It would be far better for them if he died, along with Fallion, the emir, and anyone else who took that journey.
Talon suspected that she understood precisely why Connor and Drewish hoped to join the rescue party.
But Alun could not deny them, not without incurring their wrath—and risking retribution.
“I’ll do it,” Alun said. Connor reached out a hand to shake. Alun shook at the wrist, as was the custom with warriors. Moments later, the Madocs stalked away.
“You can’t help them,” Talon whispered when they were out of earshot. “Those men are up to no good. You can’t empower your enemies.”
“What else can I do?” Alun asked.
“Offer the dogs to the emir,” Talon said.
“What? And wind up with my throat cut in my sleep? No thank you.”
“I’ll protect you,” Talon said. She meant it.
“What, a girl—protect me? I’d rather you let me die.”
Talon suddenly realized that he had never seen her fight. In fact, on his world, he’d never seen a woman warrior.
It was hours later when the council finally broke up.
Erringale led the way from the darkened council chamber, with the emir, Daylan Hammer, the Wizard Sisel, and the rest of the Bright Ones behind. The Glories had departed.
Talon could see from the smile upon Daylan’s face that the council had gone well. Inside the great hall, Erringale climbed a short landing beside the river, and began to speak in his strange tongue, the words filling Talon’s mind.
“The White Council has spoken,” Erringale said. “The Bright Ones and Glories of our world have all been consulted, and a consensus has been reached.”
Talon wondered at those words. Certainly these few Bright Ones in the sanctuary couldn’t be “all” of the Bright Ones in the world.
So Talon could only imagine that Erringale had spoken to their minds, as he spoke to Talon now.
“The people of Luciare are free to remain here for three days, to rest yourselves, recover from your injuries, and refresh your spirits. But at the end of those three days, you must return to your world.”
At that, the people around Talon gave a cheer. Erringale raised his hands for silence and in a few moments, the people quieted. “Daylan Hammer has petitioned our help. He hopes to free your prince, Areth Sul Urstone, from the wyrmling horde, along with our Torch-bearer.
“We also wish to see them freed.
“But our people cannot lightly interfere in the affairs of the shadow worlds. Therefore, we offer aid in the form of council: we urge you to do harm to no man, be he human or wyrmling. To do violence to another is to injure your own soul.
“Still, we recognize that it is not always possible to remain free from another’s blood.”
New thoughts struck Talon as Erringale spoke, strange notions that she had never considered. It was as if a great argument had been raging for eons among the Bright Ones, and now a thousand thoughts came swirling into her head.
The war between the Bright Ones and Despair was an endless one, and was not a war between creatures of flesh. Rather, Talon recognized that the life of the spirit was more important to Erringale and his people than the life of the flesh. And certain acts did not just injure the spirit, they could wound it to death.
A man who steals from another, Erringale warned, a man who does injury to the truth, or who does violence to another, wounds his own soul in the process, and weakens his spirit. We warn you against such things. It is only as you remain true to your conscience that your spirit can grow and mature.
Talon was baffled by that. She considered Erringale’s argument, and then just as quickly set it aside, neither wholly rejecting it nor accepting it.
She had been trained to fight wyrmlings from birth. They had murdered millions of her people over the past few centuries.
Of course she would kill them in battle. She could see no dishonor in that.
“Though we cannot offer our service in battle,” Erringale said softly, “we wish to send emissaries to your world. I wish to come. I would commune with the True Tree, if you will let me.”
Talon understood more than the words that were spoken. She realized that Erringale would not visit her world unless he had an invitation from its people.
As one, the folk of Luciare said, “Come.”
At that, the emir of Dalharristan got up to speak. “For far too long, my friend Areth Sul Urstone has languished in the dungeons of Rugassa. He was once like a brother to me, and already I have told you of his character. I pray that he is still alive, though long have I feared for him. Now it is time to set him free. I ask for help as a friend, not as your leader. High King Urstone was your leader, and Areth is his heir. There is none worthier to lead us, none braver or wiser, none more compassionate or just.
“Few of you here knew him as I did. Few of you can call him friend. But I need you to look into your hearts and see if you can serve him now.
“I have sworn to the Glories that I will free Areth Sul Urstone and Fallion Orden, and that I will do it with as little violence as I can.
“But I am only one man. I need the strength and speed of many if I am to accomplish this task. I would take endowments from the others if I could—from the small folk of the world, who will soon be caught up in our war. But we stand in desperate need now. I cannot go searching afar.
“Among the Bright Ones there was once a race of lawmen called the Ael. They were given endowments by their people, strengthened by them. The Bright Ones have agreed to grant endowments once again, the first in many long years.
“Who among you can find the daring within yourselves to come with me? Who among you can offer up an endowment, that you might free your king?”
There was dead silence in the great hall. All that could be heard was the tinkling of water, the call of cave crickets. As a whole, the people of Luciare did not understand much about the endowment system yet. But Talon knew it well.
If you gave up your wit, you gave it up so long as both you and your lord should live. The chances were good that you would die an idiot, unable to feed yourself, unable to recognize your best friend or child or even the woman that you loved.
If you gave up strength, no matter how mighty you were, you became so enfeebled that you might not be able to hobble across a room or draw enough breath to speak. Many were the men who died after giving strength, for their hearts soon wore out. To give an endowment was a curse.
Talon was standing beside Alun. Suddenly Connor whispered “Now!” and gave Alun a shove, so that he went lurching forward.
Alun cleared his throat. He did not have to feign nervousness, for it came to his tongue naturally. “I—I,” he stammered. “I would like to offer my dogs . . .”
And he then fumbled, as if he could say no more.
Smart boy, Talon realized. He could not refuse to offer the dogs to the Madocs. But by feigning nervousness, he’d made half an offer.
Let the emir have the dogs’ strength and speed. Let the emir be empowered. And Alun could only hope that Connor and Drewish did not exact too much revenge.
A brief silence followed as the emir considered the offer. Seeing that Alun had fumbled his words, Connor stepped forward.
“I would join you in this quest,” Connor said. “And it is with heartfelt thanks that I accept Alun’s generous offer.”
The emir gave Connor a piercing look. Certainly he suspected Connor’s motives. “I believe,” he said dryly, “that Alun offered his dogs to me.”
At that moment, a man stepped forward, a wealthy merchant of forty years whose finery was perhaps unsurpassed in all of the warrior clans. His name was Thull-turock. In Caer Luciare he had been a wealthy merchant, but Talon recognized him as a man who had lived a double life. Upon Fallion’s world, he had been a powerful facilitator, a man who made his living by crafting forcibles, choosing potential Dedicates for his lords and then transferring endowments.
In a matter of two days, Thull-t
urock had risen to become one of the most influential men among the clans.
He strode forward, with glittering eyes like a snake’s, and shouted into the emir’s face. “And how do you propose to regain this prince of yours without taking endowments? For surely you will not receive them from my hand.”
“I . . .” The emir stood, confused. Thull-turock had long been a friend, and had dined with the emir at the lords’ table many a night, reveling in the emir’s presence, jesting with him. Now Thull-turock had turned against him.
“I will not grant you endowments,” Thull-turock repeated. “Once I called you friend, but I know you too well!”
Talon was stunned. She thought, The Madocs seem to have corrupted more men than I thought possible.
“What?” Tuul Ra demanded of Thull-turock. “Which of my good deeds do you decry?”
“It is not your good deeds upon this world that I decry,” Thull-turock shouted. “It was what you did upon the shadow world. It is what I suspect that you are destined to become that I decry.”
From an old woman at Talon’s back came a shout, “Murderer!” From around the camp arose cries of “Fiend!” “Warmonger!” “Monster!”
From the rage on various faces, Talon realized that hundreds of folks had evil memories of the emir, and a full third of the camp had heard rumors of what he’d done on Fallion’s world.
Talon had lived on both worlds. She felt that she should know what was wrong, but right now, she was baffled.
The emir only gaped in astonishment. His dark-skinned daughter, Siyaddah, came to his side defensively; tears sprang to her eyes, and she stood peering about like a wounded dove, shaken.
“Wait!” Daylan Hammer cried, calling for quiet. He spoke to Thull-turock in a soft and reasonable tone. “Does your law allow you to condemn a man for a crime that he has not committed? The emir is innocent. You know that! Look in your heart, and you must find him innocent.”
“Until now Tuul Ra has shown no desire to take endowments,” Thull-turock explained, “and so I have kept my silence. But you must know, I will not grant endowments to him. He must never taste the kiss of the forcible!”
Daylan said in a soft tone, reasonably, “You think that a taste of the forcible will corrupt him?”
“It has corrupted other men. It corrupted his shadow self. As a facilitator, I swore an oath never to grant endowments to a man that I mistrust.”
“The emir is made of better stuff than other men, I think,” Daylan argued. “Surely you would agree?”
Thull-turock growled, “You know what he did in Indhopal.”
Suddenly Talon understood—the Fiend of Indhopal, Raj Ahten. She had never met the man. Her father, Borenson, had helped kill him before she was born. Could the emir be the Raj’s shadow self?
It seemed impossible. Raj had been an old man when he’d marched against the nations of Rofehavan.
But had he been old, Talon suddenly wondered, or had his forcibles aged him?
He’d taken thousands of endowments of brawn, wit, and stamina, of course. And he’d taken many endowments of metabolism.
Like any man, he would have aged quickly afterward. If he’d taken eight or ten endowments of metabolism, he might have grown old and died within a decade.
Yet the emir seemed young to her—younger than Sir Borenson.
Then, she realized, her father had taken endowments of metabolism, too. Both men had aged preternaturally.
The emir stared at Thull-turock in blank horror. “What did I do on that other world?” he begged. “Tell me. Accuse me.”
“That was not the emir,” Daylan argued, forestalling the inevitable revelation with a wave of the hand. “It was but a shadow, a creature that this emir could have become.”
“And yet,” Thull-turock countered, “it seems that there is a pattern to things. In Indhopal, Raj Ahten was the most powerful lord of his time. In this world, the emir is much the same—a man with an unnatural talent for war.”
“And so you fear that he will become another Raj Ahten?”
“I cannot help but see the potential,” Thull-turock said. “Don’t be afraid to give him endowments,” Daylan said. “It is true that the kiss of the forcible corrupts many, but it will not sway the emir.”
“So say you,” Thull-turock argued. “But Raj Ahten loved the forcible, and craved it like nothing else.”
The emir stepped between the men, and raised his hands in surrender. “Thull-turock, if you do not trust me to take endowments, then I will not. But I cannot go back on my oath. I must free Areth Sul Urstone.”
“And if you were to try to break into Rugassa without endowments my friend,” Daylan said gently, “it would be suicide. Even with your talent, I fear that you could not stand against a Runelord.”
Daylan looked to Thull-turock pleadingly. “The emir is unlike his shadow. He is mature, and wise. But Raj Ahten was only a child when first he felt the ecstasy of the forcible.” Daylan turned to Thull-turock and asked, “How many children have you heard of who can resist the forcible, once having been subjected to it? It is a heady wine.”
Thull-turock mused, “A man who will become a sot will do so no matter how old he is when he begins to drink.”
“Perhaps,” Daylan said. “But we are not talking about wine here—we are talking about greed, and vanity, and lust for power. That is what destroyed Raj Ahten. But who has seen such vices in the emir?” Daylan reached into his tunic and pulled out a small book with a doeskin binding. “I found this among Fallion’s effects. It is the Earth King’s own journal. It reveals much about Raj Ahten and how he fell.” Daylan raised the book overhead and spoke to the crowd. “Raj Ahten was a young man of fourteen, lusting for power, when he first tasted the fruits of the forcible. He had seen reaver attacks in his own land, reavers slaughtering his friends and father; ancient guardians revealed to him that the reavers were going to rise from the earth in force and that he was among the few who had the means, the strength, and the will to stop them—”
“Much as our emir hopes to save the world from the wyrmling horde,” Thull-turock put in.
“But with one difference,” Daylan countered, “The Raj was but a child, filled with a child’s daydreams. And he was surrounded by sorcerers, flameweavers that pandered to him and aroused his lusts.
“The emir is no child,” Daylan continued. “He has held power—held it and lost it again, so that its allure has faded. Now he rejects your honors. He does not ask to be your king. He asks only for the boon of saving the best man among you.
“He has learned the price of leadership. He does not ask to direct these people, rather only that he be able to restore the rightful leader to power.
“How can you argue against that?”
Thull-turock inclined his head, thinking. He took a step away from Daylan Hammer, and peered off into the dim recesses of the cavern while he considered. “Both Raj and the emir were convinced that they were doing what was right when they started down this path. And Fire whispers to them, seeks to claim them. Surely you cannot ask me to grant endowments to someone that you know to be a flameweaver.”
“Is he a flameweaver?” Daylan asked. He turned to the emir. “I have never heard such.”
The emir could have lied, Talon thought. But he admitted softly, “I have some small skill. I can keep smoke from following me at the fire, and I can twist flames if I want. But I have never sought that power, and in fact I shy away from it. It fills you with a hunger that can never be fulfilled, and so it must be shunned.”
That satisfied some, but others remained unconvinced. “Raj Ahten became the greatest flameweaver his world had ever known,” Thull-turock said. “In the end, he lost his humanity.”
“But our emir has not gone down that path,” Daylan countered. “If I were you, I would rejoice that our Emir Tuul Ra has this gift. If we are to rescue Fallion Orden and Prince Areth Sul Urstone, we will have need of a flameweaver. Vulgnash has consummate skill in the art, and he has endowm
ents to boot. Thus Fallion has proven helpless against him. But perhaps Fallion and the Emir Tuul Ra together . . .”
Daylan let the thought hang in the air. “But we cannot rely upon their skill alone. We have no way of knowing how many endowments Vulgnash has garnered; we must suspect that he will be one of the wyrmlings’ greatest champions.
“Thus, the emir may be our only hope. And he will need to have more than just endowments—he must begin to develop Raj Ahten’s mastery of Fire.”
Talon had been inclined to give the emir a chance, to judge him on his own merits. But suddenly she found her heart thrilling from fear.
“This is madness!” Thull-turock exclaimed. “You would create a new Raj Ahten?”
“Not all flameweavers are evil,” Daylan said. “There are men who have mastered their passions to such a degree that Fire could not control them. In ancient times, some of these men were more than monsters. They became vessels of light, pure and radiant, filled with wisdom and intelligence and compassion. They were great healers. Fire revealed the future to them, and hidden dangers, and thus they were a boon to their people.
“Hence, they were called the ‘Bright Ones,’ and even today, the ignorant people of Fallion’s world call all men of the netherworld such, not realizing that thereby they are bestowing false honors upon many.” Daylan jutted his chin toward Lord Erringale, and Talon knew that he, too, must be a skilled flameweaver. “Of all Bright Ones, the man you call Fallion Orden was perhaps the greatest.”
“My little Fallion?” Thull-turock asked in astonishment.
“Has been born time and again,” Daylan said, “a thousand times over. For eons he has sought a way to bind the worlds, and finally he has succeeded.
“If the Bright Ones’ prophecies prove true, great things are at hand: a war that will rage across the universe, and that, if all goes well, could end with all of the worlds reuniting into one perfect whole, where death will be but a memory, and all pains and wants vanquished.
“That world is what Fallion seeks to create. That is what our enemy hopes to thwart—or to sieze.”
The Wyrmling Horde Page 15