“MOVE!”
Deltrea pulled at her and something tore and the next thing Cullen knew the world was spinning.
“The Mother-Vine needs you. You’re a part of her now. She’s got to win this and she can’t do it without you.”
The pain was gone and Deltrea’s words sank into her. As she moved, she recognized the shape of the Mother-Vine for what it was: an endless expanse of tendrils offering life and protection. It was not real. There was no mass, but that was the shape just the same as it writhed across the skies and slashed at the hard lines and angles of the nightmare trying to crush the Mother-Vine once and for all.
Madness, of course, except that there was another presence with her, distant and dying, an ember that had once been the mate of the First Advisor.
That ember glowed brightly one last time and urged Cullen on without words.
The Mother-Vine was not dead, not even dying, but she would be soon without Cullen. There was no question of this in her mind, no doubt about the validity of the notion, and no time to consider in any event.
“Now, Cullen! Now!” Deltrea’s voice rang in her mind and she nodded, annoyed and grateful to her friend at the same time.
Cullen reached out and touched the Mother-Vine, uncertain how she could move so far, so fast, or how she’d learned to fly.
Far below, the crowd looked on as a few people tried to revive the body of a girl who’d fled Trecharch when the dead walked and the Sa’ba Taalor killed all on their path.
Their efforts were wasted. There was nothing left but flesh and meat.
“Do they honor the pact?”
Jost stood next to Swech and looked on as the Fellein stood around.
“I cannot say.”
Swech tried to speak to Paedle. The instructions were simple. If the Empress did not yield, the Empress died.
Jost looked on, trying to comprehend what was happening. Andover Iron Hands had won, they knew that.
He had taken down the sorcerer and let him live. Then he had fallen, and then Truska-Pren moved through Tarag Paedori.
All made perfect sense until that moment.
It was easy to discern what was supposed to happen. The great mountain would rise and the glory of the Seven Forges would be seen by everyone.
And then the King in Iron charged at Drask Silver Hand.
Drask turned toward the King in Iron and defended himself, stepping past the boy on the ground before him. Tarag grabbed and Drask moved and Swech could have easily predicted what happened next.
Tarag Paedori smashed into the ground and came to a rolling stop. He was not injured but his pride likely hurt.
“You betray us!” Tarag stormed toward Drask again.
Drask shook his head. “Your god would see us all burned for winning the day, Tarag Paedori. I merely defended myself and everyone here.”
Swech shook her head. She could understand nothing that Drask had done.
“You betray the gods, Drask Silver Hand! Face me!”
“I have not moved, Tarag.” The man’s voice was filled with regret. “You have won your victory today. The Empire is yours and belongs to your gods. Let this be enough.”
The larger man shook his head and moved closer again and the gathering of Fellein around them wisely moved out of the way.
Swech called to Paedle, seeking guidance. But there was no sound, no voice to guide her and she felt afraid for the first time in her life.
She reached further, called to the other gods and once again received only silence as an answer.
“Where are they?” Swech was unaware that she was even speaking aloud.
“Where are who?” Jost frowned and looked her way.
“Where are the gods? Why don’t they answer?”
The look on Jost’s face a second later told her all she needed to know. Her young friend was hearing nothing but silence as well.
The battle ended.
The raging energies of Truska-Pren and the Mother-Vine crashed to the earth, and the ground where they struck shattered.
The burned ruins of Trecharch bulged, and seconds later Truska-Pren rose from the ground, the vast black mountain reborn in only seconds. The explosion blew down the ruined trees and shook the air for a hundred miles. The heat blasting down from the mountain would have burned away anything in its path, and the cloud of smoke that rose into the skies was as black as the space between the stars.
Where normally the Sa’ba Taalor would have been howling their approval to the gods, instead they stared around, stunned by a silence they had never heard in their lives before.
The Daxar Taalor were silent.
Beyond the reach of Truska-Pren the Blasted Lands grew quiet as the storms there faded again. From the depths of the mounds the ground shook and split, and what remained of the vast stone monoliths collapsed.
Tarag Paedori stood facing Drask Silver Hand and shook his head. “What madness is this?”
Drask’s eyes narrowed. “I do not know what you mean?”
“Where are the Daxar Taalor? Where are the gods?” Tarag Paedori’s voice shook with suppressed rage and he took a long, menacing step toward Drask.
“Where they have always been. I hear them calling for you. Why do you not answer?”
“Liar!” Tarag came toward him another step and Drask stood his ground, rolling his shoulders and preparing for the fight he knew would happen.
“I have never lied to you, Tarag. You know this. You have only to open your mind to the gods and you will hear them as I do.”
“It is not just me!” Tarag’s voice was filled with grief like a blade that cut his soul in half. “Who among you can hear the gods?” He looked to his own people and heard no one say anything positive. Most were only just now trying to find the gods and failing to hear a response.
Drask shook his head. “Truska-Pren wants to speak with you. He calls your name, King in Iron.”
Tarag looked around with desperation in his gaze. This was an impossibility.
Andover Iron Hands, only recently healed, nodded his head. “I can hear him, Tarag Paedori. I hear his call. He wants you to come to him.”
“I’ll kill you for this!” The challenge was offered to Drask.
It was not merely a threat. His honor was on the line, his faith in the gods was on the line. He heard the gods, heard them calling and refused to accept the madness of a foolish man who had suddenly gone deaf. “You have challenged me, Tarag Paedori and I accept your challenge! Face me!”
Drask moved, sliding effortlessly to the wall of the courtyard and entering it.
The King in Iron came his way, hurdling the wall with ease. He grabbed a sword as he moved.
Drask chose instead to use the bullwhip he carried coiled around his waist. The king charged and Drask moved aside, backing away hastily. He could have killed Tarag with a glance. The power he’d absorbed was still there. That was why he took the well of energies from Nolan.
A second charge and Drask ducked under the swing, stepping in fast and driving his elbow into the King in Iron’s ribs. He felt bones snap. The king paid them no heed and drove himself against Drask before he could catch his balance. The sword came down again and Drask caught it with his silver hand, gripping the blade tight and pushing.
The blade shattered in his grip.
Tarag drove his forehead into Drask’s face and knocked him sprawling.
A moment later the broken sword was coming for him and Drask rolled, hissing as the jagged metal cut a line of blood across his side and back.
“What have you done to me?” Tarag’s voice broke with raw emotion and Drask, on the ground below him, swept the king’s leg and knocked him down. The fingers of his silver hand caught in the king’s hair and he yanked the man closer, even as he wrapped his legs into the king’s own legs and bent his body and crushed.
The sound of Tarag Paedori’s thigh breaking was a sound he would never forget. It hurt him deeply to cause a man he considered a friend pain, and yet as
always he did what he felt he had to do.
“Yield, King in Iron. Accept defeat and go home to your god.” He leaned in closer and pressed his elbow against the king’s neck and jaw. They both knew that he could shatter the man’s skull if he applied enough pressure. They also both knew he was capable of it.
“There is no dishonor here. The gods cannot reach you and I have not been fighting for endless hours. Go home. Go to Truska-Pren and find out why he has been silenced. Let him heal you, Tarag Paedori. I will make certain no one brings you harm.”
The king trembled. It could have been rage, or fear or simple exhaustion. “I yield. This day, I yield. The battle is over, if not the war.”
“No. This war is finished. You have yielded to me.”
Drask rolled off the other man and made himself stand. “The King in Iron yields! Go home to your gods and find your way back into their graces!”
There was anger on the faces of the Sa’ba Taalor. There was also fear. An army that had true faith in their gods might be unstoppable, but that faith had been ruined, at least for the moment.
It took hours, but the Sa’ba Taalor left. Most of them at any rate. There were several of the children of the Daxar Taalor who were still hidden in the flesh of the Fellein. None of them left. Through one means or another the rest made their way across Gerhaim heading in several different directions.
They abandoned Canhoon, heading for the homes of the Daxar Taalor.
Drask and the Silent Army watched them leave.
Sixteen
In the far distant remains of the Blasted Lands the ground shivered in a thousand places. At the heart of the place once called the Mounds the great vine pushed itself from the ground and began spreading far and wide. It rose into the air and spread itself like a dozen arms reaching for the horizon. As it spread, the ground beneath it offered up trees and shrubs and deep, green grasses.
Deep within the center of that great vine, Cullen moved and sighed and stretched herself.
The Mother-Vine was renewed. That was all she could hope for.
Deltrea’s voice spoke to her softly. “That wasn’t so horrid, was it?”
“By all the gods, Deltrea? Why are you still here?” She spoke with no mouth and was not the least concerned by that fact.
“I have no idea. But here I am and here I’m staying.”
The notion of eternity was not particularly pleasant at that moment.
Nachia Krous stared out from her window and shook her head. “What exactly happened?”
Desh Krohan rubbed at his jaw and mirrored her headshake. “No bloody idea.” He raised his hands in mock surrender when she looked his way. “I could not hope to be more serious.”
Drask Silver Hand moved into the room. He did not knock.
Nachia frowned. “I’m not sure how this works. Their champion rose and beat my champion. I accepted defeat and offered up my Empire and then you came along and defeated them.”
“If I had any desire to rule an empire, I would have the right to yours.”
Desh looked his way. “Would you?”
“Nachia’s Empire was technically in the hands of Tarag Paedori as the head of the Daxar Taalor’s armies. When she conceded, the Empire was his to claim in the name of the gods. I defeated him in honorable combat. I could claim your Empire as my reward.”
“Why not claim his kingdom?” Nachia looked at the gray-skinned man dubiously.
“The gods choose who is king. I am not currently in their favor.”
“So what would you do with this Empire if you had it?”
Drask shook his head. “Leave you as my regent and leave. I have many things to consider.” He looked them both over. “You are either the Empress or the regent to the Emperor. Either way, you will likely see me again.”
Drask left the room that easily and the two of them looked after him.
“I don’t suppose you could just turn him into ashes.”
“No, Nachia. Don’t even jest.” He worked his jaw and heard several light crackles.
“How do you feel?”
“Humiliated. I was punished by a boy.”
“And you were cheating.”
“I was not!”
“He dropped you without benefit of sorcery.”
“He has iron hands!”
“You wear robes that can stop a dozen arrows. You were beaten by a boy who was smart enough to figure out your weaknesses.”
“What happens now?” Desh liked a good jest but there wasn’t time. There was never time. After centuries he was beginning to understand that notion.
The war was over. Nachia was Empress. They had to do better when the next challenge came around.
“We need to rebuild our armies. We need to find a way to speak properly with the Silent Army. They have not yet gone to rest and they might know something we do not.”
“They were ruined. You understand that don’t you? They were broken and defeated and I still don’t understand how.”
“The Daxar Taalor and their chosen.” Nachia shook her head. “I have never seen more brutal soldiers. They are relentless. You saw Andover! You ruined his leg with your sorcery. You burned him alive, and he kept coming.”
“I truly hope he doesn’t hold a grudge.” Desh was looking down at the courtyard where the fight had taken place. Andover Lashk was down there. He knew it. He didn’t have to guess. Merros Dulver had told him as much.
Nachia nodded her head and moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder for a moment. “I have never been this tired, Desh.”
“So sleep for a while. I will be here waiting.”
The Empress of Fellein, or regent, depending, nodded her head and moved to the antechamber where she had a small bed concealed. Now and then rest was a beautiful thing.
Merros Dulver looked at Andover Lashk and headed his way, carrying two Pabba fruit and a knife.
The young man looked him over, read his posture and assessed the contents of his hand with a glance.
One quick stroke of the knife opened the hard rind of the fruit. A second slice and the other was opened. Merros offered both to Andover and let the lad pick. As soon as he had made his choice Merros peeled the rind back and took a bite of his prize. The best way to make the lad comfortable was to show that he meant no harm.
“I’m surprised you don’t have me in leg irons.”
“Personally, I don’t feel like losing that many soldiers today. We’ve had enough injuries of late.”
Andover meticulously pulled away the rind and then tore segments from the sweet Pabba. Watching him eat was unsettling and fascinating at once.
“You are staring.”
“I’m sure you did the same when you got those… things on your jaw.”
“They are marks from the gods.”
“Do you still hear them? Your gods?”
“Yes,” Andover nodded. “They still speak to me.”
“What do they say?”
“I can come home to them or stay here as their… ambassador.”
“Do they wish to sue for peace?”
Andover shook his head. “No. They are gods of war. They will never sue for peace. They will simply bide their time.”
“And do you think we should accept you as their ambassador?”
“Honestly? I still don’t really know what an ambassador does.”
Merros chuckled. “From what I’ve seen they mostly sit on well-padded seats, eat food and flirt with the Empress.”
“That is hardly the life I was planning to live.”
“You could work a forge. I’ve seen your work.”
Andover shook his head.
“Then how about this? How about you work with me to train the Fellein Army?”
“How’s that?”
“By all the gods, lad, you took down Desh Krohan. You knocked the greatest wizard of the lands down a few pegs.”
“He did not want to kill me any more than I wanted to kill him.” That said, more of the fr
uit went into his mouths and Merros forced himself not to stare.
“Maybe. But he would have.”
“He very nearly did.”
“Help me train the troops. They will follow your commands.”
Andover nodded. “Until one tries to kill me.”
Merros grinned and pulled a slice of his own fruit free. “Then you get to keep your senses sharp. Stay more alert than I did when I went into the Blasted Lands.”
Andover closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. “For now I will stay. It is what the gods want and what you want.”
“Excellent. I expect honesty from you, Andover. A vow not to kill anyone here without a fair and proper warning, regardless of what the gods will say.”
Andover looked at him for a long moment and sighed. “You have been talking to Drask Silver Hand.”
“Drask and I respect each other. I would have the same sort of respect with you, Andover.”
“Done.” He shrugged. “I will not betray the kings or the Daxar Taalor. But I will offer you this. If I am ever told to kill anyone, I will leave the city for two days first.”
“What good will that do?”
“Do not insult me, General Dulver. You have had people watching me since the Sa’ba Taalor left.”
True enough and he couldn’t argue the point.
Merros nodded. “We will work out the details soon. In the meantime you may stay in my chambers until we work out the final details.”
“Where will you be?”
Merros tried to smile and looked away. “I lost someone to the war. I will go to her home and find a way to say goodbye to her.”
Andover looked at him and nodded. “I have lost someone as well. I wish you the best at finding peace.”
Merros moved away and left his last thoughts unuttered. There is no time for peace, even after war. There is only time to prepare again. His people had forgotten that for a very long time and it had cost them almost everything.
It wasn’t a lesson he intended to forget a second time.
Tataya was the one who found Captain Callan’s body. First she called the Sisters to her and then she called on Darsken Murdro.
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