Cradle of Darkness

by Tom G. H. Adams

  Upon entering Nalin’s workshop, they found it empty, and the darkness prompted Grizdoth to send for torches.

  “What are we looking for Grizdoth?” the Captain said, his tone clearly conveying irritation at having to carry out the orders of an outlander.

  “Evidence of treachery Captain. I believe Nalin is conspiring against us, but we need proof to present to Eétor.”

  “What of the other stonegrabes?”

  Grizdoth thought for a moment. “Send the nightwatch to seize them in their quarters. They are part of the conspiracy, and we need to know how they plan to destroy this place. Which gets me thinking; they may have set boobytraps. Search with care.”

  The Captain grudgingly carried out the spy’s request, and his guards set about their task with vigour.

  A whole hour passed before they found what they were looking for. One of the guards called out, “Over here.”

  “What is it?” asked Grizdoth.

  The soldier held up a handful of bolts, which on closer examination revealed fatigue marks just below the head.

  “What are they?” the Captain asked.

  “Retaining bolts that hold the katapultos release mechanism in place,” said the guard.

  “Hah,” Grizdoth said, picking one up. “See how the stonegrabes weakened them so as to fail after repeated use.”

  At that moment, the nightwatch arrived, holding a bewildered Buzmith.

  “What is the meaning of this, Captain?” the stonegrabe demanded, “all engineers are under the House of Cuscosa’s protection.”

  Grizdoth approached Buzmith, menace twisting his face. “You have questions to answer, trog.” He held up the incriminating bolts.

  “Who are you?” the Kaldoran asked, but already a note of fear was evident in his words.

  “Never mind who I am. Answer the question!” Grizdoth was much braver when he had armed might for company.

  When Buzmith didn’t answer, the Captain slapped him across the face with his gauntleted hand. “You can save us a lot of time if you tell us what Nalin has been scheming, stonegrabe,” he shouted.

  Buzmith continued to hold his counsel and a strong fist connected with his jaw, a prelude to further assault.

  “Tell us what we wish to know and the pain will stop,” Grizdoth said.

  “I will not betray my people,” Buzmith replied, struggling against the guard’s grip.

  “Ah, so you are hiding something,” the spy said. “Admit it; you treacherous trogs have sabotaged our war machines. And that is not all. What is this I hear about an ‘accident’ that is to occur in this very dungeon?”

  “You’re too late Cuscosian scum,” Buzmith said, spitting on the floor, “Nalin has already escaped, and he has taken the spare bolts. It will take you a month to fashion new ones — and you won’t be getting any help from me.”

  Grizdoth sneered. “You really think we didn’t suspect your conspiracy? Rest assured friend, the faulty mechanisms were detected this morning and made good. We also know how you planned to flood the dungeons. With you and your fellow conspirators captured, that plan has come to naught too.” He stepped closer to the now quivering stonegrabe and fixed him with a self-satisfied glare. “You have given us all the reason we need to wipe out your pitiful race of cave trogs.”

  Grizdoth took the bolts and left the room, while behind him, he heard a gurgle that signalled the slitting of Buzmith’s throat.

  Minutes later he had joined Eétor in the Great Hall and explained his findings. Grizdoth had been correct in deducing Eétor was annoyed at not having been alerted to the finality of Nalin’s departure earlier. However, he was more than pleased with the uncovered evidence of Kaldoran sabotage and planned conspiracy to destroy the remainder of Nalin’s work in the dungeons.

  “We must not waste this opportunity to test the loyalty of the Kaldoran Fellchief,” the Praetor said.

  “Am I to understand he will fail the test?” Grizdoth said. “Why not simply exact vengeance?”

  Eétor scoffed. “You are a talented spy, Grizdoth, but not a strategist. How easy do you think it would be to launch an all out attack on Kaldor Prime? No — this protocol gives us the ideal cover to approach Magthrum in all innocence. It does not matter that Nalin has escaped, I can manipulate this turn of events to our ends. If, as I suspect, the Kaldorans refuse to hand Nalin Ironhand over, then Captain Torell will take them by surprise. Now, ask him to join us. I need to apprise him of the details.”

  Grizdoth left the Great Hall with a spring in his step. He would be paid handsomely for tonight’s work, and who knows, might be given a more favoured position in Eétor’s court. It was also reassuring to know he had enough information about Eétor’s own conspiracy to make him useful to other parties — should things turn sour. Kingdoms may rise and fall by the fickle changes of the wind, he thought, but a spy can always bend with the gale.

  26

  A city falls

  Tayem thought she understood the meaning of devastation. This day she had witnessed the decimation of the larger part of her army, the slaying of fifteen royal dragons and the shame that came from a routing, the like of which had never been endured since the Marauders war. Most dreadful of all — this had all occurred under her rule. Do I even deserve to be a queen anymore?

  These were self-serving thoughts, however, and as the remainder of her dragon host approached Wyverneth, she resolved to save her reflections, her licking of wounds, for a future time — should that occasion present itself.

  She directed Quassu over the escarpment that marked the outskirts of Wyverneth and was at once confronted with a foreboding that penetrated to the marrow.

  From this vantage point she observed a scene of soul-withering carnage. The lower slopes of Wyverneth were aswarm with the insect-like ranks of a rampaging army.

  Cuscosian diggods, she thought. By Sesnath, their number is equal to those that assailed us at Lyn-Harath. Etezora has thrown her entire force at our kingdom!

  Despite its natural defences and placement of defending troops, Wyverneth had been taken by surprise and the signs of complete conquest were all too evident. The Cuscosians had breached the walls in numerous places, and their ladders had spread like spiders’ webs over the battlements. Inevitably, the palace gates had fallen despite fierce resistance from the Dragonians.

  “No, it cannot be,” she said out loud.

  Mahren, Cistre and Beredere had taken in the scene of devastation too and had positioned their dragons alongside Tayem’s. They were close enough to be in earshot and were clearly awaiting her orders, looks of panic on their faces.

  The choices were stark. Attack the Cuscosians with the rest of her dragons? What if their invisible attacker should devastate them again? It was all too obvious that her ground forces were overwhelmed and could not augment a counter-attack. Most had been directed toward Lyn-Harath and were still many periarchs distant. They would arrive several hours too late, wearied by the long journey and demoralised by their recent defeat.

  She calculated the odds, sifted through strategies inculcated by the seasoned military tutors of Dragonia. She also heard the words of her father:

  If Dragonia should ever fall, remember that the spirit of Donnephon does not reside in the city of Wyverneth. It lives in the hearts of each Dragonian. We arose from the ageless mountains, and the ancient forests — we can do so again. Many are our enemies, but the vs’ shtak runs deeper than any superficial tradition. If we are dispersed, our people will live on. Never make the mistake of defending buildings over preserving people.

  Her course of action, free from hazy Black Hallows confusion, was clear. “Descend on Wyverneth, but do not engage the enemy directly,” she shouted. “Save whoever you can, instruct those who remain to flee the city and head north to Herethorn. Do you understand?”

  Each of her commanders nodded and banked away to relay her commands to their respective squadrons.

  With the suns behind them, the dragons’ descent was not expecte
d by the Cuscosians. Nonetheless, it didn’t take long for them to respond with missile fire, and Tayem had to use every scintilla of skill to manoeuvre Quassu beyond the battlements and alight in the palace courtyard.

  The Cuscosians were crawling over the outer walls, and all around the enemy beleaguered the Dragonian defenders. Tayem had left Uniro in charge and she spied him on the steps of the palace, bravely holding back a tide of Cuscosian elite troops. His own guard were down to their last seven and it was only a matter of time before they all fell. She directed Quassu toward the Cuscosians, Cistre landing behind her and following suit. The dragon’s claws made short work of the enemy, slashing through armour and flesh alike as if the soldiers were made of mere parchment.

  Tayem called to Uniro. “Who remains within?”

  The captain drew himself up, nursing a wound to his side. “Most have fled,” he said. “We sought to buy them time here, but Disconsolin, Merdreth and their servants are still in the palace. They are stubborn and say they will remain as a matter of duty.”

  “You decided aright,” Tayem told him. “We must flee to the mountains, initiate the Vicrac.”

  She was referring to the edicts laid down at the establishment of Wyverneth. As a beleaguered people, the Dragonian matriarchy had recognised the precarious nature of their existence and made plans for such an exodus. Each household knew what was required of them. Word-of-mouth relayed in an ancient tongue, together with the sounding of an undeniable call was all it took to spread the command.

  “Have you ordered the tolling of the bell?” She asked Uniro.

  “Not yet, my Queen. Disconsolin will not countenance it. He thinks he can parley with the Cuscosians.”

  “Gorram fool,” Tayem said, “We have learned today that Etezora cannot be reasoned with. Cistre — go to the tower and ring the bell. All must know.”

  “My Queen. My place is at your side. Send another — ”

  “I will be safe,” she replied. “I will not engage in unnecessary combat. Ring the bell for no more than five minutes, and then order your squadron north.”

  Cistre hesitated for only a second then saluted, instructing her mount into the air and toward the bell tower that lay on the west side of the palace. Two more dragons had alighted in the courtyard and arranged themselves at their master’s command as a bulwark against the sea of Cuscosians washing over the palace walls.

  After instructing Uniro to beat an ordered retreat through the north gate, she ran into the palace, shouting at any remaining courtiers to leave their belongings and flee the city.

  She found Disconsolin and Merdreth in their quarters. Disconsolin was donning the last parts of an official state uniform, while his wife alternately fussed over him and looked out the window, noting the inexorable advance of the Cuscosians.

  “If you go out there in that attire, you’ll simply invite a Cuscosian crossbow bolt,” Tayem said. As she uttered the words, the deep peal of the Vicrac bell began and it seemed that Cistre’s action added a doom-laden quality to her words.

  Disconsolin turned to face her, the colour drained from his face. “Who are — ” It took a moment for recognition to dawn on his face, and Tayem realised she must appear as some blood-caked monstrosity charged with murderous intent.

  “My Queen,” he said, recovering himself. “You have returned. What news from the plains?”

  “We are defeated,” Tayem said, “Etezora has betrayed us and a large number of dragons are slain. I have ordered the Vicrac. All must depart — including you.”

  Disconsolin and his wife looked at each other, the woman displaying a pleading expression. “We are … we are too far gone in sols to countenance leaving Dragonia,” he said. “We have decided to take our chances with the Cuscosians.”

  Tayem tried to suppress a rising anger, borne on the back of the day’s ravages on her emotions. “This is not a request, Disconsolin. Should the enemy take you alive they will extract the secrets of the Vicrac. I cannot allow that.”

  The Fyreclave elder bit his lip. “Then you must invoke the Kutri for refusing a royal decree. Our life is here in Dragonia. We would not survive the journey you embark on, nor the conditions in the Whispering Hills.”

  “You would have me strike you down? Is your attachment to the comforts of the palace so precious to you?”

  “You do me a disservice, My Queen. This has nothing to do with our position or privileges. I know you think we cannot negotiate with the Cuscosians, but you reckon without my powers of statesmanship. I would gain concessions from them.”

  “Look out of the window,” Tayem declared. “What sense of diplomacy do you see there? Our cause is doomed. Now come, before it’s too late.”

  Disconsolin remained resolute, lifting his chin. “We have made up our minds. We are staying.”

  “Husband,” Merdreth interjected. “Our Queen may speak the truth. Perhaps you could reconsider?”

  “Enough,” Disconsolin said with overweening pride, “the decision is made. Now carry out the execution or leave us to our fate. I swear I will reveal nothing — even if they torture me.”

  Tayem paused. She knew what she should do, yet without the Black Hallows girding her with its malefic influence she realised with despondency that she had seen enough Dragonian blood spilt today. She pursed her lips and made her pronouncement. “I do not have time for this. Neither do I understand your reasons, Disconsolin. But know that Etezora will show you no mercy. Better to die by your own hand than submit to their interrogation. I trust you will do the honourable thing if it comes to it?”

  “Of course, my Queen,” he replied.

  “Merdreth, will you come?” Tayem said.

  The woman drooped her head. “My place is at my husband’s side.”

  “Very well,” Tayem said, “Dixtrath semlessin.” It was the Dragonian salute of high office. A respect the man didn’t deserve, but Tayem uttered it anyway, and then left them.

  Back in the courtyard, the Cuscosians were battering back the Dragon Rider’s hastily formed defence. No doubt the dragons could hold back the tide a further hour, but Tayem was filled with dread concerning the possibility of a magical assault. All the while she anticipated the sight of her dragons suddenly writhing in pain, the result of unseen weapons brought to bear.

  She called to Cistre, who had just returned from the bell tower. “We leave now,” she said. “Are the grounds evacuated?”

  “As far as I can tell,” Cistre said.

  “Then take to the skies.”

  Tayem mounted Quassu, noting the slumped form of the Dragon Rider in the pillion. She saw that he drew no breath and concluded that his spirit had gone to join Sesnath.

  I will bury him with full honours in the mountains, she thought. A dignity denied so many today; and as Quassu took to the air a light-headedness filled her. It was at once a deep melancholy and at the same time a drawing of waters from a hitherto unbidden source. Not the Hallows. That corrupt source had poisoned everything today, and though it already stirred again within her, she resolved to rid herself of its influence. In declaring this to herself, she recognised she might have an even greater battle awaiting her.

  27

  The angry mountains cry

  It was almost dusk when Nalin steered his four-wheeled cart into the entrance framing the Great Gorge. Its deep vertical chasm had a way of inspiring him in a way that tales and songs often failed to do. At over half a periarch wide, the limestone gorge was a deep incision cut into the Imperious Crescent, and had become a vital conduit for traders and travellers alike. The Kaldoran people had adopted this gash in the landscape and offered hospitality and safe passage to the myriad folks that sought a direct route across the mighty mountain range. If an occasional traveller mysteriously disappeared, only to end up in a stonegrabe’s cooking pot, then that could not be helped. It didn’t stop the flow of traffic that frequented the gorge.

  Ellotte tugged on Nalin’s sleeve. She’d espied her best friend, Kartasia Silverforge in he
r carriage heading southwards. They waved at each other from a distance, and once close to, exchanged greetings as they passed. Nalin could see his wife’s relief at seeing a friendly face after their long journey. Three days and nights spent looking over their shoulders had left their nerves frazzled and their exchanges tetchy with irritation. Nalin had been forced to journey off-road to avoid frequent Cuscosian patrols, and they paid the price in lost hours. As they continued deeper into the gorge, bright sunlight gave way to an eerie dark shade as the tall sheer sides of the gorge all but excluded the early evening rays of Sol-Ar. They still had several periarchs to go before they reached Kaldora Prime, meaning it would be at least three more hours before the security of their home-cave and loved ones welcomed them.

  Every periarch they traversed up the steep inclines left Nalin feeling more relaxed, every turn of the wheel filling him with a sense of closure on the past and a renewed acknowledgment of his belonging. As they crested a further pass, Ellotte took the reins, and he had a chance to gaze at the narrow strip of dark indigo sky overhead. Already, the brighter stars were glistening in the heavens.

  What does the future hold? He wondered as he watched the dance of the insectoid fire dragons above his head. What role would he have to play in Magthrum’s empire now his usefulness as a foreign agent was at an end? And what of the Kaldoran’s future as a people? The ruling house of Cuscosa was a pack of duplicitous kruts, and it was clear that a confrontation of some sort was on the horizon. Hopefully, his people would have the mettle to face that challenge when it inevitably arose. He poked around in a pack and withdrew his jarva pipe, stuffing it with a fresh leaf of the narcotic herb.

  “Nalin,” Ellotte sighed, “not in front of Palimin.”