The Seven Forges Novels

by James A. Moore

  For one moment there was light from outside, and then the forms moving in blocked it.

  Medba was not a fighter, but he saw the weapons and knew them for what they were. The first ones in carried axes and hammers. The others might have carried different weapons, but that hardly mattered.

  The first through the door looked down at the woman near his feet and swept his hammer around. Medba knew the girl, young, too young to be with child, but her belly was heavy just the same. The head of the hammer was stronger than the head of the woman. She died quickly. That was the last mercy the invaders showed.

  Further into the forest the Pra-Moresh stalked, seeking and often finding tender prey.

  Alarms were sounded and soldiers gathered.

  Carnage followed, and then retribution.

  And higher in the trees, the Sa’ba Taalor walked, ignoring the violence below. Glo’Hosht walked among them, silent, lost in shadows, and at the appropriate spots the King in Mercury whispered orders to those who followed.

  This practice lasted well into the night, only ending when the king met up with Jost, who had marked the path with blood.

  The king looked at her face and smiled. “You have been blessed, again.”

  Jost lowered her head in respect, the still bleeding ram’s hide at her feet, slowly dripping its blood across the Mother-Vine and down a tree below.

  “Wheklam has been kind to me.” She shook her head and her voice trailed off in wonder. “I had never spoken to Wheklam before.”

  “It is a time of change, Jost. Wheklam has made demands and you have obeyed, as you should. I think Wheklam is not yet done with you, but for now you are done with this task. Now it is my turn to strike for the Daxar Taalor.”

  She turned her head and listened to the wind, even as a king spoke to her. Paedle talked now, and Glo’Hosht’s voice mirrored the god’s. “Go now. Move carefully and find your way south and east. Swech waits in the City of Wonders and might yet need your help.”

  Jost smiled at the thought of the older woman. Swech had trained her and worked with her on many occasions.

  “I find I miss her as well.” The king looked toward the ground and a skirmish started below them. The Sa’ba Taalor on the ground were not followers of Paedle. They obeyed a different king. They fought a different battle but the same war.

  Their weapons were bloodied and efficient. And loud. So very loud.

  Glo’Hosht preferred silent weapons.

  The junction of three different roots spread out before the king.

  “Here, I think,” said Glo’Hosht.

  Jost stepped back, letting the king strike where she had been standing.

  The long needle-like dagger struck deep, and punctured the tough outer layers of the Mother-Vine.

  Jost did not know what the fluid that spilled into that wound would do. She only knew it would serve the Daxar Taalor. That was enough.

  She nodded once more to her King in Mercury and then slipped away, climbing carefully down the thick trunk of the tree nearest to her and after she touched the ground she turned to the south and the east.

  She had a long ways to travel. There would likely be many obstacles.

  Two

  Canhoon spread before them, a vast place that looked enough like Tyrne to unsettle for a moment.

  Well, parts looked like Tyrne, or rather looked like Tyrne had looked, before it was destroyed. Desh Krohan walked beside the wagon where his Sisters traveled and stared at the city.

  Canhoon consisted of two cities, really. The first was Old Canhoon, with the older buildings, structures that had survived centuries and empires alike. Old Canhoon had been the capital of the Fellein Empire since it was founded, and even then it had been ancient.

  There were structures there that had fallen, burned, been destroyed and then had been reformed from the very land, growing from the ruins of what went before. The roads were cobblestone and the statues of luminaries past graced the rooftops of a number of the buildings, looking out over the city like guardians.

  Once, centuries ago, the Silent Army had moved through the city as it lay in ruins. Desh Krohan and his brethren had summoned them and though the stone soldiers had saved Canhoon the cost had been monumental. There were not enough of the wizards left these days to ever attempt that feat again.

  To look at the sprawling affair as it stood now, one had to squint just so to see Old Canhoon at the very heart of the vast expanse. Well, no, but it sometimes seemed that way. The buildings at the center were all of a similar color and age. Once past the Mid-Wall, which had been the outer barrier around the city when Desh was younger, there was less organization, less… majesty. The newer structures were not as grand, though they were certainly functional enough.

  The Jeurgis River cut across the new city and ran around the heart of Old Canhoon, a vast moat that was connected to the rest of the city by six bridges built of heavy stone and designed to withstand the weight of an army with ease.

  Desh Krohan, the wizard who had been advisor to generations of the Empire’s leaders, looked to where one of the bridges spanned the water and shook his head. “Might well have to block those.”

  “You are already planning the defenses of the city?” Merros Dulver’s voice came from his left and the sorcerer looked over and up. Dulver was currently riding on a rather magnificent charger. It was very nearly a requirement of being a general of the Imperial forces. He was also resplendent in a uniform that Desh knew the man disliked intensely.

  For almost two days Merros had not spoken, focusing instead on the journey to Canhoon and on protecting the Empress from harm. He was also torturing himself for every life lost in Tyrne, as if he could possibly have prevented them.

  That was one advantage of being several hundred years old: Desh Krohan could allow himself a little more callousness of nature than most. He had long since accepted that he could not possibly save everyone. At least that was what he told himself with surprising regularity.

  Merros looked his way with a disapproving frown. “I believe the defense of the city falls under my jurisdiction these days.”

  “Indeed it does, but as First Advisor I’m allowed to make suggestions.” He managed a smile for the man. The comments were meant as a jest and he took them in the proper spirit.

  “I’m fairly certain if you were a pauper on the street you’d still be stating your suggestions.”

  “Wisdom often comes from those with the least to lose, Merros.”

  “You think so?”

  “Well, if not wisdom then certainly truth. If you’ve nothing to lose you’ve nothing to fear losing.”

  Merros looked like he was ready to get into a proper debate about that. The discussion was delayed when a courier rode up to him, winded from a long ride, and handed the general a rolled scroll bearing a regimental seal.

  Desh walked closer, looking on as Merros broke the wax and then opened the document, reading quickly.

  “What is it?”

  “The Sa’ba Taalor have wasted no time, Desh. They’re attacking Trecharch.”

  “Trecharch? Why in the name of the gods would they attack there? The forest is nearly impenetrable.”

  Merros held the paper out to him. “Apparently not.”

  The message was coded. “I can’t read this.”

  The general nodded, fully aware of that fact. “You study magic. I study military codes. Of course you can’t read it. The information is grim. We shouldn’t speak of this until we’re in the city proper.”

  “Tell me this much, have they reached Orrander’s Tower?”

  “No. They haven’t even reached the Norhaun yet.”

  “Then why are you so grim?” The general’s mood was somber indeed, especially since the Sa’ba Taalor hadn’t even made it to the river that fed most of Trecharch. “It sounds like they’ve barely managed entry into the woods.”

  Merros waved the note again and then shoved it into his jacket’s inner pocket. “Because they’re destroying
everything, Desh. They’re not just attacking, they’re ruining everything they go past. It says here that the Mother-Vine is wounded.”

  Desh leaned his head back and considered the implications.

  “Desh, they’re doing something to the Mother-Vine that’s killing it as they go.”

  He pulled muscles in his neck when he turned his head so sharply.

  “What?”

  “They’re killing the Mother-Vine.”

  Just that quickly the bearer of bad news was out of the sorcerer’s mind. “Sisters! To me!”

  It was seldom that he summoned the Sisters with a command. They responded to the urgency in his voice, moving from the wagon where they rode, like children called by their mother.

  Tataya, Goriah and Pella walked quickly to keep pace with him, barely even acknowledging the general. Pella’s dark hair flowed freely. Tataya had her heavy red hair tied in a thick braid. Goriah’s face was almost completely hidden by her hood and no sign of her golden hair was visible.

  “Pella, I need you. It’s urgent that you get to Orrander’s Tower. The grayskins are on the march and they head for the source of the Mother-Vine. They are killing her. Do you understand me?”

  Pella nodded and moved, running forward and then lifting from the ground. It was seldom that any of the Sisters actively displayed their abilities and there was a reason for that. Merros Dulver nearly fell from his saddle as the woman rose into the air, her cloak changing shape, pulling into her body even as she became something else. “Gods!”

  “Goriah, my dear, I need you to reach the Norhaun River before the Sa’ba Taalor make it there. They need to be warned and the river needs to be defended. Do not be seen by the Sa’ba Taalor. Do not engage them. Just make their lives more difficult.”

  Goriah did not change shape. Instead she lifted high above them, at a speed that should have been impossible, and then tore across the sky, her hood falling back, revealing the hair she had hidden away.

  For the second time Merros Dulver stared with wide eyes, shocked by the display. In all the time he had known the women they had never used their powers in his presence. He stared after the tiny spot that was Goriah until she vanished into the clouds.

  When he opened his mouth to speak, Desh shook his head. “They’re sorcerers and shapeshifters, General. They’re not my consorts, they’re my peers.”

  “I never… They’ve never…”

  He could see the poor bastard trying to work out what had just happened before his eyes. Like a child seeing a thunderstorm for the first time, he was a bit stunned. He would recover.

  “I know. Now is the time to set aside a bit of caution. They do what they must.” Desh shook his head. “We have to delay the Sa’ba Taalor long enough for your response, after all.”

  “My response?”

  “We’re attacked. We are at war. You have troops to move.”

  Merros blushed slightly, his expression angry.

  “Forgive me, Merros. I don’t challenge your right to lead. I’m just stating the obvious. We have been caught in a dangerous situation, but we need to move troops to deal with the Sa’ba Taalor in Trecharch, before they can push in any further. I also know you’ve a great deal on your mind and, to be fair, you’ve just seen more than you have ever seen before of what me and mine can do. It can unsettle at the best of times.”

  “Nothing to forgive, Desh.” It was gracious of the man to say so. He hadn’t meant to offend, but sometimes he forgot himself.

  “Tataya, keep contact with the Sisters. Let me know what they see and what they suggest.”

  “Of course, Desh.” Merros studied her for a few seconds, eyes narrowed, and finally relaxed when she looked his way, smiled, and continued walking toward Old Canhoon and the palace.

  As the caravan moved on, Desh headed for Nachia Krous’s wagon. He knocked quickly and expected one of her ladies-in-waiting to let him in. Instead it was the Empress herself that called him.

  The wagon seated half a dozen with plenty of room to spare. Currently there was one occupant. “Where are your ladies-in-waiting?” Desh asked.

  Her eyes regarded him for a long moment in silence, while he looked her over in return. Nachia was dressed, as she often was, in riding clothes. Her hair was pulled back in a functional tail, her clothes were disheveled and he could tell she’d worn them to bed. Overall she looked as stately and regal as a street urchin.

  “Don’t start on me, Desh!”

  “I merely asked where your ladies-in-waiting are. I would hardly call that ‘starting on you’.”

  She eyed him with as much suspicion as Merros had used when looking at Tataya.

  “Oh, please, Nachia, calm down. I’m not here to scold you about your wardrobe or kicking out your ladies-in-waiting again. I’m here to tell you Trecharch has been attacked and to suggest a war council meeting when we reach the palace.”

  She actually relaxed. “How many people would attend this war council of yours?”

  “You, me, Merros, Tataya, and a few others as we see necessary. And the head of the City Guard.”

  “So let’s meet here and now. You can give our decisions to the head of the watch.”

  “If that’s your preference.”

  “Find the people you need, Desh.” She waved him away. “And give me ten minutes to change into something cleaner.”

  Desh lowered his head in a minor bow as he departed. “As you wish, Majesty.”

  Finding Merros and Tataya was easy. “Merros, we meet in fifteen minutes in the Empress’s coach.”

  Merros nodded. “Who else should we gather?”

  “Find one of the faithful to join us. Not all of them, just one. I can only handle them glaring at each other for so long. Bring someone to take notes for you. We’re going to be very busy.” Merros nodded and spurred his charger forward.

  Behind them the Blasted Lands was a memory. To their south, the Summer Palace and Tyrne were ashes. Ahead of them the greatest city in the Empire sprawled out in organized patterns of roads and buildings and defensive walls. Unlike Tyrne the barriers were in far better shape and the City Guard were trained in combat and capable of working to defend the city from enemies within and without.

  The Sooth had warned of Tyrne’s destruction and while some died, it could have been much worse.

  Looking to the Southern Road that ran alongside the Jeurgis River, shapes moved slowly along the visible paved stretch. All he could see were pedestrians, horsemen and a few wagons. The road itself was buried under moving flesh. Vast numbers of refugees, thousands and thousands, were moving toward the City of Wonders right now, he suspected.

  “We’re going to be very crowded when we get there.” He did not need to visit with the Sooth to know he was right on that one.

  Swech wore her hood drawn down and squinted against the breeze from the Jeurgis River. She cut a slice of pabba fruit – possibly the most amazing fruit that the gods had ever created – and sucked the juices from the succulent flesh before chewing and swallowing.

  The Empress and her retinue were coming back. She could see them as they marched across the bridge and into Canhoon. They did not look happy. They had no reason for joy.

  A day away, the clouds of ash rose higher into the air and belched lightning bright enough to be seen at night in the City of Wonders. She’d moved along the rooftops the night before and watched, mesmerized by the pyrotechnic displays.

  She had grown used to her borrowed body. It fit her now. Vigorous hours of exercise and stretching had made her feel, if not at home, then at least comfortable in the other woman’s body.

  Since coming to Canhoon she had been busy. Several scrapes and nicks had left their marks on her forearms and legs. Her clothes had taken the worst of it, of course. Good leathers could prevent a great deal of discomfort.

  There were some, like Tuskandru, who would have teased her about the lack of scars her new body had, but she would have easily countered with the notion that borrowed flesh didn’t cou
nt and that fresh scars would make it harder for her to hide in the masses around her. She had to fit in. That was her duty.

  The man who came to her seemed to simply materialize, walking out of the air toward her. That marked him as surely as the four quick hand gestures he made.

  She nodded her head and offered him a wedge of her fruit. He took it without hesitation and chewed, smiling. Handsome, but a bit young.

  “You are Swech.” It wasn't a question.

  She nodded. “Have you a name?”

  “I am Kallider. I walk in Paedle’s wake.”

  She nodded. “I was told to expect you. Do you know why we meet?”

  They had met before, she suspected. There were others who had thrown themselves into the heart of Wrommish’s forge and taken new shapes at the end of a fiery journey. She had not looked at them for long. People were people, and she had been aware of them, but she had also been in the presence of her king and her god and they took precedence.

  “I am to serve you. Should you call, I will answer.” Kallider’s answer was exactly as it should have been, direct.

  She spoke in the tongue of her people, softly to avoid being heard as more than a murmur in the crowd. And there was a crowd, indeed, for most had not seen the Empress or her pet wizard and wanted to know who ruled them.

  Merros Dulver rode past and she made herself look away, much as she wanted to stare. Strange that he should generate such feelings, but then, he had already made her show mercy on one occasion, had he not?

  “For now be nearby if I need you. I will find a reason for you to be near.”

  He nodded his head.

  “Kallider?”

  “Yes, Swech?”

  “Do not speak my name again. Not in this land. I am wanted here.”

  “As you wish.” A moment later he was gone and she lowered her head as the Empress rode past.

  There were four blades in easy reach. She could have killed the young woman without any trouble at all.

  That was not what the gods wanted. For now the Daxar Taalor preferred the Empress be alive and to that end Swech let the ruler of Fellein pass.