“We have a battle t’fight, you mean,” Idgen Marte growled.
“Andus Carek, take Rede, and Keegan, your men go as well. Give us a moment of privacy.”
The bard went quietly, leading the almost catatonic Rede by one sleeve, to a pair of horses standing nearby. Keegan’s wild men only walked a few paces away, out of earshot, but not out of sight of Gideon.
The boy turned to them and said, “Go, Keegan. Go. I will see you at Pinesward.”
The old scout shook his head but turned to leave, waving his men after them.
In a few moments, Allystaire, Idgen Marte, Torvul, and Gideon were left facing each other in a driving rain, a stinging wind. The lightning seemed to have died, for now at least, though the clouds were not breaking.
“I see it in your face, Allystaire,” Idgen Marte rasped, cutting him off before he could speak. “I see what y’mean to say. Don’t. I’m coming with you if I have to chase after you all the way to Londray.”
“Idgen Marte,” Allystaire started to say, “I—”
“I can’t carry you both,” Gideon cut in. “Not and be of any use against the dragon.”
“Then we’ll ride,” Idgen Marte yelled. “I’m not leaving you again, Allystaire. My task—”
“Does not extend to me alone,” Allystaire said plainly, shaking his head. “Gideon and I will do this. We must. This is not an invisible threat, Idgen Marte. This is not something you must protect me from. You have done that; you brought me to this day. This,” he said, fighting down a sudden bolt of fear that shot up from his stomach, “this is mine alone. I prayed for this,” he went on, “at the Temple. I asked if there could be a battle for me alone, against some champion, some avatar of Braech, that no one else should need to fight. That prayer has been granted now. Whether by the Mother or by Braech Himself or by a twist of chance, I do not know or care. I asked for this burden. Let me bear it.”
He watched Idgen Marte’s fists ball up, raised as if to strike him, her face twisting in anger. He could not have said if all of the water streaming down the sides of her face was from the rain that pelted them, and would not have ventured to ask.
“That part of your task is done, Shadow,” Allystaire said, extending his right hand to her. “You brought me to this day, to this moment. If I could choose any companion to face Braech Himself with, it would be you. That choice is not mine to make.”
She took his hand in a quick, fierce warrior’s grip, pumped it once. “Then come back,” she growled. “Because we’re not Freezin’ done yet.”
He released her hand, glad of the rain that swiped at his own eyes. “Torvul.”
The dwarf raised a huge hand. “Don’t, not a word. You’ve not the tongue for it and I’ve not the time t’offer correction as ya stumble through it all.”
“Then I will merely make a request. Is Renard’s spear still among your baggage? I had no place for it on Ardent.”
The dwarf nodded and stepped quickly away to his packhorse.
Allystaire heard a whicker behind him, the step of a hoof against wet ground.
Despite the calm that had come over him, despite the certainty of his course, the way it had lifted fear from his shoulders, Allystaire felt his heart sink when he turned to look into the huge eyes of the destrier that had followed or borne him on every step from Wind’s Jaw to Thornhurst to Bend, to now.
He reached his left hand to stroke the wet neck; the huge grey almost bowled him over by pressing his head against Allystaire’s shoulder. He tangled his fingers into the horse’s wet mane, heard its great breath puffing in and out, the muscles of his chest working like a giant bellows.
“You cannot follow me now, Ardent,” he murmured into a flicking grey ear. “Go with Idgen Marte and Torvul. If I do not return, bear Gideon wherever he must go.”
He stepped away, stroking the side of the great neck once more, looked again into the huge knowing eyes. “Do you understand?”
There was only another whicker, and the horse took two steps backwards, lowered its nose to the ground. Ardent did not nose upon it for grass or plants. He only bowed his head.
When Allystaire turned back, Torvul was holding out the spear he had taken at Leah’s insistence. He’d not found a use for it in the battle; it was no lance, and he feared to break it.
Yet he knew to take it with him now.
“Gideon,” Allystaire said.
The boy stood, came to Allystaire’s side, and took his hand.
“The Mother will be with you,” the paladin said to Torvul and Idgen Marte. “Our work is not done, even if I do not return. Tell Audreyn, tell Garth, tell Mol, I love them all.”
Then the Arm and the Will vanished from their sight. Idgen Marte took Ardent’s reins in silence, Torvul mounted his pony and took up his packhorse’s lead, and they set out to rejoin the Baronial army as it made for Pinesward.
CHAPTER 54
Hammer of the Sun
Allystaire did not allow himself the time or the luxury of marveling at their flight, or whatever it would have been appropriate to call it. There was no impression of soaring for several hundred miles, there was just standing in one place, a kind of twisting, lurching feeling—not unlike being on a ship, he supposed—and then he was standing elsewhere.
His stomach tried to heave itself into his mouth when he suddenly found himself standing in the midst of a thick fog, thicker than any he had seen before. He did not allow himself to feel disoriented, or to go down to a knee to clear his dizziness. He clutched at the hammer at his side, preferring centering himself with the touch of steel.
He held both spear and shield in his left hand, arms through the loops of the shield, hand clutching the smoothly-polished oak shaft of the spear.
“Gideon, we are in Londray, yes?” Allystaire could feel cobbles beneath his feet, but otherwise there was nothing to tell him it was the city.
The boy at his side, whom he could barely see, nodded emphatically. “Yes. I can feel it.”
“Where?”
“Towards the harbor. West. It—”
Their ears were suddenly assaulted by a massive roar. Allystaire felt his ears popping as though they’d been boxed. He fell to a knee and lowered his head.
There was something more than animal rage in the roar, Allystaire realized, even as he heard pieces of buildings jarred loose by the force of it, heard the shrieking and sobbing of people within.
It was both challenge and assault. He felt it trying to eat at his courage even while it goaded him onward, felt it tugging at his heart, at his decision.
YOU ARE WRONG, it said. YOU CANNOT HOPE TO STAND AGAINST ME. EVEN WITH YOUR COMPANIONS, WITH A HUNDRED OF YOUR KNIGHTS, YOU COULD NOT HOPE TO DEFEAT ME.
Allystaire felt that it whispered and yet the power in the whisper beat at him, tried to pound him into the ground, wave after wave of it crashing against him.
He clenched his jaw and forced himself to his feet. “Gideon,” he said, though he could barely make out his own voice. “What can we do about this fog?”
“This,” the boy said, taking a step back. He extended one hand towards Allystaire, the fingers of his palm splayed out.
Allystaire felt a sudden warmth upon his chest. He chanced a look down. Where once Gideon had, with only the power of his Will, engraved a golden sunburst upon his cuirass, there now blazed a small golden sun, pouring forth its light in a beam.
And where it touched the fog, it burned it away like fire running across parchment.
The light from his armor burnt a hole through the fog and towards the sky. And after a long moment, he felt the rays of the sun reaching down to meet it.
The mist began to recede in earnest, shriveling and shrinking away.
Another roar, but with the fog receding, this one seemed less powerful. It no longer seemed to come from everywhere at once.
It
spoke again, setting Allystaire’s head throbbing till he nearly stumbled.
YOU CANNOT HOPE TO MASTER ME. I AM THE RAGE OF THE SEA ITSELF. I AM THE STORM GIVEN LIFE.
Allystaire shouted his answer to the retreating waves of thick grey cloud.
“Every storm gives way to the sun eventually.” He followed the voice towards the harbor, unlimbering his hammer, his steps slow and purposeful.
* * *
The Eldest felt the approach of the Negation, felt it falling like a star from the heavens. In truth, he wanted to stay and watch the resulting fight, perhaps see what residual power might flow that he could tap into.
And yet, he knew, from the very evidence that the ritual to raise the Dragon had worked, that the battle in the north had gone poorly.
And if the Negation was no longer there, whatever power was in that place, in the woman, or the impudent dwarf, was his to claim.
With interest, he studied the Negation’s method of traveling so far so fast, watching the pattern of his terrifying power tear across the sky of pure will.
Then the Eldest simply seized onto his trail and followed it backwards.
* * *
Everywhere Allystaire and Gideon went, the fog rolled away from them. He felt his right hand growing warm inside his gauntlet. He thought little of it.
Then the fog rolled far back enough, as they crested a rise in the street, that they saw the Dragon spread its wings and take to the air.
It was unexpectedly and terrifyingly beautiful. A long, sloped reptilian snout with rows of teeth, as big as any spear or lance he’d ever seen a man wield, nestling together between its scaled lips. Two huge malevolent eyes the color of the sea before a squall, grey and awful beneath heavy brows plated with armored ridges of bone. The top rows of its scales were blue, ranging from a deep lapis at the very top, lightening and lightening into a near sea green, before reaching ranks and ranks of bronze along its belly. Four legs, each as tall as any two destriers the size of Ardent stacked atop one another, and huge leathern wings that beat the air with the force of a gale. Finally the long tail with the huge club at its base. It flew straight upwards, spreading its wings out, stretching its neck and tail to their full length, showing itself against the sunlight.
Allystaire heard more wailing from the houses around him, saw people transfixed at their shuttered windows, saw others huddling in alleys shielding themselves with their hands.
HAVE YOU COME TO SAVE THESE PATHETIC PEOPLE, PALADIN? WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU CAN? WHY DO THEY DESERVE TO BE SAVED? HOW WILL YOU SAVE THEM ALL?
With that, the Sea Dragon dove from the sky, spreading its wings and flying low over a distant quarter of the city. It reared its head, and Allystaire could hear the great lungs fill as it took a deep gulp of air.
Then the head and neck uncoiled like a striking snake, and scalding steam poured forth from the Dragon’s mouth. It was not flame, but what it touched ignited, and instantly a long inferno spread along the line of its flight.
Allystaire heard the screams of those immolated, awful liquid sounds, shut his eyes as if that could block them out.
He kept walking, picking up speed. Against the Dragon’s voice in his mind he felt the Mother’s song, filling his limbs with a strength greater than before. His steps became leaps, became bounds as he started running, Gideon frantic to keep pace at his side.
WHILE YOU RUN TO THEM, PALADIN, WHAT OF THE PEOPLE HERE?
The Dragon finished its low pass over the far northern section of the city, rose up with powerful beats of its wings, sailed straight over Allystaire and Gideon’s head and landed in the south of the city, crushing buildings with its legs as it didn’t even try to shed momentum before landing.
Its massive tail swept out, lashing down more, crushing those within, destroying lives and livelihoods with a contemptuous sweep.
WHAT ARE THEY TO YOU, THAT YOU WOULD RUN TO SAVE THEM?
Allystaire let out a wordless scream of rage and yelled back, pausing to stare at the Dragon. “What are they to YOU that you kill them? What strength do you prove, Braech? What glory or victory do you gain with the destruction of them? Do you hop from place to place because you fear to face me?”
WHY DO YOU NOT RUN TO SAVE THEM? IS THAT NOT WHAT YOU ARE?
“I do what I can until I do what I must,” Allystaire yelled, raising his hammer and pointing it towards the Dragon. The beast’s tail swished behind it like a mischievous cat’s. With a casual swipe of one huge foreleg it destroyed a city street, crushing wood and stone, thatch and brick like a man might crumple bread.
“And what I MUST do is destroy you,” Allystaire went on, roaring out the fury that glowed inside of him. “I would save them if I can, but I will save more when you lie dead and broken. There is nowhere you can go that we will not follow. No place on this earth where you can fly that we will not come on your heels. I will have you, Braech. I will face you unless you fear me too much to risk it, and in that, I would stand victorious. Come and prove yourself against someone who DOES. NOT. FEAR. YOU.”
The last four words were not the roar of a dragon, but they were louder than any man’s lungs should have been able to make them. Tiles fell from nearby roofs. Pots fell from nearby market shelves and shattered.
FINE THEN, PALADIN. THE HARBOR.
The Dragon sprang up into the air again and beat its wings. Allystaire could feel the heat of them upon his face.
“Gideon,” Allystaire said, “when it gets there, can you contain it? Wall it in, keep it from moving too far?”
“Perhaps,” the boy said, heaving for breath from having had to run to keep up with him. “I can try. What did you have in mind?”
“Do not let it back into the city. Do not let it out to sea, or under the water,” Allystaire said. “But let it climb as high it wishes.”
Gideon nodded, and then was once more chasing after Allystaire, who bounded ahead, covering great leaps with nearly every step.
* * *
Idgen Marte sat uneasily in Ardent’s saddle, the great beast plodding along at the back of the Baronial column. The destrier was too huge for her, too lacking in grace or subtlety. Over and over, she told herself, Focus on the road ahead. Get to Pinesward with these men. See to their security. Then if I have to leap in shadows from here to Londray for a solid day to find him… She sighed and looked over her shoulder at the muddy fields, practically plowed by their passage.
She blinked, drew Ardent to a halt, and yelled, “Gravek!” Behind her, huge shapes were silhouetted against the horizon, loping and shambling along, half a dozen or more.
The Order rode back to her call, Teague the first to hop from her saddle, unlimbering and stringing her bow in movements that were so purposeful, so clean, so graceful, Idgen Marte wanted to applaud.
She had an arrow nocked and raised the bow, sent it spinning into the air. She leaned forward, squinting behind her half mask, straining to see.
“They are not moving normally,” she said slowly. “Those don’t seem—”
“Dwarf! Your glass!”
Torvul dipped quickly into a pocket and pulled free his leather-bound, brass-fitted tube, uncapping and bringing it to his eye.
“Mother save us all,” he breathed. “Battle-Wights. Gravek Battle-Wights.”
“What?” Teague turned to him, even as she fit another arrow.
“Your arrows are useless against ‘em,” Torvul said, “they’re…” He pulled the glass back to his eye. “Oh no. Oh Stones Above, no. It’s…there’s hundreds of them, Idgen Marte, we’ve got—” The dwarf lowered his glass and yelled towards the column strung out ahead of them. “RUN. RUN AND DON’T SPARE THE BEASTS.” He quickly slid off his pony and unlimbered a sack from it, tossing it towards Harrys, who caught it easily. “Give that to any that look like flaggin’. Get to Arontis and the rest of ‘em, tell them to run.”
Idgen Marte slid off of Ardent’s saddle, fingering the sword at her side, pondering what use she could make of it against Battle-Wights, casting about for a length of stout wood.
“What use is a Barony that’s all pine,” she growled, spitting into the mud.
Meanwhile Torvul was digging at his pack frame, cursing a string in Dwarfish, and Teague had lowered her bow, though an arrow was still nocked.
“I hadn’t thought,” the dwarf said, “I thought if we faced Wights again it’d be fewer, and smaller. I didn’t make enough.”
He pulled free a heavy bag and from it produced a wrapped jug.
“Enough of what,” Idgen Marte said.
“Enough o’this,” the dwarf said. “It’s, ah, call it holy water. More like a holy tincture of mustard seed, wolfsbane, a bit of spirit, and—”
“I don’t care what’s in it, dwarf,” Idgen Marte yelled. “What does it do?”
“It can slow them down. It should. Maybe kill some. Put it on your weapons.” Torvul said. “But there’s so many.”
Before he could finish the thought, Teague seized the sheaf of arrows at her hip and dumped them onto the ground, then took a second from her saddle and added it to the pile.
She looked to Torvul, the half of her face they could see utterly calm. “Pour it,” she said. “On the heads. Reserve as much as you can, but soak them well.”
Idgen Marte looked to the woman, started to open her mouth to protest, but she had anticipated it, and raised her gloved hand, shook her head.
“Any burden,” was all she said. Idgen Marte nodded, clasped Teague’s arm, remounted. Torvul was carefully dousing her arrowheads with the tincture, and Teague was already taking a handful of them, holding them in her left hand against the bowshaft as she drew and nocked with her right.
The Shadow and the Wit ran on, leaving another knight of the Order of the Arm behind them. Idgen Marte heard the hiss of arrows releasing into the air, looked over her shoulder to see one fall into an oncoming Gravekmir Wight, and saw its arm shatter and fall away in a shower of bone and metal.
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