by Alison Baird
Syndra looked at Erron with contempt. “What is this you are saying? Do you think you could rule Talmirennia?” she said.
“I speak only of ruling my own people,” he said, “and freeing them from a ruler who has lost both his true form and his wits.”
“And your ambition would stop there? With the Tryna Lia and the Avatar both gone, and the Emperor dead of old age? But you will never sit the Dragon Throne, Erron Komora. You have not the power to keep it.”
“And Morlyn has?” he returned, his tone peevish and biting.
“He and I. Yes, in one thing you are correct: my sorcery is growing stronger by the day. Have you ever been to the grotto of Elnemorah, Loänei?” Syndra inquired. “No: for you would fear to go there. There is a power that dwells in that dark place that no man can endure. But I have gone there, and seen with my own eyes the image of the world-goddess carved into the black, volcanic stone: the stone that once was fire. She has a woman’s shape, but is fanged and clawed like a beast, and wound about with the coils of serpents and with tongues of flame. She was there, Erron, before the Loänei, and before the Dragon Kings: long, long before her image was hewn out of the rock by human hands. She rules all the living creatures, and the molten fires deep in the earth: they rise at her command and destroy all in their path. But after the burning rivers cool, they turn to soil and green things grow in them. For that is her nature: like the creeping thing that hatches its young and then devours them, she is life and death in one. Virgins were sacrificed to her in ancient times, to stay her wrath. But the old goddess does only as she wills.”
“What of it?” he demanded, though something in her look made him a little afraid, and he backed away a step. “She is no longer revered in Nemorah. The people there have forgotten her. Did you think to call on her for aid?”
“She can still be summoned,” Syndra replied. “I did call upon her, there in the grotto, beseeching her to send her power into me. And she did, Loänei. I left that place filled with a new vigor and potency such as I have never felt before—as though my veins were filled with fire, like the earth’s. I knew then that I too could give life, or destroy it, at my whim. I called serpents and wyverns to me, and they obeyed. And you would have me for your consort? I am beyond you, Erron Komora, as the sky is beyond the earth. And so too is the throne that you would claim.” She drew her robe around her, and turned away. “Summon your Loänan allies, and go back to Nemorah, and I will say nothing of this to Mandrake. I know that you are only a fool, and no threat to me or to my lord. But trouble me again with your folly, and I will not be merciful.”
He retreated, and she walked toward Mandrake: but the red dragon did not look once at her, only lay gazing pensively at the world above him, with its lands and little seas half-swathed in cloud. With most of Arainia’s Wingwatch in its skies or flying ceaseless patrols within its icy rings, the few Loänan who had been stationed here on the little moon-world had fallen easily. They had expected the full brunt of the attack to fall on the mother-world, and the flights of savage firedrakes and rebel Loänan had taken them by surprise. Even so, the outcome might have been different had the firedrakes fought alone. Loänan hated these creatures, abominable distortions of their race. But the true dragons had no wish to battle other Loänan, and their reluctance to engage with their treasonous kin had weakened their resistance. Those few not injured in the initial encounter had been forced to flee to Arainia and alert the others there. Their warnings would do little good. The Valei had won for themselves a base from which to mount the further assault on Arainia: already a small force of Morugei and their human allies, commanded by King Roglug, had journeyed in flying ships to the southern shore of Eldimia where no army existed to resist them.
As Mandrake waited a huge firedrake came flapping over to his position and settled beside him. The firedrake was much larger than the red dragon, but even its fierce and bestial mind acknowledged his authority. Mandrake was more formidable in any form he chose to wear than the firedrake could ever hope to be, and the latter knew this.
“There were not many, Lord Prince,” the great black beast said, little spurts of blue-edged flame flickering between his tusks as he spoke, “and most are fled by way of the portal—save for a few that were sorely wounded, and cannot fly. May we not kill them?” His talons flexed, and his mighty jaws opened wider.
Such an act, Mandrake thought, might well turn some of his Loänan allies against him. It had been difficult enough to persuade them to act in concert with the fire-breathers. Even Torok looked uneasy, shifting from one clawed foot to the other and darting side glances at the firedrake from his slitted eyes. “No; for we may need them to bargain with later. Leave them be for now.” Mandrake dismissed the firedrake and turned back to his contemplation of the planet. It gleamed before him, like a globe of blue glass that he might reach out and take in his taloned claw. Ailia is there, he thought with a stirring of the blood that was half-wariness, half-anticipation. So near . . .
He turned again as two figures took shape in the air a wing length away. Elazar and Elombar loomed up before him, robed and crowned in fearful majesty: they had made their ethereal images huge to match the size of his dragon shape. “I say again, Avatar, that is a perilous place,” said Elazar, pointing to Arainia.
“Too dangerous for demons?” Mandrake mocked. “I thought you were immortal, and impervious to harm?”
“We are. You are not,” replied Elazar. “And you are central to our great campaign. I tell you, many Archons are in Arainia—all those on the side of our enemy. Have you not yet felt their presence?”
Mandrake did feel something, a vast oppressive power from the planet above, such as one might feel from a lowering thunderhead. The Archons . . . Could it be? His old suspicion stirred again. The Archons are returning from the Ether, they did not die out after all, they have merely been waiting to come back and take the worlds for themselves again . . .
A slight tremor ran through the red dragon’s vast and powerful frame. His mastery of Valdur’s magic was not complete: he had asked for aid only, not surrendered himself altogether. For that he must go to Ombar, to the old seat of the dark Archon’s strength and the bastion of his ancient reign. Mandrake’s fear of that place had not abated. There, he knew, the grim citadel that had been Valdur’s during the great cosmic war still stood in the shadows of eternal night—its obsidian throne sitting empty, waiting to be filled again. Valdur’s essence lived on in his star, the demons said, but was imprisoned there: no material form could be his ever again. It was for any claimant, now, to take that throne and rule as lord of the Valei empire. Why then did he hesitate?
Elombar said, “You know that Ailia is an Archon’s child. Her mother is the ancient ruler of that sphere, and has passed on her authority to her daughter to command the Old Ones still dwelling there. The man Damion is one of these, for he also is the offspring of an Archon. His mother was not mortal.”
Mandrake turned on the apparitions in anger, displaying tooth and claw. “These are the same lies that were spoken in Zimboura. Damion is dead!” he snarled.
“No. His mortal nature only was destroyed. It was but one half of his being. He lives now as an Archon, greater than he was before. And he can be summoned by any mortal to return.”
Mandrake was silent, pondering this. If it were true, then he had gained another fearsome enemy. And yet he was also aware of a curious paradox: the murder of her beloved Damion must have been the chief grievance and cause of Ailia’s animosity against Mandrake. By returning from what had seemed to be his death, Damion removed that cause. She no longer had reason to hate the Dragon Prince. It might still be possible to effect a reconciliation, and thus free himself of the need for the demons’ protection. The possibility of regaining his cherished freedom beckoned and tantalized him.
The demon spoke on. “Ailia has countless allies in Arainia: there she is stronger than you. Unless you call upon the Deep Power that was Valdur’s, you cannot face her in that worl
d. Only call it, and you will be greater than any mage of any race—impervious even to iron, like the cherubim, for the power of Valdur is that of the Elyra, the star-lords. Ailia could not stand against you then, not though she called on all her strength and her mother’s also. For Elarainia is but an Elaia, one of the lower Archons, and was never Modrian-Valdur’s match.”
He trained his ethereal orbs on the dragon, but Mandrake made no move and gave no sign that he had heard. His mind was already mapping out plans of his own. “Very well,” the Dragon Prince said at last. “I will not go. Let the Valei try to assault her if they wish. I understand Roglug has already led a force there by flying ship. But I will not seek to drive her forth nor overpower her. So long as it is clear she dares not face me, I have already won. If she wishes to fight, why then she can always break our siege—and leave behind the planet that grants her power. But I will not meet her again on her own ground.” And he wondered, as he spoke, if they guessed that he lied.
BY SLOW DEGREES AILIA CAME back to herself again. Opening her eyes, she looked up at a face directly above her own: an angelic face, surrounded by a nimbus of luminous golden hair. She croaked, “Lorelyn . . . ?”
“Oh, thank goodness you’re with us again,” the girl said. “Auron brought you back here: you had been in the trance a long time, and you were quite cold. Are you all right?”
Ailia nodded and sat up. She saw that she had been lying on the ground atop a Hollow Hill, while Lorelyn and Jomar knelt at her side; the girl’s fair hair was shining in the light of the torch that Jomar held. Auron was there too, lying with his chin on the ground, while Taleera perched on his back. Ailia stood up with Lorelyn’s help; she felt drained and a little light-headed still, but also exhilarated. “Mother—Damion,” she said, as soon as she could speak. “I saw them, saw them both.”
“Saw them? Where—in the past?” Lorelyn glanced in puzzlement toward Hyelanthia, its heights lost now in darkness.
“In the Ether. They live on, in that realm, and can project their images from there. My mother met with me in the past, and I saw Damion too. He is safe, Lori. We haven’t really lost him.” She debated telling what she had learned of Damion and Lorelyn’s parentage, and of her own. But how to tell this girl standing before her that she had been born in a bygone era, that her mother was five centuries dead—and, moreover, that she was the child of a being from the Ether? Not now—I cannot tell her now. This was not the moment: she must wait until she had Lorelyn alone. Privacy, and a little space of time, would cushion the impact of the revelation.
“But will we see him ever again? Jomar and I?” implored Lorelyn.
“Perhaps. I can’t say. I had only a quick glimpse of him myself.” At the memory longing filled her again. “I’m sorry—I can’t speak of it now. I will tell you all I learned and saw, later; for now, I am just glad to know that he wasn’t destroyed.”
They walked back down the hill together, Jomar and Auron following on foot and the firebird flying ahead. Ailia still felt oddly disconnected from her body, and had to lean on Lorelyn’s arm. “While you were up there, we saw the most extraordinary show of lightning on Hyelanthia,” Lorelyn told her. “The flashes just went on and on, lighting the clouds up inside. Auron says he didn’t cause it, and that your trance might have been responsible, though he wasn’t sure. But it stopped when he carried you away from there. And the enemy was frightened.”
“You say the Valei are here.”
“Yes,” Jomar told her. “No firedrakes yet, but goblins and Zimbouran rebels from Mera. They’ve taken some Elei captive.”
Ailia forced herself to stand upright. “But how? How did they come here? I expected firedrakes, rebel Loänan—but not a land army, not yet. There are no portals here.”
“They must have come by flying ship. They’re not a huge force, but they’re beginning to advance through the forest now, and we’re going to go spy on one of their scout camps. Can you come with us? Taleera will lead the way.”
She followed them away from the hill and into the forest. They crept quietly along the tree-lanes, keeping within the shadows while the firebird flew before them, her bright plumage glowing with its own light. Thick curtains of vines brushed against them, covered in aromatic blossoms, but no bird or small forest creature screamed to betray their passage. The creatures of this world waited in blissful ignorance of the disaster about to descend on them, knowing nothing of danger. Presently her human friends halted, while Taleera dropped down onto a bough, and Ailia glimpsed a glow among the trees about fifty paces ahead. There a campfire blazed, surrounded by a dozen or so large burly men and a few goblins. A small group of white-clad Elei stood at the edge of the firelight, watched by spear-wielding guards. Over the fires stood a makeshift spit, and on it hung an antelope’s carcass. It was, or had been, a bagwyn: the flayed hide and the head with its proud sickle horns lay on the ground not far away. Ailia and her companions could smell the meat roasting, and hear the men jesting and talking among themselves. “. . . Stupid thing didn’t even run away. Didn’t even run! Just stood there looking till we shot it. I tell you, this place is paradise.”
Ailia went rigid as she listened. Hatred stirred in her—hatred for the captors of the innocent Fairfolk and slayers of the helpless animal, the defilers of this beautiful land. Hatred for the humanity that linked her to them. But then the emotion appalled her, and she took several deep breaths in an effort to purge it away. The Zimbouran men could not be blamed for yearning to flee their own troubled and impoverished land, she reflected, as her mind calmed and the tension in her body eased. They must be stopped. But my quarrel is not with them, it is with those who led them here. She spoke to Taleera and Lorelyn using the mind-language. I think you will all have to draw back and leave this to me. Two swords are not enough against these brigands. I will have to call on a great Power to aid me, and you might be harmed when it is unleashed. Will you all go now and have a look for the enemy’s main camp? We need to know how many there are. I will stay and free these Elei.
As they departed with great reluctance, she began to draw upon her sorcery.
IN THE CAMP THE ZIMBOURANS’ mood was merry. Since the downfall of Khalazar and the coming of the new God-king, they had lived in the midst of a wonder-tale come true. First, there had been the ride in the marvelous flying vessels of the goblin-folk, who despite their hideousness were gifted with great magical powers, as might be expected of the offspring of genii. And now they had made landfall in a place of plenty beyond the world they knew, that the goblins told them would soon be theirs to rule.
The Morugei fighters prepared for battle, honing their notched swords. But their mood also was light. Goblins and trolls were creatures of the night, well able to see in the dark, and so anticipated an advantage over Ailia’s people in combat after sundown.
“When the Elei are slain,” King Roglug gloated, “it is everyone for himself. Today this land, tomorrow all of Arainia. With the Princess gone, they will not have the spirit to fight us!” The men cheered. This land where beasts were tame and birds sat on the bough waiting to be shot, where the precious gold and gems that only the wealthy could afford in Zimboura were in abundance—all theirs.
“Our old hearth-tales spoke of a faraway country,” ventured one of the Zimbouran soldiers. “The Land of Wine and Honey. It is green and fruitful and runs with many fountains and streams, and jewels grow on trees, and the animals come at your call to be slaughtered.”
“Ah, that’s the right of it,” agreed another. “My old grandmother told me about it too. No one ever goes hungry there, and no one ever gets sick, and nobody needs to labor for his bread. All can take their ease, while genii wait upon them and fulfill their every wish. When Khalazar talked about this Eldimia place, I thought: Ah, he’s spinning that same old yarn to fool the simple folk. Promising the mobs paradise, so they’ll not rise up against him! But now it turns out he wasn’t lying after all. It’s true, and he would have delivered it to us exactly as he said h
e would. Those stinking rebels that threw him down and murdered him, they’ve a deal to answer for: but we shall avenge him. We shall take this land, and we’ll not let any of them near it. That’s punishment enough.”
The first man nodded as he inspected the roasting carcass. “The natives must all be killed or driven out first, but that shouldn’t prove too difficult. They’ve no weapons and there are no real fighters among them. Once they’re gone we’ll cut down these forests, and plant ourselves some crops, and set up our own settlements.”
Roglug grinned. “Why bother to build your own? Why not take their cities, and live in them? Much easier that way.”
“We would have to fight hard to conquer cities,” one man said doubtfully.
“Ah, you don’t know Arainian cities. They have no protecting walls or fortresses, no cannons and catapults. And their people are poor fighters.”
“But who will rule us?” the man asked, still in a tone of uncertainty. “This new God-king?”
“Naturally.” Roglug shrugged his hunched shoulders. “He brought you here, didn’t he?”
The other hesitated. “I had hoped we might be free, now that we are in a new land.”
Another man snorted in derision. “Bah! Let him rule if he wants to, and his heirs too, just so long as we and our children get to live off the fat of this land.” His companion said no more: the appeal to Zimbouran practicality had won.
The Elei captives, an elderly man of perhaps two hundred years and a few young women, continued to stand and sit quietly where they had been herded together, in the shadow of a tall upstanding boulder. Presently the old man spoke to his captors. “We will share this land with you and with your children,” he said, “but you cannot drive us out altogether. The Mother is our guardian, and she will not suffer such things in her sphere.”
