The Red Winter

by Henry H. Neff

  “Be sure to hold on tight,” chided the vye, wrapping the reins about his fist while a handler lengthened the stirrups. Lucia snickered as a handler helped her and Kettlemouth up into the saddle of Eloise’s mount.

  Meanwhile, Scathach was already up on a wyvern’s back. She settled into the saddle behind Lady Nico, who was showing her how to hook her boots properly into the stirrups. Draping Nox over one shoulder, Max climbed up behind Scathach and slid into the final spot. Although the wyvern leaned forward to keep the saddle relatively level, it was nevertheless awkward sitting astride it. The creature’s inclination was to walk upright and occasionally its instincts would override training and the wyvern would begin to rise to a standing position. From what Max could tell, experienced riders took this in stride. Newcomers held on for dear life.

  The lymrill was no longer sniffing the wyvern with curiosity but now examined the saddle’s rigging as though she intended to make modifications. Max snatched her away from a strap she had begun to gnaw and propped her between his legs as though they were going to ride tandem down a slide. As a handler adjusted his stirrups, Max leaned forward to grip a pair of worn metal handles that protruded from the cantle of Scathach’s seat.

  “I hold on to these?” he asked the handler, trying to mask any trepidation.

  “That’s right,” said the vye. “Grip with your knees and lean into the turns. You can fasten the lymrill in with that belt.”

  Spying the strap in question, Max pulled it across Nox’s tummy and fastened its clip to a bolted ring. “Should I use my heels at all?”

  “Not unless you want her to sting you,” replied the vye, gesturing back at the wyvern’s tail, which was curling up behind them like a scorpion’s. At its tip was a glistening black spike the size of a walrus tusk.

  “No heels,” Max confirmed. He glanced over at Sarah, who was grinning broadly in the seat behind Lucia. She looked like she was ready to claim her own wyvern and soar off into a tunnel.

  “Get comfortable,” said Lady Nico, twisting in the saddle to look back at them. “It will be a long ride through the tunnels until we reach our destination.”

  “Where are we going?” asked Max. Evidently they would be staying underground. He wondered if they would be going to one of the secret schools that the Elder vyes were rumored to have. David had referred to one in his letters—a place called Arcanum—but urged Max and Scathach not to let the Elder vyes know Rowan had heard of it unless an agreement was reached.

  Lady Nico gave a cryptic smile. “East.”

  Shaking the reins, Lady Nico barked a stern command to the wyvern, which wheeled about and sprinted down the platform, keeping very low and flat. Nox jostled and mewled with every step until the wyvern suddenly spread its wings and soared like a fighter jet leaving an aircraft carrier’s deck. They were suddenly skimming thirty feet off the cavern floor when the wyvern banked and accelerated into the nearest tunnel.

  The wyvern’s speed was astonishing. Max could not even guess how fast they were going. The tunnel was a luminescent blur as they zoomed over colonies of fungi that resembled vast, neon archipelagos passing swiftly in their wake. Max hunched forward, staying low and keeping Nox warm as they crouched beneath the screaming currents of moist, rushing air. Occasionally, he’d turn back to see the other wyverns racing after them, drafting in each other’s slipstream.

  They stopped only once and it was an experience Max would not soon forget. From up ahead, the call of a horn could be heard above the rushing wind. It was soon followed by a series of bright flashes of light.

  “Hold on!” cried Lady Nico. With a powerful flap of its wings, the wyvern veered upward and made for a large alcove that had been carved into the tunnel’s roof at an angle to form a slanting observation deck. With a screech, the beast landed and turned around so that it could peer down at the tunnel below them. Seconds later, the other wyverns soared onto the ledge and turned about in similar fashion. Sarah was panting happily. Lucia’s hair looked as though she’d spent the afternoon in a wind tunnel. Eloise hopped off their wyvern to tighten their stirrups.

  “Why did we stop?” asked Scathach.

  With a grimace, Lady Nico shook out a cramp in her hand. “A digger’s coming,” she said. “The big ones can fill up an entire tunnel, so we have to get out of the way.”

  Now that air wasn’t whipping past Max’s ears, he could hear the rumbling. The earth itself was shaking and several pebbles dislodged from the rock above to bounce down and off the ledge on which they were perched. Clutching Nox tightly, he stood in the stirrups to peer down, over the wyvern’s folded wing. Far below, he saw the tunnel floor, its surface speckled with tiny glowing fungi.

  The view disappeared as something filled the opening beneath them. At first, Max thought it was a rockslide, for there were chunks of stone and quartz embedded in what appeared to be a slow but smoothly flowing river of ochre debris. But as it flowed past, he perceived a hint of ringed sections and even mottled scars on what was clearly a living organism.

  “Is that a worm?” he shouted, hoping to be heard over the now deafening rumble. Lady Nico nodded and indicated she would answer momentarily.

  Max stared down, transfixed by the creature’s gargantuan size. The tunnel was nearly twenty-five yards in diameter and this creature filled it to the brim. As it continued sliding past, he tried to hazard a guess at its length. Four hundred feet? Five hundred? A blue whale would look like a minnow next to such a monster.

  At last the body began to taper and Max could see sections of the tunnel floor, now coated in a glistening layer of translucent slime. In the worm’s wake came six Elder vyes mounted on mules and carrying flares, lanterns, and horns. The fact that they appeared so tiny only underscored just how gigantic the worm was. As the vyes rode past the ledge, one glanced up and gave a casual wave before sounding his horn.

  “All’s clear,” said Lady Nico. “We shouldn’t have to stop again.”

  “What kind of creature was that?” breathed Scathach.

  “An Ymirian worm,” answered Lady Nico. “That was a big one. They were discovered in Himalayan valleys ages ago. We’ve been using them for six hundred years. The adults can bore a mile through solid rock in a week and their secretions sustain the fungi. Very useful creatures.”

  “How do you control anything that big?” wondered Max.

  “They’re really quite docile,” replied Lady Nico. “Our people guide them using special tuning forks. While they’re practically blind, they’re very sensitive to vibrations. They can cause unintentional damage, of course, but they rarely grow violent. How are you bearing up with the flight? It can take some getting used to.”

  “I want my own wyvern,” declared Scathach.

  Lady Nico laughed and urged their mount forward. “Make a good impression and you may get your wish.”

  The wyvern gave a cry as it leaped off the ledge and changed direction with a swift’s acrobatic grace. The other wyverns followed suit and the group sped on.

  For the next two hours, Max tried to ignore his cramping hands and legs and focus on the meetings ahead. Already it was evident that these Elder vyes were a far more established and capable group than he had assumed they would be. Nix and Valya had been wonderful, but they were just a kindly couple living in the country. Lady Nico and her followers seemed like an entirely different people, organized, capable, perhaps even ruthless. This network of tunnels was a marvel, much less the fact that he’d just seen them assassinate a powerful rakshasa before dispatching an imposter to take his place. Thus far, the Elder vyes had exceeded his expectations. Max hoped he could exceed theirs.

  He was shaken out of his thoughts by a glimmering ahead of them. The tunnel was coming to an end and a far brighter light was shining from beyond its aperture. Max had to shield his dark-adjusted eyes as the wyvern raced toward it.

  Through the opening they shot, swift as an arrow, to soar over an astonishing spectacle. The domed cavern was miles across and lit by bright
clusters of fungi along its roof. Max was almost certain Old College would fit within it. From its walls, a dozen waterfalls gushed in misting cascades to feed several lakes and a broad river that wound across the entire cavern. Bridges spanned its narrowest points, elegant structures of pale stone that connected two halves of a sprawling city.

  This has to be Arcanum, thought Max. According to David, Arcanum was the Elder vyes’ largest city and greatest school of magic. No one from Rowan—or even Solas—had ever set foot within it.

  Gazing down, Max saw that the city’s buildings were constructed of the same local stone, a pale granite or marble that gleamed by the light of blue witch-fire lamps. Structures reminiscent of Roman temples radiated out along curving avenues from a cluster of larger towers and buildings at the cavern’s center. Max noticed few straight lines among the architecture, but rather curves, bends, and spirals.

  He dearly wished David could see what he was seeing. There was nothing in his letters to suggest anything of this scale or sophistication. As they descended, he clutched Nox close and leaned over to watch a group of rangy vyes herding a flock of small piebald sheep toward a hill crowned with flowering trees. How did trees live down here? He suspected it had something to do with the strange luminescent mushrooms nearby. Max desperately wanted to go down and explore.

  But exploration would have to wait, for the wyvern was flying toward the city’s center. Banking around the largest tower, it screeched and soared up to a large, buttressed observation deck that extended from the tower’s face. Vyes were waiting there: rangy handlers wearing leather aprons and gloves and an entourage of very tall, very thin vyes wearing crimson robes. The robed vyes waited by an arched portico while the handlers saw to the wyverns and helped the inexperienced passengers down.

  Setting Nox on flagstones, Max walked in a circle, getting his legs under him after such a journey. His legs were painfully stiff, his hands half clenched into claws from clutching the handles. Smoothing his coat, he plucked several quills from the fabric. With an eager mewl, the lymrill trotted toward a trough filled with mutton that the handlers were rolling out to the wyverns. Max had no idea if wyverns were territorial about their food, but he had no wish to find out. Hurrying after Nox, he scooped her back into his arms.

  “Don’t worry, my beauty,” said Lady Nico, scratching Nox’s chin as the others dismounted and began rubbing sore muscles. “We’ll see that you’re fed once your humans have been properly introduced.”

  She led the group toward the tower where the tall, robed vyes were waiting. Max could tell his friends were nervous, and indeed so was he. Interacting with so many vyes in their natural form would take some getting used to.

  Fortunately, the vyes assembled before them were not particularly fearsome-looking. Instead, they were an older, scholarly-looking set with mottled fur and several hints of cataracts among the dark, intelligent eyes. The central figure was seated in a chair fitted with poles so that it could be carried. His great head was bowed with age and frailty. A female vye, younger than the others and wearing robes of gold rather than crimson leaned close to the seated vye’s ear and spoke in a language unfamiliar to Max. The old vye nodded, gripped the armrests of his chair, and forced his trembling body up.

  Nine feet tall he stood, but Max imagined he must have been ten feet or more in his prime. The vye’s fur was a mottled gray, tipped with silver. Glassy orange eyes peered out from the vye’s deep sockets, surveying each visitor before settling on Max. The vye’s hoarse voice came in slow exhalations as he spoke in the same unfamiliar language Max had heard earlier. Bowing low, Lady Nico translated.

  “This is Archon, our leader. All Raszna recognize his authority. He is pleased to welcome the famous Hound of Rowan to Arcanum. He is surprised at your youth but confesses that everyone looks young these days.”

  Max bowed at the waist, said that he was very pleased to meet Archon, and asked leave to introduce his companions. This he did, and in turn Archon introduced them to the other vyes, who were apparently professors of various disciplines at the school. The specialties were so different from those at Rowan: Geologia, Hydeshifting, Elixae, Masquing, Apocrypha … Max listened carefully, aware that Hazel Cooper would want to hear about every single one.

  When introductions had been made, Archon asked to see Nox and Kettlemouth. Each suffered their introductions rather well. Nox even managed to flatten her quills into an agreeably smooth coat when the ancient vye reached out a trembling hand to stroke her. Archon turned to Connor last and spoke with measured gravity. Lady Nico translated.

  “It has been a year since Archon saw Lord Lynch. Does he greet him as a brother or merely a friend?”

  “A brother,” said Connor.

  Archon glanced at Lady Nico, who nodded and spoke rapidly. Max distinctly heard the word Grael. The vye grunted and gazed at Connor with unmistakable respect. Beckoning Connor forward, Archon embraced him, touched his forehead to Connor’s, and muttered, “Ruva” before passing him along to his colleagues, who did the same. By the time they had finished, tears shone bright on Connor’s cheeks. Sitting back in his chair, Archon spoke again to the visitors while Lady Nico translated.

  “Archon invites you to refresh yourselves and dine with his colleagues in Amber Hall. He asks for a private word with the Hound of Rowan. Is this acceptable?”

  “It is not,” said Scathach. “We agreed to lay down our arms, but Max is not going anywhere alone.”

  Lady Nico translated for Archon, whose response was curt.

  “Committees solve nothing. One to one is best.”

  “I don’t disagree,” said Scathach. “Give me my spear and several hostages and he can go with you.”

  This seemed to amuse Archon, who gestured at his wizened colleagues to indicate she could have whomever among them she wished. Scathach shook her head.

  “Lady Nico, Eloise, and the Lady Isu at your right.”

  Archon frowned as though Scathach’s choice of hostages either surprised or displeased him. Indeed, Max wondered why she had chosen these particular hostages with such certainty. As disgruntled as Archon looked, Scathach did not appear to have any intention of changing her choice. Max knew she wasn’t wrong to be insistent. At such a meeting, it was important to establish rules and mutual safeguards.

  As much as Rowan needed the Elder vyes, they could not gloss over past history. There was a reason the Raszna lived deep underground. Rowan’s predecessors had driven them there, and Max was not oblivious to the attention the Raszna paid to his and Scathach’s tattoos. For them, the Red Branch symbol undoubtedly held a terrifying significance: these are the enemy’s best killers.

  And while Rowan’s motivations for the meeting were clear, the Raszna’s were less so. It was important to be cautious. If nothing else, the médim had shown that Elder vyes had their own agenda while Arcanum’s existence spoke to a people who were incredibly patient, disciplined, and capable. Max doubted the Raszna did anything hastily.

  “Why these hostages?” asked Lady Nico, translating Archon’s gruff response.

  “Because Lady Nico is your daughter, Eloise is your granddaughter, and Lady Isu is your favorite wife.”

  Lady Nico’s prim smile vanished. She gestured to Archon before answering Scathach directly. “You have excellent intuition. May I ask how you knew?”

  Scathach shrugged. “A parent’s love is easy to see. And, forgive me, but Lady Isu is too young to be your mother and she was not introduced as a scholar. Our host either has more than one wife and chose to bring her, or his previous wives are no more. In either case, Lady Isu is his favorite.”

  Archon looked impatiently at Lady Nico. When she translated Scathach’s explanation, he gave a barking laugh and muttered something with an offhand air.

  “You remind him of his first wife,” said Lady Nico.

  “Is Scathach’s proposal agreeable to you?” said Max, addressing Archon. With a resigned nod, the vye gestured for a cane.

  “It is not agreea
ble, but it is acceptable,” said Lady Nico.

  One of the armored vyes that had traveled with them from Wyrmwood came forward with Scathach’s spear. She took it and bowed politely as Eloise, Lady Nico, Archon’s Lady Isu came to stand before her. Leaving Nox with Sarah, Max bid his friends farewell and followed Archon and one of the professors into the tower.

  Max descended broad stone steps that curved into a hallway and led to a carven door whose relief depicted seven scrolls. The professor, a stooped and languid vye with tawny fur and yellow eyes, produced a key and slipped it into the lock.

  “I speak English,” he informed Max in a soft voice. “My name is Volsu, the Apocrypha scholar. I will translate in Lady Nico’s absence.”

  “What is Apocrypha?” Max asked.

  Amusement flickered in the old vye’s eyes. “Truths or blasphemy,” he replied. “Apocrypha are contested lore and scriptures. Some believe them and some do not. Arcanum is riddled with Apocrypha.”

  Archon spoke sharply and Volsu bowed.

  “His lordship desires me to translate everything that is said.”

  “Understood,” said Max. “What language is Archon speaking?”

  Once he’d translated, the vye pushed open the heavy door. “Etruscan. Please come in.”

  He stood aside to admit Max into a long, narrow room with a high barrel ceiling. Its crimson walls were lined with mahogany bookcases densely packed with bound manuscripts and labeled cases full of scrolls and sheaves of parchment. The room’s other furnishings consisted of a long table, a dozen chairs, and a candelabrum whose wicks kindled into pale gold flame at a word from Volsu.

  Closing the door behind them, Volsu invited Max to make himself comfortable. Whenever the vye spoke, he made certain to translate for Archon, who lowered himself with some difficulty into a chair at the table’s center and gestured for Max to sit opposite him. There was a knock and a young servant entered, bearing a large tray laden with fruit, bread, hummus, and skewers of cold lamb.