A Crown Imperiled (50 page)

Behind him stood silent rows of warrior angels, each displaying a slight difference in colour of skin, hair, eyes, yet all alike, ready to carry out their mission should the Celestial Rider fail in hers.

Riakel’s black eyes fixed on her and he said nothing. There was no need for speech between them, for each had been sent on their missions with the full knowledge of what must be done.

Yet she felt the need to speak. ‘How long?’

He inclined his head slightly to one side, as if cracking his neck, a very human gesture she knew meant the question was pointless. ‘It is not known,’ he answered. ‘The Source always provides us with the knowledge we need.’

‘But not until we need it,’ she amended.

‘Soon. Too long the demons have had free reign in the mortal realm while we have been confined here.’ With a gesture towards the countless angels standing motionlessly behind him, the Master of the First Host repeated, ‘Soon. Even now someone attempts to unlock the barrier, and should they succeed, we shall unleash Heaven’s wrath as has never been known in mortal history.’

‘I have your orders,’ said Rider. ‘The demons and their minions are to be obliterated, returned to the lower sphere. All except two. They have a role to play.’

‘How will I know them?’

‘You will know them.’

The Master of the First Host nodded. ‘The balance must be restored.’

‘But in the time specified, and not before.’

‘You have another mission?’

She nodded. Knowledge manifested in her mind. ‘Yes. I must be off.’

Without another word, the Rider turned her mount and moved back down the Hall of Worlds, passing the first pair of doors into the mortal realm.

She was now in what humans called the lowest heaven, a realm of wonderful, yet mortal beings. Most beings from the realms below would consider this realm ideal, for it combined the finest aspects of mortal experience with an apprehension of the wonders of the Higher Realms.

Time began to weigh on her, for now time was perceived by her in the same way as it was by mortals. And time was short. The imbalances of the past needed to be corrected, and she was the last attempt by the Presence to correct that imbalance without there being utter destruction.

If she failed, and if he to whom she carried warning failed, then the Host would cease to merely battle Hell’s minions; they would be fully unleashed to undertake a cleansing of the realm called the First Realm of Hell by those above it, and the First Realm of Heaven by those below it, and the Source would start anew.

It had happened before. Yet the Source was love and mystery and offered hope.

She sped past more doors as she plunged deeper into the mortal realms, into more populated space. The road twisted and turned and hundreds of doors were left behind. She would ride past ten thousand more before nearing the one through which she must travel, to the world called Midkemia.

A thrumming filled the air, harsh and discordant, jarring the senses like a physical blow. She reined in, for something was amiss. Suddenly Rider knew that the waiting host had not advanced far enough, did not know the waiting was not at the will of the Source! Something hobbled the mind here, limited perception, and robbed those from the higher realms of their usual strengths. As she pondered this realization, her mount reared up, stumbled, and fell back.

Rider pitched over the mare’s haunches, striking the stones of the Hall with a force fit to break bones, but she was unhurt, for her body was still as hard as diamond. The oldest mare in the Heavenly Herd lay thrashing, and Rider turned to see her pain and hurried to inspect her injury.

This should not happen. It was impossible. No power in the mortal realm could harm the Matriarch of the Heavenly Herd or Rider. Yet the proof was before her, as the mare shuddered, then closed her eyes. Despite not belonging to the mortal realm, the celestial mount was confined in form and function by the limits of this reality. She faded into golden smoke, speeding back up the hall toward The Source, where she would reform and once again take her place at the head of her herd.

But Rider now stood afoot, and knew that something profoundly wrong had intercepted her. She turned, her eyes blazing with anger. Drawing her sword, she advanced toward the cause of her fall. And walked into something invisible.

Pain shot through her body, her mind, and into her soul. This barrier was something so profoundly wrong that it tore at her. She fell back and felt the thrumming that came from the barrier grow more intense, rising up the scale to a pitch that hurt her now-mortal ears.

Still, she was Rider, and an agent of the Source. Even in the mortal realms her powers were unmatched by any who abided her. And there was nothing of fear in her being. ‘Show yourself!’ she demanded.

Something rose up before her on the other side of the barrier, roughly man-shaped but immense. It towered over her as a tree did a child.

Rider had lost her place in the Presence, was apart from the Source, but her knowledge was still considerable. Yet before her stood something unknown to her, something that was clearly powerful beyond compare in these mortal realms. ‘What are you?’ she demanded.

A tentacle reached out, passed effortlessly through the barrier and attempted to grapple with her. She swung down with her blade, which burned with Heaven’s fire, and struck a blow that severed the tentacles. It withdrew, the severed section smoking. Then it vanished in a bright flash. From the other side of the barrier came a hollow sound, a distant chuckle that echoed like wind down a canyon. ‘I am,’ it said softly, yet the words were clear. ‘I am that which was before.’ Again the chuckle. ‘I am that which was left behind.’

Rider knew fear then. She turned to flee, and as she did, the thing shot through the barrier to sweep over her, swallowing her in a darkness that was the antithesis of all she had ever known. It was a void so profound that her last, fleeting thought was despair, for she knew she would never again know the Presence, nor approach the Source. This was her end.

The black shape that had destroyed Rider vanished, leaving a chill wind to blow up the Hall. In time, the feathers of wings on the backs of a host of angels would rustle from that wind. And still they would wait, motionless and patient, though one or two among them might wonder when the call would come.

Rider’s last conscious thought was hearing a loud click, as if tumblers in a lock were falling.

Pug probed further and they all heard the ‘click’ in their minds.

What’s that?
Miranda asked.

Nakor said,
A trap
—

Universes exploded.

Birds took to the sky as they sensed a pulse of energy gathering in the heart of the city. A Pantathian farmer transporting his crops to market noticed a mile away from the city that a massive flock had launched itself skyward. He paused to wonder what could have caused it.

Then his world ended.

The explosion was like nothing before experienced on this world. It was the tearing of the fundamental matter of existence, and the release was so destructive that the entire Pantathian city ceased to exist in the blink of an eye.

A blast of light was released, so bright that had any mortal eye looked at it, that creature would have been rendered blind at a distance of ten miles. A moment after the blast of light, a fireball was preceded by a wave of air moving at the speed of sound, so powerful that trees were knocked flat, animals were instantly killed by the impact, their bodies picked up and hurled for miles.

Then came the heat. Whatever it washed over was instantly turned to cinder.

On the mainland to the north, fishermen working the waters between the south coast of Kesh and the Isle of the Snake Men saw an unnatural flare in the south, climbing into the heavens as if someone had reached up to challenge the gods.

Outward the flames sped, and after two miles the heat dissipated and trees and plants were merely scorched and not set alight. After five miles, animals survived the sudden rise in heat, but saw a monstrous column of flame, dust, smoke, and ash climb into the skies and spread out in a mushroom shape.

From rabbits to eagles, elk to wolves, the animals on the island turned and galloped from the source of this calamity. All knew instinctively that nothing within that blast zone could live, and where once there had been a nation of gentle souls, now only death ruled.

•  ENTR’ACTE  •

Awakenings

T
OMAS SAT UP.

In the early morning hours he felt something rip through the fabric of this world in a way he had not known since he first donned the white-and-gold armour of the Dragon Lord. He looked around and saw that his wife was now awake, looking at him with wide eyes.

‘Beloved,’ she asked softly, ‘what is it?’

He did not have any words for a moment, then at last he said, ‘It’s Pug . . . he’s gone.’

She put her hand on his arm. ‘Gone?’

‘We have always had a bond and now it’s severed.’ He sat motionless a few seconds, then said, ‘And there’s something else.’

‘What?’ she asked as she saw his powerful back outlined in the faint moonlight coming in through the window of their quarters. He was moving to the chest in which he kept his armour. ‘Tomas?’

He opened the chest and stared down at his legacy of Ashen-Shugar, the Valheru whose memories he shared. ‘I feel something.’

‘What?’ she asked again.

Looking at the armour, then at his wife, he said, ‘There is another.’

Draken-Korin slumbered on his ebony throne, the last vestiges of his mortal body stripped away. He stirred and saw that all had been returned as he had ordered it. Every inch of the chamber had been cleaned by his loyal tiger-men, and the torches lit. He stood and instantly those who were in the chamber fell to the floor in abject obeisance, touching their foreheads to the stone.

‘I am hungry!’ he roared. ‘Bring me food. I must gather my strength.’ He tilted his head, as if listening. ‘There is another.’

Tanderae could feel the shift in the energy field of the planet. Something huge had just taken place. Whatever it was, it must be catastrophic to be felt at such a distance.

Then heaven tore open.

The blast knocked him off his feet as a massive pillar of ruby light exploded through the roof of the portal building and a wash of heat rolled over him. If there had been anyone inside the building when that explosion took place they were surely dead.

He got up on unsteady legs as the inhabitants of E’bar left their homes to come outside and stare at the monstrous light. Egun found the Loremaster and said, ‘What happened?’

‘An explosion from the portal building.’

‘Ancestors,’ the captain of the Sentinels whispered. ‘I was looking to find you. The Lord Regent was in there.’

‘No longer,’ said Tanderae. ‘Find who you can of the Meet and ask them to assemble. Questions will be asked and we have no answers. Find the galasmancers and have them look in the portal room if they can do so safely, for we must know what is taking place.’

‘What do you think this is?’ asked the soldier.

‘I fear it is a beacon,’ said the Loremaster.

‘A beacon?’ The captain paused, then asked, ‘For what?’

‘What all beacons are for, Egun. To guide someone here.’

‘Who?’

‘That is what I fear to find out.’

In the wilds of western Kesh sprawls a massive lake, the Dragon Erye. Home to a peaceful people of Isalani descent – fishermen, farmers and hunters – the region has remained unchanged for centuries. A ring of mountains, the Watchmen, surrounds this lake, save for a river coursing north to the sea. In spring when the ice thaws in the peaks and the snows melt, the river floods and farmers rejoice as the farmland along its banks is renewed.

The mountains, the inaccessibility of the lake, the lack of riches have left this area neglected by conquerors, migratory invaders, bandits, or rogues. It may be the single most peaceful region on the entire world of Midkemia.

A potato farmer named Li Shun pushes his small cart along the road at dawn, taking his harvest to market. Winter potatoes are in short supply this year and he anticipates good trading.

Then comes the sound.

He stops. Turning his back on his cart, he moves down the road and as he takes each step, he wills his body to change.

High above the lake, in a meadow full of sheep, two brothers, Tai and Mak, sit near their campfire watching their flock. Their dog perks up his ears, listening. Then the two brothers stand, letting their crooks fall to the ground. They leave the whining dog behind as they move away from their camp, their bodies beginning to change with each step. Their forms flow and take on a much larger appearance.

In a nest high above the meadow, a dragon matriarch lies curled around a clutch of eggs. As is the nature of her kind, she will watch over them until they hatch. She is growing hungry, for she has not eaten in a month, but she has gorged herself on enough food to last for another month until the three eggs stir and then she will hunt on behalf of her hatchlings.

Then she hears the sound. She rises up and spreads her wings, throws back her head and lends her voice to that sound, amplifying and repeating it.

Around the world, dragons let go the illusion of human form, as hunters in the mountains throw aside their bows, a fisherman at sea lets his small boat sink as he becomes too massive for it to support him; a guard on a caravan leaves camp in the middle of the night and goes into the darkness never to be seen again by his companions.

Around the world dragon voices pick up the sound and repeat it, lending their power to the note.

The time has come.

It is the song they have not heard in the memory of the oldest living dragon in the world, but instinctively they know it.

In the darkness of western Novindus a massive black dragon launches itself into the starry night, the powerful snap of its wings cracking like thunder as it circles and climbs, seeking out a call so ancient it needs no words to know it.

In the noonday sun of Rillanon, on the highest southern peaks of that island, a massive white dragon cries out with emotions so profound it has no name for them; and it leaps into the sky, a massive cloud against the blue to a hunter who happens to look up.