Chapter 33

Akh-tazi, Neron

The black moon loomed too large, too close. Shedara knew it was wrong—as a moon-thief, she'd called on all three moons for her spells and could see Nuvis as well as any evil mage. It was the nearest and smallest of the three—the pupil, when they all conjoined to form a staring eye. But the disc that hung overhead tonight was huge, easily three or four times its normal size. And she had never seen it shed so much light—certainly it had never before been visible to non-wizards.

She had no doubt that this phenomenon was because of Maladar. Had it been like this during his reign, back in the heights of Aurim? No wonder his power, and his people's suffering, had been so great: he'd found a way to call down not just the black moon's power, but the black moon itself. Evil throbbed in the air.

She looked to the top of the stair, so long and steep her legs had begun to burn only halfway up. Maladar's sickly-pale light shimmered and wavered: he knew they were here. The Maws were destroyed. Nothing stood between them now. She thought she could sense something new from the temple's roof. Doubt? No.

It was fear.

Beside her, Eldako stumbled, his bad leg giving out. She grabbed him—a broken neck waiting to happen—and with her other hand seized a vine that clung to the stones. They hung there like that, together, then she hauled him back to her.

"Easy," she said. "We don't want to lose you."

But I'm going to, soon, she thought. He was beginning to succumb to his many wounds. They had both known, when they set up from Ke-cha-yat, that he would not return from this quest. The full truth of that hit her only now.

But I love him, she thought. In the old tales, that would be enough for a miracle. Yet there were other old tales, tragedies, ending in woe and death for all.

Up they climbed, Eldako leaning on her, breathing hard, fading. She looked up toward the others, wanting to call out for them to slow down, but she didn't have the breath. Hult and Forlo had charged on ahead, almost to the top now. They wouldn't have waited anyway. Desperation drove Forlo. Death might have stopped him, but not much else. As she watched, he leaped up to the top of the flight.

"Starlight!" he cried.

"Barreth, no!" screamed a woman's voice, one Shedara barely recognized. Suffering had broken it, making it old and shrill.

There was a white flash, so bright that, for a moment, Shedara couldn't see anything else. She shut her eyes with a curse, bright blotches of color bursting against her eyelids, then willed herself to open them again. Looking up, she expected Forlo and Hult to be gone, burned to ashes. The Brethren were powerful sorcerers.

Her two companions were still there, though, still whole and unhurt—albeit frozen where they stood, held in mid stride by a swirling storm of magic. She thought furiously, delving into her own mind and trying to find the incantation to counter the spell. In time she gave up: she just didn't have it.

The cruelty of the Faceless hit her then. They'd wanted Forlo to reach the top. They wanted him to watch what happened next… what they did to his wife… what became of his child. Only when it was over would they kill him.

That Hult still lived was more of a surprise—but then, the same spell had trapped them both. They could slaughter him, too, at their leisure.

"Where are the others?" rasped an awful, grating voice. It had to be the Master, the Brethren's leader. Just the sound of him made Shedara's spine hurt. "The shadows said there were elves with you, a pair of them. Where are they?"

Shedara crouched lower, pulling Eldako down. Be smart, she thought, staring at Forlo. Lie. Say we're dead—the Maws killed us, or the Vaka.

It wasn't Forlo who betrayed them, though. Nor was it Hult. Instead, it was a booming voice, the voice of a man from whom even the tiniest slivers of humanity had been stripped away. She had heard it before, in the caves beneath Coldhope.

"They are near," said Maladar the Faceless. "They wait on the stairs, to see what happens next."

Shedara glared up at the flickering, dead glow. Hate smoldered in her heart.

"Ah, of course," the Master replied. "Then let us show them."

There was another flash, and Hult collapsed. There was no warning, nothing they could do. He just crumpled without making a sound. Dead? Alive? Shedara couldn't tell. Eldako made a growling noise, deep in his throat. She laid a hand on his wrist as he edged up another step.

"Don't," she warned. "It's what they want. You can't help him now, either way—"

Her voice broke. Of all the others, the Uigan had been most distant from her. But to see him fall like this, after such a long, brave journey, broke her heart every bit as much as when she'd thought Eldako slain by the dragon.

"If they have killed him," Eldako murmured, his face blank with cold hate, "they will know regret."

Shedara nodded, then looked up again at Forlo still frozen and Hult a huddled shadow against the stars. The Brethren wouldn't do the same to Forlo—the more she thought about it, the more she understood his importance here. His anger at what they were going to do to his wife and son would catalyze Maladar's magic, make the black moon's power even stronger. She bared her teeth, angry for not thinking of it sooner.

If Forlo hadn't come… .

She shook her head, dismissing the thought. It would have been easier to hold back the tides than to keep him from this place.

"Our turn now!" she called loudly. "Do you hear me, Maladar? We're at the game's end, and we have one move left. But you don't know what it is, do you?"

"It matters not," boomed the Faceless Emperor. "Whatever you do, I will counter it. I promise I will make your deaths quick."

She laughed back, mocking him, knowing it would infuriate him. "Promise? What good is the word of the lord of lies, a man who killed entire cities out of spite? I'll cut my own throat before I throw myself on your mercy."

"Well said," Maladar replied, laughing now. The sound seemed to rime the air with frost. "A fine idea. Perhaps I will make you cut your own throat, when all this is done. It would be a fitting end for you, elf. You can use a piece of the Hooded One to do it. Obsidian is sharper than the finest dwarf steel, after all.

"But as you say, this is the endgame. Make your move—but do it quickly. Your time is running out, for when Nuvis is at its height, my hour shall have come."

All was silent then, except for Forlo's desperate grunts as he tried to free himself from the Brethren's spell—and the faint, soft sound of Essana weeping. That noise, more than anything—even what they'd done to Hult—set Shedara's will. She turned to Eldako, saw the same look in his eyes that must be in her own.

"I have a spell," she whispered. "It will protect you from their magic—but not for long."

"Long enough for one arrow?" he asked.

She nodded. "Can you make the shot? As you are?"

"I think so. Isn't that why I'm here?" he said wryly. His good eye caught Nuvis's light, shining.

Shedara swallowed. "All right, then."

The power of the silver and red moons was sluggish. It wouldn't be enough. But there was more than enough magic in the air. Her eyes flicked to the heavens, then she shut them and started drawing down from Nuvis.

The magic sickened her, coursing through her veins like poison. She'd used the black moon's power before, and it was never a comfortable feeling, but it was much worse now, as if Maladar's own presence made Nuvis even more foul. Perhaps it did.

Inky threads trailed from her fingertips, drifting to spool around and around Eldako. He shuddered as they touched him, their dark power causing him physical pain. But this was needed. As she chanted the words to seal the spell, Shedara hoped it would be enough to resist the Brethren. There wouldn't be a second chance.

At last the spell ended. The threads broke away from her, and her hands fell still. The queasiness lingered, like nausea after a bad meal. She fought the urge to retch, swallowing it down instead. Eldako watched her, his body enmeshed in magic, and there was sympathy on what remained on his face.

I must look like the Abyss, she thought, if he's pitying me.

Slowly, the threads wove themselves into his red, puckered flesh. He shuddered, his good eye rolling over white—then recovered again. He looked no different than before the spell—but he was smiling now, breathing easier than he had in days.

"I can feel it working in me," he said, and fitted the arrow onto his bow. "I'm ready."

She nodded. "Come on."

They climbed, up toward where Forlo stood, still frozen… and where Hult lay. She could see now that the Uigan wasn't dead—he was beginning to stir a little, groaning—and she offered a silent word of thanks to Jijin, the riders' god. Then she was up on the temple's pinnacle beside them, Eldako rising up behind her.

Three of the Brethren remained. One held his hands outstretched, weaving back and forth, fingers dancing—spinning the magic that kept Forlo still. Another was pulling Nuvis's power in, ready to cast another spell. This was the one who had struck down Hult. The third stood back, watching, and Shedara knew he was the leader of the cult. The Master.

Behind them, Essana lay upon the altar. A fourth man stood over her with a blade in his hand. Seeing his face, Shedara had to blink: he looked just like Forlo, but twenty years younger. Was this his son? But he was all grown… .

And there, floating above the scene, lashed to the Hooded One by ropes of silver light, was Maladar. His ghost had grown in size and power. He looked more real—more solid. His eyes gleamed with vicious joy amid the skinless ruin of his face.

The one who weaved the holding spell spotted her and Eldako. He gathered the energies he wielded into one hand, freeing the other to point at the elves.

"Cover your eyes!" Shedara cried, shutting her own. "Don't look—"

A blaze of light silenced her. She hoped Eldako had protected himself in time. No magic in the world could help him make his shot if he were blind. She looked again, feeling the sting, and was unsurprised to find she couldn't move any other part of her body. She could blink, and breathe, and swallow. That was it—every other muscle refused to budge. The paralyzing spell had hold of her.

Dear gods, she thought, let this work.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eldako step forward and raise his bow, nocking his lone arrow and pulling it back. His arm shook from the weight of the draw. As he did, the other Faceless pointed a long finger at him and spoke a sharp word. There was a roar of thunder, and an arc of blue lightning leaped away from the sorcerer. It was a blast powerful enough to blow Eldako right off the temple roof—but Shedara's enchantment flared to life as it struck, blazing around Eldako and absorbing the shock. The lightning bolt burst into a shower of harmless sparks.

The Brethren stared, horrified. "Master…" stammered the one who'd thrown the lightning.

Eldako loosed.

The arrow flashed across the distance to the Brethren in a heartbeat, to strike the one who cast the holding spells. It hit him square in the eye.

"Speaker!" cried the lightning-thrower, reaching out. But it was too late. The head of the one called the Speaker snapped back, so that the feathered shaft stuck straight up in the air. His arms flew wide, the strands of his spells leaping from his hands and fading to mist. Without a sound, he toppled over backward, dead.

Eldako let his bow drop. He collapsed. The lightning-thrower—the Slayer—stepped back, alarmed, as the holding spell dissipated. Shedara caught her breath, stifled a groan. Every muscle in her body felt cramped, but she could move again.

So could Forlo. With a shout of inchoate rage, he leaped forward, sword held high. He charged straight toward his wife, but the Slayer moved to block his way. The sorcerer raised a hand, muttering spidery words to summon another lightning bolt. Forlo had no protection cast upon him. The lightning would strike before he could get near anything. He would die within sight of his wife.

A knife dropped out of Shedara's wrist-sheath, into her waiting hand. Pinching its blade, she cocked her arm back and threw. The blade whizzed through the air and struck the Slayer—not a killing blow, nor even one that did much harm. But it clipped the Faceless on the shoulder, throwing him off-balance. He flung out his arms to steady himself—and lost control of the lightning spell before he could cast it. Black mist floated away from him, Nuvis's power dissipating.

"Bitch!" the Slayer shouted at her.

Shedara smiled. "Damn right."

The Slayer drew a long, curved blade from his belt, raising it in time to block Forlo's first sword stroke. Shedara could tell right away he wasn't a proper warrior, though, and Forlo knew it too. Laying on with all his stored-up anger and frustration, he swept aside the dagger that had murdered countless cha'asii, then spun his sword in a tight arc and took the Slayer's arm off at the elbow. The Faceless screamed, a sound that trailed away into a choking gurgle as Forlo rammed his sword deep into his stomach. Blood burst everywhere, and the Slayer fell.

Forlo pulled out his sword—

And found himself face-to-face with the Master.

"It ends here," said the lord of the Brethren.

A bony hand reached out, touching Forlo's brow. There was a gentleness to the motion, but Forlo shrieked in pain and fell to his knees. He stayed there a moment, trying to resist, then collapsed into a twitching, howling heap.

Shedara started toward him, but the Master raised a hand without even glancing at her, and strands of spiderweb flew like white, fluttering bats, binding her to the temple's roof. Furious, she tried to pull free, but couldn't. The gossamer was as strong as steel, holding her fast. She swore, trapped by the simplest of spells.

"Now," said the Master, his eyes still fixed on Forlo, who huddled at his feet, weeping and thrashing in agony amidst the growing pool of the Slayer's blood. "You will watch, my friend. Soon Nuvis will be at its greatest height. Do you see your child there? He is the Taker, the vessel, foretold by prophecy. He will cut your wife… his own mother. Her blood will fuel Maladar's strength, and he will enter the boy's body, crush the soul inside and make the flesh his own, to reign over the world anew. And you… you will watch it all—"

"No!"

The Master turned to look. Shedara did too, and caught her breath. Somehow, miraculously, Eldako was back on his feet, even running now, the threads of the protective spell sparking around him, unraveling fast. The Master pointed, a ray of gray light lancing from his finger.

It hit Eldako full on. His breastplate shattered, his sword crumbling in his hand. But the protective spell held, and though he staggered a little, he kept on coming. The Master rose, stepping back from Forlo, fear in his eyes. Above, Maladar watched, uncaring, as the greatest of his disciples sought to flee.

But there was nowhere to go. Eldako hit the Master hard, knocking the wind out of his body, then grabbing him around the waist and hurtling onward, past the altar, past them all.

Shedara gasped, tears leaping to her eyes. She knew what was about to happen… but the webs still held her fast. She couldn't move. "No!" she shouted.

Yelling a wild merkitsa war cry, still clutching the panicking Master, Eldako leaped off the rooftop.