Was the man suspicious? Not obviously. Else told the truth, leaving out little but his exchange with Bone and his encounter with the woman yonder.

The elderly Bruglioni said, "Oh my! I've let curiosity murder me."

"What?"

"I should've gone when I could. We all should have."

The soultaken with the head and sword expanded slowly, till it loomed over the woman. She had acquired a brazen shield and golden spear from somewhere. The soultaken opened his mouth and bellowed, 'Traitor!"

The woman responded, "Vengeance! All-Father. All-Evil. It is time to die the Endless Death."

"Oh, for sure, I should've gone," Principatй Divino moaned. "I was such a fool! It's real! It's all real."

Ghort said, "Looks like times might get interesting."

The soultaken spoke two words. While those rattled around they took physical form, as two flapping black towels of darkness that transformed into something like a brace of black vultures. Each screamed one of the words the soultaken had spoken. Their names?

Else felt that the female apparition was pleased.

The flapping black things settled toward the soultaken. Uncle Divino murmured, "It's been said that all religions are true. But how can this be?"

These events rattled the faith of everyone watching.

"For Gedanke," Arlensul said, in response to a question unheard.

The possessed soultaken bellowed again, flung himself at his prodigal daughter.

The fabric of reality creaked. It began to tear.

37. A Loving God, a Loving Father

Svavar's mind was clearer and his thoughts crisper than ever. He watched the Godslayer rappel down the wall, unseen by Shagot. Grim saw nothing but Arlensul. Grim did not understand that Arlensul had been with them from their arrival on that ancient battleground. He was not, in fact, Grimur Grimmsson now. He was the worldly avatar of the Gray Walker, come to finish dealing with a traitorous daughter.

The Godslayer had no place in his thoughts.

The Old Ones mirrored their creature Shagot: crude, thoughtless, violent, ignorant of pity or remorse. And none too smart. What use smart if you were omnipotent and immortal?

The black flapping things came together in the gap between Instrumentalities, chased one another in a whirling mandala of darkness that spun in multiple dimensions. The Instrumentalities screamed at one another, proclaiming senseless rage and hatred. While the mandala grew.

Svavar stared at the thing his brother had become, unable to accept it although he believed it. Arlensul's defiance had conjured the One Who Harkens … now armed with the hammer club for which his favorite son was famous. The mandala, shedding a ripping roar, revealed glimpses of horrors beyond. Glimpses of old corpses abiding an opportunity to rise up and serve deities who held them in trivial regard.

Arlensul lashed out with her spear, pleased with her father's response so far. The Walker slid aside. His hammer made a gong of Arlensul's shield.

Words formed deep in Svavar's mind. Do not forget your dearest wish. Do not forget who has been your most devoted protector.

Which mainly baffled Svavar.

What could he do besides watch the titans clash?

Father and daughter traded blow for blow. The countryside resounded to their fury. Despite their terror, mortals stopped running, watched enrapt.

Soon, my chosen one.

Svavar began to shake, colder than naked in Andoray's iciest winter, dreading the foulness to come.

Which evil most torments the world?

Within the mandala Arlensul's sisters were wakening the Heroes.

Not good, that. There was Erief…. What was left of murdered Erief after centuries in that terrible Hall.

The great god of me north flung his hammer aside. It never fell to the ground. A staff appeared in his hands, in myth carved of ash cut from the great World Tree, a living, sentient tree whose roots reached into every well of knowledge there was. The Walker slammed that staff's iron shod foot into Arlensul's shield. The shield split. Only the smaller fragment remained in the Chooser's control. The staff thrust again. The immortal spear spun out of Arlensul's hand. It did not vanish. It fell at Svavar's feet.

Now you must decide.

38. Another View

Pinkus Ghort murmured, "Oh, shit," so gently and so emotionlessly that Else knew he was deeply frightened.

Principatй Divino Bruglioni said, "I agree wholeheartedly, Captain."

Else asked, "Your Grace, can you do anything to shelter the troops?" To right and left the covering force remained in place. The secondary reserve had come forward to witness a once-in-a-millennium event.

The soldiers were mostly Devedian toughs. But Else got little chance to give that any thought.

Ghort said, "Here we go."

Else grasped the hilt of his tired old sword.

The one Instrumentality split the shield of the other, then knocked its spear away. The night lance fell at the lesser soultaken's feet. Wisps of things began to leak from the dark mandala.

The soultaken rained blows on the remnant of the other's shield.

Whispers raced among the witnesses. To a man, they knew they were witnessing the end of a major myth cycle.

There were Pramans on the city wall, now. They were more spiritually distressed than their Episcopal and Devedian foes. Pramans were so fiercely attached to their faith that they could conceive of no other reality. Even granting diabolic status to the Instrumentalities of the Night was an impossible stretch for some.

The lesser Instrumentality fought strongly and valiantly, holding her own. Her opponent was handicapped by the limits of human flesh.

The lesser soultaken retrieved Arlensul's spear. I

More than misty ghosts began leaking through the dark mandala. Armed men shambled out, banging into one another in confusion. Were they blind? No. They had just awakened. And few were in prime condition.

Else knew enough of the myths of the north to understand what was happening. The Hall of Heroes, of me Great Sky Fortress, was spewing its harvest across distance and time. No accident, obviously, but definitely senseless. Why would a clutch of forgotten gods get involved in a squabble between unrelated religious enemies half a thousand miles from any where they ever held sway?

39. A Living Brother, a Loving Death

Svavar understood what had to be done. That was as plain as anything he ever knew. He and Grim would shake the Old Ones' control no other way. He gathered Arlensul's spear, forged by the Instrumentalities themselves. It felt remarkably light and agile in his hand.

It struck like an adder's tongue dart, entering Grim's back easily as a dagger into soft cheese. He felt his brother's heartbeat, relayed down the haunted shaft. He screamed as Grim's life flooded otherworldly metal and wood.

He screamed again when the rage and madness of the Gray Walker followed. The pain was beyond imagination. But it lasted only an instant. Then the One was away, sprinting for the dark mandala but missing it and continuing onward in a large, blind arc.

Dead men tripping over dead men continued to pour out of the mandala, driven by Arlensul's sisters. They spread out across the slope.

He had done Arlensul's will. He was supposed to fall on the spear himself, now, he supposed. But that was not going to happen. A fragment of the One had infected him through the Chooser's blade.

The adder's tongue flicked.

Arlensul was surprised. This did not fit her plan. Svavar was surprised himself as a part of the Chooser reached him through the spear.