The Blasted Lands

by James A. Moore

  Nolan nodded his head. “You were a ways off. I know how large the thing looked to you, but from where we were it was a lot bigger.”

  Vonders nodded. “Seen the head of one of those in the Duke’s palace once. And saw the corpse of one that died of old age I guess. We’d have taken it back for the possible prize, but it was too rotted and too heavy and we had enough salvage. The one we saw yesterday was bigger than either. I pray they don’t make them any bigger.”

  Tega had no true response to their words but thanked them with a smile and a nod of her head.

  “So.” Nolan looked around at the group and then looked rather pointedly at the door to the wagon. “When do we go exploring. Or do we with what’s happened?”

  Maun was the one who answered. “We go. We have to. We’ve given our word to the wizard and we are on a mission to help the Empire.”

  Tega looked at the man and studied him. “Yes. That’s the truth of it. But we go tomorrow and not today. Today we recover and we prepare.” There were some who were injured among them and more than that she was exhausted. She had never used so much energy at once before and though she was young in years she felt nearly ancient after the effort involved.

  Maun nodded his head. “Tomorrow then. That should be soon enough.”

  There was nothing more to say after that.

  Chapter Twelve

  There was no time in the morning to consider the magnitude of his night with Delil. The sound of great horns blaring out in the open echoed into his sleeping chamber and Andover awoke with a groan, sitting up in the cot and wondering for just a moment where he was. He reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes and barely caught himself before disaster. His hands felt, yes, and they moved, yes, but they were still forged from iron and he had already learned the hard way that rubbing at his eyes could leave him in agony and half-blinded. That was the last thing he needed when he was on his way to meet a god.

  Meet a god.

  “Oh.” It was the only sound he could make.

  Andover rose from his bed and quickly dressed himself. The room was empty. Delil sat up and dressed just as quickly, not speaking at all. She made sure her veil was in place before she stood and then headed for the threshold of the entrance.

  “I… Good luck.” She left before he could respond. That was just as well, he could think of nothing to say that would not come out the wrong way. Women always confused his tongue and after this? Well, thank you hardly seemed the right words.

  He ran his fingers through his hair – taking a few strands along with his gesture – and then slipped on his boots. A moment later he walked out into the bright morning sunlight and found Tusk and several others waiting for him. They were a terrifying lot and for one brief moment he feared that he’d offended them. Was Delil someone’s daughter? Fiancée?

  Tusk dismissed any possible worried and added new ones instead. “Andover Lashk of the Iron Hands, it is time to meet Durhallem.”

  He nodded his head nervously and stepped closer.

  “No one faces the Daxar Taalor except on their own.” Tusk’s voice was not unkind. “You must walk.” He pointed toward the top of the mountain so very far above them.

  Without another word, Andover walked, heading toward his first meeting with one of the gods of the Seven Forges.

  ***

  The palace was an endless hive of activity most days. There were people moving about almost constantly. Between advisors, guards, soldiers who were being trained as guards, chancellors, representatives from different kingdoms that sought to see the head of the Empire and all of the souls who took care to make every detail of the work seem effortless, it would have appeared to many that the people living and working in the palace never slept.

  That was not true in most cases but just at the present it was more accurate.

  Desh Krohan came back to the palace and moved directly to the throne room, not bothering to head for his usual stop at his quarters or anywhere else. When he got there Nachia Krous was already waiting and in discussion with Merros Dulver. The general was going over the maps with the Empress, showing her in careful detail the layout of the land as best they knew it and the places where he thought it likely they could manage to find access to the Blasted Lands and thus the Seven Forges.

  Desh took one look at the maps and sighed. “We should prepare for war, yes, we have been preparing for war, but I believe we have a few other matters to attend to first.”

  “Desh, how very nice to see you.” Nachia’s voice was deliberately too bright and cheerful.

  The wizard shook his head. “The Sa’ba Taalor are offering us a chance to parley.”

  Merros seemed genuinely surprised. “Really?”

  “One of them was waiting for us. Had likely been waiting for a few days by the time I arrived where we were.” He looked at both of them for a moment to see if they understood. They did not. “She was literally waiting in the ashes, buried in the ground a few inches down. I would have never seen her had she not made her presence known.”

  “Oh.”

  “Exactly. It was an offer of peace and a reminder that for them the notion of sneaking in and causing mayhem is a minor thing.”

  “She could have killed you then?” Nachia’s voice was small.

  Desh shook his head. “Not likely. I am better defended than most. But she certainly could have killed your brother.”

  Nachia did not respond except to shift on the throne.

  “The point is this. We have a chance to argue for peace before this gets worse, yes, but we also have a chance to move forward with whatever you decide to do, Nachia. We also have a chance to leave this city before it is too late.”

  Merros shook his head. His lips pressed together. “A nightmare of efforts, Desh, especially if your predictions are wrong.”

  He turned on the general and pinned him hard with his gaze. “How many people live in this city, General Dulver?”

  “I’m not really sure….”

  “I am. I have studied the surveys and the figures provided by the revenuers. We have almost thirty thousand people in the city of Tyrne and the surrounding areas. This is an old city and it has had a long time to grow in size. The occupation of the Summer Palace year round has already bloated the city of the last fifteen years.” He waved a hand to stop the protest of Nachia. “I’m not saying there was ever anything wrong with Pathra choosing to be here instead of in Canhoon. I’m saying that the city has grown well beyond where it should have.”

  “I can see that. I’ve already discussed the need to fortify the walls, possibly to build another wall around the outer areas.” Merros’ voice was as calm as ever. He did a remarkable job of hiding his agitation. He was a proper soldier.

  “That’s only one of my points of debate here. Building a new wall would take a great deal of time and money. We have the finances, of course, but the time is a different story. The Sa’ba Taalor would parley with us in seven days.”

  “Seven days?” Nachia sat forward in the throne.

  “Seven days,” Desh nodded. And if we fail in the parley or if they decide to break their word and attack, that is only seven days’ time in which to try to build a wall. We would fail.”

  Merros shook his head. “And even if we should fail, we don’t plan on letting them come to Tyrne without preparations, without moving the armies into position.”

  “And what then, Merros?” Desh tried to keep his voice from rising in volume with limited success. “You said yourself our armies are not at their peak. What happens if they send four hundred of their best against the city? We have battalions ready and waiting, but they move between the proper ranks of footmen and horsemen and charge on past on those demons they ride and they attack anyone they see, armed or not. You said yourself that ten of them eliminated over a thousand people.”

  “Then what do you propose we do, Desh?” That was Nachia, who rose from the throne and began pacing. The seat was designed to be uncomfortable at the best of times. Her
response was simply to stand and move about.

  “The Sooth did not say that the Sa’ba Taalor would attack Tyrne. They said that Tyrne is a doomed place. We cannot stay here. We should evacuate the city and immediately at that. There’s no proof of what will happen, but I have been in places where disaster fell. Look at the Guntha! Look at what remains of them. Look at what that very disaster did to Roathes. The entire area is abandoned. The country is gone, lost in ashes and smoke. Gods, it’s as bad as the Blasted Lands…” His voice faded away on that last part.

  “Desh, what it is?” Nachia’s voice took on that maternal edge he sometimes heard in Pella’s tones. No matter who it was, the tone annoyed him.

  He bit back his distaste for her concern. “I have not been to the Blasted Lands in a very long time, but I might be on to something there. The Sa’ba Taalor would not have a problem living in Roathes. Not like most would. They are better suited for it.”

  “No one would willingly live in the Blasted Lands.” Merros shook his head. “And as someone who has been there, I can say that with ease and know I am right.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying, Merros. I’m saying that they could live there. There was no one else there. No one at all. Not that I saw at any rate. And I’m still trying to understand that, because Brolley and I agree that there weren’t enough of the Roathians on the return trip. Unless they all went to the south and east, there should have been more.

  “They wouldn’t go to the south and east. They wouldn’t be welcomed by the Louron and I can’t see them even trying to survive in the swamps. The land there is too dangerous.”

  “What land?”

  “Precisely my point. You either know the swamps in Louron or you sink. There aren’t enough people there to work as guides and even if there were, there’s no love lost between the two peoples.”

  “Then where did they go?” Nachia’s voice was taking on a frustrated edge.

  Merros shrugged. “The last we heard there were black ships coming in. After that, nothing. It’s possible they’re all dead or captured.”

  Nachia frowned and looked at Merros for clarification. “Captured?”

  “The Empire has a few countries that deal with slaves. Whose to say the Sa’ba Taalor do not also deal with them?”

  “Did you see any sign of slavery when you were in the Taalor Valley?”

  “No. But I hardly saw all of the valley. I saw a small fraction and we were moving at a hard ride for most of that time. They are a secretive people. Just think about the veils and you can see that.”

  Desh shook his head. “The veils hide a deformity.”

  “What deformity?” Merros looked at him with a doubtful expression. In that moment Desh understood that somewhere along the way the general had been intimate with one of the people of the Seven Forges. He had no notion as to which of them and did not care, but he saw the near-dread in the man’s expression.

  “Nothing like the plague winds do. More like some sort of scarring. Like what the Brellar do to themselves.”

  Merros’ body relaxed a bit. He could understand that idea well enough.

  “That’s not the point here in any event. The concern is what happened to the Roathians.”

  “Well. Perhaps that’s something that should be addressed at the parley, then.” Nachia spoke up, looking from one man to the other. “We have a week to consider what to do about that. We also have less time to consider moving everyone from this town if Desh is right, and much as I hate the notion of leaving, I believe we should consider the source here and prepare to move locations.”

  Merros looked long and hard at the Empress and nodded his head. He had likely come to the same conclusion on his own. Desh wished he could have said something to remove the sting from the matter but there was nothing he could say. The Sooth had never lied about anything, not on a deliberate level. They were sometimes confusing in what they said but there was no doubt at all what they were about in this case.

  They had to abandon Tyrne and soon.

  Merros sighed. “And why will we tell people that we must abandon Tyrne?”

  Nachia asked, “Did the Sooth say when this great event would take place?”

  “No. Only that it would be soon.”

  “So why don’t we start by ordering the palace prepared for winter? Let it be known that I have decided to move back to Canhoon. That should start a lot of things happening by itself.”

  “Do you think so?” Merros wasn’t completely convinced.

  “Not everyone will choose to leave, but a good number will. Tyrne is a city surrounded by farmlands and one river. The industry here is mostly designed around the palace and the seat of the Empire being here. Much of it will leave when we leave and take the soldiers with us.”

  Desh stared at the table for a moment, not sure how to approach the subject. “It might not be enough. I was thinking we might use the situation in Roathes to our advantage. We might tell people that the desolation there is growing.” He held up a hand to stop either from speaking and both looked ready to. “Not that it’s an immediate threat but something that could become dangerous later. It might make those who are only considering the notion of leaving lean toward moving faster.”

  Nachia shook her head. “Might well start a stampede, too. Best to avoid those, I would think.”

  True enough.

  Merros spoke up. “I think we should pull the army from the area. Move them toward Trecharch and the Wellish Steppes. Send them back toward Old Canhoon. Announce the move to the proper palace and watch what happens. I think you’re right. A lot of people will move on as well. And then when we’ve started that action, then maybe we talk of growing desolation to move the rest of them.”

  ***

  “I thought we were already there.” Darus’ voice had taken on a plaintive tone. No one really blamed him. The way into the Mounds was hiding itself, if, in fact there actually was a way in.

  The ice had thinned though it was not gone. The last roaring vibration had shaken a great deal loose, and even after spending most of two days in the wagon or the tent, nothing had come along to make the ice grow back. Nor had anything come along to remove it, come to think of it.

  Nolan had doubts about that opening and about the ability of the people with him to do anything with it. Tega seemed nice enough but she was not designed for rugged climbing. Darus was not likely to climb with a broken arm, Maun was doing poorly at best and the big man had made a good start at a recovery, but his body was still swollen and he moved like an old goat that had once lived on the farm. That is to say he moved, but not well and not without a good deal of bleating. Stradly was a good man. He had a fine sense of humor and he was strong as a horse, but whatever Tega had done to destroy that Pra-Moresh, it had left him wounded deep inside.

  No, none of them would be climbing and that was a problem since as near as Nolan could tell, whatever entrances there were to the actual Mounds were high up in the ruins.

  Every entrance they’d tried along the lower levels of the odd place were more like ice pits than possible entrances. They went nowhere. They promised possibilities of caves and tunnels but ultimately even the most profound of them only allowed entrance to another wall of impassable stone.

  The only person having any luck that wasn't bad was Vonders, who had already gathered many small trinkets to sell when he returned home. He showed them to his companions and marveled at each of them, regardless of how insignificant.

  That was hardly fair. There were likely many who find the items amazing, but to Nolan they had no special qualities. They were shiny rocks and nothing more. Neither his mother nor his father had ever been much for trinkets. He followed that trend.

  “Up there. Look.” Vonders pointed toward one of the towering masses around them. Nolan squinted along the length of the thing and studied the surface. It was as with everything else, coated in ice and dirt, but he could see what the ruin hunter was looking at. There was a vast hole in the side of the thing,
almost a hundred feet above them. That hole looked deep, and he doubted it was merely a pit started by the wind. If one listened carefully a note came from it when the air shifted the right way.

  The Mounds were not even in shape. They did not stand like buildings or even like trees. There was nothing right or normal about their design. They jutted from the ground at odd angles and some of the shapes looked like rocks and others like half-melted beehives. Some were long and thin and others twisted into shapes that made his eyes ache. All of them had the following consistencies, however: they were immense and what could be seen of their surfaces looked burned and melted.

  They had spent a night talking of the creation of the Blasted Lands. There was little else to do while they tried to lick their wounds and waited for the sun to rise. Surely no one felt like getting drunk, even if there had been a good tavern about, and even the most amorous of the lot had trouble considering Tega as a lover after what she had done to that monster. She was a lovely girl to be sure, but anyone that could simply destroy a Pra-Moresh was to be considered very carefully and for a long time before being approached along those lines.

  There were a dozen stories or more. Old empires fighting and soldiers dying by the thousands and then the Great Cataclysm. That was it. No one knew much more. Until Merros Dulver, no one had managed to get far enough into the Blasted Lands to find out about the Mounds or to even see the Seven Forges from up close.

  Nolan looked toward the distant mountain range. The sun was up, the sky was calmer than it often was, and though he could not actually see the mountains, he could just catch a glimmer of the red light that stained the distant clouds where they stood.

  How far away were they? He could not guess. Sometimes they seemed closer than others, and according to Vonders that was common in the Blasted Lands. The distant wall of the Edge was the only landmark his family had ever really used in the Blasted Lands and that seemed to change all the time as well.

  “We could climb it.” Tega’s voice shook him from his reverie.