Skyborn

by Lou Anders

  —

  “Food, drink, grapes?”

  King Herakles was one of the stoutest dwarves Thianna had ever seen. He was possibly even broader than he was tall. The king had an enormous aquiline nose, and his beard, oiled and curled into heavy black ringlets, dropped nearly to his sandaled feet. He wore a cape made entirely of golden links, which jingled like coins when he moved. His large hands, however, left no doubt as to why he was called Hammerfist. Even as big as she was, Thianna didn’t think she would enjoy being on the receiving end of one of the king’s punches.

  “Cheese and spinach pie?” asked Herakles.

  “No thank you,” said Thianna, who wanted to understand what was going on before she accepted any more food. She still wasn’t sure whether she had been rescued or kidnapped.

  “Are you sure?” asked the king. “Every slice has a diamond baked inside. Some have two.”

  “That sounds like a good way to break a tooth.”

  The king frowned at her, and beside her Jasius coughed. Thianna realized she might have inadvertently insulted them. The dwarves back home were known to be a tough breed and proud of that reputation.

  “Not a dwarf’s tooth,” she added hastily.

  “Oh, of course,” the king said, brightening. “I forget how soft you big folk’s teeth are. No offense taken where none’s intended.” He gazed up at Thianna. “Well, how do you like it?”

  “I haven’t tasted it yet.”

  “No, I meant my city. Caldera Under Caldera. The True City.” He spread his arms and did a complete turn, then gave a little bow.

  Since no one was forcing her to do so, Thianna bowed back.

  “I had no idea it was down here,” she said.

  “Of course not,” said the king. “No nondactyl has been here in centuries. The Calderans above don’t even remember it exists. They don’t have a clue.”

  “But you live above, in the middle district of the city, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Herakles. “We’re the perioikoi. Noncitizen freedmen. We do their metalwork, repair their armor, sharpen their swords, and sometimes serve as auxiliary troops and military support—but for all that, they grant us no say in their government. The two queens aren’t even aware there is a dactyl king. They know nothing of my underground kingdom nor the true size of the population living under their feet.”

  “How is that even possible?” asked Thianna.

  “We all look alike to them.” The king shrugged. “We take turns living on the surface, and they’ve never noticed that the faces of the dwarves around them keep changing. Big, stupid fools never look down at their feet.” Herakles laughed and wiggled his toes.

  “Why do you put up with it?” Thianna asked. “You obviously outnumber them.”

  “Ah yes,” the king replied. “Straight to business. Good, good, good.” He took Thianna’s wrist in one of his large hands and led her to another chamber in his palace.

  “Dactyls were here first,” he told her. “In fact, it was in these very caverns that dactyls hid the infant god Cratus the Smith, when his divine brother and sisters wanted to kill him for his deformity. We taught him to use his first anvil and hammer. Good times.”

  Herakles stopped before a large mosaic on the wall. It depicted a map of Thica, with cities marked out in precious stones.

  “Ithonea, Naparta, Zapyrna, Creos, Labyrinthia, Lassathonia…” He read off the names of the Thican city-states. “Pymonia, Dendronos—they’re all too far if you have to walk it. Or even sail it. The only way to control such a vast territory is to fly over it.”

  Thianna stepped away from the map.

  “You’re talking about the wyverns.”

  Herakles grinned.

  “Sharp as a pickax you are,” he said. “I’m talking about the wyverns. So here’s the deal, big girl. We help you get the Horn of Osius. You use it on our behalf. Instead of Xalthea and Melantha on the twin thrones, it could be Herakles and Thianna. What do you say?”

  “Me?” Thianna couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of wearing a crown.

  “Why not you?”

  The frost giant shook her head.

  “The wyverns are enslaved. Just like the helots are enslaved. It isn’t right.”

  “Someone has to be on top,” said the king. He began to pace around the room. “We’ve lived under their feet for too long. It’s time we had our turn at the crown of the hill, so to speak. Is that such a bad thing?”

  “I don’t like bullies,” said the giantess.

  “I’m a good king,” said the dwarf, puffing up his chest.

  “It’s a bad system,” said Thianna.

  “Maybe,” said Herakles. “But if it collapses, the city-states will go back to fighting among themselves. I’d make a much better Sky King than the current Sky Queen. We dactyls aren’t warlike by nature, but we’ve watched the humans mess things up for too long. It’s time we had our chance.”

  “To mess things up?” she asked.

  “Ha, funny,” said Herakles. “Just think it over.” He stopped in the doorway to the chamber. “You’ll have time.” Then he pressed a jewel set into the wall.

  Thianna leapt as she heard the grinding sound of heavy stone. She wasn’t fast enough. Two enormous slabs of rock slid into place. They sealed off the doorway, leaving only a slit that ran horizontally a little below waist level.

  She dropped to her knees and looked through the gap. Herakles’s eyes stared back at her.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “There’s a Thican expression,” the king said. “It’s better to tie your donkey down than go searching for it afterward. I want what’s right for my people, Thianna Frostborn. You’ll stay here and stew until you agree to help me get it.”

  “Troll dung!” Thianna swore.

  “Don’t worry,” said the king. “We’ll send in some cheese and spinach pie. And I’ll have Jasius fish out the diamonds for your soft teeth.”

  —

  As it turned out, however, Thianna didn’t have much of an appetite.

  “But I picked the gemstones out and everything.” Jasius’s eyes shone with disappointment through the slit in the stone.

  “I told you I’m not hungry,” Thianna grunted. That wasn’t entirely true. She’d actually eaten very little other than grapes. And a half giant could eat a lot. She should probably keep her strength up so that she’d be ready to escape when the opportunity presented itself.

  The dwarf tossed something into her prison. It fell to the ground. Thianna, already kneeling to see through the gap, picked it up. A small, uncut precious stone.

  “See?” said Jasius. “Diamond-free.”

  “All right,” said Thianna. “Pass me the pie.”

  Jasius handed her a triangle-shaped wedge through the horizontal opening.

  Thianna tried a bite. It had a flaky crust and was drenched in olive oil. The cheese was from goat’s milk—she recognized the taste—and there were onions and spinach too. She made an appreciative noise.

  “You like?” asked the dwarf hopefully. “It’s called spanakopita.”

  “Not bad, whatever it’s called,” Thianna admitted. “Not so good that I’m forgiving you, though.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” said the young dwarf. “I really did imagine I was helping. I thought you’d be thrilled with the offer. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be queen?”

  Thianna snorted. “Who has time for that? There’s a whole world to see. Why would you want to be stuck in one place where you had to tell everybody what to do all day long, day after day. I can’t think of anything more boring than being a monarch.”

  “Gee, when you put it that way,” said Jasius. His eyes moved away from the gap. “I was looking forward to it.”

  Thianna stopped chewing.

  “Herakles is your father?”

  “Yes,” said Jasius. “But I won’t be king for a century at least. I don’t even have my beard.”

  “I didn’t realize.” The
giantess thought about that. “Hey, wait,” she said. “If the Calderans don’t know about the dactyl king, what were you doing with the other hostage princes and princesses?”

  “I wasn’t a hostage,” said Jasius. “I just slipped in. Nobody notices another dactyl underfoot.”

  “So what were you doing there?” the giantess asked, but she jumped to the obvious conclusion before the dwarf could respond. “You were after me from the start, weren’t you?”

  For an answer, a slice of spanakopita slid through the gap.

  Thianna took the pastry wedge.

  “You didn’t have to abduct me,” she said. “You could have asked. For that matter, why doesn’t Herakles speak to the queens? They might feel different if they knew there was a whole city down here.”

  “They would feel threatened is how they’d feel,” said the dwarf.

  “I don’t know. Melantha doesn’t seem as bad as Xalthea.”

  “She isn’t,” Jasius replied, “but she’s afraid of the Sky Queen too.”

  “Some co-monarchy if one’s afraid of the other,” said Thianna. “But what happens when the two queens argue?”

  “Did you see that large Queen’s Champion board in the Twin Palaces courtyard?” asked Jasius.

  “Karn pointed it out when we arrived.”

  “Well, that’s how they settle disputes. If one of the monarchs feels strongly enough about something, she can challenge the other to a game. Technically any citizen can challenge the queens as well. But you have to have seven supporters to play on your side, see? They figure that if you can’t rally a team, your objection must not be very important, right?”

  “Makes sense,” said Thianna. “I guess the supporters have to be citizens, all Sky and Land soldiers?”

  “Usually. Though I’ve heard of perioikoi being drafted into the game. They’ll let us fight for them. They just don’t give us a say in governing the city.”

  “Listen, Jasius,” she said. “I was picked on my whole life.”

  “You?” The dwarf was surprised.

  “For being short,” Thianna explained with a laugh.

  “You’re joking.”

  “I’m not. I grew up with frost giants. So I know what it’s like to be disregarded. I really wanted to take those giants down a peg or two. Actually I did a few times. But that made me no better than they are. Karn showed me that I could be more than that.”

  “Hmm,” said Jasius. “You’re still bigger than most.”

  “Not giants. Not dragons. Not trolls. But how you treat others counts for more than how tall you stand.”

  “Is that why you’re so rude to that pale elf? Sure looks to me like you are disregarding her when she wants to help.”

  Thianna glowered.

  “Shut up and hand me another piece of pie.”

  —

  Desstra stared down at the dwarven city. There were way more people milling about than she had planned on dealing with. She had expected to find only a small group of dwarves with her friend, not an entire population.

  “This complicates things,” she said. “I need a distraction. We’ll never get in or out otherwise.”

  “We have to go down there?” said Daphne beside her. “That seems like a really, really bad idea.” The dryad gripped her arm again in panic.

  “It’s where we’re going,” replied the elf crossly. When they had emerged from the tunnel into the larger cavern, it had taken quite a bit of cajoling to get the fearful dryad to climb to the higher ledge where they now hid. They were in the lip of a small, natural lava tube near the ceiling of the cavern. It narrowed as it receded, so it wasn’t useful as a way out, but Desstra suspected it served as a ventilation shaft. She pointed at one palatial structure in the city below. “They must be holding Thianna in that central building.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Daphne.

  “It has the most guards, and, well, she’s a frost giant. So they’re needed.”

  Desstra reached unconsciously for her leg sheath. She didn’t have her darts on her. Nor did she have any other weapon.

  “If only I had my satchel,” she mused.

  “Why? What’s in your satchel?” asked Daphne.

  “Useful things,” replied the elf. “Gas bombs, smoke bombs, incendiary bombs.”

  “You have a thing for bombs, do you?” asked the dryad.

  Desstra shrugged. “They’d come in handy now. As would some good rope.”

  She eyed the dryad’s leaves. Daphne guessed her thoughts and stepped backward quickly.

  “Don’t even think it,” the tree girl said.

  “I’ve woven cord out of plant fiber before,” replied the elf.

  “Well, these are much too delicate, I assure you,” Daphne protested. “Also, they’re all I have to wear, and they take forever to grow.”

  “Okay, relax,” said Desstra. “I’m just considering all the angles. I hate going in there naked.”

  “Naked is what I’d be if you plucked my leaves and wove them into ropes!”

  “I got it,” said the elf. “Quiet down.” She motioned for the dryad to join her at the tunnel’s edge. Daphne stepped forward, then stopped when her foot landed in something with a squelching noise.

  “Oh gross,” said the dryad. She looked down, lifting her foot gingerly from an unpleasant pile of something sticky and stinky. “I think I’ve stepped in fresh bat droppings,” she said, her nose wrinkling in revulsion.

  Desstra’s ears perked up at this.

  “Bat droppings?” she repeated.

  “I don’t know what you’re so enthusiastic about,” said the dryad. “It’s disgusting.”

  “It’s just what we need,” said Desstra. She grabbed the tree girl’s ankle, lifting her foot to look at the sole. The elf nodded, pleased with what she saw. She let go of the ankle. “Here, help me scoop up as much of that as we can get.”

  “Scoop?” said Daphne uncertainly. Her upper lip curled back in revulsion. “You mean with…with…with our hands?”

  “I thought plants liked dirt,” Desstra teased.

  “I like rich, healthy soil,” said the tree girl. “Not fresh bat poop.”

  “Well, healthy soil isn’t what we need right now,” said the elf.

  “And bat poop is?” asked Daphne uncertainly. “This is going to save your friend?”

  “Oh yes,” said the elf, smiling. “I don’t know that she’d say we were friends, but we’re going to save her, and this is how we’re going to do it—in style! Now let’s get scooping.”

  “Manticore. Sphinx. I’ve got to say,” said Karn, “I don’t really see the difference.”

  “I’m not a manticore!” protested the sphinx. “We’re nothing alike.”

  “They have lion bodies too,” said Karn.

  “We’re nothing alike!” The sphinx lashed its tail angrily.

  “They have human heads.”

  “We are nothing alike!” It shook its mane.

  Karn thought about this.

  “So you don’t eat people?” he asked hopefully. The sphinx scowled.

  “Well, occasionally. But otherwise, we’re nothing alike!”

  “I think we’ll agree to disagree on that,” said Karn. “But we’ll be on our way—don’t want to trouble you any more than we already have—and you carry on with not being a manticore.”

  He put a hand on his hippalektryon to steady the animal. The presence of a large feline creature seemed to be agitating its rooster half.

  “Not yet,” the sphinx said. “You don’t get to leave here quite so easily.”

  “Of course not,” said Karn with a resigned sigh. He dropped a hand to the pommel of his sword.

  “Not that way,” said the sphinx. Then she let out a roar.

  Hundreds of little figures came swarming from the ruins. They burst out of doorways and climbed from holes in the ground. They clustered like birds on the rooftops. They reminded Karn of descriptions he’d heard of the ice goblins of the Ymirian.


  “We’re surrounded,” said Asterius.

  “Allow me to introduce my friends, the kobalos,” said the sphinx. “They are impudent, mischievous, thieving little knaves, really, but like me, they are very fond of games.”

  “Games?” said Karn.

  “Oh yes,” replied the sphinx. “Don’t you know what the Sanctuary of Empyria is?”

  Karn shook his head. “Should I?” he asked.

  “She’s talking about an ancient neutral city,” Asterius explained. He looked around with awe on his face. “Do you mean these are the ruins of Empyria? We’re standing in it?”

  The sphinx nodded. “Centuries ago,” she said, “this was the host city-state for the Empyric Games—sports competitions held every year to honor the Twelve Empyreans, the chief Thican gods and goddesses. It was quite something. The city-states of Thica were all free. Athletes came from all over to compete in tests of physical prowess.” She purred in appreciation. “The games were also a way to forestall wars. The city-states channeled their rivalry into friendly competition.”

  “So what happened?” Karn asked.

  “Timandra the Magnificent happened,” said the sphinx bitterly. “She conquered the whole island-continent and founded the Thican Empire. But she didn’t see a need to unite the city-states in games when they were already gathered under her banner. And then the Gordion Empire came along. Of course, now we have a new empire.” She hissed in evident disgust. “I had hoped that, as in love with the past as the Calderans are, they’d get around to reinstating the games. But they seem to have forgotten us.”

  “Us?”

  “We sphinx,” she replied. “We were always the masters of ceremony. It was a great honor, and it satisfied our love of competition and challenge. The kobalos were our assistants. Referees, scorekeepers, et cetera. They love a good game as much as we do.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Karn. “I understand. I’m a gamer myself, though I like board games better than athletics.”

  “It’s the challenge you appreciate, yes?” asked the sphinx. She smiled, showing two rows of very sharp teeth. “Nothing like competition and stakes to get the blood flowing.”

  Karn felt his stomach sinking. “We’re not going to play a ball game, are we?” he asked. “Because I have a friend who is really good at knattleikr. I could run and fetch her.”