Vengewar

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Glik interrupted him with a hard retort. “Are you afraid of it? Maybe it will destroy all the wreths so that your god will never come back.”

  She could see he was shaken as he wiped the blood from his face. “Afraid? I do not know enough yet to be afraid. But it is wise to have respect for things you do not understand.”

  He casually tossed her a strip of cloth from the belongings strewn about his pavilion. She wrapped it around her bleeding arm. “Once you understand a thing,” Ivun said, “then you can destroy it.”

  72

  AS Mount Vada continued to rumble around the frostwreth war party, the stunted dragon careened through the air, ungainly but still terrifying. Because of its malformed wing, the monster struggled to fly far from the crack in the mountainside.

  Koru ducked as smoking rock shards and thick ash fell around them. She gritted her teeth and waved her spear. This was what she had wanted. The stunted dragon was not Ossus, but it would be good practice. Her wreth warriors scrambled as they made preparations to fight the monster.

  The first dragon had flown away, abandoning its crippled sibling. The second dragon seemed outraged at its own inadequacy, and the deformity seemed to make it even meaner. It thundered toward the wreth war party, as if blaming them for its misery.

  Koru’s two mages hurled magic like a crashing wave crest through the air. Buffeted by the turbulence, the lumbering dragon hissed, and its eyes blazed an orange brighter than the lava itself. Its gaping jaws were ready to snap up the wreths, regardless of their armor.

  The oonuks bounded away in panic, but Koru grabbed one as it lunged past. She threw herself onto its back and wrestled its head around, forcing the beast toward the dragon.

  The warrior Leran shrieked a challenge and raised his spear in one hand and a crystal sword in the other. Exuberant, he ran over the shifting ground as fast as the wolf-steed. As it passed, the stunted dragon’s good wing swept Leran into the upthrust boulders, smashing him with such force that his head and ribs split open. He lay twitching like a squashed insect.

  Koru dropped off the oonuk’s back and landed with her feet planted apart. She ducked as the dragon swooped over her head with a breath of sulfur and hate, trying to break and batter her. Reaching up, she slashed at the leathery skin between the vanes of its good wing, and her spear point sliced the tight membrane.

  In pain, the dragon reeled upward, trying to gain altitude with its malformed wing, and a wide ragged hole ripped open in the other. Together, her warriors threw numerous spears. Several stuck like splinters in the scaled haunches, and one pierced its ribs.

  Separating, the two mages climbed onto high rocks at the edge of the new fissure. Lava flowed in a molten brook, spewing fiery droplets that solidified in the air and pelted down in hot rubble. Elon and Mor pushed with their magic in unison, reaching into the mountains themselves and drawing on the power that ran hot and furious to the surface. The mages flung boulders at the dragon, like loads from a dozen catapults. The rocks pummeled the monster, and one projectile broke the tip of its stunted wing.

  The angry creature plummeted to attack again, and Koru’s warriors scattered, seeking shelter. The dragon caught one of the wolf-steeds in its talons, lifted it into the air, and tore the beast in half before flinging the bloody pieces aside.

  Elon and Mor summoned another volley of hot boulders, but their efforts agitated the unstable mountain. Burning stones rained down on Elon. One scored a black furrow across his bald skull, and he collapsed and rolled.

  Mor was standing closer to the river of lava, calling on the deep magic, when a jet of superhot molten rock showered up and incinerated her before she had time to scream. The volley of boulders hurled by the mages now broke from their trajectories and crashed down, barely missing Elon, who writhed in pain on the ground.

  Another boulder dropped from the sky and crushed a wreth warrior who challenged the oncoming dragon. The monster snapped him up in its jaws.

  Koru was panting so hard that the hot air seared her lungs. Their god had given all wreths the mission to destroy Ossus … yet this wasn’t Ossus, merely what she had guessed was a fragment of him. Even though this small dragon was injured and malformed, it might still massacre her entire war party.

  But Koru swore she would not fail. She had to make an example and force her mother to see how enormous the true threat—the wreths’ true mission—really was.

  She faced the damaged monster, ready to fight as she had never fought before. When its wings could no longer hold the behemoth aloft, it crashed to the ground and became an even more fearsome juggernaut. A mountain of scales and fangs. The dragon lurched forward on clawed feet, charging the war party.

  Two warriors stood together to face it, showing no fear as they hurled their crystal-tipped spears. One weapon caromed off the dragon’s scales, and another pierced the membrane on the malformed wing. When the monster roared, one warrior threw his last spear down into its gullet. The weapon lodged in the soft pink flesh, but the dragon crunched down, snapped the shaft, and spat out splinters. It swept its enormous barbed head from side to side and seized both warriors in its jaws.

  Though wounded, Mage Elon climbed to his feet, his skin smoking. Angry at the death of his partner, he launched a hail of projectiles borne on a buffeting assault of wind.

  Koru rallied her surviving warriors, only eight of them now, for a final push. Two had retrieved their oonuks, and the others were on foot. “Even if we kill just a fragment of Ossus, we have struck a blow for victory. We know the mission Kur gave us.” She heaved a scalding breath. “The mission he gave all wreths!”

  Imagining the frostwreth armies and the sandwreth armies, she was dismayed by how the two factions were weakening each other with hatred rather than joining against an insurmountable enemy. Where were they now? They should be here!

  The stunted dragon lumbered toward them, knocking aside slabs of rock. The ground shook, and Koru couldn’t tell if the mountain was ready to erupt again, or if it was merely signaling the approach of the monster. Koru held her spear, and drew strength from knowing it was modeled after Dar’s weapon from times past.

  When the dragon stormed closer, her warriors threw yet another volley of spears, and two pierced its hide. The dragon lifted its triangular head, and trumpeted in pain and outrage. Pounding both wings, it somehow lifted its massive body aloft again. Koru ducked as waves of air buffeted them.

  Looking up, she hefted the spiraled shaft of her spear and thought about her ancestor Dar. This was not just any spear, and Koru was certain it would fly true. She could smell an oily reptile musk, the stink of the dragon’s passage as it thundered overhead.

  Koru drew back her arm and hurled the weapon with all her might and determination. It streaked upward and plunged into the softer scales at the base of the dragon’s throat. The leaf-shaped tip sank deep, and blood spouted out, smoking in the air.

  The dragon thrashed and writhed as it fought to stay aloft in spite of the new wound. Cheering, Koru ran along with her warriors, chasing after the monster and ready to hack it with their swords if it crashed to the ground.

  The struggling dragon made it to the smoking cauldron in the side of Mount Vada. With a gasp of surrender as if it actually sought the embrace of the molten fire, the dragon plunged into the lava-filled fissure. It writhed and smoked as it sank, its scales catching fire, its blackness breaking into thousands of pieces that seeped into the liquid rock.

  Standing as near to the edge as she dared, Koru stared, uncertain of her triumph. “The dragon is dead. We killed it.”

  His skin still smoldering, Mage Elon strode up to her, shaking his head. “We killed one of them. That manifestation of the dragon may be dead, but now its evil can seep back into the world.”

  “There is already enough evil in the world.” Koru feared that evil had tainted the wreth races as well. “We have to kill every dragon, every manifestation, until Ossus is finally dead. Then at last the world can be made perfect.”


  73

  THE Hethrren hordes marched without urgency, but their movement was inexorable. By the time they approached Serepol, word—and some measure of panic—had traveled through the city.

  Key Priestlord Klovus tried to make many preparations. When he spoke of his plan, he demonstrated immense outward confidence, although in his heart he was terrified. He had spread the “good news” among the people, but even his greatest supporters among the priestlords were anxious about their supposed allies. Though Serepol was far from Tamburdin District, stories of the barbarians had spread via merchants and travelers journeying north.

  “Hear us, save us!” Klovus shouted to the people, making it sound like a celebration. “Our new Hethrren friends are coming, and we must show them grace and hospitality. In the harbor, Isharan navy ships are even now being made ready to deliver our vengeful force to the enemy. The Hethrren will be our sword against the godless.” He raised his hands to encourage a loud cheer, prodding the people into the proper response. Klovus had trained them not to doubt him.

  When he received reports of the bizarre rumors spreading about Empra Iluris, however, he was at first amused, then annoyed. “How can they believe such ridiculous things?” he had asked his Black Eels.

  Zaha responded with a blank but steely gaze. “She is missing, Key Priestlord, with no explanation. Would you rather they all believed that you assassinated her and disposed of her body?”

  Klovus flushed. “We should spread rumors of our own that Commonwealth spies kidnapped her when she was recovering from her injury. Say they took her away and tortured her to death in their own dungeons.”

  The Black Eel seemed hesitant. “We could spread that rumor, Key Priestlord. My companions could take different forms and tell the same story out of many mouths for added veracity.” He paused, then added, “I cannot guarantee anyone will believe it, though.”

  “They will believe anything,” Klovus snapped. “Obviously.”

  * * *

  The Magnifica temple grew taller and more imposing each day, and Klovus was pleased with his dedicated workers. Traders and suppliers, burly laborers and delicate artisans poured their sweat and skill into erecting the enormous structure. But he wanted to show more progress before the barbarians arrived, so he again summoned the godling in order to use its strength and majesty to help assemble the temple.

  The dust-coated, sweaty laborers backed away to the edge of the temple square and stared in awe and anticipation. Klovus reached into himself, pulling with his heart and mind—as well as the faith of the people—and called forth the Serepol godling.

  The thing roiled out, eager to please, a barely contained avatar of Isharan strength. Klovus directed it as he had done before, and the godling reached out with titanic arms of smoke and lightning, lifting up house-sized blocks of stone and raising them to the half-finished third level of the stepped pyramid. It hefted cartloads of bricks and slid them into place. Though the effort drained him, commanding the towering entity also gave Klovus power.

  Tapping into the Magnifica’s design in the key priestlord’s mind, the godling could envision and understand the shape of its future home. The city people were both terrified by and enamored with what the deity could do. They watched, they believed, and their inner strength powered the godling.

  Klovus and the godling worked together for hours, completing another significant portion of the enormous structure. When he was finished, the godling was discernibly weakened and more diffuse. Klovus had let himself get carried away, absorbed in the glorious work, and now the entity had done too much. He himself felt exhausted.

  Barely able to stand, he turned to the crowd, and they all cheered. Deep inside, Klovus could feel the godling draw another glimmer of strength from their renewed excitement and faith. With great thanks, he dismissed the godling, and it retreated weakly into the temple behind the spelldoor to simmer in its own void and gradually recover its energy.

  The key priestlord also wanted to go back to his own quarters and rest, eat a fine meal, perhaps take a perfumed hot bath. He felt too weary to take advantage of any female supplicants who might want to offer their bodies as sacrifices. He shivered, recalling what Magda had done to him.…

  Before he could retreat to privacy and relax in peace, though, he received a surprise message from a scout who rode in. The news was expected but still unnerving. Klovus had thought he would have more time.

  The Hethrren had arrived.

  * * *

  When he watched the oncoming throng from a tall watchtower on the outskirts of the city, his heart quailed. A hundred fur-clad riders cantered in the front lines, followed by a vast army that ignored roads and trampled the landscape. Magda, a mound of muscle and skin, wearing a wolf pelt over her bare shoulders, raised her twisted club as if it were a scepter of office.

  Bracing himself, Klovus rushed out to meet the vanguard before they reached the city. Even from a distance, Magda’s grin was so wide he could see her crooked teeth. Though dressed in his fine blue caftan, the key priestlord clutched his gold chain of office, suddenly forgetting his confidence as the Hethrren leader galloped toward him. He felt weak from his long efforts at the Magnifica, and the godling was recovering, so Klovus was on his own.

  Magda pulled her horse to a halt just before the front hooves trampled him. “I brought my people as you requested, lover. Are you happy to see me?”

  Klovus paled but forced himself not to flinch. “You offered to fight the godless, which benefits us both.” He nodded to reassure himself. “As we agreed, I will provide your people with weapons and ships. We’ve been preparing for your swift departure ever since I arrived back in Serepol.”

  “We want you to be ready for us. Mount beside me.” Magda reached down to grab his hand, then chuckled. “You can mount me later.”

  Klovus felt the familiar nausea return. Reluctantly, he struggled onto her sturdy horse. Magda had to lift him bodily in front of her, and he was neither small nor lightweight. The other Hethrren riders glowered at the anxious-looking city people who stood outside their shops and animal pens. Behind the front line, the main army kept marching toward Serepol.

  “I showed you my camp, lover. Now show me your palace.” Magda leaned forward, and a vile smell wafted out of her mouth. “I’ve never slept in a fine royal bed before.”

  “I am a priestlord, not a king,” Klovus said. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to agree. “I will take you into Serepol. You and this first line of warriors. I assume they are your generals? The others need to camp outside the city, though. We will provide food and supplies while we finish preparing the ships. It should not take more than a day or two. Then you can be on your way to victory.”

  As he sat on the saddle in front of her, Magda wrapped her beefy arms around him. “Why so eager to be rid of me?” She dug in her heels, and the horse lurched forward.

  Citizens of Serepol scattered out of the way as the Hethrren riders pushed into the city. Behind them, the main barbarian army let out a loud cry and picked up their pace.

  “Stop!” Klovus looked back in alarm. “We must obey the forms.”

  “We are leaders. We make our own rules,” Magda said.

  As they rode into Serepol, Klovus tried to steer her toward the Magnifica temple. “In this great structure, we are building a home for our greatest godling. You can see how immense it will be.”

  “I can see it is not finished. Your godling can have it.” Magda pointed toward the high palace. “That is where your empra rules?”

  Klovus swallowed hard. “That is the palace, yes.”

  “Do you have rooms of your own there?”

  He had indeed claimed chambers in the palace as he assumed more and more duties with Iluris gone. “Yes.”

  It still maddened him that he didn’t know where the empra had gone, but his searchers had found nothing. Rumors were widespread, ridiculous, and unhelpful. It was almost as if someone wanted to create confusion and concern.

&n
bsp; “Then that is where I shall be, with you. Find rooms for my”—she looked around at the shaggy riders who cantered beside her—“my generals as you called them.” She laughed. The bearded men and women stared from beneath hooded brows, assessing the homes, the shops, the places to plunder.

  Klovus wanted nothing more than to slide off the horse and run. Unfortunately, the exhausted godling was too quiescent to offer him protection right now. “This is not what we agreed.”

  “We didn’t settle all the details.”

  As the unruly force rode on into the city, Klovus realized that part of the front ranks had already dismounted and made their way into taverns or restaurants, taking whatever food or drink they needed. He could hear scuffles and shouts of dismay behind him. “You must control them!”

  Magda cuffed him on the side of the head, and his ears rang. “They traveled a long distance on your command. They have needs, and you promised to provide them.” She leaned closer and growled in his ear, “I expect you to satisfy me as well.”

  His stomach knotted.

  People were emptying the streets, rushing into buildings, shuttering windows, barring doors. The Hethrren pushed toward the palace, but Klovus managed to divert them down the main streets that led to the open harbor. “Let me show you our warships. You will find them impressive.”

  Magda pursed her lips. “Yes, I want to see these ships that we will ride across the sea.”

  Her words gave him only a small amount of relief. He tried to catch his breath, but the animal stink around Magda made him gag. She had covered her skin with old grease, which she said drove away the bugs, and the wolf pelt on her shoulder smelled as if it had not been properly cured. “Will you sail with us, so you can watch my Hethrren win a great victory?”

  He blinked. “No, I am needed here. You will command the armies that conquer the old world.”

  She huffed. The Hethrren rode down to the docks and spread out to inspect merchant stalls, sniffing and frowning at the fish sellers. Some vendors closed up and fled; others tried to haggle with the strange new customers. One Hethrren grabbed a scrawny potter who complained when he broke a small glazed pot. The barbarian picked him up by his neck, held the potter with his feet dangling off the ground, then tossed him into his own pile of pots, shattering many more.