Authors: Elizabeth A. Lynn
Marek said firmly, “We will not, my lord.”
“The rest of you: in two days we ride to Mitligund. Warriors, make sharp your weapons!”
Men leaped to their feet, shouting jubilantly, and banging on the tables. Servers brought pitchers in, and filled the tankards with sweet foamy beer. Karadur returned to his seat by the hearth. Marek crossed to talk with him.
Herugin, sitting at the next table, had risen to shout with the rest. Hawk called to him, “Your lord gives a good speech.”
He elbowed his way from his bench to hers, and joined her. “He does.”
“Did you know what he planned to say?”
“No. Oh, I knew some would have to stay behind. I didn’t know who. But Marek is the right man. He has a wife and two sons in Castria. Arnor is injured. Sigli and Tallis, too, have families.”
Amid the rustle and mutter of voices, one began to sing. The voice was clear and skilled, strong, but with an odd rasp. “O the red boar, the red boar of Aidu. The red boar ran to the mountains; the red boar ran to the sea; the waves sprang up till they touched the clouds and the thunder rang with a dreadful sound; O the red boar, the red boar of Aidu.”
The singer was the maimed man. Hands still in his lap, he wove the story of the magical beast and the relentless hunters who tracked him across fields and seashore and finally the very firmament. Other voices, less melodious but with admirable energy, joined him to roar the chorus. “
O
the red boar, the red boar of Aidu
.” At the last mournful, elegiac verse, the others dropped away, leaving Azil to sing alone.
“And the horns rang out as the red boar died; and stars tumbled out of the evening sky; O the red boar, the red boar of Aidu.”
“More!” someone shouted.
Touching his throat, Azil shook his head. Karadur filled his own glass with ale and passed it to him. The harsh lines had smoothed from the Dragon-lord’s face; for that one moment he looked carefree, serene, and young. In the kitchen, a girl wept: someone’s sweetheart, or sister.
Yawning, Herugin pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Gods, I’ll never make it through the night,” he said mournfully. “I’m watch officer.”
His yawn made Hawk yawn as well. “I’m for bed.”
“I’ll walk with you to barracks.”
In the sleeping hall, two men sat by the near fire, their heads bent together. It was Rogys, his cheek still slightly marked, and Finle Haraldsen. They rose abruptly as Hawk and Herugin came into the long chamber.
“Sir,” said Rogys.
Herugin nodded. “You should be in bed,” he said mildly. “Or on watch.”
“Yes, sir,” Rogys said. “But I—sir, I don’t want to stay behind.” His low voice was passionate. “You know I don’t.”
“I know,” Herugin said. “Nor does Marek, or Sigli.”
“That’s different.”
“How is it different?”
“Marek has children. Sigli, too. Arnor’s hurt, and Wegen is an old man.” Wegen was perhaps thirty-five. “Sir, would you speak to him on my behalf? He might listen to you.”
But Herugin shook his head. “I’m sorry, Red. I like my head on my neck. This is no time to question his orders. Go to bed, both of you.” The young men did not move. He put an edge into his voice.
“
Now.
” He put his hands on his hips. “Young idiots.”
“You would feel the same,” Hawk said. “Wouldn’t you?”
In the stronghold and prison known as the Black Citadel, Shem sat shivering in a nest of dirty blankets. He was cold. They had taken his clothes, and given him a blanket with holes in it to cover him. His baby face had thinned.
He was alone. Takumik was absent, as he was often: hunting, or standing guard, or digging one of the endless tunnels that made up Koriuji’s Lair. The men who had shared the ice cave with him were also gone. A rumor had gone around the castle, of a prince in the south who would soon be coming north with a great army... They had tried to leave the castle with gold beneath their shirts. Wargs had gotten one of them, and the white bear the other. Koriuji had released it from its cage, and it stalked the snow around the castle, howling defiance at the open sky—gaunt, dangerous, insane.
Twice, by Koriuji’s order, Takumik had brought Shem to the empty high-ceilinged chamber, and held him for the white worms inspection. The first time Shem simply wailed in horror. The second time, cajoled dumb by Takumik, he remained mute. The monster leaned close, leering. “Do you hear me, boy?” it said. “Your mother and father are dead. You are mine.” That night Shem saw the ravaged pale face hanging in air, frozen in the walls, even burning in the fire’s smoke. He lay whimpering in his blankets, afraid to close his eyes.
Moving clumsily—his small fingers were stiff—Shem felt in his nest for his treasure. Cupping it in his hands, he breathed on it to warm it, then held the spiky-legged figure to his cheek. It smelled of what it was, bread dough. “Boppy,” he murmured. He drowsed, the dog-figure tucked in his fist.
A bumping noise in the corridor roused him. He thrust Boppy out of sight. Takumik stumped in. “Here,” the man said, in his own language. Dropping a lump of cooked meat into Shem’s lap, he bent to the brazier. The dark, dank chamber warmed and brightened. Takumik sat, and brought out a larger portion of meat. “It’s fresh, a bird.” He mimed eating, lifting hands to mouth. Shem bit into the stringy flesh. It had little taste, but it was hot.
They chewed companionably, and shared the waterskin between them. After a while, the man spoke softly, still in his own tongue. The boy listened curiously to the guttural, grumbling sounds. “The white bear killed another man today. He was coming from a hunt, and she sprang upon him, and tore his throat out.” Takumik mimed claws. “I was digging today. I do not understand all this digging. They say it is for gold but there is no gold, nothing but rocks and dirt.” He lowered his voice. “The guards say that they have been told men are coming, many men whom they will kill. They are thy people, these southerners. The one who leads them is called
Dragon
.”
“Dragon,” Shem repeated. The word woke a memory of a bright-haired giant with blazing eyes and warm, steady hands.
“If they come, this castle will fall to them like butter to the sun. If they come, there is a place I shall hide thee, until the killing is over. Thee shall be—” Takumik’s grumble stopped. Shem smelled the stink of his fear.
Gorthas crouched in the mouth of the cave. “The little wolfling,” he said. “Come here, wolfling.” Shem did not move. Takumik shrank away, as the warg-changeling reached contemptuously past him and snatched the boy from his blankets.
Tucking the boy under one arm, he trotted through the twisting slimy passageways to the central hall, where the white worm sprawled on its chair. He tossed the child to the ground. “Here it is, my lord.”
Shem looked at the monster on the chair. A decaying human face atop the worm’s gross body stared at him blackly, ravenously. “Has it been hurt?” the worm asked.
“Not at all, my lord.”
“Good. It must not be, not yet. When this is over, truly over, I shall give it to you, for your play.” The snakelike tongue slid out and back. “Ssshem. You underssstand me?”
Gorthas said, “Answer your master, wolfling.” Shem’s throat was too dry to work. Gorthas cuffed him. “A disobedient wolfling. Shall I make it speak?” A hard hand licked out, gripping unerringly, painfully. “Such a tender little cub.” He prodded Shem’s ribs, grinning as his fingers found the sore spots. Shem cried out, and tried to wriggle free.
“Enough,” the worm said. The warg lifted his hands. “Where is my bear?”
“Outside, baying at the sun.”
“Excellent. The army comes soon. Almost they are ready, horses and men. Tell the guards on the walls to remain watchful. Any man caught sssleeping will have his hands chopped off. Tell them ssso.”
“I will tell them, my lord.”
“The army has a new recruit. A little bird has come to fly beside them: one of the Red Hawk sisters.” The worm writhed on its chair. “Wolf, white bear, red bear, hawk, all, all will be mine.”
“My lord,” the warg-changeling said, “when the army comes, will you let me take the wolfling?”
“Why, what will you do?”
“Build a pyre before the castle gate, and hang the naked cub wriggling and screaming above it.” His eyes gleamed like spear points. “And then I will do the same to Azil.”
The monster giggled hideously. “Not yet. First we will have a battle, a battle, a battle: battle, betrayal, and death... Later you may do it. But first it must be taught, as dogs are taught. Has it been collared and brought to heel yet?”
“Not yet, my lord.”
“No? Do it!” Again, it giggled. “I will watch.”
“As my lord commands.” Seizing Shem’s hair, the changeling drew the child’s head up. He laid his other hand measuringly along the soft skin of the boy’s throat. “Shem, stay here,” he said as he released his grip. He left the hall. When he returned, he carried a leather dog collar with a metal buckle and a chain leash.
He knelt, and buckled the rough leather around Shem’s neck. “Good dog,” he said, and clipped the chain to the collar. “Shem, stand.”
Shem stared at him. Gorthas jerked the collar. The boy gasped, and felt with both hands for his throat. “Shem, stand.”
Shem did not move, and again Gorthas jerked the chain. It took several repetitions before the boy stood at command. “Shem, come.”
But at this Shem set his sturdy legs, and would not move. Gorthas’s blow tumbled the little boy to the ice. Shem yelled. Gorthas jerked the collar. “Be quiet!” He leaned close, reaching for the child’s mouth, and Shem shrank and was still. “Good. It learns. Shem, stand. Shem, walk.”
The degrading, ugly lessons went on, interspersed with cuffs. Finally the worm said, “That will do. Take it to its hole.”
Almost tenderly, Gorthas unclipped the chain. The child’s cheek was bruised, and there was a raw mark on his neck, under the leather. There was a wild hopelessness in his face that had not been there before. The changeling scooped him off his feet.
“Come, wolfling. Battle, betrayal, and death, and then we will cook you, slowly, so slowly...” He glided through the tunnels, and slung the exhausted child into Takumik’s arms.
PART FOUR
15
At dawn two days later, while stars still shone in the western sky, Karadur Atani led his war band north from Dragon Keep.
They rode one after the other, watchful, in close order.
Stay alert and together,
Lorimir had instructed.
Any straggler becomes an easy target for wargs.
Hawk rode with the archers. Herugin had given her Sunflower, a sure-footed dun mare. They traveled in silence: they had no concern for secrecy—seventy horsemen, ten pack mules dragging sledges, and ten well-laden spare horses, could be concealed from only the dimmest of spies—but Dragon was grim as iron, and the men took their mood from him. Last of all, amid the rearguard, Finle Haraldsen rode with a forbidding face. His fellows left him alone.
They stopped briefly at midmorning to eat, and then pushed on until sunset. They saw no wargs, or other beasts, save a grey fox that watched them suspiciously from a hole in a rock. They camped overnight on the mountainside, huddling against looming rocks in what shelter they could find. Hawk laid her bedroll beside Orm and Huw. The sun’s light was gone, except for the last rays lighting the highest peak. The silver moon hung in the sky like a broken coin.
“I don’t like this place,” Orm said morosely. “I’ve no wish to fall asleep, and wake to find myself halfway down the cliff.”
“We could tether you to a rock, like the horses,” Huw said.
They woke into darkness and led the horses up the trail in the predawn silence. By the middle of the morning, they reached the ice. It lay ominous and still before them, a lifeless landscape that seemed to reach forever into distance. A wind swept endlessly north to south. The men cinched their hoods tight around their necks. The sky was pale with cloud.
“Raise the banner,” Karadur said. Raudri, the standard-bearer, let the dragon banner unfurl on its pole. The wind whipped it angrily back and forth, and then subsided to an evil, rushing mutter. “Sound the Advance.” Lifting his horn, Raudri sent the bright clear music winging across the bleak plain.
Past midday, they came to what had once been a village. Blackened and charred wood spars poked desolately from the frozen ground. Stones that once had belonged to barns and sheds and homes lay tumbled aimlessly about. In a few spots walls rose, seemingly untouched, as if the despoilers had been too lazy or too hurried to pull them down. At the far southern corner of the village stood a stone house, roofless and chimney-less but with walls intact.
“We’ll stop here,” Lorimir said. “The horses need rest.”
Herugin, whose face was drawn with cold, said, “The men could do with hot food, sir.”
“All right. But quickly.”
It was the archers’ turn to cook. They laid wood for a fire in the shelter of the walls, and hammered spits into the frozen ground. Orm sent men to bring meat from the supplies.