Cradle of Darkness

by Tom G. H. Adams

  “The price of inaction outweighs that of taking this situation by the scruff of its neck,” she said. “I say we pool our resources, set up a war council immediately and plan our attack. If we are to stand a hope, we must make our move tomorrow — before it’s too late.”

  “Then we are of one mind,” Ebar said. “Order your warriors to make ready, for tomorrow we go to war.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Zodarin brooded in his tower and gathered his strength. He had long given up hope of finding a medicinal cure for the blight and instead looked to the Hallows for an answer. In this there was great risk. Although he had seen one Hallows cycle come and go, there was still a vast cloud of mystery surrounding the phenomenon.

  He had sat in the same position on his meditation dais for two full days, taking pause only to drink. His appetite had disappeared long ago, and he found that as he opened increasing numbers of doors to the Hallows, its energy seemed to sustain him in a way that simple nutrition could not.

  The affairs of state passed him by, despite Phindrath’s entreaties to him. He had increased the enchantments on his tower such that any who attempted to enter his abode were thrown into confusion. As the Hallows increased its hold on him, he lost interest in what he saw as the petty affairs of Cuscosa. His prime motivation now was survival, and he had to allow this other-worldly force to have its way, even if the cost was incalculable. He would rid Etezora of the dragon threat, if only to appease her. He would take no pleasure in destroying them. However, Wobas — the Gigantes he had once called friend — was a different matter. He had been humiliated in the Dreamworld and the shaman, along with his pitiable daughter and the Dragonian Queen would pay for their affront. Even an amioid was not above revenge, and their removal would mean he could inhabit the Far Beyond without threat. The Hallows would allow him to rise to greater heights of power such that even the Spirit Guide would not stand against him.

  He took a deep breath and sensed Sol-Ar rising to its zenith, shining malign beams through his window and infusing him with its light. His power grew by the minute, and he was tempted to enter the Dreamworld right away, before the blight-confusion took hold again and caused him to take pity on his foes.

  Gorram this misplaced morality!

  Another deep breath dispelled his impatience. Tonight he would decamp to the Edenbract Hallows and drink deeply of its depths. Perhaps then he would be ready.

  So much to accomplish in such a short time.

  Yet the prize was in sight, and once he had conquered his foes and the blight driven out, he could resume his ambition to rule the kingdoms of the Imperious Crescent.

  As he bathed in the violet rays, these thoughts permeated deeper into his consciousness and his confidence rose, accompanied by a satisfied smile to rival that of his feline familiar, Oswald.

  46

  Keeper of evil

  As Tuh-Ma passed through the Dragon Talon Gate of Wyverneth, an involuntary shudder passed through him. He wished these irrational fears did not afflict him so and looked forward to the day when Tayem’s wyrms — epitomised in the architecture — would be no more.

  The return journey from Cuscosa had passed without incident, and one thing he could be thankful for was the passing of his forest fever. The lumbering grotesque felt his inherent blue-skin vitality energising him once again, and the prospect of attending his Queen added a spring to his gait.

  There was a lingering doubt, however. Etezora’s recent manic outbursts filled him with a sense of trepidation. He’d delighted in the outpouring of cruelty he had witnessed since her drinking from the Edenbract Hallows, but her more erratic outbursts unsettled him. Might he be the subject of her wrath in the future? It seemed she had shunned him while he suffered from the wyrmbite, and he had thought himself abandoned. No, she had entrusted him with the mission to Cuscosa. Surely he was back in her favour.

  As he climbed the stairs leading from the entrance hall, he noted with satisfaction that the ornate dragon effigy had been replaced by a less extravagant design depicting Cuscosian ancestry and tableaus of their legends. He paused for a moment to take in the detail, finding himself enraptured with what he saw.

  The Cuscosian artisans have been busy, he thought. Perhaps Tuh-Ma might feature in these pictures one day.

  He had carried the royal seal of the Queen’s emissary with pride and had relished the responsibility thrust upon him. The tormenting of the wizard and witnessing the death of the pygmy dragon were additional boons.

  He focused once more on concluding the mission and patted his knapsack containing the royal scroll bearing Phindrath’s words. One of Etezora’s courtiers greeted him with a sniff as he entered the large chamber and announced his arrival.

  His Queen was seated on the Dragonian throne, and to Tuh-Ma she seemed more beautiful than ever.

  “What news, Tuh-Ma?” she said without any formal greeting. “Has Eétor or my wizard returned with you?”

  The troll hesitated before speaking. “Tuh-Ma alone, Mistress. Princess Phindrath has sent scroll. Tuh-Ma met with wizard but Praetor not there.” He handed the scrolls to Etezora who waved him to a seat. She broke the royal seal and scrutinised the papers before her.

  “Tuh-Ma,” Etezora said once she had finished. “This concerns news regarding my brother. If there was no sign of him, did you speak with that wretched spy, Grizdoth?”

  The large head shook from side to side. “Grizdoth dead. Wizard said Praetor fled. Princess Phindrath has no knowledge.”

  “Eétor’s actions speak to me of guilt. This confirms I was right to place my sister in authority. Does she seem to have things under control?”

  The blue-skin wiped a string of snot from his nose. “Tuh-Ma thinks wizard in charge. Princess weak.”

  Etezora’s eyes flashed, and Tuh-Ma winced. “What game does this magic man play?” she retorted. “Did he have any excuse for not dealing with the dragons?”

  “Wizard showed Tuh-Ma he hates dragons. He killed the pygmy. Said he was still weak from slaying other dragons before this.”

  “So, should I trust the wizard anymore?”

  “Trust him to kill rest of dragons — but no further. Sooner he is dead, the better.”

  “Very well, I will trust your judgement. You have been faithful, Tuh-Ma. Once this is over, I will let you deal with Zodarin personally.”

  The blue-skin smiled at the Queen’s judgement. This is good reward for Tuh-Ma.

  Etezora summoned a guard. “Soldier, tell Captain Domart to dispatch a message to Castle Cuscosa. Phindrath is to ensure Lord Zodarin does not leave before my return.”

  “Yes, your Majesty,” the man replied and left hastily.

  “Tuh-Ma, walk with me,” commanded Etezora.

  The odd couple, accompanied by royal escort, toured the surrounding city observing the rebuilding work and how the city’s growing population were making the place their own.

  “Tratis is doing well building our defences,” the Queen said, “though I doubt he would succeed without that treacherous Dragonian courtier Disconsolin’s help.”

  Tuh-Ma nodded.

  “Well you can dispose of him when the works are completed. I find his treachery sickening. If he has betrayed Tayem, then one can only wonder what he might perpetrate against our House. I don’t care what Tratis says, if Tayem had not been so weak she would have executed him for abandoning her people.”

  “Will Dragon Queen return, Mistress?”

  “The dragon folk may have fled for now, but Tayem will not give this place up easily, and I must be ready. Tell me all that happened at the castle. Leave nothing out so I can make sense of it all.”

  Etezora stepped closer to the battlements they now stood atop and looked out over the Dragon Vale while Tuh-Ma recounted his dealings with Zodarin at Castle Cuscosa.

  Etezora reflected on the calmness that had now descended on her. She was rested, and most importantly in control of the mighty Hallows energy coursing through her veins. She listened intently to th
e blue-skin’s words, and once he had finished, determined that Zodarin and Eétor were better off out of the way. Her anxiety would be more settled if she knew where Eétor had fled to and locking him up was certainly a much better option than having him roam free. It would be a step too far perhaps to have him executed, but then again, who was to gainsay her? The power within grew day by day, and perhaps the time had come to make her own decrees.

  A thoughtful silence descended while Tuh-Ma waited patiently by her side. The blue-skin was indeed a disgusting creature, but as it transpired had proved to be the most loyal of her subjects. “You know, Tuh-Ma, I believe you may be the only one I can truly trust.”

  “Mistress?” The blue-skin replied, his expression softening further.

  “It is true. In your absence I have realised that. Above all else, loyalty is to be most valued. Can I share something with you?”

  “Tell Tuh-Ma anything, Majesty — your wishes, your secrets. Tuh-Ma will never betray them.”

  She looked at him, judged that he was sincere, and continued. “I’ve finally realised who I am.”

  Tuh-Ma looked puzzled. “You are Etezora — Queen of Cuscosa,” he replied dutifully.

  Etezora smiled, patient with his bemused response. “Tell me, have you heard the stories of our Cuscosian deities and the revered Pentacle of Gods?”

  “No, Majesty, Tuh-Ma would love for you to tell him a story.”

  She scanned the cityscape below, the activity still frenetic even though Sol-Ar was about to set. “I have never taken much interest myself, but with the gift of the Hallows I understand my calling at last.”

  Etezora seated herself on an ironwood bench and beckoned for the troll to join her. “Siksta is our most important God,” she continued. “He is god of the bright sun, Sol. They say my family are descendants of Siksta. He married Charir, goddess of the dark sun Sol-Ar, and together they guide the peoples of the Cuscosian plains along with Wkar, goddess of the celestral realm, and bringer of balance.”

  Etezora held Tuh-Ma spellbound with her story, and she realised he was hanging on every word she said. The simple creature is besotted, she thought absently, and while she relished the attentions of any number of human stallions as her royal prerogative, there was something particularly arresting about Tuh-Ma’s devotion.

  “Edar is the goddess of Varchal,” she said, picking up the story again. “She is responsible for our climate, harvest and prosperity. The fifth of this pentacle of gods is Shio the supreme ruler of all creation.”

  “These gods,” Tuh-Ma said, “are a strange family. Tuh-Ma not understand all you have said, Mistress, but I will think about these things.

  Etezora patted the blue-skin on the head and carried on. “I never believed these fantastical stories and always thought gods were for the weak-minded. But now the Hallows has revealed to me another; a deity never spoken of before now, because of the fear she brings. I thought the idea of this god was just my imagination, but then I consulted ancient scrolls in Tayem’s library and discovered the legends of Nurti, goddess of the Neverworld. Nurti was the twin sister of Charir, and as young girls they fought for control of Sol-Ar.

  “Oh, how they fought. It was a delicious conflict by all accounts. The skies bled as they tore at each other. Charir pulled her sister’s limbs from their sockets while Nurti gouged out Charir’s eyes. Yet their constant battles offended the Pentacle, and there wasn’t a place for both of the warring siblings. Eventually Charir prevailed with assistance from her lover, Siksta. Nurti was banished, cast out from her home in the heavens — that is until Sol-Ar assumes ascendency in the skies once again. And that time is now.”

  The blue-skin put his hands to his head. It was all too much to take in. Did Etezora mean ..?

  Etezora understood the blue-skin found it hard to understand. Perhaps a more dramatic demonstration was in order. She stood, took a deep breath and held her hands to the sky. Jagged bolts of purple shot from her fingertips, and she shouted, “I am Nurti reincarnate, goddess of the Neverworld.”

  The sudden outburst of energy sent a number of the accompanying soldiers scurrying for the lower battlements in fear, but Tuh-Ma sank to his knees and bowed his warty head.

  “My loyal servant, do not be afraid,” Etezora said, holding out a hand to the deferential blue-skin. “I sense it inside,” she continued, “just as the scriptures predicted: when Sol-Ar reaches its azimuth Nurti will be reborn, and her servant will transcend with her.”

  “But your body has all its limbs, Majesty. You are not broken like Tuh-Ma. Tuh-Ma could never be a god.”

  “Hah!” Etezora chuckled, “there is yet more to the myth. Nurti was served by Chullashico — a faithful servant, carrier of soul and mind, vessel di sepa vur ricin. The writings describe the servant as short and ugly with one leg shorter than the other — a great persuader and protector of Nurti.”

  “Tuh-Ma is this servant?”

  “Who else can it be? From this moment forth you will always stand by my side as protector. I pronounce you Lord Ma of Cuscosa, the Queen’s emissary, servant of Nurti!”

  Tuh-Ma was swept away in the euphoria of the moment, not noticing the madness behind the purple eyes of his deranged sovereign. No longer could Etezora conceal the extent of her derangement, and the announcement of her ambition now took complete control of her psyche.

  Tuh-Ma sunk to his knees, covering his face.

  The silence that followed was broken suddenly by a guard rushing up the steps from below.

  “What is this intrusion?” Etezora scolded.

  “Forgive me, your Majesty,” the man replied between gasps, “but there are dragons bearing down on the castle, and the woods are alive with our enemies. We are under attack!”

  She smiled, looking down at the blue-skin and the few cowering soldiers who had remained. “At last,” she said, “our enemy returns, and now she will experience the full venting of my power.”

  47

  A gathering storm

  It had been two days’ hard march, over one hundred periarchs — firstly along mountain paths, then foothills and finally the lush forests of the Dragonian plateau. They had encountered pockets of Cuscosian exploratory parties but swiftly dispatched them — vicious justice that presaged a bloodbath to come. The disparate factions making up the allied advance were already fatigued to the extreme, and Cistre wondered whether twenty-four hours’ rest and preparation would be enough to even stand a fleeting chance in the coming conflict. Beredere had been put in charge of the dragon cohort and directed his host to shelter in the original Dragonian refugee encampment. They would not declare their presence until battle commenced, not unless the Advance Guard were prematurely discovered.

  Cistre had trudged with the foot soldiers, leaving Muthorus in the hands of her lieutenant. They were a ragbag of disciplined Dragonian remnants, hastily trained Cuscosian dissidents and mysteriously wandering Gigantes. Amongst them all, the Cyclopes made for the most incongruous warriors. She wondered how figures so large could move with such stealth through the larger leafy giants whose roots hugged the loamy earth. At one moment she thought they had dissolved into the undergrowth, but when she looked hard, she made out shifting forms amongst the dark shadows of voluminous trees that stood as passive protectors of this ancient place.

  A downpour lasting hours had hampered their progress still further and, despite mapping a way through the secret paths of the forest, the sheer drenching left them wretched and morose. Cistre was not one for uplifting speeches or supportive cajoling, so she trod relentlessly on, leaving her constant companion, Sheldar, to provide what limited light relief he could. Tayem would have rallied them more effectively, but she was not here, and Cistre wondered if her Queen still lived, or if the frozen north had claimed her and her sister — never again to light her life.

  When they finally made camp, twenty periarchs north of Wyverneth, in a secret moss-swathed valley, she was thankful that they made it thus far without detection.

  �
�This downpour is a black rain,” Sheldar observed as they sat around a camp-fire, obscured from sight amongst a set of dreary ruins — a long-abandoned site of worship to an unknown god.

  “It is as if the Black Hallows greets us with a curse from the heavens,” she replied.

  “We need it to break by morning if we are to take up positions in readiness to attack.” He had taken his sword and was sharpening it with a whetstone, the rasping sound echoing amongst the incubus darkness of the ruins.

  “We will march whatever the conditions,” she said. “Every hour spent in delay allows the Cuscosian sorcerer to increase his strength and destroy our dragons in a moment.” It was as she said this that she understood fully the nature of the fear that gnawed away at her stomach. She did not shrink from the prospect of terrible battle, nor even from a ghastly, bloody death — she had faced it often enough in the past. No, it was the ever hovering dread that their precious beasts might fall at one stroke. Brownbeak and his minions gave them hourly reports of reserves status in the northern foothills, together with advance notice of Cuscosian deployments and troop movements. Yet even with this early warning system, the dreadful anticipation weighed heavy.

  “An army of less than three thousand against who knows how many of the enemy,” Sheldar said. “They are not good odds.”

  Cistre stared at him. “Then you must fight as if you were three men.”

  Sheldar nodded and smiled. “It’s a far cry from wrestling a pygris, isn’t it?”

  She grinned back. “At least there will be no restraint. There are neither rules nor chivalry on the battlefield we tread.”

  “Those are conditions I like.”