Legacy of Kings (66 page)

Heart pounding, he hovered a short distance from the melee, trying to make out the features of individual ikati. Would he even recognize the ones he had known in the north, after so many years had passed? Their smells were all mixed together on the wind, a maddening elixir of lust and hatred, and he could feel his body responding to it despite his attempt to stay focused.

And then one of the largest males suddenly broke out from the flock. It was a broad-chested creature with spikes half a span longer than those of its fellows, and its flanks were crosshatched with the ragged scars of past mating contests. Colivar watched as it looked about to find the queen and then, when it failed, let loose a mating challenge of such arrogance and anger that it seemed to shake the very sky.

Colivar remembered that cry.

His body remembered it.

He answered.

The creature wheeled about to confront him. Did it recognize the body Colivar was wearing? He had done his best to replicate the appearance of his lost consort. Was the sound of his challenge familiar to it? The last time this ikati had heard that cry, they had been above the ice-fields of the far north, so close to the Wrath that one could hear its ghostly screams in one’s brain.

By unspoken accord they began to fly upward, seeking a place far enough from the general fracas that they would not be interrupted. The air grew thinner and colder with each passing minute, and their layered wings had to beat twice as hard to maintain altitude;, but that was just part of the challenge. A weaker ikati would have fallen back at this point, panicking as his breath grew short and his maneuverability was compromised. These two did not waver. They were among the strongest of their kind, and both knew the value of staging their fight in a place where none could follow them.

When they finally reached an elevation that suited them, they faced off against one another and began to circle. Colivar felt his forward wings stiffen even as his rival spread his own; jeweled membranes stretching wide on both sides of his neck, providing a fearsome backdrop for the snake-like head. The sight of his rival’s display made the blood rush to Colivar’s head, awakening a hunger that no human soul could contain, but he embraced it without reserve, even as he embraced the inevitability of this glorious moment.

The two great serpentine bodies began to circle one another, a delicate and deadly dance in which each one sought to create an opening whereby he might gain advantage. Tails with razor-sharp blades at their tips feinted toward fragile wings; talons flashed when a sudden shift in position brought the two bodies close together for an instant . . . but not close enough. The concentration required for such maneuvering was absolute, and Colivar could feel all the rest of the world fading from his consciousness. He let it go. There was no way to win this challenge other than to be wholly subsumed by it, and if that meant abandoning his humanity, so be it.

It was worth the price.

Suddenly the ikati struck out at him, its tail whipping sideways through the air with such speed that it was rendered nearly invisible. Colivar pulled in his wings so that gravity yanked him out of range, then caught the wind again and lunged upward, catching the sinuous tail in his teeth just as it reached the end of its trajectory. He bit down into the heavily muscled flesh and felt it spasm against his teeth; the blood of his enemy filled his mouth. But the ikati managed to pull free before Colivar’s jaws could close completely, and it quickly put distance between them. Not without cost, though. There were deep parallel gouges in his tail now, and drops of blood sprayed into the wind as it moved. Such damage would not be enough to kill the creature, Colivar knew, but it might hamper its mobility.

Apparently the ikati thought so as well, for it turned and lunged directly at him. Colivar tried to twist out of the way, but in dodging the deadly teeth he miscalculated and came within range of the talons. He managed to pull his wings out of the way at the last minute, but two of the claws scored his flank before he could dodge them.

Whipping his own tail upward, he wrapped it about the ikati’s own. It was a move better suited to mating than to combat, and it took the creature by surprise. Colivar now had a python’s grip on his opponent’s tail, and he used it to pull the creature off balance. For a brief moment the ikati had to focus all its attention on remaining airborne, and in that instant Colivar struck. His teeth closed on one of the creature’s lower wings and ripped through its membrane, tearing loose a fragment as long as its leg and releasing it into the wind. Now the ikati was bereft of half its lift on one side; it struggled to save itself, but Colivar’s weight dragging down on its tail made it impossible for it to establish the equilibrium necessary for flight. Nor could Colivar’s wings, angled upward for the assault, support them both.

Locked in a serpentine embrace, they began to plummet toward the earth. A chill wind roared past Colivar’s ears as he twisted desperately about, seeking a way to deal a deathblow before the fall killed them both. The ikati clawed at his flanks, trying to force him loose, but he did not let that distract him from his purpose. Wounds meant nothing at this point. Pain meant nothing. Even his own death meant nothing, if he could destroy this creature on his way out.

Then his talons slipped between the ikati’s wings, and he lashed out with all his strength, rending to pieces every bit of flesh, bone, and membrane within reach. The creature howled in pain and began to struggle wildly, trying to free itself from Colivar’s deadly embrace. And now Colivar let it go. His tail unwrapped from about the ikati’s; and, dodging the great beast’s claws one final time, he pushed himself away from it, seeking enough distance to be able to spread his wings wide so that he could stop his own fall.

It was over.

Breathing heavily, blood trickling down his flanks, Colivar watched as his opponent spiraled down toward the earth. Faster and faster the great creature fell, and it was clear it would be unable to save itself. Lacerated wings beat frantically at the wind, but that only tore the delicate membranes further; by the time the ikati reached the earth, there was little left of its wings but broken struts, and Colivar imagined he could hear them snap as the massive body struck the ground. Sand rose up in plumes from the force of the impact, and a single piece of glistening membrane drifted from the sky, coming to rest beside the still, broken body.

Colivar watched to see if the ikati would move, and then, when it did not, he let out a howl of triumph that could surely be heard as far away as the Sea of Tears. The torment of all his lost centuries resounded in that cry, and even the ikati who were sparring beneath him paused in their fighting and looked up, wondering which one of their number had made such a terrible sound.

And then there was silence.

Colivar gazed down at Nyuku’s Souleater with a strange sense of humility, for he knew just what this death would mean to the Kannoket. Only someone who had experienced that madness himself could comprehend its full horror. But he felt no pity. Not an ounce of pity. This was the way of their kind. Nyuku had played the game and lost.

Now we are even
, he thought with satisfaction.

He turned to take one last look at the Souleaters . . . and then hesitated. All about him he could hear cries of challenge and triumph being released into the wind, and they resonated within his soul as well as his flesh. A part of him knew that he was supposed to head back to the human encampment now, but the reason for that was no longer clear. Why was he leaving this place? He had proven himself among the Souleaters. They would recognize his dominance now. Wasn’t that what mattered?

With last puzzled glance toward the eastern horizon, he spread out his wings to catch the wind and headed back down to join the others of his kind.

The Guardian who came through the portal had blood splattered all over his armor, and as soon as Salvator saw him, he waved for one of the healers to attend to him. But the blood was apparently not his own, and as the man walked the short distance from his arrival point to the base camp, it was clear from his steady stride that he had suffered no major damage. Of course, that revealed nothing about the battle that that had just taken place; the company that Salvator had sent into the mountains to hunt down the Souleaters’ riders had included a contingent of Seers, skilled enough in the healing arts to handle any wounds his people might suffer.

The temperature had been climbing steadily since the sun had cleared the horizon, and the heat was on its way to becoming oppressive. By the time the Guardian reached the royal party, his face was filmed with sweat, and the neck of his tunic was soaked with a mixture of perspiration and blood. He bowed his head sharply in a gesture of military obeisance to Favias and then turned to the High King. ”Your Majesty. I have been sent to report that the bulk of the riders have been dealt with.”

Salvator raised an eyebrow. ”The bulk of them?”

“We found and dispatched twenty-one in all. Most were as Magister Colivar had described, bound up in some kind of ecstatic trance. The few who awakened fully enough to defend themselves did not seem to have any special power at their calling. Since we had Seers on our side, it was easy killing.” He spoke with brisk formality, but there was distaste evident in his tone. The Guardians had been trained to kill Souleaters, not human beings. But a man with lyr blood in him had the greatest chance of seeing through a Souleaters’ enchantment, so the Guardians had been chosen to head this mission, while Salvator’s more bloodthirsty warriors had remained behind to guard the camp. In war, expediency reigned. “A few of our people were wounded, but healers have attended to them. We suffered no casualties.”

“Twenty-one . . . .”

Salvator’s mouth was a hard, thin line. “The rest got away?”

The Guardian shook his head. ”They were nowhere to be found. We think they may have taken shelter elsewhere. Perhaps in the northern range.”

Twenty-one riders were dead. That was a good thing, wasn’t it? It meant that twenty-one of the Souleaters with Kamala had suddenly been stripped of their higher intelligence and might go mad from the shock. Colivar had said they might turn on one another if that happened. God willing, it would be so.

That was an accomplishment worth noting, even if their primary target had not yet been located.

“And the queen?” Gwynofar asked sharply, voicing Salvator’s thoughts. “What of her?”

The Guardian ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair; it was clear that this part of the report was something he did not want to deliver. “I regret we found no sign of her, your Majesty. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t out there. None of the lairs we investigated showed signs of a female presence, but of course our Seers are only guessing at what that would look like. No one has any practical experience with this kind of thing. And the fact that the queen is still a juvenile means that her metaphysical resonance may not even be properly female yet. Or so the Seers tell me. Magic is not my bailiwick.” He sighed deeply; clearly he felt personally shamed by their failure. “I am sorry, your Majesty. I wish I had better news to bring you.”

“Twenty-one witches are dead,” Salvator said sharply. “Each of them was a significant threat to us and needed to be dealt with. You did well.”

The Guardian bowed his head. “I thank you, Sire.”

Salvator was managing to keep his voice steady and say the things that needed to be said, but frustration was smoldering inside him. They had come here for one thing and one thing only: to find the Souleater queen and destroy her. Now it appeared they were going to be able to accomplish every other goal surrounding their mission, but not that one. Siderea was dead, the allies of the Souleaters were mostly dead, the ikati themselves had been reduced to mindless beasts . . . yet all that would mean nothing if the queen survived. Nothing! In a few months she would reach adulthood and lay her first eggs, and soon after that a whole new flock of Souleaters would be born into the world including new queens and the species would become firmly reestablished. The second Dark Age would begin again.

It had to end here and now. There was simply no other option.

Behind him he heard Favias ask Ramirus, “What of the tribals? Have you dealt with them?”

A hint of a cold smile played across the Magister’s face. “They are . . . occupied.”

Salvator gritted his teeth for a minute.
You allowed him to act. The burden of his sin is yours to bear.
“If I asked what you did to them, Ramirus, would I regret it?”

“Merely an illusion, Majesty, that convinced them this was not the proper time for war.”

“So many of them? All at once?”

“They all share a common fear, so the mechanics of it were quite simple. I merely brought that fear to life. And since it is a fear that your own people do not share, my efforts didn’t even have to have a clear directional focus, other than keeping it out of Jezalya.”

Salvator’s mouth twitched. “That sounds almost . . . merciful.”

Again the cold smile appeared. “No, your Majesty. Simply efficient.”