The Realms of the Gods (3 page)

“Skin 'em, with magic,” Ulmer interrupted. “Can't shoot 'em.” He refilled his tankard with trembling hands. “I mean, y'
can,
but it does them no hurt. Swords, axes—” He shook his head. Realizing that he'd interrupted the king, he ducked his head. “Beggin' your pardon, Sire.”

“It's all right, Ulmer.” To Numair and Daine, Jonathan added, “Sir Hallec of Fief Nenan went to fight them at sunset yesterday. They killed him.” He grimly rolled up the parchment. “Fortunately, the Skinners don't move after dark, and are slow to start in the morning—they seem to need to warm up. The people of
Greenhall have fled, but . . . there are rich fields in this part of the realm, as you know. We will need those crops this winter.” He looked at Numair, then at Daine. “I'm sorry. I know you're exhausted, but—”

“You need your other mages to deal with the enemy fleet, and the siege,” Numair said. “This
is
why you've kept me in reserve, Your Majesty.”

“The wyverns—” the runner who had brought them said. He blushed when the others looked at him.

Daine understood his worry. The giant, winged, legless dragons breathed a yellow fog that gave humans a dry, long-lasting cough and made the eyes burn and blur. The crew of one of the great catapults, breathless and half blind, had dumped a boulder among their own soldiers. Legann's only insurance against another wyvern attack was Kitten. Wyverns might resist, but they
had
to obey an order from one of their dragon cousins.

“Kit stays,” the girl said firmly, looking at the king. “Tkaa knows more about helping her than I do, anyway.”

“She won't protest?” Jonathan asked. He knew the young dragon well.

Daine shook her head. “She doesn't like us being apart for long, but she's gotten used to it since the war began. Sometimes we're more useful when we're apart.”

“I'll guide you to—home.” Ulmer tried to get up, and failed.

“There's no need,” said Numair gently. “If you do not object, I'll take the knowledge of the route to your village from your mind. You're in no condition to ride.”

“I'll pack for us both, and give the word to Tkaa,” Daine said. “Meet you at the stables soonest.” She turned to go. A hand grabbed her sleeve. Puzzled, she looked at the king. “Be—careful,” he said, giving her the parchment letter. “These Skinners sound like nothing that anyone has encountered before.”

Daine smiled at this man whom she had served with love and respect for the last three years. “Numair will set them to rights, Majesty,” she said. “Just make sure you're still here when we come back.”

“I think we can manage that much,” the king replied, and released Daine's sleeve. “Unless they get reinforcements, we can hold them all summer if we must.” He and Daine tapped their own skulls with closed fists, their version of knocking on wood. “Look at the bright side. It's Midsummer's Day—maybe the gods will throw some luck at us!”

“Midsummer—do you know, I'd fair forgotten?” Daine smiled wryly. “Maybe I'll look in a pond along the way and find out who my true love will be.”

Jonathan laughed. Daine grinned, bowed, and trotted off, waiting until she knew he could no longer see her before she let her smile fade. With Numair's magical Gift to hide their presence, there would be no problem in leaving the city—it was how they'd entered it in the first place. Her concern was for the king—and for the queen, commanding at the embattled capital; for Alanna the Lioness, the King's Champion, in the far north since the spring; for the many friends she had made all over Tortall.

We need Midsummer luck for fair, she thought, returning to their rooms. All along the enemy's known what we're about before we do it. We need luck to counter him, and luck to find his spies. I don't know where it's to come from, but we need it
soon.

They left Port Legann separately. Numair rode his patient gelding, Spots, carrying his pack and Daine's. While two of the three roads that led into the city were still open, they were unsafe; he cloaked himself and Spots magically, as he'd done on the way into Legann. Daine herself flew out in the shape of a golden eagle to
see if she could find the Skinners and get an idea of what she and Numair were up against.

She soared on columns of warm air that rose from the land. From the upper reaches, the walled city and its surroundings looked much like a wonderfully detailed map. The enemy's main camp lay a few miles off the north road. On the road itself, a mixed band of enemy soldiers and immortals was camped. On the eastern and southern roads, soldiers in Tortallan colors had dug in to keep the way open for help and supplies. From aloft, she also saw the motley fleet that waited outside Legann, thwarted from entering the harbor by the great chains stretched across its mouth.

In her years in Tortall she had lived among warriors and mages, and could read a battle situation like a book. What she read now gave Daine hope. The enemy army was about equal to Legann's; if they had any magical surprises, they would have used them before. With armies that were matched, and neither side having the advantage in magic or weapons, the battle on land and at sea was a stalemate. The king was right: Legann might hold all summer, particularly if they could keep at least one road open.

She wheeled, turning her eyes east. Twenty miles from the city, a wide swath of pale brown, black, and gray, naked of greenery, straddled the east road. Trees stripped of leaf and bark thrust into the air like toothpicks. As she approached, she saw, and smelled, corpses—most of them animals—bloated and stinking in the heat. They came in all sizes, from the smallest mice to cows and sheep. The closer Daine came to that dead zone, the fewer animal voices she heard. Most of the Beast-People who could do so had fled.

Gliding over the last bank of living trees, she found the Skinners. There were five in all: wet, flesh-colored, two-legger things. They had no eyes, ears, noses, or mouths, but they didn't seem to require such niceties.
They forged ahead blindly, touching anything that lived. When they did, plants became dull instead of glossy. Tree bark vanished. Within seconds, vegetation went dark, brittle, dead. As the creatures touched things, parts of their own flesh changed color—brown, green, reddish, like bark or leaves in texture. Those patches would grow, shrink, and vanish rapidly.

She had come upon the Skinners as they worked their way through a village. They ignored small obstacles, like tossed-aside buckets or sacks of food that had been left in the street. If the object was big—a well, or an abandoned wagon—they split up, walked around, and rejoined to walk abreast once more.

High overhead, Daine reached into the copper fire of her wild magic. Gripping it, she cast it out like a net, letting her power fall gently onto the Skinners. She didn't expect it to stop them. Wild magic only helped her shape-shift and talk to the People. Still, if wild magic was something she had in common with these things, perhaps they could talk. Perhaps she could get them to break off their mindless, deadly ramble.

Her net touched something—and suddenly a hole yawned in the center of her magic. She felt the closeness of things she couldn't name; they shifted and rolled just at the corner of her mind's eye. Creatures that should not exist wailed in voices that made her ears bleed; dreadful scents reached her nose and tore at the delicate tissues inside. She lost control over her eagle body and dropped.

In losing her form, she broke the magic's grip. Frantically Daine shifted into the first shape that came to mind. Just before she hit ground, crow wings grabbed air and dragged her aloft. When she was safe in the new form and out of reach, she looked down.

The Skinners had formed a circle. Their eyeless heads were turned up, as if they could see her. She scolded with the excitement of fear, cursing them in a crow's beautifully nasty vocabulary.

Her foes were not impressed. Spreading out in a line, they began to march forward. Daine shuddered. What had she sensed? What were those things made of? She would have to ask Numair. For now, she slowly made herself an eagle again. A bird of prey was a better glider than a crow, and she needed the eagle's sharp eyes.

Below, the monsters lumbered on. The leftmost Skinner was about to step over a small hutch when it stopped. Bending down, it grabbed at the small door, yanking it off its hinges. A rabbit streaked by on its way to freedom. Before Daine could even guess what was happening, the Skinner seized its prey and held its prize up by the ears.

The hare convulsed. Its fur and hide vanished, ripped off in an eye-blink. Patches of fur appeared all over the Skinner, dull against the gleaming stickiness that was its own flesh. The hare now dangled, motionless. The thing dropped it, and touched a patch of fur that had appeared on its belly. The patch grew, then shrank, and was gone.

Horrified, Daine called up her magic again while the Skinners walked on. She searched the village for more abandoned animals. There was a chicken coop on the edge of town. Its occupants could sense nearby monsters; they shrieked their alarm. She didn't stop to remember that she despised chickens for their stupidity and their smell. Once more she dropped, taking on her true shape as soon as she touched the ground.

Fumbling at the rope latch on the coop, she glanced around. More than anything, she wanted to see the Skinners before they saw her. The rope gave. Chickens erupted from the coop, showering Daine with feathers, scratching her and squawking in her ears. “Stop it, you idiotic birds!” she whispered. “Shut up, clear out, and get away from here!”

She used her magic to give them brief wisdom. The chickens raced into the forest, away from the approaching
monsters. Daine took eagle shape for the third time, watching the Skinners from high above as she waited for Numair to arrive.

He threw off his cloaking spell when he and Spots reached the dead zone, and Daine glided down to meet him. Taking her pack, she dressed behind a tree as she reported what she had seen. When he dismounted, she unsaddled Spots and sent the gelding into the still living woods, out of the Skinners' path.

Numair passed her crossbow and quiver to her. “Can we beat them?” he asked.

Daine's blue-gray eyes met his dark ones. “I don't know,” she said truthfully. “I've never seen the like of these things.” Putting a foot in the crossbow's stirrup, she drew the bowstring until it hooked over the release.

The man sighed and dropped his cloak over their packs. Black fire that sparkled with bits of white appeared around his body. “Give me that quarrel,” he said, holding out a hand. She obeyed, passing over the bolt that she'd been about to load. He closed long fingers around it, lips moving, then handed it over.

Daine placed the quarrel in the clip, then led him to their quarry. The Skinners had finished with the village of Greenhall and had entered a nearby peach orchard. Half of the trees were stripped of their bark. Even the green fruit had lost its skin.

Numair looked ill. “Is it all like this?” he asked.

“Worse. There's acres of it, clean back to the hills.” She raised the bow to her shoulder, taking deliberate aim. The Skinners, in the middle of the orchard, turned to stare at them—if they could stare.

Daine shot. The quarrel flew straight, and buried itself in one Skinner's head. Numair gestured; an explosion tore the air. The Skinner blew apart, showering its companions with pieces of itself. The others looked around in apparent confusion.

Daine started to grin, but stopped. Swiftly each of
the Skinner chunks doubled, redoubled, and spread. Each sprouted a pair of stumps to stand on, and stretched. Now there were ten Skinners, five large and five smaller ones. Their attention fixed on her and Numair, they came at a run. Daine slipped another bolt into the clip of the bow.

The mage raised a hand. Black fire jumped away from him and swept over the monsters, pulling them into the air. The Skinners thrashed and broke through his control, hurtling to the ground. Slowly, they got up.

“I hope the owner of this orchard forgives me,” muttered Numair. Stretching out his hands, he shouted a phrase that Daine couldn't understand. The ground before the advancing Skinners ripped open. They dropped into the crevasse.

Numair trotted toward it, Daine right behind him. “If I can seal them into the earth, that may be the end of it. I certainly hope so.” Halting at the edge of the crack, they peered in. “I
hate
simply blasting them with raw power like this. There is always a spell to uncreate anything, though the consequences may be—oh, dear.”

The Skinners were climbing the sides. Numair jerked Daine back, shouting a word that made her ears pound. The earth rumbled, knocking them down; the crack sealed.

“Please Goddess, please Mithros, let that stop them,” whispered Numair. Sweat dripped from his face as Daine helped him to stand. “Grant a boon on Midsummer's Day—”