The Fractured Sky (11 page)

Kael was knocked from his feet as the hemispherical chamber lurched violently to one side. He stumbled to his knees and slid across the rapidly tilting floor. He heard the concerned shouts of the angels, deva and solar alike, all around him. The half-drow righted himself and took to the air, using the magic of his winged boots.

The chamber shook again, and a great, deafening peal of cracking stone pulsed through it. Kael clamped his hands over his ears and peered around, seeking the source of the noise. The majority of the white, glowing dome had shattered overhead. A multitude of jagged shards of the strange, glassy material rained down upon the occupants. Lashing wind howled through the opening and whipped the myriad fragments around in a deadly storm.

Kael flinched away and hid his face. He prayed to Torm that his armor would shield him from the worst of the flying debris. The half-drow felt the shards pelt him, crashing against

the metal outfit. The sound was horrendous, a cacophony of tinkling and breaking, like poorly made chimes. The swirling material stung every bit of exposed flesh.

Suddenly, the storm was over. The wind still howled, but the maelstrom of broken, jagged debris had vanished. Kael risked a look around and saw everyone else in the chamber doing the same. Tauran and Micus were both bloodied in many places, their white garments stained red. They eyed each other and the members of the Council. The solars had been left unscathed, and the High Councilor held his hand aloft in a finished gesture.

He put a stop to it, Kael decided. Banished the shards with his divine power.

The roar of another deep-throated rumble coursed through the chamber from beyond its mined walls, and the world shook again. Kael stared upward through the gaping hole in the ceiling and gasped.

The view was surreal, something from a nightmare.

The very sky had fractured. Some of it was night, studded with stars, while in other places the red glow of sunset or the wispy white of clouds shone through. Every bit of it drifted and tumbled, like individual windows peering into other worlds or pieces of a broken and scattering image, a stained glass window burst from its frame.

Another rumble shook the world, and the hemisphere ripped in half.

The solars vanished, winked out like fireflies on a summer night. Micus disappeared too, leaving only Tauran and Kael hovering in the middle of the destruction.

As the chamber separated and began to fall away to either side of him, Kael felt the storm’s full force. It lashed against him from every direction, sending him spinning. His boots

were useless. He flailed, terrified that he would be dashed against some remnant of the world, crushed between massive blocks of whirling, spinning stone and earth. It was the end of all things, he was certain.

Tauran grabbed hold of Kael. The half-drow flinched, then was thankful for the anchor point. The angel drew him close and wrapped his wings around the armored warrior in a protective embrace. “Hold still!” he shouted over the incessant roar of the wind, and Kael did so, trying to become small within the feathered barrier. He felt his ears pop as something around him shifted, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

There was blessed quiet.

The half-drow felt the two of them settle onto something hard, and Tauran stepped away, leaving Kael standing on his own. He opened his eyes and peered around.

The two of them stood within the columned temple of the storm dragon, where he and Tauran had discovered Aliisza, Vhok, and Zasian.

Kael realized he was holding his breath, and he let it out with a gushing sigh. The sound of water dripping blended with the faint roar of the storms raging beyond the walls of the temple.

“What happened?” he asked, turning to stare out at the cloud tops. They roiled as always, crackling with flashes of lightning.

“It’s Helm,” Tauran said, and the tone of his voice scared Kael like nothing else before.

He spun to confront his mentor.

The angel’s face wore such a look of despair and sorrow that it nearly made Kael drop to the floor and weep. “What?” he whispered, terrified of the answer. “What happened to him?”

Tauran drew a deep, shuddering breath before answering. “He’s fallen in battle. Tyr has slain him.”

Myshik feared being left within that sphere. He would suppose later that it was only a brief time, but while he was within, it lasted an eternity. Kashada had vanished, leaving him in solitude, and all he could think of was being trapped, with nothing but light on every side. He remembered the woman’s craze-filled eyes and shuddered.

Tekthyrios! he called. She has fled! Return me to the surface!

The storm dragon did not answer, and Myshik fought his rising panic. The idea that he had been duped by the great wyrm was unbearable. Tekthyrios!

Easy, small one, the dragon finally answered. She is here, with me, but still uncertain of herself Let me calm her, and then I will bring you back up. A little patience!

Myshik did not respond. He stared around the extent of the sphere. Without shadows, the half-dragon found it hard to maintain a sense of the size of the place, but in his barely contained panic, he was certain it was growing smaller. He was on the verge of screaming at the storm dragon again when he began to rise through the air, up into the highest point of the sphere and beyond. That same sensation of the stone and earth sliding through him was much more welcome the second time.

At last he stood on the surface, within the small grotto. Tekthyrios sat there next to a beautiful, mysterious creature. Myshik supposed it was Kashada, though she was nothing like he had seen of her within the sphere.

A tall, lithe woman stared at him from behind a hood and veil made of equal parts black cloth and shadows. Her eyes, once so feverish with dementia, studied him with keen interest. As black as midnight, they bored into his very core. For a long moment, Myshik noticed nothing else, but finally he managed to tear his gaze away from hers and see the rest of her.

She was swathed in tight-fitting black clothes, reminiscent of an assassin’s garb. They, like the hood and veil, danced with shadows. The ensemble made Myshik’s eyes hurt, and when he glanced away, she seemed to vanish several times. Forcing himself to keep her firmly in view, the hobgoblin studied the rest of her newfound gear. A belt kept several sheathed daggers handy at her waist, and he noted two more protruding from the tops of her soft black boots. She stood on the balls of her feet, light and delicate, ready to spring in any direction.

“Myshik,” Tekthyrios said from beside the mysterious woman. “This is Kashada.”

Without waiting for the half-dragon to say anything, Kashada bowed with a deep flourish. “My thanks for your part in my rescue,” she said. Her voice was soft, throaty, little more than a sultry whisper. “That… place”—and she seemed to shudder, though Myshik wasn’t certain he saw it clearly—”was unbearable.”

“I only spent a moment there, and I can imagine,” the hobgoblin replied. Then he turned to Tekthyrios. “Now that we have rescued your prize, what are your intentions?”

Tekthyrios laughed, a deep rumble that reverberated through the grotto. “She is but the first of many, my eager little half-dragon,” he said, fanning his wings. “There are much bigger prizes awaiting us. But we must bide our time for a bit, wait for the sign to come.”

Myshik cocked his head to one side. “What sign?” he asked.

A sudden roar filled the sky above, and all three flinched from it. The draconic hobgoblin risked a glance upward and saw what he imagined the end of the world might look like. The clouds had turned to ash and flame in some places, and to pulsing, throbbing, sickly green in others. In between, like great fractures in the foundation stone of a massive keep, jagged stretches of midnight sky gleamed through.

A howling wind rushed through the trees overhead, stripping the leaves from their branches and uprooting many of them. The winds swirled and sent a spray of water from the nearby falls. The force of the wind knocked the three companions flat. They even shoved Tekthyrios downward from the crush of the violent blast. Myshik cowered and imagined being scoured from the small floating island. Only the protective walls of the grotto’ had saved him. The thought of spinning out into the maelstrom made him blanch.

“There we go,” Tekthyrios said. “The sign has come. Helm is dead at last.” He rose up onto his feet again. “Gather close, you two. We have a journey to make.”

Myshik shifted his gaze between the dragon and Kashada, stunned at the news. Helm, dead? Can this be?

From behind her veil, Kashada’s eyes glowed. Without any fear at all, she approached the huge storm dragon and allowed him to grasp her in his foreclaw. As Tekthyrios lifted her into the air, she gave one small, throaty laugh. “All praise to the Dark Goddess. It has begun.”

Myshik began to dread that he had gotten himself into the middle of such a tangled mess. Whatever Vhok had been chasing, the barbaric hobgoblin could not imagine that it involved the plots of gods. But his father’s instructions had

been clear. He would see the task through, no matter what. Bring honor to the clan, he reminded himself.

Shrugging in acceptance of his fate, Myshik allowed Tekthyrios to take hold of him as well.

The storm dragon rose up to his full height. “Come, my little thieves. We have a prize to steal, and a god to steal it from!”

With that, he launched himself skyward.

Aliisza started awake. A feeling of worry washed over her, though about what, she couldn’t figure. Something wasn’t right.

She glanced at Kaanyr, still sleeping beside her. He appeared at ease, peaceful, unaware of any danger.

The alu slipped from the covers and dressed, listening for any sounds that might indicate a threat. She fingered Pharaun’s ring and scanned the room with its magical energy, seeking anything out of the ordinary. She detected scattered and powerful images, part of the existence and amenities of the room, but nothing threatened her.

The feeling wouldn’t go away.

She crossed the floor to the door leading out and pressed her ear against it. There was only silence beyond. She sighed, wondering if her nerves were just a trick of her imagination.

Too long wary of bad dreams, she decided.

Trying to relax, Aliisza turned and headed to the balcony. The storm still raged beyond it, though why it didn’t penetrate the interior of the room, she could not say. Nothing actively blocked it, but nonetheless it was as if she watched it

through a heavy window or scrying glass. The light was odd, disconcerting. She stepped closer, taking in more of the sky.

Clouds tumbled around, both above and below. They seemed to boil, and lightning raced through them, crackling with purple and green. The storm obscured everything, though Aliisza knew from past experience there was little else out there to view. No land spread out below the great white-stoned city known as Tyr’s Court. No top or bottom defined the endless space that stretched beyond where she stood.

Just about to turn back to her bed and her lover, Aliisza felt it. A soft rumble and a quivering vibrated in the stone beneath her feet. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but she had no doubt it was real. The energy to make the mountain rumble would have to be great indeed, and with that realization, Aliisza knew something dire was happening.

“Kaanyr, wake up,” she called, still staring out at the furious sky. When he did not answer, Aliisza turned and strode across the chamber with a purpose born of fear. “Kaanyr!” she said again, shaking his shoulder.

“Hmm? What?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. “What’s wrong with you?” he snarled, rolling over and trying to yank the covers tighter around himself. “You wear a fellow out, then won’t let him sleep.”

“Something’s wrong. The whole place is shaking. Can you feel it?”

Kaanyr sat up, looking at her. “I’ve known you long enough not to question that tone,” he said. His voice was gentler, almost concerned.

As she returned to the balcony, he rolled out of bed and slipped into his clothes, then he came to join her. “What is it?” he asked, holding her shoulders and pressing in close from behind. “What do you feel?”

“The Court,” she said. “It’s shaking, vibrating. Can’t you feel it through the floor?”

Kaanyr stood still and quiet for a moment.

Aliisza felt it again, a soft rumble, as though far below her a part of the lock was cracking or crumbling away. “There, did you feel that?”

“No, lover, I didn’t—”

Both of them pitched off their feet and went sprawling across the room as a vicious quake rocked the place.

Aliisza landed on her shoulder. She rolled to ease the impact and wound up crumpled against the base of the large tiled basin where she had once bathed in perfectly heated water and scented oils. She rapped her head against the stone and winced.

“Gods and devils, I felt weird,” Kaanyr grunted from somewhere on the far side of the room. “What the blazes is going on?”

Aliisza found herself earnestly wishing Tauran were there. “Let’s find out,” she said, trying to rise. Another forceful heave threw her off balance, and she hit the floor once more. When she recovered her balance, she realized the room was no longer level. In fact, it was slowly tilting.

“We must flee!” she cried, scrambling to Kaanyr. “We cannot stay here!”

“I cannot go,” the cambion said, his voice low. “The angel’s magic binds me here.”

“No,” Aliisza said softly, dismayed. She remember all too well a time when she wanted more than anything to launch herself from the balustrade of that balcony, to soar free in the open sky outside, beyond the Court. The magical coercion she had agreed to then had held her there, had prevented her from acting on her thoughts. It had nearly driven her to madness.

“There has to be a way to get around it,” she said, thinking aloud. “Self-preservation has to count for something.”

“Don’t you think I’ve been trying to make that work?” the cambion said, almost snarling. Whatever fleeting moments of gentle affection he had shown during their carnal pleasures vanished in his frustration at his predicament. She sensed that he still blamed her, at least in part, for her role in his ensnarement. “Just go,” he said. “Go find out what’s tearing the place apart. Find the angel, if you can.”