The Destroyer of Worlds (2 page)

Mary shuddered. “You look as if you’re going to go kill someone.”

“Good,” said Arran, voice muffled beneath the scarf. He reached into one of the cabinets, retrieved his Kalashnikov and Luthar’s Sacred Blade, and slung them over his shoulder. “I believe that is the point.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Conmager, seizing his cane and clawing to his feet. 

Mary gave him a look. “You just got in. You didn’t even finish your breakfast.”

“His Majesty…I mean, Lithon can eat the rest.” Lithon seized Conmager’s plate without missing a beat, and Conmager shrugged into his coat. “And I need to speak with Sir Arran.”

The steps creaked, and Arran turned. Ally shuffled into the kitchen, red hair hanging limp over her face. She wore sweatpants and an old T-shirt, the same clothes she had worn for the last three days. She slumped into the chair Conmager had vacated and stared out the window, eyes glassy. 

Arran wanted to comfort her, but he had no idea how. 

“Sir Arran,” said Conmager. “This way.”

Arran followed Conmager onto the back porch. The sky had gotten darker, and thick snowflakes swirled through the air. Arran pulled his cloak tighter, his boots clumping against the floorboards. 

“Damn this snow,” said Conmager. “I’ll have to plow the driveway again.” 

“That seems to be the least of our problems,” said Arran. 

“You’re right.” Conmager stopped out of earshot of the farmhouse. “You’ll be prowling around the woods, I assume?”

Arran nodded. “The better to stop any foes before they reach us.” He adjusted his Kalashnikov's strap. “Allard seems to think huddling by a space heater in the barn makes for adequate guard duty.” 

Conmager chuckled. “Allard is not an evil man.”

“I know.”

“He has his limitations, but his heart is in the right place.” Conmager brushed the snowflakes from his coat. “And we still have my wards.”

“We should depart, head farther from Chicago,” said Arran.

Conmager frowned. “Why?” 

“We are still too close,” said Arran. 

“We’re five hundred miles away,” said Conmager. 

“I still think it is too close,” said Arran. “How did you obtain this place, anyway?”

Conmager chuckled. “Dishonest means. How else? Senator Wycliffe has numerous enemies, though few have the courage to oppose him openly. I go to a wealthy Republican businessman, or to a wealthy Democratic liberal, and say I have means to undermine Wycliffe…if they give me money. They give me money, and I disappear. Though I suppose it’s not totally dishonest.” He waved his hand over the snow-cloaked farm. “I am opposing Wycliffe with the money, after all.”

“True,” said Arran. “We ought to leave this place as soon as possible, though.”

Conmager frowned. “Why? It’s perfect for what we need. This is a rural, wooded area. There is nothing but small villages for dozens of miles in all directions. Few even know this place exists. It will take Marugon a long time to find us here.”

“But he will find us,” said Arran. “And sooner than we may think. You have other safe houses, yes? We should not linger here.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said Conmager. “That is the nature of battle, is it not? The enemy shatters your plans. But we must stay here for a time. It would be unwise to leave too soon.”

Arran frowned. “Why?”

“Ally and Lithon.” Conmager grimaced and scraped his cane through the snow. “Gods. Three inches already.” He looked at the sky and sighed. “Ally and Lithon need time to come to grips with what they’ve been told, with who they really are, and to mourn for their parents. Their entire lives have been turned upside down and destroyed. They need to rest, to heal. And perhaps more importantly, they need to come to grips with their powers.”

“But you are teaching Ally,” said Arran, scanning the mass of leafless trees. “You are teaching her the white magic. Surely you can teach her elsewhere just as well as you can teach her here.” He frowned as something occured to him. “Their powers? Lithon doesn't have the white magic.” 

“Remember?” said Conmager. “Lithon saw the spirit of Alastarius first, before any of us did. He spoke to it. It was only after Ally cast that spell,” his eyes grew glassy, “that we could see his spirit. It was her power that drew him here, and only after she used her power could we see the spirit. But Lithon saw him first.” 

“What does that mean?”

“It is the royal blood of Carlisan, the blood of Scepteris,” said Conmager. “Legend holds that an angel lay with the first king of Carlisan, passing the white magic into the blood of his descendants.” He shrugged. “True or not, I don't know, but Lithon will have special abilities as he grows older. Some of them have already manifested. You may have noticed them yourself. He seems faster than a normal boy.” Arran nodded. “He is also stronger and more resilient, both physically and emotionally. He can see spirits and magic energies, and he already has some resistance to magic. Eventually he will prove highly resistant to all but the most powerful spells.”

“Useful,” said Arran, “if he is destined to overthrow Marugon.” 

“And Ally,” said Conmager with a sigh. “Her magical strength is tremendous. But I can only teach her a little, in truth. I was never much more than a half-trained apprentice. And her mind is…damaged. The grief weighs heavily upon her, and she seems to have inherited Alastarius’s memories, in addition to his powers.”

“Memories?” said Arran. “How is that possible?”

“I do not know," said Conmager. “I still do not know how Alastarius even passed his powers to her. She still remembers nothing before she woke up on the Crimson Plain and Sir Liam rescued her from the gunmen. How did she even get there? There are thousands of miles between the Crimson Plain and Castle Bastion.”

Arran nodded. “I know. I walked every one of those miles.” Twice, in fact.

Conmager shrugged again. “I can only guess that some of Alastarius’s memories buried themselves in her mind, along with his powers. And she seems to have gotten some of his more unpleasant memories. She remembers his death at the hands of Goth-Mar-Dan. She told me she’s dreamed of that for years.” 

“Gods.” Goth-Mar-Dan had ripped out Alastarius’s heart. And Arran knew what it was to relive one's worst days in dreams, over and over again. “How has she endured?” 

“She is strong,” said Conmager. “But right now she needs us. She needs you.” Arran stared at him. “She trusts you, Sir Arran. You told her everything, and everything you told her was proven to be true. And you saved her. With our help, true, but it’s you that she remembers.”

Arran stared at the ground, fingering the hilt of his Sacred Blade. 

“You might do well to teach Lithon the sword,” said Conmager 

Arran tapped his sword’s hilt. “He has the making of a true Knight.”

“Hey!” 

Arran turned, his hands twitching towards his weapons. Allard trudged towards them, Uzi cradled in his arms. He wore a ridiculous pair of orange earmuffs. “You going to make me wait out here all morning? I’m freezing!” 

Arran clapped him on the shoulder. “You seem to have held up well.” Allard gave him a sour look. 

Conmager jerked his head at the house. “Mary made breakfast.”

“Oh, good!” Allard hurried away, boots crunching against the snow. Arran and Conmager shared a look. 

“I’d best get started,” said Arran, turning off his Kalashnikov's safety. 

Conmager nodded. “I’ll see you this afternoon. And then you should start teaching Lithon the sword.”

Arran started into the woods, his eyes scanning the trees. 

###

Ally sat in the chair, staring at the bowl on the coffee table. An odd warmth filled her head, seeming to pump into her veins, soaking into her bones. Conmager said something, and Ally paid him no heed. Her parents’ faces swam before her eyes. 

She remembered lying on a cold stone floor, the winged demon towering over her, claws plunging into her chest…

“Ally?”

Ally gave a small shriek and almost fell out of the chair. “What?”

Conmager grunted and rolled his cane between his palms. “You’ve been staring at that bowl for the last fifteen minutes.”

Ally shrugged. “So?”

“You’ve performed the spell twice before,” said Conmager. 

Ally scowled. “So what?” 

Conmager shrugged. “I could train you, and you could practice. Or you could sit in your room in the dark and brood.” 

Ally pushed her dirty hair out her face. She could not remember the last time she had showered. “I think I’m entitled to sit and brood, if I want to.”

Conmager looked unperturbed. “True. But do you really want to?”

She glared at him. Conmager stared back, face calm, and she finally looked away. “Maybe you’re right.” 

“You should mourn,” said Conmager. He smiled, his eyes sad. “But the dead are dead, Ally. You are not.” 

Ally did not want to think about that. “So what did I do wrong?” 

Conmager tapped his cane against the floor. “The white magic is based upon regeneration, not will. You tried to force the bowl to move. That is the use of the will. You need to summon the white magic with your spirit, not drive it with your will”

Ally frowned. “What is the difference?”

Conmager coughed. “If you summon the white magic with your spirit, it will accomplish your desire. Yet the will is about dominance and force. Thus, they are incompatible.”

Ally grumbled. “That is so obtuse.” 

Conmager chuckled. “I said much the same to Alastarius, years ago. Yet it is the truth. Perhaps I should put it a different way. The black magic is the magic of entropy, decay, erosion, crumbling. Despair, really. It is the magic of the self and the will. The white magic, on the other hand, is centered in the spirit, not the will. It is the magic of harmony, regeneration, growth, healing. Hope as opposed to despair. A spell of the black magic would compel the bowl to move through sheer force of will. But a spell of the white magic would move the bowl by giving it energy, not forcing it.” 

Ally thought about it. “That…makes sense.” A strange memory surged through her. She remembered standing on a rock in the forest, Conmager sitting at her feet. She told him of the will and the spirit…

“What is it?” 

Ally shook her head. “Alastarius told you that, didn’t he? Years ago.” 

Conmager frowned. “How did you know that?” 

Ally ignored his words and tried to focus her mind. She muttered the incantation, her hands shaping the gestures of the spell. The white magic flooded into her mind, filling her blood with warmth. She did not try to force the bowl, but instead poured some of the fire from her blood into it.

The bowl floated off the table, trembling. It rose a few inches and fell back to the wood with a thump.

“Very good,” said Conmager. A momentary flush of pleasure broke through her apathy-clouded mind. “But what did you remember?” 

Ally blinked. “What did you mean?”

Conmager waved a finger. “You get that expression when you remember something strange.”

Ally scowled. “Now you sound like Mary.” 

Conmager chuckled. “True. What did you remember?”

Ally stared into space. “It…I…was standing on a rock. You were sitting on the ground, listening to me. I was telling you everything you just told me, almost word for word.” A pain tugged at her head. “And I was…a man. It’s bizarre, remembering myself as a man.” 

“You seem to have received some of Alastarius's memories, in addition to his powers,” said Conmager.

Ally shivered. “How many of his memories?”

"I don't know,” said Conmager. “How far back can you remember? As yourself, not as Alastarius.”

Ally stared at the floor. “I woke up on a dead plain. The Crimson Plain, I think. Then the soldiers found me. I can remember nothing before that. Nothing.”

Conmager nodded. “So you remember nothing of how Alastarius’s powers came to you?” 

“No. Nothing.” 

“Nothing at all?” said Conmager.

Ally’s temper flared. “I can’t remember! All right? I can’t remember!”

Conmager watched her. “Perhaps you’re blocking the memories, as you did before.”

“Maybe I want to,” said Ally. “I remembered something and looked what happened. My parents…my parents are dead. God only knows what will happen if I remember more.” 

“The remembering may have saved your life,” said Conmager. “The spell you cast, the spell that drove off the winged demons and the changelings. Cast it again.”

Ally frowned. “I can’t.” 

“Why not?” said Conmager.

Ally stared out the window. She caught a glimpse of Arran prowling amongst the barren trees. “I can’t, all right? I don’t know why. It…Lithon told me what to do, and the incantation sort of popped into my mind…and I just did it. It seemed like…the right thing to do. I don’t know why I worked, and I don’t know how I did it.” Such a feat of white magic now seemed miles beyond her grasp. 

Conmager leaned forward, dark eyes keen. “You knew how to cast the spell because Alastarius knew. Some of his memories passed on to you, we know that. What if his knowledge of the white magic came to you as well?” He tapped his temple. “The knowledge of the spell rested within your mind. You were only blocking it, I think. It was your power, your need, that called the spirit of Alastarius.” He looked thoughtful. “It seemed as if he had more to tell us. I suspect you sent him back.”

Ally stared at him. “Why would I have done that?” 

“Because you did not want to hear what he had to say.” Conmager hesitated. “It has been difficult for you, I have no doubt of that…”

“Oh, how perceptive!” She looked back out the window. Arran continued on his patrol, moving with the grace of a stalking cat. She found it both frightening and compelling to watch him. 

“But you did not want to remember,” said Conmager, folding his arms. “You still don’t. That is why you have blocked the memories…” 

Ally stood and scowled. “I don’t want to talk about this any more. I’m going back to bed.” She stalked past Conmager, stormed up the stairs, and did not look back. 

###

“Ally.”

Ally groaned and rolled over, pulling the blankets tighter. “Go away.” She did not want to wake up.