The Grand Crusade (72 page)

On the right, on the top of the dam, Aurolani sharpshooters triggered their draconettes. A horse fell, spilling his rider. Other warriors spun from the saddle, or just sagged forward. The draconetteers were not so powerful a force that they could break up his charge, but they could certainly chew on his troops.

But before he could give them any more thought, the cavalry hit the Aurolani line. He watched wide-eyed gibberers get launched high in the air, only to tumble back and flatten other comrades. His horse slammed into aturekadine, spinning him about like a toy, then another rider spitted him. Crown whipped down and around, slashing.

Draconettes from the trench spoke. Warriors and horses all around Erlestoke fell, peeling away his unit’s left flank. Nothing and no one shielded Erlestoke from the Aurolani trench. For the barest of moments he entertained the fantasy of charging the trench and clearing his way to the base of the hill where Tythsai waited.I can die battling the consort of thesullancirithat died in Oriosa.

But that fantasy died as reality spoke in another ripple of shots from the dam. Before he had time to turn and study that situation, an unearthly shriek sounded. Up over the Aurolani trench, leaping ten and fifteen feet in the air, came an Aurolani cavalry unit. The frostclaws easily cleared the trench and drove straight

at Erlestoke’s troops. His horsemen wheeled to face this new threat, but none of the Aurolani wanted to engage the prince.

He wondered after that for a moment, then a grand temeryx sailed over the line. Heavier than its white cousins, the colorful temeryx carried Tythsai. She leveled her right arm at him. What appeared to be a limb of quicksilver shifted, beginning at the wrist. It thinned and lengthened, becoming almost a whipcord. The hand folded into a fist, then sprouted spikes.

Erlestoke raised his sword in a salute. He watched a crimson droplet of blood drip over the silver blade, then he flicked it away as he brought his sword down. “Come to me, Tythsai. Let me reacquaint you with death and free you from the burden it has given you.”

The dragonbone armor had not erupted up through his flesh, but that did not make Kerrigan feel any better. His vision cleared, but only with the sensation of thorns being raked across his eyes. As he focused, he found himself on theSvarskya’swheeldeck beside a terrified crewman. At the wheel stood a huge metal dragon.

Even before Kerrigan could decide which was more important—learninghowhe’d gotten there orwhothe dragon was—reality shifted again and it felt as if his skull had been opened with an ax. Something was doing its best to scramble his mind, but it gave up after a moment or two.

Kerrigan focused again as the ship dropped a dozen feet with a great splash. It took him a second or two to realize it, but off the starboard side he saw the battlefield. Across the hills, the dragonels in the woods spoke again with devastating effect. The southern cavalry already was reaching the riverbed on the western flank and starting the move around past the woods. Further north Adrogans’ cavalry was moving out. In the middle of Alexia’s line a gap had opened.

And, closer at hand

TheSvarskya’slanding in the lake behind the dam had one immediately beneficial effect. The ship displaced a lot of water, which rose in a wave and swept over the dam. All the draconetteers who had been up there shooting tumbled down and into the formations of men who had been their targets.

Kerrigan hauled himself to his feet and pointed. “We can use the dragonels to shoot the Aurolani.”

The metal helmsman remained silent and impassive. Below, on the dragonel deck, the crewmen Adrogans had left behind were down and twitching.They liked traveling this way even less than I did. Kerrigan shrugged, drew his wand, and invoked a spell.

Ten blue sparks flew from the wand’s tip and hit the dragonels’ touchholes in a tidy succession. The ship rolled as each weapon detonated, blasting iron balls

deep into the masses of Aurolani troops. The hot metal killed some, crushed others, and maimed yet more. Up on the hill, one battery blasted back, smashing timbers and spilling one dragonel off its truck.

“At least they’re not shooting my friends!” Kerrigan nodded, then looked at the helmsman. “You want to bring her about, or shall I? We’ve got the other side to fight, and there will be no better time than now to do it.”

Chytrine’s claw twitched and Syverce slid forward a hair. The tip punctured Isaura’s thick coat. Another twitch and it went further, enlarging the hole. The tip had not yet met fleshy resistance, but Resolute knew it would not be long before it did. When the blade slid into Isaura it would seek her heart, penetrating her inch by inch until her life spilled out.

Resolute snarled, and the next time Chytrine flicked a talon, the blade did not move. The red heat of his tattoos slackened for a heartbeat and he was able to withdraw the blade a bit. He set himself to resist her, but when the redness flared again, it brought with it all the pain he had known when decorating his body.

“Ah, you fight me. Good, very good. I like that in asullanciri. Youaremine, Resolute, now and forever.” The dragon nodded and moved her claw a bit more deliberately. Resolute’s arm responded despite his best effort to hold it back. It reentered the hole and reached Isaura’s flesh.

Resolute wanted to shake his head, but he couldn’t do even that. Vorquelves, in adopting new names and getting themselves enchanted, had played a dangerous game.In having this done to me, I gave her information she needed to control me.

His arm inched forward and the blade pierced Isaura’s side. The woman groaned, but even the pain was not enough to rouse her. Resolute stared at his arm as if it were not part of him, and if he could have cut it off he would have. He fought Chytrine again and gained respite, but then she gestured even more strongly and his blade cut Isaura again.

The idea that his arm was acting as if it belonged to someone else reminded him of the conversation he’d had with Kerrigan after they had discovered the Norrington.Will was part of the Norrington, but the Norrington was more. My arm is part of me, but I am more. And I’ve not always been Resolute. Resolute is just part of me.

The Vorquelf’s silver eyes became slits and his lips peeled back from teeth in a snarl. He fought Chytrine as hard as he could physically, but his mind was focused in another way.I was not always Resolute. Who was I?

His eyes opened wide. “My name is Dunardel.”

The tattoos on his flesh went dark. He whipped the sword from Isaura, then placed himself between her and Chytrine. “I am Dunardel of Vorquellyn. I am not your creature.”

Chytrine snorted. “Very well. Die, Dunardel of Vorquellyn. I will resurrect Resolute and you shall reign over Vorquellyn for me.”

She drew in a deep breath and Resolute brought Syverce into a guard. He knew the blade would not turn the fire, but that was how he chose to die.

Her head came forward and jaws opened, but instead of fire, all she produced was a half-choked hiss. The dragon coughed with enough force to knock Resolute down, then raised her head again. She stretched her throat and Resolute would have gotten up to plunge his sword as deep as he could into her breast, but what he saw stopped him.

All over her ivory-and-gold scales, the ash moved. Splotches and dots, stripes and blobs, it flowed over her. The ash on his skin likewise crawled forward. The floor all but writhed as ash converged. Clumps formed and rolled across the floor to splash over her feet and belly. It covered her scales for a moment, then crept like shadow underneath them.

Resolute coughed up dark phlegm and spat it toward the dragon.Just imagine how much ash she’s inhaled.

Chytrine’s head came back down. She shook it side to side, then coughed again. “No!” Her comment came as a harsh croak. “This cannot happen.” She rolled on her side and began to claw at herself, tearing the scales on her breast and belly.

Resolute stood. “Of course it can. It’s been prophesied.”

Skycasters that had meant to explode thunderballs over the killing ground between hill and wood had been aimed again. Their muffledwhumpswere all but lost in the cacophony of cavalry charging around through the gap, and the thunder of dragonels attempting to stem the tide of men, horses, and metal. The thunderballs overshot the steel-skinned warriors and burst among the trees. The explosions rained down hot iron shrapnel and jagged wooden splinters on the dragonel crews and those standing nearby.

Something burned in Adrogans’ left arm, and the pain spiked as he spun to the ground. A shriek rose from his throat as hisyrunmistress used the wound as a portal. She flooded into him and with her came other awarenesses.

Thesullanciri/

Adrogans struggled to his feet and found a foot-long piece of wood as thick around as his thumb poking through his left biceps and brushing against the mail on his chest. The wood firmly filled the wound so that very little blood dripped from it, but the arm no longer worked.

Adrogans snorted and thrust Pain away. “Release the cavalry. I want them up the back of that hillnow’tCaptain Agitare, elevate and blast that hilltop.”

Pain tore at him again as more thunderballs exploded in the trees above, but the assaults were distant—the agony inflicted on others, not on him. His awareness of thesullancirigrew. And there, coming down the hillside, he caught sight

of the feline form. It moved like a grand black tiger, its prodigious leaps carrying it above the lances. As it landed, it batted aside spears and swords, snapping the former and bending the latter, then leaped again. With each bound it came closer, directly toward him.

Adrogans drew his sword and moved forward. Thunderballs burst overhead, scattering leaves, branches, and screaming soldiers, but Adrogans never took his eyes off the approachingsullanciri. She only paused once, flicking a paw out to snap the spine of a warrior whose horse she’d crushed, then she came at him in a rush. She even voiced a low, throaty growl that rose in pitch as she leaped again.

In midair her shape shifted from that of a big cat to a feline humanoid with sharp claws and a tufted tail that whipped about as she flew. Adrogans cut right, pulling himself from her line of flight, then slashed at her. His cut didn’t miss, catching her below the ribs and above her right hip, but she rolled away and came up unharmed.

She snarled furiously, then leaped again, her arms outstretched. Once more Adrogans dodged and slashed, this time catching her full in the belly. He felt the impact and watched her body fold around the blade. He twisted it and yanked it free, but she landed on all fours, then spun in a crouch.

The delight on her face could not be denied. Moreover, Adrogans had felt no pain in her—and given his connectionthroughPain, he should have felt her wounds as if they were his own. He began to panic, and though he fought it down, his left arm throbbed.

Pain’s laughter kissed his ears like sparks burning flesh.

She’s enjoying this. We are both her creatures, and here we fight each other. She wins and wins. Then Adrogans shook his head.I’ve played her games before, and I’ve won.

As the felinesullanciridrove at him again, Adrogans shifted away from the line of her attack, but not fast enough. She caught him with a swipe of a claw on his right thigh that ripped away mail, leather trousers, and flesh beneath. The blow had enough force that Adrogans whirled away, then smashed into a small tree. He rebounded and fell to his back.

Thesullanciricrouched again, her tail twitching as she shook her paw to rid it of the mail, then licked at the blood on her claws. Her delicate pink tongue took special care to clean her fingers, curling about each, then flicking right beneath the claws. The link they shared through Pain let Adrogans once again feel her carnal nature, and his fingers tingled as if she were licking him.

But her antics gave him a moment to clear his head. As she began to suck on a finger, confident that he could not hurt her, Adrogans struck. Using the link he pumped the agony of his wounds right back into her. As he did so, she shrieked and blood began to drip from her left arm and right thigh.

Adrogans laughed. “That’s right. We are linked—and as long as we are linked,

what happens to me happens to you.“ He looked up, hoping against hope that a thunderball might, even at that moment, be falling from the sky to land on him before it exploded.

The only thing descending toward him, however, was the bleedingsullanciri. She sprang from her crouch and rose high in the air. The claws on her rear paws extended. Her toes reached for him. She’d land on his chest, sinking claws into his midsection, then her forepaws would slash through his body. She doubtlessly imagined that if he were dead, the link would be broken.

Could be she’s right.

Thesullanciricame down, tail snaking through the air, eyes blazing. Then she stopped. She juststopped. She hung there, a dozen feet above him, unmoving and barely breathing, her attempted snarl reduced to a squeaked mew.

“Finish her, nephew.” Phfas stood off to the right, his trembling hand extended. Bound to air, he had used hisyrunto catch and hold her. As the perspiration pouring down his body made apparent, he couldn’t hold her forever. “Do itnow‘’

Adrogans closed his eyes and sank into himself. He found his mistress and grabbed her by the hair, forcing her down onto hands and knees. He mounted her like a horse and she shifted her shape to accommodate him. Kicking her in the ribs, yanking her mane left and right, he directed her out into the battlefield. Together they rode over it and through it, experiencing pain as song, then passing it back through into thesullanciri.

Horses torn in half, with both parts thrashing, established the melody of his deathsong. Men shrieking as life pumped in spurts through severed limbs added the high notes, while disemboweled gibberers clutching cooling entrails provided more somber base tones. The quick, sharp pain of shrapnel piercing victims provided tempo, while the snap of limbs and crushing blows of sword and mace gave the music its percussive quality.

Discordant and hideous, full of sharps and flats, shifting key and beat, with no overture and no true rhythm, the deathsong Adrogans wove and forced into thesullanciridid not lack for power. It moved through him like a diet of thistle, bramble, and iron scrap, then flowed into his suspended enemy. Even the notes of agony he caught in her mews he fed back into her. Only when she grew silent and he could no longer feel her did he open his eyes.