Seven Sorcerers(12)

Now I sit overlooking the beach, trying to catch another glimpse of the future. I have only until the sun rises and the ships of the southern kingdoms sail off to meet their doom. If only I can offer them something more, one more piece of vital information or a morsel of victory-to-come. Then I might leave them to their fates with a tad less guilt weighing upon my shoulders.

Briefly I had considered going with Khama, waging war upon Zyung at the Jade Isles. Yet in my heart I know that this is a fool’s path. Zyung’s armada will not be stopped by any mortal fleet. The only possible effect of this advance confrontation is to weaken the invasion force before it makes landfall. And perhaps it will buy me a bit more time to gather a few sorcerers willing to stand against Zyung’s legion of High Seraphim; something which may not even be possible. For these merest advantages the Kings will sacrifice a thousand warships and countless lives.

The future waxes cloudy and obscure before me.

Rain sweeps off the sea to drench my robe and hair. Still I hover above the breakers, peering into the murky depths of time.

I see the double fleet, aligned in a tight arc about the Jade Isles. I see fires dropping from above and soaring from below. I hear the screams of dying men and beasts.

I see the decimation of the fleets, the burning timbers and sails, the broken men impaled on foreign lances, drowning in red waters ablaze. The face of Zyung peers back at me with eyes of solar fire.

One last thing I see before I turn from this futile task: A pile of blackened ruins that used to be a city. By the coastal valley and its sluggish river I recognize it as Shar Dni. Where the remnants of the dead city have lain for thirty years, there gathers a mass of shadows, ancient and hungry. Long have they slumbered beneath the blood-spotted stones, after feasting on the blood and souls of innocents during the city’s doom.

Now I see a pale citadel rise from those ruins, a towering edifice of shattered stone and a mountain of ground bones. It grows from the scattered debris that used to be temples, streets, the husk of a charred palace. There at the scene of Khyrei’s greatest crime, Zyung will create his beachhead. About this citadel of bone, his legions of Manslayers and Seraphim will gather and spread across the land like locusts. The ruins of Shar Dni will be the seat of the God-King’s power when he arrives. The carven image of his imperious face dominates the upper half of the structure, and the smokes of a hundred thousand flames fill the valley.

The eyes of Zyung’s stone-wrought visage flare bright enough to blind me.

I see nothing else.

Sharadza finds me then, a white seabird flapping to perch upon my shoulder.

Sunrise comes soon, she says in the language of birds. We must go.

Yes, we must go and rouse those of the Dreaming Ones who will stand with us. If any will do so. Sorcerers cannot easily be swayed. But first I must share what little I have seen.

“Go and find Vireon,” I tell her. “No doubt he sleeps among the tents of his warriors, if he sleeps at all. Tell him this war will begin at the ruins of Shar Dni. Tell him to move his armies north along the coast. The Sharrian valley is the key. We will perform our task and meet him there as soon as we can.”

She flies off to deliver the message, conscious of its deadly significance.

Perhaps I will tell her that I love her before Zyung puts an end to us.

Who knows what we will be after he has reforged us in the fires of his will?

We might become his slaves, or worse. He might bless us with annihilation.

Even we, the Masters of Shapes and Patterns, we who cannot truly die, might be robbed of our very existence. His is the power to make it possible.

I should tell her before it is too late.

Why can I not say the words?





3


The Axe


For three days the armies of Men and Giants marched north along the Golden Sea coast, and for three days rain fell from the leaden sky.

In a double line they marched, like twin Serpents winding along cliff tops that grew ever higher as they left the drowned marshlands. The head of the first Serpent was Vireon Vodson. As tall as any of his Giant cousins, he stalked through the mud. The purple cloak of Udurum flapped at his shoulders, and the crown of iron and sapphire gleamed rain-slick on his head. Behind the rippling hammer-and-fist banner paced an entire legion of blue-skinned Udvorg Giants armed with spears, axes, swords, and maces of northern steel. A hundred and twenty pale-skinned Giants of Uduria marched at the center of the great Udvorg line. In their wake trudged the twenty-nine Uduri who used to be their wives and lovers.

Dahrima the Axe walked in the midst of the sullen spear-maidens, glad today of the distance between herself and her King.

Behind the Giants came the Men of Udurum, eight legions strong, even after their losses in the Khyrein swamps. The first of these legions was cavalry, hardy northmen armored in plates of blackened bronze with spears of Udurum steel bright as silver in their fists. Greatswords hung from their waists or upon their broad backs. They rode tall warhorses of sable, gray, or piebald coats. Behind the riders marched Udurum’s infantry, twenty thousand soldiers, spearmen, and archers. At their center rolled supply wagons stuffed with barrels of freshwater, corn, salted pork, dried fruits, and Khyrein foodstuffs for which they had no name–all gifts of the black city’s new King.