Glen Cook - The Tyranny of the Night

The harpy became mist again. That shrank, became a large blonde woman. She faced off with the soultaken. Both were confused and irresolute.

The Imperial soldiers knew what they were seeing. And did not want to believe that they were.

Else caught some of the buzz. Here was a legend come to life, a goddess risen from an abandoned faith. An Instrumentality no longer sustained by the world.

She squared off with the soultaken.

Else started to climb down the wall. Soldiers of various allegiances pointed and whispered. Had he made a wrong move?

Circle to your right and rejoin your raiders.

Else's amulet burned and froze his wrist. Uncle Divino's ring weighed a hundred pounds. He slunk like a rat making its getaway, darting from cover to cover.

The soultaken paid no attention. They had lost interest.

Pinkus Ghort and his raiders, though, kept track. Ghort and half a dozen Brothens came out to cover him.

"I appreciate this, Pinkus. But you should know better."

"Not that big a risk. They're totally infatuated over there." Ghort poked a finger. "Chooser of the Slain. The Banished One. Who would've thought it possible?"

"Who indeed?" Grateful for the mythological cue, Else mused, "Arlensul, you really think?"

Ghort shrugged. "It fits. But who wants to find out? How about you talk less and hustle more?" By then, though, they were tumbling in amongst the crusaders, who were captivated by the heathen confrontation. "You know the hairball with the extra head?"

"No. He might be the one they were after in Brothe, though. Why?"

"It looked like he was trying to call you out."

"It did, didn't it? What was that about? What happened to our prizes?"

"Lothar and them? The Principatйs sent them back to camp."

"That figures."

"Don't it?"

"We'll still be fighting the Unbeliever and they'll already be trying to blackmail Johannes."

"That's politics. What the hell are they doing now?"

Else and Ghort had just slithered into a position from which they could watch the supernatural confrontation.

Principatй Divino eased up beside Else, opposite Pinkus Ghort. He was a mess, wet and muddy. He was terrified. "The Instrumentality that controls those two souls is about to manifest. What happened in there, Hecht? We lost track of you."

Was the man suspicious? Not obviously. Else told the truth, leaving out little but his exchange with Bone and his encounter with the woman yonder.

The elderly Bruglioni said, "Oh my! I've let curiosity murder me."

"What?"

"I should've gone when I could. We all should have."

The soultaken with the head and sword expanded slowly, till it loomed over the woman. She had acquired a brazen shield and golden spear from somewhere. The soultaken opened his mouth and bellowed, 'Traitor!"

The woman responded, "Vengeance! All-Father. All-Evil. It is time to die the Endless Death."

"Oh, for sure, I should've gone," Principatй Divino moaned. "I was such a fool! It's real! It's all real."

Ghort said, "Looks like times might get interesting."

The soultaken spoke two words. While those rattled around they took physical form, as two flapping black towels of darkness that transformed into something like a brace of black vultures. Each screamed one of the words the soultaken had spoken. Their names?

Else felt that the female apparition was pleased.

The flapping black things settled toward the soultaken. Uncle Divino murmured, "It's been said that all religions are true. But how can this be?"

These events rattled the faith of everyone watching.

"For Gedanke," Arlensul said, in response to a question unheard.

The possessed soultaken bellowed again, flung himself at his prodigal daughter.

The fabric of reality creaked. It began to tear.

Svavar's mind was clearer and his thoughts crisper than ever. He watched the Godslayer rappel down the wall, unseen by Shagot. Grim saw nothing but Arlensul. Grim did not understand that Arlensul had been with them from their arrival on that ancient battleground. He was not, in fact, Grimur Grimmsson now. He was the worldly avatar of the Gray Walker, come to finish dealing with a traitorous daughter.

The Godslayer had no place in his thoughts.

The Old Ones mirrored their creature Shagot: crude, thoughtless, violent, ignorant of pity or remorse. And none too smart. What use smart if you were omnipotent and immortal?

The black flapping things came together in the gap between Instrumentalities, chased one another in a whirling mandala of darkness that spun in multiple dimensions. The Instrumentalities screamed at one another, proclaiming senseless rage and hatred. While the mandala grew.

Svavar stared at the thing his brother had become, unable to accept it although he believed it. Arlensul's defiance had conjured the One Who Harkens … now armed with the hammer club for which his favorite son was famous. The mandala, shedding a ripping roar, revealed glimpses of horrors beyond. Glimpses of old corpses abiding an opportunity to rise up and serve deities who held them in trivial regard.

Arlensul lashed out with her spear, pleased with her father's response so far. The Walker slid aside. His hammer made a gong of Arlensul's shield.

Words formed deep in Svavar's mind. Do not forget your dearest wish. Do not forget who has been your most devoted protector.

Which mainly baffled Svavar.

What could he do besides watch the titans clash?

Father and daughter traded blow for blow. The countryside resounded to their fury. Despite their terror, mortals stopped running, watched enrapt.

Soon, my chosen one.

Svavar began to shake, colder than naked in Andoray's iciest winter, dreading the foulness to come.

Which evil most torments the world?

Within the mandala Arlensul's sisters were wakening the Heroes.

Not good, that. There was Erief…. What was left of murdered Erief after centuries in that terrible Hall.

The great god of me north flung his hammer aside. It never fell to the ground. A staff appeared in his hands, in myth carved of ash cut from the great World Tree, a living, sentient tree whose roots reached into every well of knowledge there was. The Walker slammed that staff's iron shod foot into Arlensul's shield. The shield split. Only the smaller fragment remained in the Chooser's control. The staff thrust again. The immortal spear spun out of Arlensul's hand. It did not vanish. It fell at Svavar's feet.

Now you must decide.

Pinkus Ghort murmured, "Oh, shit," so gently and so emotionlessly that Else knew he was deeply frightened.

Principatй Divino Bruglioni said, "I agree wholeheartedly, Captain."

Else asked, "Your Grace, can you do anything to shelter the troops?" To right and left the covering force remained in place. The secondary reserve had come forward to witness a once-in-a-millennium event.

The soldiers were mostly Devedian toughs. But Else got little chance to give that any thought.

Ghort said, "Here we go."

Else grasped the hilt of his tired old sword.

The one Instrumentality split the shield of the other, then knocked its spear away. The night lance fell at the lesser soultaken's feet. Wisps of things began to leak from the dark mandala.

The soultaken rained blows on the remnant of the other's shield.

Whispers raced among the witnesses. To a man, they knew they were witnessing the end of a major myth cycle.

There were Pramans on the city wall, now. They were more spiritually distressed than their Episcopal and Devedian foes. Pramans were so fiercely attached to their faith that they could conceive of no other reality. Even granting diabolic status to the Instrumentalities of the Night was an impossible stretch for some.