by Jen Williams
Joah stood up slowly. His long brown hair had come loose from its tie during the final stages of building the device, and now it hung around his face in greasy tails. Looking at him, it wasn’t difficult to see the mad man he would become.
‘You can’t mean that,’ he said in a low voice, before coming to stand before Frith. ‘You have singlehandedly brought magical knowledge forward by years, and you will just take it back again? That cannot be!’ In his desperation he took hold of Frith’s arm.
‘That is exactly what I am going to do.’ Frith shook off Joah’s hand, and started to walk away. He would go up to see Sebastian now, to watch Wydrin’s progress. ‘With this contraption, one mage could dominate all others. I must end it here.’
‘Then I will force you to give it to me!’
The young mage lifted both his hands, calling into existence two crackling globes of electrical energy. Twisting white worms of light crawled up his arms, casting his face in stark, shifting light. All trace of the meek, polite young man had vanished; there was only hunger in his eyes. And murder.
‘You must give it to me! Even if I must – if I must hurt you, I will have it.’ Joah advanced on him, his eyes wild. ‘You waste your life on these people. What you know, what we could learn together, is worth so much more!’
Frith stared at him. He knew, with a certainty, that Joah was wrong, and a shadow that had haunted his heart since Skaldshollow suddenly lifted. He smiled.
‘You will get out now,’ he said softly. ‘You will leave this place right now, or I will use my own magic on you, and faster than you will be able to counteract. How would you like to turn to dust in seconds, Joah? Nothing would give me greater pleasure, believe me. Know that I give you this choice because I am a better man than you.’
Joah stared at him, his mouth a wet line within his neat beard. For a second it looked as though he would say something more, but then the globes of churning light winked out, and he ran from the chamber. Frith watched him go.
Flying over Res’ni was like descending into a nightmare.
Wydrin bent low over Feveroot, peering down at the monstrosity that was the god, feeling the press of bile against the back of her throat. Res’ni was a seething confusion of gaping mouths, white teeth against wet flesh, snapping and grinning and rending. The wolf shape had its own giant set of jaws, just as Res’na did, but rather than eyes or any other features, there were just endless protruding, snapping mouths. As they watched, the creature surged through the streets of Krete, snapping up any humans foolish enough to get too close, messily devouring them so that the cobbles of the streets were awash with blood.
‘Bring us down low,’ she murmured into Feveroot’s ear. ‘And we’ll see if there’s a bare inch of this thing that doesn’t want to eat us.’
Feveroot spread his wings and brought them in low, passing around the back legs of Res’ni and past several tall towers; there were shadows moving there, but they were human, so she dismissed them, focussing instead on Res’ni. Everywhere she looked there were ravenous mouths, and now that they were closer, she could hear the wet, keening noises they made.
‘I could shove it down one of their throats, I suppose,’ she said. ‘But I’m not sure if the spell will work if it gets eaten.’
A shadow from one of the buildings suddenly leapt, and Feveroot rocked to one side as a figure landed on his back. Wydrin spun around, her mouth open to shout a few of her favourite swearwords, when she came face to face with Estenn.
The woman looked close to death. More than three quarters of her face and neck were badly burned, the skin red raw and seeping where it wasn’t crisped black, and her eyes were glassy with pain. Her nose was still crusted with black blood from where Wydrin had broken it, and the tattoo of the twin wolves at her throat was now only present on a few tattered rags of skin, like pieces of an old ruined tapestry.
Wydrin brought an elbow round to crash into the woman’s face, but Estenn leaned back out of the way and slammed her own fist down into Wydrin’s stomach. The blow was too awkward to do any real damage, but it made Wydrin twist to one side and the world spun around her sickeningly.
‘Land us!’ she gasped to Feveroot. ‘Quickly!’
They dropped from the air and crashed into the cobbles. Wydrin rolled clear, one hand checking that the satchel was still around her neck while the other drew Glassheart from its scabbard. Back on her feet and moving, Estenn was already attacking, a small knife flashing silver in the dawn light. Her head was low, the remnants of her black hair hanging in a tangle to either side of her face. Wydrin held her off easily, pushing away her strikes almost lightly.
‘Look at what they’ve done to you,’ she said. Above and to their right, the huge form of Res’ni was moving slowly past. Wydrin could hear the desperate screams of her victims.
‘They – have given me – glory.’
‘Really? Is that what it looks like to you? Because to me it looks like they’ve chewed you up and spat you out. Did they even come for you after Raistinia? Did they bear your broken body from the burning streets? Or did you do that yourself?’
‘I am the Emissary. A servant of the true gods.’
Estenn lunged again, and Wydrin beat her back with a flurry of strikes. The older woman bared her teeth at her like a rabid dog.
‘You are a fool,’ said Wydrin, and was surprised at the genuine frustration in her own voice. ‘Everything you have done, you have done yourself. Surviving Euriale, building up your own community. All right, so it was a community of cannibals and murderers, but it was yours. You are the strong one, Estenn. Can you still not see it?’
Estenn screamed wordlessly and charged, getting in under Wydrin’s guard so that her short sword was useless. Wydrin punched Estenn hard across the face, breaking open the partially scabbed burns. The woman gave a yelp of pain but did not retreat, instead bringing her knife down in a stabbing motion at Wydrin’s throat. It should have been a killing blow, but instead it struck the charm Wydrin had brought from the night market and skidded clear, slicing instead across Wydrin’s collarbone – a painful cut, but a shallow one. Wydrin shouted and pushed her back.
‘I don’t have time for this, Estenn! I will kill you if you make me.’
Estenn came at her again, arms wide. Wydrin brought her blade up and caught the woman in the midriff, sinking the sword home with a grunt. Estenn hissed between bloody teeth, and staggered. One hand went to the blade and the fingers wrapped around it, as if to pull it free again, but there was no strength left in her.
‘That’s for the Spinner,’ said Wydrin, before twisting the blade. Hot blood gushed over her hand and spattered her face. ‘And that’s for Frith.’
She tore the sword free, grimacing at the hot stench as the woman’s stomach was split open. Estenn fell to her knees, the knife dropping from her fingers.
Breathing heavily, Wydrin wiped her bloody blade against her thigh and watched the woman, but she did not look up again. Her tangled hair hid her face.
‘What a bloody waste.’
‘Her choices were her own, at least.’
Wydrin looked around to see Feveroot, still in his griffin form, watching from the other side of the street. Without another word she went to him and mounted again, before urging him to take flight. She steered him straight at Res’ni now, a strange recklessness in her heart, and took them straight under the creature’s belly. There were, as she had guessed, fewer mouths there, and she slapped the target home without any difficulty. Unlike her brother, Res’ni’s form did not seem as controlled, and therefore not as aware. Wydrin and Feveroot flew out and up into the clear air again without looking back. The sun had risen and the sky was crowded with light and the sound of people dying.
92
Sebastian stared out across Krete, one hand gripping the pommel of his sword so tightly his fingers ached. His eyes followed the tiny shape of Wydrin and Feveroot as they danced across the morning sky, his heart in his mouth – for some time they had vanished
from view, and he had gone to the very edge of the Citadel gardens, caught in an agony of uncertainty, but then they had emerged again. Now they were picking their way towards Y’Gria, still trying to keep out of the eye line of the gods, but hampered by the growing light and by the attacks of the mages themselves. As he watched, they dived to one side to avoid a flurry of fireballs meant for the cluster of tentacles that was Y’Gria. Uneasily, he took his eyes from them to survey the damage already done to Krete – large portions of the city were collapsed into rubble, and he dreaded to think of the human cost.
‘It’s taking too long,’ he murmured to himself. It was the hardest thing he had ever done, to stand here and watch while others died. He reminded himself of the plan again, but it did little to lessen the bitter taste in his mouth. ‘There will be nothing left to save.’
There was a clatter of boots on stone behind him and he turned to see Joah, running from the Citadel entrance. The young mage didn’t look up at him, but kept his head down as he stalked past. A few moments later, Frith appeared at the entrance. Sebastian raised his eyebrows.
‘The device is finished,’ was all Frith had to say. He came over to stand by Sebastian. ‘When Wydrin gives the signal, I will—’
A great shadow fell over them, and Sebastian felt the silver tide of his dragon blood suddenly sing with mingled fury and terror. Y’Ruen passed on overhead, the width of her wings dwarfing all below her, blue scales shining in the early light like sapphires. She did not look down at them, flying out over the city instead, but Sebastian felt the press of her mind briefly against his – it was a wolf passing by a mouse, and he was considered too small a meal to be worth bothering with.
‘She comes,’ was all he could say. There were a few moments of awful silence, as the city below realised what had finally come for them, and then Y’Ruen opened her terrible jaws and a stream of fire too bright to look at cascaded down into the city, turning all to ruin.
‘This won’t work,’ he said, his voice faint to his own ears. ‘She will destroy everything long before Wydrin has a chance to put the final targets in place. Everyone in the city, dead and charred to pieces. It is what she is made to do.’
Fire boiled across the city like an avalanche. The mage attacks increased in power and volume, but they had very little effect on the scaled hide of the dragon.
‘I have an idea,’ said Frith. Sebastian turned to look at him. The young lord was pale, his white hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, but he looked determined. ‘It’s a fairly terrible one, I’m afraid.’ He met Sebastian’s eyes steadily. ‘Come with me.’
Frith led Sebastian down into the heart of the Citadel again, hurrying down stairs and corridors until they came to the artefact room. He stopped in front of a plinth where a great shard of green crystal rested.
‘Help me carry this outside.’
Sebastian did as he was bid, taking the thicker end of the shard while Frith wrestled with the narrower edge. ‘What is this, Frith?’
‘It is part of the skull of the ancient dragon-god, Tia’mast. A tiny part, judging by the shape of it.’
They shuffled back towards the exit, moving as quickly as they could. ‘And what are you going to do with it, exactly?’
‘I’m going to bring the god back.’
Sebastian almost dropped his end. ‘Forgive me, I thought for a moment there you said—’
‘The gods are natural enemies, yes? That is what Oster told you? They have, in fact, been fighting each other for centuries before they decided to turn their attentions to the mages.’
Sebastian nodded reluctantly. They moved down the corridors, careful not to knock the piece of skull on the walls. ‘Yes. They are naturally in competition with each other.’
‘What do you suppose will happen if we introduce a new one into their midst, at this very moment?’
Frith looked up and caught Sebastian’s eye across the shard. To his surprise, the young lord grinned. ‘I think it would be interesting, don’t you?’
They carted the skull shard outside into the Citadel gardens. Below them the city was aflame. Sebastian searched the sky and found Wydrin and Feveroot again, still dancing around Y’Gria. The god of growth and life was obviously proving difficult to target, while Y’Ruen was lazily circling the city, pouring fire down onto its streets. There was a flicker of golden light to the east, and Sebastian felt his heart beat heavily in his chest – Oster was there, at the eastern wall. His dragon form was so much smaller than the other gods, but it burned with its own inner light. As he watched, he snapped and harried at the back of Y’Gria’s spreading roots, severing them and rending them between his jaws. He had made his choice, after all.
‘Frith, are you sure about this? We could be about to make everything a hundred times worse. Assuming we survive, how do we get rid of this dragon?’
The young lord was crouching by the skull piece, his hands pressed against its smooth surface. He looked up at Sebastian, his grey eyes serious.
‘The time magic would not work against Y’Gria. She stands outside time, ageless somehow, as I’m sure all the gods are, and I could not get a grip on her. But this …’ He looked down at the skull fragment. ‘This is a remnant, a piece of something that has succumbed to the tide of history. The shadow of Tia’mast exists within it still, so I can bring it back. And I’m reasonably certain I can reverse the process too.’
Sebastian shook his head slowly. It was madness, but the sound of the city being destroyed was pressing in all around them.
‘Then do it. We have very little time left.’
Frith nodded once. ‘Stand back. I’ve no real idea how big this thing will be.’
Sebastian retreated to the remains of the drum-shaped building that topped the Citadel, and watched as Frith lit up with burning white light like a torch. The piece of green crystal shivered, and then began to grow, bulging and twisting. He had time to recognise the shape of it, the sockets where eyes would rest, the rows and rows of jagged teeth, and then a gigantic shape flowered out from it almost faster than he could follow. He saw a long flexible spine, the delicate filigree of bat-like wings spreading over them, and then the dragon took on its own flesh. Sebastian looked up in helpless wonder; where once there had been the sky, there was an enormous dragon, bigger even than Y’Ruen. The Citadel was dwarfed beneath it, and they stood under its belly. It was the deep green of ancient forests, and its eyes as it turned towards them were the boiling orange of the deepest flame. Its head was fringed with a mane of long twisting horns, and its nostrils flared as it took in their scent. Sebastian was dimly aware that Frith had collapsed onto the stones, the magic having stolen all his strength, but he was unable to tear his eyes from the dragon. It was looking at him. He could feel its mind, questing. The silver tide surged over him, and he fought to assert himself.
Who are you, dragon-kin?
The dragon’s voice thundered in his head. There was a wetness at his nose, and he realised he was bleeding, but it seemed distant, unimportant. This dragon’s mind was a simple, curious thing – a creature of a darker, more brutal age. Touching its mind, he could almost see what ancient Ede had been; the people were small, insignificant. The world was wild, and full of magic. It had been glorious.
I am your friend, he answered.
The dragon seemed to accept this. And these others?
He spoke of the other gods. Sebastian could already feel his mild irritation with them. The dragon’s mind was so close to his. He no longer felt overwhelmed. He felt powerful.
They are your enemies, he said firmly. Would you fight them? With me?
The dragon, Tia’mast, was confused. He did not know where he was, and these other beings of Edenier were alien to him. Amazingly, he feared to fight them, in case they had tricks he did not know. Sebastian found himself smiling, and he reached out to the dragon.
My friend, do not fear. I will show you. His smile broke into a grin. I will show you how to kill them. We will hunt together.
We will hunt, Tia’mast said, all doubt gone, and he took to the sky.
Wydrin swung Glassheart back and forth, severing roots as they snaked through the air towards them, but as fast as she sliced they came back, sprouting anew from the churning horror that was Y’Gria.
The god of growth and life, the mother of the garden and all newly born creatures, was proving to be very difficult to target. She was a storm of questing roots, surging through the buildings of Krete and clogging the streets, her tentacles throttling and destroying at every turn. Her human form was hidden in the midst of it, but getting close to her was impossible – wave after wave of tentacle held them back. Wydrin didn’t think Y’Gria was even aware of their presence.
‘We have to get in closer. Time is running out.’
Indeed, the city of Krete was close to ruin, and the mages themselves appeared to be running out of energy; their attacks were coming slower, and less frequently. Since the arrival of Y’Ruen, much of the city was lost to fire.
‘If we can just dart in—’
Without warning, one of the questing tentacles wrapped around Feveroot’s neck, squeezing and dragging them towards the ground. The demon squawked and struggled, while Wydrin bent forward and hacked at the feeler with her sword. It was surprisingly tough.
‘You’ll have to change your shape, push your way out of it.’ She felt Feveroot begin to shift under her legs, and then they were thrown clear as a tremendous force crashed into Y’Gria. Spinning away and barely keeping upright, Wydrin glanced over her shoulder to see an enormous green dragon raking its claws across the tentacled mass. She blinked rapidly, thinking that the light must have changed Y’Ruen’s colours somehow, but it was no optical illusion – this was a new dragon, bigger than Y’Ruen, and it was the colour of emeralds. She was just taking this in when she spotted Sebastian perched on the creature’s head. Her friend had his hands wrapped around the horns sprouting from the dragon’s head, and his face was steely in its determination. She could almost feel him, imposing his will on the dragon, and then Feveroot was diving away.
