N’lahr’s horse snorted in displeasure. He mastered the animal with rein and leg but didn’t raise his javelin. The roan’s ears shifted nervously between rider and the kobalin crunching across the sand toward them.
Elenai reached for her hilt, and Kyrkenall sighted on the beast, addressing N’lahr from the side of his mouth. “Looks like this one’s yours.”
The creature’s savage grin remained fixed as it hefted a huge hammer. What did this mean for Kalandra? Could she have been killed by that kobalin? Was that why no one had heard from her since before N’lahr’s disappearance?
She thought to see the swordsman return the thing’s challenge with one of his own. He nodded to Kyrkenall, slid down from his horse, put up the javelin, but then didn’t draw his blade as he strode toward the beast. It towered a head higher than N’lahr and was half again as wide. The thing wasn’t wearing a cloak; rather it was covered in black fur from head to toe. A plain brown kilt was fastened at its waist. Its heavy jaw was outthrust and two large eyes blazed redly at them, like fiery coals among ebon ash.
“Well?” the creature roared when they were a few paces apart. “Is it time?”
N’lahr raised his hand. “Kill me later, Ortok. I’m in the middle of something.”
Ortok sighed heavily.
Kyrkenall gaped. “You know him?”
“Yes.” N’lahr answered without turning.
The archer relaxed tension on his bow. He called incredulously to his friend, “And you’re not worried that there’s a kobalin here in your secret stronghold?”
“He’s supposed to be here. Long story.” N’lahr looked up into the kobalin’s large, flat face. “Ortok, how’s Kalandra?”
“I don’t know.”
Clearly the commander hadn’t expected that answer. “You don’t know? Why not?”
“She’s not really here.”
Kyrkenall had lowered his bow, though he had yet to replace it, or restore his arrow to its quiver. “What in the sucking abyss does that mean?”
The kobalin turned glowing eyes toward him. “I am Ortok,” he said in his growling baritone. “And you are Kyrkenall. But you have not introduced yourself. It is proper to do so before speaking.”
Elenai didn’t catch what the archer mumbled, though from his tone she guessed it wasn’t an especially refined comment.
“Ortok,” N’lahr said, “where’s Kalandra?”
“She’s partly here, but mostly gone.”
Elenai couldn’t suppress a horrid thought—a bloody, amputated limb under glass in the kobalin’s lair. Surely that wasn’t what he meant.
“You mean she’s dead?” Kyrkenall demanded.
The kobalin drew back the corners of his mouth to show upward-pointing fangs as he regarded the archer. His voice was sonorous, like a rumble drum. “I really must insist on introduction. But no, she’s not dead. At least not as known to me. She left part of her spirit, but it’s much duller than she is.”
“What the fuck is he talking about, N’lahr?”
“I have no idea. Ortok, slayer of Nemrose, this is Kyrkenall Serevan, also known as Kyrkenall the Eyeless, bearer of the sacred ring.”
“Ah!” The kobalin showed two sets of long matched fangs in a fearsome smile an inch or two wider than humanly feasible. “I thought it might be you,” he continued, as if he hadn’t stated as much mere moments ago. “It is a pleasure to meet you! If I were not already sworn to kill N’lahr, I should like to challenge you.”
“So you’re the one who offed Nemrose, huh?” Kyrkenall sounded impressed. “Nice. I hated that hastig.”
“Who’s Nemrose?” Elenai asked.
“A Naor king,” Kyrkenall explained. “One of Mazakan’s chief leaders. Razed a bunch of villages in The Fragments.”
Ortok smote his chest with one closed fist. “He was a brave and mighty foe, but not an honorable one. He attacked me with all his guard!”
“And Ortok killed him anyway,” N’lahr said.
Ortok beamed at him. “It pleases me still you heard of that day.”
N’lahr indicated Elenai with a jab of his hand. “And this is Elenai Dartaan, of Vedessus, also known as Elenai Oddsbreaker.”
Kyrkenall chuckled. “I like that.”
Elenai had never been known as “Oddsbreaker.” She stared at the commander, a little confused, and caught him nodding at her with a slight grin. She blushed. He’d given her a heroic sobriquet!
“Of you I have not heard,” Ortok said. “But I look forward to learning of your deeds. I have been here some while. I imagine there are bold stories that have not come to me.”
“Later,” N’lahr said. “I want to see what you’re talking about with Kalandra. I’m having a hard time picturing what you mean. Are you saying Kalandra’s not here?”
“That is right. She left, but part of her spirit stayed. It is strange to me. You can talk with her, but she mostly says the same thing.”
“How did she leave her spirit?” Kyrkenall asked skeptically.
“Magic.”
Kyrkenall sighed. “Thanks. I’d never have guessed that.”
“You should have,” Ortok said. “She is good with magics.”
Kobalin, apparently, were strangers to sarcasm.
“Where’s the real Kalandra?” N’lahr asked.
“Out looking for something.”
“What?”
The kobalin gave a huge shrug. “She didn’t say.”
“How long has she been gone?” Kyrkenall interrupted.
“A long while.”
Kyrkenall’s frustration was evident from his tone. “Days? Weeks? Months? Years?”
Ortok grunted. “Some of those. You can ask her. She will know.”
Kyrkenall looked as though he was ready to knife the kobalin. His discomfiture might have been more amusing if Elenai weren’t equally confused and frustrated. Had they come all this way for nothing?
“Why don’t you take us to her … spirit,” N’lahr suggested.
“She said you’d ask that. Follow me.” Ortok turned and exposed his huge, ridged, and hairy back to them as he plodded into the darkness of what turned out to be a narrow passage twisting into a shadowy portion of the rock. After the opening it was just feasible to ride side by side. N’lahr walked with Ortok, leading his horse, who snorted with displeasure and folded his ears back. Elenai knew how the animal felt. She rode beside Kyrkenall several paces back. The rough cliff wall rose steeply on either hand. Beneath, the bluish sands gave way to rich earth in which bright green grass alternated with clumps of small violet flowers.
Kyrkenall shook his head. “Can you believe this? There was a kobalin here the whole time and he didn’t bother to warn us. Typical. Him and his answerless answers.”
“You do the same thing.”
Kyrkenall sounded genuinely offended. “No I don’t. Name one time.”
“What about when I asked you what the hearthstones were and you told me I was better off not knowing?”
“That’s different. There are things I don’t like talking about. But if I was taking you to some mysterious place where there was a kobalin lord I happened to be friends with, you can be damned sure I’d have mentioned it.”
“I’m not sure I’d call them friends,” Elenai said. “He wants to kill the commander.”
“That’s a mark of respect from a kobalin. And this is a deadly one, if he nailed Nemrose and his honor guard. That’s like ten guys as good as third rankers, backed up by a newbie alten. As much as they love stories, kobalin are pretty terrible at telling them.”
“So you can be … friends with kobalin?”
Kyrkenall raised one hand and tilted it back and forth. “Not so much. I mean—you can have mutual regard.”
N’lahr said something that set Ortok roaring. Elenai reached for her sword as he shifted his hammer and lifted one great arm, thinking the kobalin had decided to attack.
Then Ortok clapped N’lahr on the back and laughed. N’lahr, recovering his balance, chuckled himself.
“Damn.” Even Kyrkenall looked startled.
“But he still wants to kill him?” Elenai asked.
“He said it, so he means it. But you don’t need to worry about that until N’lahr accepts the challenge.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“That seems a little strange.”
“I think it’s refreshing. With kobalin you always know where you stand.”
“You mean they always want to kill you.”
“I mean they’ll fight you openly. Not like Denaven.” Kyrkenall’s mouth twisted.
More unsettling truth. Elenai shook herself mentally.
The trail wound on for a few hundred more feet before emerging into a wide oval garden space surrounded by cliff walls. Elenai stopped to take it in, marveling. There was the sound of flowing water from somewhere off to her right, where rows of exotic fruit trees blossomed amid cool mists. Bushes heavy with lush scarlet berries grew on her left. Bright insects flashed and fluttered. Rising in the dead center of the space was a squarish blue marble building with pillared portico and a slanted partial roof bearing overlapping onyx shingles that glistened in the sun. And most surprising, looking down upon the space from niches higher in the cliffside were six great statues of smiling figures. Not four, but six … was the betrayer Sartain’s statue up there along with the Goddess he’d killed and the others who’d first ruled the realms?
Kyrkenall climbed down from his mare and took off her halter and saddle following N’lahr’s lead. Lyria immediately set to cropping grass and N’lahr’s animal wandered to her far side, away from Ortok. While Elenai eased the gear off her own mount, Kyrkenall joined N’lahr. “I see the statues. The Five, and the betrayer?”
The swordsman’s answer was almost laconic. “That’s what Kalandra thought.”
“The Gods were supposed to have warred before the start of civilization.” Kyrkenall’s wide sweeping arm indicated the whole of the place. “So who made this?”
Only N’lahr could have sounded so matter-of-fact with his answer. “The Gods.”
Ortok set his hammer beside one fluted blue column. “Come, come.”
“You might have mentioned there was a kobalin guard,” Kyrkenall said.
“The less either of you knew about this place the better.”
“Why’s that?” Elenai asked, catching up.
“In case we were captured.” He gestured ahead of him. “Now let’s go see what Ortok’s trying to tell us.”
Elenai didn’t quite catch Kyrkenall’s disgruntled comment. They followed the kobalin under the cool portico and through an arching passageway. It led into a square chamber that was more or less empty and mostly open to the sky.
Ortok halted just before an emerald-studded flagstone on the far left, facing the wall where a matching stone as large as Elenai’s fist glittered from a niche. The startlingly large and stunning gem was flawless and perfectly cut so that all its faces were the same size. Elenai noted similar jewels of different hues occupying niches all around the hall. What kind of place was this?
The kobalin raised his hands and addressed the glittering jade diamond. “Kalandra, I’m back once more. You have visitors.”
There was a sound of chiming bells, and she was there upon the flagstones, shimmering, vaporous. Her slender body was wrapped by the blue Altenerai khalat, and foaming brown hair crowned her brow. From under the curling locks, piercing hazel eyes looked out. A sword was slung along one hip.
Elenai couldn’t keep back a gasp of surprise.
Kalandra’s voice was tired. “Show me your rings.”
N’lahr raised his on the instant and set it glowing. A dumbstruck Kyrkenall obeyed a moment later, and Elenai followed his example.
She’d always thought the woman plain in depictions back in Darassus, rather unglamorous, but when the image of Kalandra moved and smiled it somehow conveyed a charm that still likenesses could not. She looked younger than expected but carried herself with a graceful assurance. “N’lahr, Kyrkenall, it’s been a long time. Who’s that with you?”
“By the gods,” Kyrkenall whispered.
N’lahr answered the vision. “This is Elenai.”
Kyrkenall got over his surprise. “Kalandra, is that really you?”
The transparent image shook her head. “No, old friend. Think of me as an imprint of memory. I created this device so you could speak with me while I went out searching.”
“When did you leave?” N’lahr asked.
Elenai doubted that this magical image could answer that, but the reply came without hesitation.
“Five years, nine months, two weeks, and one day past.”
Kyrkenall shook his head. “Are you all right?”
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”
That troubled Kyrkenall; N’lahr, though, pressed on.
“What did you learn?”
“Can you be more specific?”
“Let’s start with this place. What did you learn about it?”
She nodded. “The six men and women we thought of as gods gathered here to begin designing the realms. Each of them fashioned places of their heart’s desire and set them apart from one another so that their creations wouldn’t interfere with what each was doing. This haven was jointly constructed with some of their favorite elements so that they would be comfortable when they met. Beyond that wall are sleeping and living quarters.” She pointed to a blank spot to the right of one of the gems.
“How do you know this?” Kyrkenall cut in.
Eerie that the transparent figure’s eyes were so piercing. This imitation Kalandra certainly acted like a real person. “Information can be extracted from the other gems stored here. Once I learned the trick, I pored over the memories that the Gods left. I spoke with two of them. The others either left no direct impressions or they were inaccessible to me.”
“Who left impressions?” N’lahr asked.
“Kantahl and Sartain.”
Elenai could scarce believe what she’d heard. N’lahr was clearly startled himself.
Kyrkenall swore. “The betrayer?”
Kalandra’s brow furrowed once more. “I don’t understand.”
“She does that all the time.” Ortok’s low voice startled her. Elenai had almost forgotten he waited behind them. “You’re getting a lot more talk out of her than I usually do. She never told me this. Why didn’t you tell me any of this god talk, Kalandra?”
Once again, Kalandra looked puzzled, and Elenai saw that her expression was identical to the first two times. Even her inflection was the same. “I don’t understand.”
The kobalin grunted. “You see? Why doesn’t she speak to me of these things? I guarded her life.”
“I told her to share some of these matters only with me,” N’lahr offered.
Elenai was astonished such a simulation existed. That it also retained some kind of limited judgment was astounding.
Kalandra stood waiting, her expression once more vaguely sad.
Kyrkenall shifted, his face twisted in worry. “Do you think she’s still alive out there, somewhere?”
“We’ll find her.” The commander didn’t look any less upset than Kyrkenall, despite his confident proclamation. “Kalandra, I asked you to learn about the hearthstones you’d gathered. Did you?”
Her expression clouded. “They’re very dangerous, N’lahr. Tell our friends to stop using them. I once lost myself in one for almost a year.”
“What are the hearthstones?”
Once again, Kalandra sounded so real it was almost as if she were there. “They are pieces of a larger whole, but I’m unable to determine the shape and purpose of their original form. Either in whole or in parts, they were used by the Gods to fashion the realms, and the effects of their work are more comprehensive and lasting than I can currently manage with my own experiments. Each of the hearthstones seems infused with different kinds of energy, and the various energies color the perceptions of those who use them, leading to somewhat divergent effects.”
The figure paused briefly. She spoke with such easy confidence, her words well-chosen and her manner authoritative, that Elenai now understood a little why both N’lahr and Kyrkenall held her in such high regard.
Kalandra’s image continued: “They tend to subtly alter the reality around them, even when inactive, and present greater danger in altering those most susceptible to their influence, those open to the inner world. Some hearthstones appear to display affinity for others, as if they wish to be merged, and once joined the character of the larger piece changes. In short they are powerful objects that modify, or perhaps even transform, what’s around them in ways that cannot be fully predicted. I suspect that removing all of them to Darassus may have a continual and unpredictable warping effect upon the realm itself.”
N’lahr thrust one leg forward. “Kalandra, Belahn thought that the hearthstones were some kind of altar to a greater god. What do you think of that?
“I don’t understand.”
N’lahr tried again. “Could the hearthstones be part of a shattered altar to a god?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Why can’t she?” Kyrkenall asked.
Elenai thought she knew the answer. “She can react to us but she can’t draw new conclusions. She can only comment about what she knew or felt when she left this impression.”
Kyrkenall sighed. “Damnit, Kalandra.”
The image looked right at him. “What’s wrong Kyrkenall? You seem sad.”
“What’s wrong is that you’re not really here! I’ve looked everywhere for you and had almost given up. Then N’lahr got my hopes up, and Belahn got me worried. We finally found you but you’re gone, and there’s nothing here but this … thing that sounds like you.”
“I don’t understand.”
Kyrkenall’s next question was plaintive. “Why aren’t you here?”
That set the image in motion again. She gestured to the surrounding walls. “When Commander Renik described a strange garden he’d found in the deeps, I’d thought this was the one, but the more I considered the matter the less his description truly matched this place. He said there were four statues. He couldn’t have miscounted, even if that one to the south is hard to spot in the afternoon, nor failed to note the inclusion of Sartain. So I decided that there must be another place, built after the betrayer warred with the others.”
“You went looking for that place?” N’lahr asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you have any idea where it was?”
“Somewhere beyond Ekhem.”
Kyrkenall groaned. “That seals it. She’s not coming back.”
“Not necessarily,” N’lahr objected.
Kyrkenall shook his head. “Don’t you see, if she went looking for that other place, she would have crossed one of the realms and heard you were dead. She couldn’t have traveled in the deeps the entire time. It wouldn’t have been safe, or practical. And once she’d heard about what happened she would have come looking for me or Asrahn, someone. She’s vanished, like Commander Renik.”
Ortok grinned. “Ah! Renik. The deadliest of all Altenerai! My people say he was an even greater swordsman than you, N’lahr!”
“He was,” N’lahr agreed without hesitation.
“And a greater mage than Kalandra,” Ortok went on.
This time Kyrkenall answered. “He was.”
“What happened to him? I always wanted to battle him.”
“The queen kept ordering him deeper and deeper into the shifts,” Kyrkenall answered morosely. “And one day he didn’t come back.”
N’lahr explained further. “He was trying to find a way back to the place Kalandra’s talking about.”
“Wait,” Kyrkenall said, “are you saying the commander knew about all of this?”
“He didn’t know about this place. He’d already disappeared by the first time Kalandra got here. He’d been investigating the origin of hearthstones. He told Kalandra what concerned him, and eventually she told me.”
“Why didn’t you say anything to me?”
“Kalandra asked me not to. She wanted to understand the danger before sharing it with anyone else. Besides, we had a lot of other problems needing attention.”
Kyrkenall threw up his hands. “What a great idea that was! You two wait to tell anyone then both of you end up dead! Denaven takes over and starts lifting simpletons to the ring and shuffling the mages into the auxilary! And no one knows enough to stop him!”
“I couldn’t anticipate that.” N’lahr looked a little hurt by the accusation.
Ortok stepped closer to Elenai. She supposed the slightly lower volume of his booming voice was meant to be subdued. “Are they going to fight?”
“No.” At least Elenai didn’t think so. Ortok looked disappointed.
Kyrkenall’s voice rose. “You didn’t plan. All these secrets, N’lahr, and you didn’t plan for what would happen to everyone else if you were gone! And neither did you, Kalandra!” He pointed angrily at the transparent image.
“I don’t understand.”
He gnashed his teeth and his clenched fists shook. “Damnit, I loved you!”
Kalandra’s expression softened. “And I have always loved you.”
Kyrkenall groaned as if in physical pain.
As Kalandra’s double smiled, her affection was so clear, so intensely personal, that Elenai suddenly felt as though she were intruding upon a private moment. The memory of the enchantress continued with great fondness: “You’re so fierce, but so vulnerable. So tender, so dangerous.” She laughed a little. “Oh, you’re a glorious mess, Kyrkenall, but I love you.”
Kyrkenall stared at her image in stunned silence and shot a brief anguished look to N’lahr and Elenai. “I can’t … I can’t take this,” he muttered, turning on his heel and hurrying from the room. He disappeared into the hallway. They heard the sound of his retreating footsteps echoing on the stone.
For so long the archer had been talking about the greatness of Kalandra that Elenai had assumed admiration of a senior colleague, but with sudden clarity she understood a greater attachment had always been noticeable, if she’d paid attention. She was surprised to feel both sympathy and a pinprick of jealousy.
She turned to N’lahr to gauge his reaction and saw his eyes alive with shared pain as they followed his friend’s departure. He watched him for a long while, his expression somber.
After several tense moments, Elenai cleared her throat. She was vaguely aware of Ortok behind her, who remained at a discreet distance. “What are we going to do now, Commander? Are we going to look for her?”
N’lahr shook his head. “No. We have to go to Arappa.”
“Why?”
He met her eyes steadily. “Because the Naor are invading it.”
“What?” The question was choked from her. Surely she’d heard wrong. Arappa?
N’lahr spoke grimly on. “That’s why they were herding eshlack through the north border of The Fragments. They’re supplying an army. They can’t get that herd past the mountains to Alantris or to any other southern city. And the closest realm to the north border of The Fragments is Arappa.”
“Eshlack are delicious,” Ortok averred.
Elenai ignored him as she shook her head in denial. “How could they move an army or a herd without detection?”
“We don’t know that they weren’t detected. If our forces and borders are as weak as you’ve told me, detection won’t matter.”
Elenai knew blood was draining from her face. Unbidden, a rush of memories washed over. Her little sister waving to her from the city walls as Elenai journeyed forth for the great games. Her father standing in the dim recesses of the theater, taking a planer to a beam where a stage backdrop would be hung. She thought of the detailed clay carvings projecting from house eaves, and the great statue of Vedessa in the central square, where she’d first met N’lahr. She remembered the pounding from siege engines echoing through the empty streets as she and others huddled in sturdy corners, the random death from above from boulders or debris, and the pang of hunger.
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” she asked. Her voice sounded stripped of all weight, as though she were a child.
“By the time I put it together we were fleeing Denaven’s band and near enough to Kalandra.”
She licked her lips and fought against her rising panic. But N’lahr was the remedy, wasn’t he? “If Mazakan’s on the move, you can finally finish him off. That would break them.”
N’lahr smiled slightly and rubbed his face. “It’s true that Mazakan’s most likely leading them, and if he were removed it might throw them into chaos. No other Naor, ever, has been able to unite more than a couple of tribes for a few years. But unless I have an army to counterbalance his I’ll be hard-pressed to get close, no matter how fine my sword.”
She was stunned he looked so resigned. Where was the battlefield genius she’d heard so much about? Couldn’t he cook up something clever? “Mazakan always fights at the front, right? You can use that.”
He arched an eyebrow at her suggestion.
“Or maybe if he learns you’re back he’ll flee.” She realized she was sounding desperate.
“Mazakan’s set on our extermination. You have to know your enemy better than that to defeat him.”
“What do you mean?” She was getting angry.
“I mean Mazakan’s personal qualities don’t include cowardice.” He paused, seeming to wait for her to speak or to acknowledge understanding, and at her confused stare explained. “He’s ruthless, but impartial. He promotes by ability rather than giving any tribe precedence. He’s fearless, and tough, and his word is his bond—to his allies, at least. He shares plunder equitably and punishes lawbreakers, even if they’ve supported him. And he’s been able to communicate a vision.”
There was nothing so special about that. “So you’re saying he’s a good leader,” she scoffed.
“Maybe it sounds obvious to you. But you’re not blinded by generations of tribal affiliations and blood feuds. Other Naor haven’t seen past those things. If Mazakan was killed seven years ago, his generals would have torn into each other over whatever they could get of his empire. Now, we can only hope they haven’t learned from his example.”
Her voice sounded small even to herself. “So what do we do?”
“We’ll ride to Arappa.”
It was exactly what he’d told her minutes ago, and she looked to him for a more reassuring answer.
Apparently he didn’t have one. “We’ll aid them as we can. First, I have more questions for Kalandra’s likeness.” He looked to the silent kobalin behind her. “Have Ortok show you where the food is. Eat. Rest. You’ll need to be in better shape for all that lies ahead.”
She nodded her understanding and he turned away. Even Ortok was quiet as they walked off, leaving N’lahr alone in the hall with the ghostly image of his old friend.