Greatshadow (20 page)

“So he spots us and comes down to kill us,” said Reeker. “We fight him on the slopes instead of in the volcano. What’s the big deal?”

Ivory Blade nodded toward Lord Tower. “If I may?”

Tower nodded back.

“First,” said Blade, “Our mission is more than to simply kill the dragon’s body. We must also slay his spirit, and forever sever his intelligence from the element of fire. This can only be done in his lair. Second, you’re being paid to do what we tell you to, not to question our commander’s decisions before we even leave the base.”

Reeker looked as if he were going to say something back, until he spotted Menagerie glaring at him. He crossed his arms, and gave a subservient nod.

Aurora apparently was undeterred from asking questions. “What will happen to the boy? He still needs medical attention.”

Numinous was sitting near the main tent, gazing toward Lord Tower with a look that bordered on hatred. He’d been furious when he’d been told earlier that he was no longer taking part in the mission. Gone was the placid, supremely confident Golden Child of the day before. In his place was an ill-tempered ten-year-old boy who’d always gotten his way until now. I felt sympathy for the kid. Every day of his life until today, he’d been surrounded by adults who treated him like he was the salvation of the world. Now, the adults had decided he was nobody important. That can’t be easy to swallow.

Tower said, “Numinous may not be the Omega Reader, but he is still exceptionally educated and trained. Despite his injuries, he’s able to fend for himself until we return. He can use this time alone to reflect on whether life in the priesthood will suit his future, or perhaps a more martial life as a knight will be his calling. When this mission is over, I will ensure that his education continues for a new, more suitable, role.”

This answer seemed to satisfy Aurora, though not Numinous, who rose and went back into the tent.

“If there are no more questions, we shall begin. First, allow Father Ver to bless our mission with a prayer.”

Father Ver’s left eyebrow shot up. He looked surprised by the request, which I found curious. A man in his position was no doubt asked to lead prayers a dozen times a day.

The look of surprise was quickly wiped away by his omnipresent scowl. He stepped forward into the middle of the circle and looked up the shaft of sunlight spilling into the cavern. He then looked down at his hands, bony and wrinkled, covered with age spots. He cleared his throat.

“The question before us,” he said, in what sounded more like a sermon than a prayer, “is one of predestination.”

Tower, Relic, Ivory Blade, and even Zetetic, the Deceiver, all nodded reverently as he began. The Goons and Aurora just looked bored. The Whisper, apparently, wasn’t all that religious. She slipped in up behind Blade as the priest spoke and began to kiss him gently on the nape of the neck.

“The future was written long before we were born. We know in our hearts that the Divine Author would not have written a story in which the wicked are allowed to triumph and the righteous meet endless defeat. In the end, good shall triumph over evil.”

I gave a little ghost yawn. I’d heard this generic prattle about the inevitable victory of good ten times a day growing up.

“There can be no doubt that Greatshadow embodies evil. No honest man has ever stared into a flame without perceiving the malignant intelligence behind it, the predator spirit that waits to pounce upon the weak and unwary. The Divine Author has left no room for doubt as to the identity of the villain of our tale. The only question that remains is: Are we good enough to be the heroes? Do we undertake this mission in complete honesty regarding our motivations? Do we seek to vanquish evil purely because it is our duty, or have the seeds of our defeat already been planted in falsehoods buried deep inside our hearts? Will our tale not be one of triumph, but of instruction, a warning against vanity, or greed, or lust?”

It may have been my imagination, but Ivory Blade looked chastened by these words. He hung his head low, his lips pressed tightly together, even as the Whisper gave him a comforting hug. Tower’s shoulders also sagged a little as Father Ver spoke.

The only person who looked inspired by Father Ver was Zetetic, who was grinning broadly.

Father Ver concluded by looking back up the shaft and switching from sermon to something more like a prayer. “We ask, oh Author Of Our Fates, that even if we are flawed vessels, you still will use us as vessels of your will. Help us, oh Lord, to bring the world one page closer to its perfect ending. Your will is our will. Amen.”

“Amen,” echoed Tower. Then he raised his head and said, “Relic, get your War Doll loaded. We’ll use it to cart our gear up the cliff, with Aurora’s help. I’ll ferry the others one by one. As long as I don’t rise above the treeline, this flight shouldn’t draw attention.”

Tower grabbed Ver by the arm and pulled the cleric to his chest. “You first,” he said, sounding somewhat terse. The holy man didn’t have time to say a word before the knight launched skyward.

Follow them!
Relic screamed in my mind.
If they have a private conversation, I want to know the details.

I looked at him and said, “Maybe you didn’t notice that they’re flying?”

And perhaps you haven’t noticed
that gravity no longer holds you to this earth?

I had noticed that, but I’d still been hovering at pretty much the same eye-level I’d been at when I was alive. In my ghostly form, I could wander around where I wanted to just by thinking. Did it work the same way going up?

I moved toward the shaft and spotted Tower high overhead. I furrowed my brow as I willed myself to follow him. Then —
whoosh!
— not only did I fly, I flew fast, shooting up along the rugged cliffs to reach the knight and the cleric in a matter of seconds. The terrain atop the cliff was still a fairly steep slope, but had soil enough to support trees and shrubs in a nearly uniform canopy of green. Tower punched through the foliage into the shadowy forest beyond. There were huge boulders among the trees. Tower landed on one, releasing Father Ver, before asking, in a voice that was almost a shout, “What was that?”

Father Ver looked undaunted by the anger in the knight’s tone. “You are unhappy with my prayer.”

“I wanted an invocation to our inevitable success, not some admonition that we might be too vain or lustful or whatever to defeat the dragon. Where is your faith?”

“Faith is a crutch for the spiritually weak,” Father Ver said. “It’s something used by women and children and the feeble-minded who may be unprepared to handle truth. I have never thought of you in this category.”

“You’ve been unpleasant company since this expedition was announced,” said Tower. “I’ve always looked up to you and respected you, Father. I can’t understand your sudden embrace of pessimism.”

Father Ver closed his eyes and rubbed the thick callus on his forehead. “Truthfulness sometimes precludes optimism. You of all men should understand this.”

“And you, of all men, should understand that the righteous always defeat the wicked. It is the only conclusion that will satisfy the Divine Author.”

Ver shook his head. “You’re a warrior, not a priest. You overstep your bounds when you claim insight into the mind of our creator.”

“I’m only repeating what you’ve taught!”

“You are only repeating the teachings you find convenient to remember,” said Ver. “You remember that good triumphs over evil in the end. But you fail to recall that we may not be at the end. The One True Book is a very thick document. There may yet be centuries, even eons, before the final victory. In the intervening time, the outcome of any given battle can never truly be known.”

Tower sighed. “Fine. You are technically correct. We may not actually know how this particular story ends. But I’d appreciate it if you would be a little more inspirational, to help motivate the troops.”

“What troops?” asked Father Ver. “There are eleven of us. The Goons are not believers in the Book, nor are the ogress and the hunchback. Blade and the Whisper walk a middle path and are not so pure as you may wish to believe. And they are saints compared to Zetetic, who twists all truths he encounters into lies. The only one among us whom my words may truly inspire is you.”

Tower crossed his arms, tapping his gauntleted fingers on his iron biceps with little clanking sounds. His feet were hovering a few inches above the ground. He shook his head slowly and said, “Perhaps I need the inspiration.”

“What you need is to know yourself,” said the priest. “Are you honest regarding your reasons for leading this mission?”

“I seek only to defeat evil and improve the lives of my fellow men. You would know if I was lying.”

“I would know if you were lying to me. I cannot know if you’re lying to yourself.”

“You think I have some other motive? What? Treasure? I’m already wealthy. Fame? Glory? The streets of the Silver City are lined with statues erected in honor of my previous victories. It matters not at all if they erect another.”

“So you say.”

“Such is the truth,” said Lord Tower. “Years have passed since I first saw my image carved in stone. Any pride I once felt has passed as I’ve aged. A statue is an empty legacy to leave the world. My only goal now is to leave the world a better place than what I inherited. The death of Greatshadow is a step toward that goal.”

“Very well. Even if your motives are pure, you must know your chosen allies are motivated by nothing other than greed.”

“True. But experience shows me I need not share the same motives as an ally in order to achieve a common goal. I’ve had years of battle experience to learn these truths. Still, I understand it must be difficult for you. This mission is forcing you into alliances with men you wouldn’t normally associate with.”

“You’re being too polite,” said Ver. “I would normally order these scoundrels and heretics flogged, imprisoned, or hanged.”

“Understood. Now, try to understand that I’ve fought beside rough men and unbelievers in previous battles,” said Tower. “Against some foes, power is more important than purity. We could lead an army of ten thousand pilgrims up these slopes, and Greatshadow could kill them in a matter of seconds by unleashing an inferno. These scoundrels and heretics are survivors. I’m confident we have assembled the perfect team to defeat Greatshadow. I want you to feel this confidence also.”

Ver pressed his lips tightly together. “If I believed this to be a doomed enterprise, I wouldn’t have accepted your invitation to join. I’m not blind to the difference between principle and truth. I respect the power of the team you’ve assembled. We stand a good chance of success. But I cannot pretend that victory is certain.”

“I suppose I’ll have to settle for that,” said Tower.

“Yes, you shall. Go get the others,” said Ver, with a dismissive wave. “They’ll wonder what’s keeping you.”

Tower nodded, then shot back over the cliff side. I started to follow him, but was distracted by something I spotted out on the water. I raised my hand to shield my eyes from the sun, though, alas, it proved pointless, since the rays passed right through my spectral skin. As I got used to the light after the shade of the trees, there was no mistaking I was looking at a clipper ship, still a mile out, but heading toward the cliffs at a breakneck pace.

A few seconds later, I spotted Tower rising back up from the cave, now with Zetetic in tow. Tower sat the red-robed figure on a boulder facing Father Ver, then swung back out to grab another passenger.

“Nice little prayer you gave down there, Ver,” said Zetetic. “Did I detect a little bit of a guilty conscience in all that talk about whether you’re good enough for this mission? After all, given what you’ve done to me...”

“You’ve suffered nothing you haven’t earned,” said Father Ver. “Count each breath you draw as a blessing from the Divine Author. If I were the master of your fate, your bones would have long since been picked over by ravens.”

“No doubt. But, since a higher authority than you has seen to it I’m along for this journey, could you maybe try to be more courteous? Or at least try not to kick me in the head any more?” He rubbed the side of his skull for emphasis.

“I can make no such promise,” said Father Ver.

Zetetic shrugged. “I can’t be blamed for asking.”

No-Face was next up, followed by Reeker and Menagerie in the form of a parrot. I might not have recognized Menagerie among the other parrots flitting through the trees if not for his voice. “Looks like trouble,” the bird said, as it landed on No-Face’s shoulder. It pointed seaward with a wing.

By now, the ship had gotten much closer, and seemed to be heading directly for the pirate cave below.

“Suh hurs,” said No-Face.

I squinted. He was right. It was the
Seahorse
, a pirate ship. I could even see Captain Stallion on the deck, in case there had been any doubt. Stallion is a distinctive figure. He looks like a half-seed, but is really just a man’s torso jammed onto the body of a donkey, though he tells everyone his equine parts are prize-winning stallion. He got this way after a badly thought out double-cross of a Weaver, who have a flair for this sort of magic.

“This is inconvenient timing,” said Tower, glancing down. “He’s heading straight for the cave. So much for the thought of leaving Numinous behind.”