Chapter 11
Myn soared through the sky, eyes locked on the looming form on the horizon. Myranda, Deacon, and Freet all rode on her back, observing the same terrible sight with varying degrees of awe and wonder. Myranda had worried it would be difficult to spot the golem. That, it turns out, should have been the least of her concerns.
“My heavens…” she said. “It is enormous.”
“Like a monument come to life,” Deacon said. “I can feel the mystic energies animating it even at this distance. Astounding. It is will, but in the absence of consciousness. The wizards who crafted it managed to forge raw obedience and servitude without any of the other trappings of thought.”
“Does it give you any insight into how to defeat it?”
“Only that something so large shouldn’t be able to move. The power required to simply keep it in motion without falling to pieces means that it won’t be as simple to destroy as a like-sized statue.”
Myranda squinted at the form as it seemed to grow ever larger with their approach. “It would be far more useful if your observations revealed weaknesses rather than strengths,” she said.
“I very much agree.”
“I don’t like it,” Freet said. “I don’t think dwarfs are friends of fairies. Not big dwarfs, at least…”
Myn caught a cross-breeze and gave the golem a wide berth, circling and surveying. Even by doing little more than walking, the thing had left a trail of devastation. A path of footprints, each large enough to be the foundation of a house, flattened patches of earth and turned trees to kindling. As it paced along the foot of the mountains, several rockslides knocked loose by the earth-shaking steps littered the landscape.
“Closer, Myn,” Myranda said. “But carefully.”
She obliged, sweeping inward until she was perhaps the monstrosity’s arm’s length away. It ignored her or, more accurately, seemed utterly unaware she was there.
Myranda shut her eyes and focused her mind, dredging up her knowledge of earth magic in hopes of immobilizing it, or perhaps banishing the enchantment that gave it this semblance of life. No sooner had she begun than she felt a sharp metaphysical pain slice through her mind and soul. She winced and relented.
“I’ve never felt anything like it. It isn’t like trying to move and sift stone back in Entwell. It feels like it is actively pushing back,” she said.
“Without knowing the nature of the spell that animated it, I would advise against using earth magic directly upon it, then. The dwarfs are ancient masters of the art. We can’t hope to best them at their own game without more time,” Deacon said.
“Very well, there are other elements,” Myranda said. “Fire, Myn. Aim for the face.”
Myn’s chest puffed out, and she belched a column of flame that splashed against the impassive stone face. Myranda funneled her own power into it, and Deacon did the same. In moments they stoked the flame to an unimaginable intensity, its brilliance too painful to look at, and its heat enough to force Myn herself back, lest her riders be scorched.
The golem did not lose a step. When the flames faded, the stone face was glowing cherry red, but showed not the slightest sign of damage or melting.
“We may as well be trying to melt a kiln,” Myranda said.
“Focus on wind. I shall focus on water,” Deacon said.
They swept still closer. Myranda felt Deacon’s mind tug and draw at the air, sky, and soil, gathering first a mist, then a swirling ribbon of water. Above them, the mix of wind and water magic churned and darkened the clouds. As she had in her final test in water magic, Myranda worked with Deacon to bring forth a storm. Fat drops fell all around them, hissing and spitting as they struck the golem’s cooling face. Myranda spurred the already wailing wind to a terrifying velocity, splitting it around Myn and blasting the lumbering giant. It leaned into the wind and plodded onward, its broad form catching the brunt of the gale but barely slowing. Deacon blasted the grinding joints of its knees and hips with the conjured water, saturating them.
As one, Myranda and Deacon sapped the heat from the air around the joints. The water froze, encasing most of the legs in a thick crust of ice. The sound was bone rattling: wailing wind, crackling ice, rumbling stone. But it was working. The layer of ice wasn’t enough to immobilize it, but it was enough to turn its steady stride into a shuffle.
Myranda relented first, her endurance once again failing her. Deacon stopped a moment later, shaking his head a bit. The air continued for a few moments more, Freet having silently pitched in with his best effort at sustaining the gale. All three watched intently as the wind and water tapered off. For a few more steps, the golem remained hobbled by their attack. Then the crust fractured and sloughed away, and it returned to its former speed.
“We can slow it, at least,” Myranda said.
“Not the most efficient means of doing so, and it would at best delay the inevitable,” Deacon said.
Myranda took a breath. “So long as we’ve got the storm, this has saved our lives once before…”
She hefted her staff and heaved it like a spear, guiding its flight and bringing it to a stop just above the golem’s head. The crystal took on a piercing white glow, and Myn wisely put some more distance between herself and the stone monster. A forking bolt of lightning split the sky. Searing light swallowed the world around them, and the air shook with a prolonged peal of thunder.
Myranda sustained the bolt for as long as she could manage, and when she began to flag, she felt Deacon take the reins of the spell and stretch it out for a few seconds more, until the clouds themselves had no more to give. Dragon and wizards alike blinked away the afterimages of the dancing bolt. When their vision returned… the golem still walked.
“Thank the gods the D’Karon never learned of this power…” Myranda said, wiping the rain from her eyes. She held out her hand, and her staff drifted to her side. The rain was still squealing against its searing-hot surface.
“Land, Myn. I have an idea. Again, it may not defeat it, but it should give us options,” Deacon said.
Myn looped about and swooped several dozen strides ahead of the golem. Myranda and Deacon stepped off.
“Focus on the shaking of its footsteps,” Deacon said. “If we can split the earth ahead of it…”
“Of course,” Myranda said.
She drove her staff into the earth; he crouched and dug his fingers into the muddy soil. Earth magic was largely about the heartbeat of the earth, of taking the trembling present in the land and combining it with one’s own strength to amplify and direct it. The punishing blow of each footfall provided them with a substantial head start in that regard.
Myranda felt the shaking earth strum up through her soul and back down through her staff, joining peak to peak and feeding back upon itself. The trees around them shook and shifted. The ground ahead of the golem rolled and roiled like an angry sea. Its steps became unsteady, but it did not slow. Deacon released his crystal, leaving it to float in the air beside him, and clutched Myranda’s hand. Their minds worked as one, directing the trembling earth to do their bidding.
The golem continued toward them, stumbling but refusing to fall. Myn thrust herself into the air, catching the stormy breeze and climbing high above the stone behemoth. She rose to many times the golem’s height, then swept her wings and dove toward it. Myranda knew what she was planning and carefully adjusted the timing of her own attack. Myn pulled up, flexed her legs, and delivered a punishing blow with her hind legs. Myranda and Deacon heaved the earth beneath the golem at the same moment. The combined attack finally pitched the colossus far enough forward that it could not recover. It came crashing down, the impact sending a wave of muddy slurry toward Myranda and Deacon, nearly burying them.
They let the trembling subside, then wove their spirits and minds with the plants in the soil. Stout tree roots burst from the ground and entangled the stone figure until it was barely visible beneath the writhing mass of woody tendrils.
“Quickly,” De
acon said, letting his focus fade and rushing toward the figure.
Myranda tried to shake the haze from her brain as he helped her keep pace. The golem was anything but defeated. Already the roots binding it were crackling and splitting, its arms nearly free.
“The golem acts on orders.” Deacon said. “I don’t recall the specifics, or even if I was ever told the specifics. But I am quite certain the orders are written, and then slipped inside the golem somehow. Perhaps if we can remove them, it will go still once more.”
Their attack had left the ground difficult to traverse, but Myn touched down to sweep them up. Myranda and Deacon focused their eyes and minds on the carved stone head that shifted and rumbled before them.
“I cannot see past its surface. They have warded it against the mind’s eye,” Myranda said.
“Such should have been expected…” Deacon said.
“There! It’s blackened by the lightning blast, but there is an opening,” Myranda said. “I… can’t squeeze a spell past it. The defenses are astoundingly secure.”
“Nor can I.” He pocketed his crystal and physically climbed to the stone head.
“Be careful!” Myranda called.
Clenching his teeth in pain, he tried to squeeze his hand into the opening. “The head hasn’t quite cooled, I’m afraid. And the opening isn’t large enough. Perhaps Freet—”
The male fairy didn’t wait to be asked. He had already darted from his place atop Myn’s head and, in a flash, squeezed himself through the slot.
In a loud sequence of snaps, one of the golem’s arms broke its bonds.
“Quickly, what do you see?” Deacon said.
“There is a bronze tablet,” Freet called from within. The little fairy grunted, then a flash of light and squeal of pain burst through the opening.
“Are you all right?” Myranda called.
“When I tried to touch it, it sparked and burned me.”
“More warding magic,” Deacon said. “One must admire their comprehensive defenses.”
The other arm broke free, and the golem heaved itself from the ground. Deacon, still holding on tightly, was drawn up with it.
“Myn quickly, we need to get them down,” Myranda said.
The dragon leaped into the air, circling around the golem as it unsteadily righted itself.
“No!” Deacon called back to them, clinging to the slot for grip. “Leave us here. Go help the others.”
“Are you mad?” Myranda called back.
“For all we’ve done, it has paid us no mind,” he said, crouching to hold a bit tighter as a sudden motion nearly threw him free. “If we stay with it, I can continue to work out a way to deal with it. There is much to be done elsewhere. Go help the others.”
Myranda wanted to argue further, but if their adventures together had taught her anything, it was that Deacon could be depended upon, and they simply didn’t have the time to waste.
“Very well. But please, be safe,” she said.
“I shall take no unnecessary risks,” Deacon said. “Beyond those implicit in riding atop an ancient war machine. Now go, quickly, and be careful!”
“I will take good care of him!” Freet called. “Just wait until I tell this story to the others in the grove!”
Myn gave Deacon a lingering look of concern, then rolled aside to return from whence they came.
#
Ivy shifted uncomfortably. The leaden weight of unconsciousness was slowly lifting, but her head felt heavy, her eyes were almost unwilling to open, and her hearing was throbbing with a soft voice that whispered words she couldn’t understand. As she had too many times before, she searched her memories for what could have left her in this state. There was fire and heat. Anger and combat. She could only recall flashes, moments, but they were fierce and terrible. She’d lost control… That she was still alive suggested she’d won her battle. That this appeared to be a hut in Den suggested otherwise, since she was quite sure she was trying to escape when she’d transformed.
She heaved herself into a sitting position and winced at a cluster of sharp pains. The voice she’d heard was coming from the doorway of the hut, where Nehri sat cross-legged, head lowered in prayer. A small gathering of the village’s youngest and oldest had formed a semicircle around her. The crowd stirred when they noticed Ivy had awoken. The priestess turned, then stood and approached her.
“What happened?” Ivy asked, wiping the sleep from her eyes.
“You fought Boviss—with a power I’ve never seen before,” Nehri said. “You were badly hurt, but the upwelling of your spirit fed the shrine enough for the assault to begin.”
“Then it’s happening,” Ivy said, trying to stand.
Nehri eased her back to the bed. “Rest. Recover. It is out of our hands now. Your friends came. They know what is happening. They say they will try to stop it.”
A moment of relief fluttered across Ivy’s face. “They came. Then they will stop it… But they’ll need my help.” Again she tried to stand, this time making it unsteadily to her feet despite Nehri’s protests.
“Ivy, right now terrible things are happening. Things terrible by design. Your friends are strong. It seems impossible, but perhaps they can stop the battle. Perhaps they can even quench the flames we have ignited in the hearts of our enemies. But I am not so foolish as to trust that it shall be so. If you have ever cared for your people, then rest. Stay with us. We will need every healthy malthrope we can get once the blood has been spilled.”
“My friends are out there.”
“But your people are here.”
“Nehri, Myranda and Deacon are the wisest people I know. If they have chosen to fight, then it must be the only option, the best way to help everyone. Did they say anything to you? Did they tell you what I should do?”
“They only offered a pair of cases. They said you would know what they were for.”
Ivy’s eyes brightened. “My cases! Please! Bring them here!”
“One contains a weapon. You are dangerous enough empty-handed. I will not allow you to have it among my people.”
Ivy waved dismissively. “I don’t care about that one right now. Bring me the other one.”
“What good will it do?”
“Bring it to me and you’ll see.”
Nehri signaled to one of those assembled in the doorway. A moment later one of the children arrived, carrying the sturdy wooden case as if it were a rare and precious treasure. The priestess took it and ran her hands over the surface, eyes shut.
“I feel no magic, no enchantment about it. Not like the case with the weapon.” She clicked the case open to reveal a somewhat worn fiddle. “What value does such a thing have at a time like this?”
“Oh, it’s got magic in the right hands, Nehri,” Ivy said, plucking the instrument from the case. “Just you wait and see.”
Ivy shut her eyes and, moving stiffly at first, put the bow to the strings. Almost in sympathy for her battered body, the instrument seemed unsteady and out of tune. Plucks, twists, and strums gradually coaxed it into correct musical pitch, and then came the long, clear note of a simple ditty. Nehri watched and listened in confusion, but around the doorway the curious onlookers pressed closer. The song wove back upon itself, repeating its simple beginning amid layers of new melody. It escalated and evolved, and Ivy’s spirits rose with it. A deep golden light was conjured around her. The raw exaltation of the music flowed through her, and with it the revitalizing power of her own joy. The aches eased, not just for her, but for those around her. Fatigue and exhaustion burned away like morning mist in the rising sun.
Perhaps the most powerful, most astounding effect of them all was the influence on the huddled, uncertain people of Den. These poor creatures, withered by their dependence upon the D’Karon, had life in their eyes again. After watching wives and husbands, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, and mothers and fathers march forth to commit terrible deeds from which they might never return, they were able to briefly lose themse
lves in the spirited melody and the contagious joy.
Finally, the song reached its rousing climax. Ivy took a deep, cleansing breath after the final notes. She stood tall, her sharp pains all but gone. A quick tug of her claws removed the bandages to reveal the stain of blood around a wound that had almost entirely healed. Nehri looked upon the results with awe. She touched where the wound had been.
“If only you had been with us from the beginning… It might never have come to this.”
“We can still fix it. I need two things.” Ivy clutched her stomach. “I need something to eat, and I need to know where the others went.”
Nehri sent one of the others to fetch some food. “By now, the warriors of Den have already spread out and taken positions across the isthmus. The golem could already be attacking the first of the cities on the way to the capital. And you have no dragon to ride, nor do we have enough power to open even a single portal. What good will it do you to know?”
“Do you have any crystals at all? Even exhausted ones?”
“The only gems left are those keeping Den hidden.”
“Can you use one to open a portal to my friends?”
“That would leave us exposed until I could restore the crystal sufficiently!”
“Nehri, your people can’t hide anymore. What you have done will bring people to this place. I am asking you to trust me now. Help me to help my friends. If you do, maybe you can finally live without this magic that is killing your land. You can keep hiding your village, but the handful of people here may be the only ones left.”
Ivy watched Nehri consider the words. She did not envy the priestess’s decision. She was being asked to abandon everything she’d come to believe was necessary for the safety of her people in exchange for the narrow thread of hope offered by someone she’d just met. Nehri’s face was twisted with worry and uncertainty. The rich red fur of her face was dusty and stained with tears. She turned and cast a look to her people. When she looked back, she had an expression of resolve.
The Crescents Page 27