

“I’ll help carry him,” Kalindinai said.

The world danced as he felt himself shifted and sensed people moving around him.

“I showed them, though,” he croaked. “They’ll remember that.”

Kalindinai gave a halfhearted laugh. “They aren’t the only ones who will remember today.” She took his face in her hands. “Bannor, you aren’t much good to us if you turn your brain to mush!” She turned away from him. “Janai, come help. Wish we hadn’t been forced to leave the horses behind.”

A litter was improvised from a blanket, spears, and some rope. As they moved him, Irodee’s soldiers all came by one at time and gave their congratulations.

He’d destroyed an army that would have taken thousands of lives to combat. Though Wren and Kalindinai rebuked him for his foolishness, no one denied he’d struck a major blow against the avatars. It was worth the pain to do that.

At least, he told himself that each time the litter was jostled. Every bump, rock, and slip made the anguish worse. It hurt so much that tears spilled down his cheeks. Periodically, the agony overwhelmed him and he’d slip into a gray fog toward unconsciousness.

Each time, Wren would shake him, pat his cheeks, and rouse him. “No fading, Bannor, you might not wake up—hear me? Stay awake.”

“I’m with you, my One.” Sarai squeezed his hand.

“Odin, it hurts,” he mumbled.

“I know,” she said. “Stay awake and fight the backlash, otherwise it will paralyze you.”

He groaned.

“Mother, can’t we give him any pain killer?”

“No,” the Queen answered. “Be the worst thing for him. We want him awake.”

“But he’s hurting so much.”

“I empathize.” She paused. “After two millennia, I clearly recall the backlash the time I was overzealous. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“You?”

The Queen laughed. “Believe it or not, I was young and brash once, too.” She let out a breath. “Carellion, for a moment, I thought he would split the continent in two.”

“I think he took a century off my life!” Janai mumbled.

“You did say you wanted excitement, Sister.”

Janai muttered a curse.

“Excitement definitely follows Bannor,” Wren said. He felt a hand on his chest. “One thing’s sure, it’ll have shaken the avatars. Just hope we have time to capitalize on it, so his effort isn’t wasted.”

“Better not,” he grunted.

“We’re going fast as we can, my One,” Sarai caressed his cheek.

He cracked his lids against the grayish light to catch sight of her face. He wrapped his hand around hers. “Think I did right?”

“Nothing wrong with destroying Hecate’s vermin.” She paused. “Almost killing yourself—and us—and scaring me … I’m not happy about that.” Sarai kissed him. “Guess we have to take the good with the bad.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me … I’ll yell at you later.”

It made him laugh, and it felt like his skull tried to explode. He clutched his head and gritted his teeth, wishing for the millionth time that the agony would end.

The trek continued westward along the Malan border, in and out of valleys, fording small streams, and skirting dense copses of trees. Twice during the day the sky treated them to a light drizzle, both times lasting only for a short span.

The soldiers took turns helping bring his litter. Wren, Sarai, Janai and the Queen took turns standing vigil over him.

“Still no signs of pursuit?” Wren asked.

“None,” Irodee answered. “Think Bannor scared them. Avatar’s forces take big losses in last two days. Bannor probably killed some of their best operatives.” She let out a breath. “Wish he hit them harder. Irodee miss Dac.”

“A good fellow,” Wren agreed. “I think this time around, those bastards will finally get the defeat they deserve.”

“Then what Wren do?”

The savant went quiet, the only sounds being the creak of the travois, the whistle of the wind, and the crunch of boots on dirt. “We’ll worry about that when it happens.” She sighed. “Don’t know about you, but it’s been too quiet. I’m taking point and see if I find anything.”

“Take care,” Irodee said.

Bannor heard Wren’s footsteps recede.

A hand touched his shoulder. “How Bannor?”

He looked up at the huge ebony-haired woman as she strode next to him. “My worst hangover was a tenth this bad,” he mumbled.

She nodded. “We get you to outpost. Be there in five bells.”

“Good.”

She paused as if expecting him to say something. In his foggy, pain-dazed state he couldn’t think what she was waiting for.

“Time is short,” she prompted. “You be able to make anchors and close gate?”

You have the power, but can you come through when it’s needed most? “I’ll do it.” He winced at the sound of his own voice. “I’m getting better with the Garmtur.”

She put a hand on his arm, her dusky face serious. “Irodee see better, but wonder if smarter.”

Bannor rocked his head and put his palm over her knuckles. He looked into the woman’s dark eyes. He didn’t have to tell her how much this plan scared him. She knew. Step by step, together they were forging toward the ultimate gamble. If he failed, chances were the rest of the world would die with him. “I’m trying. You know I’ll do my best.”

“We know, all of us do.” She closed her eyes and frowned. The Myrmigyne appeared ready to say something, but then stopped. She shook her head and patted his shoulder. “We talk later.” She pushed ahead.

They continued moving after dark. In the south, the rift looked like a rip in the night sky, blocking a view of the stars. Their march slowed, but continued westward. The ground grew more broken and rocky, and they needed to make some hazardous nighttime fording of small rivers.

The backlash continued to hammer at him relentlessly, like some creature were trapped in his head trying to claw its way out.

Leagues later, they started a descent into a mist shrouded valley dotted with trees and rocks. A lake bordered the depression on the north; the expanse of water turned the color of blood as it reflected the ruddy light of the demon’s eye moon, Triatus. The wind off the valley carried the pungent odor of marshland, and the temperature had dropped. The gusts cut like knives through his clothing.

The ache in his head had relaxed enough for him to walk rather than be carried. He stumbled along next to Sarai, legs heavy and head like a lead weight on his shoulders. The Queen, Janai and Irodee all walked with hunched shoulders, showing the strain of the forced march.

“Outpost over that ridge.” Irodee pointed.

“I don’t understand, Irodee,” Janai piped up. “Why are you talking so differently?”

The Myrmigyne stared at the princess. “What?”

“When Laramis is around you speak perfect King’s common. Why this polyglot?”

Wren looked over with a half smile on her face. Bannor had wondered too, but simply assumed that a paladin’s wife didn’t speak in fragments like an uneducated peasant.

“Other way too long. Speak proper for husband’s sake.”

Janai looked perplexed and shook her head.

“I know it’s a fair sized outpost,” Sarai said. “But should there be that much light? The whole town must be lit.” She pointed to the glow now visible over the crest of the ridge. The illumination looked steady with only an occasional pulsation like the light cast from oil lanterns-a great number of them.

Irodee growled something, then she sent a group of men ahead, and had others spread out to cover their flank. “Not like this,” she mumbled.

Wren pulled her sword from its sheath. The silver blade glimmered with a blue radiance. The Queen and Janai also readied their weapons.

Bannor held his breath. He’d been looking forward to a chance to collapse and recuperate from this horrendous day. His brain felt stewed and his arms like clay.

Advancing with care, they topped the rise overlooking the outpost.

Bannor’s stomach lurched, and a crease of pain shot between his eyes. The others around him muttered curses of dismay.

Glaring battle lanterns had been posted all along the high walls of the small city. There were outlines of hundreds of armed people poised on every parapet and battlement. Silhouetted in the brilliant light the lower ground between them and the outpost seethed with misshapen figures: humanoids with wings, tails, and horns-demons.

“What do we do?” Janai piped up with the obvious question. “The outpost will be overrun!”

“What can we do?” Wren shook her head. “There are thirty of us and thousands of them.”

“Damn it,” Bannor mumbled. “I hate this. Everywhere we turn. There must be something we can…”

Kalindinai interrupted. “I think it’s on the way!” She pointed.

To the north, the sky had split apart and fine crystalline light shone through. Dark motes danced in the illumination. The dots quickly grew larger. A rumble like thunder broke across the field and continued to rise and fall.

The dots resolved into dozens of winged shapes. Armor and long weapons glinted against the night sky flashing and winking like tongues of lightning.

The figures dove toward the massed demons as a unit. As they did, Bannor made out more clearly what they were. Horses-winged horses ridden by armored knights.

The knight in the lead brandished a flaming sword and swung it over its head. An unmistakable voice boomed out across the valley. “For Ukko, my brothers! Veeg!”

adins, why is it always paladins..?

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Sixty-Five

« ^ »

Head throbbing and eyes blurry, Bannor watched aghast as a phalanx of winged horses dove at the horde of demons in the valley. The bright light of the outpost glinted off polished breastplates and shields of the mounted knights as they plunged into the fray, their lances extended. The hundreds of wardens on the town battlements and parapets raised their weapons and cheered as the flying cavalry attacked. Spurred by the show of force, they opened fire with bows, crossbows and slings.

The voice of the lead knight boomed across the field again. “Let no evil remain, my brothers!” The leader then smashed into the demons, flaming sword slashing a crimson swath through the creatures.

“Can that be..?” Bannor asked.

“Laramis!” Irodee yelled. She yanked her bow off her shoulder and charged down the hill. Irodee’s troopers looked at one another and pursued her.

Laramis—? Had he gone crazy? The knights numbered around fifty. Even armored and on flying mounts, it wouldn’t balance out thirty-to-one odds.

Wren and the Queen exchanged glances.

Surprisingly, Kalindinai said. “You only live once.” She shook her head and jogged down the hill.

Wren blinked, looking down the hillside after Kalindinai. The two princesses appeared to be taken off guard, as well.

“Everyone’s gone insane,” Wren exclaimed. “Totally lunatic! Ah damn it.” She ran after the Queen.

Bannor’s blood grew cold in his veins. He glanced at Sarai and Janai who still looked in shock. Except for the abandoned litter bearing the comatose Meliandri, they stood by themselves on the hill.

“We can’t let Mother fight alone,” Janai said in a small voice.

“No—we can’t.” Sarai’s violet eyes narrowed.

Everything hurt. Even thinking was a chore. He had to push through it. He focused himself. He needed to act rather than react, and overcome his mistakes. He drew a breath. “Let’s go.”

Weapons out, the sisters positioned themselves on either side. He headed down the hill with a purposeful stride, determining the best spot to attack that would provide the most support. He needed extra time to work himself up, to summon enough energy from his weary body to be effective.

He glanced over his shoulder toward the black rift. That should be his target, not wasting his energy on these innumerable creatures. Slay ten and hundreds more would replace them. The portal brought them here, and magic from it sustained them. Shut that dimensional opening, and the war would be over.

Unfortunately, the outpost was here—now—surrounded by these monsters. He’d seen one ravaged town. He refused to have another on his conscience when he could do something about it.

The valley floor looked like a writhing mass of shadows tangled in a violent struggle. The knights broke into squads, concentrating their attacks on any creatures, which took to the air, and lancing the ground-bound demons. Wren and the Queen slammed into the flank, a blaze of blue force and searing fire bursts. The savant used her Nola to absorb the attacks of the demons and project it around herself and Kalindinai. Supported by her troops, Irodee sprinted across the field, fitting arrows and firing, dodging attacks and zigzagging toward the lead knight who swooped back and forth through the ranks of creatures. The outpost defenders maintained a steady barrage, providing cover for the knights.

“Damn,” Sarai growled. “I wish my stone powers were as strong as they used to be. I might be able to make a difference.”

“I wish they were, too,” Bannor breathed. He still felt dizzy, but by stages he’d primed himself to give his all.

“I wish we weren’t here,” Janai added. She nocked an arrow and sighted along it.

A jolt from his Nola alerted Bannor to the slip he’d allowed himself to make. His response to Sarai’s desire to have her elemental powers back had simply been sympathetic, but he’d also desired it for her—wished it to be true.

The Garmtur pulsed in his mind, sending piercing twinges through his body. Threads of air and stone magic whipped and spun around him. A wave of weakness made his knees buckle.

“Odin,” he gasped. He groped for control over the magic he’d set in motion. The Nola wove the threads so fast; he couldn’t stop one binding before the next started. Fear of tangling or snapping a strand held him in check. Sever the wrong one and Sarai might die. “Sarai, I’m sorry, damn it…”

She dropped beside him, taking his shoulders. “What’s the matter? Are you—oh—!” Her eyes widened, their violet glow turned crimson then brilliant white. She reeled back clutching her head and groaning.

Across the battlefield, the ground bulged upward and exploded, sending forth bright orange gouts of fire and rocks. Demons scattered as a river of molten rock erupted into their midst.

Janai hunched down against the blast. “What’s wrong?” She gripped their arms.

He couldn’t stop it. Each time he tried to halt the Nola’s spell, the opening went by too fast. It was like the times when he was a child playing skip rope with his friends, trying to gauge his entry between the two rapidly whirling strands. Now though, hundreds of cords flashed around Sarai, any one of them potentially lethal.

Sarai collapsed, groaning in pain and slamming her fists in the grass. Each strike sent rumbles through the terrain, knocking creatures off balance and causing the lanterns on the outpost walls to sway.

“Lords!” Janai gripped him tighter. “What’s happening!”

He couldn’t spare her an answer. He saw his chance and thrust his hands through the gap and grasped Sarai’s arm. The spell weaves hit his flesh like lashes from a whip, the ends winding around his arms like glowing twine on a spool.

He gritted his teeth against the pain as the pulsations of color faded from around Sarai’s twitching body.

The backlash snapped around at him. He’d made a stupid wish, one that summoned tremendous forces that must be stilled and dispersed. In the recent lightning attack, he hadn’t guarded against the counterbalancing energy. He would never make that mistake again. Ever. He formed a wall in his mind against the rush of spell energy seeking release.

The jolt hit hard. Every hair on his body stiffened. Pain sliced through his limbs, and sparks leaped from his skin into the grass. Janai yelped and tumbled back, shaking her hands and cursing.

The backlash rocked him for long moments, and then died away. He felt a rush and the pounding in his temples crescendo. Then the pain vanished, even the discomfort from the previous backlash.

Sarai shook her head. “Carellion, what did you..?” She stopped and held her hands out in front of her. They looked the same, but in his Nola sight Bannor saw the layers of elemental energy now coating her skin like armor. “My One, you did it!” She threw her arms around him.

He grunted as his ribs creaked with the crushing pressure of her embrace. “Easy! Easy!” he gasped.

Startled, she let go. “Sorry! I forgot.”

Janai righted herself and scowled at him. “Why’d you shock me?”

He didn’t get a chance to explain. A score of demons had broken away from the battle and bore down on them, bellowing and snarling.

Still befuddled by the backlash, Bannor fumbled for his axe and dagger. Janai swept up her bow and fired two arrows that thudded into the bulbous eyes of two creatures. The monsters dropped.

A hazy gold radiance surrounded Sarai’s arms as she stared at the demons rushing forward. “It’s back!” She made a shoving motion and the ground bulged in front of them and rolled forward like an ocean swell bowling over their attackers. “It—is—back!” She clapped her hands together. With a crunch, the ground on either side of the felled creatures pinched together with a spray of fluids.

Eyes wide, Janai’s jaw dropped, the arrow she’d put in her teeth plinked to the ground. “Sarai?”

His mate grinned as happy a smile as he’d seen in tendays. She bounced and spun her sister in circle. “He restored my magic!”

Janai stared at the mess of loam and splattered demon remains. “That’s disgusting!”

“Better them than us,” Sarai growled. “Come, Mother needs us!” She raced into battle.

Bannor clamped down on his weapons as they neared the skirmish line. He didn’t have time to think about how he would get through the fight because within instants it became a matter of kill or be killed.

Sheer numbers of the enemy forced them into close quarters, making Janai switch from her bow to the sword he had enchanted with elemental threads. The green glowing blade devastated the demons Janai attacked. One strike with it sent the monsters into convulsions. The tangled filaments sewn into the metal disrupted the demon’s ties to the rift, as it had sundered the link between Hecate and Meliandri.

Weakened by his magic and the forced march, Bannor used every energy-saving trick to keep his red-skinned scaly opposition at bay. Even with summers of experience sustaining him, his defense grew weaker with each new opponent. Soon, he became purely defensive, guarding himself and Sarai while she used her powers to best advantage.

Rejoined with her elementalism, Sarai gleefully went to work making the odds more even in the lopsided mêlée. Waves, fists, and explosions of rock and soil tore through the ranks of Hecate’s minions.

Sarai wasn’t the only mage on the field decimating the enemy. Kalandinai’s blasts of fire and lightning turned dozens of foes to cinders. The knights had mages as well; two of them in lighter armor sent volleys of explosive power ripping into the demonic contingent.

The demons came in waves despite their losses, forcing Irodee’s troop back. Across the battlefield, corpses lay piled eight and ten deep. What he’d first estimated to be a few thousand, turned out to be far more. Sarai’s elemental magic ebbed, the stone magic growing harder for her to harness as fatigue set in.

To his right, Bannor saw Wren and Kalindinai retreating toward the outpost. The Queen appeared to have exhausted her magic. She staggered along aided by the savant whose Nola looked dim. The winged horses, apparently too tired to fly any longer, now dipped and reared on the ground. Together with Irodee’s troop they waged a defensive fallback toward the town.

With a single last effort, Sarai raised walls of rock between herself and the demons, providing the three of them the opportunity to turn and catch up with the rest of the warriors.

They stumbled toward the gates, surrounded by foul smells, and half-alive things that clutched for arms and legs. Once near enough, the sisters rushed to their mother, taking the load off Wren. Bannor fell in beside the savant and they leaned on one another. Arrows hissed from the walls at the demons that came near. It became obvious that the defenders must be conserving their arms. They’d probably already expended most of what they possessed.

“The magic should’ve been enough,” he gulped and tripped around something that groaned. “There couldn’t have been that many.”

“Wasn’t,” Wren gasped looking over her shoulder. “Another contingent came up—from the west.” She coughed. “Hecate’s making her push. Trying—to box us in.”

“I don’t think—I could do—another lightning strike.” He wiped the sweat from his eyes and glanced back at the horde following. Most of the demons had broken off the pursuit. It appeared for the time being they’d had their fill of knights, mages, and savants.

“Weather—isn’t right—kill yourself. Need to combine our powers—punch through—to rift.”

Bannor glanced to the blackness in the southern sky. Instinct told him that Hecate knew he planned to implode the portal, and would do everything she could to foil him.

The outpost defenders threw open the gates and yanked them closed as the last knight trailed through. The wardens on the battlements and parapets gave yells of approval as the group staggered to a stop, heaving and blowing.

Many of the knights had to be assisted off their mounts and lay prone on the cobbles of the city trade yard. Women and older children scrambled around their war party, greeting and tending to wounds. Most of the townsfolk turned out to be the lanky, fair-skinned half-elven duna agon. He saw some pure blood elves, humans, and even a few dwarves. Everyone in sight went armed, even the youngsters. The village looked ravaged, many buildings apparently scavenged for building materials. Barrels of water sat everywhere to serve as demon bane and fire control.

Bannor and Wren staggered to stop by Kalindinai and her daughters. An excited buzz had begun shooting through the crowd as citizens recognized the Queen and two princesses of the realm.

He thudded down on his rump and scanned what remained of their force. Irodee’s troop looked short five or six men. The knights had lost some members, too. His stomach churned. When would good people stop dying? How long before someone close to him was killed? All things considered, they’d taken miraculously light casualties.

Helmet under his arm, Laramis clanked toward them followed by the two knights that had been using magic. The paladin scanned the crowd, no doubt looking for Irodee. In a town of half-elves, that wouldn’t be hard.

Bannor studied the mages. Both still wore their headgear, concealing their faces. He guessed by the height and the way she walked that one must be a woman.

Beyond them, Bannor saw Irodee rise in the crowd, looking like a sentinel tree amid a copse of saplings. Spattered with blood, face red, her dark hair in disarray, the woman looked like a demon herself. She spied Laramis and stormed toward them. People in the crowd took one look at her and dodged out of the way.

Laramis hadn’t noticed her yet, but Bannor guessed if the man had seen her, he would have looked like a blackhorn caught in a hunter’s lantern.

The paladin huffed to stop, his face ruddy and covered with streams of perspiration. “Well met. Have you seen—?”

Irodee shoved between the two mages, and seized her husband from behind. Grabbing him by the shoulders, she spun him around and shook the man so hard his armor rattled. “What—were—you—thinking!” The woman’s dusky face looked as red as the demon moon now high in the sky. Her knuckles were white, and she breathed in gasps.

Laramis looked stunned. “Ah—Jewel—I—seem to—have found you.” He gulped. “Eh, are you well?”

If looks could freeze water, the stare she gave him might have frozen the nearby lake. She spoke low and slow. “Do I look well, my husband?”

“Ah.” Laramis stammered. After a battle, words were hard to find. “Uh—I’m sorry. I made a snap decision, but the town was at stake.”

Irodee’s expression darkened. “You could have waited.” She growled. “I lost seven…” Moisture welled in her eyes. “I—” She choked and she smacked her fists on his chest. “I promised to protect those people!”

Bannor felt a stab in his heart. He knew how she felt. He’d felt the same gut-chilling pain when he saw the tortured elf girl.

The agony of feeling responsible.

Wren, the Queen, Sarai and Janai looked fixedly at the two. Everyone must have felt a portion of what Irodee did. No one wanted to fight after a forced march. Laramis’ attack came on them ill-timed and ill-planned, a mistake they couldn’t afford to make with their limited resources.

Laramis frowned. “Jewel, I lost people too. This is war. People die. You, more than anyone, know that.”

“They might not be dead, if we’d stayed with the plan.” She clanked a fist against his armor. Her voice dropped. “Please, my husband, say you won’t let this happen again. I would rather have less glory and more living people!”

Laramis nodded. “I—promise.”

Irodee swallowed and gave him a crushing hug. “I love you!” she choked out. She pushed him back. “I—need—” She stopped. “Call me when it’s time.” She turned and shoved through the crowd.

Laramis watched his wife stalk off, his shoulders slumping. He took a deep breath, his cheeks puffing as he let it out. After a moment, he realized everyone was staring at him. “She’ll be all right,” he said on an uncertain note.

Wren nodded. “You’re right. She will.”

Laramis blinked. He glanced after the Myrmigyne, and made a circular gesture over his heart, an appeal to Ukko for blessings.

The bigger knight, who had escorted Laramis, put a hand on the paladin’s shoulder. He flinched, obviously preoccupied with Irodee.

“Pardon,” he said to the person behind him. He looked back to Wren. “As you saw, I brought reinforcements.”

“I noticed,” the savant said with narrowed eyes.

“I hope you don’t mind. I picked up two stowaways as well.” He gestured back to the knights who removed their headgear.

The smaller one was indeed a woman, with braided blonde hair and eyes the color of darkest indigo. Most startling of all, aside from a few age lines, she looked identical to Wren.

The savant’s jaw dropped. “Mother? Father!”

Bannor watched Wren embrace her parents, tears coming down her cheeks. Silhouetted by the absolute blackness of Hecate’s rift, Triatus’ ruddy light highlighted their entwined bodies with a sheen the color of blood.

Know what you get when you mix pantheon blood with a Teritaani warrior?

A nagging pain that lives forever and won’t go away. What do you get when you mix the blood of that same pain in the neck with that of a Ka’Amok?

A nagging irritation that doesn’t live as long, but hurts twice as much.

I call her Wren Kergatha…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Sixty-Six

« ^ »

Bannor stood in the crowded village trade square, the air smelling of smoke, sweaty bodies and lathering horses. The light of the red moon cast a russet sheen on everything. When added to the bright illumination of the battle lanterns, the shadows cast by the wardens on the wall looked like crimson specters dancing across the yard. He watched enthralled as Wren sobbed and hugged her mother and father. The same iron-willed lady who had dogged him clear across Ivaneth was crying like a baby.

Behind him, Sarai spoke to Laramis, their words lost in the babble of the crowd. He’d wondered what kind of people fostered a woman like Wren. Now, he could find out.

The mother stood taller than her daughter, with shoulders and hips that looked disproportionately wide on her compact frame. To the casual eye, Wren and her mother looked alike, but the elder had rounder cheeks, a broader mouth, and a more prominent chin. The woman’s hard eyes and ‘in-command’ bearing indicated a person accustomed to leadership.

Where the mother seemed relaxed, the father acted stiff, his manner and posture affected. Bannor guessed him to be a man who valued his dignity. His long, copper hair was pulled into a tail exaggerating a high forehead. The man’s dark eyes gleamed like black jewels, making his stare intense. Worry lines creased his angular face with its high cheekbones, sparse mustache, and wedge-shaped jaw. He looked thin, but only because of his exceptional height.

Sarai pulled on his sleeve. “Bannor?”

“Hmmm?” He met his mate’s gaze. She looked concerned.

“Are you well?”

“Fine. Just watching them.” He pointed to Wren’s parents.

“The Kergathas?” She drew a breath. “I met them fifty summers ago. Thought it was a coincidence when Wren told us her name.”

Bannor blinked. “Fifty summers?” Neither one appeared older than forty. “Were they young? They don’t look sixty.”

“They’re far older than that, maybe centuries,” Sarai shrugged. “Not certain how they stay young, but they’ve known Mother a long time.”

“Dame Kergatha is the daughter of the goddess Idun,” Laramis clapped Bannor on the shoulder. “That is why they are so important to our cause.”

“It’ll take a lot to get us out of this,” Bannor said. “We’ve got sixty fighters and a poorly armed town against a legion of demons.”

Laramis squeezed Bannor’s shoulder. “Have faith. Strength is in numbers. The right strengths unified can create a sum far greater than their parts.” He looked skyward and circled his heart three times. “Ukko willing.” He sighed. “I must rest. The battle is soon joined.” He turned.

A burning question suddenly hit Bannor and he caught Laramis’ shoulder. “Wait.”

The paladin looked back. “My friend?”

“Did you really go to Valhalla? To the land of the dead?”

Laramis’ eyes gleamed and he grinned. “Aye. Selected a maiden to watch over Dac.”

Bannor studied Laramis’ face. He looked earnest. A real afterlife? Laramis hadn’t actually said it. Eternal peace in the drinking hall of valiant heroes. It was one thing to believe life existed beyond the death, but entirely another to be certain as Laramis must be.

Leaning on Janai, the Queen stepped beside the paladin. She looked pale, and several of the elven town’s ladies fussed around her. She didn’t seem to notice them. She glanced at Bannor and raised an eyebrow.

He sighed. “We can discuss it later.”

“Aye. Rest. Ukko will watch over us for the nonce.” He bowed to the Queen. “Magnificent showing in the battle Matradomma.”

The lady frowned and nodded.

Laramis bowed again, picked up his helmet and edged through the crowd. Bannor guessed he wouldn’t be resting, but searching for Irodee.

Kalindinai followed the paladin with her gaze, and then put an arm around Sarai’s shoulder. “I saw your stone magic is back.”

Sarai smiled and pulled him close. He didn’t smile back; it worried him. Restoring her power was an accident, the second one involving Sarai. He must control the Garmtur; the next accident might be fatal.

Kalindinai pursed her lips. “Doesn’t this concern you?”

His mate frowned. “It’s different now. I can tell.”

“We badly need that extra power, I know.” The Queen narrowed her eyes. “But if this weakens Bannor, it might be over for everyone.”

Sarai swallowed. “It’s all right. Don’t worry.”

Bannor brushed the silvery hair away from her face. He hoped her faith was warranted.

Kalindinai seemed pacified, and turned her attention to the Kergathas who’d finally finished their reunion. The Queen drew herself up, straightening against obvious fatigue. She stepped away from her daughters and stood on her own to greet Wren’s Mother.

She extended her hands to Dame Kergatha. “Euriel,” she said in warm tone. “Good to have you with us.”

Euriel smiled broadly, bouncing forward to take the Kalindinai’s hands. Instead of being drained by the battle, she appeared to have been invigorated by it. The heavy battle armor didn’t impede her at all. “Kalindinai!” She bowed her head. “Can’t believe you put on this whole war just for me! A simple reception would have done.”

Kalindinai’s smile looked forced. She had none of Euriel Kergatha’s vigor. “Would have liked something simpler myself.”

Wren and her father stepped forward. The big man stood like a sentinel, one arm wrapped protectively around his daughter, the other stroking his mustache.

Euriel looked toward the rift scarring the southern sky. “That’s quite a decoration in your front yard.”

The Queen’s mouth quirked. “Actually, I planned to remove it. Any suggestions?”

“Several,” the woman responded. She stared at the walls still thronged with nervous bowmen. “Think we’ll have to exterminate a few thousand demons before we can use any of them though.”

“Do you have a plan?”

Euriel grinned. “Don’t I always?” She turned to her daughter with a raised eyebrow. The savant grimaced.

Sarai nudged Bannor. “Guess we know who Wren takes after.”

Bannor smiled in spite of himself. Little about their circumstances struck him as funny. Though the elder Kergatha woman made light of their situation, it didn’t change the fact that the world relied on them.

“Kalindinai,” Euriel said in softer tone. “Relax. Don’t make a show for me.” She put an arm around the Queen’s waist and gave her the support she obviously needed. “We can’t all be daughters of Idun. Come. We need to talk to the village elders.”

The Queen looked stunned by Dame Kergatha’s directness. She sighed and nodded.

Euriel turned and her deep indigo eyes found Bannor’s. “Wren hasn’t introduced us. You’re Bannor, right?” He nodded. “Come then. After all, your stake in this is greatest.”

Bannor blinked. He’d thought Kalindinai was commanding. Dame Kergatha inspired obedience without even trying. To see this woman angry would be an awesome sight. Euriel took his wrist with a grip as solid as a manacle and pulled.

“Milady,” he started. “I—”

“Euriel,” she told him. “Titles will only get in the way now. Trust me, haste is essential if we don’t want to be demon fodder.”

Villagers swarming around them, they moved through the square toward another group coming from the opposite direction. The two assemblies met in the middle of a wide, gravel path amidst a throng of curious onlookers.

Three men and one woman had been assembled to talk to them. The obvious one in charge was a balding human with a purplish scar over his left eyebrow. He went without a tunic, revealing burly shoulders covered with hair. His left arm ended in a stump, and he walked with a pronounced limp. His broad face was tanned to the color of old leather and seamed with fine lines that looked like cracks in crystal. Bannor had seen the man summers ago, but didn’t immediately place where.

A half-elf with a hook nose and gold eyes stood on the spokesman’s left. The back and sides of his head had been shaved leaving only a circular patch of long gray hair clasped and dangling over one shoulder.

The last two were elves, a married couple from appearances, and ancient. Their skin had yellowed like old parchment, and they walked with great care, treating everything in their path as if it were potentially hurtful.

As a unit, the delegation bowed before Queen Kalindinai in obeisance. As the spokesman rose and took his hand off his heart, Bannor abruptly realized who he was. “Captain Wallar!”

The older man jerked and peered at the source of the voice. “Bannor?” His gruff voice rose in surprise. “Bannor Starfist? Odin’s eye! What are you—?” He stopped and bowed again to the Queen and Dame Kergatha. “Pardon, Matradomma, Bannor trained in my regiment right before I retired.” He held up his stump. “Figured it best to quit while I could still feed myself.”

“It’s all right,” Kalindinai said. “Familiarity can only aid us. This lady.” She gestured to Wren’s mother. “Is Euriel Kergatha. She has plans for getting through the siege.”

Wallar’s squinting gray eyes met Bannor’s. He nodded. The captain rubbed his plait with his stump. “We’ll listen to whatever you got ta say. We’re down to ten barrels of arrows and two of bolts. At best, it ain’t enough to kill half of what’s out there.”

“My plan calls for little weaponry,” Euriel said. “It does call for a great deal of courage, though.”

“These people aren’t fancy capital folk,” Wallar said. “But they have heart. They’re fighters. We got all the courage you need.”

Euriel turned to her husband. Eyes narrow, the big man nodded. Bannor tried to read Wren for an idea of what was being planned, but the savant’s face gave away nothing. She seemed in shock. She hadn’t spoken to anyone since her parents had revealed themselves.

Dame Kergatha turned back to the delegation. “I want you to bring all the children to the center of town and reassign the adults. Post all of the men on the West and South walls, and the women on the North and East. Everyone. I will assign wardens for the smallest children.”

“Pardon, milady. But, what will that—”

“Goodman Wallar, if your people have courage, show me. Do as I have said, and we may get through this alive.”

The two elderly elves mumbled something, and Captain Wallar bent to listen to the female. He frowned, his brow beetling as she whispered in his ear. He cleared his throat. “We’ll start immediately, milady.”

He turned and boomed an order to someone on the wall. He then hurried down the path, grabbing men and women and issuing instructions.

Euriel bowed to the two ancient elves, and said something in Elvish. The female blushed and bobbed back. The couple then moved off down an alley and into the darkness. The half elf frowned at them, his gold eyes narrow. He said nothing, but spun on his heel and headed into the crowd.

“He’ll be trouble,” Sarai said.

“The least of our problems, I assure you,” Euriel said. She shielded her eyes against the glare of the battle lanterns and studied the center of town. “Arwen,” she asked. “Do you have strength enough to raise a platform of stone a few paces square over there?” She pointed.

Sarai stared at the woman as if surprised to be addressed. “I think so. What about that well?”

“Cover it over. We won’t need it unless we live. It has to be solid. We’ll be focusing a lot of power there.” She took the Queen’s shoulder. “Can you scribe me a thaumaturgic circle on that slab? Third demesne?”

“Using what?”

“Him.” She pointed at Bannor.

His heart jumped. “What?”

“How?” Kalindinai asked.

Euriel snorted. “You know what a third order circle is drawn with.”

“Blood, of course. You don’t expect me—” Kalindinai stopped.

Bannor’s stomach tightened. Both of them were staring into the blonde woman’s eyes. There was no question. She wanted them to inscribe a magic circle on the stone with his blood.

He swallowed. “Why my blood?”

“Let me answer it with a question. Do you think I’d cross the Bifrost Bridge all the way from Asgard simply to get myself killed?”

“No.”

“All right then. If you want to help these people—cooperate. We don’t have time for explanations.”

He thought Wren had been short on information. If they got through this emergency, he’d put an end to this need-to-know drivel. He was an equal partner in the fight against the avatars; no-one would keep secrets from him again. Especially ones involving him and the Garmtur.

He guessed she expected to get some kind of power from his blood. Legends were full of great feats accomplished with blood-rites and magics. What concerned him were the consequences suffered by the contributor of the blood. What risk had she, a stranger, asked him to take on blind faith?

Sarai was ahead of him. “Mother, will this hurt Bannor?”

“Of course it will,” the Queen replied. “Getting stuck with a knife always does.”

“You know what I mean,” she growled.

Kalindinai traded glances with Euriel. “It shouldn’t prove too debilitating.”

Bannor didn’t like the way the Queen had picked her words so carefully. Obviously, she’d guessed what Dame Kergatha might be up to.

Faith.

He looked at Wren. For the first time since the Kergatha’s had revealed themselves, the savant met his gaze. “Trust her,” she said in a firm voice. “Mother knows what’s at stake.”

Even with the savant’s say so, he still felt like a calf being lead to the sacrifice. “Show me what to do.”

When all else fails, sacrifice your second in command, rub your hands together and prepare to get them dirty…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Sixty-Seven

« ^ »

Bannor followed the gravel path toward the center of the outpost followed by the Queen, Janai, Sarai, Wren and her Mother Euriel. The savant’s Father disappeared into the crowd as they headed out. Bannor wondered what the man might be up to, but didn’t have the time or energy to waste on it. Villagers scrambled past, hurrying to carry out Euriel Kergatha’s repositioning orders. Most bowed on passing, showing respect for the Queen and to the people who fought the demons on their behalf. Some stopped and expressed thanks. He wished them well in return. He liked being acknowledged, but hated being responsible for these people. Euriel had put the salvation of the outpost entirely in his hands.

A cool gust swirled between the buildings, bringing the smells of burning wood, sweat and the sulfurous stench of decaying demons. He fixed on the village square where the town’s bricked-in well stood. There, Euriel wanted him to spill his blood in order to ward off Hecate’s demons.

The idea of a blood tribute did not bother him. Nor did he fear the blooding knife. Over the summers as a scout, he’d participated in many odd ceremonies with the tribes that lived in Ivaneth’s remote territories. He’d mingled blood, removed fingernails, and let himself be tattooed all in pursuit of peace with the isolated peoples of the forests and mountains.

This time it felt different. Euriel gave him sound reasons for following her plan, but he simply didn’t trust her. The powerful and charismatic Lady had Wren totally under her sway. He knew the savant’s self-serving interests. Could he expect anything less from her Mother?

An overturned cart with a missing wheel blocked the path, and he pushed it aside. More debris littered the central yard; churns, grinders, and potter’s wheels all disassembled and scavenged for unknown uses in the town’s defense. He glanced back to Sarai. She and her sister walked on either side of their Mother conversing rapidly in Elvish.

Apparently, the Queen understood the ritual that Dame Kergatha wished to perform, but wouldn’t elaborate. Why? Did she fear Euriel? Her reticence added to everyone being incapacitated by the battle, made him feel an even greater need for caution. Right now, Dame Kergatha was stronger than anyone, and could capitalize on their weakness.

Bannor walked to the well, stopping by a bucket of water sitting on the brick rail. He ran his hand along one of the rough wooden posts that supported the windlass and rain shed. Taking the ladle from its hook, he dipped some water from the bucket, and sipped. The coolness soothed his parched throat. He dipped another and offered it to Sarai. She accepted the bailer and took a long drink. He then offered some to the others.

While the Queen and Janai shared their water, he studied Dame Kergatha. The woman watched in silence. No hint showed in either her face or body what she might be thinking.

Her gaze met his, and she raised an eyebrow. His dilemma was he didn’t want to offend Euriel, but he couldn’t blindly trust her either.

Euriel walked toward him unfastening the catches on the plate armor she wore. She removed her gauntlets, and put them under her arm. “You look like a man full of doubts,” she said, her indigo eyes fixed on his.

He felt naked to that stare. It made his skin itch. “I’m a man who’s learned the price of not being cautious.”

“Understandable,” Euriel said. “But—we have no time to debate this. Either you trust me, or we all face what comes over that wall together.” She pointed. “We know for certain what happens then.”

Kalindinai came forward and gripped his arm. The Queen’s touch struck him like lightning because she’d never touched him in any way suggesting intimacy. Her violet eyes were wide. “It will be all right.”

Stunned, he glanced to see what if any indication he might get from Wren. The savant had busied herself with helping her mother take off the armor. The dame wore a silk blouse underneath the metal, and the cloth did not appear even dampened from her exertions.

Is that woman even human? When she said she was the daughter of Idun, did she really mean it? Idun was the source of immortality of Ukko, Odin, and the other Vanirian and Aesirian gods that ruled Asgard and its realms. It would explain her longevity—and her incredible vitality.

Apparently, Wren felt his gaze. “Yes?”

“What’s your part in this, Wren? Why are you so quiet?”

She sniffed. “Maybe I’ve run out of words.” She nudged her mother. “Perhaps she says enough for both of us.”

The dame gave Wren a look from the corner of her eye. “Perhaps I talk too much.” She put an arm around her daughter and roughly pulled her close. “But, I know when action is called for. Bannor—decide.”

His stomach tightened. Laramis told him to have faith. With the townsfolk at stake, did he really have a choice? For everyone’s sake, he hoped Laramis was right. “I’ll do it.” He took a breath. “Let’s start.”

Sarai squeezed his hand and gave him a reassuring smile.

Euriel looked at Sarai. “Your turn.”

His mate stared at the well. She drew a breath and her cheeks puffed out as she let it out through pursed lips. She gestured for everyone to step back. When they did, she made two sweeping gestures. The bricks of the well melted and the cobble stones of the square writhed and bubbled. The wooden structure of the windlass tumbled into the morass of stone which spread out and thrust upward to form the square dais Dame Kergatha had requested.

Once Sarai finished, her hands trembled and her shoulders slumped. Bannor saw her knees starting to buckle, and he and the Queen caught her.

“Sarai?”

“Oh. Lords—” she winced, and put a hand to her head. “Aie.” He lowered her carefully to a sitting position. She patted his arm. “Tired.”

Kalindinai crouched next to her daughter. “All right?”

Sarai nodded.

She rose and looked at Euriel. “Third demesne circle?”

“Yes,” the Dame answered. “Hurry,” she gazed at the crimson moon in the sky. “I feel them massing. Hecate is near. When she arrives, they will attack.”

“Another avatar?” Bannor asked.

Euriel pinned him with an icy stare. “The time for minions is over.” She pointed to the rift. “It is Hecate herself I feel. She is coming.”

“What?” Bannor blurted.

Even Wren looked stunned. Euriel halted the flurry of questions with a raised hand. “Draw the circle right, Kalindinai. Unless you want to be Hecate’s first snack when she devours this world’s souls. I must prepare now.”

She turned.

“Wait!” Bannor said. “But what exactly do we do?”

Euriel frowned. “You bleed. She draws. The rest may as well pray. Once the incantation starts, all your parts will be clear.” She put a hand on Wren’s shoulder. “Dear, they’re bringing the children now. Clear the square, sit them near the dais. Make sure it’s known that it’s vital that all the children be close. Any not here may get injured. Except you five, anyone over fifteen, I want on the wall.”

Wren nodded.

Euriel strode off. The savant watched her until she disappeared into the darkness. Bannor saw a strange look in the woman’s eyes. He wasn’t sure how to read it. Did he see reverence or fear?

She turned back to them. “Janai, please help with the children.” She pointed to the crowd being led by a dozen worried-looking women.

Janai nodded and turned to Kalindinai. “Do you need me, Mother?”

Kalindinai made a shooing gesture. “I’ll manage.” The Queen locked eyes with him. He saw in her ageless face exactly how exhausted she must be. She gripped his shoulders. “To get through this, we must work together. Understand?”

He nodded.

“Sarai,” she said. “Give me your knife.”

***

As the townswomen assisted Wren and Janai in situating the children around the dais, Kalindinai used the knife to scratch an outline of the inner and outer circles and the runes which filled the spaces between. The woman worked steadily as children continued to trickle into the square. Bannor watched, his chest growing tighter with each new mark.

Kalindinai rose from her knees, mopped the perspiration from her brow and sighed. She came and stood by Bannor. “Your blood must become fire. With that heat, we will carve the stone.” She took his wrist and led him to the dais. “I must use you like a quill. Your blood must create an unbroken path. We must move in unison to accomplish that. If you resist and we break the line, we won’t have time to try again.”

“I’m ready.” At least he hoped he was; his heart pounded like it did before a battle.

“This will be exactly like dancing. I’ll lead, and you follow.”

“I never learned to dance,” he said.

Kalindinai drew a breath. “Let us hope you are a natural then. We must keep time; our feet cannot disturb the lines. As the magic nears completion you’ll get resistance. You may feel like leaning into it—don’t. Let me pull you with me.”

Around him, he felt the attention of dozens of children. They would watch him bleed in the name of life, shedding his blood in order to help save the world. He hoped it wouldn’t be the last thing they saw.

“Now,” she said. “I’ll do the catalyzing ritual. It will do two things, keep the wound open and kindle your blood.”

He turned to Sarai. His mate gazed at him intently. She mouthed the words, ‘I love you’. He sensed then that she would have gladly taken his place.

He turned back as Kalindinai began her incantation. Her eyes glazed over, and she silently enunciated words. She moved Sarai’s knife rhythmically, cutting a path in the air that reminded him of the patterns of elemental fire. In his Nola sight, threads of magic twined around the Queen, the knife, and the dais.

The cadence of the Queen’s spell quickened and her words grew audible; the slashes of the knife became wider and more violent. Bannor flinched as she sang a final piercing note and stomped on the cobblestones. Her eyes glowed crimson, and Sarai’s knife gleamed with a white light.

His mouth abruptly dry, he swallowed. He tried to keep his breathing level as she approached. She took his arm and pulled him onto the dais, stepping up inside the complex circle of runes and positioning him so his feet bracketed the biggest symbol on the circle.

“We begin and end at the cardinal point,” she said in a chant. “Power joined full circle, commingled in blood, fire, and stone. In ritual honored, in magic gathered, let this knife lay open this man’s offering so his bounty may be shared by all.”

Bannor’s body hummed as she raised the knife. She lifted his right hand and turned it palm up. He braced as she cut deep, drawing the glowing blade from his wrist up to his middle finger. Bannor gritted his teeth as she pinched his fingers together to form a cup.

Blood bubbled out of the slice, the crimson liquid glowing and translucent.

“Ignore the blood, ignore the pain,” she said in a strained voice. “Think only of me, the pattern and the rhythm.” She placed the knife in her belt and gripped his hand in both of hers. By lacing her fingers she formed a second seal, leaving a small space for blood to escape.

She tilted his hand down. Trickles of crimson crawled down his fingers into her cupped hands, and out onto the stone dais. The droplets hit with a sound like meat on hot grill, flaring and sparking like flash powder. As the burning subsided, it left a deep red groove.

Bannor felt a sharp pain as if a peel of flesh were being pared off his heart. The hurt continued as Kalindinai squeezed and manipulated their joined hands to trace the sketched pattern on the dais.

She hummed, her body swaying to some unheard melody, her hands guiding his in fluid curves, leaving a burning track on the stone between them. What he saw in his Nola sight surprised him so much he nearly tripped. In the grooved stone lay a pristine, newly created thread. This was a brand new force, not a recasting of ancient patterns or a weaving of nature’s ever-present traceries. This thread, this essence, was unique. The filament differed in another way—it was alive. It twitched and pulsed as they expanded the pattern. He then realized the pain he was experiencing was his essence feeding the growing life at their feet.

Together, he and Kalindinai were creating something alive. A living construct of magic, the potential of which he could only guess at.

The task grew difficult as Kalindinai started etching lines that traced the curve of the circle and returned, dipping in and out. To keep up required him to anticipate her needs, shifting his balance and looking ahead in the pattern, timing each breath, step, and motion with hers. The pain in his chest grew, and sweat beaded on his brow. His shoulders soon ached from the tension of their synchronized movements.

The Queen’s skin glistened, and her cheeks grew red from exertion. The woman’s brow furrowed in concentration, her breathing sometimes coming in gasps.

Two thirds of the way through, Bannor’s legs felt like lead; he needed to force his arms to work. His muscles started to knot. His view of the stone grew blurry, and only the pattern memory of his Nola kept him from making a critical error. The Queen forged ahead with a rigid determination, letting out breaths like a competitor at a lifting contest.

Bannor felt his heart slowing. The Nola twisted in his mind tightening like a fist. He grew weaker with each droplet that slipped through his fingers and onto the smoking dais. The complex thread they created, strained at its moorings in the stone, each pull like a sharp tugging in his chest. He glanced ahead. Perhaps a pace separated them from the cardinal point, but both of them were exhausted from their trials.

He staggered through a step, their joined hands shuddering as he fell behind Kalindinai’s lead and hurried to catch up. The Queen’s arms tensed and she grunted, struggling to control the motion. Droplets spattered right and left of the guidelines.

“Steady,” she snapped. “Stay with me!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something flash. Wind gusted through the square. Through his Nola he saw the shock before he felt it. All around them, elemental force lines wobbled and quivered as if something had grabbed reality and given it a shake. In his head, the already knotted up Garmtur convulsed, making his limbs go icy numb.

He fought to stay with Kalindinai, but his arms and legs wouldn’t respond.

“Move!”

“I can’t,” he gritted.

“It’s time,” he heard Euriel say behind him. “She’s here.”

In his mind, he heard the menacing laughter of the dark goddess echoing on the wind.

Coven magic? Now, who would ever think community cooperation would become so unpopular…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Sixty-Eight

« ^ »

Hecate had come.

Bannor stood frozen, his hands linked with Queen Kalindinai’s. They stood in the heart of the besieged village on the rock dais raised by Sarai’s stone magic. A circle of the third demesne Euriel had called it. Bannor knew it better as a ring of blood magic; a ring of his blood. After laboriously tracing the majority of the pattern, only a pace separated them from completing the magic circle that would tap the power of his Garmtur. The winds shrieked and turned biting cold. The stars dimmed, and he heard the unified gasp of the villagers. In his mind, he heard the Moon Goddess’ manic laughter. His Nola senses, now keen, echoed disturbances in the natural balance as pain. His body felt ripped inside as Hecate forced through the giant rift that rose from the plain to the South. His bones seemed to burn as her venomous presence spread across land.

Hecate was coming for him. A wave of death devouring everything in its path. She wanted the Garmtur, and would annihilate this world to get it. If they didn’t defeat her, he’d become a shell, his mind burned away and his body hollowed out so Hecate’s essence could occupy it.

Sarai and everyone he loved would die. The Moon Goddess would possess the Garmtur Shak’Nola and the cosmos would be only a whim away from her control.

A sharp pain in his shin snapped his focus. Kalindinai drew back to kick again. “Bannor—move!” The Queen’s perspiring face looked pale and strained.

“I can’t,” he wheezed, head hanging from the fatigue. The upheaval in the environment made him ill. His limbs felt like lead. He’d given up so much blood. At his feet, the drops from his sliced palm hissed as they struck the dais. Curls of smoke rose and were snatched away by the wind.

“Yes, you can, Bannor,” Kalindinai said. “I have faith.”

Bannor met the Queen’s eyes. The statement shocked him, much the way her touching him in the square had. She always stayed so aloof—like a figurine of brass. She rarely did more than order him around.

His gaze went from Kalindinai to the circle’s cardinal point. The crazy zigzag rush started there, pouring out his life to save innocent lives. The circle. His life seemed made of circles, cycles of need and betrayal, cycles of solitude and withdrawal. He always wound up turned around. He had spent his youth striving for the approval of a father who only recognized his dallying firstborn brother. When Rammal died in the war, Father renounced Bannor, blaming him for his death.

How the circle turned. He went from desperately needing his Father’s love to losing all respect for him.

His becoming a border woodsman for the Baron formed a circle, too. Ostracized by his family, he took the reclusive duty in order to be alone with his anger. Ten summers later, he met Sarai and never wanted to be solitary again.

Alpha and Omega. Since his Nola manifested, his life’s cycles only grew more frequent and pronounced. He left Blackwater with no acknowledged kin, chasing after his only love, Sarai. Days later, he found himself a brother to savants and petitioning to be part of a royal family. After trying so hard to escape Hecate, he’d turned to face her. He had begun as a victim of the dark powers, now, he must be a savior.

“Come on!” Kalindinai gritted. The Queen’s violet eyes were wide-frightened. Her hands clamped on his. “Hecate’s almost here!”

Complete the circle. Make a mark that lasts for all time. Join blood with blood. The Garmtur buzzed, bombarding him with impressions of collapsing natural balances. Hecate’s being on Titaan threatened not only them, but disrupted the prime forces that made life possible. Even if they closed the rift, her presence alone might kill the land and make it barren.

Gritting his teeth, he focused and unlocked his aching arms so Kalindinai could lead him.

“Help me! I’m too tired to drag you!” Her arms shivered as she changed direction. The trickles of fiery blood weaved dangerously. One break in the line and circle was ruined.

As they pivoted, he saw Laramis and Irodee in the square helping Wren and Janai calm the children around the dais. His eyes locked with Sarai’s. He felt her love and support.

Looking toward the rift, Euriel stepped into the circle. Her indigo eyes glistened as if she’d been crying. “Fight,” she urged. “Don’t let Rammal down again. You want Sarai to die? Want to be a husk like Meliandri lying on that hill up there? You are the Garmtur. Flesh in nothing. Overcome!”

Euriel’s words vibrated his bones. You are the Garmtur. Flesh is nothing. Failure meant killing not only himself, but everything on Titaan.

Agony arcing through him, he staggered after Kalindinai, his arms moving in jerks. He felt the demon’s proximity and experienced the entire town bracing for impact.

You are the Garmtur. Three curves and another step. Kalindinai panted as though in labor, sweat streaming down her face. The Queen gnashed her teeth, the muscles in her neck cording with her efforts.

Flesh is nothing.

His reality narrowed to the dripping of his blood and the groove in the stone. Complete the circle; start to end. Nothing existed save the path and the goal. Flesh served only as the vessel. He was the power.

Overcome.

His anger over the slaughtered people and the terrible consequences of failure drove him down the line. Just as he summoned the strength to finish, it was Kalindinai who groaned to a stop, her face a mask of agony. Fighting him and this ritual had simply taken too much energy.

The roaring wind ripped at hair and clothing. Demons howled. The town cried out. Alpha and omega. His job, his responsibility. He switched roles, instead of following—he led. The Garmtur pulsing in his mind, he dragged Kalindinai into the remaining segments of the pattern.

A strident female voice boomed in Bannor’s mind. You are mine, Garmtur!

Hecate. Here. Now. Don’t count on it. One slash completed the blood circle. Searing pain and a sizzling came from his slit hand. A curtain of light flared from the grooved dais, shooting into the night like a beacon. Euriel grabbed their arms, pulling them into the circle. He and Kalindinai broke apart, falling to their knees at the elder Kergatha’s feet.

“Brace yourself,” Euriel told him, gripping his shoulders.

The Garmtur exploded. His pattern expanded, sending threads twining out in all directions. Where his essence touched someone, it was as if he’d gained another set of eyes. Within heartbeats, he was seeing and hearing from hundreds of vantages all over town.

All those viewpoints focused on the dark fog coalescing at the South wall. The cloud took on color and distinctness. Bannor felt five hundred gasps as Hecate manifested. Eyes glowing like fire and taller than the grandest scalebark, the voluptuous form of the goddess came into view, white-white hair and gauzy garments rippling in the gale.

His heart seized as he looked upon the ageless beauty of their foe. Foe. The word didn’t adequately describe her. Foes could be understood—escaped.

Her gaze probed the town like a search lantern. Studying his enemy, he realized they misjudged Hecate’s motives. With the Garmtur expanded five-hundred fold, he saw subtleties hidden to a single mind. He felt what drove this creature. Neither fear nor greed, or a desire for power, but something more powerful.

Need.

The goddess found him. Glowing eyes narrowed, red-red lips unsheathed to form a menacing grin. The wind halted, and all went quiet. She pointed a glowing fingernail the size of shield at him. Her voice rolled across the town like thunder, rattling doors and windows. “I see you.”

Bannor’s stomach turned to ice. “I see you as well,” he said, trying to keep his voice level.

He did see her. He saw the goddess and her need. He saw himself and his desire to live. He also saw the Garmtur and its potential. It made him even more desperate for an answer. Why must they battle to the death? Drawing on the power of the intellects tied to him, he willed his Nola to give up the answer.

A ringing went through Bannor, and the Garmtur unfolded, shining its secrets into his psyche. It revealed the core of what he was, and the origins of all Nola power. New vistas opened in his mind, a race memory that explained the ties between savants and gods.

The Nolas, like all life, were diversifications of the unified forces that gave birth to the cosmos. Each savant served as host to one of the progeny of the mother force. A force that through eons of time had acquired sentience and bonded with people like himself.

In him, the Garmtur was an expression of the basic nature of the universe, the tendency toward spontaneous and cataclysmic change. He could trigger such changes and mold them at will. Others, like Wren, harnessed fundamental aspects such as the bindings of matter and energy.

Each savant was actually a fragment of a greater being. The gods were also fragments of those same beings, far more powerful, their bodies ageless and resilient. Despite their vast physical power, they were far more limited than the savants. Bannor had seen in himself as well as Wren, that the potential of their Nola was limitless; they simply lacked bodies sturdy enough to harness those mighty abilities. Bodies just like those possessed by the gods. If the proper fragments of a god and savant joined they would become something unimaginably powerful. That was what Hecate coveted. She wanted it so badly that Bannor could feel her humming with it.

Despite their mastery of the elements, their ability to create and destroy, Hecate and her peers all possessed one unassailable flaw.

They were incomplete. Worse, they couldn’t or wouldn’t recognize it. They preyed on savants, seeking to gain power from them. In their succorunding of the savants, they only destroyed the essence for which they sought.

In her own search, Hecate had discovered him. She was blind the same way as the others. She wanted the Garmtur to cheat the immutable laws of the cosmos. She wanted to join with the Garmtur even though they were not fragments of the same host. She wanted to force the merger—to become greater despite it.

The bitch Hecate simply didn’t know how to ask nicely, and obviously didn’t care who or what was destroyed. He’d teach Hecate to appreciate the value of his life, and the lives his friends.

Even if it killed them both.

Hecate’s voice rolled over the outpost again. “I’ve come for my prize, Garmtur.” She gestured and the thousands of demons that surrounded the town took wing and hovered within attacking distance. “Give it to me, or everything you value dies.”

“What you want, even the Garmtur cannot give you!”

“I shall be the judge of that.”

“She judges nothing!” Euriel burst out. “She is a vile thief and a butcher! She tore apart my family. She deserves nothing but death!”

Hecate made a dismissing gesture, waving a house-sized hand. “Ignore her. She raves. Proof that the pantheon lords and Territaani should not mix.”

Euriel let out a cry of rage. Bannor restrained the woman with a hard grip on her shoulder.

He drew a breath and let it out, he reached out to the dozens of minds linked to him, focusing their fragments of the Garmtur and drawing on the multiplied energy. His chest filled with flames and his arms throbbed with Nola energies. Strength ringing through him, he stood.

“I will not be extorted by you!”

Hecate scowled. The air turned cold and the wind gusted. In the distance, lightning flickered. A red glow flashed in the goddess’ eyes. He saw Kalindinai, Euriel and the others tense. He hoped his new insight into the Garmtur would be enough to stop her.

“As you wish,” Hecate growled. Thunder rumbled, and the winds gusted.

Bannor didn’t wait for her strike. Too many times he’d reacted rather than take action. He thrust his will into the men and women all sharing the Garmtur. What his fatigued body couldn’t do by itself could be distributed across five hundred villagers. As one unit, he directed them to spin a shield of threads over the town.

A blue radiance engulfed Hecate’s hands as she raised them. Bannor sensed her target. Not him, or the people on the walls, but the children around the dais. Simultaneously, demons attacked from all directions, a charging mass of scales, claws, and wings.

The goddess released her spell. A flashpowder burst that roared like a hundred claps of thunder. Through his surrogates, Bannor yanked the defensive threads taut. A green aura blossomed around the town, blocking the goddess’ attack. As the spell hit, a blinding flash made him clutch his eyes. His heart raced as he felt the backlash surge toward his links. If that power hit those people they’d be shredded. Desperately, he yanked the Garmtur back, pulling it back into himself. His links all yelled as the shock of separation jolted through them.

As the Garmtur flooded into him, he felt the tremendous impetus of Hecate’s attack following behind it. If he absorbed that power he’d explode. He must send that potential where it wouldn’t cause harm—or where it harmed the right thing. He knew then what to do. Alpha and Omega. Turnabout. With a twist of will, he used the threads of the blood circle to relink himself—not to the villagers, but to the onrushing demons.

The passage of the Hecate’s magic felt like being hit with a bolt of lightning. Every limb went rigid as the goddess’ attack diverted through his body and Nola and out through the circle into the demons. Like an armful of needleleaf cones tossed into a bonfire, the goddess’ winged reptiles erupted with deafening cracks, sending trails of smoking remains shooting in all directions.

“Aka!” Kalindinai burst out in Elvish.

“Yes!” Euriel pounded a fist into her palm.

Bannor dropped to his knees, stunned by passage of Hecate’s power through his body. Across the plain, the explosive cracking continued as the backlash proceeded to destroy the demons connected to the rift. The goddess had struck hard enough to leave a crater where the town stood.

Hecate’s eyes became flames as she scanned the carnage caused to her forces by the attack.

Shaking with pain, Bannor fought back to his feet. He pushed the wind-swept hair from his eyes. He yelled against the gale. “This is pointless! The Garmtur cannot make you complete! There is only one being in the universe who could do that, but you or one of your stupid peers has probably destroyed her.”

“You lie!” She snarled and moved to attack again. Bannor sensed hundreds of elemental and magic threads being tapped. He knew then, the first assault had only been a test.

Hecate had summoned enough power to cleave a leagues deep canyon where the town now stood. Stars appeared to blink out as pitch-black funnels of elemental force hooked down and gathered around the goddess’ outstretched hands.

“Surrender,” she boomed. Spheres crackled around her giant hands. “Else you all die. As the Garmtur knows, it is uncertain what the shattering of his physical shell will do. Perhaps in destroying you pitiful heathens, I will annihilate the cosmos as well.”

Flesh is nothing. You are the power.

“Kill me, and you get nothing!” Bannor yelled.

“I have nothing now,” Hecate grimaced. “At least this way, I wipe out several annoying bugs.” Her smoldering eyes scanned everyone.

Bannor looked toward Sarai and found her looking back at him. She mouthed the words ‘I love you’ as if uttering them for the last time.

No one of his allies flinched, not even Janai. They refused to surrender to an evil such as Hecate.

The goddess’ eyes narrowed. “So be it.”

She struck.

Even for a goddess there are times to bluff, times for bait and switch, and times for a little misdirection. Most complex strategies all hinge on one shining moment of simplicity…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Sixty-Nine

« ^ »

Defiance.

Retaliation.

Oblivion.

A million thoughts flashed through Bannor’s mind in a heartbeat. The Garmtur sensed the danger before Bannor actually saw it. Time froze as the tidal wave of magic meant to annihilate, him, his friends and the entire town flashed from Hecate’s upraised hands.

The Garmtur also let him know that a manipulation of reality powerful enough to divert Hecate’s assault would cause greater havoc than the attack itself. Doing nothing meant letting himself and everyone get obliterated.

Bannor had no time to do anything but put up all the defense he could muster as Hecate’s spell blazed down…

***

Thunder rumbled.

Wind rushed.

Laughter echoed.

Bannor let go a breath. His tensed muscles went lax.

What in Hades? No strike. He glanced up. A cold gust blew against his face. Hecate had vanished. Children cried for their mothers. Lightning flicked in the distance. Around him, the Queen and the others looked around in surprise.

What happened? Why had Hecate—? His gaze instinctively searched for Sarai. A giant hand seemed to squeeze his chest. “Sarai!” He leaped off the dais stumbling and scrambling around startled children. Only a piece of her blouse lay in burned circle where she last stood. His Nola sight showed him the last vestiges of a tiny flux point now sealing—transport magic. “Sarai!”

The distant laughter continued.

“Odin. Oh, Odin, no!” The attack had been a feint; Hecate had used the immense power to disguise her real intentions-capturing Sarai.

Perhaps now, Hecate said in his mind. You will reconsider giving me the Garmtur. Come to the rift. Do not take overlong. Otherwise your ‘Little Star’ will—well, I shall let you imagine.

Bannor groaned. Behind him he heard the startled cries of the Queen and Janai as they realized Sarai had disappeared.

A roaring filled his ears. The sounds of the crowd, the cold night air, and the fatigue were blotted out by one thought—Sarai. Find her—now. Laramis’ knights came on flying horses. He could be there in less than a bell if he flew. Hecate wanted the Garmtur, she’d get it.

He headed for the market square where the flying animals had been tethered. He’d never ridden a flying horse before. Time to learn. Voices called to him, but they only sounded like a meaningless drone.

A body jumped in front of him and strong hands clamped on his arms. “Bannor, I said, no!” Euriel yelled, her lightning blue eyes flashing in torchlight. “Don’t do it, Bannor. It’s what Hecate wants! To make you desperate, to rattle you.”

Bannor tore away from her. “Oh, stow it! I took your damned advice and Wren’s and the Queen’s. Look what’s happened! I’m through taking orders. Get out of my way.” He stepped around the woman.

Euriel backed up and blocked him. “You have no right to take such a risk! This is bigger than you. This is the world!”

“Lady,” Bannor growled. The fury was like fire burning behind his eyes. He felt the Garmtur like electricity sizzling through his limbs. “Right now, I don’t care. Move.”

Wren’s mother scowled. Her eyes flashed. “Make me.”

With the Garmtur vibrating in his bones, he made her. Bannor grabbed the mage by the shoulders. His hands took hold not only of Euriel’s flesh, but the masses of elemental threads that charged her body. He threw the entire mess in the nearest fire barrel.

The daughter of Idun hit with a surprised curse and a crash, sending wood fragments, binding rings and water exploding in all directions.

Without pausing to take stock of his handiwork he sprinted toward the horses, Euriel’s angry sputters faded behind him. Laramis and Irodee called to him, but he blocked it out. Sarai, I’m coming. Hecate best watch out. Sometimes what we wish for isn’t really what we want.

The dozens of pearly white horses nickered and tossed their heads as he approached, seeming to sense his presence without even seeing him. He chose one out of the group, and reached for its lead strap.

The animal narrowed gold eyes and gnashed square white teeth. It stomped an ebony hoof on the cobbles sending sparks shooting across the ground. Steam curled from its flared nostrils.

“All I want is a ride to rescue my wife,” he whispered in a low voice. “Get me there, and you can have whatever you want.”

Its wings stirred. It brought its nose around sniffing. Its ears flicked as gold eyes studied him with more than animal intelligence. After a moment, it nickered and tossed its head.

He guessed that meant ‘yes’, because it didn’t threaten him when he reached for the lead. As he turned the huge, white animal, he found it seemed to have no weight. Its hooves made no sound on the cobbles as if it floated above the ground. He also noted here amongst the forty-odd mounts it didn’t smell like horses, it reminded him more of the smell of dried flowers.

As Bannor led the horse toward the gate, Laramis and Irodee dashed into the square in front of him.

“Are you going to try to stop me, too?” he growled.

Laramis held up a hand. His rugged face looked stern, his dark eyes seemed to glow in the darkness. “No, my friend, we are with you. Besides, have you ever ridden a flying steed?”

Bannor glanced back at the powerfully muscled animal and the gleaming wings furled at its sides. He stroked its mane which was softer than the finest fur he’d ever touched. “This fellow agreed to teach me.”

“He is Bomarc,” Laramis said. “Bearer of Tymorn and Gundar, and seven generations of Asgard’s finest warriors. If you can hang on, he’ll get you to Sarai.”

“I’m already there,” Bannor replied. “My body just hasn’t caught up.” Before Laramis could say anything more, he swung up into the elaborate saddle, quickly cinching the strap around his waist as the animal sidestepped and ruffled its wings.

He couldn’t wait. Sarai needed him. He spurred toward the town gates. Bomarc trotted for a few paces, then launched forward as though fired from a catapult. Bannor leaned into the wind and clamped down with his legs, gripping the reins as the animal’s powerful wings unfurled with a booming sound. A few thrumming beats and Bannor felt his stomach lurch.

They rose from the ground, the cold night air a rush of speed. As he glanced back, the outpost, the lake and the surrounding hills were falling beneath him. Bomarc seemed to know his destination, his nose orienting on the shaft of darkness rising in the south.

Bannor felt its pull on him. Hecate had something dear to him. He had something the goddess wanted.

One life for ultimate power. It was a trade he was willing to make.

His own friends would try to stop him.

That was too bad.

Only one thing was important.

Sarai.

ha and Beta what had that disrespectful old bastard been trying to tell me?

He actually made me wonder if maybe we had it all wrong, if maybe it was the Alphas, the Ka’Amok, who should succorund us. Of course, I didn’t dwell on it long, what a totally ridiculous idea that we of the pantheons are actually the inferior race…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Seventy

« ^ »

Interlude.

Journal Entry 40: Spring, 1102 New Ivaneth Calendar.

If I thought I’d survive, I wouldn’t waste the moments taken to record this entry. We’ve confronted Hecate and failed to do more than annoy her. We’d be dead if her lust for the Garmtur hadn’t overridden her hatred of us.

I feared we’d lose Bannor if Hecate captured Sarai. I was right. Even Mother couldn’t stop Bannor. Not even avatars have bested Euriel like that. If Hecate gets control of Bannor, who knows what will happen. She, like all of the gods, has forgotten what her relationship is to savants. If by some strange twist she does manage to merge their Alpha and Beta aspects, she will become like Gaea’s initial progeny—a first-one. Even other gods will become her prey.

We hope to save Bannor and Sarai, but we’re prepared to kill him in order to prevent Hecate from getting the Garmtur. Otherwise, she may destroy everything.

Should this log reach you, Azir, be well my brother, Mother and I send our love.

—Wren

End of Interlude

Bannor leaned into the biting cold wind as gusts buffeted him and his flying mount. Tears ran down his cheeks seeming to turn to ice on his skin. Bomarc’s powerful wings thrummed steadily, driving them toward the black rift created by Hecate. Somewhere near the leagues-high spire, he would find Sarai. Iron gray clouds boiled around the blackness, spikes of lightning flicking between the thunderheads. Hecate had brought Hades with her when she came to Titaan. Scoured by storm winds and gouged by flooding, the landscape looked decimated. No living thing moved below.

He glanced over his shoulder. Two white dots glinted in the night. It must be Laramis and Irodee. Burdened by the paladin’s heavy armor, and the Myrmigyne’s huge size, their mounts could not catch up. He didn’t want them to. No true friend would even suggest he sacrifice Sarai’s life for some ‘greater good’.

It was not an option.

He would deal with Hecate in his own way. Kalindinai’s magic circle had brought the Garmtur alive in him, letting him see into himself. He learned that savants were avatars of the Motherforce. Instead of being hands and eyes of gods, they were living expressions of the laws that governed the cosmos. The Garmtur embodied nature’s tendency toward change. His Nola caused the changes he desired by rearranging the rules.

When he wished Sarai to have the strength to fight Rankorhaaz, he hadn’t changed Sarai. He altered the rules governing her existence. He now knew the most minute applications of the Garmtur affected the entire cosmos. Every thread in the pattern was intertwined. His power let him dance across that spider’s web, terminating filaments, altering their relationships and creating new ones. Other savants represented the laws of cosmos. He was the keystone. The book where the laws were manifest.

That’s why Hecate wanted him. He’d felt her need. His power could unbind the rules of her very creation, and make her able to meld with an alpha aspect she wasn’t meant to be a part of. The longevity of immortality and its static nature had made her desperate to become something greater than she was.

The sons and daughters of the First ones, these beta aspects did not change—indeed they were not meant to. If what he had seen in that brief moment of clarity was true, they were never meant to be at all. They were a transition creature, a phase between states, much the way a cocoon was between fuzz-muncher and a flutter-bug. Somewhere in time, the savants and the gods were split out of the first-ones. The gods were ageless and continued unchanged. The savants though, changed and evolved, somehow dying and being reborn in subsequent generations. How the Alpha blood had entered his family he could only guess. He only knew now that he was cursed with that legacy, and Hecate wanted it with all her immortal lust.

What happened if Hecate, a being of already incredible power, somehow gained the nearly limitless potential of the Garmtur? She had already been corrupted by having the power of pantheon lord. Attaining the status of something greater than an immortal certainly wouldn’t make her any more sane or benevolent. Bannor, I can see myself. He thought of Wren’s words as she lost her grip on the Garmtur. How close had she come to destroying everything in existence? Wren, who loved life, who did care whether people lived or died, had almost done that. What would this insane goddess do?

He couldn’t waste time contemplating it now. He must save Sarai. He would deal with the consequences.

As would Hecate.

He glanced back again. There were six dots now, no doubt the Queen, Euriel, Wren and Janai had joined the pursuit—for all the good it would do them. Shouldn’t there be seven? Where had Wren’s Father gone before the fight? It didn’t matter. He hoped to have ended this conflict by the time anyone else reached the spire.

As he and Bomarc drew closer to the rift, he made out what looked like motes spiraling around the blackness. As the distance lessened, he recognized them as hundreds of demons circling around the giant opening. Where the blackness touched the ground, a great rip appeared in the land. Two ridges spread out from the edges of the chasm stretching for almost a league. Figures milled like insects in the valley, like hive bugs at the mouth of their sand hillock.

Bomarc whinnied, sounding angry and agitated. No doubt he smelled demons. Bannor didn’t blame him for hating the creatures; he himself hated them and their mistress.

East of the trench, a bright light flashed, like something glinting off metal. After the flashes came twice more, he assumed they indicated where he should land.

His heart beat faster, and his insides churned. He must get Sarai away from Hecate. He nudged Bomarc toward the flashes and the great winged steed complied.

The storm turbulence abruptly ended as they cut across the plain toward the signal. The icy air warmed, and the odor of sulfur became strong.

His mind flashed through what he must do. He had no clear plan save to bargain for Sarai’s release. He knew Hecate’s treacherous nature; he would need to find a way to bind her with the Garmtur’s power. How that might be accomplished remained hazy, but as long as he could change the rules, there would be a way.

The area where the flashes originated appeared open. Vegetation looked sparse, a few bushes and some sapling-sized trees. He circled the area, seeing nothing suspicious. Strange that he’d come this far without being challenged. Hecate might have been certain he’d come, but could she be sure how he’d arrive?

They landed on higher ground where even the limited plant life lay a stone’s throw away. Bomarc snorted and tossed his head, powerful wings flicking nervously.

Bannor dismounted and patted the powerful animal’s shoulder. “Thank you. I don’t know how I will repay you, but I will.”

Bomarc’s head dipped, and he nudged Bannor with his nose. Intelligent gold eyes blinked at him.

He rubbed Bomarc’s muzzle and scratched behind his ears.

A familiar voice spoke behind him. “My One, you came.”

Sarai! Bannor’s heart jumped. He whirled to face her. His chest tightened as he took in the familiar violet eyes and silvery hair. Her pale cheeks were flushed, the glow of her eyes faint. Otherwise she seemed uninjured. Not even her clothing looked mussed.

“Sarai!” He rushed forward a few steps and stopped. Why was she alone? If she’d engineered an escape, she wouldn’t be in the open.

She frowned. “What’s the matter, my One?”

“How—?” his voice caught. Relief and concern washed through him like storm waves. Could this be a trick? “How did you get away?”

Sarai stepped toward him. “It’s simple, my One. She let me go.” She seemed so calm. How could that be? She’d been Hecate’s captive.

A chill shot down his spine. “Why?” He glanced around, his already-pounding heart doing a double beat against his ribs. Winged figures darted through the darkness at the edges of where he could see. None came closer, remaining a good distance off. He viewed her with his Nola sight. Everything about his mate looked right. It felt wrong.

“Does it matter? I’m here!” She took hold of his arm before he could flinch. Her hands felt warm and dry. His flesh prickled beneath her touch. He smelled the tangy fragrance of her. Everything was right—it must be Sarai.

Bomarc nickered. Hooves scraped the parched ground. Bannor glanced back at the winged horse. The animal’s gold eyes gleamed. It tossed its mane and snorted. “I’ve got to get you away from here.”

He pulled Sarai after him toward Bomarc, but she resisted. “I can’t leave yet.” Her tone made the hair on his neck stiffen.

The icy feeling came back, only stronger now. More demons fluttered in and out of visibility. “What’s wrong?”

The lines of her angular face tightened and her body stiffened. She spoke in a flat tone. “We have to resolve matters of the Garmtur.”

Bomarc made more noises. Growing more agitated.

Bannor felt as if he couldn’t get air anymore. He choked. “The Garmtur? Forget that. Let’s go!” He pulled on her arm again, but Sarai stayed planted as though she’d taken root. “What’s wrong with you!?”

The scowl on Sarai’s face faded. Her features softened. She swept a few strands of hair from his face. “Nothing is wrong.” She gave him a radiant smile, and then pulled him down so her lips touched his. She stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, her warm breath moist on his cheek. “I made a bargain so we can be together forever, my One.”

Her words made realization shoot through him like lightning. He shoved her back. “You’re not Sarai!”

The accusation barely fazed her. “Of course I’m Sarai.”

Bannor’s hands clenched and unclenched. What could he do? Every sense said she had to be Sarai. Instinct told him otherwise. Even his Nola showed nothing unusual. That made it worse.

“Bannor, I can prove it.”

His stomach twisted. “She’s done something to you. Odin.”

“We can be free. We’ll never be threatened again.” She reached out to him, but he backed away.

Sarai frowned. Shadows danced at the edges of the bright aura he usually saw around her in his Nola sight. “My One, don’t you trust me?”

Her heard the disappointment in her tone. Much as he wanted to believe, this wasn’t Sarai. Then, the answer came to him, and a vise closed around his chest. “You’re Hecate.”

Her glowing eyes narrowed. Her voice took on a sharp edge. “What are you saying?”

Bomarc’s wings whooshed behind Bannor. His nickering turned angry. The way the great winged horse was acting, and her indirection made his convictions stronger. “You are Hecate.”

She sighed and folded her arms. The violet light of her eyes flickered out, and they turned black. Her silvery hair shimmered to become the milky white. Everything else about Sarai remained unchanged. The smile she gave him belonged to another—Hecate. It felt as if he’d been wrapped in sheets of ice.

Her words made it worse. “You’re half right, my One.”

A lump hardened in his throat. “Half?”

“I found I couldn’t usurp what Sarai already possessed. She owned your love. The rules of binding prevented me from wresting you from her. Your essence had to be given or shared willingly. She’d do neither. So, my dear sweet One, I did the only thing I could do—I became Sarai.”

The ice in his bones turned to fire. Was there nothing this creature would not do to get her way? Needles of pain pricked his temples. His voice came out cold and hard. “Get out of her body.”

Sarai/Hecate gave him an ingratiating smile, the forced expression someone used when tolerating a petulant child. A sulfurous wind whipped around them, and fat drops of rain spattered on the ground. She looked up, letting droplets run down her face, obviously enjoying the sensation. Her gaze returned to him, black eyes locking with his. “No.”

The frustration burned like acid in his throat. Hecate knew he wouldn’t kill Sarai to get at her. She had plotted this from the beginning. The goddess had her shield. She meant to use it. “Damn you! She didn’t hurt you. You want what I have—deal with me!”

She twirled a length of silvery hair around her finger. Her motions looked languid and relaxed as if she possessed all the time in the universe. The rain continued, but it no longer touched her. She seemed to consider her words carefully. She stared up at him through her long eyelashes, a peculiar smile twisting her lips. “I am dealing with you. Stop blathering, and you might hear what I have to say.”

He spoke through gritted teeth. “I’ll listen when she’s free of you.”

She ran a shaky hand through her silvery hair. He saw the tension in her jaw. Mortals did not speak so to gods. No doubt Hecate had never heard a rebellious word in her millenniums long life. “Listen to this, Garmtur.” Her voice, Sarai’s, sounded forced, held just above a growl. “You tire of running. I tire of waiting. You want freedom. I want—Tan’Acho, the ascension, to step beyond the bindings of pantheons to become as a first-one. We can both have what we want.”

He wiped at the rain dripping down his face, feeling the cold moisture soak through his tunic to his skin. “Can we?” He rasped. If she hadn’t been wearing Sarai’s face, he would have slapped her. “Look at this!” He gestured to the rift stretching into the sky above them and to the decimated landscape. “This is not what I want!”

She looked around. Her brow furrowed, as if she’d noticed it all for the first time. “So—I’ll fix it.”

He couldn’t believe what he’d heard. Maybe the gods could go insane. “Just like that.”

Her gaze never wavered. “Just like that.”

“What about the people who’ve died? The innocents?”

A perplexed expression came over her face. “What of them?”

“They’re dead! You killed them!”

“They were lucky. At least they stayed dead. Dying isn’t so bad, it’s the waking up afterward…” Her voice trailed off. The pained look on her face, Sarai’s face, made him want to hold her. Then he remembered what had taken over the body of his love. She did not deserve pity.

His mind flashed on the tone she had used. Lucky. As though she admired a mortal’s ability to die. She certainly appeared to enjoy spreading death. Did she really think she was doing the world a favor by killing everything?

He must think. He couldn’t attack her while she possessed Sarai’s body. His heart beat faster. He must get this insane thing out of her. He felt a twinge. Wren and the others were close. His bond to other savants had grown more sensitive with his awareness of the Motherforce. Things would come apart soon: the rift, the world, the Garmtur.

Damp strands of hair ran in his face. He shook his head, blinking away the rivulets. Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the dark maw of the rift. The sight made his keyed up body tense. So little time. What if some part of this static being meant by its creators to go unchanged was altered? Birth and death. What had she said? Dying isn’t so bad, it’s the waking up afterward…

“All right,” he said. “What do you want me to do?”

She pushed a hand through her pale hair. She smiled. The look on her face was serenity itself. How could something so evil be so inviting. “Nothing hard, Bannor, my One. All you must do is love me.”

Insanity. Who is really qualified to judge what is sane—or for that matter moral? Order must be maintained in order to ensure productivity. Chaos must exist so that order can be imposed on it.

Some of us must lose our sanity in order to find that shining clarity of thought and purpose that makes us the geniuses that history hails so brightly…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Seventy-One

« ^ »

Bannor stared into the ebony eyes looking from Sarai’s face. Flashes of lightning made shadows dance across her skin. Clouds rushed across the sky their edges fraying as they passed across the periphery of the league-high pillar of darkness that was the opening into Hades. Spatters of rain made his skin prickle. The wind blew Sarai’s hair, making the strands whip and dance. Talons seemed to close around his heart.

He had come here at Hecate’s call, hoping to resolve their conflict. A solution seemed further away than ever. His mate and Hecate were now bound into one form. The person he loved most and the one he despised above all had become the same person. If he destroyed the goddess, Sarai died with her.

What did Hecate say she wanted? Did he hear right?

“What?” he choked.

Hecate/Sarai’s smile never wavered. “Love me.”

Love. Men and women spent a lifetime understanding that word. Could she have picked two words with more nuances? She couldn’t know what she asked. Lifting a mountain would be easier than loving the moon goddess. She had hurt Sarai, killed his friends and pursued him all across Ivaneth. Hate her, yes, but love..?

He studied Sarai’s—Hecate’s—expectant face. Her body trembled. Could she be that naïve? “Love you?!” Bannor let out. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t.”

She moved to him, arms circling his waist and pulling him close. “Let us become reacquainted. Bannor, I can make all your fantasies true.” Her breath smelled sweet. The rain no longer touched him now that she stood close. She felt warm and pliant as she kissed his neck. A rush of energy quickened his pulse. Waves of heat washed through him. Now, he sensed the immense potential of the immortal hiding in that slender form. It might be Sarai’s body, but the creature in control was not his mate.

Bannor realized that Bomarc had suddenly gone silent. He glanced to where he last saw the great horse. A greenish glow was fading; in the faint light he saw the equine shape coalescing into a humanoid silhouette.

His heart jumped. “Bomarc!” The figure slid out of view into the surrounding darkness. Nothing answered his call.

“My One?” She glanced over. “Oh. The noisy pest took off.” She sighed. “You must stay focused.” Her tone darkened. A reddish glow filled her eyes. “Love me. Now.”

Love. What did it have to do with the Garmtur? What would altering his emotions toward her accomplish? What sense did that make? If he could love Hecate, how might it affect Sarai?

“You’re stalling,” she growled. “If you are to be my One, start acting like it.” She twined her fingers in the back of his hair and pulled him down. Her lips locked on his in hard kiss. He felt a sharp sting, and he tasted the coppery-sweetness of blood.

He flinched away. What options did he have? Even if he wanted to cooperate… Soon, Hecate would realize he couldn’t do as she asked. To aggravate matters, he sensed that the rift must be shut soon or it would be impossible to do so.

She smiled. “Mmmm.” She circled her lips with her tongue, obviously savoring his blood. “I see why you appeal.” The crimson on her mouth and the hungry gleam in her eye made Bannor flash on when he and Sarai had made love in the flats. The taste excited her then too. The flavor of a savant’s blood.

He needed a plan. Now. Think. “You know I can’t love you unless you love me back. It doesn’t work, otherwise.”

Her smile died. “Love you, too?” She glanced at a drop of his blood on her finger. Her eyes widened.

“You can love can’t you?” he pressed.

“Of course!” she snapped. A muscle in her cheek twitched. The dilemma was the same for her as it was him. He couldn’t love this malign immortal, and she in turn knew nothing of expressing it.

It gave him an idea.

Demons screamed, and the sky lit up as an arc of fire sliced overhead. Hecate/Sarai snapped around. The silhouettes of two star-white winged horses cut across the absolute blackness of the rift. A sword of flame waved above the lead rider.

Laramis and Irodee had arrived. Green shapes flooded into the sky.

“Meddlers,” Sarai mumbled in voice that sounded abruptly deeper and more resonant.

Bannor blinked and reeled back a step. In the moment it took to glance away, she’d grown to the size of an ogre. A dark glow surrounded her flesh like an armor of shadows, and his Nola sight now showed the elemental and magical threads feeding Hecate’s mystical abilities.

She turned to him, apparently feeling his attention. She ran her hands down her sides, sparks trailing from glowing orange fingernails. “Ah, forgive me. I forget myself.”

If Hecate would only get out of Sarai, then he could do something. “Maybe that body is a tiny bit confining?”

She glanced from him to the battle in the sky. Demons fell like a cancerous rain, bodies sizzling and exploding as they hit ground. Laramis and Irodee used magics he’d never seen. Blasts of fire, thunderbolts and dazzling shafts of silver light burst from their weapons cleaving through Hecate’s creatures.

“I don’t need all my strength to deal with them.”

“No, but you’ll need it all for me,” he grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her around.

She glared at him with eyes of flame. When she moved to wrench her hand away, he grabbed her other wrist and yanked on her arms to keep her focused on him.

His voice rang clear. “You want the Garmtur, Little Star. You have to earn it.”

Her eyes became glowing slits. “Earn?”

He let the Nola flood into him. The world’s magical and elemental makeup sprang into view. He released the Garmtur and focused.

He must change rules that would leave Sarai unharmed.

“You want love, Hecate?” he paused, gathering his will. He clamped down on the huge wrists in his hands. “You want to hide in Sarai’s body.” He growled. “Then I wish you loved me like she does—body and spirit.”

The Garmtur exploded in him. It felt as if a hammer struck him in the chest. There’d be no fighting the backlash this time. His arms shuddered as the magic flooded through them into her huge form.

Hecate/Sarai’s face blanched, and she staggered. Lightning spiked through the clouds and booms stung the air.

Her voice echoed. “W-w-what did you—?” She jerked as blue tongues of magic struck around her like maddened snakes.

Bannor tottered away from her, pain shrieking through him. He prayed and hoped as millions of threads spun out from him. “I changed the rules.” His voice rang. “You wanted us to be able to join—you have to change. What would Hecate have become if she could love?” He fell to his knees. “Maybe—neither—of—us—will—”

Everything in view flickered.

Hecate/Sarai screamed, arching her body as if a blade had been thrust into her back. Her form blurred, and two outlines writhed in the brilliant light, one small and one large.

Another jolt rocked him. It felt as if he’d dived into a sea of acid. He couldn’t breathe. The pounding of his heart reverberated in his ears. In his Nola sight, magical threads whirled around himself and Hecate, lashing back and forth like broken ship rigging in a storm. He’d set the Garmtur in motion, and nothing could stop it now.

He refused to love death. Instead, death would have to love him.

He would give the goddess of torment love. To cherish body and spirit meant caring for something more than you cared about yourself. To fathom caring, one must once have been cared about. Heredity, experiences and environment shaped a person’s character, be it black, white or gray. The Garmtur molded things by altering the rules or circumstances governing that thing’s existence. What might have to be redefined for Hecate to be capable of expressing selfless adoration?

The Garmtur’s full power had been focused on making the light of personal commitment shine in the depraved persona of Hecate. It sought to restructure an immortal, a creature said to have no dreams, created to endure for all eternity.

He gambled that as a spawn of the Motherforce, Hecate could be unspawned. The resolution came down to his birthright versus hers.

She was the beginning of the circle, and he, the end.

Stars in the sky flickered.

Black turned light.

Light became—

Nothing.

***

He floated in a void surrounded by gradations of gray that swirled like eddies around a surf-besieged reef. He heard no sound, but vibrations ran through him like footsteps on a wooden floor. He registered no warmth or cold, only emptiness and him alone in it.

A hollow male voice resonated around him. “You know, Sproutboy, killing yourself wasn’t part of our plan.”

Attempting to focus on the speaker made him realize he had no body to orient with. Something said he should know that person, but everything, even his own name lay beyond recall. How did he get here? Why? A sense of urgency thrummed in him, something he must do.

“Man should know his limitations,” it said in offhand tone. “Yep, guy can burn his hand reachin’ for the stars.”

Why couldn’t he speak back? Limitations? Stars?

“Odin knows, I’ve been lonely, but I didn’t want to be kept company this way. Hoped some savant magic might get me another chance at life.”

He should know this person. What is this place?

“Said it yourself, to truly love somethin, it has to love you back. That witch loves you, you love her, black to white, white to black. It’s a circle! Don’t stop the heartbeat of the cosmos—it’s a bad idea. When alpha and omega merge you get nothing.”

Pain shot through him. The spirals of gray danced erratically.

“Change is death. Death is and causes rebirth. Them immortals don’t evolve because they weren’t meant to—it wasn’t in the plan. Mortals perish a little every instant, they begin each day as a different person from when they laid down to sleep.”

Death. Immortals. Change. Nothing made sense. It should make sense. Chaos all around him. He needed—what? He needed order.

He needed to see. To understand.

He needed—

Light.

And there was…

***

His voice rang clear. “You want the Garmtur, Little Star. You have to earn it.”

Her eyes became glowing slits. “Earn?”

He let the Nola flood into him. The world’s magical and elemental makeup sprang into view. He released the Garmtur and focused.

He must change rules that would leave Sarai unharmed.

“You want love, Hecate?” he paused. A tremble shot through him. Something wrong. Something… nothing… darkness… chaos… black-to-white, white-to-black… His mind felt on fire. Why did it suddenly seem as if it had all happened before… over and over…

A circle. Alpha. Omega. Life and death juxtaposed. Beginnings and endings. Always ending where he began.

A huge wrist tore from his grip and steely fingers clamped around his midriff. “What I want is you out of my way…” He felt a sudden rush of acceleration, and wind whistled in his ears. Bannor curled into a ball to protect himself as a he hit the turf with a bone-jarring shock.

Dazed, he rolled to his feet in time to see Laramis and Irodee closing in on the ogre-sized woman that was both Hecate and Sarai. If he didn’t stop them, Sarai might die. If he did, Hecate would kill them. As he hesitated, the glowing white silhouettes of four more winged horses cut across the absolute blackness of the rift. In moments, the Queen, Euriel, Wren and Janai would be in the fray as well.

The only way to save Sarai now was to separate her from the immortal. Do that, and Hecate would regain all her strength, and the whole grisly circle would begin again. Trapped in Sarai’s mortal shell, Hecate possessed only a fraction of her full power. She would never be more vulnerable. Dying isn’t so bad; it’s the waking up afterward… Immortals couldn’t die, but they could be dispersed. It might be centuries before she plagued mankind again.

To save Sarai, he needed to change Hecate—make the unkillable so that it could not reform.

To preserve all, Sarai must die.

Sacrifice her life and his.

Lords give me strength.

Two heartbeats left.

To say—

Goodbye.

***

Alpha and Omega—seems like I have heard that somewhere before…

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Chapter Seventy-Two

« ^ »

Bannor focused his passion, renewing the hold on the Garmtur that he abandoned in the confusion. No one touched Sarai except him.

He made a clawing gesture, snagging the conduits of magical force that Hecate was energizing to destroy Laramis and Irodee. He squeezed the channels he’d gathered in, clamping them shut with the strength of his will. The backlash knocked him down like a fool-punch to the face, making his body convulse as if he’d grabbed hold of a lightning bolt.

Hecate screamed and gripped her head. The ground rumbled, and storm clouds boiled. She staggered like a drunk on uneven ground, and then crashed to the turf. In the sky, dozens of her demons erupted into plumes of smoke, their remains falling like slushy rain.

Sitting in the mud, Bannor concentrated on his fist, imagining Hecate’s power source clasped in it. He fought the backlash trying to overwhelm him. Laramis and Irodee still bore down on the prone goddess. He swung his free hand, envisioning his fingers snagging the threads of the paladin, his wife and their flying mounts. Explosions wracked the air right, left and above of Hecate as he yanked the two warriors off course, sending them skidding and tumbling across the plain.

The world grew dim, then brightened again. His heart thundered, and his arms shook. Though the Garmtur was an extension of his mind, his only reliable control came from pantomiming his actions, letting the metaphysical hands of the Nola echo his desires. Through the Garmtur, he felt Hecate struggle, her immense strength threatening to burst free. He took hold with the other hand. Beads of perspiration ran down his face. Cold storm gusts stung his skin.

Hecate rolled onto her knees, and trained fiery eyes on him. Though her body trembled, she grinned. “Getting tired, Garmtur?” As confident as her words sounded, her tone betrayed fear. “I will break free. It’s only a matter of time. Something we both know I have plenty of.”

Bannor swallowed. Behind Hecate, he saw the Queen and the others closing in. Laramis and Irodee and their mounts were recovering.

He must end it, before someone interfered again. It took all his effort to speak over the strain. “Don’t make me—kill you. Tan’Acho cannot be achieved this way. We cannot join—our union would not be evolution, but oblivion. Let Sarai go.”

“Liar!” Hecate burst out. Rocks and trees near her shattered, sending fragments of wood and rock bouncing across the plane. “It must be true. There has to be more than—this.” She slammed a fist in the parched ground. Blood-colored tears leaked from her eyes.

“There is—but this is not it. Only one creature in this universe can change you, and I am not that one.”

His grip wavered. Portions of her power slipped through. Her body stiffened. The goddess grimaced. Her fiery eyes narrowed. “You’re wrong. Your power can make it true—force it to work.”

A horse whinnied. “Kill her!” Wren yelled. “Don’t let her go!”

Hecate looked over her shoulder to the squad of horses that had landed. Wren and the Queen dismounted and stood in front of Euriel and Janai. Hecate gave him a sidelong glance and her mouth quirked. “Yes, Bannor, kill your Little Star.” He felt her test his hold with a sharp pull.

“You will not come back this time,” he said. He paused, gathering the strength to speak and be heard. He had to convince Hecate, make her give up. Sarai’s life hung in the balance. “You will not reincarnate. Those rules I can change.”

Hecate gritted her teeth. She studied him, sparking eyes digging into him and his resolve. She sighed and stopped resisting.

Nearby, he saw Laramis and Irodee poised only ten paces away. The paladin and his wife looked like the avenging Ajeer of the legends. The glow of otherworldly power surrounded them in golden halos. He realized then that all the time that he’d been running from Hecate’s avatars, he had been keeping company with the avatars of other gods. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t seen it before, but now it didn’t matter.

Hecate glanced at Laramis, and then focused on Wren. “If your threat worries me,” she growled. “What shall you do about them?”

“Give me back Sarai. This is between you and me.”

“No!” Euriel yelled.

“Make not pacts with demons, Bannor. She honors not her word!”

“I didn’t ask you here!” He yelled. “I did not want any of your help!” He swung a hand to include all of them. “I only wanted to be happy!” Bannor stared hard at each of those who he’d called friend and ally. He felt the tears burn his cheeks. “I won’t let her destroy the only thing I hold dear!” His gaze locked with the Goddess. Bleakness filled him, but he had to try a last time to save his love. “I cannot give you Tan’Acho—it can’t be had like this. Give me Sarai. Let me give you something else.”

With delicate care, Hecate pushed herself to her feet. Her pale hair was shot through with silver. A glimmering of lavender shone in the ebony black of her eyes. He still saw the vestiges of the woman he loved in the thing that had possessed her.

Hecate peered to her right and then left. Laramis, Irodee, Wren and the others stiffened as the immortal’s gaze passed over them. She ran a tongue over her lips, as if savoring the taste of something remembered. “If what you say is true, all too fair, Garmtur. You have the advantage.” She glanced again at the group containing Wren. Her gaze returned to him, and she smiled in a way so reminiscent of Sarai it made him shiver.

“Bannor.” The name sounded alien on her lips. “I give you your Star. Give me another. Give me—her!” She stabbed a finger at Wren. The savant’s hands rose defensively. “I return your petty life and happiness, but she was promised to me long ago. She has been nothing but a thorn since. To you, as well, it seems. So the giving should be sweet.”

Euriel moved to shield her daughter with her body. Opposite them, the glow around Irodee now flickered with rage.

No one said anything. Perhaps they were stunned. Maybe they waited to see how he would respond. His heart felt ready to leap from his chest. Hecate scrutinized him with a twisted smile.

Wren’s life for Sarai’s. Such a simple trade and also contrary to everything he believed in. He had no right to give Wren, or anyone, into another’s possession. Just as Hecate had wrongly taken his love.

Black talons ripped at his chest. All his power, yet the inevitable stormed toward him like a juggernaut. He longed for Sarai. To get that creature out of her body. To hold her a last time. Hold. He must act. His grip was failing. A finish. An end. He must kill love to stave off death.

“No.” Inside, it felt as if he’d turned to ice. Never to know her touch again in order to save people he did not know, to protect principles that never seemed to apply. “You know I can’t give you that.”

Hecate’s eyes flared. “Give it not then, Fool. I shall take it!”

The surge of elemental force came so fast that it seemed to sear his soul. Mystic threads lashed out from Hecate’s hand, slamming down Euriel and engulfing Wren.

The goddess’ power burned, but he held on though it felt as if he would turn to char. Wren had become a brilliant blaze of light as she countered the goddess with her Nola, redirecting and dissipating the energies. Even limited by Sarai’s body, Hecate possessed more than enough power to exhaust and finally crush Wren.

Laramis and Irodee charged in, weapons gleaming. The goddess smashed them with a wave of stone and an eruption of fire.

“Stop, damn you—stop…” Tears filled his eyes because he knew she wouldn’t. The goddess was beyond caring and reason. She only knew how to take. She had never known desire without satisfaction.

He clamped down again on the cords of reality that tied Hecate to her power, a hand above and one below. He gritted his teeth and pulled in opposite directions. Hecate’s ties to the Motherforce frayed and popped, mystic power spewed out like blood from severed arteries, sprays of color filled the night like clouds of ignited phosphor.

The goddess howled. The sound reverberated through everything making even the stars appear to shake. The giant maw of the rift convulsed like snapping jaws. Bannor felt moisture well in his ears and trickle down his neck. Laramis, Irodee, Euriel and Janai all pitched and writhed, their bodies tortured by the agonies of a god. Wren continued to struggle in Hecate’s magical grip, the fierce blue light of her Nola grappling with the black tendrils of Hecate’s malice.

He kept up the pressure, inexorably ripping away the strands that gave the goddess her power. He couldn’t strip away her immortality, but he could take everything else, leave her with nothing, the same way she planned to do with him.

One. Two. Five. Ten. Dozens to go, but her resistance dwindled.

“Stop!” Hecate boomed.

“Let go of Wren! Free Sarai!” he yelled back.

“No!” Her efforts to crush Wren doubled, she pushed more power through Sarai’s body. If he didn’t kill Sarai, Hecate would.

Let her go. Damn you. You can’t kill Wren from within Sarai’s body. It limits you, and I’ve taken too much of your power. Fight me; give up your grudge. Kill me. Free Sarai.

A new sun appeared to dawn as Hecate’s energies fountained upward like titanic fans whipped and spun into a gale.

Twenty. Thirty. So exhausted. All or nothing now. This last strike would destroy Hecate. The core of her being, the roots of her godhood were like pillars. They would not snap. They must be shattered.

He parted his hands, ready to smash the remainder between his palms. “Surrender!” he commanded.

“You don’t have the courage, Garmtur.” Hecate snarled. “You’re too much like me. You’re too selfish to deprive yourself of this flesh. She is mine. You are mine. You surrender.”

Hecate clawed at the savant with her magic. Wren screamed.

“I will!” he yelled.

“You won’t!”

His heart doubled in his chest. Wren’s light flickered and began to go out. Hecate laughed.

Bannor closed his eyes and slammed his hands together. In his mind, the two halves of the Garmtur sheared into Hecate’s godhood. The backlash slammed into him as Hecate’s shriek boiled the ether. Lightning laced the sky, and clouds flew across the face of the rift.

His eyes opened in time to see the fire in Hecate’s eyes snuffed out. The flesh of her body, Sarai’s body, flickered and turned translucent. A black pulsation that must be the silhouetted heart of the goddess grew still.

The sky and everything around them went quiet. Wren dropped to the turf. Hecate swayed like an uprooted tree in the wind.

“You did it,” she said with surprise in her voice.

Bannor only stared at the creature. He felt like a shell with all its insides burned out. Like him, any words he spoke would be empty now. This was no victory. The battle had been lost.

Hecate reached toward him. Her hand shook and agony twisted her features. Her hollow eyes never left his. “Dying—never—hurt—like this—before…” She sank down like a figure of wax too long in the sun.

He wanted to turn away but couldn’t. He’d killed Hecate and the person he loved most. The pain of the backlash felt like soothing balm compared to the agony in his heart. Hecate was right. He had done it. Nothing could change that, or excuse it.

“Bannor…” The word drifted from where Hecate lay. The sound lingered in the air for a long time then faded.

Gone. Both of them.

The giant body of the goddess gleamed as flashes of lightning illuminated the area. The tissues collapsed and drained away like melting ice. In moments, the mass dwindled to become a single, small form huddled in fetal position, its silvery hair spilled out across the ground.

Bannor forced his spent body to crawl forward. What might have been only paces before seemed like leagues now. He slogged through the sticky sluice that was all that remained of Hecate’s corporeal body.

His trembling hands unfolded Sarai’s naked form; warmth still lingered in her body. He gathered her blood-slick body into his arms and held her close. She felt so cold.

“My Star,” his voice cracked. “Odin, I—I’m so—sorry.”

Her body twitched. Her eyelids cracked, but did not open. Her lips moved but said nothing.

“I wish—” Bannor’s body shook. He didn’t have the strength to wish anything. He couldn’t put life back in a bug now. “Oh, Odin. I love you. Don’t … please … don’t…”

Her eyes flickered open, and a wan lavender glow shone in them. Her hand trembled trying to reach for his. He placed his hand so she could grasp it. She searched the sky as if unable to find his face. “You are,” she shuddered. “my One, always…” The light in her eyes went out, and the pressure on his hand went lax.

For him, it seemed the universe went silent. He kept listening … hoping for another word that was never uttered. It felt as if a leaden weight crashed down on his chest. To this moment, he’d hoped, wished that somehow, some way, it would come out in the end.

She lay still, her crumpled body growing cold. Sarai was dead, and he had taken her life. Now, all that remained was for him to join her. All he needed to do was let go. Only the Garmtur had held him together this long. His wracked and burned body was only meat pushed by the force of his Nola. Alpha. Omega. Maybe he could break the chain here.

“Bannor!” It was Wren’s voice, weak and not far away. “Bannor?” He couldn’t move to see where the sounds came from.

The savant crawled into view. He barely recognized her swollen and blackened face. Little more than shreds remained of her armor, and her body looked as though she’d been striped with a skirge. “Oh my…” She collapsed face down in the mud. After a moment, she rolled onto her back with effort. “We … we…” she puffed. “The rift. Need to—seal it.”

From the corner of his eye he could make out the black spire. Its blackness was like the bleakness that had swallowed his heart. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t help anyone. In this war, both sides lost. He and Wren could only watch helplessly as their world was ripped asunder.

Tears filled his eyes. He’d tried so hard, only to fail in everything. As Hecate said, it was only a matter of time now.

Something moved in the darkness. The figure moved among the bodies sprawled on the battlefield. As it came toward him, he realized it was a tall slender man: Wren’s father.

The mage knelt by his daughter who groaned. The lines of his dusky features were grave, and he ran a hand through his russet hair.

He muttered a curse and turned to whistle into the darkness. Winged horses galloped over, nickering and tossing their heads. He placed Wren on the back of one and strapped her in, then moved to arrange to do the same with the others.

Each with their burden, the huge white animals followed him like an honor guard in a parade. He stopped in front of Bannor and shook his head. The man gestured and Bannor felt himself and Sarai float off the ground until they were hovering a few paces from the ground.

“Can’t die yet,” he said. “Still work to do. You promised me anything I wanted.” He closed his eyes and held his out arms like wings. His body shimmered and swelled, turning from flesh to gleaming white.

The name was numb on Bannor’s lips. “Bomarc.”

The great animal only whinnied. The other horses responded with calls of their own. He felt himself lowered into the saddle and the straps lash around him and Sarai’s still body.

Bomarc turned abruptly and galloped toward the rift. His wings boomed and thrust them into the sky. The group circled, gathering altitude. In the east, the first vestiges of the sun were appearing. A rainbow gleamed in the dim tangerine light. Bomarc swung round and aimed straight toward the heart of the rift.

Bannor remembered nothing beyond that.

Love, whoever could be so foolish to be undone by that feeble emotion..?

—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

Epilogue

« ^

Bannor blinked. He found himself staring at a ceiling tiled with war shields. Emblems from a hundred unknown clans stared down at him with the slitted eyes of griffons, dragons, talonhunters, nightsteeds and a dozen others he could not name. The pungent smell of burning scalebark, ale and roasted meat crowded the smoky air.

Like an unexpected jab to the chest, the memories flooded back. Hecate. Sarai. What had happened? He shoved away the heavy pelts that had been tucked around his body. A cold draft of air hit his bare chest causing his skin to prickle. All his clothing was gone save the leathern breechclout he now wore. Neat stitches criss-crossed the cuts and lacerations caused by days of conflict, his burns and abrasions treated with unguents and balm.

Not far away, he heard a rhythmic rasping, and what sounded like a woman humming. Someone sweeping? Speculation was swept aside as memories flooded back. He had failed to protect Sarai. He had broken a solemn promise to her and himself. Shame left a bitter metallic taste in his mouth.

How much time had passed? He recalled going toward the rift.

Bomarc. The animal had actually been Wren’s father in disguise. The wizard had gathered the fallen after the battle. They flew toward the rift and…

Did Titaan die?

He swung his feet off the fur-covered pallet and looked around the large bedchamber. The bed itself was huge, made for a man half again as tall. Unmortared stone made up the smooth walls rising to an arched ceiling some ten paces up. Engravings and runes decorated the wooden timbers, dragons, griffons, and other creatures chasing one another across the polished wood beams. Something reverberated in the warm air like a giant heart.

This made no sense. He should be dead, and Wren nearly so. He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his face. Considerable time had passed considering the growth on his chin.

He leaned forward and pushed himself to stand. Pain shrieked through him. With a grunt he fell back, dots dancing in his vision. The room spun. When he tried to view the surroundings in his other-seeing, a shock rang through him. Everything appeared empty and cold, the threads of cosmos no longer visible. He’d pushed the Garmtur to its limit. Did he burn himself out, as the Queen feared he might? Or was the Garmtur simply injured and weak like himself?

The click of heels on stone drew his attention to the doorway. A giant woman with a heart-shaped birthmark on her neck, shimmering gold hair and fiery green eyes paused in the entry. A fabric that looked like liquid silver clung to her full body, its shiny surface reflecting all the surroundings. She wore several rings and many other pieces of ornate jewelry that glittered in the torchlight. Aside from her beauty, something about the woman made his injured body hum like a plucked bowstring.

“You awake—good,” he felt her voice, more than he heard it. It wasn’t underhearing like he shared with Wren. He experienced her words. Even a whisper from this creature would possess tremendous power. She moved toward him, her steps slow, measured, and graceful. Her presence filled the room. He heard her heart beating and felt his own slowly match the syncopation. “It has been a long time, Garmtur.”

His pulse quickened. Something about her reminded him of Hecate, the pale vision that spoke with him in the dream world. This creature was, if anything, more breathtaking than Hecate. Something was wrong. In any event, it didn’t matter. He’d killed Sarai and himself with her, even if his body hadn’t followed suit. He must find what remained of Sarai. In his condition, he would never be able to do that. Not without help.

This person could help, but would she. Play along. What did she say? Long time? “A long time? Since what?”

The woman smiled, the torchlight glinted from every plane and angle on her striking face. The room grew warmer and the scent of dewflowers wafted around him. “Since our last meeting. It has been twelve millennia. You wore a different body then.”

Bannor frowned. “You mean the Garmtur then, not me.”

She stepped close. A warm aura surrounded her body like the heat from a fire. It made his skin tingle. “Though each host body is different, you are always the Garmtur. You are Bannor now, Jhandor before, and Hajalor before that, but always you remain the Garmtur.” She reached out and touched one of the bruised sections of his arm. A shock went through his flesh, the hair on his body stiffened. His skin glowed as though lit from inside, and the wound vanished in a sparkle.

The woman nodded. “As before, very receptive to my magic.”

“Who are you?”

She smiled and he felt that surge of warmth again. “Someone soon to be your very best friend, Bannor Starfist. I only ask you remember it.”

His heart was too barren for friends right now. Sarai was dead. Everything he loved lay in ruins. He wasn’t even sure his friends had survived.

“Come.” The woman held out a hand to him.

He sensed a forced patience in her manner, a creature wanting to hurry, but too prideful to express urgency. What was the point? Why do anything now? He felt so heavy inside. Something about the way she said ‘friend’ suggested she had something miraculous to offer. He only wanted one thing though, and even a god couldn’t bring back Sarai.

He had nothing to lose but time. Wincing from the pain, Bannor took her hand. Her skin felt like layers of silk, and a surge of strength rushed through him. His pain vanished. What had taken great effort moments ago, he now did with ease. He rose to stand beside her.

She looked down at him from a height that must be at least equal to Irodee’s. Her green eyes sparkled. She brushed her hair back, and the strands shimmered and crackled like golden fire. Turning, she led him toward the archway. The mirrored cloth on her body made rosy reflections on his chest, and it felt like tiny fingers of warmth dancing across his body.

His bare feet padded on the cold stone. The hugeness of the hall made him feel tiny and exposed. Armaments of more varieties than he could name decorated the walls. One thing Bannor knew for certain, this was a place of war. Many a warrior had stalked these corridors, the floors worn smooth by their pacing, aching to join the battles he saw depicted in the tapestries and paintings that filled the few empty spaces between the weapon displays.

A stoneworked archway opened out onto a balcony giving him his first look into the place where he’d been brought. He stopped and gazed up at gold spires that rose high above the domes and buttresses of a gigantic fortress. Everything was silhouetted against a velvety black sky cut through with clouds of emerald and violet. Stars blazed from this vivid backdrop like reflecting mirrors. All the colors and contrasts were so bright and distinct that it made his eyes hurt to look without blinking. Men and women astride dragons, winged horses and griffons flew patterns around the highest parapets. Armored guards in the tabards of a hundred nations patrolled the lower battlements.

Mouth abruptly dry, Bannor swallowed. “Where are we?”

The mysterious woman only tugged on him in answer, drawing him down the hall away from the riveting sight. He could not resist her and trailed in her wake, his gaze drawn back to what glimpses he could snatch through the openings. Nothing even in his imaginings came close to what he’d seen. It was like the descriptions of the god-cities in the legends.

They turned off the main corridor and into narrow passage lined with heavy ironbound doors. The woman selected the third they came to and pulled him inside.

The chamber looked much like the one where he’d been kept, a high arched roof, a pallet, a vanity, and few other sleeping amenities. His gaze was drawn back to the pallet again. A silk-clad figure lay nestled among the skins, chest slowly rising and falling in a slumber.

In the shadowy light, he saw only the pointed ears and the curve of a woman’s face. His heart jumped, perhaps there was a miracle … he stepped closer, reaching out to touch the face of his loved.

He stopped. The skin was too dark, and the figure too full. The hair was red-blonde and not silver. It hit him. “Meliandri?” He looked to the silver-clad lady. “Why is she here? Hecate destroyed her mind.”

The silver woman raised an eyebrow, and pointed to the slumbering figure. He looked back and saw that Meliandri had begun to stir. Her eyelids fluttered. How was that possible? All that had remained of the elven lady was a husk.

The woman’s green eyes parted, and she drew a deep breath. Her fingers twisted in the bedding and Bannor saw her brow furrow. She stretched and her eyes opened fully. She blinked rapidly.

Her lips moved and she spoke in befuddled voice. “My One?”

It felt as though a hammer hit him in the chest.

She reached out to him. “How did I get here? Where’s Mother and Janai—?” Her voice trailed off and her eyes widened. She focused on her hand. “Oh—my—Bannor!” Her voice rose to shriek.

Still confused himself, he rushed to sit by her and take her hands.

“Easy,” he soothed. “It’ll be all right…” He glanced up at the lady standing in the doorway, arms folded, head cocked to one side as though enjoying their bewilderment. He saw his own confused face reflecting in the mirror surface of her blouse. “It’s really Sarai?” he asked.

The woman nodded and grinned. The lady’s smile was something to behold, it made the whole room seem to glow.

“Of course, I’m me!” Sarai snapped, sitting up on the pallet. “Who—else—would…” She stopped, features contorting, green eyes misting. Her body trembled. “I remember—You killed Hecate. Killed—me. She took a long time … to … fade. I saw your face. Didn’t want to leave you…” She hugged him tight. “I was floating in a sea of stars…”

She pressed her face into the curve of his neck. The warmth of her breath on his skin made him tingle. The feel of her body against his caused him to tremble. He ached with a feeling that words couldn’t express. His loved hadn’t died. She was here in this other body, somehow preserved after he killed her to save everything he knew. The shame washed through him in a hot wave, and he crushed her in his arms to shut it out. He never would have hurt her if there had been another way. He’d tried so hard. “I love you so much,” he muttered. “I thought I killed you, and all I wanted to do was die myself.” Tears ran down his cheeks.

She wiped at her own tear-streaked face, and pushed him back. “You’re crying. Don’t cry.” She took a breath, looked down at herself, and then raised her eyes to meet his again. “I’m here. You’re here.” She swallowed. “I can feel I’m not me. Who am I?”

Bannor wiped at his eyes and turned Sarai so she could see the silver clad woman. In the mirror fabric, her reflection was unmistakable.

Sarai gasped and her hand came to her mouth. “Meliandri!”

The silver woman spoke in low voice. “She who once used that body no longer has need of it. She could not be helped. You could.”

“Oh, no,” Sarai breathed, riveted on the reflection she saw in the shiny cloth. “Oh, no. Oh, no.”

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Of course not!” she snapped. “Don’t you see? This was Mother’s best friend. She’s gone. What will Mother—oh gods—what will Father say! That and—I’m—fat.” She looked at herself.

She wasn’t. At least not anywhere that ever would have offended him. “You are alive. That’s what’s important.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You heard what the lady said, she was beyond help.”

“Oh.” She paled. “Fine mess this is. Even when we save the world, it doesn’t come out right.” She stopped and looked up at the lady. “We did save the world, right? The rift was closed?”

He words made a shock of memory ring through him. What had happened? There was never time to execute their plan to shut the gate. He looked up at the woman, to hear her answer.

She frowned. “With my help it was possible. Pulling Hecate’s host body—your old body through the rift was enough to anchor it. The Garmtur was very busy bending rules to make it possible—in that you almost did make yourself a ghost.”

“I did?” The last moments of his confrontation were hazy. It had been strange—fragmented.

The woman nodded. “All is as it was on Titaan.”

It felt as if a gigantic weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The world was safe, and he still had Sarai. He stared into her green eyes. “My wish did come true. Everyone is safe.” Despite the different color, the soul that shone in them still belonged to the woman he loved. “I’m happy to have you no matter what body you have.”

She put her arms around him again. He winced and sucked in a breath.

Sarai pushed back. “When are you going to learn to stay out of trouble? Every time I look away, you get yourself hurt.”

He smiled, despite the pain. “Trust me, I don’t plan to do anything except stay close to you for a long time.”

“Good, that’s the way I want it.” She kissed him.

She tasted different, smelled different. He’d have to adjust, and be thankful for the necessity.

Sarai sighed, her face more composed, contemplative. “Feels odd.” She brushed a hand down her chest. “Things keep getting in the way. Guess everything comes with a price.”

“Indeed,” the silver woman said, her tone growing dark. As she spoke, echoes filled the small room. “The favor I have done you two is obvious. Are you willing to repay it?”

“I don’t know what good either of us is like this,” Bannor answered. “We will do whatever we can. What is it?”

A light filled the woman’s eyes. “My daughter and granddaughter. It was their wish that the two of you be reunited. However, that desire has put them at risk.”

Bannor frowned. Daughter? Granddaughter? Risk? He must be missing something. Who was this magnificent lady? What was this place he had glimpsed?

“You’re Idun, aren’t you?” Sarai asked. “Euriel and Wren are your blood.”

The silver lady nodded, and brushed the strands of her golden hair over one shoulder.

A lump formed in Bannor’s throat. His jaw dropped and he cursed inwardly for having been so wrapped up in himself. He tried to swallow, but it wouldn’t go down. “Idun—? The goddess—” he choked. “That … Idun.”

The goddess nodded.

“B-b-b,” he tried. “B-b-bu…” He couldn’t put his mouth around it.

“What can we possibly do that you can’t?” Sarai put in.

“Go into Niflheim, Hel’s domain, and bring them back. They intercepted the Valkyries that carried your spirit and brought it here to me to be joined with this body.” She gestured to Sarai. “Odin punished them for their interference and their participation in Hecate’s slaying. He sent them to the land of the dead. Sarai, your mother and sister are there, too, along with the avatar of Ukko and his wife.” Her eyes narrowed. “The laws of the Aesir prevent me from interfering.” She paused. “That has no bearing on mortals.”

“Majesty,” Sarai said. “How can the two of us possibly fight our way into Hel and back?”

Bannor finally found his voice. “She’s right,” he took a breath. “They’re our family, of course we want them back as much as you. What can we do, we’re only two people?”

Idun frowned. “You are two that have killed a god. That is qualification enough.” She held out her palm to them, and flames danced on her fingers. Lightning flashed in her eyes. “Before this, you fought alone against a goddess. You had only each other, and in the end it won you through.”

Idun’s jaw tightened and room grew cold. “I’ve seen to it that you still have each other. You will have to fight Odin and the Ajeer to win the freedom of my children and your family.” She paused. “This time will be different. This time you will have an immortal on your side.”

The story continues in…

‘Neath Odin’s Eye

The 2nd volume of the Reality’s Plaything Series…

Visit ebooks.writers-exchange.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.

Table of Contents

The Savants

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine