She turned to the soldiers around her, who
were just recovering enough to advance upon her again.
“Haven’t you had enough!” she cried,
thrusting her staff into the earth.
A shock wave of raw energy rippled out from
where it struck, knocking the soldiers from their feet. When they
hit the ground, black bands burst forth to secure them there. Then
she cast her staff forward and sent a coiling rope of black strands
forward. It lanced through the portal and ensnared Deacon’s ankle.
She began to drag him back, but a blur of red and gold roared
through the portal and struck her with the force of a
landslide.
It was Myn, taking full advantage of the
enlarged portal and eager to take out her fury on the necromancer.
The pair slid back along the ground, Myn squeezing Turiel tight in
one claw. She opened her jaws and made ready to snap them shut
around Turiel with force enough to snap her in half. Turiel cried
out viciously, and a blast of power erupted from her, hurling Myn
off and sending the dragon onward to bash painfully into the face
of the cave.
Turiel climbed to her feet, body twitching
with pain and fury. Her youth and power were beginning to wane with
the sheer quantity of magic she was using, but she didn’t care
anymore. Deep lines etched her face, gray threaded her hair, but
she stalked forward, ready and willing to squander all she had if
it meant achieving her goal. Myranda and Deacon were both rushing
away, their minds and wills dedicated to keeping the artifact away
from Turiel. She snarled and churned the air with her staff. A
portal snapped open in front of the retreating heroes. Then
another, and another. The portals formed edge to edge, flicking
open until they created a solid dome around them. Each portal on
the north side produced a matching one on the south side, all
opening around Turiel. Myranda and Deacon stopped and surveyed
their surroundings, but every direction was blocked by a portal
that led right back to their foe.
“It is over…” Turiel breathed, her voice
suddenly gnarled and croaking, yet reverberating with mystic power.
“The only way forward is back. Give me the power you’ve stolen. Let
me call the D’Karon.”
Myranda turned, looking back through the main
portal, and began to step toward it. “How many more people have to
die for your sister, Turiel?”
“As many as it takes!”
“And for what? So you can find a beast that
doesn’t exist and avenge the memory of a woman known only to you!
Someone gone for so long that few who live today can even know
exactly how many years have passed. Do
you
even know how
long ago the twentieth year of Queen Marrow the Fierce was?”
“It doesn’t matter how long ago it was,”
Turiel said furiously.
“It was four hundred twenty-six years ago…”
Deacon said, his voice low and his eyes wide. “The twentieth year
of Queen Marrow is the year Entwell was founded.”
Myranda’s face dawned with realization.
“Turiel…”
“Enough words!” the necromancer screeched,
launching another bundle of threads toward them.
Myranda raised a feeble mystic shield with
her waning strength. Almost immediately it began to buckle, but
Deacon stepped beside her and lent his will to hers, bolstering
it.
“Turiel, was your sister’s name Azriel?”
Myranda called.
“Don’t you
dare
speak that name! You
don’t
deserve
to speak that name!” Turiel shrieked, more
threads joining the attack.
“She’s still alive! Turiel, your sister
wasn’t killed! She made it through the Cave of the Beast! She’s the
founder
of a place called Entwell.”
“Lies! I would have felt her presence if it
was so!”
“You didn’t feel her presence among the dead
because she wasn’t dead. And you didn’t feel it among the living
because the mountains around Entwell are almost impenetrable to
magic.”
“You would say anything to stop me from
contacting the D’Karon!”
“Turiel, you linked your mind with Ivy to
learn what she knew,” Myranda said, stepping through the portal,
pushing the curling, clutching threads of magic ahead of her. “Do
the same for me. I’ve spoken with Azriel. I’ve matched wits with
her. You’ll—”
“I won’t lower my guard, Myranda. Now give me
the artifact! If you don’t, I promise you I will keep you both here
until the portals close. What do you suppose will happen if that
blast strikes the power you’ve stolen? Or the soldiers defending
the village? Or the village itself?”
“Then what will it take to convince you?”
Myranda called. “What will it take for you to believe that Azriel
is alive?”
“I must hear it from her own lips…”
“Then let us take you to her. I can show you
the way through the cave.”
“No,
now!
I’m through waiting!”
“But we can’t—” Myranda began, but she
stopped when Deacon touched her shoulder with his fingers.
She turned to see the sliver of metal in his
palm, then looked into his eyes.
“I think I can do it…” Deacon said.
“Is it safe?” Myranda asked.
“I don’t know that we have any other
options.” He turned to Turiel. “Listen! I am going to use the
portals you’ve created, combine them. And between your power and
mine, I believe we can pierce the influence of the mountains around
Entwell. I did it once before, though not without cost.”
“Do not speak to me of cost! If you can do
so,
do so!
But if this is another deception, it will be the
last!”
Deacon nodded and, like a man handling a
venomous snake, carefully placed his gem atop the artifact he’d
created, clutching them both in his left hand. Making sure he and
Myranda were on the Northern side of the main portal, he began to
cast his influence out over the field of flickering images. One by
one the window to the south at the core of each of them flicked
shut, leaving only the churning, dark circle. They pulled toward
each other, layering one atop the other, crackling with intensified
energy. Each portal, when joined with the last, made the darkness
within seem deeper. It was a hole in the air, leading nowhere, yet
stretching like a tunnel.
Turiel’s expression changed, fury dropping
slowly away. One could see in her eyes that she felt something from
long ago, something in her past. Whatever the sensation was, it
brought a warmth and serenity to her expression. She looked to be
coping with a flash of almost painful memories, as if someone
smelling baking bread suddenly thinking of the home left behind
long ago.
“… I… I can feel her,” Turiel said, crossing
from the Tresson side of a portal to the Northern side.
Deacon shut his eyes in concentration. Deep
within the portal he was crafting… far, far away… a light began to
shine. It showed a meadow, green and rolling with grass. At the
center of the meadow was a pleasant cottage, thatched roof and
painted walls making it the very picture of wholesome.
Tears ran down the necromancer’s face.
“That’s… our cottage. From when we were girls. It was right at the
border. I remember it so vividly…”
She stepped through the portal, her feet
sinking slightly into the churning black mists of the tunnel as she
continued forward.
Deacon’s hands were shaking, sweat pouring
from his brow. “I… don’t know if I can hold it open much longer…
The scattering of the mountains… the influence of the crystal
arena… it’s more than the spell can overcome. The energy of the
D’Karon portals is running out. I can’t add anymore, the risk of
doing it improperly is too great…”
“Turiel! Surely you’re convinced! You’ve got
to get out of there! The portal is about to shut!” Myranda
called.
“I won’t! Not when I’ve come so close!”
The necromancer quickened to a run, desperate
to reach the idyllic image before her and the promise of finally
reuniting with her sister.
“I can’t… I can’t…” Deacon said, dropping to
a single knee. His eyes snapped open. “No!”
But it was too late, the power was gone, his
concentration lost. At the end of the tunnel, the meadow vanished,
the exit of the portal snapping shut. Turiel turned back, now a
single recognizable form in a roiling abyss of black energy.
“What did you do? Open it!
Now!
” she
shrieked.
The entrance to the tunnel was shrinking now,
its power entirely expended.
“Please… leave the portal. I don’t know what
will…” Deacon said, his voice wavering.
Turiel ran to the entrance of the dark
tunnel. “You
will
open that portal again! You
will
take me to my sister!”
“I… don’t have the strength… You must—”
“I must take it for myself!” Turiel
hissed.
She reached through the steadily shrinking
portal and closed her fingers around Deacon’s extended, gem-bearing
left hand. Her fingers touched his and he screamed in pain, searing
bolts of power shooting up his arm and down hers. Each bolt left
behind skin rendered gray and lifeless. The power flowed into her,
and from her to the portal, but it merely slowed the portal’s
decrease.
“Let go of him! We will help you find her,
there are other ways!” Myranda called out, leveling her staff at
Turiel. “But if you do not release Deacon—”
“I am through waiting! Centuries I have
waited. I will not wait a
minute
longer,” Turiel
growled.
The necromancer squeezed tighter, Deacon
screamed in agony, and the flow of energy intensified. The portal
very slowly began to grow again.
“You should be pleased, Myranda. This is what
you want. If I find my sister, I shall have no need for the
D’Karon. If this one man must die, that is a small price for us
each to achieve our goals. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Myranda gritted her teeth and squeezed her
staff tight. When she spoke, it was with certainty, and not a
whisper of hesitation.
“No.”
She unleashed a blast of raw, crackling black
magic. It was a vicious spell, one designed to cause pain above all
else. Yet when it struck Turiel, it was not pain but surprise that
painted her expression. The dark sorceress stumbled back, waves of
churning magic washing over her body. Her fingers slipped from
Deacon’s. Deacon fell to the ground, clutching his afflicted
hand.
Without any will or power flowing into the
portal, it shrank swiftly. Turiel recovered and rushed for the
opening, rage and desperation in her eyes, but it was too late. The
portal slid shut behind her, and she was gone.
Drained of all of its power, the portal did
not release its shock wave as the others had. It simply whisked
away in a curl of black energy, taking any trace of Turiel with
it.
Myranda helped Deacon to his feet, the color
returning to his flesh as Turiel’s attack eased away. Once on his
feet, he stood beside her and stared silently at the point in space
formerly occupied by the portal. The pair looked around, watching
the skeleton army slowly fall to pieces, broken and lifeless once
more. The soldiers defending the village lowered their weapons.
“I don’t… I don’t know where she is now… She
was… between two points in the same world…” Deacon said, horror in
his voice.
“If it is an end, it is an end she chose for
herself,” Myranda said.
She pointed a finger at the main portal, the
one to the south. It was the only one remaining, and without
Turiel’s influence it was quickly closing.
“We’ve got to do something about that,” she
said. “It was massive, and it was opened from this side. When it
closes…”
“I know… it could level the village,” Deacon
said. He shook his head, trying to restore his focus, and looked to
the terrible sight on the other side of the portal. “They need help
there, too,” he said.
“I’ll go,” Myranda said, stepping toward the
portal.
“Wait,” he said. He held out the sliver of
metal. “Here. Take the artifact. Turiel altered this portal, dumped
power into it in a way the D’Karon hadn’t intended. The southern
side is the safe side. I don’t want to risk a wave of unguided
energy hitting this.” He pressed it into her hand. “Keep it safe.
Put it to good use if you can.”
“If you aren’t sure you can close it
safely—”
“Myranda, one way or another I’ll keep this
village and these soldiers safe, but we both know I’m the only one
who might be able to tame this portal, and you’re the only other
one who we can trust to handle the artifact wisely. Just go… I’ll
see you in Kenvard when you return.”
Myranda nodded, stepping forward to throw an
arm around him in a tight embrace. She kissed him on the lips, then
pressed her cheek to his. “Be safe.”
With that, they parted ways, each with their
own tasks. Deacon watched as Myranda passed through the portal into
Tressor, stepping cautiously forward as the restraints that held
the Tresson troops to the ground loosened and vanished. He knew
that she would have her hands full dealing with the chaos Turiel
had left behind, but more importantly he knew that Myranda was more
than capable of handling it. The same might not be true for
him.
He experimentally reached out with his mind,
hoping to perhaps shift the portal’s location. If he could move it
far from the village, there would be little threat. The instant he
wrapped his will about the work of D’Karon magic, he knew moving it
was not an option. Turiel’s trick of restoring it, enlarging it,
had been reckless and hasty. It had worked, but now the enchantment
that composed the structure of the portal was fragile and unstable.
If he were to attempt anything substantial, he could very well
cause it to collapse, resulting in a blast even larger than the one
that would result if it closed on its own. There were no two ways
about it. He would have to allow the portal to close and somehow
protect the village from the resulting blast.