To the east the fires of Wrommish shone from the west and brightened an already glorious morning.
Tuskandru tore a chunk from a hard bread made of logga nut and grunted as he chewed it. The air was cold and he liked that too. Better to fight in the cold. War was hot work.
“You are calm.” The King in Iron was sitting next to him and rubbing oil along the blade of his massive sword.
“What is there to be excited about, Paedori?” Tusk offered the other king a lump of bread and got a nod of thanks. The sword settled against a rock as the man ate.
“You have been angry of late.”
“No. I have been impatient.”
Tusk pointed with his chin to the lake in the distance. “There is our target. There is a city the size of which I did not think possible. You will come from one side. I will come from another and two more kings bring their armies to bear on this place.”
Tarag Paedori nodded.
Tusk continued. “To the north Wrommish offers us new light and the blessings of a god. That is a good sign, I think. But mostly, we are here. We are alive, and we have come to offer our gods countless sacrifices.” He patted the heavy axe at his side. “I think this will be a glorious day.”
The Fellein had their sorcerers who told them secrets. The Sa’ba Taalor had their gods who did the same. The deaths of so many of their brethren were not hidden from the kings. They heard of the violence and the Silent Army’s brutality.
There was no mourning to be done. They had lived good lives and died for their gods. What else was there?
Tusk looked at the massive lake. It was more water than he had ever seen at one time before. He had never traveled to Wheklam’s heart, had never tried to learn the ways of the water. He focused on Durhallem, instead. Very likely that was why he was a king.
The city itself was a crescent moon on the distant side of the vast lake. There were smaller cities and towns dotted here and there, but Goltha rested on the far side and waited like a treasure. The Fellein had nearly danced when gifted with gold. It was a metal, shiny enough and nice to look at, but soft and only good for hobbies. You could not make a good axe from gold, though he had been told it could kill if a fool ate enough of it. He did not know the truth of that and felt no reason to find out.
The Fellein liked their gold. The Sa’ba Taalor preferred different treasures, like a city that could be crushed.
The plans had already been discussed. Tarag Paedori was a master tactician – he followed the god of armed combat and led the armies of the Daxar Taalor, how could he be less? They had gone over the variables, chosen the paths they would take and decided when they would ride.
This was their final rest before the siege would begin. It would be a siege, too, they knew that. The armies of the Fellein had been gathering in the city called Goltha. Even from this distance the banners and flags of their soldiers could be seen.
There were no horns, no battle cries. They did not announce themselves this day. Instead they moved toward their destinations and prepared themselves for whatever the gods might demand.
Cullen stood upon his ship and stared out at the waters ahead.
He was a captain again, but somehow the title didn’t mean as much this time around. The ship was given to him by the people who had killed his crew and left him to witness their deeds.
His crew was dead. The new crew was untested. To be sure they could row a boat and fish, but the Louron were hardly known for their skills as warriors and sailors. If one wanted a person tortured they were among the best, but to sail into battle was a different thing.
Still, looking at the dark-skinned people around him, he could see that they were dangerous enough.
Their demeanor gave away none of that. It was the conversations with them as they nursed him back to health and fed him that told the difference. A dozen Inquisitors had pried questions from him. They did not torture him nor were they cruel, but they were persistent. Darsken Murdro had been direct and harsh, but the others here were subtler and in some ways more cruel. The questions they asked were painful to answer, not because they used torture, but because they made him face aspects of himself that he did not like. Perhaps it was a drug in the food, or in the water, or perhaps it was simply that he needed to tell someone and they knew how to ask. They found ways to get truths from him even when he tried not to tell them anything.
Now they smiled and they joked softly among themselves, and they moved up the masts of the ship, and for over a week he watched as they painted the wood with dark inks and sang softly to themselves. The wood of the ship was no different. The shape of the vessel remained the same, but there was something menacing about the Brellar boat that had not been there before.
“What is it you have done, Daivem Murdro?”
The woman he looked at was sleek and dark and ageless. She could have been fifteen or fifty and he would not have known the difference. She had silver in her hair but her skin was smooth. Her eyes held the frank expression of an older woman but she giggled when she laughed and sounded like a child at those times. Like her brother, her hair was drawn into a dozen braids, hers all beaded and covered with wire and odds and ends. It should have looked preposterous, but it did not.
“My brother said you are a good man. He asked that we help you.”
That thought puzzled him greatly. The notion that Darsken Murdro would call him a good man made as little sense as the rest of his life of late.
“Yes, and thank you. But what have you done to the ship?”
“Two crews died here. Yours and the Brellar who owned the ship, yes?”
“Yes.”
Her voice carried that same lilt as all of her people and was almost a purr. “They are angry. They want justice. They want to taste the blood of their killers. If this does not happen, they will never rest properly. They will search for their killers until the end of time. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I think.” He had heard of the Lourons’ fixation with the dead. He understood it well enough to know they were not to be trifled with. “And so we have offered them a map. It is carved into your boat. Their boat. They will guide you. We will sail with you.”
“Why are you doing this for me?”
“For the dead. They will have a voice again, if only for a while. When they are at peace, we can be at peace.”
She smiled as she spoke and then she called out to the crew around him. They called back, some loudly and some with nothing but a gesture.
Satisfied, Daivem looked to him again. “We are ready.”
“Then let’s get to it.” He didn’t give himself enough time to think and get nervous. If he did that he might well tell them to let some other fool be their captain. He owed his crew, however, and he owed the Brellar. If not for his actions they would all likely still be alive. He had led his crew, and the Brellar had been brought into negotiations with the Empire because of his suggestions and actions.
The ship lurched as the anchors were raised and the sails were spread.
Callan looked at the sky and frowned. “What is wrong with the clouds?”
They danced and shifted in a way that was not at all to his liking. They seemed oddly out of focus, even when he looked directly at them.
“The clouds are fine. We have found ways to go faster than other ships. We will meet up with our enemies in hours.”
“In hours?” Despite his willingness to fight against the enemy, he had rather been hoping for a few weeks in which they could get more of themselves killed.
“In hours,” Daivem confirmed.
“But they have had weeks.”
“The dead have watched. The dead have waited. They wish to wait no longer.”
He wished the woman would stop speaking of the dead as if they were alive. The thought made his skin shiver as if fevered.
Callan knew the coastline better than most. He was shocked to see that they had travelled much farther than should have been possible an hour into their voyage. The man currently steering the ship did not look his way, but instead focused on the wheel. The rest of the crew stayed busy.
Daivem was close by and he called to her. “How does he know where to go? I haven’t told him.”
“You do not know where to go. Why would he ask you?”
Her logic was solid.
“Just the same, where are we going and how does he know?”
“Look carefully at your helmsman and tell me what you see.” The dark-skinned man was the same as before when he looked but there was something there, a smudge in the air that made no sense.
Daivem’s long fingers moved up the back of his neck and into the tangle of hair on the back of his skull. “Look carefully,” she whispered.
He looked and saw Vonders there, holding the wheel with the helmsman. Vonders whom he’d seen killed. Vonders whom he’d mourned.
“The dead know the way to retribution, Captain Callan. They have no secrets from us.”
Callan nodded and stayed where he was, cold and dread-filled in the warm ocean breeze. The miles went quickly, very quickly indeed.
Andover woke from a doze. He was still on Gorwich’s broad back. “You sleep like the dead,” the mount observed.
“And you stink like the dead, oaf.” The words were spoken with affection on both sides.
Andover looked around carefully. They had reached the passage between the mountains. Canhoon was above them, so high up it barely seemed possible that the shape was a city. Wrommish had moved, according to Drask. The winds from the north blew hot enough to convince Andover that the man was right, even if the gods had not told him already.
Drask rode next to him on the left, with Tega riding behind him. On the right Nolan March sat on Delil’s mount, where Delil’s body still rode. Nolan still offered no expression. How he rode without falling Andover could not begin to guess.
Delil did not rot. She should have been a reeking mess after the time they’d spent riding, but she was not.
“Should we not be closer?” Andover yawned as he spoke.
“We are where we need to be,” Drask replied. “We are days away from the Great Tide, Andover Lashk.”
“Have the gods ever raised the dead before, Drask?”
“You know the answer to this already, Andover.”
“I know one answer. I know that nothing ever goes to waste. I know that the punished come back as the Broken or as the Pra-Moresh. I know that the worthiest come back as mounts. But have the Daxar Taalor ever resurrected someone as they were before they died?”
“In some of the stories of the kings, they are reborn from their broken bodies. According to some of the legends, Durhallem raised Tuskandru from the dead.”
“Do you believe that?”
Drask shook his head. “No. I know that they can raise the dead, but I have never heard of it happening.” He tilted his head. “They have come close. Swech died. She sacrificed herself to Wrommish to hide among the Fellein. She died there, but they have only recently given her back her old body.”
“So they raised her from the dead?”
Drask shook his head. “More like they put her back in her own form. It is hard to say, I am only just learning of this.”
“How are you learning?”
“Tega and Nolan and I have been changed, Andover. I think we have bathed in the blood of the gods and been transformed.”
“I thought the blood of the Daxar Taalor was the metal in their hearts.”
“A different type of blood, perhaps. It is hard to say. All I know is that we are changed. We are changing. You ask if gods can raise the dead. I raised Brackka. Does that make me a god?”
“You raised Brackka? From the dead?” Andover’s voice was soft with surprise. He looked past Drask to Tega. She stared directly in his eyes and nodded her confirmation.
“Yes, I did.”
“Could you raise Delil?”
“I think so, but I see no reason.”
“What do you mean?”
“Delil lived the life she wanted, Andover. She fought for her gods, she lived well and served the Daxar Taalor. She was happy. If I bring her back that might not be the same.”
Andover stared hard at the man who had been his mentor. “I don’t understand. Why would you hesitate?”
“You would not hesitate, Andover. She is important in your world and you wish to be with her. But she is not important to me. She was my friend, but death is part of the world, even for gods. If I brought her back, it would not be for me or for her, it would be for you.”
“Would that be such a bad thing, Drask?”
Drask looked at him, stared deeply into his eyes. “You have already made a bargain to have her back, Andover Iron Hands. It is not my place to reach between a man and his gods.”
“But if I do not keep that bargain, if I should fail…” Guilt swept through him.
“Then your desire for Delil is not strong enough for you to test your faith.”
“Do you know what the gods want of me?” His voice broke momentarily.
“I have not listened to the gods since leaving the Blasted Lands.” Drask looked forward again. “They have been trying to speak to me, trying to get my attention. I suspect they would like their power back.” Drask looked his way again and raised his right hand. The silver there had grown, was sweeping up his arm all the way to his shoulder. “I imagine they want you to convince me to talk to them. Or they want you to kill me, Tega and Nolan.” There was an edge of menace in the man’s words that made it clear he would not die easily. “I will understand if you try. I have killed more than a few people I considered worthy of friendship because the gods demanded it. I will defend myself, Andover. If you attack me, I will kill you. Know that.”
They rode in silence for a long while. Tega stared at Andover as if she did not know him any longer. Perhaps that was true.
When Drask spoke again, his voice was calm. “You have met all of the Daxar Taalor, as have I, Andover. That is rarer than you know. There are fewer followers of Ydramil than you might think, because to truly be Ydramil’s follower, you must visit with all of the gods.”
Drask studied his own hand for a moment. “I do not ignore the gods because they have offended me. That is what you must understand. I do not ignore the gods at all. I am merely doing what Ydramil has always said to do.”
“And what is that, Drask?”
“Ganem is the Mirror King. Ydramil is the God of Silver, the God of Reflection.” Drask looked his way. “I am considering what my options might be. I am reflecting on the changes in my life as Ydramil has always asked of me.
“It is not all of the gods that have made an offer to you. Ydramil would not. Ydramil understands my heart.”
“Then why would the other gods ask me to kill you?”
“They are war gods, Andover. They will always ask for blood. It is their way.”
“Then perhaps if I offered them something else?”
“You can ask. I do not expect you will like the answer.”
Tega left her body, as she had done before her transformation, and dreamt herself a new form as her master had taught her to do.
The storm crow soared high, indeed, as high as the mountaintops, and then moved over the City of Wonders.
It was not hard to find Desh Krohan. He was in his chambers as she suspected he would be. It is not always easy to know a wizard, but it is far easier to know a man.
He did not need to look hard to know who she was.
Desh smiled and held out an arm. “Tega! I’d feared you dead. You have not responded in a very long time.”
Rather than land on his arm as she might have in the past, Tega took her own shape and settled on the ground beside him.
He was still looking surprised by her transformation when she hugged him fiercely. She’d had no plans to cry. She’d meant to merely let him know all that had happened but instead she found herself burying her face in his robes and wrapping her arms around his lean chest.
He said nothing. Instead he merely held her and let her grieve as she needed.
“They are all dead and it is my fault. I failed you a thousand times, Desh.”
“You are alive, Tega. You have not failed me. I have failed you. I should have never sent you to that miserable place.” He spoke into her hair and placed a dozen paternal kisses on her scalp.
After a time she could breathe again and pulled back from him.
Words were not enough sometimes. Instead of trying she touched her fingers to his head and showed him what had transpired. He seemed far less surprised than she would have expected. Then again he was on a floating city and an army of statues was moving about. Some events make the impossible less outrageous.
He showed her as she had shown him, and Tega burst into tears anew to learn that one of her teachers and friends, Goriah, was dead.
She was not alone. When Tega cried her grief out, Desh Krohan joined her. They held each other through the emotional storm and when it was mostly over Tega looked at him and said, “We could bring her back.”
“I’ve thought of it. I’ve considered it often. I have preserved her body for the possibility, because I do no want to bury her and I do not want to burn her. I do not want to lose any of my Sisters any more than I would ever want to lose you.”
“We could. The Daxar Taalor brought Swech back from the dead. That’s what Drask said.”
“How?”
“They are gods.”
Desh shook his head. “Even gods have their limits. Or at least they should.”
“There was something about her body. She was not in it and they cared for it. So bringing her back was not so hard for them.”
“Resurrection is almost impossible. To heal a wound is one thing. To put a spirit into a body and bind it is another.”
Tega shook her head. “You are thinking like a sorcerer, not like a god.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean a sorcerer must find the energy to do these things. Magic has a cost. You have always said this. The cost is the energy. Or the ability.” She waved her arms around. “This city, the Silent Army, they exist because you could draw on the deaths of thousands to rebuild, yes?”
“Yes, of course.” Desh looked at her carefully, like a parent looking for signs of a fever. “What is your point, Tega? I’m not going to kill a dozen people, even my enemies, in order to bring Goriah back. That is why those magics are forbidden. The temptation is strong, always, but it’s the wrong approach.”
“Desh, I have the power. It is inside me. Drask has the power inside him. Whatever we were supposed to find or not find in the Mounds, the power is in us.” She paused and thought of Drask recreating the Blasted Lands and bringing Brackka back from dust and ash.
“I have the power of the gods inside me, Desh. All three of us do. It is wondrous and terrifying.”
“Have you used this power?” He was calm as he asked, but he was also cautious.
“No. Of course not. I have already caused disasters without the power I have now.”
Desh nodded.
“That is why I am here. I wanted to give it to you. I think I can do that.”
Had she scalded him with boiling oil he could not have reacted as deeply.
He did not scream. He did not rail. Instead Desh looked at her as calmly as he could and shook his head. “I would not want it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I would want to use it.”
“But shouldn’t you?” Tega stepped closer to him, only vaguely aware that he had stepped back. “You could bring Goriah back. You could end this war.”
“No, Tega.” He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. “Once upon a time I think that was what ruined Korwa. Too many people with too much power fought against each other and destroyed that place. Do you see? The power of the gods should not be wielded lightly.”
Tega frowned. “But the gods have cheated! They bring back the dead of the Sa’ba Taalor!”
Desh smiled. “How about we come to a compromise, then. We could bring back Goriah, if you truly want. But nothing else. Instead I would ask that you refrain from using any more of this power, in case, as I suspect, it could cause too much damage.”
There was no hesitation on her part. Tega smiled and nodded and once again hugged her instructor and friend. He hugged her back and she felt, for the moment, happier than she had in months.
“There is someone I need you to meet first, Tega. He has spoken with Goriah. He has asked her many questions.”
“I thought that forbidden, Desh.”
“Not to an Inquisitor.”
Within the hour they met. Tega looked at Darsken Murdro and was intrigued. She had never met a man with darker skin or eyes and no man she had ever seen wore his hair in so many braids. Even the Sa’ba Taalor she had seen, many of whom braided their locks, had never managed so many braids of varying lengths, all tied together.
When he smiled his face lit up like a child’s. She liked him.
Pella and Tataya were there, along with a small, muscular woman introduced as Cullen. Cullen had a ghost. She also had something hidden within her that felt like it had all the power of a tidal wave locked in a bottle.
Desh explained enough to let Darsken know that bringing Goriah back was possible without sacrifices.
Not far away Tataya and Pella were still mildly shocked to see Tega, but happy for all that. After everything that had happened they’d feared she was dead and that they had lost another of the family.
Jeron was missing. Tega knew of his name but that was all. He was not in the city that they could see and there was no word from him. The sorcerers had lost enough for now.
“You can bring her back?” Tataya spoke softly and moved to Tega, her arms moving around Tega’s shoulders and her body pressing to her from behind. She leaned into the embrace, taking comfort from the Sister. Pella looked closely at Tega and frowned in concentration.
“I cannot,” Tega shook her head. “But Desh can. I can only provide a means.”
Pella nodded but said nothing. Half of sorcery is understanding how the world functions. Pella looked at Tega and understood.
Desh looked at Darsken Murdro and asked only one question, “Would Goriah want to come back to us if she could?”
Darsken looked carefully at each of them. “Yes. But she knows the rules of sorcery and necromancy and would want no sacrifices to bring her back.”
“Then she will have none.” Desh nodded. “We will try once and only once.”
Tega smiled. “I have to leave soon. I have to get back before I am missed. I think there are things that still need to be done from down below. So we should work quickly.”
“What are they doing?” Deltrea looked at the gathered people and worried at a spectral fingernail. She was always curious, but now she seemed more concerned than anything else.
“They try to bring back the dead.”
“Not me I hope. I don’t think I’d like the shape of my body after all this time.”
“No. One of the other sorcerers.”
“Hmmph. Just as well. I wouldn’t want to be alive again.”
“Liar.”
“Maybe so. Still, no one has asked me.”
The short blonde woman who clung to Desh Krohan like an infant with her father looked their way for a moment and smiled timidly. Cullen smiled and nodded. Deltrea realized she could be seen by the girl and immediately waved and smiled as well.
“See? That one I like. Not nearly as rude as the wizard.”
“I think they are all wizards.”
Deltrea moved closer. “Is that the one they’re bringing back?”
There was only one body on a table. The corpse was pretty as corpses go, but still only one more corpse as far as Cullen was concerned. She couldn’t imagine wanting to be reborn into the world after all that had gone wrong. Trecharch was gone. Her home, her people, almost all of them destroyed and instead of trying to stop the enemy, the group here worried about bringing back one person. She wondered idly what made that one so special but decided not to dwell on it.
She didn’t really know what to expect but it was a simple enough affair.
Desh Krohan made markings on the body of the dead girl. Some might have seen his caressing of flesh as obscene, but he obviously took no pleasure from it and he broke a sweat as he concentrated. The little blonde girl stood beside him, and he reached for her at one point and their hands clutched together.
Then the lights came. Cullen felt like she was seeing the sun for the first time. The lights were warm and bright and comforting even though their intensity scared her a bit.
The lights ran from the girl to the sorcerer to the corpse and there they danced along each and every mark that the sorcerer had made before they sank into the cold, dead flesh.
After a moment the corpse shook and took in a breath before groaning and sitting up.
She was lovely. She had cold features, but they were structured well. High cheekbones, full lips, blue eyes and hair so blonde it bordered on white.
Deltrea looked at her and spoke with a shocked voice She did not speak of the miracle they had just seen instead she said, “You fancy her.”
Cullen waved the comment away. Who she fancied had never been a part of her relationship with Deltrea and wouldn’t be a part of it now.
“I can feel it, Cullen. Why didn’t you ever say?”
“I fancy men and women alike, Deltrea.” She muttered the words, while not a dozen feet away the miracle workers held onto their resurrected friend and hugged.
“Well, yes, but you never said.”
“You talked of your rutting. That doesn’t mean I ever wanted to talk about mine.”
“But we’re friends, Cullen. I told you everything because we are friends.”
“I saw how you treated a few people like me. You smiled in their faces and then said hateful things.”
“I would never do that to you.” Deltrea looked genuinely wounded.
“I never wanted to take that risk. In any event it is done.”
It was not, however.
The recently reborn looked to the other blonde, the smaller one, and swiftly grabbed her hand.
“I need a favor from you, Tega.” The way the woman spoke, it was not really a request.
“Just… Only this time, Goriah. Because you are owed that much.”
Goriah kissed the other girl’s cheek and then closed her eyes.
Desh Krohan said, “What are you doing?”
Goriah replied, “Revenge.”
The First Advisor merely nodded his head.
They were gathered together at the estate of Lanaie, though she was not there. Once again she was walking the palace with Brolley Krous and learning what secrets could be gleaned while with him.
Swech was restless. She was back in her body and wanted combat, as is almost always the case with the Sa’ba Taalor, regardless of the body they might inhabit. It was not that she was impatient, merely that she needed to refamiliarize herself. Limbs were different widths and lengths, joints were more fluid – thank the gods – and muscles were just different enough that she felt like her whole body was wearing a new boot.
To that end, rather than pace and drive everyone mad, Swech stretched and practiced her punches and kicks as she had been taught. From time to time N’Heelis called out a compliment or a suggestion and she smiled and listened. It was good to be among her people again.
Glo’Hosht did not pace. The King in Mercury looked over a map of the city that was several layers deep.
“Here, I think, is where your people can do the most good, N’Heelis.”
The King in Gold moved over to look and Swech stopped her practices long enough to look on and learn.
“Swords and blades are very nearly useless here. I think chains and staffs a better way.” N’Heelis spoke casually enough. Of all the kings it was possible that they were among the closest. They had always worked well together and likely that would never change.
Swech moved closer and looked at the map. They were examining the Mid Wall.
“That is where the Silent Army is strongest.”
N’Heelis nodded and pointed. “It is also where they are weakest.” She smiled and crossed her arms.
Glo’Hosht stood up suddenly and backed away from the table. As he moved, his arms and then his legs twisted and popped. Bones snapped and the king fell to ruined knees.
It only took seconds. The King in Mercury screamed, a loud, harsh bellow, and then the flames erupted. Not at one sleeve or another, not at the bottom of the king’s cloak or at the top of the woven hood the king always wore, but from everywhere at once. This was not the heat of the forge. It was hotter.
The fires roared along the king’s body and if there was a second scream it was torn away by the fury of the flames.
N’Heelis did not have time to react. Swech did not have time to react. No one could have. The King in Mercury exploded into flames and then burned away into nothing before anyone could hope to assist. Fine soot rained down from the spot. Scorch marks painted the ceiling above where Glo’Hosht had been. The whitest ash, so fine that it shivered away in the breezes caused by motion a dozen feet away, was all that remained.
Swech sought comfort, as she always had, in the voice of her gods. The Daxar Taalor did not answer immediately.
Even the gods were caught unawares.
She took no comfort from that notion.