The man looked at Merros for a moment and then answered Desh. “They are two days out at the most. But they do not stop. They continue walking even in the dark and I think they will be here sooner than that.”
Merros shook his head and cursed under his breath. Desh looked at Merros for only a moment and then gestured toward the chambers where Nachia kept her residence.
“Come along, General. I fear you might get your wish.”
“What wish is that?”
“You may yet get your display of power from me.”
Nachia Krous looked down from the top of the very highest tower in the palace. The view it afforded her was one that most would never see. She wished she could appreciate it more than she was able to at that moment.
From where she stood in the tower it was possible to see for a great distance. Far off, she could see them gathering, the armies of her enemies moving into place, settling before a final march would put them at the edges of Canhoon. The way between where they were and Trecharch was mountainous, but not this close in. A field of dark shapes impossible not to notice. She could not make out individual forms, but she could most certainly see the gathering, like a massive swarm of distant ants, if the ants had learned to light campfires.
This was war then: a crawling, endless panic; a fear that the world would not end well. How many people would die in the next few days as the Sa’ba Taalor came for her, to take her head and her crown and claim the entire world for their own?
She thought of the King in Iron, the behemoth of a man she had faced off against with her heart hammering in her chest. She had stared him in the face, but she’d had to crane her neck into a very uncomfortable position to achieve that task. He was leading his forces to her, and he could destroy cities with a gesture.
She was breathing hard and trying not to panic by the time Desh and Merros made it to her chambers.
“Majesty.” Desh moved into the room and she felt the panic abate. He had that effect on her. He always had. He was a strong, soothing presence even at the worst of times.
She pointed to the window facing north. “There. Look, Desh. You can see them from here.”
He walked past her without a sound and looked. “They come from several directions, Milady, as we knew they would.”
Nachia took in a deep breath and faced her First Advisor. “And what can we do about them?”
“We have our forces gathered, Nachia. But we have been struck a blow. The horses are gone. All of the stables. Someone poisoned them.”
She cursed under her breath. “So we have no cavalry at all?”
“We have no lancers. We have no horses. We still have a very large army waiting here to defend us.”
“And they have those damnable beasts of theirs. That gives them a rather substantial advantage, Desh.”
The man looked past her, studied one window and then the next.
Merros Dulver was oddly quiet. She looked his way and he stared at Desh.
“I think we might have reached the time when I ask you to use sorcery, Desh.”
The First Advisor nodded. “That is why I am here, Majesty. You know that this will exhaust me. I will be tired to the point where there is little I can do for a day or more. Still, I will make an example of one target. You have but to choose one.”
Nachia looked at the latest maps, moved from one window to the next and finally decided. “Let the forces in the north know that the Fellein Empire is unforgiving. They have destroyed Trecharch. They should pay for their actions.”
Merros stepped closer and looked at her maps. He used his finger to indicate where the greatest gathering of the Sa’ba Taalor were, according to the latest reports. It was one thing to see distant forces gathered and another to know which areas would have the greatest concentration of the enemies.
“How many of our people will be hurt in the process?”
Desh looked at her after she’d asked the question and the expression on his face was as revealing as a stone wall. “I suppose we can find out in the final body count. As I warned you before, I can aim this. I cannot control what happens once I let it go.”
“Aim what, exactly?” Merros sounded worried. Nachia knew how he felt.
Desh Krohan did not answer with words. Instead he walked to the window that faced north and raised his hands into the air. There was a balcony outside the window. It was narrow and Nachia had never quite had the nerve to walk outside on it. Heights did not scare her nearly as much as the notion of falling did. It was one thing to look and another to risk losing her balance.
Desh Krohan stood on that narrow balcony and concentrated. His face was set, his brow furrowed with tension. His hands were steady, however, and he moved them as he muttered to himself.
When he was finally ready he pointed with his fingers widespread and hissed a word beneath his breath. She could not hear the phrase, but the sounds that she did hear made her feel queasy.
In her entire life she had never seen magic used in a display of force.
She prayed fervently that she never would again.
Tuskandru looked around the area and nodded. Durhallem had told him where to stand, where to wait with his people, and that was exactly what he intended to do.
His army was vast, yes, but he knew firsthand that there were powers well beyond those offered by a good sword, and he had seen what the sorcerers of the Fellein were capable of. They could fly! They could move from one place to another at speeds that seemed impossible. He had never seen them attack and according to his god they only did so sparingly.
Durhallem said an attack was coming. He had no reason to doubt his god.
His forces waited patiently while the other army moved forward, shuffling along on dead feet. The gods had their ways. A city was cleared and the corpses of the enemies were placed as the gods demanded and then those corpses rose and walked. A gift to the Fellein. They would have their dead back.
In the far distance he could almost make out the city of Canhoon. It was the goal of all the kings for the moment. They would reach that goal soon, but first he was to wait where he was while the wizard of the Fellein showed his power.
He would wait.
He was patient.
Cullen felt the power building.
She did not question the sensation, but instead allowed instinct to guide her and ran hard and fast, her legs pumping furiously. She was a full day ahead of the Sa’ba Taalor, getting closer to Canhoon all the time.
“Run, Cullen! Run as hard as you can!” Deltrea’s voice cracked with raw panic and the sensation was contagious. Cullen sprinted harder still, her vision shaking as she hurled herself downhill along the Imperial Highway. The woods were fine when dealing with the grayskins, but now that she was well ahead of them the road was better.
She ran until she felt her sides burning and then she slowed, still moving but no longer as quickly. There were limits to what she could accomplish. She could climb a tree with ease, scale a hill or run along vines, but she had never covered long distances before and her legs burned and her chest and sides ached. She had run miles farther than she knew, pushed on by the power that nested inside her.
The presence inside of her, the last remnant of the Mother-Vine, urged her on and she moved, gaining new vitality from that odd presence. She did not run, she couldn’t have any longer, but she moved forward and she looked toward her destination, Canhoon.
Deltrea’s voice became a wordless scream of panic and Cullen fell to her knees and then curled into a ball on the ground. The fine hairs on her arms and neck rose into the air; so too the hair on her head. She covered her ears and closed her eyes, but the light still came and the sound followed.
Ahead of her the heat that came her way crisped her hair and dried her throat. Behind her, the world boiled.
She would have boiled as well, but the presence she held inside deflected the blast.
Swech was looking at the palace when the world went mad.
She was contemplat
ing the reactions to all that was happening in Canhoon. The people who ran the stables were moving in a fury of activity, and soldiers crawled over the palace grounds like ants on a corpse.
She had seen Merros Dulver walking earlier with the wizard, Desh Krohan, and she had made certain not to be seen. He was a handsome buck and she admired him.
The general and the sorcerer had been in a hurry and they’d headed into the heart of the palace, barely bothering to look around at all.
She was expecting news from Jost, but so far nothing had been forthcoming.
The younger girl had been sent to find one of the sorcerers. Not Desh Krohan, but another, a man named Jeron. Until Krohan came back to Canhoon, Jeron had been in charge of the city in many ways. Now he did the elder sorcerer’s bidding and sent his mind out to find the secrets of the Sa’ba Taalor. The wizards had an array of their members moving through the Empire and communicating together. They spoke of the Sa’ba Taalor and shared secrets that the gods did not want shared. It was time to end the problem.
Jeron was to be killed or converted. Jost was the one to handle the matter in either event. That decision came from Paedle, not from Swech. There was no discussion necessary.
She pondered the fate of the sorcerer even as Desh Krohan stood upon a balcony so high above her that even her finest bow and arrow could not have hoped to reach him. The only reason she recognized him at all was because of his robes, which moved and shimmered and seemed so very alive.
The sun was gone and the world was moving toward proper night. There was a glimmer of color at the edge of the world and beyond it the darkness and the stars. Her eyes were not prepared for what happened next.
The sorcerer moved his arms and threw them outward as if he might be hurling rocks from his hands.
Instead of rocks it was lightning that spilled forth. A great, potent stream of liquid light ripped across the darkening skies and turned the world white. Stark shadows snapped into focus, but the tongues of liquid blue fire that ripped from his hands took away all other colors and made those shadows dance madly.
Had she been in her own flesh her eyes would have adjusted instantly. A second set of eyelids would have moved, and protected her from the glare as surely as they protected her eyes from the dust of the Blasted Lands. She was not in her body, however. She wore a different woman’s flesh.
The light blinded her for a moment, leaving her seeing phantom shapes in blue.
The sound came next, a roar as pure and potent as the screams of the Mounds. The noise rippled through the air and echoed off buildings, sending throaty vibrations through her entire body.
Swech closed her eyes and waited, while all around her people reacted to the unexpected sound and sight as if the world itself were ending.
Swech knew better, of course. The Daxar Taalor were not yet ready for the world to end. Though they were surely fine with certain parts falling into ruination.
Trecharch burned once more. What the Sa’ba Taalor had failed to do was taken care of by Fellein’s greatest sorcerer. That the land was already in ruin was a given, but the trees that remained, the animals foolish enough to come back to the area after the Pra-Moresh came through, all found out what magic could do.
Lightning ripped down from the heavens in a thousand brilliant tongues, stroking the earth, the trees, the rocks with fires so potent that wood exploded into flames, the ground boiled and rocks were shattered. Birds and insects startled from their rest fell, stunned or cooked where they waited. The few humans left in the area – and there were only a few, as most had either been killed or long since had fled the area – died just as quickly, their bodies burnt into husks in a moment.
Along the path of destruction the army of corpses meant as a perverse gift to the Fellein were destroyed. Flesh fried, bones burned, metal and cloth disintegrated in a pyrotechnic display. Water evaporated or boiled, and for a dozen miles the world was scarred.
Less than a mile from the massive detonation, Tuskandru watched and experienced a new sensation. He was not familiar with fear. He had been startled many times, but never had he been afraid.
He did not like it. The unfamiliar emotion was burned out of him, replaced by anger.
All around him his people stared, shocked by the unexpected ruination.
When the lights had finished bathing the sky, and the sounds had completed their roaring reminder that some things were beyond mortal understanding, Tusk looked at his people and observed their reactions.
Most of them did as he did. They looked around and assessed the end results of the attack. A few trembled.
He marked the ones who were afraid. They would be watched.
“Durhallem warned us to wait and so we did!” He had no choice but to yell. Even then he was uncertain how many could hear him. It did not matter. What was important was that his people understood that he was not afraid, and that he and they should be ready for war.
Some turned toward him. Others stared around. Tusk nodded and reached into the satchel attached to Brodem’s saddle. The horn was easy to find. It was all that filled that particular bag.
That noise got the attention of all of them. The note was sharp and clear as he called them to war. It was time to ride. They would not stand still and cower in the darkness. The Sa’ba Taalor were warriors. Any who forgot that would suffer the wrath of their king, the wrath of their god.
“We ride! We have a people to conquer!”
Tusk could barely hear their responses, but he felt them in his flesh. The roar of his followers was as loud as the thunder itself.
In minutes they were mounted and riding or walking as befit their abilities.
Fear was for lesser beings. The Sa’ba Taalor had nothing to fear. Their gods were with them.
Merros Dulver watched on as Desh Krohan rained destruction down on a land that was days away. It started as a lick of light from his fingertips and exploded outward from there.
There was no way to escape the sight.
He squinted against the light coming from the skies and spewing forth across the distant area, and watched the fires burning. The sun set, but the glow from the north matched the dusk’s fading light.
The air stank with the discharge of power.
Nachia stood at his side and looked at the ruination.
She turned to look at her First Advisor with wide, genuinely shocked eyes.
“What if you’d missed?” Her voice was small, barely a whisper.
Desh sighed. “And how many times have I offered you that exact argument.”
The sorcerer walked away from them heading, Merros supposed, for his private chambers. “I am tired now,” Desh muttered. He did not look back.
From the north Tuskandru gathered his armies and moved, slipping among the trees and advancing with more stealth than many would have thought him capable of managing. The simple fact was that after the earlier display of power it was best to let the enemy think that he and his were gone until it was too late to do anything about it.
To the east, the movement of the army was more direct. The Imperial Highway was occupied with the movement of troops in numbers that would have had most of Canhoon trembling if they could see that far, but the army of King Tarag Paedori was still over a day away and moving at a steady pace. The rear echelons of that army stopped when the sun set. The forward wave did not stop but continued, moving slowly but deliberately in the direction of Canhoon.
In the direction of home.
As with Tuskandru, the King in Iron brought with him a gift of the dead. Lancers and archers alike moved along the path, bearing little by way of weapons but not needing any, either.
Kallir Lundt, once of Fellein and now of Prydiria, stood next to his king and stared after the moving dead.
“I don’t completely understand. Why send them back if they are unarmed?”
Tarag Paedori looked down upon him. The man was well over a head and shoulders taller. He was, without doubt, the largest man that Kallir had ever
met.
“The dead are a reminder. They let the Fellein know that the gods favor us. Should any have lived long enough or have written a record of the past, they are a reminder that the Fellein once used armies of the dead to fight their wars.”
Kallir nodded his head. “None will remember, but they will be scared senseless by the very notion.” He spoke a complete truth there and he knew it. When he saw the dead rising it was all he could do not to run away. He was not easily frightened, but dead things should stay dead.
The King in Iron looked at him for a long, silent moment and then looked back toward the distant Canhoon. “Are you uncertain, Kallir Lundt? These were your people before you joined us.”
“No. I have accepted the gifts of Truska-Pren and I have been given so many gifts.” Still he spoke the truth. The maps that the Sa’ba Taalor had of Canhoon were drawn by memory, and they were remarkably accurate. There were discrepancies, to be sure, but fewer than most would have imagined. “I know that what must come next is inevitable.”
The king nodded. “That is good. I want you with us for this. I want you to bear witness to what happens to Canhoon and the rest of the Empire.”
Kallir nodded his head and did not speak. He had seen the power of the gods of Taalor and yet, he felt doubts. They had mended his face. They had punished others before him, and he had watched as one of the arrogant, youthful fools who sometimes must beat their chests to prove themselves had fallen to the ground before him and been transformed. He had learned in a moment where the mounts came from. They were the humbled, those who lacked the faith needed to follow the Daxar Taalor. He knew the Daxar Taalor had power.
Still, his faith was strained. He had never seen any action on the part of the gods of Fellein but still he found himself wondering if the army he sided with would be strong enough to take on the vast forces of an empire at least a hundred times the size.
He wondered if the gods of Fellein were truly absent.
One gauntleted hand rested on his shoulder for a moment and he looked up toward his friend, ally and king. The eyes of the man glowed with their own light in the semidarkness. All around him the Sa’ba Taalor lit the area with faint starlight wherever he looked. “Rest, Kallir. We ride at dawn and we ride until we reach Canhoon.”
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