Phoenix Rising (9 page)

Stifling another chuckle, the man’s humanoid patron nodded. “It would seem likely. Though it could simply be poor luck. Still, if the old Toad-God wasn’t involved before, we can rest assured he’s noticed this undersized menace by now, and he’ll be in the game.” It narrowed its eyes, with an expression
just
short of reproach. “And if I understand correctly, the Toad-God is
not
subject to the little arrangement you managed to convince most of the other Powers to agree to on pain of cataclysm.”

The black thing seemed to tower up in fury; the figure raised a single finger in admonishment. “This plan is of my devising, O Kerlamion. It is of course in service to
you
, as are all things here. But I will not be treated as though I were no more than one of your millions of guards. I shall speak when I wish, and how I wish. And we would be wise to keep to the subject. Better these scrying scrolls are than meeting in person, yet still those with enough power, perception, or fortune might recognize that a hidden council is being held.”

And the fact that it can speak thus to Kerlamion, King of All Hells, is what convinces me I have chosen my patron very wisely.
The seated man decided now was an opportune time to join in. “Then by all means, let us speak of the subject. How long of a delay does this incident create?”

Kerlamion’s blazing-fire eyes had not yielded to the calm azure gaze of the third mirror-figure, but he spoke. “Voorith? You have knowledge of what was arranged, what will be needed, and so on. Your
honest
estimate of time?” Kerlamion’s glare finally shifted, and the seated man once more had to restrain a smile. The emphasis of the word “honest” meant that Voorith would be held responsible for keeping the timeline offered. Of course, if he offered too long a timeline, there was always the possibility that the King of all Demons might simply choose another to do his job . . . and Voorith would have more immediate concerns of survival.

After a hesitation, Voorith sank to the floor of its own chamber in a submissive bow. “It . . . will take at least four years, O Consuming Star of the Uttermost Destruction.”

“Four years . . .” To their surprise, Kerlamion gave vent to a laugh of his own, an eerie and frightening sound indeed, as of the air itself being rent and destroyed. “Satisfactory, yes. Four years it shall be. Voorith, if you succeed in this, by four years from this day, then shall I reward rather than punish you.”

Voorith’s voice was shaken and puzzled, but there was relieved gratitude in every tone. “Of course, Lord.”

Kerlamion leaned back, its throne barely visible. “The lands have their unwitting reprieve. All other plans shall be adjusted. You will attend to that personally.” He glanced at the figure in the third mirror.

“Indeed I shall, great King.”

“Do any others have anything to add? For know that now is the time to speak, if any of you believe anything threatens the plan, especially with this change in timing.” Kerlamion’s tone was moderated from its initial leashed anger, and he was clearly demanding honest responses now.

The man in the chair considered briefly.
Well . . . a few things to discuss with my patron, but nothing to bring up with . . .
him
.

Several others did speak, asking questions, clarifying requirements. Even though he understood the overall goals, the man watching still felt a chill of . . . awe? fear? simple excitement? . . . as he heard the mention of carefully devised strategies against every possible stronghold of the enemy, and realized that all of these plans were to culminate on the same day, four years from this moment.

Soon the discussions were finished, and the black-glowing figure surveyed them all one last time, and nodded.

“Then this council is at an end.” Kerlamion vanished, as did Voorith. As he had expected, the third figure remained, and smiled.

“What fortuitous timing,” it said. The human-seeming fingers brushed back light-colored hair which, the seated man knew, was no more real than the reflection itself.

He had to admit that this last remark escaped him, however. “I confess that I don’t quite understand.”

It smiled, a glitter of teeth perfect, white . . . and not quite human. “Let us say that while Voorith does not know why four years is a fortunate period of delay, I do. A
most
fortunate coincidence, especially for Voorith himself. The Lord of All Hells is far less tolerant and forgiving than I am.”

Controlled as he was, the man in the chair could not—quite—prevent himself from glancing down at what was both evidence of that tolerance, and reminder of just how terrible it could be, if that tolerance were worn thin.

It didn’t miss that glance, either, and the smile widened momentarily. “
Far
less tolerant. You very nearly caused me, and my plans, inconvenience some time ago . . . but you have learned well. Kerlamion tends to deal with failure . . . poorly.” Its gaze became intense. “You do also understand
our
position?”

He nodded tensely. “I . . . believe so.” It was astonishingly hard to say the next words, though he had realized the truth some years before. “You . . . have a deeper plan than that of the Lord of All Hells. That is, your plan given to him has some other levels of its own. One that has something to do with—”

It cut him off with a sharp glare. “Do not say names.
Any
names. I
believe
this mirror scroll is proof against spying . . . but not, perhaps, completely so.” It looked at him steadily. “Are you willing to continue, knowing that you risk playing so deep and very dangerous a game?”

He nodded, managing a smile of his own. “I am. I believe you know precisely what you are doing . . . even in this case.”

The humanoid’s tone became cordial. “Excellent. Then I trust you are . . . enjoying your first rewards?”

The man smiled more naturally. The being he spoke to might not share all the same interests that he did, but it certainly did not mind
supporting
them as long as he never forgot who he served, and did not fail it.
And one day I may be
like
it
. “I am
tremendously
appreciative, my most generous and supremely devious patron,” he said, “and I hope—as time goes on—that I will continue to show you that I am worthy of the full reward you have offered.”

“If all goes well . . .” it chuckled, and the lights at the edge of the table
flickered
as though in fear, “if all goes well . . . it is quite possible. Sooner than you might think, in fact.

“Now, it will be a challenge to delay things, my friend, especially where you are. Remembering that except when I personally present myself to you, you cannot—
none
of you can—approach or speak to me in any way that indicates a special familiarity. I will thus be relying on you to keep everything . . . going smoothly for the next four years.”

The man grimaced. “Speaking honestly—as you have always demanded—that will be a difficult challenge. There is an immediately complicating factor that you know—”

“—and one I wish treated with
extreme
caution for now. There must not be the faintest breath of suspicion of your actions.” It held up a placating hand. “I understand your concerns, my friend. I will make it easier; I do not expect to need you and your allies’ services for most of that time, and so I promise not to call upon you for at least three years, possibly the entire four, so long as
you
tend to any . . . pernicious growths, shall we say?”

That
will
make it
much
easier.
Still, there were a huge number of unknowns . . . and the game they were playing here might attract the wrong sort of attention at any moment, no matter how careful he might be.

At the same time, there was no point in pretending to be reluctant. His course had long since been decided.
Take what you must.
“I will do so.” While normally he would finish such a declaration with a name, a title, or at least “Sir,” the other’s instructions had been made very clear; no reference to it directly, not even a title of respect other than words such as “patron”—nothing that gave any clue as to the nature, rank, or even sex of the being.

The being smiled at his simple agreement. “I am pleased with your acceptance—and I know the challenges that four such years, without my assistance, may bring. Know them better than you, in fact, for there are things I have had to address which you have not even been aware of.” It nodded in decision. “I shall be, in essence, giving you full authority here—to direct our operations, to control those under our command, and to make the decisions I shall not be present to make. For that, of course you must have the
power
to enforce those decisions, take those actions. So let us advance your fortunes.”

He felt a surge of disbelieving joy. “You . . . you mean it?” A natural caution took over. “And . . . there will be no . . . untoward prices?”

His patron laughed. “Wisely cautious, my friend—but no, not in this case. I find it most useful to keep my word to those who are, themselves, useful to me, and betraying you with the poison-pill of legendary wishes is hardly in
my
interests.

“There
is
of course
a
price, but you have already begun paying it, and you seem not displeased with the results.”

“My soul is being . . . transformed, yes?”

“Slowly, carefully, and in no way that will affect
who
you are, only
what
you are, yes. If you wish to become one of my people, to gain our powers and strengths . . . you will of necessity be giving up your essence as a human.”

He almost laughed aloud. “You have said I will retain my true self, my interests, my knowledge, my skills—and from what I have seen, from what you have hinted, I will but become all the greater.”

“There are those who would see the change . . . in not so positive a light. But speaking with entire honesty, I do see it as you say, and I believe you shall, as well.” It straightened. “In that case, I have no more time to waste. Unlock the scroll and place it on the wall, hanging sideways.”

It took only moments to do as he was instructed.

“Stand back,” his patron said; as soon as he had done so, his patron spoke a single word in an unknown language, and the scroll blazed with golden light, expanding to the size of a doorway—and through that doorway stepped his patron. “Remove your armor, my friend.”

He was already doing so; he remembered the last time, and
this
part he was not, entirely, looking forward to. “Now,” his patron said with that disquieting smile, “brace yourself. I strongly suggest you look away from yourself, to the wall, to the scroll or anywhere but down.” The smile widened. “This will hurt.”

It did.

For a moment it felt as though five lances of fire-essence had impaled him through the guts. He tried to scream, but the pain was so great he could not even manage that. He could feel something dark-ice cold dwelling in the heart of that fire, an ice that spread through his body and soul, the agony of freezing fire saturating every nerve, and he wondered for a moment if he had trusted this monster in vain.

But then the ice warmed, and the fire cooled, and something else began to flow. A trickle, then a flow, then a flood of strength beyond anything he had ever felt, even when using the powers he and his brethren were granted by right of their brotherhood. The dimly lit room brightened, his vision sharpened. He could see the smallest detail on the walls, the ripples where a chisel had shaped the stone. More, he felt he could see
more
—there were colors for which he had, as yet, no names, and a sense of other powers nearby—the souls of the other Justiciars currently at the retreat.

And he could sense that there was something wonderful he could
do
with such souls.

His patron stepped back, studying him narrowly for a moment. Then it gave a quick smile and nod. “You have survived. Most gratifying. Many would not have lived through that infusion . . . but with the changes we had already begun, you were
just
able to do so.”

He tested his balance, leapt half across the room with a single motion. “By the . . . Will this stay
with
me?”

“It should, for the most part. Oh, there is a certain . . . flush of the initial change which will wear off soon enough. But there are ways to regain that strength, ones you already suspect. I do not begrudge you such advancement, when you are in truth dealing with problems which would otherwise be mine, and which I now leave to you.” It turned, striding back towards the scroll. “Be cautious. Do not betray your nature—even if you are in combat, you must not reveal the fullness of what you have become. Now,” it continued, “I must prepare my own works in service of our King . . . and,” that deadly smile flashed again, “in our own, of course. Do not attempt contact with me again. I will contact you when I am ready.”

The light flared and dissipated, and the scroll was blank.

He picked up the scroll and carefully returned it to its normal place. He put his armor back on, slowly, carefully, as though it were a ritual. All those moments, he savored the
changes
—the exquisite sensitivity of all senses, the ability to detect traces of power in the very air, the physical and mystical strength that filled him nearly to bursting, and he finally laughed aloud.

Then he thought more carefully on his situation. The smile did not disappear, but became less manic, more calm and focused.
I must not allow these senses to be active most of the time. It would be far too easy to betray myself through knowing, sensing something I shouldn’t. In battle or on a hunt, yes, that’s one thing, but I must remain mostly the “self” that others know.

His patron’s warning to not betray his nature was a warning he had no intention of testing. A being which could grant him such power—and who could supply the power that gave their entire group their unique abilities . . . such a being was one to heed well and completely when they gave such quiet and definite warnings.

Still . . . with my patron gone, and his resources no longer available . . . I may have to expand my own resources
. For a moment he backed away from that thought, for he knew it could be his doom if his patron thought he was plotting against it.