So intent was she on not being surprised that she’d gotten quite close to the lone hill without realizing it. As she turned her attention its way again she thought she saw something glint on its low summit. That’s odd, she thought, there’s no sunlight here to make anything sparkle. And what in this place even would?
A moment later she got her answer. For the glimmer suddenly separated itself from the hilltop and came screaming toward her.
“Tress!” she cried out, realizing that it was her match-mate’s golden scales she’d seen contrasted against the stark white of the ice-covered hill.
“Cerah! I’m here! You’re safe now!” came the queen’s voice in reply. It took her only a minute to cover the mile between Cerah and the hill. When she landed Cerah raced to her and threw her arms around the strong neck of the mighty dragon.
Tressida’s breathing was labored and ragged. Cerah could feel her pulse as she pushed her head against Tress’s neck. It raced and was uneven.
“My perfect dragon! You’re near death!”
“I have never been better!” Tressida replied weakly. “Now that you are with me again I feel as though I could swallow Surok whole. Nothing can hurt me now.”
Despite her match-mate’s assurances, Cerah knew that Tressida was in desperate need of rest, and most likely of food as well. “When was the last time you fed?” she asked.
“You worry too much,” the dragon replied, ignoring the question. “I require nothing more than you with me.”
Cerah realized that Tressida would never admit to being in trouble. She debated with herself as to the best plan of action. There was no way she’d ask Tress to fly, even though it meant they’d far more rapidly reach the coast, and thus food. Although the waters of the Karrak Ocean were icy, fish could be found there, she knew. But she quickly decided that rest was what the golden queen required most.
“Well, I’m exhausted. Let’s just rest here for a while,” she said at last. She actually felt fine, but thought that a white lie might persuade the golden dragon to rest beside her. “Lay that great body down and I will rub your tired muscles.”
“Ah,” Tressida said. “One of your famous massages. Slurr told me once that you gave the best rubdowns in the world.”
“He did! When did you have occasion to speak with my husband about that.”
“Well, as you must surely realize, he had to do all of the talking. But when the army passed from Sejira to Illyria, I bore him there. He talked to me about many things. I think he was trying to keep my mind off how much I was missing you.”
As Tressida rolled onto her side, Cerah began rubbing her hands along the dragon’s golden scales. Although they provided great protection, Cerah was always amazed at how soft they were. At once Tress began to make sounds of pleasure.
Cerah’s administrations were aimed at more than caressing aching tissue. Each touch carried with it restorative magic. Cerah’s strongest healing was normally accomplished using Isurra. Her staff-blade would glow a deep blue as she waved it above the individual receiving her attention. But even without that tool, Cerah’s power immediately began to bring strength back to the exhausted beast.
“I know what you’re doing,” Cerah heard the dragon say.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Sweet Cerah, haven’t I told you? Dragons cannot use magic, but we easily detect it. I know you are healing me. You have to hatch very early in the morning to fool a dragon!”
Cerah laughed out loud, a sound rarely heard on the plains of the Frozen South. “I don’t want to fool you. I want to return the vitality that you lost making a five-day journey in only three. I am so grateful to you for coming to me, but it tears at my heart that you hurt yourself doing so.”
“Ha! I’m fine! Just a little sleepy, that’s all. I would swim through lava for you. You know this,” Tress replied.
“And I for you,” said Cerah, laying her head on the queen’s side as she continued to stroke. Tressida’s muscles were a mass of knots, but in response to the rubbing and the magic casting, they relaxed one by one. Cerah moved about so that she could reach every inch of the dragon’s huge body. After working on her for a long time she asked her to roll over so that she could attend to her other side, but found that Tress had fallen sound asleep. She smiled, knowing that sleep was its own magic. Nestling into the crook of the queen’s front leg, she rested along with her, understanding that they would both need to be at their best for what was to come.
The city of Stygia had never been a beautiful place. After King Kindara’s attempt to conquer all of Illyria had failed some two hundred years prior, it had become a broken-down shadow of an already dismal former self, even drearier than it had been prior to the final assault of the army of wizards and men. The battle had led to the death of King Kindara and the end of their dreams of ruling the entire continent. The people left most of the damaged and destroyed buildings abandoned, choosing to move to new constructions. The new homes were not much better than the ruins of the old.
But what it had become now made the Stygia of just days before look like a seaside resort. Fires raged everywhere, as Surok’s minions torched home and business alike for the pleasure of watching them burn. The city’s meager market place had been expanded through the demolition of everything in it, as well as several blocks of the surrounding buildings. At the center of the widened square was another of the giant effigies of the demon, identical to the one Cerah had destroyed in Thresh, sending her to the Under Plane.
Around it hundreds of Stygians prostrated themselves in worship to Surok. Interspersed among them were many of the squat karvats, who also poured adulation upon the towering image, as well as insult and injury upon the humans, whipping and prodding them at will.
Silestra walked freely through other parts of the city, peering at every citizen they encountered, as if to ensure that each was maintaining his fealty to the demon.
Stygia, even after being defeated centuries before, had maintained a monarchal society, though the restrictions placed upon them after the war reduced the role of the king to little more than that of figurehead. The royal residence was the largest building in the city, though it, too, was bereft of any beauty.
Inside the so-called Palace of the Royals, the current king, Lamoor, was seated on a rude wooden stool, which served as his throne. He was fifty, fat and bald, looking more like a fishmonger than a regent. Before him stood Zenk and the Silestran that the traitor-wizard secretly called the Mouthpiece.
“Surok has seen the outcome of the assault led by your people,” the hulking black beast said in his fractured voice. “While those of my race and their offspring fought to the death, when the filthy Green-Landers began to prevail, your soldiers turned and fled.”
“I am aware,” said Lamoor. “But in doing so they not only lived to fight again, they brought back the news that reinforcements had arrived for the enemy.”
“Those that came back at all,” said Zenk. “Most your so-called warriors were too ashamed to return to the city and face the consequences of their cowardice. They are holed up in an encampment deep in the Forest of Zursh.”
The king, who was very careful in how he answered The Mouthpiece, spoke to Zenk with unmasked contempt. “Not cowardice, warlock. They have set up an outpost to provide intelligence and to offer resistance should the Green-Landers attempt to move against us.”
Although the Mouthpiece held Zenk in low regard himself, he reprimanded the king. “This wizard has pledged his all to Surok, and unlike you and your people, has yet to fail him. I do not recommend you speak to him as though he were one of your animal handlers.”
Lamoor grew silent, though his face still showed dissatisfaction at having to deal with a conjurer, who his people saw not as servants to all humankind, but as their long-standing enemy and a significant source of their two centuries of oppression.
The Silestran continued. “Surok has chosen to show his vast mercy on your cowhearted soldiers. Although he peers into their souls and knows
they set up their camp for no other reason than to hide themselves, he sees some strategic advantage in their doing so. Assuming they don’t turn like zankrats and run even farther from danger, they might yet be able to prove themselves. In fact, Surok desires that the outpost be bolstered. You are to send an additional two thousands of your scum-dredging people to the camp, so that if the Green-Landers should move they might actually be of some use in hindering them.”
“Very well,” said Lamoor. “That can easily be achieved.”
“Get them moved there at once. Have them hold that position and wait for further instructions,” said the Mouthpiece.
“You do think they can manage a thirty-mile march without deserting, then?” asked Zenk.
The king bristled at the insult, but did not take the bait. “I will do as Surok desires,” was his only reply.
“See that you do. Do it now,” said Zenk as he and the Silestran turned and took their leave of the paunchy gerent.
As they exited the palace the Silestran said, “Once the outpost is at full strength, you will finally be able to make some actual use of yourself. You will relay Surok’s instructions as I reveal them to you, going to the Stygians’ outpost, and report back to me any intelligence that they manage to stumble across. Your little green worm is actually the most valuable cog in this plan, as his speed will assure that there is no delay in conveying Surok’s commands.”
Balthus had indeed returned to Zenk after his part in the deception which removed Parnasus from the battle in the grasslands of Sejira. While all the leaders of the Free People were gathered around the statue of Surok he quietly took his leave and flew back to where the real Zenk was hiding.
“Yes, Balthus will minimize any delays,” the wizard said.
“For reasons that escape me, the animal seems devoted to you. See that you keep it safe, for without it you are of even less value to Surok, and it would give me great personal pleasure to devour you once your usefulness is exhausted.”
The wizard swallowed hard, knowing that the demon would suffer no failure from him. He looked at the Silestran’s sharp claws and fangs and shuddered visibly. This caused the monster to smile. “Do not wander far from the image of Surok. It is there I will look for you when your services are required.”
Zenk watched as the Mouthpiece walked away, then headed in the direction of the square, negotiating his way through the debris which surrounded it. As he did, he looked to the sky above the city. In a circular disk, which expanded only slightly beyond the wall surrounding Stygia, boiled the clouds of Surok. Although he had not seen the demon himself anywhere within the confines of the wall, the weather remained ever overhead.
As he approached the square, with the lofty effigy already in view, Zenk heard screams to his left and turned to see a group of Silumans who had captured a pair of women. As he looked on, the creatures, with their gray-toned skin and disconcerting blend of Silestran and human features, began to tear off their limbs and feed upon them. As dark as his heart had become, the sight never failed to sicken him. Even as they subjugate themselves to Surok, his monsters continue to use them as fodder, he thought. I came to him because I had nowhere else to go and because I seek to depose Parnasus. These people have no more than an ancient grudge to motivate them, yet they do his bidding knowing that they are as likely to be eaten as to be used to defeat the enemy. A chill shook him as he realized his own situation was not measurably better.
He walked away as the screams abruptly ceased.
9
Purpose Revealed
Ban and Slurr were walking through the streets of Trakkas. Although Slurr would have rather conversed about any other subject, Ban had asked about the recent battle. “How did the enemy come at you? Did the monsters swarm you?”
“No, not at first. You have probably heard that the people of Stygia have joined with Surok. It was they that led the charge.”
“It has taken me a while to accept that Surok is even real,” admitted Ban. “I have lived my life believing only in what I could put my hands on.”
Slurr smiled. “Yes, and from what you’ve said, you put your hands on as much as you could.”
The left side of Ban’s mouth turned up into a half-grin at Slurr’s allusion to his thievery. “But,” he said, not responding to the good-natured jape, “I cannot understand why any humans, a race which they tell me he seeks to exterminate, would ally themselves with him.”
“Well, first let me assure you that Surok is very real. The wizards’ first contact with him happened nearly a thousand years ago, and Cerah has seen him using magical remote vision more than once. And,” he said shuddering slightly, “I have seen him with my own eyes, although at a great distance. When he called his troops to retreat from the battle outside of Thresh, he appeared in the sky many miles out to sea. Even with the wide separation between us, he was fearful to behold.”
Ban pondered this for a moment, then asked, “So were the Stygians difficult to fight? Are they effective warriors?”
“Not particularly so. At least not the ones we encountered. They were mainly old men and…” Slurr hesitated before continuing, “…children. They sent out boys as young as yourself, younger even.”
“I know there are warriors in your army that are still in their teens,” Ban said.
“Yes, but when our forces were being raised, Cerah was adamant that no one younger than herself was to fight. Thus, our youngest soldiers are seventeen. Even then I loathe seeing them in combat, though they have fought bravely. The Stygians seem to require only that the child is substantial enough to be able to lift a sword. Some of those I saw could only just barely do that.”
As they were walking they heard a voice call Slurr’s name. It was Yarren. As they came together the young wizard said, “A scout reports that the Stygians have set up an encampment in the Zursh Forest.”
“It is probably the ones that fled the battle, fearing to return to the walled city and face Surok,” Slurr guessed.
“Indeed, that appears to be the case. But another rider reports that a far larger force is marching to join them. Parnasus believes Surok will likely use them against us in some way. They can certainly reach us more quickly than a unit coming all the way from Stygia.”
“Did the scout see anything to make him think the encampment was ready to mobilize?” asked the general.
“On the contrary. They appear to be dug in. If they were planning an attack when the reinforcements join them, they would be much less entrenched. Do you think we should move against them?” Yarren asked.
“No. Not yet. Surok’s tactics have grown more erratic as time goes on. A direct assault on Trakkas may not be his plan. I would very much like to be a fly on one of their tents. Knowing their intentions would give us a great advantage,” Slurr answered.
“That’s it!” Ban shouted suddenly. Yarren and Slurr turned to look at him, startled by his outburst.
“What’s what?” Slurr asked.
“I know why I was sent to you!”
“Explain, please,” said Yarren.
“Slurr, you just told me that the Stygians have thrown their children into service of Surok, right?”
“Sadly,” Slurr replied.
“But don’t you see? In an army of men and monsters the presence of a child would be quickly noticed. But if there are already boys in the camp, then another would arouse little suspicion.”
Slurr quickly realized what Ban was thinking. “No. Don’t even finish. I will not send you to infiltrate their encampment. The danger is far too great. If you’re found out they’ll feed you to the Silestra.”
“I wouldn’t make much of a meal,” Ban replied, smiling despite the general’s protests. Growing serious once more, he went on. “You have to let me go, Slurr. You said yourself that knowing what Surok was planning could mean the difference between victory and defeat. The Stygians are willing to put their children in harm’s way for him. I would look like just another of these unfortunate boys. They wo
uld have no reason to suspect anything.”
“He makes a good argument,” Yarren said to his friend.
“The very idea turns my stomach,” Slurr said. He hesitated before continuing. “But I cannot deny that were you to succeed we could deal Surok a significant blow. Still, the thought of sending a twelve-year-old boy into such a hazardous situation goes against everything I believe.”
“General,” Ban said, “until this moment I have been unable to see a single reason for my being sent here. I know you would never allow me to join you in battle, and I cannot cast spells. I am completely aware that my presence is far more of a complication than an asset. But this I can do! I can sneak into the camp, keep my ears open and sneak out without them realizing I was ever there. I can be of value to the Free People. I’ve never really been of value to anyone. This is why I’m here!”
For a long moment Slurr said nothing, clearly weighing out the many facets of Ban’s proposal. Then at length he made up his mind. “Alright. You can do it.” He turned to Yarren. “But I want a rider hidden in the forest, far enough from the encampment that he won’t be discovered, but close enough that Ban can reach him easily. I want him out of there the minute he hears anything that can help us. Or at the first indication that something is going wrong.”
“I will fly him there myself,” said Yarren.
Slurr hesitated. “I would prefer to keep you with me, so much have I come to rely upon you,” he said, “but on the other hand I would trust no one more. Very well. You will be his escort.”
“Then it’s decided,” Ban shouted. “I’ll start out at once!”
“Take a breath, little man,” Slurr said, laughing despite the gravity of the situation and grabbing him by the back of the shirt. “You can’t go looking like that.” Slurr had insisted that Ban change out of his ragged clothes and get cleaned up. He now realized that he wouldn’t pass for a Stygian warrior-child in his new, clean, better-fitting garments. “Although we left most of the enemy dead for the animals of the forest to feed upon, I had some our warriors gather the bodies of the fallen boys. We have some armor and a weapon that you can wear. I guess you’ll have to rub some of the dirt we squilgeed off you back on,” he said. “At least your hair is still messy.”
A Single Candle (Cerah of Quadar Book 3) Page 13
