The Commanding Stone Part 12

She had complained to him that he neglected his studies of her father's religion because of political considerations, which was quite true. He thought this was a way of remedying that.

It was nearing midnight when Balandrick's men returned from Ezren. They'd learned that Aidrel had been building his army there for months. "Hundreds more keep coming every day. Seems this Aidrel sent messengers out all across this part of Khedesh, whipping people into a frenzy about this One G.o.d of his, and that if they wanted to fight a holy war against evil they should come to Ezren."

"Where is he planning to fight this holy war?" asked Gerin.

"Everyone in Ezren said his eyes are turned toward Threndellen, Your Majesty. They say he constantly talks about the infidels to the north and how they'll cleanse the land with their holy spears until only true believers remain."

Elaysen made a sound of utter disgust, then wheeled about and stormed off to her tent.

"Balan, I want you to leave a few men here to observe these Helion Spears. If they give any indication that they're going to wage their little war within our borders, I want Aidrel arrested immediately and this army dispersed. I'll write a letter for the men to send to Lord Commander Levkorail with instructions for carrying out my will. If Aidrel resists, kill him. If they don't disperse, kill as many as it takes to drive the point home that I will not tolerate a religious war on Khedeshian soil."

They crossed the Candago River on an old stone bridge on lands claimed and controlled by Khedesh, though it had not always been so. In fact, the region of Pelmae changed hands about once a century, alternating between Khedeshian and Threndish control. Those who lived there were a mix of peoples from the two countries, so intermarried by this point that they felt no strong allegiance to either kingdom. Whenever skirmishes broke out for control of the fertile stretch of countryside, the natives simply kept out of the way until the fighting was done, then began paying their taxes and tributes to whatever side emerged victorious.

For the past sixty years Pelmae had been controlled by the Khedeshians, since the Battle of Tarloe's Mill, when the Threndish general Melaisa'odon was soundly defeated in a three day battle that ended with the near total destruction of the Threndish forces in the fields surrounding the eponymous mill. The bridge that Gerin and his company crossed stood within easy sight of the mill, which had survived the battle virtually untouched.

Balandrick did not want them to keep to any roads. As soon as they crossed the bridge, they set out toward the northwest, pa.s.sing farming fields and homesteads. They did not light fires and kept careful watches at night. The wizards set up tocsin spells beyond the perimeter set by the Taeratens to alert them should any people approach.

One evening at dusk, the sky ahead of them lit up with flash after flash of lightning. It was an odd sight since the sky above was clear except for a few thin wisps of clouds. The lightning struck a small area, as if drawn by something on the ground.

"Something seems wrong with that storm," said Gerin to the other two wizards. "Look at that lightning." He invoked a Seeing, but the spell revealed no magical power or anything unnatural about it.

"Looks fine to me," said Abaru. "It's just a small storm."

"It does seem a little strange, but nothing to worry about," said Hollin. "It's not coming this way."

They witnessed one final crack of lightning, then the sky was silent and still.

"There, it's already pa.s.sed," said Abaru.

Gerin said nothing, but he could not shake the strong feeling that something about the lightning had been unnatural, wrong.

The following evening, Gerin was almost asleep when he heard a commotion outside his tent.

Someone was approaching their camp.

He found the two wizards already conferring with Balandrick. "Someone tripped our tocsin spells," said Hollin.

"Where?" asked Gerin.

Balandrick pointed westward. They all started in that direction when a soldier ahead of them called out, "I have him!"

Three Khedeshians escorted a lone man to the center of the encampment. Gerin was startled by the sight of him.

He was naked, but seemed neither concerned nor embarra.s.sed by his lack of clothing. But almost more startling than his nakedness was the absolute perfection of his body. Lean, well-muscled, his skin pale and unblemished, with no scars of any kind that Gerin could see.

He did not look deranged, and was obviously well fed and in peak physical health. Then why is he wandering the countryside without any clothes?

"What brings you here?" said Balandrick. "Were you robbed? Are you injured?"

"No. I am quite well." His voice was deep, strong. He did not speak with a Threndish accent; indeed, he spoke with no discernable accent at all. He sounded almost amused. Several times he glanced at his own hands as if marveling at them.

"Someone get him clothes," said Balandrick. He gestured for the soldiers to keep him at some distance from Gerin. "What's your name?"

"My perceptions here are quite amazing," he said. "Much different from what I had expected."

Maybe he is mad, thought Gerin. A lunatic escaped from a prison.

"Greetings, Gerin Atreyano."

The sound of steel rang out as soldiers drew their swords and pointed them at the stranger.

"How do you know my name?"

A soldier arrived with a robe that he tossed to the stranger, who regarded it as if unsure of what it was. Then he pulled it on over his head.

"The servants of the Adversary have begun to meddle in the affairs of the world," he said. "Your sword, the one that pierces the heart of this mortal realm, and the opening of the Path of Ashes, have altered the world in such a way that the Adversary's powers are growing much faster than they had been."

The hair on Gerin's arms and the back of his neck stood on end. "How do you know these things? Who are you?"

The stranger smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. "I am Zaephos," he said, "messenger of the One G.o.d."

13.

Drexos had been right about one thing. Using the Stone made him sleep.

The connection was constantly with Tyne now. When he blinked he could sometimes see flashes of the dragons as they winged across the sky on their way to him. At first the images were so disorienting that he stumbled and at times fell. He tried to stop them, but could not. Apparently, the connection could not be constricted, at least that he could find.

He did grow used to the images so that they no longer impaired him and marveled at how a body could acclimate itself to the most extreme circ.u.mstances.

When he concentrated, he could close his eyes and spend long minutes among the dragons. The sense of vertigo he'd experienced from having a vantage point so high in the air and moving so swiftly also lessened over time.

But the price for such time spent using the connection was sleep.

When the fatigue washed over him, he staggered to the closest place that offered concealment-usually a stand of trees, as these lands were flat and open-and collapsed. He had no way of knowing how long he slept, but it often felt like days. He had strange dreams, not only of the dragons, but of Drexos and his shadow-wreathed form, which inspired only terror and dread in him. He dreamed sometimes of the figure within the Stone, a thing that raged against its prison.

Tyne was ravenous when he woke. He needed more food, and spent some time hunting and dressing his kills so he could replenish his provisions.

He pa.s.sed a handful of villages and towns on his journey eastward and continued to make discreet inquiries about the bronze demon, but the trail was still cold. He did not tarry in most places, preferring to sleep alone in some secluded spot away from people. He feared that others would somehow sense the Stone and try to steal it from him.

He did, however, stop at taverns from time to time to listen to the locals and spend some of his precious coin on an occasional beer. He wondered if he might overhear a snippet of conversation about the bronze demon that the taverngoers would be reluctant to share with an obvious foreigner when he inquired directly. He was always given suspicious looks when he asked about the demon-whether because of his accent, the subject of his inquiry, or both, he could not say. But he worried that even if they knew something, they would not tell him out of spite.

In one tavern in a town whose name he did not know, he overheard a conversation that made his heart skip a beat and a chill run down his spine.

"I hear things are quite a mess along the coast," said the barkeep to a well-dressed fat man seated at the largest table in the room. From the cut of his clothes and the many jeweled rings on his thick fingers, Tyne took him for a merchant.

"Rumors of invaders from across the sea and kingdoms falling to them left and right," continued the barkeep. "Just so they stay to the coast and don't turn their eyes toward us."

"You have no idea, Jarmayne," said the merchant. "Eastern Khedesh is in chaos. Yes, their new king drove the invaders off their sh.o.r.es, but they haven't fully recovered from the blockade. Trade is erratic at best. Threndellen is so awash with the invaders that I can't get so much as a bolt of wool or a single ruby out of the country. It's been a disaster for business. I did what I could in Khedesh and got out. Not sure when I'll be going back. I've heard the invaders kidnap anyone they come across for slave labor. That's too much of a risk, even for me."

"That'll be the day, you doing labor." The barkeep snorted a laugh. "And what about the Khedeshian king? A magician of some kind, is what I heard."

"Yes, and that's not the most scandalous thing about him." The merchant's voice dropped a little, but he was a big man and even a whisper for him carried through part of the room, so Tyne had no trouble hearing him. "There are rumors in the city he had his father murdered so he could claim the throne."

"You don't say!" Jarmayne slapped his hand on the scarred wooden surface of the bar. "And he's still king? The n.o.bles didn't rise up against him?"

"Oh, some of them are grumbling, but they can't prove he did it. It's such a strange story..."

"So let's hear it!"

"What I heard is that a demon of some kind appeared and killed the king-the old king-and then knelt before the new one, like it was his servant. They said this thing was ten feet tall! Ten feet!"

"So what happened to it?"

"Just vanished. Disappeared like it had never existed. The new king swears he had nothing to do with it, but I don't believe it."

"Me, too. To think, a son killing his father." He shook his head.

Tyne could not believe his good fortune. For months he'd been searching for word of the demon, with little success. And now he not only learned it was somewhere in Khedesh, but that it had apparently done the bidding of the new king-Gerin Atreyano.

Drexos was right, he thought. Gerin is someone I need to kill. Such an evil man does not deserve to live.

Several days later Tyne could feel the dragons getting close. The connection was stronger than it had ever been. Images of the dragons flashed in his vision every few seconds, but he'd learned to ignore them as easily as he ignored the blinking of his own eyes.

His heart raced when he saw a smudge on the horizon and realized he was actually seeing them for the first time. In the distance, they looked like a large flock of birds, but he knew with absolute certainty that it was the dragons he had called.

He waited on the hard-packed dirt road for them to arrive. Around him, waist-high gra.s.s swept unbroken toward the horizon like a vast green sea.

It did not take long for the dragons to close the distance. Though he'd seen them in his visions for weeks and weeks, the sight of them took his breath away.

They were majestic, powerful-and beautiful.

They reached him and began to circle overhead, creating a cyclone of wind that swirled the gra.s.ses and blew across him like a gale. He could smell them in the wind; a scent of leather mingled with a metallic odor and the faint whiff of sulfur. They cast enormous shadows on the earth as they wheeled over his head.

He felt reborn in the wind, becoming something greater than what he had been.

Come to me, he commanded through the Stone.

The largest of the dragons veered off from the rest, and with an ear-shattering roar, dived toward the ground. Tyne felt no fear at the approach of such a gargantuan beast. He knew he controlled them completely, that they could cause him no harm while he carried the Stone.

The dragon's ma.s.sive wings extended to their full span to break its dive; it alighted almost gently in front of him. Its thick back legs touched first, then its long body dropped slowly until its forelegs reached the ground, the long claws flexing on the gra.s.s. The wings folded above its back as its neck arched high, the triangular head bent down toward him.

"You're the leader of the flock," Tyne said aloud. "Or whatever they call groups of dragons. Bow your head. Recognize me as your leader."

He sent the command through the Stone into the dragon. He sensed the pain it caused the beast, bending it to his will. The Stone's touch was not gentle.

The dragon's head lowered until it almost touched the ground.

"Very good. Get up now. We have work to do."

The dragon raised its head and released a gout of fire high into the air. The others circling overhead roared and belched fire of their own. The swirling wind grew hot and carried a stench of sulfur.

Tyne could not stop grinning. The world was about to change.

14.

Gerin stared at the stranger in shock. "You can't be Zaephos," he said at last. "Zaephos is not a man."

"I a.s.sure you I am who I say I am. Do you remember when I appeared to you on the road to Hethnost? And again in the palace of the king?"

"Come with me," Gerin said, turning toward his tent. This was not a conversation he wanted to have in public. He told Balandrick and the other wizards to join him.

In Gerin's tent, Zaephos looked around with an expression of amus.e.m.e.nt. "Interesting, this mortal form." He ran his fingertips along the canvas of the tent, then down one of the wooden support poles.

Hollin was already working a Seeing. "He's human as far as I can tell."

"Of course I am," said Zaephos. "I've created this body in the mortal realm. I wished to experience this existence directly. It is quite different from my earlier visitations to you and Aunphar."

"Then you were the one who appeared to him," said Gerin.

"Yes. It was my task to set both of you on your paths."

Gerin fought down his sudden anger at the idea of being manipulated, of his fate determined by another. "What did you mean when you said my sword, Nimnahal, was helping the Adversary grow stronger more quickly?"

"And what is the Path of Ashes?" asked Balan.

Zaephos c.o.c.ked his head. "I thought I was clear. The power of your weapon pierces this mortal realm. It has allowed the power of the Adversary to grow more quickly than it would have otherwise. Already he has a.s.sumed a physical incarnation."

"The G.o.ds save us, Gerin," said Hollin. "You must destroy Nimnahal at once."

Zaephos shrugged. "You may if you wish, but it will have no effect on the Adversary, for good or ill. He has made use of what he can. And it may be that your sword will have some part yet to play in the battle against him. I would counsel you against rash actions.

"As for the Path of Ashes, that is a gateway those you know as the Havalqa have built that connects this continent to their homeland across the sea. It, too, pierces this mortal realm to create a bridge that allows them to pa.s.s easily from this land to Aleith'aqtar."