Vengewar

by Kevin J. Anderson

  “Even with the difficult roads over the mountains?” Penda asked.

  “I know a way through the south.” He smiled at her. “Do not worry.”

  Adan was glad Hale had found someone so quickly. “Voo is not a patient person, and Mandan needs to receive the message as soon as possible. It’s imperative that my brother meets her, so he can see how powerful the wreths are. He is preoccupied with hatred for another enemy, for—” He felt the sudden, unexpected grief press on his heart again. He paused, drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I am outraged at what the Isharans did to my father. Mandan and I stand together in that, but personal vengeance cannot be more important than saving my kingdom.”

  “Or saving the world,” Penda added. “The wreths want to wake the great dragon.”

  The courier gave a quick bow. “I have contacts at Convera Castle and will present your letter directly to the konag.” His lips quirked in a sly grin. “I’ve done it before. I have ways.”

  Xar clicked on his crossbar stand, and Ari chittered at a higher pitch. Donnan stalked over to the reptile birds and scratched each under its beak. They trilled and fluffed their feathers, accepting the attention as their due.

  “You’ve done this before?” Hale asked.

  Donnan Rah smiled at him. “Konag Conndur used my services several times. He paid me to take secret messages and gather information. I can be swift and discreet, when I need to be.”

  Adan was surprised. “You were a spy?”

  The man brushed the green fabric of his sleeve. “I prefer to call myself an observer who provides useful information.”

  Hale snorted. “Cra, you worked for Osterra and you told none of us!”

  “I did not work for Osterra. I was paid by Osterra. I gave Conndur what he requested, while I also gathered information useful to the Utauk tribes. Shella din Orr has all my reports.” The man’s expression became grave. “Strange occurrences across the land, empty villages, caravans disappearing.”

  “Now we understand why,” Penda said, looking at the blue ska who had delivered images of the slave camps.

  Adan placed his hope in Donnan Rah. “Convince my brother. Once he stands face-to-face with Queen Voo and sees the sandwreth armies, he will realize this threat is unlike anything we have ever faced.” It pained him to add, “The Isharans can wait.”

  Donnan sketched a circle over his heart. “I shall do my best.”

  * * *

  Penda kept track of the moon and studied how her body felt, while Adan monitored the calendar. The baby would arrive in less than a month.

  They dined together at the long banquet table. Hale took his plate of food back to his own quarters, and Hom flitted about adding wood to the fireplace, refilling their goblets, and avoiding Xar, who harassed the squire every time he passed too close.

  Adan smiled at Penda, whose large eyes were filled with longing and love. With a bittersweet pang, he recalled his father’s delight upon learning Penda was pregnant. Conndur often complained that his older son had refused to accept any of the viable brides that had been offered to him, but Mandan was a difficult person to love. Adan was lucky to have someone he cherished.

  Conndur the Brave would never see his first grandchild. Adan felt tears burn his eyes, and he bent his head down to concentrate on the rich barley and lamb soup. “Our child will have a long life and a great legacy.”

  “So will we,” Penda said. “I can feel it.” The Utauks had a faint connection with the remaining cobwebs of magic in the land.

  Adan had seen Penda’s intuitions proven correct many times. “I believe you.”

  One of the Banner guards hurried into the dining hall. “Sire, three riders arrived at dusk. It’s late, but we let them through the gate. They asked to see you right away.”

  Penda whispered, “Such visits usually don’t bode well.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.” Adan rose to his feet, bracing himself for another crisis. He put a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

  The guard broke into a grin. “It is King Kollanan from Norterra, Sire!”

  Adan let out a relieved laugh. “I doubt he brings good news, but I’m always glad to see my uncle. Send him in.”

  Before the guard could leave the dining hall, Adan heard footsteps and loud voices coming down the corridor. The king of Norterra marched through the door, spreading his arms wide. Kollanan wore riding leathers and a long, warm cape, dusty from travel. He was a handsome man with a body strengthened from hard work and training. His well-trimmed beard gave him a paternal, commanding air. He tugged the gloves from his hands. “Adan Starfall!”

  The younger man accepted his uncle’s bear hug. Both men—both kings—pounded each other on the back.

  Behind Kollanan came a cinnamon-haired Brava woman in her mid-twenties and a strange man with long black hair and deep blue eyes. His exotic garments, silver leggings, shoulder pads, and chest armor reminded Adan of Queen Voo and her retinue. The stranger and the Brava woman had nearly identical tattoos on their faces.

  Penda made a strange sound. “Is that a wreth?”

  Koll glanced over his shoulder. “This is Thon. As to what he is … that remains to be seen. Elliel is my new bonded Brava. She came to me at Fellstaff, and she has quite a story to tell. In fact, we all do. So much has happened since you and I left Convera.”

  “My father is dead. That changes everything.” Adan and Kollanan heaved a heavy sigh together, thinking of Conndur.

  “Ancestors’ blood, it’s much more than that,” Koll said. “That’s why I had to come in person.”

  The two skas took wing from their perches, circled Thon, and landed across from him on the dining table. They watched him, curiously bobbing their heads. The wreth man regarded them with sparkling eyes. “I see you have little dragons. Fragments.”

  “Dragons…” Adan gestured for Kollanan, Elliel, and Thon to take seats. “We’ve had our own experience with dragons.…”

  Kollanan settled heavily onto a sturdy wooden chair. “And I have to tell you about our battle against the frostwreths at Lake Bakal, and how Thon helped us defeat them.”

  Adan sat back and called for more food. “It will be a long dinner.”

  16

  SHADRI had previously explored the abandoned wreth city, but there were countless more things to discover there. When Queen Tafira suggested inspecting Lord Bahlen’s new fortifications while Kollanan was gone, Shadri asked if she could go along. “Now that the wreths have reappeared, we should understand their history more than ever before. We might even help Thon unlock some of his memories.”

  The road from Fellstaff to Bahlen’s holding was well traveled, but the wreth city was off the beaten path and had been shunned for generations. On horseback, Tafira mused, “I have lived in Norterra for decades, but spent little time exploring the land. These ruins never seemed relevant before.”

  Shadri squirmed in the saddle. Riding horses might be faster than walking, but it was certainly more uncomfortable. Road dust kept getting in her face. “I’m excited to show you some of the things I found in the ruins last time, my lady.”

  Lasis accompanied them, insisting that the queen not be left alone even for a short journey to the nearby county. He was an imposing escort in Brava black.

  Shadri wiped grit from her cheeks, shaded her eyes, and looked toward the ancient city as they approached. She hardly recognized it with all the new construction work. “The place was so quiet before! Look at the restored wall!”

  Lasis led them ahead to the bustling camp. Work crews moved throughout the ruins as if the city itself had come alive again. The main gates had fallen to ruin long ago, but Bahlen’s workers had built a new wooden barricade and reassembled much of the stone wall, though gaps remained.

  The nearest town was Yanton, a mile away, and Lord Bahlen drew on it for labor and supplies. Horse carts rolled in on fresh roads, beating down the grasses as they delivered wood and stone. Sturdy canvas tents were pitched in open plazas, and
courtyards were filled with bedrolls, pillows, and extra clothes for the ever-expanding work teams who moved temporarily to the wreth city. Cauldrons over cookfires simmered soup for everyone.

  Shadri looked around at the ancient buildings. “I wonder if Lord Bahlen found the fascinating magical relics and places I saw last time. Is he a man with much curiosity?”

  “He is a man who wants to protect his people if the wreths come back,” Tafira said. “He may explore more thoroughly once he feels safe.”

  The noise of hammers and picks grew louder as they arrived at the main entrance. Aside from the significant portion of the northeastern perimeter that had collapsed in some long-ago quake—Ossus stirring at the heart of the world?—the rest of the wall was remarkably intact.

  Inside the city, crumbling buildings were being taken down, the walls disassembled piece by piece and the materials used to shore up the outer barrier. Burly stonemasons strained with ropes, pulleys, and counterweights until their biceps looked ready to pop. They shifted enormous blocks and lowered them onto reinforced wagon beds. Carts with the material from dismantled buildings rolled off to work sites. The activity reminded Shadri of a stirred-up anthill.

  Lasis nudged his horse forward and raised a black-gloved hand. Seeing them arrive, workers set picks and shovels on the ground to watch.

  Bahlen rode among the work teams, sitting tall on a dappled mare and wearing a cream-colored cape. He shaded his eyes and stared at them, then trotted his horse forward. “Apologies, my queen. I was expecting another work crew, but I am honored to have your company.” He gestured around the broken city. “As you can see, we’ve been busy. This place is already far more defensible than Yanton or any of my other holdings.”

  He led his visitors through wide streets, showing off what he had done. “Many of the buildings are intact, and many are easily restorable. If wreth armies attack, my people can come inside the wall for shelter and barricade the entrances. Mayor Cleff and I have already discussed this.” His thin face was etched with deep lines of worry. “I hope it will be sufficient.”

  “Far better than an undefended farming village,” Lasis said.

  Shadri pointed at a soaring structure marked with graceful curves. “I remember that spiral tower, but I never went inside. See how it tilts! I wonder if it’s about to collapse. Or do you think the wreths built it at that angle on purpose? They might use mathematics or magic that humans can’t understand.”

  The tower’s outer wall was carved with a serpentine scaly back. The dragon tail wound up the spire, but the apex stones had broken away, as if the dragon had escaped.

  Shadri remembered everything so clearly from her previous visit. “I want to show you something else, my lady. Over here.”

  She guided her companions between tall buildings and through overgrown promenades, until they reached the heart of the ruins, where a large sinkhole swallowed an entire plaza, leaving a sunken crater.

  Bahlen hesitated, despite the scholar girl’s eagerness. “We avoid this place. It seems unstable. There must be tunnels under the ground.” He lowered his voice. “Sometimes, noisome mists rise from below.”

  Shadri went to the sloped edge of the sinkhole. “See the opening down there, at the center? Like a sunken well. We could go through there to get underground and explore.” The crater radiated with questions, and her goal in life was to fill the emptiness with answers. “Lord Bahlen must have torches and rope.”

  “I wouldn’t advise it,” Lasis said.

  “Not this time, dear girl,” Tafira said. “We can explore after we know the people are safe.”

  “My crews have too much work to do,” Bahlen said, impatient to get back to the construction. “Mayor Cleff is bringing a new crew and supplies. I have to be at the gate to greet them.”

  Shadri gave them one final, silent plea, but their stern expressions told her they would not change their minds. Maybe later she would come back on her own. This old city held so many questions.

  That evening they ate bowls of sausage soup in the command tent, joined by Cleff, the harried but somehow cheerful mayor of the nearby village. Bahlen was proud of the detailed chart he had made of the abandoned city, showing the streets, the intact buildings, the sections of wall that still needed repair or reinforcement, the lookout towers he meant to erect. Shadri peppered him with hundreds of questions until the man grew exhausted. Queen Tafira just smiled and suggested it was time to go to bed, so they could ride back to Fellstaff early in the morning.

  On the journey home with the rising sun behind them, Shadri kept up a patter of conversation. Lasis said nothing at all. Tafira made small comments, but primarily she listened. Since the queen did not seem bored, Shadri told more stories that she had read in the remembrance shrine.

  Once back in Fellstaff, they saw lookouts watching over the city and the surrounding area. Scouts patrolled the surrounding lands, concentrating on the northern road, the direction from which a wreth army might approach. Everyone remained on high alert, ready for an attack.

  When they reached the castle, Shadri and Tafira left their horses with Lasis in the stables and headed to the main courtyard. Near the guard barracks, some of Captain Rondo’s escort soldiers sat sharpening their swords. Other escort soldiers had set up practice dummies, like scarecrows on crossbars. Queen Tafira paused, her gaze drawn toward the figures. The straw-stuffed targets were garbed in colorful fabrics draped in a loose exotic cut. Isharan clothes.

  The soldiers lined up with bows, taking aim at the practice dummies. “Another round!” Rondo called. “Kill more of the enemy.”

  A volley of arrows sank into the straw-stuffed chests. Tafira’s jaw set hard.

  Laughing, the escort soldiers nocked more arrows. Rondo noticed Shadri and the queen standing in the courtyard. “Ah, Queen Tafira! As you can see, we’re practicing to defend Norterra against invaders who come to kill our people, pillage the towns, rape the women.”

  “We must all be prepared to defend Norterra,” she said coldly. In a flash Tafira drew the throwing daggers at her waist and flung both knives at the same time. The blades spun in the air, and each one plunged up to the hilt in the forehead of a practice dummy. A perfect strike.

  “Impressive,” Rondo admitted.

  The queen retrieved her daggers. “Tell your men to keep practicing, Captain. Make sure they know how to recognize a real enemy when they see one.”

  17

  ONCE Irri was thawed from spellsleep, Queen Onn called the handsome frostwreth warrior to her chambers.

  When he arrived, Irri paused in the curved doorway, clad in blue metal armor and crystalline scales. He preened in front of Onn, and his skin glistened as if beaded with oil.

  She glided toward him. “You are beautiful. The spellsleep preserved you well.” From then on he absorbed all her attention. They didn’t even remember the captive boy was there.

  Wrapped in his blanket, Birch sat on a small stool in the corner, knowing how to stay invisible in her presence. He held the carved wooden pig that his grandfather had given him—the only keepsake he still had from his old life. He was careful to hide how much he valued the object so the queen wouldn’t take it from him.

  Irri’s long white hair hung in a thick braid on the left side. Sapphire and aquamarine crystals embellished his body. His expression had a haughty confidence. “I am glad you asked for me again.” He reached out and stroked her cheek. Onn’s eyes fell closed, and she exhaled a whispering sigh. “I knew Rokk would not satisfy you for long.”

  Her eyes snapped open, and she drew back. “Rokk was a fool, and he was weak. I commanded him to build a fortress for me at a defensible lake, but humans got in the way.”

  “Humans? Do they still exist? I am surprised they survived.”

  “They survived, and they think they are powerful.” When the queen glanced at Birch, Irri noticed the boy for the first time. Onn continued, “Rokk underestimated them, and the humans killed him.” She made a sound of disgust. “How did
I ever let a weakling like Rokk touch me? It makes my skin crawl.” She stroked the warrior’s chest, trailed a finger down his arm, and led him toward the bed. “Come and love me. Afterward we will plan a real war. I am awakening all wreths from spellsleep. The time is now.”

  Irri took her head between his hands, slid his fingers into her hair, and drew her face toward him. “Yes, the time is definitely now.” He kissed her savagely, and she moaned.

  Suddenly she pulled away, hurling a glare at Birch. “Why are you still here spying, boy? Leave us—or should I just kill you now?”

  Irri said, “I hear the blood of a child can be an aphrodisiac.”

  Queen Onn considered, then twined her fingers in Irri’s hair. “I do not need an aphrodisiac.”

  Birch grasped his blanket and wooden pig and ran out the door. Gaining distance in the corridor outside the chamber, Birch fell in with four drones who were performing incomprehensible tasks. Onn frequently told the drones to care for him and then forgot about Birch entirely. He had a feeling this would be one of those times, and Onn might not think about him again for days, especially if the new warrior kept her entertained.

  He was glad to be left alone. The drones folded around him and moved away from her chambers at a rapid pace. The diminutive creatures were his size. As far as Birch had been able to tell, they didn’t have names and didn’t see themselves as individuals, but still he felt a kinship with them.

  Whenever a mage or noble strode past, the drones would huddle close to the wall, pretending to be invisible. Birch did the same. The wreths never looked at them, simply walked on. Rarely, one might cast a withering glare of disapproval before continuing his business.

  The drones seemed to know more than their masters about the curved corridors and unmarked chambers of the palace. After they scuttled down frozen staircases, the drones entered a storage room that held a treasure trove of salvaged items: scraps of clothes, a dented cookpot, strips of leather, wood from broken furniture, skeins of yarn, furs, even a couple of woolen blankets. Birch’s own blanket was tattered and dirty, and though he was wistful for the memories it carried, he traded it for a warmer one, as well as a fresh set of clothes. The patchwork garments fitted him poorly, but they were mended and clean, and he felt better. He wondered who had once worn the small shirt and trousers. The drones must have salvaged them from Lake Bakal or some other village the wreths had destroyed.