Now the Khama-sun dimmed and fell from the sky. The Manslayers renewed their mad onslaught, and Dahrima clove a man in two with her axe. Vantha, bloody and smiling, lopped off a silver-helmed head. These Manslayers were enemies they could fight. Dahrima’s grief turned to rage as she waded into an armored mass of Zyung’s warriors. There was no more sign of the Feathered Serpent in the dimming sky, but the sorcerers in their flying globes of light darted above the slaughter, releasing blasts of death wherever they chose.
Dahrima killed eleven men before she heard the metallic thunder of Vireon’s greatsword leaving its scabbard. Her eyes looked up through a red haze. The monolithic Giant-King marched forward, moving deeper into the bay, smashing dreadnoughts against one another and sending waves against the arriving hordes with every step.
The true sun returned to the sky as Zyung’s eclipse faded. A strange hush fell over the battling legions. Every living eye–Men’s, Giants’, and sorcerers’–turned toward the sea. A second colossus towered now above the armada in the bay, facing Vireon and matching his gargantuan stature.
Zyung the Conqueror was a titan draped in silver, his hair a nimbus of dark light, his face terrible to behold. His eyes pulsed like violet stars above his face of chiseled marble. He raised a great blade of licking flames, pointing its tip at Vireon’s heart. Dahrima could feel the heat of that burning blade even from where she stood.
Vireon’s greatsword glimmered blue as ice to match the GodKing’s fiery weapon. Thunder split the sky above the two colossi, and a sudden deluge of rain washed the soot and gore from Vireon’s body. The Giant-King stood whole and gleaming before his enemy.
The great moment of reckoning had come.
The storm washed over the valley as Zyung struck his first blow. Vireon’s blade met the flaming sword with a crack of thunder. As if this were an unspoken signal to resume the slaughter, Men and Giants fell to battling once more in the shadow of their dueling lords. Dahrima watched the clashing behemoths between blows of her axe. She took more cuts and wounds than she should, but she could not tear her eyes from the Giant-King’s duel for long.
Vireon slashed at the God-King’s chest. Zyung caught the blade in his fist and hurled it back. The flaming sword thrust at Vireon’s head, but his knees bent and the weapon failed to touch him. He countered with an upward swing but the God-King was no longer standing before him. Zyung had somehow repositioned himself behind Vireon.
The Giant-King whirled to parry the arc of the flaming sword, and he spat thunderbolts into Zyung’s face. The dreadnoughts at their knees moved out of the way as best they could, canvas wings carrying them above the churning waters and away from the colossi.
The clashing of the mammoth swords sent fresh thunders across the valley. Men killed and died in the tempest, while sorcerers cast rays of deathlight into their midst. More Giants perished, caught by the falling beams of sorcery. They died now as easily as Men.
Soon Dahrima would find herself trapped inside a burning column, and she knew her amulet would not protect her against such magic.
If not for this legion of sorcerers, we might win the day.
The silver-robes were specifically targeting Giants now, letting Men fight Men. The sheer numbers of the Manslayers would guarantee a victory as soon as the last of the Giants were gone.
More Udvorg burned to death every second this conflict continued.
Yet Dahrima knew that the true outcome of the battle lay in Vireon’s great hands. If he struck down the God-King, these sorcerers might flee and abandon their invasion.
The world shook again beneath the titanic blades.
Dahrima leaped away from a shaft of deathlight meant to end her. The Manslayers fleeing her proximity had warned her just in time. A great mound of bodies turned to ash in the glow, and she ran toward the thickest ranks of Zyungians. If the sorcerers became desperate enough, they might start burning away their own men in order to slay Giants. Until that moment, Dahrima would continue her death dance in the very midst of her smaller foes.
More of the flying wizards converged above her. They had taken special notice of her and awaited now the perfect moment to strike. Without Vireon or Khama to occupy their attentions, that moment would not be long in coming. In a matter of moments the Manslayers would realize what was happening. They would run from the raging Giantess in their midst, leaving their sorcerers free to incinerate her.
Her axe was a spinning wheel of death. She would take as many of them with her as she could. It was all up to Vireon now. She would not live to see his victory.
She saw the Giant-King’s cobalt blade plummet toward the God-King’s head. A gout of seething light erupted from Zyung’s eyes, catching the greatsword in mid-arc. The steel turned to molten scarlet, pouring along Vireon’s arm. The Giant-King roared in agony as his flesh steamed and bubbled.
A grin empty of mirth spread across Zyung’s face. His flaming blade shot forward to take Vireon in the gut. It emerged from the seared flesh of the Giant-King’s back. Impaled on the great fire-brand, Vireon’s head fell back on his shoulders.
A last peal of thunder rocked the valley. The sword’s unnat ural fires were quenched as Zyung pulled it free of Vireon’s body. The God-King’s blade gleamed black as night now, and constellations of stars glimmered in its alien metal.
Vireon staggered backwards, his right foot finding the debrislittered beach. His great form dwindled, growing somewhat smaller. Black blood poured smoking from his terrible wound. The stormclouds parted above him, the rain ceased all at once, and Dahrima screamed as the Giant-King began to fall. Men, Giants, and sorcerers rushed from his looming shadow as it cast the valley once more into darkness. When his gargantuan body met the earth, thousands upon thousands would be crushed.
Dahrima stood still among the carnage. The battle was replaced by running, howling men. Even the Giants ran from the teetering colossus. She did not move.
Let me die with him.
I will perish beneath the mountain of his greatness.
Yet Vireon was not wholly dead yet. She knew this as he fell because his size continued to change. His great body contracted, shrank, reduced itself to the size of an Uduru so that the last half of his fall was through thin air, his legs having left the earth and sea. He fell upon a pile of charred bones and torn corpses, no larger now than any other Giant.
Zyung too seemed to shrink, but still he towered above the valley. He stepped onto the beach, his blazing eyes searching for Vireon’s diminished form. By his keen gaze, and the burning intent of his face, Dahrima knew that Vireon was still not dead.
Dying, yes, but the God-King would finish him with a final blow.
Again the battling armies became spectators, captured by the spell of Zyung’s greatness, awaiting the final blow that would end all resistance to their invasion.
Zyung raised his starry blade, his eyes fixed upon the fallen Vireon.
No!
Dahrima raced across the scattered mounds of dead to her dying King.
Zyung’s voice was a new kind of thunder. He pronounced a final judgment of death in his own language as his arm raised high the dark blade.
A tiny figure appeared out of nowhere at Vireon’s feet. A lone Man, his face turned up to meet the God-King’s terrible eyes. Dahrima did not stop to consider his courage, but scrambled on toward Vireon. She would either carry him from Zyung’s wrath, or die at his side.
The stranger wore a black hood and a dark robe set with flashing emeralds. He raised a thin arm at the same moment that the God-King’s blade began its descent. He spoke a single word that rang as loudly as Zyung’s own voice.
The silver colossus slowed and stiffened to a dull shade of black. Even the glimmering sword lost its shine. The God-King and his blade stood completely immobile above the battleground. Zyung was an effigy of dark iron, like the statue of a grim God built too large for any of the world’s temples.
The stranger was gone.
Gleaming sorcerers buzzed like
flies about their petrified God-King.
Dahrima grabbed Vireon’s body into her arms. Now he was only the size of a Man, yet the wound in his gut was a mortal one. She ran toward the river, clutching him to her chest like a sick child. The battle resumed behind her, the clashing of metal replacing the stunned silence. Now, while the sorcerers were distracted from pouring out their deathlights, she must escape with Vireon’s body.
The Uduri gathered about her, unwilling to let their spear sister bear this burden alone. They hacked through a formation of Manslayers and gained the riverbank. When the Udvorg had first arrived, they had constructed a crossing out of great, flat blocks of masonry. Dahrima and her sisters ran across these uneven stones toward the slope of the western ridge.
Bodies choked the sluggish red river as it spilled toward the crowded bay.
Dahrima’s great axe lay somewhere among the heaps of dead. She did not need it. Her sisters cut down the foes who charged into her path.
She ran from the valley of death, Vireon’s blood spilling along her arms and legs.
Khama.
Awake, Feathered Serpent.
Khama opened his eyes. A blur of colors and shapes.
A man’s voice.
“Listen to me. We must be quick. I cannot free you from this cage while you wear this form. You must become a Man again.”
Khama tried to focus. There was no strength left in him. The furnace of his heart was a flickering candle. The unsteady shapes refined themselves. An orange glow filled a wide chamber of smooth, yellow substance. It felt and looked like wood, but there were no seams or boards.
A hooded figure stood facing Khama’s disfigured snout. Khama’s coiled body was a mass of agonies. The scent of his own blood filled his flaring nostrils, as well as the scent of the one who spoke to him. He smelled southern perfumes and the fragrant oils of nobility. And the salty tang of brine underlying it all.
How can I smell so superbly when the rest of me lies senseless and broken?
Two piles of silver cloth lay in the chamber, each with a heap of white sand (or salt) at its center. About the walls stood barrels, crates, and chests. He lay aboard a ship; they had carried him into the cargo hold of a dreadnought. A prisoner to torment and pry for secrets when the battle was done.
The orange glow came from the chains of clotted light twisted about his serpentine frame, trapping and sustaining him at once. Their links were instilled with sorcery. He smelled that indescribable odor as well.
“Do you hear me, Khama?” said the hooded man. His cloak and robes were sable, with the green glint of emeralds about neck and sleeves. “Take the form of a Man once more. Do it now. Zyung will soon break the spell of iron.”
Khama did not understand. He closed his eyes again. The magic of the spellchains was drawing him back toward a deep slumber.
“Khama!” A small hand slapped his great, torn jaw.
“Too weak…” he mumbled. His forked tongue rolled out of his mouth.
The stranger placed his hands upon Khama’s great eyelids. He sang an ancient refrain, and Khama’s inner flame rekindled for a moment. His eyes reopened, but he could not see the face hidden in the shadows of the hood.
“Now, Khama,” said the stranger. “You must become a Man, if only for a few seconds.”
Khama seized the borrowed flame and drew upon its power. His ragged, bleeding flesh warped and shrank. His skin once again acquired the rich brown hues of a Mumbazan man. Yet the red wounds across his body remained. The gleaming chains fell to the deck about his smaller form. They were made of a size to encase his Serpent body, not his human aspect.
Khama coughed and spat blood across his bare chest. He could raise neither arm nor head. The energy lent him by the stranger was used up by the transformation.
The stranger sang another incantation, lifting Khama lightly in his arms. Khama recognized the old language now, though he had not heard it in ten thousand years. The walls of golden wood faded, and the world shifted in some imperceptible direction. He was not falling, but something very much like it.
The urge to sleep was still heavy upon him. Or perhaps it was the urge to die.
He had little choice but to accept it.
13
Citadel of Bone
The Almighty shed his prison of iron as a viper sheds its brittle skin.
Flakes of black metal large as the shields of Giants broke from his limbs and fell into the bay, crumbling to dust before they met the water. Flame erupted once more along his great blade and in his eyes. Scores of Seraphim flitted about him like a swarm of nervous wasps.
The battle had not ended, but the defenders were nearly conquered. The Giant-King had fallen, and the Feathered Serpent was captured. A third of the Giant legion had perished in bursts of Celestial Light or were devoured by bloodshadows. Some had even died beneath the unrelenting blades of the Manslayers.
Sungui stood with Ianthe, Gammir, and Lavanyia on the forward deck of the Daystar. Captain Ajithi and a legion of anxious Manslayers stood in formation along the middle deck. The flag-ship had dropped anchor at the outer edge of the bay, placing a thousand ships between itself and the valley. The foremost ranks of dreadnoughts had suffered losses, yet less than a tenth of Zyung’s legions had taken to the shore.
Vireon and Khama had slain a dozen High Seraphim and at least fifty Lesser Ones. A hundred others floated still above the battleground. The main ranks of the Holy Armada had not even entered the bay yet; over two thousand dreadnoughts were anchored in the sea outside it.
Without Kings or sorcerers to lead them, the defenders of the valley could not last much longer. The highest cost of the invasion to Zyung thus far was the loss of three Trill legions. Yet seven such legions remained, and plenty more of the flying lizards could be bred. There were always Manslayers eager for the honor of riding them.
“You see?” Ianthe smirked. “I told you we need not intervene. Zyung shatters his iron skin as easily as he struck down the Giant-King. Now he will finish the slaughter…”
Sungui wore his male aspect today. He bristled at Ianthe’s false familiarity with the thoughts of His Holiness. Sungui had learned long ago never to second-guess or predict what the Almighty would do. Zyung was often as unpredictable as he was powerful. He had proven that fact once again by allowing Sungui’s treasonous yearnings to exist.
He tests me. He tests my loyalty and my wisdom. These qualities he places above even faith, which is only a tool he uses to dominate lesser beings. By giving me a choice, he proves himself worthy of my continued support.
Yet still I remain Diminished, like the rest of the High Seraphim.
And Ianthe is persuasive.
“Are you certain that Vireon is slain?” asked Gammir. “The God-King does not deliver a deathblow after all.” Above the mass of corpses and shattered vessels Zyung’s flaming sword faded like a snuffed torch. The Seraphim gliding about his colossal body turned their attentions once more to the embattled legions at his feet. New flares of Celestial Light leaped from their hands, burning Men and Giants alive.
Sungui saw no sign of the fallen Giant-King. Vireon’s rapid decrease in size meant that he fell into a red haze of carnage and was lost.
“He must be dead,” said Lavanyia, “or His Holiness would now be correcting that mistake.”
Do not be too sure. Zyung’s choices are his own.
“Was that Iardu?” Gammir asked.
He meant the stranger who had briefly sent Zyung to iron.
Ianthe turned her black diamond eyes to the Wolf. “Iardu would not strike and disappear as that one did.”
“It makes no sense,” said Lavanyia. “Why would the Shaper and his cohort of sorcerers not come in full force to face Zyung here?”
Gammir stroked the goatee decorating his chin. “Perhaps Iardu wishes to lull the God-King into false confidence. Let him win the day and strike later, when Zyung least expects it.”
“No,” said Ianthe. “Iardu’s heart is soft. He would
not endure a massacre of his own people simply to fuel some greater strategy. Yet the Shaper loves Uurz above all other cities. He will face the God-King there. I am certain of it.”
Ianthe stared far beyond the ravaged coastline and its green hills. Her eyes narrowed.
“Iardu seeks the aid of a power greater than Zyung,” said the Panther.
Lavanyia gasped. “You speak heresy! There is no power greater than Zyung. Best mind your tongue, Panther.”
Ianthe laughed. “You have forgotten too much, Lavanyia. There are beings in this universe that even your High Lord Celestial respects and fears.”
“Will Iardu be able to harness such power?” Sungui asked. His tone did not display the hope that lurked in his breast. The more resistance Iardu provided to Zyung, the better for Ianthe’s plan. Lavanyia’s gaze was sharp as a dagger. She did not like Sungui’s question, despite the reality behind the Panther’s words.
A fresh sea wind tossed Ianthe’s white locks about her shoulders. Sungui ached to taste her red lips again, as he ached now every night and day. Gammir avoided Sungui’s male form, as Mahaavar had done. Sungui expected this with men. His male body was not attracted to other males, so why should they be attracted to him? Yet he had never met the male equivalent of Ianthe. Zyung was perhaps the closest he had found to her, and he had never considered the Almighty as a sexual being. Zyung kept no wife, harem, courtesan, or lover. His only love was his Living Empire.
“Iardu is bold and clever,” Ianthe admitted. “Yet his weakness is his affection for living things. It has ever been his undoing, and will be again.”
Seven Sorcerers: Book Three of the Books of the Shaper Page 23