Cradle of Darkness

by Tom G. H. Adams

  “Noble Oga,” he said. “I beseech you. Fly from this place and go serve your Queen. Do not waste your might on us.” He supposed they were words uttered in vain, yet the beast regarded him, moved its snout up and down as if nodding, then looked upwards. The cavern roof was a dome of shallow rock with a small aperture at its apex to admit the light, and Disconsolin understood that this king of dragons would not wait for him to open the great doors. It pulled itself onto the surrounding perimeter of the pit and rose, its back pushing at the fragile crust of rock above. The layer might be like tissue to the dragon, but the weight of material above would crush the life from the helpless figures below.

  “Tratis,” Disconsolin shouted. “To the adjoining chamber, before it’s too late.”

  Oga strained against the ceiling and already chunks of rock began to rain down. One struck Disconsolin’s shoulder, almost knocking it out of joint. He ignored the pain, pulling himself to his feet. Tratis had managed to stand too but Etezora lay motionless. They looked briefly at each other, an unspoken understanding transferred through the dusty air. Then another shower of rock fell.

  “We must pull her away from danger,” Disconsolin said.

  “Er … of course,” Tratis said, but Disconsolin could see the reluctance in his eyes.

  “Help me,” Disconsolin said, “before we are buried in rubble.”

  And Disconsolin of Wyverneth would regret his decision later, but he took the lead in dragging Etezora’s unconscious form from the cavern. With Tratis’s aid they escaped the final deluge of rock that marked the rising of Oga from his ten sol repose. Unrestricted by the shattered dome of rock, the dragon unfurled its wings to their full extent and rose ponderously into the sky. He circled the palace once, growling in anger before turning and flying north.

  36

  Amongst the mist and shadows

  It was always a source of consternation for Tayem, deciding who she should entrust with the command of the Dragonian people in her absence. Mahren was the default choice, but in these circumstances it was necessary for her inclusion in the prospective journey to Herethorn. Beredere had proved more than capable recently, but he might have to make decisions required at a political level, and that was not his forte. He was a military man, and an accomplished Dragon Rider, so at least he could be trusted to defend the Dragonian remnant in this place. Tayem had her doubts about his ability to make more statesmanlike decisions.

  Then there was Cistre. She had all the qualities of a leader yet was subservient and attentive to Tayem — particularly so of late. This diminished her in the sight of the Donnephon and the people in general. Sometimes she seemed so content to remain in the background. But then, her role as bodyguard necessitated this. Nonetheless, she would disapprove of leaving Beredere in charge. The two of them did not get on. Was it perhaps Beredere’s barely concealed amorous overtures toward Tayem? Cistre could be so protective of her Queen — even claustrophobic. Why should it concern her if Beredere had romantic motives in mind?

  In the end, it was a straightforward choice. She had to make decisions based on pragmatism, not by any notion of upsetting people’s feelings.

  “We depart for Herethorn in the morning,” she declared at the conclusion of the Fyreclave meeting. “Mahren, Cistre, I need you to accompany me along with a retinue of the Royal Guard. If Milissandia can guide us to the sanctuary, then it is important we do not appear to pose a threat.”

  “Passing through the Dastarthes mists will not be difficult,” Milissandia said. “But an audience with the Gigantes elders? That will be the harder task. You are wise not to travel with a large company of soldiers.”

  “We must succeed in this,” Tayem said, her brow furrowing as she concentrated on suppressing another Hallows flare-up. “Beredere, take command of the people. You know the priorities — guard the perimeter of our camp, secure our food supply and oversee the construction of sturdy shelters.”

  “As you command, my Queen,” Beredere replied with a deferential bow. “At least we have some respite with these reports that Etezora is withdrawing her company from the lower slopes.”

  “Indeed,” Tayem replied, “but be vigilant. The Cuscosian Queen is a cunning snake, and it could be a ruse.”

  “My Queen,” Mahren interjected. “Can I suggest a liaison detail to ensure our dissident allies are integrated properly?”

  The Hallows energy flared again at her sister’s perceived impertinence, but Tayem recognised it for what it was, and quelled the irrational reflex to utter a retort. “Very well. Gemain, this will be your brief.”

  Gemain accepted the order, and with that, the council meeting finished leaving Tayem and her entourage to make preparations for the expedition.

  Milissandia assured them the trek would take less than two days, and they should carry supplies accordingly. She also administered a soothing potion for Tayem, recognising the strain the Hallows was exerting on her. The herbal concoction induced sleep, rather than a purging of something that Tayem now recognised as spiritual cancer. As she drifted off into a drug-induced slumber, her last thoughts revolved around the conflicting motivations that led her to allow the dread influence in: a conclusion to her father’s lifelong search to engage with the Hallows; the need to secure a source of power to aid the Dragonians; and a less than selfless desire to exert control.

  As if reading her thoughts, the Gigantes druid spoke gently to her as consciousness left Tayem. “Learn to forgive yourself,” she said. “It is a troublesome path, I have learned. But one we must all tread.”

  Twelve hours later, Cistre roused Tayem. “It is time to leave, my Queen. I left you sleeping as long as I could, but we need to take advantage of every daylight hour.”

  Tayem rose unsteadily, Milissandia’s potion leaving her disposition groggy. But the anticipated resurgence of the Hallows was absent for now. Unpredictability, she mused, isn’t that the very nature of chaos? It was the road that Etezora had chosen to follow — yet another reason for Tayem to reject it.

  After half an hour of vigorous trekking up the steep wooded slopes of northern Dragonia, Tayem’s head had cleared, but her thigh muscles were already feeling the strain.

  “Our dragons would have eaten up these miles,” she said to Mahren who had matched her stride. Cistre was taking the lead behind Milissandia, stating that she didn’t quite trust the druid and wanted to keep her eye on the stranger.

  “True,” Mahren replied, “but you know they are confounded by the mists, not to mention the intimidation they would present to the Gigantes.”

  Tayem’s lack of a reply indicated her acknowledgement, if not her total acceptance. They continued in silence for a time until Tayem could not contain her question any longer. “There is something on your mind, Sister. Speak. I cannot bear your prevarication.”

  “You don’t make it easy for me to broach the subject,” Mahren replied. “There are many things that weigh upon me, but I realise you have your own burdens, and I do not wish to add to them.”

  Tayem stopped to catch her breath, looked out over the valley they were skirting, then sighed. “Forgive me if I am short with you. It is not always I that speaks, but this wretched malignancy within.”

  Mahren looked at her with a sad smile. “How is it?” she asked.

  “can tolerate it,” Tayem replied, but her expression contradicted the statement.

  “Do not see sharing your feelings as a sign of weakness. If the last month has taught us anything, it is that we cannot face the future in isolation. You need to trust us to help you. Perhaps part of this is confiding in those closest to you. Let me make it easy. I know my absences and impetuous actions have driven you to despair, and for this I am sorry. I also understand your mistrust of the dissidents, and your disapproval of Brethis in particular. But our rules sometimes work against us, hem us in when we could co-operate with those of like mind — and our aims are the same as Brethis’s movement. Anyway, this sounds like excuses, but it is my attempt at an apology. I kno
w you need my loyalty and support. I offer that to you now.”

  Tayem looked at her sister, saw the sincerity in her eyes and nodded. “You speak the truth, Mahren. It is hard for me to let go, and for a time the Hallows seemed to offer a way of achieving our survival. But I see now that its agency came at an unacceptable price. Even now it stirs within, tempting me with the desire to lash out at any who would stand in my way. This manifests itself in my words, yet if I gave it free rein, I shudder to think what it might lead me to do.”

  “You would become like Etezora.”

  “That is why I must be cleansed of this terrible virulence.”

  “Milissandia seems confident her father can accomplish this.”

  “She does. But that does not mean her confidence is well placed. She has told me of the rift that exists between them. What if he refuses to help?”

  Mahren placed a soothing hand on her sister’s arm. “Do not think of it. We must live in hope.”

  Tayem locked eyes with her. “Yet if this proves to be a disappointment, I must make provision for the stable leadership of the Donnephon.”

  “If that were to happen, and I don’t believe it will, then there are others that can assume the mantle of leadership.”

  “That would be you, dear sister.”

  Mahren frowned. “You know that is not something I actively seek.”

  “But your duty to the kingdom would nevertheless require it of you.”

  Mahren lowered her gaze. “If that day should come, then I would reluctantly accept the rulership from you.”

  Tayem looked away from her at the wooded slopes stretched out beneath them again. “And what if the swelling malignancy of the Hallows did not allow it? You have seen how its unrestrained power can affect me. The Donnephon may have to act decisively …”

  “You don’t mean?”

  Before Tayem could reply, Cistre joined them, having back-tracked from the head of the party. “My Queen, is there something amiss? We were worried you were not keeping up.”

  Tayem looked knowingly at Mahren, and then replied, “We are fine. Come Sister, we should increase our pace.”

  With the conversation effectively terminated, Tayem concentrated on keeping up with Milissandia. She would resume the vexed subject she had raised with Mahren at a later time. For now, she wanted to question Milissandia further.

  This proved to be more of a task than she expected. The girl was evasive, a trait Tayem should have recognised as one who was protective of her own thoughts and emotions. But, then again, might Cistre’s suspicions be justified? She knew so little about this strange woman. Perhaps the timing was not right. She decided to let her be for the present.

  The party took a short rest under a sheltered overhang of rock, a place where they remained concealed, yet could observe the surrounding area with the viewpoint of an eagle. From this elevated position, Tayem scanned the vista laid out before her. The lofty peaks to the north seemed to assert their nature as monoliths of the aeons. They did not need to declare their pre-eminence, their very nature demanded it. Further to the south, she traced a line from a distant ridge of garbeech known as the Gar Skjalli to where a rise in the tree line marked Wyverneth’s position behind. These arbours too seemed to murmur their communion as one voice, and though the Hallows rebelled at the notion, she tuned into the wordless message of the million living sentinels that sent their roots into the sacred soil.

  Never had she surveyed the kingdom of Dragonia from this perspective, and as she viewed its grandeur, her previous sense of ownership was displaced. She saw now that she and her people were not so much rulers of the land, more its custodians.

  I will be true to this charge, she thought, and I swear that things will change if you simply allow the spirit of vs’ shtak to prevail. Her thoughts were a prayer, and though her faith in Sesnath had dwindled in recent sols — she was, after all, a most reclusive of deities — Tayem needed something to hold on to.

  They resumed their journey shortly after, and the terrain grew more rugged. Milissandia seemed able to pick out trails as if she shared a mountain goat’s disposition. This meant that, although the route was arduous, they covered ground more swiftly than the previous scouting parties. As a reminder of what they faced upon their return from this quest, Sol-Ar beat down upon them as it reached its zenith, smothering the bright yellow of Sol with its violet glow. As Tayem absorbed its rays, she felt the long subdued Hallows rise in response. Her mind grew irritable, and the cacophony of conflicting desires and temptations swelled in sympathy with the malignant source.

  By the time they had gained the summit of yet another peak, the storm within Tayem had reached unbearable proportions. Milissandia advised a halt to the day’s journey saying, “We have made good progress. We can afford to make camp here and allow our Queen to rest.”

  This they did, and as the painted sunset sky shone like a great purple window at the end of a cathedral aisle of mountains, Tayem allowed her to administer another dose of sedative potion.

  “I hate relying on this witchery,” Tayem said tetchily, but drank the draught.

  Milissandia looked taken aback for a second, but nodded in understanding. “It will not be for much longer. My remedy will not create a craving in you — unlike the influence that invades your body and mind. Now lie back and let sleep do its work.”

  The druid made to withdraw, but Tayem indicated for her to wait a moment longer. The girl could not be any older than Tayem, and the Dragonian Queen recognised a similar tempering of rebelliousness with the rapid maturing that comes with adversity. “Speak to me truly,” Tayem said. “What are the chances of your father succeeding in this … this driving out of the Hallows?”

  Milissandia inclined her head, and then looked off into the distance, not saying anything. Her manner was such that Tayem thought she would shrink back again — as she had earlier that day. “My father and I are in conflict at present,” she said, surprising Tayem.

  “I believe you told us, yes.”

  “We have been estranged for many sols, and I do not know if the damage done is irreparable. But certain things have happened to me recently that mean I must seek reparation. I can only hope he is not too far gone to reach a meeting of minds.” She looked back at Tayem, and the Queen tried to read what was behind the steel-grey eyes that regarded her — but it was impossible. “One thing I do know,” she declared. “Wobas, Great Shaman of the Gigantes has the ability to treat your condition. However, I do not know the full consequences of that treatment. There is always a cost to such undertakings.”

  Tayem nodded, her mind fogging over as Milissandia’s potion took effect. “I have come to learn the truth you speak of in the mysterious tapestry of life,” she said, slurring her words. “Yet anything is preferable to this torment.”

  “Rest now,” Milissandia whispered, and as the curtain of sleep closed upon her, it was as if the druid’s whispering became one with the breeze that gave the mountains their namesake.

  By late morning of the next day, mists rolled down from a greater ridge of peaks that Milissandia identified as the borders of Herethorn. They extended at first like silver-grey tongues that licked at their feet, but once they had entered a denser canopy of garpine, the fog accentuated the trees making them appear as phantoms, monstrously magnified as if to convey an unspoken threat. The Royal Guard, though battle-hardened and bold, became jumpy, bringing their weapons to bear every minute. Such was their nervousness that Milissandia called a halt to speak with them all.

  “The path will become increasingly treacherous from now on,” she said. “You will allow me to lead. Step only where my feet tread. One misplaced footing could see any of you fall into the chasm ahead. The place is called Aichrach’s Fall, and not without reason.

  They all accepted the druid’s instruction and fell in behind her. Yet even though Milissandia was confident in her ability to track a way through the mists, she became more hesitant as the minutes extended out.

  �
�What is it?” Cistre said eventually, her patience wearing thin at the frequent pauses to their progress.

  Milissandia exhaled deeply. “I came this way but three days ago, yet there is something that confounds the way. Someone has laid additional confusions in our path. Do you not hear the voices?”

  Tayem strained her ears, and at first heard nothing. Then, faintly, a host of mournful wails came to her.

  “Mountain ghosts,” declared one of the Guard. “They will invade our minds. Drive us to madness.”

  “Still your cowardly tongue,” Cistre scolded. “Phantoms cannot hurt you.”

  “No,” Milissandia said, “but what they herald can.”

  “What do you mean?” Mahren said.

  “They are often accompanied by illusions. Trust nothing you see. I suspect the hand of my father in this.”

  “Why would he seek to harm you?” Cistre said.

  “The Gigantes will be aware of Etezora’s presence on the lower slopes, and they will have strengthened our defences.”

  “Can’t you ward them off?” Tayem asked.

  “It is beyond my ability,” the druid replied. “We can only press on. But keep each other in sight and let nothing distract you.”

  Milissandia’s usually inscrutable manner gave way to a worried expression that disturbed Tayem. However, she followed her into the mist, placing her trust in the girl. What choice did they have? The mists had closed in behind and there was no sure way out of this deathly place without her.