The Foundlings (The Swords of Xigara)

by J. Mark Miller

  The second day passed much the like the first until late in the afternoon. Tander was in the midst of munching on his evening meal when Chrysafi trumpeted. Tander looked up to see a sliver of land in the far distance, spread out north to south as far as he could see. The boy was sure the dragon had been able to see the continent for some time, but had waited until he was certain it was within Tander’s perception before drawing his attention. Even so, Tander knew they had hours of flight ahead, their destination far into the landscape beyond the coast.

  It was well after twilight when Tander awoke with popping ears as the dragon plummeted from the sky. The stars were obscured by thick clouds, and the air was hazy. Chrysafi seemed to be covered in a dusting of powder. Tander thought it snow at first, but then he gathered some into his hand and held it up to inspect it in the dull moonlight.

  Ash.

  Curious, Tander was forced to wait as the dragon spiraled downward. A jagged range of mountains rose up ahead, separating the northwestern corner of the continent from the rest of the landmass. The lands northwest of the mountains consisted of prairies dotted with an untold number of lakes and ponds, an area virtually uninhabited. A few nomadic tribes wandered this land known as the Zarah Wold, following migratory herds of goa and wisent moving across the plains like vagabonds blown about by the whims of the seasons.

  Their destination was a few miles just outside the region’s only permanent settlement, the village of Neleh. It was something of a Maehdrasian outpost left over from the days of gold prospecting but now little more than a trading outpost. A few adventurous traders spent the spring and summer months bartering food and steel weapons for spare furs and elegantly carved scrimshaw from the nomads.

  Chrysafi alighted near a grove of trees, his wings kicking up thick swirls of dust and ash. Tander covered his nose and mouth, but too late to prevent a fit of coughing. The grit worked its way into his eyes and he was in tears before they touched the ground.

  “Forgive me, manling,” Chrysafi looked back over his pinions, “I forgot you mammals don’t have inner eyelids to protect from the dust. I should have warned you to cover up. The ash shouldn’t be so bad further south.”

  “Where’s it coming from?” Tander asked as he wiped his eyes with a rag. “Is a forest on fire somewhere?”

  “No,” Chrysafi dipped his head to help Tander clamber down. “Mount Uwd has been erupting for weeks, spewing ash into the sky. The upper winds are carrying the ash across the world. Most of it has blown northeast, but a storm cycle brought a fair amount westward. It hasn’t drifted far south yet, so your destination should be clear.”

  “Mount Uwd?” Tander asked as he unstrapped his packs. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Few have on your side of the world, but you may have heard it called the Dreadcrest.”

  Tander shivered as his blood chilled. “The Evil One’s lair,” the boy’s voice shook in fear.

  “The same,” Chrysafi said, “A false volcano raised to serve as his fortress. It is also the lair of my clutch-brother, Mavros the Black. It’s far to the northeast, but its eruption will affect the whole of the north for months to come. The ash blocks the heat of the sun, bringing an earlier, colder winter. The coming months will be brutal for many, and I fear many will die.”

  Chrysafi let the harness slough to the ground and Tander began bundling it up. He paused as a thought came to mind. “You said your destination a moment ago. Why didn’t you say ours?”

  “Ah,” chuckled the dragon, “the ears of a bard indeed. It’s because this is the end of your journey with me, manling. Your presence is needed, and a faster steed is necessary.”

  “Faster?” Tander went wide-eyed. “I didn’t know there was anyone faster than you.”

  “I am among the swiftest of my kind,” Chrysafi said, “though my father can achieve slightly greater speeds. Another of my kin, my brother, is the swiftest by far. He will see to it you arrive at the Shrine by this time tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Tander sputtered. “How’s that possible?”

  “I think it better you experience Mahir’s speed first hand rather than have me try to describe it,” Chrysafi said. “Nothing in all Onúl’s creation is faster than Mahir.”

  “Then I won’t get much rest I suppose,” Tander sighed.

  “Why do you say that?” Chrysafi asked.

  “You said he could get me to the Shrine in a day,” Tander said, “so he must be close at hand. That means I’ll be airborne again soon.”

  “No,” the dragon gave a toothy smile, “I doubt Mahir has even left home yet. We’ll camp here for the night. He’ll arrive some time after breakfast.”

  Tander stopped and stared at Chrysafi, his mouth agape.

  “A proper meal would do us some good,” Chrysafi chuckled. “Go gather some wood while I hunt, but don’t try to start a fire until I return.”

  “Why?” Tander asked.

  “The surrounding nomads are friendly enough, but yrch have been known to range freely across these plains. A fire might attract them, but they wouldn’t dare approach a dragon.”

  Chrysafi spread his wings then paused. “Besides, why would you try to make a fire yourself when you’ve got a dragon who’ll do it for you?”

  As Chrysafi predicted, the air was split by a distant roar an hour after breakfast. Tander looked up to see the familiar shape of a dragon hurtling out of the sky. Mahir was smaller than Chrysafi, though larger than Sidero, and his body was long and lean, with sleek, back-swept wings.

  “Cover your face, manling,” Chrysafi warned. Tander wrapped his hood around his face, taking no chances until he was sure the ash had settled.

  “The Evil One has much to answer for, brother” Mahir’s voice danced like chimes in the wind. “This ash will ruin my glossy shine.”

  “A crime indeed,” Tander felt Chrysafi’s rumbling laugh through the ground. “It’s safe, manling. The ash has subsided.”

  Tander dropped his makeshift mask and was greeted with the most stunning sight in his young life. Blinding in the morning light, Mahir’s shining form sat nearby. Mahir’s hide wasn’t scaled like his kin, but rather a seamless surface, polished like a mirror. His hide rippled and swirled like liquid.

  “Quicksilver!” Tander exclaimed.

  “Yes,” the dragon smiled proudly. “Mahir at your service.”

  “Wow,” was all Tander say.

  “Careful, manling,” Chrysafi warned. “Mahir’s already vain, don’t inflate his ego.”

  Mahir let loose a chiming laugh. “Come, young one. Time is short and we have far to fly. Help my brother fit the harness to me and load your gear.”

  Chrysafi shifted to elven form and helped make adjustments. While Chrysafi’s body had pointed ridges running down his spine, Mahir possessed needle sharp spikes from the top of his head to just in front of his withers. Those atop his head were nearly a foot long, but grew smaller down his neck, the last one scarcely an inch long. Winglike membranes stretched between the spikes, creating a fan down Mahir’s neck.

  “Wow,” Tander said again when he discovered Mahir’s hide responding to his touch. It was like running his fingertips across the surface of a clear pool of water. He stared at his own reflection, surprised by the rugged young man staring back at him.

  “It’s time to depart, my friend,” Chrysafi’s voice brought him out of his reflection. “I pray Onúl carries you until we meet again.”

  Tander locked arms with Chrysafi, surprising him by pulling the pseudo-elf into a heartfelt hug. Mahir’s laughter split the air again and said, “The boy’s open with his feelings. I like that.”

  Tander stepped back, his face serious and grave like Vonedil once taught him. “You’ve honored a child with your care, and shared your ancient storehouse of wisdom. I’ve been made better for it, and will treasure it all my days.”

  “I think he’s saying you’re old, brother,” Mahir taunted.

  “Quiet, brother,” Chrysafi chided. “You’re the
same age as me.”

  “Climb on, young one,” Mahir said. “We must be gone.”

  Tander scrambled up the slick dragon’s back and strapped in. “I’m ready,” he told the dragon.

  Mahir spread his wings and hurled himself into the blue like a silver arrow.

  Far below, Chrysafi roared in farewell.

  50

  Outside Hocsaros

  Thick blankets of fog rolled off the dark waters of the bay, obscuring the city of Hocsaros from more than fifty-thousand hungry eyes. Emperor Eldinn sat in the flickering lamplight, perusing the reports from his commanders. A recent meeting with his generals had left him in a pleasant mood. His war was going well, and it hadn’t even begun.

  Twenty-five arrays of two thousand men stood ready to descend upon the unsuspecting city. Eldinn had spread them across the surrounding countryside on both sides of the imperial road east of the River Shalash. The men were camped with orders to forgo cook fires, and Eldinn was confident the residents of Hocsaros suspected nothing. It was customary for the empire to patrol the plains north of the city, and his army was spread far enough that anyone coming to and from the city would see nothing more than a single encampment

  Neither could anyone approach or depart the city with Eldinn’s knowledge or leave. He controlled the water too, his Imperial warships on high alert filling the bay. More ships from Ethasin and Sha’ar stood at anchor just around the peninsula, ready to block any retreat by sea.

  In terms of manpower, Eldinn’s losses from the fire in Madhebah and the collapse of the Bastion were minimal. Few soldiers had been killed in either catastrophe, and thousands of refugees had swelled his ranks. Other than the loss of the Bastion itself, the assets of the surrounding city remained mostly intact. It was almost as if whoever had caused the ziggurat’s collapse had made an effort to kill as few people as possible.

  Two full arrays had been left behind at Madhebah to direct the rescue and clean-up efforts, and impose martial law. Eldinn’s lords would enforce progress alongside the Imperial constabulary. Eldinn had promised new homes within the city walls for anyone who’d lost theirs in the fire or had fled the Bastion, if they would serve for a year in either the reconstruction efforts or the army.

  Eldinn smiled privately. If the war went as well as he expected, he might keep his promises.

  He’d ordered the city around the Bastion evacuated by civilians, then sent General Dix, his closest friend and advisor, to oversee the recovery of the treasures buried under the massive mound of rubble. Loyal to the core, Dix would ensure every gemstone and gold strip was accounted for and safely transported to the Imperial vault in Madhebah.

  Five more arrays of soldiers were on a fast march towards Hocsaros. Two of them, marching all the way from Taliton, would arrive too late. Two others from Ustragion and Etlantus would arrive two days hence, though Eldinn expected the campaign against Hocsaros to be in its final stages by then. The fifth array was unaccounted for, and the couriers he’d sent to Caurama hadn’t returned. He held faith those soldiers would appear soon enough.

  Eldinn smiled again. The filthy barbarians infesting Hocsaros would be dead, dying, or running for their lives before long, and Eldinn would have his war.

  A brisk wind whipped through the tent flaps, one far too cold for southern climes. Half of his lamps went dark. Eldinn slammed the reports onto his table with a curse and thought to call for a valet, then realized he could relight the lamps himself far more quickly than the boy could arrive to do the job for him. He snatched up a scrap of parchment to catch afire but stopped when he felt the chill left behind by the wind creeping across his skin.

  A muffled thump sounded outside the tent, followed by another. Then the tent flap was ripped aside to reveal a giant woman dressed in dark armor. Light and heat were sucked from the air as she entered, shocking the breath out of the emperor. He managed enough wit to draw his sword, holding it out with shaking hands in the dim light.

  “Who are you?” he demanded between gasping breaths.

  Two sets of eyes pierced the darkness, one high and one low, both luminous yellow. The lower pair seemed to swirl in place, radiating a feral intensity, a wildness scarcely under control. The others were brighter, as if they contained a smoldering fire ready to erupt into the tent’s confines. Eldinn felt the malice behind the eyes, an evil too old and profound to contemplate.

  Even so, Eldinn refused to back down to a pair of trespassers, regardless of the danger. He was the Emperor of the most powerful kingdom to ever bestride the world and he would never cow-tow or surrender unless there seemed no other way out. Even in capitulation he would play whatever games necessary to win, survive, and prosper.

  “I said,” he repeated in a stronger tone, “who are you?”

  Fingers snapped—unbearably loud. Eldinn dropped his sword and clapped his hands over his ears. The lamps flared with a sizzle, filling the room with cold blue light and revealing two of the strangest creatures Eldinn had ever seen.

  The tall one was chillingly beautiful. Her porcelain skin was framed by long dark hair flowing from underneath a wickedly spiked helm. Arrayed in black armor, there was an evil sword strapped to her side. Her face wore a cruel smile but her eyes radiated hatred.

  Hatred directed at Eldinn.

  Her companion stood in stark contrast, a female dwarf covered from neck to toe in white armor. Most startling of all was the dwarf’s complexion, bleached skin and pure white hair. The only color on the little woman was her malevolent yellow eyes, and her crimson smile.

  Eldinn shuddered as he realized the dwarf’s sharp teeth were coated in fresh blood, as if she’d bitten a chunk out of a live animal.

  “A single command and this tent will be swarming with soldiers,” Eldinn warned weakly. “You’ll never make it out alive.”

  Faster than Eldinn could blink the little dwarf was holding a sawtoothed dagger against his jugular.

  “Can you cry out faster than I cut, big man?” the dwarf’s throaty voice grated. Eldinn felt his blood trickle down his neck where the razor sharp teeth of the blade pierced his skin.

  “Heel, Dar,” the woman’s voice chilled Eldinn’s blood. “He’s worth preserving—if he’ll cooperate.”

  With a growl in her throat, the dwarf pulled her dagger away but left it at the ready near the emperor’s heart.

  Eldinn clenched his teeth together to stop their chattering. “Who are you?” he managed to force out.

  “I’m impressed,” the woman said. “Most men grovel at my feet. You have backbone. I may be able to use you.”

  “I will not by used by you or anyone else,” Eldinn said. “I’m the Emperor of the most powerful nation in history.”

  Even faster than the dwarf, the woman swept her sword from its sheath, rushed across the tent, and grabbed Eldinn’s neck in her hand, lifting him off the ground. The tent dimmed as her ebon sword absorbed the lamplight.

  “Only fools are bold when faced with the goddess of death,” she seethed as her grip on his neck tightened. “I do not suffer fools, I rid the world of their blight.”

  Eldinn hung in her grasp, his feet kicking in a desperate desire to find solid ground. Sane opened her hand and let him collapse onto the dusty floor. He massaged his bruised neck as he pulled himself up to his chair. He looked at Sane with a mix of fear and hatred. Fear would keep him in line while she put his hatred to her personal use.

  “What does a goddess of myth want of me?” Eldinn rasped with the last vestiges of his defiance.

  “Myth?” Sane laughed. “Do I look like a myth, little king? Do not the scriptures tell of me and my kin?”

  “I don’t get around to reading the scriptures very much,” Eldinn said. “I have an empire to rule.”

  “Do the clerics no longer rail against me and my kind in their dreary homilies?” Sane scoffed. “Are we so forgotten among humankind?”

  “I don’t get to the temple much either,” Eldinn said. “Haven’t been back since my coronation,
in fact. I’ve little time for superstitious priests who try to control my decisions in the name of spiritual guidance. What need have I for Onúl when I’d have been made emperor with or without his blessing?”

  “You were right, mistress,” the little dwarf chuckled, “he is ripe for your service.”

  Staring daggers at the little woman, Eldinn forced what steel he had left into his voice. “I’ll ask you again, what do you want?”

  Sane stared Eldinn down, giving him the impression she was deciding whether or not she’d let him keep his head. The lamplight flared again as she sheathed her sword, and Eldinn breathed in relief.

  “I’m the answer to those prayers you’ve left unspoken, little man,” Sane smiled, a smile somehow more chilling than the dwarf’s. “Serve my ends and I will ensure your victory.”

  Eldinn decided to take a diplomatic tack. “While I appreciate the offer, goddess, I don’t think I need any help. Take a look at my army.””

  Sane’s hand drifted toward her sword in irritation. Eldinn stiffened, but held her gaze. “Your army is formidable, yes, but inadequate for the task.”

  “What task?” Eldinn asked.

  “Nothing less than the annihilation of the Devoted.” Her cold smile returned. “Your army will be our instrument of destruction.”

  “Then I’m already working toward your goal,” Eldinn stated. “I plan to conquer Ulquiy, and they are by and large Devoted practitioners.”

  “You misunderstand, little man,” Sane said. “We do not desire conquest, but oblivion. Not one follower of the Faith on this continent is to remain alive by the end of your campaign. You will sweep the land free of their taint with our help. The rivers will run with their blood, the valleys will be filled with their carcasses. Then, and only then, will you truly reign supreme.”

  Eldinn tried to speak, but Sane swiped her hand through the air, motioning him to stay silent. “You must prove your worth, little man. Continue with your plans, with one alteration.”

  “Alteration?” Eldinn raised an eyebrow.