by Greg James
Nothing good at all.
Chapter Sixteen
The journey had been long, painful, and hard but he had survived its rigours and that was enough. Mikka Wormtooth stood alone in the darkness of the Deep Forges, the resting place of the Iron Gods beneath the city of E’phah in the Mountains of Mourning. The silent gargantuan statues of the Iron Gods stood in line on either side of him. He saw that their great leader of old, Kaomos, was the only one missing.
No matter, he thought, the other nine remain and they should be more than enough to make Seythe tremble to its roots.
For Mikka Wormtooth’s hatred was not for Sarah Bean or E’blis or the Fallen One alone. No, he now hated every living thing on Seythe and wished to see the entire world burn down to stone and ashes. All would fall before him and beg for their lives before they were slain. Men, women, elder folk, children, flora and fauna, everything would die. Clad in rags and with the iron mask bound to his face by strips of torn leather, Mikka took out the precious item that had been bequeathed to him.
The ring that had bound once bound Sarah Bean’s power.
He did not know how it had returned to his possession. He had awoken from a rough night of sleep on the Grassland Plains to find it nestling in the thin cloth of his pocket. He awoke with knowledge in his mind as to what it signified, but from where the knowledge came he did not know. He did know it meant revenge for him—on everyone. The ring was the same, but its nature had changed. It had been refashioned as a locus for the spell cast by the Ka’aron, who dampened the flames in the furnace-hearts of the Iron Gods.
Break the ring and break the spell.
Even now, though, after so much walking and waiting, Mikka Wormtooth was unsure. He was a small thing of flesh and bone compared to the forged monstrosities towering over him. As soon as the fires in their breasts were set free, they would awaken, and in their fury, they might well crush him into pieces. Despite his pain and misery, Mikka did not wish to die. Not just yet. Did he?
Even if I do die here, they will still burn and crush Seythe into nothing.
“So be it. If this is to be my last act alive, then so shall it be.”
He laid the ring on the ground at his feet and brought out a rock he had picked out on the mountainside. Raising it up, with a sharp intake of breath Mikka clashed the rock down on the ring. He struck the ring again and again. Then, on the fourth blow, he felt a crack.
The ring was broken.
From all around came a great grinding of twisting metal and the sound of fierce fires suddenly roaring into life. The Deep Forges echoed on and on, as the Iron Gods awakened. Nine pairs of smouldering demonic eyes gazed down upon Mikka Wormtooth from high in the darkness overhead, and he screamed in exultation.
Chapter Seventeen
The flaming mortar shells came just after midnight, screaming ten in a row, soaring high into the night and plunging down into Highmount, one hard, heavy concussion after another. Flames rose up from where they struck, colouring the night sky until it was as bright as day.
“It won’t be long now, will it?” Jedda asked.
General Kella stood beside her, but he didn’t answer for a moment. Despite the dark, Jedda could see his gaze flick from one burning beacon to the other, taking in the spectacle of death, and the heaving mass beyond the walls that made up the army of the Fallen One. Calm, measured words spoke for him, “No, not long now before they attack. We must be ready.”
“How long can we hold them off?”
“A few days, my Princess, perhaps. The walls are weak and the gates are no better. We have made what repairs we can but without supplies from outside, we have exhausted the lumber rooms, stone holds, and scavenged everything we can from the houses that have not been completely destroyed. Hundreds of thousands of Fellspawn are massed against us and they will be coming from the Norn Valley and across the Grasslands. They mean to break Highmount and crush us between them like grapes in a wine-maker.”
“There is still time for Sarah to succeed, General. The Kay’lo may come to our aid yet.”
“And cut through these ranks of Fellspawn, my Princess?” He swept an arm before him, at the army beyond Highmount. “The Kay’lo may be many, but the Fallen One has many more at his command. The Age of His Shadow has come to our gates. I am not sure if we can stop it coming to pass.”
“Then,” said Jedda, “we must burn brighter than all of His shadows before they put out our light forever.”
“As you say, Majesty. We may go down, but we shall go down fighting.”
Jedda rested her hand on top of the general’s. “Together, Kella. We shall go down fighting together.”
Their eyes met, and the old man smiled.
In the distance, Fellspawn battle-horns sounded.
The final battle was approaching.
Chapter Eighteen
Master Jez dismounted at the base of a small hillock crowned by a copse of wasted trees. He waved to the others, who did the same, and they gathered in close to listen.
“This is the spot. I have the provisions, which I will hand over to the Kay’lo first. I will then tell them you are with me. Then, and only then, should you approach. If you do anything other than what I’ve told you, this could go ... very badly. Does everyone understand?”
The companions nodded.
“Now, it is near the hour. Take cover.”
They did, just in time.
The Kay’lo rose out of the ground like revenants fresh from the grave and moved to surround Master Jez. They stood as one beneath the moon, their burnished skin contrasting with its bright, pale light. Their faces were as fierce and beautiful as Sarah remembered. Her heart hammered in her chest at the sight of them. She could not hear what they were saying, the keenness of the wind was blowing their words away, but she could tell that they were becoming animated. Their gestures were stern, aggressive even. Her heart beat faster as she strained to hear over the wind. If the Kay’lo knew of their presence, or worse, of their mission, this could be the moment when it all came to nothing. Without Kay’lo to guide them, they would never be able to find Lo’a’pan by themselves.
The others knew that as well as she did.
A glimpse of movement in her peripheral vision startled her. Turning, Sarah saw Enna rise from his hiding place and stride purposefully towards the Kay’lo. They saw him well before he was in reach of Master Jez, and closed into a tight circle around the innkeeper. Sarah tensed, ready to rise also. She could hear Enna shouting to the Kay’lo on the wind but was not what he was saying. Witta was at his heels. He had seen the danger too late, she was sure, and waved his arms in a series of calming gestures.
It had no effect upon the Kay’lo.
The circle of warriors made a sudden movement and Sarah was on her feet, running, as she saw Enna and Witta fall as one, collapsing in on themselves. She reached them in time to see their limbs spasming, their eyes wide.. No words passed their parted lips.
No!
Sarah turned on the Kay’lo, anger surging through her before she could even think to master or control it. The Flame had her; she was the heart of it. The wind became a light breeze and then fell away to nothing as a pillar of pure inferno consumed her.
“You should not have killed them. They meant you no harm.”
“We are Kay’lo. Men have always meant us harm. Especially those who sneak up on us in the dark.”
“You knew we were here before then.”
“Yes, we did. But it was their decision to attack us.”
“They were not attacking you. They had no weapons.”
Master Jez put himself between the Kay’lo and Sarah’s mounting fury.
“Sarah … if you kill them Lo’a’pan will be lost to you.”
“They killed two innocent men! You promised we would be safe if we brought no weapons.”
“I know, and I was wrong. But if you kill them now, more innocent people will die. You cannot do this now. This is not the time for vengeance.”
“Shut up!”
“Listen to me. Your anger could destroy this chance for you, for Seythe. I am asking you, please, master yourself. Extinguish the Flame. They will kill me if you don’t. They will kill Orraea too.”
“I think not, Innkeeper.” Orraea stepped into the light cast by Sarah’s diminishing fire. Sarah wanted to avert her eyes from the Kay’lo, but she knew she could not. It would show weakness, and to show such feeling before the Kay’lo could lead to them denying her what she wanted from them.
“We have been waiting for you, Flame-bearer.”
“Master Jez told you I was coming?”
“No. We heard your footsteps long before that time. The Grassland Plains belong to us. Our tunnels were beneath your feet before you had come far from the traitors’ gates.”
“Then you must know why I am here.” Sarah said.
“We do. We are here for you, but we are not here for them. Their city can burn. Their children can be slain. We care nothing for those who did as much to us.”
“The same could happen to you if you don’t help us stop the Fallen One.”
“You have been swayed by the traitors.”
“No. Some of them are my friends, but no one has swayed me. Your people attacked me and held me prisoner when I was travelling to the Fellhorn last year.”
A murmur made its way through the Kay’lo. Their leader bowed to her, though he did not break eye contact. Sarah saw a strange violent serenity in his eyes, and sincerity too.
“You have my word that those who held you so will be punished.”
Sarah shook her head. “You don’t need to. They died. The Dionin killed them all.”
Another murmur was followed by hisses between bared teeth.
“Then honour is satisfied though not by the means we would have chosen. Nevertheless, they paid for the wrong they did to you.”
“With their lives? That is how you would have punished them?”
“If the wrong was severe enough, Flame-bearer. Life is gold and blood is silver. We pay those prices unto Death that we might live longer than those who fall before us.”
“I didn’t want that to happen to them.”
“We cannot talk more in the open. Come with us. The worms are abroad, Flame-bearer. We must go before they catch our scent and find our tunnels.”
Before I betray you to them, Sarah thought. Maybe I should, after all. For Enna. And for Witta. Maybe I should.
Chapter Nineteen
Sarah crawled through a black labyrinth with Kay’lo warriors before and after her. Orraea was somewhere behind her, but the tunnels were too tight for her to look back. Master Jez had returned to Trepolpen after the Kay’lo took their supplies from him. The burrows pattered with soil shaken loose by their passage and they passed huddled groups of Kay’lo in alcoves and hollowed-out spaces. Some watched her pass; others were praying. Artists were busy sketching clumsily with stumps of charcoal. She saw some who crouched with their eyes closed, lips moving but not speaking, composing words, for some unknown reason. They passed tunnel openings that were new and others that were buried—a web spread beneath the land. For every opening that was lost, Sarah could see another two or three were opened.
Even the scouts of the Fallen One would be hard pressed to seal this network off entirely. Sarah guessed it would be take an afternoon’s digging to hollow out another branch to an existing tunnel and fashion a fresh opening.
That being said, it was far from comfortable. Everyone moved on their hands and knees. Lamps were nestled in hollows at irregular intervals; there was not enough air in the tunnels for candles and the air that was there tasted unclean. Sarah paused every so often to steady her breathing. Time passed but she did not know how long they had been crawling. Lit alcoves came and went. Tunnels swallowed their own darkness. It was long and tedious, until the claustrophobic tunnels opened out into an ancient sprawling cavern that could have housed Highmount three times over. The polished, shining stone of the interior was a welcome relief to her oppressed senses.
This was Lo’a’pan—and it was like nothing Sarah had ever imagined.
She had expected it to be a place of dirt and winding burrows, but instead it was a great, bowl-shaped cavern with levels of alcoves and balconies by the score that led into warmly-lit hollows. Vines and roots descended from the higher openings, entwining like lovers’ fingers. Sarah watched Kay’lo, young and old, ascending and descending them so nimbly that they might have been running up and down the sheer stone itself.
The base soil and stone of the cavern had also been worked on so that there were numerous patterns running across it. At first, Sarah could only make out the beautiful, seamless flow it but, as she looked closer, it resolved into hieroglyphs depicting people, creatures and artefacts.
“It is their history,” said Orraea, coming to her side, “every inch of Lo’a’pan tells a part of their story. If it were to be damaged or destroyed, then they would lose a part of themselves. This is why Lo’a’pan is so precious to them – more than anything.”
No wonder the Fallen One wants this place and its people destroyed, Sarah thought, and I have agreed to help Him do it.
“How did you know about it?” Sarah asked.
“Tales reach the ears of Wayfarers. Truth and rumour are often difficult to tell apart but we remember all. One never knows when such a tale might prove useful or be revealed as true.”
“It is beautiful.”
Sarah could see groups of Kay’lo were gathered in depressions that had been cut into the cavern’s floor. Some of them were children playing. Others were men and women practicing their fighting stances and weapon forms. Then, there were those that she assumed must be the elders of the Kay’lo, sitting cross-legged in circles with their heads bowed in silence. And, at the heart of the cavern was a colossus that dominated the entire scene before her. She had seen it before, in the vision granted to her by the Veil of Remembrance in E’phah. It was the Great Tree—what was left of it. One of the First-Born of Creation alongwith A’aron and E’blis.
“I remember it. How did it come to be here?” She asked one of the Kay’lo.
“It is the heart of Lo’a’pan and of Seythe,” he said, “Each of the worlds grew from a Great Tree. Without it, the world withers, becomes barren, and dies altogether. The duty of the Kay’lo has always been to preserve the Great Tree. We are its keepers and protectors. The men of Highmount would have burned it, or felled it to use the sap and wood for their restorative powers. We could not allow such sacrilege.”
“And so began the war between the Three Kingdoms and the Kay’lo?”
“Yes, and we would fight such a war again in the name of the Great Tree.”
“There is a war being waged as we speak.”
“So there is, but we are well-buried here beneath the surface. The Great Tree has strength enough to protect us—and itself—from the Fallen One’s power.”
“How can you be so sure of that?” Orraea asked.
Sarah shifted uncomfortably on her feet, but no-one seemed to notice.
“We would trust in wood, sap, soil and stone before we trusted in the hearts of men. The heart is a fickle thing. Wood, sap, soil and stone are constant and true.”
“But what about the Dionin?”
“The worms are pernicious, but we can keep them at bay. The Great Tree wards Lo’a’pan with its roots. Dionin that come upon the roots of the Great Tree die in its embrace.”
“But the world above will be left barren if the Fallen One wins,” Sarah said.
“So be it. Everything has its time. All things live. All things die. The soil will become ripe again. Trees shall grow and bear fruit. Water will run through the dry riverbeds. Life will begin, and light will shine after the shadow passes away. The Kay’lo may live to see such a time. We may be long dead before such a time comes to pass.”
Sarah didn’t know what to say to that.
“Come, Flame-bearer. The Elders wish to speak with you and t
he Wayfarer.”
She followed him, with Orraea stepping silently behind. “Tell me, what’s your name?”
“I am D’Noi.”
He said no more.
The Kay’lo were as taciturn as she remembered.
She descended with him into a hollow where a group of small, wizened Kay’lo were sitting in a tight circle. They were not wearing the leather armour favoured by the younger Kay’lo instead they wore loose robes that appeared to have been fashioned from a dark hardy fibre. Their grey-white hair was bound into intricate dreadlocks that were woven, it seemed, to suggest roots and vines.
D’Noi introduced Sarah, and they nodded sombrely. One of their number stepped forward. His eyes were cloudy with rheum and his fingers were arthritic knots fastened over the heads of two walking sticks that clicked harshly on the stone.
“I am T’Yuua, and I will speak for the Elders. I wish you courage for your coming battle, Flame-bearer. We are told you fight for the people of the land as if it were your own.”
“I like to think I would fight for everyone in this world as if they were my own blood,” Sarah said.
“A fine sentiment, Flame-bearer. We thank you for it. Be welcome here. You have travelled far with your companion. Now, you must rest and eat, for tomorrow we will parlay with you.”
Companions, Sarah thought, I’m not going to forget about Enna and Witta.
T’Yuua’s smile wasn’t sitting quite right on his face. The muscles seemed to move against one another. Sarah didn’t know quite what to make of that. Something told her she was being kept in the dark about what would really happen tomorrow. But their audience was at an end and she could see that they would say no more today as they turned their backs on her and reformed their silent, nodding circle.
Sarah followed D’Noi out of the hollow. Lo’a’pan’s interior suddenly developed a sullen frostiness—an emptiness. Echoes and whispers worried at the edge of her hearing. Eyes met Sarah’s: those of Kay’lo passing by. Their lips were moving, muttering, yet no sound seemed to come out. Still, the whispering increased in its intensity to the droning hum of an hive. The chattering of hatching insects.