Chapter 28 – End Game

It was even colder near the crater floor, with the heavy, dank chill you would expect in a tomb. The ground felt so strange, like it should have been mud but was somehow dry, and so frigid that I could feel tiny blisters forming on the soles of my feet. I didn’t turn to see if the Lord of K’hama was following me. I knew he was. He would overtake me, of course, and kill me and seize Pyelthan from me. It wasn’t a matter of if, only when. And I had ceased to care.

But he didn’t catch me. Finally, when I had trudged for what felt like miles, I turned and found he hadn’t even gained on me. That made me nervous. It had to be a trick. Any moment he would appear in front of me with that horrible sword, and that would be that. I hunched my shoulders and plodded on. Another interminable distance slipped by under my stumbling feet, but I couldn’t tell if I had come any closer to the Citadel. I was beginning to despair of ever reaching it. The thirst wore on me the most, more than my hunger, more than the dull fatigue. Just a drop of water… by now I would even have gladly drunk the sludge.

I tripped over nothing and dropped to my knees in a daze. At that moment I had the strangest thought, as if I could see straight through the tiny planet. I bent over my hands and closed my eyes, envisioning, on the other side of the world, the white-walled city of Alcalon. But I didn’t see it as it must have been at that moment, besieged by the Ungulion forces. I saw it in its glory, its towers spiraling up, dazzling under the shimmering blue expanse of Mekaema. With a sigh I lifted my head to the black monstrosity before me.

The Lord of K’hama had called it the Halls of Death. Staring at it protruding from the earth like a bony fist, I believed it. How could I possibly enter there? All in vain. I clutched my head and bowed over my knees, and closed my eyes. Let them take me…

“You wish to go there?”

I jumped at the sibilant voice, then shrank down as if I could somehow hide in that vast space of nothingness. I could see the Ungulion’s robes fluttering near my hand, the metal-clad boots pressed firmly in the fine dust. But the Ungulion stood staring toward the Citadel and not at me. As I studied him the faintest ray of hope woke in my heart.

“I do,” I said – my voice cracked, hoarse from thirst.

“The Lord of K’hama trails you. He drives you.”

“I know.”

“There is only one way into the Citadel.”

“What way?”

Death…I knew he would say death.

“Only an Ungulion may force the door open.”

I sighed. I wondered if I would be able to stand up – limbs, head, and heart all felt like iron weights.

“Then I’m forsaken.”

“Only an Ungulion may force the door open,” he repeated, “and enter there, but prisoners may be borne in.”

I slanted a gaze at him, curious. “Am I to be your prisoner then?”

“Either mine, or the Lord of K’hama’s. And a true prisoner you would be if you wait for him.”

I glanced back at the broad emptiness. This could be a trick too, after all. I would be foolish to believe anything else.

“How do I know I won’t be your true prisoner?”

“You gave Prince Elekeo hope,” he murmured. “I, too, long for hope. I know who you are and why you have come. And I know what you carry.”

“The Lord of K’hama said that only the dead can walk those halls.”

“What you bear will bear you through,” he answered. “Do you trust me?”

I stared at the impenetrable Citadel. “I have no choice.”

“You will trust me, though?” he pressed, uncertain. “Trust me because you believe I, Myno, will bear you in safely, and not simply because you have no other choice?”

I studied him a moment, then nodded.

“I will trust you, Myno.”

He stooped and lifted me, and my senses went blank. In the obscurity of my thoughts I saw Damian’s face, Yatol’s face…fire and swords and fallen warriors. Saw the gates of the city thrown wide, saw death in the streets. Then all went dark, and cold.

“You see,” came the plaintive voice, cutting into my thoughts. “You were not wrong to trust me. I have brought you within, but I can bear you no further.”

I forced my eyes open. At first I couldn’t see anything, then my eyes adjusted, and I found myself standing in a narrow, dim corridor. The close walls lurched up in crude-carved black stone, leaning toward one another as if they would topple over me. The Ungulion stood beside me, steadying me as I regained my senses. When he saw me awake and aware, he began to withdraw.

“But wait!” I cried. “Where am I? Where do I go?”

“He is coming. He will drive you there if you do not find it on your own.”

He turned and fled down the hall before I could stop him. Somewhere I heard an awful grating sound, low and long, like rock grinding against rock. The Ungulion drew his sword, but I didn’t wait to see his fight. I turned around, staring down the passage seething in crimson light.

Only one way to go.

The hall lacerated the black stone, a straight cut through the heart of the rock. I followed it, half-running, half-stumbling. Steps echoed behind me, but I didn’t turn to look. Was there any terror I hadn’t felt yet? This one only – that I was living what I had seen in a dream.

The laceration ended in a sprawling chamber.

Two slivers high in the walls emitted a red glow, two slats of light piercing the hall below. One fell on a high stone slab, the other, on a monstrous throne of roughhewn black. I glanced at it once, to see if it was empty, then stood and stared at the table. Three stone steps led up to it, shallow but wide. I didn’t feel any fear, or grief, or uncertainty, just emptiness, but as I climbed a dragging sense of doom sank over me. I rested my hands on the edge of the slab, and gazed down at the figure lying there.

Every shred of strength failed me at that moment. I burst into tears and tried to embrace him, clinging desperately to his still form.

“Daddy,” I wept, burying my face into his shoulder. “I’m here now. I followed. Please wake up…”

My hand touched his brow, not death-grey and cold, but pale and barely warm. I clung to his dusty hands and shook his shoulders, but he lay unmoving like a living statue. My head dropped onto his chest in anguish. I couldn’t reach him. He was beyond me, and I couldn’t follow.

I heard a soft, muffled thud, twice, three times. Clapping. And behind me came a voice, leering and cold, “Death, you come to death. Perfectly done.”

I straightened up, stared down at the throne below where the Lord of K’hama had taken his seat.

“Dr. Balson,” I said simply. I felt no surprise in that moment when I recognized him, gaunt and grey on the red-hued throne. “You lied. I’m not dead, and I have walked these halls.”

“Not yet. We shall see.” He gestured to the table with one bony finger. “Your father has been watching over my hall, you see, while I have been watching his home.”

“And he isn’t dead either,” I gritted angrily.

“I keep him alive. It suits my purpose.”

He got to his feet, stalking toward me. His gait was taut with an old grace, like an aged cat.

“But one word from me and no more,” he said, studying me with hateful scorn. “I won’t kill him. Maybe you would like that. No, I will make him my second-in-command. Yes, the brave Davhur, a fine captain of the Ungulion force.”

I met his gaze with blank steadiness. “What is it you want? You wouldn’t threaten unless you had something you hoped to gain.”

“Foolish girl,” he spat. “Feign boldness if you will, but you cannot fool me. You know very well what I want. Give me Pyelthan! Give it to me now, and his life is spared.”

I shifted, disturbed. “What could you possibly want with this thing?”

“It is the key…it holds the gift…give it to me!” His hands worked, fingers stretching and curling, and his eyes bored into me. “One word, child, one word… Give me Pyelthan!”

“You really think this thing will make you immortal?”

“It will, it does, it will!”

I hesitated. I glanced at my father, stone still and ghostly, his handsome features fixed in calm certainty. He was all I had come for. And if I didn’t do what the Lord of K’hama commanded, what then? My father would be lost, and all in vain. I reached out and touched his face, brushing the dusty hair from his brow. How long had he lain here, waiting for me? What twisted power had kept him in that state for so many years, a lure to draw me in? He had so much faith in me – was I to betray it now by condemning him to the service of the Ungulion?

I gazed at him, tears scorching my cheeks. I could feel the Lord of K’hama’s eyes riveted on me, delighting in my anguish. I could hear Enhyla’s voice in my mind,

The Circle of Judgment in the Judgment Seat.

I thought of my despair, riding across the Laoth. Maybe Dr. Balson had been driving me toward the Citadel. But somehow I knew that that was only half of the story. My father had wanted, hoped, expected me to bring him Pyelthan. To bring it to him here. But why?

Dad, I called in my thoughts. What am I to do?

But he lay still, and did not stir. Then, as if in answer to my question, I recalled the words of the Ungulion who had brought me within the Citadel, that what I carried permitted me to walk, living, within those walls.

“How do I know,” I said, slowly, “that if I give you Pyelthan, you will let him live?”

“What choice do you have?”

My throat closed, and I reached into my pouch. What choice, indeed. I pulled Pyelthan out, clenched it burning in my fingers. Then I leaned over my father and kissed his pale brow.

“I’m sorry, Dad…please understand…” I whispered through choking tears.

And I pressed Pyelthan into the palm of his clammy hand.

“That choice,” I said to the Lord of K’hama.

The only pleasure I felt at that moment was seeing the rage and disbelief that shook his face. A vague clinging sickness crept over me, but I held my place. I watched as my father’s eyelids fluttered, waited until I saw his chest rise and fall deeply. He gazed at me through unfocused eyes, then recognition flashed in them and he reached a warming hand to touch my chin. A great sadness filled his gaze. Two tears slipped from my eyes and dripped onto his fingers.

I sank onto the topmost step at the foot of the table, staring at the undead king. He recoiled from the table, eyes roving over the hall in a wild panic. I heard a soft rustle behind me, then the sharp tap of sandaled feet touching stone. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my father standing on the step beside me. He had always been tall, but he seemed to tower over me now. He rested a gentle hand on my head but said no word to me. Slowly he descended the steps, coming face to face with the Lord of K’hama.

“I bear the Judgment Ring here in the Halls of Death,” he cried.

His voice was hoarse at first, rough, but as he spoke it strengthened and rang out in the vast chamber. He lifted Pyelthan. It shone with white fire, colliding with the death-red light.

“King Silon, you laid siege to n’Talanthis in the hopes of claiming what was not yours to buy or win. Immortal life you thought to seize by strength of arms against the decrees of heaven, so immortal life you were given in punishment of your treason. You have walked the ages of man, never perished and never judged, still seeking what could never be yours.”

My breath came shallow. I felt a strange, tingling sensation, as if every drop of blood in my body were slowly dripping out, out through the tips of my fingers, out through the soles of my feet. I forced my eyes open. The whole chamber crowded with tormented souls, cringing in fear of my father’s words. Their faces blurred together. And then I seemed to go out of myself, somehow, like I was looking down at my body from somewhere withdrawn. I saw myself slumped against the table with drooping head, and then my vision wavered. Dad was still speaking, his voice coming thick and muffled as through a dense fog.

“So here at last I bring to you the day of doom. With this symbol I bring you death, the death you did not merit at the drowning of Andenor. Be at peace, you who repented. Prince Elekeo, General Myno, faithful allies. Those who persisted, you have one last chance before you are judged.”

I no longer shivered. My hands lay limp at my sides. I had my gaze locked on my father, his brow gleaming with the light from Pyelthan. I couldn’t even feel the jagged stone beneath me.

But I could hear the furious screams and anguished cries of the Ungulion. The Lord of K’hama, dim in my eyes, lurched toward my father shrieking, fingers outstretched. I parted my lips to cry out, but no sound came. Dad held up both his hands, and the undead king writhed as the room erupted in blood-red light.

“Then the Hellgate is open to claim you who are judged!”

I couldn’t move to cover my ears from the deafening chaos of rage and hate. The shadows seethed. Fermenting below it all was a low rumbling drone, the drone of fire and steam. I gasped once, and my lungs failed. I stared at the gaping, roiling Hell-portal, at the Ungulion trying desperately to flee whatever magnetism pulled them toward it. The Lord of K’hama flung himself one last time at my father, and a horde of Ungulion surged behind him. Dad recoiled toward the steps, holding Pyelthan out as if it could ward away the Ungulion even now. But it splintered suddenly, brilliant light fracturing the dark, and was gone.

“Daddy…”

An Ungulion grabbed my ankle, his cavernous eyes glared into mine. He would pull me with him into the Hell-portal. It was over. Death…that was all that was left for me. I felt myself tottering on the brink. My father’s face was the only thing holding me. Greyness flooded my vision, and his form began to blur and vanish.

Damian! I screamed inside. Mykyl!

I gathered every last remnant of my strength, dragging my hand to my belt, twisting numb fingers around the small knife’s hilt. Pulled it free, struggled to hold it out. Let it drop, felt it strike the hand that held me. Pain…searing, burning… The blade clattered onto the stone, and I slumped forward.

Somewhere in all the murk I felt a warmth steal over my cold limbs, then light, dazzling, pure light. I saw Onethyl appear beside me, stooping to lift my father. Then Mykyl was there, so flooded with radiance that it blinded me. He didn’t linger, but his hands flashed out and swept me off the cold dead floor. As he bore me to the portal my eyes strayed one last time over the hall of the judgment. I saw the black throne fracturing in the churning crimson emptiness. I saw the Ungulion struggling to escape the Hell-portal, trying desperately to follow us. And I saw Yatol, gazing back at me as he reached to take up the Blade of Heaven.