by Erik A Otto
Down the line to the left, the Cenarans were preoccupied by one of the gargoyles that still harried them from above. To the right, one of the other gargoyles had slammed into the side of the dike. It was lifeless, its neck and front limbs contorted dysfunctionally. That meant there were only two gargoyles, including Aisha’s wounded one. Also to the right, a charging mosquero would be upon them soon.
A flash of movement caught her eye. Crawling low along the top of the dike toward the ramolon was Sebastian, smeared with dirt from his impact into the ground. He leaped onto the ramolon’s back from the top of the dike. The ramolon promptly registered its objection by trying to buck him off. He managed to hold on and scramble to a sitting position. Once he grabbed on to the control fins, the beast settled.
He directed it to the wall and started ramming.
It was their only chance. Aisha knew she must do whatever she could to defend Sebastian and the ramolon. But she couldn’t move her gargoyle any faster. And she would eventually reach the dike wall, but what then? She would need to find a way up to the top of the dike if she wanted the beast to fly again.
While her gargoyle sputtered along, she fired arrows in the direction of the approaching mosquero, even though she knew it would have little effect. Perhaps if it came close enough, she would have a good shot.
The mosquero did come close enough, running past her on the dike, but she lost her opportunity with her gargoyle flailing about. The squealing mosquero arrived to within a few feet of Sebastian and shrieked even more horrifically. The trunk lashed out, and Sebastian ducked, avoiding the lashing tentacle by a few inches.
She still might be able to hit the mosquero rider but the wall of the dike was obscuring her line of sight. Only the mosquero’s head and trunk were visible. Aisha launched an arrow into the beast’s massive head, but it didn’t even flinch. She notched another arrow and hoped for a better opening.
Then she heard wings, large flapping wings. But her gargoyle was still immobile in the rising waters. And the sound wasn’t coming from the other gargoyle that was down the dike to her left. That one was a good fifty yards away.
Yet it was a gargoyle. It flew over the other side of the dike and hovered above the mosquero. The mosquero’s trunk lashed out at it, and the gargoyle’s claws managed to snag it. Like curved daggers, the claws dug into the beast’s trunk, and the gargoyle flapped its wings to lift it up. The mosquero’s front lifted, but it was so huge that the gargoyle struggled with the weight. The gargoyle shook violently in the air, flapping with all its strength, but wasn’t gaining any altitude.
The mosquero rider was raised, visible above the dike. This was her shot. She took aim and fired, hitting him squarely in the back. The man’s desperate grip on the beast released, and he fell backward off the mosquero, bouncing off the top of the dike and into the water.
The tug-of-war with the mosquero continued, with the gargoyle’s wings flapping vigorously. The claws dug deeper and deeper into its trunk. The trunk flesh stretched, and then ripped off entirely, leaving the mosquero’s front side to fall back onto the dike. The mosquero shrieked and, now riderless and trunkless, bucked out of control. It ran down the dike to Aisha’s left, away from Sebastian, shaking its head side to side as if a pack of giant hornets were assailing it. The rampaging beast gave significant pause to the Cenarans advancing on them from that direction.
The gargoyle dropped the severed trunk on the other side of the dike and came in to land. It was only then that Aisha could see the rider, as she was no longer obscured by the front of the beast. It was Nala. She smiled childishly at Sebastian as she dismounted.
Shock waves traveled along the dike from the ramolon’s pulsing, the water rippling back from the impacts. The ramolon lurched forward, and the water started to curl down around it. The force of the flow pushed the ramolon even farther into the breach. Nala reached out desperately for Sebastian and managed to pull him to safety before the ramolon disappeared through the wall with the swelling torrent.
They’d broken through.
“Nala, can you help me?” Aisha called down the wall. The current was pulling at her gargoyle as well. “Give me a hand to help me out of the water!”
Nala nodded and mounted her gargoyle. It leaped up and hovered over Aisha. Aisha grabbed its forelegs and let it drag her onto the top of the dike. Nala’s gargoyle beat its wings more aggressively while it hoisted Aisha’s wounded gargoyle out of the water.
The third gargoyle swooped down onto the top of the dike. “I think it’s about time we got out of here,” the rider said. It was Chez, the apprentice Purveyor from Niknak.
Aisha nodded and said. “I’ll take the Purveyor back. Nala and Sebastian, you go together. Is there anyone else?”
Sebastian looked around and said, “I’m not sure. Darian maybe. He fell nearby.”
Chez said, “I’ll find him.” His gargoyle lifted off.
The Cenarans on either side of them were closing in. Many had been bowled over by the rampaging mosquero, but a few stopped and twanged their bows while others continued rushing toward them. Arrows started clattering around them.
One of these arrows hit with a thunk. Nala reached for her neck, and then toppled over.
“Nala, no!” Sebastian said, collapsing on the ground beside her.
“Get up, Sebastian! We need to go!” Aisha yelled. Arrows continued to rain down around them.
“No,” Sebastian said in despair, holding on to Nala as blood pulsed from her neck.
Aisha hoisted Sebastian onto his feet. “Listen. If there’s any hope for her, we need to take her back right away.”
His face was a mask of anguish, but his eyes registered her words. He nodded emphatically.
Chez’s gargoyle swooped down on the Cenaran archers as he flew off, giving them a brief reprieve from the arrows. Then he circled back to search for Darian. Meanwhile, Aisha’s gargoyle rose without impediment. It had only been the deep water preventing its flight—not the arrow wound. She directed her gargoyle to the Purveyor’s unmoving body. It carefully snatched him with its claws and rose up from the dike with powerful wing thrusts.
Looking back, she could see that Sebastian had laid Nala carefully on the dike. Slowly he mounted her gargoyle and rose into the air, snatching Nala in one fluid motion as he took off.
Aisha flew higher, then guided her gargoyle to line up with the others. An arrow shot past her field of vision, so she flew higher still, and soon the arrows weren’t able to reach them.
“Are you okay, Purveyor?” she called down below her.
“Yes, Commander. I think I’ll live,” he said. He sounded better than he looked.
She maneuvered her gargoyle between the others. “Return to the keep and tend to Nala and Darian. I’ll do one last sweep.”
They didn’t respond, but they kept going. She slowed her gargoyle, and the other beasts flew past, the silhouettes of Darian and Nala’s inanimate bodies dangling beneath them.
She circled around and glided back to the north. Just before she reached the sea, she looked down at the tract of land below her. The wall between the two perforations was breaking down completely. When it collapsed, a surge of water bowled through the area between the two dikes. She glided over it and saw the water pummel the safety dike between the two holes they’d made.
It eroded slowly at first, then more rapidly, and soon enough it also fell against the force of the waters.
Confident that she’d seen what she needed to, she started back to the keep. Whatever the Purveyor’s words, it would be best to mend his wound promptly.
From the heights she ascended to, with the cold air blowing past, the detail of the plain became harder to make out. She could only see a sparkling array of lights pushing southward from the dikes.
But what were these lights? Were the Cenarans mobilizing?
She couldn’t help herself. She dipped closer one last time.
The havoc they’d wrought resolved itself then. Each sparkle was a
ctually a wyg lamp affixed to the uniform of a drowning Cenaran, their bodies intertwined with a great cocktail of man, beast and supplies surging south.
There was no stopping the deluge. A great river was filling the northern plain.
Chapter 25
The General
“Any change, Palantos?” Timothur asked. He was squinting, trying to make out any activity beyond the cesspool of corpses and supplies that bobbed about in the waters dominating the plain.
“No, sir. All morning I’ve been using the Purveyor’s viewing device to scan the area. The Cenarans continue to regroup on the higher ground to the southeast. It’s impossible to count their remaining numbers. Maybe fifty thousand? But no sign of mosqueros or ramolons. I’ve seen dozens of each floating in the waters, though, among the other dead, and quite a few carriages and tents.”
“Good,” Timothur said. “And no sign of Aisha?”
“No, sir, not yet. The distance to Esienne is much greater than where Chez journeyed this morning. Plus she may have some convincing to do when he arrives. That is, if they’ll listen to an infidel gargoyle rider at all.”
“Yes, I agree.” Timothur nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t return until tomorrow.”
Aisha was sent to warn Esienne of the Cenaran offensive, while Chez and his gargoyle had scouted along the shore westward to Niknak. He’d returned not long ago and reported that he’d seen no sign of the Cenaran armada out at sea. Interestingly, Chez had reported seeing a large Jawhari army in Niknak, occupying the lands where the Purveyor had said the Cenarans had been. Perhaps this man Zahir had convinced a faction of the Jawhari to rally against the Cenarans.
“Anything else, Colonel?” Timothur asked.
“No, sir, that’s all.”
“Thank you, Palantos. Keep watching.”
Timothur walked back along the battlements. Now that time was in greater abundance, he paced slowly. He also paused to congratulate and thank the men who manned the wall.
He ventured down the stairs to the courtyard to see the Purveyor and his men hammering away on a new contraption near the barricade. To his right he saw Sebastian sitting on a chair near the remains of the festival stalls. Timothur went to Sebastian first.
Sebastian’s face was drawn. He was hunched over, reading what looked to be an old Book of Canons. He knew Sebastian wouldn’t care to hear from him, but as a military commander, he had a responsibility. “Sebastian, I’m sorry for your loss. You and Nala fought as valiantly as any in our history. More valiantly than any Granth man, truth be told. We are forever in your debt.”
Sebastian glanced upward only momentarily, not seeming to listen. He turned a page in his book and said, “Do you think, if we live through this war, that they will add us to the Book of Canons? It could be a whole new annex. Maybe they would call it…A Canon for the Heathens, or…A Tale of Infidels. I think Nala might like that.”
Timothur rested his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. “Perhaps, Sebastian. It would be a worthy addition in my estimation.” Sebastian was either too engrossed in what he was doing or too aggrieved by Nala’s loss to pay attention, so he moved on.
He approached the twenty-odd Fringe men on the other side of the courtyard. Three work areas had been set up. In each they were hammering away on recycled beams of wood and Matar bone fragments they’d salvaged. The convex wooden frame in the first work area made it clear what they were making. The Purveyor stood to the side, a swath of bandage covering his shoulder and torso. He was mostly watching but also interjecting with some insight to the workers periodically.
“What is this blasphemy?” Timothur said to the Purveyor, a broad grin on his face. “Don’t you heathens ever rest?”
The Purveyor managed to return a weaker grin in response. “We may need supplies soon. There’s plenty floating about just outside, so I thought it best to secure what we can with these boats before it spoils or sinks.”
Timothur nodded thoughtfully. “A worthy endeavor, Purveyor. You have my full support. Let me know if you want more men.”
“Thank you, General. We should be fine here, I think.”
“And Purveyor, thank you.”
“Of course.”
“No, thank you. We are in debt to you and your people.”
The Purveyor just nodded his head stoically, as if it were just another day of labor for him.
Timothur continued on.
The infirmary was on the second floor of the main keep building, below the main dining hall. Cones of light emanated from small porthole windows, illuminating sparkles of dust. The floating dust gave the room a musty feel, even though Timothur knew it was one of the cleanest in the keep. Several people surrounded one of the beds.
He walked up quietly and asked, “How is he?”
The assistant healer looked up. “He hangs on, but he’s still unconscious. The nurse says he’s lost a lot of blood. Recovery is…uncertain.”
Timothur nodded. He came closer to the bed and looked at Darian. His face was blank. He couldn’t remember a time when he saw him so quiet and peaceful, with his face not in thrall to some form of mimicry.
Many had fought hard, and many had labored to thwart this conspiracy, but Darian’s sacrifice felt particularly acute to Timothur. This man, this so-called Imbecile, never wavered in putting his countrymen first, not when taunted and disrespected for his disorder, not when mutilated by Vanaden, and not when Timothur had killed his brothers.
Timothur had done this man a great injustice. He wanted more than anything to set things right. He squeezed Darian’s arm and said, “You’re a giant among men, Darian. Come back to us and show us how to finish this.”
He turned to the others and thanked them as well.
He walked back down the steps to the courtyard and up the stairs to another area of the battlements, continuing his tour of the keep. He stopped at every man and woman—Fringe, Pomerian, Belidoran, warrior, nobleman, Sandalier, apprentice, or librarian—and congratulated them. He listened to their concerns and told them he would try to address them. He told them that they would keep fighting.
The Cenarans were far from defeated, but now they had a fighting chance. A force of fifty thousand was to be greatly feared but not invincible. The keep would send the gargoyles out and warn the cities, and they would have time to prepare. Other cities might even send reinforcements for the keep or prepare an offensive of their own. And yes, the Cenarans could have countless more warriors landing somewhere else in Belidor, or waiting to be called for the next wave, but for the time being they were victorious; they were safe and could regroup. They could rest, if just for a day or two.
After more than an hour, he’d combed the entire keep. He’d been high up to the roof, down the Holy Sanctum to the Library, to the dining hall, and across all the battlements. He’d seen hundreds of men and women, congratulated them, and wished them well.
But he hadn’t found the one person he was looking for. So he returned to his chamber alone.
When he opened the door, she was there.
“Good evening, General.” Hella smiled, a touch of red in her cheeks.
He smiled back at her and closed the door behind him.
Chapter 26
The Purveyor
Where does a man go when he is in mourning?
Paulo looked in the temple, in Sebastian’s chamber, in the courtyard, and then in the dining hall, but he was in none of these places, and no one else knew where he might be. Sebastian was a lover of books as well, one of the few passions Paulo shared with him. So it was in the Great Library where he found him.
Sebastian had a table to himself in one of the back rooms, deep behind the many annals of shelves. Splayed on his table were several different versions of the Book of Canons, some of them ancient-looking. He eyed Paulo with a cautious frown when he saw him.
“Sebastian, please accept my condolences.” Paulo cast his eyes downward as he spoke. “As you know, I’m not a man of faith, but if I was,
I would hope that Nala is in Matteo’s gentle embrace.”
Sebastian scoffed, “I certainly hope not.”
Paulo expected Sebastian to be withdrawn—despondent even—but this was something else entirely. “And why is that?”
Sebastian shook his head and said, “I’m sorry, Purveyor. You wouldn’t understand. It’s not that I don’t wish the best for Nala. I do, and I know your meaning.”
“Maybe you can help me understand?”
Sebastian raised an eyebrow, then pushed back in his chair. “Yes, Purveyor, I know why you’ve come to me. You have many questions, I’m sure. I can answer them, but don’t expect to come away gratified by our discussion.”
“I thank you, Sebastian. But if I may ask, why now? You seemed so reluctant before.”
Sebastian sighed. He was fingering the spines of one of the ancient texts in front of him. “It serves no one to know these things. These words you want me to speak, they’re like a slow poison. I didn’t want to inflict others with it, especially Nala. All I wanted was to spend as much time with her as I could. Now I have…more time, but it means nothing because Nala is gone. So it makes me wonder why I should have to be the only one. I bear too many burdens, and this is a heavy one. I would be grateful if I could give the burden of knowing to you.”
“I will gladly bear it.”
Sebastian frowned again, clearly skeptical, but he put his hands behind his head and said, “Go ahead, then. Ask away, Purveyor.”
Paulo’s mind raced, not knowing where to begin. The first thing that came to him was a question he’d asked when they were opening the door to the bone mouth chamber in the library. “In our last discussion, you told me that this world isn’t our true home. Or rather, that we hurdle through a vast ether in the belly of a beast, soon to arrive at our destination. You confirmed many of my suspicions—that much of what we see and know is unnatural, perhaps created for us by some kind of…magicians, let’s say, magicians of flesh and bone, of earth and sky. But if this is true, if we are on some voyage, where are we going?”
