The Cerulean Storm

by Denning, Troy

  The sorceress started to step through the gates, then thought better of it and stopped. Borys’s servants had not become wraiths by easily forsaking the tasks he assigned to them. If the survivors had not yet assaulted her, it was because they were lying in ambush inside the bastion itself.

  Using the life force she had drained from the leader’s gem, Sadira cast her spell. The purple sheen faded from her skin, and a caustic-smelling mist began to rise from the lump of clay in her hand. She waited until the green fumes condensed into a hissing stream of vapor, then she stepped through the gate.

  The first thing she noticed was the quiet. She could not hear Magnus’s song, the hiss of the vapor rising from her palm, or even the sound of her feet shuffling over the limestone cobbles. Then she glimpsed a wraith pulling himself out of the shimmering pool beside the path. The water dripped from his armor without making a sound, and the sorceress realized that a magic pall of silence had been cast over the area—no doubt to keep her from voicing the incantation of her own spells.

  Congratulating herself for avoiding the trap, she held her hand out toward her ambusher and blew a stream of green vapor into his face. The wraith’s visor dissolved instantly, and she saw him open his mouth to curse before his head was swallowed in the green fog. Without waiting for the magic acid to finish its work, Sadira spun, fully certain that the last of Borys’s knights was behind her.

  The sorceress found a pair of mailed fists reaching for her neck. The wraith at the other end of the arms wore the armor of a broad-shouldered female, with yellow rays of light pouring through the eye-slits of her visor. Sadira twisted to the side, thrusting the hand with the magic acid toward her attacker’s face. At the same time, the sorceress protected her vulnerable throat with her shoulder.

  The tactic succeeded only partially. Sadira planted her hand squarely in her foe’s visor, which instantly began to dissolve beneath a billowing cloud of green vapor. The wraith switched her attacks at the last minute, however, smashing one mailed fist down on Sadira’s collarbone and bringing the other around in a vicious uppercut to the ribs. The blows landed with such force that the sorceress felt bones crack in both places.

  Sadira’s body erupted into such agony that she barely noticed when her magic acid dissolved the gem inside her first ambusher’s head. She felt the path buck beneath her feet and saw streaks of ruby-colored light flashing past in the silence, then she dropped to the cobblestones gasping for breath. The wraith reached down to pick her up, attempting to carry out Borys’s orders even as the sorceress’s green fog ate away the repository of her life force.

  One mailed hand clasped onto Sadira’s wounded shoulder, and the other reached for her throat. Then a silent yellow flash flared from inside the acid cloud. The wraith dissolved. A tremendous shock wave crashed down on the sorceress, spraying her with droplets of acid vapor and driving her tormented body into the unyielding cobblestones.

  The sorceress did not care. Pain would not stop her from escaping the Gray. She forced herself to her hands and knees and turned toward the minaret. Sadira slowly crawled forward, the syllables of Magnus’s wind-ballad pouring forth from her silent lips.

  SIX

  THE DARK

  CANYON

  AS THE CRIMSON SUN SLIPPED BEHIND THE PURPLE crags of the Ringing Mountains, long streaks of shadow stretched across the valley outside Pauper’s Hope. The sheen slowly faded from the glassy plain that Sadira’s magic had created earlier. The smooth field of rock slowly reverted to its true nature, filling the air with a soft murmur as orange stone crumbled into orange dirt.

  To half the titans who had attacked Pauper’s Hope that morning, the change no longer mattered. The one that Rikus had wounded, Tay, lay motionless and blank-eyed at the edge of the field. Three more, including Tay’s comrade Yab, had succumbed to the searing heat of the Athasian day. They were slumped over at the waist, the tips of their thirst-swollen tongues protruding from their blue lips.

  That left only four living giants to rejoice in the disintegration of their magical prison. Bellowing in gleeful, thirst-parched voices, they began to dig their hips and legs free. They hurled each handful of rock-filled dirt to the ground just out of arm’s reach, where a company of dwarven warriors had surrounded each of them only moments before.

  Despite the steel breastplates and helmets protecting the warriors, the giants’ barrage savaged through their disciplined companies, opening great holes in their neat ranks and sending armored figures rolling away like tumbleweeds. The dwarves countered with a volley of crossbow fire. Their iron-tipped bolts were about as effective against the thick hide of the titans as cactus needles would have been against mul gladiators.

  “Call Neeva back,” Rikus said. “Their crossbows are useless.”

  Caelum shook his head. “They’ve just begun,” he said. “She’ll never retreat so soon.”

  “If she waits much longer, she won’t have a chance,” said Magnus, his ears twitching with tension. “I’m afraid we arrived too late. The wraiths may have failed to kill Sadira, but the delay they have caused might prove fatal to us all.”

  The trio stood about a hundred paces from the battle, facing the butte over which Rikus and the windsinger had climbed when they first heard the giants. Caelum and Magnus were waiting in reserve, ready to cover the retreat as soon as the battle turned against the dwarves. Unlike Sadira’s sorcery, their clerical magic was primarily defensive in nature and not of much use in destroying titans.

  Rikus had been forced to stay with the clerics, because—up until a few minutes ago—the ill effects of the scorpion sting had left his vision too blurry to fight. Thanks to his hardy mul constitution and Caelum’s magic, however, Rikus was recovering rapidly—even if he still had a queasy stomach and sporadic bouts of dizziness. In spite of his condition, the mul would rather have been with Neeva, standing near the dwarven companies and directing the attack from close range. Unfortunately, she had ordered him to stay behind, saying he would only be a liability, and the mul had been in no position to protest. Neeva had organized the assault, and it was under her full command.

  As Magnus had explained to Rikus, Neeva had reacted quickly after the wraith attack on the Cloud Road. Perceiving that the original plan for dealing with the giants was in jeopardy, she had sent a half-elven runner to fetch the Kledan militia from Agis’s estate. Then, while the windsinger helped Sadira fight off the wraiths, she and Caelum had discussed their options. When it became clear the sorceress would survive but might not regain consciousness before dusk, Neeva had carried Rkard across the rope that spanned the gap. Caelum and Magnus had followed close behind, with Sadira and Rikus tied to their backs in the case the pair awakened in time to help confront the giants. The Tyrian legion would follow as soon as possible, but it seemed unlikely that they could get two thousand warriors safely across the breach in time to stop what was about to happen.

  The largest giant, the one-eyed fellow Rikus had heard called “Patch” by the others, braced his enormous hands at his sides. He pushed down, and a gentle tremor rolled through the field. The orange dirt bulged slightly upward around his hips. The dwarves peppered him with crossbow bolts, but he only twisted from side to side, trying to loosen the ground and free himself.

  Before the battle, Rikus had made a point of reminding Neeva to leave the one-eyed giant alive, so they could interrogate him about Agis and what would happen if the Dark Lens was not returned to them. Now, the mul was beginning to worry that it would be the titans who left no one alive.

  “Caelum, I want to stop the giants as much as anyone,” Rikus said. “But your dwarves can’t do it.”

  “Kled’s warriors are as brave as any in Tyr,” the dwarf replied sharply. “Wait until you see their axe-charge.”

  “Neeva wouldn’t waste good warriors like that!” Rikus considered his objection for a moment then started forward. “Maybe I’d better go talk some sense into her.”

  Before the mul had taken his second step, Magnus’s
huge fingers dug into his shoulder and brought him to an abrupt halt.

  “If you go out there now, Rkard will have another sleeping Tyrian to look after.” The windsinger looked across the valley to the top of the bluff, where the young mul was hiding with Sadira’s unconscious form. “Wait until you’re stronger.”

  “I’m ready now.” Rikus tried to pull free, but the windsinger’s powerful fingers held firm.

  “Save your strength,” advised Magnus. “If this doesn’t work—”

  A tremendous rattle sounded from the battlefield as the ground around Patch’s hips loosened. Bellowing with delight, the titan leader stretched forward and slapped his palm down with a thunderous clap. Three dwarves died instantly, lacking the time even to scream.

  Rikus saw Neeva barking a command, though it was impossible to hear her over the din of the battle. He reached for the Scourge’s hilt, but Magnus had already tilted his eloquent ears forward to catch her words.

  “She’s come to the same conclusion as Rikus,” the windsinger reported. “Signal the retreat.”

  The dwarf raised his hand. A pillar of crimson light shot from his palm and arced westward, casting a luminous glow over the battlefield. The Kledan militia disengaged instantly. They rushed toward the signal, assembling themselves into loose squares as they moved.

  “At least their discipline’s good,” Rikus commented.

  Caelum shrugged. “Yes, but what now?” he asked. “We’ve lost our best chance to stop the giants. They’ll raze every farm in the valley.”

  “Not if we keep them busy with us,” Rikus said.

  Patch grabbed another handful of rubble and hurled it at the fleeing dwarves. A hail of stones rained down on the trailing company, denting more than a dozen helmets and leaving dazed warriors scattered over the field. Magnus began one of his ballads. A powerful wind howled down out of the mountains. It swept just a few feet above the dwarves’ heads, with enough force to drive any more such barrages back the way they came.

  Rikus continued speaking to Caelum. “I have an idea, but it’ll mean leaving Rkard alone until Sadira wakes.”

  “Rkard will be fine. He has a sun-spell he can use to summon us if he has trouble,” the dwarf said. “What’s your plan?”

  “There’s a dead-end gorge on the other side of Pauper’s Hope where I hid once, after escaping from Tithian,” the mul said. “It’s full of ancient mines. If we can make it into the canyon and harass the giants enough to keep their attention focused on us, we might keep them busy until morning.”

  “And by then, Sadira should be well enough to help us.” Caelum nodded. “Let’s give it a try.”

  They waited a few moments for Neeva and her dwarven militia to arrive. Without the dwarves harassing them, Patch and the other giants concentrated on digging their legs free. Soon, they were each ringed by mountainous heaps of dirt, and Rikus knew that reaching the gorge would be an uncertain proposition.

  When the first company of militia arrived, Rikus saw by their clenched jaws and narrowed eyes that retreating grated on the dwarves’ pride. He waved his arm at them, yelling, “The battle’s not over yet. Follow me! I have a plan.”

  Neeva winced, no doubt remembering his disastrous plan to invade Hamanu’s city during the war with Urik. Nevertheless, she took a long breath and ordered her dwarves to obey. The mul started toward Pauper’s Hope at a sprint, padding over the ground in near silence. Neeva joined him and ran just as quietly at his side, but Caelum’s feet slapped the ground loudly with every step, and Magnus’s heavy footfalls actually shook the ground. The four companies of militia spaced themselves out across the field and followed at a short distance, armor clanking and booted feet stomping.

  By the time they reached the edge of the field, Ral and Guthay had risen. Both moons were in a crescent phase. The flaxen light they cast over the broken ground was so pale, Rikus found it difficult to distinguish between shadows and stones. Nevertheless, he continued to run at his best pace, finding his way as much by feel as by sight. The queasiness in his stomach was fading with the exercise, but the bouts of dizziness came more often. Several times, Neeva had to reach out to steady him, not because he had stumbled, but because he had lost his balance and was listing to one side or the other.

  As Rikus entered the faro field near Rasda’s Wall, Patch dug himself completely free. Instead of chasing after the fleeing warriors, the titan went over to his companions and began pulling them out of the ground like a crop of tubers.

  Keeping a wary eye fixed on the giants, Rikus turned to Neeva, “Have your warriors drop their shields and whatever else they can discard on the run—aside from their weapons. Right now, speed’s more important than armor.”

  Neeva shook her head. “They’re well disciplined, but they are dwarves,” she replied. “That equipment came from Kemalok’s armory. They’ll die on the spot before they cast any of it aside.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Rikus grumbled, starting down one of the paths between the faro rows.

  Behind them, Patch’s voice cried out in an angry howl that seemed to shake the sky. Rikus looked back to see him kneeling over Yab’s body and remembered that Tay had said something about the young titan being the leader’s brother. The rest of the giants were racing after Rikus and the militia, their heavy steps reverberating through the valley like thunder.

  The ground between the faro rows was packed hard. Rikus and his followers crossed the orchard at an all-out sprint, quickly passing around the shoulder of Rasda’s Wall. If Rikus had possessed any regrets about the fate of Yab or any other giant, they quickly faded when he saw what had happened in the farm buildings of Pauper’s Hope.

  The night air was thick with the stench of corpses that had lain rotting in the sun all day long, and it was apparent that Patch’s brutes had taken great delight in killing the inhabitants. The bodies of men and women lay heaped at the bottom of Rasda’s Wall, while dark smears of blood, barely visible in the pale moonlight, speckled the cliffs above. As if mere slaughter were not enough, Patch and his warriors had also stomped every building flat, usually with the inhabitants inside. They had even destroyed the irrigation dam, leaving a shallow depression of cracked mud cakes where once the pond had been.

  A short distance beyond the farm lay a moonlit wall of foothills. Covered with little except jagged stone and flakes of clay-rich soil, they rose steadily upward to form the lower slopes of the Ringing Mountains. A narrow gorge twisted its way into the hills, the blackness of its depths creating the impression of a snake crawling up the steep scarps.

  As the militia neared the far side of the compound and started toward the dark canyon, the giants reached the other end of Rasda’s Wall. The titans stopped long enough to lift several boulders off the outcropping and hurl the huge stones at the fleeing dwarves. Two of the rocks landed just ahead of Rikus and shattered harmlessly into a hundred pieces, but the others were better aimed and came down in the midst of the trailing company. Several of Neeva’s warriors died amidst the crinkle of steel armor.

  “Loose formation!” Neeva called. “Spread out!”

  As the dwarves scattered, Rikus saw the giants start forward again. They covered half the distance across the compound with a single stride then stopped to pluck more boulders off the cliff. The mul was tempted to fight them here, on the site where the brutes had slain so many helpless people, but he resolutely resisted the temptation. Nearly a decade earlier, during the war with Urik, he had learned the foolishness of allowing emotions to guide his tactics.

  Instead, he waved the dwarves on toward the canyon but stopped Magnus near the dry irrigation pond. “Can you slow them down?” he asked. “We’re two hundred paces from the canyon, but they’ll cover the distance in ten.”

  The windsinger nodded. “I have a powerful song that will give you time,” he said. “Go on.”

  “Don’t get yourself—”

  “I have no intention of dying tonight,” Magnus replied.

  Flecks of dried mud
stung the mul’s face as a rock crashed into the irrigation pond just a few yards away, then he heard a crumple as heavy stones crushed the armored forms of several more dwarves. Magnus raised his voice in a thunderous song, summoning a tempestuous wind from the depths of the desert night. It roared down from the mountains in the blink of an eye, bringing with it a thick fog of cold mist. The blast surged across the compound, hurling broken mud bricks and dead livestock high into the air. It slammed the debris into the outcropping with a deafening boom, loosening a slide of rock to come pouring down on the giants’ heads.

  Magnus pushed Rikus toward the canyon. “Go! This will hold them for only a few moments. You must show the others what to do when they reach the canyon.”

  The mul obeyed, sprinting for cover. Once, he was overcome by dizziness and fell. Nevertheless, with his longer legs and lack of heavy armor, he caught up with the dwarves easily and led the way into the gorge.

  The place was really more of a gash than a canyon, a sheer-sided crevice of crumbling rock that twisted its way less than a mile into the base of an enormous mountain. There were no smooth bends or gentle curves in the entire course. It changed directions at unpredictable intervals and at sharp angles. In some places, an entire dwarven company could have stood in dress formation across its breadth. Then, less than a dozen paces later, it grew so narrow that a giant would have to turn sideways to pass between its towering walls.

  At last, Rikus came to a bottleneck in the gorge, where the cliffs stood so close together that he could have leaped from the brim of one to the other without a running start. Although it was not possible to see much in the pale moonlight, the mul knew that those cliffs were pocked with dozens of caves, the portals of ancient mines that had been worked, abandoned, and forgotten centuries ago—perhaps even before Kalak had conquered Tyr.