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With a cry of rage, Jack tossed the pistol aside and picked up the branch again. Holding it like a medieval knight might a lance, he charged the man and rammed it into his side. This knocked him off balance but he did not go down. As Jack kept jabbing the branch into the man’s flank, pushing him toward the water, the dog let out a howl and attacked.
Whether he could see the stranger or not, Weezy couldn’t be sure, but even if not, the way Jack was batting at him gave a pretty clear indication of where the threat lay.
“No!” Weezy screamed as the dog launched himself into the air, jaws agape, ready to bite. “Don’t!”
The dog’s teeth sank into the man’s chest and the front of his head exploded in a red mist just as Jack rammed another blow to the left ribs with the branch. The combination of forces pushed the man off balance and he staggered to his right and tumbled into the pond.
The water exploded into jets of steam, shooting high and wide, its roiling billows blotting out the man and the pond and even the castle.
“Oh, no!” the Lady cried, rushing toward where the dog lay on its side on the grass. “What happened? What happened?”
Weezy grabbed her arm. “You can’t stay here!”
She pulled free and knelt by the dog’s limp form. His jaws were gone, his eyes too. What was left of his head and the base of his tongue weren’t bleeding. It looked as if the flesh had fused. His gullet was still open and his chest rose and fell—still alive but just barely.
“What happened?”
The pond was still billowing steam like a boiling cauldron, enveloping Jack where he stood at the water’s edge.
“The Fhi
“Yes!” Weezy cried. “Listen to Jack.”
“Not without him.” She slipped her arms beneath the dog. “We stay together—always.”
Weezy reached to help her. “Here, then. Let me—”
“No.” The Lady shook her head as she rose with the limp form in her arms. “It can be only me. I—”
She heard Jack shout, “No!” as a figure in tattered clothing lunged from the fog with open arms.
“Mother!”
He threw his arms around the Lady and the dog in a needy embrace and the world exploded into darkness—a silent blast of anti-light that lasted only a heartbeat or two. No blast effect, no shock wave, but Weezy felt it suck the heart and heat out of her.
And then it was gone, letting the daylight return. Weezy blinked in the glare like someone who’d just spent days in a cave. When her eyes adjusted and she could see again, she cried out her loss.
The Lady was gone.
18
From his place on the rooftop, Rasalom heard the silent blast and raised his arms toward the vault of the sky, not in supplication, but in triumph.
Done.
She was gone. He could sense her absence. The Fhi
He had thought the Lady dead once before, when that little would-be usurper of his name had set the chew wasps on her. No one had been more surprised than he—except perhaps the Lady herself—when it appeared she had succeeded. The petty pretender had had no idea what she was doing, and only a unique alliance of circumstances had allowed her the means.
But she had merely appeared to succeed, for the Lady had reappeared elsewhere, wounded but alive.
Not this time.
The Fhi
Now the Enemy will see this world as non-sentient and thus without value. It will turn away and devote its attentions to other worlds.
Your time has just ended, Glaeken, and mine is about to begin.
He wondered at his subdued feelings. Where was the exuberance, the joy, the ecstasy of victory after such a prolonged conflict?
Well, that would come.
He began pla
Dispose of her, then go to the mountain to initiate the Change. But first, the power.
He waited for the surge as the Enemy vacated—power to begin the Change—in himself and in the world around him.
But he felt nothing.
No . . . that was not right. He did feel something, a growing sensation in the back of his mind, slowly spreading across it. Strangely familiar.
It couldn’t be . . . no . . . no . . .
“NO!”
19
“No!”
Glaeken squeezed his eyes shut and jammed the heels of his hands against his temples. He backed away from the window and dropped into one of the thick-upholstered chairs.
Something had happened, something terrible.
The Lady . . . it had to be her. He didn’t sense her. Mortality had stripped him of certain abilities . . . awarenesses. The Lady’s existence was like a scent in the air, and now that scent was gone.
The workaday world out there would not realize what had just happened. They did not know her scent, could not feel her presence, so they would be unaware of what they had lost.
But the Ally would notice and would turn away from what it perceived as a dead world.
Glaeken felt a sense of loss, a wave of sadness almost overwhelming in its intensity. She hadn’t been a person, not in a true sense, just a physical manifestation of something much larger and more complex, but she’d been a personality, and thus a person to him. He’d grown fond of her over the mille
He’d had but two constants in his attenuated existence: Rasalom and the Lady. Now he had only Rasalom. And very soon Rasalom would—
He started at a crash behind him. He rose and saw a figure slumped facedown across the coffee table. A woman—naked, old, frail. For a moment he thought it might be Magda—it wouldn’t be the first time she’d forgotten to get dressed—but then he saw the marks on her back and knew.
“You live?”
She raised her head and looked at him with bleary, pain-wracked eyes.
“Help me. Please . . . help.”