Banewreaker (23 page)

SUNLIGHT SLANTED THROUGH THE APPLE trees in the orchards of Malumdoorn.

It was an unlikely setting for a meeting of such moment. Carfax only wished he knew what it was about. The Dwarfs had assembled en masse, awaiting them, standing in wary ranks amid the gnarled apple trees.

Hobard, they greeted with respect, giving evidence of a long-standing agreement between their folk and the scions of Malumdoorn. The surly young knight glowed at the attention, in his element.

Yrinna's Peace, Carfax thought. It was the bargain the Dwarfs had made, taking no part in the battles that divided the Lesser Shapers. Eschewing Lord Satoris' Gift, they were parsimonious with carnal pleasure, and bore only enough children to ensure their own continuance. In turn, they asked only the freedom to tend the land, making it fruitful as Yrinna Sixth-Born had willed it.

This was the bargain old Vedasian families such as Hobard's had struck, offering protection and noninterference for the goodwill of Yrinna's Children, who made their orchards fruitful.

What now threatened it?

"Earth-Tenders." Malthus' voice was soft and soothing: he spread his arms, indicating he held naught but his staff. "You know who I am. And you know what I have come for."

The Dwarfs murmured, a low sound like the wind through apple leaves.

"We know." A Dwarf elder stumped forward, thrusting out his stubborn chin. Tangled beard, aggressive eyes, honest dirt ingrained in his hands. "You bring war, Counselor. You breach Yrinna's Peace. Why? Why should we heed you?"

"Because Satoris Banewreaker will hold sway over the whole of Urulat if you do not," Malthus said steadily. "Is that your wish, Earth-Tender Haldol? To see the soil of Yrinna's bosom poisoned with his dripping venom? It shall come to pass, and no seed may grow untainted, no blossom bear fruit."

It was not true. In the long years that Staccia had held an allegiance with Lord Satoris, its lands had come to no harm. His Lordship sought only to live unmolested by Haomane's Wrath. Carfax opened his mouth in protest, found his tongue hopelessly stilled, useless as a dried root. Bright sparks burned in the Elder Haldol's eyes, doubt nurtured by the Counselor.

"We do not take part in the Shapers' War," the Dwarf said.

"Oh, but you do." Malthus the Counselor's voice was soft, sweet and cunning. "Yrinna's Children deny it, yes. But you have withheld that which is not yours, and so doing, you aid the Enemy. Our greatest Enemy, he who would scorch the earth."

"So you say." The Dwarf Elder rubbed his chin. "So you say. We have a test, Counselor, for those who would claim Yrinna's favor. Is your Company willing to attempt the Greening?"

"It is," Malthus said steadily.

There was a stirring among the Dwarfs, a parting of the ranks. From the rear of the gathering, two approached, bearing an object with reverence. Male and female, they were, gnarled as roots, with eyes that shone at the sanctity of their office. Carfax craned his head to see what they carried.

A staff, like unto Malthus' own, but untrimmed—a dead branch wrenched whole from the tree. Twigs it sprouted, and a few desiccated leaves, shriveled and brown. Haldol the Elder received it with both hands, raised it to touch his lips to the rough bark before planting it like a spear in the orchard soil of Malumdoorn, driving the butt-end into the earth.

It stood like a standard, brittle and ash-grey.

"The challenge of the Greening is begun," said Haldol.

"So mote it be." Malthus bowed his head and grasped the Soumanië.

"Earth-Tender—" Malthus glowered, the Soumanië flickering.

"It is as it shall be." The Dwarf Haldol crossed his arms, backed by his people. "Do you gainsay it, Counselor? Son of Malumdoorn, what say you, who brought them here?"

Hobard of Malumdoorn cast a bitter sidelong glance at the young Yarru-yami. "Malthus, I came in faith to Meronil to bring you these tidings, but as I am Vedasian, my sworn oaths are to Yrinna's Children. I abide by their demands. You drove us into the Unknown to secure the Charred lad, risking all our lives to find him. Let him answer for it, if it is their will."

Ranked behind the dead branch thrust like a challenge into the earth, the Dwarfs waited. Malthus' Company shifted, awaiting the Counselor's decision. Carfax watched them all. Blaise Caveros was tense, small muscles moving along his clenched jaw. The Ellyl, Peldras, was at once watchful and tranquil. There was hunger in the eyes of Fianna the Archer, desperate and keen.

Why, Carfax wondered?

As for the Yarru, they whispered together, fat uncle Thulu bending his head to the boy's ear, lips moving. What was he saying? Why was the boy smiling? Did he not realize, Carfax thought in frustration, he was naught but a pawn?

"
So be it
!" Malthus' voice cracked like thunder, then softened. "Dani. Try. You can but try, lad."

That he did, Dani of the Yarru, earnest of face, approaching the dead branch in all seriousness. He reminded Carfax, unexpectedly, of Turin, the young Staccian in his command. He'd taken his duties thus seriously, Turin had, given the difficult task of impersonating an Ellyl maiden. It had galled him to be left out of their ill-fated attack on the Company of Malthus. Remembering the barrows of grass where his comrades had fallen, Carfax was glad he'd spared the lad. He wondered if the young Staccian and his two companions had made it safely to Beshtanag, and hoped they had. In the silence of his locked tongue Carfax hoped, very much, that Lord Satoris' plans were uncompromised.

Dani squatted before the branch, laying hands upon it.

Pale and weathered and grey, the dead wood; the boy's palms were pale too, lined and weathered. He cupped them together, and the radiating lines met to form a star in the hollow of his palms. He bowed his ragged head as if listening, and his uncle, his fat uncle, chanted low under his breath, grinning. Blaise raised an eyebrow. The Archer bit her lip. In the orchard, with the sweet smell of sun-warmed apples in the air, the Dwarfs gathered close, watching.

Dani uncorked the vial at his neck.

One drop; one drop of water he let gather at the lip of the vial. One drop. And it smelled—
oh, Shapers
! Carfax inhaled deeply, unable to help himself. It smelled… like water. Like life, dense and condensed, mineral-rich. It swelled, gathering roundness, shining bright as steel. Swelled, rounded…

… dropped.

Greenness, dizzying and sudden, as the earth rang like a struck bell. Urgent leaves burst from the dead wood, a riot of green. Twigs sprouted and grew buds, blossoms opened, releasing sweet fragrance. Pierced by plunging roots, the very soil buckled, even as the branch thickened into a sapling's trunk.

"Aiee!" Dani leapt back, wide-eyed, clutching his flask. "I did that?"

"You did." Malthus smiled, laying a hand on the little Yarru-yami's shoulder. There was approval in his grave features, and at his breast, the Soumanië lay quiescent and dark; a red gem, nothing more. "You did, Dani."

Gazing at the tree, the assembled Dwarfs murmured in awe.

"The Water of Life," the Elder Haldol said. "That is what he carries."

"Yes." Malthus inclined his head, one hand still resting on Dani's shoulder. "The lifeblood of Uru-Alat. He is the Bearer. Has he met your challenge, Earth-Tender?"

In the silence that followed, Haldol of the Dwarfs sighed, and the weight of the world was in that sigh, his broad, sturdy shoulders slumping. "Yrinna's Peace is ended," he whispered, then straightened, a terrible dignity in his features. "So be it. Counselor, that which you sought shall be yours."

"It was not yours to keep, Elder," Malthus said gently.

"No." The Dwarf lifted his chin and met his gaze. "But we kept it well, Wise Counselor. It has never been used, for unlike other of
Haomane's weapons, it may be used only once, and the Counselor Dergail held his hand. I pray you use it well."

A bright spark wove its way through the ranks of Dwarfs, who shrank at its passage. One more came, wizened and old, eyes closed against the brightness he bore. Even in daylight, it trailed flame. Fianna the Archer stepped forward, her mouth forming a soundless O, hands reaching unthinking.

"Behold," Haldol said. "Oronin's Bow, and the Arrow of Fire."

"They are yours," Malthus said to the Archer.

Her hand closed on the haft of the bow; black horn, with an immense draw. Kneeling, she set the bottom tip, fingers curling, seeking the string unthinking and drawing it to her cheek. A shaft of white fire tinged with gold, the Arrow flamed, illuminating her cheek, the tendrils of hair curling at her temple. "Oh," she said, her tone amazed. "Oh!"

Carfax, watching, shivered to the bone.

When the unknown is made known, when the lost weapon is found…

The Prophecy was being fulfilled.

BESIDE THE SWELTERING FURNACE, THE flow of the Gorgantus River, diverted by Lord Satoris himself, powered a wooden waterwheel. From it led a welter of rods and cranks, turning and clanking. Levered weights rose and fell, pressing down on the spring-boards that powered the bellows, which opened and closed on their leather hinges, blowing strong drafts. Teams of Fjeltroll worked steadily, feeding coal and ore into the endless maw of the furnace.

It was hotter than before, so hot Tanaros could feel the skin of his face tightening. And the metal that emerged was glowing and molten, pure iron, collected in molds to cool. No longer did the Fjel need to beat the impurities from it before it was fit for the forge.

"You see?" Speros, soot-darkened, was grinning. He shouted above the clamor of the smelting furnace. "We use the force of the river to drive the bellows, providing more heat than even the Fjel can muster!"

"I see." Tanaros had to raise his own voice to be heard. "A commendable innovation! Is it done thus in the Midlands now?"

"No." Speros shrugged, his restless gaze surveying his efforts. "Only to grind grain, but I thought it might serve. No one ever gave me the means to try it, before. I reckon it will help. No small task, to equip such an army." He settled his gaze on Tanaros. "We
are
going to war, are we not, Lord General?"

"Yes." Tanaros beckoned, leading him a distance from the furnace. Outside, the grass was parched and a reeking cloud of smoke and sulfurous gases hung heavy under the lowering sky, but at least the air did not sear his lungs. "Some of us are, Midlander."

"I want to ride with you," Speros of Haimhault said, direct and sure. "You promised me a horse; one such as
you
ride, General. Have I not done all I promised, and more?"

Of a surety, the lad had done so. His innovations had increased productivity. With the aid of his waterwheel, the forges of Darkhaven smelted iron at twice their usual rate. This was the first chance Tanaros had had to inspect them, but it was said Lord Satoris himself was pleased.

"Aye." Tanaros ignored his own misgivings, clapping a hand to the young man's shoulder. "You have. You'll have your mount, boy, and your place in the ranks."

Speros smiled with fierce, unadulterated joy.

It was not that his trust had proved ill-placed, for it had not. In a short time, Speros of Haimhault had proven himself in Darkhaven. The Fjel trusted him. Hyrgolf spoke well of him, and Tanaros valued his field marshal's opinion above all others. The young man's energies and ambitions, that had found too narrow an outlet in the Midlands, flourished in Darkhaven. He bore no resentment for the harsh treatment he had received at the outset, reckoning it worth the price. Against his better judgement, Tanaros liked the young man.

That was the problem.

How long had it been since Tanaros had donned the Helm of Shadows and led the forces that destroyed Altoria? Eight hundred years, perhaps. Even so, he had not forgotten how, beneath the blaze of hatred in his heart, there had been a twinge of sorrow. For as much as he had been wounded and betrayed, hated and hounded, they had been his people. And he had destroyed them, bringing down a realm and reducing a dynasty to a shade of its former self.

"You may have kin among the enemy, you know," he told Speros. "It may be a cousin or a brother you face in battle. And this war will not be one such as the poets sing. We fall upon them from behind, and allow no quarter until the threat is eliminated. There is no glory in it."

Regarding his furnace with pride, the Midlander shrugged. "You have outwitted them, General. Is that not glory enough?"

"We do not do this for glory. Only for victory."

"Victory." Speros ran a hand through his brown hair, sooty and disheveled. "A Sundered World in which Lord Satoris reigns victorious. What will happen then?"

"Then," Tanaros said slowly, fingering the
rhios
in his pocket, "it may be that the Six Shapers will capitulate and make peace. Or it may be that they will not. Either way, Urulat will be in Lord Satoris' possession, as will Godslayer and two of the three Soumanië. And it may be that the third, Dergail's Soumanië, is not beyond reach."

Speros' eager, indrawn breath hissed between his teeth, and his eyes glowed at the possibilities. "With those things, he could challenge Haomane himself!"

"Yes," Tanaros said. "He could."

"And if he won?" Speros asked. "Would he slay the Six?"

"No." Tanaros shook his head. "I think not. He loved his sister Arahila well, once; I believe he loves her still. Though she sided with Haomane against him, it was she who stayed the Lord-of-Thought's hand when his Wrath scorched the earth, and she who raised the red star in warning. Lord Satoris cares for his honor. It may be that she would persuade him to mercy."

Speros glanced westward. "What manner of world do you suppose his Lordship would Shape?"