Dreams of Fire and Gods 2: Fire

by James Erich

  Moving around to the northern part of the circular keep, Donegh came across yet another incredible sight— medical pavilions full of bodies. Or perhaps they were merely injured— Donegh couldn’t tell. They were soldiers, dressed in the silver-and-gold colors of the emperor, and they were laid side by side in rows. Donegh estimated about a hundred men per pavilion, and he counted fifty pavilions on this side of the keep. The number of men sent to attack Harleh had been closer to ten thousand, so perhaps there were more pavilions out of sight around the curved walls of the city.

  It was still dark, the pavilions lit by lanterns, with torches on the paths between them, but from what Donegh could see, not one of the men in the nearest pavilion was moving. None of them lifted his head or scratched himself or rolled over, so Donegh decided they must be dead. Yet a single soldier guarded each pavilion, and women wandered among the bodies as if watching over them. Donegh spotted ömem here and there. If these men were dead, why watch over them? And why, weeks after the battle supposedly occurred, were they not yet buried? They should have been rotting by now.

  The assassin recognized one of the ömem as she entered the pavilion near him, and he decided it was worth the risk to sneak closer and try to get her attention. The old woman had taken a seat at the edge and removed her sandals, as if they pained her. With the solitary guard at the far opposite corner lost in idle gossip with the guard from the neighboring pavilion, Donegh saw his opportunity. He slipped through the bushes and tall grass between the forest and the wooden crate the ömem was sitting on, his dark cloak allowing him to blend in with the shadows.

  She spotted him when he was a few feet away from her. Though the height of the uncut grass still hid him from the sight of the guards, the old woman could see him easily by looking down from where she was perched. She started but quickly recognized him.

  “You seem shorter in person,” the old woman remarked dryly, keeping her voice low. She was teasing him, he knew, for being crouched down in the grass, but it was also true that she and Donegh had never actually met face to face. “Is rescue at hand then?”

  Donegh slithered up to the crate and placed his back against it. “Do you need rescuing, Mem?”

  She snorted, though she still kept her voice low. “We all need rescuing. Every last ömem, vönan, and caedan in this accursed city!” She added, almost as if talking to herself, “I had chambers in Worlen palace, my own servants….”

  “What’s happened?”

  “Perhaps you’ve noticed that the sky is… shall we say, a bit off?”

  “Of course.” “These… people… or whatever they are—they call themselves the ‘Taaweh’. They marched in and took over, they did! Without the vek or his poor excuse for a son lifting one finger to stop it. Then they did that to our sky and rendered us all helpless!”

  Donegh lowered his voice, hoping the woman would take the hint and quiet herself. “Did these people build that city to the west?”

  “Aye. That’s the other thing. That whole gigantic city and all this wretched forest—it all sprang up in a matter of hours! Please tell old Mem that you’re here to break us out of this horrible place!”

  “Are these… Taaweh… keeping you prisoner?” Donegh asked. Mem made a rude noise. Donegh couldn’t see her properly from his hiding place, but she shifted slightly, and he hoped she was checking to make sure the guard was still distracted. “Not them. T h e vek’s son! He’s taken over as dekan, now that poor Dekan Harleh is in his grave, may he find honor in the Great Hall, and the vek has returned to Worlen. The wretched boy has us locked down tight! Nobody is to leave the city. Not that anyone would brave those forests.”

  This seemed a foolish thing to say, since it should have been obvious that Donegh alreadyhad braved the forests. But Donegh ignored it. “What happened to the emperor’s army?”

  “Don’t you have eyes in your head? The entire army is right here, except for officers, vönan, and ömem. Those are inside the keep somewhere.”

  “I can see the bodies,” Donegh replied impatiently. “I was asking how the forces of a single city managed to slaughter the emperor’s army. And why are they guarding the bodies?”

  “They aren’t dead,” Mem said. “As far as we can tell, they’re merely asleep. But they haven’t awoken in weeks, which means that they should be dead. No food; no water. They won’t die, but we can’t wake them up. We’re out here to watch over them, in case they do— each ömem assigned to look after ten pavilions, which means a damned lot of walking!—and if you ask me, it’s just busy work. These men aren’t going anywhere! And I assure you it had nothing to do with Harleh. It was them— those Taaweh sorcerers! Put them all to sleep before the battle had really even started!”

  Donegh was quiet for a moment, digesting this. It was bizarre, but it didn’t really change anything. His mission hadn’t changed. He still needed to kill the dekan. “I need to get into the keep.”

  Mem knew better than to ask what his mission was, though she no doubt suspected it. “There’s only one way in— through the gate. And it’s heavily guarded. But the guards will be bringing some of us inside when it grows light. Mostly women, but there are a few servant boys who run errands and fetch water and food for us. If you cast off that cloak, you might be able to pass for one of them.”

  He thanked the old woman and slipped back into the forest. The road that curved around the keep passed directly through the center of the pavilions, so it was likely that anyone returning to the keep would follow it. Mem’s plan seemed a good one, so Donegh found a spot where the trees grew close to the road, just before it entered the village. It seemed the best place for him to slip into the procession unnoticed.

  Just before dawn, however, a rider came full gallop along the road—a messenger, most likely. Donegh was too far away from the gate to overhear anything the messenger shouted up to the guards on the battlements, but a short time later, the massive gate swung open, while soldiers swarmed out to stand at attention on either side of the road.

  From the north, a caravan was making its way toward the spot where Donegh crouched in the underbrush. Soldiers in full battle armor rode the horses in front, and the two leads carried the red-and-black standard of Worlen, dominated by the Menaük family hawk crest.

  Apparently Vek Worlen was returning to Harleh. SAEL was awakened from a strange dream about a beautiful flaxen-haired woman, imprisoned high above the earth in a floating tomb, to find his guard pounding on the door. He had feared Harleh might be under attack, but it turned out to be far worse—his father was coming.

  His valet helped make him presentable as quickly as possible, dressing Sael in formal attire suitable for visiting royals—the vek would never tolerate him using the early hour and unplanned visit as an excuse for being disrespectful—and a carriage was brought around to the courtyard. By the time Sael reached the main hall, however, he was informed that the vek’s carriage had already entered the west gate and was processing through the winding streets of the walled city. Nearly every citizen in Harleh, Sael was told, had scrambled out of bed to stand in the streets and gawk at the “parade.”

  Sael sent his carriage away. Better to present an orderly reception in the courtyard than to have an awkward meeting of carriages in the middle of Harleh’s narrow streets.

  He found Geilin and Meik already in the courtyard, along with the servants from the keep and Lady Tanum, Seffni’s widow. Despite the early hour, Tanum was immaculate and stunning, even in mourning blacks, her vibrant red hair in thick, intricate braids interwoven with strands of silver. She showed no sign of having just been awoken, for which Sael envied her. At the same time, he took some small satisfaction in the fact that he was reasonably presentable, whereas General Meik had to send a servant scurrying back to his quarters for a new dress jacket when he discovered a small tear in the arm of the one he was wearing.

  The horses at the head of the vek’s procession entered the courtyard, and grooms immediately rushed forward to take their reins as
the riders dismounted. As the carriage drew up in front of the receiving line, Sael stepped forward. One of the footmen opened the carriage door and Sael executed a formal bow— respectful to his father’s superior station, but not so low as to seem undignified for the Dekan of Harleh.

  “I see someone has been instructing you in courtly manners,” the vek observed, stepping down onto the cobblestones. “Good. I apologize for the early hour of my arrival, but I have urgent news.”

  The vek’s soldiers were escorted to the barracks and his servants taken down to the servants’ quarters, while Harleh’s kitchen staff was given the task of preparing something for them—tea and biscuits, porridge, whatever could be found. Tanum exchanged brief pleasantries with her father-in-law while Sael saw to it that his butler and head housekeeper understood what needed to be done, and then she excused herself.

  Eventually Sael found himself in the first-floor library with his father, Geilin, and Meik. General Denet and Master Snidmot from the capital of Worlen also joined them. Diven, Harleh’s head butler, served them all tea and then quietly departed.

  “Please tell me you are aware that the emperor has five legions camped just west of Harleh Valley,” Vek Worlen said. He was standing by the massive fireplace, sipping his tea as he contemplated the small fire Diven had started for them, but Sael knew his father’s words were addressed to him.

  “Of course, Father. We have our own troops camped in the forest about half a league east of them.”

  “You can’t have many men there,” Worlen observed. “I’m afraid we don’t. Less than a legion.” General Meik had given him an estimate of about four thousand men as of yesterday evening.

  “Do you have any men planted in the emperor’s camp?” “A few.” Again according to Meik, it had been easy enough for men dressed as peasants from one of the small lake towns to come into the emperor’s camp and ask to be “conscripted.” Even though men taken from their homes by the army and forced to serve were frequently uncooperative, they were still paid. It was a small amount, but enough to entice some peasants to go voluntarily.

  T he vek looked thoughtful for a long moment, and then he looked at Master Geilin. “What is the status of the vönan in Harleh?”

  “Not good, Your Grace,” Geilin replied, bowing his head. “They are powerless and quite angry about the situation. I’ve heard rumors that they talk of escape.”

  “Do you have no control over them at all?” Geilin’s face looked pained as he replied, “Your Grace… I have been forced to step down as vönan makek. I am no longer a vönan and I exert very little influence over them.”

  Snidmot’s eyebrows shot up at that, and he was unable to stop himself from interjecting, “No longer a vönan? One does not simply stop being a vönan!”

  Despite his protests, the old man had been eyeing Geilin’s shaved head with unease. It was impossible not to notice the lack of a tattoo there.

  “Master Snidmot! Please!” The vek frowned at his son, as if he were personally responsible. “What nonsense is this?”

  Two weeks of being Dekan of Harleh must have changed Sael more than he’d realized, because it enabled him to meet his father’s intense glare without flinching. “Master Geilin has chosen to learn some of the Taaweh magic. They’ve offered to teach all our vönan and ömem, but Master Geilin volunteered to be the first, in case there were unpleasant effects.”

  He briefly explained what had transpired. His father was predictably incensed when Sael described the rebellion of Vosik and his followers. “These accursed mages will be our ruin! The grumbling within the ranks of my own vönan has been dangerously close to treason, and they have little enough to complain about.”

  Apparently now that his father had gone to war with the emperor, “treason” had been redefined, Sael mused.

  “I feel I must remind His Grace that a number of their brethren were forced to remain here in Harleh after the battle,” Snidmot pointed out. “They are understandably concerned.”

  The vek scoffed and waved a hand dismissively. Sael tried to explain further. “The Taaweh have provided us with the potential to create a new… kind of mage. One who can operate within Harleh Valley. But the vönan are reluctant to give up a lifetime of training. I can hardly blame them. They expect to be free of the valley soon, at which point their powers will return.”

  “Perhaps, Your Lordship,” Geilin suggested, “we would do better to recruit men… and even women… who have never trained as mages.”

  Sael hadn’t contemplated this possibility, and even now it seemed ludicrous. Vönan were selected for their aptitude at a very young age, just as Sael had been, and only boys were chosen. Girls were never selected to learn magic —it would have been heretical even to attempt it. Girls were chosen to be ömem, if they were called. Sael knew little of the details on that count. Regardless, there was little time to consider Geilin’s suggestion. The vek was off on another tack.

  “My ömem—the few I have left— have fallen silent,” he muttered, taking a sip of his tea. “Not one word of intelligence, I have been informed, until the ömem of Harleh have been released unharmed from the valley.” A good number of his ömem had been with him when the Taaweh appeared in Harleh and they had been forced to remain here, in order to preserve the secrecy surrounding the Taaweh’s appearance.

  “That strikes me as… unwise, Your Grace,” Master Snidmot commented. The vek gave him a look of disgust. “Yes, Snidmot. I’m not an idiot.” The old vönan was used to Worlen’s temperament and merely nodded in acknowledgement.

  “At any rate,” Worlen continued, setting his teacup down upon the fireplace mantle, “I did not rush here to report a situation that has been going on for several days. You claim you have a man in the emperor’s camp.”

  “Five, Your Grace,” General Meik said. “Have they reported that a man entered the camp not more than a day ago and spoke with Commander Eivan?”

  “Two men. A caedan and his servant boy.” The vek snorted. “I’m not interested in the priest. What do you know of the servant?”

  “The servant?” Meik looked surprised. “I’m not certain, Your Grace. He was young, about the age of His Lordship. Dark hair, a bit on the short side. Dressed in rags….”

  “And where did he go, after his master spoke with the commander?” Meik glanced at Sael, who could tell that the general was growing distressed. “I don’t know, Your Grace. He didn’t seem worth investigating.”

  “According to my source,” the vek said slowly, “the Commander escorted the boy to the boundary and returned alone. The priest was taken to a tent— again, alone.”

  This was the first Sael had heard of his father knowing anything at all about the magical boundary. But of course, he would know of it if he already had spies in the emperor’s camp.

  “The boy couldn’t have passed through the boundary and remained conscious,” Meik protested.

  “Couldn’t he have? My men have and so have yours. We don’t know what makes some men immune. What if it only affects soldiers?”

  “How would this spell, or whatever it is, know if a man was a soldier?”

  “I have no idea. But our man retraced Eivan’s steps and found nothing —no sleeping servant boy, no corpse. The boy simply disappeared. He might have doubled back, but he might also have entered Harleh Valley. I am no ömem, but my instincts have guided me safely through more battles than I can count. My instincts tell me now that this boy is on his way to Harleh.”

  Though he might not admit to it, Sael trusted his father’s instincts as much as his father did. “Why would he come here?” he asked.

  Worlen finished what remained of his tea and then turned to look at his son. “There was one more thing your spies missed. Our man chatted up the priest later. The simpering fool was in shock and apparently too stupid to know that gossiping about the emperor’s plans might get him killed.”

  Sael raised his eyebrows. “Did somebody kill him?” “Not yet,” the vek replied, unconcerned. �
�But he won’t last long, if he doesn’t grow more cautious. It seems he’d just learned that the ‘servant’ he picked up in his travels was contracted by the emperor… as an assassin.”

  “AMIbeing punished?”

  The Taaweh looked at Koreh, tilting his head in puzzlement, as if he hadn’t understood the question. It didn’t help that he was a child, or at least he appeared to be a boy of about five or six years. He was dressed in the knee-length tunic popular in the capital.

  “Why would you be punished, iinyeh?” he asked. “You know I asked Geilin to help me prevent Sael from coming with me to rescue the Iinu Shavi.” Koreh had been expecting some sort of reprimand from the Taaweh, though it hadn’t come. On the other hand, he hadn’t been allowed to see Sael that night and he’d just been denied his request to see him tonight. Was that to be his punishment?

  “Why would this be a reason for punishment?” the boy asked. He seemed genuinely confused. “You were not forbidden from doing this.”

  “Then why can’t I see Sael?” “You will see him soon, iinyeh.”

  Koreh knew that it was hopeless to argue. “Soon” could mean anything to the Taaweh, who seemed unconcerned with the passage of time. Or at least they often seemed unconcerned. At other times they acted with a sense of urgency Koreh likewise failed to understand.

  They were in the Dead Forest, walking along the same dirt and cobblestone path—all that remained of the old imperial road—that Koreh had taken weeks ago with Sael and Geilin and their unfortunate black horse, Sek. The place still made Koreh’s skin crawl, and it was part of the reason he’d felt the Taaweh were punishing him for alerting Geilin to their plans. Why else would they force him to come to this horrible place again?

  They were approaching the stagnant lake, he felt certain, because even without a breeze, he could smell the stench of decay and rotted flesh he recalled from his last journey through here. All the trees on either side of the path were dead, jutting up like skeletal fingers, bony white and bare of any bark. Fortunately the sky was overcast, so he and the Taaweh boy were shielded from the Eye, even without the cover that living trees would have provided.