The Wyrmling Horde

by David Farland

  “One last thing,” he said. “There are men on this world. Some of you have heard of them. You call them the ‘Bright Ones.’ Their ways will be strange to you, and their magics may be frightening. You must not anger them. Neither should you quarrel with them, or lie to them, or steal from them.

  “They have no desire to harm you, but their conduct to you may seem impossibly harsh.

  “Most importantly, they will not welcome you. It is my hope that we will meet none on our journey. And if you happen upon them, and think them cruel, know only that their enemies are far crueler.

  “If we are discovered, the Bright Ones will likely banish us back to your world. You will not be allowed to stay. I am opening a door to paradise, but only for a brief moment. You cannot stay forever. Understand this, and enter at your own peril.”

  He tried to bar the way for an instant more, but the netherworld beckoned, and with a shout of triumph the woman went charging through the door in the air.

  Daylan is wiser than I thought, Talon decided. He has just made himself our king, for no one will support the Madocs so long as they find themselves in a new and dangerous world.

  While the crowd streamed through, nearly forty thousand strong, Talon suddenly felt a strange reticence.

  This is more dangerous than we know, she thought. It may be more dangerous than it is possible for us to know.

  3

  * * *

  RHIANNA’S WELCOME

  It is only when you know that no one—not family, not friend, nor any force in the universe—cares for you, that you begin to learn the virtue of self-reliance. It is only yourself that you can trust, and only yourself that you must remain true to.

  Thus, self-reliance is the Mother of All Virtues—the kind of fierceness, cunning, and unwavering resolve that one must master in order to succeed in life.

  —From the Wyrmling Catechism

  That afternoon, Rhianna rested on the wind as she soared toward the Courts of Tide, riding thermals of hot air that rose from the plains below.

  The sun shone full upon her back, warming her wings. It had not been a full day since she had won them in battle, pulling the magical artifacts from the corpse of a Knight Eternal; she was not used to them yet. She was a fledgling still.

  Learning to fly was every bit as hard for her as learning to walk is for a toddler. The journey of more than three hundred miles in a single day had been made only with frequent stops, where Rhianna had fallen in a heap, exhausted. She was dripping sweat from every pore—partly from her exertion, partly from the heat of the day.

  But as the day warmed she had discovered currents of air rising along the sides of the hills, and if she held her wings rigid, she could ride those currents like a hawk.

  From Rhianna’s vantage point, she could see for miles in every direction.

  She had passed this way only a week ago, walking through the pine forests and tramping through fen and field. She knew the landmarks.

  But the land had changed. The trees and grass were dying, the edges of leaves were going brown. With the binding of the worlds, all of the world was falling under the wyrmlings’ curse, a blight that killed wholesome plants and would leave only thorns and thistles and the most hardy of gorse.

  Ancient ruins now rose from the ground everywhere—strange monolithic buildings, broken towers, thick stone walls.

  These were ruins from the big folk, the warrior clans that had fled Caer Luciare. Rhianna had not imagined how marvelous their culture had once been.

  The remains of great canals crisscrossed the land.

  She did not have time to study the wonders. An urgent need was upon her. She had been charged to warn Fallion’s people of the wyrmling threat and see if she could make allies of men who had once been his enemies.

  More important, Fallion, the man she loved, had been taken captive to Rugassa. She would need help if she was going to free him.

  She had little to bargain with—only a few forcibles, hidden in her pack. But a few, along with the promise of many more, might well be enough.

  As she winged toward the Courts of Tide, she marveled at the changes that had taken place there.

  For a thousand years, the Courts of Tide had been the richest city in all of Rofehavan. Built upon seven islands, the city was surrounded by the waters of the Carroll Sea, and great bridges spanned from island to island.

  But now everything was amiss. The ground had risen, leaving fields of rotting kelp and sea urchins to the east of the city. The odor of brine and decomposing fish assailed her. Carcasses from beached whales and a leviathan littered the plains.

  Down below, islands had become hills. Ships in the harbor were stranded on dry ground, miles from any shore. Rhianna peered to the east, seeking for a glimpse of the ocean. She could not be certain, but she thought that she saw water far in the distance, twenty or more miles out. But it could have just been vapors rising from what was once the ocean floor.

  Swooping into a dive, Rhianna headed for the old palace at the Courts of Tide. It still stood, tall and pristine. Its white towers gleamed in the morning sun. Atop its pinnacles, standards snapped in a sharp breeze—white flags with the red Orb of Internook at their center. Where once there had been alcoves open to the sea, where undines had risen on the waves to take council with ancient kings, Rhianna saw only rocks and ruin. All along the island’s old shore, shanties and fishermen’s huts and old inns leaned precariously, like so much driftwood washed up on the beach.

  Children could be seen down below, where once there had been forty feet of water, searching through the remains of tide pools for crabs and urchins, while adults prowled about old shipwrecks, perhaps seeking for lost treasure.

  Rhianna banked to her left and folded her wings, dropping toward the main road to the palace.

  She was two hundred yards out when someone let a ballista bolt fly from the castle wall. She folded her wings, creating a smaller target, and hit the ground hard.

  It was a terrible landing. She lost her footing and went tumbling, head over heels.

  It might have been all that saved her. The marksmen upon the castle wall stopped firing, as one of the men shouted, “I got it! I shot it clean through.”

  Others cheered and celebrated.

  Rhianna climbed to her knees and cried out, “Parley. I come in peace. I come to speak with Warlord Bairn on an urgent matter, concerning the safety of his borders.”

  Bairn was the current usurper squatting at the Courts of Tide. He didn’t really rule the place. The city was becoming a barren ghetto, where gangs fought for food and shelter. He was a mere vulture, picking at the remains of Mystarria.

  Only when Rhianna looked up to the castle wall did she notice the bodies. There were three of them, hanging by their wrists in the shadows just below the battlements and just above the drawbridge. Human they were, but not like the small folk. They were the corpses of humans from the warrior clans at Caer Luciare. They had the bony head plates and the nubs of horns at their temples.

  Two men and a woman hung dead on the castle wall.

  Immediately Rhianna knew what had happened. When the worlds were bound, there were some people who lived on two worlds at once, people who had shadow selves. And when the worlds became one, those who lived on both worlds were bound into one person, retaining the memories and skills and abilities of both.

  It had happened to her foster sister Talon, and to the Wizard Sisel.

  But for reasons that Rhianna could not understand, when the two were bound into one, there seemed to be no pattern as to where they ended up. Talon’s two “selves” had merged at Castle Coorm, though one of her shadow selves had been hundreds of miles away, in Caer Luciare. And Rhianna knew from news at Caer Luciare that Sir Borenson’s two halves must have merged on the far side of the world, for Talon’s shadow father had gone missing from the fortress.

  Perhaps one personality dominated the other, and the two halves merged with the dominant personality, Rhianna mused. Or maybe som
e other factor came into play. Perhaps it was all just dumb luck, random chance.

  But these three unfortunate souls had merged here at the Courts of Tide. And because of their strange appearance, they had been killed.

  The captain of the guard shouted, “Hold! Don’t move!”

  He was a big man, with golden-red hair and leather armor made of sealskin. He didn’t bother wearing a helm.

  He eyed Rhianna, curious. He demanded, “What are you?”

  “A woman,” Rhianna said. “I come as a friend, bearing a message.”

  The captain studied her suspiciously. By some instinct, Rhianna flapped her wings slowly, trying to cool herself. This amused the captain, and he leaned over the castle wall, peering down at her, as if to peek down Rhianna’s blouse.

  “Never have I seen a dove with bigger wings or finer breasts,” the captain said. Behind him the pikemen and marksmen upon the wall chortled at the jest. “If you are really a woman, prove it.”

  Anything I say will just be a joke to him, Rhianna realized. She refused to rise to the bait, and just stood glaring at him.

  He was dying to find out how she had gotten her wings, and Rhianna was just as determined never to tell him.

  “So,” the captain of the guard said at last, “you hope to speak to Warlord Bairn. On what business?”

  She decided to command his interest.

  “A mountain of blood metal has risen within the borders of Mystarria,” Rhianna told him. “I thought that I should warn Bairn to get it, before his enemies do.”

  The captain of the guard suddenly straightened and took interest. “Where is this mountain?”

  “That is information I will sell—to Warlord Bairn alone.”

  The captain’s brown eyes glittered with malice. He raised his hand. “Archers!” he commanded, and suddenly dozens of bowmen rose up from behind the merlons of the castle wall. “Ready arrows.”

  The archers bent their bows to the full.

  The captain studied Rhianna, to see if she’d squirm.

  “Kill me,” Rhianna promised, “and Bairn will have you hanging from the city gates before sundown.”

  The captain considered her threat. He warned the archers, “Don’t let her leave,” then turned and raced from the castle gate.

  Rhianna sat down and waited, folding her wings about her. The artificial wings draped over her shoulder suddenly, so that the folds of skin looked like a crimson dress.

  The archers held their bows at the ready for long minutes, until their arms grew tired and they went to rest.

  Bairn did not summon her to his great hall. Perhaps he feared this woman with wings. So he came to the top of the gate himself, like a king negotiating a siege.

  He was a tough-looking man, with dark hair and a sharp widow’s peak. He had a broad, cruel face and thin lips. His eyes seemed colorless and looked glazed, as if he had been drinking.

  “Name yourself,” he demanded. He was wearing a cloak of black, and as he casually leapt up and sat upon a merlon, he suddenly reminded Rhianna of a huge black vulture worrying over a corpse.

  “Rhianna,” she said, “Rhianna Borenson.” She did not want to use her real name, and so she used the name of her foster father.

  “Borenson . . .” he said. “That name is known to me.”

  “My father was once guardsman to the Earth King,” she said. “He held forth at this very castle.”

  “You have his red hair,” Bairn mused. That was true enough, though she was not blood kin to Borenson. Still, it was a name that commanded respect.

  “I’ve come to give you warning,” Rhianna said. “There is a new danger in the land—a type of giant, called wyrmlings.”

  “We have found some,” Bairn said, nodding toward the dead folk on his walls. “They are responsible for this . . . mess.” His eyes roved across the land, taking in the fields of rotting kelp below them.

  Rhianna didn’t know if she should argue. Warlord Bairn was known to be a brawler, and took offense when none was intended.

  More important, she needed Bairn to help save Fallion—the man who was truly responsible for the mess.

  “The wyrmlings are larger than these,” she said, jutting her chin toward the dead. “These poor folks are humans, or what passed for human upon the shadow world.

  “But wyrmlings stand a head taller, and are broader at the shoulders. Their skin is whiter than bone, and their eyes are like pits of ice. They cannot abide the daylight. They eat only flesh. They think that human flesh is as good as any other.”

  “So,” Bairn said, “these humans were their enemies? Or were they seen merely as food?”

  “Sworn enemies,” Rhianna said.

  “What are the wyrmlings’ numbers?” Bairn asked, like any good commander.

  “Millions,” Rhianna said. “They command strange magics. Their lords and emperors are wights, and no common weapon can kill one. My mother, the Lady Myrrima, is a water wizard, and had blessed my own weapons, and so by luck I slew one of their Knights Eternal, a creature more dead than alive. I took my wings from it.”

  With that, she unfolded her wings, and raised them in the morning light. Until that instant, she suspected that Bairn had not been willing to believe her. But he could not deny the evidence of his own eyes.

  “You say that they have blood metal?” he asked.

  “A mountain of it,” she affirmed. “When the two worlds were bound, the mountain rose from the plains. Upon that other world, the folk had little use for it. Now it is a treasure untold.”

  Warlord Bairn got a cunning look. “Why would you tell me all this—you the daughter of the vaunted Sir Borenson?”

  Rhianna considered a lie, but settled on a half-truth. Somehow, she could tell that this was not going well. “He loved this land, these people. He would not want to see them harmed. You could be a powerful ally in the coming wars.”

  Bairn seemed to think a moment. “You would have us go to war against giants—giants at war with the men of their own world? Why should we unite with the smaller humans? Perhaps there is some way that we could make the wyrmlings our allies?”

  “Haven’t you heard me? They eat human flesh. They have a mountain of blood metal. They . . . at best they would make you their slaves, though I think they’d prefer to make you a meal.”

  That seemed to satisfy Bairn. He stood straighter, looking less like a vulture.

  “And where is this mountain? My captain said that you planned to name your own price for it.”

  “First, we must see if you will meet my price,” she said.

  Bairn snorted, as if this was but a formality. He would give anything for a mountain of blood metal. “What is it that you want?”

  Rhianna did not like the look of him. He glanced away to the north and south. He acted as if he were too busy to waste his time with her, but she suspected that he feared to look her in the eye.

  “There are two men held captive in the wyrmling stronghold. When you get the blood metal, I want you to take endowments, break into the wyrmling stronghold, and set my friends free.”

  “Let me get enough endowments,” Bairn said, “and I’ll slaughter the lot of these giants for you. Then you can walk into the wyrmling dungeons and set your friends free yourself.”

  “Agreed,” Rhianna said, but she still felt uneasy.

  “Now,” Bairn asked, “where is this mountain of blood metal?”

  Rhianna feared to tell him the truth. She wanted to see what he would do once he got the information. So she devised a ruse.

  If he is an honorable man, she decided, I can tell him the truth later.

  “It is hidden beneath a wyrmling stronghold, on the slopes of a volcano, eighty miles northwest of the city of Ravenspell.” She had just given him directions to Rugassa. If he followed them, he’d lead his men to battle against the entire wyrmling horde.

  He smiled warmly, and then glanced to the captain of his guard. “Kill her,” he said dismissively.

  Bairn turn
ed to leave just as the captain of the guard raised and dropped his hand, signaling the archers to fire.

  Rhianna was ready for them. She whirled to the right and leapt over the bridge as arrows and ballista bolts plinked onto the paving stones beside her.

  She plummeted fifty feet before she opened her wings, catching the wind. She veered beneath the bridge and skimmed above rocks that had been submerged just three days ago, and now were covered with white barnacles and colorful starfish.

  She flapped her wings and went soaring away, using the bridge above her as a shield. Arrows plunked above her, raining down on the stone bridge, snapping on impact. The archers had done their best, but had not been able to get a clean shot.

  Now their chance was gone, and Rhianna flew beyond their range.

  She felt saddened by the warlord’s betrayal. She had hoped to make an ally, and instead had found only an enemy. He would take his men to war against the wyrmlings, of that she felt sure. He couldn’t afford to ignore the risk.

  But who will help me now? she wondered.

  Rhianna consulted a mental map. There was nothing left of Mystarria to save. The warlords of Internook had taken the coast. Beldinook had taken the west, while South Crowthen claimed the middle of the country. Gaborn’s realm was no more. There was little to save, little worth fighting for.

  So where else should I go? Rhianna wondered. Beldinook was now the most powerful nation in all of Rofehavan, with its fine armor, strong lancers, and heavy warhorses. The castles and fortresses of Beldinook had been spared in the past war. But Beldinook was a sworn enemy of Mystarria and its ruler, Allonia Lowicker, would not be willing to help rescue Fallion Sylvarresta Orden, a scion of Mystarria.

  Rhianna considered flying to Heredon.

  It had once been the queen’s home, and it too was rich with steel and people, but it had fallen under the shadow of South Crowthen.

  Where else can I look for help? she wondered.

  Fleeds, the land of the horse clans.

  The land of my youth, she thought. Her mother had been born in Fleeds. Rhianna’s grandmother had been queen. For a short time, Rhianna had been raised there. Her time in Fleeds had been the happiest time of her life.