DragonCrown Saga - The Grand Crusade Part 25

"No, I don't want that."

The prince pointed toward Wightman's mask. "I don't know what my father promised when he gave you the crown, but you don't trust him, and you have no reason to. Regardless, you've lost whatever you thought you were going to get by not being able to stop me. So I have a choice for you."

The count looked up. "What's that?"

"You can return home now, and I will let everyone know that I consider anyone treating with you in any way to be guilty of treason. I will deal with them after I deal with you, and your best hope is that Chytrine kills me, because that's the only thing that will stop me from returning to destroy you."

The slender man s.h.i.+vered. "Or?"

"Or you and your people join my force. You know the Aurolani are here, most in the Midlands and Dales. If I'm defeated, your army isn't going to be enough to stop them. But together we might, and I clearly will have time to revise my opinion of you."

"You'd really let me leave?"

Erlestoke nodded. "You, yes. Your people, no. I need them too much. I suspect that showing them we have a dragon on our side, as well as appealing to their sense of obligation to a nation where we all wear masks because of our shared history, would bring them over to me pretty easily. What do you think?"

Wightman swallowed hard, then drew his sword, knelt, and offered it in Erlestoke's direction. "I think, Highness, I pledge myself to your n.o.ble cause, for the sake of Hawkride, Oriosa, and the world."

"The ordering of your priorities needs some work, but we have time for that." Erlestoke raised his voice so it might even carry to some of the sharper ears in the Hawkrider formation. "I accept your fealty, Count Wightman. Your forces married to mine will guarantee victory. To the north and our destiny."

Wightman's close advisors likewise took a knee, and seeing that prompted cheers from both armies.

Wightman looked up as the soldiers' voices filled the valley. "What are the chances we survive this?"

Erlestoke shrugged. "Doesn't really matter, does it? We are off to acquit our duty to the world. If we fail, there will be no reason to survive."

y T ight had fallen and the sense of unease Kerrigan had felt entering Loquellyn V had built to where he could not sleep. The trek to that point had been full of .. 1 paradoxes and false starts, and had proceeded far more slowly than pleased Resolute. He'd wanted to crest the mountains quickly, then move down into the a.s.sariennia River valley and follow it to Rellaence. He a.s.sumed they would find transport to the capital there, which would speed their trek along.

But from the start it was apparent even to Kerrigan that any plans Resolute had formulated would not survive contact with the Grey Misters. And Kerrigan had found himself in the unusual position of being far more prepared for a long trek through forest and mountain and marsh than most of the people with him.

The trip began with a day's march through fetid swamps, where the party had broken up into smaller groups to camp. Kerrigan had been charged with the duty of moving from place to place, using magick to start fires since the Grey Misters had no inkling of how to do it. He also showed them how to pack moss into boots to ease blisters and a half-dozen other things he'd learned from Lombo and Resolute.

It struck him as paradoxical having these Vorquelves looking at him with astonishment, much as the younger apprentices on Vilwan might regard him. Here they were, all older than he by well over a century, but they were completely out of their element in the countryside. More than one grumbled about the trip. Muscles that ached from rowing had gotten no respite dragging boots free of sucking mud, and the closeness of the mountains did nothing to hint that further travel might get at all easier.

Qwc acted, as he had before, as morale officer for the expedition. He took to finding little things in the forest, from flowers to bones, teeth, claws, and feath- ers, and bestowed each on a Grey Mister. With great solemnity, he gave each one of them a warrior name like Bite or Scratch or Stab. His vocabulary kept him mainly to short words, packed with as much violence as he could muster, which pleased the Vorquelves no end. But also it focused them on what was coming and they did their best to find extravagant boasts about how they would earn their names.

At night the Spritha shared a tent with Kerrigan. The little creature would stab his spear into the ground, then flop down too exhausted to flutter a wing. "Finding words harder than finding things."

Kerrigan always laughed. "You've not found me my war name, Qwc."

The Spritha would look at him and smile as his eyes slowly closed. "Your name will find you."

As difficult as it had been to get out of Saporicia, things changed for the worse once they entered Loquellyn. Something about the place felt wrong. While the sun would s.h.i.+ne during the day, the colors appeared muted. It almost seemed to Kerrigan that spring had not yet come. He saw no buds on trees, no flowers struggling to raise their heads. What new growth he did see were poison ivies that wrapped around trees, or the sort of quickly flowering plants that, in a summer, could come to take over a whole meadow. None of it felt right, and evidence of that kind of invasion increased as they moved deeper into the mountains.

The Grey Misters also continued to be a problem. They lacked discipline and did not take well to Resolute's instructions on how they should comport themselves in camp. Had he had his way, they would have had cold camps, with no fire, and round-the-clock-guards. They would have been silent and blended into the surrounding area, but the Grey Misters had no better chance of doing that than Kerrigan did of breathing at the bottom of the Crescent Sea.

So Resolute took to making a second smaller camp away from the main one. Everyone in his original group took shelter there, with Resolute, Banausic, Bok, and Kerrigan sharing the watches. Kerrigan usually got the dawn watch, letting him sleep uninterrupted-Bok usually got the first watch for the same reason- so the company's two magickers would be well rested if their abilities were ever needed.

But now something brought Kerrigan to full consciousness. He'd not fully fallen asleep, but had just begun to drift into dreams that had grown darker by the minute. He felt as if he were wandering in a cavern so vast and lightless that he could see nothing. When he finally made a light, he discovered he had wandered into the throat of some mighty beast that began to chew him up and swallow.

He sat up and threw off his blankets, then s.h.i.+vered as the cooler night air hit his sweaty flesh. He quickly pulled on some clothes and left Qwc sleeping soundly. Slipping from the tent, he drifted toward the guard station and found Resolute sitting there, his eyes focused into the darkness.

The Vorquelf held a hand up and Kerrigan halted. He looked in the direction Resolute was looking, but he could see nothing. It would have been simple for him to invoke a spell to allow him to see in the dark, but if there was something out there-something working for Chytrine-the chances that it could detect his magick were good.

Kerrigan moved to a small boulder and pressed his stomach to it. He still stared in the direction Resolute had been watching, but nothing registered. Their camp had been built on a small wooded rise, which gave him a view of roughly half the slope. When there was still light he could see a small stream, and at night he could hear it gurgling, but he caught no splashes to indicate anything approaching now.

Then he heard it, off to his right. He raised his left hand to catch Resolute's attention as he pointed with his right toward the sound. Then he heard a second sound and turned to sight down the line of his arm. It had sounded so close, he was certain he could see it.

And see it he did as it leaped onto the rock and lunged, engulfing his right arm to the elbow. Its jaws shut hard, triple rows of needlelike teeth piercing his sleeve, then clacking hard on the dragonbone armor. The creature's dark eyes widened, then it shook its head, trying to shear his arm off. When that failed, hindquarters bunched and the creature jumped back off the rock, yanking Kerrigan from his feet and dragging him off into the woods.

The dragonbone armor saved the mage's stomach from being sliced open by the rock, but did nothing to stop brambles and branches from whipping his face as the creature bore him away. Th.o.r.n.y vines lashed his face and hands, tearing at his clothes. The creature whipped its head again side to side, and Kerrigan's shoulder ground in the socket. His left knee smashed into a tree. He rolled onto his back, increasing the pressure on his shoulder, then rolled back in time for another bramble to slash him above the left eye.

Kerrigan panicked for a second, utterly lost until an absurd awareness somehow broke through. As he was being hauled behind this creature, his belt buckle gouged the earth and sc.r.a.ped it up, filling his trousers. It was undignified. And for Kerrigan, who had always been fastidious and precise on Vilwan, this was an outrage and that eclipsed the pain long enough for him to kill the panic and act. At one time Kerrigan's spell of choice-his reflexive choice-would have been the telekinesis spell that had served him so very well. Of late, however, there was another spell he had been using so often it had become second nature. Within the wet confines of the creature's maw, his right hand tightened into a fist. His hand opened again, his fingertips tickling the beast's soft palate, and he cast his spell.

With enthusiasm.

For several days he had been doing little but making fires. The gout that erupted from his hand shot straight down the creature's gullet, ejecting a golden flare from its cloaca that burned off its thick tail. The beast's entire body spasmed, giving his arm one last strong jerk, then detached. The creature's mouth remained open, flames guttering from between its teeth.

Kerrigan gathered his feet beneath him and stood, despite the pain in his knee. He jumped up and down twice, letting the dirt fall from his pant legs, then swiped his left sleeve over his forehead. It came away stained with blood. That surprised him, but didn't make his knees quiver as it might once have done.

That was the old Kerrigan. The old, fat, slow, terrified Kerrigan. He worked his right arm up and around in a circle, feeling the rising stiffness, but certain nothing was broken or torn. Back the way he'd come, he heard shouts, screams, and the sounds of fighting from the Grey Mister camp.No, no more dying. Not if I can help it.

Since the Aurolani forces had already found his party, Kerrigan knew his use of magick could give nothing away.And if it could, the roasted beast would have long since done it. His right hand came up over his face and he invoked a night vision spell. Looking about, he could see shapes and shadows moving. Up at his camp something misshapen and spiky leaped out into a knot of shadows, scattering them. Resolute's silhouette appeared atop the rock, with his hands flicking forward as his urZrethi bladestars spun into the night.

Kerrigan darted left, around the base of the hill, and drove directly toward the Grey Mist camp. The sounds of battle filled the night, killing any chance that the enemy would hear him coming. As he approached he found another of the things that had attacked him. It reminded him somewhat of a gvakra, though the body was more squat, with a thick hide and tail somewhat akin to a reptile. Instead of a mane, it did have a fleshy frill that sprang up around the neck.

The creature spun to face him, but its thick tail smashed into a tree, halting its progress. Kerrigan flicked a finger in the beast's direction, using his telekinesis spell to crush its shallow skull. Its body shook once, savagely, right down to the tip of the tail, then it just lay still. He moved on.

As he went, he thought hard. When he was on Vilwan he'd had virtually no training as a combat mage.

His masters, quite rightly, has a.s.sumed that he could innocently injure someone just because he was so strong in magick.And that was before I knew how to tap the true source. But despite their misgivings, he was not without some combat spells. He further a.s.sumed some of the things attacking would also have spells, so he planned accordingly and smiled as he moved.

Approaching the camp, he triggered a spell once used by Neskartu against the mages in Nawal. While really little more than a nuisance spell, for magickers it was the rough equivalent of sc.r.a.ping claws over slate, and very loudly. Those few magickers amid the attackers reacted instantly, casting their own counterspells to fend it off. Their efforts instantly identified them, so before he even broke into the circle of battle, he triggered a quick combat spell that sent blue sparks out, each leaping from a splayed fingertip. They traveled before him as if a cloud of ensorcelled midges, then, as he entered the Grey Mist camp at the north end, they shot forward toward their targets.

Chytrine'skryalnirihad been elegant and sylvan, but these creatures more closely resembled Resolute than they did the slender elves of Loquellyn. These wore fur, as did gibberers, but not the disorganized motley of those Aurolani fighters. These creatures had large dark splotches defined by a crisp webwork of tawny fur that rippled over thick muscles. They did have b.e.s.t.i.a.l heads, more canine than anything else, with huge fangs that flashed yellow in dying firelight. Some wore mail, others pieces of plate armor-but more as decoration than protection. They used curved blades, longer than the gibberer longknife, and slashed b.l.o.o.d.y wounds that spun elves to the ground.

The magick- users among them appeared little different than their brethren, save that they wore no metal and wielded staves and wands. One turned and swatted at the blue spark headed for him, but it burned through his hand and sank into his chest. Another of them snorted the spark. Fire shot from his eyes and ears as his body jerked and he flopped to the ground. The sparks reduced two others to torches, while the last cast a defensive spell. The spark moved about its perimeter, seeking a weakness it could exploit.

The screams and deaths of the mages did not go unnoticed. The Aurolani warriors turned and came at Kerrigan instead. They hurled knives or whatever else was convenient. Many missed him, but those that hit bounced off his armor. For a heartbeat Kerrigan imagined himself just standing there, letting them hew in vain at him, but he knew that if his strength failed, he would be cut down, so he acted.

He thrust his left fist into the air and triggered a spell that created a burst of searingly brilliant light.

Creatures and elves alike shrieked and covered their eyes. All the combatants stopped, blinded, which broke the momentum of the enemy attack and gave the Grey Misters a moment to recover.

Kerrigan made good use of the break as well. As he had done at Vael, he cast a diagnostic spell, immediately getting a sense of the creature nearest him. While he had hoped he would understand enough of them as a result to make them all go to sleep, the necessary information eluded him. Instead he learned enough to pinpoint the nerves that registered pain in their bodies. He made a quick reversal on an elven healing spell and cast it.

The first creature hit shrieked. Its back bowed as every muscle clenched, then released. It crashed to the ground and thrashed, while others just fainted in agony. The spell pa.s.sed through the enemy, convulsing some, rendering others limp, and caused the remaining magicker to lose control of its defensive spell. The spark darted in and punctured its chest, and it fell with smoke trailing from its nostrils.

The Grey Misters pounced on their enemies and began to slaughter them. Kerrigan cast a spell and scattered them from the one closest to him. "I want this one alive. The rest, I don't care."

The Grey Misters slunk away from Kerrigan's prize, then began ripping other creatures apart. Kerrigan would have turned from the bloodbath, but he forced upfor as long as they had been away from Vorquellyn, but that i tdescend to b.e.s.t.i.a.lity, he s.h.i.+vered. A,they are noW, I could be, carnage.

The look of fury on the prisoner's face surprised Isaura. Pure venom flashed in her blue eyes, and her fingers curled into claws. She did not rise from the wooden bench, even though the chains hanging from her manacles would have allowed it. Scuff marks on the ground gave clear evidence of how far she could get, and Isaura hung back from that line.

She placed the tray of food on a small stone shelf, then raised both her hands to calm the prisoner. "I've brought you food, more than they have been giving you. I know the guards have been stealing from you."

The woman's blue eyes narrowed. "Some sort of game, is this? You starve me, then feed me, and out of grat.i.tude I tell you what I know?"

"No, nothing like that."

The woman's gaze darted toward the doorway as Hlucri shambled in. "Lombo? Oh, by the G.o.ds, what have they done to you?"

Thesullancirisquatted in the doorway and sniffed. "Princess Sayce. Lombo dead."

The woman looked stricken. Her hands slackened and she slumped back against the rough-carved wall of the subterranean prison. "Lombo dead. Will dead. Muroso dead." Then she raised her hands to her face with a rattle of chains, and her body shook with sobs.

Isaura felt her stomach tighten. Never in all her days had she seen another person cry. She had cried, but no one else-neither her mother nor any of thesullanciri-had cried in her presence.And never have I heard such despair in a voice.

Isaura reached out a hand and would have gone to her, but Hlucri held her back. Sayce's head came up, her eyes sharp, then she snorted. "Why did you stop her?"

Thesullancirishrugged. "Hlucri keeps her safe."

"You once did that for me. You were a friend. A friend who would have helped me escape from here."

Isaura stepped back. "Escape? You can't escape from here. You would never make it south again."

"Better to freeze to death than starve here." Sayce rubbed a hand over the soiled stomach of her dress.

"I'm pregnant. I need food."

"I know you need food. I know the guards have been stealing it." Isaura turned and got the tray again.

"Hlucri told me, so I made sure I was bringing you your food. I didn't know you were pregnant."

Sayce stood, but slowly. "I am. Almost three months. I am carrying Will Norrington's child."

"I see." Isaura extended the tray in her direction. "Will you take this? I promise there is nothing here to harm you. Or the child. The crock has soup. The bread and cheese are good."

The red-haired prisoner took a step forward. Isaura couldn't tell if she intended to lunge for her or not, but Hlucri made the question moot when he took the tray in one paw and extended it to Sayce. The princess took it and set it on her bench, then sat herself.

"There, you've done your good deed. Now you may go."

Isaura looked back at the door. "I wanted to talk to you. Besides, you know I can't leave you that tray and the crock."

Sayce frowned, then took the lid off the crock. A little steam rose from it. She sniffed, then raised the crock in both hands and drank. She half gagged for a moment, then chewed and swallowed. She wiped her chin off on her sleeve and snorted.

"I wasn't expecting meat. Do I want to know what it was?"

"Frostclaw. We eat them sometimes."

"Better than being eaten by them." Sayce broke off a small crust of the bread and started to chew.

"What did you want to talk about?"

Isaura clasped her hands together at her waist. "The Norrington."

The princess stiffened. "I don't know that I want to talk about him. That's very private."

"I met him once. I saved his life."

Sayce stared hard at her. "How?"

Hlucri grunted. "Lady Snowflake."

"But how?" Sayce toyed with the pendant at her throat. "Who are you? I saw you waiting for the Nor'witch when I was brought here. Why would you save Will?"

Isaura lifted her chin. "In Aurolan my rank is equal to yours. I am Chytrine's daughter-not by blood, but by choice. I am her heir. I am Isaura."

Sayce raised an eyebrow. "Ah, so you save Will so he can kill your mother and you inherit this frozen wasteland?"

"No, it was nothing like that at all." Isaura tried to sound casual, but knew the shock had to have registered on her face. "I saved Will because he had been attacked by one of my mother's creatures. I know she did not intend that to happen-at least, I believed so at the time. Now, I don't know, but it doesn't matter because I saved him."

"So you were cleaning up after your mother's monster?" Sayce tore another hunk off the crust of bread and folded it around a piece of cheese. "I don't believe that. There had to have been another reason."

Isaura hesitated. The prisoner was right. She had cast herself and her path onto the flow of magick and had gone wherever it drew her. She found herself looking at a dying youth, and she would have cured him regardless. The fact that asullancirihad hurt him did spark in her a desire to correct that error, but it hadn't been the only reason she had done it.

"I do not knowwhyI did what I did." She faltered for a moment, then forged ahead more quietly. "I would do it again."

"Why?"

"It was the right thing to do."

Sayce laughed, then nibbled at the bread and cheese. "Saving your mother's mortal enemy was the right thing to do? Your mother was my family's mortal enemy, and I would have killed her in an eyeblink. I would have let her die the way Will was dying and been happy to have it happen."

"No, you don't know her. She's not evil."

"No?" The Murosan princess drank more soup, then chewed more meat. "Your mother has plunged the world into war. She has dragons that are burning cities to the ground. Her troops slaughter thousands as they pour into cities."

Isaura's eyes widened. "I was at Porjal. I saw what the people of the city did to attackgrichothka. They set traps that would maim and cause pain. They did that so the screams of the wounded would cause fear, and because a wounded person requires care. They were cruel by intent!"

"Because Aurolani troops invaded their homes, killed their families, and took away everything, including their hopes and dreams." Sayce's eyes blazed from within her lavender mask. "You have to ask yourself why they did that. Did we have a piece of the DragonCrown in Muroso? Did your mother ask if we did, if we would turn it over to her? No, her ravening hordes came with the worst winter ever, blowing through Sebcia and plunging straight into Muroso. For no reason at all."

The woman's vehemence shocked Isaura. "The south is a threat to Aurolan. The south invaded a quarter century ago."

"Yes, after your mother laid siege to Fortress Draconis. But Aurolani forces invaded Noriva and Vorquellyn without any provocation."

"The south is corrupt." Isaura spoke quickly, but even before Sayce's laughter could reach her, those words sounded hollow. Her mother had told her how the south was corrupt, and she had seen it. The waste, the filth of their cities, those things disgusted her when compared to the austere purity of Aurolan. The south was just a rotting cesspit by comparison.

But I did hear laughter there. Rich laughter, from a variety of people. She'd heard it in the tavern where she healed Will, heard it in the streets, heard it in shadows and in the light. It sounded full and warm, much as Sayce's laughter did. That Sayce could laugh while so far from home, in such dire straits, surprised Isaura.