Steven Brust - Issola

Blackwand, on the other hand, was doing everything I could have wished—he would point it, and it would flash, and he’d point it somewhere else, and it would shoot out something black and scary-looking.

Verra was writhing and gyrating, as if possessed by some­thing that made her arms flail and her body twist from side to side.

The Necromancer stood very still, her arms at her sides.

The noise, I eventually realized, was a sort of constant, roll­ing thunder; it seemed to come from everywhere. I concentrated on keeping Spellbreaker moving and tried to stay aware of what was going on, and watch for anything that might come at me, though it was hard, because Morrolan was in front of me block­ing my view—and he may, of course, have been blocking more than my view.

Then Morrolan stumbled and went down in front of me, and I realized that one of the Jenoine was close. Very close. Too close. Way too bloody close—like maybe ten feet away. I wanted to look at Morrolan, to see if he was bleeding, or showed any apparent signs of injury—but I couldn’t take my eyes off the Jenoine.

Well, okay. Score one for their team.

As far as I could tell, the Jenoine wasn’t looking at me; it was concentrating on Verra. Frankly, I’d be more concerned with a God than with a one-armed Easterner too. Aliera knelt down next to Morrolan, Sethra turned away, I guess concen­trating on one of the others, and there was a tremendous flash of light from directly overhead that left me seeing spots just as I was wondering if I should get involved somehow. I kept seeing flashes out of the corners of my eyes and couldn’t tell what was from the Sea and what was caused by our friends and what was caused by our enemies. The air had that queer tang it gets after a heavy thunderstorm.

“What was that, Loiosh?”

“Something from that guy overhead, I think, Boss.”

“Good. Did it accomplish anything?”

“I don’t know. But one of them is down.”

I saw it, then—one of the Jenoine was down indeed, and wouldn’t be getting up again, and there was no mystery about what had taken it out: the dragon was holding it down with two paws and tearing chunks out of the thing with its teeth, and scattering it in all directions, as if to tell us that good, old fashioned gore did, indeed, belong in a battle of gods, demigods, and wizardry.

Well, okay. Score one for our team.

Aliera turned her back on Morrolan and took two steps, which brought her next to the Demon Goddess her mother. The two of them stood facing one of them—perhaps the one that had laid out Morrolan. I watched, motionless.

The three of them began moving in a circle, and as far as I could tell, not doing anything else. I glanced around, trying in get an idea of what else was going on. Another of the Jenoine stood on what I have to call the shore for lack of a better term, staring out over it with its hands extended—probably, I suppose, doing whatever it was they came here to do in the first place

I supposed I should do something to stop it. Heh.

Another continued to be dismembered and gutted by the dragon, who wanted to make a thorough job of it, and the remaining one stood with its back to the one on the shore, making sweeping gestures with its arms while the gods stood around it, trying to close but unable to—Barlen, in particular, was scraping his huge reptilian feet in the dirt as if scrabbling for a purchase. It is not every day that one gets to see the gods stymied; I might have even enjoyed it if I weren’t part of the whole thing.

Judging from the sparks and flashes that occurred in front of the Jenoine, the gods were throwing all sorts of things at it that didn’t get through, and there was that god overhead, dominating everything, making flashes of light that made the daylight seem brighter than bright. It was all very magical and stuff.

I tried to watch everything at once. I was conscious, once more, of how relaxed I was now that the time for action was at hand. My fear was somewhere behind me—I recognized it, but it was as if it were someone else’s fear. I don’t know, maybe that’s how heroes feel. If I ever meet a hero, I’ll ask.

Teldra knelt down next to Morrolan and bent over him. The Jenoine facing Aliera and the Demon Goddess moved to­ward Verra, and she moved toward it, and there was a flurry of activity, and Aliera gave a yell or a scream that I saw more than heard. Sethra turned toward Morrolan and Teldra, as if noticing them for the first time, and yelled something to me that I couldn’t hear over the other sounds, which had done nothing except gotten louder—the roaring was almost painful.

Then Sethra pointed Iceflame at the Jenoine that was tus­sling with Verra and moved into the maelstrom. Aliera took a step in that direction, fell, stood up, took another step, fell again, stood up again, and fell once more. The Jenoine stood over Aliera, both of its hands raised in fists over its head, looking like it wanted to pummel Aliera physically, which couldn’t pos­sibly have done her any good. The dragon, which had finished its meal and was now trying to get at the Jenoine who was holding off the Lords of Judgment, turned toward us, then, its mouth open, showing teeth the size of Blackwand, and began to move in our direction.

Then, just as if things weren’t weird enough, Morrolan’s right arm, still holding Blackwand, raised itself until it was pointed at the Jenoine—apparently without any direction from Morrolan himself, who gave every appearance of lying senseless on the ground, Teldra still kneeling next to him, bent over him. It was downright disconcerting.

Blackwand gave out some sort black flash, and the Jenoine reeled for an instant and took a step backward. Aliera rose to her feet and pointed Pathfinder at its breast. Maybe Morrolan was alive after all. The dragon, for no reason that I could see, stopped as if it had struck a wall, rolled over—something that big does a lot of rolling over when it rolls—and then came to its feet once more, and shook its head in a very human gesture.

I took a step closer to Morrolan, so I could get a clear view of his face.

“He looks dead, Boss.”

“I think so, too. I hope it doesn’t discommode him.”

Then Teldra stood up and looked at me, and if there had been any doubt about Morrolan’s condition, Teldra’s expression would have removed it.

If you ever feel like torturing yourself, playing the “if only” game is a good way to go about it. If I had heard what Sethra had been yelling at me, or had managed to guess it. If I had known what they were doing. If I had moved a little quicker or a little slower. If, if, if. You can kill yourself with ifs.

Or you can kill someone else with them, I suppose.

I looked up at the Necromancer, hoping maybe she could do something, but she hadn’t even noticed Morrolan fall, and I dared not disturb whatever she was in the middle of.

One thing I know about revivification is that time is critical. I stood there, Spellbreaker spinning, and tried to think of something I could do that would get this over with fast, so Aliera or Verra or Sethra could start working on him. My arm twitched again in its sling, just to let me know that it would probably be useful again when it was too late. I would have liked to have at least dragged him away from the fight, but I couldn’t with one ­arm.

Then Aliera went flying backward, tumbling backward like a seed bag without the seed, landing next to the dragon. I thought she was dead, or at least injured, but she put her hand on the dragon’s head, and, using it like a handhold, rose to her feet at once, shook her head in a gesture terribly reminiscent of the dragon’s, then turned back toward the battle.