Like the flight of an arrow, Gavin stepped into distance, flicked his axe, and buried the spike in the middle of Hartmut’s face.
The Black Knight fell.
Gavin turned to his brother. “It should have been de Vrailly,” he said.
Harmodius felt the rain slowing with the tempo of the combat. He felt it when Mogon accepted the surrender of the survivors of the Dead Tree and Flint took the bended knees of the Big Nose irks. Down at Gilson’s Hole, the Hillmen pushed into the rear of the boglins-already hesitant-and broke them, and the little creatures melted away into the marsh and ravines.
Harmodius was not searching for them. He was searching for why they were still fighting, and eventually, as Ash turned high in the air, so high that the aethereal was thin and the emperyeum began, and savaged the Wyrm of Ercch; as Hartmut fell dead; as Bad Tom stepped up onto the ruined north wall of the Royal Camp, and the last fighting tapered away…
Harmodius found Thorn.
Thorn was a small shadow-in the aethereal, he was merely the shadow of a shadow.
“I knew you must still live,” Harmodius said. “Your bound creatures are still fighting.”
The shade of Richard Plangere, once so powerful, merely whimpered.
Harmodius took him, and tenderly-almost-entered into his palace. Thorn lacked the strength to prevent even that. Harmodius plundered his memories ruthlessly, in a single heartbeat.
“Why?” Harmodius demanded.
“I tried to escape him,” Plangere said. “Please-my boy-let me go. All I wanted was the Wild. And the freedom to study.”
Harmodius studied the damage. “Yes, my teacher. What Ash did to you was terrible.” He frowned, and then hardened his heart. “But because of you, half the women of Alba are widows tonight. Go to hell, or wherever traitors go, and be accursed.”
“You know the truth!” Thorn screamed. “I betrayed no one!”
Harmodius shook his head in the real. “You betrayed us all,” he said. “And not just man. If it is any consolation: I will try and undo what you have done.”
“You will merely become me, you fool.”
“I think not,” Harmodius said. And then, like a creature of the Wild, he subsumed his foe.
High in the aether, Ash felt his puppet die. His foe was mortally wounded, but Ash had to turn and let him flutter to the ugly reaches of earth. He considered it all-the fire, the rain, the ruin, and the death.
He gazed upon Harmodius, who stood in the aethereal, untouched, and ready-deadly, powerful, and possessed of all Thorn’s knowledge, newly learned. And he looked at the others-the golden aura of the despicable Queen, tool of the false Tar, and the fallen Wyrm’s toys… He loathed them all.
But blue fire still burned, and the Wyrm had struck him twice to the bone. And that sword-some child of man had struck him with something-horrible. Even an insect bite may fester.
Ash had never been one for a reckless gamble.
So he pivoted, so high above the battlefield that only a few could detect him, and let out a long shriek of triumph and derision.
One of the two eggs, which Thorn had carried and nurtured for so long, burst open, and a cloud of black spores filled the muggy, damp air, and burst into leprous, malignant life. The other hatched.
Ash would have chuckled, but breathing was difficult and he was too high. He turned west, and began to glide. He could do so, without effort, for a thousand miles.
The Wyrm fluttered as hard as he could, with one wing mostly shredded and the other full of holes.
It was a long way down. After a while, he spun, and lost what little control he had-lost consciousness-and fell.
Harmodius watched the victor glide away into the shadows of the far west, even as the other fell. The fall was long-the heavens were very high.
Higher than I thought.
Gabriel was at his door, and then in his head.
“He covered us, for hours. Can you save him?”
Harmodius chuckled grimly. “Save him? I’ll dance on his grave.”
Gabriel paused. “Listen-you are the closest thing to a teacher I have had in a long time. I want you to think of something. Today we are still standing because bear and irk and man stood together. Some irks and many men are deeply evil. What of it? We-whoever we are-we choose to believe that we can stand together. The bishop is no fool, Harmodius. This is murder.”
Harmodius watched the dragon fall. “I did not kill him,” he said.
“Are we an alliance of all the peoples of this sphere?” Gabriel asked. “Or are we just another set of Powers?”
Harmodius grunted.
“Save him,” Gabriel begged.
Harmodius cursed. But he reached out, into the real, and gave without stint. He gave until trees died-gave more when Gabriel gave him his reserve.
He poured in his ops, and then, daring, he used Amicia’s as well.
Master Smythe awoke with his head on a linen pillow. He opened his eyes.
And met the eyes of the beautiful nun. He had never met her in human form, but he knew her well.
“I am not dead,” he said.
Amicia smiled. “No,” she said. “We saved you.” She pushed a lock of hair back inside her wimple. “Only fair, as you saved us.”
Master Smythe lay still for a long time, savouring that. He understood-with terrible clarity-what had been done to him. He had no right arm.
Not in the real.
At the next bed, another beautiful human woman stood by the bed of a tired, dark-haired man. Master Smythe knew him perfectly well. And his brother, who stood with yet another beautiful woman-dark-haired, where the woman by the Red Knight was pale.
“Gabriel,” he said. “You lived. You won.” He sat up a bit-an odd motion, unsuited to human form-and then turned and smiled at Gabriel’s brother Gavin. “Who are all these beautiful women and what do they see in you two?” he asked.
The blonde woman turned away, drawing a sharp breath.
Gabriel extended a hand and caught hers. “This is Blanche Gold, and I have no idea what she sees in me,” he said. “Stay,” he said to her. “I have no secrets from you.”
Gavin laughed. “Steady on, Blanche. I’ve never heard him say that to anyone.” He grinned. “Master Smythe, this is Lady Mary, once known as ‘Heart Heart,’ and now my betrothed.”
Master Smythe managed a wriggle that might have been taken as a bow.
The women sat. Master Smythe thought that they both had remarkable dignity, and made a note to court them. Perhaps one at a time.
He smiled.
Gabriel sat up. “I think won is too strong a word,” he said, ignoring his brother. “We are still standing.”
Master Smythe took a deep breath and savoured the experience of being alive. “The first alliance of the Wild and men,” he said. “That is a victory, is it not?” He paused. “Where is Ash?”
There was a tiny shudder in the fabric of the aether.
“Harmodius says he’s to the west.” Gabriel frowned. “That is what I mean. Nothing’s finished. The north of this kingdom is wrecked. Ten thousand are dead-and what of the Wild’s losses? Twice that.”
Blanche put a hand over his mouth. “Stop saying such things,” she said. “We won.”
“I can’t take any joy in it,” Gabriel said. “I thought it would be over.”
Master Smythe sighed at the ways of men. “Nothing is ever over.” He smiled at the beautiful women, who ignored him. “We can do so much together,” Master Smythe said. He meant it to sound portentous.