The Wyrmling Horde (9 page)

“But a better world than this existed once, a world so pure and beautiful that your imaginations cannot do it justice. The Great Wyrm tried to seize control of it, and in the battle that ensued, the One True World splintered into millions and millions of lesser worlds.

“Your world is but a shadow of that perfect world, as many of you now know. And these shadows were wrought by Despair.

“But the One World, the netherworld, still remains. It is diminished from what it once was, but it exists. I can open a door into it, if you desire to enter.”

“And who will lead us,” Drewish Madoc demanded, “you?”

“I have no desire to lead these people,” Daylan said.

“Damn you, I think you do!” Drewish growled.

“Please,” the emir said. “Let us not quarrel—I beg you. Let us not choose a leader until after I bring my friend home.”

The Madocs could not easily mount an argument against that, not without seeming churlish. But their expressions showed that they wanted to.

Talon studied Connor Madoc, and inwardly she fumed.
Her father had warned her of the danger posed by that man. Dozens of times he had tried to lure her father to his side with petty bribes and flattery.

Daylan said, “I must warn you that even the One True World holds its risks. Still, it is much like your world, and you will not have to abide there long. There may be dangers ahead, but compared to the certain destruction that awaits us if we stay here, the risks are worth taking.

“I intend to open a door into that world, and over the next few days you can march at your leisure. In time, I will open another door to this world, and we can enter somewhere far away from here, beyond the knowledge of the wyrmling hordes.”

For an instant, the crowd was stone silent. But they could not remain silent for long. Daylan Hammer was offering hope where only minutes before there had been none, and now Talon whooped in triumph. All of the rest of the people joined into the shout.

“Let us see this world first!” Connor Madoc clamored to be heard above the crowd.

Daylan Hammer shrugged in acquiescence, then begged use of a staff from the Wizard Sisel; the wizard complied.

Daylan touched the ground with the tip of the staff, and then swung it into a high arc, as if tracing the path of a rainbow.

When he brought the staff back to the ground, he stood for a moment, muttering an incantation. He raised his staff again and began drawing a rune in the air with its tip.

The air around the company suddenly seemed to
harden
: that was the only way that Talon could describe it. She could still breathe, but there was a heft to the air, as if it had grown heavy and torpid, like a pudding as it thickens.

The smell of a storm filled the field, and lightning sizzled and popped at the point of Daylan's staff.

Suddenly, it was as if an invisible wall fell away.

One instant, Talon was peering at Daylan and the others, and behind them she could see the white fields of summer,
thick with dying thistles and black-eyed Susans. The next moment, it was as if a curtain had opened, revealing something Talon had never imagined.

There was a door in the air, shaped like a rainbow, high and arching, large enough so that several people could march through it abreast.

Beyond the door was a land different from her own. There was a vast glade with grass an emerald green. It was dawn there, or perhaps it only looked like dawn because of the huge trees that blocked the sunlight. A numinous opalescent haze filled the water-heavy air.

Not a mile ahead, at the edge of a small lake, a stand of pine trees rose up impossibly high, as if trees were mountains in that world.

Rich flowers filled the meadow. There were pink posies on the ground, each blossom the size of a child's fist, and bright yellow buttercups, and bluebells that grew so tall that one could look up into the hollow within their flowers.

Bees droned lazily as they trundled about in the morning air. A sweet scent blew from the netherworld, a perfume of flowers so rich that it threatened to overwhelm Talon, but it was mingled with an earthy scent of rich soil and sweet grass.

But even more than the serenity of the scene before her or the fragrance that blew from the netherworld, the call of morning birds beckoned Talon.

There were larks at the fringe of the meadow singing songs that were more intricate, more complex and variant in tone, than the loveliest song from a flute.

Almost by instinct, Talon longed to be there. She suddenly found herself shoved from the back as someone lunged toward the door. A shout rose from among Talon's people, and it seemed that they would stampede through the opening and bolt into the netherworld—not from fear but from desire.

Daylan Hammer shouted, “Hold! Hold! All of you!” He held the staff at ready, barring the way, as if he would club the first person who tried to get past him.

A woman, a young mother holding her child, stopped in front of him, and a wordless cry of longing rose from her throat.

“Listen,” Daylan said. “All is not as it seems. The world you see is beautiful, yes, but it can also be treacherous. There is perfect beauty there, and perfect horror, too.

“Some who walk through this door will die, I fear. “Touch nothing until I tell you that it is safe. Keep quiet, lest you attract attention. Do not drink from any stream until I tell you that it is all right. Do not eat anything without asking me first.”

There were shouts of agreement to the terms, but still Daylan Hammer barred the way. He looked into the eyes of the women and children, as if to be certain that they understood, that they would heed his warning.

“One last thing,” he said. “There are men on this world. Some of you have heard of them. You call them the ‘Bright Ones.' Their ways will be strange to you, and their magics may be frightening. You must not anger them. Neither should you quarrel with them, or lie to them, or steal from them.

“They have no desire to harm you, but their conduct to you may seem impossibly harsh.

“Most importantly, they will not welcome you. It is my hope that we will meet none on our journey. And if you happen upon them, and think them cruel, know only that their enemies are far crueler.

“If we are discovered, the Bright Ones will likely banish us back to your world. You will not be allowed to stay. I am opening a door to paradise, but only for a brief moment. You cannot stay forever. Understand this, and enter at your own peril.”

He tried to bar the way for an instant more, but the netherworld beckoned, and with a shout of triumph the woman went charging through the door in the air.

Daylan is wiser than I thought, Talon decided. He has just made himself our king, for no one will support the Madocs so long as they find themselves in a new and dangerous world.

While the crowd streamed through, nearly forty thousand strong, Talon suddenly felt a strange reticence.

This is more dangerous than we know, she thought. It may be more dangerous than it is possible for us to know.

  3  

It is only when you know that no one—not family, not friend, nor any force in the universe—cares for you, that you begin to learn the virtue of self-reliance. It is only yourself that you can trust, and only yourself that you must remain true to.

Thus, self-reliance is the Mother of All Virtues—the kind of fierceness, cunning, and unwavering resolve that one must master in order to succeed in life.

 

—From the Wyrmling Catechism

That afternoon, Rhianna rested on the wind as she soared toward the Courts of Tide, riding thermals of hot air that rose from the plains below.

The sun shone full upon her back, warming her wings. It had not been a full day since she had won them in battle, pulling the magical artifacts from the corpse of a Knight Eternal; she was not used to them yet. She was a fledgling still.

Learning to fly was every bit as hard for her as learning to walk is for a toddler. The journey of more than three hundred miles in a single day had been made only with frequent stops, where Rhianna had fallen in a heap, exhausted. She was dripping sweat from every pore—partly from her exertion, partly from the heat of the day.

But as the day warmed she had discovered currents of air rising along the sides of the hills, and if she held her wings rigid, she could ride those currents like a hawk.

From Rhianna's vantage point, she could see for miles in every direction.

She had passed this way only a week ago, walking through the pine forests and tramping through fen and field. She knew the landmarks.

But the land had changed. The trees and grass were dying, the edges of leaves were going brown. With the binding of the worlds, all of the world was falling under the wyrmlings' curse, a blight that killed wholesome plants and would leave only thorns and thistles and the most hardy of gorse.

Ancient ruins now rose from the ground everywhere—strange monolithic buildings, broken towers, thick stone walls.

These were ruins from the big folk, the warrior clans that had fled Caer Luciare. Rhianna had not imagined how marvelous their culture had once been.

The remains of great canals crisscrossed the land.

She did not have time to study the wonders. An urgent need was upon her. She had been charged to warn Fallion's people of the wyrmling threat and see if she could make allies of men who had once been his enemies.

More important, Fallion, the man she loved, had been taken captive to Rugassa. She would need help if she was going to free him.

She had little to bargain with—only a few forcibles, hidden in her pack. But a few, along with the promise of many more, might well be enough.

As she winged toward the Courts of Tide, she marveled at the changes that had taken place there.

For a thousand years, the Courts of Tide had been the richest city in all of Rofehavan. Built upon seven islands, the city was surrounded by the waters of the Carroll Sea, and great bridges spanned from island to island.

But now everything was amiss. The ground had risen,
leaving fields of rotting kelp and sea urchins to the east of the city. The odor of brine and decomposing fish assailed her. Carcasses from beached whales and a leviathan littered the plains.

Down below, islands had become hills. Ships in the harbor were stranded on dry ground, miles from any shore. Rhianna peered to the east, seeking for a glimpse of the ocean. She could not be certain, but she thought that she saw water far in the distance, twenty or more miles out. But it could have just been vapors rising from what was once the ocean floor.

Swooping into a dive, Rhianna headed for the old palace at the Courts of Tide. It still stood, tall and pristine. Its white towers gleamed in the morning sun. Atop its pinnacles, standards snapped in a sharp breeze—white flags with the red Orb of Internook at their center. Where once there had been alcoves open to the sea, where undines had risen on the waves to take council with ancient kings, Rhianna saw only rocks and ruin. All along the island's old shore, shanties and fishermen's huts and old inns leaned precariously, like so much driftwood washed up on the beach.

Children could be seen down below, where once there had been forty feet of water, searching through the remains of tide pools for crabs and urchins, while adults prowled about old shipwrecks, perhaps seeking for lost treasure.

Rhianna banked to her left and folded her wings, dropping toward the main road to the palace.

She was two hundred yards out when someone let a ballista bolt fly from the castle wall. She folded her wings, creating a smaller target, and hit the ground hard.

It was a terrible landing. She lost her footing and went tumbling, head over heels.

It might have been all that saved her. The marksmen upon the castle wall stopped firing, as one of the men shouted, “I got it! I shot it clean through.”

Others cheered and celebrated.

Rhianna climbed to her knees and cried out, “Parley. I come in peace. I come to speak with Warlord Bairn on an urgent matter, concerning the safety of his borders.”