Читать книгу: «The Serpentwar Saga», страница 9

• Chapter Six • Discovery

The creature stirred.

The woman stood patiently as the creature’s companions moved to one side. Several others huddled in distant corners of the immense hall, speaking quietly to one another, while those who had been attending the sleeping monster crossed to join them. The woman ignored them and studied the waking creature. To the mortal eye, the beast appeared to be the grandmother of all dragonkind, a gigantic being whose bulk massed high above her servants. She loomed enormous even in the vast hall that served as her home. In distant sconces, oil lamps flickered, but both the dragon and the woman needed little natural light to navigate the gloom. A faint scent of spice hung on the air, perhaps as an artifact of the making of the oil, perhaps to sweeten the air; the woman didn’t know.

At last the dragon opened eyes the size of palace windows and blinked. She stretched, and lowered her head as she yawned, displaying ivory teeth the size of flashers, the giant two-handed scimitars used in Great Kesh. Her skin was the reason for the absence of more illumination, for it consisted of gems, fused over plates once golden in color. Brighter illumination caused a riot of rainbow light throughout the hall and while capable of arts beyond most human understanding, the dragon found the constantly dancing reflections gave her a headache.

The woman had met dragons before, though nothing quite like this one, and while little could impress her, she conceded to herself that this was indeed an impressive-looking being. They had ‘spoken’ to each other using magic arts, but this was their first true meeting in the flesh. Despite attempts at keeping the identity of this creature hidden over the last half century, legends of the ‘great jeweled dragon’ had already surfaced in various parts of the Kingdom.

But the woman knew this was no true dragon, despite being the get of dragons at birth. The spirit of the original dragon had perished in the great battle that had climaxed in this very hall almost fifty years before. Inhabiting the vessel that had once known the mind of Ryath, daughter of Rhuagh – perhaps the greatest of all golden dragons – was a consciousness alien and ancient: the Oracle of Aal.

A great rumbling voice issued from within the throat of the creature. ‘Greetings, Miranda. How fare you?’

The woman nodded as she said, ‘I am well. The travel from the statue at Malac’s Cross is disorienting.’

‘It was designed to be so. Only those with a certain gift may trigger it, and I wish to ensure that whatever talents they possess, they are vague about the true location of this hall.’

Miranda nodded in agreement. ‘Understood. How fare you?’

‘Time grows short. The heat tires me and I sleep more each day. Soon I shall enter the birth sleep and then shall I end this phase of existence.’

‘Time grows short indeed. How much longer will we have your guidance?’

‘Already the future grows clouded and dim to me. My daughter will not have the gift for the first twenty years of her life, so soon, for five years of my birth sleep and twenty years of my daughter’s infancy, you will be as you were before I came to this world. There is more.’

‘What?’

‘Much of what I should see I cannot, which means only that my own future is involved; for to all creatures, even me, knowledge of their own future is denied.’

The Oracle of Aal was considered the oldest being in the universe, ancient when the Valheru rose to challenge the gods during the Chaos Wars. Thinking of that, Miranda turned to look at a dais behind the oracle. Willing a shift in her perception, the woman saw the stone flick into existence. A fey green in color, it pulsed with an inner light. She stared at its hypnotic rhythms for a moment, then said, ‘Are they stirring again?’

‘They are always stirring,’ said the oracle. ‘Now they move with more vigor. Somehow they still have influence with those outside who are receptive to their call.’

‘They’ were the Valheru, the ancient beings known as the Dragon Lords to most inhabitants of the world. Trapped by forces even beyond their own ability to understand, they were bound in the stone by a mysterious agent. From the stone rose a golden sword with an ivory pommel. The woman named Miranda knew that a half century before, a great battle had raged in the city above, called Sethanon, and in this chamber a battle of equal proportion took place. The strange half-man, half-Valheru Tomas, inheritor of the mantle and power of Ashen-Shugar, the Ruler of the Eagles’ Reaches, battled a creature of spirit in the form of his ancient kinsman Draken-Koren, the Lord of Tigers. At that time, Pug of Stardock, magician of two worlds, and Macros the Black, sorcerer nonpareil, battled to hold closed a tear between two universes, aided by two Tsurani Great Ones, magicians from the world of Kelewan. And the dragon, Ryath, battled a Dread Lord, a creature from an alien space-time, whose very touch drained life.

In the end, the Valheru had been trapped within the stone, the Dread Lord vanquished at the cost of Ryath’s life, and all the forces supporting the false prophet Murmandamus vanquished. Not one soldier on either side, in the Kingdom or serving the moredhel chieftain, knew what the war had been about. No one among the highest-ranking chieftains of the Nations of the North – as the dark elves and goblins were called – knew that Murmandamus had been a Pantathian serpent priest magically transformed to resemble their legendary leader. Only the King’s family and a few trusted friends knew of the Lifestone and the presence of the Oracle.

And now the primary defender of the Lifestone, the magic and physical entity of the oracle dragon, was dying.

‘How will this change take place?’ asked Miranda.

The dragon lifted her head and nodded slightly to the right, where six robed figures stood speaking softly to one another. ‘These, my husband servants, they are already making their transformation.’

The figures removed their hoods and Miranda could see faces that were little more than those of boys. The dragon continued, ‘When the heat began to rise, I made the call, and youths from around the area, those with a certain gift, answered. They wandered from their homes and came to Malac’s Cross, to where the statue stands, and then I brought them here. Those that were lacking the true gifts needed were sent away, and thought only that they had been dreaming. Those who chose to stay were allowed to test, and those who failed were also sent away, with little memory of their time here. But these six are the first of the youths who have proven worthy to stand at my daughter’s side.’

Six elderly men came to stand next to the six youths. ‘These, who are their teachers, will join with me to create that which will be my daughter, and when they are done, these bodies will die. Then will the remaining spirit and knowledge enter these six young men.’ To another group on the other side of the hall the dragon motioned, and another six older men came forth. ‘I hope more of the young who have come to us prove worthy, for those who have no successor when it comes time to die … their knowledge is lost forever.’

Miranda said, ‘Only twelve of you?’

‘Had Pug not fetched us from our dying world, there would be none of us. And should a thirteenth worthy child come to us before the birthing, he, too, can become one with us. If a girl child comes, then another daughter, to serve with the first daughter. We may yet grow in number, we of the Aal.’

Miranda hid her impatience. She had other concerns at present. ‘Then you birth your daughter?’

‘Then my spirit joins with the spirits of my husband servants and we meld entirely, all memory and feeling, all pain and joy, to one consciousness, and that is split again, and those boys will be our sons, and my daughter shall be formed.’

‘The new Oracle?’

‘She shall be.’

‘And what body will she inhabit? I see no young girl here.’

‘This dragon’s body is magic; it is strong beyond any that the Oracle has used since our oldest memory. It shall be used again.’

‘So this is why you will not be with us for twenty-five years?’

‘Yes. She will be a child, even though she will have my powers eventually.’

Miranda sighed audibly. ‘At least she’ll be a large enough girl to give anyone pause should they break in.’ For a moment she considered. ‘Do you know where Pug is?’

The Oracle closed her eyes and considered. ‘He is absent from his island. I sense him out there’ – she made a vague gesture with her head – ‘among the worlds.’

‘Damn,’ Miranda swore. ‘I think we will need him here before your daughter is strong enough to defend this hall.’ She considered something in silence a while. ‘How long before you enter the final heat?’

‘We join in less than a year, Miranda. Then I shall be gone, for with the re-forming, something is always lost. This is why we, who were old when the stars were new, why we remember little of our own beginning. But in that rebirth, more strength and knowledge come, and she who follows after me shall be eventually my equal, then at last my better.’

Miranda muttered, ‘If we live that long.’

‘Dark tides are forming. They rise against distant shores but shall reach even here, eventually.’

‘I must be gone. There is little time and much to be done. I fear a great many foolish choices have already been made and that we depend too much on auguries and portents.’

‘You chose a strange audience for that argument,’ answered the Oracle.

‘That you’ve been useful is without question,’ said the young woman. ‘But fate is not immutable, I believe. I think one can seize destiny if one is but willing to make the attempt.’

‘So believe those who oppose you,’ said the Oracle. ‘This is the root of the problem.’

‘Those are deluded fanatics, who live in a mad dream that has no basis in reality. They bring death and pain for no cause whatsoever.’

‘True, but they share your sense of self-determination.’

‘On that note,’ Miranda said dryly, ‘I bid you farewell. Are you sufficiently protected here?’

‘Our arts are sufficient for all but the most powerful.’

‘Then I shall be gone. Will we meet again?’

‘I do not know,’ said the Oracle. ‘Too many possible endings appear to my mind, and none clearly marked as likely.’

‘Then fare you well on your journey to immortality, and pray that we lesser beings live long enough to greet your daughter when she comes into her own.’

‘You have my wishes for success,’ said the dragon.

Then the young woman was gone, vanished from before their eyes with little more than a gust of wind filling the empty place where she had stood.

To the one most senior among her companions the dragon said with a chuckle, ‘She is much like her father, don’t you think? That touch of the cynical in her nature could be the weak spot that undoes her. I hope fate is kind to her.’

The seniormost companion said, ‘Very much like her father.’

Winds swept the figure atop the hill, blowing her cloak and robes in billowing wings behind her. Smoke from distant fires stung her eyes as she beheld the carnage below. Riders were hunting down stragglers, raping and killing for sport. Using her arts, she studied in detail one scene after another. Men made like animals in the fury of battle now visited pain and destruction on helpless men, women, and children. She balled her fists in rage, but stayed her hand. Those who commanded the riders would descend upon her in an instant if she revealed her presence magically. While fear was not her companion, prudence was, and she understood her worth lay in being able to accomplish many things between now and the time of true battle. When that issue was decided, the fate of a world and more would hang in the balance, not the lives of these pitiful wretches.

Even at this distance, the cries of pain carried on the wind, and Miranda turned away from them as she moved down the hillside. For the time being she willed her heart to stone, for while she ached to help these few survivors, she knew that far more critical issues demanded her attention.

As she approached the scene of battle, she crouched low. Ducking behind low rocks, she waited as a company of drunken warriors wearing emerald armbands rode by, a screaming woman held across the neck of one man’s horse. Miranda felt her face flush in rage. She willed herself to calmness; losing her head now would help no one.

Skirting the action, she came to a village in ruin. No building had been left standing – a solitary wall here, a charred doorframe there, but nothing that could be remotely called shelter. Acrid smoke stung Miranda’s eyes as she searched for any signs of life.

Seeing none, she ventured deeper into the village, seeking any information that would prove useful. In the distance, she saw movement, and ducking behind a section of wall, she waited. Another company of horsemen rode by, less vigilant than they should have been, but not the drunken roisterers she had seen earlier. These were seasoned soldiers, Miranda calculated. These men were not mere mercenaries but those posted to the central companies of the invaders’ forces. By being at this location, she now had a fair estimate of the invaders’ rate of march. Cursing quietly, for it was faster than she had suspected, she moved away from the center of the village. She could will herself away at any time, but she was tired, and the effort to cloak her presence from her enemies was taking its toll. A little undisturbed rest in a quiet place would be needed for her to leave this area and not let her enemy know she had observed.

Miranda ducked through a burned doorframe, between two still-standing sections of wall, and even her iron-willed composure cracked at the sight that greeted her. Gasping, she had to put her hand out and grip the doorjamb, for her knees went weak as the sight of dead children greeted her. Tiny bodies charred to blackness were piled in the center of the fire-gutted building. Miranda felt a low animal growl of pain and wrath building in her throat and bit it back as rage threatened to overwhelm her composure. She knew well that should any of the monsters who had visited this horror on the children blunder within her sight, she would destroy him without thought, without regard for the consequences to her or her mission.

Forcing herself to calm, she took two deep breaths and fought back tears of anguish. Babies with smashed heads were placed upon older children with charred arrows still protruding from them. At least, thought Miranda, the children had been killed before the building had been set alight. Bitterly she wondered if death from a blade or arrow was, in truth, kinder than dying in flames. Bidding peace to the souls of those tormented tiny bodies, she left the building.

She picked her way amid the rubble to the outskirts of the village farthest from where she had last seen the raiders. She peered around the corner of what had once been an inn and saw nothing. Dashing from the village across a rivulet running down from the hills, she made it to a copse of trees. There she almost died.

The woman was terrified and so her knife slash went wide, but Miranda still took a cut along her left forearm. Biting back a cry of pain, Miranda reached out and gripped the woman’s wrist with her right hand. A quick twist and the woman was forced to release the blade.

Hissing in pain and anger, Miranda said softly, ‘Silence, fool! I’ll not hurt you.’ Then she saw the two cowering children behind the woman. ‘Or your babies.’ Her tone softened a bit. She released the woman’s wrist and inspected the damage done to her arm. Miranda saw a shallow wound, and she closed her right hand over it.

‘Who are you?’ said the woman.

‘I am called Miranda.’

The woman’s eyes welled with tears and she said. ‘They … they’re killing the children.’

Miranda closed her eyes a moment, then nodded. Women the raiders could use awhile along the line of march before they finally killed them, but children would be useless. Slavers following the main army might take them, but out here at the leading edge of battle, all little ones could do was inform enemies of what they had seen.

Gasping through the tears, the woman said, ‘They picked up the babies and swung them by the heels –’

Miranda said, ‘Enough,’ but her tone, while firm, was also pained. ‘Enough,’ she repeated softly, ignoring the wetness gathering in her own eyes. She had seen the tiny crushed skulls. ‘I know.’

Then she took account of who stood before her. The woman’s eyes were wide with terror, but would be judged large under normal conditions. Her ears were upswept beneath blond locks and possessed no lobes.

Miranda glanced down at the children: they were twins. Miranda’s own eyes widened in disbelief as she asked, ‘You are what they call “of the long-lived”?’

The woman nodded. ‘We are.’

Miranda closed her eyes and shook her head. No wonder the woman was nearly beside herself. Those beings known through most of the world of men as elves gave birth rarely, and children usually grew up to adulthood decades apart from their siblings. Some elves lived to see centuries pass, and the death of one child was more terrible than humans could imagine, but twins were almost unheard of among the eledhel, as they called themselves. For these two little boys to be lost would be a tragedy beyond human imagining for an elf.

Miranda said, ‘I know what’s at risk.’

The entire village was slaughtered,’ said the woman. ‘I took the boys into the woods to forage for food; we were to leave tonight. We were going to seek out the Jeshandi and ask for shelter there.’ Miranda nodded. The Jeshandi numbered a high percentage of the long-lived among them and would likely have taken in this woman and her children. ‘We didn’t think the raiders would be here for another few days.’ Her eyes filled again and she said, ‘My man …’

Miranda removed her hand from the cut on her arm and inspected it. The cut had ceased bleeding and now a pink scar was the only sign of damage. She said, ‘If he was in the village he is dead. I’m sorry.’ She knew how hollow that sounded.

Suddenly the elven woman regained her composure, and she said, ‘Then I must protect the children alone.’

‘Damn,’ said Miranda. ‘If we can get clear of this murderous mob, I may be able to help.’ She glanced down at the two boys and saw enormous eyes staring up at her from tiny faces. No older than four or five years of age, they would be counted children for nearly another three decades by their race, and would not be considered mature for a century. But by either standard, human or elven, they were beautiful children. Sighing in resignation, Miranda said, ‘I will save your children.’

‘How?’

‘Come with me and be silent.’

Miranda moved away. The woman and the two boys followed, and while Miranda could have wished they had the legendary wood skills lore gave to their race – these three were villagers and were not adept at moving through the heavy undergrowth – at least these three were far quieter than a like trio of humans would have been.

Wending their way up the path from the village that they must have used to enter the forest, Miranda led the fugitives. After nearly an hour, Miranda said, ‘Is there any place near here where I might rest?’

The woman said, ‘There is a small clearing ahead, and on the other side the entrance to a cave.’

Miranda nodded and returned her attention ahead. The raiders might be combing the area for survivors or they might be enjoying the fruits of their looting. Small villages like this yielded little by way of valuables, and if there were few women of suitable age for the men’s amusement, the captains might have sent men out on patrol simply to avoid conflicts over who could be among the first to rape the women.

The elven woman tried to lead onward the two silent boys, and after a moment, Miranda picked up one of the two. The woman nodded and picked up the other and they carried them. Miranda knew that any child frightened enough will go silent, instead of crying, and these babies were severely frightened. Without conscious thought, she kissed the child on the temple and stroked his hair before starting to walk.

Making their way through the trees, they stopped once at the sound of distant horses and waited. When the sound receded, they continued. Reaching a heavy growth, they moved through the underbrush to a clearing, on the other side of which stood a cave. ‘It’s safe here,’ said the woman.

Miranda put down the child and said, ‘Wait.’ She advanced into the darkness, using her magic arts to see in the gloom. The cave was indeed empty, and showed enough signs of human use that it was unlikely any animal would attempt to use it as a den. She went back outside and said, ‘Come –’

Before she could finish, a man crashed through the brush, shouting, ‘I told you I saw tracks!’

Pulling a long knife from his belt, he said, ‘A couple of brats! But the women are young!’

Another man answered from behind, but whatever he said was lost as Miranda shouted, ‘Get inside!’

The woman grabbed her two children, each by one arm, and hurried inside the cave. Miranda pulled a long dagger out of her belt and waited. Another man followed the first into the clearing.

Both looked like common mercenaries. The first wore a ragged tabard over rusty ring mail, the design faded and unknown to Miranda. The second was a tall man, wearing a heavy gambeson cut off at the shoulders, for it was obviously a size too small and would have confined his ability to fight otherwise.

Miranda waited as the two advanced. ‘What are you going to do with that?’ snarled the second man, pointing at the dagger. He glanced at his companion.

‘Put that away, girl,’ said the first with a nervous smile. ‘We’ll treat you good if you don’t cause problems. Give us trouble and we’ll make it rough for you.’

Miranda waited, and when the first man stepped close enough to attempt to reach for her, she took a quick step forward, faster than either man expected, and stuck the dagger into his throat.

She wrenched the dagger out as the second man jumped back in shock and the first died, his life gurgling out of his gashed throat. ‘Hey!’ cried the second man, his quick moves marking him a dangerous foe, no matter his ragged attire. His sword hissed from its scabbard and he was ready for any attack before she could close, so she moved back.

A distant clatter of hooves, and the man shouted, ‘Here! Over here!’

Miranda cursed as answering calls rang through the air. While he warily observed her, she feigned an attack. His sword lashed out and he briefly exposed his arm to her. She flicked out with her blade, but it slid off the ring mail protecting his shoulder.

He laughed as he unleashed a powerful backhanded blow designed to remove her head from her shoulders, but she merely squatted. As the blade cleaved air, she thrust upward with her dagger, taking him in his unprotected groin.

A shriek of pain and he doubled up as Miranda yanked free her blade. A cascade of crimson told her she had reached the artery deep in the groin and the mercenary was doomed to death in moments.

The sound of approaching hooves signaled that Miranda also had but a few minutes to live if she did not act quickly. Hurrying into the cave, she knelt before the elven woman. ‘What is your name?’

The woman, crouching before the two boys, replied, ‘Ellia.’

‘I can save you and the children, but I cannot take you to the Jeshandi. Will you come away with me?’

Hearing the riders entering the glade, she said, ‘What choice have I?’

‘None,’ said Miranda. She leaned across Ellia, as if embracing her, and put her hands upon the boys’ heads, then suddenly everything around them spun into darkness.

A moment later, the air shifted, and it was warm night. The woman gasped, and said, ‘What …?’

Miranda fell backwards awkwardly and sat hard upon damp soil. ‘We are …’ she began, and it was clear she was disoriented.

Ellia glanced around as Miranda fought the confusion of the transition. They were in a large clearing surrounded by thick forest, with a broad stream or small river hurrying through it. The merry sound of water splashing over rocks was a startling alternative to the sound of men dying.

Ellia stood and took a step to Miranda’s side, bending to help her to her feet. The dark-haired woman shook her head to clear it.

A sizzling sound in the distance caught their attention, and both looked for its source. A faint glow of green appeared in the night sky; then it turned into a point of light.

‘Quickly, into the water!’ commanded Miranda, and without hesitation, Ellia turned and scooped up her two children, carrying one under each arm. The river was shallow but running rapidly, and the elven woman had to struggle to keep her feet on the slippery rocks. ‘Don’t look back!’ shouted Miranda, and Ellia obeyed silently as she waded hip-deep in the stream. The two boys clung tightly to their mother, remaining silent despite the sudden darkness and the cold of the river.

The searing sound grew louder and soon the boys had their faces buried against their mother’s bosom, as if in refuge against the harsh sound. Ellia thought her ears would begin to bleed, and the children finally could endure it no longer and began to wail.

A shattering explosion hurled Ellia forward, and for a panic-stricken moment she thought she would lose the children. Water closed over their heads, but she rolled to her backside and forced herself to her knees, holding her children close the entire time. The boys sputtered and coughed as their heads came out of the icy water, but neither had let go.

The stumble and fall had turned Ellia around and she couldn’t help but look where Miranda stood. A brilliant orange light fired down from the heavens, a long line of energy that engulfed the young woman. Miranda raised her arms as if warding off the harsh energies. A sudden blast of hot air struck at Ellia, hot enough to dry much of her head and shoulders above water. Miranda moved her hands suddenly, and a latticework of purple-tinged white energy appeared and began to spread along the column of orange light, racing back toward its source. As it passed up the length of orange energy, it burned brilliant white, too brilliant to watch. Ellia turned as rapidly as she could in the water, shielding the boys as much as possible from the heat.

Wading forward, she reached the far bank and half lifted, half pushed the boys up onto the grass. Then she struggled to get herself out of the waist-deep water. Suddenly strong hands reached down and lifted her easily out of the river.

Three men in green leather watched the fierce display across the water. One leaned upon a longbow and spoke to Ellia in a language alien to her. She placed reassuring hands upon her boys’ shoulders and said, ‘I don’t understand.’

The man glanced at the other two and raised an eyebrow in surprise, then looked back at Ellia. ‘You speak Keshian, but not your own tongue?’

His accent sounded odd to Ellia, but she could understand him. ‘I speak the language taught to me by my parents.’

The harsh light suddenly vanished, leaving the clearing suddenly inky in contrast. Miranda swayed in the darkness, as if drunk, then she steadied herself and turned. Across the river, she saw Ellia and the boys standing with three elven warriors. ‘May I enter?’ she called weakly in the King’s tongue.

‘Who seeks Elvandar?’ answered one of the warriors.

‘One in need of counsel with Lord Tomas.’

‘Cross if you are able.’

Dryly Miranda said, ‘I think I can manage.’

She waded to the far side and the elven woman said, ‘What magic is this?’

‘These are your people, Ellia. These are the eledhel, and this is the boundary of Elvandar.’

‘Elvandar?’ She looked confused. ‘That is a legend, a tale told by old ones to children.’

The leader of the three warriors said, ‘I judge there are many questions to be answered, but this is not the place, nor is it the time. Come, we have two days of travel to reach the Queen’s court.’

‘The little ones are tired,’ said Miranda, ‘and they are frightened.’

The elf looked down and saw the boys. His eyes widened slightly, a gesture that would have been lost on most humans, though Miranda marked his surprise. ‘Twins?’

Ellia looked at Miranda, who answered, ‘They are.’

Another elf warrior said, ‘I shall go now and carry word to the court.’ He turned and vanished into the woods.

The first elf made a gesture and the remaining elf nodded once and followed after his companion. To Miranda the first said, ‘I am called Galain. My companions are Althal, who is returning to our campsite to prepare food for you, and the other is Lalial, who will take word to the Queen and her consort.’

He shouldered his bow, then, without asking leave, knelt and picked up the two boys as easily as he might have picked up two kittens. The boys looked at their mother, but neither child voiced protest. Miranda touched Ellia’s shoulder, then motioned with her head that they should follow their guide.

Miranda used her natural sight to keep the others in view. Her arts were depleted by the battle on the riverbank. It had been a short struggle, but no less vicious for its brevity. Through her exhaustion, Miranda felt the satisfaction of knowing that on the other side of the world the Pantathian magician who had thrown that tracking energy after her had not expected her counterspell. With grim pleasure, she knew he was now a smoldering corpse.