The Ruin Part 18

He doubted that, however. He suspected it would strike again before he managed to get clear. But since he had no idea what form the a.s.sault would take, all he could do was- All he could do was hang his head as his mother scolded him. She hated it when he climbed trees, or the ivy-covered walls of their manor house in the country. She was sure he was going to fall, and couldn't understand why he loved to be up high. Nor could he explain, for he didn't comprehend it, either.

It wasn't that he lacked for other diversions. As the scion of one of Lyrabar's wealthiest families, he could fence, ride, hunt, hawk, and play at lanceboard whenever he felt so inclined. As he grew older, he added dancing, wenching, drinking, and gambling to his amus.e.m.e.nts. It all made for as pleasant a life as any young man could desire.

Yet he never stopped climbing, even when it made his shoulders tingle and itch in a peculiar, disquieting way. Even when, upon reaching the top of one spire or another, he experienced a sudden urge to jump. Not because he wanted to kill himself, but for some other reason he couldn't articulate.

His parents indulged him when he squandered coin on clothes, cards, and dice, impregnated serving maids, and even when he dueled. Yet they continued to rebuke him when he climbed. They swore it would be the death of him, and threatened to cut off his allowance if he persisted.

They were so upset, he feared they might be serious, and he did stop for a while. Ultimately, though, the impulse to scale the heights became too powerful to deny. One night, he crept outside the family mansion in Lyrabar, and not even caring that the stonework was slick with rain, clambered up the intricately carved facade of the structure to the conical slate roof of the tallest tower.

Perhaps it was because he'd denied his forbidden desires for so long that his back burned worse than ever, and the edge of the roof called to him as never before. Terrified and exhilarated, he realized that he really was going to jump. He moved forward.

"Stop!" his mother cried.

Startled, he glanced back, and there she was, perched behind him. But he'd been alone an instant before, and it was inconceivable that she could have climbed up after him in any case. a.s.sailed by such irrationality, the confusion in his mind unraveled.

"You're not my mother," he said, "and this is only a dream."

"Whatever else it is," she said, "it's everything you've always wanted. You're human and thus a part of your beloved Impiltur as never before. You have all the coin you ever craved, and don't even have to work for it. Your father earned it, and you can spend your days enjoying it."

"While lost in a delirium."

"No. Have you never heard, there are many Torils, many worlds, lying side by side like pearls on a string. In the one you currently inhabit, Sammaster never lived, Taegan was born into one of Lyrabar's richest families, and the Rage never happened. It's better than your previous existence, isn't it? There, the Tarterians will soon tear you apart. Or Kara will, or Brimstone, as their respective curses overwhelm them. Or you'll eke out the brief remainder of your life in fear, misery, and the knowledge of futility and defeat, until the food in the valley runs out. Wouldn't you rather stay here?"

He grinned. "You make a compelling case, but alas, my preferences aren't the point." He turned back toward the drop-off.

"Please," his companion-Sune only knew what it truly was-wailed in a convincing imitation of maternal anxiety. "Don't you understand, you're human here. You don't have any wings!"

"We'll see." He took a deep breath, then leaped into s.p.a.ce.

Lyrabar melted, and he found himself back in the valley, and back in his proper body. Thus, he did have wings, but it seemed he'd stopped flapping them when the dream possessed him. He was falling, and the ground was rushing up fast.

Heedless of the pains that had rea.s.serted themselves along with the remainder of reality, he beat his pinions as hard and fast as he could, fighting to level off. He managed it with scant inches to spare, the tips of his pinions actually rattling against the ground.

He drove onward. Felt rather than truly heard the magic howl with frustration as he burst out of the shaft of gloom. He smiled at its vexation, then sighted the Tarterians hovering before and above him. They'd sped around the column of shade to cut him off, and unless he was willing to retreat back into the dark-suicide, he suspected, since he'd roused the forces lurking there-he had nowhere left to go. Nowhere his wings could carry him, anyway.

"All right!" he cried, loud as he could. Loud enough, he prayed, for Raryn, Kara, and Brimstone to hear. "Come take me if you can, you dull-witted lizards!"

They obliged. One flew directly at him, black talons poised to seize and rend. The others maneuvered left and right, up and down, boxing him in even more thoroughly than before.

Rattling them off as quickly as he dared, he whispered words of power. A drake to his left realized he was attempting magic, and spewed a flare of its breath. He lashed his wings, flung himself out of the way, and the world spun, broke apart, and rea.s.sembled itself. Unexpectedly, he was standing behind a stone on one of the mountainsides. Clumsy with the jarring, instantaneous transition from flight to a stationary position on the ground, he hastily folded his wings and crouched.

At the same instant, Raryn, his timing impeccable, shoved the stones he'd piled up for the purpose banging and b.u.mping down a slope near the entrance to the ruined portal. The purpose was to convince the Tarterian that their quarry had shifted himself to that distant point, and peering out from his hiding place, Taegan saw the ruse was working. Screeching, the dragons beat their way toward the gate. They were flying fast, but Raryn should still have sufficient time to scurry away from the rock fall and conceal himself as ably as a skilled ranger could.

Presumably, after the Tarterians failed to find anyone lurking outside the tunnel, they'd revisit the portal chamber itself, where Raryn had cast a petty charm of one sort or another. If they sensed the residue of magic lingering in the air, it might well persuade them that, even though the magical cobbles were damaged, Taegan had still managed to employ them to transport himself out of the vale.

Meanwhile, with their keen ears, Kara and Brimstone had surely heard him yell, the stones tumble, or both. If they'd penetrated the citadel, that was their signal to make sure they were indoors, out of sight. If not, it was a warning they were out of time and needed to get away.

Taegan waited a while, catching his breath, then, his bruised and battered body throbbing, started creeping along the slopes. When they departed the vicinity of the gate, the Tarterians split up and glided back and forth across the battlefield, and he crouched motionless whenever one ventured near. It slowed his progress, and he wondered if Kara and Brimstone might destroy the heart of the Rage before he even had a chance to see it. If so, it would be all to the good, but still, a bit of a disappointment.

Eventually, white wyrms and ice drakes lit on the tableland behind the Sossrim force. Will supposed it had been inevitable. All the reptiles had needed to do was invest the time to fly in a wide arc around the battlefield, a course that took them beyond the range of the spells the druids and wizards could cast to deter them.

The maneuver placed the Sossrim between two contingents of their foes, and Stival rushed Will and the rest of his troop-designated dragon killers, the Defender help them-to the rear. There, aided by many of the spellcasters, they gave the whites a difficult time of it.

Violent winds howled overhead to keep the reptiles on the ground. Frozen earth melted into sucking quicksand beneath their feet. Walls of crackling flame, and light curdled hard as steel, sprang up before them to block their frosty breath and prevent them from closing with their foes. Meanwhile, dazzling thunderbolts, explosions of fire, arrows, and all the stones that Will could sling a.s.sailed them.

With its steadfast valor and tactical brilliance, the defense was awe-inspiring-and insufficient. On average, whites didn't command sorcery as potent as that of other chromatics, but they knew their share, and conjured darts of ice and bursts of hail to batter their foes. Often enough, they slipped a blast of milky breath through the wards to freeze archers and spearmen where they stood. Sometimes they even managed to rush in close enough to rend with fang and claw.

In consequence, people died. Will had little leisure to keep track of what was going on behind him, but the occasional glance revealed that the situation was equally dire in the front of the Sossrim formation. At least twice already, Zethrindor's other minions had reached the crest of the ridge. Thus far, Madislak's warriors had flung them back, but with their ranks thinning, it was difficult to imagine they could repel many more such a.s.saults.

A crimson sun was sinking in the west, and all things considered, Will wondered if he and his friends would hold out long enough for one last look at the stars.

"On the left!" Pavel shouted.

Will jerked around to see a stubby-legged ice drake, its ivory scales tinged with blue, charging straight at them. He spun his sling, and his companions loosed their arrows. Some of the shafts lodged in the creature's hide, but didn't stop it.

Hovering, Jivex stared and shrouded the larger reptile's head in an illusory ma.s.s of flame. That didn't balk it, either.

Madislak scrambled up behind the warriors, brandished a bronze sickle, and growled a word of power. Sprouting in an instant, brambles thick as a warrior's arm, with thorns as long as daggers, erupted from the ground and twined around the ice drake. The wyrm roared and bounded onward, breaking its bonds apart as if they were no more substantial than cobwebs.

"Steady!" Stival called. "Steady! Flank it if you can."

Head still burning, or at least appearing to, though its body radiated a chill that made Will's body clench, the drake leaped into their midst. Two Sossrim fell, crushed and torn beneath its claws. Its broad, flat tail flicked and smashed the skull of a warrior seeking to scramble around behind it.

Will scurried underneath it, stabbed twice with his short sword, and dodged clear. That put him near Pavel, bashing away with his mace, and Natali, hacking with her blade. Though she remained human in other respects, the excitement of combat had given her round golden owl eyes.

A blue-white wing hammered down at them, and they jumped out of the way. The drake wheeled toward them, jaws opening wide. Dorn lunged from somewhere and ripped at the base of its neck with his talons.

Then Madislak stepped in front of it. "Look at me," he rapped, and the wyrm did.

A grayness washed through its scales, and it screeched. It strained to reach for the old man with its jaws, but its body was already stiffening and slowing into immobility. Its tail twitched a final time, then it froze into a figure of lifeless granite.

Will grinned at Madislak. "Nice trick."

"Point me at another wyrm," said Madislak, his eyes closed. "I need to make the most of this magic before it runs its-"

He took a lurching step forward, then buckled at the knees and waist. Stival caught him just before he could collapse entirely, then Will saw the arrow jutting from his back.

The halfling looked around and discovered onrushing tribesmen and frost giants. Either they'd fought their way through the treants and animals guarding the forest, or else Zethrindor had translated them onto the ridge with his sorcery. Will suspected the latter, not that it mattered. They were here, attacking by surprise, and the dragons, inspired by the appearance of reinforcements, redoubled their efforts to wreak havoc.

Will started to switch out his sword for his sling, then realized some of the charging barbarians were only a stride or two away. In the mad, screaming confusion of the moment, he hadn't noticed until then. He dodged a chop from an axe, darted behind his attacker, and sliced his hamstring. Sensed a threat behind him, he whirled, parried a spear thrust, and lunged to bury his sword in his second attacker's guts. Hesitated, momentarily uncertain what to do next, with combatants twice as tall as himself lunging, stamping, and reeling all around him.

Surrounded as he was, he could no longer see the dragons, but he could hear them roaring and snarling close at hand, and people shrieking. He was sure the reptiles were overrunning the formation, but when the final barbarian crumpled with Dorn's talons buried in his chest, and the wall of human bodies broke apart, he saw it hadn't happened. Despite the distraction of new opponents leaping out of nowhere, the Sossrim line had held.

But at a ghastly cost. Dozens of warriors had fallen. So had Madislak and several of his fellow spellcasters, and the defenders could afford those casualties even less. This pretty much answers my question, Will thought. I won't get a chance to bid farewell to the stars.

But there was no point regretting it, or thinking about anything but fighting as well as he could. He'd just about exhausted his supply of sling stones, and accordingly inspected the bodies-some inert, some screaming, moaning, or twitching-littering the gory, trodden snow.

He spotted a dead barbarian who'd been a slinger, and as he stooped to untie the fringed leather pouch of rocks from his belt, noticed his attire. Evidently he'd served Iyraclea for a while, for, unlike the recent conscripts, he wore a tunic crudely dyed with the Frostmaiden's emblem, the white snowflake in the gray diamond.

For some reason, the badge tugged at Will's attention. Frowning, he struggled to figure out why, then cursed at himself. "I'm an imbecile!"

"Finally," panted Pavel, laying a quarrel in the groove atop his arbalest, "a moment of clarity."

"Don't be snotty," Will replied, "you're one, too. We all are, not to understand what's right in front of us. And I need a real spellcaster, not a charlatan!"

He turned, casting about for a wizard or druid. Those who yet survived were conjuring frantically. Would any of them pause long enough to listen to him? Would the defense crumble if one of them did?

Jivex flitted around to hover in front of his face. "What are you looking for?" the faerie dragon asked.

"You. I need to go down the hill to the other part of Zethrindor's army. You need to fix it so n.o.body kills me on the way. Can you do it?"

The little dragon sniffed. "Of course! Am I not Jivex?"

"Then let's go."

They worked their way through the Sossrim formation-or what was left of it-to the top of the ridge. Jivex faded from sight, and a moment later, magic seethed and tickled across Will's skin.

"We're ready," said the drake.

Will took a breath, steadying himself, then stepped over a corpse and through a broken place in the rampart of branches and snow. A warrior exclaimed in surprise and reached to haul him back. But the human was too slow, and too wary of the enemy host spread out below, to come out from behind the barrier to save a lone outlander from the consequences of his folly. Will hurried on downhill, wading and slipping in the cold, deep snow, past the bodies of those who'd fallen trying to take the summit.

"Not so fast," Jivex said, his voice seemingly sounding from empty air. "To the bad people, you look like a wounded dwarf struggling to rejoin his comrades. If you want the trick to be convincing, you have to creep and stagger, not sprint like you're trying to win a race."

"We are trying to win a race," Will said. But he slowed down as much as he could bear.

A few breaths later, a mixed band of frost giants and barbarians charged the top of the ridge. Will cringed as they pounded nearer, but most of them ran by without paying him any mind. One huge warrior in the rear of the pack, however, its eyes and matted beard both p.i.s.s-yellow, broke stride to peer at him.

"It's nothing," crooned Jivex's disembodied voice, "just a dying dwarf. Keep running. You don't want the other giants to have all the fun."

The creature thundered on. Jivex had evidently tampered with its thoughts.

Will surveyed the troops ahead, most of whom appeared to be preparing for another advance. A company of arctic dwarves caught his eye. The treachery he'd experienced at such folk's hands scarcely served to inspire confidence in their kind, but his long friendship with Raryn did. He tramped in their direction, through other warriors who gave him no more than a glance.

"All right," he said, "I need to look like myself again."

"That sounds dangerous," Jivex answered. "But suit yourself."

Will couldn't feel his mask of illusion dissolve, but it was obvious when it did. The nearest dwarves-a glum, bedraggled, hungry-looking lot, who, judging from the wounded lying on the ground at the rear of the troop, had been up the hill at least once already-goggled at him. One fellow leveled his spear and charged.

"Wait!" said Will, retreating a step. "I'm not here to fight!"

His a.s.sailant didn't heed him. But Jivex shimmered into view and puffed sparkling vapor into his face. Giggling, the dwarf stumbled to a halt and allowed the broad flint point of his weapon to droop to the ground.

"We're not here to fight!" Will insisted. "Would the two of us sneak into the midst of your army to do battle all by ourselves? We want a parley."

A dwarf even more ma.s.sively built than his fellows, with white, braided mustachios that dangled far longer than his tuft of beard, stepped forth. He carried a warhammer with a steel head and wore a coat of mail, marks, most likely, of authority, but looked just as haggard and morose as the common warriors in his charge. He gave the newcomers an appraising look, then shook his head as if unable to decide what to make of them.

"If you're here bearing the Sossrim's offer of surrender," he said at length, "I'll take you on to Zethrindor."

"We didn't come to see him," said Will. "We came to talk to you, and all the ordinary folk compelled to follow him. You need to know: The Ice Queen is dead."

The dwarf snorted. "What?"

"Iyraclea's dead. Jivex and I saw her die ourselves."

Another dwarf spat. "This is a trick."

"Obviously," said the captain, "and a daft one at that. Fools, surrender yourselves or die." His warriors lifted their weapons.

"Please," said Will, "listen to what we have to say, then judge."

"Perhaps you noticed," the leader said, "we're in the midst of battle. My comrades and I have no time for idiotic lies."

The other dwarves spread out to flank the newcomers, and Will felt a pang of fear and frustration. By the silent steps of Brandobaris, why had he ever imagined that ploy could work? He hesitated, uncertain whether to surrender or fight-neither option seemed likely to extend his life for very long-then Jivex swooped to position himself directly in front of the captain.

The faerie dragon crooned, "We're your friends, come to help you. You have have to listen." to listen."

The dwarf's bright blue eyes blinked as if in momentary confusion, and Will realized Jivex had attempted to color his thoughts and feelings with magic. It was a risky tactic, for if the captain or any of his command comprehended what had happened, they'd surely respond violently.

But no one threw a spear or axe, and after another heartbeat, the officer said, "I ... speak your piece then. Quickly."

"All right," said Will. "As I told you, the Ice Queen's dead, I swear by the Hand of Fellowship, she is, and if my oath's not enough for you, consider this: Didn't she used to appear to you, glowing and taller than a mountain in the western sky? Has she done it lately?"

The captain frowned. The warriors murmured.

"No, she hasn't," Will persisted. "Because she can't. She's gone!"

A towering, azure-haired frost giant came striding up, sword in hand, a b.l.o.o.d.y strip of linen knotted about his brow, and an empty quiver flopping on his hip. He was slimmer and not as coa.r.s.e-featured as the majority of his race, with an air of youthful energy that the hardships of the campaign had yet to smother. On the Great Glacier, giants and dwarves were bitter foes, but perhaps their enforced servitude in the same host had stifled the traditional animosity, for his manner was brisk and matter-of-fact.

"We're about to move," he rumbled, his voice deeper than most any human's and certainly any halfling's. Then he caught sight of Will and Jivex, and stared in amazement.

"They claim," said the dwarf with the plaited mustachios, hope and doubt mingled in his voice, "that the Ice Queen is dead."

"She is," said Will, "and what's more, all the white dragons and landwyrms and such are here. Every hissing, slithering one of them! Do you understand what that means? n.o.body's ruling over the Great Glacier anymore. n.o.body's holding the kin you left behind hostage to coerce your obedience. You aren't obliged to fight this pointless war. You can go home."

The giant studied him for a time, then sighed and shook his head. "I think I could almost believe you, small one. Maybe because it seems unlikely anyone would have the nerve to peddle such a bold lie. But what does it matter? Whatever's happening back on the ice, the dragons rule us here."

"To the Abyss with the dragons!" cried Will. "They can't stand against all of you and all the Sossrim, too. We'll kill them together, and afterwards, you can depart in peace. All we have to do is find a way to stall the next attack while we pa.s.s the word from one company to-"

A horn blared, and others answered. The invading army lurched into motion, feet crunching in the snow. A few warriors shouted battle cries. Most just trudged with taut, grim, weary faces, their reluctance manifest. But everyone marched. As the sun touched the western horizon, Zethrindor was hurling every iota of his strength at the folk on top of the ridge.

Will cursed. Thanks to Jivex, the dracolich's captive warriors had actually listened to him, actually seemed as if they might believe him. But he was out of time.

Jivex narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth in a grimace of concentration. A dozen high-pitched, slightly sibilant disembodied voices, each sounding like his own but considerably louder, cried out at various points above the ragged ranks of striding warriors: "The Ice Queen is dead!"

"The Ice Queen is dead!"