The Fractured Sky

CHAPTER EIGHT

Though he longed to leap into the air and strike-he imagined that impulse was a bit of the dragon's instinct bleeding into his own mind-Zasian forced himself to wait. No, his role would come soon enough.

The first sounds of combat grew louder, and soon, a horn rang through the forest. The tone was somber, urgent, and muffled. The clash of steel on steel accompanied it, and the screams of the wounded. Zasian thought he could detect the feral snarls of beasts, too, but he wasn't certain.

Only when he began to feel the first subtle thumps did the priest of Cyric know his time was at hand. He launched himself up into the sky and raced forward, scanning the land below for a sign of what he sought. Between the thick fog and the heavy canopy of trees, it was difficult to see much, but he knew he wouldn't need to pierce that veil in too fine a fashion. His quarry would be more than visible.

He spotted a small group of humans racing through the odd, twisted trees, leaping over the gnarled, angled trunks or ducking and scrambling beneath them. At first he thought they were chasing their foes, but then several dark streaks shot into view, sprinting after them. The streaks were all shadow, and lithe, like some sort of hunting cat. They made no sounds, and they closed the distance with their prey in a few bounds.

As Zasian glided past the point where the two groups became entangled he heard the screams of the humans, but he was already past the gap in the canopy and could not see the results of the conflict. Angling himself slightly to the right, he continued to search for something more suitable.

When the priest at last found what he sought, he banked around for a better look. At first, he didn't see the creature at all, but rather the route the beast was taking. The trees near where it passed shimmied and shook from its bulk. Zasian angled into a shallow dive and zipped just above the treetops where it seemed to be moving, seeking a better glimpse of it. The first time, he did not spot much, but upon circling past again, he got a much better view.

The thing stood nearly as high as the treetops themselves, and it shuffled along in huge strides on all fours. Even looking directly at it, Zasian had a hard time picking it out from the surrounding foliage, for it was made of living greenery and blended in well.

On his third pass, the beast must have sensed him, for it rose up on its hind legs and roared. The sound it made reverberated through the entire forest and shook Zasian where he flew. It lunged at him and snapped its jaws, trying to latch onto his tail, but Zasian rolled completely over to evade the thing and swung back around behind it.

The creature, still on its hind legs, looked every bit like Zasian had imagined. Its thick body supported an ovoid head with small, round ears and a stubby snout. Its forelegs ended in wide, flat paws, which themselves sported long, curved claws. For all intents and purposes, it would have been one of the most massive dire bears Zasian had ever seen, except that it was all brambles and vines and greenery.

Zasian swooped in from the rear and raked his claws at the mammoth beast, slicing through numerous strands of the plant growth along the thing's neck and back. The creature roared in fury and whirled around, but Zasian was already out of reach.

A cluster of long, javelin-like shards sliced through one of the priest's wings. They gouged a series of holes in the thin skin and passed straight through, stinging his snout. One of the barbed projectiles nearly caught him in the eye.

Zasian issued a rumble from deep within his chest at the pain, but he did not otherwise react. The injury was superficial and did not affect his flying at all. He circled around for another go at the creature. The wood elemental dire bear had dropped to all fours again and began charging through the woods after other prey.

As he closed in, Zasian lined his flight path up with the path the bear-thing was taking. He let loose with a powerful blast of lightning from his mouth. The jagged bolt of energy ploughed through the thick, gnarled plant growth all along his opponent's back. Bits of vine and earth flew in every direction, and the massive thing reared up in agony. As Zasian swooped past, another clump of spikes smacked against his flank, but they did little more than sting. The dragon's thick hide protected him from harm.

Zasian circled around for one more attack. He could see that his assault was taking its toll. The creature thrashed on the ground where he had hit it during the previous pass. It bellowed in anguish as it rolled back and forth, and smoke rose up from the deep wound on its back. It was knocking trees aside in its throes, and Zasian could see more of the humans gathering near the beast. He suspected some might even be trying to heal the thing.

He swooped in low, aiming for the newly made clearing, and raked the entire area with a swipe of his massive tail. The satisfying thunk of scale on flesh and the abrupt screams of several of the defenders let him know that his attack had been effective. He circled once more, scanning the area. Numerous unmoving figures lay scattered around. The giant wooden bear still thrashed, but its movements had become feeble and sporadic. It wouldn't survive much longer.

That ought to do it, Zasian decided.

The priest selected a tree from among those still standing at the edge of the clearing. It was larger than most, and it jutted at just the right angle, toward the dying creature. He rolled toward it and flew hard, zipping just to one side of the trunk. As he soared past, he slapped at it with his tail. There was a tremendous booming crack, and the tree splintered in half, leaving a jagged stump. The rest of the tree toppled over to one side.

The jarring impact sent agonizing pain up the storm dragon's spine. Zasian was fairly certain that he had fractured bones. He gritted his teeth and spun away, trying to climb.

Fighting the pain of his injury, the priest gained altitude. He climbed in a spiral, circling above the ruined tree. When he was high enough that he could not even make out the clearing for the fog anymore, he spun over and dived.

No! Tekthyrios screamed from within the confines of his mind prison.

Yes, Zasian replied. Your usefulness has ended for me.

As he plummeted down toward the clearing, the priest began to cast one final spell. The jagged spike he had created came into view, and Zasian angled toward it. At the last moment, he finished his spell, releasing the magic. Just as the wyrm's body plunged down atop the sheared-off tree, impaling itself upon it, Zasian felt himself recede from sensation as a dragon. He coalesced into his own form, freshly recovered from the pocket dimension where he had secured it. When the rejoining was complete, the priest found himself trapped inside the belly of the beast.

The impact slammed Zasian hard, jarring him even within the relatively protected environs of the dragon's stomach. The blow left him woozy, but even in his muddled state, he heard the horrific howl of agony reverberate through Tekthyrios's body. The priest felt the creature shudder once, then the dragon wretched, and Zasian was thrown clear.

He landed atop a mound of coarse earth and bounced to the far side of it, sliding into a gully. The cool dampness of the soil felt pleasant against his scorched skin. Still unsteady and in pain, Zasian rose up onto his knees and peered back at his handiwork.

Tekthyrios thrashed feebly, impaled upon the sheared-off tree. The dragon's eyes rolled back in his head and he gave one plaintive cry. As Zasian watched, he struggled to get his clawed legs beneath himself. He tried to lift himself free of the deadly spike. After several unsuccessful attempts, Tekthyrios gave up and sagged back down, his head lolling to one side.

"Priest," the dragon gasped, his eyes closed. "You will… pay," he said, his last word little more than a death rattle in his chest.

Zasian watched for a moment to make certain the dragon was truly dead, then wove a quick spell of healing to cleanse away the acid burns he had endured while within the beast's belly. Once renewed, Zasian turned and trotted into the mists, seeking his companions.

Kashada chuckled and initiated the delicate, intricate gestures of a spell.

The elf advanced several more steps and raised her glowing, preternatural sword with both hands. As she closed the distance between them, she kept her milky, iridescent gaze on the mystic.

Kashada found those strange, opalescent eyes unnerving. She nearly lost her concentration and her spell and had to take a step back as she completed the incantation. She wanted to stay well clear of that incandescent blade's reach.

Near the warrior's feet, beneath a thick clump of ferns at the base of a large tree, shadows began to writhe. Tendrils of them thickened and darkened. The tendrils then snaked outward from beneath the ferns and lashed at the elf's ankles, rapidly encircling them.

The elf paused in her advance and stared down at her feet as the tendrils grew to become grasping black tentacles. The tentacles thickened and climbed like unholy vines. In the span of a couple of heartbeats, they had engulfed the woman's legs and hugged her waist, squeezing tightly.

Kashada smiled, though she knew her adversary could not see the expression. "Don't scream," she advised. "You'll lose your air faster that way." She giggled then and started to turn away.

The aura that surrounded the elf blazed brighter, hurting Kashada's eyes. The glow pulsed once, twice. The third time, the mystic felt her magic dissolve as the black appendages disintegrated and vanished.

Kashada gasped.

"What were you saying?" the elf asked, stepping closer and raising her blade high again.

Bitch, Kashada thought and spun away. The glowing sword arced down and sliced very near the mystic. She felt hot, shadow-sapping energy warm her skin where the blade passed. She darted to one side and sought a spot of deeper darkness.

The warrior hoisted her weapon high again and stalked after Kashada, following her step for step. "Don't run, witch. You'll lose your air faster that way."

Kashada spied a small draw where water rushed through during wet weather. A large branch, fallen from some nearby tree, had become wedged there, and debris had piled against it in rainy days past. The resulting natural lean-to protected a dark recess. The mystic dived toward it, engaging her magic.

As she hit the ground beneath the debris, the servant of Shar saw the world change around her, becoming faint and faded. At the same time, the shadows deepened, firmed, became more substantial. Of the elf woman and her wicked sword, there was no sign.

Kashada lay for several moments where she had landed, catching her breath. Then she rose to her knees and peered out. In almost every way, the shadow-forest mirrored its material counterpart, with the exception that everything sat absolutely still. No branches swayed in the breeze, no birds flitted from limb to limb, no rain fell. All was dim, unearthly silence.

The mystic smiled and crawled out from beneath the dead branch. She climbed to her feet and scanned her surroundings, seeking some sign that her adversary had found a way to follow her. Satisfied that she was alone, Kashada turned and followed her original path, making her way toward the cave.

Zasian did not mention there would be ghaeles in the woods, the shadow-mystic thought. Just as he failed to mention in Sundabar that I would remain imprisoned within that Shar-forsaken sphere for twelve years, she added sourly. Such oversights will come back to haunt him, she vowed. Blessed Shar will make certain he has his day of reckoning. Cyric cannot protect him from that.

As Kashada neared the point where she suspected she was to meet the others, she sought another place of deeper shadow. She spied a felled tree ahead. The massive trunk had snapped from its stump perhaps five feet up from the forest floor and still rested against the rotting base, forming an angular, offset arch. Beneath that span, welcome darkness invited Kashada. She quickened her pace and stepped beneath it. She slipped one of her daggers free and flipped it around to grasp the blade end. She took a slow, calming breath and shifted.

The forest came alive again. Green replaced faded silvery gray. Leaves danced and whispered as breezes ran through them. The smell of earth and decaying wood filled Kashada's nostrils. Somewhere, a bird chirped.

The Sharran held still and peered around. She saw no sign of the ghaele. Somewhere in the distance, a horn wailed, a distressed call for help. Perhaps the ghaele had heard it too and had gone to assist whoever was sounding it.

Confident that she had slipped away from her pursuer, Kashada stepped out from beneath the fallen tree. She checked the surroundings once more. There was no one.

Satisfied, the mystic turned toward where she believed the caves to be and began walking again.

The baleful call of the horn ceased, replaced by a faint roar. Then a rumble of distant thunder reached Kashada's ears. She suspected that Zasian, in the form of Tekthyrios, was wreaking havoc among the folk guarding the cave.

Hopefully he's torn that horrid ghaele into pieces with his claws, she thought.

Kashada noticed that the land had changed around her, and she knew she must be close. The ground had become coarse and dark, more like bark than soil. The trees had thinned out a bit, too, and the air was thick with mist. She could not see more than a handful of paces in any direction.

A blinding flash engulfed Kashada. She threw her arms up protectively, trying to shield her eyes from the blazing glow, but the damage was done. Pain wracked the mystic, searing hot agony that made her crumple over and fall to the ground. Her first instinct was to fall into a shadow, but she couldn't clear her vision of the white afterimage in order to seek one out.

"Very clever, shadowwalking to try to evade me," the ghaele said. Her voice came from somewhere overhead. "But the stench of your evil fills these woods. You are too easy to find."

Kashada's vision began to return. She could make out the basic shapes of tree trunks, but everything was still blurred and too bright to focus on. She fought the pain of keeping her eyes open and scanned the sky, trying to spot her adversary.

As her sight continued to improve, the Sharran finally spied what must be the ghaele. A sphere perhaps five feet wide hovered among the tree tops. A panoply of eldritch colors shimmered across its surface, intensely hurtful to look upon.

Why must it fight with light? she lamented. Anything but light. Where in the Hells are Myshik and Zasian?

"Ah, friends to come to your rescue," the ghaele said. "Thank you for letting me know."

Kashada gritted her teeth. Fool! She can read your mind. Flee!

Before the mystic could rise and get away, another beam of light flashed from the sphere. Kashada pitched herself to one side to evade the attack and slammed into the bole of a tree. She grunted, feeling the blow on her ribs. The searing whiteness struck the ground where she had lain a heartbeat before.

Not waiting to see if another attack was eminent, Kashada gestured and spoke a word of magic. Blackness enveloped her. She scrambled to her feet, using the tree for support, and moved around it, hoping misdirection would throw the ghaele off. She had not taken three steps when the blackness vanished again.

The ghaele stood before Kashada in elf form. Those lustrous, pearlescent eyes fixed on her face, boring into her own. "If you crave the darkness so much, then allow me to send you to your grave." She gestured and uttered a word that rang in Kashada's ears. The mystic fell back as vibrant light surrounded her. The glow clung to her, shredding the shadows in which she cloaked herself. Her carefully crafted illusion of mysterious beauty vanished, leaving her weak and terrified.

"No!" she croaked. She dropped to the ground, one arm raised to ward off the debilitating power of the ghaele's magic. "Shar, help me!"

The ghaele stepped closer, pulling her sword free. "Your deceitful goddess will not aid you, witch," she said, raising her weapon for the killing blow. "You are finished."

The blade reached its apex, but the ghaele did not strike. Instead, those milky, opalescent eyes glanced away, at something behind Kashada, and widened in alarm. "No!" the ghaele screamed, putting a single hand out before herself as if to ward off an attack.

A beam of sickly green energy struck the warrior in the chest. She threw her head back and screamed in agony, a sound that was cut short as her entire body turned to dust and scattered across the forest floor near Kashada's feet.

The mystic gaped for a moment at the ghaele's disintegrated remains, then she turned to look over her shoulder as footfalls approached.

Zasian strolled up to Kashada and offered her a hand up.

"Sorry I'm late," the priest said. "I was delayed by a rampaging shrub. I take it Myshik hasn't arrived yet?"

Kaanyr nudged the blackened body at his feet with his toe, flipping it over so that it faced upward. The unseeing eyes were still open, the face smudged with mud and blood. Whatever had hit the fellow, it had killed him quickly, and not that long before. Smoke still rose from the charred remains.

The cambion stepped away and checked another, slumped over the boughlike trunk of one of the twisted trees in the area. That one, too, was dead, though there was no outward sign of injury. When he flipped the corpse over, he saw a look of horror upon the elf's face. The body was still flush and warm to the touch.

"They're all dead," he said, turning and striding back to where Aliisza and the other two stood gathered next to the corpse of the dragon. "Every last one of them."

"As I expected," Tauran said, not looking up. He knelt next to the storm dragon's head, his hand upon its ridged brow, as though comforting it. "The ghaeles do not leave wounded behind, if they can help it. They either carry their brethren away or stand to the last defending them."

Aliisza looked all around. "Zasian did this?" she said, appearing a bit awed. "Even in dragon form, this is a formidable force to confront."

"Yes, it is," Tauran said, still kneeling. His eyes were closed and he kept his hand upon the dragon's forehead. Finally, he stood up, looking around. "But I don't understand what happened to him."

Kaanyr snorted. "He bit off more than he could chew, and this little army of wood elf fellows and their giant bear-plant did him in."

"I wish it were that simple, if tragic," Tauran replied, "but there is no sign of the priest within the dragon's corpse. Whatever happened here, Zasian did not die in Tekthyrios's form."

"So he's still running loose," Kael said, whacking his blade against a nearby tree in frustration. "We're not done, yet."

"It appears not," Tauran said. "And what's worse, he left the dragon behind, so he's more difficult to find, and I think he's left the House of the Triad, making that difficult job even trickier."

"Why did he come here?" Aliisza asked. "What is this place?"

Tauran sighed and began walking in an ever widening circle around the dragon. As he surveyed the area, he explained. "Some of those who fought here today are eladrin, fey creatures. Those here have dedicated themselves to being champions of good across the cosmos. They are a bit more free-spirited than most of us who dwell here within the House, flaunting our laws when such strictures do not suit them, but Tyr abides them because they are dedicated to defending this place."

The angel stopped and knelt down next to a patch of earth, tracing his finger through something there. "It would seem that whatever happened to Zasian, here is where he got up and walked away."

Kaanyr moved next to the angel and peered down where he indicated. A set of bootprints wandered off through the underbrush. They would be easy to follow.

Tauran stood again. "It doesn't appear that he's injured, so he's moving rapidly. But these kills are very fresh. He can't be far ahead."

"Then we should not tarry," Kaanyr said, sensing that the end of his servitude might be near. He loosened Burnblood in its scabbard and gestured for the angel to lead the way. "Let's go."

"You!" Myshik snarled as Zasian walked into view. The draconic hobgoblin scrambled to his feet and reached for the war axe strapped to his back. "Where is Tekthyrios?" he demanded, drawing the axe back as if to strike at the priest.

Beside the half-dragon, Kashada shifted her gaze back and forth between the two. Her eyes, peering out from behind that shimmering veil of black cloth and shadow, glittered in amusement.

The shadow-mystic had been genuinely grateful to Zasian for rescuing her, but afterward, he noted something dangerous in her demeanor. She had appeared flustered at first, at least until she managed to redeploy her shadow-illusions. Even afterward, she became aloof, and he caught her staring at him more than once. She would bear watching, he decided.

"The storm dragon is no more," Zasian answered, stopping a few steps out of Myshik's reach. "And if you don't put that down, the same will hold true for you."

"How then will I cleave you in twain to avenge his death?" Myshik asked, a taunting smile appearing on his lips. He took a single stride forward, and Zasian finished the spell he had begun before he and Kashada had joined the half-dragon.

Myshik's eyes bulged when he realized he could not move.

Zasian watched, smirking, as the hobgoblin strained to break free of the repulsive magic. You truly are a simpleton, whelp of Morueme. Always two steps behind the rest of us. As bad as the half-fiends and their fool angel. "Are you done, yet?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"I could heave this blade such that it would lop off your head, Banite," Myshik growled. He continued to struggle and did not notice Kashada step behind him.

"Yes, but you don't know what other little tricks I might have up my sleeve," Zasian replied and nodded to the shadow-cloaked woman. She nodded back and stepped closer, planting what Zasian assumed was a dagger against the small of the hobgoblin's back.

Myshik froze, and his eyes rolled as he tried to peer back over his shoulder at the woman. Her free hand snaked up and took hold of the axe. He resisted for a moment then arched up straighter. Zasian chuckled, imagining how she was pressing her point home. Myshik released the axe and Kashada tossed it to the side. She did not move away from the half-dragon.

"Have you heard the saying, 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend,' Myshik?" Zasian asked. "I believe the nomadic tribesmen who roam the desert near your home use it often, as do the genies in various parts of the cosmos."

Myshik glowered, but he did not say anything.

"Yes, I killed the storm dragon, but you never served him. It was me in control of his flesh and blood, me to whom you swore fealty."

The half-dragon's eyes widened the slightest bit as that realization sunk in.

"I shouldn't think that it would matter too much to you what happened to Tekthyrios," Zasian continued. "I don't believe your father or uncle would be too keen to hear that you were in the service of a storm dragon. The storms and the blues never have gotten along too well, have they? Always squabbling over territory, domains, or some such, right?"

Myshik frowned, but eventually he nodded. "But why?" he asked. "Why the disguise, the trickery?"

"In due time, whelp of Morueme, in due time," Zasian answered. "For now, just know that I am no friend of Vhok's. He was a tool to me, nothing more. In fact, he still serves me in that fashion, though he does not yet realize it. Also know that I do not serve Bane. That lie was a necessary part of my deception with Vhok." Zasian paused and studied the half-dragon, gauging his reaction. Myshik had stopped glowering. So far so good, the priest decided. He continued. "You have two choices to consider now. One is to take a stand, try to fight against me, and die as a result. That is no threat, it is a certainty. It isn't, however, a particularly appealing result to me, because despite your stubbornness and rather simple outlook, I find you useful.

"Which brings me to the other choice. Serve me, as you had been serving me when you believed I was a storm dragon. The terms will be the same. Do as I ask, willingly, eagerly, and I will make certain you receive generous compensation for your efforts. Plus, you get the opportunity to thwart Vhok, make him one miserable demonspawn. That ought to convince you right there."

"I accept," Myshik said.

"What?" Zasian said, taken aback. "No need to think about it? No deliberations over which choice is the lesser betrayal to your conscience?"

Myshik smiled. "As you said, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend.' What is there to think about? My uncle gave me very clear instructions."

Zasian's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Perhaps he is more cunning than I gave him credit for. I will have to watch him, he decided. He nodded to Kashada, who stepped back from the half-dragon and slipped her dagger back into her belt.

Myshik relaxed and moved to pick up his axe. He stopped before he actually took hold of it and glanced back at Kashada. "You're not going to use me for target practice when I scoop this up, are you?" he asked.

"Does she have a reason to?" Zasian asked.

"No," Myshik replied, "but I wasn't sure if she knew that."

"I don't think we need fear a reprisal from you," the priest said.

Myshik gave him an even stare for just a little longer than Zasian thought appropriate, then he lifted the axe from the ground. He slipped it back into its spot upon his back and turned to face the other two. "So, what is your intention?" he asked.

"Kashada and I have business elsewhere," Zasian answered. "We must take a journey, one that is likely to be a bit treacherous."

"Yes, this cave you have brought us to," Myshik said. "But where does it lead? Where are we going?"

"Follow me," Zasian replied. He turned and began to walk through the mist-filled forest, pushing past the foliage that sprouted up from every direction. The dampness clung to everything, and the sounds of its dripping echoed softly through the woods. The priest could see a faint path winding among the odd, rolling ridges of ground. Zasian picked his way along it, listening for sounds of pursuit or ambush.

"This ground is odd," Myshik commented from behind Zasian. "What is this place?"

Zasian smiled. "It's not really ground at all," he said. "We are passing from the House of the Triad into the World Tree. This is the veil between those two places."

Myshik was silent for a moment, then he exclaimed, "It's bark! This is a branch!"

Zasian grimaced. "Yes, but lower your voice, Morueme. There are a few enemies still around-and new ones on our trail-that will not take kindly to our passing through here."

The priest grinned as he imagined Vhok and the others pursuing him, trying to catch up before he slipped away. Stay close, cambion, he thought. I am not finished with you yet.

They walked on in silence for some time longer, Zasian keeping a watch ahead as he followed the path. It wound between the rounded, rolling ridges of the rich, brown, woody substance and the twisted, angled trees.

Not trees, Zasian reminded himself. Branches. Twigs, perhaps.

The surrounding terrain grew higher and steeper on either side of the path, forming a narrow defile. As the trio descended into the canyon, it began to rain. The patter of drops from the gentle downpour caused little more than a whisper on the spongy ground.

Zasian pulled the hood of his cloak up and around his head, shielding him from the moisture. "Keep an eye out, now," he cautioned the other two in a soft voice. "Other things live on the World Tree, and some of them are not friendly. Sometimes, even the tree itself becomes your enemy."

The defile grew narrower and narrower, until Zasian felt his shoulders brushing against the sides as he walked. Just when it seemed that the walls had closed together too much for them to continue, the canyon ended in the entrance to a cave. The path vanished into the darkness beyond.

"Here we go," Zasian muttered, half to himself. "A bit of light, and…" He muttered a quick prayer, waved his hand over the head of his mace, and the weapon glowed with the light of day, illuminating the passage. "Kashada, Myshik, wish this unhappy place a fond farewell. We're beyond its reach, now." And with that, he ducked into the narrow opening and entered the blackness.