Seeds of Rebellion (35 page)

The skiff and the canoe came to a halt beside one of the towers. Galloran stood, moving the fabric away from his mouth and raising his raspy voice as best he could. “The Drowned City is one of the most hazardous destinations in all of Lyrian. A singular threat lurks here, a powerful being of considerable intelligence. Once, long ago, this being aided me, and I intend to solicit assistance again.”

“What assistance justifies the risk?” Ferrin asked.

“This is where I acquired my supply of orantium globes. As most of you may recall, the mountain where orantium was once mined has been lost for ages, as has the procedure for extracting and storing the volatile mineral. A handful of orantium globes survive as curiosities in the treasuries of the mightiest kingdoms. Maldor probably has some in reserve, but certainly not many. As a lad, I knew that the lorevault at Trensicourt contained three.”

“Most consider orantium so valuable, they would never detonate a globe,” Aram said. His eyes were closed, his face glossy with sweat, but apparently he had been listening along with the others. “The spheres we shattered back at the bridge could have purchased a minor kingdom.”

“I will use any weapon at my disposal to combat the emperor,” Galloran said. “Orantium globes may have become scarce across the rest of Lyrian, but they are no rarity in the Drowned City. The
spheres could certainly help us directly: stopping manglers, disrupting cavalry charges, threatening strongholds. But acquiring a significant stockpile of orantium may benefit us even more politically. Mere possession of the explosives will provide an added reason for potential allies to regard us seriously.”

“How did you find this place?” Ferrin asked. “I trade in information. Naturally I have heard of Darvis Kur, the Drowned City. I know it is perilous. But I have heard no rumor of orantium here, or of the powerful entity you mentioned.”

“My suspicions of an orantium stockpile arose through research,” Galloran said. “Material in the lorevault at Trensicourt gave me clues, and I pursued further knowledge at the Repository of Learning and elsewhere. The shadow of the emperor already loomed very large. I was desperate for any possible advantage.”

“Considerable orantium remains?” Ferrin asked.

“Much more than I took,” Galloran said. “I was given a hundred spheres. Hundreds more survive here, maybe thousands.”

“The creature gave them to you?” Rachel asked.

“He was a man once,” Galloran said softly. “A wizard. After incurring the wrath of his master, he was cursed—imprisoned here, his body altered, set on a course to mutate into something like a winaro.”

“You can’t mean Orruck,” Ferrin said.

Galloran nodded, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I had no idea. I doubt anyone knew that Orruck survived in Darvis Kur. It was a secret Zokar took to his grave. Orruck can no longer speak, but I have long been able to discern the thoughts of those with sufficient mental ability. He meant to slay me on sight, but when I sensed his mind, I called out to him. He hadn’t communicated with anyone for centuries. When he learned that Maldor had risen to power, he aided me with orantium to harm his former rival.”

“Unbelievable,” Ferrin murmured.

“Do you think he’ll help you again?” Rachel asked.

“Possibly,” Galloran said. “If I came to him alone and blind, he might view me as a failure who had squandered his previous gift. But we have two advantages. First, Rachel, I will present you as an adept with the potential to rival Maldor. Your native talent should intrigue and impress Orruck. And second, we carry with us the secret of Orruck’s unmaking.”

“The Word,” Jason realized.

Galloran dipped his chin. “We may not possess the key word designed to undo Maldor. But Maldor informed Jason that he had used a true key word as bait for the false quest, in hopes that an actual key word would better withstand careful scrutiny. He used the word crafted to destroy Orruck. As soon as Jason relayed that secret, I knew we had to pursue the orantium hoard.”

“Maldor could have lied,” Ferrin pointed out.

“I do not believe that Maldor or anyone else suspects that Orruck survives. After years of listening, I have heard no hint of such a rumor. Still, we can’t rule out the possibility that Maldor had less fathomable reasons to lie about the origin of the Word. Nor can we ignore the chance that Orruck has been so thoroughly transformed that the Word will no longer touch him.”

“You may not need to actually use the Word,” Aram said. “The threat might suffice. A bluff with some teeth behind it.”

“Uttering the Word would be a last resort,” Galloran agreed.

“Who will join you?” Ferrin asked.

“Rachel, do you recall the Word?” Galloran asked.

“Yes.”

Galloran adjusted the fabric over his face. “After the influence of Nedwin’s memory enhancer, I recall it as well. I shared it with him, syllable by syllable, while under the spell of the venom.”

“Do we really need to show Rachel’s abilities to Orruck?” Jason asked. “Can’t we just use the Word as leverage?”

“Wizards cannot resist respecting her kind of talent,” Galloran answered. “Not only is her innate Edomic aptitude rare and precious, it reflects the abilities Orruck most admired about himself. Her Edomic skill will add legitimacy to our cause in his eyes. It could help us secure what we need without having to test the efficacy of the Word.”

“I’ll go,” Rachel said.

“I don’t like it,” Jason replied. “Just tell me the syllables. I’ll go hit him with the Word.”

“It might not work,” Rachel countered. “I know you’re just being protective, but it doesn’t make sense here. If the Word fails, you die and we lose the globes. This orantium might make a huge difference for the rebellion. The safest bet is for me and Galloran to go.”

“We’ll bring Dorsio,” Galloran said. “The rest of you should wait here in the skiff. Dorsio has some globes. If we fail, we’ll make sure to detonate some orantium as a signal. If you hear an explosion, get away from here.”

“Not that I lack confidence in the outcome,” Ferrin said, “but would you consider entrusting the piece of my neck to somebody who is not about to confront one of the most deadly beings in the world?”

“Fair enough,” Galloran said. “Dorsio, please lend the fragment to Jason.”

After the chunk of flesh changed hands, Ferrin and Tark came aboard the skiff while Galloran, Dorsio, and Rachel moved to the canoe. She and Dorsio used the paddles to propel the canoe beyond the towers. Galloran raised a hand in farewell. “If we do not return by nightfall, we will not return.”

Rachel glanced back at Jason. He looked worried. She understood how he must feel. He had risked everything to come protect her, and now she was heading into danger, leaving him behind. She tried to concentrate on paddling. Only a few sparse trees projected from the water up ahead. There were plentiful lily pads the size of tabletops, many supporting basket-shaped fungi. For the first time since entering the swamp, branches were not constantly interlaced overhead. Even screened by the hazy atmosphere, it was nice to be under sunlight. “How do we know where to go?” she asked.

“The water is deep in this part of the city,” Galloran said. “We’ll cross the empty parts and watch for a round tower, the top of a graven obelisk, or the head of a tremendous statue.”

“What happened here?” Rachel asked. “Who would build a city in a swamp?”

“These lands were not always sunken,” Galloran said. “Darvis Kur was once the oldest continually inhabited city in all of Lyrian. And arguably the most splendid. Many wizards made their homes here. The great wizards of Darvis Kur belonged to an order called the Custodians of the Mended Chain. They incurred the wrath of a rival order known as the Twenty Magi.

“The Twenty Magi attacked Darvis Kur, and the battle went poorly for the Custodians. They sought help from a wizard hermit known as Pothan the Slow. He seldom came into Darvis Kur, preferring the solitude of the surrounding wilderness. He was described as large and bald and somewhat misshapen, slow of speech and odd of manner. But when the Custodians of the Mended Chain begged him to help save their city, he answered the call.

“Eldrin and Zokar are considered the greatest masters of Edomic. But perhaps no wizard in history could rival Pothan the Slow when it came to sheer power. By the might of his Edomic, Pothan singlehandedly crushed the Twenty Magi. None survived
to carry the order forward. The tale tells that they were swallowed by the earth.

“The Custodians were frightened when they discovered just how much power this peculiar wanderer wielded. After his impressive victory, they invited him to become an honorary member of their order, and then tried to poison him.”

“How awful!” Rachel said. “After he saved them.”

“How foolish,” Galloran said. “They succeeded in poisoning him, but not in slaying him. Furious after the betrayal, Pothan sank this entire region, forcing it downward by the devastating might of his Edomic, while raising hills and mountains round about. Surrounding lakes and rivers drained into this realm in an unprecedented flood. The monumental effort cost Pothan his life and created the Sunken Lands. Tens of thousands perished.”

“Wow,” Rachel said. “What a story.”

“Interestingly, the wizard Orruck was a young member of the Custodians of the Mended Chain at the time, one of the few to survive. Centuries later, Zokar chose to make his boyhood home into his nightmare prison.”

Rachel and Dorsio piloted the boat around a stone spire jutting up from the water. A few grimy patches of gold suggested it once was gilded. The slime on the stonework glistened more than the precious metal.

“Is Orruck still a person?”

“He looks nothing like a man. His mutation left him speechless, and his mind has grown clouded. With each passing year, he becomes less human. When I last saw him, he retained enough self-possession to hold a mental conversation … and to crave vengeance against a former rival.”

“Do you think he’ll still be human enough to communicate?” Rachel asked.

“He has existed in this state for centuries,” Galloran said. “It has hardly been twenty years since I met him. Barring dreadful luck, Orruck should be in a similar state to when I last encountered him.”

Dorsio pointed diagonally.

Following the line he had indicated, Rachel saw the merlons of an ancient wall protruding from the water, like broken teeth. Behind the partially exposed battlements rose a rounded tower scaled with lichen, empty windows and loopholes offering glimpses of the darkness inside.

Rachel described the tower.

“Bear to the left,” Galloran said. “We are nearing our destination.”

“Why does Orruck hold a grudge against Maldor?” Rachel mused. “It was Zokar who did this to him.”

“The apprentices of Zokar each desired to replace him one day,” Galloran said. “Only one could have survived to do so. Orruck and Maldor would have slighted and betrayed each other whenever possible over the years. Zokar is no more. But Orruck has never forgotten his rivalry with Maldor. Hateful emotions consume him as he patrols the Drowned City, unable to exact revenge on his old adversaries, incapable of wielding the Edomic power he once controlled. As long as he believes he can use us to harm Maldor, we stand a good chance of winning his aid.”

Across a broad span of water, a marble head rose above the surface of the swamp. Part of one nostril had broken away, deep cracks diverged across the chin, and one ear was netted with webs, but the imperfections could not disguise the artistic quality of the regal countenance. Some distance from the enormous head, a stone fist broke the surface of the water, positioned as if it had once gripped a weapon.

“We found the big statue,” Rachel said.

“Which way is it facing?”

“Toward us, more or less.”

“Proceed in the direction opposite the way the figure is facing, and before long you will behold our destination.”

“There are a bunch of trees that way.”

“Good. The swamp is less deep around the shrine.”

Leaving behind the misty rays of the afternoon sun, Rachel and Dorsio guided the boat under the shadow of tall trees bulging with fungal growths. Only the paddles lapping against the murky water disturbed the silence. There was no peace in the quietness, Rachel thought. Only tension.

Carved pillars and stone roofs began to protrude from the water in abundance. Through the trees and man-made obstacles, Rachel glimpsed the elaborate stonework of an immense structure. More details became apparent as the canoe drew nearer. Crowned by six spiraling steeples, the walls of the edifice were ornamented with crumbling stone tracery. Weatherworn stringcourses underscored rows of narrow lancet windows. Leering gargoyles clung to the building like huge stone geckos. The overall impression was that of a partially submerged cathedral.

A yawning hole in one wall allowed water into the structure. The opening was irregular, as if created by brute force.

“It’s gigantic,” Rachel said. “I see a big hole in the wall.”

“Take us inside,” Galloran instructed. “Orruck awaits.”

“How do you know he’ll be here?” Rachel asked, running a hand across the goose bumps on her arm.

“Like most predators in the Sunken Lands, Orruck is nocturnal,” Galloran whispered. “This is his lair. He has excavated extensive tunnels in the bedrock beneath the shrine. During the day, he’ll be here.”