Lyrec started down.
He had taken no more than a dozen steps when he heard something moving up from around the bend—the sound of some sluggish unseen dweller from the depths dragging its feet as it came closer.
The
crex
unraveled from Lyrec, flowing over his arm, swelling again into a sphere around his hand.
From around the curve, a hulking stone creature shuffled into view.
It looked like a roughly carved statue, but it was alive. Lyrec knew it must be out of some legend, but not a legend that had been known to the minstrel of Miria. Perhaps from elsewhere on this world. Or from another. A whole monstrous menagerie might dwell here.
The stone creature paused to see if the end of its hard climb lay any nearer. It spotted Lyrec for the first time. A dull-witted look of consternation settled upon it. The toothless elastic mouth opened and moved as if in speech, but no sound came out, leaving him with the undeniable impression that the creature thought it
could
speak.
It was attempting to communicate with him. He wondered with a kind of queasy horror if the thing might be a cruelly transformed victim of Miradomon’s. For all Lyrec knew, the bodies of the slain that had been carried off might have been transformed into a horde of obedient demons.
And then he could sympathize no longer, because the creature came at him.
It reached up at him, thick fingers flexing in anticipation, and charged.
From the silver sphere at his wrist a sizzling ball of fire burst forth. It rammed into the stone creature’s chest and, spitting sparks, seared a fist-sized hole through it, speeding on to spatter flames against the tunnel wall farther down.
The stone monster hesitated. It inspected the damage with imbecilic fascination. The hole was a curiosity, but not a hindrance. The creature thumped on as before, hands groping for him.
Lyrec retreated a few steps up the ramp. Another way had to be devised if he was to slay this thing. His energy was not limitless—he could not pound holes in it till it was dust. Dust…
The
crex
released an invisible wave of energy the same instant that Lyrec thought of it. A force spun around the monster, a miniature cyclone that abraded up and down like the string on a spinning top. Millions of sparkling granules spattered on the walls and floor. A cloud of dust billowed around the creature. Its fingers worked as if trying to capture the eroding grains, and then vanished within the cloud.
The wind died suddenly. The dust cloud swirled and settled.
A mound of sand lay spread across the ramp. Lyrec walked warily around it, keeping his fist pointed at the floor.
He continued down the ramp An electrical frisson tingled in his scalp, and he picked up speed, his momentum paralleling a growing anticipation: Miradomon—the core of him, the intelligence itself—must lay very near. The sensation could mean nothing else.
The ramp unfurled on and on, down and down to impossible depths. No more creatures assailed him, but the weird distant cries never stopped. Nor did Miradomon appear.
Then all at once the ramp ended. A cul-de-sac. The previous tingling now set off a shockwave of anticipation. He didn’t even hesitate as he reached the dead end, but plunged straight into the wall. The tingling became an ache that sent shivers all through him. He put out his hand to feel when he had reached the other side. His hand passed through the embracing barrier. Instantly, an inhuman force clamped on it and ripped him out the far side.
The dazzling light of a huge fireball blinded him after the solid darkness. Its gravity caught reeled him in. He had discovered the source of the tingling, but not in a way he wanted. He writhed in torment. His skin burned from the intense radiation thrown off by Miradomon’s chaotic star. The
crex
spun back around Lyrec.
He saw high above him a circle of dim light cut out of the fabric of the void. The mouth of a well or a rip in spatial fabric, but in either case, Miradomon’s little joke and his only hope of salvation. Below, the star tugged with unappeasable hunger and swelled to blot out the void.
The structure of the
crex
shifted, opposing the energies of the star. Lyrec slowed, hovered, then began to rise. His ascension seemed to last an eternity. The circle of escape above grew by painstaking degrees. The miniature sun ejected a plasmatic stream as if enraged at having been foiled. Lyrec closed his eyes, but its searing after-image remained.
At last he rose out of the void and through some dimensional membrane. He was suddenly floating up over the lip of a well. When he stepped down onto the floor, the
crex
unwound again and he collapsed in a heap. If Miradomon had been there then, Lyrec would have been at his mercy. He lay helpless, almost unconscious, for a time. His reserves returned enough to let him hunt with his mind, locating the Kobachs’ combined energy. He drank greedily from their resources. Restored, he thanked them before withdrawing. He could not send them away now that they knew where he was. The witches tracked him now.
Lyrec came to his senses lying on his back, staring up at a cavernous ceiling that rippled with the subaqueous light thrown off by the fireball that had nearly killed him. The ceiling, like the walls and floor, had been carved out roughly. Lyrec rolled onto his side and sat up.
The room was decorated with tapestries—long purple and gold banners displaying designs that represented nothing to him: interlocked circles, spirals, and curved outlines. The banners did remind him of a place: the great hall in Atlarma Castle. Miradomon, it seemed, was celebrating. Another world conquered?
Standing, testing his legs, Lyrec wondered what sorts of creatures found the cragged and broken floor easy going. He started across it cautiously, watching the floor and ceiling, expecting a trap to open beneath him or fall upon him. It was some time before he saw the throne.
Initially, the deep shadows near the wall hid it from view. But its faint, reflected outline shifted against the shadows as he moved.
Two raised steps carved out of what had been molten rock led to the wide stone seat couched in darkness. At the top of the throne, stretching out of either corner, two ebony branches arced up leafless like scraggy claws. The light caught on bits of sparkling mineral embedded in the black stone. Again, Lyrec was struck by a sense of odd familiarity—it was very like Tynec’s throne in Atlarma. Miradomon had turned the cavern into a parody of the great hall in Secamelan. But what was the star?
Circling the room, he returned to the edge of the well and peered into its dimension-defying depths. The incipient sun released another string of plasma, then sucked it back in. From here, he could feel none of its pull. Some unseen barrier blocked off its gravity. But it had burned him. Without the crex, his fate would have been that of any mortal who succeeded in overcoming all obstacles to reach that pit: He would have been burnt to a cinder in a matter of moments. Yet surely the star wasn’t in place as a defense. Why keep it here? Why make it the center of his world, create what had to be an unstable dimensional bridge just to look upon its light? Why?
Still pondering, he withdrew from the pit and went to the throne—and found it occupied.
A figure sat inertly in the black stone seat. The shadows played tricks with its identity. Lyrec, ready to unleash death upon it, thought suddenly that he recognized who it was, but just as immediately doubted his senses. Perhaps this was the trap, the last defense. But soon the stygian gloom gave up its secrets and consternation replaced doubt. “Yadani?” he called.
She continued to stare straight ahead, blankly, mindlessly. The mystery of the star was minor compared to this. What possible reason Miradomon had for bringing her here, of all the creatures in Secamelan, he could not imagine.
Even as he stood baffled, from out of the wall behind the throne a white robe emerged. It floated some distance forward before it saw him.
“You!”
hissed Miradomon. The robe flared, its luminance expressing its shock. In its glow, Lyrec saw a krykwyre standing motionlessly behind the throne. The shadows had hidden it, but it didn’t look as if it would have attacked him; it seemed paralyzed. “How did you survive?” The cowl twisted toward the pit, and Miradomon drifted across the floor. As he neared it, the light from the star threw an enormous shadow of him across the ceiling.
Satisfied that the star remained undamaged, the robe chuckled. “You haven’t that sort of power, do you, Kobach avatar? I doubt you could even influence its spin without my knowing. But you must tell me before you go how you reached this chamber without falling into it.
“I will say I
am
impressed with you, defender of children. Yet I also regard you with pity for your incredible stupidity. Can you think to harm me here at the center of my realm when you couldn’t inflict a gnat’s damage in Atlarma? Ah, but I suppose it’s your duty—your single-minded purpose. How does that work in your world—when the witches call, you must obey? Did they fashion you out of mud, as they do in the next world I’ll be visiting?”
The robe studied Lyrec carefully and saw the shine of silver at his hand. “What is that?” He pointed, a charred, skeletal hand sparkling with gold.
“Permit me to show you.” Lyrec raised the
crex
.
Fire spat from Miradomon’s fingertips. He snagged the
crex
and tore it from Lyrec’s arm. In the split-second before it pulled away, Lyrec’s will reshaped and released it. Any slower and he would have lost his arm.
The transformed weapon sailed into Miradomon’s hand. He turned it over, analyzing it. “You planned to attack me with this?” he laughed, holding up a tarnished and dented short sword. Then he flung it away. It clattered and bounced up against the first step of the throne. “The least I can do is arm you decently for your battle.” The air in his empty palm began to sparkle and take shape, becoming a thin white sword. “There,” he said, and tossed it to Lyrec. “Test it. Try the weight. I think you will find the balance to be exceptional. Yes? Good, then we come to the problem of choosing your opponent.”
“Why not you?”
“Too simple. You must
earn
that opportunity. Perhaps we should start you off with a krykwyre to test your mettle.”
“Another? I’ve already dispatched one.”
The robe hesitated, and Lyrec had the uncanny sensation of being stared at, though he could see nothing within the cowl. What form had his enemy taken? “So,” said Miradomon, “that’s the reason it never returned. I thought it was simply errant and ungovernable with its tiny brain. Well, then, perhaps a creature from someone else’s legends. I have something prepared for the next world I’ll conquer. You can test it for me. What would you say to an opponent made of stone?”
“I’m afraid you may have some trouble with that one. Of course, you could always reassemble it.”
Miradomon said nothing for awhile, and Lyrec could sense that he was probing for his stone slave. He glanced at the
crex.
He had hoped Miradomon would simply throw it back to him after judging it useless and then dare him to try it. Lying by the throne, it was too far away to grab. He took two small sideways steps toward it.
Miradomon did not seem to notice. “I see you speak the truth,” hissed the cowl. “The
goylem
is destroyed. It gave you no trouble then—how useless. I fear it will have to remain a legend. You are very nearly a challenge, avatar. Since monsters do not challenge you, let us try something else—one of your protected kind. A human.”
The robe turned away, toward the pit. Lyrec ran for the
crex
. He took only two steps before he found himself paralyzed. Then Miradomon’s power made him turn around.
Two flat stone platforms hovered in the air above the star.
Out on one of the platforms stood Talenyecis. She stood in a combat pose, emotionless. He uttered her name in a shocked gasp. “Ah, you know her, then,” hissed the robe. Lyrec called out to her. “She won’t hear you—I control her now. This should be better than I’d anticipated. She concerns you. Well, will you kill a friend for a chance to save your world? For a chance at
me
?” He gestured and Lyrec was lifted into the air and deposited on the stone slab opposite Talenyecis. A white sword identical to his appeared in her hands. “Kill her and you might have such a chance. Fail and, of course, you will not. Her weapon is identical to yours in every respect. The pair are unique, you’ll find.”
Little space separated the two platforms from each other. The jump from one of them to the rim of the pit would have taken a good deal more effort.
Talenyecis came to life stiffly at first, but her movements became much more fluid as she drew up across from him. The white blade hung loosely in her grip, ready to flick in any direction, defying him to guess which. He retreated to the far edge of his own slab.
She leaped with a feline grace, landing halfway across his square, sword driving up at him from both hands at her belly. He blocked her blade to one side. The instant they touched, the twin swords flashed brightly, sending an electrical charge into Lyrec. He jerked and pulled his blade away.
“You see?” laughed Miradomon. “Every time you choose not to kill her, but to parry her instead, you will be electrified. Possibly even electrocuted—I really have no idea how much you can take.”
Lyrec tried to throw down the sword but it stuck to his hands. He had to topple backwards to avoid Talenyecis’s swing at his throat. She chopped down before he could get away, forcing him to block again. The blades clashed together, igniting the air with sparks. Lyrec shook. His eyes rolled up in his head. He could not maintain the contact, and tugged his sword away again. Talenyecis’s blade continued down, nicking his shoulder.
He rolled away, at the same time kicking her legs out from under her. Jumping up, he could have killed her—Miradomon was giving him the chance—but he could not bring himself to do it. He leaped across to the unoccupied platform.
Talenyecis climbed mechanically to her feet. “Too bad,” teased Miradomon. “Is it a rule you live by, that you cannot kill those you serve? You’ll have to bend the rules here or die.”