giving him advice. And an eighth ghost, a cook he accidentally killed and whose spirit joined the others.”
Rivven cursed. “So that’s the secret of that sword! Of course! A nine-lives stealer. Cazuvel must be using the sword’s properties to-”
The highmaster was cut off by the sudden arrival of Gredchen, whose unconscious body simply materialized immediately in front of her. Cear craned his long neck around and said, “Hey, isn’t that-?”
“Gredchen!” cried Theodenes. He spurred the dragonne forward. Before either the dragonne or the highmaster on her dragon could react, there was a titanic explosion.
A bright column of roaring magical fury shot into the late-afternoon sky from the cage. The force of the column’s creation released shockwaves that struck Star and Cear and sent the wyrm crashing into the balcony. Marble tumbled to the palace below, smashing through skylights and breaking apart as it hit courtyards and gardens.
Rivven clung to her saddle and realized Gredchen was sliding off the dragon’s neck. She reached out, hauled the girl back up, and looked at her. The teleportation amulet she’d given Vanderjack was around her neck, still smoldering.
“Oh, you clever bastard,” she said. She stood in her stirrups, held Gredchen aloft, and looked up at Theodenes. Star had flown back up again, a little shaken by the fiery column’s explosive arrival, and the gnome was intact.
“Theodenes!” Rivven shouted. “Here. Take her. Now that your friend’s removed her from the arcane equation, the Abyss is about to empty its contents upon Ansalon.”
“But Vanderjack …”
“Probably disintegrated. Just like Cazuvel. Forget about him. Go now. Save yourself. I’m going to go down there and see what I can salvage of that mess.”
“You’ll be killed!”
Rivven laughed. “Don’t sound so pleased, gnome. No, I think I can take care of this little dust-up. I’m Rivven Cairn. I walk the Left Hand Path, just like Ariakas.”
She gave a heave, and threw Gredchen out into the space above the arena. Star dived, intercepting the falling girl before she struck anything below them. Rivven didn’t want to spend any more time arguing with a gnome.
Rivven rode Cear at great speed from the palace of the khan to the center of the arena. The red dragon made one circle around the pillar of Abyssal flame, allowing Rivven time to examine it with her eldritch sight. As she feared, Vanderjack had succeeded in disrupting Cazuvel’s plans to channel magical power into his mortal body and conduct his demonic rituals, but removing Gredchen had upset the delicate balance. The painting was probably still intact, but what she needed was the enchanted sword. Where was it?
“Impossible,” she said as Cear flew back in close to the platform. There, standing barely ten feet from the whirling inferno, was Vanderjack. He’d struggled to his feet, and in his hands was the sword. It had been thrown clear, and the seemingly tireless mercenary had recovered it.
Cear unleashed his dragonfear upon the arena. Rivven saw Vanderjack recoil, shudder, and simply shrug it off. He raised the sword before him; he was keeping himself going by sheer will alone. That and maybe his ghosts were helping.
“Bring us close,” she said to Cear. The dragon obeyed, his wings beating at the air then dropping them to the edge of the platform. Perched like a monstrous red gargoyle, Cear exhaled his hot, blanching breath in Vanderjack’s direction.
“Rivven,” said Vanderjack, gritting his teeth. “I know everything.”
“Almost everything,” she said. “Hand me the sword, then get out of the way. I’m taking over for Cazuvel.”
“You want an army of Abyssal monsters of your own?” the sellsword said, cocking his head to one side and adjusting his grip on the sword.
“That’s something I’ll have to think about in future. Right now, though, how about you do us all a favor and give me your weapon?”
“You said I could keep it. I killed the mage. Now I get my sword back.”
Rivven looked away. “Oh, right. I did say that. Well …” She looked back at him. “I lied.”
“Thought you’d say that,” said Vanderjack.
Rivven tensed and sprang out of her saddle. Cear shoved away from the platform as she unsheathed her sword and brought it down in an impressive display of speed and skill.
Rivven bound all of her strength into the blow she was about to give Vanderjack. As she came down, her curving elven weapon, the weapon with which she’d cut down countless hundreds of foes in her lifetime, flashed in the light.
The blade sliced downward. Vanderjack brought Lifecleaver up in its path. With a high-pitched squeal of shredded metal, Rivven’s magical scimitar struck Vanderjack’s sword and was sliced in half. The end of the sword flew out to the side, and Rivven landed in front of Vanderjack with a gasp.
“My sword!” she cried.
“Star metal!” said Vanderjack. He brought the blade back and swung it forward. Rivven ducked, and the blade swept over her head. She couldn’t believe how sharp and impossibly hard the sword was. Her own blade was magically reinforced, and it was half its original length after meeting his, the end jagged.
Furious, she reached out and grabbed Vanderjack by the shoulder. He buckled; there was a wound there, and she clenched her fingers hard. With her free hand, she grabbed at his sword and wrestled the blade free of his grasp. Wrapping her fingers tightly around Lifecleaver’s hilt, she brought the hand up and delivered a solid right hook backed by the weight of the sword.
Vanderjack collapsed, coughing up blood and worse. She gave him a swift kick in the ribs and said, “That’s for my sword.” With Lifecleaver in her possession, she strode over to the edge of the screaming vortex and stared straight into the Abyss. The smell of power was even stronger, almost overwhelming. She needed to bottle the storm, but there was something about it …
She noticed, then, the ghosts surrounding her.
“Rivven Cairn,” said the Aristocrat.
“You cannot do this,” said the Philosopher.
“Enter the vortex, and you will die,” said the Apothecary.
“I know what you are,” said Rivven, her breathing heavy. “You aren’t ghosts. I’m no stranger to divine forces. I walk the Left Hand Path, like Ariakas before me.”
“But you are not Ariakas,” said the Conjurer.
“No,” she said. “I’ve been more careful than him.”
“And yet you kept a black robe mage in your confidence,” said the Balladeer.
“And never noticed when he was replaced by a fetch,” said the Cavalier.
“If you know who they are, Rivven,” said the Cook. “Then you know they have been watching over Vanderjack all this time.”
“Did he realize it, though? Does he know who the seven of you truly are?” she asked. She was waiting, waiting to step into the vortex and take control of it.
“A man comes to faith in his own way,” said the Philosopher.
Rivven took a deep breath. “So does a woman,” she replied and stepped into the tumult.
She stood there on the edge of oblivion, looking down into a spiraling vortex of black. Above her, she saw the torrents of wind and fire, lightning flashes of orange and blue, everything laced with that howling darkness. Holding the sword tightly, she focused inward; she tried to do what she knew Cazuvel had been doing, using Lifecleaver as a lightning rod for collecting and controlling the power.
“We’re sorry, Rivven,” said the Aristocrat.
“You think you can harness this dark magic for yourself, but it is too strong for you,” said the Conjurer.
“No, I can feel it … even stronger. I see legions of … soldiers, dragons, the minions of my Dark Queen. I could bring them all through. No more highlord, no more requests to Neraka for more draconians.”
“Rivven,” said the Cook.
She closed her eyes and lifted her arms up, filled with the surging and seductive power of the Abyss. “Unlimited power! It’s almost too much! Cear!”
