One had to watch, to study the patterns, see where new flames appeared, where old ones died, how they twisted and flickered, how tall they rose. He could read the meanings of their movements if he had enough time to study them. But how much time would it take? Weeks, he suspected. Months. Years. There were runes hidden within runes here, a maze of them. He would have to pace himself, work in short sessions.
Fix the biggest problems first, he told himself.
Blue tongues of flame erupted and spouted seemingly at random, and white phosphorous airs rose and sputtered. He could hear tongues of flame muttering and cursing in torment at how they had been twisted. But those were mere distractions.
A serpentine incandescence burrowed through the rune, emitting sparks.
It represents the worm at the world’s heart, he realized. But why is it so large?
He followed its shape backward, saw its tail wrapped around the bole of the golden tree, searing it, even as the worm drew away the light from its branches.
What an abomination! he thought.
Fallion hurled a ball of flame, used its energy to sever the tail that bound the world wyrm to the One True Tree. There was a crackling sound, a roar of fire, and the shadows fled from around the tree.
The flames cursed Fallion, and struck back, like some living thing. A blast of heat surged into him, filling him.
Almost, Fallion burst into flames. The inferno begged Fallion to let go, to leave his flesh behind and become one with Fire, as his master had years ago at the battle for Shadoath’s Castle.
“No!” Fallion shouted, knowing that he had no choice but to fight. The Seal of the Inferno was a deadly puzzle. Either he had to heal it, or it would destroy him.
In his dreams, he had always repaired the rune. The dream came every night, and it had always been the same. The flames spoke with a million tongues. In his dream he tamed them, taught them to speak with only one.
He looked to the field where a bowl of flames should be, and saw the flames. But almost instantly they snuffed out, leaving only two.
For a moment, he knelt with mouth agape, unsure how to proceed. This is where he was to bind the worlds, bring all of them into one. But only two flames remained in this bowl. Each flame flickered and swayed in its own dance.
For long seconds Fallion held still, waiting for the other flames to reappear.
The heat continued to build in him, threatening to overwhelm him. He could feel it in the back of his throat. Steam began to rise from his cloak.
Desperate, Fallion lashed out, hurling back the heat that threatened to overwhelm him, and bound the two flames into one.
The fires of the Seal lashed out, roaring toward Fallion, and then died in an instant.
Suddenly all that remained was a ring of smoke rising around the golden tree.
In the ensuing silence, Fallion found his heart pounding and sweat rolling down his face. There was no voice coming from the remains of the fire. There was no voice in the tree.
“Is it over?” Jaz asked.
All around them, the world seemed to return to normal. Fallion could hear the morning bird song as robins and larks worked the nearby meadows. The rising sun stood golden in the sky. A faint breeze stealing down from the mountains cooled his skin.
And overhead, a great light began to fill the sky.
Daylan Hammer fell silent for a long moment, leaving Alun time to ponder his words.
“Can’t, can’t you help us in some other way?” Alun asked. “You visit the netherworld it is said. Surely … there is some weapon that you could lend us?”
“You think that better weapons can save you?” Daylan mused. “You ask for a dangerous thing. I’ve heard tales of entire worlds that have been leveled—all because one like me handed out such weapons to those in need.
“It is forbidden.
“Even if I gave them to you, they could not save you. In time, your enemies would capture them and turn them against you.
“Besides, you have all of the weapons that you need to destroy this world.”
Alun tried to imagine what he could be talking about. Swords? War clubs? “What weapons?”
“Hate,” Daylan answered. “Your people don’t just live under the shadow of the wyrmlings. You have fallen far beneath it. In a generation, there will no longer be any difference between them and you.”
Daylan fell silent, then at last asked, “So, what will you tell Warlord Madoc?”
Alun thought hard. If he told the truth, he might gain his freedom, untold riches. He could marry well and live happily.
And if he lied….
Then Daylan would free Princess Kan-hazur, leaving his people to withstand the full onslaught of the wyrmlings. Prince Urstone would come to rule, hopefully to help any who escaped.
Even if my people survive, Alun wondered, will House Urstone ever reward me?
He had never caught the eye of the High King. It seemed too fanciful a notion to entertain.
Suddenly there was a bright light in the sky, as if a star had been born.
Alun did not become aware of it all at once. Instead, it seemed that for several seconds it became brighter and brighter.
He looked up, and saw a pale disk, as big as a moon. A star is falling, Alun thought. It’s coming right at us.
The light grew brilliant, and suddenly Alun recalled hearing a tale of a meteorite that had crashed into the mountains years ago, filled with iron from the stars. But he realized that anything as big as this would surely smash him when it hit.
Fallion peered up at the growing orb. He could see blue—vast seas, and the actinic white of clouds whirling above them. He saw the blush of the morning sun striking clouds at the terminus. He spotted a continent, with a great red desert and snow-topped mountains. He could make out silver veins of rivers, the emerald green of forests, a lake shaped like a kidney.
People around Fallion began to cry out in astonishment and fear, and some threw up their hands to brace for the impact.
“What’s that!” Alun shouted, still peering at the coming world. He could not believe that his life was over. He wanted Daylan Hammer to explain the sight away, offer some comfort.
He looked at Daylan Hammer, whose eyes were wide with wonder. “It’s the end of the world,” he said as the huge disk suddenly filled the whole sky.
“This is the end!” Talon cried.
Fallion stared at the coming world, fear coursing through him like a bolt of lightning, and whispered, “No, my friends, it is only beginning.”
The ground trembled and groaned, and a mighty blast raked Alun’s face. There was a fire in the heavens.
Wind roared all around him, and tornados of light touched down.
Alun threw up his hands to protect his eyes, and gritted his teeth.
Two worlds collided, folding into one. There were no crushing rocks falling from the sky, no vast craters formed, no plasma spewing from the far side of a ruined world.
Instead a rain of atoms fell, sizzling past one another through the vast empty spaces that exist between the nucleus of one atom and another.
To Fallion, the impact felt as if a great wind roared through him. He could feel it pelting him on the head and shoulders, driving through him, and leaving through the soles of his feet. Bolts of static electricity raced everywhere, across the surface of the castle, and there was a rushing sound so loud, accompanied by screams, that it felt like the end of the world.
And suddenly the ground whirled and began to lurch beneath his feet. He could feel a hill rising beneath him, the ground shooting up so fast that his knees buckled.
The walls of Castle Coorm trembled and rolled as if during an earthquake. The east wall bucked, spilling into the moat, and the queen’s tower canted to one side and collapsed. Huge stones surged up through the ground, their faces seeming weathered by centuries of erosion.
Suddenly the atoms sliding through empty space halted, joining together as tightly as a key in the lock of a manacle, according
to some pattern laid out in the master rune an eternity in the past.
The ground lurched to a halt, and Fallion felt an impact. No blow by a human hand could have been so devastating. It was as if a giant slapped him, sending him into oblivion.
6
A NEW WORLD
When we plow a field to ready it for planting, much is lost. The holes and homes of mice and snakes are torn apart, the struggling roots of last year’s herbs are broken. To me, the mouse and the herb are wondrous things, to be enjoyed and treasured. But we lay them waste—all in the hope of some distant harvest. Thus in making one marvelous thing, regretfully we put an end to another.
—the Wizard Sisel
Fallion woke with a groan, only becoming conscious in slow increments. His eyes fluttered open, but the dust in the air was so thick that he soon had to close them.
Everywhere, the townspeople were screaming for help, and Jaz was shouting, “Fallion, there’s something wrong with Talon!”
Lying still for a second, Fallion tried to collect his strength. He felt half-dead. He was so feeble that he could hardly lift a hand. It was as if he had suffered an endless illness, and only now might be on the way to recovery though he felt as he might just as easily die.
“Fallion? Can you hear me?”
“Coming,” Fallion managed to say.
Fallion looked toward Jaz, could see his dim outline through a haze of dust as thick as any fog, crouching above Talon. Rocks had risen all around, a jumble of them.
Fallion felt so weak, he didn’t know if he could stand, so he summoned all of his strength and tried to crawl toward Talon on his hands and knees, but as he lifted his left hand, he found that a thick vine was latched to the meaty part of his palm.
He tried to pull away, but it hurt too much. Upon closer inspection, he saw that the vine wasn’t latched to his palm—it was growing through it. The trunk of the vine, about a quarter inch in diameter, ran cleanly through the meat of his palm and continued out the other side.
He peered at his palm for half an instant, trying to understand.
Two worlds combined, he realized. And upon those worlds, two living things had occupied the same space.
So a vine grew through him. But what was wrong with Talon?
Dread surged through him as he drew his dagger, hacked through the vine, pulled it out as if it were an arrow, and then clasped his hand and tried to staunch a raging flow of blood.
Talon was hurt, Jaz had said. What if she has a bush growing through her, or a tree?
Why did I even bring her? he wondered. He hadn’t needed her. She could have stayed home, found some boy to love. But she’d wanted an adventure.
He peered up, but the dust was too thick to make out Talon. His energy was coming a little better now. He climbed to his feet. The gritty dust got in his eyes, and he had to stagger, half-blind, toward Jaz.
By the time that he got there, Rhianna and Farion were circled around, both of them having crawled too, both swearing and uttering curses.
She’s dead, Fallion thought. Our little Talon is dead. He’d always thought of her as a sister, a fierce little sister, and he tried to imagine how he would break the news to Myrrima, their foster mother. Their foster father, Borenson, was a warrior, and he would take it stoutly, though it would break his heart. But Myrrima … she was too tender to bear such news.
As he got close, he rejoiced to see that she was breathing, her chest rising and falling.
“She’s out cold,” Jaz was telling the others.
Jaz looked up, moved back for Fallion to get a better view, and Fallion gasped.
Their Talon had changed. At first, he thought that it was only a matter of growth. Talon had always been a diminutive girl, combining her mother’s lithe body and her father’s strength. But she was diminutive no more.
“What do you think?” Jaz asked. “Seven feet tall? Maybe more?”
That looks about right, Fallion thought. And three across the shoulder. She looked as if she weighed a good three hundred pounds, all of it muscle.
Her face remained much the same, or, at least Fallion could still see Talon’s resemblance in it. But it stretched in an odd way. There were two strange humps above her brow, like those on a calf that is about to sprout horns, and her forehead seemed thickened, as if a bony plate had grown there. Her cheekbones were similarly armored. She groaned, opening her mouth as if to curse at some bad dream, revealing canines that had become over-large.
“What happened?” Jaz asked.
Fallion suspected that he knew. Some other creature must have been standing where Talon was, on that shadow world, and the two of them had become one.
7
THE HUNTER AWAKES
There was a time when the Knights Eternal were Lady Despair’s most fearsome weapon. But as her powers grew, so did the powers of her minions, and the walking shadows, the Death Lords, began to haunt our dreams. With the merging of the two worlds, though, we should have guessed that it was only a matter of time before the Knights Eternal reestablished their dominion.
—the Wizard Sisel
Gongs were tolling in Rugassa, their deep tones reverberating among the rocks in the fortress, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere, thundering up from the center of the earth.
Upon the toll, Vulgnash awoke in the tower crypt, and with a powerful kick threw off the lid of his coffin.
Gripping its sides, he inspected his rotting flesh. His skin had dried, becoming gray and leathery, and his flesh had cracked and wrinkled. Maggots had burrowed trails through his arms.
How long, he wondered, since last I walked the earth? He had hoped to remain dead for eternity this time.
But Lady Despair summoned him, and he rose at her bidding. He had promised his service to the Great Wyrm, whether it be in life, or in death, and now he had to answer the call.
Besides, he would rather be summoned into the presence of Lady Despair than into that of the Emperor.
From the condition of his hands, he imagined that it had not been long. Three years since last he woke, perhaps five, no more.
Yet Vulgnash felt as if he had been pummeled. Every muscle in his body ached; he had seldom felt so weak.
He climbed from the coffin, and stood for a moment, stretching his red wings wide to get the blood flowing and staring down through a tower window. People rushed everywhere a thousand feet below him, like beetles in a dung hill.
The fortress was in ruins. Walls of black basalt looked as if they had split during an earthquake.
He peered out beyond the city gate, to see if the fortress was under attack, and stared in awe. There was a strange and wondrous change in the land: a forest stood out on the plains before the castle. The plains should have been barren. Last he knew, they were burned twice yearly so that no army could draw near without being seen.
But here was a forest of hoary pine trees that looked to be a thousand years old. And strange birds flew up out of it, like none that he had ever seen before.
How long? he wondered. A thousand years? It can’t be. My flesh would have turned to dust, and I would be beyond the power even of Lady Despair to call.
And now the gongs were sounding, announcing that the Great Wyrm demanded his presence.
Vulgnash swore, strode to his closet, and drew on a crimson robe to hide the ruin of his face, then went striding down the stairs, into the great hall.
He felt so weak, he needed sustenance; and so as he entered the great hall, where servants went scurrying about in terror, their eyes wide in fright to see him, he grabbed a small girl of eight or nine.
“Your life is mine,” he whispered, then placed five fingers upon her skull—one between her eyes, two upon each of her eyes, and his thumb and pinky finger upon her mandibles.
At this touch, the girl’s blood turned to ice water in her veins, and she wet herself.
The girl tried to withdraw in terror, but his fingers held to her flesh as if it were his own. Some of the servants that
saw groaned or looked away in horror; one cried out the girl’s name in mourning, “Ah, little Wenya!”
With a whispered incantation, the girl’s passions—her longing for life, her hopes and ambitions—and the fire in her soul that drove them were drawn away.
The spell went to work, and the girl’s flesh, rife with water, began to sag and putrefy, even as Vulgnash’s own flesh gained heft and a less unwholesome color.
When he was done, he let the girl fall away, a dry and rotting husk. He felt refreshed, but not refreshed enough. He would need to feed on others before he regained his full strength.
But the gongs were tolling, and he had no time for it.
He grabbed a torch from a sconce, then went striding down to the lower levels. Powerful guards cringed in terror as he passed, for they knew what Vulgnash was.
The black basalt tunnels were cracked and broken, and often the passageway was littered with rubble and boulders. Vulgnash waded through or climbed over as the need took him.
Is this why she summoned me? he wondered. A mere earthquake? But no, he knew that there must be some greater threat to the realm.
In his weakened state, the race left him drained.
The great fortress of Rugassa was built upon the crown of a volcano, and his spiraling journey downward felt like a plummet. All the while, the gongs grew louder, more insistent, until at last he had gone far enough, and the corridor opened into the audience chamber.
Two others had arrived before him and stood at each side of the chamber like an honor guard, robed all in crimson. Thul and Kryssidia were their names.
She has summoned three of the Knights Eternal, Vulgnash realized, a full quorum. Great need must be upon her.
A platform jutted out above a lake of boiling magma, which heated the room like a blast furnace. Tunnels high up allowed the hot air to escape, while lower vents, one of which sat directly behind the platform, allowed cold air to rush in.
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