Havoc

[Zadown]

"Ye do realize what yer askin', m'lady?"

 

"Yes, yes I do."

 

Jankiize nodded to emphasize her words. It was like a scene of some history book's illustration - the soft evening light soothed away the impurities, hid away scars and scratches, dents and tears. The Dreamer stood alone near the table, a map covering most of the gleaming, expensive wood. He wore his cream-colored robes and dark purple boots, a simple hemp rope acting as his belt.

 

Jankiize stood opposite of him in the medium-sized stone room, two heavy bookshelves as her background, wearing the suit of scalemail he had made for her so many years ago. The fading sunlight and the candles made it shine and shimmer, adamantium looking like it had been alive, bronze scales of a fish or some two-legged naga. Her katana, Winter's Touch, was hanging from her leather belt, the sword slender and short but appropriate for her. Jankiize's gloves, also hanging from the belt, and her boots were both black dragonhide. Her blond hair was tied to a ponytail and while her face was undoubtedly female, her overall appearance was that of a young prince ready to go to the war for the first time, clad in finesse that told of his station but not of his prowess.

 

Next to her stood two of the local merchants, Melenar Jalar, Jankiize's husband, and Regher Akalmas, the commander of the militia. Melenar was wearing chain and leather, armor that was comfortable for long trails but provided limited protection especially against arrows. Regher's steel scalemail was slightly more impressive, but his stance told the Dreamer he was not as used to wearing it as his position might have required. Both were muscular with Melenar also nearing the Dreamer's prodigious height, Regher being closer to average. Their faces held similiar looks of uneasiness, hope and disbelief warring over them as they watched the young woman and ageless planewalker.

 

In contrast Jankiize's face was calm and sad, the Dreamer's face absolutely impassive, rigid. They hardly paid attention to the two others, many unsaid things riding the few words they actually said.

 

"Yer comin' t' observe what devastation yer words bring, then."

 

It was a statement, not a question or an ultimatum.

 

"If you say so, uncle."

 

"Now wait a moment, you are asking my wife to leave her young daughter and follow you to war? Are you two insane!?"

 

The Dreamer smiled wanly and turned to look at the books behind the three mortals, at the paintings and the old trade contracts hanging from the walls, as if the question would have been boring, not worth his time.

 

"Naw, m'lord Melenar. Yer merely bein' blinded by yer incomplete view of th' reality o' th' situation, as it is. She'll be safer with me than she is at home at a time o' peace, assumin' no greater power interferes with us."

 

"And the little baby? Are you taking her with you too?"

 

Jankiize glanced at her husband before talking to the planewalker, her voice composed and calm where his had been angry and demanding.

 

"Âlh-Âenna still with you, uncle?"

 

"She gained her freedom in a skirmish 'gainst th' drow when I was helpin' Phacyra. Óellaeh-Ân should suffice t' protect yer baby, neh?"

 

"Yes, she is fine."

 

Melenar frowned at the unfamiliar words but managed to calm down, tried to force the conversation back to a direction he could understand with a more reasonable voice.

 

"What sort of help exactly are you bringing, sir Chanima? Do you have a personal guard company with you?"

 

"I shall not need my guards, m'lord. 'Tis somethin' me an' Jankiize can do - ye said an army o' mere seven thousand mercenaries an' merchant princes, ya?"

 

"What?"

 

The planewalker sighed loudly and glared at Jankiize with yellow-green eyes, waved his right hand in an empty gesture of frustration.

 

"Yer th' expert on how t' talk t' mortals, m'lady - tell yer kin what'll 'appen."

 

"You aren't bringing in your army, uncle? But I thought ..."

 

His tone tightened, the yellow consuming the last green in his gaze.

 

"Th' Eternal War continues, as th' name implies. With all th' help I've given, lately, th' way I've been dragg'd hither an' tither t' keep th' delicate Balance intact, I 'ave no spare soldiers for somethin' I can very well do by myself."

 

She moved closer to him, stepped over the invisible boundary dividing the immortal and the mortal, to be able to whisper so the merchants would not hear. In response the two men turned towards each other, saw the same view of perplexed disbelief, rising anger at how they were being made fun of being reflected in each other's face. The pairs were now the Practitioners of the Art, those who walked the unseen paths, and the Sleepers, the mundane mortals, content with what they saw and experienced directly.

 

"Uncle, can't you conjure an illusion at least, something that makes the explaining easier? There's no way to make them believe you can take care of the problem, all by yourself!"

 

"Ye should've explain'd to them before I arriv'd, m'lady. I will not conjure magic tricks t' act as a jester for mortals who cannot comprehend bare truth when they see or hear it! Ye 'ave magic of yer own, should ye wish t' resort to such entertainment for th' sleepin' masses."

 

"But..."

 

"No."

[Zadown]

Spring had cleared the skies, leaving only a few errant clouds drifting across the vastness of azure blue. The Dreamer was staring upwards, his body unnaturally still and relaxed. Most mortals never actually noticed he did not breathe, but the fact seeped through their mind as growing uneasiness, especially when he remained as still as he now did. A light breeze tugged at his thick white robe, had more success with disrupting his grey hair. Jankiize spent a silent moment watching the planewalker, a leather rucksack on her shoulder, heavy saddlebags dangling from her right hand before she let them fall softly on the packed earth.

 

"Uncle?"

 

The planewalker turned to face her, and for a brief moment his eyes were like round pieces of the sky, errant wisps of narrow white drifting across them. Despite having seen a thousand different variations of his gaze, she couldn't help shivering slightly at the sight. The Dreamer blinked, the eyes revealed by the opening eyelids emerald green, a more familiar color.

 

"Ya, Janki? Ye ready t' go, neh?"

 

"Yes. Do you need a horse, uncle? Never seen you ride one, but it is a long way."

 

"Naw. If ye think I should 'ave a steed I can get one myself. Animals can't really stand my touch, ya."

 

"Oh, right. The heat ..."

 

He nodded.

 

"Th' heat, among other things."

 

At the same time he was speaking, he already whispered words of conjuring, of beckoning, the two voices entwining around each other. The breeze whistled over him, suddenly enraged, trying to tear his robes away from his frail frame and creating a flowing banner from his unruly hair. Its first savage burst sapped its strength - as it started circling around the Dreamer, an ad hoc conjuring cirle drawn with insubstantial elements of air and wind, its power was more subdued. The circle constricted, gathering dust, rotten leaves and dry twigs, faint sigils appearing and vanishing inside the tamed whirlwind.

 

The conjuring was supernatural, eerie, but to the planewalker it was as natural as breathing was to mortals. On his ruined face were traces of concentration and exultation in the Art as well as indifferent boredom at how trivial this particular ritual was to him. For an instant the circle and every one of the ephemeral sigils that had appeared earlier came into total focus, their outlines burning on the dark earth with red fire. Then a neighing roar and a sound like fire raging startled Jankiize who was watching the Dreamer's magic almost hypnotized. Where the circle had been the earth smoked gently before breeze cleared the smell of brimstone and ashes, and on the smoking earth stood a black stallion, its red eyes locked with the burning eyes of the Master of the Art, Wodzan Xe Chanima. A glare and a whispered true name later the dreadlsteed was bound and shackled, a satisfied grin flickering on the Dreamer's face the only thing showing there had been a contest of wills at all. He made a minute gesture and an illusion settled itself on the demonic steed, changed its spiked, armored appearance into that of a normal black horse.

 

"Now, he might not like me much either, but he'll be ... compell'd t' carry me, however he may think. How'd yer talk with th' mortals go?"

 

Jankiize looked down, at the grass and earth, then lifted her gaze back to the impassive face of the Dreamer.

 

"Not too good, to be honest, uncle. They don't care about you, given you are a complete stranger to them, but I had to say some harsh words to be able to ride with you."

 

She sighed and glanced backward, then looked at the sky.

 

"Nice weather to ride."

 

"Ya, I suppose so."

[Zadown]

They rode through the town in silence after a servant had brought Jankiize's horse to her from the stables. Jugatt wasn't build for war: the walls were partly wood and did not circle the town completely, leaving the side towards the mountain open. More people than usual were wearing armor, but the guards, mercenaries and merchants were mostly protected by leather and chain. Many gave Jankiize curious looks, her enviable armor standing out even more in the current situation than the Dreamer's odd appearance. Jugatt was a lawful town, however, and looking was all they did. The gazes irritated her nevertheless and she realized she was hurrying her horse forward. She had worried at first that the Dreamer's steed would make her own horse shy, but it seemed the illusion covered all the senses and her mare was as calm as usual.

 

Now, how calm will she be on a battlefield? Or rather, on a field of massacre...

 

Jankiize turned to look thoughtfully at the Dreamer, whose face was as impassive as usual, the muted green of his eyes showing he was amiable if bored. He looked this way and that, assessing the military might of the town even if he doubted the information would ever be useful. Jankiize drove her horse as near as she could so she wouldn't have to shout.

 

"Uncle?"

 

"Ya?"

 

"Have you got a plan, yet?"

 

"Sshh. 'S too noisy 'ere t' discuss such things, m'lady."

 

He waved his in dismissal and tugged at the reins of his dreadsteed with the other hand, making it first rear and then leap forward with a speed not safe even on the wide streets of this open town. People yelled in alarm and for a moment Jankiize thought she'd have to let him go and catch him later, but then she saw the wild grin on his face when he turned around for a fleeing moment, beckoned her to follow. She couldn't resist the call and urged her mare forward.

 

If they want to stare me, better give them something to really stare for, then.

 

They did not stop before the city gates. The pikemen there wore metal cuirass and steel helms with shortswords hanging from their belts, some archers with longbows practicing nearby. A line of people were coming in, guards checking them to try to prevent spies from getting in, but hardly anybody was leaving. Seeing the two of them, an officer of the guard left the archers to their practice and came forward, a frown on his face.

 

"What do we have here - Thakelmians leaving now that you have gotten all the information you need? Watch them, guards. Now, what is this?"

 

As the nearby guards gathered around them, Jankiize glaced at the Dreamer. She was dreading what look he might have on his face, but to her surprise he was smiling, his eyes pale green. When he noticed she was looking, he gave a little nod and gestured towards the officer in a way that made it very obvious the mess was all hers to clear.

 

"Guard captain, you should know the nobles of this town by looks. I am Lady Jalar and this is my foster father Sir Wodzan Xe Chanima."

 

"Mmm, mmm, I heard Lady Jalar gave birth a few months back. If it was any of my business ... well, papers, then. You do know even the merchant nobles need a written permission to pass."

 

"Of course, captain."

 

She produced a thick letter from her saddlebags and gave it to the captain. The guards who had looked excited at the promise of something happening started to look bored, the weapons mostly pointed away from the pair of them.

 

"Akalmas' signet, I see. I can't stop you then, if you decide to leave before the storm hits us. It is hardly safe out there, as you must know - you still plan to go without an armed guard?"

 

"My foster father's mercenaries are camped outside the town, captain. We'll be fine."

 

The morning sun was reflected on the steel helm of the captain, sparkled on the blades the guards had and on the arrowheads of the archers, and suddenly Jankiize felt detached, aloof, as if none of this had nothing to do with her. The guards looked exactly the same they had a moment ago, but their forms and features seemed new, cruder to her.

 

Mortals ... this must be how uncle sees us all.

 

The feeling passed as quickly as it had come upon her, leaving behind only a nagging hollow feeling, too insubstantial to speak about, too persistent to ignore. The captain gave her a sharp look - he had possibly noticed something odd, but said nothing and gave the letter of passage back, nodded to her and waved the guards away. They were free to go outside, past the guarding walls.

[Zadown]

The land outside the walls was green and tranquil, empty of people. Birds sang and sun shone - an unlikely background to a war. The Dreamer and Jankiize rode away from the city with a speed that revealed how much they both wanted away from the boorish guards and staring merchants, exclaiming ladies and posturing nobles. Once they had gained some distance, they slowed down. As they rode, Jankiize glanced at the planewalker from time to time, openly curious - in her memory, the Dreamer had always been either in a frantic haste or in a state of static contemplation, rarely going anywhere slowly like this. He did not seem to notice or mind the scrutiny, his eyes staying as two still pools of Astral wisdom, their blue far darker and deeper than the merry azure of the sky. His gaze was not fixed and immovable, however - he looked around, watching the landscape with interest.

 

"Uncle?"

 

"Ya?"

 

"You know where the Thakelmian troops are?"

 

"Ya, of course. At this speed we'll meet 'em in two, three days. We could, o' course, be there in a few moments if we'd like."

 

He shrugged and looked directly at Jankiize the first time since they had left the city. Her mouth felt dry at the thought of what would happen when the Dreamer and the Thalkemians would meet, a nebulous pain stabbing at her stomach. She could not hold his gaze and looked aside, old memories of Ârkstad and other battles tugging at the corners of her mind.

 

"I hope you don't mind this pace, uncle."

 

"Naw, I'm not in any kind a'hurry, m'lady."

 

There was something in the tone that made the words seem less than sincere. The Dreamer had turned to face forward again, a crooked, faint smile on his face, the blue in his eyes the clear, bright hue of dawn sky. Whoever he was smiling at wasn't present. Of worry or anxiety there was no sign - dead mortals did not give nightmares to him.

 

They rode onwards, the nebulous pain that had subsided when the Dreamer had agreed to their current speed growing again slowly, gnawing at her from the inside. The surroundings were still peaceful, almost happy, nature exulting in the return of warmer times, but her own eyes were seeing blood already, a return to the frightening, terrible days of war. She had been calm at the meeting, drawing confidence from the nervousness of her own husband and the commander, but now she only had the Dreamer for company. The Dreamer and her own, unquiet thoughts.

 

When a large, pitch-black crow landed on the planewalker's shoulder she flinched, startled by the sudden sound of wings. It glanced at her over its shoulder, eyes Astral blue, and she recognized it as one of the Dreamer's minions before it vanished in front of her eyes.

 

"A scout patrol headin' this way, m'lady."

 

"Can't we bypass them?"

 

"Naw. There'll bound t' be patrols t' every direction, an' while I may not be in a unsurmount'ble haste, I do not 'ave all th' time in th' multiversum for this jaunt. We'll meet them, soon."

 

Jankiize swallowed, her sweaty hands checking that Winter's Touch was still hanging from her belt - a nervous gesture she thought she had gotten rid of by now.

 

"What .. what are you going to do to them, uncle?"

 

"Nothin'. There's mere eight o' them an' it is yer war, neh? I'll watch what ye'll do t' them, my ward."

 

Expecting a refusal or an objection, his words were spoken with a tone of steel, his eyes flashing with blue and grey. It was as he had been at the brink of using the heavy speech with her, every word pronounced slowly and as precisely as the planewalker accent allowed. He had stopped his mount and stared at Jankiize. In her imagination the air between them rippled with the force of his personality, the whole of his will aimed at her.

 

"But..."

 

"Naw. 'S yer war, mortal, yers. Unless ye show ye can shoulder yer part o' it, I shall leave ye an' rejoin th' Eternal War, m'lady Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua."

 

Imagine what will happen if they break through the wall and get to your tower. Imagine...

 

She wasn't sure if the idea was hers or if he was trying to implant thoughts into her head, but she nodded. And checked, nervously, if Winter's Touch was still there.

 

The price of asking help from him is to become more like him, more inhuman, less mortal?

 

She shivered in the warm spring weather, chilled to the core.

[Zadown]

Any practitioner of the Art would have seen through the green camouflage she conjured with ease. It was a hasty spell, maintaned more by sheer strength than any finesse, sending out a tall, bright mana flare for all those who had the second sight to detect. The Thakelmians had no mages, however, and they only stopped because their horses whinnied, were nervous of the metallic taint in the air, the side-effect of poorly controlled magic. Jankiize grimaced as much as she could while whispering the words of yet another spell, the strain of upkeeping an enchantment while casting sending a few errant drops of sweat down her face. She pointed at the eight mounted soldiers standing on a ridge, sent her soft thoughts forward.

 

... this meadow is boring, best to carry on ...

 

... nothing to see here, nothing at all, but over there might be something ...

 

... all is well ...

 

"Leave. Please."

 

The hoarse whisper was part of neither the spell or the enchantment, quiet enough that even the Dreamer wouldn't have heard it had he been a mortal. A wan smile appeared on his face, light hues of green and blue flickering in his observant eyes. He stood still, gaze fixed on the restless scouts. They looked around, puzzlement and boredom on their faces. Then the leader said something and they started moving again, bypassing the two of them near but remaining oblivious, riding on.

 

Jankiize sighed in relief.

 

Later when they were riding again the Dreamer spoke, his tone casual, his eyes set forward instead of turning towards her.

 

"Ye didn't learn those incantations from me, ya. An' 'twasn't 'xactly what I meant, showin' that ye'll do yer part. We are 'ere t' crush th' invadin' army, neh?"

 

"You sent me a lot of books, uncle. I read those that seemed the most useful, first - I'm sorry I didn't consider learning a thousand ways to kill my fellow human beings as constructive use of my studying time."

 

Jankiize's words were caustic, their sharp edges carrying the weight of her nervousness, the tension she felt still growing inside her. The Dreamer smiled at her anger, above and beyond the barbs her sarcasting words contained.

 

"Ya, ya. Ye should learn some offensive aspects o' th' Art, still - th' thing with great power 's that it attracts equals, both allies an' foes. An' th' day ye meet yer first angry demon hell-bent on crushin' ya ye'd wish ye'd know an ice spell or two."

 

"If I must, I will use my sword. But ... I'm no killer, uncle."

 

Amusement faded from his face, the same cold steel flashing in his eyes as before.

 

"Yet ye summon me t' help, a power o' unbridl'd devastation an' death, an' ye claim t' be pure an' unstain'd by what'll happen when my blade cleaves into this mortal army?"

 

"Please, uncle. I don't need or want you to kill them! I just want ... them to be discouraged, to go home and forget this useless crusade."

 

The smile that appeared on the Dreamer's pale face, sent the scars writhing across his skin, was not a beautiful or even peaceful one. His eyes filled with the color of blood, the steel remaining on the background for a fleeting moment, a sword stuck in a wound. He drew Pain from its black scabbard and made his dreadsteed rear, the blade wailing in pleasure at its masters mood. The Dreamer stared at Jankiize looking suddenly like the incarnation of Death itself, demonic and hungry for violence.

 

"An' what, pray tell, discourages th' mortals other than untimely end?"

 

"What makes you so hungry for blood, now? Eternal War going badly, us mortals soft enough targets for your blade!?"

 

She shook, held between her anger and fear, trembled but stood her ground. His eyes narrowed, turned into two thin lines of boiling lava. The air turned perceptibly warmer, ambient magic gushing through the planewalker, pouring out as flickering, wraith-like flames that reached towards Jankiize - a visible manifestation of godly anger. His dreadsteed reared again, the aura of rage tugging at it, the illusion concealing its true nature barely holding together.

 

The Dreamer sheathed Pain and shut his eyes, restrained his mount. The flames died.

 

"... ya. I've exchang'd one set o' chains to another, an' while th' ideals may be easier t' follow, th' methods allow no channels for my wrath t' be discharg'd."

 

The words were soft and his eyes, when he opened them, were dark grey, dim. He made an empty gesture and turned his mount back towards the direction they had been going.

 

"Ye'r right, m'lady. I suppose there'll be ways t' blunt th' attack without drenchin' this ground in a lake o' gore. We'll still 'ave t' meet them, ya?"

 

Intense relief flowing through her, Jankiize followed the Dreamer. Instead looking forward where they were going, she watched the trembling of her fingers subside, slowly.

[Zadown]

She could feel the birds now, very faintly and in a way that suggested he could hide their faint traces if he wanted to, but didn't out of mere courtesy. One of them was perched on his shoulder, its eyes vivid Astral blue even in the darkness of a spring night as it stared at her over the flames of a campfire.

 

"You sure they won't see the fire?"

 

"O' course they'll see it, m'lady - th' thing is, they'll believe it belongs t' their patrols. An' if they'll head this way, which they won't during a night, my birds'll see them before they are anywhere near. Have no fear, Li'tl' Princess, I'll watch over ya this night."

 

"I told you not to call me that, uncle."

 

Jankiize smiled faintly right after her admonition, sounded more amused than offended. The Dreamer did not deign to comment and smiled back, his eyes far paler than those of his crow.

 

"Ye've come up with a way t' send th' army home without excessive bloodshed, yet?"

 

She sighed and shifted her position, hugged her own knees while staring at the fire. Deep inside the flames danced visions from the past - fiery explosions sundering steam-powered warmachines apart, the golden fire of the Grail clinging to dying angels, a maul of flames smashing against a door enceased in primal ice.

 

"I'm not sure, uncle. I've seen armies of men crash against each other, not breaking when they should ... far too many times. Sure, these are no zealots, but ..."

 

Her voice trailed off, her mind chasing after the elusive idea of finding something terrifying enough that could break the spine of an army without crushing its whole body in the process.

 

"Ya know, in th' elemental plane of Iekkha, a realm o' wind an' stone, exists a particular kind o' giant. 'Tis all bluff an' bluster, a creation that'd barely be able t' kill a mortal. But they are tall an' fearsome, sand swirling around their body givin' them an illusion of solidity an' power. I may not be able t' be as feeble as them, but I could try posturin' as one, a Hulkiljael. Ye'll just 'ave t' summon me, o' mighty witch o' Jalar."

 

The title made her jerk sharply away from her thoughts.

 

"How did you hear that!? Nevermind, I can see from your smug grin you are not going to tell. Yes, they call me that, The Witch of Jalar. I somehow prefered the Bronze Lady."

 

"So, ye'll do it then, m'lady? I'll take care of th' light effects, 'ave no fear."

 

"If you think it is the best way, uncle. What exactly you want me to do?"

 

"Whatever'll do, wave yer hands an' recite some generic summonin' an' bindin', an' I'll come out as a whirlwind o' sand an' nearly but not quite lethal strength. I'll stay beside ya, invisible, until then."

 

"You really think it will work?"

 

The Dreamer's eyes flashed white, like two full moons in the dark. His mouth twisted into a grin.

 

"If it shan't, I'll kill those who it doesn't work on until it does work, ya. Those exceedin'ly stupid an' reckless should never be allowed t' breed - 'tis a favor to these Thalkemians, this cullin'. Now, what'd ye do if a giant taller than these trees'd attack? Surely ye wouldn't stand an' fight."

 

"No, I wouldn't. I'd call my uncle for help."

 

The twin full moons shone a little brighter, for a while. She curled up inside her travelling cloak, uncomfortable and tired, aware that any sleep she would be able to get might do as much as harm as good on the uneven, hard ground. Despite that knowledge, Jankiize could feel her eyelids closing.

 

"Uncle?"

 

"Ya?"

 

"Why are you doing all this, if you are as busy with the Eternal War as you say?"

 

She tried to imagine his eyes, but could not bother opening her own, too comfortable in the warm dark. Suddenly a memory came to her: herself as a little child staring at a mirror, trying to make her own eyes alter their color. Her ever-present guardian warrior standing somewhere just beyond the scope of the memory, in that flimsy armor that could not deflect the blows of any planar beings, silent with a reproachful air.

 

They can't glow white anymore. I haven't seen his eyes to retain that color for a long time, ever. Clear, dark and deep blue of the Astral, perhaps, or emerald green - or grey, if he thinks my question is foolish.

 

"Ah, why, ya? That's a question th' mortal in ye'd know th' answer to, easily. Good night, Li'tl' Princess."

[Zadown]

The sound engraved itself deeply into her memory. Not the complaining, fading sounds of the dying and wounded - those were the same everywhere, same hellish cacophony best barred away from conscious mind. It was the howl of the sand, the sound of a thousand stone snakes slithering across each other, the sound of a hundred years of desert winds all pressed into one insane wail. She knew then, already, that whenever during the long life she could somehow see stretching in front of her she would wake up in the middle of a storm or a blizzard, she'd be transported back in time to this moment. To this one more painful scenery of chaos burrowing itself into her mind, settling next to the countless similiar memories from the War of the Grail. Perhaps all the magic in and around her was doing what the Dreamer had warned her about, slowly marking her as one of Fate's own, giving her prophetic visions from time to time.

 

She yanked her thoughts back to the present time, wondering while she did it how she could possibly drift away from what was happening. Before her the army of the Thalkemians was quickly coming apart, the last vestiges of fighting spirit being torn to shreds by the hulking giant that was her own uncle Dreamer. Around her shimmered a faint green bubble of protection, its perimeter littered with broken arrows and broken men, Winter's Touch in her hand, bloodied and forgotten. They had never had the slightest of chances to actually penetrate the multilayered wards of protection woven around her by the Dreamer, by her amulet and her armor. She hadn't even bothered to add her own, feeble enchantments to it. What she had tried to do, the spell she had tried to cast on the enemy army, had been something beyond her skill after all. Several thousand soldiers, magicians or no magicians, resist any attempt to muddle with their minds - it was like trying to wrestle with a dead weight, even if the enemy doesn't fight back but weights several tons all the skill in the world isn't enough to force it to fall.

 

I bet he could've instilled boundless panic on their minds, while I tried to project even a mild anxiety in vain. Of course, such spells, useful against mortals only, are nothing to him.

 

Jankiize frowned and surveyed the battlefield. The fear and anger she had felt had gone, the crude insults the enemy had hurled at her before the fight rendered meaningless by the surreal vision of destruction in front of her. They had not broken quickly, even after the Dreamer had done his strange transformation, let his own body lose its well-defined shape and turn into the giant of sand and wind. Not even when their arrows had bounced away, when their cavalry charge had become an entangled mess (the horses didn't seem to like the noise, either) or when those few who actually reached her had hacked empty air. She felt very, very tired and sad, almost depressed. The amount of still bodies on the field showed he had forgotten how fragile the mortals were, in his haste to protect her and to end this battle, after all. Or perhaps he had not really cared, despite the conversations they had had.

 

"Return, my guardian! Come back!"

 

She had to look upwards as she shouted, her voice amplified by a simple spell, to see him properly, despite the distance he had advanced in his zeal to smash apart even the last parts of any sort of organized resistance. Not that there was anything meaningful the enemy could do to the hulking colossus of swirling sand carrying a stone club the size of a tree. Jankiize was not sure if the misses that did not kill soldiers but instead shook the earth were intentional or only results of the clumsiness of the gigantic form. The dark club lifted towards the sky to crush and maim once more, then paused. She sighed in relief, realized she had been holding her breath.

 

They have been broken, uncle. Less death than you envisioned when you agreed to take care of them, I'm sure, and far more than I'd liked. And now I am the Witch of Jalar, truly and irrevocably, as long as I stay on this plane.

 

"... on this plane."

 

She muttered the last words aloud, the Dreamer's colossal, alien form still far away, words nobody else could hear. Saying them aloud made them seem more real, a real possibility instead of nebulous musing.

 

I suppose ... I do not have a home, not a real one, not even here.

 

In her mind's eye, the vastness of the Void stretched to every direction, shimmering pearls of innumerable planes shining against the black background, the Lost Paths connecting them all as a translucent skein.

[Zadown]

His dreadsteed had been dismissed before the battle and he hadn't felt it important to summon another one, walked next to her slowly moving horse. It had gotten dark, but the grass was even and the moon was bright, and she did not feel like sleeping, so they marched on, silently.

 

"You have enough time from the Eternal War to escort me back? You know I'd be perfectly safe by myself, with your amulet and the armor."

 

"Th' War 'ardly misses one planewalker, m'lady. An' 'tis Eternal, as th' name implies. If I take upon me t' see every moment o' it, war'll be all I see 'till my transformation or death, whichever comes first. Death, most likely - th' war hardly gives ye th' needed tranquility an' aloofness needed t' transcend."

 

"You've survived this far, uncle, what do you think would kill you?"

 

She tried to make her words sound light, but somehow they didn't come out like she had wanted to, not there in the night after that battle. It was shaped as a question, after all. He turned to look into the shadowy forest to their right, frowned slightly as he coaxed details from his expansive mind.

 

"Palgrave Atyaer, per'aps, or any of his best planewalker captains, or Faaye - she might be on th' same side from time t' time, but someday her fierceness'll will burn through an' we'll clash 'gain. Th' runelords could kill me, certainly, especially now given there's more than one on th' move, an' of course th' Maiden o' Daggers, if she ever thinks I'm thinkin' I can control 'er, ya. An' then..."

 

"Enough, uncle. I get the gist of it."

 

He turned back towards her, darkness hiding the scars mercifully, the eyes that showed far more about his thoughts than his impassive face glowing faintly pale green in the night, like a cat in the light of a lantern.

 

"Hmm? Ye'd prefer t' believe I'm indestructible, Li'tl' Princess? I may be no expert on mortals, but ye should be old enough by my count t' not to rely on such illusions. I was goin' t' add th' Kalash o' Law to th' list, if th' rumours are true an' Law has breach'd th' impenetrable barriers with th' imperfect key they 'ave. Those could be a grave danger t' ya as well, if they 'ave any idea who ye've been."

 

"Kalash of Law? From a ... a Parallel they weren't subverted by the Grail?"

 

"Ya. As deadly as th' ones we 'ad, or deadlier, pure in their purpose. I do wonder if they 'ave import'd th' creator of those things, a Parallel Vrean DeMorneer."

 

She nodded and rode on in silence, his long stride keeping their pace brisk. Dawn was getting nearer, dawn and her city and her husband and daughter, the life she had just saved by asking the Dreamer's help.

 

Now, to pay the price.

[Zadown]

Epilogue

 

"Shouldn't we inform him at once, m'lady? I'm sure he'd want to know."

 

"'Tis but a rumor, still. An' th' Lady of Scales has told us to leave him be for now, to let him have some time off th' Eternal War."

 

"But ..."

 

"Hush, m'lord. We'll deal with him an' th' Kalash, one way or another. Th' Balance has always won, in th' end."

 

Faaye lifted her left hand, then curled it into a fist. No matter how many times she would check, the eye would be gone, fingers meeting the diamond-studded surface of her white leather eyepatch. She sighed soundlessly and turned her remaining eye towards the pile of reports, written by the meticulous hands of her angel scouts. She paid no attention when the other planewalker left, mind already immersed in the impossible task of devising a plan of battle for the hazy, scattered forces of Balance.