DragonCrown Saga - The Grand Crusade Part 11

The Vorquelf rested his hands on Sayce's knees. "Listen to me, Princess. You and your childareWill Norrington's future. He was willing to sacrifice himself to thwart Chytrine so that you and his child would thrive in a world without fear of her. All of us are determined to see that future become true. We need you to be part of our effort. When Will saved you-when he loved you, when he made a child with you-he bound you to us. And us to you. What seems an end now is a continuation. If you are with us, we cannot fail."

Sayce lowered her hands. Red rimmed her blue eyes and tear tracks still glistened on her cheeks. "I love Will Norrington. I would follow him anywhere. Whatever must be done, will be."

Resolute nodded once, then stood. Alexia stepped in and dragged Sayce up into a hug. Peri moved behind the Murosan Princess and likewise embraced her. Alyx and her sister hung on tightly as Sayce began to cry again. They pressed in close, holding her until the tremors had subsided into quivers. They eased her onto the bed and, mercifully, sleep claimed her.

Alexia pulled Resolute out of the room. "Why did you lie to her?"

"Not for the reason you think, Princess."

"What reason would that be?"

Resolute lifted his chin. "You think I manipulated her with a lie so I would have my own Norrington to use. You know I'd told Will that if he did not suit my purposes, I'd have him getting children on women so there would be one that would suffice. You've been steeped in a room of politicians. They lie, so you a.s.sume any lie is political."

His a.s.sessment tightened her stomach. "Why did you do it, then?"

"For her. For Will." The Vorquelf folded his arms over his chest. "In her grief she would have been a p.a.w.n. Now she has focus. She knows Will died to save her and her child. She is bound to us, now, as a group. She will seek counsel from us. Will you lead her wrong? No. Nor will Crow nor I. We will shield her from those who seek to manipulate her."

"We can't let anyone know. That is the first line of defense."

"I agree, Princess, but I also know secrets have their own power. This one will not remain hidden."

Alyx nodded. "What did you mean when you said you lied for Will?"

Resolute smiled ever so slightly. "Will had nothing but contempt for those who would use him. He would not want his child used. I do not believe she will be."

"She?" The Okrans Princess gave him a hard violet stare. "What do you know, Resolute?"

He thought for a moment. "Prophecies, Princess, are always open to interpretation. Your aunt does it freely. Nuances of the Norrington Prophecy in the original Elvish are indefinite about the gender of the Norrington. Since Will was male, that left other possibilities to be explored."

"You expected he would father a child?"

"You already know I did not rule that out."

She frowned. "Did you know of his liaison with Sayce?"

"From the moment he stopped talking about her, yes." The Vorquelf tilted his head to the side. "This surprises you?"

"That you didn't do anything to stop it. With the creation of a child, Will might have been stripped of whatever he had in beingtheNorrington. You should have guarded against that."

"I am anagentof that prophecy, not its master. I can only react, not control." He pointed to the closed door. "As I reacted there, in speaking with Sayce. It was a duty demanded of me."

Sayce slept until early evening, at which time she supped on soup and bread. As she ate, she told them of her last days in Muroso. As she was preparing to lead the troops in Nawal south in a flanking attack on the army besieging Caledo, she received an urgent message from her father, King Bowmar. There was no holding the capital, so he had ordered an evacuation. Her brother, Crown Prince Bowmar, was to lead the retreat southwest to Zamsina and make a stand there. She was to race along the coast road, gathering up all the people she could and bring them to Saporicia.

"I did the best I could to fulfill my command. I sent heralds ahead to prepare the people, but they were not ready. Overburdened carts, the sick, the old." She shook her head ruefully. "The road is littered with the dead, all staring barefaced. There was no cart, no family, not bearing at least one life mask of someone who died in the evacuation."

Alyx, sitting on the edge of the bed, patted her knee. "What news of your brother? Your family?"

"My father died in Caledo. So did many others. My father engaged in magick duels with many of the kryalniriand slew all but one. Taking Caledo was not without cost for Chytrine, but survivors we met on the Zamsina road told of waves and waves of gibberers pouring over walls that dragonels had shattered.

The white city of the plain is now the color of blood. Where it once was proud, it is now like a mouth full of broken teeth.

"My brother did make a stand at Zamsina, but all messages from him ceased two days ago. I am left to a.s.sume he is dead as well." She touched her mask. "I will have to be notching this mask. As nearly as I know, I am the last member of the royal house still alive."

Alexia smiled. "Then there is hope for Muroso yet."

Sayce's head came up. "Do you think they sent me out because they knew I was pregnant?"

"I don't know, Sayce." Alexia shrugged. "Will had confided in me concerning his feelings for you. In Nawal you were sick in the mornings, and I drew a conclusion."

"On that, you told Will I was carrying his child?"

Alyx nodded. "It never occurred to me that there might be a mistake."

Sayce smiled and patted the hand on her knee. "I'm glad he knew. I'm not sure I believed it from Resolute, but I know I can trust you, Alexia."

"It is always my hope that you can, Sayce."

"I do and will." The Murosan Princess smiled. "Unless someone else comes to claim the throne, I will exercise my right and place all my troops under your control. You will find no more determined fighters in the world."

"I know. Thank you." Alyx sighed. "With them, we have a very good start. We'll free Muroso."

"And avenge Will."

"Yes, Sayce, and avenge Will."

Kerrigan's eyes burned, less from fatigue than the vapors deep in Vael. After Bok had made his suggestion that they locate Chytrine's mother and draw a magickal sample from her, they set about getting permission to do just that. Rymramoch agreed with the request, but Sarealnya's family did not. At least, not immediately-and without their agreement, locating her would be all but impossible.

Sarealnya, as it turned out, had donated her Truestone for the DragonCrown. Some inquiry informed Kerrigan that she had produced the yellow stone, which made it all the more important for him to have access to her. He'd cast a spell on the yellow stone that, he hoped, had been triggered by Chytrine. He was counting on using traces of that spell as part of the spell that would locate her.

Prior to getting permission, Kerrigan worked on refining the spells he would need to cast in his hunt for Chytrine. The actual searching spell would check everyone it met against a list of criteria to determine if any of them was Chytrine. He ordered the criteria, starting with the traces of his spell, since that would be the easiest to reject and since he could easily define it. After that he would check for impressions of Bok and Sarealnya-provided he could get the information he needed about her.

He had to make other adjustments to the spell, and realized, as he worked, that he had been very lucky in the past since he had not been cautious. When his spell found a match, it triggered a pair of "heralds."

Those spells shot out north and south of the target, then angled home to Kerrigan and informed him of their success. Through simple triangulation he could determine where the target had been at the moment of discovery.

The problem with that set of spells was that, as with the sphere, they were linked directly to him. A sorceress of Chytrine's abilities could easily a.n.a.lyze one of his heralds and trace it back to him. The little demonstration Rymramoch had given him would be nothing compared to what Chytrine would exact in retribution. He needed to insulate himself from her revenge. He also needed to make sure she could not react quickly and kill the heralds.

His first refinement to the spell was to increase the number of heralds to a full dozen. They would shoot off in all directions, including up and down, before turning to report their success. Some he made very powerful, and very likely to attract her notice, while others he kept humble, so they might escape to report. If she figured out what the spell was and managed to kill some of the heralds, she might just think she got them all.

Then, instead of having them return to him, he designated fixed targets for them to head toward. There they would trigger other heralds who would then head directly for him. He could have continued linking spell to spell to spell to distance himself yet further, but he didn't like the delay in reporting that would result. Some risk was unavoidable, and he accepted that.

When Sarealnya's family agreed to show him where she lay, they sent a great-granddaughter of hers, Arimtara, to lead him. Arimtara had shifted her shape to appear human, but her attempt fell shy of perfection. Kerrigan could not tell if it was deliberate or not. She towered over him and was hairless, with ears closer to the sharp shape of an elf's than a human's. The sulfuric color of her irises was quite remarkable, but the way golden highlights swirled through them had a hypnotic quality. Broad-shouldered and thickly muscled, she wore a loincloth, sandals, and a studded leather jerkin that covered her upper arms and b.r.e.a.s.t.s, but not much more-and Kerrigan could not tell what creature had produced the leather.

At the head of a small company of thralls, Arimtara brought them down deep into Vael, through narrow pa.s.sages with rough walls. Noxious gases made Kerrigan light-headed a time or two, but she and Bok carried him out of danger. The dragons and Rymramoch suffered no ill effects from the gases. If Bok even noticed them, Kerrigan couldn't tell.

Finally, they reached a small hole Kerrigan could barely squeeze through. He did manage it, however, then straightened up in a tall, humid cavern. Puddles dotted the floor, and in the center of it lay a huge dragon with her wings furled and her tail curled around to cover her foreclaws, looking very feline.

Well, feline until you look at the head. Sarealnya boasted three pairs of horns, the last and largest of which spiraled back from her crown. A bit of fang showed at the edge of her mouth. Any single scale of her muzzle, delicately patterned and arranged as they were, could have served as a warrior's shield and covered him from ankle to throat.

Bok perched himself on a stalagmite, shifting his hands and feet for a good grip. His form rippled for a moment with a shiver. "It makes sense she chose this place."

"Yes, she loved it."

Kerrigan almost asked why, then invoked a simple dracomagick spell Rymramoch had taught him.

Dragons had an ability to read the impressions and resonances created by items through the pa.s.sage of time. Looking through a dragon's eyes, the cavern came alive with stone flowing from stalact.i.tes to stalagmites, dancing in the pools. Stalagmites, in a rainbow of hues, reached upward and glistened with the mineral wetness that made them grow.

"This is a very beautiful place."

Arimtara looked at him as if he were watching the dawn and telling her what the sun was. "Get what you have come for."

Blushing, Kerrigan made his way to where the dragon lay and approached the tip of the tail. Ideally he'd have liked a fragment of scale, but he'd agreed not to disturb her. It was believed that the dust that had gathered on her would have been connected to her for long enough that, according to the Law of Contagion, there would be traces of her essence that he could use.

He quickly gathered dust into a small pot, then cast a preliminary diagnostic spell on it. It would determine the strength of the essence and let him know if he needed to gather more dust. The results came back instantly and he frowned. "This isn't going to work."

The puppet wandered over. "What is the problem?"

"The Truestone is an embodiment of the dragon's soul. It is the source of its essence. Without it being present in the body, those things close to the body don't pick up an impression. While the wood of your body would be strong for your essence, Master, I doubt I would gain much of anything from the dust on your dragon form."

"This is not good."

Kerrigan shook his head. "No, but there could be another way."

Arimtara strode over quickly. "The agreement was that her form would be left undisturbed."

"I know, I know." Kerrigan set the pot down carefully. "You said she loved this place. Seeing what little I did, I did gain some impressions of her. I think I could use them. I'd have to cast the spell here to make it work."

Rym's face oriented toward Arimtara. "Would that be acceptable?"

"Yes, but be quick about it." Her expression darkened. "There have been incidents nearby and I do not want to linger here."

"I'll work as fast as I can." Kerrigan lowered himself to his knees, then sat. He slowed his breathing and did what he could to order his mind. He let the plink of water into a puddle become his focus, then he used the dracomagick to push into the room and peel time back. Layers evaporated as he went, the centuries eroding, until he found himself watching the day the magnificent yellow-gold dragon entered the cave. The entrance had been much larger then, but with the flick of a talon she cast a spell that shrank it to its present tight dimensions. She settled herself. Her scaled flesh rippled with muscular tremors, then she laid her head down and appeared, for all intents and purposes, to go to sleep.

Kerrigan latched on to the sense of peace she exuded and began his weaving. He used knowledge of the spell he'd cast on the DragonCrown fragment to embroider that peace. The intent of the spell certainly contrasted with it, but the two elements still wound round each other with an almost playful ease.

Then he turned his attention to Bok and cast a diagnostic spell. In the blink of an eye he got all the information about Bok he could possibly use. Some he discarded as extraneous, like age, but other bits he selected and twined around his previous work. He used Bok's threads to tighten everything down into a roiling ball of blue, with gold and black counterpoints pulsing through it.

That ball was his model for Chytrine, and with it in hand, he prepared to cast his search spell in a wide arc. He heard a pounding in his head, but banished what he a.s.sumed would be a terrible headache. He pushed past it and dipped into the grand river of magick. He teased a trickle into his spell matrix and quickly the spell took on a life of its own.

Locating Chytrine would be no easy task. Kerrigan supposed she would be in Aurolan, but Bok had mentioned her appearing in Alcida to destroy a town called Porasena. Facing northeast, Kerrigan swung his open palms as wide as he could, releasing the spell over an angled line running west-northwest from Vael, and again south-southeast. If she were anywhere from Yslin to Okrannel, the spell would betray her presence.

The spell expanded out and away, leaving his flesh tingling. He shook his head and heard the pounding renewed. "What's happening?"

Arimtara snarled at him. "Cast more quickly, manling. They know we're here."

"Who does?" Kerrigan rocked and tried to get to his feet. "I'm done with the casting."

The female dragon pointed them back toward the entrance. "Thenmovel"

Rymramoch came on in a clatter of wooden limbs, then Bok grabbed the puppet and slung it onto his back. Kerrigan started to move after the urZrethi, and Arimtara shoved him roughly in the back. "Hurry."

The thralls had already headed toward the entrance. The one nearest it screamed and reeled back. To Kerrigan it looked as if he had suddenly grown a grey beard. The thrall tore at the thing biting at his throat, ripping it free, and smashing it against a stalagmite. Blood ran down his chest, but already two more of the small creatures had attached themselves to his thigh and belly.

More poured through the entrance in a grey flood. They looked nothing like any beast Kerrigan had ever seen. They hopped like rabbits, but had a bristling mane over their shoulders and skull. Needle-sharp teeth filled their jutting muzzles and the forearms, which appeared spindly, sprouted talons. The tail reminded him of a rat's tail, save that it had a whip's suppleness and ended in a round brush of fur with the same sort of stiff quills in it as the mane.

"Gvakra!" Arimtara pointed past Kerrigan. "They'll make a meal of your soft flesh in seconds, and these are the small ones."

Thralls pulled back, their hands full of quills, their flesh scratched and torn. The gvakra snarled and yipped as they came on, darting and leaping. Some made grazing attacks, opening little wounds, while others went for the kill. The thralls ripped them free, crushed them, and pitched them aside; but always more came, and they began to get larger. The smallest had been sent through to open the hole, and the bigger ones-the size of a large dog or small pony-'tsqueezed through.

Arimtara growled deeply enough that a thrum sent icy echoes through Kerrigan as he watched the thralls begin to fall. "I have to kill their lead-"

Her comment ended abruptly. Kerrigan whirled. A giant gvakra, ghost white, had entered the cavern from some entrance lost beyond Sarealnya's body. Twenty feet tall if an inch, it had wrapped one hand over Arimtara's head and lifted her bodily in the air. Her hands clawed at its wrists, tearing out b.l.o.o.d.y clots of fur, but even as she hurt it, the gvakra's forearm muscles bunched.

It'll crush her skull!

Panic flashed through Kerrigan, jolting him and puckering his flesh. Thralls screaming and the high-pitched yips of dying gvakra pounded at him. Off to his left the wave of small creatures had reached Bok. Several had already torn Rymramoch off him while the urZrethi shifted his skin into spiked armor and his hands into short chopping blades.

Kerrigan wanted to wail, "Not again!" but the words never left his mouth. His fear was for his friends and allies, not himself. That core of courage rose through the anxious ocean roiling inside him and became an island of strength.Not again, if I act!

His right hand came up in a gesture, casting a spell he knew very well. The spell hit the t.i.tan in the right shoulder and elbow, twisting its body around. Kerrigan smashed the monster's elbow against the stone dragon's snout. The joint shattered and, better yet, bone shards severed nerves, numbing the arm and robbing it of power.

Then the first of the gvakra reached him and chomped hard on his left arm. The dragonbone armor rose and protected him, then remained in place as the creature kept worrying him. Another bit his right knee and another tried to take a mouthful of the roll of fat beneath his right shoulder blade. They shredded his robe as they attacked. Their snarls rose in a buzzing cacophony and the sheer weight of them staggered him back against a stalagmite.

He could feel the bites, but they were no more than the pins and needles of a sleeping limb returning to wakefulness. Realizing the creatures couldn't hurt him, Kerrigan shoved away from the stone and began to run to the cave entrance. As he moved, more and more of the beasts came after him. They tried to get a piece of him, but often bit another of their own kind. The pair or a trio would drop away in a cannibalistic ball.

Kerrigan reached the entrance and spun as best he could, then wedged himself into the opening.

Crushed gvakra squealed, and larger ones seeking en- trance clawed at him, but to no avail. The magicker reached up to pull one creature off his face, and cried out as quills punctured his hand. For a heartbeat he thought the magick might have failed, but it would only protect him from the evil intent of others. His pulling on the gvakra was not protected.

It occurred to him, as the writhing carpet of gvakra covered him like windblown snow on a tree trunk, that he might exhaust himself with the magick and become vulnerable. He reached out and began to draw power from the river. He knew that if he wanted to, he could fill himself with it and modify the dragonbone armor. Little needles would sprout from his skin and inject poison into the gvakra. They would swell and die of asphyxiation, twitching and hoa.r.s.ely gasping at his feet.

Other things came to him, wonderful and wicked things. He could use the power to heat the very air around him to the point the beasts would combust. Or he could draw away all heat, so they would freeze so completely that to touch one would be to shatter it. The possibilities that came to him were infinite, as would be the power he could use to wield them.

Kerrigan almost embraced that idea, and imagined the river flooding into him, but he recalled Rymramoch's warning. To do that, to let the river rush into him, would wear him down and destroy him.

He shivered and refused to do it, but he did draw a little more energy and cast a diagnostic spell.

Gvakra, as far as magick was concerned, were not very complex creatures- and closer to rabbits in anatomy than Kerrigan would have ever guessed. Once he had their measure, he triggered yet another spell. Starting with those gvakra around him, and slowly spreading out in a sphere, the feral creatures went to sleep. They dropped off his body with soft plops, save for a couple whose jaws would not loosen.

The larger, wolfish ones did not fall asleep instantly, but became sluggish. Their attacks slowed enough that the beleaguered thralls had time to react. One thrall's clawed swipe ripped a gvakra head off, while another left its tormentor in thrashing pieces. Bok stabbed both bladed hands through the chest of the one nearest him, then shook and flung off those that had been impaled on his spikes.

Kerrigan looked to see what had become of Arimtara. He hoped his spell had had enough effect to slow the monster she fought. In the dimness he saw her rising and gasped.

He gasped because she rose from a basin that had been the giant's belly. A thick rope of b.l.o.o.d.y intestine slid off her left shoulder, but caught on a spike sprouting from her elbow. Her shoulders remained hunched forward and more powerful than before. She'd grown a long tail and her fingers ended in hooked talons.

She turned with the beast's blood pouring off her in rivulets. Beyond her, in ever-decreasing spurts, blood fountained up from a rent heart. Arimtara looked around at the handful of surviving thralls, Kerrigan, Bok, and the puppet. "My thanks for your efforts, Kerrigan Reese. Effective, but why didn't you slay them?"

He shrugged uneasily. "I just didn't." He didn't want to admit that it never occurred to him to kill the things, save in the power fantasies he entertained. "I think we can go now."