Master (Book 5) Read online

  “I suppose,” Cyrus said. “But I’m really just their General. I only lead them in battle.”

  “Quite right,” she said, just a hint cryptically, and sent her horse to a gallop. He paused a moment and followed on as the army kicked into motion behind him. They rode on that way for a while, past the fall of evening, until it became dark and they had to stop for the night.

  Chapter 12

  The air crackled around Cyrus as he appeared in Reikonos in early morning. As the magic of the spell that carried him there began to disperse, he took a breath of the familiar autumn air, filled with the scents of the square. There was the sound of the fountain tinkling, of a blacksmith doing his work nearby, hammer clanging on anvil in jarring notes. The scent of horse was just as strong here as when he’d left the army he’d been with in the field. They’ll be fine with Longwell leading them, he thought, looking over the square from atop Windrider. He’ll keep them going until I return.

  “Where are we going?” Nyad asked from next to him, her red robes draped over the sides of her horse, staff still clutched in her hand from casting the teleportation spell that had brought them here. He caught a whiff of some perfume as he turned to her, some sweet fragrance of rosewater that was just understated enough to catch his attention without smothering him.

  “There’s a portal in the tunnels under the city,” Cyrus said. “It leads to the upper realms.” He urged Windrider along the road toward the Citadel, the tallest building in Reikonos, and, in fact, Arkaria. It stretched far above them, bulbous upper floors at odds with the cylindrical lower ones.

  They rode in silence, Nyad examining the sights. Cyrus watched the streets around them, too, streets he’d known for almost his entire life. They passed under the shadow of the Citadel, and Cyrus saw the city guards shuffling endlessly, tense and ridiculously stiff in their attentive posture. He almost felt bad for them in their gleaming armor, forced to endure it on hot summer days. As they veered to the left around the Citadel, they dipped into the periphery of the markets, and Cyrus could see the familiar stalls, remembered the hide and find exercises they’d done here when he was a child at the Society of Arms.

  He’d tucked into the side of a stall when the Swift Swords had gone past. It had been a small squad, a group of boys no older than him and only a few younger. His peers. There was to be no violence in this exercise, one of the few where that was the case. It was at their peril, were there to be any bloodshed—the Guildmaster had been abundantly clear about that. No violence in the public eye, simple touch and capture only.

  He’d watched them clumping past, Cass Ward at the fore. He was a tall boy, like Cyrus, strong and muscular even after only a few months in the guild. Cyrus knew that if it was down to individuals, it’d be him and Cass battling it out for top honors. It never came down to that, though; it was always a team effort. And Cyrus was on his own team.

  “Remember,” Cass had said to his fellows, loud enough that Cyrus could hear him from behind the stall, “We move as a group—and none of us is ever alone.”

  Cyrus could see that moment as clear as day as he steered Windrider back onto the main thoroughfare and out of the open square where the market stalls ended. He passed onto an avenue of shops as the ground sloped down toward the Torrid Sea ahead and the port. He could see the docks jutting out into the ocean, long fingers of wood lit by the early morning dawn. The first whiff of salt air came to him from the north wind. A chill wind.

  The ground sloped down, a steep hill lined by cobblestones. He could hear the clop-clop of Windrider’s shoes echoing over the quiet streets as the city of Reikonos began to wake around him. The hill took them down into an area of warehouses, and they turned west to follow a steep bluff that had buildings built right up against the edge.

  “Is this where the wealthy have their mansions?” Nyad asked, breaking the quiet.

  “No, they’re on the east side of the city overlooking the Torrid Sea,” Cyrus said. “Their cliffs directly overlook the ocean, no docks below to spoil the view. This is the port.”

  Nyad’s nose was pinched, as though the salt air disagreed with her. “But it’s only local traffic, right? From up the River Perda and the Emerald Coast and such, right?”

  Cyrus shrugged. “I hear there are a few larger ships that come from lands beyond the Torrid Sea, but not many because of its damnable roughness and unpredictability. Most of their sea traffic came from the elves or from Aloakna before it was sacked by the dark elves.”

  They followed a line of wooden warehouses built up against the bluffs until they reached an open space in the cliff, like a vacant lot empty enough to build a small house on. A sheer, steep rock face gave way to a small wooden door that hung wide, its hinges squeaking as it slowly moved open and closed with the wind.

  Cyrus dismounted Windrider and whispered in his ear, “Wait for me at the old guildhall. Make sure Nyad’s horse goes with you.” He received a whinny in reply, and the horse was off, shepherding Nyad’s mount along.

  “That really is impressive,” Nyad said, watching the two horses make their way back to the bluff. “How does your horse do that?”

  Cyrus shook his head. “Magic, for all I know.” He turned toward the wooden door, the uneven boards looking like they would not bar the entry of even a small child. “Come on, let’s go.”

  He stepped into the tunnel beyond. The hum of voices was audible, echoing off the stone walls. “Sounds like our army is already waiting.”

  “Oh, good,” Nyad said, and Cyrus could hear just a hint of tentativeness in the way she spoke. “I would so hate to wait here in the dark, just the two of us.”

  “Scared of what fierce creatures might be lurking nearby?” Cyrus said with a slight smirk.

  “Oh, no,” Nyad said dryly, “I’m concerned about the frightening reputation of my traveling companion; he seems to have gone from being a mild-mannered, shy lad who hadn’t felt the touch of a woman in many a year to some sort of crazed fiend that women can’t resist.” She batted her eyes slyly at him. “I wouldn’t want to be in his proximity for too terribly long, lest I be overcome by his manly charms—”

  “And they call me a smartass,” Cyrus muttered.

  “Please,” Nyad snorted in amusement, “I was a smartass long before you were a randy little twinkle in your mother’s eye.” She cast a spell, hand glowing in light, and Cyrus’s vision brightened the world around him.

  He led the way into the dark stone tunnels carved into the hillside. They were exceptionally smooth, perfectly rectangular corridors hewn into the rock. They might have been conjured out of the ground itself. He ran a gauntlet along the wall as he went, his fingers screeching the metal across the flat surface.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” Nyad asked, a tentative whisper in the darkness behind him.

  “Sure,” Cyrus sad, taking his hand from the wall. “The Society of Arms used to train us down here in these catacombs. They run through the whole of the western city, for miles and miles. You get used to them after a while.”

  “What are they?” Nyad asked, and he could hear her breathing a little faster now that they were on foot. “I assume they pre-date the human settlement here, and they don’t look like sewage tunnels.” She sniffed. “Or smell like them.”

  “Good guess,” Cyrus said with a small smile. “The sewers actually run above these tunnels for the most part. These tunnels are so well sealed there’s no leakage. And you’re quite right; they were not built by the Confederation or by Reikonos. Presumably the ancients left them behind, along with the portal …” he turned a corner, and the tunnel opened into a massive, open space, more than large enough to hold the Sanctuary army that stood within it, “… here.”

  “Huh,” Nyad said, staring down into the slight bowl formed out of the rock. “Kind of a funny place to put a portal.”

  “I suppose,” Cyrus said with a shrug. He could see the faint glow of the portal in the center of the room, over the heads of the army surrounding
it. “I have a feeling there are some things about the ancients that we just won’t ever understand.” He stepped over the threshold into the circular room and looked up to see stone buttresses holding up a sort of dome overhead. The air down here was stale, as though it hadn’t moved in an age. Just like I remember it from childhood.

  Cyrus moved through the gathered army, looking around him to confirm that what he had ordered had been carried out. It was roughly a thousand of Sanctuary’s finest, with a bevy of spell casters at their command and more than enough rangers and warriors to hold off a line of offense if necessary.

  He cut his way through the crowd toward the center and broke through to an open space near the portal. On the other side of the space he found Arydni waiting, her head in her hands, dark hair flowing over her fingers like falling water over a cliff face. She looked up to see him, and her pointed ears almost seemed to twitch at his presence. “I had hoped you would see reason and bring less.”

  “I’m not that reasonable where the safety of my people is concerned,” Cyrus said with a breath of the dank air. “I prefer to be quite unreasonable by erring on the side of survival in those cases.”

  “Well, you’ve got the unreasonable part down,” Arydni muttered, so low he nearly missed it.

  “Your army awaits, General,” Odellan said, emerging from the small cluster of officers standing just in front of the portal. Cyrus scanned them quickly to see Vaste and Curatio, with Vara standing coolly off to the side, her arms folded across her chest.

  “All right,” Cyrus said, “get them in formation, Odellan, lined up and ready to march in. You may have to snake the line somewhat to fit them in the room.”

  “I was already planning it,” Odellan said with a nod, and he broke off, shouting orders at the army to form up. His strident voice echoed off the dome overhead, the rich baritone given additional resonance from the acoustics of the room.

  “What can we expect on the other side of the portal?” Cyrus asked, taking Arydni gently by the arm and steering her toward where Curatio, Vaste and Vara stood.

  “Furious guardians, mostly likely,” Arydni said, completing the small circle as she stepped next to Cyrus.

  “Excellent,” Vaste said, “I do so enjoy a good fight in the morning, especially if it’s against an evil goddess’s guardians.”

  “Vidara is hardly evil, even to you, troll,” Vara said with a quiet sort of reproach. “Stop trying to be ridiculous; this is not the moment for it.” Cyrus watched her as she spoke; it was the most she had said in his presence for months.

  “Is the other side of the portal still an open field laid before a thicket of hedgerows?” Curatio asked. Cyrus could hear a certain tension in his words.

  “It is,” Arydni said, locking onto the healer. “You … have been there before?”

  “More times than I can safely count,” Curatio replied, hand upon his chin as though he were deep in thought. “And the guardians were creatures of her pure nature?”

  “They were,” Arydni said. “When last I was there, they had begun to fade somewhat, as though their essence had been darkened by something, I know not what. Perhaps the absence of their God-mother drains their vitality and spirit. In any case, they were much less pleasant than in previous encounters.”

  “Some of them were fairly humorless to begin with,” Curatio said, removing his fingers from his chin, “so I imagine that this is not a change for the better.” He looked sidelong at Cyrus. “Best have the army ready for a fight going in. Vidara feeds those creatures their life energy and controls the direction of the realm. Without her presence, it may become … unruly.”

  “An unruly goddess’s realm,” Vaste said with all irony, “I can hardly contain my excitement. Why, last time I was in a ruly one, I was almost smashed to chunks. I can’t wait to see what they come up with here.”

  “Whatever it is, I hope it hits your mouth first,” Vara said, turning away from him. Her fair hair moved like a whip being cracked as she spun away.

  “You say that now, but when you need a heal, it’ll be a different song entirely,” Vaste said. “You know, if you sang.”

  Cyrus looked back at the army already forming into a spiral around the portal, ready to march in a column ten wide. The spell casters were sprinkled in up front, Cyrus saw, dotting the first few rows here and there. Good. That’ll help if we get ambushed just inside the gate.

  “Officers,” Cyrus said. Nyad formed the middle of a short line with Vaste and Curatio sandwiched between Vara and Cyrus, their swords drawn. He looked back to see Arydni next to Odellan. “You follow right behind, okay?”

  “How do we get to the Realm of Life from here?” Nyad asked. “Doesn’t this portal lead to other upper realms, as well?”

  “Watch,” Curatio said. “Eleni, iliara, eyalastar.” The portal spun before them, the empty space around the longways stone ovoid crackling with energy and light of a sort Cyrus had never seen from one of them before. It glowed green, a verdant color like the grasses of Perdamun lit by a summer sun. The healer looked at Cyrus. “On your command.”

  Cyrus looked down the line at Vara and saw her give him a sidelong glance in return, subtle and cool, like everything else she did in his presence now. “All right,” Cyrus said, “let’s get this inquisition under way.” He marched forward, the clank of his plate metal boots hard against the stone floor. The glowing green portal drew closer and closer, and Cyrus could see the runes etched on the outer stone surrounding it. He took one last breath of the stale catacomb air before he stepped into the glowing green energy and felt the world distort around him.

  His sense of direction shifted as if he were underwater, as though his legs were pulled from beneath him and set right again. He looked next to him and saw Nyad distorted, her cheeks growing large as a chipmunk’s, then her head shrinking to the size of a pin, as though he were looking at her through thick and uneven glass.

  It was over in a moment, the distortion gone from his vision, and he stood on a moonlit field, the smell of something decaying filling his nostrils. He paused just for a moment to get his bearings. There was a dark shadow in the distance ahead, something that looked like a wild, overgrown hedge, with spiny sticks poking out over the top of it. The grass upon which he stood looked nearly dead, even under the moonlight. Cyrus looked back to issue a command to the army, but behind him stood an empty portal, the light gone out of the center, giving him a clear look through to the other side as though nothing had ever been in the middle of the frame.

  “Uhh …” Cyrus said, “our portal’s gone out.”

  “Which means our army is stuck in Reikonos, yes?” Nyad was the first to answer him.

  “Yes,” said Vara succinctly.

  “That leaves just the five of us,” Curatio said, just down the line. “Two healers, a wizard, a paladin and a warrior.” His head tilted toward the shadowed hedge in the distance. “And no exit close at hand.”

  There was a silence broken only by the sound of something like an owl hooting in the distance, until Vaste spoke, sounding much more jolly than Cyrus imagined he would have. “Well, gosh. No one said anything about an unruly portal.”

  Chapter 13

  “You truly are a special sort of lackwit,” Vara said. The atmosphere of the realm was bleak. Cyrus exhaled to see his breath mist in front of him from the cold.

  “I do not lack for wit,” Vaste said and thumped his staff against the ground. The crystal lit and began to shed light, confirming for Cyrus that it was indeed a hedge ahead. “Good taste from time to time, but who among us can’t be accused of that?” He spoke even as Vara started to answer and cut her off. “Keeping in mind that not so long ago, your taste in men ran toward the affable and ignorant General who just led us into this mess.”

  Cyrus blinked. “Wha … why did you just insult me? As though I could have predicted that somehow a portal would shut off and trap just the five of us in a hostile realm?” He glanced down the line at Curatio. “Have you ever heard of a
nything like this happening before?”

  “A woman going for a man with an overabundance of confidence and a sword? It’s a tale as old as time,” Curatio said, not taking his eyes off the hedgerow in front of them. Cyrus saw a ghost of a smile on the healer’s lips as he surveyed the scene. “Oh, that’s not what you were talking about?” He glanced back. “The portal has become corrupted with the loss of the Mistress of the Realm.”

  “Is that …” Nyad looked especially pale next to Cyrus. “Does that happen often?”

  “No,” Curatio said. “It happened often enough during the War of the Gods, of course. What seems to have happened here is that someone effected a spell upon it after we passed through, something similar to our own spell that can seal a portal shut for teleportation.” Curatio took a step back and placed his hand on the stone edge of the portal, tracing the line of one of the runes. “Perhaps we should simply teleport out.” He looked over at Nyad and smiled once more, faintly. “If we are able.”

  Nyad perked up and began to cast a spell. Her hand glowed green, sparked with intensity, and then the light vanished, leaving only the spots in Cyrus’s eyes, as though a fire had died in front of him. “It’s not working,” she said, shaking her head with emphasis. “I can’t … can’t teleport us out.” The barest edge of panic filled the elven woman’s words.

  “As I suspected,” Curatio said with a nod. “Very well, in we go.”

  “Wait, what?” Cyrus asked.

  “I see we’ve decided to abandon all sanity and hope of rescue and move straight to the part where we run willy-nilly through a dark and scary hedge, where I’m certain sunlight and warm days are waiting on the other side,” Vaste deadpanned.

  “Curatio, why would we—” Nyad began.

  “There is another portal on the other side of the Realm,” Curatio said calmly, certainly much calmer than Cyrus felt. “It is in Vidara’s personal quarters, much like the one in Mortus’s chambers.”