Gingerly, she placed the salve on his ear, where his captor had bitten it off. Draken did not jerk or start away when she touched him. Instead, he leaned into her, savoring her presence though it cost him pain.
She teased him, “You Borensons, with that odd gap where your ear should be: I do hope that our children don’t inherit the trait.”
Draken smiled up at her, his eyes gleaming, and pulled her close for a hug. He glanced around. All eyes were on Aaath Ulber, so he pulled Rain into the darkness in the shadows of a building and kissed her roughly.
For weeks now, on the boat, they’d been unable to find a place to be alone, had not dared kiss. Now he made up for it.
He kissed her lips, her cheeks, and hugged her so tightly that it took her breath away. He finally pulled back her hair, studied her in the weak light of the stars.
“I’m glad that the wyrmlings didn’t get your ear,” he said. “I’ve been longing to nibble on it.”
He leaned in, chewed on her ear, and the passion inside her flamed to life. He was hugging her, so that his whole body pressed against her. She felt his strong chest firm against her breast, and she ached to race off into the woods, into the shadows, to be alone with him.
But she knew that the time was not right. She wanted a proper wedding, with family and friends gathered around to witness. So after a time, they stole back to watch the endowment ceremony.
Myrrima was there, at the edge of the light, her face stony. She looked as if she had been beaten.
“Have you spoken to your mother?” Rain asked, wondering what was wrong.
“No,” Draken answered, clinging tightly to her hand. “Why?”
“She looks so sad,” Rain said, and suddenly she knew why. Aaath Ulber was taking endowments, endowments of metabolism that would kill him. It might not kill him in an instant, but they would shorten his life by decades.
“Your father’s killing himself,” Rain said. “He’s sacrificing himself, and he didn’t even ask your mother’s permission . . . he didn’t talk to you, or Sage.”
Draken held silent for a while. “He has another family now, too. I guess that their need outweighs ours.” Draken sighed. “He’s sacrificing himself for both of his families.”
Rain bit her lip, appalled at the sacrifices this system of magic required. A few moments ago she had feared that one of the Dedicates might die in this process, and she’d felt relieved to see him survive. But now she realized that Aaath Ulber was the victim this night.
He would die from his wounds, even if the wyrmlings didn’t kill him. Nothing could save him.
Aaath Ulber grew mighty during the course of that night, and as he did, his appearance altered subtly.
With three endowments of wit, a new light shone in his eyes, a keenness to his perceptions. He would now learn more quickly and would not forget anything that he saw or heard.
As he garnered endowments of brawn, his back straightened and his massive bulk seemed to hang on him easily.
After taking endowments of stamina, the bruises and scrapes on his face began to heal in a matter of hours, and he grew more lucid despite the fatigue of the night.
With three endowments of grace, he began to move nimbly, with the ease of a dancer.
Two endowments of glamour made him seem younger and more handsome, so that even his scars appeared attractive; there was a new certitude to him, the kind of confidence that invites others to follow.
With endowments of voice, his tone seemed to become deeper and mellower, so that others were more inclined to accept his counsel.
After taking endowments of metabolism, his body began to speed, his breath quickening, his voice becoming higher. With ten endowments, he would be able run at a hundred miles per hour or more. With twenty endowments, he would even be able to run upon the surface of water.
But not all of the attributes he took that night produced a visible change. Some granted abilities that remained hidden.
Warlord Hrath himself gave up endowments of scent taken from dogs so that Aaath Ulber would be able to track wyrmlings and would be alerted to the presence of any that wandered near.
Endowments of sight would let him see more keenly than any owl so that he would espy enemies miles away, even in the darkness.
A few endowments of hearing would make ears sharper than a robin’s, so that he might hear a call for help from great distances.
So the night went, the barbarians bestowing Aaath Ulber endowments one after another, as fast as the old facilitator could manage, until he’d granted all sixty.
The barbarians of Internook were turning Aaath Ulber into a weapon fashioned from flesh and bone. They hoped to aim him like an arrow to the heart of their enemies, but Rain could not help but think how often arrows went astray.
The Dedicates were immediately hustled off to secret locations, for if the wyrmlings managed to find a Dedicate and kill him, the magical bond between Aaath Ulber and that Dedicate would be broken, and Aaath Ulber would lose the attribute that he so badly needed.
Thus some were carted off in wagons while a couple were hustled down to the docks and loaded into boats. Still others managed to hobble back to their homes or off into the wilderness to hide.
Sometime in the night, Draken rowed back out to sea to give word to Sage. At the first light of dawn he brought her to town.
Sage got off the boat and stood on the land, peering about at the trees and dirt, inhaling the scent of the forests above the village. The touch of clean earth revitalized her, lifted her spirits. She was happy to be back on land.
With the coming of day, messengers were sent to the east and west along the coast to bear the news with a warning from Warlord Hrath. “Be careful who you speak to. There are spies in the wrymling employ. Tell the headman of each village and city what has transpired and beg their aid. But do not call for an open revolt against the wrymlings yet. We dare not alarm them. Instead, we need more forcibles here, and we need the lord of each village to send a champion to join us. We meet tomorrow at dawn!”
Rain’s heart thrilled at the news, and she watched the proceedings with trepidation. The barbarians of Internook had always been enemies in her mind but now she found herself hoping for their success.
Lest a wrymling patrol happen through town, Warlord Hrath had the young men take posts, surreptitiously acting as guards. They worked in barns and fields along the roads, with orders to whistle a certain song if any wyrmling happened along.
As the forcibles ran out and dawn blossomed, the crowds thinned, and sun came up a ruddy gold, with clouds on the horizon, their hearts blue and their edges lined with molten copper.
The old facilitator was weary, ready for bed, but Aaath Ulber had one more task for him. He pulled up his pants leg to reveal a welt, red and scarred with age. It was a rune that Rain had never seen before.
“When we get more forcibles, can you make a couple of these?” Aaath Ulber said.
The old facilitator knelt and studied the welt. He began to tremble nervously, then to laugh, giddy with excitement. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yes,” Aaath Ulber said. “I got it in Inkarra when I was young. That, my friend, is the legendary rune of will.”
Rain studied the thing. It was an odd symbol that reminded her of a drawing of a thistle—with a central hub with many sharp spikes poking up from it.
A rune of will, it was said, multiplied most of a man’s abilities. Any man would be made stronger by it, faster, fiercer in battle.
But what will it do to Aaath Ulber, she wondered, a berserker who lost all consciousness in battle and became mad with bloodlust?
At that moment, there was a shout. “Leviathans! Leviathans in the bay!”
Everyone in town cheered and celebrated. There was a great blowing of war horns. The entire town turned out, rushing down the cobblestone streets.
Dozens of the great serpents were out in the water, eeling about. They roiled to the surface and the morning sun glinted off their
silver scales, which were pocked with barnacles. The great males swam about with their fins rising up out of the water, some of their pectorals riding six feet above the foam.
Before the school of leviathan came the fish—huge schools that raced toward the shallows. As they neared the fish trap, they grew so close together that there was not an inch between them. Huge schools of red snapper and sea bass had gathered, their fins splashing the water white. Many of them leapt as much as a dozen feet in the air, struggling to get into the fish trap, and as always, not two hundred feet off shore, the leviathans circled ominously, thrashing and lunging as they took the largest fish.
Warlord Hrath studied the spectacle, beaming, and slapped Aaath Ulber on the back. “You’ve brought great luck to our village! We have not seen so many leviathans in years!”
Rain wondered how long the luck would hold.
24
A DESPERATE PLAN
Beware of making plans in desperation, for when you do, you are only reacting to your enemy. It is far better to think ahead, to force him to make the desperate plans.
—Hearthmaster Waggit
“Are you really going to attack the wyrmlings?” Draken asked his father that morning. “I mean, that wight of theirs, she helped you, right?”
“I’ll not be beholding to a wyrmling wraith,” Aaath Ulber explained to Draken. “She helped us for her own purposes, and I’ll have none of it. In fact, since she wants to make me her pawn, I want all the more to get rid of her. I’ll gut her along with the rest of her folk.”
Draken shivered. Dawn had come clear and cool, so much colder than the mornings back home in Landesfallen this time of year. He tasted a hint of ice in the air, and a bitter winter ahead. The sun slanted in through the village, casting blue shadows, and the smoke from cooking fires in the longhouses clung near to the ground in the heavy air.
The men sat in the shade on the porch of an alehouse, with the morning sun beating down all around them. Old Warlord Hrath seemed to be the leader of the town, but for the purposes of plotting this war, he had relegated a great deal of authority to young Wulfgaard.
The young man had brought a map from his house written on heavy parchment. The map itself might have been drawn fifty years ago, the parchment was so old and worn, but there were new markings painted here and there, and small notes written with charcoal.
The map showed the island of Internook, with its rough coasts and frozen tundra. But of greatest value was the information about the cities. Each city and village was shown in an inked circle, and beside the circle was a number in charcoal which represented the quantity of wyrmling troops assigned to guard that town.
In addition, a wash made of thin red paint showed where wyrmling patrols had been spotted.
“Not all of the figures are accurate,” Wulfgaard apologized. “I’ve got word from many of the towns along the coast, and from many of the farther villages, but I had to guess in some instances. Still, it is not hard to guess, if you know how many longhouses are in a village. The wyrmling guards number only one to every one hundred of us.”
All in all, the map was a masterwork of intelligence gathering. Draken was impressed, as was Aaath Ulber.
But Draken had to wonder how one man might hope to secure the island, for it seemed that the island was covered in cities and villages. Hunting down the wyrmlings in each area might take weeks or months. And no matter where Aaath Ulber began his attacks, the wyrmlings would surround him.
But now Aaath Ulber put his finger on a dark blot some eighty miles south of them—the wyrmling fortress.
“Here,” Aaath Ulber said, “this is the prize. This is where we must attack.”
Some children ran past carrying buckets. Aaath Ulber held the map on his knees, drew a long draught from a huge mug.
Draken wondered how many great battles had been plotted on the porches of alehouses.
The village was a riot. The fishermen were out on their levee with nets and spears, harvesting sea bass in great quantities. The women in town had taken up knives, while the children took the filets and soaked them in brine. The whole town had turned out for the harvest, and there was singing and rejoicing.
A carrion crow flew to the top of a merchant’s shop across the street and sat on a black iron weather vane. Warlord Hrath peered up at it and grimaced. The crow merely squatted on its perch, braving an afternoon wind that barely ruffled its feathers.
Aaath Ulber studied the map. “This wyrmling fortress,” he asked Wulfgaard, “have you found the bolt-hole for it?”
“Bolt-hole?” Wulfgaard asked. “There is none. There is only one way in, one way out.”
“The wyrmlings always have a bolt-hole,” Aaath Ulber explained, “sometimes more than one. A wyrmling warren is like an ant hive. The air within it needs to be refreshed. So there must be a second entrance somewhere. It has to be large enough for a wyrmling to get through, so it will have a roof of four or five feet at least. The bolt-hole will not be in sight of the main entrance, nor can it be at a higher elevation. Usually, it will be on the far side of a hill—not less than two miles from the main entrance, but often ten miles or more.”
“We haven’t seen anything like that,” Wulfgaard said. “Not a trace.”
“I’ll have to find it then,” Aaath Ulber said. “The wyrmlings will have it hidden. Rocks or brush might cover the entrance. But if you follow the wyrmling’s tracks . . .”
Aaath Ulber pointed out three large hills on a ridge to the west of the wyrmling fortress. “I’ll check here, behind this tallest hill. That’s a likely place.”
“I’d like to come with you, if I may,” Wulfgaard asked.
Aaath Ulber glanced toward Warlord Hrath, to get his input.
The warlord shrugged. “Wulfgaard here, he has a taste for blood.”
Aaath Ulber made a sweeping motion with his hand, from the eastern end of the island to the west. “We have hundreds of miles of coastline—and we know where the wyrmlings are stationed inland. We can’t clear all of this out. . . .” He frowned in concentration.
“Why can’t we?” Wulfgaard begged.
“It would warn the wyrmlings in the fortress,” Aaath Ulber said. “Each time that we kill a wyrmling, a couple of dedicates are freed. Those who have granted the dead wyrmling metabolism will wake from their slumber, someone who has given sight will regain his sight. This won’t go unnoticed for long, and the wyrmlings would retaliate, mount a campaign.”
Wulfgaard seemed not to have considered that.
“More importantly,” Aaath Ulber said, “by killing the wyrmlings, we’re endangering their Dedicates.”
“How is that?” Warlord Hrath asked.
“What do you think that the wyrmlings will do to a Dedicate that revives?” Aaath Ulber asked. “A man can never grant a second endowment, so they’re no use as Dedicates. They might be of some use as slaves—but there is nothing that a human can do that a wyrmling can’t. A slave would serve little purpose. But the wyrmlings have a taste for human flesh. I doubt that anyone who revives in the wyrmling dungeons will ever breathe fresh air again.”
Wulfgaard’s face paled in concern. “We can’t just slaughter the wyrmlings then,” he said. “Even if we wanted to, we can’t rise up against them without . . .”
“Sacrificing the lives of every man, woman, and child that they have already taken from you,” Aaath Ulber confirmed.
Warlord Hrath’s eyes flickered as he glanced up to Aaath Ulber. “There is really only one course of action then,” he suggested. “We should kill the Dedicates ourselves, take the wyrmling’s endowments from them. If we did, we’d leave the wyrmlings sunblind, as slow as commoners, and vastly outnumbered. We could take them then—even our old men could take them.”
Wulfgaard grabbed the map and threw it to the ground. “No!”
Draken looked up to Aaath Ulber. As Sir Borenson, he had killed Dedicates before, slaughtered them until the stairs on the Dedicates’ tower at Castle Sylvarresta ran with
blood. There were songs sung about it still today.
Aaath Ulber shook his head and growled, “Now who is talking about sacrificing the lives of your people? By a conservative estimate, the wyrmlings have twenty thousand troops here on the land. Each of them has at least two endowments. The wyrmlings must have taken at least forty or fifty thousand of your people down to their lair.”
“More like a quarter of a million,” Wulfgaard said.
“By the Powers!” Aaath Ulber swore.
The number was staggering. It hinted at vast forces of enemies down in the warrens.
Aaath Ulber had never entered a wyrmling fortress of this size. He wondered if it was even possible to clear the monsters out of such a place with as few resources as he had.
Yet if he was to attack Rugassa, he imagined that this would be a good trial run. It would give him a chance to explore the wyrmlings’ lair, study their defenses, and learn more about the enemy.
Aaath Ulber asked, “A quarter million. Are you certain?”
“I’ve heard from people in fifty villages and cities,” Wulfgaard said. “If my estimates are right . . . then it is a quarter of a million at the very least.”
“So many can’t have given endowments yet,” Aaath Ulber suggested. “It would take four dozen facilitators working night and day to grant the endowments that have been given already.”
Unless the facilitators had taken endowments, Aaath Ulber realized.
He wondered. How many facilitators might the wyrmlings have? How many wyrmlings are in that fortress? If each warrior has only two or three endowments, does that mean that they have over a hundred thousand warriors?
That seemed to be too large a number.
Perhaps the wyrmlings are harvesting these folks, or merely executing those who present a danger.
Myrrima suggested, “The wyrmlings might be holding people captive until they have enough time to take their endowments.”
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