Among the Fallen

by NS Dolkart

  “I’m sorry,” Phaedra said. “That’s horrible.”

  “But you benefit nonetheless,” Olimande said. “You may be sorry for me, but you still enjoy the rewards of my subjugation. I have been hurt and humiliated and damaged beyond repair, and it only makes me a more useful tool for you.”

  Phaedra winced. “That’s true. Does it help to know that I’m trying to save both our worlds from colliding?”

  “It does not,” he answered. “I would just as soon see all the worlds destroyed, mine and yours and the Gods’ world too. There is no merit in any of them.”

  Phaedra finished carving her sigil and walked on, counting steps. “You can feel that way, just so long as you help me save them anyway.”

  “I have no choice in the matter.”

  At the eighteenth sigil, Phaedra began to notice the trees and undergrowth subtly reaching for her – whether out of attraction or malice, she didn’t know. Either way, she was starting to get the attention she wanted, and she stepped up her pace. The effect grew stronger, and by the thirty-fifth sigil, the roots and branches of the forest were actively – if, thankfully, slowly – trying to wrap themselves around her. At the thirty-sixth sigil, the ground shook and split, and a gigantic elder root rose out of it toward her.

  “Tell it to stop!” she cried, and Olimande obeyed. The root paused, already halfway around Phaedra’s body. “We need to get down to the heart of the world,” she told it, though she was not sure it understood. “Ask for me, Olimande.”

  When he did, the root snapped back into action, wrapping itself around her with a strength that threatened to shatter her ribs. “Safely!” Phaedra shouted, but though the root did not squeeze any harder, neither did it loosen its hold. It lifted her into the air, and with a sudden, gut-wrenching force, plunged back into the ground. It was all Phaedra could do to keep from dropping Olimande and his urn – she let go of her knife and slapped her hand down on his head to keep it from being lost. The top of his skull shifted beneath her fingers. Still she held on, and the Yarek’s limb dragged her down into the heart of the world.

  The world of the elves was built upon the carcass of the plant-beast that had once threatened the Gods. Its heart was a mass of tangled roots, where the opposing goals and personalities of the elves’ living castles came together and intermingled in a sad mimicry of their former unity. It was musty and dark, and Phaedra felt very much entombed. When the plunging and plummeting ceased and the root let her go, she struggled to keep her balance on the uneven roots. “Thank you,” she said, to Olimande and the Yarek both.

  “Muh ouh,” Olimande replied.

  Phaedra summoned a light, and groaned. The top of Olimande’s skull had slid partway into his brain, which had scratches and scorch marks on it already from Psander’s various manipulations. “Can you speak?” she asked.

  “Ubbib,” Olimande said, and Phaedra cursed. There was such pain in his eyes, so much that it crowded out even the hatred.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  She placed him down on a root and went about her work, sprinkling the elf’s ashes here and there in the sequence she and Psander had developed to wring the most power out of the poor elf’s body. One pinch here, one there, two here, three there, five here, then eight, and then back down to five and so on. It was a sequence with power of its own, mimicking the shapes of ferns and plants of all kind, and when she was done counting down, she had thrown pinches of the elf’s ashes in eleven different directions. The air was growing hazy, and Phaedra concentrated her newly acquired wizard’s sight until she could see the threads of mesh glowing before her. She caught one and pulled, calling on the magic of the fallen elf as the hole widened and a mist rose from within it, glowing with the daylight that lay beyond.

  She was about to step through when a root sprang into her path. The Yarek wanted its tribute.

  “I thought you would take it yourself,” Phaedra whined, but the Yarek only responded by putting a second root in her way. So Phaedra turned back to Olimande’s poor miserable head. “The Yarek wants me to feed you to it,” she told him. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Muh bub,” Olimande replied, and his presence at the edge of her mind was pure in its hatred.

  She lifted the head and presented it to the Yarek formally. “Take this elf, his power and his soul, back into you,” she said, “and let me pass into the world the Gods built for my kind.”

  The roots that had impeded her took the head gently from her hands. Then they curled around it and crushed it. Phaedra winced and shut her eyes. When she opened them, her way was clear.

  She limped through the mists and stepped into the light beyond.

  44

  Narky

  “Tribute!” Magerion snarled. “Ardis does not pay tribute.”

  “You’re right,” Narky said. “Getting killed is much more dignified.”

  The king’s retainers made angry noises and looked to Magerion for an order, but after a meaningful pause, Magerion waved them off. “Don’t take our enemies’ side, Narky,” the king warned. “High priest or no, I can have you executed as a traitor.”

  “At which point,” Narky said, “you’d be an enemy to Magor, Ravennis, and God Most High, and you’d be damned no matter who won the divine struggle.”

  Magerion’s eyes flashed, but he didn’t make any more threats. “You counsel me to choose safety over dignity,” he said. “That strikes me as going very much against the spirit of Ravennis’ teachings. Are you not ashamed? You may wish to resign and let someone more capable take your place.”

  Narky didn’t think much of these rhetorical traps. He answered: “Our church used to have a more capable leader, a truly great one who prized victory and glory over life. You killed her, and now you’re stuck with me. Don’t try to wriggle out of it. Ravennis knows you well. He gave you a priest who understands you and shares your motivations. I think you ought to make the most of that.”

  The king narrowed his eyes, but Narky could tell that he was pleased with his answer. He was getting to know Magerion better, and the king was, at least, slightly less intimidating now that Narky knew how to gauge his reactions. Less intimidating, but no less terrifying. He could still order Narky’s death any time it suited him.

  “You think your God is incapable of defending us,” he said.

  “I think Ravennis cares more for the reality of winning than for its appearance. Laarna’s martyrs are now celebrating their God’s victory while Magor’s worshippers suffer endless humiliation in the underworld. Look past the obvious victories and losses – half of them aren’t real. As long as the city stands, Ardis hasn’t lost. If Ravennis wants us to keep fighting this war, He’ll give us an omen. Otherwise, take what peace you can get from the Dragon Touched. It didn’t turn out well for you the last time you ignored my advice.”

  Magerion sat in quiet contemplation for a time. “You may be right,” he said at last. “Tribute is not death, and we may not have the strength to win this war. Since Bestillos died at your hands, Ardis has suffered defeat after defeat – it is no wonder that we are too weak to stand against the Dragon Touched. A few years’ respite would give us a chance to recover. How long do you suppose we’ll have to pay this tribute before we are strong enough to resist them?”

  Narky shrugged. “As long as it takes for them to displease their God. It’ll happen eventually, and when it does we should strike with all the force we have before they have the chance to get in His good graces again. The dragons fought a war without God Most High at their backs, and that’s why there’s only one left.”

  “And what of that one? Will it come back?”

  “I don’t know – from what I hear, he came down to talk to the Dragon Touched and then left again. It would be useful to know what he said.”

  “Tribute it is, then,” Magerion said. “We will put off this war until we have greater strength and more information. It should not be hard to find spies who will pose as deserters and followers of the dragons�
� God, and we will be prepared should the Dragon Touched falter in their worship. Tell me, then, of your friend’s terms.”

  Narky told him everything, including the requirement that he go before the people and announce God Most High’s supremacy. The king frowned. “And you think Ravennis would permit His high priest to call Him a servant? You told me Ravennis and God Most High were allies.”

  “I don’t think the difference matters as much as you think it does,” Narky said. “I’ll tell you what the Graceful Servant told me: it’s been centuries since the last time God Most High was active. He’s active again now, but who knows how long that’ll last? The Graceful Servant said that there’ll come a time when the world has forgotten God Most High, when people might even believe that Ravennis is God Most High. I don’t think He’ll mind if I call Him a servant to God Most High this year, or this decade, or this century. His scope is long.”

  Magerion looked disgusted. “You would live as a slave your whole life, content because your descendants might one day conquer.”

  “I’m already a slave to Ravennis,” Narky said. “This hardly changes anything.”

  Magerion nodded. “That may be true. But I am no slave, and my children and grandchildren will not live as slaves. Even so, we will accept this tribute as a temporary solution to our problems. If the Dragon Touched cease their hostilities and leave to settle in the north, we will accept their terms for now. Let us hope that they displease their God soon.”

  Narky breathed a sigh of relief. “You’ll let me tell Criton that we’ll take his deal?”

  “Yes,” Magerion said. “But we must watch for those omens you spoke of. If the Dragon Touched displease their God, we strike. And if you learn that Ravennis means for us to fight this war now after all, do not dare conceal it from me. Ardis has taken Ravennis as its God – if I learned that you have deceived me about your God’s wishes just to aid your countrymen among the Dragon Touched, your life will be forfeit, as will your wife’s and any children or even friends that you may possess. Your countrymen are enemies to this city, Narky, and though that may yet save Ardis during this time of the Dragon Touched conquest, I will not pretend that I trust you for it.”

  “I understand,” Narky said. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. If Ravennis wants a war, I won’t hesitate to say so. He owns me.”

  He went back to his new temple, where Ptera was just finishing a communal service. When he told her that Magerion had accepted Criton’s peace terms, she nearly shouted for joy. “Thank Ravennis, Narky, you did it! After that night raid, I was sure Ardis would fall.”

  Two of Ptera’s cousins had died in the raid on the Dragon Knight’s Tomb, and though Narky hadn’t really known either of them, their deaths had been devastating to her. She came from a large family, it seemed, and she was close even with her cousins in a way that Narky couldn’t quite fathom. He hadn’t even been that close with his father.

  The family was proud of Ptera for marrying him, but Narky got the sense that they didn’t really see him beyond his role as high priest. Maybe that was for the best – not everybody who knew him liked him.

  Sometimes he thought that only Ptera and Magerion realized how young he was. It was as if everyone assumed he was Ptera’s age or something. Or maybe it was just that they respected him, and nobody at home ever had. Whatever the reason, all that respect felt wrong to him.

  Ptera frowned when he told her about the teachings he would have to adopt to be in keeping with the terms of the peace, but unlike Magerion, she had no problem understanding Narky’s reasons for agreeing to those terms.

  “You’re right,” she said, “it doesn’t matter if you have to tell people that Ravennis is subservient to God Most High. The dragons’ God has no image and only the monstrous Dragon Touched as His representatives – even those who believe Ravennis to be His servant will choose to worship the servant and not the master.”

  “That may be true,” Narky said. “In any case, I doubt Ravennis will be the servant forever, no matter what the Dragon Touched want me to say. It may sound ridiculous, but I think the Graceful Servant might have been too cautious when she talked about the future. It looks like we’re going to last the year, and that means Elkinar’s priests will have to admit I was right: whether They started that way or not, Ravennis and Elkinar are the same God now. It’s possible that Ravennis will even absorb God Most High one day, especially if we can spread His worship beyond Hagardis to the rest of the world. You never know.”

  Ptera smiled. “You’re so ambitious, Narky. I love that in you. Ravennis chose well.”

  “He’s the God of Fate,” Narky said, smiling back. “He knows what He’s doing. Besides, does it count as ambition if I don’t expect to be here to see it happen? It’s not like I’ll still be high priest then – I’ll be long dead.”

  “That’s a comforting thought,” Ptera said. “So when do you leave?”

  “Tomorrow,” Narky said. “We’ll tell Criton that Magerion accepts his terms, and then it’ll just be a matter of figuring out what order things happen in. Magerion wants to wait until after the Dragon Touched have withdrawn before he sends the first tribute payment. The Dragon Touched will probably demand that we send the payment first. But at that point, the details don’t really matter so much. It’ll be over.”

  “You’ve done well,” Ptera said. “Get some rest.”

  “Don’t I get some sort of reward?” Narky whined. “Besides rest?”

  Ptera laughed. “Oh definitely, either before you leave or after you come back. I haven’t decided which yet, but at this point the details don’t matter that much.”

  She was only teasing – their sex that night was never in doubt. It was wonderful to think that as long as Ardis stood and no further disasters interrupted them, he’d have a full lifetime of this. That happy thought sustained him until he reached the Dragon Knight’s Tomb, at which point he was forced to stop thinking about his wife and concentrate on the task at hand.

  Magerion had sent his son Mageris to watch over Narky during the proceedings, which was an annoying reminder that the king didn’t trust him. But besides that, all seemed to go well at first. Narky had consciously left his spear behind for this journey, calculating that the gesture of trust would put the Dragon Touched more at ease. It seemed to work. They welcomed him and Mageris at the base of the mountain, and four guards climbed alongside them to the cave where the Dragon Knight had been buried. Narky wondered if the Dragon Touched had ever looked inside the great stone sarcophagus – if they had, they’d have seen that the knight’s journal was missing, and that the hand that had rested on it was all out of order where the islanders had scattered its bones in their hurry to read the knight’s writings. Not that they would know who had committed this act of desecration, unless Criton told them.

  Criton and his council were waiting for them, and Criton was already arguing with that idiot cousin of his. “My mind is made up,” he was saying as Narky and Mageris entered. “God Most High chose me to lead our people, and as long as I have that authority, this is the path we’ll follow. Hello, Narky.”

  “Don’t let me interrupt,” Narky said. “I’m sure my news can wait.”

  Criton regarded him coolly. “Speak, Narky. For God’s sake.”

  “Magerion has accepted your terms,” Narky said, “as have I. He stands ready to begin sending his tribute once you’ve moved back north and chosen a site for your new city.”

  Criton looked to the members of his council. “That won’t do,” the old lady said. “He thinks he can trick us into leaving with no more than a promise.”

  “You’ve asked for stone, among other things,” Narky pointed out. “I don’t know what good that would do you here if you mean to build a city elsewhere.”

  “And you?” the woman asked. There was some commotion outside, so she spoke loudly to be heard over the noise. It made her voice sound even harsher as she said, “Have you already told your followers of your God’s servitude?”
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  “Not yet,” Narky admitted. “But if you’ll give me your assurance that the Dragon Touched will make peace with us, I’ll make that announcement as soon as I get back. I’ve only had just enough time to act as a messenger between you and my king. He accepts your terms. Will you hold by them?”

  “Yes,” Criton said. He turned to one of the guards. “Pilos, you’ll go back with Narky to verify that everything happens as he’s said, and to collect the gold part of the tribute. The stone can be sent later, as you say, once we’ve chosen a site for our new city. Does anyone object to this arrangement?”

  He said it while looking at his cousin. Before anyone could answer, a voice said, “Excuse me, everyone,” and they turned to see another Dragon Touched man step in with Phaedra at his side.

  “Phaedra!” Criton called joyously. “You’re back! Where’s Huh-guhhhh…”

  Narky saw the expressions on the faces in front of him change to horror, and he spun back around to see Criton standing with his cousin’s claws lodged in his throat, gurgling as the blood dripped down his neck. Phaedra screamed.

  “There will be no demon’s bargain,” Belkos said, his face contorted with hate. “Ardis will fall!”

  With that he yanked his hand back, leaving Criton to collapse, throat torn open.

  Narky’s instincts were all wrong. He ran toward Criton, as if there was something he could do to save him, while Mageris took advantage of the confusion to stab one of their guards and flee. Narky had definitely made the wrong choice – he couldn’t save his friend, and the other Dragon Touched were faster than him anyway. Some pounced on Belkos and subdued him while others crowded around Criton, staring down at what their kinsman had done.

  He was dying. There was nothing they could do. Soon one of the remaining guards was on top of Narky, pushing him to the ground and tying his hands behind his back.

  “Did you catch Mageris?” Narky asked, his head in a blur.