Vengewar

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Seated on the other side of the old woman, Hale Orr used his short dagger to cut pieces from a fresh apple for Shella. With the next big bump, Hale nicked his thumb and hissed with surprise more than pain. The apple rolled onto his lap, but he caught it with the stump of his left hand.

  Shella frowned. “Be careful with sharp things. Don’t make me cut off your other hand if you get an infected wound.” Her wrinkled lips puckered. “You should have learned your lesson the first time.”

  Hale flushed at the reminder of how he had lost his hand after an unwise knife fight in his youth. He accepted the good-natured teasing. “Cra! I’ll try to keep the other one. It’s my favorite hand.”

  The old woman continued, “My policy is to do only one amputation per person. If I cut off both of your hands, I’d be playing favorites among my grandsons.”

  On Penda’s shoulder, Xar watched the trees as they rolled by. The reptile bird had been disconsolate ever since Ari flew away on the night of the dragon dreams. Though Penda had no direct heart link with the other ska, she was sad, not knowing why Ari had disappeared. From a distance, she could not sense the blue ska. Had the young reptile bird gone to search for poor Glik, or had Ari just fled?

  Xar ruffled his feathers, tucked his wings close, and rested his head against Penda’s long dark hair. “Tell Ari to come back,” she whispered to him. “I worry about her.”

  Xar clicked an answer.

  Shella leaned forward and squinted through a milky film of cataracts; Penda never knew how much the old woman could actually see. “I want to go north again, before it gets too cold.”

  “Is there something you need to see one last time, Mother?” Hale asked.

  Her face pruned in a scowl. “One last time? Don’t rush me to my death! My legacy fills four volumes already, and I expect to fill at least a fifth. Mind your own story and do something significant with your life.”

  Hale chuckled. “My daughter is all the legacy I could possibly want.”

  “Indeed, she is.” Shella reached over to give Penda’s belly a gentle pat. “But she is not done yet, either.”

  The road wound through a section of forest where the maples had died from a blight, leaving skeletal trunks and naked branches that looked like a frenetic charcoal sketch. Squinting, Shella shuddered violently enough to rattle her bones.

  Penda also felt a surge of uneasiness twist inside of her.

  Emil called the horses to a halt. “Forest spiders! Look at them all.”

  “Hundreds of them,” said Burdon, the other grandnephew.

  “Harmless creatures,” Shella replied.

  Penda knew that was true, but she still felt a strange dread inside her. Something wasn’t right.

  “Cra, we used to roast them when I was a boy,” Hale said. “You need to cook them slowly so the bodies don’t pop, but after you pluck off those sharp legs, they’re very tasty.”

  Penda and her father climbed down from the wagon and walked toward the Utauks who stood by the curious trees. The forest spiders had used the framework of dead maples to string their webs from branch to branch. A cat’s cradle of lines caught tiny droplets of mist, leaving patterns like silver threads bound up in the air. Spiders the size of walnuts hung motionless, waiting for insects to be trapped in the sticky strands.

  Hale propped his wrist stump against his hip. “Never seen patterns like that before!”

  “Not natural,” Penda said, and her skin crawled. The ska sprang from her shoulder and flew into the air, circling away from the interconnected threads.

  Each large and sturdy web was strung with circles, perfect circles unlike anything seen in nature, hoops within hoops that made the webs look like archery targets. A forest spider sat in each bull’s-eye center, as if they expected praise for their unique web work. The Utauks muttered in awe, unsure whether this was an ill omen or a cause for hope.

  Penda drew a circle around her heart. “The beginning is the end is the beginning.” Her father echoed the words, as did the other Utauks.

  * * *

  The wagons established a new camp many miles from the eerie, dead forest. Penda slept outside near the remnants of a glowing fire, huddled under blankets to keep warm without Adan beside her.

  Xar woke her in the middle of the night when he landed on her chest and tugged on the covers. He hissed and chittered in her face. She sat up in alarm, but through their heart link, sensed only excitement rippling through the ska’s emotions. “What is it?”

  The reptile bird hopped into the air as she pushed her blankets aside. He let out a jangling, clattering sound, which was answered from up in the night sky. Unable to see in the low campfire’s glow, Penda listened to the response. It was another ska—Ari! The two reptile birds swirled in the air, dancing and playing in flight, and then both landed beside Penda.

  “Ari, you’re safe!” She stroked the blue ska’s head, ran her fingers down the pale feathers. Ari clicked and thrummed. “Where have you been? What have you seen?” She touched the collar and removed the mothertear diamond.

  Grumbling and still half asleep, Hale rolled over in his bedding and rubbed his eyes with the flat of one hand. “Cra, can’t you control your skas?” Then he realized Ari had returned. “Ah, both skas? Where has the little one been?”

  “I am about to find out.” She activated the mothertear diamond, and images poured out—desert canyons, high rock walls … and the wreth camp filled with desperate human prisoners. Penda gasped. “She followed the heart link and found Glik.”

  “Cra, a lone ska couldn’t rescue those poor people.” Hale bent closer to the ominous images in the air. “Look, there are many more human slaves now.”

  Penda gritted her teeth. “And more wreths. Even a mage.”

  In the images, the angry sandwreths shook their fists when Ari swooped low to see better, as if they considered the reptile birds a threat. The mothertear also showed a party of lean, arrogant wreth riders arriving at the camp on augas, nobles and warriors, haughty in their armor. The lead male had a pointed chin, large eyes, and a sneer engraved on his face.

  Penda recognized him. “That is Quo, the queen’s brother.” A foul taste filled her mouth, like rotting meat mixed with sulfur. “He dined with me and Adan, calling us allies … and he is directly involved with the horrible camps! He knows! He may even be in charge of them.”

  “He counted on our ignorance, dear heart,” Hale said.

  “But we know what’s going on!” She stroked Ari, who seemed unsettled by her failure to save her human. “With these new images, we know more about the camps. Good job, Ari.” The reptile bird accepted the praise. “But I don’t see Glik in those images.”

  “I wish we could ride in and free all those prisoners,” Hale said. “But even with the Utauk tribes and the Suderran army, would that be enough?”

  “Against the sandwreths? We would be massacred. No, my Starfall is right—our greatest defense is the fact that they think we are oblivious. We must look for the right opportunity.”

  Penda touched the mothertear again and leaned close to Ari. She spoke directly to the diamond, recording a message of support, if the ska ever found the girl again. “Glik, my dear sister, we know where you are. We know about the treachery of the sandwreths. Please don’t give up hope! Adan Starfall and I will come for you. We are trying to find a way.”

  Hale leaned next to her. “And the Utauks will help.”

  “We will come for you,” Penda repeated and drew a circle around her heart.

  51

  AFTER Elliel and Thon rode off to the north, Kollanan prepared for war at Fellstaff.

  Each day, while his soldiers drilled, he gazed beyond the city walls, expecting to see an army of pale warriors coming for revenge. Weapons and armor were distributed across the kingdom, preparing villages and towns. In separate counties, Lords Bahlen, Alcock, and Iber were building strongholds in abandoned wreth cities, reinforcing walls and defenses to protect their people.

  With a bi
ttersweet pang, he remembered quiet and peaceful days with Jhaqi and the grandsons, but such days would never happen again. In some far-distant future, he hoped that he and Tafira, and all of Norterra—no, all of the Commonwealth—would find stability and peace. But the wreths wanted to end the world before that.

  Queen Voo had promised a large group of sandwreth warriors for the offensive on Lake Bakal, but Koll feared the enemy would attack before any reinforcements arrived. In the meantime he needed to know what was happening at the ice fortress.

  Taking Lasis as his companion, he headed north toward the devastated frozen lake and the frostwreth fortress. After two days of hard riding, they topped the ridge and looked at what should have been a thriving village on the beautiful lakeshore, with docks extending into the water, fishing boats drifting across the waves.

  “All of it is gone,” he whispered, struck anew by the painful proof that his daughter’s whole village had been wiped out.

  He and Lasis kept hidden among the silver pines. Not long ago, his raiders had damaged the fortress, started fires in the outlying buildings where the drones lived, and killed many wreth warriors before galloping away. They had stung, and hard.

  Now the wreths were reconstructing their defenses. Ahead of them, many wreth workers cut gigantic ice blocks from the lake and shaped them to rebuild the walls. Mages fashioned new sheets of ice to patch the ominous stronghold and to make it larger than before.

  “It looks as if we never even attacked,” Koll groaned.

  “They will not forget what we did, Sire,” Lasis said. “With the sandwreths to help us, we can tear down those walls.”

  Around them, among the frosted pines hushed from the cold, Kollanan heard bushes rustling, saw figures moving in the snow. Immediately on his guard, the Brava swung down from his saddle and prepared to defend his king. Storm shuffled from side to side, and Kollanan reached down for his war hammer. “We do not intend to fight,” he warned Lasis. “If the frostwreths see us, we will ride away as if demons are chasing us.”

  They tried to identify the furtive sounds. Arrogant wreths would never creep through the forest to ambush them, but these watchers were stealthy, furtive. “Come out!” Koll’s normal voice sounded loud in the forest.

  The Brava stood in front of the king’s black warhorse, his sword drawn.

  Small figures crept out and stared at the two men. They had soft features, like mere sketches of people rather than finished works of art. Six of the creatures showed themselves, but he sensed many more lurking in the tree shadows.

  “Drones, Sire,” Lasis said, then stepped forward, lowering his voice. “I know them. They helped me survive after Queen Onn…” He swallowed hard, and the white scar on his throat jumped.

  Koll dismounted and rested the hammer against his shoulder, but the drones did not seem intimidated. They came forward, mumbling in a language he didn’t understand.

  Lasis sheathed his sword, extended both hands. “After Queen Onn dumped my body outside the palace, these creatures saved me, helped me to get home to you, Sire.”

  “I know,” Koll said. It seemed the diminutive creatures showed little loyalty for their abusers. He stood next to the black-garbed Brava. “I am King Kollanan. Are you friends or enemies?”

  The drones gathered around the two men as if they were a great curiosity. They held up their hands to demonstrate they bore no weapons or ill intent.

  “King,” one of the drones said.

  Another said, “King of Norterra.”

  They also muttered and whispered, coming closer to Lasis. The Brava said, “These must be survivors from the night of our attack. Their shacks burned, and many of the creatures scattered.” He had wonder on his face. “Maybe they took a chance at freedom, hiding in the pine forest.”

  Taking a risk, Koll extended his hammer toward the blocky ice fortress on the other side of the frozen lake. “Those are my enemies. The frostwreths killed my people, and I want to tear down those walls. I came here to figure out how we can do it.”

  The drones chattered to one another, then moved about like frenetic ants. Kollanan couldn’t understand why they kept shifting positions. They cleared a wide patch of snow, like a blank canvas. One of the drones pointed toward him. “King Kollanan of Norterra.” He pointed at the fortress. “Frostwreth enemies.”

  Moving with one mind, the drones plucked twigs from a silver pine trunk and stripped off the side branches to make sharpened implements. Working in concert, they drew a detailed sketch in the snow, marking the lakeshore, the outbuildings, followed by a precise representation of the frostwreth fortress. The drones pointed with their sticks, indicating the main arched entrance, as well as other openings and sidewalls. They drew the higher level of the structure, showing rooms and chambers.

  Amazed, Koll followed their images, able to see where the fortress walls were thickest and where the gates might be vulnerable. Lasis scrutinized the drawing. The drones made another sketch that indicated underground vaults.

  Koll stroked his frost-encrusted beard. “This is much more than I hoped to learn.”

  Lasis said, “I agree. We do not need to ride closer to the fortress itself, where we might be captured.”

  “Tafira will be glad if I don’t take a greater risk.” Koll turned to the drones. “Thank you.”

  The creatures bolted into the trees like pigeons scattering in the courtyard.

  * * *

  Shadri would have preferred to spend every evening poring over the sandwreth chronicles Thon had brought from the southern desert. The stories were amazing, and there was so much to learn!

  But Pokle invited her to his favorite tavern in Fellstaff, insisting that she go with him. Ever since the young man had been rescued from Lake Bakal, he had worked in the castle stacking wood and keeping the fireplaces lit. Pokle clung to her as an unexpected friend, and she saw him as someone she could talk to. He listened as she tried to teach him, and although he seemed fascinated by the sound of her voice, she couldn’t tell if any of the knowledge sank in.

  Once he got an idea into his shaggy head, though, he was stubborn and hard to convince otherwise. “But they’re having goose pie tonight! You’ve got to come. It’s delicious.”

  “The castle kitchens feed me just fine, don’t they?”

  “Not like this.” His eyes shone. “And the chamberlain paid me enough walking money that I can buy you dinner. Please?”

  Seeing the hopeful look in his eyes, Shadri wondered why it meant so much to him. With a start, she realized that Pokle wanted to impress her, wanted her company. Was he flirting with her? She tried to wrap her mind around that idea. In her studies, she had learned about history, mathematics, music, human anatomy, and any other subject that caught her fancy, but when it came to romance, she had experienced little. “Well, you did say please, didn’t you?”

  The tavern was noisy and the ale was sour, but the goose pie was as delicious as promised. One pie would have been large enough for them to share, but Pokle insisted on demonstrating his largesse by buying two. Once he sat across the rough wooden table from her, however, he didn’t know what to say. They ate without talking, awash in the background noise, until Shadri picked up the burden of the conversation. She chattered about the legacy stories she had read, new documents she had found in the Fellstaff remembrance shrine, some of the wreth tales Thon had translated, even the myths that might explain what the dark wreth really was. Pokle was relieved to listen to her, as if he found the movement of her lips reassuring. She thought he looked like a mooncalf.

  As she continued talking about whatever came into her head, Shadri stopped in midsentence, interrupted by a burst of humorless laughter from the far side of the great room. Out of their formal Commonwealth uniforms, Captain Rondo and his men called for a second round of ale.

  “I know about Isharan cuisine,” Rondo said to his men and, by virtue of his loud voice, he also spoke to everyone else in the great room. “If you’ve tasted it, there’s a flavor you c
an’t identify. They use foreign spices, some of which are poison to normal men.”

  Shadri frowned, having eaten many of Queen Tafira’s recipes herself. The flavors were exotic, and she found all of the food delicious.

  “Back in Ishara they add human blood to the cooking. That’s how they make their stews,” Rondo continued. “In their temples where the vile godlings live, all the people slash their arms and give their blood. I hear Empra Iluris drinks goblets of it chilled on a warm summer day.”

  His companions grumbled. Some laughed in disbelief, but others in the tavern listened. Seeing he had their attention, Rondo continued, “Now, for special delicacies, Isharans use the blood of babies. That’s why their pastry dough is always red.”

  Shadri knew of no such thing, even though she had studied Isharan culture, but many of the listeners nodded, as if they frequently visited Isharan bakeries.

  Rondo raised his fresh tankard and gulped down half of it. “But the blood of brave Commonwealth fighters—ah, that is what they consider the best! I bet they stole some of Conndur’s blood when they butchered him!” Then he asked rhetorically, but poisonously, “I wonder what Queen Tafira uses it for? I hear she has outlandish dinners.”

  “Plenty of Commonwealth blood to be had for people like them,” said Sergeant Headan.

  The tavern patrons grumbled at the absurd story. “Beware what you say about our queen,” said a broad-shouldered carpenter, rising half out of his seat.

  Headan also rose, drew his sword out of its scabbard, glaring at the carpenter. The trained soldier could easily best the other man, who stood his ground for a moment before slowly seating himself again. “She has always been good to us,” the carpenter muttered. Other customers in the tavern agreed.

  “How do you know what she is really thinking?” Rondo asked. “She could just be biding her time.”

  “For thirty years?”

  Shadri saw that other tavern patrons were nodding as if they agreed. She pushed away her half-eaten goose pie, which no longer tasted right to her. “Let’s go, Pokle.”