Song of the Risen God

by R. A. Salvatore

  THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY

  “Stay together,” Tamilee recited, more to herself than to her two lifelong friends, the brothers Asef and Asba. They had grown up as neighbors in the small fishing village of Carrachan Shoal, living their lives in each other’s company, hunting, fishing, playing, and exploring their boundaries, their hopes, their fears together.

  Tamilee loved them both as brothers—no, as more than brothers. She had often fantasized about raising a family with one or the other. She knew that she could be happy in the arms of either. They were so much alike. They even looked alike, with their single-hump elongated skulls, brown hair and beards cut similarly, and piercing eyes—eyes as blue as any in the village other than Tamilee herself. Asef was leaner and swifter, while Asba was among the strongest men in the village.

  And now, with most of the village slaughtered, with the village itself destroyed …

  “They’re all about us,” Asba quietly replied, to Asef’s agreeing nods.

  The three moved in a group of more than twenty refugees, padding through the light forests along the western rim of the mountain crater—the crater that had been a lake, upon which they and all the others had been sailing, fleeing the massive invasion of these strange-faced monsters. They hadn’t seen any of the invaders since coming ashore, but they knew. They all knew.

  The monsters were all about.

  “We should’ve kept going across the lake,” Asef whispered, moving between the other two. “Foolish turn to the west.”

  “Only the fast boats made it,” Tamilee reminded. “We were overladen and slow.”

  Asef started to respond but then closed his mouth fast and nodded—and what else could he do? What argument could be made? Their boat was built for a dozen passengers and had twice that number pushing it low in the water, plodding along. They had seen the carnage behind them, both from the eruptions on the far bank and from the appearance of the great lake monster. The only way their boat could have paced those that escaped to the far northern bank of Loch Beag would have been to throw half the people overboard to drown or be eaten.

  So they, and many other boats, had turned to the much nearer western bank of the great lake, coming ashore and rushing for cover, huddling in fear throughout the night of explosions and fiery stones flying high into the air. The magical cataclysm created by a beam of power shooting down from Fireach Speuer had destroyed a large part of the mountains hemming the lake on the east, and that had opened a great chasm down thousands of feet to the Desert of Black Stones—a desert that was now, because of the draining of Loch Beag through the mountain breach, a vast lake.

  So suddenly, their entire world had changed.

  “We should be going north, not south,” Asba offered, and not for the first time. Before the dawn, the passengers from their boat had set out, and after several arguments, the elders among them had determined that they would go south, toward the village of Car Seileach and in the direction of those other refugee boats that had beached nearby.

  “We must join with the others, and with the folk of Car Seileach, to find a way to fight back,” said Asef, but Asba was shaking his head through his brother’s entire reply.

  “We three should be going south,” Tamilee said, supporting the very arguments Asba had made during that early morning gathering. “Just we three and not all of us. We’d move faster.”

  “We’d move quieter,” Asba interjected.

  “Aye, and we could catch up to them before they ever reached the folk who sailed to the northern bank,” Tamilee went on. She looked around at those hiking to either side, ahead, and behind. “Too many, too loud, too slow.”

  “And the painted-faced sidhe are all around us,” said Asef. “I can feel them.”

  * * *

  Dread, sheer dread, settled on Connebragh’s shoulders. She knew she couldn’t stay in the small cave beneath some exposed tree roots, but where was she to go? She couldn’t return to her tribe, the Usgar on the mountain, for her tribe had been slaughtered.

  Or perverted, enslaved, she reminded herself, thinking of the other women of the coven of witches, likely still dancing about the God Crystal, serving that hideous giant sidhe monster with intoxicated glee.

  She considered her one valuable item, the spear she had taken from the fallen Ahn’Namay, one of the leaders of her lost tribe. She had gathered it from his body, which had been riddled by the spears of the invaders, missiles hurled with frightening power and accuracy.

  She sent her thoughts into the crystalline spear tip, seeking the magic, the song of Usgar, contained within. She heard two distinctive whispers: the green flecks that lessened her weight and allowed her to run fast down the broken ground of the mountain, and the sparkles of tiny diamonds, the stone of light and darkness. She felt, too, the wedstone—all of the Usgar spears had a bit of this stone of healing, the keystone to all the magics—but it was not strong in this particular spear.

  And she found no offensive magic available, no lightning or fire, which was probably a good thing, for she had little idea of how to actually use a spear in a fight. Unlike in the lake tribes, among the Usgar, the warriors were men, only men. Connebragh winced as she recalled the scene up on the sacred plateau, where the painted-faced invaders had rained spears upon her people to devastating effect. She was no warrior, but would that even matter? Even if she could match Tay Aillig himself in battle prowess, she would have no chance against these foreign monsters—and they, Connebragh reminded herself, were only part of her problem. She was surrounded now, all sides, by monsters and enemy uamhas, the lake people the Usgar raided and killed and took for slaves. With their skulls elongated from birth into a long single hump reaching back and up, or even in two humps, and sometimes two humps that were not identical, leaning left, leaning right, Connebragh found the uamhas uglier than the invaders, even.

  And would they hate her any less?

  Could she even think of uamhas as people?

  The woman closed her eyes and heard again the screams in the night, the cries of lake folk being caught and murdered by the invaders. She hadn’t seen those murders but had heard them, and the uamhas had screamed as an Usgar would scream, sometimes calling for friends, calling for their mothers.

  The sounds had pierced Connebragh’s heart and soul, had brought a river of tears to her as she huddled in that impromptu camp beneath the exposed tree roots. She had felt every death, keenly.

  The woman took a deep and steadying breath and gripped her spear tightly. She looked all about. Where was she to go? She thought she might go back to the mountain to find more spears, more magic, perhaps even other Usgar, but that notion washed away when she looked to the southeast, to the hulking mound of Fireach Speuer, for, from that very direction, she heard them, the sidhe invaders, coming in a swarm.

  She called upon the green flecks to lighten her step, to make her faster, and she ran to the north, moving from shadow to shadow, from tree to tree.

  Only a short distance later, the woman was glad of her caution, for she spotted some of the sidhe, their faces shining brilliant red and blue in the morning sun. They moved in a column east of her position, near the rim of what was now the great gorge. Their lines and cadence showed discipline, a large force moving perfectly as one.

  Connebragh sped along, determined to get far ahead, but stopped again beside one weeping willow, peering through the hanging strands of leaves flowing in the morning breeze. She had spotted a group of uamhas, two dozen perhaps, moving south.

  Connebragh glanced back the way she had come, the direction of the approaching invaders.

  These people were doomed.

  She reminded herself that these were lake people, uamhas, less than human, good only as simple slaves. Were they any better than the invaders moving now to slaughter them?

  Connebragh’s sensibilities answered that question before her conscious thoughts could catch up.

  She ran to the east, still in the shadows, but more concerned with speed, trying to f
ormulate the best way to shout a warning.

  * * *

  “We should turn them around,” Asef said, shaking his head. The troupe had passed several of the beached boats of their kin and kind but had found no sign of their fellow refugees. “This is without hope. You heard the screams from Car Seileach when we were still out on the lake.”

  “Yes, and there we’ll find our friends,” answered an older woman.

  “And drive these monsters back over the mountain,” a middle-aged man agreed.

  “And if the town is dead?” Tamilee interjected. “As the sidhe overran Carrachan Shoal and Fasach Crann? Have ye any reason to think it’s different here?”

  “Bah!” the man snorted. “And where would ye have us go?”

  “North!” Asef and Tamilee said together. Behind them, Asba just sighed and nodded his agreement.

  Tamilee started to argue some more but stopped before uttering a complete word, for out to the west something flew at them through the willows. All gazes followed hers, and people scrambled. The item looked like a piece of a willow branch the size of an arm, moving across the sky, leaves trailing, except that it was flying as if thrown, floating as if caught on unseen breezes.

  The folk moved aside as it came in above them and then stopped its progress suddenly and dropped to the ground.

  “A branch?” Asef remarked.

  “Run!” came a voice from an unseen woman somewhere out among the willows. “Run! They’re coming! For your lives, run!”

  “What?” Asef remarked.

  “What was that?” Tamilee agreed, moving to stare down at the branch—and that’s all it was, a willow branch. A willow branch that had floated out from the trees to garner their full attention.

  “Magic,” the middle-aged man growled, and he lifted his spear high and shook it.

  “Usgar,” the old woman agreed.

  The group shifted and shuffled, friends finding trusted friends, creating several impromptu defensive formations—scattered, though, and nothing that could withstand a sizable onslaught.

  “She said run,” Tamilee reminded, edging back to the north. “She said run!”

  “Who was she?” more than one asked.

  “An Usgar chasing us away!” said the old woman.

  “Why would they?” Asba said above them all. “Do the Usgar even survive? The monsters came down Fireach Speuer, a swarm, every trail!”

  “Might be that the Usgar bringed them!” the old woman said, shaking a crooked finger at the young man.

  The three young friends turned to each other, all unsure.

  “Half the people here can’t fight,” Asef whispered. “We’ll be overrun.”

  “What would you have us do?” said Tamilee.

  “We can’no leave them to die,” said Asef.

  A shout from the front of the troupe ended the conversation, and the three friends turned to see their worst fears realized. Through the trees ahead came enemies, bright-faced, red and blue, holding high their deadly spears and riding the lizards, green and golden collared, running fast, tongues flicking, long backs swaying side to side with each twisting stride.

  “Form!” the middle-aged man shouted.

  “Run!” Asba and Tamilee shouted above him in unison, for they knew they couldn’t possibly stand against this force.

  “We can’no leave them!” said Asef, leaping past them, lifting his spear just as the first volley from the invaders soared in.

  The first devastating volley.

  Almost half the lake folk went down, Asef among them. He spun in a descending spiral, growling in pain, impaled just above his right hip.

  Tamilee was to him first, diving upon him to stop him from rolling over in his writhing, which would have twisted the spear inside him. She forced him over onto his back and, crying for her brother, grabbed the spear and tugged it free, a gout of blood and some twisted entrails coming with it.

  How poor Asef screamed!

  Asba fell back, horrified, and Tamilee pulled off her shirt and fell over the wound, tucking the guts back in, holding back the blood.

  Asba recovered fast and grabbed his brother by the arm, hoisting him up over his broad shoulders, then running off, Tamilee close behind.

  All of the remaining folk were scattering then, most to the north, some to the east, but the three went the other way, west, toward the voice that had warned them. They wound their way through the willows, glad for the cover, running, stumbling, scrambling, searching for no direction but away.

  Just away.

  Behind them came the screams, a few all together at first, but then one at a time, and they could only imagine their villagers, their friends, in those last moments before eternal darkness fell.

  Asba and Tamilee didn’t even slow enough to look back. Caught in terror, they just ran for their lives, for Asef’s life, dripping away in lines of blood with every stride.

  They didn’t know how far they had run, how many strides they had put behind them, though the now occasional screams sounded distant.

  The ground grew rougher, with more stones and fewer trees, and Asba stumbled down to one knee.

  “We can’no stop,” Tamilee told him, and he nodded, gasping too much to answer aloud, and forced himself back up to his feet.

  She led her friend a bit farther from the battlefield but stopped short, cursing, as the ground fell away into a hidden ravine, so common among the jagged Ayamharas Plateau. She looked for a way down and noted some possibilities—but were they possibilities with Asef slung over Asba’s shoulder? Tamilee glanced back at her friends, trying to gauge how much Asef was still bleeding and whether they could find a way down. She turned, expecting to ask Asba his thoughts, but the words got caught in her throat.

  They had not escaped.

  She saw the lizard-riding invader coming from the side, noting the lizard’s tail from behind a tree. It was running straight for Asba. The notion that the attacker hadn’t even seen her flashed in her mind.

  Asba turned fast and went down low, rolling the groaning Asef off his shoulder and to the ground.

  Tamilee leaped forward to intercept. She wouldn’t get there, she knew, so, in desperation, she grasped her spear at the base of its long handle and whipped it across like a bat. Her timing was lucky, and perfect, the rider crossing her path just as the spear came swinging around. It didn’t hit him hard, and it barely slowed in its swing, but it crossed right at the rider’s neck height, its sharp edge slicing through golden-colored skin. The swinging spear followed through to bang against the trunk of the willow, jarring it from Tamilee’s hands.

  The rider gasped and made a half turn, grabbing at his throat. He kept turning, unintentionally it seemed, and twisted himself right out of the saddle, dropping to the ground on the far side of the still-running lizard.

  Tamilee turned, stifling a shout in case other enemies might be about, but horrified as the lizard bore down on Asba, the vicious thing clearly needing no guidance to continue the attack.

  Asba darted out to the right, toward the drop, waving his arm and making himself conspicuous—trying to keep the lizard off his brother, Tamilee realized, and that broke her from her shock and had her scrambling for her spear.

  She grabbed it up and spun, thinking to throw it, but she sucked in her breath when she saw that she had no time.

  For the lizard cut fast and leaped at Asba, who also seemed surprised by its agility.

  Through the air it flew, and Asba tried to get aside, stumbling down to one knee along the uneven ground, then trying to bring his spear around to bear on the living missile arching right for him.

  Tamilee’s desperate expression—Asba’s, too—twisted in confusion, though, for the lizard did not descend from the apex of its arc; suddenly it seemed more as if it were floating, not leaping, as if some invisible hand had grabbed it. The lizard began to thrash weirdly in the air, its claws having nothing to grab on to. Thus, it couldn’t change its trajectory and just kept floating, past Asba and beyon
d, out over the drop, far from the declining slope. There it held and hung in the air, managing to look back and hiss viciously at Asba.

  Then it fell, just dropped, as if that invisible hand had simply let it go.

  Asba turned to Tamilee, who shrugged and shook her head, with nothing to offer. As Asba ran for his brother, she moved to the fallen attacker, towering over him as he lay still on the ground, her spear hovering over his throat.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  The stranger, blue eyes shining out from the edge of brilliant blue on his face, just beyond the central red stripe that encompassed his nose, stared at her hatefully but made no move to respond.

  “It’s not war paint,” Asba said, coming up beside her as she and the stranger just stared at each other. “Tattoo?”

  He bent low and shook his head. “No,” he said with open disgust. “I don’t think so. I … I think it’s his skin.”

  “Who are you?” Tamilee insisted.

  The prone man tried to say something, some growling curse, it seemed, but the movement had more blood pouring from the wound, which left him scowling hatefully up at her.

  “We’ve got to be away,” Asba said to her.

  Tamilee returned the fallen stranger’s scowl, then drove her spear down, through the fingers over his throat and through his throat, pressing down, leaning on the weapon and rolling her shoulder left and right, twisting the thick, embedded tip.

  The stranger thrashed only briefly, then lay shuddering for a few heartbeats, his last heartbeats, before lying very still.

  “I know,” Tamilee told her friend.

  The two exchanged grim nods and Asba ran for his brother, gently lifting Asef into his arms while Tamilee moved back to the drop. She saw the lizard far below, still alive but on its back, thrashing and broken.

  She tried to pick a way down, then glanced back as Asba approached.

  Asef was bleeding again.

  Asef was dying.

  “Go!” Asba said to her, and the quiver in his voice told Tamilee that he knew it, too.

  It didn’t seem possible to Tamilee for them to get Asef down this slope, but she moved down to the first ledge, a jut not far below that allowed her to see Asba’s approach and help him down beside her.