The Wyrmling Horde (29 page)

“It is a Runelord's duty to protect his Dedicates. It's not important to do it just to make sure that you keep your endowments. It's a matter of honor. The people who give you your endowments, they're people just like you—with homes, and families, and hearts that break. You get to borrow their strength, or their vigor, or their beauty. And while you rejoice, they suffer terribly.”

Talon's curiosity about her parents' scars had never really waned. She'd heard stories about them so often that in time the tales of the ceremonies seemed more like memories than history.

So she knew what to expect—the harking chants of the facilitators, the smell of charred hair and burning flesh, the glowing worms of light that came from the forcible as it was pulled away from the Dedicate's skin, the rush of ecstasy that came at the touch of the forcible to her own skin.

Talon took her endowments before the emir did. Many of those who had offered attributes were girls who had been friends when she was small. They had played games together, chasing blue-bellied lizards among the rocks along the hillside of Caer Luciare, planting flowers amid the vegetables in the garden, and studying at the crèche school as toddlers.

Before the ceremony ever began, the facilitator Thull-turock took the potential Dedicates aside and asked if they understood what they were doing, if anyone had tried to coerce them into this agreement, and if they understood what they would be giving up.

He was pleased to see that so many of her friends came
forward of their own volition, offering their attributes because they believed that it was right to do so.

And so for each endowment, one of her closest friends offered up an attribute.

It broke Talon's heart to see a young warrior give up his strength. His name was Crel-shek, and as a youth he had hoped to marry her, but Talon's father had forbidden it, claiming that he was of inferior breeding.

As she garnered attributes Talon grew stronger and suppler, inhumanly quick and filled with vigor. Alun brought his dogs, and she took endowments of scent and hearing from them, while an old man with uncommonly keen night vision gave his sight, and thus Talon sharpened her senses.

But all of my virtues are bought with blood, she realized, and suddenly she began to understand why her father had never wanted to speak of his past as a Runelord.

When she had taken her endowments, the emir finally was granted his. First came his daughter, Siyaddah, and he went to a corner and talked to her softly, saying his good-byes. Talon could not help but overhear. With her sharpened senses, even her own breathing seemed loud.

He spoke the words that any father might speak at such a moment, telling her of his love for her, his pride in her, his hopes for her future, for a life well lived and well loved.

But it was his final words that caught Talon's attention, for before he left, he whispered, “Sleep peacefully, my child. I borrow your speed for but a while. It shall not be long before you wake.”

That's when Talon knew.

He plans to return his endowments to the givers, Talon realized.

But the only way that he could do that would be to give up his life.

He can't do it before the battle is won, Talon thought. He must make certain that the wyrmlings are defeated.

So he will die at his own hand thereafter.

It was a noble thing to do. Few were the Runelords in history that had undertaken such a feat.

But Talon knew of the emir's courage and determination. He was just the kind of man to do it.

The thought both thrilled and horrified her. It thrilled her to think that he was so noble of heart. It horrified her because it made her desire him more.

The emir's face was stoic as he began taking his endowments, and then it was time for Talon to go.

She went first to her mother, Gatunyea, and to her little brothers, and said her farewells. Then she gave her thanks to her Dedicates, and to those who would yet grant endowments to her through those Dedicates.

Talon went to get her pack, and sat quietly examining her clothes and her small stores of food, deciding which to take. Nearby sat Alun, who was quiet and sullen. He hunched over his dogs, caring for them from long habit. Now a young girl knelt beside him, his new apprentice.

I should go and thank him, too, Talon decided. He loves his dogs as if they were his own children.

The camp was settled for the night, and in a far room someone was singing, filling the chamber with sweet sound. Nearby, the water lapped on the shore of the underground pool.

Two of Alun's dogs cowered close. These were the ones that had given hearing and scent. They peered up at him with sad eyes, as if stricken and betrayed. After all of their love and service, he had done this.

Other dogs—Wanderlust and some of the old ones—hovered nearby.

Alun sat there petting the dogs. He hadn't liked taking their endowments. Each time an attribute had passed into Talon, the dog that gave it had yelped in pain, then floundered to the ground or crawled off, alternately yelping and whining. They could not understand how deeply Talon needed their gifts, or how grateful she felt. But now Alun sat petting them, and the dogs licked his hands, as if to tell him that all was forgiven between them.

There was movement nearby. Talon ignored it, thinking that someone must just be going to relieve themselves in the night.

“Back with the mutts?” Connor Madoc asked, slipping up behind Alun.

Talon turned to see Connor and Drewish hovering above Alun, leering down.

“Just putting them to sleep,” Alun said, “for the night.”

“Those should have been mine,” Connor said, nodding at the dogs. “We had an agreement.” He leaned close, threaten-ingly. Talon could not help but notice that Drewish had his hand on the pommel of his dagger.

“I, I'm sorry,” Alun said. “I, I got so nervous!”

Talon did not hesitate.

She leapt up, rushed five paces, grabbed Connor by the collar of his shirt with one hand, by the belt with the other, and then hurled Connor as far as she could out into the pond.

He only went ten feet, but she was gratified to see how far Connor flew.

Drewish did not have time to react. Talon's endowment of metabolism saw to it that before Drewish could draw his dagger, he went hurtling, as if intent on catching his brother in midair.

Both of them landed with a splash, and from a few yards off came heavy clapping.

“I'm glad to see you putting those endowments to good use,” Daylan Hammer said. “I daresay that those two can use the bath.”

“Aye,” Talon agreed. “But there is a kind of filth in them that water cannot remove.”

The Madocs peered up at Talon, then at Daylan Hammer, and went slogging off without another word.

Daylan came close to the dogs, knelt next to Alun, and patted Wanderlust, smoothing out the grizzled hairs on her snout. “Do not use this dog for endowments,” he said. “She's too old. I fear that she would die from the transfer.”

“I wasn't thinking about that,” Alun said. “She's earned her retirement. I just want her to live to a ripe old age.”

Daylan smiled. “Let us hope that that is a very long time indeed.”

That dog might live longer than me, Talon thought, for I am going into the wyrmlings' lair.

Even if she survived, Talon would be taking six endowments of metabolism from men and dogs, so that she might move swiftly. But in doing so, it was like taking poison. Her life would pass away as if it were a dream. A day to her would seem like seven, and if she should ever have a daughter, Talon would age and die before the girl ever grew old enough to bear her own children.

I will wither before my parents do, Talon realized.

Daylan said absently to Alun, “Our facilitators are taking a rest now, but when they have recovered, they will prepare more forcibles, and grant us more endowments.”

“But, aren't you leaving sooner than that?” Alun asked.

“Yes, we're leaving, but our Dedicates are staying. They can take endowments for us now.”

“How can they do that?” Alun asked.

“Imagine that a man gives you his strength. When he gives that endowment, his strength flows to you, like a stream of water flowing into a lake.

“Now, imagine that another man gives more strength to your Dedicate through another endowment. His stream of water flows into that man's flow, just as happens when the winter showers create new streams. What happens then?”

Alun's face crinkled up as he tried to envision it. “There is more water in the first stream?”

“Exactly. The strength does not pool in your Dedicate. Instead, the strength of both men flows to you.

“Thus, as Talon's Dedicates take endowments, and vector those attributes to her, she will gain their powers as the day progresses. From time to time, she may feel a surge of strength, or a rush of wholesomeness when stamina is added.”

He turned to Talon. “Are you ready to go?” Daylan asked. “Have you said your good-byes?” His voice was sober. He knew that they might be going to their deaths.

“I've spoken my farewells,” Talon said. “Is the emir ready? The Cormar twins?”

“Give them a few minutes more,” Daylan suggested.

Talon glanced across the chamber and saw the emir talking to some old battle companions. The Wizard Sisel and Lord Erringale stood at his side, waiting for him to finish. At his back were the Cormar twins.

One of the twins was gazing off, deep in thought, when suddenly he burst out laughing. The emir turned to see what had caused the outburst, and the young man said, “Sorry, just thought of a joke.”

Talon turned back to Daylan.

“Daylan,” she asked softly. “I heard Lord Erringale say that you had been banished from this world. Why was that?”

Daylan smiled, considered how to answer. “Ages ago, there was a great danger on your world, the world of the Runelords. It was thousands of years ago. A young king had arisen, and his people were set upon by reavers. He begged for my help. His people were already studying rune lore, and they knew how to give one another ‘blessings,' by drawing runes upon their friends with their fingers. But it was a crude craft, barely understood, and those who gave the blessings failed far more often than not. Besides, such blessings fade quickly.

“So they begged for my help.

“I had only begun to suspect something back then. The Bright Ones call this world the ‘One True World,' and for countless ages the Bright Ones and Glories alike have thought that when the binding came, it would be upon this world, that it would be bound to some lesser world.

“You see, not all worlds are equal. Many of them are deeply flawed, and of all the worlds, this one reminds us most of what the world should be.

“But I had begun to suspect that looks can be deceiving. For rune magic worked on Fallion's world. In some cases, it worked better there than it does here. It was as if this ‘True World' of ours was only partly true, as if it had some fundamental flaws.

“Each of our worlds is like a puzzle with missing pieces,
but no two worlds are missing the
same
pieces. This world, Fallion's world, the wyrmling's world—each seemed to contain something that the others had lost.”

Talon asked “What powers were on the wyrmlings' world that the others lacked?”

Daylan hesitated, as if he did not want to answer. “The dead were more alive there than upon other worlds. The barrier between the physical world and spirit world was thinner there. That is why they had the Death Lords and the Knights Eternal.”

“So you were banished for teaching rune lore?”

Daylan nodded. “I brought my friends before the White Council, and I pleaded their cause.

“But the Bright Ones did not want to interfere. They knew the dangers of teaching such lore. They were afraid that evil men would take the rune lore and use it for selfish reasons. And they were right. Many evil men have been empowered by it. But the Bright Ones were afraid of something more: they were afraid that the lore might be spread from one shadow world to the next, a thousand times over, becoming a plague that runs through the universe.”

“And has it?” Alun asked.

“No,” Daylan said. “Men do not long to conquer worlds that they have not seen, or that they have never dreamed of.”

Talon realized that Daylan was right. She'd never seen any worlds but her own, had never imagined that there could be other fine worlds.

“Are there worlds that are not in peril?” Talon asked. “Fine places, I mean. Worlds where you might go just to rest from your cares?”

Daylan laughed, as if it were a naïve question. “As I said the other night, there are more worlds than you can count, more than you can imagine. Some have life on them, and others are void. Some have people on them, not too different from you.

“But the worlds mirror each other. Somehow, even on worlds where one type of mold is struggling to dominate another, the great drama unfolds.

“No,” Daylan laughed, “there is no fine place where you can really rest—unless, of course, we manage to bring peace to
your
world.”

“And if we do, won't peace come to all of the worlds?”

“I suppose it will.”

The emir, the Cormar twins, the Wizard Sisel, and Erringale were still saying their good-byes. Daylan glanced at them, got a sly look on his face, and whispered to Talon, “Come here.”

He went to the back wall, and embedded in it were tiny stones like diamonds no larger than an infant's thumbnail. They glowed softly, so that from a distance they had looked like stars. It was these stones that lit all of the rooms, Talon realized.

Daylan said, “The folk of this world call these ‘sunstones,' for when left in the sun, they store its light. The beams then leach from the stones at night when darkness falls.”

“They're pretty,” Talon said. “A stone like that would be worth a man's weight in gold on our world.”