The Blasted Lands (2 page)

Merros Dulver’s face haunted her. The look he bore when he realized she was the assassin. The sound of his voice when he called her name and begged her to stop. She sighed once and then pushed him from her mind. She served the gods. She obeyed. There was nothing else.

Two days of continuous travel had her at the foot of Wrommish. The mountain was jagged gray rock, littered with occasional greenery and draped in several waterfalls that descended from the snowcapped top of the vast, sheltering shape. It was home and she loved it as she loved each and every one of the Forges.

To her west was the vast fortress wall that hid the city of Predayne. One of her homes was there. She would not be visiting this day. Instead she patted Saa’thaa on his muzzle and looked him in his great eyes. “Go. I head for the Heart of Wrommish. I do not know when I will return.”

The bond between rider and mount was unique. From what she had heard of man and horse from the people of the Empire, they did not share the connections that she and Saa’thaa experienced. How very tragic and hollow their lives seemed on so many levels.

Saa’thaa stared back and then sighed. A moment later he was bounding away from her, toward the west.

Swech climbed the mountain. There were no pathways, but like most of her people she was used to physical challenges. Many people had made the trek over the years but that did not matter. Wrommish did not want easy methods of reaching the heart of the forge, where the god rested and waited. The Daxar Taalor did not offer a life of ease; they offered life. Struggles were to be conquered.

She stopped only to eat, and then it was a quick meal. Though the voice of Wrommish had made no demands for haste there was a deep-seated need to hurry.

There were stories told that Wrommish hid the entrance to the cavern from anyone He did not wish to see. She had never had a problem entering the cave and could not testify to the truth of the matter. Whatever the facts she reached the entrance to the natural cave she had passed into on four separate occasions. Each time she had come alone and each time she had not left the area without being changed. One cannot meet with gods and remain unaltered. That simple wisdom was one of the first lessons she had ever learned.

Though there were no torches, there was no worry about illumination. Metal seams ran through the rock of the cavern and gave off a warm golden light. The luminescence was not natural; it was another gift of Wrommish. As she walked into the heart of the mountain Swech stopped long enough to remove her clothes, setting them into a small pile near several other collections of leather and cloth alike. The veil covering the lower half of her face was removed last, and she sighed in simple pleasure at the air that ran across her nose and her lips. The gods had decreed that the people of Fellein were not worthy to see the true faces of the Sa’ba Taalor. One look at them made clear why. So since they had met the strangers, the group that traveled with them had hidden their faces away. Two days back in her homeland and the veil had become so much a part of her that she never thought to remove it. Now she was free from that order and it was a good and lovely thing. She breathed deep the warm air of Wrommish’s breath. She was not alone today. There were other pilgrims, either called forth or here on their own journeys. Like her, they had set their clothes into neat piles, knowing none would consider touching their possessions or taking from them in this holy place.

There was nothing to fear here. Fighting could occur anywhere, but none among the Sa’ba Taalor would ever fight in the hearts of the Forges simply because it would be disrespectful. Should Wrommish demand that she strike and kill a hundred of her brethren she would do so, regardless of place or time. But to her knowledge none of the Daxar Taalor had ever demanded bloodshed within their mountain homes.

The cave around her was different than the last time she’d entered. The walls were still stone, and the ground still soft sand and pebbles, but the patterns of the stone cavern had changed and the sand had a lighter color. It was different each and every time, as the mountain was alive. She could feel the beat of the mountain’s slow, steady pulse with each step she took. The ground beneath her feet was almost the exact same temperature as her body, and she stretched and sighed and reveled in the comfort that the soft sand offered her. The walls glowed brighter the closer she came to the core of Wrommish and though the heat from the fires below should have roasted her flesh and crisped her hair, she felt no discomfort. The aches of her long journey faded and her exhaustion was washed aside by the love of Wrommish.

The sand faded, solidified and became Boratha-Lo’ar, the fabled crystalline bridge, the thick translucent stone floor that ran the width of the vast chamber of Wrommish. The heart of Wrommish glowed beneath her feet and lit the cavern in shades of gold and autumn. The fires of the mountain ran below her, and Swech held her arms wide and basked in that warm, wondrous glow. By all rights she should have been dead. She knew that. She was not foolish. The heat below her was more than enough to cook her flesh away and the gasses that rose from the molten core were poisonous. It was the will of Wrommish that all who entered the mountain were safe from the heat, just as the will of the gods kept the raging storms of the Blasted Lands at bay. Merros Dulver’s gods had never offered him any evidence of their existence. He was raised to believe that faith alone would protect him from certain fates, but none of the gods ever offered proof of their power. The Daxar Taalor offered miracles every day. The wise understood that.

She was aware of the others who stood near her, but they were not significant. For the moment she felt the delicious heat of the god’s heart and savored it. Merros Dulver had spoken to her of his people’s gods and how some of them were feared and angry forces of retaliation. The concept was preposterous. One should not fear the gods. One should only feel their love as the love of a parent for a child: unchanging and ever-present.

She closed her eyes and said a silent thanks to Wrommish for the love she felt and when she opened her eyes she finally acknowledged the people around her. They were her kin and her people. In some places she might have killed them on sight, but here, in the Heart of Wrommish, they were family.

N’heelis, Chosen of the Forge of Wrommish and King in Gold looked upon her and spread his arms in welcome. He wore no crown, but his long hair was wrapped in heavy golden thread and draped down to the small of his back in a coil as thick as her leg. She returned the gesture, enchanted by his beauty as she always was. His flesh bore the scars of a thousand battles and almost as many victories. He stood naked before the god and the deep slash marks on his chest formed a serpentine pattern that ran from his left nipple down to the middle of his right thigh. The heavy scars were the mark that Wrommish himself placed upon N’Heelis when he was chosen as king. She had borne witness to that event herself.

When N’Heelis spoke it was not with his voice, but with the voice of Wrommish. His lips moved but the sound was too low, too deep and resonated across the entire chamber.

“You have served the Daxar Taalor with honor, Swech Tothis Durwrae.”

Words could not express her joy. Instead she merely held her arms wide apart and bared her body to her god.

N’Heelis walked closer. “I ask more of you still. I ask that you leave this land again and become the instrument of my will.” There was no question of refusing the command. For Swech, for any of her people, it would be easier to forget how to breathe and see than to deny the gods.

N’heelis’ hands reached out and held her face. His eyes locked on hers and the will of Wrommish spoke into her soul, telling her all she needed to know.

She smiled and almost wept. Great Wrommish was generous. There would be great glory in her works to come.

N’Heelis let go of her and smiled. Swech leaned forward impulsively and kissed the palms of his hands. Then she turned from her king and kindred and walked to the edge of the crystalline bridge. The fires of Wrommish blazed below her and the rising heat here, exposed and unforgiving, dried her eyes and made her hair wave and flutter. Here as nowhere else Wrommish was present and his power was undeniable.

Swech stepped from the edge of the hard floor and allowed her body to fall, plummeting into the glowing core of Wrommish’s molten heart. Behind her three others followed suit, each called by the god for their own tasks.

For only one heartbeat she wondered about the life growing inside her, the child of her union with Merros Dulver. As with all things, the child would be born to her if the Daxar Taalor wished it.

The heat blistered her flesh and Swech’s hair burned away long before she was swallowed by the molten gold of Wrommish’s heart. Fires scorched her lungs and eyes even as she whispered the god’s name one last time.

***

There was no darkness.

There was light, brilliant and soothing and all-encompassing.

And then there was rebirth.

***

Her body was fire. As she rose into the night the flames congealed, solidified and became flesh.

Swech climbed from the blaze in two quick motions, ignoring the fluttering sensation in her stomach. Wrommish had told her she would be placed in a different location, carried by the flames. For the moment she had no fear of the fire as she was shielded from the heat, but that would not last. The flames crackled and popped, and even as she climbed from them she had to duck under the meat roasting above her. The ground was cold not ten feet away, but where she rose the air was as hot as the pit fire.

Swech looked around for only a moment before spotting her chosen prey.

A careful examination of the area let her know that most everyone was occupied. Eyes looked elsewhere and people ignored her presence, as Wrommish willed it. Most were gathered together into tight knots of flesh, huddled in the cold and talking, relaxing, or just sharing each other’s company.

The one she sought was alone, her back to the fires and her body almost hidden in shadow. The woman stared out into the darkness and held council with the night. No one else was near her, and that was for the best. Unlike so many of the females she’d met in Tyrne, the female was not soft and pampered, but wore comfortable attire. Her hands were callused and a long thin blade rested near her. This one could fight, her posture even when resting spoke of her abilities.

Swech did not carry a sword. At the moment she was naked.

She used that to her advantage and stepped in front of the woman.

There was a moment of shock at her unclothed visage, and then a heartbeat of curiosity. When recognition flared in the woman’s eyes, Swech struck quickly; a hard blow that knocked her opponent into a daze. Before she could recover Swech killed her. A deft strike to the throat and the woman coughed softly and then choked on her own blood.

Another quick look around told her that no one had noticed anything. Wrommish was good to her.

The chill of the night air made itself known and so Swech took the woman’s clothes. She could not leave the body to be found. There were too many witnesses who would surely ask questions. Instead she crouched over the cooling corpse and lifted it onto her shoulders.

Her skin felt wrong. Her mouth felt wrong. Every part of her felt off from the way it should have, but that was not an issue. She would adjust. Beyond the fire’s edge there was forest. The caravan the woman traveled with was on a wide road, well paved and tended, but there were no signs of towns or cities, and not more than twenty or so people looked to be taking this journey together.

She did not bury the body, merely hid it beneath a layer of loam that had not been disturbed in many months. Scavengers might find it and eat it, but they would not cause a problem. The people around her would be moving on with the dawn’s light. Wrommish had told her that much and shown her a great deal more.

Swech moved back to the campsite and gathered the belongings of the woman she’d killed. They were hers now, along with the woman’s body and face, name and memories.

Even as she settled for the night she felt the thoughts and beliefs of the woman in the back of her mind, like a constant echo from a hundred different people. She would adjust and endure if the Daxar Taalor willed it.

She wondered what went through her victim’s mind when she saw herself approaching, naked and unarmed. Ultimately it did not matter, but curiosity was one of the many aspects of life that she enjoyed. The world was full of new wonders. She would see as many of them as she could on her way to Fellein’s capital.

***

They gathered the bodies and carried them, sometimes hefted on shoulders and other times dragged by their heels, but all of them were accounted for. By the time Tusk and his retinue had reached the apex of mountain they had been joined by two hundred additional members of the kingdom.

Tuskandru, Chosen of the Forge of Durhallem and Obsidian King looked down into the heart of the great mountain and saw the fires below and knew that they were good.

Without hesitation he raised the body of the man he knew only as Colonel Wallford above his head and heaved the corpse of his first victim into the punishing heat rising from below. As the body flopped bonelessly downward and smashed into the liquid fire he bellowed out his god’s name and then watched the body burn. One after another his people followed his lead, raising the bodies high and then tossing them down, calling out to Durhallem with each offering. Nothing of the enemy was kept as trophies. All that they had carried with them was offered to the god.

And when they were done, Tusk led his people from the top of Durhallem’s highest peak and down to the Great Hall where they would feast and celebrate the start of the great battles coming their way. And feast they would, for Tusk was hungry and soon enough the Council of Kings would be gathering across the valley in the Palace of the King in Iron to discuss the destruction of their enemies.