The Ruin, page 15
The three hunters aimed their weapons to threaten the ice drake, and it sneered back. "You throw sticks and rocks," the creature said, "and I throw… real avalanche."
"You could have done that already," said Will, "if you simply wanted to kill us. What do you want?"
"Zethrindor needs… prisoner to question," said the wyrm.
Will drew a long breath. "Then here's the bargain. Take me. I'm the lightest. You'll have an easy time carrying me. But my friends go free."
"No," Pavel whispered. "You can't trust it."
"As long as it's up there and we're all down here," Will replied from the corner of his mouth, keeping his voice just as low, "we're pretty much helpless. This is our best chance, so shut up!"
The ice drake hung, evidently pondering Will's offer. At last it said, "I agree. First, everyone, throw weapons off.. the edge."
Will laughed. "Not likely."
"Then no deal."
"That means you'll have to fight us. Maybe we'll all die, and then what will Zethrindor say? Maybe Lady Luck will smile on us and we'll even manage to hurt you. Look, my friends can't throw away their weapons. They need them to hunt. But I'll disarm myself, and they'll set the bow and spear down. Then I’ll climb up to you. How's that?"
The drake grunted. "Do it, then."
Pavel laid his lance on the ground, and Dorn put down the bow. Will made a show of divesting himself of the weapons he'd collected, his sling, pouch of stones, two knives, and a hand-axe. Afterwards, he clambered upwards. Few observers would have recognized what an able climber he actually was. He faltered and fumbled, his skills evidently eroded by weariness, weakness, and the cold.
Pavel wondered what the wyrm would do once Will came within reach. Grip him and render him helpless, perhaps, then trigger an avalanche anyway. Or else summarily kill him and thus reduce the number of foes arrayed against it. It might adopt the latter course if it believed one of the humans was better able to answer Zethrindor's questions.
Will struggled nearly all the way up, then stopped. "Please," he whined, "I can't do this."
"We made… bargain," the reptile said. It yanked one set of foreclaws out of the rock and reached for the halfling.
Will cringed. He stretched out his right arm and leg, found something to grab and a place to set his foot, and shifted himself to the side, keeping just out of harm's way. The action made it clear he wasn't as spent and feeble as he'd pretended, and Pavel felt a flicker of hope.
"Stay still!" the ice drake snarled. "Still, or I hurt… you, kill everybody." It pulled the rest of its talons and the end of its tail from their moorings and crawled across the mountainside.
Will had a stone in his grasp. He hadn't divested himself of every last weapon after all, though his cunning hands had made it appear so. He flung the rock and hit the drake in its black, glistening eye. The creature shrieked and recoiled.
An instant later, dust puffed into being in the space surrounding the ice drake, clinging to its body and with luck, clogging its eyes, ears, and nostrils. The powder looked black in the darkness, but Pavel knew that in better light, it would gleam like gold. Jivex, whose talents included the ability to conjure the stuff, rippled back into view. He hurtled at the larger reptile, clawed its flank as he streaked by, and tilted his wings, wheeling for a second pass.
Dorn snatched up his bow and drove an arrow into the ice drake's belly. Pavel brandished his amulet and recited an invocation. The amulet glowed red and warmed his gloved but still half-frozen fingers. A shrill noise screamed through the air and split the ice drake's hide like a blade.
The immense creature lost its grip on the slope and tumbled toward the shelf, smashing loose chunks of stone, ice, and snow to plummet with it. Pavel supposed this was what they'd wanted, to knock the dragon from its perch, but he realized that in so doing, they'd more or less unleashed the very rattling, rumbling avalanche with which their foe had threatened them.
He scrambled to the side, trying to get out from under the wyrm itself, anyway. Falling pebbles pummeled him. One clipped him on the head. It dropped him to his knees, dazing him, but he forced himself up and onward. It occurred to him that he might be safest pressed up against the mountainside so he lunged in that direction, and something else came down on top of him. This time it was a great mass like a giant's hand, blinding, smothering, squashing him to the ground. An instant later, a tremendous impact jolted the ledge, and he pictured the whole thing breaking off and plunging into the valley far below.
That didn't happen, though, nor, evidently, was he dead. He thrashed and floundered clear of the snow that had buried him,, to find himself almost within arm's reach of the ice drake.
The creature rolled to its feet and spread its wings. Dorn lunged at it, sunk his iron claws into the base of one pinion, and ripped out a handful of pale, bloody muscle.
The ice drake snarled, whirled, and, evidently discerning Dorn's location despite the dust encrusting its body, snapped at him with its fangs. He twisted out of the way and drove his knuckle-spikes into its snout. The reptile raked with its talons, and he blocked with his artificial arm. That kept the claws from piercing his flesh, but the force of the blow knocked him stumbling backward, toward the drop-off. The drake lunged after him.
Pavel poised his spear and charged, yelling to distract the wyrm. It stopped its advance and lashed its tail at him. He ducked beneath the horizontal blow, sprang back up, and thrust the lance into the reptile's hind leg.
It lifted the limb high, jerking his weapon from his grasp, and stamped down. He jumped back to avoid being crushed. The ice drake started again to scuttle toward Dorn. Jivex dived from overhead and bathed the white wyrm's head in a jet of his sweet-smelling, glittering breath. It didn't seem to have any effect. Will, who at some point had made it back down onto the shelf safely, scurried underneath the ice drake and drove a long knife into its belly.
The creature roared and stamped, trying to trample its `tormentor. Will evaded the attacks and kept stabbing, only rolling clear when the drake smashed its entire underside onto the ground. By that time, Dorn was on its flank, punchMg, tearing, and hacking with his flint-and-bone sword whenever practical. For want of any better weapon, or any more attack spells, Pavel emulated Will and started throwing rocks.
A manifestation of Jivex's magic, bangs like thunderclaps exploded from the empty air around the ice drake's ears. Pavel felt a stab of fear that the noise would trigger another avalanche. But it. was probably stupid to worry about. that. with a wyrm trying to rip them all to pieces.
He hurled another stone. Will scuttled under the ice drake, stabbed, and rolled clear. Dorn clawed gashes in its pallid hide. Jivex swooped, lit atop its brow, and ripped at its eyes.
Zethrindor's minion tossed its head, flinging Jivex clear, spread its jaws, and struck at him. Jivex beat his wings, narrowly avoiding the attack, and retreated. The ice drake lunged after him, and lurched off balance when the stone appeared to dissolve beneath its feet. Actually, Pavel realized, that bit of rock had never existed in the first place. Jivex had extended the ledge by dint of an illusion, then lured their foe into empty space. With the clinging dust and blasts of noise addling its usually keen senses, the larger reptile had failed to penetrate the deception.
It twisted as it started to fall and caught hold of the lip of the drop-off with the claws of one forefoot. Dorn sprang in and attacked the extremity with his sword. The wyrm struck at him. He blocked with his iron arm, then returned to tearing and cutting.
The ice drake lost its grip and tumbled down the mountainside, the constant banging receding with it, sounding in concert with duller thumps as it smacked against the rock. The wyrm got its feet underneath it, vaulted into empty space, and sought to spread its pinions. One unfurled, but the other, damaged by Dorn's claws, didn't. The reptile shrieked as it continued to fall.
Jivex wheeled. "l win!" he cried.
Will grinned. "That was neatly done," he panted. "Is anyone hurt? Dorn, you bore the brunt of it."
The half-golem grunted and sat back down to stare out into the dark.
All the world had become a dull, shapeless seething, rather like the murky stirrings a person sometimes saw upon closing his eyes. Somehow Kara could perceive it even though she no, longer possessed eyes, nor any semblance of a body, just as she sensed Brimstone, Taegan, and Raryn suspended along with her. Just as she felt the void eating away at what was left of her, like fire or acid. The sensation wasn't painful, exactly, but it was terrifying and disorienting, so much so that it was difficult to think.
But she had to think, and remember. Had to understand what was happening. At first, nothing would come but images, moments charged with emotion but bereft of context. Dorn leaping back from a sweep of a giantess's warhammer. Brimstone whispering words of power. A prone, mangled gelugon slashing her face with its tail.
She pieced the scraps of recollection together like a mosaicist placing stones to make a picture until finally she understood.
The Icy Claw had hurt her, and a powerful white had attacked her immediately thereafter, borne her down and wounded her severely. It was going to kill her if she didn't get away from it.
She crooned a spell as she struggled, and manifested the charm when she tore free of her adversary's coils. A phantom Kara crouched before the white, while the real one retreated, shrouded in invisibility.
A master trickster like Chatulio might have conjured art illusion convincing enough to fool the white for a long while. Kara's effort would only flummox it for a heartbeat or two at best. Her wounds throbbing, she cast about for a source of help or refuge.
Nothing. Just the roaring frenzy of dragons, frost giants, gelugons, barbarians, and ice wizards struggling on every side, the titanic clash of Iyraclea and Zethrindor looming above every other battle. Brimstone, Taegan, and Raryn were nearby, fighting giants and a devil, but appeared to be in nearly as much trouble as she was. They certainly couldn't rush to her aid.
She could only think of one tactic that might serve to save her. She believed she understood the enchantment bound in the plaza, and even how to command it. She'd direct it to whisk her to the other side of the magical gateway, her and the hard-pressed vampire, avariel, and dwarf, too. She wished she could take Dorn, Jivex, Will, and Pavel, also, but she'd lost track of them amid the chaos.
As the white leaped onto her ghostly double, she sang an invocation under her breath, and the magic bound in the cobbles sprang to life. Obedient to her thought, it gathered her, Raryn, Taegan, and Brimstone into a cool, tingling embrace while leaving their foes untouched.
Then, however, Zethrindor created a towering wave of shadow. The rushing darkness crumbled stones to dust, damaging the pattern of forces the array had been designed to maintain and manipulate.
For that reason, the enchantment didn't shift the travelers all the way to the endpoint. Instead, the disruption stranded them inside the gate, in a timeless, somehow cancerous emptiness.
Their only chance was to force the damaged enchantment to function as originally intended, and maybe, just maybe, she could manage it. Of all dragonkind, song dragons were the greatest wanderers, with a natural affinity for magic facilitating travel. Unfortunately, she was relatively young, and had yet to grow into mastery of sending spells and the like. Still, perhaps she could exert influence over such an effect while already trapped inside.
She probed the weave of forces around her, trying to discern where it had broken and how to patch it. When she believed she knew, she started to sing. She had no lungs, mouth, or ears to hear, but the music sounded clear and precise in her imagination.
in response, disruption blazed through the bodiless essence of her, ripping, seeking to scramble her into something other than she was. She struggled to continue thinking, to cling to knowledge of her own identity, to insist on being herself and not some shattered unreasoning thing, and eventually, the threat of crippling metamorphosis abated.
in the aftermath, she thought she comprehended what had happened. Mired in the damaged enchantment, she was like a person buried beneath a tangle of fallen timbers. Her only hope of escape was to shift some of the massive lengths of wood, but in the process, she ran the risk of bringing the whole mass smashing down on top of her.
She wondered how many errors she could make, how many punishing jolts she could sustain, before they obliterated her.
But no, enough of that. She wouldn't dwell on the consequences of failure, nor even admit it was a possibility.
Seeking to determine why her first effort had gone wrong, she reexamined the mesh of the elves' enchantment, then tried a new song.
CHAPTER SEVEN
8 Uktar, the Year of Rogue Dragons
Dorn tried to move quietly, but wasn't unduly concerned when, even so, a fold of cloth flapped, or rubbed against another, or leather creaked. He was sure his companions were too exhausted to wake.The days of climbing and hiking through freezing temperatures and bitter winds-the glare, sunburn, crevasses, and thin ice-had taken its toll on them all. Then there was the hunger and sickness, the wyrms, giants, tirichiks, colossal bears, and so many other predators indigenous to the Great. Glacier. But they were weary most of all from the gnawing fear-a dread spoken by none but surely felt by all.
But they had survived. Drawing on all Raryn had taught them about coping with such hazards-and aided by Pavel's ability to conjure food from thin air, cure frostbite and other ills, and cloak a man in sunny warmth in the midst of a blizzard's chill-they'd made it off the eastern rim of the glacier into a land called Sossal, or so Dorn had heard.
On first inspection, its hills, lowlands, and patches of forest white with the snows of a premature winter, Sossal appeared little more hospitable than the wasteland they were leaving behind, but he knew the appearance was deceptive. The country was by no means warm or safe, but it was warm and safe enough, Will and Pavel would find adequate food and shelter as they trekked south then west into Damara, where Gareth Dragonsbane and his vassals would help them on their way.
Which meant they didn't need Dorn anymore. He'd kept his Word and seen them safely off the ice, and he could depart.
As he took a last look at their grimy faces, thin with privation and fatigue, he feared that when they woke and found him gone, they'd think he'd truly never cherished their friendship, particularly since he'd never had the knack of showing it. He could only hope they understood him better than that.
He still prized them as highly as, for some inexplicable reason, they'd always valued him. In a way, that was why he was leaving. Because the worthless freak who'd let Kara die didn't deserve such friends. He deserved loneliness, and they deserved to be rid of him before he led them to their deaths as he had Raryn.
So he'd slip away and hike back onto the glacier. When his comrades woke, they'd fret, but in the end, they wouldn't follow, for they had to reach Thentia. Do their best to save the dragons from their craziness.
He realized he was having difficulty tearing his gaze away from them. Was he stalling? Hoping someone would wake and spoil his plan? The possibility generated another spasm of self-contempt, and somehow that enabled him to turn and skulk away.
He forbade himself to look back, and kept to his resolve until a first silvery gleam of Lathander's light brightened the eastern sky. Then, reaching a hilltop, he yielded to the temptation for one final glimpse of the hollow where he'd left them. It would hurt to look, and maybe that was why the urge proved irresistible.
He squinted, trying to make them out in the feeble gray light, then stiffened in dismay.
At last Stival Chergoba had found his way to a proper, natural autumn, with a bountiful harvest and exuberant harvest festival. The latter was a merry round of delights. He gorged on roast pig, fried trout, apple tarts, fresh-baked bread, and honey. Then he drank himself silly on ale and crowberry wine, and danced with all the prettiest maidens and widows.
The only problem was that one annoying lass behind him kept repeating his name. Intuition told him that it would be a mistake to acknowledge her, but eventually she became too irritating to ignore. He pivoted to tell her to hold her tongue, and sure enough, that simple action wrenched him all the way out of the dream and slumber itself. in the dim light-not dawn quite yet, but Lathander's anemic herald-he was just a hungry, weary ranger on patrol, his body stretched on cold, hard snowy ground.
It was Natali Dormetsk who'd roused him. Natali was a deadly quick and accurate archer with a natural ability to assume the form of an owl. Sometimes when she reverted to human, her trim body took its time shaking off every vestige of her avian shape. At the moment, her legs were too short, and her torso, too long. A few brown feathers grew on her cheeks and the backs of her hands, while her eyes were a round, glaring yellow.
"Why did you wake me?" Stival growled, tossing away his blanket and sitting up. "It had better be important." Actually, he was reasonably sure it would be. Natali was one of the ablest, most level-headed warriors in his command. It was hard to believe she'd never been a soldier until the invasion made a warrior out of most everyone capable of gripping a weapon.
"I saw a dragon," she said. Obviously, while scouting the countryside as he'd ordered.
"Damn it!" Divided into several companies, the Sossrim army was preparing to march south, and it was vital that the enemy not locate any portion of it prematurely. The commanders were exploiting every advantage of cover and terrain, while the druids and wizards did their best to shroud their comrades in spells of concealment, but even so, everyone conceded that if a dragon came too close, it was likely to notice them. "How far away?"
"Close," she said, "and on the ground." The feathers melted into weather-beaten skin, and the golden owl eyes dwindled into gray human ones, revealing a face that might have been fetching if she didn't always look so somber and severe. "But-"
