Stardeep (34 page)

Kiril spoke, “You are my Far Traveler yet, Nangulis. You’ve

come farther than I ever imagined—you’ve come back from death itself to find me.”

Nangulis released one of her hands to wipe away another streaking tear from her cheek. “Don’t cry, Bright Star.”

“I cry because I am happy,” she explained.

“As am I… yet my recollection is blurred. You spoke of sacrifice and death…” He shook his head, confusion evident in his expression.

“Let us not speak of such dark things,” urged Kiril. She had eyes only for the man before her. All around them, shapes moved, staggered, fought, and perhaps died. She ignored them as best she was able. Nangulis deserved her wholehearted attention.

Raidon Kane opened his eyes on chaos. He lay in a mirrored, many-walled chamber. Lying atop him was a faintly groaning Knight. He pushed the figure off and stood. He saw fitst Kiril, kneeling and apparently lost in some fell enchantment, for she seemed unconcerned that not ten paces from her, the Keeper Telarian wielded a blade of fire and darkness. With it he hacked at some invisible shape that overlay a central pit illuminated from beneath. His mother’s forget-me-not, still clutched in Raidon’s hand, twitched as if pained with Telarian’s every blow.

He had triggered a transfer, but what had happened since?

He statted toward Kiril, intending to shake her out of her odd daze. Running, his gaze took in another star elf female he didn’t recognize. Was this Delphe, the betrayer Kiril and Telarian had spoken with? She lay on the floor not far from Telarian, clutching one mutilated hand with the other. Had the mad Keeper been dispatched so easily? Raidon’s intuition was confused. His attention had been so focused

on using his forget-me-not to effect a transfer into the Throat that he hadn’t paid heed to Kiril and Delphe’s conversation in the tunnel.

Telarian’s unrestrained laughter and wild swings with a weapon whose every slash made Raidon’s skin prickle was… worrisome. Had this Keeper also fallen to the Traitor’s control?

He took another step and something stirred at his feet. He recoiled before he recognized the supine, smoking shape of Xet. The dragonet rotated its head to fix him with an entreating glance. Its mouth moved, and a single plaintive tone emerged.

Raidon reached down and stroked the creature’s muzzle. Then he picked up the tiny thing. He carried Xet and set it down before the kneeling swordswoman. In Sildeyuir, the monk recalled how Kiril had revealed a strong affection for Xet—perhaps seeing it would snap her from her trance.

“Kiril, wake and see me,” urged Raidon. “What transpired here? Should I oppose the remaining Keeper?”

A moment of quiet drew the monk’s attention to the lip of the Well. The diviner stepped back just as something burst up from the cavity, dissolving whatever invisible cap Telarian had been working to destroy.

The figure emerged as if a ballista bolt, gtazing the ceiling at the top of its arc. It came down hard on bent legs where Telarian had just stood. The entire floor shuddered under the impact. It was a statue, akin to those they’d seen in the tunnels, but larger, and splashed with ichor and gore, as if the construct were fresh from battle.

Telarian addressed the construct. “Cynosure, your time as Stardeep’s warden is complete. Loose the bonds, so I can eradicate the Traitor.”

A voice replied, coming not from the statue but from somewhere high on the ceiling. “Telarian, you’ve fallen to insanity.

Killing him will conclude his Final Pact of Apoapsis—a passage will be opened to the Abolethic Sovereignty! Xxiphu would rise!”

“Yes! It is destined to rise—the future is set!” screamed Telarian, nearly spitting with hysteria. “Unless I divert it here and now!”

If Raidon held any question whether Telarian had succumbed to lunacy, he had his answer.

“The future is ever changeable—each new day is a chance to alter fate. Don’t mistake your false visions for reality,” counseled Cynosure.

“To prevent atrocity, I must commit it,” replied the diviner nonsensically. “You, more than anyone, must understand, Cynosure, you who helped me construct the Epoch Chamber. I do understand destiny can be altered—and since it was given to me and me alone to see so far into the future, fate is mine to shape! When a passage to Xxiphu forms over the Traitor’s corpse, I shall travel it, ahead of the Traitor’s spirit. With Angul-Nis in hand, I shall slay the Eldest, Xxiphu’s sentinel who sits on all the abolethic city as if a throne!”

The construct shook its head. “You are deluded, Telarian—even if the combined power of Angul and Nis could slay the Eldest before he consumed you, the city would wake from the violence of your act. It would rise! What fell visions have so deceived you?”

The diviner sputtered then screamed, “I am the only one who can safeguard Sildeyuir, nay, all Faerun, from the Sovereignty’s return from its millennial sleep! I am not deceived, I am the lone true prophet of tomorrow!”

“No, Telarian. Your predictions ate corrupted, likely by the Traitor himself, whose apocalyptic dreams insinuate evety chamber of Stardeep. Even your Epoch Chamber. How can you be sure it was not the Traitor’s aim that Nis be forged, not your own? How can you be sure that your current plan

isn’t the Traitor’s plot, now guided by the nihilistic Blade Umbral?”

Raidon tried once more to rouse Kiril. The swordswoman remained absorbed in a private vision. He turned and prepared himself to charge the distracted diviner. Even as he did so, Telarian’s head jerked to fix him with a rabid gaze, saying, “Angul-Nis sees you,” before turning back to regard the construct.

Telarian, suddenly calm, said, “I’ve spilled too much blood following this course, construct. I shall not stop now. Step aside, or be destroyed.”

Cynosure replied, “Lay down your weapon, or I shall wrest it from you.” Even as Telarian composed a reply, the golem advanced a pace and punched with such speed even Raidon, for all his training, barely registered the blow. Telarian and Angul-Nis were equally unprepared. Elf and blade winged across the Throat, covering thirty paces without even skimming the floor. The diviner’s form smashed into one of the great mirrors that tiled the many-walled chamber, shattering it into a thousand flashing shards.

Raidon expected the construct to follow up its advantage, but instead, it moved to the female Keeper’s side in two large steps. Cynosure’s voice from above said, “Delphe, we have but moments—accept this healing and ward the Well. I shall deal with Telarian.” The construct touched the fallen woman’s mutilated hand. There came a blue flash and a scream of agony from Delphe, but the construct was already moving toward the shattered mirror.

Not a moment too soon. Telarian retained his grip on Angul-Nis. As the man stood, a wave of ebon-tinged fire from the blade swept out, creating a wind of broken glass that left his wounds healed. The elf laughed as he advanced to join battle with the hulking construct.

A woman’s voice came, “Aid me, Sign-bearer!” Raidon’s

gaze jerked back to Delphe, who was standing, gesturing at him with a hand pink and uncallused like baby’s flesh.

Raidon dashed to Delphe’s side. He clutched his forget-me-not in his left hand. From it, a sky blue radiance leaked. She had called him the Sign-beater…

Delphe pointed at two ebon-spiked tentacles sctabbling up and over the lip of the Well. She yelled, “The Traitor sends avatats to aid his pawn. Your Sign will provide some protection.”

One spike plunged into the stone around the Well, while the other emitted a cloudy green beam aimed at Delphe. Following some unconscious instinct, Raidon intersected the beam’s path with his amulet. His Sign flared and the beam guttered out.

Delphe said, “We must slay the avatar before it grows strong enough to summon the Ttaitor! Even as we speak, it fortifies itself…”

Raidon stepped toward the lip. He mentally plunged a questing tip of his focus into the amulet, seeking the inner core of power he’d discovered earlier. Fire woke in his hand then flowed up his arm and face, down his shoulders, chest, and opposite arm. His eyes sparkled like sapphires.

A silvery, sleek shape the size of a man pulled itself from the Well. Raidon stepped forward and connected with thiee solid cross-kicks, each as punishing a strike as he had ever delivered. With each hit, he heard the sound of breaking bones and bursting organs within the creature. It flinched, yet did not fall.

Behind him, Delphe chanted. Bolts of electricity singed the cteatute’s flesh, releasing a burning, putrid odor that nearly stopped Raidon’s breath.

Her bolts carved fist-sized pockets from the amorphous creature, yet it did not fall. Indeed, it seemed to swell after each burst. Raidon attempted to backhand it with the fist

clutching the Sign, but an armlike appendage blocked. He slapped the appendage down with his free hand, and surfed his striking hand straight into the creature’s torso. Gangrenous fluid burst forth, splashing the monk and burning his skin like acid.

“Recall when we found the bush in the snow, laden with spring berries?” asked Kiril. Another of her treasured moments shared with Nangulis. If she could reconnect with him, perhaps the sundered halves of his spirit would permanently merge…

“Yes. But other memories are beginning to resolve, of… being confined, unmoving sometimes, but other times unleashed to wreak retribution?”

“Let’s not talk of that—”

“No, Kiril, we must talk of it, and you must help me. A great gulf of darkness stretches back from just prior to this moment. A gulf from which images I do not understand assail me.”

“Nangulis…”

He squeezed her hand. “Please, Kiril. If you spare me whatever truth you’re withholding, how can I ever be whole?”

The swordswoman wavered. She looked into Nangulis’s eyes. How could she deny him anything? Perhaps, once the truth was revealed, they could leave this place and begin anew together.

“Listen, then. I have not the strength to repeat myself. The darkness that clouds your recollection is a ten-year gap during which a portion of your essence resided in the Blade Cerulean. The blade I wielded to beat back the Traitor whose escape was imminent.” New tears seeped from her eyes. With her free hand, she scrubbed at them.

He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. “Yes… yes!

The soulforged blade! We had no choice. A purified soul to act as a lens that would focus the Cerulean Sign’s duty like nothing else. I volunteered. And…” His eyes found hers. “Did we succeed?” “Yes.”

“Then why do you cry?”

“Because you were taken from me, and my life disintegrated!”

“Then how is this conversation possible?” wondered Nangulis. His eyes strayed from Kiril, but failed to focus on anything external. He said, “I see nothing but darkness—only you are lit. Where are we?”

“We are in the Throat, and the Blade Cerulean has joined with the unused portion of your soul! From that union, your spirit emerged, or its memory…” Kiril trailed off, confused. The image of Nangulis before her couldn’t sense his surroundings, but she could, if she chose. Even with just her peripheral awareness, she knew the mad Keeper Telarian yet wielded the conjoined blade Angul-Nis. Which meant Nangulis’s soul wasn’t actually free of its soulblade confinement.

“You said we succeeded in stopping the Traitor.”

“Ten years ago, but now—”

“And now… ?” Nangulis prodded.

“Now we are called again to defend Stardeep. The Traitor stirs, and his agent this time is nothing less than a deluded Keeper!”

“Then I must go back into that gulf of unknowing darkness?”

“I… perhaps if we…”

Nangulis said nothing, merely looked into her eyes, trusting her. It was her decision. She knew he’d accept whatever course of action she suggested. A hollow bloomed in her heart so vacuous she thought her chest would collapse. Her body knew; if she didn’t relinquish Nangulis, ask his higher spirit

to tetreat to the blade physically housing it, Telarian’s scheme would succeed.

“Nangulis, you know I love you, and I always—” Her voice broke, but she continued, “I always will. Know that. Know that if… when you leave me again…” She sobbed, unable to verbalize how she imagined her life would cease.

She said instead, “Cynosure’s statue in the Throat just fell to Telarian.”

“What must I do?”

“Return to the dark gulf. You must return to the sword. Find Angul! Find him, and yourself in him—pull away from all that is dark, undecided, and nihilistic. Be Angul again…” A sob escaped her, breaking her soliloquy.

The shade before her said, “I don’t fear to return—the sacrifice was already made. I merely thank the guardians of Sildeyuir and the Sign that we were given this moment. Remember me, Kiril Duskmourn.”

As Nangulis turned away, she murmured, “Until the day I die.”

Telarian grasped a font of puissance, wondrous and overwhelming. He couldn’t contain his joy as he wielded the conjoined blades. He’d never felt so free, so alive, so compelling. It was intoxicating!

He would have jumped and yelled in triumph if not for Cynosure. It had landed a strong initial blow, but Angul-Nis wiped away the damage before the crumpling pain could propagate through his flesh. His shredded clothing revealed fresh scars twining his forearms. He laughed—emblems of his coming triumph!

His eyes found the construct as it finished healing Delphe. He frowned. It charged him, one hand out as if to embtace him in a grasping palm. The idol moved swiftly for something

that should have been slow and ponderous. But Angul-Nis revealed what Telarian must do. He thrust the blade forward cross-body, its tip down, deflecting the fist to the right and scoring it with flame.

The construct pulled its hand back, but not quickly enough to prevent Telarian from whipping Angul-Nis around and delivering a tremendous stroke to its wrist, severing the hand.

“Telarian, you are misled,” came Cynosure’s voice. “Can’t you see it? The Traitor has you in its grip. You do not hinder him; you aid his greatest hope!”

Telarian suspected Stardeep’s warden attempted to distract him. It knew it couldn’t stand up to the wielder of Angul-Nis. He laughed, advancing. Delphe and Cynosure truly believed he was misled. Their lack of imagination and foresight was the reason he’d been forced to act alone. They were the ones tesponsible for aiding the Traitor by their opposition to his plan. Through their policies, if left unchecked, Xxiphu would eventually rise. They would never have allowed him to release the Traitor to his death—they would have argued that few alive could stand against him. True. But with Angul-Nis, few things were impossible.