The Wyrmling Horde (30 page)

Daylan pried a sunstone from the wall, cupped it in his hand so that the light would be hidden, then pinched it hard. The light flashed brightly.

“The harder you pinch, the brighter it flashes. Try it. The stone gets quite warm when you do. The sun's heat is stored in them, too.”

He held the stone out for her, and Talon's fingers wrapped around it. She held it in her fist so that no one would see. She squeezed it briefly, felt it flare. It was like a tiny fire in her hand, leaking light so brightly that it glowed red through her fingers. She had to drop it.

Suddenly, understanding spread across her face.

“A flameweaver could make good use of these,” Talon said.

“They are quite common here,” Daylan whispered. “The Bright Ones mastered the craft of making them ages ago. I cannot explain the process fully, for it would take hours, but it requires only coal from the fire and sand, along with bits of shaved metals—zinc, silver, and others that your peoples
have no names for. Then the ingredients are blended and crushed under great weight until the pieces fuse.

“Now, Erringale will not allow weapons from this world to be taken to yours. But if a few sunstones were to fall from the wall, he would not miss them. . . .”

Talon saw the possibilities. “How would the wyrmlings have fared against us,” Talon wondered aloud, “if we had borne sunstones into battle? Our whole world might have been saved.”

“It might yet be saved,” Daylan suggested.

“And Fallion will be able to make use of these. If I but pinch one . . .”

“The stones are everywhere here in the sanctuary,” Daylan said. “Look around, while I go speak to Erringale.”

So he left Talon alone for a moment. She was not a thief. She would not have taken a man's purse no matter how much gold it held.

But she knew what Daylan wanted. Perhaps he feared that Erringale would have him searched before they left. Or perhaps taking the stones would violate one of his oaths. She knew full well that he was a man of high ideals—too high, sometimes.

Yet he had given knowledge to her people in times past, and now he was asking her to steal light and fire from the Bright Ones in this hour of need.

In a few moments, Talon had five sunstones hidden in her leather purse.

Then she heard Daylan call “Talon?” and it was time to go.

Erringale's people provided packs filled with food and flasks of warm beer, and then they were off.

The good folk of Luciare cheered them on their way as they raced up the steps of the tunnel, and exited out of the great tree, then stood there in its shadow.

Full night was upon them, and the storm had passed. Broken clouds sailed through the sky like the wreckage of ships upon a dusky sea. A moon larger and fuller than that on Talon's world gave copious light, but they did not set off
through the fields, which were still wet with rain-slicked grass.

Instead Erringale raised a small stick and traced a pattern in the air, until suddenly a gust of wind blasted them all in the face, and they stood peering back into a duller world—a world of stunted grasses and twisted trees and air that somehow smelled fouler and more acrid than the air of the netherworld.

No wonder Erringale's people think so little of us, Talon realized. We are like poor cousins to them.

The Cormar twins rushed through, followed by Daylan, Talon, the emir, and finally the Wizard Sisel and Lord Erringale himself.

They found themselves standing on a nasty plain thick with grass, tangled with weeds. The bitter scent of wild carrots filled the air, and the white tops of their flowers grew an arm's length away, rising almost to her chest.

Talon thought at first that the air smelled so badly because of her new endowments. But she noticed that the grass nearby looked more sere and dry than it had before, and the leaves on the trees were going brown.

The curse, she recalled—the wyrmling curse. Before the binding of the worlds, the wyrmling world had been all but free of plant life. Only the nastiest and most unwholesome still survived. But with the binding, entire forests had appeared, a blessing from Fallion's world.

Now those trees were dying, blasted by the wyrmling curse.

That is the cause of the smell, Talon thought. The good plants are dying, while the evil ones thrive and choke them out.

Though it had been full night in the netherworld, the sun here was nearly up, just breaking free of some golden clouds on the horizon. Yellow moths dipped and glided all around, and the air was filled with morning birdsong.

Good, Talon thought. The wyrmlings will be looking for places to hide for the day.

The company halted, peering around, trying to get their bearings.

“Over there,” Sisel said, pointing just to the south. A low hill rose in that quarter, with stately elms spreading their branches wide. Just beyond them, Talon could see the gray stone tops of the fortress at Cantular.

“But our road lies that way,” Daylan said, pointing east.

Talon had traveled this same highway only two days before, with Rhianna, Jaz, and Fallion, after High King Urstone had rescued them from the wyrmlings. So much had changed.

I'm a different person altogether, she thought. She had taken endowments from men and dogs, and felt so much power coursing through her, so much health and energy yearning to break free, she almost imagined that she was like a young robin in its nest, yearning to escape and take flight.

The scents of dry grass and bitter weeds came so strongly it was as if she had never smelled before. The cheeping of birds, the bark of a distant squirrel, sounded so loud that it felt as if she'd gone through her entire life straining to hear anything at all.

But she had taken endowments from more than dogs. She'd taken them from half a dozen good men and women from the warrior clans.

She felt eager to run to Rugassa. But the Wizard Sisel and Lord Erringale would never be able to match the grueling pace that the others would set.

“It is time to part,” Sisel said, as if reading her thoughts. “Erringale and I will go west, to commune with the One True Tree. But you must go north to rescue your friends. Any last words?”

“Be well,” Daylan said. “May you find joy beneath the True Tree.”

“There is little advice that I can give,” Erringale told them. “I have fought enemies much like your wyrmlings for far too long. I have only one final word of advice. Free your friends, but do as little harm as possible. It is better that you die than that you put a stain upon your soul.”

“I would gladly give my soul if in so doing I might free my friend,” the emir said.

Erringale gave him a harsh look, as if to rebuke him, but thought better of it. “Our enemy is devious,” he said. “Never trust such a trade. Let your conscience guide you.”

Talon grunted as if in agreement, though she could hardly imagine how they would break free of Rugassa without letting flow a river of blood.

Erringale bade them farewell, placing his right hand upon Daylan Hammer's shoulder and then squeezing. He whispered, “You have ever been faithful to your vows as an Ael. By keeping them, you have kept your soul. Yet I fear for you now. The path before you is dark, and not even a sunstone can light your way.”

Talon's heart fell, for she felt certain as she looked into Erringale's wise eyes that he knew that she and Daylan had conspired to steal the sunstones.

Then Erringale grasped the emir upon the shoulder and squeezed, and Erringale's eyes filled with light. For just a brief instant, there in the Bright One's eyes she beheld a vision; Talon saw the emir wrapped in flames. Erringale backed off in surprise. “Often upon your hunts for the wyrmlings have you walked crooked roads,” he said softly, “but the road before you is glorious.”

He grabbed the Cormar twins by the shoulder, holding each for a long second and peering into their eyes. At last he said, “Be well, my friends. Be well.”

Last of all he took Talon by the shoulder and peered deep into her eyes for a moment, probing, as if to peer into her very heart. She saw only kindness in his eyes, and wisdom deep and profound. Erringale looked worn, as if he had been endlessly longing for peace.

He didn't see us steal the stones, Talon decided. He wasn't watching. It's just that now he sees through us.

“You go in search of a brother,” Erringale whispered, “yet your heart is torn, for you fear for a father and mother, too. I see them. I see them. A white ship is setting sail from a distant shore.”

The words were totally unexpected, and they brought
tears to Talon's eyes. She leapt forward and hugged Lord Erringale out of pure joy, then pulled back, embarrassed, for she did not know whether it was appropriate to treat a lord of his world so.

Then she hugged the Wizard Sisel, and the two lords said, “Farewell,” and took off to the west, the Wizard Sisel striding through the bitter grasses with his staff swinging in long arcs while Lord Erringale marched grimly at his side, as if the entire world before him was repugnant.

Daylan Hammer, invigorated by endowments of his own, said, “Let us be off!”

He leapt away, and soon a race was on, with the Cormar twins taking the lead while Talon, the emir, and Daylan Hammer followed close on their trail.

Talon loped along easily. She was bred to the warrior clans, and as such, it was expected that she be able to run eight miles in an hour, a hundred miles in a day.

Now, with her endowment of metabolism, she could run twice that pace with ease. And with endowments of strength and stamina, even while running she did not weary.

The landscape was much as it had been two days before. This was a desolate land. Farmsteads huddled here and there, spread out across the wilds—places where the small folk had lived before the binding of the worlds. But the cottages had been knocked down by wyrmling troops, their roofs thrown off and the inhabitants taken.

The sight saddened Talon.

After five miles, they stopped to kneel at a stream and drink, for even a Runelord needs food and water.

“Milords,” the emir asked, “does anyone here have a plan for how we might break into the fortress at Rugassa without taking a few thousand lives?” Away from the prying ears of the Bright Ones, he apparently felt free to broach the dilemma for the first time.

Daylan suggested, “We will enter by stealth, if we can. The wyrmling stronghold was not made to defend against Runelords. I suspect that we can find a way in, either by
climbing walls or leaping over them. By day the wyrmlings sleep, and if we go in the middle of the day we may get far without being noticed.”

“There is no night and day in Rugassa,” the emir argued. “In its depths there is only endless darkness. I have trod those roads before. Wyrmlings will be about.”

“Then,” Daylan said, “we will do as little harm as we can.”

There had been little in the way of planning so far, and this worried Talon. “When we get to Rugassa, how are we going to find the prisoners?”

“We'll learn when we get there,” Daylan said. “I have no plan. I don't think any of us does. I have never been to the depths of Rugassa. None of us have. All that we can do is search for our friends until we find them, and that may take a very long time.”

Talon scratched her cheek and sat there wondering and worrying.

“Have no fear,” Daylan said, smiling at her befuddlement. “Our chances are better than you might think. Rugassa's forces have been drawn thin. Tens of thousands of wyrmlings were required to take Caer Luciare. And if these broken cottages along the road are any indication, Rugassa must have sent troops scattering in every direction to probe their borders and welcome their new neighbors.” Daylan smiled at his own jest. “Thus, the military might of the fortress is less now than it has been in two dozen years.”

“And not all wyrmlings are warriors,” the emir added. “Most of them have more humble professions—miners and craftsmen. Or course, most of them are but women and children. I cannot imagine that there will ever be a better time to break into Rugassa and free our friends than there is now.”

They're right, Talon thought. There won't be a better time to probe the wyrmlings' defenses. Yet she could not feel at ease.

She peered up at the sky. “How do you think Rhianna has fared?”

Daylan cupped a hand and drew water from the stream;
he spattered it on his face and wiped his brow. “She should have found some help by now. When you're giving away forcibles, it isn't hard to find hands willing to take them.”

“I worry about that,” the emir said. “What kinds of friends will she find in this world?”

“People not much different from your own,” Daylan said. “I asked Rhianna to watch this road if she can. We may meet up with her soon.”

Talon worried. She knew what small folk around here were like. The whole of Mystarria had been carved up by its enemies. Fallion Orden was the rightful king of this land, but his rivals had hunted him since childhood and driven him to the ends of the earth. On his return, he should have had a kingly welcome. Instead he had found his lands beleaguered, his country embattled and torn, lorded over by brutish men.

Where would Rhianna go for help?

If she did offer these lords forcibles, surely they would take them. But like a rabid dog, they would then turn and rend her.

Rhianna's treasure might lead to her own demise.

“Let's go,” Talon said, eager to have some of her questions answered.

Soon, Talon received more endowments. She felt a distinct slowing of time as her Dedicate was given an endowment of metabolism. The emir must have gotten similar endowments, for in a few minutes the race began to grow more furious.

They charged over the broken road at thirty or forty miles an hour, going airborne when they topped a small rise. Around them, the world was revealed as never before. Though a slight wind was blowing, as evidenced by a bending of the grass, Talon could not feel it.