The Foundlings (The Swords of Xigara)

by J. Mark Miller

  Onahim stood tall as burning shrapnel flew past his head. His hands were planted on his hips and his head was thrown back in a bawdy laugh.

  Multiple blasts sent out sharp concussions of air, snuffing out all but the most tenacious flames inside the bakery. Plumes of flour shot into the air, settling back down to cover the area in a fine white coat and further suppressing the flames. The company looked up to see a passage had been blasted through to the street beyond.

  Zalas stood and dusted himself off. “Let’s move. We can be on the boat in half an hour if there are no more obstacles.” He shouldered his gear and ran toward the flattened bakery. The others followed, trailing behind and stepping carefully through the ruins to reach the roadway beyond.

  Onahim laughed all the way to the Boar Gate.

  14

  The Helisso Mountains

  Tander gasped for breath as brisk water shocked him back to consciousness.

  “I can’t believe he fainted,” Bita’s sardonic voice cut through the fog of Tander’s confusion.

  “Leave him be, dwarf,” Vonedil said. “How would you feel if the fate of millions were dropped on your shoulders?”

  The dwarf sat with a heavy thump, reaching for more food on the way down. “I wouldn’t have fainted, that’s for certain.”

  Sidero had transformed to his humanoid form and stood nearby, concern etched on his saurian face. He offered the boy a clawed hand and hauled him to his feet. “You need more iron in your spine, manling.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Tander took the proffered claw. “I’m just having trouble taking this all in.”

  “Find your resolve. Your journey is only beginning, and we have far to go.”

  “We?” Tander asked. “You’ll be going with me?”

  “Yes,” the dragon nodded. “Not all the way, but our paths are somewhat intertwined. My own destiny lies in the same direction.”

  Tander struggled to grasp the changes his life. Nothing had made sense since his mother’s death, nothing but the time he’d spent with his music. Everything he was sure of was gone. His mother dead. His father a stranger. Himself an outcast.

  “Why me?” he whispered.

  Bita groaned through stuffed cheeks. “Ugh. Why do humans ask silly questions? They never like the answers.”

  “Peace, Bita,” the dragon chided. “Tander, hear me.”

  The boy looked into the dragon’s swirling eyes. Though hard as iron, Tander saw a softness there, and heard compassion in the dragon’s voice.

  “You weren’t chosen by chance. Had destiny come to pass thirty years ago your father would have been chosen. Thirty years hence it would have been one of your own children. We don’t choose the times we live in, and must be subject to the whim of history, but that doesn’t make our choosing an accident.

  “Have no doubt, Tander, son of Festin. Onúl chose you for this task. He’s placed his hand upon you, so don’t despair. He never calls us to do more than we’re able, though the burden sometimes seems impossible to bear.”

  Tander glanced at Vonedil who was smiling warmly. The bard had taught him the same truths. Now the man’s interest in him made more sense. Somehow, Vonedil had known the future all along.

  “So, what now?” the boy asked.

  Sidero spread his arms wide. “Look around you. Everything you’ve seen within my caverns has been preserved to stand against the very days in which we find ourselves. It was more than compassion that stirred me to save lives. It was not some respect or nostalgia that prompted me to gather the wisdom of the ages and preserve the works of history. It was more than pure strategy that made me amass arms enough to equip an army. Do you know what it was?”

  “No,” Tander said.

  “It was the knowledge that all the people of Awia must stand together against the rising darkness or be swallowed whole.”

  Sidero sprouted a pair of wings and leapt into the air. He flew to the top of the stone pillar and snatched the covering away. A giant egg shaped orb rested atop the column, it’s color akin to that of the dragon’s iron scales, but marbled with streaks of white. It seemed to pulsate with an inner fire.

  “This is a dragon orb,” Sidero explained. “They take shape with us inside our eggs, growing as we grow.”

  Tander walked across the platform for a closer look. “What does it do?”

  “Dragons speak mind to mind through them. It’s how I learn what’s going on in the wider world. I communicate with my brothers and sisters this way.”

  “Do you ever, you know, talk to the bad ones?”

  An echo of regret rippled across Sidero’s face, a pain ancient but never forgotten. “No, I’ve heard nothing but taunts and threats from those siblings for centuries.” Sidero threw the velvet mantle back over the orb and floated down to the floor.

  “It’s what I have heard from my kin that concerns us today,” Sidero said. “Our time grows thin. Armies are massing in the north. Yrch besiege the Celedine mountains. The city of Madhebah is aflame, and the Huwm are gathering under a united banner for the first time in millennia. We must move against the tide.”

  “How?” Tander asked.

  “I cannot answer for you. Only you can make that decision.”

  Tander stepped back and frowned. “Why me?”

  “Not again,” complained Bita.

  Sidero ignored the dwarf. “Because no one can force you to follow your destiny. Even if I could see it clearly, I can only point you down the path. Only you can choose where it leads you.”

  “But if an ancient dragon can’t figure it out, what chance do I have?”

  Vonedil slipped a hand over Tander’s shoulder. “You’re not alone. We’ll guide you the best we can.”

  “Follow me,” Sidero suddenly said. He turned and strode to the platform’s far side. Behind them, Bita battled his way to his feet, holding a chunk of salt pork in one hand and a turkey leg in the other.

  They walked down another of the dais’s ramps and took a path that led toward a large pool of water at the back of the cavern. A narrow path marked the water’s border, leading off into darker shadows beyond. The followed this path and left the great cavern and its bright light behind.

  It wasn’t long until the only illumination came from fungi growing on the walls of the tapering cave. The air grew damp and water sweated from the walls in tiny rivulets, trickling down to cross the path and empty into the pool. Portions of the trail were submerged under a few shallow inches of water, causing the dragon to mutter about the tide coming in.

  After they’d walked the better part of a mile the path began to wind like a snake as it hugged the dwindling space between the water and the wall. Tander could nearly reach out and touch the far wall, but the ceiling never came into view. The water eventually split from the path as the dragon led them through a gap hewn from the rock. The path straightened out but its slope angled downward. The walls closed in around them until they came to a final, sharp turn.

  A heavy door barred the way.

  Tander squinted in the low light and found the door was not identical to the one at the entrance of Sidero’s chamber. Where the other had been heavy black iron, this was slab of burnished steel. Missing from the door were the claw holes, and Tander wondered how the door could be opened.

  The dragon lifted a taloned hand toward the door. The ground began to quiver, forcing the two humans to steady themselves against the chiseled walls. Bita stood with his legs spread wide as a low rumbled echoed through the cave.

  Then the steel door disappeared into the surrounding granite.

  Tander looked at the bard for explanation, but Vonedil only shrugged.

  “Hmph,” Bita huffed. “Gravitic magic comes in handy, don’t it?”

  Sidero turned and shushed his guests. The shrouded depths of the cavern made him seem to tower higher than usual.

  “Say nothing of who you are or what you know. Though not an enemy, the one you meet here is not to be trusted. He might betray you before your dest
iny has a chance to begin. Ware your words.”

  Sidero led them through the doorway. The faint light grew brighter as they meandered through the cramped passage, revealing the last thing Tander expected to see.

  A giant in chains.

  Rare and reclusive beings, most people on Awia went their entire lives without seeing a member of the giant race. Those who did often rued the experience, provided they lived to tell the tale. As witnesses to events of historic significance, a giant’s appearance often foreshadowed imminent catastrophe.

  “Ah, our captor returns bringing guests,” The giant’s voice was like a chorus of a thousand voices. “You have broken your patterns. We acknowledge the significance.”

  Vonedil’s face turned red, and his voice rose in something akin to the fire of his youth. “You’re holding a giant captive? How could you, someone so dedicated to freedom, commit such crime??”

  “You don’t understand,” began the dwarf.

  The old bard turned on the dwarf. “What’s to understand? How could you, a former slave, condone the enslavement of another, especially a member of the most pacifistic race on Awia?”

  “My good bard,” the giant interrupted, “we are not enslaved, but rather imprisoned. A fine distinction to be sure. Detained to restrain our insatiable curiosity.”

  “Enough,” the dragon rumbled. “I need not explain myself, but I’ll tell the tale. I found Tir some years ago, snooping about at the southern end of the mountains. I don’t know how they manage it, but giants have an uncanny ability to discover secrets.”

  “We are students of history,” Tir said. “There are patterns, and it is but a simple matter to follow trails where probability leads.”

  “I found Tir and knew he was looking for this sanctuary,” Sidero said. “It was only a matter of time until he found it, and that I couldn’t allow. I knocked him unconscious, carved a tunnel through the mountains and sealed it shut behind us.”

  “But why?” Tander asked. “How could his knowing be so bad?”

  “Giants share a hive mind,” Sidero said. “What one sees, they all see. What one knows, they all know. What the giants know, they will share with anyone who asks.”

  “Knowledge is not a commodity to be bought and sold,” Tir’s crowd of voices held a tinge of anger.

  Sidero rounded on the giant, smoke wafting from his nostrils. “You would give aid to the Enemy at the cost of many lives. Is life worth nothing to you and your kind? Are the lives of thousands not worth the simple act of discretion?”

  The giant closed his eyes and turned his head away, as if warding off unwanted knowledge. Tander watched the behemoth in growing anger as he listened to the exchange. Understanding of the dragon’s accusations had slowly dawned in his mind, and he was infuriated.

  “You’d sell us out to the Huwm,” Tander blurted. “All the Deceiver would need do is ask and you’d tell him secrets? I thought your kind were servants of Onúl.”

  “We are,” the giant chorused, “in our own way.”

  Tir’s words rang false.

  “The giants have set themselves up as impartial observers of history,” Sidero said. “They’ve become so dedicated to knowledge that they worship it as their god. In their conceit they tell themselves they serve the greater good by their neutrality. But it also means they’ll tell either side anything in their misguided efforts to stay unbiased.”

  “How have you safeguarded the sanctuary from discovery?” asked Vonedil. “Surely the others could track him here.”

  “I warned the lot of them that I’d let this one rot to death if they tried, or revealed the location of my home. There’s nothing more important to Tir’s craved race then one of their own. If one of them dies before full communion with their people, then the unique knowledge they possess dies with them.”

  Tander’s outrage hadn’t cooled. He stepped toward the giant. “You’d give up the location of this sanctuary at the expense of her citizens, but not at the risk of your own skin? Sounds to me you do put a price on knowledge, one you’re not willing to pay yourself.”

  The boy turned away in disgust, balling up a fist to pound at the chamber wall. “How can you claim to follow the Light?”

  “They no longer see the Light,” the dragon answered. “They’re far removed from Him.”

  The giant rose with a bellow. A roar like the ocean flowed from his mouth. “We are not!” Tir pulled hard against his bonds, but the chains kept him out of reach of his visitors. “Our purpose is ours and ours alone, given to us to follow as we see fit.”

  “Then tell me, Tir,” Sidero said. “How is it possible that a people who share all knowledge in common, a people who never forget anything any one individual among them has experienced, can no longer remember the face of Onúl as you saw him under the shadows of the Worldtree? How is such a thing possible?”

  Tir bowed his head, tears beginning to flow down his cheeks. When he finally answered, it was no longer with the voice of the multitude, but in a raw, rasping whisper. “We lost those memories long ago.”

  “Lost,” Sidero scoffed. “They weren’t lost, they were taken from you. That was your punishment for turning away from his purpose. He stripped those memories away. You can’t remember the kindness of his eyes, the love in his voice, or the care of his touch. Your gifts are bereft of joy, and you fill your days with false impartiality and self-importance. What a sad little people you’ve become.”

  The giant sat and sobbed, holding his head in his hands. The others looked on without pity.

  “What do you want from us?” the chorus of voices returned, but without their former majesty.

  “Choose to do good. Tell us what goes on beyond these walls.”

  Tir’s head snapped back. His eyes opened wide in something like terror, clouding over until only milky white remained. His mouth moved soundlessly as if he wanted to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Manacled hands tore at his throat, trying to drive the muteness away.

  Then the dam in his maw gave way and the sound of his voice was overwhelming. The entire race of giants spoke as one through his mouth.

  “The heir comes. An heir of Man yet not a man. An heir not of Men, but for a man. War bestrides the land, greater far than the strife of ages past. Great cities of men shall topple and burn. Hatred takes wing from the north and seeks the heir. Instruments of cruelty are shaped from the bowels of the earth.

  “Bearers walk the lands seeking the Seven, but two are lost. Fools helm empires and seek dark wisdom. One heir is lost, another is hidden, and the deeps are restless. Trees are awakened and see not. Ancient words are broken and renewed. Find the lost ere all is lost.”

  Then Tir’s great head lolled forward and he slumped in his chair.

  “Hmph, typical cryptic tripe,” Bita huffed. “Useless.”

  “No,” Vonedil whispered. “This was something more, something not heard on this world for millennia.”

  “An oracle,” Sidero nodded in agreement, “a foretelling of things done and yet undone. It seems Onúl isn’t done with the giants after all.”

  “What’s it all mean?” Tander held his palms out. “None of it made sense.”

  “Some of it did to me, manling. We can reason it out together along the way.”

  “I still don’t know where we’re going.”

  “Ain’t you heard nothing?,” groaned Bita. “You’re going on an adventure.”

  15

  Hocsaros

  Y’neth woke from her long sleep, head pounding with every heartbeat. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, or even where she was. Only one thing was clear, she wasn’t where she should be, where she last remembered being. When she last saw light it was on the sandy beach of her island home. Now she lay in a dim underwater alcove.

  I’ve been rescued. Someone found me and brought me to my people.

  Her eyes adjusted to the muted light of the chamber and saw it belonged to someone of a different caste than her own. The tann royal crest l
oomed on the far wall, designating this as the home of someone from the tehome caste, the tann social order composed of nobles and warriors.

  Y’neth considered herself a noble warrior, but not in the restrictive understanding of her people.

  She shifted her weight in the sleeping alcove and stretched out to touch a lambent orb nearby. It responded to her contact, its luminance growing to fill the room with tempered light. She needed to get a sense of where she was.

  Salt water precluded the possibility of a lake or river, but the pressure was minimal, proving she was very near the surface. The chamber’s furnishing were opulent, though most were well-worn heirlooms rather than recent finery. Someone related to the nobility resided here, but distantly. A matriarch with influence and authority, but not significant political importance.

  Though of ayin caste, an echelon whose ranks consisted mostly of clerics and merchants, Y’neth wasn’t surprised to find herself recovering in a patrician home. Tann society was well ordered, but the roles and responsibilities of the caste system were not set in stone. One could move from caste to caste through marriage or vocational opportunity. Only women of the royal line were under significant restrictions.

  As a matriarchal society, female bloodlines were rigidly protected. Men could marry in or out of the royal family, but women were prohibited from doing the same. Royal marriages were most often arranged, but a girl might be allowed to pursue a relationship outside of the noble families with the blessing of the Synod, a sanction increasingly rare.

  Y’neth pushed herself from the alcove to glide through the water toward the chamber door. She pushed the heavy shutter aside and found a long hallway. Muted light from orbs ensconced along the walls refracted through the gently billowing water. A brighter light shown down from some upper level at the far end of the corridor.

  She made for the light, drifting past several shuttered rooms. The hallway ended at a T-shaped junction, crossed by a shorter passage leading to the left and right. To the left was a large room shadowed in semidarkness, to the right was a heavy door made of layers of fibrous seaweed. Straight ahead, stone stairs chiseled from the bedrock dipped into the water from above.