THIRTY-ONE
IT WAS ONLY the second time Ryder had made the Zurd leap-shift. Once again, he discovered he was not immune to the overwhelming sense of dizziness and nausea.
Ashara sat beside him. He noticed the wan look on her face, though as a veteran of many such leaps her symptoms receded far faster than his.
They endured the slowness of ground transport, for their entourage was large, yet the delay was minimal since Ashara was now a leader of the empire. As they gathered together in the huge aerodrome, a noticeable group of onlookers pointed and gestured in their direction.
Among them were many holomen, yet none were bold enough to approach. The Pat’Riark, the Magi, and the towering forms of the wenlords were more than adequate deterrent.
They exited the building without mishap and began the long walk along the seashore, heading for the spit of Eagle’s Head, now visible in the distance. It was early in the turn, and the freshness of spring gripped the land. Sea birds screeched a welcome, diving and swooping over their heads, and the breeze drove away the rising heat of the sun.
It would have been a glorious sojourn had it not been for the gloom imposed by the purpose of their trip. Ashara did not act concerned as she walked at Ryder’s side. The Pat’Riark cast worried glances in their direction, his eyes shadowed beneath lowered brows.
There was no further word concerning the denouncement of Zel. They had heard from Arkadies Venn that he was now the bearer of Kryll, gifted to him by the D’ia Mor. It was the fifteenth turn since the ending of the Great Moot, and the entire Pentarchy poised in breathless anticipation of their arrival. Fortunatus had left no doubt of his intention to proceed with his disavowal of the heir-apparent, though it promised to be a difficult matter to judge—if it even happened.
Fortunatus was the foremost transcriber of the Code, yet the primus was the first voice in the empire. To date, Victor Mondragon had shown no inclination to question his son’s actions. By his very inaction, he felt his son had broken no law.
Wulf had also chosen to accompany them. His giant form loped along, sometimes wandering off for a distance, yet never far or for long. Though he understood what had taken place in the Korda, and perhaps even the more subtle nuances of its repercussions, he was a creature unaffected by gloom. It was not long before the myriad wonders of hitherto unseen creatures and things captured his intellect and senses. He eagerly enjoyed them to their fullest.
It was a surprise when he stopped at the head of their long procession, and a growl of warning rolled deeply from his chest. They paused, wondering what caused it. Seconds later, they saw Zel approaching from the trees lining the inner border of the promenade, the D’ia Mor flanking him on either side.
The Kryll dangled against his breast. His hand nervously fingered the Metal as if he could not be certain it would remain. Upon his face was the same familiar, taunting smile, as though he were immune to their reproach—or even their hatred.
“So, my dearest Ashara, have you come at last to fulfill your vow?”
Ashara regarded him calmly. “I have come, but not as you might wish.” She nodded to where Ryder stood waiting. “By the old laws, I am now his. He has had the first touch of my body.”
Zel’s expression froze, his leer trapped in stasis. His eyes flicked once to Ryder, then back. The smile struggled to remain but could not. It curled to a snarl, and his words cut her with insolence and insult. “Not the first…or have you forgotten?”
He waited until understanding and memory tinged her face with crimson. Then he slapped her.
The blow was not loud, and the suddenness of it caught them unprepared. Not so the tharfi. He leapt high and unerringly, and his wild howl of rage took even Zel by surprise. The sheer force of the attack drove him back, even though his shield was impenetrable. Still, it was only an instant before he righted himself and drew his sword. With one precise and swift arc, he severed the tharfi’s head.
The howling stopped. From the severed head came only a strangled gurgling and a bright up-welling of blood. The giant body tumbled away, even as it continued to pump its life fluid in rhythmic, darkened jets that slowly subsided. At last, it came to a lifeless rest.
There was an instant’s pause, a speck of time in which something inside Ryder gave way. It was as though the essence of his humanity had stopped functioning and he had reverted to his ancient, primieval roots. The air suddenly filled with a howling he did not recognize as coming from his throat. It overpowered even the keening wail of the D’ia Mor.
The Flame rose from him. It was not the Violet of Kirlin or the Crimson of Ryl, but a fire of bluish-white. He descended upon Zel, his sword untouched. The light grew until it appeared as though his body was the Flame.
Zel struggled to hold firm, yet even though his shield was at high power he stumbled backward.
Ryder felt the first touch of Zel’s mind like a thin spear trying to pierce him. Rather than flinch from it, he advanced. He recognized the Shadow within, an enemy of long-standing. There was no fear or pain. He was above fear now. Above pain. He was no longer Ryder Talisman, but Light and the Flame.
Zel realized too late he was caught. Even as he struggled to pull back, Ryder clenched him tighter. Within his mind a burning had begun, and the fire spread to the three minds now linked with his. He heard their screams and felt their agony. Then there was nothing save a jumbled fusion that ceased to have any meaning.
The power within him grew as though with a will of its own, consuming everything around it.
***
The others drew back, even the Pat’Riark and the Magi. They watched in wonder and felt the first touch of fear. Fear of something they could not understand, even as they witnessed it with their own eyes.
Ryder Talisman had become a living flame. The blurred image of his body was a feeble aura within the blinding glow. They watched in horror as the wild and flickering light suddenly thrust out toward Zel, impaling him, causing him to wriggle and dance like some inanimate puppet jerked and shaken by invisible strings of power.
Just beyond this aura bubble stood the D’ia Mor. Their keening had risen in volume to become a wild scream, as though their very essence was being torn from them. Within the aura of power they saw a subtle shape, like an umbra of gray. It appeared for only seconds before it vanished. Both Zel and the D’ia Mor were lifted and flung away, their inert forms rolling to a standstill upon the ground. The flame extinguished with a brief clap of indefinable sound.
The watchers waited in stunned silence. Ryder Talisman stood before them once more, the eerie glow still pulsating yet fading. His tall form sagged until he knelt upon the grassy sward.
***
Ashara moved toward him hesitantly, fearful but wanting to assure herself he was still with them. Even as she reached out, she gave a startled cry. His form wobbled before her eyes, thinning until it became less of substance and more ethereal.
Then his eyes opened, glowing green and still tinged with a remnant of the horrible power she had witnessed. They steadied, and he spoke.
“I am still here, my love.”
She touched him then, making certain he was real. He was solid and warm as he held her. She sobbed against his chest as she remembered, yet she could not turn. She could not look upon the body of Wulf who had been her friend.
Of them all, Deemus was the first to recapture normalcy. He moved to Zel, yet there was no need to examine the body to know he was dead. Where his chest and abdomen should have been, there was nothing save a gaping hole, red-rimmed and scorched. A horrible stench rose in thin tendrils of smoke, forcing him to back off. As he moved to the D’ia Mor, his jaw muscles bunched and his voice was regretful as he gave his verdict.
“They yet live.”
“Yes,” Ryder agreed, “they were far enough removed, and the Shadow protected them.”
“You saw it?” Niobe asked fearfully.
Ryder nodded. “It is here and still weak, though it grows in power with each passing moment.”
“It will be aware of you now.” Though his words had been for them both, the Pat’Riark's attention focused upon neither Ryder nor Niobe. Instead, his eyes strained toward the city. “I fear we have visitors.”
As they followed his gaze, they saw a Flitter racing toward them. On its gleaming hull was the emblem of the Gardai.
“This will be a difficult and dangerous matter,” the Pat’Riark warned. “Say nothing. Let Niobe and I handle it.”
The Flitter landed seconds later, and a score of Gardai exited with Argus at their head. His eyes widened in shock at the sight of Zel. The Gardai—Adepts all—grouped around him, their faces mirroring the same horror and disbelief.
“By the Rim,” Argus muttered, drawing his sword. “You shall not escape this time, Code-breaker.”
“Don’t be a fool!” Fortunatus thundered, pointing at Zel’s corpse. “He started it! He was the Code-breaker!”
“That is not for you to decide!” Argus spat, his voice filled with malevolence.
“You did not see what took place, Lord Marshal,” Niobe rebuked. Deemus stood at her side, his hand gripped tightly on his sword. Around her had gathered the wenlords and the Ten. They arranged themselves so they now stood between Ryder and the Gardai.
Argus gave her words no credence. “He must come with us.” He made as if to move forward but the Pat’Riark blocked him.
“He will come…but only in our company.”
Argus’ eyes narrowed. His sword glowed with the first summoning of power. Behind him, the Adepts of the Gardai shuffled their feet, aware of the rising tension and unsure of what to do. In front of them stood no sworn enemies, only the Pat’Riark of Swords and the archduke’s sister.
“If you persist in this, there shall be another breaking of the Code this turn,” Fortunatus warned grimly.
Argus grunted, and it appeared he would disregard the warning. His eyes now held a wild and unreasoning look. Ashara’s voice made them all pause.
“Lord Marshal…whom do you serve?”
Argus blinked, taken aback by the question.
“Whom do you serve?” Ashara pressed.
Argus’ jaw clenched as he struggled to form an answer. “I serve the High Council of the Pentarchy.”
“And who am I?”
He looked at her in amazement. “You are Ashara Sid…the Rianna of…”
“No!”
They gaped at her in astonishment. Her voice had suddenly jumped in volume, ringing with command.
“I am Ashara Sid, Pentarcha of Solarian. I am a leading voice of the High Council!”
“I too am of the High Council!” Niobe’s voice rose to join hers, even as she moved to stand with her.
“And I!” Mendiko also forced his way to the front of the gathering.
Argus’ face now twisted in confusion, and the Pat’Riark was quick to take advantage.
“He shall accompany us to the Star Chamber. My word on it. You must inform the archduke. Give him the facts only. As you have so aptly noted, the council will decide this matter.”
Argus hesitated, yet even he could see his Gardai Adepts might not back him up when faced with such a vagary of right and wrong. “Very well,” he growled. “Your word binds you, and I shall hold you accountable for it.”
He ordered the bodies of Zel and the D’ia Mor taken aboard the Flitter. His eyes squinted further as he saw the decapitated body of the tharfi, but he held his silence and made no move to touch it. With the task finished, he returned to the Flitter in company with the others. Their departure was as swift as their arrival.
The members of the company stood together, each pondering the formidable challenge ahead. Niobe broke the silence.
“We must bury Wulf before the curious gather in greater numbers.
She had sensed the coming of the people well before the rest had seen them. Only a dozen as yet, but the number would grow as word of what had happened spread beyond the boundaries of Ravel.
They wasted no time but set about the grim task. The Adepts drove their swords deep into the earth, blasting a hole wide enough to serve. They carefully inserted the tharfi’s body. It looked so much smaller and frailer in death than in life. There, by the seashore, they paid their final tribute.
“He was the first creature I met in this new world,” Ryder began the eulogy, and his voice shook with grief. “Though we began wrongly, we ended as friends. He would always befriend any who held him as equal. There shall never be another like him.”
Ashara wept. Through the thin veil covering her eyes, Niobe’s tears also fell to stain the ground. Of them all, Wulf had given her the greatest gift. They scooped up the earth with their hands and flung it into the tomb until a slight mound rose above the surrounding glade.
Shaka strode up to the people and in a grim voice warned of the consequences if anyone dared to disturb the burial site. The people did not tarry but hurried away.
After a last moment in which each prayed for the soul of their departed friend, they moved in solemn silence toward Brigantia and the Star Chamber.