Chapter 29: Standing Firm
The Incarnation loomed tall past the gates of the altar room, sauntering towards them like a cat playing with mice. Sunlight filtered down from the ceiling, wreathing the dragon's head in a halo of white light. It only added to the beast's menace.
Chris turned from side to side, searching the room desperately. A stone altar stood upon a dais. The floor was carved with crude etchings, nothing of the sort they had seen elsewhere in the ruins. The back wall glowed with supernatural light.
There had to be some hint of how the rune was hidden. But the book had mentioned nothing of the sort. Goddess fend, she thought, we will die in here unless…
"Chris!" Hugo cried out. Just as she spoke, there came a hiss as the dragon drew a deep breath. She spun back around just as Hugo threw himself at her. They went down in a pile, her shoulder slamming against the polished marble. The stone floor was cool, but the air grew hot as a furnace.
The dragon vomited fire into the altar room, engulfing both altar and dais in a torrent of flame. Chris sheltered behind the iron door with Hugo pressed on top of her. Still the hot air pulled the breath from her lungs. The iron heated to searing, burning her fingers before she snatched them away. She could not breathe. Dizziness washed over her. When the fire cooled, her skin remained hot as a furnace.
As the fire dimmed, a glow caught Chris's eye. She looked to the altar.
There upon the polished surface floated the faint outline of an elaborate rune. Its ghostly form wavered, as if not quite committed to remaining in this world. Chris gasped. The sound drew Hugo's eyes. As they watched, the rune faded from existence.
"Fire magic…" Hugo mumbled.
Just beyond the gates, there came a hissing sound. The dragon drawing breath. Chris braced herself for another gout of flame.
The dragon cried out in agony.
Moments earlier, the Vessel had crouched before the gates, savoring the feeling of triumph. The infuriating interlopers were trapped within. Its own servants approached. He could sense them, shuffling towards the cave from the tunnels behind, too slow to keep up.
No matter, they were not needed anymore.
Thin wisps of smoke rose from the marble floor of the altar room, where his searing flames had struck the cold stone. For several seconds he had glimpsed it, there upon the altar. The True Fire Rune, his True Fire Rune, had flickered in and out of existence, spurred by the spontaneous release of fire magic. It beckoned him. Urged him on. It was time to end this.
The Vessel drew its breath, primed its magic. He rose on his legs and cracked his mouth wide.
Something dropped onto his back, striking him to the floor with a great blow. He felt scales crack, and shrieked. Pinned against the ground, the Vessel rolled over, wings slapping the rock. Something held him fast. He turned onto his back, lashing out with his claws.
The sunlight silhouetted a huge form pressed down on him. Disbelief flooded the Vessel.
A dragon with pitch-black scales straddled him.
The strange dragon's front claws bore down on the Vessel's torso. The dark one's head poked forward, slowly weaving back and forth as if studying him. Spittle dripped from razor sharp teeth in its jaws.
He took a moment to gather his wits. Then, filled with shock and rage, the Vessel opened its mouth and belched a storm of fire. The black dragon reared up, twisting its head back like a dog fearing a beating. Fire washed past its cheek. Then the dragon turned back and breathed its own flame. The two sources of fire met, washed over each other, blooming into a giant cloud of flame that filled up the cave.
The fire merely warmed the Vessel's scales. It did, however, obscure his vision in the incendiary cloud. He did not see the claws descend before they slammed into his head.
His vision swam. The black dragon's claws bore down on his throat, pinning him. Breathing became hard. He smashed his claws at the grip, once, twice, putting all his weight behind it, roaring angrily. The black one's claw slipped briefly.
It was enough. The Vessel shifted forms, feeling his scales soften into skin and his body contract. Agonizing pain shot through his body when the broken scales became split spin and bruised ribs. The black dragon reared up in confusion as the Vessel dashed sideways, slipping his grip.
The Vessel morphed back into his dragon form. The dark one was quick, but not quick enough. The Vessel slammed its shoulder against the creature's flank, shoved it back, raked its claws across its back. The black dragon howled, blood spurting from its wounds. Where the blood spattered, steam hissed.
The Vessel took to the sky on bruised wings, roaring a challenge. The black dragon, a monster from the World of Wings and Scales, took up the challenge.
Neither of them saw the man who entered the cave behind them.
Geddoe darted from nook to nook, keeping to the shadows. He kept his distance from the dueling dragons. The beasts grappled in mid-air, clawing, biting, slapping their tails. The fury of their roars was so strong, it felt like a physical thing. They moved in and out of the shaft of sunlight as they fought, dancing between light and shadow like the stage players in a traveling theatrical troupe. Geddoe kept his distance from the dragons and from the light. Letting the dragons spot him would be remarkably stupid.
Geddoe had followed in the wake of the Vessel, trusting to his True Rune to keep him hidden. The Vessel's fire-scarred slaves had gotten in the way a few times. He had snuck past them for the most part. At one time he had been forced to hack off a head to get past unseen. He had considered unleashing his True Rune, but he knew it would be a stupid idea. Unleashing the rune's power would draw the immediate attention of the Vessel, and perhaps others. Too many people were looking for Geddoe. His own team, too, by now. He felt a pang of guilt, and immediately pushed it down.
He had seen the dragon plummet from the ceiling, diving onto the Vessel like a bird of prey. He had also seen a smaller figure leap from the black dragon's back, a shadow melting into darker shadows. That figure now approached the gates to the altar room, swords drawn. The darkness swallowed him, but the man did not sneak.
Geddoe crept closer, slowly pulling his blade from its sheath. He prayed it wouldn't come to that, but he would be ready.
The first shriek brought Hugo to his feet—a terrible bellow of fury. He pressed up against the half-open door. The iron felt warm against his back. If the dragon belched another burst of fire upon the doors, the metal would heat until it scalded Hugo's skin. The thought vanished from Hugo's head when he heard something even more terrifying.
The roar of another dragon.
Hugo leaned to the side and stole a quick glance past the door. Two dragons wrestled beneath the shaft of sunlight, spewing fire at each other.
Hugo ducked back, exchanging glances with Chris. She had seen it too.
"Quick, Hugo, the rune!" she said.
Hugo fell to his knees before the altar, as if in prayer. He ran his hands over the smooth surface, felt the still-warm stone touched by dragon's breath. Briefly, the symbol of the True Fire Rune had danced atop the altar, twinkling in and out of existence like a trick of the mind manifesting in the beast's flame.
Hugo held up his right hand, shocked to see purplish-blue bruises radiating out from the infected fire rune. How had he let it get this far? His arm throbbed—it hurt just to raise it. The fingers felt numb. He sighted past his hand, at the altar of the True Fire Rune. The Flame Champion had hidden it there. The great hero of the Grasslands… a person his grandfather had known personally and whose exploits his mother had grown up hearing about.
Hugo unleashed the power of the fire rune upon the altar. He had steeled himself, but the pain still took him by surprise. A searing jolt ran through his body, back and forth, back and forth. The impact of the shock was near enough to make him faint.
Hugo felt something grasp his arm, and vaguely realized that Chris had stepped in behind him. She was trying to strengthen him. Or comfort him. He wasn't sure which. She did not speak, but at that moment, he would not have been able to offer up a reply.
The True Fire Rune appeared above the altar. Hugo's heart leaped. Immediately, the arcane symbol began to fade away. Hugo gritted his teeth, and redoubled his efforts. The fire rune flared with tremendous intensity. The pain amplified, past what he had thought humanly possible. Hugo breathed through the pain, felt Chris's fingers dig into his arms. He did not think she knew she was hurting him, but he was glad for it. The mundane pain of her claw-like nails brought him closer to reality, further from madness and unconsciousness.
Still the True Fire Rune wavered, refusing to manifest. Gritting his teeth, Hugo let loose a howl of rage and fear, and unleashed the sum total of the fire rune's promised power.
The world swayed. It took a moment for it to right itself.
"Hugo!" came a voice, far away. He felt Chris pull him to his feet. The lash of fire connecting the red-hot altar with his right hand danced sinuously before stabilizing again. Every instinct in his body cried out for him to release the magic. Hugo forced his eyes open, breathing shallow to work through the pain. Like many Karayan boys, Hugo's rite of passage involved fire. At the age of fourteen, he had built the pyre and gathered the offerings himself. Incense for his ancestors, bloodwood branches to honor the spirits, pearl moss to guard against misfortune. He had brought down a boar and had shared its meat with the men of the village. He had done everything right. And then they had taken the coals from the smoldering fire, and built a bed...
Yes, the rite of passage of Hugo of Karaya had involved fire. Fire and pain. But never in his life had there been pain such as this. He blinked away tears, staring intently at the altar. The True Fire Rune flashed brightly, then wavered. Flashed and wavered. Then flashed one last time, and gave off a bright and steady glow.
Hugo released the magic, collapsed onto the floor, breathing deeply, desperately. He clutched at his hand and concentrated, squeezing his eyes shut as hard as he could. He fought down the throbbing pain. Then he shook himself, slammed his unharmed left fist into the polished floor hard enough to numb it. He pushed onto his feet.
The light of the True Fire Rune reflected in his eyes. He reached for it.
Chris caught his wrist. She held him back. "No, Hugo," she said. "I cannot allow this."
Hugo tried to wrench free, but she held him firmly. "What are you doing?"
Chris looked at him with sadness in her eyes. "This is for your own good," she said. "To bear a True Rune is a great sacrifice. Please, let me bear this burden for you."
The light of the True Rune reflected on her face as she wove the magic of her Water Rune. Hugo felt a chill against his legs. He looked down and saw ice crystallize around his ankles, frosting over the ground at his feet. He tried to move, but could not. Chris released his hand and stepped towards the altar. She stretched her delicate fingers out to the rune.
"Chris!" he bellowed. "Stop this!" He strained his legs, but his feet would not move. He held his hand out, tried to call upon the sickly fire rune. He found its power spent, unable to light even a spark.
The glow of the rune swallowed Chris, bathing her form in a halo of light.
"This is my people!" he said. "My sacrifice to make!"
Chris turned her face. In the warm light of the rune, her beautiful face shone otherworldly, as if peeking through from some world bathed in the light of a primeval dawn.
"I am sorry, Hugo," she said. "This is how it must be."
A bright voice from the doorway said, "Allow me to dissent."
Hugo spun around to regard the figure who strode in past the double doors. The light glinted off polished black armor, reflected in the twin blades of dark steel the man wielded like butcher's knives. A cruel smile played on the dark knight's lips. Had his eyes not been secreted away behind the helmet, Hugo had no doubt the dead malice in them would send shivers down his spine. Even unseen, he could feel them.
He had sensed those hidden eyes once before, though they had been hidden behind a wide-brimmed hat that time. The devil from the Ancient Highway had once again stepped out of the shadows to promise death.
"I will take the rune," said the devil.
Hugo slowly shifted position to block the dark knight's approach. He flashed twin knives, brandished them in a fighting stance. "You again. Who are you?"
The man grinned. "Do you want me to tell you before or after I plant my blades in your throat?" The dark knight slid forward, one step, then another. He held his swords at his sides, but there was nothing idle about his stance. Runes flickered crimson along the blades, and Hugo imagined he could hear malicious whispers drift through the altar room.
Hugo grew hot at the threat, but something told him anger would do him no good. He licked his lips, fought the sudden urge to retreat, if only a few steps. The altar room was so small. He felt confined.
Out of the corner of his eye, Hugo saw Chris step from the altar to take up position beside him. His father's sword slid from her sheath, presenting the Zexen knight's threat to the dark one.
"Not another step, monster," said Chris. "You are one of the Destroyers, are you not?"
The dark knight laughed. "Destroyers? So that silly name stuck? Well. It wasn't my suggestion." He cocked his head, lips curling as he thought. "I suppose you deserve a name. Humans call me Yuber." He grinned, showing rows of shining teeth.
Something about the man's smile reminded Hugo of a hyena. It seemed off, somehow, that smile. As though his lips pulled too far apart, revealing too much gums. It was subtle, but it was there.
Hugo felt anger rise past the fear. He snarled. "You're the bastards who murdered Chief Zepon. The ones who unleashed a Fury Rune at Karaya." The ones who got Lulu killed.
Hugo inched forward. He felt every muscle in his body tense in anticipation. The dark knight seemed bemused, leaned his head back to observe him.
"You're angry, boy. But tell me this," Yuber said. "When you step on a cockroach, do you feel sorrow? Regret? Do you call it murder?" Yuber shook his head. "Of course you don't. Yes, I butchered the lizard clan chief." The dark knight crossed his swords in front of his chest. "But do not call it murder." The runes upon the dark blades flared bright.
Hugo knew the right course of action. He should have pulled back, kept him talking, sought an escape. Anything but fight. This monster was more than a match for him. He knew that, too. But nothing felt right about the thought of escape. Anger brimmed within him, like water pouring from a boiling pot. All thoughts dimmed, except for one.
He would kill this bastard.
Hugo charged, daggers flashing. Yuber did not bother with a proper fencing stance. He stepped forward and whipped one blade outward from his center at Hugo's throat, using his greater reach. Too slow to dodge, Hugo slammed a dagger at the weapon. Their blades clanged. The force of the blow shoved Hugo back and to the side. Spirits, but the man was strong!
Yuber thrust his second sword at Hugo's stomach. Hugo was caught out. He had no way of blocking. Time slowed to a crawl as the wicked blade filled his vision. He did the only thing he could. He fell backward.
The moment he hit the ground, Hugo saw Yuber lunge, and knew what he had to do. He could throw his legs over his shoulders, roll back. Yuber would cut his tendons, perhaps sever a leg. No, he had to roll to one side, take his chances. Hugo bet on right.
Hugo heard Yuber's sword clang on the stone, striking sparks. A grunt sounded nearby, and the clash of blades, once, then twice. A woman drawing a sharp breath. Chris. Hugo spun, arcing his dagger at Yuber's knee. The blade struck armor and bounced off. Yuber recovered, forcing Hugo to rise and back off, parrying blow after methodical overhand blow. Between blows he would turn to ward off Chris's attempts at finding an opening in his guard.
Hugo was tiring, quickly. He had begun to see the utter futility in his rash decision to fight. He just hadn't accepted it yet. The eerie grin never left Yuber's face. He had the sense that the dark knight was toying with them, dragging the fight on only for his own entertainment. All trace of finesse had gone from the dark knight's technique. Yuber hacked at him with a single-minded lack of creativity that reminded Hugo of a boy being taught the basic strokes of swordsmanship. Even though Hugo saw each slash coming, Yuber's strength and speed pressed him to the edge of his ability. Hugo was pushed back, forced to retreat step after step. Until his shoulders bumped into the wall.
Yuber hesitated, drew his swords back. "You were brave, little man," he said. "Tell that to your spirits." Yuber's sword hand tensed, and Hugo prepared himself for one last desperate parry.
A lightning bolt hammered into Yuber, contorting the dark knight's limbs into a twisted mockery. The light was bright enough to blind. For a brief heartbeat, Hugo thought the spirits had intervened on his behalf. Then thunder shook the altar room, echoed and multiplied within the confined space. Hugo screamed, but there was no sound. His ears rang. Blind and deaf, he stumbled, dropping his daggers, eyes rubbing at his eyes, wiping away hot tears.
Vision slowly returned. Chris, on her knees, clutching at her ears. Yuber, sunken to the floor, smoke rising from his armor. A peculiar burning smell filled the room. Hugo's vision blurred, then held. The dark knight trembled. With great effort, he pushed himself back onto his feet.
A man stood in the doorway. He wore black leather armor, and a patch covered one of his eyes. In one hand he held a sword. His other hand was raised to display the source of his power. A rune, glowing bright purple, like fuchsia in bloom. The rune's design was intricate and elaborate.
A True Rune.
Hugo's hearing began to return. He stared, too uncertain of the situation he now found himself in to act.
"Will you leave," said the one-eyed man, "Or should I do that again?" His face was like iron, his one good eye fixed on the dark knight.
Yuber leaned on his knee, breathing raggedly. Wordlessly, he snarled. Then he darted for the exit. The one-eyed man stepped aside to let him pass. In a moment, Yuber was gone.
Hugo stumbled over to Chris and helped her on her feet. He glanced at the one-eyed man. From outside, he heard furious roars, the snapping of whipped tails, and intermittent sounds of something huge slamming against stone. The dragons still fought. Which meant this man—and Yuber—had gotten past them.
Hugo watched the man warily. "You can't have the rune."
The man gave a smile, but there was only sorrow in it. "I already have this one," he said. He indicated his right hand, as the projected image of the rune faded out. The rune branded into the back of his hand remained, bright and menacing.
"I'm Geddoe," he said. "And I came to help."
Hugo had to remind himself to breathe. Help? It seemed unlikely. "You don't want the rune. What's in it for you?"
Geddoe shrugged. "Nothing. And everything. I came to honor a friend's memory. To protect the rune from he who must not have it." He glanced over his shoulder at the dragons wrestling in the cave, and seemed to hesitate before speaking again. "And, I came to warn you. You're about to make the greatest mistake in your life. And a very long life, too, if you make it."
A blood-curdling shriek ripped loose from the cave outside. The roar that followed was filled with such rage, it took Hugo's breath away.
The blood of the World of Wings and Scales did not flow in the veins of the Vessel, but in that moment of shock and pain, the rage that overtook him was true dragon's fury. It surged from his battered body, tore from his long neck, forced him to unleash it. Upon hearing that maddened howl, the black one shrank back from its assault, claw still piercing the Vessel's right eye.
They clung to each other, hovering in mid-air. Falling. Wings wrapped about each other's scales, the air rushed by as they plummeted. The black one's oversized pincer was the last thing the Vessel had beheld before his right eye was plucked out. Mid-afternoon sunlight lanced in from the shaft above, too-bright against the dark of the cave. His vision swam, wavered, lost focus. False dragon's blood spurted from the wound, warm against his scaly cheek.
The Vessel struck back. It was a reaction spun out of pure hate. He twisted the black one's foreleg aside, laid bare the clawed hand jabbed into his face. He turned his head, and clasped teeth around the muscled limb. The crunching sound immensely pleased him.
The black one howled. The Vessel bit deeper. He felt teeth snap, but muscle and tendons gave. Blood filled his mouth, warm, and so thick it almost choked him.
They slammed into the cave floor, the Vessel atop the other. He heard protective scales crack. The black one shuddered, contorted its limbs wildly, neck jerking back and forth. It tried to twist loose from the Vessel's grip. But the Vessel would not allow it. Rage still bubbled forth, made him tremble with violent need. More teeth snapped, but he barely felt it. The roaring of his blood would not allow him to feel it.
The Vessel finally released the black one's foreleg. A maimed thing of twisted flesh and snapped bone, dangling uselessly on sinews alone.
The black one rolled free, rose unsteadily on its three good legs. Its mouth tore open, snarling menacingly. The Vessel paraded towards it like a cat with its tail held high. Its lost eye throbbed painfully, each heartbeat fuelling his dragon's fury.
Shaking off fear, the black one pounced, one foreleg swiping. The Vessel met the charge head on, surging forward heedlessly. His claws deflected the black one's attack, scored the beast's neck and torso. The black one roared, stumbled back. It lost its balance.
The Vessel pushed the attack. Half-blind, half-blinded by rage, he shook out his weary wings and took to the air, sailing up towards the roof. The black one dragged itself away, struggling to stand, to track the Vessel in mid-air. The black one flapped its own wings, hovering off the ground, but without grace or control.
Summoning all his rage, the Vessel plunged. Roaring, he surged down, struck the black one in mid-air, and impaled its bruised back on its claws. Moments later, they crashed back onto the ground.
The black one lay on its side, stunned, shallow breathing making its belly rise and fall. The Vessel alighted beside the beaten beast, contemplated mercy.
He decided against it.
The Vessel drew on the rune at his core, called upon its transformative powers. Change came. The great mass of his dragon form contracted. But as his draconean girth dwindled, so did the dragon's fury in his veins concentrate, brimming over in their smaller veins. The Vessel took on human form, eyes burning with hate, body trembling violently.
He stepped forward, stood over the black one. The true dragon's head jerked up, turned with great effort to see the one who would be its end. The Vessel sparked his magic. His body glowed like a torch, a hundred runes glaring. He looked down on the black one with his remaining eye, and knew only hate.
Sparks, like cinders, drifted in the dark of the cave. The flames rose from the ground itself, fed by fury and magic. Coaxed by the runes, they grew into a blaze, and the blaze became an inferno.
He had felt their presence as they approached from behind. They streamed into the cave now, one by one, like fireflies dancing in a night scene. His servants formed a half-circle behind him, watching, bearing silent witness to their master's vengeance. There was no pity in their dead eyes. No feeling at all, in fact, but they understood this. They understood rage.
Over the deafening rush of the flames, the terrified mewling of the black one as flesh melted from its bones, and bones burned to ash, did not reach the Vessel's ears. Had it done so, the Perpetuator's son might have called the sound… pitiful.
Breaking from his observance of the dying dragon, one of the fire-born servants, hefting a flame-warped blade in one hand, looked towards the gaping iron doors. His own vengeance waited therein.
Three people stood before the altar, deep in the Sindar ruins. One woman, two men, all basking in the warm glow of a True Rune. That glow, overpowering, mesmerizing, left the walls clinging to shadow. An orb of light surrounded by darkness. To Hugo's mind, the imagery made perfect sense.
The True Fire Rune, or nothing.
Hugo started towards the altar. Geddoe stepped forward, clasped his arm. Gently, but firmly.
"First know your choice," Geddoe said, "Before you make it." The man's face could have been carved from stone, but his eyes betrayed anxiety, and compassion.
"There's only one choice," Hugo said, making his voice firm. "For the Grasslands." He looked at Chris, saw her hesitate by the altar, face thoughtful. "The Flame Champion must return." He wanted to say more, to make her understand. Even now, he saw doubt in her eyes, and he felt anger rise. She had tried to stop him.
"Once you take up that rune," Geddoe said, "You will begin a war without end. A war for your soul. For your will. The rune will push you, shove you, try to force you to use its power."
"We need its power," Hugo said. "Why wouldn't I want to use it?"
Geddoe bowed his head, brow knitting. "The rune is a force of destruction. Each time you use it, you will taste annihilation."
"So it's a weapon," Hugo said, shrugging. He fingered the hilts of his daggers, quickly recollected once the fighting had stopped. "I know how to wield a weapon."
Geddoe stepped forward, looming over Hugo. The rune wielder was tall, and Hugo still a growing man. Geddoe stared down at him. "No. You will be the weapon. And the True Rune, your wielder. The True Fire Rune will bend you to its will. Even as you try to save the Grasslands, you shall become a destroyer, engulfing the world in flames."
Hugo hesitated. He looked at the rune, hovering there above the altar, and tried to pierce that shimmering symbol, searching for an animating mind behind its power. Geddoe was a true rune wielder—Hugo did not doubt it, having witnessed the thunderous blast that sent Yuber from the altar room. Would he lie, to deprive the Grasslands of the Flame Champion? If so, why not simply unleash his own rune on Hugo? Or simply cut him down with his sword? Spirits knew Hugo was too exhausted to put up a fight.
He looked to Chris, searched her face for some answer.
"He is right, Hugo," she said, voice faint, little more than a whisper. "You do not have to do this. Let me bear the rune. It is only just that I should bear the burden. For what I have done."
Hugo crossed to her in a few quick steps. He clutched her shoulders, stared into her eyes. He saw the True Rune reflected there. But somewhere past that, he could still see through to the core of her. And he knew then what he could not do. And so he also knew that he had made his choice. The only choice.
"Chris, listen to me," he said. "Whatever happens, I will need people I can trust. If this thing's going to fight me, try to change me… Well, I'll need you there to make sure it doesn't come to that." He drew a deep breath, waited for an answer. When she did not speak, but only stared back, lips slightly parted in deliberation, he said, "We can save the Grasslands, together."
Chris nodded jerkily. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
Hugo turned to the altar, reached out his hand. Anxiously, he glanced at Geddoe.
The man shook his head as if he had read his mind. "I won't stop you." There was sadness in his voice.
Hand trembling, Hugo reached for the True Fire Rune, passed his fingers through the crimson light. The True Rune flashed.
"NO!" someone shouted. An unfamiliar voice.
Hugo turned. At the threshold stood a man with a familiar face. An impossible face. Fire embraced the man, whirling around him like water sloshed around the inside of a glass. The glow of a hundred runes shone bright from beneath the fabric of his tattered, color-leached robes.
"It's mine!" the man snarled. "Mine!" There was a hissing sound, then fire bloomed. The Vessel sent waves of fire surging toward him.
The flames raced along the floor, ten foot high. Hugo had not enough time to form a defense. He clutched at the True Fire Rune's manifested form, desperate seeking its power. It shied away, as if rejecting him. He clawed at the emblem, clutching it with both hands.
Thunder struck the room. Hugo glanced back to see the fiery waves scatter, sending showers of sparks at the walls. Geddoe stood before the Vessel, blocking his path, the light of a True Rune glowing in mid-air before him.
"You!" the Vessel said. His face twisted into a mask of insane rage. Hugo half expected the Vessel to abandon his magic and lurch at Geddoe, ready to wring the man's neck with his bare hands. Instead, the Vessel's eyes darted to Hugo, saw him clinging to the resisting True Fire Rune.
The Vessel dashed forward, shoving Geddoe aside. The rune bearer was not prepared for this. Geddoe stumbled back, sank to his knees. He bounded back up, sword leaping from his sheath. But the Vessel was past him, charging up the altar. In an instant he was upon Hugo, hands clutching his shoulders, twisting and shoving him back. Hugo lost his balance. The Vessel was surprisingly strong.
Hugo flailed, reaching out for the True Fire Rune. He thrust out his hand as far as he could, fingers straining for the fiery emblem. Then another hand was there, greedy fingers fighting for the same price. Hugo slapped aside an attempt at grasping his throat, and slammed his shoulder into the Vessel's chest. The Vessel grunted, grasped for the rune.
Their hands both closed on the manifested True Rune. For a moment, Hugo stared into the glowing eyes of the man who bore Sasarai's face, saw the Bishop's features recreated in identical detail. 'How?' he had time to think. Another illusion. The Vessel's mouth twisted into a triumphant grin. Then Hugo felt the power of the True Fire Rune fill him.
The world lurched, shivered, and broke. Darkness descended, leaving the True Fire Rune hovering in a black void. The blazing pattern of the True Rune grew to immense size, looming impossibly large within that empty space. Empty, except for the Vessel. Their hands clasped, wrestling for position. They both reached for the True Fire Rune.
The True Rune's power rushed into Hugo like a storm to topple mountains like trees. Mountains must surely break before this power. He felt invincible. With this, surely he could burn the Harmonian army to cinders scattered on the wind. Still, he held only half of the True Rune's promised power. The other half now surged into the Vessel.
Chris saw Hugo's eyes go blank, as if struck unconscious. And yet the Karayan remained standing, arm muscles tensing, shivering, as he and the Vessel fought a silent, still battle.
She started towards him, but a wave of heat washed over her, tearing the breath from her lungs. The air around the two men ignited, and tall flames ringed them, surging out towards Chris. A heartbeat of contact with those flames, and her eyes teared. A heartbeat, and she knew she could not advance. The hotness of those flames would incinerate her.
Chris retreated, flames chasing her out of the altar room. Geddoe emerged from billowing smoke to stand beside her. Chris was about to speak when she heard a noise like the grating of a millstone. She turned, saw a dozen smoldering lights creep through the cavern's shadows. The Vessel's servants fanned out, slowly closing off their avenues of retreat. Surrounding them. At their head, she saw the source of the grinding noise. An undying mockery of the man he once was staggered forward, dragging his bent sword along the cavern floor, striking sparks.
Captain Huarn.
Chris raised her sword in a defensive stance. She was surprised at how calm she felt. Escape was the last thing on her mind. Within the altar room, Hugo fought a battle of wills for control of a True Rune. There was iron in the Karayan's soul, she knew. She had seen it in Chief Lucia, just as she had seen it in her son. He would not yield while there was life in his body. He would fight until his last breath. The annihilating furnace would keep her out, but the same might not be true of the Vessel's servants. If Chris and Geddoe faltered here, there would be nothing to keep them from Hugo.
Chris glanced at Geddoe. Her own water rune would be of help, but its power was nearly spent. "Tell me, sir," she said, "That your true rune still holds power."
Geddoe grimaced, twirled his blade. It seemed more a nervous gesture than boast, though not a trace of doubt showed in his face. "A flicker remains, my lady. But I regret to say, my rune is not much use against crowds."
The burning dead crept forward, stepping into the shaft of sunlight, letting the filtered daylight reveal their hideously burnt faces. Each soldier bore a tattered and burnt tabard over fire-blackened armor that hung loose, straps snapped here and there.
"Well, sir," said Chris, "I do not intend to let these monsters anywhere near my Hugo." She surprised herself. She wasn't sure why she'd said it like that.
Geddoe nodded. "Then we have a common cause. The Vessel must not be allowed to claim the rune."
The Vessel's servants were drawing tight a circle around them. Now Chris and Geddoe shifted places, dividing this circle in half and taking up position back to back. They stayed apart, giving each other enough space to retreat a few steps.
Huarn drew up before her, dragging his blade. The killing fire had boiled his cheek, leaving hideous blisters from jaw to temple. One eye was burnt to a crisp, and where his hawkish nose had once been, bone peeked out from a gaping wound. Still the man seemed to sneer at her, wordlessly tossing out a challenge. The monster that was Huarn threw his weapon up, gripped its singed hilt with both hands.
Huarn swung his weapon like a cudgel. It battered Chris's defending blade. Her hands numbed from the impact. Huarn pressed on, sweeping his sword from side to side. No finesse remained in the Harmonian captain's savage assault, and the strength of each blow left the man open for a counter attack. Except, as Chris found, for the dead warriors guarding his flanks. Like stalking wolves, they waited at Huarn's side, waiting for her to strike. Every time she spied an opening in Huarn's defenses, they were there, poking and prodding at her. Chris danced back and forth, feinting, ducking wild swings of Huarn's blade that made the air rush over her head. She searched for an opening.
Behind her, Geddoe fought, the clang of steel on steel beating out a steady rhythm. And beyond the iron gates, waves of heat washed out from a furnace capable of melting stone.
Within the Vessel's eyes, Hugo saw worlds burn to ashes. Locked in the void, he stared into orbs as dark as the night sky, and saw the man's innermost turmoil unfolding there. He saw rage. He saw hunger, a deep ravenous need, for the true rune, for power. The power to destroy. He saw a young boy, abandoned and yet trapped among his keepers. A weapon, forged from flesh, to set the world ablaze. He saw what it meant to be a "vessel". He saw emptiness, crushing loneliness, and despair. But above all, he saw a man who understood nothing but hate. The Vessel's desires were laid bare, simple as they were.
He meant to avenge himself on the world by turning it to ashes.
Sweat dripped from Hugo's brow. Hands grappling, Hugo strained against the Vessel's grip, attempting to push the man back. One moment he would gain an inch, the next he would lose two. His muscles ached, his legs quivered with the burning pain of fatigue. His body screamed for rest, but he knew he could not allow himself to relax, even for a moment. The Vessel breathed heavily, chest rising and falling with each labored breath. Drops of sweat beaded on his forehead, rolled down his cheeks. The Vessel was tiring, too, but whose strength would run out first? Knees wobbling, Hugo thought it might be him. Beyond the physical, his mind was tiring.
The True Fire Rune thrummed in Hugo's head, pulsing with agonizing strength. Its power washed out over Hugo and the Vessel like a river in spate, carrying them downstream helplessly. The true weight of the rune's power seemed greater than a mountain. To lose control was to be dashed against the rocks, torn to pieces by the titanic power the winner would wield. They matched wills, both struggling to seize the other's half of the mystic power, neither gaining ground. But something threatened to change that.
Hugo was beginning to falter.