Worldbinder Part 28

Many wyrmlings rode upon the backs of kezziards, great lizards some fifty feet in length. The monsters were fierce in battle, fighting with tooth and claw, lashing with their tails. The kezziards' claws could easily get a purchase on the walls of the fortress, and then the monsters would scurry in, carrying attackers. Madoc began crying out, ordering his dart-throwers to target the kezziard riders.

The walls of the fortress were high, but at only thirty-two feet, they wouldn't be high enough. The kezziards would reach his men easily.

Suddenly the battlefield was white with skull helms as the wyrmling troops filled it. Poisoned war darts began whistling up from them through the smoke.

Some of Madoc's men cried out while others merely fell back and died without a sound, heavy iron darts sticking from their throats and faces.

The troops were roaring now, his men singing a death hymn while the wyrmlings hurled back curses.

Madoc spared a glance toward his sons, to see if they had stayed or if they had already fled.

He saw them scuffling in the shadows. Drewish had a knife that flashed in the reflected firelight, and he lunged with it. Connor staggered away, blood flowing black from the back of his tunic. He grunted softly, fearfully, as he dodged his brother's blade.

Madoc did not think. He leapt from the tower into the midst of the fray, used his round war shield to club Drewish across the face.

"d.a.m.n you, you brat, what are you thinking?"

"I will inherit!" Drewish said. "I'm most fit to rule! First I'll kill him, then I'll take down the king!"

"Not if I get you first, you d.a.m.ned coward!" Connor roared, finally gathering enough wits to clear his war-hammer from its scabbard.

He tried to leap past Madoc to get at his younger brother, but Madoc stopped him with an elbow to the face. Connor staggered under the impact of the blow.

Drewish took the opportunity to lunge, his knife lashing at his brother's throat, until Madoc punched him in the ear.

Both boys fell to the ground, beaten.

Warlord Madoc put one foot on Drewish's shoulder, holding him down, while he grabbed Connor by the throat and wrestled him around to get a look at his wound.

Blood stained Connor's back just above the kidney, but the wound did not look deep. Already the flow was clotting.

"Not too bad," Madoc judged. "The armor foiled it, just by a bit."

"I nearly had him," Drewish spat, trying to struggle up to his feet. "But he ran away."

Madoc glowered. It was bad enough that Drewish tried to murder his brother. It was made worse by the fact that he had bungled it.

"Here's the deal," Madoc growled. "You will both live to reach Luciare. If either of you dies-either at his brother's hand or at the hand of a wyrmling-I'll kill the survivor. And, believe me-I'll take my pleasure doing it. Understand?"

"Yes, father," Connor sniveled, fighting back tears of rage.

Madoc stomped on Drewish's shoulder. "Got it?" Madoc demanded. He swore to himself that if this one didn't understand, he'd slash the boy's throat with his own blade for being too slow-witted.

"Got it," Drewish finally agreed.

"Good," Madoc said. "When I get home, we'll have a council, figure out how both of you can have a kingdom." He thought fast. "There are these small folk that will need someone to rule them with an iron hand. They'll need big folk to be their masters. It will require great work to subjugate them, to properly harvest their endowments. I need both of you alive. Understand?"

Both boys nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good," Madoc said. He heard screams along the castle wall, one of his men shouting, "Get them! Get them. They're coming over the wall!"

"Now, drag your a.s.ses back home," Madoc growled. "I've got a battle to fight."

He turned and studied the castle wall, searching for the source of the commotion, even as a huge shadow fell over him, blocking out the starlight. An enormous graak soared over the fortress. And there he saw it, a kezziard's head rising over the north wall, its face covered in a barding made of iron chains, its silver eyes reflecting the fires.

Warlord Madoc listened to his sons scuttle away even as his mind turned to war.

Now comes the hard part, he thought: staying alive.

32.

LUCIARE.

So often we celebrate life's small victories, only to discover how life is about to overwhelm us.

-Daylan Hammer "Why are they cheering so?" Jaz asked, for as they marched through the city gates, the warriors beat axes against shields and roared. Nor did the applause die, but kept growing stronger.

Talon leaned down and said softly, "Because you slew a Knight Eternal. They saw it, and even now there are tales circulating of how you slew another at Cantular. No hero of legend has ever slain two two of them. The warriors of Luciare have often driven them back from the castle, and sometimes escaped their hunts. But never do they slay the Lords of Wyrm." of them. The warriors of Luciare have often driven them back from the castle, and sometimes escaped their hunts. But never do they slay the Lords of Wyrm."

As they entered the city, the warriors cheered Jaz and gathered around, then lifted him onto their shoulders and paraded him through the streets.

Fallion gazed up at the city in wonder. The streets wound up through the market district here, and higher on the hill he could see a stouter wall. Above them, the lights played across the whitened walls of the mountain, flickering and ever-changing in hue, like an aurora borealis.

Soldiers patted Fallion on the shoulder and would have borne him away, but Fallion shook his head and drew back. In his mind, the words echoed, "though the world may applaud your slaughter, you will come to know that each of your victories is mine."

Fallion felt a wearying sadness. Once again, men applauded him for his capacity to kill, and he could not help but worry that somehow he was furthering the enemy's plans.

Fallion looked around; people were smiling at him, but they were strange people, oddly proportioned. He saw a boy that could not have been more than ten, but he was almost a full head taller than Fallion.

Shrinking back, Fallion felt very small indeed. He was a stranger in this land of giants.

Talon had said that men of the warrior clans had grown large over the ages due to selective breeding. But even the commoners here seemed ma.s.sive.

The warriors' seed has spread throughout the population, Fallion realized.

The king was marching up through the throng, the crowd parting for him like waters before the prow of a ship. He suddenly turned and called out, peering at Fallion.

Talon, who had been separated from Fallion in the crowd, called out the translation, from several yards away, leaping up to catch a glimpse of Fallion. "He thanks you for your help, and regrets that he must now go prepare for battle. He says that the wyrmlings will attack before dawn." There was a question implied in that last bit. He needed help, Fallion realized, and wondered if Fallion would give it.

Fallion drew his sword, dismayed at the rust building upon it, and put its tip to the ground. He walked forward, and the crowd parted until he stood before the High King. Fallion knelt upon one knee, bowed his head, and said, "Your Highness, my sword and my life are yours to command."

The king answered, and Talon translated, "Your sword and your life are yours to keep. I will not command your service, but I welcome your friendship-and that of your people."

"That you shall have," Fallion said.

The king smiled then, warmly, and a wistful look crossed his face. He whispered into the ear of the Wizard Sisel, then turned and strode up to the castle, his cape fluttering behind him.

Fallion retreated from the throng, tried to find a place in the shadows, away from the crowd, but the Wizard Sisel sought him out. "The king will be taking counsel with his troops. He has battle plans that must be seen to. But there are matters of great import to both of you that must be discussed. He wonders if you and your friends would like to refresh yourselves, perhaps wash up, and then meet him in his council chambers for a meal."

"Tell him that I would be honored," Fallion said.

Sisel headed through the throng. Reluctantly, Fallion and the others followed him up the winding streets, through the merchants' quarter. The air was perfumed with the honeyed scent of flowers, for beneath every window was a flower box where blossoms of pink or yellow or white grew in a riot, streaming down from the second-story windows like waterfalls. Flowering vines sprang in curtains from mossy pots that hung from the lintels. Great bushes struggled up from pots beside the doors, and small forests rose up just behind the houses, while ivy climbed every wall. Lush gra.s.s and colorful poppies rioted at the margins of the road.

Life. Everywhere was life. Fallion had never felt so...overwhelmed by plants. It was almost oppressive. Even in the steaming forests of Landesfallen, flying among the trees upon his graak, he'd never felt so dwarfed.

And as he pa.s.sed through the gate to the upper levels of the city, light was added to the foliage. Three vast tunnels opened as portals into the mountain. The mountain walls were paneled with huge stones, all limed a brilliant white, while runes of protection were embossed in gold there upon the walls outside of each tunnel.

Beneath each portal squatted a golden brazier, perhaps eight feet across, where pure blue-white lights flickered and played like lightning, sometimes changing hues to soft pink or fiery red.

They were fires, but they had no source. Fallion reached out with his senses, tested them. There was no heat there, only a piercing cold.

"What are those lights?" he asked Talon.

She hesitated, as if he had asked her something crude. "The soul-fires of those who died guarding this city. They come each night, and guard it still."

Fallion veered to get a closer look as they pa.s.sed under the arch, but Talon grabbed his sleeve and pulled him away, giving him a silent warning.

"I want a glance," he said.

"Peering into the light is considered to be both disrespectful, and dangerous-" Talon said, "disrespectful because you would only witness the refuse of their souls, and dangerous because...seeing their beauty, you would long to become one of them. Leave those sad creatures to their duties."

Light and life, Fallion realized. Sisel had said that he protected the city with light and life.

Then they were under the arches, into the tunnels, which grew dark and gloomy. The tunnels were lit by tiny lanterns that hung from hooks along the wall. Each lantern was blown from amber-colored gla.s.s and held a pool of oil beneath it. The oil traveled up a wick to a tiny chamber, where a candle-sized flame burned. Fallion had seen similar lanterns from Inkarra. There they were called "thumb lights," for each lantern was no longer than a thumb.

The throng broke up, warriors retreating to their own private halls, and Talon led Fallion's group down a long pa.s.sage. The ceiling lowered and the hallway became almost cramped.

The mountain was a warren, a dangerous warren, for portcullises and dangerous bends were strewn all along the way. If it came to fighting, Fallion could see where an army could fight and then fall back, always defending from a well-fortified position. The wyrmlings with their great height would be at a disadvantage in such tight quarters.

We should be safe here, he thought.

33.

THE REPORT.

One has not failed, until one has quit trying.

-Vulgnash "You failed?" Lady Despair asked.

Vulgnash knelt upon the parapet beneath Fortress Ruga.s.sa, the smell of sulfur clotting the air in the chamber as the unbearable heat rose up from the magma. The great wyrm had risen beneath him, its maw working as it spoke.

He wore a new corpse. It was two hours past sundown. It had taken time to find a new body, to prepare the spells that invigorated it.

Never in five millennia had he failed his master. His voice was thick with shame. "I captured the wizard, as you asked, and was bringing him here. But we were set upon by a great war party of humans. A king led them, a king upon whose shoulders rested the hope of his people. He bore a blessed sword. There was no fear in him that I could use, no hatred."

The great wyrm did not hesitate. "Go back," she said. "A war party will attack Luciare this night. The battle itself shall provide a distraction. Join the battle. Kill the king who bears the hopes of his people, and when he is dead, bring the wizard to me."

"I will need new wings," Vulgnash said humbly, "if I am to make it before dawn."

"You shall have more than wings...." Lady Despair said.

"The branding irons from the otherworld?" Vulgnash asked, excitement rising in him. He had not had time to play with them, to test them.

"They are called forcibles, forcibles," Lady Despair said. "There are slaves who will endow you with strength tonight. You will find them in the dungeon."

Vulgnash's mind raced as he considered the implications. For centuries now, Dread Lords like the emperor had been Lady Despair's favorites, for they were wise in the ways of death magic. But they had rejected their own flesh, and thus could not benefit from this new magic, from these forcibles.

Vulgnash could. He could heap strength upon himself, and speed. He could become as beautiful as the moon and as fearsome as the sun. With enough forcibles, he could win back the trust and respect of his master. Indeed, Vulgnash imagined the day when he he would become the new emperor. would become the new emperor.

"Thank you, master," he said. "Thy will be done."

34.

THE KING'S COUNCIL Even the wisest of men cannot foresee all ends.

-Hearthmaster Waggit King Urstone sat in his dinner chair, shoulders slumped as if in defeat, elbows resting on the table. A feast was spread before him-a shank of roast boar, calf 's tongue, boiled baby carrots with onions, and bowls and baskets filled with breads and other things-some of which Fallion could not name. But King Urstone had not touched them.

The king's long white hair hung down over his shoulders, and his face was lined with creases of worry. Yet there was still strength there, and Fallion could see the handsome man that he had once been.

As Fallion entered the room, Urstone's blue eyes shone with an inner fire.

No, he is not defeated yet, Fallion realized. Jaz had come to the dinner, along with Rhianna and Talon. Daylan Hammer and the Wizard Sisel had also come.

There were various warlords at the king's table. Like the king, they wore armor carved from bone, capes of forest green or burgundy, and cape pins with intricate designs. Fallion suspected that the pins denoted rank, but he could only guess which of the warriors were most senior.

At the table sat another man, smaller than the warriors, with a narrow face, finely groomed beard, and chains of gold. He looked like a wealthy merchant. He smiled like a fox as Fallion entered, his dark eyes tracking him across the room. Fallion studied his face, long and oval, the smile predatory. He felt sure that he knew the man from somewhere, but could not place him.

Fallion felt most surprised to see Siyaddah sitting at the king's table, a pace to the king's right. She had changed into a fresh dress of white silk, but painted with bright flowers this time, with a dark purple border.

She looked at him, and Fallion glanced away, not wanting to catch her eye.