Captain Callan looked at the ice and shook his head, simply shocked beyond his ability to understand for a moment. One thing to hear about sorcery. One thing to even travel faster than a man should ever manage. The ice was a different beast. It was an actual impossibility made reality.
“How is that happening?” He watched as the ice overtook every one of the black ships around them. Waves froze in an instant and even the ship he stood on – a ship that had managed not to get destroyed by a dozen impacts with other vessels, that had traveled miles in minutes against all possibilities, even so incredible a boat as that – was slowed and then suspended in the ice.
Daivem looked his way and frowned. “Powerful sorcery. More powerful than any I’ve seen, besides that city.”
They’d watched as Canhoon dropped softly from the sky and landed. They’d felt the surge of water lift all of the ships around them and theirs besides. It had been an experience not easily prepared for.
The air was warm with spring. The trees were blooming along shorelines that teemed with green, but now the whole of Gerhaim, virtually an inland sea, was frozen in minutes. Heavy mists rose from the ice, making even the closest of the ships little more than a silhouette, but still he could see the Sa’ba Taalor’s shadowy forms as they climbed from their trapped ships and started walking across the ice. Hundreds of the bastards were heading toward the island city.
“I don’t see how we can go after them at this point,” he said. “I mean, it’s one thing to hit their ships and another for a small crew to try to kill that many.”
Daivem nodded and then pointed. “Still, your crew will try, yes?”
Sure enough, the ghosts of his crew were scaling down the sides of the ship.
“What can they possibly do?”
Daivem frowned and shook her head. “Nothing. They are dead. They can do nothing once they leave the ship, except remember that fact.”
He wondered for only one moment what she meant. As they left the ship and walked a short distance, they flickered out of sight.
“Where are they going, Daivem?”
“To where the dead go. I am not dead and cannot say beyond that.” She sighed and looked his way. “I hear that they go to a place of peace. I hope that is true.”
“What do we do now?”
The Inquisitor looked at him and shook her head. “This was never my fight. Never Louron’s fight. This is your battle. We have merely provided you with a means to get here.”
He looked at the woman for a while, not sure how to respond. “How do you mean?”
“You asked for our help and we gave it. But you have lost your crew. What you do now is your decision, but we will not be staying.”
“Where will you go?”
“Home. The same way we got here.”
“With this ship?”
“No. We will follow the Shimmer.”
Callan nodded. He’d understood that something unnatural to him allowed the ship to move so quickly and he’d certainly seen the distortion around them. The Shimmer was as good a name as any for it.
“Do you come with us, Captain Callan? Or do you stay here?”
Callan looked to the city and felt the ship beneath him and was uncertain.
Drask looked down at the ice and nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”
Andover looked his way. “What do you mean?”
“Why swim when you can walk? Freezing the lake was sensible.”
Whereas the Fellein were unsettled by the notion, neither Drask nor Andover was particularly shocked. Both had seen the actions of the gods.
Tega looked on and then shrugged. A moment later the mount under her moved forward.
Why it obeyed was something that Andover could not fathom. The mount had been Delil’s and she was not only dead, but now she was gone as well.
The night before, with Canhoon only a short distance away, he had taken her shrouded body and laid her upon the ground. He had uncovered her face one last time. She was perfectly still, but had not decayed. The Daxar Taalor had given him that. Or perhaps it was Drask. He hadn’t bothered to ask.
He touched her face one last time then covered her and set about the task of building her funeral pyre. He did not ask for help, but Tega and Drask gave assistance just the same.
There were no tears shed, but he felt the loss of Delil deeply.
In the end he could not decide if she would want to come back and so he left her death in the hands of the gods. Had they wanted her back they would have brought her back as they had Swech. Her body burned hot and the blaze was bright enough to light the area.
Eventually he slept and when he awoke all that was left of Delil was ashes.
Andover stared at the frozen lake and followed Tega and the silent fool who rode with her, Nolan.
Drask rode out onto the ice beside him. Theirs was a comfortable silence, at least for the moment. There were decisions to be made and that time was upon them.
“You should present yourself to the Empress.” The words were unexpected and Andover looked to Drask and shook his head.
“You jest.”
“Not at all. You were sent on a task by her cousin, the Emperor. You return now from that task and you should present yourself.”
“I suspect the guards throughout the city might object.”
“They might indeed, but you will be safe from them. Tega and I will see to that.”
“You discussed this then?”
“Yes. It is a matter of protocol. This is not your war unless you choose to make it your war, Andover. You have been tasked with a duty by gods, yes, but your Emperor also tasked you with a duty.”
“I don’t see how I can go back before them. I’ve changed.”
Drask sighed. “An honorable person is only as good as the vows they choose to make and keep. You have made vows. Would you not discharge them properly?”
“What will the Daxar Taalor say about it?”
“The Daxar Taalor were the ones who taught me about honor. There is a time and a place for conflict, Andover. If you choose to fight for the Daxar Taalor that is acceptable, and you may present yourself as their champion if they have, as you say, chosen you for that purpose.”
“They have.” He did not take offense from Drask’s words because he understood the meaning.
“Then you have even more reason to present yourself to the Empress. Fellein has suffered greatly and will continue to suffer. That is the way of war. One side must win and one side must lose and the losers are seldom pleased with the outcome. There is death, there is destruction, there is disease and often poverty. In this case there are also the Seven Forges. Five have now been relocated. They will change the very shape of the land in all directions. That change can be gentle, or it can hammer Fellein into a new shape as it does now.”
“Why do you say these things, Drask?”
“Am I not one of your instructors? Do you see any of the others here?”
Andover nodded.
“You speak for the gods on this and you must let the Empress know that she has an option aside from all-out war.”
“Drask, do you not want a war?”
“What I want does not matter. The war is already happening and is the will of the Daxar Taalor. It is also their will that you are their champion and must present yourself as such. It is not me who suggests an alternative to combat, Andover Iron Hands. It is the Daxar Taalor.”
Drask looked his way, his eyes glowing in the light. Andover knew the man, respected him, and still, even after all this time, found him unsettling. He was the only other member of the Sa’ba Taalor that Andover had ever seen with symmetrical Great Scars. He had the balance that Andover himself was seeking.
“As you wish, Drask.”
Drask shook his head. “No. As the gods wish. In this I will act as their agent. You will reach the Empress safely.”
That was all there was to say for the moment. They moved on, the mounts carrying them with ease.
The ice was thick enough to hold them and the mounts were fast. The heavy fog hid them and only hinted at the great obstacle before them. They rode hard and though he wobbled for a moment, even Nolan reacted properly. The man’s hands moved to Tega’s waist and held to her as she leaned forward over the shoulders and neck of the beast.
Drask leaned forward as well when the mounts moved faster and Andover followed their lead. The brutes tore across the frozen lake, claws adjusting when they started to slide, their speed whipping back the hair of every rider.
The city of Canhoon was a massive affair, indeed, easily dwarfing Tyrne. Andover had enough time to look at the vast wall ahead of them and the shapes of men that stood along it.
The wall was too high for even the mounts to hurdle and though he knew that, he kept moving forward at the same frightening pace. Tega or Drask or the gods themselves would have to either open a way or peel his broken body from the stone surface.
The shapes atop the vast wall moved, and Andover reached for his shield. They might have arrows or spears and both he and Gorwich would need the protection if it came to that. Closer still they rode and then the air flickered around him and Andover grunted, surprised to find himself in a different location.
The sun glared down, no longer hidden behind a veil of mists. The ice was gone and the ground beneath their feet was dirt and cobblestones. The yard was vast, and that was a blessing. Even the fastest mounts needed room to stop. They managed, though Andover almost fell on his ass at the sudden shift in speed.
There were easily thirty men in Imperial armor less than a hundred feet away. They were practicing with swords, and they stopped as the mounts and their four riders appeared.
For one moment he had no idea what to do and the ghost of the boy who had once been maimed by the City Guard wailed from inside his belly.
The soldiers moved quickly, forming into a proper rank and replacing swords with spears. A good sword would wound a man in close combat. A good spear would do the same but had the advantage of range. Before he had been trained by the Sa’ba Taalor and the Daxar Taalor, Andover had considered spears to be little but sticks with a pointy end. He knew better now.
Andover climbed down from his mount and patted Gorwich on the side. He looked to the men coming his way, most of them with swords drawn, and casually pulled his axe from the side of Gorwich’s saddle.
“That is enough!” Andover barely recognized his own voice. “I am Andover Iron Hands, and am here to speak with Empress Nachia Krous and with Desh Krohan!”
The man in charge of the group looked at him and nodded. He seemed absolutely unimpressed. “I am Captain Alaire of the Imperial Guard, and you will stand down or you will die here and now.”
Tega spoke up. “I am Tega. I am apprentice to Desh Krohan. We will wait here while you pass a message to the Empress and her First Advisor.”
Drask said nothing. He merely sat tall in the saddle on Brackka’s back, his hands in easy reach of enough weapons to terrify anyone who knew what he was capable of.
Nolan giggled.
It wasn’t long before the four riders were escorted to see the Empress.
Nachia stared at the four who came into her throne room. They were hard not to stare at. The last time she’d seen Tega and Nolan they were on their way to examine the Mounds. The last time she’d seen Drask Silver Hand, her cousin had still been Emperor.
As for Andover Lashk, the only reason she really recognized him at all was because of his hands.
“What did they do to him?”
She whispered the words to Desh, who looked at Andover and spoke back just as softly, “I couldn’t hope to tell you.”
Drask Silver Hand was the first to approach and as he did he dropped into a formal bow, his arms spread to his sides and his head lowered. “Empress Nachia Krous, I return to your lands in troubling times.”
“Indeed, Drask. The world has changed a great deal since last we met.” She spoke formally as did he, and she sat on her throne and did her best not to fidget.
Andover came forward next. He had changed a great deal. He’d left Fellein to be an ambassador between two different civilizations and came back dressed like a member of the Sa’ba Taalor nation, with gray skin and scars too numerous to count.
“Majesty, I am Andover Lashk, called Iron Hands.” He bowed formally. “I come before you as a citizen of your Empire, returned from a long journey. I come to you as a messenger of the Daxar Taalor.”
That earned him an arched eyebrow. Part of her wanted to react more substantially, but there were protocols to consider.
As was often the case Desh Krohan was on one side of her. As Andover gave his speech Merros Dulver moved into the throne room and to her other side. His eyes scanned Drask, and his face spoke of a dozen sorrows. They had never become friends, exactly, but they’d shared a deep respect for each other and now stood on opposite sides of a conflict.
Desh spoke for Nachia at her signal. “You bear the hands of Andover Lashk. In most other ways you have changed a great deal.”
“I have been in the presence of seven gods, Desh Krohan. I have spoken with them and been blessed by them. These are events that change a man. I remember you well. You were kind to me when my hands were ruined. You have never done me any unkindness.”
Nachia nodded. “What message do you bring to me, Andover Lashk?”
“The Daxar Taalor, the gods of the Seven Forges, offer you one last chance to avoid all-out war. Even now the Sa’ba Taalor surround this city. They are prepared to attack, but they have stayed their actions long enough for you to consider the path you choose.
“I have been chosen as their champion. Should you decide that your Empire is best served by singular combat, I am the opponent your champion will fight.”
Nachia leaned back in her throne.
“And how long do we have before this offer expires, Andover Iron Hands?”
The man in front of her was larger than the lad who left her Empire. He was almost as large as Drask, who was a terrifying sight to behold up close. Andover’s face was ritually scarred and he looked enough like Drask that it was unsettling. A different shade of gray, fewer scars, though still a substantial number, his hair not as black. His eyes glowed with silvery light, however, and his garb was little more than black pants and a leather vest.
And an axe made of glossy stone.
Andover tilted his head.
“The Daxar Taalor offer you one hour to decide.” He stood to his full height and looked directly at Merros Dulver. “This will be the last offer of peace from the gods.”
Merros looked back, one hand on his sword. He did not seem the least bit intimidated.
Nachia nodded. “There is a chamber down the hall where food can be had. Two guards will escort you there. Please do not leave that hall until I have summoned you back here.”
Andover bowed again and so did Drask. Then the two of them followed the Imperial Guard out of the room.
Tega and Nolan did not leave. They were not representatives of the Sa’ba Taalor.
Merros looked at Nolan March with an expression of deep sorrow. He had the unpleasant task of telling the soldier that his mother was gone as well.
Desh nodded to Tega and she moved to him, almost immediately being folded into a protective embrace.
Merros walked toward Nolan and sighed. “I am sorry, Nolan March. I must inform you that your mother has passed.”
Nolan looked at him for a moment and then looked at the far wall.
“He’s addled,” Tega said. “He was injured in the Mounds, and injured badly. We do not know if he is capable of thought.”
“If he is not it might be a blessing.” Merros looked at the young man for a moment and then moved back to Nachia’s side.
He looked toward his Empress and said, “That was Andover Lashk?”
Nachia said, “We’ve less than an hour to decide if the Sa’ba Taalor will attack us or if we will choose a champion to fight for me.” She gestured toward the door. “Against Andover ‘Iron Hands’.”
Desh nodded. “That was Andover Lashk. Now he’s apparently a full member of our enemies.”
Merros shook his head and sighed. “I’d dearly love to know what training regimen they used.”
Nachia scowled, “Perhaps we can ask them after the war?”
Desh came straight to the point. “If you were to choose a champion, who would it be, Majesty?”
She walked over to the closest window without answering. Outside was her city. Beyond it was a frozen lake blanketed in fog, and covered for far too great a distance with the Sa’ba Taalor.
“How many do you suppose are out there?”
Merros frowned. “Fifteen thousand at the very least.”
“I know the Silent Army is on our side, but that is a lot of enemies.” Nachia stared at them as if by looking she could somehow make them go away. It wasn’t going to work that way, of course.
“I don’t know that Andover Iron Hands is all that formidable.” Merros spoke, but he seemed distracted. She knew that he was simply trying to calculate all of the odds.
Tega spoke up from the comfort of her instructor’s arms. “I have spent time with him. I know that he hasn’t truly been gone from here all that long, but you’ve seen the transformation and he told me that he literally fought thousands of enemies thrown at him by the gods in order to prepare him for this. He is likely as dangerous as he looks.”
“Well then, what shall we do?” Nachia asked.
Desh looked her way. “It’s one champion or a massive army. You could always try to find a really good champion.”
The debates began properly at that moment.
Who can say if the Silent Army was aware of what was going on in the palace? They stood along a massive stone wall and stared out toward the vast armies of the Sa’ba Taalor which, shielded by fog, made noise as they settled themselves and prepared for the coming combat. For some time, the stone sentinels watched as the masses of invading forces came their way and they did nothing.
And then they changed their tactics.
The stone army slipped through the Mid Wall and stepped out along its edge. Their spears were held in position. Their stone faces offered nothing.
The Sa’ba Taalor, unfamiliar with much of the ways of sorcery, saw the changes and stared, shocked. How clearly they could see was a mystery, but they noted when the soldiers vanished into stone and stepped out of the wall.
The gods had spoken, had said that none should attack as yet.
They had not said that none should defend themselves.
The Silent Army looked on for a few moments, and then one of them hurled a spear. The throw was strong and fast and the point of that spear rammed through the shield of a follower of Truska-Pren and then through the heart behind that shield.
Tarag Paedori looked at his fallen follower for only a moment and then roared, “We are attacked! For Truska-Pren!” The horns sounded. The forces of the King in Iron moved forward.
It was only seconds later that the rest of the kings called for battle.
“What was that?”
Merros moved to the window and looked down. “We’re attacked.” His voice made the words seem inevitable, and perhaps they were. The world had already changed too much and there were too many forces involved for calm to be maintained.
“Why are we attacked?” Desh Krohan moved closer to the window and wall and studied the situation. “The Silent Army are no longer at their guard positions.” He shook his head. “It might be they started this.”
“Yes, well, I’ll try to remember to yell at them later.” Merros shook his head. “Please relay the call to arms to my battalions, Desh.”
The sorcerer nodded. With a thought Desh Krohan told his followers what they needed to hear and they, in turn, passed the information on to the leaders of the Imperial Army.
Even as the massive surge of the Sa’ba Taalor charged across the ice once more, the horns of the Imperial Army called for a defense of the city.
From the barracks houses and the ready stations that had been hastily assembled, the army moved, taking up arms and grabbing shields. From the throne room they looked like ants, but they were well-organized ants as they scaled the steps to the top of the Mid Wall and prepared for battle. Shields were set to the wall, adding height and strength to the barrier. Archers readied their weapons. Spearmen set their long spears into position between the shields, wedging hard iron tips between the flagstones so that the points thrust outward and toward the sky. Shorter spears were readied for close combat.
“Desh?”
“Yes, Merros?”
“Could you melt all of that ice?”
“Beg pardon?”
“The ice. The damned idiots we’re dealing with are standing on ice. Could you melt it?”
Desh frowned, thinking.
Tega didn’t hesitate. “Done.”
And just like that, it was.
The ice shattered violently and as it broke apart the shards melted into water. The charging forces of the Sa’ba Taalor fell fast and hard as the effect continued to ripple outward.
Just as the gray-skins had somehow managed to freeze the lake, Tega now reversed the effect. Merros looked at her and damn near kissed her.
Drask heard the horns, of course. He knew what they meant the second they sounded.
“We are at war,” he said to Andover.
Andover nodded and rose from the food he’d been picking at. Pabba fruit. He would never tire of it.
The two guards with them heard as well and reached for their swords. Under the circumstances that was to be expected. Drask stepped toward the first of them and drove his silver hand into the man’s skull, cracking it like a soft-boiled egg.
Andover kicked the table where he was eating across the distance between him and the other guard. The table was small and got good clearance. The guard was fast with a sword and slow with defending himself. While he was pushing his way past the wooden obstacle, Andover cleaved him in half with the obsidian axe.
The two emissaries did not speak to each other. Instead they pushed past the door and headed for the stairwell leading down.
Then Drask said, “You may never have a better chance to kill the enemies of your gods.”
Andover shook his head. “Tega is there. She would stop me, even if the sorcerer could not.”
Drask nodded his head and kept moving.
“You could stop them too, Drask.”
“As I have said, I am not certain where I stand. I am still reflecting.”
Andover shook his head. “The time for reflection might have passed.”
“No. But it soon shall.”
In her chambers, Cullen sat up abruptly. The pain was no stronger than before, but there was a sense of urgency, a sense that whatever it was she had been waiting for was soon to come.
Also, there were horns sounding. Deltrea looked to her and shook her head. “You’re going to do something stupid, aren’t you?”
Cullen reached for her arrows and bow.
“I am going to help defend the castle. You’ve seen these animals in action. They’ll kill everyone if they break through the walls.”
“There are two walls between us and them, Cullen. Two. And they are very large walls, with many soldiers.”
“Then I will simply look foolish while I wait.”
She stopped speaking. That pain in her guts was now roiling.
“Almost time,” she said quietly.
“Almost time for what, Cullen?” Deltrea’s voice sounded worried and desperate. “Gods sake, almost time for what?”
“For whatever I’m becoming. Oh, GODS!”
The pain was as vast as Trecharch. It filled her. It seethed through her. Cullen dropped her weapons and fell to her knees, crawling toward the window, looking to the north and east. Whatever was happening, it was happening now.
The Sa’ba Taalor swam. There was no other option. They had spent their lives preparing for this and so they swam.
The waters were not as deep as one might have expected, but they were deep enough. Several of the more encumbered warriors sank to the bottom of the lake, only to find that they only dropped ten feet or so. There had once been a city here and it had been locked into the land under the lake. That land was still there.
Tarag Paedori held his breath and moved, reaching for the straps that held his armor in place, pulling them as calmly as he could even when he felt like he was drowning. Truska-Pren comforted him, the god’s presence keeping him calm. The chest plate fell away. It was enough as a start. He reached for his dagger and cut at the straps as he walked, concentrating on cutting his way to freedom.
When he rose from the waters the helmet came off his head. He rose in little but pants, his sword held in his hands.
He rose angry, and sought to take out his fury on an enemy.
The wisdom of Tuskandru could not be denied. The man never wore armor and he was already wading to the shoreline and roaring Durhallem’s name at the stone enemy they all faced.
The first of the moving statues to reach him tried to skewer Tusk with a spear. Tusk dodged the weapon and crouched low, water spilling from him in a cascade.
The man sported a short sword, an axe with two blades and a flanged mace. He reached for the mace.
That was as long as Tarag could look toward his counterpart before he was engaged in the battle himself. A spear was hurled his way and he twisted his body roughly backward even as he swept his sword in the direction of the weapon. The sword did him no good. The movement however stopped him from being gutted by the head of the spear.
He charged, pushing out of the waters and onto the land along with dozens of his brethren.
The Silent Army was powerful, to be sure. They were also vastly outnumbered and every last one of the Sa’ba Taalor who stepped onto the land wanted them dead.
A stone sword came for him and he blocked it, sending the blade singing along the edge of his great sword. The pommel of his sword was a heavy counterweight for the blade. He used it to break the stone blade in half and then shoved himself at the stone man wielding it. For most the forward shove would have achieved nothing. But he was Tarag Paedori and he knocked the stone man back.
Even as he struggled against the defender of Canhoon, two of his people came to his aid. A sword rang off a stone arm. A hammer broke a stone knee.
A broken stone blade cut the arm from the other sword bearer and Tarag once again struck with the pommel of his sword, this time to hook the knee of the stone man and make it buckle. The silent warrior fell and Tarag pushed past him, leaving him to the mercies of the other Sa’ba Taalor.
A spear tip cut a line of fire across his chest and he felt blood flowing. The wound was not deep and he thanked the gods, even as he grabbed the stone spear that had been thrown at him and dropped his massive sword. The blade was too unwieldy and could not cut stone. The spear was a better weapon under the circumstances.
The butt of the spear broke the nose of a stone man’s face. And the length of the pole let him knock his enemy staggering.
All around him flesh met stone, stone met steel, and enemies clashed on the narrow strip of land around the city of Canhoon.
Tarag Paedori roared his god’s name and continued on, reveling in the glory of a proper savage battle.
Behind him, around him the Sa’ba Taalor moved onward, pushing themselves against an army of stone.
Swech listened and obeyed. She once again climbed to the roofs and along with her a dozen others. They carried few weapons and they spoke not at all. The war was on. The Great Tide crashed along the edges of the city and Paedle told her it was time.
There was no need for ceremony, she merely needed a decent view.
Once high enough Swech looked to the north and east and nodded. Morwhen. The city was famed for its barbarism and the warriors it created. The first she heard of the people, they were to be the probable salvation against the Sa’ba Taalor, as they allegedly matched her people in savagery. For that reason the gods waited until most of the soldiers from Morwhen were on the move and heading for Canhoon before Paedle told her it was time.
She merely looked and willed the change and it happened.
Swech was the conduit for her god’s power. She was not a sorcerer and had no desire to be one, but she was the focus of Paedle’s will in this world and so she let the god’s power flow through her and she felt the earth shift and the heat boil and reveled in Paedle’s glory as the god was reborn on the site of Morwhen.
A war raged but still the lake and the city and the area rocked with the ferocity of the eruption. The recently unfrozen waters rippled and danced and waves slashed the relative calm.
Even before the water shifted the sky grew bright. Six gods had taken new places. The last would come soon.
Her mission accomplished, Swech sighed and prepared herself for her next task. The palace had to fall. The armies of the Sa’ba Taalor fought against the Silent Army.
All save those who were already past the Mid Wall and even the First Wall.
People like her.
They moved, silent and hardly worth noticing in the madness of the moment.
The ice was gone.
Callan stared at the waters and the black ships that faltered and foundered around him. They had no crews. The whole lot of gray-skins had run off to join the fight.
The smaller boat he’d ridden to the lake was still in fine shape, but there was no crew left.
The fogs had not dispersed when the water melted. They had thinned, but not vanished, and he looked to the shore and saw the vast army of the Sa’ba Taalor and shook his head.
“There’s nothing I can do here.” He looked for Daivem. “I suppose I’ll go with you.”
But the woman was gone, as were the others from Louron.
With no other choices that he could think of, Callan took down one of the smaller boats for reaching the shore and lowered it into the waters. He was well past the last of the foundering black ships when the rest of the Sa’ba Taalor fleet rode up the river.
There was no thought of going to Canhoon until that moment. The abandoned vessels were between him and the black ships and he was fine with that notion. He might have gone for the side of the river but more of the Sa’ba Taalor were there. Likely the ships would gather them for the next wave to attack the city.
In the meantime, he had to go somewhere and the city seemed his best bet.
Give or take the invading forces.
“I suppose we’ll have to see about going around them.” He said the words as if he could convince himself to avoid the fight.
He knew in his heart that wasn’t going to be possible. There were too many of them and only so much land around Canhoon to step on.
He needn’t have worried. Even as he considered the notion of how best to avoid being trampled under the gray-skins, they managed to breach the closest gate in the Mid Wall and started pushing inward.
Tuskandru did not break down the doors to the great gate. That was entirely Brodem’s doing.
Tusk had been trying to reach that damnable door for a long while and his muscles burned and he stank of blood and sweat. It was a lovely thing to finally have a full battle against worthy opponents.
The stone men did not die easily but they did die. He had that in common with them. Not the dying part, but the hard to kill part. His lip was split and two teeth had been knocked from his mouth. There were a dozen cuts across his flesh and some of them were deep. He would worry about them later, after the enemy had fallen.
He was still considering that fact when Brodem managed to get over the wall.
The Silent Army was very busy trying to stop the Sa’ba Taalor. The mounts were busy too, trying to find a place to get out of the water. Brodem took advantage of the situation and pounced on one of the stone soldiers. He knocked the stone man down at the same time as he got enough momentum to climb the wall.
There were spears in the way, and shields. He took the path of fewer points and knocked a shield aside. Once at the top, flesh and blood soldiers – who did the sensible thing and died when Brodem slashed and bit at them – replaced the Silent Army. Several spears came for him and most were knocked aside by the heavy leather armor the mount wore. A few cut deep and he roared his outrage at the wielders and knocked them aside as he charged for the stairs and the level ground.
Other mounts tried to conquer the wall and most failed, though a few scrambled to the top. More spearmen and archers waited for them. Brodem left them to their own devices.
The great gates were closed, as one would expect. They had been barred for a while and no one tended to them. There was no need, as no fool in their right mind would consider opening the doors while the city was in the air.
A lack of opposable thumbs can be a deterrent, but Brodem managed just the same. His muzzle knocked the heavy beam blocking the gates twice, three times and finally a fourth before the barricade was shoved aside. After that the pressure of bodies fighting against the wall took care of the rest. Sa’ba Taalor and Silent Army alike spilled into the city proper and flooded into the area like water.
Stone soldiers held no interest for Brodem. They did not bleed. So he went up the stairs again to kill as many of the pink skins as he could.
Tusk appreciated the assist and took advantage of the opened door. The Silent Army tried to fight on and Tusk did the same. All around him the stone warriors pressed against the Sa’ba Taalor, cutting and beating at flesh. The followers of the Daxar Taalor defended themselves and conspired to destroy the stone warriors.
Stone is stronger than flesh, it is true, but the Sa’ba Taalor carried weapons and were not afraid to take injuries even as they wore through the Silent Army’s defenses.
Canhoon was breached, and the Sa’ba Taalor roared the names of their gods as they charged into the city that had escaped their fury before.
Desh ran toward the room where Cullen resided. He felt her pain, her confusion and knew he had to get there before it was too late.
Opening the door was easy enough. The young woman was kneeling on the ground, groaning and sweating in a feverish daze.
“One left. Only one. Have to stop it.”
“Stop what, child?” Desh moved to her, trying to come to her aid, but she pushed him aside and shook her head.
“The gods move, Desh Krohan.” The voice spoke in the old tongue, a language that had not been lost so much as it had changed. The Sa’ba Taalor still spoke it, but this form was archaic. The words were just different enough to make Desh’s mind and heart ache to hear the tongue again. It was Cullen’s mouth that spoke them. It was Moale Deneshi, once his lover, who uttered them.
She said, “The gods move and there is only one more location to allow them to cover this land. They will own everything unless we stop them.”
“How? How do we stop them?”
“How does one ever stop a god, Desh? With sacrifices.”
He didn’t have to ask what that meant. She had come back from the dead but had no intention of staying. The power inside of her was that of the Mother-Vine and it existed for one reason only.
The Mother-Vine intended to live again. The question was where it would reside.
“Where does the last mountain rise? Do you know?”
Cullen shook her head. “No, but we must stop it. We must!” She writhed, her body shaking with effort, glistening with sweat.
The Sa’ba Taalor had breached the Mid Wall and would soon be trying for the First Wall of the city. The Imperial Army was gathered and would do their best to repel the enemy, but who could say with certainty if they would succeed? The Silent Army was being crushed, pushed back by sheer numbers, but he had to guess a great number of the enemy were falling in the process. It made no difference to the Sa’ba Taalor. They were fanatical in their actions. They would not stop unless their gods decreed it and their gods would not, not unless a champion was chosen to fight against the abomination that used to be Andover Lashk.
Even then, they would move the last of the mountains. The Daxar Taalor had their plans and Desh had no doubt that claiming Fellein was among them. Even if their champion lost, he knew the last mountain would go in place.
“We have to find out where. That’s all there is to it. I have to visit with the Sooth.”
No part of him wanted that. The last time he’d been drained and nearly crushed by the energies needed.
“Too late for that, I think. I can feel the shift in the world around us. I just can’t find the spot where this will end.”
Desh scowled. He was not a man who ever liked not getting his way.
Unfortunately, it seemed that gods had more pull than even the greatest sorcerers.
“Tega!” he yelled her name out loud and in his mind as well. Perhaps there was a way around the problem. Perhaps the power she had acquired would allow her greater access than others could manage.
She came to him, trailing Nolan March, who was smiling and giggling softly.
“Tega, my dear, there is one more volcano to rise in Fellein. All signs point to it. Is there any way you can discern where it might rise? I would call on the Sooth, but I’ve been told there’s no time.”
Tega shook her head. “But maybe one of the Sa’ba Taalor could tell us?”
“Well, yes, that’s possible, but who?”
“I have called to Drask Silver Hand. He is coming.”
“No. I am here.” Drask spoke from the entrance to the chamber, where he stood with his arms at his sides and his head tilted slightly to the side, a sign of curiosity among his people. Desh looked the man over again, and was unsettled. He was really very large, but that wasn’t what made Desh uncomfortable. It was that, despite his size, Drask managed to move so quietly. Too many of the enemy were like him and moved without making a sound.
Drask looked at him with silvery eyes and no discernible expression on his face. “What is it you want to know, Desh Krohan?”
“Where the last of the volcanoes will show itself.”
“Truska-Pren has not shared that knowledge.” He looked at Cullen on the ground, his eyes moving over her shape. “He, perhaps, is finding the place of best strategic value.”
Desh nodded. “Can you guess?”
“I have not seen your maps of late, but if I could, yes.”
“Then we should go to them.”
“Advise your guards not to attack me again and I will keep my peace.”
“And where is Andover?”
“He is nearby. He will come if I call to him.”
Tega shook her head even as she reached down to help Cullen to her feet. “We need to find the maps and worry about Andover later.”
“There might not be a later if we aren’t quick about this.” Desh moved to Cullen’s other side and Drask sighed. He moved quickly, sliding past Desh on the side and lifting the girl in his arms.
“Now we can move faster.”
Desh nodded and bit his tongue before he could make a foolish comment. Ego clashes over women had no place in the moment, even though a part of him wanted to protect the spirit that had once been his life mate.
He led the way and had the group of them back in the throne room in short order. The guards eyed Drask with suspicion, but the presence of the First Advisor meant they didn’t do anything foolish.
Nachia was not on her throne. Instead she was looking at the maps spread across her table and making small marks on the actual map of Canhoon. Most of the marks were made with ashes from the fireplace. They could be wiped away if need arose.
She looked up as they entered and tensed for a moment. Upon seeing Desh, the tension faded.
“Is she well?”
“No, she is not,” Cullen answered for herself. “She is boiling in her own blood. The thing inside her wants out.” Even as she spoke she wriggled impatiently until Drask set her down.
Her legs barely seemed to hold her weight, but she managed to get to the closest chair and settle herself.
Drask nodded to the Empress and made a formal bow before he moved to the table and the largest map of Fellein. He did not ask to examine the piece but rather moved it around until he could look at it properly.
Nachia looked to Desh with a questioning expression. He spoke clearly and concisely. “Drask is trying to calculate where the last volcano might rise. There is only the one, you see, and Cullen and the Mother-Vine are sure it will settle itself soon.”
“There’s another?”
Drask looked at the small cup of ashes that Nachia used to mark her map and plunged one thick finger into the mess. He looked at where marks had already been made for most of the volcanoes and smudged similar marks for the ones that had not yet been placed. Far to the south at the edge of the river, on the western side, firmly between Louron and the rest of the area. Then to the northeast, where Morwhen had been.
“The placement is not an accident. The Daxar Taalor mark the land where it will offer them the best possible strategic value.” He pointed. “Each of the gods has a reason and a place they want. The Guntha Isles were claimed by Wheklam because they were the best place to change the winds along the entire western coastline of Fellein. From there the trade winds can send ashes and worse along the waters. They already have. Roathes is no more because of that placement. Louron will fall when Donaie Swarl wills it.”
His finger pointed to where Tyrne had been. “Tuskandru and Durhallem chose to show a display of power here. The city was destroyed and Durhallem rose.”
“Tuskandru did not place that mountain.” Nachia frowned. “It was your King in Iron.”
Drask’s eyes locked with hers. He spoke very clearly. “No. That was a display of superiority over you. A show of power. You saw what he wanted. Tarag Paedori wanted you to see his command, but the King in Obsidian is the ruler for Durhallem and could be the only one to move the mountain.”
Desh stared at Drask and nodded.
Drask continued, “Paedle has taken your Morwhen. I do not know why.” He stabbed at where Elda used to stand. “Like Elda, both places were large cities and they are placed well enough to allow the surrounding of Fellein. From these places the followers of the gods, the Sa’ba Taalor, would be able to cover large areas. That might be enough.”
Desh spoke up. “Morwhen was known for the formidable soldiers they trained. The same is true of Elda. A very large portion of the military to the east was trained in those areas.”
Drask nodded his head. “As with Wheklam, the gods could force their hearts to spew fire and ash in these places and cover much of Fellein.”
Another jab of his finger. “N’Heelis and Wrommish have claimed your north. The heart of Wrommish now beats along your mountains, and from there the volcano’s fury can be unleashed along either side of the mountain range, all the way to the southern seas with little effort.”
“What do you mean?” Nachia looked hard at the map.
Desh answered. “Heat from the volcano could run along the edge of the mountains and change the way storms grow, or funnel fire and Plague Winds through the whole area.”
Drask nodded. “It is a good position strategically. There is no one up there, or at least few according to your map, but the coldest winters could be made milder or worse with Wrommish’s desires.”
Nachia crossed her arms and looked at the map. There were a lot of large Drask-finger smudges on it. “So where the will the last volcano show itself?”
“There are many possibilities.” Drask leaned over the map. “The Daxar Taalor have moved their hearts. They do not follow the same pattern that existed in the valley. Now they are spread far and wide and the center of this place is empty.” Drask almost reached for the ashes again and then stopped himself.
“If they wish to control all of Fellein, they must cover the northwest. That would mean placing the last heart in ruined Trecharch.”
“I can’t imagine them wasting their time, really.” Nachia shook her head.
Drask shook his in return. “You are thinking of immediate effect. Gods have centuries. The Wellish Steppes and Trecharch are not currently held by the Daxar Taalor. They have been claimed by the Sa’ba Taalor and that is not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No. The faithful are not the same as the godly. To own the land completely they would have to place a volcano in any part of that area. It might be Trecharch, it might be over the Wellish. Those areas are currently vulnerable.”
“So, there?”
“A strong possibility. However, Truska-Pren is also the god of armed combat and armies. In times of war, his king rules over all others. For that reason he might prefer a central location.” His finger tapped the map directly over Lake Gerhaim, where the City of Wonders now rested.
“My people have been directed here. They were told to face you at this time and this place.” Drask studied the map carefully for several seconds without speaking. No one interrupted. It was obvious he was thinking hard. “It is possible that this was predestined.”
“What do you mean, Drask?” It was Tega who asked this time.
“First let me finish with the previous question. Truska-Pren, being the center of a war situation, could well decide to claim Gerhaim. That would mean taking this spot or the city of Goltha, or even pushing into the center of the lake. It might mean being north or south of here, or even just blocking off the river from the west, sealing the rest of the mountain range.”
“What? Why?” Merros Dulver came into the room as Nachia was talking. It was obvious that he’d come in a hurry and though Desh had not summoned him he suspected someone had. It could have been Tega or it could have been Nachia.
“The reasons gods do anything are unknowable. Even if they tell you, they only say what they want you to know.”
Desh bit back a snort of laughter. To him the gods sounded a lot like the Sooth.
Drask continued, “It is possible that what the Daxar Taalor plan to do is push all of Fellein back to the east and lock them in the Blasted Lands and the Taalor Valley. That would suit their desires for revenge. So those are the main locations I think could be chosen. A smaller chance is that the gods plan to leave Truska-Pren where he currently resides, and to encompass all of the Blasted Lands as well. I do not think this likely.”
Drask stepped back from the table and crossed his thickly muscled arms over his broad chest.
“So what were you saying about this being predestined?” Nachia looked the man over as she spoke.
Drask leaned down and tapped the map again, his finger striking where Canhoon now rested.
“This place. Even with all that my people have done to capture Goltha, they have not completed the task.” His finger slid along the edge of the massive lake. “There are too many towns here, and Goltha has a large population. Taking a palace and killing a king is not the same as taking a kingdom.”
Once again his arms crossed.
“Now, add in Canhoon, and you have the largest single population of the Fellein ever gathered. Am I right in that?”
Nachia nodded. “After the loss of Tyrne, Elda, Morwhen and Roathes? Most certainly.”
Drask nodded again and Desh felt a cold hand slide through his guts and make a fist.
Drask, ever perceptive like most of his people, must have noticed the expression on Desh’s face. “You understand, don’t you, wizard?”
“Understand what?” Nachia was not a foolish person and she did not like being left in the dark.
Drask spread his arms to encompass everything. “Canhoon and Goltha together could be very easily seen as one city. The size of that city would likely rival the size of Korwa before it fell.” Nachia’s face crumbled. “No one knows what destroyed Korwa. For all we know, it was the gods themselves.”