World's End (24 page)

"I always find it funny when commanding officers lie to their soldiers with an air of such unflappable confidence," said Kiril. "Always have to keep the soldiers calm, right, Colonel? Fear is an insidious thing—a kind of sickness—and it can't be allowed to fester among the troops."

"You will bite your tongue," said Nathalia sternly. "My soldiers aren't scared and what's more, they're far too smart to be rattled by your antics."

"Come now," replied Kiril. "You know as well as I do that the zwodszay are showing all the signs of being classic pack hunters. They are just biding their time until they outnumber us by a ratio of three-to-one or perhaps even ten-to-one and then they will attack."

"And what makes you an expert on the zwodszay?" inquired Josephus. "They weren't around when you last entered the Fault Roads."

"I am an expert on survival," replied Kiril coolly. "And I know a thing or two about the minds of soldiers. I know, for instance, that the Colonel is worried—and not just about the zwodszay either. Tell me, Colonel, do you truly believe that the Grand Vizier approved of this little adventure? How much do you trust your beloved great-uncle?"

The colonel stepped forward and slapped Kiril across the face with the back of her hand. It was a hard blow and blood trickled from Kiril's mouth. A shiver of rage rippled across Kiril's face. His long, coiled scar pulsed red, but he remained perfectly still.

"That's enough!" Nathalia roared. "You will keep quiet if you want to make it out of here alive."

"Now that's funny," said Kiril with a rueful shake of his head. "Colonel, you must have realized by now that
I
am the only one who will make it out alive."

"What do you know?" asked Josephus. His voice rose with a barely perceptible tone of panic. "What aren't you telling us?"

"Now, now, now," replied Kiril soothingly. "My dear Josephus—surely a man of your intelligence understands that weighty secrets, matters of life and death, are never to be given freely."

***

As the convoy continued on its way down the Fault Road, Kiril licked his lips to clear his mouth of the metallic taste of his blood. The wound bled for a long time—far too long for Kiril's liking. It made him sick to his stomach, and it took all of his self-control not to gag.

Ever since he was a child, Kiril had suffered from a blood ailment known since ancient times as "the royal disease." Those who suffered from it could not stop bleeding when they were cut. Many of the royal families of Spain, Germany, and Russia had it. In modern times, the disease was known as hemophilia. It could be quite dangerous, especially for someone like Kiril who often fought with a sword. Fortunately, for Kiril, when he took the purple ash on a regular basis, the disease went into remission. And so, for almost all of his life, he had suffered from no sickness, not even a common cold.

But this was changing.

Within the last year or so, his body had begun to break down, even though outwardly he appeared strong. Arthritis had set into his joints. He was constantly sick with colds. He suffered from migraines. And, most troubling of all, his hemophilia had returned. The reason for all this was quite simple: the supplies of purple ash were gone.

"The ash is our lifeblood," Nartam had told Kiril and all the other orphans from Noctos, more than six hundred years ago. "That is why my secret supply is so precious."

Many years passed before Kiril discovered exactly how Nartam had come upon his secret supply of purple ash. Slowly the truth came out—that Nartam had sacked a number of Dormian cities and had, in fact, even burned the Founding Tree in his own home city of Dragoo. By the time that Kiril had learned all of this, however, he was already addicted to the ash. Twice a year, Nartam gave his closest followers, all of them former Dormians, a pinch of the ash to rub into their eyes. Kiril was soon hooked, both to the ash and to the immortality that it bestowed. Kiril didn't resent this. To the contrary, he revered Nartam, because he was the giver of life and because it was Nartam who first allowed him to have the sweet, heady taste of revenge.

Roughly one month after Nartam had first found him, Kiril was still living in the cave with the other orphans from Noctos. The place already felt like home. Then, one morning, Nartam explained that his other, "grown children" would be arriving. The following day, several dozen soldiers—both men and women—arrived in the cave. The soldiers were quite friendly and they began to teach the orphans the arts of war, swordplay, archery, and hand-to-hand fighting. In the evenings, the orphans were asked to recall everything they knew about Noctos. They were asked to draw maps of streets and diagrams of buildings. It became increasingly obvious that Nartam, and his soldiers, were preparing to launch a fresh attack on Noctos. On the previous attempt, they had infiltrated the city and burned part of the tree, but then they had been driven back.

"The city of Noctos has two gates," explained Nartam. "The main one is heavily guarded and we can't take it. But there is a second gate—I believe this is the gate through which you children were cast—and if we can push through that gate we can enter the city." Nartam paused and looked about. "Now," he said finally, "is anyone's memory good enough to help us find the way back to that gate?"

A lone voice spoke up.

"Yes, Däros," said the young Kiril meekly. "I am certain I can find the way back."

"Very good, my boy," said Nartam with a smile. "My dearest son of Jasber. You shall lead the way with me."

"Excuse me, Däros," said a boy of six or seven. He was one of the children from the school that had been drenched in purple ash. "My parents still live in Noctos. Will I be able to see them once we take the city?"

"Did your parents save you or do anything for you when you were cast out of the city to die?" asked Nartam pointedly. "Did they run to your rescue? Did they look for you? Do you honestly think they would love you with your hideous white eyes? Have you learned nothing from me?" Nartam walked over to the boy, placed his arm around him, and talked to him tenderly. "I know it is hard to accept," said Nartam softly, almost in a purr, "but we are your only family now."

Two weeks later, the rest of Nartam's army arrived. The vast majority of them were not Dormians. Most of them were slaves whom Nartam had bought as children, taken in, trained, and groomed to be soldiers. They were all fiercely loyal to him. On the day of the invasion, Kiril rode at the front of the procession with Nartam. They shared a horse, riding on a single saddle. Kiril swelled with pride that was magnified when he found the small mountain gate through which he and the other Gahnos had been expelled. In the snow around the gate, there were the bodies of a great many Gahnos who had died, and, amid the frozen carnage, Kiril saw the body of his sister.

She was frozen in a block of ice. The inhuman sight kindled a fire in Kiril that many centuries of fighting still had not extinguished.

Kiril stayed by Nartam's side as Nartam led his force into Noctos and burned the city to the ground. Nartam galloped through the burning streets at great speeds shouting orders, and Kiril clung to him fiercely. At one point, quite by chance, they came upon a tall man with a pug nose and a bald head. He was fleeing down a side street. It was the man who had hit Kiril's mother and shoved her out into the snow. Kiril tugged on Nartam's sleeve. "That man pushed us out into the snow," said Kiril as he pointed to the bald man. Nartam said nothing in reply. He simply goaded his horse into a gallop and caught up with the bald man. The man looked up and showed an expression of terror. Then, in one clean sweep of his sword, Nartam took off his head.

"You have nothing to fear, my son," said Nartam as they galloped away. He tenderly placed his arm around Kiril. "No one will ever hurt you again."

These words rang in Kiril's ears as he marched along the Fault Roads, surrounded by a hundred Dormian knights. Very soon, he would repay Nartam for all his many gifts, and the world would at last recognize Däros as leader and father, just as Kiril had. Very soon.

A
FTER THEIR ENCOUNTER
with the zwodszay, Alfonso, Hill, Resuza, and Kõrgu and Bilblox half-walked, half-ran, for hours. In the darkness, their minds played tricks on them. At times, one of them would cry out that they heard something, but in the end, there was never any absolute proof that the zwodszay were following. The heat underground seemed to increase, and as sweat gathered around their necks and under their packs, they felt the loss of the skelter sap.

They pressed on. Their brains shut down and their entire existence focused on putting one foot in front of the other. For this reason, it took several minutes before they realized that the actual pavement underfoot had changed. The cobblestones were replaced with a rough marble, and the road began to climb and widen. The air grew cooler and began to smell faintly of smoke. It also became darker until suddenly they realized they could no longer see one another, even though they were only several feet apart. Hill lit a torch and they stopped to look around. The Fault Road had turned into a tunnel with smooth marble walls and a low ceiling that glittered from the torchlight. It ended in a room with seven passageways from which to choose.

"Which way?" asked Resuza.

Without saying a word, Alfonso yawned, shut his eyes, and began to sleepwalk down the passageway on the far right.

"I guess that settles that," said Resuza.

Alfonso awoke several minutes later and found himself standing in a vast, darkened space. Hill, Resuza, and Bilblox stood just behind him.

Kõrgu began to growl.

"Everybody light your torches," commanded Hill. "We need more light in here."

Resuza lit two torches and held one in each hand. Alfonso lit another two torches and handed one of them to Bilblox. The combined light of their torches partially illuminated the cavernous space. They were in a giant eleven-sided hall. A towering stone pillar stood flush against every intersection of the eleven walls and rose up to the ceiling. The ceiling itself was so high that it escaped the light of their torches and lay hidden in blackness. It took a moment for Alfonso to realize that the stone pillars were actually built to resemble the trunks of Founding Trees and—when he strained his eyes to see more carefully—he realized that these stone trees had a great many stone branches that radiated upward and served as support beams for the ceiling. The effect was powerful and more than a little spooky. It felt as if they were standing underneath the intertwined stone canopy of eleven Founding Trees. And if this wasn't strange enough, the walls had countless ledges and perches. Most were occupied by stone gargoyles.

In the center of the hall stood a gigantic wooden stump, at least thirty feet in diameter. The stump was bleached pale white, almost like driftwood, and gave off a soft but distinct smell of juniper.

"What's everybody starin' at?" asked Bilblox. "Don't get all silent on me, you know that gives me the willies."

"We're in a massive hall with a tree stump in the middle," explained Alfonso.

"It's much more than just a tree stump," said Hill in a whisper. "I think it's the remains of the original Founding Tree of Dormia. They brought it here from Jasber. It must be tens of thousands of years old."

Resuza walked toward the stump to get a better look.

"Be careful!" cautioned Hill. "Even though it has been dead for ages, its core still possesses great power. They say that the stump draws you to it in your sleep. I think it has been pulling at Alfonso and me ever since we entered the Fault Roads."

"Like a big magnet," observed Bilblox.

"That's the idea," said Hill. "Back when the Fault Roads were still used, it enabled Dormians to sleepwalk all the way to the Hub without having to wake up or consult a map. I have no idea what effect it would have on non-Dormians."

Resuza continued to walk around the base of the stump and she stopped short and gasped in shock.

"What's the matter?" asked Hill.

"C-come see," whispered Resuza.

They rushed over to where she was standing.

"Oh no," whispered Hill.

On the far side of the stump lay a pile of weapons, helmets, and body armor. Much of the equipment was battered, scratched, and badly dented. After a few seconds, Resuza realized what was strange about the scene. While there had obviously been a great battle here, there were no victims and no blood. The air was pungent with the smell of human sweat, and strands of torn human hair lay scattered across the floor.

"A battle was fought here very recently," explained Hill somberly.

"Something doesn't make sense," said Resuza. "Why is there no blood? Where are the bodies?"

"I don't know," said Hill. "Perhaps—"

Hill was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of footsteps. They all spun around with their weapons drawn.

"Who goes there?" demanded Bilblox.

The footsteps, which had been coming from their left, abruptly stopped. The light of their torches extended for perhaps as far as thirty feet. Just beyond this, on the periphery of the shadows, it was apparent that something or someone was lurking. Alfonso peered into the darkness but saw nothing. Soon the figure in the shadows took one tentative step into the light. It was a ghastly sight. At first glance, the figure resembled a boy about four feet tall. Yet his bones were horribly deformed and his skin was so translucent that they could see his throbbing heart. It was a lone zwodszay.

The creature's face was the color of ash and lined with purple veins that bulged just underneath his skin. He had no hair anywhere, and his eyes were tiny, approximately the size and shape of raisins. His nose, however, was perhaps twice as big as a human's, and both nostrils flared in and out, as if the cartilage had disappeared and only the translucent skin remained. The creature took a step forward but lifted its arms to shield itself from the light, which obviously was making it uncomfortable. Alfonso felt sick just looking at the creature but for some reason he focused most on its fingers. The tips were long and delicate and tapered off like the partially melted ends of candles.