The Silent Army (23 page)

As the Sa’ba Taalor before them had done, the mounts tried for the underside of the mountain and the tunnels that moved above them.

Saa’thaa chose to leap high and felt his claws strike deep into soft soil before catching a good grip. His hind legs scrambled and claws once again sought purchase. All of the training of two lives was needed to avoid falling, but Saa’thaa managed. The tunnel was filthy and stank of the Fellein. The cold waste crawled over his fur and into his armor, which, as fortune had it, he could not remove without assistance.

None of that mattered. All that was important was getting through the tunnel. After that all that was important was what the gods demanded. Whatever they required he would do to receive his promised reward.

There was no sickness in the air of the tunnel, but there was death. The Sa’ba Taalor had been poisoning people and he could smell the stench of the poisons used. The shells of logga nuts, the fine, black moss that grew on Paedle’s side. These were fine things. They were also deadly if prepared the right way. A lifetime ago Saa’thaa had known all there was to know of poisons. Now he could smell them, he knew the recipes, but he lacked the skill to prepare the potions. Paws cannot work the same way as hands. Both have their advantages, just as the powerful jaws he used now could rend the hide of a Pra-Moresh with little effort, but could not so easily form words.

Stench aside, the tunnel was easy enough to travel through and behind him he could hear the sounds of others of his kind moving through the debris and frozen filth.

In time the tunnel forked. In one direction the waste continued. In the other the tunnel rose higher and the air smelled only of fresh water. Following the latter path Saa’thaa found a vast opening, mostly dry but with a supply of fresh water several inches deep. The cave was manmade, and supported by many stone columns that ran to a high ceiling. As vast as it was, the chamber was far below the city above. High above, more tunnels led toward the surface and, all around the edges at the height of two tall men, were tunnels like the one he looked from, which dropped into the clear waters.

Saa’thaa thought hard and was rewarded with the word: cistern. Here the waters of the rivers must have run. Now, emptied of most of their treasure, the vast area was probably not even a consideration.

He did more than consider. Saa’thaa dropped into the shallow waters, sniffed carefully and then drank deep. Others would come soon. There was plenty for all, but he was first and that gave him pleasure.

Not far away King N’Heelis scaled down the wall until he could reach the water and looked at Saa’thaa to see if the waters were clear. Saa’thaa nodded his affirmation and N’Heelis also drank deep.

A second mount came from his tunnel and then others joined them, Sa’ba Taalor and mount alike.

There was no light in the cistern, but they did not need it. The Daxar Taalor had blessed them with eyes that saw in the darkness.

N’Heelis ran his hand through Saa’thaa’s matted fur and did what most would never be brave enough to do: he hugged the mount’s great neck. Saa’thaa in turn rumbled his approval and leaned into the King in Gold.

“Soon, Saa’thaa. I cannot thank you enough for your patience.”

The king pointed to the corners of the vast room. There were doors there, great wooden affairs that had rotted over the centuries. They looked formidable but Saa’thaa could smell their decay and see the weaknesses in them even from a distance.

“Glo’Hosht says there are stairs beyond that lead into the heart of Old Canhoon.” The king looked around. “We shall wait a little longer and hope a few more have made it.”

Stragglers did indeed continue to find their way. He counted over a hundred mounts and saw ten times that number in Sa’ba Taalor.

“It is almost time, old friend.” N’Heelis ran his hand over Saa’thaa’s muzzle, moving dexterous fingers under the war mask that covered his face and scratching all the right spots. A thousand little ecstasies rippled his fur.

“Almost time,” he rumbled.

Soon enough. He could wait a little longer.

It was an hour later when N’Heelis and a chosen few climbed from the depths, and into one last tunnel. This one led to the house of Queen Lanaie, or rather to the empty stables on the small estate.

Lanaie herself bowed formally to N’Heelis, who smiled and said, “It is good to see you, Freth.”

Lanaie’s dark eyes grew wide as she spotted Saa’thaa. The great mount was large by any standards. The expression on the woman’s face betrayed Freth’s surprise.

“Saa’thaa has what we need to continue. It is time.”

“The fire is hot, my king. But we must move quickly. If anyone should see him…”

Saa’thaa made a small, rude noise. “You know the way, Freth?”

“Yes, of course.”

N’Heelis smiled. “Then we do not need a torch or lantern to find the path. Without those, who would look past the wall around your home?”

“I have suitors.” The words were mumbled.

“Wrommish chose that form for a reason, I’m sure. Just the same, let us take care of this.”

They moved quickly through the thick snowfall. In moments all signs of their tracks had been erased.

Life is pain.

Every part of her screamed in agony, the heat as vast as it had ever been. The pain was gone in seconds, but the memory of it lingered.

Leg muscles that had not moved in a very long time moved now and she fell forward, out of the raging fire and onto a stone floor that was almost as hot.

The fire no longer burned. Wrommish was kind.

Swech Tothis Durwrae climbed to her feet and looked around at faces familiar and some almost forgotten in the recent months.

She looked down at her flesh and saw the scars that had been a part of her for so very long, and the gray hue that had been with her for years. Her muscles trembled only a little as she adjusted to standing on her own legs again, rather than the borrowed legs of Dretta March.

Her ash-gray locks fell around her shoulders and her hand on her stomach felt the small kick of new life that rested inside her.

The Daxar Taalor were kind beyond words.

The great mount came for her and let out a low yowl of pleasure. She heard her name called in her mind and knew that Saa’thaa was there for her.

She did not consider that he was wet, or that his fur was cold. Those things did not matter. Swech grabbed the great mane and pushed her face into his war mask, smiling and sighing his name.

“Saa’thaa. I have missed you!”

N’Heelis came close next, placing a hand on her shoulder and smiling. “You could not be left to the dead, little Swech.” He grinned as she turned and hugged him. “The gods would not permit it.”

“How are you here, my king?”

“It is nearly time. The Great Tide commences within days. The final hours are upon us, Swech. Where else would I be?”

As he spoke N’Heelis opened the saddlebags on Saa’thaa. Most would never dare, but a king can dare much without fear of reprisal. Swech was grateful. His kindness gave her time to stretch her body and familiarize herself with limbs that felt foreign after so long. Leather pants, a vest, a simple dark shirt. All of these things she pulled on hastily. She recognized them, of course. She had been wearing them when she returned to Wrommish and the Boratha-Lo’ar. Her boots soon followed and then her weapons. She looked more closely at the gathering of faces around her, seeing some that she knew hid the other members of the Sa’ba Taalor who had offered themselves to the gods. She did not see Kallider and she did not question that. The gods seldom considered bringing anyone back.

She silently thanked the Daxar Taalor. She had served and died in the process and thought that was all there would be.

“I have saved an honor for you, little Swech.” N’Heelis gestured for her to follow, a smile on his handsome face. She followed without thought.

“I have many questions. How long have I been gone? Where is the city now? Are we truly prepared to attack?”

“Soon.” N’Heelis waved her questions away. “First, Swech, I give you an honor. Wrommish gives you an honor. You have served so well and done so much and now you must be shown how much you mean to us all.”

Swech frowned, puzzled. To serve was everything. It was all she had ever needed. She had a mount; despite all odds she had survived her own death; the child of Merros Dulver was still inside of her. What more could she ask?

When they reached the roof of the house N’Heelis opened a window that was just tall enough to let him climb to the roof. Swech followed with ease. Despite her time as Dretta March her body had not changed at all, had not aged. Otherwise she would have been swollen with the baby.

N’Heelis took the small javelin that had rested inside a sheath on his leg and offered it to her. The piece was handsome enough but made of pure gold. She could scratch the surface with her nail.

“I am to wear this?” She smiled uncertainly. It was hardly an adornment.

“No Swech. You are to cast it to the north.” The mountain range was still surrounding them. Though clouds hid most of the vast stone peaks, Swech could see the looming shadows through the snow and cold.

“In what direction?”

N’Heelis smiled. “If I had not asked myself, I would not know.” He pointed. “There.”

Swech looked around and saw that most of the people who had seen her rise from the flames were now in the courtyard below.

Swech looked to the north and took careful aim. She knew she could not possibly reach the start of the vast range, but she tried just the same.

The golden missile soared far further than should have been possible. Moving until it was well past her ability to see.

“That is a trick?” She smiled, this time with delight.

“No, child. That is an honor. Wait for a moment.”

N’Heelis put a familiar arm around her shoulders. She felt the calluses on his palms and was comforted.

After almost four minutes in the biting cold her patience was rewarded. The skies to the far north grew bright red, highlighting the mostly obscured peaks of all the mountains leading in that direction. There were many jagged mountaintops.

“What is that?”

“You have chosen the place of Wrommish’s new home.”

Only moments after the light colored the sky, she heard the low, deep roar of the earth moaning in pain. The land gave birth to a god in the far north. The air around her vibrated with the glory of that fact.

“N’Heelis, that was yours. That was your sacred task. One mountain for every king.”

“Swech, you have done so much to honor Wrommish. This is the god’s way of thanking you.” He paused a moment. “Upon my chest I bear the mark of Wrommish. In comparison there is no finer honor. I am glad you were chosen for this.”

For a while they stood in silence as the flames grew higher and the howl of angry winds blasted toward them. So strong were the winds that they cast the snow and clouds aside.

That was just as well. The clouds had already served their purpose and hidden the army that came to the City of Wonders.

Merros Dulver stared to the north and shook his head. He’d have spat, but the rules of decorum forbade doing that in front of the Empress. In an instant, the mood of celebration that had followed the successful pass through the mountains vanished.

“I suppose I’d hoped we were done with that.”

Desh Krohan nodded. “In a perfect world we would be. At least this time no cities were destroyed. There’s remarkably little up that way beyond the edge of the mountains.” The wizard paused and squinted in thought. “By my guess that’s at the very top of the Arkannen range. Or just east of it.”

Nachia was looking at the maps spread across her vast dining table. There was food on the table but all of it had been relegated to the far corner. Right now she was more interested in information than food.

“So the mountains will direct the winds toward us?”

Desh frowned and looked at her finger as it slid along the range of mountains on the map.

“Sadly, yes that’s likely.” The First Advisor looked at his goblet of wine and frowned some more. “I suppose you opened this too soon, my dear.”

“I’ll take my victories where I can find them, Old Man.”

Merros appreciated their banter. It helped him stay calm after all that had happened. He wanted to mourn Dretta March properly. He wanted to burn away every memory of her, because they were surely lies. In any event, she was heavy on his mind and he wished she were not. Thinking of her hurt.

“On the bright side, we missed the worst of the mountains.” He sighed and looked first at Nachia, and then at Desh. “Do you suppose they’ve come to the city while it was so close?”

Desh shrugged. “I’d say they’ve at least tried. I’d also say the eruption was more than conveniently timed. If the clouds from that volcano come our way it’s going to get harsh here. I intend to see what I can do about dispelling the worst of that. If I were you, General, I’d make sure your men were ready. If the Sa’ba Taalor have managed to get people into the city I can’t imagine they’ll simply sit and wait.”

Nachia shook her head and then, decorum be damned, the Empress spat on the floor. “Where would they hide? How could they gain access from beneath?”

Desh shook his head. “I said before the Sisters saw openings under the city. We’ve had no real chance to explore where they might go.”

“No chance at all?” Nachia stared hard, her voice frosty. Desh stared back, not the least bit intimidated.

She turned a hard look on Merros. “We have had one victory so far. One. We have the greatest army in the world, Merros Dulver. Prove that to me.”

“Most of the army is gathering now, Majesty. They are following the orders I have sent and traveling to Goltha. If we are right, and if that is where the city will settle, then we will be prepared.”

“And if we are wrong? If your damned Sooth have a laugh at our expense again?” Her gaze skewered Desh instead and Merros was relieved.

While the sorcerer thought of an answer Merros added, “Well then, we are going to have a spectacular view of fifty thousand men chasing after a runaway city.”

“Don’t make me laugh, Merros. I’m trying to maintain my indignant outrage.”