Visuit
The warm spring sun, filtered through the canopy of the forest, lent a greenish hue to the still air. Nehael smiled as she approached.
Behind the manse, above a small stream which gurgled enthusiastically, a figure lounged in a wicker hammock suspended between two young birch trees, chewing thoughtfully on a long blade of cooch-grass. He wore one of Mostin's favorite hats: an ochre felt, sporting a wide brim, and suitable for lazy afternoons.
Through many perceptions, the goddess apprehended him in a thousand guises: a fey; a mortal youth; an emperor, resplendent and dreadful; incandescence – a sliver of the Sun; the Will to Become. Here was the great Antinomos; the Nameless Fiend, exempt from the Law of Oronthon. Space and time warped in his vicinity: he was a singularity around whom cosmoii turned. Still, his totality eluded her. Deceiver.
The Adversary opened an eye as she drew closer. "You were never Nehael. What are you?" He asked, half-amused.
Nehael tilted her head. "Am I so opaque to you?"
"Oh, yes," he answered.
"There is much I might show you," Nehael suggested.
"You are empowered to realize the full potential of the urn?"
"Yes," Nehael replied.
"I suspected as much."
"Thank-you for letting Rintrah pass," Nehael nodded politely. "Will you trust me?"
"Let me think about it," the Adversary replied. He pulled Mostin's hat down over his eyes.
"Do you fear me?" Nehael inquired directly.
The Adversary gave a shrug. "Perhaps. I haven't yet decided as to whether I ought, or no."
"I should like to offer some advice," Nehael smiled.
"Feel free," the Adversary smiled drowsily.
"Read me. I am open to you."
"I cannot. That is my dilemma. But thank-you for your consideration."
"You cannot?"
"Humility becomes you, Who-Were-Never-Nehael. As does your genuine lack of guile. The Tree weaves a net around you so subtle that even you can't perceive it."
"And you can?"
"No," the Nameless Fiend sighed. "But I can infer it. I am in Nizkur. I have no power here, save by your grace. Or that of the Tree. Or Uedii. The puzzle intrigues me: I am an inquisitive sort."
"Why would you reveal these things to me? They diminish you and empower me. That is contrary to your nature."
"My Nature – normally my preferred topic of discussion – is of no consequence in this matter. Because I am not your Adversary. Do you doubt your invulnerability here?"
"I had not, until you asked me that very question," Nehael admitted.
"Touché," the Adversary tipped the brim of Mostin's hat. "Observe."
Without warning, he struck her with enough power to raze a continent.
Nehael merely witnessed him scattering a handful of acorns.
"What of the Claviger?" She asked.
"I'm wholly ignorant," the Adversary sighed.
"I cannot believe anything you say."
"Well, naturally," the Adversary smiled. "And there's the great irony, of course."
"Decide what you want to do," Nehael turned and walked away.
"Think of a name for me," he called after her. "Maybe I'll like it."
**
Nwm's interdiction, as Mostin dubbed the spell – although the Preceptor himself had not thought to name it – was a compound ward which excluded certain creatures of the unnatural order from proximity to the Sela. It was less comprehensive than Nwm would have secretly preferred, but – given that the bulk of the power required to evoke it was derived from Temple Adepts and Flamines – it would have been less than gracious of Nwm to exclude celestials from its zone of effect.
Nwm refused to relax the primary ward to allow the nascent devils of the Dark Choir access, regardless of their professed loyalty. This vexed many of the Irrenites present, who entertained notions of discourse with the fallen celestials.
"I'll not have them within a league of me. Nor will you unless you think that you're immune to subterfuge."
Nwm had a point, Eadric conceded.
The interdiction was quickly followed by a Nwm's mantle which settled upon those marching south – necromancies would henceforth prove ineffective against the Wyrish forces – and a Nwm's quickening which bestowed miraculous regenerative powers.
The primary ward moved as Wyre's armies moved, encapsulating an oblate hemisphere some six miles in diameter, and invisible to mortal perception. It was potent, but demanded a renewal at dawn every day: a substantial investment of time, and an effort of magic to effect; the mantle and quickening required less frequent reinforcement. Although bolstered to withstand disjunctions, to contrive a superb dispelling of sufficient magnitude to counter the interdiction was certainly within the ability of the Cheshnite leadership, were one or more of them to set their mind to it.
Nwm's concerns were justified, and Anumid initially approached Idyam with the task of devising a spell for such a purpose. The demilich – feeling such a chore was beneath him – ignored the request and continued his necromancies. Idyam felt in no hurry. Malign spirits attended him now: deathshriekers spawned by the horrors visited upon Jashat. Nwm's ward could not be used offensively; they would effectively need to cut a swathe forward for it at some point.
Choach accepted Anumid's offer, although with a counterbid for two hundred which made the Mouthpiece glower. Still, resources were plentiful: all of the Anantam were now able to act without fear of retaliation from the Claviger. Anumid felt pressure from the increasingly frenzied politicking of certain cliques within the cabals. It was only a matter of time before the assassinations began in earnest.
For four hundred, Choach offered to eliminate Fumaril's defense as well.
"How quickly can the spell be ready?"
"In twelve hours."
"I will give a provisional yes," Anumid grimaced.
The Mouthpiece subsequently gave thought to assailing Fumaril. Although the host which had set forth with Dhatri was immense, the chambers below the Temple of Cheshne were far from empty; Naatha and Guho – otherwise uncommitted – might be persuaded to undertake the magical leaguer of Fumaril if offered sufficient inducements.
The balance of power between the greatest of the Cheshnite immortals and the cabals was beginning to shift, Anumid observed. He found himself thankful that his own position until that point had been one of reserve; over-caution as Yeshe had preferred it.
*
Yeshe anointed herself with blood beside her pavillion and prepared to commune. Something was evading her notice, and she was determined to find out what.
Her divinations were interrupted by Visuit.
"We strike immediately. My instinct tells me the time is now," the Butcher growled.
"We must bring down the ward first," Yeshe retorted.
Dreadful runes kindled about Visuit as her mood darkened. Mortals nearby ran screaming. The goddess drew her weapon: a huge curved sword. "Do not seek to instruct me in the art of war."
"Your bloodlust must wait," Yeshe snapped. She was rapidly losing her temper.
Without warning, with a peal of thunder, the goddess smote Yeshe; a single blow which would have slain any mortal and many a godling. The Binder's armor, titan-forged, buckled but did not break.
Yeshe staggered back, insensible.
Visuit thrust out an arm and caught her by the throat. The goddess kicked Yeshe's legs from beneath her, and pushed the immortal to her knees.
Still, Yeshe could not make her limbs respond.
"You would presume?" Visuit threatened to break her neck.
Incapacity. The Binder crumpled to the ground.
"I am making a sortie," Visuit boomed; her voice carried for a mile, drowning all other sound. "Those who wish to accompany me, may."
"You will serve me," she hissed to the form at her feet.
"Goddess." Choking, Yeshe abased herself.
Visuit focused momentarily.
The enemy would be breaking camp soon. She reached out with her mind, searching for purchase: a place in proximity to the Sela, where she might recently have been invoked by word or deed. An anchor in space. Her deific perception penetrated every ward erected by the Temple Adepts.
At the last, a green veil, supple but unyielding: Nehael's blessing. Her concentration evaporated, and her thought retreated.
Visuit cursed. Several of the Ushabam who pressed too close went mad.
Holding her dark blade aloft, she clove open a gate.
"Follow!" War demanded utter obedience.
She mounted Narh; steed and rider leaped through the rift.
A great press of demons and undead clamored behind her. After Yeshe, Prahar – unhinged as he already was – was the first to follow. On the Plain of Infinite Portals, the Sorrowsworn mustered hungrily.
**
Tensions ran high in Mostin's Infernal tower.
Eleven mages, in addition to Mostin and Orolde, were now ensconced in various chambers – some of them all-too-comfortably, Mostin ruefully considered. And Hlioth remained, which made Mostin suspicious and more than a little nervous: she had appropriated a stone courtyard, and modified it – greenified it – to her satisfaction and Mostin's chagrin.
Inevitably, the habits of certain of the Wizards – and all were guilty of odd behaviours of one kind or another – had come into conflict. Creq exuded a charnel reek which many found distasteful. Daunton pestered the Alienist constantly for use of the web of motes. Tozinak transmogrified various mundane objects for no apparent reason. Waide – who maintained a disciplined hauteur – insisted on an afternoon nap in one of Mostin's preferred spots: a conservatory in which various Hellish fruits grew on thorny trees. Mulissu's mephits and Jalael's quasits were on the verge of open warfare: spined devils ineffectively policed an uneasy truce between the two groups, until the Alienist conjured a barbazu to act as a more effective deterrent to hostilities.
Mostin himself sat poring over formulae, performing impossible contortions upon immutable laws of magic in his head. Graz'zt's jar sat before him on the desk. Upon it, placid, the dominated, polymorphed linnorm rested, coiled in miniscule.
Mostin's prolepsis had generated a number of uncomfortable arcs, which involved the scorned Queen Soneillon, the Region of Dreams and Uzzhin combining in some dreadful resonance. He tapped upon the sphere with his quill until the demonic countenance of Prince Graz'zt appeared.
"What is your intuition?" Mostin asked.
"Thou hast exceeded thy authority, and made something unholy," Graz'zt replied, sneering.
"Be more specific!" Mostin snapped.
Graz'zt's face vanished.
Mostin cursed him for his willfulness and tormented the captive demon, finally forcing his visage to reappear. Graz'zt's intractability seemed only moderately diminished; his hatred was palpable.
"Answer the question," Mostin groaned. "And dispense with the archaisms: they are tedious."
"You have sent What-is-Not to Where-it-Cannot-Be. As though realities do not bleed freely enough, Mostin the Metagnostic punches holes in continua to turn drips into torrents."
"You speak of Soneillon's pilgrimage?" the Alienist hissed.
"Vhorzhe made the same mistake," Graz'zt smiled wickedly. "Except it was no chthonic he sent hurtling into Delirium."
"Your teminology is outmoded," Mostin corrected him. "And the analogy is inexact, in any case. I have demonstrated this!"
"Rimilin will bring her back, for all your prattle." Graz'zt was obviously taking some pleasure in his words.
"Rimilin does not concern me," Mostin sighed.
"Then you will lose the race for Azzagrat."
Mostin scowled, and waved Graz'zt away irritably.
The demon remained, glowering at him.
"Bugger off." Mostin shoved the linnorm off its perch, picked up the globe, and dropped it in a drawer, slamming it shut.
He returned to his problem.
*
An hour later, Mostin announced his plan.
The mages were to accompany him to a location within what had been the Argent Palace in Azzagrat, after the Alienist had established a modicum of stability on the planar flux in its vicinity. Thereupon, Mostin would invoke his quiescence of the spheres.
They must next disjoin the chthonic gates, to permanently arrest the upwelling; subsequently, the quiescence could be dispelled, and the offending gates would be gone.
After Pharamne's urn was recovered – Mostin purported to know its exact location, now – the Alienist would hold a splendid party in celebration.
Various concerns were voiced: Would chthonics in manifest form still be nearby? Would the gates even be present after the reality maelstrom had been suppressed? How many demiplanes removed from Azzagrat was the urn in any event?
"And how many gates are there Mostin?"
"I have calculated twenty-two," Mostin confessed. "But their usage has diminished considerably; a new equilibrium has already been established."
"You require twenty-two disjunctions?" Hlioth laughed.
"Certainly. This can be achieved with single-minded purpose."
"And the predicted length of our tenure in these regions?" Tozinak inquired, sniffling dismally.
"Around thirty minutes, if all goes to plan," Mostin grinned eagerly.
"Alas!" Tozinak wailed. "I may not live to see my egg hatch!"
**
"I am perplexed," Teppu admitted, looking at Neheal. "The exchange would indicate that you have him at a gnostic disadvantage – so to speak."
"He was thwarted in Afqithan; his prescience failed. This is a new experience for him. He claims the Viridity is inscrutable to him."
"And Saizhan?" Teppu inquired.
"That relationship is more complex. I don't profess to understand it. I suspect that he is somehow instrumental."
**
They manifested in the fading half-light, within a bowshot of the interdiction, and within plain sight of the celestial guards who policed the perimeter. A ragged hole in the fabric of reality, slashed open by Visuit, through which a stream of demons poured.
The Dark Choir was upon them in an instant, wreaking havoc with maces and flaming swords; within Nwm's presidio, news spread like lightning, and clarions sounded: knights and Templars sprang to arms.
Visuit, who trusted her instincts, smiled. In the Aethers below, something stirred. To those who were sensitive – adepts and celestials – a ripple of Darkness ran across the still waters of Mind.
The Butcher gestured with her clenched fist.
Chthonics manifested.
The proto-devils cautiously withdrew to consider their options.
Visuit sliced open another gate, and vanished.
The rent in space remained open; through it, yet more demons and monsters began to rush.
*
As the alarm spread, Nwm – who was stationed in the centre of the encampment with most of the spellcasters – reached out his mind to Eadric, whose tents were closer to the periphery.
[Nwm]: She is opening a gate every thirty seconds or so; they at appearing at apparently random locations around the circumference. Teleportation circles are also now beginning to open. The strongest has predictably asserted herself.
[Eadric]: I had hoped she might be more direct. Still, they cannot penetrate the ward. Something very dark just came.
[Nwm]: It is called Narake.
[Eadric]: How do you know?
[Nwm]: Uedii whispers it to me.
[Eadric]: What is our best recourse?
[Nwm]: Fortification.
[Tahl]: We are ready.
[Mesikammi]: As are we.
[Lai]: And we.
[Brey]: And we.
"I will brook no celestial interference!" Nwm hissed through gritted teeth.
"There will be none," the Ahma vowed. The words emerged from the mouths of all within the communion.
Nwm evoked a spell.
The Green Benediction settled upon Eadric and those nearest him.
**
Lying in Mostin's hammock, the Adversary opened an eye. Now that was impressive, by any standards.
