The King's Challenge #283 and #284

TKC 283 and 284

We enter the antechamber together. Strangely, the lanterns that lit for me when I entered the space as Lyra are still burning. One may reason that the Glonu are in situ and therefore the lanterns remain aglow, and yet this space feels as abandoned in this present as it did then.

I am now the guide. I lead Damin to the winding stairway and he brings Leffandir with him. She does not protest, but I have the feeling she will have delayed longer had it not been for my knowledge. Why, I can only guess at.

We climb, my leg muscles protesting as much as they did in the first climb.

Never have I known Damin to be this silent. It scares me.

By the time we stand before the doors that lead into the control room I estimate close to an hour has passed. The charges set below will go off soon. We need to act now or we tumble with rock and stone into eternal dust also.

The interior space is as lit, every tiny light blinking on every console. The expression on Leffandir’s face tells me she is astonished. Through the forward windows, where once I watched the fireball in the heavens, the night is revealed as awash in sparkles. Glonu lasers, but who the soldiers shoot it is, again, a guessing game. The world outside has now retreated from its usual sense of importance.

As Iniri Makar, I am aware of what this place is. It is a technological command centre, much as one expects on a spaceship, and thus I stride forward and slap my palm upon a protruding green button. It alters to yellow.

“The flyer is summoned,” I murmur, and head for another set of doors left of the main entrance. It leads to a platform outside.

Punching in a code, I step into buffeting wind. Damin hauls the Empress out and stands behind her to hold her in place. If she attempts to flee, he will shove her over the edge. She knows it, for she does not move, although her eyes skitter everywhere.

“What is your intention?” Damin asks of me, echoing Gennerin earlier.

“This ends now, Damin,” I tell him.

The almighty screech of a flyer on approach ends our words. As wind gusts around us, the vessel manoeuvres into position, bringing the ingress in line with the edge of the platform. A small ramp slaps down.

“Go!” I shout at Damin, already turning back for the control room.

I do not know if he heeds or not, for I move swiftly to the oval cylinder set in the central island. It is empty and it is also so clean I am aware only sorcery keeps it that way. It is a sterile receptacle for magical devices. A Glonu invention to safely hold captured Ilfin objects.

As the first explosion of many to follow rocks the foundations of the Spire, I flex my fingers. The green orb appears instantly and bursts into brilliance; I toss it into the receptacle, where it transforms into the brightest white and grows alarmingly in circumference. By the stars. Swiftly I swivel for the platform.

I run.

Damin’s blue eyes are huge as I sprint across the small space. He has understood and he holds his arm outstretched to me, holding it steady despite the gusts assailing us.

A fireball races up the shuddering tower … and a fireball engulfs the control room from within.

At the last moment I grip Damin’s hand and am barely hauled to safety when the flyer jerks sideways and hurtles into the night.