Queen of the Depths (28 page)

He dropped to the floor, scrambled forward, and finished drawing the greatsword. No doubt the weapon had been eager to butcher him only a moment before, but now it welcomed him with a thrill of delight. For one set of hands on the hilt was as good as another.

As before, he loathed the touch of its mind, its bloodlust and gloating cruelty oozing in to contaminate his own thoughts. But he opened himself up to them anyway, and the sword rewarded him. It washed aches, weakness, and fatigue away, as if his hours on the rack and all the subsequent abuse had never happened.

Grinning, he pivoted and hacked a dragonkin’s legs out from under it then split its skull as it went down. He turned again and buried the greatsword in a reptile’s spine.

At that point, the other dragonkin realized a significant threat had materialized behind them. Several moved to encircle him.

Even with the greatsword, he might not have withstood that tactic for any length of time. But by riveting the reptiles’ attention on himself, he’d taken the pressure off his surviving comrades. They seized the opportunity to snatch the spears of fallen enemies from the floor and, adequately armed for the first time, assailed the dragonkin once more.

Somehow, it proved enough. The last dragonkin fell, and the greatsword jerked Anton around toward Stedd. “No!” he told it, just as Shandri had, silently adding, be patient. I have plenty of foes left to kill.

The blade quieted, humoring his quaint, irrational notion that some people ought not to be slaughtered.

Oblivious to his argument with the weapon, Jamark shot him a grin. “Nice sword,” the scarred man said.

So it was, in its repellent way. Anton had assumed it lay amid Eshcaz’s hoard but now reckoned he understood why it didn’t. Tu’ala’keth hadn’t presented the weapon to the red with the rest of her tribute, and

lacking gems in the hilt or similar ornamentation, it looked like just an ordinary if well-made greatsword until someone pulled it from the scabbard. Eshcaz hadn’t deigned to take any notice of it where it lay on the floor, enabling a dragonkin to claim it for itself.

Still it was remarkable luck that it had returned to Anton just when he needed it most. Tu’ala’keth, in her daft and arbitrary way, had decided the sword bore Umberlee’s blessing, and if she were here, she’d doubtless tell him to thank the goddess or prattle of divine will manifesting itself in pattern and coincidence. He mulled such notions over for an instant then put them from his mind. He had more urgent things to think about.

“You were right,” Stedd panted, blood seeping from a graze on his shoulder, “this is worth doing. Let’s raid that armory then kill some more of them.”

ŚŠŚŚŠŚŚŠŚ ŚŠŚ ŚŠ•

As Wraxzala wheeled about the sky, casting her few remaining spells, shouting orders to the slaves in a voice worn hoarse and raw, she marveled at how quickly an army’s fortunes could shift.

She and her comrades had sneaked up the mountainside, to guard outposts, and small fields and gardens tucked away in pockets in the escarpment. They’d slaughtered dragonkin, cultists, and penned slaves— who might otherwise raise a commotion sufficient to rouse the rest of the enclave—wherever they found them. As long as the ixitxachitls had numbers and surprise on their side, it was relatively easy.

But at some point, one of the enemy, a dragonkin on the wing, perhaps, or a mage shifting himself instantly through space, had evidently escaped to raise the alarm. For in time, wyrms and a horde of their minions exploded from rifts in the rock.

The minions, though they made a reasonable effort to kill invaders, were virtually superfluous. It was the dragons who immediately started slaying their foes by the dozens, like the limitless might and malice of the Demon Ray himself embodied in gigantic snapping wings, roaring jaws, and slashing talons.

The largest wyrm wheeled, vomited flames, and burned ixitxachitls to drifting sparks and wisps of ash. A second dragon, its countenance studded with hornlets, spewed fumes, and a squad of locathahs dropped, skin dissolving, fins riddled with sizzling holes. A third conjured a glowing orb that hurtled down like a crossbow quarrel then exploded into leaping, dazzling arcs of lightning when it hit the ground. Transfixed by one or another of the radiating flares of power, koalinths danced spastically and withered to smoking husks. Perhaps lacking breath weapons and wizardry, the smallest drakes—which were still far bigger than the largest of their foes—ravaged them with fang and claw. Some were content to smash down into a mass of opponents, crushing some in the process, and fight on the ground until they wiped that cluster out. Others swooped, seized an opponent, carried it aloft to tear apart or simply drop from on high, and dived to catch another.

Wraxzala had participated in savage battles before and watched significant numbers of her allies perish. The difference this time was that they scarcely seemed to be inflicting any damage in return. Most of the drakes had crossbow bolts jutting from their scaly hides. Some bore puncture wounds from the slaves’ spears and tridents. Now and again, one even faltered or convulsed when a vampire ‘chitl swooped in and bit it, or an attack spell pierced its mystical defenses.

Yet nothing balked them for more than a moment. After which they assailed the invaders as fiercely as before.

She realized bitterly that nonetheless, she and her comrades were accomplishing all Yzil expected of them. They were keeping the wyrms busy and enticing them to exhaust their breath weapons and sorcerous capabilities. They were softening them up for the confrontation to come.

In her folly, Wraxzala had dared to hope the diversionary force might somehow accomplish more, might actually defeat the foes counterattacking down the mountain, or failing that, that she might at least outlive the struggle. Now, however, it was clear just how unlikely that was to happen.

In her eyes, the contest became absolutely, incontrovertibly hopeless when the colossal red dragon conjured eight orbs of seething, crackling lightning, which then streaked down to strike and blast every third thrall in a ragged formation of koalinths.

The reptile then oriented on a squad of locathah crossbowmen, ostentatiously sucked in a breath, swelled its throat, and cocked back its head. The warriors discerned that the red’s snout was pointing a little to the left, so they madly scrambled right. Most of them escaped the booming flare and kept right on running until the dragon furled its wings, slammed down immediately in front of them with a thud that started loose stone clattering down the mountainside, and roared into their terrified faces. The locathahs blundered about and fled in exactly the opposite direction.

The red was so certain of victory, and so contemptuous of its foes, that it was playing with them.

Enough of this! Wraxzala thought. If she disobeyed her devitan—and he survived to condemn her for it— her rank and life were forfeit, and that was why she’d lingered as long as she had. But it was plain she would surely die if she didn’t get away.

Fortunately, she’d had the foresight to save a spell for the purpose. She declaimed the prayer, and darkness

swirled and whispered into being all around her. For an instant the touch of it chilled her skin.

By day, a blot of inky shadow would itself be conspicuous against the sky, but by night, it would make Wraxzala effectively invisible. It was inconvenient that she couldn’t see through it either, but that wouldn’t be necessary just to distance herself from the island. She’d flee until she heard and smelled water below her; then she’d dive for the safety of the depths.

She wheeled, sped away, and a rhythmic flapping sounded somewhere above her. She wondered if she should change course, or dodge, but how, when she couldn’t tell exactly where the dragon was in relation to herself? She was still trying to determine its exact position when gigantic claws punched through her body. Dazed with the shock of it, she dully remembered hearing that all a dragon’s senses were acute, and the wyrm pulled her apart as if she were no more substantial than a jellyfish.

ŚŠŚŚŠŚŚŠŚŚŠŚŚŠ•

It took a lot of killing just to reach the enormous chamber at the top of the mountain. Tu’ala’keth observed that by the time they cleared it of enemies, most of Yzil’s thralls were dead. But that was all right. They’d served their purpose.

Weary from fighting, she cast about, making sure the cave was as she remembered it. Then she pointed, noticing as she did so that her hand was spattered and tacky with gore. Fighting on land was a filthy business.

“Eshcaz has to come in either there,” she said, “or over there. Those are the only holes big enough to admit him. So we’ll set up by that wall, as far as possible from both of them.”

Hovering, body rippling, Yzil studied the corner in question. Blood oozed down from a superficial cut above his eyes, and he blinked and swiped it away with a flick of his tail. “We’ll be boxed in,” he said.

“It does not matter,” she replied. “Either we will kill the red, or he will kill us. It is unlikely we could retreat and get away.”

“I suppose so.” The devitan raised his voice. “Follow me, warriors of Ixzethlin, and be quick about it. We may have very little time in which to prepare.”

The other ‘chitls, who’d been either gliding about, investigating the chamber, or feeding on dead or crippled cultists and dragonkin, obeyed him. When everyone was in position, Tu’ala’keth opened her satchel and pulled out the book inside.

The heavy volume consisted of plates of horn inlaid with characters of onyx, agate, and obsidian, and perforated on one edge so a chain of worked coral like her silverweave could bind them together. It was plain from the construction that someone other than ‘chitls had made it. They were literate, but books of the sort employed by shalarins and sea-elves were awkward for them. For an instant she wondered again where and how her allies had obtained the precious thing then put the irrelevant question aside.

Straining, she snapped the coral chain, gave one page to each ‘chitl cleric, and kept the remainder for herself. Perhaps some of ‘chitls resented a “slave creature” retaining most of the magic, but it was in accordance with Yzil’s orders. He understood that just as she, by virtue of her anatomy, had been best suited to carry the tome, so she, possessed of hands, would be best able to flip from one leaf to another as circumstances required.

She started to read the trigger phrase of one of the preserved spells, and others did likewise, their voices muddling together. The carved stones glittered,

flashed, and sometimes crumbled as they delivered themselves of the power stored inside. The gathering magic made everything look somehow too vivid, too real, and therefore frightening, like looming, leering faces in a delirium. The granite groaned beneath her feet.

ŚŠŚŚŠŚ

Eshcaz watched his troops form into squads then tramp forth to scour the island. If any of the invaders had escaped the massacre, the dragonkin and humans would find and kill them. They were competent enough to manage that, anyway.

Once certain his minions were setting about their work with sufficient zeal, he then prowled over the battleground in search of plunder and morsels to eat.

Considering how many had fallen, the latter were surprisingly different to locate because, for the most part, the dragons had sensibly kept to the air, out of reach of the enemies’ hand weapons, and annihilated them with spells and breath effects. Which was to say, burned the corpses to charcoal, poisoned them with acids and other malignancies, or blasted and ripped them to such small fragments that it would be awkward and undignified for a creature the size of Eshcaz to bother with the crumbs.

Fortunately, he wasn’t actually hungry. It was simply his custom to sample his enemies’ flesh after any fight. It made the victory seem complete.

Something flopped feebly on the ground before him. He scrutinized it then grinned. He’d discovered a still-living ixitxachitl, and eating a live enemy was even more satisfying than devouring a dead one.

He scooped the ixitxachitl up in his jaws. It writhed and shrieked for a second as he chewed; then it was too maimed for even that bit of impotent resistance.

He swallowed it whole then turned to the black-robed, skull-masked priest of Velsharoon who’d been trailing him about, awaiting orders. “Tastes like chicken,” he said. It was a human joke, and he didn’t really understand why it was supposed to be funny, but the cleric laughed dutifully.

Then a ghostly, grayish figure wavered into existence between the two of them. With a twinge of unease, Eshcaz saw that it was Diero, or rather, a conjured semblance that would allow the two of them to speak over a distance. The wearer or purple’s snowy hair, which he always kept neatly combed, now dangled over his sweaty brow. He was breathing hard, too, his shrewd features taut with urgency.

“What’s wrong?” the dragon asked.

“The warriors you just fought constituted a feint. While they kept you occupied, a larger force climbed up into the mountain from the sea caves, dividing as they progressed to invade every gallery and tunnel. Those of us who stayed inside are trying to fight them, but we’re heavily outnumbered. It’s difficult to stop them from going wherever they want and holding any position they choose to occupy.”

The dragon snarled, angry at the sea creatures for tricking him and at Diero for having been right that it was a poor idea to leave the caverns. Had the magician been physically present, the red might even have clawed him, just to rip away any smugness or sense of superiority that he might be harboring inside. .

Eshcaz struggled to calm himself. It was galling that the wyrms would have to fight their way back into their own stronghold, that they’d already expended a measure of their arcane abilities, and that in the confined spaces within the mountain, their wings would prove less of advantage. But even so, surely this fiasco was only a momentary nuisance.

They were, after all, dragons, and he, the most powerful red the Sea of Fallen Stars had ever known. It was insane to imagine that lesser creatures could defeat them under any circumstances whatsoever.