I told him briefly of Gerick's rescue, of destroying the oculus in the desert, and of the events at the hospice. He twisted and squatted and stretched as he listened, peppering me with incisive questions all the while. By the time I told of Lady Seriana's news, Ven'Dar stood beside me, and we watched a wedge of orange flame penetrate the boundaries of the city wall, an arrow aimed straight at the heart of Avonar. The last vision of Gerick's captivity was taking on reality right before us.
Warmth pulsed from Ven'Dar's compact body as he gripped the window edge and gazed out on the end of the world. "Stories say that ancients who came to Skygazer's Needle kept moonstones here that they would use to view the stars and planets and so unravel the strange movement of time and events. You tell me that young Gerick, once a Lord of Zhev'Na, leads the Zhid assault on Avonar, but has no intention of destroying us. And you say that D'Arnath's daughter … is not. . . and is leading our defense which will destroy us. I am perhaps or perhaps not a Dar'Nethi prince, though surely bereft of any subjects save a courageous young woman lacking power or talent. And we are relying on a blind woman and a mundane to bring us help because our own defenders are Zhid." He shook his head slowly, the creases of his forehead carved deep. "We could use the Skygazer's magic right now, could we not?"
I dabbed at my tears with the back of one hand. "Aye, my lord. But it's all true. I swear it."
Ven'Dar aborted another bout of coughing with another swallow of wine. "Every instinct of history names me fool and traitor to even consider your beliefs. If we're wrong … if this goes any further …" He waved the wine flask at the horror below us before passing it on to me.
"We're not wrong." I was soaked through to my bones, and the relentless wind slapped my wet cloak against my legs. The wine in the flask left a scalding trail down my gullet. But I would have wagered the lives of everyone I loved that what I said was true. "Gerick sent me to set you free. He's afraid, my lord. Afraid he is not enough to take her down alone. Afraid of what the attempt might do to him. His father is dying, and you are the only person with any power or influence who might choose to aid rather than kill him. He trusts you and desperately needs your help."
"Not as much as he trusts you, I think, Jen'Larie. Even if he is as I wish to believe, I don't know that I will be able to help him." He laid his hand on my shoulder. "Before anything, I must decide whether these 'visions' of yours are warning or misdirection and see to the defense of Avonar. He could not expect me to do otherwise. There will be a few souls left in the city that I can trust to carry out my orders. Once I've done what I can, we'll see if we can find young Gerick."
"I don't know exactly what he intends except to confront D'Sanya," I said, "but I know where he is." I pointed to the wedge of fire. At its apex flared a swirling column of blue-and-purple light. Had I the skills to feel and hear and sense enchantment at such a distance, I could not have been more certain.
"Tell me, my lord, what does the Chamber of the Gate look like?"
He looked at me quizzically. "A large circular room.
A dome of light supported by columns. A wall of white fire—enchantment to set your heart soaring . . ."
He didn't have to describe the rest. I had seen it in Gerick's last vision while sitting in the cellar.
Every Dar'Nethi child learned that if not for D'Arnath's Bridge, our power for sorcery would fade, because of the Breach that separated us from the mundane world. The mundane world, its passions pent up like the roiling ingredients in an Alchemist's glass, would succumb to chaos and violence. The Bridge was the link that bound us together, that allowed our worlds to nourish each other and that gave us hope for the day the Breach would be healed. Without it, the worlds would die.
As strange muted lightnings flared in the long-neglected southeast quarter of the city where a certain bathhouse stood, and a sinuous river of light began to flow out of the Zhid ocean toward a quiet shrine of Vasrin north of the city, the wedge of fire moved slowly, inexorably toward the Heir's palace. Toward the Gate. Toward the Bridge.
Chapter 36
"The southeast portal has been opened, Lord Dieste, but the legion has not yet moved through it. Gensei Senat asks if he should prompt Wargreve Pavril?"
Somewhere to the east my warriors blasted another structure to rubble. The messenger's horse snorted and rolled its eyes, dancing backward and sideways, forcing the chinless warrior to shout even louder than the scattered combat and the roar of destruction required. My own mount had pretensions to the same kind of indiscipline. I quashed his hopes with a heavy hand on his mouth and insistent pressure on his flanks.
"Absolutely not," I said. "Pavril will answer his command at the proper time. Clearly he has not yet seen the triggering movement from the Dar'Nethi. Tell the gensei his Lord commands patience and attention to his own orders."
"Gensei Senat says his wing is almost in position, Lord."
"Then he will wear his skin for another hour, won't he?"
An explosion of blue-and-gold light and a sour gale from the advance curtailed further discussion. The messenger raced off toward the northwest, or perhaps his terrified steed decided on its own to return the way he'd come and the messenger just rode along.
Another blast of sound and light came from the eastern bank of the river, and a jagged crack split the sides of a stepped wall. Great shards of masonry crashed to the sloping ground, exposing a modest house with a wide porch—a fragile structure, sad and drooping in the continuing drizzle.
The porch exploded in orange flames. I choked up on the reins and shoved my heels deep in the stirrups. "Steady, beast," I said, through clenched teeth, trying to concentrate.
Beyond the visible combat another battle raged, warring enchantments that writhed in the ether, eroding flesh and spirit, driving warriors to desperation. On the rugged western bank of the river, a screaming man threw himself into the water, his skin glowing with yellow and silver sparks. If I remembered correctly, that particular enchantment felt like a rain of biting spiders.
My recalcitrant horse and I sat atop First Bridge, the grandest of the six promenades across the Sillvain. As it was entirely built of stone, incendiary spells posed little threat to me there. My bodyguards had riddled the structure with enchantments that would slow incoming arrows, were there any competent archers in Avonar to loft them, and would divert spears and lances from their courses, were there any Dar'Nethi fighters who could approach so near as to launch them. My retinue comprised three cadres—thirty warriors—under orders to protect me from intrusive enchantments. When I chose to move forward and my banner was no longer seen over the river, my warrior Zhid would crush First Bridge into pebbles. The power was in my word.
To wield such power, to see my banner flying again, was intoxicating. We'd had no sewing women to make the pennon, but an aide had conjured one as it had existed in Zhev'Na, its field black, its device very like the shield of D'Arnath: two golden lions rampant supporting the arch of D'Arnath's Bridge and the starry worlds it joined. But on the Fourth Lord's banner the arch was missing its center span, and in the gap stood a beast engulfed in flame, crushing the starry worlds in its hands. Lord Ziddari had said the beast was me.
Gensei Kovrack was doing his job well, driving our advance through the city virtually unhindered. Ironic that after a thousand years, all it had taken was a few of D'Sanya's Restored to open the gates of Avonar to the warriors of Zhev'Na. The Dar'Nethi defenses were in tatters. Without their walls to protect them, the shopkeepers, boys, and cowards could not face our soulless legions. When their commanders—more of the reverted Restored—turned on them, they broke and ran. All to the good. Wholesale death had never been our objective. Slaves yielded more lasting pleasure.