The Grand Crusade (10 page)

“Down there we fight feral urZrethi and other creatures the Oromise created. We do not know if there are passages into the Oromise prisons from which these things emerge, or if there are just pockets and colonies so deep we never rooted them out. We have to assume they are still trying to reach their masters, and they have to defend against our doing that, too.”

Kerrigan turned toward Rym. “You said dragons trapped the Oromise down there, but I could take what you’ve said as meaning that they’ve fortified themselves down there and you’re just making sure they don’t get out again.”

The puppet shrugged. “As is the way with ancient tales, the truth is hard to discern. Suffice it to say, our young live down there, fight and die down there. Those smart and strong enough to survive to later stages of life grow in power

and size.“

“How many thralls are down there? Hundreds? Thousands?”

“Thousands of legions. It is a bloody war yet, but has not always been so.” Rym pulled him away from the edge and continued their journey. “There was a time when the war seemed over and a rift developed among dragons over whether or not vigilance needed to be maintained. It took centuries for things to come to a head, and no decision could be made. It was agreed that we needed an arbiter to help us decide, and we chose Yrulph Kirun to be that arbiter. He proposed the creation of the DragonCrown, into which would be worked the

Truestones of our best and brightest. Through it he would know their thoughts and gain all he needed to craft a solution to the problem.“

Kerrigan held a hand up. “What is a Truestone? I mean, I gather that the stone that rests in your chest is Rymramoch’s Truestone. For it to be destroyed would cost you your life. How is that?”

“Dragons of sufficient learning and power are able to create a Truestone. The easiest way for you to understand it is to say that it is a physical manifestation of our soul. We can remove it for safekeeping, then venture forth on dangerous missions, for as long as it is not destroyed, we will not die.”

“But, in the Congress Chamber, I saw your body, or what I thought was your body, all stiff and stonelike.”

The puppet nodded. “So our bodies become when our Truestones are removed for a prolonged period of time. Those who gave theirs to their DragonCrown are well hidden and quite petrified. They assumed that the Crown would facilitate communication, and it did, but in ways unintended.”

“How so?”

“Any dragon of a Crown lineage could be controlled by the Crown. The degree of control depended on how strong the blood link was. Dravothrak, for example, is a grandnephew of a Crown dragon. That is why he was linked to the fragment we have here.”

Kerrigan rubbed a hand over his mouth. “No one expected Kirun could control dragons. Did he know?”

Rym looked at Bok. “You’ve given it much thought through the centuries.”

The urZrethi shifted his shoulders uneasily. “He never gave any such indication to me, but he must have suspected, else those abilities would not have been in the Crown.”

Kerrigan nodded. “How many Crown lineages are there?”

“Six.”

“But there are seven Crown fragments.”

Rym nodded. “There are, and therein is the mystery. Who or what gave the Truestone for the key fragment, the controlling fragment?”

“Do you think it could have been an Oromise Truestone?”

“That possibility has made restless the sleep of countless dragons.” Rym slowly shook his head. “If the Crown is re-created and Chytrine’s greed is what fuels it, things will be bad enough. If it is the Oromise, we are not looking at the fall of civilization as a consequence, but the end of all life. You can see, therefore, why alacrity is called for in this matter.”

Kerrigan nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

“You’ll have to do better.” Rym passed his left hand over the stone sphere and triggered a spell. The little blue tendrils of lightning played over the sphere for a heartbeat.

Kerrigan screamed and collapsed as the bolts skittered beneath his flesh. His

hody shook and muscles twitched involuntarily. He tasted blood from where he uAbSen his tongue. His back bowed once, then his muscles went flacad.

The Puppet stood overhim. “When you made the ball into your mapckal •se to ”nte cept your spell, you made it a conduit to yourself. That was a grave Tor I know you will bedoing your best. Just make it better. The fate of the entire world rests on your ability to do just that.

L

Isaura sat in her chambers in far Aurolan and shivered. Though the air was cold enough to condense her breath into a white mist, the chill was not what made her shiver. She felt very alone, and that surprised her, because she had been alone before. Still, it had never been quite in this way because, somehow, she had always felt another presence out there that kept her company.

She should have been happy—quite overjoyed, in fact. Her mother’s enemy, the Norrington, was dead. He had died on Vael. Nefrai-laysh had taken much delight in describing how the young hero had leaped through a magickal wall to save the life of an old, foolish dragon. Rymramoch had long opposed her mother, and the death of a lesser enemy was traded for that of a greater. The news had been the cause of much rejoicing in the frigid north.

It had not warmed her, however. In thesullanciri’sdescription of Will Norrington, Isaura recognized the young man whose life she had saved in Meredo. Whims, the flow of magick, and pure chance had led her to the bed where he lay. She’d known instantly that one of her mother’s creations had wounded him, so she undid the wound and he lived.

Until the report of his death, however, she’d not known who he was. Fear took her then because her mother had told Isaura that she would be betrayed. Isaura had hoped she would not be the one to betray her mother, then she discovered she had. She had saved the Norrington of prophecy. She had saved the person who would kill her mother.

Worse yet, his death saddened her. From the moment she heard, and perhaps before, she had felt alone. She wondered if it had not been chance that took her to him, but some sort of fate. Perhaps she was somehow bound up in the Norrington Prophecy. The prophecy might use her against her mother, making her betray Chytrine. She wanted to hate that idea, but she couldn’t. The sadness

she felt at Will Norrington’s death made her feel as if she would have traded her mother’s life for his, and that mere thought was treason of the highest order.

Wind howled at the window of her tower, then ice hissed as a gust pushed crystals in past the magick warding the chamber from the outside. She turned from the small bookstand and the thick, leather-bound volume she had been fingering and let a weak smile tug at the corners of her mouth. “Drolda, you

never desert me.“

The ice crystals swirled, then resolved themselves into the image of an older man. Water congealed into a beard and long hair, both of which flowed down into the furred cloak that covered him. Glassine hands emerged from beneath the cloak. The icy figure wove his finger through a complex series of signs in a language only they understood.

Isaura nodded slowly. “Yes, you have been listening to rumors that are true. The Norrington is dead. He sacrificed himself for another.” She opened her hands and wanted to give voice to her sadness, but could not find the words.

Concern etched crevasses on Drolda’s frozen face. He signed, but not what

she expected.

“What do you mean he is not dead? Did his sacrifice transfer the burden of

his fate to another?“

The ice man shook his head, then stiffened.

A voice, deep, bestial, and growling, echoed through her room from the doorway. “Will no have death.”

Isaura turned, bringing her head up and moving to eclipse Drolda. The ice man had never before lingered in the vicinity of asullanciri, and certainly never in one’s sight. It disturbed her that this one, Hlucri, could move so silently she did not hear his approach, and that he dared enter her chamber unbidden.Has my mother set this newest of her creatures to spy on me?

As her silver-eyed gaze met his jet eyes, the hulkingsullanciridropped to one knee and rested his knuckles on the ground. He had been created from the Panqui that had so ruined Nefrai-laysh. Isaura had seen the massive wounds on the othersullanciri. She offered to repair the damage, but making the Panqui over had taken precedence. Nefrai-kesh had demanded her help in doing that.

The Panqui’s vitality had impressed her, for Nefrai-kesh had pulled him off Nefrai-laysh and literally stripped the flesh from him. The huge creature had lain in a slowly spreading pool of blood, tissue hanging in ragged tatters, his claws still clenching, his teeth gnashing as they set about doing their work. Hlucri had been the firstsullanciriNefrai-kesh had created without her mother, but he knew the magick well, and the result had been even more impressive than

the original.

Hlucri, when standing on his thick hind legs, topped her by two feet, and ran twelve from the tip of his tail to his crown. Their magick had covered him with a new flesh of jet and jade. Stripes, from deep green to a softer, milkier tone marked his skin, with the darkest green forming a mask around his black eyes

and up to his tall ears. While the skin felt and moved like supple leather, it could be hardened like armor with a thought. Spikes could sprout wherever needed, though fang and claw would serve thesullanciribest.

Hlucri lowered his head and gazed at the ground. “Forgive Hlucri intrusion, Lady Snowflake.”

Isaura blinked. “Lady Snowflake?”

“Your Will-name.”

She stiffened, then Drolda flowed into view at her side. She read what he signed, then nodded.

“The Norrington saw me? He knew who I was?”

“No. True-you known not.” Thesullanciri’snostrils flared. “Safe with Hlucri.” Isaura closed her eyes and passed a hand over her face, wishing her mind and emotions would quiet. For the brief moment she believed Will Norrington had known who she was, her spirit had soared. It was as if that loneliness had vanished, as if whatever she had been linked to had reestablished contact. Hlucri’s denial again demolished that link, leaving her alone and confirming that it had been Will Norrington with whom she had shared a bond.Will Norrington, whom I saved and who was later slain. A shiver started at the base of her spine and she let it banish her confusion. “What can I do for you, Hlucri?”

The creature opened his arms wide. “Hlucri newspawn know-nothing.” Isaura nodded. His transformation had taken place only three days previous and he had slept most of the time since.Grichothkahad been caring for his needs. She had looked in on him occasionally but had not found him awake until now.

“How did you find your way here?” Thesullanciritapped his nose by way of answer.

Drolda signed quickly and Isaura laughed. “Very true, Drolda, he will have much interesting to smell here.”

Thesullancirishifted around until he sat on his haunches. His head came up and he grinned with a mouthful of sharp teeth. “Know many smells.”

“You will know more, but first

” Isaura pointed to Drolda. “You will forget you saw my friend here.”

Hlucri breathed in, then tapped his nose again. “No smell, not there.” She wasn’t certain if thesullanciriwas telling her Drolda really didn’t exist for him, or if her secret was safe, but she decided the latter sufficed. “Thank you. Please, follow me.” She turned to invite Drolda along, too, but he had already dissolved into snowflakes that teased her hair before slipping back out the window.

Isaura descended the tower stairs and began thinking about how she could best describe life in Aurolan. She loved her home and knew of its beauty. The wonder of new snow over old, and the artistry of wind-carved sculptures. She

wanted to share the subtle nature of the seasons, which were more than variations in temperature, and the songs of the wind and ice in the darkest of nights. But all that seemed to demand too much of her. She felt exhausted even though she could have roused herself to explain it all were she guiding the Norrington. He would see the things she described, he would understand the beauty. He would see that Aurolan was not evil, that it did not deserve destruction.

She glanced back at the hulking beast moving through the shadows behind her. She had to look, for she could not hear him and could barely see him. She didn’t feel as if she were being stalked, but instead protected. It gave her cause to wonder what sort of things Nefrai-kesh had worked into the magicks used to create Hlucri.

“My mother’s citadel stands above one of the many cavern complexes throughout Aurolan. Snow and ice cover the surface, but the caves run deep and rents in the earth run deeper. Molten stone flows red and gold through the depths. Water heated below rises to bubbling pools. It keeps the caverns warm enough for life, and life does thrive here.”

Hlucri sniffed and bobbed his head.

As they reached the ground floor, Isaura guided him to a door and opened it. The stairs there wound tighter and descended in a sharp spiral. Warm, moist air from below gradually enfolded them, and where the colder air met the wet, a thin layer of fog hung suspended. At the base, the stairs opened onto a wide balcony that provided a clear view of a large central cavern with small tunnel mouths dotting the walls much as stars blot the sky.

Sidestepping a small clutch of young frostclaws, Isaura reached the edge of the balcony. “Down there, on those terraces, various fungi are raised to feed upon.”

A squawk and a crunch sounded from behind her. She turned and found a headless frostclaw in Hlucri’s right hand and a dribble of blood flowing along his lip as he chewed. Isaura frowned for a moment. She was less concerned that he’d killed a frostclaw than with his apparent ease in doing so. As asullancirihe needed to be a formidable fighter, but young frostclaws were notoriously elusive.Speed and hunting instincts will stand him in good stead.

She politely refused the offer of a red raw haunch, waved him forward, then pointed to the level below the mushroom terraces. “The water drains there and goes down into a vast series of ponds and lakes. Fish are farmed in them and the muck from the bottom of the ponds is brought back up to fertilize the terraces. The fish are fed with refuse and even our dead. Nothing is wasted here.”