Seven Sorcerers(42)
“I am what I wish to be,” Indreyah says. “As are we all.”
Her amber eyes smolder with pent flames.
“Is there nothing I can do to sway you?” I ask. “I returned your great pearl years ago. Do you still begrudge me so?”
“I begrudge no one,” Indreyah says, spreading her long webbed fingers. “I will not seek war when there is nothing to gain from it. Only fools and madmen do so. Perhaps you should consider negotiating with Zyung instead of forsaking his dream of peace.”
“I have already achieved peace between the Five Cities!” I almost lose my temper. She has to see the tragic irony of what befalls us. “There is peace now above the waves–for the first time there is no war among Men! Ianthe no longer rules Khyrei. There is a chance for a new and brighter world here, far from the oppression of Zyung’s empire. A dream I never thought possible has been fulfilled only to face extinction from the other side of the world. I cannot let everything I have worked so long to build be crushed beneath his heel.”
“Everything you have built?” She mocks me. “Your manipulations are like those of Zyung, yet you realize it not. How many Kings have you tricked into following your designs? How many Men and Giants have given their lives to your scheming? How many lost races and crumbled kingdoms? You speak of freedom and liberty, but you have always been a tyrant where it concerns your personal stakes.”
The remnants of old arguments have risen like hungry krakens to tear at our hearts.
“You never did understand me,” I tell her.
“I have spoken,” says the Mer-Queen. “You may stay here as honored guests, or depart on the moment. But I will not join your war.”
Sharadza is silent. She knows there is nothing more to be said.
“Time grows short,” I say. “We cannot linger. There is one last ally we must try to win.”
Indreyah glides from her throne to hover above our airy sphere.
“Go then with my blessing,” she says. Then to Sharadza, Vaazhia, and Alua: “Return to me when you have no favors to ask. I would enjoy your company.”
“If we live to see victory,” says Sharadza. “I promise that I will.”
The Mer-Queen glides into a shadowed hallway, followed by a coterie of silver-scaled attendants.
The air inside our glowing sphere has grown thin. The guards lead us into the courtyard where I will the sphere to rise, taking us as fast as I dare toward the surface. I had hoped Indreyah’s fondness for Sharadza would win her to our cause. I should have known better. Like Vod himself, the Queen of the Sea-Folk would never forget or forgive the ways in which I had wronged her.
“I am sorry,” says Sharadza, her hand on my shoulder. I can only smile at her. I promise myself now that I will never give her cause to hate me as Indreyah does. As Vod had done.
“You plan to seek the Maker of Mountains,” says Vaazhia, guessing my next move.
I nod a silent confirmation.
“You would disturb his long sleep?” she asks, reptile tongue darting nervously. “Do you not fear risking the wrath of Udgrond?”
I cannot lie to her, or the others.
“Yes,” I say. “I do. But we have little choice.”
“Who is Udgrond?” asks Sharadza.
“The Maker of Mountains,” I answer. She need not know more at this time. Our sphere breaks above the waves, and Alua weaves the white flame about us once again.
I close my eyes and look inward, seeing a vision of the Jade Isles wracked by typhoon and wave. Beyond that scene, cleaving the very heart of Khama’s wall of storms, the Holy Armada of Zyung approaches. Khama and the Southern Kings will not long delay him. I cannot dwell on the hundreds of ships and the thousands of lives that will be soon lost. Instead, I plant a vision of our destination into the mind of Alua, and the flaming sphere carries us across the sky.
For a fleeting moment I consider sending my companions across the continent to join Vireon’s forces in the Sharrian valley. Or to the Jade Isles, perhaps to lessen the inevitable slaughter. Then I realize that all our powers might be necessary in this current endeavor. We must go together if we are to have any hope. We have only a day, perhaps two. Three at most.
“And where does one find a Maker of Mountains?” asks Sharadza.
I want to take her in my arms and hold her close, but I cannot do this.
Instead I answer her question.
“At the blazing heart of the world.”
7
Valley of the Dead
The sea cliffs lay far behind her. The land spread green and flat to the west, and the Golden Sea reflected sunfire to the east. Dahrima walked between the two worlds of steppe and ocean, alone but for the parade of memories in her head. Her boots left deep tracks in the wet sand. The sound of the rushing surf had become a soothing refrain, a song of water meeting earth that rose and fell in ceaseless rhythm. Somewhere leagues ahead of her the River Orra rushed along the haunted valley and poured itself into the sea.