The Ruin, page 25
Zethrindor's entire body jerked. Dorn thought he glimpsed a darkness seething up around the end of his sword and the breach in which it was embedded, as though some vile force was bleeding out. He yanked the weapon free, struck a second time, again succeeded in splintering bone.
Zethrindor floundered backward. Dorn pursued with a sudden surge of hope, until the dracolich recovered his balance and settled back into a fighting stance. His throat swelled.
Not good enough, thought Dorn. For an instant, I thought it was, but it wasn't. I wasn't.
Then a voice an octave deeper even than his own shouted, "You see, the small folk told the truth! The Lich is weak!
Get him! Get him! Get him!"
Startled, Zethrindor twisted his head around to glare at the young, relatively slender frost giant who'd raised the shout. Probably the dracolich meant to mete out a hideous punishment, but in that same instant, another giant threw an enormous axe and embedded it in his chest.
A barrage of missiles followed, with giants, dwarves, and barbarians alike loosing arrows and flinging javelins. Then, with a bellow of hatred, they rushed in and swarmed on Zethrindor, until the dracolich nearly disappeared behind the mass of his assailants.
Dorn realized the glacier folk didn't care about the terms of his challenge to the white. They only wanted to be rid of Zethrindor, and once his opponents gave him enough trouble to convince them he was vulnerable, they'd risen up against him.
Dorn supposed that in his place, another man would be elated, but he still couldn't feel anything but hate. He tried to push his way through the press of warriors around Zethrindor, back into striking distance, but couldn't manage it. Too little strength remained in his hurt and exhausted human half.
Zethrindor started bellowing a spell, but quickly fell silent, as did the entire struggling horde of combatants. Some priest or shaman had cast a charm of quiet to keep the dracolich from using his magic.
Still, the battle raged on until Dorn started to fear that even such a horde of foes couldn't prevail against the dracolich. But then a giant wearing a breastplate carved from presumably enchanted, unmeltable ice stooped, straightened up, and raised Zethrindor's severed head high above his own. The glacier folk, or at least all those outside the field of silence, raised a thunderous cheer.
Jivex swooped down to hover beside Dorn. The faerie dragon surveyed the scene, then sniffed. "Why aren't they cheering me?" he asked. "I did all the work."
Stival kneeled beside Natali's motionless body. Despite the owl eyes and feathers, she seemed the fairest thing in the world.
"I was a fool," he said. "l should have invited you to share my bed when I had the chance. You might have said yes. By the unicorn, maybe I would have even married you, if that was what it took."
He reached to close her eyes, and froze in shock when they shifted toward his face.
"I accept your proposal," she croaked. "Now fetch a healer."
As he hurried away to find one, conflicting emotions tangled and ached in his chest. Joy to find her still alive, and anxiety that she might still succumb to her injuries if he didn't bring help quickly. Delight that she fancied him, and dismay to discover himself betrothed to a woman whose purse was as empty as his own.
But after a few strides, the dismay began to fade. Maybe her poverty didn't matter all that much. They were two of the heroes who'd destroyed Zethrindor, weren't they? That ought to earn them titles, a tract of land, and chests of gold. It was simply a matter of making sure the right people knew about it.
Pavel peered up at the tableland. The glacier folk were clamoring in jubilation, but he wasn't ready to celebrate just yet, because he wasn't sure the battle was over. The surviving whites and ice drakes presumably had some way of discerning the outcome of the challenge, but wicked, faithless creatures that they were, might not honor Zethrindor's bargain.
He held his breath when the pallid reptiles soared up into the darkening sky. But instead of attacking, they flew west, and at last he too felt the urge to cheer.
Trying to swagger but pretty much hobbling instead, Will came to stand beside him and watch the departing drakes, making certain, as poor, lost Raryn would have done, that the creatures didn't double back. "Maybe," the halfling said, "they only fought because Zethrindor bullied them into it, like he did the dwarves and such. After all, Sossal was going to be his kingdom, not theirs."
"Or perhaps," Pavel replied, "they just don't like their chances anymore. Or else they're eager to reach a cult enclave and start their transformations. The important thing is, it's over."
"No thanks to you. 'Out of spells.' Pathetic." The halfling grinned, then pointed. "Look, the stars are coming out."
*****
Taegan crept toward the cave where he and his companions had chosen to hide. From the outside, thanks to the subtle illusions Kara and Brimstone had woven, the pocket in the rock looked empty.Perhaps, at the moment, the appearance matched the reality. If the dragons had succeeded in unlocking the elven citadel, and Raryn had already joined them inside its walls, the cave might actually be unoccupied.
But no. When Taegan skulked in far enough to penetrate the curtain of illusion, the bard, smoke drake, and dwarf all popped into view. He scarcely needed to behold their glum expressions to understand what had happened, or rather, what had not.
Anger welled up inside him. By all the powers bright and dark, it wasn't fair! He'd done what was supposedly required. Against all rational expectation, he'd succeeded in keeping the Tarterians occupied for a considerable time. Why hadn't the drakes performed their task? How difficult could it be-
He clamped down on his ire. He and his comrades had known at the onset that Kara and Brimstone, accomplished sorcerers through they were, would find it difficult to counter the enchantments of a legendary mage like Sammaster. Recriminations would be unjust, and certainly serve no purpose.
Taegan took a breath, composing himself. "I surmise," he said, "that we'll need to try again."
Brimstone sneered. "Do you imagine you can fool the Tarterians a second time? They learned from what happened today. Next time, they'll catch you before you can draw a dozen breaths."
"Not an enticing prospect," Taegan conceded. "Ergo, we need a new plan."
"I invite you to devise a feasible one," the vampire said. "Even if the Tarterians actually believe you somehow used a broken gate to leave the valley, we've stirred them up. They'll patrol more diligently. It will be all we can do to stay hidden, if, in fact, we can even manage that. We certainly have no hope of conducting lengthy experiments outside the castle."
"Nor would it matter if we could," Kara sighed. "Brimstone and I both agree, we'll never break Sammaster's ward."
Taegan arched an eyebrow. "We've journeyed a long way and overcome a fair number of obstacles just to abandon hope on the ancient elves' very doorstep."
"I know," she said, "and nobody wants to fail. But Brim,stone's thirsty, frenzy's pounding at my mind, and neither of us can see any possibilities at all."
"Nor can I," said Taegan, "not as yet. But you, milady, will cling to your love of your kindred, your music, and Dorn, and you, Sir Vampire, to your hatred of Sammaster, to fend off your less agreeable impulses. Raryn and I will tighten our belts. The four of us will watch for opportunities, and even if none presents itself, wait for our allies to locate us."
Brimstone spat sulfurous smoke. "How?"
"I can't imagine. But I lack the talents of a Firefingers, or a Nexus."
"Taegan's right," said Raryn, sitting with his back against the wall and his short, burly legs outstretched, his white mane, beard, and polar bear-fur armor ghostly in the gloom. "We may fail, we may very likely die, and if so, there'll be no shame in losing against. long odds. But you don't stop trying."
Kara forced a smile. "No, you don't. Please, forgive my whining."
"I didn't mean I would give up," Brimstone growled. "But neither am I inclined to deny the truth of our predicament. So I leave the posturing and prattling to the three of you." He wheeled and stalked into the darkness deeper in the cave.
Afterward, Taegan reflected that the smoke drake's parting remark had contained a measure of truth. He had been striving to feign an optimism he was far from feeling.
Because the dragons' demoralization, transitory though it probably was, had shaken him. Kara and Brimstone were creatures of exceptional courage, and far more powerful and knowledgeable about occult matter than he. If they could see no hope-
No. Enough of that. Seeking to break his somber train of thought, he grinned at Raryn. "Is there any of your delicious spadderdock remaining? I believe my exertions may actually have actually left me famished enough to choke down a bite or two."
After months of strife, the Sossrim and glacier folk were willing to make peace, but felt no inclination to fraternize_ The former camped on the ridge they'd defended at such a heavy cost, the latter, on low ground some distance back from the foot of the slope.
Mostly burned down to coals and ash, Zethrindor's remains smoldered where he'd fallen, about equally distant from each encampment. His destroyers had burned him to purge his flesh and skeleton of any lingering malignancy that might otherwise poison the earth. Or perhaps to make absolutely sure he wouldn't rise in the night.
Pavel found Dorn standing alone, staring at the pyre. Here and there, a few blue and yellow flames still danced, and some of the dragon's blackened bones maintained their shape. The air smelled of smoke, but not decay, not anymore.
"Supper's ready," Pavel said. "Stival even found some wine, the gods alone know how. He and Natali would like it if you'd drink to their betrothal."
Dorn didn't answer.
Pavel tried a new tack: "We should get an early start tomorrow. It will be difficult, but I think we can still make Thentia in time for the conclave. The Sossrim will do everything they can to help us on our way, and so will my folk, once we cross into Damara."
Still no reply.
"Talk, damn it!" Pavel exploded. "You owe me that much. There lies Kara's killer, burned to nothing, or near enough. You have your revenge. Doesn't it make a difference?"
"But did we truly destroy him?" Dorn asked. "Or is his spirit just lurking in a phylactery, awaiting rebirth?"
Pavel hesitated. "Well… presumably the latter. But consider this: If he was one of Sammaster's newly minted dracoliches, he's been busy furthering the wizard's schemes and attacking Sossal ever since his transformation, He probably never got around to caching spare bodies near his amulet, and that likely means he'll never have the opportunity to occupy another. Imagine what it would be like to be trapped-blind, deaf, bodiless, and alone-inside a piece of jewelry for all eternity. I suspect it would be as every bit as unpleasant as dying a natural death and landing in one of the Hells."
For a moment, the hint of a smile tugged at Dorn's mouth, but then it twisted into a scowl. "That's good to hear. Still, the answer to your question is no. It doesn't truly make a difference. I thought I might feel something if I killed Zethrindor, or helped to kill him. Something big. Something that would change me. But it didn't happen."
"I understand how much you're hurting. But give yourself time."
"Are you still afraid I’ll run away? Or kill myself? I told you I won't. I think about it, but I worry that dead, I’ll feel just the same as I do now. Then I really won't have anything to hope for, will I?"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Feast of the Moon, the Year ofRogue Dragons
His rear and thighs aching from days of riding, mostly on mounts too large for a halfling to manage comfortably, Will trudged through Thentia, comparing the scenes that presented themselves with his memories of Midsummer in the same city.That had been his sort of festival, everyone drinking, dancing, laughing, chasing members of the opposite sex and catching them more often than not. In contrast, the Feast of the Moon, celebrated in recognition of the honored dead and the onset of winter, was a solemn, subdued observance. The taverns closed their doors. Storytellers recited tales in which misunderstandings led to murder and suicide, young warriors perished on the battlefield, leaving their lovers to pine away, or noble kingdoms fell to ores and plague. Folk clad in mourning sang dirges, paraded single-file through the streets with candles in their hands, and eventually fetched up in the cemeteries, where they laid offerings of food, preserved flowers, and sentimental tokens on tombs and graves.
But from Will's perspective, the biggest difference was that four months ago, Raryn, Kara, Taegan, and yes, even Brimstone had been present, and it was their absence that actually made the festival seem so depressing. That, and the sense of desperation that had descended on the seekers who still remained.
Yet even so, it was a relief when he, Dorn, Pavel, and Jivex escaped into the countryside and left the funereal proceedings behind. As before, the Watchlord's Warders guarded the approaches to the field in which the dragons and their allies were gathering. The sentries saluted the hunters as they passed.
The meeting site shined with a soft, sourceless silvery light one of the spellcasters had conjured. The glow glinted on the scales of the many dragons assembled there: Tamarand, who'd served as King Lareth's principal deputy, and challenged, dueled, and killed the mad sovereign to save his people. Nexus, yet another gold, allegedly the mightiest of all draconic wizards. Lady Havarlan, much-scarred leader of the martial fellowship of silvers known as the Talons of Justice. Azhaq, Moonwing, Llimark, Wardancer, Vingdavalac, and others, their diverse scents combining to suffuse the cool night air with a dry, complex, and rather pleasant odor.
The spellcasters of Thentia stood, unconcerned, around the feet of the colossal reptiles. There was Firefingers, a genial old grandfather of a fellow dressed in garish flamecolored garments, Scattercloak, as always muffled so thoroughly in his mantle, robes, and shadowy cowl that not an inch of skin was visible, and plump, fussy Darvin Kordeion clad all in shades of white. Her long tresses dyed their usual silver, Sureene Aumratha, high priestess of the House of the Moon, conferred softly with her protйgйs Baerimel Dunnath and Jannatha Goldenshield. Petite lasses who bore a familial resemblance to one another, the two sisters were mistresses of arcane magic rather than divine, but servants of the temple nonetheless.
Gareth Dragonsbane had sent his own representatives to the council. Celedon Kierney, the paladin king's foxy-faced, half-elf spymaster, welcomed Will and his companions with a smile and a wink. Scarred, hulking Drigor Bersk, probably the unlikeliest priest of mild, martyred llmater in all Faerыn, gave them a brusque nod far more in keeping with the grim atmosphere of the assembly as a whole.
But surely, thought Will, it can't be as bad as all that. These folk are wise. They'll think of something.
Nexus shifted his golden wings. Maybe it was the dragon's equivalent of clearing one's throat, for the others abandoned their murmuring conversations to orient on him.
"This is the situation," Nexus rumbled. "Essentially, we've made no progress since we last convened here four months ago."
Havarlan grunted. "With respect, wizard, that isn't altogether true. Working in concert with a host of allies, we metallics have found and destroyed several bastions of Sammaster's cult, enclaves which, left unchecked, would have created any number of dracoliches. We've saved many otherwise defenseless folk from drakes in the throes of frenzy, or from the secondary threats the Rage has kindled across the land."
Nexus inclined his head. "True, and I don't mean to discount such victories. But in the long run, they will mean nothing if we can't end the madness gnawing at our minds, and with time running out, we're no closer than before. We've devised the counterspell-or at least believe we have-but still have no idea where we must go to cast it."
Celedon stepped forward. "My lords and ladies, masters, I'm newly come to your deliberations. Please forgive me if I ask questions to which everyone else already knows the answers. I understand you actually have some of Sammaster's papers in your possession?"
"Written in cipher and sealed with a curse," said Scattercloak in his uninflected, androgynous, somehow artificial-sounding tenor voice. "We've managed to read a portion of them even so, but nothing that bears on the location of the elven citadel."
"We've scried for the stronghold, too," Firefingers said. "Sought its whereabouts in long-lost lore unearthed all over the continent. Dragons have flown across the northlands looking for it. All to no avail."
"Curse it," Will exclaimed, "my partners and I found the door to the place! That has to count for something."
Nexus, with his blank, luminous yellow eyes, backswept horns, and dangling barbells, gave Will a look conveying both annoyance and compassion. "I understand how hard you and your companions worked to locate that portal," he said, "and that you lost friends in the doing. But Scattercloak, Jannatha, and I have visited the site, and the gate is damaged beyond repair."
"But… isn't there still some kind of magical trail you can follow?"
"I’m sorry, but no."
Celedon fingered his pointed chin. "l assume you tried scrying for Brimstone and the others instead of the citadel itself'?"
"Naturally!" Darvin snapped. "Do you think we'd overlook something so obvious?"
"No, good sir, I don't. But 1 would have been remiss if I hadn't made certain."I don't believe," said Firefingers, "we've overlooked anything. But I'm not yet ready to surrender. Look at the company we've assembled, dozens of human and dragon mages united in a single circle. When has there been such a formidable coven? Yet we've never pooled all our strengths and skills in a single ritual. We've been too busy running hither and yon, following up on all our various leads."
High, argent frill and quicksilver eyes shining, Azhaq said, "You're proposing a grand divination. A coordinated effort to pierce the elves' concealments."
