The Crystal Mountain (2 page)

The morning promised to be a fine one, as all such daybreaks were within the House of the Triad. The sun, on the verge of breaking past the clouds on the horizon, splashed them with pinks and oranges. The angel imagined soaring among them, gliding on her white, feathered wings without a care. She closed her eyes and could almost feel herself among the wispy things, but a fantasy was all it could be. She could no more fly at that moment than she could reverse the course of the sun.

Eirwyn opened her eyes and took in her place of exile.

The cottage, a simple whitewashed building of two rooms, sat nestled among a handful of trees along one side of a clearing. A small spring bubbled up from an outcropping of rock and spilled into a pool in the middle of the tiny glade. From there the cold water meandered away as a small stream into the thick brambles that made up the border of her domain. Though she could not see it, beyond those brambles lay the edge of her tiny world. The prison builders had placed the thick foliage there so as to maintain the illusion, but the angel knew otherwise.

Eirwyn recalled the day Tyr’s archons brought her to the tiny island of rock, accompanied by Viryn, the solar charged by the High Council of the Court with delivering her to her own personal purgatory. Such was her punishment for defying the blind god—an eternity spent pretending to keep house far, far away from Celestia, the great mountains of the gods. She had been given a refuge and was left wanting for nothing. Her cupboards were never bare and the little garden that grew in the clearing just outside her front door offered a means of keeping busy. No, she had want of nothing—except for her freedom, of course.

It’s not such a bad way to be put out to pasture, Eirwyn told herself for perhaps the thousandth time. There are certainly worse fates than this. And I did what was necessary.

The angel smiled softly as she thought of Tauran. A mixture of satisfaction and sadness washed through her as she wondered where her friend might be at that moment. She had done the right thing in protecting him. She knew that. She only hoped it had been enough.

Did they succeed? she wondered. Did they uncover the truth? Would anyone come to tell me if they had?

Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Eirwyn scolded. His sacrifice was as great as your own, if not worse. You lost Helm’s patronage because he died, not because you were forced to turn from him. Tauran has willingly accepted the far more tragic fate.

If Eirwyn still had a god to pray to, she would have murmured a blessing for Tauran’s safety and health. As it was, she could only send him good wishes in her thoughts.

The angel mourned Helm’s death anew. The emptiness created by her deity’s demise still filled her, still felt like a fresh wound that would never scar over. It was more than just the absence of his dedicated love, and more than the loss of her angelic powers. Eirwyn missed her sense of purpose, of responsibility. The joy of serving had gone from her life, and she was left with merely being.

Not a terribly promising existence for an immortal creature.

The sun broke through the clouds, a burst of morning brightness heralding the coming of another beautiful day. It was in many ways a false portent to Eirwyn, but it did remind

her that life continued on despite her—or anyone else’s— trials and tribulations.

Eirwyn was on the verge of returning indoors when a flash in the sky caught her eye. She turned fully toward it and watched, bringing her hand up to shield her vision from the brightening sun.

The second time it flashed, the angel got a better fix on the point and focused her gaze there, waiting.

Two figures grew from twin specks against the backdrop of the lightening sky. By the time they were distinguishable, Eirwyn could tell they were celestials, flying toward her on wings of white. When it became obvious that they were coming directly toward her, the angel’s heart leaped in excitement, though a shadow of foreboding, a residual worry from her unremembered dream, also coursed through her.

Initially, she thought it was a solar and a planetar approaching, but as the pair got nearer, she realized that the green-skinned creature was, in fact, a trumpet archon. It had been the archon’s long, silvery trumpet gleaming in the morning sun that had tipped Eirwyn to their presence.

The two celestials arrived and settled to the soft ground. Together, they bowed before Eirwyn, who returned the affectation with no small amount of curiosity. Despite her puzzlement, she was deeply grateful for the visitors. It had been quite some time since she had been given the chance to interact with anyone.

“We bid you good morning on this blessed day, Eirwyn,” the solar said. She knew him. Viryn had commanded the escort that had brought her to her prison. “We hope this visit finds you in good health and spirits,” the archon added, “and we trust that we are not interrupting anything of import?”

Eirwyn laughed. “I think you both know that I would welcome any interruption. Viryn, there’s no need for formalities; I do not hold you in contempt. You were just doing your duty.”

The other angel inclined his head slightly in thanks. “I am glad to see you taking this so well, Eirwyn. It gave me no joy to leave you here.”

Eirwyn shrugged, then frowned. “If you’ve come to see if I will reconsider and testify before the High Council, I’m afraid you’ve made the journey for nothing. I still believe in the Tightness of my actions, and of my freedom to make such a decision. I’m afraid I still share Tauran’s sentiment that Tyr was not acting in his right faculties, and that will not change.”

The two visitors looked at one another and frowned. “Of course, there’s no way you might have known,” Viryn said solemnly, “but I thought you might suspect…”

Eirwyn cocked her head to one side, puzzled. “Suspect what?” she asked. “What has happened?” Then her heart leaped in joy. “Tauran’s returned! He’s brought news of his success!”

Viryn’s frown deepened.

“Alas, he has not,” the other angel replied. He opened his mouth to add more, but the archon cut him off.

“Have you not heard the summons?” the trumpeter asked. “Have you not felt the Seer’s connection, calling you?”

Eirwyn’s eyes grew wide. “Erathaol has been trying to contact me?” she asked. The notion of the great archon who ruled Venya, the third layer of Mount Celestia, reaching out, stunned her. “Why?” Then she recalled the tremor that had awakened her.

And her dreams.

Eirwyn seized on the palpable worry radiating from the two creatures standing before her. They had come bearing profound news. “Tell me,” she commanded them.

“For three days, portents have come to the Seer, announcing something profound and dire. He has been attempting to interpret these warnings, but the only insight he has gleaned thus far is your name. He’s been trying to summon you to him, but to no avail. It was only this morning that he learned you had been banished. He sent me to intervene, and we rushed here at once, but now I fear we may be too late.”

“Too late for what?” Eirwyn asked. How could I be a part of the Seer’s visions? she wondered, feeling overwhelmed for the first time in eons.

“It seems you and Tauran were right,” Viryn said. “Mystra has been slain. By Cyric.”

Eirwyn gasped and sank to her knees. “No!” she breathed. “This cannot be!” Oh, Tauran, she thought. You saw it coming, didn’t you? And no one believed you. She prayed that her friend still lived.

“Sadly, I am not finished with the dire news,” Viryn continued. He placed a hand on Eirwyn’s shoulder to offer her comfort. “Dweomerheart was destroyed in the process. Savras is dead, Azuth is missing. The World Tree is no more.”

New sorrow welled in Eirwyn’s heart. “So many lives lost,”- she murmured, trying to absorb what the deva was telling her. “So much death and destruction. What has Cyric wrought?”

“I do not know,” Viryn answered. His voice sounded grave, frail. “Everyone is trying to determine how far the

aftereffects reach.” He took a deep breath. “But that’s why we are here. You must return with us to the Court of Tyr at once. You have been pardoned. It appears that you have some role to play in all this, and the council wants to find out what.”

Kaanyr Vhok’s consciousness returned to the sound of forge hammers ringing on anvils. The loud, clanging blows of metal on metal reverberated through the cambion. Each concussive strike made his head pound, and he winced at the noise.

The dwarves of Sundabar are worthless wastes of life, he silently grumbled. They should all be impaled and quartered for making that racket.

The half-fiend groaned, grimaced, then tried to sit up. The pounding in his head made him dizzy, and he feared he would be I’ll.

What’s the matter with me? he wondered. Am I injured?

Kaanyr couldn’t remember what happened. He took a couple of deep breaths and tried to clear his head. He kept his face on the cool stones beneath him and waited until his equilibrium stopped spinning.

Stones, he thought. Did I fall?

He reached out with one hand and began to feel his own body, testing for broken bones. Everything was intact.

A familiar feminine voice cut through the fog of his wooziness. “Micus, wait!” Aliisza.

“Stop this. Let me find a way to help you,” the alu said. Her voice sounded desperate, frantic. It filled him with worry. Micus! He knew that name! Memories tumbled back into Vhok— The rotunda… A battle with Myshik…

The thrice-damned hobgoblin nearly cleaved me in twain, Kaanyr remembered. I should be dead. The cambion reached behind, feeling the place along his back where the half-dragon had struck.

He found no sign of any wound.

Fearful that he would suffer another attack from the cunning Myshik, Kaanyr forced himself to open his eyes and sit up.

He rested near the very periphery of the rotunda, deep in shadow. A single glow of light, oddly dim and unsteady, flickered from near the center of the chamber. He spotted no sign of the draconic hobgoblin, but there was movement to his left, among the columns holding the dome aloft, where Aliisza’s voice had emanated.

As Kaanyr rose unsteadily onto one knee, he spied his blade, crackling with purplish black energy, near his foot. He reached down and took hold of the weapon, then heard the sound of flesh striking flesh, followed by a soft groan.

Aliisza!

Kaanyr forced himself to his feet and staggered toward the sound.

The cambion had to follow the curve of the columns to

reach the source, and when he stepped into view, he nearly stumbled to the floor in shock.

A dreadful creature nearly filled the space between the curved wall and the columns, a beast made by foul magic. Half man and half something else, it raised a massive axe high and reared like a horse on back legs. Aliisza slumped before it in a daze, unwilling or unable to retreat from the impending strike.

Kaanyr flipped his sword around, snatching the blade end out of the air. In the same smooth motion, he yanked his arm back and then snapped it forward, flinging the weapon at the abomination before him. The sword spun across the distance between Kaanyr and the monstrosity.

In his haste, Kaanyr had not been careful with his aim, but he did not care. The sword tumbled past the flank of the creature’s human torso, grazing one of its four arms and raking a gash along it. Purplish energy crackled outward in a spiderweb mosaic, radiating from the wound.

The beast screamed and flailed, its deadly strike against Aliisza disrupted. The axe slipped from its grasp as the abomination staggered to one side.

Kaanyr did not wait to see the effects of his attack. Reaching inside his tunic, he stumbled toward the thing. He pulled a wand free and prepared to utter the powerful arcane phrase that would trigger its magic.

The beast turned toward him, and Kaanyr’s words died on his lips.

Micus’s fevered eyes bore into the cambion.

“You!” Micus screamed, spinning to fully confront Vhok. “Damn you back to the Hells from whence you came!” He lurched toward the half-fiend, and Kaanyr spied Myshik’s face

jutting from Micus’s gut. The half-hobgoblin’s mouth slavered as it stared gleefully at him.

Kaanyr recovered his wits and leveled the wand at the onrushing abomination. He activated the magic imbued in the device and flinched as blinding lightning burst from its tip. The charge arced across the distance and engulfed Micus and Myshik in a shower of crackling energy and sparks. To the cambion, the discharge of magic felt… off.

The flash left afterimages in Kaanyr’s vision, but he could make out enough to watch the monstrosity stagger to one side and go down.

Vhok held the wand steady for a moment, watching to see if the fused creatures remained a threat.

Micus’s eyes stayed closed, but he still breathed. Likewise, Myshik’s head appeared unconscious. Once or twice, the wings upon the flank of the odd, centaur-shaped abomination twitched, but that was all.

Kaanyr approached the immobile form of the thing and nudged it with the toe of his boot. When it still did not move, he let out a sigh of relief and pocketed the wand. He turned toward Aliisza.

The alu still crouched near the column, her long, dark ringlets plastered to her pale, narrow face. She stared up at Kaanyr. Her eyes, so often smoldering in sultry delight, were instead wide and fearful. Her mouth, usually formed into a cunning smile or petulant frown, trembled. She kept her graceful, batlike wings folded snugly against her body. They matched the shiny black luster of her tight leather armor. Even in that moment of chaos and crisis, Kaanyr admired the form-fitting garment and how it accentuated the alu’s shape.

“Kaanyr,” Aliisza said, her voice quavering. “You’re alive. I thought—”

“Don’t ask me how,” Kaanyr replied, moving to the alu and kneeling down. He took her face in his hands, drew her close, and kissed her. He could feel her still trembling, and she resisted at first, rigid, as though afraid. Then she melted into him.

“I tried to stop you,” Aliisza said into his shoulder, her voice faint, desperate. “I tried to stop you all.”

At her words, Kaanyr remembered how she had brought Micus to the rotunda. The cambion’s joy at having the half-fiend safely back with him vanished, driven from him like a punch to the gut, as he recalled her betrayal.