He was the fragment, and he was Olvir. At once he was a tall, tired man and flashing sunset colors, broken and just, abandoned by all and comrade in arms. He struggled to sort the two out without losing either perspective. Sense began to emerge—not precisely a story but a series of experiences.
He was lost in a place that was at once shining and dark. He was drawn through space from there and funneled into a mold of flesh, into a vessel already occupied, into a room full of pale people in dark clothing whose faces shone with the fanatic’s odd mixture of lust and gluttony and pride.
That was long ago. Now was now. Now was the body, larger by far, older by far, the man trained in honor and bloodletting both. Now was the rock beneath him, the fire at his back, the Sentinel who waited with sword shining before her. Now was the mountain. Now was the vast expanse of sky above him.
The sky.
Now was elsewhere, too, a person who was not Olvir and not yet the fragment but was connected to what the fragment had been. Under the rules of old and lost magic, they were bound to it as well. Now was a person who’d stopped being a person long ago, who’d cast personhood aside as his patron had once cast off the fragment, because neither suited the demands of pride and greed, of mine andmineandMINE.
That used-to-be person was watching the sky, and more than watching.
Patterns filled the night, lines of force and vortices of strength. Olvir, who couldn’t make sense of them at first glance, began to feel meanings creeping into his awareness but had no chance to come to a full understanding. The being whose vision he was sharing—he knew the name but didn’t want to think it with their minds so close—gripped one of those lines with an outgrowth of his power, wrenched it ninety degrees, then moved on to twist its neighbor.
Winds collided and circled, shrieking. Olvir saw darkness, ice, water whipped into a froth of white above thrashing black waves. For a hellish second, he had a glimpse into the other consciousness and understood it as a mirror of the storm: howling fury, rampaging cold. There was no tranquility in that winter, only a hunger for destruction.
Then the link vanished. He was united with the fragment for just a moment longer, then that connection was gone too. He was only Olvir, seated on the rock and snapping his eyes open.
“My name is Sir Olvir Yoralth,” he said to Vivian. “I’m a knight of Tinival. I’ll gladly swear my vows on Letar’s token, and I think there’s another storm coming.”
Part III
Gizath still has influence over his old dominion, which is bonds and links. This doesn’t cover only sentiment or even only flesh and bone. All living beings are made of many connections. Storms are air interacting with air: Thyran was the first among Gizath’s servants to discover how to pervert that.
Really, we should be glad he hasn’t yet figured out how to twist the connections governing the land itself.
—Gerant, via the Sentinel Darya,Theories of an Apocalypse
But the most notable distinction, I would say, is in the way we regard them. We respect them, yes. We serve them, certainly—as you’ve seen in this city, we have priests, even as you do. Yet they are not so strange to us, nor so unreachable.
I cannot speak for Lycellias, but I would suspect that he, speaking as honestly as any of the knights, would say he regards his knighthood as you do service to a very loved and respected patron. None of us, even those who did remember the gods, would claim to understand them—and yet they walked with our forebears once, not so many generations ago. It makes a difference.
—Gods as the Elder Peoples Know Them: A Lecture by Altiensarn of Heliodar
Chapter 21
As usual with bad news, Vivian’s thoughts condensed down tooh. Evenoh damnoroh shitwere too much, lest the additional syllable overwhelm her mind. She just became a numbohwithout any emotional overtones at all.
She still functioned. She held out the statue and listened to Olvir’s vows, careful to hear every word correctly and alert for every potential change in the relic. If Olvirwasn’thimself, the announcement he’d delivered would have been a terrific tactic to throw off her focus.
As far as the statue could discern, he hadn’t changed.
He stood in front of her after the vows, all horror and honor and muscle, explaining. “I couldn’t say how quickly it’s coming, I’m afraid, or where it’s supposed to hit—I don’t get the impression that Thyran can actually aim these things very precisely—but it felt strong. And imminent. We should probably assume the worst.”
“That we should. Lucky we’re still mostly packed up, and it’s too dark for us to need bonemasks.”
Putting out the fire was harder than it would’ve been if they’d let it burn until morning or if they’d been in a place with more loose soil. Vivian and Olvir made dust suffice, digging when they had to, small stones cutting at their hands and dust in their throats. It kept them from talking.
Still, they were less thorough than they’d have been in the forest.Little here will burn, and that will be slow,Ulamir confirmed when Vivian asked him,and a storm that does strike here will kill any flames, of course.
Vivian didn’t grumble this time, even inwardly, about having to walk again rather than sleep. There might or might not be shelter lower down, the Serpentspine itself might or might not keep the storm on the other side, but if there wasn’t and if it didn’t, lower was still better. High up, the air would get so cold that it’d harm her and possibly kill Olvir. The wind would play hell with the narrow trails there, too, and both wind and snow could spawn avalanches.
Descent was no guarantee of safety, but altitude would almost certainly make matters worse.
Olvir, thank the gods, packed and walked without questions or comments. It was only when they’d found the trail again that Vivian focused onhowthey’d learned about the storm.
She didn’t turn to speak. The trail was narrow and crumbled in places, so any division in her focus could’ve gotten her a broken leg or worse. But she spoke and made the first thing she said an apology, regretting not that she’d done wrong but that the situation hadn’t let her do more. “I’m sorry. We were in such a hurry that it didn’t occur to me to ask. Are you all right?”
The answer was slow in coming, slow enough that Vivian began to wonder if Olvir resented her and to worry about the possibility for tactical and other reasons. To her relief, he mostly sounded uncertain when he did speak. “I believe that I am, thank you. It was unsettling, but if it’s left me marred in any lasting sense, I can’t tell.”
