Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (75 page)

 
          
"Small,"
Yssym repeated with ominous confidence. "Hide from hunters . . . Big
dragons not hide."

           
Calandryll took up a harpoon, seeing
Bracht do the same. The Vanu women held their bows ready, arrows nocked. A
dragon swam close, cold green eyes bulging from gnarled ridges of reddish
armor. Yssym motioned the others back, balancing on the prow, and thrust his
lance at the beast, not seeking the pierce the hide, but tapping it firmly on
the snout. The dragon snorted and submerged, the eddy rocking the boat. Yssym
watched intently, pointing as the beast reemerged some distance off.

 
          
"Soft
there." He tapped his own flat nose, barking what Calandryll assumed was
his version of laughter. "Hit there, small dragon go away. Rest hard ...
like armor. You leave dragons to Yssym."

 
          
He
nodded, squatting with the harpoon braced across his shoulder, reaching out to
drive off the more curious of the saurians, guiding the boats steadily deeper
into the shadowy interior.

 
          
It
was as well he did, for soon it became apparent that the landscape was much
changed since Orwen had mapped Gessyth. The chart Calandryll had so
painstakingly copied showed the location of Tezin-dar, and described the
coastline well enough, but the interior was a shifting thing, changed by fallen
trees and the islands of matted debris that arose, indiscernible from the
liquid surface save where sunlight penetrated to reveal a subtle alteration in
the color of the water. Without the halfling they would have been lost before
sunset, unable to distinguish the landmarks he recognized, or the hazards he
steered around.

 
          
He
named them in his own language as they passed. The thick clusters of oily blue
flowers that grew on the reedy islands were
feshyn
and poisonous to the
touch, he warned them; and where the water showed that leprous yellow color,
flesh-eating worms,
yennym,
swam. The lianas were the habitat of
stinging insects he called
grishas,
their bite often fatal; and the
mangrove roots hid the things called
estifas,
that laid their eggs in
human flesh, leaving the hatching grubs to eat the host. He pointed out a
rippling in the water, telling them it was sign of a swarm of something he
named
shivim
that, as best they could understand his explanation, were
predatory fish, attracted by blood or movement, and able to reduce even a small
dragon to bare bones in moments. Without his aid they would likely have died,
just as ek'Salar had promised, poisoned, or stung, or eaten by one creature or
another, for it seemed that very little in the swamp was friendly and the
inexperienced went in constant danger of unpleasant death.

 
          
Landfall,
even, proved hazardous, for as the light began to fade Bracht indicated a
sizable island, suggesting they halt there before the sun finally set, and
Yssym shook his head, pointing out the holes beneath, where dragons laired. He
brought them instead to another mat of jumbled roots and rotting reeds, grown
over with a kind of red-brown grass that gave off a sharp odor, which, he
informed them, deterred both dragons and insects: compensation for its
offensive reek. They poled in, dragging the boats clear of the water, and made
camp. Yssym took a knife and set to cutting rushes, spreading them over the
grass to use as bedding, the fronds a barrier against the moisture that seeped
through the spongy island.

 
          
It
was an uncomfortable camp, fireless, for the swamp held no timber so dry it
would bum, and the island shifted constantly beneath them, prompting them to
cluster toward its center, sweat-soaked, breeks and tunics wet, impregnated with
the odor of their surroundings. Guards were posted even though Yssym's promise
that the malodorous grass would hold off the dragons and the insects was
proven, only the halfling at ease there, settling to sleep after he had eaten
as if the night was not aloud with a symphony of alarming bellows and roars,
shrill cries and splashings that told of things hunting and dying in the
menacing half-dark. All around the water and the trees glowed with a strange
phosphorescence, the canopy above lit silver by the risen moon, though that orb
remained unseen behind the curtain, while between the trees ghostly lights
flickered, as if phantoms sought to lure the unwary out into the unknown.

 
          
"I
have little liking for this place," Bracht remarked miserably, the understatement
prompting Calandryll to chuckle, for all he shared the Kem's discomfort.

 
          
"Perhaps
it will improve," he murmured, staring at a green-yellow glow that
appeared to dance about the trunk of a silver-lit mangrove.

 
          
"It
cannot get worse," said Bracht.

 
          
"You
forget the dragons," Katya smiled. "Yssym promises larger
specimens."

 
          
"Aye,
I'd forgotten that." The Kern grinned ruefully. "Dragons and
yennym;
grishas,
have I forgotten any of Gessyth's delights?"

 
          
“Feshyn,”
said Calandryll.

 
          
"And
shivim,"
Katya added. "Nor have we encountered the
flesh-eating trees yet."

 
          
"Your
optimism cheers me," Bracht grunted. "I'd almost wish I'd not gone
drinking in that tavern back in
Secca.”

 
          
"Were
that the case," Calandryll grinned, "you'd not partake of this heroic
quest."

 
          
"Destiny
brings us here," said Katya thoughtfully. "We three were bound to
meet and I do not think it could be otherwise."

 
          
Bracht
stared at her, smiling, and said, "Then I thank destiny."

           
She retumed his smile a
moment and tumed her face away, smoothing hair that shone silver in the strange
light from a face pale as sweet honey.

           
"We were—are—anticipated,"
said Calandryll, "and that I do not understand. How could these Old Ones know
we should come?"

 
          
"Not
only we three," Katya nodded, "Yssym spoke of others foreseen by the
Old Ones."

 
          
"Varent,"
said Bracht, "may his soul rot."

 
          
"The
Old Ones must be powerful augurs," Calandryll suggested, "if they
scried all this so long ago. I know no soothsayers able to see so far
ahead."

 
          
"There
are forgotten magicks," Katya said. "Arts old when the world we know
was young—things of the elder gods. Perhaps best lost."

 
          
"Aye,"
Bracht agreed, "I'd not know my future set out clear before me, but sooner
find it for myself."

 
          
"Ours
lies here." Calandryll gestured at the weird landscape surrounding their
little island. "With the Syfalheen and the Old Ones."

 
          
"And
sleep," said Bracht, stretching on the reeds, "if sleep may be found
in this place."

 
          
It
was, albeit fitfully, disturbed by the clamor of the swamp and the discomfort,
and when dawn came indicated only by a changing of the light—they rose damp and
more than a little miserable to eat a cold breakfast and
man
the boats again, poling
steadily deeper along the tortuous waterway.

 
         
The
mangrove forest extended deep into Gessyth and for days they moved among
the great trees, wary of the
feshyn
and the
grishas
that scurried
in relentless columns over the roadways of vines. One of Quara's archers was
stung and fell into delirium despite the plants Yssym pressed to the bites and
the infusion he prepared. By nightfall the woman was silent, her breathing
shallow and labored, and by dawn she had died: reluctantly they left her body
behind, knowing it must be soon consumed by the myriad predators of the
swampland.

 
          
She
was their first casualty: in a while they lost two more. An oarsman, careless
of the lurid blue flowers that clustered on an outthrust root, ducked too slow
to avoid the
feshyn.
A blossom brushed his cheek and he shouted as he
felt the venomous petals lay their deadly caress upon his skin. Yssym called an
instant halt, checking the water for
shivim
before wading back to gather
handfuls of small yellow buds that he ground to a paste and smeared over the
angry eruption covering the Vanu's cheek.

 
          
"Perhaps
he live," the halfling announced. "Perhaps not ... must rest . .. Not
spread poison."

 
          
The
oarsman, fear ugly in his pale blue eyes, was settled among the baggage and
they went on. That night Yssym prepared more of the ointment and the man
appeared in better spirits, arguing against his enforced inactivity. Toward
noon of the next day Calandryll heard a shout from the second boat and looked
back in time to see the man rub furiously at his face as he began to shudder,
that trembling becoming rapidly a seizure so that before his fellows had time
to hold him, he pitched overboard. Yssym cried a warning as an archer sprang
into the water, wading toward the threshing figure, but even as the woman heard
him, the surface rippled, churned by the swarm of
shivim
attracted by
the disturbance. She screamed as the blue-grey creatures surrounded her, the
swamp boiling where she stood, the fish leaping from the water to fasten teeth
in her tunic and flesh, others tearing at her protective boots so that even as
her companions stared in helpless horror she was covered with a living mantle.
The water became red and she fell down. Calandryll stared aghast, his impulse
to leap to her aid, that quelled by Yssym's hand on his shoulder and the
certain knowledge that neither she or the man could be saved. He could only
watch as both were reduced to bare bones, and the
shivim
moved on in
restless search of fresh prey.

 
          
Their
camp that night, on another island of matted debris, was oppressively silent.
The Vanu mourned their losses, Katya sitting moist-eyed, staring unhappily into
the phosphorescent shadows, as if she held herself responsible. Even Bracht's
sanguine humor was dulled, and save for a compassionate hand upon her shoulder
he offered no comment.

 
          
The
next day they moved with exaggerated caution, steering as far as they were able
in that maze of roots and vines from the blue flowers and overhanging lianas,
and when, on the following day, they saw open space ahead, all were cheered by
the prospect of quitting the mangrove forest. Before them stretched a lily
meadow, narrow spaces of clear water among the wide green pads, from which grew
single thick stalks, each supporting a single creamy blossom, yellow at the
center, the air refreshingly sweet with their perfume. Overhead they could see
the sky once more, bright blue, the sun high. After the forbidding gloom of the
trees it was a relief simply to be in the
open.         .

 
          
Yssym
dampened their good humor with a blunt announcement: "Big dragons
here."

 
          
He
pointed to the shapes that bulked among the lilies and Calandryll gasped at the
size of the beasts. They were far larger than any he had seen, several like
small islands, with gaily plumaged birds, or feathered flying lizards, stalking
their crenellated backs.

 
          
"They
sleep in sun," the halfling advised, "We wait, then move slow ... if
dragon attack, put harpoon in nose, or eye ... only belly soft enough you kill
him."

 
          
Katya
relayed this information to her people and they crouched nervously in the
boats, waiting until the sun hung directly above the meadow. Then Yssym gave
word they should attempt the crossing and Calandryll and Bracht took up lances
as Quara's archers nocked shafts to bowstrings and the oarsmen poled slowly out
from the cover of the trees.

 
          
The
forest seemed suddenly less menacing as they traversed the floating meadow. The
dragons there had been dwarfs compared to these monsters, and no cover was
offered by that expanse of open water. For all the myriad dangers of the trees,
there had at least been islands among the mangroves, solid footing of a kind
that seemed less vulnerable than the raftlike boats.

 
          
"Ahrd,"
whispered Bracht, staring wide-eyed at a monstrous red back. "How do the
hunters kill them?"

 
          
"Hunters
only take little dragons," said Yssym softly, "Four boats to one
dragon. Not speak now, or dragons hear you and attack."

 
          
His
hairless head turned slowly, yellow eyes studying the hulks apprehensively, his
muscular arm poised to cast the harpoon. Calandryll hefted his own lance,
praying silently for safe passage across the meadow. Sweat beaded his forehead,
running in salty channels down his face, and he blinked, knowing that any one
of these gigantic creatures could wreck the boat, pitching them all overboard,
that thought prompting him to wonder if
shivim
dwelt there, or if this
was the province of dragons alone.

 
          
Slowly,
slowly, they progressed into the meadow. The oarsmen dipped their poles with
dreamlike regularity, creating as little disturbance as possible. The archers
crouched with full-drawn bows, their breathing a soft sighing that echoed like
shouting on tensed ears. The lily pads parted with a gentle rustling sound,
that like the crash of falling timber, what little noise the boats made seeming
unnaturally loud, surely enough to alert the monsters. Calandryll held his
breath as he became convinced one round green eye fastened on him alone. It
looked large as his palm, cut vertically with a slash of indigo. An arm's
length distant, craggy nostrils thrust from the snout, and when the jaws opened
he saw rows of jagged teeth, long and pointed as dirks. His heart pounded then
and he felt his arm draw back unbidden, ready to cast the harpoon. But the
dragon merely emitted a stertorous rumble and sank below the surface.

 
          
Calandryll
heard his own breath come out in a long sigh and glanced ahead, reckoning the
distance to the far trees. At the slow speed imposed by the danger it would be
dark before they reached that cover, and he realized they faced the prospect of
a night spent on the boats. That held scant appeal; but to hurry was to attract
the attention of the dragons and he resigned himself to patience, concentrating
on the more immediate threat.

 
          
Then
a murmur from Yssym halted their progress altogether and he felt his heart
lurch afresh as a vast reddish bulk showed directly across their path. The
dragon was not the largest present, but it drifted between them and their
destination, and to pole around it meant the negotiation of the dense lily pads
where the creature s larger fellows drowsed: they waited.

 
          
The
dragon appeared oblivious of their presence, lying like some vast log in their
way. Its eyes were open, but unfocused, staring unfathomably into some saurian
dream. Calandryll counted nine birds busy along the monster's spine, beaks
delving among the wrinkles of its hide, three between the parted jaws, picking
at the teeth with avian industry. How long they took to complete their task he
could not tell: each moment was drawn out in a silence counted by the thudding
of heartbeats too long to measure, the slow drip of sweat, but at last the
birds completed their task, hopping briskly to the dragon's back. Their arrival
seemed a signal, for the saurian's tail waved lazily and the obstructive bulk
drifted clear.

 
          
"We
go." Yssym's sibilant voice was urgent, his head tilted to the sky.
"Dragons wake soon."

 
          
Calandryll
looked up and saw the sun shifted across the heavens, the day lengthening
toward dusk. Katya whispered orders and the Vanu folk set to poling again,
driving the boats on across the meadow. His arm began to cramp from the weight
of the harpoon and he flexed it a bit, not daring to set the lance down, even
though he longed to massage muscles beginning to ache. They moved with agonizing
slowness as the dragons began to stir, ominous fulfillment of Yssym's warning,
the lily pads undulating with the ripples started by tails, submerging bodies.
The birds took flight with startling speed, a handful lofting from their
floating perches to be rapidly joined by the others, the air filled with the
flock, shrill cries echoing as it wheeled low overhead and winged toward the
distant trees.

 
          
Calandryll
saw Yssym's shoulders bunch beneath his rough-woven tunic, the halfling rising
from his crouch to stand with harpoon upraised as a dragon swam close, the boat
rocking dangerously in the wash of the huge tail. His own balance was
precarious and he wondered how effectively he might cast his weapon should that
become necessary. He prayed that it would not: he could envisage no way they
might survive such attack.

 
          
The
trees loomed closer, still too far distant to offer hope of refuge should a
dragon charge, but an enticing promise, grey-gold across the perimeter of the
lily meadow. The oarsmen plied their poles, driving the boats steadily toward
that safety, the open channel of the river clear of the monsters. The trees
grew more distinct.

 
          
Calandryll
began to believe they would survive unharmed.

 
          
And
the attack came.

 
          
A
Vanu in the leading boat called soft warning as a hulk swam closer through the
lilies, set on a collision course. Yssym gestured for more speed and waved the
second boat back, intending to allow the dragon passage between the two craft.
Whether the crew of the second boat misunderstood the halfling's gesture, or
thought to outpace the dragon, none could tell, but they picked up speed. And
so found themselves directly across the dragon's path.

 
          
The
creature seemed, at first, oblivious of the obstacle, and for a moment
Calandryll believed they would escape unscathed. Then the gnarled snout butted
wood. The dragon snorted and submerged. The Vanus drove their poles furiously,
the raftlike vessel rocking on the swirling water. The dragon surfaced on the
far side and turned back. Yssym shouted a warning: unnecessary, for the oarsmen
already dropped their poles and took up harpoons, the three remaining archers
sighting on the monster. Its tail flicked, awful evidence of its strength as
the massive body was propelled like some vast red battering ram at the fragile
boat. Arrows flew, imbedding in the snout. The dragon roared, jaws spread wide,
hiding the vulnerable eyes and sensitive nose. They closed on the bulwarks,
wood splintering to open a ragged gash that let in water. A harpoon stabbed
down and the dragon bellowed again. A man yelled, falling overboard, and the
dragon took him, screaming as man-trap jaws closed about his waist. Three more
of the beasts approached. Yssym shouted, "Go fast!" and Katya
shouted, "No! Help them!"

 
          
There
was little help they could offer. Quara and her women sent shafts fast at the
dragons. One pierced an eye and the wounded monster roared in pain, rolling,
its belly a target for the arrows. The rest converged on the damaged boat, more
coming now, attracted by the commotion. Another man tumbled into the water,
standing shoulder deep to drive his harpoon between the jaws of the saurian
that engulfed him, man and dragon disappearing together even as another beast
rose up to crash alf its length across the stem of the stricken boat. The lily
meadow filled with the bellowing of the enraged dragons; the screaming of the
Vanu folk as they were dragged down. Calandryll locked a fist about the
talisman, willing its magic to drive the monster back, but the stone remained
inert, cold to his touch; useless.