Resurgent Shadows (Successive Harmony Book 1) (22 page)

Caleb shuddered at the memory and the thrill of joy he had felt as the golgent’s lifeblood had spilt upon the ground. Nepja had been right. He was in no position to judge what was evil and what was not when he had taken such great satisfaction in watching the golgent die.

“Maybe,” Sigvid said, finally turning to look at Caleb, “but I doubt it. That instinct to fight and to live is an important part of you. The trick now is to learn how to control it. I know from experience. It has taken me years to get to the point where I can feel the rage burning within me and consciously choose how to unleash it. It’s all in what you choose to do, Caleb.”

Caleb nodded and gave half a smile. He was not comforted, but he acknowledged the fact that there was nothing that Sigvid could do or say that would make any difference at the moment. His internal battles were his own.

“Now, who is this Thomas and why do you trust him enough to stay here with the damned magic-user pulling his strings?” Sigvid demanded in a sharp voice.

Caleb had known that he’d eventually have to have this conversation with Sigvid, but now that the question had been posed, he was oddly reluctant to explain. He and Sigvid had talked about a lot of things from Caleb’s past, but there were still wounds too raw and injuries too personal for him to have any desire to discuss them. The dreams that haunted him every night left his family’s memory fresh in his mind each day.

He looked over at Sigvid and met the dverger’s gaze. He decided that he owed Sigvid the true story. Thomas may have saved Caleb’s life when Charlotte had fallen, but Sigvid was slowly showing him how to live.

“He pulled me from the ruin of my housing unit when the Charlotte city-fortress fell. He nursed me back to health and showed me how to survive—taught me to shoot and how to fight. He buried my wife while I was unconscious and, though I didn’t know it until he left, saved the ring I wear around my neck so that I’d have something to remember her by.”

Sigvid grunted and looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to continue.

“That’s it Sigvid. He left after a couple months when he was sure I knew how to get by. I’ve been by myself since then until you captured me.”

“You know he’s half crazed, don’t you?” Sigvid asked bluntly.

“Yes,” Caleb answered simply, “and I bet that mad wizard in there doesn’t help matters much. What should we do, Sigvid?”

“Beware the wizard, boy,” Sigvid said with a dark look. “I do not know anything about this Order of the Nine Towers that he says he belongs to, but all magic users are treacherous at best the best of times. This one seems almost evil. I wouldn’t stay here another minute if they weren’t living above the only remaining entrance to the tunnels beneath the city.”

“So what do we do?”

“We still need to find the dvergers that were captured and do our best to set them free. There’s a Dragonlord in there and at least three wild dragons from what I heard. I’m uneasy about that especially after—” Sigvid abruptly switched topics. “You should see if Thomas will send one of his men to show us through the tunnels.”

“Especially after what?” Caleb asked. The words of his dream echoed in the back of his mind, “The Dragonlords are at the heart of Chaos.”

“Never you mind, boy.”

“After what, Sigvid?”

The dverger looked away almost embarrassedly and muttered, “After the dream I had.”

“What dream?”

“I dreamed of a woman. She told me that the Dragonlords are the key and that they will hunt us and we will hunt them. I remembered earlier when you said you’d dreamed of your wife.”

Caleb’s eyes widened and he swallowed nervously.

“It doesn’t change anything though,” Sigvid said briskly with a furrowed brow that nearly concealed his eyes from view. “We still need to find where the dverger prisoners are being kept and try to free them if we can. I don’t trust these men and I especially don’t trust that wizard, but we have no choice. Speak to Thomas and see if you can get one of his men to show us the way in the morning.”

Caleb nodded, suddenly overcome with a strong sense of foreboding. He shivered and looked up into the sky and the twinkling stars. Orion glittered in the inky blackness of the night sky, a lone hunter standing tall in the midst of shadow.

After a while, he and Sigvid went back inside the makeshift shelter. Caleb immediately crossed to where Thomas sat and began questioning him insistently about the rebels, where the man had been since he’d last seen him, and anything else he though would spark Thomas’s attention. Thomas didn’t even acknowledge his presence, his gaze unfocused and lost.

Caleb sighed in frustration and shook Thomas to try to get him to respond.

“There’s no use trying when he’s like that,” one of the men said, glancing over at him.

Caleb looked up and his eyes fell on the form of the wizard, swathed in shadows. He tore his eyes away and glanced at the man who had spoken. He had been up on the roof on watch when Caleb and Sigvid had arrived, but Caleb thought he’d heard someone call him Marc. From his dress, he was obviously ex-military, but any rank insignia was missing, either torn off or lost over time.

“What do you mean?”

“When Thomas is thinking he won’t stir for anything. Sometimes he sits and thinks for hours,” Marc said, shoveling a spoonful of food into his mouth.

Sigvid had also rejoined the eaters, much to their amusement and chagrin.

Caleb studied Marc’s face to see if the man was serious or just being polite towards his commanding officer. Thomas clearly wasn’t just thinking. He was in a different place inside his mind, lost within memory.

Sigvid snorted and Caleb understood the contempt that the dverger failed to mask. Marc was obviously one of those soldiers who was more muscle than brains. Sigvid covered his snort with another mouthful of food, spilling most onto his auburn beard.

“Who’s second in command around here?” Caleb asked, silently hoping it wasn’t Marc.

“I am,” Nepja hissed from the shadows.

A cold shiver ran down Caleb’s spine as the wizard got to his feet and walked into the light. Though Nepja didn’t remove his hood, the light of the fire cast his face into sharp relief. His skin was pale and sallow, almost wax-like, and shrunken onto the skull as if there were no muscle between skin and bone. His cheekbones were high on his face and made his startling green eyes seem that much more deeply sunken within the eye sockets. His dark brown hair was thin and wispy, streaked with the occasional hint of gray. He leaned against his staff with an almost regal pose. The staff itself was thin, yet apparently strong enough to support Nepja’s weight. It finished in a perfect oval that enclosed a violently green orb. The staff extended well above Nepja’s head. The wizard was not as tall as Caleb had expected, standing only a foot taller than Sigvid himself.

Caleb swallowed involuntarily and found his throat uncomfortably dry. He didn’t trust Nepja and was certain that Nepja didn’t trust him either.

“What do you need?” the wizard asked bluntly.

The men around the fire backed away from him as he spoke, though they merely looked uncomfortable, not afraid. Caleb noted the difference carefully. He had expected the men to fear the wizard, but though they clearly did not like being near him, he was a part of their group. At some point Nepja must have given them a reason to trust and accept him, whatever it may have been.

Caleb glanced over at Sigvid, who nodded slightly.

“There may be dverger prisoners somewhere in the fallen city. Sigvid and I would like to have one of your men guide us through the tunnels so we can find out for sure and, if possible, rescue them.” Caleb’s voice was soft, but his gaze was firm as he looked Nepja in the eye.

The wizard’s face betrayed no emotion, but it was obvious that he was considering the request. “What makes you think that there are any besides yourselves still alive?” the wizard hissed.

Caleb gesticulated with his hands and the bandages on them seemed to shine in the light of the flames. “The golgent were saying that the Dragonlord wants all the dvergers brought to him. That implies that there are others still alive. Oh, and your men said they saw the dvergers being led into the city-fortress earlier.”

Nepja seemed to come to some mental conclusion and gave a humorless grin, ignoring Caleb’s pointed sarcasm. Caleb thought he saw a cold, calculating expression cross the man’s face, but it passed so quickly that Caleb wasn’t able to be sure.

“Very well, Lando will guide you through the passages beneath the city and I will accompany you. We leave at first light.”

Several of the men began whispering amongst themselves at this, but Nepja shot them a withering glare and they fell silent.

Sigvid’s eyes were on the wizard and Caleb could guess what he was thinking. Nepja was not the sort of person to do anything without cause and especially not the sort to do anything dangerous or risky without some modicum of personal gain being involved. The wizard’s mind was a cold and calculating one, so his lack of argument and sudden desire to accompany them made Caleb extremely nervous.

There was nothing else to do, though. None of these men would go against Nepja’s orders nor would Thomas be of much help—he was still idly sitting a few feet away, lost in his thoughts. They had no choice but to accept the offer and hope that whatever it was that Nepja was planning, they would survive it. The hunter growled from deep in the bowels of Caleb’s mind, trying to reassert control, but he suppressed it with an effort. They had no choice.

“Until first light then,” Caleb said with a slight nod.

Nepja turned without a word, strode over to his isolated corner in the shadows and was lost in the gloom as he returned to his seat next to the rust-covered barrel. Lando moved out of the shadows behind the barrel and took a seat a few feet away from the wizard.

Caleb glanced around at the other men, though none would meet his eye. Sigvid gave a slight shrug and continued eating. His dverger constitution was such that he accepted things for what they were unless they got directly in his way.

Caleb wished he could have the dverger’s certainty. Nepja was clearly planning something and had an unhealthy interest in Caleb that he found highly disturbing. His mind was already running through several different scenarios that were leaving him more and more nervous. His bandaged hands weren’t as badly injured as he thought they’d be, but he was still missing a lot of skin and it was painful to move them. It would be difficult for him to fight if they got into any serious trouble.

He looked over at Thomas and, not for the first time, wished the man was still the marine that he had known a year ago.

Gulpa liked collecting things. Whatever was shiny, pretty, bright, glittery, colorful, or just plain interesting went into the sack that he dragged behind him wherever he went. His latest discovery was hidden beneath the remains of the Raleigh city-fortress wall.

Gulpa wished that the shiny was under one of the smaller pieces, strewn far from the wall in two lines like a pair of legs, but it glittered from the darkness beneath the largest chunk, right up next to the wall. He tried to avoid the city-fortresses so soon after the walls fell. Gulpa was small, even for a golgent, and things happened in the chaos of victory to small creatures that didn’t have the brains to hide. Gulpa was not stupid. The others, the trulgo, men, and the other golgent in the Dragonhosts that had eagerly charged into the opening at the moment of its fall, would be busy still. They had a bloody work. Gulpa usually waited until well after the last screams had ended to creep into the city-fortresses, but the shiny had flashed in the fading evening light and called him from his hiding place.

“Why?” Gulpa said. His high-pitched golgent voice cut through the cries of the falling city, “why be this here? The gods be angry with me? They wants me dead?”

He spat over his left shoulder and uttered an oath.

Gulpa had squealed in fear and awe when the walls had come down, forced apart by the powerful might of the Dragonlord’s wrath. The Dragonlords gave him the chills. He shuddered and made a gesture of protection across his chest. He glanced around to make sure that there wasn’t anyone nearby and then darted across the rubble-strewn path.

The shiny glittered faintly beneath the boulder. Gulpa glanced around one more time before secreting his sack of treasures behind the boulder. He fell onto his stomach and reached his small, gray-green hand into the small crevice beneath the crumbled stone. His fingers wrapped around something hard and smooth. A small squeal of excitement escaped his lips.

He clapped his free hand over his mouth and looked towards the interior of the city-fortress. The sound hadn’t attracted any attention. Relieved, Gulpa tugged on the trapped treasure.

It wouldn’t budge.

He yanked on it, but it still wouldn’t move. He cursed, but the sound was muffled because he still had a hand clamped over his lips. Gulpa pulled with all his strength, but the shiny didn’t shift. He huffed in frustration. There wasn’t enough room to put his other hand into the crevice too. But he wanted the shiny! He let go of the treasure and scrambled to his knees to think it over. The chunk of wall was much too big for him to move on his own. He looked around, hoping to find a shovel or a pick.

“Why be this happening to me?” he said when his search proved fruitless.

Then an idea came to him. A wonderful, simple, beautiful idea. He silently chastised himself for not thinking of it sooner. His bag of treasures! Maybe there was something in there that could help him get the shiny out from under the rock. He crawled over to where he had secreted the sack on all fours, his legs bent in half and leaping, frog like, across the ground. He snatched it up and took yet another look around. When he was sure that he was alone, he loosened the intricate knots he’d tied in the cords and opened the sack.

His hand dove into the trove within and came up with a long bit of twine. He’d taken it off a body that was left outside the city-fortress walls. He scratched his chin, the glittering strands within the twine reflecting the sunlight. He hadn’t gotten the twine at this city-fortress. He couldn’t remember which one it was though. There had been so many and he had so many treasures. The twine was set aside. Gulpa pulled something else from his sack, something small and hard. He squealed with delight when he noticed that it was his favorite shiny. A single human toe, the biggest one, just starting to go bad. The nail was painted a brilliant red with tiny little bits of a shiny something that had caught his eye. He’d found it in the same place as the twine.

Rocks clattered against one another near him. Gulpa scampered behind the boulders and crouched down in the shadows, dragging his treasures with him. More rocks clattered and a small figure dashed around the side of the boulder, ignorant of Gulpa hiding just a few feet away. He poked his head out just enough to watch.

The child slipped on some loose rubble and fell. It slammed into the ground with a crash. Blood blossomed from fresh scrapes, mingling with the stains on its already bloody clothing. Gulpa wasn’t good at telling humans apart, but he thought it was a little girl. He shook his head in condemnation as the child got back up with a hasty, fleeting glance back towards the fallen city-fortress. There was pure terror in that look—Gulpa could see it. The child was running, fleeing from something that frightened her more than anything else ever had. She was stupid. She should have stayed on the ground, pretended to be dead. Maybe the trulgo find you, maybe they put you in a stewpot, but if you hid instead of ran, then you were safe.

The child ran, ignoring the blood that dripped from the gash on her head. A guttural shout sounded from within the city-fortress wall and something flashed through the air. Gulpa pulled his head back behind the boulder, though he could still see the child. She was dead, a trulgo spear sticking out from her back like a silent standard of death.

He shook his head. She should have hid.

The crunch of heavy, booted feet in the rocks announced that the spear-caster was approaching. From the sound, Gulpa could tell that the caster was not alone. He wrapped his small, gray-green fingers over the top of his sack of treasures and pulled it closer to him. Only his eyes peeked out over the top of the sack, glowing yellow in the darkness behind the lee of the stone.

Three trulgo strolled into his view.

He slipped one hand free of his sack and dropped it onto the hilt of the small dagger he had at his belt. It wouldn’t do him much good against three trulgo, but if it came to it, he’d defend his treasures. They were the wealth of this new world. If he ever made it back home, he’d be wealthier than any other golgent in his clan.

The trulgo approached the body of the girl. One of the trulgo stepped forward and wrenched the spear free from the body. It came free with a sickening sucking noise. The two other trulgo chuckled, their voices deep and rolling like thunder across the space between them and where Gulpa hid. The first trulgo bent down and wiped the spear blade clean on the girl’s tattered, bloody blouse.

“She weren’t very quick, were she, Olgum?”

Olgum grinned and shook his head. “No, she weren’t.”

A shadow passed over the group of trulgo. Its passing was like the touch of an icy breeze. Each of the trulgo cringed and shivered, looking into the sky with stricken faces. Gulpa squeaked involuntarily but the sound was drowned out in the cacophonous thunder that accompanied the shadow.

A massive, armored red dragon landed on the side of the crumbling wall above Gulpa, the massive talons on its legs digging into the stone and wire. A red and black garbed Dragonlord leapt from the saddle and dropped from the dragon’s back. It was nearly a forty-foot drop to the ground beneath, but the Dragonlord turned a complete flip in the air and landed, feet first, on the ground, legs folding at the knees to absorb some of the impact. Somewhere in the fall the Dragonlord had drawn a thin, curved sword. The blade seemed to glow red in the sunlight, but Gulpa thought it must be a reflection from the dragon’s scales.

The Dragonlord stepped forward, his lithe, graceful steps instantly marking him as one of the aylfin Dragonlords.

Gulpa swallowed, but his throat was dry.

Blood Aylfins loved the violence and sanguinity of battle. Dragonlords loved it even more, but were indiscriminate in their lusts. They killed their own followers as often as they killed their enemies. Gulpa’s entire clan, the ones that had come to this new world with him anyway, had been slaughtered by a Dragonlord and his steed for no other reason other than sheer boredom. Gulpa had escaped with his life only because he had been hidden behind a boulder, much as he was now.

The trulgo scraped and bowed as the Dragonlord neared them.

“We killed the child, Dragonlord,” Olgum said, his face parallel with the ground.

“Silence!” the Dragonlord hissed.

The trulgo quailed and recoiled as if struck. They knew the voice. Everyone in the Red Dragonhosts knew that voice. Even Gulpa, who straggled along behind the Dragonhosts, knew the voice of Mortan-zai, High Dragonlord of the Red Dragonhosts. It was his voice that bellowed commands during battle, magically amplified to cut through the din. It was his voice that gave the orders for city-fortresses to fall, his voice that brought death and fire and pain down upon any who displeased him. His name had been the thing of young golgent’s nightmares for generations, both on this world and the world from which Gulpa had come.

What little color there was in Gulpa’s gray-green skinned face drained away.

“Name your clan and rank, trulgo!” Mortan-zai ordered. A puff of wind caught the Dragonlord’s scarlet hair and splayed it out behind him like a cloak of flame.

“Clan Bludenbren, ‘lord.”

“And your rank?” Mortan-zai’s voice shot out like a whip, marshaling an immediate response.

“I am Left Fisted, ‘lord.”

Mortan-zai spoke a low word and the sword in his hands burst into deep crimson flames. He leveled it at the trulgo, who scrambled backwards. Mortan-zai gestured and a wall of fire burst into existence behind them, cutting them off.

“Answer me this, trulgo of clan Bludenbren,” Mortan-zai said, his voice calm and level, “are the warriors of your clan so weak that killing a small human child is considered a great triumph?”

Olgum glanced at his two companions, but neither of them offered him any support. He adjusted his grip on his spear a few times, his knuckles white and thick on the haft. He licked his lips, purple tongue standing out against his slate-gray skin.

“Answer me!”

“She—she were escaping, ‘lord. We chased her down and killed her.”

Mortan-zai stared at the trulgo for a long, pregnant moment and then said a single word.

“Burn.”

Flames consumed the three trulgo. The fires burned hot and white.

Gulpa screamed in horror, but again his cries were drowned out, this time by the bellows of the trulgo as they were consumed.

Mortan-zai remained where he stood despite the heat, watching. In only a few short moments the trulgo were reduced to smoldering heaps, smoking and sizzling pockets of flesh at Mortan-zai’s feet.

Gulpa didn’t stop to think. He crawled backwards behind the boulder, turned, and ran. He didn’t look back when he stumbled and sent a rock skittering across the ground. Mortan-zai and his steed both heard the sound and turned toward it, the dragon twisting its long neck around to get a clear view.

“Leave him, Mortalan.” Mortan-zai said with a sigh. “Let’s leave this place. There is no challenge anymore. The wings have been gathered. It is time to meet Granil and his Hosts.”

Gulpa kept running, leaving his bag of treasures far behind. Mortan-zai watched the little golgent run away, reeking of fear. He basked in it, little as it was, and almost sighed at the thrill it gave him.

Behind him, Mortalan dropped to the ground and bit into one of the charred trulgo bodies with a delightful crunch. It was almost euphoric. He shuddered in pleasure as each individual bone popped.

He let the golgent go.

Turning to face the dragon he sent a thought along their connection, emphatic and firm. “Leave the child for me. It’s soft.”

He drew a knife.