The Lair of Bones (60 page)

The ball of fire rose directly above the Seal of Desolation, where the reavers' fell mage had been working. Some reavers seemed stunned, but Erin could see the monstrous fell mage along with dozens of other mages standing fast among the flames.

The reavers' far-seers hissed and looked skyward, and Erin could see the lines of communication race through the crowd as each reaver in turn recognized the threat from above, and then raised its hind end and hissed warning scents to its neighbors.

The fell mage whirled and aimed her staff skyward, sending a dark bolt to blast into the air. It ripped through the fabric of the balloon, and the balloon plummeted into the reaver horde.

Reavers lunged to rip the wizards apart.

An instant later, the flameweavers died. Three creatures of fire rose up, man-shaped elementals of white-hot fury, each sixty feet tall.

They surged into the reavers, touching one and then another, so that they boiled and burst into flames.

One elemental raised its hand. With a thought, it sent its power quivering through Carris.

Torches suddenly flared, escaping their bounds. Fires already raging through merchant hovels exploded with new intensity. Fire raced like lightning along beams and up poles.

The city erupted into a blaze, and as it did, the cries of tens of thousands of city folk joined the roar of the inferno.

Pillars of smoke mushroomed upward, glowing as red as coals. Indeed, even the attacking reavers balked, and began backing from the elementals,
which had now begun to dissolve, losing their human form as they became simple beasts of malevolent flame.

Erin stared in wonder. The fiery elementals waded through the horde like warlords among a pack of dogs. The flameweavers sent lines of fire racing into the midst of the reavers, and infernos sprang up in the hills.

To the south and west, warhorns suddenly blared, the deep-voiced ram's horns used by the lords of Indhopal.

Raj Ahten's men charged into the fray.

Lowicker's daughter shouted commands to her troops, downhill just below. Her own silver warhorns trumpeted a high note, as if to answer Raj Ahten's call. Her knights on their chargers leapt the Barren's Wall and raced toward the reavers like a gale. Lowicker's archers and footmen roared their battle cries and raced to catch up.

“Sound the charge!” Anders called weakly to his son. His trumpeter sounded the warhorn, and Anders's lords leapt on their horses.

Many would have urged their mounts into battle instantly, eager to obey what might well be their lord's dying wish. But Celinor knelt, holding his father up to witness the contest, while a pair of lords stood guard over him.

“Go,
now!” King Anders told his son feebly. “This is our day, your hour of triumph. Let the Earth King's son make a name for himself in battle.”

Celinor's troops were all mounted. Celinor leaned close, squeezing his father's right hand in an effort to comfort him. A physic leaned close and sniffed the king's wound.

“He'll be all right,” the physic said. “The blade nicked his liver, I think, but missed the heart and lungs. With his endowments, he'll heal in a week.”

“Very well,” Celinor said. He rose to his feet and vaulted onto his horse. He glanced down at the guards that held Erin and warned, “Kill her if she tries to escape.”

40

History affirms that the wounds of a nation can never be healed by the sword. Vengeance may be had in battle, justice may be won, freedom restored, but with every stroke of the blade, we carve for ourselves bright new scars.

Therefore, bestow your greatest honors not upon those who make war but upon those who heal.

—
attributed to Daylan of the Black Hammer

Averan finished roughing out the Seal of Creation, and began the second rune she'd envisioned in her dreams.

In the pool in the far corner of the chamber, water bubbled and boiled. She raised her staff and caused geometrical shapes to chase across its face—circles and triangles, and bizarre arcs—as if great fish sped just beneath the surface, dorsal fins cutting waves.

Sweat poured from Averan's brow, and her lips grew parched, but she paid no mind. She was so deep in the act of creation that nothing else mattered.

Soon the Seal of the Deep began to glimmer in the pool. Waves stood up, as if frozen in time or sculpted in ice.

Averan studied her work. To look upon the runes filled her with joy. It was a great work, she knew, a slow magic, such as Binnesman had attempted when he sought to heal the plagues at Carris. Her labor would not bear full fruit for many centuries.

Yet she felt potency in the runes. Vigor would come to the Earth, life and health and mending. The grass would grow greener and taller than anyone had ever seen. Children born on this new day would be fairer and wiser than men of old. Fresh colors would be added to the rainbow, and wildflowers would sprout in the desert.

It conformed well to her memory. It was not perfect yet, but she could feel rightness in it, and she would have years to tinker and bend it into shape.

Only one thing remained for Averan there in the heart of the Under-world, to draw a circle and encompass the five Master Seals, make them one.

Averan raised her staff, felt deep in the Earth. She could sense the fault lines and cracks in the stones, the seams and blockages. To shape the stone required almost nothing, a simple release of the energy.

She let it flow upward.

Soil began to rise, bursting up as if a crust of bread had cracked. Then it raced along, leaving a trail within its wake. The circle began to form.

Suddenly she sensed a presence at the mouth of the tunnel, smelled the death cry of a reaver, and whirled.

Gaborn strode toward her, the light of his opal pin blazing like a meteor. Over his shoulders, like a pair of huge eels, he'd slung a pair of reaver philia, taken from the One True Master.

It was her garlicky death cry that Averan had heard.

Gaborn looked on in awe as he peered at the seals, feeling their potency. He spoke slowly so that she would understand. “What are you doing?”

“I'm fixing it,” Averan said. “I'm healing the Earth.”

“I feel the change coming,” Gaborn replied. “Yours is a great work, and I fear to hinder you. But I need your help. The battle goes ill at Carris, and only I can hope to change the tide of it.”

“How can I help?” Averan asked.

“We're almost directly below the city. I need you to open a path for me.”

“I'm not sure that I can,” Averan said.

“You can,” Gaborn told her with certainty.

Averan was growing accustomed to Gaborn's uncanny Earth sense. If he told her that she could help, then she believed that he was right.

Averan took a last glance at the seals. She felt exhausted, too tired to do more now. Though sweat soaked her clothes, she took a moment to draw strength from the ground so that she could secure the chamber. With her staff, she drew a rune upon the wall. As she did, the stone flowed together slowly, like boiling magma, until the opening closed.

“Here let the seals be hidden,” Averan whispered, “unaltered and unmarred by the hand of the enemy.”

“Come,” Gaborn said. “I left Iome and the prisoners behind.”

He fled the chamber, striding down the tunnel. She rushed to keep up for nearly a mile. As they neared the Lair of Bones she heard shouting in a side corridor.

“Milady, over here!” someone cried. “I've found their nesting grounds.”

“Break the eggs,” Sergeant Barris commanded. “Break them all.”

Averan's heart hammered. Iome and the prisoners had found the hatching chamber. The clutch of eggs was precious.

Averan followed Gaborn round a bend in the tunnel, found Sergeant Barris, Iome, and the other men and women from the reavers' prison peering into the egg chamber. Iome stood using a reaver dart as a crutch, a bandage wrapped around her ankle. Iome held her opal crown aloft to reveal leathery gray eggs upon the steaming ground. They lay wrapped in nests of silk spun by cave spiders, each nest holding a cluster of twenty or thirty eggs.

“Stop!” Averan cried.

Barris turned first. Anger blazed in his eyes. “Why?”

“They're the last of the reaver eggs. The One True Master made war on other hives for years. Each time she took control of a hive, she destroyed the eggs of her enemies. These might be the only reaver eggs left in the world!”

“Good,” Barris said. “Then we can kill every last one of the damned monsters.”

There comes a moment in the life of every Earth Warden when she dis-covers the purpose of her existence. Binnesman had told Averan that when he realized that it was his lot to protect mankind, the knowledge had flowed into him with a purity and power that could not be denied.

Averan felt that now.

For this purpose I was born, she thought, and empowered by my master. For this reason I learned to commune with reavers and have been granted dominion over the deep places of the world.

“I forbid it!” she shouted. “I serve the Earth, and I will do my master's will.”

Averan pointed her staff above the door to the egg chamber, and formed a rune there. She had no time to draw power from the Earth at her ease, and instead had to rely upon her own meager reserves.

The stone cracked instantly, and a circle appeared on its surface. Within
the circle a rune burst forth. The whole wall warped and flowed together, barring entry.

Averan felt so spent from the hasty spell that she nearly swooned. She leaned precariously on her staff, peering at Barris, Iome, and Gaborn, wondering if they would hate her, or fight her.

These people had all suffered horribly at the reavers' hands. The monsters had stripped everything from them—homes, health, and families. If any had cause to hate the reavers, these did.

“The Earth loves all life equally,” Averan whispered. “It loves the snake no less than the field mouse, the eagle no less than the dove, the reaver no less than you.”

Barris growled angrily in his throat, as if he would spring. But Gaborn grabbed his arm, holding him back.

Iome merely peered at Averan, her lips parted in surprise. “You have grown, little one,” she said. “You have grown great indeed.” Tears glistened in Iome's eyes, as if she gazed upon someone who was now dead to her. It nearly broke Averan's heart.

“Oh, Iome,” Averan said in a small voice. “It's only me. I'm still the same.”

But Iome shook her head sadly. “No, you're not. You're an Earth Warden now. Look at your robe.”

Averan looked down and saw a great change. Her wizard's robe had been growing for days. It was as if tiny seeds had taken sprout in her old coat, and the new roots had been growing among the fibers. But in the last moment or two, their color had turned a vibrant green.

All trace of her old robe was now hidden under the twined embrace of the rootlets.

I am an Earth Warden, she thought, called to serve the reavers. And she understood why Iome had shed a tear.

This is my home now. Perhaps in some far future, I might visit the sur-face of the world and gaze upon the fields of wild grass, or walk under the stars, but not soon. Not often.

Averan shook her head. “Get ready to go,” she told Iome, Gaborn, and the prisoners. By habit, she thought of what she would do if she were preparing for a journey by graak. “Go pack your things.”

Barris nodded toward his ragged people. “We have nothing to pack.”

“We're ready,” Gaborn said.

Averan raised her staff, considered what to do. Hers were the powers of the deep Earth, so she reached out with her mind, as if summoning an animal, and could sense the rocks and boulders all around her.

Gaborn was right. She felt a shaft overhead, not more than a few thou-sand feet. The world worm had cleared the way a week ago, when Gaborn had summoned it to Carris.

Averan reached out with her senses, felt the stresses in the rock all around her, the tiny cracks and fault lines. With all of the vast tonnage of stone above, it would take a great deal of energy to open a crack and floor beneath them.