144: Wrath (17 page)

That caught Flint’s attention. He leaned toward them and inclined his head. When their conversation ended, Flint jerked back upright in his saddle, nearly toppling his horse. Vor cast a wary eye on him, but did not press the issue.

Flint was puzzled. His knowledge of the Dorokti language was based solely on his expertise with High Peltin, but he thought he had heard Vor say, "Ready the armies for the four-legged man."

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Matthew the Blue had spent the day humoring Dairbun hospitality. Certain protocols had to be observed, which meant Matthew had been given a tour of the Great Hall and shown all of the advancements made since his last visit five years earlier. In truth, he wanted nothing more than a chance to meet with their Grand Council to discuss adding the strength of their army to the impending battle.

The cities of the Dairbun were carved into the hearts of the great myrmian trees that made up the Jungles of Myrioth. The trees towered one thousand feet into the sky and grew a quarter of a mile wide at the ground. Matthew found it amusing that such large trees housed beings of such short stature. Of course, as a Cairtol, he could not comment too harshly on their size, considering they were more than double his own.

The Dairbun were squat creatures that resembled somewhat stunted Peltins. They averaged four feet in height and had thick waists and strong limbs. Their culture revolved around engineering and craft, and each aspired to produce one thing in their lifetime worthy of the Great Creator.

Matthew had always appreciated the ingenuity the Dairbun possessed, and as Karrah led him down a newly opened branch of the city, his eyes were wide with wonder.

He had met Karrah years ago when the Dairbun engineer had first earned his crafting apron. He considered the man to be one of his closest friends, but knew that it would be difficult to persuade the Dairbun council even with his help.

Karrah had become Next-Elder since Matthew’s last visit, due to become Elder when the current leader moved on. This made him a powerful voice, though no decisions could be made without majority support of the High Council, which was tied directly to the influence of the current Elder.

It was hard for Matthew to focus as Karrah took him to the very top of Arulon using their new sand-powered elevator. They stepped off the platform and walked through a narrow passageway. Matthew blinked a few times as they emerged into the cool, evening air high above the ground. They were near the very top of the jungle’s canopy and could see out over many kallows toward the western shore.

The duo walked out on the thick branch side by side and sat. Dark, rolling clouds gathered over the sea beyond the jungle, and the sky, just out of reach, was dim and shaded like perpetual dusk. Far away, beneath the ominous clouds, the land of Waysmale hid; its rocky shoreline barely visible from the highest points of Arulon. The entire continent of Odoror, of which the Myrioth Jungle was the southernmost point, had not seen the light of a full day in an age. Were it not for the water clocks and the town timekeepers, it would often have been impossible to know if it was dawn or dusk, for the suns always clung to the edge of the world, never leaving the horizon's grip.

"I’m glad you have come," said Karrah. His long hair showed signs of turning from a youthful black to wizened silver. He hid his chubby face behind a thick beard gathered in an elaborate wooden carving, and his teeth were in desperate need of a good scraping. He was barely over four feet tall, and his hands showed the wear of his years spent gripping rough-handled tools. He had been one of the primary architects of the city of Arn, an eight-square-mile, entirely self-sustaining city that floated among the clouds. The feat was considered by most to be the greatest in Dairbun history. It had certainly earned him his current position.

"A lot has changed since you last visited."

"So it seems," Matthew said as he watched a shadowhawk make its nest on a nearby branch. "Your works never cease to amaze me."

Karrah scratched his ear and shook his head. "I was more referring to our people and even the council. We’ve become insular, Matthew. That’s part of the reason we’ve advanced so much within our own homes. We no longer send our students out to see what help they can offer the Coranthens or the Madurians. We take care of our own, and little more."

Matthew forced a sad smile.

"It’s easy not to worry about the rest of the world," Karrah continued. "It’s easy to say, ‘I’m only a simple architect,’ and to leave it at that. It’s fine being an architect or a smith or a sculptor and ignoring the darkness around you when you keep your eyes shut."

Matthew reached up and rested his tiny hand on the Dairbun’s shoulder. "If the rest of the council’s hearts are as open as yours, Karrah, I believe our meeting tomorrow will go quite well."

Matthew rose early to spend some extra time in preparation for his appeal to the Dairbun Council. He took a light breakfast of eggs and salted pork before heading off to meet Karrah outside the council chambers. Matthew made sure to steal a glance at the Dairbun advancements in siege weaponry on his way through the twisting corridors, and his hopes were high as he walked through the arched, double doors and into the chamber.

Two hours later, he found himself still standing in the middle of a ring of high tables. Twelve Dairbun men, including Karrah, sat in their oversized chairs looking down at the tiny Cairtol. The room was arranged so that the council members always peered over the edge of their tables at their audience below them, but for the lone figure of the Matthew the Blue, it was overkill.

The circular room lay at the very center of Arulon, below the surface of the Myrioth Jungle floor. It was the lowest room in the city, as the roots had been left alone so that they did not risk hollowing out too much of what sustained the great tree. Carvings of Dairbun in various stages of creation ringed the room. Some figures hunched over anvils or furnaces, others lifted beams and brackets, and a few held tools over assorted inventions or used levers to support large constructions. At the pinnacle of the room, a glowing orb cast soft light along the walls and wiped away all shadows from the center of the council’s ring.

Karrah, who had dressed in his gold-plated crafter’s apron, sat near the head of the arrangement in a large, elaborate chair. He nodded along with his friend’s words, but the other council members were proving much harder to convince. It had taken Matthew the better part of the last two hours to steer the conversation toward asking for aid.

He was tired of talking, and his tongue kept sticking to his dry lips. But most of all, he felt a pang of hurt as he looked up at Karrah. For all his nodding, Karrah had said very little in support of Matthew so as not to go against the crowd and jeopardize his future as Elder.

The Cairtol once again fought to bring the conversation back around to Polas and the others.

"The Leader of the Armies of Light has returned to us. How can we not take notice and stand beside him?"

"Quite an incredible claim, Matthew," said a wrinkly old Dairbun. "Polas, the Iron Blooded General, has returned. What proof have you brought us of this?"

"None but my word," Matthew said. "But it has always been enough in the past."

Karrah gave him a reassuring head-bob, though others on the council were less eager to agree.

"He is recruiting allies to join his cause as we speak, or rather, as I speak," Matthew continued.

"Yes," interrupted another Dairbun.

Matthew remembered him distastefully from previous encounters. His name was Brahnt, and he thrived on being contrary. He was all eyebrows, and his robes were covered with golden spindles that had no true function other than to make the man look pointy. With his idle thumbs, he stroked a carved walking stick carried only for fashion.

"It is his cause. His fight," Brahnt said. "Not ours! Why should our people concern themselves with his doomed quest?"

Matthew pursed his lips and shook his head. He turned his attention back to Karrah, hoping his old friend might help him; that he might say anything that would help move the talks toward a more favorable resolution, but the engineer remained silent.

"Your people live directly in the shadow of Exandercrast," Matthew said. "You can see the shores of Waysmale from this very tree. There is no true daylight here. Only morning lances and evening shadows. Have you not lived in fear’s darkness long enough?"

"Fear’s darkness?" Brahnt laughed. "Unlike your primitive kind, our astrologers know the true reason for the northern twilight. It is certainly not caused by your God of Fear. The suns simply choose to reside in the south."

Matthew raised a single eyebrow and scratched his ear.

A pudgy Dairbun cleared his throat. He was much older than the rest of the group and wore many embellishments that established him as an elite artisan. His face was fat with bulbous jowls, and he wore a boxy hat that made him look as though he had been smashed into his chair. A pair of spectacles clung furiously to his nose, driving deep red marks under his eyes. His name was Mohva, and he was the current Elder of the Dairbun. His decisions were always supported unanimously as the other council members attempted to garner his favor.

"In a few more decades, the world will shift again, and dawn will once more shine upon our people," he said.

He dug through his robe and pulled out a large scroll. On it was a rendering of Traesparin floating through that which lies beyond. Past the southern edge of the world were three small suns, and to the west, a cluster of broken moons. Outside this area was a collection of stars and constellations.

"Let your kind keep their superstitions," Mohva said with a scoff. "And let your friends have their impossible battles."

Matthew hung his head in defeat. How could he possibly reason with those whose minds were too full to hear his words?

"Thank you for your time," Matthew said.

He conjured a portal but hesitated before stepping through. With a sigh, he turned and looked hard at Karrah with wide eyes and a half-grin. "Dawn has nothing to do with suns, or moons, or stars. It is a choice to start again… a choice to fight… a choice to live."

Matthew took a single step forward and vanished along with his arcane door.

The council laughed and murmured amongst themselves, but Karrah remained silent. His spirit was low, and remorse roiled within his stomach.

Why was he unable to find words when his friend needed them? Was this council’s approval so important? He cursed himself under his breath and prayed that he would someday be able to make it up to Matthew, though he knew not how.

"The little man thinks us Peltin children!" Brahnt was leading a chorus of laughter. "Beware of fear’s darkness! The Iron Butcher has returned!" The council chamber echoed with hoots and guffaws, and each one drove the guilt of guilt further into Karrah’s heart.

These were the people he wished to lead as Next-Elder, but he did not have the courage to stand firm beside one of his most loyal friends. It was a weakness unbefitting of a leader. A weakness unbefitting of a man.