Vengewar

by Kevin J. Anderson

  “We want conquest! We want treasure, and we want to collect the tears of the defeated.” She pounded her club on the ground.

  “I see your ambition, Magda. I know the strength of your people and the damage you can cause.” He raised his eyebrows. “Even Tamburdin District is too small for the Hethrren. You are meant for great things.”

  The barbarians muttered in agreement. As Magda considered, the expression on her squarish face made her look as if she had gas. “We are already achieving great things under my rule.”

  “I can offer you more than that,” Klovus said. “Tamburdin is not enough. I can grant you an entire land, three kingdoms.” He smiled. “The Commonwealth across the sea—a continent for the taking.”

  “Across the sea? We have never looked upon the sea.”

  “My people are at war with the old world. We need warriors, and you have proved yourselves in my eyes. I am Ishara’s key priestlord. Be my mercenaries. We will grant you weapons and armor. We will provide ships and send you as a massive invasion force against the godless.”

  He felt the godling in the forest, gave it a burst of energy. The swelling entity knocked down several trees, and the loud booms intimidated the Hethrren. Klovus raised his forefinger. “If you attack us here, we will squash you. But in the Commonwealth, nothing could stand in your way. They have no godlings, only their armies and their swords. Are you afraid of them?”

  This time, Magda didn’t flinch. She looked intently at Klovus. “We would conquer a land, and you would give us the weapons to do it? Then we can enslave the defeated people? Take everything they have?”

  “With my blessing,” Klovus promised. “But you have to leave Tamburdin. Come to Serepol, and we will put you aboard ships and turn you loose on the old world.” His offer was serious. The Hethrren were an enormous fighting force, but undisciplined as an army. He was happy to let them burn out their energies across the three kingdoms. They could create as much havoc as they liked, so long as they were safely far away from Ishara. Klovus rose to his feet and stood before the brutish woman, meeting her eye-to-eye.

  Her features were orange in the light of the bonfire. “Your offer sounds good, soft man.” The shaggy and obscenely muscular Hethrren crowded close to listen. They pounded their weapons and made loud noises. “An entire land and all the weapons we need? That is acceptable to me and my people.”

  As Klovus felt victory swell in his chest, Magda poked him in his round belly, then reached down and grabbed his crotch. “Your own weapon is soft and unthreatening, but I can fix that.” He recoiled, but she kept her hand there, fondling. Her leer showed off her sharpened front tooth. “The Hethrren have only one way to seal such a bargain. I take you as my lover tonight. If you satisfy me, then our agreement is final.”

  The idea nauseated Klovus. Legends said this woman fornicated with bears, and she smelled as if she did exactly that. Magda stepped back and sized him up, challenging. “I’ve had far better men, but you will do. Come with me so I can see if you have any hardness inside you, or if you are entirely soft.” She added with a sneer, “We can go under the trees for privacy, if that is what you need.”

  Despite the bile rising in his throat, Klovus knew he would have to do this. Back at the Serepol temple he had taken many lovers, most of whom were young women who offered themselves as sacrifices to earn favor with the godling. Some were eager; others clearly didn’t want him, yet they gave their bodies for the deity through him. Right now, this was a distasteful sacrifice Klovus would have to endure, but he always did what was necessary.

  Magda was already striding away on her thick legs, pulling at the bindings of her leather vest. Klovus followed, mentally preparing himself for a horrible experience. He wondered if this was how young women felt when they offered themselves to him.

  Out in the forest, the restless godling churned, radiating disgust. But Klovus drew on it for strength and did what he had to do.

  62

  THE sandwreth war party wanted to charge off and strike Lake Bakal as soon as they reached Fellstaff. Quo was incensed that King Kollanan didn’t have his army ready and waiting for their whim. Queen Voo’s warriors gathered inside the castle’s banquet hall.

  Koll showed firm patience. “This is war. I need to gather my vassal lords and their soldiers, and we must discuss strategy for our attack on the enemy fortress.” He immediately sent riders to summon extra military forces. After the messengers were dispatched, he said, “When they arrive, we have to plan and coordinate.”

  “That is what a weak person would say.” Quo sneered at the suggestion. “We do not need plans. We should surprise them. My mages can simply melt the walls and bring the fortress tumbling down.”

  The arrogance annoyed Kollanan. “It will take more than that.”

  “For you, perhaps. My sister told me to assist you, and I will demonstrate how powerful we are. Afterward, the armies of Norterra will join us in the final war.” His grin looked like a sharp slash. “Then you will be able to kill many more frostwreths. Your people will enjoy that.”

  Knowing about the secret human work camps, Koll would never be tricked by false sandwreth promises. But if he could use these warriors to fight a different enemy and benefit Norterra, then he would do so. He worded his answer carefully. “Our alliance is still a matter for consideration.”

  Prowling inside the great hall, the bronze-skinned wreths gathered close to the blazing fireplace, claiming the north was too cold. Koll noticed that they avoided the mysterious Thon, though, casting occasional glances in his direction.

  This was the time for the long-awaited strike. Before the day was out, Lord Bahlen and his Brava arrived with fifty soldiers, most of them taken from his construction work in the ancient ruins. Cleff, the mayor of the town of Yanton near the wreth city, brought a dozen townspeople and farmers who tried to look like warriors. Mayor Cleff grinned nervously, and seemed too overwhelmed to speak much.

  Lord Ogno arrived with another seventy soldiers, riding hard from his distant county. Reveling in memories of his first attack on Lake Bakal, the burly man was ready to smash heads. Several other vassal lords—Teo, Alcock, Vitor—also brought fighters from their local militias.

  Despite the impatience of the sandwreth war party, Koll quickly gathered an army ten times larger than the initial strike force that had stung the frozen fortress. This time, he knew they would do more than sting.

  On the second night of gathering his army, he joined Quo next to the roaring fire. “While waiting for you, my vassal lords and I developed lines of attack, based on possible vulnerabilities I saw during my detailed reconnaissance of the fortress. I share our strategy with you, so you can support the full assault.”

  Quo was uninterested. “If you must.”

  “He must,” Thon interjected, which drew a surprised and annoyed look from the sandwreth noble.

  On the large wooden table in the great hall, Kollanan laid out sketches of the fortress’s architecture and defenses, details provided by the feral drones at the site. Despite his standoffish demeanor, Quo became fascinated, and his three mages—Inod, Ulla, and Aoron—came close to study the drawings.

  Despite his condescending tone, Quo showed a grudging respect. “I did not expect such excellent information. How did you obtain it?”

  “I have spies.” Koll gave no further details.

  Quo did not want to waste more time. “This is all we need. Your armies are ready. Shall we depart tonight? How long will it take to travel to Lake Bakal?”

  “Tonight?” Ogno spoke so explosively that food came out of his mouth. He wiped a hand across his lips. “My riders just came in! The horses are exhausted, and so are my men. They need a good rest.”

  “I forgot how fragile humans are,” Quo said.

  Kollanan said, “It would be in our best interest to wait a day. Lords Iber and Alcock are sending more soldiers.” He felt as impatient as Quo to charge in among the evil frostwreths with his war hammer raised high … but he
also wanted victory, and he wanted to keep his people alive. “I promise we will leave as soon as possible. We have the same goal.” He did not intend to keep these sandwreths around any longer than absolutely necessary.

  * * *

  When the full army was finally gathered, they rode north out of Fellstaff at dawn: five hundred human soldiers, twenty sandwreth fighters, three Bravas. And Thon. Riding in the vanguard nearby, Captain Rondo was dressed in full Commonwealth armor. The captain made no secret that he resented Kollanan’s orders to join this assault, but the king insisted that he and his men needed to see the wreth threat for themselves.

  The riders surged along the road, filled with the fresh energy and bravado of a new war. Villages to the north had once been bustling commercial centers, but after the frostwreths killed the residents at Lake Bakal, many people had fled their homes. Scouts located an abandoned farmstead with large stores of grain and bales of hay, and the army camped there for the first night before riding off again.

  On the afternoon of the second day, the large group of soldiers reached the rise above the mountain lake. The king, his vassal lords, the Bravas, and Quo’s party gathered to view their target. Ahead of them, the lake remained frozen, and a wash of snow still covered the hillsides. The frostwreths had stacked and fused more ice blocks to build an outer curtain wall, and they were in the process of erecting another large square tower that gleamed in the low sunlight.

  “Ah, they have been busy,” Quo said from the back of his auga. “An impressive structure.”

  “It will be difficult to bring down the entire fortress,” said Mage Inod.

  A second mage, Aoron, shrugged. “We could destroy it in pieces.”

  “We will do it in pieces, so long as we destroy it.” Quo shifted on his scaled saddle. The reptilian mounts were sluggish from the cold. “I wonder if your reconnaissance is still accurate, King Kollanan.”

  Impatient with the wreth’s arrogance, Koll gripped his hammer. “As you said, if we knock it all down, the details won’t matter.”

  One of the sandwreth warriors extended his spiraled spear. “They have mages!”

  “Along with teams of their own workers.” Quo shook his head. “They should not have killed all of the humans in this village. A waste of good labor. You are right to be annoyed, King Kollanan. Your people could have been kept alive. Wiping out the town was not a wise or efficient thing to do.”

  Kollanan seethed at the comment, but did not respond.

  The sandwreth noble continued to look around, curious. “I hope to see some of their drones. I hear they are an interesting species. The sandwreths should make some of our own.”

  Koll didn’t spot any of the feral drones among the thick silver pines, and hoped that they were hiding from the army. His vassal lords rode among their troops, preparing their separate companies for the main charge.

  The augas snorted. The wreth fighters raised their spears and knives. The three mages sat like clenched thunderstorms, and Koll could feel them exude a crackle of power.

  Quo lifted his hand, curled his fingers as if dredging up magic. “Your army is impressive in its own way, King Kollanan, but my people are ready, and I have no interest in waiting. Follow us and fight to the best of your abilities! Destroy the frostwreths wherever you can!” The wreth man grinned as if this entire expedition were a mere lark. “Let us see how well your Norterran army can fight!” Quo shouted commands to his war party.

  Alarmed, Koll said, “Wait! We must have a coordinated strike. My army will split into divisions and attack the fortress from different directions. We can all—”

  Not listening, the wreth noble gestured forward, and the twenty augas thundered over the rise, picking up speed as they loped toward the frozen lake and the towering fortress.

  Left with no choice, Koll cursed out loud and called his combined soldiers. “Ride! Now!”

  Howling a disorganized battle cry, the army surged forward.

  63

  IT was a harsh night on the Plain of Black Glass. The slaves continued to excavate the obsidian rubble under the light of a full moon. Glik was so sore she could barely move; her hands had been nicked in a thousand places, and her arms were a web of small scabs.

  The shadowglass absorbed the silvery light of the moon, and Glik felt as if she were walking on a void beneath her feet. The patter and clink of tools rang through the night like insect chirps. Even after weeks of hard labor, the workers had excavated only a small part of the ancient battlefield.

  Cheth and her fellow Bravas worked together, suppressing their anger. They fell silent whenever the sandwreth guards were nearby, but spoke in quick quiet voices when they were alone, using some kind of code.

  Glik pried loose a thin layer of the glass, careful not to crack it because the sandwreths would beat her if she damaged the material. She didn’t know why this eerie obsidian was so important to wreths, but every time she touched the black glass, she felt her fingers throb. Invisible power thrummed from this blasted area, a reservoir of magic.

  Suddenly, a Brava man cried out in great pain. Glik had never heard such a sound from one of the half-breed warriors, not even during intense combat practice. “I am cut! Ah, it is deep! Help me before I bleed to death.”

  Glik looked up in alarm. Cheth was working near the injured man, and two other Bravas rushed to help.

  “Help me! It hurts.” The Brava sounded so strange.

  A trio of guards stalked over, leaving their augas behind. When one wreth guard bent over the man who lay writhing on the ground, the supposed victim lunged up with a razor-edged chunk of shadowglass in his hand. His swing caught the wreth guard just beneath the chin and chopped into his neck. Blood spurted out.

  Now Glik understood that the injury was a ruse! Cheth dove in to tackle the second wreth guard and seized his spear. As the two fought, the weapon’s shaft snapped, and Cheth shoved the pointed end through the guard’s chest. So, this had been planned!

  Two other Bravas fell upon the remaining guard and tackled him to the ground. They smashed his head on an uneven block of obsidian, and his blood and brains stained the oily glass.

  “Run!” Cheth bellowed to the haggard workers. “All of you!”

  More sandwreth warriors rode in on their augas, easily outnumbering the escapees, but the Bravas ran together so they could stand and fight. After disarming the wreth guards they had killed, the Bravas now carried weapons, and they would fight to the death if necessary.

  The mayhem gave Glik the chance she had been seeking all along, and she was ready. She could not help Bravas in hand-to-hand combat, but she could escape. If she got away, she could find the Utauks, spread the word and a warning—and send help. In a second, she was off.

  Under the moonlight, while other slaves bolted toward the grassy hills beyond the melted battlefield, Glik instead ran deeper into an area of rubble on the plain of obsidian. Even though the terrain was far more dangerous, the wreths wouldn’t expect her to hide there. She picked her way along as fast as she could go.

  The sounds of combat echoed behind her, the clang of steel, the clack of wooden shafts. Glik scrambled over boulders, but she did not dare stumble. The soles of her shoes were already sliced. One fall, and Glik could cut her own throat. She was barely able to see the obsidian jumble in the moonlight.

  Behind her, a fog of blue lightning rippled out, a webwork of bright lines. A Brava shout turned into a scream, and this time the pain was real. Mage Ivun entered the fray, releasing some of the magic that simmered beneath the demolished battlefield.

  Glik kept running, making her way to the heart of the ancient battlefield. She rounded an obsidian outcropping taller than she was, large enough to block out the moon. Twisting her foot on a rock, she slipped, caught herself on a sharp edge, and hissed in pain. She held her sliced palm against her chest and kept running.

  Suddenly, she came upon a flat, perfectly circular pool of shadowglass. It looked like a hole that plunged into infinity. The bla
ckness was absolute, refuting the full moon high above. Glik halted at the edge and stared, unable to tear her eyes away. Inside the circle. Outside the circle.

  Blood from her wound dripped onto the black glass, and immediately she felt dizzy. She thought that if she plunged forward into the obsidian mirror, she might keep falling forever and ever. The strange surface rippled and shimmered, as if she had disturbed some dark presence within.

  Paralyzed, Glik stared as images formed beneath the black glass. Caught up in the vision, she drew a circle around her heart over and over. The blood from her cut hand smeared her shirt, but she didn’t see it, didn’t realize it. Her whole world drowned in the pool of shadowglass.

  Then the blackness blinked and became the color of copper stained with blood. An eye, a slitted eye, filled the entire obsidian pool. To Glik, that horrible eye seemed as large as the world, baleful, once hidden but now looking out into the world—the eye of a dragon, but ten times larger than any dragon she had ever imagined. Ossus!

  Glik’s teeth chattered, and her muscles locked. She could not tear herself away from that staring orb. The reptilian eye blinked again, and the images shifted.

  In the circular pool of obsidian, the dragon’s eye was supplanted by something formless and powerful … a primal entity, a force balled up and tangled, waiting to be released. It was distant, not Ossus, but something else … something that even the dragon feared! The dragon in the shadowglass shattered into a million smaller creatures. Skas!

  Glik’s knees gave out, and she moaned. Through her heart link, she yearned outward, missing Ari. Countless ska images filled the petrified pool, and she thought for certain they would burst out into the real world, and the huge flock of chittering creatures would protect her from the wreths.

  She swayed in place and continued to draw the circle around and around her heart. “The beginning is the end is the beginning is the end is the beginning.” She slumped forward, and when she pressed her cut hand against one of the rocks on the shore, the pain startled her.