Worldbinder Part 18

He let the implication sink in. From Drewish's unappreciative look, it was obvious that the boy didn't understand the full implications of the discovery, but soon enough, he would.

Madoc was quickly learning that there were others like himself, hundreds who had lived separate lives on both worlds. Soon enough, he would find someone among the clan who had been a facilitator on otherworld, a mage trained to transfer endowments, and then Madoc would be in business.

"It is only a matter of time before the wyrmlings discover this, too," Madoc said. "It is only a matter of time before they realize what our warriors might do if we unite these small folk under a single banner and lead them to war. It is only a matter of time, before they realize the threat that we pose, and try to smash Caer Luciare into oblivion!"

"What shall we do?" Connor asked.

Now was the moment for Madoc to speak his mind openly. "King Urstone is a fool, too weak to lead this people. So long as his son is held captive, he won't risk attacking Ruga.s.sa. We must...eliminate the king."

"How?" Drewish asked with a tone of relish in his voice.

"In the heat of the battle, tomorrow, when no one is looking," Madoc said, "it would be a good time for a spear-thrust to go astray."

Connor seemed shocked by the idea. He had always been a good lad, in Madoc's opinion. Sometimes, such decency can be a fault.

"Stick with me," Madoc said, "and someday soon, you shall rule a nation."

"Which one of us?" Drewish asked.

Connor turned to him in obvious confusion. "Me, of course. I'm the oldest."

"And I'm better able to lead," Drewish countered, leaping to his feet, a dirk ringing from the scabbard at his knee.

Connor yelped, leapt back, and drew his own dagger. His jaw tightened and his muscles flexed as he prepared for battle.

Madoc stood up, placing himself between the two, and glared at Drewish dangerously, as if begging him to attack.

"Two kingdoms," Madoc promised. "One for each of you."

24.

THE ESCAPE.

I often tell myself that I should never underestimate the goodness of the human spirit. Time after time, I have found that I can count on the mercies and tenderness of others. Perhaps it is because I constantly look for and nourish the good in others that I am too often dismayed to find abundant evil in them, too.

-Daylan Hammer Daylan climbed the rope up to the grate and clung for a long moment as he listened for guards. There was only the sound of the wyrmling princess pacing in her cell.

There were no other prisoners so far down in the dungeon. Daylan had watched for them as he was borne through the hallway. So it was with little concern of being discovered that he felt around at the lock.

The good king had left him a key. It turned easily, and Daylan Hammer was free of the oubliette.

He climbed out, and stepped on a bundle on the floor. In it, he found his war hammer, a dagger, a flask and some food. The king hadn't had the foresight to leave Daylan any clothing. He was still naked, covered with filth.

He carried his few goods past some cells, squinting as he peered in, somehow hoping that there might be food or clothing in one. Straw in the corners served as the only mattress that a prisoner down here might get, and with no other recourse, he finally went into an open cell and used some straw to sc.r.a.pe off the muck.

It didn't help much.

I didn't escape the oubliette, he decided. I brought half of it with me.

He imagined trying to break free of the city, a naked man covered in dung.

That will cause no small stir, he thought, fighting back a grim smile.

When he finished, he went to the cell of Princess Kan-hazur. A guttering torch revealed her. She was hunched in a corner, in a fetal position, with her elbows on her knees and her hands wrapped over her face. She peered at him distastefully from the corner of an eye. "You here to rape me?"

"No," Daylan said as he tried his key in the lock. He felt a sense of relief as it clicked open. As he had hoped, the king had provided a master key to the prison.

"Too bad," Kan-hazur said, "I could use a little sport. And from the looks of you, that's all you could offer."

Daylan did not smile at her dry wit. He was so befouled, she could not possibly have wanted him. She was only making jest of him.

"Where did you learn to talk so filthily?" Daylan asked.

"At my mother's breast," Kan-hazur said, "but nine years in this stink-hole has perfected my skills."

Daylan searched her room. There was a bucket of water on the floor.

"I've come to rescue you," Daylan said. He picked up the pail, let the water stream over him slowly, and washed off the filth as well as he could.

Kan-hazur stared at him for a long moment. "I'm not a fool. I don't believe you."

"It's true," Daylan said. "I've set up an exchange of hostages-you for Prince Urstone."

He had expected her to smile at this point, to weep or show some grat.i.tude. But she merely glared at him and refused to move.

"Lady Despair teaches that the sole purpose of life is to teach you humility," Kan-hazur said after a long moment. "And true humility only comes when you reach the realization that no one-mother, father, lover, ally, the Powers, or any force of nature-gives a s.h.i.t whether you live or die.

"I have mastered humility."

Daylan considered the implications of those words. The princess didn't believe that her father valued her life, not enough to give up his own hostage, certainly. Was she right? The tone of her words was forthright. She was convinced.

"Believe it or not," Daylan said, "I care if you live or die. I wish you well."

"You don't even know me," Kan-hazur countered. "I am a wyrmling, and I am your enemy."

"On some worlds," Daylan said softly, "it is taught that the sole purpose of life is to master love, and the epitome of love is to love one's enemies, to wish well those that hate you, to serve those who would do you harm. It is only through such love that we can turn enemies into allies, and at last into friends. I have spent millennia mastering love."

Kan-hazur laughed him to scorn.

"Come," Daylan said, reaching for her hand.

She refused to give it to him.

"Please?"

"You're taking me to my death," she said, "whether you know it or not. My father would lop my head off in front of you, just to prove how little he cares for me."

"That's a lie, whether you know it or not. Even a wyrmling cares for his child. It is in your blood. Your presence here has kept this citadel safe for nine years. If your father cared so little for you, he could have proved it a thousand times over, by attacking."

Kan-hazur shook her head.

"Even if he does not love you," Daylan said, "he has forsaken his flesh, becoming as the Death Lords. He cannot sire another heir." The princess showed surprise, and hope flickered in her eyes. "Come, what have you got to lose?" Daylan asked. "We can stop in the market, get you some good meat before we go, let you feel the wind in your face and see the stars tonight. Even if your father comes to kill you, as you believe, wouldn't it be worth the trip, just for one last pleasure?"

"Don't trade me," Kan-hazur said, suddenly fearful. "Take me outside the city, and let me go in the wild. I can find my way back to civilization."

Daylan understood. By running away, escaping back to her own kind, she could start a new life. She might even be heralded as a hero for having escaped. But if she stayed, if he tried to trade her, she was truly afraid that her father would make an example of her.

"I won't lie to you," Daylan said. "If I let you go, I would lose any hope of winning back Prince Urstone."

"Why?"

"Because, as I said, I have negotiated an exchange of hostages."

"No," she said. "Why won't you lie to me? People always lie. Even humans. Lies are...necessary."

He understood what she meant. Most people lied, trying to hide what they felt or believed about others. Such dishonesty was the foundation of civility, and Daylan agreed that such lies were necessary.

But other people lied only to manipulate. A merchant who hated a client might greet him as if he were an old friend, feigning camaraderie while hiding his own personal distaste.

And to gain greater advantage, he might even deceive the client, lying about the value of merchandise, or when delivery dates could be met.

Among the wyrmlings, such lies were a way of life.

And if Daylan had wanted to manipulate her, he could easily have promised to take her out of the city and let her go, and then reneged at an opportune moment.

"I will not lie to you," Daylan said, "because in part I value you. A human is not a tool to be manipulated. To try to make you my tool would be to demean you. And I will not lie to you, in part, because to do so would make me a lesser man than I want to be. My word needs to be trustworthy always. If it is not, then I can never be trusted.

"That said, Princess, I ask that you come with me on my terms. Or, if you like, you may stay where you are, and the deal I have negotiated with your father will be forfeit."

Kan-hazur crouched in the corner, pondering his words. Daylan had never expected to have to try to convince her to leave. But the wyrm that fed upon her soul was a contrary thing. It shunned reason, trust, and compa.s.sion.

He suddenly realized that perhaps he needed to manipulate her in ways that she understood-fear, greed, shame. But to do so would violate every principle of the order that he lived by. Gentleness, loving kindness, gentle persuasion-those were the means that he was allowed to use in such circ.u.mstances.

He chose gentle persuasion. "I have a question, princess. You say that the purpose of life is to master humility. But once that is done, what have you gained?"

She glared at him. "Once you realize that the universe is a cold, uncaring b.i.t.c.h, it means that you have only one choice in life-to fight for what you want. It forces you to live by self-determination, and that is the mother of all virtues."

Daylan nodded. "I, too, value self-determination, and see it as a fertile ground from which virtues may grow. So, I have to wonder: If you are resolved to lead a self-determined life, how is that to be done here in this cell? Are you going to sit here and die where King Urstone's men have placed you? That doesn't sound like self-determination to me. It sounds as if you are their p.a.w.n. Or would you choose instead to go back and claim your empire, even if it means that you must fight your own father for it?"

She glared at him. At last she climbed to her feet. Daylan offered her his hand, but she rejected it.

"I will not take my empire because you give it to me," she growled. "I will take it because I can. can. You have arranged my release for your own reasons, and I will owe you nothing." You have arranged my release for your own reasons, and I will owe you nothing."

Daylan shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me which evil wyrmling rules the earth. You're all much the same."

Still, she followed him out of the cell.

In the torture chamber, Daylan found a ragged tunic beside a rack. Someone had torn it off a prisoner before flogging him. The tunic was overlarge, but it would have to do.

They climbed the stairs stealthily and found a single guard on duty. He was sitting at a table, snoring loudly. In one hand he clutched a finely gilded wine bottle as if it were a lover. Obviously, the bottle was a gift from the king.

Daylan Hammer and Princess Kan-hazur unlocked the prison door, and were unleashed upon the world.

25.

THE HARVEST.

A hero is not always brave and strong. More often, he is but a common man who finds the courage and strength to do what he must, while others do not.

-Fallion the Bold They're going to kill you, Alun thought as he ran in the dawn light. Watch your back in this battle.

Alun raced along the uneven highway to Cantular, hulking warriors both ahead and behind. The road had become a ruin since the change. The once-smooth highway, paved with stones four feet thick, was now broken and uneven. The roots of great oaks had thrust up through the stone, and old streambeds cut through it.

So Alun watched his feet as he jogged. There was little else to see. A summer's fog left the vale gauzed in white. Trees came out of the mist as he pa.s.sed.

There was only the heavy pad of the warrior's feet, the clink of bone armor, and the wheezing of breath.

Alun's legs still ached from yesterday's run. But he covered the uneven ground well enough. Only so often would someone shove him from behind, shouting, "Move along, maggot!" or some other such insult.

He could not hear well with his helm. It was made for a bigger man, and fit him ill. As a child, Alun had played soldier and worn wooden buckets on his head that fit him better. The armorer had pa.s.sed the bone mail and weapons out at dawn. The armor had been brought here ahead of the war party, secreted in a cave. The bone armor that Alun wore was carved from a world wyrm. The older it got, the lighter it became, but it was supposed to be tougher than a bear's hide.

Alun bore an ax into battle. Once again, it was too large to feel right in his hand. But it had a big spike on one side, and another at the end, and he imagined that he could pound a spike into a wyrmling's knee if he had to.

Alun peered ahead and behind, searching for Connor or Drewish. They were the ones who would most likely put a spear in his back. But he caught no sight of them.

So he ran, grateful that he only had to run. The troops had been cut into two divisions. Three hundred men had set out upriver at the crack of dawn to swim across the flood. They would take the fortress on the far side.

Six hundred ran with him now, hearts pumping, each of the warriors seemingly lost in private thoughts.

"Don't look so down," a soldier said at Alun's left.

He glanced over, saw a large soldier, an older man, perhaps in his forties. Alun recognized him. He'd come to the kennels at times to bring the dogs in after a hunt. Alun couldn't recall his name.

"First battle?" the soldier asked.

"Yeah," Alun said. He'd wanted to nod, but he didn't want to look all out of breath.