Mercedes Lackey - Aerie

by Aerie (lit)

  But Ari's—and Kiron's—orders were explicit. Let the Nameless Ones wear themselves out to come to us. Let the sun and the heat be our weapons. For there was a small, an infinitesimal bit of luck on their side. The season of the rains was not yet come. The sun still burned his way across the sky in the fury of full summer. The Heyksin were driving chariots, not riding camels.

  Down below the last of the feverish preparations ended, and people retreated behind their barricades of stone. The way had been made as cruel for horses as possible with every handspan of open ground strewn with sharp-edged shards of rock. The ways into the city were barricaded with piles of thorns. There was not a drop of water to be had; what water was freely available came from within the city, and those watercourses had been rerouted.

  And now it became clear why every dwelling in the city had those sunken ground floors that seemed so perfect for dragon pens.

  They were for water, probably in the event of just such a siege as they were facing. With a minimum of effort, each could be filled in turn from the now freely flowing spring. It would take days, weeks to fill them all, during which time the water was not going out to where the Heyksin army would be. Of course, those that had been made into dragon pens couldn't be filled with water, but those were few compared to the number of empty dwellings, or those that held folk who were not Jousters.

  The Heyksin army might be huge, but they were facing a more implacable enemy than the united force of Alta and Tia.

  Time.

  They were living on only what they had brought, food and water both. They were under the punishing sun. Their supply line was impossibly long, unless they could somehow send supplies across the Anvil of the Sun in the blink of an eye. They could not wait out a long siege. For once, the advantage was to the besieged, not the besiegers.

  But they had to know that. Either they were mad and did not care, or…

  Or what they bring with them is worse than anything we could possibly imagine.

  Kiron clutched the diadem so hard his hands ached. It still had not lost that soft glow, nor had any of the others.

  But as the thunder of the approaching chariots neared, as a dark line beneath the dun-colored dust cloud resolved into a mass of tiny, moving figures, he had a final fear that he could not still. Off to one side stood the Chosen of Seft, his own diadem held lightly in his hands, his bandaged eyes betraying nothing.

  Seft the Liar. Seft the Betrayer.

  Could they trust the god, or his Chosen?

  Kiron didn't know, and that terrified him as much as that army of chariots.

  But it was too late now. Their feet were on the path, and there was no way to turn back, as the chariots finally came within easy range of the first dragon attack.

  Kiron watched with sick longing as the wing in his colors of scarlet and black led the attack, and tiny jars rained down on the line of charioteers from above. They must have laughed—

  Until those jars shattered, and their evil contents splattered over drivers, warriors, and horses alike, bursting into flame.

  Obviously not all, nor even most, of the jars hit their marks. Nor did the contents find useful targets. But enough did that suddenly the front line erupted into chaos. Men screeched and horses screamed in pain. Flames blossomed out of the cups of the war chariots, eating everything they touched. Horses reared and bolted, trying to escape the fires burning on their backs, their rumps, making brief, fiery banners of manes and tails. Kiron cheered with the rest, although there was a part of him that felt sick at watching the horrible sight—a flaming chariot careering wildly across the space between the army and Aerie, with neither driver nor fighter aboard, with the horses crying their fear and pain until they encountered one of the many traps set for them and went down in a tangle of metal and broken legs, slashing wheels and blood. Or two chariots locked together, scything their way through the Heyksin's own ranks until a quick-witted archer on their own side brought the horses down. Men lying on the ground aflame, howling out their agony until the fires, or one of their fellows ended their pain.

  A second wave of Jousters, this time in Menet-ka's green and white, bore down on the line with another round of their deadly cargo.

  But this time they were met by a storm of arrows, rising from the ground so thick they formed a black cloud. Kiron began waving his diadem in the air and shouting wildly, even though there was no chance that Menet-ka could hear him. His heart plummeted. No dragon could fly into that—

  But Menet-ka made the right decision; a signal from the indigo-blue's rider told the whole wing to veer off There was a groan of disappointment from the defenders of Aerie, but Kiron breathed a sigh of relief.

  They came at the line again, but this time from high above the point where the arrows were falling off and arcing back to earth. Unfortunately, from that height most of the jars missed their marks and splattered their contents on the ground, flames boiling up from the ground uselessly.

  Trumpets sounded in the enemy ranks and the chariots reorganized, protected by the archers, as foot soldiers ran out to collect the spent arrows. They were still out of reach of weapons from the cliffs of Aerie.

  "They can't charge," Ari murmured. Kiron turned his head.

  "What? Why?"

  "They can't charge, because if they do, their archers can't protect them. But if they advance slowly, they lose all the advantage those chariots give them. They weren't expecting the Akkadian Fire…

  He was interrupted by Aket-ten's gasp, which, as she pointed to the northern end of the enemy lines, was echoed all over Aerie.

  A pillar of black cloud and purple lightning was forming where she pointed, a slowly rotating pillar growing taller and broader with every passing moment.

  As a chill fell over Kiron, he vaguely heard Kaleth beginning to chant behind him. The diadem in his hands grew warm as he stared at the apparition that grew and grew until it towered overhead and blotted out half the sky. A cold, harsh wind sprang up, spiraling toward the pillar, whipping up sand and dust, lashing them all with punishing gusts and carrying with it a stench of stagnant water and decay.

  Thunder growled from it—real thunder—and the lightnings that laced the thing grew hotter and brighter until—

  A bolt sizzled out of the pillar and lashed at the outermost cliff face. With a roar, stone exploded in every direction, and dragons reacted by launching themselves into the sky, in every direction, propelled by fear.

  They weren't the only ones jolted into terror by the lightnings that now arced toward Aerie's cliffs. Everywhere, the defenders were screaming and trying to scramble down off the heights. But the lightning wasn't what riveted Kiron's attention. His eyes were fixed on the vague shape forming near the top of the pillar, and the six baleful green eyes glaring down from within.

  Then the great wings unfolded with a booming sound that rivaled the thunder, Tamat raised her three heads to the sky and sang her song of death.

  She was not a dragon, although she sported wings. These were huge, tattered things of bone and black feathers, like the wings of the carcass of a bird that the insects have almost finished with. The rest of her body was an unhealthy shade of pale, corpse-blue, a naked woman's body skin a glowing pallor with a faint, slick sheen of scales. She had legs like a bird, too, a great vulture perhaps, but a lizardlike tail, and her three heads were like nothing that Kiron had ever seen before. Scaled, enormous jaws, bulging fish-eyes glowing green, the curving horns of a ram, all of it the same sickly blue as her body.

  And she must have been the size of the largest building in Aerie. Maybe larger.

  That corpse stench came from her. With every beat of her wings it drove down at them as she looked down at them and sang.

  Give up, said the song. Give up, despair, and die. Death is inevitable. I will have you, and you will go down into the darkness and be forgotten. I am the End of All Things, and you cannot escape me.

  Kiron felt his will being sapped, his knees weakening, and black depression surrou
nding him, smothering him, drowning him.

  Surrender to me. I am Inevitable. Hope is an illusion.

  This was where that insidious, corrupting voice had come from, the voice that had whispered in his mind and told him how foolish it was to believe that Aket-ten cared for him—

  That moment of recognition flashed across his spirit and jolted him awake, out of the mire of despair, giving him one tiny moment of freedom in which to act.

  He put on the diadem.

  Around him, he sensed the others doing the same, as some strength in each of them lashed back at Tamat's Song.

  Then his mind was clear, clearer than it had ever been in his life.

  Of course, his mind was no longer in control of his body. Something—Someone—else, was.

  That Presence filled him; he felt his mortality straining to contain it, like too much grain being poured into a sack until the fabric was tight enough to drum upon. It was Light. He was Light. He was Haras, offspring of Siris and Iris, the Hawk of the Sun. But… what that was… was so much more than anyone had ever written.

  Beside him, his other self, his complement, She who completed him.

  In fact, Kiron sensed all of this only dimly. This Being that had taken him over, and was using him as an anchor to the mortal world, was too enormous to grasp, and as for comprehending it—he might just as well as a beetle could comprehend the thoughts of a man.

  And yet to act in the mortal world, these immortal beings required a mortal anchor, one person who would give them that right-of-usage. He had given that consent, and Haras had taken it.

  And Kiron was now only baggage.

  Peri stood on the edge of the path leading up to the top of the cliff where Kiron and the others had been overseeing the battle. She had brought them water—no, truth, she had brought Kiron water, and the others would be welcome to have some, but she had brought it for Kiron—

  But now she clutched the water jar to her chest, unthinking, as she stared up at the monstrous shape of the column of darkness looming over them all. A cold storm wind whipped her clothing against her body, and the lightning that lashed out of the column to strike nearby made her jump and scream, dropping the jar, which shattered at her feet.

  What have I done? she thought, as terror froze her.

  When Huras had told them all he was returning to Aerie, that he was needed there, and that there was going to be a battle, she had begged him to take her with him. Sutema wasn't strong enough to make such a long, grueling trip with a rider, but she could and would follow, if Peri was carried behind another Jouster. In fact, that had been one of Peri's own ideas, to train fledglings too young to carry much weight how to fly Sutema had been flying strongly for a sennight or more now.

  Huras hadn't hesitated, not for a moment. "We'll need every hand," he had said, somewhat grimly, and gave her only as long as it took for Sutema and Tathulan to eat their fill to gather what she needed. She realized just how urgent it was when he did not stop for the dragons to hunt midway through their journey. Sutema had been tired beyond measure when they had arrived, and Peri hadn't been in much better shape. They both ate and drank enormously and curled up to sleep together in a strange sort of cavelike house that had a dragon pen in the bottom of it, alongside Huras' Tathulan. Peri had not even had the strength to go up the stairs to try and find a proper bed.

  And when she woke, an army was already almost to Aerie itself.

  She knew better than to pester Kiron; instead she made herself as useful as she could. She had fetched and carried all manner of things, helped to build barricades, helped to channel water into a reservoir, even cooked and baked so that food would be ready and on hand when fighters needed it. Finally, she got a moment of respite and decided that there would be nothing wrong with taking water up to the commanders of this battle.

  She had only really been aware of a harsh wind whipping up; the switchback path she had taken to the top of the cliff where they were faced away from where the army was assembled. So until she got to the rim, she'd had no idea of the horror hanging in the sky, a pillar of lightning and darkness that was taller than the cliff—and had eyes.

  This was not what she had expected to see. There was nothing in this world that she could compare this to, and horror dried her mouth, knotted her gut, and froze her feet in place.

  And then the—Thing—came out of the top of the pillar and began to sing, and she could not even scream. Her mouth opened, but all that came out was a strangled squeal. Tears of fear and despair poured down her cheeks, and she wanted to throw herself off the top of this cliff because breaking her neck on the rocks below would be a blessing compared to what that—Thing—was going to do to them. To her. It told her somehow, deep in her mind, in a whirlwind of horror and panic, it showed her what her fate was to be.

  We're going to die. We are all going to die.

  The Being that inhabited Kiron bowed with deep respect to the One looking from Ari's eyes. The five who wore the diadems now wore power and glory like so many shining mantles. Their eyes glowed with it; their faces were radiant, and auras of light coruscated around them. "Father," he said, his voice sounding strange and echoing in his own ears. The Being cast a glance at the Chosen, who had discarded his staff and moved to join them striding as surely as if he could see despite his bandaged eyes. "Uncle. I greet you."

  Tamat screamed, and all five of them looked up at her. She hovered in place, wingbeats spreading her noisome stench, all three heads glaring down at them.

  "She is not yet a god," observed Seft, through his vessel's lips.

  "Not yet," said Iris, as Tamat shrieked in outrage at the sight of the five of them. "But enough blood has been spilled to unbind her. She is loose now in the world and if we do not bind her again, enough blood will likely be spilled to make her a god. And that would be an evil day indeed. "

  "She is stronger than we," replied Siris doubtfully. "We have never faced her thus. Always before, we have been on equal footing with her. We are constrained by the limits of our mortal hosts. She has made a body to suit herself

  "Then we must be wiser, faster, and more skilled!" said Haras, with all the fierce determination of a desert falcon. His words rang out against the screams from Tamat above them, and the whine of the wind in the rocks.

  Seft's dark powers pulsed with the beat of his heart, and against the brilliant gold and incandescent white of Haras and Siris, he looked like a shadow. His words echoed ominously. "Blood called her. It may require blood to bind her again." Despite the bandages shrouding his eyes, there was no doubt that he was looking directly at Siris. "As it was in the past, so it may be again. It may be that one must fall. It may be that only then will the power be sufficient to bind her."

  "No!" Iris moved forward in protest, but Siris waved her back.

  "She cannot be left to rage across this mortal soil. So be it." The words had all the weight and finality that only a god could give them. "But that moment is not yet. Let us see what mortal hands and immortal powers can do." He turned toward the waiting dragons, that had not moved in all this time. He spread his hands wide, and Power filled the cliff top.

  The top of the cliff blossomed with light, as if the sun-disk itself had alighted there. At last the terror let her go, and Peri dropped to her knees, whimpering. She turned her face away from the shining creatures that had once been people she knew, or at least recognized. They were nothing she recognized anymore. They seemed twice the height of perfectly ordinary people; they radiated light and force, she didn't even dare look at their faces, and merely being in their presence made her gasp as if she had been running for half a day.

  Gods. These were gods. How they had come to take the place of the people she knew, that was a mystery. But the gods were mysteries, not just mysterious, they were Mysteries and they did things she could not even begin to understand.

  Blinding light filled the top of the cliff making her cover her eyes, and when she could look again, four of the gods were in the sky, flying
toward the hideous Thing in the midst of its darkness, mounted on—

  Well, what they were riding bore as much resemblance to dragons as these Beings bore to humans. If someone had taken pure light and shaped it into the form of a dragon—well, that was the closest she could come to what was winging toward the demonic nightmare in the sky. A blue more intense than the sky itself a scarlet that flames could only envy a purple-shaded scarlet that would make the most glorious sunset look washed out, and a blue-black that vibrated with intensity; these were the colors of the celestial creatures that the gods rode. There was nothing in her experience to compare these colors, these creatures, to. The colors of jewels perhaps, but nothing less.

  The monstrous vision screeched, a sound that made Peri cover her ears and duck her head, overcome by panic. When she could look up again, it was to a sky gone mad.

  The Thing lashed out against the four attackers with bolts of lightning. Somehow they evaded these, and returned the favor with balls of light, great gouts of flame, and some lightning of their own. For Peri, it was impossible to sort out who was doing what, the sky was too full of light, the air too full of thunder.

  The ground shook with the force of their exchange.

  She felt a hand seize her shoulder and shake it, and turned to find Huras kneeling beside her. It gave her some small measure of comfort to see that he looked as terrified as she felt. "Peri!" shouted Huras over the sound of the unearthly battle. "Peri, what's going on? Where are Kiron and the others?"

  Hands glowing with dark power seized both their shoulders and pulled them to their feet. "What do you think is going on, Children of Alta?" shouted the one who held them.

  He, too, must have once been a man; his eyes were bandaged, and he wore the robes of a priest and a coronet with the image of Seft's Scorpion. But he moved as surely as a sighted man, and his face was full of that same terrible glory as the others. It burned in his regard, it invested every word, and every tiniest gesture.