by Scott King
"Aunt–"
"Cynthia, I told you to hush!"
Cynthia scowled at the boy. "You can't tell me what to do."
"I don't have time for this." Gideon pushed through the barricade. Wooden crates toppled and the boy had to dive out the way to keep from being hit.
"You asked for it!" The boy drove the spear at Gideon.
Gideon caught it, jerked it away from the boy, and broke it on his knee. He threw the spear tip at the ceiling so hard that it stuck in the wood and hung out of the reach of both children.
Cynthia rushed to the stairs, and Gideon followed. She spun then slapped him across the face with an open fist.
When he kept coming, she screamed.
Gideon lifted her out of the way and continued up the stairs.
A horrible funk, like pig vomit and fermented meat, filled his nostrils. "What is that?"
"Don't hurt her." Cynthia was crying now, her false bravado completely torn away. "Auntie is all we have."
The apartment was modest with a small kitchenette and living space. On the floor next to the bed was a lump of rags and blankets that moved up and down.
The closer Gideon got, the more he wanted to shield his nose.
In the pile of wet clothes was a woman, or at least what was left of a woman. She barely breathed, and fever raged across her body. On her face and the backs of her arms were blue scaly strips where the flesh had rotted and died.
No doubt it was the blue pox. It wasn't a highly contagious sickness. Often annoying to kids, it was deadly to adults. There was no cure and nothing Gideon could do to help the woman. She would beat it on her own, or she would die. Judging by how she looked, he guessed it would be death.
"Can you help her?" the boy asked. "Please?"
"I can ease her pain," Gideon said, "but that is about it."
"It's our fault. Pa's ship sank, and Auntie came to get us. I got sick along the way, though after a week I was fine. But Auntie got sick too, and she kept getting worse and worse."
Gideon ran his arms behind Auntie's neck and another under her butt. She was wet. He didn't know if it was urine, vomit, sweat, or a mix of all three. It didn't matter. He couldn't get sick, and it was nothing that wouldn't wash off.
"We have to go." Gideon lifted her from the bed. Wetness ran down his arm. "I'm going to take you and your sister to the palace, alright?"
"Alright."
"What's your name?"
"Conner."
"Well, Conner, I want you to be strong. You need to be strong for Cynthia. Can you do that?"
Conner nodded.
"Then let's go see if we can get your Auntie some help."
The woman was no trouble to carry, and Gideon made it down the stairs and back to the front of the potter's shop easily. When he and Conner got there, they found Cynthia staring out the open doorway with her mouth open.
The sound of battle flowed in from the street. Metal on metal and yelling.
The locals had broken into a full riot.
Gideon saw a few of his soldiers, but most were out of sight, trampled, or fleeing while the residents threw anything light enough to lift and were in the process of lighting carts and kiosks on fire.
"What do we do?" Conner asked.
"We do nothing. I will end this." Gideon exited the building and turned to gingerly lay the sick woman against the doorframe. In the daylight, she looked worse than he had realized. Her eyes cloudy and bald clusters of rotted skin formed patches in her crusty hair. "Wait here."
"Enough!" Gideon yelled. It wasn't loud enough. The mob's chanting drowned it out.
Gideon drew his long sword. He angled the blade and ran it against the stone street, causing a high-pitched ringing.
The chanting lulled, and all eyes turned toward Gideon.
"We aren't leaving!" It was the older woman again. "You can't send us from our homes claiming a fake army is coming."
"Then you will die," Gideon said. "The dra–"
A chorus of yells sounded, and the mob turned on him.
Gideon realized his mistake. They thought he was directly threatening them as opposed to warning them about the imminent dragon attacks.
The rioting people pelted Gideon with rocks, bags, and whatever else was in reach. The largest items he deflected with his sword, but he couldn't do that for much longer. Soon, those in the lead would reach him, and when they did, he dared not have his sword. Killing these people to save their lives was not a solution he could live with.
Gideon sheathed his sword as a big man with soot stains on his tunic, swung a fist at him. Gideon ducked. The man had a familiar face. He might have been the metalsmith's apprentice, but wasn't sure.
A weight slammed into Gideon's back, and two arms wrapped around his neck. It was the elderly woman. Gideon suspected she meant to choke him, but she had underestimated his height, and now she dangled on his back, refusing to let go.
"What are you doing?" Gideon pried the woman's fingers off his leather armor, but she was like a frantic rodent, quickly grabbing to keep hold on as if falling from his back would kill her.
The metalsmith's apprentice dealt Gideon another punch. It connected with his jaw, and he saw a flash of white and heard a drumming in his ears.
Gideon twirled and grabbed the old woman's legs. He jerked her off his back, and still she fought, resorting to scratching.
A fist jammed into Gideon's temple and then another in his gut. Two more people joined the metalsmith's apprentice, beating Gideon to the ground.
Gideon didn't see a favorable outcome to the situation. He could truly fight back, but that would anger the mob further. He could stop resisting and take their hits. That would most likely end with his being knocked out or killed. What he needed was something big. Something grand and shocking that would snap the locals back to their senses.
The sky went dark. Not like it would at night when there is no sun and one could see the stars. It was dark like a room with no windows or doors.
The men restraining Gideon let go, and the people screamed.
A bolt of magenta lighting arced above their heads, but instead of fading, it hung in places allowing a floating figure to be seen descending from the sky.
"Imbeciles," the shadowman said. His voice echoed off the streets so loud that everyone in the square could hear him. "This place will be besieged by dragons. You think I am scary? Then you have no idea what is in store."
The lighting came alive once more, striking the stone street. It erupted in a wave of light, and everything the light touched shimmered.
The buildings were gone, burned to ashes. Brick foundations were broken, and the streets were filled with deep holes. The walls of Elene, which had stood for thousands of years were toppled. Through the smoke and falling flakes of soot, a dragon appeared. It was big, twice the size of any dragon Gideon had ever seen. He knew it could not be real, or if it was real, it was something much darker and wicked then a dragon.
The people screamed, and when they tried to run, they found they couldn't. A magenta light held their feet to the streets. Most still strained, trying to lift feet held in place by magic, while a small portion crouched down, tucking their heads between their knees as if attempting to hide.
When the last one averted his gaze, the dragon and the darkness vanished, and in their place stood Owen, leaning on a worn cane. The damage to the walls and buildings faded away, no more real then the dragon had been.
"Go now," the magician said. "Save your lives and leave this place."
A few shouted his name in recognition, but that didn't hinder them. The city folk fled.
"Kal ah!" Gideon said.
"Kel eh." Owen took off an imaginary hat and then bowed. "Seeing you twice in a single season? If I didn't know better, I'd say the world is ending."
"It is."
"Oh, right." Owen smiled and shifted his gaze to the highest towers of the palace, visible over the walls of the outer ward. "Then I guess we should do something about i
t, shouldn't we?"
"We can try, but this isn't our fight."
"No it isn't, is it?" Owen let out a long, slow breath. "How was he when you last saw him? I miss him."
"Carter is like you when you were that age."
"I was never that young."
"You were, once. I remember clearly." Gideon let out a laugh and placed an arm around Owen. "He's got your sense of dramatic flair."
"What dramatic..." Owen met Gideon's eyes. "Oh posh, fine."
"When the world is ending, you have to savor the moments you can," Gideon said. "Even when they are at the expense of a borderline senile man."
"I've not been senile since that time in Ralk, and that wasn't my fault."
Gideon laughed. "No, it wasn't was it?"
"Let's go see Edgar. I'm sure he would be disappointed to miss out on the ribbing."
"In a moment, there is something else first," Gideon said.
The pair crossed the deserted square toward the potter's shop. Cynthia and Conner sat on its stoop. Both were in tears.
"It's ok," Gideon said. "The dragon wasn't real."
They acted as if they hadn't heard.
"Oh my." Owen bowed his head.
Auntie was still seated where Gideon had left her, but the shallow rise and fall of her chest had stopped, and blue strings of snot dripped from her eyes and nostrils.
Owen muttered something beneath his breath. A breeze washed the woman's face clean and closed her eyes.
"I'm sorry," Gideon said.
Conner's sobs were so strong that his chest heaved as he made a gasping sound. Cynthia draped her arms around her brother. "It's ok. You still have me."
31
Wrents
Ulesday, 7th of Winewen, 1162.111
Doug woke to shouting. He sat up, and his whole body ached. It was an abrupt transition from Yorndrak, where he had no physical needs, to the real world where everything hurt.
"What in blazes do you want me to do?" Carter screamed.
"Wind bubble or anything to keep them back," Alex said.
Doug cracked open an eye lid and saw Alex spinning in a circle, swatting at what looked like fat gnats. She was good. Kept most off her, but one or two managed to land on her back and shoulder in the unprotected spots. The longer the gnats stayed on her body, the more it looked like frost formed around them. Odd, if he didn't know better, he'd say they were wrents.
The wounds where Doug had been stabbed with Bakero's Blade throbbed, but without warning the pain eased, becoming a pleasant cooling sensation. He glanced down to see three twinkle pods gripping his chest.
He blinked.
They were wrents!
Instinct took over, and he backhanded them so hard they flew against the stone wall of the cavern, splattering. Their purple innards leaked down the wall, and other wrents jumped to the spot to absorb the residual warmth before it fully leaked away.
"Wrents!" Doug brushed off Alex's back and spun to clean three from Carter's side. "For gorph's sake where are we?"
The three of them stood on the banks of an underground river. To the right, at the base of the cavern wall was a wide spiral road that appeared to be carved directly in the rock. The road coiled up to a gorge in the cavern's ceiling. Along it were crumpling storefronts and shops.
"Thanks." Alex kicked away a trio of wrents that had landed on Doug's calf. "We are... I don't know where we are. These things showed up and they won't leave us alone."
"What do you have for creating heat or fire, anything?" Doug asked.
"I got my agyl sparker," Alex patted her belt pouch.
"I can make a heat agyl," Carter said.
"Heat, do it!" Doug moved so the three of them now stood shoulder to shoulder in a circle, facing out, kicking and hitting away the wrents. "As much heat as you can!"
Carter traced a man-sized pattern. When finished, it flared and heat radiated out of it.
"We need to move away from that, now!" Doug ran up the curved road. Carter and Alex matched his pace. "Those things are wrents. They are attracted to heat. The only way to get rid of them is to get near a source that is warmer than us."
"I can keep drawing agyls," Carter said.
"They won't work for long," Doug said. "There are too many of the purple suckers. We need something warmer."
"Think we can make it into the city?" Alex took out another two wrents. "Maybe a house or store has some flint or wood to burn"
"You see this place?" Carter said. "It's ancient. Anything burnable will be rotten and decayed to a pile of nothing."
Doug punched another wrent as it sailed at him, and gave it all he had, more testing his own strength than trying to destroy the wrent. It exploded on impact, which was nasty since the vile things smelled like dung. But he noticed no pain or restriction in his movement. However bad his stab wound had been the power of the Arg'Natz had healed it.
Without wasting time to warn them, he grabbed each teenager with an arm, bent into a crouch, and jumped. He cleared twelve parses. His boots left purple stains on the cavern floor. He leapt forward another three times, pinging in different directions so that his movement was too erratic to predict. Still the wrents came, but a final jump upward took them onto the lowest ring of the spiral road.
Carter drew a new light agyl, giving them a better look at the cliff city. The doors to shops were extra wide and extra tall, not made for Grekers. The road curled, always moving upward. There were no railings, and a fall would drop them into the watery pit below.
The wrents continued to come from both below and above the companions. They had bought a bit of time, but soon they would be sandwiched between two massive fronts of the critters.
"We have to run!" Alex scrambled out of Doug's grip and sprinted ahead.
"Nowhere to run to." Carter drew a series of heat agyls and linked them together. "We need to fight."
"There is no fighting when it comes to wrents." Doug leaned over the edge of the road. One hop at a time, the critters were following, though some had broken off the main group and were hoping directly up the walls.
"I've never heard of them before," Carter said.
"You aren't a dragon. Buggers are a pain in the arse. They cling to your underbelly or back, and they always know the exact places you can't reach. Their grip is something fierce. If you've got a friend to watch, and there are only a few, you can clean them off. Otherwise, heat is the only thing that can save you."
"Hustle. Those things are catching up fast." Alex kept the lead, sprinting and then stopping at every new building and glancing inside. "Nothing useful in here either."
Doug was already sweating from the heat of Carter's agyls, and the running caused damp patches to form around his pits and down his back. It smelled horrible and the first chance he got, assuming they lived through this, he was going to bathe.
The angle of the road was steep, and by the time they did a full turn to reach the second level of the road, Doug's lungs felt as if they were going to explode out of his chest. His breathing was heavy, and no matter how much air he sucked in, he felt he wasn't getting enough. His heart thudded, and he felt a bit light headed.
The distance between Doug and the teens grew father apart while the distance between Doug and the wrents shrunk. Doug gave up walking and resorted to taking the massive leaps, but it wore him out faster. "I can't keep this up."
"In here." Alex darted into a building.
Doug tried to object, but the words came out slurred.
By the time Doug scrambled inside, Carter had drawn new light agyls, illuminating the room. It looked like a workshop with an abundance of tables, benches, and stone tools.
"Hurry up." Carter put a hand on Doug's back, ushering him up a stone staircase to the right of the door. Everything in the blasted city was made of stone.
With every step up the stairs, a cramping pain surged in Doug's side. To his horror, when he reached the top, he found himself in larger stairwell that headed both up and down.
> Doug couldn't think. His chest hurt, his side hurt, his lungs hurt. In fact, he hurt way less when he was being stabbed than in that moment.
"Move it!" Alex grabbed Doug's arm and pulled him up another flight of stairs. Looking up, he saw that the stairs continued as far as the agyl's light shined.
"I need to rest." Doug sat. Not having to move. Not having to support his own weight. It was glorious.
"We don't have time." Carter tugged, as if attempting to lift Doug, but it didn't work.
"Do something!" Alex was two flights above them.
"Prosentä!" Carter summoned the wind.
Air swirled around them.
They were lifted into the center of the stairwell and rose, zooming upward so fast that, in only a few seconds, they were in near darkness. The only light was a warm glow higher up the tunnel.
The cushion of wind shot from the stairwell, reaching the upper echelon of the city. The cavern they found themselves in was easily three times the size of Agnar. Spires rose out of the ground, each a twisted building with windows twinkling with light.
In the ceiling of the cave hung not one but five red suns of various sizes. Around each, Doug saw scaffolding and stairs.
Carter set them on a catwalk that was fifty parses above the ground and spanned two spiral pyramids. Alex had to hold Doug up to keep him from falling. He sank to his butt, still winded from all the climbing.
"That wasn't smart," Alex said.
"We had to get out of there." Carter planted his own ass next to Doug. "At least we are away from the wrents."
"We aren't." Doug said.
The blinking lights that were spread throughout the underground metropolis shifted and moved. Each was a wrent, and judging by the size of the cavern there weren't thousands, but hundreds of thousands.
"I can float us maybe one more time," Carter said. "But then I'm done. If I do, where could we go to get away from those things?"
"The suns!" Alex said.
"Carrying us to the suns wouldn't do us any good," Carter said.
"The wrents like heat right?" Alex held her hands together like a sphere and expanded them outward. "Can you magic the suns, beef them up or something, to draw the wrents away from us?"
