Dark Magic (30 page)

“Talespinner. What of our efforts to capture a sufficiency of elementals from the magma?”

This one was so nervous he spilled his scrolls when addressed. They splashed over his boots and his lap like a hurled deck of cards. “Ah,” he said, snatching at scrolls.

The warrior clanmaster rolled his eyes to the ceiling, clearly unimpressed.

Gudrin slammed her hand down on the table again. This time, her hand had formed into a fist, and a gush of flame scorched the table where she struck it. For several long seconds after the booming report of both the blow and the blossoming flames, her fist continued to burn. It blackened the table surface, bubbling the varnish from a new patch, one of many such scars the table displayed. She wondered distantly if this sort of thing was the very reason her forebearers had always built council chambers out of pure stone.

“Leave the scrolls, man! Report!”

Flustered, the talespinner stammered something about finding enough flame elementals, but almost none of the molten earth types. Gudrin calmed while he spoke, and when the flames on her fist were down to a bare flicker she rubbed her bare cheek.

Everyone watched quietly, seeing clearly that the flames had no effect on her whatsoever. She let them stare. A powerful monarch gave them faith in her leadership.

Finally, the talespinner offered his resignation at the end of his report. He sat with his dejected face aimed downward at his avalanche of scrolls, which still fluttered around his seat.

Gudrin snorted. “Request denied. I’ll decide when you are relieved of your position. It is none of your affair.”

“Thank you, my Queen.”

“Don’t thank me! This is no time to play with scrolls! Get out there and catch more elementals! We must have them to provide the heat source for our steam-driven machines. And pick up your flapping papers before I burn them all by accident.”

Gudrin left the council to their muttering and went to inspect the construction pits.

The crawler in the pits was a prototype, an early model based on scrolls that crumbled with age. There were many improvements to be made, but the thing was still deadly. One could sense, in its presence, it would be wicked indeed in combat. She eyed it critically. So long had it been since her people had marched behind such things. Seeing the evil of it, she no longer doubted why the Kindred council had seen fit to destroy the old ones nearly a millennium ago.

The crawler had a central torus of shining brass. The body of it was pot-bellied, in the general shape of a teakettle. But this teakettle had six multi-jointed steel legs like a giant crab. Also like a crab, two killing tines thrust forward, resembling claws, but each of them were sharpened to perfect spear-like point. They could thrust forward with startling rapidity, and were capable of piercing any armor, or even punching through stone.

As well, there was a rotating cap atop the metallic monster. Inside the turret sat one of the mechnicians, fully dressed in his thickest heat-resistant leathers. A nozzle attached to the rotating cap was able to spew flame or superheated steam with equal facility.

She watched as the pilot drove the clanking, hissing monster around the construction pit. This one was finished and ready for action, although it had a dozen design flaws that would be fixed in the next unit. Steam puffed behind from the rear exhaust vents. She could see how it would cause problems in an enclosed space. They would have to improve that design point.

She knew that inside the heart of the machine, a tiny being of living flame was imprisoned. To cause the machine to move, the elemental was tormented lightly with sprays of water from the central brass boiler. The resultant steam drove pistons and clockwork gears, moving the legs and providing locomotion. The machine would have to carry a vast amount of fuel to operate without the elemental inside it. There was no more efficient source of compressed heat available, other than her own Jewel. She wondered vaguely, while inspecting the machine, if she could easily power and drive one of these contraptions herself, with the help of Pyros, of course.

“Milady!” cried a voice from the top of the pit.

She craned her neck and saw a messenger. She waved her forward, and the young messenger came without hesitation, sliding down the side of the pit. Shale trickled and clattered in a tiny splash of loose stones at the bottom.

“Yes, yes, what’s the hurry?” Gudrin asked.

The messenger picked herself up, limped closer and held out a scrawled note.

Gudrin eyed the note. “Just tell me.”

“The kobolds, milady. About a hundred of them. They were seen in the night hours. They burned out two farms in the far eastern caverns. A full raiding party it was, with elders in the group. It was no random group of spratlings. One of the tribal chiefs must have ordered it.”

“You’ve come from there?”

“Yes, the watch commander sent me, he said—”

“Of course. You did well to find me quickly. What of the families?”

“All slain, milady.”

Gudrin nodded. She put her hands behind her back and clasped them. Where her two hands touched, a circle of orange flame appeared and flickered. She marched slowly in the bottom of the pit, pacing around the monstrous thing her mechnicians had constructed.

“Milady? What are your commands?” asked the messenger.

“So it has begun,” she said, as if she had not heard the other. She pointed up to the killing tines. Inside the metal monster, she could hear the ticking of gears and the gentle hiss of released steam. “What do you make of those, girl? What do you see?” she asked the messenger.

The young face looked up at the brass horror and eyed the killing tines critically. “Fine workmanship.”

Gudrin nodded again. “Just so.”

With a heavy heart, she ordered the mechnician to pilot the machine. She summoned the warriors who would form a company behind it, to follow it on patrol.

Gudrin ordered them to find the war party that had attacked the farm. They were to track them into the Everdark and destroy them all, but to pursue no deeper than a kilometer deepward. Farther than that would require a full company of the machines.

She heaved another sigh. The killing she had known was near at hand had finally begun. Part of her exulted, while part of her despaired.

The Orange Jewel, she knew, was the part of her that caused her face to split into a wide, excited grin. For Pyros, the nearness of battle was a thing of joy.

Chapter Eleven

To Coax the Hound

Mari had rested for hours, and had even begun to worry when finally Piskin returned to her. She had thought of running. In fact, she had thought of little else. But she was in the Twilight Lands, with only a few drifting wisps to keep her company. Even they seemed to be growing bored with the novelty of her.

Where would she run to? There were horrors moving in the distance, seemingly in every direction. To the east, where the forest and the Berrywine River should be, were she in still Cymru, hulked blue mountains. They bore caps, not of white snow, but of a greenish material. She knew not what it maybe, perhaps islands of grass grew up there.

To the west and north were huge trees. These were trees of impossible size, she could tell that even at this distance. They stood so tall they thrust up above the clouds, as if they were themselves mountains. Around the base of those trees moved shadows, what must be living things, but creatures so great in size they stood hundreds of feet tall. In the south, at the end of plain flatter and wider than any she’d ever seen in her life, a sea sparkled distantly, reflecting the endless starlight. She knew the sea was supposed to be to the west, not the south, and that there were mountains in her world between these places. But there were the waves, plain to see.

And so, she asked herself, if she were to run, which way was best? She was not even sure in which direction the tumble stones stood. What if she could not even find the mound by which she had come to this place?

Gulping back tears, she spent her time asking the wisps to find Puck, to bring him to her. They shook their tiny heads sadly. Who could have instructed them to ignore her pleas? She did not know. She had not seen Piskin do it.

Frightened and alone, she sat, hugged her belly, and soothed it with her hands. Her baby may come any day now, she could tell that much. What kind of world was this to birth a child into?

Often, she thought of Piskin’s dagger. She thought of being cut, so that she fell the way sails had fallen when the ropes were slashed. She thought too, of plunging it into Piskin and taking her chances with the wisps.

Finally, Piskin returned. He looked worried and hurried.

“Come girl, up now. Surely, you’ve rested long enough.”

“Where have you been?” she demanded.

“To tend to a matter that doesn’t concern you, petulant girl. Up with you! We must make haste. Many dangerous creatures roam this land, you know. I half thought to come upon your shredded corpse. Let’s move on, while your luck still holds.”

She struggled to her feet. He let her eat a morsel from her bag and gave her a cup of water that shone like moonlight. She hesitated, then drank it. The taste was fresh, wonderful, metallic. Soon, she was able to follow him at a fair pace.

They marched southward, across that wide flat plains. They left the tremendous trees, their moving shadows, and the green-capped mountains further behind. Heading this way did at least make some sense to her. That was the direction in her world where Frogmorton would lie. The very southern border of the Haven was nearby if the two worlds measured distance in the same way.

“Piskin,” she asked, having a sudden, disturbing thought, “is it still night back where we left?”

She knew from many stories of the Twilight Lands that things here didn’t always proceed apace with her own world. Time was often slower her, and faster in Cymru. A night spent here might mean a week or more had passed when you went back home.

Piskin flapped his single hand at her, disinterested in her fears. “Step it up, girl, or perhaps your family will have died of old age before you return with your babe.”

She had wondered where they might have been heading, as she had seen nothing but rippling silver grasses and occasional herds of elk. The elk here were quite impressive. They had great spanning antlers, like those she’d seen as trophies but never in person. A dozen feet wide, their antlers were like spreading tree branches, and must have weighed a great deal. The elk themselves were massive as well, standing ten feet or more at the shoulder. She had seen deer all her life, and these were like them, but impossibly huge. They stared at her as she walked by, chewing and making the ground tremor when they shied and trotted. They passed the elk and kept going southward.

“Ah, here we are!” said Piskin at last, after she had become tired. She had walked many a mile in her life, and she thought they had marched at least ten miles southward. They must be near Frogmorton, in Cymru. If distances were true, that was.

Before them a pit opened up in the ground. It was more of a black wound, really, almost a burnt spot where no silver grasses grew. At the bottom of the pit was a three-sided building. A small stone pyramid of sorts.

“You see the very cunning of it?” he asked her. “This spot is not well-known, even though it sits in the most open spot in the world. Everyone travels by, but few notice this hole in the ground, and fewer still stop to investigate.”

She was bewildered. “This is no mansion. Where is Puck?”

Piskin made an easy gesture. “In good time, my dear. You are the sort who must have demanded your cupcake each night before supper, I imagine.”

She huffed. “Indeed not. We did not eat cake every night.”

“No matter,” said Piskin. He seemed to be in an excellent mood, which was unusual for him and immediately put her on her guard. “If you would be so good as to follow me down this stony slope. The sides are likely to slide away with you, have a care!”

Mari stood on the lip of the pit and looked down dubiously. She put her hands on her hips. “I’m not going down there unless you give me an excellent reason to do so.”

Piskin stopped and eyed her darkly. He pursed his thin lips. He drew himself up after a moment to his full height. She could see he had come to some kind of decision. Her heart fluttered in her chest to watch him. Her eyes crawled over the horizon, but she saw nothing but the grasses and the elk, now distant dark shapes.

“I see. You leave me no choice in the matter then. I want you to remember this moment, when things between us become unpleasant. Remember all the times you refused to cooperate. All the moments of vexing recalcitrance. All the fine words I’ve poured over your stubborn head like warm silky honey.”

She frowned down at him, wondering what the manling was thinking. His black stone eyes glittered back at her. She thought to herself they were the eyes of a rat, but harder than that.

He produced his dagger. It flashed silver in the starlight. It wasn’t a long thing, probably only four inches of razor-like blade. Her stomach hardened in fear to see it in his hand.

“You will follow me down, as I ask. You will obey my commands without further nonsense. Or I shall cut the strings from your legs and drag you down.”’