To kill him would be to serve the people.

13.

THE WAYFINDER.

Death is the perfect huntress, and she will find us all. Lady Despair, make me worthy prey this night, swift and elusive.

-a prayer for wyrmling children Less than an hour before dawn, just as the first birds began to peep querulously at the coming light, the Knights Eternal found the human fortress south of Caer Golgeata, as Lady Despair had promised.

They circled the small castle twice from above, studying its curious workmanship, then dived into the courtyard. As Vulgnash landed, his wings folded neatly around him like a b.l.o.o.d.y robe.

Vulgnash studied the tree in the courtyard while his companions began the hunt. The undersides of its leaves gleamed softly in the starlight, creating a numinous glow. The sound of its leaves whispering in the night breeze soothed his jangled nerves, aroused feelings of hope and longings for decency that had long since abandoned him.

As Thul hunched with his cowl around his face and crept from door to door sensing for living things, Kryssidia merely crouched upon a wall, watching for guards.

"They're hiding," Thul hissed at last, his voice as dry as a crypt. "But they are here."

"Of course they are here," Vulgnash said. There was tall gra.s.s and vines outside the castle gate, and only a few pairs of feet had trampled them. If the inhabitants of the castle had fled, they'd have left a larger trail.

With any luck, the wizard Fallion Orden would still be here.

Vulgnash leapt up a stone wall, strode to the tree. He caressed its golden bark, found it soothing and pleasant to the touch. It had an exotic scent to it, like c.u.min, only sweeter.

With his finger he drew a rune upon the tree, then stepped back a few paces and uttered a single curse word.

The bark squealed and shattered, as if lightning took the tree, and suddenly it was blasted with rot. Fungi the color of b.u.t.ter and snow covered it like a scab, and burst up from beneath the rents in the bark. Leaves shriveled and turned the gray of dirty rags.

Vulgnash stood back as the heavy scent of decay filled the courtyard.

In death most of all, Vulgnash thought, the tree was beautiful.

There was a hiss from across the courtyard, at the mouth of the keep. "Here," Thul whispered.

Kryssidia swooped down from the wall on crimson wings, like a giant bloodied crow, while Vulgnash strode to the door in question.

Thul pushed upon it, and the heavy door swung inward.

Interesting, Vulgnash thought. I had imagined that they would bar it. But of course, by doing so, they would have signaled where they were hid.

Thul stood by the open door, and his long dark tongue flickered like a snake's. Vulgnash tasted the air, too. His senses were acutely attuned to the smell of death, and every creature, no matter how much alive, also had a taste of death to it-an odor of decaying skin, putrefying fat. Yes, there was more than a hint of death in the air. There was the smell of those who were wounded and dying.

Moving almost as one, the three drew their blades and crept into the keep, walking as softly as shades. Some small starlight came in shafts through the windows. Vulgnash bent his will upon it, scattered it backward, so that the three became one with the shadows.

They followed the familiar scent of death through the halls, found a stairwell going down. The scent was stronger there.

They crept down the stone steps, halted just in front of the door.

The smell of decay was strong. Someone stood just on the other side, guarding the door, a human, an older man. There was no fear in his scent. He did not know that he was being stalked.

Kryssidia pushed on the door, this time using only the power of his shade.

This door was barred.

The Knights Eternal looked at one another, and then as one bent their wills upon the door.

It shattered inward as if a rampaging bull had charged into it. Shards of wood and splinters flew everywhere.

A frightened old man cried out, "What? What? Who goes there? I, I, I have a sword."

Vulgnash had learned many languages in his long life, but he did not recognize this one. The old man's words were meaningless.

The man shouted, "Help! Someone! Everyone!" He drew a sword and began swinging wildly in the darkness. Obviously, he was not a wyrmling. He did not even have the poor night vision of one of the warrior clan. He was blind and helpless in the dark.

"Shawve zek Fallion Orden?" Vulgnash hissed. Where is Fallion Orden?

The old man cried out, lunged forward, aiming only at the sound of Vulgnash's voice. Thul grabbed the man by the wrist as he pa.s.sed, and squeezed so tightly upon the ganglia of his wrist that the fellow's swords clattered to floor, even as the bones of his wrist shattered with a crackling sound.

The old man let out a groan of pain, falling to his knees, and Thul grabbed his face, preparing to drain the life from him.

There were shouts down the hallway, the sound of more guards coming, and Vulgnash's heart leapt in joy. There would be enough lives to feed all three here tonight! Indeed, Kryssidia was already leaping ahead, eager to sate his appet.i.te.

"Wait!" Vulgnash commanded before Thul could take the old man's life. "I will have an answer to my question first."

He reached down as Thul held the old man's weapon hand, and grabbed the old man's finger. The old man shrieked and fought as Vulgnash knelt down and cleanly bit it off.

Men began racing into the hallway now, five men with torches that threw dancing shadows. They were shouting as they sought to engage Kryssidia.

The fools did not know that you cannot kill the dead.

He batted them aside as if they were pups, smashing skulls and breaking bones with every blow.

Meanwhile, in the weak torchlight, Vulgnash spat the b.l.o.o.d.y finger onto the floor, where it lay twitching.

"Azgan ka u-zek Fallion Orden." Show me the way to Fallion Orden.

Suddenly the finger spun, as if moved by an invisible hand, and then drew to a stop, pointing due west.

So, Fallion was gone, and the old man knew which way he had gone. Vulgnash saw the terror in the old man's eyes, revulsion at the b.l.o.o.d.y finger, a palpable sense of betrayal at what it had done. Vulgnash smiled, gladdened by this small act of torture.

The sun was coming. It was probably too late to go hunt for the wizard now. But there was time to eat, time to grow fat from the life force of others, and all three of the Knights Eternal were famished.

"Thul," Vulgnash said, "you may eat him now."

14.

THE WASTELAND.

To the eyes of the true men of Luciare, every object holds within it various levels of life or death, and so in formal speech, all nouns end in the appropriate suffix.A living woman might be named Norak-na, Cloud Alive. But when she dies, her name becomes Norak-bas, Cloud Departed.All living trees and animals hold life in them, and thus end with -na. Warmth and water also hold na, as does fertile soil, the wind, and the clouds.Things that hold death within them include all weapons, sterile soil, bitter cold, and fire.Given this emphasis on life and death, it is no surprise that the wizards of our world place so much emphasis on "Life Magic," magic which draws energy from one living thing to another, in an effort to sustain them both.And while some might think that death magic is the ant.i.thesis of life magic, it is not. There is no power in death. Death lords kill by draining energy from living things into themselves. Thus, their power is not the ant.i.thesis of life magic, merely a perversion of it.

-the Wizard Sisel Bird song filled the woods as Fallion woke-nuthatches and wrens proclaiming their territories. Rhianna lay beside him, her cheek pressed against his chest, and he took his waking slow. The morning sun slanted through the forest, and as he watched the nightjars and ricks winging through the dim light, it seemed as fine a dawn as Fallion could remember.

Sunrise was still half an hour away.

He felt rested, and though his normal vigor had not returned, he could tell that healing was coming. A day or two more, he thought, and I will be better.

As the foursome ate a hasty meal, Talon bore the news. "We have to make good time today, get as far away from here as possible. Are you up to running?"

None of them were, but each nodded yes.

And so, without further ceremony, they ran.

They raced over mountain trails in the half-light and plunged down a steep slope into an oak forest that was as pretty as any that Fallion had ever seen. The graceful limbs of oaks, thick with moss, twisted high in the air, with nothing but leaf-mold and a few fallen limbs beneath them. The group scared up herds of deer as they ran, and hares and foxes, and once Jaz pointed out a rare gray lynx as it leapt up into a tree.

There was no sign of wyrmlings, no sound of hunting horns behind them, no footprints in the dirt.

By the crack of sunrise they left the forest and ran into the open sun, through fields much like those that Fallion remembered from his youth, endless fields of gra.s.s and black-eyed Susans, with only a few trees in the distance, winding along the banks of some creek bed.

On his own world, this land had been devastated by reavers, left devoid of settlements, and even now Fallion worried as he ran.

Some primal sense warned him that nothing was quite as it seemed. There were wyrmlings here, yes, and reavers, and strengi-saats. It was as if enemies that he'd never imagined and never fully understood were all preparing to combine against him.

Heightening his fears now was the fact that it was late summer, and the gra.s.s had died off. Only a few golden strands of straw still stood. There was no cover, no place to hide, and Fallion remembered the sounds of heaving wings.

There could be wyrmlings in the trees ahead, or in the trees behind, just watching the fields, marking them as they ran. Talon had a.s.sured him that wyrmlings would not attack in the daylight. The full sun burned their eyes, burned their pale skin too easily.

But they could still see. They could be watching from a line of trees.

And so he ached for cover.

As they ran, he noted that certain tender flowers and vines had begun to die off in the night. They were wilted, as if they had been plucked up by the roots.

Once, when they rested beside a brook, Talon squatted to inspect some watercress that looked sickly; her face grew sad. "It's the blight," she said, her voice thick with regret. "I fear it will take all of these plants before long-the green meadows and fields of flowers, the willows and oaks. Such things will only be a memory, a dream. And once again, this world will become a wasteland."

"A blight?" Jaz asked.

"The Death Lords' blight," Talon said. "The wyrmlings put a curse upon the land, years ago. Most of the plants died off. Only the cruelest of weeds and thorns eke out a living now."

"What is a Death Lord?" Fallion asked.

"They are leaders among the wyrmlings. They are...like wights," she said. "They're more spirit than flesh and bone. Indeed, they have no bones at all, and one would be hard pressed to discern their flesh, for they are no more substantial than smoke or a morning fog. But unlike the spirits that haunted our world, the Death Lords are powerful sorcerers who choose their fate. They choose to remain suspended between life and death, between our world and the fields of nothingness. Thus, they become masters of both worlds."

Fallion became chill at the thought, and throughout the day as they ran, he noticed more and more that the plants were indeed failing.

He worried for farmers in faraway places-the orchards and vineyards of Mystarria, the wheat fields of Heredon. How would his people survive if this blight took hold of the land in those places?

And as the day drew out, he saw more and more tokens that Talon was right. In two days, maybe three, the forests and meadows they had pa.s.sed through would become a wasteland.

Once, in the distance, they saw smoke to the north, hanging lazily over a stand of trees.

Talon cursed, and they struck south at a full run, until they pa.s.sed another line of trees.

They skirted in its shadows, following the winding course of a stream, careful to be quiet. In the shade of the woods, the tall gra.s.s held the morning dew, and they marched along soundlessly.

Talon took the lead for the morning, but at one point she stopped them all, her body going taut, her hands outstretched, and peered into the deep shadows just at the edge of the woods.

In the tall gra.s.s about fifty yards away, a young man stood. His chest was naked and matted with fur. His tawny hair fell down over his shoulders like a lion's mane. His eyes were strange and wild.

He stood perfectly still for a long moment, and Fallion could not help but notice that there was something wrong with him. His eyes looked terrified, like those of an animal, and he had no arms.

Talon did not speak, but the young man suddenly turned his head as if looking for an escape.

That's when Fallion noticed the antlers. At first he had just thought them to be limbs from an alder, but now he saw them clearly, three tines to the side, as the young man turned and bounded away like a hart, on four strong legs, each of them slamming into the ground simultaneously, and then thrusting him upward in mighty bounds. He looked like a hart, sailing through the air and then falling to the earth with each bound, as he raced away across an open field.

"What is that?" Jaz asked in amazement.

"A legend," Talon said, "and not one from your world."

"A legend?" Fallion asked.

"A galladem," Talon said. "Legends say that in ages past, the galladems were friends of the true men. Those that hunted wolves and bears would often have them come to their campfires, where the galladems would tell tales of the forests. They would tell what the trees dreamed of as they slumbered through the long winter, and would translate the songs of birds into the human tongue. They helped guide the men on their hunts, for the wolves and bears and rock lions were enemies to the galladems."

"Can you talk to him?" Jaz asked.

Talon shouted across the fields in a strange tongue, and the galladem halted for a moment, stared back at her quizzically, and then began walking away slowly.

In defeat, Talon said, "It has been hundreds of years since last a galladem was seen. I fear that we no longer speak the same tongue."

"What did you say?" Gaborn asked.

"I spoke the words of a blessing in the old tongue," Talon said. "May the fruits of the forest and the field be yours. May you bask in sunshine in the meadow, and find shelter in the hills. May you refresh yourself with cool water, and never know want."

Suddenly the creature stopped; it turned its head at a seemingly unnatural angle and shouted back.

When it fell silent, it bounded away.

"What did it say?" Rhianna begged. Talon had to think a bit.