JOURNEY OF THE SACRED KING II
Page 49
The ground shook beneath their feet and throughout the city, but they did not feel it, for they were centered in ecstasy. The tree erupted from the soil into a hundred years growth in seconds. The branches spread, descended to the ground, and became trees in their own right that sent out branches that became more trees. The fires, that had been burning in the city died, before the miraculous smothering growth. Warriors and horses struggled to keep their footing as the ground shifted and churned about them. Wonder spread over them with the trees. The undead faltered. The ha'taren shouted that the gods had given them a sign, rallying all around them. The warriors and soldiers, Valdren and Sharani, at one moment hard beset, now drew together with grim determination. A paean to Willodarus began among the rangers and the ha'taren added one to Aroana. The undead perished, falling like grain before the scythe.
The ground continued to heave and shake as the roots crushed the sewers and tunnels. A single tree became a forest. In the end, the only thing preventing the houses and streets from following the sewers and tunnels into destruction was that the city now sat upon a massive network of magical roots and nothing dark or evil could pass that barrier.
* * * *
Aejys cradled Tagalong, stroking the unruly crimson hair away from her face. Intermittently crying and cursing. Tagalong had not regained consciousness and the healers were worried. The dwarf had taken a hard blow to the head when she fell. There were gashes and tears in her arms and legs. When the healers pulled the helm from her head, the left side was thick with blood and already swelling.
"Your orders, majesty?" Soren's formality was a polite way of telling her to master herself.
Aejys looked up at the gray-haired paladin. "What shape are we in, Soren?"
"Losses were light, considering. Mages are exhausted. Except for Lord Dynarien."
"Evacuate the wounded and the mages. Remove the dead before the bloody sa'necari can get at them. Tell Skelly to rip the gates off. We're attacking again."
"Shouldn't we wait for the Regent? South wall is nearly down."
"No. Get the fireborn flying wall crushers. Not on the walls. I want to knock the fucking towers down. No fire because of the forest. However, if they would like to land on the walls and peck some sa'necari to death, that's fine with me." Her tone was hollow. "I'm going to destroy Margren and it's going to be today. Go on. Give me another minute alone with her and I'll join you."
"Majesty," the healer came up, "the sooner we move her to camp, the sooner we can help her."
Aejys desperately did not want to let go of Tagalong, but the healer was right. Tears rolled down her face as she let them take the dwarf from her arms. It all had happened so fast. Tagalong had not even had time to defend herself. Then Aejys rose, walking to the front of the column as they prepared to resume the assault.
* * * *
"I'm going to have my revenge," Margren growled, nestling tightly against the troll. "Hoon, Mephistis, my sister... I'll eat every one of them."
Juqwanch ran his huge hands up and down Margren's nude body, savoring the lines of her. He had been her favorite nibblet for months now, but never expected to actually have her until this moment. It was his blood that Hoon periodically drained off to make the Sanguine Rose that kept Mephistis alive. "I adore you, Margren. I'll help you kill them. Can I come inside again?"
"Can I drink again?"
They laughed and did so.
* * * *
Timon could not assess how much damage his attack had done to her forces because the entire city was now enveloped in this strange forest. However, with those trees collapsing the tunnels and sewers, he had to have lost nearly all of his army of lesser bloods, revenants, zombies, and ghouls. He now had just his royals, house guards, a unit of trolls, his sa'necari, and liches. He gestured to one of his aides.
"Go down to the tunnels beneath the keep and assess the damage to our forces there."
He gestured to another aide. "Go tell my father we've lost."
If he maneuvered the sword-fodder properly it would buy the royals and other elite cadres such as the liches and sa'necari time to escape and regroup on one of his father's other holdings.
* * * *
Hoon ran his lips along the arm of a nibari he had not tasted in awhile. She was a lovely little black-skinned thing with a tight cap of dark curls. She had cost him a small fortune and then a great expense to sneak across the borders. Hoon had forbidden his vampires to scar her – they had to close the wounds as soon as they finished feeding. She had a name, but he had forgotten it. Hoon licked his way up her shoulder and nuzzled her neck. She sighed. It was a nice sound. He licked at the artery in her throat to bring it fully to the surface so that he would not have to hurt her as much by going in too deeply. His fangs broke the skin and he drank. She settled against him, her head resting on his chest. She smelled nice. The blood tasted good. Hoon lost himself in reverie. Then he felt her heart falter and stop. He cursed himself for not staying aware of her. She had been such a docile toy that she did not even complain when she knew herself to be dying.
The castle shook. Mephistis staggered in. "The castle is under attack from the south and north. We can't hold."
"How could they have gotten catapults and siege engines through the gorge without my knowing it?" Hoon demanded.
"It's not catapults," Mephistis said. "It's three wings of fireborn and a dragon."
The castle shuddered. Bottles flew off the walls. Some of them shattered. Hoon pulled a piece of paper from a drawer, scribbling hastily. "Flee. If you go south, you will find me here. In Minnoras. If you go north, make your way to Creeya, and find Gylorean Galee."
"Galee?" Mephistis took the paper as Hoon shoved it at him. Galee was a name spoken of in whispers among the innermost ranks of the sa'necari and never mentioned outside them. "The mentor of Waejonan lives?"
Hoon allowed himself a full smile, all fangs and white teeth. "Yes. Although I would use a different word for the undead. Now, get out of here!"
Mephistis fled.
The castle shook again. Hoon took a large crystal globe from another drawer, gesturing at the room. A small whirlwind swept around him, gathering the bottles and magical instruments, including the desk. Everything dwindled in size and was drawn into the crystal. Hoon stood for a moment in the now empty chamber, thinking and then opened his mind. His awareness reached his vampires, liches, and sa'necari.
< Flee! Regroup in Minnoras or Creeya as you choose. >
His mind voice was very limited, but the others would pick it up and resend it until all had heard. Hoon descended the stairs. The central rooms were in chaos: people and creatures screaming and crowding the doors, trying to find somewhere to flee to. Hoon paused at a window and stared out at what had been his north gate. A quetzelcoatlys – ridden by what looked, at first glance, like a Jesmyrran in full armor – held the pieces of the gates, which it had ripped from its hinges, in his claws as it burst into the ranks of the living and dead defending the outer courtyard. Hoon stared more closely at the figure on the dragon and cursed. The coloring and wings were new, but he would never forget the face: Aejystrys Rowan had come.
"Damn you! I'll see you turned or dead." Hoon shoved the crystal inside his shirt and changed. He flew out the window, heading south.
* * * *
Aejys' mount had died in first skirmish and, rather than deal with another unfamiliar with her wings, she mounted Skelly instead. She rode easily on his shoulders as he seized the gates, ripping them from the hinges. Then Skelly spread his wings and went over the wall, allowing the cavalry to charge through beneath him. The dragon landed in the midst of a knot of guardsmyn and others who never expected the walls to fall so easily. Aejys cut and parried, thrust and slashed, taking down every thing in her path without pausing; the dragon stalking along at her back, cleaning up anyone who tried to flank her. She scarcely heard the battle join behind them. The King of Rowanhart stepped aside long enough for Skelly to tear open the doors of the castle and t
hey entered the vaulted the chamber. Aejys shouted her sister's name as a battle cry, demanding she show herself and fight.
Four stone trolls charged them from a hallway and, as Aejys turned to engage them, Clemmerick came suddenly to her side, wielding his great club.
"Keep going!" he shouted, "Find the bitch!"
Aejys gave him a nod and went on. Whether it was intuition, or a new sprung link with her hated sister, or some subtle communion with the blade, Aejys felt a pull toward a far door that opened near the dais and went in that direction.
* * * *
"Four against one? Doesn't seem fair," said a male tenor. A sword whispered from the sheath. The scent of roses swept through the chamber on a private breeze gone public. The trolls hesitated, smelling the stench of divinity.
Clemmerick glanced from the corner of his eyes at Dynarien. "Which two do you want?"
"Those two, I think," Dynarien grinned. He could hear the clatter of hooves as the ha'taren rode their wynderjyn through the shattered doors and into the chamber, engaging the ranks of the undead swarming out of rooms and corridors to confront them. The horns of the wynderjyn, though not as long as their unicorn sires, were sharp and deadly – what their horns did not get, their teeth and hooves did. The blades of the ha'taren – paladins of Aroana – who rode the wynderjyn were even more deadly than their steeds.
Clemmerick advanced upon the trolls grinning. The nearest one sprang at him. The ogre's club swung, catching the creature in the chest and hurling him across the chamber to crash into the throne, overturning it. The second grappled with Clemmerick, forcing his arms up and sinking its teeth into his shoulder. Clemmerick roared, twisting his arms free and connecting the butt of his club with the creature's jaw, shattering it. The troll let go, shaking its head like a stunned dog, as the second returned. Clemmerick staggered back, his shoulder bleeding and throbbing. He braced his feet to swing, bringing the club down as the troll reached him. It dodged with surprising quickness for a creature of its size, to tear at the ogre's leg. Clemmerick cried out in pain and rage, his leg gave and he went down on one knee, hammering the butt of his club into troll's head repeatedly until he drove it deep into its brain. The first troll dug one clawed fist into the ogre's wounded shoulder and the other into the wound on his leg, and then bit into his side. Clemmerick fell, darkness gathering in his mind. The troll gnawed on the fallen ogre hungrily. A tiny figure climbed out of his pocket where he had hidden, as he often did in battles. Grymlyken walked unnoticed across the ogre's prone figure and shoved his small blade into the troll's eye, all the way into its brain, before the troll even knew the pixie was there. From that day forward the tiny pixie would be known as Grymlyken Trollbane.
Grymlyken left his sword there, dropped to the ground and went to Clemmerick's face, throwing himself across his cheek, tangling his hands in the ogre's dark hair while he wept and babbled meaningless noises meant to be reassuring. The grievously wounded ogre was too much for him to help. "Just hold on, Clemmerick, just hold on."
* * * *
Dynarien laughed at the two trolls he had singled out. "Hey you two ugly beasts. It's no wonder you can't get a female without putting a sack over your heads!"
"Stupid creature!" One of the trolls nodded at the other and they charged him together. Dynarien brought his shield up as the nearest one struck at him. The shield glowed blue at the tremendous impact, dispersing it as if it had never been, and the yuwenghau leaped high over the troll's arm, his golden sword flashing. The troll screamed as the blade severed its arm.
Dynarien moved away from them, smiling. "You'll have to do better than that. Come on, you big ugly cockwhores! Been feeding the fang-uglies too often?" he taunted. The wounds on the troll were already closing, but it would take weeks to grow a new arm. They came for him more warily. Dance and lunge and dance again. He cut them each twice more. The wounded one came in fast and Dynarien got the blade into its ribs, but missed the heart. It surged up the blade like a wounded boar, all fury and no thought, until the crosspiece pressed its chest and it dragged him to its jaws. It bit for Dynarien's neck, but got his shoulder, the teeth crushing the matchless links and the bone beneath, prying the links apart to reach the pale flesh. Blood oozed forth. His shield arm hung limp and useless. The second one seized him around the chest, squeezing. He released the sword, raised his hand high, and summoned it from the troll's body. He drew the blade down like a razor. The miraculous sword severed the troll's neck, leaving its head, teeth still tightly locked, hanging from his shoulder. The second troll was slowly crushing his ribs. It hurt to breathe, fire laced every breath. He forced the sword down, pulling it between the troll's hands and his body. Only his armor kept him from cutting himself. He sliced his surcoat away as he cut through one of the troll's hands and was finally able to break free. Dynarien staggered forward and turned.
"Shall we dance?" he laughed raggedly through the pain. The troll stared for a moment at its companion's head and in that instant the yuwenghau shoved the golden sword through its heart. "I guess I'm not going to Talons' aid as soon as I thought I was," he said, collapsing across the dead troll.
* * * *
Margren huddled in the bower of ornamental bushes where she had been trysting with her troll. Only that morning, Hoon had sworn to her that the walls would hold, that Aejys had brought no siege engines. She heard the heavy boom of missiles striking stones and mortar, the shuddering roar of collapsing walls and roofs. Margren scrambled into her clothes, emerging from the sheltering arms of her troll to peer outside their bower. She saw the fireborn coming in rank after rank.
Margren stepped into a panicked crowd. Screams came from the courtiers and nibblets surrounding her. She shoved them aside, knocking several down. Her troll followed her closely. She sprang over a bench and into the bushes, glancing down at herself. She had never gone armed in this place as she had in Shaurone. Weapons. She needed weapons – a sword. There were several guards gathering near the garden's north gate.
"Give me your sword!" she demanded of the nearest one.
The mon hesitated and she seized his throat in a crushing grip.
"Give me your sword!"
The guard gurgled and went still. The other guards drew away from her, staring.
Margren dropped the dead guard and began tearing his weapons off, buckling on his sword and dagger. If there had been time, she would have taken the armor too. She wore only a gossamer robe, more suited to the games she played than to a battle. She heard her sister shout her name and turned to see a winged figure stalk into the garden followed by a dragon. The guardsmyn engaged the pair and were cut down.
Aejys pitched her voice like a battle cry. "MARGREN!"
Margren stepped into the open. "Sister."
Aejys lunged, the sword sang as it weaved a deadly pattern. Then their blades met and danced.
Margren retreated, parried, and retreated again. She could find no opening in her sister's attack. She gathered her power and threw a sizzling bolt from her mind at Aejys. The sword came up as if in salute, turning the energy back on her. Margren screamed. Then Aejys attacked again. Margren retreated, her shoulder bumped a tree, and she stumbled. The troll emerged from the trees to the side of Aejys, and wrapped itself around her, pinioning her arms and wings. She screamed as images of Bucharsa and Dragonshead flashed through her. For an instant she could not act.
"Hold her while I kill her!" Margren snarled, driving the blade with all her tremendous undead strength.
Skelly grabbed the troll, dragging it and Aejys sideways; turning what would have been a mortal wound into a potentially serious one as the blade tore through the links of her chain to leave a gash in her side. Aejys felt the troll's grip come loose in the same instant as the impact and staggered, going to her knees. Pieces of the chain mail had been twisted and driven into her flesh. It hurt and burned. Awareness grayed. She shoved past it, watching Margren as she rose to her feet again.
"You never were one to fight fair."
"I'm not easy to kill, Margren."
"What are you?"
"I don't know," Aejys said, in a soft, dispassionate tone, all the while stalking her sister through the garden. "Maybe no one does. But I know what I'm going to do. I'm going to destroy you."
Margren threw the sword down, spinning to run in full flight, but not quickly enough. The Spiritdancer plunged through her undead heart. Margren shuddered, her mouth opened and a long billowing white vapor flowed out. Figures formed briefly in the vapor and vanished. All the souls she had taken, all the power and lives, escaped.
Aejys kicked her off the blade and beheaded her. Margren's corpse withered, the flesh peeled away and soon only her bones remained. Aejys gazed down at her. She had expected to feel triumphant, but instead there was only a hollow emptiness in the pit of her stomach. This debt was paid, but the price had nearly been her soul and the lives of her friends. Carliff's words echoed in her mind, demanding atonement for her sins – her mistakes and wrong choices that had cost so many lives, and might still cost lives. Tagalong lay grievously wounded and she did not yet know who else might have fallen in this battle. She was now what she had once claimed in Vorgensburg: merely a soldier and not a paladin of any god. Like Carliff, she craved atonement and forgiveness – and she doubted she would ever have it, even from herself.