The Rise of the Wrym Lord

by Wayne Thomas Batson

  Sir Rogan stopped unexpectedly and held up his large fist. “There is something on the air,” he said. His voice was low, gravelly, and full of anger. “It is like the burning of many things.” And soon, they all smelled it. With each step up the Forest Road, the odor became more acrid—and the sickening stench was almost too much to bear.

  They proceeded cautiously, taking slow, even breaths and straining to hear. Nock noticed that foliage along the road began to appear wilted, and many of the trees had an odd lean. Soon, the smell became stifling, and the smoldering trees on both sides were toppled and charred as if an intense fire had come upon them suddenly. Small fires crackled deep into the woods. The road rolled out ahead, gray and shadowy, but crisscrossed with strange twisting patterns.

  “Ah!” Nock exclaimed, pointing to their feet. “The road! Look at the road!”

  Mallik and Sir Rogan strained to see, but at first they could not tell what had terrified Nock. Then Mallik leaped to the side. “They are bodies!” he bellowed.

  “Shapes of bodies . . . ,” Nock said.

  “King Eliam, save us!” Sir Rogan exclaimed. “They have been burned into the ground . . . reduced to an ashen imprint upon the road!”

  “. . . and bows,” Nock said as he recognized the distinctive shape of the Yewland Braves’ Blackwood bows burned into the road. “My kin!”

  “I am sorry, my friend,” said Mallik.

  “What has laid low so many braves?” Nock asked, his bow hanging limp at his side.

  Sir Rogan knelt by one of the bodies and stared. “It is near,” he said.

  “What do you mean by that?” Mallik demanded.

  “The Wyrm Lord,” growled Sir Rogan. “It would take more than a regular dragon’s fire to bring down the trees and burn hundreds of warriors into the ground.”

  Suddenly, Sir Rogan clutched his axe, looked skyward, and screamed with pent-up rage for the fallen at Mithegard, and delivered an unmistakable message: The enemy had better beware.

  Sir Rogan charged up the road. Mallik and Nock followed.

  The trail suddenly widened. The knights stopped and stood very still, their eyes locked on a huge, black, iron-framed carriage that sat upon eight enormous spoked wheels and was drawn by large horses. The top of the carriage was crowned with a dozen torches. A tendril of smoke escaped the roof and snaked up into the night sky.

  “We should not have come here!” whispered Nock urgently.

  “I feel the marrow in my bones beginning to freeze,” said Mallik.

  Sir Rogan did not reply.

  And then there was movement at the front of the carriage. Someone very tall stepped down. They heard the dull clink of metal and the heavy thud of his boots as he walked slowly toward the back. Hidden by shadow, they could not see his face, only that he had a weapon of some kind hanging at his side—and his eyes flashed red.

  He reached up and worked at something on the side of the carriage—metal sliding against metal. A voice came out of the shadows. It seemed to those who listened that the words were spoken from a grave. “Ancient One, how fortunate, three knights—a meal to enchance your strength. Go now and feast upon them. A taste of Alleble’s fall!”

  Though they knew they should flee, Mallik, Nock, and Sir Rogan stood rooted in the road as the huge doors atop the carriage swung open. A long, sharp gasp escaped the carriage as if something very large had drawn a breath. It was followed by a low growl that rose like the moaning of a haunted wind until it peaked with a hideous shriek. The sound rattled the Alleble Knights’ armor and chilled their skin.

  Nock stared at the top of the carriage, and what looked like a dark tentacle, blacker than the night shadows around it, began to creep out. Then another. And a third—twisting, grasping, reaching. They were not fleshly things, but rather tendrils of dark mist. More began to spill out of the carriage as if it were a cauldron that could not contain its horrid brew. The mist came more steadily, and the road became darker where it swirled.

  The tall figure standing beside the carriage laughed. His eyes flashed red, and he seemed to fade into the shadows as something rose out of the carriage and perched heavily upon it. It was a great winged beast, wreathed in shrouds of the swirling mist. The creature was most like to a dragon—wide wings, long neck and tail, and sharp scales armoring the length of its body. But the black mist that swirled all around the creature issued from its jaws and trailed out from its nostrils. Its eyes, smoldering, red, reptilian eyes, stared back with cunning beyond that of other wyrms. In its gaze a deep history lurked, a knowledge of time that no Glimpse could boast. And there was also murderous hatred—malice born out of the creature’s own evil but nursed in the never-ending night of a stone cell beneath the lake of fire while centuries passed.

  Its eyes turned on the three knights of Alleble—first almost in curiosity, then in recognition and hatred. Craning its neck back, it drew in a great breath.

  “Beware its fire!” Mallik bellowed, breaking their paralysis. Nock leaped off the road and clambered up the charred trunk of a large tree. Mallik had flung himself into a ditch near the bend in the road. Sir Rogan stood behind one of the blackened trees that remained standing.

  The Wyrm Lord spewed a molten stream onto the road where a second before they had stood.

  Nock let fly six arrows in rapid succession. But one by one they bounced away from the creature’s scales. “Weak shafts!” Nock muttered, feeling around the quiver frantically for a Blackwood shaft.

  The Wyrm Lord hissed and turned toward the archer’s perch. It discharged a burst of flames at Nock’s tree, and it gave way beneath him. Nock was far too agile to be caught so easily. He jumped from the tree where it fell and rolled to the side of the road. He stood to fire again. Finally, he found his last Blackwood shaft from among the other arrows. In a flash, he fitted it to the string and aimed for the beast’s right eye. But the creature’s fire streamed forth again. Nock’s shot was rushed. He loosed it and dove for cover behind a low berm. For the first time in many years, Nock missed.

  The Blackwood shaft disappeared harmlessly into the shadowy woods. The Wyrm Lord unleashed its flames once more, and kept Nock pinned down. Try as he might to sink into the ground, Nock was still too close to the heat. He felt his armor grow hot, and his bowstring frayed and snapped. Nock could not breathe, and his thoughts began to swim in feverish mire.

  Seeing Nock’s plight, Mallik climbed out of the ditch and ran into the road. He hefted his great hammer and yelled as he rushed toward the creature. “Turn to me, foul-smelling beast!” he bellowed. “And bring your broad face within reach of this hammer!”

  But the Wyrm Lord was no dumb serpent, and it understood full well the speech of Glimpse-kind. It leaped down from the carriage to meet Mallik’s charge, but it kept its head away from the lethal hammer. Instead, it opened its jaws and prepared to loose an incinerating blast.

  Were it not for Sir Rogan’s quick thinking, Mallik would have perished there. Sir Rogan swept his axe across the tree he had hidden behind, and it crashed down upon the Wyrm Lord’s back. The blow stifled the creature’s fire, and it shrieked so loud and long that Mallik almost collapsed from the sound.

  The beast reached up with one of its taloned forelegs and threw the massive tree trunk back at Sir Rogan. Sir Rogan tried to avoid it, but the great tree hit the ground in front of him, bounced, and smashed into him as he fled. Sir Rogan fell like a stone, but the blackened trunk did not come to rest on his sprawled body.

  The beast turned back to Mallik, who suddenly realized how foolish and rash his attack had been. He may have saved Nock, but in so doing, he had forced Sir Rogan to expose himself. Now Sir Rogan and Nock were down, and Mallik was left alone before the Wyrm Lord. He turned to flee, but the creature’s tail whipped around and took Mallik’s legs out from under him. He rolled and stood and found himself staring into huge red eyes and gaping jaws full of ivory daggers. Mallik tried to run to his right, but the creature blocked him with one enormous claw. Mallik swerve
d aside and sprinted back only to find another claw waiting. Mallik—a massive Glimpse even among his large kin in the Blue Mountains—felt like a mouse being toyed with and taunted by a great cat so far superior in strength that it sought entertainment rather than a quick kill.

  “I will not die like a common rodent!” Mallik roared. And this time, when the Wyrm Lord’s claw barred his way, Mallik brought his hammer down upon it with every ounce of his strength. The immense pulverizing head of Mallik’s hammer crunched down on the creature’s claw, but only for a second. It sprang away as if Mallik had struck a granite boulder. The shiver of the blow shook the hammer free from Mallik’s hands, and he stood as one thunderstruck. The Wyrm Lord drew back the uninjured claw and smacked Mallik across the road. Mallik shook his head and looked up just as the creature started inhaling a deep breath, but then it stopped as a baleful howl rang out from somewhere deep in the forest.

  The Wyrm Lord craned its neck high and, with an odd tilt to its head, seemed to be listening.

  Mallik stood, saw his hammer at the feet of the creature, and ran for it. Before Mallik could reach his weapon, the great cry from the forest rose in pitch and intensity until it blotted out all other sounds. Mallik could not bear it and fell to one knee. He covered his ears and looked up at the creature.

  When the howling noise finally came to an end, the Wyrm Lord seemed to nod as if in agreement. Then, to Mallik’s surprise, it appeared to have lost interest in the three knights.

  Suddenly, the beast spread its great wings, and its body began to convulse. The Wyrm Lord roared, gnashed its teeth, and reared up on its hind limbs. It seemed to be gathering strength—drawing on some hidden reserve of power—preparing to unleash some horrific power. Mallik watched in horror as the rigid pattern of scales on the creature’s armored chest and the folds of cracked skin on its stomach began to change. There appeared faces, anguished faces, as if beings were captive beneath the creature’s flesh and, in great torment, were struggling to be released. The Wyrm Lord shrieked, began to moan, and vomited out a shroud of darkness. Like a dense black tide, it poured out of the creature’s jaws and filled the road.

  It swept over Mallik, and all went black.

  43

  ONSLAUGHT OF

  THE SLEEPERS

  Rucifel slashed back and forth with his remaining blade, deftly keeping Kaliam and Lady Merewen from using their advantage. Kaliam hammered away with his broadsword, but always Rucifel ducked out of reach. And still more maddening was the way that Rucifel maneuvered his attackers into each other’s way. Several times Lady Merewen thought she had an opening in Rucifel’s defenses, only to stay her strike at the last moment when he lured Kaliam right into her path.

  Their battle ranged all over the road, in and out of the trees, and among the other combatants of both sides, but still Rucifel eluded the two warriors from Alleble.

  Then, Lady Merewen thrust her sword at his midsection. He parried it away, but rather than retreating immediately as he had been doing, he stepped forward and struck out at Lady Merewen with a series of quick stabs. It was enough time for Kaliam to circle round so that Rucifel stood between him and Lady Merewen. They pressed in on Rucifel like a vise. Kaliam swept his broadsword at the enemy’s head. Lady Merewen raked her blade at his legs. Rucifel could not evade both strikes. He ducked Kaliam’s long blade and tried to dive. But Lady Merewen’s sword caught him on the back of his leg where there was no armor. Rucifel did not yell, but he rolled to a crouch, stood, and hopped back a pace favoring his left leg.

  Sensing victory over their foe, Kaliam and Lady Merewen came on. They drove him backward. Rucifel seemed to give up any notion of offense and used his blade to block and defend. After every swipe, he turned and ran a few paces, always favoring his left leg.

  “You run away!” Kaliam exclaimed as he pursued. “You are tiring, Rucifel!”

  “No,” Rucifel replied, and he stopped and glared at his attackers with such a strange expression that they pulled up short. It seemed to Kaliam and Lady Merewen that Rucifel had suddenly gone mad, for he was beaten and yet he began to laugh. “Not tiring,” he said and grinned smugly. “Waiting. . . .”

  At that moment, a howl rose up as if a sudden storm had come upon the forest of Yewland. But no wind of The Realm any living Glimpse had ever heard made such a hideous sound. Kaliam and Lady Merewen grimaced and covered their ears. Finally, the haunting noise ceased. All noise ceased. No arrows whistled. No blades clashed upon shields. The combatants all around had lowered their swords. It was utterly still and silent . . . until something advanced toward them on the road behind Rucifel.

  Kaliam reflexively stepped backward. A creeping mist? he wondered, but it was inky black and reflected none of the moon’s light. Whatever it was, it began to quicken, devouring trees and road as it came. Suddenly, it washed over Rucifel, and he was gone.

  Kaliam and Lady Merewen turned to flee, but it was too late.

  Kearn came at Aelic, dealing out blow after blow. Back and forth they dueled. Aelic wanted to avoid killing Kearn if he could, but the way his enemy fought, it seemed there would be no other way.

  Kearn lunged. Aelic brought Fury up hard, but their blades locked together. Pressing in toward each other, Aelic and Kearn came eye to eye.

  “You cannot win,” Kearn said, his eyes flashing red. “And when you are dead, I will take Lady Antoinette behind the Gate of Despair. If she will not become one of us, I will feed her to my master’s new pet!”

  “Don’t listen to him, Aelic!” Antoinette yelled from the locked wagon.

  Just then their blades slid apart, but Kearn’s sword came down on Aelic’s forearm. The leather vambrace split, and the sword left a deep gash. “Arghhh!” Aelic yelled. In a rage, Aelic slashed Fury against Kearn’s blade and pinned it against the wagon. Then, he reached around and punched Kearn twice in the side where there was no armor.

  “Curse you, whelp!” Kearn coughed and spat. He wrenched his blade away from the wagon, and Aelic leaped back. “Think your skill with that blade is enough to contend with, Kearn?”

  Tired, Kearn sprang from the wagon, intending to drive his blade at Aelic’s chest for a kill. But his angle was too low coming in. Aelic swept the wide blade away, and hacked at it again and again, growing stronger with rage as Kearn grew weaker. Finally, Kearn’s guard became sloppy and Aelic’s sword drifted into position. Aelic drew Fury back so that the pommel rested near his chest. He prepared to throw a moulinet to kill.

  But before he could move, a frightening cry rose above the clamor of battle. At first it sounded as if it was coming out of the Blackwood. It rose in pitch to a great mournful howl, and Aelic felt his skull would split from the sound. Kearn too was affected, but not as much. He swayed for a moment but seized the opportunity and ran to the huge black horse that was hitched to the wagon. He leaped upon it and spurred it forward. Aelic whirled around and saw the wagon moving. He tried to pursue, but the sound had a crippling effect on him. He dropped his sword, fell to his knees, and clutched his ears.

  When the sound finally ended, Aelic grabbed Fury and sprinted up the road after the wagon. But it was already rounding a corner far ahead. Aelic watched helplessly as Kearn’s wagon took Antoinette away.

  Suddenly, another howl rang out—this time Aelic was sure it was from the Blackwood side of the forest. Other howls answered—Aelic counted: five, six, seven! And then the ground began to tremble.

  Then something dark was upon him. Aelic swung Fury recklessly like a child fighting off a nightmare. But the darkness had a texture like a spider’s web, and it clung to his skin, his hair, and his armor. Aelic calmed himself and realized that he was not bound—he could move through it.

  Aelic ran in the direction he thought Kearn had gone. Someone was up ahead. Kearn? he wondered. He could just tell it was a warrior with long hair, a long mustache, and beard. The mist seemed to swirl around him. Aelic slowed a little and blinked. No, it could not be Kearn. The warrior was enormous—far taller even
than Kaliam. He had no weapon, but he marched with deadly purpose. The warrior’s eyes were strangely fixed. Aelic stopped and stared as a mist washed past the warrior, clouding the warrior from sight. The mist vanished, and there in the warrior’s place stood a wolvin three times the creature’s normal size. The hair on its back bristled. Its jaws fell open, and it growled menacingly. Aelic realized with dismay that before him stood one of the Seven Sleepers.

  Aelic clutched Fury in front with both hands, and though he had little hope of outrunning the giant beast, he took a slow step backward. The wolvin’s yellow eyes narrowed and it charged. Aelic dove out of its path but was slowed by the grasping mist. He avoided the wolvin’s jaws, but it barreled into him with its shoulder and knocked Aelic aside like a rag doll. Heart pounding and breathless, Aelic leaped to his feet. The wolvin came again, but when Aelic tried to get out of the way, the creature reached out with its foreleg and slashed Aelic’s right shoulder. Its claws tore the armor off and gouged deep into Aelic’s arm. But even as it did so, Aelic slammed Fury down upon the creature’s back. The wolvin howled in pain and began to scratch at its back as if something were still stuck there.

  Blood streaming from his wounded arm, Aelic sprinted into the shrouded trees. He had no idea which direction to go. Aelic stumbled up a long hill and heard muffled snaps and cracks behind him. He pushed himself harder, straining against the incline. He toppled over the crest of the hill, and rolled down the other side. Jabbed and buffeted as he rolled, he clutched Fury in his left hand with all his might. When at last he stopped rolling, Aelic gasped for breath.

  Using Fury as a crutch, he pulled himself to his feet. But just as he stood, the wolvin crashed into him. Aelic flew backward, the creature on top of him. They hit the ground with a crunch and Aelic’s legs went numb. The wolvin’s teeth came at his neck, but Aelic wedged Fury up into its jaws. It bit down on the blade, yelped in surprised agony, but did not relent. It clamped down on Fury even harder and tore it from Aelic’s hands.