The Black Shriving (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 2) (39 page)

The club hit him across the chest with the power of an avalanche. It snapped him out of his dark thoughts with a rush and a roar of explosive pain, and he was lifted off the ground and sent hurtling back through the air. He hit the ground and rolled, came up by reflex onto his knees and hands, and fought for his feet snarling and coughing for a moment before his body crumpled once more. Pain spiderwebbed across his chest, caused his heart to shudder, and with effort he rolled onto his back, looking up unseeing at the stars. He raises his hands, touched his chest, sought to suck in air, but his lungs weren't working. Gasping, retching, he shook his head, and through the pain and confusion he forced himself to roll onto his side.

Weapon...? He forced himself up into a sitting position. He had no time; the troll would be upon him. He heard yells, the sound of boots pounding the rock, dull roars like cave-ins coming from all around. Gregory's voice was raised in command, shot through with fear and rage. Then there were hands under his arms, and Tharok was hauled to his feet. His legs refused to steady beneath him, though, and he growled and shook his head, his tusks almost goring the kragh to his side. Finally, something unlocked in his chest and he took a massive breath of fresh mountain air, the cold purity of it doing much to quell the fire that was raging through his body.

Blinking away the tears, Tharok shrugged the hands away from him. He stepped forward and saw that an ever-growing tide of kragh was gathering around them, weapons drawn. Gregory was standing in front of Grax, facing out, looking at the assembling horde that was quickly growing from the tens to the hundreds. The stone troll was in full rage, its club raised above Gregory's head protectively, its massive bat wing ears twitching and swirling from side to side as it shifted its weight from foot to foot, turning to try to keep the kragh in view.

Tharok stepped forward and roared from the depths of his belly, "Enough!"

The kragh who had been inching forward stopped. Only then did the pangs of failure hit him. The moment had come, the moment of truth, of mastery, and he had failed. He had gambled and lost.

"Weapons down! Now!" He strode forward, trying not to limp, refusing to bend over, to continue sucking in air, to close his eyes and wait for the pain to subside. He didn't know how many ribs might be snapped. The pain was terrific, and a burning was rising in his core, but he forced it aside. "You, all of you, weapons down!"

Slowly the kragh did as he ordered, lowering their spears and sword points but not putting them away. Tharok turned to stare at them all, moving in a slow circle. "There is no problem here. None! This human is under my protection, and his troll is innocent. Everything is alright. Go back to your fires. Sleep! Tomorrow we march for the Dragon's Tear, and I need you strong. Go! There is no danger. Go!"

Reluctantly, the bloodlust still upon them, the kragh retreated. When they were gone, Tharok looked to Gregory. "Apologies. I thought I could dominate your troll, and I failed. My mistake nearly cost us everything. I'll leave you now."

Grax was subsiding, its ears beginning to droop, lowering the hammer so that the great stone head rested gently against the ground.

"Wait," said Gregory, stepping forward, reaching out to touch Tharok's shoulder before dropping his hand. " Fail? If you had failed, you would be dead. If you had failed, Grax would have stove in your chest and splattered your bones across the entire valley. I don't know how you did it, but you passed. Damn you, you did it."

Tharok frowned, the thought taking a moment to sink into his head, and then he laughed. The sound was weak and pained. He fought back the bitterness that arose within him, and almost he chose to confess to Gregory:
it wasn't me that passed your test. I don't have your power.

"Good," he said, voice low and rough. "You will teach me?"

"Yes, damn it, yes. I've only met three others since Egard who could do what we do, and they had to begin with robins and goldfish. You've begun with stone trolls. That is... that is frightening."

Tharok reached up and took off the circlet. The world howled and shrank from an expanse of light to his own limited viewpoint. The skin around his temples felt blistered. He turned the slender band of metal over in his hands, examining it carefully in the firelight. Gregory watched, nonplussed. This band. This crown of Ogri's. What was its limit? From where came its power?

The circlet glimmered. Tharok grunted and slipped it back over his brow, and immediately a wave of confidence and aggression passed through him like a wall of fire. He grinned and Gregory backed away half a step. "Don't worry, human," Tharok said. "You will get your gold. You will get your treasure. You will stalk the battlefield like a hungry crow, and wherever you gaze you will see riches. Stay with me, align your fate with mine, and we will see you richer than even your Ascendant."

Gregory held still, staring at Tharok, and then he nodded. "By the Black Gate, I believe you. I would have laughed but a moment ago, but now I believe it. So be it! I shall cast my lot with you. Deliver what you have promised, fill my hands with more riches than I can spend, and I will teach you all that I know. All that Egard taught me in those high mountain meadows."

"Good," said Tharok. "Now sleep. I have matters to attend to. Follow the Red River tribe tomorrow, and when we strike from the Chasm Walk, I shall ensure that you are able to follow."

Tharok strode away into the dark, his mind aflame with excitement. He would perfect the ability to control the trolls, would summon and bring them all down from their rocky crags. He would enlist their aid, as many as he could find, and with a score of them, he would descend to the Dragon's Tear and silence all his critics. He would present the kragh with their greatest weapon. In one move he would unite the highland kragh, and word of his coming would strike fear into the hearts of the Tragon. All would fear him, all would flee, only to be swept up and brought into his tribe, unifying all beneath his banner.

Through the different small camps he walked, hand massaging his chest. He slowed when he saw Golden Crow waiting for him outside his hut, hands laced over his walking stick, his blind face inscrutable.

"Shaman," he said.

"Warlord," Golden Crow said gravely. "I thought we had spoken. I thought we had reached an understanding."

"We did, and we have," said Tharok, stopping. "What is amiss?"

"I am blind, but I see more than any. The spirits have been screaming in my ear, shrieking their warnings. They say that you learn black magicks from the human. That you seek to control that which should be left alone. What is this that you do? Explain it to me, young kragh."

Tharok controlled the urge to growl. His every move was checked by this old shaman. "Golden Crow, in a few days we will reach the Dragon's Tear. I will stand on the broken altar of the Shattered Temple and issue a call for a Grand Convocation. I need to prepare for that, or fail and lose all. I am doing what I must. I am going to summon the stone trolls and make them part of our forces."

"Impressive," Golden Crow said dryly. "And wholly unnatural. The spirits are not pleased. Why do you think this human travels alone, with only a stone troll for company? Why do you think he is not down in the cities of men, hip deep in wine and naked human women?"

"I don't know," said Tharok, lowering his chin. "And I don't care."

"Well, you should, fool," said Golden Crow. "What he has gained has come at great cost. Do you think this human the only one with this power? There have been others, but they never last long. They always disappear. They are cast out from their societies, banned and shunned. Why, oh great and wise warlord, do you think that is?"

"Because they have power!" roared Tharok, drawing the attention of many camped close by, his patience snapping. "Because they have power unlike any other, and draw the resentment of old meddling fools!"

"No, Tharok!" Golden Crow swung his walking stick and rapped Tharok on the shoulder. "Because they lose their sense of self! If you would be a troll, be a sheep, be a fish or a hawk, then you cannot be a kragh or a human! He who seeks to control others loses himself, and in so doing becomes at once less than he was and more. Yes, there is power; yes, there is the ability to control. But at what price, fool? What price? Why do you think we are not ruled by these men and women? Why do you think they are not in control of the cities, of the world? With such power, they should be!"

"I don't know," admitted Tharok. "It's a fair question."

"Because," hissed Golden Crow, "they do not last. They lose the ability to live with their own kind. They become predators. They become alien. Did this human tell you of the charwolf?"

"Yes," said Tharok, his eyes narrowing.

"Did he tell you from where the charwolf comes? Its origin?"

"No."

"Then think, idiot! Think of the path you are stepping onto. Think, and turn back! If you walk this path, you will lose more than you can imagine. You stand to lose your soul! Your very spirit!"

Tharok stood still as realization washed over him. To lose his spirit... Golden Crow was speaking the truth, the fervor and anger in his voice real and raw. Tharok took a deep breath and thought of Grax, the great stone troll, standing over Gregory as the man hissed and wheeled to stare at the assembling kragh. Thought of his tale, of the firehawks and goats, of Egard alone in the high meadow. Of the charwolf with its yellow eyes leading sheep into the woods.

He growled then, wheeled away and began to run past the campfires, the suspicious faces. Through the dark, back to Gregory's camp.

Gregory heard him coming and rose to his feet. Tharok burst into his small circle of light and strode right up to him.

"Egard. What happened to him? Why?"

"It doesn't concern you."

"Tell me, human, or I will summon all six hundred of my kragh and have them destroy you, troll or no."

"What do you want to know, kragh? You want to know why I killed Egard? Why I killed the man who taught me to become what I am?" Gregory laughed, the sound high and alien, a skittering titter. "You want the truth, the reality? I can give it to you. But you know it won't change anything. Oh, no. You have tasted power. You have merged with the earth and stone and touched the mind of a troll. You know that nothing I can say now will change what you want. I was where you now are, teetering on the brink of the chasm, looking down into the realms of power, but trying to convince myself that I wanted to draw back, that I still wanted to save myself."

Gregory stepped forward so that his face was inches from Tharok's and looked up at him, completely unafraid. "I thought that I would save myself, so I killed Egard when I discovered what he was. I killed him, or tried to, for I don't know if he truly died that night. And I swore to never touch the mind of another from that day forward. Do you know how long that vow lasted? A year. Now, here I am, alone in these high mountain passes talking with a kragh, living with a troll, alone. But, oh, the power I wield! Why would I want human cities and human conversation when I can commune with the sky and listen to the wind? I can fly with the hawk and burrow with the starmole! I can be one with the world! Your Sky Father must feel like this, looking at all and knowing their minds. Power, kragh, power. You want it. You need it. That is what you are about: power and control. So, don't come here barking and yelling about Egard, thinking that it matters. It doesn't. Tomorrow I will go with you to the Dragon's Tear. I will go with you and teach you how to control that which you desire, and you will give me riches. We will grow together, into power greater than of which we can dream of. Am I not right?"

Tharok was shivering, his mind spinning, thinking of the charwolf – the brief glimpse that Gregory had seen in that mountain meadow. Leading human men and women, children and beasts into the darkness. Power. The deep stone thoughts he had touched. The Dragon's Tear. Nakrok. Porloc and the Orlokor, the human empires, the mass of kragh seething and swirling and killing each other forever.

Then he thought of the great Uniter, Ogri, and how he had died alone in that high Valley of the Dead. How he had been the only kragh in memory or legend to ever ride a true dragon. The only kragh to unite them all, a kragh who had no spirit. Who had fled the world before it was too late.

Tharok groaned and covered his face with his hands. The world was spinning around him, and through it he could sense the power within his grasp, the power he need but reach out and take. Armies marching at his command, the world aflame, nights of power and delirium, blood and fire. He could control it, he heard himself whisper in the depths of his mind. He could control himself. It was only a question of willpower, of determination.

Nothing was beyond his reach. Nothing.

With a cry he tore the circlet from his brow, and blessed silence came roaring down upon him, swept the thoughts and pain and dreams from his fevered mind and left him reeling and alone in front of the human.

Gregory was staring at him, his eyes gleaming. Tharok met his gaze and then spat full in his face. The man fell back, shocked, and Tharok grinned at him, all tusks and fangs.

"Follow us tomorrow, and I'll order you dead."

He turned then and marched away into the darkness, his head now devoid of thoughts of conquest. He looked down at the slender band of iron and resisted the urge to hurl it away into the night. He was done with its power. He would follow his own fate without it.