A Darkness at Sethanon (58 page)

Without comment,
the woman glowed brightly and returned to her dragon form. The three
mounted and she took to the sky. “Fly to the northeast,”
shouted Macros as the dragon banked and headed in the indicated
direction.

For a while they
were silent as they flew, no one feeling the need to speak. They sped
away from the bluffs and beach, over rolling plateaus covered with
chaparral-like growth. Above, a warm sun beat down.

Pug weighed
everything Macros had said in the last hour. He quickly incanted, so
they could speak without shouting. “Macros, you said even one
Valheru would be a force unleashed in the universe. I don’t
think I understand what you meant.”

Macros said,
“There is more at stake here than one world.” He looked
down as they sped over a river emerging from a canyon of staggering
proportions, running to the southwest to join the sea. He said, “This
wonderful planet stands at risk equal to Midkemia. As does Kelewan,
and all other worlds, sooner or later.

“Should
the Valheru’s servants win this war, their masters will return,
and chaos will again be loose in the cosmos. Every world will stand
open for the Dragon Host to plunder, for not only will they be
unmatched in their wanton destruction, they will be unmatched in
might. The very act of returning to this space-time will provide them
with a source of mystical power heretofore unthought of, a source of
power that would make just one Dragon Lord an object of fear for even
the gods.”

“How is
such a thing possible?” said Pug.

Tomas spoke.
“The Lifestone. It was left against the final battle with the
gods. If it is used . . .” He left the thought unfinished.

They were now
flying high above mountains, entering a land of lakes, to the north
of rolling plains, as the sun sank in the west. Pug found it
difficult to contemplate concepts of utter destruction while flying
above this splendid world. Macros pointed and said, “Ryath!
That large island, with the twin bays facing us.”

The dragon
descended and landed where Macros instructed. They leaped off her
back and waited while she transformed herself back to human form.
Then Macros was off, leading them toward a large upthrusting of rock
near a stand of pinelike trees. They were before another door, upon
the face of the large boulder. Macros stepped through. Tomas
followed, then Pug. As Pug returned to the Hall, a dread shrieked its
haunting whisper of rage and struck out at Macros, knocking him to
the floor.

Tomas jumped
forward, drawing his blade as the life stealer attempted to finish
Macros. He ducked as another of the dread attempted to grapple him
from behind. Pug was knocked to one side by Ryath as she came through
the door. A third dread lunged at the human form dragon and seized
her arm above the elbow. Ryath screamed in pain.

Then Tomas’s
blade lashed out and the dread who sought to close upon Macros was
rent and cried in whispering rage, spinning to face his adversary. He
howled and ripped out with his talons. Golden sparks rippled along
the front of Tomas’s shield as he blocked the strike.

Ryath’s
blue eyes glowed, turning angry red, and suddenly the dread that was
holding her arm shrieked. Foul grey smoke rose from the unliving’s
hand, but he seemed unable to release his hold. The dragon woman’s
eyes continued to glow and she stood motionless, with only a slight
trembling in her body. The dread seemed to be shrinking, its
whispering cries reduced to a reedy fluting.

Pug finished an
incantation and the third dread was seized by some sort of fit. He
arched backward and his black wings quivered as he fell to the stones
of the Hall. Then he rose upward, Pug’s slight hand motion the
only sign he was using his arts upon the creature. Pug gestured and
the creature was moved to a place between worlds, vanishing into the
grey void.

Tomas struck out
again and again and the dread he faced fell back. Each time the
golden sword bit into the black nothingness, hissing energies were
released. Now the thing appeared weakened and it sought to escape.
Tomas thrust with his blade, impaling the dread as it tried to flee,
holding it motionless.

While Pug
watched, Ryath and Tomas disposed of the two remaining dread, somehow
draining them of their life essences, as the dread suck out the life
of others.

Pug moved to
where Macros lay stunned. He helped the sorcerer to his feet and
asked, “Are you injured?”

Macros cleared
his head with a shake and said, “Not to any degree. Those
creatures can be difficult for a mortal, but I’ve dealt with
them before. That they were stationed before this door shows that the
Valheru fear what aid we may bring to Midkemia. If Murmandamus
reaches Sethanon and finds the Lifestone . . . well, the dread are
but a faint shadow of the destruction that will be unleashed.”

Tomas said, “How
far to Midkemia?”

“That
door.” Macros pointed to the one opposite the one they entered.
“Through it and we are home.”

They entered a
vast hall, cold and empty. It was fashioned from massive stones,
fitted together by master crafters. A single throne reared above the
hall upon a dais, and along both walls deep recesses were set, as if
ready to receive statuary.

The four walked
forward, and Pug said, “It is chilly here. Where upon Midkemia
are we?”

Macros seemed
mildly amused. “We are in the fortress city Sar-Sargoth.”

Tomas spun about
to face the sorcerer. “Are you mad? This is the ancient capital
of the original Murmandamus. I know that much of the moredhel lore!”

Macros said,
“Calm yourself. They are all down invading the Kingdom. Should
any moredhel or goblins be hanging about, they’ll certainly be
deserters. No, we can dispose of any obstacles here. It is at
Sethanon we must be ready to deal with the ultimate challenge.”

He led them
outside, and Pug faltered. Arrayed in every direction were stakes of
a uniform ten feet in height. Atop each was a human head. Perhaps as
many as a thousand stretched away in every direction. Pug whispered,
“Heaven’s pity, but how can such evil exist?”

“This,
then, completes your understanding,” answered Macros. Looking
at his three companions, he said, “There was a time
Ashen-Shugar would have thought this nothing more than an object
lesson.”

Tomas glanced
about, and nodded absent agreement.

Tomas, as
Ashen-Shugar, can remember a time when no moral issues existed in the
universe. There was no thoughts of right or wrong, only of might. And
in that universe all other races were of similar mind, save the Aal,
and their view of things was odd even by the standards of those days.
Murmandamus is a tool, and he resembles his masters.

“And
beings far less evil than Murmandamus have done far worse than this
one wanton act. But they do so with some knowledge of their deeds
relative to a higher moral principle. The Valheru don’t
understand good and evil; they are totally amoral, but they are so
destructive we must count them a near-ultimate evil. And Murmandamus
is their servant, so he is also evil. And he is but the palest shadow
to their darkness.” Macros sighed. “It may be only my
vanity, but the thought I fight such evil . .. it lightens my
burdens.”

Pug took a deep
breath as he gained further insight into the tormented soul who
sought to preserve all Pug held dear. At last he said, “Where
to? Sethanon?”

Macros said,
“Yes. We must go and discover what has come to pass, and with
luck we shall be able to help. No matter what, Murmandamus must not
be allowed to reach the Lifestone. Ryath?”

The dragon
shimmered and soon was again her true form. They mounted and she took
to the skies. Moving high above the Plain of Isbandia, she circled.
She banked and flew to the southwest, and Macros bid her pause as
they inspected the destruction of Armengar. Black smoke still issued
from the pit where the keep had once stood. “What is that
place?” asked Pug.

“Once
called Sar-Isbandia, it was last called Armengar. It was built by the
glamredhel, as was Sar-Sargoth, long before they fell into barbarism.
Both were made in imitation of the city of Draken-Korin, using
sciences plundered from other worlds. They were vain constructions,
won by the moredhel in battle at great cost: first Sar-Sargoth, which
became Murmandamus’s capital, then Sar-Isbandia. But
Murmandamus was killed in the Battle of Sar-Isbandia, when the
glamredhel were reputedly obliterated. Both cities were abandoned by
the moredhel after his death. Only recently have the moredhel
returned to Sar-Sargoth. Men lived in Armengar.”

“There is
nothing left,” commented Tomas.

“The
present incarnation of Murmandamus paid a price to take it, it
seems,” agreed Macros. “The people who lived here were
tougher and more clever than I had thought. Perhaps they have hurt
him enough that Sethanon still stands, for he must have passed beyond
the mountains by now. Ryath! South, to Sethanon.”

S
uddenly
the city was under siege.

Nothing had
happened for a week after Arutha had secured the city, then the
eighth day after the gates had been closed, guards reported
Murmandamus’s army on the march. By midday the city was
surrounded by elements of his advance cavalry, and by nightfall
picket fires burned along every quarter of the horizon.

Amos, Guy, and
Arutha observed the invaders from their command post upon the
southern barbican, the main entrance to the city. After a while Guy
said, “It’ll be nothing fancy. He’ll hit us from
all sides at once. These piddling little walls will not hold. He’ll
be inside the city after the first or second wave unless we can think
of something to slow him down.”

“The
defensive barriers we built will help, but only a little. We must
depend upon the men,” said Arutha.

“Well,
those we brought south with us are a solid crew,” observed
Amos. “Maybe these parade soldiers here will pick up a thing or
two.”

“That’s
why I spread the men from Highcastle out among the city garrison.
Just maybe they’ll prove the difference.” Arutha didn’t
sound hopeful.

Guy shook his
head, then rested it on his arms, against the wall. “Twelve
hundred seasoned men, including the walking wounded returned to duty.
Three thousand garrison, some local militia, and city watch - most of
whom have never seen anything more extreme than a tavern brawl. If
seven thousand Armengarians couldn’t hold from behind
sixty-foot-high walls, what can this lot do here?”

Arutha said,
“Whatever they must.” He said no more as he returned his
attention to the fires across the plain.

The next day
passed into night, and still Murmandamus staged his army. Jimmy sat
with Locklear upon a bale of hay near a catapult position. They, and
the squires of Lord Humphry’s court, had been carrying buckets
of sand and water to every siege engine along the city walls all day,
against the need to douse fires. They were all bone-tired.

Locklear watched
the sea of torches and campfires outside the walls. “It somehow
looks bigger than at Armengar. It’s like we never hurt them at
all.”

Jimmy nodded.
“We hurt them. It’s just they’re closer, that’s
all. I overheard du Bas-Tyra saying they’ll come in a rush.”
He was silent for a while, then said, “Locky, you’ve not
said anything about Bronwynn.”

Locklear looked
at the fires on the plains. “What’s to say? She’s
dead and I’ve cried. It’s behind. There’s no use in
dwelling on it. In a few days I might be dead, too.” Jimmy
sighed, as he leaned back against the inner wall, glimpsing the host
around the city through the crenellation in the stones. Something
joyous had died in his friend, something young and innocent, and
Jimmy mourned its loss. And he wondered if he had ever had that young
and innocent thing in himself.

With dawn, the
defenders were ready, poised to answer the attackers when they came.
But as he did at Armengar, Murmandamus approached the city. Lines of
soldiers carrying the banners of the confederations and clans marched
out, then opened their line to let their supreme commander come to
the fore. He rode a huge black stallion, equal in beauty to the white
steed he had ridden the last time. His helm was silver trimmed black
and he held a black sword. Little in his appearance offered a
reassuring image, yet his words were soft. They carried to everyone
in the city, projected by Murmandamus’s arts. “O my
children, though some of you have already opposed me, yet am I ever
ready to forgive. Open your gates and I will offer solemn vow: any
who wishes may quit and ride away, untroubled and unharried. Take
whatever you desire, food, livestock, riches, and I’ll offer no
obstacle.” He waved behind him and a dozen moredhel warriors
rode forward to sit behind. “I will even offer hostages. These
are among my most loyal chieftains. They will ride unarmed and
unarmoured with you until you are safe within the walls of whatever
other city you wish. Only this I ask. You must open your gates to me.
Sethanon must be mine!”

Upon the walls
the commanders observed this and Amos muttered, “The royal
pig-lover is certainly anxious to get within the city. Damn me if I
don’t almost believe him. I almost think we could all ride away
if we would only give him the bloody place.”

Arutha looked at
Guy. “I almost believe him too. I’ve never heard of any
Dark Brother offering hostages.”

Guy ran his hand
over his face, his expression one of worry and fatigue, a tiredness
born of long suffering and not simply lack of sleep. “There’s
something here he wants badly.”

Lord Humphry
said, “Highness, can we deal with the creature?”

Arutha said, “It
is your city, my lord Baron, but it is my brother’s Kingdom.
I’m sure he’d be quite short with us if we went about
giving portions of it away. No, we’ll not deal with him. As
sweet as his words are, there’s nothing about him that makes me
believe he’d honour his vows. I think he’d willingly
sacrifice those chieftains of his without a thought. He’s never
been bothered by his losses before. I’ve even come to think he
welcomes the blood and slaughter. No, Guy’s right. He simply
wants inside the walls as quickly as possible. And I would give a
year’s taxes to know what it is he’s after.”