The Seven Forges Novels

by James A. Moore

  Below, the waters looked close enough to touch. The land and the river were still under them but only for the moment. The river was marrying the lake below them and even from here they could see the massive city on the not-so-distant far shore.

  An hour at most before city and lake met.

  It was time. The Great Tide surely would wait no longer. The time had come.

  Both moved carefully. Both smiled as they did. Some prayers are answered sooner than later.

  The warehouse was as she expected it to be: secured. Swech and Jost entered from the roof, sliding through the trap door that Swech herself had worked on when she was Dretta March.

  She thought of him again. What was it about Merros that haunted her? She didn’t let herself worry. There were other considerations and there they came first. Still, she missed his touch. She missed his babbling conversations and the way he felt against her.

  No.

  No more of that. She had work to do.

  Most of their people were already gathered. Some were missing, mostly those in the flesh of the Fellein. She understood how difficult it was to escape from the other life. There were people in and among the Fellein that insisted on being with the hidden Sa’ba Taalor.

  “We are much closer to the water than we expected,” Swech said as she settled in. “I think we will land within hours.”

  Her rump had barely met the floor when the air in the room shifted. Heat bathed her body and those around her. N’Heelis looked around but did not seem worried. That was enough to make her stay calm.

  The voice of Paedle moved through her, and from the responses of others around her was carried to them as well.

  RISE KING SWECH. RISE AND BE SEEN BY YOUR BRETHREN. There was no question of what had been said. There was no chance of misinterpretation. Still, it took a moment for her to obey.

  She did not claim that she was unworthy. False modestly is foolish to begin with, but twice so when dealing with gods. Swech stood, and the Sa’ba Taalor with her stood as well. All but one offered the same obeisance as was given King Tarag Paedori. They lowered to one knee and held out their arms, a weapon placed in their hands with grip or hilt offered in her direction. Their lives for her to take or spare as she saw fit.

  The only exception was N’Heelis. He did not bow, as kings do not make the same obeisances. Instead he smiled and moved toward her. When they embraced she held him tightly. He had always been one of her closest, dearest teachers.

  “I am proud of you, Swech.” That was all he said.

  Paedle did not speak again, not at that time. There was little they could do by way of celebration, but that was just as well. The King in Mercury had no need of celebrations.

  Darsken Murdro stood at the top of the Inquisitors Tower, which was one of the largest constructs in all of Canhoon. The building was not decorative in the least and most who passed it had no idea what went on there. That was deliberate.

  The Inquisitors did not want to be known. They wanted to be ignored until such time as they were needed.

  Darsken did not much care at that moment what the Inquisitors wanted. He was worried about his little sister.

  Somewhere out in the waters the fighting continued. The gate had been opened and the vessels of the Sa’ba Taalor moved into the waters, but they did so slowly. Most of their black ships had been wounded and a few of them were sinking. That was the result of interference that should not have happened.

  When Captain Callan climbed from a watercraft that did not belong to him and told his sorrows to the Louron, one of the Inquisitors present was Daivem, Darsken’s younger sibling. She did exactly as he would have wanted and when Canhoon was mentioned, she contacted Darsken himself. The message was short and to the point and asked if he knew Callan.

  When she reported more of what the captain had to say, Darsken thought about the laws of Fellein and the proper actions, and told her to do what she must.

  And now his sister was down below, moving on a ship that was locked in the Shimmer.

  The Shimmer, for better or worse, was the gift of the Louron.

  Not long before, the black ships had tried to attack Louron and learned the hard way that the people were protected. They surrendered to the inevitable only after losing several of their people and the crew of one ship. Louron was not like other places. Louron was blessed.

  On rare occasions, the Shimmer could be coaxed into fixing itself onto an object. Currently the ship of Captain Callan was one such item. The vessel was still intact. It should have been shattered by impact after impact with the black ships, but the Shimmer kept it safe.

  The Shimmer was a mystery, even to the Louron. It existed. It was. It was not under their control, but they could interact with it, and sometimes it would listen to requests. Not for the first time Darsken wondered if the Shimmer was truly a god that rested or if it was something entirely different.

  For those coming to Louron, it was often a threat. The Shimmer seemed to know what the intent of travelers was. Those who meant no harm seldom encountered the ripples in the air. Those who felt otherwise vanished from sight, never to return. They did not die. The Louron would have known. Instead they traveled the Shimmer and moved to other worlds, beyond the one known to the rest of Fellein.

  The people riding on the small vessel and harassing the Sa’ba Taalor were safe enough. There was always the chance that they could be attacked. There was a possibility that they could be sunk, but neither was very likely. The Shimmer protected them.

  The massive craft of the Sa’ba Taalor were a different thing. They were vast. Certainly the largest ships that Darsken had ever heard of, but though they were truly well constructed they were not unbreakable.

  Still, there were many of them and even the ones that were damaged and foundering were not without dangers. The Sa’ba Taalor were relentless. The shore was half a mile away in several cases and still they swam across the frigid waters to reach the shoreline and continue on with their quest to conquer everything before them.

  Darsken clenched his fists and did his best not to grind his teeth.

  His sister was probably perfectly safe, but she was his sister and he worried.

  The shadow of Canhoon appeared on the water, a hundred times larger than the black ships, as the sun began to rise. Darsken never noticed. He was too busy looking at one very small vessel to pay attention to shadows that drifted somewhere behind him. He faced the east and the brightening light of the new day’s sun. He did not care about the glare. He only cared about his sister.

  The sun rose.

  The City of Wonders fell.

  The higher the sun climbed, the lower the city dropped. Well before the sun climbed to its zenith, however, the city had finished its descent.

  Tuskandru, Tarag Paedori and Pre’ru stared at the falling wonder dubiously. It was really spectacularly large.

  “Do you suppose the lake will flood the lower part of this city?” Pre’ru asked conversationally. Tarag studied her. When he had been a much younger man Pre’ru had been a soldier of great repute. Then he had been a mount to Lored, who was, if one was completely honest, a bit of an ass. Now he was a woman and a king. The Daxar Taalor followed their own agendas, to be sure. Pre’ru was only marginally smaller than before and just as muscular as ever. All of the scars he remembered on the great man were still there on the woman.

  Tarag said, “Four rivers surround us. I expect there will be a lot of water, but it will mostly go up the rivers. The path of least resistance.”

  Tusk frowned. “The rivers? That is a lot of water that the lake will push against. In my experience water can be a very hard force to argue with.” He paused and added, “I haven’t much experience with water though. I prefer flesh and steel.”

  “We will know soon enough,” Tarag replied.

  “Aye.” Pre’ru could not look away from the city falling slowly from above. Canhoon fell as a feather falls, that is to say slowly, but without the shaking and dancing. A pity that, as
Tarag would have loved to see the chaos that sort of motion caused.

  “Why do you suppose the Fellein brought their city here? Why not stay where they were and fight?” Pre’ru was full of questions.

  “Perhaps they hope the water will stop us.” Tusk looked away from the descending land mass long enough to look at the black ships. They were hard to see past the early morning mists that rose from the massive lake. “I do not think they are right.”

  Tarag looked at the ships, too, though they were little more than ghosts at the moment. “They’re sinking.”

  “Yes, but that is only half the fleet and the others are on their way. Even without them, however, we can find boats as we did before.”

  “The Silent Army might have ways of handling boats. Or the wizards.”

  Tusk nodded. “Why has no one killed the wizards yet? Aside from you, I mean.”

  “I do not think all of them kill easily. Remember the lightning.”

  “I was there. I will never forget it.”

  “Swech is a king now.” Tarag contemplated those words ever as he spoke them.

  “She is a very skilled killer. I think the choice a good one.”

  “Of course. The gods do not make errors.”

  Pre’ru looked their way. “Who is Swech?”

  Tusk smiled and answered. “Swech is very faithful. She has also killed more people than anyone I have ever met, and that says a great deal.”

  Tarag Paedori nodded. “I am glad the Great Tide is upon us. I do not like to think about how things would end if Swech set out to kill us.” Before the Daxar Taalor declared the actions against the Fellein, the seven kingdoms of the Sa’ba Taalor had fought against each other, and the individuals of the Sa’ba Taalor warred among themselves besides.

  Tusk frowned and nodded slowly. “Glo’Hosht was good enough not to assassinate kings. Swech has already assassinated an emperor.”

  “Exactly so.”

  The three kings grew silent as the city continued to descend. They were only moments away from the vast, inverted mountain of stone touching the nearly still waters. Even past the mists the reflection of the gigantic city was impossible to miss.

  Tarag said, “Had I not seen the gods move mountains already, I would have thought this beyond any power.”

  “Where will Truska-Pren move, Tarag?”

  Tarag Paedori looked to his fellow king and said, “You will know in minutes.”

  The water surged as the lowest tip of Canhoon touched the waters of the lake. There was a sound of distant thunder to the south and Tarag smiled. “There. Just there. The southern reaches of this land are changed now and forever.”

  Tusk nodded and smiled and watched as the City of Wonders slowly sank into the lake, sending water in all directions, not as a wave so much as a surge. The water rose everywhere at once, and as it rose it slowly crested, moving across the lake in a circular ripple: a stone thrown in a pond.

  Pre’ru said, “We will soon know if half this city is sunk in the waters.”

  As they were currently occupying the king’s palace they were not particularly worried. They were several hundred feet above the current water level.

  The waters rose and rippled outward, and as they watched, the docks and the buildings within an arrow’s flight of the docks were slammed with water that shattered wood and buried the lowest buildings.

  Tusk looked at the devastation and grinned.

  The water continued, lifting the docks and throwing them aside, shattering the structure and sending the boats that were tied along the structure sailing through the air. The vessels rained down destruction on still more buildings as the water rose and surged and ate everything it touched.

  Tusk started to chuckle, and his hands reached up, and got a companionable grip on the shoulders of both kings standing with him as the waters surged higher and the city sank lower.

  By the time Canhoon had settled in the exact center of the lake and the water had risen enough to wash away all evidence that a dock had ever existed, Tuskandru was howling with laughter.

  Pre’ru looked at Tusk and shook her head, an amused expression on her scarred face. “What are you laughing about?”

  Tusk grunted out the words as he continued to laugh. He gestured with the hand that had been on her shoulder toward the devastation. “You see? The Great Tide is upon us, indeed!”

  Pre’ru laughed and shook her head at his antics. She had not known him in the Taalor Valley where among his many reputations he was known as a jester.

  Tarag Paedori smiled too, as the waters started to recede.

  “Oh,” he said. “I think we can do much better than that.”

  Desh Krohan looked from the highest of the palace windows and next to him Merros Dulver gripped his sword hilt in fingers turned white by the pressure.

  Nachia stood between them, and did her best not to scream with joy. They were settled. Until that last moment she’d continued to fear that they would sink to the bottom of Gerhaim and either learn to breathe water like the fish, or die.

  “Well,” Merros said. “That could have gone much worse.”

  “Still could,” Desh pointed to the black ships. They were, as one, turning toward Canhoon.

  “I’ve enjoyed our chat, but I have to prepare for war.” The way he said it, Merros sounded like it was farewell.

  “Don’t go.” Nachia’s voice was small.

  “It’s not an option, Majesty. I am in charge of your armies and I intend to see that you have an empire to lead.”

  Desh sighed. “There are more black ships coming this way. They are a day out yet, but they will get here soon enough.”

  “Sink them!” Nachia turned her head so sharply to glare at him that muscles pulled and twitched like fire under her skin. “You, or your Sisters or any of the sorcerers here in Canhoon! Sink the damned ships!”

  “Majesty, we don’t have the power–”

  “If you found the power to raise the dead and lift a city, then find the power to sink those gods damned ships!”

  “Nachia.” Merros’s voice was soft. “No. Don’t. We have the Silent Army. We have the Imperial Army. If you must use sorcery, wait until the last. Don’t lose that last defense.”

  Without another word Merros left the room, shoulders squared and cape snapping with every stride.

  Nachia shook her head.

  Desh moved up behind her and placed a hand on both her shoulders, and she leaned back into him as she had on a hundred occasions through her life, already regretting snapping at him earlier.

  He demanded no apologies, but instead simply held her.

  “We’ll prevail, Nachia. I’ll make sure of that.”

  “Don’t make false promises, Old Man. It belittles us both.”

  Down below, horns sounded the assembly and from a dozen different quarters the soldiers came, moving from their barracks and assembling in the vast yard of the palace.

  Somewhere in that crowd Merros Dulver would be speaking, talking to the forces left to him in Canhoon and preparing for the inevitable assault.

  The Sa’ba Taalor were monsters. They could not be reasoned with. They wanted death and destruction. They wanted to crush the Fellein Empire and they were doing a fine job of it.

  Somewhere below the very best of the Imperial Guard were gathered together to defend her. Nachia did not care. She preferred that none stay behind, none defend her. The Empire was more important than the Empress. It had to be. If not, why was she so worried?

  Theran stood trembling on the shore.

  His head ached. His body was cold and he could not stop his muscles from shaking even though he stood still. It was like a fever, but a thousand times worse.

  He was recovering from what they had done, but it wasn’t easy. Someone had pulled the javelin from his neck. He’d heard bones crunch and felt his body go numb in the places where it did not scream.

  The one with the skull helmet had spoken to him, his accent thick. “You have metal where yo
u are from?” The man grunted and sat him up. “I mean the type touched by gods. It heals wounds.” Thick fingers probed the wound on his neck. “We heal you now, so you can talk to us.”

  The pain had been enough to shatter him. He bucked, he kicked, he screamed and they held him still as white hot metal ran across his neck. Or at least it felt like it did until the pain vanished.

  The man with the skull helmet moved his head for him and nodded. “Better.”

  The giants around him were terrifying. There were easily a hundred, but he could see the leaders clearly enough.

  That had been half an hour earlier. After he recovered enough to stand, they did worse to him. Now, they stood around him, the largest of the people, the ones he sensed were in charge.

  “I do not think he likes us very much.” The one who spoke wore a vast helmet shaped like a monstrous skull, the mouth of the thing filled with teeth of varying sizes, all of them sharp and the smallest of them longer than his middle finger.

  The woman next to him was large and scarred and had been the one to cause him the greatest agony in his entire life. A pain so large that five minutes later he was still trying to recover from the memory of it. He had screamed, begged and even tried to use his sorcery, all to no avail. He was too scared to concentrate on magic and his words apparently made no difference to the people around him. They were the Sa’ba Taalor, and he was ready to piss himself at the sight of them up close.

  The coin she’d shown him was very large and made of gold. Her hands were smaller than the largest of the giants’ but not by that much. The golden disk filled her palm.

  He’d looked at her and shaken his head at first, having no idea what was about to happen. The metal was pressed into his forehead. Her palm kept it there and her fingers moved into his hair as if she meant to caress and tease him.

  Then the burning started. Theran felt the heat start and jerked, trying to get away, but her fingers pulled his hair tight and even as he tried to move his head one way and then another she did not let the pain escape. He wet himself. His arms and legs twitched and kicked and he beat at her as best he could with his hands tied behind his back and one of the bastards standing on his calves while he kneeled before the bitch who tortured him. If he could have, he’d have spat in her face, but he was too busy praying for death and his eyes were screwed shut as the metal melted across his forehead.