Ahead, down the hall, he suddenly saw some Fang Guards ready to oppose him-half a dozen warriors standing shoulder-to-shoulder.
Their faces were filled with fear and rage in equal measure, and every muscle in their bodies seemed strained, ready to spring.
Yet they were not eager to fight.
'Are you such fools?' Vulgnash cried. 'I could kill you all more easily than I dispatched Chulspeth. I should leave you to the mercies of the humans. But I will need force warriors to guard this fortress against the day of their return. Oh, and they will return-soon, and in great numbers. They left a mountain of blood metal behind.'
Vulgnash s words decided them. Seeing that there was hope of forgiveness, one warrior hurled his battle-ax to the floor in a clatter, then dropped to his knees to do obeisance.
In seconds, the rest of the Fang Guards followed suit.
Kryssidia went striding forward, into the midst of them. 'Cower before me,' he cried. 'For the Great Wyrm has chosen me and made me a lord over you. The Great Wyrm has come in the flesh, and now rules Rugassa and the world. But here, here in Caer Luciare, I shall be your emperor, and you shall be my people.'
With the battle won, Vulgnash set to work on his next chore. He demanded blood metal, and the wyrmling troops showed him to a foundry, where hundreds of pounds of forcibles had already been poured into molds.
Vulgnash smiled. His master would be well pleased, and Vulgnash imagined that he would be rewarded with more endowments.
Beyond that, Vulgnash had gotten something that he had wanted this day-a little vengeance.
22
In the world to come, every tree shall be thrown down, and nature itself shall be humbled by the Great Wyrm.
It was late evening when the Wizard Sisel and Lord Erringale reached the One True Tree. All through the day they had marched, and Erringale was witness to the rot and filth of the shadow world, the blight that afflicted the trees, the frequent ruins abandoned by the defected warrior clans, and the bitter scent of death.
He had never witnessed such things before.
'I thought that things were harsh in my world,' he said at one point in the journey, as they hunched inside the ruins of an old inn. 'I have seen places like this in the Blasted Lands, but never have I seen destruction so unrelenting.'
'There is a whole world of ruins here,' Sisel had said. 'Beyond the mountains to the south, they are mostly covered by vines in the jungle. But far to the east there are fresher ruins, vast fortresses, elegant and strong, that are no more than tombs, filled with the bones of their defenders.
'Our battles against the wyrmlings have been long. For five thousand years have we fought. Sometimes we would prevail for a few centuries, and then our people would grow complacent, and the wyrmlings would strike in greater numbers. Other times, we lost vast expanses of land, never to regain it.'
Lord Erringale listened soberly. 'Daylan told me that the Great Wyrm has brought foul creatures from other worlds to boost his armies. What can you tell me of them?'
So the Wizard Sisel described what he d seen. The folk of the netherworld knew some of the dangers: the Darkling Glories were their mortal enemies, but Erringale was horrified to hear of strengi-saats that filled the wombs of children with their own eggs so that when the young hatched, they would have fresh meat to feed upon.
'Where did they find such fell creatures?' Erringale wondered aloud.
'I do not know,' Sisel said. 'Yet I am surprised that your people withhold weapons from us.'
'If we gave you superior weapons,' Erringale said, 'the wyrmlings would simply take them, and in time your fate would be worse than at first.'
'Ah,' the wizard argued, 'so you think it wise to withhold your knowledge from the shadow worlds. Tell me, if one of your own people were dying of thirst, would your law forbid you from telling him where to find an oasis?'
'Of course not,' Erringale said.
'So what is the difference? One man needs water to survive, the other needs a weapon.'
Erringale fell silent and did not speak for many miles. Instead he bowed his head, consumed in thought.
The sun was setting beyond the hills like a red pearl gently falling into a bed of rose petals. The wood doves were cooing out in the oaks on the hills, while cicadas sang in the fields.
The Wizard Sisel strode through a meadow with Erringale by his side, feeling at ease. As an Earth Warden, he had been granted a special gift. He could move through the woods and meadows unnoticed by enemies and friends alike, if he so chose. Now he did so, and a rabbit beside the trail paid no more notice to him than if a fly had landed on its ear. A stag had come to drink from the still waters of the moat, and as the two men passed, they never caught its eye.
So the two reached Castle Coorm at sunset and found the drawbridge thrown down. There was no sound of dogs barking or children playing in the castle, no singing of washwomen or an old man calling his children home for dinner.
It was obvious that the castle was empty. Its inhabitants had fled.
The men crossed the planks of the drawbridge, their feet thumping lightly. Even their shadows upon the water did not frighten a trout that was lying below the surface.
Just within the wall, they found the object of their desire. There was a roundabout in the courtyard, so that wagons could maneuver onto various roads as merchants brought their wares. At the center of the roundabout was a wall made of stone, about four feet high. It was filled with earth and rocks, creating a garden; a raised planter. At the pinnacle of the rocks hunched a stone gargoyle, a man with wings covering his face, tongue thrust out. Water poured from a spigot in his mouth.
There at his feet was the base of the True Tree. Above the gargoyle the tree s leafless branches arched in surreal beauty, as intricate as a fine piece of coral.
Never had the Wizard Sisel seen a tree so blasted. It was a marvel to behold. Every leaf was down, and fungi in colors of cream and canary covered it thicker than hoarfrost. Almost it seemed as if it were layered in snow. The setting sun painted it all in shades of rose.
The pungent odor of rot filled the courtyard, so overwhelming in intensity that Sisel raised his sleeve to cover his nose.
Erringale studied the tree. 'It s true,' he said. 'The One Tree did burst forth on a shadow world. But it is dead now-all gone to rot.'
'Yes,' Sisel said, 'but this is not a common rot. This tree is under a powerful curse.'
The sight of it was so overwhelming that it smote Erringale, and the Bright One leapt up onto the rock wall, strode beneath the tree, and then fell to his knees, just peering up.
'It s dead,' he said at last. 'There is no voice left in it. I had hoped to commune with it, but it has fallen silent.'
He peered down at the dead leaves. The land was scorched here under the tree, as only a few bones of leaves were scattered here and there. 'Perhaps there is an acorn,' Erringale said hopefully. He began poking among the ashes that lay thick around the bole of the tree.
'An oak does not begin to shed acorns until it has lived more than twenty seasons,' Sisel told him. 'This tree is much like an oak. I think you will not find any acorns. I visited here at Castle Coorm twelve years back, and this
