"I'm sorry. But even if I did, they wouldn't do you much good after this."
Senya still knelt with her back to him. Was she angry with him? And why were they here in front of this silent assembly of somber-looking elves?
"Senya?" he called.
Aunn shifted between them. "Uh, Gaven-"
Senya stood slowly and spread her arms to the assembled elves. Her skin had an unhealthy pallor he didn't like, and he started to his feet behind her, but Aunn pulled him back down.
"She's not well," Gaven whispered.
Aunn shook his head.
"Sons and daughters of Aerenal," Senya said-but it wasn't Senya speaking, it was her ancestor's voice, speaking in clear Elven. She was channeling the spirit of her ancestor again, as she had the night before. "I thank you for your concern for this temple of your ancestors and for your priestess, my daughter Senya. I am sorry to inform you that Senya Alvena Arrathinen is dead."
Gaven bolted to his feet. "Dead?"
Aunn took his arm and pulled him back to his knees. "It appears you killed her as well."
CHAPTER 32
Flames erupted from the Gatekeeper seal, just ahead of Elestrissa's charge. The Mosswood Warden stumbled as though an arrow had hit her, and Rienne's first impulse was to scan for the archer. Then the flames raced along the lines of the seal, forming a wall of terrible fire encircling the battlefield, burning in every color and no color at all, and Rienne understood. The seal was broken, the battle lost, just as victory came within their grasp.
"We are undone," Elestrissa said, her pace faltering.
"Keep going," Rienne said. "We might still defeat the Blasphemer, keep him from breaking the next seal."
"It is not to be. Your dream-"
"Damn my dream! I'm writing my own destiny today."
Elestrissa seemed to take heart, but she couldn't match her earlier pace, and Rienne surged ahead. Maelstrom was a whirlwind of steel surrounding her, cutting a path through a fresh wall of barbarian resistance.
Then she heard the voice.
It was a high keening, like a woman mourning or the call of a falcon, and it seemed to sing in her mind as much as in her ears. Beneath it was the merest hint, beyond hearing, of a thousand unearthly voices babbling, which reminded her of the inhuman sounds of the Soul Reaver's hordes at Starcrag Plain. The voices were drawing nearer, like a dragon eel slowly surfacing in dark water.
One challenge at a time, she told herself. First the Blasphemer, and after that-if there is an after-I can deal with whatever is coming through the seal.
Barbarians fell away from her like water before the prow of a ship. Elestrissa, at least, was still behind her. If others survived, they were straggling farther behind, caught in the mire of the barbarian hordes.
She saw the Blasphemer, silhouetted against a wall of dragonfire, and her dream sprang to life around her. He was a towering figure in blood-spattered plate armor, twisting horns rising above his fiendish visage. A long tail snaked out behind him as he strode toward her, behind the last remnants of his personal defenders.
He spoke, and his voice rang in her ears above the din of battle. "So here is the one they are calling Dragonslayer, the bearer of Barak Radaam." He pointed his own curved sword at her, and she felt a twinge of fear. "Destroy her!" he shouted, and the barbarians around him roared in fury as they surged ahead.
Maelstrom sprang back into motion, parrying every blow that came at her, killing in a ruthless rhythm. Maelstrom whirled and Rienne danced, her body and the steel blade in perfect coordination-a step, a parry, a jab, a jump. Then the Blasphemer began a strange chant, words she didn't recognize, words that couldn't possibly be words in any mortal tongue, and pain stabbed through her ears. Her feet faltered, nearly sending her onto the point of a barbarian's sword, but Maelstrom accommodated, dashing the other sword aside and whirling around to take off its wielder's head.
Maelstrom wanted to get to the Blasphemer.
It was a strange realization. Rienne had never been inclined to personify her blade, as strongly attached to it as she was. It was precious to her, but it was steel, a weapon-not a person. It was an extension of her body and her will-she had never imagined it had a will of its own.
Perhaps it was merely that she had never before been this close to what Maelstrom apparently wanted. Or perhaps it had concealed its desire from her, all the while impelling her to follow the course that had brought her here. Had Maelstrom planted the idea in her head, when Jordhan rescued her from the Thaliost jail, to fly westward into the Reaches? Had it convinced her not to pursue Gaven when she saw his storms in the south? Was she the tool in Maelstrom's hand, the extension of its will, rather than the other way around?
Whether its influence had been absent or merely subtle in the past, there was no denying it now. When one barbarian fell, the blade led her into the open space left behind, drawing her closer to the Blasphemer. Every step away from him felt heavy, every step toward him easy and light. He was a force of gravity, drawing her in through her sword.
Why? she wondered.
As Maelstrom brought her closer to the Blasphemer, his maddening chant grew louder and her pain intensified with it. The words assaulted her, and blood began to trickle from her ringing ears. Suddenly, she understood the title he bore in the Prophecy-his words were a blasphemy, an utter denial of existence and meaning.
But the Blasphemer's end lies in the void, in the maelstrom that pulls him down to darkness.
The words of her dream renewed her courage. They also seemed to give her respite from the pain, so she tried speaking them aloud. "Dragons fly before the Blasphemer's legions, scouring the earth of his righteous foes." She could barely hear her own voice, but the pain in her ears faded-and she realized she couldn't hear the Blasphemer while she spoke, as though the words of the Prophecy negated his blasphemous chant. "Carnage rises in the wake of his passing, purging all life from those who oppose him."
He grinned as if he'd heard her, sharp white teeth gleaming in his red devil's face. She was almost to him now, close enough to see the sweat on his brow and feel the searing heat of the wall of flames behind him.
"Vultures wheel where dragons flew, picking the bones-"
The earth beneath her interrupted, rumbling, then shaking so violently that the barbarians surrounding her staggered into each other or fell on the ground. She rode the bucking earth, hopping lightly as she felled more of her enemies, drawing ever closer to the Blasphemer. But she expected to see the ground split open at any moment and release its brood of chaos, as it had at Starcrag Plain.
Instead, it erupted. Huge boulders streamed up from the ground and hurtled into the sky. Rienne watched in horror as a jagged shard flew skyward and crashed into Jordhan's airship. Wood splinters flew out from the ship in every direction, then the fiery elemental ring burst loose, turning the ship into a tiny sun, a blinding flash of light. Then the light and the ship were gone.
Rienne went numb. Maelstrom was a dead weight in her hand, and she couldn't feel the ground beneath her feet. If her heart still beat, she couldn't feel it-just the vise grip of dread clutching her chest. Jordhan was gone.
The rock had erupted near the center of the seal, and the largest boulders were falling back down in that area. Rienne thought of the healer who had tended her, the faithful elders and children who, unable to fight, had sought to sustain the seal with their devoted prayers. They were certainly lost, caught in either the erupting stone or its return.