Chapter 8

Mother lied to him.

It wasn’t the first time she’d done it. Tarrin had quite a little list of the time when Niami had outright lied, misdirected, half-spoke, hinted, or carefully worded her answers or responses in a way that they meant something completely different from how it sounded. She’d done it again, though this time, he wasn’t sure if she did it on purpose, or if she’d only given him half of an answer and wanted him to explore the rest of the answer for himself.

Tarrin flew through the Astral, wings outspread and bright, a beacon in the dull gray of the plane like a signal fire. He was the only solid object visible in any direction, but this was normal in the infinite expanses of this strange place, this unusual plane of nothingness that really served as nothing more than a means of travel between the Material planes and the outer planes. He felt the wings on his back, felt that they were nothing but creations, but also felt the presence of Niami within them…and that was the omission she’d left out. She told him all they would do was let him fly…well, that wasn’t entirely true. He could feel her through them, and since he’d already experimented, he knew that through them, he could use Sorcery outside of Sennadar. His wings were a direct gateway between him and Niami, between him and the Weave, and just like back in Pyrosia, he could use his wings to reach back into his homeworld and draw on the power of the Weave. He wasn’t sure why Niami didn’t tell him that. Maybe she wanted it to be a surprise—she loved to surprise him like that, or maybe she didn’t think it necessary enough to state. Either way, it was a welcome thing. There was going to come a time when he couldn’t depend on his command of the Firestaff, and in that moment, he rather preferred to be able to fall back on the power of Sorcery.

He left too soon. He’d had more questions, more people he wanted to see, but he just didn’t have any more time. He forgot to ask about Telven’s power, and if Shara was training him. He forgot to talk to Niami and Jenna about the exact layout of the fortifications around Dolanna, for that was information that he was going to need to know later. He forgot to get in touch with Sapphire to find out exactly how many dragons were going to be going to Sennadar. He forgot so many things to ask, but he’d been in such a hurry.

Not that there was any more time. He had to get to Acheron quickly and get the One’s cooperation. They were going to need him. Pyrosia needed him. It seemed so odd that Tarrin would be thinking that, that he was ready to accept the aid of someone like that, but…it was what needed to be done. And it wasn’t the first time, he realized. He’d taken in Jula, and at first he had hated her. He did what he had to do, and helping Jula, in its own way, helped him as well. He was certain that he’d never see the One as anything other than a necessary ally, but the very fact that he did understand the need for the One and was even now hurtling to Acheron to discuss the issue with him told him how much he had changed since those days.

To understand…sometimes, it was more of a curse than a blessing. No wonder mortals had it so easy. They were blissfully unaware of the fundamental truths of reality. And though he was again a mortal, he still remembered, in that odd dreamlike quality like most of his memories from his time as a god’s soul, and that knowledge made him different than the others. He was a mortal who understood, understood what mortals weren’t really meant to know. It didn’t make him any less of a mortal, but it did make him something more than the rest of them.

Not that that wasn’t already true. He was the only living mortal in the multiverse that was once a god. He was unique, different from all the others, and that history could not help but leave its marks upon him. The knowledge of truth was but one of those marks, as much as the white fur on his right arm was the scar of reaching into a place that nobody had any business touching, probably the only non-Deva in the multiverse to have touched that place that did not exist, if only for the briefest of moments.

More water under the bridge. No matter how different he was from the others, he had a place, and that was all that mattered. He had children to care for, he had women who loved him, he had family, he had friends, and he had a place in the societies of his race and his order. He had a life…and all of this, all the scheming, all the machinations, it was all to get that life back. The destruction of the Demon Lord and the saving of Pyrosia from his ravages were important, but in that strangely selfish way that marked Tarrin sometimes, those were just steps along the path of the ultimate objective, and that was to get his life back. Ayise relenting to allow him to reclaim his mortality had been a very big step along both paths, the destruction of the Demon Lord and him getting his place back. It was either lucky happenstance or careful planning that one act moved to further both plans, depending on how one looked at it.

It still felt a little weird. Niami’s touch on him was back, and he was more aware of it than ever. It was a light finger in the back of his mind, that tenuous connection she used to keep with him at all times, but now he was more aware of it, more cognizant, able to feel it as a tangible thing. That touch on him allowed her to hear his every thought, allowed her to assense his condition. That touch wasn’t coming through the wings, it was something she had built into this body when she created it, something that didn’t require her active attention. The wings were a slightly different connection to her, a different thread leading back to the same source. Where the light touch on the back of his mind was very delicate, very gentle, very light, the connection between them fomented by the wings was very strong, almost like a rope that tied them together. Tarrin had always been a Priest of Niami, but these wings, they were more akin to the relationship between Miranda and Kikkalli.

In a way, the wings made him an Avatar of Niami, but not quite in the same way as other Avatars. Niami couldn’t act directly through him like Kikkalli could through Miranda, but she could channel her power into him using the wings as a bridge. That was why he could use Sorcery now, and he was fairly sure that if the situation was desperate enough, she could channel her direct power through them and act directly in this world. He wasn’t sure if the wings could withstand that kind of power, but it seemed theoretically possible.

It would certainly be useful. He could feel the Firestaff in his paw, its sentience thrashing and writhing against his mind, seeking to find a way to wriggle free of his grasp and flee from him, or maybe even use its power to strike at him, to kill him. The Firestaff knew what he was now, and it feared him like it feared nothing else in the multiverse. It knew, just as he knew, and it knew what he intended to do, and he knew that even though he could command the Firestaff, it was best if he didn’t depend on it. He could use its power to challenge the Demon Lord directly, but if he tried that, he was running a terrible risk. The more powerful of a task he commanded of it, the stronger it resisted his command, and the more power he allowed it to call forth, which gave it more strength to fight against him. If he demanded too much of it, allowed it to call on too much of its own power that was usually locked away from itself, it could break free…and if it did that, it would either escape from him or turn on him. And if he was using it against something like a Demon Lord, well, that would be a fatal situation.

But the conditions that brought Tarrin into his situation was a shackle around the Firestaff, binding it to Tarrin’s will, sealing it to him in a way that made it impossible for it to free itself from him, so long as he was careful not to overextend himself. It would rage and struggle, but so long as Tarrin’s will remained strong, it was helpless against him.

That strange girl, the one that had given him that book in the library…he’d seen her somewhere before. He was sure of it. He knew that face. But it still escaped him, just where he had seen her before. Regardless, he needed to find her and kiss her for giving him that book. If not for that book and the information within, he would probably be dead now, and the Demon Lord would be ravaging Pyrosia.

Odd, that. Mother Wynn and that girl, two faces from his past—at least he was pretty sure the girl was from his past, even if he couldn’t pin down exactly where he’d seen her—showing up out here, helping him. Just who were they? And who were they working for?

There was a speck of darkness disrupting the featureless gray of the Astral before him, and he knew before he could even make it out that it was the color pool that would lead him to Acheron. He tucked his wings just slightly and increased his speed, feeling a little better with his scheduling. He knew there wasn’t much time, and though it seemed that his trip through the Astral had taken a long time, the reality was that it took little time at all. Time worked differently in this place. Though he’d been moving for many hours, maybe as much as two days, in reality only a half a day had passed back on Sennadar. Time moved slower here than in other places, though the perception of time here did not change.

The color pool raced upon him, and then he plunged through it after slowing down just before reaching it, for he didn’t know what was on the other side and didn’t want to hurtle into any physical objects. There was that strange tingling sensation as he passed through, and then the swirling color around him parted to reveal the plane of Acheron.

It was a bleak place. He appeared from the pool about twenty spans in the air over a perfectly flat plain of bare black rock with a lone conical mountain in the distance, a dark basalt that had the consistency of iron, with the color pool glowing dimly behind him. The sky was a kind of very dark red above him, like the color of the sky just after sunset, and there were several massive cubic blocks floating in the sky overhead. The light emanating from that featureless red sky was dim and weak, but was more than enough for him to see comfortably.

He remembered what he read of this place. Acheron was known as the Ironshod Battleground, a void of air-filled space that stretched on to infinity in every direction. It wasn’t filled with worlds or planets, it was filled with vast, continent-sized cubic basalt blocks of various sizes, from as large as a Sennadar moon to as small as one of the Stormhaven Isles. They were six-sided black cubes that drifted in the void, and most of them were populated with the souls of the dead who had come to this place, though some were not. Unlike most Outer Planes, there were actually very few gods here; most of the souls inhabiting this plane were here of their own design, the souls of mortals who during the course of a war lost sight of the objective, became so consumed by war that war became an act unto itself. Those souls were known as the spirit legions here, a vast army of soldiers who fought solely for the sake of fighting. Whenever two blocks drifted together, the inhabitants of each block would do war upon the other block, a pointless, fruitless exercise of futility given that the spirit warriors could never truly die; when a spirit warrior was slain, he would return to life the next day. If one group conquered another block, all the warriors on that block joined that army and then waited until another block touched theirs, to boil forth and assault that one. Even if there was some way for one group to conquer all of Acheron, there was no allied group larger than the population of one block; spirit warriors on another block did not hold alliances to those on other blocks. If there were too many soldiers to fit on one block, they split into two groups, the blocks drifted apart, and then those two sides who had been allies now considered each other enemies. That aspect of their nature made theirs an eternal exercise in futility, for they could never conquer the entire plane, and thus their war would never end. This was the plane of endless war, a plane where wars were fought for the sake of war itself, and in a way, this place was a poignant lesson for those who fought for the sake of fighting.

A place of mindless futility.

Gravity in this place was subjective, he recalled reading. Each block had its own gravity, but once one left the block and got far enough away, its sphere of influence ended and one would be weightless, like in the Astral.

A bleak, uninviting place, isn’t it? the voice of Niami touched him, reaching through the link she again held with him now that he was mortal.

“Not a place I’d like to come to again,” he agreed with a grim tone, looking around. He lifted the Firestaff and held it aloft. “Show me. Which direction is the One?”

The artifact struggled and raged, but again, it found itself no match for the power of the will of Tarrin Kael. It sullenly capitulated and caused a line of light to issue forth from its end, which pointed above and to the left and slightly behind him.

I’m surprised you use that thing in that manner.

“As long as it’s small, yes, I’ll use it,” he answered. “The bigger effect I try to make it do, the harder it resists. That’s why I can’t depend on it. If I try to use it to do something major, it might manage to break free, or delay at a critical moment.”

And you intend to use it to protect yourself from the One? she asked, then she laughed. Well, I’ll trust you on this one, my kitten. I’ll just have the same faith in your luck that you do. But let me get on to why I’m talking to you. You need to be very careful here, kitten. You have no entered a Lower Plane. Kitten, Demons can travel freely through any Lower Plane, and the Firestaff is a beacon of power that they can feel from vast distances. Do not expect an easy journey to the One’s domain. I’m honestly surprised that you didn’t have to fight your way out of the color pool arrival area. Demons usually keep a sentry near a color pool to keep track of who is entering and leaving Lower Planes. There might be a Demon watching you right now, and that Demon can call in reinforcements.

“I understand, Mother,” he said, bringing out a tendril of flame from each wing. He held the Firestaff up and grabbed it with both tendrils, then pulled it up and over his head, then settled it against the tops of the base of his wings, which freed up both paws. His wings grew over the Firestaff to hold it securely in place. “I can handle it.”

I dare say you can, but don’t forget that you have me, she told him. You are my Priest, and though this is a Lower Plane, this is not the Abyss. You can banish Demons here just as you can on Sennadar. The Outer Planes have different rules for Priest magic, you can cast any spell I deign to grant you, outside of some minor rules regarding certain spells that have no bearing on your situation.

“I remember the ritual formula Miranda used,” he told her.

There was a startled silence. Tarrin! That’s very clever! She complemented with a laugh. That would work, but be warned, it will leave you weak and exhausted afterwards. But if you find yourself beset by an army, that would be a viable defense. Just don’t use it unless you see no other way.

“Oh, I won’t, Mother,” he said, reaching into his magically reinforced belt pouch. He withdrew a piece of grayish cloth.

Kitten, is that wise?

“Like you said, Mother, the Demons have an advantage here,” he told her, unfolding it enough to open up the Portable Hole. He set it on the ground, unfolded it once more, and then reached inside. “Because of your forward thinking, I know that my amulet and Cat’s Claws work here. They’re getting their power through my wings. And since my amulet works, I want this literally at my fingertips if I need it. It won’t do me much good if I really need it, and I have to fish it out of the Portable Hole to get it.”

The touch of it was electric, tingling his paw as he took hold of the bow of the Solar, felt the power in it, and felt the touch of…holiness. This was a weapon crafted by the hand of the God of Gods Himself, and Tarrin could feel that lingering trace in it. With great reverence, he removed the bow from the Portable Hole. It was a beautiful bow, a compound longbow made of some kind of white wood, with gold bands along the arch of the bow, and a crafted grip for the hand. It had been made for a thirteen span tall Solar, and Tarrin’s oversized paw made it a perfect fit for him. It was the same size as an Aldreth longbow to him. The bowstring glittered like diamond, and it was clear it was made of some material he’d never seen before. But just to see it wasn’t to fully appreciate the power lingering within that weapon. The touch of the God of Gods was on this weapon, a weapon blessed by Him, and he knew that he had to respect the bow, honor the hand that made it, and not abuse its power. Though he had gained the bow through treachery, he had to honor the ideals of the maker.

It’s quite lovely, Niami intoned. Can you feel it?

“Yes, Mother,” he said reverently. “I can feel it. I couldn’t possibly not feel it. The power of the God of Gods lingers in this weapon.”

That’s why no one other than a Solar or you can touch that bow, kitten. The hand of the Overgod would strike down any who dared touch that weapon that wasn’t a Solar. Your status as a mi’shara allows you to escape that fate.

Tarrin set the bow down on top of the edge of the Portable Hole, safe in the fact that nobody could run up and take it, then withdrew the quiver. There was a similar sensation in it, a lingering trace of the power of He who had made it. It had a full supply of arrows within, arrows that would instantly kill any who was struck by it. The quiver had no leather straps or belt. “Mother, could I impose on you?”

What do you need, kitten?

“A harness. I want the quiver to go here,” he said, reaching over his shoulder and patting the area of his back between his wings. I’d Conjure one, but I wouldn’t even think of trying something like that here.”

She laughed lightly, and he felt her power surge through his wings. A double-crossed harness appeared in his paw, a leather harness with golden buckles on each of the two straps. “Perfect, thank you,” he said, holding it out to look at it. He attached the quiver to the harness, then used his wings a third arm to seat the quiver snugly between his wings, at least after the Firestaff moved out and away to give him room, held between his wings away from his body. Claws slitted his leather vest and the straps were passed through to allow him to buckle the harness against his chest without it getting in the way.

Once that was done, he sent the quiver into the elsewhere, but not the harness. He picked up the bow, felt that tremendous power, and was again awed and humbled by it. Was this how the Solar felt every time he took hold of this weapon? Then again, the Solar probably wasn’t as intimidated as Tarrin was; he was almost afraid to use it, terrified that he might use it in a way that the God of Gods would deem to be wrong. But there was…something. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but there was a sense of the feeling in the bow that it wasn’t offended by him, that it seemed quite content to be in his possession. He wasn’t quite sure why that was so, or if that was an aspect of him being a mi’shara or what. He had no doubt that He knew that Tarrin had the bow; after all, he was the God of Gods, and he was omniscient, and even if that wasn’t enough, the Deva would have reported the incident to him by now. And since it was a foregone conclusion that He knew Tarrin had the bow, and had not either sent Deva to reclaim it or acted directly to recover it…maybe He wanted Tarrin to have it. Or perhaps he was just holding back to see what the Deva would do, testing them by giving them an unusual situation.

Or maybe Tarrin just needed to stop trying to fathom the mind of the greatest being in the entire multiverse and accept the situation with grace and humility. He had the bow, the God of Gods hadn’t taken it from him, so it was time to use it. He’d gone through a lot of trouble to get it, and he was going to face some major punishment when all of this was over and he gave it back. So, in typical Were-cat fashion, it was time to live in the moment.

Tarrin had to free up his left paw space in the elsewhere, so it took a little juggling. Eventually, Tarrin had everything arranged. The bow of the Solar vanished from his left paw, sent comfortably into the elsewhere, ready a second’s notice if he needed it. He took one more thing out of the Portable Hole, and that was the violet crystal visor he favored when flying. It really did help keep the wind off his eyes, but its tinting would be a problem out here. He touched on the power of Sorcery, setting his will not against the Weave, but against his wings, and called forth the power of Niami through them. He wove a spell of Earth and Divine, snapped it down, and released it into the visor, which leeched away its violet tinting and left it clear…which was necessary here in this dimly lit place. He put it on, folded his Portable Hole back up, put it away, then reached up and took hold of the Firestaff as his wings brought it to his paw. “You can do one more thing for me, if you don’t mind, Mother.”

What is that, kitten?

“I was thinking about what you and Jenna told me,” he said, his feet lifting from the bare, bleak rock by the power of his wings, and then he turned and soared in the direction the Firestaff had originally indicated, leaving the basalt cube upon which he had arrived behind him. “If most of the Demons that can fly have been killed, then it’s just silly to ignore the air. It would be a major tactical advantage.”

It seems years with those wings have given you a new outlook, she noted with an amused tilt.

“Actually, it was when I was able to shapeshift into a dragon,” he told her. “Attacking from the air was a huge advantage. You told me that Kerri brought over a flying device to use on a riverboat so she could move fast to find a piece of my sword.”

She did. She’s still trying to find it, though. The shard is somewhere in the northern mountains, which are so high that they’re covered with snow year round. Right now, Keritanima’s fighting the weather to find the shard.

“Good, they work. Here’s what I’d like you to do, Mother, if you would please. Get in touch with Kerri, and have her send down an order to have a large number of sailors on hand ready to take over manning some ships for me, and station them in Suld. And if you would, round up any of those silly War Sorcerers that are still on Sennadar that like to pretend they’re soldiers, as well as enough Sorcerers to handle a short invasion. If they want to play war, I’m going to give them one. When I get back to Sennadar, we’re declaring war on Zakkar.”

Zakkar? Why Zakkar, kitten?

“Zakkite Skyships,” he said calmly. “Flying ships are a major tactical advantage, and Zakkite ships are specifically designed for flying, unlike just sticking a flying device on a galleon or clipper. If I’m taking them into a battle, I want ships designed to handle the stresses of combat maneuvers. Round me up a force to capture Skyships, get some Wikuni to Suld to take over manning them, and tag every da’shar left in Sennadar and assign them to a ship so they can make it fly. Also, I have a special favor to ask.”

Which is? I’m almost aflutter with anticipation, she told him with a wickedly amused tilt to her voice.

“I figure the best place I can find Skyships in a hurry is Zakkar’s capitol,” he began, “I remember reading that all their shipyards are there, as well as all their naval reserves. If I want ships, that would be the place to strike. But I can’t Teleport there. What I’d like you to do is find either the Star of Jerod or the Dancer, pick it up, and drop it in the harbor at Zakkar. I can Teleport right to the deck.”

My, that’s quite clever, kitten, but you know I can’t do something like that. However, I do know a Sorcerer that’s been to Zakkar, and can land a Circle near the harbor. Would that be satisfactory?

“That would be more than satisfactory, Mother,” he said with a nod. “Also, if you would please, have Kerri send down a command to put the flying devices back on any Skyships the Wikuni captured and have sitting around that are airworthy, and have Jenna organize a way to move them to Suld.”

I’ll see to it, she told him.

“Once we get them there and set up, we can shrink them and Teleport them to the gate, then send them through.”

Jenna is going to kill you, kitten, she laughed. You know that you and her are the only two that can cast that spell that are on Sennadar. That’s sui’kun magic.

“I’ll help shrink them,” he protested. “We can load those ships with extra troops and get them moving. I think it’d only take them about five days to reach Pyros once we get them through. That gives us plenty of time to capture quite a few before we need to get them moving.”

Closer to seven days, but yes, we’d have time. That is certainly a clever idea, kitten. I’ll see to it that everything’s ready when you get back.

“I just hope I don’t have to go too far to find the One,” he grunted. “I know that just flying there may take me months, but I can’t think of any other way to get there quickly.”

Then it’s a good thing you talked to me, she noted. Kitten, you have access to Sorcery there. Think. You can Teleport.

“I know, but I can’t go anywhere here, Mother. I’ve never been here.”

Kitten, she chided. Think.

He pondered. Teleport. He wasn’t grounded anywhere here, so he couldn’t Teleport anywhere—

If he used those rules. The first conditonal ruleset of Teleportation would certainly apply here, including the ability to Teleport to any location he could see! And in this place, with the blocks floating in the sky and plenty of space between them, he could Teleport to the horizon, Teleport to the very edge of the limits of his vision, jumping vast distances in the blink of an eye! And given his robustness when it came to Sorcery, he could Teleport in a chain for a very long time before he got tired, which would allow him to travel extreme distances before he had to rest.

“Alright, I feel stupid,” he admitted.

I’ll forgive you this time, she teased with a silvery laugh. After all, you’re still getting used to being a mortal again. All those silly rules and whatnot, she added.

“Be nice,” he grunted, which made her laugh. He looked to the very limits of his vision between two overhead blocks, the far, far distant horizon, then wove the spell of Teleportation. He felt the magical tendrils of the spell, invisible to any but his eyes, lance forth from his wings at a speed that defied rational explanation, reaching out to that other place that he could see. Those tendrils wrapped around that spot, encompassed him, and then transposed those two points. In the blink of an eye, Tarrin was a staggering distance away, still moving forward. After getting his bearings and refocusing on the new horizon, he did it again, then again, then again, jumping great distances in a short time. He then held the Firestaff out before himself and commanded it “show me.” It sent a stream of light before him, showing him the way to go, and he saw that he was generally on course. “I think I have the hang of it now, Mother. Thanks for reminding me.”

Any time. Be careful out there, kitten. Come home safe.

“I will,” he assured her, and then he felt her retreat from him, a poignant sensation that told him that she was done speaking to him, that her attention was now elsewhere.

It was a fast and efficient means of travel, and the nature of it created a cushion of relative safety for him, given that he moved hundreds of longspans every moment in leaps and bounds…but safe was a relative concept in a place where Demons could freely enter.

For two days, Tarrin had jumped by leaps and bounds through Acheron, using his endurance to Teleport himself constantly for hours at a time, then stopping to rest for a while before continuing his journey. It was a tedious business…or at least he preferred it to be tedious. In two instances, it was not tedious. And those two little encounters taught him a valuable lesson about being more careful.

The first little episode had been just him not paying as much attention as he should. There indeed had been a Demon near the color pool watching him, and somehow, they had managed to figure out what he was doing. One of them, probably a marilith or a nalfeshnee or a glabrezu, one of the smarter ones, had actually managed to mathematically predict just where he was going to be using the distance he traveled every jump and how often he did it, taking into account detours he had to make around blocks. Tarrin had no idea how this Demon managed to figure it out, but its calculations were pretty darn accurate, because he Teleported literally into the middle of a swarm of Demons that had been waiting for him.

He came a hair’s breadth from appearing inside a hovering vrock, which would have killed both of them instantly. Tarrin was startled for a split second, but seeing a vrock’s poleaxe coming right for his head woke him up very, very quickly. He just barely managed to slither to the side, and he spent a long and frenzied moment of chaotic evasion getting himself into a position where he could take stock of the situation and get a handle on what was going on. He used the weightless environment and his own innate flying ability to utmost advantage against the swarm of Demons, using superior maneuverability to dodge, evade, block, and parry weapons and claws with his Cat’s Claws and the Firestaff, using it as a weapon. He dodged a multitude of attacks from every direction, even above and below, and things were so fast, so chaotic, he had no idea how many there were or what kinds. Tarrin defended himself until one of them used its innate magical powers to unleash a withering blast of cold at him, a cold that bit into him like a thousand little teeth as the cone of magical cold inundated him. Tarrin’s wings responded to that cold by flaring with sudden light and heat, sending a surge of wonderful warmth through him, thawing frozen skin and tissue. The magical attack had hurt, had hurt a lot, but the fire of Tarrin’s wings offset the freezing of his flesh and allowed him to keep fighting without being crippled or impaired. But Goddess did it sting.

That made him angry.

The ensuing melee made Tarrin feel like he was right at home again. In a blink of an eye, he was again attuned to his mortal form, performing the moves of the Dance with only slightly modification due to the fact that his feet did not rest on solid ground, that he was hovering weightless in a void. Even as he parried a hard chop of a glaive, he wove a Ward around himself that stopped all magic that was not Sorcery, then wove it against itself in such a way that it would remain until he removed it himself. He then turned on the vrock holding the glaive and ripped flesh and bone away with the claws of Cat’s Claws, slithered up and aside to avoid the stabbing proboscis of a chasme, then struck it right across the face with the Firestaff as he held it in one paw, wielding it like a club, the reddish-black stone of the artifact shattering the creature’s exoskeleton and sending greasy ichor flying off in a grisly arc from the mortally wounded Demon. He parried the pincers of a glabrezu with the Firestaff after taking it back in both paws but leaving the Cat’s Claws out on his left paw, deflected the glaive of a vrock with the Cat’s claws, ducked under the clawed swipe of a nabassu, then unleashed his wings against the babau that was trying to impale him from behind with his barbed harpoon. Lances of solid fire erupted from the backs of his wings and sliced into the Demon like a hundred arrows, causing the Demon to gurgle its last just before the multitude of fiery spears yanked in every direction, ripping the Demon apart, leaving a grisly spray of black ichor in a wide arc behind the Were-cat. With an infuriated howl, Tarrin surged forward and smashed the Firestaff into the face of the glabrezu, shattering its ugly dog-like maw and sending it tumbling away into the void.

“Don’t you idiots ever learn?” Tarrin screamed as he twisted aside from another attempt to spear him with the glaive, then slashed his claws at the vrock’s face with his white-furred paw in a reflexive retaliatory swipe, a swipe that would cause no harm, but Tarrin’s reaction was instinctive, and his intent was to distract, not to injure. Tarrin aimed his paw at the Demon’s eyes to make it flinch and give him some time.

His claws did not simply scrape across its gnarled skin and beak. The claws penetrated Demon flesh and ripped a quartet of gaping tears in the Demon’s face, taking out both of its eyes. Black blood flew in an arc with his attack, and the Demon howled in agony and convulsed as it was driven backwards, driven into a tumbling spin by the force of Tarrin’s blow.

All of the Demons stopped. They gaped at him in shock. Despite Tarrin being a mi’shara and having magical constructions on his back, the simple fact that he was a mortal was a fact that could not be denied. As a mortal, Tarrin had no power to harm a Demon with his bare claws…and yet he had.

White fur…of course! The scar! It was the lingering remnant of what was done to him when he reached into the home dimension of the Deva, it was a power that was utter anathema to the Demons! Tarrin’s altered arm carried within it a lingering touch that was holy, and it was the bane of the unholy. The arm had no special power, but the scar itself was all the power it needed to deal such pain to the Demons who tasted its touch.

Tarrin held up that paw and showed it to the cadre of Demons that now gave him a cushion of space after his savage counterattack. “Is this what you want, Demons?” he raged at them. “Then HERE!”

Simultaneously, Tarrin altered the Ward, transforming it into an area of effect that prevented all but Priest magic and Sorcery, and then started chanting in the language of the gods, chanting the words of the spell of Banishment. The Demons recognized that spell immediately, shook off their surprise, and surged towards him in a harried attempt to disrupt that spell before he could complete it. However, none of them could match Tarrin’s effortless agility in that non-gravity void. Tarrin’s power of flight was innate and complete, giving him absolute mastery in that environment, moving with unmatched grace as he evaded their onslaught, sliding out of reach even as he continued to chant the words. They tried to reach him desperately, but they realized that it was not enough. They tried to Teleport away, and found their powers defeated.

“In the name of Niami, Goddess of magic, I abjure ye, creatures of darkness!” Tarrin’s voice boomed as he completed the spell and issued the spoken edict of command, words backed by the boundless power of Niami herself. They shattered the silence of Acheron like a Wikuni cannon. “Return to the pit that spawned ye, or face the wrath of my Goddess! BEGONE!” his voice cracked, and then his wings flared with blinding white light, brighter than the sun, like a blazing star in the featureless black sky of Acheron. The Demons shrieked in pain when that light touched them, burned them, pierced them, shattering the bodies they had made in Acheron and sending them hurtling back into the Abyss. Even the glabrezu that had been knocked back from the battle was destroyed, touched by the holy light that burned forth from Tarrin’s wings, as Niami used them as a gateway to unleash her holy might into Acheron to destroy the Demonic attackers.

Just like that, it was over. All the Demons were destroyed, exiled back to the Abyss, leaving Tarrin alone in the void, surrounded by smoldering black ichor, sizzling in the open void, forming clouds of acrid smoke that expanded in pearly spheres around the remains that decayed within them.

Tarrin looked down at his right arm, with its white fur and golden claws, and then he smiled maliciously. Thank Niami for small favors. This scarred arm was good for something more than making him look asymmetrical. The lingering after-effect of reaching into the home dimension of the Deva gave it a shadow of that holy power, like a coating of water on his arm after reaching into a pond, and that power made his right arm a magical weapon, capable of dealing true injury to creatures that could only be harmed by magic.

Oh, was this an interesting and welcome little development.

“Now I am Demon’s Bane,” Tarrin whispered to himself, staring at his right arm. “Just like my shadow.”

It certainly seemed fitting, at least to him.

The skirmish with the Demons had been a slap in the face to keep him from getting too cozy out here. After all, this was more or less their backyard, and he couldn’t underestimate their cunning. Just because they were vicious, it did not mean they were stupid. He had to be more careful.

After that, he started varying the distance he traveled, and also occasionally made a Teleport jump laterally to mix things up and prevent them from predicting his movements with quite such accuracy.

The second incident was much more ominous than the first, and gave him a very small taste of what he might face when he stood before the One in all his terrible glory, for Tarrin wandered into the Realm of another god. And that god did not take kindly to Tarrin’s presence.

He had just completed a Teleport jump around one of the many blocks that floated in this place. He’d seen quite a few of them and paid them little mind, for the spirit legions on the blocks couldn’t reach him. He’d seen quite a few of them on their blocks, and saw that they looked up at him. He’d even gone around a few battles in progress where blocks had drifted together and were touching, which caused the armies on those blocks to boil forth and do war upon each other. This time, however, he had appeared very close to a block that had been hidden behind the other, close enough for the block’s gravity to take hold on him…and that block, much larger than most of the others, almost like a planet looming before him, was occupied by a god. Or gods, in this case.

The legions doing battle below him on that massive block were divided into two races that he could see, Waern and some strange race he’d never seen before, but looked like a strange kind of Bruga that was slightly larger than normal. The Waern were laying siege to a massive iron citadel near the edge of the block, which was being held by the Bruga-like creatures. Tarrin would have been curious, but his earlier scrape with the Demons had taught him to just stay away from everyone else.

That probably saved his life.

Just as he was snapping down and releasing a spell of Teleportation, he felt it. One of the gods down there had noticed him, and he could actually feel the sudden surge of power around him, even as he was moving between points, trapped in the execution of the spell that moved him to a new place. He felt that power try to reach into his magic and yank him back even as he appeared at his landing point, and it would have worked, had Tarrin not frantically raised up the Firestaff and commanded it to make it stop. The Firestaff surged with power, so much power that it found a sudden strength to resist him. Tarrin had to clamp down his will on the artifact and fight it for control, a struggle that lasted only an instant, but felt like an eternity. The Firestaff writhed against his will, trying to wriggle free of him, but it could not find enough room to get free. Tarrin’s paw clamped down on it in a vicelike grip even as his will smothered the resistance that calling its power had imparted into it, and it obeyed him. The power of the Firestaff smacked those magical hands reaching back through his spell, slapped them away and forced them to withdraw, which caused its hold on his magic to relent and the spell to end.

Tarrin could almost hear the howl of surprise, and it made him sincerely afraid…so afraid he immediately Teleported again, then again, and once again, in random directions, just to move away from that spot and any kind of attempt by that god to track him down and exact vengeance. Then he again turned to his route to the One and Teleported several times in a matter of moments, motivated by fear to push himself too far too fast, and exhaust himself. By the time he was done, he was over a thousand longspans away, and he had to stop and rest.

That was a harsh lesson for him. He was only a mortal, no matter how much power he possessed, and a god could hang him out to dry if he got caught unawares…and maybe even if he was expecting it. He had little doubt that that god could have come after him, but Tarrin got the feeling that now that he was away from that god’s domain, that god really didn’t care about him anymore. It was his proximity that caused that action.

That encounter had him much more worried than the idea that he might be ambushed again by Demons, for he would have to confront a god...a god that would most certainly attack him the instant he realized that Tarrin was there. It caused Tarrin to slow down a little, to take that period of rest and use it to prepare himself for what he knew was coming. He had to be ready. He couldn’t just blunder into the One’s realm blindly and get attacked before he knew what was going on, or he was going to die.

He spent more time than he should have, but then again, hurrying was going to pointless if he got slaughtered like so much livestock when he reached his destination. He went through the concentration exercises that Allia taught him to quell his doubts and fears and focus himself on the task at hand. He then spent some time attuned to the Firestaff to get a much better understanding of the feel of its power, so he could react before it tried to rebel and keep control of it.

That was not pleasant. The Firestaff had a personality of sorts, but it was utterly alien in nature to him. But that personality…it was everything that Tarrin would call evil. It reveled in destruction, it wanted nothing else, and its every moment was consumed in a single-minded desire to undo. Everything it did was to further the goal of destruction, to unmake what was made and return the multiverse to the chaos from whence it came.

It was then that Tarrin understood what he had always known. The Firestaff was an artifact of Entropy. Tarrin himself was a child of Entropy, but his Entropic aspect was much more controlled, much more refined, and it was only one part of a greater whole. Tarrin was Entropic because as a mi’shara, he might need to break the rules of the universe to complete his task, something that only an Entropic could accomplish. And in a way, his aspect of Entropy was necessary in order to preserve the greater good, for sometimes things happened that required someone that could break the rules to fix things. Tarrin was a mortal with Entropic qualities, but the Firestaff was a pure object of Entropy. It existed for the sole reason to destroy all that which was created, but it never acted directly. That was not its way. Its way was to grant power to others and allow them to destroy in its stead, exploiting the weakness in the results of Creation to cause the victim to destroy its own world in the throes of its newfound power. It sought to destroy by using Creation against itself, as if to prove the folly of Creation and the need to destroy it and return all to Entropy.

How close that had come to happening on Sennadar. Val had nearly destroyed the world when he became a god, and it was nearly destroyed when Tarrin used it to fight Val. If the Elder Gods had been forced to fight Val directly, they very well might have destroyed the world in the course of their battle…and going by what he was told, actually killing a god created by the Firestaff would be in and of itself an event that might destroy the world. From what he was told, it had taken the combined power of every god on Sennadar to contain the energy released when Tarrin destroyed both Val and himself.

Such a sinister method. Never acting directly, only acting through others, and allowing their weaknesses to do its work. The weak or the power-hungry would seek the power of the Firestaff, and they would get it. And then they would go mad with that power and bring about the end of all they knew. It made the Firestaff much more ominous than before, and Tarrin could see the efficiency of that approach. By keeping a “low profile” of sorts to escape the direct attention of the gods of whatever world it was on, hiding its true power, it managed to remain where it was. Gods would see it as a danger, but not the kind of danger that would require direct action. Tarrin doubted that even Niami or Ayise knew just how powerful the Firestaff was. It had power greater than any god, beyond them, almost unlimited in scope. But its will and its personality made it impossible for anyone to command that power, to go against the Firestaff’s wishes.

Except for Tarrin.

Certainly, he couldn’t command that full power. To cause it to bring that much power to bear would give it the strength to break free of him, and it would certainly escape from him, or try to kill him…but it couldn’t kill him directly. Tarrin was immune to its power now, a protection he gained when he became a mortal again. However, it most certainly could try to kill him indirectly. It could not strike at him, it could only try to engineer a means by which to bring about his destruction. It couldn’t directly blast him with its power, but it could, for example, grab two of the many blocks in Acheron and crush him between them.

Tarrin’s immunity to the Firestaff and his ability to control it were laid out in that book that that woman had given him. Tarrin was the only weakness of the Firestaff. The only being in the multiverse that was forever immune to its direct power was a mortal who had been granted the power of the Firestaff, then rejected it and returned to what they once were. Tarrin could never use the Firestaff to become a god again, but on the other tack, the Firestaff could not lash out at him directly with its power and try to do him direct harm. It could affect him with some kinds of magical power, but never its own raw power used directly, and only if he specifically wished it to be so…such as when he used it to mimic Druidic magic. That fact was the aspect of him that gave him his immunity, and it was the fact that he was Entropic that allowed him to command it. The Firestaff could not ignore requests from one of its own. That was how Eron could compel it, because he too was a mi’shara. Someone gaining immunity to the Firestaff was supposed to be impossible, but Tarrin wagered that the Firestaff had never seen Tarrin coming. An Entropic artifact had used its power on an Entropic-touched mortal, a being capable of breaking the rules of reality. Tarrin had found a way to do the impossible and regain his mortality, and the instant he had done so, he had gained immunity from its power, while returning to the role of mi’shara by becoming mortal again had given him the ability to compel the Firestaff as a fellow Entropic. That was why he had to be careful…his ability to compel only went as far as his ability to throttle the Firestaff’s will, and that willpower got stronger as it channeled more and more of its own power to complete a task.

That was why it was trying to escape from him, because it knew that Tarrin would be ready if it tried to kill him, and wasting time trying to kill him only gave Tarrin the time he needed to regain his mastery of the artifact.

Knowing that was a boon to him now, for it was helping him establish a line that he knew he could not cross, or the Firestaff was going to get free of him. The time attuning himself to the Firestaff had been productive, though it certainly had not been very pleasant. Tarrin felt like he was holding a diseased snake carcass in his paw now, something that made his skin creep to touch, now that he knew the truth of it.

It would serve him well, though. The Firestaff was the trump card in this last hand of King’s Cross with the One, and if he did things right, he would be victorious, the Demon Lord would be destroyed, and the Firestaff would be neutralized.

He felt he was ready now. He was rested from his maniacal scramble away from the realm of that god. His fears were calmed, he had a better understanding of the Firestaff and had a better grasp of just how far he could go with it, and he was centered and focused on the task at hand.

He raised the Firestaff before himself. “Show me,” he commanded, and he felt the Firestaff rebel, resist that command, even as it moved to obey. But in this, as with every other contest between them, the Firestaff learned that the will of Tarrin Kael was like steel, and would not budge a finger. It could not resist that irresistible force when it was applied to the Firestaff, and was compelled to obey. A stream of red light showed him the way.

Tarrin turned in that direction and ruffled his fiery wings slightly before bending to the task at hand. He had the feeling that he was close to the One now, and he had to make sure he remained vigilant and was ready.

For a bit over two days—as near as he could tell, since it was hard to keep track of time here—Tarrin had continued to move towards the One, staying focused on the task. But now he was hanging motionless in space, his face grim and his grip on the Firestaff white-knuckled…if one could see his knuckles under the fur on his paw.

He was here.

He could sense the One’s power, now that he was looking for it. It was a palpable force before him, emanating from a continent-sized block that was on the horizon before him. That was where the One was, and that was where he was going. But for some reason, the One had not reacted to Tarrin yet. Tarrin was certain that he knew Tarrin was there. He was a god after all, and if Tarrin could sense him from this distance, it seemed impossible to him that the One could not do the same.

This was it. This was the last major obstacle. Tarrin steeled himself, purged his mind of doubt and fear and worry and focused on a singular fact; he had to survive long enough to make the One listen, to get the One to talk, and not to fight. Tarrin’s grip on the Firestaff grew even tighter as he prepared himself, girded his will, prepared to test his ability to compel the Firestaff to its limit when he used it to protect himself from the One’s assault. Tarrin opened himself to his wings as well, fully awakening the connection between himself and Niami through the wings, gathering up his power and filling himself with the power of Sorcery, so he would have it on hand and able to use it instantly if the situation demanded it. His wings flushed with brilliant white light, a visible indication that he was saturating himself with the power of Sorcery.

There was nothing else for him to do. He couldn’t drag his feet, not now, not when time was an issue. He was ready, he was here…it was time to do this.

Tarrin Teleported to that block, ready for the fight of his life.

He appeared on the black stone block almost exactly in the middle, not far from a massive ivory citadel that rose so high into the sky that it looked like a vast mountain, on a flat plain of featureless black rock. The white stone of the citadel clashed with the black stone of the block, making it stand out like a cannon in a ballroom, as Keritanima might say. All around him, in neatly arranged camps, were countless hordes of spirit legions, the spirits of the dead who had worshipped the One, and who were now soldiers in his eternal army that sought to conquer and rule. They sat around fires that burned without fuel, with tents and buildings built around each fire like a cell of a massive organism, as they patiently waited for the next block to touch theirs, as they waited for the chance to engage in another war. They all looked solid, looked like normal humans, but there was a soft nimbus of weak light around them which betrayed their true natures…and there was the fact that their eyes were nothing but pools of red light, like the eyes of a Hellhound.

Tarrin snapped out his wings and held the Firestaff like a weapon, and was already in the act of weaving a spell of Sorcery that would blast them all out of his vicinity…but they did not move. They just looked at him. They turned from where they were sitting and standing, and they just looked. They did not rise up and draw weapons. They did not charge forward. They just stared at him.

It was then that he felt it, and saw it on their faces.

Despair.

They did not rise up to attack because they did not have the heart to do so. They were in despair because the One was in despair, and their sorrow was an apathy that even prevented them from rising up to attack their most hated adversary, the one that had dealt their god a stinging defeat on Pyrosia.

The sorrow was like a pall laying upon the land, and it pulsed forth from that ivory citadel, where the One was located. Why such a reaction, though? Tarrin expected rage, fury, expected to be fighting a running war the instant he arrived and then desperately fighting for his life against a god when the One arrived and went berserk when his most hated foe was in his grasp. But this? Despair? Woe? Sorrow? This was the last thing he expected.

“One!” Tarrin shouted, turning to the citadel. “I need to talk to you!”

In an instant, he found himself standing in a vast hall so large that nearly the entire city of Torrian could fit inside it. It was the throne hall of the One, within his vast citadel. Tarrin felt no exercise of power. He was just suddenly there, and it made him wary. This was a god exercising his true power in his home realm, and it was something beyond any mortal’s comprehension. He looked around in surprise, and then saw the One, sitting on a throne made of the skulls of his enemies…an armored, winged human who looked just as he remembered from his ghostly recollections of being a demigod, with the white feathered wings, the long blond hair, the handsome visage. He looked just as he had appeared with his icon. He was slumped forward, elbows on knees, and his face buried in his hands as he wept.

Did you come to gloat? Did you come to rub salt in my wounds, accursed one? the voice of the One spoke directly to his mind. Well get it over with! Here I am! Mock me, degrade me, remind me of my failings, and remind me that I will soon lose all my precious children and will be no more!

This was the absolute last thing that Tarrin had ever dreamed that he might be facing. The One had given up, had lost hope. Then again, things on Pyrosia were not good. He had unleashed a force into his homeworld that nobody could stop, and in a way, he had reason to feel despair. There truly was nothing there that could reasonably stop the Demon Lord from destroying Pyrosia, and his very existence was in dire jeopardy. But instead of losing himself to anger, the One had instead lost himself to remorse. Tarrin couldn’t fathom the mind of a god, for they were too far beyond him…but he could understand the emotions that the One was feeling, because mortals and gods shared those emotions. Niami had told him that, long ago, that emotion was the binding aspect between mortals and gods, the one thing that they had in common.

“Things aren’t written in stone quite yet, One,” Tarrin said cautiously, grounding the butt of the Firestaff on the alabaster floor. “That’s why I’m here. We’re going to fix things, you and me. We’re going to get rid of the Demon Lord.”

VILE CRUELTY! The one raged suddenly, his voice and anger so powerful that it gave Tarrin an instant, pounding headache, so powerful that he felt the strength leech out of his legs, which caused him to drop to his knees. The One stood and pointed a single finger at Tarrin, and his face was twisted in a mask of rage. Your scorn or your laughter I could have endured, but not, not this! Not this! To toy with me so, for a mortal to make so audacious and punishing a declaration! I may come to be no more, but I will die with the sweet satisfaction of rending your soul from your body!

Now this was what he expected, and that expectation saved his life. Tarrin managed to command the Firestaff to protect him, even as the full, naked power of the One, unfettered by the constraints of an icon or the limits of a material plane, blasted forth and sought to deal him injury in ways that he could not even comprehend.

But Tarrin did not have to comprehend that power to defend himself from it, for the Firestaff could comprehend that power. Tarrin commanded it to protect him from the One, and the Firestaff struggled for a split second, tried to break free…but Tarrin had specifically prepared for this moment, and it found itself unable to wrest free of him, despite the sudden surge of power and the additional strength it gave to the artifact. The power of the Firestaff roared forth to form a protective sphere around the Were-cat, and the border of that sphere of protection suddenly erupted with clashes of red, white, and yellow light, as the power of the One found itself opposed by a power so vast, so infinite, that it rivaled his own. That opposing power did not attack. It only defended, protected the one within the center of that protection, offering forth only a barrier of resistance to the One’s power, a passive defense against which the One’s power raged in its full fury. The citadel itself began to shake as the power of the One conflicted with the power of the Firestaff, but where the One’s power sought to destroy, the Firestaff’s power only sought to protect…and the act of defense was always the most efficient means of use of power. It takes more energy to attack than it does to defend, son, Eron had told him so many times. The defender always has the advantage. It’s a universal truth, from a one on one contest to a battle between armies. It’s always the same.

It was a scary, scary moment. Tarrin felt the Firestaff grow stronger, and it began to fight him, resist, tried to break away and drop the circle of protection, which would have caused his instant death. Even as the One waged a battle of power against the Firestaff, the Firestaff waged a battle of wills against Tarrin. He felt it grow stronger and stronger, felt it rise up, felt it push back against him. Tarrin poured every iota of his strength into his battle, ignoring everything else. His entire world focused into a singular act, and that was exerting his will against the Firestaff, forcing it to obey him. Tarrin was so uncertain that he reacted out of reflex, calling on the power of Sorcery simultaneously and weaving a barrier of magic around himself as a last-gasp protection, should the Firestaff break free, pouring every mote of strength he had into it. It would be like paper before an avalanche, but at least Tarrin felt it might help.

For a terrible moment, it hung there, as the Firestaff was on the verge of overwhelming his will and breaking free, but in that same moment, the One reached the limits of his power, and could exert no more. With the plateau of power reached, the Firestaff could gain no more strength from drawing on more of its own power, and it found itself short by the thinnest of margins from breaking free of him. It could not overwhelm his will, and was thus forced to obey. The sphere of protection became adamant, impassable, and Tarrin knew in that moment, a moment of eternal relief for him, that he was safe.

The One’s power could not breach the protection of the Firestaff. The One withdrew his power, his face genuinely shocked, as he seemed at a loss as to how exactly the Were-cat had done something that was absolutely impossible. A mortal had matched the power of a god in his home realm.

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Tarrin panted, leaning heavily on the Firestaff with both paws, his skin pale and his face drained from the effort, his wings leeched of their white with the expenditure of that stored power. “As you can see, I came prepared for this. I expected you to attack me. By the nexus, I don’t blame you. If I were in that chair, I’d have attacked me too. So, since I’ve managed to stand up to everything you can throw at me, maybe you’ll see that I’m not joking, and I’m not trying to add insult to injury. I’m here to talk, One, not to fight. So let’s talk.”

Tarrin struggled to regain his feet, as the One seated himself back on his throne and regarded the Were-cat with strange respect.

Your display has earned you one chance to explain yourself, he told Tarrin evenly. For some reason, I cannot fathom your mind. I dare say it is because of what you hold in your hand. It even has the power to block me. He motioned at the Firestaff. So begin.

Struggling back to his feet, Tarrin explained his idea, and what role the One would play in it. The glowing eyes of the One widened in surprise more than once, and his expression turned from somber to…intrigued by the time Tarrin was done. “I already have everything,” Tarrin told him. “I’ve got it all set up, and all the pieces are nearly in place. I only have one more thing to do, and then it’ll just be a matter of going to Pyros and dealing with him. Are you interested?”

I have little choice in the matter, he answered immediately. If I refuse, I risk my own destruction. I have little doubt you would not blink more than once over the idea of eradicating my memory from Pyrosia in retaliation should I refuse, which would end me. Even if you did nothing, by the time I have restored my icon, it might be too late for me to recover. In that way, we are similar. Both of us are capable of that.

“That’d be about right,” Tarrin said evenly. “Pyrosia can get along without you, One, and if you decide to just hang back and repair your icon and then try to come back and start it all over again, well, I’ll have to do something about that. But things will be easier if you’re there, and you can help fix things after it’s over, make Pyrosia better. But there’s going to be a few changes in doctrine,” he warned flatly. “You’re coming into this as a helper, not a partner. You’ve already been beaten. The loser doesn’t get to set the terms when the next game is played.”

The One bristled visibly, but then he sighed. It is as you say. My hand was played, and it came up lacking. Now I must accept the loser’s lot, and salvage what I can out of a bad outcome. I will agree to certain changes in my direction of my children on Pyrosia. In exchange, you will permit them to flourish.

“I’ll do what I can, but it’s not really up to me. After all, I am just a mortal. It’s going to be up to you and the other gods on Pyrosia to hammer out the exact details of that, though. Without an Elder God there, you all are going to have to work out a system that works for you. But that new system isn’t going to include any more crusades of racial genocide,” he said harshly. “You don’t have to like the Dura or the Elara or whoever’s left, but you will give them the space they need, and you will leave them alone.”

The One had a strange expression, then he laughed. I will be a laughing stock, being dictated terms by a mere mortal. But you’re more than a mortal, Tarrin Kael of Prime Sennadar. I feel at least some sense of vindication that it is you doing this, and not some other mortal. Very well, on my word as a god, you have my support in your plan. We may not like each other, but we are no longer enemies, and I will not raise my hand against you or your family again. I will do my best to fulfill my part of the plan, and work in good faith with you and the other gods of Pyrosia. When the time comes, I will be there, and I will be ready. When will you fulfill your part of the bargain?

That was what Tarrin wanted to hear. When a god gave his word like that, he would not break it. It was a fundamental tenet. Now that he had that promise, Tarrin was certain that the One would be an ally in this, not a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“When I can,” he answered. “It won’t be till after I get to Pyros, no matter what. That’s where the remains of your icon are. I need to be there to do it.” He snorted. “I might delay a little. There’s a chance that the battle will already be joined by the time I get there, though, and I might use that as a tactical surprise to throw the Demon Lord off.”

That is possible, and would be a good tactical move. But if you arrive before the battle, it is only helpful to our side to do it immediately.

Tarrin nodded. “If I get there before the battle, it will be done immediately.”

I, must thank you, he said hesitantly. Since my defeat by your hands, I have felt nothing but despair that my existence was at its end. But now, I feel that there is a chance, and it fills me with hope. Win or lose, I thank you for lifting that burden from my heart. If I am to die, I will do it fighting, not mourning my loss.

“It’s the Were-cat way,” Tarrin told him. “We never give up.”

That tenacity was my bane when I opposed you, but now it might be my hope for salvation, the One told him, and then he stood up, his expression one of newfound confidence. Time is short. I have things to do to prepare for the coming times, and you have more to do. I will send you back to the color pool to the Astral, so you can save time on your journey.

“That would help,” he nodded.

So be it. Take this.

A small object appeared in the air before him, floating at about his shoulder level. It was a disc of platinum holding the holy symbol of the One. That token is only carried by the highest-ranking of my Priests as a symbol of station. Show that to any of my Priests, and they will obey you utterly. You might have need of it to get their cooperation. As you know, you are the greatest enemy of the order, and they might not obey you if you give them orders, he added with a wry audible chuckle.

“That might be useful,” he agreed, taking the disc, then putting it in his belt pouch. “Good luck, One.”

To you as well. May the Overgod speed you on your journey, for both our sakes.

The One waved his hand, and then Tarrin found himself again hovering in space, the color pool directly before him, where he had started several days before.

That went as he expected, and he was relieved it was over. The One had seen the potential in his plan, and had jumped at the chance to quickly regain a portion of his power in Pyrosia, before the faith of his followers began to waver and his power began to decline. Then again, the One was in a bad position. He had no icon on the only world where he was worshipped, the Demon Lord was going to destroy everything, which would kill him when all his worshippers were slaughtered. No wonder he was in despair. Tarrin knew that the One would jump all over a chance like this, even with the limitations that would come with it. It had just been about surviving long enough to make him listen, and that itself was a scary moment. He hadn’t come that close to dying in a long time. If the One had had just a smidgen more power, he would have lost control of the Firestaff, and it would have allowed the One to destroy him. But luckily for him, he had lived through that attack, and the fact that he survived made the One pause long enough to get over that anger

Odd, though, that the One couldn’t simply run his fingers through Tarrin’s mind, the way Breina of the Dawn had. He’d half expected the One to see it all there the instant he came close enough. He’d expected the attack to be one out of rage despite knowledge of the plan, but it seemed that so long as he had the Firestaff, no god but Niami could see his thoughts.

He passed through the color pool without hesitation and was again in the featureless, infinite gray of the Astral. His wings opened and he hurtled away from the color pool, his destination being the invisible pool that led to Sennadar, going through what was to come in his mind. Now that he had the last of the hard tasks out of his way, he had only one small errand to run, and then it would be time to return to Pyrosia, and put an end to the Demon Lord. And now he would be coming at the Demon Lord with another ally on his side, one that would be in a position to attack the Demon Lord from within his ranks when the time came. Used at the right time, that could destroy the Demon Lord’s plans to take Pyros and kill Dolanna. That was the tactical moment that Tarrin had mentioned. If the One’s icon was restored at the right moment if the battle was already joined, then the humans in the Demon Lord’s army would turn on him, and create enough chaos to give Tarrin an opening to strike at the Demon Lord directly…because Tarrin had no doubt that the Demon Lord knew that Tarrin would be his greatest threat, and would do whatever it took to stay as far away from him as possible.

After all, all Tarrin had to do was get within range to use the Solar’s bow, and it would be over.

That was what it was for. That was why he worked so hard to get it. Not even the Demon Lord could withstand the power of the arrow fired from a Solar’s bow. If it struck, the Demon Lord would die. Nothing could stop that. No amount of power the Demon Lord possessed could protect him from that. The arrow would kill anything it hit, and that included god-like beings like a Demon Lord. Without an Elder God on Pyrosia, the only option that Tarrin had to get rid of the Demon Lord was the bow. It was the only way. It was the only thing that could kill something like a Demon Lord that didn’t involve an Elder God.

And Tarrin had no doubt that by now, the Demon Lord knew Tarrin had the bow. And that would make Tarrin the last thing on Pyrosia that the Demon Lord would want to see. When he knew that Tarrin was on Pyrosia, his entire strategy would become one of isolation, to keep Tarrin away from him while he tried to take Pyros and kill Dolanna, then use his unlocked power and try to kill Tarrin without having to face him when in a position where Tarrin had such an advantage. Tarrin was expecting it…he was counting on it. The plan to get skyships only worked off that basic idea, to put so many objects in the air that Tarrin could hide among them and get close enough to take his shot at the Demon Lord without being such a blatant target. Yes, they would be immense tactical advantage in a battle, but that was only an added bonus over the cover that Tarrin would get hiding among them while taking his shot at the Demon Lord from the air, where the range of his bow was immense.

“Mother,” Tarrin called. “I’m done in Acheron, and the One is going to help us. Are the Sorcerers ready?”

Yes, they’re ready, she answered. There’s going to be more than Sorcerers, though.

“Who? Knights? I expected Knights to go along anyway.”

No, kitten. The sashka got wind of your plan. I bet Keritanima was maybe a bit too descriptive when she sent the order about the flying devices, and the sashka is a close advisor to Rallix. As you know, there’s quite a bit of history between the Vendari and the Zakkites. When the sashka heard of your plan to attack Zakkar, he demanded to be allowed to take part in that attack. And then the dakka, the ruler of the Vendari in Vendar, heard about it as well, and he too is demanding to be allowed to send troops to represent the honor of Vendar. So, kitten, you’re going to have a sizable force of Vendari going with you. They want revenge for what the Zakkites have done to them, and a surprise attack on Zakkara itself would be a good start.

Tarrin laughed. “I’d be an idiot to say no, and it’s not like they’d take no for an answer,” he answered. “Having a Vendari strike force mixed in with the Knights just ensures that we’ll have the complete run of the city. Are we going to be able to get that many there, though? I can’t hang around there, Mother. We’ll be moving almost as soon as I get back. If I stay in one place too long, the Deva are going to catch up with me. I don’t see how they’re going to get to Suld in time to go on the raid.”

The Vendari are already here, she answered. Ten thousand of them, give or take. The Vendari gods directly moved them to the plain by Suld, which is almost unheard of. The Vendari gods never directly involve themselves like that, but I guess this was an important enough issue for them to do something like that. The thing is, kitten, they did it before they