Spine of the Dragon

by Kevin J. Anderson

  As the rest of the soldiers led the refugees at their own pace, the three rode off at a full gallop. The skies were a gray soup of clouds, and a constant rain turned the road into a slurry that sucked at the horses’ hooves. Reaching the lower city the following day, Conndur saw that one of the bridges crossing the Crickyeth River had been washed out, but intrepid ferrymen were taking people back and forth to the main city on the wedge of land between the two rivers. Shacks and lean-tos that had been erected alongside the road were crowded with refugees. Bleak people stared at the riders as they passed, and Conndur’s heart ached for them.

  After the Mount Vada disaster, his castle administrators had set up accounting stations where families could ask for assistance. Riders went through the city searching for anyone who might have spare beds to shelter unfortunate survivors. The busy Convera markets had been picked over, since much of the regular trade over the mountains had been cut off after the eruption.

  Conndur kept wrestling with possibilities. The Commonwealth army was a mighty force, but how could even the three kingdoms stand against the power that lurked beneath Mount Vada? Or the frostwreths in Norterra that had engulfed a lake and an entire town in a wave of ice? The sandwreths claimed they wanted to be allies, and he considered riding to Suderra so he could meet with Queen Voo, but even if they fought side by side, the wreths would not have the best interests of mankind at heart.

  The Commonwealth could never win this war themselves, especially if his armies were also fighting against Ishara. It would take the entire human race to stand against the ancient enemy—their own creators, who were intent on destroying and remaking the world. Conn had an idea to solve both problems at once.

  As the three approached the gates of Convera Castle, Mandan grinned at the prospect of being home again, apparently no longer thinking of the plight of the refugees. “I will have a warm bath and a nap in my own bed! I am also eager to paint what I have seen, so others can see the devastation as I have.”

  Four advisors rushed to report to the konag as soon as he slid out of his saddle and stamped his feet, shaking off the caked ash that plastered his riding clothes. He raised his voice. “Call the council into the main chamber. I will propose an important mission that might mean our very survival. What is happening in the Dragonspine is far more dangerous than an Isharan raid.”

  Conn insisted that the prince join him for the urgent discussion, right away, which made Mandan sulk at the disruption of his plans for relaxation. For himself, Conn took only enough time to rinse his face and hair from a basin before he stalked into the council chamber. He had his mind made up.

  His advisors, vassal lords, and ministers arrived swiftly, and he sat beside the prince at the long wooden table, facing the influential men and women. As they took their seats, the visitors shouted over one another, clamoring to deliver their reports about the damage across the counties of Osterra.

  When their voices petered out, Conn said sharply, “The world just changed. For centuries there have been tremors in the Dragonspine, and we thought they were old wives’ tales about Ossus shifting in his slumbers. I doubt anyone truly believed those stories. I certainly didn’t.” He rested his dusty elbows on the table and let out a long sigh. “Now, I fear it’s all true. We know from reports delivered by King Adan and King Kollanan that the wreths have returned and they intend to wake the dragon. Perhaps Ossus really is buried beneath those mountains. After I saw the devastation, the fire and smoke, how could I think otherwise?”

  The lords mumbled, but Conn’s eyes burned with angry tears. “My son and brother tried to warn us, but we were more afraid of the Isharans than the wreths, more than the end of the world! That’s like worrying about a pebble in your boot, when an avalanche is crashing toward you.” He slammed his fist down on the table. “Ancestors’ blood, this cannot be! We’ve had our disagreements with Ishara over the centuries. They are foreigners with strange ways, and they have godlings, which we don’t understand.” He swept his glare across all of them. “Yet one thing is certain—they are humans, like us, created and enslaved by the wreths, and then abandoned long ago.”

  Lord Cade said in a sarcastic voice, “Isharans may be humans, strictly speaking, but I’ve seen enough of them to know that they are quite inferior.”

  Utho’s face darkened. “The Isharans have brought us tremendous harm, Sire. Don’t make light of their threat. They mean to destroy us. We cannot let down our defenses.”

  The konag spoke in a scolding tone. “The Isharans have done us recent harm, certainly, and we have caused them harm as well.” He scowled. “Don’t tell me we haven’t raided their fishing boats, captured their people, and killed innocent Isharans.”

  Lord Cade muttered under his breath, “There’s no such thing as innocent Isharans!”

  “I fought them too, you know.” Conn struggled with his impatience. “I killed more Isharans than I could count, and they killed plenty of our soldiers.” His own fighters had felt the bloodlust, had committed atrocities, and the Isharans would not forgo their revenge. “If Konag Cronin hadn’t withdrawn us from Ishara out of grief when Bolam died, would that war still be going on?” He swallowed, but the sour taste in his mouth did not go away.

  “We cannot be distracted by old quarrels, like squabbling siblings. As konag of the Commonwealth, I must rally all people—all of humanity—to stand against the wreths. We cannot waste our energy and resources fighting Ishara. This threat is greater than either of us.”

  One of the lords sucked in a quick breath. “You mean fight alongside Isharans?”

  “Against the wreths—yes.” Conndur looked at all of the gathered advisors. “The wreths want to remake the world and eradicate all things. If that happens, what do our arguments with the Isharans matter? We’ll all be dead. We need them as allies.”

  His suggestion caused an uproar. Two ministers rose to their feet, and Utho’s face turned a ruddy color. “They will betray us, Sire. If we let down our guard, they’ll kill us more swiftly than the wreths would. We can’t trust them.”

  “We have to take the chance,” Conn insisted quietly. “You heard what Koll said. What happened at Lake Bakal is just the first step toward much wider devastation. You also saw the mountains shake and the cracks of dragon’s fire escaping. We can’t blind ourselves.” The konag squared his shoulders, issued his decision. “I will write a letter to Empra Iluris and propose that we meet on neutral ground. I can convince her of the crisis that threatens us all. From there, we can discuss possible solutions.”

  “What neutral ground, Sire?” asked one of the nobles.

  He had already decided. “Fulcor Island.”

  Utho rose to his feet. “You cannot do this, Sire. Fulcor is our hard-fought territory, gained at great cost. You know the Isharans are animals!”

  “Some animals can be tamed,” Conndur said.

  “Why would the empra bother to come? Why would she believe us?” asked another noble—Lady Eudalya, from the county just south of the Joined River.

  Conn laced his fingers together. He had to offer them something significant enough to make them agree. “Because if they agree to our alliance, if they throw their might into our mutual defense against the wreths … then I’ll offer to return Fulcor Island to them. That should get Iluris interested.”

  The uproar was deafening, but Conndur didn’t stay to listen. Ignoring their protestations, he rose and left the table. He was exhausted in his heart as well as in his body, and he’d had enough discussion.

  * * *

  The following day, an Utauk trading ship, the Glissand, sailed up the Joined River from the sea and docked on the Bluewater side of the city. The merchant captain, a prominent man named Hale Orr, had just returned from Ishara and he came with news for the konag. Conndur knew the man as the father of Adan’s wife, Penda. They had met two years ago in Bannriya at the wedding.

  Conndur received the trader, recognizing the hearty man with a neat beard and a gold tooth. Hale had only o
ne hand, but no lack of self-confidence. Dressed in crimson and black silks, he paced back and forth in the receiving room, relaxed and tense at the same time. After brief niceties, Hale spoke quickly with his news. “After our ship traded with the garrison at Fulcor Island, we continued to Ishara, as we do on occasion. I met with the empra herself.” He lowered his voice. “She tried to hire me as a spy to report on your movements and your armies, in case of war. I reassured her you were not about to launch an attack on her shores. Which is true … I hope?”

  Conn raised his eyebrows. “I’m surprised you would tell me this.”

  “So was Empra Iluris, but Utauks are neutral. I said I would only agree if I could share all my observations with either side. She didn’t want to accept those terms.”

  “They are trying to provoke us. Isharan raiders recently attacked our coast and obliterated a town,” Conn said. “It was an act of war, and my people are pressuring me to retaliate. I did not ask for war. In fact, it is imperative that I stop it. I want to make peace between our lands.”

  Hale Orr’s expression darkened. “You may say that, Sire, but the fault does not lie entirely with Ishara. Your ships have been attacking Isharan fishing boats. I saw the proof myself at Fulcor Island, and we witnessed Watchman Osler executing the civilian crews by throwing the prisoners off the cliffs. I assure you, they were only fishermen. The provocation comes from both sides.”

  Conndur felt angry and sickened to hear this, especially now. “This has to stop! There is too much at stake. Both sides need to change. Desperate times demand it.”

  He explained about the eruption of Mount Vada, the reports from Kollanan and Adan. Hale gave a solemn nod. “I can vouch that part of it is true. I was in Bannriya with my daughter and son-in-law. I saw Queen Voo and the sandwreths arrive after the dust storm, and I heard what she had to say. It is deeply disturbing.”

  Conn realized the opportunity that had fallen in his lap. If this man had seen the wreths himself, and he was a neutral Utauk, what better messenger could he send? “I’ve written a letter to the empra, from one ruler to another, but I didn’t know how to deliver it. How would a Commonwealth ship get to Ishara? But an Utauk ship…”

  “The Glissand is not my ship, Sire. I’m merely the merchant captain.” Hale paused. “But for an appropriate fee, the voyagier and crew could be convinced to sail back to Serepol. I’ll deliver your letter into the empra’s hands myself and I’ll make her understand how important it is.”

  66

  A TAMBURDIN hunter stumbled out of the forest, bleeding from wounds in his shoulder and shouting about a horde of Hethrren, hundreds of the barbarians on the move toward the city, only a day or so behind him. “They killed both of my brothers. I barely got away.”

  The hunter’s wounds needed tending, but Klovus insisted that some of his blood first be offered in the temple. “We need the godling strong!” he said. “We need it angry!” Klovus could barely contain his eagerness. He had carefully planned with Priestlord Neré for the arrival of the barbarians.

  The outlying farmers and shepherds retreated into the protection of the stockade walls, and the city prepared for the attack. Anxiety hung over the streets like a cold, low-lying fog.

  The next day, the Hethrren swarmed out of the hills in a concerted charge.

  Klovus had been happily asleep, making sure he would be well rested for the impending raid, when the town’s bronze bell clanged to wake the defenders. He donned his caftan and rushed out to join his ur-priests as the people roused and rushed about. City guards ran to the watch platforms on top of the stockade, stringing their bows and getting ready to launch a rain of arrows on the invaders. Other soldiers gathered at the gates, swords drawn, standing shoulder to shoulder.

  Hethrren raiders thundered out of the hills, riding between the trees in scattered formations. They rode huge black mountain horses, using leather blankets rather than saddles. The barbarians had stocky bodies and massive arms, all solid muscle. They howled as they charged forward, using their voices to invoke terror. The men had thick beards and long black hair, and the women rode beside them wielding identical weapons. Their fur-lined leather helmets were studded with polished stones.

  Leading them was a woman with a square face and fierce eyes. A wolf pelt on her shoulders flapped behind her as she rode hard, leaning forward on her black horse. She carried a knotted club, its rounded end twisted like the head of a deformed child and varnished with stains of old blood. Her horse snorted as if it felt a bloodlust of its own.

  Some Hethrren rode with smoking baskets filled with pitch and kindling. The wicker baskets burst into flame as the raiders swung the containers while galloping toward the stockade. The flaming baskets smashed against the wall, splattering pitch and spreading fire. The Hethrren howled and laughed.

  Klovus and his priests hurried to the temple. Neré was there in her brown caftan, her hair pulled tightly back in oiled braids. It was time for them to do their work. Inside, the spelldoor shimmered against the lightning-twisted trees as the impatient godling swelled with the need of its people, stronger than ever and demanding to be unleashed. Klovus could feel its energy rising to a boiling point, and he understood Neré’s fears of letting it get out of control. But the two of them joined their magic, which swirled out to connect with the godling. From behind the spelldoor, it sensed them, listened to them. Obeyed them.

  Klovus concentrated, felt his connection strengthen, and he turned to the closest ur-priest. “Tell the guards to open the stockade gate—open it wide!”

  The priest blinked, startled. “They will refuse, Priestlord. The city is under attack!”

  “Unless they want the godling to blast its way through the walls, they had better give it a way out.”

  The priest ran off.

  Panicked townspeople ran toward the temple, chanting, “Hear us, save us!” Klovus feared that the godling would mow them down and scatter them on its escape. If so, he supposed the entity would simply take them as additional offerings to increase its strength, and use that strength to wipe out even more of the barbarian invaders.

  Primitive shouts and howls continued outside the city. The bronze bell tolled monotonously. With each assault on the Tamburdin walls, with every scream outside the city, the protective godling grew angrier, more anxious to defend its people, its worshippers … its creators.

  Klovus could feel the contact with the roiling entity. Neré might indeed have been too weak by herself. His remaining ur-priests backed toward the safety of the wooden temple walls. One man stood beside the huge carving of the golden bear, as if the fierce animal offered protection.

  “Now!” Klovus said.

  “Now,” Neré agreed and raised her voice to the spelldoor. “Hear us, save us. Protect Tamburdin! You are our godling. Save your people.”

  The gateway shimmered, glowed. “Come forth and do what you were created to do,” Klovus said.

  They triggered the spelldoor and set the godling free. The entity emerged from its unreal world, the invisible space between here and there. Guided by the two powerful priestlords, it lunged out, released to do only one thing.

  Each godling took on characteristics that reflected its area and its people. The Tamburdin deity was from a wild and primal place, worshipped by people who lived and died by the forest. Thus it was a mass of bestial fury, manifesting characteristics of the most terrible forest predators, a storm of curved claws and yellowed fangs, fur and spines knotted together as it swelled and shifted. The godling glowed with dozens of slitted yellow eyes like a pack of wolves seen just beyond the firelight. It thundered forward with the sharp hooves of a rampaging stag, the great paws of a huge bear. It lashed with lightning and the roar of a winter wind that could knock down trees.

  It surged toward the temple door. Klovus and Neré used all their powers to guide the godling and keep it focused.

  Out in the streets, people scattered. Some were trampled by the charge of the entity, torn apart by its primal explosion
of chaos, then it swooped through Tamburdin city and launched itself through the wide-open gates. Guards and soldiers leaped out of its way.

  Klovus rushed after the godling, yelling for Neré to hurry. Following the swath of carnage, they reached the walls where they could watch the godling do its work.

  Outside the stockade, Hethrren riders stormed back and forth, throwing their flaming pitch baskets to set the walls on fire. Brave Isharan soldiers had emerged from the gate to face the enemy. The leader of the city guards placed himself in front of the barbarian woman and slashed at her horse, making the beast skitter sideways. With a furious glare, Magda swung her twisted wooden club and split his head like a melon.

  Then she turned to face the outraged mass of the godling as it emerged from the city walls. The tumble of claws, fur, and horns blurred, shaping and reshaping itself as it swelled on the battleground. The Hethrren horses whinnied in terror at seeing the thing, but the barbarians whipped them forward. They hurled spears at the godling, but the weapons did no harm against the shifting, crackling mass.

  Two Hethrren riders charged in to throw burning pitch buckets into the deity, but the fire and smoke only added to its strength, and the godling lashed out with clawed arms, razor-sharp wings, and a panther’s tail. The unformed mass of energy tore apart three barbarian warriors and their horses, spraying a fan of blood, gobbets of meat, and intestines. Other riders closed around Magda as she charged forward, swinging her twisted club. With her other hand, she grabbed a spear and threw it at the godling, still galloping straight toward it.

  Watching from the scout platform on top of the stockade wall, Klovus laughed. His eyes were shining. Neré was impressed with what her godling could do and also relieved to turn its destruction outward.

  The circling barbarians closed in from all sides, as if a united attack could harm the entity. The first rider struck, and the godling killed him, hurling the horse high into the air. More riders closed in, fighting, yelling … dying.