Cradle of Darkness

by Tom G. H. Adams

  “No, your cursed Dragonian blade will not taste my flesh again,” Etezora said. “Any last words, Tayem? No, of course not, you cannot speak. No matter. This is where it ends.”

  Tayem gazed at Etezora across the intervening battleground as she gathered herself for a final assault. It was then that she glimpsed a gargantuan dark shadow approach on wings of death.

  Have you come to take me, Sesnath? She thought, as blackness threatened to descend; but an incandescent eruption of fire jolted her from her stupor. The plume scorched the ground in a trail leading to Etezora’s position, forcing her to release her grip of death on Tayem and turn to face the approaching scaled behemoth.

  Mahren. Oga.

  Tayem saw the instruments of her salvation, and her spirits lifted.

  The gout of flame encompassed Etezora and would have incinerated her — had she been any other mortal. However, the rampant Hallows energy within the Cuscosian despot absorbed the inferno, allowing it to strengthen Etezora’s resolve.

  Can nothing vanquish this shjek? Tayem thought.

  “Hah! Is that the best you can offer, wyrm?” Etezora cried, but as the Cuscosian Queen raised her hands to respond, Oga breathed in and flames gushed from his cavernous throat in a second salvo.

  Tayem watched, agog, as searing flames consumed Etezora again. A look of astonishment transformed Etezora’s features, realisation dawning that the Hallows former bulwark of protection was exhausted. Her body flared up in an incandescent pillar of hate, and in a matter of seconds incinerated skin was peeling from her exposed flesh, blackening like barbecued meat. It crackled in the night, searing muscle, bone and sinew; consuming the insane monarch as with an unquenchable hunger. The wind of Oga’s passing swept the stench of burning tissue over Tayem, and she heard an inhuman scream of agony as Etezora collapsed to the ground, dragon fire eating up every last vestige of purple malignancy.

  The shadow passed overhead, and Tayem fell into unconsciousness, no longer aware of anything.

  ~ ~ ~

  Cistre saw Oga’s attack, witnessed Tayem fall — all too late for her to intervene.

  Gorram the troll, she thought, jumping from Muthorus and sprinting to Tayem’s side. She reached down and held her fingers to Tayem’s neck.

  Her heart still beats!

  There was no time to administer treatment here. Battle waged all around and she had to get Tayem to safety. She lifted her Queen’s limp form, all the time her own head thumping with the damage Tuh-Ma had inflicted. “Don’t make me pass out now,” she said aloud and carried Tayem to her dragon. It took her some time, but she managed to secure Tayem in the passenger harness. A number of Cuscosian soldiers stumbled upon her, but took one look at Muthorus and thought better of pressing home an attack. Already, she could hear the sounds of battle diminishing as the sight and sound of a hundred bonfires wreaked their toll on the enemy hordes. She’d thought the agonised sounds of dying Cuscosians would salve the mental wounds inflicted by the dragon slayings, but now all she felt was emptiness.

  Once more, faithful Muthorus took to the skies and headed towards a place where Cistre knew her Queen would be safe.

  ~ ~ ~

  Tuh-Ma raised his head and watched the Dragon Queen’s bodyguard carry her away. He had seen the great duggod-dragon carry out its attack and cried in anguish when the fire consumed his Queen.

  He crawled forward, his side shrieking its agony, his progress that of a slug, until he reached what remained of his mistress. Her form was disfigured beyond recognition, nothing more than a blackened husk.

  “No,” he screamed, looking down at her contorted form, trying to make out her features in the charred mask that now confronted him. “Ma was to be your prince, sweet Nurti,” he said, and a tear fell from his eye onto what was once the Queen’s cheek. As it struck, it vaporised with a hiss.

  “Loyal … Ma,” a voice emerged, and Tuh-Ma wasn’t sure if it was his mind or if the dying Queen spoke to him. His head still swam with the remnants of poison and the effects of Cistre’s dragon strike, so he had plenty of reasons to think he was deluded.

  “Ma hears you, Goddess,” he said, not daring hope it was Etezora who spoke. “Do you still live?”

  “Not … much … longer. This body nears death,” came the reply. “Draw closer, Chullashico.”

  Tuh-Ma obeyed, and as he did, a faint purple tendril of energy emerged from the blackened hole that was once Etezora’s mouth. He breathed it in, recognising it for what it was, absorbing the essence of someone he dared not hope would ever share this degree of intimacy with him.

  Welcome, Nurti, he said to the being that now inhabited his brain.

  I greet you too, noble Ma, came the reply. You thought our dreams had been brought to naught, yet this is only the beginning.

  52

  Aftermaths

  The amioid reached a point in the river where the ocean’s tide ebbed and flowed like day passing into night. It was no longer harroc di wirunwi, not even wizard of the Cuscosians. It was barely even alive.

  The call of the ocean had grown stronger and stronger as the blight spread through what remained of his physical form. The dream avatar was dead, and its hold on that realm now removed.

  Oh to be free, it thought.

  Undulating pseudopods carried it weakly to a cliff edge overlooking a sweeping meander in the river course. Looking straight ahead for one last time, it gazed at the morning sky, taking in the glow of violet-tinged sunlight. The Hallows’ traction seemed somehow diminished, and its influence withdrawn. Without it, there was nothing to stay the spread of the blight. Its malaise entered his deepest tissues. The time was short. Death would claim him … unless …

  For a moment there was sorrow. A warm salty substance emerged from ten of his thirteen eyes, and where it trickled, the blight, if only for a moment was stayed.

  It is a confirmation — of what I must do.

  The amioid tilted forward until gravity took hold, and it fell from the sandy cliff into the estuary beneath. On contact with the water, the mental bind maintaining its physical form dissipated and the brackish mixture reacted with its diseased cells.

  As its body floated downstream, billions of cells continued to allow salt water to percolate through their looser arrangement. Through it all, a greater awareness arose. Thoughts, feelings and a calling that had been repressed for many sols emerged in the collective consciousness of the independent blastocysts. An immense satisfaction permeated each of these cells, which now transformed into a conglomeration of semi-motile polyps, each capable of understanding and enacting this true purpose.

  I am the progenitor.

  When the cells met the ocean proper, they coalesced, sponge-like into a form resembling a super-organism. And as the retreating tide carried this complex globule further out to sea, deep into the bosom of the very place it was birthed those many cycles ago, the amioid sensed the final loss of the blight. Microorganisms that initiated and maintained the disease no longer recognised their host and were no more. The globule sought out deeper abyssal places in the ocean until it settled in a place where no light could reach, rendering Sol-Ar’s influence void.

  As a great curtain fell on the amioid’s consciousness, it surrendered to its nature.

  ~ ~ ~

  Phindrath scolded her royal physician with a tongue that had grown increasingly sharp over the last weeks. “You better have a good reason to rouse me at this hour, Jashkin.”

  “Your Excellency,” Jashkin replied. “You told me to call you if there was ever a change in Eétor’s state. Well, I think you will be pleased at this turn of events.”

  They passed through the main throne room and down to Eétor’s quarters where his comatose form had lain lifeless for so long.

  Phindrath gasped when she found her brother sat upright in bed. His emaciated form was wraith-like compared with the portly body he had once sported.

  “Sister,” Eétor greeted her with a smile. His voice was edged with a huskiness uncharac
teristic of a once strong baritone. “Do not look so dismayed,” he continued, “I thought you’d be glad to see me revived once more.”

  “I … I am glad to see you conscious again, Brother. You don’t know just how glad.”

  “Well, Jashkin, don’t just stand there. I have a ravenous hunger. Fetch me dragon meat and fruit. I would sate my cravings.”

  Jashkin bowed and left as if he had just suffered a scourging.

  Phindrath drew closer and examined her brother. “We feared you might never wake,” she said. “What happened to you?”

  An inscrutable smile passed across Eétor’s face. “I have spent a long sojourn in a place where my captor thought I would wither away, go mad or just perish. But a short time ago, the bars on the windows of my prison disappeared, and I was free again.”

  “Oh, Eétor. I am so glad you are back with us. Etezora has placed me in command of Cuscosa, and I fear that I am not up to the task. With most of our troops in Dragonia, we have been left vulnerable, and now there is talk of monsters abroad within the citadel.”

  Eétor’s smile broadened. “I do not think we need fear any monster now, Sister. Let me relieve you of your burden.”

  “But, Etezora — ”

  “I suspect she is not in a position to argue,” Eétor replied, and as he made his pronouncement, Phindrath could not help but think she saw a purple glint in his eye.

  ~ ~ ~

  Magthrum stood next to a boulder the size of a brabagant just outside of Hallow’s Creek. He awaited a report back from his two lieutenants.

  Nalin and Bilespit appeared moments later, the engineer puffing on his jarva pipe with an enthusiasm reminiscent of his many machines. Magthrum noted the maniacal look in his eye and marvelled once more at the stonegrabe’s remarkable recovery and newfound zeal he had acquired at Spidersnatch.

  “So, Bilespit tells me we will press home the attack in the early hours,” Nalin said.

  “You heard aright, my friend. Is the cave-crawler ready?”

  “It is, and the fyredrench I stored at my plantation has filled its tanks to the top. It will eat through the limestone bedrock of the castle swiftly.”

  “Bilespit,” Magthrum turned to his lieutenant. “ I trust you have motivated the troops?”

  “Indeed I have, Fellchief,” the stonegrabe said in his oily voice. “The taste of human flesh does wonders to raise the spirits of our clans, and the hamlets we invaded provided succulent cuts of meat.”

  “Then all is prepared,” Magthrum said. “Let us sleep, for in six short hours our assault begins.”

  It had taken nearly a fortnight, but the stonegrabes had dismantled the cave-crawler and transported it to its new location. Now, here they were, a Kaldoran vanguard, hidden in a small limestone cave beneath the north-west buttress of Castle Cuscosa. Within striking distance, the Fellchief thought.

  Despite his enthusiastic call to arms, Magthrum had experienced a sense of impotence this last day, as if the Hallows had released its touch on him. Still, the Kaldoran’s reconnaissance across the northern plains of Cuscosia had revealed an enemy in disarray, their attention focused on an unseen threat in the north. Now, while they were distracted, Magthrum intended to press home his surprise attack. What an irony to think the Cuscosians would be overthrown by a people they thought were vanquished — and from a front where they had no defence.

  Yes. Hallows, or no Hallows, Kaldora will triumph. Of that I am sure.

  ~ ~ ~

  Dawn was still two hours away as Milissandia joined with her body once more on the slopes of Maidwin. She uncrossed her legs and crawled over to Wobas’s slumped form.

  She placed his head on her lap and searched for signs of life. His chest rose almost imperceptibly and then fell in a manner that signalled it was one of its last graspings at life.

  “Father,” she said, “can you hear me?”

  Wobas’ eyes opened a fraction and the corners of his mouth curled in the vestige of a smile. “Daughter … Milissandia.”

  “Do not speak. I have potions, medicines that will save you.”

  “No …” he said weakly. “I am beyond that. Now listen, for my time is short. I go to join Memel-Tal, but before I do, he has shown me the truth.”

  “The truth?” she replied, “about what?”

  “About you … and the Cyclopes.” He swallowed, painfully, and then continued. “When I leave, the mantle of shaman will pass to you, and with it the release of the Cyclopes curse.”

  “Shaman? Me? But I am not a man. The council will never accept it.”

  “Things change,” he said, “and I think Ebar will not stand in the way of this.”

  “Indeed I will not,” Ebar said. The giant had approached quietly, but was still out of breath. He had clearly run the whole distance from the battlefield.

  “My friend,” Wobas said. “It does me good to see you one last time.”

  Ebar smiled but came no closer. This time was for him and his daughter.

  “I do not know if I can traverse the Dreamworld without your guidance,” she said.

  “Memek-Tal has appointed another, and it will lend you its aid.”

  A tear fell on her father’s cheek as she bent over to kiss his forehead. “We did it, didn’t we?”

  “Defeated the harroc di wurunwi? Yes. When people work together, they can accomplish many things. But the Hallows will rise again, and you must be ready. Take heart, though. You are not … alone.”

  And with that, Wobas closed his eyes for the last time and his spirit left to join those who had gone before. As it did so, Milissandia felt a movement in her soul, like a seed breaking its dormancy. As it sprouted, her inner eyes were opened, and she saw what she must do.

  Yet the anguish that now gripped her soul eclipsed any sense of destiny. Surely this cost is too much to bear, she thought, and a deep moan rose from her throat, unbidden, uncontrollable and utterly desolate in its expression.

  While Ebar watched, his head bowed, a stirring in the grass caught her attention, and a sleek nose emerged from between the blades, followed by the snaking body of a tree serpent. Had it followed her here, or stowed away in her pack?

  “You are Ith di wurunwi,” Ebar said, breaking his silence.

  “Yes,” Milissandia replied, picking up the anduleso and stepping toward the giant. “And I have the key to removing your curse.” She wiped the tears from her eyes and placed the anduleso on her shoulder.

  “We have lost many this night,” Ebar said, “and each of the Cyclopes knew it was to happen. That is too much for any being to bear.”

  “I can give no guarantee regarding the consequences of invoking your release,” she said.

  “The gift was given for a reason. But let us bury our dead first. Tomorrow is a new day, and there will be time for all those who remain to receive that which Wobas sacrificed his life to gain.”

  Milissandia nodded and looked back at her father, lying so peacefully on the sward. The tears came like a torrent now, and she did not try to wipe them away.

  ~ ~ ~

  Cistre guided Muthorus down onto the battlements once more and lifted Tayem down from his back, staggering with the effort. A wave of nausea rose, and her head threatened to split open.

  Gorram, I don’t know if I possess the strength to carry her inside.

  She spun round at the sound of heavy wingbeats and saw a mottled-grey skeredith alight on the flagstones.

  “Sheldar, is that you?”

  Mounted on the dragon was a gore-soaked Dragon Rider, his face obscured by a mask of blood. “Need a hand, Mistress?”

  The voice was Sheldar’s, but she had thought him lost.

  “I can see by your face you thought me dead,” he said, dismounting and walking toward her.

  “Yes,” she replied, “Qardys took the full force of Etezora’s bolt and I saw you both fall to your deaths.”

  “Fall? Yes, and alas, poor Qardys perished. But Mother always said my bones were made from purest heartwood,
and a pile of Cuscosian bodies does a lot to cushion a Dragon Rider’s descent.”

  Cistre had never been more glad to see her erstwhile sparring partner. “Help me get Tayem inside. I fear she is mortally wounded.”

  A look of concern clouded Sheldar’s unsightly features. He knew better than to ask questions and supported Tayem on the opposite side to Cistre, so that together they were able to lift her down the steps and into the Queen’s chambers.

  Once in Tayem’s former bedroom, they made to lay her on the royal furs but Sheldar pulled up short. On a perch next to the bed was coiled a large centipede-like creature. It was devouring a spiced morsel which Cistre recognised as dragon meat.

  “What is that abomination?” Cistre asked.

  “A salyx,” Sheldar said. “Stand back.”

  He drew his knife and threw it at the creature. The blade struck home through the creature’s head, pinning it to the wall behind. It writhed on the skewer a few seconds then went limp.

  “Etezora’s pet,” Sheldar said. “Now it joins her in the Vale of the Damned.”

  But Cistre already had her mind on other things. She listened to Tayem’s breathing, checked her heartbeat, and then once satisfied she was stable, set about treating the angry weals on her neck. “Etezora had her in that cursed Hallows lasso. I don’t know how much damage it’s done.”

  “Do not worry so,” Sheldar said. “Her breathing is regular, and she bears no other major wounds. Our Queen will survive.”

  Cistre pulled a lock of Tayem’s hair away from her face and stroked her cheek.

  “She means a lot to you, doesn’t she?” Sheldar said.

  “The world,” Cistre replied. “Now, look in those drawers over there.” She pointed at an ornate chest, still wreathed in Etezora’s garish trinkets. “If it hasn’t been moved, there should be a bottle of powerful narcotic in a brown bottle.”