Phoenix Rising (54 page)

Kyri stood still as the Watchland strode to her and stopped no more than a pace away, gazing at her intensely.

Kyri met his gaze, then slowly turned her head. “Hello, Gallire, Lehi. It’s a long time, isn’t it, since that day in the Temple when we were doing the Balance?” She smiled fondly. “You’ve both grown so much.”

Tobimar saw the two girls—twins, with dark hair twined with flowers—staring at Kyri in confusion. The second twin, Lehi, smiled slowly, and then her sister joined her.

Behind them, a man and a woman—obviously their parents—stirred, moved forward. “Yes, they have. And . . . we’ve watched them do that growing, thanks to you, Kyri.”

“We do not,” Skyharrier said, and his voice was gentle, not angry now, “argue against the courage, the valor, or the kindness of the Kyri Vantage we knew, or, in some ways, the one we see now. Tragedy can break any of us, and surely she and her family have seen tragedy beyond that which any should.”

Subtle, and well thought out, Justiciar
. Had he not known the truth, Tobimar was sure the words would have made him uncertain. The crowd was also torn, that much was clear, and that made things far worse. Kyri had made it clear she would tolerate
no
killing on their part of the citizens of Evanwyl, unless it was absolutely certain that they were knowing and willing accomplices to the false Justiciars.
If the crowd turns on us . . .

“Tragedy can break us,” Kyri agreed, pitching her own voice low, yet in a carrying tone that Tobimar knew would be heard far back in the mostly silent crowd, “but I was not
broken
by tragedy; I was only
driven
by it, and I did not make for myself this armor. I stand before you in armor of the Spiritsmith, new-forged for my name and station, the Raiment of the Phoenix.”

“A bold and necessary claim,” Bolthawk said, “for one who claims the station of Justiciar. But a claim hard indeed to prove, unless the Spiritsmith himself were present to support it.”

A murmur was beginning in the crowd, and the words were not what Tobimar hoped. A consensus—either way—would be better than a division, a split, but that was what he was hearing. “. . . always helped us, never cruel, always
fair
. . .”; “. . . Justiciars
healed
me just last week, that’s the power of the gods, you can’t argue . . .”; “. . . daughter knew her all her life and she would
never
. . .”; “. . . if it’s possible to fake being a Justiciar, how do we know which one . . .”

She swept the crowd with her gaze once more, then returned it to the Watchland. “Jeridan, you said once you knew us far better than I would have believed. You are the Watchland. You have watched us, and watched
over
us. Who am I, Jeridan Velion? You must judge me. Am I broken and mad . . . or am I the Phoenix?”

He said nothing, just looked at her for a long moment, as though by sight alone he could find the truth in the young Justiciar’s eyes.

Without warning he whirled and pointed. “Lay down your weapons, both of you.”

The false Justiciars stared in disbelief. “What? Are
you
gone
lackwit
now? How dare you—”

The Watchland’s sword was in his hand, and the crowd was murmuring more loudly . . . and some of the eyes that now turned towards Skyharrier and Bolthawk were hardening. “I said
lay down your weapons
. Kyri Victoria Vantage, a Justiciar? That I can believe. A murderer, one who could kill three Justiciars, she
not
a Justiciar? That I do
not
believe.”

Tobimar saw a conflicted mass of emotions crossing the faces of the two Justiciars . . . and Bolthawk glanced sharply off to one side.

Too late, Tobimar saw the figure at the rear of the crowd, a figure with a wand raising, pointing directly at Kyri, and there was no time, not even a fraction of a second to warn her, he saw the hand already steadying and light beginning as his eyes were widening, his mouth trying to open . . .

A thunderbolt split the air, singeing the heads of several in the crowd, screams rising, people dropping to the ground, with the lightning arrowing straight for the exposed back of Kyri Vantage, the Phoenix—

—And stopped dead in midair, caught on two leaf-green blades, cast aside like a parried sword-blow to spatter harmlessly against the thick, carved stone wall of the Temple. “Not a chance,” said Xavier Uriel Ross, and the false Justiciars stared in shock at the impossible.

“And
now
the Balanced Sword speaks to me.” The new voice cut through all others, louder than mere human speech, no longer shocked and uncertain tenor but as hard and cold as steel. Arbiter Kelsley stepped forward, and his face was like carven stone in his fury. “
Now
it speaks, and says but three words, and those words are your doom, Skyharrier, Bolthawk, for Myrionar says: ‘She speaks truth.’”

Bolthawk was unmoving, perhaps unable to believe that the deception was coming apart in mere moments. Skyharrier, however, seemed to recognize a hopeless situation.

Great gold and white wings whipped out, wings edged with bladed metal, and the false Justiciar spun, forcing the entire crowd to duck backwards from the lethal span, making even the Watchland and Kyri leap back. At the same time he drew his bow forth, an arrow appearing from nowhere, already nocked, the golden bow being drawn—
he’s aiming for
her
!
He couldn’t get there in time, and Xavier was behind, protecting her from assassins in the crowd, not from the Justiciars in front, and it would be too late—

Blue-silver light
slammed
into Skyharrier, knocking the bow skittering away. “You shall harm
no one,
” Kelsley said, and from his hands—and the great Balanced Sword behind him—another bludgeon of argent-sapphire power smashed Bolthawk backwards. “You have
betrayed
the Balanced Sword.” Another bolt of power, even brighter, and Kelsley strode forward, cane discarded, his voice now thunder, his hands blue lightning. “You have
defiled
your names. You have spoken
lies
in the name of the Balance.”

Even the Watchland was backing away, Kyri with him; no one dared stand between Arbiter Kelsley and the false Justiciars. Skyharrier’s wings blocked the next blast—and the armor
shattered.
“You have tried to speak lies of this child, you have killed her family, performed only the gods know what unspeakable acts, and still you thought to trick the Watchland, trick us all?” Kelsley spread his arms wide, and Tobimar saw blood trickling from his nose, and remembered Kyri’s story; the priest wobbled unsteadily, weakened or dizzy. “Never more. Never again.” The false Justiciars saw him waver, took two steps forward, and Kelsley’s head came up, proud and certain. “Not in
my
Temple!”

There was a blaze like burning diamonds in the sun and a concussion that staggered Tobimar, drove him to his knees. Screams and curses filled the air, and the Prince of Skysand blinked, desperately trying to clear his vision. Then he felt his jaw sag.

A
hole
had been blown clean through the Temple, in line with and above the great doorways, missing all the nearby crowd. Through the still-open doorway he could see Skyharrier and Bolthawk, nearly a hundred yards from those portals. Bolthawk was literally
smoking
, his armor almost completely gone.
He must have thrown himself between Kelsley and Skyharrier.
Skyharrier dragged himself to his feet, seeing the crowd turning towards them, and desperately grabbed up Bolthawk. He leapt skyward, great white-gold wings beating furiously. Arrows streaked in his wake, and from a crystal in the hand of a woman who had tears streaming down her face a flaming spirit was unleashed, burning its way through the air after him.
But even that’s going to take a bit to catch him . . . and I don’t think it can kill him.

“Arbiter!” Kyri caught Kelsley as he slumped to the ground.

“Don’t . . . worry,” he said painfully. “It was . . . a dangerous strain . . . but Justice demanded it. I will live.”

The Watchland sheathed his blade. “And
there
is the proof, even had Myrionar not spoken. A true Justiciar would have waited, for lies can be shattered by truth, and if the evidence you spoke of was not to be found, they would have been freed.” He looked out to the crowd. “And the assassin?”

Xavier emerged from the crowd, with several of the citizens dragging a body that Tobimar recognized as the Gharis innkeeper, Vlay. “Dead. Sorry about that, but he was fighting to kill us.”

“Do not concern yourself with it; death would have been his penalty in the end for such treason and dishonor.” Velion turned and knelt. “My most abject apologies, Kyri Vantage. I had sworn to find your parents’ killers . . . and instead I have harbored them.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Kyri said, with a tired, relieved smile. “They fooled us all, and they must have had help.” She wavered on her feet. Xavier didn’t waver, but looked as though he probably couldn’t move another step.

“By the Balance . . . are you hurt?”

Tobimar had the distant, fogged feeling of utter exhaustion himself. “No,” he managed to say, “we’ve just been going for more than a day and a half, maybe two days, with fights along the way . . .”

The Watchland caught Kyri’s arm and helped support her; Tobimar found someone else—one of the Seekers of the temple—at his side; another was helping Xavier. “The Temple is closest,” the Arbiter said, “and also most appropriate. You will rest.” He smiled fondly at Kyri. “Time enough later for explanations.

“For you all have done the work of the Balanced Sword today.”

53

“Boy, you look tired,” Poplock said.

Tobimar also looked rather cross-eyed, but that, Poplock was willing to concede, probably had to do with the fact that the little Toad was sitting on top of Tobimar’s head when he made the statement.

“Unlike you,” Tobimar said with a tolerant grin, “
I
can’t decide to take a nap when parts of the proceedings get boring. Parties crossed with debriefing the Watchland and other local lords, the Eyes, those are getting pretty tiring.” He glanced askance to Xavier, who was leaning against the gate. “
And
I can’t just go invisible and run off, either.” Xavier grinned at him, showing no sympathy at all.

“
She
doesn’t look tired,” Poplock observed, seeing Kyri still talking to a small crowd that surrounded her at the entrance to the Watchland’s castle. “Of course, this is her home country.”

The Skysand Prince snorted. “
That
isn’t it. And I think you know perfectly well how exhausted she is, even though they gave us a few days to recover before starting in. She knows that with the original Justiciars gone, she’s
got
to show Myrionar’s presence a
lot
. She has to be all the Justiciars in one.” He gazed at the tall girl in the glittering armor, giving blessings of the Balance to each of the crowd, talking with them, nodding her understanding.

Poplock bounced his agreement, then slid down to Tobimar’s shoulder. “I guess it wouldn’t work at all if she wasn’t someone they knew already.”

“Not a sand-burned chance, in my opinion. The only way our confrontation at the Temple worked was that the Watchland and the Arbiter
knew
her family and couldn’t believe Kyri could have gone entirely bad. Oh, I could see someone else finding a way to prove the
other
Justiciars had betrayed their faith, especially if they beat Thornfalcon and had the evidence—but they’d have a long, long time to prove themselves otherwise trustworthy, retain belief in the Justiciars as . . . hmm, as an
institution
.”

“Yeah,” agreed Xavier. “And that seems pretty central to the way they work here, too. I mean, they’ve got a temple and that priest, but the Justiciars are the real symbol.” He shook his head. “Still takes getting used to, that the gods really play a part in things . . .”

“. . . but,” Poplock said, not without some “I told you so” in his tone, “you gotta admit Kelsley was pretty convincing.”

Xavier nodded. “Your gods still aren’t quite
my
idea of a ‘god,’ but I can’t argue they’ve got some style, and boy, Kelsley’s one
badass
bastard when he decides he’s had enough and Myrionar’s backing him.”

Tobimar nodded. “I’m not sure I’d use your . . . particular language, but I certainly agree. About Evanwyl itself . . . I think you’re right; if they lost the Justiciars, it might have finished breaking the faith entirely. So right now, that means Kyri’s the only true symbol of Myrionar, so she’s got to constantly keep herself looking confident, comfortable, wise, and just. I sure don’t envy her
that
.”

Kyri had finally disengaged from the crowd and was striding at double-time to catch up with them. “Deserting your companion to save yourselves?” she inquired with a smile.

“On the contrary,” Tobimar said lightly, “it was a force only a true Justiciar of Myrionar could face, and so we withdrew so as not to encumber you.”

“Oh, indeed?” But she was still smiling.

“I was just waiting to say goodbye,” Xavier said, and Poplock saw her smile dim.

“You have to go so soon?”

Xavier looked into the distance, squinting as though at something only he could see. “
Have
to?” he said slowly. “Maybe not. But . . . well, I’ve still got to get the answer to that question from Idinus himself, and that’s one long, long hike across the continent. And I’ll have to find my friends.”

Poplock exchanged a knowing glance with Tobimar. Something the Wanderer had told Xavier still weighed on him, and it was something that the native of Earth wasn’t going to share . . . something that had to do with his companions, Khoros, and the deadly mission they were on. “But now, as night falls?”

Xavier nodded. “It seems . . . right, somehow. Don’t ask me why. You know, don’t you?”

Poplock saw Tobimar nod slowly. “We share many things, Xavier Ross. Yes, I know. The course of the world is clear to you now, and it says you should be already on your way.”

“Yeah.” He turned to Kyri. “Kyri . . . Phoenix . . . you take care, okay? I’m not going to be around to watch your backs, and those two false Justiciars aren’t giving up now, I’m sure of it.”