The Spear of Stars

by Edward W. Robertson

  "Yes, of course." The former monk made some thoughtful noises. "Are you sure he'll come for Bressel? What if he's content with taking the swamps, and considers the whole conquering business done with?"

  "I've seen his mind. His vision. He wants to Blight the entire world and start over with everything under his rule."

  "That's a little ambitious, isn't it? Most people have enough trouble running a single kingdom!"

  "I'll find a way to get eyes on the lich and his movements soon enough. Although at the rate we're going, there won't be anything left of Bressel for him to take over. Get our people somewhere hidden, Nak. And stay out of trouble."

  "I'd advise you to do the same, but I don't think you know how."

  Dante closed the connection. As he finished his tea, he mulled ways to get spies into Tanar Atain. The problem was that any humans who entered the swamps would be exposed immediately for the simple fact they weren't Blighted. Also, anyone who wasn't a Tanarian would have no idea how to get around. They'd be more likely to end up in a swamp dragon's large intestine than to get anywhere near the lich.

  That left sorcery. But the spying eyes of dead dragonflies or the like could only range some forty or fifty miles from the one commanding them before the link stretched too thin. And the lich was particularly good at identifying enchanted spies. Dante had the strong feeling that any nethermancer he sent to the swamps would wind up captured and beliched.

  Getting nowhere, he switched his efforts to strategies for defending Bressel. This started, in his opinion, with a proper map. Throughout his travels, he had discovered that the quality of a society's maps correlated extremely highly with the quality of the society itself, and so it spoke to the locals' favor that the palace already had detailed maps of the entire city.

  But these were somewhat outdated, and didn't always include the particular details he needed. So he set to making his own, sending dead moths high into the sky and drawing what they saw.

  He had expected to be done with the project by noon, but two realities intervened: his own insistence on getting things as accurate and to scale as he could, and the simple fact that Bressel was very, very huge. He didn't finish until the very last minutes of sunset, and even then he wasn't satisfied with the job he'd done.

  But it would do. He found something to eat, then dispatched messengers through the extremely large palace to inquire if Yoto had time for an impromptu war council.

  Dante met the Drakebane and his coterie of advisors and servants in a large hall overlooking the northern sweep of the city. The windows were open, stirring the flames of the candles and allowing them to hear the hubbub of a growing riot somewhere in the streets.

  Blays showed up with a golden mug full of something that smelled potent enough to curl his eyebrows. Gladdic arrived looking better rested than at any time since their fateful encounter at the Riya Lase.

  Once everyone seated, Yoto smiled. "It might surprise you to learn that, anticipating the lich will be coming for Bressel, we've already developed a strategy to resist it."

  "Okay," Dante said. "Let's hear it."

  Yoto broke down a fairly standard defense of a walled city that involved holding off the Blighted as vigorously as they could, ensuring the lich would eventually be forced to step forth and combat the defenders directly.

  "That's when we press at him with everything we have," Yoto concluded. "As powerful as the Eiden Rane may have become, he's still vulnerable to the skill of the Odo Sein."

  Dante looked down at the table, which was a very nice table, then lifted his eyes. "Unfortunately, that's no longer true. During our training at the Silent Spires, we learned a way around the Odo Sein. When the lich enslaved me, I was compelled to teach him this."

  Anger flickered across Yoto's face. "Then we've lost the one weapon that's always been able to defeat him."

  "That depends on whether the story of the Spear of Stars is true, and if we can find a way to make a new one. Even if we can't, we'll have something on our side that you never had: a complete shitload of sorcerers. But we'll still need a strategy. Based on my past experiences, we're going to need a lot of walls."

  "Then you will be pleased to learn the city already has one."

  "It needs more. One strong blast of sorcery, and the wall's blown wide open. I've seen it happen myself in Narashtovik. Once that happens, the attackers will flood inside. If they're fast enough, they'll cut off most of the people we've got posted on the wall, too."

  "Thus the need for many walls. Yet I doubt we'll have more than a few weeks to prepare. With such little time, how sturdy can we really expect these new walls to be?"

  "To a decent sorcerer, there's not much difference between an ancient block of stone and some wooden boards leaned against each other. The Blighted are a much different story. They're not going to be coming at us with catapults and siege towers. A wooden wall will stop them well enough. I'd like to set up at least three or four additional rings around the city. The goal is to make them pay for each step they try to take. To thwart any sudden advances, we'll need a way for our sorcerers to move through the defenses as quickly as possible. I'm thinking of raising ramparts running perpendicular to the walls, acting as spokes for us to run across."

  "Running doesn't sound very fast at all." Blays quaffed his cup and slammed his fist on the table. "If only we had some sort of beast specifically bred to carry people around at high speeds!"

  "But don't you people have that very thing in horses?" Yoto had no sooner said the words than he tightened his eyes and mouth. "I've been made a fool, haven't I?"

  "Don't worry, sire. My knowledge of horses will never be a match for your mastery of fish." Blays took a thoughtful swig. "Cavalry in general would be an asset. Too bad the Blighted are likely to spook everything but the meanest destriers."

  Dante drew his finger across the fields outside Bressel, through the existing wall, and into the city's various quarters. "If we're pushed back from all our walls and into the city, we can use the stouter buildings as fortresses against the Blighted. They're not exactly tactical geniuses."

  Gladdic stirred. "And what if the enemy deploys the same tactics he used at Aris Osis, and simply smashes down any building we attempt to use as a cornerstone of our defense?"

  "Our little setback in the Redoubt gave me an idea. We can excavate tunnels between the most defensible buildings. If the lich comes for one of them, or it gets swarmed by Blighted, the defenders will have an escape route."

  "Layers of walls," Yoto mused. "With quick transport against enemy sorcery. And tunnels for escape if a district becomes overwhelmed." He narrowed one eye at the large map, then looked up at Dante. "Do you see the flaw in your plan?"

  Dante nodded. "The Chanset."

  "Indeed. The river cuts down the middle of the city. For you people, a river would typically be a defensive advantage. But the Blighted flip that blade on you. They can use it as a road—worse yet, a road you can't travel on yourself."

  "Potential surprise attack. That's one of the other things that screwed us in Aris Osis. Our troops can guard it where it flows into the city, but we'll have to blockade it where it exits to the sea."

  "I'm not sure how much you know about rivers," Blays said. "But when you stop them up, they tend to form something called a 'dam.' And the thing that forms behind the dam is known as 'a lake.' Which would, in this case, be Bressel."

  "Maybe I can put the river underground. Or figure out a barrier that water can get through and Blighted can't. I'll take a look at it tomorrow. Right now, all I know is that our previous encounters with the White Lich have given us something critical: experience. If we don't put it to use, we'll lose just like we did before."

  Blays flicked the rim of his chalice. "Suppose the big pale bastard will bring the prime body with him?"

  "I doubt he'll keep it right next to him," the Drakebane said. "He might leave it floating out to sea, safe from harm's way. Or in a nook somewhere outside the city. We will search for it nonet
heless, but for the same reasons we'll be trying to find it, he will put all his cunning into keeping it safe."

  They spoke a while longer yet, identifying which streets and buildings would be most defensible and where the tunnels might best be put to use. They also discussed at length whether it would be possible to simply overwhelm the lich with the combined might of all their sorcery. But there was no answer to this, because no one knew how powerful he had become, or how much of Mallon, Tanar Atain, and Narashtovik might actually stand as one in the field.

  Less of the city burned that night, but if anything, that seemed to be because the mob was more organized, marching down the streets with lanterns and torches, waving knives and farming equipment. Rather than the senseless arson of the night before, they targeted suspected turncoats, burning down the manors of three nobles suspected of working with the Drakebane.

  Two of the noblemen fled, but the other was hanged in the street along with his family. A dozen other citizens were killed in brawls and vigilante executions. In the morning, the air seemed to smell of blood, with the promise of more to come.

  They were slated to meet with the spalder Corson that day to hear more of the intricacies of the Golden Hammer. Dante had expected the meeting to take place at night, the typical time of secrecy and treason, but Gladdic said that it was for that exact reason the priest would be coming to see them that morning instead.

  "He could be coming here as a double agent for Adaine," Dante said. "How can you be sure we can trust him?"

  "We have known each other for nearly thirty years."

  "During those thirty years, was there any other time you conspired with an enemy force to conquer Corson's homeland and slay his king?"

  "I did not know the shape of Drakebane Yoto's plans," Gladdic said. "Yet your point is taken, and must be answered with a story. When we were both younger men, it came to be that Corson's wife became quickened with child. Over the course of her pregnancy, she experienced no more than minor and typical difficulties. Yet when she began her labor, she at once began to bleed heavily.

  "Corson was able to stanch the bleeding, but he could not find the underlying harm that threatened both his wife and their unborn child. He sent for me, as I was the most skilled healer at hand. By the time I arrived, his wife was moments from passing through Taim's Gate. And the child showed no sign of life inside her.

  "When he was born, he was born blue; when she saw her unbreathing son, her own heart gave out. Yet I was able to revive them both. They wound up naming their son for me. At the time, the gesture embarrassed me, but as I age, I consider it one of my few transcendent achievements."

  Gladdic gazed across the palace courtyard. "His wife was grievously injured during her labor. She was never able to conceive another child. But we have been friends ever since. That is why I know that their son lives to this day, and that his wife recently delivered Corson's third grandchild. That, then, is why I trust him, and would do so with my life."

  "Fair enough," Dante said. "Then let's go talk to him, shall we?"

  Corson smuggled himself into the palace in a barrel in the back of an ox-drawn cart. Erring on the side of paranoia, they didn't let him out of the barrel until a trio of porters had hauled it up to the tower.

  Corson clambered out, smoothing his robes. He was about fifty years old, with bits of silver streaking his brown hair. He carried himself with the visible dignity common among members of the priesthood, yet there was an earthiness to him that suggested he was just as comfortable working with his hands as with the ether.

  He knocked on the side of the empty barrel and crooked his mouth at Gladdic. "I never understood how hard wine had it before now."

  Gladdic smiled. "It is good to see you, my old friend."

  "The same." Corson turned, looking Dante up and down. "You're him, aren't you? Dante Galand."

  Dante nodded. "Didn't Gladdic tell you I'd be here?"

  "I'd say it was more like a warning. But there's nothing that can prepare you for meeting a devil."

  "If I'm what passes for a devil, you should pray for your city to be possessed by them."

  The spalder chuckled and bowed his head. "You'll have to forgive me, Lord of the North. For more than ten years, I have been told that any day now, you'll swoop down from your frozen wasteland to kidnap our women and nail our children to posts. So it's a curious thing indeed to see you walking free in the palace of the late King Charles."

  "Feel free to arrest him," Blays said. "Just make sure the cell isn't made of stone. And that it doesn't have any rats in it. In fact, it might be safer to skip the arrest and go straight to decapitation."

  The four of them seated themselves. Corson cleared his throat. "The less time I spend here, the better, so I'll get down to it. The Golden Hammer's strategy is pretty simple. They're going to keep rioting. They're going to keep stringing up their enemies. And they're going to keep spreading their message."

  Dante folded his arms. "And if we decide to restore law and order to the city?"

  "Then they'll be delighted. There's nothing they want more than to goad you into another massacre to solidify their power."

  "I don't know what you heard. But we didn't kill those people."

  "Oh? So it was some other nethermancer who used the shadows to crush the mob with a tower?"

  "That was Adaine's work. He made it look like us to rile up the mob."

  "Can't be." All the geniality left Corson's face. "I just told you it was nether that brought that tower down."

  "And it was Adaine who wielded it," Gladdic said. "I was there, and I saw it myself." Holding eye contact, Gladdic lifted his left hand. Shadows rippled to him from the corners of the room and swam around his fingers. "It is forbidden to us, yes. But as the power of the nether grew beyond our borders, there were those of us who believed that the only way to defeat it was to understand it. That required learning to use it. I am sorry, my friend. The world taints us all."

  Corson laid his palm on the table, nodding at it. After a long moment, he gave a single huff of laughter. "Well, say what you will about the world, but at least it's full of surprises."

  "Perhaps we are right to consider the nether tainted. Look at the situation it has placed me in: I might testify to the Golden Hammer on this matter, exposing Adaine, but to do so would expose me as a heretic as well. And they would never join forces with a heretic."

  "Expect not. In any event, the Hammer's also working to gain support from the nobles and towns outside Bressel. So you got that to worry about, too."

  Gladdic tapped his chin. "What has become of the Eldor? If I could convince him of the danger of the lich, he might persuade the others."

  "The Eldor exiled himself from the city when it became clear the coup would succeed. He said he needed to travel into the wilderness to learn the will of the gods."

  "He left because he thought he would die." Gladdic's white eyebrows jumped. "Did he know what was coming? Had he been working with the Drakebane?"

  "Seems like a question for you to ask the Drakebane yourself."

  "No, I do not think that he was. If he was, and knew of the coup, the Eldor would only put the blame on me, and sell me out as the scapegoat."

  "You're insulting the Eldor now? Gladdic, my friend, what's happened to you?"

  Gladdic waved a gnarled hand. "It is neither criticism nor insult. It is merely the truth. As for what happened to me?" He motioned to Dante. "My battles with this man—and with the Eiden Rane—have stripped me of all illusions. Once your illusions are destroyed, the truth appears to you without effort, but will disturb those who still possess them."

  "Huh. Well, enlightenment couldn't have happened to a better man."

  "Are there more like you within the Hammer?" Dante said. "Is there any hope of convincing them to fight at our side?"

  "Let's say that Mallon finally quit talking about invading Narashtovik and got up and did it. Then when we were occupying your city, someone else marched on it, too. At that point
, how eager would you be to fight by our side?"

  "What if we can convince the Drakebane to step down and restore sovereignty to the crown?"

  Corson snorted. "Try that and you might as well slit your own throats. Prince Swain is foaming for vengeance. If he's installed over the Drakebane, he'll turn on you. Kill the lot of you."

  "Shit," Blays said.

  "Did the Drakebane honestly think he could stab the king with his left hand and shake the hand of the prince with his right? What is in the waters of the swamp to make them so delusional?"

  "Dragons, man-eating fish, and hordes of the undead," Blays said. "So you can see why they're all a little batty."

  Gladdic inclined his head. "Those who planned the takeover of Mallon did so as a last ditch effort to survive the return of the White Lich. It did not matter how slight the odds were or the new challenges they would face instead. It would still be better than what they would face if they remained in Tanar Atain."

  Corson rubbed his mouth. "Is this lich really as fearsome as you make him out?"

  "No. He is even worse. Perhaps the worst thing that has ever been."

  "I'll do my best, Gladdic. I'll keep you up on the Hammer's moves and seek a way toward a truce. But I now fear for us all." Corson stood, straightening his gray robe. "Now if you'll excuse me, my barrel awaits."

  They got him inside the barrel and downstairs to the wagon. Gladdic left to make a report to the Drakebane. Dante inquired among the palace staff and was brought two fisherman's hats, wide-brimmed and floppy. The dried scales and smells adhering to them proved they'd seen use in the past. He gave one to Blays. They disguised themselves in commoners' clothes and headed out into the street, making toward the river.

  There was some traffic about, but in the reversal of all that was natural—a state that had become very common since the appearance of the lich—the city's nights were now more busy than its days. The fishing hat covered most of Dante's face, and he'd scrubbed some dirt on to further disguise his features, but he still felt conscious of every stare directed at him from the windows.