The Traitor's Tale (4 page)

“Yes,” I said in a quiet voice. “I was a fool, and I
paid the price. For centuries I paid the price.”

“Perhaps,” said Arlmagnava. “Perhaps not. You said
you came from Earth. Likely you used the recent magical disturbance
to bridge the gap between Earth and this world. How did you plan to
escape the threshold?”

I shrugged. “With a spell.”

The Frostborn woman remained motionless, but around
her the locusari twitched in unison. Likely she had bound the
creatures to her with a spell. Something I had said had caught her
attention, and even if she had kept it from her face some of the
excitement had communicated itself to her drones.

“A spell,” she said. “Then you are not trapped
here?”

I suddenly feared that I had told her too much.

“Does it matter?” I said.

“You are broken and twisted,” said Arlmagnava. “This
much is plain. You are going to your Keeper for healing, is that
not so?”

“If she will have me,” I said. “I…wish her to forgive
me for my crimes. To lift the curse upon me. Then I can die in
peace. I should have died a long time ago.”

“Perhaps there is another path,” said Arlmagnava.

I started at her, my mind racing. “You said you
fought the Keeper. You were surprised when you found me here on the
threshold of Andomhaim. You knew I had come from another world.
That means…you are not from this world, either.” I considered for a
moment. “You are a scout, a vanguard. The harbinger of an
invasion.”

“You are correct,” said Arlmagnava. “It is the task
of the Assembly of the High Lords to bring the cosmos to order, to
bind the lesser kindreds under our firm hand. Once before we
invaded this world, but were defeated by the Keeper. Now, after two
and a half centuries, the time is ripe for us to invade again. We
have moved into the threshold of this world. All we require is for
the traitor to open a gate for us, to allow physical passage for
our armies. Once open, the gate can be made permanent, and this
world will be added to the Dominion of the High Lords.”

“Why?” I said. “Why conquer this world?”

“Because it is necessary,” said the Frostborn woman.
“We are not gods, but we might as well be. The lesser kindreds are
disorderly and violent. We shall move from world to world in the
cosmos, adding them to the Dominion and bringing their kindreds to
order. This world is no different. When we conquer it, we shall
purge it of chaos, and the survivors shall be taught to follow the
order of the High Lords.”

“I have heard many such speeches from human tyrants
upon Earth,” I said. “They ended in bloodshed and madness.”

“Such is the fate of all who aspire to power they are
not worthy to wield,” said Arlmagnava. “We are worthy of the power
to order the cosmos, and we shall use it.”

“No,” I said. “If the Keeper opposed you, so shall
I.”

“Is it necessary to align yourself with the Keeper?”
said Arlmagnava. “Perhaps the power for your cure lies with us
instead of her…and you could receive that cure without groveling
and begging for forgiveness.”

I started to refuse, but then fell silent.

Something within that offer whispered to me.

“What do you mean?” I said at last.

“We wish to enslave all lesser kindreds for their own
benefit,” said Arlmagnava, gesturing with her sword. “Some,
however, are worthier than others. You have the ability to travel
from the threshold to the material world without the use of a gate,
something that for all our power we cannot do ourselves. You
successfully fought a patrol of locusari to a standstill, and your
fire magic would be powerful in battle. The campaigns to subdue
this world and establish it as a demesne of the Dominion shall take
at least a century, and your skill shall be useful. Swear to become
my vassal, and I shall remove your curse. More, I shall strengthen
your magic considerably and make you immortal.”

“And what,” I said, “would you want from me in
return?”

“Loyalty and the use of your ability to travel
between the material world and the threshold,” said Arlmagnava. “If
it can be taught to us, well and good. If not, you will be useful
as a scout. Serve loyally, and once this world is conquered you
will be granted a city or perhaps a province to rule as you see
fit. What say you?”

I hesitated.

It sounded…compelling.

For much of my memories were gone, but I remembered
my betrayal well enough. Part of it had been Mordred himself, how
he had seduced me, how I had wanted to be seduced. But a larger
part of it had been that he offered me power.

For I loved power.

I had loved having it, wielding it, loved the freedom
and the control it had offered me. For centuries I had regretted my
choices…but what if they all hadn’t been for nothing? What if
Arlmagnava could keep her word to me? I could be rid of the curse
without asking for the Keeper’s forgiveness, and have all the power
I wished.

I shivered and closed my eyes.

My memory was not what it had been…but I remembered
the last time I had thought that way. It had been before I had
betrayed the Keeper and spurned Malahan, before I had sided with
Mordred against the High King.

That choice had led to nothing but disaster and
centuries of regret. If the wraith’s taunts had been right, it had
led to disaster and regret for uncounted millions.

How much more disaster would this decision unleash if
I made the wrong choice?

I opened my eyes and saw Arlmagnava watching me.

“I am the apprentice of the Keeper of Avalon,” I
said, and the burning blue eyes narrowed. “I should have died as
the apprentice of the Keeper of Avalon, and perhaps I shall have
that chance yet.”

“No,” said Arlmagnava. “You won’t. Your skill is far
too useful to permit your death. You shall cooperate, whether
willing or not.”

She thrust her free hand at me, cold fire burning
around the armored fingers, and the power of her magic closed
around me like a giant fist. I shouted and stumbled, my staff
raised, its sigils burning as the Frostborn woman’s power wrapped
around me. I could not feel pain properly, not after the curse, and
I suspected that was a good thing, because I would have been in
agony otherwise. Thick white mist swirled around me in a ring,
growing harder and thicker.

Arlmagnava was freezing me. Her spell would trap me
in a block of ice and force me into something like a coma. Then she
could transport me at her leisure and take the time to torture me
into compliance. Panic went through me. Once I had been able to
cast warding spells, but elemental fire did not lend itself to
protection. I could not cast a ward to protect myself from the
horrible cold and unyielding ice closing around me.

Yet the light in my staff grew angrier, the wood
vibrating beneath my grasp. The Frostborn woman’s magic was that of
frost and cold, of ice and snow, the opposite element of the fire I
summoned. The two powers were violently opposed to each other. If
mixed, they would not react well.

I had no other option. I summoned as much power as I
could hold and thrust my staff into the thickening mist, unleashing
all the fire I could.

The results were explosive.

The fire screamed out of me, drilled into the mist,
and then ripped through it in a snarling blast. A ring of fire
swept out, followed shortly thereafter by a cloud of superheated
stream. The locusari stumbled back with shrieks of pain, the steam
seeping through their carapaces to scald the sensitive flesh
beneath. Arlmagnava took a step back, stunned, the blue-burning
eyes widening as her spell collapsed.

I did not hesitate, but leveled my staff and drew
upon my power. A ball of yellow-orange flame shot from the staff’s
length and hurtled across the clearing. Arlmagnava hissed in alarm
and cast a spell. A ward of pale blue light flared into existence
around her, and my fireball shattered into smoke when it touched
the superior power of her magic.

By then I was sprinting back into the forest as fast
as my legs could carry me.

“Take her!” shouted Arlmagnava. “Bring her to me
alive!”

The locusari answered with their metallic shrieks and
sprang into motion. Blue blurs shot upwards as the scouts took to
the air, while the warrior drones surged forward. I kept sprinting,
heedless of the uneven ground, my staff clutched in one hand. If I
could just keep them away from me a little longer, I could escape.
I had almost gathered the power I needed to depart the threshold.
Arlmagnava had said herself that the Frostborn had no power to
leave the threshold without a gate, and by the time they figured
out how to make one, I would have rejoined the Keeper.

Or she would have stopped the invasion. The impending
attack of the Frostborn seemed like something the Keeper ought to
know about.

Ripples of magic blurred before my Sight, and I shot
a glance over my shoulder. Arlmagnava cast a spell, white mist and
blue fire blending before her, and thrust out her free hand.
Icicles formed in the mist, spikes the size of my leg, their points
razor sharp. I had no doubt that the Frostborn woman’s magic had
frozen them to the hardness of granite. The icy spikes hurtled
forward, and I threw myself to the ground. The razor spikes flew
past me and embedded themselves into the earth, so cold that I felt
them burning my face even from a distance.

I scrambled to my feet, and my only warning was a
faint whisper of wind. One of the winged locusari fell from the sky
above my head, mandibles yawning wide. I could have blasted it from
the air with a gout of flame, but I did not dare spare the power
for it, not when I needed every scrap of magic I could gather for
the traveling spell.

So I swung my staff like a club. Centuries of life
and magical power had not given me physical strength to match, and
even the winged locusar could have ripped me apart with ease.
Nevertheless, I had the momentum, my staff was heavy, and I
released a little power with the blow, enough for a burst of fire
to erupt from the wood. The blast knocked the locusar back, and it
struck the nearest tree and bounced off with a shriek.

Then there was no more time.

I heard the locusari drones racing through the trees,
and I felt the surge of power as Arlmagnava began another spell. I
couldn’t outrun them, I couldn’t kill all the locusari, and I
couldn’t defeat Arlmagnava at a battle of magic.

I had to escape, now.

I gripped my staff and slammed the end against the
earth. The staff trembled in my hands as I focused power, the
sigils blazing brighter. I heard the screams of the locusari, the
buzz of their wings, felt the stirring currents of magic as
Arlmagnava prepared to fling another spell at me.

I closed my eyes and concentrated, working the spell.
I had to keep all my attention on the spell. The air around me grew
colder as the Frostborn worked her magic, and I heard the creaking
chitin of the charging locusari.

I did not open my eyes.

Either I would escape, or the locusari and Arlmagnava
would tear me apart.

I flung out my arms and shouted, releasing the power
I had summoned, and everything went black.

***

A long time later, I came back to myself.

I felt rough earth beneath my cheek, prickly with
fallen pine needles. The air blew past me in a cool breeze, heavy
with the smell of pine trees. I felt the length of my staff against
my right hand, and after a moment I found the strength to lift my
head and sit up.

I was exactly where I had fallen in the forest. Yet
there was no trace of Arlmagnava and her warrior drones. The
strange hazy translucency had vanished, as had the mist, and the
pine forest, the blue sky, and the snow-capped gray mountains were
sharp and clear around me.

I was no longer in the threshold.

I had reached the physical world of Andomhaim.

A surge of exultation went through me, and I pulled
myself to my feet. After fifteen centuries of searching, I had
found the way to the Keeper’s world. Now all I had to do was to
find the Keeper herself. Of course, an entire world was a large
place to search, but compared to spending fifteen hundred years
seeking for a way to travel to a new world, it seemed a small task
by comparison.

I would find her. I would warn her of the Frostborn
and beg her for forgiveness, to lift my curse at last.

And then perhaps I would finally remember my name
before I died.

Feeling more hope than I had in centuries, I set off
into the forest.

THE END

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***

A letter to the surviving kings, counts, and
knights of Britain:

I am Malahan Pendragon, the bastard son of Mordred,
himself the bastard son of Arthur Pendragon, the High King of all
Britain.

You know the grievous disasters that have befallen
our fair isle. My father betrayed my grandfather, and perished upon
the bloody field of Camlann, alongside many of the mightiest
knights and kings of Britain. Before that came the war of Sir
Lancelot’s treachery and the High Queen’s adultery, a war that slew
many noble and valiant knights.