Dark Lord

CHAPTER NINE

The riven keep stood on a ridge deep in the wild heart of the Great Forests; already young trees were sprouting up amid its blackened and tumbled stones, and older ones thrusting out branches to cloak it in their greedy Teachings for sunlight. The winged Aumrarr stalking grimly through the seared ruin moved slowly, for they were weary from a long flight, and battered from battle.

"Well, 'tisn't called Shatterjewels for nothing," Juskra said fiercely, impatiently brushing matted blonde hair back from her scarred face. "Of course the Dooms blasted every likely-looking stone and wall to powder! They'd cook and eat their own grandmares in hot-gobbling haste, if they thought doing so would win them one more spell!"

"Sister," the youngest and most beautiful Aumrarr replied quellingly, "tell us something we don't know. Years upon years of sisters before us swarmed all over this keep looking for magic, any magic!" Dauntra waved her arms at the devastation around them. "I don't know what you were thinking to find that they couldn't."

"A stone or two of the keep still standing," Juskra snarled back. "Do the Dooms have to wantonly despoil everything they touch?"

"It seems so," dark-robed Lorlarra sighed, coming into the shattered room from the dark opening that had brought her from the well-chamber. It had been a tight fit, even with her wings folded tightly around her. "Just be glad they've raged over this place so often, and thoroughly satisfied themselves that no magic remains but the echoes of what is lost. Otherwise, the power Ambrelle and I just used would have them all here in a trice, hungry for battle and new magic to call their own."

"It worked?" Dauntra's usually impish voice was sharp.

Ambrelle was the tallest and oldest of the four, and had fought hard and long. Her severe face was pinched with pain as she came out of the well-chamber in Lorlarra's wake, her purple-black hair hanging across her face as she nodded wearily. "Thus far," she said. "Malraeana and Phandele float in spell-sleep, and the healing has begun. It will take days, sisters mine."

"There are our own hurts to see to, after that," Juskra muttered. "I'm in no hurry to leave these glows that blind the Dooms to what we do here. Where in all the Falcon Kingdoms are folk free of their sway now?"

"And Highcrag and all our sisters are gone," Lorlarra whispered, hugging herself as if a chill wind had just thrust past her, "or twisted by those spell-tyrants."

"Twisted? Who? I thought they slaughtered everyone at Highcrag."

"They did." Lorlarra's voice was sadder than ever.

"Then who?"

"Taeauna. Wingless, now, and seen walking the world with a wizard."

"Taeauna? A wizard? Who?"

Lorlarra shrugged. "An unknown mage. From afar, perhaps."

"So how is it we know he's a wizard?"

Lorlarra shrugged again. "Who else but a wizard could tame her, sear off her wings, and have her so enthralled that she'd travel with him?"

Dauntra shook her head. "I'll not believe that until I see it myself," the youngest of the four Aumrarr said wearily. "There are wild tales enough whispering their ways ar-"

"This is no wild tale," Juskra said bitterly. "I heard it, too. From a trader who's one of the Vengeful."

Dauntra clapped her wings angrily, her large brown eyes darkening in anger. "Ah! The Vengeful, who see fell wizards under every stone and behind every face that so much as looks at them!"

"The Vengeful," Juskra snapped back, "who have found so many wizards these last few years and sent them to swiftly dug graves."

"Yes, and what has that given Falconfar? Three Dooms who tower over all the lands like god-colossi; three Lord Archwizards in the making!"

"Sisters!" Ambrelle said severely. "Cease this wrangling! I myself cleave to the thinking that we cannot be certain, from here in this ruin in the green wild heart of nowhere, whether or not Taeauna is a traitor and the man she's traveling with is a foe or a wizard, nor rightly deem them peril or no."

Tall and tired, she stormed into the midst of her fellow Aumrarr, hands on hips, and added crisply, "I believe our time will be much better spent making a meal, devouring it, and talking over Falconfar as it is, not Falconfar as one maimed sister and a mystery man walking with her may or may not make it, in time to come. There is much to discuss, sisters mine."

Juskra nodded a little sullenly, and scratched at the stiff, stained bandage that covered most of her breast. "Well said. So talk. I'll suffer you to do so just as long as we ride over new ground, or speak of what is happening now; I've little stomach for trading words we already know, about places all of us have seen time and again, year in and year out. For instance, it should come as no surprise to any of us that Hammerhand of Ironthorn has come out as clear and strong in his hatred of wizards as Tharlark of Arvale has ever been, nor that Eldalar of Hollowtree cleaves to the same view. I do not care to sit through all of us listing such well-known lore one more yawn-inducing time."

"Fair enough," Dauntra said flatly. "Know, then, that the newest of the Dooms-'N'-has successfully bred and spell-changed the beasts he calls 'greatfangs.'"

"The three-headed dragons?"

"They're not-oh, never mind. Yes, the three-headed dragons."

"And we know this because…?"

"Because he risked one on a daylight raid on the docks of Irkyn, in Rornadar, riding a second overhead to watch what befell. He'd not have risked them both had he not possessed others. Moreover, the two seen by the Irkynaar were younger and smaller than the lone greatfangs seen over Sardray a month back."

"He's breeding them," Lorlarra agreed.

"Yes," Juskra echoed. "I judge his thinking much as you do; he'd never risk both if they were all he had. My new lore is nothing like as dramatic as that, yet will be the more lasting."

Ambrelle's eyes twinkled. "Well, with a teasing like that, we're certainly listening. Say on."

"When we were all but younglings," the badly scarred Aumrarr began, rising from where she'd been sitting with hands clasped around knees to pace restlessly, wings stirring, "there were no priests in Falconfar, no churches. Holy places, yes; altars, aye. We murmured a few words to fading gods more or less for luck, and most Falconaar counted themselves lucky there were no sacrificial pyres anymore, no priests scourging and damning and striking unbelievers down dead. For kindness and sick-tending and rescues unlooked-for, Falconaar had us."

"I know where your words are leading," Dauntra murmured. "Say on."

"First came the Forestmother, worshipped in the Raurklor holds, who warded off wolves and worse, and guided home those lost in deep woods. And who could speak out against aid like that? Or fear a few young lasses who went barefoot, and nurtured mosses growing on their own skin?"

Juskra turned slowly to meet the gazes of each of her three sisters, and added softly, "So they are here to stay, and growing stronger. They talk now of Holy Moots, and 'Calling Up the Mother,' and having a say in who rules a Great Forest hold and who does not. Which is more than enough to rightfully alarm Falconaar. The way-traders who travel far with their wagons are already wary and muttering, warning each other of holds to be avoided if one travels alone. This much, sisters, you know already, or should."

She turned her head slowly to survey the faces of her fellow Aumrarr again, and added fiercely, "Hearken now to my news, out of southern Scarlorn. A new god is rising, darker by far than the Forestmother. 'Gluth,' they call it, the Black Beast, a gigantic padding thing of claws and fangs that stalks the wild places, and hunts humans left alone. Hunts those its worshippers bid it to, they believe, staking sacrifices out to die and going on hunts of their own to bare and wound and leave helpless victims of their choosing, for the 'Holy Jaws and Claws' to find… This is evil, sisters, and rising, and many want to believe in it."

Juskra stalked across the riven room, folding and unfolding her wings in her rising agitation. "I tremble for the day-and it will come soon-when one of the Dooms sees that the way to exalt himself over his rivals, and us all, is by using his spells to shape such a beast and use it to command all who worship Gluth. And where men hate and fear wizards, those same men will cower before a god."

"Shit," Lorlarra whispered, white to the lips. "Juskra, you certainly know how to make this particular Aumrarr wish she'd died at Highcrag. If you're right-and I'm sure you are-this is a shadow over all Falconfar, and we will live out the rest of our lives in its gloom. Not that it sounds like our lives will be all that long."

"They won't be, the moment some priest of the Black Beast or the Forestmother decides Aumrarr are an evil to be hunted down to earn divine approval," Ambrelle said softly, running her hands absently through her purple-black tresses. "Oh, sister, can this be true?"

"Can and is," Juskra said darkly. "Deny it or refuse to see it, and you endanger us all. I begin to think the best service we can do Falconfar is to fly swift and hidden to every last Falconaar ruler and elder we can find, and warn them against the worship of these two deities, speaking as if the Dooms are already controlling them, but doing so in places where they are too busy to rule or conquer directly. We need the rulers to be scared enough to act, but not too scared to act."

Dauntra nodded. "That will work. I like it not, and it will be both difficult and dangerous the moment the Dooms learn what we're doing, but it is our best road ahead. Sister, I thank you for this warning." She rose, strode slowly across the room to what was left of a wall, thrust her hand gently against it in slow anger, and then turned, eyes flashing.

"So we must together do the tongue-march across Falconfar, here and now, and decide where to go and what to do. Ambrelle, conjure the map."

Ambrelle looked to Juskra. "Promise you'll not storm out if we chew over holds and rulers?"

Juskra drew back her lips to show her teeth in a mirthless smile. "You have my word. Make the map."

Ambrelle drew forth a pendant from its hiding place in her bodice, clasped her hands together around it, closed her eyes, and whispered, "Show me."

The shattered and tumbled stones before her began to glow an eerie emerald hue, a glow that rose in threads from them, drifting like smoke. In a few silent moments it had formed a horizontal disc in the air, a circle as thin as parchment and as far across as a wagon… a circle of blue and dun brown and dark green, that spun and flowed and then quite suddenly became sharp-featured. There were seas in three places, one of them vast enough to fill a third of the disc. A great spine of mountains arose that almost split the disc into two halves, trailing off into that large sea in a string of isles like the barbs of a dragon's tail. The rest was brown land or great ragged stretches of green forest.

The other Aumrarr all leaned forward as Ambrelle opened her eyes, sighed, and put the pendant back in its warm haven.

"Begin where we go most seldom," Dauntra suggested, "east of the Spires."

Juskra nodded, extending a long, sleek pointing arm to indicate a huge stretch of land that filled the southeastern arc of the disc. "Sarmandar of the Manykings. Large, rich, deep-historied, and not worth a moment of our time. We could spend our lives-long lives, mind-just going from one self-proclaimed king to the next. So long as they make war on each other-and that is all they do, sisters! — words of ours are wasted on their unhearing ears. Let fabled Sarmandar go its own way and find its own doom; let us keep to the north of the Wyrmsea."

Her pointing finger moved north, across a narrow sea that bounded Sarmandar to the coast of the huge landmass that covered most of the disc.

"On that north coast are the Spellshunned Lands," Lorlarra murmured, bending forward in her tattered black war-harness. "Perfumes and silks, and old, old magics gone wild and wrong. They'll not welcome the Dooms in black-towered Inrysk and proud Marraudro."

"Wherefore they have no defenses against the Dooms or any wizard of might," Juskra warned. "Moreover, with magic denied yet at work, all awry, those who hunger for order will find the promise of order-and so, a new taste for their own hunger-in the Beast and the Forestmother."

Ambrelle frowned. "So who rules there?"

Juskra sighed. "Beyond what all know, that the Lion-Knights rule in Marraudro, I know not. Inrysk has local lords and some sort of council of lords over all, as I recall, but of today's names and faces, I know none."

Ambrelle nodded. "Shall we leave them to last, sisters mine? Whispering to rulers takes longest when one must learn who and where each ruler is, and with our wings, we stand out, and may easily be used as unwitting pawns by the malicious, to work mischief by our very approaches to the ears of kings."

"Well said," Dauntra agreed. "So, trending back toward us, west of Inrysk along the shores of the Wyrmsea, we come to Harfleet, Sholdoon, and Zancrast; all but names on the map to me."

"I've been to two of the three," Lorlarra said quietly. "All are bustling ports on Ommaun the Wyrmsea, their wealth ruling small territories around them. Uneasy neighbors, but too greedy for daily gold to leave off trading long enough to take up arms against each other. I'm sure the Dooms would love to rule them, and they would welcome wizards and the cultists as they welcome everything: as tools to earn them even more coin."

"The Dooms and priesthoods are hardly tools to be governed for long by mere greedy traders," Juskra disagreed.

"True, sister, but the folk of those ports won't know that until too late. Taraun Zaer is High Lord of Zancrast, a vain, purring, oh-so-jaded man whose wits are keen, but far feebler than he thinks they are." Lorlarra rolled her eyes. "Tall, slender, trim-black-bearded, and thinks himself irresistible to all women and any man he puts his mind to conquering."

"Charming," Juskra said venemously. "Well, Belrikoun is a lesser evil, then. He's the Ruling Scepter of Sholdoon. A fat man who looks like the former pirate and everyday greasy glutton that he is, but just and kind when he wants to be, and nobody's fool. He will listen, I think."

It was Dauntra's turn to frown. "Wasn't Sholdoon the place with the oh-so-sneering merchant nobles, who feud with everyone who comes within reach, and allow their own pride to rule them?"

Juskra nodded. "It was, but Belrikoun tamed them, by wooing the younger ones and slaughtering their elders but making the deaths seem richly self-earned. They love him not, but they do obey him, and now see and judge the world as it is, and not as they prefer it to be."

"Which proves that one man can change attitudes within his lifetime." Dauntra held up a hand to stop her fellow Aumrarr interrupting as she pondered. "Hmm. For my part, I have been to Harfleet. Arl Hraskur is the Waveking of Harfleet, and has received Aumrarr before in friendship. The more beautiful we, the more friendly he, if you take my meaning."

Lorlarra sighed. "Sister, we do. A night in his bed will mean he listens, then, but will he heed?"

Dauntra nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. "Like Belrikoun, he's too wise not to pounce on any hint of a threat to his rule. He is wary, and has his spies, and plans ahead. He will know what to do. And do it."

"Which brings us to Scarlorn, just the other side of the Falconspires from us," Juskra said briskly. "Huge, pastoral Scarlorn."

"Land of farms, swamps, and more decadent satraps than I can count," Ambrelle sighed. "Must we visit them all?"

"But of cour-"

"No, Juskra. Here I disagree with you," Dauntra said firmly. "I have done sister-work in Scarlorn a time or two. Visit the right handful of satraps, and the spies of the rest will carry word to their masters better, and with it more apt to be believed, than if we came to whisper it ourselves."

"Fair enough," Juskra granted, scratching at her bandages and wincing. "So who are these 'right handful?' Vorl Dhaerar? Mrauker Zael? Haremmon?"

"Mrauker, Haremmon, and Imb Trar. Vorl's palace is haunted by his aunts." Dauntra rolled her eyes again. "Their ghosts strangle spies, and most of Scarlorn knows that by now."

"Right, that's Scarlorn. Important enough, after we've dealt with the mess in our laps. Galath. If we fail there, it won't matter which god or goddess this kingdom or that chants to, or what way-hold bows to which Doom; we'll be dead and Falconfar will be lost," Lorlarra said quietly.

"And Taeauna and her pet wizard are in Galath right now," Juskra snarled.

Lorlarra shook her head. "He'll have to be far more than a pet, this mage of hers, if he's to have any hope of surviving for long in Galath. Arlaghaun rules in Galath, his spells right up the Mad King's backside, controlling every word that comes out of Devaer's mouth."

"Every noble of the realm has been summoned to Galathgard, to hear the king's will," Dauntra said grimly. "All who attend not will be branded traitors, their lives and lands forfeit."

Juskra shrugged. "Who of the Galathan nobles isn't his already? Deldragon, old Hornsar, Mistryn, and a handful of barons; Tindror, Ammurt…"

Ambrelle smiled mirthlessly. "Ammurt was killed a few days back, with all of his kin and most of his household. His tower collapsed on his head. 'Mysteriously,' they say."

"Aye, 'mysteriously' as in spell-blasted," Lorlarra sighed.

"So that's-what?" Juskra snarled. "Three veldukes and a baron, out of them all? While Arlaghaun sits on the throne of Galath, with Devaer a puppet in his lap!"

"Indeed," Dauntra agreed. "The king is his, two of the veldukes, all of the ardukes, every last marquel and klarl, all but one baron, and any number of the border knights. Against four men who may not ride together or agree on anything, save bending the knee to a king they deem mad. So, sisters, do we throw our lives away swording all who gather in Galathgard?"

Juskra shook her head fiercely. "Trying that would be just what you called it: throwing our lives away. If we don't slay Arlaghaun, then Galath is doomed. And we may have to do it several times since he may have spells set to bring him back from death. Then swiftly must we serve Malraun the same way, for he's sniffing around Galath, watching what Arlaghaun does and awaiting his chance. The nobles are but shouting brutes on horses, the king reduced to a drool-wits; 'tis the wizards who matter."

Ambrelle sighed, her face grim. "Sisters mine, it's always been the wizards who mattered."

"Why the hurry?" Rod muttered through clenched teeth, as his saddle rose painfully to meet his descending crotch one more time. "Who would dispute with a velduke of the realm, and all these knights?"

Deldragon glanced at Rod with those ice-blue eyes for a moment, and then pointed up into the sky.

"They will," he said shortly, and then bellowed, "Lances up, lads! Gallop! Lorn!"

Rod's horse knew that barked command, if Rod didn't, and leaped forward. Rod hastily caught hold of the high horn of his saddle to keep from falling off, as the world suddenly became a blurred din of pounding hooves. Looking up, he saw a descending cloud of lorn, like a twister he'd once seen in the sky but lacking a dark cloud above it… a lowering, questing snout…

There was a terrible majesty in that slow, ponderous turn in the air, and then the swift and quickening dive, gray wings snapping back like the feathers of an arrow, claws extended, impassive skull-faces staring…

Hundreds of skulls, staring…

We have no lances, we three, Rod thought, or said in apprehension, in the instant before the lorn struck.

"I can't go on alone," Carandrur snapped. His eyes glittered; the sly little cobbler was seething. "So, are you all traitors to Arvale, then?"

Thrayl turned to Dombur and Pheldur; the three men exchanged dark glances, but kept silent, their faces expressionless. Thrayl looked back at Carandrur, his face a mask that betrayed nothing.

"Well?" the cobbler spat.

The three taller men went on giving him silence.

"Thrayl, when I get back to the vale and tell Lord Tharlark of this, what do you think he'll do to you? Hey? Kill you and your wife and daughter, and seize your shop and home, of course, but how will he hand you death? Do you really think he'll be merciful about it? That it'll be quick? Hey?"

"Lorn, yonder, diving out of the sky," Dombur said quietly, lifting his head in a gleam of earrings. "Lots of them."

Carandrur went on glaring at Thrayl, watching the shopkeeper's eyes leave his and lift to stare where Dombur and Pheldur were looking, up into the sky.

After watching their intent faces for some time, he turned to look, too.

Thrayl's sword was already in his hand; he stepped forward and swung, in one swift movement.

His steel bit deep into Carandrur's neck before the cobbler had even started to turn back.

Carandrur's head flopped loosely and his body spasmed, writhing wildly off Thrayl's blade into the dirt.

Thrayl stood like a statue, and watched the cobbler die.

He didn't look at Dombur or Pheldur until he was straightening from wiping his blade clean on the dead man's vest.

They looked back at him expressionlessly.

"Shrewdly struck," was all Dombur said, before they turned together, to begin the long trudge back to Arvale.

Velduke Deldragon looked every inch the warrior hero, twisting and hewing in the heart of a cloud of flapping lorn, standing up in his saddle to deal flickering, darting death in all directions, as Rod stared at him open-mouthed.

His sword was like a great flashing fang as it swept up into a lorn breast, slicing open the squalling, clawing thing even as it tried to gore him. Entrails and blood gouted down the withers of his mount, and on the ground and horse behind. All around them, horses were starting to scream.

Brushing Rod's hip as their horses bucked and started to rear, Taeauna leaned perilously over in her saddle, exposing her side to the lorn that would have torn her open if it hadn't struck Deldragon's lorn and been hurled past, to slash with her blade at the lorn that was menacing Rod. Hissing, it batted at her blade and then was past her, great wings flapping, barbed tail lashing at Rod's face, before being severed by Taeauna's snarling slash. Blue blood spattered their faces as the lorn arched and squalled, fading away in the distance as fresh lorn swooped in.

It was all a blur to Rod, as he crouched low and fought to hold on to his saddle horn with all his strength, staring in astonishment at the forest of knights' lances ahead of them that were thrusting at the sky, impaling and slicing lorn here, there, and blood spraying everywhere.

"'Ware! They're coming around again!" Deldragon roared, reaching out a gleaming gauntlet to take Taeauna by the severed stump of one wing, where it protruded through her armor, and haul her back upright.

"No!" Taeauna shouted back almost merrily, eyes bright. "They are? You surprise me!"

Deldragon stared at her for a moment, then bellowed out surprised laughter, as lorn wheeled overhead and swooped down.

One was coming in low at Rod, this time from the side, almost kissing the ground before soaring up at his leg, head bent to lay open his thigh, tip him out of his saddle, or both. He snatched out his dagger, not knowing what else to do, and then Taeauna was there again, her shoulder ramming him as she flung herself across the curving back of his saddle to hold out her sword two-handed like a lance, giving the lorn the choice of impalement or shearing off.

It chose the latter at the last tail-lashing instant, hissing in fury. Again her blade met the barbed tail, but this time the lorn won free.

"They'll be after our horses next," Deldragon growled. "Time for some family magic."

"Magic?" Taeauna's head snapped around in a flurry of hair. "You're a wizard?"

"Hah!" the velduke snorted. "Hardly. I'm a man with something the wizards that bedevil us want. I have an enchanted ring!"

"I see," Taeauna panted, as her racing horse hit a hollow and bounced her in her saddle, hard. "What does it do?"

"This!" Deldragon called, thrusting out his hand at the next wave of lorn.

The sky in front of his spread fingers seemed to catch fire.

An instant later, the lorn did, too, howling in agony as they swept down, trailing crimson flames. In the air, those raging fires seemed to tug at their bodies, curling them in upon themselves like hide-head beetles, dragging them aside in ragged arcs from the bucking Deldragon horses.

Whereupon the burning lorn exploded-and horses, knights, wingless Aumrarr and all were hurled forward into the air, amid a great wave of searing flame.

"Isk, you awake? Galath at last," the fat man growled from the front of the wagon. "Look dead, now."

The skeletally thin woman inside the creaking wagon made a rude sound by way of reply, shrugged off the cloak that had been keeping her warm, and laid herself down in the coffin.

Arranging the thin shroud over her naked body, she composed herself with her hands folded over her mouth. Between her fingers was the pinch of powdered arsauva that would leave her senseless the moment it touched her tongue; she held her fingers firmly together and waited. No sense wasting good arsauva if lazy border guards made its use unnecessary.

"I'm ready, Gar," she announced, closing her eyes. "Try to sound convincing, for once."

"I thought he'd never stop chasing us," the fat man muttered, as an armored Galathan warrior stepped out into the road and held up his hand in the signal to halt. "Still, we're here now. Driven to take refuge at last in the most law-abiding kingdom in all Falconfar. Strong king, proud nobles, lots of guards and coins. Bugger it all, anyway. Well, at least we'll be safe here."

"Tauren's merchants will do whatever they see best for preserving their own backsides," Juskra said flatly, running thoughtful fingers along the three old, white sword-scars that crisscrossed on her left cheek. "If that means deserting Tauren and taking themselves down the Ladruar to the Ports of Storm, that's just what they'll do. As allies, they are useless, and they'll never order their mercenaries into Galath to so much as lift a finger to aid someone else, not even if all of the Dooms lay wounded and helpless, for the ready slaying, because it will cost them coin."

"Yes, and they have no warriors but hireswords," Dauntra agreed, anger sparkling in her great brown eyes. "And their loyalty is to the purse, not a realm or kin or family hold. I know a dozen of the lords of Taur by name and face, and would be known to them if I flew to their gates, but they'd sell their own mothers and daughters for coin, let alone friends and allies."

"And Sardray keeps to Sardray," dark-armored Lorlarra put in. "As their elders never tire of saying, 'What comes to the windy grass matters; what befalls elsewhere matters not.'"

"And none of the forest holds," Ambrelle said quietly, "have either the battle-might to make any difference, nor the will or strength to push through two lands to reach Galath." The senior Aumrarr stretched her wings, tossing her long, glossy mane of purple-black hair. "So Galath, as we all knew, all along, is the cauldron. If Arlaghaun rises to rule it unopposed, the rise of the cults will hardly matter; Falconfar will be lost."

"We must work against him, and hope Taeauna's man is a wizard, and we can turn him into a blade against Arlaghaun."

"It all comes back to the wizards," Juskra said bitterly, scratching at her bandages again.

"Always," Dauntra agreed. "Well, there're Four Dooms, and four of us. A fair fight, I'd say."

They laughed then, the bitter laughter of despair.