Shards of a Broken Crown (65 page)

“I know
what you must try to do,” said Kahil, stepping back.

“Your
vanity almost brought this world to ruination. Your lust for external
youth and beauty caused you to destroy nations. You cannot be allowed
to continue.”

“So at
last you will attempt to kill me? It will take more than a tap to
this head to rid this universe of me.”

“No, I
will
kill you.”

Kahil started to
incant a spell, but before he could finish it, Nakor struck him in
the face with the butt of his staff. The former Emerald Queen, now in
a man’s body, staggered backward, his concentration broken and
his spell incomplete. Nakor leveled his staff and a burst of white
light shone on Kahil. He froze, transfixed, and from his mouth a
mournful sound emerged. It grew weaker by the second as the body
faded, becoming pale, then translucent, then transparent. When it
vanished from view, the sound ceased, and Kahil was absent from the
room. Sadly Nakor said, “I should have done that a century ago,
but then I didn’t know how.”

He indulged
himself a moment to reflect on everything, then he turned and hurried
to overtake the others. Until Zaltais was returned to the pit and it
sealed after him, the struggle was not over.

Miranda waved
her hand and a brilliant shower of sparks exploded from her palm and
sprayed a dozen soldiers hanging back near the gates to the city. As
they began to be stung, they turned and ran.

“Not very
dangerous,” she said, “but dramatic.” She looked
back to see Tomas struggling with all his considerable strength to
hold Zaltais on his shoulder, while Pug could do almost nothing but
hang back.

As they cleared
the city gates, the building which covered the pit in view, Zaltais
overbalanced Tomas and flipped over his shoulder, landing hard upon
the ground. The creature thrashed around, and Miranda said, “My
spell is failing!”

Suddenly the
crimson bands shattered, flung in all directions, the pieces fading
from sight. The insectlike creature bounded upright and lashed out
with a razor-sharp forearm. Tomas took the blow on his sword and the
sound of the clash was steel upon steel.

Bright orange
light bathed Zaltais as it pulled back to strike again. “It’s
casting a spell!” Miranda shouted.

Pug incanted a
word of power, which should have given him the ability to sense the
monster’s magic. Instead he felt a blinding stab of pain in his
head and he fell to his knees.

Pug’s
hands went to his head and tears ran down his face as he struggled to
make himself breathe. The images and sensations that flooded his mind
were so alien as to cause nothing but pain. The spell he had utilized
was designed to sense out the nature of the spell being used, and to
counteract it if possible, but even the emanations of the Dread Lord
that appeared under Sethanon, and of the Demon Kings, Jakan and
Maarg, were comparatively familiar compared to what he was
experiencing now. Pug fell to his knees, his eyes squeezed shut and
his fists at his temples.

Miranda took a
more direct approach and simply tried to burn the creature, sending
forth her most powerful spell of flames, a white-hot burst of energy
that burned bright enough to blind anyone who looked at the flame.

Zaltais writhed
in the center of the flame, his own magic forgotten, a creature
trapped in the heart of a star.

Tomas circled
the burning creature, and went to where Pug knelt, helping his friend
to his feet.

Suddenly the
fire vanished as Nakor came hurrying up to them. “Quick! Carry
it to the pit!”

The monster was
swollen and cooking in its own juices, the carapace cracked in
several places. Tomas grabbed one of the forearms and tried dragging
it. He made slow progress, but Zaltais was hauled through the large
doors of the building and toward the pit.

Then, with a
loud crack, the chitinous outer shell broke, and inside the body they
could see something writhing. The shell parted and something akin to
a giant white worm began to wiggle out.

Miranda said, “I
don’t have the strength to burn it again.”

Nakor said “You
don’t need to burn it. Get it into the pit!”

Tomas charged
the creature as it was halfway out of the smoking insect shell. He
bashed it as hard as he could with his shield, and Zaltais was
knocked backward, dragging the insect carcass with him, its lower
section still embedded in the shell.

The thing
shrieked, a sound which cut through the skull like a knife, causing
Tomas to falter, but he overcame the sound and smashed the creature
again, knocking it back once more, now only a dozen feet from the
yawning opening of the pit.

Zaltais
frantically snapped his tail, trying to rid himself of the insect
corpse. Tomas kicked the thorax section and it spun the creature
around, the insect body sliding toward the pit.

Pug wiped his
hand across his eyes, his ringing head now clearing, and he uttered a
simple spell that threw a punch of air, but one which could crush a
man’s ribs. The creature was knocked backward and suddenly was
overbalancing.

As they watched,
arms began to extrude from the worm’s upper segment,
frantically waving.

Nakor said,
“Enough of this!” He ran forward, his staff cocked over
his shoulder, and he struck the thing across the upper body as hard
as he could.

With a scream
that threatened to shatter their ears, Zaltais fell into the pit.

Miranda was
knocked to her knees, as was Pug again. Tomas had to use all his
willpower to remain upright, and Nakor gripped his staff as if it was
the only thing keeping him alive.

Then the sound
was gone. Nakor said, “We must seal this pit!”

“How?”
asked Pug. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Yes, you
have,” said Nakor. “You’re just not recognizing
it!”

Pug took a deep
breath and used what little energy he had left to assess the pit.
“It’s a rift!” he said at last. “Yes,”
said Nakor, “but not the sort you know.”

“How did
you know?” asked Miranda.

“I’ll
explain it all later,” said Nakor, “but you must close
it.”

A faint breeze
stirred, and Miranda said, “Did you feel that?”

“Yes,”
said Tomas. “And I don’t usually feel the wind inside a
building.”

“There’s
something trying to come through!” shouted Nakor.

Pug said, “I
need help!”

“What do
we do?” asked Miranda.

“Give me
whatever strength you can!” shouted Pug. He closed his eyes and
let his mind enter the rift. He sensed the energies and was again
assaulted by an overwhelming sense of alien wrongness. Yet there was
a pattern, and as alien as it was, once he apprehended it, he was
able to study it, and with study, the structure began to emerge. “I
have it!” he said at last.

He let his mind
call up the knowledge he had gained as a Great One on Kelewan, as he
had studied rifts and their nature. The nature of the rift was that
Pug could either use more power to close it than it took to open it,
or he could subvert the power used to keep it open. He chose the
latter course, as his energy was too depleted to attempt the former.
Besides, he felt that even at his best, that choice might prove
beyond his powers. He sent a cord of energy that snaked out and
engaged the source of the rift.

Suddenly a
presence appeared on the other side of the rift. It was massive and
powerful beyond anything he had thought possible, and it was nothing
but a distillation of hatred and evil so pure it defied human
understanding. A part of Pug’s mind recoiled and wanted nothing
more than to fall to the floor and whimper, as Fadawah had done. But
Pug’s mental discipline came to the fore and he held his ground
against this horror of the mind.

Whatever it was,
it quested. It knew Pug was somewhere close by, but not quite where.
Pug felt a sense of urgency rise up inside as he sought to unweave
the matrix of power that held open the rift, for he knew that should
this being find him, he would be lost forever.

A faint surge of
power came to Pug and he knew that Miranda had succeeded in joining
her power to his. He felt a sense of reassurance from her when she
touched him, and the part of his mind able to perceive her sent forth
its thanks.

The questing
consciousness on the other side of the rift was becoming more aware
of Pug as each second passed. Pug had his own spell ready.

He opened his
eyes and for a moment it was if he was seeing two images at once.
Before him stood Tomas, sword at the ready, with Miranda and Nakor
beside him. Overlaying that image was one of a torn section of space
and time, through which a great terror was peering in his direction.
More than anything else, Pug was struck by the image of a vast eye
peering through a keyhole.

Pug yanked back
his own line of power, disrupting the supporting matrix of energy. He
sensed a terrible rage from the other side of the rift.

“Get out!”
he shouted, and as he turned to run he realized he could barely move.
Tomas threw his shield over his back and put his left arm around Pug,
nearly picking him up.

They ran from
the building as Ryana landed. “I called her,” said Tomas.
The ground began to shake as they climbed aboard the dragon. As she
launched herself into the sky, a terrible crack of thunder came from
within the building.

The dragon beat
her wings and gained altitude, and Pug turned to watch the scene
below. A great wind was being drawn to the building and the building
began to shudder and shake. A crack of timber heralded the roof
shattering, collapsing into the building.

Miranda said,
“Everything’s being sucked into the rift!” Pug
said, “I hope not everything.”

Nakor said, “It
will balance out, but there will be a very big hole in the ground to
fill when it’s done.”

A thunderous
rumble sounded, and as Nakor predicted, a huge hole in the ground
appeared and the rest of the building fell into it. A giant cloud of
dust shot heavenward, and more ground fell into the hole. Then the
rumbling stopped.

“It is
over?” asked Miranda.

Pug closed his
eyes and rested his head upon Tomas’s back. “It will
never be over,” he said.

A ragged boy
ducked under the outstretched arms of a guard who shouted, “Hey!”

“I gotta
talk ta the Sheriff!” he shouted as he dodged by.

Dash turned to
see the youngster scampering up the stairs. He stood on the rampart
over the city gates, watching the Keshians deploy in the predawn
darkness. “What do you want?” he demanded.

“Trina
says to tell you, the South Palace Gate! Now!”

Instantly Dash
knew he had overlooked other agents inside the palace. The South
Palace Gate was the entrance used by tradesmen making deliveries
directly to the palace. It opened on the large marshaling yard used
to train Calis’s Crimson Eagles; it also provided direct access
to the one portion of the palace that was unprotected by walls and
gates. Should the Keshians get through that entrance to the city,
they would not only be in the city, they would also be in the palace.
And most of the city’s defenders would be in the wrong place.

Dash shouted to
Gustaf, “South Palace Gate!”

Gustaf had a
flying company, a company ready to run to any point in the line and
reinforce, and they were off as soon as Dash shouted the location.

Turning to an
officer nearby, Dash said, “Keep things here under control.
Until their agents report the gate open, they’ll go through the
charade of asking for surrender one more time.”

Dash hurried
down the stairs and chased after Gustaf and his men. He ran through
the streets until he could hear the sound of fighting. “Where
is the palace guard?” he demanded.

Gustaf said,
“They were ordered up to support the main gate.”

“Who gave
that order?” asked Dash.

“I thought
you did,” replied the constable.

“When we
find out who gave that order, we’ll have found our poisoner.”

Dash and his
constables raced through the street to the north-most entrance to the
palace and found the gate unattended. He motioned for the men to run
to the left, around the stables, and into the marshaling yard from
the north. At the far end of the marshaling yard he saw a brawl
taking place in front of the south gate. He had ridden wagons through
that gate when working for Roo Avery what seemed like years before,
in a different life, but never before had the marshaling yard seemed
so vast.

As he reached a
point halfway across the open stretch of ground he saw the struggle
was nearly decided. Old men, boys, and a few men of fighting age
stood toe-to-toe with armed mercenaries, trained killers who were
dispatching them with cold-blooded efficiency.

Standing before
the huge bar that kept the gate closed was Trina, a sword in one hand
and a dagger in another. A bleeding man at her feet told Dash that he
had already paid the price of trying to get by the determined woman.

The mercenaries
at the gate were quickly disposing of the thieves, and Dash tried to
will himself to be faster. He was twenty yards away when he saw a
burly man with a beard strike down a young thief—barely more
than a boy— then turn to join his companion facing Trina.

The first man
before her struck an overhand blow, which she blocked high, leaving
her guard open. The burly man stepped under and drove the point of
his sword into her stomach.

“No!”
Dash cried as he ran right into the two men without slackening speed.
He carried both of them away and down in a heap. He struck out with
his sword, killing the bigger man as he lay on the ground, then
rolled over to come to his feet facing the first man who had struck
at Trina.

The man made a
combination attack, feigning a head blow, then turning his wrist to
slash at Dash’s side. Dash nimbly stepped back, then forward,
while the man’s sword point was moving past him and, before he
could reverse his blade’s direction, Dash killed the man with a
stabbing blow to the throat.