The Tyrant took Kalwyn aside and instructed the steward to stay behind with a rear guard until the last of his people had entered the caverns.
“Do not try to fight the Underworlders,” he said. “Let them know that the High Plateau is armed and ready for them. I doubt they will attack immediately. They will want to know what has happened to their vanguard first. As soon as the last civilians are in the tunnels, follow us.”
Greylock started for the courtyard of the snowcastle, and behind him came the Wyrrs. The citizens of the High Plateau opened up before them uneasily. Greylock saw only a few of his people follow the last of the Wyrrs, and then he was at the head of the staircase down into the network of caverns. As he wound his way down into the hole, with Mara at his side, the Tyrant realized that he would be unable to see more than a few of those that followed him once he had entered the twisting corridors. He would have to trust that all his people would be frightened enough of the mountain’s rumblings and the Underworld army to come with him. He would be unable as well, once started, to see how many of those following might be losing their way, and he was certain he would lose some, if not all.
The beginnings of this exodus were not encouraging. The heat of the tunnels had increased since the last time he had been below. As they reached the huge central core, he saw that the entire structure of the lava tubes had been changed radically by the volcanic activity. Instead of the many small tunnels snaking their way through the lava, there were a few great fissures leading straight and unhindered into the mountain.
He turned into the largest of these central caves, fully realizing that the earthquakes that had opened it up could just as easily close the passage shut while they were still inside.
A series of small quakes continued to shatter the rocks of the walls, raining small chips down on them. The Gateway gleamed before them where Greylock had never before seen it. He hurried his pace then, and the Wyrrs followed eagerly. They seemed unafraid, fully trusting in him to lead them to their new land. For the first time he could see hope glinting in their dark eyes. Greylock hoped he wasn’t leading them to their destruction.
The unbroken stretch of the Gateway ended, as he had known it eventually would, but the smaller, natural corridors continued again toward the east, and he took them unhesitatingly.
Throughout this nightmare journey they had not needed to light torches, for a soft red glow had filled all the corridors, trickling through the many small rents and tears in the earth’s fabric. But not until they were midway through Godshome did they catch sight of the firestone.
Greylock recognized the pit as the same one he had crossed on his journey back from the Homeland, but the lava had subsided to the bottom of the pit, and the waterfall had all but disappeared. In place of his temporary bridge of lava was a jumbled mass of boulders where the roof had caved in, creating a natural path over the fissure.
It was as if the gods were arranging their escape, Greylock thought, for the Gateway started up again on the far side.
They soon entered dark, cool passages that were strangely quiet. The mountain had ceased to tremble around them, and the Tyrant began to breathe a little easier. His memory of the path from this point on contained no special hazards, and he began to hope that they would reach their destination without casualties.
Danger arrived from an unexpected quarter. From far to the rear of the column, out of range of his view, came the sounds of fighting. Greylock knew then that he had guessed wrong, and that King Kasid had not waited to attack, and had even pursued them into the mountain. And this time it would not be so easy to lose pursuit, he thought. The pathway was open, it seemed, all the way through Godshome, his people vulnerable. Even if they managed to reach the Homeland, he realized with dismay, the mercenaries would simply follow them. The battle would continue, and inevitably the stronger, more numerous army of the Underworld would be victorious.
He almost despaired then, but the sight of the Wyrrs standing fearlessly behind him, waiting for him, trusting in him, spurred him to make the final effort.
The far side of the mountain was almost unrecognizable. It was as if it had been pryed open by the gods. The white light of the sun contrasted with the evil red glow of firestone, and Greylock hurried toward it. The sound of fighting followed, coming closer with every second.
When he emerged onto the western slopes of Godshome, he saw that the internal heat of the mountain had melted much of the snow. Small streams rushed down the craggy slopes of lava.
The Wyrrs followed him out onto the slope, protecting their weak eyes against the glare of the sun. The exodus of Wyrrs ended finally, and his own people began to emerge from the caves, looking behind them nervously. Only when he was sure that the last of his people had emerged into daylight did Greylock begin the descent into the Homeland. The sounds of fighting faded slowly behind them.
They reached the bare soil of the Homeland, and there the Wyrrs fell to their knees, digging into the earth with their hands. Greylock felt as though a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders.
But this concern was quickly replaced by the even greater worry over the battle above them. There were few men of fighting age among those who had reached the Homeland. The women and children stared anxiously back up the mountain, straining to see who would emerge onto the muddy slopes.
They did not have to wait long. The battered and beaten soldiers of the High Plateau came stumbling out of the Gateway. The cheers of those waiting died away as they saw that there were far fewer survivors than they had hoped. Greylock saw the tall, slender shape of Kalwyn emerge last, clutching his side, but motioning his men. They reeled down the slopes, in full retreat, defeated.
The men of the plateau had already staggered onto the level plains of the Homeland before the first soldiers of the Underworld appeared, lining the portals from the mountain with an imperious and arrogant assurance. They did not fear attack. The enemy soldiers continued to emerge from the mountain, filling the slopes with row upon row of ordered phalanxes.
The Tyrant watched helplessly from below. The Wyrrs had already vanished into the woodlands, and the men of the High Plateau had collapsed around him. There would be no further resistance to the awesome might of Trold.
When the last of the mercenaries had come to attention, facing the Homeland, there was silence. Greylock wondered what they were waiting for. Could they not see that they had won?
Suddenly, two small figures appeared between the soldiers guarding the mountain’s exit. Greylock recognized them immediately. The luminous glow of Silverfrost’s hair was unmistakable. Beside her stood a small man of imperial bearing, dressed in black. Greylock could tell by the subservient manner of the soldiers that this was King Kasid, but he could see nothing remarkable about the man. Silverfrost stood near the monarch possessively, and even from this distance Greylock could see the triumph in her gestures. With a wave of her arms the huge army began to descend the slopes in slow, measured steps.
Godshome gave no warning when it finally gave vent to the pressures that had been building up within its core. It exploded, tearing away the top of the peak. To those below it seemed as if the mountainside had dropped out from under the feet of the Underworld army, only to surge outward again, merging the stuff of the earth and that of life, fusing them together forever.
The last thing Greylock saw before the force of the eruption knocked him from his feet was the glowing hair of Silverfrost dropping into the cauldron, as she ripped frantically at the man in black, trying to climb over him to safety. But there was no escape from this holocaust, he thought at that moment, no one to plead with, or seduce, or betray. The forces of the earth gave no thought to her charms, but took her and mixed the strands of her hair with the granite of the earth.
When the Tyrant picked himself off the ground he saw that the entire side of the mountain had collapsed inward, exposing the huge caverns at the core. The top of the mountain was gone altogether, and with it, Greylock sensed with a mixtur
e of awe and relief, had gone the vast powers of the fiefdoms of Trold. Soon, the subject countries on the far side of the mountain would come to realize the weakness of Trold, he thought, and would fight for their freedom. Bordertown would soon be free, and the farmers allowed to till their fields in peace.
But that was on the other side of Godshome, he thought with satisfaction, and thus no longer concerned him. A huge cloud was hovering over the remnant of Godshome, as if uncertain where to go. As Greylock watched, a wind came out of the west, blowing the dust and ash away from the Homeland.
He looked down suspiciously, but Mara gave no sign of wielding her wind-witchery. Instead, she looked radiant, and for the first time he noticed that her waist had widened. Only then did he fully realize that the destruction of Godshome and the High Plateau was not the end, but the beginning of a new life in the Homeland.
Other books by Duncan McGeary available now from Crossroad Press
Snaked
Star Axe
Tuskers I: Wild Pig Apocalypse
Tuskers II: Day of the Long Pig
Tuskers III: The Omnivore Wars
Tuskers IV: Rise of the Cloven
Snowcastles & Icetowers Page 27