The Song the Ogre Sang

by Peter Fane

  “Ruge had it!” Kyla stepped toward him, shouted at him over the cheering. “Do you have the High Cup? Do you know what happened?!”

  Doldon stared at her blankly, then smiled, looking from her to Michael.

  “What?!” Doldon shouted, his hand at his ear.

  Kate stood behind him, listening intently.

  Kyla shouted again at Michael. “The Cup!”

  “Sure!” Doldon shouted. He grabbed a cup from a passing soldier and handed it to her, nodding madly, turning to kiss Susan on the cheek, raising his own cup. “We’ll feast and drink tonight, dear niece!” Susan giggled. Kyla shook her head and handed the cup to a passing solider.

  Michael opened the saddle bag he’d received from Anna. From it, he took the High Cup—in two pieces. The silvery bowl had been cleanly split, right down the middle, as if by a cleaver. The Vordan’s crooning swelled. The Cup no longer glowed.

  “Dallanar!” the crowd chanted. “Dallanar!”

  Kyla stared at the Cup. Garen frowned. Kate’s face had gone dead white.

  “We tried!” Michael shouted over the celebration. He put his arm around Kyla’s shoulder. She shook her head. He had destroyed it. Only the Vordan or a similar ancient blade could cleave high silver like that.

  Garen stared at him. Kate frowned. Doldon looked confused. Behind Michael, Anna nodded. Her emotions were difficult to read.

  “It’s my fault!” Michael shouted over the crowd. He looked to Garen, then to Kyla. Michael wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t upset either. His expression seemed strange, his frowning mouth failing to match the wild, dark light in his eyes. He shouted over the crowd. “Ruge dropped it! I didn’t see him! One of Lessip’s squires had it. Held it up like a shield as I rode him down. I didn’t aim for it. An accident, but my fault.”

  Kyla frowned. Whatever memory, whatever vision the High Cup held, Michael wanted none of it.

  So, he had destroyed it.

  Kyla looked at Garen, saw the disappointment in his eyes. Kate looked like she’d been kicked in the gut. Two years with Dorómy on Paráden to retrieve that High Cup and the tale it contained—gone in a moment. In Kyla’s head, the black blade’s song seemed to become more enthusiastic, as if celebrating its own triumph. And, in a way, it was Michael’s triumph as well. The crowd chanted and waved, but still, it was as if the sound was muted in Kyla’s ears. Around her, things continued to slow. The sound of the crowd was almost gone. And then there was only the black blade’s song. Kyla looked at Doldon and Michael. Then to Kate, to Falmon, to Colj and Ponj, to Tarlen and Susan.

  They didn’t hear it.

  A song of victory.

  A song of lies.

  But none of them heard it.

  Kyla shook her head. But still, her eyes were drawn to the Vordan. It seemed to sing to her and to her alone.

  Come, child queen.

  Like a forgotten whisper . . . .

  Michael knelt beside Garen, Falmon, and Daniel. He held the pieces of the Cup out to Garen. Garen took it, blinked, put the pieces into his pouch, then turned back to Daniel. The little boy’s eyes were open. The black sword’s song rose higher. Doldon clapped Michael on the back; his grin was huge. Michael kissed Susan on the top of her head.

  “I’m hungry!” Susan cried.

  Doldon laughed. “Good idea! Let’s get something to eat!”

  Michael nodded and—.

  A gunshot CRACKED! A woman screamed. There was a shout, and a flurry of movement across the first courtyard, near the passage to the Great Door; elsewhere the celebration continued, oblivious. Anna, Kate, and Michael stepped protectively in front of Garen and Daniel, looking around. Then a stocky Legionnaire in high silver armor was running, stumbling toward one of the giant star trees. Blood ran from her nose and ears. Her young face was haggard, her mouth a grim line. As she ran, she fired into the crowd behind her, downed a cheering spectator. Another shot. Another scream. Someone fell. In her hand, the Legionnaire held a small crystal vial. The vial held a measure of black liquid. Her eyes were set on the large star tree in front of her.

  Michael was already moving, smooth and lethal. Anna was right behind him, her silver sword out, low as she ran, more like a lynx than a young woman, both trained from birth in the arts of war, eternal hunters.

  “Michael, don’t kill her!” Garen shouted, struggling to make himself heard. “We need her alive! She’ll have information! Michael, no! We need her!”

  Garen looked at Kyla, as if for help.

  She nodded, turned, and shouted, “Michael! Don’t kill her!”

  Michael didn’t respond.

  And as he moved away, the Vordan’s song grew even more urgent. The Legionnaire was almost at the star tree, stumbling and wounded, but still fast. Some infantrymen shot at her, potshots. A few pointed and laughed, drunk with triumph. They didn’t see the vial the Legionnaire carried. Bullets bounced off the Legionnaire’s high silver armor, ancient gear flashing white with reflected force. A pair of ogres near the star tree moved to intercept.

  But they were too slow, Kyla realized.

  Then Kyla looked from the black vial to the great star tree swaying near the wall, its delicate coppery leaves waving happily, a timeless, ancient being recruited to their cause, literally uprooted from its home to serve them . . . .

  Before she knew what she was doing, Kyla lifted her carbine to her shoulder, sighted in on the Legionnaire’s unprotected head.

  The black blade’s song was a howl.

  Kyla didn’t know how much longer she could stand it.

  Then—just like that—the sword’s song stopped.

  It was as if Kyla had gone deaf.

  Her finger moved to the trigger.

  Michael threw the Vordan.

  Pure silence.

  Kyla didn’t fire.

  As the dark sword flew end over end, it was as if another image imposed itself over the black blade, the shape of a vulture-thing, a hunched beast with hooked wings, hissing fangs. The black beast hit the Legionnaire in the chest, just as the young woman reached the star tree’s root crate, the creature pinning her to the crate’s logs, the creature feasting, tearing out her throat, feeding on her neck, dark wings fanning air, its back hunching, convulsing. But the young soldier took no real wounds from the beast, at least none that Kyla could see. The black vial dropped harmlessly to the flagstones and broke.

  “We must save anything we can from that vial,” Garen said softly.

  And then the Vordan screamed. It was the hideous shriek of a slavering carrion-eater. The young Legionnaire looked down at her chest where the Vordan had spiked her to the crate. Her face was pale. Her hands trembled; they went to her own throat, as if to protect it. Her head thrashed back and forth, hands clutching at her neck, pawing at the high silver collar there. And then Michael was at her side, leaning down, whispering something to her. The Legionnaire stared at him, as if in recognition. Then Michael jerked the sword from the young woman’s chest and lopped her head off in one smooth motion, a jet of dark blood arcing into the snowy air. Michael turned and looked back at his family, his eyes black with madness, fury, and joy.

  And still, somehow in Kyla’s mind, everything was silent.

  There was no noise.

  People were moving and cheering and screaming, as if in slow motion.

  But Kyla couldn’t hear anything.

  No crowd.

  No Vordan.

  Nothing.

  Nothing at all.

  Kyla blinked.

  Great Sisters save us.

  Michael strode back to her, to the family, his eyes glittering cold fire. A squire tossed him a rag. Michael caught it absently, wiped the black blade as he walked. The smooth black stone on the Vordan’s pommel absorbed all light.

  Michael slammed the blade into its sheath, and the noise of triumph roared back, euphoric screams, cheers, and celebration.

  “Dallanar! Dallanar!”

  “‘Don’t kill her?’” Michael snarled at Kyla a
s he passed. “What do you think this is?”

  Kyla shook her head. “Garen wanted—.”

  But he ignored her. Beside Michael now, Anna said nothing.

  Then Michael stopped, paused, and turned back to Kyla. The stench of blood on his black armor was overpowering; it was all she could do to keep from backing up as he walked up to her.

  “We don’t need to interrogate our enemies, Ky,” Michael snarled. “We know what they want. We know what they’ve chosen.” He pointed at the dead Legionnaire. “She chose. And after today, I will command the Kingdom’s loyal hosts. No more questions, no more waiting, no more talking. Are we clear?”

  Kyla tried to lift her chin, to meet his gaze, but the insane, barely restrained fury she saw in his eyes was so terrifying, all she could do was bow and say, “Yes, Michael.”

  Standing at Michael’s elbow, Anna’s expression was undecipherable. Michael gave Kyla one last look, then turned back to the rest of the family, leaning down at Falmon’s side, checking on little Daniel.

  Kyla blinked. She felt dizzy. Across the courtyard, the crowd had raised the Legionnaire’s body over their heads, dancing and cheering around the star tree. Then they threw the body against the wall and began to strip the young woman’s high silver armor. Behind Kyla, Doldon shouted something to one of his men, already on his third cup of wine. Tarlen looked at Kyla from his place at Ponj’s elbow, a puzzled expression on his face. “Bring me the bottle, for the Sisters’ sake!” Doldon laughed. Susan frowned. Kyla stared, confused by her own thoughts, the pinwheel of emotion swirling in her mind. Again, she was thrilled and sickened and miserable and happy, all at once.

  Is this who we are now?

  And then Kyla realized what was really missing here, what was really wrong: Grandpa and Nana.

  The ultimate moment of triumph—and the High King and Queen are nowhere to be found?

  Kyla stepped to Kate. “Where are Grandpa and Nana?”

  “Dunno.” Kate frowned. “They should be here.”

  Garen looked up at her question, then away, as if he knew the answer. Kyla frowned, then gestured at the celebrating crowd. “This was their doing. Their plan. You don’t think it’s strange—.”

  “Told you before.” Kate took her hand, put her arm around her, and silenced her with a squeeze. “Never second-guess the maneuvers of the Silver Fox. Let’s see how our new hero is doing.” She moved toward Falmon and Daniel. Kyla hesitated. That dark itch at the back of her mind was worse than ever; then she followed.

  67

  WHEN LITTLE DAN opened his eyes, there were people all over the place. He was lying on the ground. He felt weak and dizzy, but Master Falmon was there holding his head, so that was nice. Lord Garen was there, too, and Lord Doldon and Captain Dyer and Lord Michael and Lady Kyla and Lady Katherine and all sorts of other highborn folks and a whole mess of ogres and bears and soldiers. That big grey dog was barking, and everyone was yelling—“Dallanar! Dallanar! Dallanar!”—cheering like crazy. Dan could still hear the guns firing from the walls, but they were real far away. The coppery trees were everywhere, too, swaying and tinkling. There was a huge white dragon up there on the top of a tower, stretching its white wings. Boy, was he thirsty! And tired, too.

  “Gonna sleep like a baby tonight, for sure,” he muttered. “Yes, sir.”

  He didn’t know exactly what had happened. But he knew he’d worked hard, that Stormy was alright, and that everyone seemed happy, so that must mean they’d done a good job. And even though he couldn’t see him, Dan could still hear Stormy over there behind him somewhere, the big boy’s song echoing inside his head.

  “How’re you feeling, Dan?” Master Falmon asked.

  “Thirsty,” Dan croaked.

  “Water here!” Master Falmon ordered. Someone came with a cup. Dan drank, and it was so good. Then that big grey dog came up and licked his face sloppy wet. Master Falmon smiled down at him; it was a sad smile. The big dog licked his face again, from top to bottom.

  “Ha-ha!” Dan laughed, but it kind of hurt to laugh, and it made him feel even more tired.

  Lord Michael knelt next to Dan and put his hand on Dan’s chest. Then he whispered something to Lord Garen and Master Falmon that Dan didn’t really understand: “He changes everything, gentlemen.” Then Lord Michael looked at Lord Garen, then over at Captain Dyer and the other ladies. “I’ll pay any price to keep them safe. They’ll not take one more. Not one more. Not when we have him.” He patted Dan’s chest.

  Lord Garen frowned. Master Falmon bowed. Lord Michael got up and looked around at everybody.

  “Where’s Kate?” Lord Michael asked. “I saw her.”

  Captain Dyer pointed to Lady Katherine, who was standing there with Lady Kyla. Lady Katherine wore silver armor; Lady Kyla carried a long silver gun. Lady Katherine’s eyes glowed. Her face was all sweaty from fighting, and there was blood on her armor. Dan waved at her, she waved back, then she and Lady Kyla came over. Lord Michael took a step toward them.

  “Leave it be,” Lord Garen said to Lord Michael’s back. “You knew she’d go out, one way or another.”

  Lord Michael didn’t reply to Lord Garen. Instead, he whispered to Lady Katherine, “You disobey me? You risk yourself in battle, in defiance of my command?”

  Lady Katherine looked Lord Michael in the eye.

  “Answer,” Lord Michael hissed.

  “We’re all loyal, Michael.” Lady Katherine gestured at the high lords and ladies around. “More important, we all love one another. It’s always been so with our family. We’ve always cherished each other; we’ve always lifted each other up. That is our true strength, Michael. Our real power. It’s a power that we all possess. I’m a warrior, the same as you. I love the Tarn, same as you. And I’m a part of this, same as you. Yes, I was gone. But now I’m back. And I’ll protect what is ours as fiercely as you—as fiercely as anyone.”

  Lord Michael blinked, frowned, and then he looked at her for a long moment. Dan didn’t really know what she’d meant by those words, but she’d said them real good. Then, all of a sudden, Lord Michael gave her a giant hug, lifted her up off the ground, and spun her around. She smiled, and everyone cheered. The big grey dog barked and all the high ladies and lords gathered around and started hugging. Lady Katherine was smiling so big, there were tears in her eyes, but they were happy tears. Master Falmon was holding Dan and patting his chest all gentle and that was nice, too. And then Lord Michael smiled and lifted his sword, and Lady Katherine lifted her sword, too, and Lady Kyla lifted her gun, and Captain Dyer lifted her sword, and Lord Doldon lifted his cup, and everyone cheered for the High Family, all the soldiers and ogres yelling; the white dragon up there roared so loud.

  Then Lord Michael looked down at him. Dan blinked and gave him a weak salute from where he lay. Lord Michael looked at Master Falmon and asked, “May I?”

  Master Falmon helped Dan to his feet, but he was dizzy. All wobbly and tired, and his head felt like it wasn’t on right; there was a funny taste in his mouth. He almost fell over, but Master Falmon steadied him and said, “Easy there, soldier.” Dan nodded and took a deep breath and saluted, but it wasn’t a good salute because his arms were tired, like floppy noodles. Lord Michael reached down, picked him up, and held him to his armored chest. Captain Dyer stood behind him. She looked kind of sad, but kind of happy, too. She stepped up and whispered in his ear, “You saved us today, Daniel. You saved us. You understand?” Then she kissed him on the cheek. The white dragon roared.

  Dan nodded and tried to salute. “I’m a good soldier, lady. I sure try my best . . . . Every day, for truth.”

  Lord Michael and Captain Dyer smiled, and everyone laughed around them, but it was a nice kind of laugh. And then, before Dan could say anything else, Lord Michael lifted Dan high above his head in one hand and roared like Dan had never heard before: “DALLANAR! DALLANAR!”

  Everyone went wild. The ogres yelled, and the big white dragon spread its wings and roared again, all the soldiers
shouting and holding onto each other, everyone hugging and jumping. Those big copper trees waved and made their pretty tinkling sounds. Little Dan wasn’t sure what to do, so he just lifted his little fist and gave everyone a proper salute, and people went totally crazy-bonkers saluting back to him. Even though he was tired, it was still pretty darn nice to have everyone cheering together. Dan looked down at Master Falmon. Master Falmon had tears in his eyes, but they were the happy kind, for sure. Then Dan looked over at Stormy, and Stormy seemed to kind of smile at him, so Dan raised his little fist one more time and yelled as loud as he could, “For the Remain!”

  “FOR THE REMAIN!” Everyone roared. “FOR THE REMAIN!”

  So, Dan yelled it again and they all hollered and yelled like total crazies, and the big white dragon roared to the sky so loud. Then Lord Michael brought him down to his chest, looked at him, and said, “You’re going to be with us now, Daniel. You’re going to be here with us. We’ll take care of you, and you won’t have to worry about anything, alright?”

  And then Captain Dyer, Lady Katherine, Lady Kyla, Captain Colj, Master Falmon, and everyone were all around them hugging. Captain Dyer kissed him on the cheek again and Dan’s face went red, but he nodded and said to Lord Michael, “I’m a good worker, sir. You can count on me! I can do it! I’m a good soldier!”

  “You are, Daniel.” Lord Michael nodded. “The best we have.”

  THE THIRD NIGHT

  68

  FOR COLJ AND his ogres, for everyone, the celebrations lasted long into the night. They had lost adepts, they had lost dragons, and they had lost bears. But compared to the grievous damage done to the enemy, their honored war dead were but few. And much had been gained. An unprecedented victory. A new hope for peace—or at least hope for war’s end here on Kon, for the time being. And, most important of all, the revelation of a young savant unlike anything seen in nearly two millennia. Truly, Colj mused, the wisdom of the Great Sisters still guided the Tarn’s path.