The Grand Crusade (9 page)

“You waste words, Banausic.” Resolute shook his head. “Thecorüesciare spiritual centers. You would consider them temples, but they are more—and, perhaps, less. The rituals that bind us take place in the courtyard before the

Resolute’s left hand tightened into a fist. “Describe the woman.”

“Slender and tall, with white hair and your eyes. Obviously a Vorquelf, but different as well. She was bound to the land, though. I saw it.”

The Oriosan prince frowned. “White hair, slender

she could be the one described by Alexia as being borne away from Nawal on a dragon.”

“Yes, the one who saved Will’s life.” Resolute ran a hand over his jaw. “So did the presence of a Norrington allow her to be bound to Vorquellyn, or did her future role as the savior of the one who would redeem Vorquellyn cause the land to accept her? Or, is it some combination of both, with Nefrai-kesh playing his own game?”

Erlestoke shivered as an icy snake slithered down his spine. “I don’t know which of those I dislike the most.”

“Hate them all or none, it doesn’t matter.” Resolute looked at Banausic. “Was she able to open thecorüescP.”

“Not that I saw. I suspect her mother of not wanting to risk her in case the magicks sealing it could hurt her. That was the impression I gained, in any event. The land resists Chytrine yet.” Banausic smiled. “Is it not as I promised you? I told you I had important information.”

Resolute opened his mouth to say something, but closed it and simply nodded. Then he added, “What you have said is indeed of value. You will tell no one else what you have told me. No one, do you understand?”

“I shall not say a word, but there are others who know. Others who were there might speak.”

“And admit they were in Chytrine’s service? I doubt they would be so foolish. If you hear any such idiots, mark them and tell me.”

Banausic’s head came up and a defiant expression slid onto his face. “You are now the master of Vorquelves?”

Faster than a snake could have struck, Resolute grabbed Banausic’s throat. “No, I am justyourmaster. What you have told me is of value, and you shall be of value again. Your words confirm that our homelandcanbe redeemed. In the future, you and I will see that it is. Defy me and jeopardize that future, and you doom yourself.”

Kerrigan rubbed his hands together. While there were countless spells he could have used to warm them, he opted for mere friction. Though he had been on Vael for barely half a week, in those five days he had learned much that caused him to reevaluate his life and the way he saw magick. It shifted his view of everything, at the same time both unsettling and pleasing him.

First and foremost he saw how Vilwan had hobbled itself and its practitioners. Kirun had been such a threat that the wizards had to reassure the lords of the world they would cut their power back, or be destroyed. And it was no coincidence that theMurosan Academy’s magicians learned early how toduel. They likely had begun training as a force to counter what had been seen as a

Vilwanese threat.

Kerrigan imagined that the Grand Master who had followed the first DragonCrown War had fully intended for the most responsible of human mages to be able to realize their full power, if only in secret. The difficulty was that if spells and methods were not taught early, the ability to pick them up later might not be successful. Kerrigan and the others he had trained with had clearly been schooled under other methods, but even out of a group of thirty or so—at best it seemed there were thirty of them—only he managed to excel.

He did wonder if Rymramoch’s description of how the energy to cast magick worked was something the people of Vilwan had ever known. Instead of tapping the river, they drew on their own personal strength to catalyze the ambient magickal energy they absorbed. Under Rym’s instruction, Kerrigan learned to use his personal energy to open a link to the grand flow of magick. It took so little energy to do it that he rarely felt tired even after long hours of working spell after spell.

But using such energy required care. It would be simple for him to tap the

flow to refresh himself or even warm his hands. The difficulty was that flesh was frail, but the human capacity for feeling the power infinite. A moment’s flagging of attention while warming his hands would burn them off. That was the reason spells had been shaped, to define and limit the energy flows, as well as give the magician something on which to concentrate.

Spells were a means of mental discipline, and Kerrigan had been subjected to mental discipline all his life. He finally saw what Orla had been trying to teach him before she died. On Vilwan Kerrigan had been a brilliantarcanoriumwizard. In the peace and solitude of his study, given the right materials and enough time, he could work miracles. Even before he had set out on his adventures, he likely had been the most powerful human mage on the face of the earth.

But that power counted for nothing because I could not apply it where it was needed. A war was the antithesis of anarcanorium. While laboring in Orla’s shadow he had done little to fight the enemy effectively. Even after her death, his efforts had been meager. He used simple spells to great effect, but until the siege of Nawal, he still had been more scholar than warrior.And, even there, I experimented more than I fought.

Kerrigan looked up around the circular chamber. It appeared to have been formed naturally, but there was enough of a taint of dracomagick present that he could not be certain it hadn’t been shaped specifically for its current purpose. The floor had been finished with concentric circles of white and black marble, and he stood at the centermost circle. The significance of his being on the bull’s-eye was not lost upon him.

Four thralls stood in the room along the walls. The scaled dracomorphs topped eight feet in height and rippled with muscle. In their next stage of life they would grow thicker armor, with spikes sprouting, their muzzles jutting, and intelligence brightening their eyes. While capable of speech, they were not capable of much thought, and performed all manner of menial services for their elder brethren.

Rymramoch, in a scarlet robe, stood beside the one at the east side of the room. Bok, malachite-fleshed and still quite hirsute, crouched beside him. The urZrethi no longer acted like the animal he had appeared to be when Kerrigan first met him. He did, however, remain taciturn and often squatted, adopting a posture he had come to find comfortable in his years as Rym’s aide.

Kerrigan had intended to nod to indicate his readiness, but before he could, the first thrall raised a hand and threw a melon-sized stone at Kerrigan’s head. Because of magicks worked on him by the Vilwanese, the young mage knew the stone wouldn’t hurt him. The purpose of the exercise, however, was not to test the strength of the dragonbone armor that would rise through his skin to protect him, but to see if he could prevent that spell’s invocation through other means.

The young mage cast quickly. His first spell surrounded him in a sphere of

energy that tinged his vision blue. That first stone, and two more that had been thrown right after, blazed like gold in his vision. A little trail of sparks followed them even as a duller gold image preceded them, allowing Kerrigan to see where they would travel. He became instantly aware that one would miss, while the

others were on target.

He drew on the river of magick and cast another spell—one he knew intimately. With barely a thought he reached out and deflected the stones heading for him, so that they would travel wide. He did the same with two more, then bent his mind to linking with all the stones. He grabbed them but did not stop them. Instead he tethered them to himself and drew them into an orbit around

him.

Another trio of stones came in, and he spun them into orbit as well. Some he sped up, others he slowed down, nudging them all until they lined up together. Another spell surrounded them, compressing them and heating them until the stone melted. He tightened the spell, using more energy to do so, and could feel the heat coming off the rock. Tighter he drew the spell, until the molten stone had been shaped into a large black ball.

Kerrigan would have smiled and been satisfied with himself, for what he had done was impressive, but he had absorbed the harsh lessons of his adventures. As he began to slow the sphere’s orbit, another smaller stone sped in at him. In its wake came a nasty combat spell. If the stone hit him, the dragonbone armor would manifest, preventing him from casting any spell to deflect the combat spell. If he somehow stopped the armor, the hurt done by the stone would probably be enough to destroy the concentration needed for the defensive spell.

In a split second he could feel panic rise, but he shoved it away and acted, for failure to act guaranteed failure. With a moment’s concentration he flicked a last thought at the spell surrounding the sphere, then quickened the orbit to interpose the ball between him and the incoming spell. The rock passed beneath it, heading straight for his middle. Another thought, a momentary search for a spell, then a quick smile.

Kerrigan twisted his body and the stone passed harmlessly by.

The spell that had been coming at him hit the sphere with full force. Little blue tendrils of lightninglike energy played over it, igniting little pinpricks of fire here and there. Had it hit Kerrigan, it would not have sprouted flames, but instead inflamed his nerves to a degree that he would have felt as if on fire. The spell vented itself on the sphere, then dissipated.

The manikin that was Rymramoch applauded politely. “Very well done,

Kerrigan.“

The young mage shrugged. “It wasn’t that hard to trick your spell into believing the ball was me. I just added some things that made it share the most likely elements that you used for picking me out as a target.”

Rym nodded, then gestured, and the ball came floating to his hand. “I know

what you did, and that was quick thinking. Better yet, however, was the way you turned aside from the stone. Magick is not always the answer.“

“So I have learned, Master.”

“How are you feeling?”

Kerrigan considered for a moment, then nodded. “Good. I am not nearly as tired as I would have been had I attempted any of this back on Vilwan. Controlling the flow is more difficult than tapping it. Orla said there was a fast route to power, and that Neskartu was teaching that path to his students. Would I be wrong if I thought that meant they had no discipline?”

“They clearly have some, Kerrigan, but Neskartu was not concerned about their survival. He made them into living weapons—much as I think the Vilwanese intended you to be. The difference is that Neskartu’s disciples embraced the idea willingly. Perhaps they did not understand the full consequences of their action.” The puppet hesitated. “Did I say something wrong?”

Kerrigan shivered. “Orla said I had beenforged, that my destiny had been forged. You think they wanted to make me into a weapon to use against Chytrine?”

The puppet canted its head. “Look at your age; think about the special group of children you were part of. I think they wanted many weapons, but you were the best. You were even better than they could have hoped, and in you perhaps they saw a return to their former glory. Perhaps they saw a chance to have a Kirun they could control. I do not know.”

“A Kirun they could control?” Kerrigan looked down at his hands and shifted his shoulders as another shiver ran the length of him. “They saw me as a thing, not a living being.”

“I am certain that is the right of it.” Rym tucked the ball under his right arm, then waved Kerrigan forward with his left. “Walk with me and I shall explain some things to you.”

The youth looked up. “I’m not sure walking is going to make me feel better about people who thought they could shape me the way I shaped that stone.”

Rym’s laughter did little to ease the tightness around Kerrigan’s heart. “Not my intention. Your masters were fools, clearly, but they provided you to me. I will not thank them for that, but instead be grateful for the opportunity we now have to undo things that should have been undone centuries ago.”

Kerrigan fell in beside the puppet as they left the chamber. Bok followed a step behind, and after him came the thralls. The company walked down a narrow corridor leading to a grand gallery. Rym dismissed the thralls with a wave, then began the trek back to Kerrigan’s quarters at a leisurely pace.

“What is it you know of Yrulph Kirun, Kerrigan?”

“He was evil. He created the DragonCrown and died before he could take over the world.”

Bok gave throat to a gravelly chuckle. “It would not have pleased him to be reduced so.”

The puppet nodded. “I shall trust your judgment in that matter, Bok. His easy dismissal is more an indictment than the words used to describe him. I did not know him, Kerrigan. I was not an intimate of his as Bok was, but I did hear him speak. I know of the situation that surrounded the creation of the

DragonCrown.“

Rym gestured with his red-leather-sheathed left hand toward the open side of the gallery. “Vael was once Vareshagul. You know dragons destroyed it because it was home to the urZrethi and they were working to free the Oromise from the depths of the earth where we entombed them. The place contained the deepest delvings of the urZrethi and down there, in the darkest bowels of the planet, we yet patrol against the return of the Oromise.

“You know little of the lives of dragons, but you have seen thralls and dracomorphs. They are the midlife stages of our being. Before that we are animals— fearsome animals and keen hunters. During our life cycle we enter and pass through every stage we have known since the dawn of everything. From eggs we hatch into fat serpents all tooth and muscle, then we grow legs and become lizard-dogs that would snack on drearbeasts. Most of the thralls remain in the depths, under the command of dracomorphs. They patrol, and were there any real threat, dragons—full dragons, ancient dragons—would be summoned to

destroy the Oromise.“

Kerrigan craned his neck to look down into the deep crevasse that disappeared into shadows. “If there is still fighting going on down there, why don’t you know what an Oromise looks like?”