man into a drooling idiot. He could not even think of taking the beauty from some woman, leaving her a hag. He abhorred the thought of draining the strength from some burly peasant, consigning the man to such a state of frailty that his heart might fail at pumping his own life s blood.
So Fallion had refused to take endowments from his people.
What endowment is Lord Despair going to wrest from these poor folks? Fallion wondered.
But that question was dashed by a more significant realization. Since the binding of these two worlds, Fallion had hoped that the wyrmlings would not have discovered the rune lore that would allow the transfer of attributes, for it was only such lore that gave his own small folk the hope of beating the wyrmlings.
In the battle for Luciare he d seen some wyrmlings running with seemingly superhuman speed, and had worried that they might have taken endowments.
Now, Fallion saw, the wyrmlings did indeed understand such lore, or at least, with the binding of the worlds, they had learned of it.
The guard brought the forcibles, the magical branding irons, to the Knight Eternal that loomed above Fallion. Vulgnash took one, studied it a moment, and then held it close so that Fallion could see. The rune engraved upon it was unknown to Fallion s people. But after a few seconds he realized that he recognized part of it-a rune of touch.
But there were other runes bound into the forcible, at least two or three others that Fallion had never seen, and suddenly Fallion realized that the wyrmlings not only understood rune lore, their knowledge far surpassed that of his own people.
'What? What is this?' Fallion asked, studying the forcible.
'You shall see,' Lord Despair said.
A wyrmling lord took the forcible and began to chant, a sound deep and soothing, mesmerizing. As he did, the tip of the forcible began to glow hot, like a branding iron that sits among coals, becoming brighter and brighter.
When it shone like a fallen star, he went to the farm woman in her bloody skirts, flipped her over so that Fallion could see her bruised face, and plunged the branding iron between her eyes.
The air filled with the reek of singed flesh and burning hair. When the wyrmling pulled the branding iron free, a white light stretched out from the woman s forehead, like a glowing worm. It elongated, following the forcible as the facilitator pulled it away and twirled the branding iron. The worm of light did not fade, but merely hung in the air, a ghostly presence.
'Wait!' Fallion cried, for the light revealed that the endowment ceremony was working, yet it did so despite the rules that Fallion understood. 'She must give her endowment willingly. You can t just rip it from her!'
In his own world endowments were most often given as an act of love, a gift to a worthy lord from a grateful vassal who hoped, by bestowing the gift, to protect his people. But it was also true that endowments might be coerced. Some lords bought endowments, granting great wealth to those who sold them. Vile lords sometimes devised torments so terrible that the vassal would relinquish an attribute in hope to escape the consequences.
But in all cases, the attribute had to be given by one who had a willing heart. It could not be stripped away like this.
Fallion reeled a bit, struggling to hold on to consciousness. The cold around him was so intense.
'I am taking their pain,' Lord Despair said. 'I am taking the whole of it: the pain of their wounds, the torment of their minds, all of their suffering and anguish. Who would not want to give that up? Even in their delirium, their fogged minds scream for release, and thus their endowments are taken willingly.'
Fallion peered up at Lord Despair and realized what he intended to do. He would give Fallion all of their torment.
Moments later, the wyrmling wizard bore the forcible to Fallion, and thrust its white-hot tip against Fallion s cheek.
The kiss of a forcible is said to be sweet, sweeter than any lover s lips. Perhaps in part, that was because the one who receives an endowment also receives strength or stamina or some other virtue that all humans long for.
Who has not looked upon a great sage and not wished for his wisdom? What woman has not gazed upon that rare beauty that is born with perfect skin and teeth, with shining hair and a glorious figure, and not longed that she had been so endowed from birth?
And it was true that Fallion felt a rush of euphoria that rocked him to the very core.
Yet, it was not as it was supposed to be.
It is said that he or she who grants an endowment does so at great cost. When a virtue is ripped from them, it causes indescribable agony, an agony so profound that only a woman who has endured a rough birthing can begin to comprehend it.
As the forcible lightly kissed Fallion s cheek, he felt the rush of euphoria, coupled with a pain so profound that it ripped a cry from his throat.
His muscles convulsed, and he was thrown to the floor. His back spasmed, as did his stomach, and he began to retch.
He felt the woman s pain. Not just the physical torment that came from being mauled and raped by wyrmling giants, being torn and bloodied. He felt the heartbreak that had come as her husband and children were forced to watch. He felt her humiliation and despair, a mother s maddening fear for her own children.
He d never felt emotions quite so raw or profound. It was as if he were being sucked into a vortex, whirling down into perfect darkness, all of her sadness and torment suddenly blending together with Fallion s own remorse- Fallion s pain at losing his brother, of losing Rhianna, his shame at having bound these worlds together in such a way that the wyrmlings were suddenly loosed upon his innocent people.
The wyrmlings have perfected torture, Fallion realized as he lay on the floor, vomiting from guilt, wishing for death.
And then one by one, the wyrmlings stripped endowments of pain from each prisoner.
Fallion felt the father s helplessness and outrage and guilt for not having saved his wife, his regret that his children would never reach adulthood, even as the bone protruding from his shin festered and rotted, threatening to leach his life away.
Moments later, Fallion felt an infant s terror of the giant wyrmlings, her overwhelming sense of helplessness, and the pain where a wyrmling had bitten off her pinky finger.
So it went, each child in turn.
Fallion took upon himself each of their fears, their guilt, their loss and longing.
As endowments were stripped from the family, the children quit their whimpering and the woman left off her sobbing, each of them falling into silence as they went remarkably numb.
And with each endowment, Fallion felt as if he would be overwhelmed one more time.
I must not give in, he told himself. I must not let Lord Despair break me.
When has Despair tasted such torment? Fallion wondered.
And then his spiritual eyes opened, and he remembered…
Yaleen had tried to seize control of the world by bending the Great Seal of Creation to her will, and in the process, she had broken it. The Seal shattered, and suddenly the world splintered into a million million shadows.
Fallion had been there under the great tree, and as the deed was done, he had run out from under the tree and watched with overwhelming dread and awe: it was night, and Fallion watched entire shadow worlds, like phantoms-with their opalescent swirling clouds, and seas of endless blue, and their snow-clad mountains, their fiery sunrises-all exploding and fleeing away in every direction, a continuous succession of worlds, each sending a shock wave through his very bones as it streamed away.
He watched stars forming in the night sky-entire galaxies spawned in an instant, then scattering away as the shadow worlds formed.
The True Tree was uprooted. Mountains crumbled and crevasses opened, swallowing communities whole. Volcanoes roared to life, spewing ash while lightning shrieked at their crowns.
The destruction was magnificent.
Hundreds of thousands of people died, while others merely vanished, apparently cast off onto some shadow world.
