Phoenix in Shadow - eARC (18 page)

Chapter 24

The misshapen creature—a deformed, monstrous hopclaw, he thought—shrank back as the moaning blade cut through the air. But Condor leapt completely over it, cutting off its escape. One clawed arm flew off, trailing blood. The other. The creature was screaming in terror and pain now, but Condor merely grinned and continued.
Try to ambush me? Learn what you pay in pain!

Finally it was over—too soon, Condor thought. This unending trek through Rivendream seemed like a nightmare, no rest, nothing safe, even the
insects
more vicious than anything he’d ever encountered. So he’d become harder in return.
Take your amusement as you can. It’s for sure nothing else will amuse me here!

It dawned on him that the forest rising up before him was warmer, with more scent of wet and growth. A spurt of triumph went through him. “I
made
it!” he heard himself say. “I’m in Moonshade Hollow!”

The words, however, reminded him that no one had ever
returned
from this trip. And he was following someone who undoubtedly had gone
deeper
into the Hollow.

Phoenix
.

He had only a vague idea of what Phoenix looked like—basically a description of the Raiment the Phoenix wore. But it didn’t matter. A shivery, hot hatred and joy rose in him at the thought of what he would do to the unsuspecting Justiciar when he caught up. His hand caressed the hilt of the Demonshard and he thought he heard a second laugh echoing his own.

Was that a
tree
reaching towards him? Even as the laugh trailed off he drew the Demonshard and swung in a single motion; the black blade carved through reaching branch and yard-thick trunk as though they were barely there at all, and he stepped aside as the twitching, roaring forest giant crashed to the ground. “Any
others
wish a taste of my blade?” he demanded. The rustling was one of fear, of things that would flee if they could. He smiled. “I thought not.”

The power of the Demonshard never ceased to amaze him. The sword supported him when he grew weary, gave him strength in battle, even guided his actions. Now he
knew
that he could defeat the Phoenix, even if they had been able to kill Thornfalcon. Why, once he’d
mastered
this blade...perhaps Thornfalcon’s old patron could be removed as well...

He made his way through the forest, and the news seemed to have traveled before him; creatures slunk from his path, the trees themselves leaned away.

The problem was
finding
Phoenix. Being even a few days behind the rogue Justiciar and any allies Phoenix might have meant that any trail they left was effectively gone, erased by weather and growth and other creatures. But there
had
to be more here than just jungle; if he could just find someone, or something, to
talk
to...

Suddenly, in the slowly-falling gloom of night, something huge loomed up before him. He paused, squinting, then as his eyes adjusted realized that it was a
wall
—an immense barrier, smooth and hard, stretching as far as he could see to right and left.

“Well, now,
that
is certainly promising!” he said to himself. Anyone who could build a wall like
that
would know a lot about the region...and, just maybe, would have seen someone else passing by...

The problem was going to be getting
in
. There was probably a gate somewhere along the wall, but no telling how far away—or what guards might be there. He didn’t want to necessarily announce his presence; if Phoenix had made contact, well, there was a good chance that he or she had also made a good impression. Might even, possibly, have told people about the Justiciars.

Better to get in secretly, scout things out first. Try not to kill anyone he didn’t have to; that could be inconvenient.

The wall was small by some standards, he supposed, but fifty feet of greenish stone was more than enough of a barrier to daunt most people or monsters.

But most people were not Justiciars—real or false, both had vast power. And as Condor...

He felt a great...weight, a
pressure
that impeded his ability to draw on the power of his station. He gripped Demonshard and power flowed through it, into him, and he felt himself rising into the air.
This place actually fights against the power our patron gives us. What
is
Moonshade Hollow, and how is this possible?

Still, he was rising into the air now, rising to the top of the wall.
Not too high. Just above, dart over and drop down. Be as hard to spot and track as possible.

Level with the wall, he gathered himself, glanced to both sides to make sure there was no sign of an observer atop the wall, and then concentrated.
Full speed ahead—

The impact with empty air was a shattering, tearing thing, something
clawing
at him with disorienting, vertiginous might that nearly sent him weaving away. Confused, unable to understand what was happening, he simply
drove
forward, trying to overpower this intangible, inescapable barrier of whirling, dizzying nausea and battering, insubstantial resistance.

With a sensation like tearing through a bramble hedge and a whirlpool simultaneously, he hurtled through, out of control, spiraling towards the ground; he was vaguely aware of smoke streaming from him, of agony burning through his entire body and soul. The ground rose and smashed into him like a bludgeon and he rolled over and over, trying clumsily to absorb the force of the fall and, mostly, failing.

He lay still for long moments, feeling the pain of burning and bruises and cracked or broken limbs. For a few breaths it felt to him as though he had come down in some vile swamp, a place filled with such foulness that it nearly choked him. He cried out and struggled vaguely, as though he could somehow push the air away from him.

Then something
snapped
within him, and abruptly—despite the very real pain of his fall—he felt himself more clearheaded than he’d been in...was it
weeks
?

The air about him was not foul; no, it was fresh, fresher than any he’d breathed in memory. Just the taste of the air in his lungs, the feel of the soft, warm breeze lifted his spirits, made the pain recede. He reached into his pack, found a healing draught, drank it down. As his injuries receded into memory, he took stock of his situation.
On the ground, surrounded by ruined greenery, that’s not a surprise. Stars visible overhead. No sign of hostiles...and none of the feeling of menace I had in Rivendream Pass or that forest outside the wall.

Condor stood slowly. Night birds sang softly, and the trees nearby did not move; they were stately and massive, radiating a feeling of stability and safety. It was a change as sharp as though he had stepped through a door from winter into summer, and he couldn’t imagine how this was possible.

At the same time, it made him feel...

Suddenly a recent memory flashed through his mind: the cowering hopclaw, being carved apart...a laugh...

Aran, the Condor, found himself on hands and knees, the sharp, repellent stench of vomit rising from the ground before him.
What in the name of the Balance...? What was I doing? What was I
thinking
?

The strain of traveling through the monstrous Rivendream Pass had been great, but he’d walked through
Hell
—and then through the gates of the actual Black City itself. He hadn’t turned into someone who would torture helpless creatures
then
, so...

He reached up, and realized the scabbard over his shoulder was empty.
Of course. I had the Demonshard in my hand when I came over, and then I crashed.

It took only a few moments to find the great black sword, point-down in the ground about twenty yards off. Nearby, the grasses were black, and the night-noises went silent. He could feel the malevolence radiating from the ebon-glowing blade, and understood.

“You were
changing
me,” he murmured angrily, and reached out, yanking the Demonshard from the ground.

Instantly a cold, hostile presence entered his mind—as, he now realized, it had been doing all along, for all the time he’d held it. But here, in this place of incredible purity, he could sense it clearly for the first time.

No,
he said to the Demonshard.

It raged at him, then pleaded and bribed, reminding him of its strength, its powers, everything it could do for him.

“You will give me your powers. On
my
terms.”

Now it cast aside any pretense, and Aran found he could not release the sword’s hilt as dark, malevolent power trickled into him, oozing into his mind, seeking to surround and crush his will and make him back into the monster it had designed—that
Kerlamion
, he now realized, had designed him to be.

The fury at being used was a cleansing fire, and he drove back the Demonshard’s insidious attack. “I am
not
your tool. I am not a pawn in anyone’s game anymore! This is
my
vengeance, this is
my
mission, and you are here to serve
me!
”

The Demonshard did not, exactly, speak, but he could understand its outrage and contempt. “No, I’m not going to destroy my homeland, or anyone else’s. I’m after the Phoenix, and that’s
all
I’m after. When I go back to the Justiciars, I’ll do it as
myself
, and if I decide I want to clean
that
house up, you’ll help me do that, too!”

The Demonshard bent all its will against Aran’s, and it was like bearing up the weight of an entire world, crushing down on Aran Condor as though there was no possibility of resistance.

But he remembered Shrike, the hidden gentle smile now gone to dust; he remembered his own anger and hatred of himself when he dared not act; he remembered the devastated face of Kyri Vantage and his own regrets that he had never spoken to her as he wished, and grabbed regret and anger and beauty and pulled it into himself, made himself greater and stronger with the oath to never yield, never give in, never compromise again.

“I gave up
everything
,” he growled through gritted teeth. “I let them lead me on until I was a mockery of what I knew should be. So be it. But I was still
myself
, and I am still
myself
, and I will
remain
myself, no matter if you or your own dread maker and master were to try to undo me.”

Slowly, one finger rose, loosening its grip on the hilt of the Demonshard.

“You are a
weapon
. You are
my
weapon and you will serve
me
, Demonshard!
I am no one’s tool
!”

Two fingers, and the weight of the great blade made it tremble, near release. Desperate, the fragment of the sword of the King of All Hells exerted its full strength, trying to take control of Aran’s body directly.

But that, too, would not work; Condor met that attempt with contemptuous anger and venom at being tricked, lashed it with his driving will until, without warning, his hand opened and the Demonshard fell back to the ground.

He glared down at the weapon, his mind now entirely free. “I am the master here.
Acknowledge me!
”

The Demonshard shimmered and the distant howl of obliterated air filled the space all about. But the anger of the sword faded before Condor’s unwavering fury. “I need
a
weapon. But a weapon that thinks to wield
me
I do not need. Choose swiftly, or I shall leave you here and take my chances alone.”

Slowly the Demonshard went quiet. Then it rose up and presented its hilt to him in silence. This time when he grasped the sword, he felt no hostility; only a grudging respect and concession.

“Good,” he said. “Remember this well, Demonshard. For this
is
your last chance. If
ever
I suspect you are attempting to play me again, I shall dispose of you forever. There will be no more chances. Am I understood?”

The sensation was now more cowed and cautious.

“Good.”

He sheathed the great bastard blade and looked around. The question now was...where to go?

After a moment’s thought he shrugged. Without any other indication, why not just head straight away from the wall? The wall had to surround something, so heading towards the center should bring him towards at least some part of whatever the wall protected.

Even though the jungle here was little less dense than outside the wall, or on the other side of the mountains, it
felt
far different. Making his way through this wild tangle somehow did not drain him as it normally would; he felt as though he were taking a walk in a stunningly huge garden. The very idea of “danger” seemed distant indeed, and he wondered what kind of a place this was.

After almost an hour of walking, he saw the undergrowth thickening, but with signs of opening up beyond—the usual pattern near a clearing of some sort. Shoving his way through the dense border, Condor popped out of the jungle and found himself at the edge of a broad roadway, of carefully maintained stone, that ran roughly East-West, if he read the stars right.

Even as he made that judgment, he became aware that there was
movement
approaching him.

The moonlight made colors hard to make out, but he could see clearly that it was a small woman, a girl really, almost skipping along the road. Her hair was fair, probably golden blonde, and she wore peculiar-looking armor of crystal with other garments of a light and translucent material. She suddenly halted, staring, and then...well,
bounced
was the only description for it, she bounced forward, smiling broadly.

“Well met,” she called out, and gave a strange, sweeping salute that caused the bow in her hair to bob. “Light Miri of the Unity greets you!”

Chapter 25

“Magewright Hiriista,” the
Artan
said, his delicate features taut with concern, “I implore you and your companions to give us aid.”

Hiriista cocked his head, and Tobimar thought there was a miniscule smile implied. “Perhaps if you were to state your problem, my companions Tobimar and Phoenix, and I, might be able to say if we
can
be of any assistance. Your face is somewhat familiar, but I regret to say I do not quite recall...”

“
Atcha
!” The sound was an explosive one of distress and self-reproach. “Many apologies, Magewright. I have been searching the Necklace for assistance and my mind is not focused or calm. I am Cirnala of Jenten’s Mill.”

“I recall Jenten’s Mill—a village quite some miles north of here, approaching the shores of Enneisolaten—on a narrow inlet from the lake. You are one of Jenten’s—the third of the name, I believe—hunters and warriors at need. Yes?”

“Exactly so!” Cirnala looked much relieved that Hiriista recalled so much already. “We are not large, only a few hundred people, but we have always done well and had no unexpected troubles...”

“Until now,” Tobimar finished. “What is the problem?”

“Children,” the
Artan
said quietly. “Children have been disappearing.”

That was enough for all of them; Hiriista simply glanced at their expressions and nodded. “Lead on, Cirnala. Tell us the rest as we travel; it will be a few days to reach Jenten’s Mill, and if children are at risk we should waste no time at all.”

Tobimar could hear a particular emphasis in the
mazakh
’s voice, and suspected the reason. Hiriista had said that there were so few of his people in Kaizatenzei that they probably would eventually die out; it was likely, then, that their hatchlings were prized even more highly than they were normally. Anything threatening children...

“How did it start?” Kyri asked.

Cirnala’s story was mysterious and chilling. A few months before, his cousin’s son Tirleren had disappeared while playing in the forest near the inlet. A few weeks later, another child, this time a human girl named Demmi, vanished, also while playing. It emerged that Tirleren had claimed to have been playing with Demmi in the days before his disappearance, while Demmi said she hadn’t seen him much beforehand, and that Demmi had claimed she was going off to play with an
Odinsyrnen
child named Hamule—who hadn’t seen her on that day, or several other days Demmi had said she and Hamule were playing. This was verified by Jenten, the Reflect and grandson of the founder, who had seen Demmi go into the woods on her own, and Hamule’s father, who had been fishing with her all day.

The town had of course immediately tried to keep an eye on all the children, making sure they were always escorted, and searched for any clue as to what could have lured the lost children away and misled them into thinking they were meeting with children that were elsewhere. No traces were found, however, except for a few personal possessions—Tirleren’s fishing rod on the shore of a stream, Demmi’s dagger in the middle of the woods. Tirleren’s mother had descended into complete apathy, having lost her lifemate Siltanji only a few weeks before her son, and the entire village was in a state of near panic.

But panic can’t be maintained forever, and in small villages even children have tasks to complete, so while they kept trying to maintain escort, it was inevitable that at some point they would be out of sight of someone. And a couple of weeks later, Hamule disappeared, between her front door and the Reflect’s own home.

“And you have no clues? No monsters or creatures spotted in the area, no blood or trails, no one acting strangely?” Kyri asked carefully.

“No, we...” Cirnala trailed off. “Well...there is one thing.”

“Don’t hold us in suspense!” Tobimar said, as the
Artan
paused again.

“There is one person. His home is in the woods, outside of town, and not that far from where Tirleren and Demmi disappeared. He’s refused to come into town during the emergency, and when we sent a delegation to talk to them, he
threatened
them. But...”

“These hesitations are useless,” Hiriista said sharply. “What
is
it? Who is this person?”

“Zogen Josan,” Cirnala said reluctantly.

Hiriista stumbled to a halt. “What? What did you say?”

“Zogen Josan,” Cirnala repeated.

Hiriista stared. Tobimar finally nudged him. “What is it, Hiriista?”

“Zogen Josan was once the Color of Sha Alatenzei,” Hiriista answered finally. “It is rare for any of the Unity Guard to retire in any manner than via funeral, but when he reached the age of forty-five years he did so. I remember the occasion well, it was quite an event in the capital—he was thanked for his service and he even gave a short speech, in which he said something like ‘I’m quitting now while I’m still beating the odds, instead of the odds beating me. I hope you don’t hold it against me.’ That was only ten years ago. Always cheerful, like most Colors, a magnificent warrior, spent more than twenty years as the protector of the Earthlight City...” The
mazakh
shook his head. “That he would not be helping, and instead refusing contact...”

“If you knew him, did you ever notice anything...unusual about him?” Tobimar asked carefully. They didn’t want to reveal their particular concerns, but in this context the question shouldn’t be revealing.

Hiriista glanced at him with a neutral expression, and only said, “Not that I can recall; he was as most others of the Unity Guard in that regard.”

And by his estimation “most others” of the Unity Guard have shown the behavior that he and Kyri noted. So I can take that as a “yes.”

“Now you comprehend our problems, sir. Do you think you can help?”

“I think I
must
help,” Hiriista said flatly. “My companions—”

“—feel the same way. And if this
does
somehow involve a former Color, I presume he would be extremely formidable.”

“Undoubtedly why they sent Cirnala looking for help. Alas that the farcallers are so difficult to make; it would be useful to have them in all towns and villages as well as the major cities.” Cirnala nodded.

“Did Zogen Josan only begin acting oddly after these disappearances began?” Kyri asked. “After all, I suppose that if mysterious disappearances started happening, some people might get nervous.”

“A former
Color
? That seems unlikely,” Hiriista said skeptically. “What would you say to a similar statement about one of your Justiciars, Phoenix?”

“A point. Cirnala?”

The
Artan
hesitated again, then shook his head. “No, Phoenix. I am afraid not.” He looked to the north, as though hoping impossibly to see his village ahead of them. “At first, we were overjoyed at the thought that a former Color would be retiring to Jenten’s Mill. And for the first...oh, year, he was everything we hoped—helpful, multitalented, hard-working. But then...”

He shook his head helplessly. “He just slowly seemed to...
fade
. Or retreat. Sometimes he’d still come out to help when needed, and he didn’t seem any less capable, but he’d be quiet, not joking or laughing or staying any longer than he had to. Zogen would just go back to his home in the woods and stay there. He didn’t even trade in town much anymore—just hunted and fished alone. The children—” his breath caught, then he continued, “the younger children, the ones who hadn’t seen him early on...they called him ‘Shadowman’ because he would come and go through the woods like a shadow. He was...their scary story, I guess. Though not scary enough to keep them out of the woods, and several of them said that if they actually
met
him in the woods he was quite kind—helped them find berries, gave back toys they lost, things like that.”

“Did he get any worse?” Tobimar asked, guessing what that
poke
from Poplock meant.

“Recently, yes. Jenten went by to see how he was after we’d had one nasty incursion, just a few weeks before all this started, and he reported that Zogen
threatened
him—even loosed fire at him—to keep him away from the cabin.”

The three exchanged glances. It sounded like a case of mental deterioration—someone who started out reasonably sane but something went wrong and then they steadily and unstoppably degenerated until they were completely insane. In the State of the Dragon King or even in Skysand there were usually ways to stop or even reverse this, especially with the help of the priests or mages, but here that didn’t seem likely.

Especially—now that he noticed—that the supernal
rightness
of Kaizatenzei was fading.
We’re between cities, where their influence is weakest, where the Seven Stars did not reach.

Where there can truly be monsters.

“Were there any more disappearances?” Kyri asked after a moment.

“Another little boy—one that, as you might guess, Hamule had said she was playing with, disappeared the day before I left. He was with his parents visiting with the Reflect and his family, and vanished while he was playing
inside
the mansion. A side door was found open and running footprints going into the forest could be distinguished on the ground. There
were
some other marks on the ground farther in but they could not be distinguished clearly enough to make any sense of them.” Cirnala sighed. “And since it will have been more than a week since I’ve been gone, I suppose another child may have been taken.”

“Tell me truly; they were already speaking before you left of Zogen being the one responsible, yes?” Hiriista asked.

“Yes, Magewright.”

A long hiss escaped the
mazakh
’s lips. “Then it will not be long before they overcome their fear of the strength of a Color and decide to use sheer numbers to put a stop to this. If they are wrong and, somehow, Zogen Josan is not to blame, an innocent man will be killed, and if they are right, Zogen will kill many of them...perhaps
all
of them...before it is over.”

“
All
of them?” Kyri repeated incredulously.

“It is...possible. If he has fortified his home and is prepared...” Hiriista shook his head and his whole body followed suit.

“Then we’d better hurry,” Tobimar said, and picked up the pace.

“We
will
hurry,” Kyri said, and her voice was chilled steel. “And we will put an
end
to this, before any more innocents are killed.”