Oblivion

[Zadown]

16 – Preparation

 

Arkstâd sprawled below them in the soft spring sunlight. The city was busy with rebuilding, the faint sounds of masons at work drifting all the way to the two girls. In east they could see a small cloud of dust, the mark of a caravan from the other side of the stone desert, one of the first in three years. In west the sea of lava was calming down and would soon be navigable again, which explained the workers repairing the ships at the docks. Wyvern-riders and black gulls wheeled above them in front of the cerulean blue sky. It was peaceful, hopeful scenery, springtime in more than one sense.

 

“So, you sure you won’t come with us, Nemue?”

 

“Yes. I wish I could, but my life’s here, Janki. It sounds exciting, all those tales of the Lost Paths and war and so on, but not for me. I’ve seen enough war for a lifetime.”

 

“So have I, Nemue. But I have to go.”

 

Jankiize pulled a red flower from the ground and sniffed it absently, threw it away while watching downwards, past the tower. Nemue saw how sad she seemed and spoke hopefully.

 

“Couldn’t you stay? I mean, you are the Lady of Bronze, everybody would love it if you stayed. Or if you don’t want that, you could just stay at our place, I know how dad grumbles but some of that gold you get so easily would cure that… no?”

 

“I’d love to, but I can’t. This is something I have to do, that I’ve promised to do. A pact.”

 

She took a small stone and threw it forward, down the slope. It disappeared behind larger stones far away, her eyes following it all the way.

 

“What is it, then? Does that horrible Lord of Chaos make you follow him? Can’t you just leave him?”

 

Jankiize sighed and turned to her companion, gave her a forlorn look.

 

“If it just was that simple.”

 

“Ah well, I guess I knew you wouldn’t stay, even before I asked. You aren’t destined to remain in a little town like this, it is easy to see. And I’m not destined to leave, just as well. You know that baker’s son who lives near our house?”

 

A look of mock horror appeared on Jankiize’s face, cleared away her worries.

 

“That fat one!? Don’t tell me you like him?”

 

Nemue frowned and elbowed her, feigned anger when Jankiize started giggling.

 

“Not the fat one you fool, the fat one’s at least twenty-two years old, an old man! The handsome one!”

 

“That’s why you are staying? I get abandoned because of a fat baker’s son! How cruel!”

 

“The handsome one you silly, not the fat one! No fair, wearing that armor…”

 

Later, after getting bored of the mock fight, after hours of talking, when the sun fell lower and the red hues of the landscape turned deeper, the lava sea glowing red in the darkening twilight, they started walking back towards the town. At the tower they paused, awkwardness creeping between them after being absent all evening. Jankiize nodded towards the looming structure.

 

“This is it, then. Not sure if I have time to see you before we go. You’ve heard the Dreamer has decided to take the whole tower with us?”

 

“Yes, you told me.”

 

Without a word they sat down on the cooling rocks and watched the big tower together. Nemue broke the silence first, wonder echoing in her words.

 

“Even after all I’ve seen I find it hard to believe he is just going to take all that with him as he goes. All that stone … how does he do it?”

 

“He’ll loan the power of the Grail through me, and use the three thousand years of lore he has. Easy for him, I guess. He is not a human like we are, the world is different for him.”

 

“And you?”

 

“What?”

 

“How different is the world for you?”

 

“I’m … not sure, Nemue. I’m not one of them, the immortals. And not really one of the mortals, either – I’ve seen too much, been taught too much.”

 

Jankiize put her hands on her armoured lap and stared at them, barely seeing them in the deepening dusk.

 

“That’s why I wanted you with me, so I wouldn’t be alone out there, with just them as company. After this time in Arkstâd it already feels like a dream, those trips through the Paths that lie beyond the sky, angels as our servants. A dream or a nightmare … but I understand why you’ll stay here. It was too much to ask. I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, Janki. Just come visit me once in a while, will you? You can tell your dreams of those journeys to my kids in a few years, hmm?”

 

The two girls shared a look, Nemue grinning and even Jankiize smiling faintly.

 

“Sure, I’ll visit you. But do you mean you and that fat baker’s son…?”

 

“Not the fat one! Stupid!”

 

“The stupid one? Haha! Ow! Hey, that almost hurt!”

 

It was night proper when they finally hugged one last time and parted, Jankiize staying at the door to the tower watching her friend’s journey towards the town. When Nemue vanished beyond a curve in the path, she sighed and opened the door, the wards on it glowing brightly in welcome. The room was more crowded than she’d expected and only the familiar sight of the Dreamer prevented her from panicking. In front of the planewalker stood a dozen tall animated armors with odd energy swords attached to their belts, or where their belts would have been. They reminded her of the constructs Law used, but then she saw their burning, living eyes and felt the chaos-tainted aura swirling around them. As one man they all turned towards her, dozen pairs of eyes regarding her intensely, and then they all kneeled in unison. The Dreamer watched it from the side, his eyes dark blue.

 

“Evenin’, th’ Grail Carrier. These are th’ first ones to hear th’ call of th’ Grail, a delegation o’ th’ Kalash.”

 

“Honoured to meet Your Holiness, the Grail Carrier.”

 

“Err, it is a pleasure to meet you. I hope the journey was not too taxing.”

 

“It is our regret to tell that while we started the pilgrimage with a holy number of us, only twelwe of us remain. We beg forgiveness, Your Holiness.”

 

The Dreamer smiled wanly but said nothing when Jankiize looked at him for guidance. The intricate, living armors still kneeled in front of her, a dark cup engraved on each of their left shoulders. Eleven of them stared at the floor, silent – the twelfth looked up at her with its ball lightning eyes and spoke with a metallic voice. Her second sight showed all the magic crackling around the Kalash and she felt dizzy, as if she had stepped right into those dreams she had spoken of, despite of being wide awake.

 

“You are forgiven, and please, do raise. Um, if you don’t mind me asking, what is the holy number?”

 

“Most amusing jest, Grail Carrier. It is, as you must know, twenty-seven for the twenty-seven virtues of the Chalice. The unholy troops of Law have gained control of the Paths in many places – once the real warriors of faith move out, in strength befitting the might of the Kalash, such losses will be avoided.”

 

“Good, good.”

 

The Kalash stood up but kept their eyes lowered in a gesture of deference. Even the twelfth fell silent and Jankiize felt embarrassed and out of place, tried to think of a way to go to sleep without offending these odd fanatics.

 

“Um, I’m rather tired, so if you could excuse me …?”

 

“We apologize for keeping you from your well-earned rest.”

 

The leader barked a series of inhuman metallic clangs and sputters and marched out of the tower with his warriors following in single file. Jankiize watched them go, feeling worn out by the bizarre encounter and a strange electric headache that faded slowly as the door shut down behind the last one. She turned towards the Dreamer with a questioning look on her face.

 

“What was that all about, uncle?”

 

“’Tis as I said, neh? Th’ Grail’s a standard, a flag to rally even those o’ Chaos who’d never follow Dukes o’ Hell or Lords o’ Chaos. Th’ Kalash are deadly an’ furious in battle, an’ I knew they’d come, with th’ lore o’ Grail interwoven with their history so stron’ly as it is. Try not t’ agitate them – th’ less ye speak with them th’ less there’s chance ye accidently say somethin’ blasphemous, ya?”

 

“I’d rather not speak with them at all. They are creepy things, remind me of those Law’s constructs we fought against.”

 

“Ha, that’s exactly what I meant ‘bout blasphemy, neh? I’ll try to see they’ll not bother ya. Oh an’ Janki?”

 

”Yes, uncle?”

 

”We leave early in th’ mornin’, around dawn, so be here then. I’d prefer not to go aroun’ lookin’ for ya.”

 

“So soon? But … I thought we’d be here for a few more days!”

 

“Yer five years are a’tickin’, m’lady. We must not waste any of them, neh?”

 

“Waste? They will be wasted alright, out there away from real people, with living armors and grinning demons, and all to buy back something you stole from us. You arrogant bastard!”

 

A sudden anger flared in Jankiize despite her weariness, and she grabbed a wooden stool, threw it at the planewalker. It met the wards and exploded into splinters with a thunderous boom, covering her exit to her own small room. Alone, the Dreamer stared reflectively at the broken sticks that had been a chair, then at the closed door the girl had slammed shut. He shrugged and smiled wanly, wandered away to check the enchantments he had engraved into the walls of the tower.

 

She woke up to a radiant glow. After blinking out the worst bleariness from her eyes, Jankiize saw the Herald had woken her up, was now letting his aura of light dim back to normal.

 

“Good morning, m’lady Jankiize. I hope you slept well.”

 

She yawned in response, looked around but did not see sunlight coming through the portholes.

 

“It is still night, isn’t it? What is it?”

 

“The Dreamer has decided it is time to leave, and requires you to act as his conduct for Grail’s power, m’lady. If you could be so good as to ready yourself and join us in the main room as quickly as convenient, please?”

 

“Mmmh yes, yes, I’ll be there, now please leave.”

 

The solar glided out of the room. His leaving left the room in a dark blue gloom, only the indirect, weak light of the moon illuminating it at all. Jankiize blinked a few times, then muttered something unladylike and whispered through her link to the Grail. In an instant her vision shifted and the room seemed alight with golden fire, a hue she was already growing tired of. She padded sleepily across her small room and put on her clothes, the padded underarmor and the adamantine scalemail, a belt with the scabbarded katana over that, her wyvern-leather boots. Jankiize pouted at her mirror image, frowned mentally to her two scars and the cut hair, dragged her fingers through her hairdo.

 

I look like a small boy wearing his father’s wargear. The mighty Grail Carrier, indeed.

 

Something made her turn her head sharply toward the door. Even through her sleepiness she quickly realized it was the Dreamer slowly firing up the first spells of the launch sequence, which meant she’d better be ready soon. Giving one last critical glance to the mirror, she marched through the door. In the main room of the tower the twelve Kalash stood in attention in two rows of six armors, nodded deep to her as she entered the room. The Dreamer was examining the runes he had engraved to the walls, the endless rows of them shining with a faint bluish light now that he had muttered the first trigger words. When she entered the room he turned around and nodded as well, but not very deep.

 

“Mornin’, Grail Carrier. Can ye take th’ Grail an’ follow me, so we can drag this thin’ up an’ push it through to th’ Astral, ya?”

 

“Sure, uncle.”

 

The inhuman gazes of the Kalash were irritating her, the flaming ball lightnings they had for eyes seemingly following everything she did with great, limitless curiosity. She couldn’t help herself but glare angrily at one of the living armors before walking to where the Grail stood, pulsing warm, chaotic energy as always. Touching it burned away her bad mood for a moment, filled her with fiery acceptance and uplifting power. The Grail responded to her touch with a flaring light that lit up the room, changed everything to look like gold and amber. Jankiize followed the planewalker up the stairs with a bounce in her step, dismissed the metallic sounds that she could hear behind her as the speech of the Kalash.

 

She felt almost cheerful when they reached the upmost room. Jankiize noted that the portals were all dim, shut off for this transition, and only the big gate to the Astral was still alive. The two guards, angels this time, were dismissed – the girl and the planewalker were alone in the small space. Around them the small windows showed the sleeping landscape around them, bathed in the blue light of the bigger of the two moons. Above was the dark grey pre-dawn sky, still full of bright stars. The Dreamer stepped to the big portal to the Astral and made a slow, complex gesture that made the portal die gradually. Jankiize walked to one of the windows and watched at the few lights visible in Arkstâd, lanterns of the really late revellers and the early morning workers.

 

“This is it, then, uncle?”

 

“Ya, we’ll be leavin’ soon, m’lady. I’ll be usin’ less power this time than when I re-made th’ Maiden, so ye shouldn’t have any trouble. An’ there’ll be a guard around us, those eleven Kalash here an’ some o’ Owiric’s hellguards.”

 

“I wasn’t really worrying about those things.”

 

“Oh? Well, I’m sure ye’ll get th’ hang o’ usin’ th’ Grail better, sooner than later, m’lady. Ye only have t’ act as a conduct this time, an’ ye know how to do that, neh?”

 

“That wasn’t really it, either.”

 

Jankiize shrugged absently, stared at a distant light that might have been the lantern of a certain glassblower, or possibly of the nearby baker.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

Those few awake in the town saw an eldritch green glow flare on the hill where they knew the Lord of Chaos had his tower. The glow surged upwards, engulfed the whole building, and a loud crack ringed over the slumbering Arkstâd. Then the glowing tower turned sideways, showed as a thin green line stretching towards the sky before vanishing.

[Zadown]

The insides of the tower glowed in the blue-green colors of the endless rows of runes that powered its flight through the Void. That and the low gravity of the Lost Paths gave Jankiize the illusion they were travelling under the sea, that they had learned to breath water. She was practicing her katana forms when the Dreamer gracefully floated to sight and landed next to her.

 

“Try not to overextend yerself, Janki. If ye do that they either skirt yer defenses or knock th’ katana right out o’ yer hand, an’ both are bad for ya.”

 

He gently pushed the icy blade to a better position. She memorized the change and then sheathed the blade, looking questioningly to the planewalker.

 

“Don’ get me wron’ Li’tl’ Princess, yer forms aren’t bad for a youn’ mortal. I’m sure ye’d last a few rounds against an archangel, even without yer armor.”

 

“Was that what you came to tell me, uncle?”

 

“Naw. We are steppin’ out o’ th’ Void soon, m’lady, an’ I thought ye might want to see th’ fortress from th’ air before we land. We’ll be here a’while.”

 

“What fortress?”

 

“Th’ mobile fortress o’ Bhalbet, th’ crushin’ fist o’ th’ army of the Chaos, of course. ‘cept it not bein’ very mobile yet, needin’ th’ Grail to move it aroun’, an’ not wholly built yet, either. We’ll be there in a tenth o’ a candle, m’lady.”

 

The Dreamer nodded cursorily and left the small room, his eyes flickering from one glowing rune to another to make sure they all worked as intended. Jankiize could feel the perfect shape of the planewalker’s magic, an elliptical field of force composed of several spheres. A tiniest error could make different parts of the tower move with different speeds, tearing the whole structure apart. She saw how it was being done, but knew she could not replicate the spell, not even with the help of the Grail. The artefact provided her power easily, but no direction – it did not make her wishes come true, but merely acted as a mindless well of strength for her to use as she wished.

 

The girl moved to her window and glanced out. Beyond the translucent emerald glow that marked the borders of the Dreamer’s spell, the Void was absolute black dotted with the pearls of distant worlds. She could barely sense the faint lines that connected the pearls with each other, the twisting Lost Paths where the planewalkers reigned. First few days of the travel she had been enticed by the view and had spent hours gazing to the inky depths of the Void, but after it had been clear there’d be no angels or demons to see, no strange planewalkers who’d see them and wave to the passing tower, she had pretty much abandoned that hobby. Now, everything seemed the same as always. She pushed her head through the window in an attempt to see what lay ahead and was rewarded by the sight of a growing sphere of world crystal right in front of their path.

 

Brace yourself, m’lady.

 

She frowned at the intruding thought but retracted her head and took a better grip of the window jambs. Shortly afterwards the tower shuddered and tilted, swinging from one position to another languidly but alarmingly. The view changed from inky darkness to the swirling blue of Astral, the same deep, dark and mysterious blue she had so often seen in the Dreamer’s eyes. That color filled the sky only for a brief moment, then the tower jarred and the sky flickered, changed to a whirling mixture of dark purple and fiery red with black clouds. The tower steadied as gravity returned, making Jankiize almost fall to the floor. When she regained her posture, she hurried back to the window and glanced down.

 

Below the floating tower was a large construction site, small figures scurrying around carrying, dragging or pushing big blocks of obsidian-colored stone. She could see the edges of the small pocket plane, even though they were miles away. Between the borders and the half-finished fortress was a city of tents on one side and a smaller village of barracks on the other, with various smaller buildings and tents scattered all around the barren place. The air was not empty either: an assortment of imps, winged hell-creatures, gargoyles and a few bigger demons wheeled around the abyssal sky, looking like they belong here. One of the smaller and more stupid little imps flew closer, hit the faint emerald field and was fried by a violent discharge of energy that made the tower rock and sent its smoking carcass towards the ground. Jankiize heard the Dreamer’s faint voice cursing in Àlankhân as he smoothed over the rocking motion of the tower and started guiding it downwards.

 

The little figures turned bigger and the flying ones started to gradually be more numerous above them than below. Jankiize watched curiously at the demon-workers, geothurges cajoiling stone to follow them and whispering to blocks of black rock about the virtues of a new shape, Kalash warriors standing everywhere looking aloof, mercenaries loitering and playing dice, the colourful tents of the brass djinns and igneous efreetis, at the armoured figures of unknown, rare cultures she’d never seen before. It was like a city floating in the vastness of the Void, a city of fairytales and magic and wonder, beautiful in a very alien way, uplifting her downtrodden spirits. Then the smell hit her: refuse, garbage, old booze, burning trash, blood and rot, rare spices and marvellous perfumes, hot metal and naked fire, sweat, incense and vomit. She gagged and retreated from the window, blinked her eyes. Arkstâd had smelled bad, as well, but this was … inhuman.

 

Perhaps it is just the difference between an old, civilized town and a military camp. There’ll be no friendly faces here, no mushroom pie and tea. Five years in this hell…

 

Jankiize turned and leaned her back on the wall of her room, slid slowly to sit on the floor. Her face twisted but she did not cry, muttered angry words under her breath. When the loud grinding noise followed by a stony click informed her that the tower had landed on the prepared spot, she stepped out of her room in her Grail Carrier’s uniform, face calm and cool, composed.

 

No use crying over the pact. No use crying, at all.

 

One last deep breath and it was the Lady of Bronze who extended her hand to the impassive planewalker, who walked out of the door of the tower into the hot, dry day outside.

 

Arkstâd had been noisy just before they left, all the survivors and what was left of the wyvern guard rebuilding the trading town from stone. The sound of hammers on stone had been a constant, soothing background to the days after the victory over the Steam Army. Here, the sound was twice as loud and there were no pauses in it, no nights of rest in this small pocket-plane crafted or found for the sole purpose of building this fortress. The sky was immutable and had no sun, no moons or stars, just a sickly, hot crimson glow that made everything look as if they’d been dipped in blood. The demons were right at home here, the place resembling many of the more traditional abyssal planes, even if the temperature was lower and the only open flames were those of the campfires.

 

Jankiize walked through the hellish construction site with an angel bodyguard inconspicuously following her nearby. Most of the grunts were lower caste demons, lacking in intelligence or finesse but bulging with glistening muscles that allowed them to drag huge blocks of stone or to break rock effortlessly with their long mallets. They were all chained, either physically or by their names, and supervised mostly by higher caste demons, a few hired demonologists looking out of place in the middle of all the abyssal monsters. Those of them who spared her a glance showed what the knowledge of the lower planes had cost them – their eyes showed fire and unyielding will but little humanity left. Besides a few bored-looking mercenary guards, geothurges seemed most human of the workers. Long and spindly or fat and jovial men, they were immersed in their tasks with the air of superior beings that tolerated all the lower workers so their masterpiece would be finished faster. Their mud-stained robes, cracked monocles and dirty tools showed their concentration had cut them adrift from the reality, that they were in their own world of balances, pressures, rock and stone, spells and cantrips.

 

She paused to watch one of the younger geothurges paint runes with thin, red lines along the base of one of the towers. He had a crude headband that prevented his unruly sand-colored hair from spilling over his eyes, and he was wearing a simple, stained grey robe and wooden sandals. From his leather belt hung some basic tools. The boy hummed tonelessly and finished the last rune, a satisfied smile appearing on his face. Only then he noticed with a start that somebody was there besides him and gave Jankiize a surprised look. He spoke quickly, some language that was totally foreign to her but which her translation enchantment had no trouble with.

 

“Oh, hi. What do you think? These will fade into the stone in a few hours, and when the fortress is ready and starts moving they will redistribute the strain so it will not break. It’ll be a grand sight, the flying fortress of Bhalbet.”

 

“Err.. yes, I’m sure it will be.”

 

She looked over the long row of twisty red sigils, curious about what sort of enchantment they imparted on the black stone. The geothurge apprentice removed his headband, used it to wipe the sweat off his brow and put it back after drawing his fingers through his hair. He seemed suddenly nervous.

 

“You can read them? I thought you were a mercenary, even if you are a bit young for one. And you don’t seem like a demonologist, if you don’t mind me saying so. That armor really fooled me, it did.”

 

She mostly ignored the nervous prattle and shifted her sight to see how the magic flowed around the newly-painted runes. Jankiize frowned and turned towards the geothurge.

 

“Is the enchantment supposed to twist into itself over there, do you see? Won’t that break the stone once there is strain?”

 

“What do you mean, twist? I’ve painted all the runes as they should be painted … oh.”

 

The boy went pale when he noticed his error and kneeled hastily next to the stone Jankiize had pointed at. He swallowed loudly, took his brush and fixed the rune, muttering something under his breath.

 

“I should’ve seen that, I really should. Listen, thanks, no need to mention this to the supervisors, now is there? I’ll do my best from now, honestly.”

 

Jankiize could not help but smile at the worker’s chastened look. The geothurge grinned back and extended his hand after wiping it on his robes. She hesistated but after a pause shook hands with the boy.

 

“Apprentice geothurge Stafan Obsidian of the 27th Engineering Regiment, at your service, miss …?”

 

“Jankiize.”

 

In the expecting silence the look on the geothurge’s face was so comical she grinned and gently removed her hand from the boy’s grip. She almost said something, half-opened her mouth to speak, when the angel guard, still disguised as a knight, approached and diverted her attention. It came close and whispered words only she could hear. She nodded and turned to leave. Some impulse made her look back and wave to the young geothurge, share one last grin with another human before walking towards her work.

 

With the angel on her heels, she stepped inside the tower. Besides the few demon and angel guards and the Dreamer, there was a person in the room she did not recognize. The strange planewalker was a heavy-set man clad in solid bright red platemail, a black symbol of Chaos painted haphazardly over his heart. He wore a full helm and had a two-handed sword sheathed on his back. The Dreamer nodded to her, and the stranger raised the visor of his helmet, showing a wide, ruddy, bearded face with a few scars, the widest of them cutting across his forehead horizontally. She walked to the Dreamer without saying a word, hid behind his thin but tall back. The Dreamer took a step back and gestured towards him.

 

“M’lady Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua, th’ Grail Carrier, may I introduce ye to my old enemy an’ ally, Sir Owiric o’ Chaos.”

 

“’Tis a pleasure, m’lady.”

 

“Pleasure is all mine, m’lord.”

 

“Ha, I see ye’ve brou’ht ‘er up properly, ye old scoundrel. Is she allow’d to hear all this, Wodzan?”

 

“Ya. Go on, Owiric. Ye were sayin’?”

 

“Gainin’ th’ Grail was as big a coup as ye said, an’ my ‘amble regardin’ those troops paid off amon’st th’ higher ranks o’ Chaos command. Yer lackin’ in th’ finer arts o’ diplomacy, Xe Chanima, so I’m handlin’ that part, an’ I’ve been workin’ towards gatherin’ more troops an’ such. Once this fortress lifts up, we’ll see th’ biggest army o’ Chaos amass’d behind it that I’ve seen, an’ I was in th’ battle o’ th’ Seven Miracles, ya.”

 

“It’ll lift up, easily. Ye haven’t seen th’ flames o’ creation that burn within th’ Grail.”

 

Jankiize drifter further away from the conversation, aware that what the two planewalkers discussed was confidental and huge, history in the making, but unable to care. It was beyond her, even now that she was hopelessly entangled with this Eternal War. She paused at a window and watched a column of floating blocks of stone follow a tall, heavy-set geothurge in black robes, was reminded of her brief encounter with the apprentice. Owiric mentioning her name turned her attention back to the conversation of the two planewalkers.

 

“… an’ so, she’ll have to ‘ave more protection than that one angel ye have guardin’ her. Ye should’ve realized this as well, Wodzan. Don’t tell me yer getting careless at yer age, neh?”

 

“I was aware o’ it, ya. My guard was decisimat’d at th’ Last Defense o’ Arkstâd, however. After th’ Herald an’ my bodyguards ‘tis just yer average soldiers left. There’s one, but I wanted to wait until we’d be here before summonin’ him.”

 

“Uncle!”

 

“Ya, m’lady?”

 

“I don’t want to have any huge demons following me around, and you should know it by now. It is hard enough to talk with anybody as it is, I really don’t need an eight-foot tall fiery demon standing behind me as well.”

 

Owiric laughed, holding his large, armored stomach.

 

“Harder yet t’ talk if yer dead, li’tl’ mortal. Ye’ve ever ask’d yer uncle how easily lives may end aroun’ planewalkers like us, ya?”

 

His hearty laugh turned into cold smile as he glared at the Dreamer.

 

“Ye should someday ask him to tell that story. An’ I’m afraid I do have an eight-foot tall fiery demon who’s adept at standin’ behin’ little girls like ye, ready to protect th’ Grail Carrier.”

 

The Dreamer shrugged, his eyes pale grey.

 

“We can mask th’ bodyguards. It’ll make her harder to find as well – Angrôthn’s not very hard to locate from a crowd or on a field o’ war.”

 

“I’ll leave that to ye, m’lord. Yer better at th’ arts o’ subterfu’e an’ deceit, ye bastard.”

 

The Dreamer grinned widely at Owiric’s bitter tone and nodded.

 

“That I am, ya.”

[Zadown]

Jankiize blocked a blow, backed a step and detached her right hand from the hilt to make a sweeping gesture while she loudly whispered a spell. Her first opponent was flung away and hit the wall, landed on her feet shakily. The second one rushed forward to pierce with her sword, but Jankiize partly parried and partly dodged the attack. She parried the next vertical slash, used the remaining energy of the spell to push the second attacker backwards, moved towards the first enemy and knocked the sword off from her hand. Jankiize hissed a second spell, directed it at the head of the first opponent who fell to her knees, stunned. The remaining assailant stepped forward and aimed a horizontal slash towards Jankiize’s legs. Jankiize tried to back away from the blow but was too slow, exclaimed from the pain and struck downwards with her sword scoring a perfect hit on the collar bone. The strike jarred the sword away from her enemy’s hand and it clattered to the stone floor, the wooden blade bouncing a few times before landing to a corner.

 

“Ye should be able to take on two mortals without bein’ hit, m’lady.”

 

The panting girl nodded to both of her practice enemies and waved the two female mercenaries out of the room. Only after they left, rubbing their minor injuries, she turned towards the Dreamer, who was waiting motionlessly near the wall.

 

“Most of the time, uncle. These people do this for living, however. Even with magic I can only do so much, especially without wards.”

 

He gave a short, dry laugh and his eyes turned emerald green.

 

“Everybody who fights does it fo’ livin’, m’lady. Remember that, will ya?”

 

“Yes, uncle. So, what brings you here? Going to show me the flaws of my forms again?”

 

“Naw, yer forms were fine, for a mortal. This practice against real opponents ‘s good for ya, th’ forms only give ye a base to work with, they aren’t th’ end o’ th’ road. Nah, what I’m here fo’ ‘s th’ fact Angrôthn’s ‘ere. Ye still want us t’ camoufla’e yer bodyguards?”

 

“As I said, I do not need a huge demon following me around all the time. But if you insist, you can at least disguise him, yes.”

 

“Ya well, if that makes ye happy.”

 

The Dreamer shrugged and walked slowly out of the room, pausing to glance behind him to make sure Jankiize was following. She muttered something about being far from happy, but followed the planewalker after hastily abandoning her practice sword and grabbing the sheathed Winter’s Touch. They exited one of the few completed rooms of the fortress as she attached the sheath to her belt. A wave of heat and smell hit them both at the door, the Dreamer barely blinking, Jankiize wiping sweat off her forehead.

 

She was getting somewhat used to both, but it did not make them enjoyable, so she spent most of her time in the small but rapidly growing completed parts of the fortress. Under the black roof the air was slightly cooler and did not smell quite so bad. It also gave her refuge from all the boisterous, dangerously bored mercenaries, chillingly inhuman demonologists, self-centered, day-dreaming geothurges and the various incomprehensible non-humans. The unadorned corridors and vast rooms without any furniture were largely empty of people, for now. Jankiize still slept in the tower, but found the frequent visitors the Dreamer had whenever he was home a distraction, something that made studying or practicing her forms impossible. Even when the planewalker was gone, various subcommanders and lieutenants of Chaos, barons of different hells and members of the Kalash visited the place, either looking for the Dreamer or examining the maps he left on his table. She found their attention, or the attention of those of them who noticed her at all, to be embarrassing or even downright scary – the Kalash were the worst, and Jankiize still shuddered when she remembered what had happened during the trip from Arkstâd to here.

 

A growling demon that got slashed by a hexed whip as soon as it glared at her jerked Jankiize out of her reverie. She circled around the brutish creature, now writhing in agony, and hurried her steps to keep up with the Dreamer’s long stride. They crossed the inner courtyard quickly and entered the tower they had brought, now set in the precise middle-point of the fortress. Owiric was already there, as was her future bodyguard Angrôthin: he was a towering creature, like an upright, lean and muscled bull immolated in flames. He wore a dark brown leather harness and a loincloth of the same material. From his belt made of large links of metal hung a flanged mace and a falchion of some fire-darkened but still translucent material. The archdemon turned towards her, and when he did that she suddenly saw his wings – long, wide leathery things made of flickering fire and black soot opening past the limits of the room, through the ceiling and the walls. Then the vision faded, but Angrôthin gave her a meaningful look as if the wings were his secret he had shown only to her.

 

“Evenin’, Sir Owiric, Angrôthin.”

 

“Evenin’, Wodzan Xe Chanima, m’lady Jankiize.”

 

The demon only bowed his head further, already slightly crouched in order not to gouge the ceiling with his horns. He snorted out white sparks and moved restlessly in place on his hooves. The room seemed smaller with the demon present, and while Jankiize knew the planewalkers were more powerful than this eight foot tall titan, his power was more tangible, easier to see. She was startled when the demon spoke with a voice of growling flames and crackling furnaces.

 

“Greetings, Mistress.”

 

He still stared at her, perhaps expecting a reply, but she was too flustered to say anything and moved closer to the Dreamer instead. The planewalker smiled wanly, his eyes the light green of spring leaves, and gestured towards the tall demon.

 

“Now, be polite to yer new bodyguard, neh? Say yer greetin’s to Angrôthin, m’lady.”

 

“Hiya … Angrôthin.”

 

The Dreamer glanced at Owiric.

 

“He’s been bound, ya? An’ he’ll be ready for th’ disguisin’?”

 

“Ya, of course to both. Do ye really think I’d let an unbound archdemon ‘uard th’ Grail Carrier?”

 

“Naw, but ye know I had to ask, Owiric.”

 

The two planewalkers had completely ignored the demon and the girl, who stared at each other while they talked, the girl with nervous tension, the demon with relaxed, nonchalant subservience. When Owiric spoke of the binding, Angrôthin gave a sideways glance to the planewalkers and then winked to Jankiize, so quickly she wasn’t completely sure if she had been imagining it. She turned her attention back to what the Dreamer was saying and tried to ignore her nervousness.

 

“An’ here’s my bodyguard for her, th' one I said I'd call when th' opporturnity'd present 'tself.”

 

He whispered some words of a spell or a calling and pointed at empty air, or what seemed like empty air. After a while Jankiize’s eyes could discern ghostly lines floating above the floor, like a grey sketch drawn on the air, three-dimensional. It was a short, armoured man wielding a naked blade, helmet obscuring his face and his feet blending against the background stone floor. Jankiize was reminded of something, but the memory was fleeting as a half-forgotten dream and she could not catch it.

 

“He’ll not speak, nor care o’ greetin’s even as much as a demon, but he’ll protect her, aye, an’ protect her well.”

 

“Ye found a stauri that’d fight for ya? I’m almost impressed, th’ Dreamer.”

 

Jankiize felt overwhelmed. Both of the bodyguards felt oppressive in their own way, the other a strong, seething fire, the other a gloomy chill. She did not care how loyal they were – they were too much, and she had a sinking feeling when she contemplated the fact these two would follow her everywhere from now on. She had never asked to be used as a playing piece in this game of the immortals, and now it seemed her last privacy and peace of mind would be robbed by two powerful, pervasive presences walking behind her wherever she’d go.

 

Somebody knocked discreetly on the door. It then swung open, revealing a very handsome, scarless man of about middle height wearing the garb of a wise man, small trinkets tinkling faintly every time he moved, his cloak being held in place by a brooch the shape of the mark of Chaos. He had no visible weapons, but he had the aura of power any planewalker radiated unless specifically trying to hide themselves. Jankiize felt the beginnings of a headache buzz through her brains, her practiced sensitivity to flows of magic overloading her sixth sense. The Dreamer and Owiric both nodded to the third planewalker, and her guardian raised his voice enough that it’d carry clearly to whole room.

 

“Evenin’, m’lord Yhelmiel. I trust ye’ve recovered from th’ last time.”

 

“I have, even if it was unpleasant to be hit with that spell of yers ri’ht after th’ Patriarch had crack’d my wards. Everythin’ ready?”

 

“Ya, if yer ready t’ channel th’ powers o’ th’ Grail, Jankiize?”

 

“Yes, uncle. But do you really need it for this? I thought you can…”

 

The Dreamer held his hand up, a gesture that silenced Jankiize.

 

“I can, ya, but there’s nary a’spell that can’t be done better with more raw power, as long as ye have th’ skill to mold that mana. Th’ Grail can hammer th’ roots o’ th’ spell so deep it cannot be undone b’sides by it’s maker, an’ it can hide th’ structure o’ it, th’ words an’ runes that make up th’ enchantment. There’s many a’reason it commands such respect from th’ immortals o’ th’ Lost Paths, an’ this is one.

 

Perfection of the Art.”

 

He articulated the last words with an odd clarity, unusal to him, and his eyes shone silver. Jankiize saw a hunger in the eyes of Sir Owiric, and Lord Yhelmiel shut his, all three planewalkers touched by this dream of power. The moment passed and the old, more guarded looks returned to the various faces. Yhelmiel coughed and spoke in his pleasant voice.

 

“Very well, then. Shall we begin, m’lords, m’lady?”

[Zadown]

The door shut after her two bodyguards soundlessly, leaving the three planewalkers to their megalomanic plans. Jankiize turned to look behind her. There they were, two nondescript men in grey and brown clothes that were impossible to remember. Her gaze kept on sliding off them, the memory of them trying to evaporate despite her holding on to it. She concentrated, using her arcane training, and whispered the words that sharpened her eyesight. Now she could see them, the disguise wavering around their real forms, obscuring the hard to see stauri almost completely, making the fiery archdemon seem a transparent daydream. Jankiize was aware they both stared back at her, watching her to watch them, but she didn’t care. Then the demon spoke, his roaring and crackling whisper startling her.

 

“Do not undo the spell by letting the world pay attention to us, Mistress. Allow us to fade to the background.”

 

She nodded at the words, hesistated and turned around, unsure of what she could’ve said. Jankiize thought of returning to the solace of her training room, but she didn’t want to make these two bodyguards real by bringing them to her own space. She wanted them gone, started walking towards the busiest parts of the construction in childish hopes of them getting lost in the twisty maze of scattered obsidian stones, scaffoldings and other obstructions. She knew that it wouldn’t work, but she still felt like walking, didn’t want to be alone with the two ordinary, boring men in grey and brown.

 

For a while, the different demons at work, the imperial, inhuman demonologists in their colourful robes of crimson and red and black and the few mercenary guards, killing time by talking and playing dice, cards or bones with each other, managed to distract her. A small voice in her head kept muttering about the two bodyguards following her, but she did her best to ignore it.

 

“Hey! Jankiize!”

 

The girl turned, wondering who knew her here, among all these strangers. She saw a young geothurge in a grey robe and remembered her encounter with the apprentice, the mis-painted rune. He walked to her, his eyes quickly brushing over the two men behind her, a moment of quizzical look on his face that cleared as the bodyguards faded from his memory. This small victory, the fact that her guards did not frighten other people, could not do so being totally invisible, made her smile faintly.

 

“Stefan, was it?”

 

“Was wondering if you’d remember me, miss. Stafan, actually, Stafan Obsidian, it is amazing how many people make that mistake about the name. Shame since I really like my name, but there you go, can’t help these things.”

 

His speech was as rapid as the last time, and she wasn’t sure if it was normal or if he was nervous. The light tone made her feel better, finally banished the small voice that tried to make her miserable, and her smile widened to a genuine one now. It made her beautiful face light up even when it reached her eyes only partly.

 

“Painting runes again, Stafan?”

 

“Umm … not right now, my master said I do not have the self-discipline for that work. Been shaping rocks instead, that might be better for me, less chances for things to go wrong, I’m sure you know what I mean. Was just coming here to float VI-XXII to the tower when I saw you, you here on what business, need me to guide you anywhere?”

 

“I was just walking. What are you building next?”

 

Right then, an older geothurge, fat and angry, clad in dark robes with a row of runes embroidered in them that showed he was one of the senior architects as well, appeared from between the stones and headed straight towards Stafan. His voice started loud and rumbling, and it only got louder by every sentence he shouted at the young man.

 

“Here you are, loiterer! I told you to get VI-XXII to the tower, not to spend your working time talking to the mercenary scum! And when I …”

 

The man got no further in his tirade. At the words “mercenary scum”, Jankiize noticed from the corner of her eye how Angrôthn leaped forward and leaned over the geothurge, whispered something to his ear while white sparks flew from the demon’s nostrils. She saw that, and also what the others saw, how an ordinary, boring-looking man stepped forward quickly from behind her and leaned closer to the geothurge’s ear, spoke a few inaudible words. Whatever her bodyguard said, it made the man pale and sputter, stand rooted to the spot for a moment before turning unsteadily and walking away. Stafan stared after him, then turned at her, at loss for words. Jankiize shrugged, looking embarrassed.

 

“I’m sorry about that. My … bodyguard is overly protective.”

 

“Your bodyguard?”

 

Stafan looked straight at Angrôthn, and it looked like he saw the demon, then his face cleared and his eyes slid back to Jankiize. She could almost see with her mind’s eye how a part of the boy’s memory disappeared, crushed by the thick enchantment spun over the demon and the ghost by the Dreamer and Yhelmiel. Stafan started speaking again, rearranging the remaining pieces of his memory so they covered the gap in them. Still, his words were slower and there was a wondering look in his eyes.

 

“I wonder what that was all about, never seen old Nhalmazar cut off like that. Must have been something he ate.”

 

“Yes. Must’ve been. You showing me what you are building next?”

 

She could not keep a degree of tiredness away from her voice.

[Zadown]

“I thought ye’d come ‘ere, m’lady”

 

The Dreamer moved away from the shadows he had been standing in, immobile and silent as a statue. His eyes shone dimly blue in the dark room, but other than that he was a tall, thin shade, barely seen against the background of black rock. Jankiize muttered and her vision altered, showed the room as if it was lit, her bodyguards with their two different shapes, real and illusionary, the flows of mana swirling around the planewalker and his wards.

 

“What do you want now, uncle?”

 

“After ye left with yer new bodyguards, me an’ Owiric discuss’d th’ near future. ’Tis soon time for our first foray into th’ depths of Law’s territory, an’ we’ll need ya there, ye an’ th’ Grail.”

 

She frowned, surprised and displeased.

 

“But this fortress is nowhere near complete. Or are you speaking in planewalker terms again when you say ‘soon’ and ‘near future’?”

 

“Naw, I mean ‘n a few days, m’lady. Th’ mercenaries are restless, th’ forces o’ Law gettn’ too close. ‘Twas one o’ th’ reasons ye got yer bodyguards now, Lady of Bronze.”

 

Jankiize’s eyes narrowed and her voice turned into a hissing, angry whisper.

 

“Lady of Bronze was left in Arkstâd. I’m the Grail Carrier here, your own personal mercenary with a five year pact. Now, uncle, get out of my training room. I have forms to practice.”

 

The Dreamer shrugged, the glow of his eyes dying and the scars on his face writhing.

 

“Ye should practice ‘gainst Angrôthin, instead. ‘Tis beings of his power ye should fear, not those mortals mercenaries.”

 

He turned and walked out the door with a slow and relaxed gait.

[Zadown]

The army of the Chaos flowed underneath them, insofar as there was such a direction here in the Void. It was a spear or one of those arrows in the symbol of Chaos, it’s tip made of demons and Kalash, the diversity of the abyssal creatures in deep contrast to the uniform metal constructs marching next to them. Behind them came the few Kalash commanders and barons of hell, the former secure in their command, the latter whipping and beating their unruly warriors into obedience. The shaft of the army was made of mostly human mercenaries, heroes and adventurers who had been powerful and celebrated in whatever home plane they had had. Now they were the lowest rank of this powerful army, the fodder for the greatswords of the angels. Behind even them came the small group of service troops, their lack of supplies marking this as a raid and not a full-blown attack. Jankiize and the Dreamer were floating above the path, both protected by faintly shimmering emerald fields. The planewalker grinned at the sight, his eyes light blue.

 

“’Tis th’ hand o’ Chaos, strikin’ back at th’ Law, finally. An’ our work has made it possible.”

 

“You should know by now, uncle, that I hardly care about this war. I’m not here for your Chaos, I’m here for me.”

 

The Dreamer was unfazed by Jankiize’s words and nodded.

 

“I used to despise both Chaos an’ Law, m’lady. I was neutral, concentrat’d on my quest to abolish th’ gods from th’ Paths. But th’ Law started this, an’ there’s no room in their white halls for th’ likes o’ me. So, cornered, I chose my side … an’ here we are.”

 

Jankiize was silent and looked around. Even her augmented eyes did not pick up much to see if she turned them away from the army. Most of the worlds were so far away they looked like tiny, unwavering stars, and she could not see the far-away paths, only the one their raiding party was advacing on. Ahead, a world was slowly growing. It was their target, a minor fortress that had been fought over several times already and that was mostly in ruins. Their scouts had returned with reports of a moderately-sized army of celestials occupying the castle, an army close in size to their own. But they had the Grail.

 

“So, how are you going to win this one, uncle?”

 

“Ye shall see, m’lady. Ye shall see.”

 

The enchantment keeping both of them suspended high above the path changed, and they fell through the blackness of the Void, a fall that swiftly changed into flight. The Dreamer brought them to a space just behind the lesser commanders, between them and the mortal mercenaries. Right after they had resumed their position in the army, joined the greater protective field that protected the mortals from the airless, cold Void, two nondescript mercenaries marched to the front of the mortals and took up positions right behind Jankiize. She gave them one long, cold stare before concentrating on marching forward at the same pace as everybody else.

 

Eventually, they reached the first defenses of Harfrast fortress. The demons were let loose and they found the traps, blowing up, freezing and shattering, their spirits undone or their physical bodies broken by dozens of different spells. They also found the few skirmishers waiting in ambush and shred those of them apart who did not flee. When the outer defenses were breached, the Kalash charged through the planar crystal, their warcry a metallic wailing crash. They raised their psi-blade swords, mixture of malignant psionic power and crackling telekinetic energy pulsing raw yellow on the wicked edges, and Jankiize could feel the miasma of pain. They penetrated the crystal, vanishing from sight, and the tingling aura of agony their blades carried vanished with them. The demons followed in close, milling pursuit, leaving only the restless mortals to this side of the planar barrier. Then the Dreamer raised his no-dachi Pain, golden flames drawn through her from the Grail dancing around him as a fiery aura, and he yelled with a clear, carrying voice.

 

“Charge! Fo’ th’ Grail! Fo’ th’ Chaos!”

 

The mortals replied with a thousand different voices, a cacophony of warcries, and raised their own weapons. Minor artefacts, heirlooms of great power, swords and axes and maces forged of adamant, black iron, dragon’s bones or blue steel – they all were set alight with golden fire. The blessings of the Grail surged through the army, bringing strength and bloodlust and rage as it came. The heroes dashed forward, spittle and sweat flying, golden images of glory shining in their eyes. The Dreamer protected himself and Jankiize again with the emerald green wards and raised them up to clear the way for the mortals, who rushed forward below them. The mortal heroes also penetrated the planar crystal, and for a moment it was silent in the Void, peaceful on this side of the planar barrier. Then the last four of the army, a planewalker and a mortal girl with her bodyguards, entered the pocket plane.

 

Jankiize had seen war. She had been there in all of the four defenses of Arkstâd, had seen planar armies crash when Law’s paladin had attacked the Dreamer’s astral harbour. This was beyond all that, a chaotic abyss of metal and blood and white feathers, a deafening chorus of cries and shouts, metal beating on metal or flesh. The pocket plane was a place of winter and coldness, the fortress made of packed snow and primal ice. Sky above them howled with a permanent blizzard, flying angels circling under the heavy clouds, almost impossible to see in the swirling whiteness. The ground armies were fighting over frozen landscape, demons steaming as their inner heat made contact with ice. Law had brough their warriors to the open plain, too confident of their strength, and the enraged troops of Chaos were slicing their way through. The Kalash were doing most of the bloody work, their psi-blades unexpected and deadly threat, their metal bodies resilent and unyielding. The mortal mercenaries filled the gaps the Kalash made, crushed the dead and dying angels with their stampede, and the demons tied up the flanks, gibbering, growling and roaring in their frenzy.

 

Almost before it had properly started, the first encounter was over, Law’s troops retreating towards the fortress looming behind them, its hoarfrosted towers tall enough to almost touch the planar crystal beyond the stormclouds. The Kalash tried to follow, but a strong gust of frigid air flung their powerful warriors back, froze the front row and shattered them against icy rocks. Jankiize could see the strong flows of mana connecting to somebody at the front gates, felt the power of the almost casually uttered spell. Then the gates slammed shut and runes glowed on their frosty surface, ice covered them protectively in an instant, hiding the silvery sigils.

 

The army of Chaos first stared at the gates, frozen shut, and then made way for the Dreamer and the Grail Carrier. The planewalker stood in front of the two tall doors, assessed the flows of magic and the unseen runes, and smiled, his eyes shining white and gold. He grasped empty air, slid his hand along an imagine handle. The powers of the Grail complied and flames burned soon in the frigid air in the shape of a mallet he lifted above his head. The weapon solidified in mid-swing and the red-yellow hammer, engraved chalice on its head, runes running along its shaft, roared towards the gate. It struck the point where ice was thickest and exploded, sending white rays of light and blue sparks everywhere. The gate shuddered but held. The Dreamer scowled at the unbroken doors, at the reformed head of his mallet, and sneering lifted his weapon up again. Jankiize felt how he drained more power through her and she felt weak, strained by the white-hot mana coursing through her. This time the planewalker shouted with a voice louder than his mallet.

 

“Yield!”

 

The head of the mallet, now as bright as a small star, streaked towards the gates as a comet and struck it with a thunderous boom. The tall gates yielded and were flung inwards, cutting down and crushing awaiting angels. Before the dazed defenders had time to recover, the triumphant Chaos troops rushed in, Kalash, demons and mortals in one force, united by their bloodlust or fanaticism. Jankiize could sense an opposing planewalker standing somewhere amidst the angels, but could not see him. The Dreamer, with his keener senses, leaped forward holding his fiery mallet. Both armies flowed around the two planewalkers and the receding angels finally exposed their enemy. He was slightly taller than the Dreamer but his muscular build made him seem far bigger. His skin and garments and staff were all white or light blue, the colors of ice and winter and snow. A cold mist hung over him, obscuring all except his quarterstaff and his glowing, blue eyes. Jankiize could feel power stored in the staff, trapped, ice-aligned mana pacing restlessly in the small confines of the artifact. The Dreamer shifted his grip on the mallet, held it with his right hand as a shield of golden fire appeared on his left arm. The ice giant spoke, his voice deceptively normal, soft but cutting through the noise of the battlefield by the power of some enchantment.

 

“Lost yer blade, Scour’e o’ th’ Planes?”

 

“Naw, but reckon’d ye might not like fire, m’lord Jaq. I figured ye might be here, th’ climate bein’ what it is.”

 

Around them, the fight continued, but with slower pace as the warriors of both sides tried to see and hear what their planewalker captains did and said. They in turn ignored the lesser beings around them, concentrated on each other fully. Jaq did not waste his breath with more conversation, but focused his attention on his staff. Temperature in the hall lowered even further as some of the energies he drew to his own uses leaked out, created a dervish of snow and ice around the planewalker. The Dreamer danced forward, his eyes now almost black, and brought his mallet down with all his force. It smashed aside the outer wards of Law’s planewalker but lacked the strength to pierce the whole set of them, its head first exploding and then renewing itself when the Dreamer raised it up again. Undaunted by the loss of so many of his wards, Jaq aimed his staff and fired it as it had been a crossbow. The Dreamer moved to dodge the jagged shard of charged primal ice, then realized it had not been aimed at him in the first place. Faster than mortal eye could follow, one of the mercenaries nearby, clad in grey and brown, threw himself on the bolt’s way. It penetrated him but continued its inexorable journey, slowing further down when another mercenary in grey and brown tried to deflect it with an extended mace. The icicle struck Jankiize’s green wards, shattered them, slowed down further when it hit the passive protective field of her amulet and struck her in the middle of her torso, flinging her like a doll across the room.

 

The mallet and shield started to fade, but the Dreamer aimed one last blow with the fiery tool at his opponent’s head. The resulting explosion sundered both the weapon and the wards, Jaq staggering backwards for long enough for the Dreamer to draw Pain. Wardless, faced with an enraged and armed planewalker famous of his martial skills, known for the slaying of the Myrmidon, Jaq did the only sensible thing and fled to the Astral. The remains of Law’s army broke as soon as they realized their planewalker captain had abandoned them and tried to run, their retreat turning into blood-coloured rout very fast.

 

See you soon, mother…

[Zadown]

She woke up in darkness, feeling as she was wearing the body of somebody else. Her chest hurt, but the ache was distant and eerie, the pain of the person whose body she was loaning. Jankiize raised her fingers to her face and traced the familiar things that marked it as hers: the two scars, the hair, her nose and her lips, she could sense her legs and toes somewhere under the blanket. When she tried to sit up the gap between her spirit and her body grew – she felt as a spirit-she and body-she both tried to do what she asked, but were in disharmony with each other. Jankiize curled up in foetal position, nauseous and afraid. A dim light lit up in the room.

 

“Sshh, m’lady. Ye need more rest, Li’tl’ Princess.”

 

Jankiize did not look up. She would recognize that voice, deep and thick with the peculiar planewalker accent, anywhere. She did whisper back, fighting against the nausea and disorientation, hugging herself.

 

“What happened, uncle? I don’t feel … well.”

 

“Th’ spear o’ ice Jaq shot at ya was intervowen with spells o’ soul searin’. He must’ve known who ye are, an’ he was tryin’ to kill ya permanently, so that no resurrection, no trip to th’ heavens, would brin’ ye back. I was slow, but yer bodyguards slow’d th’ bolt down, strip’d it o’ most of th’ mali’nant spells.”

 

The girl crawled to the edge of her bed and vomited stomach acid to the stone floor, shuddering with the force of stomach cramps as she did so. She feebly wiped her mouth and rolled back, stared at the deep shadows obscuring the ceiling of her room. Every motion required concentration, flesh and spirit constantly disagreeing where the hand or the mouth was. She drifted to sleep, listening the voice of the Dreamer.

 

“Listen, girl, ye have to focus on yerself, ye have to rejoin th’ spirit an’ the flesh yerself…”

[Zadown]

She woke up in darkness, feeling as she was loaning the body of somebody else, the taste of vomit in her mouth. Her chest hurt, but the ache was detached and strange, the pain of the person whose body she was wearing. Jankiize raised her fingers to her face and traced the familiar things that marked it as hers: the two scars, the hair, her nose and her lips, she was aware of her legs and toes somewhere under the blanket. When she tried to sit up the gap between her spirit and her body grew – she felt as a spirit-she and body-she both tried to do what she asked, but the two wavered, did not manage to occupy the same space. Jankiize curled up in foetal position, nauseous and afraid. A dim light lit up in the room.

 

“Mornin’, Li’tl Princess. How are ye feelin’?”

 

Jankiize did not look up. She would recognize that voice, low and hard to understand because of the peculiar planewalker accent, anywhere. She did whisper back, fighting against the nausea and tiredness, hugging herself.

 

“What happened, uncle? I don’t feel … well.”

 

“Ye don’t remember, girl? I already told ya once, Jankiize. Jaq’s spell tore at yer spirit worse than th’ shard o’ ice at yer chest. Can ye recall anythin’, neh?”

 

“I … I’m tired, uncle. Let me sleep.”

 

The girl dug deeper into the warm, big bed, felt like throwing up but realized there was nothing in her stomach. She stared at the deep shadows obscuring the ceiling of her room, feeling a disorienting vertigo. Every thought required concentration, her memory oddly unclear. It was as if this all had already happened a dozen times, and she weakly raised her hand to her forehead to check if she had fever. The effort was too much and she drifted to sleep, listening the voice of the Dreamer.

 

“Janki? Focus! Can ye hear me? Focus on yerself…”

[Zadown]

She woke up in darkness. Thoughts like shouts from afar, distorted by the distance, rose up to the surface of her mind, but she could not understand them. Jankiize tried to sit up and managed in it after a few tries. She leaned on the stone wall next to her bed and felt relieved by its cool surface, could almost think coherently when she pressed her forehead against it.

 

What happened? I feel … sick.

 

A dim light lit up the room. She half-opened her leaden eyelids and saw the face of the Dreamer, a flickering mageflame illuminating him and her small room with a faint greenish light. He was frowning, his eyes dark grey, almost black in the dark room, and his scars crawled across his ruined face with nauseating moves.

 

“Jankiize? How do ye feel, m’lady?”

 

“I feel … sick, uncle. How many times … have I woken up, so far?”

 

Her speech was halting and she mumbled the words to the wall, feeling too weak to move from the friendly, chilly stone.

 

“’Tis th’ seventh time, m’lady. In almost three weeks. Try t’ stay awake an’ listen, can ye?”

 

“… what?”

 

“Ye have to focus, m’lady Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua. Unite yer body an’ mind, stop driftin’ like that. We’ve done what we can, an’ I know of no greater healers who’d come here, so th’ rest is up to ye.”

 

She blinked languidly and tried to concentrate on the maddeningly abstract ideas. They seemed to make some sense, but it was hard to think when all of her real strength was used up to fight the nauseating feeling, spirit and body vacillating in different rhythm. Suddenly even the wall wasn’t cool enough, and after a few seconds of mindless scratching to dig into the stone, to the source of the coldness, Jankiize gave up and flopped back to her bed. The following convulsions robbed the last of her energy and pushed her back to unconsciousness.

[Zadown]

She woke up in darkness. It was as if she was supposed to remember something, something important, but a sudden wave of pain made Jankiize forget what it was. Her first reaction was to dig deeper into the bed, let the painful thoughts go and wallow in mindless, warm, black agony. Something made her grasp it tight, concentrate on the gossamer strands of the abstract ideas, despite the wrecking nausea it caused.

 

He told me … to focus. I remember something…

 

Jankiize sat up, grimaced as her body and soul vacillated in different rhythm. She muttered words of a spell, tried to enchant her eyes to see in the dark, and failed miserably in the attempt – the two of her gestured and spoke differently, ruined the intricate ritual. The headache the failed attempt sparked almost made her lose heart but she stayed upright, her small hands curled into fists. Cold sweat poured down her forehead, plastered her blond hair to her head. She stared into the dark, trying to remember what was so important she had to suffer all these pains of wakefulness when she could’ve just sunk back to the welcoming, warm embrace of sleep.

 

Unite myself? How … do I do that?

 

Even in the dark she could see a little. Her fists on her lap, ghostly versions of them hovering unsteadily around them. The unnatural sight made her shut her eyes and shiver, wish that what she saw wasn’t real. It was getting harder and harder to stay awake.

 

If I let myself go … nobody will save my parents. I’ll never get to see my mother again.

 

She steeled herself, imagined a core of bronze that extended to serve as her spine, an old mental trick she had used during the horrors of Arkstâd’s battles. Jankiize opened her eyes again and stared at her now open hands. Another pair of spectral open hands flitted around them. This time, instead of letting the frightening sight daunt her, she swallowed, tried to forget the sickness and focused on a vision of her ghostly hands perfectly overlapping her real ones.

 

I will see you with us both alive, mother.

[Zadown]

“Wake up, m’lady.”

 

The room lit up with the faint green glow of the Dreamer’s mageflame. Jankiize mumbled something inaudible and incomprehensible, then sat up blearily. She brushed her hair away from her eyes and turned to look at the planewalker.

 

“What is it, uncle?”

 

“I know yer still feelin’ unwell, Janki, but th’ Law’s mountin’ a counterattack, an’ th’ Kalash are concerned, sayin’ we’ve killed ya an’ are tryin’ to control them to our own ends, tho’ not in so many words.”

 

The girl blinked and rubbed her eyes with her arm, then got up unsteadily. She shivered in the cool air of the stone room, wearing only her nightshirt, the cold floor under her bare feet invigorating. Jankiize tiptoed to her wardrobe and selected her light robe that had been made to look vaguely like her armor, a scale-like pattern covering the brown fabric. She sensed the Dreamer’s impatience, saw his yellow eyes burn in the gloomy room, and put her leather boots on with haste. As soon as she was finished, an emerald green field of force appeared around her and lifted her up to float a few inches above the floor. She felt irritated at this and growled at the planewalker, the effect spoiled by her feeble voice.

 

“I am old enough to walk, the Dreamer.”

 

“But not old enough to realize when yer too sick to walk, ya? We have to hurry, Li’tl’ Princess.”

 

She had been expecting they would go out, but they travelled up the stairs instead, the Dreamer with his long gait trailing the green globe behind him. Behind them, Jankiize’s two bodyguards joined the progression, both back to their old guises of nodescript men in grey and brown instead of mercenaries. The four of them walked through the Dreamer’s map room and up the next stairs, to the room of portals. To her surprise, there was a new stairway going still upwards. It was made of the same black stone the workers used for the fortress, and it had not been there when she had last seen this room, shortly before they left for the raid against Law well over a month ago. Jankiize did not have more time to dwell on the fact before the Dreamer had stridden to the next floor.

 

It was wider than the previous three floors, and there were far more demon and angel guards here, some watching what happened below through the portholes, some honing their weapons or checking on their armor. Sir Owiric of Chaos was also here, conferring with one of his demon lieutenants as they entered. He whirled around as he realized the Dreamer had arrived, his body language shouting out his relief even through the thick armor he wore.

 

“Wodzan, ye old scoundrel, ‘s ‘bout time! M’lady, think ye can convince those ‘eartless metal monsters out there to stay on our side, ya?”

 

She swayed when the emerald globe keeping her levitating and upright dissipated and lowered her down. Jankiize felt oddly naked without her katana and armor, was suddenly nervous after spending so much time alone or with only the Dreamer, and she averted her eyes.

 

“I can try, m’lord.”

 

Jankiize felt dizzy and her fingertips brushed the new stonewall of the tower, ready to receive her weight if she’d need the support. Her head tipped lower and she muttered the words again.

 

“I can try.”

 

“Good, good, that’s all we want, li’tl’ mortal. Now, let’s go to th’ top of this tower before they do th’ work o’ Law fo’ them an’ rip this place t’ shreds with those wick’d blades o’ theirs.”

 

Owiric wasted no time before leading the small group onwards, to the next set of new stairs going up. The stairway seemed steep and long, her weariness adding extra heigh and length to each step she saw. The sight brought to her mind an idea to use the endless strength of the Grail to steady her for the walk, but as soon as the thought had entered her head she noticed the Dreamer watching her with disconcertingly sharp look in his eyes.

 

“What!?”

 

“Ye’d better not augment yer strength by tappin’ into th’ fires of creation in th’ depths o’ th’ Grail in yer present condition, m’lady. I can see th’ golden sparks in yer eyes, youn’ lady. Ye’ll float up, th’ same way ye came ‘ere.”

 

She gave the planewalker a glowering look, but said nothing as the emerald globe once again sprung into existence around her. The next room they entered was smaller again, the same size as the original tower rooms had been. It somehow reminded her of the Dreamer’s various rooms: there was no bed, no signs of food or drink anywhere, but there were books, weapons and small portals littered around the space, and a few demon guards wearing the sign of the Chaos on their armor. In the middle of this room was a set of spiral stairs made of metal, its intricate design in contrast to the Spartan and bulky furniture of the room itself. Owiric stayed at the point of their small group and marched up the thin, fragile-looking stairs, paused at the top to mutter some words that unlocked the trapdoor that lead to the roof. When he vanished from sight, a metallic roar answered his appearance on the top of the tower. Jankiize knew that had to be the Kalash, but she had heard them to make a noise like that only once: when they charged the Law’s fortress at Heerfrast. A tingling sense of fear penetrate her sick person’s egocentric shell. She turned to look at the Dreamer, searching for some sort of last moment’s explanation of what was expected of her, but he was already taking the steps up and she felt the emerald globe of protection around her start moving again to follow him.

 

When they first reached the roof, her trepidation was forgotten at first. The fortress was now almost complete, black stone walls and towers raising everywhere around this centerpoint of the structure. The view was breathtaking from the height, even if the castle was not built for beauty. Then the ward around her faded in color to show her presence, and there was another metallic roar, load enough to be painful. Jankiize looked downwards and saw the Kalash arrayed in frighteningly exact rows and columns at the base of the tower, their crackling yellow swords raised in salute or threat, she did not know. They roared again, this time shouting words her translation enchantment was able to decipher.

 

“The Grail Carrier! Show us the chalice! Show us the Golden Fire!”

 

The words were angry, impatient, the last demands shouted for form’s sake before violence would erupt. Jankiize shivered in the hot air and beckoned in her mind, called for the Grail. It was something she wasn’t sure that would work, but she had no idea where the Grail actually was, its presence not anywhere nearby. She felt suspended above the limitless fires of creation burning inside the artefact, like a small fly hovering too close to an immense bonfire. Her hands closed on empty air, grasped the thick leg of the golden cup as it manifested itself. The Holy Grail lit up with its golden radiance, and the tower’s top turned into a lighthouse, the thick, brilliant rays of the artefact rotating around the chalice. Another metallic roar shook the slender tower.

 

“The Grail! The Grail! The Grail!”

 

At that moment, the first vanguard of the Law decided to charge through the planar veil. Angels created white clouds on the hellish sky, knights and celestial heroes covered the open ground near the castle with a glittering carpet of steel. The Kalash roared one last time, raised their yellow blades to salute the Grail they followed, and charged to defend the fortress.

[Zadown]

“The sentient metal constructs were already angry, and now the Fates had provided them with a legitimate target.”

 

She paused her story, at first not quite sure why. Most of the children were still staring at her with rapt attention and the room was as usual, the fountain to her left gurgling softly, the long and heavy curtains swaying in the warm breeze and the pleasant fragrance of the different flowers floating in the air. Jankiize shifted her position on the pillows she was sitting on and frowned, concentrating. Very swiftly her frown vanished from her youthful face and was replaced with a surprised smile. When she spoke again it was with a slightly faster cadence.

 

“Thus, the Fortress of Bhalbet was saved and the first round of the Grail War was finished with Chaos as the winner, if by a slim margin. That battle was near the end of my first year as the Grail Carrier, and even with all the turmoil I’ve described, that first year was the most peaceful of the five for me. The tales of the next four years are longer and darker, and I will tell them some other time, little ones.”

 

This declaration was met with a chorus of stunned outcries but Jankiize merely smiled placidly and gestured the children away. Eventually they left, the guard posted at the door leaving after them when he saw her gesture. She stood up, feeling suddenly nervous, and straightened the loose outfit hiding her slim body needlessly. Jankiize looked slowly around and then focused her gaze to a pair of the tall, heavy curtains.

 

“Uncle?”

 

A sphere of refracted light giving the illusion of invisibility first turned into a mirror and then flickered out of existence, revealing a tall, thin figure shrouded in shadows. The darkness clung to him like a cloak, masking everything except a pair of golden white eyes, and around him shimmered the luminous green sigils of his wards.

 

“Heya, Li’tl’ Princess. I see yer farin’ well enough fo’ a mortal. So, tell me – how are yer grandchildren?”

 

She smiled.

 

The End (for now)