Phoenix Rising (49 page)

He felt himself lifted up by completely inhuman strength and
hurled
through one of the great windows.
Must not . . . let the pain distract me.

He rolled over and over on the grass, absorbing the force of that tremendous throw.
This . . . false Justiciar has powers like nothing I’ve fought before. He’s at least two, three times as strong as anything his size ought to be.

Even as Tobimar dragged himself upright, Thornfalcon appeared, silhouetted against the shattered window, the rapier Lightning back in his hand. “First it was Rion Vantage, then his lovely sister, and now
you
, and somehow I feel this is but the beginning.”

The same desperation and pride that had come upon him in the
mazakh
stronghold rose up, even as he brought up his swords again. “I know not that family, but I am a Silverun of the Silverun, Seventh Prince of Skysand.”

For just a moment Thornfalcon halted. “Of
Skysand
. . . Ah, now
there
is a piece of information most useful.”

That halt was crucial; Tobimar had those few seconds to reach deep within and draw forth the reserves that waited there. Though the night was dark, now he could sense all that lay about him. He did not doubt that the vicious false Justiciar was able to see as well, but perhaps his opponent would think him half-blind in the dark. With the vision, he gained also the strength and speed.
It might not be enough . . . but it’s what I have.

But now Thornfalcon came on, and it was clear that what he had was
not
enough. The deadly blade was slipping its way through his defenses, a nick here, a trickling cut there, and suddenly Tobimar sensed a stone, too late, stumbling, and Thornfalcon’s smile widening, the arm drawn back for that shattering thunderous strike—

And Thornfalcon screamed in shock and pain, stumbling himself as something lanced straight through his calf. “What in Blackstar’s name—?”

Some inhuman sense must have warned him just in time, because something
leaped
from another direction even as Tobimar rose and started his own charge, but Thornfalcon whipped Lightning around with speed to match its name and batted away Poplock like a pebble from a stick. Even limping, the false Justiciar was able to block and parry most of Tobimar’s attack, but not all; a brilliant red streak was laid open on the long cheek, and his right arm’s defenses were pierced, as was the flesh below.

Thornfalcon switched Lightning to his left hand and a small shield
grew
from the armor of his right. “So you had an ally, one of those mud-hopping lazy creatures that actually gained enough of a spirit to leave his home puddle. How very interesting.” Pale light flickered, and with dismay Tobimar saw the cut on the false Justiciar’s cheek just . . . fade away. “Still, that could be somewhat awkward; if my little strike there hasn’t killed him, he will be
quite
hard to keep track of and might interfere at a crucial moment.”

“What a shame that would be,” Tobimar said, drawing once more on his reserves.

Thornfalcon
 
chuckled, circling somewhat more cautiously now. “And I see you have found something within yourself . . . a strength and speed that you did not have earlier. And it is still growing.” He drew himself up. “So I believe it is time to stop the play.”

That dark power Tobimar had sensed . . .
came forward
. Thornfalcon’s eyes glowed; for a moment, they seemed to have no pupils at all, just glowing soulless yellow light, and a huge looming shape was all about him, obscuring the human Thornfalcon in a cloak of malice and hunger.

And then it moved.

Tobimar parried, and the blow nearly knocked the blade from his grasp, even held as carefully and well as it was. Another massive strike, and another, each one so powerful that it felt like blocking the strikes of a mountain. The exiled Prince tried to return blows, riposte in a way that would make the monstrous Thornfalcon back off, but none of his blows went home.

Lightning flicked out and touched his cheek with cold fire again; but this time the coldness
spread
, and for a moment he weakened before he could call up his strength again.
Terian and Chromaias . . . he’s somehow able to
drain
my very soul’s power!

“And so you now sense the way of your ending, little Prince.” Even Thornfalcon’s voice was different, more powerful, less light and ironic. “I will cut from you what you are, and leave nothing but an empty husk.”

Is
this
the moment Master Khoros spoke of? To pit a child’s prayer against . . .
that?

Tobimar felt his knees trembling, knew Thornfalcon’s power was still at work, and began to draw his breath for that last, forlorn hope.

And then another voice spoke, the voice of a woman, a voice of cold purpose and yet burning with fury.

“THORNFALCON.”

48

The False Justiciar whirled, stepping back and to the side so as to keep Tobimar in his field of view, but even in the darkness Tobimar had seen the sudden shock and—perhaps—even a trace of fear when that clear, cold voice had spoken.

Just beyond stood . . . the Phoenix.

She had the hawk-beak visor pushed back, and in the brilliant light of Sathan, the Moon, he could see the sharp planes of her face, beautiful, not pretty, the glint of iron-chilled eyes that warmed for just a moment as they met his; that gaze said, as clearly as if she had said it,
Thank you.
Her armor shone red-gold, perhaps not merely from reflection but from its own power.

Framing her face was a tumble of dark hair with a pure white flash at the precise center, and Tobimar realized:
I’ve seen that before, somewhere.

But Thornfalcon had already recovered from his shock. “Phoenix. What a . . . surprise. How did you . . . ?”

“No answers for you, monster. But,” she continued with a humorous smile, “I’ll give you my thanks.”

Thornfalcon’s eyes narrowed, still trying to watch them both.
As far as I’m concerned, they can both wait a moment longer. I’m recovering . . . but not quite ready for a fight like that, not against
that
power.
“Thanks? For . . . what, precisely, my Lady?”

The smile turned icy, and she reached over her shoulder, drawing a blade that was long, longer, just kept
coming
out of its sheath until Tobimar realized with awe that it was a
teracabal
, Great Sword, like none he’d seen any man or woman wield, and she was holding it now in one hand as though it weighed nothing. “For finally giving me a target worthy of all of Myrionar’s Vengeance, as I found no joy in the deaths of Mist Owl or, even, Shrike.
You
, murderer, betrayer, liar and false friend, I will most certainly enjoy killing.”

“Always happy to please a lady,” Thornfalcon said thinly; his tone was less than pleased, and Tobimar found himself wondering if the false Justiciar’s rapier would fare so well against what he now realized
must
be a true Justiciar of Myrionar.

“He’s a soul-cutter, Phoenix!” Tobimar said in warning, as both Justiciars—true and false—came to a ritual guard pose.

“
Is
he?” If anything, this made her smile more widely. “Oh, now I will have no regrets except that you were not what you seemed, Thornfalcon.”

“I regret only that we were not able to continue our . . . conversation, Kyri.” The darkness about him gathered itself.

The Phoenix moved first, and Tobimar was once more astounded. That monster blade whipped down and around as though it were no heavier that Tobimar’s own twin weapons, blazing a path of red-silver-gold through the night air. Thornfalcon’s parry was quicker, but—Tobimar thought—not so smooth, not so easy, and the jolt that went through the false Justiciar’s slender frame showed that the Phoenix’s weapon had striking power that even Thornfalcon could feel.

I had thought myself well-equipped, some of the finest weapons of Skysand in my hands, yet these
Justiciars
wield weapons and powers far greater.

Lightning flashed its namesake power and a nimbus of blue-white surrounded the blade, only to be met by a flare of golden fire around the Phoenix’s, and for several moments the two traded blows nearly too fast to be seen, with thunderbolts and flame splashing from each impact like water.

Tobimar, now fully and firmly in the High Center, could sense the course of possibility, perceive the inhuman power within Thornfalcon brushing the edges of the Phoenix’s soul, blunting the force of her fire, eating away at her defenses in subtle and nigh-indetectable ways, like wood-borers eating away the center of a beam. He grasped both blades tightly, pulled the sense of combat about him like a net woven of instinct and prophecy, reached out as well as in for strength and speed to match Thornfalcon’s. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a tiny movement across the clearing.
Good. I think Poplock’s still alive. We might need him.

Striking a foe from behind would normally be pretty dishonorable, but as a bounty hunter—even one with strict limits on what he’d do and not do—he’d somewhat gotten over that. And Thornfalcon had proven he didn’t deserve the honor of a Prince. So Tobimar waited a few more desperate seconds, as Kyri Vantage, the Phoenix, began to slowly give way before her adversary, and then lunged, twin-swords extending at the final moment like the fangs of a great snake.

That pall of darkness about Thornfalcon warned him at the last possible second, and he
leapt
away with immense strength and speed. But even so, he was neither so quick nor so skilled that he could afford such a sudden change of tactics, and that fiery sword cut across his side even as he evaded Tobimar’s attack.

Thornfalcon staggered as he landed, dropped and rolled to get even greater distance, and Tobimar’s glance met Kyri’s. She nodded, and together they charged.

It was the false Justiciar’s turn to back up, even the combination of the shield growing from his Raiment and his terrible sword not quite sufficient to holding off both the grim Phoenix and the flashing, slashing blades of Tobimar Silverun, Seventh of Seven. Tobimar’s will and the strength of his spirit warded off the crackling, sparking lightnings from Thornfalcon’s weapon, and the flame of Phoenix’s sword simply consumed the other’s power. Even the dark hunger that clawed at their spirits was weaker, unable to mount a clear offense in the face of two diverging assaults.

But Thornfalcon was far from finished, and he proved it with his next evading leap. In the moment he was in the air, he produced from within his armor a small sphere and flung it down.

Black-and-gray vapor billowed from the ground, enveloping both attackers and vanishing. Tobimar felt his limbs slowing down, paralysis beginning to set in.
No! If I can’t move—I’ll be dead!

Phoenix merely laughed. “You think the same formula will work on me twice, Thornfalcon? Myrionar is not so weak as you believe. And as this man has tilted the balance for me, so shall I for him.” One of her hands released the sword and tapped Tobimar’s shoulder, and the red-gold light raced along his form, banishing both paralysis and weakness, with a distant sound like the call of the trumpets at dawn in Skysand.

The false Justiciar did not laugh, but he did not look afraid, either. “It was worth a try. Do you believe that is the end of my arsenal? We have only begun this little dance, girl, and I have danced it many times before.”

“Were
you
the one who slew my brother, Thornfalcon? You who cut his soul so it could not be saved, so Arbiter Kelsley nearly died trying to do so?”

Thornfalcon did laugh this time. “Ah, hoping for some truly poetic justice, I see.” He circled slowly sideways, and Tobimar and Kyri followeed suit. “Let it not be said I would disappoint a lady. Yes, it was my hand that took your brother’s life, who saw him running in terror when he realized I was no longer the mere human he had thought me.” The dark power rose again, and once more that terrible shape half-appeared, of glowing eyes and hulking, shaggy hunger, a smile of ice-crystal death.

The young woman smiled herself, more broadly than before. “Oh, that makes me
so
much happier, Thornfalcon.” She whirled her sword around, a fiery wheel in the night. “Because now I
know
you speak the truth, for I
saw
you that night, saw this inhuman shadow you wear.” Thornfalcon’s eyes widened momentarily at the realization he had been seen, had been
that
close to discovery. But Kyri was continuing, “And because you should know this, as well.” The greatsword suddenly arced upward, a mighty comet reaching nearly thirteen feet. “By the power of
all
the gods—” The blazing blade came down, and a shockwave of golden fire streaked out, carving ground and air alike. “—Myrionar promised me
Vengeance!
”

Thornfalcon cursed in surprise and shock; too late for him to jump aside, he tried to parry the flamestrike with Lightning; there was an explosion of thunder and flame and Thornfalcon disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

That won’t have finished him . . . where . . .

And possibilities narrowed to a tension, something touching the web of intuition,
above!

The twin swords of Skysand intercepted Lightning perfectly, and had Thornfalcon not kept a deathgrip on his weapon he would have been disarmed for a second time. As it was, Tobimar’s crystal-flawless parry stopped the false Justiciar despite his inhuman strength and speed, held him for one tiny fraction of a second. Phoenix’s mighty sword was already coming and the arrogant look was gone, gone from Thornfalcon’s eyes as he twisted aside in desperation, disengaging his blade from Tobimar’s, trying to parry the Phoenix Justiciar’s strike, unable to entirely evade either the fiery strike or Tobimar’s own dual-sword riposte. He was sent tumbling, blood now visible on two sides, and—it seemed to Tobimar—the abominable power about him weakened, no longer as hungry and terrible.

He found himself charging step-for-step with Kyri Vantage, the two in perfect rhythmic accord as they tried to follow up on that strike. Fire now blazing in half a dozen places lit the clearing almost as though it were day, and Tobimar saw Thornfalcon white with pain, fear, and fury as he saw his two opponents nearly upon him again.