A Darkness at Sethanon (63 page)

“You are
death and evil, but you are also the father of lies,” answered
Tomas with contempt. He struck out, and Draken-Korin barely parried.
“Had you the power of the race, I would have been taken in a
mere instant. You may shift your form, but I know you are only a
single agent, a small part of the whole, slipped here to use the
Lifestone to open the portal, so the Dragon Host might enter.”

Draken-Korin’s
only answer was a renewed attack. Tomas took the black blade upon his
golden one, knocking it aside. At the other side of the hall, the
struggle between the dragon and the Dreadlord was nearing a finish,
for the sounds of battle were faint and occasional. Then from behind
came silence and a terrible presence.

Tomas felt the
Dreadlord approach and knew Ryath had fallen to it. As Ashen-Shugar
he had faced the Dreadlord before, and if unencumbered he would not
have feared it, but to face it would free Draken-Korin to act, and to
ignore it would give it the chance to incapacitate him.

Tomas knocked
aside Draken-Korin’s next strike and leaped forward,
unexpectedly, chancing a blow. The black blade snapped forward, but
only glanced against the chain mail under the white tabard. Tomas’s
teeth clenched in pain as the ebon blade severed the golden links,
cutting his side, but he gripped Draken-Korin’s arm. With a
wrenching twist, he reversed their positions, pushing the Lord of
Tigers directly into the Dreadlord’s path.

The Dreadlord
attempted to halt, but the dragon had exacted a toll before
succumbing. The Dreadlord was injured and dazed and his blow struck
Draken-Korin from behind, stunning him. Draken-Korin screamed in
agony, for he had not erected any protection against the
life-draining touch of the Dreadlord.

Tomas thrust and
tore a gaping wound in the stomach of the black-and-orange clad
Valheru, weakening him more. Draken-Korin stumbled and was again
forced to brush against the near-mindless Dreadlord, who shoved him
aside. That inadvertent strike propelled Draken-Korin toward the
Lifestone.

“No!”
shouted Tomas, leaping forward. The Dreadlord lashed out, gripping
Tomas for an instant. Pain flooded Tomas’s being, and he struck
out with his sword, causing a hissing shower of sparks where he hit
the night-dark creature. It echoed a windy cry and let go. Quickly
Tomas lashed out at the heart of the unliving creature, a near-mortal
wound which caused it to stagger back. Tomas spun toward where
Draken-Korin attempted to reach his goal.

Draken-Korin
stumbled and fell forward across the Lifestone, as if to embrace it.
He laughed, even as he felt his energies begin to dissipate, for he
still had time to work his arts and open the gate, allowing the rest
of his collective consciousness to return to the world of their
creation. He would be whole again.

Then with a
mighty bound, Tomas leaped above him, sword held with both hands,
point downward, and with all his remaining energies he drove the
blade down in one terrible blow. There was an ear-shattering shriek
as Draken-Korin arched backward, like a bow being drawn. The golden
sword passed through him and into the Lifestone.

Then the wind
came. From somewhere a compelling current of air appeared, blowing
from all directions into the Lifestone. The mortally stricken
Dreadlord trembled at the breeze’s touch, then quivered. It
suddenly became a thing of smoke and insubstance and was carried
along on the wind as it was sucked into the stone. The form of the
Lord of Tigers shivered, then shook violently, as a golden glow
spread from Tomas’s magic blade to engulf Draken-Korin. The
golden nimbus began to pulse and Draken-Korin became insubstantial
and like the Dread-lord vanished into the stone.

Pug staggered as
if from a blow, and the rift was torn open, but not from the other
side. It was as if a giant hand had reached out and moved his magic
blocks aside, then reached into the rift, pulling something through.
Pug felt Macros’s mind and recognized that somehow Hochopepa
and Elgahar were there as well. Then the rift exploded toward them
and they were cast back into normal awareness.

The room shifted
about Tomas. Suddenly Macros, Pug, two black-robed men, and Arutha
were there. He looked back and saw Ryath, huddled in the corner, a
mass of terrible, smoking wounds. The dragon appeared dead, or if
still alive, then only for a short while longer. She had met her
destiny as she had foretold, and Tomas vowed she would be remembered.
Beyond her recumbent form, the Valheru treasure vault had been torn
open in the struggle between dragon and Dreadlord, emptying its
contents of gold and gems, books and artifacts, across the floor.

Arutha leaped to
his feet and asked, “What has happened?”

“I think
it is almost over,” Tomas said as he jumped down.

Macros
staggered, and Pug and the others moved, as the sound of shrieking
winds became a terrible force buffeting the ears. Suddenly all
covered their ears as a terrible concussion sounded, and the very
roof of the chamber exploded upward, destroying the very soil above
the ancient vault, and the cellars and lower floors of the keep as
well, blowing toward the heavens through the now open crater. A
geyser of masonry and stone, the fragments of two buildings, were
carried high into the sky, to be strewn outward into the city. High
in the air above them an opening, a grey sparkling nothing, appeared
against the blue. And from within it, a blaze of many colours could
be seen.

Pug, Hochopepa,
and Elgahar had all seen such a display once before, each in turn
when upon the Tower of Testing in the City of Magicians. It was the
vision of the Enemy seen at the time of the golden bridge, when the
nations had fled to Kelewan during the Chaos Wars. “It is
coming through!” shouted Hochopepa.

Macros shouted
above the terrible howling sound from the gem, “The Lifestone!
It’s been activated.”

Pug looked about
in confusion. “But we’re still alive!”

Tomas pointed to
where his golden sword was still stuck upright into the Lifestone. “I
killed Draken-Korin before he could finish utilizing the Lifestone.
It is only partly active.”

“What will
happen?” shouted Pug over the ear-shattering noise.

“I don’t
know.” Macros joined the others in covering his ears. At the
top of his lungs he shouted, “We need a force barrier!”

At once Pug knew
what was needed and attempted to fashion the magic that would keep
them from being destroyed. “Hocho, Elgahar, aid me!”

He began his
incantation and the others joined in, to fashion a protective barrier
around them. The sound increased to the pitch where Arutha found his
hands over his ears did no good; he gritted his teeth in pain,
fighting against the urge to scream, wondering if the magicians could
finish their incantations. The light from the Lifestone grew in
intensity, to a blinding pure white with silver flares about the
edge. It seemed ready to unleash some terrible destruction. The
Prince was nearly numb from fatigue and the horror of what had
occurred in the last few hours. He dully wondered what it would be
like for the planet to die. Then he could stand the pain no longer
and began to scream . . .

. . . as Pug
finished the incantation, and the room exploded.

A ragged
trembling commenced in the ground, a rolling surging like an
earthquake, and Guy turned to regard the city. The soldiers of
Shamata, Landreth, and the Tsurani were fleeing alongside those from
Sethanon and Highcastle. Mixed in were goblins, trolls, and a few
steadfast Dark Brothers, but all combat was forgotten as every
creature in the city fled a feeling of impending doom, a terror
palpable down to the fibre of their being. Black emotions, dark
horror and despair had suddenly washed over every living creature,
robbing them of any urge to fight. To the last, each wished only to
put as much distance as possible between himself and the source of
that desperate fear.

Then a low
rolling pulse began, a stunning noise of grating, painful quality.
All within earshot of the sound fell to their knees. Men vomited as
their stomachs constricted from a horrible sense of
directionlessness, as if suddenly the force that held them to the
ground vanished. Eyes watered and ears ached as they seemed to rise
upward. All felt as if they were floating for an instant, then they
were wrenched to the ground, slammed as if struck by a giant hand.
Then came the explosion.

Any who were
struggling to stand were again thrown down as a light of impossible
brilliance shot straight upward. As if the sun had exploded, it
hurled shards of stone, earth, and wood skyward, a monstrous upheaval
of energies. High above Sethanon, a red sparkle grew, a blinding
light that dulled quickly to a point of grey nothingness. There came
an unexpected silence, while vortices of energy danced within the
greyness. As if the fabric of heaven were being turned back upon
itself, the edges of the rent in the sky peeled backward, revealing
another universe in the skies. The cascading colours that were the
might, the energy, the very life of the Dragon Lords, could be seen
pulsing and surging forward, as if seeking to pass the last barrier
between themselves and their final goal. Then came a sound.

A silver trumpet
note of incredible volume sounded, piercing every being within miles
of the city, as if a wind of needles passed through their bodies. The
agony of final hopelessness overwhelmed them all. A thing of despair
again sounded through the minds of every creature within sight of
Sethanon, as each was suddenly aware their life was somehow tied to
what they witnessed. Panic rose up in each observer, even to the most
battle-tested soldier, and to a man all wept and cried out, for they
were seeing the last moments of their existence. Then all noise
ceased.

In the eerie
silence, something formed in the blaze of colours in the skies. The
grey nothingness had spread outward, until the whole of the heavens
seemed blanked out by it, and in the heart of that insane display the
Enemy appeared. At first it seemed dull blotches of colour, pulsing
and shifting as it pushed itself through the gap between worlds. But
as it began to pass through, it began to dissolve into smaller blots
of bright colours, shifting energy forms that solidified into
distinct shapes. Soon all on the ground could see individual beings,
man-shaped creatures, each mounted upon the back of a dragon, in the
heart of the rift. With an explosion surpassing all before, the
Dragon Host sprang through the rift in the sky, thundering into the
world of their birth. Hundreds of beings, each mystically linked with
the others, swept out of the rift, crying ancient battle cries. They
were images of terrible beauty, magnificent beings of astonishing
power, in armour of bright colour and splendid form, riding upon the
backs of ancient dragons. Incredible beasts, many gone ages from
Midkemia, beat gigantic wings across the heavens. Great black, green,
and blue dragons, extinct upon their homeworld, soared beside the
gold and bronze creatures whose descendants were still alive. Reds,
whose like were common, glided next to silver dragons, unseen in
Midkemia in ages. The Valheru’s faces were masks of gleeful joy
as they seized the moment of victory and savoured it. Each seemed a
vessel of unsurpassed power, ruler of all he surveyed. They were
power. As they appeared, a pain of nearly unendurable intensity was
felt within the body of each creature upon the planet, as if their
strand of life was somehow being pulled.

Then at the
moment of deepest terror, when all hope seemed abandoned, a force
rose upward. From deep within the crater below the keep a surge of
energy fountained above the city, twisting in confusion and leaping
across the roof-tops. It danced a furious jig in mad abandon as green
fire sped outward, pouring like liquid flame into ever-widening
circles. Then with a dull thumping sound, loud but not painful to the
ears, a gigantic cloud of dust was hurled skyward, and all noise
ceased.

Something
answered the chaos in the skies. It was unseen but felt, a thing of
titanic dimensions, a rejection of all the black and evil despair
experienced only moments before. As if all the love and wonders of
creation had given voice to a song, it rose to challenge the Dragon
Host. A green light, brilliant to match that red light of a moment
before, sprang upward from the crater in the ground, to strike at the
rift. Those in the van of the Dragon Host were engulfed in green
light, and as each was touched, it became a thing of
insubstantiality, a wraith of a past epoch, a shadow of an earlier
era. The Dragon Lords became clouds of coloured smoke, beings of mist
and memory. They trembled and danced, as if held in thrall by
opposing and equal forces, then they were suddenly sucked downward,
as if being pulled into the ground by an irresistible wind. The
riderless dragons screamed and wheeled, flying furiously away from
the wind, now free of their masters’ commands. Toward all
points of the compass they dispersed. The earth shook beneath those
who watched in stunned wonder, and the sound of that wind was both
fearsome and beautiful to hear, as if the gods themselves had
composed a death song. Then the tear in the sky vanished in a single
instant, with no display, no hint it had existed. The wind ceased.

And the silence
was stunning.

Jimmy looked
around. He found himself crying, then laughing, then crying. Suddenly
he felt as if all the horrors he had known, all the pain he had
experienced had been banished. Suddenly he felt right, to the deepest
centre of his being. He felt connected with every living thing upon
the planet. He felt his being filled with life, and with love. And he
knew that, at last, they had won. Somehow at the moment of their
triumph, the Valheru had been overcome, had been defeated. The young
squire stood upon wobbly legs, laughing in joy as tears fell
unashamedly down his face. He found himself with his arm around a
Tsurani soldier who also grinned and cried at once.