Vengewar

by Kevin J. Anderson

  A pair of teenagers lit the kindling, and soon the flames caught on the bonfire’s larger logs. At smaller cookfire rings around the camp, pots heated water to boil vegetables. Birds caught in the nets and hares hunted down by archers would be roasted for all to share.

  Three camp skas swooped overhead in aerial combat as the twilight deepened. The reptile birds liked to dodge and loop, harrying one another, but this time they seemed edgy and unsettled. They collided in the air, snapping with their long snouts, genuinely vicious. Loose feathers drifted down.

  Penda looked up in shock. Their distressed owners ran out, waving at the sky. “Come back! Stop that.” One of the skas returned wounded, seeking refuge with its human partner. The reptile birds continued to harass one another, while their masters yelled at them.

  Even when most of the pet skas were brought under control, they remained brooding and restless, hissing at their human partners, who felt distraught through the heart link. Two of the camp skas refused to obey their masters and flew overhead, letting out loud mournful sounds.

  Penda drew a circle around her heart and pressed a palm against her chest. She could feel Xar’s agitation, too, through their heart link. Earlier, she had bound him to his resting post with a leather thong, but now Xar flapped his wings and strained to break free. Seeing how the other skas had attacked and fought, she didn’t want him up there where he could be hurt.

  She levered herself up from the cushions and went to stroke Xar’s pale green feathers, cooing and humming to settle him. She saw turmoil in the reptile bird’s faceted eyes. “Calm down. It’ll be all right.” Xar nudged her with his head, insisting that she continue calming him.

  Stars had begun to twinkle through the deep blue overhead. Sadly, she wondered where Ari had flown off to. After recording her message into the mothertear diamond, she had released the young blue ska again, which had flown off to find the orphan girl. If Glik did receive Penda’s message, she might draw hope.…

  Penda untied the leather thong and placed Xar on her shoulder, stroking his feathers, then made her way back to where Hale and Shella watched the growing bonfire. The matriarch reminisced about when she had once seen a dragon, back as a young girl. When Penda had first heard that story—as had all Utauks—it seemed an unlikely tale, but now Shella’s words rang true.

  The ska flapped his wings, and she struggled to soothe him. “Easy, Xar.” She also pressed through the heart link, but his agitation continued to increase.

  Hale watched her struggle with her pet. “What is wrong with him, dear heart?”

  “It’s not just Xar—look at all of them.” She indicated the sky with a toss of her head.

  “Something in the air,” said Shella din Orr.

  “Cra, something in the whole world!”

  Just as Penda lowered herself back to the cushions near the bonfire, her abdomen clenched and her muscles tightened in a spasm. She doubled over, and Hale lurched over to grab her arm.

  Penda drew a deep breath, trying to find air. It was an early labor pain; she knew it. She had felt them before, but they were mere twinges. This was a more intense shock wave that went from the base of her legs, through her womb, and all the way into her heart.

  The pain was more than a mere cramp, though, and it was not just inside of her. Something was happening deep within the earth, a distant pain that surged into her senses. Xar rattled a hiss in his scaly throat. He strained his wings, but Penda held his leg, preventing him from flying away. She was terrified for him now. Something about the skas …

  Although the labor spasm passed, the pain in the world kept growing. The ground beneath the camp started to shake from a distant rumbling. The stacked logs in the bonfire shifted, sending a shower of sparks into the air. Cookpots swayed on their tripods above the smaller fires.

  Shella din Orr clutched the pillows and cushions at her sides. “I can feel it. Something … tearing!” Other Utauks shouted.

  Around the camp, the agitated skas broke free of their masters, squawking, clicking, and hooting. They flew into the air, harrying and pecking one another, desperate to escape. Their owners yelled after them, some in dismay, others in anger.

  Hale Orr didn’t care about skas, though, as he knelt in front of his daughter. “Is it the baby’s time?”

  A shudder passed through her again, another clenching of muscles, but then it faded. “No, not yet. It’s just an early pain. Cra, it can’t be time.” She shook her head and insisted, “It cannot be time!” With one hand she drew a circle around her heart. She pulled in a deep breath, imposing her will upon her own body. “I have to send a message to my Starfall. I need him to find me.”

  Just then some of the humans heart-linked to their skas swooned and dropped to their knees, dizzy. One fell backward to the ground and lay with eyes open, teeth clenched as if having terrible visions.

  Penda squeezed her eyes shut, sensed something powerful, terrible … huge scaly shapes with great wings and lashing tails, a breath of fire.

  Xar broke free of her fingers and flung himself into the air, but Penda snatched the leather thong still tied to his foot, afraid to let him go. The other skas were going wild. He flapped and slashed, trying to break free, but she held on. “No, Xar! Please stay with me.”

  Eventually, the ska surrendered and let her draw him back to her, but he watched as the other agitated reptile birds fled into the dark sky as their dismayed human partners ran after them, called out, but to no effect.

  Old Shella watched the skas fly away. Tears sparkled in her eyes.

  “Will they come back, Mother?” Penda asked, feeling the heartache of what the other partners were experiencing.

  “They may, or they may not, child. I think it means that more dragons are coming.”

  “Are skas afraid of dragons?” Penda asked. “Is that why they escaped?”

  Shella considered for a long moment, staring into the burning bonfire, then shook her head. “It may be that the skas are connected to them.”

  70

  COLD white steam rose from the rubble of the Lake Bakal fortress. Broken frostwreth bodies littered the site of the disaster, and drones scurried over the debris, picking and sorting through it.

  The complete destruction gave King Kollanan a sense of vindication.

  Tempering the victory, however, were his many losses, dozens of soldiers slain in the fierce battles, and others caught in the collapse of the ice-block walls. Battlefield surgeons tended the injured, heating sword blades in new fires to cauterize necessary amputations. Others tended the dying, leaning close and listening to the last words so all those lives and legacies would not be forgotten.

  Koll leaned against his warhorse. Storm’s black hide had an angry-looking scrape and several deep cuts that would need to be tended. Other mounts with broken legs or deeper wounds had to be put down.

  Bleeding from a dozen injuries, Ogno strode up to the king, coughing hard and spitting a glob of phlegm and blood to the side. “Cerus is dead, Sire, but it took two frostwreths to kill him. I stabbed one of them in the back, but I was too late.” The big man held up his hand, befuddled by the blood there. He frowned when he noticed that his index finger had been hacked off. “My wife is going to be upset,” he said, then wandered off.

  Kollanan stared at the shattered fortress in awe. The structure had covered a large part of the lakeshore, and he tried to take heart in wiping out the frostwreths. His triumph here was indisputable, but it did not bring back Jhaqi, Gannon, or little Tomko. And Birch was still held prisoner at the northern palace.

  Lasis and Elliel approached him, their ramers extinguished, their swords bloodied, their sturdy capes ragged. They looked drained. “We did not take a count, Sire,” Lasis reported, “but Elliel and I killed many of them. Urok also slew his share.”

  Koll looked around, searching for the other Brava. “Did he and Lord Bahlen survive?”

  Lasis nodded. “We saw Bahlen tending to the wounded.”

  Elliel’s cinnamo
n hair was matted with blood in the back where someone had struck her, but she seemed unaffected by the injury. Her green eyes brightened. “We hunted down and dispatched any enemies who escaped the collapse, even if it took ten soldiers against each frostwreth warrior.”

  “A few escaped, though.” Lasis gestured to the fortress rubble. “We saw them bounding away on wolf-steeds.” He tugged at his tattered cape as if it offended him, then removed the ruined garment and tossed it to the ground. “Queen Onn will know what we did to her fortress.”

  Thon came up to them, smiling but obviously drained. “I should have done that last time, but I was not confident in what I could accomplish.” He marveled at the destruction. “The sandwreth mages provided substantial assistance in the overall battle.”

  “As did my warriors,” Quo said, riding his auga up to them. He wore a superior grin, but his attitude seemed oddly deprecating. The injured reptile moved sluggishly. “I did lose two mages and five warriors. Seven casualties total.” He frowned. “Perhaps I should have brought a larger war party after all.”

  Koll saw with disgust that the wreth noble had slung the body of a drone across the auga’s saddle. The small creature’s eyes were round and open, the dead expression blank. The king scolded, “Those drones fought at our side.”

  Quo looked down at the corpse and pushed the side of its smooth head, which lolled away from him. “Their assistance was not significant.”

  “They were still our allies. Did you kill it?”

  “It was already mostly dead. I wanted to bring a specimen to my beloved sister. Voo will find the creature fascinating. Perhaps she can learn how to make drones of her own. If the frostwreths can do it, then we will be able to do it better!” He was oblivious to Koll’s anger. “If we can create armies of our own drones, we will have many more allies in the coming war. Along with the human fighters that you and King Adan provide us, we will surely crush the evil frostwreths who plague you so much.”

  Koll struggled to keep his anger in check. “Norterra has not agreed to an alliance yet.”

  Quo jerked his chin toward the icy ruins. “I kept my part of the bargain. We destroyed the enemy fortress, as you requested.”

  Thon stepped forward. “You helped destroy it.”

  Quo was not swayed. “It is still a complete victory. The fortress is gone. The cold-bonded spell will dissipate, and you can rebuild the town.” His grin grew more pointed. “The frostwreths were … in the way.”

  Kollanan registered his sarcasm, but he was not amused.

  Elliel turned to the king, ignoring Quo. “We have our large army here right now, Sire—and we have the sandwreth reinforcements. This is the most powerful we have ever been. If we take our army north, we can strike the frostwreths before Queen Onn is able to prepare. We can press our victory.”

  “That might also be our chance to rescue Birch,” Lasis added.

  Kollanan longed to agree, but he knew it was the wrong decision. “Our army is not sufficient against the frostwreths. They have thousands in the army they are building. You reported that yourselves.”

  Quo said dismissively, “Do not count on our further assistance. My sister gave me another mission, and we must be off.” Additional sandwreths rode up on their augas, including Ulla, the last surviving mage. Dark spatters of blood stained her rough face and her red leather robe.

  Koll turned in surprise. “You are leaving? We still need your help here. Queen Onn will certainly retaliate!”

  “My party has done its work and paid a high price.” Quo looked at his lone mage, his surviving wreth warriors, some of them injured. One riderless auga stood next to the others. “I helped you out of courtesy. It gave me a chance to observe how your people fight. I am impressed, particularly with your half-breeds.” He glanced toward Elliel and Lasis. “But we must complete a task for my sister. We are loyal to Queen Voo first.”

  “What task is more important?” Koll demanded. “After this, Norterra is now vulnerable—”

  Quo took offense, and his warriors gripped their weapons. “You might call yourself a king among the humans, but you have no part in sandwreth business.” Then the capricious wreth noble chuckled. “This has been amusing! Thank you for the opportunity. It is always a good day when one spills the blood of an enemy.” He adjusted the drone corpse across his saddle and nudged his auga into motion. The sandwreth war party rode away from the battlefield around Lake Bakal.

  71

  EVEN after the wreths recaptured her, Glik could not break free of her visions. Inside the circle. Outside the circle.

  In the frozen pool of shadowglass, she had glimpsed the mind and heart of the dragon, feeling its hatred and evil. She had also seen an equally terrible force, just as powerful as Ossus and able to wreak as much destruction. Glik understood the dragon, but this other thing was beyond her comprehension.

  Half unconscious, she drew a circle over and over and over, mumbling her mantra. She was so trapped in the fearful visions that she could barely see the moonlight, the jagged outcroppings of shadowglass, and the wreths around her.

  Sharp pain jarred Glik out of her catatonic daze.

  “What do you see, girl?” The voice was angry, full of command. Mage Ivun shook her. His hand had shriveled into a claw, tight leather and sinew. As if from a distance, she realized that he must have expended much of his magic reserves to quash the escape attempt. She hoped he would continue to wither away.

  “Leave her alone,” Cheth shouted, then grunted in pain as the wreth warriors pummeled her to the ground.

  “Tell me what you saw!” Ivun pushed Glik forward, shoving her face close to the still pool of obsidian. “Tell me!”

  But the mage had shattered the connection. Though she remained frightened, the looming visions had vanished. Now when she stared at the smooth black surface of the pool, she saw nothing, not even a hint of her own reflection.

  “It’s gone,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “I don’t see the dragon now, but there was something else, too.”

  Ivun leaned over the shadowglass. Peering down, he placed the palm of his good hand on the impenetrable surface and bent so close that Glik thought he might kiss it. He swiped his hand over the black glass, then in frustration, pounded it with a fist. Ivun’s clawed fingers dug into her shoulder. “There are no visions here! You drained them all. You took them for yourself.”

  “I—I did not want them.”

  “And yet you have them.” With his intact arm he lifted her up. “You will come with me.” Ivun looked at the wreth warriors who still held Cheth. “Take that prisoner back to the camp and round up any others who escaped. I want them all. We have much work to do here.”

  The mage glared at Glik with close-set eyes the color of honey lit on fire. “I will find a way to extract what you saw so I can share your knowledge.” His voice had its own reptilian hiss that was so unlike the roar of the dragon she had heard in her mind.

  “I need the knowledge.”

  Glik could barely walk as the mage dragged her along. Her knees and hands were bleeding; her clothes were in tatters. When she stumbled, Ivun ordered one of the warriors to dismount from his auga. He lifted the orphan girl like a discarded package, dropped her into the saddle, and climbed up behind her. Surefooted even on the jumbled shadowglass, the auga loped off toward the camp.

  Ivun’s pavilion was braced with supports of iron-hard wood and large bones lashed together. The night was hot and still, and the moon hovered overhead, shining pale light across the bleak terrain. The Plain of Black Glass sucked away all noise, all wind.

  Glik did not want to help her captors, but she was shaken by what she had seen. If Ossus awakened, he could destroy them all … but that other roiling force was no ally. She stammered as she described what she could recall of her visions for the demanding mage.

  Although Ivun listened with interest, he was intent on his own preparations. “Not good enough. I need to see what you saw, sense what you sensed.”

 
“I’ve already told you all I remember. I don’t have anything more!”

  “You have it inside you,” Ivun insisted. Reaching into the sleeve of his leather robe, he withdrew a shard of shadowglass with a razor edge.

  Glik scrambled away from him as he clamped his withered hand around her wrist, squeezing tight. She feared he was going to slice her open, maybe rip out her heart. She struggled, but the mage was much stronger than she was.

  He dragged her over to a small table on which he had set an unevenly shaped bowl, also fashioned out of shadowglass. He drew her toward him, turned her hand up, and slashed her forearm with the black dagger. Blood welled up. She gasped from the pain.

  He tossed the shadowglass knife away and held her arm over the basin to catch her blood. As the bowl filled, Ivun watched with keen interest. “Shadowglass knife. Shadowglass bowl.” He looked at her with blazing eyes. “Shadowglass visions.”

  When he’d captured enough blood, Ivun released her and drew his withered arm against his chest, as if he had expended all the physical energy he possessed. Using his good hand, he rubbed the shadowglass bowl, turning it slowly as he peered into the pool of blood, which shifted from red to black and then sparkled with stars.

  “Is this what you saw?” he demanded, then added a louder hiss of command. “Look, girl!”

  Glik nursed her cut arm, but was drawn to the blood in the basin. When she stared into its liquid surface, it stared back at her with a reptilian eye. “Yes! It’s Ossus.”

  “It is Ossus.” Ivun’s voice was filled with hunger. The slitted powerful eye blinked in the basin, then widened. A different blackness swirled around it … the other powerful force. “What is that?”

  On the starry surface, a bubble rose and burst, splattering red droplets across the mage’s face. Ivun knocked the bowl off the table, spilling blood onto the floor of his tent. “We know Ossus. We must awaken him and destroy him. But that other force…”