Steven Brust - Issola

It?

Her. It was, after all, Lady Teldra.

I stood up and faced the Jenoine, which was moving at an impossible speed, fending off attacks from Sethra and Aliera and Verra—Aliera had some blood on her, and seemed both dazed and determined; the Goddess had grown larger, and her eyes flashed with hate. Sethra, like the Necromancer, who still hadn’t moved, had no expression on her face at all, but moved in and out, looking for openings in the Jenoine’s defenses—which were, in fact, rather formidable: there were lines of power flowing from its fingers, which formed glittering patterns in the air that left no room for anything to get past, but through which it could strike at will, lines that I knew must have been there all along, but which I could now see for the first time. Lines keeping Path­finder and Iceflame, and Verra with the power she embodied just by being who she was, completely absorbed in coping, be­cause to do otherwise would court destruction of those who wielded the Great Weapons, and permitting the wielder to be destroyed was something a Great Weapon would not permit, because beyond any practical considerations—far, far stronger than any practical considerations—there were bonds of love: Pathfinder loved Aliera, Iceflame loved Sethra. Blackwand loved Morrolan.

And Lady Teldra loved me.

The defenses the Jenoine had formed were, as I said, for­midable, but the defenses were also, at the same time, laughable. Of course Iceflame and Pathfinder and Blackwand would be stopped by them; powerful as those weapons were, they had not been made for this. As I attacked the Jenoine’s defensive spells I felt the same tingling I used to feel when Spellbreaker used to intercept something aimed at me. I cut through them as if they were paper.

The Jenoine felt its defenses fail. It turned around and, quick as a striking Issola, I thrust Lady Teldra up under its chin and into its head.

It roared and spasmed as if every muscle in its body had contracted at once, and then I felt rather than saw Iceflame and Pathfinder join the party, and a sense of power, energy, and well-being flooded through me, and I understood the reason for that now, too.

It collapsed into a heap at my feet; I felt as if I could take on all the Jenoine in the universe with one hand tied behind me. I heard myself laughing as I turned to face the remaining two, but at that moment, the Necromancer gave a cry and fell to her knees, and, just that quickly, they were gone, leaving only half the gods in the world, one very large dragon, and our little group standing on the spot of Adron’s Disaster, next to Mor­rolan, who was dead, and his seneschal, who was more than dead.

Or perhaps less than dead.

The sudden silence was shattering; I basked in it, feeling as if I could emit sparks, and would if I weren’t careful for those around me. It was so quiet, I could hear my companions breathing; I realized then that the Sea made no sound, not even ocean-type sounds.

“Doing all right, chum?”

“Grand, Boss. And Rocza is fine, too. And so are you, by the way, though I was worried there for a bit.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I think I’m jealous, though.”

“Bite me.”

He did, but in the nicest possible way.

Sethra knelt next to the Necromancer, who stirred and shook her head as if to clear it—positively the most human thing I had ever seen her do.

“They broke the Necromancer’s block, didn’t they?”

“Brute force and desperation,” said the Demon Goddess in her strange voice, made even stranger by the awful silence. “But for some reason, they released their link to the amorphia.”

“So we won?” asked Sethra, sounding surprised.

Verra looked at Morrolan and Teldra lying on the ground, and nodded.

Aliera said, in the strangest voice I’d ever heard from her, “Daddy did it. Daddy took their link from them.”

Sethra stared at her.

Aliera nodded and said, “I asked him to, and he did.” Well, it was nice to know they were doing something while I was distracted.

Sethra looked out over the Sea and said, “Adron is out there?”

“Yes. I suspected he would be.”

“Conscious? Aware?” said Sethra.

Aliera shrugged. I understood that shrug. “Consciousness” and “awareness” aren’t always clear-cut concepts, as I had just learned. There were tears in Aliera’s eyes. Well, there was plenty to cry about, I suppose, and there’d be more if we didn’t get to work on Morrolan soon. I looked over to where the Jenoine had been, but there was no trace they had ever been there; the gods and even the dragon were gone as well. It was only Sethra and Aliera and the Necromancer and the Goddess and me; and Mor­rolan and what had been Teldra. Morrolan’s sword had returned to his side, still gripped by his dead hand; I’m not sure when that happened.

“We need to get to work on Morrolan,” said Aliera, her eyes still glistening.

Sethra stood up and nodded to her. “Yes,” she said. “And quickly.” She looked at Teldra’s body, lying on the ground, then at the weapon in my hand, then at me.

“Well done, Vlad,” she said.

Aliera, standing dazed and bloody behind her, but with a grim expression on her face, nodded. The Demon Goddess, how­ever, had eyes only for the blade I carried. Well, who could blame her?

“You can put that thing away now,” she said at last.

I looked into her eyes and chuckled. “Very well, my God­dess.”

Verra scowled.

I cleaned her on the Jenoine’s body—some customs must be observed, after all—then sheathed her, with some regret, my hand trailing over the smooth, gold hilt that had once been Spellbreaker. I was delighted to discover that sheathing her did not diminish the sense of her personality.

I watched Verra, who was looking back at me, but she had nothing more to say. With an aimless gesture of farewell, she turned into shimmering sparks and was gone. Sethra, mean­while, had lifted Morrolan in her arms.

“Come, stand next to me,” she said.

Aliera looked out over the Sea, I suppose saying farewell to her father. Then Aliera, the Necromancer, and I took positions next to Sethra, and then we were gone from that place, and we were once more in the heart of Dzur Mountain. 17. Taking One’s Leave of Friends

They laid Morrolan on a couch, and Aliera and the Necroman­cer began working on him. I watched for a while, then turned to Sethra. “So we won.”

She nodded. “Yes, I’d call this a victory. They wanted to establish their own link to amorphia. That is, a permanent link, on our world, with which to challenge us. They failed to do so. And we destroyed two of them, which is no small feat.”

“Good.”

Sethra shook her head and murmured, “Adron.”

“Yes.”

“It’s hard to believe. Sentience is, well, I don’t know.”

“Yeah, sentience is a strange thing, isn’t it?

She glanced up at me, catching my tone of voice, and said, “I shall miss her.”

“Yes,” I said. Then, “Did you know?”

Her eyes widened. “You mean, what was going to happen?”

“Yes. Teldra, the weapon—all of it.”

“No, Vlad. I had no idea. If I’d had any idea, I should never have—no, I didn’t know.”

“What was it you yelled to me, in the middle of it all?”

She gave me an ironic smile. “You don’t want to know.”

“Probably not, Sethra, but tell me anyway.”

“I told you to watch out for Teldra. It looked like she was contemplating doing something foolish.”

“Yeah, I guess she was.”

“But I suppose it is best for all of us that it turned out that way.”

“All of us, except for Lady Teldra.”

“Yes. Well, you are now a member of a rather exclusive club, Vlad. You are one of those the gods have cause to fear. Con­gratulations to you, and to Godslayer.”