Cradle of Darkness

by Tom G. H. Adams

  “Yes. And I’m sorry. But I couldn’t leave Brethis without word or reason for our Donnephon’s absence. He depends on us.”

  Tayem looked more carefully at her sister. “This Brethis. It sounds like you know him well.”

  “He leads the dissidents; gives them hope, and he is a natural leader. Everyone looks to him.”

  “He is more than that to you,” Tayem said, the Black Hallows rising again, this time in response to a basic human emotion. Something she would not even admit to herself. “You have feelings for this Cuscosian, don’t you?”

  Mahren didn’t know what to say and looked down.

  “How could you allow yourself to be so foolish? No doubt he was leading both you and our guard into a trap. You have let emotion cloud your judgement, and this is quite apart from the vs’ shtak ruling that forbids matches between our two houses.”

  “He is not allied to Cuscosa. He detests them. That’s why he’s leading a rebellion!”

  Tayem strode across the room and picked up her bow and quiver. “I have no time for this. Our kingdom is on the brink of destruction and here you are love-struck and tongue-tied. You will join me in the Imperial Host. Cistre will lead the ayku. Now, to arms. Cast all thought of this Brethis from your mind, I need you fixed on the battle.”

  With that, Tayem closed down the conversation and jogged to the dragon pens where she found the dragon-hands tacking up the full contingent of beasts.

  “Have you woken Ensutharr and Oga?” she said to Sheldar.

  “My Queen, Mahren was able to rouse Enthusarr, but even her skills could not wake Oga. He rests in the bosom of Sunnuth, as he has done for the last ten sols. Who knows when he will awaken from deep sleep?”

  Tayem sighed. They now had forty-eight dragons, eight of them still sluggish from their poisoning. Will it be enough? She prayed it would. Their only advantage was superiority in the skies. She turned to Mahren, who had followed her from the palace and was donning a bronze battle helmet. “I have changed my mind,” Tayem said to her. “You shall ride Enthusarr. She has not flown in sols and will need an expert hand at the reins.”

  “But Jaestrum, he — ”

  “He will be safe in Beredere’s hands,” Tayem cut her off.

  She mounted Quassu and addressed the throng of Dragon Riders. “Mount up,” she said. “The armies mass at the western border, we must fly to them before they engage, otherwise there may be nothing to save.” As she spoke, she was aware the Donnephon looked at her in awe, and not just a little fear. She had always commanded respect, but this was something more. What? Then she noticed the surrounding air. It had turned deep purple, tinged with an abyssal blackness, and she was at once charged with great purpose and confidence. It quenched any remaining reservations concerning the Hallows. This was no time for faint-heartedness. Darer had counselled against embracing this power, but look what happened to him. The memory of the recent loss fired her rage still further, and she sensed it transmitted to Quassu, who opened his maw and uttered a deep roar that reverberated through her frame. The dragon call elicited a response from the other mounts, who joined in the magnificent bestial chorus. Above it all, the rumble of Enthusarr issued forth, so loud it shook the ground.

  Mahren struggled to bring Enthusarr under control, but with a few gentle words in her ear she calmed the ancient beast and prepared for flight. This was the first time Tayem had seen Enthusarr in her full glory. She estimated the dragon measured eighty spans from snout to tail with a wingspan of some seventy-five spans. A sight to cause the Cuscosians to fill their breeches with mord, she thought. If anything can turn this day, then she can — as long as she remains obedient to Mahren.

  “To the skies,” Tayem cried and with a mighty unfurling of his wings, Quassu rose into the canopy of the violet heavens.

  ~ ~ ~

  Zodarin sat cross-legged on his dais. The tent he occupied was located in a fissure just to the west of the Dead Zone, a half-periarch from the battle-front. It was vulnerable to attack if found. This was unlikely given its position, and the fact that one of his bewitchments concealed it further. He closed his eyes and immediately felt the draw of the Dreamworld. The transition was brief, the acceleration aided by Black Hallows energy, and as he materialised in etheric form, he rode a wave of unbridled ecstasy. This was like nothing he had experienced in his long existence before, as if the Hallows fed on his desire and swelled in influence from the very depths of Varchal. He wondered if Etezora felt this too as she rode on to the battlefield; and as he did so, he suspected her overthrow might have to come earlier than he’d originally planned.

  Enough, he scolded himself. There are more urgent matters to attend to this day. He’d cautioned Etezora against marching on the Dragon Riders so soon, but despite its premature nature he was reasonably confident they could press home the victory.

  The wolvern form he had so often taken would not suffice for the act he planned. No, he would adopt his undisguised true nature. If another entity observed him then what of it? He was supreme, and with the Augur’s execution, he sensed his power elevated to yet greater heights. He would need every pebbleweight of energy at his disposal to accomplish this feat.

  First he had to find his quarry. Perhaps that might not be too difficult given the circumstances. Today he was not merely the hunter, he would be a warrior in wurunwa vargachic, the dream battles — and he knew he was more than equal to the task.

  ~ ~ ~

  Etezora stooped down and handed Cuticous to her courtier. “Feed him on the hour, and do not let him out of his cage,” she instructed. The courtier acknowledged her, and removed the salix, successfully cloaking any disgust he may have felt at the creature’s touch.

  Etezora pulled herself upright in the saddle of her war stallion and surveyed the battlefield. The Donnephon foot-soldiers were arrayed in clumps on the edge of the forest, almost difficult to discern due to their sage and olive-green attire. Yet her scryers had determined they numbered no more than some fifteen hundred. She was in no doubt there were a similar number hidden amongst the trees and undergrowth behind, but this still left them at half the battle strength of her army. Strategy would dictate they draw the Cuscosians into the woods. Out on the plain, the Cuscosian cavalry and sheer weight of numbers would command the day, but under arboreal cover, the Dragonians would pick her soldiers off with their cursed arrows. Then there was the threat of the dragons. Be that as it may, she thought, Tayem has not reckoned with what I have in store for them.

  In the meantime, Etezora would employ a battle-plan to confound the Donnephon defences. She ordered the advance of the cavalry at a slow trot, and then handed over command to Dieol, her general. She wanted freedom to immerse herself in the butchery with the blue-skin at her side. Together they had a unique banquet of slaughter to partake in, and she didn’t want the distractions of commanding troops to interfere.

  The Cuscosian dragoons advanced, the front rank trailing chasquite bushes behind them, raising black sand into the air to form a dense impenetrable cloud. Etezora spurred her mount on once they had gained five minutes on her Royal Host. Sandwiched between her and the cavalry trundled a score of Nalin’s war machines, catapults capable of launching a deadly payload provided they were set up within range. A contingent of the stonegrabe’s engineers accompanied the troops in order to operate the machines

  The advance proceeded without event, Etezora’s only concern being that, just as her katapultos were concealed, the Dragonians response to the attack could not be gauged. Once within five hundred strides of the treeline, the war machines halted and the gunnery engineers pegged them into the soil with spikes as tall as a man. At this distance she heard the winches creak as the katapultos arms were swung back to launch position. Spherical bundles coated with flammable tar-gum were quickly hoisted into the cups and set alight. The Cuscosian captains had debated whether they should wait until the dust had settled before launching the fire balls, but then they would lose the element of surprise. Instead, the
y would take the risk, and fire their flaming missiles at the positions noted before their advance.

  The captain gave the order and Nalin’s engineers loosed the first volley. The fireballs sailed above the dust cloud and arced down toward the tree line. Before they had landed, the catapults were rewound and loaded with freshly lit missiles. Beyond their battle-line, the sound of the first volley’s impact was heard. Nalin had designed the fireballs to spew ground-oil from metal gourds upon impact, spreading fire amongst any unfortunate to be within range of the strike.

  “They might simply burn up dry earth and wood,” said Dieol. A traditional Cuscosian cryolin helmet hid his face, but Etezora pictured his scarred features screwed up as if he was chewing on a wasp.

  “No need to be pessimistic,” she said. “Let us wait until the dust clears.”

  The second volley had landed, and with the dust settled, Etezora saw gouts of flame licking the air some twenty spans high. Then, above the crackling of fire, Etezora detected a pleasing sound — the cries of pain and anguish from Dragonian mouths.

  Etezora smiled. “One more volley, you said.”

  “Yes,” Dieol stated with a lift in his tone. “Then we charge.”

  The general saw the katapultos cranked back, and the arms subsequently released. At least this was true for most of the machines. Three however seemed to have developed a fault. When the arms of these machines had clicked into their retaining position, they unexpectedly broke free before the bombardiers could load the tar-gum missiles. One struck a soldier, smashing his skull to pulp as it swept upwards.

  An acceptable mechanical failure? Etezora thought, I wonder. She turned to face the silent blue-skin at her side. He was mounted on a giant boar, its tusks tipped with iron. “Are you ready for the play?” she said to him.

  “Tuh-Ma is always ready for his Queen,” he replied, and slurped a string of dripping saliva back into his mouth.

  After another minute, Etezora could wait no longer, and she instructed Dieol to order the charge. The Hallows fire burned strong now, and the Queen felt like it would erupt from every pore. Indeed the air around her seemed to turn dark, shifting from violet to black in a shimmering halo about her form. Perhaps the Hallows has appetites of its own, she thought. Well eat your fill, she exhorted, there will be enough spoils for all.

  She dug the spurs into her stallion’s flanks and it sprang forward. As far as the eye could see to either side of her, the Cuscosian cavalry thundered forward as a fearsome wall of metal and pounding hooves. The only break in this galloping mass occurred where the war machines were bypassed; and as these were cleared, Etezora saw her first glimpses of carnage. The Dragonian vanguard had largely held their ground — to their detriment.

  Fools, Etezora mused with glee. The Dragon People’s bravery and stoicism are ever their downfall.

  Scattered amongst the still flaming balls of death lay the twisted, burning bodies of her enemy. Hallows innervation heightened her senses, and despite the confusion of sensory information that abounded, the satisfying aroma of scorched flesh filled her nostrils. Still more pleasing were the cries of the wounded and dying. They would be put to the sword later, but for now Etezora’s sights were set on the fleeing flock of foot soldiers.

  “Cut them down,” she shouted, “before they retreat into the woods.”

  The most fleet of foot reached the forest line, but the remainder were overtaken by an initial wave of Cuscosian cavalry. Some — the bravest — turned to face their pursuers, and although they brought down a handful of mounted Cuscosians, they were quickly overcome and shown no mercy. Scores of running warriors were speared and butchered within paces of the wooded sanctuary. Etezora herself skewered three of them and Tuh-Ma’s boar gored a further five, trampling their eviscerated corpses underneath its trotters.

  Yet it was not enough. Etezora yearned to be close to the enemy as she drew life from them. The Hallows demanded it, and this had become akin to a sanctified undertaking, one she embraced with every malefic granule of her being.

  It was not to be. Dieol shouted the warning before she was completely overcome with battle lust. “My Queen. No further. The Dragonian archers will be within range!” He signalled the trumpeter to sound her horn, which she did with a piercing blast that brought the cavalry to an ordered halt.

  “Stand fast,” a captain cried. “Foot soldiers — advance.”

  Between the stationary horseguard, a regimented advance of infantrymen ensued. Once they had threaded their way through, they reformed in orderly fashion. The troops bore heavy armour and held large rectangular shields above their heads, the front rank wielding theirs in a vertical position. The resulting formation resembled an armoured lizard marching forward. Such a defence tactic was not premature as within seconds they had become the target of Dragonian archers, whose arrows rained down by the hundred, clattering off the bronze screen the Cuscosians had erected.

  Despite the close-knit formation, many shafts infiltrated the tessellated shields and found their mark through eye-slits and joints between armour.

  “Curse their falcon-eyed archers,” Dieol said, “at this rate they will wipe out our troops. We should re-group.”

  “No,” Etezora said, “I have something else in mind.” She was tantalisingly close to the prospect of slaughter, and such a lust was worth the risk of performing her next intention. “Get me into those woods and I will bring their archers to an end.”

  “How will you do this, Your Majesty?” Dieol replied, “I cannot countenance the risk.”

  “Do as I command!” Etezora turned to her general, Hallows energy flaring from baleful eyes leaving him with no will to gainsay her.

  He quelled his astonishment and called for nine soldiers, who trotted up bearing shields edged in curled tyrannium steel. “Link shields round our Queen,” he ordered. “You are under her command.”

  The section of shield-bearers closed around Etezora and Tuh-Ma clipping their custom-built carapace together so that the individual plates of steel overlapped. Any loosed arrow would simply strike the feet of the soldiers, and these were armoured with heavy greaves and sabatons.

  Within the primitive armadillo, Etezora sniffed at the odour of battle-sweat and mannishness. The close proximity of Tuh-Ma just added to the miasma. “Advance on the woods,” she said, “and do not stop once you have broken the tree line. I will tell you when it is safe to break ranks.”

  The armadillo moved forward, and within twenty strides it was met with a clattering of arrow heads. The sound was deafening to Etezora’s over-sensitised ears, but she did her best to block out the cacophony. Before long she would bring their pathetic counter-attack to an end.

  As the shuffling Cuscosians entered the tree canopy, Etezora saw the ground darken, and she relaxed inwardly from the relief at being out of the blazing sun’s direct light. As commanded, the shield-bearers continued the advance, stepping more warily now as the ground was covered in all manner of roots and undergrowth. Etezora gauged the sound of the arrows overhead. They were less in number now, and she wondered if perhaps the Dragonians had realised their attempts were coming to naught. The Hallows augmented her hearing, and she detected the thwang sound of the longbow release, comparing it to the strike of the arrowhead on the shield.

  They are directly overhead, and what is that? Underneath the sound of archers shifting their positions in the trees and the rattle of arrow strikes there rose the sound of feet sprinting over the forest floor some five hundred paces ahead.

  I must act now before we are engaged in a melee. We are close enough.

  At last she could unleash the full force of her power, and she commanded the sergeant at the front of the armadillo to stop. Overhead, her acute senses made out a swarm of Dragonian archers. She released etheric tendrils of Hallows energy that bypassed the armadillo roof and wrapped themselves around the bodies of the archers. Although Etezora could not see them with her physical eyes, their forms existed as signatures in the air, and the whips of H
allows fury pulled them from their perches. Ten … twenty … thirty of them were ripped from the branches and either dashed to the floor or slammed into tree trunks breaking multiple bones in their bodies. And still the body count rose. Etezora laughed with glee and orgiastic pleasure as more and more of the devilish tentacles launched themselves at the hapless enemy until their bodies were piling up on the forest floor.

  She lost count of the number of slain when she sensed a fatigue encroach on her mind.

  There is a limit then to this wonderful talent. Still — it is enough. She withdrew her tendrils and instructed the squad of soldiers to prepare for an imminent attack from enemy foot soldiers. “Tuh-Ma, signal to Dieol that he should advance. I have dealt with the archers.”

  It was true. No more arrows rained from above, and as the shields lowered, the carnage she had caused was all too apparent. Any remaining archers out of range of Etezora’s anemone-like assault had fled into the canopy, while all around stricken victims lay in a tangled mass.

  Tuh-Ma lifted his head upwards and let out a piercing shriek. It would carry to the waiting Dieol and give him leave to advance the Cuscosian infantry. He lowered his misshapen head and grunted, “You have vanquished them, My Queen. See how the dead stare at the sky, as if the very air betrayed them.”

  Etezora did not answer him, yet she shared the blue-skin’s elation. This power is incredible. Surely nothing can stand before me.

  The approaching Dragonian infantry had slowed their pace, and from the look on their faces it was obvious they were hesitating before launching an all-out attack. The sight of such havoc must have been enough to cause even the bravest warrior to pause.

  Etezora’s euphoria was tempered only by the thought she had passed the zenith of her energies — at least for today. Still, there was enough left in her to mount a defence.

  The thrashing of foliage behind marked the entry of the Cuscosian dragoons and the sudden incursion goaded the Dragonians into action. They took cover behind trees or disappeared into the undergrowth, their remaining missiles occasionally shooting forth and downing selected targets. However, the loosing of missiles was the marksmen’s undoing. It revealed their location and Etezora was clear to release Hallows tendrils, pulling them from cover and depositing them at her feet. Tuh-Ma was quick to take the initiative and picked up the stunned bodies, banging their skulls together or simply crushing the life from them with his gargantuan embrace.