19

If lesser gods had cause to fear Sherazedan, the shades were utterly terrified; shrinking as far as they could in Lerendar's mind without leaving him. The court mage stood with staff in hand, seething impatiently; silver hair tipped with sparks, and pale eyes flaring. There was nothing of rescue or hope in that tense, icy stare.

"Come forth," he ordered, in a voice that flattened the ocean and plowed aside cloud banks. Puppet-like, Lerendar, Genevera, Filimar and the court-ball team marched out of their sheltering cave. Found themselves on a broad ledge halfway up a sheer, craggy cliff. Wind screamed past overhead, causing eddies and gusts that plucked at the gathered elves.

Sherazedan's gate looked like a burning hole in the sky. Through it, they saw the wizard and part of a vast, ruined city. Karellon.

Sherazedan gestured with one ringed hand, causing Nalderick's sleeping body to rise up out of Marlie's arms. Reflexively, the young athlete tried to grab for his drifting emperor. No good. A brief wave of Sherazedan's staff sent Marlie hurtling backward into the cliff face. He struck with an egg-like crack, then slid to his knees and pitched forward. Sherlon rushed to his fallen teammate, coming between Marlie and the wizard, but Sherazedan's attention had already turned to another. With Nalderick secured, he next looked hard at Genevera, snapping,

"Come."

The princess fought him. Gritting her teeth and digging her heels in, she battled like one of Titania's cats to resist that inexorable pull.

"No!" she yelled. "You could have helped, any time! You let Dickie get hurt! You let people die! NO!"

Filimar started forward, as did Prince Andorin, who had summoned the courage to show himself. Genevera reached for them, but couldn't halt her own jerky, wind-up doll walk. As she passed through the gateway, Sherazedan bent his hard gaze upon Filimar.

"You, as well," he commanded.

A minor lordling… protector of only a small, nothing town… Filimar had no right at all to speak, much less object. Yet,

"Your Highness," he pled, "your apprentice, my friend is still down there, and the sorceress may not be dead. Please, I…"

"You, as well," snapped Sherazedan, using magic to force young Filimar in through the shimmering gate. He cast a brief, scornful glance at the others, then, saying,

"The time has come 'round at last. Darkness shall waken and shift, freeing my brother, Lord Oberyn. Hide or flee as you will. It matters not. There is no safety for mice on a burning ship."

Genevera had pulled something out of a faerie pocket; a pearl-topped hair comb. She threw it with all her might at Andorin, who still controlled Lerendar. He/ they caught the tumbling ornament, as Genevera shouted,

"It's a pearl, just like the song! You have to return it, Prince! We have to find each…"

And then, the gate vanished away, leaving Lerendar alone with his haunts and a battered court-ball team. Out in the sunshine, over a rumbling sea.

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Far… very far, down below, Valerian hit the stone floor, crouched briefly, then rose. Frostbite in hand, he flowed into a ready stance, facing the Mother.

All that was trapped in this plane of that dark goddess rounded to face him. Forming a skull-topped pillar of smoke, she hissed,

"You would fight me in the service of Chaos, sweet child? Cause unbearable strain on the shortest day, here at the root of the world?" She swayed hypnotically as she spoke, the hollows of her eyes flaring with violet light. "Win or lose, there is no escape for either of us, pretty boy. We serve to end time, at the behest of another."

Val shook his head stubbornly.

"I do not serve Chaos," he insisted. "I am a servant of fire. Of the Lord of Battles himself, if he accepts me."

"Very well. You cannot be dealt with, nor turned from your course. So be it, then," whispered that pallid skull. "Let us end the world, you and I."

With a sudden, roared spell, the Mother began summoning bits of all that had perished in darkness. Calling this shriveled corpse and that dead thing; armoring herself in fallen great beasts and smashed giants. Took the form of a massive dead hydra, studded with jerking limbs and crazed, snapping heads. Breathing poison and ice, she grew to fill the whole cavern, forcing Valerian back outside through the arch.

He had a moment or two to see Gildyr, Salem and Pretty One (who'd been wounded unto her death). Had less than a heartbeat to betray his father; hauling the final life-scroll and bottle of potion out of their pocket, throwing them both at the Tabaxi.

"Run!" he called to her. "Anywhere safe, just go!"

Then the arch shattered behind him, exploding into a cloud of dagger-like shreds. Slow Time let him use fire to melt the horde of blades that would have pierced Gildyr. Last-magic cast a protective shield over Salem, Cap'n and the injured girl.

Something dark and fluid was bulging in through the space that the arch had defined. Bodies… the slaughtered goblins, Orrin and Kalisandra… rose from the glassy black floor. Moving like trickling mud, they advanced in numbers too great to battle or count; drawing closer, encircling Valerian, Gildyr and Salem, while the Mother poured herself through the broken portal.

He could have struck, then; crippling, maybe killing Her outright. Only, something felt wrong about all of this. He was being pushed. Aimed and hurled like a spear.

Val drew his dagger. Heated its blade with a thought. Saw in his mind's eye the sigil burnt and carved into the flesh of his grandfather's chest.

As a very young child he'd said to Galadin, there on the deck of the ship,

"I want one, too!"

Hadn't understood, then, why his grandfather smiled and shook his head, saying,

"It is my dearest wish that it never comes to that, Short-stuff."

It had, though. It had very much come to that, here on the briefest of days. Valerian plunged the dagger through armor and cloth, down into his chest. Not to the heart. Not that deep, but enough to carve what he'd seen and remembered, gritting his teeth through the searing pain. Aloud, he said,

"Shining One, I offer myself as a sacrifice. Take up your sword, Lord of Battles. Hasten the Dawn."

Firelord answered, and he came not alone. Frost Maiden flowed into Sandy's burnt shell; healing wounds, bringing life and shielding the hunted. There was no journeyman mage or wandering ranger, now. This was a battle of gods, in which mortals were ants on the floor.

Firelord's presence filled his servant with power, making Valerian glow; his outline leaping and blurring like flame. The god didn't take over, though.

'I am here,' he said in Val's mind, 'but this battle is yours. When gods go to war, time ends and worlds crumble. Think, son of Keldaran. What is your purpose?'

Right. Purpose. If he fought the Mother now, at the very apex of Chaos, then win or lose, he'd be feeding the darkness. Doing exactly what someone… Sherazedan, probably… intended.

"But, why would he want that?" Val demanded, sorting through spells. Reflexively bisecting a lumbering corpse, he asked, "What would a court mage get by waking up Chaos?"

'Who would he get, rather. Who would be freed from long stasis?'

"Lord Oberyn?" guessed Val, adding, "And all it'll cost is everything… for us. Dawn will return, all right. On top of our ashes."

'And all of the gods will be one,' said the Lord of Battles, 'beginning time's cycle anew.'

By this point, most of that snapping and screeching horror had oozed its way into the chamber of Hungering Dark. Val had not yet attacked her. No divine blood had been shed.

Think, he urged himself. Not fighting. Not battle. What else could he do, without tipping the balance to Chaos?