Dahrima wondered how many more Udvorg and Uduru would descend from the Icelands if they were summoned by Vireon. There were at least a thousand Uduru living on the northern plateau who had chosen their new blue-skin families above the call of war. Vireon might still rouse them, and perhaps thousands more blue-skins as well. He might promise the Udvorg justice for the death of Angrid, and set them all to marching southward. Yet they would all come too late.
“We have also dispatched an ambassador to the King of New Khyrei,” said Mendices, “calling upon him to send what legions he may. As it stands now, our best hope is to endure the coming siege long enough for these southern legions to reach our gates.”
“All this talk of legions and numbers is fruitless,” said Khama, waving his hand above the bowls and goblets. “Even if we had all the legions of the Five Cities at our command, it would not be enough. Zyung commands a thousand sorcerers. It is plain that military forces cannot win this war.”
A moment of heavy silence hung about the chamber.
“Khama speaks truly,” said Iardu. His eyes gleamed with an array of shifting colors, twin auroras seething below his brows. He stroked his silver beard. “This is not a war of blade and shield, but a contest of sorceries. Men and Giants are caught in the heart of it, yet the true contest is among sorcerers. If more of us had been present at Shar Dni, the defeat might have been less devastating, or avoided altogether. I take full blame for my absence. I cannot restore the lives that were lost, but I will do what I can to atone for my mistake.”
D’zan broke the silence this time. “None of us blames you, Shaper. You have assembled all the wizards at this table to face Zyung’s assault. You have our gratitude for this.”
“If I had heeded your advice in Khyrei,” said Khama, “Undutu and thousands more would be alive today. It is too late for them now, but I am ready to listen.”
Iardu refilled his cup and swallowed a mouthful of red wine. “A thousand High Seraphim serve Zyung, who has convinced them of his divinity. Twice that number of Lesser Seraphim attend him, yet their powers are limited–they are trained as war dogs and can be slain with a well-aimed arrow or blade. Most of the Lesser Ones’ attention is bent on protecting the dreadnought to which they are assigned, yet the High Seraphim are also scattered among these ships.
“The High Seraphim are of the Old Breed. They can be defeated, but cannot truly die. Ianthe the Claw has also returned to serve Zyung, although she will betray him if given the chance. We cannot count her among our allies, but her presence cannot be overlooked.”
“What of Gammir?” asked Sharadza. Dahrima saw fear and guilt in her eyes.
“Where the Claw goes, her pet will not be far behind,” said Iardu.
“So it comes to this,” said Mendices. “Six sorcerers must stand against a thousand.”
“We are seven.” A new voice rang in the chamber.
All heads turned to a hooded figure who stepped from the shadows between braziers. Dahrima’s hand went instinctively to the haft of her spear, yet none else about the table made any show of alarm.
The stranger’s robe was black and hung with a garland of emeralds about chest and sleeves. He stood now between the elbows of Mendices and D’zan, although there was no entrance or window at that end of the chamber. Had he been there all along, lurking in the shadows?
Dahrima recognized the dark robe and its obscure shape. This was the stranger who had stood before Vireon’s bleeding body as she raced toward it. He had raised a hand, spoken a word, and turned the God-King to black iron.
The stranger raised his hands, his long fingers heavy with jeweled rings, and pulled back his hood. The face of Tyro stared at the war council. Yet the cheeks were somewhat leaner, the hairless chin not quite as strong. The dark eyes were full of mystery where Tyro’s had been full of glinting steel. His black hair was long and curly, wet with the fragrant oils of Yaskathan nobility. Yet this was no southern lord who had entered the palace like a gliding ghost.
“Lyrilan?” D’zan blinked and leaped from his chair, wrapping his arms about the Scholar King. D’zan laughed loudly, a strange and merry sound that broke the solemn aura of the chamber. D’zan greeted Lyrilan as if he, rather than Tyro, was Lyrilan’s true brother.
Mendices’ jaw fell open, his face limp with awe. He sank to one knee before the Scholar King. “Majesty…” That single word was all he could manage. The Warlord’s head bowed low, and he drew his short sword to lay it on the floor at Lyrilan’s feet.
“How did you come to Uurz so swiftly?” asked D’zan, releasing Lyrilan from his embrace. Lyrilan did not laugh, though his eyes gleamed with warmth. He seemed to hardly notice the kneeling Mendices.
“You must have left Yaskatha well before Tyro…” D’zan stopped himself.
“My brother, the Emperor of Uurz, is dead,” said Lyrilan. His eyes looked past Mendices at the faces gathered about the table. “I come to claim my father’s throne. And to stand with you all against the enemies of my city.”
“It was you,” said Khama, his eyes burning. “This man pulled me from the grip of Zyung’s dogs. His magic brought me to Uurz, where I could be healed. I owe him my life.”
“As do I,” said Vireon. Someone, probably Iardu or Sharadza, had told him of the stranger’s appearance in the valley. Dahrima had not known the Scholar King of Uurz was a sorcerer. Yet he must wield great power to quell Zyung in such a way, even for a moment. Her sisters had told her that the spell of iron did not last long, and that after the God-King broke it he had allowed the retreat instead of smashing it. Dahrima knew well that she and Vireon would surely be dead if not for Lyrilan’s intervention. He might have saved them all with his secret sorcery.
Iardu and Sharadza rose from their chairs to greet Lyrilan.
“They tell me you sent Zyung to iron,” said Iardu.
“Only for a moment,” said Lyrilan.
Iardu gazed into his eyes, as if inspecting the light reflected there. “Exile has taught you much,” said the Shaper. “How on earth did you manage such a feat?”
“Names confer power,” said Lyrilan. “I know the true name of Zyung, and the true names of all the Old Breed. Including yours, Iardu. Yet I promise not to send you to iron. Or salt.”
Iardu smiled. Another laugh escaped D’zan’s lips as he poured a cup of wine for his friend. Sharadza embraced Lyrilan. Dahrima saw that the two of them were also old friends.
“Rise, Mendices,” said Lyrilan, acknowledging the Warlord’s presence at last. “Fetch me the crown that Tyro wore.”
“At once, my King,” said Mendices.
Emperor,” Lyrilan corrected him. “There is no time for ceremony. I will assume my duties and my throne this night. As soon as this council of war is done.”
Mendices grabbed Lyrilan’s hand and kissed his rings awkwardly. “The Gods have blessed us with your speedy return. I live only to serve your will.”
Lyrilan said nothing to this. Mendices rushed from the room to find the crown for him.
“Please, sit,” said Lyrilan. He took the chair of Mendices.
“I have many questions for you,” said Iardu. “Yet I must ask first: How did you learn the forgotten names of the Old Breed? There is no one alive who retains this knowledge. Even we ourselves have forgotten them.”
“One can find even the most esoteric knowledge if one knows which books to read,” said Lyrilan. He accepted the cup of wine from D’zan. “I have always been a lover of books. If my brother were here, he would tell you that.”
Iardu introduced Vaazhia and Dahrima. Lyrilan greeted them with princely politeness. He shared familiar embraces with Vireon and Alua as well.
The lizardess stared at Lyrilan with interest, her ruby eyes shining. “You are the heir of Imvek the Silent,” she said. Her lips formed a flirtatious grin. “I knew him well.”
“And you, Great Lady,” said Lyrilan, “are as perceptive as you are lovely.” He raised the cup and drank deeply from it. All those about the ta
ble joined D’zan in a toast to Lyrilan’s return, and another to his impending coronation as Emperor.
Soon Mendices returned bearing a golden crown set with three great emeralds. A coterie of astonished courtiers and captains followed at his heels. They peered into the chamber and hailed the name of Lyrilan. The Son of Dairon ignored them all as Sharadza placed the crown on his head.
“Mendices, you shall retain your position as Warlord of Uurz until Lord Undroth arrives from Yaskatha,” said Lyrilan. “At such time the office will belong to him.” Mendices frowned, but nodded his acknowledgment. Dahrima could see that there was bad blood between these two. She did not understand the politics of Men, nor did she care to learn about it. Lyrilan ordered the doors of the council chamber closed, restoring the room to silence.
“Now,” said Lyrilan. “Time enough later for ceremonies, gratitudes, and feasts of friends. Let us speak of Almighty Zyung and his Holy Seraphim.”
Iardu’s luminous eyes turned to Khama, then scanned those of Vireon, Alua, Vaazhia, and Sharadza. Finally his gaze settled once more upon Lyrilan.
“We are seven,” said the Shaper. “It must be enough.”
16
The Scroll
A blanket of clouds obscured the sun and sky when Sungui first saw the walls of Uurz. All morning she had glided through the mist and rains above the Stormlands. The green plain grew thick with villages, rivers, streams, and roads as she approached the city. Clusters of spires and domes gleamed like wet amber beyond the granite ramparts. Many of the winding streets and broad plazas were as green as the outer steppe. The city’s double gate was shut tight, its battlements thick with pennons, spears, and the winged helms of sentinels.
Sungui spotted the palace easily, a glittering hill of pinnacles, minarets, and spiked cupolas surrounded by lush walled gardens. A thousand varieties of tree and flower lined the walkways between courtyards. The Emperor’s banner fluttered atop the three highest towers.
Guards pacing the grounds rushed to inform their commander of Sungui’s approach. She had chosen her female aspect for this duty, estimating that a male envoy might enjoy less hospitality. She pulled the tube of yellow bone from the sleeve of her vestment and descended feet first toward the steps of the palace proper. A squad of spearmen in gold and green armor moved to intercept her.
When Zyung’s attendant had roused her from sleep before dawn, she had met with the Almighty on the middle deck of the Daystar. At first she thought he might chastise her for lying with Ianthe. The Panther had still slumbered in Sungui’s cabin. Yet if Ianthe’s sedition and rebellious activities were hidden from Zyung’s eyes, Ianthe herself must be as well. “One does not need to be invisible to remain unseen,” the Panther had explained, “but only to redirect the watcher’s eye. Even the eye of a God-King.”
In that dim hour the sun still lurked below the purple horizon, yet any moment it would rise up red and golden to set the world aflame. Sungui walked into the glow of Zyung’s eyes as wind rustled the main sails above them. The dreadnoughts had not yet taken to the air, the oarsmen had not yet begun to flap the great wing-sails, but when the sun arose the Holy Armada would too. Moving at full speed, Zyung’s forces would reach Uurz well before dusk.
“You will be my envoy to Uurz,” Zyung told her. “A new Emperor sits upon its throne. He is the one who saved the Giant-King from death and set free the Feathered Serpent. His brother was a simple warrior, but this one is clever. He is a sorcerer whose magic hides Uurz from my vision, even as he makes plans to resist us. I offer this new and wiser Emperor the chance to surrender and save his people from further bloodshed. Fly to him, Sungui, and give him this offer. Let him know that we will be at his gates this day.”
Sungui bowed low. “It shall be done, Holiness.”
“Do not make the mistake of Damodar,” Zyung added. “You must enter and leave Uurz without violence.”
Sungui agreed. The Almighty disappeared once more into the shelter of his great cabin.
Before departing the ship, Sungui met briefly with Ianthe. They spoke under the shelter of the Panther’s misdirection. Then Sungui flew into the west as the sun climbed over the New Holy Mountain.
A few short hours later her feet touched down on the rosemarble steps of the Uurzian palace. A thicket of spearheads surrounded her on the instant.
“I carry a message for the Emperor of Uurz,” she told the spear-men in their own language. “From Zyung the Almighty, High Lord Celestial, Heart of the Living Empire. It must be delivered in person.”
She endured the indignity of allowing them to search her for weapons. Finding nothing except the capped tube of bone, they escorted her into the Grand Hall. There sat the ruler of Uurz, an assortment of wizards and advisors gathered about his dais. They watched her intently as she walked the length of the gallery toward the throne.
Four of the eight who stood about the dais were of the Old Breed. Sungui sensed the power seething inside their flesh, like flames dancing inside shuttered lanterns. She recognized Khama the Feathered Serpent in his human aspect. Two of the Old Breed were women, one of them wearing a reptilian aspect. That meant the ageless one in the orange robe and a cobalt flame dancing on his chest must be Iardu the Shaper. Unless they had traded shapes to mislead her.
Vireon the Giant-King stood there, also wearing a human aspect. His Queen, standing pale and silent at his side, was another of the Old Breed. D’zan of Yaskatha wore the marks of battle upon his thick limbs; his invincibility in the face of overwhelming foes had impressed Sungui. The last of the figures Sungui identified was the lean Warlord of Uurz, who had led the retreat after Tyro’s demise.
As the Almighty had mentioned, this new Emperor of Uurz was obviously not a warrior. His arms and legs were thin, his young face dominated by the squinted eyes of a sage or scholar. Yet Sungui sensed his power as she approached. She bowed from the waist, not too deeply, but enough to convey courtesy and respect. This many sorcerers might pounce on her and refuse her return to Zyung. They might salt and devour her easily if they chose to do so. She was overmatched and not a little afraid of the powers assembled here.
A herald announced her presence, dubbing her “The Emissary of the Invaders” as he presented her to “Lyrilan, Son of Dairon, Lord of the Sacred Waters, Scholar King of Uurz, and Emperor of the Stormlands.”
“What is your message?” asked the Emperor without formality. His eyes were cold as onyx, deep with mysteries. He seemed to know Sungui. He looked through her as if she were a wraith gliding into his throne room from beyond the living world.
Sungui raised the bone tube and offered it to the herald. “This parchment is for the Emperor’s eyes only,” she said. The herald took it from her hand with some caution. He walked up the carpeted steps to stand beside the throne. Lyrilan nodded. The herald uncapped the tube, pulled out the rolled parchment, and began to unroll it.
As he did this, Sungui spoke directly to Lyrilan.
“Great Emperor,” she began. “Zyung the High Lord Celestial asks for your submission to his rule, your allegiance to his Living Empire, and your complete surrender in his name. In exchange, he promises an end to the bloodshed and a peaceful transition of power. Your losses are already great, while his are miniscule. His power is untold, as is the power of those who serve him. Yet he would rather rule in peace than conquer in war. Accept these terms without condition, and your city will prosper as part of his domain. If you should decline, Uurz will fall into the flames of Celestial Light. The Almighty’s Holy Armada will be at your gates before sunset. I am to return at once with your answer.”
Lyrilan took the scroll from the herald’s hands. His eyes scanned the parchment carefully while he listened to the words of Sungui. When she fell silent, he continued reading the scroll. Sungui stood wrapped in calm, the eyes of the Emperor’s curious retinue upon her. At any second a burst of sorcery might accost her, yet she must not respond to violence. Each of the messages she now delivered was of utmost importance–both th
e spoken and the written. To negate them with open hostility would serve neither Zyung nor herself. She endured the burning stares in silence.
Eventually the Emperor finished reading, rolled up the scroll, and dropped it into his lap. His eyes fell once more upon Sungui. Lyrilan’s gaze carried more weight than all the other stares combined. The balance of the future lay in this very moment. How would the Scholar King respond? She hoped that a lust to avenge the death of his brother would not cloud his wisdom. Yet perhaps there had been no love between the two monarchs. Provincial Kings had often murdered their siblings for power in the Outer Provinces of the Living Empire. The Kings of the Five Cities could not be wholly different.
“Tell your God-King that I reject his offer,” Lyrilan said. “Tell him also that I know him for what he truly is. Tell him that soon he will taste the bitter end that has been denied him for ages. You may go.”
Sungui bowed, turned, and once again walked the interminable length of the Grand Hall. Rows of spears gleamed between the columns of white marble on either side. At any second she expected the bite of a blade, or the searing touch of sorcery on her back. Yet she exited the hall unmolested and stood again upon the polished steps. She breathed deeply of the citrus fragrance wafting from the gardens, then rose into the sky of gray and gold.
She flew northeast to intercept the Holy Armada.
Once more dreadnoughts filled the sky. Their shadows fell across the emerald plain like rolling thunderheads. The cloudbanks were ever-present here, yet the morning rains were long gone. The sun came and went above the beating canvas wings of two thousand sky-ships.
Sungui found the Almighty in his chamber, planning battle strategies with Eshad and three others. Eshad’s concerned face betrayed nothing of his secret alliance with Ianthe. Possibly he did not even remember that alliance. Possibly none of them did besides Sungui. Ianthe would return that memory when the moment was ripe. The moment for revolution was not far away.
Seven Sorcerers: Book Three of the Books of the Shaper Page 29