The Wound of the World

by Edward W. Robertson

  "And once I serve you." Dante felt for the iron beneath his feet. "What will we do together? Conquer?"

  The giant shook his head again. "We will consume."

  "Sounds like a generous offer. But I've got one for you: die."

  Dante jerked his hand upward. A spike of iron ore shot from the ground, aimed at the giant's guts. With a grunt—it might have been a chuckle—the man stepped to the side. As he put down his foot, Dante sent a second spike jutting beneath it. Yet the enemy seemed to be able to feel the shifts in the nether and was already sliding his foot away. The impromptu blade nicked the side of his foot, drawing blood but causing no major damage.

  Looking amused, the giant jogged toward the side of the uneven spread of iron. Dante considered trying to gore him with one last spike, but if the man dodged again, that would be the end.

  But just as Dante didn't stand to gain anything from winning the fight aside from his own life, he didn't have to kill the man to survive.

  He reached into himself and the metal-rich rock. Drawing deeply on the trace, he heaved a wave of iron over the giant like pulling a quilt over an unruly dog. With the last drop of trace he dared to spend, he shaped the iron to allow the end of the glaive through, then slammed the metallic ore closed around the shaft, trapping the weapon in place.

  His makeshift chamber was a poor match for the rune-inscribed hexagon. But inside its walls, the giant bellowed with rage.

  Naran gawked. "Will that imprison him?"

  "I have no fucking idea," Dante said, feeling lightheaded and ready to vomit. "Get Blays on his feet!"

  Volo slapped Blays in the face. He opened one eye. From the slackness of his face, it was exceedingly obvious that he didn't know what was happening, and possibly even where he was, but Blays had always been possessed with a supernatural ability to understand when it was time to move his legs until the landscape changed enough to escape whatever was threatening to kill him. Volo propped him up on her slim shoulders.

  Naran moved to join them. The water-people each shrieked once and burst forward, faces drawn back so tightly by their anger that their noses looked ready to slice through their skin. Dante sprinted to join Naran, who jogged to engage the closest people before they could get to Volo and Blays. Naran's crackling sword deposited their foes to the ground in several large chunks.

  Naran jogged uphill, Volo and Blays trudging along behind him. Dante took up the rear, decapitating one of the pale people and sticking his sword through the ribs of another. Flickers of shadows stole from the corpses and into his sword.

  Behind them, the giant pounded on the inside of his prison, fists booming like thunder. For the moment, the walls seemed to be holding. The pounding stopped. Dante suspected he was pulling on the glaive—if he could get it free, he could probably carve through the iron in seconds—but it didn't appear to be budging.

  The people from the pools were threatening to overwhelm them, but Blays was starting to get a feel for his legs again, running hard. Dante was so dizzy he felt himself reeling side to side. He focused on his friends' backs. A half dozen of the strange people awaited them at the top of the ridge. They carried shards of bone, but apparently the wits had returned to Blays' arms, too. He drew his weapons and sheared through the welcoming party.

  Ahead, the land sloped down gently, littered with bony growths and the odd chunk of iron. Dante's first priority was getting the hell away from the giant, but the pressure in his head told him that Gladdic was practically straight ahead of them. Gladdic seemed to know this area. Including, presumably, the ways out of it.

  "Volo," Dante said. "You knew what that thing was."

  She glanced over her shoulder. "If you've heard of a mountain but never seen one, do you really know it?"

  "Much better than someone who doesn't even know mountains exist!"

  "Okay, but what if you've heard about mountains, but you think the whole idea of a big pile of rock that's miles high is so crazy it can't possibly be true?"

  "Quit trying to argue your way out of this. Who was that man?"

  Still running, she gazed down at the ground. "They call him Eiden Rane. The White Lich."

  "Finally, some progress! And who is this White Lich?"

  "He was one of the sorcerers. One that's so old he probably did exist before the mountains were around. But that's all I know."

  "You know more than that. You said he might take our souls. What does that mean?"

  Volo watched a pair of water-people running toward the valley at full speed. "It means he turns you into them."

  Dante blinked. "Was Gladdic trying to keep him sealed up? Or to kill him? Why would he do that?"

  "I dunno," she said. "To save the world?"

  "Are you being serious?"

  "They told us he would help us. But I don't think they were telling the whole truth."

  She wouldn't say more, even who "they" was. The ground began to rise again. The white fields and mounds looked like they could be endless. To get some idea of the path ahead, Dante diverted to a small, steep hill. From its top, the western edge of the Wound looked to end in a steep drop that might have been cliffs. The eastern fields were pocked with rifts in the surface. The north, where Gladdic had gone, looked the same as the ground they'd already crossed.

  He could also see behind them into the round valley of the White Lich. There, a small army had entered the bowl, flying the colors of the Monsoon. Scouts ran ahead, approaching the iron prison Dante had sealed the White Lich inside. As they neared, a hole opened in the side of the prison, disgorging a massive glowing figure.

  Across from the Lich, the members of the Monsoon bent their knees and bowed their heads.

  ~

  The boy was late. And getting later by the minute. When Raxa couldn't stand it anymore, she scaled the side of the warehouse and crawled across the roof, getting down beside the chimney. Out in the darkness, the fleet awaited at the docks. A small legion of soldiers milled around the grounds. Word around the palace was that they'd be leaving that night.

  After ensuring nothing interesting was happening, Raxa backed off to the edge of the roof, but there was still no sign of Sorrowen. She wasn't sure why that irritated her so much. She was better off on her own. Less chance of getting spotted. And if they did see her, she had a much better chance of rabbiting.

  An unusual amount of hollering was going on in the neighborhoods around them. Raxa hadn't thought it was a holiday, but maybe it was one of those that the nobles were too good to celebrate with the peons.

  Lanterns pricked up along the docks. Sailors detached from the crowd of troops and embarked. As they made what looked like their final preparations, the soldiers began to move. A few hundred men walked onto the piers and divided themselves up between the forty-odd boats. Most of the soldiers remained on dry land. And now that Raxa really looked at it, there weren't all that many of them. Not nearly enough to fill the boats. Barely enough to row them.

  They settled in at the benches. Sailors cast off their ropes and the oarsmen rowed downstream. Should she climb down and chase after them? See if they pulled in anywhere to pick up more troops? Then again, if they had more soldiers that close, why in the spinning shits wouldn't they have just brought them to Keller's Pier to embark?

  More annoyed than ever, she watched the ships' lanterns drift down the river. Rather than coming in at another pier, they were moving toward the center of the Chanset. Another couple of miles, and they'd be out to sea.

  She supposed she might as well confirm that. She shimmied down the warehouse. She'd taken three whole steps south when a robed figure swung from behind the building across the alley. Sorrowen jerked when he saw her. His southerner's face had tanned well in the few weeks they'd been in Bressel, but that night, it was as blanched as a Yallener's. The collar of his robe was stained red, but his face and neck looked all right.

  "You heal yourself?" Raxa motioned to the blood. "Or is that not yours?"

  "There was…" The kid swallowed,
eyebrows flexing inward. "I don't know what it was. There was fighting. In the temples."

  Raxa glanced over her shoulder. There was a warehouse between them and Keller's Pier, but there had been an awful lot of soldiers thataway. She tugged his sleeve and walked him south.

  "Let me guess." Raxa stepped around a fishy-smelling puddle. "Brother Farwin stole Brother Alrod's pudding again?"

  "A squad of soldiers came up to the door after we'd closed for the night. Master Gocran told them to go away and come back tomorrow, but Master Waymore let them inside. It seemed like half the monastery was waiting for them. They rousted the rest of us. Master Waymore proclaimed that Daris had returned to the east. That it was our sworn duty to resist him. That we would need the help of a great prophet to slay Daris again. But not to worry, because the Prophet Drakebane was already on his way from the east, and that he would deliver us from the dragon's wrath.

  "Master Gocran's face was so red I thought he'd spew wine from his ears. He told Waymore that that was outright heresy. And that if Gocran renounced it then and there, that nobody would have to know about it. Before Master Waymore could say anything one way or another, one of the soldiers…" Sorrowen dropped his gaze. "He stabbed Master Gocran. In the gut. Like he was no more than a pig."

  He looked on the brink of tears. Raxa suddenly felt intensely uncomfortable. "Then what?"

  "The temple went mad. They were throwing ether around like boys throwing stones. Brothers killing brothers. By the end, Gocran's supporters were all murdered or taken captive. When they told me to fetch water to mop up the blood, I just…started running."

  "Smart move. Any idea what this is about?"

  "Madness? Stark, raving madness? Something's wrong, Raxa. I don't think it's safe to stay here."

  "We haven't been safe since we walked into the city." Thinking she'd heard the march of soldiers, she glanced behind them, but the alley was empty. "If it's too dangerous here, we could always head to Collen. The fleet just left. But they didn't look like they had enough men to conquer a farmhouse."

  Sorrowen beetled his brow. "Then why would they even try to invade Collen?"

  "Don't ask me. Could be a training exercise."

  The alley fed them out into a main road. A patrol of twenty soldiers tromped down the street, boots clopping in time. A block away, two men shouted at each other in anger. Glass shattered. The soldiers broke into a trot. Raxa peered into the darkness. The soldiers' torches spilled light over the front of a temple. Outside, men in robes cursed at each other.

  "This is getting weird." Raxa headed south, away from the brewing skirmish. "I want to see if the fleet heads out to sea. But if there's a riot going on, we might have to get off the streets."

  They walked briskly. Shouts sounded from all sides, carrying far on the damp seaside air. Small groups of people ran down the street with hoods pulled over their faces. Some carried torches, the smell of pitch unfurling behind them. A few carried swords. In Bressel, that was illegal unless you were a soldier.

  Raxa could read cities, and she could read nights. This one felt wrong. Like a lot of people were about to get hurt. On a main thoroughfare, people stood in tight knots, talking in worried tones. Raxa broke into a jog, hoping she and Sorrowen looked like a young couple that had stayed out too late and was hurrying home.

  They were still a mile from the mouth of the river when the bells tolled from the spire of the Odeleon. The noise was foreboding. Pendulous. Like the city had opened a door that should have stayed shut.

  Around them, everyone went as silent as a mountaintop. They turned as one toward the center of the city. Toward the palace. A few of them broke from their friends and ran like spooked deer. Most drew tighter yet, babbling like a pub on the eve of a tournament.

  She raised an eyebrow at Sorrowen. "Any idea what the bells mean?"

  Sorrowen swung his head back and forth. "I've never heard them before."

  She was about to let it be, but upheaval in the capital was the kind of thing that could stop a war in its tracks. She slowed, approaching a cluster of people. They stared her down. She smiled at a bald man on the outskirts of the group.

  "I'm sorry," she said, laying her northern accent on thick. "I am not from here. These bells, they are what?"

  The man drew back his head like she'd spit at his feet. "Don't you know anything? That's the toll of the Banished Lord's Bells. King Charles—he's dead."

  ~

  They were nearly to the next major ridge when the shadows tore loose from the power of the Odo Sein.

  Freed, they seemed to dance on the wind, darting between the raindrops. Dante slowed, spreading his hands and gathering them up. They had all suffered cuts and bruises and Blays had been running with a tightness of his upper body that suggested he might have cracked some ribs. Dante stopped to heal them all. It was necessary, but after going so long without being able to call to the nether, he would have jumped at the excuse to cure a hangnail.

  Blays took a deep breath, spreading his arms wide. "That's better. Spent the last twenty minutes about to scream in your ear until you got annoyed enough to knock me back out."

  Naran surveyed the hellscape around them. They hadn't seen one of the water-people in several minutes. "Does the return of your abilities mean that the Odo Sein are vanquished?"

  Dante sighed. "I look forward to when I can someday know the answer to a question. Until that time, I once again have no gods damn clue."

  "How close are we?" Blays said.

  "Close."

  "Excellent. By the way, we probably shouldn't kill him right away."

  Dante met his eyes. "No?"

  "Not until we've beaten the location of his boat out of him. He wouldn't be heading this way if he didn't have a way off this rock."

  Dante murmured his assent. As they crested the ridge, the pressure in his head grew unbearable. They found Gladdic huddled under a stand of blade-like white growths. The priest's eyes were closed. He clutched the stump of his arm to his chest. Though the ether now shined on the air, ready to be put to use, his wound was unhealed. His slack face was at peace.

  Blays lifted his eyebrows at Dante. "So much for getting him to tell us where his boat is."

  Dante leaned closer, reaching out for the nether in the old man's body.

  Gladdic's eyes snapped open. Dante jerked back, calling forth a swarm of shadows.

  "You have nothing to fear." Gladdic's chuckle was as dry as the dusts of Collen. "At least, not from me." He glanced between them with no apparent concern. "I surmise you are here for your vengeance."

  "You surmise right," Blays said. "It's time to answer for the murder of the Colleners."

  Naran tipped back his chin. "And that of my captain, Mariola Twill."

  "And everyone else we've left out. I'd list them, but I'd like to be out of here before next week."

  Gladdic nodded to himself, then stared up at Dante. "Kill me, then. I beg you."

  "Hey now," Blays said. "You're not supposed to want it. That spoils the fun."

  Dante met the old priest's gaze. "Why?"

  Gladdic rolled his eyes. "You cannot pour any more guilt in my cup when it already overflows. If there is any mercy in your soul, you will kill me. If not, you'll make me commit one last sin: my suicide."

  "Not until you tell me what's happened here."

  The old man sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. "You are the most tediously dogged person that I have ever known. Very well, here is the list of calamities. The Drakebane is taking Mallon. The White Lich will take the world. And it is all my fault."

  Dante was so taken aback that he couldn't narrow himself to a single question.

  Blays rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Did we finally drive you insane? The Drakebane was just kicked out of his own keep. How in the world would he dash off and conquer Mallon? By dumping a school of ziki oko into the Chanset?"

  "It won't require even that much," Gladdic said mildly. "Not when he's spent decades setting his plans in pl
ace. He has infiltrated the priesthood. Inserted spies into the palace. Right now, he summons Mallon's own fleet to bring his people to Bressel."

  "That's…" Blays swung his head to bug his eyes at Dante. "Shit."

  "Raxa's fleet," Dante said. "It isn't to invade Collen. It's to move the Drakebane's loyalists out of Tanar Atain. To make a new home in Mallon."

  "Yes. But. That's insane."

  "You are a man who lacks vision," Gladdic scoffed. "Hence you mistake fanatical devotion for common insanity. In controlling the priests, the Drakebane has command of the ether, along with most of the peasantry, who will do whatever the clergy commands. It seems he has also bent the military to his will. The only thing that stands between him and complete control is the king and his loyalists—and he has assured me that Lord Charles is not long for this world."

  Dante narrowed his eyes. "Yet you sound skeptical."

  "That he can take Mallon? Not a whit. But even the Drakebane's vision is hampered. For all their complexity, none of his schemes matter. The White Lich is free. No matter how far the Emperor runs from this place, it's only a matter of time until we are all the lich's slaves."

  "He's right," Volo blurted. "The Monsoon didn't think we could hold onto the capital. So we thought we could use the lich to destroy the Drakebane's dynasty. And he will—but then he'll kill us, too. Except the ones he enslaves. And then he'll come for the rest of you."

  "Indeed." Gladdic bowed his head and shut his eyes again. "So kill me. Take your vengeance while there is still any meaning to be had in this world."

  "I can't." Dante's head rang with the beat of his heart. "You say this is your fault. Then will you help me undo it?"

  He held out his hand. Gladdic's mouth fell open. Tears welled in the hollows of his eyes. He reached out with his left arm and clasped Dante's hand in his own.

  FROM THE AUTHOR

  Don't worry, this isn't the end of THE CYCLE OF GALAND. I'm expecting to write two or three more to finish the story. The next book should be out in the spring of 2017. To make sure you know when it's out, please sign up for my mailing list.