The Warrior Returns - Anteros 04 (31 page)

"But win or lose, you'll at least have the comfort of being with your family and friends."

"What's the other choice?" I asked harshly.

"You can fight," the goddess said. "If the machine is destroyed, the threats to both your cities will end. And the gates through the ethers that link Orissa and Khalilow will be permanently broken."

She hesitated. "But it's unlikely either of you will live through the destruction."

My answer was a shrug.

As far I was concerned, there was no first choice. But I wondered what Salimar would say. Would a queen accept a soldier's fate so easily?

I heard her snap, "Then die I must. My people's future is at stake. I will not risk it. Besides, my kingdom can continue without me."

Maranonia nodded, smiling. "I chose well with you two. I am greatly pleased!"

The goddess snapped her fingers and a mailed chariot appeared; four black war-horses snorted and pawed the air. She tossed me her spear. I caught it clumsily with my living hand. The spear throbbed with power and I felt my blood suddenly boil with berserk rage.

"Go," Maranonia commanded. "And do battle for your fates."

I passed Salimar my sword, shifted the spear into my golden hand, and leaped aboard the chariot. Salimar jumped up beside me as I took the reins, and the horses suddenly surged forward.

We flew across the plain at a fantastic speed, skimming over rocks and boulders as if we were on a surface of hard-packed sand. The great machine bulked larger, flames spouting higher, and then an army charged out of the flames.

Their standard was the Bear Flag and they were Magon's soldiers, spewing out to meet us, a rolling wave of armor and swords and spears.

We struck the wave dead center. I heard screams and stabbed out with the spear, shouting for the horses to go on. Sorcerous fire arced from my spear, searing all it touched. Melting armor and flesh and bone.

Salimar slashed and jabbed, and blood sprayed all around us, a grisly rain.

Then we were through, crushing men under our wheels, and the glowing forgegate was just in front of us, the big conveyor rattling into its maw.

I formed a spell and jabbed forward with the spear. A great blast crashed into the forge, tearing away the conveyor and showering molten metal in every direction.

We roared through the forgegate—returning to Novari's special hell—and once again all was flame and smoke and groaning souls.

I shouted for Novari. From far away I heard her call out in surprise, "
Rali
?"

Then I heard another disembodied gasp. "Salimar? Where did you come from?"

"Beneath your nose, bitch!" Salimar shouted.

Novari shrieked fury—it was like the cry of a vulture.

The forgeroom suddenly melted around us, and then the chariot and horses were gone and my stomach lurched and we were falling through air. The fall was short and my breath whooshed out as I slammed into hard pavement.

I bounced to my feet, Salimar coming up beside me at the same moment.

We were standing in Novari's armory in Hellspoint. Racks of weapons hung from every wall. A shriek of discordant lyre strings rent the air, and King Magon burst through a door. He was the size of a giant and his armor clattered like a siege machine being rolled toward the enemy's walls.

I stabbed out with Maranonia's spear. A ball of lightning blasted toward the onrushing king.

His armor and shield absorbed most of the spell's blow. But it rocked him hard, nearly knocking him to the floor. He staggered, dazed, smoke rising from the surface of his mail.

As I readied another blast he lifted his head and cried out, tormented, "Novari! If you love me, help me!"

I heard Novari laugh. There was no returned love in those mocking tones.

Then the lyre strings shrieked again as if they were being clawed by a taloned hand. Weapons shot off the racks. Swords and spears were lifted up by Novari's power and hurled at us.

But I was ready and it was my turn to laugh.

The weapons were absorbed by my magical shield and then backblasted across the room.

Magon screamed horribly as a dozen or more ripped through his armor. He crashed down. Dead.

I felt suddenly empty, drained of all power—more helplessly mortal than I'd ever been. I slumped, catching myself on one knee, fighting as much for breath as strength.

I felt Salimar's hand on my shoulder. Light glared from somewhere and I felt her grip tighten.

Novari stood before us, sweetly innocent in a flowing gown of virginal white. But there was no innocence in her face. She looked at me, sneered, then turned to Salimar.

"Pig you were," she said. "Pig you shall be."

She lifted a slender finger and Salimar staggered back as the sorcerous blow struck. She fell to the floor, mortally wounded.

And for her final humiliation her body had been transformed. Lying there on the floor was Zalia, my poor ugly Zalia. Squat of body. Elegant of soul.

Novari turned to me. "Now for you, Rali."

I reached for my power, felt threads of it snaking to me. But it was too late.

Novari cast her spell.

A cold blue wave rolled out at me. '

Just before it struck, Zalia suddenly came up, diving in front of me.

She caught the full blast, screamed, then fell back. She shuddered once. Then was still.

I looked at Novari and felt a grin stretch my lips. I could sense her emptiness. I knew she'd drained herself trying to kill me. And now it was the Lyre Bird who was scrabbling for power, racing against time as I gathered mine.

I took a chance.
I
grabbed the last bit of energy I could and cast Maranonia's spear.

It left my hand, but instead of shooting forward it seemed to float. Slowly. So damned slowly, pushing through my enemy's shield.

Novari was gaining power. She transformed into the Lyre Bird, great wings beating up a gale as she rose from the floor. The spear, still moving slowly, shifted its flight, following her as she rose to the ceiling.

I saw a glow bloom out all around the immense bird. Heard the lyre music swell to a great crescendo.

The spear struck just as she cast her deadly spell. The two forces met, competing tidal waves of raw power.

The world went white. There was no other sensation but that glaring whiteness. No sound. No touch or taste or scent.

The whiteness cleared. Sensation returned. I found myself standing on the frozen lake outside Koronos.

The great Ice Bear Temple was a smoking ruin. The town was nothing but a charred heap of wood and stone. The docks had collapsed and Magon's golden ship was engulfed in flames. The foundries and forges, including Hellspoint itself, were nothing but rubble. The mines had all collapsed and there was smoke hissing out of hundreds of gaps in the face of the mountain. I saw no living thing, although a few smoldering corpses were sprawled in the litter.

Beside me on the ice was the still form of Zalia.

I heard the Lyre Bird scream. I looked up and saw the huge creature plummeting out of the sky, tumbling madly in a long death fall. The bird transformed into Novari. She screamed my name as she fell, white gown streaming like a falling kite.

"Rali," she cried. "Rali!"

And then she was gone.

Vanishing in midair.

I knelt beside Zalia. She was still breathing
...
faintly. Her eyelids fluttered but didn't open. I took her hand in mine. Her fingers twitched—a weak squeeze of recognition.

She tried to speak, lips barely moving. I bent low to hear.

"I love you," she whispered. "I always have."

And then she went limp.

I was empty of all feeling and had no tears to shed.

Then a billowing cloud blew across the lake, and out of the cloud emerged a silver ship. It was the dream ship I'd seen Salimar sailing in my vision. Maranonia was at the helm.

The slender ship came to rest in front of me.

The goddess motioned to me. "Come," she commanded. "Bring Salimar with you."

I looked down and the still form of Zalia had become the lovely Salimar once again. 1 lifted her up and she was warm and light in my arms.

I carried her to the ship but my legs dragged, weary. Maranonia gestured and I floated onto the deck with Salimar in my arms. I put her down as tenderly as I could.

The goddess stretched out a long slender hand and touched her—eyes narrowing in concentration. She shook her head and withdrew her hand.

"She can never awaken from Novari's spell," Maranonia said. "She'll sleep like that until all mortal functions cease. And then her ghost will sleep on forever."

Salimar groaned, her face twisting with pain, and I knew she was suffering.

"Her dreams are not good, Rali," the goddess said. "Her long sleep will be a torture, I fear."

"What can be done?" I said, numb.

Maranonia looked at me and once again her eyes were filled with a sadness that frightened me.

"I can give Salimar her kingdom back," she said. "Although it will only exist in her dreams. But those dreams will always be joyful, full of summers that never end."

"Then do it," I said. "She deserves nothing less for what she's done for you."

"And you, Rali," the goddess said. "She saved your life."

"And a worthless thing that is," I said. "I'm weary of war and pain. Of death and magic." I waved my hand, taking in the icy wasteland. "I'm sick of all of it."

Maranonia smiled gently. "Then will you join her, Rali?" she asked. "Will you join her in the long sleep? It's the only way I can make her that gift of peace. You must be at her side.

"I promise you this if you do: it will be a paradise. Or at least as much of a paradise as the two of you can make of your common dream."

I looked down at Salimar, wondering about my own feelings toward this beauteous queen. Was this the woman I wanted to spend eternity with? Then I saw Zalia behind that lovely mask. Saw the coarse features in my memory, small nose and bowed lips and strong arms that were as gentle as a maid's.

"Well, Rali?" Maranonia pressed.

"Please," I said. "Grant us that gift"

I saw tears glisten in the goddess' eyes. Then she nodded and turned to take the ship's helm.

The sails filled with a magical wind and the silver ship whooshed off the ice and into the sky. We flew across barren lands and frozen seas. We flew forever and flew in no time at all. And soon we came to a huge ice citadel, glittering and translucent under a pale sun.

The citadel's gates boomed open and we sailed inside.

Then we were standing beside the ship in a vast chamber. Salimar was in my arms.

There were racks of golden weapons on the walls— Novari's weapons. Mine now. The spoils of my victory.

Set in the center of the chamber was a large tomb with a rounded lid made of clear ice. The lid was open.

I carried Salimar to it and laid her out on the soft snowy pillows. She sighed and smiled, mumbling my name in her sleep.

I crept up beside her and she shifted so I could hold her in my arms. She fit, just so.

Then Maranonia was standing over us, her hand on the tomb's cover.

She smiled. "Now
Rali
, you may go to your reward." And as she swung the lid shut, she whispered: "Sweet dreams, my warrior woman. Sweet dreams."

Darkness came swiftly. And just as swiftly dissolved into light.

Salimar and I entered her dream kingdom together. Where the sun was always warm, the breezes gentle and perfumed. We courted there and in time became lovers: a love built to last an eternity of dreams.

Then the Goddess Maranonia returned and woke me up and took away the dreams. She said Novari lived.

That she'd killed all the Anteros, save one.

And she was hunting that child now.

A child named Emilie.

BOOK
TWO

Emilie

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

Signs
and
Portents

I
had much
time to consider those events. For I was sailing to Orissa from the very bottom of the world. I broke the incidents apart, examined each segment from every angle, and put it all back together again to ponder the whole. I learned much and found some peace and considerable purpose while going over the tale from beginning to end.

Even Novari herself no longer remained as much an enigma.

I've called her evil. Actually that term gave her more human qualities than she in fact possessed. The Lyre Bird was more like a plague. A plague lives by killing. When all within reach are dead, it rides ships and caravans to other lands where it can resume its feasting. Eventually, when the potential victims are too few or too far, the plague burns itself out. And waits for its chances again.

Novari had waited for centuries once before. This time, it seemed, she'd required less than fifty years. She had every reason to be a vengeful spirit. It had taken mass murder to create her. She was the repository of hundreds of innocent girls whose ghosts must all call out for revenge. I understood that. A part of me even sympathized. Insanity begets insanity. It was logical and understandable that all her thoughts and actions would be centered on revenge and a determination to have so much power that no one could harm her again.