Wizards At War

“You know, you missed your calling,” the Lone Power said. “Why aren’t you in stand-up comedy? You’re just another cage for another spent force! My esteemed ‘little brother’ might be wearing fewer feathers this time, but you’re an even worse embodiment for him than his last one.” It turned Its back on Ronan and walked away, chuckling and shaking Its head. “You’ve only once let him have access to his full power, and never again since. Talk about a hopeless mismatch! But since he had to commit fully to embodying inside you, he’s stuck there whether he likes it or not. If he tried to leave you, it’d kill you. And, being a Power of Light”—the Lone One turned, and the sneer in Its voice was so full of scorn that the words almost burned in Nita’s ears—”he’d never take that chance.”

“No,” Ronan said softly. “He wouldn’t.”

“So you see that for all your big words—”

“But I would!”

Nita’s head snapped around.

Ronan leaned back and threw the Spear.

Forged in wizardry by one of the Powers That Be, with another Power as old as wizardry itself bound into the starsteel of the blade, the Spear of Light roared out of Ronan’s hand toward the Lone One. The Lone Power casually flung up a hand alive with black lightning to deflect it. But the Spear went nowhere near It. Instead, it swung far around the Lone One’s back, roared past him, and headed back.

The breath went out of Nita. “Ronan!”

He didn’t move, except to look just slightly sideways at Nita: that dark, wry, ironic expression of his, mocking himself now as much as the One whom he was attacking in the least expected way. In that last second, Ronan threw his arms wide—a grandstanding gesture, a casually defiant flash of black against the dim heat of the hive—and the Spear of Light struck him in the chest, and he went down.

“No!” screamed the Lone Power, and the whole City shook.

Nita stood there wide-eyed and gasping, as stricken as if she’d been the one hit by the Spear. She plunged toward where Ronan lay, bleeding blood and fire. But a breath later, a wave of force blasting away from the light that pooled around him struck Nita and knocked her and all the others flat … even the Lone Power. In that shock wave, the fallen bodies of the Arch-votary and its warriors were scattered across the floor of the central chamber like so many toys, and, with the rebound of the shock wave, a huge form of light gathered itself up around Ronan, swirling, streaming upward. Across the floor, the shape that had been human moments before and had been blasted into a puddle of darkness by that fury of light now began straining upward to reform itself, a blinding blackness throwing itself out in a hundred directions in writhing, raging tendrils and tentacles of shadow.

Nita scrambled to her knees, craning her neck to take in the tremendous form towering over them, armed in light, armored in fire. Once again she understood why, long ago, the first thing such an apparition had to say to the people who saw it was “Fear not.” No sane and mortal creature could look on the One’s Champion in full manifestation without being afraid that mere fragile reality might start to shred around so terrible a Power for good. The Champion towered up into the heights in what looked to Nita like human form. But in this manifestation, the Defender was not terribly concerned about details such as gender or ornament. Light flared behind It like wings, licking upward like fire, as It stood there burning like a statue cast in lightning, laughing uproariously.

Free! the Champion cried. Once again, Brother, you’ve underestimated the tenacity of the One’s other weapons. This one in particular! I’m surprised you ever let him in here, but then this splinter of you seriously believed that the first work I did with Ronan was what I came to him for! It laughed again, delighted. And though there’s only one thing I can do, now—thanks to him, it’s the only thing that needs to be done. You’ve done everything else for us; you yourself triggered the whole cycle of events you most desired to avoid!

The Champion lifted one arm and pointed what It held at the furiously writhing, growing shape of blackness building before It. A sword like a splinter of sun’s core lifted over the Lone One, ready to strike. So as you interrupted my work once before, now I interrupt yours. And what was trying to happen, now has one last chance.