Netheril - Dangerous Games Part 21

Wulgreth gurgled by her ear, a noise of fury. He didn't shake her, nor snap her neck, but kept her alive and still. A hostage to subdue Sunbright. Still kicking, the one-eyed thief wanted to cry with frustration. Wulgreth too used what was handy to defeat Sunbright, and successfully, for the barbarian's gentle heart would not allow her to be harmed. Oh, to fight something living that could be hurt and bleed!

Sunbright fought for sanity as the shadeling picked his mind apart. Already he was forgetting things, unable to recall his homeland, or his mother's face, or how he'd come to be a fugitive in the lowlands, or an outlaw in the floating city. This evil nothing monster would seize control of him, strip his mind, leave him a hulk, like the zombie that now stumped toward him to chop at his legs.

Knucklebones strangled in air as Wulgreth watched the battle with stone dead eyes, and Sunbright's spirit faded away, his mind sucked dry as an empty coc.o.o.n.

Desperately he tried to think of an escape, b.u.t.ting his head and slashing over his shoulder with only one hand, for the d.a.m.ned octopus arms wrapped tighter than ever. Nothing worked, he couldn't touch the shadeling. But it could touch him.

Or someone else.

"Knuckle', hang on!" he bellowed.

Through a veil of his own blood and skin raked by the yarn ball, he saw her kick in answer. But her single eye was haunted and helpless. She saw no way out. And he was weakening, losing his mind and strength as the life and soul drain grew stronger.

But Sunbright had an answer.

He dropped Harvester so the blade fell flat on the dusty, leafy ground. Giving the yarn ball another fast squeeze, he squatted, and grabbed the stumpy zombie.

The thing's fluttery moth eyes wrinkled as Sunbright caught it by a st.u.r.dy arm and hoisted it one- handed. It was vastly heavy, and made him grunt, almost fall to his knees. The rotted stench made him gag, but he ignored the stink and furious twitching, pitched the undead tomb guardian over his shoulder to crash over his back-right into the not-Sunbright face of the shadeling.

The shadow being's spell was interrupted as the zombie got in the way. The barbarian hadn't been sure it would work, but the phantom claws sifting his brain were suddenly gone. As if breaking free of a spiderweb, he jumped to get clear.

A quick glance showed he'd succeeded better than planned. The zombie lay on its back, curling, twisting, kicking its bony stumps. The shadeling clung to it like morning cobwebs, like darksome mist.

The image of Sunbright had shrunken to half its size. Instead of drawing life from a living man, the soul sucker tapped a dead thing, losing its corporeal existence in the process. The stolen image of Sunbright shriveled as the magic sputtered and died and curled in on itself. The barbarian had no clue what would result, but was glad to be free.

Another quick glance showed him that the dumpy, four-armed manling was dead, poisoned through feet turned black.

That left only the yarn ball, and Wulgreth.

With his right hand, the barbarian reached under his left armpit, caught a squirming clutch near the core, and wrenched savagely. Arms, tentacles, branches, and whips popped and tore, ripping his vest and shirt and skin as they were pried loose. The shredded beast seemed stunned, for it hung in his hand a moment like a fish on a hook, gathering strength to flap anew.

Sunbright didn't give it time. Jumping up on the tree trunk, he advanced on Wulgreth, who backed away with Knucklebones dangling in front as a partial shield.

"Let's trade," Sunbright rasped, his voice as scarred and sc.r.a.ped as his mind and body. "My bundle for yours!"

"Noooo!"

But Sunbright trailed out his right hand and slung the black dripping ma.s.s of wounded arms. The squishy clump slapped on Wulgreth's shoulder and upper arms, and immediately they grabbed hold, whipping, coiling, curling and grasping, burying the lich lord's head and smothering his upper torso.

Instinctively Wulgreth let go of Knucklebones to grapple with the writhing tangle that was trapping him.

As he did, the small thief bounced light as thistledown, bunched her legs, and bounded away. A good thing too, for Sunbright had regained Harvester of Blood. Lunging, diving over the trunk, Sunbright grabbed the pommel two-handed, slung the long glowing blade far behind, and swung.

The keen steel slammed into Wulgreth's side just below the ribs. The blow knocked him sideways, staggering him. Hissing through his teeth, Sunbright ripped the blade loose and gave him another shot.

Two more blows rained, as if the barbarian chopped a tree. There was no blood, but the meaty smacks chopped Wulgreth's thick skin and dried organs to hash. Then Sunbright lined up to cut a leg out from under the undead tyrant.

Wulgreth had had enough. Clawing tentacles free to peek out, he whirled, and ran for the deepest stand of mutant brush and drooping trees.

Sunbright stood, chest heaving, blood dripping, and let him go. It could take him all day to chop the lich to fist sized chunks, and he wasn't even sure those would be dead.

So he let Wulgreth go. He'd won. He and Knucklebones.

And the natural, growing, living magic that was part of this land.

Sunbright panted, even dropped Harvester's point on bare ground. He pulled up the hem of his spattered red shirt to mop blood off his face. Sweat stung in the sc.r.a.pes, but he didn't mind, for he was glad to be alive. And to see Knucklebones with a rare smile, "So the country mouse is a timber wolf on his home ground," she teased. She ripped loose a sucker-covered arm still stuck to his neck.

He grinned back, examining his arms and hands. The green glow was indistinct in the sunrise, but he knew it had faded.

"More like a firefly," he said. "I've used up the magic."

"So it's gone?"

"No," he answered, "it's still here, an ocean of it. Down there." Moving around the tree trunk, he walked to the fire pit, saw a crack in the earth yards long and wide enough to admit his hand. "I came up through there, somehow. The magic came with me. Feel it?" He waved a hand as if over a campfire.

Knucklebones shook her head. All she felt were the warm rays of the day's sun slanting through the mutant trees. But she was glad Sunbright could feel the magic, for it meant he'd remain a shaman, and she wanted it so.

"No matter," he told her. "I think-I'm sure the nature magic only needed a conduit, someone to care for it, ask its help. It's hard to explain, but from this spot, I believe the nature magic will begin to heal the land, until the corrupt magic of Karsus has leeched away and the forest is balanced again."

The thief turned at a scuffle and shuffle. Creeping from huts and bushes came the mutants, eyeless, limbless, warty, alligator-skinned, deformed. In the darkness, they'd tortured Sunbright to death and beyond, but by day they looked pathetic and harmless.

"And them?" she asked.

The barbarian hoisted his sword, wiped the blade clean, and marched to the mutants, who cowered before him. Even the testy raptors in their makeshift corrals were quiet, almost docile. Standing tall, arms on hips, Sunbright asked, "Who's the eldest here?"

A withered crone with blind eyes raised a shaking hand and said, "I, sir."

"Then you're chief now, for Wulgreth won't be back. This forest will no longer tolerate him. Nor will it abide torture any more, or raids on your neighbors. You are to become a people of peace from now on, at one with the land. Nurture it, care for it, and it will care for you. The elders can teach you, for they remember when this land was healthy and alive, liked the feel of human feet, and nourished its dwellers. Will you do this thing?"

The old crone bobbed her head and told him, "We shall, your highness. We shall."

Sunbright nodded, satisfied. Knucklebones was more skeptical, but realized the mutants probably thought Sunbright a glowing G.o.d risen from the earth itself. Certainly they'd seen it, would tell one another and their children in years to come, and so they'd believe, and obey.

Sunbright took Knucklebones's small hand with the bra.s.sy bars adorning it and led her to the far side of the camp, where a path wended into the diseased forest. Up high a bird sang, and was answered from afar. Liking the feel of his strong, gentle fist, she asked, "So they'll heal, get better?"

"No." The barbarian shook his head as he answered. "These scars, on people and plants, will remain, and die out slowly, naturally. But the children will be normal, and the seedlings. Nature moves slowly, like a glacier, but nothing can stand before it."

"That sounds like something a prophet would say," she half kidded. He grinned in answer, saying, "It does, doesn't it? Ooh!"

"What?"

He touched the back of his neck where his horsetail rested.

"Besides all my other aches and pains, now I'm burned on my scalp. Candlemas must be signaling me, as I called him. We'll have to go see.

"But I think I'll wash first," he added, studying his b.l.o.o.d.y arms and hands.

"Candlemas?" Knucklebones frowned. "He's up in the city. How will we get there?"

Sunbright studied the high treeline as if reading the weather. Distantly, he asked, "Why don't we fly?"

Chapter 19.

The game had gotten out of hand. War blazed between Karsus and Ioulaum, and people died by the hundreds.

Candlemas crouched with Aquesita in her rose-painted carriage. They'd tried to cross the city, spiraling out from the castle mound, but the driver kept stalling at obstacles: fallen trees, torn up roads, shattered buildings, bodies, and marching columns of soldiers and city guards. Time and again they had to circle. Aquesita had promised a friend aid, to fetch her from her mansion to Karsus's castle, where no destruction had yet struck, or would. Candlemas had tried to dissuade her, but she refused, stubborn as her famous cousin, and he'd come to watch over her.

But the danger and disasters were more serious than either of them had reckoned, and growing worse all the time.

No one was even sure what the attacks were. Candlemas knew about the super heavy magic exploding runes, and he'd seen many graceful ballista shafts, like arrows from the G.o.ds, arc over the city, fall, and explode with tremendous force, tearing up stone and people and trees. The heat ray, too, he'd seen at close hand, and many city towers had been turned to molten slag that coursed down the buildings like candle wax to set innumerable fires below.

Fires raged throughout both cities, far more than city guards with water or mages with spells could ever put out. Smoke roiled along the ground, stung the eyes, dirtied everything it touched. Other magics had been visited upon Karsus's city, and even normal weapons. Something in Ioulaum could hurl rocks the size of houses that crushed whole blocks. And there were many more weapons.

"How can this happen?"

Aquesita cowered in Candlemas's arms as the carriage rattled through back streets. Frightened and angry faces pa.s.sed by the small windows, some weeping, others cursing and waving their fists.

Candlemas knew the throngs were no danger, for the carriage was warded against unwanted entry. But a huge boulder falling from the sky could hash them, along with their carriage and wards. The woman insisted, "It's not possible the war has gone this badly. Karsus wouldn't let it. He'll stop it. I know he's working on it right now."

Candlemas said nothing, for he knew Karsus had caused this nightmare. And since nothing rained on his castle, he wouldn't care much, might even be oblivious to it all.

The carriage rattled on, but stopped abruptly and began to back awkwardly. The pa.s.sengers heard the driver curse. When they stalled completely, Aquesita opened the trap door at the front of the compartment and called, "What's happening, driver?"

The man's worried face filled the square hole. "Beg pardon, milady," he said, "but they're riotin'

again. We can't go for'ard, but I'm hopin'-"

"Rioting?" interrupted the n.o.blewoman. "Again? Over what?"

"I couldn't say, milady. Malcontents, is all. The guards are seein' to 'em. We'll be right on our way shortly."

He slapped the trap door shut.

Aquesita plucked a handkerchief from her embroidered sleeve and mopped her brow as she said, "What could they riot about? Surely even the poor support our efforts in the war. Don't they, Candlemas?"

The mage didn't answer, for he didn't want to lie to his ladylove. He stared out the window at a brick wall. But, no fool, Aquesita demanded an answer, so he finally said, "They riot for food, Sita.

There isn't any for the poor. It's finally run out."

"What? What do you mean, finally?" She stared at her friend and lover with a blank face. "How can there be no food?"

Candlemas shrugged helplessly. "There hasn't been enough for a long time," he told her. "Since before I arrived here, they say. Something wrong with the distribution. ..." He was hedging, as if breaking bad news to Lady Polaris, and he hated it.

"The, uh, n.o.bility was somewhat. . . shortsighted in its goals," he continued, "and misjudged the amounts needed to feed everyone. Now with war here and on the ground, the supply of food has stopped completely, and there are no reserves. So the poor riot in hopes of... I don't know what.

Justice, I suppose."

"Justice? This is abominable! No food? Do children go hungry too? That's insufferable! I'll see that Karsus fixes that problem first thing!"

"Karsus is-" again Candlemas swallowed his words, "-too busy."

"Not to see me, his only living relation, he's not! I'll be busy too, filling his ear with what's right and what's wrong! But we can't just sit here. Come, Candy. We'll walk!"

"Walk?" the mage balked, grabbing her hands. "No, Sita, you can't do that! It's not safe!" By the G.o.ds, he knew Aquesita was misinformed about her cousin's true nature, but for any n.o.ble to show her face in the streets now would be certain death. Wards or not, the crowds would tear her apart. "No, Sita! We must remain here! We shouldn't even have come-"

"Nonsense! The empire needs us, and so does my friend, and the poor. Come!"

Before he could stop her, short of knocking her flat and trussing her, Aquesita had popped open the carriage door and hopped out, skirts flapping. Candlemas scrambled after her, shouting as did her driver and footmen over a greater roaring.

Aquesita stamped into the street, then stood frozen, pointing, disbelieving.

Down at a crossroads, past a barrier of rubble and furniture, raged the riot. Ragged poor suffered under the brutal hands of city guards and soldiers. None of the guards plied silver-tipped clubs any more. It was all blade work. As Candlemas watched, unable to turn away, some fifty guards and soldiers with long lances chopped into the crowd while a hedge wizard in a garish uniform sent lightning crackling amidst them. The terrified mob boiled and bled and fled down the street toward the city center, leaving twitching victims and leaking corpses behind. Some of the slowest had been children.

The screaming and shouting was awful, but the crying of Aquesita was the worst for Candlemas.

"Love of Mystryl, Lady of Love," she whispered. "I didn't know it had come to this. I didn't know .

. . but Karsus knew, didn't he?"

Gently Candlemas put his arms around her, but she pushed him away. She wanted truth, not dumb comfort.

"Yes, Sita. He knew. All the leading n.o.bles knew. But they did nothing about it, and it just got worse. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," she sobbed. Tears coursed down her cheeks, but her plump mouth was firmly set.

"Sorry I've been so blind, so coddled, and so stupid. But no more. I'll see Karsus, and this will stop-"

Her voice seemed to rise into a high, whining scream that no human made. It was a missile arcing across the sky. Candlemas grabbed Aquesita's head and pulled her down just as a rollicking explosion jarred them both off their feet. Not far off, screams filled the air. The bomb had landed smack in the city's center.

With a short cry, Aquesita grabbed her skirts and ran toward the site of the disaster. Candlemas jogged after her, puffing. City guards, blood-spattered and weary unto death, tried to stop her, but she evaded them and ran on. By the time Candlemas caught up, she'd gotten to the end of the street and stopped cold.

What he saw made his blood run just as cold.

The great fountain at the center of town, a high fluted, complicated affair of many spouts and cherubs and fans, boiled red. Rose-colored spray filled the air, staining white marble, and a frothy pink bubbled in the many pools. Candlemas's jaw dropped at the horrific sight, but Aquesita's words were even more chilling.

"The prophecy! The sign. A fountain of blood. Oh, and look!"

Weeping, Aquesita stepped over a dead man. Rubble and corpses littered the plaza, but Aquesita picked up a ratty bundle of white feathers. Candlemas didn't even recognize it until her voice came faintly, "Our storks, The guardians of the heights, the wings of Mystryl, our feathered friends. This is a sign, too."

Reverently she laid the bird down, as if laying the entire empire to rest. For the first time she saw the limits of the devastation. The fountain had pumped itself clear, spraying clear and merrily again, but blood spots lingered everywhere like the fingerprints of mischievous imps.

"It's the end, Candlemas." Her haunting tones chilled the mage. "The end of the end, the end of everything. The Netherese Empire will fall now, and no one can prevent it."