Seven Sorcerers(92)
Alua sets us down in the palace courtyard. Wing-helmed guards rush forward waving spears as if we four are the Hordes of Zyung. The white flame fades and I raise my hand, announcing myself and my companions. They usher us toward the Grand Hall, where I expect to see Tyro sitting bandaged and exhausted from battle and flight. Yet the Sword King Emperor is not here. The throne of Uurz–not long ago it was a double throne–sits empty now. In a high-backed chair before the royal dais sits a lean man with a prominent nose. I recognize him as Lord Mendices, Warlord of Uurz. His golden seat is the chair of a Regent. By this alone I know that Tyro is dead.
“Iardu the Shaper,” Mendices calls out to me. “We expected you at Shar Dni.” A score of guards in golden cuirasses stand between the marble pillars. A crowd of nobles and advisors lingers about Mendices, ready to carry out his orders and impress him with their counsel.
Mendices does not need to condemn me with any harsher words. The simple fact of my missing the lost battle is enough to make me cringe before his hard gaze. His shoulder is wrapped in white linen, yet still he wears the gear of an active-duty legionnaire. A sword hangs from his waist, reminding any who have eyes on the vacant throne that he, Mendices, has control of Uurz’s surviving legions. He is the one man standing between the city and a horde of invading Manslayers.
I offer him a bow of respect, yet not the low bow I would offer to a King. “It pains me to say that I was hindered by a power greater than my own,” I say. “Yet I have escaped to bring Vireon’s sister and wife, along with the sorceress Vaazhia, Queen of the Forgotten City. We stand with Uurz now in its moment of need.”
“Where is Vireon?” asks Sharadza. “Tell me he yet lives…” She cares nothing for courtly etiquette, and I cannot blame her.
Mendices studies each of my companions for a moment, his gaze falling at last upon Sharadza. “The Giant-King lives, yet I cannot say for how much longer. He is grievously wounded.”
Sharadza falls into my arms, pressing her cheek against my neck. Alua blinks at me.
“What of the Emperor?” I ask, already knowing what the Warlord will say.
“Tyro died bravely,” says Mendices. His tone is not what I expected. Instead of an accusation tinged with rage, it is the tenor of a grieving father. I see now that he loved Tyro. “He died in battle, drowned by a sea of foes that his sword could not touch. The bloodshadows of the cursed valley.”
“Why does the Empress Talondra not sit upon the throne?”
“She too is dead,” says the Warlord. “Though none can say how, I suspect sorcery.”
“These are dark days indeed,” I say. “There are no words for such deep loss. What of Undutu and D’zan?”
“The first is dead, the second yet lives. D’zan rests now in a palace bed.”
Tyro and Undutu. Lost. And Vireon dying. A slab of granite falls from my heart into my stomach. I stagger, but Sharadza’s grip keeps me from falling.
“There is no time for tears,” I say, as much to myself as to those around me. “The enemy will be at our gates in three days. Show us to the Giant-King. I will do what I can to prevent his death.”
Mendices’ long face damns me without words. There are many deaths you should have prevented. You have failed us. Yet he surprises me again by escorting us personally to the helpless Vireon’s chamber. It lies beyond a tall corridor lined with a dozen Giant guards. Some of them lean wearily upon their spears. Their thick skins bear the marks of keen metal, their furs, cloaks, and corslets begrimed with dried blood. Most of them are blue-skinned Udvorg, yet three pale Uduru stand among them.
“The Giants guard their King in shifts,” explains Mendices. “Fourteen hundred of them rest inside the palace; they cast lots for this revolving duty. It has been so since we arrived two days ago.”
“How many Men survived the battle?” I ask.
We approach the great iron doors at the end of the corridor.
Mendices winces at the pain in his shoulder. “Far too few. Two Legions of Uurz. A single legion of Udurum. Less than ten thousand soldiers, all told.”
The sheer depth of our losses steals my breath. Sharadza weeps quietly beside me. Nine out of every ten Men died in Zyung’s onslaught, as well as two brave Kings, and possibly a third. How different would the outcome have been, if only I had been there? If I had taken my three companions to the Sharrian valley instead of spirit-roaming into the depths of the earth? I will never know the answer to this question. I cannot let it torment me until I do what must be done.
Vireon must not die.
We stand before the double door now, staring at its inlaid mosaic of curling Serpents and battling Giants. Mendices knocks upon the portal with his golden vambrace. The hall and room were prepared specifically to accommodate visiting Giantkind. There are other lofty places throughout the palace, where the Udvorg have been quartered.