Then he saw it. Satinka’s army broke around their right flank and, in a fury, charged.
Edana saw it as well. “So your Galen is indeed resourceful! Well, we may lose this battle, but at least I’ll have the satisfaction of being rid of him and his Circle of Brothers!”
Satinka’s army screamed its rage. They raised their swords into the morning sun.
“Galen!” Cephas shouted. “Death coming er is!”
Galen turned to his old friend. “What is it?”
“Cephas feels through er boots!” the dwarf roared. “A thousand steps er is and more!”
Galen cast frantically around the plain. Then he saw it, the billowing dust just over a slight rise in the distance. Satinka’s entire army of Elect warriors was bearing down on his circle.
He glanced down. It was faded and soiled nearly beyond recognition, but he still wore his rose-colored doublet. He had wanted to impress his wife so much that day. All he had had to do was get through the Election. Yet this magic had chosen other fates for him. He once had a life, and it was gone. Now the horde would rob him of his breath, and that would be the end of Galen. Did the magic do this to him or was this his fate from the beginning? Perhaps, he thought, the magic was his true self, and that happy life before was the illusion.
He did not choose the magic; the magic chose him. Now he would die for the magic. Perhaps that, too, was what was fated for him all along.
He raised his sword and yelled.
“Berkita!”
45
Tin Soldiers
A most interesting move, Master Xian,” Dwynwyn said casually. She knew that she was playing two games at once, and only one of them involved the pieces on the board. “I wonder that the great leader of the Kyree has time to play a game with a faery at all.”
“You wonder too much,” Xian grumbled as he looked over the pieces on the board once more.
“It is my calling to wonder,” Dwynwyn replied. “We are always in search of truths which have not yet been discovered. You, for example, are a truth which is new to us.”
“Are you trying to annoy me?” Xian answered. “We are not some ‘new truth’ to you . . . unless there is something very wrong with your memory or your records.”
“Our records are very complete, I assure you.”
Xian snorted.
“I have seen the histories myself,” Dwynwyn said carefully. “They are shaped into the trees of the tower of Qestardis and are complete all the way back to the founding of the Seven Kingdoms.”
“The Seven Kingdoms?” Xian shook his head. “What arrogance! You think there was nothing before your Seven Kingdoms? You faeries are all alike! Self-centered, self-important—you think that nothing existed before you gathered out of your forest hiding places and called yourself a nation!”
“Before the Seven Kingdoms there was only chaos!” Dwynwyn asserted.
“No,” Xian answered back, his hand slamming a piece down farther up on the board. “Before the Seven Kingdoms there was a different order.”
“No. The histories are clear on this. The faeries fled the chaos of the east and established the Seven Kingdoms in the west. This was the beginning of the Age of Light when reason and truth ruled—”
“Reason and truth?” Xian snarled. “Before your precious Seven Kingdoms were a forbidden hope in any faery heart, our empire spanned a continent! We soared over the Cliffs of Kagunos where the gods of Halehi blessed the centaurs of the eastern shore. We slept in the Glades of Magrathoi after we conquered their fortresses on the southern isles. Our armies stood guard over the clouds off the western Aeries on the shores of Dunlar! The glory of our cities filled the crags to the very peaks of Mount Isthalos, our monuments touching the face of the sky itself! We flew over lands ten times the size of all your kingdoms combined. We hunted you for sport, faery. We are not a new truth; we are just an old truth you chose to forget.”
He snatched another piece and smacked it down on the game board.
Dwynwyn considered the board. Xian’s pieces were vulnerable on the left side. She reached forward tentatively, and then pushed three pieces forward, threatening the left side of Xian’s line as she spoke. “Your nation must be great indeed.”
“We were great,” Xian said roughly, “and we will be again, with your help.”
Xian reached his hand toward the wingless man.
“No,” Dwynwyn said sharply, cupping her hand over the piece on the board. “You’ll get no help from me.”
His sword extended, Galen stood with Cephas at his right side, his face grim. Rhea and Maddoc were on his left, Rhea’s face a mask, while Maddoc’s lips were curled in a snarl. Around them the other warriors of the Circle anxiously handled their swords, their fingers playing against the hilts.
This is the reflection of death, Galen thought. This is what we look like when we face our end. He thought about the beautiful winged woman and wondered what she would think of all of this. Was she a goddess of Old Rhamas? After years of worshiping the Dragonkings, would it do any good to call on her now?
Then he felt it; the power welling up inside him. There, in the back of his mind, hovered the winged woman from his mad dreams. Her hair flowing about her, she was submerged, sinking away from him into deep, green waters. Her hand was closed around something; holding it out toward him. Hope and pleading filled her large, beautiful eyes, and he reached for it in his mind.
He knew what she wanted him to do.
“Your swords!” Galen cried urgently. “Present their hilts!”
“What?” Cephas roared. “Mad er is!”
Doubtful faces turned toward him.
“You do remember how I’m supposed to work, don’t you?” S’shnickt demanded.
“Hold your weapons with the pommel out!” Galen commanded in a voice filled with resolve. “Do it now! Do it and we’ll live!”
He held up S’shnickt with the blade pointing down. The polished black stone in the pommel glinted in the sunlight of the morning sun.
It was joined at once by thirty-five others.
Tragget could not take his eyes from the small group at the bottom of the hill. The deafening rush of Satinka’s army rolled like a tide across the undulating landscape of the Enlund Plain, flattening a wide swath through the tall grass in its wake. Her warriors were frenzied in their bloodlust for Vasska’s army. Tragget was sure that the small cluster of Galen’s so-called Circle could not help but roll under its headlong stampede like a pebble beneath a flash flood.
Still, he could not look away. That might have been him down there, he realized. He could have been down there awaiting his own death, for he was as insane as Galen, and in the eyes of Vasska, he knew, the more culpable. Yet his mother had seen the signs in the dreamsmoke; his destiny was to take the magic forward and save mankind. He would be the father of a new future for humanity, and the price was this man’s blood. The heart of the fool would be taken here as the prophecy had foretold. Perhaps this one man’s death was the price the magic demanded, he thought, perhaps greatness comes at such a cost.
So Tragget watched as this small group would pay the price for his glory and humanity’s future.
There was a glint and a flash among the Circle warriors. A flickering, pale light shone around them, making it difficult for Tragget to see. The light grew brighter and became steady. It was Galen, Tragget knew; one last trick before he died.
Satinka’s warriors approaching the Circle pressed forward their weapons and screamed as they charged.
Two dozen warriors of Satinka’s frontline troops collided with the Circle . . .
. . . and vanished.
“Just stand right here, Your Majesty,” Mimic said with contrition. “You’ll be the Titan in our demonstration. You’ll see everything more clearly from here.”
“Wonderful!” the Dong croaked as he waddled in among the small mechanical goblins. “Where ever did you get such an astonishing idea, Mimic?”
“Well, Your Majesty,” Mimic
responded with a knowing smile, “that is why I’m the new Chief Engineer!”
Xian stood up suddenly, his anger flashing into fury. “Who are you to tell me no? Who are you to deny me anything? You know nothing of the world beyond your petty little kingdoms and your petty little intrigues in your petty little courts!”
Dwynwyn stood suddenly in fright, stumbling backward from the fierce onslaught. “What do you mean? What has happened in the world?”
Xian yelled in his fury, the back of his hand sweeping across the table and sending the game and its pieces flying across the room.
“Great kingdoms are dying in the world—passing into the cold night of history—and you want to play games?”
The board crashed to the stone floor, the pieces tumbling.
Tragget screamed curses to the sky, to himself.
Satinka’s army continued its charge, but in the center the rampaging warriors were vanishing as they came in contact with the brightly shining hemisphere of light. The line of the attack surged forward for a few moments on momentum alone, the army being cut neatly in half where Galen’s Circle held its ground. Then in a spreading swath, the charge began to falter. Warriors trying to leap around the devastating and terrifying globe ran afoul of the warriors at their sides. Some fell underfoot, trampled, while others knocked into their fellow warriors, sending them all sprawling to the ground. Others attempted to stop or flee backward in midcharge, so that the line of attack bent backward in the center.
Then the hemisphere began to widen slightly, at which point Tragget noticed the noise, and the wind.
The glowing circle was not just absorbing those who came in contact with it, it was drawing bodies into it. A mystic whirlpool, it was pulling warriors into its shining vortex and dragging them out of existence.
Satinka’s Aboths on the opposite hill began to understand the enormity of the disaster below them. They struggled to pull their warriors out of the charge and back toward their hill to regroup, but they had already lost control. Parts of Satinka’s army were scattering across the battlefield, while others continued their charge in weakened and unsupported pockets. These slammed into the rear of Vasska’s troops, causing terrible damage but failing to break through his line. Vasska’s troops turned to engage on both sides. The careful lines of battle were disintegrating into chaos all across the battle plain.
Suddenly, a single screech tore over the land. Tragget looked up toward the terrible sound.
It was Satinka. Tragget was not nearly as proficient in dragon-talk as his mother or any of the rest of the Pentach, but the single word Satinka bellowed in her outrage rang clear in his mind.
“Cheater!” the dragon spat at Vasska.
Satinka vaulted into the air, her enormous, sleek body arching over the field. She straightened out, her wings pulling her, it seemed, toward Tragget. Her venomous eyes, however, were locked behind the Inquisitor.
Tragget heard a terrible sound and felt the tumult in the air behind him.
Vasska, standing behind Tragget, was rising into the air to meet Satinka.
The rules of their war had been broken.
For the first time in four centuries, the dragons would do battle themselves.
Then Tragget realized his mother was still in Vasska’s pouch.
Mimic stood back from the display on the floor. With the Dong standing at the center, it all looked exactly as Mimic remembered it from his dream. It looked as he had seen it in his mind three days before and as the fiery, hooded creature had given it to him in a vision.
He walked over to Gynik. She was holding his book—the book from the Titan—and looking rather self-conscious about it. Mimic took the book and opened it to the middle. The symbols on the pages had power, he knew, though they were otherwise meaningless to him. He placed his hand on the book and concentrated on its pages for a moment.
Ping! The mechanical goblins chimed.
Zing. Whirrrrr . . .
The little goblins slowly turned on their little legs.
Dong Mahaj-Megong was beside himself with delight. He bounced up and down in the center of the devices, clapping his chubby hands together. “Wonderful! Wonderful! No other kingdom can come close! I’ll shame them all with this! They’ll all bow down to me!”
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The mechanical goblins raised their bright little swords, their keen edges gleaming in the throne room light. One foot after the other, the devices clanked around the Dong in a circle.
“You see, Your Majesty,” Mimic began, “when the—”
Sproing!
One of the strange winged figures bounded into the air. Its wings extended at once to a three-foot length and began flapping smoothly with a whirring sound. It wheeled in the air and turned.
Mimic was dumbstruck. The mechanism was actually flying in a circle around the Dong.
The Dong giggled. “Mimic! You are a genius!”
Mimic was confused. The mechanism was not supposed to behave this way. “Your Majesty, it’s not supposed to . . . I mean, it wasn’t meant to—”
Sproing! Whirrrrr . . .
A second winged monster bounced into the air, unfolded its wings, and soared around the Dong in pursuit of its partner.
“Your Majesty,” Mimic shouted, trying to be heard over the noisy mechanisms tromping about the room. “There seems to be something wrong with—”
The Dong was laughing too hard to hear him. “I’ll bring every kingdom in the world under my thumb with this!” he bellowed. “There isn’t an imp, gnome, gremlin, or goblin that won’t sell their masters out in a snap to be a part of this!”
The third creature leaped up into flight.
Mimic took his hand off the book. He tried to concentrate on stopping the mechanisms as he had stopped the Device before, but the power had taken on a will of its own. It had heard Mimic’s inner voice, known his inner desires, and moved to comply.
The flying monsters wheeled as one to attack each other. . . .
With the Dong standing between them.
The razor-sharp talons tore at the other creatures, but the Dong was in the way; they ripped gashes in his face. The serrated teeth in their little mouths snapped at one another, but the Dong was in the way; they gouged chunks out of his flesh.
“Stop, Mimic!” the Dong shouted. “I see the point of your demonstration—how the Titans fell! You can stop it now! Stop it!”
Mimic panicked. He waded in among the mechanisms, frantically trying to bat the flying creatures away. Then he looked down.
The metal goblins had turned and were converging on the Dong.
Queen Sihir tore the air with a shrill scream.
Mimic kicked at them, knocking several of them to the floor. They righted themselves almost at once and turned once more toward the Dong, their little swords pressed forward for the attack.
The mechanical goblins sprang as one, burying the Dong under an avalanche of whirring gears, rods, and springs. Mimic frantically pulled at them, trying to pry them loose. He was still tugging at the metal goblins when they all fell over into a heap on the floor. Mimic fell with them, ending up lying on top of them.
Only the Dong’s crown rolled free, spinning circles on the stone floor until it came to a noisy stop.
Tick. Tick. Click! BZZZzzz . . .
The entire pile stopped.
Looking down past his gleaming mechanical warriors, Mimic saw the dark stain slowly seeping from under the heap of mechanisms.
Gynik saw it, too. She looked from the deadly gleaming pile of metal, to the empty throne, and then to Mimic. Then she turned and, in quick steps, mounted the dais of the king.
“Sihir,” Gynik sneered, looking down on the horrified current queen. “I sincerely hope you stole liberally from the kingdom while you could, for I believe your position has just been terminated.”
Sihir glared at Gynik for the last time, then she leaped from the throne and fled the room.
Gynik descended the dais and stepped quickl
y over to where the Dong’s crown had come to rest. She snatched it up off the ground. She then turned, stepped over the pool of blood, and stood next to the mechanical pile.
“May I present my husband”—Gynik’s voice dared anyone in the throne room to contradict her—“the Dong of our new kingdom, a kingdom whose name shall be determined at a later date! Dong Mimic! King of the Goblins!”
With that, she placed the crown on Mimic’s head where he still lay shaking with his hands closed over a pair of bloodstained mechanical goblins.
46
Small Sacrifices
Dwynwyn hastily stepped backward, her wings pressed suddenly to the closed door. Xian threw the table over in his rage, his own wings quaking behind him. In two powerful strides, the Kyree master reached the Seeker, his large, rough hand grasping her by the throat. “You want to know why I have time to play games with you, you little bug? Because I’ve already won! You faeries are all so unfailingly predictable! Lord Phaeon made the same mistake—he lumped the Kyree in with all the other unwashed masses you call Famadorians. He thought we were all alike; as though some horse-assed centaur were even remotely akin to the Lords of the Sky! He came to us. He was arrogance and superiority and we nodded like the polite little Famadorians he wanted, all the while knowing that it was him who needed us.”
“Please! Stop!” Dwynwyn cried. “You’re hurting me.”
“Oh, am I?” Xian seethed, his words dripping vicious sarcasm. “Am I hurting you, little bug? Why would I want to do that? You’re just one little bug, just like the one little bug that came to our land some years ago. He was a Seeker, too, if one believes the frantic few reports we got near the end; a little Seeker bug just like you. He had powers, too, that one.” Xian’s words suddenly turned dark and threatening. “And now they’re gone, all gone! The glory of a thousand years fallen with such speed that all there was left to us was to flee before its terrible darkness!”
Mystic Warrior Page 38
