by Isaac Hooke
I think they’re on a different shift, Abigail said. At least, for their sakes, I hope they are.
It doesn’t matter, Malem said. All shifts and rest periods end now.
Malem brought the dragons to the center of town, where many of the buildings were complete. Here, there were wide, paved clearings that could easily fit the dragons, even Nemertes: the great blue landed in the main square that abutted his future palace. The towers and outbuildings of the latter structure were progressing well, and workers had already started working on the outer wall.
Malem directed the remaining Metals over the palace, and they deposited the coins they had collected from the dragon hoard in the well-guarded outbuilding that served as the makeshift treasury. Then they returned to the square beyond, which his army had named Breaker Square, and landed Abigail next to Nemertes.
Malem removed the harness that bound him to Grendel, and she stood up; her dress flowed down immediately, covering her legs once more. Too bad.
He opened the harnesses that bound him to Abigail’s wing stalks, and stood.
“Well, that was a fun ride,” Grendel said. Still standing on the silver’s back, she gazed at the surrounding buildings, and the palace. “This city is yours?”
“It’s mine,” he said distractingly. “As is the army.” He was still fuming about the lack of mobilization exhibited by said army. While it wouldn’t take long to switch the troops into a state of readiness, he was angry more because they hadn’t obeyed his orders than anything else.
How am I to lead, if they don’t listen to me?
Grendel was nodding at his previous comments. “You always did exude an aura of power. This, all of this, explains that aura, perhaps.”
“Does it now?” He beckoned toward the backpack she yet carried, and she removed it. Malem stuffed the harnesses inside, and slid the pack over his shoulders.
“Abigail, let us down,” Malem said.
The silver dragon lowered her leathery wing, and he slid down. At the bottom he caught Grendel, who descended just behind him.
Her breath was wild with exhilaration. “That never gets old!” But when she realized he was holding her, she promptly pulled away from his grasp.
He smiled patiently, and turned toward the palace, wanting to talk to those who ruled in the absence of the Black Swords.
But his gaze was caught by the sprawling fountain at the center of the square, where dwarven and Eldritch sculptors carved what appeared to be life-sized effigies of himself and his team.
He walked to that fountain to watch the sculptors work. When finished, it would be a beautiful piece. Now that he was closer, he definitely recognized himself and his companions; his statue was holding Balethorn, and his expression was radiant as he swiped at an invisible foe. The women were carved in exquisite detail as well, down to their dress—the bladed skirt for Ziatrice, the scales of the armor Gwen wore—and some took the forms of miniature dragons.
Seeing himself and the others thusly honored calmed his rage somewhat.
“I don’t look that heroic, do I?” he asked Gwen when she came up beside him.
“To me, you always do,” Gwen replied.
“That was the right response,” he told her, looking into her eyes.
Her eyes dipped to his lips longingly, and he felt like kissing her right there. And he might have, despite the jealousy it would have evoked, but then Nemertes spoke.
“Can we cut this sword off my back?” the great blue dragon boomed. “And give me a rest from this damn burden?”
Malem glanced at the surrounding Metals. “Do it.”
The dragons cut away the ropes and tendon cords that bound the Balor’s blade to her back, and Nemertes folded her wings out of the way, and carefully sloughed the heavy weapon off her back. It clanged loudly on the cobblestone when it struck.
“Careful!” Goldenthall said, rushing to the blade. He patted the black metal gingerly. “You’ll hurt her!”
Nemertes rolled her eyes, and lumbered to the shade produced by the palace, where she promptly collapsed. The big dragon fell asleep almost immediately.
“Gannet, see that she’s fed,” Malem said. “She’ll need her strength for the flight to come.”
“I’ll see to it,” Gannet said.
“She’ll be useless in the final battle,” Mauritania commented. “Too weary from carrying that blade.”
“She’ll be able to do a little bit,” Malem said. “But she’s useless against the Balors themselves anyway. You saw how quickly she fell against Vorgon.”
“Only because she was surprised,” Mauritania said.
Malem considered that. She had a point. “Anyway, I need to see the men you left ruling in your wake.” He glanced at his companions who had assumed the position of Black Swords—his top lieutenants. “All of you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” a deep male voice thundered. “I’ve taken charge of all of them.”
Hastor had arrived—the big black dragon was perched on a building next to the square. That was another thing about the particular architecture Malem had requested—it had to be able to support the weight of dragons.
The Black was sweating, no doubt from the effort of clearing the trees along the edges of the forest. Or perhaps the creature was merely nervous because it had disobeyed Malem’s orders. He did sense a slight nervousness with his beast sense, but that could just be the nerves that came from dealing with your king and emperor.
When Malem didn’t answer, Hastor added, hastily: “Nemertes appointed me the acting Black Sword of the dragons. Because dragons rank in power above all other species, the other races naturally fell into a position of subservience beneath me.” The dragon licked its lips nervously.
“Where are my manners?” Malem finally said. “Hastor, it’s good to see you.”
“And you, Breaker,” the Black said, seeming slightly at ease by his words. “Oh, before I forget, I wanted to mention: I’ve been talking to my fellow dragons about potential solutions to your treasure problem. It would be a pity if you couldn’t pay the army for all the hard work they’ve been doing. Soon, we dragons will no longer be needed to fell trees and dig foundations, as the designated extents of your city will be reached; and before you repurpose us to other tasks, I’d ask that you consider allowing us to undertake expeditions to the khroma mountains, where we might search for abandoned dragon dens to refill the treasury. We’ll avoid any hoards that are guarded by living dragons, of course, and—”
“Yes, that sounds great,” Malem interrupted. “But tell me, I sent two dragons this way… did you not receive their message?”
Hastor frowned. “The two deserters who arrived last night?”
“Those would be the dragons,” Malem said.
“We didn’t believe their message,” Hastor said. “We caught them passing through our territory, and we thought they were saying anything to avoid punishment.”
Hastor nodded to a side street that abutted Breaker Square, he saw two Blacks tied to stakes, baking beneath the sun.
“They didn’t carry a signed document, like the previous messengers you sent,” Hastor explained. “So we assumed… you’re saying they spoke the truth?”
“They did,” Malem said.
“Oh,” Hastor said. “Whoops.”
“Cut them down,” Malem said.
“It will be done immediately,” Hastor told him. “I’m sorry. Would you like me to stake myself in their place?”
“No,” Malem said, realizing he was the one who had made an error here. He would learn how to do this ruling thing properly yet. “You did the right thing. You can’t just believe the words of some random deserters who drop in telling you to mobilize the army. Official documentation slipped my mind.” He glanced at Mauritania and Ziatrice. “You should have spoken up when I dispatched those dragons.”
Mauritania shrugged. “I would have, but I knew it wouldn’t matter anyway. The army can mobilize quickly. I thought it would be a good les
son for you, this way. Next time, you won’t forget to send an official document along with your orders.”
“By the way,” Hastor said. “Speaking of official documents… no Metals have yet to come to inspect our weaponry of behalf of King Agantas.”
“They’ll come,” he said. “Eventually. But right now, we have more pressing matters.”
“I’ll have the army mobilize after I cut down the deserters,” Hastor said. “Where are we going?”
“Only to fight a couple of Balors,” Malem said.
Hastor’s face dropped. But then the dragon recovered. “Ah. That explains the sword Nemertes carries. Shall I tell the troops our final destination, or would you prefer I surprise them?”
“You might as well tell them,” Malem said. “I pay them enough that they won’t desert. At least I hope not.”
“We’ll soon find out,” Gwen said.
“You can promise them fresh loot,” Malem said. “The army of the Balors will have enchanted items, no doubt. Those items are theirs for the taking, along with any other valuables we find, such as the Balor blades.”
Hastor nodded. “The latter two weapons will certainly pique the interest of the dragons.”
With that, the dragon marched off to free the deserters, and to distribute his mobilization orders.
Malem glanced at Ziatrice. “It’s almost time to put your dark magic to use.”
She nodded. “I’m looking forward to it.”
34
Malem stood with Mauritania in Breaker Square. Behind him, distributed across that square, and the side streets beyond it, his army had gathered. The troops were separated into different divisions by race; these divisions were further subdivided into brigades by specialty: cavalry, archers, infantry, mages, and so forth. The bigger monsters were at the front.
Ziatrice rested on the ground beside him with her legs crossed. In front of her lay the Dark Eye, its black depths holding her attention.
Next to her stood Mauritania, Weyanna, Solan and Gannet. His remaining companions resided next to the fountain to his left, whose construction had been abandoned for the time being.
“Are you ready?” he asked Mauritania.
“No,” she replied. “But we have to do this, so we might as well get it over with. I doubt we’ll be attacked by any dark denizens on the other side, considering our numbers, but you never know.”
“Do your best to avoid any fighting,” Malem said. “I need the army rested for what comes. Well, as rested as can be expected, given how far they have to march.”
“Once we arrive in the general area, we’ll have some time to rest,” she said. “The seconds pass slower in the Black Realm.”
“They certainly do.” Malem glanced at the night elf. “Ziatrice, it’s time.”
She ignored him, and simply stared into the Dark Eye.
“Ziatrice!” he said.
She started, and then looked up at him. “Already?”
He nodded.
The night elf returned her attention to the Dark Eye. Black mist drifted from her eyes in profusion and flowed into the dark sphere. In a few moments, a rip opened in the air above it. Pure black, it was little bigger than the size of a door.
“Can you make it larger?” Malem asked. “We need all of the land-based monsters to fit.”
Ziatrice sighed, and concentrated. The door enlarged. It was just big enough to fit the bigger monsters. The ribbons of dark magic she fed to the door became a trickle as she switched to maintenance mode.
“We’ll see you shortly,” Malem told Mauritania.
She nodded, and entered the dark portal with Weyanna, Solan and Gannet following close behind.
Their energy bundles immediately faded in his head. They were still present, but he detected them only very weakly. They still gave him the slots of their Breaking, but he wasn’t able to communicate with them.
The army divisions followed them inside. The bigger monsters passed through first, including the Eldritch, and when the smaller, man-sized troops took over, Ziatrice reduced the amount of magic she fed to maintain the gate and it shrunk to the size of a regular door. Still, some of the taller troops had to duck as they passed inside.
During that time, Malem kept well back, joining his remaining companions next to the fountain. They were surrounded by orak guards—many of them dark mages disguised as ordinary troops. It was a little surety in case anyone decided to try their hand at assassinating him. The troops couldn’t be all that pleased about traveling to the Dark Realm, with the eventual goal of facing off against the armies of two Balors. There was definite fear in many of those eyes.
Yes, not all of them could have been pleased to be going up against their former master, especially considering they knew how powerful Vorgon was. But Malem did see eager glints in some of those eyes—those who desired revenge against the Balor. That was what Malem liked to see. He could harness that.
But as for the others, those whose faces were full of fear… he realized the promise of loot might not be enough to hold them when the time came. They might flee as soon as the front ranks began to buckle beneath the terrible fiery weapons of the Balors.
Well, this was the only army he had. He treated them well, better than Vorgon ever had. He hoped that treatment, as well as their relatively high pay, would be the glue that kept them bound to him. That, and the penalty for desertion. And if not, he’d just have to start Breaking them during the fighting.
Desertion.
He had always promised himself he wouldn’t rule by fear. Deserters wouldn’t be slain, but all of their belongings would be taken, and they would be cast out, left to fend for themselves in the wild. If they were monsters, they would become potential food for the rest of the army. If they were men, well, they’d have to go back to banditry. Of course, that penalty might not be enforced, not if Malem lost.
So yes, he was perhaps somewhat lenient when it came to desertion, but he refused to rule any other way. If men and monsters deserted, then so be it.
As the different soldiers marched through, often their gazes were drawn to the Dark Eye. Neither man, dwarf, night elf, Eldritch or orak were free from its pull. Malem had experienced it himself. The distracted soldiers stared into the black depths, sometimes tripping on the cobblestone or walking into the man or monster directly in front of them.
It took half an hour in total for the land-based component of his army to march through, and then Ziatrice released her maintenance magic, and the portal vanished.
She slumped.
Malem fed her stamina, and she stood up on wobbly feet.
“Well, I guess it’s time the rest of us took the dragons, huh?” Ziatrice asked.
Malem nodded.
Many soldiers had remained behind, most of them mages, including his personal orak guard. Several of these had won the right to ride the dragons, and included men, Eldritch, night elves, dwarves, goblings and oraks alike. Not everyone was coming, of course: many soldiers would remain behind to protect the city while the main army was gone. Malem had assigned a few of the most powerful mages among them to guard the treasury, along with several basilisks, hill giants and ghrips he had personally Broken. Those monsters were no longer bound to him, of course—he’d turned them into pets of sorts, which happened when monsters remained joined to him for a long time. Nemertes displayed a similar degree of loyalty as these monsters, owing to her own long-lived connection with him.
The Metals helped load Banvil’s sword onto the back of Nemertes once more. Oraks climbed all over the great blue, and used ropes to secure the weapon in place.
Malem clambered onto Abigail’s back. She had retrieved a fresh saddle designed for dragons, as had the other Metals, and he sat in it, securing his feet in the provided stirrups. The other dragons—that army of Blues and Blacks two hundred strong—also had saddles to accommodate their riders.
“Announce our departure,” he told Abigail.
“Riders, board your dragons!” the silver boome
d.
The riders clambered up the wings to take to their mounts.
Grendel didn’t have much experience riding dragons, so he had her pair up with Wendolin on one of the Blacks. He supposed he could have Broken the Black and flown it for her, but he preferred to leave as many slots free as possible for Breaking enemies.
When everyone was secured, Malem told Abigail. “Let’s do this.”
“Fly, dragons!” Abigail roared.
The great winged beasts took to the air en masse. They were like a flock of huge geese taking to the skies and they flew in a similar V-shaped formation, with Abigail at its lead.
Malem had the dragons assume a circular holding pattern while waiting for Nemertes to take to the air. The big blue seemed to be having trouble taking off from Breaker’s Square.
The sword that broke the camel’s back, Abigail commented.
Malem studied the struggling blue. She certainly has her work cut out for her. He focused on Nemertes’ energy bundle. Are you all right?
My age is catching up to me, I’m afraid, Nemertes said. Either that, or I’ve been enjoying too many fat wildebeests of late. I think I need to go on a diet. Nothing but lean human meat for me, going forward!
Malem leeched stamina from Gwen and Wendolin, and fed it to Nemertes. How about now?
In answer, she finally took to the air. Don’t think this means I’m not going on my human diet.
For now, you’re going to subsist on a diet of uraks and other dark hosts, he told her.
Balor, too? she asked.
If you can stomach it, he replied.
Oh, I can stomach it, don’t you worry, she said. I’m looking forward to tearing nice big chunks out of Vorgon’s face. Demon fricassee, anyone?
And so the dragons flew to the northeast. This time, Malem didn’t allow Nemertes to lag on the rear, and instead had the others form a tight circle around the lumbering dragon, so as to better protect her should trouble arrive. Abigail was still at the head of the formation of course, along with Sylfi and Brita, as was only right. They matched their pace to Nemertes, currently the slowest member among them, thanks to her burden.
