The Dark Glory War (50 page)

As Seethe had bidden, I did find some of the others, here and there, with bits and pieces of them scattered yet further. Winfellis had given a good account of herself, leaving a trail of burned and blasted gibberers and vylaens in her wake. Eventually, I guess, she ran out of strength, which let gibberers catch up with her and haul her down.

Brencis Galacos and Jeturna Costasi died fighting side by side. A half-dozen spears had taken him down. She’d lost her sword arm, then her head had been taken. I had no idea where it was, but her body lay sprawled over his legs. I closed his eyes and continued on.

In my search I did run into gibberers, but I felt less prey than predator. The rules by which I was playing were simple: I had to kill everything I met or I would die. I had no reason to hold back, no reason to be cautious. I snarled and snapped at them with the same ferocity they did me. I hacked them with my sword, stabbed them with my longknife, kicked and punched, bit and cursed. I did everything I could, took every advantage I could, and it saw me through.

Eventually I found my trial-blazes and descended stairs. I hauled myself back to our quarters. A gibberer lay dead outside the portal, and from his orientation I knew he had dragged himself clear. Cautiously I stepped over him and entered the tunnel. More bodies filled it, all gibberers.

I found five more dead in the lower sphere and one lying on its back on the stairs. Droplets of blood formed a trail to the chamber Lord Norrington had stayed in. I rushed to the portal, couldn’t suppress a gasp, then nipped in and dropped to my knees.

Lord Norrington lay slumped against the shelf where he had slept the night before. I could tell from the blood smeared on the edge that he’d tried to climb onto it, but his strength had failed him. I thought for a second that he was dead, but an eyelid flickered open.

“Hawkins?” He barely got the word out. “Alive?”

“Alive, yes.”

“Others?”

“Some dead; some, I don’t know.” I looped his right arm around my neck. “Hold on, I’ll get you onto the bed.”

He hissed with pain as I lifted him. He managed to lay his left arm across his belly and, as he did so, I could see it was badly broken across the forearm. I eased him down and he sighed as he straightened out. As he did that I noticed his right ankle didn’t seem to work either.

“My lord, I’ll get the herbs from Aren’s pack. I know enough to identifymetholanth.”

“No, Tarrant.” He clutched at my arm with his right hand. “Don’t go.”

“But you’ll need the medicine to make you better.”

He shook his head slowly. “I’m not getting better.” He lifted his left arm at the elbow. “I’m stuck through the stomach. Without magick I won’t heal. I can already feel the infection.”

“Butmetholanth will help.”

“Too little, too late.” Lord Norrington gave me a brave smile. “I need you to do something. A Phoenix Knight must be burned, not buried. Burned. You have to burn my body.”

I nodded. “Burn it, I understand. I will, but first I’m going to get the herbs and buy some time to find you help.” I forced out of my mind the fact that Winfellis was dead because there had to be some way to save him. “Then, years from now, in Valsina, I’ll burn your body. I promise with my heart and soul.”

His brown eyes sparkled. “Remove my mask. I want to share with you what I look like.”

“No, my lord, I couldn’t.”

“Do it, Tarrant. And say my name.”

I nodded and slid his mask off. Nothing I saw surprised me, really. I’d not imagined his nose was quite that straight, or that his hairline had pulled back quite that far. It should have seemed to me that I was looking at a complete stranger, but it wasn’t. It seemed as if I’d known this face all my life.

“There, Kenwick, is that better?”

“Yes. Thank you.” He pressed the mask in my hands against my chest. “Take that mask to Leigh.”

“As you wish.”

His eyes closed. “And I would have you do one more thing, Tarrant.”

“What is it, Kenwick?”

His hand slid to my left wrist and gripped it tightly. “I want you to kill me.”

“What? No!”

“Yes, Tarrant. Just open an artery. Let me bleed and fall asleep.”

“I can’t.”

“You must.” Lord Norrington’s mouth gaped open and his eyes widened as his body shook. The look of agony on his face was unmistakable and when his body slackened I felt the strength in his grip fade away. “The pain. I can’t …”

“But you are Lord Norrington. How can you surrender to something like pain?”

A short laugh wheezed between his lips. “You speak of a legend. I am just flesh and blood. Aching flesh. Draining blood. Don’t let me die this way.”

“No. You gave me your trust, and I’m going to hold you to that gift. I will find a way to save you. You have to trust me in that.”

“Hawkins, Hawkins.” He smiled at me and closed his eyes. “You have to kill me. This is why.”

As he lay there dying, Lord Kenwick Norrington revealed to me the secret he said was known only to one other living person. His secret, he said, was the reason the final bit of our quest was bound to fail. He said he’d known that from the beginning, but had persuaded himself it could be otherwise because of the victories we’d won. In his arrogance he’d doomed us all. He’d led Seethe to her death. He’d even put me in jeopardy, all because he needed to prove something to himself and the world.

What he told me left me cold inside, but also answered many tiny little questions I’d never thought to ask before. I do not share that secret here, in these pages, because there are still people who could be hurt by its revelation. The only reason I mention it at all is because that secret, which he hoped would motivate me to kill him, convinced me I could do nothing less than take every step possible to see to it that he lived.

His confession wore him out, so I slipped my arm from his grip and retrieved herbs from Aren’s gear. I mixed themetholanth with water and packed his wounds, including the two nasty stab wounds in his stomach. I bound his wounds as best I could, then set about shifting all our packs and supplies into his room. We had enough food to last us for a long time, but very little water. Of course, all Tzindr-Coraxoc needed to do was to send more gibberers after us and they’d eventually wear me down.

At some point as I sat there with Lord Norrington, I fell asleep. I know this because I awoke when an urZrethi poked me with a long finger. I started and almost slashed the urZrethi, but I recognized her as the servant I’d had the night before at the feast.

“You are to come.” She turned and shuffled from the room.

I stood and sheathed Tsamoc. I looked down at Lord Norrington, taking some satisfaction in his even breathing. I kissed him on the forehead, made sure a bowl of water was near enough to his right hand that he could drink if he wanted to, then strode from the room. I kept my tread even as I walked through the bodies and followed my guide.

Why would I trust one of the urZrethi? I really had nothing else to do. Had they wanted me dead they could have slain me while I slept. That they wanted to talk to me meant there was a chance Lord Norrington might live, and I had to take that chance. It was my only hope We wandered through the halls for a long time, taking a roundabout path that led me through long corridors, up and down stairs, and through galleries. I relished the click of my boots on the floors and the echoes from the walls. I looked for signs of fighting, but I saw none. In fact, the filth that had clogged the corners and edges of the walkways was gone. Statuary I was certain had been caked with bat droppings and bird guano were clean. The lights seemed a bit stronger, the shadows sharper, and in many ways, the whole place more stark and forbidding than before. Cold. Sterile. Dead.

My guide led me into a long chamber that struck me as being a proper throne room. The columns holding up the ceiling were carved in the shape of urZrethi with massive shoulders and arms. The other statues formed whole tableaux in wall niches, showing great urZrethi in battles out of legend. In one, an urZrethi had closed with and managed to drive handspikes up through the lower jaw of a dragon. The idea that any creature could get close enough to kill a dragon with bare hands left me in awe.

My guide abandoned me in the entryway, but the clear path down to the eolden thrnnp in thp <-<>ntťi-™f *

no doubt as to where I was bound. I did my best to ignore the ranks of gibberers and vylaens lining the spaces between the columns. Temeryces, from the small brown ones the urZrethi raised through those I’d killed and on up to the grand temeryces with their colorful plumage, paced back and forth behind the gibberer lines, with the small ones occasionally poking their heads between knees to look at me. A pair of hoargoun stood in the shadows of the final pillars. Their muscles bunched as they held a pair of chained drearbeasts back.

As fearsome as was the gauntlet through which I walked, what waited for me scared me even more. Tzindr-Coraxoc slumped in a big throne, one far too large for her. Behind her, hanging there in the air, five to a side, were my companions, including Lord Norrington and the wizard, Heslin. Seethe, Lord Norrington, and Heslin seemed alive, as did others, though Brencis and Jeturna were clearly dead. Of Drugi I saw no sign at all, but I did not find this heartening.

As I came within a dozen steps of the throne, Tzindr-Coraxoc’s head came up and her body began to change. Her legs and arms lost their feathers and grew thicker, more shapely. Her barrel torso stretched and filled out the cloth of gold robe she wore. Her hair, which had been short and grey, lengthened into a golden cascade. Her features sharpened, taking up the excess flesh that had hung on Tzindr-Coraxoc’s face. Her eyes became an exotic blue-green, with little swirls working through the color.

She leaned heavily on one of the throne’s arms and looked down at me. “You have amused me, Tarrant Hawkins.” Her voice had the softness of velvet, but none of its warmth.

“I would not think anything amuses you, Chytrine.”

“But you do, by being clever, just like that, just like with the dog.” She laughed easily, like the rustle of wind in a tree, though to me it sounded like the rasp of a snake crawling through dead leaves. “I see all that mysullanciri saw, and what I saw of you amused me. You, barely a man, attacked mysullanciri. The grapnel and anchor, that was inventive. The bowshot was likewise inspired. Even using one of my arrows against one of my creations, that was very good. And the last one, using the sword, I could not have done better myself.”

“You mean that as high praise.”

Her eyes narrowed and the movement in them increased. “I do, boy, I do. You should take it as such.”

“You give me too much credit.” I did my best to match her stare and only managed it because I was able to hide behind my mask.

“Leigh slew yoursullanciri. I only did what I did to save him and others.”

“Oh, I know, Tarrant. Your selflessness has touched me, deeply.” As she spoke she played a hand down between her breasts. “Because of it I will give you a chance to save your friends.”

She gestured behind her and each one of them twitched as if invisible lightning had played from her fingers. Seethe half opened her eyes and looked down at me, but I don’t think she really saw me. Lord Norrington did and frowned, but couldn’t hold the expression for very long. The others’ heads just lolled on their necks, including Jeturna’s, which had been crudely sewn back into place.

“Some of them are dead.”

“And they will remain dead, but there are worse things than death, and I will put them through each and every one if you fail.” She gestured casually then beckoned, drawing hooked fingers toward the palm of her outstretched right hand. I heard a snort from my right, and one of the grand temeryces came trotting past the drearbeasts. Its talons clicked against the floor, then it stopped beside me, all but resting its muzzle on my right shoulder. Its breath blew thunder into my ears.

Chytrine’s stare bored into me. “The game is this: if you do not fail, those who live will live, those who are dead will be dead. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Do you accept?”

I looked at them, hanging there, and nodded. “I do.”

“Good, then all you must do is show me your strength. Make no sound through your ordeal, do not move, and you will save your friends.”

She hissed something and the temeryx moved to where it stood in front of me, but toward my right. The beast lifted its right leg and extended the great hooked claw toward me. I felt it punch into my scalp and start down, slowly, letting droplets of blood outpace it. The claw hitched for a moment, then scratched its way down over my mask. I saw a curled ribbon of leather rising from the claw as it swept past my right eye, then dug in again on my cheek.

It scored flesh below my cheekbone and on to my jaw. The temeryx’s foot moved toward me to catch my throat and bump the line down over my collarbone. There the other two claws joined in response to a new sibilant command from Chytrine. The claws raked their way down over my flesh, shredding my clothes, tearing bloody furrows in my skin.

The pain was hardly indescribable, for it matched the cuts I’d won earlier that day. It wasn’t the worst I’d ever felt, either, but there was just more of it. Every inch the creature clawed open compounded the pain. I wanted to yell, to twitch, to do something,anything, so my attention did not have to be focused just on the lines burning down my body.

Looking past Chytrine I found my focus. Aren Asvaldget appeared as if they’d broken every bone in his body. The spear still twitched in Seethe’s chest. Lord Norrington’s left arm still dangled uselessly, his ankle still twisted at an unnatural angle. Even Heslin, with asullanciri arrow in him, all of them were worse off than I was and they said nothing. By holding firm, I could save them, and save them I would. To twitch, to cry out, would be to allow Chytrine a victory, and I’d denied her the same so far.

I felt detached from my body. I couldn’t step out of it and look back at it, but I withdrew from it as if it were a mask being worn by my spirit. The pain still registered, but made no more of an impression than thepit-pit-pit of blood droplets dripping from my jaw to splash against my chest. The pain was just part of what I was, who I had become. I could not escape it, nor did I see a reason to. If I fled, my friends would suffer, and that I would not allow.