“I am the Sacred Princess of Prophecy. I stand over all the Great Realms, on both sides of the Veil. If you have prisoners, deliver them to me, unharmed and unbound, and depart. I will not ask again.”
Before the commander could stop him, one of his lieutenants shouted an order and from every wall, arrows flew toward Elora. Had they struck, she would have resembled a pincushion. Instead, firedrakes erupted from the earth and burned each and every shaft. Behind her, the flagpole flared incandescent, so brightly the closest soldiers had to cover their eyes and cower. When the glow faded, nothing remained. These were brave men, hardened campaigners, and it was a mark of their valiance that they stood their ground as a brace of gleaming shapes swam from earth to air and wound themselves around Elora’s body. She reached out a hand and stroked one, the firedrake responding as sensuously as any cat. The creature smiled, pulling gasps of shock from those Chengwei who could see as its face flowed from serpentine to human, assuming a guise that was a twin for Elora’s own. The soldiers stood a good ten paces from Elora and the raw heat emanating from the ’drakes struck them like the blast from the open door of a foundry furnace.
“I offer safe conduct,” she said. “Do no further harm, and none shall be done you in return.”
The commander had no illusions about his fate. Even if the general believed this tale of madness, the best he could hope for was a cup of poison or the headsman’s ax. Better that, than disembowelment or being drawn and quartered. The Chengwei were not tolerant of surrender. And yet, these men had served him and the Khanate well. Against mortal foes, he would spend their lives like the sky casts forth rain. There was nothing in his arsenal that would serve against one who befriended demons.
He snapped a series of brusque directives and a half-dozen scarecrow figures were cast forth from the stockade. They hobbled because they’d been chained so cruelly their bones and joints had nearly broken. They were in rags and tatters because they’d been stripped of clothes as well as dignity. They were battered, bruised, bloodied, but they were also alive—because the Chengwei had intended to return them to the Empire and parade them through the cities, so the populace could see how their old enemy had at long last been humbled.
At the same time, the Chengwei garrison formed ranks in the waryard. Wisely, their commander ordered them to march out as they were. Allowing his men to gather their proper uniforms and possessions seemed to him to be pushing luck that was already stretched beyond endurance.
As he took position at the head of his troops, her voice stopped him.
“You won’t need to tell your general what happened here,” she said. “He’ll receive a message of his own.”
“A declaration of war?” the commander asked of her, amazed at his own temerity when what he really wanted to do most was run.
She smiled and he thought of the stories of the legendary basilisk, who could savage a man’s soul with a look and do far worse to his flesh before he was allowed to die.
“Don’t tempt me,” she told him.
“Come against the Empire,” he said, “and you will suffer for it. Even your magic cannot prevail against our might, as these fools learned to their sorrow. Enjoy this victory, girl, we will not allow another.”
A snap of her fingers brought the entire school of firedrakes into view and the whole complement of Chengwei reeled as if struck. The commander ordered them to the gate and discipline held for the first few steps, although there were too many anxious glances over the shoulder, from officers as well as common soldiers. It was a shameful display but the commander couldn’t find it in his heart to condemn any of them as cowards.
Then Elora Danan spoke a single word, and the withdrawal became a rout.
She took a firedrake in hand and told it, “Burn!”
Death Dogs wouldn’t have responded with more alacrity and delight. The firedrakes uttered a cry which no man present could have repeated yet which all recognized, on some primal ancient level passed down through the countless generations since the dawn of their race. And as with Death Dogs the reaction was as uncontrollable as it was instinctive. Some firedrakes leaped through the air in graceful arcs of eye-searing brilliance, casting afterimages so intense they would remain imprinted on watching eyes for days to come. Others dived back into the ground, making soldiers holler with alarm as the ’drakes streaked beneath their feet with lightning speed. Men placed their weapons at the ready, though all knew that would do no good.
The first of the firedrakes landed on one of the corner towers.
The bastion didn’t burn, it didn’t explode, it…changed. The structure began to glow from within, in the same way hands do when cupped around a light. Like charcoal on a hearth, the stone and wood began to radiate first heat then light, generating such a fearful incandescence that the surrounding air immediately began to shimmer. Another tower ignited in the same way, and another, until all but those flanking the main gate were ablaze. With the effervescence of children playing tag, firedrakes raced from tower to tower and through all the connecting buildings, setting them alight in the same manner.
It happened so quickly. By the time the Chengwei realized what was happening, there was fire on every side but one. They didn’t understand why they weren’t dead, although the heat was such that nothing living could long survive where they stood.
No training, no experience of battle, prepared them for this. No threat of punishment could prevent their altogether human reaction.
They ran for their lives.
None thought truly that they would reach the gate, they assumed this was some dreadful trick, but it was their only hope. Weapons were cast aside in panic, and armor as well, to allow them to run faster. Any who fell were trampled for their clumsiness, as were the foolish few who tried to help their comrades.
They ran until legs and lungs gave out, which turned out to be a messy scattering of bodies that began a few hundred yards beyond the gate and extended to the tree line. They collapsed, panting, spent prey run at last to ground, and begged and pleaded and prayed for mercy, though they’d never shown the least of it themselves.
Strangest of all, there was no sound of fire. The entire fort glowed with that awful radiance, save for the barbican, which remained impossibly untouched. It was being consumed to ash before their eyes, in near-total silence. The only exceptions were the gasps and sobs of the fleeing soldiery, the noises made by their bodies staggering through the grassy field and collapsing. And there was laughter, inhuman yet recognizable, from the firedrakes, exultant in being allowed to do what they loved best.
Thunder sounded from within the fort and with it came the shocked realization that the garrison’s entire complement of livestock remained within the walls. Horses led the way in a flat-out panic, ears flat to their skull, the whites showing around their eyes. Right behind them came the very few cattle and sheep and barnyard fowl left behind by the army, which had confiscated the rest for its own use. None of the Chengwei made a move to stop their headlong flight.
Figures appeared amidst the heat haze, as Khory Bannefin led the survivors from the conflagration. The commander thought his eyes were playing tricks on him—the number of former prisoners appeared to have doubled and then some. Then, as Ranulf DeGuerin approached more clearly into view, the Chengwei officer howled silently within himself like one demented, though he fought to keep his features cast in their professional, stoic mask.
The Sandeni had brought with them every man who’d fallen within the fort, showing their enemies far more kindness and generosity—and honor—than they had received in return. A mortal blow could not have done the Chengwei commander more harm. This was shame a lifetime’s penance would not expiate.
Without a word, but with a gruff gentleness, DeGuerin laid his burden at the commander’s feet. His companions did the same. The commander mustered what remained of his dignity and accepted their gift with a deep bow, the kind he w
ould offer a Khan. DeGuerin turned his back and it dawned on the commander that Elora Danan was nowhere to be seen.
That was because she’d climbed the barbican. A flagpole stood there as well, from which generally flew the regimental colors of the garrison. The standard she raised was a cobalt so dark it appeared black in the night, decorated with twelve silver stars, arrayed in three interlocking circles of four. In the center of that design was a greater star, which managed to be superior to the others yet also as one with them. In the heart of that final star, the image could be seen of two intertwined dragons, one rampant, the other clearly its consort.
At the sight of that flag, DeGuerin let loose a cheer. He called her name as his men had in the waryard.
“Elora!” he cried, so hard it broke his voice, and raised in salute the sword she’d given him. “Elora Danan!”
None of his comrades took up the cry. That wasn’t necessary. He’d spoken for them, and for all their valiant dead.
Atop the barbican, the Sacred Princess opened wide her arms, and the firedrakes rushed to answer her embrace. To the watchers—mixing wonder with horror—the creatures not only wriggled and slithered around the young woman, joining their merry laughter with her own, but actually passed right through her, as if she were no more substantial than a ghost.
If Elora noted the distant reaction she paid it no mind. She had more important concerns.
“One more favor,” she told the ’drakes. “One more treat.”
Play play play,
they cried joyfully, beside themselves with excitement.
Burn burn burn.
“Do you see those posts that line the road?” she asked them, filling her thoughts—and what passed for theirs—with the images of those awful spikes, stretching along the highway. “Find them all,” she said. “Burn them all, as you did the fort.” But then, to their dismay, she added some restrictions.
“Burn only the posts. Consume only the dead. Nothing more. Not a blade of grass beside the road, not a speck of dirt that lies on it. And especially not the soldiers who may guard them. Dance with them if you like. By all means let them see your power. But do no harm.”
The ’drakes didn’t like that. They pouted. They fumed. They protested.
They made Elora repeat her commands, and she did so in tones and terms that brooked neither argument nor disobedience.
“These were my friends,” she told them at the end. “They died for my cause, as much as for their own. All I ask of you is to do them the honor they have earned.”
As one, every firedrake’s face became a match for hers, their way of signaling assent.
In a flash, they were gone.
Shando’s post was the first to flame, glowing from within as the structures of the fort had under the firedrakes’ onslaught. His body turned to ash, to physical nothingness, in a trice. The wood of the pole shouldn’t have lasted any longer. Yet in the same unreal manner that the fort maintained its form long after the point when it should have been consumed, so, too, did each and every post along the road.
In lightning succession, the one after the other, the firedrakes set them alight. From her vantage point, even looking across the hellpit furnace that was the waryard, hotter now by far than the open crater of an active volcano, Elora could see the line of torches disappearing off into the distance.
Unless they were blind, the main body of the army would see the fire coming, snaking relentlessly after them over the ridges and through the gorges. She hoped they’d be scared.
Her body was the next best thing to cast lead as she trudged down the stairs, so she took a deliberate pause before exiting the barbican, to center herself and gather what remained of strength and wits. The Chengwei had to see her as supremely confident in her power. She’d played a fair hand against them; she couldn’t let them realize what followed was mainly bluff.
She’d entered the fort with a military stride, a predator bounding to the attack. She appeared utterly relaxed now, as she ambled clear of the conflagration she’d ignited. She looked comfortable. No less dangerous, simply—sated.
“You’re still here?” she asked the commander, offhandedly taking notice of his presence. He reacted as if she’d struck him with a quirt.
“I told you to go,” she continued in that same disdainful manner, not giving him a chance to speak. “Whether to your homes or to your army, I don’t care. But here, you will not stay. You profane this honored ground with your presence. Do I make myself clear?” She finished with a charming smile, the kind the tiger gives the goat when discussing dinner.
The commander dropped to his knees and to his face, prostrating himself before her as he would before his Khagan.
“I crave pardon, Sacred Princess.”
“You live, do you not? As I told you, Commander, do no harm and none will come to you. That is my pledge. That holds for your army as well. There’s room enough, and wealth enough, for all in the Great Realms. There’s no need for such greed, and such a waste of life. Tell that to your general. If I have to tell him myself, our conversation won’t be anywhere near so pleasant.”
They were a formidable body of men, that was made evident when the commander marshaled them into formation and, with a farewell salute to Elora Danan, led them onto the road, between the double line of burning posts. This time, discipline held as he led them at a deliberately sober pace.
* * *
—
When the last of them was well beyond the bend in the road, Ranulf DeGuerin lowered himself to one knee before Elora and bowed his head in mingled fealty and thanks. Then he had to catch her as her knees lost all tension and her body collapsed in on itself, dropping her sharply on her bottom.
Luc-Jon immediately slipped in behind her, to give her something solid and comforting to lean on, and was rewarded with a purr.
“Bless you, child,” the Colonel told her, taking one of her hands in both of his. And then rank and responsibility reasserted themselves. A quick sweep of the smoldering ruins told him there was nothing left aboveground worth salvaging but the fort, which contained hidden caches of emergency stores that both the Chengwei and the firedrakes might have missed. With a word of caution to his officers, he sent them back for whatever could be found. He’d have gone himself, but Elora had returned his handclasp with one that couldn’t be broken.
Her eyelids fluttered. “I should have been here sooner,” she murmured.
“And what then, Elora Danan?” Khory asked from above and behind, where she remained on alert. “What would you have done in the face of the whole Chengwei army?”
“Why are you so harsh with her, warrior?” DeGuerin demanded. “She saved our lives!”
“It was a splendid bluff, I’ll grant you. Let us all give thanks there were none among the Chengwei with wit enough to realize it.”
“How so?”
“Were any touched by the firedrakes? Were any harmed?”
“You didn’t do so badly at the gate,” Luc-Jon noted.
“Her steel, mine and the brownies’ arrows. To let them know we meant business. That we were prepared to be bloody.”
“They love to burn, you see,” Elora said in a soft voice, meaning the firedrakes. “Anything and everything. They make no distinction between hero and villain, Daikini and elf. Given leave, they’d gleefully turn this world into a cauldron. This probably won’t stop the Chengwei, they’ve too much invested in victory to withdraw now. But they’ll know the firedrakes came when I called and did as I bid them. Might make ’em think twice about how to proceed. And how they treat their captives.”
“The sorcerers…” Luc-Jon began hesitantly.
“Took Drumheller east?”
He nodded, which she felt more than saw since she was still snuggled against him. To make herself an easier burden to bear, because she felt so damned comfortable in his arms, she slipped
a portion of her own strength into him, seeking out those hurts easiest to deal with and charmed them back to health.
“Figured as much,” she said, “when I saw he wasn’t amongst you.”
“It has to do with their infernal machine.”
“Damnedest thing,” muttered DeGuerin.
“How so?”
“We’d made a decent fight of it, even when they brought up mangonels that hurled rocks big as houses.” The Colonel chuckled ruefully. “Or so they seemed when they bounced off the walls. So long as those ramparts held, we had a fair chance. And bound as they were by magic as well as mortar, the walls should have held till doomsday.
“Not sure myself what happened, the mechanics of it, I mean. They came in the night, dark of the moon, the Chengwei wizards. First I knew of trouble is Drumheller screaming.”
“They hurt him?” Elora levered herself to her knees, all ease banished from her body, replaced by the same predatory tension she’d manifested during her approach to the barbican.
“From his actions, they must’ve. He was rolling and twisting on the ground like a man with a seizure, foam at the mouth, his body bouncing so hard I feared he’d break his bones. Shando tried to hold him fast but he got pitched aside as if he was nothing. The whole room, this was in my office, we were planning strategy for the next day’s assault, it went mad along with him. Things came alive, they changed shape, I saw…creatures I never want to meet again, even in my worst nightmares. He spoke words that took tangible form before my eyes. He changed himself, into a score of different animals, monsters I’d only read about in legend, as though his body was candlewax in the hands of some demented sculptor. And bad as it was for him, it was far more terrible for those fairies who’d remained to help us.
“The walls,” the Colonel continued, “were shot with lightning, like WitchFire, bolts tear-assing every which way. There was no saving those on the ramparts. The flames the Chengwei conjured did less damage than yours, Elora, but they weren’t anywhere near so merciful with my men. We assumed it was the precursor to an attack, which indeed it was, and the call to arms brought most everyone else in the fort to the waryard.”
Shadow Star Page 32