The Rite

by Richard Lee Byers

  Raryn ducked a sweep of the tail-blades and chopped at the dragon’s flank. The axe bit deep. The reptile jerked in pain, began to whirl toward its attacker, and tangled a leg in the rope securing it to the fountain. It howled in frustration and lunged, throwing all its strength against the line.

  The harpoon tore from its flesh, and blood spurted after it. It was possible that, in yanking out the barb, the fang dragon had given itself the worst wound it had yet sustained. Still, it was free, and its restored mobility caught its foes by surprise. It pounced between two monks, shredding one with its fangs and cleaving the other with its tail blades, and whirled to find another target. Confused, suddenly terrified for all their courage and discipline, the remaining servants of Ilmater floundered backward. If they broke, the dragon would slaughter them all in a matter of seconds.

  Raryn frantically rattled off another ranger charm. The grass in the dragon’s immediate vicinity grew tall and wrapped around its feet and the end of its tail, binding them to the ground.

  The enchantment would only immobilize the wyrm for a heartbeat or so at best. The dragon was simply too strong, and it was probably surprise as much as the grip of the restraints that made it falter. Still, Raryn had held it up for a moment, and the monks could see that he’d hindered it. Maybe that would hearten them.

  “Kill it!” the hunter bellowed.

  He rushed in swinging his axe, and the humans followed his lead.

  The fang wyrm struck and caught another monk in its fangs. It heaved, and its tail and right forefoot tore free of the binding grass. Then it shuddered, gave a breathless little cry, flopped over on its side, and thrashed. Raryn and the monks scurried backward to avoid being crushed in its death throes.

  Panting, his heart pounding, Raryn felt an upswelling of relief that the creature could no longer hurt him or anyone else. But he refused to let the emotion make him slow and stupid. The battle wasn’t over, just one little part of it. He cast about to see how the rest of it was going, then cursed in dismay.

  A second team of monks, led by Cantoule, had likewise killed its fang dragon. But the third such wyrm had slain many of its opponents and scattered the rest. It bounded unopposed toward a chapel with the martyrdom of the Crying God depicted in bas-relief on the facade. The spellcasters sheltering inside hurled darts of crimson light at the reptile, and conjured a wall of rippling distortion to block its path. But the missiles didn’t seem to harm it, and it simply leaped through the barrier without even slowing down, as if the magical construct was no more solid than air.

  If the dragon reached the wizards, it would have little trouble killing them. Raryn sprinted to intercept the wyrm. So did some of the monks. The dwarf saw that they were all too far away.

  But a column of white vapor streaked down from the sky to wash over the fang dragon. Its body stiffened, locking into immobility, and off balance, it toppled onto its side. It shuddered, plainly trying to break free of the paralysis, and a shield dragon plummeted down on it like an avalanche of silver. The metallic drake ripped and tore the gray-brown reptile apart, seemingly oblivious to the cuts it suffered from the fang wyrm’s abrasive hide in the process.

  Its jaws smeared with crimson, the silver lifted its head. Something about the set of its eyes and the pair of long, smooth horns sweeping backward from its skull was familiar.

  “Azhaq!” Raryn cried.

  Azhaq turned and regarded him without any noticeable warmth. Still, he did condescend to answer, “Raryn Snowstealer.”

  “How’s the fight going, do you think?” Raryn asked. “Is there anything else the folk on the ground can do to help you in the air?”

  “Let’s see….”

  Azhaq raised his head to peer up at the sky, and Raryn did the same. A few moments of observation sufficed to reveal that the character of the battle raging overhead was changing.

  At first, attacking primarily with spells, the dragons had fought widely dispersed, wheeling about the mountaintop, casting at whatever target presented itself from one moment to the next. But all but the eldest were running low on magic. They had to strike with their breath, or even fang and claw, and thus needed to maneuver closer to their foes. Due to that requirement, and because both sides had suffered attrition, it had become possible for a wyrm to trade attacks with a particular adversary until one of them overwhelmed the other.

  Malazan with her coating of wet blood was just concluding one such duel. She spat flame, and a silver dropped, its wings burning, ruined, unable to hold it in the air anymore. The shield dragon invoked one of its innate abilities, and its fall slowed to a gentle drift downward. But that meant it could no longer maneuver, and Raryn assumed the gigantic red would have little difficulty finishing it off.

  Malazan let it go, though, in favor of other targets. Purple-edged wings hammering, she climbed and turned toward Kara and Dorn.

  Raryn was grimly certain his friends were no match for the red. Not by themselves. He cast about, hoping to see one of the golds or silvers rushing to their aid, but the metals were all busy with opponents of their own.

  Azhaq spread his gleaming wings and said, “I’ll help them.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Raryn said.

  “I have no harness to secure a rider on my—”

  “I’m coming with you. I just need my bow.”

  11 Flamerule, the Year of Rogue Dragons

  The chasme’s talons whizzed past Taegan’s head. Its proboscis stabbed at his throat, and likewise missed by a matter of inches. The charm of displacement the bladesinger had invoked during his dive had thrown off the demon’s aim.

  But Taegan’s sword missed the tanar’ri too, for he’d been prepared to strike Phourkyn, not the apparition that had leaped unexpectedly from within the traitor’s swelling, altering body. Worse, his momentum slammed him into the spirit, and they fell to the ground together.

  It snatched for him, to rip him with its claws and hold him while its aura of flame roasted him, and Taegan tried to scramble clear. It didn’t look as if he was going to make it. But Jivex streaked at the chasme and heedless of the fire, raked at one of its round, bulging eyes.

  The demon snarled and flinched back. Taegan sprang to his feet and thrust at it.

  The elven sword plunged deep into the fly-thing’s body. It screamed, and wings droning, leaped away.

  Taegan lunged, trying to hit it again, but the attack fell short by an inch. Jivex conjured golden dust to blind the chasme, and the powder spilled away without sticking to its head. The demon flew back inside Phourkyn’s torso as easily as it had leaped out.

  Squinting, Taegan peered at the radiant, eight-legged sunwyrm and saw that he’d finished transforming. Phourkyn cocked his wedge-shaped head back.

  “He’s going to breathe!” Taegan shouted.

  Wings hammering, he and Jivex hurled themselves through the air.

  A split second later, something—dazzling yellow light or fire—streaked from the sunwyrm’s maw. Narrowly missing both Taegan and the faerie dragon, the stuff hit the rutted mud of the street without disturbing it or even splashing. But the avariel knew it would have consumed his flesh if it had swept over him.

  He simultaneously rattled off another defensive enchantment and flew with all his magically augmented speed, trying to maneuver away from the sunwyrm’s jaws and foreclaws and into position to strike at the creature’s flank. He poised his sword for a thrust, then, despite the glare that was half blinding him, discerned a subtle change in Phourkyn’s enormous form. The mountain of golden scale and muscle blurred ever so slightly.

  From reading Rilitar’s book, Taegan understood what it meant. Phourkyn had just become as insubstantial as a ghost. Most attacks couldn’t touch a sunwyrm in that form, but the creature could still employ its breath weapon, and it seemed likely that particular specimen would be able to use at least some of his spells as well.

  Taegan had no idea how he and Jivex were supposed to cope with such an adversary. His uncertainty gave h
is magically created despair another opening, another chance to overwhelm him, and he felt a desperate urge to flee. But he resisted, shouted a war cry, and thrust his sword at the hollow between two of Phourkyn’s ribs.

  To his surprise, he felt resistance as the weapon plunged in deep, and Phourkyn roared in shock. Apparently, thanks to the enchantments bound in the steel, the elven blade could cut the sunwyrm even in phantom form.

  Taegan flew on down the length of the dragon’s body, stabbing repeatedly. The sunwyrm whirled, his horned head whipping around at the end of his serpentine neck, and spewed another blast of brilliant light. Taegan tried to dodge, but the stream of radiance still grazed the edge of his wing.

  He cried out, and spastic with the searing pain, floundered in the air. By the time he regained control of his muscles, Phourkyn had swung into position to strike at him with all a sunwyrm’s best weapons. Solid once more, the traitor reared on his four back legs and poised the four front ones to snatch and tear. Burning with the same lethal power that infused his breath weapon, the talons glowed even brighter than the rest of him.

  Taegan could only dodge and wait for a chance to fly clear. One set of huge, shining claws rebounded from the invisible floating shield he’d conjured moments before. He wrenched himself out of the way of a second blow, and with a beat of his wings, jerked himself above a third one, even managing to hack off one of Phourkyn’s toes before the traitor snatched his leg back.

  The wound seemed to make the sunwyrm hesitate, and Taegan thought he saw his opportunity. He kept on climbing, then discerned too late that it was what Phourkyn wanted him to do. The bladesinger had been so busy avoiding the dragon’s blazing talons that he’d momentarily lost track of the creature’s jaws, and Phourkyn struck at him like a viper, fanged jaws gaping.

  Taegan perceived with a surge of dread that he couldn’t fling himself out of the way in time. Jivex, however, hurtled past him and straight into the sunwyrm’s maw, past the rows of huge, pointed teeth and deeper in. No doubt startled, Phourkyn faltered, and his attack fell short. But the larger wyrm snapped his jaws shut, sealing the faerie dragon inside.

  Taegan felt a senseless desire to cry out and warn Jivex not to do the gallant thing he’d just done. He was certain his friend was doomed. All Phourkyn had to do to destroy the small creature trapped in his mouth was spit his breath weapon. Unable to dodge, Jivex would dissolve in the blast.

  Grimly sure he couldn’t inflict enough damage in time for it to do any good, Taegan slashed at Phourkyn’s neck. Then the sunwyrm’s jaws flew open, and silvery wings a blur, Jivex streaked out into the open air amid a haze of blood. Evidently the larger wyrm’s breath weapon hadn’t yet renewed itself, and Jivex had used the delay to good effect, tearing at the soft insides of Phourkyn’s mouth with fang and claw, inflicting so much pain that the traitor couldn’t bear to hold him there any longer.

  Taegan slashed another gash in Phourkyn’s neck, and turned to fly down his adversary’s flank. But with a sudden beat of his wings, the traitor sprang away from his opponents to land ten yards down the street. Phourkyn’s blazing eyes stared intently, and the air around Taegan and Jivex darkened and droned as a cloud of locusts seethed into existence.

  The manifestation infuriated Taegan. It seemed monstrously unfair that the chasme could still use that filthy power even when hiding inside its master’s body. The bladesinger pounded his wings up and down and threw himself forward in a desperate attempt to reach Phourkyn before the insects fully materialized.

  A locust bumped against his forehead. Another landed on his wrist and crawled up his arm. Then, however, Rilitar’s voice declaimed words of power, and all the insects vanished. Taegan glanced around and saw the elf wizard standing in the street. Rilitar’s garments were singed, and his face, raw and blistered from close contact with the flames inside Firefingers’s tower, but the topaz-tipped wand was steady in his outstretched hand.

  Taegan drove onward at Phourkyn. Hurtling beside him, Jivex filled the surrounding air with the illusory images of dozens of winged, brightly clad pixies, each brandishing a miniature spear.

  As fast as they were flying, Rilitar’s wizardry was faster. Five spheres of light, each a different color, flashed past his allies to explode on impact with Phourkyn’s body. The red orb burst into flame, another, the yellow one, into crackling tendrils of lightning, and the green, into a sizzling splash of acid. The blue sphere encrusted a patch of the sunwyrm’s scales in ice, and the silver one birthed a deafening howl that split his hide like an axe.

  Taegan and Jivex streaked by Phourkyn’s head and along his spine. The bladesinger stabbed and cut. Jivex conjured more golden dust, which dropped away without adhering to the sunwyrm’s head. The illusory pixies swarmed around his mask, however, jabbing with their spears, perhaps obstructing his sight almost as effectively as the powder would have. As Phourkyn spun sideways in a futile attempt to swing his head clear of the phantasms, the faerie dragon created a shrill whine that set Taegan’s teeth on edge. The winged elf assumed Jivex had placed the source of the magical shriek right inside Phourkyn’s ear, where it would prove excruciating, deafening, and inescapable.

  More radiant spheres exploded against Phourkyn’s breast. Taegan drove his sword into the sunwyrm’s back. The huge, glowing reptile spun, attempting to swat him with a wing, but he beat his own pinions, looped out of the way, and stabbed the traitor once more.

  Phourkyn jerked in pain, and Taegan wondered if the creature might actually be close to defeat. But then the sunwyrm bellowed a single word of power.

  In response, the whole world seem to ring, as if Taegan was a sparrow caught inside an enormous tolling temple bell. The sensation wasn’t painful, precisely, but vibrated his strength and will away, and made consciousness itself gutter like the flame of a candle in the last moments before it melted utterly. No longer able to use his wings, the avariel fell from the air, hit the sunwyrm’s flank, and rolled down its contours to land heavily on the ground. Jivex thudded down somewhere nearby.

  Nearly trampling Taegan in the process, Phourkyn wheeled to face his fallen foes. The bladesinger felt a dull, murky sort of fear, knew he ought to rise and fight, but was unable to translate the thought into action.

  Phourkyn snarled an incantation. The swarm of pixies vanished, and the howl cut off abruptly. The sunwyrm cocked back his head to spew his breath weapon. Taegan struggled to scramble to his feet, but only managed to lift himself to his knees.

  Shifted through space by his magic, Rilitar appeared between Taegan and Jivex. He stooped and stretched out his arms to touch them both, but found they were too far apart. The wizard grabbed Taegan’s forearm, heaved him closer to the faerie dragon, then managed to reach the tip of Jivex’s platinum wing. At the same instant, Phourkyn spat a stream of dazzling light.

  Taegan flinched, but nothing hurt him. He saw that he was lying in a narrow alley, with the surrounding houses pressing in close on either side. Rilitar had translated him and Jivex away just in time. His strength rapidly returning, the avariel lifted his head to thank the mage, then gasped in dismay.

  Because, while Phourkyn’s breath hadn’t quite reached him or Jivex, it had washed over the rescuer crouching above them. As a result, Rilitar didn’t look burned so much as vivisected, as if a master torturer had flayed and whittled sections of skin and flesh away to make an intricate design. Some of the wounds appeared superficial, but others ran deep.

  The wizard collapsed on his belly.

  “Rilitar!” Taegan cried.

  “Don’t fret … about me,” Rilitar gritted. “Kill Phourkyn.”

  Taegan realized the elf was right. Somebody had to deal with the traitor, or he might yet bring Kara’s enterprise to ruin.

  He turned to Jivex and asked, “Can you still fight?”

  “Watch me,” the faerie dragon said.

  He sprang off the ground, and wings beating, wheeled toward the mouth of the alley.

  “Wait,” Taegan said. “Phourkyn d
oesn’t know where we disappeared to. It’s possible he doesn’t know he hurt Rilitar, either. We’ll use that against him.” He looked at the surrounding rooftops, then pointed. “I’m going to circle that way. Give me a little time, then conjure an illusion of the three of us charging from the alley into the street. With luck, it’ll distract Phourkyn, and I’ll take the whoreson from behind.”

  “Get going,” Jivex said.

  His injured pinion throbbing, Taegan took to the air and maneuvered in an arc, striving to keep himself hidden behind shops and houses, and when he had to cross the gaps separating them, spying for glimpses of the sunwyrm. At first Phourkyn seemed to be catching his breath, and casting about for his vanished foes. Soon enough, though, he stalked toward Firefingers’s tower, probably intending to hurl an attack spell or a blast of his breath through the entrance.

  Before he could reach it, though, semblances of Rilitar, Jivex, and Taegan lunged into the street to confront him. The elf pointed his wand. The bladesinger and faerie dragon streaked through the air toward their foe. Phourkyn hesitated, peered at the deception, then snorted with contempt at a trick that, he thought, had failed to take him in.

  By then, the real Taegan had flown up behind him. The avariel drove his sword into the center of Phourkyn’s back.

  Phourkyn screamed. His serpentine tail with the point of brilliant glow at the end flopped limply to the ground. His four rear legs buckled. Using the four in front, he struggled to keep from falling down, and as he swayed and stumbled, Taegan went on thrusting.

  The sunwyrm whipped his head around, and Taegan dodged the strike. It was easier when he didn’t have to worry about claw attacks. Phourkyn needed his remaining legs to hold his crippled body up.

  Or perhaps not, for the sunwyrm spread his leathery wings and flexed the four functional legs to spring upward. Before he could, though, the earth beneath his feet rippled, turned a lighter shade of brown, and by the looks of it, changed in consistency as well, to an ooze more treacherous than quicksand. Phourkyn’s feet could find no purchase in the muck, and it sucked them down at once.