Oathen (46 page)

Below in the castle yard, a motion caught her
eye. She looked down to see a rider approach and enter the castle
gates. The protective spells didn’t even ripple at his presence.
Meena grinned. Only one man in the world had that power.

And he had kept his promise.

The imposing magma cone of the Green Dragon rose
high into the sky, higher even than the ancient caldera wall to the
north. Its upper slopes were laced with steaming fumaroles and
miniature craters whose warmth melted the recent snowfall. Its
rough summit was lost in a cloud bank that was lit from below by
the rising sun, creating the illusion of magma-glow. The Green
Dragon had not erupted in several thousand years, though;
spellcasters from an age long dead had tamed and shaped the fiery
mountain, attuning it to their purposes and rendering it
safe.

As safe as it could be, for a magic-ridden,
active volcano filled with bolt holes and protective traps created
to shelter royalty in times of unrest. That it was also rumored to
be the ancient home of mythical dragons just added to its dark and
dangerous mystery.

The base of the mountain was narrow and nearly
circular, and its surrounding hills and forests were free from
villages and cultivated fields. Only a few roads wound their way
through its red, rocky soil.

That was just one of the reasons it made an
excellent location for Dzur i’Oth’s stronghold, beneath the ancient
Dragon Temple that clung to the mountain’s rocky slopes.

A warm breeze had begun trying its luck at
melting the snow that had fallen yesterday, and the few inches of
snow on the ground were already slushy. Birds chattered and
scolded, and rock voles scuttled about in search of snowed-under
roots for breakfast. The world seemed at peace, giving no sign of
the evil being wrought below, as the
Great and Dire Tome
and
its avatar worked ritual after ritual, in spite of the mortal
body’s hunger pangs and exhaustion. Avatars did not deserve a say
in their treatment.

On the breezy, cool surface of the world
above, in a high, snowy field a quarter-mile from the Dragon Temple
campus, thirty people
blinked
in, invisible within Sanych’s
shield. Then she vanished, leaving the shield in place. Five
heartbeats later, another group landed next to the first, shielded
as well. Shortly, two hundred Scions stood cloaked from sight
outside their mortal enemy’s lair.

Sanych
blinked
back with the final
group, panting under the strain of holding so many large shields
up, even at a focal point for earth magic. Shields at the farmhouse
and at the Ochre Masks’ tower in Cish kept the Scions she’d
transported there from being detected as well. Ahm and Narjin put
their hands on her shoulders and lent her a portion of their
magical potential.

Meena glanced at Sanych, seeing the strain on
her face. “Quickly,” she said to the man who had arrived at Sosta’s
castle at dawn. The man strode forward toward the temple, his hands
outstretched.

~~~

Curzon the Crooked stopped at the outermost
spell barrier around the temple, his long white braids swaying down
his back in the warm breeze. The barrier glowed a faint green to
his eyes. He raised his hands, shaping an arch. It was time to
fulfill the last part of his promise.

His words to Meena, back in the castle yard,
echoed in his head. “I’m here,” he had grumped, as she stepped out
to greet him. “But only because I promised, and I do keep my word,
regardless of when I gave it. Once we’re done with this business,
I’m back to my cave, and maybe I can finally get some peace and
quiet, without any more Scions pestering me for
training!”

Snapping back to the present, Curzon thrust
his magic ahead of him, and an arched tunnel flowed forward,
undetectably raising the edges of every barrier the cult had
erected. Past the green barrier—a simple alarm—was a purplish one
that caused temporary confusion. Another bluish barrier was next,
and so on until finally Curzon could only see the ancient white
stones of the temple wall ahead of him.

Holding the tunnel in place with the sheer
force of his will, he turned and crossed his arms, looking back at
the host of invaders, whom he could see clearly through Sanych’s
shield. “All right, then,” he called, nodding toward the tunnel. It
lit up with a soft yellow glow, showing the others the
way.

Meena led the charge, sword in hand, as she,
her companions, and all two hundred Scions rushed in past him.
“Back to your cave, Hermit,” she said, shooting him a brilliant
smile that Curzon shuddered to see. It was the sort that would not
falter at the sight of death, but would more likely morph into a
rabid laugh.

Sanych let her shield narrow and fade into
nothingness, slowing to a halt as she reached Curzon. The other
warriors and spellcasters, magics flaring and swords glinting,
darted up the central stairs to the ancient temple, between
massive, eroded white pillars whose carved reliefs hadn’t been
decipherable for generations.

“Ready?” Sanych asked, eyes on the Scions,
memorizing their positions.

“Yes.” Curzon nodded.

He finished his nod in his own cave. Sanych
gave him a brilliant smile and a quick, heartfelt murmur of thanks,
and then she was gone again.

Just like that, the purpose of his entire life
had been served. He blinked for a moment, running a thumb over the
nubs in his favorite braid. Seeing the colors of magic, and being
able to bend and even destroy the magics of others, might have made
him the world’s most feared and revered magician, and he knew it.
Some days—some cycles—his promise had chafed terribly on his soul.
But he had given his word to the woman who saved his sanity. Even
though he had once been a thief, the power of his word was binding,
because he wished it so.

Over time, his dreams of glory and power had
faded, and at this very moment, his promise finally complete, he
found himself perfectly content to possess no more than the quiet
security of his home in the cliff, overlooking the majestic Emerald
River.

I only wish
, he thought, as he ambled
across the fur-strewn floor toward his mended cooking pot,
that
she hadn’t waited quite so long to call in her
favor
.

~~~

“I step out of the world for two days, and
wake to find my Dictat decimated, my rule secure once more, and
myself with a wife,” Beret said in a faint voice.

“My deepest apologies, Beret, for saving your
realm from a coup,” Anjoya said. She took his hand as she sat on
the edge of his wide bed.

“Oh, I forgive you.” He smiled. “It’s simply
been a long time since I went unaware of a happening in Vint. I’m
grateful for, and humbled by, your actions. You had nothing at
stake, had nothing to lose through inaction.”

“Respectfully, I beg to differ. My choices
have led me to Vint, and I like to hope that I’ll spend the rest of
my days here. I have a vested interest in making my future as
secure as possible.”

“Well, you’ve done so with aplomb, in a move
worthy of any Dictat member.” He shifted, then cleared his throat.
“Do you, er, intend to continue the role of Magistra?”

“I think I should do so for at least as long
as it takes you to fully recover, don’t you?”

“Indeed. Perhaps as long as until Geret’s
return?”

Anjoya’s eyes widened. She’d assumed the
Magister would summarily thank her for her trouble, then have the
marriage annulled. “That’s very generous of you, my lord. But may I
make a small confession to you?”

Beret sat up straighter against his feather
pillows. “Of course.”

“I have found Addan pleasant and entertaining,
and I would be more than happy to spend more time with him. But
every hour in your presence has further reminded me of the one who
is yet missing from my life.”

“You speak of Kemsil.”

Anjoya nodded, looking down. “I have done many
things for the sake of my job, both personal and political, and
Kemsil has accepted them all. But I left that life behind. Though
there might be great advantage in remaining Magistra, I know it
would hurt Kemsil, should he live to return with Geret. I’m afraid
I must decline.”

Beret made a slow nod of acceptance. “Then I
shall accept your help for as long as you’re willing to give
it.”

“Beret, you may always ask my help. After our
adventure these last few days, I should hope you know you can trust
me.”

Beret smiled. “Indeed I do. In that case, can
I trust you to select a suitably lively tunic for me? It’s about
time I let the city know I’m not dead.”

~~~

The Dragon Temple’s myriad passageways formed
a veritable labyrinth. The temple had three levels above the
ground, with rows of arched windows and colonnades. Below the
ground, however, Dzur i’Oth had carved out their own dark domain,
closer to the throbbing red heart of the volcano. The Scions were
forced to split into small groups and search for the enemy down
each dusty hallway and in every abandoned room. As the groups made
their way below, they found their first resistance in the hallways
where the white granite of the temple gave way to the dark basalt
of the earth itself.

Rhona lunged aside as a chunk of basalt
tumbled through the air where her torso had just been. As it
crashed into the wall behind her, cracking it, Narjin shot a tight
flare of blue fire into the cultist who had magically hurled the
stone. With a scream, he dropped to the floor, writhing.

Ruel and Salvor fought back to back among
several Enforcers, and Geret ran to join them, ramming his blade
into an enemy’s back. As the man fell, Geret slipped in beside his
friends.

“Time to find out exactly how this Oathbinding
works in battle,” he said with a grin, engaging another
Enforcer.

~~~

Sanych and Meena slipped from doorway to
doorway in a dark corridor two levels below the Scions’ battle. The
faint sounds of swords and magic faded into the distance as they
descended further into the labyrinthine tunnels. The walls were lit
with bright, pale-green torches that never sputtered or flickered.
Their light gave the rock a wet, living appearance.

Sanych’s every nerve was on end as she trailed
after Meena. She held a shield of invisibility around them both,
but sound still carried, unlike with Kemsil’s lost Circuit, so she
tried her best to imitate the Shanallar’s stealth.

A dozen Enforcers jogged around a corner and
up the hall toward the battle above, serrated weapons at the ready.
The only way to avoid physical contact in the narrow corridor was
to retreat, but Meena hadn’t brought her here to avoid
contact.

Meena looked at Sanych, tipping her head
toward the oncoming swordsmen; her green irises were eerie in the
torchlight. Sanych raised her hands. Meena stepped aside and
covered her eyes.

A light filled the corridor, slicing toward
the enemy. When it faded, the bodies of the Enforcers lay scattered
on the stone floor, their heads rolling separately. Sanych winced
and looked away. Meena kicked one of the heads aside and strode
down the hallway without her. Sanych had to hop over the bodies to
keep up.

~~~

“Folly!” Geret cursed, ducking under a
serrated sword and jamming his sword into the chest of the woman
who wielded it.

“Problems?” Salvor asked. A moment later, he
took a body slam from another cultist and slammed into the wall of
the large dining room they were fighting in.

Rhona drove both her blades into the back of
Salvor’s attacker, unaware that a new Dzur i’Oth spellcaster had
just joined the fight behind her. The woman raised a finger and
pointed at Rhona’s back, unleashing a writhing green snake that
floated as if it were made of smoke. The creature flashed through
the air, rearing back to strike down at the pirate.

“Rhona!” Ruel called, struggling to reach her
despite the two cultists who had engaged him with their swords. His
cousin turned, copper braids flying, and her turquoise eyes widened
in the moment before the snake struck.

But its strike didn’t land. Ahm’s hands
slammed out, as if against an invisible wall, and a silvery barrier
snapped into existence between Rhona and the snake; the magical
creation rammed its head into the wall even as Rhona raised her
swords. Ahm’s wall-creation was followed by a silver jar that
encased the snake in midair, then fell to the ground with a
metallic clang.

The snake’s summoner turned her attention to
Ahm, creating a dozen venomous lizards that slithered across the
floor toward him. He gave each of them a silver collar attached to
an enormous cube of steel, weighting them in their
tracks.

The lizards vanished, and a flock of ravening
predatory birds swooped through the air, wicked claws extended. Ahm
caught them in a silver net that fell from above, trapping them.
Before the woman could create yet another fauna hazard, he slammed
a capped cylinder of metal around her, thick and heavy. Her muffled
cries of protest reached his ears for a moment, then Narjin filled
the cylinder with blue fire.