Phoenix Rising (20 page)

“I begin to see what a weight Myrionar has placed on you, child. Such fairness could also get you killed.” Victoria studied her niece for several moments. “The one true Justiciar of Myrionar.” A smile began to grow on her face.

The smile itself began to lift Kyri’s spirits. “Auntie, what are you thinking?”

“You don’t dare confront them directly, Kyri, nor merely kill them out of hand. But what if you could force
them
to confront
you
?”

She was puzzled. “I’d just have to start speaking—”

“No, no! Not forcing them by apparently threatening them with the truth.” It was a positively
predatory
smile by now. “Threaten them with a lie. Threaten them with their
own
lie made truth.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Become a Justiciar, and gain the reputation thereof, Kyri. In their area, in Evanwyl itself. They will
have
to respond to some impostor running around pretending to their power, wouldn’t you think?”

That makes sense.
“And they’re unlikely to search for me in a group, given how formidable they are and how much area they’ll have to cover to find me.” The plan was making sense.
And especially since I know Evanwyl at least as well as they do. I won’t be easy to catch.

“Precisely. And alone, individually, with you having the true powers of a Justiciar as well as the strength of a Vantage, I do not think they could overcome you. You would have a chance to test their true nature.”

“Except . . .”

Victoria nodded again. “Yes. Except for whatever or whoever it was that killed Rion. I do not think those wounds were the work of the Justiciars themselves, but of their patron, whatever monstrous patron is giving them the ability to pretend to be Justiciars.” She frowned. “I would go with you, Kyri, except someone must stay here, and watch the estate and especially your sister. But if you are going to attempt that approach—alone or otherwise—you first need to become a Justiciar in fact.”

“Isn’t that what Myrionar has done? I mean . . . I haven’t tested the powers, but I think I sense them within me.”

“A Justiciar is not just a set of special abilities, Kyri, and you should know that as well as I do. The Justiciars of Myrionar have abilities that are not
that
much greater than those of many other priests, holy warriors, and so on, let alone the God-Knights of Aegeia. But the Justiciars have their armor, their weapons, and their symbolic names. We could give you a name, naturally, but the power of the Justiciars in reality is that holding that position, along with the ancient armor, not only gives them the symbolism, but the ability to wield and channel the energy of the god directly.” Victoria stood, looking out the window. “While Myrionar may be unable to do such a thing often, just having such armor will turn you from Kyri Vantage to . . . well, whatever symbolic name you choose. You need to be that symbol, a symbol which will become a question.”

Kyri frowned. “Well, I suppose there must be armorers in the First City that could—”

“Absolutely
not
. Do you think for one minute that—even if the armorers there could produce what you need—you could keep that a secret from anyone?” Kyri felt herself flush in embarrassment. “In any event, Kyri, to make your role a true one, you need true Justiciar armor, created in the same way.”

“But that was forged by the Spiritsmith, Auntie! Maybe two Chaoswars ago!”

“And rumor is that he still lives.” Victoria smiled. “Toron told me that himself, some years ago. Besides, Kyri, you will need experience to prepare yourself. This is a plan that runs centuries deep; taking a few months, or even years, to prepare, is hardly a poor idea. By making the journey yourself, by convincing the Spiritsmith to create the armor you will need, you will come to know what you can do, you will perhaps find the allies you need, and find the name and symbol that suits you, and you will master the skills of a warrior which, right now, you have but a student’s experience of.”

She thought of her little sister—probably still sleeping even now. “You’re . . . You’re right, Auntie. But . . . where would I look?”

“The search is yours,” Victoria answered, “but I would say that old Toron is the best bet for a hint. He has long been a friend to me and to our family.”

She said something else, but Kyri didn’t catch it; to her surprise, she realized she’d faded for a moment. “I’m . . . tired, Auntie.”

“Hardly a surprise. Thank all the Gods that you’re feeling it, actually. You need the rest.” She forced Kyri to lie down, at which point Kyri felt her eyes closing almost against her will. “We’ll talk about this later . . .”

But by the last word, sleep had already dropped its curtain over Kyri’s thoughts.

18

“Victoria? Victoria Vantage, you hellsword, why didn’t you
tell
me you were in the City?”

The booming voice was intimidating enough, but the fact that its owner—an immense Ancient Sauran—then stepped forward and picked up her usually dignified aunt and swung her around like a child greeted by her favorite uncle left her standing there with her mouth open.

It was especially shocking because her aunt seemed to
enjoy
it, even as her heels barely missed an ornamental statuette on one of the high shelves in this anteroom of the Dragon Palace. Victoria Vantage laughed as the Marshal of Hosts tossed her into the air, and did a complete flip, hair nearly grazing the ceiling, landing with only the slightest stumble. Her silvery hair was in disarray from the gentle violence of the greeting, and her eyes shone with affection for the massive scaled being in front of her. “I just
did
, Bridgebreaker! I hardly had a chance to tell you before now, we only arrived day before yesterday.”

“Well, well, I suppose that will have to do, then. I can’t expect the Vantage V—”

“Don’t you
dare
finish that in front of my niece.”

The great creature raised a brow-ridge, eyes twinkling. “Really? Haven’t you told them the truth about your rough-and-tumble past?” He looked over and seemed to take note of Kyri for the first time. “I ask your pardon, young Vantage; I have not greeted you.” He straightened and did a full Armed Bow, huge sword and axe crossed on his back and clearly visible as he turned a full circle on one foot, to end facing her just as he had been when he began. “T’Oroning’Oltharamnon
^h
GHEK R’arshe Ness, Adjudicator and Marshal of the Hosts, greets you in his name and in that of my cousin and lord.”

The greeting snapped her out of stunned paralysis and she took a deep breath, bowing, making sure her own sword was visible, performing the spin with at least tolerable smoothness. “Kyrie Victoria Vantage greets you, Adjudicator,” she said.
I am not going to even
attempt
his name right now, I’m so nervous I’d choke on it.

He laughed. “And with the formalities past, call me Toron, as once you did—long ago, as you might measure it, though it seems scarce yesterday to me.” The dark eyes studied her. “You
have
grown, little one. Taller than your aunt, and by the Sight of the Dragons I would wager you have at least her strength.”

“At least,” agreed Victoria. “Toron, it’s good of you to see me on such short notice. I know you and the King are always busy—”

“Never so busy,” interrupted Toron, “that we would forget a friend and ally such as yourself. But your urgency makes me sad, Victoria. I begin to suspect you have some business in mind, not merely a friendly visit.”

“You began to suspect that as soon as I arrived, and you’ve already made arrangements—or you’re far fallen from what I remember.”

He rumbled agreement, a huge-fanged smile combining friendliness and danger. “Arrangements, yes—if necessary.”

The smile faded from Aunt Victoria’s face and she smoothed her hair back, looked about, and took one of the elaborately carved, human-sized chairs, gesturing for Kyri to sit. Toron eased himself into a much larger seat with a split back that accommodated his massive tail. “Oh, I believe you’ll find them necessary, old friend. You recall the time I called you up to Evanwyl?”

“I could hardly forget; fifteen hundred miles or more with great swiftness, and then I had to return.”

“We now have the answer you could not find; we know who killed my brother, his wife, and—now—my nephew Rion.” She gazed at him steadily. “It was the Justiciars.”

Kyri saw the news hit the Marshal of Hosts like a blow; his great eyes widened and a grunt escaped him.

She let Victoria sketch the entire situation—how it had happened, how they knew, and what had happened to her afterwards. The Ancient Sauran listened without a word.

When Victoria had fallen silent, Toron turned to Kyri. “And you are now Myrionar’s chosen?”

She nodded; even though she knew it was true, she blushed as though telling a lie.
I can hardly believe any of this myself; it must sound insane, even coming from Aunt Victoria! What must Toron think?

But Toron was not laughing. “I begin to think I was wiser than I had thought in accepting your request here, and
not
bringing you to the Throne.”

“What?” Victoria said sharply. “You can’t mean you don’t trust—”

Toron’s offended snort clarified his meaning. “Of course I trust him. My cousin and my King has ruled this land for untold thousands of years, and ruled well, under the guidance of the Diamond and the Sixteen. However . . .” he trailed off, nodded. “Let me begin another way.”

He turned back to Kyri. “Young Vantage, you are now the chosen—the
only
chosen—warrior for a god counted as an ally to Elbon Nomicon, and to his allies Terian, Chromaias, and others. Indeed, with these Myrionar has long had the strongest of alliances, a pact of the gods to aid and support each others’ followers in all areas where they do not conflict—and few are the true areas of conflict.

“Thus, I would offer you the support of the Dragon Throne. We shall bring you officially before the King, you shall tell him this terrible tale, and I have no doubt that you will find him willing to give you all support.” His smile was fierce. “The T’Teranahm forget not their allies, great or small. Though even conquered Dalthunia lies between, we shall raise a force from the followers of the Dragon God, from the warriors of the Chromaian faith, from those called by the
Nomdas
of Terian, the Spear and Hammer—oh, I believe many will come to aid Myrionar—and with that force we shall go to Evanwyl, unmask these impostors, and bring that justice you—and Myrionar—deserve to your home.”

Kyri was dumbstruck, with a rising sense of wonder and joy, and she saw her aunt’s gratified expression, the look of someone who sees her hopes fully justified. “Sir . . . Toron . . . I don’t . . . don’t know what to say.”

The rumbling chuckle was like thunder in the distance. “Say only
yes
, and we shall speak to the King himself, yes, within moments, and it shall be done.”

We could avenge
everyone!
We could restore Evanwyl!
She looked into the Ancient Sauran’s eyes, and she knew he meant every word. She still could hardly grasp it. All she needed to do was
agree
, and an army—an army of the Dragon King and his allies!—would march, perhaps even with her at its head alongside the Marshal of Hosts, and even the dark forces holding Dalthunia would surely stand aside and let them pass, and even the false Justiciars would not withstand such a force—nor would any doubt the word of the emissary of the Dragon King along with her own. She would be a leader of a force out of legend, the Army of the Dragon which had stood as a force for peace and justice since before her people had even set foot upon the world of Zarathan.

“So you believe us?” she said, still unable to fully comprehend the offer, even though she knew it was—had to be—in full earnest.

“I do,” Toron said emphatically. “As Marshal of the Hosts and an Adjudicator, I have much in the way of truthsensing. And in this I have also the blessing of Arlavala of the Sixteen, Elbon’s General. I see that you believe what you say, and I know your aunt well enough to have trusted my life to her a dozen times and more. Yes, I believe you, and will—in the name of your god, and mine, and for the sake of my most-loved friend Victoria Vantage—set the very Armies of the Dragon against your enemies.”

Say YES!
She opened her mouth to speak, tears of joy trembling at the brink of being shed . . .

And she found she could not speak.

Why? He’s offering everything we could possibly want! He’s on our side! I don’t—I
won’t
—believe that there’s anything wrong with his offer!

And still Kyri could not speak, and the joy receded, turned to a wave of pitiful tragedy and
still
she could not speak. She could see the expressions of the others darken, her aunt staring at her with utter confusion.

But it was not confusion, but grim understanding, on Toron’s face. “And so
now
we see why it was wise that I not bring you first to the Throne; for my cousin would—no doubt!—have immediately ordered the mobilization of the Armies for this, for the sake of honor and justice that we all understand, and once begun such an action could not be reasonably recalled. Yet you cannot speak to give me the simple permission to help you.”

“I don’t know
why!”
Kyri finally burst out, trying to restrain tears that were now of frustration and anger. “It’s the
perfect
solution! It could even bring the Balanced Sword back to your own country! You . . . you might even give a chance to cleanse Rivendream Pass! I
want
to accept your offer . . .”

“But you cannot. And that tells me a great deal, Kyri Vantage, a great deal indeed, for unlike you I have had to deal with the gods many times.” He took her hand with startling gentleness between his two massive clawed hands. “I expected this, as you see. So I ask that you breathe deep, think of the calm of morning and the quiet of night, the eternal light of Sun and stars, and be seated again, and we shall speak of what is, and what
can
be.”

She nodded, unable to speak, but took a breath. Then two, and recalled to herself her training and discipline, and by the third breath she felt calm, if not joy, returning. “My . . . apologies—”