Song of the Worlds Boxed Set

by Brandon Barr

  Wiluit suddenly scooped up Shauwby in his arms and rushed into the room. Taumus spun back to face Meluscia. With death raging in his eyes, he charged.

  His sword twirled in his hand, flashing, disguising its trajectory. Then it swung down to cleave her head. Meluscia ducked, lifting her sword to glance the blow.

  His blade struck hers with all the force of his rage. She fell to her left, moving out of the path of his sword. It was just enough to avoid the cleaving he’d intended.

  Meluscia raised her sword to ward off his next attack, but Taumus’s head fell into her lap. A thump sounded as his decapitated body hit the floor.

  Standing there was Wiluit, his sword undrawn, holding Shauwby in his arms. Wiluit had a hand over the boy’s eyes.

  “Can I look now?” asked Shauwby.

  “Not yet,” said Wiluit, and quickly took Shauwby from the room.

  CHAPTER 19

  MELUSCIA

  The king stared, despondent, his arms folded upon the large dining table. The black satin chair where Taumus had sat was empty, an eerie but welcome sight for Meluscia. It was late, nearing midnight. Only the two of them occupied the room. A lone soldier stood at attention just outside the door.

  Meluscia felt a great need to press the matter of the treaties, for her next move was to speed home and reclaim the throne. She waited, however, as King Feaor sat in silence, coming to grips with all that had happened.

  “Meluscia, I owe you an apology,” said the king. “I can hardly fathom what I saw, or what this all means but…I must conclude that all you said is accurate. There are spies of Isolaug living among us.” He shook his head, as if chasing away his disbelief. “The two names you gave me, Llani and Oevah. Neither could be found. It appears they have fled the city. Llani was the wife of Commander Rhoan, whom you’ve met, and Oevah was the assistant to the royal blacksmith. It is crucial that we find both these women, so that information might be attained.”

  Meluscia nervously stroked the white cloth covering the wound on her arm and thought of Praseme. She was still with the Verdlands physicker, having the blade removed and her hand bandaged. The news of the missing spies did not sit well with Meluscia, but the matter was out of her control. She sat tall, and focused on the task at hand.

  “I have been told by my sister that the skirmishes between our people were instigated by a spy named Harcor, who lived in Tilmar. The Nightmares that infringe our borders are gross, disfigured forms—but Isolaug sent Praelothians, disguised as Verdlands soldiers or the Hold’s forces. It is no wonder we have been on the brink of war these past years. We were baited.”

  The king listened in silence, grimacing at an ill thought as she spoke. After she finished, waiting for a reply, his silence continued. Then, suddenly, he chuckled. “Your prophets gave me quite a start, trouncing into my bedchambers and knocking armed guards aside as if they were dolls flung by some invisible power.”

  Meluscia smiled. “They are not my prophets. They do the will of the Makers. I suppose the Makers want me to return home in one piece.”

  She pushed the two treaties across the heavy wood-grain table. “Valcere does not know of the true perpetrators in the skirmishes, and I doubt he would believe it. Not from anyone sitting here, at least.” She pointed to the treaties. “I hope you’ll reconsider my offer. I think you’ll find it has both our kingdoms’ citizens in mind.”

  King Feaor took her father’s treaty and broke the seal. The king snorted more than once as he read. When he finished, he lowered the scroll with a worried look.

  “He wants me to apologize for certain crimes. What does he expect? I might apologize for the raids—even though, as you’ve told me, Praelothia and a woodsmen spy were to blame. Is that what he wants?”

  Meluscia sighed. “I believe so. He didn’t tell me.”

  Feaor’s face wrinkled in disgust. “I want peace, but I do not feel that the blame for the skirmishes should fall on the Verdlands.”

  “I feel the same,” said Meluscia, “but what other path is there to peace? Valcere will rule if that treaty is not signed.” Meluscia leaned forward. “And yet, if you sign that treaty, the moment I am coronated, my own treaty will go into effect, and I promise the truth about the skirmishes will be told.” She raised an eyebrow. “Now open mine. I hope you’ll find any injustice in my father’s treaty washed away by what I have to offer.”

  King Feaor ran his fingers over his chin and nodded. He took the scroll containing the treaty Meluscia had hand written. It was not a long read, and when he finished, he stared at her with narrowed eyes.

  “You would give the foothills of Pyrrh to the Verdlands? The amount of stone there not yet quarried is said to be enormous.”

  “As it says in the treaty, the foothills of Pyrrh are a peace offering, showing the goodwill of the Hold.”

  The king shook his head. “This treaty is not a compromise. It reads more like a regal birthing day gift. You would also supply the wood and labor to rebuild the farms that were razed on my lands? And all this in return for friendship and fair trade.” He shook his head, a questioning smile on his lips. “How has Trigon’s daughter fallen so far from the family’s penchant for tooth and fist bargaining?”

  “I owe that to my days in the Hold’s Scriptorium, under the tutelage of Katlel and all the histories and scriptures within. Luminess Monaiella, from the Age of Primacy, is my mentor and inspiration. I consider the citizens of the Verdlands and those of the Blue Mountain Realm one people, governed by different leaders, but one under the sight of the Makers.”

  “I see,” said the king, his intense eyes grew soft as they wandered in thought. “I must refuse your offer of peace then.”

  Meluscia’s hand sprang to her mouth in surprise. “Why? What is lacking? I will fix it.”

  “Nothing is lacking,” said Feaor, his fingers drumming against the table. “I will refuse this peace treaty unless you accept something from the Verdlands in return.”

  “I see,” said Meluscia nervously. “What is it you offer?”

  “There is a swath of land on our western farm plateau called the Nyland Heights. It borders your land near the foothills that fall from Heartbur peak. It is mostly untilled land, ripe and ready for seed. I would be honored to share it with you, as long as there is peace between us. There are few farms there and plenty of room for settlers from your realm. Would you accept this goodwill offer from the Verdlands in exchange for signing your treaty?”

  Meluscia stood briskly, bottling her emotions as best she could. She swooped around the table. Feaor stood and Meluscia embraced the king with the most bearish grip she could summon.

  “Yes,” she exclaimed, and stepped back. The delight on the king’s face mirrored the joy she felt in her heart. “Once you’ve signed both treaties, I must make in haste for the Hold. My father is dying, and I wish to be back before he departs.”

  “My aid and protection is yours for the journey.”

  Meluscia bowed, her smile fading.

  “There is one more thing, my newly won friend,” she said. “Would you be so bold as to join forces with the Hold against a great enemy?”

  “A great enemy?” asked the King. “You refer to the Nightmares plaguing our land.”

  “Yes, and more. They will not stop coming unless we go to the source of their wickedness.”

  Fear fell upon King Feaor’s face. “You cannot mean…”

  “Yes,” said Meluscia calmly. “My sister has given me secret information. If we do not act now, Praelothia will gain its full power. Just as I’ve asked you, I will implore the Sea Queens to fight. Our three kingdoms must march against Isolaug…if we do not, the moment of our destruction is near and certain.”

  Meluscia proceeded to tell the king all that Savarah had said.

  The king’s brow sagged with the weight of the request. He fell back into his chair. For once, Meluscia saw his face age before her eyes. “I need time,” said Feaor, his tone fatigued. “I shall send an emissary to you. A week
from now, you will have my answer.”

  QUICK FIRE

  “…How did the boy get in the cage with the kiehueth?”

  “I was drunk. Damn Piz. We were all drunk—the whole crew.”

  “Let me make this clear, if the boy gets eaten, you’ll be digging through kiehueth shit until you find every bit of that kid’s brain, and you better hope that creature shits chunks out. Because if his VOKK’s destroyed, the browbeating I gave Kenna over the liquor and truffles will be nothing compared to what I and the rest of management do to you.”

  “I’ll have the boy retrieved. It’ll be risky but—”

  “But you’re going to do it. I swear, Mhadrees, if you’re missing one of those VOKKs, I get your ships. And the boss, he’ll get your skin…turn it into paper so he can wipe his ass with you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir…We’ll get the VOKK.”

  -Transmission from Captain Mhadrees, Quick Fire, to Mauris TeHekee, COO, Red Merchant Enterprises

  CHAPTER 20

  AVEN

  Aven woke to the sound of whispers.

  For only a moment he forgot where he was, then everything came rushing back to him.

  He kept his eyes shut. It felt safer, as if the moment he opened them, he would have to face whatever reality he saw. How long he’d slept, he wasn’t sure, but it felt like a very long time. He recalled no twisted nightmares—nothing.

  The whispering continued, and Aven knew it was the mercenaries, but they sounded strangely close.

  “Get up boy,” said a voice. The proximity of the spoken words gave him hope. Were they going to free him?

  Cautiously, Aven lifted his eyelids and peered out.

  The kiehueth lay beside him, its foreleg almost touching his arm. The massive head rested alongside his own like a long, misshapen growth.

  “He’s awake,” said a voice behind him. Aven guessed several of the men were at the bars, trying to get his attention.

  “Get up slowly,” came Piz’s voice. “Then walk over to the gate.”

  Aven slowly rolled onto his back. There were four men, the captain included, standing outside the bars.

  “We’re almost to Hearth,” said the Captain. “And I’m no longer drunk.” He glanced at Piz. “Get over here, I want you out.”

  Slowly Aven rose to his feet, careful to keep from touching the kiehueth. It was disturbing how large it was up close. He looked at its eye slit, knowing now where to find it, beneath the mouth line. Slowly he backed away, toward the bars.

  “That’s it,” came the whispers from behind him. “Keep coming. We’ve got the gate unlocked.”

  At what Aven guessed was half the distance to the bars, he turned, and saw the men’s eager faces waiting by the gate, which was slightly ajar.

  Aven resisted the urge to run, but picked up his pace, seeing the freedom that lay ahead of him.

  A snarl sounded from behind.

  Aven froze.

  The men waved at him emphatically to hurry.

  A tremor shook the room.

  Aven broke into a run. The groan of impacted metal beat a frenzied rhythm behind him. He didn’t dare look back at his pursuer—the look in the men’s eyes told him enough.

  Almost to the gate, the men’s faces contorted. The gate slammed shut, just as a blow swept Aven’s left leg out from under him, spinning him into the air. His right shoulder and back crashed against the metal floor and he rolled, his momentum carrying him against the bars.

  Aven jumped to his feet. The snouted face of the creature blocked his path to the gate. The mercenaries had fallen back against the far wall of the hallway, curses flying from their lips.

  The kiehueth’s head swung toward Aven, forcing him to step back. It continued to come toward him slowly, as if corralling him away from the gate.

  It snarled at Aven, then turned around and came beside the gate. With a snort, it lowered itself down, blocking Aven’s path out.

  The mercenaries left. Then, moments later, all six returned, four carrying long prodding sticks with blue electricity glowing at the ends. Piz held one and grinned as he pushed the tip through the bars where the creature lay.

  Aven covered his ears just in time. The fearsome screech of the kiehueth pierced through his hands. The creature was on its feet now, backing away from the gate, its mouth wide open, teeth glistening. A hiss issued from the back of its throat.

  Slowly the men opened the gate, the four with the lightning sticks in their hands cautiously entered the room.

  “Don’t hurt it!” shouted the captain. “That’s our most precious cargo.”

  The men moved in unison toward the kiehueth. It retreated a step, stopped, then retreated one more.

  “Boy!” shouted the captain, waving from the gate, “Come. Quick.”

  Aven moved toward the gate, but the moment he did, the kiehueth snarled and took a step forward.

  Aven quickened his pace and watched out of the corner of his eye as he neared the mercenaries who stood between him and death. The creature lowered into a crouch. Aven’s eyes hardly registered the movement when the monster sprang forward. In that instant, Aven dropped to the floor. A scream chilled the air just as Aven covered his head in his hands. Shouts resounded in the room. A second man loosed a guttural cry. Aven tried to get to his feet and make for the gate when the animal’s bulk struck his side, rolling him onto the floor. He hurried to his feet and orientated himself, spinning around, his eyes searching for the exit. Two mercenaries surrounded him. Piz and another. A third lay still in a pool of blood, while the fourth continued to scream, his head beneath the kiehueth’s clawed foot.

  Then the forelimb rose. The man tried to roll out from under, but the heavy foot slammed down like a boulder, and the man’s screams ended in spray of blood and brain.

  Aven stepped back, as did the two mercenaries, flanking him.

  The kiehueth moved forward, its large eyes bulging grotesquely from its head. The pupils fixed upon their group, slowly panning up and down as it moved forward at an angle, cutting off their escape route.

  “Captain, help us!” screamed Piz, terror filling his voice. “It’s gonna kill us!”

  A long, bulky gun was thrown to the captain by the other mercenary standing outside the cell. The captain raised the sight to his face, then fired.

  The jolt hit the animal, electricity popping and forking across its hide, but the creature acted as if untouched.

  “All the way captain!” screamed Piz hysterically. “Turn it up all the fuggin’ way!”

  Aven saw the captain fiddle with a toggle and then raise the weapon again. It fired, sending a stream of blue lightning out. The kiehueth bared its teeth, and it snapped at the air. Then it froze, taking the popping and sizzling of the lightning as if it were merely an irritation.

  Almost as fast as the lightning, its claw slashed out. The razors barely missed Aven’s face, their full force striking the man on Aven’s left. Blood splashed across Aven’s periphery and a human head skittered along the floor.

  Suddenly Aven felt the wall against his back. In that moment, Piz, on Aven’s right, leapt toward the kiehueth and drove the end of his stick into its hide. The creature’s right forelimb swatted the stick from Piz’s hands.

  Piz stumbled backward, then turned and ran for the gate.

  Aven pressed himself flat against the wall as he watched the kiehueth go after Piz. The captain and the other man at the gate both shot their weapons at the approaching animal. A stray beam forked off from the kiehueth and hit Piz’s face, snapping him backward onto the ground. The creature leapt over Piz’s body.

  The captain’s face went white, and he and the other man dropped their guns and simultaneously reached for the sliding gate, but they had miscalculated. The kiehueth slammed into the screeching metal door, its snout wedged into the opening. The two men jumped back in shock. Captain Mhadrees tugged on the second man’s shirt, and the two ran down the left side of the corridor. The kiehueth used its weight, pressing agai
nst the metal with its powerful back legs. The gate twisted with a groan, then popped off its hinges, crashing onto the hallway floor.

  The beast howled, then pivoted to look at Aven. It sniffed the air, then passed into the hallway, stepping on the twisted gate. Steadily it moved down the corridor, in the direction Mhadrees and the other man had gone.

  Aven simply breathed, taking in the new situation. After a moment, he looked around in morbid astonishment. Blood and gore were strewn about the floor.

  Was there a way of escaping that animal? A place to hide?

  Or was this just the beginning of a long nightmare?

  --

  Aven flipped the headless mercenary over and dug his hands in the man’s pockets. One of them had the keys to the cell he’d been taken from. If he could find them, he could lock himself inside. It was one solution. The gate to the holding pen was destroyed, so he had to go somewhere.

  Aven hurried over to Piz, who lay groaning. The stray bolt of lighting had gone into the top left of his forehead. Aven dug his hands in the mercenary’s pockets. Heard the jingle of keys and felt their shape.

  Aven drug Piz by his legs through the gate, then down the hall, in the same direction the animal had disappeared. He wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to try and save the mercenary. If the man survived, he might repay Aven in some way, but Aven doubted it. Maybe it was that he just couldn’t leave the man to die a gruesome death. It was probably that.

  Passing a junction, he saw the door to his cell. At the door, Pike was staring at him in silence. Aven gave his face a quick glance and spent a fleeting thought wondering which Pike was in control.

  Aven fumbled with the keys. There were at least ten on the small, silver-colored ring.

  A bang sounded in the distance. Then again. The groan of metal being struck over and over by a large body. Aven felt his heart leap at each concussion, and his hands began to shake with the keys.

  Finally, the lock popped open. Aven dragged Piz inside, then shut the door. It clicked automatically into a locked position. Aven placed the keys in his pocket, beside Daeymara’s braid and made a mental note that it was the third key on the ring, marked, “XX”.