Gruff voices rang out behind the rocks. “There is another one. Kill it!”
Glik scrambled to her feet to see two wreth guards raising their spiraled spears. She had no place to run.
Before they could hurl their weapons, a figure crashed into one warrior, knocking him aside. Cheth! The Brava woman was streaked with blood, her clothes torn and slashed. “Leave the girl alone!” She slashed the air with a broken, bloodstained spear, driving the wreths back.
Cheth jumped to stand beside Glik, but when four more warriors arrived on their augas, the girl knew they were both doomed. She hunched over, still spasming from what she had seen. “A dragon! I saw Ossus in the pool. And something else, something that might be even more powerful.”
Cheth growled, “Right now, I care most about these wreths.” She wrapped both of her hands around the spear shaft.
Mage Ivun appeared next to the wreth warriors. “Hold!” Lines furrowed his brow. He raised his deformed hand, which was withered again, as if he had used up the restorative magic. “Dragons? You see dragons?”
Glik pointed to the obsidian pool. “There, in the shadowglass.”
The mage pushed past the wreth warriors, ignoring Cheth, who stood menacing with her broken spear. He peered into the empty black pool, then gave Glik a piercing glare. “You see dragons?”
“Ossus. I am certain of it.”
He turned, his red leather robes swirling around him. “Come with me.”
Glik had no choice but to obey.
64
ANGRY and unsettled by Master Onzu’s attitude, Utho spent the night in the guest dwelling, but departed the Brava training village early the next morning. In the back of his mind he knew that Commonwealth armies were gathering, soldiers being trained, ships refitted in the Rivermouth shipyards. It was happening.
A vengewar is not a quick thing, but it is necessary.
Ishara needed to be torn to shreds, left in rubble, so the Bravas could reclaim the land and establish their colony. The betrayers from ages ago would suffer justice, as Brava honor required. Konag Mandan would follow Utho’s advice in a way that Conndur the Brave never would have, and at last it was on the verge of happening.
Every Brava should have celebrated the prospect, yet Onzu was worried about wreths? About a legendary dragon?
Instead of heading back to Convera, Utho rode in the opposite direction.
He clenched his gauntleted hand and urged his horse to a gallop, following damaged forest roads into the Dragonspine Mountains. The terrain still smoked and simmered. The eruption of Mount Vada had made Conndur believe in the legends of buried dragons and vanished gods. Because of that, Utho considered him a gullible fool. But he knew that Onzu was not a fool, and if his mentor was convinced …
If Utho continued to deny the danger even in the face of overwhelming proof, then who was the real fool?
If a man sat in a burning house and refused to believe the fire existed, his resolute defiance would not save him.
Utho ground his teeth together and leaned forward on the horse, staring ahead into the smoking, angry mountains. He rode harder. He had to see for himself, to convince himself that it was not real. If anyone but Onzu had challenged his beliefs …
The smell of sulfur and smoke made the horse uneasy. On the slopes of Mount Vada, the trees were dead, the vegetation covered with layers of ash like a pestilent snow. Yellow scum covered streams and standing pools of hot water that bubbled up from heat beneath the ground.
He passed through a village of empty, ruined homes. An inn had crumbled as boulders and fire swept through in the wake of the eruption. Those towns had existed for centuries, but with the ground shaking and lava flowing, people throughout the mountain range had evacuated, many of them fleeing to Convera. They had hoped the konag would save them, that the walls of the capital city would shelter them against the end of the world.
Now those refugees ate the food, crowded lodgings, and drained Convera of resources. Fortunately, many of them had joined the army, swelling the ranks. They were terrified of dragons and wreths, so Utho would turn them against the Isharans, an enemy they could truly fight.
His horse picked its way along the obliterated road. The ground was buckled in places, and trees had fallen across their path. Pines and aspens lay like scattered broomsticks.
Utho kept working his way up the eastern slopes. The acid stink in the air burned his nostrils, but he kept going. His thoughts collapsed to a pinpoint of focus. He looked at the restless mountain ahead of him, its conical shape now damaged, a good portion of it blasted away. Scarlet lava still leaked out like heated iron from a blacksmith’s forge.
When the terrain became too broken and uncertain, Utho stopped at a boulder field. Taking his horse through it would surely result in a broken foreleg—and a dead horse. He wrestled with his anger and uncertainty, then dismounted and tied the animal to a standing dead tree. The horse shuddered with fear, covered with still-falling ash. Protected by his gauntlets and boots, Utho set off on foot and climbed over the rough, hot boulders.
He breathed hard with the effort, but kept climbing. Fumaroles exhaled steam from the ground. Could it truly be the breath of a dragon? The boulders vibrated beneath him, and he heard the patter, then rumble as more giant rocks slid down in an avalanche. Dust joined the smoke that lingered in the air.
After he climbed to a hanging valley partway up the slope, Utho stared at a hellish landscape of hissing steam and boiling mud pots. This was as good a place as any—he had reached his destination. He listened to the inherent rumble beneath the ground, the growl of thermal areas, the cracks that let poisonous fumes escape. He knew he was the only human within miles, because everyone with common sense had gone away.
“Dragon!” he shouted. “Ossus, are you there?” He pulled off his gauntlet and tossed it on the ground before grabbing the golden cuff of his ramer. In an abrupt gesture he pressed it around his wrist and felt the satisfying spike of pain as metal teeth cut into his veins. He pulled forth the fire, and a circle of flames engulfed his hand, then extended into a blazing lash. He raised his arm high, like a beacon or a threat.
“Ossus! Where are you?” He stood with the ramer flaring, crackling, drawing attention. “I am sworn to protect the Commonwealth and serve the true konag.”
He waited for a response. The ground rumbled with a crack of rock, but he couldn’t tell if the buried dragon heard him.
“We will fight our mortal enemies, and we do not care about you. Stay asleep, dragon! Hold your evil beneath the ground.”
He still ached to remember the recent failed naval attack at Fulcor Island, how many ships had been sunk, how many sailors lost, how much innocent blood shed. “Our war is against Ishara. Leave us alone!”
He held his ramer high, and the ground shook. Boulders the size of houses slid down the slope, crashing and thundering as the mountainside cracked. Red lava sprayed out like fresh blood.
These mountains were full of power. Utho could sense it. Perhaps the dragon did exist at the heart of the world, fashioned out of Kur’s evil thoughts and emotions. That was the legend, but Utho did not care about legends.
Onzu would scold him for his single-minded obsession. Just as the wreth factions wanted to destroy each other, so Utho’s drive was to eradicate the Isharans. If fed and channeled properly, maybe his vengeance would be even stronger than a dragon.
With a great upheaval, the ground buckled, and Utho clutched a boulder that shifted toward him. He leaped out of the way, extinguishing his ramer. The ground cracked again, and superheated steam screamed out, blasting his black armor. Swirling his finemail cape over his face to keep from being scalded, he staggered away from the thermal field, climbing over the rocks.
He stubbornly pushed against the idea that Ossus had actually heard him and responded. This natural disaster was simply that: natural, an instability in the world like a storm or a blizzard.
But if it was indeed a dragon, then Utho and his Bravas wou
ld have to deal with it … later. He just needed more time.
Returning to his terrified horse, he untied the reins and climbed back into the saddle. He felt inexplicably exhausted, shaking, but not from fear. He was Utho, and fear had no place within him … not when a vengewar was about to begin.
He pushed the horse hard, heading back toward Convera and his konag.
65
AS the reckless sandwreths charged toward Lake Bakal, they ignored Kollanan’s shouts behind them. Seeing Quo’s war party launch the impetuous attack, Koll’s own soldiers roared with impatience. Lords Ogno, Vitor, and Teo turned to their king, squirming for permission to lead their divisions on the multipronged strike. The plan was already falling apart.
Koll threw caution to the wind. He raised his war hammer and shouted, “We can’t let the sandwreths do all the fighting!” He kicked Storm into motion, and the black warhorse galloped forward.
The army streamed ahead, enthusiastic and bloodthirsty. He led the advance along the snow-covered road, thundering toward the fortress looming above the remains of the frozen village. The bitter grief of that town’s significance made him ride harder.
Ahead of the human army, twenty augas ranged across the rocks and through the silver pines as they made a straight line for the wreth fortress. The towering structure shimmered, the blocks of ice glowing from within. Quo let out a wild cry, which all the sandwreths repeated.
Amid construction piles of cut ice and braided ropes, the frostwreth workers rushed to the massive walls in alarm. The great gates were restored after Koll’s first raiding party had battered them down, and now he couldn’t wait to wreck them again—permanently this time. His army was ten times larger now, and the sandwreths promised to leave only rubble.
Restless but well trained as Commonwealth soldiers, Rondo and his escort party drew their swords. The captain looked skeptically at the towering ice fortress and the reckless charge. He shouted across to Kollanan, “This is not what we discussed, Sire! What about the battle plan, our separate divisions? We were supposed to attack together!” The military captain’s face reddened. “Do we ride in and hope we can fight whatever they throw against us? That is not enough!”
Koll was also furious at impulsive Quo. “It is unexpected,” he said. This wasn’t his choice, either, but he could not control the sandwreths, even though he needed them. “Ride!”
The augas had surged ahead of the galloping human cavalry. Ogno and Vitor split their forces into two prongs as the army reached the lakeshore, spreading out to attack the half-constructed second tower of the fortress. Ogno’s primal challenge was as loud as the shouts of a hundred soldiers.
Elliel and Lasis ignited their ramers and raised the fiery blades. On the other side of the army, in Lord Bahlen’s division, Urok also lit his golden cuff and created a blazing whip that sent sparks flying into the air. Bahlen’s professional soldiers were joined by Mayor Cleff and determined townspeople from Yanton.
As the army closed in on the looming ice fortress, frostwreth warriors emerged from the high gate carrying long spears and transparent swords. They rode enormous wolf-steeds, fire-eyed animals with claws like hooked daggers. In eerie unison, the frostwreths shouted a challenge that echoed like a thunderclap. A burst of arctic wind swooped across the landscape, battering Kollanan. The human forces staggered against the cold wave, then pushed forward again.
Around the base of the new fortress wall and the half-constructed tower, near the crumbling hovels where drones had once lived, human soldiers faced hundreds of frostwreth workers who fashioned weapons out of construction materials. They moved forward with clubs and prybars, each fighter as powerful as any human warrior.
Koll gripped his war hammer, ready for his first victim as they charged headlong into the enemy forces. The king of Norterra prepared for the fight of his life.
He hoped their temporary sandwreth allies were as powerful as Queen Voo promised.
* * *
As the cold wind blew against her face, Elliel was ready to kill. Her ramer blazed like a torch leading the way. Nearby, Lasis raised his, as well. The two Bravas would not try to slip quietly into the fortress, as they had last time in search of the king’s grandson. This was a frontal attack. Lasis swung his ramer blade, cutting a long arc in the air in front of him.
Riding close to Elliel, Thon seemed intent and fascinated. His deep blue eyes sparkled. He had chosen to fight in this battle today, with the forces of Norterra, which gave him the opportunity to release his enigmatic powers.
In her time with Thon, as she learned to love him and taught him about emotions, she had also instilled in him a sense of justice. And all the villagers murdered here demanded justice. Despite the thousand questions that lingered about the dark wreth, Elliel didn’t doubt what he could do.
Enemy warriors guided their furry oonuks to form a line of defense in front of the fortress, flanked by armored frostwreths on foot. Behind them came several pale mages in heavy blue robes.
“Wreth warriors are difficult foes,” Lasis shouted over the rising din, “but we must beware of the mages!”
“I will take care of the mages,” Thon said with a shrug. The three separated from the ranks of human soldiers that thundered behind them.
Riding ahead of the main army onto the frozen gray lake, Quo laughed as he pressed toward the main fortress gate. On the ice, the lead frostwreth warrior pushed his wolf-steed toward Quo’s auga. When the oonuk slashed with long claws, the auga kicked out with one muscular foot and disemboweled the beast. The wolf-steed pawed at the spilling red entrails and tumbled.
The frostwreth rider was thrown onto the snow-covered rocks, but he sprang to his feet and drew his weapons. Quo slashed at him with his bloodied spear, but the frostwreth blocked it. The two clashed and parried. Around them sandwreths engaged in their own duels, reptilian mounts tearing at white wolves.
Elliel and Lasis rode in from the side, striking down Quo’s opponent with their ramers, then moved on. Offended, the sandwreth noble shouted, “I did not require your help, half-breeds.” He wheeled his auga about and rode into the fray. “But this frees me to kill others.”
A towering frostwreth warrior closed in on the Bravas, drawn by their ramers like a moth to a candle flame. Elliel wondered if she had encountered him before in Queen Onn’s throne room. His wolf-steed pawed at the air, which terrified Elliel’s horse, but Lasis swept past and slashed a smoking line across the white fur. The beast roared in pain.
Elliel slid out of the saddle and dropped to the ground, letting the panicked horse gallop away. Planting her boots apart, she faced the warrior mounted on his injured oonuk. Drawing on the magic in her blood, she slashed her ramer fire like a whip.
Her opponent, an ugly, long-jawed wreth with scarred runes on his cheeks, blocked her ramer with his spear shaft and drew a curved dagger in his other hand. Lasis joined her on foot, and together they faced off with the mounted wreth warrior.
They both engaged in a flurry of ramer blows that drove their opponent back, breaking the spear shaft and searing his skin. They knocked the warrior off of his injured wolf-steed, and he seemed surprised by their combined strength. While Lasis engaged the oonuk as it wheeled toward them, Elliel cut another smoking wound down the warrior’s arm. Within moments, Lasis joined his blade with hers. The two of them drove the wreth warrior back hard, and Elliel cut off his head.
Looking at the smoking corpse, she asked, “Did we stain our honor that two of us fought a single opponent?”
The other Brava wasn’t concerned. “We must defeat these creatures. That is the only rule.”
Together, they engaged another warrior, a fierce wreth woman with spines like icicles protruding from her shoulder plates. Her hair was braided as tight as a fist and seemed frozen solid with a sheen of ice. In each hand she held a short sickle-tipped weapon.
As Quo’s sandwreths approached the fortress gates via the lake ice, the three blue-robed mages stood shoulder-to-shoulder, raisi
ng their fists. Working together, the mages summoned a howling white wall of ice chips and snowflakes, which rushed across the shore to engulf the oncoming sandwreth war party. Quo’s own mages defended themselves with spells, etching runes into the ice that blazed with fire. Together, Inod, Ulla, and Aoron created an explosive boom that sent structural flaws and fissures through the palace’s foundational blocks.
At the rocky shore, Eliel saw Thon dismount and stride out onto the thick, gray ice of the open lake. Alone on a clear area, he knelt to concentrate, then raised a fist and brought it down like a hammer. A crack split the ice, and dark, cold water welled up like a gash in Lake Bakal. The fissure widened like a lightning bolt, zigzagging across the solid lake all the way to the fortress. Quo and the sandwreths dove out of the way, astonished by what Thon had done.
The amazing dark wreth dipped his fingertips into the fresh water, making it boil and froth. A wall of steam built up as a smoke screen, disguising the surge of an unnatural wave of lake water that rushed forward like surf crashing against the shore.
The frostwreth mages stood together at the gates, unsure of Thon’s magic. His wave rolled forward, building and building as it drew more water from the lake. The pale mages raised their hands to defend themselves as the wall of water lurched like a striking viper. They drew on their defensive magic, which froze the wave solid into a half-shell barricade rising in front of them.
Thon sat back on his heels, seemingly unconcerned as the rival mages strained against him. He plunged both hands into the crack in the ice, immersing them, and summoned an even larger wave that hurtled toward the frostwreths at incredible speed. It raced over the top of the first frozen shell and plunged down to engulf the mages. Then Thon reversed his magic and froze the water solid, encasing the enemies in a solid mound of ice.
Vengewar Page 33