Cradle of Darkness

by Tom G. H. Adams

  “Tayem, tread carefully,” Cistre said. “We should let them come to us. Show them it is they who should be subservient.”

  Tayem didn’t answer; the Hallows compelled her. It was all she could do not to raise her glaive and charge at her most hated of enemies.

  “My Queen,” Darer said, his breath already coming in short gasps from their sudden activity, “remember the strategy we discussed. We will gain nothing from defiant accusations. If they are guilty of this affront, they are unlikely to accept responsibility — even if they admit it. They must think they can gain something from this negotiation. We must play on this.”

  “Yes, you told me,” Tayem said, impatient at the man’s interference.

  He was your father’s recommendation for chief advisor, the voice of reason said in her head.

  Be decisive, said another whose voice echoed from a darker place in her mind, bleating sheep will not command deference from the Cuscosians.

  When they were ten paces from each other, both parties stopped. A hot wind gusted from the east, whipping up swirls of dust from the ash-black plain prompting Etezora to secure a scarf across the lower half of her face. Tayem noted how an abaya swathed the Cuscosian Queen from head to foot, as if the sun was abhorrent to her. All that could be seen were her eyes, glowing like purple coals. Tayem’s own inner flame ignited in unholy recognition of its counterpart.

  Perhaps the schjek burns in sunlight, she thought with amusement. Her attire made it impossible to read Etezora’s features, and although her wizard’s pallid face was fully exposed, he was equally impossible to gauge.

  “You called this meeting,” Etezora said, Tayem allowing her to open the discourse, “but I must admit had you not, I would have demanded it.”

  Tayem placed one foot further away from the other, adopting a confrontational stance. “You are used to making demands,” she said, Hallows energy sizzling behind her eyes. As she uttered the words, she thought she caught a sisterly response in Etezora’s own visage.

  Etezora cast her eyes around. “I find this location oppressive. Tuh-Ma, erect the parasols and seats. If the Dragon Riders are intent on meeting in this wretched basin of land, then at least we can afford ourselves some comfort.”

  Tuh-Ma dropped a heavy pack to the floor. Three large screens were strapped to its sides. Her guards helped him erect the sun-shields and seats while she stepped closer to the Donnephon representatives.

  Tuh-Ma had laid out garishly coloured cotton blankets on the floor for the Dragon Riders to sit on, but Tayem knew what the Cuscosian Queen had in mind. Seated as they were, it would put the Cuscosians on an elevated platform. Appearances and posture were everything. Tayem considered stating she would remain standing, but this would make her appear awkward. Instead, she approached a seated Cuscosian official.

  “Would you mind?” she said, feeling her Hallows stare fix him. He was caught unprepared, and the influence stirred him to respond without thinking. Before Etezora could interfere, he rose and offered Tayem his place. She lowered herself into the seat and indicated her entourage to kneel in the traditional Donnephon pose. Cistre, as usual, stood behind her, sword held loosely to her side.

  Etezora was clearly ruffled at the switching of power, but brushed it off. “It has been three sols since we last met, Tayem, more than ten since the last Feast of Shaptari. A shame it is no longer honoured by our peoples.”

  “It was an expensive veneer,” Tayem replied, “and your cowardly actions on the last occasion still remain unforgiven.”

  Darer leaned towards Tayem. “Diplomacy, my Queen,” he whispered with earnestness in his tone.

  Etezora sniggered; a childish response, but Tayem suspected it was designed to irk her for circumventing the seating ploy. “But I don’t suppose you requested this meeting just to bring up past trivialities.”

  “No,” Tayem replied, quelling the Hallows-lust and its admonishments to slit the schjek’s throat where she sat. She remembered Darer’s words and decided to go through the motions of the Dragon Rider’s strategy. “There are greater matters that have transpired. I imagine you know of what I speak.”

  “Indeed there are,” Etezora said, “but state your case. This should be amusing.”

  Tayem sat upright. Up to now she had refused to face Etezora directly, but she now turned so the Cuscosian Queen couldn’t ignore her. “Very well. It is not enough that we endure your exorbitant costs for grain and the imposition of your exactments, but we now have to suffer an outright attack on our royal mounts.”

  It was Etezora’s turn to sit up straight. “What are you prattling about?

  What was this? Tayem had expected a cool, snide response alluding to Etezora’s complicity but giving nothing away. Yet she seemed genuinely surprised.

  “The poisoning of our dragons, of course. Don’t pretend you know nothing of it.”

  Etezora let out a patronising laugh. “You are deluded. This ‘poisoning,’ did it occur before or after you attacked our wagon train at the Queenswater Ford?”

  “And you accuse me of delusion?”

  Etezora’s upper lip curled. “Was it a delusion that found twenty dead, skewered by Dragonian glaives or pierced with your arrows?”

  “You play games with me. Is your purpose simply to fabricate stories as a pretext for further acts of savagery?”

  “Your Majesty,” Zodarin interrupted. “We seek an explanation for the attack, that is all.”

  Tayem scowled at the wizard. His mesmerising eyes shifted with amber sorcery, and she felt again — as on that final Shaptari Feast — his power of persuasion coming to the fore. Only this time it was reinforced by something else, a more subtle, underlying yet familiar enchantment.

  Gods, are we all being used by the Hallows? But Tayem had her own powerful defences now, and this sorcerer’s subterfuges would not work.

  “Well?” Etezora said. “Has guilt silenced your tongue?”

  Tayem recovered herself. “I’m choosing my words carefully,” she replied. “Darer here, thinks I should be diplomatic and allow you to state your case. Well, you’ve done that, and all I’ve heard is fabricated allegations. I am here to tell you the Dragonians have had enough.” She stood abruptly, Hallows motivation spurring her beyond any pretence of statecraft. The rise to her feet was immediately met with a drawing of arms from Etezora’s guard. The escalation was quick. Cistre brought her sword to bear, holding the gleaming point against the nearest guard’s neck.

  “Hold!” Darer said. “This serves no purpose. Lower your arms — everyone.” He stared at each combatant one by one and although advanced in sols his manner and voice carried an unexpected authority.

  Etezora smiled and nodded at her guards, who obediently stepped back and sheathed their swords. “Speak, old man,” Etezora said, removing the muslin veil from her face, “what path do you offer through this impasse?”

  Darer looked at Tayem who was still smouldering with fury. He raised his eyebrows, and she reluctantly took her seat again. Clearing his throat, he continued. “Both of us have our grievances, yet so far we have heard little evidence. Perhaps if we all related the reports we have received?” He inclined his head and looked at the Cuscosian Queen. “Your Majesty, if you would like to start?”

  Etezora offered a practised, half-genial scowl and there was something in that expression that alarmed Tayem. Now that she could see her full visage, it was as if the Hallows bond communicated a shared understanding. But this was no communion of kindred spirits, more an oppositional firing of contempt, and Tayem detected a current of triumph in Etezora’s mask.

  Why would she feel elation in this morass of argument? Unless …

  “You …” Tayem uttered in dismay. “This has all been a ruse, hasn’t it?”

  Then they all heard it, the rumble of approaching cavalry. It seemed to arise from the east, the west and the south.

  “Treachery!” Tayem cried and sprang up, grabbing her glaive and turning to face the Cuscosian entourage. Cistr
e adopted a defensive stance while the opposing guards similarly readied their weapons.

  “You’re too late,” Etezora sneered. “This is the last day of Dragonia’s insufferable impudence. Prepare for defeat.”

  All along the horizon, above the shimmering heat haze, hordes of mounted spearmen galloped, appearing like a swarm of desert scorpions. “Take them,” Tayem said, but the Dragonians had no opportunity to press home their attack. Zodarin raised his arms, an other-worldly smile on his face, and the sand released what appeared to be vents of magenta-coloured vapours. Tayem found her vision obscured such that she couldn’t even make out anyone other than Cistre at her side.

  “Battle formation,” she ordered. “Be prepared for their strike from the mists.”

  Yet an attack never came. It seemed the Cuscosian guard were as blind as they were.

  “My Queen,” Cistre said, “we must retreat. The horsemen will be upon us in minutes.”

  Tayem raised the garbeech horn to her lips. She carried it at her side at all times, strung by its leather strap. The instrument declared the alarm with three shrill blasts. “Our guard will be with us in minutes. Darer, Gundin, Staithrop are you there?”

  There was no answer from them. The thunder of hooves was deafening and Tayem guessed they would be surrounded soon. Thankfully, the vapours were dispersing as the plains wind gusted with greater ferocity. Through a hole in the purple cloud above, Tayem saw the welcome sight of two dragons descending, their defiant roars carrying across the air and filling her with strength. This mixed with the white hot fury of Etezora’s betrayal and the magma of Hallows energy.

  Then, as the final wisps of Zodarin’s cursed vapours disappeared she saw an alarming sight. Darer and her two guards lay face down in the sand, blood sinking into its hot blackness to mingle with that of the long-dead Gigantes.

  “No” she cried, her anger that of a raging beast. “They will pay,” she said to Cistre.

  “A thousandfold, my Queen,” Cistre said, her back to Tayem’s. “But I fear two against a thousand is not favourable odds.

  Etezora and her guard had vanished, subsumed in the multitude that now bore down on them. Clouds of ash billowed around so that only the front two ranks of horsemen were visible. The dust swirled with greater fury as a great down-sweep of wings was heard overhead.

  “Tayem,” Mahren’s call came from above.

  What was she doing here? Was following orders beyond her?

  Yet, despite this irritation, Tayem welcomed the sight of Jaestrum’s regal form and Quassu, ridden by Elohaim, following closely behind.

  A cowled horseman broke ranks from the approaching horde and bore down on them. He lowered his spear and aimed it at the vulnerable Dragonian Queen. Tayem wished she’d brought her bow, but she had other means at her disposal. She eyed her attacker, blinking rapidly to remove the grains of sand that conspired to obscure her vision.

  Just a few more seconds.

  The rider was accomplished, the spear hardly wavering despite the jolting of the galloping armoured horse, but he was unprepared for Tayem’s manoeuvre. She ran at the horse, leaping to the side at the last moment and then launching herself upwards on the rider’s unprotected flank. Hallows fury powered the thrust of her glaive into the rider’s abdomen, gutting him before he could swing his own weapon from the opposite side. With inhuman strength she pulled the glaive back and spun in mid-air to land back on her feet, ready for the next attack. Cistre had dispatched two further riders before the dragons were upon them, their forelimbs raised in defiance at the oncoming Cuscosians.

  The Cuscosian riders circled them, and in the maelstrom of stamping hooves and sweeping reptilian wings Tayem found it impossible to pick out a suitable target. What she did see was several of them raise crossbows and aim at the Dragonians.

  “Up here,” Mahren shouted from Jaestrum’s back, holding out her hand to Tayem. She did not hesitate, jumping upward and clasping her sister’s hand as a hail of arrows shot through the air. Several rebounded from the dragon’s hide while others embedded themselves in Mahren’s protective shield. Cistre had joined Elohaim on Quassu’s back and Tayem felt a momentary pang at not being able to ride her own mount, but it was of no consequence. They had to retreat. Elohaim directed Quassu to sweep his claws through the innermost circle of horsemen. The bludgeoning might of the blows raked through their ranks, felling ten or more of them.

  The horsemen reacted with skill and moved further away out of the dragon’s range, although the task was difficult given the swarm that accumulated behind.

  “To the skies,” Mahren cried, “we must fly while they are on the defensive.”

  Jaestrum roared and the Cuscosian horses whinnied in terror, several of them rearing, sending their riders to the floor to be trampled in the dust. With a mighty down-sweep, the dragon rose, and within seconds both beasts were aloft. Arrows arced from below but bounced harmlessly of the dragon’s bellies, and as the Cuscosian army became pinpricks on the ground Tayem tried to pick out Etezora’s form — to no avail.

  “I will find you, Cuscosian haujen,” she swore out loud, “and even your wizard will not shield you from my wrath.”

  23

  A thunderstorm in the heart

  “You promised me that schjek’s head on a pole,” Etezora screamed, her fury directed at Zodarin and her guard. She stormed from one side of her tent to the other, sweeping a myriad of objects from every horizontal surface and kicking at any furniture within range of her petulant feet.

  Zodarin winced but appeared unruffled. “Your Majesty, it is a temporary setback. Already our troops march on their paltry army. It is only a matter of time before she is in your hands.

  “But she was exposed on the plain. We had the advantage; and what of you chizbaxes?” She turned to the two hapless guards who weren’t sure how to react. “Was it too much to ask that you bring down those schjeks when the mists rose?”

  “We did not see, your Majesty,” one protested, “her adviser and guard remained stationary and it was easy to pick them off, but the Queen and her bodyguard were as swift as leopards and disappeared from our eyes.”

  “Aarh!” Etezora screamed again, and this time she grabbed the one who had spoken by the throat. The man gurgled as he tried to draw air into his lungs, shocked at his Queen’s uncanny strength.

  “Etezora,” Zodarin said, “forgive me … your Majesty, have mercy on these would-be assassins. To be fair to them, they did well to cover our retreat from the Dragonians. Tayem and her bodyguard might well have posed an immediate threat once the mists dispersed.”

  Etezora’s eyes blazed purple for a second, then she released the guard who stumbled back and fell against a table.

  “What news of the battlefield? Did our simultaneous assault catch the main body of Dragonians off-guard?”

  “A messenger has just returned from the Pelethan slopes,” Zodarin replied. “The Dragonians were indeed taken by surprise, but they melted into the forest once they realised they were outnumbered. Fifty were slain but they will now re-group.”

  “Imbeciles,” Etezora cried. “Can I not count on anyone?”

  Zodarin pursed his lips. “I did council against this course of action. The Dragonians are renowned warriors, and they are on their home-ground. If we are to win this conquest, then we need to employ cunning and strategy. They are not easy pickings like the Gigantes your fathers eradicated.”

  “Do not presume to question my decision,” Etezora said, “I have told you before.”

  “Your Majesty,” Zodarin said, his eyes shifting from amber to magenta again, “this setback does not affect our overall strategy. We prepared for this, remember?” He lifted a tumbled goblet, poured some red wine from a skin and handed it to Etezora. “You could use this,” he said. Etezora acquiesced to his calming influence despite herself, listening as he outlined once again how the next act would unfold.

  ~ ~ ~

  Cistre wished she could offer something to bring solace to
Tayem, but as usual found her comforting skills sadly lacking, and nothing seemed to bring a salve to the raging Queen. So as ever, she stood close, offering protection and a reassuring presence. She had seen Tayem’s fury erupt before, but this was different. As she shouted orders to her captains and rallied the Dragon Riders to arms, she noticed how an indefinable darkness enveloped her, sending an icicle shower of foreboding down Cistre’s spine. She wished she could embrace her, absorb the turmoil she was enduring, yet such actions were beyond her station and she dreaded the consequences of revealing the depth of her feelings. Yet she could dream …

  “Where are Sashaim and Aibrator?” Tayem shouted across the dragon pens. “They should be here, ready to lead the ayku host.

  “Tayem,” Mahren said, stepping forward with a sheepish look on her face. “There is something I must tell you.”

  “What? Make it quick, we have no time to waste.” Without giving her chance to answer, she turned to Gemain and issued further orders regarding the defence of Palace Dragonia and the possible evacuation of the populace.

  “Sister, please hear me,” Mahren persisted.

  “Yes, yes. Get to it.”

  “Sasheim and Aibrator. The reason they are not here is that I sent them to Hallow’s Creek.”

  Tayem stopped her flurry of activity. “Why in Sesnath’s name would you do that?”

  “There was an uprising planned. I promised the dissidents our help.”

  “Help the Cuscosians? Are you mad?” Tayem swept the hair back from her forehead, holding her fingers against her temples, trying to contain her exasperation.

  “I … I thought it was in our interest to aid them, given Etezora’s recent deceit.”

  “You thought? Committing Royal troops is a matter for the Queen. You know this.”