NOTE: Warning in this chapter for a moderately graphic description of the sort of wounds caused by medieval weapons. Hint: they're not pretty.
Nexus of Light: CHAPTER THREE~
Once, Lone Wolf had unexpectedly come face-to-face with a Yas – a deadly constrictor renowned for its hypnotic power. His mental shields had saved him from entrapment and death – but he still remembered that first shock of seeing, the world falling away, every sense screaming danger but none of the alarms seeming to register in his mind…
This was the same. On some level, he knew that with every word, the Darklord was walking closer, relaxed and easy. He knew that he faced his enemy, that now was the time to move, to strike, to fight for his life…
But the words simply wrapped around him in layer upon layer of darkness, and it was all he could do to simply hold them at bay.
Then, between one breath and the next, silver-edged scarlet light blazed up in his mind, a barrier between him and the worst of that lulling darkness, and Lone Wolf staggered suddenly as he found his body once more his to command. He blinked, the world beyond those inhuman eyes coming into focus again, and glimpsed Grey Star, eyes closed as the wizard's hand clenched tightly around something hanging on a simple leather thong around his neck as furious scarlet light blazed between his fingers.
Then the Dark Lord made a back-handed, dismissive gesture – and Grey Star was thrown to the side, the red light winking out as the wizard slammed against stone.
"Stand aside, changeling child," the Darklord said calmly as Grey Star fell limp to the floor at the base of the wall. "My plans for you are otherwise."
But in that one, brief moment, his attention was turned from Lone Wolf. Gritting his teeth, the Kai Lord lunged.
Clear, golden light flooded through his mind as his hands closed on the hilt of the Sommerswerd, burning away the clinging shadows of the Darklord's will. Feeling as though a great weight had suddenly dropped from his limbs, Lone Wolf whirled about, bringing the Sommerswerd up to a ready position to face his enemy.
Ebon eyes narrowed slightly against the blazing light of the blade. And yet, the Darklord simply shook his head, seemingly untroubled. "And now what, young stray? Would you call on the power of the blade to sear me from existence, as you once did Zagarna? Ah – but you have not that power now, do you? Not in this place." With a small smile, a hand gestured to the windowless stone walls – and beyond them, to the sunless sky of this dying fragment of a world.
And then the wrist turned gracefully, so that the Darklord gestured to himself. "Even if you had access to such power, it would do little to harm me. Not as I stand now, clothed in mortal flesh."
"It is still enough to destroy you," Lone Wolf said flatly, through gritted teeth, and prayed that he spoke with more than just bravado. He could still feel the darkness coiling tighter around him with the words, held at bay only by the light of the Sommerswerd and his own mental shields, ragged and torn after the earlier assault during his captivity and still wavering dangerously after the hypnotic fog of only a few moments before. Nearby, he could hear Grey Star coughing as stunned lungs struggled to breathe after the harsh impact, telling him that his ally was alive and conscious, at least.
"Hm. I wonder. Shall we test that?" The Darklord's hand rose, fingers curling as though to grip something invisible – and Lone Wolf lunged, Sommerswerd arcing up and around in a bright butterfly sweep.
The tower room rang with the cry of steel on steel, as the Darklord's hand closed on the very sword that Lone Wolf had taken from the guard at the door, and the blades locked at the hilts.
A powerful shove forced Lone Wolf to stumble back, off-balance from the unexpected parry. Rather than sacrifice his defenses to regain his balance, Lone Wolf yielded to the force of the push and dropped, striking the ground with his shoulder and rolling with the force of the fall so that it brought him back to his feet in a ready stance.
But the Darklord did not follow up with an attack of his own. Instead, blade held at the ready, he extended his empty hand and beckoned with his fingers, as though inviting Lone Wolf to spar.
"I face you in mortal flesh, with mortal steel," he said, a dark, victorious smile crossing that eerily childlike face. "Do not expect the magic of the Sommerswerd to aid you in this battle, young stray!"
Under any other circumstance, Lone Wolf would have no need for concern. He had studied the ways of the sword from his earliest days in the Monastery, from the moment the training master had first called for the young novices to set their hands to the weapon of their choice. And all magic aside, the Sommerswerd was a blade without peer, perfectly balanced and resting in his hand as though forged for him. Armed with such a blade, he felt he could challenge any foe.
And yet.
The Darklord wielded the simple sword he had taken up with the skill of a master swordsman, parrying or evading each of Lone Wolf's blows and striking back with blurring speed, each of them pressing forward and giving ground, seeking the offensive and losing it. In the back of his mind, Lone Wolf was aware of Grey Star pushing himself to his feet, trying to make his way around the edge of the room to the place where his staff leaned against the wall – only to scramble back, fighting to stay out from underfoot as the battle surged back and forth across the tower room.
Even with a Kai Lord's enhanced endurance, Lone Wolf felt his breathing growing ragged, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead and trickle down his face. In all his travels, he'd never met an opponent like this. The Darklord matched him blow for blow and counter for counter, forcing him to reach deep inside and summon forth every iota of speed and strength and skill he had ever gained, and all that held despair back was the way the Darklord's smile had vanished for a look of fierce concentration that Lone Wolf knew was an unsettling mirror of the expression on his own face. They were locked together, absolute equals. Even if Grey Star could reach his staff, there was no way he could intervene without risking hitting the wrong person. The battle hinged on which of them would make the first mistake-
Then, as blade clashed on blade, Lone Wolf saw it.
With his next parry, he lunged in close, bringing the hilts of their weapons together in a lock. But rather than pit strength against strength, he twisted, tangling the Darklord's borrowed blade with the Sommerswerd-
And turned, wrenching the blade from the Darklord's hand.
With a cry of triumph, he continued to turn, spinning with the momentum of the disarm as the blade flew through the air to clatter against the wall, and came about, bringing the Sommerswerd in a burning circle to slash down on his foe and end the battle-
For less than a breath, as his eyes met those of his foe, he saw dark victory smiling back at him.
Then the eyes he looked upon were no longer black-on-black-on-black, but terrified hazel-green, and he could not stop the blow in time.
The horrible, visceral feeling of his blade biting through unarmored flesh. Stark crimson blood flying up to stain his face. And a scream.
And a young wizard fell to the ground, grey robe rent and swiftly staining red from the horrible gash across his back, Sommerlund's prince safely shielded beneath his body.
"Grey Star!"
The Sommerswerd clattered onto the wooden floor, and under any other circumstances Lone Wolf would have been ashamed to handle any weapon so carelessly. But his mind was already dropping into a healing trance as he fell to his knees beside his companion, reaching for the powers that would take torn flesh and muscle and shattered bone and will them whole.
"He kept saying… that the Sommerswerd wouldn't harm him," Grey Star gritted, breathless with pain, shock bleaching his normal dusky coloring sallow. "Because he was clothed in mortal flesh. Bothered me, but… didn't understand why… until he lost the blade…"
"Be quiet," Lone Wolf said shortly, voice harsh in his ears, barely even hearing what the wizard was saying. By luck or reflex or desperate design, Grey Star had taken the blow diagonally across his back, strong muscles and sturdy bone keeping the blade from biting into any vital organs. But the bone of his shoulder blade, which had taken the force of first impact, was at least cracked, and Lone Wolf could see flashes of white in the depths of the wound as it crossed ribs and spine. And blood was pouring out at an alarming rate, adding to the old stains on the ancient floor.
Start there.
Reach for countless delicate blood vessels, torn brutally apart or crushed into blooming bruises by the weight and momentum of the sword. Catch and hold, willing the blood to thicken, to clot and block any further loss. Already, the natural defenses of Grey Star's own body had rallied to aid him; fragile as life could be, the human body was amazingly resilient, able to recover from deathly danger, if it just had enough strength. His task was to give it that strength, to muster the natural healing of the body and amplify it, slowing the bleeding as he burned out any hints of infection that might otherwise flare up into life-threatening illness, allowing the blood to seal the wound to prevent further bleeding or infection, coaxing the deepest layers of muscle together-
And there, he had no choice but to stop, acutely aware that he could afford neither the time nor the energy to heal any more, not when they still had to escape, and possibly fight. But at least the worst of the danger had passed; the bleeding had stopped, and he had at least sealed the wound enough to allow Grey Star to move, if slowly. The rest could be tended by simpler means for now, until they had found somewhere safe enough for him to risk a full healing trance.
Casting about for something he could render into bandages, Lone Wolf's eye fell upon the Sommerswerd.
He froze.
Crimson gleamed wetly along the edge of the blade, mute reminder of what had happened. And wherever blood touched steel – the golden light of the Sommerswerd failed, and hair-thin cracks ran along the blade, as though it were made of fragile glass, and not steel at all. Even as he watched, the white-hot light burning at the edge of that darkened region flared painfully bright – and failed, retreating back, as new cracks appeared with a high, splintering sound.
Stunned, Lone Wolf reflexively reached out to touch the hilt-
As his fingers touched it, the entire Sommerswerd, hilt and all, shattered.
For a long moment, he could do nothing save stare, unable to even wrap his mind around what had happened. The Sommerswerd was the symbol of Sommerlund, and the Kai Lords, and Kai himself; the great weapon forged for battle against the darkness, that would suffer no creature of darkness to touch it, nor its powers to be wielded by any save a Kai Lord…
And what Kai Lord would shed an innocent's blood?
Suddenly, the full design of the Darklord's plan fell into place, and Lone Wolf found himself shaking his head – but not in negation.
"We were right all along," he whispered. His voice sounded strange and distant in his ears, his lips numb and clumsy around the words. "From the beginning, this was all a trap. And yet I did not see – the Sommerswerd was not the bait for the trap. The sword itself was the trap."
Leave them to make their way through empty halls to find the sword, allowing silence and stillness to set every nerve on edge. Strike, first with voice and then with blade, confusing him, pushing him to the very limits, so that he relied on speed and reflex. And then… release the possession, and leave the Darklord's hostage victim to take the final blow alone.
Grey Star's quick thinking had saved the prince, at least – but though he himself was a warrior against the dark, the wizard was still an ally. An innocent, to the magic of the blade.
"There is still hope."
Lone Wolf started, turning quickly back as Grey Star began to push himself up, only to blanch in sudden pain.
"Be careful," Lone Wolf said quickly, reaching out to help the wizard sit upright. "Your wounds are only closed, not healed. By rights, you should not be moving…"
Grey Star shook his head, breath catching as Lone Wolf quickly wrapped torn strips of the wizard's ruined cloak around his torso. A sorry effort at bandaging, but they had not the time or supplies to make a better job of it. "But we do not have time," the wizard said grimly. "I imagine his servants will not be far behind us."
"Now that he has achieved his aim? Yes," Lone Wolf agreed, closing his eyes in pain. He'd been such a fool not to see it.
"He did not," Grey Star said fiercely. "I told you. There is still hope."
Startled, Lone Wolf looked at him. "What do you mean?"
"I chose to step into the path of the blade. Willingly," Grey Star said. "That has a power of its own. The blade was broken, yes. But it was not destroyed! And that which has been broken can be mended."
Hope hurt, after so much had gone so painfully wrong. It felt not unlike walking away from the shattered Kai Monastery, leaving his teachers and friends to lie unburied where they had fallen so that he might reach the king and warn him of what had happened.
But he had done it then, though it had felt like tearing his heart apart to do so. And now, following the wizard's directions, he gathered up the shards of the Sommerswerd, wrapping them in a spare shirt from the wizard's pack and stowing them carefully away. Only then did he help Grey Star rise to his feet.
Once standing, the wizard started to take a step, and then swayed dangerously, nearly falling before Lone Wolf steadied him. "My staff-"
The weapon still leaned against the wall, just a few steps away. Lone Wolf quickly retrieved it – and blinked, looking at it for the first time. Though his experience with wizards was somewhat limited, it looked like no wizard's staff he'd ever seen, either among the Brotherhood of the Crystal Star or the Order of Magi. Indeed, the simple pole of dark wood didn't look like a wizard's staff at all; he could see nothing that would distinguish it from thousands of quarterstaves exactly like it in training yards across Sommerlund.
And yet there was no denying the look of utter relief that crossed Grey Star's face as he took that plain oaken staff in hand, as though a missing part of himself had been returned. For a moment, he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the wood in a way that had nothing to do with the way he leaned on it for support.
After a moment, however, he drew himself up, straightening with a poorly-concealed wince as the wound in his back protested. "We still must find the portal," he said. "I do not think it can be far from this place…"
"I know the way."
Startled, Lone Wolf turned, chastising himself for forgetting they were no longer alone.
Back pressed against the wall, Prince Hamil bit his lip, looking pale and startlingly young – no more than eleven, and Lone Wolf suddenly recalled that the boy had been born nearly six months after the opening battles of Zagarna's attack on Sommerlund, when Prince Pelathar had fallen to an enemy arrow. Prince Hamil had never met his father.
And yet, Lone Wolf could see the same noble spirit that he'd seen in the dying prince, when the boy raised his chin and stepped forward, pale and terrified and fiercely determined.
"The portal that the demon used is above us, at the top of the tower," he said, pointing to a second door on the far side of the room. "The stairs are this way."
Nodding grimly, Lone Wolf slung Grey Star's pack over his shoulder; the wizard could no longer carry it, injured as he was. More than that, the pack now carried the shards of the Sommerswerd, and Lone Wolf was loathe to part with it, even to an ally.
The howling wind struck with brutal force as they emerged through a hatch onto the open platform at the very top of the tower, nearly tearing the green cloak from Lone Wolf's shoulders as he staggered, caught off guard by the gale. Here, nothing stood in the way of the wind, and the empty void that had consumed this world's sky seemed to loom far too close over their heads.
Tearing his eyes from the emptiness with a shudder, Lone Wolf found himself looking at another scene that he found no more comforting: the wide plain upon which the Darklord had staged his army. From here, he could see that their first sight of it from the windows of the keep had in fact not revealed the full extent of the Darklord's army; at least two more divisions were encamped beyond a turn in the shattered landscape, away from the broken rim of the world.
Lone Wolf found himself glancing towards that cut-away wing of the keep, and shuddered. From this vantage, he could make out the overall curve of that line, and it sent a chill through his spine. This truly was nothing more than a fragment, a lone mountain and its surrounding landscape adrift in the emptiness between worlds.
"Lone Wolf!"
In the raging wind, he could barely hear the wizard's shout. Turning, he found that Grey Star had sunk to one knee in the center of a complex sigil engraved into the very slates that formed the tower's roof. Something glittered at the heart of the symbol, and as he watched, Grey Star gingerly pulled it free, wincing as the motion aggravated his wound.
Leaving Prince Hamil sheltered from the wind against one of the merlons forming the wall of the platform, Lone Wolf pulled his cloak close so that the wind would not throw him off balance again and moved to stand at the wizard's shoulder to look at the object. It was a pendant of some kind, he saw; a simple crystal circle dangling upon a chain.
"What is it?" he asked, almost shouting just to hear himself over the wind.
Grey Star shook his head. "I do not know," he answered. "But it appears to be a key of some kind." He made as if to pass it up to Lone Wolf, only to stop short with a wince of pain.
Reaching down, Lone Wolf took the pendant, and then helped pull the wizard back to his feet. "What of the portal? Have you the strength to open a path home?" he asked in concern.
Grey Star closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and nodded. "I do not know where we will arrive," he admitted. "But I can at least see to it that we will arrive near help of some form-"
The sudden crash of the hatch opening brought both of them turning about. A Drakkarim soldier smirked as he started to lever himself out onto the platform – and then suddenly was smashed back down into the interior of the tower as Prince Hamil cast himself atop the hatch, using his unexpected weight to force it back down.
Lone Wolf raced across the platform, adding his own weight to the door as he looked quickly for something to hold it down. Finding the latch, he quickly shoved it into place. But it was only one, and it would not hold for long-
"Both of you, into the circle," Grey Star commanded, voice ringing clear through the wind. "Whatever happens, do not leave it!"
Lone Wolf pulled the prince close as he stepped onto the sigil, wrapping his cloak around both of them both for warmth and to keep it from tearing loose, as Grey Star set himself in the center of the circle, feet planted wide for support and hands similarly positioned wide in an overhand grip on his staff, held low and level in front of him. Then the wizard closed his eyes, and let his head drop forward.
Seconds passed. Behind them, Lone Wolf could hear the latch screaming protest as enemies hammered on the hatch from below. Thinning his lips, Lone Wolf tightened his grip on his stolen sword and prepared to fight.
And then stilled.
Grey Star did not move. He chanted no spell. And yet Lone Wolf could feel the power gathering around them, flaring up from the sigil and the stones of the tower and the world itself, reaching down in misty tendrils from the great void above – and most of all, blazing starfire from the core of the wizard himself.
With the spang of overstressed metal, the latch tore loose; the hatch slammed open behind them, and Lone Wolf started to turn to face the soldiers, hoping to buy them even just a few seconds' time-
And suddenly Grey Star moved, thrusting his level staff up and over his head in one fierce push and a grimace of effort and pain. And as though the world around them were nothing more than mere curtain stage-settings, their surroundings furled upwards, and suddenly the three of them stood upon a glowing sigil in the space between the worlds.
Clouds of stars whirled past them, wheeling about like a great flock of starlings flying south on the very wings of the first bitter blast of winter wind. Out of the darkness they left in their wake, lambent blue-violet mist reached out curious fingers to stroke the edges of the sigil, as flashes of golden and white comets danced and collided in the emptiness, scattering sparks and plumes of flame. One flickered past, a little whorl of flame that could burn away a mountain in the blink of an eye, and vanished, leaving darkness and turning stars and mist.
And they were not alone.
In a circle at the very edge of the shining sigil appeared twelve figures, tall and graceful, standing hand in hand, each radiating a silvery light that limned the edges of soft, hooded grey robes, and Lone Wolf could feel Prince Hamil clutching at his tunic as the boy turned away, burying his face against the Kai Lord's side. He wrapped his cloak closer around the young prince, but did not look away himself. He felt no threat from these figures. On the contrary, each radiated a sense of rightness – and determination.
At some unheard signal, each hooded head rose. And for the life of him, Lone Wolf could not say what features he saw, or even if he saw any at all. All that registered upon his awareness were the mirrored eyes, each reflecting the light blazing from the young wizard who still stood unmoving in the center of their circle.
Grey Star did not look at them. His eyes remained closed, and the expression of fierce concentration never changed. But Lone Wolf thought he saw the young man's lips move, forming silent words.
They might have been, Thank you.
Then Grey Star suddenly snapped his staff back down with a gasp, and reality came down around them, blocking out the worlds and stars and shining figures, and the three of them stood on a bare hilltop, overlooking a rocky plain of reddish-yellow earth and stones with covered with green-blue sagebrush that filled the air with its sharp scent. Mountains stood near at hand, marching away toward the northern horizon, their peaks sharp-edged and bright in the dry air, disturbed only by hints of dust swirling in a light, warm breeze.
And overhead, warm sunlight poured down from a blazing blue sky.
Lone Wolf's mouth dropped open as Prince Hamil tentatively let go to stare about them with wide, shocked eyes, and the taste of sand and sage on his tongue was as familiar as memory. These – these were the great plains of Valerion, south of Sommerlund.
Far from home yet. But after that shattered ghost of a world, the sight was as welcome as a fire in his own hearth…
Wood clattered on stone as Grey Star's staff dropped from slack hands. Eyes still closed, the wizard swayed dangerously on his feet.
Quick reflexes let Lone Wolf catch him before the younger man hit the ground. Lowering him, Lone Wolf's lips thinned. Already sallow from shock and blood loss, Grey Star's face was even paler now. And Lone Wolf could feel the wetness where the barely-closed wound had reopened on Grey Star's back, blood soaking through makeshift bandages and torn robe.
Cursing to himself, Lone Wolf turned the wizard so as not to aggravate the wound further, and stood to search their surroundings again, with more purpose this time. Grey Star had said the portal would take them somewhere near help, and they needed that help now, both to tend the wizard's wounds and to gather supplies; this vast plain was no place for a stranger to forage, even a Kai Master who knew the art of hunting. But what few people lived in such places tended to look with disfavor upon unexpected strangers – and he could see no signs of habitation…
A flicker of motion drew his eyes upward.
The shadow of a ship approached, dark against the endless blue sea of the sky; a small craft, no bigger than a river barge, two curving sails sweeping back from its gracefully curved brow as they billowed in the wind, laughing at gravity and the earth below.
A familiar ship, familiar as the blue pennant with its golden crescent-and-star design.
Jaw dropping open, Lone Wolf could not help but laugh.
"Help indeed," he breathed, and pulled off his green Kai cloak, bright in the sunlight against the dun-and-sage of the landscape, raising it high to flag the Skyrider down.
AN: Yes, I broke the Sommerswerd.
Honestly, that particular plot twist has been stuck in my head ever since I re-read Fire on the Water and got to this line: "This weapon was forged long before the Sommlending, the Durenese, or the Darklords dwelt in the Lastlands. Its makers were of a race that men would now call gods. To release the power that it contains, only a Kai Lord may wield it. Should it be used in combat by anyone who is not a Kai Lord, its power will fade and be lost forever."
Me: "…holy bleep. The Darklords have any number of human followers. If they ever got the Sommerswerd away from Lone Wolf – and it does happen several times throughout the course of the story – it would be so easy for them to just hand it to one of those followers and send them out to take a few swings…" And yet, to my knowledge it never comes up again, when by all rights Lone Wolf should be in a cold sweat any of the numerous times his enemies manage to take his items from him! Seriously. If you're going to give your Infinity+1 Sword a Kryptonite, by all rights that Kryptonite should come into play! (Although. To be fair, maybe it does in the later books?)
Frankly, that was a little too easy, so I went with something a bit more complex and hard to manage – using the sword to spill the blood of an innocent, a classic Bane for weapons of Goodly alignment. But the inspiration was there. Besides, even if the Sommerswerd could be destroyed so easily, what force of evil could turn down a chance to mess with Lone Wolf's head like that?
(And, that line about "makers were of a race that men would now call gods"? Yeah. Let's just say that the bunnies drew a line from A to B and are now running with it.)
As an aside: oh yes, swords can break bones. Although I admit that Grey Star's injury is partly inspired by the professor who taught my Human Osteology class, and loved to regale us with stories about how breaking this or that bone could mess you up…
