Chaosbound (44 page)

“Why can't we?” Wulfgaard begged.

“It would warn the wyrmlings in the fortress,” Aaath Ulber said. “Each time that we kill a wyrmling, a couple of dedicates are freed. Those who have granted the dead wyrmling metabolism will wake from their slumber, someone who has given sight will regain his sight. This won't
go unnoticed for long, and the wyrmlings would retaliate, mount a campaign.”

Wulfgaard seemed not to have considered that.

“More importantly,” Aaath Ulber said, “by killing the wyrmlings, we're endangering their Dedicates.”

“How is that?” Warlord Hrath asked.

“What do you think that the wyrmlings will do to a Dedicate that revives?” Aaath Ulber asked. “A man can never grant a second endowment, so they're no use as Dedicates. They might be of some use as slaves—but there is nothing that a human can do that a wyrmling can't. A slave would serve little purpose. But the wyrmlings have a taste for human flesh. I doubt that anyone who revives in the wyrmling dungeons will ever breathe fresh air again.”

Wulfgaard's face paled in concern. “We can't just slaughter the wyrmlings then,” he said. “Even if we wanted to, we can't rise up against them without . . .”

“Sacrificing the lives of every man, woman, and child that they have already taken from you,” Aaath Ulber confirmed.

Warlord Hrath's eyes flickered as he glanced up to Aaath Ulber. “There is really only one course of action then,” he suggested. “We should kill the Dedicates ourselves, take the wyrmling's endowments from them. If we did, we'd leave the wyrmlings sunblind, as slow as commoners, and vastly outnumbered. We could take them then—even our old men could take them.”

Wulfgaard grabbed the map and threw it to the ground. “No!”

Draken looked up to Aaath Ulber. As Sir Borenson, he had killed Dedicates before, slaughtered them until the stairs on the Dedicates' tower at Castle Sylvarresta ran with blood. There were songs sung about it still today.

Aaath Ulber shook his head and growled, “Now who is talking about sacrificing the lives of your people? By a conservative estimate, the wyrmlings have twenty thousand troops here on the land. Each of them has at least two endowments. The wyrmlings must have taken at least forty or fifty thousand of your people down to their lair.”

“More like a quarter of a million,” Wulfgaard said.

“By the Powers!” Aaath Ulber swore.

The number was staggering. It hinted at vast forces of enemies down in the warrens.

Aaath Ulber had never entered a wyrmling fortress of this size. He wondered if it was even possible to clear the monsters out of such a place with as few resources as he had.

Yet if he was to attack Rugassa, he imagined that this would be a good trial run. It would give him a chance to explore the wyrmlings' lair, study their defenses, and learn more about the enemy.

Aaath Ulber asked, “A quarter million. Are you certain?”

“I've heard from people in fifty villages and cities,” Wulfgaard said. “If my estimates are right . . . then it is a quarter of a million at the very least.”

“So many can't have given endowments yet,” Aaath Ulber suggested. “It would take four dozen facilitators working night and day to grant the endowments that have been given already.”

Unless the facilitators had taken endowments, Aaath Ulber realized.

He wondered. How many facilitators might the wyrmlings have? How many wyrmlings are in that fortress? If each warrior has only two or three endowments, does that mean that they have over a hundred thousand warriors?

That seemed to be too large a number.

Perhaps the wyrmlings are harvesting these folks, or merely executing those who present a danger.

Myrrima suggested, “The wyrmlings might be holding people captive until they have enough time to take their endowments.”

That sounds right, Aaath Ulber thought. It would accomplish two things: the wyrmlings could round up those most likely to revolt while ensuring themselves a stock of potential Dedicates.

But harvesting so many endowments would require forcibles. Did the wyrmlings have that much blood metal?

Aaath Ulber considered. They might be mining it here in the North, but it seemed more likely that they would rely on shipments coming in from Rugassa.

The thought sent chills through him. “If we could capture their forcibles . . .”

Suddenly, the worry over what to do with wyrmling Dedicates was shoved to the back of Aaath Ulber's mind. There were more important tasks at hand.

Aaath Ulber pointed at the map. “I came to save human lives, not take them. There is only one way I can see to save the Dedicates. I'll have to go down and kill their guards, then work my way
up
the tunnels, slaughtering wyrmlings as I go.”

Draken considered the plan. That would leave twenty thousand wrymlings on the surface, wyrmlings that still had endowments, wyrmlings that would need strong men to fight them.

“We'll need several champions,” Aaath Ulber said. It would be hard on these people to grant more endowments, but they would have to make the sacrifice. They'd have to scour the villages and farms nearby to find the needed Dedicates. “I'll want good men with a hundred endowments each to clear out the wyrmlings runelords on the surface. I think that they'll need twenty endowments of metabolism at the least. I'll also need men with me down inside—to guard the wyrmlings' hoard of forcibles, to guard the Dedicates, and to help me keep any wyrmlings from escaping. . . .”

Draken dared hope that he might be one of those who were granted endowments. He'd been in training with his father for weeks, practicing to kill wyrmlings. From the time that he was a child, Draken's father had prepared him for this.

Warlord Hrath sat frowning, considering the plan. “This is dangerous,” he muttered. “If the wyrmlings on the surface get wind of what you're doing . . .”

“They would wipe out entire cities,” Aaath Ulber declared. “They
will
wipe out cities, and there is little that we can do to stop them. But if the wyrmlings have as many forcibles as I suspect, we don't have time to come up with a better plan. With every moment that we hesitate, they get stronger.”

Hrath shook his gray head. “A good plan is one that has a high chance of success—”

He was correct, of course. A new thought struck Aaath Ulber.

“If my guess is right,” Aaath Ulber said, “the strongest wyrmlings are down underground right now, giving in to their breeding frenzy. The wyrmlings have no love in them, but at this time of year a wyrmling bull becomes like a stag in rut. Its neck swells, its eyes become bloodshot, and its mind goes cloudy. The bulls fight each other for the right to mate with a woman, even if there are a hundred other sows waiting for the honor.

“With them in such a state, I should be able to slaughter their greatest lords wholesale. That means that the ones on the surface, for the most part, will be the weakest of their men, culls.”

Warlord Hrath shook his head. “And if you're wrong?”

“Then maybe we'll all die,” Aaath Ulber said, trying to make light of the situation. “But then, we're all bound to die someday.”

He raised his mug of ale in salute and laughed heartily. The barbarians of Internook were a violent people, given to war. Hrath raised his own mug, and Wulfgaard did the same, and men all around gave a cheer.

“So,” Hrath asked, “you hope to kill all of the wyrmlings down in that hole?” The old warlord could not keep the edge of doubt from his voice. For one man to kill so many, tens of thousands, did not seem possible. Even a powerful runelord can make mistakes. Even Raj Ahten himself was bested by lesser men.

“I do,” Aaath Ulber confessed. The giant rose to his feet and paced a bit, deep in thought.

Myrrima peered up at him, her sharp eyes piercing. “Even their children?”

“Every lion grows from a cub,” Aaath Ulber said. “I cannot leave any alive.”

“Are wyrmlings lions?” Myrrima asked. “You told me once that they may have come from human stock—just like you, just like me.”

“They have no love, no sense of honor.”

“Will you slaughter the babes in their cradles?” Myrrima asked. Gorge rose in Draken's throat at the thought. “Or will you bash in the heads of their toddlers? You want to protect us, and that is good,” Myrrima urged.
“But where does protection end and vengeance begin? Where does honor meet dishonor?”

Aaath Ulber stood deep in thought. His face was a mask of revulsion.

He is a ship that has lost its mooring, Draken told himself.

Aaath Ulber looked to Warlord Hrath for counsel. The warlord shrugged.

“Leave the babes and the children,” Hrath advised, “any child smaller than a grown man. Perhaps some folks of Internook can take care of the babes. If any of the older children need to die, we'll take care of it.”

Aaath Ulber sighed. “All right, I will spare the children that I can—and gladly. But I'd hoped not to do all of the killing with blade work. The wyrmlings often have the makings of smoke or water traps in their warrens. I'd hoped to use their own infernal devices against them.”

“Blade work will be the only way,” Hrath agreed.

Wulfgaard said evenly, “I want to be the one to guard our people in the underworld! My betrothed will be among the Dedicates.”

Aaath Ulber whirled. “If our warriors get killed down there, you understand that you can't just let the Dedicates live. Our fallback plan must be to kill them all, to strip the wrymlings of their advantage. Could
you
do that?”

Wulfgaard gulped, hung his head. “I could kill them all but one,” he protested.

Aaath Ulber peered hard at him and whispered, “That's not good enough.”

Draken pondered. Could I do it?

Cold reason suggested that he should be able to.

I wish these people no harm, he told himself, but neither do I know them. I would care for no one down there, and I would spare no one. A man who gives an endowment to my enemy is my enemy, and his life is forfeit. Every man, woman, and child down there knows that.

“Perhaps I should be the one guarding the Dedicates,” Draken suggested.

The giant Aaath Ulber stared hard at Draken, his brow furrowed in thought.

“The boy has a good point,” Warlord Hrath put in. “It would be better if it was not one of our people down there, lest pity stay their hands.”

“Draken,” Rain argued, “you can't do this. You can't leave me behind. You have promises to keep.”

She was right, of course. He too was betrothed, and he could not just forsake Rain. He didn't dare take the endowments of metabolism needed.

“I'll go,” Wulfgaard said. “It's not your battle. I'll go, even if it means that I must kill my beloved.”

The wyrmling patrol reached Ox Port at eleven that morning.

They were announced by the town guard, of course. A young man pitching hay from a loft on the hill began to sing:

“Mother take your washing off the line,
For a stranger comes to town.
And much will vanish for all time,
When a stranger comes to town.

Beware the wanton look, the shifting eye,
The hungry stares of the passersby.

So, Father, bring your children near,
If a stranger comes to town.
For many are hurt that we hold dear,
When a stranger comes to town.”

It was the signal that wyrmlings had arrived, and Rain's heart began to hammer.

But Aaath Ulber took the news in stride. He glanced up toward the loft, and the young workman jutted his chin to the west, dropped his hand by his side, and held down three fingers.

“Looks like it's time to earn my keep,” Aaath Ulber said, as he rose
from his seat on the steps of the pub. He dusted off his pants and told Warlord Hrath, “I'll need some rope.”

“You're going to try to take them alive?” Hrath's disbelief showed in his eyes.

Aaath Ulber grabbed a rock from the ground. It wasn't large, perhaps only a pound, but his intent was obvious. “Every time I kill one of those wyrmlings, it frees several Dedicates—and sends them to their deaths. There are better ways to handle our enemies.”

He'd hardly finished speaking when the wyrmlings came round a bend, striding down the cobbled road in full war gear, bone-white armor and helms. Their heads swiveled back and forth as they marched through town. They were obviously searching for the wyrmling guards who were supposed to be watching the village.

Aaath Ulber walked toward them casually, head bowed. Few folks were on the street. They were all down in the bay, catching fish, cleaning them, salting them, preparing them to smoke.

So it was that Aaath Ulber sauntered up to the three. They bridled when they saw him, recognizing him for what he was, and one wyrmling looked as if he might turn and run for help.

Aaath Ulber merely stepped aside so that they could pass. The wyrmlings seemed confused by his actions. They halted, not daring to turn their backs upon him. One glanced ahead, as if fearing that more men of Caer Luciare might bar the way, when Aaath Ulber attacked.

He leapt in a blur, fists raining blows upon his opponents, pummeling them with no weapon greater than a stone.

Aaath Ulber didn't have his full complement of endowments yet. He wanted twenty of metabolism, but the town had only seven forcibles left. The others had all been used up, and he wasn't likely to get more soon.

But his endowments proved sufficient. Within two seconds he knocked all three wyrmlings down. One had a split helm, another gushed blood from his eye.

Aaath Ulber relieved the monsters of their weapons. One of them kept struggling to get up, and Aaath Ulber kicked him hard enough to break a few ribs, and put him back down.

It took nearly half a minute for Wulfgaard to fetch some rope from the pub. Then the men bound the wrymlings and a dozen volunteers helped drag them back to the arena, where Aaath Ulber locked them in cages that had been made to hold bears.