They had to do something. That was why they were here. But what? Why did evil always seem to have the power? Where was the help for their side? Where was—
“Do you require assistance?” said a familiar voice.
Danr and Aisa scrambled to their feet. From the rushing river in front of them rose two emerald wyrms. They slid ashore, curled around Danr and Aisa in a scaly fortress, and looked down at them, tongues flickering.
“Kalessa!” Aisa cried.
“My sister,” Kalessa said with joy. Both wyrms spun about in a flash of golden light, and standing on the shore were two orcish women—Kalessa and her mother, Xanda. Danr clapped his hands with joy of his own.
“You can both change now!” he said, ignoring the fact that both of them were naked.
“More than that,” said Xanda. “Come! Ride!”
The women spun themselves back into wyrms. Danr gingerly climbed atop Xanda while Aisa rode Kalessa. The wyrms plunged into the tumult, swimming with strong strokes around the mountain, away from the elves, to the other side. They emerged dripping from the water and kept going, widdershins, around the mountain through the forest, until they reached the banks of the Otra River, which flowed way to the east. Without hesitating, they plunged across that as well, and Danr realized that, thanks to the Sundering and now Grandfather Wyrm, the Lone Mountain was at the center of four converging rivers that divided the area into four sections. The elves were in the northwest section, and Kalessa and Xanda were taking them to the northeast section.
“Was that Grandfather Wyrm?” Kalessa asked as they came ashore. “He was quite … breathtaking.”
“That was he,” Aisa said. “I never expected to see him again, but I was glad to do so.”
“A fine, fine wyrm,” Kalessa said. “Pity he is asleep.”
“He quite exhausted himself.” Aisa climbed down. “How did you know to come here?”
“All of you?” Danr added, staring.
The forest on the riverbank bristled with orcs and wyrms. Hundreds and hundreds of them. They filled all the spaces between the trees and made the branches sway. When the closest saw Aisa and Danr, orc and wyrm alike rose in salute.
“We followed the smell of rotten magic!” Kalessa swirled back into her birth form.
“We?” Danr blinked at this. “All of you?”
In answer, Kalessa raised her hand and every orc, including Kalessa, changed into a wyrm. They raised their heads and roared to the sky. The sound thundered against Danr’s bones and filled him with hope.
When the sound died away, Kalessa changed back one more time with an ease Danr envied. She didn’t seem tired in the slightest. Aisa clapped her hands, and her eyes were bright with tears.
“Sister!” she breathed. “Words cannot express!”
“How did you do it?” Danr asked in wonder.
“It took a little blood and a lot of anger,” Xanda the wyrm hissed. “And now the queen of orcs is ready for battle!”
“Queen,” Danr said. “You’re the queen!”
“The return of magic made us First Nest.” Xanda raised her head in triumph. “I am queen, and Kalessa will rule after me! Victory to the Nests!”
Another roar of wyrms echoed off the mountainside. When it ended, the orcs changed back into their original shapes, drew their iron swords, and beat them against their shields while the wyrms, the ones that had been born such, hissed like a hundred thousand kettles.
“If the Fae did not know we were here before, they know now,” Aisa observed.
An orc brought Kalessa and Xanda heavy cloaks and handed Kalessa a knife. She flipped it into the air and caught it on the way down. It changed into a heavy, wicked-looking iron sword.
“You left this behind, sister,” Kalessa said. “Now that I have reclaimed it, I will use it to slice through a horde of Fae. They failed to notice us slipping through their lands in our new forms, so we can destroy them with cold iron.”
“Perhaps, daughter,” Xanda said. “Our forces have been increased thanks to the new magic you have brought us, but the Fae are numerous and experienced, they have the flesh golems, and their queen has the power of a Gardener to draw on. We will have to fight with great intelligence if we are to have any hope.”
“If we lose, nothing will matter ever again,” Aisa said.
“Maybe it won’t matter if the orcs win or lose at all,” Danr said.
“What are you thinking?” Kalessa said. “We need to move quickly—the Fae will attack us if we do not attack them.”
“Nothing of this will mean a thing unless we can get the Bone Sword away from Queen Gwylph,” Danr said. “Maybe the orcs can distract the Fae so Aisa and I can slip in there and get it away from her.”
“If it involves killing as many Fae as possible, I am all for it,” Xanda growled, and Danr remembered that the elves had only recently killed her husband—Kalessa’s father. And they had iron weapons. The trouble was, even the brief glimpse he’d gotten of the Fae army told him they were outnumbered at least three to one, and that was before the flesh golems and Queen Gwylph’s magic were factored in. Still, they had to try. Even now he could smell the rot on the air and feel the earth turning greasy beneath his toes.
“Let’s do it, then,” he said. “The Nine help us.”
“I would rather have another army,” said Aisa.
Chapter Twenty
Ranadar twisted within the ghostly grip of the sprites while Talfi’s bloodless body slumped to the ground. The two flesh golems, one with a bad leg and the other with a scarred arm, let him go. Ranadar’s heart dropped sickeningly in his chest, and he tried to reassure himself. Talfi would come back. Talfi always came back. He had even come back after the chimney had crushed him.
How much did it matter, though? Talfi no longer loved him. Ranadar’s soul filled with lead. He had seen the total indifference in Talfi’s eyes. Worse, he had seen dislike, even loathing. Everything they had done together—slipping away from his family, hunting for the flesh golems, outwitting each other at archery practice, teasing each other with their pet names—Talfi had done because he loved Ranadar. Now the memory of love was gone, but the memories of their actions were still there. Talfi had done all those things with someone he did not remember loving. In seconds, Talfi had become a stranger.
A piece of Ranadar’s own self turned black and died. He wanted to flee back to the forests, become mal rishal again, let the cool green leaves close behind him so he would never see another living person. He never wanted to feel again. But he could not flee. Not when his mother had not completed her part of the bargain.
As if reading his mind—and perhaps she had—Mother turned to him next. “Do not worry, my son. I will release Pendra as I promised. At sunrise tomorrow, I will return to her station, and I will content myself with ruling the physical world.”
Sunrise tomorrow. Very well, then. Talfi’s motionless body lay on the ground, as it had so many times. He would return to life, yes, but not in any meaningful way to Ranadar. Worse, the flesh golems, thousands of them, walked the earth and every one of them professed the very love for Ranadar that Talfi had lost. Ranadar wanted to crouch on the ground with his arms wrapped around his head. It was too much. The world balanced on his back, crushing him beneath its weight. He wanted not to think, not to feel, not to exist.
“It is your turn now,” Mother continued. She drew the awful Bone Sword and pointed it at his chest. “You have your side to finish. Become immortal with me. And you will see how unimportant your pet was.”
Before, these words would have filled him with dread and horror. Now they gave him hope and relief. No more sorrow, no more pain, no more worries. He would truly become the uppity elf Talfi always accused him of being. Wordlessly, he spread his arms. Two elves from the Fae who had assembled earlier took them and held him firmly in place. The two flesh golems watched from their vantage point next to the tub of Talfi’s blood. Ranadar wondered how they felt about all this, though it did not matter m
uch. In a moment it would all be over.
With a triumphant smile, Gwylph raised the Bone Sword.
And the enormity of what he was doing crashed over him. He was giving up his heart, his life, everything he had. How foolish! He had lived more than a hundred years in the forest as mal rishal, and eventually he had found purpose and meaning again. Even a mal rishal elf had hope. He would not give that up.
“No!” he said. “I refuse!”
Mother paused. “Refuse? You made a bargain.”
“I am breaking it.” Ranadar tried to pull himself free, but the other elves held him fast. “You will not take my heart.”
“Your heart is dead on the ground behind you, Ranadar,” she said. “I am just finishing up.”
She raised the pale blade again. Ranadar fought, but the elves were stronger than he was. The Bone Sword descended. No! He would not let this happen! Anger and fear focused behind Ranadar’s eyes and he let it loose with a great shout.
Power flashed from his head. The two elves dropped to the ground. Queen Gwylph staggered backward, pain written across her face.
“Ranadar!” she panted. “What did you do?”
All the anger that had been building for the past several weeks raged through him. The power thundered in his mind. He slashed with it at Gwylph, felt it connect in her mind, and she staggered back another step.
“That hurt,” she said, and put a hand to her nose. It came away smeared with blood. “How are you—?”
With one more yell, Ranadar slammed his mind into Queen Gwylph. He poured every bit of rage into it. He smashed into his mother’s mind, and the leaves around her erupted in a maelstrom. The other Fae nearby collapsed, unconscious. The queen gave a terrible scream, and Ranadar felt her mind flicker. He kept up the pressure, pushed hard. He could win this. He could—
Pain crashed through his own mind. He dropped to his knees with a scream of his own. Sky and leaves wobbled. Clanking footsteps. His mother stood over him.
“Where did you learn to do that?” she asked. When Ranadar did not answer, she said, “I suppose it does not matter. Hold still, now.”
With the point of the Bone Sword, she pushed open the front of his tunic, the one she had already sliced open. Ranadar was too tired to stop her. She pressed the sword’s tip to his chest, and it broke the skin over his breastbone.
The earth shook like a dog emerging from a bath. The golden tub of blood trembled, and the flesh golems went down. Talfi’s body shivered. The queen Fae stumbled, and the blade skittered about in her grip, slicing a shallow cut across Ranadar’s chest. A few arrows spilled from her quiver. The sprites and the other Fae in the tree and the camp were startled as well. Ranadar, already on his knees, managed to keep his balance. The ground rippled like the surface of a liquid. Mother went down to one knee and dropped the Bone Sword. Ranadar reflexively dove for it, pretending that Talfi’s lifeless corpse was not jittering next to a tub of his blood and two confused golems that looked like him.
“No!” Mother cried, but the shuddering ground kept her off balance.
Ranadar reached for the bloody hilt. The slippery feel of the ivory brought bile to his throat. But the queen flung out a hand.
“Not yet!” she cried.
The sword moved toward her and slid out of Ranadar’s grasp. With a shout, he snapped his hand in her direction. A spray of blood caught Mother full in the face. She screeched in horror and swiped at her eyes. It was long enough for Ranadar to get hold of the Bone Sword again.
The earthquake ended. But before Ranadar could regain his footing, the river exploded. Water thundered in all directions and the earth shook again. Everyone including the queen turned to stare. A wyrm so big it insulted the word giant plowed around the mountain and broke into the Silver River. Grandfather Wyrm. Ranadar had heard of him from Talfi, and there was no mistaking him. Ranadar clutched the Bone Sword tight in his scarlet hands. Ideas flicked through his head. The first, and this one came with elation, was that if Grandfather Wyrm was here, Danr and Aisa must have something to do with it. His second thought was that Grandfather Wyrm had come to battle the Fae, but this hope was dashed when the great wyrm flopped motionless onto the far bank. His third thought was that Grandfather Wyrm must have caused the earthquake. Or had he?
A ship hove into view, then spun wildly in the current. Was that … ? It was! The Slippery Fish! Danr and Aisa definitely, then!
Mother recovered herself quickly. Already a hundred sprites were rushing to the riverbank to see what was going on. She shouted something to one of the flesh golems, but Ranadar failed to catch it. The golem blinked uncertainly with Talfi’s eyes in a way that wrenched Ranadar’s heart, and he had to remind himself that this was not Talfi. Talfi still lay dead at Ranadar’s feet. Mother straightened herself and held out her hand.
“Give it to me,” she said. “If I must take it from you, it will go badly.”
Ranadar crouched over Talfi’s cooling corpse like a wild thing. His ivy green eyes were hard, his red hair a mess, and he could not decide if he wanted to do as his mother said or not. He wanted to slice her in half, but the sword wouldn’t hurt her. No weapon would. How was that fair or right?
“Now,” the queen said imperiously. “Shall I count to three?”
With a yell that was half howl, Ranadar spun and swung the sword. It cleaved the golden tub in two. The gathered blood gushed over the rotting leaves and drained away. Some of it ran across Talfi’s skin. The flesh golems stood by, impassive. Or perhaps confused. Ranadar could not tell.
“You won’t have his blood,” he said. “I will keep it from you.”
The queen sighed. “He will return, strong, with more blood in him.” She brought a fist down, and an invisible force slammed Ranadar to the ground. The Bone Sword fell from his hand. “You will become strong, too. Once I slice out your heart and put it in the tree next to him, you will forget your foolish fixation for this human boy and rule as a strong king.”
Mother picked up the Bone Sword and raised the blade over him. Ranadar tried to roll away, but the power of her mind held him in place beside Talfi’s unmoving corpse. Ranadar felt his own pulse beating at his throat and realized this would be the last time he felt such a thing.
“My queen!” An elf ran up to her, a sprite trailing after him. “The orcs! The orcs have an army!”
This brought Mother’s head around. “An army?”
“At least a thousand of them. On the far side of the Otra River.”
She spun. Perhaps fifty yards away and across the river, orcs and wyrms were visible among the trees on the opposite bank, just as the elf had said.
“We are not in a highly defensible position, my lady,” said the elf. “The area around the encampment has been cleared, leaving us more exposed. They are in the forest, and difficult to attack with arrows. And they have … iron.”
“But they cannot stay there forever,” Mother pointed out. “And we outnumber them three to one, and that is before we count the flesh golems. Ready a force of golems and elves to cross the river on my command and have the fairies set our defenses on this side! Then alert the rest of the troops. I want those orcs crushed into dust! And get me a report from the sprites about where that giant wyrm came from and what happened to the river. Move!”
The elf spoke to the sprite, which sped away. The elf followed.
“You will lose, Mother,” Ranadar gasped from the ground.
“Do not be foolish,” she retorted. “Even with iron, a force such as theirs has no hope. The flesh golems alone will overwhelm them.”
As she spoke, the sprites rushed down from the tree and spread throughout the encampment, shouting their strange rhymes as they went. The flesh golems left off what they were doing and marched down to the riverbank where the orcs were waiting beneath the trees. A disciplined regimen of bronze-armored elves joined them.
“Why has he not wakened yet?” Mother asked, pointing at Talfi with the Bone Sword in exasperation. She gestured at one
of the flesh golems, the one with the bad leg. “You. Bring the corpse along and follow. I do not want him out of my sight.” She sheathed the sword and turned to Ranadar. “Come along, son. See how Mummy leads the troops to war.”
She strode toward the river, her emerald eyes blazing. Ranadar hesitated, but the three sprites spat painful sparks at him, forcing him forward. The flesh golem slung Talfi’s body over his shoulder and followed behind. Across the river, the orcs crashed their curved swords against the iron guards on their wicker shields. Ranadar winced and put his hands over his ears. Mother barely seemed to notice. A sprite flew up to her and bobbled near her head. Mother listened to it.
“Grandfather Wyrm?” she said. “He is just a legend.”
The sprite spoke again, and this time Mother’s face creased with anger. “The half troll and his slut cannot possibly be—”
The sprite spoke further. Mother made an effort and regained control. “Very well. Warn the troops and scouts to watch for them. Anyone who brings me their heads will be rewarded.”
Gladness flicked through Ranadar’s chest. Aisa and Danr were here. Somewhere. He had no idea what they might be able to do, but the news gave him a golden ray of hope.
They reached the riverbank, which was shaded by the massive branches of the twisted, terrible tree. Ranadar looked at it, almost able to feel the power pulsing inside it. Pendra and his mother’s heart were buried deep inside it. The Bone Sword would free both. But he had no way to get it. He might be able to snatch it from her belt again, but her magic was far stronger than his, and she would only take it back.
The regiment of elves and flesh golems stood impassively a few paces back from the shore, out of range of the short bows favored by the orcs. Orcs moved in and out of the trees on the river’s far bank, as did the great wyrms. It made the forest look like a living, writhing thing. Ranadar scanned the forest, looking for any sign of Danr or Aisa or even Kalessa. He did not know if she was here or not, but if the other orcs were, he doubted she was far behind. To Ranadar’s left, beyond both armies, rose Lone Mountain. The new river encircled it. The water here was calm enough, but closer to the mountain, it boiled and roiled with the aftermath of Grandfather Wyrm’s efforts.
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