32

The two elves slammed together. They stood back-to-back instinctively, as one after another a horde of lumbering, half-finished constructs dropped to surround them. Over fifty attackers crashed to the snowy mountain peak from the airship that hovered above. Hurriedly made and rough, most of them, but still very dangerous, armed with nail-studded boards, sections of torn copper pipe or sharp railing.

…and he’d been a fool to expect loyalty from a sentient pirate ship. Dark Cloud wouldn’t respond to command, having switched captains on the way over. Miche reignited his energy blade, while Erron switched to full elven battle-array. The assault was a sudden rush of mechanical ghost-folk, unable to die and lusting for battle. They struck with crude weapons, piercing rays and… when they got close enough… chill-touch. Sheer numbers gave them an edge, but also caused the constructs to get in each other’s way.

Miche summoned a shield spell over himself and Erron, blocking most of the beam weapons. After that it was down to sheer hack-slashery, with occasional kicks, grunted curses and firebolts breaking things up.

Erron scraped and thudded against Miche’s back like a bulwark. A wall; fighting his own battle on the opposite side. The ground underfoot grew slippery with melted ice, spilt oil and blood, but Miche maintained his footing, managing to beat back attack from three sides. Once, a crackling ray got through his shielding, piercing the elf’s spell hand. Sliced through two bones and a tendon, leaving the fingers immobile. He cried out in shock and surprise, but hadn’t the time or manna to spare, healing up.

Instead, he drove his sword to the hilt in an onrushing mechanical pirate. Steam, sparks and melted glass erupted as Miche kicked the impaled construct free and then whirled to face the next comer. It was a burly, wood-brass-and-glass dwarf with a beard of bristling copper wire and twin lightbulb eyes.

Using his injured spell-hand, Miche sketched power-drain (a spur-of-the-moment tweak). Focused its action on the dwarf, as that broad, stubby construct came at him swinging a crudely made axe. Instantly, weird crackling manna surged from the dwarf-bot to Miche’s energy blade. The sword’s light shifted color from white to painfully ultra-violet. Then its blade launched itself like a spear, repeatedly. Ten times the sword lanced out a deadly, hissing volley. The dwarf-construct collapsed with a clatter of shredded armor and springs, riddled with char-holes. That was another, down.

Then the bruising, stunning impact of a belaying pin dropped from above turned the world into sudden bright lights and mocking laughter.

“Alive!” shouted the mutineer’s captain. “I want them alive and whole, you worthless drek midden-spawn!”

She’d have gotten her wish, except that three realities clicked a bit closer together just then. It wasn’t a perfect alignment. Not yet, but all at once something new flowed into Miche. A gust of divine power, like that of the ocean. And just like that, no blow could harm him, no gold-foil construct pose any threat, at all.

Miche was healed on the instant, tingling with manna down to the ends of his hair and his fingertips. Saw complexly; everything at once from all sides and within, as he had in the Gottshan dockyard, through Firelord. That sparked a thought.

Miche used a wisp of that sudden power healing and strengthening Erron. A tiny bit more, restoring Rainbow Bridge to full power, and waking the station above. Next, he created a shockwave to blow Dark Cloud and its mutinous crew over the western horizon, right at the slowly advancing light-wall. The pirate ship tumbled off like a leaf in a cyclone, shedding bits as it went. Somebody else’s problem, now. Great as they were, those doings left him with a tremendous excess of manna, which he shunted to Firelord.

There was some commotion, then. His thundering shockwave echoed and boomed off the mountain, shattering glaciers and windows, and triggering landslides. Rainbow Bridge and its cable hummed like a very bass harp string. The distant light-wall flared brightly enough to be seen in full daytime, hopefully burping a ship and a whole crew of murderous ghosts. Next, three small dots appeared in the sky, turning fast into soaring air-sleds, bringing back those he’d banished, earlier.

Firelord stepped free of Miche. The god was completely transformed; once again tall and powerful, shining with glory, courage and light.

“Borrowed strength,” he said, in a whisper loud enough to crack stone. “You might have kept it yourself, Child of the North.”

Well, yes. Maybe, but…

“What would I do with all that but cause trouble, my Lord?” he asked, honestly. “I seem to excel at taking a bad situation and making it worse.”

“I don’t know,” remarked Erron, admiring his improved armor and weapons. “I’m pretty satisfied… and I feel a lot better risking my hide on that wretched lift, now.”

Rainbow Bridge did look safer; much less corroded and rickety than it had been. More… and it was a stupid thing to get emotional about… his red cloak was clean and whole for the first time since he’d emerged from the stone, and... Miche looked up at the blazing god, whose light made the snow seem to burn. As three sleds swooped in for a landing, he said,

“I remember, Shining One. All that happened. Why I am here… who I was.”

“Was?” probed Firelord, as much from within as outside of the elf. “You still do not wish to claim Valerian?”

He thought of exterminated goblins, a terrible battle, his father’s head, of Lerendar broken and limping. Recalled letting the stone vault take him, along with the Mother and Firelord. Then, shaking his head, the elf replied,

“Valerian Tarandahl died there, to all who knew him or cared, Shining One. For all these months since awakening, I have had to work out who I am, with the help of a sister, a friend, and my god.”

By this time, Marget had leapt off her ticking and settling air-sled. Scowling at Firelord’s growth, the orc first bowed and then stomped over, kicking broken construct bits noisily out of her path. Glass-cat, Brass Monkey, and Zak followed closely behind her. Not Nameless. The marten bounded joyfully over to swarm up Miche’s cloak and perch on his shoulder. Nipped him, hard, which he deserved.

Marget ignored all of that. She poured a handful of gems and coins at Firelord’s glowing feet, saying,

“We bring you victory, and we are grateful, Battle-god.” The transformed orc was still big and ungainly, but better than she had been. Firelord immolated her offerings, hauling them in and accepting the worship.

“Receive your true form, warrior,” commanded the god, reverting her back to good, solid orc… except for that construct left arm. “The prosthesis contains strengths that you will require, soon,” explained Firelord. “But know that… should your attention flag… the limb can be controlled by your enemy.”

Marget growled, low-pitched and savage.

“Let her try, Battle-god. I will reach through this arm to strangle her with the one that she stole from me!”

A boast that seemed to please Firelord. He smiled, then glanced at Nameless, saying,

“I would restore this little one, as well, but his mind has been stripped to that of a very intelligent animal. He cleaves to you still, Child of the north, and his name was Gildyr.”

Miche, once Val, scooped the marten off of his shoulder and into the crook of one arm. He stared at that black-masked small face, with its bright red eyes and twitching nose.

“Gildyr,” he repeated. “I thank you for saving my life and my sanity in this place… and for being a better friend than I have ever deserved.”

The marten just stretched, yawned, then curled itself up and started to snore. Firelord wasn’t finished, though. Turning his attention next to Glass-cat, the god said,

“Salem of Distant Sands Oasis, your memory is gone, but your mind has been shielded by the Dark Cloud’s curse. I am able to restore your original form, and that of the noble beast…”

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The big metal simian pant-hooted wildly, causing Firelord to smile again.

“Very well,” said the last god. “Almost your original form.”

The two of them altered before Firelord finished speaking, becoming a sleek black female tabaxi and a massive, golden-furred ape. The tabaxi lashed her long, fluffy tail, smoothing the pelt of her left shoulder with an anxious rough tongue.

Miche crossed to stand before her. At a loss for words, he just opened his arms to embrace the tabaxi.

“I can tell you,” he said to her, “everything you told me about Distant Sands Oasis and your family there. I remember your tales, Lady Salem.”

She licked her nose, then his cheek.

“I would like that, Mrowr. You have sent her-whom-I-hate far away. Perhaps in your telling will be the reason that she and I became enemies.”

Meanwhile, Firelord had bent his glowing-hot stare onto Erron.

“And you?” asked the god. “What would you have of me, General?”

The dark-haired elf considered.

“I won’t ask for courage. That has to come from within. Strength is more from companions than myself… but I’ll ask for good luck in the coming battle, and a way to find Hana and my children, Great Lord. Just that.”

“Well spoken,” said the god, approvingly. He was fading already, having placed a boon of divine favor on Erron (who didn’t feel any different, at first). In the meantime, Miche had made his way over to Marget, and a difficult admission. There, very simply, the elf said,

“I was wrong to send you away, and I apologize for my foolishness. You have every right to end our friendship and scrape away all my tattoos… but I hope you will not. I would like the chance to re-earn them.”

Marget snorted impatiently.

“Anyone who expects good sense from a male is filled with delusions and moonshine. A fool you were and remain… Vrol.”

She leaned forward to rub her forehead on his, briefly, settling things in the forceful manner of orcs.

“Also,” she added, pointing with her chin, “your tattoos are floating, now.”

Which was true. After Firelord’s healing and blessing, the carved patterns seemed to hover just over his clothing and flesh. They moved, as well, portraying bits of the battles Meg had carved into his skin. His hair was pale golden again. Miche pushed a lock of the stuff out of his face. He had more to say, and it was important.

“There will be fighting above,” he told her, glancing up at the sparkling dot that lay at the far end of Rainbow Bridge. “You can plot your next artwork on our way across.”

He had never been very good at loving anyone; always pushing them aside rather than taking a risk with their life… but even an elf-lord could change.

“I will need help in the battle, Meg. I ask that you come with me and Erron… and anyone else who wants to pitch in.”

“He needs all the help he can get,” cut in Erron, striding over to meet the orc in his own restored body. “I can only do so much with this walking catastrophe.”

“I will go up to this sky-station and with you do battle,” said Marget, after clasping Lord Erron’s shoulder.

All this time, the pirate ship’s other construct had hung back, under the shade of a Rainbow Bridge girder.

“I need nothing from anyone,” muttered Zak. “No living body and no former memories. I am here to see this thing through to the end. That’s all.”

Firelord left him alone, merely adding some manna and improving the construct’s weaponry. Got thanked for none of it.

Very shortly thereafter, with provisions caged from the shrine, the party went to that big metal space elevator. Firelord had once again retreated into his follower’s heart, causing Miche to shimmer and spark like a heat mirage. Nameless… Gildyr… rode alertly on the elf’s right shoulder, clinging tight to his red cloak.

Miche led the way. He went to the hatch first, passing under a lacy neutronium gantry. A broad, inset red stripe led across the pour-stone floor and up to the elevator pod. The day had advanced to a bright and chilly afternoon by that point. The risen sun cast long slanting shadows over jagged rock and pale ice.

Miche was an elf once again, triggering all the right sensors. The elevator cab’s hatch opened for him directly. Before, the hatch had been pasted stiff with corrosion, cobwebs and birds’ nests. Cleansed now, its doors slid apart with a gentle hum and a whoosh.

Miche stepped cautiously through, trying not to clutch at his sword hilt too visibly. Was acutely aware of the marten on his right shoulder; Marget, Erron, Salem and Zak, close behind. Had an urge… just for a moment… to fling No-longer-Nameless at the others, dart inside and then slam the hatch in their faces. Knew he could go on up by himself…

And then die, because he couldn’t do this alone. Valerian hadn’t managed, and neither could the wandering elf he’d become. The impulse passed, though he guessed from Gildyr’s clawed grip and Marget’s crowding that his companions had sensed the drift of his thoughts. Miche glanced back to see four implacable faces and one hideous, rippling monkey-tattoo. Perversely, he found that amusing.

“What?” Miche protested, managing to sound injured. “I’ve changed.” Some. If not pushed very far.

They did not seem convinced. Just followed the young elf through a small double hatchway and into the circular, mithral-and-glass elevator cab. It was a splendid sight. Some hundred feet in diameter, with snowflake patterned upholstery and deep-blue carpeting, the luxurious cab contained a ring of cushioned seats, a food-maker and plentiful alcohol. Bland, tinkling music began as soon as they crossed the threshold. Wall panels lit up with sigils of welcome, flashing images of Aerie Station, above. A strangely peppy, bright voice came from tiny grilles on the ceiling and walls.

“Welcome, honored travelers!” It enthused. “Rainbow Bridge-Prime will soon depart the Lone Mountain. Please enjoy the panoramic vista and partake in gold-star refreshment, as your cabin prepares for departure!”

And the view was certainly breathtaking. Had to be transmitted, because the cab’s windows displayed the entire mountainside, the shrine, a sparkling glacier and the sunlit plain down below. Lone Mountain’s long purple shadow stabbed westward, in the direction of that seething, glittering data-wall.

“I don’t think that we’ll get more than one chance at this,” murmured Erron, coming to stand by his friend at the west-facing window. “Better take our seats and get started, Michetin.”

The younger elf nodded.

“There is much here worth saving,” he admitted, turning to follow Erron across the floor to a launch seat. “This time, once and for all.”

“Please take your seats, Honored Travelers,” the elevator prattled, as everyone settled in and strapped down. Mostly. Erron refused to be bound, ever again. He just sat on his buckled safety restraints, looking stubborn. “Please enjoy a final cold beverage or a tasty snack and then be seated for a ride to the skies on Rainbow Bridge!”

The accent was strange, with much Erron-style slurring of vowels and dropped consonants, but Miche understood and followed instructions. He made himself not think about anything much but the view, his drink-globe and what he might find at the upcoming shrine. Thoughts of Seralfea and the baby could do nothing but weaken him, then. Wanted… so much… to see her. Had to set that aside. Box it up out of the way, where it couldn’t slow or distract him.

“Please attend to small children first. Be certain that all limbs are comfortably placed on your seats, Honored Travelers,” burbled the elevator. “We will depart shortly for Aerie Station. Enjoy your ride as you challenge the skies aboard Rainbow Bridge!”

To his embarrassment, Miche found himself nodding agreement and thanking a construct-voice. It was a machine spirit of some kind that most likely cared not at all for polite response… and maybe no one else noticed.

Their launch seats reclined into couches, but Erron hadn’t stretched himself properly on his. The dark-haired elf was more crouching than anything else, not at all restrained by his straps. Miche didn’t comment or demand a safer position. Through Erron’s time in his head, he, too, had been bound and tormented long past the breaking point. He understood. Kept the secret. Looked elsewhere.

What had been a low, whining hum turned into a rumbling roar. Outside, giant gantry clamps fell away. Snow puffed into vapor as the elevator pod began to rise on its cable like a droplet slipping along a spiderweb strand, except upward. All at once, the cab’s passengers were smashed down into their seats, as Rainbow Bridge shot away, seemingly faster than wind or thought.

Salem yowled like a wet, angry cat. Zak’s metal fingers dented the frame of his seat. Marget and Erron fought to out-curse each other. The marten growled, burrowing deeper into Miche’s cloak. The elf just stared, too awed for gestures or speech. Before, he’d flown through a storm as high as he dared, to a place where only magic kept him alive. Rainbow Bridge soared higher, its ring of overhead windows displaying their goal. Aerie Station was no more than a glimmering dot, at first. After a quarter candle-mark, it had grown to a fist-sized rock, then a long, lumpy moonlet of glass, metal and stone; hollow and pieced through with machines.

All of the blue trickled out of the sky as the passengers watched. Soon the heavens turned dense, indescribable black, somehow still sunlit, with no stars at all.

The sun shone blistering blue-white, causing the windows to darken. A sense of flight-pressure eased, as they were suddenly freed of their weight. Miche had always wanted to fly on a griffin, which surely felt something like this. Now the wall-screens switched to a view of the world below, showing the Lone Mountain as it shrank from a mighty peak to a button.

They were three-quarters of the way to Aerie Station, with the elevator cab flashing adverts and disembarkation advice.

“Please be sure to collect all belongings, and take small children by the hand,” it advised, merrily. All went well until, with a sudden, apocalyptic jolt, something enormous struck the cable above them. The elevator cab rang like a gong. Erron was hurled from his seat, while the others were flung violently back-and-forth against their straps. Alarm klaxons shrilled. Power flickered, went out and then came back again, most everything diverted to shielding. Glimpsed through the overhead windows, something enormous and spiderlike was crawling down the cable toward them. The elevator cab lurched to a halt.

“Please stand by until service resumes,” announced their machine attendant, in a stretched and slowed voice. “Weeee regrrrrrret…. theeeee…. incoooonveeeniennnce.”

Miche didn’t bother unstrapping. Burnt through his seat restraints with a snarled spell. Erron had armored up, clinging to a wall brace, staring at the mechanical thing that was crawling their way.

“If it thinks to saw through that cable, we’re dead,” said the elf-lord, flatly.

“Maybe not, if I can keep the cab aloft… but I have never tried lifting so much weight, before,” replied his young friend, using magic to stand on the swaying, juddering floor. Zak, Marget and Salem made their way over, armed and determined.

“Take the fight to the enemy, as the 23rd Epic advises,” said Erron, grinning savagely. Then, “Anyone feel like an outing?”