Adan would have to be clever. “Penda is a very jealous woman, Queen Voo. Taking me as your lover would endanger our alliance. If I succumb to temptation”—he forced himself to say the word—“Penda would know. No doubt, my wife would find a way to kill me.”
Voo regarded him skeptically. “It is good to know human females are strong like that.”
“And my people would turn against you. You are our allies.” He feared his subjects would also be thrown into labor camps, beaten down, and enslaved. Surely, she would rather imagine a dedicated, cooperative army—even if Adan had no intention of providing one.
Voo stepped away from his bed, and her dust-thread gown swirled. “I admit that if you did make love to me, you would never again be satisfied with your wife.”
“Penda would definitely know,” Adan agreed, but he was answering a different question.
With a huff, Voo glided back toward the door. “I will leave you for now. At some point I may take another human lover, and there will be plenty to choose from.” Her long hair seemed to sag on her narrow shoulders. “At present, the idea has lost its charm.”
* * *
Adan and Kollanan wanted to depart as soon as possible the next morning. Finished with them, Voo was preoccupied and aloof, anxious to discuss matters with her nobles, mages, and warriors. She made no attempt to detain the visitors. They gathered outside the palace, ready to mount the saddled augas. Despite the shimmering desert heat, the queen’s manner exuded a distinctive chill.
Kollanan climbed onto his auga without hesitation, satisfied that Voo had agreed to help Norterra. Elliel kept glancing north, as if she wanted to ride back to Fellstaff at top speed.
Thon was delighted with the information he would bring back with him. From the sandwreth archives, Mage Axus had provided sheets of sandwiched crystal etched with wreth letters. Now, the stony mage said in a deep voice, “If you use this knowledge to find your powers, we can use you to help eradicate the frostwreths.”
“I found some of my powers,” Thon said, “and I have already harmed frostwreths. What I need now is to understand who and what I am. So much about the world is a blank to me.” He took the records, which were wrapped tightly in sheets of thin leather, and secured them on the back of the saddle. He and Elliel both mounted up.
Queen Voo frowned at Adan, obviously displeased with him. Her last complaint, though, surprised him. “Why does Konag Mandan take so long to arrive? Did you not dispatch my urgent message to him? Where is he?”
Adan explained, “It is a long journey. My courier might not have reached Convera Castle yet.”
“The vastness of the land was not an inconvenience before,” Voo said. “Make him hurry. I wish to see this konag face-to-face. How can I build my army without all the humans of your three kingdoms?”
Adan’s stomach knotted. “When you speak with my brother, I’m sure you will be able to convince him.”
Mounted wreth guards surrounded the visitors to herd them along. Voo lifted her chin. “Keep building your armies for me, King Adan. I will soon dispatch shipments of shadowglass for you to incorporate into your weapons. We have come upon a fresh supply to excavate, and the material will be effective against frostwreths. You might even kill some of them.”
Though it set him on edge, Adan knew it was best to appear cooperative. “Thank you, Queen Voo. I will build the Suderran army. As you ask.”
Voo dismissed them. “I wish the best for your new child.” She smirked. “And for your jealous wife.”
35
THE ice flickered away into light and mist, melting the barrier in front of her, and she opened her eyes. Spellsleep drained out of the chamber, out of her blood, her heart, and her thoughts. A name came to the forefront of her mind. Koru. It was more than her name: it was her identity.
As she settled into a new permanent wakefulness, her blood ran cold and crisp, her thoughts as sharp as icicles. Dripping water flowed from her hair and down her cheeks. Alive again!
Though countless years had passed since the last time she had awakened, Koru was still young and strong. For a wreth with endless access to spellsleep, able to dodge in and out of time at her own whim, a life span could be virtually immeasurable.
Koru heard a trickling, tinkling sound as the front of the chamber melted away. Thin shards of ice crumbled into puddles that ran down into a drain beside her cell’s still-glowing power crystal. Now that she was awake, she no longer needed external magic to keep her alive.
She flexed her fingers, saw the sharp nails, the smooth skin. With a thought she dropped her body temperature, and a sheen of frost sparkled on her arms. She found it beautiful.
Koru stepped out of the cramped chamber. She was naked, unlike many warriors who chose to wear their armor, as if they imagined they would lurch out of spellsleep and plunge directly into battle, still covered with fragments of ice. Instead, Koru had chosen to be more comfortable. She wondered how many others had come here to admire her over the decades—or centuries—since her last awakening. She knew that was why her mother resented her. She preferred that they were not both awake at the same time. Onn couldn’t deny her daughter’s powers, nor did she agree with her priorities.
Koru’s two brothers, Enneth and Grao, had died in battles long ago. They had different fathers, for Queen Onn had many lovers. Koru didn’t even know who had sired her, but he must have been strong and intelligent.
Standing free in the grotto’s chill air, Koru inhaled with a sensation like thin razors cutting deep into her sinuses. She blinked again, and the world crystallized into clarity. Around her, she saw more activity than expected as wreth mages and workers occupied themselves with other ice cells. The mages clustered around an adjacent chamber, dour and angry.
Koru strode forward, naked, beautiful, and commanding. “What is this? Why is no one here to tend me?”
The wreth man frozen inside the chamber—who should have been preserved for centuries—lay slumped, his mouth open and slack, his eyes glassy. One mage looked up at her with a drawn face. “Mage Gura was dead when we thawed him. The magic failed.”
Koru scowled at the news. “How does this happen?” She looked around her and scrutinized the continuing activity in the spellsleep grotto. More mages and lower-caste wreth workers were gathered around other cells with a sense of urgency. One warrior used a club to bash open the frozen barrier and expose the inhabitant. They dragged out more bodies.
Koru was pragmatic. “How many are dead? Do we have a traitor among us?”
The nearest mage looked at her. “Who would betray us from within?”
A second mage touched the rubbery gray skin of Gura’s cold corpse and shook his head. “The world’s magic has not recovered as much as we hoped. By placing thousands of us in spellsleep, we drew upon a great deal of that magic, and it must have faltered. Perhaps we did not monitor the chambers carefully enough over the centuries. We would not have known anything was wrong until we attempted to waken them.”
Koru tried to keep the anticipation out of her voice. “Is my mother in spellsleep now? If she died, that would be a tragedy.” Her tone said otherwise.
“No, Lady Koru. Queen Onn sits on the throne, safe and healthy. She instructed us to rouse all wreths from spellsleep.”
The other mage added, “We are at last preparing for the final war to eradicate the sandwreths.”
Koru straightened. Her back muscles were strong, her arms smooth, her breasts full and perfectly formed, as if the god himself had shaped her. She was a warrior and a tactician. Queen Onn allowed herself too many distractions, but for Koru everything had a clearly defined and considered purpose. “Then it will soon be time to wake the dragon.”
A loud shout came from the level below as another wreth was found dead in a thawed chamber. Koru stepped away from the commotion. She was a survivor. She had scars on her body to prove it, and now as she walked naked among the other wreths, she hoped they noticed the scars as well as her beauty.
&n
bsp; Koru decided to clothe herself before she went to see her mother.
36
THE smell of turpentine and oil soothed Mandan in his royal chambers. Upon becoming konag he had moved all the maps, his favorite furniture, and the idealized painting of his mother into this much larger suite, which had formerly belonged to Konag Conndur. Again and again, Utho had encouraged him to think of himself as the leader of the Commonwealth.
Mandan would rather have been planning his wedding, dreaming of the joy that was sure to come, but he wanted to finish this painting first. Candles spread warm cheer throughout the room, and cool night breezes came from the open windows that aired out the paint fumes. He stood before the easel and daubed the brush into various tones across his palette. For this particular work, Mandan of the Colors needed a great deal of red.
Over his bed hung the beautiful portrait of his mother. Queen Maire was the most lovely woman he had ever seen, and he remembered how she had caressed him, nurtured him, sung to him. Lira was so much like her.…
Mandan was Maire’s firstborn, and he was her whole world, just as she was his. He knew that she had also loved Adan, her second son, but the next child, her stillborn daughter, had broken her. Maire had never recovered from that grief, no matter how much Mandan loved her and tried to show that he was all she needed. Maire had died of a sleeping sickness—which he knew not to be the true story—on a stormy night. Young Mandan had found her cold body. He remembered shaking and shaking her, but she would not wake up.…
Forcing those thoughts out of his mind, he turned back to his painting. The details were coming along nicely, and he worked with aggressive energy. He could recall each Isharan slave he had accused of murdering Lady Almeda, and now painted them with vivid clarity, showing their open mouths, their agony, the beseeching look in their eyes. He also added a shadow of sheer evil from each man’s heart.
Choosing a smaller brush, he painted with fine strokes and a deeper red pigment, emphasizing where their skin had been peeled away. They sagged on the wooden spikes after the torture, unable to stand with their knees broken.
This painting would show everyone in the Commonwealth exactly what had happened. Sadly, Utho would not let him display the work yet, because that would reveal the existence of Isharan prisoners who harvested saltpearls. He would hang the painting later, once open war began. Maybe he would unveil it at his wedding.
Without looking up, Mandan spoke to the impatient visitor in his room. “Isharans! Don’t you hate them as much as I do, Lord Goran?”
His vassal lord sat in an ornate chair, sweating and uncomfortable. The two men had eaten together, before the konag went back to painting. Goran was a man with excessive self-importance, not too humble to bring his grievances directly to Mandan.
“Of course, Sire! Isharan animals! But that still doesn’t answer the question about my personal Brava.” His voice had a whiny undertone that grew worse every time he repeated his complaint. “It was important that Klea accompany the diplomatic party to Fulcor Island. Utho made a strong case for it, and I was willing to sacrifice my protection for the good of the land. But why does she need to stay there now? Can you not appoint an actual military commander as the watchman of Fulcor? When can I have my bonded Brava back?”
Pursing his lips in consideration, Mandan splashed a smear of blood across the forehead of one doomed man. “Klea is on Fulcor Island by my command, and she will remain there.” He painted more rags on the tortured prisoners’ bodies. His anger toward the loathsome enemy was inspiration within him.
Mandan was skilled with paints and brushes. He had learned under the best tutors, though most of his previous work had been in the form of portraits of people who sat still so he could refer to their faces. Someday, he intended to paint murals of historical battles, the invading armies that had faced Queen Kresca in the fertile confluence of the two rivers, or the raising of the first banners at the founding of Bannriya two thousand years ago.
Initially, for this work he had considered a much more dramatic scene that showed brave Utho with fire streaming from his golden ramer as he struck down the vile captives, but showing such action was beyond his artistic abilities.
Goran folded his hands together, fidgeting. “Then I respectfully request another Brava to be provided by the throne. What else am I to do for protection?”
The young konag turned away from the painting and scowled at him. “We must all make sacrifices for the Commonwealth.” He looked meaningfully at his painting in progress showing the foreign criminals about to be executed.
Without knocking, Utho strode into his chambers, looking furious. The black boots rang loud on the tile floor. “A messenger just arrived in the throne room. Come with me so you can hear what he has to say.”
Already disturbed by the gruesome painting, Goran was startled, jostling his platter with remnants of food.
Mandan let his paintbrush droop. “It’s late, Utho. There is a list of the supplicants I will meet tomorrow morning. Can we just add this person’s name?”
“Now, Mandan!” Utho said, and the young man set down his palette and paintbrush with a clatter and followed the Brava out the door. Goran scurried after them. Without slowing, Utho explained as he took long strides down the corridor. “The Fulcor Island supply ship just returned with grave news.” He gritted his teeth as if he wanted to rip out someone’s throat.
Mandan was already out of breath and sweating with alarm. “What happened?” Utho didn’t reply, and Goran wisely held his tongue as they all burst into the throne room.
The captain of the supply ship stood with a dark felt hat in his hand, kneading it like a baker with a difficult lump of dough. He clearly dreaded what he was about to say.
When Mandan saw the man’s expression, his heart fell.
Without formalities, the captain blurted out, “My ship escaped, Sire. We alone made it away from Fulcor. The garrison has fallen! Seven Isharan warships attacked from the sea and then swarmed the island.”
Turning white, Mandan glared at Utho. “We left so many troops there, three warships. Klea was supposed to defend the fortress.”
Utho replied in a deep, devastating voice. “The Isharans brought a godling.”
Mandan’s knees felt weak. He stumbled up the dais steps and sat heavily on his throne. “A godling?”
“Just like the one they brought to Mirrabay. Because Fulcor Island is closer to Ishara, the godling was even stronger in its attack.”
The supply captain spoke in a rush, as if the panic was still fresh and real in his mind. “The godling sank our war vessels, tore them apart, and then stormed up the cliffs to the garrison. My ship was already sailing away, and we could see the fire and smoke, the soldiers fighting for their lives at the garrison walls. Nobody could withstand an attack like that. And against a godling…”
Shaking, Mandan slumped back in his throne. He wanted to strip the skin off every one of the Isharan invaders, then have Utho hack them to pieces with his ramer. “They murdered my father on Fulcor Island. We cannot let those animals have it.”
“No, Sire, we cannot.” Utho turned to the frightened captain. “Tell your crew to spread news of what they witnessed. I want it heard throughout the dockside taverns, the fish markets, the trading squares. Then sail back down to Rivermouth. We will supply and arm your ship as part of our growing navy.”
Reacting to the brusque commands, the captain straightened. “I will fight for the Commonwealth, but … what if they bring a godling here? To our shores?”
“I’ve fought godlings myself,” Utho said. “There are things more frightening.” He loomed like a statue above the throne, turned to Mandan. “We must respond to this.”
Mandan nodded and repeated, “We must respond.”
He worked long after midnight with Utho helping him write decrees to reassign forces, commandeer seaworthy ships, and call upon his military commanders to prepare for war.
* * *
The next morning, Mandan wa
s miserable and short-tempered, but Utho would not relent in forcing him to his duties. The young man’s eyes felt scratchy from lack of sleep, and his body ached as he sat at the long council table listening to reports from droning ministers and military commanders. Servants brought in various courses of breakfast, but he wasn’t hungry. He wished wars weren’t so complicated.
A colorful Utauk trader talked his way into the gathering, insisting that he had an important message for Konag Mandan. Due to the military council in session, the people assumed the stranger bore some report relevant to the Isharan war. Utauks often had unusual sources of information.
The trader brushed dust from his green-and-tan traveling clothes, adjusting the belt and pouches at his waist. He straightened. “I am Donnan Rah, a member of the Utauk tribes.”
“I can see that,” Mandan said, his tone sharp. “No one else dresses like your people.”
“We are proud of our family colors.” Donnan plucked at his sleeve, then continued in a harder voice. “I am proud of my past service for Konag Conn-dur.” He traced a circle over his chest. “The beginning is the end is the beginning.”
“Many things are nearing the end,” Utho interrupted. “Do you have strategic information for us? We are preparing for war.”
“I have vital information about a terrible war. Queen Voo of the sandwreths commanded King Adan to dispatch an urgent message.” He reached into his colorful tunic and withdrew a leather-wrapped wallet, which he carefully unfolded. He presented the message to the young konag.
Mandan was annoyed. “Why does Queen Voo command my brother? He is the king of Suderra.”
The trader dodged the question. “King Adan considered the message important. The queen of the sandwreths wishes to meet personally with you. Her desert empire has already formed an alliance with Suderra.” Donnan sniffed. “Or so it is reported.”
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