by Sara Douglas
"Isaiah was gone. Vanished. It was inexplicable. Ah...shetzah!" Ezekiel cursed, waving a hand about in the air as if somehow the air could explain it all, and Axis could see that the kidnap still troubled the general.
"You couldn't find him?" Axis said.
Ezekiel grunted. "We searched, the entire army searched, and we could not find him. He was gone a month."
"And the Independencies' army? They..."
"Laughed at us. I swear we could hear them from several miles distance. Then they packed up and went home. They did not fear us."
"They didn't have him?"
"We sent emissaries, but their generals swore they hadn't taken Isaiah, and we were forced to believe them."
"You didn't attack?"
Ezekiel hesitated. "No. We didn't. The Independencies' generals said the ground itself was infested with evil spirits, and that if we attacked them then we'd vanish as Isaiah had."
"And you believed them?"
"You weren't there!" Ezekiel snapped. "And it wasn't so much a matter of attacking the Independencies to see if we could recover Isaiah...ah, Axis, you know us, and you know the way our society works.
Everyone with claim to a fistful of power lusts for the throne. So...once we'd established that Isaiah was well and truly gone..."
"The Eastern Independencies were forgotten for the moment as various generals vied for the throne."
"Yes. We fought among ourselves. It was not our proudest moment, Axis. There we were, in the middle of a vast, arid, gods-forgotten plain, and Isaiah's army descended into madness as general fought against general and company against company. Scores were settled, rivalries decided, and one of my comrades,
General Thettle, finally managed to seize control. It was a bloody, stupid, inexcusable mess. Tens of thousands died."
Axis was so astounded he could not comment. How could such undiscipline, such sheer stupidity, have not witnessed the fall of the Tyranny well before now? He had to silently congratulate whoever had taken Isaiah...they'd known just how easily the Isembaardian army could be brought to its knees.
"It took a month," Ezekiel continued, "but Thettle got what he wanted. We were in desperate straits,
almost out of supplies, vulnerable, but at least we had a tyrant again. Thettle had himself crowned and anointed in the middle of the bloodstained plain. I...I...was the one to slip the golden collar of command about his shoulders. I stood back, and Thettle walked forward to receive the acclaim of the assembled soldiers, and..."
"And..." Axis was on the edge of his seat by now, his wine forgotten.
"Isaiah appeared out of nowhere...out of nowhere, Axis, and walked up to Thettle and struck his head from his body with his sword. Then he took the blood-soaked golden collar from Thettle's corpse,
draped it about his own shoulders, and announced we were going home."
"I...what...where..."
Ezekiel grinned wryly. "That just about mirrors the reaction of the entire army, Axis. We were all stunned, speechless, desperate to know what had happened, where Isaiah had been, who had taken him...and he told us nothing. He simply ordered the army home...and home we came. He has never spoken of that month since, where he had been, what had happened, who had taken him."
"Do you think he'd managed it himself? Scared of the impending battle, perhaps?"
"Isaiah has never been a man to be scared of battle, Axis. Besides, there was no escape from that tent.
Whoever took him had power of some sort."
"Isaiah...the other night...with the Goblet of the Frogs..."
"Isaiah came back changed, Axis. He is a different man to what he was once. Before the Eastern Independencies campaign Isaiah was a mirror of his father, short-tempered, brutal, viciously ambitious.
Everyone was terrified of him. But that's not the man you know, is it?"
"No."
"I don't know what happened to him, Axis, but Isaiah now is vastly different to the Isaiah who first took the throne. And, to be frank, I think I am even more scared of this one." Ezekiel gave a grunt of humorless laughter. "Sometimes we probe him, Axis, as you saw, but then he does something, and it reminds us of the look we saw in his eyes when he strode out of thin air and took Thettle's life, and we back off."
He paused. "Armat is the only one who wasn't there. Who didn't see that look. He is the one to watch,
Axis. He is the one who will make the move on Isaiah eventually."
They had made love, somewhat cautiously, and very gently, and now Ishbel lay sleeping in Isaiah's arms.
Isaiah eased himself away from her, and then out of the bed.
He lifted his head and, as he had done so much this past fortnight, and as he had done ever since he had come to live at Aqhat, he looked out the window to where he knew DarkGlass Mountain rose on the far side of the river.
Then, not pausing to clothe himself, Isaiah left the chamber.
Ishbel opened her eyes as soon as he had gone.
She lay there for all the hours that Isaiah was away, and wept very softly. She wished she hadn't slept with him, for all she had been able to think about while they had made love was that he was not Maximilian.
She had thought sleeping with Isaiah would be a comfort to her, but in reality all it had done was drive home to her how much she missed Maximilian. How much she wanted him.
It was, she thought, a truly pitiful time to realize just how much she had loved Maximilian.
Too late now. Too late for everything.
He went down to the river, knowing this would be the last chance in a very long time--perhaps forever.
He bathed ritually, as he always did, cleansing himself within the pure waters of the Lhyl.
Then, still wet, he crouched in the shallows and looked up at DarkGlass Mountain in the distance.
Kanubai was within. Not yet strong, but born.
When he did grow strong, as he surely would within a few months at the very least, Kanubai would be viciously strong.
He had been born of the blood of the child of the Lord of Elcho Falling, the only one now who could save this world, but whose task was now grown infinitely more difficult.
And as for DarkGlass Mountain itself, Isaiah swore he could feel it watching him. Like Kanubai, it also needed to grow strong, but once it was strong...
Isaiah didn't like running away from Kanubai, or DarkGlass Mountain, but he also knew he had no choice. No one was ready to confront either Kanubai or the pyramid. No one, not even himself or Lister,
had the power.
Not this time around. He and Lister had exhausted themselves when first they'd pushed Kanubai down into the abyss. Chaos would not allow himself to be trapped so easily as he had the first time. Now Chaos had an ally who completely altered the balance of power between him and Light and Water.
Sighing, Isaiah looked down to the river water. He spoke to it gently, wishing it well, saying good-bye,
and promising to return if and when he could. He begged it to be strong, and to endure, and to hope that with fortune and fortitude it would again one day ring with the Song of the Frogs.
Isaiah paused a while, weeping, then he reached out both hands, cupping them just above the surface of the river, and he spoke a phrase in a strange, guttural language.
For a moment, nothing.
Then a frog broke the surface of the water, and sprang into Isaiah's cupped hands. Another one broke surface, and likewise leaped into Isaiah's hands, and then another, and another, and another.
Soon the surface of the water was boiling with frogs as they leaped frantically into the river god's hands.
As soon as they had made the leap successfully, they bounded up his arms where, one by one, they faded and vanished as they were absorbed into Isaiah's body.
When Isaiah finally made his way back to the palace, the river was empty of the Song of the Frogs.
He went to Ishbel's chamber, kissed her, apologized for not being there when she woke, then went back to his own quarters whe
re, reverently, he packed the Goblet of the Frogs into the saddlebags he would carry with him.
CHAPTER THREE
The Eastern Plains, Gershadi
Jelial, Lord Warden of the Eastern Plains Province of Gershadi, could not credit what he saw. His mind simply would not process the information. He sat his horse, growing colder by the moment, staring ahead at what had been his home base, the castle and town of Hornridge.
It lay in smoking ruins. These tumbled ruins might have been a stark black scar against the snow-covered plains save for one thing--it was covered in something gray, and red, which undulated as if it were a sea of pale insects.
"Skraelings," muttered his lieutenant, sitting his horse alongside Jelial.
He and his party of fifteen armed men had been away for six weeks, attending court at Hosea to discuss the escalating military conflict with the Outlands. Jelial had returned to Hornridge mainly to marshal his forces to join Fulmer in his push south against the cursed Outlanders, who were pushing north and threatening to lay siege to Hosea.
Now it looked very much as if Jelial might not have any forces left to marshal.
In fact, it looked as if there was not very much left at all.
"Skraelings?" Jelial whispered. He could see it was Skraelings. There was a small herd of them not fifty paces away, snuffling around in the remains of a pig herder's hut and pens, but his mind still could not comprehend the enormous numbers of them that it must take to completely cover Hornridge and the surrounding countryside for miles about.
It reminded Jelial of something he'd seen as a boy when his father had taken him to hunt the snow deer that lived in the borderlands of the Frozen Wastes. Every year the snow deer migrated south to the rich pasturelands of the lower Sky Peaks in massive herds of million upon millions of animals.
That was what this sight reminded him of, save the migration consisted of million upon millions of Skraelings.
And they were heading south.
"My lord!" his lieutenant hissed, and Jelial looked to where he pointed.
Out of the mass of Skraelings investigating the pigpens came a man. Dressed entirely in black, and with a black cloak billowing out behind him, he appeared to be crossing the snow toward Jelial and his party with supernaturally long strides.
Jelial--as did all his men--drew his sword.
"I will not harm you," said the man, halting a few paces away from Jelial.
He was of striking appearance, exuding power and confidence, and even though he appeared unarmed,
Jelial knew that if it came to blows, even a thousand men at his back, bristling with weapons, would not protect him against this being.
"My name is Lister," said the man. "I am Lord of the Skraelings." His mouth twisted a little, and his light brown eyes glinted. "As you can see, I command considerable strength. Hornridge is gone, Jelial. Your family is gone--"
Something tore apart in Jelial's chest, and he thought it was probably his heart, breaking.
"Eaten," Lister said. "Consumed. The Skraelings are hungry, I am afraid."
Jelial tried to speak, but couldn't. Incomprehension and grief had utterly swamped any anger he may have felt.
"Everything is very bloodied at Hornridge," Lister said, his voice quiet now, his eyes fixed on Jelial.
"Quite congealed, in fact. I wouldn't even attempt an entry, if I were you. My boys remain hungry, and Hornridge could get bloodier still."
"I..." Jelial said, and could get no further.
"We're heading south," Lister said, one arm sweeping out in that direction, making his cloak billow and heave in the wind. "As far as we can go. I have a massive army--"
Jelial wondered why he called it an army and not a herd. His mind, now utterly shocked, kept trying to return to the memory of the migrating herds of snow deer.
"--and it is so very, very hungry. It will eat everything in its path, Jelial. Everything. I suggest you return the way you came, and spread the news."
Then he was gone, and Jelial and his men were left sitting their horses in the cold wasteland, looking at the great mass of Skraelings heaving and swelling over what was once their home.
And their families.
Lister, Eleanon, and Inardle stood to one side of the pigpens, cloaked from the vision of Jelial and his party, watching as, eventually, they turned their horses' heads away from Hornridge.
"Thank the gods," Eleanon said. "I thought they might have actually tried to enter Hornridge."
"Grief is a strange beast," said Lister, watching the group as they rode away, "and when coupled with shock it can make men do foolish things."
"I wish we could have saved Hornridge," Inardle said. "No one deserved to die as those people did."
They fell silent, remembering the horror as the Skraelings overwhelmed the castle and town, tearing terrified men and women to shreds.
No one had escaped.
"The entire world is going to be destroyed in far more horrific circumstances," Lister said eventually, "if we cannot manage the impossible."
"Do you think the southerners will listen to Jelial?" said Eleanon. "Do you think they will heed your warning?"
"I hope so," said Lister, "for there is little else I can do to save them. It is not as if I have ever controlled the Skraelings, is it?" He gave a bitter little laugh. "My title of Lord of the Skraelings is completely useless, although I suppose it has served me well to this point. But, oh, gods, how glad I shall be when I
can slough it off my shoulders, and leave these disgusting creatures far behind me, and assume my true face."
CHAPTER FOUR
The Dependency of En-Dor, the Tyranny of Isembaard
Maximilian's party emerged from the FarReach Mountains into the very northern reaches of the Dependency of En-Dor. Here Maximilian and StarDrifter and the rest of their group farewelled BroadWing and the other three Icarii. It was an emotional good-bye, particularly for Maximilian and StarDrifter, but everyone had come to like the Icarii and would miss them.
It was too dangerous for the Icarii to remain with the rest of the party. No one knew what kind of reaction they would elicit in Isembaard, and neither Maximilian nor StarDrifter wanted to risk it, no matter how useful the Icarii would have been.
"We will go north," BroadWing said, embracing first StarDrifter, then Maximilian, "and wait for news. Be safe, and snatch back that bride of yours, Maxel. Stars, she will be making you a father soon!"
Then he had grinned at StarDrifter and Salome. "And hide those growing hunchbacks of yours under cloaks. The next time I see you, I expect it to be among the clouds."
Travel through En-Dor was easier than anyone had expected. Maximilian had not exactly known quite what to expect--Isembaard was such an unknown quantity--but the northern parts of the dependency were sparsely populated (indeed, many villages were completely deserted)--and those very few occupied small homesteads they did happen across were relatively friendly.
Language was not a problem. Like the kingdoms north of the FarReach Mountains, the Isembaardians spoke a version of the ancient common trading tongue. They spoke a different dialect, and their intonation was very different, but neither presented an obstacle to understanding.
When they did meet with Isembaardians, Maximilian let Venetia and, to a lesser extent, Serge do the talking. Both were fairly dark, and both had come into contact with Isembaardians in the past: Venetia from her conversations with Isembaardian witch-women she'd met in the borderlands of the Land of Dreams, and Serge in his younger and wilder days, when he'd been an assassin for hire, and had spent time in Isembaard.
Whenever their party neared a homestead, Maximilian sent Venetia and Serge in to buy or barter for food, while the rest of them hung back. Maximilian supposed Venetia used a little of her witch-woman skills in order to obtain the cooperation of the villagers, but he did not inquire too closely, and was grateful for whatever food and information Venetia and Serge brought back with them.
One day, a week after they'd far
ewelled BroadWing and his companions, Venetia and Serge came back with some disturbing news.
"Isembaard is gearing up for war," Serge said, sitting down cross-legged at the fire while Venetia,
Ravenna, and Salome, who was feeling far less fatigued than she had in the mountains, handed about fresh bread and goat's cheese. "The tyrant, Isaiah, is marshaling his forces at Sakkuth for a push through the Salamaan Pass into the Outlands. And we've learned the reason why this land is so deserted.
Apparently Isaiah wants the people from these parts of his land to resettle in the Outlands. The settlers are gathering with the army near Sakkuth. Isaiah himself is even now, apparently, moving up the Lhyl from his palace in the south toward Sakkuth and is expected there within days."
Serge paused at that point, and Maximilian looked at him keenly.
"What else have you heard?" Maximilian said. He wondered who this Isaiah was truly. Kanubai?
Already preparing for his push on Elcho Falling? No, surely not...surely not...
Serge and Venetia exchanged a glance, then Serge continued. "Maximilian, the rumor among the Isembaardians, started by soldiers who were recently in this area, is that Isaiah of Isembaard plans to meet with an army of Skraelings that are in the process of swarming south. An army of millions of Skraelings, heading into the Central Kingdoms."
Everyone stared at Serge, StarDrifter muttering a shocked obscenity.
"No..." Maximilian whispered. "Oh, gods!" To hear this now, when they no longer had the winged Icarii among them who might have been able to warn the Central Kingdoms.
Skraelings? Millions? Maximilian ran a hand over his eyes, aghast.
How?
He did not need to answer that. Kanubai.
Would Escator be safe? Maximilian didn't know, and he felt physically sick.
"There is yet more news," Venetia said, very softly, looking at Maximilian.
"Any worse than this I have just heard?" Maximilian said, and Venetia shrugged a little.