The Way of the Power (11 page)

That became most evident with the small but horrible sound that struck Malja’s ears. Even so far from the house, she knew Fawbry’s cry for help. One second later, she launched back to the house. She sprinted with all the strength she could muster after such a long day. She ignored the pain burning in her thigh as she whipped Viper into a ready position.

Bursting through the front door, she found Fawbry bleeding on the staircase, his feet pointed upward, his head lolling by the banister. Skipping steps, she reached him fast. The blood came from a shallow cut across his chest.

“Another one of those trang-gaul from your party,” he said as he tried to right himself.

“Same one, I think. Did it have a white streak painted on its head?”

Fawbry nodded, and Malja tore up the stairs. At the top, she saw Lynoya running her way. Blood streamed down her face and she cradled her arm. The young woman cried with the gusto of a hungry baby.

“Downstairs,” Malja commanded. “Fawbry’ll help you.”

The hallway was empty now, but the sounds of fighting filled the space. She heard the clang of Stray’s scimitars and the grunts of punches connecting with stomachs. Keeping her body low and ready to strike, she moved with swift grace toward the Artisoll’s room.

From the far end of the hall, something large banged against the closed door — Stray’s door. With the house so large, sounds bounced around with ease. Could the fight be happening down there? She listened at the Artisoll’s door, but before she could determine where to expect the threat, Stray’s door smashed into pieces.

Stray threw out a dark carapace covered in blood like a sailor tossing away chum. He rotated and removed both scimitars from another trang-gaul. Neither one was White Streak.

Malja shifted her feet as she turned her attention on the Artisoll’s door. Apparently, White Streak had more than one team of assassins at its disposal. It had waited until Malja checked the landscape, then put the small team against Stray, leaving plenty of time for it to attack the Artisoll unimpeded. As far as the others — White Streak thought little of them.

A malicious grin raised on Malja’s lips. Fawbry and Hirasa both could be good fighters as a team, but not one-on-one, and Lynoya had proven White Streak’s appraisal. But the creature had completely failed when it came to the most dangerous one — Tommy.

Stray rushed over but Malja put out her arm to stop him from barreling into the room. Though she still approached with caution, most of her senses eased back. She pushed the door open.

The Artisoll sat rigid on her bed, her eyes mesmerized by the sight in front of her. Tommy had positioned himself in front of her, legs crossed, all of his attention on his left forearm where a tattoo glowed bright orange. His right arm stuck straight upward. An orange light emanated from his hand like a roaring campfire. Above the hand, pinned to the ceiling, White Streak strained for enough air to scream.

Stray went down on one knee by the Artisoll’s side. Malja stayed in the doorway and watched Tommy.

“All clear out here,” she said.

He snapped his head up, and Malja crouched, ready to strike when White Streak fell. But instead, Tommy closed his right hand. Smokey shadows filled in the orange light. An awful crackling sound rolled out from White Streak as its limbs folded inward in ways they had never been meant to do. The creature’s eyes widened as did its foul-smelling mouth. With a twist of his hand, Tommy finished the spell, and White Streak imploded.

What fell to the floor reminded Malja of cold coals in a dead camp. She had no doubt that should she nudge any part of White Streak, what remained would crumble into dust. Stray proved her thoughts by poking a piece with his scimitar.

The Artisoll leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Tommy, resting her head on his back. Tommy stroked her arm and they sighed. The glow from his tattoo dimmed, and Malja thought she saw the image of a screaming face in the fading lines.

“This is foolish,” Stray said as he slid his scimitar back inside its scabbard. “We left our world to escape from the warring countries, but we’ve been pursued by them anyway. Our time here has been unwelcome by the local people and the Artisoll has never stopped being in danger. I should never have agreed to step through that hole in the sky, that portal, your friend created.”

“Harskill is not a friend.” Malja crossed her arms tight, not out of defiance or anger or anything to do with Stray’s statement. Rather, she did so to hold back her hand from reaching out to Tommy. When he was younger, if he had cast magic to kill, she would console him afterward. She would talk and help him make sense of it all. But the Artisoll appeared to be giving him the warmth he needed.

Stray leveled a cold, paternal glare at Tommy. “It’s time to return.”

“Return?”

“This land is no more secure than Reo-Koll. At least back home, I know the world well. I can predict my enemies and I can plan my security with a greater chance of success. Here — nothing here works well for us. I thank you for you attempt to help, but we will deal with our problems ourselves. Please, take us back at once.”

“You don’t understand. We never go back.”

Stray’s hands instinctively went to his scimitars, but he halted short of pulling them out. “We must go back. If we don’t, that little street fight you interrupted will become all of Reo-Koll. The entire world will drown in the blood of war, and the darkest of ages will begin. All will be lost. We must go back.”

Chapter 10

They all convened in one
of the seven downstairs living rooms. This particular room had three enormous couches and two overstuffed chairs. All of the furniture suffered from neglect — mostly torn fabric and some mold — but they offered comfort far better than the floor. A fireplace occupied one wall, its blackened stone reaching close to the ceiling and wide enough to house two strong fires — though they only built a small one and it had quickly reduced to glowing embers.

Fawbry stretched out on one couch with his head resting on Hirasa’s lap. Lynoya curled up on one of the chairs. Tommy and the Artisoll shared another couch, while Malja took the remaining chair.

Stray stood before the fire, his hands clasped before his mouth as if locked in prayer. “I thought you understood,” he said, his hands bumping against his mustache. “I thought that was why you were trying to help us. Now, I don’t see the logic of your actions.”

“Helping others doesn’t always have a logic behind it.”

“I don’t agree.”

“Perhaps you should explain what it is that I don’t understand.”

“Of course. Sorry.” He paused, gathered his thoughts once more, and nodded to himself. “Every generation gives birth to an Artisoll — a female child that holds all the magic our world can create. The old man that saved me from the life of a street thug was one of the Holy Men — they’re a group tasked with traveling the world to find the Artisoll. Once they locate her, men like me are assigned to protect her, to make sure she lives to reach the day of her Rising. Traditionally, when the Artisoll is of age, she reveals to the Queen which country she will reside in and is taken to the Temple of that country. There, she goes through a ceremony that unlocks all this magic. She becomes the Queen.”

“And the country that has her gains all of that power.”

“Exactly. Over the decades, corruption grew in our countries. Those with wealth, like Dovell, did all they could to transfer the Artisoll to their lands by the time of the Rising. In fact, between Dovell, Ro, and Bechstollan, they have held control over the Queen for nearly a century. Long ago there were great battles for her, but the people of Ro are very smart and they developed a system to peacefully transfer control of the Artisoll between the three countries.”

Hirasa asked, “So, what’s different now?”

“The Queen died. That shouldn’t happen until the Rising. At the Temple, the Queen sacrifices herself, letting loose her final blast of magical energies and that magic is what opens the Artisoll to becoming the next Queen. I suppose, technically speaking, the Artisoll holds most — but not all — of the magic in the world, yet it’s certainly all the magic that will be in the world when she becomes Queen.”

“But the Queen died. Does that mean the Artisoll can’t go through this Rising ceremony?”

Stray’s body slumped a little. “I don’t know. We were taking the Artisoll to see the Holy Men in the Temple at Castle Dovell to ask them precisely that, but then the street battle began.”

Malja frowned. “The one I took you from?”

“Yes. It appears Ro’s peaceful system has now been ignored.”

“The leaders of your rich countries want the rule to themselves. They’re hoping this is the opportunity.”

“Do you understand, then?”

Malja saw it like she saw any battlefield — despite all the variables and possibilities, the way through presented itself clearly. “You need to take the Artisoll back to Reo-Koll and get her to this Rising ceremony. Then, you’re hoping that somehow, even without the Queen, the magic will happen as it always has. Otherwise, your world will fall apart as every country and every group and every hopeful leader will fight ruthlessly until one becomes the bloody dictator. Does that sound like I understand?”

“All too well.”

Fawbry chuckled. “Only Malja could save one little girl and have it lead to the possible downfall of an entire world.” Hirasa playfully smacked his head turning his chuckle into a light groan.

Tommy motioned the creation of a portal, made an angry face, and then shook his head.

“What’s that mean?” Stray asked.

Malja said, “He’s suggesting that this means Harskill is not our enemy this time. That may be inferring too much, but I agree that Harskill is not involved in the way I thought.”

Fawbry leaned on his elbow. “I would think this is exactly what he would do. Remove the source of all magic from Reo-Koll. Wouldn’t that make the place ripe for him to take over?”

“The difference here is that Reo-Koll already has a Gate watching over it — Abrazkia. She and Harskill have a long history, all the way back to their childhoods, but even if that weren’t true, Gate don’t mess with other Gate’s worlds. There’s no reason to do so. Not with all the countless worlds out there.”

“Then why did he get you to take the Artisoll off that world?”

Malja tapped her chin with her fist as she thought. “Abrazkia is a traditional Gate — as far as I can tell what a traditional Gate is. But from the little I saw of her, she certainly follows the same beliefs and goals that I understand Gate to observe. So, her aim is to keep Reo-Koll from developing further. Particularly when it comes to magic. She wants to make sure that the people of that world never figure out how to create portals.”

Fawbry tried to sit up but Hirasa guided him back to her lap. She stroked his hair and said, “I believe Fawbry was about to point out that Harskill likes to create chaos wherever he goes. That was what happened to us.”

Without moving, Lynoya said, “He also likes pretending he’s a god.”

Malja sat forward. “Let’s assume that Harskill’s interest in Reo-Koll has to do with some sort of fight with Abrazkia. If that’s so, then Harskill is counting on us returning. Abrazkia benefits right now from the removal of the Artisoll.”

“How?” Stray asked. “The world is going to war.”

“She doesn’t care about that. In fact, years of war would slow progress in many areas. Especially the more brutal and bloody the war becomes. Her only goal is to prevent you from gaining the ability to create portals. If the Artisoll has all the magic in the world, and she is gone, then your world has no magic. Without magic, no portals. Abrazkia’s job is a success. Harskill’s counter to this would be to keep the Artisoll in play. Because of my actions, his plans got messed up. He was forced to send us all here to protect the world’s magic until things settled down. It’s a gamble because if we never return, then Abrazkia wins. But my guess is that he plans to come back for us himself at some point.”

“Except we saw him taken away as we went through the portal.”

“Presumably. If Abrazkia imprisons him, then he can’t get to us. Assuming she knows how to keep a Gate imprisoned, and since she’s Gate too, I’m guessing that she knows.”

Fawbry flapped his hands about. “You are so stupid sometimes. Though I shouldn’t be surprised. If it isn’t about the best way to dismember an enemy, you’re pretty much blind.”

“What did I miss?”

“You really think it’s a coincidence that Harskill brought you to Abrazkia’s world at the same time that they are caught up in this political/magic crisis? I don’t know why he wants to bother with her, but if this isn’t a calculated move, then you can cut off the only hand I’ve got.”

Malja went right over to Stray. “It appears that I’ve made a mess of things for you. I truly only wanted to help. I’m sorry.” Before Stray could answer, she knelt before the Artisoll. “I vow to you that I will do all I can not only to return you to your world, but to help fix the problems that have been created. I give you my word.”

The Artisoll placed her hand on Malja’s head. A strange sensation passed from her fingers into Malja. Magic? It gave Malja pause — was she making this vow of her own volition, or had the Artisoll manipulated her emotions, her thoughts, her words?