The Cycle of Galand Box Set

by Edward W. Robertson

  He watched with no particular discomfort as the beasts returned in a second wave, hacking off hunks of flesh. Was he wrong for not intervening? If you could help, and didn't, wasn't your negligence as criminal as those committing the act itself? Then again, if a person was wrong for not acting, then so were the gods. And if you couldn't expect the gods to be good, why should a mortal be expected to be better?

  Arrows and swords dropped a few more of the boko mai. The rest disappeared in the trees, leaving bloody decks and sobbing men. The Tanarians temporarily converted two of the more barge-like ships into floating physicians' tents, then continued north.

  Within the hour, the trees grew taller, the leaves pressing out the light as if the sun had been wounded in a chase and was being dragged away by some great predator. Crags of narrow, angular rock sprouted from the swamp, spattered with moss in all shades of green. Buildings, or what was left of them. The ruins of walls jutted from the water like broken bones. Others lurked just below the surface, ready to disembowel any boat that tried to sail over them.

  Commander Barain ordered the fleet into a double-file procession. The sailors in the leading canoes thrust long poles into the water ahead of them, feeling for submerged ruins. Wherever their poles jabbed into rock, they dumped a thick blue dye over the surface, where it clung fast to itself, barely troubled by the paddles of the passing canoes.

  Dante's head swiveled to follow an upthrust of stone that might have once been a tower. Its lower reaches were blue, but its upper section was blackened and slagged. Moss grew on the blue stone, but wouldn't touch the melted segment.

  "What was this place?"

  Volo eyed the gnarled arm of rock. "Some people say it was the home of a bunch of people who went someplace they shouldn't have. Others think it was people looking to free themselves from the Drakebane dynasty."

  "Which do you believe?"

  "That people tell whichever story best fits their hate."

  Rain sifted through the leaves. Within seconds, it strengthened to a spatter, then to the roar of a waterfall. Dante spent the rest of the day bailing out the boat. They made camp two hours before sunset, though the clouds were so dark it already felt like twilight. The swelling in Dante's forehead was getting harder to ignore, beating like a slow heartbeat under his skull.

  Some time before dawn, his loon pulsed. It was Sorrowen. His voice was ragged with exhaustion yet pitched up with fearful excitement. He explained what they'd seen at the docks. Dante asked him a few questions, then thanked him and shut off the loon.

  Blays was sitting up, a lump in the darkness. "Well?"

  "Mallon's built a fleet of warships," Dante said. "They're flat-bottomed. They could sail into the inlet we made in Collen, or land on a beach somewhere behind the Colleners' lines."

  "How dare they react to our reactions! So now that we know they're planning another attack, does that change our stance?"

  "I still plan to do nothing."

  "That will show the Colleners for looking after their own self-interests."

  "We've been over this. We had a plan all set. One that didn't involve subjugating multiple Alebolgian cities."

  "Yeah, just overthrowing their governments."

  "One government," Dante said. "And more like one wealthy house within that government. One that had been making all the other cities bow down to it."

  Blays scoffed. "Don't tell me that had anything to do with you deciding to work with House Osedo."

  "No, but executing our plan would have caused incidental good. Collen's solution caused incidental harm."

  "Point is, the only thing we had was a plan. The Keeper saw a way to make their goals real then and there. So she seized it."

  "Don't tell me that's the same thing we would have done. Or that you agree with her."

  "Obviously, only an idiot of the highest order would doubt our ability to do everything we promise to do. Like, say, kill a single priest." Blays took a swig of water from his skin. "I don't think the Keeper was wrong to do what she thought needed doing. But I do think that in making that decision, she also decided to end our alliance. Meaning you are free to do whatever you want here—whether that's to rush off to Collen's defense, or to ask Mallon to tell you where they make the Basin's grave so you'll know where to piss."

  Dante rubbed gunk from the corner of his eye. The Colleners' abandonment of their agreement was, in a sense, a claim that they no longer needed Narashtovik's help. There would be grim justice in doing nothing at all with his spies' information. To let the Mallish fleet arrive without warning and put the Colleners' claim to the test. After everything he'd done for the place, that choice would best satisfy his anger.

  For grim justice was satisfying. It had a cold symmetry with the original offense. But the thing about ripping everything out by the roots was that it left you with nothing but a bunch of dirt. Or perhaps it was more like having a childhood friend who won't share his toy with you, so in a fit of pique, you smash it. You'll feel quite pleased with your power in the moment, but when you wake up the next day, nobody will have a toy to play with.

  "We'll have Jona tell the Colleners about the fleet," he said. "That should keep things reasonably friendly between us. Besides, there's no need to make it easy for Mallon."

  Blays chuckled. "I suppose it's one of those 'incidental goods' that keeping Collen strong means Mallon will have a tougher time turning its eye toward Narashtovik."

  "The thought had crossed my mind."

  Commander Barain had them on their way as soon as it was light enough to see the ruins sticking from the water. It was still raining, the swamps popping with droplets.

  "Do you hear that?" Blays said.

  Dante cocked his hear. "I don't hear anything."

  "Exactly. No birds. No bugs. Nothing but rain."

  Now that Blays pointed it out, the lack was unsettling. He searched for hints of fish in the orange waters, or birds nesting in the trees, but saw nothing. Just as he was about to ask Volo what this meant, the morning grew lighter. At first he thought the clouds were breaking up, but the sky looked as gloomy as ever. Rather, the trees were going pale. Abruptly, the small islands of trees and muck were replaced by bare white knobs.

  Dante thought they were limestone. But as they floated past one, he saw the island was a heaped mound of bones.

  Blays blinked. "We didn't just sail into one of your dreams, did we?"

  "Volo," Dante said. "What?"

  She seemed to have some trouble getting her mouth to open. "The Remains. Only been here once. I didn't stay."

  Nearer the center of the fleet, Riza looked mildly unsettled, but the commander's face was as stony as ever. Neither looked especially surprised by the shift in terrain. Around them, the trees grew whiter and whiter. Aside from the trees and a few patches of thorns, weeds, and pale flowers, Dante saw no signs of life. Yet the nether—the sign of life that had been—was thick in the air.

  The slow build of pressure in his forehead sped up rapidly. After a few miles, he directed Volo to rendezvous with Riza's boat.

  "We're gaining fast," Dante told the nobleman. "If this keeps up, we'll be on them within hours."

  Riza's smile lacked all humor. "I had assumed as much. Make your preparations."

  Dante motioned to one of the ghastly bone islands. "Were you intending to tell me what we're getting into? Or is it common in Tanar Atain to sail past mass graves?"

  "This is the Wound of the World. The place where your enemy—and those who came before him—first learned to create the shadowmen."

  "The Andrac? That knowledge came from your people?"

  "They aren't my people." Riza spat over the side of the boat. "When the Odo Sein cast down the rebellion of sorcerers, they didn't slay all of the magicians. Instead, they turned a few into slaves. These they bent to the task of creating something that could patrol the borders of the Deep Swamp. In time, the slaves produced the shadowmen. At first, the Odo Sein used the abominations as intended, serving the land
. Yet as soon as the first rebellion arose, they turned the shadowmen against their own people. This only engorged the demons' bloodlust. As the Odo Sein began to lose their grip on the shadowmen, they had no choice but to destroy them."

  "How long ago was this? The Andrac have been used in other lands as well. Nearly four hundred years ago, they appeared in the Collen Basin."

  "Learned by dark pilgrims to Tanar Atain, no doubt. As for the when, I can't say with any certainty. The Drakebane's ancestors have altered our history so often we're lucky to have preserved any truths at all. That, among other reasons, is why we fight him: for he destroys our history, and what is a people without their past?"

  Dante wanted to learn more—for all the time he'd spent in Tanar Atain, it still felt like he barely knew anything about the place—but Riza left to talk strategy with Commander Barain. As the flotilla carried on, the ocher water turned rusty, streaked with crimson. It smelled like old iron. If not for the thinness of it, Dante would have thought it was blood. Some of the trees were now no more than bent white trunks.

  By the afternoon, the force in Dante's brow had become so intense it nearly hurt. Gladdic was within a mile. Hearing this, Barain dispatched small scout canoes ahead. Dante would have sent undead creatures ahead as well, but there was nothing to use—there were no flies or fish, no rats or lizards. He would have tried raising some of the bones, but they were so scattered it would have been impossible to gather up a single body.

  The scouts returned within minutes. Barain called for a stop to discuss the situation with his advisors. Awakened by the lack of motion, Naran stirred from one of his lengthy naps. The rain was still coming down, striking the trees and bones with hollow tocks.

  The war council seemed to reach a decision. Riza summoned Dante's canoe to him. The nobleman pointed north into the white forest. "Ahead lies the Wound itself. This must be where Gladdic and his aides have decided to craft his new breed of shadowmen."

  Dante peered through the trees. "Why here?"

  "Besides the fact it looks like a demon's garden," Blays said.

  "It is a site of ancient power that will make their task simpler," Riza said. "They might also have believed that we wouldn't follow them into the Go Kaza, considering that they would either starve here, or be forced in time to return to where the animals dwell and the fruit grows—and be slaughtered by the beasts there. Whatever their motives, they've already been here for hours. We must stop them before they create their demons."

  "Have you formed a plan?" Dante said.

  "Our scouts could only advance so far without risking discovery. They know the Odo Sein have formed a wide perimeter around the grounds, meaning to stifle any outside sorcery. For Gladdic to wield light and shadow, he'll have to be somewhere near the center of the circle inscribed by the Odo Sein, where their powers can't impact him.

  "We will attack the perimeter from the south. This should draw down most of the Odo Sein, as well as the bulk of their soldiers. This will render it exceedingly easy for you to slip past the pickets, locate Gladdic, and assassinate him."

  "What about the Drakebane? Isn't killing him the entire reason your troops came all this way?"

  "Your elimination of the sorcerer and his demons will make it much easier for us to reach the Drakebane. Additionally, he might confront us with the Odo Sein, expecting for Gladdic to reinforce him soon after—only for no such reinforcements to arrive."

  Blays rubbed his knuckles into his forehead. "You're sure you can put up a fight against the Odo Sein? I've seen swords of every size and shape you can imagine, and theirs are the second-most I'd hate to be stabbed by."

  "We have developed weapons to use against them." Riza glanced past Blays. "This reminds me. If Volo and your captain wish to accompany you, we can provide them with a small number of flaming stars."

  "Flaming stars? It sounds like I want one."

  "The bursting arrows. You may have seen them in use against the boko mai. They are also quite useful against the armor of the Odo Sein."

  "I will take them," Naran said. "Better to fight beside my friends than to sit in safety while they risk their lives for my honor."

  Volo tilted back her head. "Wouldn't it be even better to renounce your honor, paddle away, and go live a peaceful life as a farmer?"

  "That might be the logical path. If so, then count being illogical as one of my many flaws."

  "Me too, I guess, because I don't want to stay with the boat either."

  Riza snapped his fingers at one of his servants, who delivered them each two arrows. The heads were plum-sized black bags packed tight with something that smelled smoky and metallic.

  "Handle with care," Riza advised. "They explode on impact. 'Impact,' in this case, could include falling on them."

  "Fair warning," Dante said. "Gladdic is an extremely skilled sorcerer. Fighting him will probably exhaust me. I doubt I'll be much use after that."

  "You've made it very clear your only interest is in your foe. We have formulated our plans to account for this."

  Blays loosened his sword in its scabbard. "Ready when you are. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can drink ourselves into forgetting we're wandering around in a place that would make Arawn himself wet his divine pants."

  After a few more instructions, Riza left, saluting with his forearm lifted high, his fingers held together and pointed skyward like the head of a spear. One of the scout canoes joined them. It led them away from the main force and across a route that would approach the Wound from the west. The trees grew taller, spreading pale leaves that looked like the flensed skin of Gaskans.

  Within a mile, a white hill loomed ahead. It didn't look much more than a hundred feet high, but after so long in such a flat and watery land, it loomed like the peaks of the Woduns. The trees closed in again, blocking it from sight.

  The next time it emerged, Dante's breath caught in his throat. It was indeed a hill, or at least something like one, but the sides of it were largely open to the air. Long strands of rock or bone stretched between the floor and ceiling, looking like disheveled harp strings or the fibrous mouths of great whales. The floor of the cavern was elevated above the red water. It looked phantasmagoric, the dream of a sleeping god who, lost in his slumber, had accidentally made his nightmares real.

  In the canoe beside them, the scout motioned to a shelf of dry land running along the base of the white hill. Dante nodded to the scout, tapped Volo's shoulder, and pointed to the shelf. She brought the canoe up to it and got out. There was nothing to tie up to, but the boat had a thin rope tied through a hole carved into a flat stone. In the slack water, it would be a fine anchor.

  Dante got out, the boat swaying beneath him. Once the others were on the ledge, he moved forward to where the wall opened into the vast cavern beyond. Light filtered in from all sides, illuminating a yawning chamber dotted with reddish puddles. The pulse of Gladdic's presence was distractingly strong. The priest was to the east. And he was very close.

  Riza had told them to wait on the outskirts of the Wound until they heard the cries of battle, so they stopped a short ways into the cavern, hunkering down behind a boulder the shape and color of a molar. The surface felt almost like sandstone, but Dante couldn't shake the impression of boneness. Water dripped from the high ceiling. The room smelled like rust and wet rock.

  Voices rose somewhere to the southeast. As soon as Dante heard the first scream, he rose from behind the boulder, jogging across the cavernous space. As he weaved through the sheets and pillars of rock, he got out his antler-handled knife, opening a short cut on the back of his left arm. He reached for the shadows. They answered.

  Near the far end of the cavern, the walls narrowed. A pool of red water filled the way forward. Eighty feet ahead, the rock climbed back out of the water and opened toward the right, where the spike in Dante's skull insisted Gladdic awaited.

  Dante glanced at Volo and gestured at the water. She shrugged. He dipped a toe in, discovering it was only a fe
w inches deep. As he advanced, the water rose to his shins, then his knees. The others were strung along beside him. He and Blays kept their nethereal blades sheathed, not wanting to drain themselves, but Naran and Volo carried bows with nocked arrows.

  Dante was two-thirds of the way across the pool when its surface rippled on all sides. At first he thought it must be rain blowing in from the cave's edge, but no water was hitting him.

  Around him, scores of stark white faces arose from the water, eyes burning with malice.

  26

  A hundred Tanarians surrounded them in the water. The men and women looked as though they'd been drowned, but there was still some form of life in their eyes. Some were dressed in rags while others were completely nude, red water sliding down their concave stomachs. Black hair hung over their faces in clumps. Most carried jagged shards of bone.

  Blays whipped his Odo Sein blade from its sheath, purple and black crackling down its length. "Now listen here—"

  Without so much as a word, the mob surged forward. Dante drew his sword in his right hand and the nether in his left. Naran and Volo let loose their arrows and two of the people dropped, trampled by those behind them. Dante slung a hailstorm of black bolts into the front ranks, felling half a dozen in one swoop.

  As he reached for another handful of shadows, the nether froze in place. "Odo Sein!"

  Blays darted forward, slashing his sword at the closest figure. He struck the man at a downward angle, cleaving through the enemy's collarbone and into his upper chest. Blays pulled the blade free without a hitch, striking at the next man. While the weapon encountered some resistance as it churned through flesh and bone, with deft tweaks of his wrist, Blays was able to keep it moving with little loss of momentum, allowing him to swing his blade about himself like a bolo. As the bodies fell away from him, the wounds seemed slow to bleed. Threads of nether streamed from the navels of the dead and into Blays' weapon.