Shadow Over Kiriath (55 page)

Abramm continued on and came at last to the top of the ramp, where he stopped. The column flared before him now, and he felt its fine vibrations in the scars that ribboned his arm and slashed his face, the sensation hot and crawling. Aversion and fear shivered through him, but he put them aside and started grimly down the ramp, setting his teeth together as the whine increased and the grating started upon his nerves. They were familiar sensations now, and he knew what he had to do.

This thing is evil. It is a danger to my people and an insult to you, my Lord, and I
cannot
allow it to be as close to my land as this. I want it gone. But you are going to have to do it
.

Shouts broke out somewhere below him. Evidently someone had spotted him and decided his actions were not benign. Possibly because of the white glow that had begun to shimmer faintly around him. At his back he heard a few of the priests stirring, calling out drunkenly, felt the force of the rhu’emas’ impotent wrath directed at him—and underneath it, their fear. He walked on.

As the white that enfolded him came into contact with the violet of the corridor, the angry buzzing transformed to sibilant voices pronouncing curses. He felt the thoughts and the visions pressing around the edges of his mind, hoping to tempt him away, but he ignored and quenched them. Failing that, they beat at his flesh, stirred up emotions of terror, predictions of being pulled into the corridor to be burned and made crazy like Rhiad. He refused those thoughts as well, focusing on his goal to see this thing destroyed.

All at once the purple fabric tore apart and he was falling, shock and fear overwhelming that sense of purpose. It had taken him! The Light wasn’t strong enough.

He tumbled head over heels as if bowled toward shore by a powerful wave, then came suddenly upright and still. Gasping for breath he gazed around in confusion at the red-lit, pillared hall in which he now stood, hundreds of bald, red-robed men lying senseless across the floor. In them flickered the colored lights that were the rhu’ema, trying to strike at him but far too weak. He looked up the hall’s vast length, its ceiling lost in darkness. A golden altar stood on a dais between two pots of red flame. Behind and above it loomed the bas relief of a great red dragon clinging to the wall, head and neck curved round over its back to look at him, toothy jaws gaping. Every scale and ripple of muscle was rendered in such exquisite detail he wouldn’t have been surprised if it launched itself off the wall and came at him—

The beast’s golden eyes flared, and the moment he fixed upon them, he perceived the monstrous scarlet force that burned behind them, a creature both aged and vibrant, whose attention had just riveted upon him, surprised at first to find him standing there, then swiftly filled with rage. The power of its presence seized him like a striking snake, bending his will to its own as it drew him out of his flesh, sucking up his spirit and his soul, as the morwhol had tried to—

Nonsense!
he thought at it.
Such a thing is not within your power. You are only trying to deceive me
.

The great vortex pulling at him stopped dead, but the rage only burned the hotter.
Not within my power?
The dragon’s head seemed to move, drawing nearer to him.
What do
you
know of
my
power, little man? Or of deception. You, who serve the greatest deceiver of them all, one who cannot protect his own followers, who cannot even protect himself. And you wish to challenge me?

Before Abramm could even think to respond, the creature went on, speaking rapidly now in a stream of sibilant words that birthed a riot of images: a great sea beneath a ceiling of mist, filled from horizon to horizon with a navy of dark narrow galleys, oars flashing in perfect timing as they drove inexorably north; a crowd of people in a great square screaming for Abramm’s death; Gillard in Mataian robes, grinning as he shook out a short whip; the palace in flames, Abramm’s friends and supporters dead, as the mist flooded into his beloved Springerlan.

His own Shadow rose within him, flooding him with panic and guilt. He captured the feelings and put them down.

Those are only threats. You do not know the future.

I know the plans that are in place for you. I know who your enemies are. I know they will come against you and your god will let them win. Are you sure you want to serve such a one as that?

They will not win. But even if they do . . . I will still serve him
.

Laughter echoed in his head as the stone dragon’s tail seemed to lash. Its eyes flared again.
Easy for you to say now. Let’s see when the time comes
.

Abramm had the sense that it was about to pelt him with more of its awful predictions, but now, finally, he felt the Light move in him, swelling within him to crowd out the evil images with memories of past events—the lighting of the Heart at Hur, his own taking of the Star of Life, the defeat of Beltha’adi, the slaying of the kraggin, the morwhol, his own recent coronation. Before all that this creature was nothing.

And with that realization, the Light burst out of him in a powerful, pulsing wave that obliterated the red chamber and sent him tumbling through space again, but safe this time in the heartbeat of his Lord. He felt the mind sense of Trap and Katahn, Channon and Philip, of men who’d come with him . . . and of one other, not part of his group, yet closer in soul to him than any of them. . . .

Madeleine! He felt her near and strong, felt the sudden fire of her recognition and the response it generated in her—
response,
not hurt-filled reaction. Then it was gone, lost in a cataclysm of whiteness and a growing roar.

He came back to himself in a world gone mad, still standing on the ramp and holding the scepter now, though he had no recollection of pulling it from its sleeve on his back. Yet its headstone blazed and a great wind howled around him, tearing at his hair and tunic, pelting him with pebbles and weeds torn from their moorings. Pieces of wood, cloaks, boots, scarves, even birds struggling to right themselves in the wild currents flew around him in an ever-widening circle. The column was gone, and above where it had stood, a hole had been punched through the roof of mist, revealing a sky turned mauve with the coming dawn. The ramp below it had been blasted in two amidst cove waters that churned and steamed. Huge waves tossed the galley like a toy, the small boats once tied up to it shattering against its sides in the tumult. On the shore, men cowered on the ground, clinging to whatever was at hand.

The whirlwind expanded, driving away the mist to reveal more and more of the sky. He felt the scepter hot against his gloved palm as the light in its jeweled head went out. Gradually the force of the winds lessened around him as on the shore men picked themselves up and looked around dazedly. It wasn’t long before all eyes had moved to their precious galley, then to the gap in the ramp where the corridor had been, and finally to Abramm himself standing with the scepter above both.

He could see their collective confusion and bewilderment, for at first glance he looked like one of their own. For a moment they all stood there looking at him, and him at them. Then from a cluster of shaven-headed men standing at the shore’s edge, one bellowed, “It’s the Pretender! Get him!”

But rather than rally the men to attack, the cry only turned their confusion to panic. They all turned to flee at once, had gone only a few yards when their commanders stopped them in their tracks, ordered them to return and fight. They turned with the jerkiness that betrayed the force of Command upon them, while out in the valley beyond them, Abramm saw the line of his own men readying to strike from behind.

At that moment one of the Broho ashore opened his mouth and bellowed out a purple fireball. It slammed directly into Abramm, almost before he knew it was coming, but his defense was instinctive and instantaneous— white fire flared up to deflect the missile’s energy in an explosion that staggered him backward up the ramp.

“Time to retreat!” Trap yelled from atop the platform.

Abramm didn’t argue, running up the ramp to join him. But as they started to pick their way around the fallen priests, the Broho launched another fireball, this time at the platform struts. It shattered the wood in a fountain of shards and splinters. A second ball hit beside the first, and the platform began to list. They ran now toward the highest edge, climbing over the priests as they made their way up the smooth wooden planks. Then a final explosion brought the whole thing down in a twisting, shuddering motion attended by a mighty groan.

For Abramm, it was like falling into the corridor again, up turned down and down turned up, struts and wood and people roiling around him. Somehow he managed to land in the water behind the debris rather than under it, coming down sideways so hard the force of his fall drove the air from his lungs. Madly he fought his way back to the surface, where he gasped and choked and sputtered, trying to draw a breath into a chest that would not open. When finally he could breathe again, he realized two things: he was being carried by the water displaced in the platform’s fall toward the cove’s far shore—which was good—and he’d lost the scepter.

His feet touched bottom, and he drove upright, turning back to the chaos behind him, crestfallen. How would they ever find it now, with the bottom stirred up as it was and all the debris of the platform raining down upon it, as well?

Trap came up beside him, wiping water from his eyes. He looked at Abramm and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve lost the scepter.”

His friend glanced at the water beside him. “That scepter?”

To Abramm’s astonishment, there it was, floating in the water at his elbow. He seized it with a surge of wonder, and they staggered ashore, where the fighting had already fallen off. The hottest conflicts were taking place on the other side of the cove now, as the Esurhites sought to retreat toward the villa.

The hole of sky, light pink with the growing dawn, now overarched the entire valley as the winds continued to push outward, driving back the mist in an ever-widening circle. Around Abramm, however, the gale’s ferocity had already dropped off to a light, erratic breeze.

Katahn rose out of the water, Philip at his side, and together they all climbed to a knoll to get a better look at things. Sure enough, the Esurhites were heading rapidly for the villa openings. The commander of this island had probably learned from the gulls that Abramm had six gunships ready to sail in and fire away the moment the mists were lifted. If he didn’t start evacuating now, much would soon be lost, a conclusion and action Abramm hoped might give himself and his own men a little breathing room.

What he hadn’t dared hope was that Maddie was indeed here. The knowledge thrilled him, even as he knew she would surely be taken as hostage in the Esurhites’ retreat. Unless he found her first.

————

Right after Uumbra had left, Maddie began easing herself and Liza slowly backward from Xemai and the giant as they cursed and struggled to get the orb back onto its canvas wrapper. She was just raising her foot backward onto the first step of the stairway leading out of the chamber when the world inverted itself. The Light flared within her, pulled from her by a powerful hand and guided into a stream alongside that of many others. She glimpsed an oarless galley in a cove of raging waters surrounded by careening rowboats . . . and at the same time sensed the souls of those others from whom the Light was drawn, others who were somewhere nearby, familiar to her . . . especially one of them.

Then it was gone and she stood in the domed chamber again, ears ringing and heart racing.
That was Abramm,
she thought in amazement.
He’s here! Light’s grace! He’s probably just destroyed the corridor
.

She turned back to the guardstar, which was lying once more on the floor amidst the sprawled and senseless forms of the men who’d sought to lift it. Seizing her chance, she ran to get it. “Come on, Liza. Help me roll this into the cart.”

Maddie dropped to her knees beside the orb as Liza positioned the cart on its side next to it. Bracing herself for the effort, Maddie placed both hands on the guardstar and shoved with all her might. It rolled away as if it were no heavier than a glass buoy, and she fell forward onto both hands with a grunt. Liza murmured an astonished “Oh my” as Maddie stood and picked the thing up without the slightest strain.

The groan of one of the men startled her, and she ran back up the stair, going out the way she had come in, Liza on her heels. Abramm was on this island somewhere, probably near the cove. She had to find him. But once outside she stopped, chagrinned to find a fierce battle raging on the valley’s broad slopes.

“Now what do we do, ma’am?” Liza asked.

“Go back.” Whirling as she spoke, Maddie ran right into Xemai, recovered and coming after her. He grabbed her before she’d even come to the end of her rebound and dragged her back into the amphitheater, where the other men were picking themselves off the floor. A moment later, Lord Uumbra and his subordinates burst in upon them. Uumbra stopped abruptly at the sight of Madeleine holding the unwrapped guardstar, looking startled and even a little alarmed at first. He spoke brusquely to Xemai, who answered at some length, and even as he was still speaking, the Brogai’s dark eyes flicked to the orb in Maddie’s hands again. A calculating look came into his face, and she was reminded of what the Kiriathan spy had said—that it was she whom Abramm truly loved. The same Abramm who was in the process of destroying this man’s command.

The Brogai gave a clipped order, and one of his men stepped forward to tear the guardstar from her grasp. Immediately its weight returned, overwhelming his strength and bowing him to the floor as he tried to keep hold of it. Finally he and two others plus the strongman got it back into its wrapping, whereupon Uumbra ordered Maddie to pick it up.

When she refused, Xemai Commanded her, the force of his will wrapping around her like a net, pressing at her back and knees, compelling her forward. But though she did step over to it, she would not bend and pick it up. One of the soldiers struck her a hard, stinging blow with his whip across the back, sending her staggering forward and causing her foot to bump the guardstar, rolling it easily. Just when she was thinking about maybe picking it up and throwing it at someone, Uumbra decided he’d wasted enough time. He ordered the men to put the thing into the cart and for Xemai to bring her along.