by Alison Baird
Arrows sang through the air. A lindworm or two went down, and the Tanathon bellowed and tossed its long neck as the shafts sprouted from its thick wrinkled hide. But the peludas merely tucked their own snaky necks and tails underneath their bellies, and turned about like porcupines to present their bristling backs. More deadly spines lanced through the air. Amphipteres with bat wings and serpentine bodies and bird-like cockatrices came flapping down over the ranks of men, flying into the faces of the archers, though there were not enough to stop the barrage altogether. As for the tarasques, they could not be stopped at all. When attacked, these creatures simply drew their heads inside their shells and marched on. They advanced, relentless as great stones crashing down a mountainside, crushing with their clawed feet all that lay in their path, flailing their barbed tails. The air was filled with screams and shouted warnings.
But as they began to despair, there was a cry from above and Taleera flew into the face of one of the lindworms, pecking at its eyes. And then the cherubim were there, diving upon the monsters in fury. Finding their claws and jaws and beaks could not harm the quilled pelts and metal-hard shells, they surrounded the beasts and lunged in and out, until one of their fellows succeeded in thrusting a foreleg underneath the tarasque or peluda and overturning it. The bellies of the peludas were soft and vulnerable, it turned out, although the tarasques’ were armored like their backs. But these creatures had great difficulty in righting themselves again, their six legs waving impotently in the air as they rocked back and forth like immense beetles. In the meantime the cherubim bit and mauled those legs, so that even if the tarasques did succeed in turning over they could not walk.
The human warriors, fatigued in mind and body, were able to draw back and regroup as this titanic conflict was taking place. Jomar gathered them together with the wounded in a safe position at the center, and they stood and watched in awe as the huge creatures warred with one another. The cherubim did not escape injury, and before all was over more than a few lay wounded or dying from the poison of the peluda quills, which worked more slowly on their larger bodies but still had the same deadly effect. At long last, however, the jungle denizens were all slain, rendered harmless, or put to flight. The Battle of the Beasts, as it came to be called in later days, was ended.
In the thick of the sonorous strife all eyes had been on the immediate scene. And few aside from the flying fighters had noticed the change of weather. Now as the soldiers and knights looked about them and caught their breath, all noticed that the sky had clouded over completely: the effect, perhaps, of the sea storm that had broken apart as it collapsed, sending the last of its winds and thunderheads sweeping outward in all directions. The surviving fighters, looking up, saw the day grow dark, almost night-black as they watched. The undersides of the clouds seemed to be swirling and bulging in places. A great wind struck the trees, making them sway and bend like bows in the hands of archers. With it there came a pattering on the leaves and the ground, not of raindrops, but of the last thing anyone present expected, and many of them had never seen: a fall of hailstones.
“’Ware sorcery!” shouted a knight, pointing skyward with a gauntleted hand.
The gray-black clouds above were now unmistakably rotating, and descending to the earth. Within that circling mass a dark and sinuous shape appeared, writhing like a serpent, its lower end reaching for the ground.
“Cyclone!” yelled a soldier, and others took up the cry. “Cyclone, cyclone!”
Such storms were not uncommon in this place, but none doubted that their enemy had spawned this one in revenge. There was panic in the ranks as the black funnel began to spew flying debris in all directions, showing that it had touched the ground. With a terrible deliberate motion it swung back and forth, devastating all before it, cutting through the jungle like a scythe through wheat and tossing uprooted trees aside. Fragments of splintered trunks and boughs whirled around it like a cloud of dust motes. The noise of it was high and keening, accompanied by a deeper rumble as it smote the earth.
It was less than half a league away, and advancing at great speed.
“It’s coming this way!” Jomar yelled.
The Nemoran men were fleeing willy-nilly into the trees. The beasts had been challenge enough, but no one could stand before this new and worse manifestation of their enemy’s power. They had provoked the wrath of a god, and now they were filled with a terror that verged on madness. As the cherubim took flight again, the rebels ran into the jungle. Meanwhile Jomar’s fighters stood helpless, knowing that fleeing was useless and their only hope lay now with the warriors of the air.
RIDING HIGH ABOVE THE CLOUDS with the other members of the Wingwatch, Ailia and Damion and their mounts looked down through gaps in the canopy on the scenes of destruction on land. “We promised them they would be safe with their weapons of iron,” said Ailia in anguish. “What are we to do? We cannot go to their aid with our sorcery—not with the iron present. Only the cherubim can fly down there, and they have no weather-magic.”
“Fly above the windstorm,” Auron answered, “and use sorcery to assail it. We are too high for the iron to hinder us.”
They flew on, with the green sky above them and the clouds all torn and tumbled below. On flying down into that dense grayness they soon discerned beneath them a black pit, a hole sucking the cloud-stuff downward into its maw as though it were water swirling down a drain. Lightning flashed around it. Ailia shuddered at the sight. It was plain that the cyclone was a part of the sea storm, and had been spun off from it; but this could not be by mere chance. It was moving directly toward her land-bound army. Black sorcery had created it, and set it on its path of destruction.
But the Loänan were well versed in the ways of weather, and more than equal to the task at hand. As they overflew the storm they drew on the air, on the winds and the suspended moisture, using all their knowledge and magical skill to impose their will upon it. Ailia, sensing this, lent them all the aid she could. Together they commanded the cyclone, seeking to split the swaying funnel apart, to reverse and tame its winds. And they felt, as they reached out, a great power of pure malice resisting them. Again and again they struggled with it, and still it would not yield. The whirlwind had almost reached the scattered army.
“It is Mandrake,” said Auron. “He is merely distracting the cherubim and the Loänan with these challenges, so he can escape to his fortress.”
“No,” Ailia responded, “not Mandrake. Or at least, not he alone. There is—something else there.” Once more she felt the dread she had known when she looked in the Dragon King’s eye, and in the basilisk’s.
With all her might she asserted her own power, and slowly the malevolent other began to give way. It was not destroyed or defeated; it merely withdrew, as if its purpose all along had been only to make her use all her resources and weaken her. And she was weakened: her breath came in halting gasps, and every nerve and muscle of her body felt strained. She slumped down into Auron’s mane and held on to him with the last of her strength. And as the dragons swept down toward that terrible maelstrom, the clouds ceased their swirling, and the central pit began to collapse. In moments it became a mere depression, while the cumuli began to lose their angry shapes and pull apart, drifting away on the clear air. The victorious Wingwatch flew back down over the jungle, through which a broad swath had been cut: trunks of uprooted trees lay in rows to either side of it, like mown hay. But the funnel cloud was gone, itself destroyed; and it had not reached the soldiers or the city. Mere minutes after the attack had begun it was already ended, with the carcasses of the slain monsters lying amidst the wreckage of trees and shining drifts of hailstones the size of hens’ eggs.
As daylight began to seep back into the sky, the embattled army looked on the devastation surrounding them and the Wingwatch flying low overhead, and knew that their side had won the victory—for now. But against whom had they fought? Not mere beasts, incapable of plotting designs and strategies; and the cyclone, though not unnatural
to these climes, had surely been created by an act of wizardry. Mandrake, the Loänei, and the Archons of this world were variously blamed by the survivors.
“I don’t understand,” growled Jomar. “How can he do these things? With all this iron in our hands? How can he use sorcery?” He turned to Auron, who had transformed to human shape.
Auron replied, “But the windstorm was not entirely sorcerous. It might have begun with magic, but all Mandrake had to do was set it on a course that brought it to your army’s position. It wasn’t magical when it reached you—just a storm.”
“But the animals—what about them? They had to be controlled, and sent against us. When they came close to our iron weapons, shouldn’t he have lost control?”
“He is right, Auron.” Ailia spoke slowly and wearily. “This is a new magic he is wielding—star-magic, that can resist cold iron.”
Jomar shook his head. “You’d think he’d have been weakened by now, not strengthened. And I thought no human sorcerer could resist iron. Where is he getting the power?”
“Only cherubim and Archons have star-magic, haven’t they?” Lorelyn asked.
“No cherubim serve Mandrake,” said Falaar. “Of that I am certain.”
“No,” Damion agreed. “This power is lent to him by Archon allies. He has accepted their aid. But it is not the power of the Archon of this world, though I suspect Elnemorah has been helping him. She is one of the planetary Archons that chose to rebel and serve Valdur long ago, and her influence is still strong in this sphere. I see it in the attacks of the beasts, which belong to this world and so are under her command. But Jomar is right: once they drew close to our soldiers’ iron the will that wielded them should have failed. Elnemorah is still an Elaia, a lesser Archon like Elarainia and Ailia. Another, greater power is at work here.”
EARLY THAT EVENING, WHEN AILIA had recovered a little, she and Damion flew ahead on their winged mounts with the rest of the Wingwatch while Jomar and the Overseer led their united forces to Loänanmar. Taleera flew above the armies to watch for wild beasts and other dangers.
Looking down over the city streets, the Wingwatch and their passengers could see small figures running away in terror, pursued as it seemed by the flying shadows of the dragons and cherubim. Ailia and Auron alighted next to the temple while Damion and Falaar settled in the central plaza. Other winged warriors flew to high towers and walls and perched there. Then the armies came pouring into the unguarded city gates, while the inhabitants gave way before them. Many recognized the Overseer, and greeted him with joy and relief—for even those who had suffered under his reign feared him less than they feared the dragon-priests and their terrifying living deity.
Ailia dismounted and went to the temple steps where Mandrake’s priests were in the habit of making their proclamations. “People of Loänanmar!” she cried. “We mean you no harm! We know that you are the slaves, not the friends, of the Dragon King and his Loänei! Put down your weapons and join with us, and you will be free.”
There was a rumbling as of thunder from the cloud-shrouded heights of the hill, where Mandrake had taken refuge. But some other people emerged from their houses, looking at the white-clad figure in hope.
“Free!” one white-haired old man said. “We do not know what you mean by that. Many have promised us freedom in the past.”
“We mean,” said Damion, walking up the steps to stand at Ailia’s side, “you will no longer live in fear of your rulers. You need give them no more tribute, nor worship them.”
More people began to creep out into the open: men first, and then women with clinging children. They gathered in the plaza before the temple.
“Is it true?” asked a woman. “Will we live without fear?”
A robed man emerged from a side door of the temple, and pushed forward through the crowd. “The Dragon King is the only true ruler! These intruders are your enemies! You will be pun-ished—”
Jomar silenced the priest with a sword point to his throat. “Quiet, you. We’ve dealt with your kind before now. Your bullying days are over.” There was a hush as the crowd waited for some divine retribution, and then a murmur of wonder when it did not come. As for the priest, he fell silent as it became clear that his god was not going to deliver him. Lightning flickered fitfully in the roiling cloud that had engulfed the hill, but no bolt struck. “You see!” shouted Jomar. “He’s no god! He’s an evil wizard who has held you all captive!”
Some of the people seemed bewildered, and some were crying. They looked almost like frightened children, thought Damion. “Do not be afraid!” he called out in an encouraging voice. “We will help you. You will not be left on your own.”
“Who are you?” The white-haired man cried. “What are you?”
“We come from beyond this world. I am called Damion, and this woman is Ailia, the Tryna Lia.”
Some in the crowd surged back in fear. “We have heard of her. But is she not our enemy?”
“No,” Ailia answered, drawing herself up with an effort. “I bear you no ill will, I promise. See, I have done nothing to harm you.”
“I’ll serve you,” one man said at last. He stepped forth from the crowd. “I’ll serve anyone who’ll fight against him. He’s the real enemy.” He waved his hand at the sorcerous cloud on the hill. “Death to the Dragon King!”
The onlookers took up the cry, and it spread among them like flame. The fear of centuries was lifted from them all in a moment, like a stone that slips from its place on a ledge after stationary ages. Voices were raised, and fists, and many weapons as well, as the cloud wisped away and revealed the fortress on the hilltop.
“Let’s go after him now—seek him out in his lurking place! He is only a wizard, and can do us no harm—this sorceress is stronger than he!” They rose up like a flood, and behind them came the Paladins and soldiery of the Overseer. The Wingwatch soared above. Only Ailia stood quite still, leaning on Damion’s shoulder, her head bowed.
A small knot of people approached her. “Can you really do as you promise? Is your power a match for his? Will you calm the weather, and ease the earth’s anger?” said a balding man with dark-shadowed, frightened eyes.
“Its anger?” inquired Damion. “What do you mean by that?”
“The Dragon King’s power has only been over air and water until now. But it has always been said that he is truly a dragon of the earth, and his sorcery can command it also. For the past nine days there have been portents, of a kind never known here before. The earth quakes beneath our feet, and strange sounds come out of its depths: a growling, like a great beast, and a hissing like serpents. And the springs that we once bathed in are grown too hot to use—hot enough to boil meat—and a few have dried up altogether. He is turning the earth itself against us!”
Ailia and Damion exchanged glances. “What does this mean?” the Princess asked, moving close to Damion and speaking in his ear. “Earth-dragons have some limited power over stone and soil, it’s true. But Mandrake has been far away under the sea, and all his power had been bent on the storm that was his protection.”
Damion took her by the arm and led her into the great main hall of the temple. The Loänei and their human priests had not been idle: the vast chamber had been repaired, painted, and adorned with woven hangings, and the huge statue of the crowned dragon at its far end had once more been plated with gleaming gold, reflecting in the tiled pool beneath. “His power has grown,” Damion said. “He can use sorcery even in the presence of iron now. Perhaps his reach has grown as well.”
“And only an Archon can defy iron,” Ailia said. “Of course, he is part Archon as we are, but—as you said, even Elnemorah could not do it.”
“Only the greatest of the Archons can command the star-magic,” he said. “The planetary Archons and their lesser kin who dwell in the midst of the planets have no resistance to the magic of star-metals. We are all subject to it, save the Elyra who entered the stars and became one with them. Mandrake has gained the power of an Elyra.”<
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“An Elyra.” She was still for a moment, afraid. “You mean Valdur.”
“The prince is the servant of Modrian-Valdur, and the channel through which his influence reaches into the material plane. Mandrake agreed to become the Avatar of the Valei, and now he is being consumed by the Power he summoned.” Damion’s voice was filled with pity.
“I don’t think he meant for this to happen,” Ailia said. “He believed Valdur was long dead, and no threat to him or anyone else. He wished only for protection from us.”
“Valdur can work as easily through those who disbelieve in him as through those who believe,” Damion replied. “Many are unconscious of his call, but they obey it nevertheless. And Mandrake was made to be his vessel. Perhaps he could not help but be seduced by him. In any case, this is the enemy we must now fight.”
