The Last Talisman (39 page)

Ido could see a glimmer of doubt in his opponent's eyes and he knew his words had struck to the core, though in an instant, that flash of uncertainty gave way to a wild anger. Once again, Deinforo sprang at Ido.

By now, it was no longer a duel but more of brawl, a full-on scuffle to the death. They flailed and thrashed, only rarely landing a blow. Ido strained to focus, to fight with conviction, and as he glimpsed his own bloody hand, gripped tight to the handle of his sword, he remembered all that had led to this moment: the years of war, the fear he'd never make up for the evils of his past. All the reasons that had spurred him to face Deinforo came rushing to mind. It was time to uphold his commitment, to affirm the moral choice he'd made all those years ago when he abandoned the Tyrant's army, the pledge that had been his saving grace.

He tightened the grip around his sword and dove back into the battle, calling on every last ounce of strength in his body. Deinforo staggered back in retreat, startled by his opponent's jolt of energy.

There before his eyes, Ido watched as his enemy's spirit fled from his limbs. All strength seemed to have gone from him, along with his desire to fight, as if he'd already been defeated. With his guard lowered, Deinforo felt his opponent's blade pierce through his waist, just below his armor, where Ido's sword had already broken through once or twice with ease, only this time the sharp metal sunk in deep and the knight collapsed to the ground.

Ido stared on as blood began to flow from his enemy's wound, soaking the earth, expanding slowly into a dark red puddle. And he knew it was over. That he'd won. At last he'd tasted victory, and the taste was bitter.

“But you stopped fighting …” Ido murmured, struggling to catch his breath. He'd seen Deinforo lower his guard. “Why did you let me kill you?”

Deinforo was panting heavily, and he nodded with a smile. “There's nothing to say. You defeated me. I'm just happy it was you who did it, that I'll die by the hand of the strongest knight on the battlefield.”

Ido watched as Deinforo's eyelids sank and his body fell limp to the earth. When he could no longer hear his enemy breathing, Ido began to cry without understanding why. He cried for Deinforo, for his brother, for the war and all the blood it had cost, until the shadow of night fell, swallowing him and his tears.

40

Nihal and Aster's War

Just after Ido sped off toward Deinforo, Nihal retreated closer to the border and threw herself into the fray. At first, she fought alone, though she was soon surrounded by the troops of the Free Lands who'd pushed the battlefront farther into enemy territory.

With every moment, they inched closer to the Tyrant's Fortress until Nihal raised her eyes and saw it towering over her. She'd never seen it so close. It was black, a tangle of spires, statues, and grotesque ornaments. Eight menacing tentacles extended outward from the center, each stretching covetously toward one of the lands of the Overworld. Like all that is truly horrifying, the structure was of an eerie, alluring beauty. Sharp barbs lined the tower, and as it rose up through the sky, it seemed to broadcast its dark ambition to the world. At its base, the tower swelled into a massive foundation. Enemy soldiers poured by the thousands from its tentacles and underground passageways, though many of them were Fammin who wandered in bewilderment through the field until the blade of an enemy sword put an end to their confusion.

For a moment, Nihal stood staring at the sky, enthralled by the magnificence of the enormous structure and by the dark mystery that seemed to emanate from its walls, her stomach gripped with a presage of danger. She shook herself and rejoined the battle. The force of the amulet stole the breath from her lungs. She could feel the energy flowing from the talisman's eight stones, their power amassing, the stones darkening.

She fought with passion and courage, soaring atop Oarf, while the Fortress grew larger and larger in her sights, its sealed gates ever nearer.

At last, as the afternoon first graced the plain, Nihal arrived before the heavy black bars of the gate with a small squadron.

The soldiers readied the battering ram and thrust forward against the doors. Perhaps, in the past, the gates had been sealed with a powerful enchantment, but all that held them now were two heavy wooden planks that gave way easily to the blows. Before long, the gate burst open, and the two doors crashed to the earth with a resounding thud.

Nihal raised her sword. “Charge!” she cried at the top of her lungs.

Just then, the memory of Seferdi filled her mind, the image of its battered doors, and her spirits exalted at the thought that she was now repaying the Tyrant for a small part of the evil he'd done to her city.

And in that brief moment of distraction, Nihal nearly lost her life.

Behind her, an enemy was taking aim with his bow, unaware, perhaps, that with this one simple gesture he was on the verge of deciding the fate of the entire war.

As he struggled to restore calm among the rejoicing troops, Raven caught sight of the distant bow, aimed at their one last hope, and acted without pause. In a rush, he launched in the direction of the arrow and set himself in its path.

Nihal had time enough only to turn and watch as the arrow, destined for her, penetrated the breastplate of the Supreme General and lodged deeply in his chest. In that instant, the half-elf understood. She froze, staring in disbelief as Raven breathed his last—her former enemy had saved her life.

By the irony of fate, Raven, who'd done all he could to block her way in the past, now opened the way before her.

“Go!” Raven cried, as he slipped from his dragon, tumbling to the earth.

It was the Supreme General's last order, and Nihal obeyed. Turning to the battered doors, she plunged through with Oarf, letting out a piercing battle cry, a squadron of men at her heels.

Inside, the Fortress was steeped in darkness. Nihal found herself in a high-vaulted corridor that was wide enough for Oarf to pass through easily. She was surrounded by a silence so absolute it seemed as if the palace were empty.

Nihal could sense nothing—no sound, no sight, no smell—even though the enchantment had heightened her perceptions. And yet, the Tyrant had to be there, inside. There was no way out. Their forces had invaded the entire plain. For a long while, Nihal and the group of soldiers who'd followed her heard nothing but the sound of their own footsteps. Until, in the distance, came a frantic shuffling. Guards coming their way.

Nihal raised her sword, brandishing it before her. A moment later, a horde of strange, monstrous creatures came pouring down the hall. They resembled Fammin, though they were smaller, hairless, and thin as rails. Their skin, an off-red color, stretched taut over their freakishly long bones. They were armed and came charging without a moment's hesitation. The Tyrant must have brought them to life without resorting to magic, by crossbreeding races or by way of some unknown alchemy.

The clash in the corridor proved long and bloody. Nihal countered with her sword while Oarf used his powerful jaws to make short work of the beasts. Though they moved about with an awkward limp, the creatures were ferocious and incredibly strong and there seemed to be no end to them. As soon as one horde fell, in came another, just as eager to sacrifice itself.

With the battle dragging on, Nihal knew the time had come to press forward with Oarf. Advancing just in front of her line of soldiers, she ordered her dragon to spit a stream of fire. A pathway of crisped corpses opened up before them. “Everyone who can, follow me!” she shouted, pushing through the blockade with a group of her soldiers.

They sped down the corridor, which soon opened out into a large room. It was completely empty, and even darker than the hall they'd just come from. A sinister glare glimmered along the walls: black crystal. Nihal and her men continued forward. Yet another swarm of repugnant creatures stormed after them, though Oarf swept them away with a torrent of flames.

They passed through a number of dark hallways and empty rooms, each identical to the last, until they found themselves in a vast, open space. A battle ring, it seemed. In the corner, in fact, stood an enormous weapons rack, now empty, and beside it a heap of shackles, their chains massive enough to hold down a dragon.

Nihal surged upward on Oarf, hoping to spy Aster's hiding place from above, though nothing below struck her as particularly suspicious. On one end of the battle ring rose the bulk of the Fortress's central tower, bearing a multitude of windows, many of them lit up, and all scattered about the structure, seemingly at random. There was something labyrinthine about it.

Frustrated, Nihal lowered back down to the battle ring. And only then, as she descended, did her gaze land on a protruding structure some distance from the Fortress. It was short and squat, and seemed to burrow down into the belly of the earth. Narrow windows closed with heavy bars lined its walls. Prisons. Nihal felt her heart sink. Sennar could be down there! Sennar
was
down there!

The impulse to run toward the prison and search for him surged through her legs, though she held herself back. She'd promised to finish her mission. To save him and leave the Tyrant to escape would be pointless. In a world ruled by Aster, there was no room for her and Sennar. She had to find that monster as quickly as possible.

As soon as Oarf touched down, Nihal scanned the area and realized she'd have to leave her dragon behind. Not one of the surrounding doorways was big enough for Oarf to pass through.

“I have to leave you here, Oarf. You can't come with me,” she said, turning toward her dragon. Oarf replied with a stubborn grunt of refusal, and Nihal ran her hand along his snout. “You can keep fighting from here. Hold back the guards. You can still help me. I'll see you soon, when I come back victorious,” she said, and for the first time since she'd met her dragon, she gave him a light kiss on the snout. Then she made for the nearest door.

A few of her men still trailed behind her, though not many. They passed through several grand halls, some rooms crammed with books, others with weapons. They seemed to be traveling in circles, with no sign they were nearing their destination. Now and then a stray guard appeared, threatening to block the way, but Nihal took care of them quickly. Some of her soldiers stayed behind to fight. Others had fallen along the way.

The seconds ticked by relentlessly, and when Nihal glanced out one of the windows, she found that afternoon was fading into evening. She had to act quickly. When the sun disappeared, so too would all their hopes.

The pain concentrated in her chest had begun spreading to the rest of her body, and a deep exhaustion took hold of her limbs. The stones were growing ever dimmer.

Not yet, not before I've finished. Not before I've saved him.

At last, they came to an immense room, dozens of feet high and so unendingly long that its back wall stretched out of sight. Thousands of books filled the room, many of which Nihal had seen before, though many others she'd never heard of. Some were written in languages that had long since fallen out of use, with arcane symbols and dark runes scrawled on their covers and spines, untold horrors lurking within their pages.

The library. This was where the Tyrant had enhanced his magic and forged his power.

Nihal snaked through the shelves, searching for a way out, wandering in circles to no avail. When she landed right back where she'd started for the thousandth time, she let out a howl of rage and brought her sword down on the first shelf in front of her. Pages and splintered wood rose up like a dust cloud. Still, she persisted in her wild fit of destruction, until the sound of a sharp cry filled her ears and she came to a sudden halt.

Trembling at her feet was a thin, emaciated man, his knees pulled up to his chest. “Don't kill me! Don't kill me!” he begged, in a puny, shrill voice. “I did nothing wrong!”

The man's pathetic, whining caw set Nihal's blood boiling. She hoisted her sword above his head and he grabbed her by the knees.

“Spare me!” he cried.

Nihal pushed him aside with her foot. “Where is your master?”

The man shook his head, utterly petrified. “I … I don't know. …”

“Where is the Tyrant?” Nihal shouted, pressing her sword to his throat. “Tell me or you're dead.”

“In the throne room!” he squealed, shrinking further into his fear.

“You idiot! Do you think I know where the throne room is? Tell me how to get there!” Nihal cried in revulsion.

The man stood and pointed to the back of the room, trembling convulsively. “B-b-b-back th-there are the la-laboratories. … J-j-j-just p-past them are the s-s-stairs.” He swallowed. “T-t-twenty f-f-f-flights up and you'll f-find what you're l-l-looking f-for.”

Nihal dashed off in the direction of his quivering arm. It took her several minutes to cross the library, but soon she was in another, narrower room, immersed in an impenetrable darkness. A stale smell invaded her nostrils: mildew, and the sickly sweet odor of putrefaction. The laboratories. These were the Tyrant's laboratories.

Nihal shivered at the thought of what might be hidden near here. And as her eyes adapted to the dark, she was able to see for herself. More than anything else, it reminded her of Reis's hut. Herbs of every sort hung from the ceiling, and the shelves were crammed with strange jars and plants. Nihal paced through carefully, doing her best not to look—she'd already had her fill of horrors—but soon the scent of blood was too much to ignore. It was then that she saw them.

Halved bodies. Jars filled with organs and sanguine flesh. Bizarre creatures locked in chains, their limbs mangled—experimental crossbreeds. As she glanced at them, one of the creatures snapped out at Nihal, pulling its chain tight around the collar. She couldn't help but think of Malerba. So this was the place. This was where he'd come from.

Her anger mounted and her footsteps quickened until she was fleeing from the room in terror. Faster and faster she ran, her chest heaving, and when the stairs appeared before her, they seemed a paradise. In a leap, she was rushing up them three steps at a time.

Where are you, you creep? Show yourself!

The climb seemed endless, and soon she was forced to stop and catch her breath. Pain tore through her body and she fell limply to the stairs. She pulled out the talisman. Two stones, she saw, had turned completely black. Time was ticking, and she couldn't afford the luxury of rest.

It wasn't only the Tyrant she was rushing toward, but Sennar, too. For an instant, his image blended with the horrifying scene of the laboratory, though she immediately pushed the thought aside. She had to get back up, to keep moving. She rose to her feet, wrestling with each breath as if yanking it from the air.

Then, at last, she reached the room. For a moment, she rested, her heart pounding in her chest. She could sense a presence nearby. There was someone there. Aster.

Nihal glanced around. The room was immense, with a grand, vaulted ceiling. Columns wide enough for three men to wrap around them, their arms outstretched, divided the room into five naves. There were no decorations, no statues or bas-reliefs, only the long, bare walls and the imposing grandeur of the arched vault above.

Nihal felt miniscule. One emotion, however, pervaded the entire room, and now she could sense it clearly: despair. A despair too deep for words to express. And then, loneliness. Crushing loneliness.

“Why waste time, now that you're here?”

Nihal felt her heart clench like a fist. It was him. His voice, however, wasn't what she'd expected. Aster had to be old, but what she'd just heard certainly wasn't the voice of an old man. It seemed almost a woman's voice, or the voice of a child. Nihal stood, her sword stretched out before her. She began moving cautiously through the room, her footsteps echoing against the bare walls.

She passed the first two naves and came to the third, central nave, at least thirty feet wide. Darkness shrouded the far end of the room, but he was there, Nihal knew it. As she paced forward, the dark gave way to a faint light, and Nihal could just make out the outline of a towering throne.

“There's no reason to be afraid anymore,” said the voice.

“Aster?” Nihal stopped short. She felt calm now: no more hatred, only fear, a coiling, chilling fear.