FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  Darik had spent enough time with Whelan to recognize the struggle raging through the man while the viziers and guild representatives spoke with the khalifa. Whelan was overjoyed that she was alive, and would have given his own life to protect her, but his duty to the Brotherhood and King Daniel was greater. Darik found it inconceivable that something could command a man’s loyalties more than the khalifa.

  Darik had carefully avoided Fenerath, the guildmaster, afraid that his rage would undo him in front of Whelan and Khalifa. Instead, he had suffered the man’s presence, swearing to himself that he would regain his family honor. Then, he told himself, he would return to Balsalom and demand Fenerath’s apology.

  After the conference ended at the guildmaster’s house, he and Whelan slept, then made their way through the Gates of the Dead at dawn, into the Tombs of the Kings, turning south away from the Veyrian encampment. A ring of people slumped on sharpened stakes about the city, crows and vultures feeding on the dead bodies. Darik avoided this carnage, afraid to find his sister among the dead.

  “Remember this when your resolve fails,” Whelan said. “If the dark wizard wins, he will line the Tothian Way for a thousand miles with such victims.”

  They made their way through the tombs, looking for Flockheart and Daria. “Can I ask you a question?” Whelan said. “What did you think of Mol Khah?”

  The question surprised Darik. “My impressions? I don’t like him, of course.” He shook his head, stomach turning at the memory of the girl thrown through the air to die when she hit the street. “But that’s not what you mean, is it? Mol Khah had an arrogant self-confidence, given the situation. I thought it strange.”

  “Yes, that’s what I mean. Why so confident? He might have been acting, but I don’t think so. No, he knows something, or thinks he does. But what?”

  Darik shrugged. “No secret wizardry or weapon, or else he would have used it. He must expect something or someone to rescue him before Kallia overthrows the palace.”

  “You might be right. But here—” he said, changing the subject. “Isn’t this where we left Daria and Flockheart?”

  Darik looked around. They stood between two facing mausoleums. “I think so.”

  “Darik! Whelan!” Daria called behind them. She stood at the entrance to one of the tombs, its front eroded. Darik caught movement in the darkness of the tomb. Griffins?

  They embraced her in turn. “The griffins,” Whelan said. “We need them.”

  “Oh,” Daria said. “My father saw some antelope and went to snare one for the griffins. He didn’t dare fly them.”

  “How long ago?” Whelan asked.

  “Two hours. He said it might be mid-morning before he returned.”

  “Ah,” Whelan groaned. “Mid-morning? That’s too long. I’ll have to get along by myself. Stay here with Darik and tell your father where I’ve gone.”

  “I can fly,” Daria protested. “I fought at Montcrag.”

  Whelan’s voice was gentle, but firm. “I know you can. But without your father, I can’t risk your life.”

  Daria was just as sure. “But the griffins are in my care. I won’t let you fly Joffa unless I come.” Her lips tightened.

  Whelan sighed, and Darik could see him wavering. “Very well. Darik, stay and tell Flockheart when he returns.”

  “I’m coming too,” Darik said.

  “Two men on one griffin? No,” Whelan said.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about,” Darik said. “I’d ride the third griffin.”

  “Oh, no,” Whelan said. “You can’t ride.”

  “He can ride Brasson,” Daria said. “Brasson has survived more battles than any man. I’ve seen Darik ride. Averial trusted him well enough. Brasson will trust him, too.”

  Whelan sighed again, looking from Darik to Daria. “Very well. Don’t get yourselves killed. If either of you or the griffins are wounded, fly away. Be careful. We are mostly a distraction.”

  Whelan lifted his finger. “Ah, I know.” He pulled a carved wooden whistle from a string around his neck and gave it a short blast. It let out a high, shrieking sound, not unlike the cry of a wounded bird. The griffins cocked their heads and eyed him quizzically. Whelan handed the whistle to Darik.

  “What’s this for?” Darik asked.

  “I use it when I’ve lost Scree in the trees. It’s his signal to return to my fist. If you’re in trouble, blow it. The whistle will be easier to hear than a shout in the chaos of battle.”

  He turned toward the tombs. Darik put the whistle around his neck. Daria gave him instructions.

  “It’s different flying a griffin in battle. Brasson knows what to do better than you do. Once you close or decide to flee, give him his lead. He’ll know when to attack and when he’s overpowered. However, if there is something in the sky, and that is unlikely today, he may get anxious to make battle. If you see that you are overwhelmed, don’t engage, but fly. A full grown griffin, Brasson especially, can outrun anything but the swiftest bird.” She smiled. “Not many birds will attack a griffin.”

  They climbed on the back of the griffins, leaving the saddlebags behind. It felt much different sitting alone and Darik had a moment of panic, remembering the lurch of the animal beneath him, but imagining himself alone and in battle, swinging his sword about like an oaf. He tied himself to the tether.

  Whelan told Daria the plan, again warning her about unnecessary danger. And then they were off, soaring north, with the sun rising to their right. Balsalom stretched below them. Smoke churned from the palace on the far side of the city. Cloud castles gathered overhead.

  Darik tried to steer, but Brasson ignored him, following Whelan and Daria. Brasson was even larger than Averial, with powerful muscles and an effortless wing stroke.

  Mol Khah’s garrison entrenched itself amongst the tombs just west of the Gates of the Dead, with Cragyn’s hammer pointed at the city walls. Even from the sky the Hammer was impressive, a metal tube stained black from fire. Men scurried about the opening, packing sacks down its mouth. He could see the damage in the city walls where the bombard pounded. A few more shots would open a breach.

  Kallia’s men gathered behind the Gates of the Dead, ready to surge out when they got the signal from the walls. There weren’t as many Balsalomians as Darik hoped. The Veyrians, however, looked at least three hundred in number, and had positioned themselves behind a wall of broken stones gathered from the tombs.

  The griffins made two passes over the enemy camp to draw the enemy’s attention. A few Veyrians launched arrows into the air that fell well short.

  Whelan raised his arm and brought it down on the third pass, giving the signal. They dove from the sky, griffins screaming. Darik held on in sheer terror, fighting the urge to squint his eyes shut. He reached one hand for his sword, then thought better of it and simply hung on.

  Whelan and Daria scattered men in front of them, then swooped back in the air. But Brasson, under less guidance, dipped lower. Darik felt a lurch and heard a scream and then Brasson rose and followed the others. Darik looked down and saw Brasson with a man in its talons, one gripping the man by his neck, the other clenching a leg. Back paws scratched at the man’s armor.

  With the extra weight, Brasson took longer to gain altitude. Arrows whizzed by, one of them sliding over Darik’s shoulder. The man struggled, making the griffin lurch to one side. At fifty feet, Brasson dropped the man, who fell screaming to the ground.

  Whelan wheeled around and shouted. “Not so low!” He gave the order to attack again.

  Darik nodded, but he noticed that the enemy scattered more quickly this time. He looked over his shoulder and saw the Gates of the Dead open and the khalifa’s army pour out. The enemy did not yet see this new threat.

  The griffins rose back into the sky, and as they did, Darik saw a cloud of dust north of the city. Darik pointed to the north. Whelan frowned, then gestured for the others to follow him to investigate.

  Their work below had done its job. Kallia’s men
rushed from the gates, driving into the disorganized Veyrians. Balsalomians scrambled over the barriers, scattering the enemy. Darik turned back to the commotion north of the city.

  An army marched along the Way. Darik thought at first they might be from one of the other cities revolting against Cragyn. But no, there was no way that they could have heard already and sent aid. But neither could Mol Khah have sent for help so quickly. The grand vizier’s spies had spotted an army several days away, making its way west. But nothing so close. Perhaps Cragyn’s march through the Western Khalifates had disrupted Saldibar’s spy network, or some of his spies had turned.

  They flew in low, and Darik saw his fears confirmed. They wore the black and scarlet of Veyre in the front, while rows of camels lumbered further back in the army, ridden by men in gray robes with black and gold bands about their heads: Kratian nomads. No wonder Saldibar’s spies had failed: the Kratia lived on the southern deserts. They wouldn’t have reached the Tothian Way until earlier this morning.

  Sinuous shapes rose from the army to meet the griffin riders. Dragon wasps. Fifteen or twenty of them. The dragon wasps rushed to attack.

  Whelan and Daria spotted them at the same time, and turned to flee. The griffins could fly fast, but it took them longer to bank and turn than the wasps. By the time they turned around, the griffins had flown completely over the new army, and were surrounded by dragon wasps.

  Chapter XIII

  THREE DRAGON WASPS SET UPON Darik and Brasson, dragon kin on their backs. Brasson leaned to one side, but one of the dragon kin jabbed his spear as it flew past. A sharp pain bit Darik in the shoulder.

  Brasson lurched to one side, and grabbed the wasp by the neck with its talons. The creature struggled to free itself while the kin pulled his spear around to jab into Brasson’s underbelly. Darik drew his sword, leaned over with one hand on the tether, and knocked the spear away. The man snarled and jabbed his spear at Darik instead. Darik ducked away. The spear jabbed his shoulder.

  The pain in his shoulder throbbed when Darik twisted away. He released the tether and grabbed at the spear to wrench it from the other man.

  The dragon kin had only a tenuous grip on its mount and Darik’s pull wrenched him from his saddle. The man struggled with the spear, while Darik tried to let it go, hanging half way over the saddle. Darik grabbed for the tether, both the spear and his new sword falling to the ground. He hung upside down beneath Brasson, only the tether holding him in place.

  Also no longer holding on, the dragon kin grabbed at the wasp’s head. It snarled and snapped its jaws, still trying to free itself from Brasson’s talon’s. The man fell to the ground with a cry.

  Darik didn’t see where he fell. He was fighting for his life, trying to get himself back on top of Brasson, but he flailed underneath. His face scraped against the griffin’s back claws. The tether held his waist, but it wrapped his chest and cut his air. He tried to pull himself up, but the tether spun around and pinched his hand.

  Brasson fought his own battles. The griffin cast away the dragon wasp, the creature crippled by talon, claw, and beak, then turned hard to avoid two more wasps at his haunches. Brasson dropped twice to get Darik back on its back, but there were too many attackers.

  At last Darik gripped the tether with both hands where it crossed over Brasson’s back and pulled himself up until he sat in the saddle. Brasson sped away, outdistancing the dragon wasps. Darik looked over his shoulder.

  Whelan and Daria were in trouble. Whelan’s mount was younger and not as powerful as the others; three dragon wasps clung to its back and side. Whelan had killed or dismounted all three riders and slashed at one of the wasps, but his griffin dropped under the weight of its attackers. He fell into the city, and friendly troops ran to finish the wasps when he landed.

  Daria, however, had been driven north of Balsalom and the Tothian Way, and was beset by a dozen dragon wasps. She tried to gain open space where Averial could spread her wings, but the wasps drove her this way and that. Instead of fleeing for the city, she tried to climb higher, into the clouds.

  “Ska!” Darik shouted, digging his heels into Brasson’s flanks. Brasson saw Averial under attack and screamed in rage. Dragon wasps snaked their necks in surprise at this new threat, then raced to intercept him.

  A wasp met them head on, but Brasson cast it out of the way with its beak. The dragon kin on its back threw his spear, but it flew wide.

  “Darik!” Daria cried.

  Blood stained her face and ugly gashes marred Averial’s flanks. She pointed in the sky and he could see why she was climbing. Floating overhead was a cluster of cloud castles, each standing atop a single, massive cloud. From this close, some of them looked strikingly like Montcrag perched on the edge of the cliff.

  Racing to protect his mate, Brasson scattered wasps in front of him. Freed momentarily, the two griffins climbed; Daria swung her sword, striking one wasp across its leathery wing. Below, a dozen wasps gave chase. Their only hope was the cloud castle.

  Giant windmills on the end of the cloud churned a strong wind, and when the griffins flew into this current, they fought to fly straight, while wasps tore at their flanks. At last, however, the winds grew too fierce for the smaller wasps and the griffins continued alone; the wasps circled below, waiting for them to come down again. The two humans ducked their heads and hung on tight.

  And then they crested a cloud, and Darik got his first, wondrous glimpse of the Cloud Kingdoms up close. The cloud stretched for several miles from one side to the other. Clouds bulged around the end, but from above, the rest of it looked like the ground, with rocks and dirt, and plowed fields. No other buildings stood on the cloud, except for the three windmills and the castle that jutted from a rocky promontory about a mile from the edge. The entire cloud made him think of an island, only an island sat in the middle of the sea, while this floated on a sea of sky.

  The scope of the magic required to build these Cloud Kingdoms took his breath away. If it took the blood of thousands to bind the Tothian Way to Mithyl, what had it taken to lift kingdoms into the sky? He couldn’t even imagine who had such power.

  Other cloud castles floated nearby. Darik saw six others, some larger or smaller, some with buildings and houses among the fields, but all floating at about the same level, windmills churning. Darik thought of the steel tome and its diagram of windmills.

  Darik and Daria landed in a field and climbed off the griffins, breathing hard. While Daria turned her attention to Averial’s wounds, Darik touched the ground. It felt solid enough. Fog clung to the ground at ankle level in places, but other parts were clear.

  The fields were corn and barley, lined with hedgerows, all of it incredibly green. A few sheep grazed quietly, paying no attention to them or their griffins. He saw nobody tending fields or animals.

  They were discovered. The gates opened on the castle, and a cavalry rode forth. Dozens of white horses and white-armored riders. The gates issued forth not at ground-level, but some fifty feet above ground. The horses leapt from the gates and galloped across the sky.

  Darik turned to Daria, amazed. “The horses can fly.”

  “Winged horses,” she said, wonder in her voice.

  The horses sped rapidly in their direction. “Are the griffins all right?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” She took Averial by the tether and instructed, “Hold Brasson.” She continued, “I’ve never seen a winged horse, but Father told me of them.”

  Both horse and rider shimmered in pure white. The men were armed with white shields and gleaming swords or painted white lances. When they drew near, the griffins struggled to fly, but the two humans kept them on the ground. The cavalry circled overhead, then landed with a flurry of neighs and nervous prancing.

  One man rode his mount to face the two companions. He wore a white helmet with sweeping wings that drew back from its crest. He removed the helmet to reveal a young man with white hair and a clean-shaven face. Drawing his sword, he addressed the two companions.<
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  “In the name of Collvern, Lord of the High Kingdom, and his magistrate of justice, I place you under arrest. Throw down your weapons.”

  Kallia had watched the three griffin riders with growing elation. They’d driven the enemy from defensive positions. The Veyrians didn’t spot her men charging from the gates until they drew within fifty feet. Some turned to fight as captains screamed for them to fall into position, but many simply fled. Balsalomian forces overran the bombard within the first ten minutes of battle.

  Kallia stood on one of the towers overlooking the Gates of the Dead. Of all the defensive towers in the city, these were the oldest, dating from before Balsalom itself, when this was another city. Syrmarria itself had been destroyed in the wars, but the gates and the walls on this side had been intact enough that the founders of Balsalom had simply incorporated the old stone into the new defenses. These towers had been strengthened over the years and connected to the garrison quarters behind them.

  Because the gates were shorter than the gates on the north of the city, and the guild towers blocked her view of the Tothian Way, she never saw the new army, never knew anything was wrong until Whelan’s griffin screamed into the city with dragon wasps attacking it on all sides.

  Whelan brought his mount down near the Gates of the Dead. The dragon wasps kept attacking when he landed, but Balsalomians with swords and bows drove them away. Whelan’s mount bled heavily; he didn’t stop to care for the griffin, but ran to the tower where Kallia stood. Kallia and Saldibar hurried to meet him.

  “Pull back,” Whelan gasped. “A huge army is riding toward the tombs. Several thousand horse and footmen. And camel riders.”

  Kallia realized her mistake. Mol Khah had been smug, she’d noted, but her worry had not been another army, but that Cragyn himself would send help. She had known that if Balsalom couldn’t take the palace before the dark wizard returned, they would have no hope of holding the city.